Being single at 23 is like, the worst thing ever. The worst. Especially if your best friend is still 22 and getting married in three months to some weirdo. WHY DIDN'T SHE TELL ME??
That's what our fight was about, anyway. Laurie asked me to be her maid of honor last week. And I was like, "...What? You mean if you ever get married right?" I was kind of joking but she stared at me and she was like, "Well yes, I am getting married in three months." And I thought she was joking back so I replied, "Wow, you barely know this guy, and you've already planned your wedding date and everything? Does he know?" To which she widened her eyes and said, "What?" To which I responded, "Wait...what?"
Apparently, Oscar already proposed to her maybe two weeks ago. And the first person she called was apparently me, except that I have absolutely no recollection of this. Laurie said it was at around 2 in the afternoon, on a Thursday, which meant that I was at work either changing diapers or making snacks or...something. Sober. Drug-free. Except Laurie didn't believe this and got mad, and I got mad because she's only known Oscar for less than three months and she's not even getting married in a church since Oscar is Taoist. And apparently he wanted to elope that Thursday afternoon but Laurie said no and turned it into an engagement. And Oscar smokes. And he's really, really into nightclubs, if you know what I mean.
The only thing Laurie said to all this was, "What are you, my grandma?" I said no. Then she said, "Well you want to be my maid of honor or what?" I told her I'd have to think about it because I didn't want to be maid of honor if Oscar was involved, and she kicked me out of the apartment.
I felt terrible but had honestly thought Oscar was just a tentative punching bag for all the misery and anger she suffered after her most recent ex-boyfriend ended their relationship, which, by the way, lasted three years through college.
But today, Laurie called me to tell me that she was mistaken and she had apparently called up an old friend from college about the engagement and not me. I was staying at our neighbor's apartment, and she didn't sound embarrassed or apologetic at all about calling the wrong person or kicking me out. All she said was, "Accidentally called Lena instead. You guys sound alike, okay? Now come home," then hung up.
We went shopping and celebrated all evening, and I didn't say another bad thing about Oscar. To be honest, if Laurie really likes him and wants to be with a smoker for the rest of her life, so be it. Staring at the diamond ring on her left hand, I'm actually secretly jealous. What's it like to make that kind of impulsive life decision? What's it like to raise your chin proudly and trust your own crazy ideas in a society where everyone thinks you've brewed up a recipe for disaster? Suddenly I wish I was the one who had scored an Oscar.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
comfort (1/4)
When my dad passed away in a motorcycle accident on a hot Tuesday morning, they found a train ticket and a white note in his jacket pocket. The ticket was to go to New York City that Friday. The note simply said: "Ella Moy."
At first, my mother was more baffled by this than by her husband's death. "A divorce lawyer?" she guessed. "One of his mistresses? God forbid--a love child! What was he going to do? Leave you to raise her?" I wanted to kindly reminded her that I was nineteen and no longer really needed "raising," except in the monthly allowance they gave me to spend at college. But as weeks passed, even if my dad had cheated on her dozens of times and fought with her every minute he had been alive, his absence began to pain her more than all that hurt combined.
We resided in Illinois. I was on scholarship at the University of Chicago and lived at home since we were close enough to the school. That summer, I decided to pass up my internship at a film studio in California to be with Mom. It was difficult watching her sweep her hands across photo album pages, reliving only happy memories of her and my dad in her mind. It was heartbreaking listening to her screaming and crying alone in the living room, waiting for my dad to come home at 2 in the morning like he used to. The yelling was the same old, "How could you do this to me?," except that this time there was no calm, drunken masculine voice to reply back, just her own echos bouncing off the walls. Even though she reenacted these scenes, she no longer remembered that any of it was Dad's fault. She only fought with herself.
Finally, it was September and I was heading back to school for my second year when my mom sat me down, surprisingly calm and cheery. "Listen, Allie," she began, placing her hands on top of mine and smiling. "I've got the most wonderful idea."
"Okay," I said hesitantly, preparing myself to agree to any idea about to come out of her mouth.
"Well, your father and I had been discussing this for a while now," she said, and I stared at her, bewildered. "Yes, I know what you're thinking, how can she and Dad agree on anything? But we really think this is the best for you. And we think you should transfer to New York University."
"Uh--wha, excuse me?"
"You really like film, don't you? And NYU has such a great film school, I've heard it's called 'Tisch School of the Arts'? I believe you know of it--well it's simply the cream of the crop!"
"Mom, I'm majoring in Economics. I want to go to business school."
"Then why did you have an internship at a movie company?"
I stared at her, and she beamed back cluelessly like I was denying everything her mind recalled I ever told her. "I was going to do marketing, not filming."
"Okay, well I can see that," my mom said, not the tiniest bit thrown off. "But we always thought you'd be wonderful studying film."
"I'm not interested in that."
"Well, I'm very interested." Mom took away her hands and reached into her pocket to reveal a small, folded white piece of paper. "And while you're in New York, be sure to find this girl, Ella Moy. Her mother and I are very close."
That's how I ended up in the busiest city in America, I guess. Just a second-busiest city girl, sent on a mission her father left behind by her unstable mom. Before I left for junior year at NYU, my mom's psychologist reassured me that things were looking up, and that all the shock was slowly leaving her. "Sending you to solve one of your father's mysteries will only boost her mental stability," he told me, like I was some kind of junior detective. "And you seem to be holding up pretty well with the death."
"I'm fine," I told him curtly, not wanting to get into it too deep. "And NYU will be great."
