The other day during my friend's housewarming party I had a thought--when people move into a new home, get engaged, married, or are going to have a baby, people buy them shit. I've always actually thought it a bit tacky that in anticipation of all the stuff their friends and relatives are obligated to buy them, people create these selfish, expectant, often overly optimistic lists of stuff they want.
Well, I am 31 years old now and I've never had a housewarming party--and, at the route I am going, I can pretty much guarantee the other three ain't happening. So I was thinking--people should have to buy me just as much shit as they do the others. I want a fucking registry at Target, or Tiffany's, or Macy's dammit. In fact, I think people should buy me MORE stuff.
I know the whole idea of gift-giving was to support the new couple, the new family as they embark on being the ever so important cornerstones of our society-- our key to survival as a species. But I think taking the single route is far more civilized these days--people are going to have babies no matter what, and most couples already have pots and pans and luxury bedding, but being single and barren saves the world a whole lot of money and potential trouble.
By never getting married, my parents and his will never have to shell out loads of money for an event that lasts all of a few hours and most of us wont really even get to enjoy, and I can promise that none of my friends will need to take off work, have to budget traveling halfway across the country and a hotel stay, or worry about what they have to wear. Also, I will never subject anyone I know to tales of my messy divorce.
And, by remaining unfruitful and not multiplying, I will never add another consumer of our scarce natural resources, who would surely contribute to our continued global warming (he or she might use more than one sheet of toilet paper!) nor will I risk creating another miserable teenager or violent criminal who may hurt someone and end up in jail, or otherwise put a strain on our educational, social security, or welfare systems.
So for those of you who are reading this, either via email, or blog (how did you end up here anyway??) I'll be registering at Bloomingdales this weekend, thank you in advance.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Nightmare
I woke up in a panic at 5:03 am today.
I dreamed that I was back in Detroit, in my old house. My mother, my father and I were all there, my brother was not. It was night. Some malevolent being was trying really hard to get inside the house, which was pretty well-defended against invasion, yet we all knew we were trapped.
Then there was a flashback of some sort to us sitting around a dinner table with me begging my parents to move out of Detroit. I felt like they were so old and vulnerable. But they just never seemed to get around to it.
When the dream returned to the present tense--I was scared and angry because I felt like the evil could have been avoided if they had just listened to me.
My father (who really is ill but never was when we lived in Detroit) was bedridden, and though my mom was not, she continued to stay by his side in bed despite the danger. I was running around trying to both protect them and to save myself.
Soon it was apparent that there was nowhere to hide, that no matter where I could go, "they" were going to get us. Shots were being fired through windows and walls, missing me.
At the end, it was basically just a matter of when they were going to get us. My father got his gun out of the bedside table and I was proud of him for being so tough despite his illness and I thought the gun would ultimately save us. But then a man suddenly popped his head in the window. My father quickly shot him, and I thought--we will live after all! but then the man shot my father with a far more powerful gun.
I woke up shaking and sooo upset that I started crying, and though I was perfectly aware that it was not real, I could not shake the feeling for a long, long time.
I dreamed that I was back in Detroit, in my old house. My mother, my father and I were all there, my brother was not. It was night. Some malevolent being was trying really hard to get inside the house, which was pretty well-defended against invasion, yet we all knew we were trapped.
Then there was a flashback of some sort to us sitting around a dinner table with me begging my parents to move out of Detroit. I felt like they were so old and vulnerable. But they just never seemed to get around to it.
When the dream returned to the present tense--I was scared and angry because I felt like the evil could have been avoided if they had just listened to me.
My father (who really is ill but never was when we lived in Detroit) was bedridden, and though my mom was not, she continued to stay by his side in bed despite the danger. I was running around trying to both protect them and to save myself.
Soon it was apparent that there was nowhere to hide, that no matter where I could go, "they" were going to get us. Shots were being fired through windows and walls, missing me.
