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xx

Martha

Pipedreams and whiskey

I spend a majority of my day in the car, usually obstructing my vision of oncoming traffic with either an eyelash curler, coffee cup or the most lethal of all driving habits-updating facebook while doing a rendition of Usher. Who's got it bad? The guy driving behind me. So it's no wonder I do a lot of "reflecting" in the car-and not just on things like, "How did I get here? I haven't looked up at the road for at least 2 miles."

Occasionally I start thinking about the big things though. What’s the purpose for my existence? Nietizsche would be proud.

Here's the issue: if there were a direct correlation between passion and the amount if time and energy I put into something, I'm passionate about the following:

1.) Del Taco
2.) thinking about puppies
3.) See #1

If you really think about it, we realistically can't ALL go after what we're "passionate" about. Unless there's a saturated population of people whose souls burn amber-hot for cleaning port a potties or putting the bubbly wrap in boxes at the post office. Those jobs have integrity and make the world function, and there's pride in that. So why is my life punctuated with a constant pressure to find something I just LOVE to do? Like it's picking out a new deodorant. So cucumber melon is on some level paralleled to passion? If that's the case, I've got some marketing material for Dove.

Is there a realistic place for passion in our lives, or do adults have to file it under 'things I don't get to use as a grown up’; in the same place they keep lunchables, pinky promises and a kick-ass metabolism.

Life could be simplified without passions in my opinion. Without the idea that something can define happiness and a fulfilling existence for you. That hope doesn't dangle on any one string, but maybe evenly dispersed across many, less eggs and more baskets perhaps. Especially for  people like myself who aren't necessarily good at any ONE thing, but semi-quasi decent at some things, SOME OF THE TIME. How liberating to think you can do whatever you want, half hearted in joint effort with its half-assed counterpart and topped off with a liberal dose of complacency. That a roll of the dice, and the four leafed clover gods are in control of your destiny and not you.

Then I realize what a pathetic move it is that I'd forfeit the ability to feel something that profound and cast it aside out of self preservation instead of really reaching for it and exploring the implications it has for my life-risks, expectations and all. Here's a scarier alternative for you: having the potential to be great, and settling for mediocrity anyway.

Lyrics | Joni Mitchell lyrics - Both Sides, Now lyrics

In between

A number of terrible things tend to occur at the age of 26, a.) you get booted off your parents health insurance and b.) occasionally, you don't get carded at Trader's anymore. Obviously because of the named reasons, me and  26 have this sort of love/hate relationship going on. Oh, but instead of love, replace that with  lukewarm, potentially platonic feelings. It's just a strange age really. Nothing is concrete ... and all of the major pillars of my life are in that awkward pre-pubescent phase still. 

What do I mean by 'Concrete'? The official crossover into adulthood, so....obviously:
1.) Having a dog
2.) Having a lifelong partner (whether that person has the title of husband or not doesn't concern me)
3.) Having a slow-cooker

Half of my friends are of the married variety, Home-depot strolling, coupon-clipping and all.... and the other half-they're still out scribbling their numbers on beer coasters and cyber stalking potential suitors. Ahhh, the good ol' days. Some of us have careers, other's-struggling to reaffirm that they're getting a masters, and accumulating debt for the right reasons (to avoid working, duh).

Then there's me, doin' a free fall with slurry of alternate futures to my life on either side of me. Sandwiched between all the possibilities. Braving the unknown, but hoping the sand castles I've built along the way somehow magically gain real architectural integrity and don't fade away into the shore on me.

That's the problem with 26, too young to be consumed with making everything permanent and too old to be casual about anything anymore. And definitely too old according to your parents to not have some things working in the pipline, such as grandchildren. I want to grow, but growins' a tough without a rapid succession of "character building" mistakes. Yea, that's it....all the mistakes I've made-simply a facilitator for this concrete life of adulthood. Sounds sensible. How else do you expect me to gain a grown-up disposition? Baby steps people: Step 1: Finishing this cup of noodle I made for dinner tonight.

Valentine's Day Version 2.0

What is this epidemic that has plagued mankind when it comes to Valentines Day? You mention it to a single person and they act as though they were just told they're getting death by electric chair-"ohh god, please don't remind me." And people who are in relationships complain about it being a corporate created holiday that has no meaning behind it. Just another way for hallmark to manipulate $4.99 out of our hard earned cash for a cheesy card filled with recycled musings from some writer's post-it notes. Shouldn't we reward these writers for having to communicate our most intimate feelings for us since most of us are emotional quadriplegics? I mean when they're writing "you light my soul on fire" they're thinking "FML FML FML..."


And as the over complicating creatures we are, instead of using Valentine's day as an opportunity to express how we care about the people in our lives, romantic or not(because duh-we need holidays/special occasions to remind us to do that)-we use it for everything else. We start using it to gage our self worth and measuring the success of our last few Valentine's Days as if it were indication of our character or our likability. We can't help it-from a young age we've been conditioned to seek validation from boxed chocolates and candy hearts.

