Monday, September 25, 2006

Nothing is Funny There Anymore

I used to love it here. People watching here used to be so fun. But now everyone is uptight and angry, looking to get out as soon as possible. Everyone is anal about their personal space bubble, but it’s to crowded to observe it, so everyone is slightly uncomfortable. It’s so small though, you just forget the emotion is there.

I’m not thinking about this as I sit at the information desk and wait. The only thing I’m thinking about is the fact that I was on my feet for 6 hours yesterday, and all I want to do is sit down. I’ve already visited the Starbucks to try and wake up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still tired and burnt out from trying to find a spot in long term parking. I remember the old man who asked for directions to the exit, and I couldn’t help him. He wandered off, and I absentmindedly wondered how long he had been wandering around. I imagined him as a young man, coming to pick up his new bride, but losing his way and wandering in long distance parking for all eternity.

Suddenly there is a horrible noise that jolts me from my thoughts; like a car crash, but I am inside. The grinding of metal and then a snap; I look wildly around to find the source of the sound. After a minute I find it; the escalator had broken off a piece and it had jammed into the machinery. I’m amazed at how scared I had gotten so quickly, almost as if I were on edge and I didn’t even know it, just because of the very building I was in. I looked around and saw that I wasn’t alone; men and women alike were clutching their chests, as if to stop their palpitating hearts from beating so loudly. All of us were shaken to our core, and all because of a broken escalator. Had this been in a mall, no one would’ve even noticed that the escalator suddenly grinded to a halt. I heard a security guard say “At least there was no one on it when it stopped, they would’ve gone flying.”

Five years later, and we are all still terrified in the airport.

Airport Woes

I used to love it here. People watching here used to be so fun. But now everyone is uptight and angry, looking to get out as soon as possible. Everyone is anal about their personal space bubble, but it’s to crowded to observe it, so everyone is slightly uncomfortable. It’s so small though, you just forget the emotion is there.

I’m not thinking about this as I sit at the information desk and wait. The only thing I’m thinking about is the fact that I was on my feet for 6 hours yesterday, and all I want to do is sit down. I’ve already visited the Starbucks to try and wake up, but it doesn’t work. I’m still tired and burnt out from trying to find a spot in long term parking. I remember the old man who asked for directions to the exit, and I couldn’t help him. He wandered off, and I absentmindedly wondered how long he had been wandering around. I imagined him as a young man, coming to pick up his new bride, but losing his way and wandering in long distance parking for all eternity.

Suddenly there is a horrible noise that jolts me from my thoughts; like a car crash, but I am inside. The grinding of metal and then a snap; I look wildly around to find the source of the sound. After a minute I find it; the escalator had broken off a piece and it had jammed into the machinery. I’m amazed at how scared I had gotten so quickly, almost as if I were on edge and I didn’t even know it, just because of the very building I was in. I looked around and saw that I wasn’t alone; men and women alike were clutching their chests, as if to stop their palpitating hearts from beating so loudly. All of us were shaken to our core, and all because of a broken escalator. Had this been in a mall, no one would’ve even noticed that the escalator suddenly grinded to a halt. I heard a security guard say “At least there was no one on it when it stopped, they would’ve gone flying.”

Five years later, and we are all still terrified in the airport.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Naive Plastic

“I feel like I should be writing down our medical history or something” I said to Lover Boy, my pen poised above the clipboard. We had been suckered into a time share presentation, but promised a trip of some kind at the end of the 90 minutes (read: 2 ½ hours).

“TDG and Lover Boy?” A voice rang out. We stood up and faced our presenter.

Oh. My. God.

I realized at that moment, that I was sheltered. My whole life, I’ve never really been exposed to life. By watching a lot of TV I have fooled myself into thinking that I know everything about everything. You can see a Giraffe on TV or on the internet, but it never prepares you for the real thing. This woman was my Giraffe.

I spent the entire presentation staring at her face, amazed. I had never been that close to so much plastic surgery in my life. Her eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline. Lisa Rinna had nothing on her upper lip, and her lower lip was worse. She had the biggest cheek implants that should be allowed. Lover Boy said he knew it was a boob job. The nose was so strange it had to be a job.

After walking behind her for so long, it became apparent that the only thing she was saving up for was an ass job. She talked about how she loved to travel, and her ex-husband proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower, and how her now-boyfriend gets to travel all over, but she doesn’t have the money now.