At first, my mother was more baffled by this than by her husband's death. "A divorce lawyer?" she guessed. "One of his mistresses? God forbid--a love child! What was he going to do? Leave you to raise her?" I wanted to kindly reminded her that I was nineteen and no longer really needed "raising," except in the monthly allowance they gave me to spend at college. But as weeks passed, even if my dad had cheated on her dozens of times and fought with her every minute he had been alive, his absence began to pain her more than all that hurt combined.
We resided in Illinois. I was on scholarship at the University of Chicago and lived at home since we were close enough to the school. That summer, I decided to pass up my internship at a film studio in California to be with Mom. It was difficult watching her sweep her hands across photo album pages, reliving only happy memories of her and my dad in her mind. It was heartbreaking listening to her screaming and crying alone in the living room, waiting for my dad to come home at 2 in the morning like he used to. The yelling was the same old, "How could you do this to me?," except that this time there was no calm, drunken masculine voice to reply back, just her own echos bouncing off the walls. Even though she reenacted these scenes, she no longer remembered that any of it was Dad's fault. She only fought with herself.
Finally, it was September and I was heading back to school for my second year when my mom sat me down, surprisingly calm and cheery. "Listen, Allie," she began, placing her hands on top of mine and smiling. "I've got the most wonderful idea."
"Okay," I said hesitantly, preparing myself to agree to any idea about to come out of her mouth.
"Well, your father and I had been discussing this for a while now," she said, and I stared at her, bewildered. "Yes, I know what you're thinking, how can she and Dad agree on anything? But we really think this is the best for you. And we think you should transfer to New York University."
"Uh--wha, excuse me?"
"You really like film, don't you? And NYU has such a great film school, I've heard it's called 'Tisch School of the Arts'? I believe you know of it--well it's simply the cream of the crop!"
"Mom, I'm majoring in Economics. I want to go to business school."
"Then why did you have an internship at a movie company?"
I stared at her, and she beamed back cluelessly like I was denying everything her mind recalled I ever told her. "I was going to do marketing, not filming."
"Okay, well I can see that," my mom said, not the tiniest bit thrown off. "But we always thought you'd be wonderful studying film."
"I'm not interested in that."
"Well, I'm very interested." Mom took away her hands and reached into her pocket to reveal a small, folded white piece of paper. "And while you're in New York, be sure to find this girl, Ella Moy. Her mother and I are very close."
That's how I ended up in the busiest city in America, I guess. Just a second-busiest city girl, sent on a mission her father left behind by her unstable mom. Before I left for junior year at NYU, my mom's psychologist reassured me that things were looking up, and that all the shock was slowly leaving her. "Sending you to solve one of your father's mysteries will only boost her mental stability," he told me, like I was some kind of junior detective. "And you seem to be holding up pretty well with the death."
"I'm fine," I told him curtly, not wanting to get into it too deep. "And NYU will be great."
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
an excerpt from traveling mercies, part 2: conversion
I got in bed, shaky and sad and too wild to have another drink or take a sleeping pill. I had a cigarette and turned off the light. After a while, as I lay there, I became aware of someone with me, hunkered down in the corner, and I just assumed it was my father, whose presence I had felt over the years when I was frightened and alone. The feeling was so strong that I actually turned on the light for a moment to make sure no one was there--of course, there wasn't. But after a while, in the dark again, I knew beyond any doubt that it was Jesus. I felt him as surely as I feel my dog lying nearby as I write this.
And I was appalled. I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die."
I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut but that didn't help because that's not what I was seeing him with.
Finally I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.
One week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the songs, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling--and it washed over me.
I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home...under a sky as blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute and then I hung my head and said, "Fuck it: I quit." I took a long deep breath and said out loud, "All right. You can come in."
So this was my beautiful moment of conversion.
-Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
PTL :)
And I was appalled. I thought about my life and my brilliant hilarious progressive friends, I thought about what everyone would think of me if I became a Christian, and it seemed an utterly impossible thing that simply could not be allowed to happen. I turned to the wall and said out loud, "I would rather die."
I felt him just sitting there on his haunches in the corner of my sleeping loft, watching me with patience and love, and I squinched my eyes shut but that didn't help because that's not what I was seeing him with.
Finally I fell asleep, and in the morning, he was gone.
One week later, when I went back to church, I was so hungover that I couldn't stand up for the songs, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling--and it washed over me.
I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home...under a sky as blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute and then I hung my head and said, "Fuck it: I quit." I took a long deep breath and said out loud, "All right. You can come in."
So this was my beautiful moment of conversion.
-Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
PTL :)
an excerpt from traveling mercies
It was Sunday morning and I got to go to church with [my friend's family]. All the children got dressed up. The parents looked like movie stars, so handsome and young, carrying babies, shepherding the bigger kids, smooching in the car.
I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, and the stations of the cross rendered in stained glass on the windows. I loved the curlicue angels in gold paint on the ceiling; I loved the woman selling holy cards. I loved the slutty older Catholic girls with their mean names, the ones with white lipstick and ratted hair that reeked of Aqua Net. I loved the drone of the priest intoning Latin. All that life surrounding you on all four sides plus the ceiling--it was like a religious bus station. They had all that stuff holding them together, and they got to be so conceited because they were Catholics.
Looking back on the God my friend believed in, he seems a little erratic, not entirely unlike her father--God as borderline personality. It was like believing in the guy who ran the dime store, someone with a kind face but who was always running behind and had already heard every one of your lame excuses a dozen times before--why you didn't have a receipt, why you hadn't noticed the product's flaw before you bought it. This God could be loving and reassuring one minute, sure that you had potential, and then fiercely disappointed the next, noticing every little mistake and just in general what a fraud you really were. He was a God whom his children could talk to, confide in, and trust, unless his mood shifted suddenly and he decided instead to blow up Sodom and Gomorrah.
-Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
I really like this excerpt because I really love the author's writing style here. I want to write like her. I want to make clever analogies and the irrelevant relevant. Sometimes I feel like the more I read books of a certain writing style, the more I'll pick it up. I'm not sure if that's true or not but it inspires me :).
I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, and the stations of the cross rendered in stained glass on the windows. I loved the curlicue angels in gold paint on the ceiling; I loved the woman selling holy cards. I loved the slutty older Catholic girls with their mean names, the ones with white lipstick and ratted hair that reeked of Aqua Net. I loved the drone of the priest intoning Latin. All that life surrounding you on all four sides plus the ceiling--it was like a religious bus station. They had all that stuff holding them together, and they got to be so conceited because they were Catholics.
Looking back on the God my friend believed in, he seems a little erratic, not entirely unlike her father--God as borderline personality. It was like believing in the guy who ran the dime store, someone with a kind face but who was always running behind and had already heard every one of your lame excuses a dozen times before--why you didn't have a receipt, why you hadn't noticed the product's flaw before you bought it. This God could be loving and reassuring one minute, sure that you had potential, and then fiercely disappointed the next, noticing every little mistake and just in general what a fraud you really were. He was a God whom his children could talk to, confide in, and trust, unless his mood shifted suddenly and he decided instead to blow up Sodom and Gomorrah.
-Anne Lamott, Traveling Mercies
I really like this excerpt because I really love the author's writing style here. I want to write like her. I want to make clever analogies and the irrelevant relevant. Sometimes I feel like the more I read books of a certain writing style, the more I'll pick it up. I'm not sure if that's true or not but it inspires me :).
Saturday, June 19, 2010
ldb: cookie cutters
Jack asked me a big question today.
The childcare center I work at has a TON of cookie cutters. I wouldn't be kidding if I said there were more than 100, with each design having two or three replicas. Flowers, stars, and bears are the common ones but there are also weird ones that are shaped like apples and pikachu. I guess the boss here is really big on making little kids happy when making cookies because our manager also gives us bonuses if we find and buy designs that haven't been covered already.
That morning, I was at a small cafe (my new favorite morning place since I've started avoiding the bakery Quentin works at) and ran into dinosaur cookie cutters. T-rexes and brachiosauruses and pterodactyls all shoved in a plastic bag selling for only $2.50. Strangely, the center doesn't have any of those yet, so I bought them. I showed them to my manager who promised me a $25 bonus on my next paycheck, and then I told the kids we were making cookies today.
Now Jack, he LOVES dinosaurs. So when I showed everyone the new cookie cutters, he got so excited he literally peed his pants. I had to take him to the adjoining laundry room and get him into a new pair of pants. That was disgusting. But while I was doing so, he asked, "Lea, I was wondering. Why did God make dinosaurs?"
"Uh, why do you ask?" The answer that was in my mind, was one that my parents and Sunday school teachers had told me: existence of dinosaurs proved there was life before humanity. Oh, and universal death (which will eventually be the case with humanity). There was no way I was going to explain death to a five-year-old, much less of the apocalyptic magnitude.
"I was just wondering, that's all. God seems so nice, why would He make big, scary animals?"
"Well, you see," I said, making up the story as I talked, "the earth used to be one big rock. So God made dinosaurs to stomp around on earth and make littler rocks that we get to build houses with today."
"Uh-huh. Then why did He kill them off?"
"Wow," I choked. What a blunt kid. What have his parents been teaching him?! "Because if they kept stomping around, the earth would just be millions and billions of little rocks, and we can't live on little rocks, now, can we?"
Jack just looked at me while I threw his ruined pants into the half-full laundry basket and washed my hands violently with soap.
"Any more questions?" I asked, my hands burning under the hot water.
"You're lying," Jack said angrily, jumping off the table I had seated him on.
"What?"
"You're lying. Dad said God killed dinosaurs off 'cause He got bored and thought humans would be funner."
"Well, that could be." I'm telling you, when his parents come, there is going to be a smackdown.
"I don't know why grown-ups lie, you're jerks for lying and telling us kids not to lie, you stupid jerks," Jack yelled before turning around and slamming the door after him. It was suddenly very quiet although I could still hear the kids yelling and laughing in the main room's kitchen. I dried my hands and then stared at the laundry basket, contemplating if I should wash them.
Next time, I decided. And then I left the laundry room to help Jack make his dinosaur cookies.
The childcare center I work at has a TON of cookie cutters. I wouldn't be kidding if I said there were more than 100, with each design having two or three replicas. Flowers, stars, and bears are the common ones but there are also weird ones that are shaped like apples and pikachu. I guess the boss here is really big on making little kids happy when making cookies because our manager also gives us bonuses if we find and buy designs that haven't been covered already.
That morning, I was at a small cafe (my new favorite morning place since I've started avoiding the bakery Quentin works at) and ran into dinosaur cookie cutters. T-rexes and brachiosauruses and pterodactyls all shoved in a plastic bag selling for only $2.50. Strangely, the center doesn't have any of those yet, so I bought them. I showed them to my manager who promised me a $25 bonus on my next paycheck, and then I told the kids we were making cookies today.
Now Jack, he LOVES dinosaurs. So when I showed everyone the new cookie cutters, he got so excited he literally peed his pants. I had to take him to the adjoining laundry room and get him into a new pair of pants. That was disgusting. But while I was doing so, he asked, "Lea, I was wondering. Why did God make dinosaurs?"
