San Francisco Continued...
Sharing a room again with Erin Wahlberg. Wall-To-Wall, Satan On The Couch and Our Intrepid Explorer. It has been about ten years since we shared a room and here we are again, contemplating bunk beds. This time I get the top bunk. I give thanks that there is a ladder. Unlike in the dorms where there was a lot of shifting and hopping and hoping one didn't die during the attempt of crawling, drunk, into bed.
There are states of exisitence, the endurance of which are distinct. Ways of living that, at the time, you feel like you will never be able to forget. And then you promptly forget them. The years of living with Erin Wahlberg are some of these. Comfort, coziness, maddness and mess all rolled up into one small room. Years of living dangerously in the continous search for Quantum Leap reruns and the best ways to scam more food out of the dining hall. The unphotographed years, the sleepless years, the plumber's years...these are the years that all come flooding back into memory as we enter our room.
Erin's suitcase was already overflowing onto the floor by the time I arrived at the hostel (Elements Hostel, 21st & Mission.) There were 2 sets of bunks in our room. The bottom bunk on the other bed had been claimed by some unknown. She turned out to be cool. Mostly because she left the next day ... and I think that was probably best for her more than us.
First night in town: Veggie burritos and drinks at the bar next door. I think we thought we would stay out all night drinking it up like "the old days." OK, that's probably what I was thinking. It didn't happen like that. In fact, I spilled my first drink all over the bar. Nervous fingers needed cigarettes. But what's there to be nervous about, right? Nothing! Not a thing. Stupid really, overthinking something like this. A weekend, a wedding, a little reune. No thing to think about. Sure. Really though? A little, OK? It's just that it has been so long and so many things are different. But writing in hindsight I realize that the greatest thing about these friends of mine is that nothing is different when we are together. Sure, we are older and wiser in aspects. Events have shaped us. Relationships have added a little something to our step but in our hearts of hearts and our inner most souls we are still the ragtag ramble we were ten years ago. Plus a baby.
My need for a cigarette denied. In a town where there is no smoking anywhere, you can really smell the bar. Body odor, fake leather and stale beer. Tasty and delicious. Not really. But at least my clothes didn't stink at the end of the night. You never think about those things until you pull something out of a suitcase and smell the smoke from your house embedded in the fabric. Instead of staying out all night we called it a rather early evening. We planned to play tourist the next day and tourists need their sleep!
I don't really need to go into the details of travel in San Francisco do I? You can go there. I recommend it. It's a nice town. Wahlberg and I stumbled around in the touristier areas. Ate some crab. Bought some chocolate, took a boat ride around Alcatraz and under the Golden Gate Bridge as opposed to walking across it.
Of course, by this time, we were running late.
Let me ammend that - because of the lack of surface transit in San Francisco - we were running late. We waited, with about 70 other magooes for a bus that never came. Suckers, the lot of us.
Late for what? Late for the pre-wedding cocktail party! Rush we back to the hostel. Quick shower and change. We know how to do this. And we clean up nice. Back the way we came and up into the ritzy, bay-front hotel.
We recognize no one. Except the groom, he stands about a foot taller and 50 pounds lighter than everyone else in the bar. And here is true testament to how much things stay the same - 4 years since the last time I have seen my Seth and there is no screaming, no yelling, no hopping up and down one foot to the other in excitement. When he spots me, he holds open his arms and embraces me without breaking stride in his conversation...
and whatever for being rude to interrupt. some things are more important damnit...
We drink, we snack, we touch base with some folks we didn't expect to see and then it was over and we were all going to get real food and converge again on the bride and groom's house. It was a short lived visit. Erin and I decline the invitation to join the bachelor bowling party and end up at a bar where someone ELSE we know works.
How was I supposed to know, eight years ago, that the bay area would become such a hotspot for New Paltz graduates? We are everywhere!
More reuning, more drinking, more chatting with friends and strangers alike....but at 2am all the bars close and what's a girl to do?
We sleep.
Tomorrrow we skip ahead a day and go straight to the wedding. Which was beautiful. My travels do not end in San Francisco though. Stay tuned for an indepth look at a family wedding and a little something to do with llamas before the end of the week!
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Destination: San Francisco
Thursday, September 15 2005
American Airlines Flight 1557
7:30pm Central Time
I depart Chicago on a too warm September afternoon. It threatens to rain until I get to the airport. At which time the threat is fufilled. So, out my window there is nothing to see but clouds. They mask the orange glow of a sunset fading low in the sky as the amplitude of the stars rises.
I travel to San Francisco armed with nostalgia, new clothes and a book pilfered from a pile of Hurricane Katrina donations. Without really thinking about it the music I have brought with me is all college music - Portishead's Dummy, Pixies' Doolittle, Beck's Odelay, Stevie Wonder's Talking Book and some random Stereolab CD.
Sunset revealed in stripes of yellow atop orange. A clear band of color across the sky. Small, but brilliant cities liter the landscape below us. Just part of the patchwork of America.
Consulting the map in the in-flight magazine (Jodi Foster discusses wursts of Berlin.) I determine we must be over...Missouri. Or Kansas.
Portishead Girl sings:
I can't understand myself anymore.
Cause I'm still feeling lonely
Feeling so unholy
I remember when this album was in the daily rotation and made me cry every time.
Passing places to go. All of these towns I always find myself passing over in favor of some other.
There really are lovely parts of Idaho.
The moon a drop of milk on granite countertop. It illuminates a large body of water and homes. Large homes set far apart from each other. Swatches of inpenetrable darkness set between them.
At this height the night
indeed
is misty and moonlit.
It is bitter chocolate outside. Even the small lights of cities look muted. They are half asleep while I am full awake. Looking forward to sharing a room, again, with Erin Wahlberg. She the intrepid traveler. Me always and ever reluctant and overpacked.
Tonight is "pre-game"with Erin. Tomorrow we reune with all the others over cocktails and then Seth and Brahmani wed the next day. I will stand witness in my sultry, red dress. Not so far removed but emotionally distanced from the girl seen rarely in photos 1994-1998.
It makes me wonder, all of these weddings but this one in particular, if ever any of us would have believed we'd be where we are today. Ten years ago, well met, under fed and overambitious, did we ever really and truly forsee love and marriage? Weddings and babies?
Ten years ago, at the age of 20, ten years seemed like a long time and 30 sounded old. I don't know if I have an answer to that question myself.
I think that big, glowy blob of light in the distance must be Las Vegas. Which means we are almost there. I don't remember the previous trip to Las Vegas taking this long. Maybe American Airlines is dull. I wonder if First Class is more exciting or if it just has bigger seats.
Without watch
I have no concept of time
Here in the ether.
1 Hour 40 minutes to go.
I am saving Odelay for the last hour of the flight.
American Airlines Flight 1557
7:30pm Central Time
I depart Chicago on a too warm September afternoon. It threatens to rain until I get to the airport. At which time the threat is fufilled. So, out my window there is nothing to see but clouds. They mask the orange glow of a sunset fading low in the sky as the amplitude of the stars rises.
I travel to San Francisco armed with nostalgia, new clothes and a book pilfered from a pile of Hurricane Katrina donations. Without really thinking about it the music I have brought with me is all college music - Portishead's Dummy, Pixies' Doolittle, Beck's Odelay, Stevie Wonder's Talking Book and some random Stereolab CD.
Sunset revealed in stripes of yellow atop orange. A clear band of color across the sky. Small, but brilliant cities liter the landscape below us. Just part of the patchwork of America.
Consulting the map in the in-flight magazine (Jodi Foster discusses wursts of Berlin.) I determine we must be over...Missouri. Or Kansas.
Portishead Girl sings:
I can't understand myself anymore.
Cause I'm still feeling lonely
Feeling so unholy
I remember when this album was in the daily rotation and made me cry every time.
Passing places to go. All of these towns I always find myself passing over in favor of some other.
There really are lovely parts of Idaho.
The moon a drop of milk on granite countertop. It illuminates a large body of water and homes. Large homes set far apart from each other. Swatches of inpenetrable darkness set between them.
At this height the night
indeed
is misty and moonlit.
It is bitter chocolate outside. Even the small lights of cities look muted. They are half asleep while I am full awake. Looking forward to sharing a room, again, with Erin Wahlberg. She the intrepid traveler. Me always and ever reluctant and overpacked.
Tonight is "pre-game"with Erin. Tomorrow we reune with all the others over cocktails and then Seth and Brahmani wed the next day. I will stand witness in my sultry, red dress. Not so far removed but emotionally distanced from the girl seen rarely in photos 1994-1998.
It makes me wonder, all of these weddings but this one in particular, if ever any of us would have believed we'd be where we are today. Ten years ago, well met, under fed and overambitious, did we ever really and truly forsee love and marriage? Weddings and babies?
Ten years ago, at the age of 20, ten years seemed like a long time and 30 sounded old. I don't know if I have an answer to that question myself.
I think that big, glowy blob of light in the distance must be Las Vegas. Which means we are almost there. I don't remember the previous trip to Las Vegas taking this long. Maybe American Airlines is dull. I wonder if First Class is more exciting or if it just has bigger seats.
Without watch
I have no concept of time
Here in the ether.
1 Hour 40 minutes to go.
I am saving Odelay for the last hour of the flight.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
A Reading From The Letter Of Jen
Dear God,
I read a column in the paper today that said you destroyed those cities on The Gulf Coast because you were tired of all the sinning, and the gambling and the aborting of wee baby fetuses in the many “murder-by-abortion” clinics going on there. Some people seem to think you wrecked havoc down there because you were tired of the parading homosexuals, the beads-for-boobs program and the general lawlessness that seems to go on.
Is that true God? Did you do this as a good faith showing to the Conservative Christians? That is what they are saying. And I am just hoping to clear that up before the holidays. I am pretty sure that if you DID turn out to be that sort of vengeful God you might get fewer phone calls and more bloody, goat carcasses on your doorstep.
If it’s true, the whole thing seems a little unfair. I mean, there is a lot more Sodom and Gomorrah in this country that you haven’t even touched. In fact, you might possibly have exacerbated the situation by making them flee their homes and settle in other states.
What are you going to do if they move “Southern Decadence” up here to…oh, say Cicero Township? Flood those folks out as well? I guess, this being the Mid-West and all, probably more a plague of locusts huh?
God, please don’t take this as sass. I’m not trying to sass you. I am just asking because these are the type of things people are saying about you right now. And I hate to see you get bad mouthed in such a fashion. Especially when you are responsible for so many good things…like rainbows, cookie dough ice cream, and all of those fun gothic cathedrals in Europe.
Perhaps there is a higher reason you have seen fit to put this man on my couch, this couple in my extra bedroom and create this general southern diaspora. I’d like to think of it as a test of the charitable nature of humanity.
We live in a country of excesses. We eat too much, drink too much, buy too many things and consume our natural resources like they come off the shelves at WalMart. And yet it takes a catastrophe the size of a hurricane, or the magnitude of an 8 point earthquake, or the devastation of buildings collapsing before it seems that we are ready to lend aid to our fellow human beings.
