Really?!?!?!

I was bullied onto facebook this week. I fought as hard as I could. But it was the same battle I lost with Friendster and Myspace. Once all social interaction moves to a social networking site I have two choices. (1)Cling to my principals but be lonely and bored. Or (2)Relent but be resentful and give off an air of superiority and bourgeois contempt. I usually choose option 2. So I signed up for facebook and was presented with a couple hundred profiles of people I went to high school with. Facebook suggested I might want to be friends with these people. I suggested to God that he should have smited those people twenty years ago when they were terrorizing me to the point that I seriously contemplated suicide. I have five friends from high school, because those were the five people I liked. Most everyone else was a douchebag. And I hardly think time will have improved them much. But what I find most disturbing is that so many of them had the nerve to reproduce. Some of those people had four plus kids.For a moment I felt slightly left out. Sort of like John Cusack's character in Grosse Pointe Blank, "They all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they've all made themselves a part of something and they can talk about what they do. What am I gonna say? "I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?" Or more to the point, "I'm not married. I don't have any kids. And I'd blow your head off is somebody paid me enough.How are you?" God! I fucking love that movie. But the question now becomes how awesome does my life have to be in six years when the 20th reunion rolls around, for me to be insulated against insecurity? I mean a couple published books and some pictures of me in bed with Keanu Reeves and a sitting United States Senator good? Or should I skip it like I skipped the 5 year and 10 year reunions? Because do I really have to revisit that hellmouth when high school is never really over. I realized today I'm still the girl who does some guy's homework just so he'll talk to her. I still do it. Some guy smiles at me and I'm 16 again. So why on earth would I subject myself to the people that made being sixteen shorthand for pain and alienation? Well there will probably be cake. I do like cake. And I am exponentially better looking than when I was a kid, whereas most of those bastards peaked at 19. I don't know I've got time to think about it. I'll just stay away from facebook as much as I can.

I like grocery shopping

Over the last few weeks friends have been coming up to me and saying, “You look amazing,” or “You’ve never looked better. Have you lost weight?” And I’m not bragging. Because I haven’t lost weight and other than surrendering my death grip on $300 anti-aging creams, I’ve made no changes to my beauty regime. So what do I owe my glow to you ask? Pleasure. Pure unadulterated hedonism at every opportunity. Sophia Loren used to gesture to her figure and say, “All you see I owe to spaghetti.” Well I don’t eat pasta. But I do have a body built by having wine for dinner. Not wine with dinner but a bottle of wine as dinner. And I devour chocolate for breakfast. I take multiple naps throughout the day regardless of whether I’m at work or not. And I have a minimum of two orgasms everyday. Sometimes I’m alone. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m just standing in line at the grocery store buying Nutella and Matt the dreamy cashier who looks like Brad Pitt and makes me laugh like Jon Stewart looks at me and I find myself rhythmically shifting from one foot to the next while I imagine us carnivorously fucking on the conveyer still damp from pork chops and freshly washed asparagus. And in that instance I’m making sweet love to the whole world and we all like it. To maintain this happy glow and blissful serenity I’ve had to give up everything that stresses me out.

*Couldn’t care less about work. I’m currently typing this instead of working on a project that could potentially protect the joint from disaster.

*Contrary to my affection for men as an instrument of pleasure I’ve again suspended my search for Mr. Right. The rejection and pain and humiliation are too overwhelming. I can’t help it if men don’t like me as much as I like them. I think I’d rather be a jolly spinster right now.

*I am letting my brother, my sister, and my friend Owen, row their own boats. I love them but there is a point when you just have to live your life. It has been proven to me that no matter what I give them I never get anything back. In his book “The Road Less Traveled” Scott Peck defined love. “Love is the will to extend oneself for the purpose of one’s own or another’s spiritual growth.” I’ve extended myself further for other people than I have in yoga during a warrior pose, and I don’t feel like I’ve grown spiritually anything other than tired.

*And no more dieting. I’m fat and sassy and plan to stay that way for a while. Right now the only way you’re getting me to eat a salad is if you eat one off me first. Preferably without a fork.

I guess that mysterious glow is called contentment. Dare I say…Happiness? At the very least I’m in a continuous good mood. Join me will you.

Japanese people are just cooler

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