Two posts this morning in Cape Town newspapers that deliver a shocking look into the state of gender affairs in this country.
Gender and sexuality-related violence seems to be a global issue.
The sterilisation article seems to highlight an issue that is more localized, although I know that birth control and other related (medical, invasive and otherwise) issues will be a fight between women and government for years to come.
http://www.iol.co.za/?art_id=vn20100916043709577C671043
(Woman Sterilized Without Her Permission)
Cape Times
http://www.iol.co.za/?art_id=vn20100916072627686C184866
(Killers Escape)
Worth reading both of these articles. They both raise questions about the judicial system's effectiveness at thwarting crimes and then its ability to maintain control over judicial proceedings, including handling and transport of prisoners.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Transgender Love
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/12/fashion/12Love.html?src=me&ref=style
Above is a link to a New York Times article I found interesting. It's about the relationship between a lesbian-identifying woman and her female to male transsexual partner, from a sexual reassignment surgery (sort of) to the breakup, extending as far as the aftermath of the breakup.
It's interesting to realize that the lifespan of a relationship is similar across much of the spectrum of sexuality; no matter what kind of person is involved in the relationship, it still manifests itself with the same standard characteristics: original attraction, change, monotony, finality, guilt, etc.
I hope you'll enjoy the article as much as I did.
Above is a link to a New York Times article I found interesting. It's about the relationship between a lesbian-identifying woman and her female to male transsexual partner, from a sexual reassignment surgery (sort of) to the breakup, extending as far as the aftermath of the breakup.
It's interesting to realize that the lifespan of a relationship is similar across much of the spectrum of sexuality; no matter what kind of person is involved in the relationship, it still manifests itself with the same standard characteristics: original attraction, change, monotony, finality, guilt, etc.
I hope you'll enjoy the article as much as I did.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Since I'll be in Cape Town until the beginning of December, you can track my blog there at:
http://www.katiebarryincapetown.blogspot.com/
Sorry for the temporary move!
http://www.katiebarryincapetown.blogspot.com/
Sorry for the temporary move!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Wingman
Katie has been my best friend since my first day of high school. She was the first person to say hi to me in the hall, and I thought she was a cool kid. I was wrong. (Not that she's not a cool kid, but she wasn't a "cool kid," if that makes any sense. It does to me, probably because it is one of the most vivid memories I've retained in my fourteen year old mind.)
I love her. This sounds ridiculous, but being with her has shown me the true depth of love. I will never settle for a man who doesn't sometimes give me butterflies like she does. It's old and new and never boring.
I went up to Fort Collins last night to see her before I leave for Cape Town. I love the atmosphere of Fort Collins; it's such a funny place but it's so comfortable. Her house is always the same, and I'm always leaving stuff there or forgetting stuf but it's never an issue.
We went out and were soon approached by a lone man. He offered us drinks. We spent a good few minutes scouting out his position at the bar to check for drug-slippage. There was none, but you never can be too sure. We made him switch all the drinks around, which he was glad to do. We drank them and then thanked him and invited him to sit down.
He did. He and Katie hit it off and started talking, playing the question game. One would ask a question, we'd all have to answer, then someone else would ask a question. It went on. Eventually, to his apparent chagrin, his friends came over. Seeing that Katie was in the mood to continue the conversation, I spent the rest of the evening allowing the rest of the guys to sit and talk. Allowing is a strong word. I ran them in circles.
It's rare that you find an honest man. It's even more rare to find an honest man in a bar.
The three guys that made up the main entertainment for the evening were funny, charming, slightly awkward, but genuine. And that means a lot.
And Katie got asked to dinner.
I love her. This sounds ridiculous, but being with her has shown me the true depth of love. I will never settle for a man who doesn't sometimes give me butterflies like she does. It's old and new and never boring.
I went up to Fort Collins last night to see her before I leave for Cape Town. I love the atmosphere of Fort Collins; it's such a funny place but it's so comfortable. Her house is always the same, and I'm always leaving stuff there or forgetting stuf but it's never an issue.
We went out and were soon approached by a lone man. He offered us drinks. We spent a good few minutes scouting out his position at the bar to check for drug-slippage. There was none, but you never can be too sure. We made him switch all the drinks around, which he was glad to do. We drank them and then thanked him and invited him to sit down.
He did. He and Katie hit it off and started talking, playing the question game. One would ask a question, we'd all have to answer, then someone else would ask a question. It went on. Eventually, to his apparent chagrin, his friends came over. Seeing that Katie was in the mood to continue the conversation, I spent the rest of the evening allowing the rest of the guys to sit and talk. Allowing is a strong word. I ran them in circles.
It's rare that you find an honest man. It's even more rare to find an honest man in a bar.
The three guys that made up the main entertainment for the evening were funny, charming, slightly awkward, but genuine. And that means a lot.
It's rare that a man gives you an honest compliment. At some point, there were two interlopers attempting to gain entry to our odd circle. One went the eye route. "Stunning eyes, you've got a Halle Berry thing going on..." and so on. Katie would later refer to him as "Jersey Shore over there." I excused myself for a moment of air and the relative peace of the man-free women's restroom and upon my return, they had left. The two friends of the original guy were quick to say that they didn't like the way the guy had been talking to me. That protectiveness was quite unnecessary, but wholly welcomed.
One of them was surprised to find out that I am twenty two. "You carry yourself like you're older," he said. He extended it to include my intelligence and told me he was impressed by the upcoming South Africa adventure. "It looks like you've got your head on straight," he said. I crossed my fingers and smiled.
It may not have been honest flattery but it certainly made for a comfortable evening full of fast-paced conversation with people who weren't aware of the idea of the end game. I was also told I looked like I could hold my own in a bar fight, which is definitely not true but a sweet sentiment. And Katie got asked to dinner.
Like, a legitimate dinner date. Something that hasn't been seen in the Ft. Collins area since early 2003.
See? Sometimes being the wingman does have serious perks.
Monday, August 23, 2010
...there will be rants
I've got two rants today.
The first one is short and the second will take me all day if don't stop myself.
Numero uno: Last night, I went down to Confluence Park behind REI to cross the fire dancing and drum circle business off my summer bucket list. It was definitely more crowded than I had expected it to be. I would guess that there were a little over a hundred people there. I'm glad we got there late, it wasn't anything wildly exciting, but it was cool to watch the people who dared to perform swing fire around and I've always been a sucker for drumming.
With all of the hippies gathered around me, I was surprised to see the amount of litter that seemed to be accruing throughout the park. It annoyed me. First of all, the weekly summer gathering is a relatively un-minded event; I was actually quite surprised at the lack of police presence despite the population that was gathered there and the amount of weed I'm sure was being consumed. For that, everyone there should have been grateful for the privacy and the peace and should have been a little bit more respectful of the space.
Spilled beer isn't a whole lot, but someone has to pick that litter up.
I drank beer, I walked to a trashcan and put the bottle in. I should have recycled it. I didn't. But I didn't leave it on the concrete steps so that there might have been the possibility that it would have gone into the river. I didn't leave it in the dirt under the tree so that it could languish until cleaned up by someone whose job title most likely does not involve picking up the litter of disrespectful people who should have been happy to be left alone to get high or drunk or whatever or stay sober to watch fire dancing and listen to music.
I'm sure someone isn't taking too kindly to that behavior.
Numero dos:
http://www.denverpost.com/frontpage/ci_15854873
Bruce Randolph, with parental consent, is giving out contraception and emergency contraception. This morning, I was listening to KS107.5 while flipping through radio stations on my way out to pick Mike up, and they were discussing the situation.
And one of the deejays said something about "daughters as sluts." The female deejay tried to say something about it, but she didn't put up a fight at all and let it go. So they continued to comment on it and I really didn't appreciate it.
Pregnancy is a huge deal. Teen pregnancy is a bigger deal.
People calling girls who try to be proactive about protection and contraception "sluts" is ridiculous. It's disrespect on a whole new level and it shows that there are still double standards in place as far as gender expectations go.
As a woman, I find it horrifying that should I want to protect myself from pregnancy, I might risk being labelled a whore. I think the girls who reach out to accept the contraception are making mature decisions and should be rewarded with respect and fair treatment.
For young girls today, the pressure to be sexually active is immense. While I'm not arguing that the pressure isn't equally immense if not more so for young men, girls are hit with the inability to maintain the sexual habits that their male counterparts are allowed. And with the use of the word maintain, I mean that there are social stigmas attached to girls who wish to engage in sexual behavior. Society in this way reinforces the restrictions for women but glorifies young men who are able to attract larger numbers of sexual partners.
It's annoying. And it needs to stop.
Young people are going to have sex. It's a fact.
We can preach abstinence all we like, but I think knowing the facts and figures could be helpful as well. But when push comes to shove, availability of contraceptive methods such as condoms and birth control pills can help prevent pregnancy and the spread of sexually transmitted infections (STIs).
I read this article a few days ago and kept it open thinking it might be useful, and I'm linking to it below:
http://contexts.org/articles/summer-2010/is-hooking-up-bad-for-young-women/
It talks about reasons why many young people are forgoing relationships in favor of "hooking up," which involves all the best parts of dating without any of the hassle. But once again, it's women that are considered too weak to be able to engage in this particular behavior set. (While I'm not arguing that the "hooking up" is healthy, I think it's interesting that women are pinpointed as not being able to handle the emotional consequences. Again, it's the women engaging in behavior similar to their male counterparts yet being socially sanctioned for doing so.)
Here's another article that's not more than a blurb, but the pictures with it say a lot about the perpetuation of the Madonna/whore dichotomy (a popular theme for those of us who survived gender studies programs): http://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2010/08/19/sti-transmission-wives-whores-and-the-invisible-man/
The article discusses the ways in which men are removed from the equation, much as they are being done in the debate about contraception. All of the babies that result from teen pregnancies, well, any pregnancy, have fathers, an equal participant in the choice to engage in risky or unprotected sexual activity.
It's not hard not to get pregnant.
But it does require effort on both sides. And for women who face pressure from boyfriends or partners who might refuse to use a condom, having a second choice is not a bad thing. The availability of protection and in some cases, emergency contraception is a positive statement about sexuality, something that is so often pushed under the rug. (Again, the refusal to use a condom should never be a part of any sexual equation and connotes something sinister about the intentions of the male or female who makes such a refusal. But it does happen. And many women aren't confident enough about their sexuality at that point that they are able to speak out against it.)
I know that contrarians are going to argue that emergency contraception is just that and shouldn't be regularly prescribed or used as birth control. I agree. But even those kids who are engaging in protected sex sometimes have accidents and the fear that results from those is a reminder of the consequences of engaging in such actions. Choosing emergency contraception does not cause an abortion to take place but can be a mature, responsible decision to continue the use of protection.
Either way, I think we need to normalize contraception, including neutralizing the way we converse about it. Women should never feel "demonized" for seeking out protection and shouldn't have to listen to others say anything negative about those positive decisions. Shame on KS107.5 for not being dignified in their discussion of the story and shame on their female deejay for allowing the men to dominate the conversation and to neglect her interjection. Calling people "sluts" is not only a cheap shot but it shows a lack of respect (for women) and maturity. I can fully say I refuse to support a station that promotes commentary such as that.
The first one is short and the second will take me all day if don't stop myself.
Numero uno: Last night, I went down to Confluence Park behind REI to cross the fire dancing and drum circle business off my summer bucket list. It was definitely more crowded than I had expected it to be. I would guess that there were a little over a hundred people there. I'm glad we got there late, it wasn't anything wildly exciting, but it was cool to watch the people who dared to perform swing fire around and I've always been a sucker for drumming.
With all of the hippies gathered around me, I was surprised to see the amount of litter that seemed to be accruing throughout the park. It annoyed me. First of all, the weekly summer gathering is a relatively un-minded event; I was actually quite surprised at the lack of police presence despite the population that was gathered there and the amount of weed I'm sure was being consumed. For that, everyone there should have been grateful for the privacy and the peace and should have been a little bit more respectful of the space.
Spilled beer isn't a whole lot, but someone has to pick that litter up.
I drank beer, I walked to a trashcan and put the bottle in. I should have recycled it. I didn't. But I didn't leave it on the concrete steps so that there might have been the possibility that it would have gone into the river. I didn't leave it in the dirt under the tree so that it could languish until cleaned up by someone whose job title most likely does not involve picking up the litter of disrespectful people who should have been happy to be left alone to get high or drunk or whatever or stay sober to watch fire dancing and listen to music.
I'm sure someone isn't taking too kindly to that behavior.
Numero dos:
http://www.denverpost.com/frontpage/ci_15854873
Bruce Randolph, with parental consent, is giving out contraception and emergency contraception. This morning, I was listening to KS107.5 while flipping through radio stations on my way out to pick Mike up, and they were discussing the situation.
And one of the deejays said something about "daughters as sluts." The female deejay tried to say something about it, but she didn't put up a fight at all and let it go. So they continued to comment on it and I really didn't appreciate it.
Pregnancy is a huge deal. Teen pregnancy is a bigger deal.
People calling girls who try to be proactive about protection and contraception "sluts" is ridiculous. It's disrespect on a whole new level and it shows that there are still double standards in place as far as gender expectations go.
As a woman, I find it horrifying that should I want to protect myself from pregnancy, I might risk being labelled a whore. I think the girls who reach out to accept the contraception are making mature decisions and should be rewarded with respect and fair treatment.
For young girls today, the pressure to be sexually active is immense. While I'm not arguing that the pressure isn't equally immense if not more so for young men, girls are hit with the inability to maintain the sexual habits that their male counterparts are allowed. And with the use of the word maintain, I mean that there are social stigmas attached to girls who wish to engage in sexual behavior. Society in this way reinforces the restrictions for women but glorifies young men who are able to attract larger numbers of sexual partners.
It's annoying. And it needs to stop.
Young people are going to have sex. It's a fact.
We can preach abstinence all we like, but I think knowing the facts and figures could be helpful as well. But when push comes to shove, availability of contraceptive methods such as condoms and birth control pills can help prevent pregnancy and the spread of sexually transmitted infections (STIs).
I read this article a few days ago and kept it open thinking it might be useful, and I'm linking to it below:
http://contexts.org/articles/summer-2010/is-hooking-up-bad-for-young-women/
It talks about reasons why many young people are forgoing relationships in favor of "hooking up," which involves all the best parts of dating without any of the hassle. But once again, it's women that are considered too weak to be able to engage in this particular behavior set. (While I'm not arguing that the "hooking up" is healthy, I think it's interesting that women are pinpointed as not being able to handle the emotional consequences. Again, it's the women engaging in behavior similar to their male counterparts yet being socially sanctioned for doing so.)
Here's another article that's not more than a blurb, but the pictures with it say a lot about the perpetuation of the Madonna/whore dichotomy (a popular theme for those of us who survived gender studies programs): http://thesocietypages.org/socimages/2010/08/19/sti-transmission-wives-whores-and-the-invisible-man/
The article discusses the ways in which men are removed from the equation, much as they are being done in the debate about contraception. All of the babies that result from teen pregnancies, well, any pregnancy, have fathers, an equal participant in the choice to engage in risky or unprotected sexual activity.
It's not hard not to get pregnant.
But it does require effort on both sides. And for women who face pressure from boyfriends or partners who might refuse to use a condom, having a second choice is not a bad thing. The availability of protection and in some cases, emergency contraception is a positive statement about sexuality, something that is so often pushed under the rug. (Again, the refusal to use a condom should never be a part of any sexual equation and connotes something sinister about the intentions of the male or female who makes such a refusal. But it does happen. And many women aren't confident enough about their sexuality at that point that they are able to speak out against it.)
I know that contrarians are going to argue that emergency contraception is just that and shouldn't be regularly prescribed or used as birth control. I agree. But even those kids who are engaging in protected sex sometimes have accidents and the fear that results from those is a reminder of the consequences of engaging in such actions. Choosing emergency contraception does not cause an abortion to take place but can be a mature, responsible decision to continue the use of protection.
