growing in the goo

Now, Meg S!

2011-09-07T19:42:00.002-04:00

Well... I'm back!

(Yes, we've all heard that before.)

Lately the ole' neglected blog has been on my mind - this past weekend I started reading The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. I have been reading her blog for some time now (not sure how I stumbled upon it), and I decided that I should actually support her in a monetary way by purchasing the newly released paperback. (And to head off any questions, yes, I'm very happy, and loving the married life, but it can never hurt to engage in some navel-gazing for my own good.)

As you can imagine, the book is about cultivating happiness — your own, and that of others around you. Gretchen created all these resolutions and commandments, and the book outlines her struggles and victories and insights she's gathered along the way. She never suggests that you follow her commandments to the letter (or at all), but I've found that a few of her own lessons have applications in my own life.

At one point early in the process, she decides to create her blog. Hmm... a blog... I thought. Ah yes. That unfinished project of mine that's constantly casting a shadow, like an ignored younger sibling or a stray cat outside my window. (In case you're wondering, the other unfinished projects hanging over my head: my beautiful quilt from '08 (shudder), five unpacked boxes from moving, and one thank you note.)

Ignoring the cries of my blog, I kept reading, until this little section stopped me short:

Then I thought of a line from William Butler Yeats. "Happiness," wrote Yeats, "is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that, but simply growth. We are happy when we are growing." Contemporary researchers make the same argument: that it isn't goal attainment but the process of striving after goals — that is, growth — that brings happiness.

Holy mackerel. Was I actually on to something when I started this little page six (gulp) years ago? Perhaps I actually was. And the point was to "grow" — have I done that? ...Though my tendency is to be hard on myself, when I look back at my original goo goals, I've actually completed three out of five goals: take scuba diving lessons, get re-certified in CPR and first aid, and write one short story a month.

Okay - yeah, so I wrote one short story, period, but that's good enough. And no, I'm not some jazzy scuba diver exploring the deep, but I gave it a shot (and got certified). And I got re-certified in CPR and first aid in...2007? So, I consider those goals a success.

The remaining two goals - take ballroom dancing lessons and brush up on my french... well, I briefly dated a guy who knew ballroom dancing, and that was definitely enough for me. And as for brushing up on my French... providing there is still space in the continuing ed. class, I'm beginning a conversational French class next week!

(I bet you thought I'd have an excuse for that one, too! ha!)

I come back to these goals for a reason (other than lamely tooting my own horn): I've had a sneaking suspicion for some time that I don't really have any hobbies. Yes, I had been busy planning our wedding with my man, and getting our house in order, but to be frank, my big interests appear to be:

1. eating
2. reading
3. watching tv
4. drinking

Egads. Not exactly the stuff of legends. So... now I'll be thinking of what I enjoy doing, and seeing how I can DO something that involves those interests. Stay tuned.

After being silent for so long, I'm afraid all this verbal spewing will make any readers OD. So... bonsoir for now!

Osama

2011-05-02T16:57:00.002-04:00

Future H and I just got back from a long weekend in DC. Consequently, we were only about four blocks from the White House when Osama Bin Laden's death was announced. We deliberated heading down... but decided against it. Part of me wondered if I'd regret not going down, but right now my only regret is that I didn't go and take pictures, not that I wasn't a part of the celebrating. I don't know, I understand the elation (particularly if you're in the military or if you had a loved one who died on Sept. 11), but the idea of jumping and cheering and waving the flag as the result of someone's death leaves a funny taste in my mouth.

NPR.org posted an article called "Is It Wrong to Celebrate Bin Laden's Death?" and I'm pleased to see that I'm not alone in my conflicted thoughts. In the article they quote a statement from the Roman Catholic Church: "Faced with the death of a man, a Christian never rejoices, but reflects on the serious responsibility of everyone before God and man, and hopes and pledges that every event is not an opportunity for a further growth of hatred, but of peace."

Something to think about...

Thanks, Kanye!

2011-02-27T19:15:00.005-05:00

Today was my first race in almost a year...the last one I did was in May, the day after fiance and I got engaged. (I kind of don't count that race because I totally phoned it in by gabbing with a friend and staring at my sparkly huge ring the whole time.) I have never been the biggest fan of running — I enjoy saying that I ran a race, but I've never looked forward to the actual physical fitness part.

To say that I was dragged into this race kicking and screaming this morning would not be much of an exaggeration. It had snowed here last night and it was still snowing this morning...the parking for the race was about a quarter mile from the registration, and we trudged through slush and wet sidewalks the whole way. Uphill. Ugh. So by the time I picked up my number, my feet were ALREADY wet, I was ALREADY cold, and I was NOT feeling it. And knowing that this race is the first in a series of three — 3 miles this week, 4 miles next Sunday, 5 miles the next — didn't really motivate me to put myself out there today. They give out a medal after each race, and then you put them together for one massive medal, but I was more than content to have a piece of the puzzle missing. Really.

<---Last year's medal. Mine is in a box somewhere.

Eventually I got caught up in the spirit of the race (fiance calling me a quitter had no bearing on my decision), and before I really had admitted or accepted that I'd be running, I was taking off my nice long puffy coat as if in a daze and haphazardly pinning on my number.

The start of a race is always tough for me. Well, the whole thing is, but the toughness of the start is that everyone and their handicapped brother is passing me, and I need to stubbornly maintain my own little slow pace so that I'm not fried in the first half mile. So I kept trudging along, trying to pay no mind to the legions of people passing me (racers: note that this is a weenie race and didn't have markers for starting with people of your own pace), and listening to my ipod on full blast.

After a short little jog we came to THE hill. This thing is long and winding and seemingly never-ending. I had remembered this sucker from last year. Not fun. My first step up coincided with the opening bars of "Stronger" by Kanye. And I thought...this is the perfect song! As I slowly journeyed up the hill, I listened to the music, really feeling the whole "N-n-now th-that don't kill me, will only make me stronger" thing, and I was also saying to myself - I can do a plank for a minute in boot camp! DIG IN! DIG IN!

And you know what? It freaking worked! I made it to the top of the hill without stopping! Take that, all of you people who passed me at the beginning! Look who's passing you now!!

(Okay, I wasn't actually that vengeful or psycho, but it was a nice moment.)

I also raised the roof at the top of the hill. I hope the course photographer caught that.

The rest of the race, while I would never call it a "breeze," was not so bad. And, for the first time in my pathetic jogging life, I caught a wind. I knew I was less than a mile from the finish, and I felt good. So I picked up the pace, turned up "I Like it Rough" by Lady GaGa, and got a movin'. For the second time today, I was passing people. I felt like a runner — you might even call what I was doing "running," NOT "jogging."

I wish I could top off this heart-warming story by saying I had my best time yet, but I actually came in a full three minutes after last year's time. (And really, there had been room to improve.) But I can honestly say that I can't remember ever having that "runner" feeling before, and I hope to have it again. I got a taste of what all those whacko nutjob hardcore runners always talk about, and I want more!

an fyi...

2011-02-22T21:04:00.003-05:00

TGI Friday's is NOT forthcoming with their nutritional information! They have a "low fat" icon on their menu, but it's only attached to one item (which I did not get, naturally).

Last month I joined a "Bridal Boot Camp" at a local training/nutritionist small business, and it includes two boot camps a week, one personal training session a week, and two nutritional meetings a month. I had my first nutritional meeting not this past Saturday but the one before. It was...illuminating.

I've realized that breakfast, snacks, and lunch (for the most part) are manageable, but I fall apart at dinner, especially with portion sizes. Tonight fiance picked me up after a particularly strenuous boot camp, and we talked each other into a trip to our local Friday's. I know that Applebees has been pimping out their low-cal menu, so I figured TGI's would be keeping up with the Joneses.

Nope!

Ugh. I hate being that girl who counts calories and thinks about what she eats. I'm used to saying "Why the hell not?!" and going for the third... or fourth... or fifth... piece of fried chicken. Eating delicious cookie after cookie. Washing back beer after beer without thought of how many calories I've ingested. It's actually a big part of who I am and the breezy fun image I try to cultivate. In the past two weeks I've learned that a rolo has 13 calories, whereas a mini-reese's pb cup has 36. 36!! That one peanut has 6 calories (important information when adding to low-cal chocolate pudding), and a baby carrot has... okay... need to look that one up, but I think it's 4 calories? Maybe?

On the plus side, I'm eating less and getting more full. And my breakfast of 1 serving oatmeal, 1 Tbsp of peanut butter, 1 tsp. of chocolate chips, and 1 tsp. of brown sugar tastes AMAZING and keeps me going until snack time. I really recommend it. And as you can tell, I don't have to give up the things I love. Just eat less of it, and add some items that actually provide nutritional value.

While I want to look hot for the wedding (well, actually the honeymoon. I'll have professional hair and makeup and the most expensive dress of my life on my wedding day... I better look good), I'm more concerned with FINALLY embracing a fit lifestyle. I don't need to be super buff or skinny or whatever, I just need to stop the cycle of gaining each year, along with losing the extra pounds I've been gathering along the way. I've been feeling like poop about myself, and my clothes don't fit, so it was time for a change. I know I've been saying this since the goo began, but I'm all about fresh starts. Sometimes you gotta be.

Anyway, so this intensive boot camp will hopefully get my butt in gear. It's been a positive experience thus far - the trainers are excellent and really nice - so I have high hopes. I just need to remember that I'm doing this for me and my overall happiness, though staring at my sparkly ring while suffering through a plank does help a bit.

Meggies!!!

2011-02-12T17:31:00.007-05:00

I know that all (three) of you, as you go about your day, have one lingering unanswered question in your hearts: what are Meg's favorite health and beauty care products??

Well, wonder no more. For some reason I've been feeling compelled to share my favorite products on this blog. Read on to find out the Meggies of 2011!

Moisturizers
My sensitive skin is super super dry in the winter. I tried body lotion after lotion, but each one left me scratching and itching and drawing blood by mid-day. Each one, that is, until Curel's Itch Defense came into my life. I lather this stuff after my shower, and I'm itch-free until the next morning. If you have sensitive itchy skin... this is a life-saver.

I've also been on a big Lancome kick since December. A few weeks ago I bought enough to qualify for their free gift at Macy's, which came with their Nutrix Royal body lotion. It smells AMAZING. I put it on my upper body in the morning and I'm seriously smelling my arms all day. It's the free gift that keeps on giving!

For face moisturizer, I've been using Lancome's facial moisturizer for dry and sensitive skin. Like all of their other products, it also smells great (though I can't smell my face all day...). For years I used Purpose's moisturizer - it was recommended by my dermatologist after my accutane stint - and it served me well for almost a decade. If you have sensitive, dry facial skin, I definitely recommend it. It's a very light formula that does the job! (You can get this little guy at CVS/Rite-Aid, etc.)

Wrapping up the skin care regimen, I've been using Lancome facial cleanser for sensitive/dry skin and Lancome Toner for sensitive/dry skin. I had never used toner before (who needs it??), but I think it's been working well for me. Though I don't often get zits anymore (thanks, accutane!!), I haven't gotten any since I've been using it (began post-Christmas). It's pretty shocking how much dirt the toner takes away after I've washed my face, so that's a plus...I guess.

Makeup
I am a huge fan of Lancome's (yeah, yeah I know) Eye Makeup Remover. The other removers I've used have left a greasy film AND all of my eye makeup on my face. WTF. This stuff actually...hold onto your seat... removes my eyeliner and mascara!

Another shocking revelation is Victoria's Secret's eyeshadow. My mom bought me the VS Supermodel Makeup Kit - it has a bunch of eyeshadows, a blush, and various other little guys. The shocker is... the eye shadow actually lasts ALL DAY. The first time I rubbed my eyes at 5pm and there was shadow on my fingers, I was blown away.

Okay. Time to wrap this up. My favorite mascara is CoverGirl Lash Blast. No clumps. Long lasting. No complaints!

Ah, APPLESAUCE!!

2011-02-03T22:55:00.002-05:00

Ugh. Tomorrow I'm doing something that I've been putting off for, oh, about three years: seeing the dentist. I haven't been since I lived in DC, and that's more than two years ago. (And I think it had been two years before that appointment...)

My aversion to dentists appointments verges on a phobia, I think. I KNOW I should go, but I can't bring myself to make an appointment. True story, my mom had to book this one for me. I lie in the chair, tense and miserable as they chip away at my gums and inevitably find cavity after cavity.

I hate the chair with the stupid light, I hate the stupid sink that you spit in with the stupid faucet, I hate the sound and the SMELL of the evil drill. And don't get me started on the novacain.

Who knows what they'll find tomorrow. I'm hoping for a miracle here people. My appointment is at 8:45 am. Pray for me!

teehee

2011-01-28T06:19:00.000-05:00

oh that storm, always stinking up the bathroom!!

HAPPY FRIDAY!!

Brides, stop making me look bad!!

2011-01-27T06:59:00.003-05:00

This article is on boston.com today.

Stick a fork in it: Why do so many brides register for the same items their mothers did?

All the brides in this article sound SO wasteful. Fiance and I are in the process of registering (and yes, it is a process), and we deliberate over each piece before we scan. Yes, we are registering for some entertaining items that we won't use every day, but we're not registering for "every day" items that we won't use all the time. I'm lucky that fiance is an amazing cook - he has been for years - so we're not "hoping" someone will change their cooking habits post-wedding.

I don't know, I'm just annoyed that the reporter didn't talk to people who are registering for things they'll use. Or talk to people who live in a house and won't be putting their gifts at their parents' houses.

Anyway. It's looking like today is not a snow day, so I better get rolling.

One more thing to add... so it's been snowy and cold and miserable here, so I've been bundling up - wearing my puffy coat, my mom's brown mittens, a red plaid scarf of my dad's, and a green pom pom hat Tansy bought me in high school. Monday, as I was putting on my gear in my building lobby, the friendly security guard goes, "Yes! Bundle up... who cares about fashion!!"

Um... ok. Guess I don't? Crap. Time to register for a new set of hat and gloves. :-(

break from the septum experience

2011-01-07T11:32:00.003-05:00

Okay, I don't know if this means I've completely made the transformation from "young adult" to "fuddy duddy," but I found this to be completely ridiculous. This image was all over boston.com, with the headline "Find a fun party dress":

I don't think it's possible to sit down in that thing without exposing your bottom to some serious germ-risk.

WtH?

let's get (un)deviated!

2011-01-05T10:28:00.003-05:00

On Thursday (so, 6 days ago) I had surgery to correct a deviated septum, otherwise known as a septoplasty. I also got my adenoids cauterized (doesn't sound pleasant). I'm pretty much writing about this because during my anxious googlings before the surgery, everything I found sounded like it was written by a whackjob.

(Though as I'm trying to write, I'm wondering if I'll give the same impression...)

I first suspected that something was wrong with the inner workings of my nose way back in 2000.... I was working in retail, and my manager's son had a septoplasty. She was describing his symptoms, and said something along the lines of "Poor kid, he could barely breathe through his nose! I guess he was getting about 15% of airflow." I smiled and nodded and whatnot, but I was thinking "wait...so that isn't normal?!"

Fast forward to spring 2010. Word on the street was that my snoring had reached an unbearable pitch, so after trying every snore strip, spray, and pillow on the market, I made my way to an ENT. Apparently I have (or had, rather!!) "one of the most deviated septums" my doctor had ever seen, and she recommended a septoplasty, stat. I decided to hold off until December, since my office closes for the week after Christmas, and hell, I'd been breathing this way since 1983. During this time I also underwent a sleep study to see if I suffer from sleep apnea...I don't, so look for your CPAP information elsewhere!

The main benefit of the septoplasty is to improve breathing. There is no 100% guarantee of improving snoring. Other benefits might include an improved sense of smell and taste. Also, if you suffer from a lot sinus infections (I actually don't, weirdly), a septoplasty is supposed to alleviate that.

So while I'm obviously hoping to high heaven that my snoring will be helped - at least to the point that I don't wake myself up with a loud snort on airplanes and long bus rides - I know I can't count on that. Clearly I have no idea what a fully functionally breathing nose feels like, so I'm looking forward to finding out.

Anyway. So on to the surgery. My doctor performed it at one of the top hospitals in Boston, which was important to me. Might as well use the best resources available. My mom and I got there at 6:30am for an 8:30am surgery. Around 8am they called me in, I got into my johnny, and they inserted the IV and applied the little sticky monitor pads to my skin. The anesthesiologist came by and told me what to expect (a breathing tube?!?), and I signed a consent form. I cooled my heels on the bed, thought about that breathing tube and how they're putting it in after I'm knocked out, and taking it out before I wake up, and said some Hail Mary's to calm down. Around 8:30 they added something to my IV (I guess?) and put an oxygen mask on and wheeled me to the operating room. I remember looking around and thinking... "really?" and then...

The next thing I know, someone is taking off a mask and gently saying "Meghan? Meghan?" I felt like crap and all I could croak out was "Mom...Mom...." (Yes, I am 28.) The nurse said that they were getting my mom, and she was soon there, and spooning ice chips in my mouth. My throat KILLED from the breathing tube. My nose felt like a lot was going on there, with bandaging and Lord knows what, but it didn't really hurt, per se. I also swallowed two liquid percocets at that time.

So we chilled in the recovery area while the anesthesia wore off, and the nurse prepared me for the outside world. The nurse was EXCELLENT - really kind, gentle, capable, etc. She took off the bandage and fashioned this little sling thing from a surgical mask. Basically she cut the mask in half so it was just a little sling, then she put gauze under my nose, and the mask-sling kept it there without blocking my mouth.

My mom led me down to the lobby, and I sat in a chair while she went to get the car. Gradually I realized that a little girl (about six years old) was staring at me, wide-eyed and semi-horrified. I gave her a little wave, and she gave a little wave back. Then I realized that her older brother AND her older sister were also staring at me. Guess the bloody gauze wasn't as subtle as I thought. So I waved to them too.

There was a little food stand in the lobby, and when my mom got back, I asked her to buy me a banana, and I ate that in the car. I think that was crucial for avoiding nausea.

Anyway, I'm sure the level of detail has been excruciating thus far, but the next days were a blur. I wasn't in much pain, but I wasn't comfortable either. My mom is really the star player in my recovery - she brought my meals up to me on a tray, gave me my medicine at the appointed time, brought me LOTS of liquids, changed my bloody nose gauze, and bought me great recovery accessories: a humidifier, an icy eye mask, a wedge pillow so that my head was elevated, new pjs, two magazines, and more. Basically I haven't had to lift a hand in the past week.

I'd say I was sleeping about 6 hours out of a day through Sunday. I'd wake up, take a drink of water because my mouth felt dry and NASTY, then fall back to sleep. Sunday night I stopped taking the percocets and transitioned to Tylenol, which has cut back on my sleep significantly. Mentally I'm not really all there still, and my energy levels are still very low. I was hoping I'd be able to go back to work on Monday (as in, two days ago), but considering I hadn't left my bed for more than two hours, I definitely wasn't ready.

In terms of how the whole process went:

- a lot LESS pain than I anticipated. Mostly pressure in the sinus area and a headache, and some soreness at the front of my mouth. I think the percocets were key in keeping me comfortable for the 3-4 days after surgery.

- I have a splint in each nostril, but I literally cannot feel them, unless it feels like a hard booger (of which there are plenty). So, no biggie there.

- I wore the bloody gauze sling until Sunday. At that point my head was hurting from having the elastic around my ears and my nose wasn't gushing, so it was possible to just dab with a tissue instead of having a 24/7 "catcher." It also applied a nice pressure to my nose, which I liked having.

- there is a constant battle between "dry nose with gross hard stiff clots in it" vs. "wet nose draining boogers and blood." Every hour or so (whenever I feel my nose getting stiff), I dab the skin under my nose with "antibiotic ointment" and then vigorously squirt saline solution in my nostrils. The baccitracin is necessary because by Monday, the skin under my nose started stinging and getting really irritated from the saline. When I take a shower, I like to stand under the water with a washcloth over my face...that loosens things up.

- have a "nurse" (in my case, my mom is actually a nurse, but not everyone is so lucky!). Though I probably COULD have gone downstairs and got my own drinks and medicine and made my own food, those tasks felt insurmountable at the time.

- thus far, I have not thrown up - Monday morning I felt extremely nauseous, but nothing came of it. I think this is because I haven't taken pills on an empty stomach. So, make sure you eat! (Soft foods, nothing too hard, spicy, hot, or chewy)

- I suggest stool softeners, maybe a laxative (because of the antibiotics) - just putting it out there.

- plan on being out of work for at least a week and a half. I had my surgery Thursday am, and I've only left the house once (and that was to hang out with my fiance at our house. Basically, I just traded sofas). My nose is still draining shit, I'm weak, and naps are crucial to not feeling like crap. Don't push yourself too hard, or be hard on yourself for taking naps and recovering.

Today I'm seeing my doctor and possibly getting my splints out, which I've heard is a whole other ball of wax. I'll post my experiences on that when I'm feeling up to it. Feel free to leave comments and ask questions. As someone who had never had surgery before, this was a big deal to me. It's probably not a big thing to other people, but it was to me!

