I wrote yesterday about my initial impressions of the effects of Hurricane Katrina on my home state and surrounding areas, and I have to admit, I had no idea what I was talking about when I posted yesterday.
I have felt, since Sunday, that I was in an information vacuum, and had no real idea of how extensive the damage was.
The city of New Orleans, which I personally would wager to say, is the best fucking city in the country, is in dire straits. The levees have been breached in two places and because of the extensive water pressure on those places, the Corps of Engineers has not been able to repair them, which means that the city continues to be deluged with water, and the situation of what may happen next becomes more and more critical.
Because I'm in Pennsylvania, I have limited access to local coverage as to what is happening, although, clearly all news media is focused on what has happened there.
But the thing is, the coverage is centered on the coast, and because they weren't really able to get in there until yesterday, it's been sporadic.
So, as of yesterday morning, I had no idea that the situation was as bad as it was, and I was just glad that I was able to reach my dad last night to find out that they were okay. But then that presented a whole other set of problems, because the last time a major hurricane made its way up to north Mississippi, hundreds were without power; some lost their homes, and I wanted to know where my friends were, but I still couldn't get through because of limited phone service.
I have gotten through to everyone now, and I'm so grateful. I feel so bad for New Orleans and the cities of the coast that were the hardest hit, that I really can't even express it.
The thing that warms my heart, is that I know the resilient nature of a Southerner. We don't take no shit, and we don't admit defeat. Look at us, 140 years later, we refuse to admit defeat in the Civil War in earnest.
I have endured serious accusations of abandoning the South for "the Yankees," without a hint of irony, when I moved to Philadelphia.
It will be a long, costly, arduous process, but the cities will rebuild and the citizens will exhibit more strength than most of us are capable of, because that's what Southerners do.
And I've never been more aware of that fact until now, being over 1,000 miles away from that place in which I grew up, and truly, that's where my heart is gonna be for the next few months, or longer, until they are back to their fighting weight, but I have no doubt that they will eventually be, so that's what comforts me, if only somewhat, at this point.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Helpless and nostalgic
I have been watching the news coverage of Hurricane Katrina that ripped through my home state and some of my old stomping grounds, including the Mississippi and Alabama Gulf Coasts and New Orleans, and I have been thinking about the time I've spent at the various locations that were hit the hardest and how sad it makes me to see the rubble they've become.
First of all, there is no worse feeling than the one I had yesterday when I didn't know where the storm was, knowing how devastating the winds could be even as far up into north Misssissippi where my parents and a majority of friends live, and I couldn't get through to anyone.
The news coverage of anywhere but the coast has been deplorable, as my parents, way the hell up in north Mississippi, had been without power for 20 hours, not that I would've known it, because the national media didn't mention the small towns throughout the South that were affected.
Now, I'm worried about friends I can't reach, although through local news there, I do now basically now that they're okay, but any of you reading this that I haven't spoken to, need to call me. I mean it, bitches!
I hate that helpless feeling, and I hate even more knowing that amazing areas of the South that colored memories of my youth are virtually destroyed now and will take weeks and months to rebuild.
We always went to Orange Beach in Gulf Shores for our annual family vacations, and, honestly, I have no idea what shape that area is in, but for other vacations, we went to Biloxi, and it was hit hard.
I remember Biloxi before its biggest boon was casinos, and it was a beautiful beach town. The beach left a lot to be desired at the time, because not nearly as much care was put into as has been since the casinos popped up, but it was a sleepy Southern beach town that afforded Mississippi families who wanted a short trip within their state a place to go, have fun and come home feeling satisfied.
New Orleans is a whole other story. I never went to New Orleans until I was in college, and I regret that I haven't been there more often.
New Orleans is easily the best part of the South with perhaps Memphis as a bit of competition, and it literally hurts my heart to see what shape not only the city itself, but the people are in right now.
New Orleans is a picture-perfect blend of quaint Southern charm and the naughtiness that non-judgmental Catholics can enjoy.
The architectural alone is enough to make you sigh, but then you experience the city, which has an actual pulse, and you're hooked.
I regret that I've only been there during Mardi Gras which is no way to fully appreciate such an amazing place, alive at all times with jazz and gypsies and who knows who else might be strolling down a street in the Garden District.
If you've never been there, give them about 3 months, and I know without hesitation, that they will rebuild, restructure and come back with a vengeance.