I felt bad, because I wanted to be interested in what she was saying, but I stared at her face and couldn’t tear myself away. I felt terrible, and found myself fumbling over words. I had no idea that anything could shock me that much close up.

I’m na├»ve. Who knew?

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Apple Pie Shooters

I took off my shoes and walked into the party which promised to be interesting. It was at the house of a gay couple, celebrating a lesbian friend’s birthday. I felt like I was with plastic surgery girl all over again as the party wore on. I have never seen that many butch lesbians in all my life. I swear they could’ve all passed for skinny little boys.

There was a particular couple that was so attractive I couldn’t keep my eyes off of them. The first girl was Asian and dressed like an Anime character, with an impossible black dress and some sort of funky ankle cuffs that looked faux-dominatrix. Her girlfriend I mistook for a boy until the moment she spoke. She sported a faux hawk and a white wife beater with a handkerchief tied expertly around her neck.

It all started with the drinking game. My fabulous friend (FF) brought the ammo needed for Apple Pie Shooters, and although I didn’t partake it looked delicious. AnimeGirl went first, and the people administering the shot surrounded her.

First the cupful of apple juice was administered. The girl pouring the apple juice was sloppy and spilled it all over poor AnimeGirl’s face, but she just wiped it away and the next person dropped in the shot of vodka. FF squirted the whipped cream into her mouth, and the last person topped her off with a dash of cinnamon. She was instructed to close her mouth and shake her head, then swallow.

She concurred that it tasted just like Apple Pie. She floated out of the chair and walked over to Handkerchief Girl and said “Taste it, Baby” and swept her up in one of the Top 5 Greatest Kisses I’ve Personally Witnessed. They made out like it was going to be the last time, and all of us stopped to stare. Later even FF admitted that it turned her on.

They were almost the same height, and for the rest of the party Handkerchief Girl would lean into AnimeGirl and they would have a steamy make-out session against various walls. They never failed to stop the party every time they did this, and we would all stare, because it was the most sensual thing we’d ever seen. These girls were hot, not because it was two girls, but because of the passion they had for each other.

I’ve seen porn, I’ve seen romance movies, and I’ve seen stage productions that were meant to turn people on. But I’m telling you, those two girls turned me on more than any of those things.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Just Fat, Thanks

Lover Boy and I were going to a show with some of our friends and co-workers. The girls decided to get dressed up, since we never get a chance to.

I straightened my hair and did my “smoky eyes” makeup, and I decided to wear my halter dress. This dress is my favorite because it hides my stomach, the place where 90% of my weight is. I still looked sexy, and felt confident as we walked out the door.

The opening act was fabulous, a beautiful woman in a brilliant red gown who sang like a dream. There was a 20 minute intermission after her, so I stood up to let everyone out, leaning back like everyone does (even though they know it’s not going to, it just ends up with you bending backwards over your chair).

Lover Boy’s newest co-worker was walking past and suddenly squealed; “Oh my god, you’re expecting???!!!” in her cute little high pitched voice. At first I had no idea what she was talking about, until I looked down and her finger was pointed right at my stomach.

I told her she wasn’t all that cute anymore, then I went to go stand in traffic.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

Downward Mobility

“You do the best you can within the concentration camp. It’s very hard to keep your spirits up. You’ve got to keep selling yourself a bill of goods, and some people are better at lying to themselves than others. If you face reality too much, it kills you.”~ Woody Allen.

“I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week. I could feel the tears brimming and sloshing in me like water in a glass that is unsteady and too full.” ~Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar.

“Actually, it was only part of myself I wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy.”~ Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted.

“If only my life could be more like the movies. I want an angel to swoop down to me like he does to Jimmy Stewart in ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and talk me out of suicide. I’ve always waited for that one moment to set me free, and change my life forever…but he won’t come. It doesn’t happen that way.”~ Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation.


I could’ve written these words myself. Out of all the literature I’ve ever read, these all cut to the heart of what I feel.

This worries me, because all these people went crazy. They were all certainly depressed. I’m sure if I went to a psychiatrist I would be diagnosed with all kinds of neuroses, but I know for sure I’d be diagnosed with severe depression. In reading Girl, Interrupted, I think I might also have a borderline personality.

I worry about myself more often than not, but I don’t have the time to be depressed. You better believe the second I’m rich I’m going to succumb to lunacy, and when I come out medicated and write about my downward spiral into the dark recesses of my mind, you can say you knew me when.