Old past: New starting line

When you commit to leave the past in the past, what are you really committing to? Does this vow mean that you are leaving behind every bad and negative thing that happened (and you KNOW about), or does it encompass all of the secrets that lie beneath? At what point does the past end, and the new starting line officially begin?

At the moment, I'm not really sure how to approach this. The super rational part of my mind says that if the present climate of a relationship is different from the past, accept it and don't look back.

Right.

Like communism, this is great in theory, but isn't really going to work out too well for the planning committee. I'm pretty sure that in moments of great emotional upheaval, the rational portion of the brain gets squeezed down to a corner where it's faint screams can be quietly heard, but are not listened to. Now, is it time to go all Elin Woods? No. This is not the same situation, but I don't judge her for what she did, not remotely.

The thing that seems to escape us, as people, is the reality that the present will soon be the past. The past always catches up to us, and will infect the present that we are then in. ITS A CYCLE PEOPLE. If you don't want to keep going 'round and 'round, then get off the damn ride. If you're on your own, self-contained, merry-go-round...well by all means, take your time with your dismount. For the most part, however, people's cycle of straight up stupidity spans several counties, sometimes states, before it ends.

If there is a secret that you are hell bent on keeping, don't write it down. If you like to fabricate stories that include real people and spin the details to make yourself look like a freaking pimp... adopt the tradition of the spoken word. Don't send out e-mail blasts to all your best buddies - this will not end well for you, I promise. Eventually your words will reach the wrong person, or the right person depending upon how you look at it, and there's really not a damn thing you can do about that. Once the truth is revealed, you will then be at their mercy, and the mercy of all their friends since the forward button is so fucking fun to press.

When words are harsh, and even hurtful, no matter how loud they are said, they still take a backseat to anything that is written down. I have a friend who was once informed via facebook message by a random girl that her pseudo-boyfriend had been cheating on her with this girl and actually got her pregnant. Now, that information is difficult enough to learn, or hear, but to read it from an unknown source and have it there for constant reference and reminder burns the moment into your permanent memory. The visual approach can't be shaken off.

While facebook is a mating ground for drama and regrettable public archives, email is still the killer. Emails contain more content (personal content), and can be searched by single words or topics dating back to the accounts creation. Hi people, RED FLAG. Anything that archives words you have written, drunk or sober, documenting the date and time you did it is something to be approached with caution. And fear.

I say this to both the typer and the reader. Remember, curiosity killed the cat. Be sure that you actually want to know the answer to the question that begs your attention. If you are not a thoroughly schooled deletion artist, you better get someone to help you, cause at one point or another, someone is probably going to find your email open, and go to town. Now, if you are the sneak attack email ninja (or think that you are) I urge you to proceed with cation. Ask yourself what you are really accomplishing. If you plan on taking this information to the grave, and pleading the 5th if ever interrogated about your guilt... well ask yourself how much of your sanity you are willing to put up in exchange for harboring this dark secret. Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss, and it is my experience that the details of the situation are far from important. If there is something so seriously wrong with a relationship or person in your life, that you are willing to break trust and go to crazytown with your informational hunger... you've already hit the red zone, and will be better off walking away without hurting yourself any more.

Eventually, the truth always comes out. Terrifying for both the secret keeper and the seeker, because at the end of the day, one, if not both parties is going to get hurt. This is when you hope to have the memory of a goldfish so you can take a 10 second time out and carry on all shiney and new. Doesn't happen that way though. Memories of emotionally traumatic events are the most powerful and everlasting sources of anxiety, and that thoroughly unwelcome feeling that you were just kicked in the stomach.

So, back to the question. If the past is in the past, what is the point in unearthing the dark secrets that linger in it's corners? Temporary gratification, yes, but it will be immediately overwhelmed with the stronger feelings of guilt and anger, mixed with sadness and slight homicidal rage. NOT HEALTHY. Forget the dark corners, move forward. If the present corners of your life seem to be harboring the darkness of the past, they probably are. Leave the details behind, leave everything behind, and find a new place with bright corners, and maybe a bottle of wine. No one said it would be easy, but save yourself the mental anguish. You're only going to be in this present once, don't waste it on reading someone else's life. Live your own.

Angry Girl Rant #1

They tell you to use condoms. They tell you to take your birth control. Some even say not to have sex. All of this to avoid transmittable diseases and having children. What they fail to explain to women during the tampon hysteria that is health class is that beyond AIDS, the Clap, and pregnancy, there is a greater danger out there. A danger that can not be prevented by conventional forms of contraception.

Enter: The Manchild.

If you look at my life on paper, it reads something like this: '25 year old, healthy female. Independent, successful, disease and child free.' Score.

