Monday, November 29, 2010

And When It Rains, It Pours

You have those moments sometimes in life where it’s all “this is good this is good I’m confused this is good this is good”: Bubbles of shit between, sure; but mostly good. And then it rains for days and as you check the flooding basement, you hear a boom from above and the ceiling in the kitchen caves in and out pours years old leaky pipe solution of toilet paper and paper towels: Streamers of disgust draping down to celebrate how much shit is happening in your life. Yes!

I don’t understand. Life tests us. Everything will be good for a while; we go years with no death, no major complications. Then suddenly BOOM! Things add up. Aaaand sinking. Everything begins to unravel and you try your best to gather it up in a ball and take it home and put it back together and just when you think you can make it work some dumb cat comes along and thinks “let’s play with this string” and the whole fucking thing falls apart again. You swear the cat would only have to look at it and it unravels - the smallest twitch (that normally would be meaningless) and your eyes well up with tears: The sorrow of loved ones weighs on your heart. And you’re just kinda left on your bed, alone, staring blankly at a wall wondering “well shit – now what” while that fucking cat has the time of its life you and swear to Jesus it’s laughing at you. But we just feel so despondent at the point that it doesn’t even matter. We don’t want to eat. Get out of bed. Move - not even to kick the cat. (Well...maybe to kick the cat.) We just want this part to be all over and the water to recede and the shit to start unshitting and the streamers to burn and it start to be “this is good this is good I’m confused this is good” again.

And hopefully we won’t be so afraid of the shit storm cycle to hit again that we won’t enjoy the sun.

That’s life. Without the death valleys, you can’t appreciate the stunning mountains. But, man, do I need a hug.

Monday, November 15, 2010

Indecision is a Decision

I'm a horrible decision-maker. Again, a quint-essential Libra trait. I mean, once I've made a decision and I'm sold, it's solid and I'm hard to budge. But if I have any room to waiver, I will spend far, FAR too long go back in forth about logistics and rational for each point of contention: Read: Choice A or Choice B ... or perhaps even a C or D. I will take E: All of the Above. This can go anywhere from where to live to what to eat for lunch. To which shoes to buy (which, sometimes leads to Choice E - and that can get expensive. In recent years I made a rule that if I have to ask myself if I like something, not to buy it.) More often than not, I'll spend so much time going back in forth that my indecision creates the decision for me. Which, I suppose, was my decision in the first place. Last night I was trying to make, what should have been, a very easy and simple choice. It likely had no baring on my life and I enlisted the help of my friend whom I was conversing with on gchat at the time - which went like this:

me: i like to just be directed.
i'm not gonna lie.
direct me till i protest.
C: well there's you answer.
next time I'll just direct.
me: but don't get mad when i protest. thats just me making a decision
C: I don't take offense to your protest
I realize it's your decision process

I didn't exactly realize that that is my decision process till just then. But it is. I make apologies for it; I understand it can be excessively frustrating for my decision 'bouncees' - but just imagine being inside my head. On the plus side, once I commit to a decision, I rarely feel remorse. Mostly just contentment. Perhaps delight. It's getting there that's the problem (...but I suppose that's most anything in life).

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Steps of an Imbibed Saturday Night (AKA The One Where I Became a Prostitute)

I hadn’t been drunk in a while. As part of a half-joking pact, fueled by getting free drinks (while I still had a full one in my hand), I decided to drink on Saturday. You know, the drunk kind of Saturdays that make for unpleasant Sundays, as many in our generation tend to do…especially in the District.

In a drunk wardrobe-malfunctioning decision, I decided to remove my leggings. I had just purchased boots and I liked them and decided to wear them with a wool sweater that can serve as a mini-dress…with the appropriate accessories. Then the bars were hot. And I was about 4 vodka tonics and 2 shots in so when I asked my friends “would it be too slutty without leggings" and they resounded “no”, I decided to remove them…in the middle of the bar. So, that was not my best decision; but, also not the worst – or most random. And while it was cooler - I’ll hand that to drunk self - I won't being taking inebriated style advice from boys anymore.

Step one.

The night continues and I hear of odd things happening but really have no recollection. So lets move to our next drunk decision.

Step two:

By the time I reached a metro (I think I got lost first), the gates were closed. Nuts. So I turn to the corner with a million cabs zooming past. It was cold and, even though I had leggings in my pocket and my butt was freezing, I guess my drunk self decided putting ON leggings, I had taken off in a bar, in the middle of the sidewalk, would be wildly inappropriate. And I could not catch a cab. Maybe they thought I was a hooker (apparently at the bar an Indian man asked my friend “How much for the blonde”). So, back to step one: I won’t be doing that again…no matter how hot the wool.

Step two continues when I do get a cab. There was someone in the back. And that’s not legal, but near freezing temps made me not care even a little; you better bet this bitty got in that cab. And thanked him. I sat in front since the other fare was in the back and on curb side. He took the other guy home, and then took me home. Then, for some reason, I sat and talked to the cab driver for at least an hour.

What did we talk about? I have no idea. And then the cops showed up.

The cop was rather mean to the driver for no reason. Scolding him for parking a foot past the sign. the cab driver kept saying, “this is my friend, she lives here”. Legging-less me, appearing as a slut-on-accident – but in a long jacket, concurred. The cop asked for my ID. I obliged. The cab driver asked the cop what was wrong and the cop said there has been a problem with prostitution in my area (which, now that I think about it…really??). I then proceeded to scold the officer for suggesting I was a prostitute. He encouraged that’s not what he was suggesting and apologized; he went away, checked our records or whatnot, then came back. A minute later, after hugging the driver, I walked a few steps to my door.

Step two suggests my conclusion of step one is re-affirmed: KEEP ON YOUR LEGGINGS, WOMAN! For the kids cops!

Now, perhaps this wasn’t my best decision, but the cab driver was very nice. And not in an obvious way – gentle, soft spoken…sad, even. And while I don’t really recall what he said or what we talked about, I do remember vaguely him talking about his family and I think the word “lonely” popped up. Sure, I might have been in knee-high boots and a knee-length jacket, but I honestly think this guy wanted a kind ear. And that’s all. And everyone can laugh at me or nativity or the cop thing (cause, well, the cop thing is typical of my life), but sometimes it makes you wonder that if you didn’t take that time to spend with a stranger, what might have been? Or what might not be now?

Sometimes people just need someone to listen to them. And sometimes, even if you’re drunk, you can sense that and it’s not necessary to ignore it. Sometimes, people just need a hug from a stranger. And maybe it means nothing and maybe it meant everything. Perhaps I'm stupid, but maybe I'm just kind.

Step three:

For future reference: Trust your gut, listen more and hug strangers. The world’s not such a bad place. My hope believes that.

I'd rather regret what I did say, than what I didn't.

This is where I stand...

“Yes, it’s a mistake. I know it’s a mistake but there are certain things in life where you know it’s a mistake but you don’t really know it’s a mistake because the only way to really know it’s a mistake is to make the mistake and look back and say yup, that was a mistake. So really, the bigger mistake would be to not make the mistake because then you’d go your whole life not really knowing if something’s a mistake or not.” ~How I Met Your Mother

“Forget about all the reasons why something may not work. You only need to find one good reason why it will.” ~Dr. Robert Anthony

(Now where do I go?)


Thursday, November 4, 2010