Either way, I think we need to normalize contraception, including neutralizing the way we converse about it. Women should never feel "demonized" for seeking out protection and shouldn't have to listen to others say anything negative about those positive decisions. Shame on KS107.5 for not being dignified in their discussion of the story and shame on their female deejay for allowing the men to dominate the conversation and to neglect her interjection. Calling people "sluts" is not only a cheap shot but it shows a lack of respect (for women) and maturity. I can fully say I refuse to support a station that promotes commentary such as that.
Friday, August 20, 2010
The Unofficial Will, Officially
Before we leave, it's been insisted that we create a will.
My original thought was to just mess with everyone. I think that will take years, though, to figure out. I want to exact subtle revenge on people through my will, but I want it to be perfect. I want them to laugh when they figure out why they've been gifted what they've been gifted, and I want them to love me all the more for my horrid sense of humor.
The only problem seems to be that I have no earthly possessions to disperse and no real desire to be resuscitated past the logical points.
So here's this, just in case the will is improperly notarized or something:
Resuscitate me, sort of. Wait long enough to make sure I'm really brain dead before you pull the plug. And I mean long enough. (Like three months, if it's not too much to ask. Unless insurance won't cover it and in that case, stop supporting my breathing and metabolizing of liquids as soon as the coverage stops. It's not worth it if I'm not coming back.) Donate all of my organs (at least the usable ones). Plastination (the Body Worlds thing) is not an option, don't even think about it.
Power of attorney and such : Mom.
I keep joking with Mom that I'm going to give Cat to her, but in all honesty, I love my cat way too much for that to happen. Give him to someone who will love him, maybe Dad.
Simon can go to Madeline Hosanna, because she'll adore him. (Mom's name is on the title as well as mine, so maybe in the end, she'll want to keep him.)
Send Hunter my Tarot cards, just to freak him out.
Make sure that my voodoo doll is always facing some sort of south, if possible, or a window. He's particular about those things.
Don't bury me with shoes or socks on. Seriously. I won't be able to sleep. But do bury me with Buddy, my childhood Teddy bear (yes, the capitalization is proper).
Or, don't bury me at all and spread my ashes in Chicago, by the lake, near the L tracks, on Lake Shore Drive, and at Red Rocks, in the cemetery there or somewhere in the mountains, and then downtown. Don't have me compressed into jewelry.
There's a catch to the ash thing and that's the statue. I want a statue. Huge. (I mean, life size or better.) Of an angel that magically resembles me. She's wearing a toga-like Greek dress and holding a book and a pen and smiling and has humongous wings. And she's barefoot. And her hair is down and wild. That's the only way you can cremate me. Give me a sweet statue with some strange quotes or life facts. I want people who see it to wonder who I was in real life and then Google me.
Give all of my possessions to people who need them. Give Grandma my rings, she knows how much they mean to me.
My diaries and writings all belong to Mom, who should do something with them. Don't burn them.
She can have my Birkenstocks, too. But my mountain backpack should go somewhere wonderful.
Give Mike my cell phone, he'll break his and need the extras. He'll want my laptop, too.
Now for the particular stuff I'll be quite upset if you don't follow:
My funeral should be a party. Seriously. Two drink minimum. And then the speeches can begin. At first I thought it might be nice to have a posthumous roast, but then I decided I'd rather you all pretend I have no flaws and instead, give drunken speeches toasting my accomplishes (including my ability to use the English language correctly) - accomplishments, sorry, my adventures and my spirit. So I think everyone should have two strong drinks (at least, but if you have more don't drive) and then tell funny, touching, or just plain beautiful stories about me. Obviously you'd be doing that anyway, it's my funeral/wake/after party. And wear black, or don't. If you're up to it, maybe it should be a fancy dress and/or costume party. But maybe not. Tears are hell on silk.
If it's cheaper, feel free to buy my casket at Costco.
There. Done.
Will created, sort of. (I'm sure lawyers would look at this and laugh, but it's here and it's in my hand - as much as typing from your blog can be considered in your own hand.)
Also, did you know that Mike is worth more than me on life insurance? How unfair is that?
My original thought was to just mess with everyone. I think that will take years, though, to figure out. I want to exact subtle revenge on people through my will, but I want it to be perfect. I want them to laugh when they figure out why they've been gifted what they've been gifted, and I want them to love me all the more for my horrid sense of humor.
The only problem seems to be that I have no earthly possessions to disperse and no real desire to be resuscitated past the logical points.
So here's this, just in case the will is improperly notarized or something:
Resuscitate me, sort of. Wait long enough to make sure I'm really brain dead before you pull the plug. And I mean long enough. (Like three months, if it's not too much to ask. Unless insurance won't cover it and in that case, stop supporting my breathing and metabolizing of liquids as soon as the coverage stops. It's not worth it if I'm not coming back.) Donate all of my organs (at least the usable ones). Plastination (the Body Worlds thing) is not an option, don't even think about it.
Power of attorney and such : Mom.
I keep joking with Mom that I'm going to give Cat to her, but in all honesty, I love my cat way too much for that to happen. Give him to someone who will love him, maybe Dad.
Simon can go to Madeline Hosanna, because she'll adore him. (Mom's name is on the title as well as mine, so maybe in the end, she'll want to keep him.)
Send Hunter my Tarot cards, just to freak him out.
Make sure that my voodoo doll is always facing some sort of south, if possible, or a window. He's particular about those things.
Don't bury me with shoes or socks on. Seriously. I won't be able to sleep. But do bury me with Buddy, my childhood Teddy bear (yes, the capitalization is proper).
Or, don't bury me at all and spread my ashes in Chicago, by the lake, near the L tracks, on Lake Shore Drive, and at Red Rocks, in the cemetery there or somewhere in the mountains, and then downtown. Don't have me compressed into jewelry.
There's a catch to the ash thing and that's the statue. I want a statue. Huge. (I mean, life size or better.) Of an angel that magically resembles me. She's wearing a toga-like Greek dress and holding a book and a pen and smiling and has humongous wings. And she's barefoot. And her hair is down and wild. That's the only way you can cremate me. Give me a sweet statue with some strange quotes or life facts. I want people who see it to wonder who I was in real life and then Google me.
Give all of my possessions to people who need them. Give Grandma my rings, she knows how much they mean to me.
My diaries and writings all belong to Mom, who should do something with them. Don't burn them.
She can have my Birkenstocks, too. But my mountain backpack should go somewhere wonderful.
Give Mike my cell phone, he'll break his and need the extras. He'll want my laptop, too.
Now for the particular stuff I'll be quite upset if you don't follow:
My funeral should be a party. Seriously. Two drink minimum. And then the speeches can begin. At first I thought it might be nice to have a posthumous roast, but then I decided I'd rather you all pretend I have no flaws and instead, give drunken speeches toasting my accomplishes (including my ability to use the English language correctly) - accomplishments, sorry, my adventures and my spirit. So I think everyone should have two strong drinks (at least, but if you have more don't drive) and then tell funny, touching, or just plain beautiful stories about me. Obviously you'd be doing that anyway, it's my funeral/wake/after party. And wear black, or don't. If you're up to it, maybe it should be a fancy dress and/or costume party. But maybe not. Tears are hell on silk.
If it's cheaper, feel free to buy my casket at Costco.
There. Done.
Will created, sort of. (I'm sure lawyers would look at this and laugh, but it's here and it's in my hand - as much as typing from your blog can be considered in your own hand.)
Also, did you know that Mike is worth more than me on life insurance? How unfair is that?
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Reflections
If only.....
....a million different things.
Sometimes what is right and what we want are two separate things, and I believe that to define maturity might be defining the ability to understand and separate the two separate things.
And if not that, then what?
Is it all worth it in the end?
What if we aren't supposed to pretend, and instead we're supposed to tell the truth and go with what could be?
Ha, not at all. We can't be.
But what is now is now and perhaps won't ever shall be, but with life stretching seemingly long before me, I'm off to explore the great unknowns of heart, and mind, and soul. And I'll come back complete and satisfied, a trail of lost and longing loves behind me, although I'll be buoyed by my expanses of knowledge and experiences and the depths of my own emotions. I will have loved deeply and lost immensely, gained more than that and fallen deeply into fits of both melancholy and exuberance.
I will have lived.
I will have conquered the unconquerable, my own heart, and mind, and soul. And then all will be well.
And whoever stands at the end of that contentment shall have me in all of my unconquerable glory.
....a million different things.
Sometimes what is right and what we want are two separate things, and I believe that to define maturity might be defining the ability to understand and separate the two separate things.
And if not that, then what?
Is it all worth it in the end?
What if we aren't supposed to pretend, and instead we're supposed to tell the truth and go with what could be?
Ha, not at all. We can't be.
But what is now is now and perhaps won't ever shall be, but with life stretching seemingly long before me, I'm off to explore the great unknowns of heart, and mind, and soul. And I'll come back complete and satisfied, a trail of lost and longing loves behind me, although I'll be buoyed by my expanses of knowledge and experiences and the depths of my own emotions. I will have loved deeply and lost immensely, gained more than that and fallen deeply into fits of both melancholy and exuberance.
I will have lived.
I will have conquered the unconquerable, my own heart, and mind, and soul. And then all will be well.
And whoever stands at the end of that contentment shall have me in all of my unconquerable glory.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Apple and Dad: Good deeds gone afoul
My father and I have an interesting relationship, to say the least.
It's been twenty two years of ups and more downs, a relationship plagued with guilt and pity and fear and anger.
Of course, neither of us intend to do the other any real harm, but the physical and emotional reactions that I have to that man are hard to calm. It's curious, really, and it's something that's taken me forever to even be able to manage. I'm still not there yet.
I get anxious, physically unable to sit still, mentally unnerved, and outwardly curt. These reactions happen within seconds of any comment that my brain fields as an attack. Usually, I am able to curtail these changes by removing myself from the situation. Sometimes, however, that is impossible and deep breathing has never been one of my specialties, leading to the outbursts and the blowups that seem to mark our interactions.
While I was camping, Dad thought it would be nice to take my computer into the Apple store to see what might be done about the screen issue. (I had cracked the screen, of course, and had it quoted to see what it would cost to fix, and the quote was over $800...since the computer was still usable and fine, I decided not to even bother, especially since 800 is more than I could ever get together at this point in my life.) They agreed to fix it. For free.
Grateful, yes, but upset also.
Again, the invasion of privacy issue began to irk me, and it stayed with me even after the tears had dried. Although he had the best of intentions, I was and still am upset by the fact that he removed my computer without asking. I've nearly had enough of people touching my computers while I'm out of town; the things that could go wrong seem to multiply and are the stuff of nightmares.
Of course, there was a blowup.
The first came after I returned; it was soft, perhaps a category two hurricane. Nothing came of it, but words were exchanged as I attempted to voice my concerns.
Upon the computer's completion, we made plans to go and get it. I've left out a crucial part of the story: illegal software. I had some of it on my computer, and had I known that it was going to be taken in to be serviced, I would have removed it. This would save me from having to suffer through a potentially embarrassing lecture. (I'm quite sensitive to criticism, it's not something that serves me well and it's something I'm hoping to do better with in the future.) Either way, I was apprehensive to retrieve the computer from the evil Apple employees bent on destroying their customers. (well...)
We attempted to leave in one car. I refused. Sometimes, you don't exactly return to where you started when you expect that you might or for hours after. I get upset. I have things to do, and even if I don't, not having that freedom is a very constricting feeling to experience.
One of the big things that I try to keep enacting in my relationship with my father is to have space between us, and a lot of that is my ability to remain my own agent of motion. That is why Simon and I are best friends. With him, I am able to move freely between places and of my own accord.
So when Dad insisted that we take one car, I freaked out.
No. I'd prefer that you respect my wishes.
No.
There were words exchanged, fueling a situation that had already become nearly category 4. Serious business. I knew there was no going back, there never is.
There wasn't.
It ended with us going our separate ways, now on a desperate drive to reach Cherry Creek Mall before the other one. We met there and retrieved the computer. There were words exchanged, more of those pesky things. They hurt sometimes.
I am upset that he accuses me of being a nasty ungrateful person and he's hurt that I'm holding onto the privacy thing.
Reviewing the situation is tough for me. I acted immaturely. I let my emotions get the best of me. I shouldn't have. This is something that I strive to fix, although the summer has been remarkably free of incident. To have made it six weeks is somewhat of an anomaly, so I'll take it. I'm afraid that this repair is going to be held over my head for quite awhile and I detest that.
However, the incident serves as a reminder that no matter how mature I'd like to pretend I am, I still have a lot of learning to do. I have a lot of focusing to practice and perhaps that deep breathing to master.
Either way, I'm wildly grateful for the way my computer looks now; the screen is gorgeous and the new top (which was unnecessary) is gorgeous also. I'm alright with these things.
I'm not alright with how the situation went down (happened). I should have been calmer, I should have just taken my computer with me.
It's been twenty two years of ups and more downs, a relationship plagued with guilt and pity and fear and anger.
Of course, neither of us intend to do the other any real harm, but the physical and emotional reactions that I have to that man are hard to calm. It's curious, really, and it's something that's taken me forever to even be able to manage. I'm still not there yet.
I get anxious, physically unable to sit still, mentally unnerved, and outwardly curt. These reactions happen within seconds of any comment that my brain fields as an attack. Usually, I am able to curtail these changes by removing myself from the situation. Sometimes, however, that is impossible and deep breathing has never been one of my specialties, leading to the outbursts and the blowups that seem to mark our interactions.
While I was camping, Dad thought it would be nice to take my computer into the Apple store to see what might be done about the screen issue. (I had cracked the screen, of course, and had it quoted to see what it would cost to fix, and the quote was over $800...since the computer was still usable and fine, I decided not to even bother, especially since 800 is more than I could ever get together at this point in my life.) They agreed to fix it. For free.
Grateful, yes, but upset also.
Again, the invasion of privacy issue began to irk me, and it stayed with me even after the tears had dried. Although he had the best of intentions, I was and still am upset by the fact that he removed my computer without asking. I've nearly had enough of people touching my computers while I'm out of town; the things that could go wrong seem to multiply and are the stuff of nightmares.
Of course, there was a blowup.
The first came after I returned; it was soft, perhaps a category two hurricane. Nothing came of it, but words were exchanged as I attempted to voice my concerns.
Upon the computer's completion, we made plans to go and get it. I've left out a crucial part of the story: illegal software. I had some of it on my computer, and had I known that it was going to be taken in to be serviced, I would have removed it. This would save me from having to suffer through a potentially embarrassing lecture. (I'm quite sensitive to criticism, it's not something that serves me well and it's something I'm hoping to do better with in the future.) Either way, I was apprehensive to retrieve the computer from the evil Apple employees bent on destroying their customers. (well...)
We attempted to leave in one car. I refused. Sometimes, you don't exactly return to where you started when you expect that you might or for hours after. I get upset. I have things to do, and even if I don't, not having that freedom is a very constricting feeling to experience.
One of the big things that I try to keep enacting in my relationship with my father is to have space between us, and a lot of that is my ability to remain my own agent of motion. That is why Simon and I are best friends. With him, I am able to move freely between places and of my own accord.
So when Dad insisted that we take one car, I freaked out.
No. I'd prefer that you respect my wishes.
No.
There were words exchanged, fueling a situation that had already become nearly category 4. Serious business. I knew there was no going back, there never is.
There wasn't.
It ended with us going our separate ways, now on a desperate drive to reach Cherry Creek Mall before the other one. We met there and retrieved the computer. There were words exchanged, more of those pesky things. They hurt sometimes.
I am upset that he accuses me of being a nasty ungrateful person and he's hurt that I'm holding onto the privacy thing.
Reviewing the situation is tough for me. I acted immaturely. I let my emotions get the best of me. I shouldn't have. This is something that I strive to fix, although the summer has been remarkably free of incident. To have made it six weeks is somewhat of an anomaly, so I'll take it. I'm afraid that this repair is going to be held over my head for quite awhile and I detest that.
However, the incident serves as a reminder that no matter how mature I'd like to pretend I am, I still have a lot of learning to do. I have a lot of focusing to practice and perhaps that deep breathing to master.
Either way, I'm wildly grateful for the way my computer looks now; the screen is gorgeous and the new top (which was unnecessary) is gorgeous also. I'm alright with these things.