I was listening to NPR today to a guy who rode out the storm in his 160-year-old French Quarter apartment, and after the eye had passed, he went out exploring the immediate neighborhood. He encountered a few bars that had stayed open, boarding their windows and spray painting on the boards, "We refuse to die sober."
That city ain't going out into that good night..
First of all, there is no worse feeling than the one I had yesterday when I didn't know where the storm was, knowing how devastating the winds could be even as far up into north Misssissippi where my parents and a majority of friends live, and I couldn't get through to anyone.
The news coverage of anywhere but the coast has been deplorable, as my parents, way the hell up in north Mississippi, had been without power for 20 hours, not that I would've known it, because the national media didn't mention the small towns throughout the South that were affected.
Now, I'm worried about friends I can't reach, although through local news there, I do now basically now that they're okay, but any of you reading this that I haven't spoken to, need to call me. I mean it, bitches!
I hate that helpless feeling, and I hate even more knowing that amazing areas of the South that colored memories of my youth are virtually destroyed now and will take weeks and months to rebuild.
We always went to Orange Beach in Gulf Shores for our annual family vacations, and, honestly, I have no idea what shape that area is in, but for other vacations, we went to Biloxi, and it was hit hard.
I remember Biloxi before its biggest boon was casinos, and it was a beautiful beach town. The beach left a lot to be desired at the time, because not nearly as much care was put into as has been since the casinos popped up, but it was a sleepy Southern beach town that afforded Mississippi families who wanted a short trip within their state a place to go, have fun and come home feeling satisfied.
New Orleans is a whole other story. I never went to New Orleans until I was in college, and I regret that I haven't been there more often.
New Orleans is easily the best part of the South with perhaps Memphis as a bit of competition, and it literally hurts my heart to see what shape not only the city itself, but the people are in right now.
New Orleans is a picture-perfect blend of quaint Southern charm and the naughtiness that non-judgmental Catholics can enjoy.
The architectural alone is enough to make you sigh, but then you experience the city, which has an actual pulse, and you're hooked.
I regret that I've only been there during Mardi Gras which is no way to fully appreciate such an amazing place, alive at all times with jazz and gypsies and who knows who else might be strolling down a street in the Garden District.
If you've never been there, give them about 3 months, and I know without hesitation, that they will rebuild, restructure and come back with a vengeance.
I was listening to NPR today to a guy who rode out the storm in his 160-year-old French Quarter apartment, and after the eye had passed, he went out exploring the immediate neighborhood. He encountered a few bars that had stayed open, boarding their windows and spray painting on the boards, "We refuse to die sober."
That city ain't going out into that good night..
Monday, August 22, 2005
No sleep for the weary
I have recently become a world-class insomniac. I used to hear people say they had insomnia and think to myself, "HA! I can sleep through anything..suckers." Now, I think the fact that I had those thoughts is manifesting itself with some sort of karmic retribution, and it is not pleasant.
I am tired for most of the day, daydreaming about when I can come home and take a nap or imagining going to bed at a normal time and sleeping the sleep of the content. But that has only happened about 4 times in the last month, and it's starting to wear on me a bit.
I think of that line from "Fight Club," in the beginning, about how when you stop sleeping, you never really know what's real and what's not. I probably screwed that up, but you get the general idea.
Seriously, after the first couple of weeks, I would just sort of feel like I was underwater for a large part of the day, and then I would get a second wind, but still not feel quite normal. It was an odd euphoric feeling, that would still allow me to be able to sleep for at least the first part of the night, and then at 2 a.m. was when the fun would start.
Now, I don't know what to think. I'm pretty cranky all the time, which was hard to recognize as a symptom for a while, I have headaches, and when I do finally sleep, I wake up so many times that by the time my alarm goes off, I'm never really sure if I was asleep or not.
It's kind of a maddening way to live. I've tried to pinpoint what may've set this into motion, and I honestly don't know. Sleep and I have always had a very fond relationship.
Had a rough day? There's my old friend Sleep willing to step in and lend a 45-minute power nap-hand to help out.
Been burning the candle at both ends for a few days in a row? Sleep knows what to do. A nice 12-hour refueling, and everything is back to normal.
I'm trying to decide if my body has suddenly realized that it's 28 and no longer wants to accept caffeine after a certain hour, which is what my sister suggested, but I refuse to be one of those people who says that drinking a Coke after 1 p.m. will keep them awake for the rest of the day. I'm not THAT old, Jesus.
I will never forget one of the funniest memories I have of my friend, Brian. We had been dating about 3 months and had taken our first overnight road trip to Huntsville, Ala., to see my friend Layla.
