sometimes you feel like a nut

i sort of feel like i'm going crazy (1 2 3 4 5 6 switch?). i have fabulous days where i apply to a bunch of jobs, but on those days i can't force myself to cook or do laundry. i go to therapy, but i don't shower beforehand. i get my work done, but it has to be from my house not the office because the office requires grown up clothes and i am currently sporting shorts and a tshirt.

or a towel. depending on whether or not i've showered in the morning or evening.

i know that there's a bunch of research on "you only have so much willpower" but this sort of seems to be ridiculous. this morning i woke up, showered, ate a (relatively) healthy breakfast and put my laundry in the machine. i worry that this means i will not go to the gym, will not check into my flight on time, will not do all the things i have to do before tomorrow when i leave for chitown.

crazy? maybe lazy?

i dunno. all i know is that it's one or the other. dry cleaning and prescriptions or groceries. if i do go to the office, you better believe i'm going to eat crap for lunch. and if i cook dinner, that means that the dishes will languish overnight (if not for days). i wish i could say there's not enough time in the day but um, i'm sitting here blogging (hi y'all!) and yesterday i watched toy story 3 and soooooobbbbbbbeeeeeed.

btw - fine everyone who told me it was amazing, it was.

maybe i'll blame the heat. it's HOT MAN. and you know, it's SUMMERTIME! the law says the living is EASY (and by law, clearly i mean george gershwin). who wants to put on a suit and go sit with a bunch of stuffy assholes only to be yelled at by a whiny asshole WITHOUT promising yourself that you can have ben and jerrys for lunch? and who wants to go to the gym AND THEN have to lug pounds of dirty smelly clothes to the basement?

the showering thing actually WAS running out of time.

but whatever it is, i'm sort of over it already. i got SHIT to do, brain/willpower/body/fathertime/weatherchannelgods. applying to jobs, buying some new dresses, going through a few months accumulated mail. mama's ready to GO.

but first maybe mama will take a nap? ima tirzzzzzz

My Poppy is 90!

Alright I don't call him Poppy but I do call him something relatively unique so let's pretend, shall we? Excellent, glad to have you on board.

I'm in New Jersey for the second time in as many weeks (and will be back very soon in July) but this time it's not for a wedding. As you may have discerned (may? Seriously?) it was my grandfather's 90th birthday this week and we are celebrating!

Wooooooosniffle.

I dunno if it's just cause I've had a slightly more emotional week than normal, or because I have a special relationship with my grandfather, or because I HAD a special relationship with my other grandfather.

Or just you know - 90 is a big fucking deal!

The point is, I am WEEPY. And that was just over downloading Louis Prima songs for background music tomorrow. No joke, "Ti Amo" (Umberto Tozzi versione) came on my iTunes and I welled up. It wasn't my proudest moment.

(Nor my least proud - song is AMAZING!)

Grace is in charge of putting together the slide show for tomorrow's party and she has done an amazing job. Even though I spent my evening about 15 ft away from her as strains of "Wonderful World" echoed through the wooden-floored-house for hours, when I finally saw the (near) finished project, I burst into tears as Mr. Armstrong thought to himself, what a wonderful world.

Sigh.

I know that at nearly-30 I am RIDICULOUSLY lucky to have 1 grandparent alive, much less three (THREE!). Other than, you know, my siblings, I can't think of anyone else with that many of their grandanythings alive, and I have them plus all my grandmothers' sisters (4 on the Italian, 1 on the Irish) and a multitude of brothers (at least 2, maybe three on the Italian, and 2 on the Irish), many of whom will be there tomorrow.

Peeps in my fam hold ON (sometimes I think out of spite. But I'm also hoping genes).

Anyway, the problem (annnnnnnd poor little rich girl: GO!) with being nearly 30 with three lovely grandparents and several great-aunts and uncles still around is that they're still an integral part of my life. When my mother's father passed away, it was a rough 8 or so months where there were a lot of trips to western NJ to check in, hope for second chances, and finally say goodbye. The following 8 months were equally hard as I/we had to adjust to NOT going out there all the time. It's been three years and I still feel very much attached to my grandfather - I figure, he was around for 24 years of MY life so if I'm following standard break-up rules he's still got another 9 or so before I'm "over" it.

What. You guys don't think this way?!

