In the "WHOOPS!" department?
Pope Benedict the Who-Knows Roman Numeral is quitting Popedom. So what does the Good Lord do to the Vatican the night of Mr. Ratzinger's resignation? You betcha. Sends a big ol' bolt of lightning directly over, well, THE ACTUAL VATICAN. Jesus was like, "Nobody likes a quitter!!!!" So off he'll go to a) retire & golf, b) sin a lot just because he can and c) reflect on all the sex he never had.
The Polish Guy Who Reigned Supreme:
So the Catholics are pushing to grant Sainthood to The Cool Pope, the late John Paul II. Being Polish was at the epicenter of his coolness, naturally, but he did all kindsa cool shit during his Poperacy. Such as...
He swatted oncoming doves with a bitch slap!
He was occasionally befuddled!
He strangled babies!
He shaved! Himself!
He blessed koalas who clung to him for life!
Very confused African natives welcomed him, though they had no fucking idea what his deal was.
He hung out with Bono & was sport enough to try on Bono's sunglasses. Awesome.
The ENTIRETY of Chicago came to see him in 1979. Badass.
I think the successor should totally, definitely be Ozzy Osbourne.
Golly, you'd think Pope John Paul II was almost as cool as:
What's Become of Guy Friend?
Guy Friend was uncharacteristically chatty via text this week, not to mention snazzy and playful. Twice in one week! Until I scared him away and now he's ignoring me, which draws out literally every negative, self-defeating feeling of dread in my shredded being.
Tuesday being Paczki Day, or as some call it, Fat Tuesday, while still others call it Shrove Tuesday, commonly known as the Last Hurrah of Gluttony Before Lent. In MY neighborhood, anyway, it is requisite (especially if you're Polish like me) to stop at one of the many overflowing Polish bakeries and pick up a batch of paczki. (For my family, I bought 2 chocolate custard, 2 blueberry and 2 strawberry. We ate them all in one day and trust me when I say that they leave a sensation, while delicious, of an 8lb barbell inside your gut.) Having sent Guy a picture, he replied back with the lone paczki left in the office out of 3 dozen. The gluttony aside, what threw me into a fit was that they were boxed and from a chain grocery store and *not* a Polish bakery. OH MY NO! I don't know who in the office bought them, as Guy didn't say, but you Just. Don't. Buy. Them. At. The. Store.
It was a blast while it lasted, but Too Much Annie eventually wears out literally everyone. Especially when I'm manic. And I'm needy. And I want him to swoon over me. And sometimes he does. First, he was mad that the Catholic hospital was making him work on Easter for no pay, in the name of altruism. Essentially, Guy was like "WTF?" so I told him to tell the hospital he couldn't work because he was having an abortion that day. Hardy har.
"I think I will give up logical thought for Lent. My stress level will be much lower if I BS my way through each day," he said. "Think of the FUN we'd have!" I replied. I told him if he gave up logic, I'd give up chastity. Win/Win. Nothing over-the-top. Typical Annie flirtatious bantering, which works about 75% of the time with any man I might or might not be involved with.
Guy referred to me as Alice going down the rabbit hole, which might make more sense if I knew that whole story in the first place. (Later in the text conversation, I WAS the rabbit, and I'm not sure what THAT means either.) I was trying to brainstorm with him about a good medical excuse for Luke to get out of a shitty choir obligation he didn't want to attend. Guy kept throwing me communicable illnesses & plagues, which I vetoed for fear of inciting undue panic. I whipped out the DSM-IV-TR and flipped around until I reached a diagnosis for Luke as having disassociative amnesia. It made sense. My understanding of it is that something awful happened, you forgot about it, then you forgot you forgot it, and you remember it, and then you don't want to remember it again, so you forget it once more. Too much?
My snarkiness on the requisite permission slip (on which I wrote Luke's diagnosis) might have been less hostile had whomever typed out this official letter for parents done so without mixing up affect/effect. That drives me BANANAS. Frightening? Guy noticed it on the slip BEFORE I DID. Or we were thinking the same thing, but I was slower on the draw. When I did point it out, he said, "Thank you, Ms. Obviouswoman." Am I THAT transparent? In any case, I responded "You're welcome, Captain Sensitivity." (Best Male Friend asked me if I was writing all of this down, which it was saved in my texts, because he found it all highly amusing.)
