Tuesday, February 07, 2006

 

Words of wisdom

As I slide down the banister of life, I will always remember 1985 as a splinter up my arse.

Comments:
With the exception of the birth of my daughter, which was a miraculous thing, 1998 was by far the shittiest year of my life and one I never, ever want to repeat. 1985 I don't remember ass being so bad.

Then again, going from your previous comments of yours I guess you were still in school then, whereas I'd already left.
 
I would definitely nominate 1991.
19 years old, unemployed, lonely, fat (still fat, but acclimated to it now), depressed, with little to no hope.

Yep. 1991.

So...what happened in 1985?
 
Can't say 1998 was my favourite year. My 1991 wasn't bad, though.

Where do I start with '85? Acne-riddled 15-year-old, morose, prone to tantrums, no girlfriend, didn't like school, kicked around by prefects, living in a repressive racist state with the threat of bombs in every fast-food restaurant, unable to articulate my frustration in any fulfilling way, father out of work, parents rowing all the time, nothing but shit in the music charts. At least I'd got over my nuclear war doomsday period by then, but in a way that was more exciting. Life was just boring and pointless in 1985, tedious as all hell.
 
But look on the bright side, you showed them all by becoming a handsome, witty, urbane, self-made millionaire.
 
ha!

i can't fucking remember yesterday, you expect me to think back over 20 years ago?!

;o) i was 8.
 
Kim, I love your clever use of 'ass' to reflect the original post. I'm sure it's not just a typo.

STi: Fuck me, that does sound depressing. Hope things are better now. At least you can feel smug about being two years younger than me.

El B: one out of five isn't bad (counting 'self-made' and 'millionaire' as separate concepts). Thank you for your touching concern, as always.

Sarah: thanks for giving me a head start for my forthcoming post in which I guess the ages of all of you. Hungbunny's the easiest, by the way, as he's provided exact co-ordinates to the day.
 
Oh, and now that I think of it, apart from Kim and SafeT you haven't told me what your worst years were. I didn't post this to receive fucking compliments. So tell me what your most miserable years were; I'm dying to share your wretched life experiences. Even if you're not old enough to remember Adolf Hitler, or Pol Pot if you're Cambodian, I'd still like to hear.
 
I have been looking for a reason to unload 1982 from my psyche. (I was born in 1960, like you) In the year 1982, I felt like a washed-up, has been. I had flunked out of college the year before because I couldn't or wouldn't apply myself. My boyfriend (whom I thought was the answer to my spinsterhood fears) rejected me, and my job as bartender at an airport hotel was unfulfilling. I had a chronic hangover and many black outs during 1982, though I never penned any well-written verbal torpedoes at anyone during those times. After some of those lampshade-hat-nights, however, I often did wake up in strange places and was almost always missing something(s) that I started out with the night before; like a car, purse, or sister. 1982 was also the year I threw up in public places more than anybody else I know. Talk about embarrassing... I made a lousy drunk.
 
Thanks for asking. That was very cathartic.
 
Er... presumably it was maths that you flunked in college, Jupiter's Girl, because I was born in 1970.

Sorry, that was too tempting to resist (and I'm sure you'll agree). I don't mean to make light of your experiences. At the risk of sounding too LaLaland, thanks for sharing those obviously painful details. Being a drunk is no joke, and I know because there's a history of alcoholism in my family, which is one of the reasons I posted that Friday Night drivel a couple of days ago. The potential - not all of it, by any means, but certainly the seed - is in the genes, and it's lurking here in me. I assume and hope you've got over it.

In contrast, 1982 was one of my happiest years. I'd started high school but was still a child and so didn't mind that I was smaller than all the other boys. I had a cutting-edge Nintendo Donkey Kong Junior game, was into thrilling Alistair Maclean novels and subscribed to the coolest horror movie magazine in the world, Fangoria. Life was bliss.
 
Bloody hell, I forgot: Jupiter's Girl, what's with all this crap about 'spinsterhood fears' at the age of 22? My fiancee's 28, nearly eight years younger than me, and I still feel guilty about cradle-snatching. You're not old nowadays till you get to 65, and even then you're barely on the cusp of middle age.

This thread has got far too serious.
 
Going back to 1985, eh? I don't know if it was a good year... I was three. But I was an adorable little kid... and my mom couldn't have possibly hated me yet.

As for spinsterhood fears at 22, that sounds about normal to me -- I've been terrified of permanent singledom since about 22. I think it's ingrained into the female psyche still that something's wrong with you if you haven't got a significant other.

