[OK: I'm proofing this right now -- Monday, 5:00 p.m. -- but I can't bring myself to delete the above gibberish in brackets, because I think it's the best thing I've ever written. I also woke up this morning and thought "I have to finish a Sunday Top Ten today," and was surprised to see that--OMG--I already did!!]
I don't think I'm going to have any actual worst nightmares or greatest dreams if I don't ever sleep. Carly and I were up all night on Friday for The Write-a-Thon, which we planned to start 'round 9 P.M., directly following the South of Nowhere viewing. However, due to a number of factors including the presence of Natalie my BFF from the University of Michigan ("We fell in love in English 125" is how the story begins), Vicky, and alcohol, we didn't start the write-a-thon 'til 1 A.M. Twelve hours and many pages later, Carly and I emerged into the brill light o' day and determined it was the brightest day of all time and it was possible we were no longer walking in a straight line. It didn't help that everyone in my neighborhood is psychotic and was wearing things like bright yellow see-through tracksuits. I say something a lot like this right here.
Anyhow, this is a continuation of what I got started earlier this week: an evaluation of my overused phrase "that'd be my worst nightmare," which's applicable to situations that're actually possible in real life and I'd probs not have an actual in-sleep nightmare about. Just things I'd call "my worst nightmare." Get it? Got it. Good.
When I was writing this intro on Saturday, I wrote: "My hair is so greasy right now, I could start my own line of hair gels and mousses simply by extracting natural oils from its silky strands." Now it is Sunday night, and I'd like to amend that: "I cut my own bangs today before I went to Cameron's wedding. I've had better ideas, but also worse."
THAT WHICH I'VE REFERRED TO AS MY "WORST NIGHTMARE"
Installment 2: #5-#1
I'm the clumsiest person I've ever known. Therefore, it's odd that I've chosen this neurosis, as I get stuff on myself all the time, but basically; when I do, outing over, I'm going home. Usually I don't wanna be out in the first place, so I'll force whomever made me leave the apartment to switch clothes with me if they want me to stay out. Surprisingly, this works. In other situations (e.g., work) I'll take a swing at stain removal or find a way to hide it -- borrowing a scarf, throwing on another top, etc., and I often bring back-up clothes for this purpose if I'm wearing white or eating anything tomato-based (which I'm not supposed to do anyhow 'cause I'm allergic to citric acid, but I like to live on the edge). I didn't do that tonight at the wedding, even though I wore a white shirt, 'cause instead I was just super careful. I realised it's really hard to eat food and not spill on yourself. How do y'all do it? Like, weird. You are all Jedi warriors.
Like those mortifying moments in Seventeen Magazine. Do you remember those? It was like, girls bleeding all over themselves with a big hole in the ass of their brand new jeans while singing off-key in the talent show in front of the cutest boy in school and his parents.
I actually switched "my drink" from vodka-cran to vodka-tonic to prevent impending spillage. 'Cause tonic is clear. Like windows. Not like doors though, doors are different. You can't see through doors but you can see through windows. You know where I learned that about the doors/windows? My Mom, when I used to stand in front of the teevee while singing/dancing and she'd say "Ree-Ree, you make a better door than a window." I was a dancing fool! Kazaam! [I'm running out of words, I swear, I need a new language, I'm running out of words and repeating myself like a broken record being sung out loud at the talent show by a beaten horse.]
I've been known to actually purchase new shirts post-spillage because New York makes it impossible to just swing home and pick up a shirt and this's probs one of the 50 million reasons that I owe Visa my first-born child and you probably do not.
Also, as soon as I get my coffee, I spill it on myself. Go up to "5" for what happens next.
Last week, while battling zero phone reception and no internet at one of many resplendent temp jobs I've suffered through lately, I wondered when this changed for me. I'd always been slightly neurotic about being away from email for many hours 'cause I do so much professional correspondence on there. But last year on the cruise I was capable of not checking every day. Obvs this year I had to check compulsively--although part of that was because I was being cyber-harassed at the time blablabla you know what I'm talking about.
Seriously, I can't even get on the OurChart mainpage at this temp job! [Pause for the fact that I was trying to get on OurChart, which means that clearly I was scraping the bottom of the entertainment barrel without my typical entertainments available] It was randomly blocked there. That's a little weird, right? No OurChart? I can get on Gawker, but not on OurChart. You know why? Because everyone hates gay people.
