Wednesday, September 30, 2009

When the Daughter is a Lost Cause

Parents are the people we go to for unconditional pep talks. To assure us there is always hope, to be truthful but our greatest cheerleader, to help us wipe away the tears of life's unfairness and boost us back to functionality.

Only, I think mine have given up on me.
Which basically means I'm a lost cause.
Maybe there is a reality show for me.
(Granted, I only have half a set of parents. Mom in heaven is probably cheering me on, but it doesn't do me much good down here)

But I'm pretty sure my father is just wondering to himself why he couldn't have a normal daughter that either worked her way through law school or got married and had a kid or two. Like her sister. I see his head shaking, wondering where he went wrong? Could the Army have saved her? At least she'd have no problem finding a husband there. It's getting late for me to do anything normal with my life. He's lost the ability to sympathize with my whining and instead has resorted to agreeing with me. Which...doesn't really work the way I want it to. If I'm telling my dad life sucks- he's not supposed to tell me it does! He's not supposed to say, "Yeah, I wouldn't want my life that way." Now where can I go to with my woe is me act? I guess I could create an alter ego on facebook and get all inspirational friends from churches and born agains and weird people who are always ecstatic about life. Surely I could garner a little selfish support from them.

Or- I could auction myself off on ebay? Lost Cause for sale. Guess there are options.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Too Confused to Think

I can't write anything. I can't contribute my self-mocking prose to the blogosphere today. I'm afraid anything that comes out will be too shockingly true because I'm too confused to make fun of anything.

Hopefully tomorrow I'm cured.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Why Are the Things That Feel So Good, So Bad?

It's one of life's great unbalancing acts. A twist of evil. A snicker at our smile, reminding all of us "Not so fast, you're going to pay for that."

Why is it that so many things that feel so good are so bad?

Take for instance Coconut Cake. A well made version- moist, sweet but not too sweet, light and dense all at once- literally feels like pure happiness melting in your mouth. The high from this rare delicacy transcends any food related serotonin boost. But then you must come to terms with the fact that Coconut Cake is the devil. It is really really bad for you. Enjoyed more than once a year could be dangerous and detrimental to your jean shopping.

But there are more substantial life unbalances of good vs. evil. You know the story- the girl loves the bad boy* and the bad boy gives the girl tiny morsels of love but in the end the bad boy is quite bad and she pays for it. Why does this happen? We know the second we meet a bad boy that some chemical reaction we have no control over has possessed and overtaken our body functions (*bad boy = person who knowingly shows signs of 100% chance of hurting you in some way or form). We're like high zombies. But it feels so good! And then, when he scoops your heart out with a spoon, the low is much lower than the high ever was. But it's a classic story.

And then of course drugs, alcohol, sex (this is only bad if you're stupid)...the list goes on and on. I'm sure you can imagine many. Life's greatest pleasures acting as a cocoon over a nasty bout of badness.

It sucks.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Are the Kardashians Real People? I Don't Think So.

I've had a blanket over my head the last few days and have been unaware of media happenings. Late last night I decided to catch up on my celebrity blogs to find out Khloe Kardashian is getting married? After dating some basketball player for a week? This is just preposterous. Am I really supposed to believe this? Did they have some really mind blowing text message ping-pong? What else can really happen in a week? Guys, particularly egotistical guys with money and skills, don't feel the need to have lifelong commitment easily. Why have one when there are the option of many? And then the rumor is she is pregnant. How is it even possible to get pregnant in a week of dating? Those are some miracle odds.

I've decided the Kardashian family is one big joke on America. They don't actually exist. The media created them to make us believe any stupidity is possible. Those sisters are actually Hooters waitresses in Dubuque, Iowa.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Important Life Lesson By Girl Twentiesh

You know how you're taught from day one that anything is possible if you just try hard enough? That if you really believe in something, if you really put your mind to it, if you give it all you got it'll happen?