"Uh, why do you ask?" The answer that was in my mind, was one that my parents and Sunday school teachers had told me: existence of dinosaurs proved there was life before humanity. Oh, and universal death (which will eventually be the case with humanity). There was no way I was going to explain death to a five-year-old, much less of the apocalyptic magnitude.
"I was just wondering, that's all. God seems so nice, why would He make big, scary animals?"
"Well, you see," I said, making up the story as I talked, "the earth used to be one big rock. So God made dinosaurs to stomp around on earth and make littler rocks that we get to build houses with today."
"Uh-huh. Then why did He kill them off?"
"Wow," I choked. What a blunt kid. What have his parents been teaching him?! "Because if they kept stomping around, the earth would just be millions and billions of little rocks, and we can't live on little rocks, now, can we?"
Jack just looked at me while I threw his ruined pants into the half-full laundry basket and washed my hands violently with soap.
"Any more questions?" I asked, my hands burning under the hot water.
"You're lying," Jack said angrily, jumping off the table I had seated him on.
"What?"
"You're lying. Dad said God killed dinosaurs off 'cause He got bored and thought humans would be funner."
"Well, that could be." I'm telling you, when his parents come, there is going to be a smackdown.
"I don't know why grown-ups lie, you're jerks for lying and telling us kids not to lie, you stupid jerks," Jack yelled before turning around and slamming the door after him. It was suddenly very quiet although I could still hear the kids yelling and laughing in the main room's kitchen. I dried my hands and then stared at the laundry basket, contemplating if I should wash them.
Next time, I decided. And then I left the laundry room to help Jack make his dinosaur cookies.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
ldb: 2010
I am the WORST best friend ever.
At this point, I am waiting for a UPS man and CNN reporters to be knocking on my door, handing me a trophy, interviewing me, and taking my picture. For the Worst Best Friend of 2010 Award. No, really, I'm sure there is such a thing.
And I'm sure I will be front page news, a short-lived celebrity, getting my fifteen minutes of fame. People will be coming up to me on the streets and asking for my autograph and throwing tomatoes at me. I will be bitten by dogs and hated by world politics reporters who wanted the front page that day and lauded by pessimists everywhere. I will be a star. And I will be forgotten the day after.
Though I am not sure if that will be enough to convince Laurie to move back in with me, much less talk to me again.
At this point, I am waiting for a UPS man and CNN reporters to be knocking on my door, handing me a trophy, interviewing me, and taking my picture. For the Worst Best Friend of 2010 Award. No, really, I'm sure there is such a thing.
And I'm sure I will be front page news, a short-lived celebrity, getting my fifteen minutes of fame. People will be coming up to me on the streets and asking for my autograph and throwing tomatoes at me. I will be bitten by dogs and hated by world politics reporters who wanted the front page that day and lauded by pessimists everywhere. I will be a star. And I will be forgotten the day after.
Though I am not sure if that will be enough to convince Laurie to move back in with me, much less talk to me again.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
ldb: ice cream
I know it's really, really cliche to bring this up, but you know how in movies there is always that mean girl in high school who used to be your childhood best friend (because you guys are neighbors and your moms are best friends) before she discovered that you were a frizzy-haired loser with glasses and that she could do so much better? I lived through that. I spent every waking hour in panic from ninth to twelfth grade, preparing to race this brat to the bus stop and get the first empty seat in the back.
Not that those years were miserable or anything, because they were certainly memorable. But after Izzy--and yup, her name is Izzy. She should have been the one with frizzy hair, if you ask me, since it rhymes with her name and all--ditched me in fourth grade, I began an indulgence in ice cream. I was so sad then that all I did was go home and eat chocolate ice cream. I ate so much that finally, I puked during a fifth grade ice cream social and didn't go near it again.
But because of daycare, because Elise shoved some in my mouth one sugar-high afternoon, I got addicted again. It's more of a normal-dosed guilty pleasure but Laurie thinks it's an addiction. It's my daily dessert. And today when I opened the freezer, I realized that I had run out so naturally I dashed for my car to buy some more at the local store.
And of course, of all ex-classmates I had to stumble into, of all places, it had to be Izzy, finding me in the middle of my reaching for three small cartons of Haagen-Dazs.
"Hello, Lea," she addressed me coolly, the hand with a diamond ring flying to her mouth in mock surprise. Married or just plain swanky, I didn't bother guessing which. "What a surprise to find you here."
"Hi, Iz," I said, dumping the ice cream into my cart.
She raised her eyebrows. "Grew back into your ice cream habit, I see."
"Pretty obvious considering what I'm buying."
"No, I know just by looking at you." Izzy gave me the once-over and smirked.
I said, "Are you calling me fat?"
"I'm getting married in a few months," was her reply.
"It's a surprise you didn't die of happiness already."
Izzy smiled calmly, hand lowered from her mouth now that the bragging was over. "Isn't it?" she shrugged, pushing her cart past me. "Goodbye, Lea."
After she left, I looked down at my cart and my stomach started feeling very queasy. I had started this whole ice cream craze because of Izzy, and now she was also going to be the cause for its end. As I put the last carton back inside the store freezer, I felt extremely pleased, like a runner who had finally come up victorious after long, hard training and previously failed races.
Speaking of which, I should really start running again.
Not that those years were miserable or anything, because they were certainly memorable. But after Izzy--and yup, her name is Izzy. She should have been the one with frizzy hair, if you ask me, since it rhymes with her name and all--ditched me in fourth grade, I began an indulgence in ice cream. I was so sad then that all I did was go home and eat chocolate ice cream. I ate so much that finally, I puked during a fifth grade ice cream social and didn't go near it again.
