Category Archives: let’s just talk from our hearts

Well I Guess It Would Be Nice.

Oct

2010

I mean it takes courage just to be you. To get out of bed every single day knowing full well you gotta be you. I couldn’t do it! I ain’t that strong and I ain’t that brave. — The Office

Some days when I wake up and walk out the door I feel like I’m walking off a plank. Sometimes my hands are tied behind my back and sometimes I’m blindfolded. Sometimes there are crocodiles in the water. Sometimes the water is cold. On very rare occasions Peter Pan swoops in and rescues me before I hit the water, but usually it’s up to me to save myself. I don’t know how I’m going to do it. Sometimes the best way to do it is not to think about doing it. Sometimes I really don’t care what happens to me; to quote the scary Russian man from one of those Rocky sequels, “If he dies, he dies.” I put on my whatever glasses and look at the world through the lenses of crystal-clear indifference.

I gotta have faith. If I don’t have faith then I may as well give up and go on Cruise control. And I don’t mean like in cars, I mean I may as well go batshit crazy and jump on furniture and let my delusions completely take over. It can be a struggle not to do this. This is why I have to have faith. I have to have faith that shit is going to work out for me. I have to have faith that my feelings are not facts. I have to have faith that there is something good coming for me.

The hardest thing is not to get caught in the “how.” How and faith don’t work well together. Wondering how something will happen can destroy you. You need to think about the why or the because. You need to just believe in you and that you are enough and that the bridge from here to there will emerge. Honestly the best thing to do is not to think about it. Just do what you do, have faith, believe in yourself, maybe stop hating yourself, and see what happens. The more you think about something the less clear it will seem.

It is possible that I will one day walk out of the house feeling like the pirate instead of the captured. Maybe, one day, like the Great Captain Hook, I too will have an old sea shanty written in my honor. Or a song like the one Gaston had. People should be singing about the cleft in my chin. I’m just going to keep jutting it out into the world and see what happens.

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Positivity or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.

Sep

2010

It’s a Zen thing, like how many babies fit in a tire. — Waiting for Guffman

I’m going to make a conscious effort, right here and now, to stop giving myself an ulcer. I am not past Almie or future Almie; I am present Almie. I can’t just sit back and let Future Almie take care of everything and I can’t blame Past Almie for everything. If I keep it up at this rate I’m going to wind up like F. Scott Fitzgerald but, you know, without the talent or the career. I’ll just be a poor drunk who dies of a massive heart attack. Or I’ll wind up like Zelda and I’ll go mad and die in a hospital fire. I’m not sure which death is worse. At least F. Scott was probably wearing a nice sweater vest.

Every time I want to skip past this part of my life or let my wind wander to another time I am going to take a deep breath, simply to remind myself that I am here now and alive now. One day, God-willing, I will be old and I will wish that I were in my place right now, typing this, worried about my future career and lack of love. Then I will really want to kick Past Almie’s ass. But then I won’t have learned my lesson at all. Even talking about it now clearly proves that I haven’t learned how to be in the moment. I am never going to be Mick Jagger. I am never going to be Charlize Theron or January Jones. I am never going to be Marion Davies. I am never going to be Oprah. I am never going to be Ellen Paige. I am never going to be Jeff Golblum. I am never going to be Serge Gainsbourg or even Charlotte Gainsbourg. But I will get to be me. I will get to be Almie. I will get to be Apocalypstick. So I’m going to honor that and I’m going to let that mean something.

I believe that “Let It Bleed” is by far the best Stones album. I can’t stop listening to “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” How many times in my life have I heard this song? In how many movies, TV shows, and Coke commercials? How many times have I wondered, what the hell does this song actually mean? When has Mick Jagger not ever gotten what he wanted? Did he want the private jet but could only get first-class commercial? And am I a hopeless teenager at heart for wanting to apply this song to my own life?

