The Junk Drawer

More Excuses and The Boxing Day Party

2006-12-08T11:09:00.000-05:00

Ha ha ha. Of course, I'm doing it to myself AGAIN! I really want to write about the demise of my latest not-quite-as-perfect-as-it-seemed-at-the-time relationship... but that's quite a story, and a bit of a jumble, so I just haven't given it the time it needs.

In the meantime, I keep meaning to write of course, but I've turned over a new leaf and am actually WORKING every day. Yeah, working tends to get in the way of my blogging activities. Then I get home and I'm exhausted and blogging always seems better to do with a fresh head in the AM, when I'm all charged up with coffee... then I wake up late and have no time between coffee and shower and get-the-hell-to-work. You all know how that happens. The difference is, YOU ALL get to go to work and sit at a computer and still have access to your blogger dashboard, while I'm laying out dropcloths and actually getting my hands dirty.

My sister Bonnie suggested in the comment thread that I blog about a party I want to have. I'm excited about planning this party, but I haven't really done anything yet... One key arrangement MUST be in place for me to feel comfortable about this. I want to throw a Boxing Day party. Anyone know what boxing day is? Read the link, bozos. I want to have a party on the evening of Tuesday the 26th. Dress casual, and bring everything in your home that you just don't want anymore and stick it in my garage. (Hence, the arrangement: I need to convince Goodwill or the Salvation Army or somebody to pick this stuff up on the 27th and take it away to charity.) This party will also feature an 8pm Yankee swap (wrap up something you don't want from christmas and trade it off to unsuspecting victims). I may even invite people to bring holiday leftovers that they are desperate to get out of their homes.

My sister Beth suggested to me that she would have a lot more time to find stuff to give to charity if I had this party in the middle of January. There's a few problems with that idea:

Boxing Day is December 26th.
I don't have enough room in my garage for ALL the things Beth can give to charity, plus that of everyone else I know. If this party catches on, it might be a tight squeeze as it is.
Aside from taking a nap, I can't think of a better use of one's time on the afternoon/evening of Christmas Day, after all the hullabaloo is over while one still feels bloated and spoiled from the excesses of this holiday. As you put away your gifts, make room for them by going through your belongings and finding things to give away. I can say from personal experience that this activity is the perfect antidote for any post-Christmas letdown blues you might normally experience.
Did I mention that Boxing Day is an actual holiday, celebrated internationally, occurring specifically on December 26th, NOT "in the middle of January"?

So. Anyone want to come to my party? I called Goodwill about it last week and got transferred to someone's voicemail, never to be called back. I will go to Goodwill in person today, and if that doesn't work I'll try Salvation Army. In the meantime, I know my sister Bonnie and my mom have specific charities they give different types of things to... I think they also know someone with a van who drives a schoolbus (and therefore would be off that week.) Maybe someone would be interested in sorting the objects and delivering them to specific charities? Just throwing it out there. I don't really care what happens to the stuff, so long as it ends up in the hands of people who can use it, rather than continue to collect dust in all of our closets.

Splash!

2006-12-01T08:54:00.000-05:00

The longer I go without posting on my blog, the more pressure builds. I WANT to write, but I feel like my return ought to carry all the weight of time that has passed between us. And so I wait, not having the topic or passion or most of all time to conpensate sufficiently for my absence. It seems that Novy is my muse, leaving comments at times when my guilt happens to burgeon at the forefront of my overcrazed mind. Once I did respond to her proddings, but lately the time passed has seemed insurmountable.

I have a few friends I keep meaning to get back in contact with, and this is exactly like that. The guilt and the build-up of things to catch-up on continue mount - and yet deep down I know that I'm making too much of it. The time spent worrying is a waste. Meanwhile millions of moments slip past when one small act could have started us all back in the right direction.

So here it is: the action you've been waiting for. A bunch of blah, blah blah about nothing, yes that's what you've been checking this blog for in nail-biting anticipation. As you might expect, there's quite a bit for us all to catch up on, but I'm not going to let that overwhelm me any longer. This post may be all pomp and fluff, but at least it's a start. Stay tuned.

I Want it Back

2006-08-01T14:25:00.000-04:00

six weeks.

I just looked at the calender, and that's how long my hairclip has been missing. I know what you're thinking: any "normal" woman would have put that clip far behind her by now. The fact that I continue to peer under couches and rifle through drawers where I have already looked dozens of times does not speak highly of my sanity. But I can't help it. For a woman to attach this much importance to an object, I'm sure you're thinking it has sentimental value... and I suppose I could derive some out of it if I must, but that's not what bothers me. My need for this object is practical.

I paid thirty dollars for it, which I'm sure you're thinking is highway robbery for some kind of barrette with no actual jewels in it, but I tell you I would pay it again and again... if only I could find the vendor. I bought it at a stand somewhere in downtown Boston, the day of the parade (October 30, 2004.) It came with a lifetime warranty but I promptly lost all information that had come with it, including brand name. Friends have returned to the location for me to no avail. I don't know how to get another one.

I am desperate to find this hairclip, or another one like it in short order. It is, in fact, the only thing I have ever found that effectively holds my hair up. My mother, knowing this, found some in the same design for me for Christmas. A lovely thought, and I now resort to using them on occasion, but because they are made of plastic they are too flimsy to hold onto my hair for more than five minutes at a time. The metal teeth and spring were both essential to the strength of this clip. I found one in Lincoln, NH this weekend of similar style and made of metal... but it's fancy. And it doesn't manipulate easily.I can wear it sometimes but not - like the beloved red one - EVERY DAY.

I keep thinking it will turn up. I keep trying to go over in my head the last times I used it, to think of where I might have left it. Is it rude to ask a friend AGAIN six weeks later "are you SURE you don't have my hairclip?" Yeah, I guess that would imply foul play or something. Not that I think anyone would steal it (unless, of course, they figured out how god-damned awesome it was) but perhaps some people might not realize how CRAZY I am about it?

Get over it? yeah, easy for you to say... you whose hair is not long enough to find use for such an object, or who prefers a ponytail, or who just was never priveleged enough to get used to such a clip... and you, over there without hair at all, yeah YOU... laugh it up. After all, there's gotta be some benefit to baldness.

A Different Kind of Feeling

2006-07-24T06:56:00.000-04:00

Nine days ago I headed off to Boston for a bachelorette party, merely a (psychotically fun) stopping ground on the way to New Hampshire. I needed several days to work on a project there, and of course it didn't hurt to spend some time with the new boy of interest. I was a bit concerned during my travels that I was not excited enough about this prospect. I thought surely that was a bad sign, that said lucky boy might be fading into the past quite soon.

I was wrong.

Over the course of several evenings spent with the new guy I was able to confirm something I had noticed from the start: this one was different. I feel different with this guy. Yes, I realize I just used the same vague adjective twice in a row there, but I'm at a bit of a loss for words here. I've never felt anything quite like this before.

Some believe love happens when you meet the right person; others say the right person is the first one who comes along when you're ready. I guess there's a bit of truth to both. I feel like I've met the right person at the right time. I know the timing is significant because of the emotional growth we've both experienced in recent years- so maybe if it weren't the right timing it wouldn't feel this way, but if I felt this way but wasn't "ready" I sure as hell would GET ready pretty damn quick. (yes, bad grammer. intentional.)

What is "ready", anyway? I'm not sure how to define this emotional status, but we all know it when we're there and recognize it in those who are close to us. I have a good friend half-way across the country who knew this was coming. I could see it in the things he chose to talk to me about in recent months, and I could feel the anticipation in his voice when I called him last week. One thing this friend had told me has been lingering in the back of my mind for several months: he said when I meet the right person the physical stuff would take on a completely different context - less erotic and a lot more intimate. Well, this not being a porn site, I wouldn't want to heat you up with the details, suffice to say that he was right. To illustrate I will tell you that in the past, lingerie has always made me feel naughty and a bit contrived, and I've never been wholly confortable with it. With him it feels so natural. It's flirty and sensual and makes me feel beautiful rather than self-conscious... and there I will cut myself off. I think that's quite enough information, don't you?

The most amazing thing to me about this relationship is the ease of communication. I never wonder how to say something to this man; I never worry about how he will react. No moment is awkward between us, and believe me there have been opportunities. I don't know if my friends and family will wonder what I see in this man, and frankly I don't care. It is not just what I see in him, but what I see in myself when I'm with him that makes me a better person. People have always told me that when you meet the right person, you'll just know. I'm pretty cautious about big decisions, almost to a fault. Commitment scares the hell out of me until I really make up my mind, and I generally I just don't until I'm really sure about something- and would certainly not write about it like this! I don't care if you people think I'm jumping the gun; I could marry this man tomorrow and never look back.

Tread Softly

2006-07-13T07:23:00.000-04:00

Remember when I talked about going on Match and telling you, my dear readers, all those sordid stories about the crazy dates I go on? Yeah, well, it looks like that might not be happening anytime soon. I guess I've gone and scewed up that plan by starting to see someone. My apologies if you were really looking forward to it, but I didn't exactly see a clamoring cheer section when I asked for input a few weeks ago.

Anyway, you know how it is when you first start dating someone. It's exciting, and you can't get said lucky-boy off your mind, and it's easy to get carried away with that, except when you're old like me and seen too many new loves to believe it. You start imagining what kind of future you might have with said lucky-boy; you don't want to get too far ahead of yourself, but when you're old like me you can't just live in the moment... there is no time to waste on a relationship with no future. And so you walk a fine line, dizzy and distracted and grinning wildly as you go, hoping for the best, but banking on the worst, and all the while trying to remember to enjoy the moment.

Said lucky-boy and I were attracted to each other when we first met six years ago, but we were both in relationships at the time. Plus there is a pretty large age gap, which I'm assuming would have been a much bigger deal back then... at least I know what I tell my 35-year-old guy friends when they start talking about 25-year-old girls: stay away - she's too young - she doesn't know what she wants - she'll break your heart. (Do they listen? No. But at least I try.) Interesting that we should meet up again, both single, now that I'm OLD (at this point you must know I'm fishing for you people to tell me that I'm still quite young... please?)

Said lucky-boy lives in NH. I know, I know. If things were to work out with him, I would not want to be a fly trapped in the room where my ex finds out I'm moving back to town and WHY. I hear he's doing pretty well on his quest to get over me lately, but still I would feel terrible. Good thing I shouldn't get ahead of myself. But yeah, I would definitely go up there. Not only does said lucky-boy have a business there that he established oh, right about the time I entered high school, but re-establishing my business there would be a snap. Also, I don't think I've ever mentioned this here before, but even though I now live in the town where I grew up, seacoast NH feels much more like home. Every time I go up there I feel so sad that I don't live there anymore. So really, I shouldn't feel bad if I ever move back there for another boy, especially when you consider that the boy I moved away from doesn't consider it home, at least not deep down in his heart.

Said lucky-boy doesn't know about my blogging habits. Not that I'm ashamed, mind you. Still it's nice to keep something like this on the DL for now... what if I want to write about him? I mean look, I'm writing about him right now and I don't have to worry about him reading and what he might think because he would never know to look for it. What if it doesn't last and there's a messy story to tell at the end? WHAT IF HE THINKS I'M A NERD? Yeah, we'll just keep this our little secret for now, shall we?

Do I Say Too Much?

2006-07-11T11:16:00.000-04:00

"I understand the benefit to writing about your feelings, Rebecca. But why," asked RaRa (my grandmother) two weeks ago, "do you need to make it so public?" She seemed quite distressed about it. My cousin and I both tried to explain... but it's hard to know what to say when neither of us really understand why it upsets her so much. I consider the British concept of "airing your dirty laundry" and wonder if she feels it immodest to allow others to see one's true feelings. I wonder if she's simply concerned about the feelings of one or two people who might find offense with some of the things I've written. Still I fail to see the problem.

One of the ways I benefit from writing about my feelings on this blog is not having to bloody go into my personal life in detail every time I talk to friends or family members. Certain things can be difficult to explain, and rather than gloss things off or avoid the conversation entirely, I can always tell people to go read it on my blog if they really want to know. Not to be cold, but some things you just get sick of talking about if you know what I mean. Also many things (particularly matters of the heart) seem one-dimensional or, on the other side of the coin, too complex to relate in conversation, and take on a more vivid and cohesive understanding in written form. I used to pour out myt heart in exquisite detail in e-mails, only to have to cut & paste or start all over again or forget to tell the next friend. Certainly Ra herself never would have known/understood what went wrong in my last relationship or how I finally quit smoking without reading it on my blog... not that I wouldn't have wanted to tell her, but we can't always take the time. Is she saying I gave her too much information?

I have, in over a year of sporadic blogging, modified the amount of detailed information I include in my writing. I have learned to be more private in certain areas, and attempt to respect the privacy of others by using varying degrees of vagueness when discussing them. Still, I try to maintain a level of openess in reflection of a concept my cuz and I attempted to explain to our grandmother that day: who cares? Yes, my blog can be accessed by anyone in the world over the internet, but I can hardly consider that a global audience. Most people are not wondering about my life.