We had been out having a few beers and had headed back to our hotel for the night. As we're going in, I stop by the vending machine, as this was during the "Mountain Dew..to hell with my kidneys" phase, so that I could dose up on its sugary goodness.
Brian says to me, without a hint of irony, "You're getting a Mountain Dew. Well (insert old man voice here), don't keep me awake all night after you drink it," as though I'm going to finish drinking it and immediately start pole vaulting around the room.
I found it so funny, in fact, that I laughed, rather loudly, for about 5 minutes, the entire way it took us to get to our room, and I'm fairly sure that I kept laughing well after we got into it.
Now, who's laughing? Now that I dread actually putting head to pillow at night, because I lie there (blink, blink), tossing and turning for 2 hours, I may actually have to conduct a series of experiments that may involve cutting off caffeine in the afternoon to see if that's what the problem is.
I'm off to bed (again). Wish me luck.
I am tired for most of the day, daydreaming about when I can come home and take a nap or imagining going to bed at a normal time and sleeping the sleep of the content. But that has only happened about 4 times in the last month, and it's starting to wear on me a bit.
I think of that line from "Fight Club," in the beginning, about how when you stop sleeping, you never really know what's real and what's not. I probably screwed that up, but you get the general idea.
Seriously, after the first couple of weeks, I would just sort of feel like I was underwater for a large part of the day, and then I would get a second wind, but still not feel quite normal. It was an odd euphoric feeling, that would still allow me to be able to sleep for at least the first part of the night, and then at 2 a.m. was when the fun would start.
Now, I don't know what to think. I'm pretty cranky all the time, which was hard to recognize as a symptom for a while, I have headaches, and when I do finally sleep, I wake up so many times that by the time my alarm goes off, I'm never really sure if I was asleep or not.
It's kind of a maddening way to live. I've tried to pinpoint what may've set this into motion, and I honestly don't know. Sleep and I have always had a very fond relationship.
Had a rough day? There's my old friend Sleep willing to step in and lend a 45-minute power nap-hand to help out.
Been burning the candle at both ends for a few days in a row? Sleep knows what to do. A nice 12-hour refueling, and everything is back to normal.
I'm trying to decide if my body has suddenly realized that it's 28 and no longer wants to accept caffeine after a certain hour, which is what my sister suggested, but I refuse to be one of those people who says that drinking a Coke after 1 p.m. will keep them awake for the rest of the day. I'm not THAT old, Jesus.
I will never forget one of the funniest memories I have of my friend, Brian. We had been dating about 3 months and had taken our first overnight road trip to Huntsville, Ala., to see my friend Layla.
We had been out having a few beers and had headed back to our hotel for the night. As we're going in, I stop by the vending machine, as this was during the "Mountain Dew..to hell with my kidneys" phase, so that I could dose up on its sugary goodness.
Brian says to me, without a hint of irony, "You're getting a Mountain Dew. Well (insert old man voice here), don't keep me awake all night after you drink it," as though I'm going to finish drinking it and immediately start pole vaulting around the room.
I found it so funny, in fact, that I laughed, rather loudly, for about 5 minutes, the entire way it took us to get to our room, and I'm fairly sure that I kept laughing well after we got into it.
Now, who's laughing? Now that I dread actually putting head to pillow at night, because I lie there (blink, blink), tossing and turning for 2 hours, I may actually have to conduct a series of experiments that may involve cutting off caffeine in the afternoon to see if that's what the problem is.
I'm off to bed (again). Wish me luck.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
A woman obsessed
I have a compulsive personality, I'll admit it. When I choose to engage in certain behavior, I do it obsessively until I'm tired of it, which could be anywhere from a week to a year.
Previous obsessions have included karaoke at least once a week, sometimes twice, fried cheese with ranch dressing, having to check my alarm clock 8 times before I went to sleep, and reading anything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Now, these are not all bad things to be addicted to, mind you, but having just spent nearly a full two weeks watching basically nothing but The Sopranos and only really stopping because I ran out of episodes and Season 4 won't be delivered until Tuesday, I realize now that I have some "issues," to put it mildly.
I once watched that show "I Love the '80s" on VH1 for an entire 8 hours, even though I had stuff to do that day and was actually expected somewhere about an hour before I got there.
