Just a reminder: I’m on “maternity leave.” No baby yet, but any day now, right? In the meantime, I’ve got several guest bloggers lined up over the next little while to keep you entertained.
Gretta Whalen loves reading,
writing, and eating shameful amounts of candy. She is a shopgirl, writing
tutor, and graduate student in Los Angeles, California, where she lives with
her skinny-yet-handsome musician husband. They are the adoptive parents of an
ill-behaved terrier mutt, and tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. She blogs over at Say It With a Smirk.
writing, and eating shameful amounts of candy. She is a shopgirl, writing
tutor, and graduate student in Los Angeles, California, where she lives with
her skinny-yet-handsome musician husband. They are the adoptive parents of an
ill-behaved terrier mutt, and tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. She blogs over at Say It With a Smirk.
Gretta and I took way too many Spanish classes
together (Viva Don Antonio!) and lived together for a short while before losing touch.
I’m so happy to have reconnected with her after all this time, because she is one of the raddest (yes, it’s a word) people I’ve ever known.
together (Viva Don Antonio!) and lived together for a short while before losing touch.
I’m so happy to have reconnected with her after all this time, because she is one of the raddest (yes, it’s a word) people I’ve ever known.
Missing: Memories. Reward for any
information to fill gaping memory gaps.
information to fill gaping memory gaps.
Hello
everyone! Greetings from the Big Easy! Well, sort of. I don’t live here.
Anymore, that is. I used to live here when I was wee and my dad was just a
fresh-faced med student. When he graduated in 1985, he and my mom took my
two-year-old self and my four-year-old brother to Los Angeles, never to return.
Let me rephrase that. Never to return with
us. My parents always promised they would bring us back to the land of our
birth. Twenty-seven years later, here I am in the Crescent City, soaking up my
roots.
everyone! Greetings from the Big Easy! Well, sort of. I don’t live here.
Anymore, that is. I used to live here when I was wee and my dad was just a
fresh-faced med student. When he graduated in 1985, he and my mom took my
two-year-old self and my four-year-old brother to Los Angeles, never to return.
Let me rephrase that. Never to return with
us. My parents always promised they would bring us back to the land of our
birth. Twenty-seven years later, here I am in the Crescent City, soaking up my
roots.
Let me tell
you, nothing is ringing a bell.
you, nothing is ringing a bell.
I have
exactly four memories of NOLA from babyhood.
exactly four memories of NOLA from babyhood.
Memory #1:
Looking out the window and watching my playground get bulldozed. Emotion:
Concern
Looking out the window and watching my playground get bulldozed. Emotion:
Concern
Memory #2:
Driving in the heavy rain with my mom and brother. (Apparently, this heavy rain
was a hurricane.)
Driving in the heavy rain with my mom and brother. (Apparently, this heavy rain
was a hurricane.)
Emotion:
Anxiety
Anxiety
Memory #3:
Sitting on my dad’s shoulders after said hurricane as he walked through the
flooded streets. Seeing a dead rat floating in the water, which in my memory,
was up to his knees.
Sitting on my dad’s shoulders after said hurricane as he walked through the
flooded streets. Seeing a dead rat floating in the water, which in my memory,
was up to his knees.
Emotion:
Fascinated disgust
Fascinated disgust
Memory #4:
Again, sitting on my dad’s shoulders and watching floats go by during the Mardi
Gras parade. Getting beads thrown to me from masked revelers.
Again, sitting on my dad’s shoulders and watching floats go by during the Mardi
Gras parade. Getting beads thrown to me from masked revelers.
Emotion:
Giddiness
Giddiness
But that’s
it. That’s all I’ve got. Now I know you might be saying, “But Gretta, no one
remembers being two. Lower your freakin’ expectations, will ya!” And to that I
say, fair enough. But the problem is this: I
don’t remember much of anything.
it. That’s all I’ve got. Now I know you might be saying, “But Gretta, no one
remembers being two. Lower your freakin’ expectations, will ya!” And to that I
say, fair enough. But the problem is this: I
don’t remember much of anything.
Names,
facts, characters from novels — that stuff sticks to my brain like dog hair to
my cardigans. But my actual life? Not so much. Friends will talk about things
that happened in high school or college — important things — of which I have no
recollection. I strain and push and perform figurative brain excavations to no
avail. That stuff just isn’t in there. Of course, I’ve kept regular journals
since I was 12 years old, but no I am not
going to go back and read those. Not unless I want to descend into an abyss
of self-loathing and shame for being utterly ridiculous since forever. (Do I
really want to read about how obsessed I was in seventh grade with the idea
that everyone was getting together for parties and taking great pains not to
invite me? Middle school = so much narcissism.)
facts, characters from novels — that stuff sticks to my brain like dog hair to
my cardigans. But my actual life? Not so much. Friends will talk about things
that happened in high school or college — important things — of which I have no
recollection. I strain and push and perform figurative brain excavations to no
avail. That stuff just isn’t in there. Of course, I’ve kept regular journals
since I was 12 years old, but no I am not
going to go back and read those. Not unless I want to descend into an abyss
of self-loathing and shame for being utterly ridiculous since forever. (Do I
really want to read about how obsessed I was in seventh grade with the idea
that everyone was getting together for parties and taking great pains not to
invite me? Middle school = so much narcissism.)
Fast
forward to a conversation that happened yesterday:
forward to a conversation that happened yesterday:
My friend: Did you hear Olivia Wilde
and Jason Sudekis are engaged?
and Jason Sudekis are engaged?
Me: Oh, Olivia Wilde. She’s such a
babe.
babe.
MF: Who’s Olivia Wilde?
Me: Have you seen House?
MF: No.
Me: Tron?
MF: No.
Me: The OC?
MF: No.
Third Party: Olivia Wilde wasn’t on
the OC.
the OC.
Me: Yes she was. She was on Season
2. She was blonde and she worked in a club. Her name was Alex, she’d been
emancipated from her parents, and she made out with both Seth and Marissa.
2. She was blonde and she worked in a club. Her name was Alex, she’d been
emancipated from her parents, and she made out with both Seth and Marissa.
At least I
remember the important things.
remember the important things.
Tron and the OC? Yup, you have all the important things covered.
Should I watch the OC? I never did when it was on but I've been debating watching it for a while now.
I literally had to scroll back up to see what "MF" stood for…
And I had to reread the whole post to even find it…yeesh.
Oh Gretta I adore you. Thank you for posting the link to this page on your blog.
Who doesn't adore Gretta? She's something like the bomb.
You guys. All you guys are just…I love you guys.
And maybe "MF" wasn't the *best* abbreviation for "my friend." Hindsight, ya'all!