Tuesday, September 30, 2003
Links and (slightly interesting) news...
Today's post will be brought to you courtesy of Laziness. Laziness - when you can't be bothered to come up with something entertaining yourself.
And its subsidiaries: Sloth and Procrastination.
(I plan on adding more links as the day goes on. Please contain your excitement.)
* Damn fucking straight, Sars. It's a shame that people still feel the need to write such an essay in the 21st Century.
* Mike rocks my political 'blogging world. Again.
* As usual I'm a bit behind the times, but -- wow. Gordon Jump, Robert Palmer and George Plimpton, all dead, right in a row. Strange thing is, which one affects me the most? Not Jump, despite my enjoyment of WKRP in Cincinnati in my youth. Not Palmer, despite coming of age during the height of his popularity.
Nope, it's Plimpton that makes me go, "No way." Even though I've never read anything of his. Maybe it was his gentle self-deprecation that I connected with. Gotta love a man like that, sending himself up on The Simpsons.
***********************************************
In other news:
* Last night I started exercising again. Yea! By the end of August and throughout September I was too tired to do more than walking to and from bus stops, with the occasional neighborhood amble and strolling to the corner shopping center near work for lunch. But last night I said, "C'mon, Carol, get that ass in gear!" And I did. I Gazelled for an hour, then did a billion ab crunches. Okay, it was actually about 350 crunches (doing four different kinds), but it sure felt like a billion.
I exercised this morning too (20 minutes on the Gazelle, 300 crunches). I'm trying to cut back on the restaurant lunches, paying better attention to what I eat. And, having fallen firmly off the vegan wagon, I've decided to at least sit on the running board again, because I'm tired of the congested sinuses and post-nasal drip that worsen when I have dairy. It totally sucks.
* At the risk of sounding pretentious, this morning I started writing my "memoirs." I was sitting at my last bus stop of the morning, not in the mood to read anymore, and I decided to just start writing the story of my life, such as it is. It may end up as vaguely veiled fiction or it may turn into a straight forward account of what I remember. Or maybe just a series of barely connected vignettes, grouped together in chapters by a common theme. Haven't quite gotten that worked out yet.
But I do have the first two paragraphs. (Hey, I write slowly. And I didn't write on the bus, because my handwriting is illegible enough without dealing with the jostling.) I have to admit, they're pretty good. Now, I don't know if anyone is going to be interested in reading my autobiography. I'm no one famous or infamous and, while there have definitely been some interesting episodes that have happened to me and my family, there's no violence or anything like that.
I'll just have to punch up the sex.
And its subsidiaries: Sloth and Procrastination.
(I plan on adding more links as the day goes on. Please contain your excitement.)
* Damn fucking straight, Sars. It's a shame that people still feel the need to write such an essay in the 21st Century.
* Mike rocks my political 'blogging world. Again.
* As usual I'm a bit behind the times, but -- wow. Gordon Jump, Robert Palmer and George Plimpton, all dead, right in a row. Strange thing is, which one affects me the most? Not Jump, despite my enjoyment of WKRP in Cincinnati in my youth. Not Palmer, despite coming of age during the height of his popularity.
Nope, it's Plimpton that makes me go, "No way." Even though I've never read anything of his. Maybe it was his gentle self-deprecation that I connected with. Gotta love a man like that, sending himself up on The Simpsons.
In other news:
* Last night I started exercising again. Yea! By the end of August and throughout September I was too tired to do more than walking to and from bus stops, with the occasional neighborhood amble and strolling to the corner shopping center near work for lunch. But last night I said, "C'mon, Carol, get that ass in gear!" And I did. I Gazelled for an hour, then did a billion ab crunches. Okay, it was actually about 350 crunches (doing four different kinds), but it sure felt like a billion.
I exercised this morning too (20 minutes on the Gazelle, 300 crunches). I'm trying to cut back on the restaurant lunches, paying better attention to what I eat. And, having fallen firmly off the vegan wagon, I've decided to at least sit on the running board again, because I'm tired of the congested sinuses and post-nasal drip that worsen when I have dairy. It totally sucks.
* At the risk of sounding pretentious, this morning I started writing my "memoirs." I was sitting at my last bus stop of the morning, not in the mood to read anymore, and I decided to just start writing the story of my life, such as it is. It may end up as vaguely veiled fiction or it may turn into a straight forward account of what I remember. Or maybe just a series of barely connected vignettes, grouped together in chapters by a common theme. Haven't quite gotten that worked out yet.
But I do have the first two paragraphs. (Hey, I write slowly. And I didn't write on the bus, because my handwriting is illegible enough without dealing with the jostling.) I have to admit, they're pretty good. Now, I don't know if anyone is going to be interested in reading my autobiography. I'm no one famous or infamous and, while there have definitely been some interesting episodes that have happened to me and my family, there's no violence or anything like that.
I'll just have to punch up the sex.
Monday, September 29, 2003
Kids these days...
Hey you.
Yeah, you. In the back of the bus.
See that thing you're talking on, that cell phone shaped thing? Guess what? You're supposed to put it up to your ear and use it like a phone. Using it as a walkie-talkie is not only supremely annoying to the rest of your fellow passengers, it's unbearably lame.
Yes, I know it offers a walkie talkie feature. Doesn't mean you have to whip the rest of us into a murderous frenzy by using it. I mean, my little CD player here has an input for portable speakers, but you don't see me inflicting my music on everyone else, do you? (Which happens to be way better than that shit you listen to. But I digress...)
It's bad enough we have to hear your part of your incredibly boring conversation, we really don't need to hear the other end. Trust me, the status of the "pussy he's chasing" is of no interest to me, or any other person unfortunate enough to share special bus time with you.
No, really.
Listen, I like technology. I really do. DVD players? Great. Love 'em. Those digitizing pads for computers? Just terrific. A friend of mine has a bitchin' (or whatever you kids are saying these days) Treo that is beyond cool. I get giddy as a school-girl whenever he pulls it out.
The Treo, you freak. Stop snickering. What are you, twelve?
Butthead.
Using a phone as a walkie talkie is just stupid. There's no need for it. I can't imagine that it's easy to hear your friend like that.
Yeah, up to your ear. Just like that. Very good.
BTW, pull up your pants.
And don't even think about getting on my damn lawn.
Yeah, you. In the back of the bus.
See that thing you're talking on, that cell phone shaped thing? Guess what? You're supposed to put it up to your ear and use it like a phone. Using it as a walkie-talkie is not only supremely annoying to the rest of your fellow passengers, it's unbearably lame.
Yes, I know it offers a walkie talkie feature. Doesn't mean you have to whip the rest of us into a murderous frenzy by using it. I mean, my little CD player here has an input for portable speakers, but you don't see me inflicting my music on everyone else, do you? (Which happens to be way better than that shit you listen to. But I digress...)
It's bad enough we have to hear your part of your incredibly boring conversation, we really don't need to hear the other end. Trust me, the status of the "pussy he's chasing" is of no interest to me, or any other person unfortunate enough to share special bus time with you.
No, really.
Listen, I like technology. I really do. DVD players? Great. Love 'em. Those digitizing pads for computers? Just terrific. A friend of mine has a bitchin' (or whatever you kids are saying these days) Treo that is beyond cool. I get giddy as a school-girl whenever he pulls it out.
The Treo, you freak. Stop snickering. What are you, twelve?
Butthead.
Using a phone as a walkie talkie is just stupid. There's no need for it. I can't imagine that it's easy to hear your friend like that.
Yeah, up to your ear. Just like that. Very good.
BTW, pull up your pants.
And don't even think about getting on my damn lawn.
Adios, September...
I know September doesn't end until Tuesday, but I'm ready to say farewell to it. It's just been a strange, emotional roller-coaster kind of month. I wasn't as busy socially as I was in August, but in some ways it's been far more wearying.
That's it. I'm not tired. I'm not fatigued. I'm just weary.
And there's nothing to perk up a weary girl near the end of an emotionally weird month like coming home from a seventh straight day of work (with another six to come) and time spent with a friend who, while a good friend, can sometimes instill in said weary girl the desire to smack the hell out of him, like walking into the kitchen at 11pm and finding the cats' dishes overrun with ants. Again. For the third time this month.
And, after spraying said ants with non-toxic cleaner (well, non-toxic to the cats - toxic enough for the ants), when dumping the ant-infested bowls of food down the kitchen garbage disposal, the discovery that the disposal doesn't fucking work is enough to make a weary girl weep for joy. Or anger. Or frustration. Or something.
And annoying voicemail messages from the landlord certainly places the aforementioned weary girl in a so much better frame of mind than when she started the weekend, as does the realization that the next day, 9/29, marks a year since she helped in the separation of her parents.
Is it October yet? October has got to be better, right?
***********************************************
I really wanted to write something fun and amusing tonight, something to bring up the mood from my last post. But it's not there. I'm looking, but, in the words of Wil Wheaton, I just can't find the funny. It seemed to disappear as fast as it came. And I've been lookin', I've been lookin', I've been lookin'. I've been up. I've been down. I've been tryin' to get the feelin'. I've been all around. I've been...
...channeling Barry Manilow. Oh heavens to Murgatroid, even.
***********************************************
Wait, I found some funny! Granted, it's not my funny. As perviously mentioned, my funny seems to be taking a siesta. But stolen funny is better than none at all, right? Especially if it's Qantas funny, by way of Chuck (from whom, BTW, I lifted the newest link to the right, 525 Reasons to Dump Bush - though I'm sure that 525 is a conservative [Ha!] number).
Thanks, Qantas and Chuck!
That's it. I'm not tired. I'm not fatigued. I'm just weary.
And there's nothing to perk up a weary girl near the end of an emotionally weird month like coming home from a seventh straight day of work (with another six to come) and time spent with a friend who, while a good friend, can sometimes instill in said weary girl the desire to smack the hell out of him, like walking into the kitchen at 11pm and finding the cats' dishes overrun with ants. Again. For the third time this month.
And, after spraying said ants with non-toxic cleaner (well, non-toxic to the cats - toxic enough for the ants), when dumping the ant-infested bowls of food down the kitchen garbage disposal, the discovery that the disposal doesn't fucking work is enough to make a weary girl weep for joy. Or anger. Or frustration. Or something.
And annoying voicemail messages from the landlord certainly places the aforementioned weary girl in a so much better frame of mind than when she started the weekend, as does the realization that the next day, 9/29, marks a year since she helped in the separation of her parents.
Is it October yet? October has got to be better, right?
I really wanted to write something fun and amusing tonight, something to bring up the mood from my last post. But it's not there. I'm looking, but, in the words of Wil Wheaton, I just can't find the funny. It seemed to disappear as fast as it came. And I've been lookin', I've been lookin', I've been lookin'. I've been up. I've been down. I've been tryin' to get the feelin'. I've been all around. I've been...
...channeling Barry Manilow. Oh heavens to Murgatroid, even.
Wait, I found some funny! Granted, it's not my funny. As perviously mentioned, my funny seems to be taking a siesta. But stolen funny is better than none at all, right? Especially if it's Qantas funny, by way of Chuck (from whom, BTW, I lifted the newest link to the right, 525 Reasons to Dump Bush - though I'm sure that 525 is a conservative [Ha!] number).
Thanks, Qantas and Chuck!
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Walking on, walking on broken glass...
Recently I joked with CuteNerdBoy that I must have been sleeping in class when they were teaching the "stereotypical female thing", because I never quite understood it. I was referring to the whole "women taking men's words and twisting them into something that honestly wasn't meant" sort of thing that too many lazy (usually male) comics use for material. Though I think there is some truth in that stereotype, because I've seen other women do it all too often. Hell, they've done it with my words and, though I may be naturally hairier than the average woman, I'm patently not a man. I think.
*takes off clothes, looks in mirror*
Nope, definitely not a man. Never have been, never will.
*puts clothes back on*
But sometimes I do find myself engaging in behavior that is almost laughably "feminine". I'm not talking about squealing over clothes and jewelry and shoes (though I certainly do that). No, nothing quite so innocent.
I constantly second-guess, nay, triple-guess, things that I say or do, wondering if I'll be mis-interpreted. It's not such a good thing to do, as it causes plenty of stress. Stress that is most likely unwarranted. And I'm doing that now.
The other night I responded to an e-mail from CuteNerdBoy. I was in a very playful mood, returning a very cool compliment he had paid me earlier in the week and suggesting that, if he needed soup to help him get over his flu, I would be more than happy to bus on over there with some. I admit that I was serious about it on some level, but I was also being rather jokey, trying to have fun with it.
Now my mind, my supposedly "sexy brain" (™FriendsterFriend), won't shut the hell up. It tells me that I was too forward, that I might have come off rather stalkery in the way I wrote and I don't want to drive the man away, do I? It questions every word I write, every word I say and expression I make (possibly even every breath I take) and tells me that, oh, won't that just be misconstrued?
I know that it's not just my mind saying these things. That my heart, while willing to take certain risks, is also in collusion with the brain, trying to shield me from possible pain. I tell them to chill out (like many people, I've been known to have contentious discussions with the various parts of my psyche), but they can be a rabble-rousing lot.
I've mentioned this tendency to a number of my female friends, all of whom say that each and every one of them have done the same thing. And that it seems to be more of a feminine than a masculine trait. In the interests of fairness (and subjective science) I should probably take a poll of my male friends. See if they do the same thing on a frequent basis. I have a feeling that they don't, but I could be wrong.