Every day on this planet someone is starving, someone is homeless and someone is in need. Every day I pass the same woman sitting outside the 7-11 asking for change. Every day I pass the same old man at the bus stop waiting for a bus that never comes because he has no where else to go.
Now there are about a half a million people with no where else to go and nothing to eat…how do we ignore those numbers?
In closing, God, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going all vengency-hateful on us. I’d like to ask for another shot at this whole do-gooding thing we read about all the time in That Book. You know That Book…Bible, Koran, Bahgavad Gita, Book of Mormon, Avesta, Torah…whatever you want to call it…they all say the same thing. Be good. Do good things. Play nice and share your toys. I know we’re working on it. Really we are. We’ve just never been very good at the reading comprehension part of tests. So it might take us a little while. In the meantime, if you are going to smite someone I’ve got a short list of corrupt officials and annoying people at work you could start with.
Me.
I read a column in the paper today that said you destroyed those cities on The Gulf Coast because you were tired of all the sinning, and the gambling and the aborting of wee baby fetuses in the many “murder-by-abortion” clinics going on there. Some people seem to think you wrecked havoc down there because you were tired of the parading homosexuals, the beads-for-boobs program and the general lawlessness that seems to go on.
Is that true God? Did you do this as a good faith showing to the Conservative Christians? That is what they are saying. And I am just hoping to clear that up before the holidays. I am pretty sure that if you DID turn out to be that sort of vengeful God you might get fewer phone calls and more bloody, goat carcasses on your doorstep.
If it’s true, the whole thing seems a little unfair. I mean, there is a lot more Sodom and Gomorrah in this country that you haven’t even touched. In fact, you might possibly have exacerbated the situation by making them flee their homes and settle in other states.
What are you going to do if they move “Southern Decadence” up here to…oh, say Cicero Township? Flood those folks out as well? I guess, this being the Mid-West and all, probably more a plague of locusts huh?
God, please don’t take this as sass. I’m not trying to sass you. I am just asking because these are the type of things people are saying about you right now. And I hate to see you get bad mouthed in such a fashion. Especially when you are responsible for so many good things…like rainbows, cookie dough ice cream, and all of those fun gothic cathedrals in Europe.
Perhaps there is a higher reason you have seen fit to put this man on my couch, this couple in my extra bedroom and create this general southern diaspora. I’d like to think of it as a test of the charitable nature of humanity.
We live in a country of excesses. We eat too much, drink too much, buy too many things and consume our natural resources like they come off the shelves at WalMart. And yet it takes a catastrophe the size of a hurricane, or the magnitude of an 8 point earthquake, or the devastation of buildings collapsing before it seems that we are ready to lend aid to our fellow human beings.
Every day on this planet someone is starving, someone is homeless and someone is in need. Every day I pass the same woman sitting outside the 7-11 asking for change. Every day I pass the same old man at the bus stop waiting for a bus that never comes because he has no where else to go.
Now there are about a half a million people with no where else to go and nothing to eat…how do we ignore those numbers?
In closing, God, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going all vengency-hateful on us. I’d like to ask for another shot at this whole do-gooding thing we read about all the time in That Book. You know That Book…Bible, Koran, Bahgavad Gita, Book of Mormon, Avesta, Torah…whatever you want to call it…they all say the same thing. Be good. Do good things. Play nice and share your toys. I know we’re working on it. Really we are. We’ve just never been very good at the reading comprehension part of tests. So it might take us a little while. In the meantime, if you are going to smite someone I’ve got a short list of corrupt officials and annoying people at work you could start with.
Me.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Burying My Head
Is it wrong that i just can't take any more?
I can't watch the news.
I can't listen to the radio.
I can't read the newspaper or look at any more pictures.
I just cannot do it.
Katrina has taken it's toll. All across the country. Way North of the Mason-Dixon line we are all feeling it.
My household prepares for refugees.
My household waits with baited breath for phone calls from loved ones still MIA.
My household is stocking up on snacky cakes, cheesy poofs and hard liquor.
Currently i am sitting at work fighting off a full fledged anxiety attack.
Currently my brain is shutting out the sounds of NPR from the cube next door where they are talking about how long it is going to take...how there's no more room in Houston, how the govenor and the mayor and the state representatives are waiting (like i am waiting) for help, for aid, for the waters to receed. for their city to be on it's way to whole again.
Currently i am crying a little after reading Clover's blog entry about the guy who had to leave his cats behind. Because I could never. And because Bird's dad might have.
Except we haven't heard from Bird's dad so we don't really know what he might or might not have done.
We hope he might not have stayed. As friends stayed, worried about property. Thinking, with somewhat youthful bravado, that they could stick it out.
Becknell where are you?
Currently I am wracking my brain to remember the tricks my therapist taught me to prevent full blown panic. I'm supposed to be tapping something...somwhere...my fist to my forehead? Or maybe just putting my head down.
Currently Bird's mom makes her way from Georgia to Taos where there is refuge for her. But only her. Everything she owned is gone. I can't imagine how my mom would deal with losing all of her pictures of me, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles and cousins and everyone else.I can't imagine what i would do if i lost all of my books.
Currently i wish i could give everything i have over to everyone who has lost so much.
Currently my job entails keeping track of all the broadcasting locations affected by Hurricane Katrina. The list is long. The list gets longer. The list will be for a long time.
For the future, we have Saints tickets for Christmas eve.
For the future, we were planning to spend Christmas with Bird's family.
For the future, we wonder if there will be a city to christmas in, a house to christmas in, a reason for christmas.
For the future...and it might be a long time coming. But there will be a future.
That city is old. That city is stubborn. That city has way too much of a good time to give up just because of a little water, damnit.
For the future I will drink a long, tall glass of hurricane. I will toast the town and the forces of nature that stack the odds against us all.
I can't watch the news.
I can't listen to the radio.
I can't read the newspaper or look at any more pictures.
I just cannot do it.
Katrina has taken it's toll. All across the country. Way North of the Mason-Dixon line we are all feeling it.
My household prepares for refugees.
My household waits with baited breath for phone calls from loved ones still MIA.
My household is stocking up on snacky cakes, cheesy poofs and hard liquor.
Currently i am sitting at work fighting off a full fledged anxiety attack.
Currently my brain is shutting out the sounds of NPR from the cube next door where they are talking about how long it is going to take...how there's no more room in Houston, how the govenor and the mayor and the state representatives are waiting (like i am waiting) for help, for aid, for the waters to receed. for their city to be on it's way to whole again.
Currently i am crying a little after reading Clover's blog entry about the guy who had to leave his cats behind. Because I could never. And because Bird's dad might have.
Except we haven't heard from Bird's dad so we don't really know what he might or might not have done.
We hope he might not have stayed. As friends stayed, worried about property. Thinking, with somewhat youthful bravado, that they could stick it out.
Becknell where are you?
Currently I am wracking my brain to remember the tricks my therapist taught me to prevent full blown panic. I'm supposed to be tapping something...somwhere...my fist to my forehead? Or maybe just putting my head down.
Currently Bird's mom makes her way from Georgia to Taos where there is refuge for her. But only her. Everything she owned is gone. I can't imagine how my mom would deal with losing all of her pictures of me, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles and cousins and everyone else.I can't imagine what i would do if i lost all of my books.
Currently i wish i could give everything i have over to everyone who has lost so much.
Currently my job entails keeping track of all the broadcasting locations affected by Hurricane Katrina. The list is long. The list gets longer. The list will be for a long time.
For the future, we have Saints tickets for Christmas eve.
For the future, we were planning to spend Christmas with Bird's family.
For the future, we wonder if there will be a city to christmas in, a house to christmas in, a reason for christmas.
For the future...and it might be a long time coming. But there will be a future.
That city is old. That city is stubborn. That city has way too much of a good time to give up just because of a little water, damnit.
For the future I will drink a long, tall glass of hurricane. I will toast the town and the forces of nature that stack the odds against us all.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Appropos of Nothing
Am I wrong in thinking that a guy should know how to dance?
I'm not talking about anything fancy.
I am really just talking about being able to lead...perhaps a basic box step?
let me know what you think OK?
I'm not talking about anything fancy.
I am really just talking about being able to lead...perhaps a basic box step?
let me know what you think OK?
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Message To Friends And Loved Ones
Ok seriously guys? Just knock it off.
Stop right now with the getting married and the getting engaged and the FIRST one of you who pops out a kid is getting a swift kick in the butt!
Come on. What am I made of, money and gravy boats? I don't think so.
I would like to issue a cease and desist order...an embargo if you will...on engagements and all other family planning for at least a year.
Because it's going to take me that long to get all the wedding gifts for the folks getting married THIS year.
So yeah.
Just quit it.
Sheesh.
Stop right now with the getting married and the getting engaged and the FIRST one of you who pops out a kid is getting a swift kick in the butt!
Come on. What am I made of, money and gravy boats? I don't think so.
I would like to issue a cease and desist order...an embargo if you will...on engagements and all other family planning for at least a year.
Because it's going to take me that long to get all the wedding gifts for the folks getting married THIS year.
So yeah.
Just quit it.
Sheesh.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
SATURDAY
Mmmh, sleeping in.
Lounging with current book until the clock gets to double digits.
Tasty, complicated breakfast involving many pans and plates. Perhaps some fancy cheese.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
Coffee Magic. pheuw.
Shared hours of conscious alertness with The Boyfriend. Barring any national sporting events.
Long, hot, luxurious shower.
MORE COFFEE!!!
"Drinking and smoking and being a wiseguy. And I'm gonna fight you, and I'm gonna make you stop."
21 Jumpstreet. 3pm Channel 23.
Is it Buffy? Is it baseball? Buffy?! Baaaseeeball?!...YAY! Buffy!
Heh. What time does that clock say? OOoooh. Sweeeet.
Air conditioning. Uninterrupted by commuting to work air conditioning. Rock.
Cuddle time with kitties. Perhaps we'll all take a cat nap.
Dinner? We don't need no stinking dinner. Ice cream will work.
Lounging with current book until the clock gets to double digits.
Tasty, complicated breakfast involving many pans and plates. Perhaps some fancy cheese.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Coffee.
Coffee Magic. pheuw.
Shared hours of conscious alertness with The Boyfriend. Barring any national sporting events.
Long, hot, luxurious shower.
MORE COFFEE!!!
"Drinking and smoking and being a wiseguy. And I'm gonna fight you, and I'm gonna make you stop."
21 Jumpstreet. 3pm Channel 23.
Is it Buffy? Is it baseball? Buffy?! Baaaseeeball?!...YAY! Buffy!
Heh. What time does that clock say? OOoooh. Sweeeet.
Air conditioning. Uninterrupted by commuting to work air conditioning. Rock.
Cuddle time with kitties. Perhaps we'll all take a cat nap.
Dinner? We don't need no stinking dinner. Ice cream will work.
