The Girl with the Punky Brewster Freckles
Happy belated birthday to shelly_rae
, and to fimbrethil
. I hope you both had much peace and joy on your days!
After looking at today's date, and remembering someone's birthday this weekend, I suddenly understand why I'm freaking out about everything, and why my brain won't shut the hell up.
My sister's anniversary is on Sunday.
Fri, Dec. 30th, 2005, 08:29 am
Tell me something: if I'm not doing anything wrong by talking to someone who contacted me first, why do I get the feeling I'm the one who's going to look like the asshole in a friendship that probably shouldn't be?
The friend understood last night that it just wasn't the best idea in the world for me to go to the party. Maybe he'll stop by the meet tonight, maybe he won't, I don't know. Maybe we'll have coffee next week or something. People have coffee. So I find it unsettling that I get am IM from the ex saying that he's "not sure how he feels about that, and [he] told [the friend] too," like it's all my fault that the friend contacted me. I've decided that I don't care. It's not like the friend's looking to sleep with me or anything (Mama eleanor will get mad at me, but I've talked to the guy before this, and while I'm not fat I'm too chubby for his tastes), so I don't really think I understand why it matters. We're not talking about the ex anyway, except sort of basic, "Did (the ex) give you my message?" "No, he never told me that you wanted my email." That was really about it. There was other stuff to talk about, as friendly people do.
It really shouldn't matter, should it? I mean, in the grand scheme of things I can see why it does, but I figure he's the one who broke up with me, and it's his friend who initiated contact. So, really, am I doing anything wrong?
I have finally achieved ID! Well, sort of. I lost my passport a few weeks ago, the only form of proper ID I had. So, today, after my interview, I headed to the DMV down on Greenwich Street and figured I'd try to get my learner's permit. After seeing the line, I decided that I'd just get a non-driver's and take it from there. Half an hour on line waiting to get my picture taken, then another 10 minutes at the window while the woman behind the desk pretended she didn't know what all my various forms of ID were (blatant lie, since they were all pretty self frickin' explanatory), and then over an HOUR waiting to get a temporary card, which I promptly left at eleanor 's house, where I stopped to try and cheer up a glum mama, and scarf down a lamb gyro (which, actually, ended up cheering her up, as I was assaulted by Norton the cat on the table, Morgan the dog begging from the floor, and Ellie the person who should know better just reaching into my plate!). I then watched an episode of seaQuest 2032 (the third and final season of the show) while she got dressed to go out. I was supposed to go out and meet someone tonight, but I'm too tired. I should probably call him, actually.
I've also decided not to go to this party late tonight. I think it would be strange and uncomfortable for me, and I'm mostly worried about being out on LI that late. It's my friend's party. He's going to go ahead and drink a whole lot, which is to be expected, and I don't want to have to rely on him to get me home in one piece. That's not really fair to either of us. Plus, if I take the LIRR back home from the Island at 3am, I'd have to walk through Jamaica to the E train, which is not something I'd like to do. I'll invite him out tomorrow for the NYers meeting, and if he stops by for a drink that's great. If not, we'll meet for coffee some other time. I don't want to end up having to stay out on the Island with him, is all, and I don't want him coming back to Queens and needing to stay with me. Now, I doubt that this is what he's all about, I don't get that feeling, but my instinct is telling me that this party is no bueno for me to be showing up at.
So, with that, I'm off to put on my jammies and settle in for another exciting night of seaQuest tapes that I've dug out of a box. Man, I could be going out to a party and surrounded by men, and instead I'm watching reruns of some lame-ass sci/fi show. . .starring Jonathan Brandis, no less! Oh, but how I loved me some Jonathan Brandis. . .I was sort of sad when he'd hung himself a couple of years ago, like a fond piece of my childhood was gone.
