I should be reading Ragtime right now, for my BIDS class, but I honestly can't keep my Focus on it. The Olympics are on (Go World), I haven't written anything in an incredibly long time, and it's a Sunday and I'm not feeling the greatest from my wipe out of epic proportions at Bristol Mountain on Friday. (I tried to use my right side [lower] as a landing pad and that didn't work out too well.)
And today is also Valentine's Day. Which is great, if you have someone to share it with.
Take, for example, my sister and my brother-in-law. They've been together for about ten years now, three of them as a married duo and have the most beautiful little girl who is two and a half. Valentine's Day is for them, to celebrate the joy they bring to each other's lives and how they will continue to bring that joy to their lives. They also celebrate their daughter, and the joy that she brings, the Little Mayhem Maker.
For me, Valentine's Day serves as another reminder that I'm spending it by myself.
True, I have good friends, some that I love like family, and many of them will say that having a significant other is overrated and unnecessary, but your brain doesn't think that way. When your eyeballs see that girl who opens that pale pink envelope and sees even the tiniest of Hey, hope you have a great day, Happy Valentine's Day and she smiles that smile that you want....your brain says, maybe there's something missing in my life. It shouldn't. Really, it shouldn't, but I think we all know that when we're not supposed to feel something, or think a certain way, it's automatic that we do. It's human nature. And there's a certain happiness that comes from a significant other.
Now, Louise. You're the one who says frequently that you should be comfortable as yourself. That it shouldn't matter. A bit hypocritical are we?
Well, yes, in a way I am.
We all know the differences, on an emotional level, of the people in our lives. When we have a bad day - things just don't work out how they're supposed to, or something inevitably goes wrong - our friends are there for us. And that's great. I love the friends that I have and would probably be slightly crazier than I am without them. Not to mention, I wouldn't have anybody to make midnight Ben and Jerry's runs with, and when you go for a Ben and Jerry's run by yourself, it's a little bit pathetic, honestly. I've done it before, and nothing says, I've had a really bad week so back off, pal like a pint of B&J's, some E.L. Fudge cookies, and a bottle of Martinelli's sparkling cider. And there are times when my girls have been right beside me. They supply the hugs, the tissues, and the It'll get better. You can do this. And bless best friends because we'd all be slobbering messes at least twenty percent of the time without at them. At least, I would be. I'll admit it. Readily.
However, it's quite another to be hugged by a significant other when everything's gone to hell because that's a different kind of safe harbor. It's a set of arms that, on another level emotionally, says You stay right here and I'm not going to let the world in until you feel better. And I'm not going anywhere. You can say all that you want about it being the same, or that the set of arms belonging to friends is better because they're friends, but really, if you've had the opportunity to sample both, it's not the same. It's different. It feels different, and that's what it comes down to. The feeling.
It's actually quite...well, I'm not sure how to classify it, but I kept thinking, on some irrational over-emotional level all this week, that, come Friday, or Saturday, I would find something in my campus mailbox - from a boy - that would be along the lines of I want to be your Valentine. Even if it was anonymous. I keep thinking that somebody's going to be waiting for me to come around a corner and hand me a rose or something and say, You're cute, and I would like to get to know you on a deeper level than just friends.
That has yet to happen. I doubt it ever will. But I can hope. In the back of my mind, the place where the characters for my novel live along with the other ideas that I have for writing interesting things, and the general black hole that is my inner consciousness, this idea, this scenario has life. It is vibrant. Then again, the girl in this scenario is probably a lot stronger than I am, even on my good days. But it's my mind, and I'm entitled to whatever hopes and dreams come spewing out of it, even if they remain only hopes and dreams at the end of the day.
Also, the likely hood of someone waiting for me outside my door is greatly diminished now that they locked our floor door because of our creeper from a couple weeks ago. Still, it's a nice idea to have.
