2 sides, 1 coin.

I can't tell if I'm doing the right thing and being flexible, or if I'm bending over backward for you and am about to snap from it. You've always had that hint of manipulation, that sly, "I always seem to get what I want in the end, " attitude... but you're also a straight-shooter, right from the hip, no sugar-coating.

Obviously you can be both. I've got both traits myself, even if right now it's the straight-shooting straight fucking things up.

But something's gotta change anyway, and the black cherry vodka might make that choice for me.

If the apartment walls are so thin,

can the neighbors tell the difference between sex and miserable crying?

lame metaphors for facebook

It's like a big party, the kind you know everyone will show up to, and it's fun at first. Then after a few hours of mingling and polite chat you get exhausted. You're searching for something new to say but, over and over, it's the same old "How are you? Married? Kids? Have a great day LOLOLOL."

After the initial chatter, when people are getting tired and bored, you're up on your tippie-toes searching the crowd for those few people that you haven't seen, who are of course the ones you'd really like to see, who are of course doing things other than revisiting high school parties, i.e., are not on Facebook. They're at actual parties, with their actual spouses.

Then it gets overwhelming. The party games never end, the chatter drags on for as long as people can still yammer away. You start sliding towards the door, shifty-eyed, wondering where the hell you left your coat and why in the world that fat old man whose fly is half-open is trying to corner you for the umpty-third time that night.

You run. You don't even bother saying goodbye to most of the people, just grab your coat, blast out the door, and slam it behind you. You know you'll wake up in the morning to 20 blinking IM boxes, all asking where you went, and one passive-aggressive "hate it when ppl don't say goodbye" comment, when ppl is 20 times worse than LOL but at least not as bad as the incomprehensibly spelled comments. You've narrowly escaped your parents showing up and making comments about your awful diaper rash or chubby tummy that never went away, but you sort of wanted to see them too. At least to talk to someone who you've seen in the last 20 years.

Possibly you vow to never look at Facebook again; you might even deactivate your account and have a sudden spurt of accomplishment because you're not checking it every 5 minutes. But you'll go back. Just like you go back to those awkward parties with the bad punch and crushing crowds. Curiosity, loneliness, boredom, all coupled with a sincere interest in catching up and a curiosity about others' lives... oh yes, you'll go back.

Rinse, repeat. It's a vicious cycle, but I'm in it.

Words of Wisdom

sometimes stomach butterflies morph into pterodactyls, making it hard to distinguish between nervousness & impending diarrhea

typed by me, today.

Get off my lawn!

Dear Beauty Industry:

I do not want to look 10 years younger. I do not want to peel away the layers of my skin as though I'm ashamed of feeling, of having feelings and thoughts and ideas. I do not want a mate whose ego and social standing swell in inverse proportion to my apparent age.

I like my laugh lines, my frown lines, my incipient crow's feet. I like wrinkling my nose for many reasons, and I know that someday it will stay that way. My own wise mother told me so, and she of the gray hairs wouldn't lie.

I will grow old and wise and not ashamed as the years mark me. I will grow old not just gracefully, but exuberantly, my head thrown back to see the sky, my bye-bye arms waving hello and goodbye, my tattoos faded and sagging into the folds of my skin.

Yes, you've managed to hit some weak spots in the past. But did you know that apple cider vinegar works as well for rosacea as a covering foundation? Better, in fact, as it evaporates instead of congealing into my pores. Did you know that everybody gets stretch marks and ass hairs and yellow teeth? Do you realize that real people, true people, accept these things about each other? Do you think about any sort of social responsibility, the millions of dollars wasted on empty promises bottled and labeled so deceptively?

Beauty Industry, you probably aren't going to go away on your own. You will not quietly bow out of our lives, contribute all profits to homeless shelters or AIDS research or scrubbing the oil off manatees. I understand that. And I am sad, but I revel in the frowns and consternation squinches of my forehead, because they are yet more proof that I am a thinking, living being who is growing wiser every day. In a few years maybe one or two of these lines will have settled for good, and I can point to it and say, "This wrinkle is from when I decided to tell a whole industry to fuck off and die," and my grandkids will giggle because Granny cussed, and will bury their heads in my big, soft tummy and squeeze my mid-back fat rolls, and know that they are beautiful.

GC

If I could show you one thing, it would be that "independence" and "doing whatever you want" aren't the same thing.

But I don't know how to make those words come out right.

1.

It's not great to dwell on the past, the different choices and turns that could've changed an entire life. Wallowing in the Ifs changes nothing and wastes time to boot. But sometimes the Ifs stick to the brain, pop up at random times, slide around in the middle of the night when one is laying in bed staring at the ceiling.

The assumption is that things would've gone better if only this or that or an unknown other event had happened. Nobody wants to dwell on the possibility things could be worse- of course things would be better If Only.

I daydream a lot, about the past more than the present and future. I want to get unstuck from the past, exorcise the Ifs, Ands, and Buts that clutter up my memory.