The Most Important Relationship

This weekend is my sister's bridal shower.

This means I will be surrounded by thirty flighty broads who down champagne to distract themselves from the ticking of their biological clocks.

Now, maybe we must wait for the wedding for the bouquet to be tossed, but these ladies are already clamoring to be the next to wed. I can already imagine their mental checklist as they set their overly highlighted hair each morning with cheap velcro rollers...

--Spray tan? Check
--White dress picked out? Check
--Bridesmaids chosen? Check
--Honeymoon destination? Check
--Children's names selected? Check (Bill and Mitsy!)
--Perfect man? Uh oh. Sh**, I knew there was something I'd left out!

So they paint their claws in rosy hues to hide their lethal inclinations to scratch, and hit the bars to find Mr. Right. Or scour the gym for Mr. Macho. Or hit on their professors for Mr....well, for straight A's, I guess.
Teeth are bleached till they glow in the dark, perfume is rolled through to mask the stench of desperation, and superfluous hairs are mercilessly torn from their hidey-holes like gophers drawn into the gnashing blades of a lawnmower.

But as these young women's opportunities fade into nonexistence like the dim withering of their minute eggs, they are left with only themselves at the end of the day. Feeling defeated and alone, they drag themselves to their bathroom mirrors and postulate that they will die old maids with an impressive number of cats.

This is when their real opportunity emerges, however, if even they do not see it. For when they are stripped of visions of sugarplum weddings and acrylic nail sets, they are forced to look into themselves. They might choose to shudder and hastily go to bed before they must confront their demons. But they might also choose to treat themselves kindly and find new and better meaning in their lives. For only when a woman loves herself can she give herself fully to another. So the most compassionate of these damsels lays aside her amorous pursuits, for a while, in favor of a new pursuit--that of harmony with herself.

For as my dearest bosom friend and I were advised lately, "men's hearts are easily stolen." But holding yourself dearly within your own--well, it's sweeter than red velvet wedding cake.

Giving Up My Gold

Somewhere between ripping out an ad for zombie sculptures in Sky Mall and enjoying a spoonful of strawberry Rice Dream I realized how much I miss you all.

I haven't been ready to really feel my sadness yet. It can be exhausting, and to a nervous insomniac energy is gold. But the longer I go without hearing your voice the more I imagine I am with you all...doing asymmetrical, klutzy things that are characteristic of my nature but that never have actually happened the way I describe.

Like brushing my elbow across your shoulder when I prop myself up on your bed to check the time.
Like re-humming the same sequence of notes in a song five times in your presence because I want to prove that it was indeed a sixth, not a fifth, that we heard.
Like linking together so many Sour Keys that a ladder is born, infinitesimally scaled and powdered with pink and orange crystals.
Like watching moonlight reflect in it's unsure way in the stuttered breath of the ocean. Without observing any cliches.

Time is slower when I inhale the scent of chamomile without you beside me.
Ghosts of laughter press their faces against the glass when I unsteadily trace the curves of your signature...we would never have done this as solemn-faced as I am now.

Je vous manques.