I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
I know it’s all over now, but in case you’re wondering… I still don’t like Christmas. I want to foreclose on gingerbread houses and silence the godawful music. (By the way, this song is about date rape, not holiday spirit.) I want to boycott shops with gaudy decorations. And yeah, I sort of want to tell kids the truth about Santa. Gently!
Instead, I spent most of December thinking about my second annual I-don’t-care-about-Christmas advent calendar. Here’s what I did:
Some of you may know that Beyoncé is my spirit animal.
Her new album, 4, recently dropped after leaking and well, this is all sounding kind of gross right about now.
But it’s not. It was time for a new Beyoncé album, especially after that last disappointment that harbored “Single Ladies.” I never liked that song, and yes, I wish I could dance to it.
My favorite of Bey’s albums is B’day, which came out around 25 years ago. One of the best songs on it is “Irreplaceable,” a sassy, vengeful song about a man who cheated on his woman and can just move his shit “to the left, to the left” for all she cares.
I went to dinner and an event with my friend Claire tonight. I left her alone for three minutes outside so I could sneak into a bathroom at a local eatery. By the time I got back, she was sitting in a chair on the sidewalk having her palm read.
It was such a Claire thing to do. Amused, I tried to listen in. Then it was my turn.
And this tweet pretty much sums it up:
(via I Love Charts)
I met this guy a few weeks ago, and we were talking about our respective childhoods. This is what you do with new people when you don’t want to discuss work - you ask about what happened before they lived in New York. Then you share your own story. Things can get pretty personal. Someone might as well say, “Show me on the overpriced cocktail where the man touched you.”
This guy was really Midwestern. I would have guessed this after talking to him for a few minutes. He’s wholesome and attentive. Plus he told me he was really Midwestern. But you know who’s even more Midwestern? His parents. They are so Midwestern.
FYI: It is worse to be so Midwestern than it is to be really Midwestern. So Midwestern is just gratuitous Midwestern-ness, and we can’t have that.
I asked some follow-up questions, but it was pretty evident that this guy needs to see a therapist. (It takes one to know one.) He just can’t get over it. His parents are so conservative and religious. So Midwestern!
Tomorrow I’m finishing a five-week writing class that’s really shaken my confidence. The teacher never set out to break anyone down, and I suspect she’s hardest on people who have promise.
Still, I’ve spent the last month second-guessing my voice and the way I’ve processed experiences, wondering, “Do I think like a writer? Should I repackage the truth into something it wasn’t in order to sell a story? How have I gone this long convincing other people that I’m a writer?”
It’s like coming out of a long-term relationship and realizing that you have to get naked in front of a stranger someday. We only realize how comfortable we used to feel once we don’t feel that way anymore.
When you put on headphones, the world turns into a music video. NYC’s the perfect place to do this, because people here are so unpredictable. Yesterday, I was minding my own headphoned business and exiting the subway station when I saw one woman angrily chuck a ball of paper at another.
The paper ball thrower was angry that the other woman bumped into her kid at the subway station. The kid, meanwhile, was fine and not splayed on the tracks or anything.
People bump each other all the time. Kids don’t look where they’re going, and parents often don’t watch their kids. So the world turns.
And the woman who had the paper ball thrown at her? Much smaller and younger than the other woman. Of course.
I hate to stereotype but I’ve found the people who are most defensive of their offspring on the subway platform are also the most likely to scream and slap them once they get on the train.
Today’s my 28th birthday.
To reference Sinatra, I’ll sum up the last year this way: “When I was 27, it was a very bad year.”
I’m optimistic that things are different, starting today. I’m stronger and wiser with experience. Things have been looking up for weeks. No one gets this much rain without eventually seeing some huge effing flowers.
And everybody knows it sucks to grow up. I’m not alone, and I’ve got exhibits A-C to prove it.
Today I went to the movies near Lincoln Center and saw the romantic comedy Something Borrowed. It’s based on a book series I won’t ever read.
This was for a review I’m writing. Usually, I go to screenings a few weeks before a movie hits theaters, but this one’s already out. So I had to go to one of the ticket machines and pay my admission. If anyone had been there to judge, I might have wanted to say, “I’m getting paid to do this. I wouldn’t see this movie of my own volition.”
I wouldn’t have said it, but I might have wanted to.
The theater was full of women and sensitive Jewish men who will see anything with their women. I found a good seat right in the middle, two seats down from this women who was also there alone. She was eating a sandwich she’d brought from a deli and had four or five shopping bags around her seat.
I felt an instant connection to her.
The awkward thing about drifting and swimming back and drifting and swimming back is explaining what exactly you were doing while you were gone. You don’t want whoever you’re revisiting to think that the other activity “won” your attention, because it’s better.
It’s not.
It’s probably more urgent. It likely involves money and stress and “I was going to tell you one of these days…” Probably most of those distractions, while important then, are forgotten now.
Someone I know has started checking my blog when we hang out and saying, “Aww. My favorite blogger hasn’t updated.” And then I look at the screen and see that’s it the Noisiest Passenger homepage with a 15-day-old post about blogging more regularly.
So here’s what I’ve been up to. Or rather, 12 things:
