Monthly Archives: May 2011

conflict.

there’s a theory that, in your adult life, you re-create whatever dynamic was damaging in your childhood and try to repair old wounds by re-hashing the relationship with someone new. a friend told me that she realized she’d been creating relationships with people who ignore her and/or are rude because that’s how her mother was, and subconsciously, if she can win the love of these people, she would feel better about not ever receiving the love that she wanted from her mother.

this makes total sense to me. what i couldn’t figure out is what the source of my problem was.

my parents are, and always have been, amazing. i was your standard, run-of-the-mill suburban brat and had to be severely punished a few times, but i deserved everything i got and probably even more that i didn’t get, because i was my own best defense attorney.

in spite of being well parented, year after year, i find myself on the fuzzy end of the relationship lollipop, and i sought the advice of my therapist to source this pattern. he explained to me that it’s human nature to seek conflict, and that i appear to have, in the absence of an obvious obstacle to work out, switched roles. essentially, i am now playing the part of a good parent, and i have cast the role of “the child” with various ungrateful brats, not unlike myself in my teenage years. i have been dumping unconditional love and support into people who are breaking curfew, stealing cigarettes, and giving me the finger behind my back.

of course i understand that we all infuse our lives with conflict. i used to read and develop scripts for a living – there is no good story without a conflict. but as an audience, and as the star of our own story, we also seek conflict resolution. i’m learning how much easier it is on all of my senses if i spare myself as much pain as possible. i’m beginning to steer around the potholes of people that cause me a bumpy ride. i’m not going to fill buckets with holes in them any more.

for those of you raising children and doing everything you can to get it right, yep, i guess this means that no matter what, your kid will somehow end up with a few screws loose, whether or not it’s your fault. and that is, for my previous blog audience, a damn good reason to be happy that you don’t have kids.


memorializing.

war is such a male instinct. i have never and will never understand it. as a child i wondered why, in times of arguments, world leaders didn’t just play a game of chess for a resolution. i still wonder. nevertheless, every single soldier who has ever fought for their country has my ultimate respect. most soldiers in our country these days enlisted because they are poor, and they need to barter their life for an education or a salary to support their families. i’m not sure how a holiday where we bbq and lay on the beach pays them any respect, but here’s to you, the american soldier; past, present, and future.


he left his humor in san francisco.

his message to me on ok cupid was a good one. i wish i had saved it but i like to delete messages almost as much as i like throwing things away. excess in my life equals excess static in my brain. i know that i liked what he had to say, though, because it’s rare that i’m intrigued enough by the message to click on the profile, and i clicked on his. he was cute, with a boyish smile and a self-depricating wit.

his reply to my reply was that he was heading to san francisco to work for three weeks, that he wanted to take me out when he returned, and in the meantime, he’d like to have my phone number so that we could stay in touch.

i hate talking on the phone.

luckily, he was a texter. he texted me pictures and funny stories of his trip. things were going well.

a couple of days before his return to nyc, he messaged me again through okc to firm up our plans. i took a second look through his pictures and realized that he was wearing a hat in every shot.

in my estimation, 70% of men on dating sites are bald and/or balding, and most of them try to conceal it.

i thought that i should get this out of the way; acknowledge it before our meeting, so he doesn’t make the standard awkward joke about his baldness and then reluctantly remove his hat as if he’s revealing the answer to some great riddle that i haven’t already figured out.

i wrote him: do you have a gorbachev-sized birthmark on your head? thinking i’m cleverly overreaching, so that he can come back with, nope, just bald! and i can say something conciliatory and comforting like, ha, no worries, i don’t find hair to be a requirement for a pleasant date. 

instead, he replies with one sentence: i just had brain surgery. 

i’m taken aback. nothing to soften this information, no qualifiers like but the scar is very small or i’m recovering nicely. one curt sentence.

relax, i tell myself, he’s a funny guy, it’s probably a joke! fire back with something light:

wow, that’s awkward. if you’re not joking, that would be like me making a ‘yo mama’ joke and you telling me that your mom is dead. 

his reply: my mother recently died of cancer. don’t ever contact me again. 

i waited a day for his “just kidding” message, fully prepared to congratulate him on his seinfeldian skill of turning awkward into a sitcom.

instead, he blocked me, and i decided not to date that week.


gym vs. nature.

i realized the other day as i was rushing home after work to throw on my clothes and make it to the gym in time to get a treadmill before the crush of other people arrived and i would have to stand behind someone on the treadmill and wait for their 30 minute allotment to end before i could have their machine that this is a source of unnecessary stress for me. so i headed to the hudson river park and ran/walked from the west village to battery park and back. how gorgeous. why have i been paying $70 a month to exercise indoors like a rat on a wheel? never again.


wah.

