Official

The papers came yesterday. I knew they were coming because I'd gotten a slapdash cellphone message from my lawyer, telling me it was over.

My lawyer - and it still feels funny to say those words, "My lawyer", so ridiculously grown-up sounding, so tragically responsible - is a kindly older gentleman, a friend of my parents. He doesn't practice divorce law but agreed to take my case because it was going to be a 'friendly, easy one'.

And it was.

The divorce, I mean. It was pretty much, on paper, very friendly. Very agreeable. No assets to speak of (duh), a handshake, a nod, a basic agreement on monthly child support, open visitation, custody. Straightforward. Easy. Simple.

Ha.

Divorce is never simple. Never easy.

When I opened the big white envelope and looked through the 'official' documents, I started to cry. I'm not even sure why. I've shed so many tears over the last year and a half over this crappy roadkill of a marriage, to continue crying over it seems redundant and childish and really, really fucking boring.

The wounds have long scabbed over and I've moved ahead with my life. I don't love this man anymore. We've been apart for so long that this, the divorce, was really just a technicality, insurance for me that our tangled, toxic history can finally be placed behind me, lock the door and throw away the key.

A wise man (my dad), told me, "There is no looking back now. You can only look ahead." And it's true. So true. Still, to see it there, on paper, 'Judgement Granted' as of December 12, 2008, it just made me feel so sad. There was a beginning date to this marriage, and now there was an end date.

I cried for my youth, for my brutal naivete and recklessness. For promises I never, ever should have made, wouldn't have made, had I not been 24 and idealistic and completely out of my mind.

I was having lunch with Kara today and we were talking about love and addiction, two themes with which we are both intimately acquainted.

As I sat across from her, talking, laughing, holding a hot cup of coffee between my palms, I felt like I stepped outside myself and was looking at a confident, calm, mature, accepting woman who was speaking with my voice.

Who the fuck was this woman? And how did she get here? How did she slip into this vinyl diner booth, where did she get the money to pay for her coffee?

And why is she wearing my jeans?

I said,
"Do you know what the best thing is about my life now? I'm not afraid of tragedy anymore. You know, I lived a somewhat sheltered life; nothing really bad ever happened to me. So when it did, it nearly destroyed me. I lived almost in fear of something tragic happening, because I knew that it was just, mathematically, only a matter of time. And now that it has, and because I lived through it and came out of it stronger, I know I could do it again. It won't kill me. Boy, is that liberating."

And that's the fucking truth.

So, yeah, I'm still not sure exactly why I was crying. Maybe it wasn't at all because, omg, I have no idea how I got to this place in my life.

Maybe, really, I was crying because on some level, all along, I always knew that I would.

Shaun Cassidy and me – The love story continues

Part II
Imaginary friends and paper towel tanktops
I continued to watch The Hardy Boys every week and despise that whore Nancy Drew.



And so my love for Shaun grew and grew, and, as is only natural, things progressed with us to the obvious next level:

The Hardy Boys had become my imaginary friends.

Here's how it worked. My friend Kelly, who lived down the block and had two older brothers who not only wouldn't play with her, but also tortured her, spent a lot of time at my house. We played pretend girl games like Gilligan's Island and Supermodel and she was, I think, the first person I ever kissed. We were five though, so calm down, you goddamned drooling sex perverts.

Anyway, Kelly always enthusiastically jumped right into the strange, illusory worlds I created. She was the perfect, willing beta to my alpha-girl commander of pretend play, always consenting to be Ken or Gilligan or even Jack in "Three's Company".

It was during these pretend games with Kelly that I first got the idea of playing Nancy Drew. This morphed into Nancy Drew and 'Friend' (She was, of course the 'friend'), then eventually it became Sexy Nancy Drew and 'Sexy Friend'.

Being sexy at five meant taking off our shirts and sneaking a paper towel roll up to my room, then ripping off lengths of Bounty and winding them around our middles, thereby creating our own home made tube tops. Crimes always got solved better when Sexy Nancy Drew and Sexy Friend wore disco clothes.

Now, in this game, we didn't actually solve any crimes, we just chased the Hardy Boys around my house. We would spend hours running up and down the stairs, clutching at our tube tops, popping in and out of bedrooms, on the hunt for those elusive Boys.
Once we found them, we would bring them back to my room (sometimes via lasso...I also loved Lynda Carter's 'Wonder Woman' at the time) and kiss them.

Chasing The Hardy Boys was hard, dirty work.
We would skid into the kitchen and demand my mother tell us their whereabouts. She'd look up, take a sip of coffee, then gesture wearily with her cigarette, "That way..." and go back to her book.

I played this game whenever Kelly came over, but also by myself. Sometimes I would skip the chasing part altogether and bring the Boys Hardy right into my room. Sometimes I let my little sister play too, but at three, Lisa did not yet understand the intricacies of seductively solving crime. Not to worry, though. That Christmas, Lisa and I would receive Shaun Cassidy dolls and things were about to completely change...



(to be continued...)

Shaun Cassidy and me

I would like to tell you guys a heartwarming holiday love story, delivered in several parts. Our tale begins in 1977 and comes full circle at its climactic end in the Christmas season of present day.


Part I

I was four years old in 1977. I first discovered Shaun Cassidy when my mother introduced me to "The Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew Mysteries" television show. I'd had a collection of old Nancy Drew books in my room that, since I couldn't read yet, I used for playing library, pretend-stamping the inside of each worn hardcover and marveling over the 1950's black-and-white drawings of Nancy in various states of peril.

I didn't know then that I would later grow to hate that bitch of a girl sleuth and burn at her with misunderstood carnal envy. See, not only was Nancy Drew a cool teenager, with developed breasts and long feathered hair and eyeliner, but she also got to solve dangerous crimes every week with Joe Hardy (played, of course, by Shaun Cassidy), who was a rock-star/boy detective with chest hair, and on whom I had developed a hardcore fixation.

I watched the show every week with religious fervor. I pulled the groovy gold pillows off our couch and arranged them the floor where I lay with my black lab, pretending to brush her with an ashtray while I somehow tried to make the precious hour of mystery and romance go sloooower.

My mother, with an instinct to feed her little child's interests/obsessions (a drive I fully understand now because of "High School Musical"), bought me Shaun Cassidy's rock record, which became my favorite thing ever.



I didn't realize until years later that "Da Do Run Run" and "Be My Baby" were not songs stolen from Shaun, original writer and performer. In my eyes he was a rock god. But the best part of the album was the centerfold inside the record sleeve. This was a full-frontal photo of Shaun lounging against a rock or a tree, wearing tight jeans that emphasized the wonderful bulge of his crotch.

I will confess that, after being tucked into my white canopy bed at night, I pulled that centerfold out from under my pillow and licked that bulge so many times that it began to look worped and worn. I simply couldn't help myself.



I got my hands on one of my older cousin's "Tiger Beat" magazines and convinced her to give me a glossy pull-out photo of Shaun, which I then taped to a pillow and stashed in my closet to also took out at night, in order to practice my kissing. (Again, this was really only licking the picture until there was a hole in Shaun's mouth, because I had no idea how to kiss yet.)

But I needed to be ready for when I actually met him.



I was utterly, utterly convinced that when I got old enough, I would go to Hollywood and sit in the front row of his concert and he'd drop his microphone, shocked at the sight of me, and pull me up onstage to sing "Be My Baby" to me.

Yes, Shaun. Yes, of course I will. Duh.

To be continued...

Because I love you.

And I want you to have a good weekend.

Tee hee.

Oh, and I hope you all have lots and lots of sexual intercourse this holiday.

Mwah!

Apparently I have bad gaydar.

When I'm bored at work I like to play this game in my head called 'gay or not gay?'

I listen to the conversations of my co-workers and watch their moves and try and figure it out.

Apparently my gaydar sucks, though, because there's one guy I work with who I have known for a while; he is short and smells really good and always comes over to my desk to say hi and shoot the shit about graphic design and I kind of always thought he was flirting with me. I just found out, however, that he has had a serious boyfriend for like, years. Huh.