There is no happy medium for somebody on Valentine's Day. There's no place for the single lady without making us feel like utter crap because we don't have somebody that close to us besides our same-gendered friends to spend it with, and the likelihood of a boy crawling out of the woodwork with a rose between his teeth and a smile in his eye is utterly, utterly nothing but a fantasy of the highest order. Life, for the most part, is neither a movie nor a Taylor Swift song, as much as we'd love it to be. My life certainly isn't, and I can probably guarantee that yours isn't, either.
As for how I've spent my day? I tore down the set that was in the theater from the winter show that just finished so they have a clear stage to hold auditions for the spring one, I've done some homework, I've attempted to get through a chunk of Ragtime, and my mother is coming up with some things that I need and we're going to go to dinner. I'll send birthday cards for my sister home with her, as well as hugs for my niece. And then I'll go to physics Teaching Fellows tonight and do my physics homework so I'm not scrambling Tuesday morning at breakfast because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. Am I hoping to see Fizziks boy there? Yes, I am. Am I going to hold my breath? If I do, I might pass out. It'd be great. Then again, the last time that I thought I saw him was on Bristol Mountain and then I epically flailed in the snow. We can discuss later what it means when a girl uses a half-assed scientific experiment to determine whether not said boy likes her by where he sits in relation to her in a class. We can also discuss what this says about said girl's people skills. Boy skills, more correctly. Or, more accurately, lack thereof.
Bottom line: Does Valentine's Day suck for the singles out there? No, not really. It just makes them more acutely aware of the thing they're missing. And everybody adores that reminder.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
A Cappella Revisited
So, my darling sister was kind enough to DVR the Sing-Off for me so that when I watched Mads before Christmas, I could watch it. And, one of the groups that I really, really liked (and they were cute, to boot) was this group called Beelzebubs, from Tufts University.
Naturally, I just looked them up on YouTube (because that's what you do when you miss something on TV or want to revisit it) and they're an a cappella group, so there's no background music that's not coming from their mouths and their microphones. There's nothing that's not coming from them.
They opened with Magical Mystery Tour by the Beatles. And then they did one of my favorites - Come Sail Away by Styx. I have found them on YouTube and are sharing them with you.
Magical Mystery Tour
Come Sail Away
I own absolutely nothing. I'm just passing on the good word.
Naturally, I just looked them up on YouTube (because that's what you do when you miss something on TV or want to revisit it) and they're an a cappella group, so there's no background music that's not coming from their mouths and their microphones. There's nothing that's not coming from them.
They opened with Magical Mystery Tour by the Beatles. And then they did one of my favorites - Come Sail Away by Styx. I have found them on YouTube and are sharing them with you.
Magical Mystery Tour
Come Sail Away
I own absolutely nothing. I'm just passing on the good word.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
She. Wouldn't. Dare.
I have, for probably the first time in my life, my academic things truly under control. I feel good, I get sleep, and I'm on top of my homework. This is a pleasant place to be. I like being like this. And when something threatens this hard-fought peace of mind, it leaves me ample room to raise my hackles, shake out my claws, and snarl. Especially when it's a blast from the proverbial past.
Long story short (I'm trying, really) is that when I went to college two summers ago, I broke up with my boyfriend (we were off and on for three years). Less than two months later I receive word that not only has he got a new girlfriend, he's apparently proposed to her. Okay. That was a little tough to handle. So was the moronic move on my part to let them visit me at college when they asked. I'm a nice person, which, can sometimes come back to bite me in the ass. I even - eventually - was okay with the prospect of them maybe having a kid. There were rumors she was pregnant. I'm good with this now. I'm good with where life as led me since then, and I'd like to think that I'm doing just fine (some days more, some days less, but that's life, too). I'm even okay with them both being at the community college literally half an hour down the road because, hey, I don't run the risk of running into them anywhere on my campus. For that, I'm golden.
If I'm as a golden as I say I am, why am I bringing this up?
When I opened my computer to check my email, Twitter, and Facebook - maybe do some IMing with my sister before she left work for home - I see there is a notification box on my desktop from AIM. From her screen name.
Hell. No. (It actually wasn't a hell that went through my head, but I like to try and keep my blog somewhat clean, so this is what you get.)
