Currently I am supposed to be cleaning the house. I got off to a valiant start by putting away the detrius from last night's mad dash of costuming. I also put away the last of the clean laundry (that was washed on Tuesday.) And I've even vacuumed most of the bedroom. It's a big bedroom. In an effort to put off the rest of the cleaning, yet still be doing something productive, here I am at the computer.
Maybe if I continue to set up projects for myself to accomplish I'll get more writing done. I'm an excellent procrastinator, after all. Maybe if I come home every night intending to clean the house I will find myself trying to write in order to avoid it.
God knows when I am supposed to be writing I find all sorts of stupid ways to avoid sitting down and writing. My favorite excuse is research. "Oh, I have to read up more on that subject before I can actually write about it."
Bushwah.
I've been "researching" one, specific project since 1997. Eight years to the month exactly. I have books and artwork, piles and piles of them, all related to this project I have not yet written. I have stacks of starts and even more stops. Random pages of dialogue and bits from journals dating back to college all on this one topic. Yet it remains trapped in my brain, buried as if beneath an avalanche. There has not yet been a shovel big enough to dig it out.
I think sometimes if I got a new computer, or if I set up a new schedule for myself. This blog began as a way to get myself writing daily again. You all see how well that worked out. Once I thought that if I only had a few months when I didn't have to work that I would have the energy and the desire to spend more time writing. Then I got fired and had all the time in the world. I spent most of that time worrying about being unemployed.
I look at my friends - taking acting classes, improv classes, illustration classes, writing music, putting together bands and starting theater companies and I don't know what to do with myself.
Writing is such a solitary pursuit, I actually heard Michael J. Fox express it best on Inside The Actors' Studio. "With other arts, you wake up every day and you are stepping into a flowing river. With writing, you wake up and step into a stagnant pond. It's up to you to work to get across it."
It's the work I guess. When I was younger - full of piss and vinegar for the most part - I could stay up late writing. I could sit down in the morning with a cup of coffee and a smoke and pound out some poetry or part of a short story. I could spend hours sitting infront of my refridgerator playing with poetry magnets.
Now, after eight hours at work sitting infront of a computer listening to music, when I get home all I want to do is watch TV and eat and then go to bed. Days like today, a quiet Sunday, partially overcast. The weather has been dropping and I can hear the wind whipping around the eves of the building. There's nothing but sub-par horror on TV, (can I get an oh-yay for Halloween programming?) And, I am supposed to be cleaning. The perfect components for an afternoon writing session.
I have a few ideas in my head. They are all very old ideas but are constantly being tweaked and upgraded in my brain. I am always playing them out in different ways even if I am not writing them down.
One of them is about the Garden of Eden. It's about Adam and Eve and the first wife, Lilith. It is all symbolism and feminist theory and lush greenery. It is mostly still just images and not so many words. It is alternately in a forests garden clearing or somewhere in the dust of Texas. It is poetry and it is dance and there are masks and primitive music - drums and large wind instruments. Sometimes it is rock and roll and purple haired waitresses. It is always vast, clear blue skies and crisp. But sometimes even then it is dripping wet, with dew, or thunderous rain fall. A large number of the random objects I own are related to this project. Goddess necklaces, pieces of art work I have hidden in folders or up on the wall. My glow-in-the-dark Virgin Mary statuette. Most of this stuff winds back around steeply into this project that hangs around my desk.
The other idea floating through my head is contemporary, at best, and nothing substantial at all. Just a story. The type of story that people have been writing forever and ever amen. An outsider looking for a home. Not a house and not a family, but a home. You know, where the heart is? A story about outsiders looking in and insiders running out and in the end there's a happily ever after that brings all the pieces together nicely. Ages old and nothing I think would be exciting but far more personal and far less impressionistic. Grounded more in reality and less in poetic license. Although I do believe that every life lived is poetry, you don't always want to portray it that way.
Every time I look at pictures from ten years ago, or think about friends I've had and lost or found again, this story comes to mind. Every time I think about where I am going to be in ten years or ten weeks and who will be there with me and who will be lost, this story comes to mind. Reading books like February House and The Fervent Years brings to mind this story. I have no protagonist. At least, not one I am comfortable presenting publicly. I have no real plot points, nor do I know exactly when, where or in what "now" this story occurs. It's stuck in there really well right now and it's not going anyway for a while.
