Tanning OCD

Last week I bought a package of 5 tans for $55.

This week I scrambled for rent money.

I love tanning.

I love looking tan.

I love being my own private dancer, moving to cheesy pop music, naked, in my tanning booth while wearing those silly lil’ eye protection stickers.

I look so good with a tan that it forces me to buy new clothes to match my tan. I look so good that I have to stay out later so that people in bars can enjoy my tan. I look so good tan, that I don’t mind being broke as long as I am bronze.

God I can’t wait to get another UV bump next week. Just a hit, just a hit…(famous last words)

Talk about me! I mean don’t!

When you raise a kid to be both self-conscious and self-absorbed you create an utterly narcissistic adult.

Sure I try to make it a cute part of my persona. An innocent flaw that gives me sassy character. Truth is, it’s a trait that takes up waaaaaaaaaay too much of my thoughts.

You see, I am thinking about what others are thinking. And then I think about that some more. I am equally appalled if others do or don’t talk about me. Which is worse? I have no idea, I am too busy making up lavish tales about what I think others think.

Here is a peek at a conversation between me and me in my head:

“I don’t care and totally care about the gossip circulating about me. What? There is no gossip about me? There must be! Oh no there is? What are they saying? Wait, don’t talk about me! Wait, please do! Stop looking at me! I mean, why isn’t anyone looking at me!?”

And so it goes, the life of a confident, anxious, insecure, selfish yet sweet gal who is madly in love with herself.

Please forward this post on.

I mean don’t.

I mean leave a comment.

I mean, only if it’s nice.

Lots of Hot Air

I have been spending a lot of time on my air mattress.Yes, I have a bed. Thanks for asking.

However that bed lived in Boston for the past two years and I had been spliting my time between Boston and New York trying to “make it.”

Why two cities? Thanks for asking.

Well sometimes when little girls move to the big, bad city, they have a breakdown, and run away only to return a few weeks later.

So for about 14 nights a month, for 13 months, I inflated my bed and hit the plastic on my dear friends floor.

I felt very fortunate to have such generous people in my life that invited me to make their livingroom my temporary home.

I also felt like a big loser making their livingroom my temporary home.

Cut to present day. My husband and I relocate to a sweet apartment in Brooklyn and decided as “adults” it was time for brand new fancy bed.

Of course beds take a week or so to be delivered. In the meantime we’ve been nesting on my ol’ reliable air mattress. My ol’ reliable air mattress with a tiny hole in it. My ol’ reliable air mattress that deflates around 2 am every night. My reliable ol’ air mattress that had disrupted my sleep for the past 4 nights, leaving me cranky and exhausted. My ol’ reliable mattress that ain’t so reliable anymore.

At least the plastic from the air mattress doesn’t stain from tears.

Gross. Could I be more dramatic?

Great, now I feel sad about complaining about my bed situation.

Oh little brain of mine, do you ever take a nap?

Happy Hangovers!

Tonight I shall attend my third holiday party of the season.

The first one I went to this week was on Monday night. It was at a comedy club I perform at regularly and there was an open bar. Open. Free. Unlimited. Disastrous.

I’m not sure what it is about Monday nights but they’ve recently replaced my Saturday as the party night. While everybody else may be working for the weekend, stand-up comics work for the free drink they get after doing their set. And free drinks have no idea what day of the week it is.

I awoke Tuesday morning surprisingly well considering I had passed out on a friends couch in my pretty red party dress after vomiting and loosing my digital camera. While I was hangover free, I still promised to “take it easy” the rest of the week. And I did, until I got a call about another holiday party that night. Once again, it was at the drunkest place on earth: a stand-up club with open bar.

Cut to 4am this morning. I took it “easy” and drank free beer instead of free dirty martini’s like I did on Monday. Luckily the recreational drugs helped keep me from getting too drunk.

I assume by now you reading this are in awe of how cool I am. Listen, I shop at Forever 21 because sometimes I want to be just that, a young, foolish, extremely thirsty co-ed with a brand-new shiny debt-free, 0% interest credit card and a lot of friends she wants to impress by charging to that credit card endless rounds of SoCo lime shots.

And sometimes, I want to be a 30 + work-from-huge-home mother with a stable income and the ability to enjoy one, that’s one glass of Merlot.

But most of the time, I enjoy being who I really am: a twenty-something gal who works hard and plays hard, who is embracing being happily married yet still maintains her saucy style and fierce independence, and who is promises to go back to her cardio/weight routine just as soon as she finishes these last few drinks of 2007.

If I weren’t so hazy from all the holiday ho-downs I’d probably get into a long analysis of my inability to turn down anything free and how I learned it from my mother whom is the reason many take-out restaurants hide their napkins behind the counter. Yes, if it’s free we’ll take as much as we can. But that’s a tale for another time.

And I’m off to get dolled up for my friends party tonight. Last year at her party I ended the night sobbing on air mattress after shamelessly throwing myself at some random kid (note the word kid) from the OC whom I didn’t even like but wanted to simply conquer to boost my emotionally drunk ego. Let’s hope this years soiree ends with an equally exciting bang. Cheers!

I’m Not Sure if This is a Good Post. And I Never Will Be.

When I was in high school I saw this postcard (and I am not just saying that cause this project is called Postcards from Crazytown) that had a cartoon lady screaming with the quote ” I used to be indecisive but now I’m not sure.” I bought it, tacked it to my wall and have held that mantra/sad sad truth close to my heart ever since.

I am completely and utterly incapable of making a solid decision thus spinning myself into a tornado of contemplation. Yes or no? This or that? Here or there? Right or wrong?

Like all my other -isms I blame my parents. Really. If I could I’d invite the entire world to be a fly on the wall, when on Sunday mornings we’d try to decide where to go for family lunch.

Mom: “I dunno where do you wanna go?”

Dad: ” I dunno where do YOU wanna go?”

Mom: ” Well I don’t wanna pick a place and have it be my fault if nobody likes it.”

Dad: “Well I don’t wanna pick a place and have it be my fault if nobody likes it.”

Me and/or my sister: “So where are we going?”

Mom and Dad: ” I dunno where do you wanna go?”

Oh sure, it’s hilarious unless you are 12 years old and chewing on your Benetton sweatshirt to keep from your hunger saliva from spilling all over the floor.

And so it goes, I’ve now become an indecisive adult. A gal who sweats her way thru the food court burdened by the choice of Chinese food or pizza. An adult who has slammed the remote down in utter despair unable to choose to watch “Desperate Housewives” or “Family Guy”. A woman who nagged her husband to move from this city to that and now insists they move back again. A lady whom before she married her husband found it appropriate to ask complete strangers if they believed in marriage and if she should go through with the wedding.

And yet somehow she manages to wake up and choose adorable clothes to dress herself in day after day after day.

Did I mention my big narcissism complex as well?

-Giulia

Welcome to the Crazy.

Four crazies. One blog. Many, many lonely nights of typing and crying. Enjoy!