Tonight’s drink: Little Black Dress Merlot
I’m in Ripon this weekend for my grandmother’s 90th birthday party. I’m discovering that you don’t realize how old 90 is until you’ve seen someone get there over two decades.
When I worked at the newspaper, I had a column called “Friends and Neighbors” where I wrote about local people of interest. It was pretty commonplace for me to get letters about people turning 100, or 102, or 104, etc. I referred to them, appropriately, as the centenarians.
That was over five years ago now, and I have to believe that some, if not all, of the centenarians I met are gone. When I imagine that, I picture them as little dandelion puffs just whisking away with the breeze. If you don’t watch someone get old, it’s almost impossible to see them as anything but. They become their own sort of life form – a fleeting one, despite the evidence to the contrary.
My dad picked me up from the airport and I went with him to get some groceries for the party. The bag girl asked him if he needed help out, and he replied, “I’m not that old yet.” As we walked out, I thought, “Neither am I,” but something about the “yet” made me feel so mortal all of a sudden. I felt my muscles shiver in the cold air, the strength of my bones, the fluidity of my joints and movements. And then I pictured my grandmother the last time I had seen her. Frail and pale, fingers crooked from arthritis, sliding on her walker. Yet.
It really bugs me when people spout their mantras about “living for today” and “siezing the moment,” because I feel like those things are luxuries, not rights. It’s great to go around smelling the roses, but if you can’t make rent at the end of the month, you’ll be smelling a lot more than that while you’re living on the street.
So this post isn’t about that — or any other sort of advisory about how you’re supposed to appreciate this totally random, irrational existence. It’s just an observation on perspective, I suppose.
And a reminder that I need to take more calcium.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: exorcise, family, life, malaise, mental, random, running, thoughts
This morning’s drink: Tazo Zen green tea.
I am not an athlete, nor have I ever been mistaken for one. But I have always been a jogger to some extent – almost in the same way that I’m a smoker or a wino. Each have their place in combating the part of me than can turn into a head-case.
A lot of the distinction has depended on age, priorities and mental health. When I was in high school, I couldn’t buy cigarettes or alcohol, so I jogged around my neighborhood when I started to feel cloudy. When I started college, I began smoking more.. I think that just happens in college. But I noticed that it inhibited my running, so it never turned into a full-fledged habit. When I became of age, I actually started keeping alcohol in the house, but I didn’t like the smell of vodka in my sweat on morning runs. It never got out of control until I started dating more, and I finally went through a breakup that broke me down. But my age is reminding me that health insurance only covers so much, so I’m back to running, and I’m glad.
This holiday weekend, I had an unusual experience, though, that reminded me of my first bad breakup at the age of 18. I had been with him for a couple of years, and we had talked about marriage, etc. after college. But, of course, we grew apart, and it killed me. I started running A LOT. By the river, along Jackson Street, all over town, and in the gym. I was sort of like Forrest Gump – if I wasn’t waiting tables, I was running.
This one morning, I was all in my head, and I felt like I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t get hot enough, tired enough, sweaty enough, sore enough – I cranked the treadmill up as high as I could stand and screamed through my last mile until I couldn’t breath. As I walked it out, a fellow gym rat came up and just said, “Whatever it is, you aren’t going to outrun it.” All I could think was that I didn’t know it was so obvious.
This weekend, on the plane to Sacramento, I felt that suffocating headspace consume me. I was completely out of it the entire time – in line, on the plane, waiting for my father, on the drive home. Even though I hadn’t been working out very hard lately, if at all, I felt like I needed to go to the gym. I needed my brain to seep out of my pores along with the sweat, worry, embarrassment, frustration, loneliness and defeat. My dad set me loose, I made a bee-line to the gym, and ran for an hour straight for the first time in years. I just couldn’t stop running – I couldn’t get tired enough, sore enough, hot enough to burn it all out of me. Today is the third day in a row that I’ve tried to exorcise through exercise, but to no avail. I can’t put my finger on it, but like a cranial rum cake, something is soaking deep into my brain.
My life is better than it’s ever been, my siblings are finally getting their shit together, my parents understand what it means to eat healthy, and I have a tan. Yet all I can think is that I want out of this body. What the hell is wrong with me.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , Bethesda, faith, family, guilt, life, martyrs, Maryland, people, random, thoughts, work
Last night’s drink: House merlot at the Saphire [sic].