As per usual, I was up at my computer that night, Tuesday running into Wednesday, until far too late, and all drugged up, and when they say Ambien is a sedative/hypnotic (my favorite thing, incidentally) that will loop you the fuck out if you don't immediately crawl in bed when you take it, is a warning to heed. But I stayed up an extra hour and found an innocuous someecard for Guy that tied into kind of a cardiology joke. The message that went with the someecard, however? Loopy insane and senseless ramblings that somehow included Justin Bieber, all of which I have no memory. Guy told me to "cut back on the drugs, babe." If only I could. I told him to just ignore it, like the emails I send him late at night which also make no sense or say way too much information, which I ask him the next day to not read and delete for the love of God. Who knows if he does, but holy damage control!
The Valentine's Day Massacre: Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear:
Newsflash! Or as he called it, "Spoiler Alert!" Guy doesn't send Valentine's Day gifts or letters.
I said, "Of course you don't. You think this is news?" recollecting the days we worked together and we'd all try to coerce him into at least getting Lady GuyGuy a freakin' card on the way home from the office. Whether or not he did, who knows, but naturally, underneath my encouraging facade, steam was about to come out of my ears. Hell hath no fury...or something. The green-eyed monster (er, wait, I have green eyes).
Got a bit snippy with him during our next text exchange, which, in hindsight, I really should've chilled, because the line between being assertive and blunt about what you want and being a bitchy nag is anorexically thin. I was bossy and overbearing, and one of my friendship duties is to be an antithesis/ fun sassy cutie with whom to hang out. If he wanted crabbing, he could've gotten that at home.
Since it was Ash Wednesday, when I was at the train station at 6:45 am that morning, I mistook a plain-clothed nun/priest mashup who were dispensing ashes upon commuters and I assumed they were Jehovah'a Witnesses, so I ran past them. I also didn't want to double dip Catholicism and Lutheranism in one day for over-repentance. Got my requisite annual smudge in church:
I happened to tell Guy that being fucked up on Ambien was why, in the mail that day, I received a $40 Kate Spade cell phone warmer, because First World Problem of the Week #1 which leads to First World Indulgence #1: allowing one's cell phone to get chilly. If you can't keep your phone cozy, you might as well try and use mittens because you can't type on it at all. The thought behind the phone cozy is the same as with the Spade hand warmers (I bought myself for at Christmas) I have. These hand-knit overpriced useless items ARE made by refugees or poor people in Bosnia, so it's like a charitable contribution almost. Or at least that's what I'm convincing myself, because it's the utmost in aggrandizing hyper-materialism. (Remember? The hand warmers were the thing I asked Guy for, before he surprised me with the insanely sweet and awesomely ingenious "Twelve Days of Christmas" gifts to open.)
First World Overindulgence #2:
"Punjammies," which are technically pajama pants (though I'd wear them out in public), hand sewn by rescued former Indian prostitutes. It keeps them busy and out of the streets being productive for hoarding, snooty Americans who wish to dazzle. They're so boss! I also ordered a pair of (clearance) Ralph Lauren skinny jeans, which look faboo on me. (At 11pm last night, I apparently went back to macys.com and ordered *another* pair of jeans and a cute Tommy Hilfiger sweater. Lord, somebody put a lock on my computer past 9pm, you know? Crazy shit.
So I was telling Guy Friend about all these, uh, financial decisions regarding consumerist merchandise under the guise of being charitable, and firmly (rather impolitely, really) told him that if there's nobody else to spoil me, I might as well spoil myself. Got snarkier & reminded him of CD #2 that he ASKED me to burn, which he hasn't yet picked up, and for Valentine's Day, I bought him a copy of Fyodor Sologub's The Petty Demon, my favorite Russian novel, which is only THE most difficult literary work in the First World. At NO time did I anticipate, expect or ask for a reciprocation of my own gestures though I think he was overwhelmed when I told him, not asked him, to take me out, which evidently was the final straw.
