On the Weekend

Don't ask. We didn't take any good pictures that night. I tried. But know that these two people are the two most beautiful people I know.  

apparently, I'm too pale for cameras. 

All ages shows make me feel old. 

Friday. Really fun night. The owner of the PS Lounge remembered me and K from last week and bought us drinks while Em and J ate at the Thai place, so that was nice. Then the concert happened. Em and J danced, K and I danced. I was blissfully happy. I love my friends. I love my life.  

Saturday. We ran errands - made a Costco run, ate burritos, washed the car (not mine, of course). I babysat. The little girls are always such a delight. 

Today. Woke up at 5. Made some muffins. Snowboarding with K, K, and E, Friends-giving in the evening. Cranberries turned out alright! 

Can you tell I'm too tired to actually type words? Going to bed early. Going to be a productive human being tomorrow. (maybe)

Day three. We're going to get this by the end of the season, I promise. 

I guess I enjoy standing in front of people and blocking them in pictures. 

Em, K, me, K, day 3, Breckenridge

On Collecting Thoughts

...this is a post full of random thoughts. Nothing cohesive and certainly no structure. non-apologies, in advance.

Driving home last night, I saw the leaves strewn about on the road and I realized that it's really fall. Apparently, the massive amounts of pumpkin spice lattes I've been consuming have done nothing to drive that home.

That said, I have no idea what I'm going to be for Halloween and I'm started to stress about it. I was Snow White for three of the past four years, which worked out really well. I missed last year, which was a relief creatively and a major bummer in all other ways.

Any thoughts?


It's like that scene from the movie Mean Girls where she shows up at the party dressed in costume, and all the other girls are wearing lingerie and ears.

(linked here - not the best, but whatever. I'm at work, trying to shove ravioli down my throat and type at the same time.)


I want something with a lot of fake blood, or something funny, or something super clever. My friend E has some pants that are her "smarty-pants"...she painstakingly glued packages of Smarties candy all over them. That's cute. I don't want to do that, though.

I don't want to be anything slutty...like a slutty cop. I've never understood that. Besides, furry handcuffs are lame. But then again, I could be Lieutenant Dangle from Reno! 911. That's slutty and a cop. But not in the way you'd expect.

I was 0 for 2 at going out this weekend, so perhaps that's why the party itch is so strong for a Monday. Friday and Saturday were both "let's drunk dial Katie and tell her how much fun we're having and invite her out at ridiculous hours" nights. Boo. Responsibility is so overrated.

Long bike ride with Mike on Friday evening. My Camelbak started leaking down my back nearly immediately after we left the house, and by 7th Avenue, it was dripping down my legs when I stood up. Thankfully, it was a warm night, but it made for a very uncomfortable ride. I hope the weather holds long enough that we'll be able to do a few more of those before it gets too cold.

On the plus side, I did a ton of laundry and cleaning this weekend. My closet is actually being used as a closet. I just don't get why people hang clothes up. But I'm doing it. We'll see how long this lasts.

I was out having dinner on Broadway with R the other night, and he asked me if I'd ever gotten my second bookshelf put together (he built the first one for me back in February - I'd like to interject that I was in the middle of doing it myself, but he interrupted and finished it. I can dig that kind of masculine projection. It saves me some work). I looked back at him and smiled, "I've been meaning to call you about that." He laughed at me. You'll notice he didn't build it for me, though. So that's my goal  for tonight. Consider my handyman independence fostered.

Btw, 8tracks.com is my saving grace at work. And so is this mix: 

Love to all, and Happy Monday!

Sublimation. Or the Gray Area I Call Home.

When you're younger, the answer is always easy.

Second grade math problems are just like all others: there is only one answer.

You're either right.

Or you're wrong.

You learn the opposites. Hot. Cold. High. Low. But you never really learn about the states in between.

Adulthood is a great languishing.

