Monthly Archives: May 2010

That Time I Told Everyone Your Secrets

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“In life, we all have an unspeakable secret, and irreversible regret, and an unreachable dream.” Diego Marchi

I currently have strep throat. I have taken my nightly cocktail of drugs and shortly I will feel myself slipping away to reruns of Sex and the City. You know, the TBS ones sans nakedness. So as long as I’m conscious, you just put your feet up, pour yourself a glass, and forget all about your problems while I wax poetic about the mundane details of this life talk about mine. I’m your Carrie Bradshaw and this is my way-too-personal-sex column. Of sorts.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about secrets.

Secrets hold great power. Once revealed, they can disrupt your entire life. Although many of us hold secrets in a negative light, there is such a thing as good secrets. Example:

  • I’ve been in love with you for years. Oh, and I’m perfect.
  • Grandma died. And you’re the sole heir to her bagillions.
  • Even though you said you didn’t want to get married, your boyfriend is proposing to you in Paris!

*Sorry, based on experience that last one was a poor example.

That being said, these Manolo Blahniks have been carrying a lot of secrets around. So many, actually, that they might be reaching their secret holding capacity. I mean, I wouldn’t want to break a heel. And they aren’t just my secrets. They’re your secrets too. And don’t you think that with the friendship should go the secrets? Why should I have to tote around moldy secrets of people that I don’t even associate with any more?

So while I was compiling a list of your secrets to blog about, I took a seat next to my giant New York apartment window, and in true Sex and the City format, I stared at my laptop and said to myself:

I can’t help but wonder… what are my secrets?

*My family always wondered why my cat BamBam looked a little strange. When I was 5, I wanted her to look like Heathcliff so I bit a chunk of her ear off.

*Speaking of ears, my right ear is significantly larger than my left. Like, my left ear is normal size; my right ear is ridiculous. I discovered this in high school, but my parents had kept it a secret since I was a baby. I always wear my hair down and no one is the wiser.

*My senior year of high school, I was always late for my curfew. Every time, I told my mom that a cop pulled me over. Every time, she believed me. I don’t know if this is a credit to my persuasive skills, or a testament to my poor driving ability. Truth is, I was driving in cars with boys. Actually, one boy. And I found it impossible to leave him.

blake-mycoskie-toms-shoes*I think Blake Mycoskie is the single-most attractive man on the planet. He’s generous, brilliant, well traveled and scruffy. He went on vacation to Argentina and saw hundreds of children without shoes, so he decided to dedicate his life to changing that. He now runs a successful business, TOMS, while traveling the world and giving people shoes.

*I wrote a paper in 6th grade about Pearl Harbor. By my second year of college, I had handed that paper in to about 8 different teachers along the way. What alarms me, is that I never even edited it.

*I dig the Twilight saga.

*In high school, when I worked at Chuck E Cheese, I would purposely misspell the names on the birthday cakes so we could eat them. They were so, so good.

Well, my dears. That’s all you get for today. Maybe someday I’ll tell you my big secrets. Maybe even the ones involving boys. But right now, I’d rather pass out. Of course, I’d love to hear some of yours – I promise I won’t blog about them. Right away.

Happy Memorial Day!

 

It’s Like Something Out Of Deliverance

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[I’m so sick of people saying that. And I’m so sick of other movies referencing that movie. I’ve never seen Deliverance and so every time someone makes a reference, I don’t get it.  When I ask what the movie is about people always say, “Horrible. Don’t watch it. Creeptown city. People get tortured and stranded and it’s just bad news.” Ok, then why have you ALL seen it?]

So have you ever tried this dating thing? There must be something in the autumn Illinois air that is making everyone want to set me up with their finest, handomest available male. I usually date men I’ve known for awhile, thus I haven’t gone on many “first dates.” And I’m finding the entire process to be sort of, different.

Someone asked me the other day to give him the “Cliff’s Notes” about myself. With a sigh and a sarcastic laugh, I said, seriously? I can’t even sum up the last week of my life in Cliff’s Notes format.

So in the interest of efficiency and simplicity, I have devised a form letter that I can simply hand across the table when presented with the statement “So, tell me about yourself.” I suggest you do the same.

Dear Gentleman Suitor:

I hate form letters. I love to travel, but I can’t fly unless I am unconscious. The aesthetic quality of my penmanship is a constant let down, as are my driving skills. I take issue with people who don’t understand the meaning of aesthetic. Although you may not fall head over heels in love with me, you will with my family. I’m a night person, so don’t even try. Whatever it is, do not try.

