In praise of my everything

"My women friends, they're all my sisters, all my mothers, all my husbands, they are all my everything. It's hard to find a man who can measure up to any of them."
-Jennifer Aniston

If anyone found out how wise Jennifer Aniston truly was, she could have made a living giving friendly advice, instead just being a Friend. Luckily for me, she found a way to put into words what is very hard to say, especially when you're in a committed relationship. With several other women.

While it's true that I am single by traditional definition, I feel very much spoken for, and to deny the relationship that I am in would be worse than infidelity - it would be a lie. Because even though I do not have a male significant other, I have others who are significant, and we have a relationship that is more real, more sane, and way more healthy than any other traditional relationship I've ever been in.

I consider myself lucky enough to have friends who respect me. Despite the fact that I make jokes when uncomfortable, give generally bad advice, and am the worst bartender alive, they don't try to make me anyone that I am not, because who I am is enough for them.

I am lucky enough to have friends who support me. Whether it's reading this blog, letting me drag them to press conferences, or talking about THAT boy again, they are always there with a listening ear, a beautiful smile, and a shoulder shrug, because sometimes it's all they can offer. And it's enough.

I am lucky enough to have friends who never go away, even when I want them to. It's easy to want to retreat into a corner and try to deal with it myself - I am the queen of alone time. And it's not so easy when they haul me out of the corner, ask the tough questions, and get angry, especially not when I deserve it. But my friends are strong women, not easily intimidated and not scared of what's hard or uncomfortable, even if I am.

My friends are my everything, the family I chose. We've been through breakdowns, break-ups, boys and Breckenridge, cancer and car trouble, fights and fiestas, and oh! the dreaded hangovers... They helped me remember my locker combination and held me when I cried. They will stand next to me at my wedding, help me raise a child, and look the other way when I fart in the nursing home.

You know who you are, and you know what you mean to me. I'm counting on you fix me when I break, catch me when I fall, and change the world like I know you're going to do.

No, YOU back that ass up

It has recently been drawn to my attention that I have an ass. You'd think this wouldn't come as a surprise, but for someone who spends a lot of time dealing with the largesse of other body parts, the knowledge that I have a double-wide trailing behind me ALL THE TIME has escaped me until now.

I exaggerate. A little.

While standing in my choir dress waiting to go onstage last night a friend of mine and I started talking about asses. She claimed she didn't have much of one, and oh woe is her, and then, before you know it hey! somehow, Hilary's ass is all kinds of involved in this conversation! She turned me around and triumphantly said to anyone who could hear, which was everyone, "Now that - that, is an ass."

And, to my shock and awe, it was, indeed.

Not to toot my own horn (or trunk, as the case may be) but after it was stared at and complimented by many a choir boy and girl, I decided that, for once, my Italian genes had come through for me, and instead of cursing my wide hips or very Italian nose, I could just get over myself and enjoy my body, which is so bootylicious.

Sex & the separation anxiety

It's a little bit like a drug. It's consumes my time, I'd rather be doing it than hanging out with my friends, it's pretty much all I can think about. And I can't get enough.

I am, of course, talking about "Sex & The City" on DVD.

I borrowed the complete set from a sorority sister last week, for a class project. No really, it was for a class project. But then I thought, if I had them, I might as well watch a few of them. For the sake of the research, you see. But then, by the time I got to the middle of season three, I was hooked. I watch it before I go to bed, I watch it while I'm getting ready in the morning. I even come home in the middle of the day and, instead of reading the newspaper or having lunch with friends, I go up to my room and watch it.

I clearly have a problem.

I realize, thanks to my Media Effects class, that I'm having a completely inauthentic experience with this particular show. According to critical media scholars, somewhere, in my subconcious I believe that I am friends with Carrie, Miranda, Samantha and Charlotte. That I, too, go shopping at Barney's and own the latest Manolo Blahniks. I sleep with half of the men in Manhattan, I drink Cosmopolitans every night, and I have a well-read sex column that is modeled after my well-sported sex life. And in forgoing actual experience with actual people, I am living a life that is inauthentic, and completely untrue.

That is ridiculous. I know that these characters are not real people. I am in college, my disposable income is zero. When I do have money it is more likely to be spent at Target, not Tommy Hilfiger. I do not have a column and I do not have a fabulous boyfriend named Aidan (I'm only in season three.) I am not friends with these people.

