my thoughts, in three parts

I.

I have fallen in love more times than I care to count with the highest potential of a man rather than with the man himself, and then I have hung on to the relationship for a long time (sometimes far too long) waiting for the man to ascend to his own greatness. Many times in romance I have been a victim of my own optimism. (285)

II.

"Everyone gets like this, at the beginning of love. Wanting too much happiness, too much pleasure, until you make yourself sick. Even to Wayan this happens at beginning of love story. Lose balance."
"I'm embarrassed," I say.
"Don't," she said. Then she added in perfect English (and perfect Balinese logic), "To lose balance sometimes for love is part of living a balanced life." (298)

III.

...and I wonder if I am capable of being somebody's sun, somebody's everything. Am I centered enough now to be the center of somebody else's life? (311)

moment of truth

Mom: "So I was at the Great Banquet* and you were at a gay bar."
Me: "Yeah... but doesn't that explain our entire relationship in a nutshell?"



*religious retreat

Deep Thoughts by Elise Shrock

I have the most fabulous friend ever.

Elise Shrock (Butler) wrote at 6:41am on August 31st, 2007

Um. It is 6:34 a.m. I am at work, and it is way to early to stomach those dresses. I just happened to take a gander through these pics during a music break and let me just say: My hawaiian dress is STILL sealed in the bag that I put it in the next morning at Allison's house. I know that is a gross thing to admit but I'm so very, very, scared of going near it for fear of the White Castle stench creeping out. My mom and I decided that we should probably burn it. Seriously, it's the only way to take care of the problem and way more fun than just throwing it away. It's kind of like at church camp when they tell you to write your sins on a paper and then throw them in the fire to give them up. Well, those dresses are the paper and White Castle was the sin.

Music Mill

A spontanteous evening of music and drinks and eerily connected acquaintances and friends.

Highlights:
1. Met Josh Kelley. He's lovely. And one of very few people I can wholehearted say looks delicious in ripped/faded jeans.
2. Did not wake up in any random musician dressing rooms or ask for autographs in inappropriate anatomical areas. Makes for a nice change.
3. 2 people I absolutely adore were also present... and knew each other (crazy!)... and were as lovely and beautiful as always. (small small world this is)
4. Pat McGee is still so cute I could eat him with a spoon. Yes, Jen Kraus, he's still adorable.
5. Lauren's drunk dancing is, like... so hot right now. Thank god we're all so fantastically uninhibited and I can count on my friends to be not only non-judgmental but also equally outgoing/outrageous/fearless.
6. For the first time in my entire life, I actually gave out a phone number at a concert... that belongs to MY FATHER. That's right... I was totally pulling a PR job on my dad as a surgeon and gave his office info to this fantastic guy we met with a wrist injury.... but really, isn't is a compliment that he asked me for it? I can't really be so terrible if people are (soberly) considering my professional recommendation of my pops as a valid and worthwhile thing, right??

Mmmmm... I love us.

frustration

I really wish I could find the December 25, 2000 New Yorker. Specifically page 96.

_____________

Old Roses

• Hear Donald Hall Read 'Old Roses'

White roses, tiny and old, flare among thorns
by the barn door.
For a hundred years
under the June elm, under the gaze
of seven generations,
they lived briefly
like this, in the month of roses,
by the fields
stout with corn, or with clover and timothy
making thick hay,
grown over, now,
with milkweed, sumac, paintbrush.
Old
roses survive
winter drifts, the melt in April, August
parch,
and men and women
who sniffed roses in spring and called them pretty
as we call them now,
walking beside the barn
on a day that perishes.

- Donald Hall

1967 Envy

Watched Belle de Jour today with the incomparable Catherine Deneuve. A very noir film - a twist of sophisticate in a sexually bizarre cocktail of fantasy and bedroom eyes a la 1967.

God do I want her hair.

Had just watched the Colts game by myself (and ironed, incidentally) and was feeling a bit too Midwestern for my own good. Solution? Vintage French cinema.

Was admittedly shaken by the fantasy rape sequences - the film introduces Catherine's character in a scene where she is (turns out) imagining her own humiliation and gang rape in the Parisian woods. Small wonder the film was seen as 'controversial' and shelved for 35 years.