Truth is, I’m a total nerd. I get annoyed when people use “than” where they should have said “then.” I color coordinate the books in my room. I’d rather buy office supplies than jewelry. Because of these facts, it is a natural result that my friends do not include girls who talk about shopping, tanning, how much their feet hurt in heels, their new eye shadow, or how much they can’t WAIT to see Lady Gaga in concert. My mind explodes from all the meaningless information. But let there be no mistake, I look great in heels.

I’m very tidy, but I hate the word tidy along with several others. Compliments make me feel awkward. I like to cook. I like it even better if you like to cook. It’s not that I hate reading. It’s that I hate reading mind-numbing fiction, sci-fi, romance, or essentially, almost anything contained in the public library. Got it? If it’s witty, well-versed, or based on someone’s actual experience, I’m in. Got it? I believe in God, and although I have always loved Him with my mind, I have not always done so with my life. I’m passionate and creative. I love making people laugh.

I’ve lived alot of life in my short time on this earth. I must be with someone who can hold their own. I view money as a necessary evil, nothing else. I hate people who get embarrassed. I’m independent, and I will rarely ask for your help unless it involves heavy things or snowy weather. I want to move to a place that has fall weather permanently. My household uniform is a hoody, plaid pajama pants, and braids. I’d rather fight it out than ignore it.  If I end up really liking you, I’ll probably worry about your well-being and you’ll get annoyed. Most importantly, I’d rather be single forever than with a seemingly perfect man who doesn’t understand me.

Thank you for your interest. If you find this alarming rather than endearing, no worries, you can step out for an important call and I will go make out with the attractive waiter.

Sincerely,

Blunt.

I hate dating. It’s like something out of Deliverance.

An Ode To Park Benches And Passion

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“The Greeks didn’t write obituaries. When a man died, they asked only one question: did he have passion?”

I help take care of this elderly man named Allen. He can’t remember what happened five minutes ago, but he can give you a play by play of everything that happened during his time in WWII. Sadly, he is aware of his condition and why he’s in a nursing home. Every morning he still goes outside at 7am and salutes the flag. I work with another lady, Elene, who always walks around holding a picture of one of the Saints. She passed away yesterday, and I had to go into her room. I glanced at her wedding picture, next to her bed. It was from 1935. There were pictures of her grandkids, trips to Paris, and family Christmases. I noticed her stack of journals, chronicling her 90-some years on this earth. Next to them was a box that contained tattered love letters from her husband, who had died several years prior. He wrote her a note everyday telling her how much he loved her.

Then there are the others. The ones whose rooms are empty.

I’ve been taking my ipod on alot of daytrips to the park lately. Parks are bittersweet to me, as are daytrips. At any rate, they are good places for reflecting. If we ever met, you would probably instantly recognize two things: I play with my hair alot, I’m sarcastic, and I’m passionate. Okay, three. I’m also Italian, which makes the problem of passion significantly worse. But is it really a problem? Interesting you should ask. I hadn’t thought about it much until recently.

It’s a tricky dichotomy, Passion. I’ve always gravitated toward passionate people. People who aren’t alarmed by my enthusiasm for composition notebooks and travel size products, but rather, appreciate it. They take notice of little things that may appear insignificant, however, they are anything but. Passion can also be easily misunderstood.

Someone once told me that passionate people are amazing lovers, and even better fighters. When we’re in, we’re in. And when we care greatly, we hurt greatly. I share this with you because I like to keep it real. I’m not about pretending to be something I’m not. There is no greater disservice to the world, and to yourself. I’ve done some horrible things, which illustrate all too well, that there is a bad side of passion.

young-victoriaWhen I went to college in London, I learned a lot about Queen Victoria. I took a trip to her castle. I was excited when the movie Young Victoria came out, as she had such an incredible story that many haven’t heard. After living in near isolation and becoming Queen of the British Empire at only 18 years old, Victoria eventually married her best friend, Prince Albert, against all odds. He died of typhoid fever when he was only 42. In honor of him, she had his clothes laid out every day until her death, at age 82. Their story was one of passion.

Despite the bad side, I can’t see living any other way. Don’t be scared of what will happen if you jump all in. Life is just, life. It’s messy and horrible and wonderful. In the end, you’ll lose your hair, your health, and your good looks. Don’t end up with an empty room.