Often missed in the small print are the tragic flaws: 'Believes in the good in people, gives the benefit of the doubt, struggles to deny the mercy fuck, and will lend money to nearly anyone, even when fully aware it is going toward drugs. I can never leave a man behind, or kick someone who is down, and while that makes me an awesome teammate for capture the flag, i'm really just bending over for the manchildren of the world. I may not have gotten knocked up, but somewhere along the line I definitely got fucked and it resulted in a dependent.

The Manchild cannot be cured by taking antibiotics, nor can it be evacuated or given up for adoption. It is the incurable pandemic that is sweeping the nation and will infect 2 out of every 5 women.

The struggle in solving this problem is that if you are like me, and you don't particularly like drama or crazy bitches, clawing your way out of this situation amicably is fucking impossible. The reason for this being that Manchildren are unique combinations of insecurity, selfishness, ego, and stupid. It is inevitable that the situation will escalate to a level where you take on the role of the mother and have to forcibly detach them from your breasts.

Cougar Bites

Recently I have been e-mailing with a fellow minion and bottom dweller from my days as a sports promotion intern in college. When you spend countless hours in the trenches with someone, risking your life manning the t-shirt guns and being interrogated by belligerent sports fans demanding to know why you didn't shoot a t-shirt to them four games ago, you get pretty close.

In exchanging recent tales of sin, it came up that my dear friend has been experiencing the same cougar epidemic that has been overcrowding my favorite bars and shaking my very core. The major difference defining our experiences with these saucy little minxes is the ultimate factor: the penis. He has one, and I don't. It seems like a simple biological difference, but it is oh so much more. Apparently if you have a penis, it gives you the magical ability to bang hot older women while in your twenties, and get the sweet young stuff when you are well into your forties.... I'd be interested to know if there are any laws of transference with this magical ability, and/or any way help guys get it up when they're drunk. If that could be worked out, I would be a little more willing to accept this sick social truth.

Why, dear god, why, can guys be worshipped as bachelor gods well into their forties, yet single women have to make some quick right of passage choices in their thirties about whether they want to just fast track it to a life of spinsterhood, spending every friday night kicking back bottles of wine and yelling slurred four letter words at the tivo and cats in turn, or take the alternate life path of being a rabid cougar, prowling around dark college bars, pretending every week is mardi gras.

To be honest, after fleshing out those options, and eyeing the nearly empty bottle of wine sitting next to me, I'm thinking that they sound pretty damn good. I suppose the trade off of having the wonderous biological gift of being a perpetual player is outweighed by the fact that vaginas always go up, and vibrators never get too nervous. Oh Peekachu, i love you.

Google yourself.

I don't know if it is a strange thing to do, googling oneself, but with the power of the internet and my need for a new career, i thought it might be a good idea. You know, just see what I've put out there, be aware of how easily it is for someone to cyber stalk me and discover my secret pain.

Really, I just wanted to make sure everything was kosher for the job search, and assure that this particular blog was not going to show up if anyone tried to google me. My initial fear was that my phone number or address, this blog, and an unfortunate first year rowing picture would pop right up ruining my otherwise stellar reputation and feeling of security. What I found, however, was far too ironic for me to do anything but laugh.

So there I was, sitting at my desk, juggling gchat, facebook messaging, and google (like the ninja that I think I am) when I came across a curious link. The link was from the 123 people search engine, listed my name and insinuated that it could provide all of my contact information. Obviously this was the thing I feared most....well that I thought I feared most....so I clicked on it.

At first glance I was relieved since the phone number and address sections had no information, and the only blog that it listed was one for a student service organization I was on in college, and hey, I will take all the good press I can get. It did give a link to my facebook profile, but thanks to those glorious privacy settings, the creeps would have to friend me to gain access to my profile. As I sighed a sigh of relief, I saw something a little curious. My facebook picture was shown next to two other images....one of which I identified immediately as this french girl who is also on facebook and has my same name. The other one, however, was much less innocent.

While I have been out slaving away searching for jobs, some other girl with my name, general characteristics, and coloring, has apparently been slaving away GIVING jobs to well endowed fellows and posting the pictures on the internet. AWESEOME. sike.

Once I realized that I had been staring at the picture for several minutes in disbelief, I quickly closed the page, crossed my legs and mustered only a few short moments of contemplation before I busted out laughing.

Of COURSE this picture would be out there. I have just spent the last month of my life trying to sustain from all figurative googling (sex )for reasons that actually trump this, but will have to be shared later, and have devoted all my time and energy to positive enterprises, taking this job search seriously and professionally. What. the. hell.

Karma, baby.

what a snow day this has been.

Make good choices, only take food to the face.

Facebook me this...

Recently I have been devoting a great deal of my free time (which is most of the day and a large majority of the evening) to exploring new arenas and talking to strangers. A new commitment that has destroyed any remaining lattice work that my mom's paranoia and total devotion to living in fear had been able to develop through my childhood.

While doing this I have come to several conclusions about my generation and the faults of technological advancement....

Myspace may be one giant networking site for whores and pedophiles, but facebook is becoming the unofficial site for spreading awkwardness and general social impotence.