My Poppy is still around, and that means that at this point he gets 14 years. Right? So I'd be... 42. That's a ridiculously long time from now. I sort of figure if I haven't grown up by then I'm totally screwed. And he's (relatively) healthy! What am I supposed to do without him if he lives another 4-10 years?! My Granny (great grandmother) lived until 94 (no relation, but whatever!) and the Italians have at least one or two 100+ in their midst.

MY LIFE IS SO FUCKING HARD WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE I LOVE!!!

But it's morbid and terrifying to think this way for very long. I love my Poppy, and tomorrow (well, today I guess) is his day. Not just cause it's Father's Day (btw, readers-who-are-fathers (are there any of you?) - HAPPY YOU DAY!), but because tomorrow/today is the chance my family (only about 80 of them but still!) will take to honor a man who deserves it. A man who:

• Was born the same year that the war between the US and Germany/Austria/Hungary officially ended. You know, the first one.
• Fought in the second World War on the side of the Italians (yes I know, it's awful) for a few weeks in Albania before the Italians switched over from the Axis to the Allies. For that "betrayal" (I'd like to think of it as "coming to their collective senses over a plate of pasta") he spent the rest of the war in a concentration camp in Germany building walls during the day only to tear them down at night and start again in the morning. It's unclear if there were gas chambers at his camp, but there certainly were American bombing raids. He survived and lived to (rarely) tell the tale of hiding in ditches from bombs, and to not only visit the country that had imprisoned him later in life, but to help them rebuild (I guess all that wall-training came in handy!).
• Has been in a 63 year relationship with a woman who he had no control in marrying. And I love my grandmother, but she can be a HANDFUL. Yet on their 50th anniversary as my cousins and I did readings and they renewed their vows, he wept with joy and could barely get out how happy and lucky he considered himself.
• Had the foresight to get his young family the hell out of Italy (love it, I do, but cmon - s'falling apart) and to the United States, where he worked backbreaking outdoor jobs to provide. I'm not saying my dad had it easy - he didn't at all - but under my grandfather's leadership they came together as a family and now my uncle is a doctor of some sort of science (I wanna say chemistry?) and has patented several... sciencey things (I wanna say... science... processes?) and my father runs a major factory in New Jersey.
• Has 7 grandchildren, 1.5 (as in, 2 in August) grandchildren-in-law, and one great-grandchild. All are college graduates (ok, the baby isn't. Sue me) and are relatively successful for a bunch of mostly 20somethings. My grandfather's highest level of education was 8th grade I believe, and I think he would count this among his greatest accomplishment.
• Still can recognize my voice over the phone, even when I'm calling when it's windy and I'm speaking Itanglish and he's forgotten to put in his hearing aid.
• Has lived, to the fullest extent, for 90 years.

I love my Poppy. I love ALL dads (happy happy!). I love my family. Annnnnnnnnnd ima cry again.

new york state legislators: make my pact possible!

So.

We've all seen these things called pacts. Whether it was between Julia Roberts and Dermot Mulroney (mmmm) in My Best Friend's Wedding, or Rachel/Ross and Phoebe/Joey (and Phoebe/Ross, but that's besides the point) in Friends, Hollywood is set on the idea that 20somethings across America are making pacts with their closest friend but NOT significant other that "if we're both unmarried when we are fillintheblank, let's marry each OTHER".

Well I'm here to bring a little Hollywood to life.

You see, my friend Joey and I were talking the other day about all these weddings we have this year. And while we both agree that neither of us is in A Place to be married ourSELVES (sorry if I'm putting words in your mouth Jo), we were commiserating about all the gifts we were getting for other people when really, all we wanted to do was give gifts to US!

This may have something to do with why we're not Ready.

However, it's true - these days, many a person's twenties and thirties are spent attending super fabulous parties for OTHER PEOPLE. And if you're as self-centered (not selfISH. Just focused on myself) as I am, and to some extent, as Joey is, that's WONDERFUL but sort of anathema to our very existences.

Cause hello - it's all about me! Us! Whatever!

And if you're like me, and there's no one on your matrimonial horizon, and yet you find every Saturday from now until October booked with showers, bachelorettes, lingerie parties, dress fittings and so much more, it can get wearying.

(Engaged/recently married friends - I'm really happy for you! I SWEAR! Just drained. In more ways than one. But couldn't be more thrilled for you, honest to Zeus.)

