"THE TIME WILL COME WHEN IT WILL DISGUST YOU TO LOOK IN THE MIRROR."
- ROSE KENNEDY
I've
always known I should have been a Kennedy. I have everything I need to
make the grade: high aspirations, a penchant for pills and alcohol, an
enchanting smile and captivating persona to aid me in talking my way out
of trouble and charming lovers into my bed, a deep appreciation for
simple New England beach-front cottages that resemble mansions, an
inherently selfish nature and a love for any boy that smells like a
large trust fund and boat shoes.
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| His pants are the same color as what I'm after. |
That
said, I decided to start this blog after I recently read a few snippets
from the notes and diary entries written by Rose Kennedy and donated to
the John F. Kennedy library and museum. Rose had 9 kids and an asshole
for a husband so she clearly was short on time, but she made the effort
to chronicle her life using whatever was around. Some of the best stuff
she wrote was scribbled on a calendar.
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| How do you not want to emulate a chick who makes this her Christmas card? |
Rose was no
idiot. She knew what she had going on with her family. She knew they
were batshit and she knew they were sparkly and she knew they had that je ne sais quoi.
Ditto.
Yes,
I may be lacking the Kennedy DNA. And large sums of cash. And the
ability to buy Chanel in bulk. And the cult following. But only for now.
And
what I lack in the financial area, I make up for in life experiences.
Everyone in my family, immediate or distant, is derailed; completely
unpredictable and ridiculously narcissistic. All of us. No exceptions.
Not one. We are the Kennedy's, minus the plane crashes and the Shrivers
and the political crap.
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| And minus the little beach-front cottage. |
And
if Rose could find the time to write down her little pieces of wisdom
and immortalize parts of her life, then why can't I? And why shouldn't
you read it?
I can and you should.
 | |||
| Recognize it? No? Because it's everywhere. |
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| What if that "something" was first-degree manslaughter? |
Or this one:
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| Shut. Up. |
I am acutely aware that Facebook is awash with corny crap like this and that's why we should all delete our accounts immediately. But the "no regrets" posts are really killing me. I understand the fundamental idea behind them. I know all the wistful, pretend hippie/hipster lovelies out there want us to remember that everything happens for a reason; that I should live confidently with my decisions, knowing that I made the best choices I could and gave life my all.
SUCH A LOAD OF CRAP.
Anyone who is severely lacking in the regrets department is/was also a patient in a maximum-security psych ward. Charles Manson? He had no regrets. Ted Bundy? Could care less.
But maybe there is something to be said for seizing the moment; writing down the little crap that makes my life as hilarious and tragic as an old Judd Apatow movie. When I'm old and lay dying on my Cali-king bed in Manhattan, surrounded by the sweet scent of rich and the few loved ones I haven't managed to alienate, I want to know that some museums are fighting for the sole rights to display my life story.
A life story absolutely brimming with regrets.
So I'm jumping on the Rose Kennedy train and chronicling all the ridiculousness that is my life. Which is due to increase monumentally at exactly...now. I just broke up with my boyfriend, and as any Kennedy lady can attest, if they had 99 problems, asshole men were at least 97 of them. But guess what else they can tell you? A man down often equals a newer, shinier dude.
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| JFK was worth an estimated $30-90 mill when he died. Most of which was tied into a trust fund. With his siblings. |
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| Aristotle Onassis? $500 million of his very own dollars at the time of his death. Well done, Jakie O., well done. |
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