help me superman, you're my only hope

Don’ t play with me cause you’re playing with fire…sigh.   Truer words have never been spoken, across the board, always ever at all.  Not just about me, I swear.  I think it’s really true of everyone to some degree.  Everyone is someone else’s kryptonite, funeral pyre, never dying bonfire.  It’s unfortunate that you can’t make the entire world take a compatibility test, well not so much compatibility as incinerability, and put it on a database, accessible to all.  You meet someone, you can look at the list to see what the odds are of your future.   I think it would save a lot of heartache and sadness down the line.  I wonder how many times you find your kryptonite in your lifetime?  I hope it’s only once, but I have a feeling it might be more.

You always know as soon as it happens, too.  That quick eye lock across a crowded room and bam, it’s over.  Even if it takes months or years or eons to meet back up, that first eye lock is all that matters.  It’s just like all the silly romantic movies I pretend to hate but secretly love and cry through.  The world stops spinning for what feels like an eternity, everything goes grey (or at least fuzzy), people move in slow motion, and sound is in a vacuum.  You don’t know what hit you.  And as quickly as it happens, it’s over.  And you are so unnerved because you know your life is about to change forever, because of that one quick, sideways glance.  And if you’re lucky, your kryptonite will be fireworks not a bomb blast.  And if you’re really lucky, it will be mutual and long lasting not bizarre and unhealthy.  Regardless everything you thought you knew will change in that one blink of an eye.   And your heart will grow 5 sizes that day.

Worms glorious Worms

So nobody likes me everybody hates me I guess I’m gonna eat some worms.  Right fucking now.  Short fat slimy ones blah blah blah blah.  See how they wiggle and squirm.

Is this really just me?  Am I the only person who ever feels like this?  I guess not or the worm song would not exist, right?  Someone likes everyone, right?  Sometimes I think when we get too arrogant about  life we are reminded either gently or forcefully that worms are not out of the equation. Do you feel boxed in drawn all confused like people are watching you?  Or just ostracized (for no reason of course) and ignored and nobody likes me everybody hates me? So bite off their heads and throw their skins away (sorry Buffalo Bill – I’ll leave the dumpster unlocked for you and your own personal demons and put the lotion on the skin).  Worms worms good for your heart the more you eat the more you fart, right?  Right?  Nobody loves me…

It’s a vicious circle of self pity, despair and worms really.  Sometimes running in conjunction with hormones and sometimes just because it’s too sunny, or too cloudy, or too sleepy or too ridiculous out.  Some people, honey, just have misfires in their synapses.  And some people just prefer eating worms over others.  I wonder, though, if worms are vegetarian? Squirmy slippery fuzzy oozy worms. 

Duck and Cover

I wonder what it is that makes drunken men think that if a woman sits down next to him at a bar, she MUST want to have sex with him.  I mean, seriously.  There wasn’t another seat at the bar, buddy.  And they always wait at least 5 minutes to suddenly interrupt conversation to introduce themselves.  And it’s always really abrupt.  And awkward.  

After the introduction goes badly, does the drunk lonely guy in the corner of the bar give up?  Does it matter that said woman is with friends?  Does it matter that he can barely speak English, or any other language for that matter?  Of course not.   I don’t think it’s liquid courage, either.  It’s inexplicable. 

Again, he waits…lurking and watching the unaware, uninterested female.  Again, he suddenly interjects himself into her life, this time to grab her hand (don’t you EVER grab my hand without knowing me, unless you are shaking it in introduction. Danger Will Robinson, danger indeed).  An aside, I often wear 24 cent rings from the local bodega – they are plastic and painted and full of fabulousness.  At least myself  and my friends think so.  PLASTIC.  PAINTED.  Don’t tell me you can’t tell the difference between plastic and rare metals, drunk man.  I won’t believe you for a second. “What’s that ring for?”  “Decoration” “I know better than that, what does it mean?” “It means I like buying my jewelry at the convenience store, it’s just a plastic ring” “Oh come on I know better than that.”  Did I mention that he grabbed my hand.  My left hand??  I was sitting to his left so he had to reach over while I was oblivious to his snakelike charge.   All of a sudden my hand is being fondled, unwelcome advances on my ring finger.

This is not an isolated incident, oh no, not by a long shot.   There was that time I had to continually remove  a female friend of mine’s hand from a drunk man’s clutches.  Granted she was flirting a little bit, but she wasn’t flirting enough to warrant a hand attack.   Hand attacks should never happen.  Hand holding is not a given any more than a guy expecting me to take him home with me after we spoke for a half an hour. What is that?  That’s beyond casual sex, that’s just ridiculous.

I love holding hands with guys.  I really do.   But not without an invitation.  I love talking to guys, I really do.  Again, not without an invitation.  I love taking guys home with me, if I know them marginally well.  Do I even have to say it?  Sure I do, NOT WITHOUT AN INVITATION.  Perhaps I shouldn’t ever sit down next to a guy alone in the corner of the bar ever again.  Ever. Again. At all.  And people wonder why I’m single…

Is it really?

Even Grey Goose taste like rubbing alcohol sometimes.  Which is real real sad. But true. Truer words have NEVER been spoken, kinda like even cowgirls get the blues. Or all good cowboys have Chinese eyes.  Or every silver lining has a touch of gray.  Or the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain. But not it is what it is. Because that’s the most ridiculously obvious annoying first said by a man breaking up with a woman who was way out of his league, far too pretty and smart and interesting for him statement that ever was.  For lack of saying I must be rid of you before you see me for the complete and utter d bag I am, it is what it is was the perfect non statement to utter.  And has been adopted by every other man breaking up with a woman far too good for him ever since.  Ever. Since. And has been co-opted by all humanity. Ever. Since. Because it’s truly the best nonsense. It can mean anything. And everything. And does.  What is what is it is? Que sera sera? Whatever will be will really fucking be? The future IS ours to see…it is what it is. What if it were what it weren’t?  What happens then?  Or if it could be what it wasn’t?  Or is what it’s not?  WHAT THEN?

Grey Goose tastes like rubbing alcohol.  Know what? It is what it is. 

Dear Universe

Dear Universe:

We should probably be better acquainted than we are, which is my bad.  I hope you remember me, my name is lily holiday.  We used to hang out a lot back in the day, but the past few years I have seriously neglected our friendship.  I guess sometimes that happen, huh? You get wrapped up in other things, lose track of who and what is important?  I just hope it’s not too late to remedy the situation. This is definitely a relationship I find worth salvaging, if it’s not too late.  Please forgive me my trespasses as I know not what I do most of the time.  Truly I don’t.  Or didn’t.  I’m changing that, I promise.  I’m sure you’ve heard it all before, and are having a hard time believing that I’m sincere.  Let me know what I need to do to prove it to you, and I will do that and then some.    Get back to me as soon as you can, we have so much catching up to do.  I’ve really missed you – everything about you from your disposition to your sage wisdom to your sense of humor. Everything really.  

I so look forward to hearing from you!  Send a flare!

Cheers,

lily