The Horrible Beauty

Okay, I’m not going to apologize for my absence again.

Look, Beauties, you knew what you were in for when we got together. A leopard can’t change its spots, right? I’ve been telling you from the get-go that I’m completely scatterbrained and suffer from a severe case of relationship ADD and commitment phobia. So why would you think our relationship would be any different? You walked right into this. I’m nothing if not honest, especially about my faults… and I only hit you cause I love you, baby.

Anyway, I’ve been adjusting to my life in NY, and time - as it has a habit of doing - just wandered right away from me. I’m an extremist, for sure, so I managed to dive in head first and find plenty of projects to get involved with, people to hang out with, and inappropriate places to take off my pants.

As summer (tragically) fades, and we return to jobs and hoodies, I’ve found that I’m finally at a place again where I can look at myself honestly and translate the scattered images in my brain into coherent thoughts for you to read and live vicariously through. Granted, I should have been doing this all along, but why dwell on the coula shoulda wouldas?

Completely uprooting your life and starting from scratch certainly tells you a lot about yourself, especially if you’re willing to take off the rose colored glasses (I lost mine in the moving process). I’ve realized that I am not at all where or who I thought I’d be, and maybe not even who I think I am on a daily basis. I am constantly changing, contradicting myself, evolving, devolving, revolving. And that’s where all the fun is.

I let myself take a break from working “full-time” during the past 8 months. Now, don’t take this to mean that I did absolutely nothing for approximately 240 days. Sure, there were plenty of those days, but I also managed to take on tons of freelance work and projects and keep myself busy in waves. And you know what not working taught me? Working is really overrated.

Now, I’m potentially going to offend a lot of people with this next statement (shocking), so let me just get it out of the way. I used to have no respect for people (typically women) who were “homemakers.” That sounded like “quitter” to me. I’d see these girls who finished or left school, shacked up, maybe popped out a few kids… “But what about YOU?” I’d mentally scream. “Where are YOUR priorities? YOUR dreams? Where are YOU?” Slowly, I began to realize that it wasn’t that they gave up their dreams, their dreams just changed. Or were different than mine. But I still couldn’t picture myself being that person. I always just thought I’d be a career woman.

After many failed attempts, I realized I simply don’t function well in the big-girl, real-job world. I now have nothing but respect for store managers and cafe owners, accountants and dentists. Thank god for people like that. Or I’d be trying to buy my coffee with Monopoly money (which would be completely unaccounted for) while my teeth rotted out of my head. Because I’m certainly not qualified to do any of those things.

However, modern society still requires me to pay bills and settle my bar tabs with American Currency. As such, I have come up with two possible plans for Horribella’s Grown Up Life, while avoiding reality as much as possible:

1.) Go to White Collar Jail for tax evasion.

Look, I’m not talking real jail with hardened criminals. I’m talking Martha Stewart jail. Lindsay Lohan jail, except possibly more sober (although I won’t be stoked about that part). I’d get a free roof over my head, three square meals a day, and all the time in the world to work out and write. Sure, I might have to put out for protection, but I’ve put out for less valid reasons in the past. I don’t see the downside, aside from the thread-count, I’d assume.

2) Become a Kept Woman.

This is, essentially, a variation on the above. I’ve always thought I could never be this type of Stepford whore because I’m so completely undomestic. BUT maybe the reason I’m that way is completely circumstantial. Who wants to work 10 hours and come home and cook for one person? Spend all the time preparing, all the time cleaning up, for like 15 minutes of delicious pleasure? Thanks, I call that a date. I don’t need that song and dance in my “me-time” as well. But shit, if I had nothing else to do all day, I’d absolutely greet you at the door with a martini in hand - and even make one for you too! - while aromas of bliss waft from the kitchen. Okay, okay, I’d at least make sure to order from a variety of delivering restaurants and serve the food on actual flatware as opposed to out of the cardboard containers. In addition to uncovering hidden talents for decorating and cooking, I could go to museums, read, catch up on my correspondence! I don’t even know if I have correspondence, but if I do, I’m pretty sure I’m not caught up on it!

I mean, I’m not saying I don’t want to do ANYTHING. I don’t do well with boredom. I find way too much trouble and burn through far too many Duracels. And I do really enjoy having things to do. I just don’t want a soul-sucking, all-consuming, same thing every day type job. Can’t I contribute to my living situation, and subsequently society, in some way that isn’t straight up financial? Isn’t my sparkling personality enough?

I’m going to continue to explore these possibilities. And perhaps buy a stack of scratch tickets while I’m at it… at least it will give me something to do with these idle hands.