My sister asked me how I was doing today. My response: "I'm fine. Sort of in one of those "fuck you, motherfucker" moods, but other than that, I'm good."
It has just been one of those days. I don't know exactly why I wake up sometimes feeling like I could kill someone. It just seems to happen occasionally. And not necessarily at times when I'm particularly ... anything. There isn't a pattern to these emotions. At least not that I've noticed.
Perhaps I just need to start documenting my every thought and feeling and entering the dates and emotions into a chart. Perhaps then I'll notice a pattern and be able to tell my friends, "You are going to want to avoid me on the 14th, the 21st, and the 25th of next month." That would be helpful.
A new cafe opened near my house, and I happen to be there at this very moment. Here. The television is blaring a language I don't understand. I don't even know which language this is. I'm having jasmine tea and a "savory crepe" filled with all kinds of delicious goodness: feta, tomatoes, greens, roasted red peppers. Free wireless internet. This place is the bomb-diggs. There are five people in the building. It is quiet and the light is a reddish, mysterious hue. There are comfy couches and big tables. I like this place.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Monday, October 23, 2006
How's This For Your Sign
We finally talked last night. I asked what his plans are after he finishes working out East. He’s going back West to tie up some loose ends and then he doesn’t know where he’ll be headed from there. He is waiting for a sign telling him where he is supposed to be. A stupid sign.
I told him this has been really hard on me. Having him here. Seeing him. I told him I love him. He told me he loves me too. He hadn’t thought about things from my point of view. I asked how he would feel if I were dating someone else. He was obviously quite upset by this idea and asked whether I am. I’m not. I sort of lied and told him I had been seeing someone. Not entirely true, but not entirely false either. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. I told him I won’t date anyone else.
He said that he was surprised that our connection is still so strong after so long apart. It’s like we never missed a beat. He said it is so easy for us to be together. He said I need you right now in my life. I need you. I love you. I’m not sure where this is going though. I need time. I need to talk face to face.
It’s always about what he needs, isn’t it? Screw that. I need some freakin’ answers, that’s what I need. Damn it. It shouldn’t be this hard. He should want to be with me enough that he doesn’t need some stupid sign, he just needs me. I should be enough, but I’m not.
I'm not going to stop looking for my person. I'm not waiting for him.
I told him this has been really hard on me. Having him here. Seeing him. I told him I love him. He told me he loves me too. He hadn’t thought about things from my point of view. I asked how he would feel if I were dating someone else. He was obviously quite upset by this idea and asked whether I am. I’m not. I sort of lied and told him I had been seeing someone. Not entirely true, but not entirely false either. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. I told him I won’t date anyone else.
He said that he was surprised that our connection is still so strong after so long apart. It’s like we never missed a beat. He said it is so easy for us to be together. He said I need you right now in my life. I need you. I love you. I’m not sure where this is going though. I need time. I need to talk face to face.
It’s always about what he needs, isn’t it? Screw that. I need some freakin’ answers, that’s what I need. Damn it. It shouldn’t be this hard. He should want to be with me enough that he doesn’t need some stupid sign, he just needs me. I should be enough, but I’m not.
I'm not going to stop looking for my person. I'm not waiting for him.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Mental/Spatial Reorganization
I rearranged my bedroom today. It's such a great feeling once it's completed. I've essetially inventoried most of what I own and know where everything is. The dust balls are gone. The floor is clean. It looks enormous. So much space. So much floor.
I love it.
I think that the process of rearranging the bedroom facilitates a mental cleanse as well. In college, if my room was a mess, I wouldn't be able to write. Homework came second to a tidy workspace. I'm hoping I will be able to think more clearly now.
I'm sort of in the middle of an emotional disaster waiting to happen. My ex-boyfriend has made a sudden and jolting reappearance in my life. He visited me three weekends in a row, this being the first he hasn't made the trip since it began.
He was planning on visiting in September and I told him I didn't think it would be a good idea for me. I told him I still loved him and that it would be too hard for me. He would have a great time and I would too, but in the end, I'd be miserable and he'd be fine.
I cancelled the visit. And then received a call during a night of drunken debauchery. He's going to be working nearby, he said, and I said, why don't you swing by my house on your way. I was drunk. The next day, the next two days, I didn't even recall the conversation. He called on a Tuesday and told me he figured he would get in around 11:00 on Friday. What? I didn't even remember he was coming here. What was I supposed to do? I invited him!
So he came and it was great. It was really nice, actually. Of course it was! I'm so stupid sometimes. It was great. He came the next weekend and the next.
Argh. I don't know what to feel. I want him to want this. To want me. I want him to move here and be with me. But then I don't.
I like being alone. I like having my time all to myself. Having no one to answer to. No duties to another person. I like waking up and thinking, what do I want to do today? Or, what do I have to do today? Not, what do you want for breakfast? Because, of course, I can't do anything until I know he has been taken care of.
I guess that is the mother in me----lying in wait. I was designed to nurture.
Argh. Not sure what happens next.
I love it.
I think that the process of rearranging the bedroom facilitates a mental cleanse as well. In college, if my room was a mess, I wouldn't be able to write. Homework came second to a tidy workspace. I'm hoping I will be able to think more clearly now.
I'm sort of in the middle of an emotional disaster waiting to happen. My ex-boyfriend has made a sudden and jolting reappearance in my life. He visited me three weekends in a row, this being the first he hasn't made the trip since it began.
He was planning on visiting in September and I told him I didn't think it would be a good idea for me. I told him I still loved him and that it would be too hard for me. He would have a great time and I would too, but in the end, I'd be miserable and he'd be fine.
I cancelled the visit. And then received a call during a night of drunken debauchery. He's going to be working nearby, he said, and I said, why don't you swing by my house on your way. I was drunk. The next day, the next two days, I didn't even recall the conversation. He called on a Tuesday and told me he figured he would get in around 11:00 on Friday. What? I didn't even remember he was coming here. What was I supposed to do? I invited him!
So he came and it was great. It was really nice, actually. Of course it was! I'm so stupid sometimes. It was great. He came the next weekend and the next.
Argh. I don't know what to feel. I want him to want this. To want me. I want him to move here and be with me. But then I don't.
I like being alone. I like having my time all to myself. Having no one to answer to. No duties to another person. I like waking up and thinking, what do I want to do today? Or, what do I have to do today? Not, what do you want for breakfast? Because, of course, I can't do anything until I know he has been taken care of.
I guess that is the mother in me----lying in wait. I was designed to nurture.
Argh. Not sure what happens next.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
She of All The Blogging
So, I’m officially a “blogger” now. One who blogs. She of all the blogging. I also have a myspace page with a mini blog, so yesterday I copied all of the material I had written from there and pasted it into Blogspot. As you will notice, as a result, there are multiple entries for October 18th, dating as far back as October of 2005. But, now, dear readers, I am in real time. And isn’t it exciting?
I have to admit, I’m deeply torn between announcing to all of my friends and family that I have created a blog and keeping it completely private and confidential so I can write without fear of who may be reading what. It would be nice either way, really. Nice to be able to write anything without worrying if I may offend or upset someone. A nice outlet for my deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. I need that.
On the other hand (and boy is it a big hand) I’m a sucker for attention and comments. I want the people I love to read my entries and give me feedback. But I feel like opening it up to them will bring a whole mess of consequences with which I’m not sure I’m prepared to deal.
I guess, for the time being, I will keep my mouth shut. The biggest difficulty I foresee will be my own capacity for secret keeping. I mean, I can keep important secrets. But little, trivial secrets? Like what I bought my sister for Christmas or he likes her and she likes him and neither of them know it? I am notorious for revealing those types of secrets.
I also don’t enjoy surprises if I know there will be a surprise. I can’t stand the anticipation. I get anxious and impatient and feel all weird and antsy inside. If I am surprised without knowing to expect a surprise, however, that, that I can deal with. I even enjoy that. But it is knowing something surprising will be happening in the near future that I find really aggravating. I’m all, “When? Now? What about now?” It’s annoying. So annoying that I annoy myself. I drive myself crazy with the not knowing.
So yeah, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep this blog a secret, but I am going to do my damnedest trying. I love the idea of having something that is all mine. Mine alone. Mine. All mine!!!! Wuah-ha-ha-ha-ha……
I have to admit, I’m deeply torn between announcing to all of my friends and family that I have created a blog and keeping it completely private and confidential so I can write without fear of who may be reading what. It would be nice either way, really. Nice to be able to write anything without worrying if I may offend or upset someone. A nice outlet for my deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. I need that.
On the other hand (and boy is it a big hand) I’m a sucker for attention and comments. I want the people I love to read my entries and give me feedback. But I feel like opening it up to them will bring a whole mess of consequences with which I’m not sure I’m prepared to deal.
I guess, for the time being, I will keep my mouth shut. The biggest difficulty I foresee will be my own capacity for secret keeping. I mean, I can keep important secrets. But little, trivial secrets? Like what I bought my sister for Christmas or he likes her and she likes him and neither of them know it? I am notorious for revealing those types of secrets.
I also don’t enjoy surprises if I know there will be a surprise. I can’t stand the anticipation. I get anxious and impatient and feel all weird and antsy inside. If I am surprised without knowing to expect a surprise, however, that, that I can deal with. I even enjoy that. But it is knowing something surprising will be happening in the near future that I find really aggravating. I’m all, “When? Now? What about now?” It’s annoying. So annoying that I annoy myself. I drive myself crazy with the not knowing.
So yeah, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep this blog a secret, but I am going to do my damnedest trying. I love the idea of having something that is all mine. Mine alone. Mine. All mine!!!! Wuah-ha-ha-ha-ha……
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Etiquette Schmetiquette
Last Saturday I had the pleasure/duty of attending a work-related, fancy-schmancy gala. My date, C.M., donned his finest party apparel and I curled my hair for the first time in several years, threw on some eyeliner and a dress, and even wore pantyhose. I didn't however, shave my legs, because I simply don't give a rat's ass. Plus, I figured the pantyhose would conceal my evil, evil leg hair. I like getting dressed up, but a girl has to have her limits.
The night went off without a hitch. The decorations were lovely, the drinks were yummy, and the food was delicious. Women and men paraded throughout the rooms, surveying the silent auction items and making their bids, eating hors d'oeuvres, and sipping wine and cocktails. C.M. and I played the part as best we could, before sneaking away to talk trash about our fellow partygoers.
I don't fit in at these events. C.M. definitely does not either. I mean, we can hold our own, sure, but it's just not natural for us. I'm in my element in comfy pants with a coffee mug of wine, chilling on my porch watching the sunset. C.M. is in his element in a pair of Dickies and a t-shirt, with a cup of jasmine tea and three computer monitors before him. I'm pretty content within my element, and though I can function well at these upscale events, I don't enjoy doing so. It feels false, fake, like a sham---and that's because it is.
Anyway.
So, C.M. and I were seated at our table, surrounded by my coworkers and their significant others. After the salad, the dinner arrived looking spectacular. My coworker, she of the incessant neck gazing (seriously, stop looking at my neck!), was in the bathroom when dinner was being served, so she didn't get a plate because the servers thought the seat was vacant. Everyone else at the table had their food and C.M. and I started to chow down. She arrived back at the table to find that she hadn't received any food. We continued to eat, and by "we" I mean, C.M. and I.
To my horror, I realized halfway into my chicken that no one else at the table had started eating. No one.
I realized with an internal gasp, we are those people. The people who don't wait. Who aren't polite. Who are low class.
I realized what was happening, but of course, C.M. was only thinking one thing: "CHICKEN. Mmmmm….." I flagged down a server and asked for a meal for neck-gazer, and oh, I forgot to mention, she's a vegetarian. "Can you bring her the vegetarian option?" I asked. "Um….yes…..hold on please."
