Blood and Guts: Helena Lazaro

I often wonder if I don’t want some things solely because I can’t have them. You know what I mean. You probably feel the same way. Seems like all these things are less interesting when they’re mine for the taking, or when they’re in my hands. But that same dreary old Thing looks shiny and new when someone else is holding it. I can see it from different angles, from farther away where the flaws are less noticeable. Suddenly it’s all I need. It’s the only way I’ll ever be happy. I knowingly embark on an ill-fated mission to obtain The Thing I Can’t Have (but I Don’t Really Want). It keeps my mind occupied for a time. And it ensures that happiness is always just over the horizon, but never really my destination.

Sometimes I figure this out and I’m able to get off my little hamster wheel of discontent.

Sometimes I run and run and run furiously for months or years, getting nowhere.

Sometimes The Thing comes walking up to me and says, “Hey, whatcha doing?”
And I go, “Oh, just trying to get to This Thing that’s really fantastic and all I’ll ever want and need from life.”
Then The Thing goes, “Wow, that sounds like a pretty cool Thing.”
To which I curtly reply, “Yes, it is. Now if you’ll excuse me, I really need to focus here.”
And The Thing walks away with its hands in its pockets.

And once in a greeeeeeeeeat while I actually get to The Thing and after one good look at it I remember why I didn’t want it in the first place.

In any scenario, I am ultimately taught (again) that there’s no Thing that will make me happy, that will be all I ever want and need from life. It’s not a destination, it’s not a finish line, it’s not a series of items that can be checked off a list.

And I’ve done it just enough times to where the lesson is starting to stick. The Thing and The Wheel are all wrong. I get it.

So what the hell am I supposed to do now?

So yes, I’m aware that I left the same crap entry up for like four days. But I have reasons!

Friday I saw Capote. I have to mention that because it was, far and away, the best movie I’ve seen all year. It may even be my new favorite, which is saying a lot. It’d be a tough call against Breakfast at Tiffany’s, though, which I guess isn’t that surprising. So, you know I don’t do this much, but I’m insisting you see it!

Saturday was Amanda’s Bon Voyage/Birthday party. That involved a few bars in Chinatown, a Saturday Night Fever dance floor, a homeless guy having a vocabulary square-off with me, and seeing several old faces (most of which I hadn’t run into in over 10 years). No one fell.

Then there was Sunday. Sunday, I had an epiphany.

Continue reading I Want Something!…

For those of you not hip to the latest waste of time, and my role in it, my username on Myspace is Bunnicula. This has prompted a few interesting reactions. Some people have read the Bunnicula books, and for them it stirs fond memories. To them, I say, Right On. Others have not read the books, and for them it is confusing. To them, I say, You better ax somebody.

I don’t know if all schools do this, but when I was in elementary school we had the Scholastic Book Fair that came every few months. For me, these were the most wonderful times of the year.

Continue reading I Miss the Book Fair…

…to go home and wrap myself up in my little fleece blanket. Maybe I’ll get a movie on the way.

I’m sorry, but it’s all I can think of.

…to go home and wrap myself up in my little fleece blanket. Maybe I’ll get a movie on the way.

I’m sorry, but it’s all I can think of.

For some reason or another, this subject came up earlier today when I was chatting with Mr. X. I think it started because we were talking about eyebrows. If you’ve ever met me (and pissed me off), you know I give a mean ass eyebrow. Apparently, he can’t move his brows independently. But he can flare his nostrils.

I was just thinking that, aside from the eyebrows and being able to move my scalp (which actually grosses out people more than it impresses them), and picking up things with my toes, I’m kind of at a loss when it comes to party tricks. Oh, and I learned to put on lipstick using only my cleavage in my high school drama class (your tax dollars at work!), when I played Claire in our recreation of that skit from The Breakfast Club.

But I’d always wanted to be able to blow air through my eyelid. Or wiggle my ears, hum through my nose, pop something out of its socket. Mr. X says he can put his whole fist in his mouth. I’m not sure if I believe him. I used to be able to put both feet behind my head. But after the time I got stuck that way once for almost a minute, I stopped trying it.

I can’t even tell jokes. I never remember them. I screw up the punch line. I know one joke that I remember from like the 3rd grade. It’s the knock-knock joke with Banana and Orange. Ask my mom how many times I made her do that joke with me. She freakin’ hated it. Every time I started up, you could immediately hear the exasperation and exhaustion in her voice, “Banana who?”

The only thing I’ve ever been good at doing at parties is holding a drink, smoking a cigarette, and making out. And while it did the trick at 16, I don’t think that’s the kind of popularity I think I should be embracing at 26. I need some new tricks, now. I’m open to suggestions.