the paper doll

Self Pity and Chocolate

It is Valentine's Day and I am listening to Kat Edmonson, drinking wine, and trying to crawl out of self loathing.

Has something ever happened to you Internet, and you stop and look around and say to yourself, how did I get here?  How did this happen?

That's where I am right now.  Wondering how I let myself get to this place.  This place where I no longer see myself.  Instead I see broken out skin and pudgy thighs.

A fat girl.

An insecure fat girl.

I use to play this game with my girlfriends when I was in college.  They'd pick out a guy in the bar for me to take home.  And I would every single time because I was confident.  Not because I was the prettiest girl in the room.  Or the skinniest.  But because I was confident.  And I knew how to toss my hair and touch him on the arm and tie a cherry stem in a knot with my teeth.

It was a terrible game.  A useless.  Use me up game.

But now I don't even have the courage.  The confidence.  To ask my crush to coffee.  TO COFFEE.

And it's my stomach that's now in knots.

How did this happen Internet?

When did I let myself go?  Lose myself?  

How do I get myself back?  Right myself so I can walk into a room unafraid of my power...

Not so I'm not alone next Valentine's Day but so I'll never be alone because I'll always have me.  Wonderful. Self confident me.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.' We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

-Marianne Williamson

Grad School Blues

Hello-lo-lo-lo,

Yes it's me Internet.  Are you still there?  Is anyone out there?  Testing.  One.  Two.  One.  Two.

Graduate school is a complete mind fuck.  Did you know that Internet?  And if you did why didn't you tell me?

I've been working full time and taking a full course load.  To say my brain looks similar to those don't do drugs PSAs that aired in the early 90's, the ones with the eggs, is an understatement. 

Here's one.  Enjoy.

In fact, now that I watch this video they could change the words heroin to grad school and it would pretty much sum up the past few months for me.

So, I'm sorry things have been incredibly slack around here.  I have oh about eight papers to write and case studies to do and I'm struggling.  Oh am I struggling.

Not to mention my mom's death date and the impending holidays.  Nor the cluster of zits that has broken out across my face and refuses to leave no matter what I do.  Nor the fat that has spread out around my thighs.

I'm a poor sight right now Internet. 

I just need to hobble across the December 3rd finish line.

And win the lottery.

The lottery would be good.

So what's up with you?  I've missed you.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Over the Counter (and Under)

Dear Internet,

Where to begin?

I had the crud most of last week.  You know those god awful commercials with the animated mucous people?  Yeah they took over my body and invaded my sinuses.  And made me collect my spittle in a cup for inspection.  Turns out other people aren't really interested in what you hack up.

In fact it's sort of nauseatingly gross to them.

I just thought it sort of a feat.  Who know my body could produce a substance of such color and slime.  I was proud of what my sinus cavity created.  The Musician on the other hand not so much.  I believe gag would more aptly describe his feelings about the matter.

So while I should have been gorging on eggs and chocolate I was huffing Sudafed and praying to the gods for forgiveness because clearly I had done something to anger them the pain in my throat, head, and nose was so bad.

Today I feel better.  Well better in body but not spirit.

See, when I tore out of work in a fever induced stupor on Wednesday I left my anti-depressants.  I spent most of Thursday knocked out.  So by the time I realized my error on Friday the building was on lock down for the Easter holiday.

I went 4 days without my meds and I could feel the difference.  Well not until the Musician hurtfully asked, Are you off your meds?

Aside from the dickery of the comment he was right.  I WAS off my meds.  I was a crying.  Short tempered mess.  He didn't handle it well.  I didn't handle it well.  It was perhaps one of the worst weeks of our coupledom.

I know there was a lot more to it than just not having the drugs in my system.  I was sick.  Easter is especially hard for me.  It was one of my mom's favorite holidays.  I bored.  Oh god was I bored.  And the University has completely screwed up my financial aid.

So I had a lot going on.

But it makes me worry about the future when I do go off my antidepressants.

It also makes me worry about the Musician and me.

I need someone who can handle me.  Meds or not.  And we barely squeaked by this week.

I did, however, make a decision about the couch.  I'm going with the white.  And the corner version. 

Once I got tired of Oprah and felt a little better I measured out my space and marked where the loveseat and couch combination would go.  And then I marked the corner couch dimensions. 

Results were overwhelmingly in favor of the corner version.  It'd just be too much furniture if I got the couch and the love seat.  And it would waste a lot of space.

So I'm putting in an order for the white corner Ektorp because ofcourse it isn't available in my local store so I'll be paying the 200 dollar shipping and handling fee.  Yay!

I also have a lot of house projects and things to up date you on.  Turns out when you're high on Sudaded you can get a lot of stuff done.

Pictures will be forth coming.

XO,

The Paper Doll

No Words

Dear Internet,

I keep wanting to tell you about my trip to Ikea this past weekend but all that comes to mind is:

1. Ikea=total clusterfuck.

2. Now I completely understand why Edward Norton blew up his apartment and developed a split personality.

You guys know this though.  You've been to Ikea.  You know about the arrows on the floor, and the screaming children, and THE FURNITURE THAT COMES IN BOXES. 

BOXES INTERNET.  BOXES.

There's nothing new I can add to the Ikea discussion.  Except maybe the experience of going to Ikea in the South.

Oh how I love you South but my your people just don't get Ikea, do they?  They gawk.  And fondle.  And wonder how the hell to pronounce Domsjo and such.  They ram you with their strollers rather than stray from the beaten concrete path. 

And heaven forbid they drop their spawn off in Smaland.  There might be drugs in the magical forest.  Or worse people of a different ethnicity.  Better you stay with me and scream the whole time we're shopping.

I did manage to get out of there with a bookcase, a salad spinner, a whisk, and a magnetic knife holder.  The last few items were out of defense.  I'd been there so long I needed something to shove in my big yellow bag and those things just happened to be within my reach.  I also imagined I could Mcguvyer something up with the salad spinner and whisk if I needed to invent a mechanism to get me the hell out of there fast should the arrows never lead to an exit.

Ikea=mandatory trip for all couples contemplating marriage.

To Everything There's a Season

Dear Internet,

It's Monday.  Regular back to routine Monday.  Things aren't all that different yet.

I got a new haircut, joined a gym, locked myself in my room and wrote about all the things I want to forget or "leave in 2008."  I even went so far as to write, "what I want to manifest in 2009."

I don't really believe in resolving.  Flaws are good.  Resolutions are for when you get arrested or knocked up.  When things in your life really need to change.  When it's life or death.

Right now it's just complacency and a mild dissatisfaction.

The Musician and I have been talking about marriage.  He brought it up.  It's what I've wanted for the past two years but now that it's here sometimes I look at him and wonder.  I say to myself this is all there is FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!

I look in the mirror and picture a white dress and shake my head.  I'd look like a circus tent if I had to wear that right now.

And I haven't built the circle of friends I want, and where would A live, who would we invite, and on the invitation whose names would request the honor of your presence at our wedding?

Sigh.

I like back to the grind Monday because it means I don't really have to think about any of those things.

I can pretend nothing's changed it's just the same ole year.

-The Paper Doll feels like 2009 is going to be all about change

Ghosts of Christmases Past

It's Christmas time.  What does that even mean anymore?  Trees, lights, sweets, presents.  Presents you love.  Presents you want to return.

I feel like it's not as magical as it use to be.  I'm not wide-eyed and wondering.  I'm pulling my hair out and fretting about money.

My pay check got cut.  I have to take 10 days off without pay.  The numbers don't add up.  Especially with doctors' bills and mortgages.

It's one thing after another without much thought in between.

I want to be a kid again.  To sit in my mom's lap.  To help her stir cookie dough.  To giggle and stay up too late.

Instead I listen to Bon Iver and wash dishes from the party we had.  I pull down the recipes and cook alone with the Christmas tree lights on. 

I remember and wish for magic.

-The Paper Doll doesn't have the Christmas spirit yet but she's working on it

BRB

I ate chicken and it tasted good.

I also just got back from the beach.  My brain is an amalgamation of sand and booze.

I'll write when it solidifies.

XO,

The Paper Doll

Home Again Home Again Jiggity Jog

Oh U.K,

You're so silly.  You're always putting things on the wrong side.  Toilet handles, cars, door knobs.  I felt like I was looking in a mirror the whole time I was with you.

And boy howdy you never sleep.  It's light out until 12 am.

And everything's so small.  I could barely sit on the can without bumping my legs on the stall door.  And what's with all the letting it mellow?  At home this is fine but really I think it's a tad bit inappropriate in a public toilet.