My day started with a strange email and a random phone call, and it's ended with a strange email and a random phone conversation. The phone rang early, while I was still in bed, so I waited till it went to voicemail. It turned out to be another staffing agency that's been sitting on my resume since November, that has an executive assistant position open and wanted me to come in tomorrow, so I'm going. My appointment is for 11:30, and then directly afterwards I'm going to go to the DMV and take the written test to get my learner's permit. I've lost my passport, my only form of ID, and I've got to do something to rectify it. I decided to check my email and found a friend request from My Space, and an email from someone I didn't think I'd ever talk to again (a friend of an ex). I sent an email back with my phone number, and we talked a couple of times over the course of the day. Mostly just catch up stuff, it was nice to talk to him because I'd always liked him.
Got a strange email when I'd gotten home. A friend had emailed me a link to yet another dating service. I didn't realise that I'd signed up my email for the thing until it was too late, and I'm getting weird emails from people now. I've already sent an email of complaint, because that shit ain't cool. I don't want to sign up for internet dating. Sometimes it's fun, mostly it's not for me. And then the ex's friend called again, so we talked for a bit. He invited me to go out tomorrow night, which I think is sort of weird, but I said I'd think about it (it wouldn't be until after midnight, which would a very tired Vanessa make). On the one hand, I could go and enjoy myself and just not think about it. On the other hand, this could open things up to such potential badness. From the way it sounded, the ex doesn't know that he contacted me, though I'm sure he'll find out soon enough. So, maybe I'll go, maybe I won't. I'm worried about the consequences. I guess I'm mostly worried about ruining a friendship that shouldn't have anything to do with me at this point.
Still, any opinions would be helpful. . .
Aunt G. is awful, and I was up late because I was so upset about what happened last night. This morning, only a few hours after I'd actually managed to get to sleep, my phone rang. I didn't want to get out of bed, but I was curious to see who'd called me, so I went to check my caller ID and see who'd called, and once I saw the number, I knew that this was the way of the powers-that-be making me feel better.
It was my bestest friend in the whole wide world. We'd been out of touch for months, as life goes sometimes for us, but I called her back and hearing her voice truly made my heart more whole. We caught up, and she told me about her new job, new boyfriend who loves her very much and even gave her a promise ring! (We always joked that she'd get married before me, even though I always had boyfriends or just men, and one of our inside jokes is that when I talk about a new guy, she starts singing the chorus of "Maneater" by Hall and Oates. Makes us laugh every time, has since high school!). I caught her up on family, and job doings, and we discussed how excited we are that her cousin is finally pregnant after years of trying.
Even though I know things deep down in my heart, sometimes, like everyone does, I need a reminder. She called at just the right time, she's always known how to do that. I'm glad.
And I feel a lot more settled inside.
Sat, Dec. 24th, 2005, 03:19 am
In a nutshell.
Felice Family Christmas(tm) would have been better if not for the chaos. Now, there's normally some drama created by Aunt G., but it's usually in my direction and no one notices. This year, because the dates had been moved around so much, her daughters didn't come. We were all disapointed, but sometimes these things happen. During our appetizers at Aunt F.'s and Uncle R.'s bar, Aunt G. stands up and says she has an announcement. We, of course, immediately joke, "You're pregnant!" and laugh. She says that she's going to be 69, and as the matriarch of the family now that Grandma's dead (mind you, Grandma Sally has been dead since I was about 8. That's about 16 years.) she's decided that we should hold family Christmas at her house from now on, since it's hard for her to travel. No one likes this idea. Not only does she live way out in Bay Shore, Long Island, but she also lives in a small apartment. We'd all fit, but it's uncomfortable and crowded with all of us together, because there's each family, each with two children in tow, plus people's significant others. You'd have upwards of 20 people crammed into a tight space, and it's no fun. The last time we had a holiday there, us kids had to eat in the kitchen at a "kiddie table". We were all either in our twenties or our late teens. So, Uncle P. suggests that we meet at a half way point, his house in Queens, and Aunt G. decides to tell Uncle R. that the real reason her kids weren't there was because they want to do the family celebration on Christmas Eve like we used to.
