I don’t like it when my friends are sad. I inevitably feel badly for their troubles and that I can’t do more for them, whether I should be or not. I’m so bad about that stuff. It’s not that I don’t care. I love you guys! I just don’t show it very well.
As much as I hate to admit it, and as much as I hate to listen to him talk, Dr. Phil knows what’s up. My project for the moment is to work on finding my “authentic self” so I’m deciding what are my 10 defining moments, my 7 critical choices, and my 5 pivotal people. I kinda feel like I haven’t lived quite long enough to have that many of any of those, but I’ll work on it and see what comes up. I should be finishing up my resume, but this is more fun.
I have decided that I am now Best-Friend-less. That’s essentially been the case for a while, but I’m declaring it now. And now that I’ve said it it’s a little weird, like a piece of my safety net has disappeared, even though that’s not actually the case. And at the same time it’s freeing, because it was a drag to think of a person whom I don’t really even like anymore as my Best Friend. But I was recently talking to a lady who mentioned that she didn’t meet her best friend until she was 27. So that made me feel a little better. And I suppose it’s all a part of how your needs change as you go through life and not everything or everyone can continue to fulfill those needs as you change. I don’t even have a runner up candidate. I have some Really Good Friends, but I believe if you’re going to name someone your Best Friend, it should be a mutual/reciprocal thing, and they can’t just be your Best Friend by default, because they’re a better friend to you than any of your other friends. They can’t be your Best Friend if you’re not their Best Friend.
I just read an article in Rolling Stone about Brock Enright, a guy who designs, performs and videotapes kidnappings for a living. People pay thousands of dollars for this. I don’t know if it’s more weird that people do this, or that there are people who do it multiple times. Some of it’s laughable (being smothered by a guy in a giant smelly panda suit, or being rubbed all over with bananas and then polished). Now that I’ve read all about it, the concept is strangely fascinating. If I ever have $5000 to blow….
Have you ever kind of liked a band, but just before you can really get into them, someone who annoys you or pisses you off professes love for the band, and then you just can’t like them anymore, even though you kind of want to? Have you ever at first thought that the way someone said something, say on account of their accent or some regional dialect, was kinda cute, but then after they piss you off, whatever it is you used to think was cute is not just uncute, but retarded and fuckin’ idiotic?
While flipping through my iTunes library, I had a nice flashback to my high school choir days. Am I outing myself as a big dork when I say that being in choir was one of my favorite things about high school? As much as I dislike most things Catholic, sacred music is some quality stuff. Especially that a capella shit. And I still give props to Beth Rogers for giving me one of my best birthday gifts ever: A Portrait of the Cambridge Singers on CD, which contains my Favoritest High School Choir Song Ever, the Cantique de Jean Racine (I’m mildly verklempt listening to it now) (it contains all the French I know with the exception of merci, bon soir, and vous lez vous couche avec moi), and the second best song from Handel’s Messiah – For Unto Us a Child is Born.
Ooh, and I just bought my Christmas holiday cards. I happened to be at the Hallmark store and I found some that I really liked and there were 22 per box instead of the normal 18. I’m not particularly trying to be PC, but I liked the classic simplicity of the generic winter holiday theme. And I figured the enclosed letter full of my usual wit and charm would more than make up for a lack of Hallmark-penned smartass cheer. I’m not allowed to send out more than the two boxes worth I purchased. I went a little crazy the last two years (the only two years in which I’ve actually sent out Xmas cards). My rule this year is only to send cards to people who sent them to me last year (with a few exceptions since I do continue to make new friends). This was my mom’s suggestion. And I know she’s gonna turn around and suggest that I send cards to, like, 10 more people just because “it would be nice.” And all these people are gonna be, like, her friends’ parents. I sent them all cards the last two years and didn’t hear a peep back (except for some “he hasn’t died yet” type news through the grapevine). I’m the one paying for postage, dammit. I realize I’m staying at my parents’ house now, but I hope that people who would have otherwise sent a separate card to me don’t skimp this year and just tack my name onto my parents’ card. I’m special and unique, dammit. Um, it’s not even Halloween yet, is it?
I hung my jacket up on the hook that’s on the outside of my bedroom door, and it keeps freaking me out. It looks like someone’s standing there. I jumped when I walked out of the room. I’m going to take it down.