But in my defense - who cares? Isn't college all about the late night movie marathons? The weird addictions? At least I didn't plan my class schedule around the soap operas I watch (unlike someone I know...) If I want to watch my DVDs, then I should be allowed to, free from judgment.

However, they aren't - tragically - my DVDs. They belong to a certain sorority sister downstairs. And now, knowing what you do, you can imagine what a problem I'm having now that the afore-mentioned sister has taken her DVDs back. I can't be separated from them!

What if they go shopping without me?

H is for Hangover...

I went to my friend (and also my new roommate!) Lindsay's house last night to hang out with the people I work with. The equivalent of more than 10 shots of vodka later, we were eating "Sex Mix" (known to real people as "Chex Mix") throwing things at each other, and whining about how much we wanted pizza. Well, the pizza thing was pretty much me.

Also, things got a little crazy in the office romance department, because I think two people may have had a little sex mix of their own. BUT IT WASN'T ME! And I absolutely mean that. I did end up staying the night, though. On the couch. By myself. Ordinarily I'd prefer that someone sleep with me, just for the spooning benefits, but this time, I'm glad that I was A to the L-O-N-E. You just don't want to spoon within the office.

So, in a very classy manuever we like to call NOT taking the walk of shame the next morning, and as part of another manuever we like to call NOT being present when the happy ( and awkward) couple comes up the stairs the next morning, I left - in my car - at 7:00 a.m.

And now, in a manuever passed down from all the sorority girls before me, I'm going back to bed. And sleeping until noon. After all, sleeping in your own bed, by yourself, is the classiest manuever of all.

A wheezy asthmatic, a Polish girl, and an Italian mama go on a vacation...

I just got back from a weeklong vacation in San Diego with Sarah and Gosia. Aside from having no money, a peeling hairline (sunburns suck) and a horrible pain in the back which I think is from the 40 minutes we sat in the Sharper Image massage chairs yesterday (Or maybe it was the laser beams shooting out of the Sharper Image employees eyes trying to get us out of the chairs, hmm...) we had a great time.

Trip Highlights:
.Gosia mis-reading a sign and instead of Mcacques (which are monkeys) she called them mycocks. You can see the discrepancy here.

.Having sand in all my crevices, for the second Spring Break in a row. Not really a highlight, but, you know.

.Thinking that Marie Curie invented chemistry...

.Having a bum at a trolley station perform a whole stand-up routine, which involved jokes about lesbians (he has nothing against them, after all, they both want the same thing!) and a bad joke ending with the punch line "Obi-Juan's Kenobi." These jokes shall never be repeated in polite company, this I can assure you.

.Polish lessons while waiting in line for the Matterhorn. I can now say "I am still sunburned", "I love you" and "I have to pee. No, really." in Polish - my parents would be so proud.

.Standing on Main Street in Disneyland under a sky lit up by fireworks, surrounded by two of my best friends, wearing a pink t-shirt, a tiara, and holding an ice-cream cone. As much as I am anticipating my wedding day, I don't think it really gets any better than that.

Unless I get married at Disneyland, and then it's ice-cream and tiaras for everyone!

Shoot with intent to woo

Well, it's Valentine's Day. I have a very full schedule: studying for an American Government exam tomorrow, journal entries for State and Local Politics, I have to complete all my reading, and let's not forget the pining. My homoplatonic life partner and I will be watching "The Notebook" and then we will commence with pining away for the great loves of our lives, and then ask the eternal question "WHERE IS HE?"

Really, it couldn't be more fun.

However, contrary to most years, I am not so upset about it, because we have goals, we have objectives - we have A Plan. A Plan To Woo. Basically, due to the mysterious forces of the universe and the convienient timing of the school schedule, the boys we intend to woo are positioned perfectly and are about to be wooed like they have never been wooed before. Not that they know it, of course, but with a finely tuned plan such as this, they will know it and soon. No, Internet, I'm not going to TELL you the plan. That would totally ruin the Alias-esque stealth of the Plan To Woo. And we are nothing, if not stealth.

And if the goals are not met, we will turn instead, to world domination. Nothing is hotter than a woman in charge. Except maybe a woman in a bikini, in which case I should quit typing and go to the gym...

