Love & Haterade

In Honor of Earth Day...

I'm thinking about recycling.

Specifically, what happens when, hypothetically, you break up with someone under the party line of "right person at the wrong time" and then, hypothetically, the right[er] time presents itself.

Hypothetically.

A Wine Spritzer Toast

For the person who loves me more than anyone else will; who has answers to every question and solutions to every problem; whose long, thick braid falls perfectly like dark, sturdy rope to lead me out of darkness into sunlight.

You taught me how to read, how to write, how to dream without limits.

You are the original family spy. Even though we both know the student surpassed the teacher.

To Sally. Happy Birthday.

(P.S. Please make an appointment to see the dentist.)

When There's No Such Thing As NonFiction

When I remember the playground at my elementary school, it was more like an amusement park.  Slopes were mountains, skies azure blue and delicate breezes carried giggles for great distances, rustling the ruffled borders of my cotton frocks as I dangled from cool, gleaming steel and dropped into wood chips so soft they could cushion any fall.

Even though they didn't really.

When I remember my parents' house, it was more like a safe haven where bad things could never find you.  The worn furniture creaked hello, friendly crumbs snared in pills and fuzz,  smells so divinely comforting you could eat the air in heaping spoonfuls and my father's voice bellowing from all corners, intrusive and uncontrolled like his clumsy footsteps, chasing away the demons that threatened paradise.

Even though he couldn't really.

And when I remember a night that left me glowing, it was more like the final twist before you finish a Rubik's Cube where you could actually hear the pieces of my life clicking into place.  Secrets were divulged, electricity crackled like fire on a candlewick and when I went to the bathroom I actually had to put my hand on my chest and catch my breath like they do in movies because I thought, in those short hours, I had met the someone I was supposed to meet.

Even though he wasn't really.

They say there's no such thing as fiction. But now they say there's no such thing as nonfiction. And I wonder where, lost between two starkly different literary worlds, those who dabble in caricature and color and creative punctuation are supposed to live their lives.

(Love&Haterade&)Notes From a (Good) Friday Afternoon

garnishing the cocktails of my mind

For your consideration: another curious collection of thoughts, reaction and observations that didn't make it into a full-length post this week. They're sort of like the people you've quietly crushed on and never confessed: sure, something sparked; sure, something lingered; sure, they still cross your mind [as they once crossed your path] from time to time, but you know in your heart of hearts that some things are better left fleeting, that anything more involved just wasn't meant to be.

-If my favorite image of the week was this, my favorite video of the week was surely this: At first it doesn't look so bad. Then you start thinking, "This is a really long zoom." Then you start thinking, "Dude, when is this camera going to stop zooming out?". And then, if you haven't dissolved into a fit of giggles, "What the fuck?! Is this a joke?" Though, the bug in the corner reminds you: C-SPAN rarely jokes and always comes to play.

-[True Confession] I cannot, for the life of me, understand debates over stadiums and casinos. I've tried. Hard. But when people start talking about either, there's a part of me that just shuts down. Ultimately, I find them to be a little bit like logarithms, where I'll never understand their genesis or reasoning or argument but mostly, I'll never want to.

-[Though, I did love this sentence pair: This, in short, is our rink of dreams. If we build it, they should come.]

-Everyone wants to talk Sanjaya.  Everyone.  Unfortunately for all those people -- including the guy I've never seen in my life who rode three extra floors with me in an elevator at work to have the conversation  -- I've never watched a single episode of a single season of American Idol.  It's, like, the one reality show on television I refuse to commit to. [Something that, in and of itself, speaks volumes considering I watched All Aboard! Rosie's Family Cruise 15 times last year on HBO. And I would have kept going if Katie hadn't called an intervention. And still, I watched it again once last week.] TheGuyI'veNeverSeenInMyLife told me some ridiculous conspiracy theory that call center workers are calling in votes for MrMohawk. I'm here to say: it's not happening.  As Indians, we engage in schadenfreude in a way that I almost can't explain in words. And we're known to eye with evil. Especially when it's one of our own.

-I've mentioned before that I hate pets. And I do hate pets, dogs and cats specifically. I hate how their owners kiss them and treat them like people and then wonder why a four-legged creature covered in fur and native to the wilderness ate their kid's arm. I hate pet funerals, pet outfits and when animals talk in movies. I hate Barbaro and Montecore and Tinkerbell, and I hate every single one of the animals stuck on the roof of a house that got a split second of air time during Hurricane Katrina.  This week my rage went to a new place and I hated the 16 dogs that got so much attention post-PetFoodGate 2007. Especially when, by contrast, as of this writing, we've lost 3266 Americans in Iraq. That's all I'm saying.