But I have to finish vacuuming. Really, I do. And then I have to clean the bathroom because it's gross. So, I spent some time writing about writing. That's one step closer to the actual writing. It must be a good sign.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Wasn't This About a Sandwich?
So, does it count as salad if it's on two pieces of toast, with bacon and mayo?
'Cause I think it's should.
Though really, I hate mayonnaise. I put it on the sandwich anyway.
The problem was I really had my heart set on baking cookies. Then I realized I didn't have any eggs. I couldn't figure out what to do with myself. I had spoken to KristaBeth earlier in the day and SHE was baking cookies. So I had been thinking about cookies for about four hours by the time I realized I only had one egg.
At this point, I could have gone to the store.
Have you ever had one of those days though, when you vow to yourself as you wake up that you are not, under any circumstances, leaving the house that day? In fact, if you can manage it, you will not even get out of your pajamas? I was having one of those days. And lack of eggs for cookies was just not enough to make me walk the three blocks to 7-11.
Lazy, it's true. I know.
So there I was, faced with a kitchen full of ingredients and not a single recipe in my brain. Well no. I have tons of recipes in my brain. And even more recipes on the shelves of the little cabinet next to the fridge. I just didn't have any I felt like making.
Actually, I've had something with corn and black beans in it, on my mind as of late. I even bought a bunch of cilantro yesterday. I just don't have black beans. Or corn for that matter. But I bet, whatever it is, will be good. Whenever I figure out what it's going to be. I had some black bean soup at a diner the other day. Disappointed by it's thinness, I feel like I can do better. Or perhaps some sort of casserole.
It's casserole weather. Crisp and clear. Wind whipping up the leaves and carrying the scents from a million hipster-restaurants up to my third floor windows. It makes me want to saute and stir and mix and bake and eat.
Mostly eating.
Eating soft, squishy, spiced dishes with complicated, yet comforting flavors. Something to dunk bread into. Or something to spread on top of bread. Things cooked in crusts, or until the edges crisp around the corningware. Eating things that leave a lingering aroma. That's what I feel like eating.
I could make all of these things. I have the capacity to create these luxurious dishes. There are just a few obstacles complicating my desires.
First of all, there's the cost of tasty good ingredients for all of these things. Food is expensive. And the better the food, the more expensive it is. Cuts of meat, fresh vegetables - not cheap. Potato chips and bags of semi-prepared, sodium laden pastas - those are.
Secondly, there's the time and energy it takes to make all of these things are so few hours in a day and so many projects to accomplish. By the time I am hungry enough to start thinking about cooking something all I want is for food to appear before me. What I really need to do is dedicate an entire day to making some big dishes that can be eaten off of for a few days. Only curling up on the couch in front of the cable is so much easier. And sleeping, sleeping is also easier. It takes much less energy.
The other part of the problem is that if I really started cooking all of this good food, all of the time and have it around whenever I just wanted it, I would be a big, fat, balloon of a whale-girl before my birthday.
My 30th birthday.
And that, my friends, is a topic for another time.
'Cause I think it's should.
Though really, I hate mayonnaise. I put it on the sandwich anyway.
The problem was I really had my heart set on baking cookies. Then I realized I didn't have any eggs. I couldn't figure out what to do with myself. I had spoken to KristaBeth earlier in the day and SHE was baking cookies. So I had been thinking about cookies for about four hours by the time I realized I only had one egg.
At this point, I could have gone to the store.
Have you ever had one of those days though, when you vow to yourself as you wake up that you are not, under any circumstances, leaving the house that day? In fact, if you can manage it, you will not even get out of your pajamas? I was having one of those days. And lack of eggs for cookies was just not enough to make me walk the three blocks to 7-11.
Lazy, it's true. I know.
So there I was, faced with a kitchen full of ingredients and not a single recipe in my brain. Well no. I have tons of recipes in my brain. And even more recipes on the shelves of the little cabinet next to the fridge. I just didn't have any I felt like making.
Actually, I've had something with corn and black beans in it, on my mind as of late. I even bought a bunch of cilantro yesterday. I just don't have black beans. Or corn for that matter. But I bet, whatever it is, will be good. Whenever I figure out what it's going to be. I had some black bean soup at a diner the other day. Disappointed by it's thinness, I feel like I can do better. Or perhaps some sort of casserole.