I am happy with where I am in life. I am happy to be where I am, and the people that I surround myself with, and there is no. Way. In. Hell. Are. They. Coming. Anywhere. Near. Me.
My compassion and goodwill only go so far. And, at this time in my life, it doesn't include them. If you think I should be giving them a chance, burying the hatchet and extend the olive branch, I don't need the drama in my life, and they carry drama like a second skin. I neither want nor need it, truthfully. I've got no problem with burying the hatchet, persay, but give me the olive branch and if they come within reach, I'm gonna start whacking.
I am stronger for the trials that I have faced, the paths that I have walked, and though sections have been dappled in shadows and others in pure sunlight, I have wandered both and come out the other side for the better.
Case and point: I'm freakin' happy, and I'm not going to throw it away even if it's the civil thing to do in this particular case.
Even the Wandering Sagittarius has her limits.
Long story short (I'm trying, really) is that when I went to college two summers ago, I broke up with my boyfriend (we were off and on for three years). Less than two months later I receive word that not only has he got a new girlfriend, he's apparently proposed to her. Okay. That was a little tough to handle. So was the moronic move on my part to let them visit me at college when they asked. I'm a nice person, which, can sometimes come back to bite me in the ass. I even - eventually - was okay with the prospect of them maybe having a kid. There were rumors she was pregnant. I'm good with this now. I'm good with where life as led me since then, and I'd like to think that I'm doing just fine (some days more, some days less, but that's life, too). I'm even okay with them both being at the community college literally half an hour down the road because, hey, I don't run the risk of running into them anywhere on my campus. For that, I'm golden.
If I'm as a golden as I say I am, why am I bringing this up?
When I opened my computer to check my email, Twitter, and Facebook - maybe do some IMing with my sister before she left work for home - I see there is a notification box on my desktop from AIM. From her screen name.
Hell. No. (It actually wasn't a hell that went through my head, but I like to try and keep my blog somewhat clean, so this is what you get.)
I am happy with where I am in life. I am happy to be where I am, and the people that I surround myself with, and there is no. Way. In. Hell. Are. They. Coming. Anywhere. Near. Me.
My compassion and goodwill only go so far. And, at this time in my life, it doesn't include them. If you think I should be giving them a chance, burying the hatchet and extend the olive branch, I don't need the drama in my life, and they carry drama like a second skin. I neither want nor need it, truthfully. I've got no problem with burying the hatchet, persay, but give me the olive branch and if they come within reach, I'm gonna start whacking.
I am stronger for the trials that I have faced, the paths that I have walked, and though sections have been dappled in shadows and others in pure sunlight, I have wandered both and come out the other side for the better.
Case and point: I'm freakin' happy, and I'm not going to throw it away even if it's the civil thing to do in this particular case.
Even the Wandering Sagittarius has her limits.
An Adventuring Focus IV
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
M is common, but not. She quirky, funny, kind of scatterbrained, and incredibly Polish. But me no have it any other way.
We sit in many big-brick places, listen to many people, and me deal with many other Foci. And they different from me. Some have pillows or cushions they sit on. Me flop on M's ankles. They play with phones and other junk. Me get coffee some mornings - either from the breakfast place or the place where me fall down the stairs. M fidget, so me get to fidget and use M's legs as a climbing frame. Occasionally me sit and listen. But M in something called Fizziks. His Focus skinny and smart-looking, and M spend lots of time swearing under her breath because she frustrated sometimes. But he wear cool glasses, so it okay.
Life with M interesting. Three days we get up and go visit a big-brick place with littler learners and Foci who now awake. Me stay close to M. Me no know them.
Me proud of M. M no procrastinate so far, and she happier. More content. She sleep better when she sleep and she smile more. Stress - damn fool maniac - has been very quiet. She sleepy - sometime she no sleep - but she okay. She keep up.
And she feed me fiber on a regular occasion.
Still stingy on the coffee.
M ready to scoop out insides with a spork. She eat something and tummy make *annoyingslightlypainfulbutmostlyannoyingashellgrumblingandsoundlikehungry* noise. She turn a fun pink color.
