POW 123108

I've got the better part of three or four bottles of wine still working its way through me, so this is going to be even more stream of consciousness than usual. (Translation: if you thought the grammar and punctuation and typos were appalling before, well, I think I can promise you something even more spectacular tonight.)

***

You hear about it all the time, but the significance of it as a milestone in your life doesn't sink in until you've actually stood there and read them the riot act yourself without the slightest hesitation or self consciousness, as naturally as if you've been doing it all your life.

I had to knock some sense into my parents today about taking better care of themselves or help me god, I was going to march them right back to my house until they did.

It's not that it was the first time I've told them off because they've not been looking out for themselves, or because they were being lax about their health and needed some tough love. The difference is, there had always been, up to this point, a deference, a faint hint of a plead--almost as if I was the one who was at fault--so I wouldn't hurt their dignity or offend them.

This time, though, I didn't stop to think of anything but how they needed to be sat down and told to change what they were doing and no, it was not up for debate. Because I said so.

(I wasn't rude. I know I didn't offend them or belittle their intelligence and/or independence. That's why this was such a huge deal; I did it the same way I have had (and will have many more) similar conversations with the kid. It was an instinctive response to protect.)

I think probably what shook me up most, afterwards, when I stopped to think about it, was that I couldn't remember the last time I was on the receiving end of that kind of talk, and realized that I probably wouldn't be for a long, long time to come, until the day the kid decides to take me in hand, I suppose. All those years as a kid and then a teenager (and, I admit, even a young adult), I wanted nothing more than to be at the point where no one could tell me what I should and shouldn't do. Like a lot of things in life, once I got my wish, it simply wasn't all I though it was cracked up to be.

It's a lonely business, mostly, being a genuine adult.

***

When people ask me what my type is, I give them my usual pat answer (which then invariably results in a very obvious, almost exaggerated double take at L. (if he's nearby)--because, of course, I need to see that reaction to suddenly realize, after all these years, how contrary I've been. People are so predictable, sometimes. Anyway...)

What I never really divulge is my one true weakness which has, I confess, followed me through the years: I can't take my eyes off a guy who looks good in [cosmetic] make-up. As someone who's always been the low maintenance one in the relationship--and especially the despair of my mother for my almost complete lack of interest in hair and make-up, as a teenager and beyond--I'm not sure why I'm so fascinated by men who can carry off a splash of eyeshadow here and stroke of eyeliner there, while still looking eminently male. No doubt some therapist somewhere could have a field day with it. Me, I just call it my affinity for pretty [made-up] boys.

All weaknesses take form in some object of fantasy and desire and I latched on to mine at a pretty young age. The nice thing was, so had my sister who, as an equally low maintenance person (if I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've done my hair face in the last year, she can count on the same hand the times she's done it in her life) shares the same secret weakness. We've fought good naturedly about who exactly spotted him first, and while we may disagree about the answer, we both agree that love at first sight has stayed strong through almost three decades. Oh, there've been pretenders to the throne here and there, and sure we've strayed a few time through out the years, but the truth remains: we always go back to him as the golden standard.

And while some people might have been put off by it, we knew we were on to something when our parents--both of them!--conceded that he was definitely worth a second look. Granted, this was perpetuated by a video that boasted the real life fantasy of my dad (a certain British blond bombshell) and my mom (re: a nod to a certain spaghetti Western favorite of my mom's), but whatever the reason, en famille we all agreed: this boy was pretty charming for all of us.

Prince Charming - Adam and The Ants

(Seriously, over a quarter of a century later, and I still can't think of anyone I would replace him with, although, Marco wasn't half bad, either! Also, is this not the most awesome, typically early 80s video, complete with the cliched moves of the videos of the time, ever? Oh, in case you are wondering, the breakdown for favored look was: 3:11-Mom; 3:15-my sister; 3:17-me.)



Personal favorite? This one. I still listen to it quite often and it is one of my favorite tracks on my running playlist.

Stand and Deliver - Adam and the Ants



***

I don't really believe in resolutions for the new year, because resolutions basically fall into two groups: things you really can't control (even though you'd like to think you can) and things you can control. In the former's case, it's pretty much futile and frustrating to try and influence any change, and in the latter's case, whether or not you decide to do anything about it ultimately comes down to the moment and not how far ahead you thought about doing it and sticking to it. If I knew it would do any good to wish for something, I suppose I'd wish for a little less obvious awareness of our mortality--I've certainly never lacked it, at least not since I was a teenager, so the whole rubbing it in my face deal is a little overkill. I get it, I always have. Then, I suppose--and possibly hand in hand with that first wish--I'd want a little more of my old self, the one who could say fuck it all and shake it off and mean it, back.

But, when it comes to wishing, Burgess said it best:



Happy new year. :)