Friday, December 20, 2002
12 things for christmas.
1. although i'm not big on internet crushes (but i am totally going to be an internet bridesmaid for these two), i will admit that the delectable yet totally spoken-for jack saturn is at the top of my hottt list.
2. the song "i'll be home for christmas" incites in me a pavlovian reaction of wailing tears, thanks to my mother.
3. note to self: the next time that someone's aggressive walking tactics force you into an ankle-deep puddle, call him an insipid moronic dillhole with donkeys for parents. don't just mutter an apology and then smack your own forehead later while wringing out your socks.
4. further note to self: don't wear wool pants in pouring rain. you will smell like wet sheep for the rest of the day.
5. realizing you love someone is the easiest thing in the world. realizing you love someone right before they skip town indefinitely is not.
6. try to prepare your coffee machine at night, before you go to bed. if not, you may find yourself putting the coffee grinds into the machine without the paper filter. this will be disasterous and should be avoided at all costs.
7. this week i decided, after months/years of toying with the idea, that i'm going to law school in september 2004. don't tell me i'm selling out because i will totally cut you.
8. the tickets have been purchased: from march 7-16 2003, while the rest of you are toiling away in pathetic frozen winters, erin and i will be eating fresh coconut on the beach in rio de janeiro, watching gorgeous tanned men in skimpy speedos playing beach volleyball. so, nyah nyah nyah.
9. lord of the rings rocked my face. but feeling my knees weaken every time legolas drew his arrow ... that rocked my face even harder.
10. i've never been a screaming fan of elvis, or his pelvis - but something about the holidays and my wounded heart have made it suddenly acceptable to curl up on the couch and listen to "can't help falling in love" on repeat, and cry.
11. things i want for christmas that i might find underneath the tree: a new pair of suede house moccasins. thomas friedman's new book. zadie smith's new book [shut up fools, i'll judge it for myself]. a medium format TLR [hey, a girl can ask her daddy, right?]. that elusive red-and-white gap scarf that i lost on the train, that is now sold out from every store in north america. money. a bodum tea pot. a new dress.
12. things i want for christmas that will not be under the tree: a dog. to become a morning person. finer cheekbones. 176 on the LSATs. seastreet back in new york. peace in the middle east. a 2nd avenue subway line. to be 5'7" instead of 5'2". owen wilson. to get drunk with sarah b. to either get, or get over, this guy. dinner at babbo, for two. maybe a cat. warm weather.
13 - just to be contrarian: today, after roughly a month of counting, petit hiboux topped 2,000 hits. this may not seem like a lot to you, but i'm pretty tickled. now if i could just figure out who at kentlaw.com visits my site every day ...
merry christmas to all.
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Wednesday, December 18, 2002
my roommate genevieve, in an effort to make some more cash, started walking dogs in our neighborhood. she met with mild success - intermittently walking different people's dogs. her one steady client was a gay couple, nicole and cynthia. nicole had back problems and cynthia was asthmatic, but they had three dogs. two small bits of fluff named ginger and pepper, and a hulking labrador named, aptly, cerberus. when i met the lab, i understood his name - he looked like a demonically stupid cross between a dog, a grizzlybear, and the fabled three-headed guard of the underworld for whom he was unfortunately named. genevieve didn't exactly walk the beast, it was more an elaborate operation involving staying on her feet while testily cajoling the dog to remain on the barest civil terms with gravity, lampposts, and animate beings. it was a battle, walking that dog.
nicole had a whinging, grating voice every time she called, and cynthia always sounded like she'd just run a marathon and was worse for the wear. sometime in early fall, the two broke up. for unfathomable reasons, nicole kept cerberus while cynthia took the fluffies. this meant that genevieve was always walking cerberus when nicole simply couldn't get out of bed because of her back. we made casual fun of nicole, and her whining, and her ridiculous dog, and her habit of talking about absolutely anything and everything, to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. genevieve felt sorry for her, i think, but genevieve is a patient soul who likes listening and talking, no matter with whom. i, sadly, am less patient.