She also turn pink because the boy she likes is sitting by her. He could have sat a row over, but he sit next to her. M going to do an experiment to see if he keep doing it on his own. That why she science-y. But she nervous, too. She no want to read too much into it. She no want to be wrong.
And she almost don't want to be right.
M is common, but not. She quirky, funny, kind of scatterbrained, and incredibly Polish. But me no have it any other way.
We sit in many big-brick places, listen to many people, and me deal with many other Foci. And they different from me. Some have pillows or cushions they sit on. Me flop on M's ankles. They play with phones and other junk. Me get coffee some mornings - either from the breakfast place or the place where me fall down the stairs. M fidget, so me get to fidget and use M's legs as a climbing frame. Occasionally me sit and listen. But M in something called Fizziks. His Focus skinny and smart-looking, and M spend lots of time swearing under her breath because she frustrated sometimes. But he wear cool glasses, so it okay.
Life with M interesting. Three days we get up and go visit a big-brick place with littler learners and Foci who now awake. Me stay close to M. Me no know them.
Me proud of M. M no procrastinate so far, and she happier. More content. She sleep better when she sleep and she smile more. Stress - damn fool maniac - has been very quiet. She sleepy - sometime she no sleep - but she okay. She keep up.
And she feed me fiber on a regular occasion.
Still stingy on the coffee.
M ready to scoop out insides with a spork. She eat something and tummy make *annoyingslightlypainfulbutmostlyannoyingashellgrumblingandsoundlikehungry* noise. She turn a fun pink color.
She also turn pink because the boy she likes is sitting by her. He could have sat a row over, but he sit next to her. M going to do an experiment to see if he keep doing it on his own. That why she science-y. But she nervous, too. She no want to read too much into it. She no want to be wrong.
And she almost don't want to be right.
Friday, February 5, 2010
The Entity Known as Fat Pants
I will admit that I am, on occasion, courageous, fearless (to a degree) and confident of myself and the way that I present that to the world. By no means does this imply that I have complete and total body peace with myself (something we all struggle with at times, some more than others) but, like everything in life that deals at some point with emotions and such things, I have my good days and my bad ones.
This being said while I snack on Cinnamon Streusel Frosted Mini-Wheats because A) They're good when they're dry and B) FIBER! I have an interesting digestive system, which, being almost a year since my last medical test, I'm rather used to. And so are those who are around me at meal times.
Now, there are quite a few body parts related to the words meals, food, sustenance and they are not all good. At least, for women.
Fat Pants. Everybody's got 'em. But not everybody likes 'em.
Since I don't know many people who will willingly discuss the Entity Known as Fat Pants with complete and total strangers, I will gladly go down that road myself. Everybody has a favorite pair of jeans in their closet. There the ones that, when you feel like you're on top of the world (higher than Trump's ridiculous toupee, even) give you the extra bounce in your step, the extra confidence that shows in the set of your shoulders and the way that you carry yourself. If your a single woman, you put a little more swing in your hips. If you're a married woman, well, you still put a little more swing in your hips because it feels good. The pants make you feel great. (I highly recommend to anyone to read Ann Brashare's The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants because it is excellent and can prove several points about friendship, body image, and total kick-ass ability ingrained in all of us as women - and men, too, but mostly women.)
I actually have two favorite pairs of pants - a light wash, and a dark wash. The light wash jeans are currently on my body.
These, because they are the favorites, are the ones that it's all right to notice the hint of that lovable back fat area that we all aren't crazy about, or the sight of the love handles that we try so hard to lose. That's okay, because they hug the assets in all the right places and with my Converse on, I feel pretty damn invincible in these pants when the situation calls for it.
On the other hand, there are those days when you just feel like nothing can go right. Where, as you're looking through your closet, nothing that you want to wear is going to cover the stuff that you can't seem to get off your mind - my hips look huge; my muffin tops are going to stick out; I really like this shirt, and I want to wear it, but I don't want it to look awkward. And for the days when we feel bloated out of our mind for whatever reason, and we just don't feel like making an effort because everything just seems drawn and tired - enter the Fat Pants.
