The Roaring Twenties

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When I was nine, I couldn’t wait to be in my twenties and all the question marks that entailed. At that point, most of my ideas around being an adult came from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Adventures in Babysitting. People did real-life things in their twenties, like had boyfriends and jobs and cars and stayed up way past 8pm. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted, but I knew I wanted to get there fast. Freedom of choice, late nights, making memories, finding trouble; I couldn’t wait for the future adventures of awesome adult me.

In my thirties, I referenced my twenties like they lived next door. I’d start a story with “A few years’ back…” and later realize it had been ten. I had my first real ma’am in my thirties, where a pimply-faced worker bee scanned my face for way too long before deciding I was old enough to be ma’am-ed. I considered slashing his tires to prove how young and dumb I was, but I wasn’t that young and dumb, so I didn’t. I worried about 40 for the first time and I guess being somebody in what was now a shrinking time frame. Girls at parties said, “Oh my god, I didn’t know you were [whatever age], I thought you were [a much younger age]!” It flattered and annoyed me, these plucky young women who thought 38 was ancient and 25 was some kind of prize. I wouldn’t do 25 again, not for a lifetime supply of cheese. Was age even really that important?

In my forties, I started wondering out loud if age was really that important, and was met with mostly silence and eyerolls. I talked about my twenties with part-awe (how am I still alive after so many bad choices?? oh, me!) and part-wistfulness (remember when I could wear heels?) for all the things I thought would happen but never actually did. No older French lovers, no artist retreats, no picking up at a moment’s notice to travel the world and have adventures or explore the countryside, wherever that was. I never did – not once –  ayahuasca in the jungle with Tom Robbins or some other literary giant. None of these things happened because 1) I’m not a blond chick in a movie and 2) I was too busy barely surviving. I was broke and also broken, or at least in the process of breaking, and not for the first time. I bumbled my way through that decade, making lovely people cringe and simple things harder, never knowing what direction to go in. So far, this is what I remember most about my twenties.

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So Many Syndromes

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There’s a bigshot intellectual at this party, some internet tech celeb I’m supposed to know. Everyone’s credentials are impressive here, or rather, I’m the least impressive person in the room. I stand up straighter and try looking smarter, like the kind of person who uses the word amalgam instead of mixed or combination.

There’s a cake in the kitchen, where the internet celeb is holding court. I excuse my way through the entire room, which I estimate is approximately 50 cakes wide, apologizing to every single person I touch — I guess to say sorry for touching them or wanting cake or being a moving person. I apologize for being in front of their faces, next to their faces, behind their faces, pretty much anywhere a face could look and I might inhabit. Sorry for existing, everyone! But I need that fucking life preserver — I mean chocolate cake.

Wherever I go, someone says hello and introduces me as such: “This is Marika, she’s the most [adjective-iest] person I know!” Hilarious, brilliant, creative, talented. Each compliment feels like I’m being doused in buckets of ice water. All I hear is “Marika is the most,” which is something I’m used to navigating. You are so extra, everything about you is just too much.

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GoT Recap, Ep. 7: Team Dragon-Wolf

 

 

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Game over

Welcome to the last Game of Thrones recap until we gather again in what seems like 20 years for the final six episodes of Season 7. Many of us may already be dead from what I assume is World War III, co-sponsored by Russia and Donald Trump’s energy drink for the American people: Orange Monster Blast! “Orange You Glad You Got Blasted Today?” Now with 10% more meth (FDA approval still pending).

Just kidding — we won’t have an FDA by then.

The hallowed Game of Thrones recaps that came before:

Episode 1: Winter AF

Episode 2: So Many Storms, Links

Episode 3: Five Queens A-Warring

Episode 4: Being A Dragon

Episode 5: East of Some Shiiiiiit

Episode 6: Expedition of Doom

As always, sexy boat spoilers ahead!

Two Philosophers Talk About Dongs

We open with the Unsullied just hanging in a field outside of King’s Landing. I suspect this is what they do even on their days off — I mean, what would they do in a Target? I also can’t believe how many there are – the Lannister army took over Highgarden with a teeny tiny fraction of this army.

“Maybe it really is all cocks in the end,” Jaime muses as he and Bronn gaze at the army of eunuchs. I think Cersei, Daenerys, Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Melisandre, and Yara would give you major side-eye for that, Jaime.

Add Dany’s battle gods to the mix, those Dothraki horselords – oh, hello, here they are in all their artfully-torn, suede-vested glory – and basically Cersei is doomed.

Bronn: I think we’re about to be the downtrodden.

Jaime: Can’t you just be supportive at these company meetings? Jesus.

The Silence and Euron’s armada are docked menacingly outside King’s Landing as Team Dragon-Wolf sail into the harbor. The Silence is so enormous and imposing and cartoonish that I feel like I’m at Disneyland, waiting for a pirate-themed water ride. The Hound goes below deck to check on Terry, our favorite undead comrade and – you guessed it – he’s feisty as ever. Perhaps it’s the box they put him in for this long ocean voyage, or his thirst for human blood, but that’s what we love about Terry: his can-do spirit in the darkest of boxes times. He also makes a mean guacamole.