I am not so egotistical to think that my feelings and life experiences are that unique. This, in fact, is the true heart of the reason I feel the need to make them SO PUBLIC, as my grandmother has described. There are people who read this blog who have never met me, and yet they know me - to some extent - by the honesty expressed here in cyberspace. There are strangers who might land here via google or a comment thread, a link somewhere, or even the "next blog" button. These strangers might be logging in from California or Venezuela, North Dakota or Saudi Arabia, or even the next street over - neither of us would ever know. They might read or they might just pass me by for something in their language or with more pictures. Some might be bored with what I have to say, but every once in awhile, whether the person comments or not, someone relates to my written thoughts. Maybe it gives them insight to a struggle they have gone though or are trying to sort out now... or maybe it just assures them that they are not alone. Maybe it gets banked in the memory for a later date. Not that I think I'm actually helping people with my blog, mind you, or that most things I write about are that significant... but it's funny how much the same we all are, and how much we can learn from each others' experiences.

A great deal of fuss has been made lately about blogging in the professional world. It seems that blogs can hurt people in the job application process, and (in more rare cases) also help them. While I don't need to worry about being fired, I suppose I should consider whether blogging hurts my chances of being hired by clients... which is why I recently moved this blog. Still I don't feel the need to blog about things that ought to hurt such chances, like a bad client experience or something like that. I'm not sure what a potential client would glean from this blog aside from an understanding of who I am as a person... and if they don't like who I am enough not to hire me, I suppose l'd rather not work for them. Beyond this professional realm, I'm still struggling to understand what my dangers are.

I'm sorry if I offend with my open-ness... but I am not sorry about being open. If you wish to be more private with your own thoughts and feelings, no one is objecting... I only ask: why should I be more closed? Is there something objectionable to my honesty? I hereby challenge anyone who thinks I am too open and honest in my blog to follow my lead on that in the comment thread and tell me so - and WHY I SHOULD NOT BE.

Seems Like Only Yesterday...

2006-06-23T10:45:00.000-04:00

... I was just a child at play...

An old family friend recently moved up the street from me. This guy has fixed my computer several times over the years, and my money is no good to him. If you've ever had a virus you know what a sweet deal that is. So finally I can pay him back for his kindness, and I was over there last night putting a coat of paint on his kitchen walls. His apartment is above the garage, attached to the house where his landlords live with their three kids. The whole family was out on their back deck last night, playing cards. The woman introduced herself to me when I was lugging my stuff up, and invited me to come hang out with them. Well I was motivated to get something done last night, and as that rarely happens I need to jump on it when the mood strikes me. So my friend and his buddy played cards and drank daiquiris with them while I slaved away with the paintbrush.

I was glad to see they were still out there when I finished for the night, and had lost only the 9 year-old to bed. I joined them for some cards. The game we played initially was bizarre. There are a lot of rules to it, many made up by whoever is in charge, and that person only shares some of the basics... The rest you have to figure out as you play, and you get penalized with extra cards every time you make a mistake. The basic structure was like Uno, but with things you have to do or say with specific cards. I managed to do pretty well simply by keeping my mouth shut most of the time, while my buddies were almost making a mockery of the game. They were getting handed so many penalty cards that periodically the master (which in this case is the 16 year-old son) kept having to take some from them so he would actually have cards to penalize them with.

Then we switched to Asshole. I had to object and turn the rules up in disarray when I discovered that in this misguided 16 year-old's world (who yes, seemed to still be in charge of the game) twos and aces are LOW. There I was stuck with three cards in my hand that I had been saving because I thought they were GOOD, and they turn out to be the worst there are. So I made a big fuss and to my surprise our hosts graciously changed the rules for me - perhaps in relief that someone was standing up to their children, 'cause PARENTS certainly can't make the card rules when kids get to be that age.

Well the son didn't last too long at that game, as he soon became "asshole" and not too long after retired to his computer screen. At this point his mother informed me that the boy has a callous on his wrist from typing and using the mouse, which is sure to be a regular feature on the next generation. The 14 year-old daughter was still with us, however, and stuck around past midnight, assuring her parents that she "would be up this late anyway". She was the only one not drinking, and managed to maintain her presidency nearly the whole time.

Eventually the young one retired, and so did the cards, but the five of us sat and talked long into the AM. I'm not sure how it came up, but my new friend started listing off all the art teachers the middle school has gone through in the time the shop teacher has been there. I didn't recognize any of the names. When I told her who I had for art at Chalk Hill Middle School, it was almost as if she didn't know who I was talking about - at first - by the blank stare she gave me.

And here we come to the real subject of this post. I was somewhat of a pet student of this art teacher, whom I had a class with in all three years I attended there. And while I was a bit of a nerd with the studies, art was still my favorite subject and he was my favorite teacher. His wife was the chorus teacher, and although back then I didn't think they were all that young, I'm pretty sure they were in their early thirties which I now turn around to declare quite young. They were both kindof the mousy, bookish types, but always nice and quite popular with the students.

He was so easy-going, in fact, that sometimes the boys in class would get a touch rowdy. It was at such a moment in my eighth grade year when my dear favorite teacher got frustrated and raised his voice at them, which was quite unusual. He was leaning against his desk and pointing his finger at them in rebuke when he started to shake and turn red. I was three or four feet away from him at the time. At first we thought he was just mad, but as he started shaking harder and harder and sinking to the floor it became obvious something was VERY WRONG. He didn't even have the breath to call for help, and for a moment the entire classroom was frozen in shock. Finally someone (and it could have been me, for all I can remember - the vision of the seizure overrides all other memories from that day) pushed the office intercom while someone else ran across the hall to the gymn to get help.

The ambulance came and wheeled him away on a stretcher, and by that time our class had been re-located to a science classroom down the hall, where another laid-back favorite of a teacher had a free period and spent it with us. Suffice to say we were all frantically worried and in somewhat of a haze. They kept our teacher overnight for tests, but he came back two days later, and as far as we were told the hospital could not find cause.

February break came not too long after that, and our arts-teacher couple went on a tropical cruise. He was back at school the first day after vacation, but he looked terrible. He had caught some kind of exotic flu or parasite was all that was ever explained to us kids. Honestly I never even thought to question what the real story was until now; if they knew more I can certainly understand why they wouldn't have told us. Anyway, he couldn't keep any food down.

He died a week later.

I don't know how she did it, but his wife was back teaching within a couple weeks. It soon came out that she was expecting, and I think all of our hearts wept for her both in sorrow and in joy. She stayed and taught at Chalk Hill for years - could still be there, for all I know - and her daughter has grown up here, in this community to which she means so much. I have never met her, and haven't thought of her in years.

She's the best friend of the young man who was dictating our card game last night.

I can't believe it's been over seventeen years since all this has happened. I cry over it as if not a day has passed.

Life is brief, but when it's gone,

Love goes on and on...

Over Here!

2006-06-20T19:21:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my new digs; I'm glad you found me.

Having a new virtual home may or may not affect the frequency of my posts... but at least I'm here and writing right now. Gosh. It seems as if I've moved far, far away... when our location is merely in the imagination, isn't it?

Things are pretty much status quo around here. I'm still single. Still need to get myself on Match or something, but as yet STILL have no acceptible photographs. Whenever I tell people that, they exclaim that they will have to get me all dolled up and take some pictures, but does that ever happen? NO. Am I supposed to be calling people up and demanding a previously-promised makeover and photoshoot?

So in the meantime, there are always the random guys of interest. My interest? No, unfortunately not.

There's this one guy who took me out to dinner a few times... at first I thought he might just be trying to be nice in a right time/place kinda way. I don't know why I'm naiive like that. I ended up fooling around with him, and I don't know why because he is nothing even resembling my type, and of course I felt horrible about it afterward. The very next day I told him that nothing was going to happen between us. He said okay, and that he would really like to be friends with me anyway. Later he called and assured me he really wanted to be friends with me even though he's never done that before. So I thought we were friends.

Since then I've hung out with him a few times, and he's amused himself with my other blog (seems, in fact, to derive an unnatural amount of amusement from it for a yankees fan.) I typed something up for him once, and since then he's asked a couple times for me to type something else up... yet by the time he arrived, he didn't need it anymore. Well, he lives about half an hour away from me and he brings food when he comes, so I can't exactly just shove him out the door, now can I? And I'm happy to entertain visitors, sure, but on both of those occasions he stayed much longer than I was comfortable with, and I admit I got a little snappy with him. Especially the last time when he decided to prop his legs up on my lap while we were sitting on the couch.

Clearly this guy is merely paying lip service to the "friends" concept. He is a generous sort... maybe he thinks he can bribe his way into my heart? Maybe he thinks he is just so awesome that a woman can't help but fall all over him once she gets to know him (although I don't know where he would get that impression.) I don't know what he's thinking, but I'm getting the strong impression it's not about what a good friend I am. So since that time a few weeks ago we've traded a few v-mails, but I haven't seen him, and tonight I didn't answer when he called. Part of me wants to air this out with him, but another part says "what's the point?" It's not like he's going to admit that he's still trying to get in my pants, right?

Then there's this other guy. He asked me out awhile back, and I said I wasn't really "up for the dinner thing right now." He's really nice and fun and I've enjoyed hanging out with him on a couple occasions since then. I've caught myself thinking about him lately, but I'm not sure if it's just because I'm bored. I gave him a ride home on Thursday and he put his hand on my leg - I pushed him away. I think it was because he was really drunk and I was really not - but I don't know.

Maybe I'm just looking for a distraction. That's why I really need to get myself on Match or the like. Time's awastin'. I need to meet men at a much greater frequency than I'm doing right now. If I do start going out on all kinds of dates, it would be fun to write about it, I think, but would my readers enjoy it? (please answer in the comment thread) Is it ok to write about guys in the vagueness that I have done here? (opinions please) Naturally I would have to withhold information about my blogging activities on first dates...

Bye, Bye, Basketball - Hello Baseball

2006-04-04T16:56:00.000-04:00

The six months of non-stop fun and/or games have begun on the other side of my humble slice of blogosphere. Some of you folks never stop over there, so you may or may not know about the NCAA pool I was involved in with some of my family. It was a lot more fun than I expected, but way too small...maybe some of you would want to join next year? We all totally sucked in the end, but the journey was more than worthwhile, as was beautifully expressed in our comment threads by my fellow sox-blogger jere:

I'll miss this little group. Come August, when the nights are wet with sweat and the crickets sing their summer song...and the sun sets over the buildings while diners sip wine at an outdoor cafe in Paris,and college basketball is so far, far away, I'll long for early- to mid-March,picking teams based on prettiest uniform or coolest name. And rooting for men I'll only know for one cold night. And paying Chan a third of the total prize money.
Some gave all. All gave some. To those who prospered financially from this affair, I congratulate you. To the rest of us, well, we have been paid in manna from heaven, fulfilled spiritually, regardless of our personal point total.
Thank you all. And farewell.

touching, isn't it?

What to do about Unwanted Comments

2006-03-24T12:32:00.000-05:00

Have those pesky commenters gotten you down? Sick of hearing from people you never wanted to know? Freak you out much when complete strangers say they've been browsing your photographs from half-way around the world? Well then you're either not up for this bloggin' thang, or you need to employ one or more of blogger's handy comment-control options.

But how do complete strangers, mortal enemies, and even spam-bots find my teeny little blog? you ask? That's a good question. Because of criteria meant to weed out spam sites, blogs tend to rate pretty high on search engines. Plus there's that "next blog" button up top that sometimes people use when they're really really bored. Or you could be linked by other blogs... But if you haven't bothered to set up a free Statcounter, don't expect to find out.

So what can I do about unwanted comments? Well, here are the tools blogger has given us:

Word Verification: About five or six months ago we were attacked by spam-bots and blogger came up with this brilliant new tool. I had seen it on other (pay) blog-sites and had started to look for a program to upload onto my own blog when *bingo* blogger came up with their own. most excellent. Have not had spam in my comments since then, and I think pretty much everyone uses it now.
block anonymous comments: I think it's only fair to ask people to identify themselves if they want to say something about you or your writing. Of course it's ridiculously easy to set up a blogger identity so it's not like you're asking a whole lot... but there are two problems I find here: 1) your real friends and family members might not be able to comment because they don't realize how easy it is to create a blogger identity. 2) those people who DO realize how easy it is might create a false identity so they still can't really be identified.
delete unwanted comments: any comment can be deleted by either the commenter or the blog owner. It's your blog; don't put up with no crap, ah-ight?
disable comments altogether: Makes sense if you just can't deal with the comments you are getting, but you don't want ANY feedback?
limit comments to team members only: this is a slightly better option than the last, IF YOU HAVE A TEAM. Which brings me to the reason I'm writing this post. Ya see, last night your dear blogger-friend reb saw that her blogger-friend Lynsey had written a new post. So after checking out the post we went to make a comment and saw that she taken this extreme action to her comment settings. I would like to know, Lynsey, how Mahesh Subramanian became a team member of your blog and NOT ME?!

But this is not the end-all of our options, as I have come here to write to Lynsey, and plead with her to instead adopt a NEW option from our beloved Blogger: enable comment moderation. That's right, blogger's come out with yet another brilliant feature that you may have seen before on other (pay) blog-sites but now you can have for your own FOR FREE! (Can I get a B! L! O! GG! ER! Oh, blogger, how I love thee...) Personally I do not employ comment moderation because occasionally my dear commenters have conversations with each other in my threads and I would not wish to discourage such things simply by being away from my desk... but the option is there, and were things to ever get a bit out of hand in my life, I might take it. I would certainly do that before I would limit comments to team members only, particularly if I did not have a team.

Just sayin'...

I Knew This Would Happen!