Screw that. Give up. Half the time it was a stupid f'ing and idea in the first place.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Adventures in Online Dating

In homage to the dark leap I took a year ago, I'd like to share with you my adventures into the slimy waters of overconfidence, creative photography, and gross overuse of punctuation and emoticons: Internet Dating.

I didn't ever intend to do it. Internet dating. Why? Well, there's no one on there for me. I don't/didn't want to date the type of guy that would Internet date. That was my belief and I held to it. Not to mention how humiliating it is writing a sales piece for yourself. But one innocent 8 hour champagne brunch and there I was of which I swore I’d never do. But they convinced me, those conniving girls. They threw champagne down my throat and dared me to date online. And if I didn't, that meant I thought I was too good for it. Fine! I'm no snob. I wouldn't cower in fear of cheesy winks and unnecessary over sharing. I agreed with grandeur. I would Internet date, and I would put my picture up for all to see!

Uh, then I got sober.

I kinda hoped everyone would forget. 8 hours of drinking champagne can do crazy things to people. I avoided emails, kept communication low in hopes the little dare would disappear into a memory. Nope. They remembered all right. Those girls. They sure know when to push. I put it off a good week until finally with the deadline approaching I drank some wine, laid down on my kitchen floor and typed me a profile. As I started to type the words just flowed. Then I reread what I wrote and realized I was quite nontraditional. Out there. My self-deprecating manner oozed out of "all about me" paragraphs and I managed a heavy ladle of sarcasm in "my interests". I laughed. No wonder I was single! But then I realized the whole point of Internet dating. If somebody doesn't like who you are, who cares? Even though I was dared into the dang thing, I was going to be real and honest me in that stupid profile. I'd stab myself if I wrote the standard "I like to go out to dinner and have a good time and stay at home and watch movies and snuggle." I'd rather be locked in a dungeon alone then be so entirely unoriginal. So yeah, you get the attitude that came through.

I filtered through and picked recent photos- hoping no one would recognize me- literally squeezed my eyes shut and hit "submit". It was official. I was an Internet dater. Oh God.

....To Be Cont'd

Monday, September 21, 2009

Sucks to be the Unknown Guest of an Emmy Nominee

I halfway watched about an hour of the Emmy arrivals yesterday. Nothing like the guilty pleasure of cooing over beautiful frocks or judging the uglies to forget about everything going to shambles in your own life. 

However, because of the Emily Dickinson mood I was in, the only thing I could notice was how sorry I felt for the non-famous dates of the celebrities. As the "it" stars get bombarded with attention and stupid questions like, "What's your favorite body part?" by Ryan Seacrest and a bunch of other plastic interviewers, the date stands by awkwardly as if they don't even exist. The non-famous date doesn't know what to do. Should they nod as if they are a part of the conversation even though their famous date's pinky ring has gotten more attention? Or do they just stand there stiff as a statue, pretending to be an extension of their date's outfit? It's so undeniably uncomfortable and I couldn't help but sympathize with them. I realized that's kind of how I feel in a lot of social situations. As if I'm the guest of the famous people and I could go melt into the wallpaper and it wouldn't change the scene. I'm one of them! Only I don't have a famous date.

Now that it's a new day and I can look back on my non-famous date sympathy, I can't feel too bad for them. After all, they do get to wear beautiful clothing and accessories and probably got some free stuff. 

Friday, September 18, 2009

A Good Old Fashioned Love Song

I'm a girl, so of course I listen to the lyrics of songs. Sometimes I get really annoyed at love songs, particularly country love songs, as they make you feel so bad about yourself. Those country singers really love madly truly deeply. Whoever those girls are making men proclaim such adoration and devotion must be pretty fabulous. 

But, I've found a song I like (not country) and thought I'd share. Seems honest. Like, "Hey, we're both messed up in some way, but you're enough for me." Real. I'm sure this is what Spencer plays for Heidi before they go to bed at night. But I do hope some of you out there have something like this. Nothing like a cheesy send off for the weekend...