I'm not alright with how the situation went down (happened). I should have been calmer, I should have just taken my computer with me.
Monday, August 16, 2010
For tonight, there is only emotional exhaustion to blame for my lack of blogging ability.
http://katiebarryincapetown.blogspot.com/ (It's got a sort of actual post about things relevant to my life currently.)
I've been on the go since I got back to Denver. I've done wonderful things with wonderful people and I've had a great time.
I miss Chicago. It tears at me sometimes, but then I think of how nice it is to be here and I'm just grateful that I got the chance to experience such a beautiful and dramatic place.
I hope to not fall in love with too much of the world; I already find it hard to think of the places that I'd like to live someday.
I hope to stay in love in the way that I am now. It's tender and new but it's also fulfilling and correct. (Correct is phonetically sharp word but I love the way it fits there. This is nothing if not correct.) There's no inequality or untruth; it simply is a connection that is quickly building on experiences and shared thoughts. It's comfortable and exciting and new and so very old. It's my first kiss and my last, and it's nothing I can quite wrap my head around.
I hope to find the things I'm looking for when I'm in Cape Town. I want to find myself and my ability; I want to find confidence for employment and skill sets.
I want to read and write and fall in love with another city so that someday I won't know where I want to live.
I want to be safe and happy.
Tomorrow I'll write about the slight emotional block that has prevented me from thinking clearly tonight, but it should be insightful and promising, I hope. Revealing, perhaps.
http://katiebarryincapetown.blogspot.com/ (It's got a sort of actual post about things relevant to my life currently.)
I've been on the go since I got back to Denver. I've done wonderful things with wonderful people and I've had a great time.
I miss Chicago. It tears at me sometimes, but then I think of how nice it is to be here and I'm just grateful that I got the chance to experience such a beautiful and dramatic place.
I hope to not fall in love with too much of the world; I already find it hard to think of the places that I'd like to live someday.
I hope to stay in love in the way that I am now. It's tender and new but it's also fulfilling and correct. (Correct is phonetically sharp word but I love the way it fits there. This is nothing if not correct.) There's no inequality or untruth; it simply is a connection that is quickly building on experiences and shared thoughts. It's comfortable and exciting and new and so very old. It's my first kiss and my last, and it's nothing I can quite wrap my head around.
I hope to find the things I'm looking for when I'm in Cape Town. I want to find myself and my ability; I want to find confidence for employment and skill sets.
I want to read and write and fall in love with another city so that someday I won't know where I want to live.
I want to be safe and happy.
Tomorrow I'll write about the slight emotional block that has prevented me from thinking clearly tonight, but it should be insightful and promising, I hope. Revealing, perhaps.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Trout Mostly
This is the post-camping trip post.
You'll be surprised to hear that I survived four nights in the wilderness. John and I left on Sunday for a three night adventure in Rocky Mountain National Park. By the time we got there, the camping spots were all nearly full, so we ventured a little further out of Estes to a spot where we proceeded to set up the tent at dusk.
The days have all blurred together, as they are wont to do when one is lost in the woods (not necessarily lost, but you'll understand the idea of it all). Three different campsites in the four days, the second being my favorite.
We ended up following Trail Ridge Road all the way through, which was something I'd never done. I was amazed to see people biking the road; I'd be terrified to even try to do that. They are paving the road at higher elevations and this seems to cause a back up in traffic. So there was a lot of sitting.
We stole salt and pepper shakers from the Alpine Center. This is only because they sold nothing of importance or mountain value. It was all souvenirs, which under normal circumstances are acceptable and even welcome, but when I had already been in the woods for hours, days nearly, and was in dire need of salt and pepper (among other things), finding decorative vases was an unpleasant experience.
We ended up at Willow Creek Reservoir near Grand Lake for our second and third nights. It was a wonderful escape, quiet, removed, beautiful view. We specifically chose our campsite for the sake of the view and were sad to leave, but forced to do so because of a sudden influx of unruly children.
And normally I love children. (That's a proven fact.) But these kids and chaperones were annoyingly present at all hours.
We hiked around the lake and up a path that we found but were unable to drive up to. Once we got down to the water, we went swimming (sort of a shower, sort of a swim, mostly a freezing cold mountain water experience) and then sat in the sun.
It was wonderful.
The last night, I laid awake for most of the night and was glad that we didn't get to do the hike that we had planned. Exhaustion would have overtaken me. Instead, we headed into the National Forest and did some hiking there.
Two things I love: my mountain backpack (obviously) and my new hiking boots.
This post isn't done but I'm too tired to finish and I have a wedding to go to tomorrow.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT SALLY!!!!
You'll be surprised to hear that I survived four nights in the wilderness. John and I left on Sunday for a three night adventure in Rocky Mountain National Park. By the time we got there, the camping spots were all nearly full, so we ventured a little further out of Estes to a spot where we proceeded to set up the tent at dusk.
The days have all blurred together, as they are wont to do when one is lost in the woods (not necessarily lost, but you'll understand the idea of it all). Three different campsites in the four days, the second being my favorite.
We ended up following Trail Ridge Road all the way through, which was something I'd never done. I was amazed to see people biking the road; I'd be terrified to even try to do that. They are paving the road at higher elevations and this seems to cause a back up in traffic. So there was a lot of sitting.
We stole salt and pepper shakers from the Alpine Center. This is only because they sold nothing of importance or mountain value. It was all souvenirs, which under normal circumstances are acceptable and even welcome, but when I had already been in the woods for hours, days nearly, and was in dire need of salt and pepper (among other things), finding decorative vases was an unpleasant experience.
We ended up at Willow Creek Reservoir near Grand Lake for our second and third nights. It was a wonderful escape, quiet, removed, beautiful view. We specifically chose our campsite for the sake of the view and were sad to leave, but forced to do so because of a sudden influx of unruly children.
And normally I love children. (That's a proven fact.) But these kids and chaperones were annoyingly present at all hours.
We hiked around the lake and up a path that we found but were unable to drive up to. Once we got down to the water, we went swimming (sort of a shower, sort of a swim, mostly a freezing cold mountain water experience) and then sat in the sun.
It was wonderful.
The last night, I laid awake for most of the night and was glad that we didn't get to do the hike that we had planned. Exhaustion would have overtaken me. Instead, we headed into the National Forest and did some hiking there.
Two things I love: my mountain backpack (obviously) and my new hiking boots.
This post isn't done but I'm too tired to finish and I have a wedding to go to tomorrow.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUNT SALLY!!!!
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Nothing is enough.
I never thought I'd say this, but today, I've got nothing left to say.
I do, of course, things have been running through my mind all day. I'm not content with contemplating, but instead of trying to spill and organize here with words and easily discernible truths, I'd rather just sleep for the half hour I'd spend mulling.
9 hours of sandwiches will do that to you, zap every little bit of life you thought you still had.
Until the rest has settled on my weary bones, adieu.
I do, of course, things have been running through my mind all day. I'm not content with contemplating, but instead of trying to spill and organize here with words and easily discernible truths, I'd rather just sleep for the half hour I'd spend mulling.
9 hours of sandwiches will do that to you, zap every little bit of life you thought you still had.
Until the rest has settled on my weary bones, adieu.
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Grumping today.
I can't say this enough, I never could, I've not stopped trying to get the message across: I love my cat.
It's ridiculous, really. You're thinking, Right, Katie, he's an animal. Stop caring so much.
But then you must realize that he has a sly sense of humor and some odd sense of direction and purpose. Currently, his only goal is to escape from the room he's in.
John likened him to Rapunzel, which made me laugh. Stuck in his tower, crying out the window for rescue. It's true. He did spend the better part of an hour one night hollering for other cats to hear.
We installed a new baby gate at the top of the stairs to keep him and the other cats separated. Whenever I open my bedroom door, he's ready to make the leap to freedom, which usually means he gets to spend a minute or so wandering the upstairs hall and maybe he'll make it as far as the tub before I am hauling him back to sanctuary. Last night, Dad left him and he somehow managed to open the baby gate. This thing is metal and requires lifting before you can open it. When he got back from moving his car, Cat was sitting by the open gate.
Ah, Carlos, you scoundrel.
I watched this happen when I got home. He puts his paws through the metal bars and when he can't simply pull it open, he squeezes his head through and once it's mostly stuck, pulls back with his entire body until the gate opens. Clever creature I have here.
Dentist this morning. Nothing wild to report. Just shiny enamel and some sore gums. (That woman seriously needs to learn her way around my mouth. Every time it's, "you have such sensitive gums." jab. stick. poke. bleed.)
Off to Dillon this afternoon to see Aunt Sally. Back tonight or tomorrow due to the doctor's appointment which should hopefully provide me with malaria pills.
Then it's a weekend of work before an extended camping trip. (By extended, I mean three nights. Ugh.)
It's ridiculous, really. You're thinking, Right, Katie, he's an animal. Stop caring so much.
But then you must realize that he has a sly sense of humor and some odd sense of direction and purpose. Currently, his only goal is to escape from the room he's in.
John likened him to Rapunzel, which made me laugh. Stuck in his tower, crying out the window for rescue. It's true. He did spend the better part of an hour one night hollering for other cats to hear.
We installed a new baby gate at the top of the stairs to keep him and the other cats separated. Whenever I open my bedroom door, he's ready to make the leap to freedom, which usually means he gets to spend a minute or so wandering the upstairs hall and maybe he'll make it as far as the tub before I am hauling him back to sanctuary. Last night, Dad left him and he somehow managed to open the baby gate. This thing is metal and requires lifting before you can open it. When he got back from moving his car, Cat was sitting by the open gate.
Ah, Carlos, you scoundrel.
I watched this happen when I got home. He puts his paws through the metal bars and when he can't simply pull it open, he squeezes his head through and once it's mostly stuck, pulls back with his entire body until the gate opens. Clever creature I have here.
Dentist this morning. Nothing wild to report. Just shiny enamel and some sore gums. (That woman seriously needs to learn her way around my mouth. Every time it's, "you have such sensitive gums." jab. stick. poke. bleed.)
Off to Dillon this afternoon to see Aunt Sally. Back tonight or tomorrow due to the doctor's appointment which should hopefully provide me with malaria pills.
Then it's a weekend of work before an extended camping trip. (By extended, I mean three nights. Ugh.)
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Sunday, August 01, 2010
It's official. The countdown has begun; the end is slowly closing in on me but I'm not yet afraid. I keep waiting for it to settle in but I can't seem to find it.
This is the strange feeling that has marked this summer, made is so much more different than the others. Contentment.
Odd.
Things I'm wildly not content with include my employment status, but that is what it is or will be and ther is little room for negotiation, especially at this point in my life.
This week brings relief, perhaps. Days off to accomplish things, including meetings and lunch dates with all the grandparents, something I've not been able to do in a long time.
Tonight, however, movies and sleep. Precious sleep.
This is the strange feeling that has marked this summer, made is so much more different than the others. Contentment.
Odd.
Things I'm wildly not content with include my employment status, but that is what it is or will be and ther is little room for negotiation, especially at this point in my life.
This week brings relief, perhaps. Days off to accomplish things, including meetings and lunch dates with all the grandparents, something I've not been able to do in a long time.
Tonight, however, movies and sleep. Precious sleep.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
My Chicago
It's not something you feel, really. It's something you know.
After a night of odd adventuring that ended with me a titch late to the airport (as usual), I did a good bit of jogging through the airport to get to my gate. Perfectly timed, I must say. I asked a cute elderly (not very elderly but close) couple what rows were boarding. "Oh dear, you must be going hiking," she said to me. I looked down. Mountain backpack complete with sleeping bag strapped in at the bottom. I, however, was wearing loafer-esque shoes, skinny jeans, jewelry and had the essence of exhaustion floating about me.
"No," I told her, "I'm just going to clean my old apartment."
My old apartment.
I was asleep before the plane had even hit cruising altitude. I slept for a solid two hours, waking only as we were descending over the rows of houses that surround Midway.
Home.
Home is nothing and everything, it's the way the humidity rushed to fill the plane after the doors were opened. It's the way that everyone hustles around, staring quietly at the people next to them. It's the man behind me yelling at a woman who wouldn't turn down her stereo and who refused to use headphones. It's her telling him to get off the train. It's the way the other passengers look at each other and then smile as they turn their heads away. It's the small glint of fireflies in the darkening night. It's the buildings, the bricks, the smell of concrete and the silence of the oppressive heat. It's walking through the green and gray landscape and hearing no one but knowing you're surrounded. It's life. It's neighbors. It's human interactions, the smell of mens cologne as they pass in the street. The giggles of young girls who don't know what life isn't yet, pouring out of the train with their bras exposed. It's metal, metal on metal and the screech of brakes grinding together.
It's hot oppressive bars filled with warnings about fake IDs. It's the sound of throbbing music filling another space. It's the art on the walls, robots with big gleaming eyes. It's the women's restroom and it's the pictures of the other women, the solidarity and the beauty. It's the bartender closing the bar, locking the doors, cleaning and then following us into the night. It's the smell of the Oasis, familiar and grotesque. It's the icy buckets, the familiar faces, the pretenses. It's the clock ticking, tick tick tock.
And then the morning has been slept away and there's work to be done but there's too much to do. And there's not enough time and the city's calling and I'm answering and off to something else, of course.
After a night of odd adventuring that ended with me a titch late to the airport (as usual), I did a good bit of jogging through the airport to get to my gate. Perfectly timed, I must say. I asked a cute elderly (not very elderly but close) couple what rows were boarding. "Oh dear, you must be going hiking," she said to me. I looked down. Mountain backpack complete with sleeping bag strapped in at the bottom. I, however, was wearing loafer-esque shoes, skinny jeans, jewelry and had the essence of exhaustion floating about me.
"No," I told her, "I'm just going to clean my old apartment."
My old apartment.
I was asleep before the plane had even hit cruising altitude. I slept for a solid two hours, waking only as we were descending over the rows of houses that surround Midway.
Home.
Home is nothing and everything, it's the way the humidity rushed to fill the plane after the doors were opened. It's the way that everyone hustles around, staring quietly at the people next to them. It's the man behind me yelling at a woman who wouldn't turn down her stereo and who refused to use headphones. It's her telling him to get off the train. It's the way the other passengers look at each other and then smile as they turn their heads away. It's the small glint of fireflies in the darkening night. It's the buildings, the bricks, the smell of concrete and the silence of the oppressive heat. It's walking through the green and gray landscape and hearing no one but knowing you're surrounded. It's life. It's neighbors. It's human interactions, the smell of mens cologne as they pass in the street. The giggles of young girls who don't know what life isn't yet, pouring out of the train with their bras exposed. It's metal, metal on metal and the screech of brakes grinding together.
It's hot oppressive bars filled with warnings about fake IDs. It's the sound of throbbing music filling another space. It's the art on the walls, robots with big gleaming eyes. It's the women's restroom and it's the pictures of the other women, the solidarity and the beauty. It's the bartender closing the bar, locking the doors, cleaning and then following us into the night. It's the smell of the Oasis, familiar and grotesque. It's the icy buckets, the familiar faces, the pretenses. It's the clock ticking, tick tick tock.
And then the morning has been slept away and there's work to be done but there's too much to do. And there's not enough time and the city's calling and I'm answering and off to something else, of course.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Woman, sandwich artist, title goes here...
None of us are adults quite yet, we're stuck in that post-collegiate rut where we're still treated like children but expected to act like adults.
We were sitting, drinking Italian sodas, and discussing men. Of course.
"But he doesn't have a job," she said.
I clucked at her appreciatively. Of course we want to date men with jobs.
But then I started thinking.
I'm twenty two. I live at home, split between two homes, actually, and then a little bit in my car. I work at Subway. Does that make me undateable? Probably sort of.
On paper, absolutely.
I'd reject a twenty two year old man-boy who worked at Subway.
I'm not a girl anymore, but I'm still not a woman. Lately, it's been interesting to try and shift my identifying noun from girl to woman. But am I that yet?
I keep thinking in a couple of years I will be a woman. But what defines a woman, really?
Am I worth someone who's anything more than what I am? Do I hurt the reputation of the people I associate with based solely on my current paycheck source? Hardly, but maybe a little.