2006-03-14T08:55:00.000-05:00

By far the biggest perk of my apartment is the garage; having a roof over my car makes winter a lot easier to deal with. It's a bummer that it's not attached to the house, sure, but ya can't have everything, I suppose. Trouble is, I only have one garage door opener, so I have to keep it with me. From day one I've been paranoid that I would close the door with the opener inside. 'Cause I'm a blonde (yeah, yeah, yeah).

Sure enough, guess what I did the other night? As I was walking away, I got that sinking feeling... I went inside and looked through my purse. I looked around the apartment (I often leave it inside because of this very fear). I grabbed my flashlight and headed out to survey the scene.

Fortunately my neighbors leave their side open all the time. There's a wall between the two bays, framed out on my side so that it's just flat plywood on the other. The roof of the garage peaks in the middle, but the wall ends a couple feet below the rafters. Old doors and shutters, extra lumber and the like are kept up in the rafters in the back where the garage door apparatus isn't in the way. There's a gap of about four feet where my eight foot ladder rises above the rafters, leaning on the other side of the wall.

I need to get over that wall. I look around, but find nothing to stand on in my neighbor's bay. All of my ladders are (of course) in my bay. I get a stool from inside, and stabilize it on the buckled cement floor. I set my flashlight down on a peice of plywood over the rafters to my left, willing it to stay in one place. I don't know if this is going to work, but it's all I have short of calling my bro-in-law over with the chainsaw.

I grip the rafter above me with both hands and hoist both feet over the edge of the wall in front of me. First one, then the other, pushing my body forward to get the wall under my knees, which I need for support as I lower and twist my upper body to duck under the rafter. I pause, sitting atop the wall, and retrieve my flashlight. It hadn't moved, which is a damn good thing since the entire garage would be pitch black without it. I angle the ladder out on the floor as best I can, and squeeze around it to climb down.

I shine the light into my window to see the garage door opener sitting on the passenger's seat. I push the button on my side of the wall, and as the door opens I retrieve the opener and look up at the wall in disbelief. It took some impressive acrobatic manuevering if I do say so myself, but it was easier than expected. I'm so excited by my success, I almost feel like doing it again. Instead I retrieve my stool from the other bay and bounce up the steps to my door as the garage closes behind me - this time with no regrets.

Judging from the comments I've received on this post, y'all might be missing the point: My success in solving the problem has liberated me from fear!

I had not ever noted the exact location of the button before. I tried to find it the other night (through the gap in the wall at the very front) but I was on the wrong track. Tonight, after looking, I went to the other side and reached the button easily by reaching my hand around the wall. Now, more than ever, I have no worries.

For Those of You Following My Personal Life

2006-02-20T19:40:00.000-05:00

I'm sure you're wondering how lunch went on Saturday. I'm not sure it's fair to write about my ex for all the world to see like this, but then again the man is clueless enough to NEVER LOOK AT MY BLOG. Seriously. If you loved someone, wouldn't you want to know what they've been thinking about?

This blog is a window into my mind. Some people find it entertaining. If I care about something enough to write about it, I'd like to be with someone who cares enough to read it. Not reb sox, but this stuff he should want to see, right? My ex never wanted to see any of my jobs, either, back in the day when he had opportunities to. I don't expect my man to be interested in all the things I am, but to not want to see things that I create? That poor man really IS stuck in his own head.

Anyway, we sat down at a booth and my ex started talking. He talks a lot; perhaps I have mentioned? After awhile, I realized he was going over each of the events leading up to my break-up, and making excuses for his behavior. "But you realize, that weekend is not why I broke up with you?" I'm sure we can all relate to his frenzied contemplation, the microscope we pull out after losing someone we love, examining the last days for things we could have done to prevent that final event... looking for ways to reverse it.

When I told him I was never going back to him, he replied emphatically that I have said that before. Well of course he would like to believe that, because in that case he doesn't have to believe me. I hate when he tells me that I said things I didn't say. It's exasperating. And it's happened so many times over the years, I can only shrug my shoulders because to fight it seems useless. Then he went into how our memories are really solidified by the first time we remember something, not from the actual event. He talked about this just long enough to make me feel like there had been ample separation from his original statement, and I made mine. I told him I knew I didn't say that not from memory, but because I would not have said it. I don't make declarative statements unless I am sure, and I was not sure until now. I might have said not for a very long time, but I would not have said "never". Well he must have not liked hearing that because he changed the subject.

He told me he had this picture stuck in his mind, of him and me and some kids on the farm back in PA... I love that picture, too. But it's a still-life. I don't have a problem with the big picture with my ex; it's the day-to-day stuff I just can't handle. But how do you tell someone that he annoys the living shit out of you? Ah, you don't. Or at least I couldn't.

Finally he said that we didn't have to talk about all that. So he asked about my niece, and I asked about what he'd be doing this weekend in PA before leaving for the Carribean, and if he'd be seeing his sisters. (Possibly, but doing some "work" at the farm seemed to be a much larger priority than spending time with his family.) We finished off our lunch and I walked him to his truck. He gave me a half-hearted hug, and I felt like he was trying not to look at me as he drove past through the parking lot. I wonder how many miles he cried.

Oh, Those Golden Rings

2006-02-19T08:15:00.000-05:00

I admit it, I'm a sentimental sop. That Chase Mastercard commercial - you know where you see the couple get engaged and married and have kids and grow old and grey together - is just the latest of a thousand ads that choke me up every time I see them. I'm a sucker for this stuff; my heartstrings may as well be glow-in-the-dark red with a billboard next to them emblazoned with the words "pull here".

So when the Olympics come around, now every two years, you can find me in front of the tele. I love the "human interest" stories, a snapshot into the lives of these athletes; the network knows we will care about each athlete once we "get to know them" and therefore want to WATCH. I know it's a trick, and I don't care. I love the drama they put into it, the music and the voice-over narrative, telling a tale of hard work, grit and determination.

It seems like most of my friends could care less about the Olympics. It makes me wonder if the games have lost some of their mass appeal, but I realize in a world this diversified, everything has lost its mass appeal. So if they'd rather waste their primetime with Survivor, that's their choice.

Globally, these Olympic games are a special part of history which weaves its way into our American pop culture. Who can forget Mary Lou Retton on the Wheaties box? The Jamaican bobsled team? South Park has ensured that almost no one in my generation will forget figure skater Brian Boitano, and I'm sure most of you will wince and touch the back of your head when you read the name Greg Louganis. Even if he fails to medal in these games, Nike's clever "are you a bodeist" ads might stick Miller to your brain, and if you've seen it once, you will never forget the stumble of Lindsey Jacobellis, demonstrating quite literally the old scriptural adage "pride cometh before a fall".

It was four years ago now that my ex said to me "Nobody cared about figure skating until the Tonya Harding controversy. It took a violent act to get people to watch the sport." I was speechless; the statement was too ludicrous to even bother arguing with. Uh, does the name Dorothy Hamill mean anything to you? Even if people don't care as much about the Olympics anymore, we've all seen at least a snippet of Michelle Kwan on skates, and seeing her step down from the team this year was sad not just to the competitive skating community, but to anyone paying attention.

When I was a kid, the Olympic games were the one area in which the cold war really was fought - in head to head competition, or lack thereof via "boycott". The medal count was the biggest part; winning was more than just athletic victory- it was political as well. Maybe the games have lost their edge to some people, not having that anymore... Not me. I like being able to see the Russians and Germans and Chinese as PEOPLE, not genetic-freak superhumans produced by the enemy. There is a pride in representing your country and cultural heritage that ought not to be tainted by hate of another's. We still see the medal counts for each country, but not often, and I'm glad to no longer care about them.

The Olympics are a chance to see the best of the best compete in events we might not normally watch. They really are about the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat, a chance that comes for most of these athletes just once in a lifetime. From the examples that came to mind while writing this post, I see that my interest in the games is not merely about winning... Jenny Thompson has won more medals (12) than any other American, and more gold (8) than anyone in the history of the Olympics, but the long program skated by Evan Lysacek in Torino may remain just as etched in my mind. The medal stand is about talent and performance, but the Olympic dream is about courage and desire, the sacrifice of much for the achievement of just one moment of glory. This is why I watch.

Silence Can Speak Volumes

2006-02-17T15:48:00.000-05:00

Against my better judgment, I answered the phone today when my ex called. He's leaving for a month in the Caribbean. Apparently he's traveling to his parents' house first, though, as he said he'll be driving through the area tomorrow. And again, against my better judgment, it looks like I'll be meeting him for coffee or lunch.

I had been feeling a bit of guilt for not responding to his latest phone call and e-mail (over a month ago now.) I know he resents my silence; he ranted an earful about it to a mutual friend just last week. I hate not responding to people; it's rude. I've kept quiet for a reason. Sometimes people can learn more from silence than they can from words. Especially people who don't listen.

My ex can listen when he tries... But mostly it's to demonstrate that he is listening by responding specifically to what has been said. He never really listens. What I mean by this is he does not seem to take what is being said very seriously. I've told y'all this before, right? He has his own interpretation of things - we all do, don't we? - and that includes my own thoughts. I have told him at times that I felt a certain way about something (being vague here, not to be discreet but to generalize) and he has literally told me that I was wrong, and that I felt some different way, some way that was miles away from what I was feeling... And he would insist on it, which is absurd, I know, but the man has his own ideas about what is going on, and he will not stray from them. So even when he is listening, he is not listening but trying to fit the words he is hearing like puzzle pieces into his own version of the world. (We all do this, to some extent, by the way. This is just an odd and unproductive area to filter in this manner.)

The phone call and e-mail in question, which I did not respond to, are actually nice examples of this very issue. "All I need to do is leave you alone during the week. Maybe one 10-20 minute phone call on a Saturday or Sunday would be nice." -are you forgetting that this is now unnecessary?- "I truly believe that the solution is simple and that you make the problem bigger than it really is." I felt that he was belittling my feelings, or even pretending they don't exist.

I just want to be happy. And I want him to be happy. And being together WILL NOT maximize our happiness. If only he could feel my teeth clench as he is side-stepping his point to bring up something else that I already know, embellishing all the while with adjectives and descriptions... If only he could feel how BADLY I need him to get to the point, how much I want to wring his neck - or better! cut off his tongue - as he drones on and on and on.... This is not happiness. How could he want that?

He tried to make me feel guilty and defend himself simultaneously by telling me this "behavior" (this is just him, BTW. No need for excuses, I've known the man nearly eight years now and THIS IS WHO HE IS.) was due to a really tough couple of months he was going through. Believe me, I can handle tough. And life dishes out months sometimes which are FAR tougher than those in question, and I am a rock of emotional support in times of need. But it's really hard to play the loving, supportive role while someone is annoying the shit out of you. So even if this WAS all about having a rough time, I just can't deal.

I don't want to, I don't have to, and I won't. There are hundreds, if not thousands of women out there who can make my ex ten times happier than I can. Simply by not getting thoroughly irritated every time he opens his mouth is a great start. He just can't see this yet because he's so damn used to ME. Maybe if he had not been such a dink four or five years ago we would already be married and I would suffer and fight tooth and nail to make this work. But thank the flying spaghetti monster that we're not and I don't have to. Let's count our blessings and move on.

I don't mean to sound cold. As I have written before, I do love the man. I want what's best for him almost as much as what's best for myself. And despite what what he has written in stone in his head, what's best for him is NOT ME. Seriously, I think I could end up killing him, he frustrates me THAT MUCH. And nobody wants that. And this, in a way, is why I didn't write back. Or call. Or make a point to let him know I was in town last week. This is why I made a point to NOT be in that area THIS week, so as to not give him the wrong idea. (Not that he, in the entire seven years that I've known him, has given me even so much as a card for valentine's day.) This is why I shouldn't have answered the phone today. And why I shouldn't go and have lunch or coffee with him tomorrow. Because regardless of what I say to him, he's thinking "She's talking to me! I have a chance!" And he doesn't.

I'm never going back to him. I don't like to make declarative statements unless I am sure, and in this case I am. We are just not right for each other. I don't like it, but the only way I can get him to see this is silence. Every time I respond to him, I send him right back to square one. I don't want to toy with his feelings. I don't want to tease and keep him hanging on. I will try to be brutally honest tomorrow (I have a lot of trouble with the "brutal" part) but I know it would have been better to just not answer the phone.

The Speed of Time

2006-02-13T10:14:00.000-05:00

When we are young, time travels slowly. The years creep on past as we anxiously look ahead. But then, suddenly, just as we wish it would start to stand still, the time begins to fly by. Years can disappear without notice. And not until we have children in our lives again are we able to gage just how long a year is.

It's hard to believe it's been nearly three years since I packed all my shit and moved here from NH (without telling my boyfriend). I lived in Dover so long, it still seems like my hometown in a strange way... and yet it moves on without me, and life with it.

A close friend had a baby right before I moved. It was the first time I had been around locally for a friend through her pregnancy, and I was sad to leave them, knowing I would not get to see the baby grow as I would like. But I'm still in the area every two or three months, and I see them as often as I can. It was a shock to realize, on my way for a visit last week, that Avery was turning three this past Saturday. Look at her! She smiles, she talks, she plays, she draws faces... three years for me have disappeared in a snap, but this wee little baby has turned into a girl.

The Taste Test

2006-02-12T16:24:00.000-05:00

Is Vodka Better When Made From Potatoes?

'cause after all, what better thing to decide while buried beneath twenty-some inches of snow?