Which let me say I do love how you talk.  Toilets.  So charming.  And how you're always slipping in a quite and lovely.  So proper you are U.K.

And your chips are quite tasty.  As well as your beer and spirits.

I did have such a wonderful time, but I'm glad to be back.

XO,

The Paper Doll

PS-I've been in Scotland for the past 11 days for a wedding.  Will write more after I sleep.

It's My Party and I'll Cry If I Want To

Dear Internet,

Today is my birthday.  I just thought you should know. 

I really have nothing much to add.  When you get old no one gives a fuck about your birthday. 

People let you down, they disappoint you, and it really sucks.

I wish someone would have told me this when I was three.  I would have enjoyed the cake and ice cream a little more had I known I only had a few good parties left.

A valiant effort was made, that I do appreciate, but man when your family punks out on your party and a friend tells you she's too tired to come it really puts a damper on things.

-The Paper Doll is having a pity party instead

Wh(o)at Do You Love

Dear Internet,

In light of this auspicious day I shall once again post about the things in life I love.  Because really your boyfriend can be a real pain in the ass and these things why they are just fabulous and they never forget to take out the trash.

So without further ado:

• The perfect heel height-this is a wonderful thing truly.  The perfect heel height is high enough that you look slender and in charge but low enough that you can walk and your feet don't hurt at the end of the day.  Nothing's worse than a super high heel you teeter in all day looking like some drunken bird.  Super high does nothing but make you look unsure of yourself.  The perfect height on the other hand does nothing but make you look kick ass.  Trust me women, spikes are for models and vampires.
• The new furniture arrangement-I moved the couch for the Superbowl party I had and good lord it made such a difference.  The room feel ten times bigger and lighter and airy.  You should move your furniture.  It really spices things up.  Which really is a good metaphor for so many things.  Things you should do tonite with your lover.
• Having A in the house-you know I was worried about this.  But really it has been nothing but a joy.  I love having her close and talking and watching movies and drinking wine.  It's made me so happy I wish she would never go.
• My birthday party-this hasn't really happened yet but I know I'm going to love it.  It just means so much to me that I have friends willing to do something so cool for me.
• Ebay-yeah I know.  But really this is an incredible thing.  Over the last month I've found Anthropologie clothes new with the tags on for fractions of the price I'd pay in house.  I mean really this is genius and no one has to know you paid 14 dollars instead of 114 dollars.  Plus the commercials are right-it is better when you win it.
• Sparkletopia-this site is so amazing.  It gives me a dose of creativity everyday.  And the products I've found through her have been amazing.  It was worth if for Little Dreamer Designs alone.
• Little Dreamer Designs-they have the coolest stuff for use in Photoshop.  They've really inspired to me start creating again and have challenged my sense of what art is and how you can use different mediums.
• Adriana's-this place is amazing.  The WiFi is good, the coffee is good, the food is good.  It's such a great place to hang out and read a book.  And there's nothing like their sidewalk in the sun.
• My kitchen and all the stuff in it-god I love to cook.  Nothing's finer than good food, good friends, good wine, and good conversation.  These are the simple pleasures in life.  From a boiled egg to poached salmon I love getting in there and whipping something up. 
• The Musician-I know this is cheating but really he makes all those things so much better and I can't imagine any of them without his stupid face.  He's the first person I want to tell when I've found something on ebay.  He's the person I want to take the first bite, or share coffee with, or help me move the furniture.  Really without him those things wouldn't be near as delicious.

So think about all the things you love and all the people that make those things even better.  And whoever that is call them, or write them a note, or give them a big kiss and tell them how cool they are. 

Because really that's what this day is all about.

-The Paper Doll says appreciate all people and what they do for you   

Art Project

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

This is my latest project, a Valentine’s Day book for The Musician.  Although gifts like this, scrapbooks, framed pictures, cards, letters, are never for the man.  They’re gifts you wish he’d take the time and thought to give you instead of just picking up a generic bundle of flowers and the last card they had left on his way home from work.

This isn’t the final product.  I’m taking the pages to the printers this afternoon and will then bind the pages with pink ribbon.  Each page here also has a corresponding full-page picture of the two of us that goes with it but for the sake of anonymity I’ve left those out.  The pages seen here will be on the right and the photo on the left.

All of these pages were created in Photoshop using a variety of brushes, papers, and elements purchased from Little Dreamer Designs (which is an awesome resource for digital scrapbook stuff).  The text used is taken from Brian Andreas's StoryPeople (an amazing artist who writes the most poignant stuff).  The end papers are the lyrics from Paris 2004 by Peter, Bjorn, and John (a song that has significant meaning for The Musician and me).

I'm resolving albeit slowly

Dear Internet,

I usually love a New Year.  I can reflect and make lists and obsess and brood.  Perfect belly button gazing weather.

However, I do not wish to recall this New Year's in part because I spent most of its Eve drunk and sobbing in a kitchen due to an altercation I had with an uptight soccer mom.  Which really says so much about who I am and the mental state I'm in.   And in part because well-the mental state I'm in.

Up your's 2007.

See it's been days and I JUST CAN'T LET IT GO.

Which brings me to my resolution.

Hello year of just letting it the fuck go already.  SERIOUSLY.

Everything.

I need to let everything go.

The job.  The boyfriend.  The worry.  The mom stuff.  The guilt.  The embarrassment.  The NEW YEAR'S EVE throw down.  ALL OF IT NEEDS TO GO.

Get over yourself.

I need not be perfect or have it all figured out.  Life is messy and you do embarrassing things and sob in kitchens and miss ball drops.  And you know what IT IS OK.

SERIOUSLY.

IT REALLY IS OK.

Because I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggonit people like me!

People do more than like me.  They love me.  Seriously.  There are some people out there that think I'm amazing.  Even when bare foot and in a party dress.

Bless them, Internet, bless them.

And never again let me drink four bottles of cheap champagne, amen, hallelujah, praise be.

-The world needs more Stuart Smalleys

Tar Baby

Dear Internet,

I was a painfully shy kid.  So much so that the only people I'd talk to regularly were my parents and even they didn't get much outta me.  My silence was so great I'm sure some people wondered if I could even talk at all.  And little old ladies at the grocery store got quite vexed when I responded to their coddling with tears and tightly shut lips. 

My next door neighbor, try as he might, couldn't get me to utter one word to him even though I was at his house most every day and chatted quite frequently with his wife.  My peculiar behavior earned me the nickname, Tar Baby, cuz the Tar Baby don't say a word.

Because of my great fear of strangers and talking I didn't much fancy Halloween.  What could be scarier than adults pawing you and trying to make small talk?  Adults who are very often dressed up.  And nothing's worse than an adult in a bad polyester costume.

I'd hold out my bag refusing to utter the standard, "Trick or Treat," hoping they'd just toss the candy in without my begging.  And if things got hairy my mom was always there to do the talking because I wouldn't go up to any door without clinging to her hand.

Needless to say, as soon as I was out of elementary school and dressing up was no longer required and trick-or-treating was forbidden I shunned the whole holiday.  Even more so when I went to college and discovered Halloween was just an excuse for girls to wear incredibly revealing clothing for a day.

Until now I never understood all my friends' gusto for the wretched day.

But now that I have a house of my own and a small family cobbled together from friends, The Musician, and the Mongrel Pup Stella I've fallen in love with this strange ode to the dead.

Not the dressing up.  I still have long seeded issues with that (but that's a post for another day).  But everything else the holiday brings is fabulous. 

An excuse to eat a whole bag of candy (inherited straight from my mother who always bought two, one for the kids, one for her), carving pumpkins and toasting their seeds, putting mums on the front porch.

All the things that don't require any talking or a witch costume with cleavage.

It's made me think about family and traditions.

And how sometimes the best way to remember someone is to say nothing at all while kneading pumpkin bread and eating mini-Snickers.

Who needs words when you have a whole pan of orange cookies?

Not the Tar Baby for sure. 

-The Paper Doll wants to know what you are doing for Halloween

Old Adage

Dear Internet,

The Best Friend's text message on Sunday read, "Fall's the perfect time to fall in love."  And I knew exactly what she meant.

For years we've been repeating that.  Once a silly drunken message left on the house's answering machine.  Now a yearly tradition.

Something to be traded when the weather merits sleeves.

But it's so much more than that.

Each year I'm struck by it's authenticity.

Fall really is the perfect time to fall in love. 

And when we say it to each other I know she loves me even though we're busy and can't talk over cheesecake and coffee.  Loves wherever is she is right then.  Is happy.  And it makes me smile.

To know so much from so little.