The poor guy came back to tell her it would be a few minutes, as they didn't have a meatless entree prepared. And still, no one was eating. I was torn between being polite and fitting in with these people I can't stand, or sticking by my date and chowing down. I decided that I am glad I'm like him and not like them and continued to stuff my face.
Eventually, neck-gazer noticed everyone was waiting for her and released them of their stupid polite obligation. I felt like saying, "Your food is cold and mine wasn't. Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo."
I think I'll stick to my element. It's nicer there and the food isn't cold.
The night went off without a hitch. The decorations were lovely, the drinks were yummy, and the food was delicious. Women and men paraded throughout the rooms, surveying the silent auction items and making their bids, eating hors d'oeuvres, and sipping wine and cocktails. C.M. and I played the part as best we could, before sneaking away to talk trash about our fellow partygoers.
I don't fit in at these events. C.M. definitely does not either. I mean, we can hold our own, sure, but it's just not natural for us. I'm in my element in comfy pants with a coffee mug of wine, chilling on my porch watching the sunset. C.M. is in his element in a pair of Dickies and a t-shirt, with a cup of jasmine tea and three computer monitors before him. I'm pretty content within my element, and though I can function well at these upscale events, I don't enjoy doing so. It feels false, fake, like a sham---and that's because it is.
Anyway.
So, C.M. and I were seated at our table, surrounded by my coworkers and their significant others. After the salad, the dinner arrived looking spectacular. My coworker, she of the incessant neck gazing (seriously, stop looking at my neck!), was in the bathroom when dinner was being served, so she didn't get a plate because the servers thought the seat was vacant. Everyone else at the table had their food and C.M. and I started to chow down. She arrived back at the table to find that she hadn't received any food. We continued to eat, and by "we" I mean, C.M. and I.
To my horror, I realized halfway into my chicken that no one else at the table had started eating. No one.
I realized with an internal gasp, we are those people. The people who don't wait. Who aren't polite. Who are low class.
I realized what was happening, but of course, C.M. was only thinking one thing: "CHICKEN. Mmmmm….." I flagged down a server and asked for a meal for neck-gazer, and oh, I forgot to mention, she's a vegetarian. "Can you bring her the vegetarian option?" I asked. "Um….yes…..hold on please."
The poor guy came back to tell her it would be a few minutes, as they didn't have a meatless entree prepared. And still, no one was eating. I was torn between being polite and fitting in with these people I can't stand, or sticking by my date and chowing down. I decided that I am glad I'm like him and not like them and continued to stuff my face.
Eventually, neck-gazer noticed everyone was waiting for her and released them of their stupid polite obligation. I felt like saying, "Your food is cold and mine wasn't. Nah-nah-nah-boo-boo."
I think I'll stick to my element. It's nicer there and the food isn't cold.
Ramblings
Last night, for a few hours, I was convinced it was Tuesday. Not sure how this happened. Then Wife Swap came on and I was all, "Oh. It's freakin' Monday. Oops." I mean, I knew it was Monday all day and then suddenly, around 4:00, my brain did a flip-flop.
I dreamt about worms last night. Friendly creepy crawlies all over the floor. I released them from a satchel and they rapidly dispersed and multiplied. The floor was suddenly covered in squirmy worms and I was trying to walk the length of the hallway without squashing any. I tiptoed amongst and between them and then squirted a big pile of ketchup in the corner. One of the worms was unlucky enough to be headed right into the ketchup. He absorbed it and turned into a wormy, ketchupy blob. The other worms had all converged in the center of the hallway and formed a giant wormpile. I picked the ketchupy worm up with a stick and placed him on top of the pile with all of his friends.
I like worms, so the dream didn't perturb me as much as one might expect. It was a bit odd though, and as much as I'd like to say, "Oh, this means blah, blah, blah," I don't really believe it meant anything. I think it was just a random firing of neurons that evolved into a ketchupy wormpile. Definitely a bit odd though.
I dreamt about worms last night. Friendly creepy crawlies all over the floor. I released them from a satchel and they rapidly dispersed and multiplied. The floor was suddenly covered in squirmy worms and I was trying to walk the length of the hallway without squashing any. I tiptoed amongst and between them and then squirted a big pile of ketchup in the corner. One of the worms was unlucky enough to be headed right into the ketchup. He absorbed it and turned into a wormy, ketchupy blob. The other worms had all converged in the center of the hallway and formed a giant wormpile. I picked the ketchupy worm up with a stick and placed him on top of the pile with all of his friends.
I like worms, so the dream didn't perturb me as much as one might expect. It was a bit odd though, and as much as I'd like to say, "Oh, this means blah, blah, blah," I don't really believe it meant anything. I think it was just a random firing of neurons that evolved into a ketchupy wormpile. Definitely a bit odd though.
My Best Interests?
As you all know, I've been a bit, shall we say, dissatisfied with my current job as of late. I decided to rant as much as I needed on myspace and then move on and be proactive. I applied for a boatload of jobs last week and submitted my resume to two staffing agencies. My mom also managed to get me connected with a very nice woman in a very high-profile firm (yeah, mom!). I spoke with her, explained my situation, and somehow landed an interview with her firm for this afternoon. Sweet.
This morning I also met with this guy Jake from B.H. Staffing, who seemed, at the conclusion of our meeting, like he was my new BFF. I thought while leaving, "Jake knows what's best. Jake has my back. I feel better now."
Well, as it turns out, Jake is a backstabbing son of a bitch.
He asked me during our session whether I'd independently applied to any firms and I informed him that, yes, in fact, I had an interview lined up for this afternoon. He asked some details and I gladly provided them, not knowing he would turn around and use them to stick a knife into my spine.
I get to my interview this afternoon, all jazzed up in my new suit jacket and heels (god, I'm such a freakin' yuppie), and sit down in the conference room to await the attorney who will be interviewing me. My mom's friend comes in to meet with me briefly in the meantime.
GET THIS. She asked me if I am working with a staffing agency as well and I said yes. "B.H. Staffing?" "Yes." Then she proceeds to tell me that I need to be more careful with how much information I give out because that bitch ass motherfucking Jake called her after I left his office this morning.
He called and asked her, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable hiring someone with more experience for the position?" Maybe I can help you find someone more suited blah, blah, blah.
WHAT?!?!?!?! You've got to be kidding me! Who the hell is this punk working for? Because clearly, he isn't working for me. He's working for his own selfish self and doesn't give a crap that he may have jeopardized something that could be really awesome for me.
So, I called that jerkface jerk Jake (Jake the Jerkface Jerk, hereafter, JJJ) and we had the following conversation:
(phone ringing)
JJJ: This is Jake.
MJ: Hi Jake, this is MJ. We met earlier today.
JJJ: Hi MJ. What's up?
MJ: I just had my interview with X & X, and it went really well.
JJJ: That's great.
MJ: Yeah, except, the woman I met with told me you called her this morning and asked her if she wouldn't be more comfortable with someone who is more qualified for the position.
JJJ: (silence)
MJ: So, I won't be working with you any longer. Thank you for meeting with me today.
JJJ: I'm sorry about that, MJ, but I was just looking out for your best interests.
MJ: Take care, Jake.
JJJ: Bye.
I think I handled that with grace and dignity, considering what I wanted to do. I wanted to storm over there and kick him in the nuts. That's what I wanted to do. Bitch-ass-punk-face-stupid-prick. My best interests? I think it'd be in my best interests to go over there and put the smack down on his bitch ass.
Anywhoooo….my interview went really fantastically well, despite his deliberate attempt to sabotage it. We shall see what comes of it. Keep your phalanges crossed!
This morning I also met with this guy Jake from B.H. Staffing, who seemed, at the conclusion of our meeting, like he was my new BFF. I thought while leaving, "Jake knows what's best. Jake has my back. I feel better now."
Well, as it turns out, Jake is a backstabbing son of a bitch.
He asked me during our session whether I'd independently applied to any firms and I informed him that, yes, in fact, I had an interview lined up for this afternoon. He asked some details and I gladly provided them, not knowing he would turn around and use them to stick a knife into my spine.
I get to my interview this afternoon, all jazzed up in my new suit jacket and heels (god, I'm such a freakin' yuppie), and sit down in the conference room to await the attorney who will be interviewing me. My mom's friend comes in to meet with me briefly in the meantime.
GET THIS. She asked me if I am working with a staffing agency as well and I said yes. "B.H. Staffing?" "Yes." Then she proceeds to tell me that I need to be more careful with how much information I give out because that bitch ass motherfucking Jake called her after I left his office this morning.
He called and asked her, "Wouldn't you be more comfortable hiring someone with more experience for the position?" Maybe I can help you find someone more suited blah, blah, blah.
WHAT?!?!?!?! You've got to be kidding me! Who the hell is this punk working for? Because clearly, he isn't working for me. He's working for his own selfish self and doesn't give a crap that he may have jeopardized something that could be really awesome for me.
So, I called that jerkface jerk Jake (Jake the Jerkface Jerk, hereafter, JJJ) and we had the following conversation:
(phone ringing)
JJJ: This is Jake.
MJ: Hi Jake, this is MJ. We met earlier today.
JJJ: Hi MJ. What's up?
MJ: I just had my interview with X & X, and it went really well.
JJJ: That's great.
MJ: Yeah, except, the woman I met with told me you called her this morning and asked her if she wouldn't be more comfortable with someone who is more qualified for the position.
JJJ: (silence)
MJ: So, I won't be working with you any longer. Thank you for meeting with me today.
JJJ: I'm sorry about that, MJ, but I was just looking out for your best interests.
MJ: Take care, Jake.
JJJ: Bye.
I think I handled that with grace and dignity, considering what I wanted to do. I wanted to storm over there and kick him in the nuts. That's what I wanted to do. Bitch-ass-punk-face-stupid-prick. My best interests? I think it'd be in my best interests to go over there and put the smack down on his bitch ass.
Anywhoooo….my interview went really fantastically well, despite his deliberate attempt to sabotage it. We shall see what comes of it. Keep your phalanges crossed!
One Step Forward, One Step Back
This blog will be a bit Boston-centric, so bear with me....
Let's talk about the MBTA. Yesterday, GP asked me if I saw the new seats on the redline. I had not. I did today, however. They have reupholstered the seats with cloth. Cloth.
CLOTH.
What in the name of all that is holy were they thinking?????? Those seats are going to be filthy, stained, disgusting, mildewed, nasty ass holders in no time whatsoever. Why in the name of god would they do such a thing?
Why not plastic? Cheap fake leather even? Anything other than absorbent cloth. Yuck.
I consider that a step in the wrong damn direction.
At the same time they unveil these new seat coverings, they FINALLY install those hanging thingamajigees so the short people can reach the top bar. The plastic strappy things. Why in the world did it take them so long to do this? I cannot even count the number of times I've been stuck in an awkward spot on the train without something to hold on to.
I consider this a step in the right direction.
It is always one step forward with one step back with the MBTA. God love 'em.
Let's talk about the MBTA. Yesterday, GP asked me if I saw the new seats on the redline. I had not. I did today, however. They have reupholstered the seats with cloth. Cloth.
CLOTH.
What in the name of all that is holy were they thinking?????? Those seats are going to be filthy, stained, disgusting, mildewed, nasty ass holders in no time whatsoever. Why in the name of god would they do such a thing?
Why not plastic? Cheap fake leather even? Anything other than absorbent cloth. Yuck.
I consider that a step in the wrong damn direction.
At the same time they unveil these new seat coverings, they FINALLY install those hanging thingamajigees so the short people can reach the top bar. The plastic strappy things. Why in the world did it take them so long to do this? I cannot even count the number of times I've been stuck in an awkward spot on the train without something to hold on to.