Another McDonald's story (I swear I don't go there too frequently)

2010-12-05T20:14:00.005-05:00

So... it's been a while. But let's pretend that it hasn't.

Right now I'm watching Sex and the City (the movie) at our new house, drinking a Harpoon Winter Warmer, and fiance is in the kitchen frying chicken.* Can life get any better??

(well... you know me... so I'll say yes... but it's pretty damn good!)

Just wanted to share a heartwarming event that I witnessed at McDonald's last week. Yes, McDonald's. The one in South Station, to be exact. So I was in line, finally at the front, and a very homeless-looking man comes staggering up to the counter, holding an order of fries. He says to the man behind the counter (while sort of slurring his words) something along the lines of, "You know... you would think that when I order a large fry, I'll GET a large fry!" I looked at the fries and thought that he was missing one, MAYBE two fries to make this thing completely full. But the guy at the counter said, with a huge smile, "You're absolutely right, sir! Let me fill that up for you." And he did! And then the homeless-looking guy thanked him, and the guy behind the counter said, "It's our job to make you smile!"

The guy walked away with a very full serving of fries, and I stepped up to order my Southern Style Chicken Meal. All was right in the world.

McDonald's is this HUGE global conglomerate who apparently cheats their millions of hourly workers out of fair health insurance... but I gotta say... I was very impressed with the company at that moment. And more specifically, that employee.

Well, my fried chicken prepared by my personal chef is finished, so I gotta get to eating. But just wanted to say that McDonald's put a smile on my face (even before my heart-busting meal).

(* okay, that originally said "kitchen frying kitchen)

When in the course of human events...

2010-02-01T22:41:00.003-05:00

I had the BEST dream Saturday night...I had a dream that I was walking along some road, and decided to leap over a brick wall (it was a physical challenge). Beyond the wall was a narrow canal — maybe about 30 feet? — that I had to swim across. Once I reached the other side...I was in...

COLONIAL AMERICA!!!

One of my female friends (can't remember who it was) was with me, and we turned our heads and realized that we were near a mess tent for the hottest american revolutionary soldiers ever. We bounced over there and some nice young go-getter got us a stack of pancakes. We started shooting the breeze, and it was revealed that they take showers once a week, tops. We pulled out our "We're from 2010" card, and said that we take showers every. day. Despite our normal clothes, they didn't believe that we were from "the future."

At this point I woke up and needed a sip of water and a trip to the loo. While doing my thing I kept thinking about how I wanted to go back to the dream, and how that never happens when it's a cool one (as Dane Cook once so eloquently observed). Despite the odds, once I drifted off, I was once again in the world where time travel is possible. However, the responsibilities had set in...my parents were freaking out about me being around during the big war, and I reassured them by saying that I could head to Canada to wait it out. This is kind of embarrassing, because 1) I don't think Canada was all that safe of a hideout in the late 1700s, and 2) I'd hate to think that I'm the kind of American who would run to safety when my country is fighting for its rights!

I woke up for real not too long after the second segment of the dream. Lying in bed, I daydreamed about other colonial American possibilities. How could I exchange notes with my parents so that they'd know I was alive and well? I know! I could hide notes in the John Adams house! Or maybe I could befriend Sylvanius Thayer and hide stuff in his place...it's less popular of a spot and I think I could find the homestead rather easily from Abigail's home...just head three miles in one direction and voila. And if I happened to travel with good ole' John Adams to Philadelphia, I could hide notes in that historical building where they held the Continental Congress...

Ah, the possibilities...

...I'm back!

2010-01-25T19:44:00.003-05:00

I've figured that it will be near-impossible to have the world's longest running blog when I'm 85 if I don't post anything. I'm hoping the great blog historians will be lenient on me RE: the past year and three weeks, attributing my absence to rebelling against my inner blog taskmaster.

Well the prodigal blogger has come home - turn on all the lights to welcome me! (There's a Chicken Soup for the Soul story to go along with that mental image and I can't find it...the one thing in the world that isn't on the Internet.)

So...not a lot has changed...except for the details? The forest is still the same, with a few new trees here or there. Although there are times of doubt, I've realized it's a pretty good forest to be in.

I just finished this book that was pretty unremarkable - it was one of those that I kept reading just to finish it, because it wasn't intolerable enough to ditch - but it did have a very interesting quote.

"We all wanted to be somebody else. Somebody braver, or more handsome, or smarter. It's what children want. It's what you grow out of, if you're lucky. If you don't, it's a lifetime of agony."

Part of me hates that quote because it seems to be advising against trying your best, giving your all, bettering yourself and situation, etc. etc. However, it does advocate a gentle acceptance of who you are and how your life is unfolding. (How you are unfolding your life?) Play the hand you are given, to the best of your ability - don't spend your time bemoaning what you are not.

Anyway, as much as I hate to give credit and publicity, it's from "A Reliable Wife" by Robert Goolrick.

lemon out!

Abort Mission: Tan

2008-12-29T18:32:00.002-05:00

I realized that it was a bit much getting a "mist on" tan before photo time, so I did the best with what I have to work with, and my mom and I headed to the RMV.

The parking lot was alarmingly full, but my mom pointed out that it shares a parking lot with a gym, so maybe the gym was full.

Um, no. We turned the corner to the waiting room — and there were at least 100 people in there. All looking grouchy and awfully "teeming mass of humanity"-like.

I decided get the hell outta there and renew the stupid thing online.

Until 2014...

high failure potential!

2008-12-29T10:26:00.003-05:00

My license expires Friday (which, not so coincidentally, is my birthday!) - and scoring a decent picture has become top priority.

My first picture was an unmitigated disaster: The whole thumbnail had an air of jaundice about it, and... I had braces - which was bad enough - but something weird happened with the camera, and the light didn't reflect properly, so it looked like I had ONE brace on my front tooth, and nothing on the other.

The second picture, taken five years later on my 21st birthday, was better. My smile is pretty good, my eyes look okay (they're open, at least). I'm wearing a v-neck top that's a pinkish red. One drawback is that my hair looks awfully flat. And my face is kinda featureless. And I'm extremely pale, a hazard of being born mid-winter.

Looking at a friend's license photo, I was jealous of her sun-kissed glow. And the wheels started turning... why can't I have that?

So, I plan on getting a spray tan before renewing... one of two things will happen:

1) It will be ridiculously awesome and I'll keep this picture for the max 10 years and show it off all the time and everyone will admire my cleverness and creativity (and tan).
2) It will be ridiculously ridiculous, and it will make me laugh every time I look at it.

Sounds like a Win-Win!

all that's left is to...run

2008-12-27T16:22:00.003-05:00

For a good six months I was on a solid gym streak. Unfortunately, that streak ended about 6 months ago. When I moved home, I was quite adept at finding any excuse for not working out. It was too hot, I was too tired, I missed my old gym, I "forgot," I "didn't want to," "What's the point of running if you don't get to run by the Supreme Court and the Capitol??," etc.

When I started my new job in October, a part of the health benefits package is a discount to the gym that's five steps from the work door. Just my style.

However, the excuses continued - the main one this time being that I used to go to the gym before work, and now I'm "at the mercy" of my parents' schedules, since one of them drives me to the T every morning. Of course, I could, you know, get up early and take the bus to the train, or even just get going a bit earlier, and work it out with my boss that I'll come in a little bit after nine.

Speaking of, that's a great idea and what I might do, now that I'm once again kick-starting the transformation to "Miss Gym." C-note and I are starting the year off on a strong symbolic foot by running a race at midnight in Central Park on New Year's Eve, and I'm using that as the motivation for yet again turning over the ole' lazy leaf.

My favorite part of the gym fascination is all the gear! I got the Nike+ ipod attachment and Nike sneaks for Christmas, so now I can track my progress (and you probably can too, actually...) on nikeplus.com. I bought my very first pair of cold weather Under Armour pants today (aww), along with a ridiculously expensive Nike top/jacket that will hopefully inspire me to run so that it's not money directly down the drain. I also downloaded a Serena Williams workout CD, AND bought a runner's journal.

So you might say that I'm good to go. Henceforth (as in, starting tomorrow), getting a workout in will be a priority. I can't believe that I could run five miles fairly easily back in May and now I'm a blob of pudding and a jog down the street is mind-boggling. When I reached five miles last time I was all, "Oh, it's nothing...." - mentally comparing it to my friends doing marathons, half-marathons, etc. WTF was I thinking? Once I get back to that, I will appreciate all the hard work that went into that effort.

C-note, I can't WAIT for NYE!!!

(Never thought I'd say that... it's taken a race (?!) for me to look forward to this usually horrendous holiday that I pretty much dread every year.)

BUSTED

2008-12-10T22:55:00.003-05:00

Every couple of years my mom hosts a cookie swap - everyone brings five dozen of one type of homemade cookie, we put them all on a table, and we all leave with a wide, wide variety of cookies. So, if 12 people come, everyone gets five of each type of cookie, and leaves with 60 total!

This year SIL and I decided to throw the affair (only, you know, at my parents' house). We made the cutting-edge invitations a few weeks ago, and were quite impressed with our cleverness and innate sense of aesthetics.

Lo and behold, time flies, and the cookie swap is coming up on Sunday. In between now and then I have quite a few things to do - prepare the house, we're getting the tree, I haven't really started my Christmas shopping, there's a haircut appointment somewhere in there, I have to make cookies for the work party on Friday, I really NEED to keep going on my gym routine, maybe I can make a cousin's basketball game? And I'm pretty sure I'm going to run out of underwear in two days, so it's either to the store I go, or it's time to do the laundry.

I have a pretty loose definition of "homemade" - to me, if I had to turn a spoon and pop it into the oven, it counts. I kind of thought that was standard line of thought, actually.

So, tonight, after picking up my dad's debit card that he had left at a store, finding an outfit for the work Christmas party, and grabbing some Christmas gifts, I didn't give a second thought to hitting up the grocery store for my cookie "ingredients": Betty Crocker mix and Hershey kisses.

The store was pretty much deserted at 10 p.m., so I had the aisle to myself as I stopped in front of the mixes, and pulled them down into my arms. I had four bags of Hershey kisses, and four bags of cookie mix (who needs a basket?) - I was reaching up for the fifth mix when I heard, from the end of the aisle, a shout:

"HEY! That's not homemade!!!!"

Surprised, I turned my head, and there were SIL and my brother at the end of the aisle! I stammered, and bags of mix tumbled out of my overflowing arms. I bent to pick one up, and another would drop. Apparently SIL thought that I was joking last week when I said that I'd use a mix... imagine the coincidence of coming upon me, in my bright yellow jacket, caught in the very act of buying mix a mere four days before the big event.

After explaining my "homemade" theory, I asked what they were doing there. They said that they were going to make "homemade pizza" tonight - I was all, "Oh, that's great!" and then my brother laughed and said, "Yeah, it's in the frozen food aisle."

Still counts in my book!

gym...bunny

2008-12-08T22:02:00.002-05:00

I'd just like to officially mark that I went to the gym today. Hopefully this will end my 6-month hiatus...(if you can call a half a year a hiatus?).

This place has a giant glob of five pounds of "human fat" at the front door, which is absolutely disgusting. But looking at it, I almost think they're exaggerating. I mean, I definitely have more than 5 pounds of fat on me, and my body doesn't resemble that (at least, not on the exterior). But I suppose it serves as tough love.

At any rate. The workout was a success. I came in a grumpy mood and left feeling great!

When will this get easier?

2008-12-06T20:49:00.003-05:00

Quote from the Boston Globe reflection of the day (Nov. 14, 2008):

"Every man carries within himself a world made up of all that he has seen and loved; and it is to this world that he returns, incessantly."
- Francois-Rene de Chateaubriand

Quote from the Boston Globe reflection of the day (um...maybe from 2001?):

"There is something in the pang of change, more than the heart can bear. Unhappiness remembering happiness."
- Euripedes

Maybe...we're never happy in the present, but look at the past with rose-colored glasses? But that's a piss poor consolation. My problem is that I want it all.

you really don't know!

2008-11-30T19:48:00.004-05:00

Last weekend I went shopping and bought some snazzy new work clothes. Before I moved I apparently did a giant purge of all winterwear (and was in the midst of a serious "buying going out clothes" phase, I guess), so this little trip was much needed.

I visited ole' faithful, New York & Co, and got some work pants, shirts, a belt, earrings, a necklace, and underwear. The work pants are, in fact, thrilling. They're super long — longer than any pair that I've ever owned. Long to the point of being dangerous, I thought, as I dressed.

So my mom dropped me off at the train Monday, and I was feeling a bit like hot shit. A new shirt, a daring (for me!) belt, my long pants, nice heels, possibly good hair. I walked by two newspaper guys, and I heard one say, "She's tall, huh?"

I swallowed a "Yeah, but she's not deaf!" and just kept walking. Water off a duck's back. I got to the escalator, and it was broken, which always pisses me off. The escalator at college was always broken, and I could never understand it. Why was it always out of commission? There a bazillion escalators in the world, and these things should operate like well-oiled machines now.

So, to the stairs I went. I was halfway up when something happened - maybe my shoe got caught in my gloriously long cuff? - and I tripped, nearly caught myself, then completely hit the deck, losing my earmuffs in the process.

The woman behind me said "ohh ohhh!!" and I kinda bounced up and lamely said "...My pants are too long, I think..." and scrambled up the stairs, trying to act like it didn't happen. My shin hurt like a total bitch, so I was also working on not crying and looking noble as I passed all the people on the platform.

While waiting for the train, I checked the shin situation, and I was not bleeding - so that was a plus. And my pants did not rip. I texted E, saying "Bad start! I just fell in the train station." When I got out of the train, there was a message from E asking if I was okay.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, I think, and I didn't even notice that I had a horrendous bruise on my knee until I climbed into bed and both my right shin and my left knee throbbed. The bruise, in fact, has turned a different shade of awful each day. Right now it looks like a purple 8.

Before I got into bed, though, E and I chatted online, and I found out that she had overslept that morning, and my text had woken her up and got her to work on time. Theoretically, if I hadn't tripped, she wouldn't have woken up, and would have been late to work.

While obviously this is all small-time, it's interesting to note how my stupid little fall actually had a ripple effect. How many other chain reactions do we set off throughout the day?

look at this...

2008-11-11T23:17:00.002-05:00

G.I.'s in Remote Afghan Post Have Weary Job, Drawing Fire

a little wee time capsule of sorts

2008-11-09T14:21:00.003-05:00

So I'm FINALLY cleaning out my backpack - I had shoved a bunch of things in it way back in...May...when I left D.C., shoved it in my closet, and I've been tripping over the thing ever since.

Curious about what treasures the pink bag was concealing (and high on the find of a brand-new Clinique eyeliner that I had given up for lost in a pocketbook), I opened it up and found all sorts of sentimental things - a few newspaper clippings, a bunch of cards from C-note and E, three pictures from my Gettysburg trip that I had printed out (and therefore, the only three left since my computer had crashed shortly after that trip) and - FOUR journals in various states of completion. Two completely full, two that started strong then pathetically petered out after a month or so.

I cringe when I read some things (and these babies aren't old...the set begins in 2001 and is in no way comprehensive of all the years) - I cannot believe that I wrote about some of the mean bouncers at the Times as possible relationship prospects!!

So, one entry made me stop and laugh and gave me a squeeze of the heart...almost as I were eavesdropping on myself. To give you an idea of what was going on in Meg's Life at this time, I was in the fall semester of senior year, with NO clue of where I was going to work or where I was going to live after graduation, and my significant other relationship was showing definite strain.

Here's part of it, from Oct 30, 2004.

I definitely just checked my away messages as a form of procrastination...I was just thinking of how when I'm 25, I'll have a whole other set of problems. They'll probably suck! Not a cheery thought, but it's nice to think that I'll have some things figured out. I may not be married, but at least I'll know my mind...right?

And then, a few days later on Nov. 2 (Election Day).
Really, this whole election just made me think - 'In 4 years, during our next election, where will I be? Will I be a dork and wear red, white, and blue again? Will...*S.O.* be in my life? Will I be living in Boston?' And uhh...this is all assuming I'm still alive, of course (knock on wood.) ... A good quote - "Maturity is the ability to endure uncertainty." - John Finley (no idea who the heck he is!)

It kind of shocks me to know that I am in a position to answer all those questions that I had forgotten that I had asked. Twenty-five. What a silly age for me to pick. It's almost like a 11-year-old thinking that a 15-year-old is so old and wise and mature, when everyone else knows that the 15-year-old is just as clueless as before.

Okay, so. To state the obvious. I am most certainly not married. And I most certainly do not "know my mind" - although I would LIKE to think that I'm a lot more confident and sure of myself than I was when I was 21. But who really knows, to be honest.

As for the whole other set of problems, I do think that that period was a particularly tough time for me, and luckily I'm not really dealing with a "set of problems" at the moment. If you had asked me a month ago when I was still unemployed, yeah. Or five months ago when moving back to Massachusetts was an experiment, yeah. But now I have a job and I'm seeing this place as my home for the next five years, at least (for better or for worse!). The only box missing a check is the boyfriend box, but that can't really be classified as a problem. More like...an adventure to be had. Kind of like Egypt 2009. And becoming a better scuba diver. And learning how to surf (or, attempting to learn how to surf). And taking that hot air balloon ride. And learning to fly (thanks, Jordin Sparks).

And I love the Election Day questions, since it was recent enough for me to say with all certainty what I was doing, where I was, what I wearing, etc. this past Tuesday.

Where will I be?: I was at Kings in Boston, at an Election Night Party, with free bowling after 9 p.m. Ding ding ding! And though I didn't ask this, I'm sure I was wondering who I'd be with: I was bowling alongside friends and great people I hadn't yet met in May 2008, nevermind October of 2004.

Wearing red, white, and blue?: I wore black boots with black and white socks with skulls on them (don't worry, no one could see them, except when I was bowling...ha), a purple corduroy skirt that hits above the knee, and my black turtleneck. I was wishing that I had a beautiful red dress to wear on Election Day (even though I voted blue, I look better in red), but alas...I do not own such a garment. So even though I did not wear red, white, and blue, the desire was there.

Will S.O. be in my life?: I can tell I thought I was being so clever slipping that in there after the clothes and scenery questions, as if it wasn't the top thing on my mind. Shockingly, yes, S.O. is in my life, but as a friend. As C-note knows...this was an up and down thing, and at one time I was sorely tempted to fly to England (where he was studying grad school) JUST to throw rotten eggs at his window. Luckily for him (and possibly my international police record?), I was too poor. So, it is seemingly against all odds that I say that we have a healthy friendship now. It's great how some things work out, and how some wonderful people come in and out of your life, after you've written them out of the picture for good.

Will I be living in Boston?: I don't suppose I had anticipated my 2.5-year sojourn in D.C. when I wrote that...I think I saw it as D.C. or Boston, not D.C. and Boston. But, here I am.

Assuming I'm still alive...: Woo!!!! Here's to making it this far :-)

I need to step it up on my current journal. I was so badass with some of them, cutting out quotes, laminating cute cartoons, saving fortune cookies, etc. It was a joy to open (a joy for me alone, that is). Perhaps if I look at it as a future present to me (like a 401k! that I need to actually contribute to!), I'll be more dedicated. Or if I write shit like "When I'm 35, I wonder if I'll be pursuing an alternate career in wedding planning, but will be unmarried, like J-Lo in "The Wedding Planner," I'll feel compelled to look back.

"You're my constant!"

2008-10-26T14:25:00.005-04:00

Back in August I made homemade chocolate chip cookies. They came out tasty, but really flat and thin. A couple of weeks later my mom took out the baking soda and realized that it had expired in February 2007. That explained my cookies, I think. She bought new baking soda, and this carton won't expire until 2013.

While I was unpacking the groceries, I had this movie-like vision of the baking soda sitting on the counter, and our lives swirling around it. Changing seasons, people moving back and forth, dashes of color, etc. etc. I know this is heavy anthropomorphizing, but it's neat to think about all the changes in our lives that the baking soda will witness.

I caught myself thinking the same about my shampoo. Last week I bought a 33.8-ounce bottle of my shampoo – it felt weird to buy such a huge bottle, but I've embraced this shampoo as my one of choice, so why beat around the bush? – and it's a bit of a comfort? an amusement? to think that in a year from now, I'll be using the same bottle.

Now, if I start attaching these feelings to all of my physical possessions, I'm going to get concerned. But a little fanciful thinking never hurt anyone, I think.

deal or no deal?

2008-10-22T23:44:00.002-04:00

I just took a cab from the T station to my house...it's 2 miles, tops. Before I got in the cab I told the driver that I only had $9, and wanted to make sure that was enough to get where I was going.

He was unclear about where I wanted, because he said that $9 wasn't enough (in fact, he was pretty adamant that I didn't have enough moola), and then asked if I lived near "the" dunkin donuts, which I do not.