But because of daycare, because Elise shoved some in my mouth one sugar-high afternoon, I got addicted again. It's more of a normal-dosed guilty pleasure but Laurie thinks it's an addiction. It's my daily dessert. And today when I opened the freezer, I realized that I had run out so naturally I dashed for my car to buy some more at the local store.
And of course, of all ex-classmates I had to stumble into, of all places, it had to be Izzy, finding me in the middle of my reaching for three small cartons of Haagen-Dazs.
"Hello, Lea," she addressed me coolly, the hand with a diamond ring flying to her mouth in mock surprise. Married or just plain swanky, I didn't bother guessing which. "What a surprise to find you here."
"Hi, Iz," I said, dumping the ice cream into my cart.
She raised her eyebrows. "Grew back into your ice cream habit, I see."
"Pretty obvious considering what I'm buying."
"No, I know just by looking at you." Izzy gave me the once-over and smirked.
I said, "Are you calling me fat?"
"I'm getting married in a few months," was her reply.
"It's a surprise you didn't die of happiness already."
Izzy smiled calmly, hand lowered from her mouth now that the bragging was over. "Isn't it?" she shrugged, pushing her cart past me. "Goodbye, Lea."
After she left, I looked down at my cart and my stomach started feeling very queasy. I had started this whole ice cream craze because of Izzy, and now she was also going to be the cause for its end. As I put the last carton back inside the store freezer, I felt extremely pleased, like a runner who had finally come up victorious after long, hard training and previously failed races.
Speaking of which, I should really start running again.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
laiwwi, chapter 2
"Beth, darling, will you check on Isaac and ask him what's really going on," Mom whispered to me back at home. We were peeling potatoes for dinner. From when he was little, Isaac wasn't allowed to touch the peelers because Mom was afraid that he would use them to harm himself.
"Why me?" I said, but it was useless to ask. Mom and Dad had decided the second time Isaac went missing before church, that it was up to me to find out where he disappears off to. He didn't just leave during those mornings, but also on weekends, in the middle of the night, and during the day. My parents never concerned themselves too much about those times though because he would always come back. Coming back in time for church, though, was another matter. Eighteen years of raising Isaac, and he was still a hardcore atheist. Their hundreds of questioning sessions and lectures on obedience, tried on Isaac many times before, resulted only in hoarse throats, cuts, and broken furniture.
Upstairs, Isaac's bedroom door was half-open. My older brother was old enough to be in college but as a "problem child," my parents allowed him to drop out of high school (he was failing) and stay at home instead. His room was the cleanest in the whole house. We all assumed that was his small way of showing gratitude and took it in with big smiles, knowing that there was some control over his universe.
"Isaac?" I knocked on his door and it creaked open a little more. Just enough to see that he was one leg out the window, on the roof beneath. "Isaac, what the freak are you doing?"
He hesitated, turned to me, eyes glancing behind me to make sure I was alone. A few seconds passed in silence. Then, "Well. Come on." A gesturing hand.
"Come on, where?" I got closer and peered out the window. Was it really safe to be doing this? How many times has he taken this particular route before? "Mom is going to freak if you run away twice in a day."
Isaac rolled his eyes. "So cover for me, or come along."
"Well, where are you going?"
At this, Isaac breathed a huge sigh of annoyance and grabbed my arm. I shrieked.
"Is everything all right?" I heard Mom shout from downstairs, her slippers making shuffling noises as she neared the stairs. "Beth? Isaac?"
"You want to die?" Isaac whispered, as he made an awkward exit from the window and yanked me after him.
"Everything's fine, Mom!" I yelled back. "We're just talking. Be down in a bit!"
And then we were tiptoeing off the roof, landing neatly onto the driveway, and sprinting out of the neighborhood with heads low. My brother smirked at me as we neared traffic, and I tried my hardest not to laugh out loud.
"Why me?" I said, but it was useless to ask. Mom and Dad had decided the second time Isaac went missing before church, that it was up to me to find out where he disappears off to. He didn't just leave during those mornings, but also on weekends, in the middle of the night, and during the day. My parents never concerned themselves too much about those times though because he would always come back. Coming back in time for church, though, was another matter. Eighteen years of raising Isaac, and he was still a hardcore atheist. Their hundreds of questioning sessions and lectures on obedience, tried on Isaac many times before, resulted only in hoarse throats, cuts, and broken furniture.
Upstairs, Isaac's bedroom door was half-open. My older brother was old enough to be in college but as a "problem child," my parents allowed him to drop out of high school (he was failing) and stay at home instead. His room was the cleanest in the whole house. We all assumed that was his small way of showing gratitude and took it in with big smiles, knowing that there was some control over his universe.
"Isaac?" I knocked on his door and it creaked open a little more. Just enough to see that he was one leg out the window, on the roof beneath. "Isaac, what the freak are you doing?"
He hesitated, turned to me, eyes glancing behind me to make sure I was alone. A few seconds passed in silence. Then, "Well. Come on." A gesturing hand.
"Come on, where?" I got closer and peered out the window. Was it really safe to be doing this? How many times has he taken this particular route before? "Mom is going to freak if you run away twice in a day."
Isaac rolled his eyes. "So cover for me, or come along."
"Well, where are you going?"
At this, Isaac breathed a huge sigh of annoyance and grabbed my arm. I shrieked.
"Is everything all right?" I heard Mom shout from downstairs, her slippers making shuffling noises as she neared the stairs. "Beth? Isaac?"