Is it worse to be unemployed than to work in the worst industry ever created? (Sometimes I think to myself: It could be worse. I could be working at Forever21.)
And am I any less of what I am because of my current occupation?
Yesterday in court during jury selection I had to give my occupation. Somewhat begrudgingly, I said "sandwich artist." Silence, followed by a lot of turning heads and some smiles, possibly muffled laughter. But following that with "Bachelor's degree in communication studies" made me feel a little better. Being the forewoman definitely made me feel better. Authoritative.
Also, on a sidenote, being a traffic prosecutor must absolutely suck. It's a simple open and shut case that never should have gone to trial and some man in a badly tailored suit had to stand up and pretend like it was legitimate. The lines of questioning were uninspired, unintelligent and boring. The defandant was self-represented and even worse. My annoyance at her surpassed my annoyance at the prosecutor, but doing my civic duty wasn't about feelings (of hostility), it was about fact.
I did laugh a little during the selection process when they asked if anyone had been in that room before. I have. I flashed back to that night my senior year of high school, the night I had to go up in front of a magistrate and have my hide tanned (because the words I want to use aren't appropriate) because of that speeding ticket. The big one. I told the judge, prosecutor and defendant that "I made some decisions that necessitated my presence here." Prosecutor asked me if the police officer sitting there was the one who'd pulled me over and I replied, "I certainly hope not."
Somehow I got on the jury.
By the way, jury duty is way less exciting than I thought it would be. I don't want it to happen again. I like the law but I wish it wasn't so repetitive and dumbed down for the masses. It's not a difficult concept, really.
Either way, I'm not any less of an intelligent human being than anyone else, even though I have to wear a stupid uniform and kill my back, knees, legs, brain cells and patience to get through the day.
Here's hoping I survive the amount of disrespect I deal with on a daily basis. Blegh.
We were sitting, drinking Italian sodas, and discussing men. Of course.
"But he doesn't have a job," she said.
I clucked at her appreciatively. Of course we want to date men with jobs.
But then I started thinking.
I'm twenty two. I live at home, split between two homes, actually, and then a little bit in my car. I work at Subway. Does that make me undateable? Probably sort of.
On paper, absolutely.
I'd reject a twenty two year old man-boy who worked at Subway.
I'm not a girl anymore, but I'm still not a woman. Lately, it's been interesting to try and shift my identifying noun from girl to woman. But am I that yet?
I keep thinking in a couple of years I will be a woman. But what defines a woman, really?
Am I worth someone who's anything more than what I am? Do I hurt the reputation of the people I associate with based solely on my current paycheck source? Hardly, but maybe a little.
Is it worse to be unemployed than to work in the worst industry ever created? (Sometimes I think to myself: It could be worse. I could be working at Forever21.)
And am I any less of what I am because of my current occupation?
Yesterday in court during jury selection I had to give my occupation. Somewhat begrudgingly, I said "sandwich artist." Silence, followed by a lot of turning heads and some smiles, possibly muffled laughter. But following that with "Bachelor's degree in communication studies" made me feel a little better. Being the forewoman definitely made me feel better. Authoritative.
Also, on a sidenote, being a traffic prosecutor must absolutely suck. It's a simple open and shut case that never should have gone to trial and some man in a badly tailored suit had to stand up and pretend like it was legitimate. The lines of questioning were uninspired, unintelligent and boring. The defandant was self-represented and even worse. My annoyance at her surpassed my annoyance at the prosecutor, but doing my civic duty wasn't about feelings (of hostility), it was about fact.
I did laugh a little during the selection process when they asked if anyone had been in that room before. I have. I flashed back to that night my senior year of high school, the night I had to go up in front of a magistrate and have my hide tanned (because the words I want to use aren't appropriate) because of that speeding ticket. The big one. I told the judge, prosecutor and defendant that "I made some decisions that necessitated my presence here." Prosecutor asked me if the police officer sitting there was the one who'd pulled me over and I replied, "I certainly hope not."
Somehow I got on the jury.
By the way, jury duty is way less exciting than I thought it would be. I don't want it to happen again. I like the law but I wish it wasn't so repetitive and dumbed down for the masses. It's not a difficult concept, really.
Either way, I'm not any less of an intelligent human being than anyone else, even though I have to wear a stupid uniform and kill my back, knees, legs, brain cells and patience to get through the day.
Here's hoping I survive the amount of disrespect I deal with on a daily basis. Blegh.
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Weird Chapter
I'm the kind of woman who begins to read many books, sometimes more than one at a time, and then never finishes them. I've consumed the beginnings, and sometimes the middles, of more novels than I can count, but the ends seem to always be lacking, or aren't to my taste, and so I never read them.
I'm distracted, true, but leaving the story open-ended is something of a novelty, enjoyable in its own right. To not know what happens is to be able to write the end for myself.
I've entered a chapter of my own life I'm going to call "The Weird Chapter," in which my own story seems to have done some looping and rewording of its own and I, as the protagonist and probable heroine, am merely a character in this book, bound hopelessly to the text as it is being created, following the words, the story arc, the plot details at a fervent, relentless pace. I'm blind to the next page, running through sentences and structure but finding neither for myself.
The main characters of this self-titled "Weird Chapter" are myself and Cat-Carlos, sometimes addressed as Boobs or Chicken Nugget, who in actuality should just be renamed No on account of how much the word is directed at his curious creature self.
He is my animal companion, the constant and trustworthy yet fallible creature sent with me on my adventures, and although he stays locked into the room I now temporarily call home, there are times when he is let out, usually as far as the hall, and will follow me, only to sit curled into a black cat ball of fur and watch me intently as I wash my face or apply makeup in the bathroom mirror. He's ever watchful, wary of intrusion and desperate for things he's not seen before.
He's currently in a dresser drawer, having attained that height by stepping carefully from the bed to a suitcase oddly situated in the middle of the floor and then leaping from there to the neglected drawer, left open by its user (me). He's sitting on a stack of clean, hairless clothes, which won't be hair-free for long, a task he finds quite to his liking.
Other characters go in and out. Of course there's Mom and Dad, the two figures never present at the same time but always present in some form, whose authority overlaps but is inconstant and no longer legally binding. The girlfriend, whose house I reside in and must seem to her merely a shadow who slips in during the night and sleeps the morning away. Sometimes there is no sleeping at all. This chapter involves a lot of living and not very much rest.
This is the action chapter, hopefully, the chapter in which the heroine (me, obviously) comes to certain realizations about herself and her world and ultimately her life and fate and then attempts to fight them, or go along with them, or do whatever she might do with them in order to survive to continue on to the next chapter.
But this chapter stretches on.
There is the past, so intertwined with the present it's hard to remember that we're in the weird chapter and not staring down the high school chapters, those unruly things, or the odd moments of college that left me confused and the readers baffled and sometimes rightly alarmed.
But this chapter has a lighter feel to it, even though it is arguably the most muddled and oddly contrived bit of the whole piece. It radiates the inner beauty that may have been ever present but is slowly starting to seep out, it radiates confidence and joy, both feelings flowing around it and through it but having no specific origination point.
And on a side note, the heroine has realized that sometimes what the people in her chapters seem is the complete opposite view of what the reader may perceive. She's truly blind. Perhaps the narrator should start suggesting the future with a better bit of foreshadowing? Or perhaps wouldn't mind writing in some dialogue or thoughts for the heroine that she might consider to take seriously? As this chapter began, there was the law and now there is the reminder. Not of the law, that's been left behind, for every character has their own subplots in which they are engaged.
The reminder is the memory, brought back to life, resurrected in its own right, which now stands fully formed and present. So perhaps it shall need redefinition, as it now occupies a newer, brighter, clearer segment of the book of Life (ah, for lack of words). The heroine is finding herself engaged in dialogue, quick and comfortable, and memories, reminders, those foolish emotions that come along with everything that is now. Entirely enamored, she can't feel except for what she's feeling now, there truly are no time for those silly consequences. We can find those later, we'll hash through them in some upcoming chapter full of thought but hopefully lacking regret.
For now, there is the memory, growing stronger daily and the possibility, which drives our narrator to keep creating and pressing time into the pages.
This is how the weird chapter is progressing. Ever onward, flying, as the reader and the heroine attempt to keep up with the breakneck pace of the author's work, but momentous in each daily evolution. Momentous is a horrid word to describe this chapter. Perhaps we shall go with quixotic. Yes, that.
Quixotic, dear readers, is the weirdest chapter yet.
I'm distracted, true, but leaving the story open-ended is something of a novelty, enjoyable in its own right. To not know what happens is to be able to write the end for myself.
I've entered a chapter of my own life I'm going to call "The Weird Chapter," in which my own story seems to have done some looping and rewording of its own and I, as the protagonist and probable heroine, am merely a character in this book, bound hopelessly to the text as it is being created, following the words, the story arc, the plot details at a fervent, relentless pace. I'm blind to the next page, running through sentences and structure but finding neither for myself.
The main characters of this self-titled "Weird Chapter" are myself and Cat-Carlos, sometimes addressed as Boobs or Chicken Nugget, who in actuality should just be renamed No on account of how much the word is directed at his curious creature self.
He is my animal companion, the constant and trustworthy yet fallible creature sent with me on my adventures, and although he stays locked into the room I now temporarily call home, there are times when he is let out, usually as far as the hall, and will follow me, only to sit curled into a black cat ball of fur and watch me intently as I wash my face or apply makeup in the bathroom mirror. He's ever watchful, wary of intrusion and desperate for things he's not seen before.
He's currently in a dresser drawer, having attained that height by stepping carefully from the bed to a suitcase oddly situated in the middle of the floor and then leaping from there to the neglected drawer, left open by its user (me). He's sitting on a stack of clean, hairless clothes, which won't be hair-free for long, a task he finds quite to his liking.
Other characters go in and out. Of course there's Mom and Dad, the two figures never present at the same time but always present in some form, whose authority overlaps but is inconstant and no longer legally binding. The girlfriend, whose house I reside in and must seem to her merely a shadow who slips in during the night and sleeps the morning away. Sometimes there is no sleeping at all. This chapter involves a lot of living and not very much rest.
This is the action chapter, hopefully, the chapter in which the heroine (me, obviously) comes to certain realizations about herself and her world and ultimately her life and fate and then attempts to fight them, or go along with them, or do whatever she might do with them in order to survive to continue on to the next chapter.
But this chapter stretches on.
There is the past, so intertwined with the present it's hard to remember that we're in the weird chapter and not staring down the high school chapters, those unruly things, or the odd moments of college that left me confused and the readers baffled and sometimes rightly alarmed.
But this chapter has a lighter feel to it, even though it is arguably the most muddled and oddly contrived bit of the whole piece. It radiates the inner beauty that may have been ever present but is slowly starting to seep out, it radiates confidence and joy, both feelings flowing around it and through it but having no specific origination point.
And on a side note, the heroine has realized that sometimes what the people in her chapters seem is the complete opposite view of what the reader may perceive. She's truly blind. Perhaps the narrator should start suggesting the future with a better bit of foreshadowing? Or perhaps wouldn't mind writing in some dialogue or thoughts for the heroine that she might consider to take seriously? As this chapter began, there was the law and now there is the reminder. Not of the law, that's been left behind, for every character has their own subplots in which they are engaged.
The reminder is the memory, brought back to life, resurrected in its own right, which now stands fully formed and present. So perhaps it shall need redefinition, as it now occupies a newer, brighter, clearer segment of the book of Life (ah, for lack of words). The heroine is finding herself engaged in dialogue, quick and comfortable, and memories, reminders, those foolish emotions that come along with everything that is now. Entirely enamored, she can't feel except for what she's feeling now, there truly are no time for those silly consequences. We can find those later, we'll hash through them in some upcoming chapter full of thought but hopefully lacking regret.
For now, there is the memory, growing stronger daily and the possibility, which drives our narrator to keep creating and pressing time into the pages.
This is how the weird chapter is progressing. Ever onward, flying, as the reader and the heroine attempt to keep up with the breakneck pace of the author's work, but momentous in each daily evolution. Momentous is a horrid word to describe this chapter. Perhaps we shall go with quixotic. Yes, that.
Quixotic, dear readers, is the weirdest chapter yet.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
The General Update
San Francisco has come and gone, and with it went so many things.
It closed the chapter of the book I'll later call college and it tied up the ends of friendship. Not in any negative way, but in a way that will cement the bonds I have with those girls. They are all contained and were expressed perfectly in that week.
I returned to Colorado lighthearted, which seems to be the theme of this summer so far, having made a decision and set of realizations that would free me from something I had mentally shackled myself to.
And then it happened, change and chance and perfect timing and thus my life began again, reinvigorated with a sense of freedom.
I'm hanging in the strangest balance at the moment. I am nowhere and everywhere, yet I'm no longer worried or wavering in my steps. I told Mom the other day that I think I'd find myself in South Africa and she gave me a look and said something about me calling her to let her know where I was once I'd figured it out.
I returned her look with one of equal exasperation.
But here we are now staring down the end of July and I'm wondering where all the time went. Summer is almost over and weeks are slipping past me without me ever thinking about it. Hours, days, I've no time for anything. I feel as though that sense of urgency is actually adulthood approaching but I'm trying to stave it off as long as I can. You only live once and that's exactly what I'm trying to do.
There are also some things that remind me that the past is never really quite the past and that friendships created can be maintained or preserved even if they are forced to languish in a stagnant state for a long time. Sometimes it's just the people you know that can make you believe in yourself and in your life and in your dreams. (That was way too happy for my usual outlook, but for some reason, this summer has brought with it possibility and intrigue and all the wonderful things I so adore.)
I'm excited for my next few weeks in Denver.
P.S. - Aunt Jan wins awesome Aunt of the Week points for gifting me with an exciting assortment of Clinique swag. I'm always so thrilled with funny little stuff like that, because somehow it's always exactly what I needed. I'm going to wear the eyeshadow out tonight, so I'll report back on my findings.
It closed the chapter of the book I'll later call college and it tied up the ends of friendship. Not in any negative way, but in a way that will cement the bonds I have with those girls. They are all contained and were expressed perfectly in that week.
I returned to Colorado lighthearted, which seems to be the theme of this summer so far, having made a decision and set of realizations that would free me from something I had mentally shackled myself to.
And then it happened, change and chance and perfect timing and thus my life began again, reinvigorated with a sense of freedom.
I returned her look with one of equal exasperation.
But here we are now staring down the end of July and I'm wondering where all the time went. Summer is almost over and weeks are slipping past me without me ever thinking about it. Hours, days, I've no time for anything. I feel as though that sense of urgency is actually adulthood approaching but I'm trying to stave it off as long as I can. You only live once and that's exactly what I'm trying to do.
There are also some things that remind me that the past is never really quite the past and that friendships created can be maintained or preserved even if they are forced to languish in a stagnant state for a long time. Sometimes it's just the people you know that can make you believe in yourself and in your life and in your dreams. (That was way too happy for my usual outlook, but for some reason, this summer has brought with it possibility and intrigue and all the wonderful things I so adore.)
I'm excited for my next few weeks in Denver.
P.S. - Aunt Jan wins awesome Aunt of the Week points for gifting me with an exciting assortment of Clinique swag. I'm always so thrilled with funny little stuff like that, because somehow it's always exactly what I needed. I'm going to wear the eyeshadow out tonight, so I'll report back on my findings.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Mishmash
I've come to the conclusion that I really enjoy traveling.
Maybe it's the constant shuffle between Denver and Chicago, which sadly is drawing to a close at the end of this month, or the amount of places that I've been given the opportunity to visit, but either way, I've been in love with the world.
Luckily, however, I usually have a pretty nice bed to sleep in and this one is no exception. Soft and spacious, it's been hard to get out of. Maddie wasn't here last night, as she left yesterday to return home because Paul McCartney is more important than us, and I slept poorly. Hoping that it doesn't affect my enjoyment of today.
We've run out of steam on tourist things. We're heartbroken that we won't be able to make it to Alcatraz. I'm sick of bus transfers and swaying and holding on up and down hills. It's a much worse system than Chicago and I'm grateful for the CTA more times during the day than I ever thought I would be.
