I'm trying to get it...

I met up with a close friend last night, ready to hear about her pending nuptials. I had known this girl since we were both thirteen.
I showed up early, mentally and emotionally prepared (or so I thought) to listen to her. I was primed to listen to her tell me about how it all happened, and what the details surrounding the occasion were.

It was harder than I thought.

After being (unintentionally) made to feel that my current non-settled, bohemian lifestyle was a second class version of real life, I felt I had no emotional ties left with the person in front of me. Don't get me wrong, I still cared for her - I just had no sense of feeling for said occasion.

I staggered home cursing the fact that we had met up for coffee and not for hard vodka, or Jack, or shots of tequila.

I now define torture as having to stay awake for a couple more hours than one wants. All my brain wanted to do was fall into a coma.

The douchebag in you

Ari Gold, douchebag par excellance. Yet, strangely endearing. To me, anyway. Watching him make an ass of himself on Entourage never fails to make me smile.
I see a bit of him in me. His ambitious, albeit mostly idiotic, industry moves, his non-stop attempts to be number one...and his desperate grovelling at the feet of his wife (in my case family) and clients when things don't work out as planned.
C'mon, admit it, there's a bit of Ari Gold in you too.
I bet you have your moments of unabashed self-centredness, laced with the cocky belief that anything can be manipulated to work in your favour if you deal fast enough.
Sure, the hypocrite in you is screaming "hell no!" but somewhere deep in you, near where your little black heart beats, is a box that holds all your nefarious, scheming thoughts and diabolical plans. These thoughts desperately scream that they want to see the light of day. The question is, will you let them?
Tempered with a little commonsense, it couldn't be that bad.
On a sidenote, most of the greatest people in history have been the ones who have made the meanest moves on their own chessboards. Thats why we remember them.
Let us now all take a moment to look into ourselves and recognize the little Golds (ghouls?) within us.
To the insipid creatures out there who refuse to acknowledge their own devious natures...what a shame...you'd certainly be more interesting for it.

Hit me again...

I was giddy, and had decided to temporarily let go of the snarl that had come to rest on my lips the past few months. I thought maybe giving this happy thing a chance was going to change things.
Twenty-four hours later the snarl was back. This time backed up with the knowledge that no matter what continent one may be in - reality will bite.
I'm no pollyanna. I never was and I may well never will be.
At best I'm a hopeful realist.

Ash Wednesday

I had no idea it was Ash Wednesday.
I had no idea as I was stuck at home all day, mostly watching super Tuesday.
Cabin fever forced me out by five thirty and it was while driving around town that I noticed the ubiquitous black crosses on the foreheads of the faithful.
Ash Wednesday.
From ashes you have come and to ashes you shall return.
As tempting as it was to make a dash to the nearest church to acquire my own reminder of mortality, I knew it was too late in the day, and that the services had all ended. Plus, I was a bad Catholic and needed no extra reminding of where I was possibly headed in a few decades.
Ash Wednesday - a romantically hopeful concept with a very morbid twist to it. You are reminded to be good lest you die tomorrow. It makes me think of old roses and small country churches with their own cemeteries conveniently located at the back.
It also makes me think about what a shame it would be if I were to die without having taught that class, taken that film course or properly learnt how to bang the drums. We all think we need more time to get things done – but when given it, squander it away on useless hours in front of the telly mulling over the imperfections in our lives. What irony.
I should stop now before this turns into a piece about my current snarling nihilistic thoughts.
Let’s stop with the romantic image of old roses and even older chapels.

A thinly veiled attack on someone who labeled me

Muchas gracias cousin for labelling me an elitist. You have now turned me into one.

What elitist act should I indulge in now? My first act as a newly minded member is to gripe about why the urban poor insist on procreating...and procreating...and procreating. Much like your dearly beloved, now separated, folks. They seem intent on going at it like rabbits in the springtime - economic factors and maturity be damned. And without protection!

Until you have the means to feed the little 'uns stop writing to Ate Charo about your povertly stricken sob stories (there's enough drama around) and quit complaining about the government (their incompetence is another story).

Or perhaps, like your folks they were desperately trying for a boy to carry on the family name? A lot of good that did you eh? Don't worry, I'm sure you and your sisters will do your best to make the family proud - keep on climbing those stairs sugar...don't get left behind by the Joneses!

Somebody call me a socialite bitch tomorrow and I'll try to humour you by temporarily sounding like one.
Don't push me into something you can't control or you'll wish I had stayed the meek albeit moody lapdog you oh so liked to use. Touche bitch.