No matter. If I can’t get what I want, I’ll find a way to get what I need. Not what I’ll settle for, mind you. There’s a difference between getting what you need and getting what you can get. I’ll get what I need. Seriously, this song and the Mary Tyler Moore theme song may have changed my life. How will I make it on my own? This world is awfully big…but it’s time I started LIVING! I’M GONNA MAKE IT AFTER ALL! MEOWING CAT! I’LL GET WHAT I NEED! CHOIR OF CHILDREN FADING OUT! I’m going to be genuinely happy for people, and anyone who isn’t happy for me doesn’t deserve to be in my life!

I’m going to start enjoying this weird and awkward time in my life the way mothers love their weird and awkward preteen children.

Tomorrow I leave for the east coast for my Nana’s 90th birthday! I’ll be back next week!

Love Is All Around (Theme From Mary Tyler Moore) — Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

You Can’t Always Get What You Want — The Rolling Stones

The Mary Tyler Moore Show Theme — Sonny Curtis

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How Am I Not Myself? Part 2.

Aug

2010

My friend Chloe surprised me at work a few days ago (and it was a surprise to her, too; I don’t think she knew I was working that day. Also, don’t bother asking me where I work because I am not going to ever tell you, Internet.) I was standing in the corner, smelling our new lip glosses. They smell really good, okay? I hear someone call my name, and I turn and see a beautiful girl. I didn’t have my glasses on, so I didn’t know it was her. “Are you okay?” she asked me, coming up to me the way you would approach…well the way you would approach a sad-looking girl methodically sniffing lip gloss. We walked around the store, me pretending to help her. “You know, you don’t have to pretend,” she said. “Pretend to help you find something?” I asked. “No, you don’t have to pretend to be okay.”

It was such a release. I don’t have to pretend to be okay. I don’t have to laugh at something that I think I’m supposed to laugh at. I don’t have to be a happy person. I am the person who had a fucking diabolical summer and whose cat just died. But if I’m not supposed to pretend then what winds up happening is I let the depression overtake me and I watch “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” for something like the twelfth time only this time I thought Clementine was a bitch and this saddened me in ways I can’t even describe.

The day after that, I went to a friend’s birthday party. I thought I looked okay. I sat on the couch talking to a good friend of mine about hummus and other important things in life when the host saw me, stopped dead in his tracks and said, “Honey are you okay? You look absolutely miserable.”

Damn it. Now everyone’s looking at me. “My cat just died,” I said, thus officially taking on the role of Who Invited Her for the evening. Everyone was kind and sympathetic and told me about how they understood because they had to put their dogs down, and it just made me even more sad, thinking about a world where people are basically just waiting for that moment when they have to put down their dogs. I excused myself and went into the bathroom.

My face was pale, which is really saying something for me. I looked like Mick Jagger died, sat in the ground for a few years, then some sick people said, “Hey let’s dig up Mick Jagger and put him in a party dress” and did.

I spent yesterday in a fog. This morning I realized I bought red eyeshadow. I still approve of this purchase, I just don’t remember it happening. I also bought a giant ring and a rhinestone studded necklace of a cat. Yes, I am this person. This is me. Apocalypstick and Almie are at an impasse. I realize that I am now referring to myself not only in the third person, but as an alter ego. I understand if this makes you want to vomit.

And how was your weekend?

Ev’rybody Wants To Be A Cat — Psapp

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Goodbye My Love.

Aug

2010

My best friend in the world, Sony (pictured above), died unexpectedly this morning. (You may remember him from such films as “How To Get Over A Break-Up”). He was completely wonderful. He followed me everywhere, and if I forgot to leave my bedroom door open for him he would cry until I opened it. We had our own language. I swear to God he was sarcastic. He slept with me every night. When I took him to the vet I would carry him and he would sit quietly and patiently on my lap in the waiting room. People would marvel at him and say, “Your cat is so calm!” and I would pat him on the head and feel like a proud parent. I had many nicknames for him. I would coo over him and scratch his back and say things like, “Sooooooony, I think you’re exceeeeeeeeptional!” and “Soooooooony, I’m going to nominate you for a Golden Globe Awaaaaaard!” I loved him and he loved me and I will miss him every day.

Has a death of a pet affected you? How did you get over it?

Conversation Piece — David Bowie

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Stop Hitting On Me.

