The Rules

Things I Did This Weekend Instead of Writing

Slept
Made biscuits and gravy
Watched Super 8
Watched Running Wilde
Stayed in my bathrobe until 8PM
Drank porter and rye
SEIZED THE DAY*


*I hate break the news this way to you, Mom, but I finally broke that last rule of yours.

When I was in high school, it became clear that there were three rules not to break. They weren't your typical rules, ones about sex or school or eating vegetables. They were:

1. Don't get a fake tan.
2. Don't get a facial piercing.
3. Don't bleach your hair.

One summer during high school, I thought it would be a good idea to break rule number one and get some fake sun; I worked outside in the summers watering plants, and wanted to get a base tan. Also, a good friend had extolled the virtues of the tanning salon in terms of easing her seasonal affective disorder. I remember the front desk person asking me if I'd ever tanned before, and then asking me how long I wanted them to set the bed for. They must have had an excellent belly laugh at my expense when I said 15 minutes, because later I learned 2 or 3 minutes would have been more appropriate. Anyway, I took off all of my clothes, put on the little goggles, and got myself a tan.

Soon after, I went with my friend John to the movies, and when we exited, he stopped dead in his tracks and asked me if I was okay. I said that I was a little bit hot, but yes, I was fine. And then I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and saw my TERRIFYING, PUFFY, ANGRY RED FACE.

And then I realized that the rest of my body was just more of the same. Scalp, feet, belly button. All of it. AHHHH. AHHHHHHHHH.

And of course, that being the first rule on the list, I did not want to tell my mother. So, I spent at least a week having my coworkers put aloe on my back, taking cold baths, and barely sleeping.

Did I learn my lesson? YES. YES I DID.

Rule #2 was broken in the summer of 2003 on a trip to the Twin Cities with the Manhattan Experimental Theater Workshop. Many of the 18 year old participants were asserting their independence by getting piercings, and I felt sufficiently past the time when my mom gave me pamphlets that encouraged a tasteful tattoo over a facial monstrosity. A friend owed me $40, so she paid for me to get my nose pierced. When I got home, my mom looked at me a little bit sideways, and clearly held her tongue.

A month later, she came to visit and told me that it was tasteful and that she quite liked it.

It's been almost 10 years since I broke rule #2, so I figured it's about time I went ahead and broke #3. On Saturday night, while drinking porter and rye and eating Market Fresh pizza in my coworker's kitchen, I became a blond for the very first time in my 29 years.

I'm not ready to show you yet, Mama, but this is your warning.

xoxo,
Blondie

Addendum: The only rule for adult living laid out by my mother that I feel I must adhere to is:

Don't get married until you're 30.
(If you get married at all.)
(Maybe it would be better just to live together.)
(Actually, maybe it would be better to be married and NOT live together.)
(You know you actually get to make your own decisions and I will support you.)

Thanks, Mama. You are, truly, the best.

Careers I Have Considered Regardless of Aptitude

Jazz singer
Cranberry farmer
High school English teacher
Theater professor
Chocolatier
Accordion player
Literary magazine editor
Cafe/bar/theater owner
Blogger
Pre-school teacher
Executive assistant
Accountant
Knitter
Television actor
Professional eccentric
Upright bass player
Esthetician
Aesthete
Theater artist

Things I Am Not

I am not:

a savvy, stylish mom
a savvy, stylish mom living in Kansas City
a political, critical thinker
a photographer
on the cutting edge
an essayist
a trendsetter
an early adopter
crafty
thrifty
ingenious
a poet
a consummate list-makerhttp://thedailyli.st/

Some of these things, I would like to become.  I am constantly becoming.  I am carving out a moment.

15

Some things about this girl:

She is 15.

She will learn to drive a car and ride a bike during the same summer.

She will be a terrible waitress for about 3 months.

She will soon eat sushi for the first time.

She will have crush on about fifteen different boys at once, including, but not limited to: a British chemistry major (too old for her), a college debater (too old for her), a really short soccer player (not into her).

She will get the aforementioned British chemistry major to take ballroom dance classes with her through community ed.  She will never figure out how she magicked that into happening.

She will be kissed by the aforementioned college debater on her 16th birthday.  It will be awesome, and really confusing.  He will keep reappearing in her life every 2 years or so, ad infinitum.

She will be allowed to pretend that she is an adult by many, many people.

She will learn about hip-hop, and punk rock, and Tom Robbins, and poetry, and counter-culture.  

She will sleep on the couch of her college-aged best friend most weekends.  

She will wake often to sunlight through an attic window and a black cat biting her toes.

She will feel free, but not realize it until many years later.

She will feel loneliness, and desire, and joy, and love.

She will continue to get taller, despite drinking obscene amounts of coffee at every opportunity.

She will learn to play spades.

She will learn to work hard at a job.  It will serve her well later in life.

She will DJ a jazz show on an underground radio station, and read poetry on the air, and her dad will stay up late and tape her.

She will fall off a 12-foot high land bridge into a shallow creek in the pitch darkness.  Her best friend will jump in to save her.  Neither of them will have any idea how to climb out.  She will hit someone in the face with her muddy shoe when she tries to throw them back out of the creek.

She will begin to have large non-intersecting groups of friends for the first time in her life.

She will feel okay about having multiple best friends.

She will learn about embodying paradoxes.

She will have so many adventures.