Soy Un Perdedor

Here is a long (but not exhaustive) list of reasons why I am a pathetic loser.

10. The other day, while I was making a chicken pot pie that ended up being ruined, I couldn't stop saying the word "saute'" in a "Coffee Talk" accent. Mike walked in the kitchen in the middle of my rainman-esque manic repetitiion of the word, looked at me with a raised eyebrow, and walked out again.

9. I can still do the "Macarena," and I DO do it all the time, only I do it like Dr. Evil does it in the first Austin Powers movie.

8. B has stopped being my friend completely (except when she wants to borrow something) but still has me on her mass emailing list, so I get these monthly emails about all the parties she has (in which people played the game where you have to wear gloves and a hat and try to open a candybar with chopsticks) that she didn't invite me to. Even though I am not the type who likes the candybar game, I am deeply hurt by this lack of invitation. I'm pretty sure it stems from something I did about three years ago, i.e., gloating over the fact that Holden rolled over before her kid. I still feel bad about how I gloated. But can you blame me, when she said things like "Holden is starting to get some personality. He's not just like a generic baby anymore!"

7. I believe that things I said and did three years ago are not only remembered by people, but that people are dwelling on them to the point that they don't invite me to parties they know I would probably not want to attend.

6. I consider lying in bed all day and watching a "Made" marathon on MTV to be one of the most productive things I can do.

5. I want to be a writer, and have had this desire since fourth grade. I even have an idea for a novel called "Holden and the Hairy Nevus" in which a boy with a black patch of hair on the back of his head has special powers to foresee future disasters (it's a children's novel, and based on my own Holden's struggle with a hairy nevus--aforementioned friend's comments will be left out of this blog, as no one likes a whiner who can't get over past wrongs). But do I write? No, because I feel that in order to write, the following conditions must exist:
A) I must live in Pacific City, Oregon, in a house overlooking the ocean.
B) I must have a "room of my own" (thank you, Virigina Woolf, for ruining
my dreams with your ridiculous standards).
C) This room of my own must be full of office furniture from the Pottery Barn,
antiques from Aurora, OR, and a really nice pencil sharpener/paper shredder.
I know that these conditions will never exist for me, but still I don't write.

4. I only own one pair of jeans that I like and right now they are dirty, so I am wearing some old maternity pants that I have to roll down at the waist.

3. I want to please everyone and can't stand it when I know that someone out there dislikes me. Yet, this desire to please does not extend to a desire to wake up before 8:00 am in order to please my husband by making him breakfast. This was, is, and will continue to be, THE point of contention in our marriage. But really, what's wrong with throwing a granola bar at Mike and Holden, turning on "Playhouse Disney," and then heading back to bed?

2. I continually have conversations in my head with Bono. I imagine what I would say to him if I ever met him. Sometimes I get so excited that I start to cry during these imaginary conversations.

1. After all these years of cooking (only after 10 a.m., of course) I still can't make gravy or chocolate chip cookies.