It's casserole weather. Crisp and clear. Wind whipping up the leaves and carrying the scents from a million hipster-restaurants up to my third floor windows. It makes me want to saute and stir and mix and bake and eat.
Mostly eating.
Eating soft, squishy, spiced dishes with complicated, yet comforting flavors. Something to dunk bread into. Or something to spread on top of bread. Things cooked in crusts, or until the edges crisp around the corningware. Eating things that leave a lingering aroma. That's what I feel like eating.
I could make all of these things. I have the capacity to create these luxurious dishes. There are just a few obstacles complicating my desires.
First of all, there's the cost of tasty good ingredients for all of these things. Food is expensive. And the better the food, the more expensive it is. Cuts of meat, fresh vegetables - not cheap. Potato chips and bags of semi-prepared, sodium laden pastas - those are.
Secondly, there's the time and energy it takes to make all of these things are so few hours in a day and so many projects to accomplish. By the time I am hungry enough to start thinking about cooking something all I want is for food to appear before me. What I really need to do is dedicate an entire day to making some big dishes that can be eaten off of for a few days. Only curling up on the couch in front of the cable is so much easier. And sleeping, sleeping is also easier. It takes much less energy.
The other part of the problem is that if I really started cooking all of this good food, all of the time and have it around whenever I just wanted it, I would be a big, fat, balloon of a whale-girl before my birthday.
My 30th birthday.
And that, my friends, is a topic for another time.
Monday, October 10, 2005
And Lobster Thermadore
OK, can anyone tell me how and why I end up with some other yahoo's ADVERTISING in my comments? Who are these "people?" Where do they come from? And isn't there some sort of LAW or something?
Spam. Boooooo.
Spam. Boooooo.
Sunday, October 09, 2005
One More Thing About New York
Admission To Flushing Meadow Park Zoo: $5
Mr Softee vanilla ice cream cone w/ rainbow sprinkles: $3.50
Llama feed: $.50
Getting that llama feed spit back in your face: Priceless.
Special thank yous to Deeva, Hack n' Jess, Amy, and Krista Beth for hospitality. And an extra special shout out to Heather, Herb and Sarno whom I didn't get to see.
Mr Softee vanilla ice cream cone w/ rainbow sprinkles: $3.50
Llama feed: $.50
Getting that llama feed spit back in your face: Priceless.
Special thank yous to Deeva, Hack n' Jess, Amy, and Krista Beth for hospitality. And an extra special shout out to Heather, Herb and Sarno whom I didn't get to see.
Coast To Coast Weddingpalooza
OK, it's Sunday. The Boyfriend is off to work. I've had my french toast and coffee. I am ready to rock the blog.
Backtrack: Last month I attended two weddings. One on the 18th in San Francisco and one on the 24th in NYC. In case you weren't there.
The beauty of two weddings so close together is...Well OK it's really more a pain in the ass than anything but there was no way I was going to miss either of these nuptials. So, jet-lag be damned, it was a coast to coast tour.
The left coast wedding was not only a chance to share a celebration with two dear friends, it also afforded me the opportunity to catch up with some of the most important people in my adopted family. Four years, it's a long time to live with people. You begin to share the same skin. These are the people with whom I have shared some of the most intimate moments of our lives. Going away to college, being away from actual family, you create a new family. Not a family better than your actual. Just different, based on mutual interests, distaste for the same professors and the necessity to trade points at the dining hall for hard cash. Safety in numbers, and all that jazz. You put together your safety net a little more carefully in college than you might have in high school, if you ever had one.
And then "poof." It's graduation day and time to go your separate ways. And never again will it be quite the same as it was when you were all under one roof - or at least one zip code. So yay weddings for bringing us all back together again.
These really are the weddings that make me weep. This is the second of my "brothers" to get married and it's THE STRANGEST THING EVER. I don't mean any disrespect in my disbelief but everyone has to understand that I remember when these guys were...Boys really. I remember when all of the girls in the Theater Department had crushes on my enigmatic, english major roommates. I remember lessons learned, like "don't cook bacon naked." And arguments over whether to brown the garlic first or add it last when making our world renowned Super Deluxe Mac N' Cheese.
