No One Ever Said I was a Feminist

I remember the first time someone in my age group referred to someone else in my age group as a MILF, or Mom I’d Like to…ya know. I was 17 and in my senior year of high school. One of my best friends had said that Myra, a fellow senior who had a baby in sophomore year, was a MILF. Technically he was right, but ew. First of all, Myra was my friend. She was an attractive individual but he wasn’t allowed to say he was MILF-y. Maybe her mom was MILF-y (which, if I remember correctly, she was) but she was my friend and the farthest he was allowed to go was to tell me that he wanted to “bone” Myra. Have some respect. Secondly, MILF’s aren’t your peers; MILF’s are your peers’ moms or your mom’s child having peers, no matter what the age.

The older I got, the more my friends reproduced. They are still doing so as we speak. Once in a while, someone will refer to one of them as a MILF. I know they’re right but still…no. I know, I wouldn’t mind rubbing up on them either, but we can’t just go calling every hot woman that has a kid a MILF. And what of Myra’s mom? Is she now a GILF just because her child procreated? I say no. I say that these titles are generationally specific. To Myra’s daughter’s friends right now, Myra is probably a MILF. If Myra’s mom is still walking around in form fitting dresses with pouty lips, those same friends probably think she’s a GILF. But I still see Myra as my attractive friend who, yeah, maybe I’d bone her. Her mom is still a MILF for me.

Also, don’t confuse a MILF with a cougar. A MILF is someone of your parents’ age or a friend’s mom whose shirt you want to take off. A cougar can be a cougar no matter what your age is, what matters is her age and the age of her target. You can’t just say, “Nancy in Accounting is a total cougar” just because she’s hot and over the age of 40. The only way Nancy is a cougar is if she is actively pursuing a sexual relationship with a much younger man or men. If she flirts with Ted the intern while happily married to her similarly aged husband, she is not a cougar; she’s just hot and flirty.

Tune in next week when I explain the difference between a dirty old man and a pervy old man. I’ll give you a hint: One is all talk.

You Are Cordially Invited to a Pity Party

I have so  many feelings today.

On Friday I went to visit my best friend Martina in Boston. The next morning, after a great night of movies and merriment, while driving on the Massachusetts Turnpike, I heard a pop/clunk and my car briefly screeched, but it kept driving smoothly and I never heard it again. I got off the turnpike about 3 miles later and while slowing down to pay the toll, the car was unmistakably screeching but still running. I paid the toll and as soon as I got the change in my hand, the car stopped and wouldn’t start again. Mass Pike assistance came and pushed me over to the shoulder to wait for a tow. Thankfully Martina was there so the company was good and my spirits were still reasonably up. My parents let me use their AAA (I really need to get that for myself. Lesson learned) and came to pick me up. My car would be towed home later. The rest of the day was spent relaxing before my last show with Tick Tick BOOM! at Playhouse on Park. I think the show went great, the crowd loved us and it was a great last show to have. Afterwards, I went to a bar, had an extremely respectable amount of beer (honestly) and at the end of the night my phone proceeded to fall in the toilet out of my back pocket…then I peed on it. I could’ve left that last part out, but I’m all about the overshare. Plus it’s the icing on top of the cake.

Sunday was rough. I was stressed because of the car which didn’t arrive until late morning and still has undiagnosed issues. I was upset because of the phone (which, yes, is chilling in a bag of rice as we speak) and on top of that I was feeling sick. I had to miss rehearsal and gave myself an easy going day to feel better physically and start the week well.

And today, I’m not feeling better. In fact I’m feeling worse. I think it all hit me and I just want to cry or scream. Thankfully we have Charmagne’s car, so I’m not completely rideless, but sharing isn’t ideal. When I’m using it to go somewhere without her, she’s carless and vice-verse. I have no idea when the car will be fixed since I still don’t know what’s wrong with it. Being without a phone has been especially challenging since even when I have access to a phone, I have no phone numbers. It feels absurd to be sad because I’m not really a material person. My phone doesn’t mean THAT much to me and though my car does, I know it’ll get fixed eventually. But I guess I just feel like it’s pouring and the uncertainty is really frustrating. This sucks right now. It certainly doesn’t feel insurmountable, but it feels really hard to be happy and at this point in time.

The previous paragraph has been my life for the past fifteen years or so: I feel like I have to bargain with myself in order to be sad. If I have enough trials and tribulations, maybe a minimum of three, then I’m allowed to be sad. I know where this comes from and I don’t want to get into it, but today I am sad. I may still be sad tomorrow. My eyes are brimming with water and if someone even criticizes my shirt, I may let the water spill over. I’m afraid to cry because if I do, I may not stop and the sadness will continue. But then there’s also the chance that I cry and it releases the sad into the atmosphere, evaporating the tears and returning to their cry clouds but still nurturing the soul and allowing for the regrowth that I need.

There’s also the little matter that I don’t think that I even have the time to cry. Back when Dane Cook was funny (some of you will say “when was that?”) he did a bit about how you want to cry and you feel it, but you can’t do it because you need to let out a butt ugly, wailing cry in solitude. That’s how I feel today: I want to break down into almost painful looking sobs, but I can’t really do that without everyone rushing over and trying to make it stop. It’s a busy day so I can’t cut out me time for tears… “Sorry I’m late, I just HAD to cry for a spell. Where were we on the budget report?”

