boo fucking hoo

as part of my adjustment to adulthood, i've been spending the past month in my lovely apartment apologizing to people. "i'm sorry i ran out of cumin and this soup is less-than-perfect!" i've bemoaned. "i'm sorry, i wish i had cleaned more before you got here! i've just been so crazy," i keep telling people. "oh, i'm so embarrassed about the state of my bathroom - you must forgive me!" i've demanded. i can't help it; i'm on compulsive hostess with the mostess behavior at the moment, wanting every single tiny thing to be just so, every minute detail to be absofuckingperfect. thankfully, i'm a realist and have learned to just sorta live with that box in the bathroom and the as-yet-unhung art laying around wherever, but today, as i faced the prospect of my first real-life houseguest, i was not surprised to find myself on all fours, vacuuming the shit out of every square inch of the place.

i'd done some heavy-duty cleaning in the kitchen, master bathroom and my bedroom (which is now making a very strong princess statement thanks to the most questionable impulse purchase of my life, the purple velvet tufted headboard which is totally cute but really, um... purple), and was about halfway through the living/dining room when the most unfortunate thought crept into my head: "god, it sucks that this place is so big. it takes forever to fucking vacuum." umm, yeah, i'd like to officially nominate myself for most obnoxious statement of the year, because omg who complains about that shit? like, "ooooh, yeah, my life is too awesome and i have waaaay too many nice things and it sucks so hard to be me!" i do, i thought to myself, instantly nicknaming myself captain complaint; and, per usual, i'm fucking right.

i've got to admit it; i'm a bit of a complainer. i really, truly don't mean to do it, guys (thank you to anyone who is still my friend and for not stabbing me every time i've sighed and said, "i'm hungry," which is admittedly kinda really-semi-frequent, but i like to nosh, so leave me alone), but apparently complaining has been as much a part of my life as cats and near-narcissiscm have, for like, ever. i mean, i guess the word "apparently" isn't exactly appropriate, as i've known this about myself since 1992, when i was a awarded one of the highest and most meaningful accolades of my super illustrious life: best frog catcherSLASHbiggest complainer. yup, fancy!

you're probably wondering what type of institution would issue such awards, and i'm proud to report that i earned that title at the one and only sierra ski and pack club sleep away camp, where my parents deposited me for two consecutive years, once as the youngest (by 2-3 YEARS, aka motherfucking eons in kid ages) in the only female "tent" in camp, and the next year as the eldest amongst the first and only boys-and-girls group thing, which included little boys two years younger than me falling in love with me (and resulting in a very awkward conversation, negotiated by my C.I.T. who was maybe three years older than i and, ugh, seriously fucking horrible as some little kid explained that he was only mean to me because he liked me. barf.). however, the title of biggest complainer was only bestowed upon me once, and i think probably pretty clearly reflects that i had no friends and totally hated camp, but no hard feelings, mom and dad. i sure hope you enjoyed your two weeks of kid-freedom, you selfish jerks. jkloveyou!

anywaaay, i'm rather certain my endless sighs of, "are we there yet?," "i'm tired," "i'm hungry," among other whiny things that undoubtedly escaped my lips, had something to do with my unpopularity, which in turn fueled my admittedly freakishly good frog-catching skills. our tent was right next to this gross swampy sort of creek-thing, which housed hundreds of ping-pong-ball-sized frogs, buried in the mud. while my troop-mates (i'm not sure that is correct camp terminology, but like i said, i wasn't that into it) spent their free time laughing with each other, braiding each other's hair and talking about which boys they had crushes on, i was usually elbow-deep in mud, endlessly digging around for frogs, catching them, naming them, and promptly releasing them. i'm rather certain these cool older girls thought i was a total freak (um, i don't really blame them), and i think the "best frog catcherSLASHbiggest complainer" award sums up their feelings about me pretty accurately. they might as well have said, "best annoying weird kid," and they probably wanted to but the counselor wouldn't let them.

so i guess i shouldn't be too surprised when i find myself complaining, despite the general awesomeness of my life, but i think i'm turning a new leaf, and thinking of curbing my complaint-quotient. when i griped needlessly as a child, poppa b used to always say, "i'll give you something to cry about," in a very archie bunker way, like he was going to smack me around or something (which he totally didn't. no libel here, daddy!), and i feel as though i need to start saying that to myself now that i'm a real-life adult and can admit that hungry as i may be, i'll never know real hunger. truthfully, my life is an embarrassment of riches, and i could do well to remind myself of that sometimes rather than bemoaning the minor hiccups, inconveniences and bumps in the fucking pink sparkly road that is my life. so, there you have it, folks! no more bitching! i'm an all new me!*

ugh, i have to get in the fucking shower and go to my stinkin' job. ugh, so annoying. ugh.