Thursday night I went into the city to score some free booze from an alumni association of a high school that I didn't actually go to. I managed to score an invite from a friend who was an alum, and happily traded in my pajama uniform for business dress. The event was unbalanced mix of the most haughty and stiff social climbers from the area and just a few teachers and young alums from the school - the latter of whom were clearly in attendance only because of the 'open bar' sub script on the event invite.

After about five awkward introductions to the more senior crowd, all of whom tried to guess my graduation year as if it were an auction, I threw back my third glass of wine and stepped into what I thought was my rightful place with some of the twenty-somethings. Now, it may have been the formal setting of the event, the fact that I knew everyone was backed by a great education, or simply that I had just taken three drinks to the face in approximately 30 minutes, but I definitely felt like this group was more socially developed and aware than those I usually stumble upon in my travels.

After a few minutes the inevitable ' what do you do?' question arose, and I found myself deep in a conversation with a guy who had graduated 4 years ahead of me and had also recently left his job. While I think he may have been forcibly removed from his place of employment, and was clearly embellishing his 'awesome' experience of being jobless, my blood level and I appreciated his stories. Eventually we were joined by two older and painfully boring members of the alumni board to whom I shared some information about my developing non-profit and my fundraising goals for the upcoming year. As I am wrapping up my elevator speech and planning my escape from this situation, my new friend proceeds to uncomfortably haggle with these gentlemen and outright ask them to get out their checkbooks for the cause. Thankfully for me, but probably not the children of Ghana, we were interrupted by the clanging of some glasses and what turned out to be a long winded request by the school for millions of dollars.

After discussion and several speakers, I discovered the super waspy refreshments and made my way over to collect some rabbit food and cheese. As I was carefully making my selection, picking through the veggies with the catering tongs, my aforementioned networking cohort slid up beside me and said "so...uh...can I facebook you?' Are. You. Joking???

In an effort to hold back my laughter, I used the tongs to gesture at my name tag, and continued filling up my plate as my name was saved in a crackberry. Is this really what we are coming to? We now ask for facebook friends because god forbid we would acquire real live friends, and make direct communication?

Sadly, this isn't the first time that facebook has or will rear its awkward head as a pre-requisite for hanging out. And I have to say, that as much as I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, this pre-friendship tactic can be a tremendous mind-fuck and source of unreasonable insecurity... and I mean that both literally and figuratively. The literal facebook friending 'insecurity' comes when someone of the opposite sex that makes it into the 'potential and desperately needed possibility for human contact' category gains that full friend access to your profile, and then seemingly falls off the face of the earth. The result of this leaving you to question your profile content, wall posts, pictures, and overall worth as a human being as you slip uncontrollably into a borderline psychotic episode. That being said, the alternate experience of insecurity seems somewhat preferable, but brings into question feelings of personal security and privacy from the perverts that you call your friends.

About a week ago I got caught off guard by a facebook 'instant message' from a guy friend of mine that I actually had been plotting to seduce for months-- which is the underlying reason that I didn't immediately sign off and pretend that I never received the message. The conversation started off pretty well, and then took a serious down turn about 4 lines in when he revealed to me that he was sitting at home naked looking through all my pictures. I mean, really? It's not as if I am unaware of the private practices of guys, but if you're going to look through my pictures is it too much to ask you to put it in the spank bank and move on? Do you really need to look through them in real time and actually talk to me about it? That's more of a third date conversation if you ask me.....or at LEAST a third drink one. Don't catch me off guard when i am sober at home on a tuesday night, that's just bad form.

I had a myspace account for about a week when I was in college and quickly terminated it when I realized that it was just a networking site for orgies and anonymous sex with local spreaders of the clap. While myspace was not at all something I am interested in, at least the people on it are aware of its utility and are up front about exactly what they are looking for. Facebook operates under the clever guise of a social networking site, but fails to include the disclaimer that it will inevitably carry you through a multitude of psychotic breaks, possibly cause you to be deemed 'unemployable' and essentially evaluate your worth in a forum of judgement by your peers and a handful of perverts that you mistook for friends.

Airing of Grievances

This is predominantly going to be a forum to air the grievances that I develop as I clumsily navigate through life and continue to make poorly reasoned and shameful decisions.

For the most part I believe that life is about taking chances, basking in the awkward, and reaching the end of each year with a valuable new set of life lessons, understanding of oneself, and no transmittable diseases. Even if that doesn't all really come out as planned, it's important to humor yourself and those around you by listing off the 'valuable things you learned about life and yourself' ... and as I tell my guy friends, feel free to omit the fact that you learned and reflected on these lessons during the time you had to think while you were handcuffed to a motel room bed while some bitch stole your clothes and wallet.

Regardless of the outcome, we're labeling them as 'growth experiences' and moving on.

When all else fails, just remember .... Don't do drugs, and use the family whistle.