Truth is, vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol no matter what it's made with... or does it? Just one week ago, quite tipsy from superbowl celebration, I did not think so at all after opening my bottle of hangar one "straight". But yeah, then again, I was drunk. So when I heard this past week that potato vodka was better, I just had to find out. So I got off the highway a bit early last night and picked up a bottle on the way home.

And so, quite a bit more sober (yet quickly on my way to otherwise) I will tell you that indeed, all vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol. (or at least the two I have in front of me.) And indeed, potato vodka has a clearer taste. Aye, I might have to have a few test runs of this to make sure. stay tuned. please try this at home, if over twenty-one, and let me know what you think.

Show and Tell

2006-02-06T10:15:00.000-05:00

It's been a crazy week for reb, and instead of packing and getting myself off to NH as I should be right now, I am trying to jot off an update for you, my dear readers. As you can see, I have received my egg cups and put them into use. JessieE rocks, as I'm sure you people know, and a "set" of egg cups amounts to six of them, apparently. I hope you can tell from the photo just how dainty they are. The china is the milky, semi-opaque type which I loooove... the white background has a glow of pale blue. Plus they are quite functional, and you know what a stickler I am for that sort of thing.

Soft-boiled eggs are a lot more filling than you might think. It seems like such a tiny amount of food, and yet this baby is a protein bomb! I've determined that one egg is plenty (for me) when eaten with toast. Er, or english muffin. I've discovered the best english muffins in the world, sold not in my grocery store but in fact right across the street from me at Walgreen's. "Bay's". Yeah, I'd never heard of them before, either. Really I could get away with just half the muffin, but for a real stick-to-your-ribs don't-need-to-eat-until-dinner type of breakfast, I eat the other half with my Rara's raspberry jam and a packet of peaches n' cream oatmeal. And to think I never used to eat breakfast at all.

Wow. That Really Worked!

2006-01-26T11:16:00.000-05:00

I should tell you all that one of my dearest and most loyal readers has already purchased for me a SET of egg cups. It's totally sweet of her to send them to me as a house-warming gift, and as long as she realizes that they will not in any way influence me to go back to her brother ::wink:: (oh yes, I'm sure she knows this), I will happily accept them.

I had no idea it was that easy to get people to buy stuff for me. Stay tuned for more suggestions.

In other news, I found a pack of cigarettes in one of my cabinets just now. It felt more than half full (I didn't check) when I picked it up and threw it in the trash can. without hesitation. and then the lighter that was with it, simply by association. I guess it's really true that it's all about wanting to quit. As soon as I realized and accepted that the only way I would be able to quit is by never having another drag of a cigarette (ever) again, and came to terms with that, it was like a huge weight lifted off my shoulders. I struggled with the concept of it for years, I struggled with the execution of it for months... And just like that ::snap:: it became SO EASY. I've been positively giddy with happiness about it all week. My lungs have been hurting these last few days because they are actually coming back to life. It's so nice to give them fresh air again. I feel like a new woman.

Aha! So that's what they're for!

2006-01-24T11:01:00.000-05:00

Things are going without a hitch in the new, smoke-free life, I'll have you know. There's only one problem: I've had TOO MUCH ENERGY. Seriously. I can't sleep. Ok, I know falling asleep has never been cake for me, but since Friday it's been ridiculous. Last night I did everything right: I took off the patch, turned off the tv, and was done eating over two hours before going to bed... yet from one AM I was tossing and turning, and at four I was as wide awake as ever.

By four I just could not lay there anymore. I got up and decided to make myself soft-boiled eggs. My dad and one of my sisters and I were just talking about them recently, and I realized I had never really had one. We had determined that an egg-timer is three minutes- a good place to start. Naturally the eggs both cracked when I dropped them into the boiling water. Egg white slowly seeped out of the walls of each egg. No matter. When I opened my first egg, the yolk was intact and there was still plenty of egg white. Only one problem:The white was not cooked firmly enough to safely take out of it's shell. Finally, after an entire life of wondering, I could see what an egg cup is for. And I want some! Soft-boiled eggs ARE delicious, Dad; thanks for the tip. I imagine they're also pretty good for you with all that protein and none of the grease! So- my birthday is in May, my friends. I will gladly accept blue willow ware egg cups. I'd prefer old ones to brand new. (yeah right, like they actually make egg cups anymore!) I would prefer to have four, but since you people are buying, I won't be picky.

By the way, the four egg cups don't have to match. My collection is completely randomized. As long as they have the blue willow ware motiff on them, they'll fit in just fine.

Off-Schedule

2006-01-22T10:57:00.000-05:00

I'd like to share with you, dear friends both real and imaginary, my current status in operation:nix the cigs. So I guess I'll give you an overview of how it's gone so far to bring everyone up to speed.

I started my quest to quit in early August. People say "set a date" and "stick to it." Well I didn't really do that. I figured having the date approaching would add extra pressure to the situation. So when the date the doctor had set showed up, I was still putting it off, but I decided to quit when my carton ran out. I think this is an excellent way to quit, since delaying the inevitable involves smoking less, thus helping the process. Of course I got myself down to one cigarette for three days before I finally had no more... and went on the patch.

I've tried to quit a few times in the past, but had never used any quit-smoking aid. This time I went on Wellbutrin three months in advance - this is essentially the same as Zyban - to keep emotionally sane during the process (men are accustomed to rapid chemical changes in the body, but woman are wired to change slowly, and zyban helps keep things in check so woman don't flip out.) I got the patch. And the gum. In fact, my mother bought it for me, and while I was living with her that was an excellent motivator to stay on track.

Because I had pared my consumption down so much, starting on Step 1 patches was probably unessessary. Who knew? The first one I put on made me light-headed for over an hour. But I think it was good for my emotional addiction. I barely thought about butts, and when I got a bad craving I had some gum. It says on the packaging not to do this, of course, but my doctor told me that this was the was most successful method, so for the first few days I had one or two pieces a day, until it made me feel weird one time. I spit it out and saved the rest for when I didn't have a patch on.

I had gone over a week without a cigarette, and the concept of putting something in my mouth like that started to feel strange to me. I had begun to smell cigarettes on others and was truly amazed at the strength of the stench. I headed off to Plymouth for my week at the cabin with some concern that I would cheat, but I did not anticipate the reason:I could not stand kissing my boyfriend. He literally did taste as if I was licking an ashtray. And the waft of yick was attacking my nose even a foot away. For a non-smoker, kissing a smoker is overwelming- and really really really not in a good way.

In addition to being gross, it pushed a rage button in my brain. You see, my (ex-)boyfriend is the one who motivated me to quit in the first place. I was not quitting for him, mind you; no, that would never work. But he had been after me to quit so that he could quit with me, and had gone weeks previously using nicorrette to cut his consumption. I had my whole plan for my process, as I explained up there in the beginning of this post, and when it finally got to quitting time for me, my man was not ready and was back to a pack+ a day. I guess he hadn't mentally prepared himself. So that whole aspect of the situation made the grossness of proximity with him absolutely intolerable.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't feel comfortable making a big deal out of it. People quit (or change themselves in any way) for themselves, my friends, not anyone else. No good ever comes of trying to force change in someone else, particularly in relationships. I'm extremely easy-going, and by nature I want to accommodate people for who they are. I need to be able to be around people who are smoking, and not have a problem with it- well cause that's just who I am. So I took off my patch and I had a few cigarettes. It actually felt weird, and I didn't have much desire for it, but I had to get the smell and the taste back into my system in order to tolerate my man's company... otherwise my reflexes were pulling me away every time he came near me.

I had been so happy, I had been doing so WELL... but sure enough, after my man left and I was alone at the cabin with my books and the beach, I bought a pack of cigarettes. The lakewater would mess up the adhesive on the patch, and I kept forgetting to take it off before I jumped in, so I stuck mostly to the gum, but had a few butts a day while I was there.

After that I was cheating on a regular basis- a butt every day or two, and more when I was with my man. I told myself it was ok because I was still on the patch, so still technically addicted to nicotine anyway, so I wasn't really setting myself back. Um, of course I was setting myself back because the patch was supposed to be helping me break the actual puff-on-stupid-smelly-thing-on-fire habit, which I was still doing. Eventually this lead to smoking when out at the bar, which frankly just lead to more outings to the bar. Then my mom moved out, and with her my accountability. By the time I moved here to my new place, I was back up to 2-3 packs/week - less than half of what I was smoking before, but still a significant habit. I felt guilty, and gross about it. I didn't want to see my mom, 'cause I knew she would smell it on me, and still I would frantically chew gum and use hand lotion to try and mask it from her and Bonnie and Dad. No one said anything to me, but I bet I wasn't fooling anyone.

On Thursday I stopped at Walgreen's on my way home from work and bought a box of patches - Step 2. I went out that night and smoked the rest of my pack, save one, which I smoked Friday morning. Then I slapped on a patch. Guess I jumped back on the horse, or hopped back up onto the wagon, or whatever - all I know is I'm happy about it, and I'm not going to cheat this time. I'm done.

A New Home

2005-11-18T12:50:00.000-05:00

I got the apartment. The one I gave out my references for, as mentioned. She called me last night, saying she had spoken to my two previous landlords, who had given me "the best references". This, I tell you, is why I prefer to rent from private landlords, rather than corporate. Aside from the fact that I would rather live in a place of some character - as opposed to a brick building filled with apartments that all look exactly the same - it is possible to form some kind of relationship with the person you are paying rent to.

A corporate landlord does not care what kind of person I am. I am a number, or maybe even a name on a file collecting dust in the office. A secretary would drag out that file upon inquiry and inform the new potential landlord of how many times I was late or early with my rent, how many service calls were required by that apartment during the time I rented, and whether or not I was refunded my security deposit. I suppose this is all the information needed by another corporate landlord.

I prefer to be thought of as a person. I prefer to think of my landlord as a person. And I prefer to get along. When I spoke with my previous landlord, Jay, the other evening, my heart went out to her. I really care about these people, and their dream of someday retiring from their jobs and being able to sell their rental properties for enough to live comfortably and enjoy each others' company in their old age... I hate to think that Jay may have to live out this dream alone, a cheap and lonely substitute for the happy future they have worked so hard for. Please recover, Roy.

When Jay remembered me, as we were talking, she told me she had two apartments available, and I wished I could have taken one - in fact I had been planning to call her and inquire just that, had I kept with the original intention of moving to New Hampshire. Jay and Roy are great landlords, and great people, and I wish I could rent from them again. I can only hope my new lessor is even half as fabulous (and she seems so; we shall see...)

Anyway, I'm excited about my new place, which I will move to on Thursday, December 15th. Now I just need to find some muscles to help me. I'm sure I can recruit some friends, but it being a thursday, I suppose not too many will be available. I am a strong girl, and technically I'm sure I could manage all by myself... but who wants to do that? It's like when I get a flat tire: I know how to change it myself, but I also know if I just start to get my jack out, some guy will come along and offer to do it for me- which is of course what I opt for. Being a girl is not without it's privileges.

I have a number of boxes up in the attic... mostly kitchen stuff, but also curtains and decorations and stuff. It will be such fun to get all that stuff out again. I guess I'm a bit nervous about having room for everything- but I'll make it work; I HAVE to. I generally work well on necessity. Ah, and speaking of work and necessity- this opens a new chapter in my life, one in which I am finally forced to get my shit together, and I am now ready for it. Surely I will miss the luxury of blogging my mornings away- since I really will have to work more often- but don't worry, my dear readers, I will find time for you in my new place.

A Stale Regret

2005-11-15T10:19:00.000-05:00

Today I called an old landlord of mine to let her know she might be called upon for a reference. I left a message on her machine, but will try again later. I'm actually thrilled to have an excuse to talk with her... but a little nervous at the same time. We had a great relationship, but the last note was a little off.

A couple weeks after packing up my shit and moving to Connecticut in April of 2003, I was back up in NH to get a job done as promised, and also to go through the old apartment and square things up with my landlord, Jay(ne). She had purchased the building shortly after I moved in, and had told me I would likely get my full security back since she had no way of knowing the previous condition of the apartment (not that I did any damage anyway). She had entered into a new tenancy-at-will lease with my former roommate Ingrid and her new roommate, and this was a good time to get a good look at the place in order to handle the security going forward.

One of the biggest issues dealt with by private landlords is the junk left behind when a tenant moves. I had left behind some items of furniture and what-not for my roommate's convenience and we needed to make sure Ingrid wanted it or dispose of it. I had been using the basement to store paint and make samples, so we also needed to go through there. The basement, of course, is where all the old junk from previous tenants had gone to die. There was a dirt floor, and much of this junk was mildewed and falling apart from sitting on it. Over the nineteen months I had lived there I had been throwing it out slowly - you see, we pay for garbage by the bag in Dover, NH (fabulous system by the way, really encourages recycling) and I did not see how I ought to pay to throw out someone else's nasty junk, but I often had extra space in those garbage bags come pick-up day, so I would fill them up with the basement trash, and over all those months I managed to get rid of most of it this way. Well it's a good thing I did that, 'cause since Jay had no way of knowing if I had done any damage to the apt, she also had no way of knowing if this junk was mine or someone else's... so it turned out I was responsible for getting rid of it anyway - but at least she helped me do it. It took Jay and I several hours to get rid of the remaining junk, (including cutting up a perfectly good rug which Ingrid had decided in the meantime that she didn't want, which I would have preferred to take with me in the first place when I had the truck- remind me not to try and do anyone favors anymore.)

