November 2008 Archives

I wrote to my mother to get confirmation of the recipe and got this in response:

"Are you accidentally writing to the wrong person?"

And then when I insisted that I remembered said eggnog very clearly, I got this:

"Maybe you're remembering your birth mother."

And finally, the concession:

"I'm willing to believe I made egg nog, though, because I felt it was my maternal duty to pump you kids full of protein and dairy, and back then raw eggs weren't regarded as a health risk. And I've always loved food coloring."

When faced with two unpleasant things--say, going to the gym or writing--it seems likely that I will choose the path of laziest resistance. I'm going to end up fatter and and flabbier, but I might just write something other then self-indulgent blog posts. Like self-indulgent novels or self-indulgent articles or self-indulgent resignation letters.

My ex-bf, known to many as the Swede, and known to others as that incredibly controlling maniac with no sense of humor, was certainly a thorn in my side. I can't deny that I was a terrible girlfriend, though. I was as far from being supportive as one can possibly be, and I still cringe when I think of the blank journal that he cut and pasted, ransom note style, letters rebelliously spelling out "Fuck you, it's art." It sends a shiver down my spine.

This was the man who famously--seriously--accused me of cheating on him. With my brother.

Anyway, as you might have guessed we had an acrimonious breakup. Within a month, he started dating another Lina. (Not, luckily, The other Lina). One of our main things we liked to argue about was his propensity for facial hair, and after taking up with the new Lina, he grew a full beard. I can't help but be pleased, as I'm convinced that this, and nearly everything else he does, is somehow in reaction to me.

He's also, apparently, gotten his first tattoo. As someone years into the tattoo removal process, I generally try and dissuade those that I'm sleeping with from getting tattoos, especially when those people are tattoo-less and in their thirties. So when he recently attempted to befriend me on Facebook, after years of silence and despite the fact that I thought we were mutually not on speaking terms, I was granted the limited opportunity to see his profile pictures and his new full sleeve tattoo. Getting your first tattoo in your thirties and going for a full-sleeve? Please. He is, as they would say in Ireland, a try hard.

I've written this in the hopes of keeping Brandy happy and of keeping all previously burned bridges burnt as my ex is also in London, with his new Lina, beard, and tattoo, and I don't want there to be any concern about small talk if I do happen to run into him.

To be honest, although a staunch Democrat, I sometimes shake my head at the way the party operates. It's as if they have the overwhelming desire to fail. Snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory, if you will. Take this election--we were basically guaranteed a win. So what did the Democratic party do? Have our top contenders for the job be either a black man and a woman. It was if we were destined to fail. And yet, we didn't. I love that the race didn't become about race and I love that I come from a country that still seems to have some sort of social mobility. I love that we did the right thing this time.

The new generation, on the other hand, was raised on Facebook and Bebo and Myspace and loves nothing more than to revel in the flushed glory of putting it all out there. They don't like to compartmentalize. They find our views on anonymity quaint, antiquated, the way we feel when our parents tell us that buying things over the world wide web isn't safe. And now, one of these internet demons has come of age, and she's got the same name as me.

I noticed it coming on gradually over the last few years. The Google alert I have set up on my name were arriving more frequently, and now they weren't just about long-dead German women. There was a new Lina G. in town, and if the school sports pages were any indication, she was just hitting high school. At first I ignored it, pretended it wasn't happening. Then I realized that I was getting to watch another Lina G. grow up without having to actually go through the horrors of actually doing it myself. She started joining sites and using her, our full name to post inane comments about teen celebrities to forums. I cringed, and prayed that no potential employers thought it was I that had gushed about how Josh Harnett was lyke, totally talented. This may seem like a small thing, but with only two Lina G.s in the world, when one Googles our name, the results give the impression of one, if slightly disjointed and insane, person. This other Lina G. could ruin my rep.

And as the sports victories piled up, I started to realize that as this Lina G. reaches adulthood, her potential to disrupt my life grows. When will she, I wonder, ever stop using our name on the Internet? Doesn't she realize that being born into a unique name engenders responsibilities? I realized the time had finally come to register my name as a domain, if only to preempt the other Lina G. from doing it. And now that she's started posting slutty pictures of herself on Facebook, I know that I made the right choice. I look at them, and sigh in frustration. This girl is just learning the pain of being Lina G., something that I've been living with for decades.

Today one of the free London papers had a cover showing a white Obama and a black McCain. Really bizarre and sort of creepy. One of the headlines read "it's a race thing." Maybe I'll feel differently once this is all over, but right now, from what I can see in Jolly old, it really feels like it isn't a race thing. At all. And I'm proud of Americans for that. Because based on some of the coverage here, to the outside world, it is a race thing. God bless the UK press--they've really made me feel less badly about being an American. Frankly I can't believe that I'm so bored that I've started blogging about current events. How often does that happen? (Dear god I've also started taking yoga)

For those of you faithful shutitdown readers (are there any of you left??), it's a re-write of a blog post from years ago. I knew I'd be able to mine this material someday. Read it here.

"If you had said 2 years ago that I would have gone up to someone and purposely put both of us in rather an awkward position, I would have said “head off”. But, I am delighted to inform you, it was with great pleasure that I did just that not 5 days ago.

Breheny ( I don’t know his first name nor do I care to) pushed me over the edge. The guy has taken a strong disliking to me for some reason that I am sure neither you nor I could ever understand (I mean, I’m just so goddamn loveable!!) After hearing not one but 2 sly comments made about me to Shane on Sunday night I became incensed. First, he hurried past me on the way in to the Village ‘whispering’ to Shane that I didn’t see them so they should run inside for fear that I might. The second jibe came after I coldly greeted Shane when he approached me. He whispered a nasty comment in his ear about me relating to the night he first decided to hate me. Oddly enough that was also the first night he met me…

I decided to keep on ignoring him but after about an hour of us standing one or two feet apart we accidentally bumped into each other. He turned around and said “oh hiya how’s it going? I didn’t see you there!” so I said “no no, I thought we were both just pretending we didn’t see each other.” He stuttered over his words in response “ no..i…we…i…I didn’t..”

Just to help the poor lad out I decided to finish the conversation with one low but deserved blow. “No, it’s cool. I don’t like you either.”

He walked off, flabbergasted, and I stood back to allow myself a few moments to bask in my content. Dutch courage is a beautiful thing. "

I'm sort of delighted that being outrageously direct, making people uncomfortable and saying all of the things that people usually keep in their heads and out of their conversations are now associated with me. Party on.