That show is a perfect way for me to hone the compulsion. It has short, attention-grabbing clips, and when one show ends, the next one just kind of morphs into being without so much as a commercial break. So, even when I was thinking,"Okay, must get into the shower now," another show would start, and I would be held captive for the next half hour or 3 hours, however long the marathon went.
I did this with "Sex and the City" as well. When I had both a VCR and DVD player, I was a woman possessed with having to watch every episode back to back. I have 3 seasons on VHS and 2 on DVD, but now I only have a DVD player, so basically I have the seasons that I do own memorized, which is not such a good thing.
When a person is telling me of relationship trouble, or I'm discussing my own, and I say, "Well, it's like when Carrie and Mister Big did this...or said this..," that can't be good.
I've gone so far as to actually call certain men in my life Mister Big and give detailed reasons as to why I think that. I have a problem.
But now, the sickness is clearly focused on The Sopranos. I love, love, love James Gandolfini. I've mentioned that in a previous post about my fascination with the Mafia, but I think my feelings for him veer over into "I-Want-To-Start-A-Fan-Club" territory.
When he walks down the driveway to pick up the newspaper in his little terrycloth bathrobe, I want to molest him. Or even when he yells at his kids because he genuinely doesn't want them to turn out like him, *sigh*, my heart breaks just a little.
My name is Emily, and I'm addicted to Tony Soprano
Previous obsessions have included karaoke at least once a week, sometimes twice, fried cheese with ranch dressing, having to check my alarm clock 8 times before I went to sleep, and reading anything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Now, these are not all bad things to be addicted to, mind you, but having just spent nearly a full two weeks watching basically nothing but The Sopranos and only really stopping because I ran out of episodes and Season 4 won't be delivered until Tuesday, I realize now that I have some "issues," to put it mildly.
I once watched that show "I Love the '80s" on VH1 for an entire 8 hours, even though I had stuff to do that day and was actually expected somewhere about an hour before I got there.
That show is a perfect way for me to hone the compulsion. It has short, attention-grabbing clips, and when one show ends, the next one just kind of morphs into being without so much as a commercial break. So, even when I was thinking,"Okay, must get into the shower now," another show would start, and I would be held captive for the next half hour or 3 hours, however long the marathon went.
I did this with "Sex and the City" as well. When I had both a VCR and DVD player, I was a woman possessed with having to watch every episode back to back. I have 3 seasons on VHS and 2 on DVD, but now I only have a DVD player, so basically I have the seasons that I do own memorized, which is not such a good thing.
When a person is telling me of relationship trouble, or I'm discussing my own, and I say, "Well, it's like when Carrie and Mister Big did this...or said this..," that can't be good.
I've gone so far as to actually call certain men in my life Mister Big and give detailed reasons as to why I think that. I have a problem.
But now, the sickness is clearly focused on The Sopranos. I love, love, love James Gandolfini. I've mentioned that in a previous post about my fascination with the Mafia, but I think my feelings for him veer over into "I-Want-To-Start-A-Fan-Club" territory.
When he walks down the driveway to pick up the newspaper in his little terrycloth bathrobe, I want to molest him. Or even when he yells at his kids because he genuinely doesn't want them to turn out like him, *sigh*, my heart breaks just a little.
My name is Emily, and I'm addicted to Tony Soprano
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Confessions of an eternal flake..and other stuff
Remember when you were in school, and you had to engage in that vile academic absurdity, Parents' Night, where your parents would come and meet your teachers and get an update on your progress? I assume it's much different now, what with teachers being afraid to scar children by failing them now. They call it what, grade-promotionally challenged or something.
Anyway, the comments from teachers were any of the following "Doesn't pay attention," I'm fairly certain my sister got "Talks too much," some kids might've gotten "May grow up to be a serial killer," you get the idea.
Anyway, mine were always along the lines of "Has enormous potential, but doesn't apply herself fully," and if the saying "Who you are at 3 is who you are at 30," I'd have to say some teachers I scoffed at once upon a time may've actually gotten something right.
I have a tremendously hard time following through with anything. I'd like to think it's because I'm so incredibly brilliant that I can't be bothered to limit myself and therefore feel the need to dabble in a number of different things.
However, that is me being full of shit.
Let me just recap for you:
1. Was utterly convinced at the age of 16 that I would one day be a lawyer. I thought, "I'm argumentative, and I sure do like that movie A Few Good Men. How cool would that be?" So, I maintained that path, majoring in political science to give myself a strong background before I began my career as the next Johnnie Cochran. I didn't necessary want to be as sleazy as Johnnie Cochran, but I think I liked the idea of being a rhyming lawyer.
Anyway, that lasted until the middle of my sophomore year when I began to find political science to be a bit dull, plus one of the only two professor that taught me was intensely annoying.
So, I changed my major to journalism. I had always liked to write (still do, obviously), and I could see myself dashing in and out of the fray with a brown trenchcoat and stiletto heels like Ingrid Bergman or Katharine Hepburn while I brought down City Hall.
Uhh..yeah. I ended up at a school that had little focus on news reporting and became the Entertainment Editor of my college paper. Incidentally, it was the most awesome job I've ever had, so I have no regrets for that, but it kind of set a scene, if you will, about what professional direction my life ended up taking...However, this leads me to..
2. I was engaged to a giant ass clown when I was a mere 20 years old. I don't know what malfunctioned in my brain chemistry for me to ever have agreed to marry this person in the first place, but one week before my 21st birthday, I accepted a ring, and off we were.
So, as a result of that unholy pairing, I transferred schools, which is where I ended up as Entertainment Editor. But over the course of our courtship, I slowly began to realize what an emotional fuckwit this person was and then ultimately had it confirmed when I had to go to the emergency room for a kidney infection, couldn't locate my beloved until the next day when I was greeted with, "Where was I? Oh, I had a date last night." !@?!@? So..yeah, that was that.
I had just finished college, was still working part-time for the college paper and was temping while trying to find actual employment.
What next followed is what I have regretted for longer than I realize and basically just have to let go:
I was so distraught by being kicked in the teeth by this person who wasn't worth it, nor did he ever deserve me, I realize now, that I promptly fell apart. I was only 3 hours away from home, which is put into sharp perspective now that I'm 20 hours away from where I grew up, and I thought that it was too far away for me to be sufficiently coddled, so I packed it in when I had a really good job and went running home to my parents and my former life, thinking that would solve everything.
This leads me to the worst career move I ever made, taking a job as a copy editor at a paper that offered me nothing professionally positive. The best thing to come out of that job was that I met people that mean more to me than they may ever know, but that is it. I languished for almost 4 years, really merely gaining a distaste for the news business and picking up proficiency in some software that I truly hope I never have to use again.
A caveat to this bullet point is that in NO WAY should I have married that asshole. That's not the thing that I regret not following through with; I regret that I let the emotional toll of the break-up have me give up a job that paid well in an area that fostered what I wanted to do.
I think what took me so long to get over that break-up was just that. I let this person that I never should've been involved with in the first place dictate what I did with myself, and I will never fall prey to that again...
Compromise is a great thing, when it's the right time to compromise, and I hope to God that I know the difference now, with some age and wisdom.
3. I am sad to report that I have temporarily given up the guitar, which is a little bittersweet.
The thing of it is, my teacher was a pretentious meanie, and I'm not putting up with that crap. I promised myself that I would pick the guitar up again, and I will, but right now, I'm focusing on something else that I feel is more important and will be the thing that breaks the "flake curse."
I am going to graduate school next fall to pursue a master's degree initially and then perhaps a PhD in creative writing, but, mark my words, that is the last thing I will do, and I will follow through with it.
I will write my novels, and I will end up as a professor, perhaps the female counterpart to Robin Williams' character in "Dead Poets Society," except maybe I'll sleep with my more promising ingenues..I'm totally kidding.
Anyway, I'm breaking the cycle. There will be no more of "That Emily, she just bounces from one thing to the next."
Or, who knows? I might get bored.
Anyway, the comments from teachers were any of the following "Doesn't pay attention," I'm fairly certain my sister got "Talks too much," some kids might've gotten "May grow up to be a serial killer," you get the idea.
Anyway, mine were always along the lines of "Has enormous potential, but doesn't apply herself fully," and if the saying "Who you are at 3 is who you are at 30," I'd have to say some teachers I scoffed at once upon a time may've actually gotten something right.
I have a tremendously hard time following through with anything. I'd like to think it's because I'm so incredibly brilliant that I can't be bothered to limit myself and therefore feel the need to dabble in a number of different things.
However, that is me being full of shit.
Let me just recap for you:
1. Was utterly convinced at the age of 16 that I would one day be a lawyer. I thought, "I'm argumentative, and I sure do like that movie A Few Good Men. How cool would that be?" So, I maintained that path, majoring in political science to give myself a strong background before I began my career as the next Johnnie Cochran. I didn't necessary want to be as sleazy as Johnnie Cochran, but I think I liked the idea of being a rhyming lawyer.