You start to wonder - what if this never happens to me? Not in the weepy way (I'm thinking 27 Dresses. Or maybe more like He's Just Not That Into You, Bridget Jones, or The Bachelor (nuther Renee Zellweger film, not the one you people watch with Ashley and some guy who has a car's name)). If anything, watching a bunch of my best friends tie the knot has been a sobering experience in how I'm not sure I've ever loved someone as much as they love their significant others, other than my family.

In a not weird, properly worded way.

However, I AM worried about getting a big fat MA party! All about me! Presents that I got to pick out IN ADVANCE without anyone judging me (too harshly). Everyone having to look the other way when I get a teensy bit psycho and demand crazy things. Food that I love, music that I picked (BON JOVI! SINATRA! BILLY JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOEL!), line dances and open bar and cocktails named after ME.

Wow. That is def one of the more attractive things I've ever written.

My point is that regardless of the fact that there is no one even remotely in my life that I plan to settle down with (and even if there was, I still have a LOT of livin' - and growin' up - to do), I'm worried about my marital future.

And so I made a pact.

With Joey of course. There were loads of people I suppose I could have chosen. Well... maybe not LOADS but certainly others, however Joey makes the most SENSE. We've been saying since we met that we should get married, we get along ridiculously well, we've already had (AND WORKED OUT) the one "big fight" that all couples keep coming back to, I have never once doubted the way Joey feels about me and makes me feel (duh, GREAT), plus, we look AWESOME in pictures together.

There's just one small problem.

Joey is short for Josephine. As in, my girlfriend in the friend-that-is-a-girl sense Joey. Now as much I would love it if I were attracted to women (life would be so much easier! Or harder. Whatever, grass is greener and all that) I am simply not oriented that way. Neither is Joey.

But.

With the world FINALLY starting to see the light that is marriage equality, and the New York State Senate supposedly taking up the issue toDAY (I got my eye on you Skelos, and I'm happy to move to Lawn Guyland to kick you outta office), why should we be any different? In Hollywood, sure, a lot of these pacts are signaling that the pact-ees should really truly be together foreeeeever. But some of them don't! Some are just best friends who wouldn't mind sharing a house and getting the attendant massive party tax break.

And if we're 40 and unmarried, that will be us.

There are a few stipulations of course. Cheating is SO on the table it's practically as engraved as our initials in the best pizzeria/bakery on campus in Chicago. And if bigamy is ever legalized, we're inviting Maria into our union.

I guess her fiance-at-that-point-husband can come too.

And maybe sometime in the next twelve or so years, we'll meet people as fabulous and hot and amazing and smart and funny and into Harry Potter/the Hunger Games/Friends/talking trash about soccer as we are. And maybe when we do we'll be able to pull an Ingrid Michaelson vis a vis the refrain of "Die Alone".

But if not.

At least we have each other! Each other, and a big party! Each other, a big party, and residences in New York, Rome and Sao Paulo! Each other, a big party, fabulous houses, and Friends quotes! Each other, a big party...

This could go on forever. And... that's kind of my point.

y'all suck at being mean

i went to the gym. but not because anyone (ok that's a lie - a few of you did!) called me on it. 20 minutes super hard run (more than 2 miles which is a LOT for me... averaged out to about 9:08 a mile). then i showered and ate pizza.

be back in a bit with an interesting (well, maybe) post!

Inevitable remorse

So the wedding this weekend was lovely! People lied about commented on how nice I looked in my dress as soon as I walked out of the church, the flower girls were snarkalicious during the ceremony, my bouquet was absolutely gorgeous and you know, two of my besties got married!

After that it sort of gets hazy.

Due to several circumstances (I ate 2 tbsp of rice, 1 piece of beef and approx 7 crackers with mini slices of cheddar until about 8pm, it was 90 degrees out at 6am and I sweat all the water out of my body before we even went outside to take photos, there was a very cute waiter who kept finding me with a bottle of wine AND... I needed some relief from... tension? Weddinged-outed-ness?) I got per-ret-tee drunk at the reception. Luckily, I stood up with the microphone and told an entirely true but not entirely appropriate story about meeting the groom thinking he was fab but then (all the while slurring my words) realizing that the bride was awesome and I'd rather be her friend than fuck up a relationship with her now husband.