I successfully evaded three hours of dining with my coworker last night, and opted, instead, to take an early evening nap and a walk around downtown Bethesda. This part of Maryland is very cute and made for rich people. It has safe options, like Rock Bottom and cute little boutiques. But every town, no matter how ritzy, has it’s dive. The Saphire was my saving grace, along with Tony, Charlie, Chris, the bartender, and the Tastee Diner we went to after I’d had a few.
Tony, who graciously covered all of my food and drinks last night, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t thrilled to be in a job that sent me last minute to Washington D.C. The thing is, he was right. And I am grateful for the paid trip, and the expensed food. What I’m not grateful for is the 24 hour company of martyrs and health nuts.
I’ve struggled with the ability to blow off martyrs for… well, forever. If you are secure in yourself and your abilities, confident in your work ethic, and have reasonable self-esteem, martyrs should not bother you. I have all of those things, and martyrs get me every time. Whether they are family members who take on the extra load, or co-workers that treck into work with the flu, they always ping me in that one cerebral spot – the one that makes my jaw tighten with guilt. As soon as I’ve been exposed to their cross, all I can do is think about how I should be doing that, too.. and how inadequate I am as a result.
Of course, an hour later I’m over it – even sooner if I have a glass of wine to wash it down. But what can I do to circumvent it all together? The readiest answers are to either: a) tell that person to get a life; or b) tell the world to go F itself. I’m not the kind of gal that would do either of those things, so those aren’t viable solutions for me, as relieving as they sound. Besides, it’s my problem that these people are getting to me – not theirs. I need to find the anchor inside me that I can hold on to when I get the urge to throw things at these people’s faces.
….and… nothing comes to mind. Normally, I’m pretty good at identifying this stuff, but all I can think is that I just want martyrs to leave me alone. Stop making me feel guilty for enjoying myself after work. Stop making me feel bad for eating chocolate cheesecake. Stop making me feel like a selfish brat for not visiting my grandparents all the time. I put in my hours – I exercise willpower – I write them nice, long handwritten cards every few months. I pay my dues, dammit – and I don’t rub it in your face to prove it.
I think some people need to identify with their suffering, because they can’t identify with their joy. They need it to bond with others, and to have meaning in their lives. Suffering is, I believe, the root of all faith in religion. If you never had to see through a bad time, you never had to have faith that you would. So when you bond with others and you find your spirituality in the things that bring you down, it’s no wonder that you feel the need to put it out there. Maybe these people, in actuality, are trying to bond with me, in a funny way? I don’t know… I think martyrs hate competition.
Joy doesn’t prequisite faith, though it can spring from it. And I can identify with my joy a little too much sometimes. I still have faith, though, but I think mine springs more from confusion and that wierd, floaty feeling of the unknown. And I think I bond with people more over the unknown than the grief that sometimes comes from it.
It’s not likely I’ll be persecuted anytime soon, as a waspy, middle class chick from Southern California. But I hope I don’t try to bond over it, if I ever do.
I’d rather just go get a drink with you.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , alcohol, behavior, education, family, life, thoughts, wild, women, work
Last night’s drinks: Pietra something Merlot.
Kyle and I had an extended happy hour at Modus last night, which then continued in my apartment with pita chips, Rex Goliath, and Little Miss Sunshine. I think we both passed out around 10 p.m.
Of course, I woke up this morning at 4 a.m., stumbled to the restroom, and looked in the mirror to review the mess I’d made. It wasn’t too bad, but it prompted me to think immediately of work which, in turn, prompted me to give my reflection a look of disapproval and consternation. Normal girls don’t act this way, I thought to myself.
So as I washed up, I started to think about what normal girls do do on Tuesday nights instead. I could come up with some hypotheticals – like, they make dinner, watch television or read, work out, talk on the phone, maybe lay out their clothes for the next day. I do these things, too, on weeknights (except for the clothes thing – that’s just over the top), but hardly ever on a consistent basis. I’m all busines in the morning and throughout the workday, but at night I’m hit or miss.
It prompted me to want to figure out who these normal girls were that I was comparing myself to, and why I wanted to be them.
Are they business women? Well, I do feel really good wearing suits and black leather shoes, and I like being on committees and working on projects. I also really enjoy having business cards and a job title with “manager” in it. I like my desk. I like my office. I like shaking hands with people and coming up with strategies for how to get these done, and done right. But I only like working in the business world when it’s not interfering with my social agenda. And business isn’t my passion, it’s more like a lucrative game. So, I don’t think it’s the business women.