Monday, July 18, 2005
To Mull
v. mulled, mull·ing, mulls
v. tr.
To go over extensively in the mind; ponder.
v. intr.
To ruminate; ponder: mull over a plan.
This is me mulling. I mull. Quite often and extensively actually. Although I prefer not to use the term ruminate. It reminds me of cows.
So I am mulling. What am I mulling...cider, mmmh. Really what I am mulling over is the nature of weddings.
I have, thus far, attended two weddings this year. Drastically different experiences and, as I mull over how to discuss them with you, dear reader, let us for a moment explore the idea of a wedding.
Expect a little ramblitiousness here...already I guess. More to follow. Trust me.
A wedding is a strange beast. All of that money and time and planning and dressing and doing of hair and makeup and picture taking and dancing and then it's over. Poof.
Well, that's not right. I mean, it's ACCURATE but it's not right. Because a wedding isn't just about a day or a ceremony or a party. It is about love and life and family and friends and promises.It is about expectations and dreams and these are all things that far outlast the time when the catering staff comes out to witness the last dance of the night.
Ostensibly (and I had to look that word up to make sure I was using it correctly folks) a wedding is the joining of two lives and two families. Bride's family, meet groom's family, now lets all play nice and have a good meal. Best face forward and all that.
Some folks scoff at weddings. They say they don't need a ceremony or a piece of paper for them to love the person they love for ever and ever. For a brief period in my life, we shall refer to them as The Independent Hippie Years, I was a scoffer of weddings. Bah, who needs it? I don't.
That was probably a direct backlash to the years I spent planning every aspect of The Perfect Wedding. We shall refer to these years as Adolescence.
The thing about being a wedding scoffer is that it indirectly makes you a scoffer of Love. Because really why would anyone put themselves through the drama of a wedding if not for Love?
I think now, and have for a few years, so don't go pinning this on The Boyfriend, that love might just be the best thing in the world. Worthy of at least one celebration, if not many. And for sure a great big public fete.
Lets backtrack there for a second to that whole notion of "public."
I am not a terribly public person. Sure, you know a lot about me. And some of you can read me like a book. But, that does not make me a public person.
And shut up about the karaoke right this second OK?
It's hard to imagine myself getting all dressed up and presenting myself to EVERYONE I know and then having to speak ontop of all that. I can give orders with the best of them, but take vows? Uhhhh...
But this is not me scoffing. This is me in awe of these folks. These fine, fine people paving the way and showing me the light of a good wedding.
So yes mom, I am learning something this year.
I am learning that, in spite of the public nature of a wedding, it really is all about Love. And, as much as you appriciate and enjoy the company of the public you have invited to witness and celebrate this event, your wedding is all about those moments when you can sort of forget they are all there and just be with this person you love. This person whom you have just vowed to spend the rest of your life loving. You need to be able to meet on the dance floor and it be magic.
Because you know what? To everyone sitting down to fancy salads and rustic breads, it IS magic. It is absolutely surreal to watch two people you know and hold dear to seem to all of a sudden be transported out of the room. They go to Faraway. Right there in front of you. It's a bubble. It's a place we all sort of yearn for. Even the most pugnacious of us...when they fall in Love...they fall so hard and so amusingly.
(I had to look up pugnacious too. Just to make sure the usage was correct. And it totally is. Today's lesson: dictionaries RULE.)
Right, so now I sound like a sap. Some of you are laughing. Go on, laugh.
Then deny it.
Ha.
Ok so that was my mull on weddings.
v. tr.
To go over extensively in the mind; ponder.
v. intr.
To ruminate; ponder: mull over a plan.
This is me mulling. I mull. Quite often and extensively actually. Although I prefer not to use the term ruminate. It reminds me of cows.
So I am mulling. What am I mulling...cider, mmmh. Really what I am mulling over is the nature of weddings.
I have, thus far, attended two weddings this year. Drastically different experiences and, as I mull over how to discuss them with you, dear reader, let us for a moment explore the idea of a wedding.
Expect a little ramblitiousness here...already I guess. More to follow. Trust me.
A wedding is a strange beast. All of that money and time and planning and dressing and doing of hair and makeup and picture taking and dancing and then it's over. Poof.
Well, that's not right. I mean, it's ACCURATE but it's not right. Because a wedding isn't just about a day or a ceremony or a party. It is about love and life and family and friends and promises.It is about expectations and dreams and these are all things that far outlast the time when the catering staff comes out to witness the last dance of the night.
Ostensibly (and I had to look that word up to make sure I was using it correctly folks) a wedding is the joining of two lives and two families. Bride's family, meet groom's family, now lets all play nice and have a good meal. Best face forward and all that.
Some folks scoff at weddings. They say they don't need a ceremony or a piece of paper for them to love the person they love for ever and ever. For a brief period in my life, we shall refer to them as The Independent Hippie Years, I was a scoffer of weddings. Bah, who needs it? I don't.
That was probably a direct backlash to the years I spent planning every aspect of The Perfect Wedding. We shall refer to these years as Adolescence.
The thing about being a wedding scoffer is that it indirectly makes you a scoffer of Love. Because really why would anyone put themselves through the drama of a wedding if not for Love?
I think now, and have for a few years, so don't go pinning this on The Boyfriend, that love might just be the best thing in the world. Worthy of at least one celebration, if not many. And for sure a great big public fete.
Lets backtrack there for a second to that whole notion of "public."
I am not a terribly public person. Sure, you know a lot about me. And some of you can read me like a book. But, that does not make me a public person.
And shut up about the karaoke right this second OK?
It's hard to imagine myself getting all dressed up and presenting myself to EVERYONE I know and then having to speak ontop of all that. I can give orders with the best of them, but take vows? Uhhhh...
But this is not me scoffing. This is me in awe of these folks. These fine, fine people paving the way and showing me the light of a good wedding.
So yes mom, I am learning something this year.
I am learning that, in spite of the public nature of a wedding, it really is all about Love. And, as much as you appriciate and enjoy the company of the public you have invited to witness and celebrate this event, your wedding is all about those moments when you can sort of forget they are all there and just be with this person you love. This person whom you have just vowed to spend the rest of your life loving. You need to be able to meet on the dance floor and it be magic.
Because you know what? To everyone sitting down to fancy salads and rustic breads, it IS magic. It is absolutely surreal to watch two people you know and hold dear to seem to all of a sudden be transported out of the room. They go to Faraway. Right there in front of you. It's a bubble. It's a place we all sort of yearn for. Even the most pugnacious of us...when they fall in Love...they fall so hard and so amusingly.
(I had to look up pugnacious too. Just to make sure the usage was correct. And it totally is. Today's lesson: dictionaries RULE.)
Right, so now I sound like a sap. Some of you are laughing. Go on, laugh.
Then deny it.
Ha.
Ok so that was my mull on weddings.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Things I Think About When I Should Be Working
SHUT UP TOM CRUISE! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
La la la I can’t hear you! La la la.
Take your stupid science-fiction religion and stick it where you don’t believe suppositories should go.
And then go back to France AND STAY THERE!
I don’t want to hear about you, your barely legal mail order bride or your “excitability” ANYMORE EVER EVER AGAIN.
Oprah, you can shut up too. Just zip it.
Just when I was doing the happy dance of never having to deal with that harpy again she’s EVERYWHERE.
I cannot convince people not to watch her show. I cannot convince the late night comics to stop talking about her (so shut up to them too) and NOW she’s whining that someone judged her based on her skin color…Have you ever seen this woman without makeup? I might lock a door too.
Cancer needs to shove it as well. Yeah, that’s right disease, hit the road.
Too many people had it, have it, are getting it, aren’t surviving it.
Bill Hicks…Now he would be a way better late-night talk show host than that twerp who used to be on Drew Carey…who that THAT was a good idea? They obviously need to shut up as well.
Also, all the people who tell me to quit smoking because of cancer. Shhhhh. Cancer happens, just like shit, all the time.
I really wish I had a donut right now. I mean really.
I need a new hat, some more shoes and some new music to listen to because this never ending, repetitive cycle of Pavement, Built To Spill and Yo La Tengo on my iTunes is sloooooowly driving me mad.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
Now I want a hamburger…mmmmmh with crispy crispy French fries.
But I still want a donut too…so many high calorie dilemmas.
Oooh I like this song….This is pretty good. It reminds me of college. I wonder if the people in the office building across the street can see me dancing in my chair.
I wish I had binoculars so I could spy on them. I bet they all pick their noses and wipe it under their desks when no one is looking. It just looks like that sort of building.
MORE WATER. Ughhh this job makes my brain hurt. I wish I could just get paid to check my email and find entertaining websites to look at. I’m really rather good at that.
I still want a donut.
So, do I go to the gym? I should work off that giant cheeseburger and pile of magic French fries…but I just don’t feel like it…But I never really feel like it. Plus, maybe sweating will help me get rid of this stupid hangover. Stupid, drinking on Wednesday night, stupid stupid. Sigh. To gym. It’s not really a verb though…might as well be.
To hangover should be a verb though. Albeit a very inactive one.
Verb. Verb. Verb. Verb. Verb. See it looses all meaning when you say it too many times.
What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?
Sigh.
Hrm...what is the little pink bunny doing today? http://www.frozenreality.co.uk/comic/bunny/index.php?id=36
Aww, cute little pink bunny. I love a pink bunny.
I wonder how much a box of blank CDs costs. I wonder where I can buy one of those linty roller jammers for cheap? They weren't cheap at CVS...in fact, nothing is really cheap at CVS. I have that card and everything...when do the savings start happening?
Oh lord I really just want to go home. I should skip the gym.
I should NOT skip the gym.
I am finally fitting into all the cute little skirts I bought the last time I was skinny...I can't stop now. But I could so just go to sleep right here at my desk.
What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?
What the hell song is this? I wish Clover had put the names of the songs on that CD she made me...I've been making my own titles up.
Holy crap this is a loooong day.
I still want a donut. Damn.
La la la I can’t hear you! La la la.
Take your stupid science-fiction religion and stick it where you don’t believe suppositories should go.
And then go back to France AND STAY THERE!
I don’t want to hear about you, your barely legal mail order bride or your “excitability” ANYMORE EVER EVER AGAIN.
Oprah, you can shut up too. Just zip it.
Just when I was doing the happy dance of never having to deal with that harpy again she’s EVERYWHERE.
I cannot convince people not to watch her show. I cannot convince the late night comics to stop talking about her (so shut up to them too) and NOW she’s whining that someone judged her based on her skin color…Have you ever seen this woman without makeup? I might lock a door too.
Cancer needs to shove it as well. Yeah, that’s right disease, hit the road.
Too many people had it, have it, are getting it, aren’t surviving it.
Bill Hicks…Now he would be a way better late-night talk show host than that twerp who used to be on Drew Carey…who that THAT was a good idea? They obviously need to shut up as well.
Also, all the people who tell me to quit smoking because of cancer. Shhhhh. Cancer happens, just like shit, all the time.