nicole would call for genevieve, and when gen was unavailable, would plead with me to walk the beast. i didn't, ever, because it was gen's entanglement and besides, i have a healthy appreciation for the joints in my arms and don't want them violently ripped from their functional sockets. so i always said no, quickly, before my kindness could get the better of me. two weeks ago, nicole's mother died - they had a tumultuous relationship that nicole didn't hesitate to tell genevieve about in painful detail. anyone's mother dying is tragic - announcing it to your dog-walker on her answering machine, every time she called, was a little strange.
last week i walking down my street on heels, with two bags and a bottle of wine in my hands, returning from work. ahead of me i saw a laborious affair - a hefty woman being dragged mercilessly along by a clomping giant dog, muttering angrily at her burden. she was weaving - she almost looked drunk. by the time i came up behind them, i realized too late that it was nicole - and cerberus recognized me. so i said hello, kindly, because i am a kind person, and civil. cerberus nearly knocked me to the pavement with his version of hello. nicole looked winded, beaten, and angry. we stood there for a minute while she complained, and since i was only a block from my house, i offered to take cerberus to my door, to ease the back pains she was heartily complaining of. the force of holding the beast, tottering on heels with three things in my hands, almost dragged me straight into a tree. i "walked" him for half a block or so, trying to stay alive, while nicole launched into wheezily-told tales of her youth as a young punkrock chick in manhattan. at my door, i politely returned the animal to her, patted him on the head affectionately (he is a dog, after all, and only living his life to the standards his instinct provides) and said goodbye to nicole, extricating myself as quickly and civilly as possible. i told genevieve later, and we chuckled over it.
this morning, genevieve told me that nicole died in her sleep a few days ago, from an enlarged heart and bad living habits - too much eating, not enough exercise (even with the burden of cerberus) - she was a medical disaster. i thought about seeing her, and how beaten she looked, and how little i really cared, beyond the realm of nonchalant concern for another human being's life that is present in all decent humans. i felt a twinge in the recesses of my conscience. do i feel guilty because i didn't make an effort to get to know her, even though we had the marginality of life experience in common? can one feel guilty about every departed soul one didn't know well enough? can i honestly feel guilty about quickly rejecting her pleas for help walking cerberus? no - had she not died, i may never have felt pricked by my conscience. but knowing as i did the immediacy of her need, of her physical shortcomings, the extent of her loneliness - would a better person have walked the damn beast anyway?
guilt is never a pretty thing - especially when it seems so peripheral to the trials of your intimate life that take up inordinate amounts of space in the filing cabinets of your mind, soul and conscience. i am more moved and concerned about my father's health, my brother's happiness, my mother's love, than i am about any residual guilt formed by not walking a near stranger's dog, even though she desperately needed the help. i shuffled my obligations to nicole on sound reasons - genevieve walked her dogs, she didn't have to be in possession of such an obstinate burden, blah blah blah.
but the truth is, for today, i will think about nicole. i will apologize to her, for minor travesties i committed, as a fellow human being bred with innate human selfishness. i will not forget the tiny sliver of time she spent as a fringe player in my life. i will wish she'd gotten rid of the damn dog, taken care of her health, hadn't had such a traumatizing last few months of life. i will feel bad for her siblings, losing a sister and a mother in such a tragically short period of time.
i will thumb through my memory and rectify my mental notes on nicole from an irritating bit player with a ridiculous dog to a person who deserved the help she got and found it lacking in me. i will accept this as a fault, and i will try to be more considerate to people, to strangers. because death is the great equalizer - it makes everyone painfully human.
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Monday, December 16, 2002
when life gets in the way of regular bloggage ...
all you can do is present the most memorable misunderstanding, from the entire wild weekend:
"you want a baby jesus butt plug? ... because they make those, you know." - the fantastic wang.
a cookie if you can guess what was actually said.
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