-[SeeingEyeDogs are the exception to the above.]

-Sometimes I think America is like a 27-year-old woman. She chose, seven years ago, the guy who looked good in hats, who had a lot of swag, who was fun to go to bars with, but who ultimately became the guy whose decisions broke her heart three thousand times over.  She wonders now what would have happened if she had chose that other guy, the boring guy, who talked about the unsexy things she didn't want to think about when she was 20, things like 'the future' and savings plans and renewable energy. She sighs. She knows, at that point, it was a gamble either way. She saw him the other night, the other guy, across a grand, glittering ballroom. He was wearing a tuxedo and someone else's ring and he'd gained some weight, but, when he touched her face, some of that old magic sizzled between them. She buried her face in his hand and they stared at each other, in a long glance that spoke volumes, for all the things that could have been. The irrational part of her wondered briefly if she should have fought harder for him; her more steadfast elements reminded her what's done is done, that everything happens for a reason, that all that matters now are the choices she makes for her future.

-And, to that end, America is, as Lester would say, "on the dating scene". She's got all these choices. Like, 22 freakin' choices. And she's looking for someone who is inherently good. And honest. Who wants to be with her for the long haul, for all the right reasons.

-I'll steal [once again] TWM's [once again] fair-haired muse and replace her with a choice of my own. And to that end TheMiddleAgedManCrush [not to be confused with TheOldManCrush (think: Lee Hamilton)] never disappoints.  Sure, they're nerdy and rumpled and have a sense of humor that makes you roll your eyes.  But, somewhere along the line, they made the intersection of Sensibility and Global Vision not just another good school district but the kind of place that makes you want to build a house, plant some trees and invest everything you have in tomorrow.

Thought of the Day

The only thing I think I hate more than Sanjaya is the fact that tonight I had to explain both the Sanjaya phenomenon and American Idol to Lester (a.k.a. Encino Man) who thought American Idol was "that show about the island".

(P.S. If you guessed Lost, you guessed wrong. He was talking about Survivor.)

(Um. Wow. WOW.) Drink Specials (Cue the Fiona Apple)

LOVE: Finding out things you've always wondered, finding out you weren't far that off base.

HATERADE: The aftershocks of white wine in the morning.

A Sangria Toast

For the person who rode three-in-a-seat, who knows things about me we've never had to talk about, whose strength and courage teach me to look for emotional springs inside you you never knew existed.

You understand without words and explanation, you co-founded two of the greatest party games of all time, you know the Lorax even though we never got more than two slabs of concrete up that hill in your backyard.

No matter where we are you make me feel safe...like home and family and a time of untouched innocence.

To Ness. Happy Birthday. 

A Stoli Vanilla and Soda Toast

For the person whose patience and friendship are never ending, who fits without seams, who is gifted in the art of nicknames and communicating volumes with silent stares.

I'd drive any distance to lay next to you in bed, I'd thank you for the walk without either of us stepping a foot, I'd send you and your long toe a handwritten postcard from anywhere in the world.

You are home base. And you've never judged, even when I puked on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

To Lisa. Happy Birthday. 

A Pitcher of Blue Motorcycles Toast

For the person whose love of literature, music, long walks and longer conversation inspires me to live a life of brave reflection, tempered expectation and friendship before all.

Things will return to equilibrium. I promise. And, until that day, thank god we are so easily amused by the same three conversations.

To Megan. Happy Birthday.

Intermission: Anti-Game Game

Due to the unexpectedly high volume of emails I received from men asking for more specifics on the anti-game game of which I speak, I felt the need to stress the following points:

• Anti-game game cannot be taught or learned (because if it could be taught or learned then it would just be game),
• Anti-game game is born of the union of absolute sincerity and complete insecurity,
• Anti-game game doesn't live in the twinkles or sparkles in someone's eyes, rather deep within an integrity that borderlines sublime,
• Anti-game game is four-parts charm, three-parts intelligence, two-parts Olympian hand-holding, one-part someone who is really, really, really good at making you feel butterflies for an extended amount of time before your first physical contact,
• Anti-game game is so innocent that chances are if you think you have anti-game game, you probably don't.