lolag’s blog

Just the sound of those four words often invoke inspirational thoughts of a better world but I'm afraid my dream isn't very noble.

A few months back, I came across this picture of me (with a friend of mine from undergrad) and since then...it's all I can think about.

It's hard to believe that seven years have passed since this photo was taken.  It's hard to believe that I thought I was fat back then.

The problem is that while my feelings are driven by vanity...the truth is that this is where the feelings start...and then snowball...but basically, I want to look like this again.  Or as close as I can given that I have aged seven years!

Anyway, this is a boring "blog" topic and so I won't bore you with specifics.  Nevertheless, it does allow me to show off how cute I was back then (cue narcissism)!

me_and_laura_2.jpg

Big nose (freckley with no regard for sunscreen) and all! I am seriously in love with the 25 year old me (mostly with that 25 year old chin!).

Go here immediately for Worker's latest find. 

I'm going home now and pulling the blankets up over my head.

...as I lied festering in my anger last night.  "I need to blog about this..." I thought, the sentences constructing themselves with such ease that even through the anger I was amazed by my brilliance.  Instead, I gave the blanket another tug, gnashing my teeth, pissed that two people can make a tolerant and patient person so incredibly intolerant.

Ted, by birth, assigned the unenviable role of having to mediate the relationship between his girlfriend and his parents.  Always falling a little too much on their side.  I find that it makes me hate him a little. 

It's odd. It's funny.  How normal people - nice even - can find it so impossible to see eye to eye when they love the same person in such completely different ways.

My sarcasm is misunderstood. I am not gracious enough.  I'm sure the list of my faults is much longer - I'm certain the parchment would stretch from  Portland to Portland.   

They are not my parents. 

I like them. I really do. Even after five years it doesn't seem to be getting any easier.  I vacillate between trying to figure out how to be more understanding, not to get so ruffled but then I always seem to do something wrong...

Then I start doubting me.  Which leads to me doubting us.  Which led to me sleeping in my sister's bed, tossing and turning.  I haven't slept in four nights.  My "home" is so disrupted. 

It gets so irrational or rather, I have become so irrational, that when one of the dogs cower from them (the other, "the traitor", is too easily wooed by chicken jerky) - I find that I am secretly championing the dog. 

Seriously, I want to reward the dog for not warming up to them.  Cause I get it.  They make it so hard.   Then it is so hard to be mindful that these are his parents.  But it hurts me too.  They are not very nice to me. I am rational enough to know that you won't take sides but it doesn't stop me from wanting you to tell me that I am right.  They are crazy.  A confession made isn't meant to be belabored.  Fine they are crazy.  Point made. End of conversation.  But I need you to understand why I feel this way.  I suppose he gets it but I don't feel vindicated. 

Then there is the gift giving.  Certain to make me damned if I do.  Damned if I don't.  I hurt feelings if I don't accept the shopping.  Gifts must be bought. I must accept them.  I am grateful.  I exude graciousness.  I hug.  I am not insincere.

Inevitably I have hurt feelings.  I have made grown women cry. 

Christ on the cross.  I feel completely manipulated.  "Listen Lady," I want to scream, "I do not need anyone else in my life to make me feel bad about myself. I have that market cornered and you can be certain that where I make a mistake or miss something - your son does a fairly decent job of filling in the gaps."

Why am I here?  Why must I feel like this?  It makes me question everything.  Do I want to expose children to this? 

Fester. Fester. Fester.

I finally sleep. Or my night has assumed the semblance of sleep I have had the four nights sleeping with my sister.

Fester. Fester. Fester.

I'm awake.  I feel like shit.  I have the anger hangover.  I blame Ted.  Stay mad at him.  For once.  Seriously, Laura.  Just. Stay. Mad.

I'm at work.  All is not well in the world.  Teeth are still gnashing.  Venom still runs through my veins.

If he calls don't answer. 

Later, the phone rings.  It's him.  My hand is on the receiver.

"Hello"

"Hello"

"Yes"

"They're gone"

The venom subsides. I can't stay mad at him (DAMMIT). 

They're gone.

I get it. You don't like the humidity.

Me? I don't like looking a pizza.

That zit in the center of my forehead?

Awesome!

With much love,
L

So last night, after Gilmore (meh) and House (the original McDreamy), my sister and I watched SVU.  Her friend Larissa had taped an episode of L&O and while we had missed CI, we had managed to DVR SVU.

