Boys and Vaginas

You are a symbol of my childhood/ The days I spent in that vast parking lot, with your children while I myself, was a child./ We played hopscotch, basketball, tag, volleyball We sang in the choir/ We played the tambourine/ We ran free behind those orange fences./ If anything, I only spoke to you a handful of times/ Hugged you only a couple,/ but your hands blessed me an infinite amount./ So I loved you/ You and your wife./ You and your daughters./ You and your sons./ You and your grandkids./ I love you all, so very much./ Thank you for making my childhood the best part of my life./ I will never remember bad times when I think of you./ Only that through your hands I was born again,/ That you married my parents/ That I swam in your pool/ I’ve missed you, and I’ve missed that life/ But you’re in a better place./ The place where you always belonged./ I love you. Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.

It’s funny how now I don’t care about many things. By this I mean the things I obsessively cared about as a pre-teen and teenager. I don’t remember my exact actions, like how I moved, how I walked, how I talked, if I cursed, if I wore lipgloss more than chap-stick or vice-versa, but I remember trying to be cool — oh shit!

Don’t even try to front because we were all there. We all wanted to be cool. Go to hell if you say otherwise. 

So today I met a boy, or rather this boy met me. He shook my hand and said something like, Hi Laura, I’m (blank), I’ve never met you, but I know your name. Wrong! I have known this kid since I was in middle school, and in middle school I was ‘in-love’ with him (or the sight of him). 

In my defense, as a nobody to this kid who I obsessed over for a couple of years (he’s older by one or two years so he went to High School and then I rarely saw him again, until my close friend turned out to be somewhat of a close friend to him), we never shared a class and by all that is holy, we didn’t travel in similar circles. I was a loser. I’m not a loser anymore and I take great pride in that because I work my ass off to know amazing people which excludes me from Loserville, plus I read, a lot. 

I wanted to tell the kid that he’d met me before (we were pre-teens and by the way he’s still a hottie), but as he took my hand and shook it and then held if for a few seconds, I realized that this time, he was the one excited to meet me because I seemed cool. Oh god! I know I just basically said I was cool. But I am even if I get super intimidated by the indie kids that walk the streets of Echo Park. 

So I walked away and laughed. I’m so happy I am who I am. I’ve come far from being the lame, nerdy, four-eyed girl who wore skirts to school on a daily basis, and I’m never belittling myself for anyone like I did in the past because I’m amazing.

xoxo

ps - (So are you Vanessa, even if you didn’t come to my party. I love you and I’m happy I’ve known you forever, so yeah, you pretty much owe me Sushi).

I shouldn’t be writing this. I actually shouldn’t be sitting in my kitchen, sipping on a McDonald’s vanilla latte (Starbucks was closed) while there are dirty dishes in my sink. I have stuff to do, but I want to write out my ‘daddy issues’ instead because I think I finally figured the whole thing out a few days ago, so here goes.

I like to think that I’m one of the few kids out there who likes/loves her stepfather. He didn’t marry my mom until I was 15-years-old, but I call him dad (most days). I’m sure it annoys him that I’m not his kid, but he makes the best of it and for that, I love him.

My mom keeps a tight shift around the house, she’s not the man of the house, but she is (if you know what I mean), but right now she’s out of town and I’m home alone with my dad (stepdad). So to give you the gist of the story  I’ll just say that while the dog’s away, the cats will play.

My dad likes staying up late, so do I, but when my mom’s home, the latest we go to sleep is midnight. So a few days ago, around midnight, my stepdad tells me he’s going to the market. My cousin’s husband was with him and I don’t trust that guy one bit. So I give him this stare. I figured my dad was lying to me. I figured he’d go to some bar, some strip club, somewhere I knew my mom wouldn’t approve of. My friends were over and I didn’t want to make a big deal of it, so I told him, “Just don’t do something stupid.” He left. 

