Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Airport Departure: Part 3

At four o'clock in the morning the last thing I want anyone to do is talk to me, let alone have anyone "joke" with me. No, absolutely not. I haven't eaten anything, I didn't get a full nights sleep, and it sure as hell was not in my bed. I swear, if someone so much as looks at me the wrong way this morning, I am going to punch them in the face.

(I don't actually ever punch anyone, but I say that a lot. It's cathartic.)

I don't hate this person from Richmond, but I would never have chosen to travel with them on purpose. Last night he went on about how I look for dramatic situations to place myself in as to keep myself amused. This is not true. This shit happens. For example, the absurdity of the past twenty-four hours. He misinterpreted me from over a year ago, I hate it when people claim to "hate drama." No one "hates drama" because their lives would be fucking boring if there were no shred of drama in it.

Anyway, I am fully capable of reflecting on my life all by myself and last night's psychoanalysis was unwelcome, but mostly because of the person it was coming from. I almost wish I had cared enough to return the favor.

Today's security line was nonexistent. We got here over an hour ahead of time, and there was no line. There was not a single person ahead of us. Do you understand? I waited in a line yesterday that was like a mile long, and today, NOTHING. At least I still have internet access and can vent uninterrupted without anyone telling me to feel better. Everyone needs to vent, and yeah, I've vented a lot, but would too in my situation, or want to, or maybe not. Maybe you're a better person than I am. Maybe. I doubt it though. If you had spent twelve hours in an airport yesterday without the promise of going anywhere, you would probably hate everyone within sight too.

In the mean time, this is kind of making me feel better.

My flight leaves in less than an hour. I will be home, to my empty fridge and overflowing recycling in about six hours!

Monday, March 22, 2010

Airport Departure: Part 2

After waiting a few more hours, a friend (frenemy? acquaintance? we are incapable of being nice to each other) from Richmond showed up. And guess what?! He was stuck too! Yay!

Then. THEN! A friend (ex-ish) showed up from DC. I haven't spoken to him for a couple of months. Or, I should say, he hasn't spoken to me because he's been in Mexico, or Austin - his family lives here, but they are from Mexico, and he's been with them for various reasons and kind of disappeared. The last I had heard was a letter, a note really, about how he was sorry, but had stuff going on, here is your Magnetic Fields ticket. So, seeing him was completely unexpected.

Everyone was flying out of Austin, to Atlanta, out of my gate. Including Louis C.K. He was shorter than I had though he would be, but cuter, too.

I made more calls, caught up with my sisters, and boy 3. And then after being told that there were no more flights leaving for Atlanta until tomorrow morning my Richmond Friend told me he was getting a room at a nearby hotel and that if I didn't want to stay at the airport I could crash there. Whew!

Unfortunately, my dad called...again. And then my mom. Both felt the need to berate me for "staying with a stranger," I'm not sure where this idea came from, but I was tired of dealing with them and so I hung up. They have called since and left messages that I have not and probably won't listen to. To them I will be perpetually twelve years old.

The hotel had a "happy hour" with free chips, dip, veggies and beer. It was everything you needed to throw a shitty party, but it was free and I was hungry. And after making my roomie watch Gossip Girl we went to Denny's. Denny's. That family restaurant that I associate with drunk assholes in the old part of Woodbridge off Route 1. Well, they have one here, and it was just as shitty, but they had milkshakes so I was fine.

Now, I have a bed, and a wake-up call for 3:45 am. Hopefully, I'll be at home by noon tomorrow. I will be home, to my apartment in twelve hours! TWELVE HOURS! I love Austin, but I love my bed more. Goodnight!

P.S. Just got a text from my dad: "R u safe call me"

P.P.S "Call me when you get this message:

P.P.P.S "Where r u and who r u with?"

Maybe I'm not twelve, maybe sixteen and staying out past curfew.

Airport Departure: Part 1

I am sitting in the airport in Austin, Texas. I am at the same gate that I was at seven hours ago. The same gate that my 6:55 am flight left from. The same flight that I missed due to the longest security line I have ever seen. Guys, I'm from Washington, DC, the capital of security. I mean, really, this line was out the door, down a block or so and then back again. Over an hour in a security line, and now I'm stranded in this airport, at this gate, where there is a woman wearing pajamas waiting for a standby flight for herself and her 16 month old son. The pajamas. Ohdeargod, sure this isn't 1964, I don't expect people to dress up, but pajamas in public are unacceptable.

Really, I don't care that much, but am projecting my frustration towards her. And the Delta worker's makeup. One lady had on an awful shade of reddish-brown eyeshadow on, but only had it on half of the eyelid and did not blend it with anything. Another lady lined her lips in a similar shade, but filled it in with a shimmery pink. Ugh. Unless you're Middle Eastern, you probably don't have the complexion to wear those shades appropriately.

I wish it was 1964 and all the stewardesses were still stewardesses and not flight attendants and were really good looking and wore those awesome uniforms designed by someone in the fashion industry and not someone who took sewing in Home Economics in the seventh grade. In my perfect world they would also be wearing fabulous shoes, and not flats with white socks.

I need a hug.

