Regretting Regrets

February 18, 2006

Regrets. Everyone tells you not to live your life amassing regrets but I seem to have a collection that rivals my father’s stamp collection. I looked at my parents growing up, and they weren’t happy. Money problems. Marriage problems. Their life just wasn’t what they wanted. My mother, wanted to be a journalist, ended up as a nurse and gave that up to be a fulltime mother. My father, in the navy, wanted to be the big time sales guy, ended up filing for bankruptcy after being duped by his business partner.

At first, I didn’t have regrets. Freshman year at school, I was voted the most outgoing freshman not just in my dorm, but in the band, the Stanford Band. The same band that got suspended for mocking the potato famine and the pope on the field during the football game against Notre Dame. The same band that made me drop trou and moon a stadium full of people. I was the craziest freshman. No regrets. Living life 110 mph.

Then I finally got diagnosed. Everything changed. My life came to a sudden halt. I didn’t go out anymore. I became depressed. I stopped living. Invites went unanswered. Regrets began to litter my doorstep.

I thought things would get better after college. I got a job in the government working on classified stuff. That was cool Alias cool. I began an experimental trial for treatment of my illness. I thought this would fix me. This would put an end to all my regrets. If I got through the next 18 months, I would never live life all bundled up in a cocoon again. I lied. Not just to myself but to life.

I met this terrific guy backstage at the Bonnaroo Music Festival. I was running sound and acting as a camera assistant for the official DVD and festival film. He was in a band. A pretty well known band. I was eating lunch with guys I had seen on MTV and they dug me. I flirted, laughed, and go to see Trey Anastasio backstage in the VIP area. I liked him, he liked me. It was too good to be true. I was off of treatment and it had been successful so there was no reason for me not to go for it. But then it came knocking another regret at my door.

He had to go on tour but emailed and called me religiously, making plans to hang out when he returned to New York. But then he came and I was no where to be found. I ran away because I was scared. I didn’t know how to live anymore and that regret that came knocking got added to my collection. I never talked to him again, ignoring every communication from him. I see him on tv from time to time and I want to explain what happened, but I can’t. Another regret has already laid down to rest at my feet.

I use to live life for life and now I live life just to live and pass time. I didn’t become my parents like I feared I would, I became even worse. Regrets are stacked higher than the Empire State Building, but I can’t seem to stop adding to the construction of my tower, locking me in, locking others out.


To the left of normal

February 17, 2006

I have a friend whose dad is a Catholic priest. No really. And she’s not adopted, illegitimate, or been? mishandled? inappropriately either. Her dad and mother got their marriage annulled due to his calling to the higher order, and now she’s the daughter of a priest.

Apparently there’s a whole bunch of offspring of priests. Some of them probably are along the veins of the Pope John XII, who like slept with his father’s mistress and his niece (and also castrated a deacon) and had enough illegitimate children to repopulate China, but then there are probably the whole annulled kids, we really exist and are legitimate population too. Her mother is a hippie who “remarried? in the forest. Really her step-dad and mom did some ‘shrooms in the forest, he passed her an old key chain ring and there you go marriage made in bliss. I don’t quite get how any of this works, but she is surprisingly normal. Well I mean she’s not a mentalist and is as normal as can be if your dad is a catholic priest and you mom is a hippie who got high in the forest on’ shrooms and declared herself married by power of the key chain ring. She’s got a proper job and everything. Her boyfriend is a bit dodgy. She met him on the internet and for some reason, he has this q-ball bald head but a fumanchu facial growth thing going on. Seems perfectly nice, but again, bald head, fumanchu facial hair. Makes me wonder if he just woke up one day and decided that not only was he going to shave his head but he was going to grow some ridiculous facial hair in order to make himself a candidate for that i-banking job.

All this drama in her life and yet she is probably the most rational, sane, grounded person out there. Sure, she loves Bill Nye and recently went into morning upon his announcement of marriage, but aside from a few quirks, no Bridget Jones type drama. I however, who probably had a more normal childhood, however am completely living in a David E. Kelly Dramedy replete with a chorus line who performs random choreographed numbers for me on the weekends (Seriously, try working part-time with out of work actors and you can see any broadway show condensed down into five minutes for free on call). On one hand my life seems fairly normal and the people in it surprisingly sane, but I on the other hand run just outside of that lane of normalcy. I don’t middle, I just either have drama, comedy, or both.

It makes me wonder what goes into the cosmic cards to make someone have a balanced life, despite their background, and others who should have become the dullest of the dull have so much randomness and chaos? Did I somehow squish some cosmic cockroach and this is the gods of karma way of getting back at me?

Olympics ver. 2010- a scary world

February 17, 2006

My boss just announced that he wants to be on the 2010 US Olympic Curling Team. He has never curled, never shown an interest in sports-except lifting his beer to his face while watching the NY Giants- but has now officially decided to join a curling club.

His qualifications, he once played shuffleboard at summer camp 30-odd years ago and was pretty good. Plus, about 12 years ago he was interviewed on the Today show for the “from the crowd” segment because his cousin was on the Italian hockey team. Legend he was. Great on air personality. So great, I’ve seen that clip a hundred times and now he’s putting it on dvd so he can show his new baby son that when he gets older. The poor kid. That’s the equivalent to having to sit and watch vacation slide shows for the rest of his life. Makes me want to liberate the wee thing before the video montage starts.

But back to curling, Bossman’s a shoe-in I tell you.
I tried to play along asking him, what would he rather be, a let-er go-er or a sweeper?

“A let-er goer,” he replied, “they are the true masters and get all the glory.”

I replied that it would be harder to get on the Olympic team as a let-er goer as there is just one, there are more sweepers so statistically you’d have a better shot.

“No,” he replied, “there can be only one and I will be that one.”

“Will you,” I replied, “given that there is already ‘the one’ on the Olympic team and unless he pulls a groin muscle he’ll probably remain that way.”

“Oh, he has nothing on my posing,” he replied-followed by muscling up on the floor in a let-er goer position. Scary sight. Think he may have pulled a groin muscle in the process.
What could I do but photoshop a pic of his head onto a curling let-er goer, tape it to his computer while he was at lunch, and then leave early before he got back citing my tummy feeling a wee bit poor.

I don’t do holidays

November 21, 2005

But I want this Nabaztag: