8-ball of relationships February 19, 2009

I have realized something – and I have been wondering about this for a while. Why does it seem like every one of my friends at some point or another, comes to me for advice on every type of relationship woe?

Do I look like Dr. Ruth to them, or Dr. Phil? Not exactly two people who I would like to be compared to – physically or otherwise.

I seem to be their guru of relationship advice and remedies. My friends always find me and lament their troubles and their insecurities and their secrets to me. This is without fail. I love my friends, really I do, but they never seem to understand that I am only human – a single woman no less – and I really have no desire to nitpick over the most minute of details of a person’s love life.

At one point, out of desperation and annoyance, I gave horribly bad advice – AND it worked for her. My advice seems to have a life of its own – I try to foul it up, but it never seems to go the way I plan.

I do find all of this advice business terribly hilarious, seeing as how the few relationships that can be considered as “relationships” by technical social norms terms, never ended well. They just flopped for this reason or that reason. And I am the one always asked, “what does this mean?”, or “how can I really tell?”, or “it feels like this relationship is going no where, but I don’t want it to end…”

Argh. How am I really suppose to know the answers? Are you expecting a band-aid and a lollipop to make it all feel better? There are just too many variables that go into a relationship in the first place that there is no way that it can be fixed by what one person says. I am not fixing a problem that isn’t even mine. You go fix your own. Oh… and you may want some ice cream to go with that – might I suggest Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food? Yum indeed. Take care now. Bu-bye.

I wish I could say that.

But, no I am the good friend.  I can’t do that. Though I want to so badly some days.

I went to go see He’s Just Not That Into You on Monday. I have seen so much of the story line of that movie in real life. Those things really happen. The insecurities are real. Women really talk like that. Men act like that as well. There is always someone who has to lead others out of the maze of what relationships make our lives into.

I wonder what will happen when the day comes that I need to ask advice because of one of my relationships. Am I suppose ask myself what to do? Most likely – and as it should be. No one really knows the truth except for the one asking the question after all.

For the Big-Red-Heart-Day February 10, 2009

Just in time for Valentine's Day... The perfect gift mayhaps?

Call me cynical, call me a Debbie-downer, call me what you like. I may be jaded, having lived through my fair share of toads that never turned into a prince, but I just find it highly humorous and ironic that we celebrate the martyring of a saint with such commercialism.

What would St. Valentine think of the current state of affairs if he was still around? Would he be pleased that the whole of the holiday has been so watered down and that all that has come to symbolize it is a fat man with wings, wearing a diaper and shooting magic arrows of love at them? Or paper cut-outs of hearts, doves, and X’s & O’s?

I don’t know, but I do know that with the eminent holiday looming over the heads of the world’s populace, the pressure is on – to get the reservation at the right restaurant, the right flowers, the right gifts….yaddi yadda. This stress-fest feels like a coronary or aneurysm waiting to happen.

Please, make no mistake – I am a romantic. A hopeless one at that. Just not on Valentine’s Day. It’s too cliche, too over-done, and far too fake feeling for me. To have one day set aside to pull out all the romance stops seems a horrible way to express ones love for another. Love should be spontaneous, exciting, from the heart. Showings of love and affection should not be expected at all – they should pop up out of the blue and sideswipe you with their random perfection and wonderfulness.

So Here’s the Thing…. February 4, 2009

I. Hate. Idiots.

And not your perennial, goof-ball, missing-more-than-half-a-deck idiots. Those kinds of idiots can be forgiven for their stupidity. I am talking about the kinds that are so full of themselves and think that they know so much more than you do that talking to them is nearly mote.

It all began today when the group of my friends that just so happen to be able to sync their schedules for a moment of lunch began to go off about the whole recent debit card hacking.

Two of us had gotten the letter in the mail telling us that our cards had been put into a list of possibly compromised cards – I was one of the two. One hadn’t been affected by this. The other had no idea about it – other than the bare facts. And it is those bare facts that she began to freak rant  twik out about. 

Trying to explain that it was not the banks but was a merchant that was hacked was so damn near impossible, that I almost threw something at her - and I don’t get that urge very often towards anybody or anything.

ARGH!

Apparently I was completely wrong, and she began to inform of the truth, saying that she knew all about it and that it was all of the banks fault for letting it happen. I guess being of the I think it is something like 40 million people now with a compromised card in United States didn’t give the right to know more than she did about this. 

Anyways, I just vented all my anger and my momentum is gone until this woman says or does something else that is so incredibly stupid that it astounds me and makes me want to shake her or hit her upside the head. 

Have a lovely day!

Hmm… February 3, 2009

 

I have had this stuck in my head here lately, and it has become a nuisance. I think they call the songs that you can’t get out of your head “ear worms” or some such thing. I thought as long as I had stuck in my head, I would see if I could get it stuck in other people’s as well. Enjoy!

A Life Without Post-it Notes… January 27, 2009

The other day I ran out of Post-it notes. To most people, being out of Post-its is not a matter to halt one’s everyday schedule. For me, it is a make or break situation. My life is organized by those garishly bright and multi-shaped pieces of paper with that odd adhesive that has just that right amount of stick. They remind me, tell me, keep my place, and generally make it so I can easily figure out where I am at.

So when I had finally used that last bright green one, I was shocked – I’ve never ran out of my main source of  daily momentum. I tried regular notebook paper – I could never remember which book I had written in. I tried random paper scraps – that was a joke. They only got lost in the continuum of my life. My hand was the next obvious choice – I soon learned that there was only so much room on one’s two hands before you had to start washing off and writing again. I was beginning to worry that I was forgetting times, dates, and important subjects that were of high importance to me.

Between classes, one of my friends suggested that we go to Target so that she could get herself the supplies needed for the new semester and her ever-hectic life. I agreed on one condition: she gave me a moment to grab my wallet. Agreeing to my lowly request, we headed off  to the epic story of greatness that is known as Target. Without warning, I veered off down the aisle to the office supplies.

There they were – all lined up and wonderful in their ridiculously hued way. Searching for the ones I use the most, I was side-tracked by the ones shaped like apples, trees, and butterflies. there were even initial ones – and yes, there was a C (much to my amazement, seeing has how typically there never is a C when ever I have come across anything with initials). But I’ve never been a fan of those types of Post-it notes; I am a traditionalist. I like the squares. Sometimes lined, always in the brightest colors I can stand, and never under-estimated.

Once back next to my desk, I put up the first brand-spanking-new Post-it and it read of a poem prompt: “ Smell of dieing Marigolds and telephone lines shimmering.”