What Possessed Me

Trip drama

I am about to take a trip. In a burst of enthusiasm, I decided that a good adventure on my own would get my mind off of the aforementioned boy drama and replace the usual dross rattling inside my head with improving thoughts. I book my ticket. Romantic visions of the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela and coffee-scented streets of Harar take hold. I am a woman of action! I am Lawrence of Arabia – Ethiopian style! Yeah, dawg!

I read the guidebook. I scour the New York Times. I am determined to be totally prepared and culturally aware.

It’s two days before lift-off and I realize that I am out of my fucking gourd.

- “Bring flea powder – and lots of it.”
- “The only hotel in town is a glorified brothel.”
- “Lock up your shoes at night. Hyenas gather outside bedroom windows.”
- “There is one ATM in the entire country.”
- “Ethiopian soldiers gang-rape women, burn down huts and kill civilians at will.”

And then, when it couldn’t get worse, this:

- “Visiting the monasteries requires sturdy shoes and a good head lamp.”

Let me get one thing straight: I am not a person who wears sturdy shoes. I have rarely - if ever - donned snow boots, rain boots, hiking boots, proper athletic shoes, navy flats or any other kind of sensible footwear. It should be a given, then, that I am not a person with a head lamp. I am not even sure what a head lamp is, but suspect it has something to do with spelunking – an unpleasant activity involving uncomfortable proximity to other people’s asses.

Nevertheless, I am convinced that I Can Do This. My friend Sarah accompanies me to supervise the shopping expedition.

P: What do you think about these?
S: Those are gold.
P: Yeah! And they’re flat!
S: You are going to wear strappy gold sandals backpacking through Ethiopia?
P: Yes! Gold is a neutral!
S: No. [Pries gold Marc Jacob sandals from my hands]
P: Jeez. These are cute – what about these?
S: Persephone, those have skulls and safety pins all over them. You are going to freak people out. Look at these – these are good.
P: But those are murder weapons. I am not planning to bludgeon anyone about the head.
S: They’re Clarks – they’re good for walking.
P: What am I, EIGHTY? Oh my God, they hurt me - they hurt my very soul.

Despite my certainty that these shoes will cause widespread depression throughout the land, I buy them, thinking that in a pinch, I can use them in self-defense against marauding Ethiopian warlords.



Image: Dennis Stock, Magnum Photos

Boy drama

Hello, friends. It’s been an eventful week. I’ve been a bit under water these days - they actually want me to do work at the office, which is cutting into the time I normally spend dicking around. And then there was boy drama over the weekend, which I am still trying to process before leaving for a trip on Thursday. I’ll give you a brief synopsis:

The Kiwi left yesterday for a three month journey to places I’ve never been. We rode the subway together in silence, and then, when we reached my stop, we parted. There were no declarations, no promises, no plans. I wanted to say, “Thank you for rescuing me from the depths of despair” but succumbed to banal well-wishing. “You are a good boy,” I said. “Have a wonderful trip.” The Kiwi’s eyes welled up. Bless him.

Like clockwork, Fauxhawk makes another appearance. In the four months since we parted, he has operated under self-imposed vow of silence. Initially, it made me insane, and then it made me apathetic. These days, I think about him too much, and when I do, my entire body winces with a mixture of longing and rage. I am annoyed that I still feel this way.

Friday night, in the midst of Kiwi going away party preparations, Fauxhawk sends me an IM.

- Hello Persephone, he writes. And then, later, I miss you.
- Yeah? What do you miss?
- I miss it when you throw fake L.A. gang signs.
- That’s it?! That’s what you miss?
- I miss it when you imitate the General Foods International Coffee commercials.

Good grief. I am irritated. And strangely touched.

We finally speak for four hours. A complete hashing out - everything I’ve wanted to say these past months, but couldn’t. Surprisingly, there is goodwill and fellow-feeling (despite some tense moments in which I threatened to kill his shrink with my bare hands for her shockingly obtuse assessment of our breakup). At the end, he asks, “Can we both just think about what we’ve talked about?”