I know me, though. I’ll find the time to cry. Then the phone will restart in a couple of days. Then my car will get fixed, hopefully with only a little strain on my wallet. But until all that happens, I’m just effing sad.

Facebook Breakin’ 2: Electronic Boogaloo

Last year I decided to take a Lent-length hiatus from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Reddit. There was absolutely no religious reason for it per se; I didn’t do it to bring myself closer to God or Jesus, or whatever reason people typically celebrate Lent. I’m actually not personally into organized religion. That’s a big thing that I won’t get into, but I have found that though I’m not affiliated with one or the other, I enjoy the rituals in many religions because I can see their purpose overall. Last year, temporarily freeing myself of social media brought me closer to my friends, family and Charmagne. I spent less time thinking about what I’d “share” with the world and more time actually sharing with those who I truly wanted to share with. By Easter Eve, I thought I’d be champing at the bit (it’s really champing by the way! I read that and was blown away!) to get back in that life. But at midnight I sat in bed with Charmagne and continued our conversation. I don’t think I checked Facebook until the following afternoon and I was surely in no rush for Twitter. So though it didn’t bring me closer to God, it brought me closer to myself and who I want to be: a caring individual who isn’t ruled by technology.

In the past year, I’ve definitely picked back up with my activity, but still nowhere near I was last year at this time. Twitter is pretty much dead to me other than a sentence or two and Instagram has lost much of its luster. But Facebook still seems to get the bulk of my time, so I gave it up again with the hope of realigning myself. Back are the days of giving long descriptive posts on how I’m feeling today rather than 140 character bursts of my thoughts.

Today is Day 1 and I’m blown away with how much I want to share. At lunch I was in line at a drive-up ATM and two cars were depositing checks. I wanted to take a picture of the madness to put on Instagram, Facebook about the proper etiquette of a drive-up ATM and Tweet about how incredulous this was. But I sat on it…and posted it here instead.*

Hopefully this will turn out as well as it did last year. Already today I’ve opened Facebook three times out of habit, completely forgetting that I was supposed to be abstaining. By next week, I shouldn’t miss it at all. By next month, I’ll be pretty nicely weaned and readjusted.

*Seriously, that shit is ridiculous! One woman parked her car, opened the door and stood up to conduct the transaction. This branch has a walk-up ATM that’s still located outside and she could’ve left her car running to use! Why do they even offer the option of depositing checks at a drive-up ATM? That’s what tellers and vestibules are for and there were two completely open drive-up tellers! I just need $20 and now I have to wait for your 20 minutes worth of business?! I wanted to shake my fist, but I’m very polite.

Just Keep Shoveling: Captain Nemo’s Journey to New England

A valiant warrior admits defeat…and is stuck again.

This past Friday in Hartford it snowed a lot. A blizzard to be exact. I believe the technical measurement is what one would call a “shit ton.” When I woke up on Saturday afternoon (don’t judge me) my street was blanketed with pure white powder and there wasn’t a single plow in sight. I don’t live close to a hospital and working in the department that handles this type of thing, I knew it was going to be a while until I was freed. So I settled in.

In the two weeks leading up to the blizzard, I had been secretly asking the universe for “more hours in the day.” I didn’t know how I expected this to happen, but as I was driving from one commitment to the other over the past few weeks I realized that I wasn’t stressed out, but it would’ve been nice to have a couple more hours in the day. I didn’t feel like all that I’ve been doing warranted a vacation. I’m not feeling overworked or upset, in fact quite the opposite; I’m feeling great and motivated. But as each day ends, around 11pm I’m wishing I had more time to be up and do what I want to do and still have time for that pesky thing called sleep. With all that I’ve added to my schedule, if I had just a few more hours added to the day I’d have time to do honor all commitments, tie up all loose ends and get a good night’s sleep. Not too much to ask, right?

When news of the blizzard hit, I was a little bummed that my Cage Match with Tick Tick BOOM! may be cancelled, but by Friday I was happy for the night off. Other people didn’t take being shut in so well. The night of the blizzard, someone driving a Dodge Caravan decided he absolutely HAD to drive up our street…on an incline…going the opposite way of our one way. The night was silent, save for the sound of his tires spinning and squealing against the thick snow fall. The smell of burning rubber wafted up to my balcony as my neighbors and I stuck our cell phones out to document his folly (see above photo).When Saturday came and we weren’t even close to plowed, I began to shovel, reluctantly cancelled the plans that I made with my friends and hunkered down for another night indoors. I’d asked the universe and it delivered some extra time to wake up when I felt like it, (which is surprisingly around 8am, even on weekends. Ain’t that some shit?) go to sleep without thinking about where I had to be the next day and even get some long-standing items crossed off of my to-do list that I kept putting off.

My neighbor saved the day!

By Sunday afternoon I was going a little stir crazy with the streets still unplowed. It’s one thing if you don’t feel like going anywhere, but it’s an entirely different story if you can’t. I heard stories of some neighborhoods actually shoveling their streets. We didn’t go that far on mine, but we did rejoice together when the plows and payloaders finally cleared a path for us. My neighbor, Brandon, even brought his snow blower around to clear what the plows pushed back into the lip of our driveway. But even when we were free and able to leave, I went back upstairs, watched a couple more movies and did a little more work. I allowed myself to take advantage of the extra hours I’d been given and it was great. Monday morning I woke up ready to work as the essential employee that I am, well-rested and perfectly satisfied with the 24 hours in this day.