Of course, it would all be so much easier if I (or he) were really psychic. I mean, I do have some psychic abilities (yeah, I know, how freakin' earthy-crunchy, trippy-tra-la-la-head, Shirley MacLaine sounding of me - but it's true), but I'm also blessed - or cursed - with a rather cynical side that, while keeping my head from floating off into the clouds (which is of the good), has a nasty habit of saying, "Yeah, right, whatever," when I get psychic flashes (which is not always of the good). So I don't really know what my ESP is telling me and what is just hopeful (or cynical) thinking.
And even if CuteNerdBoy were seriously psychic (I believe we all possess such abilities in one way or another - they're just more developed in some people), he's not the sort to really buy into all that, so there's no way he could know what's going on in my mind, especially if that mind is too busy dancing around in twin efforts to protect my heart and not drive him away.
*sigh* I don't remember any of this being so friggin' difficult in my twenties...
*takes off clothes, looks in mirror*
Nope, definitely not a man. Never have been, never will.
*puts clothes back on*
But sometimes I do find myself engaging in behavior that is almost laughably "feminine". I'm not talking about squealing over clothes and jewelry and shoes (though I certainly do that). No, nothing quite so innocent.
I constantly second-guess, nay, triple-guess, things that I say or do, wondering if I'll be mis-interpreted. It's not such a good thing to do, as it causes plenty of stress. Stress that is most likely unwarranted. And I'm doing that now.
The other night I responded to an e-mail from CuteNerdBoy. I was in a very playful mood, returning a very cool compliment he had paid me earlier in the week and suggesting that, if he needed soup to help him get over his flu, I would be more than happy to bus on over there with some. I admit that I was serious about it on some level, but I was also being rather jokey, trying to have fun with it.
Now my mind, my supposedly "sexy brain" (™FriendsterFriend), won't shut the hell up. It tells me that I was too forward, that I might have come off rather stalkery in the way I wrote and I don't want to drive the man away, do I? It questions every word I write, every word I say and expression I make (possibly even every breath I take) and tells me that, oh, won't that just be misconstrued?
I know that it's not just my mind saying these things. That my heart, while willing to take certain risks, is also in collusion with the brain, trying to shield me from possible pain. I tell them to chill out (like many people, I've been known to have contentious discussions with the various parts of my psyche), but they can be a rabble-rousing lot.
I've mentioned this tendency to a number of my female friends, all of whom say that each and every one of them have done the same thing. And that it seems to be more of a feminine than a masculine trait. In the interests of fairness (and subjective science) I should probably take a poll of my male friends. See if they do the same thing on a frequent basis. I have a feeling that they don't, but I could be wrong.
Of course, it would all be so much easier if I (or he) were really psychic. I mean, I do have some psychic abilities (yeah, I know, how freakin' earthy-crunchy, trippy-tra-la-la-head, Shirley MacLaine sounding of me - but it's true), but I'm also blessed - or cursed - with a rather cynical side that, while keeping my head from floating off into the clouds (which is of the good), has a nasty habit of saying, "Yeah, right, whatever," when I get psychic flashes (which is not always of the good). So I don't really know what my ESP is telling me and what is just hopeful (or cynical) thinking.
And even if CuteNerdBoy were seriously psychic (I believe we all possess such abilities in one way or another - they're just more developed in some people), he's not the sort to really buy into all that, so there's no way he could know what's going on in my mind, especially if that mind is too busy dancing around in twin efforts to protect my heart and not drive him away.
*sigh* I don't remember any of this being so friggin' difficult in my twenties...
Thursday, September 25, 2003
I love cool people...
Busy, busy work week, but I was able to take some time out last night to attend a screening, with FFDWG(FKaSarah), of Buttleman, starring John Hawkes in the title role. I've been a fan of Mr. Hawkes since FFDWG(FKaSarah) and I saw his band, Gangster Folk, play at the Highland Grounds in February. (I was there to see my friends, Third Door Down, perform and Gangster Folk was up two bands later.) Afterwards I realized that I had seen the lead singer/guitarist somewhere before, did a little internet research, and realized he was George the Janitor in an episode of Buffy. And I'd seen him in X-Files and other shows.
So, yeah, John Hawkes. I was already a fan (he was great in Identity) and watching Buttleman merely cemented my respect for his talent. (He's actually rather hot, too - unfortunately he couldn't make the screening because he was working. Damn.)
But, oddly enough, he wasn't the main reason I went to the screening. Co-starring as his best friend/cameraman was the ever-fantastic stee. Who was great. He had me laughing on screen as often as his journal/'blog have had me laughing. Pamie also had a small role, credited as Flirty Girl, and she was too cute. After the film I said hi to them (FFDWG(FKaSarah) opted to stay at our table) and stee, whom I had met only once before was all, "Hey, Pam, Carol's here! Thank you for coming!" Pamie was her usual funny, pretty, cool self. I told them how much I enjoyed the movie, though the ending left me - and everyone else - hanging, and we chatted for a little while. Yep, still great people with the welcoming smiles and the friendly hugs. Makes me wonder why I was so scared to talk to Pamie in Vegas a couple of years ago. Besides the fact that I'm a big ol' spazoid.
I also chatted with Francis Stokes, the writer/director of Buttleman, for a minute or two, who is also very funny and is working on a new script with stee. I just love cool people.
Tonight I'm going to a book signing for my friend's (USCWriter) new book, so that'll also be, well, cool. The only bummer about tonight - CuteNerdBoy can't make it. *pout* He did want to go, but he's been sick with the flu since he got back into town and he's still not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough to be out and about. And I'm dressed all pretty, too! Though USCWriter will be taking photos of the writing group tonight, so the professional yet oh-so-becoming outfit won't be totally wasted.
Still, I miss the fella. I totally understand and I definitely think he needs to get all the rest he needs. And when he's well again we'll get together (he's sick and tired of being sick and tired), so there's that to look forward to. I'll just have to be patient a little longer. *sigh*
***********************************************
BTW, remember me complaining about my friends not writing up testimonials for me on Friendster? I can just eat those words. Not only have FriendsterFriend and FFDWG(FKaSarah) written up testimonials, they've written up incredibly glowing, wonderful testimonials that make me blush. And neither one had read my whining in this 'blog! Amazing!
(FriendsterFriend said I have a "sexy brain". Whee!!! And FFDWG(FKaSarah) called me "vivacious and bodacious". Wow! My friends so do not suck. They are as far from sucking as people can get. I love my friends.)
Now, if I could just get my sexy brain and vivacious and bodacious hands on CuteNerdBoy...
A-hem.
So, yeah, John Hawkes. I was already a fan (he was great in Identity) and watching Buttleman merely cemented my respect for his talent. (He's actually rather hot, too - unfortunately he couldn't make the screening because he was working. Damn.)
But, oddly enough, he wasn't the main reason I went to the screening. Co-starring as his best friend/cameraman was the ever-fantastic stee. Who was great. He had me laughing on screen as often as his journal/'blog have had me laughing. Pamie also had a small role, credited as Flirty Girl, and she was too cute. After the film I said hi to them (FFDWG(FKaSarah) opted to stay at our table) and stee, whom I had met only once before was all, "Hey, Pam, Carol's here! Thank you for coming!" Pamie was her usual funny, pretty, cool self. I told them how much I enjoyed the movie, though the ending left me - and everyone else - hanging, and we chatted for a little while. Yep, still great people with the welcoming smiles and the friendly hugs. Makes me wonder why I was so scared to talk to Pamie in Vegas a couple of years ago. Besides the fact that I'm a big ol' spazoid.
I also chatted with Francis Stokes, the writer/director of Buttleman, for a minute or two, who is also very funny and is working on a new script with stee. I just love cool people.
Tonight I'm going to a book signing for my friend's (USCWriter) new book, so that'll also be, well, cool. The only bummer about tonight - CuteNerdBoy can't make it. *pout* He did want to go, but he's been sick with the flu since he got back into town and he's still not bright-eyed and bushy-tailed enough to be out and about. And I'm dressed all pretty, too! Though USCWriter will be taking photos of the writing group tonight, so the professional yet oh-so-becoming outfit won't be totally wasted.
Still, I miss the fella. I totally understand and I definitely think he needs to get all the rest he needs. And when he's well again we'll get together (he's sick and tired of being sick and tired), so there's that to look forward to. I'll just have to be patient a little longer. *sigh*
BTW, remember me complaining about my friends not writing up testimonials for me on Friendster? I can just eat those words. Not only have FriendsterFriend and FFDWG(FKaSarah) written up testimonials, they've written up incredibly glowing, wonderful testimonials that make me blush. And neither one had read my whining in this 'blog! Amazing!
(FriendsterFriend said I have a "sexy brain". Whee!!! And FFDWG(FKaSarah) called me "vivacious and bodacious". Wow! My friends so do not suck. They are as far from sucking as people can get. I love my friends.)
Now, if I could just get my sexy brain and vivacious and bodacious hands on CuteNerdBoy...
A-hem.
Monday, September 22, 2003
Defenders of truth, justice and quiet...
Ode to a forever love...
My dearest forever love,
How you call to me
Lure me
Seduce me.
Your visage,
Worn and scruffy.
I know you’re bad for me,
Always reaching for,
Taking what I should not give.
I care not
I know the secrets you hide
Available for those willing to explore
To dig for your value.
Many try.
Too many,
Leaving you
Tossed about,
Untended.
Breaking my heart
To see you
So sad.
I will always love you.
I may sample others,
Looking for that which you cannot offer.
But in the end,
Though often frustrated
With the mess left behind,
I willingly crawl back to you
And your cute $14.99 jeans that fit me just right.
And your lovely $19.99 evening gowns.
And your $6 Kenneth Cole purses.
BTW, Ross?
You rock.
Yeah, there's a reason I don't call myself a poet.
Sunday, September 21, 2003
Yeah, what they said...
A few journal entry links to some cool folks, 'cause I want to post something but can't be bothered to be pithy (ok, it's not that I can't be bothered - ain't nothin' springing to mind now):
Beth
This is how I felt trying to get home on the bus Friday night, which contributed to my general rotten mood that night. There are some people on the bus, including the slowest bus driver in all the world who was a freaking forty minutes late, who are very lucky. If only they knew.
This is a major reason I'm behind the technological curve by about an eon. (Well, that and money, or lack thereof.) If I bought all the gadgets I'd like to buy I'd never be able to function if one of them died a horrible and gruesome death. I get that attached. Though the inventors of the cordless phone and the headset should be cannonized. I'm sorry if it's a little rude, but I love being able to talk with friends while sweeping the floor or changing the cat litter.
Mo
Not all of these thoughts run through my brain. For instance, as far as I can tell, I don't have a vague distrust of the Thin. I feel sorry and sad for all of my friends who go through break-ups, whether thin or not. I don't seem to attract random comments from strangers on the street. (Well, except for that girl on the bus a while ago who called me a dumb fat bitch when I dared to suggest that she not push against the people in front of her as we all got on the bus, with me right behind her. I told her, very calmly and reasonably, that it must be horrible to be so rude and impatient, which she didn't seem to know how to handle. Even better - both the bus driver and the girl's male companion were totally on my side, which made me smile.) And I nearly always think that I'm attractive and/or sexy. That could just be my incredibly large ego, though.
But I'll admit that a lot of those thoughts have run through my head at one time or another. Unfortunately. And it sucks.
Kymm
Big hugs to Kymm. Man, I can so relate, because I've certainly been there before. She's a brave woman.
Patrick
An oldie but a goodie - who hasn't felt like this? I'm pretty secure in my own intelligence. Sometimes a trifle too secure. But there have sure been times I've felt like Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel. ("TV is good thing. Bright colours. Music. Tiny little people.")
Beth
This is how I felt trying to get home on the bus Friday night, which contributed to my general rotten mood that night. There are some people on the bus, including the slowest bus driver in all the world who was a freaking forty minutes late, who are very lucky. If only they knew.
This is a major reason I'm behind the technological curve by about an eon. (Well, that and money, or lack thereof.) If I bought all the gadgets I'd like to buy I'd never be able to function if one of them died a horrible and gruesome death. I get that attached. Though the inventors of the cordless phone and the headset should be cannonized. I'm sorry if it's a little rude, but I love being able to talk with friends while sweeping the floor or changing the cat litter.
Mo
Not all of these thoughts run through my brain. For instance, as far as I can tell, I don't have a vague distrust of the Thin. I feel sorry and sad for all of my friends who go through break-ups, whether thin or not. I don't seem to attract random comments from strangers on the street. (Well, except for that girl on the bus a while ago who called me a dumb fat bitch when I dared to suggest that she not push against the people in front of her as we all got on the bus, with me right behind her. I told her, very calmly and reasonably, that it must be horrible to be so rude and impatient, which she didn't seem to know how to handle. Even better - both the bus driver and the girl's male companion were totally on my side, which made me smile.) And I nearly always think that I'm attractive and/or sexy. That could just be my incredibly large ego, though.
But I'll admit that a lot of those thoughts have run through my head at one time or another. Unfortunately. And it sucks.
Kymm
Big hugs to Kymm. Man, I can so relate, because I've certainly been there before. She's a brave woman.
Patrick
An oldie but a goodie - who hasn't felt like this? I'm pretty secure in my own intelligence. Sometimes a trifle too secure. But there have sure been times I've felt like Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel. ("TV is good thing. Bright colours. Music. Tiny little people.")