I really wish I had a donut right now. I mean really.
I need a new hat, some more shoes and some new music to listen to because this never ending, repetitive cycle of Pavement, Built To Spill and Yo La Tengo on my iTunes is sloooooowly driving me mad.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.
Now I want a hamburger…mmmmmh with crispy crispy French fries.
But I still want a donut too…so many high calorie dilemmas.
Oooh I like this song….This is pretty good. It reminds me of college. I wonder if the people in the office building across the street can see me dancing in my chair.
I wish I had binoculars so I could spy on them. I bet they all pick their noses and wipe it under their desks when no one is looking. It just looks like that sort of building.
MORE WATER. Ughhh this job makes my brain hurt. I wish I could just get paid to check my email and find entertaining websites to look at. I’m really rather good at that.
I still want a donut.
So, do I go to the gym? I should work off that giant cheeseburger and pile of magic French fries…but I just don’t feel like it…But I never really feel like it. Plus, maybe sweating will help me get rid of this stupid hangover. Stupid, drinking on Wednesday night, stupid stupid. Sigh. To gym. It’s not really a verb though…might as well be.
To hangover should be a verb though. Albeit a very inactive one.
Verb. Verb. Verb. Verb. Verb. See it looses all meaning when you say it too many times.
What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?
Sigh.
Hrm...what is the little pink bunny doing today? http://www.frozenreality.co.uk/comic/bunny/index.php?id=36
Aww, cute little pink bunny. I love a pink bunny.
I wonder how much a box of blank CDs costs. I wonder where I can buy one of those linty roller jammers for cheap? They weren't cheap at CVS...in fact, nothing is really cheap at CVS. I have that card and everything...when do the savings start happening?
Oh lord I really just want to go home. I should skip the gym.
I should NOT skip the gym.
I am finally fitting into all the cute little skirts I bought the last time I was skinny...I can't stop now. But I could so just go to sleep right here at my desk.
What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?
What the hell song is this? I wish Clover had put the names of the songs on that CD she made me...I've been making my own titles up.
Holy crap this is a loooong day.
I still want a donut. Damn.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Dilemma
So, I realized this weekend that I haven't totally thought out this whole wedding blog thing. Because, ya see, if perchance I didn't enjoy a particular aspect of a wedding then how am I supposed to write about it without hurting feelings or having vengeance thrust upon me by someone or something? I picture scary fingers of lightening shooting out of the sky and through my bedroom window as I sit, composing blog, at my computer.
I am a strong proponent of truth, justice and all that jazz but I don't want anyone to cry if I didn't like their wedding.
so yeah. uh well...I am going to mull this over for a while before talking about the First Official Wedding Of The Blog.
If anyone has any ideas on how to keep it honest...let me know.
Jen
I am a strong proponent of truth, justice and all that jazz but I don't want anyone to cry if I didn't like their wedding.
so yeah. uh well...I am going to mull this over for a while before talking about the First Official Wedding Of The Blog.
If anyone has any ideas on how to keep it honest...let me know.
Jen
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Viva Las Vegas And Beyond
So, this past weekend was the first official wedding related activity of the year for me. Nine of us ladies went on a fantastically well planned excursion (thank you Sara Spanks) to Sin City itself - Las Vegas. Three days and two nights of cut loose debauchery and drinking.
Wait, does drinking count as debauchery?
I've never been to Las Vegas before. (It's ironic I know. Cause ya see, my last name and all...How I've been "Vegas" since college and all? Aw forget it, the bellhop thought it was ironic.) So yeah, first trip to Vegas and all. Mom sewed me up this sparkly tank top and I packed my fancy, uncomfortable shoes ready to party like a rock star.
Actually, I don't think it's possible for a rock star to party harder than a bachlorette can in Vegas. But, then again, I didn't see any rock stars.
After an excruciating long day at work I hopped the 7:40pm flight out of Midway on Friday night. Over the Rockies, turbulence, but we all arrived safe and sound around 10pm. The bachlorette's entourage had been trickling in all day and another Jen and myself were the last to arrive.
We dudded ourselves up in the suite at Bally's and met the other ladies out at The MGM Grand (did you know they have a pair of lions living in the casino? It's true, they do!)Where we had a leathery room all to ourselves. 11pm on a Friday night, I expected the town to be throbbing with drunk pedestrians in search of nickel slots. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.
After the KVA Room (and if you weren't there I'm not telling you what that means.) We meandered the strip looking for a fun time. Or free drinks...Whichever. We stumbled across a confusingly named club offering us free admission where we ended up having the dance floor to ourselves for the most part.
Less like rock stars and more like high school students we boogied to 80s hits. Satellite clusters of intimidated men danced around us. Remarkable really that two guys will dance with each other to "Tainted Love" rather than take a chance at infiltrating a group of girls on the dance floor. And no, they so were not gay.
Friday night ended around 5am after a goat-rodeo of pizza delivery. And then...Wait, you weren't really expecting DETAILS were you? Come on. You have to sign a waiver before they let you into the city.
So thus dawned Saturday. Bright, beautiful, clear...and hot as Hades. We attired ourselves in our finest swimwear and made our way down towards the pool. OK, have I mentioned the heat yet? Because it was hot. But that wonderful, dry heat that you can't get anywhere else. Mmmmh dry heat...yum.
Poolside, sipping a pina colada. Soaking up sun and the view of inappropriate people wearing thong bikini bottoms. Please take a second to note that at this point I took a sip of water from a public fountain there at the pool. Then we went shopping.
About an hour later I was doubled over in agonizing pain, running through the casino at Caesar's Palace looking for the well hidden bathroom. Not at all my finest hour. I held it together well enough to make it back to the hotel through the shopping mall and then collapsed.
You think I am making this up? Ask yourself this: Who would pay for a trip, get jacked about all the fun and excitement of Las Vegas and then poop out (no damn pun intended) just in time to miss the big Bachlorette Night Out At The Strip Club? I mean, sure it was cool that there was like 4 hours of Saturday Night Live on but not THAT cool.
So yeah. Off go the girls in their hottest of hot outfits. Leaving me, and there are pictures of this, up to my nose under the covers. Boo. Hate. It blows.
Now, picture 6 hours of that.
The next day I won $12 at the slot machines. The end.
Well not really. But that's about all I can tell. Which is a shame, but I'm going back.
I went into this trip thinking I wasn't going to like Las Vegas but there really is something devil-may-care about the place that's refreshing. And maybe it's the same when you travel to any new place. Or any place where no one knows you and no one expects anything from you other than spending money and having fun. Which seems to be pretty much all there is to do in Las Vegas. No problem with that here. It was really only my stomach that objected to anything last weekend. Every other part of me was completely onboard.
So I will say this. No matter what the $300-for-a-hotel-room-call-doctor says, spring for the $4.50 bottles of water in your hotel room and stay the hell away from the drinking fountains.
Wait, does drinking count as debauchery?
I've never been to Las Vegas before. (It's ironic I know. Cause ya see, my last name and all...How I've been "Vegas" since college and all? Aw forget it, the bellhop thought it was ironic.) So yeah, first trip to Vegas and all. Mom sewed me up this sparkly tank top and I packed my fancy, uncomfortable shoes ready to party like a rock star.
Actually, I don't think it's possible for a rock star to party harder than a bachlorette can in Vegas. But, then again, I didn't see any rock stars.
After an excruciating long day at work I hopped the 7:40pm flight out of Midway on Friday night. Over the Rockies, turbulence, but we all arrived safe and sound around 10pm. The bachlorette's entourage had been trickling in all day and another Jen and myself were the last to arrive.
We dudded ourselves up in the suite at Bally's and met the other ladies out at The MGM Grand (did you know they have a pair of lions living in the casino? It's true, they do!)Where we had a leathery room all to ourselves. 11pm on a Friday night, I expected the town to be throbbing with drunk pedestrians in search of nickel slots. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be.
After the KVA Room (and if you weren't there I'm not telling you what that means.) We meandered the strip looking for a fun time. Or free drinks...Whichever. We stumbled across a confusingly named club offering us free admission where we ended up having the dance floor to ourselves for the most part.
Less like rock stars and more like high school students we boogied to 80s hits. Satellite clusters of intimidated men danced around us. Remarkable really that two guys will dance with each other to "Tainted Love" rather than take a chance at infiltrating a group of girls on the dance floor. And no, they so were not gay.
Friday night ended around 5am after a goat-rodeo of pizza delivery. And then...Wait, you weren't really expecting DETAILS were you? Come on. You have to sign a waiver before they let you into the city.
So thus dawned Saturday. Bright, beautiful, clear...and hot as Hades. We attired ourselves in our finest swimwear and made our way down towards the pool. OK, have I mentioned the heat yet? Because it was hot. But that wonderful, dry heat that you can't get anywhere else. Mmmmh dry heat...yum.
Poolside, sipping a pina colada. Soaking up sun and the view of inappropriate people wearing thong bikini bottoms. Please take a second to note that at this point I took a sip of water from a public fountain there at the pool. Then we went shopping.
About an hour later I was doubled over in agonizing pain, running through the casino at Caesar's Palace looking for the well hidden bathroom. Not at all my finest hour. I held it together well enough to make it back to the hotel through the shopping mall and then collapsed.
You think I am making this up? Ask yourself this: Who would pay for a trip, get jacked about all the fun and excitement of Las Vegas and then poop out (no damn pun intended) just in time to miss the big Bachlorette Night Out At The Strip Club? I mean, sure it was cool that there was like 4 hours of Saturday Night Live on but not THAT cool.
So yeah. Off go the girls in their hottest of hot outfits. Leaving me, and there are pictures of this, up to my nose under the covers. Boo. Hate. It blows.
Now, picture 6 hours of that.
The next day I won $12 at the slot machines. The end.
Well not really. But that's about all I can tell. Which is a shame, but I'm going back.
I went into this trip thinking I wasn't going to like Las Vegas but there really is something devil-may-care about the place that's refreshing. And maybe it's the same when you travel to any new place. Or any place where no one knows you and no one expects anything from you other than spending money and having fun. Which seems to be pretty much all there is to do in Las Vegas. No problem with that here. It was really only my stomach that objected to anything last weekend. Every other part of me was completely onboard.
So I will say this. No matter what the $300-for-a-hotel-room-call-doctor says, spring for the $4.50 bottles of water in your hotel room and stay the hell away from the drinking fountains.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Keeping House
You know, for a long time I thought I was lazy. Tossing clothes on the floor. Leaving dishes in the sink until I ran out of clean ones. Cat hair everywhere.
But, I finally think I figured out that it's not me.
It's my house.
For the first time in about...six years?...I live someplace where people might actually come visit. It's a nice feeling.
And, with hosting comes great responsibilities. Namely cleanliness.
OK, most of my friends wouldn't really think twice if my counters were dusty and sprayed with coffee stains but seriously, is this the sort of home I want to present to people?
Not so much really.