Also, there's one guy who absolutely stumps me. Here are some thing's I've observed about him, and maybe you guys can help me figure out whether he's dick or vagina:

1. Likes to greet people with "Ciao!"

2. Apologized yesterday to a co-worker for being 'so bitchy before'

3. Whistles and sings to himself at his desk, a mixed variety of top-40 songs, especially Pink and Celine Dion, and this morning he was singing "We are all in this together" from High School Musical

4. Has professionally frosted hair

5. Talks to grandmother daily on phone

6. Has 2008 calendar on desk of Rockefeller Center

7. Has paperclips on desk arranged in separate containers, organized by size

8. Gets pissed when co-workers borrow his febreeze without asking

I need some help here, bloggers. I am stumped, stumped, stumped.

Kisses.

Santa is made-up, sweetie. Just like god.

I sort of tread lightly around the idea of Santa Claus.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no scrooge, but I simply don't like to encourage the belief that, instead of me getting Lily gifts, there is a fat jolly old bitch who sneaks in the window (we live in an apartment, so we've had to revise the story somewhat...no chimney. So Santa is a sort of creepy cat burglar), and brings her presents that he made in his 'toyshop' (China).

While I certainly don't want to have that kid who marches into kindergarten and ruins Christmas for all her pals by announcing that Santa is bullshit, I'm not a big fan of lying to my daughter, either. Especially when I'm a hardworking single mama who isn't that keen on letting some made up guy take credit for bringing my kid shit that my hard-earned dollars bought, that my tired ass waited in line at Kay Bee's going out of business sale to purchase, that I spent precious work hours online at Amazon to order.

Still, there is merit to the magic of Santa. I have learned much since last Christmas.

But. Unless Lily comes out and asks me if Santa is real, which she hasn't, I sort of just don't mention him. He's there in the backdrop, a nice idea, part of a Christmas parable that makes the holiday more magical and sweet. But I think the holiday is about so much more than presents and Santa Claus. I don't really talk about him that much, and I certainly don't weild him as a weapon to keep Lily's behavior in line, as so many American parents seem to do. There's this secretary at work, who I hear daily screaming on the phone at her four year old, "Stop hitting Grandpa, or Santa won't bring you any toys!!!"

That shit is fucked up.

It's a Christmas miracle!

Wheeeee!

It's a new week, and I still have a job. It's 65 degrees outside (WHAT?!), yes, it fucking is, and I'm determined to let the sunshine in. I'm about to take a lunch break and go enjoy the Christmas finery glittering along 5th avenue, while licking an ice cream cone in short shorts and flip flops.

These are strange times, indeed.

This weekend Lily and I found the only theater in New York City that was still showing "High School Musical 3" and I stuffed my purse with juice boxes, pirates booty and smoked almonds (my lame version of movie junk food). Dude, that movie was so freaking good. It just made me totally giddy. And I deserves some fucking giddy. Lil and I were dancing in our seats and clapping like maniacs. I swear to god I was a gay man in a past life.

I feel like I wouldn't like me if I met me

This week has sucked a bunch of hemorrhoid-riddled anus.

First, I seem to have an ever-diminishing supply of pants that I can still button, and even fewer without visible coffee stains. Reaching into my closet to pull out one of these winners first thing in the morning really sets a shitty tone for the whole day, ya know?

Plus, my workweek has felt like one continuous episode of "American Idol"; I've been watching, with diarrheah-inducing nervousness, as a parade of my co-workers gets called into my supervisors office to find out if they are "safe" or "in the bottom three" or simply getting booted off the show (with a generous severance package!).

Also, it has rained for the last three consecutive days and you know what havoc that wreaks on my hair.

And, um, I gave blood yesterday and have decided I'd like it back. I can't afford to give away any more parts of myself, as it turns out. I feel like I've lost some of my powers.

All this bullshit is making me feel unsettled and kind of frightened, frankly.

A normal girl might just let go a little and allow the people around her to pick up the slack for once. But not me.

No, sir. I put on my bitch face and curl up in a ball on my couch and seethe and throw things at people.

