Nic Narrates

I don’t like buying toilet paper. It’s necessary, yes. But it’s also expensive and stupid and it’s such a waste. Also, I think it’s embarrassing.

I once saw this girl on the sidewalk, walking all purposeful, with her arms wrapped around an ungainly pack of toilet paper. I was with my boyfriend and we were having brinner outside as she rushed past. In that moment, I saw the slight smirk on her face and the “caged animal eyes” and I knew.

“That girl is going home to take a massive dump,” I declared. We laughed because it was funny. But also because it was TRUE.

In retrospect though, I feel a certain kinship with that poor girl and her plight. Yes, she had to poop. Yes (sorry to burst your bubble, Emo), girls do poop. That’s what butts are for (despite what your porno tells you). And yes, that means that I poop too.

In fact, because I have had IBS for TWELVE FREAKING YEARS, I am known to be rushing to and fro quite often. Imagine knowing that every time you eat- no matter how good the restaurant or how healthy the food- there is a 65-80% chance (which jumps to 100% if I eat lettuce or other leafy greens) that you’ll experience what you would recognize as a cross between the stomach flu and food poisoning. That is my life. Awesome, no?

So yeah, I have to buy A LOT of toliet paper. Like all of the time. And because I live a block from the Jewel, I buy my own ungainly 12 pack of toilet paper, then haul the fucker home to the entertainment of many an omnipotent bystander. Unlike the girl on the sidewalk, however, I try to tuck it under an arm or pretend I’m wandering nonchalantly back to whence I came.

La la la… no one needs to poop here! What was I doing? Oh yeah, just picking up this totally useless chunk of plastic encased paper. Of course it’s not even for me!

In reality, I’m avoiding eye contact as I slink home, downtrodden and ashamed of my butt’s proclivities, of my “irritable bowels,” of my need for triple-ply quilting. Hello, My name is Nic and I poop.

Filed under: city encounters, crash and burn, educating the masses, no jokes, so what if i scream?, things people say by Nic
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Kill me now.

Can someone please explain to me what the hell a “Couples Shower” is? Because I just don’t even know anymore.

My friend Mara, the same one who got married in all kinds of annoying ways, who went AWOL after ascending to the state of wifedom, and who is now in the family way; has sent me a preemptive “baby” shower invitation via email. While I anticipated this invite, I am completely thrown by her version of it. She’s turned the requisite 3-4 hour baby shower experience into a day long/ overnight extravaganza complete with BYOM (Bring Your Own Meat for grilling- nevermind that it’ll be March and only 30 degrees outside if we’re lucky).

The whole concept of this event annoys me. I simply cannot understand why she has to turn a typical celebration like a wedding or a freaking baby shower into a major production. Why can’t she just do what is expected in these situations? What the hell is her deal?

As for inviting spouses/significant others, maybe I’m missing the point here, but what exactly are the invited men (all husbands/fathers except for my boyfriend) going to do at this “Couples Shower”? Eat pink and blue frosted cupcakes? Play pin-the-diaper on the baby? Commend the diaper cake bringer for her craftiness? Fake smile as the soon-to-be-mom unwraps breast pumps and the like? Really? Why would I EVER want to expose my boyfriend to that kind of nonsense?

I cannot fathom how or why it would be appropriate, let alone expected, that men participate in such antics. I don’t even want to participate. I’d rather just send a fancy gift; spend a little extra to compensate for my absence. Especially since it’s a six hour drive round trip and the shower is scheduled for the first weekend of March Madness. Salt in the wound, people. SALT.

Regardless of my utter confusion and subsequent scheduling crisis, I feel obligated to attend. I feel obligated to smile and ask questions pertaining to Baby, to act like I give a shit. Maybe it makes me a bad friend to admit this (and there’s no way in hell I’d ever say this to her because you just don’t do that sort of thing), but I don’t give a shit and with good reason.  

She’s always told me she never wanted kids, even on “her” wedding day she said “maybe in a few years” she’d think about it, and then swiftly capitulated to her husband who was adamant about having kids immediately. Sure, it’s her choice, but why should I also have to capitulate and support a decision I think is wrong and unfair to both her and the unborn? Does my friendship mean I’m required to be complicit, to condone what I view as a mistake?

I have to wonder though at my apparent inability to feel genuine happiness for her. I wonder why I can’t just be a good friend and be more supportive. It’s her life, her marriage, her choice to have a baby if she wants and it has nothing to do with me. In spite of all that, the truth is she can knock herself out calling this “Baby Couples Shower” whatever she likes. I’ll still be wishing I was watching the college basketball tournament instead of participating in what I feel is nothing short of a train wreck.

