Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I know it's been a little while since I've posted. It's been kind of a crazy week and a half.

On the 19th, I got a call from my friend Deanne. Deanne, unfortunately, seems to have become the bearer of bad news.

I knew it was bad news when I saw a missed call from Shawn, and then a missed call from Deanne.

I knew it was really bad news when I checked the follow up text from Deanne telling me I needed to call her right now.

I knew it was really, really bad news when the first words out of her mouth were "You need to sit down".

For once in my life, I actually did what I was told.

"Mackenzie is dead". That's all I really remember about the conversation. She says I just made some noises like I was trying to talk, but the words didn't seem to work.

Mack was the little sister of one of my closest friends, and kind of like a little sister to all of us. She became such a part of our lives that I still can't wrap my head around the idea that she's gone. Some of my favorite memories have Mackenzie in them.

I'm still reeling, and so are most of my social circle.

I drove out to Iowa the next day, and spent the time I wasn't with her sister crying into my best friend's shirt. In my defense, I warned him not to wear light colors.

I just haven't had much to say since.

Everyone seems to be going around their lives, happy and oblivious, and all I can think about is how can they be happy when we are all falling apart? And I keep waiting to wake up from what is just an awful nightmare.

Mack, you will be missed terribly. I love you, and I'm better for having known you.

There's not much else to say.

Friday, August 13, 2010

It was my 28th birthday yesterday. I have to say, the sheer amount of email I got was overwhelming and humbling. I think I got back to everyone, if not, my most sincere apologies. You either got stuck in my spam filter, or I hate you. Probably the spam filter. Unless I actually hate you, in which case, you suck.

28 is not a great birthday. My sister just had a baby, one of my best friends in the world is getting married, and suddenly, I feel old. At this age, I’ve passed the point of being close to 25 and now linger dangerously close to 30, and suddenly I find myself wondering about all sorts of shit I never cared about before.

For example, I spent what was close to 3 hours last night worrying about whether or not my stock portfolio was performing as well as I had expected and whether or not I’d have enough money to retire when I turn old enough for that sort of thing. That immediately progressed into Holy-Shit-That-
IS-A-Gray-Hair, which turned into a complete panic attack because my apartment is a mess.

Which is not unusual. It’s messy even by my standards, but it’s been a ridiculously busy month or two so I haven’t felt really compelled to do a Martha Stewart. This time, because I am now old, I decided that I am single because my apartment is a mess and no one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table.

I will let you think about that for a second.

No one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table.

It’s not “No one will ever marry me because I’m impossible to please”, “No one will ever marry me because I have impossibly high standards”, or even a well-deserved “No one will ever marry me because I’m the type of insane that thinks no one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table”. It’s “No one will ever marry me because I have clutter on my kitchen table”. As if somehow the entire dating world knows that my kitchen table is covered in old bills, receipts, shopping bags and random purses and somehow that got me onto some crazy blacklist.

The logical side of me tries to take over. Because really, the people I’d want to marry don’t give a flying shit about how cluttered my kitchen table is. And in reality? The people who I’d want to marry only give a flying shit about how cluttered my kitchen table is if it somehow impedes my ability to remove my top.

It’s like at midnight on August 12, I completely lost my mind. Sex in the City and all those other shitty dating shows lied. Getting older while being single in a huge metropolitan area not only sucks like Lindsay Lohan for an 8 ball, it also makes you crazier than shit.

Cause nothing says sexy like being old and crazy.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some kids to chase off of my lawn.