Adventures in Parmigiana

If you know me, you know I don't normally cook. For most of my life I considered putting a carton of Easy Mac in the microwave to be cooking. In fact, I've burned Easy Mac. So imagine the first time I made chicken parm. Are you seeing pools of blood? Perhaps sirens are blaring in the background of your mind as you imagine this great tragedy. These were my thoughts. I was scared shitless as I made dinner for my boyfriend's birthday. I was going nuts in my adorable black French Connection dress and lingerie. My phone wouldn't stop ringing for the first time in my life and things were smoking...ahh. Except dinner was amazing. My effort paid off and it was the perfect night.

The same can not be said for the second time I made chicken parm for Ron. Of course, this time I cooked in his apartment. Let me preface the rest of the story with some background information. Ron's roommate just moved from their NJ apartment to Chicago for law school. As roommates, they accumulated general necessities together. Unfortunately, TJ had the bare necessities of a kitcken. Things such as silverware, plates, pots and pans were nowhere to be found. I forgot things I needed at my apartment. We forgot to get sauce at the A&P and had to go to the ghetto Pathmark to get it.

ANYWAY...we get back to Ron's apartment and I start cooking. And everything. Goes. Wrong. I start making the chicken and things seem to be going okay even though I'm using paper plates to bread the chicken and egg is everywhere and sigh. To spare you boredom over the little details, I'll give you the fast forward version. In addition to cutting myself with a REALLY BIG KNIFE, I accidently dumped a whole shaker of red hot chili pepper in my dad's signature sauce. I scooped as much of it out as I could and since we had a lot of sauce, I figured it would be okay. I finished cooking and made the pasta (which I should have used a bigger pot for so it didn't really cook and it all stuck together, ew) and served everything.

Now. I like spicy food. Ron likes spicy food. I put hot sauce on everything. I don't even like to eat eggs without hot sauce. So when I tell you this sauce would FUCK UP YOUR DAY...I am not kidding. It was near impossible to even ingest this meal. After an hour of cooking, a decent amount of time spent at the supermarket and gathering materials, and MUCH time spent salivating over impending chicken parm...it sucked. :-(

Of course, Ron is too much of a sweetheart to say so, but I can confidently tell you this meal was awful.

And this is why I don't cook.

Leather Saturday

I've never considered myself a "girly-girl." In fact, I denounced pink as my favorite color in 7th grade and refused to wear anything in the prissy hue, instead reaching for black and army-print garb. Yet when I walked into the biker club's pig roast last Saturday, I felt a little bit girly (and I wore black! Ripped black!). Perhaps it's impossible to feel tough next to so much leather and do-rags? Hmm.

Anyway, it was probably one of the better Saturdays I've experienced lately (up until about 10 pm, but that's another story). There were cool people, good food, and cold beer: 3 must haves for a good party. (There were also Jaeger shots, which may or may not have fueled the bad part of the evening...meh, woops) It kind of goes to show you how wrong it is to judge a book by its cover, however cliche that may sound. If I had seen some of the men and women from that party at another bar or on the street somewhere, I probably would have been scared of them or, if I were with my sorority sister friends, thought I was better than them. Yet when I let my guard down and had to try to make them like me, I realized we're not all that different. We all have our insecurities and our confidences. We all get a little too drunk sometimes. We all inappropriately yell that our male friends are wearing mirrored sunglasses to be able to stare at tits all day (Or maybe that's just me). More than anything, we all want to fit in and have a good time. Maybe it's easier for some and harder for others, but isn't that everyone's goal in the grand scheme of things? To be well liked? Without people to share things with, life pretty much sucks. I can tell you from experience. I've been there. Well maybe not really there, but I know what it's like to feel alone and not have anyone to call or spend time with, to not have your family around you. And, to reiterate, it sucks. Nothing is nearly as happy as it should be, and everything is ten times as sad. There's no one there to diffuse your anger, which in turn multiplies until everything makes you mad, no matter how innocuous.

Sorry for getting off track here, but I suppose that happens sometimes. In a nutshell, what I'm trying to say is that we all need to open up and not instantly reject people because of where they're from or what they look like. Maybe we all need to find the biker babe inside.