The entire time he was gone, I was worried. A bit panicky, thinking that in a couple of hours he’d come home drunk (even though he’s never drank one beer in front of me) and I’d have to deal with some middle-aged drunk man like I did when I was a kid, when my birth-dad was still around.

Let me just point out that I loved my childhood, but it was moments like those that ruined some of my best times. Alcohol makes even the funniest people, like my birth-dad, extremely and unbearably annoying. 

45-minutes later, my stepdad opens the metal door and walks in with grocery bags. My heart jumped. He hadn’t lied to me. I had psyched myself out for no reason. I wanted to cry. 

I went back into my room with my friends and stared up at the ceiling. I figured that my ‘daddy issues’ weren’t that I had lost my father at a young age (even though he’s still around), it was that he would lie. He would promise one thing and not pull through. He’d say he wouldn’t drink, but he would. Most importantly, he said he wouldn’t leave us, and he did. 

I don’t hate the man. I still love him. But I consider him more my friend than my father. I can hang out with him and stuff, but I can’t trust that he will pull through like I can with my mother and now my stepfather (who always has, by the way). 

I saw It’s Complicated that night, and I realized, I wouldn’t want my parents to get back together again like the kids in that movie because they just weren’t meant to be, even if I was. 

Hopefully someday I’ll trust men, even if just for a tiny bit. 

talk about girls. More specifically how girls call dibs on guys, and how much I hate it. My favorite blogger (shout-out to sexy Alexi) wrote a beautiful rant the other day and she pointed out how she didn’t have that many female friends. One of her reasons was because girls are petty (which we are, some more than others). Two, girls call dibs on guys. 

A little while ago I told my friend about this. We were having a conversation about some guy and I came to the conclusion that girls who call dibs on guys are just morons. I’ll admit. I’ve probably done it a few times, but calling dibs is just about the stupidest thing one could do, and not just girls, but guys too. But if you’re a guy, you can figure out that for yourself (basically, grow some freaking balls and go talk to the girl before your friend does. love is everywhere). 

Anyways, calling dibs on a guy isn’t fair. It doesn’t matter if your prettier, uglier, smarter, taller, wtvz than your friend because the guy you’re calling dibs on might not be that into you. You calling dibs only makes your girlfriend feel like she has to hold herself back from liking/flirting/making-out with a dude that could potentially be the love of her life. Stop calling dibs. Go talk to the damn guy and if sparks fly then he’s yours. But if you’re just standing there with your hands crossed, calling dibs on every guy in the room, expecting him to come up to you when he’s been giving googly eyes to your friend who is standing right next to you, stop it!

I rest my case. If you’re my friend. Don’t call dibs, and if you do. Keep it to yourself ‘cause I can check him out too.  

Lately I’ve been feeling unlike myself. I’ve been listening to rap and hip hop when I use to listen to rock and blues. rock blues. I just finished applying for a position at Universal Music hoping that Motown will hire me, if only for an unpaid internship. I’ll admit. I just want to meet Drake, ‘cause lately I’ve been so obsessed. 

I haven’t read in a week, and that’s so unlike me. I haven’t even listened to Radiohead, I think my soul might be dying. I’ve been drinking too much beer and that’s unlikely. I’ve been going out, coming late, and dancing. I’m use to laying in bed, sipping wine and watching movies like all day. 

I get it. It’s the end of summer. The winds are changing. It’s been a good even year even though I hate even things. I like odd years like 2007, man that was a good year. Let’s not talk about ‘08, I try to forget how much I hated those 365.25 days. 

I still got about a month to do what I said I would. This week just turned into the busiest week. It’s crazy how I never feel alone these days. It’s crazy how three summers ago I was crying for him and now I try to evoke those feelings and nothing. 

What am I doing? Man, I admitted to hating when people say this, but that’s right. I’m doing me. And in the words of my favorite young rapper, I’m living life right now and that’s what I’m going to do ‘til it’s over, but it’s far from over. 

update: i got an internship at Universal, not Motown, but Universal.