Hey! I forgot to post yesterday! Hell's bells. I posted three times on Monday, and then I was a crazy primaryhead and forgot to post, or thought I already had. Ah, dude. Dude. Well. I made it under the wire for today.
May I just say that I have got complete election exhaustion. I have got to dial it back. I have all kinds of thoughts about Tuesday's primaries, but I don't even want to look in my head and find out what they are right now. I wept this morning a little - not so much because Hillary had such a good night, but because I want it to be over already already. I'm ready to go under general anaesthesia until we have a nominee.
So good old Wacky Mommy has ridden in on a white steed with a sweet, sweet meme to distract me. I accept you, meme. I do you now.
1. I can’t believe I’ve never…
…won an Academy Award. I mean, you know. I can believe it. I utterly believe it. But also, I'm just starting to believe it. What I mean to say is that there is a tiny, retarded place deep inside me that doesn't quite understand that I'm not a famous film actor, or that I'm unlikely to suddenly pull a Marlee Matlin or an Anna Paquin and sneak up on a win from obscurity. But this year, the tiny place started to understand. Did you guys know that the Oscars are actually sort of boring? I just found out. They're only exciting if you kind of a little bit think you might win one someday.
2. Every time I think about … I still cringe.
Well, I tell you this. I know it's about a boy. But which boy? I am rife with cringeworthy boy stories. You got your formal dances with boys I had the supercrushes on wherein things were looking good and then suddenly I got wasted and put my foot through a deck and threw up on everybody and passed out. You got your myriad I-refuse-to-believe-you-don't-actually-love-me-so-this-eloquent-letter-or-serious-conversation-I-drag-you-into-will-help-you-understand scenarios. You broke up with me already? Oh. I didn't...was I there? I was? Oh.
3. I wish I’d …when I had the chance.
Gone to India after college. A friend of the family was the head of a school of theater and dance outside of Madras (Chennai), and he invited me to come for six months and learn about Kathakali, which is a classical form of Indian dance-drama. My parents would have been willing to pay and send me there. My dad was all for it. But I was in a big soggy depression and I was sleeping 14 hours a day and the thought was too overwhelming. What a chowderhead! I mean, it's sad. I'm sorry I was sad and soggy. But snap out of it! Free trip to India under shit-hot conditions! Dang.
4. I’ve never felt so out of place as when I…
...moved from New York to Seattle when I was nine. I thought everybody said "coffee" and "sorry" and "pen" and "friend" like total assholes. Who were the Mariners?? If anyone was asking if I asked to move here, the answer was NO. Fistfights ensued. (Not with my parents.) (I suppose it goes without saying that it's not a "fistfight" if you're nine and it's with your parents.)
5. … is my guiltiest pleasure.
I have no shame for all the bad tv we watch, so I think that's not it. I think it's Us Magazine. Yes. That has some shame in it. Tabloids make people's lives difficult. I am not one of those who's like, Fuck famous people and their little feelings. Go spend ten thousand dollars and call George Clooney and you'll feel better. But apparently I am a little bit cavalier with them because I subscribe to Us Magazine. You're welcome, pararazzi. Every week when it arrives I'm like, all right! And then I read it and I'm like, is that it? That's all it is? And then the next week when it arrives I'm like, oh, sweet fruit! The Us is here! I'm like that amnesiac fish in Finding Nemo. And a little bit amoral in this regard. Sorry, famous people.
6. I hope … knows how grateful I am for …
Dave. I hope Dave knows how grateful I am for the incredible patience and beauty and generosity of his love, and for what a stunning father he is. I'll be in love with that man until the day I die. Meeting him was the ultimate stroke of luck. I'm telling you, I'm like a walking four-leaf clover. And Finn! He tears into my chest cavity with his bare hands many times a day and grabs my heart and stretches it out and stuffs it back in five times bigger and looser than it was before. It's my job every day to try and convey to him how much joy he brings me. I want him to know it in his bones.
7. In my darkest hours, I secretly blame … for my dysfunction.
Well, hey, look. It's a secret. And these aren't my darkest hours. So I will pass.
8. … changed my life forever.
Dave and Finn. And moving to Seattle, even what with the fistfights and the Mariners. If we hadn't, I'd be somewhere else doing something different right now with an entirely different group of friends and no Dave and Finn. Not interested! Nein, danke! I'll take what I have.
It be time to tag. Who I tag? I tag...who updates their blog? I tag...Bladio Blogio and La Ketch and Stupid Mommy and a recent addition to this blogroll, Miss Mango Hedgehog. Thank you, W.M.! This was a nice hour in which I didn't bite my fingernails for Barack Obama. Like a little trip to the spa.