If you're friends with me on Facebook, the pictures of the trip are up. There are some necessary security precautions, so if you're a friend of a friend, you'll not be able to see the album. I'll set some of my favorites aside to post here once I get a bit more time. It's been a lovely journey through a lovely city and the place that we are staying is beyond amazing. I have a thing for any place that has granite countertops and an outdoor patio with a grill. Soft carpet. Walk in closets (not that they've been used at all).
After Cape Town, I wonder what it will be like to come back to Denver and make a life? Honestly, this trip is two parts adventure and two parts delaying adulthood. I'm not sure what it's like to make new friends or to find a new place to live in a city I no longer understand. It will be interesting. I'm going to give it a year and if I find that it's not working out for me, or that I'm unhappy in some monumental way, I'm going to pick a new city (or Chicago) and pick up and move there.
But hopefully Denver will be a suitable spot; I long ago decided I wanted to raise my children there. It's not bad crime-wise and it's just urban enough to be interesting, but also maintains a very laid-back attitude and is usually friendly, welcoming, accepting and progressive. The political culture is present and wildly different than the Chicago scene; good schools - better private ones; good prices; proximity to adventure (but sadly, no lakes/oceans). It's diverse, although I find myself at times wishing it was a more diverse city. We shall see how it changes in the next ten or so years before children are on the scene.
Colorado is the healthiest state, well-educated, apparently good for singles (ugh, dating). Maybe this will end in my favor?
Maybe it's the constant shuffle between Denver and Chicago, which sadly is drawing to a close at the end of this month, or the amount of places that I've been given the opportunity to visit, but either way, I've been in love with the world.
Luckily, however, I usually have a pretty nice bed to sleep in and this one is no exception. Soft and spacious, it's been hard to get out of. Maddie wasn't here last night, as she left yesterday to return home because Paul McCartney is more important than us, and I slept poorly. Hoping that it doesn't affect my enjoyment of today.
We've run out of steam on tourist things. We're heartbroken that we won't be able to make it to Alcatraz. I'm sick of bus transfers and swaying and holding on up and down hills. It's a much worse system than Chicago and I'm grateful for the CTA more times during the day than I ever thought I would be.
If you're friends with me on Facebook, the pictures of the trip are up. There are some necessary security precautions, so if you're a friend of a friend, you'll not be able to see the album. I'll set some of my favorites aside to post here once I get a bit more time. It's been a lovely journey through a lovely city and the place that we are staying is beyond amazing. I have a thing for any place that has granite countertops and an outdoor patio with a grill. Soft carpet. Walk in closets (not that they've been used at all).
After Cape Town, I wonder what it will be like to come back to Denver and make a life? Honestly, this trip is two parts adventure and two parts delaying adulthood. I'm not sure what it's like to make new friends or to find a new place to live in a city I no longer understand. It will be interesting. I'm going to give it a year and if I find that it's not working out for me, or that I'm unhappy in some monumental way, I'm going to pick a new city (or Chicago) and pick up and move there.
But hopefully Denver will be a suitable spot; I long ago decided I wanted to raise my children there. It's not bad crime-wise and it's just urban enough to be interesting, but also maintains a very laid-back attitude and is usually friendly, welcoming, accepting and progressive. The political culture is present and wildly different than the Chicago scene; good schools - better private ones; good prices; proximity to adventure (but sadly, no lakes/oceans). It's diverse, although I find myself at times wishing it was a more diverse city. We shall see how it changes in the next ten or so years before children are on the scene.
Colorado is the healthiest state, well-educated, apparently good for singles (ugh, dating). Maybe this will end in my favor?
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
More of San Francisco
I am wholly in love with this city. San Francisco reminded me at first of Boston, but now I've come to the conclusion that it's nothing like Boston at all, in any way.
It's not like Chicago, either. Last night, I asked a group of people where the nearest 24 hour liquor store was and they looked at me like I was absolutely crazy and asked me where I was from. Late bars? I asked hopefully. Not a chance. Apparently they do things differently around here.
The public transportation is insane. And not necessarily in a good way. While I feel like it does a decent job of covering the city, there are cable cars, street cars, buses, trains....any and all vehicular forms are used here and it makes it quite confusing.
A big disappointment was the Golden Gate Bridge, which wasn't planned out for tourists very well at all. There were three working bathroom stalls on the side of the bridge that we were on, and for the women, a line that extended quite far into the parking lot. I was glad to have brought hand sanitizer with me that day, definitely. The parking lot had service by one bus line, and buses to go to separate areas of the city left from the same spot and were numbered the same.
But.
This has been one of the greatest adventures of my life thus far. I could not love the women that I am with any more if I tried. It's been stressful, at times, relaxing, at other times, amazing, fulfilling, perfect.
Katie, Carolyn, Madeline, Anna and Leah are five friends I shall carry these memories with for life.
Last night was our big "going out" night because three of them (Madeline, Katie and Carolyn) are leaving today. We went to Asia SF last night to get dinner and watch gender illusionists lip synch what we thought were going to be show tunes. It was definitely a bit more raunchy than show tunes, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
Delicious three course dinner, dessert, drinks - free shots (an experience a selected few of you will hear about).
After, we got lost in a rough part of the city, made some quick decisions and got out of the situation. Along the way, we saw a huge group of police officers and firemen. They honked their truck horn at us and waved, which we found hilarious.
After some confusion and terror, we ended up back on the cable car/street car and got off at a random stop. The Mint bar was doing karaoke. This is where our night ended. Madeline and I did "Wonderboy" by Tenacious D. The other girls did something from Fiddler on the Roof.
At some point, I was outside and a man who told me he'd fallen in love with two girls who'd moved to Denver let me ride his street bike, something I had never done before. Another man who was out there had friends with him from Denver and we all danced for the rest of the night.
It was great.
Today we are planning on doing some walking tours of the city and riding a cable car and doing an at home dinner.
It's not like Chicago, either. Last night, I asked a group of people where the nearest 24 hour liquor store was and they looked at me like I was absolutely crazy and asked me where I was from. Late bars? I asked hopefully. Not a chance. Apparently they do things differently around here.
The public transportation is insane. And not necessarily in a good way. While I feel like it does a decent job of covering the city, there are cable cars, street cars, buses, trains....any and all vehicular forms are used here and it makes it quite confusing.
A big disappointment was the Golden Gate Bridge, which wasn't planned out for tourists very well at all. There were three working bathroom stalls on the side of the bridge that we were on, and for the women, a line that extended quite far into the parking lot. I was glad to have brought hand sanitizer with me that day, definitely. The parking lot had service by one bus line, and buses to go to separate areas of the city left from the same spot and were numbered the same.
But.
This has been one of the greatest adventures of my life thus far. I could not love the women that I am with any more if I tried. It's been stressful, at times, relaxing, at other times, amazing, fulfilling, perfect.
Katie, Carolyn, Madeline, Anna and Leah are five friends I shall carry these memories with for life.
Last night was our big "going out" night because three of them (Madeline, Katie and Carolyn) are leaving today. We went to Asia SF last night to get dinner and watch gender illusionists lip synch what we thought were going to be show tunes. It was definitely a bit more raunchy than show tunes, but it was a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
Delicious three course dinner, dessert, drinks - free shots (an experience a selected few of you will hear about).
After, we got lost in a rough part of the city, made some quick decisions and got out of the situation. Along the way, we saw a huge group of police officers and firemen. They honked their truck horn at us and waved, which we found hilarious.
After some confusion and terror, we ended up back on the cable car/street car and got off at a random stop. The Mint bar was doing karaoke. This is where our night ended. Madeline and I did "Wonderboy" by Tenacious D. The other girls did something from Fiddler on the Roof.
At some point, I was outside and a man who told me he'd fallen in love with two girls who'd moved to Denver let me ride his street bike, something I had never done before. Another man who was out there had friends with him from Denver and we all danced for the rest of the night.
It was great.
Today we are planning on doing some walking tours of the city and riding a cable car and doing an at home dinner.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
I keep forgetting I'm in California
Hello from San Francisco!!
Madeline and I are on our way to watch the World Cup finale but after that, we should be exploring the Haight today and then the evening is undecided. Perhaps Chinatown?
Tomorrow, if things fall into place, Katie Morton and I shall be riding over the Golden Gate Bridge on a tandem bike. It may very well be the most interesting thing we've ever done.
Last night was interesting. Maddie and I both landed about the same time, and then after getting my luggage, we went down to the BART and paid $7.95 each to take the train to 24th and Mission. From there I was quite distracted by a cart selling bacon hotdogs for $3.50. However, I was more intent on arriving at our destination alive, so we headed to the house on foot.
Hills. There were hills. At some point, we realized it was going to be a much more difficult endeavor than we had originally planned and I hailed a cab. Six dollars later, we had arrived.
Katie, Anna and Carolyn had been out in the Castro at the gay bars and were slightly worse for the wear, so Maddie and I left them to sleep and went out back to a bar we had seen on the ride to the house.
We had barely been out of the house five minutes when a motorcyclist made a U-turn and mumbled something odd. We walked on.
The Dubliner was playing a wonderful selection of music and we settled in to drink a couple in the last hour before the bars closed. I told the man who sidled up next to me that we were spending the summer backpacking up the west coast, starting in San Diego and ending in Seattle.
A man from Hungary tried to steal my camera (possibly), and after prying it from his hands, we left him to go home as the lights had just come on.
We made it home safely, read for awhile, and slept peacefully and woke this morning refreshed and ready for today.
We've got reservations at a restaurant that features feminine-looking Asian men lip-syncing to show tunes for the thirteenth. Excitement.
The odd thing about this place is that everyone seems to know we're outsiders. It's strange. I feel as though I normally can manage to blend into the places that I go.
Expect pictures; this is a beautiful city.
Madeline and I are on our way to watch the World Cup finale but after that, we should be exploring the Haight today and then the evening is undecided. Perhaps Chinatown?
Tomorrow, if things fall into place, Katie Morton and I shall be riding over the Golden Gate Bridge on a tandem bike. It may very well be the most interesting thing we've ever done.
Last night was interesting. Maddie and I both landed about the same time, and then after getting my luggage, we went down to the BART and paid $7.95 each to take the train to 24th and Mission. From there I was quite distracted by a cart selling bacon hotdogs for $3.50. However, I was more intent on arriving at our destination alive, so we headed to the house on foot.
Hills. There were hills. At some point, we realized it was going to be a much more difficult endeavor than we had originally planned and I hailed a cab. Six dollars later, we had arrived.
Katie, Anna and Carolyn had been out in the Castro at the gay bars and were slightly worse for the wear, so Maddie and I left them to sleep and went out back to a bar we had seen on the ride to the house.
We had barely been out of the house five minutes when a motorcyclist made a U-turn and mumbled something odd. We walked on.
The Dubliner was playing a wonderful selection of music and we settled in to drink a couple in the last hour before the bars closed. I told the man who sidled up next to me that we were spending the summer backpacking up the west coast, starting in San Diego and ending in Seattle.
A man from Hungary tried to steal my camera (possibly), and after prying it from his hands, we left him to go home as the lights had just come on.
We made it home safely, read for awhile, and slept peacefully and woke this morning refreshed and ready for today.
We've got reservations at a restaurant that features feminine-looking Asian men lip-syncing to show tunes for the thirteenth. Excitement.
The odd thing about this place is that everyone seems to know we're outsiders. It's strange. I feel as though I normally can manage to blend into the places that I go.
Expect pictures; this is a beautiful city.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Great (mis)Expectations
It's happened.
It's been happening.
It's going to end badly, not for all parties involved, but for me.
Love isn't patient or kind, or any of that bullshit.
It's painful and reckless and full of terrible decisions and one-sided feelings.
And it's inevitable.
I'm not usually the one in my situation. I'm normally the one tearing up hearts, leaving nothing but tragedy and lost hope in my wake. But this time, it's different.
This is the first time since that one time, and man, that was rough. That was three years of my life that tore me apart, bit by bit, until my soul was shattered. I lived on my expectations, my hopes, the possibilities. Lived for them. I still can't listen to the song that was his ringtone then, it reminds me of long nights of waiting and of nothing and of broken promises and tears.
And one day it was over; the pain was gone, there was no feeling at all. A twinge of selfish joy, perhaps, but nothing else. It was done, I was done feeling it, I'd moved on.
Time.
I have a crush. It's a bad crush. Not that it's bad to have a crush, it's healthy and normal and normally wonderful. It is wonderful.
But he's not feeling for me the way I am for him, and even though I'm aware of that, I'm worried that I'll let my heart get in the way of my head, as it tends to do. I don't want to hope anything, I want to live and breathe in the moment and be free but constant. Consistently is lacking in that aspect, as is communication of those expectations. I need to keep myself in check by constantly evaluating the situation and taking it for what it is: nothing. Fun. Reckless fun. Great reckless fun. Perfectly great reckless fun.
That's all it is, that's all it will be. And I'll take that.
I'm here and there; I've not been consistently in the same city for years. I'm back and forth, unsettled, technically free. I'm young and I'm beautiful, intelligent with a seemingly bright future ahead of me. I am everything, but I'm not that yet, I'm still on the cusp of all that is life. I've yet to succeed in business, or work in an office, or make a salary. And I know I'm young yet. It will all fall into place.
There's still time.
It's always the wrong time.
And this is what is happening now. I've caught a glimpse of something that I so dearly want, a person who's driven and intelligent and funny and kind and I've begun to realize those are all of the things that I want. Not stupid boys, I want a stupid man.
And so this crush will have to ride itself out, while he pines for another and I so willingly accept the job of placeholder, keeping time while it passes.
There are no choices but the ones you make in the moment and those are the choices that shape the way you are and forever will be. But I've never been one to make rational choices; I wouldn't be Katie Barry if I did. If you know the consequences yet you still make those decisions, what does that make you? Foolish, obviously. Desperate, not quite. Aware and idiotic, alive.
And to lust is to be alive; it's a reminder of what we're searching for: that possibly singular blinding connection.
I'll be old enough, one day. But by then, some other possibly smarter man will have realized the true value of my personality and seen the scope of my endless possibilities and unique perceptions and swept me off my feet.
And if not, there's always eHarmony.
(dear lord that was emo; I'm sorry. I'm exhausted. It's not an excuse but I'm using it and I stand by it. Part of me is mortified to post this, but part of me thinks it will be cleansing. I hate crushes. They're so fun and so annoying at the same time. But here's to more wonderful years of fun crushes and late nights, and mostly, dancing. And here's to crushes, because where would we be if we weren't always yearning for something we couldn't have?)
Um, also, I'm going to San Francisco! I'll be back on Friday, so perhaps there will be intermittent blog posting but perhaps not. Oh dear, this is going to be wonderful.
Ah, the waning days of my youth certainly do bring about a wild amount of adventure.
I long to travel. Everywhere. I want to visit everything and know everyone before I'm thirty with kids and a mid-level office job.
I want to live.
And that's exactly what I'm doing.
Au revoir, and expect pictures.
It's been happening.
It's going to end badly, not for all parties involved, but for me.
Love isn't patient or kind, or any of that bullshit.
It's painful and reckless and full of terrible decisions and one-sided feelings.
And it's inevitable.
I'm not usually the one in my situation. I'm normally the one tearing up hearts, leaving nothing but tragedy and lost hope in my wake. But this time, it's different.
This is the first time since that one time, and man, that was rough. That was three years of my life that tore me apart, bit by bit, until my soul was shattered. I lived on my expectations, my hopes, the possibilities. Lived for them. I still can't listen to the song that was his ringtone then, it reminds me of long nights of waiting and of nothing and of broken promises and tears.
And one day it was over; the pain was gone, there was no feeling at all. A twinge of selfish joy, perhaps, but nothing else. It was done, I was done feeling it, I'd moved on.
Time.
I have a crush. It's a bad crush. Not that it's bad to have a crush, it's healthy and normal and normally wonderful. It is wonderful.
But he's not feeling for me the way I am for him, and even though I'm aware of that, I'm worried that I'll let my heart get in the way of my head, as it tends to do. I don't want to hope anything, I want to live and breathe in the moment and be free but constant. Consistently is lacking in that aspect, as is communication of those expectations. I need to keep myself in check by constantly evaluating the situation and taking it for what it is: nothing. Fun. Reckless fun. Great reckless fun. Perfectly great reckless fun.