If you've been alone the last 5, you start contemplating going gay or marrying the childhood friend you made a pact with in High school-the one you have absolutely nothing in common with, except that you agreed if you both weren't married by 28-you'd marry each other. Couples in relationships start over analyzing the state of their commitment, some conclude they want to break up, but obviously after Valentine's day...cause they'd rather spend it with someone they're unhappy with then spend it alone. It's not just "singles awareness day"...it's also "miserable couple's awareness day."

Maybe that's the real epidemic. Collectively, as a group, we are soo ME centered nowadays. Completely self serving and self pleasing, the universe and stars gravitate around us. How less stressed would these people be if they put the same amount of energy into making someone else's day versus toiling over what being alone on Vday reflects about them or leading someone else on until the convenience has worn off? It always seems to me that the second I stop worrying about myself, and thinking of other people, the weight is lifted off my shoulders. So maybe that sentiment is just as equally selfish considering I feel I get more from giving-but hey at least that means someone else out there is having a better day too. It's like a 2-for-1 deal. Can't beat it.

My current boyfriend and the one before him both refuse to take me out ON Valentine's day. Rude. LOL, but I get it-the crowds, the fixed menus and the inflated prices are not appealing. I'd be totally happy with spending it at home, drinking a beer and watching some Lakers. Maybe some intense spooning to close out the night. Cause all that other stuff is not the point. The point is letting people you love know that you do. Whatever form that comes in. Yes, a new pair of Louboutins screams "be mine!", but so does cooking someone dinner or giving them a massage after a long days work. So good idea right? Making Valentine's day about someone else for once? Such a foreign concept. What's this giving and kind gestures you speak of?? Just remember thoughtfullness trumps dollar amount, everytime. That is-unless we are talking about the shoes named earlier;)

I'm bringin' un-dependant-on-social-media back...yeah!

Remember when you were a kid, and your parents put TV restrictions on you? How they wouldn't let you watch the shows you wanted to, like Married with Children? And to kick you while you were already down they'd even limit your tube time to 2 hours? Sometimes I think I need that kind parental control nowadays, maybe not so much for TV-since like everything else we have limitless access to, it lost it's lustre and we've moved on to the next form of addiction worthy media. I need it for everything else that has monopolized my time and attention without me even noticing it. That includes facebook, twitter and everything else that falls under the umbrella of "total time-suck." Just because we disperse our time across 4 new forums of entertainment, doesn't make them any less harmful, and just because you can check it while grandpa Jo is paying with coupons and coins in the grocery line or waiting at the DMV doesn't mean it takes up any less brain storage.

And it's garbage most the time-do I really need to know what so and so is eating for lunch??! Or learn for the 8 billionth time that "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away"?! I knew that already, I knew that back when everyone had it as pictures under their 'about me' on MySpace 5 years ago. Not only that, its these false relationships that face book and the like renders-people we know only through their braggin' or their ranting and almost nothing in between. No real connections, just vast and endless flow of useless information. My head might explode at any given moment, and instead of meaningful memories of my life or insightful philosophies about the world....my headless neck would be spewing viral videos of puppies chasing their tails from YouTube and pictures from some fraternities latest kegger. That's not what I want going through my head in my last moments on earth, and my brain capacity is extremely limited as is. I feel as though that space should be saved for something that contributes to society more like the cure to cancer or the piece of evidence that would prove OJ did it.

An even worse side effect of constant "connection" is that we begin living our lives through comparison and only adding to this collective dysfunction of trying to keep up with the Jones' were subjected to anyway. What's real is me, and what I'm going through today, and not what lavish vacation Ms. Goldigger was just taken on, or what success Mr. Entrepenuer just found. While I'm perfectly happy for them and their good fortunes, "powering off" every once in a while and disconnecting, helps me redefine what the corresdponding version of my own happiness is, and working towards that. No offense, but I want to live and die by my own definition of fulfillment, not yours or anyone else's. You should do the same. So that being said, lets work on not letting this social media stuff spiral wildly out of control and start deluding what our idea of reality is. And now if you'll excuse me, I have some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills to catch up on.

Hugs and Kisses and lots of Kleenex, 2010

So the start of a new year begins, and naturally I start re-evaluating just what the last 365 days were made of. What have I learned, how have a changed? Please god, tell me I grew somewhere-SOMEHOW, and hopefully not just in the waistline. Now I definitely would never label myself as the glass-half empty type, but to put things mildly, I recall 2010 as being cruel. Sometimes life has a way of "putting things into perspective" for you, meaning you didn't volunteer or want it, but life's gonna go ahead and be asshole anyway. And hey, if you can handle it-meaning you don't do a downward spiral into over indulging prescription pills or alcohol, and end up holding a cardboard sign on the side of the I-5-eventually things begin to look up.

