Moms are so tricky

A lot of what I write about has to do with my childhood memories, but you know what? A lot of them probably aren’t true, and I don’t even know it. When I was little, I really wanted to go to Disney world. I probably didn’t know about all of the disgusting and fat people there who have to ride around in motorized wheelchair bc they can’t imagine sacrificing the lap-position that allows them to eat 24/7. So I really wanted to go, and so I told my mom, and then she said, “Oh, you’ve already been.” She showed me a pair Mickey Mouse ears with my name on them, and I was like, “OK, cool.” Fact: I had never been to Disney world. My mom just fucking lied to me because she could. Moms are so tricky. Then there’s this other memory my sister has of riding around the park with my dad on their bikes but it only happened like once. I think my sister caught on a bit earlier than I did because she used to tell stories about "when she was a little girl." She would give these elaborately detailed narratives about this other life, like: "My mom and I used to pick flowers." I would laugh but at the same time I was like, "Yeah, when I went to Disney world..."

Things my mother told me that are probably lies

You didn’t want to keep your middle school artwork.

No, I have no idea where all your beanie babies went.

Santa gave me this note; it says he’s sorry, but he’s out of Barbies.

If you walk two more blocks then we can take a taxi.

Just ignore your sister; she’ll stop.

It’s not fun to dress like everyone else.

No, no one thinks that.

Getting drunk isn’t “cool,” nor is it “fun.”

What I actually do all day

Hang out.

What I do all day (from the perspective of my resume)

6 AM: Wake up and think about how driven I am.

7 AM: Brainstorm with a group.

8 AM: Come up with ideas collectively but still take initiative.

9- 10 AM: Use every feature of Microsoft Office, including Excel.

10:30 AM: Type quickly and without error.

11 AM: Lay everything out InDesign and Photoshop and/or Illustrator.

12 AM: Publish them. EVERYWHERE.

1 PM – 3 PM: Juggle many things at once.

3 – 5 PM: Move about in a fast-paced environment while remaining focused.

6 PM: Use good communication skills.

7 PM: Multi-task.

What I do all day (from the perspective of my mother).

9:30 AM: Lie in bed and see how much of the day I can waste.

11 AM: Think about being unemployed because I’m pretty sure that if I just stay my room and watch TV all day long, someone will call up and say, “I’ve got just the thing for you.”

12 PM: Consider how many cigarettes I can smoke in one day and revel in the fact that my mother has no sense of smell and I have a very strong and demanding addiction. Head out for a “stroll” and chain smoke.

12:06: Have another cigarette.

12:08: Oops, one more!

1 PM: Think about how indestructible I am.

2 PM: Go find a wad of cash and burn it in the park because I know money grows on trees, and I’m not worried about running out!

3 PM: Wonder how long the dogs can hold everything in before they have to go to the bathroom.

4 PM: Think about that fact that if I leave the apartment for five minutes and bring the dogs with me, I probably won’t have to walk them.

4:05 PM: Come back into the apartment.

5 PM- 11 PM: Feel sorry for myself.

Where are you off to Little Jimmy?

I’ve always loved the idea of keeping a diary and writing in it—my observations, insightful perceptions: a real demonstration of my perspicacity that I could look back on a say, “how perspicacious” and then say, “wow, my vocabulary is immense and impressive I’m glad I studied five million words for the GRE because now, when I talk to myself, I feel really smart.” Now I have a blog so I don’t need to worry about writing stuff down anymore because I have millions of readers sitting in front of their computers waiting to see what really exciting things I’ll type. There was a comedian who said that blogging is like masturbating in front of a mirror and video taping yourself while you masturbate and then watching the tape and masturbating to it.

So that’s what I think about every time I type. It’s like my mantra. Anyway, so that’s really what diaries are about: self-indulgent shit, because what could be more fun to read about than me?! “Let me write all the shit I do down so then not only will I have done it by now I can fucking read about it.” Except sometimes I would go back and it would be really pathetic. Page 17 would say, "OMG Bobby is so cute, he is the best boyfriend ever" and then page 19 would say, "It turns out Bobby cheated on me during Thanksgiving break." And you can't even deny that you liked him because you wrote that shit down.

So all that is fine and good but then the Harriet The Spy books came out and sort of messed things up. Now instead of sitting down to write that my life was unfair it was like, I’m going to go out and fucking watch people do things and then write it down and read it later because I AM A SPY. But the intense spy missions that took place were, like, following someone to the grocery store. I bet kids got a lot creepier after reading Harriet The Spy: “Oh, where are you off to Little Jimmy?” “Oh nowhere Mom. I’m just going around with this notebook and binoculars because I heard our neighbor might be mowing his lawn and I want to record it. I may be gone for hours on end but that’s only because there will likely be other things—but I can’t discuss that with you.” Then Little Jimmy creeps off and his mom probably thinks he has fucking autism: the mysterious case of the dog in the nighttime—solved.

Then there are also dream diaries. I sort of like the idea of being able to wake up and write down all the weird shit I just dreamt up. But I feel like dreams are a little different—like some stuff you probably don’t want to remember. Like you probably don't need to share this stuff with anyone--even yourself. A dream diary is more like devastating evidence: “Things I thought about when I couldn’t control it.” It's like when someone has a fucking crazy dream and they share it with you and they're like, “I had the weirdest dream last night. I was riding around on unicorns and then they turned into bats. So there I was like riding a bat--this bat was fucking huge--and all of the sudden I found myself in the middle of a gang bang and then I killed everyone and ran away in my trench coat,” and then you’re like “what the fuck.”

When went to ballroom dancing school, I would be like,“ooooh this suuucks,” but in my head I would think, “YES.”

Since I no longer work or leave my apartment EVER (unless I head over to my other family’s house and drink white Russians with my BFFAEAE) I’ve decided that I’m going to do a couple posts on middle school life, right around 5^th and 6^th grade because writing about bitchy girls in 7^th grade is probably spot on but trite at this point.

Right before boys were acceptable, my friends and I like wanted to be dudes.

A picture of us wanting to be dudes

This is not a joke or an exaggeration (as the picture probably makes clear). I started thinking about this again when I was reading some more Klosterman. Klosterman is writing a bit about gender roles; he writes, “For the past twenty-five years, culture has been obsessed with making males and females more alike, and that’s fine. Maybe it’s even enlightened. But what I’ve noticed...is that this convergence has mostly just prompted females to adopt the worst qualities of men.” He goes on to talk about how sluziness means being promiscuous like guys etc...and how this is evidence of both sexes becoming “equally shallow and selfish.” Okay, fine, but in sixth grade we wanted all of the other bad things about being a guy—we wanted to wear boxers and big shirts and fucking JNCOS. Do you remember those? These pants were fucking out of control. I cannot believe my mother even let me wear them, and not only that but I had multiple pairs. Each pant leg was so big it looked like a maternity skirt. So we would wear these and then sometimes put boxers on underneath (this only lasted a bit because it was uncomfortable and also weird). The funny thing was, even when becoming a tomboy was the best, I also really liked boys, but I didn’t want to tell anyone. Like when we went to ballroom dancing school I would be like “ooooh this suuucks eeew” but in my head I would think, “YES.”

Being a dude and being cool continued right through our first co-ed Goddard Gates dance and then came to a halt. At that point, Mary-Kate & Ashley made Capri pants and three quarter length shirts the coolest thing in the world—clothing that was only slightly smaller than average size clothing but not actually small enough to be considered a mistake.