Silly me...
There are three things about myself that I've long known, but always seem to forget:
This isn't to say that my feelings from Friday (and for most of yesterday) were "wrong" or "misplaced". I still believe they were perfectly valid. I just shouldn't anticipate what a day is going to be like on the basis of said feelings. I really need to just flow along with the day.
Yesterday's session with my therapist was emotional, as I anticipated, which is fine. She's used to that sort of thing from her patients. That's why she keeps boxes of tissue next to the couch. She's a very good therapist, understanding and calming, but blunt when it's needed. Which is why I like her. I lucked out, because she's the first therapist I've ever had. I don't see her every week, like I did at the beginning of the year, but, after a few months away due to some financial difficulties on my end, we seem to be settling into an every other week schedule, which is fine by me.
Then, after a couple of hours at work, I bussed to OlderBro's place (Therapist, work and OlderBro are all pretty close to one another) with all sorts of fairly heavy bags containing groceries and my usual traveling stuff and a present for Mom. I read my book while OlderBro and OBGirlfriend took care of a few things, then out we drove out to Ventura County to visit with Mom for a belated birthday celebration.
We joined Mom, BabySis, BSFiancé, and BSSon at Mom's apartment. And it was, for the most part, fun. The three younger ladies ribbed Mom about jumpstarting her love life (though I believe cruder terminology may have been used, even by your oh-so-delicate blogger - a-hem).
There was talk about BabySis's wedding next summer, where she showed OBGirlfriend and me the bridesmaid dress she chose. It's very pretty, perfect for a summer's day and I know I'll look lovely in it - thank heavens the three women for whom I have (and will be) a bridesmaid don't believe in making the bridal party looking hideous just to make them look even more beautiful - perhaps they realize that, no matter how great we look, we'll never outshine them.
We ate OBGirlfriend's chili and cornbread - though I had to eat store bought veggie chili because we forgot the vegan chili that OBGirlfriend had slow-cooked for four hours just for me (I promised to stop by their place after work this week to eat some - that made her feel better) - and a salad I put together at Mom's place. Raves were had for the chili and salad.
And I was relegated to washing dishes in the bathtub because the water from the kitchen sink was flowing into Mom's downstairs neighbor's place, bringing a bunch of gunk along with it. But I didn't mind because, though I was feeling better than I was even earlier in the day, I was still a little tender and sensitive and the time away from everyone gave me a breather.
After a while BSFiancé took BSSon home and the rest of us sat around, talking about more serious, family-related subjects, but even that wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Yummy homemade cake by BabySis was served, then Mom opened her present from me (she had already opened the others). It was a lovely silk scented pillow that said "Mom", a little sappy booklet with Mom sayings and - the main part of the present - a pretty journal with the lyrics to I Hope You Dance and words on the front page to inspire her to write. This was accompanied by a nice pen (with an angel on top - Mom likes angels) and a bookmark with an inspirational saying. I let her know that the journal was for her to write down whatever she wanted to write. That it was for her eyes only and, if she didn't want to write happy things or "positive" things, she didn't have to. That it was for her to be true to herself.
Everyone seemed to like that gift, including Mom. She immediately started writing in it, then she wanted to show me what she wrote. I knew it was about the party, and I did want to read it, but I refused. I told Mom that I was curious, naturally, but that anything she wrote in the journal was no one's eyes but hers and I wanted her to feel comfortable about the privacy of her written words. Then I hugged her and kissed her and told her that I loved her.
Around 11:30pm we took our leave of Mom, after much hugging and kissing and proclaimations of love. OlderBro and his girlfriend dropped BabySis off (she lives in the same town as Mom), then I was taken home. I dozed for most of the way, more tired than I realized. Then, after checking e-mail and giving the cats food so they wouldn't wake me up at 7am, I prompty fell asleep.
I woke up at around 11am this morning, feeling so much better than the last two days, and lolled about the house for a little while. I think I'll take a walk around the neighborhood today, because it's just so bright and beautiful out.
Yeah, sometimes life sucks. And the people you love and care about can be irritating as hell.
But it can also be good. And so can they.
- Though I tend to be an optimistic person, my anticipation of perceived unpleasant events tends to be worse than the actual event;
- When I'm tired, "negative" emotions are magnified threefold;
- Sometimes I just need to chill the hell out.
This isn't to say that my feelings from Friday (and for most of yesterday) were "wrong" or "misplaced". I still believe they were perfectly valid. I just shouldn't anticipate what a day is going to be like on the basis of said feelings. I really need to just flow along with the day.
Yesterday's session with my therapist was emotional, as I anticipated, which is fine. She's used to that sort of thing from her patients. That's why she keeps boxes of tissue next to the couch. She's a very good therapist, understanding and calming, but blunt when it's needed. Which is why I like her. I lucked out, because she's the first therapist I've ever had. I don't see her every week, like I did at the beginning of the year, but, after a few months away due to some financial difficulties on my end, we seem to be settling into an every other week schedule, which is fine by me.
Then, after a couple of hours at work, I bussed to OlderBro's place (Therapist, work and OlderBro are all pretty close to one another) with all sorts of fairly heavy bags containing groceries and my usual traveling stuff and a present for Mom. I read my book while OlderBro and OBGirlfriend took care of a few things, then out we drove out to Ventura County to visit with Mom for a belated birthday celebration.
We joined Mom, BabySis, BSFiancé, and BSSon at Mom's apartment. And it was, for the most part, fun. The three younger ladies ribbed Mom about jumpstarting her love life (though I believe cruder terminology may have been used, even by your oh-so-delicate blogger - a-hem).
There was talk about BabySis's wedding next summer, where she showed OBGirlfriend and me the bridesmaid dress she chose. It's very pretty, perfect for a summer's day and I know I'll look lovely in it - thank heavens the three women for whom I have (and will be) a bridesmaid don't believe in making the bridal party looking hideous just to make them look even more beautiful - perhaps they realize that, no matter how great we look, we'll never outshine them.
We ate OBGirlfriend's chili and cornbread - though I had to eat store bought veggie chili because we forgot the vegan chili that OBGirlfriend had slow-cooked for four hours just for me (I promised to stop by their place after work this week to eat some - that made her feel better) - and a salad I put together at Mom's place. Raves were had for the chili and salad.
And I was relegated to washing dishes in the bathtub because the water from the kitchen sink was flowing into Mom's downstairs neighbor's place, bringing a bunch of gunk along with it. But I didn't mind because, though I was feeling better than I was even earlier in the day, I was still a little tender and sensitive and the time away from everyone gave me a breather.
After a while BSFiancé took BSSon home and the rest of us sat around, talking about more serious, family-related subjects, but even that wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Yummy homemade cake by BabySis was served, then Mom opened her present from me (she had already opened the others). It was a lovely silk scented pillow that said "Mom", a little sappy booklet with Mom sayings and - the main part of the present - a pretty journal with the lyrics to I Hope You Dance and words on the front page to inspire her to write. This was accompanied by a nice pen (with an angel on top - Mom likes angels) and a bookmark with an inspirational saying. I let her know that the journal was for her to write down whatever she wanted to write. That it was for her eyes only and, if she didn't want to write happy things or "positive" things, she didn't have to. That it was for her to be true to herself.
Everyone seemed to like that gift, including Mom. She immediately started writing in it, then she wanted to show me what she wrote. I knew it was about the party, and I did want to read it, but I refused. I told Mom that I was curious, naturally, but that anything she wrote in the journal was no one's eyes but hers and I wanted her to feel comfortable about the privacy of her written words. Then I hugged her and kissed her and told her that I loved her.
Around 11:30pm we took our leave of Mom, after much hugging and kissing and proclaimations of love. OlderBro and his girlfriend dropped BabySis off (she lives in the same town as Mom), then I was taken home. I dozed for most of the way, more tired than I realized. Then, after checking e-mail and giving the cats food so they wouldn't wake me up at 7am, I prompty fell asleep.
I woke up at around 11am this morning, feeling so much better than the last two days, and lolled about the house for a little while. I think I'll take a walk around the neighborhood today, because it's just so bright and beautiful out.
Yeah, sometimes life sucks. And the people you love and care about can be irritating as hell.
But it can also be good. And so can they.
Saturday, September 20, 2003
I'm tired...
...tired of people, tired of work, tired of everything.
I probably shouldn't even post tonight, since I'm feeling all emotional and weepy again. Though maybe it'll make for an entertaining train wreck type 'blog, for people who get off on that sort of thing. I know you're out there. Have fun!
I love my family. I really do. But right now I would so love to just divorce them and move to Alaska, because, frankly, I'm tired of their expectations that I should put my life on hold because I'm the only kid without a significant other or a child.
The details are many and convoluted, all tied in with the whole "Father" deal, and I'd rather not go into them, mainly because it's not just me involved. I know I have less responsibilties than my other siblings. I realize this and I do understand their points of view. But they act as though my current life is one that I planned for, that I'd always hoped to be single and living alone at the age of 37.
I'll allow that some of it is my own doing. If I weren't so picky, if I didn't insist on wanting only the best guy for me, if I didn't refuse to just settle for someone, anyone, then I'm sure I'd be married and I'd have children by now. But that's not how it has worked out. So I'm trying to make the best of it, to enjoy the life that I do have and work on making a better one.
But sometimes it's hard when my siblings seem to think my life is nothing but working and partying. And all I can think is that each and every one of them have someone that, at the end of the day, they can turn to. Someone who will hug them and kiss them and try to make it all better. And I? Have my cats.
Most of the time I'm okay with living alone. I like the autonomy. I like the quiet. Of course I'd like to have someone in my life, because life is just that much richer with another person along to share the ride. But I'm okay by myself.
It's just at the end of a bad day, when emotions are running high and I just want to be held and told, "It'll be okay," that I really miss having another person around. I miss having a shoulder to cry on. And I miss being there for someone else. I miss being the strong shoulder, the hair stroker, the reassurance person for a man who's willing to admit that sometimes he may need that from me.
And I resent the implications from family members that I chose not to have such a person in my life.
Tomorrow (I mean today, Saturday) I have a therapist appointment. Plus OlderBro and BabySis and I are getting together with my mom to celebrate her birthday. On top of that we'll be helping Mom go over some papers, which promises to be a hoot and a half. With that, and other people related things bouncing around in my brain (I miss CuteNerdBoy underneath it all, like a low steady hum), by the end of the day I'll definitely be emotionally wiped out.
And ready to book that plane to Alaska.
Think it'll be too cold for my cats?
I probably shouldn't even post tonight, since I'm feeling all emotional and weepy again. Though maybe it'll make for an entertaining train wreck type 'blog, for people who get off on that sort of thing. I know you're out there. Have fun!
I love my family. I really do. But right now I would so love to just divorce them and move to Alaska, because, frankly, I'm tired of their expectations that I should put my life on hold because I'm the only kid without a significant other or a child.
The details are many and convoluted, all tied in with the whole "Father" deal, and I'd rather not go into them, mainly because it's not just me involved. I know I have less responsibilties than my other siblings. I realize this and I do understand their points of view. But they act as though my current life is one that I planned for, that I'd always hoped to be single and living alone at the age of 37.
I'll allow that some of it is my own doing. If I weren't so picky, if I didn't insist on wanting only the best guy for me, if I didn't refuse to just settle for someone, anyone, then I'm sure I'd be married and I'd have children by now. But that's not how it has worked out. So I'm trying to make the best of it, to enjoy the life that I do have and work on making a better one.
But sometimes it's hard when my siblings seem to think my life is nothing but working and partying. And all I can think is that each and every one of them have someone that, at the end of the day, they can turn to. Someone who will hug them and kiss them and try to make it all better. And I? Have my cats.
Most of the time I'm okay with living alone. I like the autonomy. I like the quiet. Of course I'd like to have someone in my life, because life is just that much richer with another person along to share the ride. But I'm okay by myself.
It's just at the end of a bad day, when emotions are running high and I just want to be held and told, "It'll be okay," that I really miss having another person around. I miss having a shoulder to cry on. And I miss being there for someone else. I miss being the strong shoulder, the hair stroker, the reassurance person for a man who's willing to admit that sometimes he may need that from me.
And I resent the implications from family members that I chose not to have such a person in my life.
Tomorrow (I mean today, Saturday) I have a therapist appointment. Plus OlderBro and BabySis and I are getting together with my mom to celebrate her birthday. On top of that we'll be helping Mom go over some papers, which promises to be a hoot and a half. With that, and other people related things bouncing around in my brain (I miss CuteNerdBoy underneath it all, like a low steady hum), by the end of the day I'll definitely be emotionally wiped out.
And ready to book that plane to Alaska.
Think it'll be too cold for my cats?
Thursday, September 18, 2003
little thoughts...
* Happy birthday, Mommy!
* Man oh man, Chuck. You're killing me here. Thank you.
* You know the political links and commentary that I occasionally post here? As most folks know by now, I ain't nothing compared to Mike. So many times I'll read his journal and think, "Yeah, what he said." He's far more on top of the news than I am. You really want to read him on a regular basis.
* Man oh man, Chuck. You're killing me here. Thank you.
* You know the political links and commentary that I occasionally post here? As most folks know by now, I ain't nothing compared to Mike. So many times I'll read his journal and think, "Yeah, what he said." He's far more on top of the news than I am. You really want to read him on a regular basis.