Upside Down, Inside Out, and Backwards

My life has been a roller coaster lately, driving my mood from 0 to 65 in 2.5 seconds and then plummeting it to ground level at an alarming speed. No, I'm not bi-polar (I don't think), but I feel like the events ocurring in my life right now are so huge that they have an instantaneous effect on my happiness. For one, I'm supposed to be moving out of my grandparent's house into my own lease tomorrow. Of course, now that move in is upon us and the lease is scheduled to be signed in less that a week, I'm not short two roommates. Rose to high...plummeted to low. The fact that my family has been fighting incessantly all week and dragging me into it even though I keep trying to claw my way out isn't helping. Nor is the hacking cough and cold or the blazing ear infection either. By the time I get home from my insanely-traffic-filled drive home from work, I no longer have any energy to make dinner let alone clean, so my room and car are a horrific mess. Ultimately, my biggest concern is moving into my house so the roommate situation is my priority right now. I'm so excited! And yet, I'm trying not to be. Somehow when things seem too good to be true, they usually are and that's how I've felt throughout all the dealings with this rental. It's supposed to be done today and I'm supposed to move in this weekend but my heart won't sit still until I know what's going on with my roommates.

My own ass

I am the world's best girlfriend. Really, I am. I show up with little presents. I do that thing that makes your toes curl. I'll even clean and, god forbid, cook. Parents love me and I can easily chill with the boys any day of the week. I've learned to overcome my jealousy issues (for the most part) and I know we both need our space sometimes. Maybe more than just sometimes. You've all heard that quote - "Dance like no one's watching, sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt." (If you haven't, what rock have you been under for the past ten years?) I used to do just that. I loved my man with everything I had and more. I gave all my energy to my relationship because it made me happy to make my man happy. But eventually things unravel and no matter how much you try (or don't try...men are weird), they go sour. And guess what...I can't love that same way anymore. I can't keep giving men all I have because then they take it away and I'm left empty. It takes a lot of work and a long time to fill myself back up again, only to have another guy run off with my hard work.

It's sad, depressing even, that I don't feel like I can love someone anymore. It's sad that I think every guy who tells me I'm beautiful just wants to get into my pants. And it's really sad when I act like a guy and then get harrassed for it. Just today I was told I was "the worst kind of person in the world" just for lightly teasing someone. It's not my fault that girls mention vibrators and boys go all crazy...heh.

The funny part is that this logic goes for friends, too. For some reason, ever since I can remember, I never had a single best friend. It was never me and some other girl joined at the hip. And I always craved that friendship. I wanted people to know that wherever I was, so-and-so was bound to be, too. Even now, I do have close friends but no best friend. Or at least I think they're close friends. Of course, I can't remember the last time I talked to some of them. And others seem to think I'm the person to call only when they're bored. This is all too bad because usually I'm a pretty fun person. I'm a good listener, I give good advice, and I go out of my way to make people feel better when they're down. Usually. Again, I can't be held accountable for these things in all situations.

But just so you all know...I'm done. From now on, I am the guy. And for those guys out there who are better than the d-bags I've had the pleasure of coming across...good for you and please ignore the following. From now on, I will treat men (let's face it...I don't know any men. They're all little boys) as playthings rather than living, breathing human beings with real feelings. I don't care if I was the first or 100th, but I'll get what I want then bounce, whether it's cuddle time, cyber sex, or the real deal. I no longer care to meet your families, nor do I care if your team loses, your car breaks down (if you even have one), or if you're hungry, horny, tired, bored, bleh. I do not care. As selfish as this sounds, I'm looking out for me, myself, and I. This goes for my friends as well. I will no longer care about your break-ups, breakdowns, bad hair days and style emergencies. Many of you don't care about mine so I guess you're gonna reap what you sow. There are very few people I can say have been there all the time, but they are the only ones exempt from this declaration.

Sorry if this sounds selfish, but sometimes a girl's gotta look out for her own behind. Especially when it's as lovely as mine ;-)

I'm sorry Miss Jackson...

I'm sorry...

...to the people I've hurt, whether knowingly or completely oblivious to it, I'm sorry I hurt you.
...to my sister, for allowing you to always be there for me and not completely reciprocating. That's gonna change.
...to anyone I ever drunk dialed...oops? That ends, too.
...for guilt trips. No one likes those, least of all me, as I've grown up with them.
...to the countless jobs where I called out more than I came in, showed up late, or just stopped coming at all...I'm beyond sorry. I can only say I'm scared. Or lazy, ugh.
...for talking about people behind their back. Oh shush, I'm not the only one who does it. I'm just man enough to admit it and try to apologize for it now.
...to the boys I've dated, for the many various little reasons, and a couple big ones. Honestly, I chalk this up to being a baby and not to my own faults, but I guess we'll never know.
...to my mother, for knowing a large portion of what she's going through and being too scared to admit it. For not being there the way she'd like me to.
...to my father. I'm sorry about the way things have turned out. You deserve more than what you have. We all do. I love you, Daddy.
...to all the teachers I've lied to in order for them to take pity on me and ease up on my grades, lateness, absences, or late work. That was wrong.
...to everyone in my life that has helped me in someway, whether miniscule or largescale. I still feel like I owe something to you.
...to my car, for beating you up and treating you like a humvee. (Ok these apologies are beginning to get ridiculous.)
...to you, you know who you are if you know me at all. I've always prided myself on being a good friend, but I haven't always shown that side to you. I don't want to give excuses anymore and I don't really know what to say other than I haven't been a good person. I'm sorry for that, but mostly I'm sorry for not being there for you when you needed me the most, especially when you'd always been there for me. I don't know what's to come in the future, but I do know I regret a lot of what happened between us. It was almost always stupid and petty. I know now how you must have felt then, and I can honestly say I'm so, so sorry. No one should have to feel this way and be alone with it. Had I been a better friend, or managed to get the stick out of my ass, I might have been able to help you with it. I'm so sorry.