So no one knew!

Add the aggressively forcing people onto the dance floor, requesting Don't Stop Believing or Living on a Prayer at least 16 time (each), INdiscreetly pouring all the leftover champagne into my mouth and glasses lined up in front of me, and getting down with my bad self/the groom's uncle/administrators from my grad school/the best man/Grad School Ex/anyone who was moving - you know.

It was a scene.

At the time, it was FABULOUS. I wasn't anywhere NEAR as drunk as I was last August immediately post my sad breakup and you know, subjected to a THREE HOUR COCKTAIL HOUR. In THAT toast, I called the groom a fucking asshole and then had the maid of honor translate it into Portuguese.

Sweet!

Anyway, so I didn't have sketchy interactions with friends I've had since I was 12. I didn't almost show my lady bits. I didn't fall asleep on the bus back to the hotel because I wanted to keep partying. Mostly, I just was inebriated. Not an obnoxious drunk, but obnoxiously drunk.

Sigh.

The next morning, as per usual when I've drank too much/can't entire recall what I said to whom/just wake up and am not immediately validated by 16 emails telling me how much people love me and how wonderful I am and smart and pretty too, I was freaked out. It didn't help that GSE was like "yeah you were a litttttttle aggressive and inapprops" and then when I freaked out even more he didn't IMMEDIATELY retract the statement, send me 2X my necessary validation emails and you know, purchased me a large cookie.

To be fair.

On a normal day I wake up wracked with self-doubt. What did I eat last night, who did I forget to email, am I going to be fired from a job I (don't love but) need, am I ever going to pay my credit card bill, what am I doing with my life are all my friends going to get married and leave me and OH MY GOD AM I PREGNANT I BET I AM.

But throw in alcohol?

There is a special brand of self-loathing remorse that comes out with a hangover. It's scathing, it's unforgiving, and it's like that little devil on your shoulder but there's no cute cherubim to balance it out, plus the asshole is poking at your headachey skull with his little trident and saying "nobody likes you, everybody hates you, and by the way it's ALL YOUR FAULT."

Let me clarify a bit - I'm not saying this is what I'm thinking all the time. In fact, in the year since being diagnosed with the big D and after spending hours of my life in therapy and taking loads of happy pills I would like to think that I've seriously improved in this department. Most days it's not just false bravado when I look in the mirror and say "I'm awesome. I'm AWESOME. Seriously. Rock out."

But.

A drunk me, especially one that hung around with people I love but aren't QUITE on the same page as to level of drunkness or what's appropriate in social settings and oh wait also their families AND GSE - it's not good. It's like falling down the rabbit hole and coming out with terrible metaphors so you don't actually ever get to your point.

I swear I'm not hungover now. OR drunk.

The funny thing is, this has been true my enTIRE life. I wasn't a big drinker until after... well. Ok until after my 21st birthday but also when I was living in Italy when I was 19. So maybe I wasn't a big drinker until it was legal to be? And maybe there's remnant shame from when I was 14 and at my best friend's house and they all started drinking something terrible like Kahlua straight from the bottle and I self righteously called my parents because we were only 14 and I wasn't going to be That Kind of Girl.

True story!

Or maybe it's just the self doubt and anxiety that is omnipresent in loads of people's lives, and I just give into it when my defenses are down because they're so dehydrated. Whatever the reason, wouldn't you sort of think that after nearly 10 years, infinite amounts of headdesking, and not a few apologetic "can we forget about the things I said when I was drunk" themed-emails, that I'd just NOT DO IT.

Clearly, no.

But I sort of wish I had the self restraint to do it. Not because ONCE in all those times someone replied being like "yeah - friendship over". In fact, the bride and I chatted not too late in the day after the wedding and she was like "awesome party, right?" without even mentioning my behavior (perhaps I need to read my "it's not about you" post again). However, I know I'm going to feel awful in the morning. The hangover sucks (and has gotten worse since I turned 28, I swear) but there is nothing quite so awful as confronting your own demon with a trident.

So on pride weekend I could have gotten wasted and celebrated with everyone (instead I stayed sober and celebrated! YAY PRIDE MONTH) and tonight at trivia I could probably drink my weight in tequila and/or wine but I won't. Maybe this will actually last me through the summer (no) or at least through my grandfather's 90th birthday and Maria's bachelorette party.