She Is Love (Parachute)
I've been beaten down, I've been kicked around, 
But she takes it all for me.
And I lost my faith, in my darkest days, 
But she makes me want to believe.

They call her love, love, love, love, love. 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need.

She's all I need.

Well I had my ways, they were all in vain, 
But she waited patiently.
It was all the same, all my pride and shame, 
And she put me on my feet.

They call her love, love, love, love, love. 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
She is love, and she is all I need. 

And when that world slows down, dear.
And when those stars burn out, here.
Oh she'll be there, yes she'll be there, 
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love, love.
They call her love, love, love, love. love.

She is love, and she is all I need, 
She is love, and she is all I need, 
She is love, and she is all I need.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Don't Ask Questions You Don't Want The Answers To

You know those burning questions? The ones you mull over internally? They are the questions continually popping up in your mind that you try and squish away into a corner until they disappear. The reason why you don't want to ask them, why they don't just flow right out of your mouth freely, is because usually there's a pretty good chance you're not going to like the answer. For instance, when you're wondering why that guy you like never actually calls you, but only sends you late night texts. You want to ask him if it's because he's seeing someone else, but you push it away in hopes it'll dissolve into dust. Unfortunately those questions are sneaky little suckers and they always find a way out. And when they come out, that heave of release you have quickly dissipates into the sickening feeling of knowing what you knew all along..."Uh yeah, I have been kinda seeing this other girl." Splat. 

Replace this question example with millions of others. Would you rather be with a tall, dark haired foreigner? Yes, he would. Did you forget to invite me to that party? No, they didn't want me there. The list goes on and on. Why torture ourselves? There's enough shitty stuff in the world to make us feel used up, worthless and unloved- why add flame to the fire? Perhaps you're more curious to feel unnecessary pain than I, but I'm putting a stop to it all. From now on, if I have an inkling the answer will make me feel worse than the question, it's finito. I'll mentally belittle that question as irrationally as I can to force it to burst into nothingness and allow myself to live in a blissfully unaware* state. 

*use of this state of being is grossly overused in my writing

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Mother's Words of Wisdom

My mother always told me, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."

Guess I'll stay silent.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Have We Become Too Free To Express?

We all have a voice now. For better or for worse. Youtube, blogs, facebook, myspace, reality shows, texting, twitter, skype...pick your poison and your voice will be heard. But in this open realm of endless communication, are we losing sight of what it means to be appropriate? To be civil?

In the last week we saw a televised freak-out by Serena Williams, South Carolina Republican Rep. Joe Wilson screaming "You lie!" to President Obama during his address to Congress, and of course Kanye West bombarding Taylor Swift's acceptance speech to profess his love of Beyonce's talent. At what point during her acceptance speech, for winning best female video, did he think he had the right to be on stage? In his mad need to be the center of attention he entered into a world of oblivion centered on himself. 

And these are just the celebs. Last week I witnessed a man demanding a lower price of gasoline to the poor gas station attendant. He felt it was his right to a lower gas-per-gallon price, considering he saw a lower price posted in his neighborhood. When did a gas station become a flea market? Last time I checked every price wasn't up for negotiation, and more importantly, a gas station attendant does not have the autonomous power to negotiate price of goods.

Just because we have the availability to speak our mind in every outlet possible doesn't mean appropriateness flies out the window. I realize free speech is what makes America so great, but I think this was conceived in the idea that people posses a bit of a civil filtration system. Perhaps with all this access to blabbing our mouths off we need to add mandatory manners training?

Monday, September 14, 2009

What I Want to Be on Monday

Sometimes, when I wake up on Monday mornings, I wish I was a stay-at-home mom. 

Unfortunately, you have to actually have children in order to do this.

And then I decide that I guess I'll keep my day job. 

Happy Monday to all!

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Hey You- With the Cell Phone at the Gym! You're Annoying.

The following is a Public Service Announcement from Girl Twentiesh:

The gym is a place to sweat out your stresses, burn some cals, get out aggression, focus on me time. While on your cardio machine of choice, acceptable forms of personal entertainment are: books, ipods, magazines, television viewing and staring at the butt of the person on the treadmill in front of you. 

