Horoscopes and Blogging

I don't know what it is with this blogging thing. Either I struggle to come up with something to write about, or i don't have enough time to write everything and still keep things current. Now, I know I tell old stories a lot, but that's from years ago. Telling an old story from last week just seems weird to me.

Of course. Now that I write that, the fact that it seems weird to me is weird to me.

Anyway. I have a lot to say lately. Right now I would like to talk about today's horoscope. (This is an example of a story that just wouldn't feel right if I were telling it in, say, July.)


Do you fucking believe that? What kind of bullshit horoscope is that? Smoking Baby has mistaken me for Job (Juh-long O-buh) and is going so far as to poke at me from the Metro's puzzle page. You know how much that puzzle page means to me. Plus, if you're up to date on the blog, you know that I recently broke up with my mother, and I am positive that she was offended. If not by the actual breakup, by the incidents I mentioned during the breakup. At the very least she was offended by my language.

But the thing is:

Well the things are:

1) Sagittarians are infamous for their bluntness. And for saying things with a tone that is frequently misinterpreted. We spend a lot of time either feeling guilty about hurting someone's feelings, apologizing for hurting someone's feelings, or unintentionally hurting someone's feelings. So, in one way this can be seen as the Metro astrologer lady just being lazy. Because, on any given day that I've interacted with other people, there is a 1 in 5 chance that I've offended one of them without meaning to, or even realizing it. Being offended is disappointing. Ergo -- lame ass horoscope.

2) My mother is also a Sagittarian.

Today's the Day!

I'm off to the DMV this morning to register myself as a convicted Drinking Driver and sign up for the Drinking Driver Program of New York. Woo hoo! Did I ever show you guys what my office mates did for me when I returned from Kentucky?


First I go to the DMV in Brooklyn for the initial registration. I'm a little concerned because when I looked up the address this morning I found this:

Brooklyn/Kings County
Due to space and security concerns, we ask that only the individuals who are transacting business enter the processing area of this office.

Security concerns? Awesome.Then I go meet Albert White of the Alcoholism Board of New York State. I have not found any security warnings on Albert. I guess by the time the drunks get to his office they've finally given up the fight and no longer need to throw chairs or whatever else they do over at the DMV. There I sign up for a 7-week, 16-hour course on why I shouldn't drink and drive. I expect I will get to see a lot of grotesque footage of car wrecks and meet some of the cool kids from Brooklyn. It's an adventure! I of course will keep you posted on any of the fun.

Oprah Does It Again

So. I'm in my pit of despair today. Just feeling really shitty and worried and morose and wallowing in it. If I had been at home alone, I swear I would have put on an old Cure album and cried into my pillow. I am completely at a loss with what to do with the current family situation. Again. I swear. If she weren't my mom, I'd be like, "This chick is nothing but drama, and I don't need it." And I'd be out. But she's my mom. And there are different rules for moms. Frustrating.

A friend of mine, DP, from Fitzgerald was in town recently and she has known my mom for years. I was going through the saga and she said, "You know. I always felt that there was just something not right with her." I've had another old friend tell me the same thing. Honestly, it makes me feel better -- like I'm not crazy. When DP told me what she thought, I started squealing. "Right? Right? It's not just me!"

Now my sister and I are getting a lot closer and of course I am addicted to my niece so I can never get fully away. Though, it just occurred to me that maybe this is what Mom and Amy need. I've always been in the middle of their bullshit one way or another. Either Mom was telling Amy to be more like me, which made Amy hate me. Or, Mom was telling me what a piece of shit Amy was, making me hate Amy. And I am pretty sure that Mom's conversations with Amy were very similar to the ones she had with me. So, Amy has really never had much of a leg to stand on. It's like Mom's been gaslighting her into believing she's incapable of any amount of success or happiness for that matter and Amy has just been beaten into submission. The family was really just the three of us, so it was kind of two to one. Not that I wasn't being duped as well.