Filed under: WTF, crossroads, domesticity is overrated, friends, going postal, haterade, mothering, poor choices, romper room, so what if i scream?, the Madness, toolbaggery by Nic
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Six more weeks (or in Chicago-speak, we’ll be looking at May/June)…

Filed under: crash and burn, crossroads, educating the masses, going postal, hateful, i hate winter, i heart TV, just say 'when', must be a sign, no jokes, toolbaggery by Nic
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It took another blogger’s writing to help me tap into something I’ve been carrying around inside me; unable to acknowledge nor articulate for some time. From her words on hope and crushes, I found myself commenting about my own crush, then thinking more about what I realized therein…

My crush is on the memory of who my boyfriend was when we first met nearly a year ago. The things he wrote to me; how he wrote them. The way he looked at me then, the way he kissed me urgently. The joy of him reaching for my hand.

Those early moments were filled with the hope of what could be between us. I wrote about it once in an effort to remember and keep it for what it could mean so that one day I might look back on it fondly. And just as I did, it came undone. Life intervened- as it often does- and affected everything, just everything.

Now I see us spending our days trying to get back to where we used to be. But I realized today that I’m afraid we never will recapture what we could have had. I’m afraid that the opportunity for such things has passed and now that kind of romance will never be. And I feel badly for admitting that and worry about how it might affect him.

But the truth is I miss his writing- it was special and it moved me. I miss his readiness to smile at an expression on my face, at an offhanded joke between us, at the novelty of the newness of us. I miss how we used to be to one another. I miss his happiness.

But in its place, we now have love. We have understanding and friendship and companionship. And we support and confide in one another. I have never shared a more honest and reliable, respectful and mature relationship. I was finally ready for it and could appreciate it. I count myself lucky and feel grateful for reaching that point in my life and to have found someone like him.

In these ways we have more today than the mere hope of such things in those giddy early moments of an unformed relationship…we have the realization of them. And yet, even knowing and valuing that realization, I still feel a pang for what was taken from us too soon. For who he was to me then; for who I was to him.

Filed under: a thing of beauty, crossroads, in memory, kiss and blog, my boyfriend is a saint, nostalgia, quiet desperation, things people say by Nic
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"Second-Day Hair" Fail

So I’m kind of a raging skankbot today.

Over the last couple of months, I’ve been trying this new thing where I don’t wash my hair. I’m not saying I don’t wash it EVER! I’m just trying to achieve that mythical and ever elusive “second-day hair.”

Ken Paves (who no matter what jeans she wears, has Jessica Simpson’s hair looking flawless) purports that it’s more than okay to “skip shampooing for a day. Second-day hair often looks fuller and thicker. It’s rare that someone HAS to shampoo daily, unless you exercise or perspire a lot.”

Or if, as has previously been the case for me, you have really long fine hair that just hangs. Because of my hair type I’ve never been able to understand what this “second-day hair” nonsense is all about. So what if it’s better for your hair if it only makes it look worse in the meantime!

But, now that my hair is cut short, I’ve been trying to “train” it to go every other day without shampooing. Thus far, the results have been inconclusive. Some days I end up with a bit more volume and a cute flip at the ends. Other days I look like I’m supplying the grease for the fry station at McDonald’s. Today is one of those days.

Which mean that later this afternoon I’ll be rolling up to a business meeting, looking less like a late 20s professional and more like a college kid who stumbled out of bed in her jammies for an 8 am Geology lecture. There I’ll sit across the conference room from VPs and directors who will probably wonder what the fuck is up with my hair. You and me both, buddy. You and me both. That said, who knows- maybe it’ll work in my favor. Maybe they’ll think I’m destitute or depressed and that they should pay me more so that I can buy shampoo and be happy. Hmmm….

Anyhow, the few things I can impart from my little experiment is that having shorter and/or darker hair is far preferable than long and/or blonde hair. And when trying to style my hair, I’ve found dry shampoos can be helpful, but are certainly not the same as regular shampoos. Also, you have to be careful with them; too much will have you looking like you’re sporting a powdered wig from the days of yore! I’ve tried aerosol hair spray too (with drying alcohol) and that seems to work well enough.

One of these days though, I feel certain that my hair will fall into line, that it will get with the program, and that I will win. I. Will. Win. Dammit. And as long as I don’t end up looking like the smarm king himself up there, Mr. Rob “I-Don’t-Wash-My-Hair-For-Six-Weeks” Pattinson, I’ll count myself successful.

Filed under: Twilight, is janky the same thing as wonky?, neither here nor there, work in progress by Nic
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After five years in this city, I find myself  no better at bus seat selection. I get flustered and dismayed that everyone is looking at me and my mind is screaming “HURRY UP get out of everyone else’s way!” I board the bus, scan my card with a hello to the driver, and briskly approach the captive audience,  trying not to fall as the bus jerks away from the curb. The decision-making has begun in earnest, and the process usually looks something like this…

I immediately rule out one of those seemingly innocuous seats toward the front of the bus because I’m liable to lose it. My route is prone to a few elderly regulars and at least one expectant woman. Who, incidentally, I wasn’t aware was expecting in this weather with all the heavy coats and such- although that didn’t prevent her from shooting daggers at me for not hopping up with alacrity to give her my seat. Perhaps she’s practicing for the day The Baby turns 13 and decides she hates her mother? Or the day her husband realizes his growing resentment of marriage/house/baby around age 43?