From the start, I knew something was off with Elliot.  He looked like his head had been shruken by Maoris (aborigines of New Zealand for those wondering).  It seriously creeped me out for the entire episode.

And just when I thought I couldn't get any more creeped out, the director decided to film a sex scene with ole shrunken head.  Normally, this wouldn't be bad (as a fan of OZ - I've seen Meloni in some pretty salacious scenes) but last night it was just SO unnecessary.  All the hip/adonis belt/butt action.

I wasn't feeling it.

So much that I fell asleep. 

I got up at the end of the episode to go to bed.  Ted was out for the evening (graduation parties) and I grabbed the dog and got in bed.  She nuzzled into me and I pet her for a few minutes - thinking how nice it had been that I had just been asleep and how I wasn't going to be able to fall asleep with the dog like this.

Well, I was wrong.  I must have dozed off because next thing I know I am waking up to the sensation of something cold on my nose.  The dog had her nose pressed against mine as she lay staring at me.  And while I was very unhappy that she had woken me up, it was so freaking cute.

I love that dog so much.  (But then I had to rollover and go to sleep - which sent her to the floor.  She can't stand getting the back.  High maintenance dog that she is).

...you get in bed and can't get the game out of your head.

I have a few goals for this week...

Get to bed earlier and rise on time.

Get to work on time - with dry hair and in clothes that actually look nice together as opposed to the typical all black ensemble because you threw it on while running out the door cursing the clock and the dog at your heels begging for her treat and hoping no one is keeping tabs on how late you will be rolling into the office.

Make dinner at least two nights this week.

Get to a yoga class two nights this week.

Walk home from the 96th street stop two nights this week.

And finally, try not to play stupid computer game every single day of the week you big fat LOSER!!!

First, surfer boy's nipples.  Not hot.  For that matter, Veronica Mars kid is not attractive.  Not cute. Not let's stage a viewing party in the waiting room and make late-30 year old women look pathetic drooling over surfer boy's big pepperoni nipples.

Second, Tim Daly.  I'm going to kiss you with tongue.  Cameraman films the kiss.  My tonsils actually recoil in pain. 

Lastly, heard in my living room...

Wedding Preparation Scene.

Boyfriend: Like that woman could be his mother...who's his father, Bob Beaman?

Girlfriend and Girlfriend's Sister sit silently.

Boyfriend: I said, who's his father, Bob Beaman?

Girlfriend:  Who's Bob Beaman?

Boyfriend:  He set the world record in the 1968 Olympics for long jump...

Girlfriend: Well, you realize that it's a TV show and that it isn't real, right?

Sister:  The most ridiculous part is that you threw out the name Bob Beaman like it was going to make sense to us and when we didn't react you repeated it like it was so clever.

Boyfriend:  I hate you guys.

Let me start by saying that I have these ideas for great posts.  I normally have them in the bath.    I don't necessarily mean that they would be great for you but to me, in the bath, I am incredibly profound.

Then I walk out the door and *poof*...nothing. 

In the evenings, I have a sad addiction to computer solitaire.  It is a difficult version but nevertheless lame.  I like to listen to iTunes and relax with Yukon Solitaire.  I think it worries Ted but it is a good destressers for me. 

Last night, I was listening to some old Madonna and a lyric caught my attention.  "This is what happened between Greg and me," I thought.  I need to share this.  I was embarrassed that I found some value in a Madonna song.  Still, I gave the memory its moment.  It's bad that I almost married him.  What for?  I didn't love him anymore.  It was just at 19 I had loved him so much and I just couldn't let that go seven years later.

I suppose there is something to say about defending your battle wounds as well. I had believed in it so much that I stood my ground after he broke my heart at 20.  At 26, I was still defending the choice to take him back.  I couldn't have begged for nothing.

Thank God for his hyperbolic sentimentalism.  That's what ultimately saved us.  His ridiculous ideas.  His belief system ended up being braver than I.  Braver than me?

Our song was by Pearl Jam.  Better than Madonna? 

I guess if it speaks to you it the source shouldn't matter.  But it does. 

Ted brought Prufrock and Ben Folds into my life.  He too is sentimental to be sure.  I can be cold. At least with us it is rooted in reason. 

AND LOVE. Amazing love.  It hasn't faltered for a moment.  Even though I am certain sometimes it would be easier for both of us if it would.  Loving a person with depression has to be one of the hardest things for a person to endure.  Of course, loving a pedantic self-absorbed misogynist ain't all its cracked up to be either but the boy is it for me and I don't need Madonna or Pearl Jam to explain this to me.

