The As-Yet Unrecognized Art of Being Me

I finally figured out where my talent lies, so to speak. All this time I thought I was mediocre, and actually, it's an under-appreciation problem. I heard myself complaining about finances one day - as I am wont to do - and saying that someone should pay me for being me, because I am really good at it, and I do it better than anyone else. This is true, but first I must explain the money complaint thing. No, I do not think I have anything real to complain about. But quit lookin down yer snout at me. I am great at kvetching (complaining), and so it all leads back to that good-at-being-me thing.

The money story is that I grew up in a big house and my father made a lotta money. Not like trust fund, but like plenty. I did not know that I would ever hafta worry about money because I assumed that I would grow up and make some. That's what they tell you at private school. went to shitty public schools until sixth grade. That gave me grit, or something. Then I went to private school. It was weird, because there were other Jews there, and also kids who seemed sorta like me. Also, there were Levi's, fair-isle(?) and argyle, and Lacoste shirts and absolutely no training bras. How embarrassing. Lower middle class and working class girls had tits by then, but the well-educated daughters of professors, doctors and lawyers were flat-chested. This is not a phenomena I will pursue here, and of course it changed in middle school. Wait, where was I. Oh, so of course I know that I have enough money. But making enough to pay a small mortgage and a life-for-four without saving anything kinda sucks. Sorry, oops, I shouldn't say it. But I would like to have a lotta money, and yes, I tell my kids that compared to most of the world we are rich because we are, but christ could I please just have some fucking cable t.v.? And I would like to go out to dinner, a lot. And I wanna travel around and see stuff.

Who is the Director here and how did I get to money? The purpose of this entry is to explain how great I am. I am using reverse psychology to disgust the reader with my materialism, only to endear her to me later when I explain that I am a teacher in a city school. God, I'm obsessed with rationalizing and pseudo-joking with liberal excuses. But I'm not liberal, I am me. And I gotta say something about that.

Right. First, I look good. Good in a warm way, I think, and people seem to enjoy my company, unless I hate them or dislike them or sense something that is simply not right. I am beginning to look my age, and that is because I have circles under my eyes and lately the make-up isn't working. I was opposed to make-up when I was younger, but then when the under-eye issue became visible enough to look like 2 tiny bruises, I said screw that natural stuff, cake me now! Also, I am quite accepting of other people, unless I hate them or dislike them or think that they are assholes. I have a good sense of humor unless I have my foot in my mouth. Then I apologize pathetically, and have faded old visions of what a weird little girl I was, and I think of myself as a weird big girl. That goes away because I manipulate the people closest to me into giving me compliments, and then I believe them.

I love dogs. Loving dogs makes a person that much better. My dog is the best dog in the world, and everyone says so, which is fun. He does all sorts of hilarious shit to make me feel better. I know, because his personality changed after my brother died, when I cried like a faucet that won't stop - and loud too. Let's don't get all maudlin: everyone cries when someone dies or else they are very sad. And my dog - we'll call him Rover - can read expressions so very well. Recent research that showed that dogs are better than apes at interpreting human facial expressions. He began to always be near me, sit up on his butt like a person at a table, cross his front legs like me, and crawl under my legs when I was at the computer. He also does a most excellent head-tilt when I talk to him, as if to say he can't quite gather what I am saying, but he is trying. I like other dog people but I think it's odious when people rail on about their pets (I would never), and I have little interest in cats. My sister's cats are good - and I am obliged to say that for fear of reprisal - but most other cats suck. They say nothing, they do nothing, they won't make eye contact. Plus they stink up the house and shed everywhere so ya feel like you just went through the dryer without a lint collector.

Otherwise, I like to serve tea, I like to drink vodka and to listen to loud music - new or sometimes old - currently The Feelies - and I sing along loudly. I like to go out because then I feel a bit relieved. I don't know what else to say about myself, except I am superb at doing all of the things that one must do to be competent being me. I throw my clothes on my chair, I wear hip outfits, and I hang out with my cute little family. My teen family member is tired of my voice, and that is fine and normal. Really, it's fine. Honest. I love it! One less kid to look after, and another adult to criticize me. I am good at taking criticism because I become defensive and I make sarcastic remarks. Other people pretend to be mature. I am too honest for that.

Tomorrow we are going to see Lucinda Williams. She is an idol of mine because she says what she means, she sings, and she has a foul mouth. I will go as myself and there will be no one there who can even approach my mastery of the art. Now if I could get someone to pay me for being me, then my pettiness and my talents as my self would be realized. Lucinda Williams certainly gets paid, and she is Lucinda Williams. I can go be me at her concert and yell loudly and collect my paycheck at the end of the week, which happens to be tomorrow. If none of my plan to be employed as myself works out, I could easily be a brash obnoxious bitch. Does that pay well? And what should I wear?