*starting next week, i promise.

big brother 2010

i've just got to say that i'm kinda getting freaked out by the prospect of a real-life "big brother," and yes, in a very orwellian way. if you're a little rusty on your 1984, fret not; i'm gonna hit you with a twitter-style synopsis, 140 characters or less: big brother is the dictator in a futuristic world that’s all surveillancey and shit. succinct! ok, so you might be asking yourself, "what's going on in planet sparkle that's making rachel morgan so freaking paranoid?" (or you might be asking yourself, "what am i doing reading this blog right now? i have a lasagna in the oven and i must tend to it lest it burn." per my most recent blog, i've started to try to accept the fact that just maaaaybe, people aren't thinking only of me, all the time. bastards.) well, guys, i hate to be the one to break it to you, but i'm pretty sure the internet is big brother.

"THE INTERNET?!" you're likely asking yourself, shocked that anyone would possibly cast such aspersions on the one thing we all love so much that we've devised ways to carry with us at all times, talk about constantly, and spend countless hours enjoying her bountiful pleasures, such as google, youtube and porn. and, i have to say, yes; the internet is one powerful motherfucker. sure, the internet has a solid hold over all of us (i can admit that facebook and i might be best friends. sorry, ninja, you've been replaced. and, yes, this is because you've been a total slacker in your reciprocal blog loving. jk!!! love you!!! sorry, that interlude was probably really boring to everyone else reading this.), and i can't even begin to imagine how anyone ever did work or accomplished things before the internet. like, you had to fax people? and before that, call people? and before that, telegraph people? and before that, write to people and pray that it got there? jesus fucking christ that sounds awful.

ok, so we're hooked on this powerful beast, but what is really starting to freak me out is that the internet knows everything about me. like, seriously. if i google my name, i'm all over the fucking place, with everything from my high school and college athletics, to the really embarrassing things i wrote about nick carter like a decade ago, to articles i've written in my current 9-5ever. in a lot of ways, i feel like my life has been documented, forever, by the megabeast, the internet. i'm not so sure how i feel about this anymore, internet. i'm actually feeling a little violated... but i do understand that these are sort of very public sphere things i'm complaining about, so i'll let this one slide for now.

but i've got to take a stand, because not only are you using your crazy powers to spread the word of my awesomeness (i'm ok with that part, yo), you're also fucking hacking my shit now! like, every time i log into facebook, i'm bombarded with lesbian ads. and, no, i do not want to watch the movie drool, which is described as: anora collects her kids and new female lover for an offbeat roadtrip to bury daddy. that sounds terrrrible, facebook! and, wow, it is sooooo convenient that you're looking for 27 year old photographers! i just happen to be 27! and have like a bagillion facebook pictures!!! it's like you're in my head, internet!!!

i've been silently accepting you and your stupid targeted ads for a while now, internet (oh google is so guilty too, btw), because they've been somewhat vague and shot-in-the-dark-ish for the most part (i mean, sure you know i'm a big ol' dyke, but that's not exactly difficult to determine, is it?), but i think you took things a step too far today, big brother internet bastard. there i was, just a little rachel morgan doing her rachel morgan things, when i said to myself, "hey, rmb! let's check out some news on the superliberalawesomeadmittedlybiased website, huffingtonpost.com!" among headlines like "top 10 worst internet passwords" and "killer spiders invade austraia" (TRUTH TIME: if this headline ran with the word "california" in place of "australia," there is a reallyprobably chance this blog would center around my megahatred of spiders and serious concern that i would die, as well as various commentary about the movie arachnophobia.), there was a banner from the website allposters.com, which i'd recently been browsing for some crap to put on my walls.

specifically, i'd been looking at vintagey prints from one of my all time favorite movies, a philadelphia story, starring katharine hepburn, cary grant and james ste wart. i'd debated over a few, but didn't buy anything, and then, no more than ten minutes later, on the front page of huffpo, were the smiling faces of good ole' khep, cgrant and jstew... in an ad that not only peddled a philadelphia story, but also anything any of the stars had been in (which among those three is quite a resume, and i have to offer a momentary shout out to khep, because i maybe love her). i really couldn't believe you took it there, internet. i mean, it is one thing to be all helpful and informative and feed my late night shopping habit, and it is a whole other thing to monitor my every keystroke, gleaning your evil little knowledge from things like my desire to not have naked walls.

but, internet, bristle as i may at your dominance, i have to admit that i'm totally your bitch. like, you are the most powerful big brother in the history of big brothers, and you've got us right where you want us. i'm not certain we'd be able to figure out how to contact each other without you, internet. and, like, if facebook wasn't reminding me to reconnect with people, i totally wouldn't (actually, (99% of the people fb urges me to reconnect with are people i only vaguely remember existing, so like, don't care)! i remember when you were just a baby, internet. when you were all noisy and dial-uppy and slow and i had the stupidest aol screen name ever, piixy, ugh, which i am still annoyed by today. you were so charming and novel back then! now, over a decade later, the honeymoon is over.