Now my Fave Dish is married with daughter and Seth is a trained chef (studied in Paris and everything.) Things change but they will always be the same. Seth is still a bit of a weeper - endearing him even more to me. And Dave pays more attention to his daughter than I ever saw him pay to...Well any girl ever. It's cute and it's strange. It's lovely and disturbing all at the same time. They have both married well and with love to wonderful women.
Sunday, the 18th of September found us all gathered on a parapet (thanks for the new word Brahmani) overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped through the gathering, carrying away the vows but I have never seen either bride or groom say something so earnestly before. They looked into each others eyes and spoke from their hearts the secret words of love. And then we all drank champagne and hugged each other. It was simple and elegant.
Of course, there was then much partying like rock stars in our fancy dress up clothes. The boys and I seem to have only one tradition (unless I'm not the only one still cooking up our mac n' cheese.) The day of our graduation party, back in 1998, there was a picture taken of the three of us. Me in the middle, Seth on my left and Dave on my right. Since then we have only seen each other at weddings really. So we are much better dressed in the proceeding pictures - one at Dave's wedding and now one at Seth's. And no matter how often I look at the picture of us from Dave's wedding, taken now some four years ago, my mind still superimposes upon it the original. Taken on a spring day in New Paltz, New York after we had been celebrating all ready for hours in the warm sun. A little sweaty. A little drunk, a little high on the feeling that the world was open at our feet.
Last month there wasn't nearly enough time to sit around with each other. I went away from that wedding understanding a little better how far we have all come as people in this world but with no greater understanding of any of our places in it. It's always good though, to go home again. And seeing this little family of mine made me anxious and nervous about the next wedding, in New York, where my flesh and blood family would be gathered all in one fancy mansion/castle in the heart of Manhattan.
Wedding New York Style...This is the one my aunt has been waiting for...hee hee.
It, by the way, amuses me to no end that my family reads this blog regularly. I've been writing since I could hold a pen and I've finally found a public enough medium for everyone to tune in. Huzzah!
Ahem, anyway...The Wedding. Right. So, not only do I not see my extended family all that often, this wedding marked the first occasion of my The Boyfriend interacting with my family on a grand scale. I was probably more nervous than he was really. What does he have to worry about? He doesn't even know these people. I know them but don't really remember some of them all that well. Not for nuthin but it's been a looooong time since the old days of waking up on Christmas morning in my aunt and uncle's house with all the kids and all the toys and all the food. Good times, good times. So, some of these people I really haven't seen since either the last family wedding or when I left NY about seven years ago.
And it's not so much that any of them look different or act different. I would recognize the members of my family anywhere. Their names and actual relations to me are a completely separate matter though. Two minutes after walking into the wedding I started thinking long and hard about making everyone who attends my wedding (if and when, no one get too excited just yet OK?) wear nametags. Perhaps a little flowchart on a wall somewhere showing how everyone knows everyone else. Something, I don't know.
So, yeah this wedding...oooh this wedding. This was maybe the fanciest wedding I have ever been to. Seriously it was in a mansion. Not that the mansion belonged to anyone in the family, but still - a mansion, directly across the street from Central Park and just down the street from "Museum Row." So, you know...faaaaancy. Which is weird for my family I feel. Not that we don't clean up really well as a group but in my brain the strongest memories of these people are from when I was very young, and so were they. In my memories we are at various barbecues, outdoor concerts, the beach, little league games, choir recitals - we are eating sandy sandwiches or sundaes from Friendly's or fishing for dinner. When I think about my family I do not think about them in tuxedos or sparkly dresses. I don't think about them at banquet tables or making toasts, I think about us all squished in around a dining room table. I think about us arguing with my grandmother about how we should use a new plate for our salads so we don't end up with spaghetti sauce mixed into the salad dressing. It's an interesting new perspective, all of these family weddings. First of all, the plate argument is solved by the armies of "cater waiters" serving at these functions. There's a new plate for every course, I think Grandma would be happy about that.
That's the other thing about these fantastical family weddings. It brings to focus, even for fleeting moments, the people we are missing. The people, however long it has been since they were lost to us, who are still fresh in our hearts and minds and present at every occasion as long as we keep them so. It's not hard to miss them. It's so easy, in fact, that you spend most of the night expecting to see them on the dance floor...Ahhhh, this is too maudlin and I can no longer continue with this train of thought without delving off the tracks and getting lost in a million memories.
