the proud door-to-door saleswoman.
In no place to fall. on August 30, 2009 at 8:42 pm
First thing: Maybe you should read the last few posts, to refresh your memory.
Second thing: No long absences in the future. I promise, okay?
Back at his house with no more fireworks hiding in his pockets, Mr. Gingersnap transformed from imp to dutiful host.
He put my bike in his garage. “Don’t feel creeped out by this. Or trapped or whatever. As soon as you are ready to go, I’ll come down and unlock the door.”
All of our friends arrived a few minutes later. I helped him mix drinks, slicing limes, and cracking ice trays. We passed beverages around on a metal tray. Now was the time to be charming, while creating the facade of malleability. Guys love that. I giggled at his jokes and proclaimed my undying love of NPR. I hoped that my underwear were reasonably attractive and free of holes.
And then the main event arrived. Apparently everyone was planning on partaking in CG’s large stash of psychedelic mushrooms. This scheme was hatched while I was in the bar restroom, trying to make myself look less tired.
I was nervous. My college roommates had eaten a bad batch of mushrooms; they spent an entire evening vomiting and sobbing in our room, while I hid in the closet that held my bed. The air smelled like bile and gravy, I silently wished I had chosen one of Pennsylvania’s fine state schools, instead of an institution filled with drug-addled aspiring hipsters. Perhaps purchasing hallucenogenics in Washington Square Park is always ill-advised. Or maybe they just ate too many. Regardless, I was traumatized. I vowed to never consume weird “natural” drugs. Synthesized, processed substances seemed so much more reliable. I imagined even the shittiest heroin was created by solemn, lab coat-wearing scientists. Read the rest of this entry »
back to shuffling my deck of trick cards.
In here and now, personal blah blah on August 23, 2009 at 9:27 pm
Because I like to work astrology into as many conversations as possible–under the guise of “I’m mostly joking, I swear”–I frequently found myself teasing a Virgo friend about his sign’s tendency toward “compartmentalizing one’s feelings.” This cued exaggerated eye-rolling and theatrical scoffing from him. I laughed–usually giving myself a case of the hiccups–as I envisioned a hidden room in his house, filled from floor to ceiling with neatly stacked boxes. Since Virgos tend to also be uptight and controlling, a complex labeling system would be involved. Alphabetical by the first letter of the cause of the inconvenient feeling? I liked this idea, because certainly all concerns relating to me would be in the front of the room. Or perhaps the boxes would be color coded by emotion? Red for anger and blue for rejections. Purple for concerns about one’s sexuality. Green for money problems.
Well, I am a Leo. This means that I tend to spend too much money on haircuts and knee high boots. More importantly, I frequently find myself in the midst of an emotional tempest, saying things I regret while inflicting punishment upon myself. I am a busy lion…single parenthood, eyeliner to apply, a career to steer, friends to make, books to write…I don’t have a moment to spare for the inconvenience of feelings.
Inspired by my Virgo friend, I decided to try a new strategy. As soon as a new problem arose, I stuffed into any available box, stacking it on top of the last packaged worry. Fears, disappointments, and minor heartbreaks received the same treatment. Even the most fiery anger–threatening to explode with even the slightest mishandling–was stuffed into the nearest vessel. I held my breath to prevent trembling. Certain situations required a fair amount of huffing and puffing. If the problem was too large–a real monster of an issue–I would sit on the box while I sealed it up. Read the rest of this entry »
