sooner or later
CONRAD MILTON’S “ON DREAMS”
It is ever so tedious when bloggers record their dreams for their yawning readers, who are thinking please get back to the tequila/blowjobs/vegan recipes/political commentary (depending on which blog you are reading, of course.) (Is there one that combines all of the above? Please send the URL.) But I cannot shake this series of recurring dreams about my high school boyfriend, who I have not spoken to in years and years. I mean, we’re not even Facebook “friends.” And yet he shows up every night, particularly if there has been wine or Benadryl. Last night he showed up with his best friend, and claimed my dad suggested we get back together.
Me: My dad? My dad has not given you a moment’s thought in two decades. He barely noticed you when we were actually going out.
Dream Ex-Boyfriend: Well that’s what he said. So you should take his advice. To quote Conrad Milton, “Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
Me: Who the fuck is Conrad Milton? Do you mean John Milton? And by the way, the bell-tolling thing is John Donne.
DExB: How about it, baby? You and me.
Me: For crying out loud! Get out of my house!
DIET FOR A SNACKY PLANET
The joke about things like baked chips or low-fat cookies is that people end up eating lots more than they should, to make up for the missing flavor. I bought some baked chips recently and found that the opposite is true for me. The chips were not that great so I had a few and then decided they were not worth my time. I could not be bothered to bring hand to mouth just for substandard snackitude. So, regular chips, hopefully in moderation, for me or no chips at all, I suppose.
Speaking of decadence and snacks, these chocolate-covered almonds are absolutely amazing (although the reviewer did not exactly agree). Before storing them with our other “treats,” I let Nora know that these were NOT FOR CHILDREN. Since the kid often chooses a stupid piece of sugarless Bubble Yum for her after-dinner sweet, I probably don’t have to worry.
I have been thinking about food lately anyway, because I got in a discussion with someone about why I am a sort-of vegetarian (“sort of” because I occasionally eat fish), and I gave them my usual spiel about how I “just don’t really like meat” and how it’s “less of an ideology thing than a taste thing.” Which is sort of true. I was the kid who refused to eat her steak, who stopped eating her fried chicken the minute a bone was visible (ewwwwww!), and who could maybe handle bacon if it was very crispy and she didn’t think too much about it.
But it’s also sort of a lie. I will never be the sort of PETA jerk who hands you pamphlets and asks if you enjoyed your “suffering burger,” but there is a part of me that thinks that killing an animal because we find it tasty is sad and wrong. Then I think about how I am totally copping out with the “don’t like meat” explanation, even with its partial truth, because I don’t want to make people uncomfortable and defensive with the “don’t like killing” explanation. Also because I don’t want people calling me on my hypocrisy: occasional fish consumption, leather shoes, my love of fancy cheese (apparently I don’t want cows killed, just confined and pregnant and miserable).
I guess really it is not anyone’s business how high up on the food chain I eat. So quit asking the question, people! Because my answer could fill a book and I will get all stammery and defensive and include a lot of disclaimers about how I don’t really care what you personally eat, but on a macro level I guess I sort of do care, and and and and and and. Then you will resolve never to speak to me about anything remotely complicated ever again.
AS LONG AS WE ARE BEING SERIOUS
Hey, do you want to hear more of my conflicted, unpleasant feelings surrounding difficult topics? Of course you don’t! But I will type it anyway!
One of my Facebook acquaintances had a birthday, and for some reason he decided to mark the occasion by writing something on his “wall”* about our college friend who killed himself, years ago. I did not really get the connection, but maybe he was feeling all Requiem Mass, in-the-midst-of-life-we-are-in-death, etc, about getting older. Or something. (I have not said much publicly about this friend’s death, except briefly here.)
*You will see that I am incapable of describing Facebook features and interactions without the use of irony quotes.
Anyway, of course he got plenty of responses for this, and lots more of my fellow alumni and friends joined in to share their own reminiscences and anecdotes, and I found myself surprisingly angry and unwilling to join in. It is not that I don’t have my own memories of this friend. I have lots. I have funny stories, drug-fueled escapades, late-night talks. I have a folder of awesome post-graduation email where he and I got shockingly honest about sharing some of the more twisted bits of ourselves. But I can’t sit around and be all like “yeah he was a great dude” when I am still so pissed about the way he left.
I wonder when I will be able to think of him fondly. It sounds like a nice goal to have and the socially-accepted way to think of the dead.
It has been almost six years. I’m still mad.
WATCH WHAT HAPPENS
When is the next plane to Los Angeles? I have drunk a whole lot of green tea and now I am off to pitch my new reality show. Rapper The Game, reality-show loser The Situation, Irish grandpa The Edge, and failed Canadian Football League player The Rock all have to live in a house together. Caught on tape! I will call the show “Definite Article.”
—mimi smartypants was escorted off the premises.