"You want to die?" Isaac whispered, as he made an awkward exit from the window and yanked me after him.
"Everything's fine, Mom!" I yelled back. "We're just talking. Be down in a bit!"
And then we were tiptoeing off the roof, landing neatly onto the driveway, and sprinting out of the neighborhood with heads low. My brother smirked at me as we neared traffic, and I tried my hardest not to laugh out loud.
ldb: lobster date
Tonight I'm sleeping in the boring yellow pajamas my friend Ana got me this past Christmas. Today I had my first date in a long time. His name was Quentin, and I do not think he will be calling me again after this.
Last time I had a date, I still lived with my parents. I told my dad about it that day, and he said, "Your wardrobe is already too conspicuous. The only way you'd be able to impress any guy would be to dress like Lady Gaga." I thought this was ridiculous and ended up wearing my orange-and-red striped glittery dress. Absolutely gorgeous. It was strapless, short, and flowy, but just so, so it wasn't too slutty. It was my favorite dress, and I wore it with a matching red headband. When my date picked me up in his car at 6, he took one look at me and stared at the road for the rest of the 20-minute drive without talking. Then we had dinner at this Japanese restaurant, and he kept checking his phone. And when he dropped me off at my house that night, he yawned instead of saying goodbye.
So I think maybe my dad was right. Quentin works at the bakery I head to before work every morning while half-asleep, so I better look extremely presentable. Since we were going to a lobster restaurant for dinner, I told my roommate Laurie, who was somewhat of a costume designer, a week in advance to make me a lobster dress.
She did wonderfully. It looked like this:
I also wore a gold headband with a stuffed lobster glued to it. Laurie was with me while I waited for Quentin to pick me up from my apartment.
"Oh goodness, I'm so nervous, I'm so freaking nervous, I haven't been on a date for so long," I was screaming. Laurie kept bringing me water. "Dammit Laurie, stop giving me so much water. I'm going to pee my pants."
"Sorry," Laurie said. "Let's pray for your date." We prayed but it seemed to last only a few seconds. "Feel any better?"
"A little," I allowed, readjusting my headband. "Oh, Lord, what if he doesn't date Christians?"
Laurie stared at me incredulously, and the buzzer went off.
Quentin liked my dress! He asked me if I had it custom-made for the date, and I said yes. He laughed and said he was touched. We got out of the car, and I saw that the gold spikes on my dress had made dents in the seat's leather. I apologized at least five thousand times, and Quentin laughed again.
The dinner was delicious, and I think at one point I was so busy stuffing myself with lobster that I forgot he was there. I don't remember what we talked about because I was so nervous. I don't know what I was so nervous about, because Quentin was nice and kept smiling at me. He didn't check his phone once.
"You're fun, Lea," he told me as we drove back to my apartment.
"Oh!" I said, because this was a big surprise. I kept wanting to lean back on the chair but I didn't want to leave holes in the seat. Stupid Laurie, she shouldn't have made the dress belt so sharp. "Thank you, I think you're an interesting human being as well."
Quentin laughed out loud. "What makes you think that?"
"Because," I said, as we closed in on my building and slowed down to a stop, "you fit all the standards of an interesting human being."
"And what might those be?"
I said, "Well..." And then I realized, I had no idea what made Quentin interesting. Nothing he said at dinner was worth remembering, and everything he was wearing--blue button-down, gray suit--made me want to yawn. His plainness was what made my weirdness stand out, which had made me feel incredibly nervous and overdressed. "Are you Christian?" I blurted instead.
Quentin stared at me. "Well no, I'm not."
"Here," I digged through my purse and shoved a church pamphlet at him. "Read this. Okaythanksfordinnerbye!"
I pounded on the apartment door because I didn't feel like finding my keys. Laurie answered immediately, and I started to cry.
"Oh, no, you're early," she said. "Let me guess, he thought your outfit was boring?"
"No," I said, stomping into the room and throwing my purse on the counter. "His was the boring one." I kept crying.
Last time I had a date, I still lived with my parents. I told my dad about it that day, and he said, "Your wardrobe is already too conspicuous. The only way you'd be able to impress any guy would be to dress like Lady Gaga." I thought this was ridiculous and ended up wearing my orange-and-red striped glittery dress. Absolutely gorgeous. It was strapless, short, and flowy, but just so, so it wasn't too slutty. It was my favorite dress, and I wore it with a matching red headband. When my date picked me up in his car at 6, he took one look at me and stared at the road for the rest of the 20-minute drive without talking. Then we had dinner at this Japanese restaurant, and he kept checking his phone. And when he dropped me off at my house that night, he yawned instead of saying goodbye.
So I think maybe my dad was right. Quentin works at the bakery I head to before work every morning while half-asleep, so I better look extremely presentable. Since we were going to a lobster restaurant for dinner, I told my roommate Laurie, who was somewhat of a costume designer, a week in advance to make me a lobster dress.
She did wonderfully. It looked like this:I also wore a gold headband with a stuffed lobster glued to it. Laurie was with me while I waited for Quentin to pick me up from my apartment.
"Oh goodness, I'm so nervous, I'm so freaking nervous, I haven't been on a date for so long," I was screaming. Laurie kept bringing me water. "Dammit Laurie, stop giving me so much water. I'm going to pee my pants."
"Sorry," Laurie said. "Let's pray for your date." We prayed but it seemed to last only a few seconds. "Feel any better?"
"A little," I allowed, readjusting my headband. "Oh, Lord, what if he doesn't date Christians?"