Of course, there are highs and lows and hots and colds. But mostly, there's a lot of nothingness. It's the kind of nothingness that stems from the fact that you thought it would be all hots or colds. Or highs or lows. It's not always a bad nothingness, not at all. It just is. There's certainly room for debate, for argument, for decision making (steak or chicken? reply today or tomorrow?), for progressive thought. All of these are followed by fits and starts of manic activity (sometimes solely contained within the still hopeful mind).

The melancholic side of the nothingness brings about the inevitable introspection, which leads to planning, which leads....back. And sometimes, a little change is enacted and you've suddenly reverted from melancholic nothingness to that blissful nothingness, where everything is calm and smooth and beautiful.

For a time.

Alas, we've arrived back in the gray area.

There are no answers.

There exists no right, no wrong. We're all waging war against opinions.

After pining and creating this odd little relationship (that isn't one, he'll be quick to add), everything has fallen into place.

Or out of place, perfectly.

Whichever is a more apt statement.

He came this weekend.

He met Mom and Dad and Mike and G and AJ.

I met his friends.

He stayed at my house five nights (all except for Friday) - which was something I definitely did not expect and something that wildly pleased me.

He told me he wasn't going to be with any other girls.

I smiled.

We began to think ahead (a bit), based on the thought that he may end up back in Denver as soon as January. Would I be his girlfriend then?

The cracks appeared, began to show and spread.

With my detective hat on, I began putting clues together.

It's a minor incident, but it may very well be the deal breaker that ends it all.

It's seriously little better than an episode of the children's show Blue's Clues.

Clue #1 was a chance glance, a peek. Too bad I'm an incredibly quick reader.

Intrigued but not irate, I put it aside.

Clues #2 and #3 were more tangible. A story of a meeting, an incorrect name. There it was again, my brain flagged it. And three pushed me over the edge.

What's wrong? he asked me as I sat slumped, nauseous from the ill-advised blood donation without any food. I guess he gets points for discerning anger through nausea.

We talked. He told me she was a girl he knew in college.

I'm no moron.

Our night continued with his promise of some modern form of long-distance fidelity.

After he left, I spoke to one of my co-workers, a woman I have mad respect for, who told me, "Honey, let me tell you something. They never grow up. Trust me." Great.

I spoke to one of my dear friends in Chicago. "You need someone who impresses you. Who gets you. Who respects every single inch of you." I asked her why it is that I have such terrible taste in men. She laughed. "Daddy issues. You can totally blame it all on him. I certainly do." We commiserated over the fact that there are so few intelligent, mature, responsible, fun, adventurous, adorable, assertive-yet-not-an-asshole men.

I called him on it last night. I told him that it wasn't the other woman (but it is, and we all know that) but it was the lie (that's a serious violation for me. I don't lie, cheat, or steal, and I expect the people I associate with to do the same). The words "trust" "respect" and "honesty" dominated my appeal. I remained calm, collected and clear (odd, right?). I laid out the situation. I laid out why I was angry. I listened to his responses, called him on his bullshit, and told him I didn't know how I wanted him to fix it. I told him I was too angry with him to cry. I pushed him. I'm glad I did.

Frustrated and tired, I told him I had to sleep. Of course I didn't. I stared at the dim screen of my laptop while it played reruns of 30 Rock.

Today, I woke up numb and even more exhausted, if that's at all possible.

Dragging through the morning, doing my very first support bit - eek! I'm going to have to start handling technical issues with our product, and as exciting as it is, it's really scary, too! - and then it came. The buzzing of my phone. I didn't look. Three more buzzes lead me to believe something catastrophic may have happened or that I'd just received a novella.

It was in fact that latter.

A novella of contrition. Of admission. Of (his) understanding (of the situation). A little bit of my anger melted away when he admitted that he's been taking me for granted, and that last night made him realize how much he stands to lose if I bail. (duh, I'm Katie Barry)

I'm still hurt, still annoyed, still frustrated. But it's salvageable, I think. We spoke again at lunch today, a soft, quiet conversation. But positive. Communication is not a bad thing. But my bullshit meter is on high alert (threat level orange).