How the hell did I end up on this tangent?! You're right, this has gotten far too serious. My sincere apologies -- fucking February. So I once knew a gal from Nantucket...
 
And you've just given me more fodder for my next post, LindyK, with that revelation. Born in '82? Excellent.

Sorry, but all this 'spinsterhood in the early twenties' is just bullshit in this day and age. It's one of the reasons why I've always preferred the Bronte novels over Jane Austen's. Charlotte Bronte's Villette is the perfect example of a young yet mature woman who doesn't mind waiting till she finds the right partner. She never gets round to discovering the pleasures of the flesh with him before he's lost to her in that sea-accident, which is of course a pity; but at least she isn't hide-bound by that ridiculous Puritan morality which says you're on the shelf if you haven't married before you're 21.

All of this puts me in mind of some of Joke Mail's recent postings. It really is far easier being a man. It never crossed my mind in my early 20s that I would never find a life-long female companion, nor in my early 30s; and it shouldn't cross yours either, ladies.
 
Always glad to be fodder, Footsie. Fresh young fodder... that sounds surprisingly dirty. Rad.

But if you're going to pick a Bronte, for fuck's sake not Charlotte... Emily was a goddess, and Anne was great with only two novels... such a shame they both died young and Charlotte lived long enough to bastardize both their works... what Charlotte did to Emily's poems was abhorrent. Sorry, I digress...
 
Wuth'ring Heights was the pinnacle; yes, I agree.
But was it really written by Emily?
 
Footsie, *gasp* what are you suggesting?! How could it have been written by anyone else?! (and for fuck's sake, especially not Charlotte, if that was your insinuation!) Have you read EJB's poetry?! It's existential, dark -- totally on par with Wuthering Heights... the same poetic voice, the same existential dread...
 
Don't tell me you haven't read up on the 'who wrote Emily' controversy, Lindy...? I'm not being very original with this.

As it happens, I reckon there's no controversy and Emily was the real genius of the sisterhood. But I love Charlotte's novels with a passion.

Funny how a stupid aphorism on a sordid blog ended up provoking a discussion of the Brontes. I like it, anyhow.
 
Yes, Footsie, I'm familiar with the controversy... it's all a bunch of shite -- there's one about Shakespeare, one about Chaucer -- no one wants to believe any one person capable of multiple acts of genius. Anyrate, I'm unswervingly devoted to Emily. Charlottan. (pun in-fuckin-tended)

You're right -- who knows how we ended up talking Brontes... it could be worse, though -- you could be stuck on my stupid blog.

You're an insomniac, too, Footsie? Or just bored while the honey's gone?
 
I forgot to mention 1991 was the year my then-16-year-old cat died (whom I could remember no life without), experienced a singular act of rejection from the entire group of people I had thought were my friends at exactly the same time, and was dumped by my girlfriend for being "too old".
'course I eventually married her, and Heather's been a fabulous mate ever since.

Women worry about being spinsters, men worry about remaining virgins. I wonder what that says about our value systems as men and women?
I was almost a 21-year-old virgin, myself. (One month prior to my 21st I had my first love affair)
 
It wasn't the spinster-hood I was really worried about. After flunking out of college, math wasn't a problem like it is now, I thought there was nothing left for me to do but settle down and have babies. Took me 8 more years and many epiphanies before that happened.

A best year...? I am still holding out for that one. It might be this year - 2006. This is the year I will get that delicious acting role that will catapult me into film acting success. And my Astrological counseling practice will be extremely busy and prosperous. And my children will be happy, healthy, and fulfilled, and my house will get a make-over, and my husband will want to take a vacation (he doesn't relax, that man) and I will not have any car troubles, and and and...
 
What a coincidence! I have need of Astrological counseling!

While I was born under the sign of Aquarius, I suspect that the dogstar was in ascendancy and my plight was complicated by the position of uranus.

This resulted in some interesting lifestyle choices for me and led to my current position in life, almost full owner of a small eBay cigarette selling operation (called "We Really Don't Sell Smokes, So Don't Ask Us Or Send Us 19.95 A Carton To This P.O. Box in Newark With Your Return Address Specified In A Note Also Enclosed Thank You For NOT Buying Smokes From Us, Which We Don't Sell Anyway")

So, when I'm making the big decision to engage someone in assigning deep significance and meaning to the relative position of stars and planets in respect to me and my endeavors, how do I guage the quality of the charlatan in question?
 
27inches:

1. Print off this page.

2. Roll it into a tube.

3. Stick it up your arse.


Hope that helps.
 
Thanks, Footeater. I couldn't have said it better.
 
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