And lastly...
...to myself. I could be a much better person than I currently am. I could be much farther in life than I am. I could have messed up a LOT less than I have. I don't know why I'm just now starting to realize this, but in messing up, I've hurt myself the most. Maybe this is why I constantly feel this "lost, drifting-along-in-a-bubble-but-without-a-playlist-like-the-Pepsi-commercial, empty" feeling. Because I've hurt myself more than I could have possibly hurt anyone else in my life. I've also spent too much time in my own personal pity party to fix what is wrong.

I don't know what to do about any of it. But I do know I'm sorry and the first step is realizing it.

I need a box.

I wish I could say I've never felt this "punched-in-the-stomach, wind-knocked-out" feeling this strongly before, but I'd be lying. Is it bad when your mother screaming at you to get your shit and get out isn't one of the worst things that's happened to you? Combine this with an action from my past that literally brought me to tears, and I'm a mess. This action made me feel amazing and like shit all at once. I hurt the one person I've always been able to rely on, and maybe the relationship isn't what it used to be and maybe it won't be that way again (see below: you really can't go home again), but I may have irrevocably damaged the ties to the one person who always cared. Not just the person who wanted to party, or only called when they needed something. I feel like a duechebag and rightfully so.

I want a do-over. Is that possible in life? A giant do-over? I've messed up so many things in my life. I have so many regrets, so many stupid choices. Can't I go back and just fix them now that I've realized them? "No you can't, dumb dumb head, because you're STILL making those inane choices." (ie. you're sitting at home on a Wednesday in your underwear, writing on your blog, instead of being dressed all in black at Macy's...good one.) Of course, I can trace all the bad things back to a single starting point, and at least I can put some of the blame onto my parents. Their screw-ups snowballed and began my own screw-ups, which have not begun to snowball. At least I don't have any children to inspire to screw up. If I had just gone to school and kept my grades up those last 2 years of high school, I might have serious scholarships to keep me in school. If I hadn't ended up at a school chosen by my then-boyfriend instead of by me (stupid, stupid, stupid!), everything would be different. Of course, that doesn't mean it would be better, but definitely different. This is the one bad decision of mine that I'll let slide though, because I've met some amazing people at Montclair State and I wouldn't have met them had I ventured to the school I had planned on going to (coughUMASSAmherstcough).

I can't decide if I'm actually just a horrible person or if I just mess up a lot. But then if it were the latter, you think I'd learn from my mistakes. I hope I'm not a horrible person. I honestly don't try to be.

You Really Can't Go Home Again...

I never saw the truth in the cliché, “You can’t go home again.” What did that mean? I was always able to come home. I even knew what it really meant…not that you couldn’t physically go home, but that it wouldn’t be the same when you get there. My various “homes” were never different. Until one day, I was. It came on slowly, this disconcerting feeling. At first, I just felt a little out of place, but it grew until not only was my home not my home, but my family wasn’t my family, and my friends weren’t my friends, at least not in the way I was used to them. Obviously, my environment AND my family AND my friends hadn’t all changed at once. Maybe a bit, but not so much as that I changed. I was what was different. While changing as a person is a sign of growing (hopefully in the right direction), I can’t help but be upset when I notice myself changing, or growing away from people and places I care about. When I’m down or upset, I try to think back and remember times when I was the happiest, yet when I go to recreate these joyful moments, I’m left disappointed. Because you CAN’T go home again. You can’t take yourself back to a certain time. People change and they most likely have changed since that time. And even when you get them where you want them now, in the present, they’re not going to be the same people they were from your happy memory. They won’t think or feel the same way. You just need to look ahead to the future and try to change and grow for the better, to be the best you you can be. Even if you have to leave people and places behind, hopefully one day it will be for the better. In the meantime, you’ll meet more people and find new places to call “home” and you’ll incorporate them into your life, imprinting new memories to look back on. Maybe we have to focus less on trying to find “home” in other people and places, and find our “home” within ourselves. Maybe that’s the only way to be truly happy.