a required taste for the pretentious as all get out





does the smug-married moniker adhere to just having a boyfriend?
March 28, 2005, 4:03 pm

May, 1985:

I am running down a hill in a blue dress that years later my sister will wear as her Alice In Wonderland Halloween costume. My hair is flapping in the wind and I am picking up speed, ignoring the traction of white Mary-Janes on fresh-cut grass. My laugh sounds more like a smoker's cough morphed with a goose's honk, and my smile, like a Jack O'Lantern, is missing many teeth. I am inexplicably tan to the point of being obnoxious. My dad barks, from his post behind the camera, to "go grab Christina."

I go to her, try to wrangle her almost two-year old frame, and she takes a huge bite of my arm.

I only want what is best for her. I find that is still the case.

July 4th, 1985:

The sight of my grandparents backyard is enough to make me tear up; to see several relatives, alive there despite their residences in the ground now, makes me downright sob.

My 7th birthday, 1985:

I am wearing a blue tiara. It has never really left my head.

My mother had all of our beta tapes transfered to DVD for her birthday. I look back to twenty years ago and all I can think about is what I thought twenty years from then would be like; I never really guessed it would be this. In fact, my life then is mirroring my life now: happy without a reason to be upset, bound by duty as a good kid, and diligence to things that I think others want me to pay attention to.

I have to admit: while I am deliriously happy in my station right now, I find I am still floundering. I cannot keep too many balls in the air, and the ones I'm letting drop (family/friends) are the ones that should be anchored at all times. I am afraid that one by one, my negligence regarding these things will cause them to fall, shatter, and never get back into my hands again in their original forms. I wonder when they'll be steadied, if at all. It's not a secret: I do a piss-poor job of pretending the world does not revolve around me.

CNET said this week: "Don't take offense, B, but I want you to catch a hang with me where I feel like you're not struggling to get away from me the entire time."

Alice says, "No wonder you want to give up drama: you have a life now. Your priorities have changed."

Um, my priorities? You mean, whereas I used to spend every other second obsessing over my kids and their grades and my play, now I'm obsessing over a stupid new shower curtain, laundry, and my play? Whereas I used to go to Target and buy whatever I wanted for my room, now I'm saying in my head: GODDAMMIT! NAVY BLUE AND TAN! NAVY BLUE AND TAN! NO PINK! My priorities have changed in that I've become one of THOSE coupled girls, without me even knowing it.

Shit. I'm sorry. While I'd like to tell you I haven't compromised my single-self, I know it's a lie, and frankly, at this moment, I couldn't be more excited.

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