I consider this a step in the right direction.
It is always one step forward with one step back with the MBTA. God love 'em.
Ubuntu
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/5388182.stm
The word comes from the Bantu languages spoken in southern Africa - and is related to a Zulu concept - "umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu" - which means that a person is only a person through their relationship to others.
The word comes from the Bantu languages spoken in southern Africa - and is related to a Zulu concept - "umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu" - which means that a person is only a person through their relationship to others.
My Friends Rock
Thank you everyone. You have all been really supportive during these crazy times. I truly appreciate it. I couldn't ask for nicer, kinder friends.
My friends rock.
And for the record, I am much, much better today. I talked through my issues with my ladies (special shout out to SY, GP, SF, and my sisters) and I've figured out what I need to do to make my life better. So, I'm going to do it and that is that.
Peace the spork out.
My friends rock.
And for the record, I am much, much better today. I talked through my issues with my ladies (special shout out to SY, GP, SF, and my sisters) and I've figured out what I need to do to make my life better. So, I'm going to do it and that is that.
Peace the spork out.
Happy Wednesday, Bitches!
I've been a bit "aggravated" lately, according to my last two blogs, so thought I'd provide an update for all of you kind, concerned friends. I'm fine. Not aggravated today. Sort of chipper, actually. This week has been pretty decent so far, and I feel again as though I'm on the brink of something exciting and meaningful. That makes me happy.
So, in honor of the refreshing, bouncy mood, I thought I'd share a list.
**************Things That Make Me Go "Hmmmm…"**************
1. Other people's sudoku puzzles. I am "that girl" who stands and peeks over your shoulder at your game. I'm sorry, fellow sudoku-playing commuters. I'll try harder to respect your personal space next time.
2. This sore throat I'm getting. I'm not thrilled, but I am saying "hmmm…"
3. An upcoming visit from an ex-boyfriend who once broke my heart into a million little pieces.
4. The accidental misplacement of my brand-spanking-new red hoodie.
5. Friend requests from someone who used to really, deeply dislike me (or so I thought).
6. Those years of high school when I thought that someone hated me.
7. C & C Music Factory (ha).
8. Gael García Bernal. ¡Me gusta!
Lists are fun. I'm in a good mood today. Are you?
Also, did anyone else see that new show Heroes on Monday? What'd you think?
So, in honor of the refreshing, bouncy mood, I thought I'd share a list.
**************Things That Make Me Go "Hmmmm…"**************
1. Other people's sudoku puzzles. I am "that girl" who stands and peeks over your shoulder at your game. I'm sorry, fellow sudoku-playing commuters. I'll try harder to respect your personal space next time.
2. This sore throat I'm getting. I'm not thrilled, but I am saying "hmmm…"
3. An upcoming visit from an ex-boyfriend who once broke my heart into a million little pieces.
4. The accidental misplacement of my brand-spanking-new red hoodie.
5. Friend requests from someone who used to really, deeply dislike me (or so I thought).
6. Those years of high school when I thought that someone hated me.
7. C & C Music Factory (ha).
8. Gael García Bernal. ¡Me gusta!
Lists are fun. I'm in a good mood today. Are you?
Also, did anyone else see that new show Heroes on Monday? What'd you think?
Stupid Dowtown Crossing
Stupid Downtown Crossing. I hate this stupid place. Unfortunately, I have to come to this hellmouth five days a friggin' week.
Today, I went to CVS and as I was standing at the register, I started to smell smoke. No one said anything, naturally, but it smelled like the shit was burning down. Something was on fire!
I went outside and sure enough, the ashtray attached to the building was on fire. Some asshat threw a lit cigarette into a pile of old butts and other miscellaneous items and walked away, leaving the container to catch fire. It was pouring out the most heinous, repulsive-smelling, noxious smoke. I dumped my nalgene into it and put out the fire.
Stupid Downtown Crossing.
Then, as I was walking down the busy sidewalk, a UPS truck decides he is going to try to cross the paths of about 30 pedestrians instead of waiting until the horde passed. An older man was taking his sweet time getting out of the UPS truck's way and the driver hollered at him, "Move your ass! I'll run you over!"
I mean, was that really necessary? Really? No. It was not. I know those drivers are in a hurry and whatnot, but please, that was uncalled for.
This stupid area of the city turns people into blubbering, foul-mouthed, ignorant, disrespectful assholes. Stupid Dirty Crossing. That's all. I feel much better now.
Today, I went to CVS and as I was standing at the register, I started to smell smoke. No one said anything, naturally, but it smelled like the shit was burning down. Something was on fire!
I went outside and sure enough, the ashtray attached to the building was on fire. Some asshat threw a lit cigarette into a pile of old butts and other miscellaneous items and walked away, leaving the container to catch fire. It was pouring out the most heinous, repulsive-smelling, noxious smoke. I dumped my nalgene into it and put out the fire.
Stupid Downtown Crossing.
Then, as I was walking down the busy sidewalk, a UPS truck decides he is going to try to cross the paths of about 30 pedestrians instead of waiting until the horde passed. An older man was taking his sweet time getting out of the UPS truck's way and the driver hollered at him, "Move your ass! I'll run you over!"
I mean, was that really necessary? Really? No. It was not. I know those drivers are in a hurry and whatnot, but please, that was uncalled for.
This stupid area of the city turns people into blubbering, foul-mouthed, ignorant, disrespectful assholes. Stupid Dirty Crossing. That's all. I feel much better now.
Refrigerator Disaster 2006
Life is funny. Freakin' hysterical.
Just when you think, "Ah, I've got my shit together: the bills are paid, the bedroom is tidy, the cabinets are full of yummy treats, the drama is non-existent," the universe throws you for a loop.
I came home yesterday, after a long day at work and the gym, to find myself embroiled in Refrigerator Disaster 2006 (knock on freakin' wood). My roommate, the lovely GP, says to me, "I don't think the refrigerator is working....properly." I didn't believe her at first, and went to investigate.
The refrigerator, hereafter known as "Evil Machine," was making a clicking noise, and then surging with power, which would noticeably dim the kitchen lights....every 45 seconds. Also, as GP had astutely pointed out, it wasn't quite as cool as it ought to be.
I adjusted the temperature settings of the Evil Machine, hereafter known as "E.M.," and decided to give it about 40 minutes before I made my conclusions.
Forty-five minutes later, we checked again and E.M. was just warmer than before, and the stupid lights were still flickering. We called the landlord. He proceeds to tell me that I have to call the repair men, and if they can't fix it, then I have to go out and buy a new E.M. I don't know shit about purchasing heavy-duty appliances, and I don't want to know right now. That is why I RENT, damnit. Anyway....
That conversation happened...blah, blah, blah. Regardless of all that, GP and I have to save our food (naturally, third roommate is in another state or some shit). So we start frantically calling all of our neighborhood friends in search of coolers (thank you, SF!). I called JD, the bartender at the local Irish pub, asked if we might be able to store our freezer goods at the bar. Since JD loves us, luckily, we were able to do so. We packed up a big-ass trash bag with our frozen food and hauled it to the bar, to store in their reliable freezer. So ridiculously funny. It really freakin' helps to know people. And to be nice to those you know.
My TV dinners are at the bar. Huh-huh-huh-huh.....
The repair dude came today and managed to fix things, at least temporarily. We have to wait for several hours to make sure the fix endures. I sure learned a whole lot about refrigerators, let me tell you!
I think the repairman (I feel terrible that I didn't learn his name) was sort of excited to have a little woman with nice breasts asking him a lot of questions. It was fun....ish.
Yeah, Refrigerator Disaster 2006!!!
Just when you think, "Ah, I've got my shit together: the bills are paid, the bedroom is tidy, the cabinets are full of yummy treats, the drama is non-existent," the universe throws you for a loop.
I came home yesterday, after a long day at work and the gym, to find myself embroiled in Refrigerator Disaster 2006 (knock on freakin' wood). My roommate, the lovely GP, says to me, "I don't think the refrigerator is working....properly." I didn't believe her at first, and went to investigate.
The refrigerator, hereafter known as "Evil Machine," was making a clicking noise, and then surging with power, which would noticeably dim the kitchen lights....every 45 seconds. Also, as GP had astutely pointed out, it wasn't quite as cool as it ought to be.
I adjusted the temperature settings of the Evil Machine, hereafter known as "E.M.," and decided to give it about 40 minutes before I made my conclusions.
Forty-five minutes later, we checked again and E.M. was just warmer than before, and the stupid lights were still flickering. We called the landlord. He proceeds to tell me that I have to call the repair men, and if they can't fix it, then I have to go out and buy a new E.M. I don't know shit about purchasing heavy-duty appliances, and I don't want to know right now. That is why I RENT, damnit. Anyway....
That conversation happened...blah, blah, blah. Regardless of all that, GP and I have to save our food (naturally, third roommate is in another state or some shit). So we start frantically calling all of our neighborhood friends in search of coolers (thank you, SF!). I called JD, the bartender at the local Irish pub, asked if we might be able to store our freezer goods at the bar. Since JD loves us, luckily, we were able to do so. We packed up a big-ass trash bag with our frozen food and hauled it to the bar, to store in their reliable freezer. So ridiculously funny. It really freakin' helps to know people. And to be nice to those you know.
My TV dinners are at the bar. Huh-huh-huh-huh.....
The repair dude came today and managed to fix things, at least temporarily. We have to wait for several hours to make sure the fix endures. I sure learned a whole lot about refrigerators, let me tell you!
I think the repairman (I feel terrible that I didn't learn his name) was sort of excited to have a little woman with nice breasts asking him a lot of questions. It was fun....ish.
Yeah, Refrigerator Disaster 2006!!!
Books Are Cool
I'm currently reading The Pilots Wife, by Anita Shreve. I've read a few of her other books, and they definitely cannot hold a candle to this one---where did that come from? "Hold a candle?" Huh. The first person who can explain the origin of the aforementioned phrase will earn 5 Cool Points.
You know how when you're little, you don't really, truly understand what is happening? Like, for instance, a family member dies, and you are too young to really comprehend what has happened? Yeah, like that. You go through your life, trying to explain to others what went down, and as the years pass, you realize you've got the story all wrong?
Well, Ms. Shreve does a brilliant job of verbalizing this:
______________________________________________________
"The more Kathryn learned about Jack--and she had no doubt now that she would learn more...--the more she would have to rethink the past. As if having to tell a story over and over, each time a little differently because a fact had changed, a detail had altered. And if enough details were altered, or the facts were important enough, perhaps the story veered in a direction very different from its first telling."
_________________________________________________________
Books affect me and I hope they do the same for you, dear readers. Go forth and read. READ I tell you! Read!
You know how when you're little, you don't really, truly understand what is happening? Like, for instance, a family member dies, and you are too young to really comprehend what has happened? Yeah, like that. You go through your life, trying to explain to others what went down, and as the years pass, you realize you've got the story all wrong?
Well, Ms. Shreve does a brilliant job of verbalizing this:
______________________________________________________
"The more Kathryn learned about Jack--and she had no doubt now that she would learn more...--the more she would have to rethink the past. As if having to tell a story over and over, each time a little differently because a fact had changed, a detail had altered. And if enough details were altered, or the facts were important enough, perhaps the story veered in a direction very different from its first telling."
_________________________________________________________
Books affect me and I hope they do the same for you, dear readers. Go forth and read. READ I tell you! Read!
Is Nothing Sacred?
