Questions Will Be Answered

Someone just asked me what my holiday weekend plans are. When I gave them an answer - on Saturday, I will try to bury the pain and loneliness under a mound of food (probably Chinese); on Sunday, if the pain and loneliness is still there (if?), I will try to drown it in alcohol; Monday is laundry – they were quite indignant. Look, I am not going to sugarcoat anything for anybody – if you’re upset by the fact that I am so vocal about how miserably lonely my life can be at times, that’s your problem. As someone once said about me: “All you need to know about M. is this: if you don’t want the answer, don’t ask the question.”

An Observation About Hunks

Saw 21 Jump Street this weekend. Best part was Johnny Depp’s cameo. It is just me or are the hot guys of my generation – like Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt and George Clooney and John Cusack - way hotter than this new crop of whippersnapper pretty boys like Channing Tatum and Liam Hemsworth and Zac Efron and Chris Pine? Or does it mean I am simply getting old? Like maybe our mothers could never see why we liked the Pitts and the Clooneys so much. Or is it because it is too unseemly to have a crush on someone when you are old enough to be his mother older sister?

The Citizenship Chronicles, #10

Still haven’t heard. Four weeks ago TODAY since I got my fingerprints done. What if they’ve done the background check and I did not pass and I’ll be deported instead? Sammy is not going to like being on a plane for 10 hours. I could probably ease some of my curiosity by just going on to the INS’s official website and entering in my personal tracking number, see if there is any news that way. But I have avoided doing that so far because, I know me, the lethal combination of my OCD and my addictive personality, once I check it the first time, I will be checking it continually!

The Enemy of my Enemy is my Friend

Before I gave in and looked up the exact wording of the phrase in the above subject line, I tried to come up with it myself, without resorting to internet research and I was rolling around different versions in my head, and came up with all sorts of permutations:

• The friend of my enemy is not my friend
• My enemy has a friend
• I hate my enemy’s friend
• I love my enemy’s enemy
• I would like to give my enemy an enema

What I am trying to say is, do I think Chelsea Handler is a terrible writer because she is or because someone I hate thinks she is a good writer?

Background needed? Fine, if you insist: Someone I know is a big fan of Chelsea Handler and her books. I dislike this person intensely (long story but basically this person is a back-stabbing two-faced suck-up whoremonger) (and the use of the word “whoremonger” is not meant to be provocative; this person used to pimp here in Las Vegas). But because I am not a hypocrite, I decided to give the Chelsea Handler books a chance. And well, really, is it just me and some weird form of transference or do these books truly suck? They are not that funny and she is so long-winded and she thinks she is so cool because she drinks so much and farts, but I bet I could drink that bitch under the table and I know I could out-fart her. But is my judgment clouded by my hatred of the whoremonger? Is that a question I will ever be able to answer? Because if by some miracle, I become best friends with the whoremonger, if I re-read the books would I then enjoy them?

But to be fair to Ms. Handler, it is not just her. Like, I think Howard Stern is scum of the earth so I never buy any Snapple products. I absolutely despise a certain actor simply because he looks like a horrible boss I once had. And I have taken Clint Eastwood off my 101 Sexiest Men Alive list because he just endorsed Mitt Romney.

Silly principles, maybe, but as long as no one else suffers, right?

The Citizenship Chronicles, #9

So the latest news is that… there is no news. Still waiting to hear about when my interview/test will be. The longer it takes, the more paranoid I get about the background check. I mean, how deep do they go? Will they discover that, contrary to my answer on the original paperwork, I am, indeed, an habitual drunkard?

How Sad Is It...

… when a friend’s dogs have a better weekend than you do? I just checked in via e-mail with my friend O. and she told me all about her weekend, which included taking her two dogs on a drive to Red Rock. I went on a drive to Albertson’s

Sorry I Am So Boring

I just realized I haven’t posted for a few days. And that if all this citizenship stuff wasn’t happening, my blog would be very skimpy. Sorry. My life is pretty dull right now. And has been for a while. This was a silly time to start a blog.

But, oh, if such a thing had been around back when I “knew what it meant to shine,” wow, would it have been sizzling…

Back when there were parties at the Grove, nights at clubs both comedy and strip, weekend brunches, late-night visits to hotel hot-tubs, three-way phone calls, cigarette-stub collections, and underwear left in the back of cars…

Back when a guy called me in the morning and reminded me we’d been together the night before and I had to ask if that was before or after midnight…

Back when every night was named after what I did (McBeal Mondays: take-out, Ally McBeal, and lots of wine, with E.; Trivial Tuesdays: a night of cheap drinks, depending on which Trivial Pursuit questions we were asked, at the Cellar in Boulder; Wicked Wednesdays: still hung-over from the night before, the only cure being the pale ale and fish-and-chips special at a micro-brewery on Pearl Street (what was that place called, E., do you remember? Was it something to do with rainbows? Or forests?)…

Back when all my friends and I lived within a ten-mile radius of each other and none of them had children…

But that was several years and many pounds ago. Now my life consists of Skyping with those same friends because they live so far away. Even if they didn’t, it wouldn’t be the same, they all have kids now. But are the untold joys those kids have brought me (the first time B. told me “I love you, Aunty Em” I happy-cried for an hour) worth more than any hotel hot-tub hijinks? The fact that I have to think twice about that just goes to show you how messed up I am.