Once we got on the same page, he said it was enough and I got in. When we pulled up to my house...oh...4 minutes later, I asked how much I owed him (the meter had NOT been running this whole time) and he said, "Well, give me what you have." And I said, "Really?" And he said, "Well, about that. More or less."

So I gave him the $9 and got out. I'm going to do some searching online tomorrow to see if I can come up with the correct fare and find out if I got gypped or not.

(Oh, and I would have walked home, except that my journey would have involved strolling under a deserted overpass, which freaks me out at 11:30 p.m.)

I don't really know where I'm going with this.

2008-10-19T19:25:00.007-04:00

I picture this situation where a wife is tired of her marriage, so she goes over to Craig's list personals for a look...

and is instantly cured of the desire to cheat. Who ARE those people on there?!

Right now I'm reading "American Wife," and the main character is based on Laura Bush. There are loads of parallels, but obviously the author has never had any sort of insight on Laura Bush's inner thoughts, so most of the book is fiction.

At any rate, the main character is named Alice, and she doesn't get married (to "Charlie Blackwell") until she's 31. About not marrying sooner, Alice says, "The generic relief of being coupled off was something I could have found by marrying Wade Trommler in 1967, or another man since. The remarkable part was that I'd be getting much more."

I love that term, "The generic relief of being coupled off." Because isn't that a lot of what it is? The thought that it's something that should be done, that part of the list can be checked off. That once that's done, the real life can begin. Many single girls around my age (myself included) are convinced that we'll never get married. Not because we don't want to, but because we don't think we'll meet anyone.

Isn't that odd? Is there a man shortage? Or are we all just not communicating properly? Maybe someone just needs to stand up and advertise their single status on the morning train and get the ball rolling.

My college boyfriend, as a justification for us staying together and trying to make something not quite right work a bit longer, I think, used to say that if we had met back in the '50s or '60s, we would have been engaged and married "by now" (aka senior year of college). I wonder if with the introduction of more ways of meeting people, the marriage rate has gone down? Maybe all of us just need a choice of five potentials. Kind of like determining your college...a few reaches, a few maybes, a safety. Are eharmony, match.com, echemistry, craigslist, randolphsingles.org, etc. too much?

Of course, it also comes down to the fact that we're looking for different things than we did in the '50s and '60s. We've gone from looking for the great breadwinner/homemaker to searching for the ideal companion (who just might happen to be a great breadwinner or homemaker). It almost seems like a transition from assembling a 4-piece puzzle to figuring out a freaking Rubik's cube.

I've never been very good at a Rubik's cube. Or, perhaps, I've never been bothered to try one.

all sorts of changes!

2008-10-13T22:33:00.004-04:00

Since I should be unpacking (the necessities, at least), I naturally feel semi-compelled to blog.

First things first: The hot air balloon ride that was scheduled for this weekend did not happen. I had been worried about high winds; ironically, it was the lack of wind that did the trip in. It didn't help that there was a hot air balloon casualty on Saturday in New Mexico - that made the pilot more cautious, probably. I'm bummed that I didn't get to go, but there's going to be another opportunity at some point. And it's obviously better to be safe than sorry.

Visiting D.C. for homecoming was a lot of fun...though I think that perhaps I've begun to reconcile my "new life" here and start to see myself as being a permanent fixture in Massachusetts. As long as I was still job searching there was always a part of me that I was holding back, just in case. Just in case I couldn't find a job here I needed to be able to move on to someplace else (NYC? Back to DC? Australia? Who knew.), if the job market forced that hand. But now that I have a job, I find myself looking ahead to a future that has Boston in it. A real picture of my life here is slowly gathering shape and details as all these missing pieces start to float into the frame.

I loved loved loved seeing my friends, and I miss them so much. Talking online and on the phone is fun and all, but it doesn't touch getting a beer or a meal together. But, as someone had forced upon me at my good-bye party in May, the truth is that you really can't go home again. Things always change. Or you change. Something's different. I got that rush when I saw the Capitol dome, but somehow I didn't make it to a museum this weekend, or to the Mall. I know I was busy, but that's downright freakish. That deviation from my norm makes it clear to me that I'm not moving back. I'll visit, obviously. But as far as things go right now, I'm sticking here.

Another change hit me at the end of last week. I had stubbornly believed in the idea that someone had changed...and I was open to perpetually setting myself up for being hurt by really closing my eyes to someone's character and believing that there was more to our as-of -until-Wednesday strong connection than physical attraction.

So, if you're reading this - and you probably are - know that I thank you for not responding to my text, when I said that I couldn't meet up with you because I couldn't go through it again. It really showed to me, finally, who you are and what you wanted from me. Before, when I said that we were done and that I'd never talk to you ever again, I was sad about it. This time...there's no sadness. Just relief.

A lot happened at the bar this weekend - one really bad obnoxious thing that almost made me swear the place off forever - and then, as if the gods of the college bar detected that I was at my wit's end, I was reeled back in at the last moment with some great times. But, unfortunately, I've run out of steam and it's time for bed.

Wheeeewwwwwwwwww

2008-10-06T20:59:00.002-04:00

I got a job! One that I'm very excited about!

My first day is next week...that leaves one week of fun (and homecoming festivities) to celebrate!

s!lly.

2008-10-05T15:40:00.003-04:00

I have to do some hardcore quilting, so I'll make this short.

When did Pink become "P!nk"?

I think I'm actually kinda jealous that I don't have an "i" in my name so that I could do the same thing...

am I misreading this?

2008-09-29T17:13:00.005-04:00

In this morning's Globe there is an opinion piece by James Carroll called "Obama's three challenges."

It's a fairly short piece, but in case you don't feel like reading, Obama's three challenges are:
—Race
—Gender
—Class

Carroll introduces the three by saying, "Race, gender, and class define American identity, but Obama, just by being who he is, directly challenges the core assumptions that undergird each category."

In regard to race, Carroll is saying that Obama is just as white as he is black, though he defines himself as black. In this way he uncomfortably challenges people to think about their definitions of race and what it means to them (and society as a whole).

With gender, Carroll says that Obama successfully avoids that threatening "angry black male" stereotype, but he also "eschews the informality, and ethos, of blue jeans," and he is NOT a hiphop gangster sort, both of which prevent him from connecting with those potentially useful demographics.

Finally, class. Carroll proposes that since Obama is educated and financially secure — even though he worked very hard for these two achievements — "his very distinction is taken as evidence that he must regard himself as better than others... ."

Carroll then follows up with a paragraph that states how McCain is untouched by these three questions/concerns/etc; that McCain fills each spot perfectly, in an acceptable Americanized way that makes him appealing and "deeply of the status quo."

I'm not denying that Obama faces challenges that McCain does not. Color of skin is a very big factor for some people, and it shocks me when I read or hear about rampant racism that's alive and well. At the same time, the Obama campaign has cleverly turned race on its head and used it to its advantage. Who messed up the economy? An older white dude! Who's running against Obama? An old white dude! Change is the battle cry!

But what really concerns me about this piece is the implication that if Obama loses someone's vote, it will be because of one of those three factors, or a combination of the three. Why would Obama lose my vote at the booth? Why, of course because he's black (a black male that threatens us white people's stereotypes at that!), and because he's more successful than I am, therefore making me feel inadequate and stupid and a failure.

Obviously Obama wouldn't lose because of his position on various issues. That couldn't possibly come into play. Right?

In the introduction Carroll said, "Pundits focus on race as the pivotal issue, boiling Obama's problem down to unspoken national ambivalence about an African-American president."

I'm not sure if anyone is surprised, but MY pivotal issue is abortion, not race. And while I'm perfectly fine with Obama's race, gender and class — in fact, I admire his so-called elitism — his position on abortion unnerves me to the core. So although I haven't yet made up my mind, it seems as though Carroll has already made up his mind about me.

definition time!!

2008-09-28T10:34:00.003-04:00

I've noticed the term "navel-gazing" popping up more and more, but I'm not quite exactly sure what it means. But I do suspect that I'm guilty of it, haha.

So, a few definitions:

from dictionary.com
na·vel-gaz·ing –noun Slang. excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue.

from merriam-webster (online)
navel–gaz·ing noun : useless or excessive self-contemplation

Well, that about exhausts my list of reputable online dictionary sources. But I wonder - what's the difference between introspection and navel-gazing? Is it introspection when you think about an issue, but navel-gazing when you can't stop talking about it and don't let it go?

(and yes, I'm aware that I'm flirting with the line of navel-gazing about "navel-gazing" right now...)

tempting fate, probably.

2008-09-27T12:21:00.003-04:00

Seamus is erratic...sometimes he's good, sometimes he's a pest. Two weeks ago I was taking him for a walk, and things were going well. I suppose I got cocky, because I think I was holding something in my right hand, and I was barely holding onto the leash in my left. He saw a particularly appealing puddle or something and tried to take off, and I GUESS the leash was wrapped around the top of my left ring finger, because the top third of the finger been pained ever since. Well, it feels fine now, just a little sensitive.

(good thing nothing important is on that finger. zing!)

It's been very interesting observing when and why I use that finger, or more specifically, that part of my finger. As far as I can tell, there are very limited circumstances.

1) Writing. Luckily I don't put much pen to paper these days.
2) Turning on the blinker in the car. Particularly when turning right.
3) Washing my hair. Apparently that's a very important function for that little piece of that finger, because that's when I noticed the pain (okay, perhaps "discomfort" is more appropriate) the most.

This has been very instructional and I'm sort of thankful for the leash-pulling event. In a way I almost look forward to slightly injuring other non-essential parts of my body, just to see when I use them the most and in what way.

Key words there, of course, are "slightly" and "non-essential." I have zero interest or inclination in learning just exactly how often I use my legs...or arms...or back....or throat...or derrière...

PSA for you ladies (and gentlemen?)

2008-09-24T23:12:00.002-04:00

Earlier tonight I had posted an entry complaining about something, but decided to take it down because I had that whisper of "oooh, you might regret this..." that I get before I end up doing something that I shouldn't have.

So! In its place, a PSA:

Do not buy CVS brand eye makeup remover. It does not work. In fact, I suspect it kinda grinds the mascara and eyeliner further into your skin, thereby achieving the exact opposite result.

I thought this was a nice quote

2008-09-22T14:11:00.000-04:00

I read and walked for miles at night along the beach, writing bad blank verse and searching endlessly for someone wonderful who would step out of the darkness and change my life. It never crossed my mind that that person could be me.
- Anna Quindlen

quilting a blanket of seduction

2008-09-18T22:53:00.005-04:00

My quilting class began this week — as dorky as it is, I was actually excited about "going back to school." Making new friends! Learning new skills! Being in a temple of education!

To be sure, most of my fellow quilters are on the other side of 60, but there's nothing like making friends of another generation, right? And I almost had a mental breakdown around 8 p.m. while trying to figure out the proper cutting techniques, but I'm blaming that on being a lefty. And though the local high school is hardly a temple, it's rather large and airy.

SIL and I picked out our fabrics the day before. The directions were a bit nebulous. We were told to get a dark fabric, a medium fabric, a light fabric with a design, and a lighter beige fabric that used the other colors, maybe in a small-scale pattern. It seemed like there were a lot of ways to go wrong, but somehow we each managed to pick something out.

I had flounced into JoAnn Fabrics planning on making this nice, sweet, demure and cozy quilt. I was picturing nice creams, maybe a little light pink flower or two, nothing with too much commotion. I was determined to take a "Project Runway" challenge and make a departure from my usual thing, you know? But after a lot of deliberating and switching bolts around, I walked out with this:
The gold fabric caused quite a stir in class. As I laid my find in front of the group, someone called out, "Oh a SEXY quilt!" and someone else teasingly asked if I was going to make "a nightie" with the leftover fabric. Another lady suggested that I make a pair of hotpants, and I said I'd make matching ones for the whole class. Muahaha.

How hilarious would it be if I made short little gold pj pants to match my quilt? I can only imagine a guy's face. I swear I'll make a pair if I have enough yardage left, just to make this ridiculous scene playing out in my imagination happen in real life.

the seven things I hate about you

2008-09-15T12:34:00.003-04:00

In order to be fair and balanced here, I'm going to present one sucky thing about being "underemployed" and one nice thing. (But really, know that I kind of don't want to be fair and balanced at this moment because I'm hating the job boards. How is it possible that not one soul has posted a writing/editing job on craigslist yet today?)

SUCKY THING:
I feel like I don't deserve the weekends. People are so excited for Friday (TGIF!) and Saturday, but when Friday at 5 p.m. rolls around, I haven't worked since Wednesday. I love the feel of the well-deserved weekend, and I hate that I don't have that. And try to not be jealous. A periodic vacation is nice, but I don't know one person who would prefer to sit on their ass all the time and not know when they'll be working 5 days a week again. It's always nice to know when your vacation is going to end, you know? Job-searching is work that you don't get paid for (which is why I'm going to buy myself a nice present when I do eventually get a job).

(REALLY) GREAT THING:
I'm visiting DC for HoCo. Back when I booked my tickets, I (foolishly? optimistically?) believed that I'd have a job by early October, so I decided to leave on Friday. Last night I changed my ticket so that I jet in on Thursday, thereby giving me 24 extra hours in the city of friends and fun. Yay!

I guess the complaint and benefit both revolve around free time. In the first, I bemoan the fact that I have too much of it. In the second, I'm thankful for the surplus. Geez Louise!

maybe I shouldn't have passed on that pedicure...

2008-09-13T16:03:00.002-04:00

Keeping in mind my recent resolution, when the DJ called all the single ladies to the floor for the bouquet toss, I didn't run away. Rather, I stuck where I was, and grabbed my younger cousins so that I wouldn't be out there alone.

It turned out that quite a crowd of ladies gathered behind the bride. I saw a bunch of girls elbow to the front, so I migrated to the back. I heard someone say "The center is where it's at!!!" - so I moved to the right. No need to catch the damn thing, you know? Giving the appearance of participating was what I was looking for.

The lights were dim, a drum roll echoed throughout the hall, the DJ counted "3-2-1" and the bride tossed the bouquet. Looking up, I was aghast to see it sailing toward my outstretched hands, against all odds. I felt a surge of relief as it slipped through my arms and hit the ground.

UNFORTUNATELY, all of the go-getters were at the front of the pack, so there wasn't a scramble to grab the flowers. So I stared at it. Waited. Stared. Then bent down and picked it up.

My little cousins, bless their souls, were ecstatic. "You caught it!! You caught it!" they cried. I gamely held the bouquet in the air and waved it as I looked at my sister-in-law with a look of horror.

I shuffled to the sidelines to watch the garter toss; the guys seemed pretty enthusiastic, which was a bit flattering. I suppose it would be soul-crushing for the guys to run away after seeing who caught the bouquet.

So, a little whippersnapper go-getter around my age grabbed the garter. The DJ placed the chair front and center on the dance floor, and I hesitatingly approached it and sat down. The DJ said something along the lines of "Give us a little dance!!" to the garter guy....and

HE GAVE ME A LAP DANCE. IN FRONT OF ALL MY COUSINS AND AUNTS AND UNCLES. Thank GOD my parents and grandparents had left the reception about 10 minutes before the whole debacle began.

During what seemed to be the longest lap dance in the history of man, I looked at my family, shocked and sorta laughing. Obviously this dude didn't pass body language 101, because it went on far too long for my tastes. I placed my bouquet in front of me as a little modesty shield, maintaining some distance between our bodies.

I thought the whole deal was almost over, but then the DJ asked me to "do a little dance." So I got up, did a quick drop/shimmy to the floor, and turned around. My good old gyrating buddy was sitting on the chair, ready to receive a lap dance that would never come. He got the hint and vacated the chair.

Then I sat down, extended my foot...he was instructed to take off my shoe...and he slid the garter up my leg. Then he put my shoe back on and we exchanged an awkward little hug and I scurried off the dance floor.

Pictures were taken...I'll pass them along when I get them. Or maybe not.

It was just really uncomfortable for that to go on in front of my (very many, much younger) cousins. I hope it wasn't as indecent as I'm picturing!

In Brief

2008-09-06T22:54:00.002-04:00

1) I'm starting a quilting class next Monday with my sister-in-law! I cannot wait...I'm picturing creamy whites, pale pink flowers, and pale green? Something I can wrap around myself when reading on a rainy night such as this. I can't wait to actually be artsy and craftsy for once.

2) In October I am scheduled to...take a hot air balloon ride in Maryland!! I'm going with a friend - I'm trying to not get too excited because these things are easily called off because of iffy weather...but my fingers are extremely crossed.

3) Speaking of crossing my fingers in an extreme manner...I HAVE AN INTERVIEW ON TUESDAY!! Just scoring an interview is a major ego-booster — someone noticed my resume and cover letter! It's not all for naught! I know that what will happen will be for the best, but obviously I am hoping for Fireworks. We'll see...

Things are looking up!

oh, MSN

2008-08-30T02:59:00.001-04:00

BARF

Favorite line(s):
You may have trouble staying close to single friends after marriage. They may seem distant and jealous -- or they may think you betrayed them by trading your single status for glorious 'coupledom' (read Bridget Jones's Diary: A Novel for more on this phenomenon). Don't take friends' negative reactions personally; they're likely feeling a bit deserted.

WOE IS THEM!!!

On a completely different note, has anyone seen Mad Men? I'm obsessed. In case you want to catch up on season 2, there's a marathon on Sunday on AMC. You don't need to have watched the first season...dive in!

C-note, no spoilers here!

2008-08-25T16:57:00.003-04:00

A couple of weeks ago I read "the godmother," by Carrie Adams. It's about a 36-year-old woman who has a bunch of friends who are either married, married with children, or single with children. She compares her life to theirs, blah blah blah.

First of all, I don't know when I switched from "hijinks while finding a fiance" chick-lit to "I'm married to a man I love and I have a child but I'm miserable" chick-lit (SEE: Jennifer Weiner). Is this a new genre? Or did I just stumble upon it? Or maybe since I'm now living in the suburbs, Borders puts out a different collection of fluff that will appeal to the demographic?

This book had a few great quotes that especially hit home...the one I'm thinking of right now, especially, is:
okay...turns out that I can't find the stupid quote. But the essence is, For once I'd like to meet a man who doesn't have a "...but" attached. Like, "He's rich and driven...but lives with his mom," (not like I can talk there!), or "Smart...but enjoys torturing little animals," or "Nice, but was drunk when I met him. At 11 a.m." (yeah.)

It seems like everyone I meet has a huge big honking "but" attached. I'm aware that I have quite a few "buts" to my name right now, but really? Really?!

Which leads to my next favorite quote, which I did mark:
"At twenty I was not ready to make that deal. I was having too much fun. When the bouquet sailed through the air, I abstained again, letting it fall at my feet. Marriage would come later, that I knew; I didn't want to rush things. I wasn't going to catch roses to cement the deal. I was so sure that I would get married and have children that I never even questioned it. I now know a tiny fraction of what I thought I knew then, which is just about enough to realize that I knew nothing."

When I read that, I had a little flashback of me at my older brother's wedding...chatting outside with the uncles, drinking it up and having my second cigar. All my life I've been snubbing my nose at superstitions, laughing mockingly when I break a mirror, taunting black cats in my path, absent-mindedly wandering underneath ladders, opening umbrellas indoors often. I have two weddings coming up, and depending upon my state of mind, I might actually stand in the herd. (This is not to say that I want to get married now, but it might be good to stop acting too cool for school...?)

With that said, there's one more quote that I really like, one that doesn't pertain to my life at all, but I found it fascinating. One of the characters is talking about marriage, and she said:
"Someone once said that marriage is like standing in a corridor lined with doors. You go off through your door, he goes through his, but at the end of the day you have to come back to the corridor, touch base, hold hands, because through every door are more doors, and beyond them, more again, and if you both go through too many without coming back to the corridor, you may never find your way back."

hello from the dating trenches!

2008-08-16T00:40:00.005-04:00

So...as some of you might know, I am the owner of an eharmony account. I've gone on one date through the site. It was okay...no fireworks or sparks, though. When my mom told my grandma (because my whole family is very interested in my dating life), my grandma said something along the lines of "Oh! She expects fireworks too soon - she watches too many romantic movies!"

I would have never thought of myself as someone who needed fireworks to get something going, but a while ago I realized (even before that blah date) that I am that kind of girl who *does* want sparks right off the bat. I've felt a connection on a first date before, and now I'll settle for nothing less. Well, actually, I will settle for less because I have a three-date rule before ruling anyone out...BUT I adhere to that rule begrudgingly.

At any rate. I signed on to eharmony tonight to "cancel" my subscription - aka take away their right to automatically charge my credit card in September when it's time to renew. Even the cancellation process was...a process. I had to answer 10 multiple choice questions, and one short answer. And at every turn they gave me a chance to back out of my bad decision that will apparently tear me asunder from my soul mate, who is just waiting for me to sign online and open my superficial eyes to his previously overlooked profile.

This is all to say that somehow I ended up reading an eharmony article that described the "summer fashions that will turn your date cold." Capris are number one. Also on the list were "faux gold pieces" (oh, pardon me, let me whip out my credit card to buy some 24k necklaces and bracelets), and "anything sparkly." Since that just about constitutes my entire wardrobe, guess I'm hitting up my next date naked.