Wednesday, September 17, 2003
Musical interlude...
All my arguments sound pretty weak
So I'll be quick and concede defeat
All the evidence lies on your side
So I'll come clean and say that I lied
I guess it's OK if I'm hated and damned
But don't go away thinking I had it planned
It wasn't part of my scheme to be hateful to you
Did I hurt you?
What can I say?
I am guilty
Of walking away
And the signals that I sent you
I never meant to
Did I hurt you?
Forgive me please
I am guilty
I let you believe
That I loved you
And I tried to
Still you were lied to
Believe me please when I say
Sometimes our hearts can lead us astray
Believe me I never knew
How much of a hold I had over you
And try if you can to let reason be heard
Don't let your anger be blind to my words
Don't cut me off if I try and explain it to you.
Did I hurt you?
What can I say?
I am guilty
Of walking away
And the signals that I sent you
I never meant to
Did I hurt you?
Forgive me please
I am guilty
I let you believe
That I loved you
And I tried to
Still you were lied to
Did I Hurt You? by Eleanor McEvoy (from Yola)
There are many songs we connect to on an emotional level, though sometimes maybe a few words are off or a lyric doesn't quite convey the exact feeling we might be experiencing.
Then there are those songs that, as we listen to them, we realize the truth of what we're hearing. We pick them apart, looking for the off lyrics, the wrong words, and we never find them. We realize that every note, every syllable, could have been written by us, in fact, must have been ripped from our very subconscious and placed on paper, on disc, by a talented, if psychic, musician. And it hits us, nearly brings us to our knees with its purity.
This is such a song. It could have been written by me for WriterGuy, fourteen years ago or five years ago.
Or even today.
Labels: musical interlude
Reason #537...
...why I need to work at home instead of in a corporate atmosphere (which is still fairly lax, at least compared to my stint at a bank - besides which, if I worked at home I'd have very little human contact and that's probably not a good thing because then my social skills would plummet and no one wants that to happen and yes, there are 536 other reasons, I just haven't listed them here, but I've gotten them written down somewhere around here and - uh, what was I saying?):
I just took a swig of Dr. Pepper and have a sudden need to, well, oh dear, what's the polite word for it?
Oh yes. Belch. A-hem.
I'm talking a pretty sizable one. But, being the oh-so-ladylike person that I am, I refrain from doing so here at work. Because that would be rude. So I'm forced to let it out in tiny silent belches, after which I habitually say, "Excuse me," causing my co-workers to look at me with even more confused looks than they would normally have when contemplating me. Because they can't hear the belches, you see. Because I'm a complete lady, through and through.
If I were working at home, one fell swoop and I'd be done. Finito.
Damn my lady-like manners.
I just took a swig of Dr. Pepper and have a sudden need to, well, oh dear, what's the polite word for it?
Oh yes. Belch. A-hem.
I'm talking a pretty sizable one. But, being the oh-so-ladylike person that I am, I refrain from doing so here at work. Because that would be rude. So I'm forced to let it out in tiny silent belches, after which I habitually say, "Excuse me," causing my co-workers to look at me with even more confused looks than they would normally have when contemplating me. Because they can't hear the belches, you see. Because I'm a complete lady, through and through.
If I were working at home, one fell swoop and I'd be done. Finito.
Damn my lady-like manners.
Put her in the Comfy Chair!
Sometimes I'm just a lazy-ass bitch.
Well, maybe not the bitch part, so much. I try to keep that to a minimum. But the lazy-ass part? Damn straight, spanky.
I've previously mentioned that, at my job, I sit at a workstation as opposed to a cubicle. I call it a cubicle because I'm an optimistic kind of girl. To be brutally honest, it's a tiny little workstation with one full wall to the right, and two (sort of) half walls, one in front and one in back. Not much privacy. There is a station in front of me, a station behind me, and three to the left of me, with a path approximately three feet wide between my row and the other row, with no walls separating the two rows of workstations.
Bear with me, this actually has something to do with being a lazy-ass bi- uh, person.
So, in the other row, at the front workstation, sits my boss. BossGuy. Probably about five feet away, at the most. We often have questions for one another, or we want to chat about something or other, whether work related or not. Now, most people would, oh, I don't know, stand up and walk to BossGuy's desk. Maybe, if feeling especially tired, said normal people would just speak up a little when asking a quick question requiring a quick response (which is rarer than one might think).
I have been known to do both things. After all, it only makes sense, right? However, I've also been known to call BossGuy. On the phone. To ask really simple questions that require a two, maybe three word, answer.
Why? See opening sentence above.
If it's a simple question I don't see the point in standing, walking five feet, getting two or three word answer, then walking back to my desk and sitting down, especially when I've got this lovely high-backed chair with arms and lumbar support and such things (though my cubicle at Disney was wonderful and roomy and ergonomically correct and all, this chair is so superior to my Disney chair - sorry, Disney). As for the "raising voice" option, I just don't like to raise my voice.
(You, in the corner - shut up. I'm really not that loud. Often.)
So, yeah, I use the phone instead. Because it's easy and I can talk softly and I'm a lazy-ass...something or other.
Then again, I'm not the only one. [looks in BossGuy's direction]
Well, maybe not the bitch part, so much. I try to keep that to a minimum. But the lazy-ass part? Damn straight, spanky.
I've previously mentioned that, at my job, I sit at a workstation as opposed to a cubicle. I call it a cubicle because I'm an optimistic kind of girl. To be brutally honest, it's a tiny little workstation with one full wall to the right, and two (sort of) half walls, one in front and one in back. Not much privacy. There is a station in front of me, a station behind me, and three to the left of me, with a path approximately three feet wide between my row and the other row, with no walls separating the two rows of workstations.
Bear with me, this actually has something to do with being a lazy-ass bi- uh, person.
So, in the other row, at the front workstation, sits my boss. BossGuy. Probably about five feet away, at the most. We often have questions for one another, or we want to chat about something or other, whether work related or not. Now, most people would, oh, I don't know, stand up and walk to BossGuy's desk. Maybe, if feeling especially tired, said normal people would just speak up a little when asking a quick question requiring a quick response (which is rarer than one might think).
I have been known to do both things. After all, it only makes sense, right? However, I've also been known to call BossGuy. On the phone. To ask really simple questions that require a two, maybe three word, answer.
Why? See opening sentence above.
If it's a simple question I don't see the point in standing, walking five feet, getting two or three word answer, then walking back to my desk and sitting down, especially when I've got this lovely high-backed chair with arms and lumbar support and such things (though my cubicle at Disney was wonderful and roomy and ergonomically correct and all, this chair is so superior to my Disney chair - sorry, Disney). As for the "raising voice" option, I just don't like to raise my voice.
(You, in the corner - shut up. I'm really not that loud. Often.)
So, yeah, I use the phone instead. Because it's easy and I can talk softly and I'm a lazy-ass...something or other.
Then again, I'm not the only one. [looks in BossGuy's direction]
Monday, September 15, 2003
Musical Interlude...
Matador sweeps the veil
From the last young day of my life
Malibu tides inhale
Santa Ana Winds from behind
Wade out into the water
No more chances this year
I busied myself all summer
My day for swimming is here
Yes it's time
Seaside revelations
All those dreams and visions of mine
Washed up like a vacation
Lost as I wasted my time
Looking through my dark glasses
I see smiles on the faces of friends
But time keeps pushing me on now
And I'll ride this wave till the end
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
Say goodbye to the weekend
And the last of the summertime sun
Driving off the end of a decade
So many things to be done
September and the trees are restless
Windchimes blow in the dark
Lying on the couch defenseless
With blue clouds court and spark
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
Please don't go away
Stay awhile, stay awhile
El Matador by Semisonic (from All About Chemistry)
When I first saw the title on Another Disc #6, I thought that there was no way it could be about the beach. Imagine my pleased surprise to discover that it was!
I never thought I was much of a beach girl until I spent a day there working on a short film over ten years ago. Then I realized I just wasn't into crowded beaches. The beauty and the peacefulness spoke to me and has been known to soothe me when troubled.
It's funny. When I re-read the short story that I linked above (all true, except for the names), I marveled at how far I had come since then. At that time in my life I was so sure that I could never again love anyone as deeply as I had loved "Stanley", that I wouldn't want to risk my heart like that again.
It's been a few years since I wrote that story. It's nice to know that, with luck, I will someday experience deep love again. And though I'm still terrified of getting hurt, I'm willing to take the risk.
Labels: musical interlude
Putting out the word...
... help Sars find Don.
***********************************************
Christopher objects to ValleySpeak. As a both a graduate of a Valley high school and a current resident of The Valley, I must take issue. I am like, so sure!
***********************************************
I'm on Friendster. Aren't you envious?
It's interesting. I joined at the invite of a friend and promptly wrote up a glowing yet humorous testimonial for him, 'cause I'm just that kind of girl. Then I remembered that FutureFireDancingWriterGirl (FormerlyKnownAsSarah) was on Friendster, so I linked up with her and wrote a glowing yet humorous testimonial for her as well. Because, again, I love my friends and want the world to know how special they are.
I still have no testimonal of my own. *pout* My friends suck.
Ok, no, they really don't. If they did, they wouldn't be my friends. But still, would a simple "Hey, Carol's a great gal!" be too much to ask for? Even though I stated in my profile that I'm "just here to help" and haven't said that I'm looking for someone to date and I really have enough friends to keep me socially busy as it is, though meeting new people is always fun?
Um, wait a minute - what was I saying? Never mind.
(Just wait, tomorrow FFDWG(FKaSarah) will read my 'blog and submit such a testimonial. 'Cause she's a smart-ass. Which is probably why she's my friend. FriendsterFriend would probably do the same thing, because he's a smart-ass too, but he doesn't read my 'blog.)
Personally, I'd love to set FFDWG(FKaSarah) up with a friend of FriendsterFriend. I don't know if they'd hit it off as more than friends, but they're both pretty cool people and I love it when cool people meet.
So, yeah, I've been a Friendster gal since near the end of August. I'm not too sure about it, since some of the folks on there are a little, um, well, frightening to me. I have gotten one message, though. From a guy calling himself Homey in Virginia. His pithy missive?
Okay then.
Sorry, Homey, that is on a totally need-to-know basis. And you? Don't need to know.
(I haven't responded to him yet because anything I write right now will be totally rude and I don't like to be rude. Unless it's really well-deserved.)
At least he wasn't like a guy on a matchmaking site who e-mailed me once, wanting to be my houseboy and to "service [me] anyway [I] want" on the basis of just my profile.
Or the guy from a different matchmaking site who, when I responded to his initial e-mail in a positive fashion, proceeded to e-mail me five or six times in one weekend with his phone number, wanting to get together that day. I was away from my computer all weekend, unaware of his e-mails until Monday morning. I sent him a very nice e-mail saying thanks, but no thanks, and maybe he should be careful about appearing over-eager in the future. Then I blocked him.
Where do these people come from? And why do they think I'd be interested in sex right away?
Okay, the picture I used is a really good one, with a bit of a mischevious, come-hither look. But it's a little blurry, shows absolutely no cleavage and I'm pretty sure it doesn't say, "E-mail me with your phone number and I'll fuck you tonight, big boy."
If that's all I wanted, I'd just go to Club Moxie every weekend in a mini-skirt and have the men ply me with alcohol. I certainly wouldn't spend money (my friend's, who had actually signed me up as a late birthday present back in May) on a matchmaking website or post a profile that specifically said, "Looking for a long term relationship."
I guess some guys think they're just the men to change my mind. Which makes me really glad I've been away from the matchmaking sites for a while. I'm happy I gave it try, for many reasons, but damn fellas, slow down and tuck it back in your pants. Sheesh.
Christopher objects to ValleySpeak. As a both a graduate of a Valley high school and a current resident of The Valley, I must take issue. I am like, so sure!
I'm on Friendster. Aren't you envious?
It's interesting. I joined at the invite of a friend and promptly wrote up a glowing yet humorous testimonial for him, 'cause I'm just that kind of girl. Then I remembered that FutureFireDancingWriterGirl (FormerlyKnownAsSarah) was on Friendster, so I linked up with her and wrote a glowing yet humorous testimonial for her as well. Because, again, I love my friends and want the world to know how special they are.
I still have no testimonal of my own. *pout* My friends suck.
Ok, no, they really don't. If they did, they wouldn't be my friends. But still, would a simple "Hey, Carol's a great gal!" be too much to ask for? Even though I stated in my profile that I'm "just here to help" and haven't said that I'm looking for someone to date and I really have enough friends to keep me socially busy as it is, though meeting new people is always fun?
Um, wait a minute - what was I saying? Never mind.
(Just wait, tomorrow FFDWG(FKaSarah) will read my 'blog and submit such a testimonial. 'Cause she's a smart-ass. Which is probably why she's my friend. FriendsterFriend would probably do the same thing, because he's a smart-ass too, but he doesn't read my 'blog.)
Personally, I'd love to set FFDWG(FKaSarah) up with a friend of FriendsterFriend. I don't know if they'd hit it off as more than friends, but they're both pretty cool people and I love it when cool people meet.
So, yeah, I've been a Friendster gal since near the end of August. I'm not too sure about it, since some of the folks on there are a little, um, well, frightening to me. I have gotten one message, though. From a guy calling himself Homey in Virginia. His pithy missive?
Hey
Do you practice Tantra?
Okay then.
Sorry, Homey, that is on a totally need-to-know basis. And you? Don't need to know.