Aug

2010

I’ve been unsure of how to approach this topic. But I think it must be said.

Just because I am a young woman and I am alone does not give you permission to start hitting on me. I don’t want your attention. I just want a cup of coffee. I just want to pick up frozen yogurt for my mom. I just want you to be polite, take my money, and give me whatever it is I came there to buy. I don’t want you to start asking me about my life. You don’t know me. I don’t know you. When I try to shoot you down nicely and tell you, “I’m just getting frozen yogurt for my mom,” I don’t need you to then quiz me about why I don’t like frozen yogurt.

Someone somewhere came up with this phrase that goes something like, “When a man says no, that’s the end of the discussion. When a woman says no, it’ the beginning of a negotiation.” No, I do not want you to sit next to me. No, do not try to come up with a compromise. No, you cannot come in, we are closed. No, do not try to reason that you’ll only be a few minutes. Funny that when my male coworker tells you we’re closed, you leave immediately.

As women, we’re subliminally taught to be polite under duress. Because if we say no, or reject any sort of advance even if we do it kindly, we’re labeled a bitch. We don’t want you to join us when we’re eating alone? Bitch. We don’t want you to buy us a drink? Bitch. We don’t feel flattered when you catcall us on the street? Bitch. And the thing is, we have no way of knowing which one of you is going to snap and attack us. I’M NOT SAYING THAT ALL MEN ARE PREDATORS AND THAT AS WOMEN WE SHOULD ALL BE AFRAID. I’m just saying that a young woman walking down the street, simply by being female, is more likely to be harassed than a man. It’s not fair but it’s something we’ve come to accept.

But it’s not enough for some men. Sometimes we just want to go out with our girlfriends have a girls’ night out. We do not want you to come up to us, drunk out of your mind, and try to get us to invite you into our group. When I had a boyfriend, it didn’t matter, men still did what they wanted anyway, but now that I’m single it’s like men (not ALL MEN) feel they have the right to blatantly hit on me. Did I ask you to buy me a drink? Did I come up to you and interact with you? No. Did I try to be polite and say “no” without hurting your feelings? Yes. So now what am I supposed to do? Curse you out? Then what? Do I need to be worried that you’re going to be a total asshole?

When it comes to bars or parties I can understand a little more why you would come up to me. After all, you’re at a bar or a party to mingle. To meet people and have fun and so forth. But when I’m running errands? You really need to make your moves on me when I’m in sweatpants, with unwashed hair, and in a hurry to just get on with my day? Do you really think that I’m going to drop everything and ask you to go out? No. I don’t want your attention. I want my sandwich.

Now. Sometimes I love attention from men. But when it’s respectful and when I clearly indicate that I want it. Guys, here is how you tell if a girl is interested: if she makes direct eye contact with you, smiles, and asks you questions, then she probably wouldn’t mind getting to know you. (If you’re British and you’re in America, you’re pretty much given an automatic green light. This is a half-joke.) If she’s mumbling, looking down, closing off her space to you, and gives short answers, she wants you to leave. She’s just been conditioned to think that she can’t say, “Get the fuck away from me.” There are LOTS OF WOMEN, I KNOW, WHO CAN SAY THAT. And who have every right. But I’m just not one of them. I can’t. I have to to think of myself first. I can’t worry that you, strange man in a bar, is going to flip out when I reject you harshly.

I had a stalker once. It wasn’t pleasant.

Basically, here’s what I’m saying. I do not hate men. I just hate being hit on when I clearly do not want to be hit on. And I think men probably feel that way too. It’s just harder when you’re a woman sometimes. Maybe that’s something I’m not supposed to say.

My “no” is not a negotiation.

I Want It That Way — The Backstreet Boys

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How Am I Not Myself?

Aug

2010

I think the worst thing someone can do is dictate how you should feel. If someone tells you to calm down, you’re going to get angrier. If someone tells you to cheer up, you’re going to sulk. If someone tells you to move on, you’re going to punch them in the face.

