I think that Sarah Palin has put the icing on my home-made rose-topped sickeningly sweet-strawberry-frooty-tooty angel food cake...the dessert that looks perfectly baked and decorated, but when you take a big bite you pucker, double over, gag, and puke the thing out. She has gotten a face lift, and has now gone Skeletor on Fox News. All smooth forehead and no more eye bags, and cheekbones that stick out a la corpse. This, along with many other dysfunctional social and personal defects I'm facing, has put me near the point of jumping off the bridge, or waking up tomorrow morning in the gutter in front of the Ringside Pub, a soggy cigarette between my lips.
Here is what I sound like when I'm drunk:
"I've worked so HARD! And SACRIFICED! And I got up earlier than everyone else, stayed up longer than everyone else, to get better scores than everyone else, and I get along with people, and they LIKE me, and I give the shirt off my back, and I never make time for myself, and no one UNDERSTANDS me..." You get the drift. Sick stuff, right? Not the classic pity pot that everyone shits in once in a while; it's the everyday experiences that guarantee nights of me feeling resentful, desperate, and alone. Very very alone. I'm singing the same song (to myself only...a kind of melancholy a-capella broody bit) without the "time for myself" part, because I got a mani/pedi yesterday, and I wouldn't want to sound completely ungrateful. I've worked really hard yet I'm unemployed, my last boss is denying my unemployment claim, I'm busting my ass at an internship and I owe them thousands for the pleasure, and I can NOT wait patiently from my latest job application to see if I'll be called back, or not hired at all. I almost wish the guy would send the e-mail that says, "We regret to inform you" to end my misery; only thing is, I really am the most qualified and best person for the job. I was made for it. I can bring new insight and integrity to that office...and that's where I start to sound like Palin, and my self-loathing begins anew. Women who get facelifts just to look less wrinkly should not be taken seriously in politics. And how far away am I from the lipstick-on-a-pig in-over-my-head wink-and-a-nod failed governor-slash-beauty queen? My recovery hides my deep flaws, my academic achievements hide my social phobias, and my resentments grow as others who are less brilliant and more dishonest write million-dollar sellers while I stay safe on a cheap and easy blog. I bet Sarah didn't even write her own book, and with that, I resent her ghostwriter. I could ghostwrite better than anyone, I bet.
Just got a call from the kid I checked into rehab a few months ago. She's sober, struggling, and has had to take herself out of a challenging situation. She needs a place to hang tonight...and that is why I am here. That, thankfully, plants me with the root of who I am. And of who she is. We are not fake or make-believe. We are real, honest, hardworking women who have made a profound change, not just plumped up our breasts or tightened the turkey necks. We keep going, growing, and we never let the rough times bring us down. That's my story to tell, and it's a good one.
I think I'll call my book "Undefeated". Well, maybe not.
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