I started reading the comments after the article and was pleased to see that other girls disagreed with the so-called expert who wrote the piece. On the second page of comments, I can across this one from a nice man in Illinois (...or was it Indiana?).

"Here's a tip for the ladies. Dress well for the first date. Business attire allows you to stuff, tuck or hide whatever physical imperfections you have and it shows a lot of class. Many guys are looking for a soulmate that LOOKS GOOD when in public. Everybody can be sloppy at home or after casual familiarity allows people to look not-so-great, but start it off on a high note so some chemistry can develop. Let's be really honest, if there is any shallowness to men it is that we want other men to think we chose wisely. Public settings are where the couple needs to look good for their own ego boost and pride in each other.

And just a quick rave to the attorney I was matched with recently...in one of her photos she had on a pearl necklace and a business appropriate blouse on. Wow. I have a thing for women that look like they are a future senator's spouse. So classy, so elegant, so conservative."

Okay, first of all, ICK. Second of all, ICK. Moving beyond the self-importance of offering "a tip for the ladies" that involves the actions of stuffing, tucking, and hiding, did he just say "future senator's SPOUSE" - ?! What about a future senator, you prick?

I hereby promise to blog more.

2008-08-11T23:52:00.003-04:00

All of my friends have been really supportive during my past two months of "underemployment"—one of my friends even coined the term "underemployment" to make me feel better about not having a full-time job. C-note has been talking up my blog to me, suggesting that I compile posts from my first year of blogging and morph them into a book. Other friends have encouraged me to do some sort of professional photography thing, which is seriously flattering. These little boosts have gone a long way toward helping me maintain a healthy outlook.

This summer is eerily similar to the summer of 2005 — mainly in the "oh my God am I EVER going to get a job?!" panic that seizes me almost every night and at random moments throughout the day. I check job listings and I want to SCREAM when I see the opportunities out there. It reminds me of the facebook group "I picked a major in college that I loved and therefore I will be living in a box." I mean, really. From where I'm sitting right here it's almost as though the past 2.5 years will have meant nothing, and I'm going to be stuck working in some stupid job that I hate that makes me miserable that won't further my career.

Well. I know that's how it looks from here, but it's a comfort to know that that's how I felt after college, and look how it turned out. I loved my job(s), I met AMAZING people over the past few years...I can't believe that I didn't know all of these wonderful people back then, and now they're such a key part of my life. Reflecting for a minute about how all those new people have shaped my life in the past three years, it's almost mind-boggling to try to picture how people who are as-of-yet-unknown will influence my life in the years to come.

(Bring it!)

Things have been pretty exciting around here: it's great to be back within spitting distance of my family. This past weekend I went to a cousin's birthday party on Friday and a wedding shower on Saturday, and I ran a race with my sister-in-law on Sunday. I got my nails done with my mom today: a minor thing, yes. But also significant. These are all events that I would have completely missed out on if I were in Washington.

In terms of new things, I can't believe I ran the Falmouth Road Race. Okay, ran, jogged, staggered, might be more accurate, but I'm pleased nonetheless. My dad's been running the race on and off since 1989, so it's always been a part of my life. It's not as though I enjoy running, and I never, ever would have thought that I'd ever run a race, nevermind this one...but, now, still, somehow...I find myself signing up for one race after another. The next one will be a run to Plymouth Rock. How historical! Maybe 400 years ago the Pilgrims ran to the rock when they were being chased by Indians...?

Also, I joined this neat site called bostonlinkup.com. Their motto is "Using computers to get people away from them," which means that it's basically a site for people to find buddies with similar interests for actually doing those similar interests. And these people are great! They kayak, read books, drink, go to film festivals, go running, try out new restaurants, etc. I've been to two events...the second was less than a smashing success...but I'm looking forward to attending more. By the way, they have groups in other cities, so if this sounds like your bag, check it out!

So, this is all to say, even though I'm not where I Hoped I Would Be Professionally (although, to be honest, I anticipated a rough road), I'm not regretting moving back here. Beginnings are always rough, especially when you've been living a pretty cushy life.

journalistic responsibility

2008-08-03T11:25:00.002-04:00

To be honest, I was very surprised (thrilled, but surprised) that they found that little girl Reigh and captured her dad. I was afraid that she was gone for good, off for a strange little life in some obscure South American town.

An article that I read yesterday said that a "concerned citizen" tipped off the police as to their whereabouts. Today, in an article on boston.com, it said,

"The Baltimore Sun reported last night that the tipster was an unnamed real estate agent who rented the apartment to Rockefeller."

I don't know if the Baltimore Sun broke that part of the story, or if they were just repeating it...but I think it's awful that some newspaper revealed that information. While it's important to have the facts on a situation, it makes me wonder if the real estate agent might be in danger now. To know that a "concerned citizen" tipped them off was good enough for me. Just from whom are we protecting the poor real estate agent? I don't know who rented the apartment to Rockefeller, but I'm sure as hell that Rockefeller remembers the guy's face. The kidnapper had money coming out of the wazoo...who knows what type of contacts he has. It seems a bit foolhardy, you know?

hello, mortality

2008-08-01T23:16:00.003-04:00

Today I accompanied my mom to my nana's doctor appointment. While they waited for the doctor and had the eye exam I sat outside and read a book on a bench.

After I had been sitting for a while, a really old woman — probably in her 80s or 90s — sat down next to me, and her daughter sat down as well, smoking a butt. They were both waiting for MBTA buses, though for different ones, and the daughter's came first, so when she left, it was just me and good ole' Ruth Young. The woman asked me if I liked my book, and I said that it was horrible, and I was only reading it because I'm doing it for a book club, and it's my first meeting, and I don't want to show up and be all "oh, I didn't finish it, this book completely sucked," so I'm powering through.

We chatted a bit about books, then she was silent, and said, "If I can give you one piece of advice: Don't ever get old." I sat there, a bit speechless, then said, "Oh, I'm trying my best!"

My stupid book is depressing, and my nana's definitely entering the back nine, then this. I try to think of old age in rosy terms...me and my old husband, sitting on rocking chairs, surrounded by grandkids who are wearing sweaters that I've knitted (or, you know, bought). I don't like to think of it as this time when random girls are giving my backside a push so I can reach my walker, like I did with Ms. Young today.

After watching some TV with my family, my dad asked me if I'd take Seamus for a walk for a final "deposit." I said okay...and plunked out there, a few glasses of wine in me, wearing my glasses...overall not my hottest look. A few doors down the street we run into some kids who are playing Relievio and chilling outside, and they surround my dog, all giving him hugs and letting him kiss them. One little whippersnapper goes, "Oh, you're so old now! When I last saw you you were a teenager" - thinking she was speaking in metaphorical terms to my puppy, I didn't say anything. Then she said, "How old are you?" and I realized that she was talking to me.

I responded, in a winey fog, "Oh, I'm 25. How old are you?" And she said that she's 13.

OKAY. First of all. Call it the self-absorbed haze of being a teen, but I had no idea that she lived on my street back then. To me, there are kids on my street, and they run around and ride bikes, and I have to make sure that I avoid hitting them with a car, but I have no idea who they are, where they live, or how many of them live on my short little street. It's not that I don't care, it's just that our lives never ever eclipse ever.

SECONDLY...did she call me old??! I wanted to shake her little shoulders and be like "Cool old?! Or old like your mom old?!"

Oh the cruel twist that this morning an old woman told me to never grow old, then tonight a little girl called me old.

Dear God...it's me...

2008-07-19T22:12:00.002-04:00

Please say a prayer for my aunt (my mom's brother's wife). Her nephew died this past week, and one of her brothers died tonight, in an unrelated incident. What an awful time.

Yesssssssss!!!

2008-07-09T00:49:00.004-04:00

So I've been feeling DCsick lately, and AirTran having a sale was enough to motivate me to investigate the best weekends for visiting. Unfortunately, my friends have the schedules of social butterflies, and the best weekends for visiting were...this weekend and sometime in late August.

Well, late August is way too far away (and who knows how long I'll be underemployed? *knock on wood*) so I checked out this weekend. The flights = prohibitively expensive. So, Amtrak it was. Until...one of my friends mentioned taking the bus. I investigated Greyhound, and it equaled 15 hours of misery and 150 bucks down the train. It was a better investment to spend $250 on Amtrak, I thought. But then, I thought about Chinatown. And the Bolt Bus. And the lightbulb clicked. I checked the schedules, and if I left Boston at 7:30 a.m., had a 1.5 hour layover in NYC, and got a connecting bus trip down to D.C., I'd have a 10-hour trip for the grand sum of $35, or, for roundtrip, $70. Right now, when my copious amounts of time are worth less than my savings, that's the sort of trip I'm willing to take.

That convinced me. Thus begins the great Bolt Bus experience on July 10!

happy fourth!

2008-07-05T00:23:00.003-04:00

I know I'm addicted to Carolyn Hax to the point where it's probably really old for all of my friends, but I was just reading an archived column and she had said something really insightful:

Mature people distinguish between the things they can and can't change, and adapt their own behavior accordingly. Immature people expect everyone else to adapt to their own expectations.

It's so true. One of the more freeing things I've learned how to do (okay, still learning how to do it, to be precise) is just that. You can't change others, but you can change your reaction to them. This is pretty much the basic foundation that Hax builds everything upon, I think...that you can't change others, but you can change YOU. If you're not happy about your life, do everything in your power to make yourself happy. Don't wait for others to fix it for you, or to "fix" their behaviors so that they match your ideal (because they won't!).

At any rate. I'm pretty sure I've said that all before, and recently, but whatever. Today was the fourth...it was a bit not-how-I-planned. I got up around 10 a.m., heard some nice country music on the radio, rolled out of my bed...and my dad called up the stairs to let me know that he was taking Seamus (our dog) to the E.R. I threw on some clothes and went with him. Seamus is usually so freaking obnoxious, jumping around, bouncing up and down, biting me in the stringy back of the leg where my calves and thighs meet. But he was just lying in the crate, not moving, and he was crying when we moved him. He had morphed into a 99-year-old dog suffering from arthritis overnight, apparently.

So, at the E.R. they admit him right away (what service!) and it wasn't looking too crowded—we were set up for a nice short visit. But then a boxer came in with an allergic reaction, and he was having trouble breathing without grunting like a potbellied pig. Seamus dropped down the totem pole then, I think. Then some woman brought in a wild bunny that had been mauled by some critter and needed to be sent to the hereafter STAT. THEN some woman brought in her dachshund. It was having puppies, and one puppy was stuck (yeah. stuck!). And then the pizza man delivered six pizzas to the secret doctor area, which I'm sure set us back a few minutes.

Since poor little Seamus wasn't an extreme foot-sticking-out-of-ass case, we ended being the first ones in the waiting room at 10:30 and the last ones out at 1:55 p.m. They're not quite sure what's going on — he either has a mild case of lyme disease or he has massive neurological issues. Obviously we're hoping that it's lyme disease, but we'll find out when he either recovers in the next 48 hours or takes a tragic turn for the worse. Poor little puppy. :-( He's like my freaking sunshine right now; I hope he'll be okay.

On a more positive note, I had a great time at the family party that we hit up after the Doggy E.R. I ate LOTS of good food, drank copious amounts of beer, played baggo, and hung out with my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. Also, it was announced that one of my cousins just got engaged! Which is really exciting...I love a wedding, and this is going to be a great one.

so horrifying that it's kind of funny

2008-06-23T23:05:00.002-04:00

me: http://journalismjobs.com/Search_Jobs.cfm

search magazine jobs in massachusetts

I want to show you something

haha

Sent at 11:03 PM on Monday

P: I'm seeing no jobs

me: YEAH ME TOO

PIGS HAVE FLOWN

2008-06-23T22:09:00.005-04:00

Over the past few years my family has become obsessed with Mexican food...it's all "oh, El Sarape this" and "El Sarape that." Though Mexican food makes go a runnin', it wasn't really my problem since I was living it up in D.C., keeping all of the Chinese food places in business.

We went out on Sunday to celebrate an occasion, and since 5 out of 6 J's love Mexican food, El Sarape was where we headed.

To make a long story short, I gamely got the steak fajitas, and they were absolutely tasty. And I had some of my older brother's mango chicken, and that was also tasty. For the first time ever I left a Mexican restaurant without feeling starved or dissatisfied.

Oh, and lately I've been guzzling carbonated water like it grows on trees. I used to hate that crap (I remember accidentally buying it at a rest stop in Italy senior year of high school and almost crying when I figured it out— too late — on the bus), but I learned to love it when I realized that it's just water made with "natural flavors" - no calories, sugar, fake sugar, or anything. I turned to it one day when the store was out of Sprite Zero.

So, I guess...some things do change, even when you think they're set in stone. What a delightful surprise!

FTS!!!!

2008-06-22T21:35:00.007-04:00

So...I really think one of the most important qualities one can possess is the ability to cheer oneself up. Knowing which songs to play, which books to open, which stupid little things can snap you out of a funk, at least momentarily. And then those moments string into minutes and then those minutes gradually float away and you stop being so negative and pessimistic.

Along those lines, I've recently re-discovered Galway Kinnell...I remember reading his poems a few years ago and really feeling that he struck a chord.

He has this one poem, "The Correspondence School Instructor Says Goodbye to his Poetry Students" and I love the lines:

I swear to you, it was just my way
of cheering myself up, as I licked
the stamped, self-addressed envelopes,
the game I had
of trying to guess which one of you, this time,
had poisoned his glue.

I love that sort of morbid imagination...and for me it really brings the character to life.

He has this other poem...which I copied and pasted here. It's so sweet.

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps
by Galway Kinnell

For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run - as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears - in his baseball pajamas, it happens,
the neck opening so small
he has to screw them on, which one day may make him wonder
about the mental capacity of baseball players -
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across his little, startling muscled body -
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.

timing is still everything

2008-06-18T22:11:00.005-04:00

Having wandered away from my usual 9-5 employment schedule, I've fallen behind on my daily sites. While perusing xkcd a few minutes ago, I came upon this comic...

I love it. And this comic reminds me that it's been a while since I've done the whole "re-assess my fun goals" thing.

So. Here they are. Still shooting for a hot air balloon ride in the fall. Learn how to quilt (sexy. I know). Go on a fun trip—travelzoo's machu picchu trip had me daydreaming all day today. Learn how to drive a stick, change the oil in a car, change a tire. Get a job, eventually. Don't settle (ESPECIALLY in the job realm, but in all areas). Do more diving, as in, you know, actually dive. Hit up the beach more often. Keep running.

Just when I think I'm going to stop blogging, some stranger steps into my life and cracks me up. Last night Tans and I were on the train heading back from happy hour. She got off at her stop, and I continued CHOWING down on my can of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles (eating Sour Cream and Onion chips without fear of bad breath = a massive perk of being single). Due to my...klutziness, shall we say...when I made another grab in the can, I knocked it out of my hands and the contents cascaded all over the T floor by my feet. I said, "ohhh nooooooo" and bent over and started shoving the poor, sad, broken chips into a pile, then forced them back into the can.

This guy a few seats away...who before had not said a word or interacted with me at all...suddenly broke the silence, and said, in a kinda scared tone, "You're not going to each those....right?!"

I started laughing and said that me dropping it was probably a sign from God that eating half a can in one night was enough, and said that I was just picking them up. I love that this guy was so worried about my state and health that he spoke up to prevent what he thought was an inevitable and serious health violation in the making.

On a sidenote, it really illustrates why WMATA is so nazi about its patrons not eating on the Metro. "Would YOU pay $100 for a candy bar? I know I wouldn't."

Though the jury is still out in a lot of ways on the Boston vs. D.C. question, I'll take my food with a side of rats over sneaking fries in my pocketbook anyday. Or throwing away iced coffee after a 5:30 a.m. flight because the Reagan station manager won't let me on the Metro. Can you believe they actually have Dunkin Donuts INSIDE the Boston T stations?! It feels so illicit.

The World is Just Awesome

2008-06-10T22:35:00.003-04:00

This past Sunday there was a family party...one of my cousins graduated from high school. It was so nice to be there, drinking beer, playing Baggo, and stuffing my face with the best of them, instead of getting the postgame re-cap from my mom over the phone while I swallowed the bitter pill of the singletons, ramen.

I really miss D.C. and all of my friends, but I haven't yet regretted moving home. Well, the first Saturday was really tough when you guys were at the movies and happy houring it up and my parents were at a party that I wasn't invited to...but that was just a rough spot.

Tomorrow I start a new job! It's only part time...like, 15 hours a week. So, really, really part time. But it's an editing job for a small weekly paper, which is kind of neat (though it sounds awfully familiar, you know?). I was hired on a contract, temporary basis. As I understand it (though I might stand corrected tomorrow), I'll work for them as long as I want to, and as long as they want me to. I don't see this gig as being possible once I get a full time job, so I'll probably sail out around then, if they don't find someone permanent before that. At any rate: it's a fun job, in my field, working alongside people who will have things to teach me. Which is pretty great for the moment.

I'm not really feeling the burn yet for a full time job. Right now I'm fantasizing about an endless summer of sorts, flitting around the Cape, Maine, and various New England ports. We'll see what happens...as someone said last night, you never know what's in the future.

Speaking of the future: HOUSTON THIS THURSDAY!!!! I'm bringing my camera, so hopefully I'll get some uber Texas shots of hats and boots and whatnot. Do they have tumbleweeds in cities? I can't wait for the visit. Except that I'm ridiculously sensitive to the heat and I might pass out or otherwise embarrass myself. So maybe there will be a random cool spell? Surely odder things have happened.

OH—today Bub and I went out to breakfast. There were tons of delicious options, so I asked the waitress if she recommended the pecan praline french toast or the coffee cake pancakes. She made a big painful sigh, as if the answer was too difficult to possibly decide, and replied, "Well, let me see if I can get you one of each."

And she did! Sometimes people are so warm and generous that it redeems the dastardly deeds of everyone else. And have you seen the "The World is Awesome" commercial on Discovery? It makes me love the whole world...

OH CRAP

2008-06-05T19:18:00.005-04:00

I've received comments such as "Geez, you're not even working, can't you blog?"

The truth is, I've been ridiculously busy. Until today I hadn't even watched .5 hours of daytime TV. Tragic.

My parents' puppy is adorable...his name is Seamus and he's a Wheaten Terrier. For the past few months I've been hearing stories of how he's an incorrigible crapper, deliberately dropping "deposits" whenever my mom's back is turned. He's been pretty angelic since I've been home—I don't think he went to the bathroom in the house once during the past week. It was a major improvement that granted Seamus "gate down" privileges, permitting him to have access to the house without the constant scrutiny of our prying eyes.

Last night he was on one of his energetic tears around the house, running under the dining room table, weaving around the chairs, bouncing up on top of an end table (almost knocking it over in the process), barreling into our laps...fairly entertaining. He ran upstairs, continuing the mad streak, sounding like a poltergeist. I was with my mom and bub downstairs, watching tv...as I was cracking up, Bub goes, "Yeah, it's funny until he poops in your room."

I don't know if he was speaking from experience?

That cut my laughter short, just a little, and I decided to go upstairs to see what the cute little devil was up to. As I reached the top landing, I was faced with an overwhelming stench emanating from my former bedroom. Well, technically "former" since I sleep on the third floor now, but I still have lots of stuff in there. Lots and lots of stuff.

Absolutely horrified and near the gagging point, I crossed the threshold of my room. My first glance to my bed calmed some of my fears: nothing on the sheets or, God forbid, the pillows.

Then I looked down.

THE STUPID DOG HAD CRAPPED ON TOP OF MY WORKOUT PANTS.

A square shot!!! Not like, a pant leg accidentally had wandered into the pile as he skedaddled out of there. He had stood on my freaking pants and pooped his little heart out. And then when he was done doing that, he went to a rug by my bed and repeated the accursed process.

I stared at it, disbelieving. Could it be true? Did he really try to make working out that much more miserable by smearing my clothes in feces? Realizing that there really wasn't any alternative, I gingerly grabbed my pants (dry-heaving in the process) and brought them downstairs, where I summarily dropped them into a trashbag. And then I grabbed the rug (it was old and used to be a bath rug anyhow, I have no idea why it was in my room in the first place) and tossed that into the trash as well.

I know it sounds very J.C. from *Nsyncish (during their heyday he never wore socks or underwear twice), but those pants were 9 bucks. I was willing to let them go. I couldn't deal with the graphic images that I now associate with them. And to think that I used to think that a piece of plastic poop was a funny gag.

So, C-note, I'm sorry to say that we'll never again be connected by our navy with pink stripe workout pants. They had a good run.

Potbelly Correspondence

2008-05-30T11:43:00.002-04:00

FROM: MEGHAN
PHONE NUMBER:
SENT: 3/4/2008
STORE VISITED:
DATE VISITED:
COMMENTS:
I will be moving to Boston, Massachusetts, in early summer. Please open a store there!!! I don't know what I'll do without my favorite sandwich place. Have you thought about expanding?