Now, none of us under 30 remember having our family Christmas actually on Christmas Eve. Uncle P. always worked, and we all had other places to go. At this point in time, we've all established traditions with other people. It's not fair to three sections of the family to have to change their plans because one section wants to do things their way. This HUGE argument ensued, no joke, for about an hour as to why or why not we should do things on Christmas Eve, and why it was rude of her to bring something like that up, etc. My cousin C. leaned down to me and said, "Where's your dad when we need a joke?" The fight went on and on, and at one point, when Aunt G. said something about her daughters' opinion, I jumped in and said, "Why does it matter what day we do it, if we're all together anyway?" Aunt G. looked at me and said, "This doesn't concern you, so butt out!" When I started to ask why it didn't concern me, she actually raised her voice and shouted at me, "Butt out, I told you! Just BUTT OUT!" I walked away in a huff, and Aunt D. had to calm me down. Not because I got yelled at, tempers were flaring all over the place and it was perfectly understandable, but for her to tell me that something doesn't concern me, when my cousin R. had said something, and my cousin C. had said something, all without comment from her, is simply bullshit. Eventually she calmed down, and Aunt G. apologised for yelling at me, so I told her it was okay, and that it was forgotten, but it's not. I'm actually really annoyed and really hurt.
Aunt G. treats me like I don't count fully as a member of my family. Granted, I really only see everyone once a year, and half the family doesn't bother talking to me unless they're forced to at a gathering, but that's okay. I am who I am, and I can't help it. But Aunt G.'s always been antagonistic towards me. When my father died, she was quick to take me in, even though it would have been better for all involved to let me stay where we'd been living. Aunt D. told me that today, that she suggested it and no one would listen. Once I moved in with Aunt G., nothing I ever did was good enough. Her daughter could do no wrong, and my cousins were fabulous, but I was just a brat who had no manners. She hit me once, I remember that, and she never did it again after she got no reaction. She treated me like a poor relation, which I guess I was, and as if she only took me in out of a sense of duty, not because she cared. My sister lived with her for a time as well, after she ran away from Aunt D.'s and Uncle P.'s, but decided to jump ship and leave there, too, to live with my grandmother where she'd have total freedom. After my sister left, Aunt G. tossed me out. She actually did, one day told me that I was too much for her and that I had to go live somewhere else. I was a week shy of my 12th birthday, and to this day I still don't know what I did to spur it on. A few years ago, at Thanksgiving, she told me that it was my mother's fault my father died, because she was the one who turned him onto the heroin. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "Yes, well, I don't remember her asking him to beat her when he was drunk, but I'm sure you'll find a way to blame her for that, too." I didn't talk to her for the rest of the night, and I never went back to Thanksgiving there. I'm not responsible for what happened to my parents; I was just a little kid. I didn't even know they were dying! I'm also not responsible for my sister's actions; she did what she wanted, and there was nothing I could have said or done to stop her. I'm lucky she even noticed me in those days! And now, she treats me differently than she does the other cousins. Like I'm not good enough, I'm simply not enough, a poor substitute for her brother Ralphie, and obviously not good enough to be his daughter. It's funny, when I was a kid, I adored my father. Aunt G.'s the only person with any pictures of him, it'll be like pulling teeth to get them from her, but she doesn't seem to think I deserve anything having to do with my dad. And then not only do I feel like a second class citizen at these family things, but she makes me feel just . . .not quite empty, but . . .it's sort of like when you're stomach's empty, and it hurts. That weird, twisty feeling even though your tummy feels hollow. I feel hollow. I feel angry and sad and just empty all at the same time, because my father's not there to defend me, and she won't hear a word I say because I'm not Ralphie.
She makes me feel like that confused and scared 11 year old kid again, who had to go live with strangers because her family didn't want her. She completely ruined my night. And I'll never forgive her.
Fri, Dec. 23rd, 2005, 10:41 am
I just made cookies for Felice Family Christmas(tm). The ones with the red and green M&Ms are still in the oven, but the chocolate chip ones are on a plate, waiting to be wrapped up. They're just Pillsbury, not home-made, but the Felice family doesn't care. At least, they'll say they don't care and then they'll talk about me for a month after; how lazy I am. My cousin C., closest to me in age, knows, because this morning we had our yearly, "What are you wearing?" phone conference. She was annoyed at me, but I always feel badly showing up to Christmas empty handed. I really don't see anyone for the rest of the year, and then I show up at Christmas for presents. Seems sort of . . .I don't know. I just hate it.