I, for one, need to think less about things. I am sick of thinking.

This post exhibits flagrant displays of self-promotion, back-patting and other loathsome behavior

After sharing several glasses of cheap white wine in Long Island City with Liz, I returned home last night to a bout of intense melancholia. I attributed this to missing Fauxhawk something fierce - and came this close to sending him an email that I would later regret. Fortunately, the deafening sound of disapproving clucks from my brood of protective mother hens made me hesitate. And then, a ping from Tricia of Modern Matriarch stopped me dead in my tracks:

“You have been honored with the prestigious (well at least in meme circles) Thinking Blogger Award.”

Wait a second…my blog? My silly, frivolous little blog? But there it was – What Possessed Me among four other winners, all of whom were high-minded, thoughtful and literary – full of the acute, sharp-witted analysis that this blog systematically lacks. Readers, I’m ashamed to say that I let the fame and fortune get to me. I became completely intolerable – puffed up, full of myself, self-aggrandizing. That is, until I read Tricia’s hilarious review:

What possessed me. After clicking the link you may be asking me the same question. Do I really consider this serious intellectual content? Persephone explores the world of single womanhood in a self deprecating way that makes you giggle. Is she for real, a fictional character, or an online alter ego? Who cares? I hand her the Thinking Blogger award because an idiot couldn’t possibly sustain such wry humor.

I think this sums things up perfectly: "Persephone - Not an Idiot." I’m afraid my incoherent burblings lower the tone and tarnish the prize, but I will accept Tricia’s nomination with gratitude. And then I will prance about my bedroom naked, mouthing the lyrics to “Eye of the Tiger.”


Anyway, there are three rules associated with receiving this award:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think;
2. Link to this post, so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme; and,
3. (Optional) proudly display the “thinking Blogger Award” with a link to the post that you wrote (here is an alternative gold version if silver doesn’t fit your blog).

My fave five are:

My Marrakesh: “A place for lifestyle and design and the bemused tales of an American family’s quest to build a guest house in Marrakesh.” This blog is beautiful inside and out – the kind of blog you want to call the next day. The kind of blog you can introduce to your parents. If you haven’t noticed, I have a secret female non-sexual crush on Maryam of Marrakesh, who not only writes beautifully and thoughtfully on love, travel, family life, art and design, but is also outrageously foxy. Goddammit, I hate her. No, I love her.

Madny: “One writer, and one almost-writer's, quest for the last great taboo...” This blog is the clever and imaginative collaboration of Elly, a posh and impossibly intelligent young thing living in London, and the dashing Raouf, who “likes to write erotic novels” (YEOW!) and lives in Holland. Their primary interest is to explore the current state of Islam and the Middle East from various angles, but occasionally something equally delightful and decidedly lowbrow slips in.

123 I Love You: “Not quite as entertaining as some blogs, but certainly more uplifting than the movie "Deliverance." It would be fair to say that I have an unhealthy obsession with this blog. If I don’t get my daily fix, I start shaking. Written by a self-described fat, bald English teacher about his daily exploits, 123 I Love You is so hilarious that it makes me think I should stop blogging because I’m not funny and can’t write. This boy can write. And he’s a firecracker in the sack. Needless to say, I have asked him to marry me.

Apartment Therapy New York: “Changing the world, one apartment at a time.” AT is dedicated to the idea that “nothing you do for your home is ever wasted.” Maxwell Gillingham-Ryan and his team of bloggers serve up visual inspiration that has created a vibrant community of design-obssessed readers.

You look really great. You look really sexy. “The blog I’ve always wanted. And now I have it. I rule.” First of all, fucking awesome blog title. Second, this girl - whoever she is - is my hero. Goodness me, she’s funny. And smart. And, I suspect, also kind of foxy.

Why am I objectifying all of my award recipients? Because I can - I am drunk with power.