Oh my, did he respond angrily. He said that I "needed a sugar daddy among other things," and said, "Can't you be a little more in my face? Have to get to the office."
(Cue very sad Annie face with no response to my brief apology.)
Excuse me, did I hear you correctly?
The choppy waters of right vs. wrong, what-to-do confusion is, I think, uncharted territory for Guy, who's not used to having someone hang on his every word with wide eyed adoration, and his boat is capsizing. I immediately took offense to the sugar daddy comment, having broken up with the ultimate sugar daddy and am still involved with an even sugaryer daddy, and I didn't ask him for anything either, though he did give me a gift that arrived today, which was small and appropriate.
I get it, if Valentine's Day isn't a big deal, just a Hallmark holiday, a "have-to," I guess he and Lady GuyGuy don't make a big deal out of it (maybe it's never been a thing for them) and neither would I. Yet dipping his toes in the ripples of a shallow pond of what he perceived my expectations to be regarding the holiday, to me, contradicted the perpetual "We're just friends!" thing we've struggled with for, well, a few years already. We're just friends, remember? Friends who clearly have cataracts and can't see between the lines. Did he find it necessary to inform his obvious harem of girls crushing on him that he wasn't doing Valentine's Day for *all* of us? How many could there be? Seriously, it was aimed at me for a purpose.
I sent him a graphic on Valentine's Day that seemed apropos to how he feels about me:
PS, Guy, it wasn't my idea to arrange 12 Christmas gifts for me. That didn't inflate my expectations apart from perhaps a quick text wishing me a good day, to which I would've responded with the same sentiment and left the someecard as my only thing, w/the CD and the book. I love to give, and I give with my heart, even when I shouldn't. That's how I'm hard-wired. I don't expect anything in return 99% of the time.
Remember what my biggest pet peeve is of all time? Wishywashiness.
I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints. The sinners are much more fun.
Furthermore, what are all these "things" I need? To lose 20 lbs? Tummy tuck? To read more? To color the gray in my hair? Extensive psychotherapy? To just fucking leave him alone for fuck's sake and take my crazy elsewhere? Expounding on all that would be quizzically relevant for sure. At the risk of confusing him further, based on previous communication, dare I say that odds are stacked I'd be more inclined to be less irritable, whiny and difficult if some of my needs were being at least remotely met, even in little dribby drabs, and that wouldn't even fall under a weird umbrella. I'm wracked with feeling foolish and like a total asshole. But! Just as I can't stay mad at him for any length of time, my friends are trying to assure me that Guy will be back, because he always comes back and this isn't the first time we've been on this ride. But does it sorta suck? Affirmative. I hate icky things with Guy. Like I'm not unstable enough, friendship anxiety whacks me out.
First World Overindulgence/Problem #3: Pomegranates?
I really dig pomegranate seeds for a snack. Imagine my horror when I opened up a brand new package of them, only to find out they'd gone bad? I was so bummed, my whole afternoon was kinda ruined. No, I am not buying a pomegranate & cutting it open to extricate all the damn seeds. That would require ambition and patience, neither of which I ever have.
I *did* get 2 Valentine's on the actual day, both from my ex-husband, ironically. The first was this, which was hysterical:
And knowing I'm a big Rush fan, a Geddy Lee Valentine, though he knows my heart belongs to Neil Peart:
A song featured on CD #2 for Guy, actually, Badfinger. Oh, wah is me!
Yep, Guy, please cut me some slack. I've been manic since last Sunday.
Oh! Speaking of Valentines, My Bloody Valentine released their first record in 20 years, a follow up to one of the 90's greatest alternative albums. It's pretty good, though after a while, to me, all MBV songs begin to sound alike. Meanwhile, I am still in possession of my ex-husband's MBV "Loveless" t-shirt from 1992, which he outgrew and gave to me. You'd have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands. I told Craig to spin the record on this, my middle finger, while I scoped eBay and noticed said t-shirts were going for upwards of $120 apiece. No, I refuse to sell mine. It's an icon.
I suppose that's the sentiment I'll leave for the night and crawl into bed. Fuck it.
"Loveless," by My Bloody Valentine. Sums things up nicely.