I was going to blog today about American Idol contestants singing show tunes or Charlie O'Connell and the skanky ho's of the Bachelor, but I'm feeling a little hungover right now.
Memo to Kara of The Bachelor: If you have to keep asking the guy if he's okay with dating a single mother, he probably isn't. Pack your bags now, and be grateful that you didn't get more attached!
I went out last night to see a show about the painter Tamara de Lempicka, who mainly painted during the Art Deco era of the twenties and thirties. I love her paintings. There's something overripe and sensuous about her work. You either love it or hate it, I don't think that you can remain neutral when you see her work.
Kara Wilson, who is a very talented actress and painter recreates one of Lempicka's paintings during the show, which is absolutely remarkable.
Anyway at the after-party, which was held at the very tony NY Atheletic Club on CPS (that's Central Park South for non-natives), I discovered that a friend of mine had an Easter party that I was not invited to. There's nothing worse that sitting around hearing everyone talk about what a great party it was, and have her accept the compliments, knowing that you were the only one there who wasn't invited.
It reminded me of my senior year of high school, when a friend called to wish me a happy New Year from a party at a classmates house that I wasn't invited to. I felt about as low as I did back then. You know the feeling, sort of left out in the cold, unwanted.
I should have been happy that I was invited to the show last night, that I got the chance to hang out with Tom Conti, and free alcohol, and the ambiance of the Athletic Club. I mean how often do you get to see the inside of places like the Metropolitan Club or the Union Club, where old moneyed New Yorkers hang out.
As far back as I can remember, I'd walk past the NYAC, and wonder what it looked like inside, and what went on there. And now I had the chance, but I couldn't stop obsessing over not being invited to that party.
I'm an orphan and holidays are particulary hard for me, particularly if they are 'family' holidays. The fact that my sister never invites me to Thanksgiving, or Christmas, hangs over my head. So Easter this year for me was particularly hard. It's been 5 years since my father passed, and almost 16 since my Mom passed. I have no significant other at the moment, so it would have been nice to have somewhere to go for the holidays instead of spending them alone.
Anyway, I hightailed it out of there, without saying good-bye, which was enormously rude to my friend, who had planned to walk me to the train, but I was having a pity party, table for one, and I just split.
I continued my pity party all through watching the AI finalists butcher Broadway show tunes. Who decided that this was a good idea? And why were there no songs after like 1973? 'Hello, Young Lovers'? 'Climb Every Mountain'? I felt as if I was in a time warp.
No Rent, No Hair, No Jesus Christ Superstar, no Les Miserables. How nice it would have been to hear Carrie sing 'On my own' from Les Miz or Vonzell and Nadia tearing into any song from Dream Girls. Nadia could easily have sung 'Easy to be hard' from Hair or even 'I don't know how to love him' from Superstar.
But Oliver? Oy! It was probably the most painful show to watch.
Now today, I'm hungover, and feeling fragile. Not even knowing that my social calendar is full for the weekend is helping.
So, am I an idiot for being upset? Do we ever really get over the crap that happens when we're teens? And if we don't, are we emotionally stunted individuals?
I'm dying to figure it out.