In the end Jay said we were all set, and I would be getting back my full security deposit. However, she said, she had not yet received the deposit from Ingrid's new roommate, who said he would have it on Monday (this was Saturday). Jay wanted to get that before giving mine back. Now of course this dude's deposit had nothing to do with mine since she had entered into a new agreement with them, but I let it slide, knowing that legally Jay had thirty days to give me my money. I gave her my new address, but told her rather than mailing the money, it would be most convenient for both of us to just deposit the money in my account, since my bank was right down the street from her and she banked there, too. I gave her a deposit slip, and told her they could look up my account and make the deposit without it, if she happened to not have it on her.

Back in Connecticut, several weeks went by and I had not seen the money hit my account. While clearing out the basement that day, Jay had confided in me that she had already received two noise complaints regarding Ingrid and her new roommate, and was considering giving them notice already if she got another one. This started to make me very nervous. I went to call Jay, and could not find her number. I had it on the lease, but she had recently changed it, and the new one was on a piece of paper floating around and naturally I could not find it. I looked for it for several days, then started calling other people. I called Melissa, who lived on the third floor, but she couldn't find Jay's new number, either. I tried calling Ingrid. Now Ingrid had a paper to remove my name from the Comcast account, which she was supposed to sign and send to me. Also we were pretty late on the Comcast bill, and Ingrid had promised to pay that while I payed other things. Clearly this had not been done since the phone had been disconnected when I called.

Mind you, this was several weeks after this agreement had been made, when I had been up to go through the apartment. My imagination had started turning, soon to be churning with scenarios... the most compelling story I could come up with, at this point, was that Jay had given them notice without ever recieving the deposit, therefore not thinking to send mine to me- and also removing any motivation for Ingrid to pay the bills that were in my name. I was unable to reach either party, and I was four hours away. I was feaking out.

Comcast told me that in addition to owing the full balance on the cable, internet, and phone, I would also owe them over two hundred dollars unless they could successfully retrieve the cable box. They could do nothing with the account without Ingrid's signature, and therefore I would continue to be held liable for any charges until I cancelled the account. So, feeling quite frantic at that point, that's what I did. Ingrid and I had not been close, but we had been friendly, and I honestly didn't think she was intentionally trying to screw me over, nor did I want to screw her - but I was hours away, it was weeks later, she didn't have a cell-phone, so I had no way of getting in touch with her, and I just couldn't take the chance.

Then I sat down and wrote a letter to my former landlord, Jay. Interesting... I just found it. (dontcha just love computers?)
Dear Jayne,

It’s been nearly a month since we met concerning the apartment, and I was led to believe I’ve been cleared of all security responsibilities concerning 33 Park Street. We agreed that you would deposit my portion of the security deposit at Citizens Bank with the deposit slip I left with you. In consideration for your discomfort with giving mine back before receiving the security deposit from the new tenant, Justin (*), I agreed to wait until it had been received because that was promised to happen within the week. As of yet I have not seen this deposit in my bank account, and have therefore become concerned about what might be going on up there in Dover.
I’m afraid I’ve lost your phone number, although I was able to contact Melissa through her workplace. Unfortunately, she does not seem to have your current number. I thought I had left my contact information with you, but it’s quite possible that’s been lost as well.
By this time I think it’s important to make clear that although I agreed to wait for my deposit in good faith, I have no personal responsibility toward Justin’s deposit whatsoever. I gave ample notice to my departure and paid full rent for a month of which I actually needed only seven days. I was as considerate as possible with my notice, giving opportunity to decide whether or not to rent to my former roommate Ingrid and whatever roommate she might find. When I left, a new rental agreement was written up for Ingrid (*) and Justin (*). I have nothing to do with this rental agreement that was entered into, including the existence (or lack thereof) of a full security deposit.
I have always had a good relationship with you as my landlord. While it took time away from a job I was struggling to finish, I felt it was important to spend as much time as necessary to be sure I left the apartment to your satisfaction. I am puzzled as to why my security deposit has not been returned to my bank as promised. I am also suffering financially from it quite severely, as I will not be paid from my new job until May 23rd. While I do not savor the idea, if the deposit has not been returned by the legally allowed thirty days, on Monday, May 19th I will have to investigate my options. While I would love to see you again, I would prefer it not be in such circumstances. I will enclose another deposit slip in case you have lost the one I gave you on Saturday, April 19th.
Best,
and that's where I signed it and sent it off.

Later that day, I decided to check my bank balance (again). Guess what was in there? Oh, I just felt horrible. And I went through all sorts of stuff, for the third time- really desperate to find this scap of paper with Jay's number on it. And I found it. (Now I felt like a REAL dink.) So I called and left a message apologizing.

It's been two and a half years. I still feel bad about it, whenever I think of her. Now that I read the letter, I guess it's not that bad...

As I'm finishing this story up, it's the following day. I spoke with her last night, and this little event just seems so small. When I spoke to her she was just getting back from the hospital. Her husband, whom I had also been friendly with, is in the hospital with lung cancer. She's a wreck. He'd been in for two weeks and she was trying to get him back home today.

I gave the landlord I met today a list of references. I gave her Jay's e-mail address. "I'm sure if you e-mail her, she would call if you want to actually talk with her... but I don't want to give her number out, not with what she's going through right now."

* last names removed out of respect for privacy.

Daylight "Savings"

2005-11-03T20:30:00.000-05:00

This is the time of year I hate the most, the time when they steal my daylight and claim they are giving me more. What sense does this make? How come dusk goes from 5:30 to 4:30 and they tell us it's to SAVE DAYLIGHT.

yada yeah, I know, it's supposed to give us more light in the morning. My theory is that it's so kids don't have to wait at their bus-stop in the dark... although I still remember having to do that, so obviously it doesn't solve the problem completely. Maybe it's so we don't notice how unnatural it is to get up early in the morning in the wintertime; I am not a morning person, so it's pretty hard to fool me on that one. I am miserable enough at six am... I realize how much worse it is in the dark, I really do. Still it makes me more miserable to see the daylight end before the afternoon.

The worst part? The days continue to get shorter. EVERY DAY through December 21st will be shorter than the last. It's a damn good thing we have the holidays to distract us, kids.

Edit: I'm an idiot.

My sister (Beth) has just informed me that we are now in "real time". It is, in fact, SUMMER when we save daylight, and the time is labeled accordingly as "Eastern Daylight Time", whereas now we are in "Eastern Standard Time". This indicates that the daylight we save is in the summertime, and otherwise would be wasted at 4 am. So I guess I have nothing to complain about.

Also with nothing to complain about, I might point out, is John regarding his comment on this post. John doesn't have enough light to play catch with his youngster after work anymore... I sympathize. John still, however, has decent enough weather to hang out outside, were it only light enough. John can install some exterior lights and get the kid used to the bright lights, where all the best baseball is played anyway. I, on the other hand, will be freezing my tail off every time I go outdoors for the next five months, as the temps up here are broadcast daily on the radio down there just to give Floridians a chuckle. Count your blessings, John.

Love is Not Enough

2005-10-31T08:59:00.000-05:00

I broke up with my boyfriend this weekend.

He came down on Friday night to pick up his truck, which had been in the shop since the previous weekend. (The clutch had failed - for the second time - in 34,000 miles. And no, it's not the way he drives.) The whole situation sucked so much for him, and I hated to pile more on... I didn't see any sense in making his overnight stay uncomfortable, or (more likely) inspiring him to drive back in the middle of the night. So I decided the least I could do was wait until the morning and do it over coffee when he was leaving anyway.

But I wear my heart on my sleeve most of the time, and as I was starting to fall asleep (after I told him I didn't feel like having sex) he guessed at the situation. "Do you not want to do this anymore?"

We had been together since April, after two years apart. Before that we were together for four and a half years. I left him that time, too - packed my shit and moved two states away without even telling him. I'm terrible at initiating confrontation, and he's terrible at accepting ideas that are not his own. He had to call me up to discuss being broken up with last time, and this time he had to bring it up in the first place. But seriously, I would have done it- like I said, I had a reason for the timing.

So of course he couldn't accept it, even though I was saying some of the same things to him that he had said to me the previous weekend. He brought up all the ways that he had changed and how hard he was working to make me happy. He asked me why I wasn't willing to work that hard. He told me I was running away, again, and brought up other examples from my life when I had done the same thing. He's right about that; I've given up on a lot of things in my life - but I don't feel like that's the case here, at least not in a bad way. There's a difference between giving up on things because they are hard vs. because they are not right for you.

He said he didn't understand where this all came from, and told me I was unfair to not discuss things I was unhappy with until it was too late. It's true that I'm not the greatest at communicating the negative, but I've gotten a lot better than I used to be. I actually have discussed things I was unhappy with all the way along... He apparently did not take these things seriously because I did not indicate that these things could destroy our relationship. Well first of all, I don't make threats like that, nor do I think it's appropriate to do so. He stopped doing this to me at my request, so I'm not quite sure why he expected this behavior from me.

In my experience, it's not often one thing that destroys a relationship, but several, or even a long string of little things. I don't usually recognize that something will ruin the relationship at the time, so how could I possibly know to say so? And why does it take the threat of losing me to take me seriously, anyway? These things build up over time, and all the while they are merely irritating or hurtful... until suddenly they build up to the point where it's unbearable. It happens in an instant. I hit the wall. The other shoe drops. It's the straw that breaks the camel's back. Confusion becomes clarity, and the message is clear: Get the hell out; this man can never keep you happy in the long term.

While he was here he fought me on it. He tried to get me to change my mind, to keep trying to make this work. As he drove home he realized that I was right. This in itself is an example of why we struggled so much as a couple. Our communication styles are different, I guess, and he often does not give what I have to say a real chance. He reasons with my words until he seems to have proven I'm wrong with logic... in a way I can't refute, but still do not agree with. This whole process takes a while, and it's indescribably frustrating and infuriating. He talks... a lot. And he'll keep on arguing the issue until the fight is completely gone from me. At this point a good hour or two is down the tubes to a really unhappy time. Then he'll turn around the next day or the next week and change his mind to agree with me. Sometimes he'll say I didn't explain it well enough, and he misunderstood... but I suspect he either was not listening at the time, or his alpha-male ego prevents him from even considering the possibility that he may be wrong until later.

I'm totally trashing him here, and there's two sides to everything, so keep in mind that there are plenty of things that I do wrong, too. For example, my frustration during these "discussions" gets my tone pretty nasty at times. That's not exactly a plus for getting people to see your point of view.

The thing is, I love him very much. We just don't get along well enough to be together. Relationships are supposed to hard, yes, but not THAT hard. We both deserve something happier and more peaceful in our future, and I have a feeling the many things we've learned from each other over the years will help us acheive that.

A New Twist to an Old Game

2005-10-16T21:42:00.000-04:00

We used to get a lot of junk in the mail. We still do, I guess, but since the dawn of internet-spam I guess there's not so much. I remember my mother getting annoyed with this. It got to the point where she really could not stand it. She started stuffing it in postage-paid reply envelopes, and sending it back, so to speak. This could be the only time I've witnessed my mother not only seek revenge, but exhibit joy in getting it.

Clearly she was not aware how far she could go with this.

New friends

2005-10-15T17:18:00.000-04:00

Just as I'm getting ready to leave town, I've started to make some friends here. We can't do much about the timing of random events, I suppose.

It all started last month when I caught the train to NYC for my sidewalk adventure with Jere. I ended up in amicable conversation with two guys sitting nearby, each of us traveling solo. One of them, Chris, said he lived in the same town as me. Chris is an easy-going sort; he's out for a good time, and he doesn't try to be anyone but himself. I really appreciate that in a person. Chris gave us beers from his backpack, and the three of us drank beer and chatted about whatever came to mind as the train chugged along to the city. The other guy, who's name has escaped me simply because I haven't heard from him since, got off somewhere in the Bronx, and Chris and I chattered right on to Grand Central. We exchanged numbers, and he told me where he could be found most of the time, a little dive bar not terribly far from my house.

A couple weeks ago I was feeling antsy. Maybe it was the balmy weather that itched me to get out and about. Monday night football was on, and since this little dive happened to be a sports bar, I decided to check it out. I hadn't heard from Chris at all, so I was just taking a chance that he might be there... I don't mind being by myself, but it's always nice to have people to talk to. I didn't see him right away, but when I sat down at the bar he stuck his head out a few chairs down and recognized me, and then introduced me to his two friends, both of whom he had mentioned on the train. One of those two was already not too fond of me, I'm pretty sure... unbenounced to me, he had already visited my blog and been offended by something I wrote, and frankly I should say rightfully so - but I shall address that some other day. He didn't say much but the rest of us had fun discussing this and that, mostly sports stuff, which as you know I do love to discuss. The bartender, also Chris, turned out to be pretty cool and Jay is more knowledgeable about sports than myself - something I can really appreciate, and Chris's father, also a Chris, showed up at the end of the night to bust his son's chops.

I've been back to the little hole a few times since, and have met some really nice people. Mostly guys - not too many chicks hang out in sketchy sports bars... Wonder why? I get hit on quite a bit, despite having made it pretty clear that I have a boyfriend. That's alright; I suppose a man's gotta give it a shot, anyway, and no one's been too aggressive about it. I'm sure the three Chris-es would be there to help me out if I ever had any REAL problems. I have no intention of cheating on my man, whom I am fairly serious with, and I keep things light and friendly. I buy my own drinks (best to keep it that way, I think) except for the occasional picked up by the bartender, and sometimes a shot or two from Chris. I must give props to both Chris and André, both of whose poker winnings I have benefited from in some small amount...These two are the sort who make a girl feel safe through their genuineness of spirit. Neither puts on an act nor creates an expectation; some people are just good - and that makes them good to be around.