Sincerely,

Meghan

Hi Meghan ~

Thank you for writing! We're happy to hear that we've turned you into a Potbelly fan, and we truly appreciate your suggestion for opening one in Boston. We're always looking for great locations; maybe something will suite us in Harvard Square. As we open new stores, we'll continue to announce details on our Web site at http://www.potbelly.com/stores3.0.asp.

Happy days,
Laura Berrones
Speaker of the House
Potbelly Sandwich Works

I'm moving on...

2008-05-30T11:14:00.004-04:00

Today is the big unpacking day (why is that everything nowadays is "the big *** day" for me?). So, tonight will be the first night in my old bed in the new room in the old house. Ch-ch-changes...

The other day bub and I emptied the truck and brought it to Penske, where a possibly random guy working on a Mac truck told me that he'd "take care of it." I wanted to clarify that "take care of it" meant "return it properly and file the paperwork" and not "steal the truck and strip it of all identifying marks," but I didn't want to start my new adventure off on the wrong foot. My faith was well-placed, however, because when bub called the next day to see if everything was all set, it was.

I really feel quite competent when I drive a moving truck. This one had 16 feet of space and I handled it quite well, I think. I get such a thrill being like "I'm a girl! Driving a big truck! Look at me!" Last year's RV trip really got me used to using side mirrors and not having a rear view. I remember when I was 16 and just learning to drive, I had NO IDEA how helpful the mirrors were. Once that sunk in, everything sorta clicked into place, you know?

It's been a busy few days...unloading the truck, doing some current job stuff and laying the tracks for having future job stuff. Hopefully.

Earlier in the week I was walking around on my last day in D.C. with C-note and Laurs. I spied a Potbelly, and we decided to run over to see if I could get my LAST AMAZING oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. The manager was outside on the front patio, wrapping the tables and chairs together with a wire cord. Things didn't look promising.

I asked him if they were closed....he said that they were. I took a gamble, and asked, "do you have any cookies left? I'll pay you for them...it's my last day in D.C. and they don't have Potbelly where I'm going."

(I know this for sure because I emailed Potbelly HQ a few weeks ago. Maybe I'll post the response here in a sec.)

He didn't look too put out, and asked how many we wanted. C-note and Laurs passed, so he went into the store and came out with....FIVE COOKIES!!! And wouldn't accept payment!!! I was so touched by his generosity and thoughtfulness. What a guy.

He asked me where I was going, and I told him that I was moving to the Boston area, and he said that they have plans to open a restaurant up in Logan Airport. I might start booking extra flights just for those cookies...

Two - no, three things

2008-05-19T08:25:00.003-04:00

1) Miranda Lambert won best album of the year for "Crazy Ex-Girlfriend"! Yes!! That album is fantastic.

2) I don't know about all of you, but I'm pretty good —nay, exceptional—at noticing police officers/emergency vehicles with their sirens on and getting out of the way. That's one reason that D.C. messes with me...all of the police officers keep their lights at top going at some level and for a while I'd pull over, and they'd be all "Thanks!" because they were on their way to get food or scratch tickets or something. Well, apparently the "getting out of the way" thing is a problem in Massachusetts, because now many police vehicles are equipped with....Rumblers! A person in this article is quoted as saying, "I live on a thoroughfare and recently I'm often woken up by a noise that made me think the apartment is getting attacked by a sea monster." THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT IT SOUNDS LIKE. It's freaking noise pollution and there must be a better solution. Listen away. Please. I'm very pro-law enforcement, but please outlaw 5,000-decibel stereos or rolling up your windows all of the way or something first because forcing this Big Brotheresque ridiculousness upon us is infringing upon my right to not go insane.

3) It's my last week at work. I think the people here are ready for me to leave since I gave my notice a month ago and they keep asking when my last day is. It's May 23. This Friday.

because you're hot

2008-05-18T20:19:00.003-04:00

When E and I were "training" (aka running 2.5 miles, tops) for the 10k on Friday evening, I asked her if she hits that spot during a run where she doesn't even focus on the running but is lost in her thoughts. She said yeah, and said that when she runs she sometimes loses track of time, and thinks about things that are bothering her, and really just pounds it out. Others have said similar thoughts to me...that running is a great release.

She was astonished when I said that when I run I'm thinking about each and every step and how much it pretty much blows. I never "lose track of time" and I certainly don't find a zen-like answer to any problems that I'm chewing on.

As we laboriously made our way to RFK, I made a really strong attempt to "get in the zone." I dwelled on things that I was worried about, really narrowed in on them. But my zone-blocker was...no matter how big any of my problems are, the biggest one at that moment is that I'M RUNNING. AND IT'S UNCOMFORTABLE.

I thought more about it. And it comes down to the simple fact that I'm not the type of girl who tries to solve things in a masochistic manner. One of my favorite problem-solving techniques involves an oatmeal-chocolate chip cookie from Potbelly. Or a shower. I always feel better after I take a hot shower. Or, when things are really rough, I settle in for a nice little marathon. A TV-watching marathon.

Thinking about cookies, showers, TV, it gave me a little glow when on the training run. A little energy boost. A ray of sunshine in an otherwise uncomfortable (for the moment) world.

And that's when I realized that My Fuel for running is thinking about awesome things in my life. That's the closest to a zone that I'll ever get. And today during the race I think I actually approached (and possibly occupied) zone-land. I wasn't counting the minutes, or whining to myself about every step. It was like "I'm running. Margaritas. Seamus. I'm running. Oooh Cookies! Car trip with my dad. I'm running. Seeing Cam in Houston! 2-HOUR DESPERATE HOUSEWIVES TONIGHT!!" All that positive thinking really made the time go by much faster.

In terms of the actual race (because I'm sure the masses are dying to know), the beginning was a bit rough. I shadowed two guys who were running my pace...and by "shadowed" I mean, I was actually in their stupid shadows. I stuck to those suckers like glue. It probably annoyed the hell out of them, actually. After we circled the gigantic stadium that I swear has quadrupled in circumference in the past year, I nearly collapsed when I saw the Mile 2 guy holding his sign. I couldn't believe that it was only Mile 2. And where was the freaking water?! Was there a drought on Capitol Hill of which I wasn't aware?!

I walked for about 30 feet to get my breath, recover mentally, and join people who were going a bit slower. I grabbed a water from a cup person who finally materialized, drank it, then soldiered on. Things were, you know, so-so, then I caught a glimpse of the Capitol. And I was like, "I can do this." It really helped me to have a huge monument to look toward. I knew we were going to be running past it and doubling back, but I've done that part before. It was doable. I was going to finish the 10k! Eventually!

During the majority of the race I was pretty convinced that I was at the back of the pack—old ladies kept crossing the street in front of me, and kids on bikes would cross the street behind me...I was in front of or behind the "big opening" they needed to cross. It was a bit demoralizing to have an old lady look me in the eyes and decide that she had the time to go, though I found it amusing at the time. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't running alone, but I wasn't in the thick of it or anything. Around Mile 4 I had visions of my ass stuck to the ambulance grill as it drove along the course, opening it up to the driving public, but when I finally hit the turnaround at the bottom of the Hill of Death (a little past Mile 5), I saw that there were at least...200 people after me? And then there were more people behind the ambulance. So that was a cheerful thought. I wasn't going to be last! Victory!

I approached the Hill of Death thinking "You Are Mine—I've done you before. Last week, remember?!" but I had to walk for a bit up it. No sense killing myself...I wanted to have energy at the top of the hill for the last leg. No need staggering across the finish line and drooling and looking all out of sorts, you know? At the top of the hill I heard a strangled cough coming from about 8 feet behind me and then a loud liquidy splash on the pavement. I didn't turn around. Does that make me a bad person?

When I saw the man holding the Mile 6 sign, I fell in love. How glorious. How beautiful. How poetic.

My time was something around 65 minutes. It's not impressive or anything, but I'm pretty pleased. As a cop said to the dude struggling along way behind the ambulance, "Hey, you got out of bed and came out! So you're already a winner!"

lots of leaving left to do...

2008-05-16T21:52:00.003-04:00

Sunday morning at 8:30 marks the start of my first 10k. I'm not prepared; so I'm anticipating a rough ride. That's not to say that I'm nervous, but I'm not, you know, expecting a breezy time full of smiles and picture-perfect moments. E and I signed up for it a couple of weeks ago... J.C. and his bro are running, and we were inspired to chase them around for 6 miles. Kinda like an adult's version of the playground at recess. I hope.

It's kind of cool, since we signed up around the same time E and I have numbers that are very close to another: 1575 and 1577. Is it lame that seeing that almost brought tears to my eyes?

I've been finding it easier to focus on things around the move than on the actual move itself. For example, this 10k. How can I worry about the future when I have to run the longest race of my life thus far?

And my last weekend: such decisions. The Times? Ocean City? Museums? A lot easier to decide WHAT to do than to dwell on the people I'll be leaving. A lot easier than to spend time wondering who I'll sing along to "Open Arms" with in the car. Or country music. Or any music at all. Crap. No one.

And God forbid I actually pack a bit beforehand. I'm focused on the father-daughter bonding time that will happen when driving a 12-foot truck chock full of my stuff along half the length of the eastern seaboard. It will be like when my dad used to drive me to high school...only it will be a month and a half of those trips squeezed into one. And we won't have a CD player on the dash, so he won't have to hear the same NSYNC song 5 times in a row (which was particularly grating for him, I'm sure, because it was a remake of a song from "his" generation. But he never complained!). I can't wait.

And then there's my Houston trip in early June. I'm so excited...my first time in Texas! And we might visit NASA! And the beach! I told Cam that thinking about the trip was really helping me with the move. Who needs to hardcore job search when I'll be out of the state for 5 days? Might as well really focus when I get back, right?

I'm picturing coming back from Texas and just feeling like a deflated balloon when I land. The reality of the situation will finally hit (at least, I hope it hits then and not at the staff meeting this upcoming Thursday). I'll be going on a run and see someone in the neighborhood. They'll ask how long I'm home for, and I'll respond, "Oh, um...forever."

Don't get me wrong: I'm glad that I'm moving back to Massachusetts. As I said today to C-note and E, all preachy-like, "We all make our own decisions." I've made the decision, and it's the right one. I'm looking forward to spending time with my family and friends, actually seeing my parents more than once every three months, eating dinner as a family, smelling the smells of home—the coffee brewing in the morning, cooking at night, my mom's perfume. Playing with the puppy; going to my cousins' baseball, soccer, and basketball games; getting to really know my sister in law; just being in the place that I've always thought of as Home with a capital H.

The big picture is great. It's just the day-to-day reality would freak the shit out of me, if I'd let it.

Girls...come with me? Please?

the scent of a man (sorta)

2008-05-12T21:06:00.003-04:00

Senior year of high school I went on a school-sponsored trip to Italy...Tans and I were travel buddies and spent the whole time checking out museums, checking out stores, and checking out boys. Our group of 20 girls or so stayed in hotels that were rated 3 and 4 stars, which pretty much translated to "crap" in American standards.

One of our hotels (possibly the last one on the trip? I can't remember) was called The Albatross. Being a school full of clever girls, we all laughed at the ominous name, and accompanied it by screeching caws. The rooms were awful: the three twin beds were 2 centimeters apart, the bathroom converted into a shower, and the operator didn't know how to patch through a call from my older brother.

Anyhow, as is the custom in Italy (at least in crappy hotels), breakfast consisted of a roll, butter (possibly some jam, if we were lucky!), and water. The dinner was only marginally better. However...the highlight of every meal was our waiter. I can't remember his name, though I do remember his cute little face quite clearly, since we captured it on film one morning as he served us our meals. He made us look forward to our meals, flirting with all of us. He redeemed The Albatross.

He was cute and all...but what made me and Tans obsessed was how he smelled. He wore this cologne that just SMELLED SO GOOD. It was intoxicating. I don't know if it was a special formula, or the fact that we were on the back-end of the all-girls' high school experience, but we thought it was amazing. On the last day we managed to vault both the language and awkwardness barriers and asked him what he was wearing. He named something that we had never heard of and we wrote the name down diligently.

Tans and I discussed it, and we decided that we'd spend $40 on this cologne, if necessary. We had to have it. We went around to as many parfumeries as possible, asking if they carried it. At a few of them we got wrinkled noses and snooty looks, and were told to check out the Italian equivalent of CVS. We were very surprised. How could something that spelled so good cost so little?

Fast forward to a year later. I was watching TV and a commercial came on for the same cologne/body spray that the waiter wore. The brand had finally, finally made it to the United States. The name? Axe.

I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that we were so obsessed by Axe. You might laugh, but those commercials are no joke, people. It had an effect.

Someone I used to know wore some body wash/cologne that I loved, and when I asked, he wouldn't tell me what it was, calling it his "natural odor." Not really caring what it was, I didn't press, but of course I wondered. Not telling me something makes me want to know it more, you know? So I filed it away.

Today on the Metro I sat next to this older guy who's in town for National Police Week, I think. He was with a few similarly muscular tough-looking old dudes. As I settled in the seat next to him, I smelled a familiar odor. I resisted the strong and almost overwhelming urge to tell him that he smelled like an ex, knowing that I only had one stop before he got off. I only needed to hold off embarrassing myself for one stop. I inwardly debated the merits of keeping my dignity vs. getting down to the bottom of a mystery.

At his stop he stood up and walked closer to his friends. As he passed one who was still sitting down, waiting for the door to open, the guy shouted out, "Hey man, you went a little heavy on the Axe today, huh!" Then all of his friends left.

I guess the shitty stuff still sorta does it for me...here's to the waiter who started it all!

musings on country...

2008-05-08T07:35:00.002-04:00

It's so disappointing when I'm obsessed with a new song and have visions of the guy singing it as...cute...masculine...perfect, basically. A tall, dark-haired, lanterned-jawed smoothie in a cowboy hat. But yesterday I googled the singer of one of my currently favorite songs, and it was a big fat letdown. It sort of changes the song for me (but not so much that I haven't already listened to it twice and it's only 7:36).

Yesterday I also found out that Dierks Bentley is married. What a day. Good thing his wife is damn cute and totally adorable, because her joyous smile took the wind out of my and C-note's angry sails. I wish them the best.

It's pathetic that something like that actually changes something for me, even if it is an infinitesimally small change. It's not like I ever actually thought that Dierks (or Josh Turner, or Brad Paisley...) and I had a chance. But apparently the part of me that was in fantasy land thought that it was a possibility? Otherwise I wouldn't have requested a moment of silence for the news.

It's time wasted if I get up early to get to work early but then just lounge around on my bed...so here goes.

Oh. BTW. I'm still obsessed with Enchanted and right now "That's How You Know" is filling my bedroom with its musical cheer. Here are some of my favorite lyrics...

Well does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind?
Send you yellow flowers when the sky is gray? Heyy!
He'll find a new way to show you, a little bit everyday
That's how you know, that's how you know!
He's your love...

Because he'll wear your favorite color
Just so he can match your eyes
Rent a private picnic
By the fires glow-oohh!
etc.

Oh crap, Kanye just came on. That reminds me of this video...Have you guys (you guys being TC, Cam, JC, C-note, E, occasionally Pat, Rob, i-66, someone in the Netherlands, and various family members who read my blog. I get the stats, people. And I know whose blog you go to after mine!) seen this? So neat. It really picks up toward the end and is super impressive.

Daft Punk Girls - Stronger

Okay. Time to go to work. For reals.

the job hunt

2008-05-02T08:27:00.001-04:00

In my dream last night I got a call from The Bob Barker Institute. The call cut out before they could ask me to come in for an interview.

just around the corner...

2008-04-30T21:14:00.003-04:00

After tutoring tonight I got an empanada at Julia's for old times' sake. Not particularly wanting to scarf it down in front of Lucky Bar, I sat down on a bench in the little park across the street. Eating was uneventful...I tossed little pieces of dough to the little birds, and foiled the pigeons when they tried to steal food not meant for them.

It was strange, after focusing on the little birds, when a pigeon walked into my view, it looked FREAKISHLY HUGE. It must be unnerving to share the world with something of your species that's about 50 times your mass.

So, finishing up both my dinner and contemplations on pigeons, I picked up my drink and a napkin blew off my lap in a gust of wind. I was all, "Oh, Crap!" but it only blew right under my bench, on the right side. So I twisted over and bent down to grab it...and I heard someone call my name.

A friend I hadn't seen in a while happened to be walking on the sidewalk on the other side of the shrubbery and fence right when I awkwardly turned to grab the napkin and he caught a glimpse of my face and recognized me.

So he came over and we sat and chatted for a few minutes until it became a bit too cold to be comfortable.

And, now that I think of it, yesterday I ran into someone else that I hadn't seen in a while. She said something along the lines of how she never walks that route, except that she was picking up doughnuts for her office, and I replied that I only go that way when I'm getting a bacon, egg, and cheese. I hadn't even noticed her (so focused I was on my soon-to-be-delicious breakfast and how the weather was so beautiful that it made me overjoyed to be alive), and she didn't notice me until we were passing, and she grabbed my arm.

I was actually talking about this sort of thing with my boss a couple of weeks ago. I wonder how frequently we narrowly miss seeing people we know because we're distracted, or turning at the wrong moment, or walking parallel streets without even knowing it...

where is the love?

2008-04-29T20:49:00.003-04:00

So...I think that Vanity Fair has gone too far.

Miley's photos aren't that bad, or that provocative, but they have provocative intent. She's supposed to look naked, and she is clutching a satiny sheet to her chest. So, even though her pose could be (a lot) worse, it's still a picture of a young female who looks naked and is clutching a satin sheet to her chest.

And she's 15.

I was just about to go on a rant about how it's so ridiculous and embarrassing and disgusting that we've come to the point where society glorifies sexualizing girls as young as 15...but the truth is, it's been happening for a long time. For example: Sue Lyon, who was 14 when she starred in Lolita; and Brooke Shields, who was quite young when she was photographed in a steamy bathtub by Richard Prince (and 15 during the infamous "nothing comes between me and my Calvins" campaign).

It's just sickening. Is there really a need for these sorts of things? There are plenty of-age women who are ready and willing to bare it all, or some of it all, without having to resort to exploiting young girls who probably don't know better. Then the photographers and cinematographers have the temerity to call it "art."

Miley was quoted as saying, "...you can't say no to Annie." And it's true. Annie Leibovitz is this amazing award-winning photographer who leaves me in awe. If she told me that something looked good, I'd believe it. I'd have faith in her and her vision, even to the point of trying to ignore a little voice in my head that was telling me to hesitate. Now, at the age of 25, I'd hopefully put my foot down and raise my voice. But at the age of 15, I would not have had the guts, or the trust in my judgment, to say no.

When it comes down to it, I believe that Vanity Fair has a social responsibility to protect juveniles. Just because they're a so-called cutting-edge magazine (at least in their own minds), it doesn't mean that it's okay to bend the rules of human decency and take advantage of a youngster. Should we (as a people, a society, as a magazine, as an award-winning photographer) really push, push, push, and push until someone tells you to stop, or should we draw our own lines and show compassion and understanding for growing young minds? Don't we have a responsibility to others?

My arm was twisted...maybe?

2008-04-27T15:39:00.004-04:00

Last night E and I saw the Cubs at the new Nationals Stadium.

I had been very, very against the building of the new stadium. I thought it was a waste of money, that it was a certain death knell against the $5 tickets that I had come to know and love, that it was a symbol of everything that's wrong with peoples' priorities...we did not need a new stadium. The old one functioned just fine. Couldn't that money be better spent elsewhere?

Well, I've been seduced the riches that awaited me at the new park. The scoreboard is so beautiful and shiny and glittery. The grass is so green. The seats, so new! And so many food options...there's the usual chicken and fries fare (and hot dogs, and pretzels, and beer), but now they have Ben's Chili Bowl! And Senator's Sausages! And "The Boardwalk!" Oh, and the food stations accept credit cards. Which is a very, very big deal.

AND—the greatest news of them all—they have $5 day-of tickets. We had been trying to get seats online, but we had been trying to get three in a row, and the cheapest available were around $80. Eh, not so much. I had pretty much given up hope, then C-note told me about the $5 tickets. The hitch is that every member of your "party" has to be in line to get one...you can't purchase any additional.

Of course, we saw people getting around this rule by recruiting random strangers to stand in for their friends and then bribing the stand-ins with beer. Hey, whatever works.

So E and I got there around 4:15, which put us about 20 people from the front. The line opened at 4:30, and we got our tickets shortly thereafter!

As much as I'm trying to like the Red Sox, for me the integral part of being a fan is actually being able to attend games. It's a struggle to get passionate about tracking the team's stats, to learn about the players, or to care how they do against other teams. But to see it in person is an entirely different story...I'm there with my $5 ticket doing the wave, drinking beer, and shouting "CHARGE!" with the best of them.