Moving toward the center of the bus, game time decisions must be made. Where to go? Where to put my butt? Where? Where? WHERE DAMMIT?

Not there…that man is in fact taking up a seat and a half, despite his best efforts to the contrary. He can’t help it, but still. And not across the aisle either…there’s a double whammy of both a woman talking to her fellow co-worker or neighbor or what have you (which is peculiar on this route, as we’re a generally sullen bunch- all sallow and droopy eyed and silent as a library) and another woman chowing down on a freaking bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. Breakfast of champions indeed.

So if not there, where? Certainly not next to the man aggressively reading his paper, scorning all would be seat mates from daring to deign on his elbow room. No need to expose myself to his moody shenanigans. But if I go too far into the bus without selecting a seat, I’m likely to find myself without any option whatsoever. And at that point, there’s no turning back. I’ll have just committed myself to standing and shuffling amongst all those who will exit the bus before me. The elbow jabs, the pole wrestling, the computer satchels and messenger bags unceremoniously poking and prodding without abatement. Asses and elbows, asses and elbows.

Despite all of my efforts, despite recognizing all the places I ought not to sit, wouldn’t you know I often find myself darting into a less-than-desirable seat? Bus seat stage fright. There I sit broken and defeated next to the stinky food eater, the cell phone talker, the personal space “creeper,” or the seatmate who wants to be my new friend and won’t take a hint. Foiled again.

Filed under: city encounters, educating the masses, in transit, neither here nor there, poor choices, public transportation by Nic
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When I was in 6th grade, my English class and I received a writing assignment to author a “fan letter” to a celebrity of our choosing. I happened to choose Geena Davis (whatever happened to her anyway?) because I’d just seen A League of Their Own and even though I really fucking hate baseball (including the Cubs- that’s right, I said it) I really liked that movie (at the time).

To actually find our celebrities, we were instructed to go to the library and scan some crazy large BOOK (yes, an actual book- we didn’t even have a computer lab at that time and the Internet wasn’t even a twinkle in Al Gore’s eye). Without much luck and worried about my inability to “complete” the assignment, I located whatever agency she was supposedly tied to at some point in her career and sent my letter there.

That letter, hardly a work of effusive fanaticism let alone eloquence, laid out the details of our writing assignment, shared my like of her movie even though I hate baseball, and suggested that she consider sending me a signed photo- before the end of the school year!- so that I could not only earn an “A” but also be dubbed one of the cool kids who “knows” someone famous. She never wrote back. *Bitch.*

So I have to laugh about it all now because look at how easy it’s become to interact with celebrities, hell with strangers in countries you can hardly even pronounce! Ever since signing up for twitter in December (@nicnarrates), I’ve become shameless in my tweeting. The part of me that is still in sixth grade has latched onto the accessibility it provides and is gorging on the 140 character comment bombs I can drop on Hollywood.

I will literally tweet anyone. Celebrities and none celebrities alike. The Zappos CEO. Brad Goreski. Ross Matthews. Some dude in London. Giuliana Rancic. Why? Well, why not? It is through twitter that I believe I may finally be able to help Jessica Simpson find happiness.  I mean, I already think John Mayer is a toolbag anyway, and if asked I will so punch Vanessa Minnillo in the face.

Which bring me to the most important question of all: Tina Fey, why don’t YOU have a twitter account? Seriously, what’s up with that? If you don’t have the time or inclination, can’t one of the NBC pages follow you around all day and tweet about how awesome you are? Wait, no. You could have me do it! Brilliant!

I’d be incredibly and uniquely! qualified to do so because 1) The 30 Rock theme song has been my ringtone for 3 whole YEARS and I have zero plans on changing it, 2) My ex-boyfriend looks exactly like Alec Baldwin and he spoke to him once, so you know, “three degrees of separation,” and 3) You- or perhaps your alter ego Liz Lemon- and I are practically the same exact person…except we’re not. BUT, we did both get the same hair cut around the same time without consulting with one another (obviously), and I too have often wanted to drink wine on the treadmill (and eat pizza). Oh yeah, and also I admire you as a strong female role model in a world that has brought us such gems as The Pussy Cat Dolls and Megan Fox, and for being a gifted and genuinely funny writer in a predominantly male comedic industry.

Tina Fey, you need twitter. Also, we need to be besties. So, um, why you gonna leave a girl hanging? Why Tina, why?

Filed under: Just Another Day in Crazy, Tina Fey is awesome, anyone out there?, awesomeness, creative time management, educating the masses, everyone should read more, fanciness, hellacious fun, i heart TV, toolbaggery, write on, you're a card by Nic
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