Sunday, September 26, 2010

Senior Year. I live in San Gennaro. and eat too many cannolis.

When I was about 9, I was an absurdly precious child. I'm sure that doesn't come as a shock to anyone who has taken the time to read my blog (ya'll already know how awesome I am). One day, my grandad was dying. And I was in the hospital cafeteria with my mother, father, and uncle. I was instructed to sit at a table with said uncle whilst mis padres checked out the noms. It was during this moment of fear, sadness, and complete vulnerability that my uncle turned to me and said, "I am afraid to die. I want to be cryogenically frozen so that I can be brought back to life. You are the only one I trust to do this."

Recently, I have been thinking about this interaction. Not in terms of the existential crisis that it caused, or my nonexistent relationship with my uncle, or the fact that I am a bit on the cray cray side, but for the fact that apparently I give off a vibe that makes me irresistible to fuck with. True, I think in the case of uncle it was mo' crazy less malicious, but I have recently been told that, and I'm quoting here (as you can tell by the signs but I just like the way it sounds) "I fuck with you because you let me. And I can't with anyone else." As much as I appreciate honesty, and I do to a remarkable degree, I find the idea of mind-fuckery to be a bit too intense of a 'thing' to do because I let people.

But now, dear reader, now I can make soup with bok choy and tofu. and now I can put on my own eyeliner. And now I have paid my own Time Warner bill with my big girl checks. Now, dear reader, I know which cannoli places during san gennaro have the biggest/cheapest/yummiest noms and i know how to talk down prices from ten million dollars to free. I've made purchases at IKEA. I've become disgruntled and shoved some tourists, 'borrowed' straws from Starbucks and STARTED GOOGLING GRAD SCHOOLS.

Now, dear reader, I have begun to understand that tourists won't just move because they see they're in your way and you're carrying a large box. No. No. You must request movement with a jerk of your arm and grimace about the face. (lesson fo' life)

I've learned to make my own coffee. And party on my (completely less than stable) fire-escape.

So to you dear person who fucks with me because you can. i say. i'll probably still let you. because i am weak. but someday. someday. i will have a fire-escape which i am certain will hold my weight, and actual self worth. some day...

Until then, i'll settle for hot professors, baked goods, trader joe's wine (they upped it to $3! fascists...) and being a badass hipster in training. and so will you.