Are they wives and moms? It’s hard to deny wanting to be a wife someday – and if I’m being realistic, also a mom. Even though I’ve talked about my ability and enjoyment of living alone, and my acceptance of probably dying alone, there’s no denying that I really enjoy the partnership of a good man. No one wants to marry a woman who spends more time leaning over a drink than she does leaning over a stove – or at least, the man I would actually consider marrying doesn’t want that. And I would never be caught with more than one glass of wine in front of little kids. So, obviously, I’m not putting myself out there as a potential for either of those things – because I’m not even close to being ready for that. So, it’s not them, either.
Are they law school students? Yeah, right – I’ve seen them party.
Are they good daughters? My dad’s very proud of me.
Are they good Catholics? You know those are the wildest chicks of them all.
Maybe I’m just trying to be a bad girl after all.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , advice, education, family, life, thoughts, women, work
Tonight’s drink: Penfolds Shiraz/Cabernet.
Not to hold on to the past, but I’ve been thinking a lot about the blog conversation I had with Pawel, Edward, and Francois in Vegas. At the time, I was very self-conscious and deprecating of my blog, because I was in the midst of a bunch of people that actually knew what they were doing. But when they said that they liked it, I was encouraged, and I tried to pay attention to the pointers they gave me for how to make it better.
In the past, I would’ve maybe shunned criticism of someting as personal as a journal of my thoughts. But I think your late 20’s constitutes a time when you start to take a look at what you’ve done for yourself to date, and wonder how you can make it better or more sensible. Like tonight, when I skipped the soft scrub and just poured bleach in the sink. Or last night, when I just parked five blocks from Croce’s and walked into downtown instead of getting ripped off at a parking lot.
I’ve been planning for the last few months to get a second bachelor’s in journalism, but I can see now that I’d rather just go to law school like I’ve always wanted to. No more listening to people’s poo-pooing. I’m only going to listen to people that have advice on how to succeed. As I write this, it almost makes sense to the point of idiocy. Why would I take pointers from someone who thinks I’m going to fail?
A lot of people that don’t know me, and are exposed first to my carefree side, automatically assume that I’m stupid. I think part of it has to do with the long legs and dorky shell. It’s insulting, yes, but I’m getting over it. It does leave me to wonder if I’m shooting myself in the foot with all this partying and generally saucy behavior. I guess as long as I’m not posting nude pictures of myself on the internet, or participating in amateur night at Deja Vu, I’m within the confines of reasonable behavior. Feel free to argue that point - sometimes I live in a dream world.
Like the poo-pooers would influence me, so, too, would the idiots that think I’m a moron. I often wondered, after expressing my dreams, how I could ever think that I would cut it in law school. The more practice LSATs I take, and the more I enjoy taking them, I’m beginning to see that I’d not only cut it, but I’d slice it, dice it, and turn the drippings into the best freaking gravy you’ve ever had. Let’s face it – dorks are good test takers.
After that, the spectacular blog.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: alcohol, drinking, family, life, men, personal, Thanksgiving, thoughts, warnings, women
Last night’s drink: chicken wonton soup broth.
This year, I had the most inebriated, belligerent, hungover Thanksgiving I’ve ever had – and I was the most sober of them all. From aunts to grandmas, the bar was rocking with tequila shots and Sonoma County chasers. It was a new experience to see not one, but many of my relatives about one open-toed shoe away from dancing on the wet bar. I suppose it’s a blessing that I was on dish-duty, otherwise I’m sure I would’ve jumped right into the competition for most photo-worthy topple.
The alcohol experience wasn’t the only one that raised my eyebrows over the short time I spent in Northern California. On our drive from the airport, my dad and I had a great conversation in which I discovered that: 1) he actually respects my opinion a lot, and 2) he would prefer that I date (and probably marry) a man that can instinctually whip out 50 ways to kill someone. While in the academy, my dad was told to approach everyone you don’t know as if you will have to kill them, and he’s lived, dare I say survived, by that mantra. Now I understand why my father wore his ankle piece to Disneyland.