For the last several months, I've been diligently bringing my lunch from home so as to avoid spending ridiculous sums of money in Downtown Crossing (a.k.a. "Dirty Crossing") on low-quality, crappy food. It's not always easy or convenient to lug my backpack into the office when it's filled with a giant vat of yogurt, bananas, apples, English muffins, oatmeal, cans of soup, etc., but I do it anyway. I make the effort to bring in nutritious, delicious snacks for a reason: SO I CAN EAT THEM. ME. ONLY ME.
So I'm sitting at my desk this morning and I hear my boss in the kitchen, asking, "Whose fruit is this?" I'm thinking, oh, fantastic, she wants a banana. That's fine. Eat my bananas. Whatever. Jerk.
NO. She doesn't want my banana. She wants to decorate the foyer with my lunch. DECORATE. She skillfully arranged all of MY fruit on a stupid little platter and set it in the foyer. For everyone to admire and consume.
I chuckled and said, "If people eat my fruit, I'm going to be angry." She said, "Feel free to eat it."
Feel free to eat it? My fruit? Feel free to eat my own fruit? That I bought? Huh. Well, I sure will. Thanks for the advice.
So I'm sitting at my desk this morning and I hear my boss in the kitchen, asking, "Whose fruit is this?" I'm thinking, oh, fantastic, she wants a banana. That's fine. Eat my bananas. Whatever. Jerk.
NO. She doesn't want my banana. She wants to decorate the foyer with my lunch. DECORATE. She skillfully arranged all of MY fruit on a stupid little platter and set it in the foyer. For everyone to admire and consume.
I chuckled and said, "If people eat my fruit, I'm going to be angry." She said, "Feel free to eat it."
Feel free to eat it? My fruit? Feel free to eat my own fruit? That I bought? Huh. Well, I sure will. Thanks for the advice.
Dear Nice Man, Your Girlfriend Sucks
Why is it that nice guys date such major bitches? Do nice men actually enjoy being treated like garbage? What the hell?
Case in point:
So, I busted my ass last night at the gym after a long day at work. By the time I got home, I was ravenously hungry, ready to chew my own arm off. I decided I'd head down to my local watering hole for a nice, juicy cheeseburger. Mmmm....cheeseburger.
Now, usually, this bar is fairly quiet on weeknights, so I'm guaranteed to get a seat. Not last night. Apparently, there were three, count them, THREE games on last night that mattered for Bostonians. I don't know crap about sports, so don't ask me which teams were playing. All I knew was there were no seats available and lots of beer guzzling going down.
I was determined to get my burger, so I scooted up to the bar and ordered my cheeseburger, well done, with no onions, salad with no dressing instead of fries, and a side of honey mustard. Mmmm......honey mustard. I know, very ridiculously specific annoying girly selection, but hey, I know the bartender so I can get away with it. The fact that I didn't have a seat didn't really bug me all that much. I just wanted the meat.
I chatted with a couple of very nice firefighters while waiting for my food to arrive, and once it did, I again squeezed myself up to the bar and proceeded to eat standing up. Now, in case you've forgotten, I'm pretty short. The bar, well, not so much. I probably looked like a crazy person trying to stand on my tippy-toes to chow down on a burger the size of my head. Oh well, right?
Well, there were a few people off to my left: a guy and his bitch, I'm sorry, girlfriend, and another female friend. He was sitting and they were standing. I caught bits of their conversation and decided if the girlfriend and I were put in a room alone together for an extended amount of time, I'd surely hurt her. She just would NOT shut up.
After finishing half of the burger and salad, the man realized I was struggling to eat my food standing up and kindly offered me his seat. "Thank you so much. That's so nice of you," I said, and gratefully sat down to enjoy the rest of my meal.
Chatty Kathy over there asks him why did he just do that. The bitch was pissed that her boyfriend, being the kind, considerate gentleman he is, offered a total stranger his chair. Why he didn't offer her the seat to begin with is a totally separate issue. Anyway, wouldn't you be impressed with your boyfriend if he did that? Wouldn't you think that was sweet of him? I did. All Chatty Kathy saw was another girl getting attention from her man. She was really unhappy about it.
I finished eating and returned his chair without following my instinct to tell him to dump her sorry ass. But seriously, he should dump her sorry ass. That girl is a bitch. Nice guy, thank you for the seat. You deserve better.
Case in point:
So, I busted my ass last night at the gym after a long day at work. By the time I got home, I was ravenously hungry, ready to chew my own arm off. I decided I'd head down to my local watering hole for a nice, juicy cheeseburger. Mmmm....cheeseburger.
Now, usually, this bar is fairly quiet on weeknights, so I'm guaranteed to get a seat. Not last night. Apparently, there were three, count them, THREE games on last night that mattered for Bostonians. I don't know crap about sports, so don't ask me which teams were playing. All I knew was there were no seats available and lots of beer guzzling going down.
I was determined to get my burger, so I scooted up to the bar and ordered my cheeseburger, well done, with no onions, salad with no dressing instead of fries, and a side of honey mustard. Mmmm......honey mustard. I know, very ridiculously specific annoying girly selection, but hey, I know the bartender so I can get away with it. The fact that I didn't have a seat didn't really bug me all that much. I just wanted the meat.
I chatted with a couple of very nice firefighters while waiting for my food to arrive, and once it did, I again squeezed myself up to the bar and proceeded to eat standing up. Now, in case you've forgotten, I'm pretty short. The bar, well, not so much. I probably looked like a crazy person trying to stand on my tippy-toes to chow down on a burger the size of my head. Oh well, right?
Well, there were a few people off to my left: a guy and his bitch, I'm sorry, girlfriend, and another female friend. He was sitting and they were standing. I caught bits of their conversation and decided if the girlfriend and I were put in a room alone together for an extended amount of time, I'd surely hurt her. She just would NOT shut up.
After finishing half of the burger and salad, the man realized I was struggling to eat my food standing up and kindly offered me his seat. "Thank you so much. That's so nice of you," I said, and gratefully sat down to enjoy the rest of my meal.
Chatty Kathy over there asks him why did he just do that. The bitch was pissed that her boyfriend, being the kind, considerate gentleman he is, offered a total stranger his chair. Why he didn't offer her the seat to begin with is a totally separate issue. Anyway, wouldn't you be impressed with your boyfriend if he did that? Wouldn't you think that was sweet of him? I did. All Chatty Kathy saw was another girl getting attention from her man. She was really unhappy about it.
I finished eating and returned his chair without following my instinct to tell him to dump her sorry ass. But seriously, he should dump her sorry ass. That girl is a bitch. Nice guy, thank you for the seat. You deserve better.
I'm an Auntie! Again!
My sister GM gave birth to a healthy baby boy last night around 8:00! He has very dark hair, super long fingers and toes, and the appetite of a grown man. So cute.
I love being an auntie to my niece and am thrilled that I now have a nephew to love too! The family just keeps on gettin' bigger. What fun!
I love being an auntie to my niece and am thrilled that I now have a nephew to love too! The family just keeps on gettin' bigger. What fun!
Snippets I've Enjoyed
While rummaging through an old journal, I found the following quotes which I transcribed from Tom Robbins' book, Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates, during the summer of 2000. Enjoy.
_________________________________________________________
The pumpkin is a faceless head, its true identity know only to the Halloween knife and certain deputies of the pie police.
*
Domesticity shrinks the soul of a beast.
*
People of zee wurl, relax.
*
Her eyes were like chocolate-dipped cherry bombs with their fuses lit.
*
All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously.
*
None of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves....Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it.
*
The sun rapidly resumed wilting them with its nuclear halitosis.
*
In a universe where flux is fundamental, it can be argued that even change for the worse is preferable to no change at all.
*
Extinction is a consequence of overspecialization.
*
They awoke the next morning wound in the rusty anchor chains of hangover.
*
No one would ever blast a hole in the magic tutu of her childhood.
*
No artist worthy of the name gave a flying fuck whether or not any special interest group--miniscule or multitudinous, benign or malicious--took offense of their heartfelt creations.
*
The people who get to name things have psychological ownership of those things.
*
The universe is organized anarchy.
*
I like to drink just enough to change the temperature in the brain room.
______________________________________________________
I adore Tom Robbins. I actually got to see him in New Mexico during the tour for Villa Incognito. He read an excerpt and during one of his pregnant pauses, I couldn't restrain myself and shouted "I love you Tom!" He looked right at me (at least I think he did--he was wearing dark sunglasses) and said "I love you too, baby."
I nearly died.
_________________________________________________________
The pumpkin is a faceless head, its true identity know only to the Halloween knife and certain deputies of the pie police.
*
Domesticity shrinks the soul of a beast.
*
People of zee wurl, relax.
*
Her eyes were like chocolate-dipped cherry bombs with their fuses lit.
*
All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously.
*
None of us is much more than a pimple on the ass-end of creation, so let's not get carried away with ourselves....Accept that you're a pimple and try to keep a lively sense of humor about it.
*
The sun rapidly resumed wilting them with its nuclear halitosis.
*
In a universe where flux is fundamental, it can be argued that even change for the worse is preferable to no change at all.
*
Extinction is a consequence of overspecialization.
*
They awoke the next morning wound in the rusty anchor chains of hangover.
*
No one would ever blast a hole in the magic tutu of her childhood.
*
No artist worthy of the name gave a flying fuck whether or not any special interest group--miniscule or multitudinous, benign or malicious--took offense of their heartfelt creations.
*
The people who get to name things have psychological ownership of those things.
*
The universe is organized anarchy.
*
I like to drink just enough to change the temperature in the brain room.
______________________________________________________
I adore Tom Robbins. I actually got to see him in New Mexico during the tour for Villa Incognito. He read an excerpt and during one of his pregnant pauses, I couldn't restrain myself and shouted "I love you Tom!" He looked right at me (at least I think he did--he was wearing dark sunglasses) and said "I love you too, baby."
I nearly died.
Ha Ha, Subway Bitch!
So I get on the train this morning and sit next to a woman reading the Metro. I pull out my copy which I have already opened to the puzzle section so I can do their sudoku puzzle. She is scoping me out me in that way that fellow train riders will do. Looking off to the side at my paper without moving her head. She is calm for a brief second and then I watch as she starts frantically flipping pages to get to the puzzles. Bitch wants to go! She is going to try to BEAT me at my own game. A challenger!
Bring it.
She starts furiously scribbling in numbers, seeing as how I already have at least a two minute headstart. She is seriously trying to finish the puzzle before me and I am getting all nervous and shaky. I've never had a sudoku race! I can't believe she is making me sweat. So I pull out the big guns and really, really focus on the puzzle. I have to pause for a moment to thoroughly survey the grid and I know she thinks she has me. Bitch don't know what she got comin'.
After a second, I make a major breakthrough and finish the game before we get to Kendall MIT. Ha. She is still trying to solve it through Charles MGH. Park Street is her stop, so she folds up her paper with the incomplete grid, puts it in her bag, and quietly accepts defeat.
HA! A little healthy competition is a great way to start a Friday.
Anyone want to have a sudoku tournament?
Bring it.
She starts furiously scribbling in numbers, seeing as how I already have at least a two minute headstart. She is seriously trying to finish the puzzle before me and I am getting all nervous and shaky. I've never had a sudoku race! I can't believe she is making me sweat. So I pull out the big guns and really, really focus on the puzzle. I have to pause for a moment to thoroughly survey the grid and I know she thinks she has me. Bitch don't know what she got comin'.
After a second, I make a major breakthrough and finish the game before we get to Kendall MIT. Ha. She is still trying to solve it through Charles MGH. Park Street is her stop, so she folds up her paper with the incomplete grid, puts it in her bag, and quietly accepts defeat.
HA! A little healthy competition is a great way to start a Friday.
Anyone want to have a sudoku tournament?