Anyway, that lasted until the middle of my sophomore year when I began to find political science to be a bit dull, plus one of the only two professor that taught me was intensely annoying.
So, I changed my major to journalism. I had always liked to write (still do, obviously), and I could see myself dashing in and out of the fray with a brown trenchcoat and stiletto heels like Ingrid Bergman or Katharine Hepburn while I brought down City Hall.
Uhh..yeah. I ended up at a school that had little focus on news reporting and became the Entertainment Editor of my college paper. Incidentally, it was the most awesome job I've ever had, so I have no regrets for that, but it kind of set a scene, if you will, about what professional direction my life ended up taking...However, this leads me to..
2. I was engaged to a giant ass clown when I was a mere 20 years old. I don't know what malfunctioned in my brain chemistry for me to ever have agreed to marry this person in the first place, but one week before my 21st birthday, I accepted a ring, and off we were.
So, as a result of that unholy pairing, I transferred schools, which is where I ended up as Entertainment Editor. But over the course of our courtship, I slowly began to realize what an emotional fuckwit this person was and then ultimately had it confirmed when I had to go to the emergency room for a kidney infection, couldn't locate my beloved until the next day when I was greeted with, "Where was I? Oh, I had a date last night." !@?!@? So..yeah, that was that.
I had just finished college, was still working part-time for the college paper and was temping while trying to find actual employment.
What next followed is what I have regretted for longer than I realize and basically just have to let go:
I was so distraught by being kicked in the teeth by this person who wasn't worth it, nor did he ever deserve me, I realize now, that I promptly fell apart. I was only 3 hours away from home, which is put into sharp perspective now that I'm 20 hours away from where I grew up, and I thought that it was too far away for me to be sufficiently coddled, so I packed it in when I had a really good job and went running home to my parents and my former life, thinking that would solve everything.
This leads me to the worst career move I ever made, taking a job as a copy editor at a paper that offered me nothing professionally positive. The best thing to come out of that job was that I met people that mean more to me than they may ever know, but that is it. I languished for almost 4 years, really merely gaining a distaste for the news business and picking up proficiency in some software that I truly hope I never have to use again.
A caveat to this bullet point is that in NO WAY should I have married that asshole. That's not the thing that I regret not following through with; I regret that I let the emotional toll of the break-up have me give up a job that paid well in an area that fostered what I wanted to do.
I think what took me so long to get over that break-up was just that. I let this person that I never should've been involved with in the first place dictate what I did with myself, and I will never fall prey to that again...
Compromise is a great thing, when it's the right time to compromise, and I hope to God that I know the difference now, with some age and wisdom.
3. I am sad to report that I have temporarily given up the guitar, which is a little bittersweet.
The thing of it is, my teacher was a pretentious meanie, and I'm not putting up with that crap. I promised myself that I would pick the guitar up again, and I will, but right now, I'm focusing on something else that I feel is more important and will be the thing that breaks the "flake curse."
I am going to graduate school next fall to pursue a master's degree initially and then perhaps a PhD in creative writing, but, mark my words, that is the last thing I will do, and I will follow through with it.
I will write my novels, and I will end up as a professor, perhaps the female counterpart to Robin Williams' character in "Dead Poets Society," except maybe I'll sleep with my more promising ingenues..I'm totally kidding.
Anyway, I'm breaking the cycle. There will be no more of "That Emily, she just bounces from one thing to the next."
Or, who knows? I might get bored.
Monday, August 15, 2005
These women..
I just returned from the most awesome, sanity restoring weekend I've had in a while.
I went to see my best friend in the galaxy in Miami, and I have never meant it more when I say, "It was exactly what I needed."
Ms. Amanda Meadows, Esq., and I have been friends for an amazing 12 years, and I simply shudder to think at what I would do without her presence in my life. We've only had about 3 arguments that I can think of and none of them ever lasted for longer than it took for us to make each other laugh.
The truly wonderful thing about a friendship like ours is that we have both essentially "grown up" together, or as close to it as we're going to get anytime soon, and I've gotten to watch her do fearless and wonderful things and continue to become a genuinely awe-inspiring person the more I know her.
In addition to being able to have much needed girl time with her, I got to reconnect with a group of friends that she's made throughout her time in law school and their friends' friends (ya got that?), and I have to say that there is no better way to spend 3 days than in the company of smart, funny, amazing women that are a positive force in each others' lives.