One night I ended up smoking a bowl out back with a couple of people whom I had not even met, invited randomly because my oversized cardigan and don't-give-a-shit demeanor gave me up to be a stoner, I guess. Later on I ended up at the diner with Chris, chattin' over BLT's and cheese-fries with gravy. "You're kind of quiet tonight," Chris commented. I wasn't sure what he meant; I had certainly not been silent. "Well I am stoned..." I say to him. "Oh I don't mean it in a bad way, " I think is what he said. "You're just usually all over the place. Tonight you're actually staying on topic." He seemed a bit embarrassed after saying this, afraid he had hurt my feelings. On the contrary, I'm glad he said it.

I wasn't sure how to interpret it at first. I'm still not all that sure, but I've been chewing on it for awhile, and it's giving me some insight on a few other situations. I have very strong opinions, and also the strong urge to express them. I don't always (ahem, often) think about whether people want to hear it, or if the venue is appropriate. I don't mean to, but I'm sure I offend people with that, and chances are I do it a lot more often than I think. I guess I can understand why people might decide even if they like me that I'm best in small doses.

Funny how clearly I think when sober, and how clearly I express my thoughts, and yet...It's when I fuzz things up that I realize where that expression may be inappropriate. Here I've been thinking that it's good I haven't had any smoke lately, and now I check myself and realize that no- the self-reflection I gain from it can keep me in line, or at least help me realize when I'm off of it.

Also funny how you can struggle with understanding something your whole life, only to have it pointed out unknowingly by someone you've just met.

Finally, Folks, I can fill you in

2005-10-15T11:28:00.000-04:00

Several people have asked for an update regarding my housing situation. I have not been able to do this, as things have been very much in the air. Early this week I was informed that my parents had accepted an offer on this house for the asking price, with a closing date of November 15th. That fell through. Real Estate is often affected by the chain reaction; somewhere along the line someone cancelled a deal for who-knows-what reason. The seller in that deal is therefore forced to back out of another deal where they are the buyer. And just repeat that last sentence over and over again. So anyway, the people who's offer had been accepted had to back out as a result of their own deal falling through, which could be their fault or someone else's eleven degrees away in Schleswig, Iowa - who knows.

By Tuesday there were several offers on the table, including one asking for a closing date of November 7th. I don't know how many of you reading this are familiar with the process of buying a house... I have never purchased one personally. I have, however, seen others go through the buy/sell process, and from what I've gathered it is pressing the envelope of realism to go for a closing date one month away; six weeks is usually a safer estimate.

Meanwhile if the house IS to close in mid-November, I need an apartment for November first. Apartments rarely lie empty in the area I am moving to - the liklihood of finding a mid-month place is slim to none. Plus this area is 3.5 hours away from here, so if I need an apartment for next month, I need to look NOW. As in this weekend AND next. I was a tad panicky about this situation. Also I was frustrated, as it does not seem to me either realistic OR necessary to close mid-month. I didn't want to rush around to get this place and then find I really didn't need to.

I asked my father to make a decision by Friday, mid-month or Dec. 1st. Because of one of the offers they are interested in , they've decided to work toward the Dec. 1st date, greatly simplifying my situation. So now I've got a bit more time and flexibility in regards to finding a place, and time to move some things up slowly as well, possibly eliminating my need for a rental truck. And so I sigh in relief. Being pressed for time like that stresses me out; I like making decisions carefully. Having the time to do so helps me look forward to a new chapter in my life...

This is not the crisp Autumn air I was looking for...

2005-10-14T16:36:00.000-04:00

I raked my driveway today. Oh, yes, I realize in this age of technology that the preferred method of leaf removal on driveways is the "leaf blower". Trouble is, after eight straight days of near-constant rain, leaves don't fly. So there they have collected, day after day, sticking to the ground wherever they might fall, until only small specks of ashalt were detectable by eye. For several days I have had inklings of concern as I turned up the hill... can tires slip on wet leaves?

Raking was only marginally effective. I can see a majority of pavement now, but it's not obvious that I have cleared it off recently. Some are stuck quite firmly to the ground. I was not about to get picky about it; wet leaves are heavy and require some effort to move along. The street is lined with trees, and as I got closer to the bottom of the driveway, the layer of covering slowly thickened. With more leaves there was also more water collected, and some areas had enough of a stream, once I started moving it, to help me move things along. By the time I got to the street, nature's carpet was waterlogged to the point of mush... I was reminded of the dregs at the bottom of a bowl of cornflakes.

My Niece, Sami Mae

2005-09-25T01:29:00.000-04:00

My sister and her husband had ample time to chat this week while they were hanging out in the delivery room for TWO WHOLE DAYS. It seems that my bro-in-law has not seen much in the way of Bonnie's childhood pictures - I imagine this was on purpose - and was asking her what she looked like, in order to get a better idea of what to expect in little Samantha Mae. Well I guess there's not much point in being self-conscious, once you've had your legs spread out wide for everyone to see for a few hours. So Bonnie told her husband Joshua that when she was a little girl, she looked kind of like a troll.

Well I was only four when Bonnie was born, so I can't picture her very well as an infant, but I certainly saw quite a bit of her as a young girl. She was not the most attractive child in the family, but that may have had something to do with the way she cut her bangs down to fuzz every time she started to look normal. In her most awkward stages, she looked rather like a pixie on weight watchers, an evil cabbage patch kid with freckles, the sister that the seven dwarves shoved in the closet, a chubby Punky Brewster with a really bad haircut maybe, but not a troll. Perhaps a hobbit? Jeez, I don't even know what a female hobbit is supposed to look like. I can't believe that in four books about hobbits, Tolkien did not bother to describe the fairer sex of this noble race.

Well eventually they got down to business and pushed this baby out, and since there are some minor similarities I thought I'd use the trolls pictured above to describe my new neice.

Sami is MUCH, MUCH cuter than those trolls. I know what you're thinking, those trolls are pretty cute, how can that be possible? It just IS.
Sami's legs are much longer than those pictured above. Obviously. But also proportionally. In fact, not that I've seen many, but Sami has the longest, leanest legs I have ever seen on an infant. Her body reminded me of the house-elves in Harry Potter books. Don't worry, Bonnie. I believe these house elves are not permitted to use magic. Also, they will work for you like slaves (and are quite happy to do so) and remain devoted to you as long as you live. Whether you like it or not.
She had a hat on, but so far as I could tell, her hair was very dark (NOT white!), a great deal thinner, and also finer. It was not at all frizzy like those trolls, and did not seem to have nearly as much volume.
Her nose is a bit smaller; It's the really cute button-type. Her cheeks are fat and happy, just like the trolls, but she doesn't have any of those weird pronounced wrinkles, which gives her face a much softer look.
I would estimate her ears at about one tenth of the size (proportionally, of course) of those on the trolls. I'm not sure how much a newborn can hear, but I'm guessing it's not at the level of transmissions from outer space, which would be the only reason I can think of to have ears that enormous.
She appeared to be wearing deep pink eyeshadow. Glamour girl! I'm sure Bonnie would not approve of makeup at such a young age... I wonder how she did it. Anyway, it looked HOT. Nice job, Sami.
I don't think she has a tail. Maybe I ought to have checked?

I'm sure you all are wondering why I don't just post a picture so you can judge for yourself? Well I'm afraid I don't have the right to tell you that. Also, I'm not permitted to have an opinion on the matter, much less express it. I'm probably not even allowed to tell you what I'm not allowed to do, so at the rate I'm going I should be ex-communicated from my entire family by say Thursday. I wonder what person entirely unrelated to me will be chosen to inform me, and what rude and impersonal method they will choose to employ? Ah, Life... so full of surprises.

Bubble Doodles

2005-09-14T18:59:00.000-04:00

Last week I published a logo on Reb Sox which people seem to have enjoyed. I started doing these at the cottage. In order to focus on the games I was listening to on the radio, I found it helpful to keep my eyes and hands busy. These things take a lot of time, and I don't imagine I'll be getting many more done soon, but I thought I'd put up the ones I have.

This was the first that I did, and it's about the human brain:

A bubble-doodle take on pointalism:

Dodging shit-drops

2005-09-06T10:52:00.000-04:00

My parents are getting a divorce. My feelings on this may surprise you; I'm not all that broken up about it. I'm hopeful that they will both be happier for it. You see, they want completely different things. My mom doesn't like to do the things my dad likes to do. And my dad doesn't like to do the things my mom likes to do. And as a result, they don't seem to like each other very much either. They don't fight, as far as I've seen... they're more the passive-aggressive types. Guess that's where I get it.

The real bummer is I'm going to have to move "as soon as possible." Serves me right, I suppose, for living rent-free with my folks for the past couple of years. I was hoping to take some night classes this fall, but I guess that's not going to happen. Not only will I not have the funds, but I also won't be able to stay in a consistant place. In other words, I won't be getting an apartment... at least anytime soon. Because you see, I HATE Connecticut, and the only reason I live here at all is um, the superb deal I've been getting. Fairfield County is just not me. For many reasons, not the least of which is the fact that the people here are egotistical snobs with more money than they know what to do with, and a freakish unwillingness to part with it if they can see you are actually working for it. In other words, if you are sitting in an office, filing your nails and surfing the web, go ahead and bill out thousands of dollars for five minutes of work... But, if you are actually getting your hands dirty and breaking out a sweat, they will bitch and complain, treat you like trash, and try to jew every last cent off the bill that they can. But I digress...

Anyway, I have work I need to do around here, and I also have a little to do in NH and can easily round up more. I am hesitant to actually MOVE, as it's likely I'll have to do so again in less than a year, making a lease seem rather imprudent. I could become the traveling faux girl for awhile... but there are a few things that would make this difficult - my computer, which is digracefully large and inconveniently made for an actual desk, and my two cats, oh and yeah I really like having a home. The thought of having my stuff scattered, boxed up and inaccessible makes me want to cry. So I've got some things to figure out.

3 Every Day Essentials

2005-09-01T22:33:00.000-04:00

1.) My Red Hair Clip.
purchased 10/30/04, downtown Boston, after the parade. I thought $30 might be too much to pay for a hair clip. I have worn it every day since. $30 well spent.

2.) Cell Phone
truly, it's pathetic, but I can't believe we all used to live without them.

3.) High-Speed Internet
I'm addicted. Is there rehab for that? Internet Addict Anonymous?

3 things that scare me

2005-09-01T00:50:00.000-04:00

yeah, I know. I wasn't sure if I would ever type these out, either... but I've been prodded by Barb, so here you are:

1. Raccoons. Ever look them in the eyes? They seem very intelligent, and it's freaky.

2. Roller Coasters. They seem like fun, in concept, but I can't seem to convince myself of that while I'm riding or even considering riding in one.

3. Riding in the front passenger's seat with almost anyone. I'm so used to driving myself, alone, that it scares me a bit just to watch it and not be in control, but mostly I get terrified when the driver's style is very different from mine.

Useless theory

2005-08-25T00:58:00.000-04:00

I'm reading the new Harry Potter, and I'm pretty sure I've set a record for days I have had a Harry Potter book without finishing yet. But I've been rather busy. So I've been stalled since lunchtime yesterday, and in that time I've had lots of time to think about the scene in the spot where I am in the book.

Harry is in his second lesson with Dumbledore, and Albus has pondered on why Merope did not use her magic in her last days. He suggests the reason was heartache, a broken spirit, a lack of desire to be and a disliking of magic. All this sounds as if it could reasonably be so. I, however, have another theory.

Obviously daddy could not have been too happy with his daughter having run off with a Muggle. I believe (and why not it's fiction anyway, right?) that Marvolo cursed her daughter in a way that prevented her from using magic. He made sure the Muggle was disenchanted and deserted her, and rendered Merope as helpless as he could get her. Consciously he may have been seeking revenge, but under the surface Marvolo must have wanted his daughter back, and therefore tried to drive her to return.

I wonder how he felt when he found his daughter preferred death.
theoretically, of course.

Update

2005-08-24T07:03:00.000-04:00

First off, I bet you all would like to know how I am doing with my smoking cessation program. I'm doing quite well, thank you. I've cheated a little, here and there while I was gone, but for the most part I've been pretty good.

I'm sure a lot of people have a hard time around others smoking when they are quitting. I don't mind it so much. Sure, when I see someone light up right in front of me, I have the urge to do it, too, but I don't get all upset or resentful about it as I'm sure some people do. So when my man told me that he would try not to smoke around me, I said I really didn't mind. But when he pulled up, puffing away, and wanted a big kiss, well I could see there might be a problem.

We've always quit together before, and in fact, this whole thing started with HIM wanting to quit, and harrassing me about quitting. So just with that there's a teeny bit of resentment I'm feeling for dogging me into this and then proceeding to puff with abandon, unlike the past few months in which he has been making large efforts to cut down. And then there's the taste. When I kiss him, try as I might, I can't shake my mind off the stale smoke I am tasting and smelling. This kindof makes it difficult to relax and enjoy the kiss, BTW. I'm sure it's no picnic for non-smokers, but for a quitter like me it makes me want to smoke some so I won't have to taste it in this awful way. So I did here and there, and it wasn't the best for my quitting state of mind, but it wasn't the total disaster that it can be.