When I was a child I was disorganized and slovenly. At least that's what I heard from my parents. They probably didn't use the word slovenly but if they thought I knew what it meant they probably would have.
My room was a Grade A disaster area. I was constantly rearranging it, stacking books and comics where ever I could find space and had dolls EVERYWHERE. I think there's actually a history of me drawing on the walls as well but let's not talk about that.
High School? No different really. Except now it was less dolls and more clothes and videos strewn about willy-nilly. There was very little my mother could do to get me to keep the place clean. I think we finally settled on just keeping the door closed after a while.
I am convinced that my mother thought I would always be that messy. This theory was proved on her last visit when she expressed surprise at how clean the house was AND didn't feel the need to reclean anything during her stay. (Once I caught her scrubbing the stove at 6am when she was visiting one of my earlier apartments.)
In college, well nothing got clean in college. Even a parental visit meant little was done except to clear out the pyramid of empties accumulating in my dorm room. Not an easy feat in itself but how much of an actual visit to college takes place in the dorm room? Very little. They pick you up there, comment on your decor. Meet the roommate (if you have one) and then drop you off with a load of "groceries" after you're done. I use the term groceries loosely because we all know what dorm groceries are - ramen, cereal, cup-a-soups and probably some cold cuts or frozen pizzas if you were hiding a microwave.
When I moved off campus it was into a house with five other people. Yeah, probably don't do that to yourself. I mean, it was fun, but hectic.
My favorite cleaning story from that house was when the "Dish Fairy" visited and left dirty plates under my friend Dave's pillow. Cruel but I believe it was justified at the time. Who really remembers anymore?
That house never really seemed clean, even if the six of us spent a day cleaning it. It was an old building with lots of nooks and cranies and ghosties. I think that was where I started keeping a cleaner room just because it was my only sanctuary from whatever drama was going on. And, believe me, when you live with five other people, someone is ALWAYS having drama.
After college (and I realize I am skipping over about 2 years here but yadda yadda yadda OK?) I moved to Chicago. Hack, my boyfriend at the time, and I moved into a place that in retrospect was beyond our means and way nicer than anywhere we had ever lived. Wall to wall carpets, a hallway of mirrored closets and central air. We kept that place pretty nice. It was difficult though. Hack, not the cleanest person (but I love you dear) and at the time he was way into found objects as art and selective dumpster diving. Which, you know, sounds fun but sometimes isn't so much.
Once Hack and I broke up I took up with ole whats-his-nuts and we lived in a number of unsavory neighborhoods. Well two but serious on the unsavory end. Uptown and Humbolt Park. Consequently we had very few visitors on any sort of regular basis. Sure the place was always pretty clean. But, for someone who wasn't holding down any kind of regular job, that boy sure did master the art of sitting on his ass. And, as we have discussed, I am not the most motivated person when it comes to cleaning up my own mess - let alone the mess of someone else.
Yadda yadda yadda
I live on my own. With my cat. In a studio. A series of studios, each one larger than the last but still not places where you could invite people over. Unless they wanted to sit ontop of the kitchen counter. Let's see...since 2002 I have lived in 4 different studio apartments. My excuse for not cleaning those all that thoroughly was lack of space. There was never anywhere to put anything, how was I supposed to clean? Clean meant stacking things under stuff, behind curtains, in drawers and cabinets.
Now however. The Boyfriend and I have a pretty nice pad. Sure, there's no jacuzzi bathtub but we do have a dishwasher, a guest bedroom and space in the livingroom for two couches (whenever we get the cash together to finish paying for the new one that is.) People come over. They eat dinner, have beers, play video games and actually spend the night on occasion. Our first real out of town visitor is expected in two weeks (A to the mutha fuckin Z.) This is an apartment I WANT to keep clean.
I don't even mind cleaning it all that much. Because I know underneath the dust and cat hair that accumulates over the week there are nice white counters and wide windowsills for plants (that keep dying) and the rug is brand new.
I have also discovered the beauty of stain removers and those nifty cat hair roller things that work better than a vacuum on the shediness of both my cats and myself (yeah I shed, so what?) There is artwork on the walls and pictures of loved ones hung on the staircase. My cousins are a much better looking group of people when not coated in a fine layer of dust thank you very much.
I have also started buying things just for the sake of having something pretty. Fashionality over functionality for the first time in my life. Not that I can really afford some of this stuff but how can I NOT afford it really. It is making my house a home.
Finally, after ten years of skipping around from place to place, hopping apartments like lilly pads, I have a home. And sure, we are still a little messy. A little disorganized but perfection is over rated.
And we still don't have a vacuum cleaner.
But, I finally think I figured out that it's not me.
It's my house.
For the first time in about...six years?...I live someplace where people might actually come visit. It's a nice feeling.
And, with hosting comes great responsibilities. Namely cleanliness.
OK, most of my friends wouldn't really think twice if my counters were dusty and sprayed with coffee stains but seriously, is this the sort of home I want to present to people?
Not so much really.
When I was a child I was disorganized and slovenly. At least that's what I heard from my parents. They probably didn't use the word slovenly but if they thought I knew what it meant they probably would have.
My room was a Grade A disaster area. I was constantly rearranging it, stacking books and comics where ever I could find space and had dolls EVERYWHERE. I think there's actually a history of me drawing on the walls as well but let's not talk about that.
High School? No different really. Except now it was less dolls and more clothes and videos strewn about willy-nilly. There was very little my mother could do to get me to keep the place clean. I think we finally settled on just keeping the door closed after a while.
I am convinced that my mother thought I would always be that messy. This theory was proved on her last visit when she expressed surprise at how clean the house was AND didn't feel the need to reclean anything during her stay. (Once I caught her scrubbing the stove at 6am when she was visiting one of my earlier apartments.)
In college, well nothing got clean in college. Even a parental visit meant little was done except to clear out the pyramid of empties accumulating in my dorm room. Not an easy feat in itself but how much of an actual visit to college takes place in the dorm room? Very little. They pick you up there, comment on your decor. Meet the roommate (if you have one) and then drop you off with a load of "groceries" after you're done. I use the term groceries loosely because we all know what dorm groceries are - ramen, cereal, cup-a-soups and probably some cold cuts or frozen pizzas if you were hiding a microwave.
When I moved off campus it was into a house with five other people. Yeah, probably don't do that to yourself. I mean, it was fun, but hectic.
My favorite cleaning story from that house was when the "Dish Fairy" visited and left dirty plates under my friend Dave's pillow. Cruel but I believe it was justified at the time. Who really remembers anymore?
That house never really seemed clean, even if the six of us spent a day cleaning it. It was an old building with lots of nooks and cranies and ghosties. I think that was where I started keeping a cleaner room just because it was my only sanctuary from whatever drama was going on. And, believe me, when you live with five other people, someone is ALWAYS having drama.
After college (and I realize I am skipping over about 2 years here but yadda yadda yadda OK?) I moved to Chicago. Hack, my boyfriend at the time, and I moved into a place that in retrospect was beyond our means and way nicer than anywhere we had ever lived. Wall to wall carpets, a hallway of mirrored closets and central air. We kept that place pretty nice. It was difficult though. Hack, not the cleanest person (but I love you dear) and at the time he was way into found objects as art and selective dumpster diving. Which, you know, sounds fun but sometimes isn't so much.
Once Hack and I broke up I took up with ole whats-his-nuts and we lived in a number of unsavory neighborhoods. Well two but serious on the unsavory end. Uptown and Humbolt Park. Consequently we had very few visitors on any sort of regular basis. Sure the place was always pretty clean. But, for someone who wasn't holding down any kind of regular job, that boy sure did master the art of sitting on his ass. And, as we have discussed, I am not the most motivated person when it comes to cleaning up my own mess - let alone the mess of someone else.
Yadda yadda yadda
I live on my own. With my cat. In a studio. A series of studios, each one larger than the last but still not places where you could invite people over. Unless they wanted to sit ontop of the kitchen counter. Let's see...since 2002 I have lived in 4 different studio apartments. My excuse for not cleaning those all that thoroughly was lack of space. There was never anywhere to put anything, how was I supposed to clean? Clean meant stacking things under stuff, behind curtains, in drawers and cabinets.
Now however. The Boyfriend and I have a pretty nice pad. Sure, there's no jacuzzi bathtub but we do have a dishwasher, a guest bedroom and space in the livingroom for two couches (whenever we get the cash together to finish paying for the new one that is.) People come over. They eat dinner, have beers, play video games and actually spend the night on occasion. Our first real out of town visitor is expected in two weeks (A to the mutha fuckin Z.) This is an apartment I WANT to keep clean.
I don't even mind cleaning it all that much. Because I know underneath the dust and cat hair that accumulates over the week there are nice white counters and wide windowsills for plants (that keep dying) and the rug is brand new.
I have also discovered the beauty of stain removers and those nifty cat hair roller things that work better than a vacuum on the shediness of both my cats and myself (yeah I shed, so what?) There is artwork on the walls and pictures of loved ones hung on the staircase. My cousins are a much better looking group of people when not coated in a fine layer of dust thank you very much.
I have also started buying things just for the sake of having something pretty. Fashionality over functionality for the first time in my life. Not that I can really afford some of this stuff but how can I NOT afford it really. It is making my house a home.
Finally, after ten years of skipping around from place to place, hopping apartments like lilly pads, I have a home. And sure, we are still a little messy. A little disorganized but perfection is over rated.
And we still don't have a vacuum cleaner.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
A Finger On It
So, I was at the gym today literally working my butt off and I finally figured it out.
I finally figured out what I don't like about the gym.
It's the other people.
Also, the locker rooms but, duh.
If I could just be in there when only 5 other people were there. I would be fine.
If I could be in charge of a TV and NOT be watching Wheel of Fortune, I'd be happier.
If there wasn't anyone stinking up the toilets in the locker room. Woo-freakin-hoo, I would be all the better for it.
Because seriously, nothing makes poop stink more than a well-balanced diet, regular exercise and putting the bowls right next to the hot, steamy showers.
Pew.
Nuff said.
I am going to bed.
I finally figured out what I don't like about the gym.
It's the other people.
Also, the locker rooms but, duh.
If I could just be in there when only 5 other people were there. I would be fine.
If I could be in charge of a TV and NOT be watching Wheel of Fortune, I'd be happier.
If there wasn't anyone stinking up the toilets in the locker room. Woo-freakin-hoo, I would be all the better for it.
Because seriously, nothing makes poop stink more than a well-balanced diet, regular exercise and putting the bowls right next to the hot, steamy showers.
Pew.
Nuff said.
I am going to bed.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Back to my original idea...
Sort of.
I'll get around to it.
First of all I have to say that YAY FINALLY IT WAS BRILLIANTLY BEAUTIFUL WEATHER here in Chicago today.
About time I say.
Sadly, I was a little too hungover and sleepy to really enjoy it. But, The Boy taught me the trick of climbing the fire escape and getting onto the roof of our garage. Nothing like a little laying out on the blacktop to get the tan kickstarted.
Can I get an amen?
