There are some things in life that are not to be avoided. They are calendar dates of impending doom that no matter how hard you try to skip over, will always present themselves in one form or another. It's February 10th, so naturally, I'm not talking about a scheduled teeth cleaning, I'm talking about Valentine's Day. The most conflict-ridden "holiday" ever marketed by Hallmark (who I'm pretty sure, it's having a hell of a time in this economic climate. I have one word for you: Karma).
Now this Saturday, I will officially no longer have a home. I will have moved my bed into my brother's garage (standing upright) and I will be living out of a suitcase, relying solely on the kindness of others. I will be totally focussed on this homeless situation come Saturday night, so I'm sure that the regular onset of negative feelings will be safely at bay. But as I realize that this is hopefully not be the situation of anyone else, I will share the following in the hopes that humor trumps all.
LAST Saturday I went to the salon with my friend so that she could get her hair done. I was casually waiting for her on the couch, obsessing over the activity (or lack thereof) on my Crackberry, when the salon's make up woman came over and offered me a complementary make up session. And because I'm not in the position to refuse anything that comes for free, I accepted her kind offer and became a resident of her make up booth.
I was in her chair for maybe 3 full minutes--basically just starting the base coat of eye shadow--when all of a sudden we were talking about men. Now I realize that this is a salon, and romantic advice flies around like hair clippings, but I did not sit down with her with the object of counsel, so how things ended up that way, I still can't figure out. I told her maybe 2 vague sentences about my situations and that was apparently all she needed to psychoanalyze me.
"Yeah but you see, Meghan, it all comes back to you. All of this that you put out there, it's just all about you. You have to work on you..." You. You. You! Basically she was trying to affirm the blatantly obvious: I dug my own ditch, now I have to lie in it until I can figure out what exactly about ME made me want to dig this damn ditch in the first place. It's kinda harsh...
But I didn't want THIS. I didn't want my mascara to come with a side of self-reflection. Generally, like most people, I just want to hear that shit sucks and there's nothing you can do about it. Most people just like to hear themselves speak and work out verbally what they're feeling emotionally. It's like a sentence fragment that gets underscored with red in a Word Document. You keep right clicking to find out how to fix it, but the truth is, you might have to just rewrite the fucker. (God, that's deep...)
So in the spirit of unwarranted advice, I want to propose a set of options for Valentine's Day:
1) Don't talk to him. What the hell good is that going to do? I don't care if one or both of his parents is in the hospital and you want to contact him to wish them well... call him on Sunday. Same effect, different set of circumstances.
2) Wear black. It's tradition, don't resist. It's a fine color with lots of dramatic emphasis.
3) Drink! Pretend that you're a vampire and a wine bottle is a succulent, vulnerable neck. Suck the life out of it! (That's a direct homage to Twilight, just so you know, which brings me to...).
4) Read Twilight! It's only the best book ever, and if you've already read it, read it again. I know that I when I pack my boxes this week, the main organizational goal will be to keep the Twilight series within reach. So if it's in a box, it'll be on the top; if it's in a bag, it'll be in its own safe compartment. Question: does Edward Cullen ever get old? (THAT'S A PUN!!)
5) Don't eat. Like option #1, what the hell good is that? Neither a bag of lime potato chips nor a tub of hummus is going to fill that void, so just step away.
If I had a boyfriend, I would cancel our plans for Saturday night just so that I could drink a bottle of wine while reading Twilight in my all-black outfit, in a room that wasn't the kitchen, next to a phone that had been turned off. It actually just sounds like a dream come true. You see, these are things to aspire to. Not eharmony match ups and soulless men with a pension for disappointment.
And just another side anecdote: I went to see "He's Just Not That Into You" last weekend and as I presented my ticket to the ticket taker, he covered his eyes and said, "Oh let me guess, 'He's Just Not That Into You'?" to which I replied, "He is, I swear he is," to which he countered with, "Trust me. He's not." He then ripped my ticket and I walked off with a slight tear in my eye. It was like a scene from a movie about a movie.
Ok that's all for now.
No comments:
Post a Comment