Sunday, July 10, 2005
This is Not About a Fair
Have you ever been to a fair? Funnel cakes? Ferris wheels? Morbidly obese people scooting around as fast as they can on Rascals? Well if you haven't, you're totally missing out. Today I attended the Vashon Island Strawberry Festival with my lovely parents and it was truly special. I took photos. I popped balloons with darts and won a framed picture of Jesus. I conversed with authentic carni folk. I was in the process of purchasing a corndog until I realized that it very well might kill me.
But don't let me mislead you! This post is not about the fair at all! That post is set to arrive all hot and spicy next week once I return to my apartment and upload gobs and gobs of fair photographs.
So, without any proper Segway (hah! Like the scooter!) whatsoever, here's what I'm really talking about (don't lie, I totally fooled you)
I think we all pretty much understand by now that sometimes I can go a bit overboard with things. And by "things" I mean "everything." And by "overboard" I mean "thoughts racing through my head all day every second over and over until I am compelled to either jump out my apartment window or take action." I typically wind up taking action seeing as my apartment is only a floor up and I most likely wouldn't die, although I might break a few bones and/or be horribly disfigured. And let it be known, I simply cannot bear the thought of being horribly disfigured. In fact, I would most likely decide to end it all if a huge chunk of my face went missing or an eye was suddenly plucked out. Which brings us back to me jumping out of my apartment window and woosh, off we go again.
In honor of my delicate, obsessive-compulsive psyche, I've compiled a list of things that are currently on my mind
1. What if no one decides to offer me a job after I leave Smith next spring and I'm suddenly sans healthcare, home, etc. and forced to move back into my parents' house and work at Cumberland Farms? I don't even have a proper bedroom at their house anymore. I have a pullout couch in the "family room," which is entirely undeserving of its name due to the fact that our entire family is only made up of three people not counting the dog (even though she thinks she's a person! A person! Can you stand it?) We don't even do "family" things. We watch tv, drink wine, consume massive amounts of organic stir-fry, and talk about my bad taste in men. I cannot, under any circumstances (unless I become horribly disfigured and decide not to end it all), move into the family room. Never. So what will I do? If worse comes to worse I'll latch on to the first available meal ticket, or just slap on a pair of orange shorts and wiggle my chi-chis around.
2. What if I'm not living up to my full potential and have completely wasted the last three years of my life? Other ladies I know are working on movie sets, cutting albums and touring the globe with their handsome foreign lovers. I am watching re-runs of Divorce Court, drinking ten dollar cocktails, perfecting the art of the one night stand, and not writing a book. You see, I have terrific opportunities to strive towards success. I design event concepts for a fabulous company owned by smart and sassy entrepreneurs. I'm living in a wonderful city filled with beautiful, inspired people. I need to pick something or someone and go for it. Then, of course, I need to remind myself that I'm twenty-one and to get over it in a big way.
3. What if someone steals my identity and I have bad credit for the rest of my life and no one will ever believe who I am again? I've seen this happen to people in Lifetime movies. However, I realize that I sound exactly like my mother when I worry about this, like when she informed me not to buy things over "the email" (known to most everyone else as "the internet"), because "one of those porno people will empty your checking account." Did you hear that, internet? The porno people will steal every bit of that seventy-five bucks I have in the bank and I'll be forced to leave this lap of luxury I'm living in.
4. What if one of the meth people in my apartment complex steals all of my clothes out of the washing machine? I hate laundry. Hate it. Upon lugging an entire suitcase full of dirty clothes to my parents' house on the bus today*, I realized that I own at least three weeks worth of underwear. This is how much I hate lugging laundry around. I would rather posses my weight in undergarments than regularly wash my clothing. One happy day I will posses a stackable washer/dryer of my own. My very own! No more running down to the scary basement at night to shove quarters into a machine produced at least fifteen years before I was born! No more suspicious stares from strangers as I take half an hour to shove my Santa sack of clothing onto public transportation during rush hour and proceed to talk loudly into my cell phone about urinary tract infections and sleeping with my childhood friends!
*My parents are staying at their summer house on Vashon Island, a mere fifteen minutes away from the city via ferry, for a few weeks. Hello free groceries, laundry and internet service!
I'm suddenly through with this post, so I'll tack on a little tid bit to keep you going
TJ: I hope drinking PBR with pseudo-intellectual boys who think their band will make it is always your idea of a good time