And,no I don't want to hear anything from the skin cancer contingency on that. I just like to be a little brown is all.
So, tan. Yes. Why, you ask?
Well Super Ridiculous Crazy Good Time Fun Bachlorette Weekend In Vegas is just, count 'em, 2 weeks away. And, if I can't afford to buy a pile of new clothes at least I can look hot in the clothes I've got.
To that end. I get a little tan and I workout as much as possible over the next two weeks.
I have indeed rededicated myself to the original intent of looking smoking hot for all of these wedding this year.
Or, at least to raise the temperature a smidge as they say.
The way I see it. I rarely have what I consider a good opportunity to get all "girled out" ... dress, make up, fancy hair, painful shoes and all that jazz.
A wedding really is the only thing I dress for these days. So, I want to look good!
Mom, you can just hush right now with the whole "blah blah beautiful no matter what blah blah."
Heard it. Got it. Still want to rock the Surprise Hot Chick look this year.
Also, now that I have Happy Boyfriend going on, is that an excuse to get all fat and lazy with the whole "look at ma belly!" thing? I say nay. Too many people I know get all beer gutty when they are really into the swing of dating someone. Off the market and all, why maintain show weight?
Why not I say?
Every day is a show. Show it up showy!
I begin to think this entry isn't making much sense.
I think I just wanted to post for the sake of posting.
If I could draw I would have made a cartoon.
You can check out alienlovespredator.com for some of that.
I am going back to bed now.
Perhaps there will be more of interest later. After all....12 days til Vegas...but only 5 until the holiday weekend and ONLY 4 until I get to go see the new Star Wars.
WOOT.
I'll get around to it.
First of all I have to say that YAY FINALLY IT WAS BRILLIANTLY BEAUTIFUL WEATHER here in Chicago today.
About time I say.
Sadly, I was a little too hungover and sleepy to really enjoy it. But, The Boy taught me the trick of climbing the fire escape and getting onto the roof of our garage. Nothing like a little laying out on the blacktop to get the tan kickstarted.
Can I get an amen?
And,no I don't want to hear anything from the skin cancer contingency on that. I just like to be a little brown is all.
So, tan. Yes. Why, you ask?
Well Super Ridiculous Crazy Good Time Fun Bachlorette Weekend In Vegas is just, count 'em, 2 weeks away. And, if I can't afford to buy a pile of new clothes at least I can look hot in the clothes I've got.
To that end. I get a little tan and I workout as much as possible over the next two weeks.
I have indeed rededicated myself to the original intent of looking smoking hot for all of these wedding this year.
Or, at least to raise the temperature a smidge as they say.
The way I see it. I rarely have what I consider a good opportunity to get all "girled out" ... dress, make up, fancy hair, painful shoes and all that jazz.
A wedding really is the only thing I dress for these days. So, I want to look good!
Mom, you can just hush right now with the whole "blah blah beautiful no matter what blah blah."
Heard it. Got it. Still want to rock the Surprise Hot Chick look this year.
Also, now that I have Happy Boyfriend going on, is that an excuse to get all fat and lazy with the whole "look at ma belly!" thing? I say nay. Too many people I know get all beer gutty when they are really into the swing of dating someone. Off the market and all, why maintain show weight?
Why not I say?
Every day is a show. Show it up showy!
I begin to think this entry isn't making much sense.
I think I just wanted to post for the sake of posting.
If I could draw I would have made a cartoon.
You can check out alienlovespredator.com for some of that.
I am going back to bed now.
Perhaps there will be more of interest later. After all....12 days til Vegas...but only 5 until the holiday weekend and ONLY 4 until I get to go see the new Star Wars.
WOOT.
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
A Fool And Her...
I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately. How they ebb and flow in your life and sometimes disappear altogether for no good reason.
How some people stick. And some people are the type you can ask favors of and some people...just aren't.
How there are some people who you can pick up with after 2,5,10,20 years of not having seen each other as if a day has not yet passed since the last time you spoke and sometimes, if you don't see a person every day they quickly fade out of existence.
It's curious.
Recently my father asked me which of my 8 weddings this year I could skip, as...well plane tickets are expensive and he wasn't taking the bait on my hint that he could help me out. (sigh)
Truthfully, there is not a single wedding I am invited to over this next year that I would skip. Each and every one of these events means a great deal to me for whatever reasons...Love, friendship, sacrifice, salvation, sanctuary, a good chuckle.
These are the people who make magic in my life.
Sounds hokey right? Yeah well whatever, I'm in that sort of mood.
Mostly though I've been thinking about the friendships that failed.
I don't think there are a lot of those on my list. Maybe five that have ever really failed. And in that five I count the three kids who lived down the block from me growing up as one because that's the type they were.
I have a really hard time letting go of people. It means that I stay in bad relationships far too long sometimes and that I get really upset when people move away to places like...California, Australia or Arizona. But worse even than moving away or being a crappy boyfriend are those friends who just seems to disappear off the radar for no discernable reason.
One day they are there to get your back and then *POOF* gone like a leaf in the wind.
Where did you go?
What happened to friendship eternal, one soul in two bodies?
I feel a little dupped when that happens. I am a little dupped when that happens. Chances are I probably wouldn't have been so nice and made friends with you in the first place if I knew you were going to pull a David Copperfield on me.
Plus, now how I am supposed to cash in on all the favors I racked up? You know, all the moves, the dinners, the back rubs on rough days and have I mentioned the cash I loaned you that I could use back right around now?
Not that friendship is all about who owes whom what but what's left after a friendship takes a long walk off a short pier? Memories. Obligations. And, sometimes an article of clothing that looks good on you.
If you are lucky, all of the memories you have of friends who are no longer in your life are beautiful and full of camping trips, getting mimosa-drunk on inappropriate mornings or eating entire angel food cakes. Sometimes you get the short end of the stick and all you can do is wince at the thought of all the sacrifices you made for the sake of the friendship and how you feel a little taken advantage of now that your mind is clear of the chaos masquerading as charisma.
What do you do? Well you move the fuck on, as they say in the rodeo.
I have a picture. It is of me and my friend. It used to be by my bed where it was the last thing I looked at every night. Then I brought it to work to sit on my desk. It is a picture that reminds me to have fun and live life big.
Later, that picture made it's way onto my desk at home, where it reminded me that art is everywhere because we used to see it that way. At some point, it got relegated to an upper shelf where it was neglected but still visible and now...now it lives in the extra bedroom. I don't ever really go in there. I imagine someday we'll have visitors who never met my friend and I'll have to explain who my friend is. Who my friend was at that point in my life. Wearing our dress up clothes, sitting in a booth at Unnamed Swank Jazz Club, sticking our tongues out at each other.
"Oh, that's just someone I used to know," I will say. I do say. I say it all the time and I don't know when I drew the line between knowing and having known but it's there. And it turned out OK because, while you can never recreate the good stuff you've left behind, the same holds true for the bad stuff too. So it's done. I decree it done as done can be.
Beware the red fish.
And the list grows to six.
How some people stick. And some people are the type you can ask favors of and some people...just aren't.
How there are some people who you can pick up with after 2,5,10,20 years of not having seen each other as if a day has not yet passed since the last time you spoke and sometimes, if you don't see a person every day they quickly fade out of existence.
It's curious.
Recently my father asked me which of my 8 weddings this year I could skip, as...well plane tickets are expensive and he wasn't taking the bait on my hint that he could help me out. (sigh)
Truthfully, there is not a single wedding I am invited to over this next year that I would skip. Each and every one of these events means a great deal to me for whatever reasons...Love, friendship, sacrifice, salvation, sanctuary, a good chuckle.
These are the people who make magic in my life.
Sounds hokey right? Yeah well whatever, I'm in that sort of mood.
Mostly though I've been thinking about the friendships that failed.
I don't think there are a lot of those on my list. Maybe five that have ever really failed. And in that five I count the three kids who lived down the block from me growing up as one because that's the type they were.
I have a really hard time letting go of people. It means that I stay in bad relationships far too long sometimes and that I get really upset when people move away to places like...California, Australia or Arizona. But worse even than moving away or being a crappy boyfriend are those friends who just seems to disappear off the radar for no discernable reason.
One day they are there to get your back and then *POOF* gone like a leaf in the wind.
Where did you go?
What happened to friendship eternal, one soul in two bodies?
I feel a little dupped when that happens. I am a little dupped when that happens. Chances are I probably wouldn't have been so nice and made friends with you in the first place if I knew you were going to pull a David Copperfield on me.
Plus, now how I am supposed to cash in on all the favors I racked up? You know, all the moves, the dinners, the back rubs on rough days and have I mentioned the cash I loaned you that I could use back right around now?
Not that friendship is all about who owes whom what but what's left after a friendship takes a long walk off a short pier? Memories. Obligations. And, sometimes an article of clothing that looks good on you.
If you are lucky, all of the memories you have of friends who are no longer in your life are beautiful and full of camping trips, getting mimosa-drunk on inappropriate mornings or eating entire angel food cakes. Sometimes you get the short end of the stick and all you can do is wince at the thought of all the sacrifices you made for the sake of the friendship and how you feel a little taken advantage of now that your mind is clear of the chaos masquerading as charisma.
What do you do? Well you move the fuck on, as they say in the rodeo.
I have a picture. It is of me and my friend. It used to be by my bed where it was the last thing I looked at every night. Then I brought it to work to sit on my desk. It is a picture that reminds me to have fun and live life big.
Later, that picture made it's way onto my desk at home, where it reminded me that art is everywhere because we used to see it that way. At some point, it got relegated to an upper shelf where it was neglected but still visible and now...now it lives in the extra bedroom. I don't ever really go in there. I imagine someday we'll have visitors who never met my friend and I'll have to explain who my friend is. Who my friend was at that point in my life. Wearing our dress up clothes, sitting in a booth at Unnamed Swank Jazz Club, sticking our tongues out at each other.
"Oh, that's just someone I used to know," I will say. I do say. I say it all the time and I don't know when I drew the line between knowing and having known but it's there. And it turned out OK because, while you can never recreate the good stuff you've left behind, the same holds true for the bad stuff too. So it's done. I decree it done as done can be.
Beware the red fish.
And the list grows to six.
Monday, April 25, 2005
ATTENTION WILL WEATON
I would just like to say, in light of how you don't really want us to email you regarding your blog, that I am glad you are alive and have always harbored a squishy place in my heart for you.
That's all.
If you wonder, why oh why is she declaring her love for that lame-o Will "wasn't he that dorky kid from star trek" Weaton check out HIS blog at http://www.wilwheaton.net./index.php
At some point later when I am not so pissed off about other things you will hear about shortly I will plug all my favorite bloggos and websites.
Just in case anyone is interested in what I do with my free time.
That's all.
If you wonder, why oh why is she declaring her love for that lame-o Will "wasn't he that dorky kid from star trek" Weaton check out HIS blog at http://www.wilwheaton.net./index.php
At some point later when I am not so pissed off about other things you will hear about shortly I will plug all my favorite bloggos and websites.
