Thursday, November 17, 2011

On Making Irrational Decisions While Listening to Hans Zimmer

I would like to think I am a rational human being. I thoroughly enjoy a good pro/con list. I don't speak without thinking about the consequences. You will never find me outside in winter with wet hair. I enjoy wearing my seatbelt but something about the music of Hans Zimmer turns me into a crazy woman. Important decisions that I would normally spend hours, days, weeks or even months contemplating and calculating are thrown out the window on the whimsical note of chance.

Situation #1: Deciding to Move Across the World

Normal Natt: Can I afford to do this? I should make a financial plan to see if this plane ticket is in my budget. What kind of notice would I need to give my current employer? Who will take my dog? Can I bring my dog? Will the siblings starve? Who will make sure Olivia doesn't get pregnant or Phill doesn't drive drunk? Can I live without my family? What if something happens to my Grandma while I'm gone? Do I need to bring bed sheets? Peanut butter?

Natt Under the Influence of Hans: CARPE FUCKING DIEM! I can pull the money out of my 401K. I have a credit card! I can charge everything if my life savings run out.

Album at Fault: The Dark Knight

Situation #2: Ending A Four Year Relationship

Normal Natt: This is going to be super painful. You must be prepared for the feelings that come along with misery and all her friends. You should make a pros and cons list and weigh it all out. Speaking of weight you should probably lose ten or so pounds, you may soon be entering the dating pool again. Look into gym memberships. What if he deletes me from facebook? What if I can no longer stalk him? I WOULD DIE! What if he dates someone before I do? Will I die alone? Should probably delete him off facebook first.

Natt Under the Influence of Hans: That asshole never deserved me! Text him right now! RIGHT NOW! Perhaps I should tell him in person? Fine. Get in the car and drive the 45 minutes to his house. Will listen to epic scores the entire ride. I was the best thing that ever happened to him. I would rather be happy and alone! Yeah, hear me world? I'M FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Album at Fault: The Thin Red Line

Situation #3: Telling My Friend I Was In Love With Him

Normal Natt: This is absolutely crazy talk. How can I even consider doing this? He is one of my best friends, what if this ruins everything? It could. Are you prepared to deal with that? What if he feels the same? He doesn't. You already know the answer. Do yourself a favor and put this idea in a drawer, lock it, lose the key. But could I go my life without ever telling him? Guess you will see.

Natt Under the Influence of Hans: This is romantic, just like in movies! It always works out in movies and in books too! Besides if you don't tell him you will probably explode and die. Who said 'It's better to have loved and lost, then to have never loved at all?' They are sooooo right.

Album at Fault: Inception

Monday, November 14, 2011

Things That Happen When an American Dates a British Person

Girl at bar: "Can I have a metre of vodka with an inch of tonic.."
Mark: "Oh, naughty, you've combined metric and imperial..you might get an interdenominational hangover that way."
-Peep Show

At one point or another your laptop will break, presumably while you are skint (broke) and your Brit will lend you their extra netbook. Auto correct will say you are misspelling obviously correct words such as, and definitely not limited to: analog, favorite, color, center, honor, humor, mold, program, practice and mustache. You must learn to embrace the 'u' or suffer the wrath of the red underline.

Picking a television show will become a power struggle. You will fight for your version of a show that has been aired two different ways in two different countries. You will never see eye to eye on this issue so in this case it is best to agree to disagree.

The Brit may take up art as a hobby. While they are mid drawing and pause to exclaim they need a rubber confusion may ensue. Fun fact a rubber is an eraser. The Brit does not need a condom to draw that bowl of fruit.

Sometimes you may not understand what they (the British) are saying. You have two options: go along and pretend you know what they mean when they say 'that bird has a grim Chevy Chase' or take a moment to learn. A simple 'I'm American, what did you just say?' seems to do the trick just fine.

One morning you will wake up to check the daily news and sites you used to frequent like CNN and The New York Times have been replaced by The Guardian and BBC. The BBC is publicly funded and therefore a less biased source or so I've heard.