my life is comprised of first world problems, also known specifically for my race and gender as white girl problems, which, by the way, is the name of  a great twitter feed here.

the soundtrack for this last year of my life could be the alanis morisette song that is not actually about examples of irony, even though she seems to think it is. it’s just about things that suck. but that song (ironically) sucks, so i don’t even really know what I’m talking about here, because i would never want a bad song by alanis morrisette to be involved in my life, although i do recall being very interested, when i was in the 10th grade, in if “you oughta know” was about dave matthews or dave coulier. the word on the street was that both men had broken her heart. that was my generation’s version of the “you’re so vain”/carly simon mystery.

anyway. if i ever feel sorry for myself , i have a nice, hearty laugh, because even my biggest problems are so paltry, and of course, having silly problems is a luxury.  maslow’s hierarchy of needs taught me that only once i’ve met my basic survival needs will i begin to focus on larger, more complex issues and desires. i don’t know if I totally buy this, because i imagine that if i had to worry about finding food and water, i wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about all of the stupid shit in addition to being hungry and thirsty. so at least I don’t have to combine my ridiculous woes with survival issues, because hunting and gathering while wondering about everything else would be a bit much, ya’ll.

as of late, the pity party goes something like this:

*why can’t i afford a closet full of maxi dresses and cute sandals for the summer?

*how is it that anyone thinks that walking three people side by side and taking up a tiny new york sidewalk all for themselves is remotely okay? and is it normal for me to have fantasies of punching these people squarely in the forehead, or should i be worried about that instinct?

*it must be possible to be compatible with someone both in personality and in bed. right?

*i don’t have the money, the vacation days, or the diving partner needed to go scuba diving.

*seriously, this tiny cat sheds a LOT.

*if i owned a sports bra for every day of the week, i would never have an excuse not to work out.

*how will i keep my curly hair from being frizzy in this humidity? i have bangs for the first time since i was 12. i should have thought this through before the weather turned to 80 degrees.

*i’m really gonna miss oprah.

*i can’t ever get an appointment for a manicure when it’s convenient for me. and when i get there, ready to relax and veg out, some bitch is invariably always next to me on her cell phone.

*if i see a cute dude on the street, what else can i do but walk past him?

*when someone is late, this is a passive-agressive way of telling me that i am not important.

*there isn’t enough time for all of the music and books that i want to consume.

*i like men who don’t like me. i have no interest in the men that are aggressively campaigning for me to like them. this is frustrating.

*how are people capable of being such fantastically surprising assholes? will this ever cease to surprise me? do they feel bad about hurting me? does it make me feel better to imagine them feeling bad? kinda. why is that?

*my thighs will never be small. i must let this dream die.

*is the irs serious about me paying them all of this money? how many years of payments will this take? don’t they know i’m saving for maxi dresses?


aging.

i turn 34 next week. what can i say about getting old in new york that hasn’t already been presented by the ladies of sex & the city? now i’m an old hag just like them, without the closet full of louboutins and the three best friends in the same shitty position to bitch and moan with every sunday brunch.

i have a lot of freckles. freckles and wrinkles are not a good look. i’ve got two or three more years, tops, of cute.

also, at this stage in life, trying to lose weight becomes scary, because what happens with the extra skin? yaaaay, now the choice is skinny and wrinkly or fat and smooth.

i am just one long summer’s day without sunscreen away from needing to photoshop my online dating pictures, meet the guy in a dark bar, slip a roofie in his drink, and leave well before the harsh truth of sunrise greets us.

i used to see a cathy cartoon and think, oh you ignorant symbol of all that is annoying, how dare you fly in the face of feminism with your single life struggles, your needy pet, your bowl of chocolate ice cream, your insecurity, your bathrobe and your trivial remarks about your menstrual cycle. cathy, you dumb bitch.

now i just wonder, shit, are cathy and i that different? 


dating.

one of the main reasons i came back to blogging was to record the sad hilarity of my dating life. whenever i give one of my friends a date re-cap, they ask me when i’ll be turning these stories into a book. i don’t know, you tell me, fancy book agent reading this blog in my imagination. 

i’ve been dating since i split up with my husband last summer. i try to go on at least one date a week. sometimes a really bad date will send me into hiding for a bit. sometimes i’ll go on three dates in one week and find myself so exhausted from the small talk that i can’t think straight and am disoriented to the point that i need to lay down and focus on something fabulous and unrelated to men, like scuba diving or balenciaga.

i imagine that i date similarly to how a stand up comedian develops their routine. i tell a story and if it elicits a positive reaction, i will note that story as a winner and re-use it. occasionally i test new material and it bombs, never to be repeated again. sometimes i get so drunk that i don’t remember much of what i said at all, although i’ll be treated with little flashes the next day of a particularly stupid comment that i made, and i will literally smack myself in the head. which hurts, because i’m hungover.