Just in case anyone is interested in what I do with my free time.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
In Your Face Space Coyote
Man, there was something so important I wanted to tell you...And then my DSL at home went down and I found myself the victim of the 21st century.
So, now I forgot what I wanted to tell you. But, the computer seems to be working and, even though it's a little dark in this corner, I am taking full advantage of the opportunity.
I believe a couple of weeks ago I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry on this blog.
Blog...heh what a word.
Anyway, so I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry but then I was thinking...it's OLD poetry. Who wants to read OLD poetry? I should be writing NEW poetry.
It used to be really easy. We used to sit in Dave and Seth's room with a pot of coffee and, uh...and we would write. All of us, like six or seven...depending on the night.
We would write and then stop and go around and read our work. Some of our best work came out of those nights I believe.
I miss it. I miss the culture of it. Like Mrs. Parker misses The Algonquin.
And it's not something that you can reconstruct. It was a very specific point in time. It was great. It was beautiful, it was bigger than all of us in the room. We had a lot of fun. And now it's gone.
There might be things, events or people who remind me of those times. There might be moments at night, while I am sitting at my computer writing by the light of a hazy moon. I might be listening to the wind whistle in through the window and wax nostalgic, wishing I could recreate those days. But I know I can't.
I'm happy to have the memories though. And, I'm happy to have the notebook of poetry that speaks of my 18 year old soul. I'm happy to know that the people from that room are still in my life and happy also that I know new people.
I talk Big Talk about creativity and fostering it in my life but I know it's never going to be like that again. Shame really but onward and upward as someone said. There are new methods to my madness now and I'll work the kinks out eventually.
Until then, here's one for old times sake:
Ode To The Girlfriend (Second Draft 3/10/96...which I guess made me 20)
Oh, to be the ball and chain,
Provider of cigarettes and blow jobs in the backseat of family cars.
Oh, to be the impresser of parents
And babysitter's playmate on those retirement party nights.
Oh, to be the one he calls with his friends in the background
Laughing in a drunken, frivolous fashion.
As he declares that he can't live without you.
And he's sorry for what happened the other night in the park.
Oh, to be the one he runs to for sympathy with sniffles
When he is too old for his mother to really care.
And what about you?
You get to be the one who complains about insensitivity
and communication malfunctions in the bedroom and beyond.
You get to sit, sipping your pretty pink drinks with umbrellas
As he fails miserably at that game of darts,
That he plays worse than pool.
And you have your choice of songs on that jukebox:
The song you first met to
The song you first danced to
Or the song you first fucked to
But either way he wont dance until he's fully loaded.
Tripping the light fandango across the floor, with you in tow.
With his arms wrapped around you
But his eyes wrapped around that girl that sits with the beer in her hand,
Drinking and flirting with all the big boys.
And you're no competition for her with that hair, and those eyes
And those...those...those...
Until you put your tongue in his mouth
And your hand between his legs
To give him a little reminder of what you smell like,
What you look like and what you taste like
With him on your skin and him in your mind
And you in his bed.
So, now I forgot what I wanted to tell you. But, the computer seems to be working and, even though it's a little dark in this corner, I am taking full advantage of the opportunity.
I believe a couple of weeks ago I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry on this blog.
Blog...heh what a word.
Anyway, so I was thinking about posting some of my old poetry but then I was thinking...it's OLD poetry. Who wants to read OLD poetry? I should be writing NEW poetry.
It used to be really easy. We used to sit in Dave and Seth's room with a pot of coffee and, uh...and we would write. All of us, like six or seven...depending on the night.
We would write and then stop and go around and read our work. Some of our best work came out of those nights I believe.
I miss it. I miss the culture of it. Like Mrs. Parker misses The Algonquin.
And it's not something that you can reconstruct. It was a very specific point in time. It was great. It was beautiful, it was bigger than all of us in the room. We had a lot of fun. And now it's gone.
There might be things, events or people who remind me of those times. There might be moments at night, while I am sitting at my computer writing by the light of a hazy moon. I might be listening to the wind whistle in through the window and wax nostalgic, wishing I could recreate those days. But I know I can't.
I'm happy to have the memories though. And, I'm happy to have the notebook of poetry that speaks of my 18 year old soul. I'm happy to know that the people from that room are still in my life and happy also that I know new people.
I talk Big Talk about creativity and fostering it in my life but I know it's never going to be like that again. Shame really but onward and upward as someone said. There are new methods to my madness now and I'll work the kinks out eventually.
Until then, here's one for old times sake:
Ode To The Girlfriend (Second Draft 3/10/96...which I guess made me 20)
Oh, to be the ball and chain,
Provider of cigarettes and blow jobs in the backseat of family cars.
Oh, to be the impresser of parents
And babysitter's playmate on those retirement party nights.
Oh, to be the one he calls with his friends in the background
Laughing in a drunken, frivolous fashion.
As he declares that he can't live without you.
And he's sorry for what happened the other night in the park.
Oh, to be the one he runs to for sympathy with sniffles
When he is too old for his mother to really care.
And what about you?
You get to be the one who complains about insensitivity
and communication malfunctions in the bedroom and beyond.
You get to sit, sipping your pretty pink drinks with umbrellas
As he fails miserably at that game of darts,
That he plays worse than pool.
And you have your choice of songs on that jukebox:
The song you first met to
The song you first danced to
Or the song you first fucked to
But either way he wont dance until he's fully loaded.
Tripping the light fandango across the floor, with you in tow.
With his arms wrapped around you
But his eyes wrapped around that girl that sits with the beer in her hand,
Drinking and flirting with all the big boys.
And you're no competition for her with that hair, and those eyes
And those...those...those...
Until you put your tongue in his mouth
And your hand between his legs
To give him a little reminder of what you smell like,
What you look like and what you taste like
With him on your skin and him in your mind
And you in his bed.
Friday, March 18, 2005
SAVE CBGBs!
OK, this is going to be a really short post. Mostly because I am in the middle of moving and I don't have the energy to make much sense today. And partially because I am tired of being morally outraged by stuff.
CTA hikes and now THIS?
They seriously want to close down the greatest Punk Mecca of all time over a measley $91,000 owed in back rent? Boo on the Bowery Committee. If it weren't for that club The Bowery would never have gained capital letter status.
So here is my question:
Hello, Sting? Debbie Harry? Surviving members of The Ramones? Iggy Pop? Will ya give Hilly some freakin' cash already? Please don't tell me that not one of these rock idols hasn't thought about how easy it would be to raise the cash to save this joint. One concert is all it would take. People from all over the country would come. It would be the biggest party NYC has ever seen.
Now get on it already.
Granted, I've only been inside of CBGBs once but who cares? It's existance alone paved the way for shitty, punk rock dive bars all over the place - from DC to Milwaukee.
CBGBS is the place Disco died and was buried. What are we supposed to do without a place like this? The history. The mystery. The bathrooms.
I say Save CBGBs. Do it! Make a plan. Get it together. Have a concert. Sell some buttons. Make it known that we will not allow this historic venue to go quietly into the night. HELL NO!
That's it.
That's all I've got to say.
Next week ya'll. I'll tell you about my new apartment.
CTA hikes and now THIS?
They seriously want to close down the greatest Punk Mecca of all time over a measley $91,000 owed in back rent? Boo on the Bowery Committee. If it weren't for that club The Bowery would never have gained capital letter status.
So here is my question:
Hello, Sting? Debbie Harry? Surviving members of The Ramones? Iggy Pop? Will ya give Hilly some freakin' cash already? Please don't tell me that not one of these rock idols hasn't thought about how easy it would be to raise the cash to save this joint. One concert is all it would take. People from all over the country would come. It would be the biggest party NYC has ever seen.
Now get on it already.
Granted, I've only been inside of CBGBs once but who cares? It's existance alone paved the way for shitty, punk rock dive bars all over the place - from DC to Milwaukee.
CBGBS is the place Disco died and was buried. What are we supposed to do without a place like this? The history. The mystery. The bathrooms.
I say Save CBGBs. Do it! Make a plan. Get it together. Have a concert. Sell some buttons. Make it known that we will not allow this historic venue to go quietly into the night. HELL NO!
That's it.
That's all I've got to say.
Next week ya'll. I'll tell you about my new apartment.
Thursday, March 17, 2005
New Digs
So, the boyfriend and I have officially moved in together. Sure, we were living together before but that was in my spidery, garden (read basement) studio. Now we have a proper pad with walls and rooms and actually 2 floors.
Two days after moving in we had heat too so I guess it's officially official.
YAY!
Well, yay... I mean YAY! This close to 30 you don't just move in with people anymore. You have an agenda. I guess, 30 years ago we might have been married already. Or I would be a crazy cat lady by now...Or just crazy...Debateable. I know. Shut up.
Those of you who have known me for a while know that this isn't the first boyfriend I have cohabitated with. This one is different though...Well, they were all different in their own, "special," ways. But this one stands far apart from the rest. I have wiped my slate clean...ish and I'm trying something fresh. Something new. Something....conservative republican.
Shocking I realize.
He hides it fairly well for the most part. Just don't ask for his views on welfare reform.
And, before you ask he is not a Yuppie or a Yippie. He's not a Trader or a tie wearer in any way, shape or form. As a couple, we are the antithesis of the neighborhood we have moved into and I am sure we are somehow lowering property values by the second but screw 'em if they can't take the neighbors I say.
He's just a nice clean punk rocker from the Irish Channel of New Orleans.
Hrm, let's examine that statement and qualify some of those terms
Nice - a gentleman when he needs to be. Generally friendly and I haven't witnessed him toturing any small animals.
Clean - Well he's capable of it. And even the best among you know my penchant for dirt. I sort of like it. But he cleans up real nice. Becomes presentable in public with a shave and shower and looks rather dashing in a button-down shirt I must say.
Punk Rock - Need I? If you've met him you know. If you haven't...well I should hope you know Punk Rock when you see it and know I wouldn't settle for any second rate poser punk loser. No no no. He's the real deal yo.
The whole being from New Orleans part - It's sultry, it's smarmy, it's full of vampires...Uh so yeah, of course I love it.
In a nutshell, that's the guy I am living with. That's the guy who talks about marriage. And, you know, it's a puzzle to me why I am taking him seriously when I haven't ever really taken any of those other boys that seriously when they talk about marriage. Maybe it's because it seems to be in the air this year. Maybe it's because my mom is going to buy me a biological clock for my birthday if I don't hop on the damn bandwagon. Or maybe it's because when a guy like him starts talking about marriage you sort of HAVE to take him seriously. He's like the least likely candidate for the whole sheebang. Well, least likely behind probably me...Which I think, somehow, makes us the perfect couple.