Hilary's Anatomy: Kiss my ass

Well, I'm pretty mad. Nothing new there, as righteous indignation is one of my favorite emotions, but REALLY. All I asked was for someone to tape "Grey's Anatomy" for me last night. I even stuck in the tape. Out of all the people I live with, I thought it could be done. We've taped things before, and it's not even TiVo - how hard could it be?

Apparently, real hard. Because instead of a tape of "Grey's Anatomy," I got a tape of WB2 News at 9. If anyone would care to fill me in on what happened, I'd be much obliged. And if anyone has a tape, I'd be even further obliged, perhaps to the point of all the chocolate in my posession and sexual favors. Yeah, it's that important.

I hope it's not contagious

Disclaimer:
This is an actual conversation that happened in my dining room at 9:00 a.m. this morning. In telling you, I am assuming that you remember I live with 20 girls, three housekeepers, one house mom, an old repair man, and a part-time chihuahua named Stella. You've been warned.

The Cast:
B - House mom who spends inordinate amounts of time smoking and trying to convince us to redecorate by making all the furniture purple, paisley or a combination thereof.

John - Old repair man with lisp. Drinks Mountain Dew like it's his job, which maybe it is, because that bathroom we're paying him for is still not done.

Me - I like shiny things and I write this blog. Also, I eat bagels for breakfast. This will be important for later.

Ashley - Sorority sister who lives down the hall. Enjoys sports, sleeping, and making me squirm.

The Scene:
John - "Well, I think we need 100-watt lightbulbs. Those last the longest."
B - "Well the ones we have in there now don't last very long at all. Those advertisers decieved me!"
Me - Silently and innocently eating a bagel and cream cheese.
Enter Ashley, wearing sunglasses.
Me - "Hey Ash, why are you wearing your sunglasses in the house?"
Ashley - "Well, my eyes are infected, and so I'm really light-sensitive right now."
B - "Is it conjunctivitis? Because my son-in-law had that, and his eyes were pink and gooey and-"
Me - Staring at and no longer eating a bagel and cream cheese.
Ashley - "Well I don't think they're very conjuctivy yet..."
Me - "People I am EATING!"
B - "Well it was just the most awful thing I ever saw in my life, that's all I'm saying."
John - "So did you still want 100-watt?"

I hope she doesn't pass it along to the dog. She already had mites, I don't think she can handle any more.

The times, they aren't really a changin'

Today has been an interesting dip into the pool of my past (apparently I will also be dipping into the pool of really bad metaphors and lame figures of speech, but that's for later.)

I met up with two old friends today: a friend I never honestly intended to see again, and my senior prom date, whom I also never thought I would see again. I will the first person to admit that I downsize my friends. As harsh as it sounds, I would prefer to have a group of close friends that I know intimately and care deeply about, instead of winning the popularity contest and running myself to exhaustion trying to keep up with everyone I've ever met, just to make sure we're still friends. I know that some people subscribe to the adage "the more the merrier" and that is true when sharing the rent or a bottle of vodka, but when it comes to close friends, I just don't view it that way.

I am the person who 'downsized' friends for having telephone conversations while we were out to ice-cream, text messaging people while having a conversation with me, lying, turning Republican (it's okay to be one, just don't say you're a good old- fashioned Democrat and then take it back - it's decevious!) and interrupting. Some of these are good reasons to reevaluate a friendship, others are not so justified. What can I say, I have a zero-tolerance approach to friendship. Which is not to say that I am not a supportive friend. On the contrary, I am fiercely loyal and protective of those I love. It's just that my love only extends so far, and membership into that group is a long process.

So you can imagine that I was quite surprised when I actually enjoyed myself at both of these meetings today. One lasted for over two hours, and our conversation ran the gamut from travel to boys to politics. And it was refreshing to know that as much as I'd like to think that I've grown up and passed my past, I haven't changed as much as I think, and neither has she.

It takes two to tango, but only one to order the beans

I love food. It's become almost shameful, in this day and age of Victoria's Secret models and "I'll just have salad," to admit that one actually loves to eat, especially if one is a girl. The fact that I am always hungry is probably alarming to most people, especially one of my friends who is a very dainty eater and always makes me feel like a lumberjack in comparison. But I do enjoy food, especially what I am having tonight: black bean and tomato ravioli at the best little restaurant ever, Red Tango with the Chach, the best friend ever.