A very unlawful activity in the gym is talking on your cell phone. Newsflash! The rest of us have zero interest in your personal dilemmas while we workout. As you beg your father to go to Target to buy you feminine products that fit your underwear (actual overheard conversation) I am neither impressed nor is it aiding my ability to complete my own workout in the privacy of my Fitness magazine. Not to mention, do you honestly think if you have enough breath to have a full on convo with your BFF while on the Stairmaster that you're doing any good? You're not. If you're going to annoy the shit out of me, at least be in your fat burning zone.

Brought to you by people who really workout.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

The One

The famously romantic title given to that person, that one human being who can fulfill your heart and soul in the perfect pairing of two: The One. Or rather, "one" big joke?

I vividly remember the Sex and the City episode where Carrie confirms what she believes to be just a fling to actually be a real love interest in the artist Petrovsky. He's romantic and smart and talented and women adore him- so naturally Carrie assumed her interactions with him to be nothing but a rendezvous. When she discovers she has real feelings for him, she decides to break everything off knowing her heart will be at risk. Yet he does the unthinkable and professes his wish to be with her in a serious committed relationship. From then on Carrie thinks he could be "the one" and after all, the ex-love-of-her-life continually cheats on her and demonstrates a reluctance to show she's important in his life. Petrovsky professes his love and adoration for Carrie...everything she's always wanted to hear. The One. I have to admit, I fell in love with him too. I secretly wished his real-life clone could discover me at an art show. Unlikely for me. 

Obviously this is a TV show and not real, but this theme of finding "the one" continues past the tube.  Everybody talks about it. But is it even possible? To have someone flourish you with everything and also be the perfect match for you? The one person in all of the world who was created for you? Marriage certainly doesn't measure this for everyone. Hopeless romantic I am, I still have hope this is true. If we can dream up themes for television, surely it can come true in life. From the beginning of growing up as a little girl, we're taught to believe in Prince Charming and his sweeping us off our feet into bliss.  I could go the cynic route and call this pathetic dreaming, but I prefer to believe in love and the possibility of "the one." Only the real way it unfolds is he sweeps you off your feet, drops you in a few puddles, steps on your hair, and then eventually carries you through the door. Flawed, but my "the one" would be nothing else. 

Monday, September 7, 2009

What Rachel Zoe Calls "Drama"

Don't get me wrong, I love Rachel Zoe. For what reason, I have no idea, as she's kind of an annoying freak who looks somewhat alien-like and uses the word "bananas" as an expletive. If you're not aware of this Rachel Zoe woman, she's a celebrity stylist with a reality show on Bravo most famous for her stylings of superthin young starlets. The show follows her "life" as she lives the heart-thumping drama of finding outfits for celebrities. Is your heart pounding now with the excitement and suspense?

Of course it's not. Unless you have a pre-existing condition. In that case you should stick to watching your screen saver.

In the hour this reality show has to unfold, Rachel Zoe references "all the drama" in her daily career about a billion times. And she believes this. She really thinks her job is so brimming full of drama and stress that she can barely handle to eat half a grapefruit a day and swallow a Xanax. The little pixie has a DREAM job to most females, and she thinks it's on par with heart surgeons. I wonder if she's ever had a chance to read the newspaper? Catch the local news? Perhaps I'm not being very sensitive, but deciding between 4 dresses for Anne Hathaway just doesn't feel dangerously drama filled to me. It sounds like pressure, yes, but live or die- no. I can't help but wonder if when viewing her own show she doesn't feel a teensy bit sheepish. I hate those awful Jon & Kate Gosselin, but their lives are drama. 8 children, affairs, bad haircuts- that's drama Miss Zoe. 

Brace Yourselves- Champagne and I Are In A Fight

I have a really strong, beautiful relationship. He's there during all the good times and all the bad times, always knows when I need him. Selfless really. He'd give me anything to make me feel the highs of his love. However, all is not perfect. Suddenly this massive, surprising fight threatens everything we've built together.

