Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Toupee Trump, New York, & A Lawsuit...

Last night I was doing my usual Netflix/Amazon Prime routine before bed. Ya know, watch an episode of United States of Tara, then watch another one, and then watch some Weeds; then flip over to some controversial political documentary, and then watch another one on the fail of Enron or Goldman Sachs, and then one on September. 11th or Donald Trump, or the like. It's a vicious cycle. Or addiction, rather. Especially for someone like me that can barely commit to anything longer than an hour, let alone half an evening. It makes me feel proud of myself that I can stay fully enthralled in something for so long. And for half of my life, not just a random summer or something. (I know, I know, here's a faux 'hoorah!' to a white girl problem). But that's the thing with "ADHD." Do I really have it? Is my doctor just a fan of writing prescriptions to talkative 20-somethings so that we'll go the f*ck away? Or am I just bored by everything other than writing, watching/making films, and practicing/listening to music? I'm not sure. I've yet to come to a conclusion on that one. Perhaps because thinking about ADHD and whether I have it or not bores me, and rarely crosses my wee little brain. Ah ha, maybe I do have it. See what's wrong here?

Anyways, I first watched the Netflix doc You've Been Trumped, and you guys, I teared up several times during it. For any of my friends that know how extremely emotional I can get over the most ridiculous things, this is no surprise. But basically toupee Trump called this middle-class, hard-working farmer named Michael Forbes a "pig," and said that he "lived in a slum," and a whole bunch of other BS that clearly demonstrated further how big of a nincompoop Trump is. (I've secretly always wanted to call someone that). Forbes is a precious old man that just wanted to stay on his beautiful Scottish land rather than let some American capitalism monster come in and destroy it. I was so pissed. But I am the prime target audience for a contentious documentary, so, yeah, the producers did a job well done there because I tweeted about it, reviewed it, and am now blogging about it. 

I also watched a doc called 16 Acres about all of the hoopla regarding Ground Zero a few months/years post-9/11 and all of the architects, developers, and greediness involved in deciding what was to be built on the sacred grounds. It was pretty fascinating, I must say. But it reminded me of this one time I was in New York (get ready for a story here), and it was February of 2011, I believe. I was interning at MBFW for Lela Rose, one of my all-time favorite designers, and I had one afternoon off so I decided to walk all over Manhattan. (Literally, too. I clocked in 13 miles that day on a walking map app). And I finally found myself down by Ground Zero, just strollin' and having a good time, when all of a sudden I started bawling for no reason. In a flash I was overcome with tears streaming from every orifice that my face was blessed with, so naturally I called up one of my sorority sisters at the time; she thought I had been molested or robbed; I had that messy, dramatic, making-no-sense cry talk going on. I was also in some alley ridden with Wall St. bankers so that was even more mortifying. There went my chance at snagging my future banking husband that would never be home and probably cause me to continue therapy well into my seventies. So maybe that was a blessing. But, I finally explained to her just how the air/ambience next to Ground Zero was so full of incredible emotion and intensity. It was overwhelming. I'll never forget it. I also won't forget what happened next... 

Five minutes later, after I had brought myself down to a lady-like Elle Woods sob, my mom is calling me on the other end. Now, here's the fun part, she didn't know that I was in New York. I tended to do that in college. I would just up and go to wherever I wanted and dealt with the consequences (whatever they may be) later. I thought of myself as a free spirit then; and a total dumbass now, in retrospect. So I flip over and she quickly informs me that my uncle (who is my lawyer) needs me to be at his offices in an hour. (I was dealing with some petty dispute at the time that I clearly gave no thought to). In Dallas. Haha, well, that sure as sh*t was going to happen. I had to confess to my 'ole sweet momma that I was indeed in Manhattan, and unless there was a jet or something waiting at the South Street Seaport I wasn't able to make it 'til next week. 

Needless to say, she didn't get mad because she had a hunch (like she always does) that I was in the city; she could also tell that I had been crying. Of which boy howdy did I use that as my scape goat. I quickly changed the subject to Ground Zero so that I could escape any come-to-Jesus meetings that suddenly were planned. 

I'm not sure what my point is here. I'm no therapist or esteemed human so I don't know why I feel like every post should have this grand, thought-provoking idea to it. I just really love documentaries and New York and surprising my mother constantly and crying. There, that's the theme of this one. And I truly advocate that all of you go and expose yourselves to the world of documentaries on Netflix and Amazon Prime. If you don't have these beautiful subscriptions you can borrow mine. Email me for the deets. I'm all about spreading the film love. 

The end. (for now).