The Soothing of Memories

In these times of rough, I turn to memories of home life. Today, I present you with the memory of my mother and her lack of child care whenever she hears a loud crash or thump in her house.

Scene: A 12-year-old Zaftig has knocked down several large Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias reaching for the Es so she could look up England (a place she swears is her former-life home country).

Zaftig: (Scream)

Mother: What the hell was that?

Zaftig: (Silence)

Mother: Zaftig, what did you knock down?

Zaftig: (Silence as she put the books back.)

Mother: Ten minutes later: Are you okay in there?

Zaftig: Yes, I'm alive.

Scene II: A 25-year-old Zaftig accidentally knocks over a CD tower, causing it to break and several Karen Carpenter CDs to crash to the floor.

Zaftig: SHIT!

Mother: What the hell was that?

Zaftig: Just me dying.

Mother: Well, did you break anything?

Ah, memories.

Goodbye, for Now

On Tuesday I turned 27. I am officially in my late 20s, fast approaching my early 30s. There was a local story about a woman who biked, ran, and exercised her way into her 40s. She started running a day before she was to turn 40, and by midnight, she entered her 40s with an exhaustive bang. Meh. I think I will fuck my way into my 30s, with a hopeful orgasm exactly at midnight. But that's three years away, so I can plan accordingly. Anyway, I know it's been a long time since I've updated this thing, and there is a reason: no time. Life has been quite busy. Work is more hectic than ever, and I am often working late into the evening and bringing work home. I don't even have time for a decent dinner. Dinner tonight was canned fruit cocktail in gross heavy syrup (I couldn't find it in juice) eaten straight from the can and a Diet 7-UP. I was grateful for the time to consume even that. But how I dream of spicy veggie lo mein and shrimp in lobster sauce. At 3 a.m., ...

Birthday

On December 12, 1979, at 6:03 am, I made my way through the birth canal and into the light. It's my belief that when people say "Go into the light" when a person is dying, that the person is simply being born into another life. You leave the dark confines of the womb and glide into the light of a brightly lit hospital room and new life. But I digress. Bald, weighing eight pounds, and screaming at the top of my lungs, I realized that even as a newborn I needed to be heard. My first gift to myself was to sleep until noon. I even let my alarm clock go off at its scheduled time of 7:30 just to rub it in that I'm sleeping in late. As soon as I got up, my phone rang -- it was Paula. "Zaftig, I know you're off, but [big client] is here and he wants to meet everyone on the project team. Can you be here by 1:30?" "Sure," I said, sounding overly chirpy. A long time ago, I learned that only you can ruin your special occasions. If you allow things to ups...

Happy New Year II

Well, my New Year was quite happy. I spent all Sunday lounging in bed with Steven. Sure, we smelled like sex, alcohol, and freshening cloths, but it was such a beautiful moment. The only times he left the bed was to bring us toothpaste and toothbrushes, me orange juice, and to pay for our ordered-in Chinese. And the only time I left was to use the bathroom. We even had a chopstick duel that lasted a good ten minutes, with me winning by snapping his chopsticks into fours, to which he exclaimed, "Damn bamboo!" After we were fully fed, sexed, and freshned, we watched On Demand programming, which was both fun (the Cathouse series on HBO) and gross (The Discovery Channel's Medical Incredibles series, where a woman's skin fell off.) Then we talked about our New Year's resolutions. He wants to buy a new car. I, on the otherhand, want to stop buying stuff. "I'd like to be sensible ." He finally went home around eleven, it was then I changed my sheets and too...

The Zaftig Chronicles

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