It was almost a year ago I wrote those words down.  Fall's the perfect time to fall in love.  And I wanted him to fall in love with me again.

To see regret in the leaves.  To be cold without me in his bed.

And now, that couldn't be further from how I feel.

Every year it's something different I'm chasing.  Falling in love with.  Wanting.

Next year it will be different too. 

But for a moment the first day of fall makes me lust after what I already have.  To smile knowing Fall's the perfect time to fall in love and I already have with so many things.

Mums on front porches.  Carving pumpkins and toasted their seeds.  Squash soup and cheese bread.  The first frost.  My green coat and scarf.  Pretending my breath is the exhale of a drag off a cigarette.  Drawing turkeys using the outline of my hand.  Halloween.  Historically inaccurate Thanksgiving plays.  Russian tea.  Mulled cider.  The witch attached to the pecan tree in the front yard.  Carnivals and fairs.  Rubber ducks with numbers on the bottom floating in a tub and bobbing for apples.  Real wood fires in my fireplace.  Soon to be broken spines of dusty books.  Football games.  Red noses.  Folding sweaters and listeing to Feist.  Knee boots and velvet jackets.

The possibility that always comes after hibernation.

-The Paper Doll loves her best friend as big as the sky

returning from the abyss

dear internet,

i'm back from vacation. 

oh yeah-i went on vacation.

although a week long extravaganza with 22 members of my family, my boyfriend, two dogs, and an uncle who plays the bag pipes can hardly be called a vacation.  it's more like a chinese torture device.

these people don't openly drink internet.

and i had to share a house with them. 

at the beach. 

three houses actually because we can't all fit into one because there are so many of us.  so many of us who are over the legal drinking age but cannot partake of a cocktail on the beach least we get written out of the will.  and nana's got quite a large nest egg we all want a share of.

so like any mature adults we hide our booze.  in the bottom shelf covered up with bags of lettuce.  in the Styrofoam cooler with bottle water on top to act as a decoy.  in the closet under the spare sheets and beach towels (and my parents wondered where i learned this stuff when i was in high school).

then after dinner and a round of trivial pursuit when the grandparents retire to their house across the street we lock the doors, pull the blinds, and operate our own speak easy. 

as kids it never got old knocking on the door and pretending to be one of the grandparents.  seriously.  i had no idea you could hid 24 packs that quickly or make your mother turn the color of uncooked grits.

now it's not so funny because i'm one of the ones that must think quickly when there's a rap at the door.  and when you have a buzz on thinking quickly doesn't mean thinking smartly.  as in, i had the genius idea of hiding my full glass of wine behind a pillow on the couch and pretending to read a magazine.  luckily i was drinking white so it only looked like i peed myself when i knocked the whole thing over.

for two people who detest the drink my grand parents sure did raise a bunch of drunks.  the musician was mystified by our behavior.  you mean i can drink in front of your family?  even in front of your dad?

um?  who do you think taught me how to sink the lime to the bottom of a corona bottle?  dad.

or make the perfect mojito?  dad.

or drove when my mom and i were too tipsy to get behind the wheel?  dad.

and that doesn't even cover what i learned from my mom.  margaritas.  when to pee.  my limit.  getting served at 18.  just how many martinis it takes in order to re-see your dinner.  how to keep it between the lines after you've both had two bottles of wine at a wedding and have to drive your dad's prized jaguar home.  and most importantly how to macgyver a koozie out of any kind of napkin you have on hand.

so yes-you can drink in front of my family.  so long as the grandparents have their dentures out and their heads on their pillows.

aside from that it really wasn't all that eventful.  get up, lie around in you pjs, put on your bathing suit and four gallons of sunscreen, lie on the beach, swim, go to the pool, swim, shower, eat dinner, lock the door, get drunk, fall asleep on the couch, move to the bed.  wash.  rinse.  repeat.

how's your summer?

-the paper doll has a lot of new freckles

the southern rule

dear internet,

i just made a list that said:

things that are currently bothering me

*the weather

*the waistband of my pants

*life

i know writing is the very thing that will pull me out of this funk, however, the haze prevents me from hammering out a post least it deteriorate into whiny self hating dribble.  and really-who wants to read about that?

but wait.  isn't this a blog internet?  can't i write about whatever i damn well please?

no. 

i am southern.  i must put out sweet tea and crackers and properly entertain you.  all while smiling and wearing a perfectly matched outfit.

but i don't wanna my inner child screams.

and that's why us southerns take a shot of bourbon in our afternoon tea.

as a woman i'm constantly battling the "because that's the right thing to do" and the "but i don't want to."  throw in the accompanied guilt and you've got yourself a regular cocktail party.  wanna come it's fun.  wallowing self pity.  a shot of anger.  a dose of sugar to help it go down.  anyone?

my desire to please is why i smile at the musician's parents' house instead of politely riping his head off.  why i keep my mouth shut when abortion or gay rights comes up.  why i go along when my aunt suggests a dress i find hideous would look good on me.

it's just much easier to be the silently suffering one and you can always take it back if you keep the receipt.

i'm assertive when i need to be.  but mostly i stew over why i have to be the one.  why my parents taught me to just grin and let it go.

sometimes i want the world to revolve around me.  to be the one to have the last cracker and word.  what would it hurt?

with the musician i am simply because it's only in the comfort of your own home that you can drop the pretense.

fake smiles are reserved only for the neighbor and the couple you invite over for dinner.  agreement is only necessary with the checkout girl in public.

claws come out when you're alone with the one you love.

i've always thought that particular southern way to be some what odd.

be nice to the people you hate but mean to those you love.  charming and dashing in public but hell at home.

a funny perversion of the golden rule.

and one i'm very good at.

i get it from my mother i know.  who got it from her mother i'm sure.

i've watched at holiday parties as my mother poured on the charm just to sit tight lipped and arms crossed when we got home.

i blame it on my red hair.  my fiery disposition.  but i can't help but wonder if after all that faking if you just run out of gas?

if you use up your allotment of niceness where it really doesn't count?

why does it matter if the waitress likes me?  if the lady at church finds me funny?

if the one i love has had it with me?

i don't know.

which is why i'll just pour myself another vodka tonic and try my best to fake it until i make it all while hoping for the best.

cheers.

-the paper doll says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks

suspending belief

dear internet,

my mother always believed in the power of make-believe.  she often chanted, if you don't believe then you don't receive, when i voiced my doubts about santa claus, the tooth fairy, or the easter bunny.

she once even paid (i suspect) a neighborhood boy to dress as the tooth fairy and lay a quarter under my pillow to prove the truth of the myth (the exact details i don't know because she always swore who i saw was the fairy herself when asked).

even when my mother was sick and forbidden to leave the hospital (and i much too old to believe in such things) she conjured magic up.

when i walked into her room easter morning she instructed me to go away, or close my eyes, or turn around.  she wasn't ready yet. 

reaching under her hospital bed she pulled out a bag saying, the easter bunny had a hard time finding you this year so he just left this with me.  she set it on her rolling table among her meds and throw up pan and instructed me to open my eyes and turn around.

enclosed in the bag (with matching ribbon and tissue paper of course) was my favorite movie and the two pounds of required candy.

it was the attached note that made me cry.

happy easter love the e.b. carefully spelled out in all caps.

for as long as i can remember easter was synonymous with a trip to the beach for my mom, my aunt, my cousins, and me.

i imagine the e.b. was the product of a long night spent with several bottles of wine.

i like to imagine her and her sister giggling and staying up watching late nite tv.  remembering to put the easter baskets out right before they fell into bed.

forgetting cards the only paper was a stack of post it notes.  much to small to fit the easter bunny written out.

i remember my cousin rubbing his eyes and saying but who is the e.b. ?  which sent my mother and aunt into hysterics and launched a family tradition.

never would it be the easter bunny.  and forever would we run around and chant-E.B.! E.B.! E.B.!

later we would laugh at ourselves and our naivete.  how did we not recognize our own mother's handwriting?

the curve of her e the line of her b?

it's the magic i miss most about her.

the surprises.  the creativity.

the fullness that overflowed and splashed on to you from the way she lived her life.

you couldn't help but get swallowed up.

this week will be the first easter trip i've made to the beach since she got sick.

my father's taking me this time and his expertise is not such things.

so until i have my own bottle of wine and easter baskets to put out i'm afraid the e.b. has gone m.i.a.

and the magic of make-believe put out.