Of course, I had my fair share of vodka after we bid our relatives a happy recovery. My sister and I carried on our new post-Turkey tradition of going to a dive bar and playing pool after we tried, unsuccessfully, to get the party started at the Hilton (I swear, one of these days I’m going to write a full blog about my hatred for the Hilton). There was some removal of clothing, stealing of numbers, casual death threats, blackjack, moonwalking, bad music, and passing out. Oh, and we kicked ass at pool. The Color of Money, baby. Or, so I’ve been told.
I can’t escape the feeling that I’m getting too old for these pictures, though. I was wearing a blazer for gosh sakes.
The trip was a whirlwind, no matter how you slice it. I landed drunk on Thursday and came back more wrecked on Friday. I saw sides of my relatives, and people in general, that I didn’t know existed. I got up close and personal with my current extreme frustration with men. I came back to San Diego and felt around for an anchor that wasn’t there. When the spotlight spins around you like that, you have to really focus on what’s being revealed to you. More importantly, you have to decipher whether or not it’s a warning that you’re about to crash into the coastline.
It’s not going to stop me from visiting Edward in L.A., though. At least once.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , children, eggs, family, fertilization, genes, independence, life, thoughts, women
Last few drinks: dirty martinis, wine, etc. (since Saturday.. don’t get too excited).
There’s something about bedding sets that seems tacky to me. Or should I say seemed, since I am now the proud owner of a Mervyn’s Fall-Sale Special Bed-in-a-Bag. It came with sheets and shams and all the other things with names that don’t really mean anything to me – except for comforter. I love comforters.
So as I reclined atop my new bedspread this evening, I sent self-portraits via email in response to a phone call I got this afternoon from Lisa at SurroGenesis. About six months ago, I submitted the paperwork to become an egg donor for couples who have difficulty conceiving on their own. When I told this to Big Josh, his only comment was, “Woah.. creepy.” I was expecting something like that, actually – I’m still a little freaked out by it myself. The potential lasting health effects, the fact that I’m officially spreading my genes, the inevitable trip to Modesto.. all of these propositions make me uncomfortable, yes – but more than anything, I’m worried that I won’t like the parents.
The unofficial yet undeniable genetic trait of the Bull Family is hyper-independence. Bull kids don’t get kicked out of the nest so much as they just sort of naturally migrate away from it at the earliest age possible. I swear, the only reason my dad kept us in the house during high school was because he was still legally responsible for the stupid things we would do. Otherwise, my Oldsmobile would have taken to the streets years before it actually did.
There’s a strange naturalness to the way our family separates, too. We love eachother, no doubt. But there’s that feeling that, if one of us died, we’d be sad, but it wouldn’t really change life drastically for any of us. We all live in different cities and maybe talk on the phone once a month. Our lives are simply autonomous. There’s no anger or annoyance involved. No one’s going to therapy for it.
So, when I think about my little haploids coming face to face with that of some random guy, my first thought is, “Will this guy’s sperm be manly enough for my eggs?” What about the mom? Is she going to be some overprotective hen who won’t let my little half-me play in the dirt or watch Dirty Dancing? It would stifle the Bull-ness that gives my genes that extra special something. Frankly, they won’t be getting what they paid for.
If I’m going to do it, I have no choice but to get over all of these thoughts and let my Bull eggs do what they would have done anyway: simply move on to their own lives. Besides, if my long-lost child is anything like their biological Mom, they’ll embrace the Bull they were born with.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: crazy, family, friends, hypochondria, lies, life, people, random, thoughts, vacation
Last night’s drink: Airborne.
Faced with the finality of the Friday before vacation, I was hit with a sort of rapid onset case of hypochondrial psychosis, which not only forced me to focus on every pain, twitch, sneeze and bruise on every inch of my body, but it also prompted me to visit urgent care in order to get antibiotics for what I finally concluded was an oncoming external ear infection. I was so afraid of getting sick on vacation.
After a quick once-over by the nurse practicioner, she told me I have a zit forming in my ear, and gave me a low dose of antibiotic pills to take away the germies before wishing me fun in Vegas (yes – I’ve been talking non-stop about my vacation; I am too excited to shut up). Of course, as soon as I heard the news I instantly felt better, so I’m not going to waste the supply. I’ll just stick some oxy in there and call it good.
As I was chugging my Airborne drink in a precautionary move, I came across Nancy Grace, which I recalled as one of the shows that the TV People at work told me to watch. Apparently, she’s supposed to be the Dr. Laura of television. Since Dr. Laura is one of my guilty pleasures, I decided to give it a shot. What I actually found was just a boring sensationalist with predictable broadcast ploys. There was one idea that came up during her show, though, that I’ve actually been thinking about a little bit lately: the whole concept of people saying, “He/She would never do that. Anyone that knows Him/Her knows that they would never do anything like that.”
