Boy, do I have some Tales to Tell...
I finally got to see Slumdog Millionaire. I had been urged, by many, to see it. My husband saw it twice. And he never sees anything twice. My friend Yolanda makes a routine of walking out of movies she finds stupid; which is most of them. She told me to go see this one. So, I did. Meh.
Ok, I didn't hate it. I thought it had its good parts: the way the story is told, the rawness of the portrayal of the country and culture, the visceral acting done by the children. I loved those parts. And if the ending wasn't so god-damned schmaltzy, I would have loved the movie. I mean, the whole pining for a lost love. Been done. And much better. And, she comes from the slums. She ain't leaving the riches. Trust me.
I spoke to my sister about the movie. She said that it was hard for her to believe the ending because Asians, in general, are not very emotive and demonstrative. We are almost always practical. We don't wait everyday, at the train station, at 5 o'clock, for anyone... except maybe our train to work. Or home.
There was a part at the end that I really liked. The Bollywood dancing.
My husband said that the reason I didn't like the happy ending was because I was a cold-hearted bitch. I am. And I never really liked "happy ever after" endings. Which is what I felt this movie was. For a movie that was ingenious in using flashbacks to tell us how he knew all the answers, that pulled few punches in telling of the poverty the children came from, that laid out the forsaken life they were born into, that tapped into the strength of the child actors, the ending sure seemed poorly routine. Later.
On December 26, 2008, I happened to be in the City. So, I took advantage of that and went shopping for some new clothes. One of my purchases was two pairs of deeply-discounted corduroy pants. Not just any corduroy pants. Some may know them as skinny pants. I tried them on with trepidation. But I fit into them. On top of that, I fit into them after a big meal.
So, without some buyer's remorse, I purchased them. Got home. Took them out of the bag. Put them on top of my dresser where they stayed for a week. I finally threw them into my closet just to get them out of my sight.
I'm not sure why I hesitated to wear them. Probably because I didn't want to get disappointed if they didn't exactly fit the way I wanted them to. I haven't had this weirdness since I used to weigh 220 pounds. When you are 5' 6" and 220 pounds, there isn't much out there to wear that you can feel cute in. Because at that size nothing feels cute. And these skinny pants are the type of clothing that you have to feel cute in.
Well, this past Saturday, after a doing laundry, I re-organized my closet. There were the pants. Both pairs. I decided to take off the labels. And hang them neatly. I also decided to wear them to work the next day. And I did. And, guess what? They fit. Not only do they fit, they fit well. Granted, because of my thick thighs and huge calves, they do fit a little snugly in some places. I even got compliments. And say what you will, nothing feels better than getting compliments on how you look in your clothes. Nothing. Later.
It's no secret that I love my dentist. I recommend her all the time. I actually look forward to the dentist. So much so that people have mentioned that maybe, just maybe, I purposely do things to my teeth to warrant a visit.
But after today's procedure. I think I can safely say that I won't mind being away from the dentist for a bit. No matter what they say, seven shots of anesthetic is crazy. My tooth would just not get numb. I finally bit the bullet and just tolerated the discomfort. I was fine.
But right now, I can't feel my jaw. Ugh. Later.
When I lived by myself, in my Chelsea studio, I didn't have at television. I lived for 5 years without a TV. I spent my time listening to music. Lots and lots of music. And this was before you easily downloaded music off the web. I think I need to go back.
A lot of the ways I feel seem to be attached to certain songs. Not necessarily a specific person (with certain exceptions) or a specific genre. Just specific songs. I'm sure that there is some terminology to describe this fact. I listen to music as inspiration. I've always sung out loud. I don't think I have a good voice. I don't even think I know how to really sing. But I think that my emotions feel stronger when I sing. I used to attend church with my parents to be able to sing out loud. It was the only way the service felt tolerable.
What is it about songs by the Carpenters that makes me feel joy? Is it Karen's voice? And Not Ready to Make Nice by the Dixie Chicks always makes me feel empowered. The carefree beats of Freestyle. The naive desperation of How Do I Live Without You by Leanne Rimes. The hope of Angel by Sarah MacLachlan. The unparalleled "fuck-off-ness" of Madonna. Thank goodness I have YouTube to look back on all of them.