-the paper doll misses her mommy

when a party hat is not just a party hat

dear internet,

birthdays suck. 

it's not the getting older i mind.  in fact, i welcome that.  being in your mid twenties blows.  it's a lay over on the way to adultsville where you're still figuring out how to deal with adolescent angst.  and who likes to be stuck in a airport terminal of hormones?

it's a time of first jobs.  first houses.  credit cards.  mortgages.  marriages.  babies.  responsibilities that do not include who's taking the keg tap back so you can get your deposit back.  but how you're going to manage getting up for work after having a few drinks at happy hour. 

i welcome the day i become a full fledged adult.  at least then i'll have a better idea about how i'm suppose to act because right now i'm half moody teenager half grown mother.

i got one foot in a plastic flip flop from old navy and another in an arnold j. pliner pump.

disparities abound internet.  i can't wait to flip the calendar to a more settled down age.

so it's not the aging i mind. 

no, it's the idea that as you get older you're no longer entitled to a birthday.  aunt ida only sends cards but no checks.  birthday cakes don't have air brushed icing.  and presents are practical not frivolous (if you even get any at all).

i rebuke that internet.

this is my day.  and while essentially silly i know, for i didn't do much of anything worth celebrating, it's a tradition our culture has chosen to honor.  how dare we do it half ass.  how dare we give only a few good years before the birthday train pulls out of the station never to return.

just because i'm turning 24 doesn't mean i don't want to put on a cardboard hat and have a party just for me internet.  a party that i didn't plan but one someone else spent hours pouring over.  a party that is not at a bar or over a five star dinner.

where are the balloons?  and matching cups and napkins?  where's the tacky and extravagant?

i swear it's why we have kids. 

because no matter how far long you are on your trip to adultsville everyone likes a lay over in childtown once in awhile and birthdays are suppose to be just that.

-the paper doll has had one of the worst birthdays ever

wishlist

dear internet,

it's my birthday next week.  next monday to be exact which gives you only six days to shop for the perfect gift.  which i totally tried to help you out with last year but you didn't listen to me.

i figured i'd give you another go considering most gifts people give are total crap. 

seriously, i'd rather you not get me anything at all if you're just going to go to some big box store buy the first plastic object you see and throw it in a gift bag.

which brings me to another point.  if you are going to wrap, and i use the term loosely, my present in a gift bag don't bother.  just hand it to me.  it will save you 3 dollars and all that trouble of putting it into a bag.

gift bags are for lazy people.  and don't give me that crap about being good for the environment because you can reuse them.  i'm not asking you to wrap my gifts in non-biodegradable plastic bags.  hell one of the best wrapped presents i've ever gotten was covered in bubble wrap. 

it's as if you reach a certain age where ripping into wrapping paper is no longer acceptable adult behavior.  instead you must nicely place your hand into some scented tissue paper and fish out whatever it is that lays at the bottom.  all while pretending you didn't see it until you pulled it out.

what a bunch of horse shit if you ask me.

nevertheless here are my list of desires.  this time i'm tempering my dreams with items i'd be satisfied with. 

first off my real list-

  an original story people sculpture

a first edition autographed copy of an american in paris by leroy neiman

a vintage dressmaker's dummy (thanks to the musician who already bought me this)

and a set of fornasetti julia plates

now considering i don't know anyone who's an heir to the hilton fortune i'd be just as happy with this stuff (which totally doesn't get pictures because frankly i'm tired of the cutting and pasting)...

a story people book

sabrina ward harrison's latest book

a wooden artist's model

and this really cool jewelry box that i can't link because it's in a gallery downtown where i live but i'll be happy to pass on the information if you're interested in buying this

i'll also gladly accept cash donations.

-the paper doll is getting out the party hats

it's my party and i'll cry if i want to

dear internet,

this is the seventh time i've written this post.

eloquence eludes me. 

it's my birthday week.  i'll be 24 on the 26th.

much too young to be having a crisis i know but here we are.

i've gained weight.  i have no idea what i want to do with my life.  my girl friends are few and far between.  and up until this point my life has turned out not at all how i planned. 

birthdays are not only your day but one to be shared with your mother.  who BIRTHED you. 

and because i no longer have her it makes my day especially hard.

i shouldn't have to tell the people that love me this.  they should know i need them an extra amount right now.

but because people are often forgetful, or wrapped up in their own lives, or don't know what to say, or how to act-they do nothing.  pretending i'm just like everyone else.  when really i'm not.

walter was so good at letting me cry.  and he would know without me having to tell him the real reason why.

i like surprises.  and intuition and thought.

i like not having to say: could you just be there for me.  all me.  because this week is the hardest one out of the year.  i would do it for you and you wouldn't even have to ask.

which is why nothing smarts the most because it would never be something i'd consider.

-the paper doll says people rarely reciprocate the golden rule

oddities

dear internet,

is it wrong that i'd totally love some of these things?

bad v-day gift ideas.

-the paper doll knows she's weird

st. pain in my ass and a few of my favorite things

dear internet,

my mother thought cupid shot his arrow straight through your butt.  she may have been closer to how it really feels to be in love than the commonly accepted arrow through the heart.  which i'm sure doesn't feel that great either, but the image of an arrow in my backside pretty accurately describes how being in a relationship feels sometimes.  a great big pain in my ass.

a relationship calls for compromise.  and going out of your way to do things for your lover.  which seriously, internet, is there anyone out there who can honestly say, why yes i like driving out in the pouring down rain to buy ice cream at 9 o'clock at night?  i think not.  but you do it anyway because of love.  also, because it's a bigger pain in your ass if you don't because then you have to listen to my whining.  god help us the day i get pregnant.

and those are only my demands and vices.  let's not even get started with the musician's.  on how when you spend a great deal of time with someone that arrow thing sounds pretty good at times.

somehow though, amidst all the sucking being in love is apparently life's greatest prize.  hell, we created a whole day to celebrate it's goodness for christ's sake (which i don't particularly believe in for a myriad of reasons that i will not list here because there are far more eloquent things that have already been written about that).

while romantic love does bring joy it also brings fights, and annoyances, and that thing he does when we are in restaurants and he can't decide what he wants. 

the love i have for other more material things, however, doesn't require me to deal with any crap.  it's also always there whereas i've found myself alone with a carton of ice cream more times than i can count when my boyfriend was suppose to come through.  which is why on this great st. valentine's day i shall tell you about those things instead of carnal love. 

i'm reclaiming this holiday, internet.  making it one that does not boast relationships but flaunts those things that make you in love with life.  your secret behaviors, your vices, the things that you'll love no matter what even when they don't bring you flowers and candy.  those things, as my mother would say, that make your heart happy.

no more hearts and candy.  no sweaters with beads and cupid appliques.  this day will be about why i'm in love with being me. 

things i love that don't talk back:

1-that there's an expert on heart iconography

2-story people

3-that this always falls on my birthday weekend

4-the words this man finds to write on pages

5-the infinite wisdom found in my yoga class

6-down comforters and pink sheets

7-brie and cranberry sandwiches on lazy saturday afternoons

8-pomegranate izzes and miss stella jane in my backyard

9-the letters of the ex parisian redhead and the love of the best friend

10-this american life while lying in bed on sunday afternoon

11-reading my horoscope first

12-the fortunes i find while satisfying my sweet tooth

13-drinking a glass of wine and watching a good film

14-thursday nights alone

15-that i have the freedom to be goggle-eyed over such silly luxuries

-the paper doll wants to know not who you love but what you love

recap

dear internet,

i was true to my word and did not spend new year's eve being the inebriates' taxi cab.  instead my father had the pleasure of schlepping drunk idiots around in his car.  namely-me, the musician, and the best friend.

that's right internet, we ventured out into the sticks to ring in the new year with people 30 years older than us.  and i can assure you the best friend and i grinding it out on the dance floor gave more than a fair share of my father's friends an eyeful.  but i never heard any complaints.

in fact, it was one hell of a good time country line dancing and sashaying my way into the new year as i drank my j. roget from a knock off solo cup.  and stifled giggles over the man in a cowboy hat.

it may have been my best eve yet considering all the people i love best in the world were there. 

as the best friend and i snuck a drunken cigarette the wind picked up.  and we both noted the change in the air.

our hair fluttering out of the car window and the tall grasses dancing to the dj''s spinning tunes.  goose pimps puckering up on our skin.

it was one of those fleeting moments beyond words.  a plastic bag, if you will, only beautiful if caught on tape.

no one much thinks of the wind as a force of change.  but had we been in the desert each grain would have been tossed skyward creating a whole new landscape.

and that's something we both deserve in this new year.

so i closed my eyes inhaling a final drag.  then blew 2006 out letting the wind carry it on its way.