I've heard my aunts and uncles, brothers, and friends commiserate about how hard it is to get reasonable tickets to Sox games. It's great living in a city where the fanbase is dismal enough that it allows people like me to stroll up and get a piece of the experience without having to be a megafan or the girlfriend of a sugar daddy. It seems backwards to make the effort to become a fan, only to largely lose the one aspect of the sport that I naturally enjoy.

hello, friend!

2008-04-25T22:17:00.003-04:00

I got out of bed a little late this morning...I had set my radio alarm for 7:15 (I like it to go off first so that I am gently awakened by the dulcet sounds of country music), and I had intended on setting my cell alarm for 7:25, but apparently I had been in wishful thinking mode when I set it last night, because when I rolled over to check my phone at 7:40, I saw that it was due to ring at 11:25.

No matter. Luckily I don't work in a "powder keg," as my dad has teasingly called it. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and I was in a pretty jocular frame of mind by the time I got to the station. Once I turned the corner, what I saw made me grimace. Red Line Delay, a sick person at Farragut North, a crowd of people six or seven deep waiting for the train to come.

Now, when you talk to someone online, some character traits don't bleed into your conversation and only come out in true life. When he visited, Cam found out that I hate lines. I don't necessarily hate all of them...just unnecessary lines that you can avoid by walking faster than tour groups. Or lines that are going the wrong way. And I really, really don't like unformed lines. The reason for that is that I'm not a pusher...and in the world of loading trains and a crowded platform, if you're not the pusher, you're the pushed.

I looked at the boards to see which train would be arriving first—the train going in the direction of work, or the train going in the opposite direction. Though they were rolling in around the same time, the platform for the opposite direction had the plus of being nearly empty. My plan (which had worked out quite well the first and only time I implemented it) was to ride down one stop, then hop on a nearly-empty train going in the right direction, thereby avoiding the fight with the crowds.

Unaware that I was being observed, I glanced back and forth at the boards, and decided to stick with the train going in the opposite direction. An older man standing nearby asked me, "So, you're going to ride down to NY Ave to beat the rush then come back in the other direction?" I was surprised, and smiled at him and said yes as our train pulled into the station. He looked at the boards, and decided to take the gamble with me.

I realized that I had unwittingly gained myself a buddy, though he was not unwelcome. He was probably in his late 50s, had white hair and was wearing a blue and white striped shirt, and sported glasses in front of endearingly unruly eyebrows. Our doors closed as the train going in the direction of work pulled in. We were both surprised to see that it was nearly empty. My new commute buddy made a move to leave our train as our doors opened slightly, then snapped shut. Then our doors opened again, but he decided to stay.

As we chugged to the next station, he said that our gamble would be worth it if only one more train came while we were on this one. I told him that I was a bit worried that he had placed his money on the wrong horse, since I'm notorious for making bad bets. While I was saying this, another train sped by. And our train stopped. On the track. Before our station.

But he was a good-natured fellow. He said that he loves to consider different questions of economics, like the merits of this train ride, and like how much change he should carry in his pants' pockets. He wants to carry enough change so that he can make change, but he doesn't want to carry too much, since he always ends up getting change back. And then he tries to factor in whether or not carrying change wears down his pants, speeding up the point when he has to buy a new pair.

Another train sped by. Whoops.

I apologized again for my bad idea, and as a way of explanation, I told him that I always walk into the locked door when faced with the option of two seemingly unlocked doors. He asked me if, when I see two lines at the grocery store, if I get into the longer one because I think it will take a shorter amount of time, and I laughed and said that, yes, I usually do.

He asked me where I'm from, and I told him my town. He said that it sounded very familiar, and whipped out a book about John & Abigail Adams. He opened the front cover, showing me that he's had it since 1976, because he had dated the first page.

Our train started up again, and it deposited us on the platform, where the board said that the train going in the direction of work wouldn't be coming for two minutes. At this point it was pretty clear that my idea had technically been a huge waste of time, but I was glad that I had made the wrong choice.

Once our train arrived, lo and behold, it was crowded. I was laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation as I boarded...me and my friendly stranger then began talking about the Red Sox, and somehow we got on the topic of the Dupont Circle escalator, and he said that an ex-girlfriend of his used to be scared of the steep ride, so she'd ride down backwards so that she wouldn't have to see how high up she was. He thought it was a grand idea; I thought it was a bit silly and seemed like it would make the problem worse. Must be one of those quirks that made him love her more?

(Oh yes. We started talking about the escalator because he told me that one time he was meeting his girlfriend for a special dinner and he was 3 hours late because the trains broke down, and he couldn't reach her because he doesn't carry a cell. I told him about Valentine's Day last year when I was two hours late for work because of the snow, and he asked me where I work.)

At this point we were surrounded by people, and merrily chatting away. We got to his stop—only one past our original starting point!—and we parted ways, saying goodbye.

I think it would be nice to talk to strangers more often (maybe once a week?) but I don't want to be the one ("weirdo") who starts it. The last couple of times I've been in Boston the guys were really friendly (e.g. my heel got caught in the sidewalk and I tripped, and two guys walking behind me jokingly yelled that I should sue the city)...maybe they weren't an anomaly.

Fingers crossed. A lot!

Call and Answer

2008-04-22T23:39:00.003-04:00

I used to love Stunt by The Barenaked Ladies...I remember listening to the CD while slaving over chem homework sophomore year of high school. Though the homework was awful (and I barely scraped by with a C that year), having that as my soundtrack really creates quite a fond little scene when I'm looking back. My cute desk lamp that casted a yellow glow, my little desktop fountain...pencil scratches on paper that pushed indents in the blue paint of my desk.

There's this one line from a song that really fascinated me—it still does.

"You think I only think about you when we're both in the same room."

What a wonderfully ambiguous statement. Did he mean:

You think that when we're in the same room I only think about you and no one (and nothing) else. How egotistical!

OR

You think that I only think about you when I'm looking at you, but really, you're in my thoughts a lot.

I've always secretly gunned for the second meaning. It would be such a nice sentiment.

The rest of the lyrics can be found here:
Call and Answer

Up, Up, and Away

2008-04-21T20:06:00.004-04:00

I'm so excited...tomorrow I'm interviewing a hot air balloon pilot. Ever since I stumbled upon the web site of a wine + hot air balloon festival last October, I've been daydreaming about getting my feet into a (sturdy) basket and gaining altitude. My hot air balloons fantasies are two-fold: I want to go to a festival and take tons of pictures...seeing them inflate at sunrise, capturing them floating majestically at sunset...and then I want to go on a ride in a balloon (but not at a festival! I'm superstitious), ideally while wearing a cute Irish knit sweater and wrapped in the arms of a hottie.

But...since that ain't comin' any time soon, at least not until September or October rolls around, I decided that the next best thing to going on a hot air balloon ride is to interview a hot air balloon pilot/meteorologist for work. I can't wait to hear all about his stories. And I didn't even realize it until now, but I'm wearing my hot air balloon pajama pants. Talk about dedication. Hopefully this will go well tomorrow!

At any rate—I thought to mention this because I spied this article on msn: Priest Carried Aloft by Balloons Still Missing. Holy moly. The subhead is "Fund-raising stunt goes awry, but supporters still hopeful."

Last they knew, he was thirty miles from the Brazilian coast and dropping. But he's wearing a flight suit, has a parachute and a buoyant chair, and he's "experienced." So, here's hoping they find him. I kind of admire what he's doing...I mean, it seems really idiotic (like, really? take off in a chair made buoyant by balloons?!), but he was doing it to raise money for a spiritual rest stop for truckers. He really is dedicating his life to God's work by risking life and limb for a cause that will hopefully be an inspiration to thousands of lonely, tired truckers on the road. It must be really hard to always be on the go and away from your loved ones, you know?

*prayers!*

I <3 graffiti

2008-04-15T17:34:00.001-04:00

Graffiti Meets the Digital Age

Conversation Piece

2008-04-14T22:27:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I was in a spending mood, and I decided to lose control while the impulse was there...and I knew exactly where to go. I hit up Nine West, this new sporty cool-person clothes store...and then, I remembered. For the past couple of weeks I've been walking by the Knot Shop, peering in at the scarves while I turned the corner, picturing myself twirling about town, my head fashionably bedecked in swirling gauzy fabric.

I decided that it was time to indulge my inner flight stewardess, and I fingered the scarves, deciding which patterns I should go with. One for $15, or two for $25. Two it is! Why waste a perfectly good deal, right?

I found a nice, calm, muted khaki-colored scarf with simple black , delicate lines. Pretty atypical, actually. But I read last week that if one wants to "instantly look put together" they should go for muted colors. Might as well put a few of those in my repertoire.

To balance that out, I picked a navy and white zebra-print scarf, with stripes along the edge of the pattern. Woo! "What Not to Wear" would probably tell me to focus and find my look. I'm a style schizophrenic.

I got to the register and the cashier didn't really pay much attention to me. He kept peering over my shoulder and checking on the other customers. Once he rang me up, though, and I signed the slip, he looked at me with a smirk, and said, "That's an...interesting watch."

I laughed, because he said my favorite word. I responded, "Interesting! What a nice thing to say!"

I love it when people use "interesting" in that ambiguous way. It can be mean "lovely" or "ugly"—when someone is trying to be polite, they say "interesting."

And he laughed me out of the store.

This watch...people always comment on it. Pat's dad made fun of it (as did Pat), a cashier at another store loved it, my sister-in-law admired it so I got her one.

I love my tacky, beautiful, cheap watch. The day that the "snakeskin" snap breaks will be a sad day indeed.

OH AND BTW. I watched the last two innings of the Red Sox game...and they won! I was talking to Pat online while the game was going on—he was educating me on the finer points of pinch hitting. In the final inning, the Red Sox were up by 2, there were 2 outs, and the Indians were at bat.

All was right in Mudville...then...

me: woo!

maybe I'm good luck

haha

Pat: I was going to say that but then I decided to wait until the game was over so I didn't jinx it

If you screwed this up....I swear

*GUY HITS BALL TO GREEN MONSTER*

me: hahaha

that was almost bad

hahaha
Pat: Jesus Christ Meg that scared the shit out of me

Good lord

me: hahaha WHEW

Sent at 10:50 PM on Monday

Pat: I would have needed to pop you one in the eye

Game Theory is fun!

2008-04-10T22:11:00.003-04:00

I read (part of) a book on Game Theory...I found it mostly interesting, but didn't finish it for various reasons.

I kind of wish I had, because now that I know about it—and I was certainly late to the game on this one—I've noticed it popping up everywhere.

I found this article on slate.com to be very interesting. This is not to say that I agree with it or am feeling the squeeze myself, but it's quite well-written and informative. From what I understood, the crux of the argument is: there are fewer amazing eligible bachelors the older you get, because by that time, they have been snatched up, and most likely not by the super beautiful and intelligent female catches, but by the girls who are less advantaged in either some or all of those departments. Why did the losers win, you ask? Because the super hot girls knew that they had a stronger hand in the game of love, and therefore we more reluctant to "bid" on a husband if he didn't have the qualities she sought. The ladies with the weaker hand knew when they had to strike, and did so at the appropriate time.

The Eligible-Bachelor Paradox: How economics and game theory explain the shortage of available, appealing men

Enjoy!

Oh, because that's normal

2008-04-09T20:00:00.002-04:00

Last night I met up with E for some dinner in Silver Spring. After finishing off a hearty meal at Noodles & Co, we decided to partake in the joys of discount shopping.

There's this...let's put this delicately...up and coming mall right next to Noodles. It's experiencing a growth spurt/identity crisis, and is trying so hard to be upscale with stores like Nine West, but still supports the likes of The Rave.

We made a beeline for Steve & Barry's, which is the home of Sarah Jessica Parker's line. Every item in the store costs $8.98 ($8.97? $8.99? something like that), so you have jeans for 9 bucks, but also semi-crappy necklaces for 9 bucks. It evens out.

I picked up a few pairs of shorts, a bright yellow cover-up thingie, and two shirts. E was still wandering around when I made my way to the back of the store. There they have a line of dressing rooms. It's not a separate area, just doors against the wall. Comprende?

The dressing room attendant was off flirting with her little boytoy coworker, but I spied the key to the doors dangling from a rack. I looked around, and seeing no employees, I gingerly grabbed the key off the rack and used it to open a door. I even thoughtfully grabbed my number (okay, it was the wrong number, but it was a number) and hung it on the door. Looking to my left, I saw a guy on his cell in the corner. Late-teens, early 20s. Nothing special, you know? I made a conspiratorial "sshhh" look at him (you know the drill, fingers to lips, saying "shh"), and then went off on my merry way into the dressing room to change and try on the clothes, which I was anticipating to be ill-fitting.

The first pair of shorts were indeed ill-fitting. While I was taking them off and putting on the next pair of shorts, I heard a knock at my dressing room door. How awkward. I projected my voice and said "Someone's in here!" Silence. Then another slight knock. I said it again, louder. Another knock. I looked at the floor and could see sneakers, probably a male's. Then a male voice, saying something to me, and I had NO IDEA what he was saying. It was heavily accented English. I was like, "what?" "huh?" He repeated. He said something like "I *unintelligible* phone *unintelligible*. It's Me."

By this time I was getting annoyed and feeling rather threatened. He jiggled the handle. I said, forcibly "Give me a Minute!!"

I started buttoning the buttons on my shorts, and decided that I should put a shirt on so I could open the door and be like "What?!?!" Still shirtless, I was feeling very vulnerable.

Then.

Then.

THEN HIS FEET STARTED COMING UNDER THE DOOR AND HE WAS SLIDING UNDER IT.

I started kicking him frantically, barefoot, saying "What are you doing?! Stop!! Stop!! Get out!!" He got as far as up to his thighs, then realized that he was not welcome in my 3 x 3 box of hell, and reversed out of there.

I tried to pretend that all was normal, but after that invasion of privacy and decency, I was not equipped to determine whether or not the shorts looked good on me. I was kinda shaking as I put the shorts back on the hanger, and I heard E come into the room next to me. She was all "Hey Meg!" and cheery, and I hissed, "E. E. E. I have to tell you something. I have to get out of here. Meet me at the accessories."

She thought I had some cool boy story (oh did I ever!), but didn't understand my manner. Finally fully clothed, I shot out of the dressing room and hung out sketchily at the front of the store, flitting around like a moth, touching everything, and looking shifty.

We met at the register (I decided to get the shorts afterall. We'll see how they really look without the flattering light of terror), and I told her the story. Our assumption is that cell phone guy thought that I was telling him "Shhh. Meet me in the dressing room for sex when you finish your call! It will be great!" She also pointedly thanked me for leaving her in the danger zone, oblivious, and said that Darwin would have approved. Whoopsie. You only have to be faster than the slowest person, right?

Every guy that walked by, she asked if it was him. I had no clue. All I knew was that he was wearing jeans and reddish sneakers. And his shins are hopefully covered in bruises begotten by my punishing bare feet.

I like Rodney Atkins, but...

2008-04-08T11:03:00.003-04:00

ever since I noticed that he has the same backup chorus for every song, I've been turning off the radio when he comes on. Enough is enough! You're strong enough to carry it alone, man.

(Seriously. Check out "Cleaning This Gun," "If You're Going Through Hell," "These Are My People," and "Watching You")

If you like him and haven't noticed this, I (kinda) apologize for bringing it to light.

veni - vidi - vici

2008-04-06T22:07:00.005-04:00

About to go to bed...but I wanted to let all know that Cam's visit was phenomenal. He was probably the most low-maintenance person ever, and didn't even complain when we went to the Times—twice!

The beginning was a bit awkward, of course...I flew into Union Station like a bat out of hell, late, carrying a dripping umbrella and looking all out of sorts. On our way to his hotel to drop off his suitcase, I accidentally poked him in the head, twice, with my umbrella. I babbled a bit, even touching upon the scintillating topic of taxes. Overall, not a good look. But once we got to the Times for dinner, surrounded by friendly bar people and members of the Cattle Association of America (or something), all was well.

It was so strange at first, to be sitting across from Cam. I had seen tons of pictures of him, and it was so strange to be sitting across from him, seeing him make those faces and looking like those pictures...only in...you know, 3-D. Real life. To remember things that he's said over the years, and then kind of reconcile that as having been said by the person sitting in front of me. To see them as one and the same.

Over the weekend we did a random (though rather thorough) tour of D.C., hitting up hot spots such as the old post office tower, the portrait gallery, the national building museum, the Jefferson + FDR + naval memorials, the Mall, etc. Weather.com had been forecasting "heavy rain" all weekend, but except for the miserably freezing rain on Thursday night, it was beautifully sunny for the rest of the trip. Well, today it was kinda overcast. But it was beautiful on Friday and Saturday, and that's when it was important, I think.

It's hard to pick a favorite moment...I'm so glad he took a chance and decided to visit. And I'm bummed that it's over.

Client #10?

2008-04-02T21:35:00.004-04:00

As you all know, Cam is coming tomorrow (!!). Being Little Miss D.C. Tour Guide, I told him that I'd meet him at Union Station and show him where his hotel is.

Now, since my sense of direction is a bit, shall we say, loosey-goosey in general, I decided to take some time out today to make sure that I actually do know where his hotel is.

So, after a nice walk along the Mall with C-note, I headed toward Cam's hotel. Or, rather, where I thought his hotel was. I went down the street, and saw...The Hyatt, The Washington Grand Park Place Plaza Court Hotel (or something like that), and I even saw this new one called...The Liaison. Catching the name, noticing its location literally in the shadow of the Capitol (at the right time of day, at least), I cracked up. Why didn't they just call it "The Torrid Affair"? Why bother with the pretense?

I got such a kick out of it that I contemplated taking a picture of the beautifully lit name and sending it to Cam, but then figured that I could just show it to him sometime along the weekend. It would give me to something chatter about in case there was a lull.

Walking down the street, growing kinda cold and wondering just where exactly the darn Holiday Inn was and how I could have screwed this up, I passed a cabbie waiting outside his vehicle. I turned back, and asked him if he knew where the Holiday Inn is.

He pointed down the street, and said "Oh, they just changed the name on that yesterday! It's now called The Liaison."

I shit you not.

Oh. My. God.

2008-04-02T09:56:00.002-04:00

Cam is coming TOMORROW!!!!!

So excited. And nervous. I kinda feel like I'm taking an exam that I haven't quite prepared for, but I know the drama will dissipate after 10 seconds of our meeting. I cannot wait!!!!!

**NOTE** After posting this entry, I looked up "dissipate" to make sure I used it correctly, and one of the definitions (according to wordreference.com) is: to live a life of pleasure, especially with respect to alcoholic consumption

hahaha

No, he doesn't have any flaws. La La La La!

2008-03-27T20:36:00.004-04:00

You know how sometimes you have those days where you hate everyone who dares tremble in your path? I'm thrilled to note that today was not one of those days.

I was a little irked when I got off at Chinatown and these people waddled out of the train, then cut in front of me at a full-scale molasses-in-July speed, and I was forced to apply my metaphorical brakes. I got around them, headed toward the exit, and I got caught behind a little kid, so I slowed down.

(N.B.: I don't mind being behind kids, slow people who have short legs, or no legs, or one leg that's fine but the other in a crutch. I'm not totally heartless.)

There were these two girls (women?!) around my age walking behind me. I caught a piece of their conversation...
Girl A: He's perfect.
Girl B: He is great...but he does have flaws.
Girl A: Oh, I know. I just don't want to ever find out about them.

Isn't that wonderful? It reminds me of the Sara Evans song "As If"—as in,

You don't have to tell me what you're thinking
You can keep all that to yourself
Baby we got such a good thing going
don't show me that you're someone else

I think we've all been there (are there?) and it's fun to overhear other girls saying the ridiculous things that my friends and I think and say. Sing it, sister! Enjoy the fact that you think he's perfect. Why not?

Then—on to the hair salon. I hate how they're all psychotic about YOU getting there on time, but then you wait for 20 minutes while they do their thing in the back room. At any rate, I was prepared—I had brought along a book.

So, J my hair stylist pops out around 10 minutes later and we did our "introductions" and I said what I wanted done to my do. I then got my hair washed; in a sink, by the way, that was comfortable(!), and then I went back to J's chair. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was sort of stunned when he threw the towel over my head + face and vigorously rubbed it. It was strangely strong and gentle. When he finished 10 short seconds later and pulled the towel off my head, I had this embarrassingly huge grin on my face. Maybe it was just the contact with a guy, even if he was gay? Who knows. All I can say is that I actually enjoyed a stranger smothering me with a towel and then shaking.

Post-haircut I made a beeline to City Sports. This marks the beginning of the Great Red Sox Experiment: 2008. This season I'm going to actually make an effort and TRY to like the Red Sox and understand and take part in the whole experience that gets the populace of Boston in a frenzy. Last year I had promised Pat that I'd give it a go "next season," and go figure—"next season" came awfully fast. I thought I'd have at least until April, you know? So, naturally, in order to transform into a mega-fan, I thought it important that I look the part. But I couldn't find a hat in City Sports that fit my noggin semi-comfortably. They all did weird stuff to my ears.

(While pulling hats on and off I couldn't help but think of those tips in Glamour and Cosmo about how to "make that salon blowout last." Hint: it's not by trying on baseball caps.)