Things like Marmite sneak their way into your diet. As an American this is simply unforgivable and should be fought tooth and nail. If a marmite free diet seems unavoidable feel free to lie to your American friends, but who are you kidding? Your American friends will have no idea what the hell Marmite is anyway.

You may notice words such as: bollocks, football, meself, arsed, bloody, bogey and bum sneak into your daily vocabulary. This happens subconsciously and may often be received by other Americans with shock and horror. Football is played with a pigskin God damn it!

For the most part the similarities between the Americans and the British far outweigh the differences. Consider your relationship a fun learning experience without which you may never have known the likes of: Louis Theroux (half American by the way), Darren Brown (wish he was popular in America) and Peep Show.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

When It Feels Good

When it feels good the new car smell never fades. You can drive it through swamps and sewage, through pristine crisp forest air. 10,000 miles later and then another 10,000 miles later and another and another and it still smells like the day you met even if on the day you met it smelled like cigarettes and cheap beer.

It doesn't feel like lies. It doesn't feel how lies cut. Deep and you know it's a lie because you can feel the knife in your thigh. You don't need to look down and see the blood and you want to pull it out but what you want more is to find someone who won't stab you.

When it feels good your hands meet half way. You're walking side by side and that little brain tick that says 'hold my hand' responds to their brain's 'hold my hand' and somewhere out there the Beatles are singing about wannaing to hold your hand and so you do and they do and they stay that way.

It doesn't look like brownies but taste like medicine.

When it feels good you can see it in their face and their friend's faces and your friend's faces which become our friend's faces. It's raw happiness like raw almonds, pure and healthy and good for your heart.

It doesn't feel like your first job. Tedious, mundane, routine, mind numbingly dull. Would you like that toasted? Would you like to try a free sample? Would you like to leave those 20 articles of clothing in a crumpled ball on the changing room floor?

When it feels good it’s like minute 29 of a 30 minute run. As each second passes by you are more and more grateful that you got out of bed and you laced up your shoes and you walked out your door and you placed one foot in front of the other and you ran and you ran and you ran. It feels better than your bed, better than an extra hour of sleep. It’s seeing the results of hard work and discipline along the curve of your hip.

It doesn't feel like minute 18 of a 30 minute run.



Tuesday, November 1, 2011

This Is An Apology Letter

It ended with a slam and a crash. At the time I felt worse about not folding my laundry. I remember the green Christmas dress and navy sweater. I remember the look on your face as I inhumanely slammed the door on you. That haunting face. I can't bare it. I remember everything.

I didn't get you. I never took the time to try. Time better spent in anger, hot coals, the devils lair. Hours spent carefully growing a virus that consumed me. I could have understood you. I could have talked to you. I could have helped. Maybe I could have.

I look back on make believe memories. I imagine sitting across from you as my aunt, yeah, Aunt Silv. I could be Aunt Silv and simply enjoy your company. Your Tennessee stories that you told over and over and over and over and the people laughed every time, not out of pity. though at the time I thought it was pity, but because you were genuinely funny. I remember feeling superior. I wasn't. I look back on make believe memories. I have to. Maybe we liked the same music, maybe we both had stitches in the same places, lip and right eyebrow.

You made my mother so happy, you really did. I never saw her love my dad how she loved you and I hated it. I was an evil shade of spruce. That woman, my mother, the person I was trying to protect, the individual who means more to me then any other person, memory, feeling or thought, the woman who would have died for you and almost did... she is fine now. She does this little head cock and her eye happy twitches and the corners turn up on her tiny mouth and I know she is thinking of you. Some days, she tells me, some days you still call her cell phone, she say's she knows it's you. She still listens to your voicemails. She still can't listen to Tim McGraw.

I was just trying to save her from you. You, you would agree with me if you could. I knew. Oh, I knew, I just didn't know how much.

I wish I would have went on vacation to Tennessee. I wish I would have driven in your vintage car on the dream cruise. The car, the car with the silly bumper stickers and furry dice. I wish I didn't have to wish. Maybe it would have changed things, maybe it wouldn't have.

A phone call, my mother, a piercing scream, a fall heavy like anchor into ebony. A place where a piece of my bad heart died.

It ended with a slam and a crash.

I'm sorry will never be enough.