Another Form of Birth Control
I found this link via Dooce:
http://www.shapeofamother.blogspot.com
Beautiful. Not for me quite yet. Everyone should check this out.
http://www.shapeofamother.blogspot.com
Beautiful. Not for me quite yet. Everyone should check this out.
Worms! Worms Are Neat!
When I was little, I used to go on worm rescue missions. If I found a worm baking on a hot sidewalk, getting fried, I'd take it home with me and give it a cool bath to bring it back to life.
And now I find this:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/TRAVEL/07/31/southafrica.reut/index.html
Worms are friggin' amazing. I think I might start my own worm farm.
And now I find this:
http://www.cnn.com/2006/TRAVEL/07/31/southafrica.reut/index.html
Worms are friggin' amazing. I think I might start my own worm farm.
City Living: The Aggravations
1. Poop. Poop on the sidewalks. Poop on the benches. Poop on the train. Human poop. Bird poop. Dog poop. Poop.
2. Spatial idiots. Not paying attention to the rest of the world. Anticipate, people.
3. Unidentified liquids. Puddles. Pee? Toxic waste? As Shawn likes to refer to these puddles: "breeding grounds."
4. Creepy old men on public transportation. Stop staring at the little girl's neck.
5. Guy who thinks he can run--RUN--onto a crowded train carrying a posterboard five feet in length. Thanks for the jab!
6. Poop. Wait. I said this already.
7. Too. Many. People. Okay. That's all. For now.
2. Spatial idiots. Not paying attention to the rest of the world. Anticipate, people.
3. Unidentified liquids. Puddles. Pee? Toxic waste? As Shawn likes to refer to these puddles: "breeding grounds."
4. Creepy old men on public transportation. Stop staring at the little girl's neck.
5. Guy who thinks he can run--RUN--onto a crowded train carrying a posterboard five feet in length. Thanks for the jab!
6. Poop. Wait. I said this already.
7. Too. Many. People. Okay. That's all. For now.
Things I Learned This Weekend
1. Walk Like an Egyptian is a crowd-pleasing karaoke selection.
2. Giving away a pair of tickets to a Black Crowes concert is not easy.
3. Sometimes one breakfast sandwich just isn't enough.
4. I've been doing push-ups incorrectly my entire life.
5. I can actually do push-ups.
6. Losing your wallet is one of the worst feelings in the world.
7. Finding your wallet is one of the best feelings in the world!
8. $105 buys a hell of a lot of PBR.
9. Haphazardly hanging from the top handrail in a moving subway car can result in much damage to the lower back region.
10. Fiber is my new best friend.
2. Giving away a pair of tickets to a Black Crowes concert is not easy.
3. Sometimes one breakfast sandwich just isn't enough.
4. I've been doing push-ups incorrectly my entire life.
5. I can actually do push-ups.
6. Losing your wallet is one of the worst feelings in the world.
7. Finding your wallet is one of the best feelings in the world!
8. $105 buys a hell of a lot of PBR.
9. Haphazardly hanging from the top handrail in a moving subway car can result in much damage to the lower back region.
10. Fiber is my new best friend.
She Had to Try
I turned on the television last night and caught a segment of some stupid show that has since been on my mind. Thought I'd share.
Police officers were sent to a woman's house whose neighbor had filed a noise complaint against her. One of the officers was apparently her dream man, so after he left, she dialed 911 to try to get his contact information. She told the operator that it isn't often that a handsome man comes right to your doorstep (true). She said she would really like to see him again and could the operator please tell him? The operator said she would give him the message.
Now, I'm thinking, the only reason this could possibly be on this stupid show is if the officer had felt the connection too and now they were happily in love. Well, not so. He did go back to her house though--to ARREST her for calling 911 on a frivolous matter. Now that is shit luck. True, she shouldn't have dialed 911, but she didn't deserve to be arrested, for pete's sake.
Police officers were sent to a woman's house whose neighbor had filed a noise complaint against her. One of the officers was apparently her dream man, so after he left, she dialed 911 to try to get his contact information. She told the operator that it isn't often that a handsome man comes right to your doorstep (true). She said she would really like to see him again and could the operator please tell him? The operator said she would give him the message.
Now, I'm thinking, the only reason this could possibly be on this stupid show is if the officer had felt the connection too and now they were happily in love. Well, not so. He did go back to her house though--to ARREST her for calling 911 on a frivolous matter. Now that is shit luck. True, she shouldn't have dialed 911, but she didn't deserve to be arrested, for pete's sake.
Walking is Officially Overrated
So, I've decided I'm getting a bike. I love to walk, and will continue to do so, but sometimes, I just want to bust a move and can't move my short legs fast enough. I'm tired of not having any other mode of transportation besides my feet.
Those of you who know me well know that I am terrified of biking. Well, not really biking itself, but biking on Massachusetts streets. It scares the bejeezus out of me. Am I supposed to act like a car? Can you give me any pointers so I don't die? I'm definitely going to invest in a helmet, but I think I need a tutorial on the rules.
I am also not a huge fan of having my feet that far off the ground. Weird, I know. Put me in skates and I'm cool. I get on a mountain bike and flip out.
So given my bike height issues, I am in search of a little boy's bike. The kind you'd ride as kid. With a basket. And pegs. I love pegs. Any one have any suggestions where I can find something like this?
Any help is appreciated.
Those of you who know me well know that I am terrified of biking. Well, not really biking itself, but biking on Massachusetts streets. It scares the bejeezus out of me. Am I supposed to act like a car? Can you give me any pointers so I don't die? I'm definitely going to invest in a helmet, but I think I need a tutorial on the rules.
I am also not a huge fan of having my feet that far off the ground. Weird, I know. Put me in skates and I'm cool. I get on a mountain bike and flip out.
So given my bike height issues, I am in search of a little boy's bike. The kind you'd ride as kid. With a basket. And pegs. I love pegs. Any one have any suggestions where I can find something like this?
Any help is appreciated.
Catastrophes Averted! Sweet Friday Luck.
To the inconsiderate asshole in my neighborhood: I like dogs. Dogs are great. You have a dog, so it is YOUR DUTY to clean up the dog SHIT that it leaves on the sidewalk on my street. I missed that pile of poo by a friggin' inch this morning because I was looking in my bag to make sure I had everything I needed for work. I, for some silly reason, didn't expect to encounter a steaming pile of SHIT in my path, you lazy son of a bitch. PICK UP YOUR SHIT. That dog is yours, so by default, the SHIT is yours too. Pick it up. If I see you walking your dog and leaving dook piles around the neighborhood, I will pick that shit up and throw it at you.
So, I didn't step in the crap. Whew! I was still pissed, but carried on. I found myself at an intersection and for some reason I was watching the wrong car, judging when to cross the road, and out of nowhere, another car decides to turn the corner. I ran out in front of him before I even realized he was there and he had to slam on his brakes. I'm pretty glad they worked.
I didn't squish the poop and I didn't die. Sweet luck. Happy Friday, friends. I hope you all have a nice weekend that doesn't involve stepping in poop, getting hit by a car, or setting yourself on fire. Fireworks are not toys.
So, I didn't step in the crap. Whew! I was still pissed, but carried on. I found myself at an intersection and for some reason I was watching the wrong car, judging when to cross the road, and out of nowhere, another car decides to turn the corner. I ran out in front of him before I even realized he was there and he had to slam on his brakes. I'm pretty glad they worked.
I didn't squish the poop and I didn't die. Sweet luck. Happy Friday, friends. I hope you all have a nice weekend that doesn't involve stepping in poop, getting hit by a car, or setting yourself on fire. Fireworks are not toys.
The Worst Haircut Ever - A Follow-Up
So, if you've read my last blog, you already know that Bruce bought me a gift certificate to a salon in Allston (which shall remain nameless).
Throughout my life, I've randomly decided to chop my hair off. I never plan this. I walk into a salon and tell them, "Uh....just cut it all off. But make it cute if you can." I just get so sick of it. It's hot and high maintenance and annoying.
So, I get the gift certificate and go down to get a cut. I decide at the last minute to cut it all off, again. The man cutting my hair speaks very little English and, I think, assumes I'm a butch lesbian for whatever reason. He gives me a boy's cut. Not at all flattering and really, quite crude. I just sat there loving it. Like I said before, I was going through "the plan is to have no plan" phase, and I figured I would deal with the consequences of his butchery later. I reasoned, "Well, what am I gonna do now? Paste the hair back on?"
He offered to put a bit, A BIT, of orange hair goop into my hair. I was like, well, we've come this far, you might as well go for it. He put it in. It was supposed to provide colored streaks throughout my hair but you could barely see it. He decided I needed more. I just laughed as he started pouring this gel onto my head. It was just too funny to do anything else.
Soon, my head was this slick, spikey, bright orange mass that I was ashamed to say belonged to me. The gel man was laughing his face off, trying to make me look....like I don't know what. An asshole?
I paid for the haircut, laughing hysterically the entire time and as I walked home to my apartment. I had no idea what had just happened. I went straight to the shower and watched the water run down my body, bright orange, until it ran clear.
I got out of the shower, and though I was now orange gel free, I was stuck with this ridiculous haircut.
Well, what are you gonna do?
Throughout my life, I've randomly decided to chop my hair off. I never plan this. I walk into a salon and tell them, "Uh....just cut it all off. But make it cute if you can." I just get so sick of it. It's hot and high maintenance and annoying.
So, I get the gift certificate and go down to get a cut. I decide at the last minute to cut it all off, again. The man cutting my hair speaks very little English and, I think, assumes I'm a butch lesbian for whatever reason. He gives me a boy's cut. Not at all flattering and really, quite crude. I just sat there loving it. Like I said before, I was going through "the plan is to have no plan" phase, and I figured I would deal with the consequences of his butchery later. I reasoned, "Well, what am I gonna do now? Paste the hair back on?"
He offered to put a bit, A BIT, of orange hair goop into my hair. I was like, well, we've come this far, you might as well go for it. He put it in. It was supposed to provide colored streaks throughout my hair but you could barely see it. He decided I needed more. I just laughed as he started pouring this gel onto my head. It was just too funny to do anything else.
Soon, my head was this slick, spikey, bright orange mass that I was ashamed to say belonged to me. The gel man was laughing his face off, trying to make me look....like I don't know what. An asshole?
I paid for the haircut, laughing hysterically the entire time and as I walked home to my apartment. I had no idea what had just happened. I went straight to the shower and watched the water run down my body, bright orange, until it ran clear.
I got out of the shower, and though I was now orange gel free, I was stuck with this ridiculous haircut.
Well, what are you gonna do?
Bruce, Bruce, Bruce...What Have You Done?
For one year of my life, I lived in the delightfully infamous Allston, Massachusetts. For those of you unfamiliar with this area of Boston, take my word, it can be a bit overwhelming. It's crowded, noisy, dirty, filled with drunken frat boys, and during the summer, hot damn, does it stink! But given the right state of mind, Allston can be a friggin' blast. I had a lot of happy, scandalous times there. What follows is one of the most bizarre stories that I took with me when I left.
I worked at a bagel place about 5 minutes from my apartment and sometimes, just to mix things up, I would cut through the back lot of the apartment complex across the street from my place to shorten the trip. The path was well-worn and lined with trees, bushes, and weeds. Walking it infused my days with a little bit of trash-infested nature and I loved it.
One day after work, I'm cutting through, minding my own business and I turn the corner and suddenly, it's as though I walked into a fully furnished room in the middle of the woods. There was a homeless man sitting in a recliner, smoking a joint. He smiled at me with his big toothy grin and said, "Welcome to my living room!" The dude had literally set up a living room in the back alley of this complex in a matter of eight hours (I walked through that morning as well). He had a table, several chairs, decorations...the works. I was like, "Oh, okay. Right. Hi. How's it going?" I was in the middle of my "it's all good/the plan is to have no plan" phase, so I just rolled with the punches.