Champagne I love you, but you're bringing me down.

The last two weekends my relationship with champagne has been weakened by the biggest offense- hangovers! What?! I don't get hangover. Girl Twentiesh is a seasoned professional in handling her champagne (as any dignified lady would do). But for some reason champagne is angry at me, punishing me harshly with full Saturday sentences of headaches. Stripping me of deserved days of freedom. What ever did I do to deserve this meanness? This spiteful behavior? What hurts the most is the unmeasurable trust I had in champagne. Never has he let me down. And now what? Do I give him up totally for Mr. Ketel One Martini, or just give him some space for awhile? Oh how it pulls at my heart strings. The agony. 

Well champagne, I'm not going to give up on you so easily. I love you, and love is more than giving up at first weakness. I believe in you, and believe soon we'll return to our beautiful relationship. I hope this space apart can only make us stronger.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

The Day After (Your Birthday)

Balloons grazing the ground, streamers limp, remnants of a crumbling cake....the birthday is over folks. The day of all your closest facebook friends giving some TLC to your wall are over. You'll go back to page three of their status updates. A little emptiness in your heart from the swell of attention you got yesterday and the reality of everyday to come for the next 364 days. The questions of life illuminate on the day after your birthday, screaming "Look at me, look at me!"

Ah birthday, it was great while it lasted. Thanks for the memories.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

It's That Time of Year Again. You Know, When I Get Older


They've been ruined ever since the toddler years. As soon as everybody made such a huge fuss and showered you with bright plastic things and candles and your own cake, you're doomed to be let down as the years go by. I actually started out with half the fuss, as I'm a twin and have never had my own special day, thus I'm better off than most. Less expecting of grandeur. The thing is, as you get older, people don't really care about your birthday. It's more like, "Oh, you're still around? Good for you. Don't f up." After 21 it's less about what you can do, and more about what you can't. You begin to question yourself when you party until 2am at least two nights of the week, "Am I too old for this?" Usually this question flies out the door as soon as the next happy hour arrives (for some people anyway). 

What plagues me most is that I never feel any older. I've felt the same age for, oh, say 5 years. Of course I've learned and evolved and advanced- but I still feel the same age. I think this is good. I could look at the number of days I've accrued as a milestone chart- but what's the point? Won't change what I do anyway. I've always been both ahead and behind my times.

Guess what I'm saying is that here my birthday is, with an anticipation of having to feel something, and really I don't feel any different from yesterday. Besides appreciating the love & laughter I have in my life. And friends that photoshop the bags under my eyes. And boyfriends that buy me Frye boots. Birthdays aren't about celebrating me- but celebrating what's around me. As long as I keep this outlook...the future looks good. There's botox for the rest of it. 

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Someone Needs to Tell That Sales Lady She's Ridiculous

For the past week my occupation has put me in a situation forcing me to shop for twelve actors. Sounds fun, sounds easy- it's not. It's stressful. Channeling my inner Rachel Zoe, I headed out this morning for my final must haves. Structured jewel tone shirt, nylons, what have you. Even scored a BCBG tie for $12. Savvy and economical. 

As I began to feel the high of accomplishment, I was started back into some freaky retail world. The woman at Express. The woman paid by Express to sell me clothing. Unfortunately I am not privy to scare tactic selling- and this saleswoman resembled a character from "Twin Peaks." Makeup plastered to her face, a sickening perma-grin revealing the slight stain of a couple Merlots the night before, and the creepy voice of a serial killer acting nice before she slices and dices me. She talked to me as if I was a 4 year-old, and stared at me like she was in a trance. I'm not sure if this is part of the training manual- attempting to sell by hypnosis-but it was not working. Rather than asking her advice on the size 6 longs I bought for my model, I wanted to run and seek shelter at the nearest Gymboree in hopes of finding a mother's comforting hug. 

This lady was absolutely ridiculous- and somebody needs to tell her.