At the end, it was basically just a matter of when they were going to get us. My father got his gun out of the bedside table and I was proud of him for being so tough despite his illness and I thought the gun would ultimately save us. But then a man suddenly popped his head in the window. My father quickly shot him, and I thought--we will live after all! but then the man shot my father with a far more powerful gun.
I woke up shaking and sooo upset that I started crying, and though I was perfectly aware that it was not real, I could not shake the feeling for a long, long time.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
Little Match Girl
Is it too late? Have I spent the better part of my young life wasting it on him?
I'm now 31. I loved him for nearly 8 years and now he is engaged to someone. She gets to wear the ring, she gets to share his life, and I just feel stupid.
I met him years ago, at a party, he was with a girl whom I was repulsed by. He was not anything special, physically. A curiosity had me later ask my friend what someone like him was doing with that girl. My friend mentioned that he had a funny website, and so a month or so after, I visited it. A blog before the age of blogs.
He was chubby awkward boy who lived upstairs from his parents and slept in a twin bed. He ate Little Debbies nightly and had a weird line on his chest from being bent over his keyboard all the time. He drove a Subaru and shopped at Structure, at Staten Island Mall.
I was the worldly girl from Michigan with more style and substance than anyone he'd ever known.
He once told his sister he would never again date anyone as beautiful as me. His confidence--I always told him he would be someone, even when he was working for others. For a long time he didn't believe me. So many nights, conversations at dinner, laughing with him, encouraging him, boosting his ego.
I was there at the hospital when his father died. I was there for him when his sister tried to kill herself. I was there through the hard stuff, when his father flipped the coffee table over in Florida, because we wouldn't take him to the track. He'd gambled the family's money away already. I was there when he was distracted by his family's nightly fights.
One night I waited for them all to come from somewhere, alone, on their porch, in the dark. As their car pulled up the drive, I thought to myself, they must just see me as some wayward Jewish waif. And now, years later, I realize that perhaps that is all he ever saw me as: the poor little match girl, happy to collect whatever scraps he drops, which must be why he must have thought it was okay to let me clean up after their meals and carry the fucking pizza boxes.
I feel like because it's been so long I cannot stop loving him, wanting him.
How do I make it go away?
I'm now 31. I loved him for nearly 8 years and now he is engaged to someone. She gets to wear the ring, she gets to share his life, and I just feel stupid.
I met him years ago, at a party, he was with a girl whom I was repulsed by. He was not anything special, physically. A curiosity had me later ask my friend what someone like him was doing with that girl. My friend mentioned that he had a funny website, and so a month or so after, I visited it. A blog before the age of blogs.
He was chubby awkward boy who lived upstairs from his parents and slept in a twin bed. He ate Little Debbies nightly and had a weird line on his chest from being bent over his keyboard all the time. He drove a Subaru and shopped at Structure, at Staten Island Mall.
I was the worldly girl from Michigan with more style and substance than anyone he'd ever known.
He once told his sister he would never again date anyone as beautiful as me. His confidence--I always told him he would be someone, even when he was working for others. For a long time he didn't believe me. So many nights, conversations at dinner, laughing with him, encouraging him, boosting his ego.
I was there at the hospital when his father died. I was there for him when his sister tried to kill herself. I was there through the hard stuff, when his father flipped the coffee table over in Florida, because we wouldn't take him to the track. He'd gambled the family's money away already. I was there when he was distracted by his family's nightly fights.
One night I waited for them all to come from somewhere, alone, on their porch, in the dark. As their car pulled up the drive, I thought to myself, they must just see me as some wayward Jewish waif. And now, years later, I realize that perhaps that is all he ever saw me as: the poor little match girl, happy to collect whatever scraps he drops, which must be why he must have thought it was okay to let me clean up after their meals and carry the fucking pizza boxes.
I feel like because it's been so long I cannot stop loving him, wanting him.
How do I make it go away?
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