Showing posts from October, 2014

Bad Habit

“You think too much.”
I will never forget the way he said those words to me. His ability to make me feel less than human was his super power.
His back was turned away from me as he began to undress. I was standing alone in the bedroom of someone’s parents house wondering if what he said was true.
Twenty minutes earlier I watched a teenage girl come out of the bathroom with her boyfriend.
“You ever do coke?” she asked.
“No…” I said as if in slow motion.
“Good, it’s a bad habit,” she said.
My bourbon and ginger was flat and almost empty. I made another drink, waiting for him to get back from the store. I walked outside with the couple so they could smoke cigarettes and I could sit by the dying fire.
“So, how do you know him?” the girl asked me.
“We met in high school,” I said. “I used to go see his band play.”
“Oh ok, so are you two…?”
“We’re just...friends,” I said, with an ounce of hesitation.
We’ve never been ‘just friends,’ I thought. But there wasn’t a conversational diagnosis for whatever w…

Too Many Diet Cokes

There is a scene toward the end of Reality Bites where Winona Ryder proclaims that she was really going to be something by the age of twenty-three. When I was 23, I attempted karaoke for the first time. I was doing tequila shots like they were a part of my final exams and obsessed with wearing an old school NBA sweatband.
Ethan Hawke walks over to her as she’s opening a can of diet coke to tell her that at the age of 23 all she needs to be is herself. She says she doesn’t know who that is anymore, and then they have sex.
In six months I will be turning thirty. I’m still not quite sure what that means, only that I have become more self-realized in the last year than I would have thought possible. Most importantly, I know the kind of woman I am and the kind of woman I am not.
I only identify with Winona in the way (I’m assuming) most twenty-something women can. We undervalue ourselves because it’s taking too long to get to the place where we want to be. Our former classmates are married wi…

Louder Than Life

I have to be deadpan and honest with you for a few minutes. Two Saturdays ago, I came home from work early and felt sorry for myself. This isn’t a new development, but the specific event that made me dive into a tangle of fucked up emotions is not easy for me to admit to you.
Let me back up a few weeks. I work in the bakery of my parent’s restaurant. I came downstairs to grab more butter when the head chef starts singing Limp Bizkit lyrics to me.
“Fred Durst works here now?” I ask.
The head chef talks a mile a minute, but I hear the words “music festival,” “gourmet man food,” “no this is not a joke.”
My breath becomes sparse and suddenly I’m irrationally angry. How could this restaurant feed the mouths of Kid Rock fans? The rest of the morning I keep going down and back up the stairs, taking my wrath out with each step. The angst I was dealing with was not unlike the time in high school when I overheard a popular girl saying she wanted to go to a pun…