His name was Bruce, he fought in Vietnam, and had been homeless for many years. He had a heart of gold and a lot of garbage-picked furniture that he shifted from alley to alley to avoid getting arrested. He liked to feel at home, so he would set up this make-shift living room all over Allston, never staying long enough to draw too much attention to himself.
I really enjoyed my time with him and began to see him everywhere. He invited me to lunch one day and we sat and chatted. He pulled out a thick wad of cash and bought my meal for me. I was broke and living off stale bagels so I thanked him mightily. It feels weird to have a homeless man buy you lunch when you are employed full-time but, nevertheless, consistently flat-broke. I was very grateful.
He knew where I lived and worked and started showing up at the bagel shop with presents for me. He brought me flowers and little trinkets, and soon my boss was taking me aside to discuss Bruce's seeming obsession. I told him he was harmless, and he was.
One day Bruce came to me and said he had something for me. He handed me a gift certificate from this Brazilian salon down the street and told me, "Get yourself something nice. Get one of those manicures or pedicures or something."
All I could think was, "A homeless man bought me a gift certificate. A homeless man bought me a gift certificate!?" What the hell? Right? I insisted he take it back and get a refund but he whole-heartedly refused. I eventually (reluctantly) accepted his gift and used it to get what ultimately became the worst, most disappointing haircut I have ever received.
I left Allston not long thereafter and never saw Bruce again. Last time I was there I asked another man on the streets what happened to him and he said he was in prison. Not sure what happened, but I wish him all the best. He was a good egg.
I worked at a bagel place about 5 minutes from my apartment and sometimes, just to mix things up, I would cut through the back lot of the apartment complex across the street from my place to shorten the trip. The path was well-worn and lined with trees, bushes, and weeds. Walking it infused my days with a little bit of trash-infested nature and I loved it.
One day after work, I'm cutting through, minding my own business and I turn the corner and suddenly, it's as though I walked into a fully furnished room in the middle of the woods. There was a homeless man sitting in a recliner, smoking a joint. He smiled at me with his big toothy grin and said, "Welcome to my living room!" The dude had literally set up a living room in the back alley of this complex in a matter of eight hours (I walked through that morning as well). He had a table, several chairs, decorations...the works. I was like, "Oh, okay. Right. Hi. How's it going?" I was in the middle of my "it's all good/the plan is to have no plan" phase, so I just rolled with the punches.
His name was Bruce, he fought in Vietnam, and had been homeless for many years. He had a heart of gold and a lot of garbage-picked furniture that he shifted from alley to alley to avoid getting arrested. He liked to feel at home, so he would set up this make-shift living room all over Allston, never staying long enough to draw too much attention to himself.
I really enjoyed my time with him and began to see him everywhere. He invited me to lunch one day and we sat and chatted. He pulled out a thick wad of cash and bought my meal for me. I was broke and living off stale bagels so I thanked him mightily. It feels weird to have a homeless man buy you lunch when you are employed full-time but, nevertheless, consistently flat-broke. I was very grateful.
He knew where I lived and worked and started showing up at the bagel shop with presents for me. He brought me flowers and little trinkets, and soon my boss was taking me aside to discuss Bruce's seeming obsession. I told him he was harmless, and he was.
One day Bruce came to me and said he had something for me. He handed me a gift certificate from this Brazilian salon down the street and told me, "Get yourself something nice. Get one of those manicures or pedicures or something."
All I could think was, "A homeless man bought me a gift certificate. A homeless man bought me a gift certificate!?" What the hell? Right? I insisted he take it back and get a refund but he whole-heartedly refused. I eventually (reluctantly) accepted his gift and used it to get what ultimately became the worst, most disappointing haircut I have ever received.
I left Allston not long thereafter and never saw Bruce again. Last time I was there I asked another man on the streets what happened to him and he said he was in prison. Not sure what happened, but I wish him all the best. He was a good egg.
To Hell With Sudoku!
Argh....I hate sudoku. But I love it. It brings me such a nerdy little thrill that i can't contain myself. I do these puzzles nonstop, for hours at a time.
I was first introduced to sudoku by way of my soon-to-be brother-in-law (wow, long live the Hyphen!). I leaned over his shoulder, purposefully invading his personal space as he so often does mine, thinking, "Oh, dumbass, put the 2 there. Put the 5 there. Just put that 7 there." He complied, I think because he was afraid to disobey my orders. The puzzle became an irreparable mess.
I ignored sudoku for many months, until, randomly, I came across a site that allowed me to play online. Once I took the time to actually learn the rules (I was very confused the first time I played and thought I had to match diagonal lines as well), I realized, "Huh, I'm actually not so bad at this." I was finishing these online puzzles left and friggin' right. I was Queen of the Sudoku World and thrilled at my ability to complete these puzzles. Then, one day a couple weeks ago, I was compelled to purchase a small, cheap book of puzzles at the bookstore. And so commenced my private sudoku hell.
This stupid book is hard and I'm pissed. I'm not a sudoku master. I will keep playing, however, because I need it. It calms my brain. I've been doing puzzles with my morning coffee. That shit'll wake you up. Make you pissed, sure. But it will definitely wake you up.
Huh. Maybe that's why I've been so grumpy.
I was first introduced to sudoku by way of my soon-to-be brother-in-law (wow, long live the Hyphen!). I leaned over his shoulder, purposefully invading his personal space as he so often does mine, thinking, "Oh, dumbass, put the 2 there. Put the 5 there. Just put that 7 there." He complied, I think because he was afraid to disobey my orders. The puzzle became an irreparable mess.
I ignored sudoku for many months, until, randomly, I came across a site that allowed me to play online. Once I took the time to actually learn the rules (I was very confused the first time I played and thought I had to match diagonal lines as well), I realized, "Huh, I'm actually not so bad at this." I was finishing these online puzzles left and friggin' right. I was Queen of the Sudoku World and thrilled at my ability to complete these puzzles. Then, one day a couple weeks ago, I was compelled to purchase a small, cheap book of puzzles at the bookstore. And so commenced my private sudoku hell.
This stupid book is hard and I'm pissed. I'm not a sudoku master. I will keep playing, however, because I need it. It calms my brain. I've been doing puzzles with my morning coffee. That shit'll wake you up. Make you pissed, sure. But it will definitely wake you up.
Huh. Maybe that's why I've been so grumpy.
A Case of Arson & Mistaken Identity
I was walking to work this morning and randomly remembered something that happened to me a few years back when I was living in New Mexico. It made me chuckle so I thought I'd share.
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(Phone rings)
MJ: Hello?
Operator: You have a collect call from The New Mexico State Penitentiary. Will you accept the charges?
MJ: Huh? Um. Okay. Yeah.
Caller: Hi. Can I speak to MJ?
MJ: This is MJ.
Caller: Hi M. It's me. Doug.
MJ: Doug? Doug who? I don't know a Doug. I think you have the wrong number.
Doug: This is MJ, right? In New Mexico?
MJ: Yes, but I think you have the wrong MJ. There are quite a few of us.
Doug: No, it's me, Doug.
MJ: I'm tellin' you. I don't know you, Doug.
Doug: Come on. You remember.
MJ: Okay, Doug. How would I know you?
Doug: ....I set a lot of fires?
MJ: What?! YOUVE GOT THE WRONG MJ!
Doug: Oh, really? Oh, I'm so sorry. Okay then. I'll let you go.
MJ: Okay. Bye, Doug.
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The best part of this story was when, a week later, I checked my mail and found a letter from Doug at the penitentiary. He said he was really sorry to bother me and he enclosed three dollars to reimburse me for the collect call.
Who ever said all arsonists are bad guys?
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(Phone rings)
MJ: Hello?
Operator: You have a collect call from The New Mexico State Penitentiary. Will you accept the charges?
MJ: Huh? Um. Okay. Yeah.
Caller: Hi. Can I speak to MJ?
MJ: This is MJ.
Caller: Hi M. It's me. Doug.
MJ: Doug? Doug who? I don't know a Doug. I think you have the wrong number.
Doug: This is MJ, right? In New Mexico?
MJ: Yes, but I think you have the wrong MJ. There are quite a few of us.
Doug: No, it's me, Doug.
MJ: I'm tellin' you. I don't know you, Doug.
Doug: Come on. You remember.
MJ: Okay, Doug. How would I know you?
Doug: ....I set a lot of fires?
MJ: What?! YOUVE GOT THE WRONG MJ!
Doug: Oh, really? Oh, I'm so sorry. Okay then. I'll let you go.
MJ: Okay. Bye, Doug.
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The best part of this story was when, a week later, I checked my mail and found a letter from Doug at the penitentiary. He said he was really sorry to bother me and he enclosed three dollars to reimburse me for the collect call.
Who ever said all arsonists are bad guys?
Soggy, Soggy City
Ugh. For all of you friends who live in areas of the country which are experiencing beautiful, sunny weather, please take the time to appreciate what you've got.
Boston is rainy. And by "rainy" I mean, freakin' drenched. It's been raining for what seems like an eternity here and it is taking a toll on me and everyone I know. Don't get me wrong, I love the rain. Having lived in New Mexico (a/k/a "Desert Wasteland"), I know how lucky we are to be getting this water. But what I wouldn't give for a little time in the sun.
When the weather is crappy, I try to get out anyway and not let it turn me into even more of a hermit than I already am. It's just so wet outside that all I want to do is curl up in bed with a movie. I'm getting cabin fever.
Rain, rain, go away. Please?
Boston is rainy. And by "rainy" I mean, freakin' drenched. It's been raining for what seems like an eternity here and it is taking a toll on me and everyone I know. Don't get me wrong, I love the rain. Having lived in New Mexico (a/k/a "Desert Wasteland"), I know how lucky we are to be getting this water. But what I wouldn't give for a little time in the sun.
When the weather is crappy, I try to get out anyway and not let it turn me into even more of a hermit than I already am. It's just so wet outside that all I want to do is curl up in bed with a movie. I'm getting cabin fever.
Rain, rain, go away. Please?
Student Loans + Credit Card = My Personal Hell
I am exactly $40,745.01 in the hole. Good times.
I will now pretend I don't know this.
I will now pretend I don't know this.
Sucky People Suck
I have a real problem with people who cannot put themselves in the shoes of others. For god's sake, fucking look around you. Experience the world. Take your stupid blinders off for five seconds, please.
I hate people. Not any of you darlings reading this, but people in general. We suck.
I hate people. Not any of you darlings reading this, but people in general. We suck.
Seriously?
I got to the train station to discover that my train was already pulling in. I started hauling ass and barely made it through the doors. Nice. Happy Tuesday.
The train is already packed and I have committed to being "that girl", so I force my way in. It's tight in there and I see that the man to my right has plenty of room next to him. I ask, "Excuse me, could you scoot down a bit?" I thought my request was pretty reasonable, given the fact that people were going to be piling in at the next stop...and the one after that...and after that...and so on.
He says, "I'm all set."
Huh. Well, fuck you too.
The train is already packed and I have committed to being "that girl", so I force my way in. It's tight in there and I see that the man to my right has plenty of room next to him. I ask, "Excuse me, could you scoot down a bit?" I thought my request was pretty reasonable, given the fact that people were going to be piling in at the next stop...and the one after that...and after that...and so on.
He says, "I'm all set."
Huh. Well, fuck you too.
A Back-Scratching Good Time
I got to the train station this morning and nearly ripped my shirt off because my back was itching so bad. Wicked dry skin this time of the year in MJLand.