Too often, and I'll be the first to put forth this opinion, women don't serve to support each other; they tend to be catty and suspicious and insecure, which is a huge reason that I've always had mostly guy friends.
But, maybe, as we get older and realize that men are rarely a beacon of anything that resembles anything close to helping us stay sane, we understand the need for that support system of giggly, advice-giving girl fun and how there is no equal for that.
Don't get me wrong, I love men, too much I think, sometimes, and I don't want to denigrate what they provide either, but it makes me truly sad when I see women who only do things with their boyfriend/husband/male friend with benefits..what have you, because they will never know the comforting embrace of estrogen-filled Saturdays spent watching bad movies and making fun of commercials after a night of carousing.
These are the people that will bring you a Bloody Mary when you have a hangover (it works, really), will tell you, no matter what the circumstances or what you may have done in a relationship, "It is NEVER your fault," will call you on a particularly low Tuesday just to cheer you up, will sing you a birthday song on your voicemail within minutes of the day actually turning over to your birthday and will pick you up from the airport blasting Justin Timberlake while shouting, "OWWW! Shake it!" much to the delight of the harried pilots waiting for their shuttle buses to their crappy hotels.
Frailty, thy name is woman, my ass.
I went to see my best friend in the galaxy in Miami, and I have never meant it more when I say, "It was exactly what I needed."
Ms. Amanda Meadows, Esq., and I have been friends for an amazing 12 years, and I simply shudder to think at what I would do without her presence in my life. We've only had about 3 arguments that I can think of and none of them ever lasted for longer than it took for us to make each other laugh.
The truly wonderful thing about a friendship like ours is that we have both essentially "grown up" together, or as close to it as we're going to get anytime soon, and I've gotten to watch her do fearless and wonderful things and continue to become a genuinely awe-inspiring person the more I know her.
In addition to being able to have much needed girl time with her, I got to reconnect with a group of friends that she's made throughout her time in law school and their friends' friends (ya got that?), and I have to say that there is no better way to spend 3 days than in the company of smart, funny, amazing women that are a positive force in each others' lives.
Too often, and I'll be the first to put forth this opinion, women don't serve to support each other; they tend to be catty and suspicious and insecure, which is a huge reason that I've always had mostly guy friends.
But, maybe, as we get older and realize that men are rarely a beacon of anything that resembles anything close to helping us stay sane, we understand the need for that support system of giggly, advice-giving girl fun and how there is no equal for that.
Don't get me wrong, I love men, too much I think, sometimes, and I don't want to denigrate what they provide either, but it makes me truly sad when I see women who only do things with their boyfriend/husband/male friend with benefits..what have you, because they will never know the comforting embrace of estrogen-filled Saturdays spent watching bad movies and making fun of commercials after a night of carousing.
These are the people that will bring you a Bloody Mary when you have a hangover (it works, really), will tell you, no matter what the circumstances or what you may have done in a relationship, "It is NEVER your fault," will call you on a particularly low Tuesday just to cheer you up, will sing you a birthday song on your voicemail within minutes of the day actually turning over to your birthday and will pick you up from the airport blasting Justin Timberlake while shouting, "OWWW! Shake it!" much to the delight of the harried pilots waiting for their shuttle buses to their crappy hotels.
Frailty, thy name is woman, my ass.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Gather ye rosebuds...or something
Well, I turned 28 years old today, and I have to say, this birthday was antcipated with a little more than mild trepidation. Yeah, I know people who are 30+ who are reading this saying, "Screw you; I wish I had my 20's back," but these people are not me, so I don't care.
I've thought a lot about this, about why creeping ever so steadily toward 30 bothers me so much, and I've come up with a number of things.
First of all, I'm kind of vain. Yeah, I'm sure some of you could be knocked over with a feather after that earth-shattering revelation, but it's true. I don't want to get wrinkles, I don't want any (more) gray hair, and I don't want my breasts to be in my shoes.
I'm not the most beautiful or the hottest girl in the world, by any means, but I'm not too bad to look at either, and I'd like to stay non-Crypt Keeper in appearance. It's shallow, but true.
I suppose my double secret fear is that I lose my looks and I, along with the rest of the world, discover that I'm not really as interesting or entertaining as I thought, and attention that I may've received in the past disappears.
On my good days, I know that's not true, but we all have our bad days.
Second of all, I'm not too crazy about death. Yeah, I know that no one is particularly looking forward to death, but everything about it scares the bejesus out of me to the point of insomnia, if I ever let myself think about it for too long.