(I haven't responded to him yet because anything I write right now will be totally rude and I don't like to be rude. Unless it's really well-deserved.)
At least he wasn't like a guy on a matchmaking site who e-mailed me once, wanting to be my houseboy and to "service [me] anyway [I] want" on the basis of just my profile.
Or the guy from a different matchmaking site who, when I responded to his initial e-mail in a positive fashion, proceeded to e-mail me five or six times in one weekend with his phone number, wanting to get together that day. I was away from my computer all weekend, unaware of his e-mails until Monday morning. I sent him a very nice e-mail saying thanks, but no thanks, and maybe he should be careful about appearing over-eager in the future. Then I blocked him.
Where do these people come from? And why do they think I'd be interested in sex right away?
Okay, the picture I used is a really good one, with a bit of a mischevious, come-hither look. But it's a little blurry, shows absolutely no cleavage and I'm pretty sure it doesn't say, "E-mail me with your phone number and I'll fuck you tonight, big boy."
If that's all I wanted, I'd just go to Club Moxie every weekend in a mini-skirt and have the men ply me with alcohol. I certainly wouldn't spend money (my friend's, who had actually signed me up as a late birthday present back in May) on a matchmaking website or post a profile that specifically said, "Looking for a long term relationship."
I guess some guys think they're just the men to change my mind. Which makes me really glad I've been away from the matchmaking sites for a while. I'm happy I gave it try, for many reasons, but damn fellas, slow down and tuck it back in your pants. Sheesh.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
Dangling Conversation...
Saturday, September 13, 2003
*stretch*
My, that was fabulous. I haven't done that is so very long I'd almost forgotten what it was like, though I've certainly fantasized about it often. It's amazing how bright and beautiful the world is afterwards, how relaxed and settled and satisfied I feel, as if there is nothing in the universe that could possibly be bad.
I love sleeping in.
(What did you think I was talking about? *wags finger* Shame on you! You lovely dirty minded readers!)
In August I was running around, with no time to call my own. Certainly no time to sleep in. The last couple of weekends I've had days where I had nothing planned except cleaning and laundry. And sleeping in. But for what ever reasons (cats yowling in my ears for food, my own restlessness) I've been fully awake after no more than seven hours of sleep. Which, in my view, is not sleeping in. Especially when, during the week, I average four to five hours a night.
Yes, I know, that's very bad. I just have trouble gettng myself to bed at night, though I can usually fall asleep fine once I get to bed. I've always been a night owl and the last few months that tendency has been very pronounced. Not to mention that my dreams of late have been very, um, exciting, if'n ya get my drift, and I suspect my sleep is not as restful as it could be.
(Though, with those dreams, I can't say say I really mind. Let's just say that a certain young man [who I may have mentioned once or twice or a hundred times in these fair pages] proves to be quite thrilling...
...
...
Wha-? Wh-? Where was I? Oh yeah.
A-hem.)
None of which would be a problem if I didn't have to wake up earlier than I used to in order to catch buses to get to work. Yes, I know, I've got to get that car. I will, I promise.
I got home last night (actually this morning) at nearly 2am, was in bed and alseep by 2:30am and didn't wake up until 11am. Eight and a half hours of nearly non-interrupted sleep. Lovely.
Especially since I have to be at work tomorrow at 9am, so no sleeping in for me tomorrow.
I used to sleep in all the time. I really should do it more often.
***********************************************
And where was I last night until nearly 2am in the morning? I was at a CD release party and gig for The Uptown Rulers at 14 Below. The guitarist used to work at my company and is a very cool guy and I enjoyed the music the one time I'd seen them perform before, so I thought, Hey, why not support these guys?
Their music is heavily funk and hip-hop inspired, with some jazz thrown in there for good measure. If they have to be compared to anyone, they could be compared to The Red Hot Chili Peppers. They are very good and a lot of fun to watch live. They bring out a large audience, all of whom just can't help grooving to the beats (myself included).
I had invited one of my dearest friends, ModelGirl, her hubby (SurferBoy), their friend (SurferBoy#2) and the hubby's cousin (NearProposal). Yeah, that cousin.
NearProposal is leaving for Alabama for three months, to spend time with a young lady he sort of knew in when he lived in Denver and has been corresponding with via e-mail since the beginning of the year. He's looking to see if anything might develop. I hope it works out for them. Because I worry about a young man with a thick Venuzuelan accent spending an extended period in the Deep South. And because he really is a nice guy and derserves a nice girl.
I had invited them as sort of a going away deal for the cousin. Funnily enough, I ended up talking with NearProposal for most of the evening. I tried to find out more about his lady friend. But what did I talk to him about a good portion of the evening? CuteNerdBoy. Yeah, I know, I need help. I think we established that a long time ago. Maybe that was wrong of me, or mean of me. I certainly didn't intend to be mean. NearProposal was already aware of CuteNerdBoy's presence in my life and I guess that I wanted to make sure he didn't think I was leading him on by talking with him for the majority of the evening. I know he's fond of AlabamaGirl (who, apparently, is a big girl like me), but it's obvious he's still attracted to me. It's a fine line to walk.
Still, we all had fun. The three guys, all of whom are musicians, met and exchanged info with other musicians they liked. We saw a really fun band and Ex-CoWorker was happy to see me and to have my friends join us, and I have myself a new CD!
(It doesn't seem to be available for sale on their site yet, but check back - I'm sure they'll have it up. They're really very good.)
I am also very happy I can hold my alcohol, because I'm sure that most people would be more than just a tad tipsy after a gin-and-tonic, two rum-and-cokes and two kamakazes (which were drunk from test tubes). I was a little queasy after my second kamakaze, so I went back to the water I'd been nursing the previous hour and am in great shape today. Especially after dancing the night away.
It's funny, I'm not really a drinker and I don't go out dancing a lot, because I know I'd tire the bar and club scene pretty quickly. But I think because I don't do it often, I always have an incredible time when I do. It doesn't get old for me.
We'll see what happens when I go back to 14 Below on Wednesday for a gig for Sarah's friend.
And I thought September was going to be a socially quiet month for me? Silly girl.
I love sleeping in.
(What did you think I was talking about? *wags finger* Shame on you! You lovely dirty minded readers!)
In August I was running around, with no time to call my own. Certainly no time to sleep in. The last couple of weekends I've had days where I had nothing planned except cleaning and laundry. And sleeping in. But for what ever reasons (cats yowling in my ears for food, my own restlessness) I've been fully awake after no more than seven hours of sleep. Which, in my view, is not sleeping in. Especially when, during the week, I average four to five hours a night.
Yes, I know, that's very bad. I just have trouble gettng myself to bed at night, though I can usually fall asleep fine once I get to bed. I've always been a night owl and the last few months that tendency has been very pronounced. Not to mention that my dreams of late have been very, um, exciting, if'n ya get my drift, and I suspect my sleep is not as restful as it could be.
(Though, with those dreams, I can't say say I really mind. Let's just say that a certain young man [who I may have mentioned once or twice or a hundred times in these fair pages] proves to be quite thrilling...
...
...
Wha-? Wh-? Where was I? Oh yeah.
A-hem.)
None of which would be a problem if I didn't have to wake up earlier than I used to in order to catch buses to get to work. Yes, I know, I've got to get that car. I will, I promise.
I got home last night (actually this morning) at nearly 2am, was in bed and alseep by 2:30am and didn't wake up until 11am. Eight and a half hours of nearly non-interrupted sleep. Lovely.
Especially since I have to be at work tomorrow at 9am, so no sleeping in for me tomorrow.
I used to sleep in all the time. I really should do it more often.
And where was I last night until nearly 2am in the morning? I was at a CD release party and gig for The Uptown Rulers at 14 Below. The guitarist used to work at my company and is a very cool guy and I enjoyed the music the one time I'd seen them perform before, so I thought, Hey, why not support these guys?
Their music is heavily funk and hip-hop inspired, with some jazz thrown in there for good measure. If they have to be compared to anyone, they could be compared to The Red Hot Chili Peppers. They are very good and a lot of fun to watch live. They bring out a large audience, all of whom just can't help grooving to the beats (myself included).
I had invited one of my dearest friends, ModelGirl, her hubby (SurferBoy), their friend (SurferBoy#2) and the hubby's cousin (NearProposal). Yeah, that cousin.
NearProposal is leaving for Alabama for three months, to spend time with a young lady he sort of knew in when he lived in Denver and has been corresponding with via e-mail since the beginning of the year. He's looking to see if anything might develop. I hope it works out for them. Because I worry about a young man with a thick Venuzuelan accent spending an extended period in the Deep South. And because he really is a nice guy and derserves a nice girl.
I had invited them as sort of a going away deal for the cousin. Funnily enough, I ended up talking with NearProposal for most of the evening. I tried to find out more about his lady friend. But what did I talk to him about a good portion of the evening? CuteNerdBoy. Yeah, I know, I need help. I think we established that a long time ago. Maybe that was wrong of me, or mean of me. I certainly didn't intend to be mean. NearProposal was already aware of CuteNerdBoy's presence in my life and I guess that I wanted to make sure he didn't think I was leading him on by talking with him for the majority of the evening. I know he's fond of AlabamaGirl (who, apparently, is a big girl like me), but it's obvious he's still attracted to me. It's a fine line to walk.
Still, we all had fun. The three guys, all of whom are musicians, met and exchanged info with other musicians they liked. We saw a really fun band and Ex-CoWorker was happy to see me and to have my friends join us, and I have myself a new CD!
(It doesn't seem to be available for sale on their site yet, but check back - I'm sure they'll have it up. They're really very good.)
I am also very happy I can hold my alcohol, because I'm sure that most people would be more than just a tad tipsy after a gin-and-tonic, two rum-and-cokes and two kamakazes (which were drunk from test tubes). I was a little queasy after my second kamakaze, so I went back to the water I'd been nursing the previous hour and am in great shape today. Especially after dancing the night away.
It's funny, I'm not really a drinker and I don't go out dancing a lot, because I know I'd tire the bar and club scene pretty quickly. But I think because I don't do it often, I always have an incredible time when I do. It doesn't get old for me.
We'll see what happens when I go back to 14 Below on Wednesday for a gig for Sarah's friend.
And I thought September was going to be a socially quiet month for me? Silly girl.
Friday, September 12, 2003
Sad panda...
For most of today I've been kind of a sad little girl. For the longest time I couldn't figure out why. Nothing has happened today, or last night, to bring me down. I even got a cute e-mail from CuteNerdBoy that makes me smile when I read it (lots of silly puns, most of which make me groan in the middle of smiling).
Maybe it's PMS, I thought. Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe it's the combination of 9/11 and the now non-existent parents' anniversary I mentioned yesterday. Maybe it's because CuteNerdBoy is going out of town again and it'll be awhile before I see him next. Maybe it's because John Ritter and Johnny Cash died today and I'm only now accepting the fact that Gregory Hines died last month.
(I'm still having trouble with that one. Gregory Hines. And John Ritter. I never expected those two to die so young.)
I think all of those things factor into it. But I realized something else today.
I miss my daddy.
Next week will mark the last time I've seen my father in a year. It was around the time of my mother's birthday, which is September 18th. I've spoken to him once in the last year, less than a week after we moved my mom out on September 29th, 2002. It was a painful conversation for me, but not for him, because he didn't have an inkling at that time that I would not be speaking to him again. I couldn't tell him, not then, for very good reasons. None of which I will be going into this blog. At least not for a very, very long time.
He has left a couple of messages on my answering machine over the last twelve months. I've thought about returning his calls to explain my decision and the reasons behind it. Telling him what it would take to have him be a part of my life again. But the thought of listening to his voice makes me tremble. I want to be strong and I don't think I can be.
So why not write a letter? I could do that. I've thought about it, and I think I will do so in the next month. Because, despite what he's done, he deserves to know. He's my daddy.
Others in my family might argue that he was never really a daddy, that he was lacking as a father in many ways, that my mother and siblings were just puppets in his little play and he never really loved us. Maybe they'd be right. But I remember the daily drive from home to high school, where Dad and I spent at least an hour in the car together. He morphed from the distant disciplinarian into a real person, and I thought I learned to understand him a little better. He used to like to talk to me about computers and science fiction and space. Ok, many times he talked at me, but still, I was the child that shared those interests, that picked up those interests from him, interests that I still have today. I was the tolerant child. I was "Sweetheart". I just can't believe he didn't love me, in some way. I can't, I won't, believe that he's never been my daddy.
All the holidays that have passed over the last year have been filled with melancholy, but the family was able to get through them. I was able to get through them. I felt sad when his birthday and Father's Day came and went, with no one to whom I could say, "Way to go, Dad." Otherwise I was okay.
Now the "anniversary" is coming up. I wonder how it'll be for Mom, who's been in contact with him to work out divorce details. I can't imagine what she must be going through. I'll ask her.
I wonder how my sibs are doing, how they're dealing with this month. Or are they so busy with their respective lives and families that they don't have time to think about it? I doubt it, but I wonder. Sometimes it's weird being the only child without a family at home.
I think about how, unless he makes some serious changes in his life, Daddy will never walk me down the aisle, will never know my children. I'll never see him play grand-daddy to my kids the way he used to play grand-daddy to my nieces and nephews. It hurts to think about it. It hurts so much I can't catch my breath and I have to fight the tears while I'm typing this at work during my lunch hour.
