Au revoir, Tucson…Again

Tonight will be my “Last Supper,” so to speak.

All theatrics aside, I’m thrilled for this evening.

I’ll be getting together with Jazmine and Luke, my former Wildcat co-workers, for a nice going-away meal. I’m off to France tomorrow, so I won’t be seeing Jazmine, Luke, or any more lovely UA people for another month. Thankfully, I’ll have internet access, so I can email my close friends when I have a few moments to breathe!

Last weekend, I traveled to Las Vegas with my best childhood friend and 6 other UA buddies. It was a healthy, much-needed vacation for everyone, as well as necessary catching up time for Crystal and me. Many heart-to-heart conversations were had. Just like we were in fourth grade again, Crystal and I laughed all throughout dinner, and our friend Jaime joked that the two of us needed to be separated. Trust me, Jaime, every single one of our lower education teachers attempted to keep us apart.

For fourth and fifth grade, Crystal and I had every class together. It was absolutely no coincidence that Crystal and I never had a class together again until our junior year of high school. The task of dealing with our insanity was far beyond even the most experienced teacher’s abilities. Thankfully, when we entered U.S. History in 11th grade, the instructor liked us a lot, disruptive and goofy as we were.

I watched Sex and the City 2 yesterday.

As much as I enjoyed the television series, a rarity for me because I generally loathe T.V., a sequel did not need to be made.

Unfortunately, Sex and the City as a whole should have ended when Carrie married Big, a colossal mistake in and of itself!

The film essentially created drama. There really was no movie. Samantha remains entertaining, but her character isn’t substantive enough to carry the weight of an entire film. Carrie is fun and successful, and I have a soft spot for her because she’s a non-fiction book writer, but she’s a bit selfish and spoiled. I can be self-involved at times, but I would never throw a tantrum because my husband didn’t get me a piece of jewelry for our anniversary. Charlotte is annoyingly perfect and far too obsessed with the white picket fence lifestyle. In real life, she’d never actually associate with these other three ladies. I loved Miranda in this movie because she is finally happy with her life.

As many critics have said, the movie kind of slaps the Middle Eastern culture in the face. That didn’t need to happen. Also, there was too much emphasis on materialism, fashion, superficiality, etc. But what do I know? Fashion is not my forte. I’ve been known to detest shopping malls, all of which I avoid all together. I have no qualms spending a little extra money on Pitaya clothing because it’s much easier, quicker, and less dramatic for me to go to a tiny boutique on University Boulevard than enter a gargantuan mall full of stores. This is where I sort of fail at being a female. I like wearing pastel colors and having a single designer purse, yet I walk into a mall and immediately experience the fight or flight anxiety syndrome.

For the record, Miley Cyrus is adorable in her Sex and the City 2 cameo. I don’t care what other people say. Miley Cyrus is cute, even though she’s a tad too raunchy for a minor. Britney Spears, anyone?

I finished Emily Giffin’s new chick lit book, Heart of the Matter. Definitely a light beach read, although it’s filled with infidelity. Are there any men out there who don’t cheat?!?! I’m being facetious, believe it or not. There are plenty of nice women and men who don’t have affairs. The media and general public, myself included, only focuses on the negative, disastrous break-ups.

In my free time, I’ve been writing several personal essays. One of them is already at about 35 pages. To be honest, that particular piece could be a short story, I feel. For now, I’m only writing for myself. I’d one day like to turn all these vignettes into a non-fiction book of essays, but I’m not ready yet. Sometimes I wonder if I just hold back because society tells us that no one really puts out books until their late twenties at the very earliest. Look at Sedaris, who didn’t start writing books until his early forties. Frank McCourt waited until he was seventy years old to submit Angela’s Ashes to book publishers. Elizabeth Gilbert was around 36 when Eat Pray Love hit bookshelves.

I often remember that I have so much more to learn about life, the world, everything. It’s best that I wait a while, long after much of the recorded events have come to pass. One day, I’m going to try to publish a story about my final year in high school, a year that was full of so many uncanny coincidences, tragic events, heartbreaking moments from all angles, and rites of passage. For now, I don’t think I have the inner strength to spread the word, even though more than four years have gone by and I’m already out of college. It takes time. I almost feel like it would be better to put out that sort of story once everything else in life is in place, but knowing me, I’ll never fully have all the tee’s crossed and i’s dotted. I’m not really that kind of girl. I am constantly searching for more.

I’m not emotionally ready or mature enough to publish my less-than-cheerful essays right now. There are many, many things I would love to put out in the world, just not right now. Give it a few years, and I’ll be hounding down every publishing company across the country.


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