HELP, I'M IN THE WRONG NANCY MEYERS MOVIE!!

I've been hesitant to write about my recent revelation - because, and I am not exaggerating -  it has shaken me to the core. To the fucking core, my friend. And yet here we are, with me writing about it all? I blame this on the headcold/snowstorm combo that has stranded me in my adorable little house, in this adorable little state and wishing I had an adorable amount of theraflu to knock me out until 2018. I was in fact scheduled to be in New York this weekend, seeing LCD Soundsystem, hanging with friends, and spending Christmas with my cousin before she goes on her own sabbatical (hers being a bit more legit, India and all). Instead, I spent yesterday getting new tires WITH studs so I could attempt to make it up my hill instead of having to abandon my car at the base of said Matterhorn and hoof-it up like I was in a Cormac fucking McCarthy novel. This is on top of my dog having another seizure, the head cold AND slicing my finger open on my French Press that decided to shatter while I was holding the damn thing. So pretty on par with the fun of an LCD Soundsystem show, totally. Things have calmed down substantially today - I'm currently at home, under layers of blankets, nursing a glass of wine next to my Christmas tree, while the Waitresses "Christmas Wrapping" plays. The next wave of snow is scheduled to start in a few hours and it will be my first white Christmas in over twenty years! I even made homemade chicken soup and brewed up some hot apple cider in anticipation. For being homebound and all by my lonesome, it could be A LOT worse. I mean, Vermont IS really amazing. It's GORGEOUS. It's PEACEFUL. It's ADORABLE. And yet, AND YET, It feels, I don't know, "off"? It's like this life belongs to someone else

And it should feel like it belongs to someone else...because I'm not supposed to be here. Y'all...I'M IN THE WRONG FUCKING NANCY MEYERS MOVIE! I'm not Keaton in BABY BOOM, I'm sad sack Kate Winslett in THE HOLIDAY!!!! THE FUCKING HOLIDAY!!! I cannot tell you how much I loathe that film. LOATHE. But it's true - here I was thinking I'm JC Wiatt on the verge of meeting my handsome Vet and selling a Grand Wagoneer's worth of Country Baby Applesauce, and thats not my path at all. What was I thinking?!? 

The last time I felt this sort of shock and awe over what I "relate to vs how people view me", was about ten years ago. I was talking to some college girlfriends about the Criterion Classic, ST. ELMO'S FIRE, as friends are want to do after a couple glasses of wine, when we started discussing who we'd be if we were cast in the movie. Most of my friends fell into the Ally Sheedy/ Dale Beaverman category, and then I chimed in saying that there was zero doubt in my mind that I would be Mare Winningham's character, Wendy. You could've heard a pin-drop. "WENDY??" everyone gasped?! And with no hesitation I launched into all of the VERY obvious traits we shared...which was one? We both would fuck Rob Lowe in that bat tank top. Other than that, maybe we both liked to eat peanut butter sandwiches in our own spaces? I dunno. Honestly, I don't really eat sandwiches (because I don't like to get my hands messy when eating). And I certainly don't come from an extremely wealthy greeting card dynasty. And my father never bought me a Chrysler LeBaron if I would date a lame dude as a favor.  And I hate wearing peasant skirts with tucked in blouses. I hate headbands even more because they rub the back of my ears and it hurts like a bitch.  So yeah, having short hair and wanting to fuck Rob Lowe...thats it. But since childhood, I've felt this connection to her sad ass life. My amazing friend, Jenny, broke the silence with a howl of a laugh. Not just a howl - the laugh was almost feral. It was terrifying and convicting and I'll never forget the sound. Jenny screeched at me all the things you're thinking - that I am NOTHING like Wendy. Nothing at all. And then she lobbed the death knell that brought me to my knees. She told me I was the character that I hate with the passion of a thousand suns. She said that I am not Wendy, I'm fucking JULES! Jules!!! My LEAST favorite character in the entire movie. A movie where stalker Emilio Estevez wears fucking suspenders, by the way, so saying she's my least favorite is something. BUT! Jenny WAS. NOT. WRONG. My GOD?? How did I never see it? Was my hatred of Jules because I just saw too much of myself in her? Jules who is constantly the awful third wheel - the kind that when the doorbell rings, they know its her and have vodka ready to go. Jules who blew all her money on a fucking Billy Idol wall mural. Jules who gets sauced and grinds on a jukebox? Who has a meltdown after boffing her boss and getting everything repo'd due to credit card debt?  Yeah....I mean. I relate to all of those on a very personal level. All of them. And it sucked when I realized it then, and it sucks telling y'all now. What I'm saying is, our own perceptions of who we are in this overarching narrative that is our life, don't always jive with actual reality. Sometimes, we are the things we fucking hate. 

Which brings me to my realization. My amazing friend Molly and I were talking about how much breakthroughs and personal journeys can actually suck. Sure, the end goal is enlightenment of a sort - the kind that hopefully ends with you changing behavior patterns for the better and finding a path, so to speak. But sorting those things out is not fun. Even worse is coming to deeply understand your own culpability in it all. Maybe knowing how awful self realization can be, is the reason it took me until now to understand that I tend to be codependent. I know, I know. This is probably very obvious to anyone who knows me - but it literally took until last month for me to come to understand that about myself. In my defense, I thought for some reason the term "codependent" was saved for partners of addicts or those types of people who HAVE to be around someone all the time. And I'm basically a reluctant hermit, so that never seemed to fit. But again, Jenny, the woman with the feral howl who loves me so and also knows how to speak to my soul, even when it hurts, told me that my relationship with my bosses and their lives was extremely codependent. My self worth its connected to how much someone else needs me. Not "needs me" in an emotional or physical way, necessarily, its more of being a "fixer". I can make shit work and they need that and in turn, that makes me feel good. It's not fun having the sudden knowledge that you've spent the last fourteen years in highly codependent relationships with men who have extreme boundary issues. In fact, it's pretty awful. Especially when one of the men you worked for is now being accused of truly fucking heinous behavior. The worst part though is realizing that you're creating similar behavior patterns now, even after you've extricated yourself from bad man work scenarios. So, I was telling Molly about a few situations I've found myself in recently, where I've either felt the need to fix (i.e. - signing a long term contract for a LOT of money so that my trainer could keep the gym afloat), or being an emotional support system to many a people who didn't reciprocate in ways that I needed.  Patterns are hard to break, ya'll! And it was in telling her these situations, that we had a very important breakthrough. THE breakthrough that has shaken me to the core and made me rethink every single choice I've made, especially since I quit my last job. After texting her about aforementioned situations, I saw the text bubble pop up and disappear, like seven times...which is never a good thing. Then she typed out the words that would change my life:  

" YOU ARE IN THE WRONG MOVIE. YOU'RE NOT IN BABY BOOM....YOU'RE IN THE HOLIDAY!!!!!!!".

Reader, I screamed. Not a quiet scream. The scream of a woman realizing that she has made a terrible, terrible mistake. The kind of scream you see in a horror movie. Because like Jenny, SHE. WAS. NOT. WRONG.

Cool Cool Cool Cool

Cool Cool Cool Cool

Many, many people like the movie (not film, movie) THE HOLIDAY. Even people I know and respect. I am not one of those people - I hate the movie. If you've not seen the movie, the condensed plot is this - Kate Winslet (Iris) lives in England in a very adorable cottage and is in love with a coworker who, despite needing her, does not physically want to be with her and gets engaged to another woman. She does most of his work and supports him emotionally. She is INCREDIBLY CODEPENDENT. She decides to house swap with another woman from LA over the Christmas holiday to get a break from the fuckwit. The woman she swaps with is a very successful film executive, Cameron Diaz (Amanda), who recently found out her fiancé was cheating. Also she's a #strongwoman who doesn't cry. They swap places. Iris LOVES the swank LA digs and immediately befriends an elderly man in the neighborhood and Jack fucking Black who looks exactly like Rosie O'Donnell from "Riding the Bus with my Sister"  - that is mean, but true. Cameron Diaz moves into the very #QUAINT cottage and immediately freaks out. She has to drag her bags into the place from the street, the cottage is tiny and she knocks her head. It's TOO quaint. All she wants to do is get drunk. THEN she meets Jude Law, Winslet's brother - and he's prime-time Jude Law, too. Alfie-era not Young Pope. Hair is all there, girl. And she's like, "weeeeeeeeell". But back in LA, because Kate Winslet is so fucking codependent, she basically becomes caretaker for an old fella with dementia or something, as well as Jack Black, who inexplicably gets hot chicks? Its a lot to unpack. Then there's THIS conversation between Winslet's character and the old dude, Eli Wallach:

Arthur Abbott: He let you go. This is not a hard one to figure out. Iris, in the movies we have leading ladies and we have the best friend. You, I can tell, are a leading lady, but for some reason you are behaving like the best friend. 

Iris: You're so right. You're supposed to be the leading lady of your own life, for god's sake! Arthur, I've been going to a therapist for three years, and she's never explained anything to me that well. That was brilliant. Brutal, but brilliant.

IT'S BASICALLY THE SAME CONVO I'VE HAD WITH FRIENDS. UUUUGH.

Blah blah Winslet's former dude, the one to whom she was an emotional support dog, shows up at her doorstep to try and get her back in his life, and she tells him to bugger off. It's a breakthrough of sorts. She escorts the elderly fella to a DGA or PGA or WGA or some guild event, and ultimately ends up with JACK FUCKING BLACK, because the world is dark and full of terrors. Cameron Diaz comes to embrace the quaint, Jude Law's grade A dick, and decides it's ok that he has kids. Because, Jude Law's dick and all. Oh and this is important -  She also learns how to cry.  Everyone celebrates New Years together and its great. Life is magical and whatever. I hate this movie.

And yet...I will tell you this - I am the PERFECT mix of Cameron Diaz's Amanda and Kate Winslet's Iris. THE PERFECT MIX. Me living in this Vermont house is 100% Cameron Diaz's fumblings and foibles. I've slid down my hill. Fallen down stairs. Set shit on fire. Gotten sauced solo. It's a rollercoaster here alone! However... Me in every aspect of my love life and codependent work life? I. AM. IRIS. Do you know how many men in the course of my life I've emotionally/logistically supported and have gotten nothing but fucking nothing in return??? ALL OF THEM. ALL OF THE MEN. Do you know how much work I've done that was not my own to support hot dudes/bosses? SO MUCH. SO MUCH WORK.  Do you know that I view myself as a sidekick and not a leading lady? I am a hideous Frankenstein's Monster of these two fictional characters!!! it's such a horrible, horrible, realization. I am Iris with a dash of Amanda and I've never felt more adrift. This changes everything. 

The real kicker, I mean the one that just churns up your guts into whitewater, is the fact that Winslet's character, Iris, ends up with JACK BLACK. Not to be name-drop-y, but I have mutual friends with Jack Black. I say that because, from everything I've heard, he's a truly lovely man. He's a decent man. And yet he looks like Rosie O'Donnell in a TV movie were she plays a special needs woman. A great TV movie, sure. But you see where I'm going with this, right? What I'm saying is this...I do not want to end up with Jack Black. I realize I'm not the type of woman who can have her pick of the litter, ya know? But I'm fucking smart, clever, and reaching my sexual prime and I do NOT. WANT. TO. END. UP. WITH. A. JACK. BLACK. It is NOT fair that the "everywoman" has to end up with JACK BLACK. Look, if I have to be emotionally woke about my life and how I got here, I'm sorry, but I feel like I should, nay, I DESERVE, to at least have the chance at a decent dude who doesn't do creepy shit with his nostrils and eyebrows 24/7. It seems only fair that I might get at least a chance with the Jude Law type. Not in the sense of he's supposed to be "my brother" in the film, but you know what I mean. I'm not expecting to bag Colin Farrell.....but I'm sure he has a third cousin somewhere? One with a look that could be called: "similar after a fifth of Irish Creme and closing your left eye?". Like, I should at least be able to land that.  But after viewing the dating selections in Vermont, I'm actually terrified that a Jack Black type is overshooting what's possible here.  Add in the winter, and after being worn down by the elements, I'll succumb to some Hill-person version of Jack Black and the next thing you know, I'll be freebasing Maple Sizzurp and whittling, or whatever it is hill-people do with their spare time.

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I honestly don't know where to go from here - it definitely doesn't help that I'm going to LA for a few weeks over New Years, and that makes it feel like I'm really doubling down into this Nancy Meyers "THE HOLIDAY" life. I mean, if thats not an Iris move, I'm not sure what is? And who knows what will happen after that - I guess if I'm in that movie instead of BABY BOOM, It makes sense why LA has been calling me back with her it's always sunny siren's song. Tom Cochrane was right - Life really IS a highway. And sometimes that highway is under construction like the one in the movie SPEED and you just pray that your busted-ass bus can jump over the giant missing piece of road and you don't plunge to your fiery death. I thought Nancy Meyers was my roadmap to a new, relaxed life...and maybe she is in a way, but the Goddess of Fancy Kitchens has lead me astray. I suppose I could cry, but much like Cameron Diaz, I just can't be bothered with it. 

But it's morning now, and there's a solid four inches of fresh snow outside. So, I've modeled my sabbatical after the wrong movie? What can you do, ya know? I can't be the first person to have fancied themselves a JC when they're really an Iris...well, actually, I probably am. But, I've always blazed my own path, so I might as well embrace this one, bullshit movie plot and all. 2017 was a tough year for pretty much everyone, I'm excited to see what 2018 brings....I just pray its not nuclear holocaust or the Vermont version of Jack Black. I don't think thats too much to ask.

Merry Christmas.