I sure didn't start this post about Ted but here is where it has ended up.  He graduates in two weeks.  These five years have been full of struggles and with our track record I don't expect it will be easy but for once the future looks so bright, I've gotta wear shades.

No, I didn't just write that.  No. I did.  I paused. Thought about it and typed it. 

I am fuckin' cheeseball.  And I love this about myself. 

As it has been a long time since I have written and well because it is my blog. 

Things that have been going on in my life.

My sister got hit by a car last week.  Full on.  She said her face was pressed against the windshield before she flew to the ground.  She walked away with just a couple of bruises.  The guy who hit her...his name is Jigz. 

Once the car accident was funny and only a little bit tragic - I told my sister it was a shame it didn't knock any sense into her. 

On the Saturday before, Ted told her that he wished she'd get hit by a car.  We talk to each other like that never expecting that it might actually happen.

The whole "sister getting hit by a car" thing caused my anxiety to skyrocket then plummet leaving me in a whole mess of depression. 

I had a doctor's appointment on Wednesday.  Concerned about my depression and sitting on the verge of a nervous breakdown for the the days leading up to the appointment I began to discuss my concern with my doctor.  She just started at meet.  I started crying.  She stared. I don't think she blinked.  I then launched into my whole wanting to quit smoking but not really wanting to because I love it so.  She then consulted a magazine the size of a Reader's Digest.  Reader's Digest for Doctors. Apparently, the magazine told her to give me a prescription for the patch.

I might need a new doctor.

Heather is moving. I am sad.  I really like Heather.  I was never sure if Heather really liked me.  A few months ago, we really connected.  We laughed about our shared fear of catching our reflection and seeing our mothers.  Later that night, I almost broke her camera.  I understand why she is going.  I just wish she wasn't.  I'm kind of weepy about it. 

The sun is out.  Suddenly, I'm not so depressed (yet still weepy).

In a few minutes, New York City went from freezing and rainy to sunny and lovely.

And then it was humid.

Sometime, during my depression, I thought it would be a good idea to buy Hillary Duff's Greatest Hits.  Yes. It exists. It does not cure depression.   

Apparently, there is no substitute for Britney.

News flash. I will never be considered cool or legitimized by my music tastes.  Sometimes, I wish I was.  Music lovers like that are too cool for me.

Seemingly, everyone is way too cool for me these days.  Except maybe Jigz, but he hit my sister with his car. So, I don't really have any desire to hang with him.

I often watch television with a bemused expression on my face.  Ted catches me and asks why I am smiling.  I can't help it. Reverend Camden amuses me.

I don't really watch 7th Heaven. Smiling at television is still lame.

This Gwen Stefani disc isn't very good either.  Someone stop me before I buy Fergie.

I had some epiphany during my two-week bout of depression that the secret to life is personal responsibility and that if I want to be happy, I have to make myself so.  I'm not happy with my body - I have to be personal responsible (i.e., eat right and go to the gym).  I got up at 6:30 today.  To most people, that would be a start.  To me, it just makes me even more tired and lazy.

There's more to that personal responsibility theory of mine but I am certain I will be on to something else in a few days and the world already has enough motivational speakers and who wants to listen to those assholes?

I went to Heather's going away party this weekend.  She has really great friends.  It was bittersweet. 

I had the worst cab driver home from Heather's party.  I swear we stopped at every light on the West Side Highway. 

To make matters worse...I had to pee.

And I was drunk.  And hungry having gone out on an empty stomach.  I tried to get something at Toast, but the kitchen was closed.  So, I found myself in the "walk through" line at McDonald's on 125th and Broadway. 

Which might be why I have tres chins in every photo from Heather's going away party.

Still, I've lost 5 lbs. (Yay ME!!!!)

Also, (I almost forgot) I have high cholesterol (I'm sure the McDonald's helps!).

Awesome.   

So, this is what's been going on with me.  I have a business trip that will keep me out of town until Saturday.   I'm driving through Denver into the mountains.  Let's hope that I don't have a replay of the great Eisenhower Tunnel Disaster of 2000*.

THAT scarred me for life.

*As it is known to absolutely no one other than me.  The great Cheyenne Disaster of 2000 (when I drove the Wyoming instead of Colorado to avoid the Eisenhower Tunnel) was experienced by both my mother and me. Each time I was certain I would be plunging to my death.  Mountain road conditions can be very scary to a girl from the Great Plains.