Yet there is no doubt in my mind that at some point in the not too far future I will wake up, head pounding and mouth like the Sahara, wishing that I hadn't had that last (10) glasses of wine. Because now I will hate myself for the next 24 hours, and it's not worth the FABulous toasts, the Bon Jovi dance moves, and the yukking it up with grandpa.

Almost.

un po' weddinged out

was it really only 9 days ago that i got back from italy? because it feels like it's been 9 WEDDINGS since then (although really, it's only been one. and by "been" i mean "will be this weekend"). i've received an invite PER DAY (on sunday, i received it via email) to weddings or wedding-related events. in fact, i don't remember which day i got two but since i'm staring at 10 invites, it musta happened.

i also had a shower last weekend (that my sister and i hosted for my brother's fiancee! it was lovely) and the wedding this weekend. i'm super excited about this wedding, as it's between two of my closest friends from grad school, is IN dc, and has three WHOLE tables of people i know and (mostly) love in attendance! add in the cutest flower "children" (3 girls 1 boy), a very attractive groom's family, and YEEHAW.

except i'm just exhausted.

i dunno if it's the heat (of course it is) or just the feeling that my summer of 2011 is inexorably linked to weddings or even just the "ok, i don't have any money or credit. how do i buy this gift?" it feels a little worse though. because for all my "this isn't about you" i'm still thinking of people's specialest day in terms of what it means for ME.

and that's no good.

maybe what i need is to take a weekend and go... i dunno, camping? what is the least weddingy thing you can think of? to chill out, not drink booze, maybe just sleep a little more healthily than i have been, and read a bunch of non-chick lit, non-Romantic, non-memoiry books.

or maybe i just need to get over myself.

because how cool is it that so many people who love each other are getting married this year? and how GREAT that they want me to be there! and at the shower/bachelorette/rehearsal/etc beforehand.

VERY cool. VERRRRRY great.

but because i have a wedding this weekend, i think ima go to bed. i know its 9:33pm, and that makes me sound like a grandmother, not a bridesmaid. but i am looking at all this shiny paper and while it makes me excited, it also makes me feel slightly overwhelmed. and so THAT i can be all about the bride on her day, i'm going to be a little selfish and be all about me right now. well, me, my stuffed animal i got in italy and maybe a spoonful of lambrusco or two.

How come

NPR, the WaPo, the NYT and countless other legitimate news organizations will go to extreme lengths to find "Amina", the person who created the blog Damascus Gay Girl, but won't "use old fashioned shoe leather" to debunk talking points from people in our own country that are provably false.

Have you heard about this?

I'm feeling pretty self-righteous this week (I blame the heat) and the fact that Huma Abedin (Congressman Weiner's wife) is reportedly preggo does not help. Neither does Mo Dowd's column about how women can never trust men, the Senate almost voting to keep the high fees that stores have to pay to credit card companies, an idiot running for re-election in my home town even though he's the biggest motherfuckery douchebag out there, and the fact that it took a MAYBE fake "American" to get people in this country intrigued by Syria.

Ugh.

In short, the government of Bashar al-Assad is bad. Not like, "oh, I think this peach has a bruise" bad. Like, let's kill people who disagree with us (not only in our country, but you know, also in neighboring Lebanon!), let's force the vote so that we get nearly 100% support (just enough so that people can't claim COMPLETE hoax), let's mutilate and destroy a 13 year old boy JUST BECAUSE he was at a protest - not even an integral part of one! Just attending cause his friends were there! - that was in the hotbed of anti-government sentiment (RIP Hamza al Khatib), let's financially and otherwise support murderous Islamist groups in other countries solely because they are full of hate and want to obliterate Israel, which, for all its faults, has every right to exist, and then let's hide behind a wall of "secularism" so that the United States decides that we can be allies because oh no, we're not with the "terrorists", even though we're MUCH WORSE on the whole.

UGH!

This week, the previously mentioned Damascus Gay Girl blog captured the attention of people across the world as it was reported that this woman, Amina Arraf (with other versions of her name floating around), a Syrian-American lesbian living in Damascus, was kidnapped by the admittedly brutal forces in Syria. I myself tweeted #FreeAmina and kept a close watch on the last post to the blog, by "Amina's" cousin "Rania," to see if there were any updates.

And maybe we were all fooled.