So, let's talk about the hors d'oevres. They were fantastic! Nothing like mingling with the family over glasses of wine and champagne and tasty treats on crackers. Only those of us married and with families have graduated from "the kids' table." But "the kids" are a lot older now and far more interesting than when we were actual children. We're a lot less messy now as well and eat most of our vegetables voluntarily. We grow, we change, we stay the same forever and always. It's the nature of people. It's the nature of families. There will always be a "children's table," even when the children are entering their thirties.
It probably works out best for all involved. As we get older it gets harder to distinguish the "adults" from the "kids." Lines blur, and as long as we can stick close to the folks we remember best from youth we can all be as young as we want for the evening. We can all dance and have a good time, drink a little too much, stay up a little too late and say the things we need to say to each other. Things that every family, blood or otherwise, must say, especially when you don't see each other nearly often enough:
I love you.
I miss you.
I am so proud of you.
Backtrack: Last month I attended two weddings. One on the 18th in San Francisco and one on the 24th in NYC. In case you weren't there.
The beauty of two weddings so close together is...Well OK it's really more a pain in the ass than anything but there was no way I was going to miss either of these nuptials. So, jet-lag be damned, it was a coast to coast tour.
The left coast wedding was not only a chance to share a celebration with two dear friends, it also afforded me the opportunity to catch up with some of the most important people in my adopted family. Four years, it's a long time to live with people. You begin to share the same skin. These are the people with whom I have shared some of the most intimate moments of our lives. Going away to college, being away from actual family, you create a new family. Not a family better than your actual. Just different, based on mutual interests, distaste for the same professors and the necessity to trade points at the dining hall for hard cash. Safety in numbers, and all that jazz. You put together your safety net a little more carefully in college than you might have in high school, if you ever had one.
And then "poof." It's graduation day and time to go your separate ways. And never again will it be quite the same as it was when you were all under one roof - or at least one zip code. So yay weddings for bringing us all back together again.
These really are the weddings that make me weep. This is the second of my "brothers" to get married and it's THE STRANGEST THING EVER. I don't mean any disrespect in my disbelief but everyone has to understand that I remember when these guys were...Boys really. I remember when all of the girls in the Theater Department had crushes on my enigmatic, english major roommates. I remember lessons learned, like "don't cook bacon naked." And arguments over whether to brown the garlic first or add it last when making our world renowned Super Deluxe Mac N' Cheese.
Now my Fave Dish is married with daughter and Seth is a trained chef (studied in Paris and everything.) Things change but they will always be the same. Seth is still a bit of a weeper - endearing him even more to me. And Dave pays more attention to his daughter than I ever saw him pay to...Well any girl ever. It's cute and it's strange. It's lovely and disturbing all at the same time. They have both married well and with love to wonderful women.
Sunday, the 18th of September found us all gathered on a parapet (thanks for the new word Brahmani) overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The wind whipped through the gathering, carrying away the vows but I have never seen either bride or groom say something so earnestly before. They looked into each others eyes and spoke from their hearts the secret words of love. And then we all drank champagne and hugged each other. It was simple and elegant.
Of course, there was then much partying like rock stars in our fancy dress up clothes. The boys and I seem to have only one tradition (unless I'm not the only one still cooking up our mac n' cheese.) The day of our graduation party, back in 1998, there was a picture taken of the three of us. Me in the middle, Seth on my left and Dave on my right. Since then we have only seen each other at weddings really. So we are much better dressed in the proceeding pictures - one at Dave's wedding and now one at Seth's. And no matter how often I look at the picture of us from Dave's wedding, taken now some four years ago, my mind still superimposes upon it the original. Taken on a spring day in New Paltz, New York after we had been celebrating all ready for hours in the warm sun. A little sweaty. A little drunk, a little high on the feeling that the world was open at our feet.
Last month there wasn't nearly enough time to sit around with each other. I went away from that wedding understanding a little better how far we have all come as people in this world but with no greater understanding of any of our places in it. It's always good though, to go home again. And seeing this little family of mine made me anxious and nervous about the next wedding, in New York, where my flesh and blood family would be gathered all in one fancy mansion/castle in the heart of Manhattan.