Laurie stared at me incredulously, and the buzzer went off.
Quentin liked my dress! He asked me if I had it custom-made for the date, and I said yes. He laughed and said he was touched. We got out of the car, and I saw that the gold spikes on my dress had made dents in the seat's leather. I apologized at least five thousand times, and Quentin laughed again.
The dinner was delicious, and I think at one point I was so busy stuffing myself with lobster that I forgot he was there. I don't remember what we talked about because I was so nervous. I don't know what I was so nervous about, because Quentin was nice and kept smiling at me. He didn't check his phone once.
"You're fun, Lea," he told me as we drove back to my apartment.
"Oh!" I said, because this was a big surprise. I kept wanting to lean back on the chair but I didn't want to leave holes in the seat. Stupid Laurie, she shouldn't have made the dress belt so sharp. "Thank you, I think you're an interesting human being as well."
Quentin laughed out loud. "What makes you think that?"
"Because," I said, as we closed in on my building and slowed down to a stop, "you fit all the standards of an interesting human being."
"And what might those be?"
I said, "Well..." And then I realized, I had no idea what made Quentin interesting. Nothing he said at dinner was worth remembering, and everything he was wearing--blue button-down, gray suit--made me want to yawn. His plainness was what made my weirdness stand out, which had made me feel incredibly nervous and overdressed. "Are you Christian?" I blurted instead.
Quentin stared at me. "Well no, I'm not."
"Here," I digged through my purse and shoved a church pamphlet at him. "Read this. Okaythanksfordinnerbye!"
I pounded on the apartment door because I didn't feel like finding my keys. Laurie answered immediately, and I started to cry.
"Oh, no, you're early," she said. "Let me guess, he thought your outfit was boring?"
"No," I said, stomping into the room and throwing my purse on the counter. "His was the boring one." I kept crying.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
lea's daily blurb: daycare parents
Today I was at work.. like always. I work at a daycare, so I help look after little kids.
Eddie wore his green pants again. I told him last time that they made him look emo, especially with his gelled dark brown hair, but apparently he didn't get the message. Maybe his parents didn't have anything else to give him to wear, because he's been drawing skulls and stick figures on his clothes a lot recently. With washable markers though. So maybe his parents just didn't have time to do his laundry.
Mona couldn't come today. Her dad called and said she had a fever, then demanded to know if there were any other kids who sounded or looked suspiciously sick at the daycare. I hate paranoid parents. They should know that it's not our problem whether their kid gets contaminated by other kids. So I said, "No, everyone else is perfectly healthy. Remember to wait until Mona is completely healed before you bring her back, or else she'll be the one other parents will be complaining about." Then I hung up. Elise, Mona's best friend, ran up to me and asked where Mona was. I said Mona wanted to stay home because she needed a break from her best friend. Elise cried then begged me to pick her up. When I did, she coughed then sneezed in my face. Twice.
Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" music video was supposed to come out today. I kept checking the computer several times an hour to see if it was up. I work a 9-5 shift. At 4:00, it still wasn't up and by then most kids had gone home. The other worker went to change two messy diapers so I got bored and watched another Lady Gaga music video called "LoveGame." Some of the kids came over and watched with me. They said they liked it, and I told them that people who liked Lady Gaga's music were called "little monsters." At first they got scared but when I made claws with my hands and showed them how fun it was to pretend to be a monster, they all laughed and sang and clawed at each other.
Soon, the other worker came back, and it was getting late, so I turned off the computer. Not being able to check if "Alejandro" was up made me nervous and antsy, and the time tik-tokked by slowly. Lisa's mom and Juan's grandpa were the last to come. As Lisa and Juan ran to fetch their jackets, they made faces at each other. Lisa's mom told Lisa to stop. Then Lisa grabbed Juan and started dancing like Lady Gaga. Juan's grandpa glared at Lisa's mom and whisked Juan away.
Lisa's mom asked me what the kids did today. I said, "They played with building blocks and then made apple sauce. We read 'One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish' and let them take a nap. Then they played with each other, like always." She nodded and asked if they watched any videos or ate any candy. I said no. I don't think she believed me because Lisa giggled at this point and started humming "LoveGame."
"Let's play a hmm-game, disco stick!" I heard Lisa shout as the doors closed behind them. How annoying, I thought, as I shut down the lights and locked all the windows. If I ever had a kid, I would never, ever send them to daycare. Little kids can get corrupted too early here. I would never let a stranger watch my child for even a second, let alone change his diapers. In my humble opinion, it is only under the hawk-like supervision of their parents where children can manage to endure in their innocence and escape corruption. At least the bad kind.
Eddie wore his green pants again. I told him last time that they made him look emo, especially with his gelled dark brown hair, but apparently he didn't get the message. Maybe his parents didn't have anything else to give him to wear, because he's been drawing skulls and stick figures on his clothes a lot recently. With washable markers though. So maybe his parents just didn't have time to do his laundry.
Mona couldn't come today. Her dad called and said she had a fever, then demanded to know if there were any other kids who sounded or looked suspiciously sick at the daycare. I hate paranoid parents. They should know that it's not our problem whether their kid gets contaminated by other kids. So I said, "No, everyone else is perfectly healthy. Remember to wait until Mona is completely healed before you bring her back, or else she'll be the one other parents will be complaining about." Then I hung up. Elise, Mona's best friend, ran up to me and asked where Mona was. I said Mona wanted to stay home because she needed a break from her best friend. Elise cried then begged me to pick her up. When I did, she coughed then sneezed in my face. Twice.