in the interest of self-improvement and to satisfy a giant curiosity, i’d like to pass out comment cards for these guys to fill out in the comfort of their own home and mail back to me later, with questions like “on a scale of librarian to slut, how would you rate karyn’s outfit?” and “would you say that karyn’s overall personality made you want to take her home to mama or run home and cry to mama?”

i’m a year knee deep into dating and haven’t found anyone that i want to take home to mama. i met someone who i thought had real potential, who spoke of taking me skiing the next weekend, a clear indicator, i thought, of a future…he didn’t ever call me again. another guy that i was sure i could see myself with basically stabbed my face with his tongue instead of kissing me, and was seemingly shocked when i suggested that he call me a car to take me home and oh yeah, that he should learn how to kiss. i’ve met handfuls of men who claim to want to be my boyfriend but i have not had reciprocal feelings for any of them. i’ve met several unclassifiable, legitimate lunatics, all crazy in their own special way. i appreciate these dates, because at least they’re not boring. i’ve been out with two insanely hot men, one a successful actor and one a model, and they proved to be the most uninteresting of all. that’s fine with me, because i could never date a man far prettier than i am. my self-esteem couldn’t handle it.

being tall is my only non-negotiable requirement; you must be at least six feet tall, because i am six foot two inches in heels. everything else is up for discussion. just keep in mind that it’s likely that i’ve had this discussion before, and am tweaking it based on my last date’s reaction, so please say something original, and i’ll be super impressed.

(dating embroidery by loobiloo)


i have not grown tired of rapture jokes.


hip hop don’t stop.

i work in hip hop these days. stop laughing. i actually know more about hip hop than most 33 year old white girls. i was married to a DJ for ten years, some of it sunk in when i wasn’t even paying attention. thanks, eric; without you i wouldn’t know that lyor cohen is a legend, or that kevin liles and russell simmons are actually not related even though they do resemble each other.

i am learning to decipher terms that i was not previously familiar with before this job. this is not always easy, but google really does illuminate almost any situation. except for “how to change your outlook on life” – i googled that on one particularly gloomy day and i found that search to be of no help at all. without further ado, here is

karyn’s hip hop dictionary

you’re welcome, in advance. i will add to this as i learn more.

*730 – crazy. this comes from a code used in the psychiatric field – if someone is to be committed, they are “730″. used in a sentence that i’ve heard in my office:

“karyn, do not put that bitch through to me on the phone, i don’t want to hear what she has to say about anything, she is 730″.

*go left – allow things to get off track. as in:

“karyn, be sure to have everything confirmed, because knowing how 730 this bitch is, if we aren’t prepared, things will go left”.

*stay in your lane – while this may be self-explanatory, the point in mentioning it is just that this expression is used A LOT in hip hop:

“karyn, stay in your lane, do your job, and keep focused, because if you let things go left, imma have to go 730 on your ass”.

*100 – short for 100% candid or honest:

“karyn, can i be 100 with you? if you don’t stay in your lane, things will go left, and this bitch will be 730″.

*deuces – goodbye, to be said instead of peace when you throw your two fingers up to leave.

if you are truly striving to be hip hop, do not set up your cell phone voice mail. this way, instead of having to check your messages, a recording from sprint or at&t plays for your callers informing them that they can’t leave a message because you have not ever set up your voice mail. then it hangs up on them, forcing your caller to text you if they want to reach you, allowing you to decide whether or not to text them back, and keeping you from ever actually having to speak on the phone. i appreciate this move deeply, because i hate speaking on the phone except when it’s my mother or my best friend tracy. for some reason i can talk to either of those ladies for hours, but the only thing i hear when someone else is on the other end is a voice in my head asking me how long ’til i can hang up.

the less-desired second hip hop voice mail option, a bit more clumsy than the first, but still just as effective, and a definite must if you have already set up your voice mail and only now realize that it was a terrible misstep you aren’t actually obligated to have one, is to let your voice mail box fill up. then a recording from verizon or t mobile or whatever phone carrier is currently screwing you  comes on to apologize to your callers and tell them that they can’t leave a message because your mailbox is full. this is attractive to me because it gives your audience the illusion that you are incredibly busy and popular. i could never be a full-voicemail gal, though, because the curiosity of knowing what those 12 or so voice mails are that it would take to fill up my mailbox would kill me.

just because i don’t like it when people call me doesn’t mean that i don’t want to know who it was and what they had to say.


today is the first day of the rest of this blog.

i’m so drawn to the internet. do you think i’m the only one?

after a year long blogging hiatus, i’m back.

too bad i lost my readership along with two years of content.

ah, well. i smell a fresh start. but that may just be febreeze.


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