The Fat Pants. They live in the bottom of our dressers, in the backs of our closet, and for those days when we need something with a little give in a world that pushes constantly, they're just the perfect thing. These, are my Fat Pants.
Let's take a look at the tag.
52% Ramie
27% Cotton
18% Polyester
2% Spandex
1% Rayon
Made in China
Size: 14
See Reverse for Care
I bought these things at Barbara Moss, and they have some great give to them. Perfect for coming up over the muffin tops and disguising the back fat. And they're dark wash, so they hide imperfections and stains from whatever life decides to hurl my way. They're good pants. The bottoms of the legs are a little worn from where I step on them, but still, they're good pants. They're my Fat Pants. I wear these bad boys when I'm having a bad day and I need to hide.
And that's a crazy idea, isn't it? Hiding in our clothes. Crazy. Laying on sweatshirts and other shapeless pieces because we don't like the way we look, because we don't feel as good as we should in our skin. So we hide. It's crazy, isn't it? The things that people do because they want to hide their imperfections from the rest of the world because it's not okay to be the way they are. Why would somebody want to do that to themselves?
For as much as we ask that question aloud - be it to an empty dorm room or a room full of people for a common goal of gaining body peace (and peace of mind, too) - there's not one person who can readily answer that truthfully without looking and sounding like a hypocrite. Because I can guarantee that in each and every closet there is a pair of pants or some other form of clothing designed for the specific purpose of hiding.
I know many a confident, courageous woman. And still, we have things like Fat Pants.
So, I have another dare for you. I dare you, each and every one of you reading this, I dare you that each morning, when you stand at your closet and your dresser, deciding what to wear for the day, when you pick up an item of clothing, instead of saying what's wrong or ugly with it on your body, remind yourself of why you bought it. Did you buy it because it was your favorite color? Did you buy it because it showcased you in a way that made you stand a little straighter? Like you wanted every eye to be on you, instead of trying to blend into the background? Remind you, as you stand there, of the ways that you are beautiful and unique. Remind yourself of the way that your body curves, since, if it didn't...well, you'd probably resemble a man. And, honestly, no self-respecting woman really wants to overtly resemble a man any more than they have to.
We are made individually different. And for that, we are beautiful. So put the Fat Pants back in the closet, stand up straight, stare the world in the eye, and say, Now what?
[If you really want a challenge - Leave the Fat Pants in the closet for as long as you can. Get a friend and have a contest of who can leave their hiding clothes hidden in the longest. Who knows - Go so long without finding them, and you might lose them. Be a shame, wouldn't it?]
This being said while I snack on Cinnamon Streusel Frosted Mini-Wheats because A) They're good when they're dry and B) FIBER! I have an interesting digestive system, which, being almost a year since my last medical test, I'm rather used to. And so are those who are around me at meal times.
Now, there are quite a few body parts related to the words meals, food, sustenance and they are not all good. At least, for women.
Fat Pants. Everybody's got 'em. But not everybody likes 'em.
Since I don't know many people who will willingly discuss the Entity Known as Fat Pants with complete and total strangers, I will gladly go down that road myself. Everybody has a favorite pair of jeans in their closet. There the ones that, when you feel like you're on top of the world (higher than Trump's ridiculous toupee, even) give you the extra bounce in your step, the extra confidence that shows in the set of your shoulders and the way that you carry yourself. If your a single woman, you put a little more swing in your hips. If you're a married woman, well, you still put a little more swing in your hips because it feels good. The pants make you feel great. (I highly recommend to anyone to read Ann Brashare's The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants because it is excellent and can prove several points about friendship, body image, and total kick-ass ability ingrained in all of us as women - and men, too, but mostly women.)
I actually have two favorite pairs of pants - a light wash, and a dark wash. The light wash jeans are currently on my body.
These, because they are the favorites, are the ones that it's all right to notice the hint of that lovable back fat area that we all aren't crazy about, or the sight of the love handles that we try so hard to lose. That's okay, because they hug the assets in all the right places and with my Converse on, I feel pretty damn invincible in these pants when the situation calls for it.