I remembered:
I used to work the register at this place that shall remain nameless. One of my coworkers there was hot. I mean h-o-t, hot. He was recently divorced with two children and I knew from the moment we met that we were not meant to be. But, boy, oh boy, how I loved working those shifts with him. Watching him bag the unnecessary crap that people purchase, seeing him fight with the register and win, watching him hold the door open for old people. He could dance too. Mmmm. I had such a terrible crush.
So one day, I am at the register doing my thang and my back starts itching like crazy. I turned into a contortionist, trying desperately to reach that one inaccessible spot on my back without success.
He came up behind me, I didn't even know he was there, and started scratching my back. It felt so nice.
That's all I want. I want that moment when my special someone has anticipated and realized my needs and without speaking, takes action. It is so nice to be cared for and seen and to reciprocate in turn. For all of my coupled friends out there, you are lucky. Be appreciative and be good to each other.
I remembered:
I used to work the register at this place that shall remain nameless. One of my coworkers there was hot. I mean h-o-t, hot. He was recently divorced with two children and I knew from the moment we met that we were not meant to be. But, boy, oh boy, how I loved working those shifts with him. Watching him bag the unnecessary crap that people purchase, seeing him fight with the register and win, watching him hold the door open for old people. He could dance too. Mmmm. I had such a terrible crush.
So one day, I am at the register doing my thang and my back starts itching like crazy. I turned into a contortionist, trying desperately to reach that one inaccessible spot on my back without success.
He came up behind me, I didn't even know he was there, and started scratching my back. It felt so nice.
That's all I want. I want that moment when my special someone has anticipated and realized my needs and without speaking, takes action. It is so nice to be cared for and seen and to reciprocate in turn. For all of my coupled friends out there, you are lucky. Be appreciative and be good to each other.
Bluejeans, Schmujeans
So, my favorite pair of jeans has a hole in the crotch and yesterday I decided to go try to find a new pair. Good times.
I went to the Gap, and I know the Gap is a terrible store doing terrible things all over the world, but I'm sorry. I hate looking for new jeans and I have had the best luck there.
I pick out several styles and sizes, go to the dressing room, try them on, and none of them felt like my new favorite pair of jeans. One of the women working there offered to get me another size in something that I thought might work. Those new, left weave jeans are really soft and I like that, except the fact that they have no stretch to them whatsoever, which makes my thighs feel like they are being friggin' shrink-wrapped.
I told the saleslady who was helping me that I really liked them, but they are so uncomfortable in the legs. She said she had a pair of the same jeans and loves them. I said, "Yeah, but look how much thinner you are than me." And she said.................."I know."
Now, I have given her response much thought and discussed it at length with a few people and I have decided, this girl is just a stupid little brat. Stupid, thin, little brat-faced brat. She has no common sense and clearly was not listening to me, because if she was, she probably would have said something like, "Oh my god, I am not. Well, thank you, that is very nice of you to say." I mean, seriously, you little brat....why, I oughtta....
Anyway, just thought I'd share and warn you that if you are having a bad day, not quite feeling right about your life, feeling premenstrual and bloated, avoid the Gap at Porter Square like the plague. That little bitch made me feel like crap and she will surely make other customers feel the same. I need to write a letter to her manager.
I went to the Gap, and I know the Gap is a terrible store doing terrible things all over the world, but I'm sorry. I hate looking for new jeans and I have had the best luck there.
I pick out several styles and sizes, go to the dressing room, try them on, and none of them felt like my new favorite pair of jeans. One of the women working there offered to get me another size in something that I thought might work. Those new, left weave jeans are really soft and I like that, except the fact that they have no stretch to them whatsoever, which makes my thighs feel like they are being friggin' shrink-wrapped.
I told the saleslady who was helping me that I really liked them, but they are so uncomfortable in the legs. She said she had a pair of the same jeans and loves them. I said, "Yeah, but look how much thinner you are than me." And she said.................."I know."
Now, I have given her response much thought and discussed it at length with a few people and I have decided, this girl is just a stupid little brat. Stupid, thin, little brat-faced brat. She has no common sense and clearly was not listening to me, because if she was, she probably would have said something like, "Oh my god, I am not. Well, thank you, that is very nice of you to say." I mean, seriously, you little brat....why, I oughtta....
Anyway, just thought I'd share and warn you that if you are having a bad day, not quite feeling right about your life, feeling premenstrual and bloated, avoid the Gap at Porter Square like the plague. That little bitch made me feel like crap and she will surely make other customers feel the same. I need to write a letter to her manager.
On One Leg in MJLand
So, the night before last, I had a dream....
My cat was in really bad shape. His hair was thinning and his two hind legs and tail had been amputated. He was abandoned and alone and I tried to wrap him in a blanket or something?
Then, my sister DJ was there and now she was missing a leg (GP, can you recall what I told you on the porch? My memory is unreliable the day after a dream.). At least I think that is what happened, you know how dreams can be.
Whatever the second piece was, it involved a leg amputation/deformity.
So, last night I dreamt that my (married) sister, who suddenly was blond, which is definitely the wrong color for her, was going on a date with a man with a prosthetic leg.
Weird.
This morning, DJ called me around 8:00. She never calls that early, so I figured something was up. She said she had had a really bad dream about me. My leg was all messed up and was getting shorter and then I had a clubfoot (one word or two? club foot...clubfoot...google says one, nice job, MJ). She was clearly distressed and I had to interrupt her to tell her that for the past two nights, I have been dreaming about amputations!
How weird is that shit? I think this is my brain's way of telling me that my life is unbalanced right now. I'm off kilter. I've been feeling really anxious lately, thinking I am forgetting something. Forgetting to pay a bill, call a friend, return a movie, something! Last night I went through all the random piles of crap in my bedroom searching for that thing I've been neglecting. I couldn't find anything. Something is missing or I am not listening to my gut about my life or I don't know what. It's unsettling. I think the amputations I'm experiencing are my brain's attempts to get back on my feet and face the world. It would really suck to deal with losing a limb, or one of my loved ones losing one of their limbs, and nothing is really wrong in my world. I need to realize that all is well and I've just gotta do what I gotta do to stay happy and in control of my happiness. I must seek stability and focus and balance in MJLand.
My cat was in really bad shape. His hair was thinning and his two hind legs and tail had been amputated. He was abandoned and alone and I tried to wrap him in a blanket or something?
Then, my sister DJ was there and now she was missing a leg (GP, can you recall what I told you on the porch? My memory is unreliable the day after a dream.). At least I think that is what happened, you know how dreams can be.
Whatever the second piece was, it involved a leg amputation/deformity.
So, last night I dreamt that my (married) sister, who suddenly was blond, which is definitely the wrong color for her, was going on a date with a man with a prosthetic leg.
Weird.
This morning, DJ called me around 8:00. She never calls that early, so I figured something was up. She said she had had a really bad dream about me. My leg was all messed up and was getting shorter and then I had a clubfoot (one word or two? club foot...clubfoot...google says one, nice job, MJ). She was clearly distressed and I had to interrupt her to tell her that for the past two nights, I have been dreaming about amputations!
How weird is that shit? I think this is my brain's way of telling me that my life is unbalanced right now. I'm off kilter. I've been feeling really anxious lately, thinking I am forgetting something. Forgetting to pay a bill, call a friend, return a movie, something! Last night I went through all the random piles of crap in my bedroom searching for that thing I've been neglecting. I couldn't find anything. Something is missing or I am not listening to my gut about my life or I don't know what. It's unsettling. I think the amputations I'm experiencing are my brain's attempts to get back on my feet and face the world. It would really suck to deal with losing a limb, or one of my loved ones losing one of their limbs, and nothing is really wrong in my world. I need to realize that all is well and I've just gotta do what I gotta do to stay happy and in control of my happiness. I must seek stability and focus and balance in MJLand.
DO NOT LEAN AGAINST THE DOORS!!!!!!
Wednesday, March 8, 2006, began pretty much like any typical workday. Well, except the fact that my sister was going to have a tumor removed from her leg....another story, another blog. She was having a tumor removed and I was on my way to work. You see, I had originally planned on going to the hospital with her and taking the day off, but my older sister brought it to my attention that our little surgery patient would be all alone the day after her surgery. So, I decided not to go on Wednesday, but rather, to spend all Thursday with her.
So, I'm on my way to work, on the train with GP, my roommate, and we are positioned in such a way that I am right up against the door at the end of the car that leads to the next car. There is, of course, a very clear sign on the door that says, "Do not lean against the doors" but I, as usual, choose to ignore this sign and press my luck. It is car number 01600, a number I will recall until the day I die. jk. I just made a point of remembering it.
Next stop, Porter Square. All is well, life is good. Next stop, DEATH!, I mean, Harvard Square. So, we are going and all of a sudden, the door I am LEANING against (stupid MJ, stupid MJ)....wait for it.....wait for it....it OPENS!!!!!! WHILE THE TRAIN IS MOVING!!!! In between stations!!!! AHHHH!!!!
For some lucky reason, I happened to be holding on to a rail and did not fall out of the train, as you can probably guess from the mere fact that I am writing this blog and am NOT DEAD. My backpack nearly fell off the train as well. It was almost a very bad day.
I was sort of in shock I guess, because I can't really remember the rest of the ride all that well. There was a very nice man who tried with all his might to lock the door and then stood next to it, putting himself in harms way and keeping GP and me safe. That was really nice. You're a good man, Charlie Brown.
So, leaning, door opens, nearly died---I decided, to hell with work, I'm going to the hospital to be there for my sister and that is exactly what I did. These are my Chronicles of Trainia and the moral of this story is (say it with me now): DO NOT LEAN AGAINST THE DOORS!
So, I'm on my way to work, on the train with GP, my roommate, and we are positioned in such a way that I am right up against the door at the end of the car that leads to the next car. There is, of course, a very clear sign on the door that says, "Do not lean against the doors" but I, as usual, choose to ignore this sign and press my luck. It is car number 01600, a number I will recall until the day I die. jk. I just made a point of remembering it.
Next stop, Porter Square. All is well, life is good. Next stop, DEATH!, I mean, Harvard Square. So, we are going and all of a sudden, the door I am LEANING against (stupid MJ, stupid MJ)....wait for it.....wait for it....it OPENS!!!!!! WHILE THE TRAIN IS MOVING!!!! In between stations!!!! AHHHH!!!!
For some lucky reason, I happened to be holding on to a rail and did not fall out of the train, as you can probably guess from the mere fact that I am writing this blog and am NOT DEAD. My backpack nearly fell off the train as well. It was almost a very bad day.
I was sort of in shock I guess, because I can't really remember the rest of the ride all that well. There was a very nice man who tried with all his might to lock the door and then stood next to it, putting himself in harms way and keeping GP and me safe. That was really nice. You're a good man, Charlie Brown.
So, leaning, door opens, nearly died---I decided, to hell with work, I'm going to the hospital to be there for my sister and that is exactly what I did. These are my Chronicles of Trainia and the moral of this story is (say it with me now): DO NOT LEAN AGAINST THE DOORS!
Dear Train Lady,
(3/5/06)
I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to acknowledge the sticky, drippy situation in which you managed to find yourself this previous Friday evening on the red line.
To refresh your mind, you decided that it was a perfectly acceptable idea to bring your entire dinner onto the train with you to consume during the 5:00 Friday rush. I must say, I was not only impressed, but rather amused by your ability and willingness to create your well-balanced meal entirely from White Hen Pantry. Well done, Train Lady, well done.
I was, I must admit, a bit jealous of your White Hen fare. You see, it was that time of day when I just feel like eating everything that isn't nailed down. Thank you for giving me something to gaze at longingly during the ride. I mean, I don't even like Fritos all that much, but damn they stank good.
After you finished munching those delightfully-scented Fritos, you decided to wait on your thick, triangular, plastic-wrapped sandwich, and go straight for your Diet Dr. Pepper. What happened next shocked us all.