People tell me that it might help to write about it, to get it out. I just haven't been up to the task, beyond a few fleeting mentions in pieces for my writing group and a poem. It's been too big for me. It's too big for any child to have to think about, even an adult child. But I think I'm finally getting to the point where I can write about it. I think I can put down every remembered detail in a private paper journal. I even have the opening line. Who knows, maybe in the future I can turn it into a book or a film. I've always thought it would make a great Lifetime TV movie.
***********************************************
Maybe it's just as well that I won't be seeing CuteNerdBoy again for at least a week. I suspect I'm going to be a weepy mess for a little while and I don't know if I'm ready for him to see that. Oh, he knows I get emotional over music. I've told him how so many songs make me cry. He knows a little bit about what's happened over the last year with my family, but none of the details.
Sometimes I feel like I'm so out of control emotionally, that tears fall at the drop of hat, and I'm afraid that he'll think I'm just a too much of a mess to deal with. Then I remember that he's gone through tough times too, and maybe he'll be more sympathetic because he knows what pain can be like. Since his family is very important to him, maybe he'll understand why I'm so off-kilter right now.
***********************************************
And maybe, just maybe, I need to listen to a little less Coldplay when I'm feeling like this.
Maybe it's PMS, I thought. Maybe it's the full moon. Maybe it's the combination of 9/11 and the now non-existent parents' anniversary I mentioned yesterday. Maybe it's because CuteNerdBoy is going out of town again and it'll be awhile before I see him next. Maybe it's because John Ritter and Johnny Cash died today and I'm only now accepting the fact that Gregory Hines died last month.
(I'm still having trouble with that one. Gregory Hines. And John Ritter. I never expected those two to die so young.)
I think all of those things factor into it. But I realized something else today.
I miss my daddy.
Next week will mark the last time I've seen my father in a year. It was around the time of my mother's birthday, which is September 18th. I've spoken to him once in the last year, less than a week after we moved my mom out on September 29th, 2002. It was a painful conversation for me, but not for him, because he didn't have an inkling at that time that I would not be speaking to him again. I couldn't tell him, not then, for very good reasons. None of which I will be going into this blog. At least not for a very, very long time.
He has left a couple of messages on my answering machine over the last twelve months. I've thought about returning his calls to explain my decision and the reasons behind it. Telling him what it would take to have him be a part of my life again. But the thought of listening to his voice makes me tremble. I want to be strong and I don't think I can be.
So why not write a letter? I could do that. I've thought about it, and I think I will do so in the next month. Because, despite what he's done, he deserves to know. He's my daddy.
Others in my family might argue that he was never really a daddy, that he was lacking as a father in many ways, that my mother and siblings were just puppets in his little play and he never really loved us. Maybe they'd be right. But I remember the daily drive from home to high school, where Dad and I spent at least an hour in the car together. He morphed from the distant disciplinarian into a real person, and I thought I learned to understand him a little better. He used to like to talk to me about computers and science fiction and space. Ok, many times he talked at me, but still, I was the child that shared those interests, that picked up those interests from him, interests that I still have today. I was the tolerant child. I was "Sweetheart". I just can't believe he didn't love me, in some way. I can't, I won't, believe that he's never been my daddy.
All the holidays that have passed over the last year have been filled with melancholy, but the family was able to get through them. I was able to get through them. I felt sad when his birthday and Father's Day came and went, with no one to whom I could say, "Way to go, Dad." Otherwise I was okay.
Now the "anniversary" is coming up. I wonder how it'll be for Mom, who's been in contact with him to work out divorce details. I can't imagine what she must be going through. I'll ask her.
I wonder how my sibs are doing, how they're dealing with this month. Or are they so busy with their respective lives and families that they don't have time to think about it? I doubt it, but I wonder. Sometimes it's weird being the only child without a family at home.
I think about how, unless he makes some serious changes in his life, Daddy will never walk me down the aisle, will never know my children. I'll never see him play grand-daddy to my kids the way he used to play grand-daddy to my nieces and nephews. It hurts to think about it. It hurts so much I can't catch my breath and I have to fight the tears while I'm typing this at work during my lunch hour.
People tell me that it might help to write about it, to get it out. I just haven't been up to the task, beyond a few fleeting mentions in pieces for my writing group and a poem. It's been too big for me. It's too big for any child to have to think about, even an adult child. But I think I'm finally getting to the point where I can write about it. I think I can put down every remembered detail in a private paper journal. I even have the opening line. Who knows, maybe in the future I can turn it into a book or a film. I've always thought it would make a great Lifetime TV movie.
Maybe it's just as well that I won't be seeing CuteNerdBoy again for at least a week. I suspect I'm going to be a weepy mess for a little while and I don't know if I'm ready for him to see that. Oh, he knows I get emotional over music. I've told him how so many songs make me cry. He knows a little bit about what's happened over the last year with my family, but none of the details.
Sometimes I feel like I'm so out of control emotionally, that tears fall at the drop of hat, and I'm afraid that he'll think I'm just a too much of a mess to deal with. Then I remember that he's gone through tough times too, and maybe he'll be more sympathetic because he knows what pain can be like. Since his family is very important to him, maybe he'll understand why I'm so off-kilter right now.
And maybe, just maybe, I need to listen to a little less Coldplay when I'm feeling like this.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
On a lighter note...
...this past Tuesday would have been my parents' 42nd wedding anniversary. One year ago, on September 9th, OlderBro, OBGirlfriend and I took my parents out to dinner to celebrate. By the end of the month my siblings and I moved my mom out of the house she shared with my father and up to Fresno to stay with YoungerSis and her family.
Amazing how life can turn in an instant.
On Tuesday I called my mom to see how she was doing, but she didn't want to talk about it, going over other things instead. I didn't want to push it. Not on the phone. I'll be seeing her next week for her birthday (she's in Ventura County these days) and we'll talk then.
***********************************************
Luckily I was kept from brooding about it all too much. Tuesday was the BookCrossing Meet-Up for September and I spent a lovely evening with CuteNerdBoy and his aunt. After the meeting the three of us went to dinner then hung out at my place for a little while. I admit that, though I like CNBAunt, I wasn't too sure about her joining us when CuteNerdBoy mentioned it was a possibility. I hadn't seen him since his step-father's gig and I did want to spend a little time with just the two of us. But CNBAunt is such a delightful person, very funny and friendly and warm, that I couldn't help but enjoy her company. It was such a comfortable evening.
But.
So many times I looked at CuteNerdBoy as we talked, or as he talked to others, and our eyes met and I felt such a shock to my system. My fingers would tingle and I'd see sparkling flashes behind my pupils. I wondered if he felt the same, or at least a little of what I was feeling. I thought so, but one can never really know, can they? Sometimes I wonder if I'm just seeing what I want to see in his words and his actions. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
After they left, I listened to Another Disc #6 (which he gave to me on Tuesday, along with Bachelor No. 2 by Aimee Mann). I cried at some of songs and let Sparks carry me away (I absolutely love Coldplay). The music is melancholy yet sensual but the lyrics just break my heart. And I contented myself with my, shall we say, fantasies. Yeah, I like that word. Fantasies...
A-hem.
It would be nice if some of the fantasies became reality. Some day. Some day.
Amazing how life can turn in an instant.
On Tuesday I called my mom to see how she was doing, but she didn't want to talk about it, going over other things instead. I didn't want to push it. Not on the phone. I'll be seeing her next week for her birthday (she's in Ventura County these days) and we'll talk then.
Luckily I was kept from brooding about it all too much. Tuesday was the BookCrossing Meet-Up for September and I spent a lovely evening with CuteNerdBoy and his aunt. After the meeting the three of us went to dinner then hung out at my place for a little while. I admit that, though I like CNBAunt, I wasn't too sure about her joining us when CuteNerdBoy mentioned it was a possibility. I hadn't seen him since his step-father's gig and I did want to spend a little time with just the two of us. But CNBAunt is such a delightful person, very funny and friendly and warm, that I couldn't help but enjoy her company. It was such a comfortable evening.
But.
So many times I looked at CuteNerdBoy as we talked, or as he talked to others, and our eyes met and I felt such a shock to my system. My fingers would tingle and I'd see sparkling flashes behind my pupils. I wondered if he felt the same, or at least a little of what I was feeling. I thought so, but one can never really know, can they? Sometimes I wonder if I'm just seeing what I want to see in his words and his actions. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
After they left, I listened to Another Disc #6 (which he gave to me on Tuesday, along with Bachelor No. 2 by Aimee Mann). I cried at some of songs and let Sparks carry me away (I absolutely love Coldplay). The music is melancholy yet sensual but the lyrics just break my heart. And I contented myself with my, shall we say, fantasies. Yeah, I like that word. Fantasies...
A-hem.
It would be nice if some of the fantasies became reality. Some day. Some day.
At a loss...
I don't know what to write. Yep, I've signed on just to post that. Makes you excited to read on, doesn't it?
What can I say that hasn't been said before, by others far more eloquent,those directly affected by the tragic events of two years ago?
I'm just a girl on the West Coast with no relatives or friends in New York, who first heard the unthinkable as I showered in the morning, stopping in the midst to turn off the water because I thought there was no way I could possibly be hearing what I was hearing. Who listened to the unfolding terror on the radio on the way to work, while at work, fingers slowed and mind numbed. Once I got home I refused to watch the TV coverage at first because I knew it would be too much to handle. Instead I read favorite bulletin boards and CNN.com and other news sites. I finally turned on the TV around 9pm that night and, though horrified and still numb, I was okay. Until I watched the footage of the victims jumping from windows. It became personal then, at that moment, and I wept. I wept for those people, for all the other victims who perished that awful day, in New York and Washington and Pennsylvania, for all the families and friends of the victims.
I still weep. For them. For other victims of terrorism. Of war. Because it's all so senseless and awful and unbelievable and I can't wrap my brain around the thoughts and beliefs that would make people perpetrate such heinous acts. Maybe I'm just too naive. I don't know. Though I admit that, as shocked as I was, I was not surprised. I knew it would only be a matter of time before such terrorism hit our adolescent shores. I was just surprised that it had taken so long.
Today I wear my red, white, blue and black ribbon that I made two years ago. Red, white and blue for the original ideals upon which the United States were formed, not the mockery Bush has created over the last two years. Black to mourn the unfortunate victims of extremists and dick-sizing leaders.
It's not about politics. It's not about religion. It's about people. Individuals.
We must never forget that.
What can I say that hasn't been said before, by others far more eloquent,those directly affected by the tragic events of two years ago?
I'm just a girl on the West Coast with no relatives or friends in New York, who first heard the unthinkable as I showered in the morning, stopping in the midst to turn off the water because I thought there was no way I could possibly be hearing what I was hearing. Who listened to the unfolding terror on the radio on the way to work, while at work, fingers slowed and mind numbed. Once I got home I refused to watch the TV coverage at first because I knew it would be too much to handle. Instead I read favorite bulletin boards and CNN.com and other news sites. I finally turned on the TV around 9pm that night and, though horrified and still numb, I was okay. Until I watched the footage of the victims jumping from windows. It became personal then, at that moment, and I wept. I wept for those people, for all the other victims who perished that awful day, in New York and Washington and Pennsylvania, for all the families and friends of the victims.
I still weep. For them. For other victims of terrorism. Of war. Because it's all so senseless and awful and unbelievable and I can't wrap my brain around the thoughts and beliefs that would make people perpetrate such heinous acts. Maybe I'm just too naive. I don't know. Though I admit that, as shocked as I was, I was not surprised. I knew it would only be a matter of time before such terrorism hit our adolescent shores. I was just surprised that it had taken so long.
Today I wear my red, white, blue and black ribbon that I made two years ago. Red, white and blue for the original ideals upon which the United States were formed, not the mockery Bush has created over the last two years. Black to mourn the unfortunate victims of extremists and dick-sizing leaders.
It's not about politics. It's not about religion. It's about people. Individuals.
We must never forget that.
*bows head*
Amen, Wil. Thank you.
Tuesday, September 09, 2003
Could it be?
Is it true? This thing I've been told?
It's possible, I suppose. Stranger things have been known to happen.
The first time I heard it, it was in a newsgroup post written by an ex. I thought that his eyes must have been playing tricks on him.
The second time I heard it, it was from a guy at a party. He said it was probably the glasses. I thought he was saying such a nice thing because he was trying to get into my pants. (He didn't succeed, by the way.)
Today was the third time I heard it. From the mail room guy at work. A nice, intelligent, but rather odd young fellow who once temped in accounts payable and is less cut out for corporate life than I am. It's rumored that he's the CEO's nephew. I'm pretty sure his eyes are fine and he has no interest in divesting me of my pants. Especially considering how schleppy I looked today (it's laundry time!).
I was standing by the vending machine, choosing my weekly candy bar. He and I spoke a bit about the soda machine, I spoke with someone else about her losing money in the vending machine. Then, as I was gathering up my candy bar (Twix, if that's something you care about - it's different each time), MailGuy turned to me and said, "You know who you remind me of?"
"Nope," I replied, "can't say that I do."
"Janeane Garofalo."
I think I stared at him. There may have been stunned blinking. I know I looked confused. "Really?"
"Yeah. You have a dry sense of humor like her. I like that."
"Thank you." Insert blushing here. "You know, I've heard that before. I really like her, so that's a good person to remind people of."
"Yeah." He smiled and left the kitchen.