And while I am well aware that this may be one of my more fantastic mistakes, I also think it's a fantastic adventure. Sorry, Mom, I know you've tried tactfully to hide your disapproval, but it's going to be awhile before this is over.

Welcome to life in the Gray Area (I'm imagining that it must be something like the Twilight Zone, although I'm not entirely certain).

The Weekend Wrap Up: Nightmares and Expectations

The twins that I babysit for always use "sleeps" as a way to countdown to things, like the next time you'll see someone.

Two sleeps until S comes! I've been out of sorts (and in my head) about this whole ordeal for the past few days, and it will be nice to reset all of that.

Ready for last night's real live nightmare?

I was at G and G's house - but it was all dark, just like you'd imagine a dungeon. And M, Dad, and I were all sitting stiffly at the table. I had my hands clenched in my lap.

We were talking to G and G and there were Christmas decorations everywhere.

Then, she told us the reason she'd invited us. She spread her arm out, bent at the elbow, sweeping toward the living room.

Our heads turned in unison.

There, in the living room, were the scattered remains of their Christmas celebration. Papers, boxes, plates of food, all glinting under the eerily twinkling lights of the Christmas tree. She'd invited us over to clean it up.

I woke up breathing heavily, convincing myself it wasn't real.

It's not real.

It's oddly telling, though.

I wish my brain could stop chewing on it, though, and just swallow it so I don't have to taste my own bitterness every day.

*breathes deeply, thinks inner peace*

On a positive note, I went to IKEA this weekend! Emily and I woke up early on Sunday and headed out there before they opened (good call - no lines, parking, etc.). We went into the cafe to have $1.99 breakfast and .50c coffee, then somehow ended up going through IKEA backwards. But it was lovely. I got a new duvet - white with gray flowers on it - and new gray sheets. I also picked up wineglasses so I won't have to serve guests in my everyday drinking glasses anymore.

It was fun and busy.

I really enjoy all of their odds and ends and kitchen things more than I enjoy anything else.

$5 for 6 wineglasses will get me every time.

I was at Mom's house yesterday doing my 1800 loads of laundry for the week, and we were chatting. It's nice to have someone so wizened to bounce ideas off of. I came away from our conversation reminding myself that I'm 23. I think I forget that sometimes. It's not so much that I'd like to be older, it's that I measure myself against people who have five or ten years on me and wonder why I don't match up. So for today, I am trying to embrace 23, however one embraces something intangible like that.

I also came away from our conversation very curious about what other G has to say about S.

But let's save that for after his visit - I can only imagine how this going to go. He's meeting Dad and J on Wednesday, and I haven't told him that yet. And then he's meeting Mom on Thursday. Ah, well, surprise surprise!

Odds and Ends. Weekend Edition!

Oh Friday, the promise of a weekend that will fly by too quickly, that sense of release building in your body, the way your mind floats around, outside, like a lost bird.

I imagine that prisoners must start anticipating their release date months in advance, and I can only imagine the immensity of the first footfalls outside the gates.

That is overly dramatic, but that is how I feel on Fridays.

I'd like to have a quick chat with you, dear reader, about sacrifices.

Because right now, I am considering myself god-like. (And by god-like, I mean Jesus-like - it's all part of the holy trinity, so I'm technically correct. Full of hubris, of course, but correct.)

I am missing the ONE concert I'd like to see at Red Rocks this year to go to Barney's Birthday Bash live at the Pepsi Center with three small children. I love them dearly, but I'm so creeped out by things in costumes. Like mascots. And giant purple dinosaurs and their primary colored friends.

So creeped out.

Don't know I'm going to explain why I'm covering my eyes with my hands and peering through my fingers.

Ah, Slightly Stoopid and Shwayze - I've been dying to see you. I guess that want will have to slowly simmer inside me until next year.

I already have the "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family," song stuck in my head.