Now that I'm out of the picture, they have to deal with each other. Mom is very aware of my stance on all issues at hand, and therefore unless she meets my conditions (a recovery program) she and I have nothing more to say to each other. I still speak with Amy frequently, and do my best to support her. It's nice being on her side. She's nothing like what Mom said.

Sorry. I tend to go on tangents. And that one seemed like a good one -- a breakthrough for me in a way. Thanks for sharing the moment.

Back to Oprah. This is what I wanted to tell you about and it does relate in a way. So, I'm watching Oprah and it's a rerun of the Cris Karr interview -- the woman who did the Crazy, Sexy, Cancer documentary. And Cris is talking about how she's learned to live in the moment and she says, "Isn't worrying praying for what you don't want?"

Smoking Baby Dammit.

I believe all of you have been introduced to my HP (Higher Power), Smoking Baby. He is a miracle worker. I like him because he's sweet and benevolent, but he's got that edge. I'm sure as soon as he's of age, he will get a bad ass tattoo and a motorcycle. He advocates peace and love but isn't opposed to some good old toilet humor.

Erica and I have started using him in conversations where we both feel we need to be heard. No SB in your hand, no words out of your mouth. We used it for the first time last week when we were having an argument and just kept going around and around because we both tend to interrupt as if we already know what the other one is going to say. Very unproductive. I got the SB idea and it worked like a charm. I love SB.

Unfortunately, SB has taken a day off. I just got a call from my sister. This is never good news.Mom, who is not talking to me because she has taken possession over the breakup. You know how in high school you break up with someone and then you find out they're all over the place telling people they broke up with you? Yeah.

Well today, I find out through my sister that today Mom is starting radiation again. There's a what they're referring to as a "spot" on her lung. I'm guessing "spot" is a Southern euphemism for tumor. I don't know. Poor Amy is absolutely tortured right now. She has been trying to move on with her own life, taking care of her daughter and now she's re-immersed in Mom guilt because of her latest illness. I'm trying to help Amy see that Mom's new cancer doesn't get her off the hook for endangering her granddaughter with her pill issues, but it's hard for her. Especially being there in the same town.

Arrgh.

I, of course, am taking it all in stride and counting on my HP SB to take care of everything. Remember, I'm the one going to meetings.

I'm an Intellectual, God Dammit.

I splurged this weekend. I bought four books and two magazines.

All at one time! I spent over $60 at Barnes & Noble on my way home from work last Friday. I got the latest Augusten, a book by some guy from Brunswick, Georgia named Hadji, a couple of memoirs about pain and addiction and misery told in a lighthearted, sarcastic tone and then ... People and US Weekly.

Guess what I read first.

I hate US Weekly. Hate it. The whole time I'm devouring it cover to cover I'm thinking, "I hate you US Weekly." [flips page] And I berate myself for reading it.

This is so stupid. I can't believe I spent money on this. Look at this. People are out there taking photos of celebrities who are buying diapers and selling the pictures to magazines. They're just like us! Look at them! They drink coffee and wear shoes!"

Ugh. Who cares? Then I turn to the article on the train wreck of the week and think, "Jesus. No wonder she's so fucked up. She can't even put gas in her car without some idiot snapping a camera in her face to sell to a magazine to show people that she's just like us! except on way more drugs." Flip. Flip. Flip.

This is how it goes the entire time I am reading and trying to hide the cover from my fellow commuters on the 4 Train, lest they mistakenly take me for someone who not only purchases, but reads, this garbage.

I don't buy it every week, but I did briefly consider a subscription. Thank god I came to my senses. I'd be horrified if one of my highbrow, academic neighbors caught me getting it out of my mailbox. And then I'd giggle and make some comment like, "Can you believe Erica reads this shit?", while covering the address label with my MoMA catalog or something so they would be sure to know that I am the sophisticated, artsy lesbian in the building and not some schlock who reads tabloids.This morning, instead of picking up AMNY or Metro, I stopped at a bodega and bought the NY Times and a fancy bottle of Naked juice smoothie drink to try to re-balance my cool and intellectual chi. I am sure my fellow commuters were all appropriately impressed.