It must be the humor, because I don't think I look all that much like her, though I do think she's very pretty. Aside from the glasses, the height, the high forehead, the dark brunette hair (well, mine was dark brunette before yesterday - BTW, it's not quite as bright as I thought it was - whew!), the (I think) brown eyes and the left of center politics, we're not exactly identical twins. Although she's spoken about how she's bigger than the average Hollywood actress, she's still way smaller than me. Though I think I'm quite pretty, on occasion even beautiful (with just the right lighting and make-up - I never said I was modest), I think she's prettier. Definitely cuter. And way funnier and hipper and cooler than I'll ever be. Which I have no problem with. I've accepted and am quite comfortable with my level of hipness and coolness, or occasional lack thereof. I know I'm a pretty funny person too.
Shut up! I am funny! I am so! It's all in the facial expressions. So there!
[under breath] Big doodiehead.[/under breath]
A-hem.
Janeane Garofalo. I like that.
Cool.
It's possible, I suppose. Stranger things have been known to happen.
The first time I heard it, it was in a newsgroup post written by an ex. I thought that his eyes must have been playing tricks on him.
The second time I heard it, it was from a guy at a party. He said it was probably the glasses. I thought he was saying such a nice thing because he was trying to get into my pants. (He didn't succeed, by the way.)
Today was the third time I heard it. From the mail room guy at work. A nice, intelligent, but rather odd young fellow who once temped in accounts payable and is less cut out for corporate life than I am. It's rumored that he's the CEO's nephew. I'm pretty sure his eyes are fine and he has no interest in divesting me of my pants. Especially considering how schleppy I looked today (it's laundry time!).
I was standing by the vending machine, choosing my weekly candy bar. He and I spoke a bit about the soda machine, I spoke with someone else about her losing money in the vending machine. Then, as I was gathering up my candy bar (Twix, if that's something you care about - it's different each time), MailGuy turned to me and said, "You know who you remind me of?"
"Nope," I replied, "can't say that I do."
"Janeane Garofalo."
I think I stared at him. There may have been stunned blinking. I know I looked confused. "Really?"
"Yeah. You have a dry sense of humor like her. I like that."
"Thank you." Insert blushing here. "You know, I've heard that before. I really like her, so that's a good person to remind people of."
"Yeah." He smiled and left the kitchen.
It must be the humor, because I don't think I look all that much like her, though I do think she's very pretty. Aside from the glasses, the height, the high forehead, the dark brunette hair (well, mine was dark brunette before yesterday - BTW, it's not quite as bright as I thought it was - whew!), the (I think) brown eyes and the left of center politics, we're not exactly identical twins. Although she's spoken about how she's bigger than the average Hollywood actress, she's still way smaller than me. Though I think I'm quite pretty, on occasion even beautiful (with just the right lighting and make-up - I never said I was modest), I think she's prettier. Definitely cuter. And way funnier and hipper and cooler than I'll ever be. Which I have no problem with. I've accepted and am quite comfortable with my level of hipness and coolness, or occasional lack thereof. I know I'm a pretty funny person too.
Shut up! I am funny! I am so! It's all in the facial expressions. So there!
[under breath] Big doodiehead.[/under breath]
A-hem.
Janeane Garofalo. I like that.
Cool.
Sunday, September 07, 2003
Here's to you, Mrs. Robinson...
Whee!
I really hope this happens. My first concert ever was the Simon and Garfunkel reunion tour in 1983 at Dodger Stadium. I went with a bunch of high school friends and had a great time. I also developed a bit of a crush on Art Garfunkel. Laugh if you must, but, except for the 'fro (which he really has to lose - let it go, Art, just let it go), Garfunkel was an attractive man in his youth and was still attractive in the early 80s. And that voice! It still has the power to thrill me.
Seeing them live again, twenty years later, would be absolutely fabulous.
Did I say whee? What I meant to say was: Wheeeeee!!!!!!
***********************************************
Gee, how do I put this in the most diplomatic way possible? Oh, I know - what a fucking moron.
I really hope this happens. My first concert ever was the Simon and Garfunkel reunion tour in 1983 at Dodger Stadium. I went with a bunch of high school friends and had a great time. I also developed a bit of a crush on Art Garfunkel. Laugh if you must, but, except for the 'fro (which he really has to lose - let it go, Art, just let it go), Garfunkel was an attractive man in his youth and was still attractive in the early 80s. And that voice! It still has the power to thrill me.
Seeing them live again, twenty years later, would be absolutely fabulous.
Did I say whee? What I meant to say was: Wheeeeee!!!!!!
Gee, how do I put this in the most diplomatic way possible? Oh, I know - what a fucking moron.
Hot and tired and a little bit cranky...
...not that that's all that unusual.
This weekend is one of those weekends where nothing went as planned. It's just bugging me.
Originally I was planning on working yesterday. Then I found out that the electricity in the building was going to be down all day. So, since I've got a month-close deadline at 3pm on Monday, I opted to come in today, though I had to postpone getting together with BabySis. The plan was to arrive at 11am and work through 'til 4pm, with two of our temps coming in to help.
Today the universe told me, "Carol, plans are for arrogant, uninformed fools."
First of all, I'm working on little sleep. My neighbor had one of his (admittedly very rare) loud parties last night. It died down around 2:30am, but, though I was exhausted, I couldn't fall asleep until nearly 4am. I got out of bed at 7:30am. Yeah, I know.
Thanks to bus schedules being sparse on Sundays and the fabulous Los Angeles Triathlon today, of which I was unaware, I ended up waiting for one of my three buses for two hours. Turns out that all the buses in the Hollywood/Highland area were rerouted, which I didn't realize until I'd been waiting for nearly an hour. Yeah. So I had to hunt down the correct bus stop to wait at, where I stood for about forty minutes. And since my final bus only goes to the west side of town once an hour, I had to wait another forty minutes, thereby arriving at work at 1:30pm. I left my apartment at 9:30 am this morning.
(And I think the back of my neck is sun-burned, since I wore my hair up in a messy French twist today. Fun stuff.)
Since the building is locked up on the weekends and only permanent employees have keys and access cards, the temps were waiting for me to call them before they headed to work. Luckily I was able to contact both of them while I was bus-waiting, so I told one of them not to worry, since I knew she had afternoon plans. The other temp was able to come in at 2pm and worked until 4pm. Every little bit helps.
On top of that my boss is on vacation in New York right now (planned months and months ago), so all month-end billing falls on my head, as the person in charge. I don't begrudge him his vacation, because if anyone deserves time away, it's him. But all the timing for this month-end (and for the entire month) has been royally fucked-up, so I'm just a tiny bit stressed.
(Oh, and there's no air-conditioning in the building on Sundays. Apparently the management thinks that no one ever works on Sundays. Idiots.)
So I'm taking a quick break, eating a yummy veggie burger (because, for some reason, those Sun Chips that I had at 1pm while waiting for the bus, the chips that were pretty much my breakfast - those didn't last me very long) and typing here before heading back to the wonderful world of video returns (just as boring as it sounds). I'll probably be here until 8pm. Then I'll get home at around 10pm. And get up early tomorrow to get to work by 7am. Yech.
At least it's not quarter-end. That comes at the end of September.
***********************************************
In addition, I think my hair is too red.
My hair is naturally dark brown with lots of red highlights. About once every year or two I like to color it some shade of auburn, just to try something new. It's rarely the same shade, because I like to mix it up. Back in July I hadn't colored my hair in over a year., so I decided to go for it, using a medium auburn and it turned out pretty nice. I admit part of the reason I decided to infuse the mop with red was because I knew CuteNerdBoy likes auburn or red hair (though if his preference had been blondes? He'd be outta luck - I ain't never going blonde or getting blonde highlights - boy, would that look stupid on me). It was time to go auburn again anyway. And I got a lot of compliments on it.
Well, the red was growing out, so I thought I'd color it again and picked up what I thought would be just a slightly brighter auburn, which I used this morning.
See above comment about plans and fools.
It's not a super bright red, still falling more into the auburn family. It's not even the brightest I've ever had my hair. Back in the late 80s, due to an unfortunate run-in with first Sun-In, then henna, my hair was nearly copper. As I let it grow out I had tri-colored hair. It was a very interesting look. I wish I had pictures of that hair.
Today my hair definitely brighter than I had intended. I think it looks good, but it is taking a bit of adjusting. I think I'll just leave the hair color alone for awhile.
***********************************************
I'm just going to blame it all on the combination of Mercury retrograde, Mars retrograde and opposition of Mars and Jupiter. Hey, it's as good an explanation as anything.
This weekend is one of those weekends where nothing went as planned. It's just bugging me.
Originally I was planning on working yesterday. Then I found out that the electricity in the building was going to be down all day. So, since I've got a month-close deadline at 3pm on Monday, I opted to come in today, though I had to postpone getting together with BabySis. The plan was to arrive at 11am and work through 'til 4pm, with two of our temps coming in to help.
Today the universe told me, "Carol, plans are for arrogant, uninformed fools."
First of all, I'm working on little sleep. My neighbor had one of his (admittedly very rare) loud parties last night. It died down around 2:30am, but, though I was exhausted, I couldn't fall asleep until nearly 4am. I got out of bed at 7:30am. Yeah, I know.
Thanks to bus schedules being sparse on Sundays and the fabulous Los Angeles Triathlon today, of which I was unaware, I ended up waiting for one of my three buses for two hours. Turns out that all the buses in the Hollywood/Highland area were rerouted, which I didn't realize until I'd been waiting for nearly an hour. Yeah. So I had to hunt down the correct bus stop to wait at, where I stood for about forty minutes. And since my final bus only goes to the west side of town once an hour, I had to wait another forty minutes, thereby arriving at work at 1:30pm. I left my apartment at 9:30 am this morning.
(And I think the back of my neck is sun-burned, since I wore my hair up in a messy French twist today. Fun stuff.)
Since the building is locked up on the weekends and only permanent employees have keys and access cards, the temps were waiting for me to call them before they headed to work. Luckily I was able to contact both of them while I was bus-waiting, so I told one of them not to worry, since I knew she had afternoon plans. The other temp was able to come in at 2pm and worked until 4pm. Every little bit helps.
On top of that my boss is on vacation in New York right now (planned months and months ago), so all month-end billing falls on my head, as the person in charge. I don't begrudge him his vacation, because if anyone deserves time away, it's him. But all the timing for this month-end (and for the entire month) has been royally fucked-up, so I'm just a tiny bit stressed.
(Oh, and there's no air-conditioning in the building on Sundays. Apparently the management thinks that no one ever works on Sundays. Idiots.)
So I'm taking a quick break, eating a yummy veggie burger (because, for some reason, those Sun Chips that I had at 1pm while waiting for the bus, the chips that were pretty much my breakfast - those didn't last me very long) and typing here before heading back to the wonderful world of video returns (just as boring as it sounds). I'll probably be here until 8pm. Then I'll get home at around 10pm. And get up early tomorrow to get to work by 7am. Yech.
At least it's not quarter-end. That comes at the end of September.
In addition, I think my hair is too red.
My hair is naturally dark brown with lots of red highlights. About once every year or two I like to color it some shade of auburn, just to try something new. It's rarely the same shade, because I like to mix it up. Back in July I hadn't colored my hair in over a year., so I decided to go for it, using a medium auburn and it turned out pretty nice. I admit part of the reason I decided to infuse the mop with red was because I knew CuteNerdBoy likes auburn or red hair (though if his preference had been blondes? He'd be outta luck - I ain't never going blonde or getting blonde highlights - boy, would that look stupid on me). It was time to go auburn again anyway. And I got a lot of compliments on it.
Well, the red was growing out, so I thought I'd color it again and picked up what I thought would be just a slightly brighter auburn, which I used this morning.
See above comment about plans and fools.
It's not a super bright red, still falling more into the auburn family. It's not even the brightest I've ever had my hair. Back in the late 80s, due to an unfortunate run-in with first Sun-In, then henna, my hair was nearly copper. As I let it grow out I had tri-colored hair. It was a very interesting look. I wish I had pictures of that hair.
Today my hair definitely brighter than I had intended. I think it looks good, but it is taking a bit of adjusting. I think I'll just leave the hair color alone for awhile.
I'm just going to blame it all on the combination of Mercury retrograde, Mars retrograde and opposition of Mars and Jupiter. Hey, it's as good an explanation as anything.
Friday, September 05, 2003
Helping out...
Pamie's such a giver, just helping a brutha out.
(Two thoughts:
I should never say or type words like "brutha". I am far too Wonder Bread for words resembling slang.
I'm starting sound like a Pamie stalker, which is never a good thing. I just need to put down the track ball and back away from the computer.)
(Two thoughts:
And here we go...
...again.
This morning I, along with a few other people, received a joyful e-mail from the sister of BestFriend. She and her long-time boyfriend are engaged. Yea!
Except not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for BestFriendSis and her fiancé. They’re both great people and deserve all the happiness in the world. (Well, maybe not all the happiness – they should save a little for others, ya know.) With my own baby sister engaged to be married, the wedding being next July, I’m looking forward to attending the weddings of two wonderful women whom I’ve known for a very long time (BabySis since, well, her birth and BestFriendSis since she was twelve and wearing plastic barrettes in her hair).
But then the self-digs and the self-doubts start. The girly thoughts start running through my mind and I wonder, “When will it be my turn?”