On the other hand, there are those days when you just feel like nothing can go right. Where, as you're looking through your closet, nothing that you want to wear is going to cover the stuff that you can't seem to get off your mind - my hips look huge; my muffin tops are going to stick out; I really like this shirt, and I want to wear it, but I don't want it to look awkward. And for the days when we feel bloated out of our mind for whatever reason, and we just don't feel like making an effort because everything just seems drawn and tired - enter the Fat Pants.
The Fat Pants. They live in the bottom of our dressers, in the backs of our closet, and for those days when we need something with a little give in a world that pushes constantly, they're just the perfect thing. These, are my Fat Pants.
Let's take a look at the tag.
52% Ramie
27% Cotton
18% Polyester
2% Spandex
1% Rayon
Made in China
Size: 14
See Reverse for Care
I bought these things at Barbara Moss, and they have some great give to them. Perfect for coming up over the muffin tops and disguising the back fat. And they're dark wash, so they hide imperfections and stains from whatever life decides to hurl my way. They're good pants. The bottoms of the legs are a little worn from where I step on them, but still, they're good pants. They're my Fat Pants. I wear these bad boys when I'm having a bad day and I need to hide.
And that's a crazy idea, isn't it? Hiding in our clothes. Crazy. Laying on sweatshirts and other shapeless pieces because we don't like the way we look, because we don't feel as good as we should in our skin. So we hide. It's crazy, isn't it? The things that people do because they want to hide their imperfections from the rest of the world because it's not okay to be the way they are. Why would somebody want to do that to themselves?
For as much as we ask that question aloud - be it to an empty dorm room or a room full of people for a common goal of gaining body peace (and peace of mind, too) - there's not one person who can readily answer that truthfully without looking and sounding like a hypocrite. Because I can guarantee that in each and every closet there is a pair of pants or some other form of clothing designed for the specific purpose of hiding.
I know many a confident, courageous woman. And still, we have things like Fat Pants.
So, I have another dare for you. I dare you, each and every one of you reading this, I dare you that each morning, when you stand at your closet and your dresser, deciding what to wear for the day, when you pick up an item of clothing, instead of saying what's wrong or ugly with it on your body, remind yourself of why you bought it. Did you buy it because it was your favorite color? Did you buy it because it showcased you in a way that made you stand a little straighter? Like you wanted every eye to be on you, instead of trying to blend into the background? Remind you, as you stand there, of the ways that you are beautiful and unique. Remind yourself of the way that your body curves, since, if it didn't...well, you'd probably resemble a man. And, honestly, no self-respecting woman really wants to overtly resemble a man any more than they have to.
We are made individually different. And for that, we are beautiful. So put the Fat Pants back in the closet, stand up straight, stare the world in the eye, and say, Now what?
[If you really want a challenge - Leave the Fat Pants in the closet for as long as you can. Get a friend and have a contest of who can leave their hiding clothes hidden in the longest. Who knows - Go so long without finding them, and you might lose them. Be a shame, wouldn't it?]
Things to Know VIII
I have given my Focus a name. His name is Murfee. You can probably see how this relates to my life in general.
I haven't written anything brand-spankin' new in anything that I have (Murphy and Me, Sage, The Crossing, An Adventuring Focus) since I came back to college because I stopped procrastinating and actually do my work when I need to.
Because I have stopped procrastinating, I actually sleep at night.
Because I actually sleep at night, I function better in the morning when I have to be on the road at 7:15.
I only bought Starbucks coffee one day this week.
I only bought coffee today because I didn't remember to take my travel mug with me when I left the room this morning.
Remembered earlier why I don't eat lunch. Though the eggplant was pretty good. At least, I think it was eggplant....
Neal Caffrey (Matt Bomer) is indeed abso-friggin'-lutely ADORABLE!!!
A bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Apple Cider looks remarkably like a bottle of champagne from about six feet away.
Ral Foster is a stubborn S.O.B. And Jack's not much better.
I'm going home this weekend.