I guess really the whole thing remains to be seen for now. If we don't kill each other in the process of buying our First Real New Couch I think we will be OK. What is it about furniture buying that turns you into a giant stress ball? It's just an upholstered chair for god's sakes. It's not the end of the world and if it's ugly, it's not even going to be the centerpiece of the living room. Whatever. Maybe I am making too big a deal out of buying "new." But, I am well known for my thrift store antics. I am not adverse to a used couch...I maybe just got a little over excited about being a grown up with some real furniture that doesn't come in a box from Sweden.
Sure, this is allll my fault.
Wait, how did this turn into an entry about a couch? I don't know but I am sure you all get the point. Happiness is a new couch. Bang Bang Shoop Shoop or something along those lines. But doesn't there come a time in all of our lives when we feel the need to start buying "new." I have so many hand-me-downs, used, vintage items in my closets and cabinets that eventually I was going to get tired of it. Most of my kitchenware is the same kitchenware I grew up with.
Does anyone remember the yellow drinking cups we used to use? Yep, still got 'em.
I've been sitting on the same Klippan love seat for 2 1/2 years now. I am so tired of staring at the, admitedly poorly thought out, purple slip cover I could cry. And this is overlooking the cat damage done to it - which is almost a whole other entry all to itself.
So yeah OK - long and short of this, for those of you I have lost now, is the new apartment is RAD. We're across the street from a dangerously low-key bar. There are more windows than I could look out of in an entire life time and so far we haven't broken each other.
Yet.
Two days after moving in we had heat too so I guess it's officially official.
YAY!
Well, yay... I mean YAY! This close to 30 you don't just move in with people anymore. You have an agenda. I guess, 30 years ago we might have been married already. Or I would be a crazy cat lady by now...Or just crazy...Debateable. I know. Shut up.
Those of you who have known me for a while know that this isn't the first boyfriend I have cohabitated with. This one is different though...Well, they were all different in their own, "special," ways. But this one stands far apart from the rest. I have wiped my slate clean...ish and I'm trying something fresh. Something new. Something....conservative republican.
Shocking I realize.
He hides it fairly well for the most part. Just don't ask for his views on welfare reform.
And, before you ask he is not a Yuppie or a Yippie. He's not a Trader or a tie wearer in any way, shape or form. As a couple, we are the antithesis of the neighborhood we have moved into and I am sure we are somehow lowering property values by the second but screw 'em if they can't take the neighbors I say.
He's just a nice clean punk rocker from the Irish Channel of New Orleans.
Hrm, let's examine that statement and qualify some of those terms
Nice - a gentleman when he needs to be. Generally friendly and I haven't witnessed him toturing any small animals.
Clean - Well he's capable of it. And even the best among you know my penchant for dirt. I sort of like it. But he cleans up real nice. Becomes presentable in public with a shave and shower and looks rather dashing in a button-down shirt I must say.
Punk Rock - Need I? If you've met him you know. If you haven't...well I should hope you know Punk Rock when you see it and know I wouldn't settle for any second rate poser punk loser. No no no. He's the real deal yo.
The whole being from New Orleans part - It's sultry, it's smarmy, it's full of vampires...Uh so yeah, of course I love it.
In a nutshell, that's the guy I am living with. That's the guy who talks about marriage. And, you know, it's a puzzle to me why I am taking him seriously when I haven't ever really taken any of those other boys that seriously when they talk about marriage. Maybe it's because it seems to be in the air this year. Maybe it's because my mom is going to buy me a biological clock for my birthday if I don't hop on the damn bandwagon. Or maybe it's because when a guy like him starts talking about marriage you sort of HAVE to take him seriously. He's like the least likely candidate for the whole sheebang. Well, least likely behind probably me...Which I think, somehow, makes us the perfect couple.
I guess really the whole thing remains to be seen for now. If we don't kill each other in the process of buying our First Real New Couch I think we will be OK. What is it about furniture buying that turns you into a giant stress ball? It's just an upholstered chair for god's sakes. It's not the end of the world and if it's ugly, it's not even going to be the centerpiece of the living room. Whatever. Maybe I am making too big a deal out of buying "new." But, I am well known for my thrift store antics. I am not adverse to a used couch...I maybe just got a little over excited about being a grown up with some real furniture that doesn't come in a box from Sweden.
Sure, this is allll my fault.
Wait, how did this turn into an entry about a couch? I don't know but I am sure you all get the point. Happiness is a new couch. Bang Bang Shoop Shoop or something along those lines. But doesn't there come a time in all of our lives when we feel the need to start buying "new." I have so many hand-me-downs, used, vintage items in my closets and cabinets that eventually I was going to get tired of it. Most of my kitchenware is the same kitchenware I grew up with.
Does anyone remember the yellow drinking cups we used to use? Yep, still got 'em.
I've been sitting on the same Klippan love seat for 2 1/2 years now. I am so tired of staring at the, admitedly poorly thought out, purple slip cover I could cry. And this is overlooking the cat damage done to it - which is almost a whole other entry all to itself.
So yeah OK - long and short of this, for those of you I have lost now, is the new apartment is RAD. We're across the street from a dangerously low-key bar. There are more windows than I could look out of in an entire life time and so far we haven't broken each other.
Yet.
Friday, March 11, 2005
This post has nothing to do with my top secret government job whatsoever...
Somehow I have been living in Chicago for almost seven years.
How the hell did that happen?I remember being in New Paltz, NY for a while…and then I vaguely remember moving a bunch of shit out of a tiny little apartment…I remember a truck…I remember really scary, pink, lobster bisque somewhere in the middle of the country….and then I remember driving into town along the lake.
Somewhere, seven years have gone bye-bye. And I turn 30 this year…which means I’ve been here since I was 23 and that just doesn’t seem possible. Because I moved right after graduating college…1998….hrm..well I guess maybe the math DOES add up. It’s never been my strong suit after all.
So seven years. In one place. In one of the few places I ever thought I would end up…EVER. I think I swore on a stack of bibles once a year until I was 23 that I would never leave New York. Then, though, something happened and New York became too much for me to handle. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe it was Disney taking over Time Square. Oh, wait…I REMEMBER what it was. It was the cost of living! That’s right.
Believe it or not, people who graduate with B.A.s in English don’t make a lot of money straight out of college. In fact, we tend to starve, or seek employment in unrelated fields.
And sure, maybe if I had found a job right out of college and stuck with it, instead of floating aimlessly across the Midwest wind currents I might be making more money right now but, boooo, how dull.
So, here I am, avoiding the expense of NY, trying to eek out a living and a nice apartment here in The Second City and what do they do? They raise the cost of living! Right here! In Chicago!
WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?
To be fair, it’s not the cost of living so much as it is the cost of getting from one place to another. It’s a fare hike. A cruel, poorly thought out, detrimental to all walks of society, fare hike. (Ooh, see now the beginning of this sentence seems like it might be a funny pun. Let’s go with that shall we?) Apparently it’s not enough that we pay $1.75 to get on a train that doesn’t even have straps to hang onto. It’s not enough that in the dead of winter (which is most of the year around here) you have to stand outside and wait for busses that sometimes take an hour to show up.
*My favorite part of trying to catch a bus is when you’ve been standing at the stop for about 40 minutes and way in the distance you think you maybe see a bus. But, you are wrong. Not because there is no bus. In fact, there are 4 buses…an armada of buses if you will. Where have they all been? Where are they all coming from? Were they having tea and crumpets somewhere?*
Now they are talking about either cutting service that already sucks or raising fares…on service that already sucks. Any day now it’s going to be cheaper to own a car and deal with all of those hassles than it will be to be a conscientious commuter trying to do my part against global warming trends and exhaust pollution.
Also, have they even thought about what this is going to mean when all of the amateur drinkers are out on weekend nights? This city already sort of indulges the drink and drive set. Too many bars have parking lots and valets. One would think they would host more cab stands than valets but…whatever. I am just a mortal pedestrian fearing for her own safety and the safety of those around her. See how conscientious I am?
OK so we’ve got the possible fare hikes. We’ve got the possible service cuts. We’ve got a busload of angry commuters and all of the drunk drivers.
Sick, but New York is beginning to look appealing in comparison.
And no, this had nothing to do with weddings whatsoever. So sue me.
How the hell did that happen?I remember being in New Paltz, NY for a while…and then I vaguely remember moving a bunch of shit out of a tiny little apartment…I remember a truck…I remember really scary, pink, lobster bisque somewhere in the middle of the country….and then I remember driving into town along the lake.
Somewhere, seven years have gone bye-bye. And I turn 30 this year…which means I’ve been here since I was 23 and that just doesn’t seem possible. Because I moved right after graduating college…1998….hrm..well I guess maybe the math DOES add up. It’s never been my strong suit after all.
So seven years. In one place. In one of the few places I ever thought I would end up…EVER. I think I swore on a stack of bibles once a year until I was 23 that I would never leave New York. Then, though, something happened and New York became too much for me to handle. Maybe it was the crowds. Maybe it was Disney taking over Time Square. Oh, wait…I REMEMBER what it was. It was the cost of living! That’s right.
Believe it or not, people who graduate with B.A.s in English don’t make a lot of money straight out of college. In fact, we tend to starve, or seek employment in unrelated fields.
And sure, maybe if I had found a job right out of college and stuck with it, instead of floating aimlessly across the Midwest wind currents I might be making more money right now but, boooo, how dull.
So, here I am, avoiding the expense of NY, trying to eek out a living and a nice apartment here in The Second City and what do they do? They raise the cost of living! Right here! In Chicago!
WHAT ARE THEY THINKING?
To be fair, it’s not the cost of living so much as it is the cost of getting from one place to another. It’s a fare hike. A cruel, poorly thought out, detrimental to all walks of society, fare hike. (Ooh, see now the beginning of this sentence seems like it might be a funny pun. Let’s go with that shall we?) Apparently it’s not enough that we pay $1.75 to get on a train that doesn’t even have straps to hang onto. It’s not enough that in the dead of winter (which is most of the year around here) you have to stand outside and wait for busses that sometimes take an hour to show up.
*My favorite part of trying to catch a bus is when you’ve been standing at the stop for about 40 minutes and way in the distance you think you maybe see a bus. But, you are wrong. Not because there is no bus. In fact, there are 4 buses…an armada of buses if you will. Where have they all been? Where are they all coming from? Were they having tea and crumpets somewhere?*
Now they are talking about either cutting service that already sucks or raising fares…on service that already sucks. Any day now it’s going to be cheaper to own a car and deal with all of those hassles than it will be to be a conscientious commuter trying to do my part against global warming trends and exhaust pollution.
Also, have they even thought about what this is going to mean when all of the amateur drinkers are out on weekend nights? This city already sort of indulges the drink and drive set. Too many bars have parking lots and valets. One would think they would host more cab stands than valets but…whatever. I am just a mortal pedestrian fearing for her own safety and the safety of those around her. See how conscientious I am?
OK so we’ve got the possible fare hikes. We’ve got the possible service cuts. We’ve got a busload of angry commuters and all of the drunk drivers.
Sick, but New York is beginning to look appealing in comparison.
And no, this had nothing to do with weddings whatsoever. So sue me.
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