So, C. and I are dressing up this year, because she's got a pair of "holiday" pants that she feels she has to wear. I, on the other hand, do not have "holiday pants" that are not my jeans, so I now have to wear a dress. This wouldn't be so bad, I love the dress I'm going to wear, only I'm bloated. This is never good when you're wearing a dress, and though I could wear body armor under my dress, why bother? It's just my family, and I'm going to get the "You're looking chubby this year" comments anyway. I'm the only one who does. Maybe I'll find a skirt in my closet that magically has an elastic waist that I don't hate? I won't hold my breath.
Aunt D. is picking me up at 1:45 from the 179th Street/Jamaica Avenue station on the F train. I double checked to make sure it was running, but when C. was on the phone, I said, "How long is this whole thing going to last? Seriously. 1:45?" Neither one of us thinks that we'll be out on Staten Island for too long, probably not past 11, but when you get somewhere at 3:30, and you're surrounded by your family, anything past 7:15 is too long. . .at least, for me.
I tend to take the most abuse. Aunt D. and Uncle P. tend to try and deflect the abuse that Aunt G. hurls my way, but often they're off talking to other people, and I get cornered trying to pour myself a hefty dose of scotch. After a few years, it gets old.
Ahh, optimism. I just reread that last paragraph, and thought, "Well, at least it's good scotch!"
Hopefully I'll make it through this evening without raising my voice (there was one Thanksgiving that I didn't make it, and I haven't been back for that holiday since). Maybe Aunt G. will be nice to me, but likely she'll start off nice and then move on to the "I can't believe Jenna's gone" track. Last time she started this, I actually said to her, "I don't know why you care, she didn't like you very much." It only shut her up temporarily, but I think that maybe she's realising that I won't just meekly answer her questions anymore. When I was a kid, she scared me. She never really loved me, I think it was more out of obligation to my dad than anything else that she took me in. And now, raised away from the family, I have too many ideas and thoughts that are different, and this is her way of trying to bring me down.
I will always be the White Sheep of the Felice Family. I'm pretty proud of that. And now I'm going to go and take the cookies out of the oven before they burn. It's my good-faith effort, because every Felice Family Christmas(tm) seems to be theirs. . .
I commuted into the city today for a temp job. I didn't want to go, I wanted to stay in bed, but duty prevails, and I could use the money, so I tried to wait for the bus*. About an hour later, I trudged back home to try and call out, but ended up going to wait for the bus again. I got lucky this morning, and was able to catch a taxi. Coming home, however, too nearly all night! I got to the bus stop around 4:45 or so, and the line was already snaking around the block. I realised, after getting to the end of the line, that the bus stops at the corner of 60th Street and 2nd Avenue, and I, at the end of the line, was on 2nd Avenue halfway between 60th and 61st Streets. It sucked, but it was still light out, so I figured it'd be okay.
At 7, I was thisclose to getting on a bus. At 7:20, I finally did, but I had to stand. I'm not complaining about the standing, at least I didn't have to walk over any bridges or anything, but I was so tired and miserable, and on a bus with the most awful, vapid people. (I'm complaining about the people while I'm tired) I just wanted to go home, I just wanted a cup of tea and my jammies.
Hot water boiling, hot water achieved, I thought, "Okay, I'm tired, but I'll survive." The lightbulb in the kitchen blew, and after I changed it, I made the worst discovery of the night: there's no milk!
All I wanted was a flipping cup of Lady Grey tea, and I've used my last tea bag only to discover that there's no fucking milk in my fridge.
So, I'm going to have to go to bed with a cup of tea that's just not what I wanted, because, really, I'm not going to waste the tea, I really want it. And then I have to get up and start the whole commuting process all over again. Bleh. Fuck the TWU, and double fuck the MTA. All I wanted was my stupid flipping cup of tea. . .
EDT: I never added my explaination for the *. I live in an area of Queens that gets Green Line bus service. This would be wonderful if half of Queens wasn't taking this bus as well, making it difficult to get on the bus at my stop.