Wedding New York Style...This is the one my aunt has been waiting for...hee hee.
It, by the way, amuses me to no end that my family reads this blog regularly. I've been writing since I could hold a pen and I've finally found a public enough medium for everyone to tune in. Huzzah!
Ahem, anyway...The Wedding. Right. So, not only do I not see my extended family all that often, this wedding marked the first occasion of my The Boyfriend interacting with my family on a grand scale. I was probably more nervous than he was really. What does he have to worry about? He doesn't even know these people. I know them but don't really remember some of them all that well. Not for nuthin but it's been a looooong time since the old days of waking up on Christmas morning in my aunt and uncle's house with all the kids and all the toys and all the food. Good times, good times. So, some of these people I really haven't seen since either the last family wedding or when I left NY about seven years ago.
And it's not so much that any of them look different or act different. I would recognize the members of my family anywhere. Their names and actual relations to me are a completely separate matter though. Two minutes after walking into the wedding I started thinking long and hard about making everyone who attends my wedding (if and when, no one get too excited just yet OK?) wear nametags. Perhaps a little flowchart on a wall somewhere showing how everyone knows everyone else. Something, I don't know.
So, yeah this wedding...oooh this wedding. This was maybe the fanciest wedding I have ever been to. Seriously it was in a mansion. Not that the mansion belonged to anyone in the family, but still - a mansion, directly across the street from Central Park and just down the street from "Museum Row." So, you know...faaaaancy. Which is weird for my family I feel. Not that we don't clean up really well as a group but in my brain the strongest memories of these people are from when I was very young, and so were they. In my memories we are at various barbecues, outdoor concerts, the beach, little league games, choir recitals - we are eating sandy sandwiches or sundaes from Friendly's or fishing for dinner. When I think about my family I do not think about them in tuxedos or sparkly dresses. I don't think about them at banquet tables or making toasts, I think about us all squished in around a dining room table. I think about us arguing with my grandmother about how we should use a new plate for our salads so we don't end up with spaghetti sauce mixed into the salad dressing. It's an interesting new perspective, all of these family weddings. First of all, the plate argument is solved by the armies of "cater waiters" serving at these functions. There's a new plate for every course, I think Grandma would be happy about that.
That's the other thing about these fantastical family weddings. It brings to focus, even for fleeting moments, the people we are missing. The people, however long it has been since they were lost to us, who are still fresh in our hearts and minds and present at every occasion as long as we keep them so. It's not hard to miss them. It's so easy, in fact, that you spend most of the night expecting to see them on the dance floor...Ahhhh, this is too maudlin and I can no longer continue with this train of thought without delving off the tracks and getting lost in a million memories.
So, let's talk about the hors d'oevres. They were fantastic! Nothing like mingling with the family over glasses of wine and champagne and tasty treats on crackers. Only those of us married and with families have graduated from "the kids' table." But "the kids" are a lot older now and far more interesting than when we were actual children. We're a lot less messy now as well and eat most of our vegetables voluntarily. We grow, we change, we stay the same forever and always. It's the nature of people. It's the nature of families. There will always be a "children's table," even when the children are entering their thirties.
It probably works out best for all involved. As we get older it gets harder to distinguish the "adults" from the "kids." Lines blur, and as long as we can stick close to the folks we remember best from youth we can all be as young as we want for the evening. We can all dance and have a good time, drink a little too much, stay up a little too late and say the things we need to say to each other. Things that every family, blood or otherwise, must say, especially when you don't see each other nearly often enough:
I love you.
I miss you.
I am so proud of you.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Issues Inherent In The System
See, the trouble with having a job that puts you in front of a computer all day, and then wanting to actually have FUN on a computer when you are done with work is that...well you just can't do it.
Or, at least I just can't do it.
8 hours infront of a computer is way more than enough for me. So, at the end of the day I have a real hard time sitting down at the home station to blog.
Bare with me Aunt Flo, I promise to get to the weddings this weekend.
Or, at least I just can't do it.
8 hours infront of a computer is way more than enough for me. So, at the end of the day I have a real hard time sitting down at the home station to blog.
Bare with me Aunt Flo, I promise to get to the weddings this weekend.
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
The More Things Change The More They Stay The Same
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!
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 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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)