That's all it is, that's all it will be. And I'll take that.
I'm here and there; I've not been consistently in the same city for years. I'm back and forth, unsettled, technically free. I'm young and I'm beautiful, intelligent with a seemingly bright future ahead of me. I am everything, but I'm not that yet, I'm still on the cusp of all that is life. I've yet to succeed in business, or work in an office, or make a salary. And I know I'm young yet. It will all fall into place.
There's still time.
It's always the wrong time.
And this is what is happening now. I've caught a glimpse of something that I so dearly want, a person who's driven and intelligent and funny and kind and I've begun to realize those are all of the things that I want. Not stupid boys, I want a stupid man.
And so this crush will have to ride itself out, while he pines for another and I so willingly accept the job of placeholder, keeping time while it passes.
There are no choices but the ones you make in the moment and those are the choices that shape the way you are and forever will be. But I've never been one to make rational choices; I wouldn't be Katie Barry if I did. If you know the consequences yet you still make those decisions, what does that make you? Foolish, obviously. Desperate, not quite. Aware and idiotic, alive.
And to lust is to be alive; it's a reminder of what we're searching for: that possibly singular blinding connection.
I'll be old enough, one day. But by then, some other possibly smarter man will have realized the true value of my personality and seen the scope of my endless possibilities and unique perceptions and swept me off my feet.
And if not, there's always eHarmony.
(dear lord that was emo; I'm sorry. I'm exhausted. It's not an excuse but I'm using it and I stand by it. Part of me is mortified to post this, but part of me thinks it will be cleansing. I hate crushes. They're so fun and so annoying at the same time. But here's to more wonderful years of fun crushes and late nights, and mostly, dancing. And here's to crushes, because where would we be if we weren't always yearning for something we couldn't have?)
Um, also, I'm going to San Francisco! I'll be back on Friday, so perhaps there will be intermittent blog posting but perhaps not. Oh dear, this is going to be wonderful.
Ah, the waning days of my youth certainly do bring about a wild amount of adventure.
I long to travel. Everywhere. I want to visit everything and know everyone before I'm thirty with kids and a mid-level office job.
I want to live.
And that's exactly what I'm doing.
Au revoir, and expect pictures.
Thursday, July 08, 2010
I'm so lost and yet so settled.
I've spent the last twenty two years figuring out who I am and I think I've finally come to terms with me.
I've been loving being back; I sort of like being alone but always having somewhere to be, if that makes sense.
I'm excited to eventually find someone to share my life with, but I really truly do understand the value of one's own company. I am finding that I enjoy this time in life: unsettled, aware, alive, terrified, excited, anxious, restless, adventurous, beautiful, intrigued, curious, apprehensive, confident, nostalgic, reflective, quite sure: of nothing and of everything.
I am quite sure. But mostly, I am Katie Barry. And that, my friends, is not a bad thing to be.
There have been so many thoughts lately, and actually the push to write more fiction, so tomorrow, the first day that there will be breath for me since moving home, I will be breathing, and writing, and sipping tea. And then, of course, adventuring, because what day would be worthwhile without some sort of wild tale yet untold?
There are the things that have come back, the curious twists of fate, the possibilities. Exploration begins, tentatively, as does the working out.
Becoming a woman (in the real sense of the word....I used the phrase the other night and my friends were properly horrified) is not the easiest thing to do. There are things they fail to tell you, of course, that you must figure out. One of them is that living in the Midwest will make you love processed meats and cheeses and give you extra curves and things you never thought you'd have. I'm off to hike tomorrow, maybe? Morning? Red Rocks? yes. If I could be anywhere, always, it would be there.
I also can't wait to write the Subway tales, I think you'll find those at least mildly amusing.
I've spent the last twenty two years figuring out who I am and I think I've finally come to terms with me.
I've been loving being back; I sort of like being alone but always having somewhere to be, if that makes sense.
I'm excited to eventually find someone to share my life with, but I really truly do understand the value of one's own company. I am finding that I enjoy this time in life: unsettled, aware, alive, terrified, excited, anxious, restless, adventurous, beautiful, intrigued, curious, apprehensive, confident, nostalgic, reflective, quite sure: of nothing and of everything.
I am quite sure. But mostly, I am Katie Barry. And that, my friends, is not a bad thing to be.
There have been so many thoughts lately, and actually the push to write more fiction, so tomorrow, the first day that there will be breath for me since moving home, I will be breathing, and writing, and sipping tea. And then, of course, adventuring, because what day would be worthwhile without some sort of wild tale yet untold?
There are the things that have come back, the curious twists of fate, the possibilities. Exploration begins, tentatively, as does the working out.
Becoming a woman (in the real sense of the word....I used the phrase the other night and my friends were properly horrified) is not the easiest thing to do. There are things they fail to tell you, of course, that you must figure out. One of them is that living in the Midwest will make you love processed meats and cheeses and give you extra curves and things you never thought you'd have. I'm off to hike tomorrow, maybe? Morning? Red Rocks? yes. If I could be anywhere, always, it would be there.
I also can't wait to write the Subway tales, I think you'll find those at least mildly amusing.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
I never believed anyone when they told me time would start to fly by as I got older.
I'll never forget thinking that middle school would last forever, and that high school wouldn't be a time in my life I'd someday look back nostalgically on.
College didn't even seem endless; it was there and it was done and now it's over and I feel as though it never happened, even though I'm quite sure it did.
Twenty two is young, I'm constantly reminded of that. But it's not so young that I've not lived a full life, not so young I've not been molded into a wholly unique person.
Lately, I've been embracing myself, and finding it entirely freeing. Meeting new people, doing new things (please do not judge me for this overly broad statement; cutting bread and putting meat and cheese and condiments on it entirely counts as something new), preparing for great adventures, being generally at ease with the things around me: I'm throwing myself into all of that.
Not that on the inside I'm not absolutely terrified. Africa for three months? What if life as I know it changes when I return? Of course it will. I will be changed when I return.
But some things never change. And that might be the best part.
I'm home.
Thank you, everyone. I'm here because of you. Not here, here, but here.
Monday, July 05, 2010
Home, or something like it.
We have arrived.
The trip out was eventful, of course, but we made it in one piece with no trouble. After a late start on Thursday, we got to Des Moines. Both Mike and I were tired and hurting from the packing and cleaning, and the cat was ready to stop as well, so we stopped and got a hotel room for the night. Having AAA does have its advantages, and with a discounted room - I think the discount came to about $5 - we went down to the pool to swim and then ordered food and fell asleep.
Of course, we slept in later than we had planned and then headed out for Omaha. After lunch of hamburgers complete with hamburger-cupcake dessert, we went to the zoo and then out for dinner. After that, we played in the yard and then with the neighborhood kids.
Mike and I slept down in the basement but were distracted by the Wii, and so got another late start on Saturday. We made it home by about one.
Saturday night I went to a friend's barbecue and then had to be up early to start my new career as a Sandwich Artist. Not to brag or anything, but I'm a much better sandwich artist than the other new kid who were training next to me. I just sort of jumped right in and began creating and the other guy hung back. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be interesting work. Not particularly challenging, but I feel as though I can figure out some way to spice my days up.
Ah, Colorado. We shall see how it all goes. Well, I hope.
I'm still spread out, not quite settled in. My stuff is all over this house and I still have a garage full of things at Mom's to organize. I'm waiting for my three suitcases to arrive via UPS and once they do, things should get a little bit better. Hopefully.
The trip out was eventful, of course, but we made it in one piece with no trouble. After a late start on Thursday, we got to Des Moines. Both Mike and I were tired and hurting from the packing and cleaning, and the cat was ready to stop as well, so we stopped and got a hotel room for the night. Having AAA does have its advantages, and with a discounted room - I think the discount came to about $5 - we went down to the pool to swim and then ordered food and fell asleep.
Of course, we slept in later than we had planned and then headed out for Omaha. After lunch of hamburgers complete with hamburger-cupcake dessert, we went to the zoo and then out for dinner. After that, we played in the yard and then with the neighborhood kids.
Mike and I slept down in the basement but were distracted by the Wii, and so got another late start on Saturday. We made it home by about one.
Saturday night I went to a friend's barbecue and then had to be up early to start my new career as a Sandwich Artist. Not to brag or anything, but I'm a much better sandwich artist than the other new kid who were training next to me. I just sort of jumped right in and began creating and the other guy hung back. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be interesting work. Not particularly challenging, but I feel as though I can figure out some way to spice my days up.
Ah, Colorado. We shall see how it all goes. Well, I hope.
I'm still spread out, not quite settled in. My stuff is all over this house and I still have a garage full of things at Mom's to organize. I'm waiting for my three suitcases to arrive via UPS and once they do, things should get a little bit better. Hopefully.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Blues, among other things
I babysat the three little boys for the last time last night.
Blaise is two now, and he can annunciate my name. Hunter and Luke will be five in September, so we talked about me leaving and they told me that maybe they'd go on vacation while I was gone too, but wanted to know if I'd be back for their birthday. When I told them I'd be gone, Hunter looked at me and said, "Maybe you can come over the day before."
We had a good night. Two of them weren't feeling well, so we made juice popsicles and watched too much Thomas the Tank Engine. I choked back tears while we were reading stories, and then again when I put Blaise to bed. I've always had a special bond with him; he's such a happy baby.
Then, things got bad. I put Luke to bed in the boys' room and he wanted me to sing to him, so I asked him what he wanted. "A song about you," he said, so I sang something. "Actually," he said after I'd badly sung a short, made-up song, "tell me a story about you." So we talked about them, and Carlos, and life.
I told him I loved him and tucked him in and then went to find Hunter, who was in the other room. He wanted to sing to me, he said. He hummed me a song and then asked me what my favorite part was. "The middle," I answered.
"It's Tinkerbell's birthday song," he said. "Now you sing me one."
I hummed Blackbird.
And then I cried.
They gave me a beautiful card and each of the boys gave me a piece of paper they'd decorated.
It's been a wild two years, but as I told her when I left, I'm wildly more prepared for motherhood. I remember when I had just started with them and I'd find myself overwhelmed at times. Now, I can weather tantrums calmly without being stressed at all. Last night, there were those tired tears that only sleep can solve, a problem so simple it wasn't, and Luke telling me he had to have popsicles by midnight. The only problem? They weren't frozen yet.
I looked at him and I said, "What do you think will happen if you don't have one before midnight instead of waiting until tomorrow?"
He thought about it.
"Nothing too bad, right?" I said. "Now, you may have banana or applesauce."
The tears continued, but I continued doing what I had been doing and I didn't bat an eye. Later it was applesauce that solved the problem.
After I got home last night, I called my friend Patrick (who met Maddie a few months ago on his first night in Chicago) and told him I wanted to go out. Then I called my new Irish friend (how funny is it that we majored in the same thing? However, he also has a Master's degree and I do not) and asked him what he was doing. He was at a blues place. So Patrick and I went. The place has two stages, and the musicians switch back and forth between the two all night. One of their group had talked to the musicians after the first set, and they invited him up to play with them. The club was open until 3:30, so we stayed there as long as we could. (I'd only gotten there around one.)
I ended up home with McDonald's breakfast around six thirty, and I managed to find what I believe is legal parking (it's street sweeping day, but there weren't any signs) so all is well. That group of guys is hilarious. They're seven guys here for the summer, excited to meet American girls, but so far have only met Irish ones (and me, but I don't think I count. They keep asking me if I have girl friends. I tell them I'm working on it). I have thoroughly enjoyed the couple of weeks I've had with them and am going to be sad to miss their summer here.
Mike gets in tonight! I'm not sure what we're going to do, I have a huge final tomorrow, and still think I'm going to write a six page paper, but haven't decided yet, so it might be a laid back night in.
I'm miserably unprepared for this move and it's starting to make me nervous. I know that I don't have much to do in Colorado, but Dad is leaving just before I get to his house and the idea of being somewhere unfamiliar at a high-stress time with Carlos and other cats is stressing me out. I'm employed, though! I start at Subway next week. I'm about to the best qualified "sandwich artist" that ever lived.
But South African preparations must begin.
Ah, summer. Hopefully Denver is ready for me.
Blaise is two now, and he can annunciate my name. Hunter and Luke will be five in September, so we talked about me leaving and they told me that maybe they'd go on vacation while I was gone too, but wanted to know if I'd be back for their birthday. When I told them I'd be gone, Hunter looked at me and said, "Maybe you can come over the day before."
We had a good night. Two of them weren't feeling well, so we made juice popsicles and watched too much Thomas the Tank Engine. I choked back tears while we were reading stories, and then again when I put Blaise to bed. I've always had a special bond with him; he's such a happy baby.
Then, things got bad. I put Luke to bed in the boys' room and he wanted me to sing to him, so I asked him what he wanted. "A song about you," he said, so I sang something. "Actually," he said after I'd badly sung a short, made-up song, "tell me a story about you." So we talked about them, and Carlos, and life.
I told him I loved him and tucked him in and then went to find Hunter, who was in the other room. He wanted to sing to me, he said. He hummed me a song and then asked me what my favorite part was. "The middle," I answered.
"It's Tinkerbell's birthday song," he said. "Now you sing me one."
I hummed Blackbird.
And then I cried.
They gave me a beautiful card and each of the boys gave me a piece of paper they'd decorated.
It's been a wild two years, but as I told her when I left, I'm wildly more prepared for motherhood. I remember when I had just started with them and I'd find myself overwhelmed at times. Now, I can weather tantrums calmly without being stressed at all. Last night, there were those tired tears that only sleep can solve, a problem so simple it wasn't, and Luke telling me he had to have popsicles by midnight. The only problem? They weren't frozen yet.
I looked at him and I said, "What do you think will happen if you don't have one before midnight instead of waiting until tomorrow?"
He thought about it.
"Nothing too bad, right?" I said. "Now, you may have banana or applesauce."
The tears continued, but I continued doing what I had been doing and I didn't bat an eye. Later it was applesauce that solved the problem.
After I got home last night, I called my friend Patrick (who met Maddie a few months ago on his first night in Chicago) and told him I wanted to go out. Then I called my new Irish friend (how funny is it that we majored in the same thing? However, he also has a Master's degree and I do not) and asked him what he was doing. He was at a blues place. So Patrick and I went. The place has two stages, and the musicians switch back and forth between the two all night. One of their group had talked to the musicians after the first set, and they invited him up to play with them. The club was open until 3:30, so we stayed there as long as we could. (I'd only gotten there around one.)
I ended up home with McDonald's breakfast around six thirty, and I managed to find what I believe is legal parking (it's street sweeping day, but there weren't any signs) so all is well. That group of guys is hilarious. They're seven guys here for the summer, excited to meet American girls, but so far have only met Irish ones (and me, but I don't think I count. They keep asking me if I have girl friends. I tell them I'm working on it). I have thoroughly enjoyed the couple of weeks I've had with them and am going to be sad to miss their summer here.
Mike gets in tonight! I'm not sure what we're going to do, I have a huge final tomorrow, and still think I'm going to write a six page paper, but haven't decided yet, so it might be a laid back night in.
I'm miserably unprepared for this move and it's starting to make me nervous. I know that I don't have much to do in Colorado, but Dad is leaving just before I get to his house and the idea of being somewhere unfamiliar at a high-stress time with Carlos and other cats is stressing me out. I'm employed, though! I start at Subway next week. I'm about to the best qualified "sandwich artist" that ever lived.
But South African preparations must begin.
Ah, summer. Hopefully Denver is ready for me.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Moving to Denver: 2010: Cat Update
I apologize for that last post.
My life list should actually look more like this:
To Do:
Stop being such a melodramatic bore.
Instead of doing anything on either of those lists, I spoke with Mom on the phone for well over an hour, referenced Virginia Woolf more than I should have, and then promptly overworked myself about cat nail clippers. You know, that sort of afternoon.
Carlos' nail clippers are missing. And his claws grow faster than baby's fingernails. So perhaps my Sunday drive today should be to PetSmart (Is it PetsMart? Or PetSmart? either way, there) to get some new ones that won't shred his nails.