Of course, if I could cook for myself this would all be easier. Except getting the beans into their little ravioli package. That would never get easier. That would always be really hard.

Evil Twins: Banking and the D.M.V.

Last night, while participating in the gluttonous consumerism that is American Christmas, my best friend pointed out that I was driving with an expired license. And had been since Nov. 11. That's neat. So, today, it was off to the D.M.V for me. And lucky me, I was there ALL MORNING LONG.

First of all, let's be clear: I don't like the D.M.V. Actually, I don't like any place that I have to wait for more than 12 minutes to get what I want (GAP employees who take too long finding the jeans, take a hint) And at the D.M.V., I am surrounded by people I don't know (a weird phobia I have) the possibility of small children being present is high (does anyone employ a babysitter anymore?) and I most definitely had to wait more than 12 minutes today. Try 47 minutes. And that's not even counting the time it took for me to get TO the D.M.V. So let's count! After all, I love math:

The time it took for me to get from my house to 88th and Wadsworth= 31 minutes
The normal time it takes to get from my house to 88th and Wadsworth= 6.5 minutes

The time I spent in the D.M.V. before I saw the "No Credit Cards Accepted" sign= 3.2 minutes
The time I spent cursing myself for never carrying anything but a credit card= infinite. In fact, I'm doing it right now. I will never learn.

The time I spent driving in circles at the bank trying to find the ATM so I didn't have to talk to a person= 2 minutes
The time I sat at said ATM staring at the screen that said "ATM BEING SERVICED" and willing it to be fixed= longer than I'd like to admit.

The time it took to explain to a real person that I normally bank in Ft. Collins but I need $20 RIGHT NOW = 23 minutes. (Part of this time was spent giving the bank clerk the stink-eye, at which I am proficient having learned it from my mother.)

ACTUAL D.M.V. time= 47 minutes.
Amount of time spent listening to racuous, running twins at D.M.V.= 47 minutes.

Number of times I listened to the a capella version of "O Holy Night" by N*SYNC to get myself back into the Christmas spirit, and also to prevent myself from calling everyone on the road a motherfucker= like I'm really going to admit THAT...

So if you add all those times up, you can come to three basic conclusions:
1. People should not have children two at a time.
2. ATMs are called 24 Hour FOR A REASON - DO NOT DECIEVE ME AGAIN 1ST NATIONAL BANK!
3. My life is so much better when I have Dana to drive me around.

Actual Conversation

"I'll have the Swiss oatmeal. After all, if it's Swiss, you know it has to be good."

"And why is that, exactly?"

"Think about it: chocolate, army knives, banking, mocha, luggage. Those Swiss people are good at everything!"

"Uh-huh..."

My birthday, basically

"Hilary, you cannot hold your alcohol."
"I don't need to hold it, I can carry it in my purse."

And...

"I need a tiara from Wal-Mart RIGHT NOW!"
"I think they're sold out of princess crowns, it's Halloween."
"Not a fake one, a real one! They're back by the yarn..."

Also...

"What are you for Halloween?"
"Intoxicated."

Finally...

"This is Michael, he is always on his phone because he thinks he is the president of the FUCKING WORLD!!!"
"Please do censor yourself. Just because you're the birthday princess, doesn't mean you get to be rude."
"If I was really a princess you would buy me a tiara."

"Melinda, go to the temple!"


Many thanks to my friends for putting up with me, laughing with me, and for picking me up- both from the bars, and from off the floor, while I was a wailing, tiara-less Holly Golightly.

Clearly, this is a rave

We went to some party last night (a huge step for Dana and I, who stay in on Friday nights like it's our job.) The concept was cool - it was a black light party, so everyone had glow sticks and paint on (although beerpong was proving to be more difficult than usual for some people.) KD's make a party wherever we go, and so we were having a great time flinging the glow sticks around, pretending to be drunk, and asking people if they wanted to come to our rave.
HOWEVER, the night came to an abrupt halt when four guys from my Preview groups over the summer knew who I was by name (it still freaks me out when they do that) and then started flirting with me!
Dana and I had a lovely evening watching movies and painting our nails.

photo of the day: "This is so ravin'..." c. Hilary Davis