You cracked the top and KABOOM!!! The soda-pop exploded and went everywhere (but mostly, all over you, your Fritos, the aforementioned sandwich, and your purse)!!!! HA!!!!!
I was the sole passenger to offer you assistance as you were covered in Diet Dr. Pepper. I gave you the napkins I had in my pocket from my breakfast and you attempted to solve your three-paper-towels-needed dilemma with four measly, non-absorbent pieces of crap that someone decided would serve well as napkins.
I just want to say, Train Lady, that I wish I had had more paper products to offer. I also wish that someone else had stepped up to the plate to help their fellow human in distress. Unfortunately, you cannot count on other humans to help you in times of need. You should really know better.
With that said, I hope the next time you decide to bring such a load of consumables onto public transportation, you will remember to bring napkins with you. Please, for the individuals who were caught in the wrath of said soda incident, and for all caught in the future, be prepared.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
MJ
I hope this message finds you well. I am writing to acknowledge the sticky, drippy situation in which you managed to find yourself this previous Friday evening on the red line.
To refresh your mind, you decided that it was a perfectly acceptable idea to bring your entire dinner onto the train with you to consume during the 5:00 Friday rush. I must say, I was not only impressed, but rather amused by your ability and willingness to create your well-balanced meal entirely from White Hen Pantry. Well done, Train Lady, well done.
I was, I must admit, a bit jealous of your White Hen fare. You see, it was that time of day when I just feel like eating everything that isn't nailed down. Thank you for giving me something to gaze at longingly during the ride. I mean, I don't even like Fritos all that much, but damn they stank good.
After you finished munching those delightfully-scented Fritos, you decided to wait on your thick, triangular, plastic-wrapped sandwich, and go straight for your Diet Dr. Pepper. What happened next shocked us all.
You cracked the top and KABOOM!!! The soda-pop exploded and went everywhere (but mostly, all over you, your Fritos, the aforementioned sandwich, and your purse)!!!! HA!!!!!
I was the sole passenger to offer you assistance as you were covered in Diet Dr. Pepper. I gave you the napkins I had in my pocket from my breakfast and you attempted to solve your three-paper-towels-needed dilemma with four measly, non-absorbent pieces of crap that someone decided would serve well as napkins.
I just want to say, Train Lady, that I wish I had had more paper products to offer. I also wish that someone else had stepped up to the plate to help their fellow human in distress. Unfortunately, you cannot count on other humans to help you in times of need. You should really know better.
With that said, I hope the next time you decide to bring such a load of consumables onto public transportation, you will remember to bring napkins with you. Please, for the individuals who were caught in the wrath of said soda incident, and for all caught in the future, be prepared.
Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
MJ
The Good in This World
( 2/3/06)
While I was living in New Mexico, all of my CDs were stolen out of my (ex)boyfriend's truck while it was sitting in a mechanic's lot. I lost every single one of my favorite discs. It was a devastating realization to discover I suddenly owned not a single piece of familiar music.
I called my family and told them all about it and without asking, my fabulous sisters copied everything from their music collections that they thought I would like. In a matter of a couple weeks, I received by mail about 100 new CDs, including many old staples and many unknowns. I was struck not by how many CDs I now had--which by the way was more than I had owned originally--but rather, by how friggin' awesome my sisters are.
My family is the good in my world.
Other good things in my world include:
Friends (you know who you are and I love you all)
Ketchup
Coffee
People who are NOT spatial idiots on the train and in other public realms
Craigslist
Sleep
Apricots
Cheese, cheese, and more cheese
Wine
Gatorade
Slippers
Long johns
Feather pillows
Aveeno Chapstick
Cherry tomatoes
Pilot pens
Fiction
Sunny winter days
There is much good in the world. Recognize your good and love it.
While I was living in New Mexico, all of my CDs were stolen out of my (ex)boyfriend's truck while it was sitting in a mechanic's lot. I lost every single one of my favorite discs. It was a devastating realization to discover I suddenly owned not a single piece of familiar music.
I called my family and told them all about it and without asking, my fabulous sisters copied everything from their music collections that they thought I would like. In a matter of a couple weeks, I received by mail about 100 new CDs, including many old staples and many unknowns. I was struck not by how many CDs I now had--which by the way was more than I had owned originally--but rather, by how friggin' awesome my sisters are.
My family is the good in my world.
Other good things in my world include:
Friends (you know who you are and I love you all)
Ketchup
Coffee
People who are NOT spatial idiots on the train and in other public realms
Craigslist
Sleep
Apricots
Cheese, cheese, and more cheese
Wine
Gatorade
Slippers
Long johns
Feather pillows
Aveeno Chapstick
Cherry tomatoes
Pilot pens
Fiction
Sunny winter days
There is much good in the world. Recognize your good and love it.
It Is As If Something Has Shifted
(10/26/05)
I was talking with the magnificent SP this evening and he asked me if I was excited that the White Sox are kicking ass. I told him that I just found out they were playing about two hours ago. I am totally out of the baseball loop. So, he talked about the Red Sox winning after all that time, and the White Sox winning after all that time---
I mentioned hurricanes, volcanoes, tsunamis, earthquakes. And now that I am thinking about it--epidemics, new flus, vaccine shortages. All of these "unlikely" events happening right around the same time.
It is as if something has shifted.
We are exploding as a species. We have reached capacity. The world, our little planet earth, etc., is equalizing. Our effects are now being documented, recorded, analyzed by our natural world. Things are changing. Natural and "unnatural". Equalizing stabilizing making right what once went wrong.
It is depressing? It is terrible, yes. Is it natural? Yes. But we created it so it is artificial. But did this world not create us? Our things are descendants of our intellect. Products of products of products. Natural disasters are products of products of products. But the momentum has shifted. Instead of creating forward...moving forward...won't the equalization be a step backward? Won't it be retrogression?
Will it? I ask you.
I answer my own questions.
I don't think so. I think that it is simply and purely a step. A seemingly chaotic completely natural way for things to occur. Is it sad? Sure. It is what it is and you can either accept it and deal or stress and worry about it.
Disclaimer: The writer does not believe her argument is an excuse for laziness, nonchalance, or non-action.
I was talking with the magnificent SP this evening and he asked me if I was excited that the White Sox are kicking ass. I told him that I just found out they were playing about two hours ago. I am totally out of the baseball loop. So, he talked about the Red Sox winning after all that time, and the White Sox winning after all that time---
I mentioned hurricanes, volcanoes, tsunamis, earthquakes. And now that I am thinking about it--epidemics, new flus, vaccine shortages. All of these "unlikely" events happening right around the same time.
It is as if something has shifted.
We are exploding as a species. We have reached capacity. The world, our little planet earth, etc., is equalizing. Our effects are now being documented, recorded, analyzed by our natural world. Things are changing. Natural and "unnatural". Equalizing stabilizing making right what once went wrong.
It is depressing? It is terrible, yes. Is it natural? Yes. But we created it so it is artificial. But did this world not create us? Our things are descendants of our intellect. Products of products of products. Natural disasters are products of products of products. But the momentum has shifted. Instead of creating forward...moving forward...won't the equalization be a step backward? Won't it be retrogression?
Will it? I ask you.
I answer my own questions.
I don't think so. I think that it is simply and purely a step. A seemingly chaotic completely natural way for things to occur. Is it sad? Sure. It is what it is and you can either accept it and deal or stress and worry about it.
Disclaimer: The writer does not believe her argument is an excuse for laziness, nonchalance, or non-action.
It Is Amazing What A Few Months Can Do
(Written 10/24/05)
So, when I moved back to Boston (for the third time) last February, I had exactly four friends in the city. One I adore and see semi-frequently, another I have not yet contacted so I don't think we are really friends, and the other two are those weird friends who you never call but are happy to see when you run into them at a party. I had family, but no one to really talk to and I was coming off of a really nasty breakup.
This was the breakup which trumped all other breakups in my repertoire. I felt like I was dying inside and, looking back on it, I guess I sort of was. Naturally, time heals all wounds and I recovered. I spent a lot of time alone, walking around the city, observing people.
Then, I decided to try out for a play. My life literally exploded with possibility. Being on stage again made me realize that I can do this. I can do that. I'll get through it. I have potential. I can make people "feel" and that feels good. I signed up for a class. I met new people. I smiled and laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long time. It felt good.Now, I have so much to do I cannot keep track of it. I am so busy I think I might explode. It is good to be busy, but all I want (and here I frickin’ go again) is to be bored with someone I love. I wanna sit and make stupid jokes and cuddle and order in and take showers and scrub each other's backs. I want to make someone happy. Where are you, lover boy? Come quick!!!!!!!
So, when I moved back to Boston (for the third time) last February, I had exactly four friends in the city. One I adore and see semi-frequently, another I have not yet contacted so I don't think we are really friends, and the other two are those weird friends who you never call but are happy to see when you run into them at a party. I had family, but no one to really talk to and I was coming off of a really nasty breakup.
This was the breakup which trumped all other breakups in my repertoire. I felt like I was dying inside and, looking back on it, I guess I sort of was. Naturally, time heals all wounds and I recovered. I spent a lot of time alone, walking around the city, observing people.
Then, I decided to try out for a play. My life literally exploded with possibility. Being on stage again made me realize that I can do this. I can do that. I'll get through it. I have potential. I can make people "feel" and that feels good. I signed up for a class. I met new people. I smiled and laughed, really laughed, for the first time in a long time. It felt good.Now, I have so much to do I cannot keep track of it. I am so busy I think I might explode. It is good to be busy, but all I want (and here I frickin’ go again) is to be bored with someone I love. I wanna sit and make stupid jokes and cuddle and order in and take showers and scrub each other's backs. I want to make someone happy. Where are you, lover boy? Come quick!!!!!!!
I Will Now Subject You To My Very First Blog
(Written October 19, 2005)
Welcome to my first blog ever. I've never done this before, so be patient, dear readers.
So, I've begun to feel like I must not know myself very well because I am having the damnedest time filling out my myspace profile. Everytime I type something in, I think, nah, that's not me or that doesn't sound right. Then an unexpected error occurs and shuts me down and I just plain give up. This time will be different. I can feel it in my bones.
I am at a weird point in my life. I feel like I have all these things going for me, right? Like stuff is right where it is supposed to be. Work is good. School is time-consuming but worthwhile. My bedroom is clean and my bills are paid. I even have clean underwear in my drawer and the makings for a decent sandwich in my refridgerator. But yet, something is lacking.
I was grocery shopping on Sunday and I nearly broke down in the chip aisle. I wanted to buy a jar of salsa con queso, but realized that there was little chance that I alone would be able to consume the entire jar before it got all weird and coagulated. If I had someone to share my life with, a partner, a man, he would eat the salsa con queso and I wouldn't have to worry about it going bad. He might even go halfies on it with me. But there is no one.
I'm not really sad generally. I go about my life, doing my own thing and I'm happy. I feel good really. But that stupid jar of processed cheese goop really fucked with me. It brought to mind a post on craigslist (my bff) that I read some time ago (not sure when, I read so many posts each day...yes, I am a junkie). This girl was talking about how the thing she misses most about being in a relationship is knowing that if she buys a loaf of bread, it will all be eaten before it goes stale. You see, she alone could not consume an entire loaf before it got stale or moldy. I never understood her plight better than Sunday, standing, staring at the salsa con queso.
Everyone says, "be patient. it will happen when you least expect it". I don't expect a thing, but god damn! And sure, I could probably meet someone tonight to play with, but I don't want to play. I want to get comfortable with someone.
I am throwing a pity party over a jar of salsa. I should have just purchased it and let the damn stuff go bad.
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