I couldn't sleep last night because I was worried about over sleeping. Then I had this awful dream about going to South by Southwest (SXSW), and in the dream I kept having horrible things happen to me that would have probably prevented me from going to SXSW, but in my dream I was intrepid and invincible and shameless - there was definitely a make-out break in my dream, you know, between car accidents and catastrophes. Apparently making-out is something that I value, a lot. (Hi, Dad. If you are reading this, please know that I only kiss Aryan looking, return missionaries who are officers in the Armed Forces.)

Anyway, I woke up well before my scheduled wake-up call, and tried to sleep some more, but it didn't work. Then the call came and then my phone's alarm went off. I was out the door by about 5:10 am. I walked to the bus stop where the Airport Flyer was supposed to pick me up, but it was late. I was trying to save money. I mean, the bus was only a dollar, a taxi would have been about thirty plus a tip. I should have made plans for the earlier bus, but I honestly thought an hour would be fine. I was sorely mistaken, and now, because I didn't pay full price for my ticket I am not a top priority.

I have talked to everyone this morning - my mom, dad, boy, other boy, girl, etc. And of course there is nothing that any of them can do except offer some level of empathy. My parents are worried, boy 1 was empathetic and in a different airport, boy 2 was in same airport but his flight was leaving on time, and girl has offered to pick me up in Richmond whenever I get back. It's too bad my brother is a pilot for American and not Delta, I don't know if he could do anything for my cause, but it would at least be a start. Here, I have nothing.

So, I have read and slept and paid eight dollars for internet access so that I didn't completely lose it. And now there is some dude who keeps looking at me. I want him to stop it.

I should probably start my SXSW write-ups or do some homework, but I am a zombie and in no condition to do anything productive.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Sorry, Dad, but umm...What?

I find cussing to be funny in certain (most) contexts. My father does not. Recently my father has joined Facebook. And because I am a relatively nice daughter, he and I are friends, according to Facebook.

Now, I love my dad. He loves me, he worries about my well being, and because I have not turned out at all to be the person that he had hoped I would turn into when I was born, we don't always get along. And sometimes, a lot of the time, he does embarrassing things.

(This is a picture of my dad from this past Christmas. He bleached his hair and beard to look more like Santa.)

For example, when I started writing for a certain Web site two years ago, and I was going to help out at their relaunch party, he emailed them and accused them of "exploiting" his then eighteen year old daughter because I was writing for them and helping out at this party without pay. I was at a National's game with a twenty-five year old when I got a call from one of the editors at the Web site. It went something like this (and please keep in mind I had not yet met these people, all of our communication had been via email):

Dude: So, we just got an email from your dad...
Me: um...
Dude: Are you sure you can help on Saturday?
Me: Yes.
Dude: We don't want to be responsible for you getting into trouble or anything...
Me: I'm really sorry, my dad is kind of um...crazy, um...sometimes. And I'm sorry that you had to experience it before i got a chance to warn you.
Dude: Um...right. So, Saturday is still going to work?
Me: Yes.

This was also at a point in my life when my dad went through the phone bill and put the numbers of the people I had called into his phone. So, that twenty-five year old I was with got a call from my dad while we were at that game. I can't relay that conversation to you as I was not part of it, but this guy was not very happy about it. Apparently my dad offered him steak and was not happy to hear that he was vegetarian. Real men eat meat, or something.

After that call, I got a call from my dad asking when I would be home. I had made plans to go to said dude's house and cut his hair after the game, and my dad wanted me to bring this guy by the house...I went to this guy's house, cut his hair. He cried. And then at some point we ended up making out.

This was probably the most absurd day of my life.

Until about six weeks later, after my graduation when a 37 year old friend came by my house for the open house. We thought that it might be a good idea for my parents to meet someone that I spent time with when I went to DC, we were wrong.

So, my dad and this guy had this conversation:

Dad: So, how old are you?
Dude: 37.
Dad: Do you have any kids?
Dude: No.
Dad: Well, if you did, maybe they could hang out with Amanda.

Yeah, later that dude and I agreed that that was probably the stupidest idea either of us had ever had.

Two years prior to both of these events:

My friend, a guy-friend, who could drive, and I used to hang out quite a bit. I'm not really sure how we became friends, except that it was through a mutual friend. And before we met this group referred to me as "The Chunk" because when asked if I was skinny, my friend told them no. Which was true, and still is true, but I'm not chunky either. I have an upper and lower half that fit quite well together, in my opinion. Anyway, I embraced the nickname, and it became a joke thereafter.

This guy, he and I bonded over our atypically dysfunctional families and our nonconstructive ways of dealing with it. This was my sophomore year of high school and this was the year that I started having panic attacks regularly and seeing a "crazy doctor" for them.

One day he and I had made plans to get lunch and play pool at the local Hard Times Cafe. He picked me up, and my dad answered the door - with a knife. This wasn't the first time he had done this, he had pulled out a knife to scare one of my sisters' guy-friends (who is now gay) years before. My friend handled himself fairly well, and acted obliged to see the rest of my dad's collection. And when we finally left he went off about how crazy my dad is, and how the knives weren't even cool, all looked the same, and what kind of person does that? My dad, that's who.