-the paper doll is immensely blessed

 

strawberry wine FOREVER

dear internet,

when i was in the seventh grade sun ripened raspberries by bath and body works was the "it" fragrance.

it was also the year i had my first sexual encounter with a boy and a vicious rumor was started that "all" of me smelled like raspberries (i guess that's better than the aquatic adjective he could have used).

i tell you this internet not to relive a traumatic experience but to illustrate a point. 

for christmas my grandmother will buy me the biggest basket she can find full of the sugary sweet stuff just like she has every year.  never mind i'm now 23 and haven't worn the stuff since 8th grade.  never mind that every year i fawn over it just to toss it in my back seat where it rolls around for a few weeks before i get to the mall to exchange it.  never mind every year i argue with the sales people about a) how much credit i can get for the stuff, b) why can't i just get my money back, and c) this store gives me a headache, and is much too bright, and how do you people stand to work here, just give me some chap stick and we'll call it a day.

the point is this internet-christmas is not for adults.  and my grandmother, bless her little heart, makes me painfully aware every year that it ceases to be fun when you're about in about oh, the seventh grade.

about that time you grow breasts.  and people become afraid of you and the things you've got budding on your chest.  they cease to give you toys and try their best to give more grown up gifts.  which means you get stuck with a bunch of clothes picked out by some old woman who knows nothing about fashion except for it must be comfortable and wear well.  or you get bath products (like me) or really hideous jewerly purchased from claire's that's plastic and says something like bff 4ever! in purple letters.

this continues until you are in college at which point they start giving you college things.  which just means the tacky jewerly gets upgraded to picture frames.  and in some families you don't even get that, because by the time you are in college you are deemed a real adult.  and everyone knows real adults are doomed to get cash money or a belk's gift card.

if you are lucky enough to still be receiving gifts through your college years they are certainly cut off when you graduate and forever until you die you'll be unwrapping the same uncreative unthoughtful gift card to some place you never go.

which will also roll around in your back seat or get stuffed somewhere you can't remember until weeks later 20 dollars magically appears in your jeans pocket.  after wondering about your fortune you'll remember it was aunt ida's christmas present to you.  then you'll feel guilty because you'd really just like to buy beer with it but it was a christmas present after all and shouldn't you do something special with it?  in a post modern conundrum you decided to just put it back where you found it until weeks later you find it again and say screw it my car really needs a tank of gas.

and internet what is the fun of that?  all i got for christmas was a tank of gas and some money on my power bill.

where are the surprises?  the big gifts under the tree?  where is santa claus when you are grown up?

clearly he does not receive letters from those past 8 because i swear christmas has been down hill since then.

but there's hope internet, because after the crash and burn of your teen and young adult years it magically takes an upswing when you have your own children.  because then you get to play santa yourself.

and i can ensure you when that happens they'll be nary a gift card or basket full of bath a body works.

-the paper doll is a bit of a bah hum bug

mini break

dear internet,

you know i love you right?  and you know i've given this careful consideration.  right?

i'm just stressed.  and have done no holiday shopping.  and truthfully am probably a touch depressed.

so i'm taking a break.  to catch my breath.  collect my thoughts. 

so i don't pull out my hair.

i'm sorry. 

it's just for the first time in my life i really don't have any words.  or energy.  or holiday cheer.

forgive me?

-the paper doll is regrouping and will get back to you

holiday cheer and whatnot

dear internet,

there's a reason why your momma told you to always wear clean underwear, and to smell things before you eat them, and to never trust a man.

so i got food poison or some such nonsense that made it necessary for the best friend AND the musician to hold plastic bags for me to throw up in.  apparently when you're retching up everything you have eaten for the past 23 years it makes you incapable of thought or reason and your legs no longer work.  so, you sit in a chair in your living room throwing up into bags, and ice cream cartons, and plastic kitchen trash bags instead of moving your lazy ass to the bathroom and rightly throwing up where god intended. 

i owe those two for letting me throw up on them.  real gems i tell you. 

and internet, a side note, mayonnaise doesn't taste funny because it's fat free it tastes funny because it's spoiled.  and those yellow spots are not where someone stuck a mustard covered knife into the jar they're pathogens that can't wait to reek havoc on your intestinal tract.  just so you know.

as if that weren't bad enough while i was recovering friday the best friend called in a favor.  thinking i was just needed to shlept her lazy ass to the store to buy gasoline (twice this has happened now) i just rolled over, put on the first thing my hands could find, and called it a day.  yes a day.  a day of sitting in my car with vomit caked hair.  glasses covered in vomit reverb.  and shorts.  short shorts.  short pajama shorts with a period stain and daisies all over them.  shorts so short my crotch fruit was nearly flapping in the wind.  oh and unbrushed teeth and no bra.  so much for just shlepting to the corner store.

no.  no.  i'd be sitting in my own filth for four hours while we waited on the tow truck.  because this time she had actually broken down instead of just run out of gas.  bitch.

luckily all the men we encountered were missing some of their teeth so i didn't feel too bad about my state of appearance.

but next time internet just put some damn panties on before you leave the house because you never know what's going to happen out there.  your momma was right.

boy hidey we did have a grand ole time huffing gas fumes and eating stale m&m's though.  i tell you there's nothing like spending hours on end in a small enclosed space with your best friend.  i'm not sure what stunk more-my hair.  my breath.  the gasoline we spilled on the floorboard. 

god it was good times internet.

which really i am grateful she broke down.  ok so i'm not grateful she's been without transportation or that it cost her money or blah blah blah.  but it did get me out of this work thing and gave me more time to play martha stewart.

the combination of vomiting up my insides and sitting in a gasoline scented automobile was just too much internet.  how could i be expected to work?

and i of course need to thank the musician and friend for all their hard work nursing me back to health.  so i did what any good southern woman would-i threw a party.

a grand ole party that got the musician so liquored up he passed out by ten.  and there's what i mean about not trusting a man. 

you know how as women we get these notions about how things are going to turn out?  we fantasize about how he's going to say the right thing.  and kiss you under the mistletoe even though there's not mistletoe.  and how you'll dance together.  and how sex will be better because it's a party.  and love.  and snow.  and holidays.  and cheesy hollywood score and lights, camera, romantic comedy.

but how six glasses of maker's mark later you realize the only dancing he'll be doing is with the porcelain king and you get all testy because HE RUINED EVERYTHING.  and he gets all testy because SHUT UP WOMAN MY HEAD IS KILLING ME.

and there's lots of yelling and slamming things and the next morning he doesn't know why you're mad because he was totally drunk for the whole thing.

then you kiss and make up.  but still hold it against him every chance you get.

you know how we do that internet?

well it was kind of like that.

the musician passed out at my party and ruined everything.

but it's ok we made up.

so that's been my past couple of days.  how've you been?

-the paper doll is getting back into the swing of things

velveeta shooter

dear internet,

gah. 

just gah.

wha happened (please tell me you've seen a mighty wind)?

seriously.

first off-kraft cheese is never going out of business so long as the paper doll clan gets together for thanksgiving.

seriously.

can i just get a vegetable that's not covered in cheese, butter, and bread crumbs?  i mean really.  green beans.  squash.  potatoes.  they are all fine on their own.  really.  i don't kid.  i'm already going to have a heart attack from the mac and cheese, corn souffle, and dressing.  do you really hate me that much you'd like to add to the congealed fat coursing through my veins?  you know my family history.  my lack of working out.

internet.  i'm not kidding.  three thanksgivings and there was nary a vegetable that wasn't baked in a casserole. 

add campell's soup to that list too because i'm sure a can of cream of something was thrown in too.  in fact who knows if i actually ingested a single vegetable the whole thanksgiving week.

and seriously don't get me started on the congealed salad.  little bits of food suspended in gelatin.  i don't get how that's at all appetizing.  but i've already covered that some time last year.  it's just the woman (my nana) insists on making it every year.  and every year i must watch as she tries to lob it onto my plate.  then as it slowly starts to melt and the bits of food begin to fall from their position of grace. 

gah.

after four days at the family abode i couldn't claw my way out faster.

can you tell internet, huh, can you?

i'm wound tighter than a southern housewife who hasn't had her daily cocktail.  i'm sandra lee without the drinks.

somebody get me a fifth of bourbon and a handful of xanxax.  i'm doomed to die of a heart attack i might as well just go out in style. 

and at this point what's a little liver disease among friends?

i mean really.

they've already killed me with cheese.

-the paper doll is slowly recovering

lone bird

hotmso this is my last dispatch before heading home for the holiday.  it's cold and rainy and gray and i don't look forward to the country road.  don't look forward to much any of it at all.

my favorite thanksgivings are the ones where it's autumnal and warm.  when we can spread out on the lawn and play croquette.  when long sleeves will do.  when people drive by and say there's the kennedy clan* at it again.

but the weather's not cooperating and anyway i'm not a child anymore.  this year i must fill in the gap my mother left.  must wash the dishes.  make the pie.  set the table.  grow up.  i don't get to run around and laugh and play.  to enjoy the easiness of a home cooked meal set upon the table.  so it doesn't matter it's rainy and gray.

it all seemed so effortless when i was a kid.

the holiday napkins and plates and cups.  the artwork hanging on the wall.  the decorations and turkey.  it seemed so easy for my mother to do.

to put on a seasonal album and flitter around the house readying for the holiday descent.  she could have been martha stewart.  with her holiday sweaters.  their buttons and bows.  the wreathes.  the soups.  the salads.  the stews.

it use to embarrass me as a kid how festive our house always was.  the merry christmas toilet paper the singing tree by the door.  she spared no corner, no table, no expense, making our home reflect the time of year.

i wish i could say she gave that to me.  the ability to be free.  to decorate and laugh and not care if the turkey got a little burnt.  to find joy in the simple things.  and she did in part but some of me still cares what others think.  how it will all turn out.  because this year when i make her usual pumpkin roll i'll worry how mine compares.  when i pull out the silver i'll worry over its tarnish.  i'll count the plates noting their chips.  i'll shine the glasses and polish the table.

all because i desire to have it just the way she would have, and that’s something i can never do.

because effortless doesn't happen unless she's there.

-the paper doll wishes you all well

*a nickname given to us by the town because when assembled we resemble THE kennedy’s playing on their compound.  my grandfather claims it’s the biggest insult he’s ever suffered-a democrat AND a catholic.

joyeux noël

walter hated christmas.  yes internet it's true he was a scrooge.

no.  no. he wasn't a scrooge.  a scrooge i could have dealt with.  he was more of a pompous ass about christmas.

arguing and putting me down.  refusing to help me carry a tree up two flights of stairs.

he'd pull out his soap box of materialism of capitalism of what's wrong with the world today.  and i'd wish for nothing more than to jab glass shards of ornaments into my ear drums so i didn't have to hear his hot air.  but wait.  there were no ornaments.  because there were no trees.  there was also no eggnog, or carols, or christmas songs.

there was nothing festive or tacky or appliqued.

singing santas didn't wish you a merry christmas and rudolph's nose did not shine bright.

in fact, the three christmases we spent together there was nothing much at all.  no celebrating.  no warm fire.  no smell of cinnamon.  no new traditions.  no love wafting through the air.

and while i tried my best to forge an, "i know i completely understand martha stewart is so stupid.  you're right christmas is nothing but a materialistic holiday that shows exactly what's wrong with our world today.  down with capitalism.  i need no santa claus."

it was bad acting at best because christmas is truly my favorite time of year.

yes i don't like that it starts in november.  or that there are shops that sells its wares all year.  that cars put wreathes on their grills.

but i think december is a magical time of year.  and one i'll no longer pretend to hate because of the man in my life. 

it's in my blood internet.  my inheritance.  my southern housewife roots.  my mom?  she loved this time of year.  and always ensured our home happy and bright.

and while i know she's not in hanging ornaments on a tree and baking gingerbread men.  that's love to me.  dancing around the house.  cutting out gingerbread men.  kissing under the mistletoe.

silly traditions i know.  but that's what makes us family.  what separates us from the wild and untamed.

and i'm over the moon that the musician understands that.  that his eyes lit up when i suggested we get a tree.  that we have a party and decorate.  that we drink eggnog and spend time with those we love.  that we tinsel each other and laugh under candle light and fire.

because i'm tired of soap boxes and lectures.  of feeling put down for what makes my heart happy.

and if that makes me a capitalist then so be it. 

i'm just glad that this year the only box the musician will be pulling out will be one to wrap and put under OUR tree.

-the paper doll is becoming more and more like her mother

deflated

i'm exhausted internet.

i need a vacation from vacation.

since the purchase of my house i've only actually been in the damn thing one full weekend.  one weekend.  and that doesn't even count because there were other people there and there was painting and boxes and no refrigerator. 

this house i'll be paying for for the next 30 years feels like a place i'm squatting or like i'm goldie hawn in that movie (oh what's it called)-houseSitter-that's it.  you know except for the wife pretending and the man thing.  and the fact that it's MY house.

my house who needs her grass cut and floors swept and for the love of god not to see my family again for a long time.

see internet you thought this was about my house didn't you-i did too.

but no-it's really about the birth of our country and how years ago those patriots cursed us.  forcing me to celebrate with fireworks and no air conditioning.

why didn't we like the british again?  because seriously sitting in the middle of no where with 9 adults and 5 screaming children does not make me patriotic.  it makes me want to hop the first steam ship out of this joint and make a new life across the ocean.

a life where i can sip cocktails free from bugs and sunburn and screaming kids.  where the bad tv pours forth like manna from the heavens.  where my cell phone rings and it rains down alcohol.

isn't that what our country's birth is about?  didn't the edict of yesteryear read-from hence forth thou shall celebrate your freedom by partaking of the strong drink and setting things on fire.

but no.  apparently some members of my southern family didn't get that hand quilled memo.  and for us our country's birth is about-not getting voted of the island, or sacrificing the first born, or going all lord of flies on everyone's ass.

because we do not celebrate with strong drink.  we hole up in a cabin 20 miles from civilization.  we use solo cups that have been washed year after year.  we take pleasure in surviving a weekend without air conditioning and a toilet that sometimes might work if you jiggle the handle and hold your mouth the right way.  we don't apply sun block or bug spray.  we don't sleep.  and our fuel is made from homemade ice cream and cakes decorated to look like american flags.  cheap plastic do dads bearing flags and stars and red, white, and blue become our currency.  and just before we regress to guttural shouts and walking on all fours we declare the weekend a success and follow the trail of streamers back to town.

so see internet-i need that vacation from vacation.

i need to bask in the hum of my air conditioning.  i need trashy tv and cheap wine.

i need the peace that can only come from within.  within my house that has a lock and sound proof windows and no family members within 100 miles.

it's the only way i can live long enough to do it all again next year.

-the paper doll says stick a fork in her she's done

pinch me

so help me god i will never don a theme sweater.  but i will wear green heels and dangly lime earrings unapologetically. 

now go get yourself a green beer and celebrate the day.

-the paper doll is playing pipe music and dancing a jig

i know i know

look people i have a spt post on standby i just have to get the damn picture out of  my camera and onto the internet.   then i'm sure to make you cry with my oh woe is me look at my scar post.  so be prepared because after i get released today i'm going straight to my computer to put up my loving face, er knee. 

i know you've missed me.  but i've been busy internet.  spending money and freaking out because HELLO it's my birthday this weekend and i still have dust bunnies the size of large economically advanced european countries under every piece of furniture and hanging from all available surfaces.  my apartment-it is a disaster and i have um NO TIME.  NO TIME internet to make my space an appealing place to sit eat drink and be merry. 

hell i don't even have enough chairs so they can't sit even if they wanted.  and no one wants to sit on the floor.  trust me.  i got a case of trailer foot just walking to the bathroom this morning.

AND i have no groceries, no liquor, and i bought a ceramic happy birthday plate yesterday.

i'm also slammed at work and have no idea what i'm serving for an appetizer.  nor do i have the appropriate music.

but i do have birthday crowns, and hats, and confetti.  YAY!

so it looks like we'll be dinning on cheap plastic come saturday.

so just cut me some slack internet because so help me god i'll strangle you with my happy birthday banner if i hear another peep about my lack of posting.

-the paper doll is having a small meltdown

the kingfish wins again

GAH internet i know i know.  i promised i'd write about this and post a picture for self portrait tuesday and blah blah blah.  but look it was valentine's day OK.  so you're just going to have to sit down and wait a minute because i have to tell you a very important story of how the gods smite thee.

never in my 22 years and 11 months and 15 days have i ever had a good valentine's day.  every year cupid's arrow seems to pierce my ass instead of my heart. 

last year- i spent 75 dollars on two center stage tickets to the vagina monologues.  it was only after i agreed that under no circumstances (besides a natural disaster huffing and puffing and blowing the venue away) would i get my money back that it dawned on me-you have a class on wednesday nites.  a class from the hours of 6 to 9.  a class that is conveniently at the exact time of  the play.  oh AND it's your final exam in that class.  so just blowing off cette class because hello it's valentine's day and 75 dollars which means i'll be eating ramen for two weeks is not an option. 

did i get a card-no.  flowers-no.  i got oh it's alright i'll have dinner ready for you when your class is over and i'll pay you back for the tickets.  which is nice but HELLO if you are going to spend 75 dollars it should be in jewels chocolate or fur. 

and dinner should not be steamed vegetables.  thank god for butter and salt.

(i should note it was a sweet gesture considering the boyfriend he does not cook)

and while i can't recall any other horrid v-day experiences because i've blocked them from my collective conscience i know they're there.  trust me internet.  THEY ARE THERE.

so last week when the boyfriend said so what do you want to do for valentine's day it was only natural for me to respond-GAH valentine's day i hate valentine's day.  yuck.  boo.  i've never had a good one.  whine.  whine.  whine.

which naturally he responds with some zen buddhist crap about well if you think you are going to have a bad one then you will blah blah blah.  which of course i didn't listen to because i'm too busy wallowing in how miserable valentine's day is.

so i say i want no part in it.  you plan something.  i don't want to know.  i don't care.  understand?

then i made him look me in the eye and repeat, it is my responsibility to plan something for valentine's day.  my sole responsibility.

then i said just so we are clear and there are no questions next tuesday-you are planning and i'm having no part in it because of the curse.

we all know how this turned out don't we internet?  i don't even have to write the rest of this do i internet?  the little knowledge i have empowered you with allows to draw your own conclusion doesn't it?

well i'm going to tell you anyway because i can.  and you are going to sit there and pretend that you didn't see this coming from oh three miles and ten feet away.

so as he paid for our lovely meal on monday (which i totally forgot to document in pictures) he said you're going to remember this tomorrow right?  and i said yeah of course we could eat taco bell tomorrow and i'd be happy.  (no really i said taco bell)  but i feel it was coercion on his part because hello i would have agreed to wear culottes and a themed sweat shirt at that point because of all the champagne martinis.  i kid you not internet vodka and champagne and some other stuff to make it a pretty color.  i was in no shape to agree to anything.  especially something that would have great impact on the day and propagate the curse.

then it happened.  the big day hit.  no surprise as he leaves for work.  nothing hidden in the couch cushions.  nothing waiting on my desk at work.  no mail.  no candy.  no dead fish wrapped in newspapers.  nothing.  nada.  no. 

then the guess all day comes... oh i know during his lunch break he put flowers in my apartment that's it.  no again.

i'll call and see how i need to dress tonight.  that will make it feel like valentine's day.

the reply i get internet-i don't know what do you want to do.  I DON'T KNOW WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO?  (me silently to myself-i thought i was to have NO part in this.  he was suppose to plan this.  isn't that what we agreed on?)  what i really said was, i don't know then i pouted because HELLO it's 6:30 and i have nothing for valentine's day and your asking me what i want to do.

well he'll bring something when he comes over tonite that's it.  no AGAIN.  (he did bring some tin of half eaten chocolate that someone gave him (which reminds me that i didn't ask where that came from because i was to busy thinking so where is it?  where is my present?))

so after we went two rounds about what we are doing, and he doesn't care, and i thought we were going shopping, and why don't i pick.  i say, it doesn't matter i don't really feel that great and let's just stay in because everything's going to be so crowded.

ok.  he says.  ok internet.

so we go to barnes and noble.  which i think oh he'll buy me a book.  NO AGAIN.

he buys something for himself and we walk a mile back to the car because he has this thing about taking the first parking space he sees even if it is from here to antarctica to the door.

as you can imagine i'm a little fried at this point.  i've seen nothing.  the man didn't even hold my hand as we were making the cross country trek to the car.  no hint of it being a special day and my ability to act all cool and flippant about what's the big deal it's a silly holiday anyway faded.

so when he utters the dreaded what now question.  i lose it and mutter something about every year i expect to feel special and it never happens and oh the tears and the silence and the we are sitting in the parking lot while people walk by and see my running mascara.

then we move to the grocery store parking lot and sit and people watch my running mascara.

then we go inside the grocery store.  where over the cheese case i say just get me a card ok.  next time at least just get me a damn card.  ok?  then i hand him the aged cheddar and make a break for the door.

that's right internet.  over a block of cheese in the grocery store i request a hallmark card.  hell something.  paste a heart made out of newspaper on a take out wrapper i don't care i just needed something.  and a card seemed to be appropriate.  it was a lot better than what the hell showing up to my house empty handed and asking me what i wanted to do.

after he roamed the grocery store for 12 minutes and i made an emergency call to the girlfriend (which she didn't answer because she was probably having a wonderful time) he gets in the car. 

then there was some loud tearful exchange and again cupid won and valentine's day sucked.

the sad thing was that in all of that i couldn't bring myself to give him what i made him because he didn't get me anything.  how petty is that?  i made him something internet and i couldn't just say here.  here is the thing i made you because it's valentine's day and we are suppose to be showing how much we love each other.

so to wrap all that rambling up.  card-no.  flowers-no.  jewelry, dress, lingerie, fur-no, no, no, and no.

what really made the whole thing smart was that someone i don't even like very much bought me a small tin of cheap too sweet chocolate.  i don't even like this person internet and they bought me something.  and my own boyfriend nothing.  and have to tell people this.  i have to tell the interent this when it asks, so what did you do/what did you get for valentine's?

so the moral of this story is do not allow the boyfriend to plan the day.  because he'll say i asked you what you wanted to do and you said you didn't care and then you'll get nothing. 

so next year i'm making a list and booking reservations a month in advanced. 

and the stupid mob working cupid can take his arrow and aim it at someone else because i'm done with the organized movement to make me feel like shit once a year.  take that little winged italian man.

-the paper doll is wallowing in hallmark made misery

tickled pink

just a little festive coloring for this v-day.

which i don't totally subscribe to but hey-any holiday that allows me to eat chocolate for breakfast i'm all about.

i hope ya'll have a day full of love. 

call your bff, eat chocolate, and remind yourself just how blessed you are.

-the paper doll is peeling the foil off her candies

ps-will update with embarrassing portrait after work-pinkie swear.

"he's so gay he needs a vagina" and other new year's eve tales

i was, for the most part (two glasses of cheap champagne not with standing), painfully sober for the off key auld lang syne of new year's eve.

as much as i would have liked to kick 2005's ass and puke on her last remaining seconds, i was the responsible driver. 

which by the way sucks.  don't do it internet.  be the drunk one.  don't take the moral high road.  slam cheap beer after cheep beer then drop your atm card on the floor because you missed your wallet then scream because OH MY GOD SOMEONE STOLE MY ATM CARD and we can't leave now because SOMEONE STOLE MY ATM CARD and oops i didn't mean to knock over your beer it's just that WHERE'S MY ATM CARD. (i'm not saying that anyone did this or anything but you know internet it COULD happen) 

two gay guys*, a cell phone, a drunk boyfriend, and a small car do a headache make.   a blood alcohol level of 0.08 would have made the singing A LOT better.  and the hand and knee searching (you know assuming i had to get on the floor and search for an atm card.  but i'm not saying i did.  i just imagine a little liquor would make the sticky grit a little easier to pry off.  you know just a guess internet)

all of that and i didn't even get laid. 

2006's going to be a wiener winner.

-the paper doll has done her civic duty.

*hi bj.  you know i love you. 

the part where i tell you about the congealed salad

that's right we had the congealed salad AGAIN.  luckily i made a swift dash through the line before nana could lob a piece onto my holiday plate with matching napkin and cup because that's the way we roll in the south.  hello it's christmas only the fine chinette will do.

i did, however, suffer through a whole freakin cup of russian tea.  and like congealed salad i say WTF?  i'm pretty sure this involves no russians and isn't a respectable form of tea.  hello-tang?  i didn't even drink that stuff in its pure form when i was in grade school.  much less, mixed with other hot water dissolving substances.  ew. 

have you ever seen it?  much like halloween threw up in your christmas cup.

but nana says, "umm i just love a cup of tea, don't you?"

tea-in pouches containing leaves-that once grew on a bush somewhere in the east indies that were picked by men in loin cloths.

russian tea-cancer causing radioactive agent orange sludge.

no. no. i do not like a cup of tea.

nor do i like a bone. (ha not that kind)

that's right internet i was offered a bone.  a bone to gnaw on like a dog.  a bone from a once living animal that my family roasted in the oven.  then, hacked to pieces and sucked on its cartilage.

i don't know if this is a normal thing internet.  grown people chewing on flesh and bone.  and enjoying it.  looking at me like i'm the strange one because i didn't orgasm over the thought of ripping fresh cooked meat with my teeth.

this is the family i got stuck with internet.  bone licking, tea drinking, congealed salad southern people who wear holiday sweaters and have plastic nativity scenes. 