yet, somehow, i'm more in love with you than ever. and i guess that's a good thing, because let's face it; you're not going anywhere anytime soon (apocalypse pending). see you on dads in short shorts tomorrow.

insert cliche: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

i have very patient and indulging friends. nearly all of them, upon some preliminary visit to my apartment, are subjected to reading what i like to call a coffee table book: "got to be me," a fill-in-the-blank sorta early education thing that children fill in with adorable answers in nearly illegible scrawl, and then when they grow up to be sane people, they file away in some unthought about place. i, however, force this book on people (if i can't get them into my house to read it, i will at least tell them about it in animated detail), as if they care nearly as much as i do about the mental state of (like maybe) 7 year old rachel.

well, friends, get ready for a whole new syllabus for rachel morgan 101, because i am now the proud owner of various other ridiculous things that i wrote as a child! you will be happy to know that themes 1-3 of "got to be me" are strongly recurrent, but for those of you who may have fallen behind in your reading, here's a refresher: 1. cats. specifically the longing for one. ex: "i'd use a magic wand to: get me a cat;" "i like to play: cats;" "i would be happier if: i had a cat." 2. hating my brother. really, its all about the fact that he exists in general. ex: "i hate it when: my brother talks;" "i would not like to have: another brother;" "what really bothers me is: my brother." 3. how much i love myself. in pretty much every way. ex: "two of my favorite things are: cats and me;" "i really like: me;" "one of the best things about me is: everything." for further background on "got to be me," please see me after class.

seriously, i just unearthed a construction-paper "book" i made when i was 6. it is called "my book about me," and the first page says, "my name is rachel. i am 6 years old and i have already lost 4 teeth! i like myself." omg, i am so totally bustedly predictable with the self-admiration. several pages later, in the midst of discussing my rigorous academic schedule (dogs and hebrew, apparently), i write, "i want to learn about cats." ok, so at least there's no hardcore brother bashing in this book, but two out of three isn't bad, right? in case you need further proof, here is the last page of the book (although there are multiple cat-and-self adoration instances within): "i like many things about myself. i like being jewish. i like being a part of my family. i like books. my face."

finding this second piece of evidence that so strongly mirrored the first, i was forced to take a moment to take a hard look at myself, ask myself some serious questions, and mainly, laugh hysterically at the fact that if nothing else, i'm consistent. sure, i've grown up and realized that it's good to have interests in things other than cats, and that no, my brother really isn't all that bad (although, truthfully, that animosity was a slightly lingering phase, but now like toootal 180! xoxxoxox, hjb), but this blog is essentially a grown-up version of these books in which i fondly write about myself (note that i didn't mention anything about not being slightly in love with my own awesomeness anymore; i think i just say it out loud less frequently now).

(parenthetical paragraph: as i kept throwing those parentheses in that last P, i couldn't help but mention that parenthetical writing, when combined with my intense narcissism, has made me a lifetime believer that someone is reading, and doubtlessly loving my endless witticisms. the evidence for that currently is in... um, nearly everything i write, but i've recently discovered that i was an early convert, when i came across "room 31's how to book," in which my classmates and i instruct a reader on how to do things like: "how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, by d. stern (dumb girl);" "how to try to get out of eating vegetables, a. kaufman (fat kid);" "how to drive a car, by j. shanaberg (yeah, right);" and of course, "how to make a book, by rachel morgan" (fucking nerd). anyway, i must admit i was slightly shocked when i read the first sentence in my how-to-book-it: "hello, fans! (thank you, thank you)." UM OMG. i'm 99.9999% sure that i've written that exact sentence somewhere in this blog. well, i probably would've thrown in a fancier word or two, but the little me was totally awesome, and i was pleasantly surprised to see that i thought highly enough of myself to assume that i had a readership, even at that young (and apparently delusional) age.)

i guess i can no longer ignore the fact that although i'm grown up, livin' the high life with a genuine, amazingly adorable kitty that the 6 year old me would be insanely jealous of, i've still been known to dote (practically coo) on her with just a little bit of that kid-obsessed-kid-crazy-eye-thing that the 7 year old me would likely do (and lets face it, probably 70, but seriously, guys, i promise to never be a crazy cat lady!!). i can admit to maaaybe having a healthy dose of self confidence too, but i rarely do things like devote entire blog entries to writing about myself and comparing my current self to my younger self by pulling direct quotes and pretending they're primary sources for some sort of made up class about myself?

yup, when you boil it down, i'm the exact same person i was 20 years ago. except i like my brother. and i have boobs. and a cat (suck on that, kid me!).