I'm really surprised at how easy the patch has made things for me. Relatively easy, I mean, compared to the emotional fits I've had when I've quit cold turkey in the past. Having the urge to light up is not accompanied by anger and frustration and wildly careening emotion. It's instead followed by the reminder that I have this patch on. If the urge stays with me, I'll break out a piece of gum. I might do this 1-3 times a day. I try to keep it down, though. I want to, as much as possible, try to break the habit of needing nicotine when something upsets me or pisses me off.

oh, it's time to go now. I'll fill you all in on the books I got to read last week and other sundries at a later time.

What's Wrong with this Picture?

2005-08-09T10:20:00.000-04:00

I Can

2005-08-08T23:00:00.000-04:00

Today I embark upon a journey which I have been putting off for a long time. Even the preparations for this journey have been dragged out far longer than necessary. I have started the trip a few times before but always fell short of my destination... and I haven't even tried in years.

I'm quitting smoking.

Eight or nine years ago, my grandmother, Ra, was lecturing me one day about how I needed to quit. She wanted to prove a point, so she asked my aunt, who had quit ten years prior, the following question: If you knew you had only one month to live, and nothing you did would change that, would you smoke any cigarrettes? Ra did not get the answer she expected. "Absolutely," said my aunt, "It's probably the first thing I would do. I would start smoking again right then and there. I love smoking."

That's not the answer Ra wanted, but it was the honest answer, and the far more meaningful and helpful answer when one considers quitting. Ten years removed from quitting, my aunt still loves it. The fact that I love smoking is quite irrelevant, and I should never expect to stop loving it. People love crack, too, or so I've heard. That doesn't mean they should give into the urge to do it.

The thing about smoking which is most insiduous is its constant presence in daily life. It's calming, but at the same time does very little. This makes it ok to do whenever one can break free for a few minutes. It can give you an excuse for a break, in fact, and it can be a social "activity". It's become increasingly less convenient in public, which should make things easier for me. The hardest, for me, is in the car. I just have the constant urge to light up there.

Unfortunately there are so many BAD things about smoking... but none of them make much of a difference when you want a cigarrette. People who have never been addicted to nicotine don't seem to understand this. Anyone who has ever been a regular smoker can tell you they've gotten at least a hundred lectures from well-intentioned individuals who just have no clue that they're wasting their breath. No one quits smoking without REALLY wanting to. Sure, there are those lucky people who just decide one day, and that's that... never the worse for wear. I don't fully trust those tales, to be honest. But I guess willpower has never been my strong suit.

Still, it's time for me to quit. I'm ready, and I'm willing, and I'm able. Stay tuned.

Meme: things i like about myself

2005-07-27T08:31:00.000-04:00

Not part of the Meme, but something you should know about me:
I am nearly always LATE, but also nearly always keep my word. So here's more of the meme.

1.) I have fabulous taste (hmm, I bet most people think they do.) in most visual areas, and am not afraid to take risks. Although I don't find myself to be very digitally creative, so I can't say this shows up in my web design.

2.) I don't know what it is to be "normal" but I don't care because I consider it to be boring.

3.) I have a great metabolism, and I am not an emotional eater (if I am upset, I'm more likely to NOT EAT than to devour a pint of Ben & Jerry's and can of Pringles.) This, for thirty years, has allowed me to get away with being incredibly lazy.* My body is far from perfect, but better than many who actually work at it. *ducks incoming rotten vegetables* Don't worry, folks. This can't last.

*this part (the laziness) is not actually something I like about myself.

3 things preview

2005-07-06T09:21:00.000-04:00

I'm back.
and no, I don't have time to type all this out.
I will answer one, and that ought to satiate you for a bit.

3 Nicknames:

1) I was called Becky until I went to college. Due to the fact that the eighties were just queer, and I never bothered to change it in my official records, my nickname was listed as "Becki" in official school stuff, like the facebook, at my high school Choate Rosemary Hall. I am embarrassed by this.
There are very few people who can get away with calling me Becky today: My grandmother (RaRa), My friend Jon, who was my next-door neighbor from ages 5-11, and... hmm. That's it. My great-aunt Ruth was also allowed, but she passed away on October 27th. (yes, she was a sox fan, 90 years young, and no, she did not see game 4.)

2) I have friends who call me Becca, but I guess it's never seemed right because my family never uses it. My sister Beth generally makes up the nicknames, and she prefers the non-traditional. Reb is the shortened version of almost everything she's ever come up with, and I guess I like it best.

3) Beth's current nickname for me is "Rebonka-heimer-giggly-sister," which can be sung to the tune of "John-Jacob-Jingle-Heimer-Schmidt." The possibilities for this are endless. She says "Rebonk" for short, which I do not find particularly attractive, but I'll take it over "Becky".

Three things coming soon

2005-06-01T16:27:00.000-04:00

I've been tagged.
Amy, could you have picked a worse time?
I have most of the Q's answered, on paper, (as I was waiting at the CT DMV today, a long and torturous process if you don't have something fascinating like this to do.) I am leaving for the weekend, so who knows when I'll get it typed out. Just wanted you to know that I'm not trying to shirk my responsibilities here, I am merely unable to fulfill them immediately.
so have a great weekend.
and expect to learn much more than you ever wanted to know about me very soon.

Food for Thought in the Meantime...

2005-05-31T11:19:00.000-04:00

So yeah, I've been pretty uninspired on this blog, after the incident last week. In lieu of actual subject matter, I'm providing some interesting links to check out:

Post Secret - bring along a tissue, folks, this site will touch you deeply.

Recently, a client told me that in 1960, the value of the work done by a stay-at-home mom was estimated at approximately $60 grand/year. That made me wonder what it would be today. Well, here you go, I found out.

Also, there are tons of blogs out there, but unless very well written, most aren't too interesting to complete strangers. I found one the other day that was worth going to.

Really, I'm not going to bore you folks with frivolous posts about nothing, so you'll hear from me when I have something to say. Stay tuned...

Doggie Snatchers

2005-05-20T16:09:00.000-04:00

I want to throw up from this.

Yes, you are going to have to read it. I don't know how this could happen in a free country. I can't even summarize - I need to NOT even think about it. Why is my blog about dying mammals today?

Deer Crossing

2005-05-20T11:46:00.001-04:00

I have never been personally involved in a collision with a deer. One thing I know: It tends to do a real number on the vehicle. There are many deer around here; Lots of woods and windy roads around here, too. Sometimes I see them on the road - usually at night, and so far have managed to slow down and avoid harm. The image of my car slamming into the body of an animal - that really freaks me out. I think we all would love to reduce the number of such horrifying experiences.

It's clear that the deer population as a whole does not respond to negative reinforcement. They see others get hit, and yet still they insist upon freezing up right there in the middle of the road, staring at the scary bright headlights.

Sometimes I see signs, warning of deer. But these are general... they basically mean that deer could pop out anywhere on the whole road. That's how I got this idea: the deer crossing.

Deer are creatures of habit. They roam through the woods with no regard to property lines, yet they seem to have a system. Ask anyone who have deer pass through their yard... it's roughly the same time every day. They are grazing. Deer cross the roads at will, often paying no attention to the possibility of cars. So if they are creatures of habit, wouldn't it be nice to be able to predict where they cross?

We can lure them to more likely cross in certain places. We could have leaping deer signs that actually mean something...

This would require the use of a bit of land on each side of the road, in sporadic places determined to be convenient for the deer's nomadic lifestyle. "Adopt a Deer Crossing" sponsers can fund the planting and "maintenance" of abundant deer treats. The idea is to have plants that will attract deer to the area each day. Then, directly across the street, there are more of the same plants visible. Deer will see this, and then cross the street to get more. Then they will come back each day, always crossing the road in this same place.

Deer crossing locations would have to be chosen very carefully. It should have good visibility for drivers, and they need to connect areas of woods in convenient locations for the deer. Studying the daily travel path of groups of deer would help us greatly to determine crossing locations, as well as whether the idea would work at all.

It seems like a great idea, but it has some serious kinks. Will the deer adjust their roaming patterns to cross in only these locations? If they cross at the crossing, but continue to cross at other random locations, the deer crossing will not help us. On the other hand, if it does work, providing areas of plentiful food and reducing the fatality rate due to cars would certainly effect the overall population. Aside from raising the number of kills allowed for hunting licenses, we have little control over a possible explosion in population.

A rise in deer population could mean more deer than the area can support. Ecologists would need to consider the full ramifications of this plan; it's effects on the environment and the overall food chain would need to be monitored carefully. More deer would also mean more deer ticks, an idea that would not be popular around here, I can assure you. It is possible that deer realize the danger of oncoming headlights, and freeze on purpose, because they are starving, and would rather die. In this case my idea is pretty worthless, isn't it?

Neglect

2005-05-20T11:46:00.000-04:00

My sister Barb has pointed out the sad reality: I have been neglecting my readers of drivel.

The cold I mentioned last week has recently been diagnosed as bronchitis. Congestion clouds my head, and cuts off channels of my creativity. If you look at my other blog, you can see I have not been exactly inspired lately. Fortunately the Biaxin is slowly kicking in, and I should be crawling back to normal soon.

Announcement: Changes in blog

2005-05-13T11:08:00.001-04:00

Having a blog has turned out to be more stress than I anticipated.

I started this blog as an outlet for my sports fanaticism. You see, I tend to have a lot of things to say regarding the worlds of football and baseball, and people around me generally don't want to hear it because they don't know what I'm talking about. So having a blog seemed like the perfect solution, except for one problem: people I know want to read my blog. (yes, the same people who don't want to hear about sports.) Also, I tend to have many random thoughts I'd like to blog about, and people looking to read about sports probably don't want to read that kind of drivel.

So I figured out a solution... get a new blog. Anyone who actually wants to read about sports can now go here. If you are one of the few people who actually want to know what I'm thinking about Tom Brady's new contract or Jason Veritek's clutch hitting and massive workhorse theighs, you should change your link to Reb's Sox & Pats. If you would rather read drivel, than just keep it here.

Sick

2005-05-13T11:08:00.000-04:00

Scratchy throat; that might go away...

Then, maybe the next day, you start to feel the stream trickle down your throat from your head. That's when you know it's really happening: cancel your plans; you're SICK.

Shivering from cold, you bundle up... Yet you start to sweat, and the very layers you are depending on for warmth are now making you colder.

Your head feels attached to an invisible vise, slowly tightening around your skull. As the pressure builds up, your head starts to feel, um, somewhat larger. You tell people that you are sick, and they act surprised. You wonder: How can they not see that? You feel so different... Surely you must look different.

You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and catch yourself in the mirror. Are you ever surprised by what you see?

I don't know why, but I always expect my head to appear larger or something. My reflection seems so incongruously normal. Ok, so my nose is a little red from just blowing it, but otherwise who could tell? People who know me well can hear it in my voice... If they're listening.

It kind of makes me wonder if people think I'm lying. But mostly I worry about the lies that my body is telling me, like my head has swollen up to the size of a watermelon. Or that the room I'm in is about forty degrees Fahrenheit, and the down comforter I have wrapped myself in actually has no warming qualities at all. And since the synapses of my brain seem to be greatly hampered by the pressure of my skull clamping down on it, I really don't have the power to worry too much about what other people are thinking anyway.

Cold Day at Fenway

2005-05-09T14:03:00.000-04:00

I barely have time, but it seems jere & empy are sending people my way to check out my first ever visit to Fenway. Scoff all you like; I don't blame you, but at least I'm efficient. One visit, two games.

How did it take so long for me to get to this hallowed place? Well I must confess, I am the lazy type of fan, who would usually rather sit in the confort of my own home, getting a much "closer" look on tv. (Or, MLB.TV, as I am usually limited to with the sox.) A day like yesterday usually has me curled up in my covers, and thankful for that luxury. And surely I could have used a blanket yesterday, but I am pleased to announce:

It was worth it.

Every last shivering second was a joy unknown to me before. I barely noticed the narrowness of the seats, as proximity to others was rather a benefit on such a raw day. The bitter weather actually created a special bonus for me: during the only truly painful moment of this long day, (yes, the noteworthy-and-not-in-a-good-way major league debut of Cla Meredith) I was in line for hot chocolate, and had no idea what was going on. By the time I found out, well, at least I had my hot chocolate.

I must say this about Fenway: the field is tiny. Sure, I expected the stadium to be small, but compared to shea & yankee stadiums... that field looks about the size of my community softball field, maybe even smaller. No wonder people have been describing Comerica as "cavernous." Comerica, compared to Fenway, must be kind of like the first time you let your cat outdoors, and it stares at you as if to say "I had no idea the world was this huge."

Due to inclement weather (and perhaps the time switch-eroo) we pretty much had our choice of seats. We could have gotten a lot closer, but the blue seats came with shelter, and the view pretty good behind home plate. A tip in case you're planning to move up: Avoid the first two rows of blue, directly behind home plate, to the left facing the field. The security guard waited 'till we got up the stairs to tell us "You can sit anywhere in the park, just not those two rows." We sat nearby in the 2nd game, and saw the same security guard kicking people out of the same rows. I don't know who they're saving those seats for, but most likely it's not you, so don't even bother.