Maybe there is no Amina. Maybe there is no Rania. Some super cool sounding dude (seriously. I wanna be known as a myth buster) at NPR has been digging into the story and found some relatively damning evidence, like the fact that the pictures posted of "Amina" belong to a Croatian-British woman living in London, and that no one has actually MET her in person.

Ok, so forget the "relatively".

Now the New York Times and the Washington Post have taken up the cause, rooting around in public records from Damascus to Georgia to find some proof this girl exists. It would sort of suck if she didn't, if only because you know, people GAVE a shit for a second and now they will forget. Worse, they might remember with skepticism anytime they hear about some super shady happening in Syria, which by the way is a state of omnipresent SKETCHINESS. But on the other hand, whoever this girl is (and if she is real, I really REALLY hope the US Embassy in Syria gets her out of wherever she is as soon as possible, and alive), she brought attention to an important issue.

The fact that media blows.

I'm not gonna go all Sarah Palin on your asses and despite being a rabid crazy Christian, try to pander to voters by wearing a Star of David in New York because oh wait, did you hear that they have Jews there? And delis?

Lost track for a second. Back now.

I'm not going to start calling them the "Lamestream Media" because I actually really value the reporting that the listed organizations (and many more!) do every day. On the rare occasion that I can't get the news, I start having palpitations and feel very cut off from the rest of the world, and find myself trying to translate Slavic languages over strangers' shoulders just so I can know if Pisapia won or not, damnit. And let's be honest - that's no fun for anyone but Pisapia.

Instead.

I'm going to say this. Next time some bullshit like the Andrew Breitbart cut and paste job of that ass-shit from New Jersey (fucker, ruining my rep)'s faking to be a pimp of underages girls, or trying to break into a Senator's office, or trying to "gotcha!" Planned Parenthoods into being what conservatives WISH they would be so they could JUST SHUT DOWN THE BIRTH CONTROL ONCE AND FOR ALL, hey! NPR! NYT! WAPO!

ANYONE?!

Please do some research. I know these things have eventually been outed, but waaaaaaay after they were first reported, and the damage was already done (especially in the case of, for example, ACORN). Not only that, but the aforementioned Sarah Palin has been parading around telling us patently false (or at the very VERY least, patently confused and mishmashed) version of Paul Revere - and she might run for President. Let's weigh a woman who may or may not exist but certainly brought attention to human rights violations happening in a country that we sometimes use as an ally if only because they're "not as bad as" Iran, VS, a woman who lots of people in our country might vote into office MAKING SHIT UP about our collective history and then going on to BOLDLY LIE about it when asked, and going so far as to blame the "media" (ie one rando dude who asked what she was doing and what she had done on her "Fake History of America" tour) for setting her up.

Sigh.

I know I probably shouldn't be angry at all, or maybe I should be angry at different people than the reporters at my abfave new organizations. But I hold the (real, not FoxNews) media to a standard that is higher than almost anyone - certainly politicians, many of my friends, family, even Mother Theresa and JK Rowling. It is their job in a democracy to bring the collective attention to where it is lacking. Whether that's abuses in Syria, or an idiot masquerading as a candidate for office, or 9/11 victims being shunned by Republicans except in an election year, or women being seen as second class citizens, unable to make our own decisions about our own bodies, or you know, ANYTHING that Jon Stewart covers and Anthony Weiner/Eliot Spitzer/John Edwards fought for - THAT IS YOUR JOB. WE ALL RELY ON YOU.

Because the only other people talking about it are on Comedy Central, screwing over their super awesome wives, and writing blogs under nom de plumes that may or may not reflect reality at all.

Well Mr. Weiner ruined that for me.

So.

I had queued up this fabulous post about how in this day and age nearly everyone has a picture of their... bits (lady, male or otherwise scandalous. I'm talking boobs here people) from a cell phone or a long distance relationship or an ill-advised love interested.

Or all of the above!

And I was going to say, just because these photos exist doesn't make anyone a bad person or Congressperson (ehem cough cough). In fact, this is something we're going to have to deal with sooner rather than later - 2020 is the first year that people who were in college when facebook began will be eligible to run for president. I'm not saying that in 9 years we're going to be flooded with drunken half-nude photos of people who have done serious work to be taken seriously and also are probably not a terrible choice (and of course the drunken half-nude photos of the Sarah Palins of their age. Which I guess is Bristol Palin?).