That way I can prove to myself and him that I'm not a bad mother.
The ankle is another issue entirely. I played ultimate frisbee and then kickball yesterday, neither of which are activities conducive to healing. I now have a solid mass just above my ankle bone. I'll keep you updated for developments in that department.
However, I love running around. I also love it when neighborhood moms say that 22 year olds can still have popsicle breaks. Perfect evening.
Firetruck on my street and others fast approaching. Hopefully it's the second great Chicago fire and I can finally capitalize on my renter's insurance policy.
(Cute joke, I promise. I'm pretending that I'm not leaving and have therefore not begun packing. It's that sort of week as well. It might be easier if half of my possessions were charred. It would certainly make packing easier.)
The short-lived audio player will return, just after I've made some adjustments. That one was cumbersome and ugly, and if it's one thing that I prefer my blog not to be, it's that. (Take your pick, cumbersome or ugly.)
I'm going to hit up the PetSMart (there, end of discussion) downtown and make sure that I can get Carlos what he needs. Maybe he'll want to come with? We're trying to practice car driving. (Redundant, I know.) He's not been bad at it; the only thing he HATES is getting in. And with those claws? He'd be a free cat in no time.
....
(Some time later)
I've returned...I have a new dog carrier for Carlos (since he's too big to fit comfortably in the cat ones) that should be spacious enough for the road trip. (I'll hopefully be able to fit a small litter box and some food/water in there as well....fingers crossed!) I didn't want to go too big, he doesn't need a cat palace. But he also got a new collar (it's adorable - white with dark brown flowers along it) to replace the one that was lost when he had his surgery. I'm not going to bother paying to make a tag or anything, he's microchipped and easily recognizable by all of his physical injuries.
Apparently, his teeth are out of order too. The front fangs are behind other fang-like teeth (I'd like to say incisors, but I'm most likely wrong. Fangs are incisors, right?) but should be in front of them. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to bother him although it might explain why he eats like a hyena.
Today was beautiful: hot and sunny, the Pride parade was today. I didn't go, instead I chose to decompress (and rest that ankle) and lay around watching the NCIS marathon on USA.
Perfect day.
I'm off to my friend Harrison's for our last movie night tonight.
My life list should actually look more like this:
To Do:
Stop being such a melodramatic bore.
Instead of doing anything on either of those lists, I spoke with Mom on the phone for well over an hour, referenced Virginia Woolf more than I should have, and then promptly overworked myself about cat nail clippers. You know, that sort of afternoon.
Carlos' nail clippers are missing. And his claws grow faster than baby's fingernails. So perhaps my Sunday drive today should be to PetSmart (Is it PetsMart? Or PetSmart? either way, there) to get some new ones that won't shred his nails.
That way I can prove to myself and him that I'm not a bad mother.
The ankle is another issue entirely. I played ultimate frisbee and then kickball yesterday, neither of which are activities conducive to healing. I now have a solid mass just above my ankle bone. I'll keep you updated for developments in that department.
However, I love running around. I also love it when neighborhood moms say that 22 year olds can still have popsicle breaks. Perfect evening.
Firetruck on my street and others fast approaching. Hopefully it's the second great Chicago fire and I can finally capitalize on my renter's insurance policy.
(Cute joke, I promise. I'm pretending that I'm not leaving and have therefore not begun packing. It's that sort of week as well. It might be easier if half of my possessions were charred. It would certainly make packing easier.)
The short-lived audio player will return, just after I've made some adjustments. That one was cumbersome and ugly, and if it's one thing that I prefer my blog not to be, it's that. (Take your pick, cumbersome or ugly.)
I'm going to hit up the PetSMart (there, end of discussion) downtown and make sure that I can get Carlos what he needs. Maybe he'll want to come with? We're trying to practice car driving. (Redundant, I know.) He's not been bad at it; the only thing he HATES is getting in. And with those claws? He'd be a free cat in no time.
....
(Some time later)
I've returned...I have a new dog carrier for Carlos (since he's too big to fit comfortably in the cat ones) that should be spacious enough for the road trip. (I'll hopefully be able to fit a small litter box and some food/water in there as well....fingers crossed!) I didn't want to go too big, he doesn't need a cat palace. But he also got a new collar (it's adorable - white with dark brown flowers along it) to replace the one that was lost when he had his surgery. I'm not going to bother paying to make a tag or anything, he's microchipped and easily recognizable by all of his physical injuries.
Apparently, his teeth are out of order too. The front fangs are behind other fang-like teeth (I'd like to say incisors, but I'm most likely wrong. Fangs are incisors, right?) but should be in front of them. Thankfully, it doesn't seem to bother him although it might explain why he eats like a hyena.
Today was beautiful: hot and sunny, the Pride parade was today. I didn't go, instead I chose to decompress (and rest that ankle) and lay around watching the NCIS marathon on USA.
Perfect day.
I'm off to my friend Harrison's for our last movie night tonight.
The countdown has begun.
I'm at home today, not doing much of anything.
Lots to do: cleaning, obviously, a 6 page paper due Wednesday, packing, etc.
Tomorrow: A test at 2, then work from 5 until midnight.
Tuesday: Apparently, Mike flies in.
Wednesday: Final
Thursday: work
Friday: Denver.
Not much to write, not in the mood to write about much of anything.
I'm at home today, not doing much of anything.
Lots to do: cleaning, obviously, a 6 page paper due Wednesday, packing, etc.
Tomorrow: A test at 2, then work from 5 until midnight.
Tuesday: Apparently, Mike flies in.
Wednesday: Final
Thursday: work
Friday: Denver.
Not much to write, not in the mood to write about much of anything.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Truth, Lies and the In-Between
Is there a disparity between who you are and who you present yourself as?
I've been wondering that a lot lately.
It's interesting. I've recently become close with a girl whom I was introduced to by a mutual friend. We share the same group of friends, for the most part. People often ask her why she's friends with me. She's confused by that question.
I'm confused as well.
And it's been making me wonder what the perception of me is in the social circles that I run in.
Of course, I try to follow the golden rules: acting to others as I'd like to be treated, trying not to do a terrible amount of gossip, kindness, respect, loyalty, etc.
But that's where things get gray.
Everyone thinks that what they're doing is correct.
Of course, I was watching reality television when I came to that conclusion. The Real Housewives series is a showcase of points of view. Since you see the drama unfold and then hear interviews that reflect the opinions of the participants, you get a glimpse of the ways that conflict operates. Of course, there's great truth in the idea that there are always three sides to the truth: yours, theirs, and the real truth. And I've come to the conclusion that no one knows the real truth about anything. Watching the housewives talk about their dramas, I find my sympathies rarely change but that sometimes, I'm not even sure who I want to sympathize with. Instead, I watch their impending arguments with fascination. Each is convinced that her opinion is correct.
One was lauding the fact that her son was in law school, yet I read in a law blog yesterday that he'd been kicked out for being unable to pass. Her reaction? To criticize the school for being unable to handle his learning disabilities. The blog's response? "And given that the practice of law involves lots of learning, maybe it’s best that those with JDs not have LDs." I can see both sides of that argument. Who can't? There are things I'd like to do with my life, but won't because I know I lack the skill set. Doing crime scene investigation and evidence-analysis? My dream job. But I can't because I lack the mathematical prowess.
I'd like to merge the truths that I feel about myself with the truths that people feel about me. I know that everyone feels differently about everyone based on their situational relevance and proximity, but I would hope that someday I may merge all thoughts about me as a person in order to create a singular image of a composed, classy (but still fun), irreverent, intelligent, feisty woman. However, if anything, this has served as a wake up call to me that I need to reach out to the people around me and work on revealing my inner self rather than working on projecting something that may be an inaccurate reflection of myself.
My blog the other day received some criticism that I welcomed, although I was unsure as to how it fit into the scheme of the thought process. I had been intending for that particular post to be a contrite look at a past situation by analyzing and comparing it to a more recent situation. I wanted to show personal growth and make amends, even though those amends won't be heard by those who need to hear them.
However, rather than let the commentary do anything other than annoy me, I will say one thing: when you're going to call someone stupid on the internet, please make sure you do so after correcting your grammatical errors. It increases the power of your argument tenfold.
Think about whether or not your actions support the outward image that you wish to present. Obviously, that image might be different based on different situations, but if the end goal is respect, then hopefully even your less savory experiences (such as Friday nights out) might reflect your ability to support friends.
Today I was a better listener. That's been a big goal for me. Listening is really hard for me, because I'm always brimming with information that I want to share. Today, I was quiet and I supported my friend while she talked.
See? Working on it.
I've been wondering that a lot lately.
It's interesting. I've recently become close with a girl whom I was introduced to by a mutual friend. We share the same group of friends, for the most part. People often ask her why she's friends with me. She's confused by that question.
I'm confused as well.
And it's been making me wonder what the perception of me is in the social circles that I run in.
Of course, I try to follow the golden rules: acting to others as I'd like to be treated, trying not to do a terrible amount of gossip, kindness, respect, loyalty, etc.
But that's where things get gray.
Everyone thinks that what they're doing is correct.
Of course, I was watching reality television when I came to that conclusion. The Real Housewives series is a showcase of points of view. Since you see the drama unfold and then hear interviews that reflect the opinions of the participants, you get a glimpse of the ways that conflict operates. Of course, there's great truth in the idea that there are always three sides to the truth: yours, theirs, and the real truth. And I've come to the conclusion that no one knows the real truth about anything. Watching the housewives talk about their dramas, I find my sympathies rarely change but that sometimes, I'm not even sure who I want to sympathize with. Instead, I watch their impending arguments with fascination. Each is convinced that her opinion is correct.
One was lauding the fact that her son was in law school, yet I read in a law blog yesterday that he'd been kicked out for being unable to pass. Her reaction? To criticize the school for being unable to handle his learning disabilities. The blog's response? "And given that the practice of law involves lots of learning, maybe it’s best that those with JDs not have LDs." I can see both sides of that argument. Who can't? There are things I'd like to do with my life, but won't because I know I lack the skill set. Doing crime scene investigation and evidence-analysis? My dream job. But I can't because I lack the mathematical prowess.
I'd like to merge the truths that I feel about myself with the truths that people feel about me. I know that everyone feels differently about everyone based on their situational relevance and proximity, but I would hope that someday I may merge all thoughts about me as a person in order to create a singular image of a composed, classy (but still fun), irreverent, intelligent, feisty woman. However, if anything, this has served as a wake up call to me that I need to reach out to the people around me and work on revealing my inner self rather than working on projecting something that may be an inaccurate reflection of myself.
My blog the other day received some criticism that I welcomed, although I was unsure as to how it fit into the scheme of the thought process. I had been intending for that particular post to be a contrite look at a past situation by analyzing and comparing it to a more recent situation. I wanted to show personal growth and make amends, even though those amends won't be heard by those who need to hear them.
However, rather than let the commentary do anything other than annoy me, I will say one thing: when you're going to call someone stupid on the internet, please make sure you do so after correcting your grammatical errors. It increases the power of your argument tenfold.
Think about whether or not your actions support the outward image that you wish to present. Obviously, that image might be different based on different situations, but if the end goal is respect, then hopefully even your less savory experiences (such as Friday nights out) might reflect your ability to support friends.
Today I was a better listener. That's been a big goal for me. Listening is really hard for me, because I'm always brimming with information that I want to share. Today, I was quiet and I supported my friend while she talked.
See? Working on it.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
in between
It's 3:17pm.
I've done nothing today except reheat leftovers and look for information about the oil leak in Egypt.
It's hot in the apartment.
Cat is laying on the floor in front of the fan.
The ankle thing has put a cramp in my style, but today I'm going to go for a walk. And take pictures of the things in my neighborhood that mean something to me. And I'm going to buy cherries from the Devon Market and I'm going to have a wonderful evening.
It's going to be the perfect by yourself sort of day, the kind where you don't clean and you don't care.
I'm afraid to start packing because I'm not sure how it's going to go. Mom wants Mike to fly out and then join me for the drive back. I'd be alright with that.
I've done nothing today except reheat leftovers and look for information about the oil leak in Egypt.
It's hot in the apartment.
Cat is laying on the floor in front of the fan.
The ankle thing has put a cramp in my style, but today I'm going to go for a walk. And take pictures of the things in my neighborhood that mean something to me. And I'm going to buy cherries from the Devon Market and I'm going to have a wonderful evening.
It's going to be the perfect by yourself sort of day, the kind where you don't clean and you don't care.
I'm afraid to start packing because I'm not sure how it's going to go. Mom wants Mike to fly out and then join me for the drive back. I'd be alright with that.
Monday, June 21, 2010
"If I could change one thing about tomorrow..."
Preparing to leave Chicago is both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. While I'm about to embark on one of the greatest adventures of my life, I'm also leaving behind four years of friendships and experiences.
As I do during most great times of change and the turmoil that comes with that, I've spent a lot of time lately reflecting. This week, it's on my own actions and the actions of the people around me.
I was reading an article in The New York Times today that discussed the problem of not knowing what you cannot know. (I've been wondering a lot about this specific thing lately, so it was pleasant to find an article on it. It made me realize that perhaps my thought trajectories have a purpose or at the very least, some semblance of normality. Linked here.) I often wonder how much of my life has been spent fumbling around simply because I did not know that there were alternate opportunities. This has lately made me wonder if I might have flourished in marketing or business during my undergraduate career, where I spent four years floundering in confusion as to my future. I wonder now how much floundering I've yet to do, simply because I'm unaware.
However, at the moment, I'm resigned to my fate because I've got a plan that will take me to at least December. During that time, I do believe there will be a lot of soul-searching and a lot of re-designation of life's particulars. I am going to take August to revel in myself, do some volunteering, and hopefully do some meager babysitting in an attempt to get some petty cash. And after that, I'll come back in debt, homeless and jobless, but at least I'll have had adventure and experience and a slightly thicker resume and I'll be lacking all of the student loans that my peers have accrued throughout their collegiate experience.
I'm looking at the great Cape Town adventure as a semester abroad, something that nobody should be deprived of and something that will be life changing no matter what happens. (It's also costing what the five week Rome study program would have cost, so for that, I'm wildly grateful. Rather than spend five weeks, I get to spend eight-plus and do something so much more worthwhile [hopefully].)
I've digressed, of course, but you knew that I would.
You'll remember our friend Ian, unless of course you don't. He was Hunter's roommate during their junior and senior years of college. He had two suicide attempts during the time that I knew him, once while they lived on the South Side, the night that Emily and I left to drive back to St. Louis the summer of 2008 and then once again January 31st, 2009. Neither of them were particularly successful: once, he took some Adderall and then immediately told a bus driver what he'd done and the second time, he disappeared from a party to send veiled text messages and to wander the city by night. We were frightened both times, but the second was the last straw.
I'll leave out things that happened in the interim, things that I would prefer to forget myself, but I'll say that it wasn't as though he was without any fault in the ultimate outcome.
My last words to him were, "I love you," at five o'clock the next morning, when he came back to the apartment on Magnolia to collect his things. He left through the back door, down those gray steps. There had been tears and shouting that night, anger and hurt feelings shared by us all.
And he was gone.
We went out to breakfast that morning. Me, Emily, Hunter, Coupe and Kyle. We gave thanks for our strong friendships, for the love that we shared together. After that, we didn't hear from Ian and we made no attempt to contact him either. He settled things with Kyle and Hunter and Coupe, figuring out the bills, etc. We made cruel jokes, said hurtful things, and shut him out. The butt of all the jokes was Ian. At the time, it seemed like the sensible thing to do: band together and knit back together our hurt feelings.
Time passed.
I often wonder what he's doing with his life. I don't really care to know, as some of the things that happened between us don't deserve an answer, but now I wonder if we should have handled it differently.
I never foresaw the outcome of the breakup before I did it. I sometimes wonder if I should have stayed in the relationship just to avoid the aftermath, but then I realize that there was no option to do that. The reaction to the breakup confirmed everything I was thinking and solidified the fact that what I had done was right. (The manner of the final break up may not have been the most tactful, of course, but there was a complicating situation that had arisen in the meantime that necessitated an immediate and complete break up.)