Now, I’m not looking to get married this second. Or even the next few years. I’m a firm believer in, “It’ll happen when it happens.” I mean, if all I cared about was the presence of a ring on my left hand and a husband on my right arm, I know I could be married right now. A friend’s husband has a cousin that is (or at least was) interested in me and was prepared to propose to me last December, though we never dated or shared more than a hug and kiss on the cheek. My friend and her hubby quickly nixed the proposed proposal, knowing I was not interested in him. Oh, he’s nice enough and smart enough and not bad looking. A little too skinny for my tastes, but still cute. He’d be a great catch for a woman who’s looking for a sweet, intelligent guy she can steam-roll over.
Me, I’m not looking for such a guy. I’m not attracted to men that are easily disconcerted by women. Respect, absolutely. Mutual respect is a must. But I’m a pretty opinionated woman. Some people think I have a strong personality and a few guys have even told me there’s something about intimidating about me. I don’t get that myself, as I think I’m just a big ol’ pussycat and not at all the confrontational type, but hey, there you are. So guys I’m interested in tend to be good at the old give-and-take, have the strength of their convictions, possess a spine. And are able to be such without being arrogant or abusive. I don't think that's too much to ask.
(My neighbor did propose to me last year, but he was drunk and didn’t want me to leave his very loud party because then he’d have to quiet down a little so I could get some sleep at 3am. I took that proposal with a huge barrel of salt.)
So, yeah, I’m willing to wait for the right man to come along, for a relationship to develop naturally, without rushing into something that might not work in the long run (though I’ll admit that often my hormones try to convince me otherwise). I’ve been down that road before and I certainly don’t want to go there again. Of my four ex-boyfriends I romantically loved three of them. And of those three? Though two of them are great guys (the third was ok, but too arrogant and politically conservative – he’s a gun collector, for heaven’s sake), only one of them wouldn’t incite me to trashing my place were I married to them. Interestingly enough, that one guy is the only one I’ve ever lived with and we were friends for years before we became involved.
Still.
I’m 37 years old. I know I want children. Though I’ve wanted to adopt a child as far back as I can remember, I wouldn’t mind having a child of my own before menopause rears its ugly head, which is getting closer and closer every year. And I’m a little old fashioned in that I would really like a partner, a husband, to help me raise the child.
It’s not just about the raising of children, though. I enjoy having a romantic companion. At least I have in the past. I’m certainly “complete” all by my little lonesome, but I find having a long-term companion enhances my quality of life. It’s fun. It’s exhilarating. It makes me strive to be a better person. It’s a safe, secure, warm, wonderful feeling. And I like to have someone around to whom I can return the favor.
I want a wedding, to have my family and friends join me in celebrating the love that I share with another, to witness the pledging of hearts and bodies and souls and minds. I think it’s beautiful when I’m lucky enough to share in that at the weddings of friends and family and I would love to have the people I care about, the people that we care about, share in that with my groom and me.
Yeah, I’m a big old fashioned incurable romantic mushball. Sue me.
So news like this, like that of BabySis and BestFriendSis, while it makes me all happy and “Yea!” for them, also makes me start wondering about the lack of a significant other in my own life. Wondering if I’ll ever share my life with another, or walk down that aisle with an irrepressible smile on my face and tears of joy in my eyes. My heart wars with my mind, my self-esteem with my inner critic, and it all makes me just a little bit sad for myself.
But ya know, I’m sure it will be my turn someday. Because I’m a hell of a woman. And I know that, somewhere, there’s a man out there who I deserve and who deserves me. I refuse to settle for less.
I just hope I’m not 52 by the time we hook up.
This morning I, along with a few other people, received a joyful e-mail from the sister of BestFriend. She and her long-time boyfriend are engaged. Yea!
Except not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy for BestFriendSis and her fiancé. They’re both great people and deserve all the happiness in the world. (Well, maybe not all the happiness – they should save a little for others, ya know.) With my own baby sister engaged to be married, the wedding being next July, I’m looking forward to attending the weddings of two wonderful women whom I’ve known for a very long time (BabySis since, well, her birth and BestFriendSis since she was twelve and wearing plastic barrettes in her hair).
But then the self-digs and the self-doubts start. The girly thoughts start running through my mind and I wonder, “When will it be my turn?”
Now, I’m not looking to get married this second. Or even the next few years. I’m a firm believer in, “It’ll happen when it happens.” I mean, if all I cared about was the presence of a ring on my left hand and a husband on my right arm, I know I could be married right now. A friend’s husband has a cousin that is (or at least was) interested in me and was prepared to propose to me last December, though we never dated or shared more than a hug and kiss on the cheek. My friend and her hubby quickly nixed the proposed proposal, knowing I was not interested in him. Oh, he’s nice enough and smart enough and not bad looking. A little too skinny for my tastes, but still cute. He’d be a great catch for a woman who’s looking for a sweet, intelligent guy she can steam-roll over.
Me, I’m not looking for such a guy. I’m not attracted to men that are easily disconcerted by women. Respect, absolutely. Mutual respect is a must. But I’m a pretty opinionated woman. Some people think I have a strong personality and a few guys have even told me there’s something about intimidating about me. I don’t get that myself, as I think I’m just a big ol’ pussycat and not at all the confrontational type, but hey, there you are. So guys I’m interested in tend to be good at the old give-and-take, have the strength of their convictions, possess a spine. And are able to be such without being arrogant or abusive. I don't think that's too much to ask.
(My neighbor did propose to me last year, but he was drunk and didn’t want me to leave his very loud party because then he’d have to quiet down a little so I could get some sleep at 3am. I took that proposal with a huge barrel of salt.)
So, yeah, I’m willing to wait for the right man to come along, for a relationship to develop naturally, without rushing into something that might not work in the long run (though I’ll admit that often my hormones try to convince me otherwise). I’ve been down that road before and I certainly don’t want to go there again. Of my four ex-boyfriends I romantically loved three of them. And of those three? Though two of them are great guys (the third was ok, but too arrogant and politically conservative – he’s a gun collector, for heaven’s sake), only one of them wouldn’t incite me to trashing my place were I married to them. Interestingly enough, that one guy is the only one I’ve ever lived with and we were friends for years before we became involved.
Still.
I’m 37 years old. I know I want children. Though I’ve wanted to adopt a child as far back as I can remember, I wouldn’t mind having a child of my own before menopause rears its ugly head, which is getting closer and closer every year. And I’m a little old fashioned in that I would really like a partner, a husband, to help me raise the child.
It’s not just about the raising of children, though. I enjoy having a romantic companion. At least I have in the past. I’m certainly “complete” all by my little lonesome, but I find having a long-term companion enhances my quality of life. It’s fun. It’s exhilarating. It makes me strive to be a better person. It’s a safe, secure, warm, wonderful feeling. And I like to have someone around to whom I can return the favor.
I want a wedding, to have my family and friends join me in celebrating the love that I share with another, to witness the pledging of hearts and bodies and souls and minds. I think it’s beautiful when I’m lucky enough to share in that at the weddings of friends and family and I would love to have the people I care about, the people that we care about, share in that with my groom and me.
Yeah, I’m a big old fashioned incurable romantic mushball. Sue me.
So news like this, like that of BabySis and BestFriendSis, while it makes me all happy and “Yea!” for them, also makes me start wondering about the lack of a significant other in my own life. Wondering if I’ll ever share my life with another, or walk down that aisle with an irrepressible smile on my face and tears of joy in my eyes. My heart wars with my mind, my self-esteem with my inner critic, and it all makes me just a little bit sad for myself.
But ya know, I’m sure it will be my turn someday. Because I’m a hell of a woman. And I know that, somewhere, there’s a man out there who I deserve and who deserves me. I refuse to settle for less.
I just hope I’m not 52 by the time we hook up.
Thursday, September 04, 2003
Geek me, baby, one more time...
Horror of horrors, I haven't updated since Tuesday! What is this world coming to?
So here it is, my lunch hour, and there's so many things I want to write about, but I'll write about none of them because the subjects I want to write about will take longer than fifteen minutes. And sorry, but that's all the time I'm taking here because I have to take a stroll around the block and get some fresh air. That's the nice thing about working a couple of blocks from the beach - lunchtime strolls are so much cooler and fresher smelling here than in the east Valley. I mean, I miss the old home/work proximity (now more so than ever), but not sweltering when stepping outside or walking down the block? A huge plus in my book.
So I'm working here, editing other people's work, my headphones over one ear as I listen to a mix CD. On the CD are Mexican Radio and The Ghost of Stephen Foster. Because I'm a big geek, I lovelovelove these songs. I'm tapping my feet on the foot rest, practically drumming my toes on the poor piece of plastic. And bobbing my head in time to the music. I'm dangerously close to head-banging, were it not for my seated position and the work in my hands. Lip-synching may have even been involved.
As I'm performing all these gyrations, I realize that I probably look like the biggest geek in the universe, especially considering that my "cubicle" is actually a work station and is visible to anyone who may pass by. I pause for a half a second. I think about the sight I may be presenting to others. Then I think, "Wait a minute, I am one of the biggest geeks in the universe. That's part of my charm!" (Or so I choose to think.)
Head-banging and lip-synching resume. And my place in the universe is assured.
***********************************************
stee is back! Sort of. Yea!
***********************************************
(You have my permission to smack me for paraphrasing Britney Spears. No, I don't know what I was thinking. It's what popped into my scary little head. Yes, I humbly apologize. I present my clothed bum for you to spank. Thank you, may I have another? Wait, no, never mind, got to go walking now.)
So here it is, my lunch hour, and there's so many things I want to write about, but I'll write about none of them because the subjects I want to write about will take longer than fifteen minutes. And sorry, but that's all the time I'm taking here because I have to take a stroll around the block and get some fresh air. That's the nice thing about working a couple of blocks from the beach - lunchtime strolls are so much cooler and fresher smelling here than in the east Valley. I mean, I miss the old home/work proximity (now more so than ever), but not sweltering when stepping outside or walking down the block? A huge plus in my book.
So I'm working here, editing other people's work, my headphones over one ear as I listen to a mix CD. On the CD are Mexican Radio and The Ghost of Stephen Foster. Because I'm a big geek, I lovelovelove these songs. I'm tapping my feet on the foot rest, practically drumming my toes on the poor piece of plastic. And bobbing my head in time to the music. I'm dangerously close to head-banging, were it not for my seated position and the work in my hands. Lip-synching may have even been involved.
As I'm performing all these gyrations, I realize that I probably look like the biggest geek in the universe, especially considering that my "cubicle" is actually a work station and is visible to anyone who may pass by. I pause for a half a second. I think about the sight I may be presenting to others. Then I think, "Wait a minute, I am one of the biggest geeks in the universe. That's part of my charm!" (Or so I choose to think.)
Head-banging and lip-synching resume. And my place in the universe is assured.
stee is back! Sort of. Yea!
(You have my permission to smack me for paraphrasing Britney Spears. No, I don't know what I was thinking. It's what popped into my scary little head. Yes, I humbly apologize. I present my clothed bum for you to spank. Thank you, may I have another? Wait, no, never mind, got to go walking now.)
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
Clarification...
...did I say yesterday that CuteNerdBoy and I were going to fix my computer? Silly me. Truth is, with his genreous offer to help with it, I'd of course like to do my part, but I'll probably not be able to do much since my knowledge about computers is limited to plugging everything in, loading up the software and being an end-user. Anything more than that and I'm out of my depth. So any fixing will most likely be done by him, while I look on, hoping to pick up a few pointers so I can figure it out myself next time but trying to stay out of his way.
You see why I'm willing to make dinner and darn socks and knit sweaters? Yeah, I thought so.
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I'm being invaded by ants.
I got home from my writing group meeting a little while ago and found them in the cat food (same as yesterday). But I also found them swarming around one of the litter boxes. I'd never seen that one before. So I spent the following half hour cleaning and killing and relocating food dishes and sweeping up the litter that the cats had pushed onto the floor. Funny thing is, yesterday I had cleaned the kitchen and all the cat dishes and mats and had changed the litter as well. The apartment was a mess for weeks, with the weather outside sweltering, and barely any signs of ants. I clean and the temperature goes down a few degrees and suddenly they're everywhere. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. I think the ants in around my house are just real sun-bathing neat freaks.
Now I feel like the ants are crawling over my skin. That's just creeping me out. *shudder*
You see why I'm willing to make dinner and darn socks and knit sweaters? Yeah, I thought so.
I'm being invaded by ants.
I got home from my writing group meeting a little while ago and found them in the cat food (same as yesterday). But I also found them swarming around one of the litter boxes. I'd never seen that one before. So I spent the following half hour cleaning and killing and relocating food dishes and sweeping up the litter that the cats had pushed onto the floor. Funny thing is, yesterday I had cleaned the kitchen and all the cat dishes and mats and had changed the litter as well. The apartment was a mess for weeks, with the weather outside sweltering, and barely any signs of ants. I clean and the temperature goes down a few degrees and suddenly they're everywhere. This isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. I think the ants in around my house are just real sun-bathing neat freaks.
Now I feel like the ants are crawling over my skin. That's just creeping me out. *shudder*
Short one...
It's about time that aliens can't claim diplomatic immunity for their DUI arrests!
(G-d, how much do I love the fact that Snopes.com has a daily 'blog? Words cannot express.)
(G-d, how much do I love the fact that Snopes.com has a daily 'blog? Words cannot express.)
Registered!
This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