Usually this comes up from friends or family of an individual who has disappeared, often a mother who has appeared to have abandoned her kids but is believed to have been abducted, but also perhaps as a suspect in a crime where no clues can be found. It makes me think about how well anyone really knows anyone else. I think if you surveyed 100 people, and you asked them if they considered themselves to be crazy, at least 95 of them would say yes, to some degree. The other five are probably just delusional, which qualifies as crazy in my mind.
People have too many layers to be predictable – you never stop growing, or learning new things, so you can never know how you are going to react to new situations or stimuli until they actually happen. And then – BAM – a new layer. Your family and friends know the layers that have existed, and maybe some of the new ones you’ve taken on, but they don’t know the ones that haven’t formed yet. So maybe the friends/family could say, “Oh… Bridget would never in a million years to that,” if they monitored her life 24/7, but there’s all kinds of crazy stuff out there (correlative to all the crazy people), and so you just never know what’s going to happen next.
It happens the other way, too. I’m sure you know guys & gals that you would never describe as a “kid person,” but I bet you’ve also seen at least one of those people do a 180 when the baby situation actually comes to be. People lie to themselves and eachother, and many are very convincing. But I think many lies are based on speculation rather than deception – like, what a lie is going to do rather than what the message actually is. If lying to yourself or others brings you comfort, it may just be a default stance until you’re faced with the truth and you have to make a move.
If we are all surrounded by lies, that would help to make sense of why, really, nothing seems to make sense. But then again, what do I know – except what I’m feeding myself?
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , articles, culture, family, life, love, news, Newsweek, pregnancy, single, thoughts, women, work
This Morning’s Drink: Coffee.
There is currently an article in Newsweek, titled “Knocking Yourself Up,” which discusses post-30’s career women empregnating themselves with donated sperm. Apparently, there is an emerging American trend within this demographic of exceling in one’s career, tripping over a string of date bombs, and eventually deciding that the other half of procreation is too easy for all that noise.
Ever since I started thinking about being a mother, I’ve always pictured myself as a single mother with a little girl. I’m not one of those women who is in a hurry to have kids – in fact, I’ve always been terrified of the prospect. I’ve gotten more used to the idea as I get older, but there was a time when I’d hear of officemates getting pregnant, and my first instinct would be to console them. For some reason, kids, in my world, have taken on a sort of “Dead-End” sign at the end of a paved road. Past that sign is a bunch of dirt, weeds, gravel, and an end to life as I know it. I’ve noticed, though, that the older I get, the more I imagine that space with flowers and grass. Maybe it won’t be the end.
Notice that statement is in the future tense. Like, distant future tense.
Many people have told me that I will find someone and get married, but I’m having a hard time believing that to be true. I am starting to understand why people a half a century ago were getting married and starting families so young – because, when you get married young, you haven’t had a chance to harden yourself in your singledom. I love living alone. Love it. Sharing a space with someone who is similarly stubborn will likely be a jarring experience – sharing a life with that same someone… yikes for both of us.
I know a lot of married people, but I know a LOT of single people, too… and I’m not just talking mid-20s singles. I live in an apartment complex that sort of resembles a cross-section of the singles in the world. There are a few of me, a couple young straight men, one young gay male, and the rest are older, gay & straight, men & women. With cats. Lots of cats in this complex.
We are all relatively normal, social, even attractive people (with the exception of the psycho guy down the hall), but the point is that there are mostly older singles. Maybe a sample of 30 isn’t that statistically significant, but it’s something to think about.
In a sort of side note, I just recently read a blog (sorry.. I can’t find it now) that criticised people who used fertilization methods as being “genetically vain,” because, I guess, they were effacing their destiny of not being able to procreate with others by doing so unnaturally (and they should just be adopting instead). Though the logic sucks, I can sort of see her point. If natural selection hasn’t selected me, am I not throwing a wrench in the gears by doing it myself? If I were to have a child, though, I would want to experience all of it. The growth inside me, sonograms, maternity clothes, cravings, the big belly, childbirth, the whole enchilada. If that makes me vain, well… I’ve always liked Carly Simon.
So if that Mr. Right doesn’t propose, I have options. At least I know that I won’t be alone.