It's not just my dying that scares me; in fact, that's really the least of it. It's the thought of as I get older, everyone I love gets older as well, and even thinking about the day I have to attend my parents' or sister's or best friend Amanda's funerals makes me want to broker a bunch of deals with God in order to be able to go first.
And third of all, and this is really the kicker I think and the one I can actually do something about:
I haven't accomplished what I imagined I would've at 28. This, this is the other thing that keeps me up at night when that pesky death thing isn't bothering me. When I was younger, I suppose I kept a vague idea in my head of what my life would resemble when I reached 30, and right now, it's not close.
Of course, when I was younger, I think a life at 30 entailed living with a big group of friends in California (where I could pursue my successful singing career), and we would all stay up as late as we wanted and always have Kool-Aid in the house, because my mom never let us have Kool-Aid, and I thought that a Kool-Aid-free house was no way to live.
But more recently, I would say that I set goals in college as far as where I would be career-wise, and at the present time, it's just not where I am, but over the last week or so, I have literally said to myself, "Give yourself a fucking break."
(I kind of got offended when I said that to myself, but I realized it was for my own good)
The thing of it is: A year ago, I moved from Mississippi to Pennsylvania and did not know ONE person. Not one. I had no idea what would happen after Election Day, and I didn't care at the time. A year later, I have found an apartment with an awesome roommate/friend, I have a job that pays me better than it should and gives me excellent benefits, I have people in my life here who mean more to me than I ever would've thought, and I have a plan to go back to school and see what path that might lead me down.
I think I may finally get it, Simon. I don't have to have all the answers. Asking the questions is as much a valuable part of the journey as knowing exactly what to do all the time.
So, happy birthday to me. I'm 28, and I'm fabulous.
I've thought a lot about this, about why creeping ever so steadily toward 30 bothers me so much, and I've come up with a number of things.
First of all, I'm kind of vain. Yeah, I'm sure some of you could be knocked over with a feather after that earth-shattering revelation, but it's true. I don't want to get wrinkles, I don't want any (more) gray hair, and I don't want my breasts to be in my shoes.
I'm not the most beautiful or the hottest girl in the world, by any means, but I'm not too bad to look at either, and I'd like to stay non-Crypt Keeper in appearance. It's shallow, but true.
I suppose my double secret fear is that I lose my looks and I, along with the rest of the world, discover that I'm not really as interesting or entertaining as I thought, and attention that I may've received in the past disappears.
On my good days, I know that's not true, but we all have our bad days.
Second of all, I'm not too crazy about death. Yeah, I know that no one is particularly looking forward to death, but everything about it scares the bejesus out of me to the point of insomnia, if I ever let myself think about it for too long.
It's not just my dying that scares me; in fact, that's really the least of it. It's the thought of as I get older, everyone I love gets older as well, and even thinking about the day I have to attend my parents' or sister's or best friend Amanda's funerals makes me want to broker a bunch of deals with God in order to be able to go first.
And third of all, and this is really the kicker I think and the one I can actually do something about:
I haven't accomplished what I imagined I would've at 28. This, this is the other thing that keeps me up at night when that pesky death thing isn't bothering me. When I was younger, I suppose I kept a vague idea in my head of what my life would resemble when I reached 30, and right now, it's not close.
Of course, when I was younger, I think a life at 30 entailed living with a big group of friends in California (where I could pursue my successful singing career), and we would all stay up as late as we wanted and always have Kool-Aid in the house, because my mom never let us have Kool-Aid, and I thought that a Kool-Aid-free house was no way to live.
But more recently, I would say that I set goals in college as far as where I would be career-wise, and at the present time, it's just not where I am, but over the last week or so, I have literally said to myself, "Give yourself a fucking break."
(I kind of got offended when I said that to myself, but I realized it was for my own good)
The thing of it is: A year ago, I moved from Mississippi to Pennsylvania and did not know ONE person. Not one. I had no idea what would happen after Election Day, and I didn't care at the time. A year later, I have found an apartment with an awesome roommate/friend, I have a job that pays me better than it should and gives me excellent benefits, I have people in my life here who mean more to me than I ever would've thought, and I have a plan to go back to school and see what path that might lead me down.
I think I may finally get it, Simon. I don't have to have all the answers. Asking the questions is as much a valuable part of the journey as knowing exactly what to do all the time.
So, happy birthday to me. I'm 28, and I'm fabulous.
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