In future news:

I'm excited. S will be here in a week and a half (ish)! And he's meeting Mom. I think he's more scared to meet Mike. I told him that I'll do way more damage to him than Mike ever will. And I'm not wrong.

I've not been this twitterpated since, well, the college boyfriend. I mean, that ended poorly, but it was fun while it lasted, which was a good long while. Someone was asking me about my past relationships, and it was weird to think that I spent most of college in monogamous relationships - there was D and H, both of whom lasted between a year and a year in half. For someone with my attention span, that's remarkable.

But this kid is driving me nuts. Usually in a good way. Ugh. I secretly don't like this vulnerability, although it's kind of nice. There I go, reinforcing gender stereotypes. Don't worry too much, I'm not going to go all soft on you.

Not yet.

I hope you're eagerly anticipating the Barney recap. I know I am.

Odds and Ends and Saturdays

I got an email from Mama P this morning. You'll remember Priscilla, my absolutely insanely wonderful host mother in South Africa.
Her emails are always short and to the point. They never say much, but I'm grateful for them. Today she said that the weather is turning cold, and to say hello to Mike and James Dean for her. I laughed out loud when I read the last bit; I had completely forgotten about that. So here's how it goes:

The night that James was coming to pick me up for our first date, I realized I had no idea what his name was. I knew it was either James or Dean. So we had all just referred to him as James Dean the entire week. I realized that this was eventually going to present a problem, so I called him, and luckily, he didn't answer his phone. Voicemail clued me in on his real name and that was that. But we still called James Dean.

It's amazing how much I miss that place. I know it will never be the same, but it will always have a beautiful place in my heart. I want to get back there, to stand at Muizenberg Beach and feel the waves crash against my feet and fight my way onto the train and off again.

However, my life here is growing daily. While I like that I'm learning a lot at my current job, I'm not satisfied with the compensation and have taken on babysitting to make extra cash. (This supports my lifestyle, which you may be surprised to hear isn't quite as wild as you might think.) Anyway, I've got four families in the rotation and the balancing act is getting a bit hectic.

This week, for example, I will be working all seven days. And twice this week I had to go straight from work to babysit. The other nights I went directly home and was in bed relatively early. It's all fine and well, but I'm not getting any decompression time and am beginning to get a bit stressed.
Hopefully this week will provide ample opportunity for sleep as I'm not scheduled to work any week days.

Alas, today brings more babysitting, volunteering at a choir concert that one of my co-workers is singing in, and then date night. And tomorrow brings babysitting.
I really love the families that I'm sitting for this weekend - I find it much easier to babysit when I'm actually enjoying myself as well. One family has three little girls, and then, of course, there are the twins.   I find myself hoping the symphony season won't end!

Last night, Jacob and I went to see a production of Macbeth at UCD. Jacob was personally invested - he did the music for the show. I went because I waffle back and forth on my hate/love of Shakespeare. This play was pretty well done. The costuming choices were interesting - mostly just corsets - and the cast was tiny, but the leads delivered their lines really well.
After that, we went to an art gallery where they were serving pancakes and alcohol (strange combination, but hey, whatever). After paying $5 to get in and being told that drinks were free - we ended up having to pay $4 for a small cup. Ridiculous. The gallery was cute, but it was trying too hard to replicate the scene in New York. There were topless models being spraypainted (when done properly, it's actually really beautiful), but it just felt like an afterthought, especially as the crowd began to diminish.  After meeting up with our friend Claire and her girlfriend and wandering around looking at some art, we bailed to go dancing.

And so we danced. The night drew to a close, and I was grateful, because the tired had begun creeping through my bones. I went home, said hello to Carlos and Mike, and was asleep nearly immediately. I woke up tired - I didn't get nearly enough sleep. I'm hoping for a nap while I do my laundry.