My point was.

That this is sort of silly, all these "zomg, he had a picture of his pee pee! RESIGN RESIGN!" comments from the Andrew Breitbarts who are ruining our society because oh my GOD WHY DO PEOPLE TAKE HIM SERIOUSLY HE HAS MORE OF AN AGENDA THAN MATT DRUDGE.

I digress.

And then yesterday happened, and poor Mrs. Weiner, former aide to that other scorned woman Hillary Clinton (sigh. I'm already sick of the comparisons. Did YOU know that Bill Clinton performed the Weiners wedding ceremony?!) went from being someone who seems super cool to the next Silda Spitzer, and once again we were all left to wonder - what the fuck is it with men in power and thinking they're ridiculously hot (you're not Anthony. At all. You were sort of attractive when you were ranting on the floor of the House, but that has more to do with me being too liberal and nothing to do with you being too hot). Why do they think they are somehow above the machine that has brought so many down before them?

Why do they think the rules of marriage and commitment don't apply to them?

Because honestly, I don't care if my rep in Congress cheated on his or her spouse (first of all, I'd have to have a rep in Congress. Second of all, I wouldn't care, because growing up I was repped by the most conservative, legacied, ding bat of a man and an adulterer who agrees with me on the issues is definitely preferable). But I do care if the spouse of my friend does. And I do think that sexting with people who are not your wife, girlfriend, husband, significant other, boyfriend, partner, lover, whatever is cheating.

You may disagree.

So this sucks. Because I was going to be really funny, and tell the story about my own embarrassing photo, and we were going to laugh about my Republican exes and how Anthony Weiner has a pretty nice last name, etc etc.

Instead.

I just have to go ahead and said that Rep. Weiner shouldn't be forced to resign (and I'm glad he's not really thinking about it) because of this. I don't know why Rep. Lee did back in January, and I'm not going to say your sexual proclivities should be completely irrelevant (see: DSK, that FL congressman who was hitting on pages), but meh, he facebooked with young women who probably idolize him and were responding back.

But.

I thought he was one of the good ones. When I watched his rants on the floor of the House, aside from being strangely aroused, I was just really fucking happy that a Democrat (ie someone who agreed with me) wasn't pussyfooting (ugh poor word choice) around and being a wimp as some Democrats (Harry Reid) can be when being manhandled (JESUS CHRIST) by Republicans.

(This is playing into my former post now.)

And he still agrees with me, but now I just think he's sort of a shit. For doing this to his wife, for lying about it, for being just like the "rest of them". And so screw you Anthony. For ruining the joke on the Daily Show. For ruining my post on silly pictures. And for taking a freaking cock shot of yourself in tighty grey-eys.

So not hot.

Salaracious

So.

When people find out that post Master degree (although I prefer "Mistress") I work for a private company that is Big in the DC metro area, they're like - zomg, I'm so jealous. When I assure them that I hate my job, as much or more than they do they always come back with "yeah, but you must be making BANK, right?"

Wrong.

My (relatively short) adult life has been spent trying to demystify the game known as "who gets paid what". This isn't an attempt to launch a class war, or even just to say that it is RIDICULOUS that teachers get paid teeny percentages of Wall Street bankers, when I think we all can agree that what teachers do helps everyone while what bankers do helps only themselves, and their already wealthy clients.

Ok that's not entirely fair, but true! And still beside the point.

And while what follows might sound like a bunch of "poor little middle class girl", I assure you that is not how it is intended. Though the anecdotes are of course (by definition) personal, and all salary information is my own, I think that this is somewhat extractable to the general Millenial population, at least those at the older end of the generation.

You know. Late 20s.

We graduated high school at the end of a massive economic boom, and watched it all get taken away - rapidly - as we plodded through Psych 101 or Marxist theory or advanced calculus (or whatever. I can't remember college, it was a long time ago!). The classes before me - 2002-2004 - were full of people grabbing straw jobs just to have something to do to pay off their student loan debt. By 2005 it was better - most of my friends were employed by the end of the calendar year in which we graduated, with OK salaries - you know, mid to high 30s in New York jobs (not banking) and slightly lower elsewhere.

We made rent. Barely. We worked overtime, and we were paid for it.