Happy Birthday to Me

2005-05-06T02:22:00.000-04:00

I wasn't able to see the game yesterday. I know, most of us were screwed. That we are ever forced to work during a Red Sox game is a travesty. There's an interesting re-cap over at Surviving Grady - Happy Anniversary,guys!

Bronson - wow. I mean, wow. Poor guy is "lucky" to not be in the 'pen right now, and look at him. The sad part is, if we ever get 6 healthy starters, he's still the most intelligent choice to lose his start... just because he's the only one who could do it well. As in, he's so good, doesn't matter where you put him. Pitch every five days, or pitch every day - don't matter, he's Bronson.

But about Bronson's "run support," (as in, lack thereof) did anyone other than me notice who was not lubing up the line-up yesterday? And that the alternative, hot as he is, was not exactly burning up the bat? Since I did not actually get to watch the game, I think I would've preferred KY, but all's well that ends well.

Trot, however, now HE was ripping it up. Guess he wanted to make up for time off? Captain was ON as well - seems like that guy is always on. I say $10 mil is nothing in exchange for what he brings to the game.

In other news, indeed the yankees have been dropped to last place. Thanks a million, devil rays. I almost don't begrudge the games they took from us 2 weeks ago, since it means I get to see the yanks in the cellar.

Didn't see this either, but Boston continues to be a happy place for all sporting teams, as the Celtics live to play another game. I haven't really been able to get into B-ball since MJ retired (that guy was like watching a Matrix scene,) but the boys in "the Garden" are starting to inspire me.

Ok, so I was just nosing around last night, and I found this:

"There's still lots of creepy love for Keith in the female blogger community." -T

I can only assume he's talking about this, which by the way, Beth, rocks my sox off. Plus it really seems to have made an impact, though it's hard for me to evaluate pitching on MLB.TV. Got something to say, guys? Do you not appreciate our drivel? TOO BAD!

Just so you all know, I was born at 10:15 AM in St. Louis, MO. I will not consider myself 30 until then... 11:15 EST.

So um, I have lots to do today, and drinks tonight with my sis (Beth,) and who knows what else. Then tomorrow, I will be at Fenway. For the first time. EVER. I will see jere there, and I bet I meet Empyreal, too. I will have my camera, and I will take lots of pictures. Maybe I'll even figure out how to post them on my blog ;-) of course I will. I will post something at least on Sunday at my sister's (Barb.)

From there I will head to NH, where I get to stay with my man for a whole week while I do a job up there. On the plus side, I will get NESN there; on the other side, I will have to make sure my jaw doesn't visibly drop when Billy Mueller's at the plate. And also I'm sure I won't catch anywhere near all the games. Now on the super-plus side, my man knows this HTML stuff pretty well (which I just don't,) and I bet I can get him to help me with the overall aesthetic of my website - technically, that is.
On the other side, you might find my posts a bit scant next week. Oh, don't you worry, I'll be back to my verbose self soon enough, but I have many people to catch up with up there, not to mention the fact that my man & I are usually three hours apart... I just might be pretty busy. It's not that I won't post, it's just that- well, they may be brief.

This time Foulke does his job

2005-05-05T09:55:00.000-04:00

More crap on the tigers hat (hey it worked last time) and once again, not home until nine. This week is killing me. The one night I get to see it on my TV, and I miss most of the game... got home just in time to see Wake finish off the 7th. Kudos, Wake, we really needed that. With our rotation screwed as it is right now, and our bullpen just sucking in general, getting through the 7th was key.

With Bellhorn back from the Billy-bug, I am psyched to see KY still in the line-up. Alright, KY is nowhere near as hot as Billy (and unlike the very cute omar infante, in a real man sort of way,) but who had the very clutch, tie-breaking base hit in the 8th? That's right, KY, slick as ever. Hopefully they're not just giving him some at-bats before they send him down again.

Runners at the corners, 2 outs, and I hear "with Rentaria at the plate, the Red Sox still have a chance to do more damage in this inning." These guys have obviously not been following the sox this spring. My cat is now clawing at me, and bellowing, but I wanna see Edgah strike out here... and there it is. (ok, Piter, now I can see to your needs.) What is your problem, Edgah? We're ALL pulling for you here, even Sarah. With this kind of start, you had better be red hot down the stretch, and I mean smokin'. I still believe you will be, but mostly out of my deep faith in Theo.

Then my boyfriend calls. Damn, I'm missing more of the game, and I don't have the heart to tell him "I have to go; the game is on." He is not a sports nut; he just wouldn't understand. I tell him I have created a blog, and *sniffle* he does not even ask me how to find it. Guess that means *wink* I can expound upon the hotness of Billy and Matt Mantei all I want. He makes up for it though, by telling me that someday I will not have to watch sox games on my computer, as he will get me MLB extra innings AND NFL sunday ticket. For someone who could not care less about professional sports, I think this is rather considerate.

I was off the phone in time to fully focus on Foulkie in the bottom of the 9th. This guy is supposed to be our CLOSER, so why am I having to clench my teeth and tap my nails in terror at seeing him on the mound, with only a one run lead? Torture. But he gets out of it, with only one hit- and not the long ball, as we have become disparingly accustomed to seeing this year.

I intended to write this last night, and am so sorry to disappoint my many readers (yes, all three of you.) Unfortunately I decided to check out Samcat, whose post promised to be short, yet if you look at the links, you could be there for hours. Seriously, Sam, how do you find all these things? Is it your job to surf the web all day? You are my IDOL. And Beth, thanks a million for that summary on Damon's book (that must have been painful) for saving me not just $24, but A LOT of TIME. (with all those separate links from Sam, your hit count must be out of control right now.) I have to admit, now that I have my own blog, I'm a bit intimidated... I would really like to think I am contributing something of interest. I need to get some pics up, and have not even had time to figure that out yet, this week has been so crazy. Forgive me, if I am boring the crap out of all of you; it will get better, I promise, and not just in a someday-Edgah-will-get-a-clutch-hit sort of way.

So, did y'all see that bean Giambi took last night? Love it. The hits just keep on comin' for the evil empire, and not the good kind this year. I feel a wee bit guilty about rejoicing in someone's actual bodily harm, but then again, they did sell their souls to Georgie. If you're even bothering to keep track anymore, the yanks are now 11-17, and the devil rays have a shot at putting them in last place tonight.

I half listened to all the fuss about Barry Bonds on ESPN last night, and although personally I could not care less, the utter selfishness displayed by some of these hot shot athletes disgusts me. TO, I think you're an attention-hounding fool (is he an only child, does anyone know?) and I could not agree more with Brett Favre when it comes to hold-outs. As far as Bonds is concerned, I have to wonder if he is intentionally getting the wrong treatments as a stall technique while the juice works it's way out of his system.

Speaking of juice, my dad's been laid up for ten days after throwing out his back. He has been going to the chiropractor, and faithfully doing his exercises, and has seen such miniscule improvement that his doctor finally caved and gave him some steroids. Suddenly the man can walk again. He says he can see why people get addicted to this stuff; he feels like superman.

On a final note, I seem to have inspired my sis Barb to get herself a blog. I warn you, she is a yankee fan (and therefore not likely to write much about baseball right now) and she is even more random than I am, but she is really funny, and you can check her out here. (Yes, I know I need to get my sidebar links going... I will get to that soon.)

Superstition

2005-05-04T01:32:00.000-04:00

I missed most of the game tonight. I got in at nine, fortunately in time to see that hottie Mantei on the mound. He immediately walks two batters. Has someone slipped him some of that bullpen water? I hear mention of a grand slam by Mirabelli, yet 'Tek is back there catching. (Let's just say I was still confused about this until Papi pinch hit for Belli.) Suddenly I realize I still had my tigers hat on. I wore it today to get it nice and dirty, crap it up as much as possible while giving a fresh coat to some ceilings in my sister Beth's new house. I toss it off, throw on my Sox hat, and just like that, inning over.

I am not a superstitious person in general. I like black cats just as much as any other kind, and to me, a broken mirror's just a big mess. I step on cracks, I never forward those stupid, threatening e-mails that claim catastrophe if you don't, and let's just say I walk under ladders all the time (after all, I am a painter.) So why do I feel the need to crap up my tigers hat? Why won't I wear my Sweet Pea t-shirt while the Sox are playing, just because every time I've worn it they've lost? Game 3 of the ALCS was the last time I wore that damn thing, and right now I'm contemplating burning it in the firepit I have in my backyard. In 2003 I was wearing a very comfortable pair of red socks during ALCS game 7... did not wear them for the entire season last year, despite loving those socks. I KNOW that my actions have absolutely nothing to do with the results on the field, and still I feel compelled to be very careful with anything that might have the slightest association with the Sox (or the Pats.) I hand-painted a lighter during the postseason last year, with the "B" in red & white nail polish on a shimmering navy backround. I loved that lighter, but somehow felt it was wrong to carry it into the next year. It still had a bit of fluid on New Year's Eve, so I deposited it at a friend's house in Boston, with specific instructions: Make sure it's dead before pitchers & catchers report! I called twice in February to remind him of the date. (And yes, if you're holding your breath out there, he used it up about ten days before, but it's still kickin' around just for looks.)

My mind tells me this makes no sense; my heart tells me it must be done. These superstitions make me wonder if I'm crazy (as jere has apparently inferred,) and yet I know I'm not alone. Am I?

Silver Lining

2005-05-03T10:31:00.000-04:00

The yankees won tonight, and I don't care. Isn't it refreshing, that they suck bad enough for me to say that? (Yes, I know it may come back to bite me in the ass.) The Sox lost, and in the most exasperating of ways;
how can this lineup not score with the bases loaded and no outs? And don't even get me started on Alan Embree; next time I see him walking to the mound, I just might throw up. So I am trying to look at the positives:

Jeremi Gonzalez, despite a name that worries me into thinking every pitch will land in the stands, pitched a surprisingly decent five innings. A good sign, since I suppose he is a potential starter for the game on Saturday, which will be my first ever visit to the cathedral they call Fenway.
Mantei looked very good. If there's some kind of "make me suck" potion in the bullpen water (which there seems to be, eh?) that hottie ain't drinkin' it.
The O's lost.
It's the O's that we actually care about losing! It's only May, so I can delude myself into thinking that I might not actually care too much about the sox missing the play-offs, as long as the yanks do, too (and by a larger margin.)

I must admit, Omar Infante is actually cuter live. He didn't look quite as young... and technically he gets older every day, right? Nah, still too young for me. But definitely worth looking at. Seeing the Detroit logo everywhere tonight made me realize that I have a tigers hat, and have used it for years on painting projects. Unfortunately I realized this while the bases were loaded, and felt terribly disloyal as the outs kept coming. Are we Sox fans more superstitious than other fans? I suppose it's more about the individual. After all, I've always been superstitious about Patriots stuff, too, and I was a Pats fan first.

Speaking of the Pats, I was so excited about KY lubing the team up (0-2 tonight, no wonder we lost,) I almost missed the biggest news of the weekend. "Doug Flutie!" I said to my dad last night, "Why didn't you tell me?" He said he didn't think I was old enough to remember Flutie, and seeing as I'm turning thirty on Friday and feeling rather ancient right now, I'll just take that as a compliment. Truthfully, his Heisman trophy year was the year before I got into football, but since I've never watched college football anyway, I don't see how that would make much of a difference. The year I got into football (1985), the Patriots ran several flea-flickers, and every time they did, the network found that to be a great excuse to show Flutie's famous hail mary, which by now I've probably seen a zillion times, but it's still fun to watch. Bet they show it at least five times this year during Pats games. It's good to have the hometown boy at Fenway, catching foul balls, but even better to have him in pads, at the Razor (and hopefully on the sidelines all year long.)

Get Your Own Blog

2005-05-02T10:12:00.000-04:00

See it up there, "get your own blog," at the top? It's been eating at me since I first saw it. I didn't know why it bothered me so much. I practically didn't know what a blog was a few months ago. I only found out about them in my desperation to find stuff to read about the sox this spring. Since then I've been perusing through them, occasionally making a nuisance of myself on the comment areas. I've become friends with a blogger, and perhaps piqued the interest of others. I've wondered why I was so fascinated, why so eager each day to see what they had to say... until I finally realized that I coveted their blogspots. I have lots to say, and need a spot to say it in. And so I've been saying, for awhile now, "maybe I should get my own blog."
It's kind of like the clock in my car. I know, how could getting a blog possibly be anything like the clock in my car? Well if you end up being a regular reader of my blog, you will realize how completely random I can be. I bought my car almost five years ago, and in that time I have never adjusted my clock for daylight savings time. I kept telling myself I was going to do it, but I never did, and occasionally I would think of it, and realize that the time would change in three weeks or something, so what's the point? I didn't know how to change my clock, and whenenver I was in my car, I was too busy trying to get somewhere to worry about figuring it out. Well a few weeks ago, shortly after DST righted the time on my clock yet again, I had to replace my battery. I got in my car and the time was no longer ignorable... it was blinking (and by the way all my radio presets were gone, too.) Sitting at a light, I glanced at my clock, looking for the buttons to set it. The traffic started moving again, but I had found what I needed, and while I was driving onto a highway, I reset my clock in about eight seconds flat.
Just like setting my clock, I wasn't sure how hard it might be to set up a blog, so I kept putting it off until I absolutely could not stand it anymore...only to find it was easier than registering for anything else on the internet, and shockingly, FREE!
So seriously, get your own blog (oh, yeah, you probably already have one.) I think I've wanted a soap box of my own my whole life.