This friend was also the person who, when in the middle of a panic attack gave me a cigarette to calm me down. It kind of worked. And we spent that afternoon smoking and sitting on an old sofa on some dead end in Manassas.

Well, this friend and I still have some undefinable relationship. He calls me a bitch and I tell him that I miss him. He points out something stupid that I said, and I tell him how happy I am to hear from him. It's just how we work.

Well, he commented on my Facebook profile picture a couple days ago and called me a "crazy bitch" to which I agreed. And left a comment saying so. My dad also saw this comment and was not happy about it, and left another comment about how he "would love to get his hands around (my friend's) throat." and how "please (his) family must be that he is so respectful of women." Then my friend retorted and mentioned the knife collection, and how "your daughter isn't ever going to bring anyone home..." Um...

Facebook notified me about these comments at the same time. So, like four hours too late. Luckily my dad did not see the retort. I can only imagine what sort of reply that would have induced.

I called my dad last night to attempt some level of understanding. It didn't work. He doesn't understand why or when it would be funny or appropriate to call someone a bitch, dick, prick, asshole, slut, whore, pussy, etc. My relating a story about me and my sister April and how we call each other those names all the time didn't help. Now he thinks that I don't have any self-respect.

So, umm...all those times growing when I've tried to explain to people about my dad, they always think that I'm exaggerating. I'm not.

Friday, March 5, 2010


I went to a show a last night and knew(ish) the drummer of one of the bands playing. We chatted for awhile before he asked me if I had seen the movie 'And Education' - random. Of Course I had. He went on to specify where and when I saw the movie. Apparently he was working the projector for that particular showing. And he saw me, bawling my eyes out and waiting for the rest of theater to empty. I was aware of someone looking at me at the time, but wouldn't dare look at that person while my face was decorated in hives and wet with tears. Embarrassing.

We didn't discuss why I cried. Thankgod.

I had dinner with some friends that night, and came down with an awful migraine. I spent about half of dinner in the bathroom where the window was open and the cool air was the only thing helping. After dinner I gave on of my friends a ride and started crying in the car, and then made my way to the movie where, with napkins in hand, I cried some more. This isn't anything particularly special, but I am the ugliest crier in the world. It's a family trait. All the women in my family become covered in hideous red spots and get all snotty. What's worse is that I can drop at the drop of a hat, though not on purpose, it's just that everything makes me cry. And this combined with the migraine and then I mild, but long panic attack - it wasn't good.

I called my mommy. And she and I drove for a few hours with her asking to drive every five minutes or explaining that maybe I should just stay the night. I always drive when I feel shitty, there's just something about it that's calming and unlike anything else. I've gotten to know 64 quite well since moving to Richmond as a result. This particular night though, my mom, she never quite knows what to do in situations like this. It took awhile to explain to her what my panic attacks are, she doesn't recognize them and instead thinks that I'm just being unreasonable. But that night, she got it. And I calmed down and dropped her off and continued driving back to Richmond.

So, this dude, whom I barely know, saw me in the middle of this ordeal. And brought it up four months later. Strange.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Going for Gold

If there were a gold medal for being an emotional champ, I would surely have won it long ago.

We are one, we are

Two people inside one body
Our own disgrace
Emotional champ so sorry

No sleep tonight
Only sweet reminders
Say keep tonight
Cause it's all I wanna

We are one we are
Shaping signs from nothing
We are done we are
Forgetting this means everything

No sleep tonight
Only sweet reminders
Say keep tonight cause it's all I wanna

All I wanna do
Emotional champ so sorry
All I wanna do
Emotional champ so sorry

-Emotional Champ, New Buffalo

I am out of tissues. And my red hoodie's sleeves are in bad shape.

An Explanation

Part One:

This morning at brunch some friends and I were discussing the feel of DC, in that it can be as big or small as you want it to be. This is one of the best things about the city, and the worst. It has everything a big city offers, but if you run in certain circles, it becomes very, very small.

Friend and I (in unison): I hate that!

Grumpy: Yes, but you (pointing to friend) don't have to deal with that as much as she (me) does.


Grumpy and I (in unison): YOU/I DON'T EVEN LIVE HERE!

Part Two:

Let me relay to you a brief synopsis of the movie An Education:

Girl randomly meets some dude who is twice her age during her senior year of high school. He befriends her. Then woos her. They spend a few months supposedly in love, at least she is in love and is the main driving force behind their relationship. She notices that everything he doesn't always sit well with her, but she ignores it because everything else, in her mind, makes up for it. And she knows that she should know better. Some of his friends know exactly what is going on and they keep mum. And then he completely fucks her over. The end.

Lessons learned from movie/quotes:

"I feel old, but not very wise."

"Taste isn't half the battle, it's the whole war."

Part Three:

Part Two should help explain what was meant by Part One. If you don't get it that's okay. I'm using secret girl-code. But really, if you don't get, then you just don't get it. DC, unfortunately, is full of people that get it. And those that do get it know exactly how to use the people that don't. It's a pretty sick relationship. I didn't always get it, I do now.