After, I realized firsthand what the group mentality can do. I've lost more friends than I can count simply because of that group ideal of banding together. Because I'd hurt him, that I'd disrupted the flow of normalcy, I was no longer welcome. There were incidents, of course, and there was the final end. People who I counted among my confidants, among my very best friends, no longer speak to me. They pretend that I've committed some unspeakable act against them, that I'm despicable. They joined in calling me disgusting names behind my back, spreading lies and betraying confidences.
Running into mutual friends who've "de-friended" me on Facebook is always a sick pleasure for me. I love being polite and nice, and I love to see their reactions. I'm not the evil person I've been made out to be. But to them, I am. I hurt one of their own and have suffered the consequences. And while I'm not particularly hurt by it as I was never truly one of their company, I am more hurt than I thought I would be.
The immaturity and lack of respect shown by these individuals toward me makes me think about how I acted when I was a part of that group. And it makes me think about the Ian situation.
What could we have done differently?
What should we have done differently?
Were our actions correct?
Probably not, but at the time, we were unaware of different avenues of expression of our grief and dismay.
I feel badly, and while I'm not sure exactly what I would have done differently, I do know that we handled the situation immaturely and disrespectfully. Perhaps we were right to cut him out of our lives based on the stresses we were facing as a direct result of his actions, but we were not in any way correct to say some of the things that we did. We were in no way right to make the generalizations that we made.
And so, I am apologizing. None of us were right. Not you, not me, not us, not them. But we could have acted differently. And we should have.
Next time I'm faced with a situation that involves the termination of a friendship or some other severe conflict, hopefully I will be able to step back and take a look at the situation before I act in a way that I may someday regret. At the very least, that might present a positive outcome from an otherwise miserable situation.
As I do during most great times of change and the turmoil that comes with that, I've spent a lot of time lately reflecting. This week, it's on my own actions and the actions of the people around me.
I was reading an article in The New York Times today that discussed the problem of not knowing what you cannot know. (I've been wondering a lot about this specific thing lately, so it was pleasant to find an article on it. It made me realize that perhaps my thought trajectories have a purpose or at the very least, some semblance of normality. Linked here.) I often wonder how much of my life has been spent fumbling around simply because I did not know that there were alternate opportunities. This has lately made me wonder if I might have flourished in marketing or business during my undergraduate career, where I spent four years floundering in confusion as to my future. I wonder now how much floundering I've yet to do, simply because I'm unaware.
However, at the moment, I'm resigned to my fate because I've got a plan that will take me to at least December. During that time, I do believe there will be a lot of soul-searching and a lot of re-designation of life's particulars. I am going to take August to revel in myself, do some volunteering, and hopefully do some meager babysitting in an attempt to get some petty cash. And after that, I'll come back in debt, homeless and jobless, but at least I'll have had adventure and experience and a slightly thicker resume and I'll be lacking all of the student loans that my peers have accrued throughout their collegiate experience.
I'm looking at the great Cape Town adventure as a semester abroad, something that nobody should be deprived of and something that will be life changing no matter what happens. (It's also costing what the five week Rome study program would have cost, so for that, I'm wildly grateful. Rather than spend five weeks, I get to spend eight-plus and do something so much more worthwhile [hopefully].)
I've digressed, of course, but you knew that I would.
You'll remember our friend Ian, unless of course you don't. He was Hunter's roommate during their junior and senior years of college. He had two suicide attempts during the time that I knew him, once while they lived on the South Side, the night that Emily and I left to drive back to St. Louis the summer of 2008 and then once again January 31st, 2009. Neither of them were particularly successful: once, he took some Adderall and then immediately told a bus driver what he'd done and the second time, he disappeared from a party to send veiled text messages and to wander the city by night. We were frightened both times, but the second was the last straw.
I'll leave out things that happened in the interim, things that I would prefer to forget myself, but I'll say that it wasn't as though he was without any fault in the ultimate outcome.
My last words to him were, "I love you," at five o'clock the next morning, when he came back to the apartment on Magnolia to collect his things. He left through the back door, down those gray steps. There had been tears and shouting that night, anger and hurt feelings shared by us all.
And he was gone.
We went out to breakfast that morning. Me, Emily, Hunter, Coupe and Kyle. We gave thanks for our strong friendships, for the love that we shared together. After that, we didn't hear from Ian and we made no attempt to contact him either. He settled things with Kyle and Hunter and Coupe, figuring out the bills, etc. We made cruel jokes, said hurtful things, and shut him out. The butt of all the jokes was Ian. At the time, it seemed like the sensible thing to do: band together and knit back together our hurt feelings.
Time passed.
I often wonder what he's doing with his life. I don't really care to know, as some of the things that happened between us don't deserve an answer, but now I wonder if we should have handled it differently.
I never foresaw the outcome of the breakup before I did it. I sometimes wonder if I should have stayed in the relationship just to avoid the aftermath, but then I realize that there was no option to do that. The reaction to the breakup confirmed everything I was thinking and solidified the fact that what I had done was right. (The manner of the final break up may not have been the most tactful, of course, but there was a complicating situation that had arisen in the meantime that necessitated an immediate and complete break up.)
After, I realized firsthand what the group mentality can do. I've lost more friends than I can count simply because of that group ideal of banding together. Because I'd hurt him, that I'd disrupted the flow of normalcy, I was no longer welcome. There were incidents, of course, and there was the final end. People who I counted among my confidants, among my very best friends, no longer speak to me. They pretend that I've committed some unspeakable act against them, that I'm despicable. They joined in calling me disgusting names behind my back, spreading lies and betraying confidences.
Running into mutual friends who've "de-friended" me on Facebook is always a sick pleasure for me. I love being polite and nice, and I love to see their reactions. I'm not the evil person I've been made out to be. But to them, I am. I hurt one of their own and have suffered the consequences. And while I'm not particularly hurt by it as I was never truly one of their company, I am more hurt than I thought I would be.
The immaturity and lack of respect shown by these individuals toward me makes me think about how I acted when I was a part of that group. And it makes me think about the Ian situation.
What could we have done differently?
What should we have done differently?
Were our actions correct?
Probably not, but at the time, we were unaware of different avenues of expression of our grief and dismay.
I feel badly, and while I'm not sure exactly what I would have done differently, I do know that we handled the situation immaturely and disrespectfully. Perhaps we were right to cut him out of our lives based on the stresses we were facing as a direct result of his actions, but we were not in any way correct to say some of the things that we did. We were in no way right to make the generalizations that we made.
And so, I am apologizing. None of us were right. Not you, not me, not us, not them. But we could have acted differently. And we should have.
Next time I'm faced with a situation that involves the termination of a friendship or some other severe conflict, hopefully I will be able to step back and take a look at the situation before I act in a way that I may someday regret. At the very least, that might present a positive outcome from an otherwise miserable situation.
Write. June 2010.
Because I'm too tired to try to recount my weekend, and because I'm too stressed out to want to relive it right now, fiction:
“I’m sorry,” she whispered; then she was gone.
He watched her go, staring at her cotton-clad back as she disappeared down the cheaply carpeted stairs. As soon as her footsteps were fading into the dark hall, he shut the door, slowly, hoping that he’d have a chance to throw it open in an excited welcome.
But he didn’t.
The reluctant click of the deadbolt cemented the end of her sound, and he went to the window to watch her pass through the gate. He stood near the window tentatively, hoping she wouldn’t glance up to see him watching her.
She did.
“Shit!” he said, before remembering that it was summer, and all of his windows were open. “Shit,” he said again.
She stared, her eyes widening in faint surprise. She’d not been expecting him to watch her exit, but then again, nothing about tonight had gone as she’d expected. Look away, she thought. Look away. But she found that she couldn’t.
Just his head now was visible in the lit window; he’d tucked his body back behind the wall.
“Shit,” she said, disgusted, echoing his word choice but not nearly his sentiment. Finally tearing her eyes from his, she walked quickly in the direction of the train. She had no intention of taking the train, not tonight. As soon as she was sure that she was out of his line of sight, which was quite farther than she needed to worry about, she broke into a sprint. She’d done quite a bit of preparation in anticipation of their date tonight, and worn clothes that were not conducive to running.
By the time she hit a street she knew she’d be able to catch a cab on, she was breathless. Her chest heaving and her heart racing, she threw her hand out blindly. And she waited.
As she was throwing her arm into traffic, he was finally pulling away from the window. He’d been hoping she’d come back to claim the lipstick she’d dropped. He didn’t realize that she’d left a trail of the contents of her purse behind her on her mad dash away. He wasn’t aware of the fact that she wouldn’t care.
She wasn’t yet aware of the fact that fate would throw them together again.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Friday house cleaning
Bruise watch: Day 7: Purples, yellows, hints of green. It's not so much the bruise that's worrying me at the moment but it's the fact that I'm still in pain when I walk on it. But there's no way I'm about to go to the Wellness Center for it, so it's going to have to wait until I get back to Colorado.
The days are passing quickly. I spent a good portion of yesterday cleaning. It's a slow process and I don't feel as though I accomplished a lot. I've been lounging today; I think I'm still trying to catch up from the weekend and the settling in of that horrid sleep schedule. But there will be cleaning today and then there will be game night with some friends.
We have an open house tomorrow morning, so Carlos and I are going for a drive. (I will have to hide his litter box somewhere...) I don't want anyone to know I have a cat this late in the game, although I'm sure that he's been spotted hanging out in the windows.
The people below us on levels one and two have moved out. It's weird; I always used to talk to the family on the first floor. The dad was always going to work at weird hours and once he almost gave me a bike when mine had a flat tire. The mom was always trying to wrangle the two kids. One once told me to "have fun at college." It was adorable.
I've been cancelled on three times for babysitting this week. Once from a woman whose child had developed hand, foot and mouth or something for Wednesday day. And then I filled Wednesday night, but her book club was cancelled and so was I. And my regular Thursday afternoon cancelled as well. It's always nice to not have to work, of course, but at the same time, I've been looking forward to that income. It's going to be a really rough couple of months financially and any extra cash helps.
(I'm going to put out a nannying post once I get back to Denver....hopefully someone will pick me up for six weeks post or even some random evenings.)
I still hate Kobe Bryant. I don't want him to be compared to Michael Jordan; it's frustrating. He's not a good human being. I have this conversation at least ten times a year, and I think this year I'm going to learn all of his stats so I can throw down with people and fight them about his supposed greatness.
The weather in Chicago is insane right now. It was hot today, then it turned cloudy, and now the sky has opened up as is unleashing torrents of rain on the city. Carlos hates thunderstorms. At the first sign of distant thunder, he was under the couch. As the storm grew closer, I looked down to see how he wa doing. He was gone.
I always know where to find him when I can't see him in one of his normal haunts.
I crawled down and looked under my bed. There in the darkness, next to boxes from my bed frame and assorted items, I saw two yellow eyes. He doesn't come out once he's under there. He'll sit there until the storm has passed. I love him.
I met someone else's cat last night, and I will say that it is nothing like mine. It was small and skinny and very cat-like. It seemed fragile and dumb. I was so happy to get home to see Carlos, who is thick and smart and has intelligent eyes and a pensive gaze.
We're going in for vaccinations on Thursday. (At my vet they're half-priced on Thursday and I have a $10 coupon.) He's going to be upset. He hates that.
The weather in Chicago is insane right now. It was hot today, then it turned cloudy, and now the sky has opened up as is unleashing torrents of rain on the city. Carlos hates thunderstorms. At the first sign of distant thunder, he was under the couch. As the storm grew closer, I looked down to see how he wa doing. He was gone.
I always know where to find him when I can't see him in one of his normal haunts.
I crawled down and looked under my bed. There in the darkness, next to boxes from my bed frame and assorted items, I saw two yellow eyes. He doesn't come out once he's under there. He'll sit there until the storm has passed. I love him.
I met someone else's cat last night, and I will say that it is nothing like mine. It was small and skinny and very cat-like. It seemed fragile and dumb. I was so happy to get home to see Carlos, who is thick and smart and has intelligent eyes and a pensive gaze.
We're going in for vaccinations on Thursday. (At my vet they're half-priced on Thursday and I have a $10 coupon.) He's going to be upset. He hates that.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Wade Williams
I met Wade Williams at Dairy Queen. It was many years ago. We became friends after I called the number he wrote on a receipt. His friends had dared him to do it. And so he had.
We've been friends for years. I haven't seen him since high school.
Wow, has it really been that long? We talk here and there.
We are the two most opposite people on the planet. He went to Colorado Christian University. Granted I did go a Catholic high school and a Catholic college, but we are religious people on very different planes. I'm spiritual (and consider myself to be in that typical post-adolescent transient philosophical stage) and he is religious. Deeply so. In ways I'll never comprehend.
But tonight, he paid me a high compliment.
It made my night and reinforced to me that friends come in all forms.
We've been friends for years. I haven't seen him since high school.
Wow, has it really been that long? We talk here and there.
We are the two most opposite people on the planet. He went to Colorado Christian University. Granted I did go a Catholic high school and a Catholic college, but we are religious people on very different planes. I'm spiritual (and consider myself to be in that typical post-adolescent transient philosophical stage) and he is religious. Deeply so. In ways I'll never comprehend.
But tonight, he paid me a high compliment.
It made my night and reinforced to me that friends come in all forms.
Wade
well im gonna go, 630 breakfast comes early, im so glad i got to chat with you, you are so cool, you know that right? i have not met too many people who are have the zest for life, wit and intelligence you do
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Another wild weekend.
(The ankle: see below. I promise my feet aren't normally this unattractive...not that feet should be attractive, but...)
The last time I went to sleep was for an hour, this morning. Before that, it was Sunday night.
Somehow trivia stretched into a visit to Mullens, our favorite Wrigleyville bar, which stretched into darts and then I met some Irish (Madeline was like, "It does not surprise me at all that you just came back in and said, 'I met some Irish, let's go.'"), which stretched into a joining of groups and then the late night bars. By then, it was past four, and the sunrise was calling to us. We climbed the lighthouse, pulling out fencing to crawl under before attempting to scale the ladder leading to the top. We were unsuccessful, and so we waited patiently, dangling our feet over the edge as though we could touch the water. We couldn't.
The sunrise never came, but the light did.
And so we drove to Midway.
And then I came home. And then closed my eyes. And then I opened them, dashing off to babysit in the suburbs. It was a long day.
I dared not sleep while the kids were napping, for fear I'd fall into a deep, necessary sleep. And so I watched "Twilight," that teenaged vampire movie.
And then I took the wrong highway because I was nearly a zombie at that point. Two hours later, I arrived home.
Only to leave again to do more trivia.
Third place tonight.
The trivia announcer tells me he always enjoys our wrong answers. They're always hilarious, he tells me. I smile.
The thirteen pounds of furry black animal has been renamed Carlos. I love him. I've been making my absences up to him with Fancy Feast (which is fancier than you'd think), and so he's got this roundness about him that I find entirely too endearing. He's in love with plastic bags. Not to eat, but to sit on. Currently, he's lounging on a Target bag.
He went for his first car ride the other day without his carrier. He hates getting in; I'm assuming he thinks we're going to the vet, because that's where we're always going and they hurt him so much every time. But once he was in, he laid calmly and napped. Until I got out and then he gave me these fearful yellow eyes and I kissed the glass and told him he'd live.
Not surprisingly, he did.
The swelling on my ankle is not going down. I am in considerable pain, but not enough to hinder mobility (sort of...) This injury is the result of a soccer game with friends and then a bunch of Chicagoans in the park on Saturday. A kid wearing glittering cleats (thus his new name, Glitter Cleats) kicked me, right before being yelled at to take it easy on the girl. That upset me, obviously, and it didn't bother me until I looked down and saw the emerging mass that had become my ankle.
That night Maddie, Patrick and I joined Harrison for a comedy show downtown and then went to a bbq being held by one of his friends. I seriously enjoy conversation. It was odd; I knew no one there, but I decided to make the best of it. It was enjoyable.
I'm rambling.
I'm going to start posting my pros/cons lists for Chicago/Denver.
Chicago Pro: Humidity makes my hair curl gorgeously.
Con: Humidity makes all of my cereal stale.
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