Lady Gaga's "Alejandro" music video was supposed to come out today. I kept checking the computer several times an hour to see if it was up. I work a 9-5 shift. At 4:00, it still wasn't up and by then most kids had gone home. The other worker went to change two messy diapers so I got bored and watched another Lady Gaga music video called "LoveGame." Some of the kids came over and watched with me. They said they liked it, and I told them that people who liked Lady Gaga's music were called "little monsters." At first they got scared but when I made claws with my hands and showed them how fun it was to pretend to be a monster, they all laughed and sang and clawed at each other.
Soon, the other worker came back, and it was getting late, so I turned off the computer. Not being able to check if "Alejandro" was up made me nervous and antsy, and the time tik-tokked by slowly. Lisa's mom and Juan's grandpa were the last to come. As Lisa and Juan ran to fetch their jackets, they made faces at each other. Lisa's mom told Lisa to stop. Then Lisa grabbed Juan and started dancing like Lady Gaga. Juan's grandpa glared at Lisa's mom and whisked Juan away.
Lisa's mom asked me what the kids did today. I said, "They played with building blocks and then made apple sauce. We read 'One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish' and let them take a nap. Then they played with each other, like always." She nodded and asked if they watched any videos or ate any candy. I said no. I don't think she believed me because Lisa giggled at this point and started humming "LoveGame."
"Let's play a hmm-game, disco stick!" I heard Lisa shout as the doors closed behind them. How annoying, I thought, as I shut down the lights and locked all the windows. If I ever had a kid, I would never, ever send them to daycare. Little kids can get corrupted too early here. I would never let a stranger watch my child for even a second, let alone change his diapers. In my humble opinion, it is only under the hawk-like supervision of their parents where children can manage to endure in their innocence and escape corruption. At least the bad kind.
Monday, June 7, 2010
life as it was with isaac, chapter 1
“Life itself cannot very well be analogized. But we, as people blessed with it, are like fish in the ocean that is the world.”
Pastor Sam then told us to turn to Luke, chapter 5. Noah squirmed in his chair, meaning that he had forgotten his Bible again, and elbowed me in the side.
“It’s when Jesus talks about being fishers of men, and other stuff,” I whispered to him, because I had forgotten mine too. The house had been in chaos this morning since Isaac had disappeared for the fiftieth time. He said he had left his suit in the car so he walked out of the house but didn’t come back even after an hour. I don’t know how this could have slipped past Mom and Dad again because the same scenario had happened three times before. In any case, we drove to church without him, in hopes that going there and praying will help bring him back safely.
Noah nodded and wrote this down in his journal. Normally, eight-year-olds wouldn’t bother with it, but Mom bought him one last Christmas and made him promise to take notes during Sunday service, so he wouldn’t fall asleep again. Speaking of Mom, she was hardly focused on the sermon herself. She kept clasping her hands, whispering a prayer, and then peering around before she even finished. We were sitting in the middle of the tabernacle but you could tell she was making Pastor Sam nervous. His eyes kept shifting back to us and to where the door was in the back. He knew Isaac was missing too.
Finally, he asked us to stand up for closing worship. It was then, in that silence, when a little girl burst into the tabernacle, holding onto Isaac’s arm and screaming, “I found him! I found him!” She was followed closely behind by her mother, who immediately put a hand to her mouth and grimaced in apology.
Mom yelled, “Thank the Lord!” and ran towards them. Dad looked like he was about to faint and the pastor’s face broke into a relieved smile. The whole congregation erupted into applause and good-natured laughter.
Noah and I sank down in our chairs. Neither of us said anything as Mom returned back to her seat with her hand on Isaac’s back, telling him she knew he was a good kid and asking that he wouldn’t scare her like that ever again. But we knew better. We knew that what she was saying was the opposite of what she felt inside.
Pastor Sam then told us to turn to Luke, chapter 5. Noah squirmed in his chair, meaning that he had forgotten his Bible again, and elbowed me in the side.
“It’s when Jesus talks about being fishers of men, and other stuff,” I whispered to him, because I had forgotten mine too. The house had been in chaos this morning since Isaac had disappeared for the fiftieth time. He said he had left his suit in the car so he walked out of the house but didn’t come back even after an hour. I don’t know how this could have slipped past Mom and Dad again because the same scenario had happened three times before. In any case, we drove to church without him, in hopes that going there and praying will help bring him back safely.
Noah nodded and wrote this down in his journal. Normally, eight-year-olds wouldn’t bother with it, but Mom bought him one last Christmas and made him promise to take notes during Sunday service, so he wouldn’t fall asleep again. Speaking of Mom, she was hardly focused on the sermon herself. She kept clasping her hands, whispering a prayer, and then peering around before she even finished. We were sitting in the middle of the tabernacle but you could tell she was making Pastor Sam nervous. His eyes kept shifting back to us and to where the door was in the back. He knew Isaac was missing too.
Finally, he asked us to stand up for closing worship. It was then, in that silence, when a little girl burst into the tabernacle, holding onto Isaac’s arm and screaming, “I found him! I found him!” She was followed closely behind by her mother, who immediately put a hand to her mouth and grimaced in apology.
Mom yelled, “Thank the Lord!” and ran towards them. Dad looked like he was about to faint and the pastor’s face broke into a relieved smile. The whole congregation erupted into applause and good-natured laughter.
Noah and I sank down in our chairs. Neither of us said anything as Mom returned back to her seat with her hand on Isaac’s back, telling him she knew he was a good kid and asking that he wouldn’t scare her like that ever again. But we knew better. We knew that what she was saying was the opposite of what she felt inside.
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