Tonight, once my obligations are over, I've got a wild night planned (as usual). The guy that I guess I'm dating (I don't know - we eat dinner together sometimes. He made me waffles. I think that counts as sort of edging toward dating?) is going to come down from Boulder (and maybe bring his adorable dog!) and we're going to go see Claire's band play and then (depending on how tired I am or how bored he is) head to a weird art gallery/warehouse for a space party ordeal.

Jacob is super into the electronic scene, which means I find myself at a lot of events. I joking called it a "space cult" based on the theme of the first party he invited me to. Now, we call them space parties. They're not really - just a bunch of people in a room listening to really good (or really bad, depending) music and maybe drinking.

And yes, we may have to relocate Carlos for the evening. Jacob is more than happy to babysit and Carlos has been itching to get out and explore.

Act Two, Scene Saturday

The lights go down, the audience hushes singularly, as though their murmurs were a group effort and not individual conversation. Soft music pipes from somewhere behind, some sort of jazz, fast paced yet slow enough to keep the moment. The lucky patrons in the front row can smell the faintest hint of cigarette smoke floating behind the curtain. It opens, then, when no one is expecting it, flung back with a great flourish. The light comes from somewhere above the stage, no shadows, only the four players gathered around the little coffee table and on it, the board.

One of them rolls, haphazardly, her eyes twinkling mischievious as she stares in his direction. The hotels are upset by her dice, flying everywhere, causing the blond one to yell in frustration. It's girls against boys, and the tension in the room is obvious. Back and forth, the money changes hands, back and forth. They roll, move their little pieces down the allotted number of spaces, letting fate choose for them. He's unlucky, they've decided, every roll of his brings the impending disaster of financial ruin closer and closer to their team. Blue eyes find his brown, and she giggles, knowing he knows there's no way out. She shifts, the floor suddenly too uncomfortable for her, sliding her foot under his leg and letting it rest there, as if she doesn't feel his weight on it. She waits, taking a sip of her poison while the brunette rolls. His hand finds her ankle, then slides up, silent acknowledgement of her move. There is more than one game going on at this little table, and they are lucky players, testing strategy versus fate. This continues for some time, the rolling, the yells, the agony, the joy as the girls finally begin to take the upper hand. Their properties are all bedecked with hotels, while the unlucky boys have been forced to mortgage most of theirs. When they concede, the girls high five and hug, pulling their piled money closer to them to take the final count. There is no uneasy silence, only the soft moans of defeat and the ecstatic squealing of girls who came back to take it. She's lucky, and she knows it, sitting there, slididng her foot up his leg.

The fan is on, the windows open, so the three of them, two pretty girls and the unlucky man, find themselves sitting out in the perfect city night. There are no stars, obviously, city living takes the wonderful away, but the sounds of distant sirens and cars bring another feeling to the situation. They are comfortable, surrounded by darkness on their well-lit porch. They wait, and then throw the remains as far over the fence as they can, hoping they'll land in the street and be forgotten until morning. The brunette with the brown eyes makes her excuses, blaming the need for sleep, and goes inside. The two of them, both dark haired, somewhere between black and brown, sit there a minute longer, lingering over nothing.

She takes her spot, perching on the couch under piles of blankets and stacks of pillows. He joins her, unexpectedly, but to her delight and hopefully his. They put in the movie they fell asleep to the night before, and wait as the blond one checks his email and goes to sleep. They lay there, on the couch, under the blankets, and let their hands find each other. He puts his hand on her shoulder, rubbing gently, as she puts hers on his stomach, unmoving but comfortable. And when he is finally gone, and they hear the door down the hall close, he leans in toward her face and kisses her. Her eyes close, and for the next few minutes, or hours, they make the soft advances they are allowed. Just kissing, only eyes and ears and lips and necks, hands find backs and shoulders and arms and finally other hands, and she opens her eyes and stares into his. They laugh, there's something funny now, a giggle here, a whispered word in his ear.

And they fall asleep content.
As his slow snore fills the little liviing room, the jazz music that had faded after the Monopoly game slowly starts to overtake their breathing, and the curtain drops.