I don't know if it was coincidence that when I graduated from college it began to be trendy to discuss the pay gap between men and women, and how women don't negotiate or discuss salaries as well as men. Maybe it was always there and I just began paying attention. But my first experience post-graduation (at a Big Law firm where we were encouraged to NOT discuss salary increases) taught me that that only helps your company, not you, not your coworkers. I remember realizing that my raise had been quite larger than a friend's, and didn't know why - I neglected to mention this to him at the time, and I regret it now. Because if there were numbers behind it, then great. I was a fantastic (though incredibly disgruntled and unhappy) employee. I was productive, I stayed late when necessary and came in early more than I wanted. I got my shit done, on time, and above standard. But so did this guy. So why did I make more money? Was it something I didn't know about him?

Or was it because my boss liked me more.

Those and many other issues have confronted me throughout my 5ish years of work experience. Other examples: reasonable salary for a post-collegiate 9 to 5er in New York. I left my first company making more than 80K per year and dropped to somewhere in the mid 30s. It was devastating financially; I spent more savings than necessary, I moved to an apartment that was inconvenient to my job (though in lovely Hoboken) and just in general, did not realize that 50,000 was a LOT of money and it was about to go away.

That sucked.

After obtaining my Masters degree, I sort of figured I'd make up for lost time and hit - at bare minimum - 60K, assuming I worked for a nonprofit or a government entity. I was willing to go lower for something "cool" - you know. Senate, White House, whatever. But when it came to applying to jobs I was bereft (to be fair, I was bereft in general at this time, and so this doesn't really stand out). In the end, I applied to two jobs, was offered one, and took it, at a very well known private consulting company.

So here I am - 28, well educated, with great work experience. I have 6 years of post-high school education from good schools, and 4 full years of professional work experience at well-known companies. I've never had a bad review on my work product (ehem, sometimes I am told that I can be too, uh, casual), and in fact, had a fantastic mid year review just a few months ago. So how much money would YOU think I make?

The answer is $55,000.

And apparently my annual raise will likely be pegged around $1500. I don't want to seem like I'm whining - in fact, I'm grateful that I can pay my rent and my student loans and some of the credit card debt I accumulated in grad school. But that's kind of the problem, isn't it? That employers know they have us where they want us in a bad economy, and can pay us as much or as little as they want because we're so thankful to not go into more debt.

And that's bullshit.

My point of all of this I suppose, is to encourage you to talk salary with your friends and coworkers. Maybe it's too awkward, and maybe your company has actual policies against it. But I've found that it's enlightening and helpful to know. And I think that it serves us all better to know what the market rate for X job, with X degree, in X fiscal climate is.

And if that's not good enough, at least you'll find out who your rich friends are! Then you can make them take you out for dinner. Make sure to bring your teacher friends.

Underpacking underwear, overpacking books.

It's a problem I have.

I ran out of undies about 2/3 of the way through my jaunt to Europe. I had to pay a ridiculous sum (seriously - guess) per panty to get some clean BVDs. And yet I have still not finished the books I brought with me.

Don't judge. I'm awesome.

Because honestly, I'd rather be dirty and enthralled than clean and bored. Boredom is the worst thing I can imagine. And I had plane, train and automobile trips out the wazoo - the chance for boredom was high.

So what if I overloaded on Rowling's secrets and left some of Victoria's at home?

In any case, I'm back now, and I still haven't done laundry. Of course, there's no one to pay guess how much euro, not dollar, so you know, the number times 1.5 to do my underlaundry for me. Yet I found the time to re-read the last book of the Hunger Games again. For the fourth time.

Since April.

I'm not sure what all of this says about me, but I am sure of this: you can always go to Target and buy a six pack of Hanes for not a lot of money. These days, a good book is hard to find.

I'm back friends. See you tomorrow, after I finish my morning reading.

Sono tornata!

I'm BACK baby. In the country that is. On my mac that is. In my bed eating stale pretzels with a side of flat Diet Coke because that is all I had in my house, that is.

Not quite back faculties-wise, but that may not be as a result of my trip.

I'm posting later this afternoon, and I can't decide if Ima just gonna jump into it again or apologize first in that ridiculous way, or start a whole new idea (ok that's not happening). I guess you'll have to check in to find out! If there still are any of you out there... hello? Hello? Bueller?

Back soon. XOXOXOXOXO