I booked it out of City Sports empty-handed, and thought I heard someone call my name. Turned quickly, saw right behind me a tall attractive male wearing a gray hat, but no one I knew. Darn.

UM I'M AN IDIOT. J.C. WTF?! Why do I never EVER EVER EVER realize that it's you when it's you?! Luckily you're used to this horrendous mental block of mine...and you know that I don't purposely PRETEND to not know you, so you persist in calling my name. And I love how you said "I thought it was you, of course you were coming out of City Sports." Actually, the gym and I are estranged this week...but I'll make an effort to go tomorrow just because you were that sweet.

I think the problem is that we have genuinely random run-ins and seeing you is akin to a celebrity sighting. And I have an excuse for the time that we were at the CUA football game and the Sun was blocking my eyes. You looked headless. But, really? I don't really know why you don't smack me on the head. Perhaps you should start.

At any rate, it was a thrill to run into J.C., even though it was a delayed reaction on my part. Hope you and Reds had fun at the circus!

Back to the hat hunt. Not being one to give up in the face of adversity, I went into the Lids at the mall near my apartment. The girl at the counter was pretty useless, and I didn't really like how she was wearing her hat anyhow, so I didn't really want her help. I was texting Pat and Bub to try to determine the proper fit: is it supposed to do weird stuff with my ears? Is it better for it to be too big or too small? What are the no-no styles and colors that I should avoid?

I was standing there in the tiny corner trying on five different RS hats, elbowing for room with this ungentlemanly guy who was checking out the Yankee paraphernalia and boxing me out. Already getting into it, I mentally thanked him for providing me with my first "Yankees Suck!" animosity.

Getting pushed out by the jerk, I stood closer to the middle of the tiny store, alternating between the L and the XL, and I ran into a stalemate. I looked at the hats in my hands, feeling quite confused and lost. Alone. All of a sudden, like an angel from on high, I heard "Get that one. That's the one to get." I looked up, grateful. A fan (one of my future kind!), in D.C., waiting to take me under his wing! I stepped toward him, but stopped short of the doorway, not wanting to kick things off with a theft. He stepped in, and I told him my "too big" or "too small" dilemma, and I modeled both of them for him while his wife smiled in a strained manner. He weighed in with his professional advice, and I picked one. It was great.

When I got to the register, I had the thought that maybe...maybe none of the hats feel right because I'm unsure about this whole venture, and that's coming out as not finding a hat that truly fits me. Maybe I'm not really ready to commit to the Red Sox..maybe I'm not done trying on different hats. Not to get serious for a second or anything.

By the time I left the store I was already loving humanity and planning on blogging about this when I got back to my apartment. I stopped at the corner store to purchase turkey sausage for dinner (I ended up "making" cereal instead, though)...and was kinda disappointed when I saw that the owner was not behind the counter, but another woman who seems kind of blah and, quite frankly, doesn't give me the warm welcome to which I am accustomed. I did my sausage acquisition in the rear of the store then made my way to the front counter...where I heard the melodious tune that accompanies the Final Jeopardy question. I involuntarily exclaimed "Oh!" (as the guy paying for his foodstuff shot me a look. what a snot.). The eyes of the woman behind the counter, however, lit up when she recognized in me a fellow fan. The too-cool-for-school guy left, I put my purchases on the counter...and we both turned eagerly toward the T.V. to catch the final outcome. The answer was "Beethoven" (I would have gotten it wrong), and there was a MAJOR UPSET as the anticipated loser raked in $30,000! The cashier said that she loves it when there's a big surprise at the end, and I agreed.

Okay, I know this next sentence is really dorky, so bear with me. It was really nice to share the Final Jeopardy question with someone else...usually it's just me yelling at the T.V. It was an unexpected, delightful end to a pretty delightful day. Who would have thought that I would have found all these interesting, amusing, and heartwarming people and things at all these fairly mundane places?

If—

2008-03-24T22:10:00.003-04:00

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

- RUDYARD KIPLING

Happy Easter!

2008-03-23T16:37:00.003-04:00

A few things...

1) There is something Very Wrong going on next door. The dog has been barking non-stop inside the house from at least 10 p.m last night until now (5 p.m.). Either the owners went on a mini-vacation or they have been murdered and their poor dog has been trying to get someone's attention, but we're ignoring him because this isn't the movies and we don't really believe in Lassie anymore. It's kinda stressing me out, because a barking dog is an unhappy dog...he's probably really anxious. I hope the people come home soon! Should I try to communicate with the doggy through the window?

(Just kidding. Already tried that this morning, of course. Relax, it was from the sidewalk. I didn't actually get in the shrubbery.)

2) I love love love Men in Trees. It's such a great show. The characters are all likable, the scenery is beautiful, the girls wear such cool clothes! It makes me want to buy a cabin in Alaska on a cute little pond and sit on the dock writing on my laptop whilst drinking coffee. Any takers?

3) Last week when my parents visited they gave me a little gift bag as an Easter present. I decided to wait until today to open it (okay, on Thursday I dug into the chocolate that was peeking out of the bag), as my "Easter Bunny present." Might as well keep the fantasy alive as long as possible, right? When I told her that I was saving it until today, my mom said that she felt bad that she didn't put more stuff in it. But it was totally great! My favorite thing is this beautiful, bold necklace...I actually involuntarily said "Ooooooh!" when I opened it—it's a giant silver star. I showed it to P, and she said something along the lines of "That is so perfect for you that I feel like you already own one!"

Without further ado, here it is!

Haha - like the exotic shadow pattern on my fleece + neck? It's from our window bars. The greatness of the present is actually two-fold...according to the box, she bought it for me when she was in Vermont on the family-minus-me ski trip. And the beautiful bracelet that she bought me is from the all-the-females-in-the-family-minus-me jewelry party. Obviously she's thinking of me (she's my mom!), but it's the icing on the cake to know for sure. You know? It was a fantastic Easter present.

4) Last thing. I think the upstairs neighbors finally discovered the invention called "the radio," because they've been listening to music all day, and neither P or I have ever heard any sort of tunes emanating from their apartment. Thus far, I'm loving their tastes. There was some Queen, Rolling Stones, Bach (or something). Maybe they only indulge in the radio once a year as an Easter treat?

tv...metro...starbucks...

2008-03-21T23:14:00.004-04:00

Just to get this out of the way...I'm watching TV and just saw another match.com ad. And I just gotta say, they are NOT reeling me in. If anything, they turn me off. There's that really maniacal juggling person, and there's someone laughing like she's high, and people giving sideways looks...and then on the radio they have some guy laughing in a self-deprecating manner of how he sleepwalks and goes to bed with his socks on. Those are endearing traits that I'd like to eventually learn about someone, not traits that are used to hook me in.

(and yes, admittedly I'm guilty of gabbing about my obnoxious sleep habits, but I'm not doing it to advertise.)

OH, and I hate those chemistry.com ads. You were rejected by eharmony. Deal. They don't have to accept you, and to be honest, you all sound like a bunch of whiners. So can it and stop looking desperate.

I fear that the past couple of days I've developed some weird "oil that greases the wheel" vibe about me. Now, before I go sounding all egotistical, let me explain. It started yesterday evening. I was on the Metro heading back from the stupid gym, and I was standing in my spot across from the door. Even though I like to eavesdrop, I went against my usual M.O. and put on my iPod in order to hit my daily quota of 20 listens of "So Close" from Enchanted. SO GOOD.

We get to Metro Center, people efficiently file in and out, as they are supposed to do. The door chimed, and one side shut, but the left side stayed open. The doors chimed again, the left side of the door stayed open, then tried to shut again...but didn't. Everyone was staring at it dumbfounded. In no mood to miss LOST, I went over and tugged on the plastic part of the door, and slid it shut.

The train took off. While heading to the next stop, I was thinking about the possible ramifications of my actions. What if the door was actually broken, and someone leaned against it, and fell out? I mean, even though the sign says "PLEASE DO NOT LEAN AGAINST DOORS," I'm always doing it. Always. Then it would be my fault, since I forced the door shut. As we rolled into Chinatown, I decided that I would contact the conductor if it had issues again.

Luckily the door decided to function normally, and all was well.

Fast Forward to Today—needing a surge of caffeine I strode into Starbucks at 3:20ish. I was shocked to see that it was full...I had been in work mode, in our empty office, and hadn't expected anyone to be around. But, alas, there were. Okay, so...at my work Starbucks, there is one main line and two registers. There is a column in between the two registers, so if someone is directly in line behind one line, they can't see that the other is open.

So, I was enjoying my little break in the aromatic local coffeehouse, even though it did involve standing in line. But...the line. It wasn't working right. The register to the right was empty, but the next guy in line wasn't moving toward it. I didn't particularly mind, but the cashier at the second register was giving me significant looks. As if he expected me to do something about it! I decided to actually earn the occasional employee discount that they throw my way, so I gingerly stepped up a few feet and tapped the guy on the shoulder, and sweetly gave him the 411. He didn't really seem too grateful, but shuffled to the right cashier and made his order.

Then, against all odds (who ARE these people?! Mormons?!), it happened again. The guy at the register said "Next!" and gave me another significant look. In turn, I looked back at him and looked pointedly to my left. The cashier got the hint and got the attention of the other guy without my help.

I felt all line Nazi for clueing in the first guy, because, well, I sometimes do get annoyed when people don't know what to do in the Starbucks line. I don't care if they order their drink wrong (I do that all the time), but it shocks me when people don't use common sense. Like when they make the line wrap all around the stupid display instead of just going to the right. But it's times like those that make me realize that I'm wrapped a bit too tight. And it makes me chuckle and chill.

One more thing. I guess sitting alone watching TV on a Friday night leaves me chatty...to my blog.

Post-work I headed toward the Metro (notice a pattern? work. metro. starbucks. work. gym. tv. scintillating.). I hopped on the escalator and noticed a bit of a jam. A quarter of the way down there was this couple standing. Side-by-side. Oblivious. People quickly piled up behind them. A guy stepped down beside me, and gave me a tiny embarrassed smile as he passed and stopped on the step in front of me. A woman walked down, stopped next to me, and said "Tourists." a bit pissily, but quietly.

I looked behind me to marvel at how fast the action piles up—just like in those Visa commercials!—and the woman behind me smiled. A couple of steps back, I heard someone else say "Tourists!" and a male responded, quite indulgently, "Well, I guess it is Friday."

Miracle of miracles, no one bitched at them. Can you believe it? Humanity and charity in the darkness of the commute!

You Have Got To Be Kidding ME

2008-03-19T09:00:00.003-04:00

Station Tune-In: Flat-screen televisions at Mass. Pike service plazas are getting a mixed reception from travelers

In case you don't want to read the article: TVs are getting placed on gas pumps, so you have the pleasure of watching & listening to "news bytes, sports highlights, and the latest Hollywood gossip" while filling up your gas tank. If that drivel wasn't bad enough, the main focus, obviously, is advertising. David Leider, the CEO of Gas Station TV, crowed, "We like to say the consumer is tied to the screen with an 8-foot rubber hose for five minutes."

This really makes me very, very angry. If these start popping up locally (wherever that might be), I'll probably either a) take a hammer to them or b) carry around pieces of cardboard and tape them to the screen.

There are few things I hate more than TV being forced upon me. United Airlines is also an offender, playing their stupid ads (the volume playing over the loudspeaker) on the ceiling TVs for a few minutes after the safety video. Contrary to what Leider might think, I'm not a captive audience. I am an extremely hostile audience.

I'm going to write contact Gas Station TV. Part of me wonders, though, if they're the vengeful sort who would then instantly make sure that all gas stations within a 50-mile radius would be outfitted with the TVs. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

And oh my goodness. On the page for gas station owners, it claims that the TVs will "result in customer loyalty, increased traffic and higher C-store sales."

Cam, sweetheart. Can we mine our own oil and gas? How does that work?

The Gym

2008-03-18T21:42:00.002-04:00

Feeling like a total porker back in November, I decided to join the newly opened gym by my work metro stop. The place is expensive, but I have to walk by it every day, twice a day. It's also pretty luxe...and I know lazy, gym-hating, me. In order for me to go to a gym, there needs to be a pretty big carrot (other than healthier lifestyle, living longer, and looking better).

The beginning, like most relationships, kicked off beautifully. Everything smelled new, from the freshly painted walls to the newly stained floorboards. The towels were pristine white and soft. There were more than enough treadmills to go around, all tricked out with DirectTV. The locker room, while awkward for a newbie, was roomy enough. And it comes with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in each stall. They play classical music over the speakers, and provide hair dryers, and lotion. Also, they have bottles of hairspray and deodorant (which I've fucked up more than a few times, actually. And yes, "fucked up" - putting hairspray in one's armpit deserves such a strong designation, I think).

As the weeks rolled on, more and more people joined. What was once an endearing ragtag bunch became a crew of sleek workout hotties, wearing color-coordinated shirts and shorts, and actually wearing socks that matched the other. They took over the locker room, prancing around in little more than thongs, blocking the lockers. Like, WTF?

Two of my favorites: the woman who sat naked on a locker room bench reading a magazine, and the girl who curls her hair while topless. Not even a bra. It doesn't make sense to me. I can maybe, maybe understand being shirtless. But no bra? It's asking for a burn, right?

Also, those once-fluffy towels? Not so much anymore. And a couple of weeks ago I realized that whatever they use to bleach the shit out of them reddens and slightly burns my face. And I have to rush from work to sign up for a treadmill...luckily the sleek hotties seem to work until 6. And the boys? The male-female ratio is about equal, but it's not even, if you get my drift.

And I've spent more money on workout clothes the past three months than on...fun clothes. I tried running pants, but they get too hot. Shorts ride up. Spandex is TOO intimate. And though I love my jogging skirts, the shortie leggings underneath do some weird things and distract me from my goal of not falling off the treadmill. But don't fret if you're in a similar quandary: last week I bought some uber-dorky long female basketball shorts, and tonight they performed their function perfectly.

So, needless to say, the bloom is off the rose. But, Victory. I still go. And today, for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE, I ran 4 miles. I know that's nothing to a lot of people (like...you, Cam. And you, J.C., and anyone else athletically inclined), but it was awesome to hit that mark tonight. It feels so good to do something that I didn't think I'd be able to do.

Due to my abominable diet (hiii, homemade brownie in my left hand), I haven't lost any weight. But that's okay. That's not the point of all this, I don't think.

On a sidenote, today while running I listened to an NPR podcast about a guy who had a lobotomy when he was 12. His life is something out of a Disney movie: his evil stepmother hated him and wanted to turn him into a vegetable, so she had the operation done. It didn't work, so then she put him in foster care. What a witch. My favorite part is when he interviews his dad about the whole thing, and how his dad reacts....the podcast/story can be found here: Tragic Stories of the 10-Minute Lobotomy. If you're going to be commuting to work and need something to listen to, definitely give this a try!

changing how we watch TV

2008-03-18T09:16:00.002-04:00

I just read a review of "Misguided" (it was my second this morning, I must be gearing up to watch).

At the end of the review on Boston.com, the writer says:

"It's not a show I'd put on my DVR, but if I happened upon it, I might sit back and smirk."

Isn't that funny? The new golden standard is NOT sitting down at the appointed time and watching a show, but deeming it worthy to sit down LATER and watch it. It puts a depreciated value on the present and a higher value on the future. As in, "I am specifically planning to take time out of my busy weekend to watch This show."

OR, conversely, it puts a higher value on the present by saying that you're too important/busy/exciting to sit down and watch TV at the time determined by the network execs, and says that you'll catch the possible rubbish at a later date, when you're recovering from and building up energy for your adventures. You won't carve time out of your busy schedule to watch it, but you're leaving the option open for a later date.

Has TV become more important or less important with the invention of DVR?

National Women's History Month

2008-03-17T21:21:00.005-04:00

I'd like to think that my friends and I are very pro-girl/sisterhood. Sometime along the way, we all realized that females in our society are pitted against each other, presented as competition. Competition for the job, for the men, for social standing. And, recognizing this fact, we came to a crossroads: either embrace it or be repulsed by it.

A couple of years ago I read Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination, by Helen Fielding. Olivia is attractive, friendly, curious. She's at party chock full of upscale attractive possible terrorists, and she has a run-in with another woman, who is seemingly into the same guy that Olivia may or may not be interested in (Olivia is actually investigating him). AT ANY RATE, Olivia quickly realizes that that girl is not on "The Girl Team." She's conniving, bitchy, and willing to do whatever it is to get Olivia out of the picture. Olivia proclaims something along the lines of: There are two types of girls: those who are on the Girl Team, and those who Are Not.

I think that was the first time I had thought about female relations in those terms. It was like good ole' Helen Fielding shined a bright light on my surroundings. It's so true...there are two types of girls: those on the girl team, and those who are not. We should all be on the same team. But it's so hard, especially when you like a guy and some other girl gets him, to keep this in mind. She becomes the bitch, your friends call her ugly and stupid to make you feel better, she (and possibly her posse) are the enemy.

But then you run into that girl or her friends at the bar, and you've had a few drinks, and you exchange words, and you realize. Oh, crap. These people are actually really smart, cool, beautiful, and intelligent. People you'd like as friends! They are catches. It doesn't make YOU any less of a catch, though. Life is not a zero-sum game.

I'd like to think we've all grown out of this. We've recognized the destructive patterns and, in the words of Dar Williams, "I will not be afraid of women."

Believe in the power of positive actions.

(and check out The Unretouched Woman, compiled by Slate.)

oops...

2008-03-13T21:56:00.002-04:00

Hi Mom!!

I cannot wait to see you and Dad on Saturday! I can't believe I haven't seen you guys since January 1, and I miss you two so much. Thank you for being such an amazing and understanding parent...I'm sorry that I'm always surprising you (as you so gently put it). At least it will make for a great biography?

Love,

Your loving daughter

a little poem

2008-03-12T20:18:00.001-04:00

i saw you on the train the other day
and didn't say hello.

maybe we'll blog together at the Smithsonian.

2008-03-11T21:48:00.004-04:00

After being blog + gmail + gchat + facebook + texting friends, Cam and I have decided to take it to the next level...REAL LIFE.

Cam is freaking amazing and booked a trip to D.C.! And for all of you who are giggling into your coffee cups and exchanging knowing glances, I'll have you know that he booked a hotel. And he'll be staying there. So stop it.

I haven't told anyone except for my younger brother...I called him and he laughed, and his first statement was "Well, you still have mace, right?" But he's had online friends for years and understands. I'm sort of scared for my safety (no offense, Cam!), since I've read so many articles/seen so many news stories, etc. And if, you know, it does turn out badly (*knock on wood*), the whole world will read this blog and be like, "Well she had that coming!" Which will suck. But Bub reassured me that he wouldn't think that, so that's a comfort.

And Cam, I know you. This is all just my paranoid vivid imagination and covering my bases. And I understand if you're nervous about your safety, too (or maybe you weren't until I just said that). Haven't you ever seen a Lifetime movie? I'm referring to The Many Faces of Karen, something that C-note and I watched senior year of college.

I am looking forward to his visit so much. I'll probably faint right before I meet him.

If anyone has some great things-to-do-in-D.C. suggestions, please fling them at me. Feel free to deviate from the dorky...all of you know how much I enjoy staring at Lincoln's bloody hat in Ford's Theater, so I got that angle pretty much covered.

THREE WEEKS!

Learning experience # 345

2008-03-09T21:15:00.002-04:00

Living on my own gives me ample opportunities to have learning experiences where and when I least expect it....

Today I've done a bunch of loads of laundry, and I'm on my last batch. I put all of my sheets and pillowcases in the washer, and have been eagerly awaiting dryer time. Nice warm sheets = a nice night's sleep.

At least, I imagine it would be so. However, my washer has taken this moment to break, and stop just short of the drain cycle. I keep spinning the little knob, and pushing it in and out, trying to make it start. It restarts, then keeps stopping before the drain cycle.

(hah. I just heard it stop again.)

Guess I'm sleeping on my down mattress cover tonight!

Learning Experience #345:
don't wash all your sheets at once. especially not right before bedtime.

Looking Back

2008-03-08T18:56:00.002-05:00

Even though it was pouring on Friday, I decided to make the 6-block walk to Potbelly for lunch. It proved to be an interesting one...

Being vain, I wore my heels to get my food. I wear sneakers on the commute, and I always feel so dowdy. And, to be honest, while it's nice to feel professional at work, the effect is completely wasted on the pretty-much-all-taken males at work. I should wear the heels to and from work, and sneakers at work, but I digress.

So, the light was changing, I decided to make a run for it across the intersection. Almost safely to the other side, the back of my foot exits my shoe. I hobble, and realize that that's not happening. As the cars 40 feet away rev their engines, and the light turns to green, I stop and adjust, then make a break for the sidewalk. I felt very J-Lo in The Wedding Planner, you know what I mean?