Fascinating, though, isn't it? 40 years later and the piece still holds power, even for someone like me who spent her entire childhood dismissing shock from her emotional arsenal of reactions... Oooohhh and she looks so ravishingly stunning in every scene, even when she has sunk into her most desperate moments and her hair is bed-russled and heaped atop her miserable head. She wins my Style Icon of the Month and henceforth I shall attempt some semblance of her poise and elegance.

If only someone would send me the Yves Saint-Laurent wardrobe she wore.

weekend update

1. Thursday: game night/reality television debate + fox and hound + late night breakfast conference with Julie.

2. Friday: psycho neurotic cleaning fest. highlights including hand-washing of each and every goddamn piece of cookery/flatwear/drinking vessel in the house and dropping the cutting board on my foot (hair in curlers at the time). red wine consumed. in subsequent effort to compensate, overdress and primp a la Miss America. Continue with Julie to Rathskellar, run into friends, drink Big Gulp size pilsner, admire general terror of surrounding urban male population (read: no one talked to us... no one). Proceed to MacNiven's and kick off Cranberry/Vodka Fest 2K7. Run into friends. Consume multiple cocktails. Befriend strangers, some worthy, some not so. Divulge phone numbers. Joined by friends later in the evening, by which time I am most deliciously and ridiculously inebriated. (Dishwashing fiasco long forgotten). Make several embarrassing comments to be later retold to me the next day by Julie. Eventually walk home with Julie. Somehow set off smoke alarm whilst attempting drunk popcorn snack. [smoke alarm now resting dormant on kitchen table]. Crash in bed.

3. Saturday: wake up next to Julie with smashing hangover. Send texts while Julie snoozes, mostly to complain of hangover.
- Classic response from Elise 1: "Changing for a wedding we are obviously late for in a truck stop somewhere along a highway in ohio while mom's menopause is at its peak! And missing you!"
- Classic response to response from Elise 2: [photo included of Elise in car spritzing perfume] "French shower... check. Car shave... check. Trying to make this mess of last night's bar hair look acceptable... damn near impossible."
Spend entire mid-day recovering on couch. By 4 pm finally manage to shower and refresh before running errands. Buy more groceries at Target than my poor 'rexic kitchen has ever seen. Also enthusiastically replenish laundry detergent supply and cleaning products. Hurrah for Downy April Fresh. Home for evening despite invites to several bar soirees (most of which are discovered far late into the night).

4. Sunday: Colts game. [Sorry 'boutcha Houston]. Had planned on group spectator event yet lacked motivation to track anyone down or leave the flat. Sorry everyone. Instead, simultaneously cheer at television while ironing dress shirts and finishing laundry. Manage to escape incident burn-free despite aggravating fumble/interceptions which inevitably occurred during crucial ironing-of-the-collar moments. Begin Phase One of seasonal wardrobe switch by storing most useless summer pieces and unveiling autumn sweaters. Mmmmmm... and Clean Sheet Day.

doppelganger

If I were brunette and more conservatively religious, I could perhaps be confused with this Allison Mitchell.

Alas, I am not, although I hope that she does feel better soon.

One of the multitude of discoveries made by googling oneself. Turns out my name is far short of 'unique' but a few notches above 'run-of-the-mill.' nonetheless, there are me's out there scampering all over this wide planet whilst waving my own familiar moniker as if it were solely theirs.

Little do they know, those other Allison Mitchells, that while they're coaching their parenting seminars and raising organic livestock and managing the world's finance, somewhere in the heart of the nation is someone like me.

p.s. I love this song:
Silence everyday for two weeks
and I know you cry when you think I’m asleep.
You’re so distant, can’t you turn to me?
Am I different?
How should I be?
I love to get a little bit crazy maybe.
I love to get a little bit dirty. Sue me.
Why is it that everytime I’m near you, you’re gonna desert me?
Speak up if you’ve got something to say.
If not I’ll just act as if we’re okay.
I don’t think that we should waste one more night.
Let’s solve this so I can turn down the lights.

Patsy and Edina, Labor Day 2007

Freshly coined vocab:

"SMUM" - smug married undesirable man
"SMUF" - smug married undesirable father
"run-did" - running candid (photo)

Patsy: "Chris is, like, the greatest father ever."
Edina: "Yeah."
Patsy: "And he's, like.... ripped."
Edina: "Yeah... he's a dilf."
Patsy: "Yeah."
Edina: "And I'm about to apply deodorant right in front of him. That's right you big dilfster, come and get it!"