I Spent the Afternoon Reading Dirty Spanish Poetry

Fottimi, e fa di me cio, che tu voi,

Et in potta in cul, che me ne curo poco,

Dove, che tu ti faccia i fatti tuoi;

Ch’io per me ne la potta, et in cul ho’l foco

Et quanti cazzi han muli, asini, e buoi,

Non scemariano a la mia foia un poco;

Poi saresti un da poco

A farme’l ne la potta a usanza antica;

Che s’un huomo foss’io non vorrei fica.

–Pietro Arentino

Have fun translating that, friends!

The Boy Who Wouldn’t Come to Lunch

So, Kleinheider is just as cute as the Dickens and I totally wanted him to come to lunch so that I could spend the whole meal casually flirting with him.  I wore the good bra and even put on eyeliner in an attempt to make sitting across from me seem like such a good idea he’d be unable to help himself and have to say yes.  I even promised he could eat the souls of illegal immigrants instead of actual food, since Brittney told me he doesn’t seem to need regular sustenance.

But, alas, no!

You guys!  He was oblivious to the power of the boob freckle!  This boob freckle!

I despair just a little bit.

But I did get to hug him and I didn’t notice any weird smells coming from him, so there’s that.

Birthdays Past

When we were growing up, we’d always have our birthday cake first thing in the morning.  You’d wake up all groggy and sleepy-eyed and stumble down to the kitchen and Mom would just be putting the final candles in the cake. 

She’d light them.  Everyone would sing.  You’d make a wish.  She’d cut the cake and then put a big scoop of ice cream next to it.

I always had chocolate chip cake with chocolate chip icing.  I loved that when I was little. 

I can’t remember anything I wished for, though.

Isn’t that weird?  You could want something so much that you’d spend your birthday wish on it, but then forget what it was you so desperately desired?

Anyway, happy birthday to me.  This year I wish to only desperately desire things worth remembering.

It Just Sneaks Up On You

I complain a lot, but in general, I think I’m a happy person.  I mean, if you were to ask me if I’m happy, my immediate, gut reaction would be to say yes.  Ha, so whether or not I’m actually happy, I think I am.  Maybe that’s what matters.

But sometimes I’m just sitting around being my happy self and this funk just comes over me and I go from feeling just fine to feeling so bad I just want to lay down next to Mrs. Wigglebottom and pet her nose for the next twenty years.  The worst part about it is that it feels familiar.  It comes like an old friend wrapping a blanket around your shoulders, but instead of feeling comforted, you feel like no one will ever love you and you will be alone forever because you are a giant loser everyone else in the world is just humoring.

The hard part is that the cure for feeling so terrible is to go out and be with people you like when the last thing you feel like doing is being around anyone, especially because you suspect they’re just humoring you.

So, I was glad yesterday, that I had made plans to spend the afternoon with the Playwright and the Recovering Baptist, who are just so awesome and funny and good that you hang around them for any length of time and you feel like you’re doing exactly what you should be doing right at that moment.  And that feeling–that you’re doing exactly what you should be doing right at that moment–is stronger than any funky self-doubt.

And then, last night, I sat down to spend some time with the ancestors, just to talk about the awesome stuff that’s been going on lately, and to listen for guidance for the coming year.

And I had this vision of me planting a little tree that was my life.  And I watched it grow about a third of its height, but the tree wasn’t… it didn’t have a trunk and then branch out way overhead.  It branched out right at the base, but not like a pine tree, because all the branches reached towards the sky.  And some were bigger than others, but only one was dead, and it was tiny.  Which I took to mean that I might have missed out on something that might have been my life, but it happened long ago when the tree was much smaller, and I haven’t even known to miss it.

Everything else that is supposed to be my life is still my life, even if it’s not large yet.  If that makes sense.  And I was slightly bummed because you can’t really climb my tree.  But I thought, well, at least it’s some shade I can sit under.  And I turned around to sit down and there, standing behind me all this time, were my people.  And I was just delighted, and they were thrilled that I’d finally realized that they were always so close.

I don’t know.  It was great.  It made me so happy.  It’s hard to talk about the woo-woo shit, because the stuff that’s deeply meaningful internally always sounds a little cheesy when you say it out loud.  But it felt nice and it felt true.