PLASTIC NATIVITY SCENES.  i'm not kidding internet.  and more than one.  enough so that every available flat surface is a homage to the baby jesus. 

just wait until my future children pick the baby jesusi up and suck on their knobby plastic heads.

and those holiday sweaters with enough plastic appliqued bling to be mistaken for a solar flare-those baubles will be pulled and picked at by my grubby handed children.

that'll teach you to thrust bones and tea at me.  ha.

-the paper doll is recovering from a cheese induced stupor.

the bugs that ate christmas

i could wow you with tales of a southern christmas complete with things cooked in lard and packages tied with big gold ribbons but those things that normally set my sarcasm ablaze just didn't get me all riled up this year.

in fact, my mouth pretty much stayed in a permanent drooling doped up affect.  on top of feeling like i had swallowed this woman's hairdo and downing plastic cup after plastic cup of robitussin-this was the first christmas without mom.

no santa.  no mimosas.  no grits with heavy cream and butter because there were bugs.  bugs internet. in the grits because dad and i forgot and only had 1/4 cup of opened grits on hand christmas morning.  an opened box which i'm sure is the one mom poured out of last christmas which made it all the sadder when i washed them down the drain.

it's fitting though.  everything she did, it just worked out.  if she would have been there she would have picked those bugs out and made those grits multiple like the loaves and fishes. 

but since it's just us.  there's bugs.  the right intention but not the follow through like she had. 

traditions almost right but just a little off without her touch.

the charlie brown christmas tree with only a few ornaments because we never really got around to playing christmas music, making cookies, and decorating the tree. 

a sprig of greenery on the dinning room table because, ouch those things stick and i don't know how the hell to make a garland.

there was an absence not just with decorations and embroidered guest towels but a palatable absence that draped over the house.  over the packages and the macaroni with two blocks of cheese.  over the giggling cousins and the long skinny envelops and the gifts to be return some time this week.

i kept imagining her just in the other room or far off watching us.  hovering over but never landing long enough to make a fixed impression.  only the awarness of missing.

as we hacked our way through christmas making a mess of it all, i realized just how much her holiday sweaters and kenny g records made it feel like christmas.  how no one ever drank the cider but we had it anyway because it made the house smell good and damn it it's christmas and that's just what you do.

i'm fumbling through this.  growing up.  learning what sticks and what gets swept away.  but with no leader to follow i seemed to have gotten tangled in the lights and glitter and spray paint.  and what was created was not that of christmases past but a new foreign thing that looked a lot like christmas, smelled a lot like christmas but wasn't.  because we didn't have her touch to straighten the greenery and remember the orange juice.

maybe next year i'll swallow my pride and slip into that rudolph sweater.  or least stop by the grocery store on my way into town.

-the paper doll is trying desperately to find the path she so easily created for us each year.

it's a good thing

ok internet-

i've tried to freakin post at least three times today with as much success as a trailer park in a hurricane.

oh, the weekend and the massive amounts of holiday cheer and martha stewart craft making.  i'm feeling faint just thinking about it.

my wit and charm has withered into a sinus headache and post nasal drip.  but yet here i am still full of holiday cheer! (please know i typed that while giving you the finger-which by the way, why was this ever called the bird? doesn't look like a bird, doesn't taste like a bird.)

i'm not depressed so much as bubbling over with sarcasm. 

like YAY i can't wait to have 11 women over to my growing up house who are all going to be wearing appliqued christmas sweaters with matching socks and earrings.  YAY.  i can't wait to make bows and turn shrubs into topiaries and swags.  swags people.  with gold ribbon.

hope everyone has a delightful weekend.  i'm off to rip unsuspecting trees from their roots in order to form them into acceptable green branches to decorate our front door as to appease the garden club.  cheers.

*also will be taking my towels to have my initials monogrammed on them and will be searching for a ceramic roster to go in my kitchen.

*see prerequisites for junior league nomination

armageddon

remember when i told you that thing about how NO ONE drinks and i'm turning into martha stewart?

witness last nite's events:

the junior league christmas show.  (basically if you were in a sorority in college and are having withdrawal and cannot be a functioning member of society without 700 of your closest friends who all dress alike meeting you for drinks then you join the junior league after graduation). 

well each year these blondes throw this junior league christmas show.  which of course my mother and her sister ALWAYS went to.  because OHMYGOD those santa salt and pepper shakers are SOOO CUTE i have to have them.

standing in for mom i did my duty and went with my aunts and my nana this year.  that's right folks i drooled over the christmas themed guest towels and fondled the red and green pajamas and shouted look look at that it's sooo cute. (and i'm not using creative license here.  really I DID THIS.  NO REALLY I DID.)

i did not, however, dress in a holiday sweater or sing along with the carolers. 

we did (my two aunts and i) have a pow wow about the whole no drinking thing because i mean how else are you suppose to get through off key renditions of rudolph the red nose reindeer without a little holiday cheer.  plus the buzz makes it a lot easier to hand over the credit card for a pack of 50 dollar christmas napkins and a snowman antenna topper.

so after much debate we decided that yes in fact we would all have a glass of wine.  and nana would just have to pick her dentures off the floor and get over it because clearly we out numbered her.

and at dinner.  we had NOT only one bottle but TWO bottles of wine.  right in front of her. 

internet i know you can't fully appreciate the gravity of this situation but let me just say that nana she has 6 children.  6 children who ALL drink.  A LOT.  6 children who all married men and women who drink.  A LOT.  by no means are we alcoholics.  but come on-we are southern ladies and gents.  it's to be expected that we take a cocktail after work, before during and after dinner, and one before bed.  it's just the southern way.

but nana she doesn't not drink.  NEVER.  EVER.  not one drop.  THE WOMAN WILL NOT EVEN TOUCH THE DROPPER SIZED COMMUNION BEVERAGE.  and that's the blood of christ.

in fact, she crosses herself and says a little prayer when adult beverages are in her midst.  AND SHE'S NOT CATHOLIC.

when i was growing up i watched my mother.  my 40 year old mother.  run out the back door of our house in terror because she had an adult beverage and nana had made a surprise visit to our house.

we have gone to great lengths to be moral upstanding sons, daughters, and grandchildren.

so this.  the ordering of the wine.  the TWO bottles of wine.  major accomplishment internet.

and me at the holiday market.  phenomenal.

just thought i'd share these steps to my artsy fartsy demise.  you know just so you won't be surprised internet when i start knitting gloves with reindeer on them and listening to john tesh: piano christmas.

the meltdown that stole christmas

well i had this rant all ready to post about the state of my reproductive rights but now i'm really not in the mood.  let me just say though-damn. have you ever tried to buy birth control in the south?  i got over the eye rolling.  but the signatures-i mean really people-THREE times just to pick up my ring?  think of the trees and the poor factory workers assembling those stupid tied to the counter pens.  and don't even get me riled up about the viagra v. pill insurance battle.

my experience at the pharmacy coupled with my, oh dear god what have i gotten myself into there aren't enough hours in the day please hand me a xanax and get out of the way paranoia, have left me jittery and spastic.  much like a fish with a hook in its mouth and a small boy child poking its eye screaming look daddy look what i caught.

except me-i'm not a good catch these days.  how DID my mother do this?

HELLO presents for other people.  OTHER PEOPLE internet.

and decorations, and office parties, and parties with friends, and the damn garden club.  THE GARDEN CLUB.

ARE YOU SERIOUS december?

i mean internet i bought a pack of cigarettes.  A PACK OF CIGARETTES INTERNET.  and it's december the first.  that's right i'm having a holiday melt down and december has barely opened her legs arms.

december, not the nice slack i don't have to go to college i get to loaf at mom and dad's and drink beer for a month holiday of christmases past.

no no.  they don't tell you that when you grow up and your mom's no longer around that YOU'RE responsible for doing grown up things and playing christmas music and putting out a wreath and drinking russian tea. 

WTF,  russian tea?  why do i have to inherit this bizarre concoction of tang and instant decaf from my nana?  GROSS.  apparently my mom didn't like the stuff either because there must be 12 jars of it hardened and crusted over in the pantry of my growing up house.

it's true internet-i'm becoming martha stewart. 

have made and sent out invitations to a holiday buffet.  i even handmade the envelops internet.  HANDMADE THE ENVELOPS.

AND i have a date with mom's bff to decorate the front door.  that's right.  greenery.  spray paint.  and big gold ribbons.

HELP internet.  before i lose it and start wearing holiday sweaters and christmas socks.