Lately, I have found myself going back to listening to music. Granted it tends to be on YouTube. But I do it while I do things like... well, blog. I can't live without my iPod. I think I a looking for inspiration. Inspiration to do something. To feel stronger. Something. Later.
Sometimes I wonder if I am the only person who wastes hours on YouTube listening to old music. I spend at least 3 hours a day listening to music on YouTube. Most of it is freestyle. Or 80's. Or obscure new age stuff. It is amazing that I can find this stuff on there. It is more amazing that I spend so much time doing it. Honestly, it has replace network TV for me. Scary. Later.
As of 5:00pm Eastern time, I completed my 39th year of existence.
As previously mentioned, I got a delicious cake. There's still a little less than half of it in the fridge. It should be gone in a couple of days. The rest of it was eaten by a several friends who came over for brunch. Even my old partner-in-NYC-crime came for my birthday. This may have been the happiest I have been in a while. This may be the best birthday ever.
Some highlights:The aforementioned lemony-fabulous cake from
Amy's Bread.One of my, if not THE, greatest friends,
Kelsie showed up.
A buffet that surprisingly got raves. Who knew poached salmon with marinated artichokes and roasted tomatoes would be such a hit?!?!?! I had a feeling people would like the bacon-brussel sprout-potato hash BUT poached salmon?!?! Who knew?!?!
My sister giving me one of the best presents EVER. She recycled a bunch of past birthday cards I sent her by giving me them back with her own sentiments written in.
Janice and I finished my birthday playing Wii tennis. No, I did not get a Wii. She indulged me by bringing hers over.
Anyway, here I am starting my 40th year. Here's to hoping it only gets better. Later.
I hate Marc Jacobs.
There. I said it. I don't hate him because he has molded himself into a very sexy man. I don't hate him because he can design some fantastic clothing. I don't hate him because he is Marc Jacobs.
I hate him because I can actually afford some of his clothing AND I love the design BUT I can't get my shoulder into even his XL sizes. What the fuck? I am a size 40-42 coat and I can't get into an XL Marc Jacobs coat?!?! Who the hell is he designing for? Anorexic boys who need a sugar daddy to buy them clothes? Beanpoles? Dixon Ticonderoga #2 pencils?
I hate you Marc Jacobs.
Later.
In my wallet, I carry an old photo I.D. It was my old gym I.D. circa 2000. I carry it to remind me how skinny I used to be. Once in a while, I whip it out and contemplate doing crystal meth again. Not that I condone the use of methamphetamine. But it does get me to as small as a size 4... women's... petite. Good times, good times.
I have realized that ever year, as my birthday approaches, I get slightly more obsessed with not becoming the fat kid that I was. Unfortunately, this need to attend the gym coincides with the entire world going back to the gym. So, for my two weeks of obsession, I have to deal with every lazy ass returning to the gym. There was a line, 9 people long, for a treadmill, on Monday. It was so frustrating. So, I got on the bike, did 20 minutes, then hopped on a treadmill for 15 minutes.
I can't wait until they all leave again. Like in about a week. Later.
Let's talk seriously about resolutions for a moment. I think my resolution this year is to be more social. I realize that I have become very anti-social. Maybe, not so much anti-social but more home-bound. I remember when I used to meet friends for drinks. Or when I would be excited about going out on the weekends. But in 2008, a big part of me somehow decided that I would spend more of my time at home or by myself. Actually, I wasn't by myself. I was surrounded by a ton of folks at the gym. Or with the Man at home.
But, this year, 2009, I am going to make it a point to do more things. With more friends. And a lot more. So far, it's only January 4th and I have had lunch with a couple of old friends and my sister, gone out for drinks with a friend who just lost a kidney (ironic!), had brunch with Janice and the Man, and lunch and a movie with the same two people.
Not bad. Hopefully, I can keep this up. Wish me luck. Later.
Happy New Year, Y'all!!!
So, the other day, at work, I was standing in the hallway when someone asked me what my New Year's Resolution was going to be. I thought for a moment then said, "Next year, I am going to try to be less judgmental."
Everyone within earshot let out a loud laugh.
Should I be offended? Later.