My first memory of last year was waking up in an apartment I had just moved into after having to move out of the place I shared for a year and half with my then boyfriend. I'll spare you the details, but it ended abruptly, and it wasn't what I wanted. I woke up, not realizing where I was for a minute-I didn't recognize my room, and yet there I was, most of my belongings still in cardbaord boxes surrounding my bed. When it finally registered, I remember breaking down into tears, not just a few-where a couple run down your cheek,slightly smudging your mascara, that you can tenderly wipe away and gather yourself together. No-the floodgates had opened;red nosed and snot producing-full blown hysterical bawling. And all I could feel was the weight of my sadness crushing my heart-physically. I just wanted to be back in our apartment, in our bed, watching our dumb boxed dvd sets of 24 or 30Rock. Time traveling skills would have come in handy then. The life that I loved, and cherished and wanted forever was gone as I knew it...pulled from underneath me like a table cloth in one of those tricks where, you know, the guys pulls it really quick and none of the plates topple over. I remember trying to go back to sleep, just so I wouldn't have to face the pain of being in reality. It was truly the most profound sadness I'd ever felt in my 25 years. If there were an acceptable, non-selfish, non-religiously condemned way to find eternal sleep, I would have chosen it at that moment. I despised being awake for the next 7 months. And for a girl who governed her life looking for the silver lining, I couldn't find one.

I've never known how to outwardly express unhappiness, so people thought I was fine. That it was your run-of-the-mill break up and yeah, you hear about them a million times a day-but for me, I had lost my purpose for being here. Me. I was repulsed and ashamed of myself. I had invested too much, whole heartedly and now I blamed the end of a relationship for destroying my life, when it should have never made my life to begin with. I had NO desire to date. I went into spinster mode, most Friday nights were spent in over sized sweats steaming artichokes and watching Law and Order reruns. Detective Stabler became my pseudo boyfriend.

My life imitated the directions on a shampoo bottle, except it went like this: work, cry, sleep, repeat. There was never a light bulb moment where I was like "I'm great!", it was more like days and days and days passed. And I learned to be okay, and eventually I was okay. I started going to church, it was the only place I felt sane. I know church isn't for everyone-but anything that makes me feel like I'm not the biggest thing in the universe, and there is some greater call to being here then living at the whims of people I date-made me feel better. I re-focused my career, started writing again, spent time with close friends and laughed. And laughed and laughed. Like in the spring, when all through fall you had nothing but grass, and one day you walk outside to notice a little yellow flower growing that you hadn't seen before. I emerged, everyday a little happier and a little more okay than I was yesterday. Phewwww, I really didn't think I was gonna make it there for a while.

I guess what I learned in 2010, is that even when you've hit rock bottom, on your hands and knees, completely broken and desperate and you think you can't go on one more day. Guess again. Cause unfortunately, like your happiness-your sadness is just as fleeting. And if you can hold on, one day you've got a good chance at finding it again.

Its the Holidays! Where's my Prozac?

Seasons a changin' again. Leaves of gold are fluttering gingerly across the pavement. Christmas jingles subtly making their annual debut in malls and elevators. The smell of Pumpkin Spice lattes snaking its way to your nostrils and of course-Olan Mills style family portraits that validate your play-boy bunniness and parenting mishaps:



There's something about this time of year that leaves me teetering precociously between this warm cozy feeling of safety and unbridled happiness(that undoubtedly was etched into my mind through good childhood memories of holidays spent with family) and bitter, BITTER depression. I could probably be diagnosed clinically bi-polar during the month of December (which could possibly explain my roller coaster relationship with chocolate and all members of his extended family, brownies included). Maybe it's the fact that we're reminded of all of our shortcomings of the past year, hence making unrealistic "resolutions" that always flounder and then we're just sad, still-five-pounds-overweight masochists. But damn it, we swear we're gonna read more, drink less, and finally take those salsa classes come the 31st every year, like clockwork.

Or maybe its answering to family. After all, Christmas is the DUI checkpoint of holidays. Except your family is the disapproving officer who smells the Jager on your breath and sees your poor decisions that span the length of a year. They're the ones gauging your accomplishments via a conventional timeline. Have you married? Started your career? I mean, who likes being held accountable for the healthy progression of their lives? And on the metaphoric Breathalyzer, I just blew a .999.

I know what it is. Apparently, I do have an internal clock.

Although it's not your run of the mill asking-my-first-date-if-he's-ready-for-marriage-and-kids- internal clock. It's quite the opposite. Take that picture I posted at the top. Is that what my future looks like?(minus the polos and questionable husband) Is adult life just one giant schedule? Are we doomed just to become creatures of habit? Every year, jumping through the same hoops, throwing the same dinner parties and making the same small talk to that neighbor who's lawn decorations are just 'soo cute!' I think that's what simultaneously makes me adore and loathe the holidays. It reminds me that every year, there's a steady, reliable source of love that's there for me. And my fear is that the same thing that brings me this sense of quiet, dignified joy now, will bore me later. I hope someday, a holiday season of ill conceived sweaters, baked goods and botched gift ideas makes me as happy as it does now. After all, keeping things in perpective, Christmas isn't about me-it's about ruthlessly siphoning off the generosity of extended family. Oh, and also, celebrating the birth of Jesus.