My floormate (basically my roommate that lives across in the hall in her own single and that I don't have to see 24/7 but almost do anyways) created a Relay for Life team titled Jackson 4.5 of which I am now a part of.
I consider the fact that I am now signed up for Relay for Life just cause in not going to the Hope Ball tomorrow and instead going home this weekend to spend time with my family and the Mayhem Maker.
Must remember to stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way through and get said Mayhem Maker a donut that is both frosted and has sprinkles.
Could quite possibly have writer's block.
There is currently a car alarm going off in the parking lot four floors below. This is not my car, because my car was built before car alarms.
I over-estimated the temperature outside my window. Therefore, when I bought my pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Cheesecake Brownie, the Redneck Freezer was not at maximum functioning capacity. Sadly, it hasn't fallen off the ledge yet.
I have no sense of direction.
Whenever Em and I go anywhere it winds up being an adventure. And we're both okay with this.
I haven't written anything brand-spankin' new in anything that I have (Murphy and Me, Sage, The Crossing, An Adventuring Focus) since I came back to college because I stopped procrastinating and actually do my work when I need to.
Because I have stopped procrastinating, I actually sleep at night.
Because I actually sleep at night, I function better in the morning when I have to be on the road at 7:15.
I only bought Starbucks coffee one day this week.
I only bought coffee today because I didn't remember to take my travel mug with me when I left the room this morning.
Remembered earlier why I don't eat lunch. Though the eggplant was pretty good. At least, I think it was eggplant....
Neal Caffrey (Matt Bomer) is indeed abso-friggin'-lutely ADORABLE!!!
A bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Apple Cider looks remarkably like a bottle of champagne from about six feet away.
Ral Foster is a stubborn S.O.B. And Jack's not much better.
I'm going home this weekend.
My floormate (basically my roommate that lives across in the hall in her own single and that I don't have to see 24/7 but almost do anyways) created a Relay for Life team titled Jackson 4.5 of which I am now a part of.
I consider the fact that I am now signed up for Relay for Life just cause in not going to the Hope Ball tomorrow and instead going home this weekend to spend time with my family and the Mayhem Maker.
Must remember to stop at Dunkin Donuts on the way through and get said Mayhem Maker a donut that is both frosted and has sprinkles.
Could quite possibly have writer's block.
There is currently a car alarm going off in the parking lot four floors below. This is not my car, because my car was built before car alarms.
I over-estimated the temperature outside my window. Therefore, when I bought my pint of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Cheesecake Brownie, the Redneck Freezer was not at maximum functioning capacity. Sadly, it hasn't fallen off the ledge yet.
I have no sense of direction.
Whenever Em and I go anywhere it winds up being an adventure. And we're both okay with this.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Sweet, Sweet Dreams
I don't normally talk about my dreams. And by dreams I mean the shit that my mind comes up with when I'm buried under the comforter and completely oblivious to the outside world, not the hopes and aspirations that I want to one day achieve. While my mind can (and does) come up with some odd things at times (including but not limited to: Running for my life in a variety of places for a variety of reasons that are never fully explained; being in a slightly modified episode of Stargate: Atlantis in which Ronon is sitting on my back porch blasting Wraith as they come out of the woods; being arrested multiple times after running for my life and winding up in the back of a taxi cab in NYC; more Wraith; and that really funky one where I was gamboling around my high school looking for my boyfriend at the time and finding him mackin' on another girl behind the curtain in the auditorium....) but last night's was different. And It was different in the sense that it was, for lack of a better phrase, normal. It had a normalcy to it that, if I really stop and think deeply, probably scares the hell out of me.
Now, a lot of the times the places in my dreams are a little hazy, especially if it's not important. But this was set in a lounge of some sort, like you'd find in a college dorm complex. And there was a guy, and I now know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Louise. I don't really think I need to hear what you're going to say next. Really, that might be flirting with this little thing called TMI...
But it's not, because the only thing that was happening between me and this guy in this lounge was that we were simply, honestly....snuggling. Cuddling, whatever you want to call it (I could probably break out the dictionary, but that might be overkill), we were just simply sitting there, occasionally holding hands, but mostly just sharing a common space. And what really struck me was how I felt. I felt warm. Safe. And, above all else (and this is probably what freaks me out the most) I had this overwhelming sense of happiness. Almost rival to the feeling that I get when I see my family or when I build with blocks with Mads. It was this wonderful, rich, happiness that just made you glow from the inside out. And I was smiling, and I was genuinely, wonderfully happy with where I was at the moment. I literally didn't have any other care or worries. It was like we were in a bubble.
And then I woke up (with some assistance from my phone and it's Twitter updates, and there's really only one person that I follow via my phone who's also up at 6:30 in the morning) and I was literally freezing. I was under the comforter, under the sheet and the Giants blanket, and I was still cold like I'd been sleeping out in the snow. And the feeling of utter happiness and contentment that I had found with this person (who was pretty damn cute, too, like a cross between Anton Yelchin [Star Trek, Alpha Dog] and a college soccer player [Not the one you were thinking of, Heather]) was faded, almost completely gone.
I think what scares me the most about something like this, was that I feel like I've had a taste of that kind of happiness before. On a few, occasions, actually, and even though I feel like I might explode with joy when I see Mads, this is different. This...this fills a different part of you that you really didn't know that you had.
When I take a moment, step away, and look back on the relationships that I've had - one guy off and on for three years, a psuedo-no-idea-what-the-hell-this-is-and-don't-want-to-examine-it, and a two-week fling thing a year ago - I'm reminded of a quote from Sally from Practical Magic. It's when she's writing a letter to her sister.
"Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don't know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon." - Sally
I'm twenty. I'm not entirely sure I should really feel this way. But what can you do?
Now, a lot of the times the places in my dreams are a little hazy, especially if it's not important. But this was set in a lounge of some sort, like you'd find in a college dorm complex. And there was a guy, and I now know what you're thinking. You're thinking, Louise. I don't really think I need to hear what you're going to say next. Really, that might be flirting with this little thing called TMI...
But it's not, because the only thing that was happening between me and this guy in this lounge was that we were simply, honestly....snuggling. Cuddling, whatever you want to call it (I could probably break out the dictionary, but that might be overkill), we were just simply sitting there, occasionally holding hands, but mostly just sharing a common space. And what really struck me was how I felt. I felt warm. Safe. And, above all else (and this is probably what freaks me out the most) I had this overwhelming sense of happiness. Almost rival to the feeling that I get when I see my family or when I build with blocks with Mads. It was this wonderful, rich, happiness that just made you glow from the inside out. And I was smiling, and I was genuinely, wonderfully happy with where I was at the moment. I literally didn't have any other care or worries. It was like we were in a bubble.
And then I woke up (with some assistance from my phone and it's Twitter updates, and there's really only one person that I follow via my phone who's also up at 6:30 in the morning) and I was literally freezing. I was under the comforter, under the sheet and the Giants blanket, and I was still cold like I'd been sleeping out in the snow. And the feeling of utter happiness and contentment that I had found with this person (who was pretty damn cute, too, like a cross between Anton Yelchin [Star Trek, Alpha Dog] and a college soccer player [Not the one you were thinking of, Heather]) was faded, almost completely gone.
I think what scares me the most about something like this, was that I feel like I've had a taste of that kind of happiness before. On a few, occasions, actually, and even though I feel like I might explode with joy when I see Mads, this is different. This...this fills a different part of you that you really didn't know that you had.
When I take a moment, step away, and look back on the relationships that I've had - one guy off and on for three years, a psuedo-no-idea-what-the-hell-this-is-and-don't-want-to-examine-it, and a two-week fling thing a year ago - I'm reminded of a quote from Sally from Practical Magic. It's when she's writing a letter to her sister.
"Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn. I think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean. The moon tonight, there's a circle around it. Sign of trouble not far behind. I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still sometimes, when the wind is warm or the crickets sing... I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen. I don't know. Maybe I had my happiness. I don't want to believe it but, there is no man, Gilly. Only that moon." - Sally
I'm twenty. I'm not entirely sure I should really feel this way. But what can you do?
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