Speaking of faces, I thought I’ve been putting on a good one. I go out and I think I’m OK. I think I’m myself. Then someone proves to me that I’m not. Someone will ask me if I’m upset about something. Or if I’m sedated. Then I realize that I wasn’t fooling anyone. My emotions, or lack thereof, were as obvious on my face as red lipstick. I hate admitting that I’m having a hard day, week, month (year I’llbethereforyouuuu) and I especially hate putting it here on my blog because I want people to think that I am indestructible, like Iron Man, at all times. I’ve never seen Iron Man but from what I’ve gathered from the posters, he appears to be indestructible. I think he wears a metal robot suit. The commercials let me know that he’s also really cool because he wears sunglasses and carries briefcases and smokes.

So, yes, I am not having the best time right now. I was for a little while and then it came crashing down on my foot. I also hate declaring that I’m not doing well, because from what I know and have seen and personally experienced, it could be a lot lot lot worse. I do have my health. I have my family. Those two things are the essentials in life, and two out of two is fantastic. It’s just my feelings that aren’t OK and what are feelings but things that annoy us anyway? It’s not real. It’s not like I can just check out because I have feelings. If I had malaria no one would fault me for avoiding life. But feelings?

It’s just a culmination of things right now. I’ll be fine soon. I’m supposed to be fine now. I’m not. Suck my balls. I’m sorry. I hope that one day I will be able to write something without cursing or being crude. I also hope that one day I’ll be able to write something and not make a pop culture reference. This is maybe my biggest goal after appearing on “Mad Men.”

In the mean time Ob la di. Ob la da. Sometimes I wish that this blog was a secret website where I could say what I really wanted to say. Then I remember that’s what diaries are for. I remember how I used to write in journals. Now the idea pains me. I don’t want to hand write everything. I’m not Abe Lincoln. I have a fucking computer. But I think my reliance on computers has weakened my handwriting. Do you remember when you were a kid and you would forge your parents’ signature on something? You would do it slowly and carefully thinking, “This is how she signs it.” This is how adults write. That’s what my handwriting looks like. Like a kid trying to write like how they think an adult would write. It’s ghastly.

To quote someone I never, ever thought I would quote earnestly: “[I] want to change my clothes, my hair, my face.”

87 Sundays — Ruth

This song is a lost gem from the 1960s. It is depressing but in the best kind of way.

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Revelation Courtesy Of Ben Affleck.

Apr

2010

An awesome friend of mine really blew my mind today and she did it via the words of Ben Affleck.

I know. I cursed her for making me think that Ben Affleck was a remotely intelligent and/or thoughtful person. But it appears that he is.

Here’s what happened. I was being a big baby and feeling mopey and a little jealous of someone. “Why don’t I have what she has?” I moaned. “I know it’s stupid to feel this way but I can’t help it!” And then My Friend said this:

“I’ll say what Ben Affleck once said on the cover of PARADE magazine: ‘My success is not dependent on the failure of others.'”

It was an “A-HA!” moment for me. JOHHHHHHHHNNNNN TRRAAAAAAAVOOOOOOOLLTAAAAA! But really. I had never thought of it like that before. I was the kind of person who always let jealousy win. Or rather, it wasn’t letting jealousy win so much as failing to realize that there were other options. But now I get it. Why should I care that Neely O’Hara has a brand new shiny bicycle [note: in this case, “brand new shiny bicycle” is just an example and not what I’m really talking about] and I still walk like a chump? Her having this bike doesn’t mean that I won’t someday have a bike of my own, or that maybe one day I’ll realize that I just prefer walking. And Neely seems like a rad person. What she has has nothing to do with what I don’t. Not in the least.

“I mean he must be jealous of Damon sometimes,” my friend continued. “But whatevz, he’s Ben Affleck!” And I am me! Sure, I don’t have Affleck’s career, or Damon’s, or The Progressive Auto Insurance Girl’s (and I’m not fronting, I would love her career) but I’m me! My mom says I’m cool! I’m smart…I think. I’m not really ugly. I write. I’m in a relationship that I like being in. I think I have friends. All of the baristas at Starbucks know my name, and half of them know my order.

This is a big deal for me, you guys. I’m really growing! I’m gonna turn the world on with my smile!

In The Sun — She & Him