Friends and Fears
I'm finding out that with friendships, comes some difficult, unanticipated expectations. That friends all have fears and they hide them from one another. It takes more patience and hard work to deal with than I bargained for.
Carrie Bradshaw has left the building. But HBO is still careful to pad their lineup and lure you into it, which is what happened last night when I caught "Curb Your Enthusiasm." God, it was hilarious. I wouldn't be off by saying that it's exactly like Seinfeld; only the characters are allowed to be spin-offs of themselves. David Schwimmer, Wanda Sykes, Richard Lewis -- all play themselves, but are fictionally involved in Larry David's life in the wackiest ways.
On last night's episode, Wanda Sykes caught Larry mistakenly handing a black man in a suit is valet parking ticket, which Larry had to explain his way out of. Then later on in the episode she caught him locking his car just as a black man in plainclothes walked by. She began ribbing on him, "So a black man in a suit wants to
park your car, and a black man in normal clothes wants to
steal it?" Larry, of course, became incredibly flustered. Then, noticing that Larry drove a Nissan sedan, she continued, "No black man wants to steal your piece of shit car. A black man wants something with
get-up-and-go!" I never knew I'd say this, but put that together with Wanda's alter-ego on Crank Yankers, and I like this comedienne very, very much.
Sex and the City of Lights
Carrie Bradshaw goes to Paris to mark the end of her love affair with New York; and symbolically, it will mark the end of our love affair with the show. I don't usually publicize my adoration of this show, for want of not being pop-culture predictable, especially because I jumped onto the band wagon only this year. And caught up for the last 5 years courtesy of Blockbuster Video. In my defense, however, I never had access to HBO and it was with a trial subscription that my own accelerated love affair took flight.
It has been a tough year for me, in so many ways, and oddly enough, it was catching on to "Sex and the City" that breathed much needed life into, well, mine. Those little lessons that, if a girl hasn't learned it already, needs desperate reminders of. A new pair of shoes makes it easier to walk back out into the world. Always expect the unexpected in so-called relationships. Friends are worth their weight in gold, and last that long. Being a girl is a glorious thing.
Watching Carrie and her friends makes me feel good... and always seems to infuse ideas into me about what I want to do tomorrow, the day after that, in a week, whenever. Well... at least where shopping is concerned.
Bar Blunders
I was at a bar tonight (actually it was McGregor's). Around 11:10 pm I commented aloud -- within the earshot of at least 4 people I had been casually conversing with -- that, shit, I had missed and was about to miss a certain TV show (actually it was "The Golden Girls").
And that is all that you need to know to understand how I sort of embarrassed myself tonight.
Thursdays at The Dub
We were at the W last night, in a sea of black leather jackets and perfectly dishevelled hairdos. I was trying to keep the sand of the Beach (the upstairs, outdoor bar with the fire pit) away from my Prada heels, which were making their quarter-annual appearance out in the world. The weather was pleasant and accented well by the heat lamps, and I did my best to smile seductively and condescendingly at guys trying to pass off the oldest and most unsuccessful lines on me. Among the winners were, "Wow... this girl is a phenomenon... I have never opened up this quickly to anybody!" and "I can't believe I just said that... " All this, when I stood there politely sipping a "Stoli-Raz-7" and keeping absolutely quiet while he hemorrhaged the allegedly intimate details of his life. The clincher was that his nickname was "Hollywood" -- the secret being, that Hollywood is in fact his mother's maiden name, and her family used to own the farmland that is now the Entertainment Capital of the World.
What a great coincidence, and what a brush with greatness to meet this guy, and his legacy, all atop a downtown hotel having your ordinary Thursday night cocktail. Then some more deep secrets -- which I am so heartlessly airing out on the internet -- about how his family made their fortune in the Mafia, and were the first Irish family to be part of La Cosa Nostra.
I guess this guy didn't really know that he had met probably the only girl at the bar who had a thing for old Hollywood and all things Italian. These stories passed through me like sand through a sieve, as this man, not yet 30, talked about things that could only have happened in the 1930's. When he began pontificating about the virtues of making money without a college degree, my friends and I decided to switch bars.
On the way down the stairs, I saw the next bevy of dolled-up twenty-somethings making their way up the stairs, and I thought, "Hollywood won't be lonely after all!"
It's funny, to see another group of people not unlike the group you're with, separated only by a couple of hours, and foresee that they're about to live the night you just had. That's the way the bar scene goes. Just another Thursday night.
The Many Virtues of Natalia M.
She's one of those friends who can take the biggest problem and then just roll it up and smoke it for you. I somehow feel now completely different than before our conversation. It's weird how different your friends can be... how some of them can just get you in certain ways, where others can't. I am learning now that I can only bring some problems to some friends, or discuss some topics with some friends. There is no "perfect one" friend, and perhaps they are all just perfect on their own in their individual spheres. It's a beautiful thing, definitely, to have many different friends.
Natalia pointed this out to me:
"Hey, Karen, you had a great weekend, didn't you?"
And that, somehow, seemed to put it all into perspective.
Both Sides Now
Time for the monthly update. I'm not as blue as I used to be, but I'm far busier. I ask myself daily how the laziest girl in San Diego got this saddled down with obligations. How can something... come from nothing?
There are so many things my mind is supposed to be thinking about. Heavy material in all of my classes: suicide, the right to die, international war crimes, decedents' estates. Neverending moot court responsibilities, including learning a bit about trademark and patent law and then learning to talk much more slowly before I face panels of judges in the South. I have asked the gentlemen who are to escort me to Nashville if we may stop by the Belle Meade Plantation for some chicken and dumplings. My first plantation!
I realize now that I am the kind of person who cannot be anything but incredibly busy in order to accomplish anything at all. In sum -- I'm not a person of moderation. The thing is, when you have a bunch on your plate, you can only get rid of it if you start eating it all one by one. Fuck the food analogy. Basically, being busy for me means that I get more done because I have no choice; if I don't have the looming threat of
never having a later opportunity to get something done, I just won't do it.
It's a terrible way to be. Believe me, I don't disclose this at job interviews.