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This One’s For The Parents

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“Am I…part-unicorn?”

Yesterday we watched our sweet nephew, Theron the Great, who is hands-down our coolest, funniest weekly dose of free birth control around. Since he was a baby, Theron has been cared for by a loving village of people who delight in watching him grow — and we feel very lucky to be a part of that village.

But toddlers defy every logic. I have a 19-year old, which is a different kind of defiance, but this shit is seriously crazytown.

No, you can’t stand on top of a teddy bear on top of an office chair on top of a dining room table. Why are you crying?

How can one tiny butt make that much poop? How did you get so fast and how does one run that fast with so much poop in their pants? HOW ARE YOU SPRINTING?

Why do I have to look like the asshole, wrangling you out of the grocery store cart while you scream bloody murder in the parking lot? You want to live here now? Putting your mouth on that nasty cart won’t make this your home, it will only give you hepatitis.

No matter where I sit, you want to sit there. Now that you can say “Go away,” I’ve been summarily dismissed from every possible perch in a home that I live in. You won’t be satisfied until I’m sitting on a sidewalk in a totally different city, is that it? Do you pay rent here? Why are you crying?

What did you just put in my hair? WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING, OMG WHAT IS IT

Hey, I’m trying to put the groceries away while your uncle takes a work call and can you stop throwing all the spatulas at your cousin and give me a moment to take care of this out-of-the-blue stress diarrhea and c’mon, please don’t eat my earring–

STOP OPENING THE BATHROOM DOOR WHILE I’M–

Can’t stop sweating, must stand in front of the air-conditioning unit to get some relief from a diaper change that quickly turned into World War III. Please stop pushing me, please stop pushing me, please stop throwing that air-conditioning unit-related tantrum on the floor.

Instead of jumping on the bed, let’s jump on the floor! You don’t have to throw that pouch of food at me, you could’ve just said no.

Can you just eat the Go-Gurt, please? Do not swing that around in the backseat of the–

NO, JUST STAND THERE WHILE I CLEAN THE CAR, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING WITH YOUR TINY YOGURT HANDS, FACE, BODY, OR CLOTHING.

You want to watch Bob’s Burgers? Okay. Wait, what? We Bare Bears? Alright. No, Bob’s Burgers? Buddy, we can’t watch both at the same time and if we did, your tiny mind might explode. Why are you crying?

Please don’t throw that on the–

OKAY, LET’S PICK EVERYTHING UP TOGETHER BECAUSE IT DOESN’T BELONG ON THE FLOOR, THANK YOU.

PLEASE DON’T SPIT ON YOUR UNCLE.

NO, YOU CANNOT EAT FIVE POUNDS OF CHEESE.

PLEASE DON’T PUT PENNIES IN THE TOILET, WAIT WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE PENNIES

PLEASE DON’T TAKE PENNIES FROM OUR BEDROOM TO FEED THE TOILET, THANK YOU.

TAKE THAT ROSE QUARTZ CRYSTAL OUT OF YOUR MOUTH, PLEASE.

GOLDFISH CRACKERS ARE FOR YOUR MOUTH, NOT THE RADIATOR.

BECAUSE WE DON’T HAVE JUICE.

BUT WE DON’T HAVE A HORSE. WHY ARE YOU CRYING?

LET’S USE OUR INDOOR VOICES!

LET’S USE OUR INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

THAT DOESN’T GO IN A NOSE.

OR AN EAR.

OR MY SHOE.

OR YOUR BUTTHOLE.

Let’s go to the park and run around for a while! Hey buddy, we’re here! Theron?

[snoring from the backseat]

Of course.

I settled in for a parking lot nap, too, because I was wiped the fuck out. When he finally woke up, he was angry there were no french fries in his hand (I’ve often felt this way upon waking). The fries were in the cup holder of his carseat, literally inches from his hand, but he cried anyway because that was just a bridge too far.

Parents of toddlers: I salute you, and what I assume is the gallon of wine you drink every night. I broke into the congratulatory gift wine being saved for a special occasion after Theron the Great left. “We survived,” I said, pouring $50 wine into a barely-clean coffee mug. I patted myself on the back for killing zero people that day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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GoT Recap, Ep. 6: Expedition of Doom

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Hiiiiiiiiiii

Welcome to the penultimate recap of the penultimate episode of the penultimate season of a boring show called Game of Fucking Thrones!!! The ‘I Have So Many Questions’ edition. I can’t believe we’re almost finished! As ever: gigantic, scaly, ice cold re-animated spoilers ahead. Obvious foreshadowing in bold.

The Boy Scouts Annual Ice Camping Trip Into Hell

We open just north of The Wall – but really Iceland, which is why the cinematography is so unreal – with our favorite ragtag group of mismatched misfit saviors and survivors. There is much humor, camaraderie, intimate conversation and grudging respect between these men – Jon Snow, Tormund, Gendry, Thoros, Beric, The Hound, Sir Jorah – in so many combinations, that it really does feel like a reluctant buddy film. The Hangover: A Wolfpack Adventure starring Tormund Giantsbane, the Zach Galifianakis of The North.

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