Judge Not Lest Ye Be Judged

I'm listening to Madonna's Sorry and I'm wondering how long it'll take before someone comes over with a faux apologetic expression on their face and asks if I mind putting that track off "repeat".

Sometimes, I wonder if my tendency to listen to certain songs over and over again is symptomatic of undiagnosed OCD or something.

My office stalker isn't in today and I swear to God, I'm not imagining this, but I actually feel like it's easier to breathe. It's a weird situation. I'm not even sure "stalking" is the right word for it. It's more like, when you're in elementary school and you've got that one, annoying kid who decides you're their new best friend and just clings to you like saran wrap.

I mentioned it to Migrane Sufferer, who laughed and said that at least it was impossible for The Stalker to physically alter her appearance to look like me. She had a "friend" who straightened and dyed her curly brown hair blonde so that she could look exactly like Migrane Sufferer. The only thing I've had to contend with is seeing The Stalker dress like me --- as in, she went out and bought the exact same shirt as me, which means I can never wear it to work again, 'cause, seriously, who the fuck does that? (And I loved that shirt, too!)

I could cover myself in cow dung and she'd do the same.

I've opted to try for a different look lately...mostly 'cause I know I could get away with it, but it'd just look bad on her. Chose a high-waisted flare balloon skirt with embroidery along the waist and a pale green top and flat shoes. Tried to go for more of an Audrey Hepburn-esque look...though with the shitty state of my hair, I don't know how successful I'll be. Worked with some black and white film over the weekend and when I was down to my last few shots, I decided to do a self-portrait, which turned out okay. My hair looks like it's beginning to grow out.

Some mornings, I look like the fucking Lion King.

Memo to self: do not get hair cuts when PMSing.

I'm less upset about it now. Don't get me wrong. Some days, I want to go barrelling back to the salon and stab the hair dresser with her own scissors.

But I digress...

Yeah, the main reason I haven't ranted ad nauseum about The Stalker is because she suddenly announced one day that she was going to set up a blog, too, and I had this attack of paranoia, thinking, "She'd probably shoot me in the face if she read half the stuff I wrote about her."

Delete, delete, delete.

Seriously, I don't know what the hell I was thinking. Even all that stuff that I wrote about my family --- it doesn't take a brain surgeon to track down my blog.

When Stanny said, "We all judge. That's our hobby. Some people do arts and crafts; we judge", I had a moment of, "The writers of Sex and the City might as well be talking about me."

But to my everlasting credit, at dinner last night, I kept my face perfectly composed as Shopaholic Girl launched into a gung-ho speech about another friend's latest venture into long-distance, online dating was actually going to work this time.

"I don't know guys, this might actually be the one."

Since I always sort of want to gouge someone's eyes out whenever they float out stuff like the one or fate or destiny, I focused on sipping water out my straw and bobbing the slice of lemon against the ice cubes --- though later, I kinda thought that was probably really disgusting, 'cause maybe they didn't wash off the lemon rind, you know?

I didn't say anything because, on Friday, when I was out with Knows-It-All Girl and she was busy playing pseudo-psychiatrist on me I sort of wanted to shove my little cup of ice cream in her face. It was the first time chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream didn't do anything for me. If anything, those raw bits of cookie dough actually started to taste pretty nasty.

I had this moment of, "Who the hell are you to tell me how I should live my life?"

Okay. I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I say something?

Well, you've ever been so bored with a conversation where saying something else would just mean prolonging it and prolonging it would just seem like death? That's how it felt. It was one of those moments where you agree to do something or go somewhere and then, you realize, "I've made a huge mistake."

But when Shopaholic Girl was talking about online dating girl, I kind of thought it'd be extremely satisfying to do the "I-Told-You-So-Dance" when it doesn't work out. But maybe I'm just jaded. Just because I've put my foot down and said "no more" to dating, doesn't mean everybody else should give up on the hope of finding someone...I mean, for some people, that hope is all they have; hope that somebody out there waits for them, to add another layer of meaning to their lives.

A few weeks ago, that Michael Keaton movie, My Life was on and there was that scene where the oncologist tells him he's definitely going to die and he just gets really pissed off and asks, "Who are you to take away my hope? That's all I had."

I started wondering if maybe I was a bit like that oncologist, 'cause I'd rather tell it to people straight. I'd rather be realistic and deal with things as they really are, instead of hoping for something in vain and then getting disappointed. I'd rather face up to the pain 'cause that's just part of life; nobody ever said it was supposed to be fair or good...we just somehow feel entitled to an easy break even though nobody owes us one.

Anyways...

Mom told me this morning that Cousin S is having a baby in three weeks. I was like, "What! I didn't even know she was pregnant." I swear to God, everything's like a national secret with some people in our family.

When gran was sick, I always figured mom's family would just sort of splinter apart. Gran, after all, was the glue that held everybody together.

The only downside of seeing everybody less often is having less firsthand accounts and ringside views of some of the crazy things that various cousins say and do to each other. Good thing mom's like a tabloid reporter when it comes to stuff like this...though, it kind of makes me go, "Huh?" whenever she prefaces everything with, "Don't tell anybody, but..."

I always wondered how some of my aunts wound up hating each other so much, 'cause I couldn't imagine being on the outs like that with any of my sisters -- I mean, some of my aunts making hating a sport. (Though, maybe that's where I get my hardcore, "You're dead to me!" mentality from.)

Lately though? With Sister 3's new boyfriend, I can kind of see how certain things happen and this little wedge comes between you. My mother says she can see now why Shopaholic Friend's mother keeps saying, "I've raised a fool." That's how mom feels, too.