"Being in porn."
"Being in porn would be my worst nightmare. I'd die. Sex and the naked body and female pleasure and male pleasure are great, there's a huge "feminist friendly" porn industry totally growing right now, especially women making porn for other gay, bi and straight women (the heterosexual male gaze dominating porn has made it difficult for women to enjoy)—but I don't know—even seeing Paris Hilton getting fucked somehow felt uncomfortable to me and clearly I don't know Paris Hilton, I just feel like I do because I watch everything she does and listen to her album a lot. (I wish I was kidding, but I'm not). For me, sex itself is super-intimate, and super-private." (-me)
1) Reading Something Old And Realising I Haven't Really Changed That Much in Three Years, or Sometimes Like, 15 Years
I was often "awarded" "Most Improved" as a little girlchild, which I despised. It's not a real "award" obvs, it's simply a recognition of how bad you were when you started. It was easy for me to win this; I was desperately shy and awkward and the unfurling of this social anxiety had a way of manifesting itself as something resembling "improvement." My walls, under proper circumstances, might dilute to reveal a more brilliant, palletable and talented Marie at the end of the summer theater camp session or soccer season. But rarely had I truly become better at anything, I just became confident enough to actually take the ball down the field all by myself or to actually emote.
I was going through old livejournals in Carly and I's hunt to uncover the funniest jokes we've ever made (there's a point to this, I swear) and what struck me was how little I've changed, after all.
I'm sick, it's turning me into a little girl. It's a funny thing, being taken care of. Wanting it, not wanting it.
I think sometimes we all just want a break from holding it all together.
Sometimes, Natalie and I just lie on each other. And go--ohh.
I guess I don't know if I'm little or big at all these days. If I'm excited about graduating or dreading it. If I even care right now that my body is aching and I can't stop coughing, or that I'd rather just no-show tomorrow than have to call and deal with our insufferable managers?
One of my roommates, Megan, just broke off her engagement, and tonight she was talking about it, and she was like, but now, where does this leave me, I had my life all set up for me and now here I am with no place to live, no resume, no place to go, no job, nothing, and then Natalie said me too, and I said look, me too, and Celesta said me too, and Deena said me too, and it's true, it's all of us, none of us have a clue what the fuck we're doing. And all those e-mails from the career center are mocking, in their own way.
There's a center in all of us we can't live without, and I want to fall in love with mine again, and sometimes in pure moments I do, and sometimes I don't know who I am. sometimes I'm irritated by the quantity of reading we're forced to do, when all want to do is watch movies, sit in Barnes & Noble (see, not Borders, cuz they are evil right now) and read the first five pages of every book in the place. write postcards to people that I owe postcards to. Write stories, or write anything at all. Call my grandparents.
Tonight feels almost as bad as the night I realized there was something v.wrong with my body, which prompted me to go to the doctor and get diagnosed with fibro....it goes in and out and eh, maybe I'll just take some Vicadin, and forget about hurt altogether.
18th August 2004:
Seriously: I don't know anything right now. I don't know what I want at all but I'm not sure I'm ready to be an adult. Any opinion I have is a phase, a whim, a concept, an unfinished idea.
Why does uncertainty seem so new each time? It feels completely unique, as does that trite truism disguised as epiphany, promising to lead me to breakthrough but apparently I 'd prefer just to sit at the edge of breakthrough forever. Like it's the dock of the bay.
It seems like I've been battling the same problems for a few years now, and it seems like every time I advance somewhere, I take a few steps back in another area. I get on top of love but lose my money, I get on top of my writing but lose my friends, I get on top of work but lose my mind. You know? Like: I'd like, sometimes, for everything to just get up at the same time and come to the middle of the room. I'd like to rally all my troops.
I always freak out this time of year: I get heart palpitations and've been known to quit jobs, move apartments, drop or re-gain friends/lovers, cut my own bangs. [I also generally get one year older around this time of year too.] It might be related to the fact that I'm used to starting a new school or totally new school-related situation every September and now I just attempt to recreate that panic artificially, sans school.
Cameron, my agent/friend got married tonight. Her husband, Jay, is awesome. They are awesome. They should give everyone hope [they did]! We boarded the Lady Whitmore at the Chelsea Piers:
Stephen: Marie, I gave you very specific instructions on how to dress.
Marie: Wha? You said you were wearing a suit and tie. I couldn't find a tie though.
Stephen: I said a dress would be good for women.
Marie: I'm wearing a blazer! You said Don was wearing a blazer.
Marie: Are you not gonna talk to me all night 'cause I'm not wearing a dress?
Stephen: You look great, Marie.
Marie: I won't steal any girls from you.
It was beautiful; the weather was amazing, the vows were lovely, the Rabbi was lovely, the sun was lovely, your girl is lovely, Hubble. I almost cried, honestly! They truly do have an inspiring partnership. Also they closed the ceremony with 'Love Song' [The Cure]. HOT.
J.Jackson [another agent from our agency] said: "She has so many bridesmaids!" and I said "I'm gonna have five." And she gave me a surprised look, since all night I'd been displaying nothing but cluelessness on all things "wedding," but what's funny is that's the only thing I know. I know fo' sure it'll be Krista, Natalie and Haviland, but the other two spots have changed and changed again, we'll see, I know how I am. Besides, Natalie and I might end up getting married, and then I'd need someone to take her spot. We always said we'd get a commune in Vermont together if no one else was willing to spend the rest of their lives with us. Which is likely. She has a boyfriend though, he's very patient and lovely also.
If I'd been giving a toast, I woulda talked about when I realised I needed to get a new passport in three days because Alaska is now, apparently, accessible only via international waters, and Cameron went with me to the passport office to be my "witness" at five in the morning just so I'd stop annoying everyone talking and freaking out about it. And she had to attest she'd known me for three years. She coulda gotten deported if they'd uncovered that lie, obvs. JK, like they never woulda done that. OR I'd talk about when we got stoned in the office and then she went to the gym and had the best workout of her life and I went on a date and made up a bunch of weirdo stuff to see if I could freak him out, and I mos defo did.
I realised, sitting on this boat in the water watching the ceremony, that none of my friends have gotten married yet, but I feel like I'm at the age where that ought to start happening, right? I've only been to a few weddings in my life: a half-cousin, a cousin, a half-grandmother and two commitment ceremonies: my Mom & Susan, my friend Marc from The Macaroni Grill & his boyfriend Mark.
Is it just us -- 'cause we're too picky, or career-obsessed, too restless, too "progressive," too busy -- ? -- too dysfunctional -- too gay?
I remember when I was 18, I had a 27-year-old boyfriend and the age gap seemed insignificant, we were at very similar places in our lives: fingering unpredictable futures, feeling time was running out to make those choices. I mean, we met as servers at The Olive Garden. My Mom didn't get pissed I was dating an "older man," she said I'd always been "very mature."
Was I a remarkably mature 18-year-old? Or is this constant grappling specific to the conflict between pursuing art/pursuing sense/pursuing the perfect scowl about the word "art" to begin with? Or is it possible that I'm simply an immature 25-year-old? [Totes.]
Not like having no fucking clue what you're doing with your life is something only done by the incredibly mature; but that at 18, I was already thinking I had to know all that, and soon, and feeling absolutely that no-one'd make that choice for me, or even encourage me in one direction or another. I started freaking out about this stuff when I was 14 and haven't slowed down since, except for when it made me sick [see: fibro] and I literally couldn't physically move anymore until I got my shit together.
Sometimes I wished a parent or boyfriend or girlfriend would say: "Marie, you need to become a schoolteacher or something pronto," or "Time to run the Fisher Funeral Home with us!" or "Move to Idaho!"
This is almost twenty years ago!:
I would totes wear that dress still though, it's so Margot Tennenbaum! Also I just gave myself that same haircut this afternoon. See what that is? That's "bringing it back around in the most suprising way ever, even to Me, and I wrote it."
I want my wedding, if anyone ever dares to spend the rest of their life with me and announce this intention in public, to be just like the one in The Muppets take Manhattan. Like when I walk down the aisle I want all the muppets to be there, singing. "Somebody's getting married ..."
Also, this is funny. Look how much I've changed since Apri 17, 2004: