How 'bout remembering your divinity?

(Yes, Alanis said that, but Lovestrong already knew that and I don't really think there's anyone else reading anymore...is there? Nat, is that you breathing?)

So I've gone and embarrassed myself again. I know, you can't imagine what I've done now. As tender as my ego is, you'd kindof think that I've dropped out the bottom of shame by now, what with the constant food on my shirt, yacking in front of reboyfriend (don't ask), and the frequency with which I sometimes just walk into things. Like this one door at work. You're supposed to pull it toward you, then pass through the doorway. That's how doors work. Except, during Open Enrollment season, I got kindof spacey and just kind of walked up to it and body slammed it. If it were just the one time, I might be able to let it go. But it wasn't. There were multiples. And yes, I'm pretty sure people saw.

Anyway, back to being embarrassed. I decided to do my Facebook status today. I avoid statusing, because I feel insanely lame doing it. There are only so many cute things you can think of to write before you run out, and then get addicted and resort to things that are either

a.) Passive-Aggressive

b.) Annoyingly vague

c.) Indulgently braggy, or

d.) Obnoxious as all hell.

And it's all Maren's fault I'm paranoid to do it, because she posted this painfully true rant(y rant rant) on her blog, and it just really hit the spot for me. Facebook statusing is an extension of the "inside joke" game that has become wall posts. The point is to have a very publicly private moment, inject a kind of covetable glee into it, and make everyone reading it feel completely excluded. Except with the status, your inside joke is with yourself. You can put something nobody's gonna get, so they have to ask you what it means, and that way you get comments (p.s. before you start grousing away your fierce agreements in my comments section, I have to hurry and tell you I actually did it today, so hold that thought).

***Also, my 8-year-old sense of humor had me wondering what other words there were for "yack." I went promptly to the urban dictionary where I learned I could have said "magging in front of reboyfriend" or "chundering in front of reboyfriend." I spent probably 12 minutes, chortling out loud the way little boys do when they break windows with rocks. Don't believe me? Go to Urban Dictionary and just read. You will reunite with your dog poo throwing inner child.***

For a long long time, I've wanted to check out some parts of India. For a host of reasons. All my friends swear it's the coolest, plus it's not romantic. There are a million places we all want to go before we hit the remote corners of India, but we want to see them with our hunky male companions.

This is not Italy, it's not Tahiti (but they speak French there, so I will be hauling my sorry arse there some day). I want save all the more romantic trips for times I'll be going with someone I can do it with in the hotels at night (notice that is 'hotel' not 'hostel'. That little 's' marks a very vast difference between the two. Only one of them allows you to have sex without an audience. Respect the 's'). (Or do it on a beach, but that brings us back to the audience thing).

When I was married, I bitterly resented the fact that I didn't get all the adventures I wanted to have out of my system when I was single. God has given me a second chance, and I'm not blowing it this time. I kindof think this is why God prompted my starter husband to lose his mind and leave me, so I'd just freaking go already. Knowing my dumbass ways, I'll probably go off and get myself hitched again in the next five years, and trips are expensive. So that means I probably only get two or three before I settle back down.*

But then I put it in my status. I felt that weird idiot urge to FaCeBoOK my excitement, like omfg, suspending it in cyberspace to be gagged on and mocked. I Am Saving For India Everyone! Look At ME! And then comments came!

And now, I am officially Pissica.

Oh, Pissica. She is the girl (or guy, but everyone knows one) who was spoiled and pampered her whole life, parents paying her way for everything, but in college that stops being cool and starts being mocked relentlessly. She realized what a d-bag that made her. So s/he now does the voluntourism thing, posing in Jesus shoes in third world countries and then trying to convince the world that she IS a go-getter, but just NOT the same kind all the rest of us are (the employed, contributing kind): she is just a modern hippie! Suddenly, she is not interested in material things (except that she still is), which is obvious if she wants to help the homeless.

So I responded to the comments, that no, I would not be posing with The Orphans and gawking at the Poor People In The Slums like they're a tourist attraction. And I would not be digging toilets. Yes, they have a sanitation problem in Mumbai. They also have four times as many people in their country as we do in ours, and a sizeable chunk of their population is twice as educated as all of us. They don't need our help digging holes to crap in. Sorry.

I'm not a die-hard lover of Bollywood. I liked the love story of Slumdog because it has to do with a relationship that's better the second time around (where have I heard that before?)...but it sort of made the whole trip seem scary and dangerous, not yoga-rific like Elizabeth Gilbert and all my yogi friends made it sound. It has to do with where you go, which makes all the difference.

Anyway, it's embarrassing now. Because I've mocked so much stuff that I'm bound to fall into some hypocritical trap I've brilliantly set for myself.

So for now, let's just say I'm going for the curry.

*Can I just say, the thought of "settling back down" sounds about as appealing as warm, flat soda. The idea has lost its sparkle and is the farthest thing from refreshing. So, here I am. pinching pennies. Jai Ho!