Filed under: growing up, love, money, television | Tags: alcohol, capitalism, existentialism, family, gossip girl, growing up, love, math, money, nihilism, slut wine, symbolism
Lately I’ve been dragging my feet through my life, wishing I was watching Gossip Girl instead of doing whatever I’m doing at any given time.
I only kind of mean that, but I mean it both literally and symbolically. And subjectively.
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot of the following things:
1. Does that mean something?
2. Can I say that?
3. Is that interesting?
I don’t think people ask themselves those questions enough.
I think a lot of things don’t mean anything. A lot of things that are written in essays don’t mean anything. But that’s the kind of stuff that’s really supposed to mean something. And it doesn’t. Not to me. What I can’t figure out is if things that are really supposed to mean something and don’t mean anything are interesting or boring.
Or maybe I’m just stupid, and that’s boring.
You know what makes things less boring? Alcohol.
She was wasted last night. She had 4 dirty stoli martinis. After work I was talking to her and she couldn’t finish her sentences. She would start to say something and then trail off without finishing a thought… she was talking about how we live in a capitalistic society. She would say “I don’t think those bottles of High Life are supposed to be two dollars, I think that’s a mistake. We’re supposed to make a killing. We live in a capulistuck society.” Her speech slurred and her body leaned to the side.
It embarrassed me.
I don’t really get like that. I don’t handle alcohol well at all, but I don’t usually make a fool of myself if I get drunk. I usually start to get a buzz and the next thing I know I’m sitting on the bathroom floor in a cold sweat. I really have very little business with alcohol, so I usually avoid it.
When I was growing up my mom was into wine. She liked sweet whites and blushes. Slut wine. She wasn’t an alcoholic or anything, she usually just had a glass or two, but sometimes she would get drunk. When she got drunk she would get really giggly. The giggles would sometimes crescendo into hysterical laughter, and it would freak the hell out of me. It would make me cry and that would make her laugh more.
My dad used to call me and leave cute little drunken messages on my cell phone. He would say things like “Hi Kelly Marie this is your dad. Remember me? Call me back. My phone number is 391 7822. You can remember that because 3 times 3 is 9. And 3 divided by 3 is 1. And 1 plus 1 is 2. And if you subtract 2 from 9 you’ll get 7. (And so on.) He’s not the easiest person in the world to talk to so if I had to talk to him about something I didn’t want to, I’d wait until he’d had a few scotches. I always kind of liked him better when he had a few drinks in him.
He and my mother are polar opposites. I can’t imagine them ever having a relationship.
This always happens to people in February.
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