Now, Git

Hey! I'm blogging over here today.

Because on that blog, I can say even more retarded things.

Come visit! Bring friends!

Signs, signs, everywhere signs

With the close of another year, I find myself reflective.

Sigh.

As Lily gets another year older, I think back on all the things I didn't know about when she was a baby. Goddamn, I was an ignoramus. I realize that if I ever had another child, I'd be certain to pay closer attention to certain signs.

God, I wish I'd known about the signs when Lily was a baby. Things would have been SO much easier.

Alas. In spite of my own bumbling ineptitude, I have managed to keep my daughter alive for the last 5 or so years. And because I am a caring nurterer, I want to pass on some of the things I've learned. You know, in the interest of helping you all out with your own families.

For instance:


It's really important, when taking your baby out to see the friendly neighborhood garbage truck pick up its daily load in the morning, to remember not to stand directly under the dumpster. That shit is way heavy. You never know, you know?


Don't run over your baby with a tractor.


Plastic bags, though really sweet-looking adornments, do not really make good hats.


Oversized buckets filled with unidentifiable substances (such as, say, pickle brine, cleaning solution, vodka, lye) should be kept on high shelves so that baby cannot fall into them (and you KNOW those babies are curious!)


And finally, I think just as a general rule, keep this one in mind:



Watch out for those goddamned little buggers, man. They will fuck your shit up. They will take away your ability to ever have a good nights sleep for the rest of your life, because in the beginning, they want to freaking breastfeed all the time. Then, they keep you awake at night because all you do is worry about them. These are the things nobody tells you. Watch out. Also, they will rob you blind. Keep your wits about you. Just a friendly warning.

Here's to a FINE '09!!!

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose

OMG, I just came into work this morning and was greeted by the coolest thing: an email from the CEO of my company!!!

I know, ME! Getting an e-mail from the CEO!!! So cool!!!

The message outlines the "Accelerated implementation of our strategic plan" for 2009.
Neat!!!

First, it's super cool that the CEO would think to include me on the distribution list of this very important email...moi, a lowly contractor, a spec, really, swimming under the radar in the tiny creative department of my buttoned-down corporation. I am so psyched to be receiving this 'top secret inside information' about the company's 'strategic plan'. I mean, you know you've really arrived when you start receiving The Corporate Spam.

And, well, since I have a teeny girl brain and I don't speak CEO, I had to have a co-worker come over to my cubicle and translate the exciting news about 2009 for me.

Okay, lessee....Lemme break it down for you:

1. Strategic Plan = Laying off 5300 employees! Wow! That is some real creative thinking. Lighten the load, make the company stronger!!! I feel ya!

2. Accelerated = We were gonna wait til some time next year to do this, but, aw fuck, let's just do it now. This way you can get some 'extra holiday bonding time' with your families, and run back to the mall to return all those Christmas gifts you bought that you won't be able to pay off when the Visa bill comes next month. Your kids don't NEED all that crap, anyway. Also, you'll probably need the extra time to put your house on the market and call your parents to see if you can move back in with them for a while. Cool? Cool. You know, it's all about people in this business.

Looks like perhaps I picked a good time to be a freelancer. Unnattached, flowing in the wind...and available to help my friends pack up their personal belongings in boxes and cart them out to their cars.

Gulp.

Quite the conundrum

Well, I just went to the ladies room at work.

And there, in the stall I generally frequent (third one in...never, EVER use the first one; it is, statistically speaking, the one used most often and, in my opinion, the one most likely to give you crabs), I saw the strangest thing.

Behind the toilet was a big piece of lettuce.

Now. How the heck'd that get there????

Inquiring minds want to know.

Thoughts?

Happy Anniversary to Me

Exactly one year ago I started this blog.

It's been quite a year, my friends. Quite a year.

I've met a lot of wonderful people through this blog, and I love reading your posts and look forward to all your comments.

For those of you who have been entertained by my ramblings, I thank you for visiting and continuing to come back. For those of you who come here hoping to see naked pictures of me, I will continue to taunt you with the possibility of that in the future.

Thanks, y'all!!!

MWAH!!!!