There's No Place Like . . .?

I have recently discovered that location, location, location, may not necessarily play that big a role in a person's happiness. Maybe it's just the hard-wired capitalist in me (though believe me when I say I straddle the line between Capitalism and Socialism, well hover over it actually, more than anything else) but I beleive it's money that truly changes a half empty glass into a half full one.

If I'd had money there, I probably wouldn't have left. If I had money here, I'd probably feel like the move was justified. Money lets you live in nice places and see amazing things and do everything wonderful that you've been dreaming of doing for as long as you can remember. Without it, you're still the same hot, sweaty girl in the middle of the desert pining for the day that you will be surrounded by beauty and color and all those marvellous bits of life that you've missed out on.

And oh yeah, there's other stuff too, that you don't count on when you upheave your whole life and strike out for the unknown. Shit follows you.

I packed up everything that meant anything (6 boxes of books, 4 boxes of clothes, 2 boxes of kitchenware, 3 boxes of cds and dvds and 3 boxes of random miscellaneous crap)and ventured (narrowly survived a two day road trip with my brother at the wheel)across three states to get here, only to find that even though I made sure NOT to pack them (in fact I'm pretty sure I left them sitting beside the dumpster next to my computer desk), fear, anxiety and general self-loathing picked up my scent and followed me here. I think they may have actually been waiting here before I even arrived. I'm fairly certain I saw them hanging around the giant T-Rex at the Burger King in Palm Springs.

As it turns out, moving is just geography. It seems like a fresh start, but really it's just all the same ghosts haunting you and the same hurts still stinging, even if there is a brand new, lovely waterfont view to look upon and a cool breeze blowing.

Broken

When you are in a relationship with someone, even if the nature of that relationship is undefined, complicated, nebulous, or any other of dozen things, you expect a certain level of respect, especially if you are sleeping with said person. You expect when he makes a promise, he will live up to that promise, that you mean more to him than the fear he so desperately clings to, which keeps pulling him under the riptide, suffocating him and eventually you. It's funny how quickly hate surfaces.

People will never tell you the truth and they will never keep their promises because it's too hard. It's too messy to meet emotions head on and deal with them. No, better to deaden yourself inside, make yourself numb. But you don't know that going in. You think that the things that are said are real, that they mean something, that your presence is appreciated, important, and that dirtiest of dirty words, wanted. It isn't until you've wasted so much of yourself that you discover you never mattered and you never will. It's one thing to be thrown away once, but when it happens time after time, relationship after relationship, what's left? How do you come back from all those little deaths? How many more tiny fractures can you take before you shatter?

I say build your walls and build them high. There are only a handful of people in the world worth knowing anyway.

Thirty-Effing-Five

The contents of my fridge are as follows: a gallon of water, a pitcher of iced-tead, ketchup, soy sauce, leftover pasta, an orange, three strawberry yogurts and bottle of Italian dressing. The contents of my wallet: four maxed out credit cards, driver's license, sixty-two cents in nickles and pennies and a movie stub from Hot Tub Time Machine (don't judge it was free).

And so it is. Apparantly my life is where dreams come to die. A friend recently (twenty minutes ago)told me that whenever he talks to me, bad things happen. Happy Birthday to me. Because another candle on this cake is exactly what I need to mark yet another uneventful year.

I'm lookin for a hallelujah!

Shiny Happy Fits of Rage

With Valentine's Day swiftly approaching, breathing down the back of my neck with its hot, rancid chocolate breath, I feel now would be an apt time to express my own thoughts on the subject of love and relationships.

Here's what I think; love is an imperfect, complicated emotion that people insist on placing unrealistic expectations on. Love is rarely unselfish, kind or patient. Love is a messy, gruesome horror show of chemicals and endorphins that make people crazy. Why would you pair that up with confections and flowers?

The point is, Valentine's Day is a symptom of dysfunction of romantic love. We've become automatons even in love! Hallmark has decided that on this one specific day, you are supposed to express(prove) your love with thoughtful (expensive) gifts and romantic surprises. However, nothing about this day is spontaneous or romantic. Wouldn't it mean more to do something "special" on a random Tuesday in June?
And let's talk about "Love" for a minute here. I've had my heart incinerated just like everyone else. I've been in the trenches and I have to say, WTF? I look around me and I know maybe four couples who are genuinely happy. The rest are miserable. What's worse is that they refuse to do anything about it! There are far worse things in life than being alone, I promise you that. So you don't get the cliche dozen roses or the unimaginative V-day surprise, you'll live. I guarantee the sun will rise anyway. And maybe, just maybe, if you stop selling yourself short, you'll find someone better suited for you. You may even find your "soul mate," or whatever cosmic crap notion "They" decide to shove down our throats next.

