and its already JULY? + RANT

happy fourth of july.
happy fifth of july.
happy sixth, seventh, eighth and nineth.
FUCK the tenth.
but happy eleventh and twelfth of july.

IT IS FREAKING JULY PEOPLE!
Normally, I wouldve woken up to this fact when school ended, but heck, im apparently done with that. oh school.

Today's fascinating aspect of post-graduate living: NOT NECESSARILY KNOWING/NEEDING TO KNOW WHAT DAY OF THE WEEK IT IS.

Sundays used to be special. As were Fridays. The former lazy, the latter crazy.
But here I am, living my "semi-adult" life in Park City, UT.
Sundays are hectic. Fridays are long. Working weekends takes away the laze and craze. Its truly unfortunate. If I decide to follow the "corporate suit", the 9-5 work day might lend itself to the Sundays and Fridays that currently exist only in memories. Otherwise, good-bye to the weekend calm that allowed for wonderful lazing and crazing.

Somewhat related rant: Summer has officially lost the special, exciting quality it once had. It started to dwindle when I began scrounging around for internships/resume builders about five years ago... but besides the change in weather, Summer is no longer marked by long hot days of playing made-up games involving some rendition of "tagging" and "base", perhaps "freeze" if we were feeling saucy. Nights where we would stay up late talking about Summer Reading or how much we wanted ice cream from the ice cream man, but then bitching about how our parents wouldnt give us money. Nights before "bitching" was part of my regular vocabulary or daily schedule. Lightning-bug-catching innocence. So blissfully oblivious as not to notice the mosquito bites until the middle of the night, when they would itch harder than a 100% irish wool cable knit against dry brittle winter skin. Taking the time to put on bug spray took away minutes of sunlight on nights when it would stay light out until 9pm, sometimes later. Thats when our parents agreed we should go in. DUSK. "Can we stay out if we sit on the steps?" we would ask. If the 'rents were in a good mood they would say yes, however, if we had crossed them earlier that day, the answer was a heartbreaking no.

This brings me to my next qualm with adult life. Why is it seemingly harder to make "play dates" as we get older? When was the last time you asked someone if you COULD go out and PLAY? When was the last time you made a friend by sharing your toys? Its harder to make friends without toys. Thats what Ive decided. Adult toys (no not those) have larger dollar signs. Is that a new car? a new dress? the more decimal places, the more impressive. OR SO IT SEEMS. So what have toys been replaced with? Money. Play money. PLAY. fuck money.

Its been interesting going from a liberal college, where I had daily interactions with like-minded 20-somethings, to a small ski town in the middle of Utah, the most RED state in the country, full of crazy MOs and almost 3000 miles away from anyone i know. I havent thought about making friends in YEARS and now I find myself without, lacking. One particularly miserable day, while parsing through my friend dilemma amidst a curious blend of anxiety and boredom, I was told by someone who shall remain annonymous, "You make friends by doing things. You dont do anything, Monica." I was offended only until I realized that I DO FUCKING DO THINGS, but the things I do and enjoy doing on a regular basis arent particularly conducive to friend-making. Way to go MONICA: Museum going, art making, movie watching, music listening, reading, running, thrift store hunting, coffee chatting. WAY TO ENJOY DOING LONELY INTELLECTUAL CAT-LADY ACTIVITIES. All are fun to do with friends, when you have them, but none draw people looking to mingle...

IMAGINE: seeking out companionship at a gallery/museum. weird. posting an ad on craigslist regarding a friend to make art with. weird. sitting next to someone random at a movie theatre and chatting them up. weird. placing your ipod headphone ear bud into the guy's ear next to you on the bus. weird. running alongside a random fellow jogger and trying to keep pace... and eye contact. weird. the list can go on, but I digress.

NOW imagine: being on the other side of this friend-seeking equation. AWKWARD.

Now imagine: people that actually respond to this kind of behaviour/ entertain such interactions. I find myself feeling SKEPTICAL, thinking to myself, "Why is this person REALLY talking to me?"

Though I am altogether guilty of this, I wish that we as a race werent so guarded as we got older. Not trying thinking too hard about it, I assume, at some point we become content with our place in life/society well enough that we morph into beautiful SKEPTICS. we question intentions, motives as people become more astute at taking advantage of people. We are told to be proactive - learn from your mistakes - instead of being encouraged to make them. we lose. period.



STOP.



This frustration makes it seem as though there is no one in town that is a potential friend. Nothing is further than the truth. THE TRUTH? I am frustrated. Lonely. Hanging in there, but longing.

My problem is the transient nature of cool people moving through a ski town. VACATION buddies. Momentary interactions that never yeild more than one beautiful encounter. Ive MET more people here than I have in a while, however, I cannot remember their names. I dont know much more about them than the outfit they had on and perhaps their hometown. Displaced New Yorkers tend to leave a more lasting impression, probably because they talk fast and I feel warm. I feel at home. I miss home.