The next street, I had the light, but I almost got hit by a bicyclist when crossing. Ordinarily I'd be scared and not amused, but the guy was just sorta lollygagging (dillydallying?), whistling and looking in the other direction (I was staring intently ahead and trying to keep my shoes on) and I'm positive that at least a few people in the cars facing us were jonesing for a collision. We would have fallen on our asses, but no serious injuries. Almost like a comedy act or performance art.

At any rate. After those two unexpected events, I was in a good humor and wondering what excitement would be coming up at the next intersection. The sidewalk was pretty empty, except for this short little man coming toward me, also holding an umbrella.

As he was about to pass me, he gave me a huge smile, and said "Hello!"

To be honest, I was not expecting it. With my heels on, I probably had a good foot on him. So I giggled in surprise and threw out a "hi!" as we passed.

Smiling, I went about 10 more feet, then impulsively peered over my right shoulder, and looked back at him.

He was doing the same!! His cute little smiling face was over one shoulder, and he was holding his umbrella over his other shoulder.

I wish someone had taken a picture...we looked like some cheesy poster.

ESP! Holy cow.

2008-03-06T23:20:00.002-05:00

I really believe in some undercurrent of knowledge that runs through all of us. Or in people having a connection. Or, ESP. I don't know exactly what to call it. But something certainly goes on that's deeper than "coincidence."

For example, the evening I came home for Christmas vacation, my younger brother and I were sitting on the front porch shooting the breeze. We got on to the topic of how I have really lame and easy passwords (something that infuriates Bub), and then I bragged that I changed my facebook password to a hard one, and I said "you'll never guessss ittt" in an obnoxious sing-songy voice.

Bub smugly shot back, "I can guess it. Bananas."

My mouth dropped open. I stared at him. MY PASSWORD WAS BANANA.

Bub didn't believe me, even though I looked freaked out—so I grabbed my mom's laptop, and he logged me into facebook, and "banana" provided the open sesame. I don't know how he guessed it. I never have fruit passwords, and I only chose "banana" because one was on my desk when I changed my password at work back in November. Something was going on.

Something else happened tonight.

I had a delightful dinner with Mel, and was walking back to my apartment from the Metro. I decided to give Tans, who lives in Massachusetts, a call. We emailed a couple of weeks ago, and something in Florida reminded me of her, so I thought it would be nice to check in. It seems like I only call her when I'm a) inebriated or b) distraught over a boy, so I figured a little sober happy call would be nice for once.

I gave her a ring, and she didn't pick up, so I left a message. Then I called my Nana, walked back to my apartment, blah blah blah.

Checking my email before I went to watch LOST with E and Bill, I saw that Tans had commented on two of my facebook pictures, one of which I had tagged her in. I looked at the time stamps: 7:53 and 8:02. That struck me, since I figured that I called her around that time.

I checked my phone. I had called her at 8:02.

AMAZING!!

We haven't talked on the phone for more than a month. We haven't emailed for two weeks. And then we contact each other at the same time?

I love life...it's so interesting.

An answer.

2008-03-05T21:36:00.003-05:00

My dearest Cam,

I've spent all day considering your offer, which has been a pleasant diversion. It's almost convinced me that I should imagine marrying a different guy each day of the week, in order to give myself something to daydream about. It's a whole new fantasy life!

But, no, I decided that daydreaming about marrying You, only You, is enough. Everyone else pales in comparison. And how could I say no with your cute face smiling at me from your blog? Irresistible.

However, just like you, I do have my terms.

- we will live at least half of the year in the Boston area.
- you will buy me things for the sheer joy of buying me things to make me happy. For reference, I like sapphires, convertibles, flowers, and, hell....anything. A donut works too.
- you're a dog person. right?!
- you won't make me eat Mexican food, insisting that I "do like it, I just don't know it yet."
- you will let me lie sometimes with my head on your shoulder with your arm around me. It's nice. It makes me happy.

In return, I'll...
- become a better SCUBA diver so we can go on amazing dives together (and not just in quarries).
- make you dinner all the time.
- learn to cook so that dinner is edible at least part of the time.
- run a 5K every so often so we can mutually pretend that I'm in shape.
- not make you edit my nanowrimo submissions, just because it's so sweet that you thought of that.
- love you for who you are.
- make you the freaking happiest man alive.

See you in Vegas in 45 hours!

gchat kisses,
meg

please don't let this dissuade you...

2008-03-01T11:53:00.002-05:00

but scuba diving was AWFUL.

(okay. I'm on the Tarpon Springs' library computer, and I only got 11 min and 15 sec to tell my tale. excuse the typos.)

So, I was super nervous. I've had a cold all week, and I'm always stressed about equalizing, and even more so when I'm hacking up crap every couple of minutes. But, per Cam's advice, I loaded up on medicine, and I was barely coughing as I headed out to the sea with my new dive buddies. The buddies? Totally surly. Two guys, around my age. Didn't talk much, looked like pros. One girl, around my age, didn't talk much, looked like almost a beginner. One older guy, Bruce, who I cozied up with and asked him to zip up my wet suit (the zipper was in the back). He seemed happy to do it.

Anyhow, it was all looking good until we reached the end of our journey out. The boat was rocking back and forth, my wetsuit seemed to be suffocating me, all I could smell was neoprene and gasoline. As the two crew guys tried to set the anchor (and as I resisted screaming HOW FREAKING HARD CAN IT BE?!?), I pulled at my suit, swayed back and forth, and the mom of the other girl offered me dramamine. Thank God. I chewed it up and swallowed, then took a swig of water.

Unfortuately, obviously, it didn't kick in immediately. The anchor was finally set, and the divemaster could tell I was having problems. I looked back, and saw one of the hardcore guys my age tossing his breakfast over the side. I looked forward, ineffectively clawed at my gear, and stumbled to the side of the boat, dry-heaving. Nothing came up, but I felt awful.

The two crew-members basically grabbed me, put me in my gear, checked my air supply, and I fell back into the water, where I was expecting relief. But, big surprise, I felt the waves EVEN more when I was in them. I put my snorkel in, then my regulator, and noticed from the sound of my breathing that I was actually, truly hyperventilating. My dive buddy (the girl) was probably like "wow. what a loser." The guys on the boat told me to grab the line and pull myself to the front of the boat, where we would use the anchor line to guide our descent. I eventually got to the front of the boat, with my leg wrapped around the line, hyperventilating, and my girl asked me if I was okay. I gasped, honestly, "No. I need to get a grip."

Eventually I got a grip, helped by the truth that it would be less rocky under the waves. I descended, and equalizing was a piece of cake! I was shocked and pleasantly surprised.

(only 3 min and 30 sec left! it's like a typing test.)

So we paddled around underwater. My goggles were fogged, but I was still too freaked out to fill them with water to clear them. My breathing slowed. I still couldn't look down, because I was afraid of barfing into my regulator. Eventually I sorta cleared my goggles. While my buddy was looking at the army tanks, I was watching her like a halk, not wanting to lose her. Keeping her bright yellow tank in sight was my salvation.

Dive over, we ascended. The waves came. I gradually, painfully, heartbreakingly pathetically made my way to the boat. My goggles were fogged. I was blind. I was a moron. Eventually I got my fins off and got into the boat.

I ditched the next dive, choosing to instead stare at the horizon and say Hail Mary's.

57 seconds. I think I'm made for quarries. Lakes. Ponds. Pools. But don't let this stop anyone from diving. It was just a rough time for me.

GOTTA GO!

Yes!

2008-02-27T09:30:00.002-05:00

My horoscope for today (courtesy of Holiday Mathis, with The Washington Post):

Nurture the romance in your soul by getting out in the world—alone. Solo experiences turn up the vibrant creativity inside you. Take yourself on a really impressive date.

Florida, here I come!

fingers crossed

2008-02-24T22:51:00.004-05:00

Actually experiencing a Cliché Awful Hollywoodesque moment in one's life...crying over an ended relationship while walking home alone in the rain—

It can only mean that one will also experience those Cliché Amazing Hollywoodesque moments of pure unmitigated joy.

my mom says I should just give up...

2008-02-24T16:38:00.002-05:00

Donating blood is such a bitch. The Red Cross is hounding me on a montly basis, emailing/calling/mailing to try to get me to donate blood. Since it's a renewable resource...I decide, why the hell not? I don't particularly mind needles, and all that stuff about "saving three lives" gets me to the core.

But the whole process is so frustrating. Even though you have an appointment, there's always a ridiculous wait to be seen, no matter if you're donating at a local blood drive or sticking your arms out to check for drug tracks at the Red Cross HQ in D.C.

Usually I go with high hopes, only to have them dashed when they do the preliminary finger prick. The past three (four?) times my iron has been too low, so I slink out of there with my head hidden. People might be wondering...does she have AIDS? Has she had sex with a man who has had sex with a man who lived in Africa? Has she ever injected drugs (NOT prescribed by a doctor) with a needle?

This time I passed the initial blood test with flying colors. I was thrilled. For once, I would be able to donate blood and save THREE lives. My precious Sunday morning will not have been wasted. FINALLY, finally, after an hour of sitting around, it was my time to sit in the reclining chair facing some trash TV. I was dying to change the station to TLC in the hopes that "What Not To Wear" was on, instead of being force-fed some dumb show...let me try to remember what it was called...oh yes. "News To Me." And oh my gosh, I can't believe CNN produces that crap!

So I'm all suited up with my empty blood bag in my hand, waiting to be pricked with the needle. The blood lady finally comes around, and gets to work wiping down my arm with iodine. She tells me to squeeze the mini-football in my hand, and I'm squeezing until it hurts, and apparently my vein is moving around. She finally gets it in, and the blood starts...trickling down the tube. At a glacial pace.

So much so that I was rejected for having blood that "just didn't want to come." And after poking around a bit more, she took the needle out, and said that I could go grab a snack from the "canteen" if I wanted. Which is the ultimate pity prize for us blood rejects...and it's just so embarrassing to be rejected from a place that is notoriously hard up.

Frustrated, I called my mom as I walked away. She told me that it's a sign, that I should just give up donating blood, since I have a 0/5 success rate. But I'm a masochist.

I had two things on my plate for today. Let's hope that the second one goes off without a hitch.

quick quote

2008-02-22T09:20:00.002-05:00

I am not afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship - louisa may alcott

Courtesy of chapter three in Storm Chaser by Jim Reed. Reed is a chaser and amazing photographer...I spoke to him on the phone yesterday, and I mentioned that I would love to go on a storm chase someday...and he told me that I was welcome to come along with him sometime. I pretty much fell off my chair. I don't know if he was serious—but I hope he was and plan on following up! My eagerness was laughable. He said something along the lines of being really fun, and traveling with a fun crew, and I was all "Oh I'm SO MUCH FUN! REALLY!!!!"

Funny how just the hope of something amazing can make a day better.

"Set look inscrutable, nor smile nor frown--"

2008-02-20T21:06:00.006-05:00

This past weekend I searched out The Adams Memorial. It's a statue by Augustus Saint-Gaudens, commissioned in 1887 by Henry Adams to commemorate the life and death of his beloved wife, Clover Adams, who had committed suicide by drinking potassium cyanide. The Memorial is placed over their unmarked graves in Rock Creek Cemetery.

I had seen one of the two copies of the memorial a month or so ago in the National Portrait Gallery/National Museum of American Art. I had slipped into the museum after work...it's open until 7 p.m., and sometimes I head there for a little treat on my way back to my apartment.

I had walked around the various rooms, taking in the pieces of art. I turned the corner, and saw the statue, not more than 10 feet away. It's larger than life, and just so breathtaking and frightening. It is a cloaked figure sitting on a throne-like chair, and the face stares out at you behind closed eyes from beneath the folds of a hood. The figure is neither male nor female, though it's beautiful and handsome. It's a presence. The informal name is "Grief" though Henry Adams wanted it to represent "the acceptance, intellectually, of the inevitable," and he was reportedly upset that people saw it as a sad comment on end of life.

When I read that the original is in a D.C. cemetery, I decided that I had to check it out. Coming upon it in the wild didn't give me the same kick in the gut—probably because I was looking for it, and not feeling as though it was looking for me—but it was powerful nonetheless.

According to the leaflet at the cemetery, Eleanor Roosevelt used to sit on the benches facing the statue during tough times, and would draw strength from the figure. John Galsworthy, an author, wrote about a character encountering the statue: "He didn't know, but in any case there it was, the best thing he had come across in America, the one that gave him the most pleasure, in spite of all the water he had seen at Niagara and those skyscrapers in New York... Easy to sit still in front of that thing! They ought to make America sit there once a week."

Looking at my pictures, I know I failed to capture the essence of the statue. Maybe because it was a sunny day...

cue "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline

2008-02-18T19:45:00.005-05:00

For the past couple of days I've been dog-sitting Jake (E's bf's dog). Part of our routine is an evening walk...we hit the streets around 6:30/7 p.m., at which time we walk to the park, gallivant through the dark park through the mud and leaves and whatnot, then do a big circuit around the block. It's pretty quiet and pretty dark, and normally I'd be all paranoid, but an over-protective 80-lb German Shepherd has a way of chilling my nerves.

Tonight, right before we arrived at the intersection where we turn left to return to E's bf's place, I looked up the hill in front of me, and saw a figure slowly walking down it, (incidentally) toward us. Jake didn't do more than glance at the figure, but my blood sort of chilled. I was glad that I was wearing the androgynous outfit of sweatpants, sweatshirt, and a baseball cap, because this person looked creepy, and honestly, when in doubt, it's best to try to look as masculine as possible.

I kept looking at the person as we walked toward the intersection. He/She was wearing dark clothes...and possibly...a trenchcoat?! Or an open bathrobe? Who the hell knows. And even though there was no visual evidence of this, I was positive that the Being was carrying an ax or shotgun, or similar weapon that would yield my protector dead as a doorknob.

Jake and I reached the intersection, took the left back to the condo, and kept walking. We turned into E's bf's tiny cul-de-sac, and when we got to the front door, Jake didn't look like he was ready to go in, and I was feeling a bit guilty that I'm going to be at work tomorrow (God, how do people leave their children to go to work? I have problem's leaving someone else's dog...), so we turned out of the cul-de-sac and back onto the road. Peering to my left, I saw the creepy trenchcoat/bathrobe wearing ax/shotgun wielding person slowly making his way down the road.

So we kept walking (to the right, of course), and I looked back periodically to check the Being's progress. I soon lost sight of him, since he was slowly staggering and I was spurring Jake on like a jockey in last place.

Fully completing the transformation to "crazy dog lady," I started talking to Jake about the stranger and how scary he seemed. And I realized...that he wasn't necessarily evil (I mean, he wasn't necessarily not, but you know). The Being's only crime was to walk at night without a dog. And that had seemed weird and disturbing to me.

I'm surprised it took me so long to come to this realization (since I'm always complaining that one has to take up smoking in order to look normal for chilling outside during work)—I'll blame it on the strong gusting winds and the long shadows. And the situation actually reminds me of the short story "The Pedestrian" by Ray Bradbury.

In this story, written in 1951 and set in 2053, the world is addicted to their TV sets, and it's considered freakish and menacing to society to walk (or spend any time at all) outside. One man rebels against this idea, and goes for a walk at night. Deep thoughts on the direction of our society ensues. It's super short, and I recommend a read (I even provide a link! Twice!).

So...kind of ironic that the story resonates quite deeply with me, yet at the same time tonight I espoused the ideas of the cold, cold future. I think a big part of it is living in D.C., feeling sort of paranoid that I'll get jumped any time I'm out alone walking. It might be a fear without base? Or a fear that is unique to urban areas? I hope. Because I miss walking at night for the sake of walking.

I'd be interested to hear if other people feel safe walking alone at night.
****
“What are you doing out?”
“Walking,” said Leonard Mead.
“Walking!”
“Just walking,” he said simply, but his face felt cold.
“Walking, just walking, walking?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Walking where? For what?”
“Walking for air. Walking to see.”
- the pedestrian

hey girlie, want a piece of candy?

2007-12-01T19:18:00.000-05:00

I've really become much more wary of strangers lately.

A month or so ago I met a guy at a diner. He doesn't really speak English, but he seemed nice, and earnest, so I gave him my number. We went out to dinner (much to the consternation of my parents), and the date was fun, but really, there were no sparks. Whatsoever. So I told him on the date that we were just going to be friends. I didn't want there to be any misunderstanding. He understood.

He asked me if he could call me, and if we could do it again, and I told him that I was going out of town, and that the next week was looking really busy. All true. So when he called that weekend, I ignored the call. He called a couple of times the next week, and after not answering a few more times, I called him when I was almost certain that he wouldn't pick up.

I know it sounds cruel, but all that calling was driving me crazy. It was too much.

I left a message saying that I had been really busy, but if my friends are I were going out for happy hour, I'd be sure to give him a call.

And then the month of calling every couple of days began. I never, ever answered, but he kept calling. All were variations of the same theme: "Hi Megghhaaaan, it's F, please call me. I want to speak to you." Sometimes he'd call twice in a row. After a month of this, my boss suggested that I text him. So I texted him with "Please stop calling me. You are making me uncomfortable."

The text was a gamble, since I didn't know if he knew how to open them, etc, but it seemed to work, because he stopped calling. Then he called again on Thanksgiving. I didn't pick up, of course. And then, minutes later, he texted me, saying "Happy Thanksgiving. Hope you enjoy the day!"

I'm so glad that he doesn't know where I live. It's just so bizarre and his behavior shows a complete lack of respect for boundaries. And this isn't the first time that this type of crap has happened. It really makes you not want to be nice to people, and definitely, definitely not to take a chance with giving someone your number.

So last night when I was alone and waiting for the train, a guy started talking to me. He was from Nairobi and new to D.C. He had "stage 5 clinger" written all over him. I chatted for a bit, but very warily. When I got on the train, he sat next to me. Fabulous. I was already working out escape plans in my head. I believe it went something along the lines of "Run to the taxi stand."

He told me where he lived (I didn't tell him my stop), so that was a relief. I got up at my stop, and he stayed in his seat, and we shook hands. He didn't ask for my number, but if he had, I would not given it to him.

It's just a shame.

FYI - not appropriate for the under-18 crowd

2007-11-18T21:04:00.001-05:00

So this Saturday night I was meeting up with a friend...I was "dressing to impress," with a new white sweater dress and my favorite fuzzy boots (to be fair, I only have one pair of those). It was nothing too revealing—it's a loose dress, and turtleneck at that. And while it's shortish, it's nothing ridic.

A random possibly homeless guy hanging out near CVS told me that I looked beautiful. I said thank you. I thought that was rather nice of him, and appreciated the compliment since I felt like I was stepping a bit out of my style comfort zone. All positive feedback is appreciated, and even though I know homeless guys hand out those things like candy, it's still cool.

So I met up with the friend, and we were walking down P St., and it was pretty quiet. Someone was walking toward us, but I didn't take notice since he seemed normal. Your average pedestrian.

Well, when he got close to us, he pointed to me, and said,

"YOU with your BOOTS! You kick up leaves in those BOOTS and force men to go home and MASTURBATE ALONE!"

My response: Wide eyes and a quiet "Oh!"

Like, did he just say the M-word?

I seem to be struck by you...

2007-11-13T22:41:00.000-05:00

I am so addicted to "Paralyzer" by Finger 11. The beat in the beginning catches me, and the guy's voice is super-hot. I don't know even know what exactly he means by "if your body matches what your eyes can do, you'll probably move right through me on my way to you" - but I love it. Yowza.

I'm one of those annoying persons (word choice?) who listens to a song over and over and over until I reach my limit. Right now I'm only on playcount 13 for this song...perhaps one day I'll reach the monumental playcount of "Big Girls Don't Cry" by Fergie, which is sitting pretty at 53 plays.

That's actually quite phenomenal, since the next closest song is "Desperation" by Miranda Lambert, with 19 plays. I was clearly in a self-pitying mood for quite some time.

A month or so ago I read Dingley Falls by Michael Malone. The cover labels it as "the wildest, sexiest novel of the year!!" (which was 1980. a surprisingly steamy year, apparently). My friends lovingly nicknamed it "pornography," but really, that's not what it's about. It follows a bunch of characters in the fictional town of Dingley Falls, Connecticut, and one storyline is that of an old woman. One of my favorite passages in the book relates to her:

"She felt sorry for herself, and sorrier because there was no one but herself to pity her, and sorrier still because self-pity was such an unattractive quality, revealing, as it did, that very weakness of character for which she pitied herself."
- pg. 265

Reading that, I fairly jumped out of my chair. I'm positive that I pumped my fist in the air and yelled "YES!" There's nothing like reading your thoughts on a page, knowing that someone else has thought them and you're not the only one feeling a certain way.

That's not to say that I'm feeling that way right now, but you know what I mean?

Life is good. The Christmas lights and wreaths are up at Union Station. I'm going home for Thanksgiving in a week. I have articles to edit at work, a new planner in my pocketbook, Argentinian wine on top of the fridge, and gingerbread in the oven. Can anyone ask for anything more?

Yes!

2007-10-22T09:52:00.001-04:00

I did it! It was awesome! And so much easier than diving in the pool...

I recommend it to everyone!!!