See What’s Become of Me
I’m amused by dates. Obviously not dates as in the social exercise two people who are trying to get to know each other engage in, but the more practical "date" as an indicator and measure of the passage of time. My friend L said it best when I immediately gave a date to a friend years back; I think we had been discussing what we had done on a particular day a few months before, and when I came up with the exact date, L said: She’s savant like that.
And I am, I truly am. I’m good at remembering dates, and there’s really no effort put in on my part, either. Were I an insecure person, I’d use this ability to measure how other people feel about particular events; if they can’t remember what day it happened and in what year, how the hell do I know they care about me? How is that an indicator of their caring or a recognition that I am (and all is well)? But no, I’m actually able to recognize that my tendency to remember that March 23, 2004, was my first day at my current job is not an indicator of how much my company depends on my work and doesn’t realize it; it’s just an indicator at how badly they suck at giving money to their employees for a good job done.
Ahem.
Anyway, I have a whole list of dates in my head that float around continuously, reminding me that certain things happened. These dates can be buttressed by major world events or not; I can remember them either way. A few examples are in order.
July 25, 2000: This is the day that I finished filling up this type of journal; it took me exactly a month, as I started on June 25, 2000 (the day of a race), and kept on writing until my right hand nearly spasmed in protest. It began with a race, saw me through a major freak out on June 27, 2000, accompanied me to Mexico, and ended with me letting my face fall into the journal in pure despair (guy troubles). I started out the journal highly optimistic, and June 25, 2000, was a great day. I ended the journal wanting to pull my hair out, and July 25, 2000, was not such a great day.
February 12, 1991: This one’s a little more obvious since it was Day of the Americas in Mexico. It was the day in which I not only marched and danced in school productions, but was also in a playlet in which I played a very annoying woman (what a stretch). I was dressed up in my dancing costume (dressed very much like the woman is in the drawing; my blouse was white with black trim, my skirt black with white polka dots), wearing high-heeled shoes that were killing me after the dance. The play’s scene called for me to have a dog in my arms. I had brought along my trusty friend stuffed toy Dodger from "Oliver and Company" to play the dog, but at the last minute I was handed a struggling puppy. I rushed through my scene, afraid that I was going to get peed on (or worse). People complained they couldn’t hear me. I still didn’t know the wonders of enunciation at this point in my life.
October 21, 1999: The first time I ever drank alcohol (besides the beer my dad would let us kids taste growing up). It was a friend’s birthday, and I decided to give into the tempting devil that was liquor even though I’d been a legal drinker for nearly five months already. I had a white russian, a whiskey sour, some weird-ass concoction that was excellent but that was made up on the spot for me, and some peach-based drink at Chili’s (it was not a fuzzy navel). Ah, memories.
September 12, 1998: A Saturday, I had promised my brother I’d take him to the (sigh) Saline Fair. I was to start my new college job (front desk clerk–what a launching point that was for me in terms of college adventures) a week later, but the guy working the 8am-noon shift that day forgot that detail. He left me a very nasty voicemail on my phone telling me I was late for work and was probably going to be fired for not showing up at all. My boss and my not-then-friend L chewed him out for being such a bastard to me when I’d barely even met him. He could never make eye-contact with me after that incident.
February 7, 2000: I skipped my Latino literature class for the second time that semester. Given how I only allowed myself two skips per semester, I was sorely upset to have wasted the two skips so early in the semester given how damn boring the class was (it lead to me dropping the sub-concentration in Latino Studies).
April 11, 2002: I swear on a stack of Bibles . . . okay, on the Riverside Shakespeare that I did not have to look this one up in my journal; a small part of why I remember it is because it was a Thursday and "Family Guy" aired on Thursdays in early 2002 (though by this time, it might’ve stopped airing or was in repeats). It was the first time my boyfriend kissed me. Yeah, I’m giddy at the thought of remembering the date, but I assure you, I am not driven by sickly sweet romance as much as I am driven by the ability to just remember dates. Awww, he was so sweet and tender and attentive back then. What happened? ;)
June 26, 2004: I had my first non-fat vanilla latte from Starbuck’s. As I’d been a "forget this frothy bullshit, give me some damn coffee!" kind of woman up until then, it was a milestone. I was in an "forget damn coffee, but I still need some caffeine!" kick for about a month by the time I tried the latte, so it was a nice alternative to the coffee. I stayed off of coffee for about six months, but I am once again deeply enmeshed in my love affair with coffee. The latte still gets the occasional nod. I promise myself this, though: once I have my own apartment and a higher income, I’m buying myself a latte machine. And Starbuck’s vanilla syrup.
March 2, 2002: I accompanied my younger siblings and my mother to Adrian, Michigan, to see my sister’s artwork on display. She doesn’t get to do much artwork lately, but let me tell you, she is very talented. I was also in a foul mood that morning, but the outing lifted my spirits. I also remember we went to Big Boy for lunch, I ordered the chicken pita, and they neglected to give me my low-fat ranch dressing. Same deal with my sister. We ended up looking at each other sadly.
March 26, 1997: This is a biggie for any Red Wings fan, but remember the Red Wings-Avalanche bloodbath that night? And how the Wings won? Oh yeah. And how the Wings dethroned the Avs on their way to the 1997 Stanley Cup? And does everyone remember how much Colorado sucks? And how they fell to the Wings, 7-3, just last Wednesday? Good times.
Okay, that’s enough for now. I have plenty of other dates floating about in my head, but it’s 11pm and I have to wonder why I started writing a blog entry when I should’ve been reading right before bed. Just goes to show, I’m weird. Seriously, remembering the day you first had a latte or skipped a boring class? Crazy, man. Crazy.
