Saturday, March 26, 2011

on identity theft

I had this brief moment of time in the last few years where I thought I knew who I was. It was fleeting. Just the other night a new someone asked me "what do you want?" After hours and hours of conversation about everything under the sun & after the sun & beyond the sun, I couldn't answer him.

Cricket. Cricket.

I feel like I'm more undefined now at 29 than I was at 17. Maybe it was just more acceptable then. "She's just a kid, she's got her whole life in front of her, her whole life is just starting." As my brother puts it, "my life is going in neutral." The only thing I can think is that neutral is better than going in reverse.

Burnout. Discontent. Boredom. Doubt. Something is to blame. Bad Attitude?

Boredom? How could I be bored? Riiiight???

My uncle used to be a hard core drug addict and everyone in the family knew when he was going on a binge cause he would disappear for days and weeks at a time. It's not the same parallel, but I do the same with my writing. I binge on "life" and stop writing about it. It should be the opposite. More to do should be more to write about, huh?

In the last few weeks, there's been a lot more drinking, a slight increase in self-deprecating thoughts, a significant shirking of responsibilities, a noticeable wasting of money and rejection of bill paying. The dishes are only kind of taken care of, the laundry is sitting in the dryer for the last week, the bed got unmade, and I can only see 1/2 of the kitchen table. I haven't seen the whole kitchen table since sometime before Christmas. I cleared half of it off today. I saw dings and scratches. Grrr. Then my baby got in a wreck, last week. I'm sorry baby. Pout.

Thursday, we had this conversation: "Why do you think it's so important that you have time to just yourself when you're in a relationship?"
The answers...
* from the 19 year old who ALWAYS has an answer to everything - "because you have to miss someone sometimes"
* from the 31 year old who keeps hoping that the stripes on her zebra will change - "because you just need some time to breath and not get sick of each other"
* from the 26 year old who is in marriage counseling "that's what me and X did wrong, we never had time to ourselves, we were always with each other. I think we got sick of each other but we're working on it"
* from 29-year old me "because you get lost in the definition of so-and-so's "wife" and such-and-such's "mommy, you still have to exist as "You" and not always as "we" or "us"

Who is right? All of us and none of us. Why? Because all of us, in one way or the other, on some level, are still figuring out the ever present "Who am I? What do I want out of this thing called life?"

The night before that conversation, I took this picture, while dressed like Ke$ha and listening to Lady Gaga, live. Live Gaga. It is as entertaining as it sounds. She is actually really great and she can actually really sing.

{in a wig, this girl could be anyone she wanted to be}

Post concert, 1 am, I walked thru the parking lot in the rain, dressed like a hooker, half my shirt falling off, wearing a platinum blonde wig, with rhinestones glued to my face, 1 fishnet glove one, 1 fishnet glove off dangling in my hand, and with a bottle of Jagermeister under one arm, I let myself into the front door of a friend's apartment and fell asleep on a blow up mattress in her front room at 4:30am.

Lemme tell you. That girl...didn't look so hot when she woke up 2 1/2 hours later at 7am. Hot mess maybe, but that's about it.

Friday night, after a few shots of bubblegum vodka and a few more beers, in the midst of a girl-guy-other girl-and girl #3 vortex of drama that was like a scene straight of the damned Real World New Orleans, I snuck away and took this self portrait in the bathroom (keepin' it classy, I know) while the band played this song. It about sums it up.

{sometimes I wonder who that girl is in the night, she was doing her best to capture the sweaty, I-just-awnna-dance-!-look-at-my-Whitesnake-video-worthy-windswept hair-do to showcase her peacock feather earrings and ever growing body art to show to the newest textmance somebody who has no idea who she really is}

Look at those two pictures together. Where in do I lie? Right in the middle? Too far left? Too far right? Are they both me, just different facets? The thing about facets is that they're cut to maximize a gem's beauty. They're all different angles, rarely two exactly the same. Hmmmm...this has me thinking. Maybe, just maybe, I've had blinders on when I look at myself in the mirror, both literally and figuratively. I think we will be revisiting this thought soon if not sooner.

Finally, tonight before I'm done wondering about identities, how they get lost, and the long process to find your own in the haystack of life...I would like to say to the girl who stole my blogger description almost word for word and made it yours: imitation really is NOT the sincerest form of flattery. Not only is it not cool that while I am in my own waning quandary trying to really figure out what makes me tick and who I am, it is even more not cool that you think that you can take my "Who's that girl?" and try and make it yours. Yes, I'm a pretty cool chick, I know, but even you can be your very own pretty cool chick too. I won't name names or point fingers. I don't do that. You know who you are. Trust me, I know enough cool cats, to know that there's enough room for both of us to carve out or own definition in this book of life. Also, my Copywriter told me she would quit me if I didn't stand up for my words. My Copywriter is also one of the coolest chicks ever!!!


  1. I'll give you one more reason: relationships don't work if you can't be yourself, and there will always be some parts of yourself that can't be shared with your significant other. Like makeup shopping with girlfriends, or cocktail hours with girlfriends, or bollywood workout class. And also because you might not want to go watch football games every week-end :-)

  2. First of all, bubblegum vodka? That exists and I don't know about it? I will find it.

    Wow. WOW. I ask and I receive. I don't know where to start. So I shall stop. Well done. WELL SAID.

    I am reading your writing and hearing the song and seeing the bar you're in. I love it. All of it. It's perfect, really. The picture of you in the bathroom. Genius.

    I am not just saying this. I don't do that. I don't placate people. One of your best, Karma.

    It's mediocre-ville out there. It's all audience-based vomit. It's like a parent telling a kid to stay off crack when they hit the pipe every day. It's like a cop stealing something. Or it's like schools today. When teachers are teaching kids how to write, for example, they should teach them in the context of originality. Where has the value of creative writing gone? God, someone, anyone save the kids. They should teach them that plagiarism is not only illegal, it's not being true to oneself. It's like a dirty cop or a cup full of vomit. No matter how good it is. I have seen my share of it, and it has happened to me, and it is no bueno.

    I think that makes sense to a few people. It's too early in the morning to call. But change it, or I call your ass out. Will the real Lauren please stand up?

    P.S. Really, Lauren, it's brilliant. All wrapped together. Like bubblegum.