Whatever, so we observe a day with an origin no one can even agree on. But hey, nothing says romance like a Roman priest being viciously beaten and decapitated for marrying lovers in secret. I don't know why I'm surprised. We celebrate the slaughter of the Native Americans and call it Thanksgiving. What goes better with genocide than turkey and stuffing?

And yes, I did just compare Valentine's Day to the annihilation of an entire people. Think about it.

Procreation, Shmocreation

Before I get into this latest rant, I'd like to preface it by saying that I like children. Well, that is, I like certain children. These of course are the offspring of my closest friends and family, and their pictures are plastered across my refrigerator, held in place by various magnets of sometimes inappropriate sentiments. The point is, I am not a hater of children, nor am I a hater of those who choose to have them. I get it. Continuity is imperative to the survival of the species.
However, speaking as a single woman of a certain age who does not have children and doesn't really want them, I am treated, by some, as an oddity of sideshow proportions.

What's the big deal? The way people (especially mothers)look at me when I say that I don't want children is the way I imagine they would look at me if I announced I thought Hitler "was just misunderstood." I mean, really, the look of utter shock and disbelief is almost comical. People are really appalled by it. Suddenly it's about how I "haven't met the right man," or I'll "feel differently one day." No, I'm pretty sure this is it. I'm fairly certain (by fairly certain I mean absolutely positive) I don't, under any circumstances nor with anyone, want to breed. End of story.

So, I ask you, why does my refusal to proliferate mean I am selfish or some kind of second class citizen? How does knowing that maybe being a mother isn't the role for me prove that I am self-absorbed? Self-aware is more accurate. I am good with kids and I love the children in the my life. So why isn't that enough? And why do people act like my life as a single person with no children is less important that theirs? If I were on a sinking ship and they called out "women and children first," would that guarantee me a spot in the lifeboat since, according to some, my life is an abomination in the eyes of Mother Nature?

If I cured Cancer, would that make me important? If I won the Nobel Peace Prize (and hey, they give those to just about anybody these days) would that get people to stop acting so damn condescending? Not everyone should have children. In fact, a lot of people who already have children shouldn't be parents. Being a mother or father doesn't automatically make you a good person or an interesting person or a person of character or substance. You have to be those things already, sans children.

I know it's hard for some to believe, but you can actually live a happy and fulfilled life without having children or getting married. I know, I know, the gasp heard 'round the world, but let us not forget the abundance of important women in history who made huge and great contributions to our world who were both unmarried AND childless: Susan B Anthony, Gertrude Bell, Jane Austen, Elizabeth I of England, The Bronte Sisters, Florence Nightingale and long list of others that I won't bore you with. I almost mentioned Gloria Steinem but then that makes me look like a man hating feminist, and that has become a dirty word as of late, mostly because people are ignorant of its actual meaning, but that is another diatribe for another day.

At any rate, should I end up shriveled and alone, dead at the bottom of my staircase, face eaten by cats, I'm sure mothers of the world will cry out in unity, "told ya so."

The Customer is Always an A-hole

I am not a people person. Big surprise right? However, customers hold a very special place way down in the darkest part inside me where my heart is supposed to be. I hate them with a passion that burns so intensely it could solve the energy crisis. Believe me when I say, the customer is rarely EVER right.

The things customers complain about amaze me. All I can think is that their lives are either so dull or so perfect that something like having to wait in line sends them over the edge. Seriously? In the world we currently live in, you think the biggest travesty to plague humanity is having to wait an extra two minutes in line? Really? And why do people think that spending money at an establishment in the past, entitles them to special privileges in the present? "I've spent hundreds of dollars here over the years . . ." Big deal. "I pay your salary. If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have a job." Yes, people have said these things to me.

The real truth of it is that the customer needs the merchant far more than the merchant needs the customer. Where else would said customer go on a random Thursday or Saturday afternoon? By what other means can they measure their lives unless they can buy stuff? Buy, buy, buy. Own, own, own. Gotta have it! Give me a break. Don't act like you are doing me any favors because the truth is, you would cease to exist without your rampant consumerism so chew me.

Bleh.

Optimism is for Amateurs

Happy people, particularly those in love (an especially annoying breed), never understand the effect they have on souls with dispositions less sunny that theirs. They are incapable of comprehending why all their syrupy effrontery - all that saliva, sugar and perspiration - might offend the rest of us. When I say the "rest of us," I mean those of us who understand that life is not all lemon light and sun and gloss. Eternal optimism is a psychosis. That's right kids, sometimes life just blows chunks. Most of the time there is no light at the end of the tunnel, no sliver lining. We're just bumbling around in the dark, overlapping, nudging, bumping into each other without ever making any real connections. And let's face it, we like it that way. Real intimacy freaks us out.

If you find yourself nodding in agreement, welcome home. You are my people. If, however, you find yourself rolling your eyes and sighing heavily or feeling sorry for me and my "negative attitude," you should probably stop reading now because it's only going to get worse.