Priority Use

Make-Believe

2007-10-24T10:16:00.000-05:00

There is so much about being here that makes me into something that I am not--or at least something that I have never before been. I pretend to tell myself that I am just myself, good ol' me. But that just can't be true. I mean, I guess that goes along with how we're always ourselves--I mean, seriously, how could you be someone else. It's just that different people bring our different sides of who we are. And here, most people bring out a me that is distinctly me but a me that I have never known, nonetheless.

Anyway, I often feel as though the me here is a side of me that I have never experienced getting to know. I write in all sincerity, now. Don't interpret this as any sort of conceit (or lack of).

I have always been one of those "nice" people. The sort of nice person that people enjoy getting to know because, well, I'm nice. But people don't usually get to know me because I'm particularly attractive. Here, in, where I am, the tables have definitely turned. Being as I am the new girl everyone wants to get to know me and all of the men salivate whenever I walk in the door. Clearly, I realize that this is only a figment of: their boredom with small town living, their pushy wives/girlfriends, their horniness, and my newness. And has very little to do with me being a supermodel.

On Sunday, I was walking home and ran into a creepy man who I generally try to avoid. I kept walking until he said something to me, so I turned around to hear him out. "I really like you," he stated. "Is that all you wanted to tell me?" I asked, annoyed. "Well, and I wanted to know if you wanted to get some lunch together next time you're going to town." "Uh, I don't think so." "Oh, okay," he took it, like a man "well, so What's your name?" I resisted the temptation to make one up. Okay, people. If you don't know my name, don't ask me out. He doesn't know if I'm nice. He just thinks I'm hot and for that wants to have lunch with me. Gag me with a spoon.

So, yes. It's strange. Sometimes I really like it. Other times (re: creepy man vs me conversation) I want to hide in a hole. I always thought I would maybe like to experience being attractive. Sometimes, though, it's really annoying. I am constantly skeptical of anyone's interest in me--wondering if it's because they really think that I am interesting or if it is because I have a latin butt and am their ticket to a nice mcmansion in the US of A.

Ultimately, though, I don't really care. I'm taking what I can and enjoying something I'll probably never enjoy again. And, admittedly, milking it for all it's got. It is weird though. And, I have come to the conclusion that I would actually rather be nice than attractive any day. Not that I am not enjoying this novel make believe very, very much.

A Recent Letter

2007-05-24T11:09:00.000-05:00

This letter was just too ridiculous to be true. As I was re-reading what I’d written before packaging it in it’s little red, white and blue international, par avion, air mail envelope I realized that it was surely a keeper and somehow needed to be documented. I wonder if it’s humor will be lost on those who, well, aren’t me. I’m willing to find out.

Dear friend,

What a process sitting down to write you a letter. I first decided that I wanted some m&ms to accompany my letter-writing, which meant getting out my keys to unlock my suitcase which all seems a little ridiculous considering they’re, well, m&m’s, but given that someone has been taking my stuff from hidden places inside my own paid for room, I have been keeping everything under lock and key. Then, as I pulled out my suitcase, I found several termites—with wings and without—attached to the bottom wheels and fabric, so I had to smoosh them with toilet paper, dispose of their carcasses and sweep the floor to be rid of all evidence for good measure. I was finally ready to curl up on my bed and write when I found another termite—on my bed, this time—in it’s little termite house wiggling around. So, I had to flush him down the toilet. Now I feel as though little bugs are crawling all over my skin and I can only hope that it’s not actually heroine withdrawal and that this letter distracts me enough so that I forget that anything every happened and I don’t spend an endless night itching off imaginary bugs.

I’m going into town tomorrow to go to a café with K to help her grade English exams that her students took yesterday. She has to get them done tomorrow because on Friday she’s going home for 17 days. I’m actually pretty jealous. It’s strange. On one hand, I’m totally content here and over the past several weeks, I’ve finally begun to feel as though I’m making progress—though this feeling is far from constant—and I really wouldn’t especially rather be anywhere else. On the other hand, I’m just ready to be done. 15 months sounds like more that I can handle. It’s such a weird emotional ride. I think I may just need a break.

I’ve been really sensitive lately which is likely not a good sign. About an hour ago, G asked if I could change the time of my aerobics class from 5:30 to 5 to accommodate the baile folklórico group that has reserved the space from 7pm on, but “would like” to be able to arrive at 6:45 and I wanted to cry. The feeling still hasn’t exactly left. To make matters worse, I asked her to buy me an avocado yesterday. This morning she brought it to me and it was very obviously a bad one, with a huge black spot on the skin and soft like rubber balloon filled with flour and a seed that moved around when the fruit was shaken, though she denied it’s apparent badness. I just opened it to add to my salad and was able to salvage about 25% of it, as expected. The rest was deeply spotted with brown and black and had a very, very unappealing flavor of soft, tasteless fat. It actually really offended me. I would never have bought that sort of thing for anyone, especially given the fact that I’d paid her for it before hand. Perhaps she honestly thought it was a good one (I just showed it to her and she still claims it’s fine and even that she “likes” them like that. Whatever.), but I just generally feel taken advantage of. That no one really cares that I’m here or values the “work” that I’m doing. That it wouldn’t really matter if I left—aside from the fact that G wouldn’t have anyone one take care of KF when she has something to do in town, or that people would miss making fun of the stupid mistakes that I make in Spanish. Llevar or Traer...I don't really give a crap. Sometimes I just want to be absolutely rude, ridiculous and conceited and yell “do you have any idea what I’m giving up to be here?? Do you have any idea what kind of education/experience/knowledge I came down here to share??” The problem/reality of it is, though, is that I’m not exactly sure how to respond to these questions myself. It’s just generally a frustrating experience.

To make matters worse, I may have broken my toe. Probably, not though. I wouldn’t be as lucky. Today when I was washing the dishes after the milk distribution while feeling slightly sorry for myself, I banged my foot really hard on a cinder block sticking out from underneath the stove. In case it wasn’t broken to begin with, everyone keeps stepping on the same exact toe—three people to be exact, in only 5 hours time. Talk about literally feeling walked all over. Now it’s sore and black and blue. I sort of hope it’s broken. Maybe that would mean I’d get med-evacked to the US long enough to recharge my batteries and get some Indian food. Although that would be a problem for my aerobics class with finally started yesterday.

The aerobics class was a big hit and appears to be the most successful project yet, which only adds to my frustrations. Everyone is asking me in their really practiced guilt tripping sort of Tican way which I can’t hold the class more than twice a week. I should be flattered, but it’s just another source of “ahhh.” “You ·%&!!? think I joined the PC, live in a termite infested bedroom, have a bazillion itchy bug bites—turned scars—all over my body, eat nasty hot dog bread and have to throw my used toilet paper in the TRASH CAN so that I could teach aerobics 5 days a week!!!!” “Go take a freakin’ walk!!!!!” Ha. I truly believe all that I am writing to you, but don’t worry, I have a sense of humor about it all. It really is comical when you think about it. I’ve also come to the conclusion that I am still learning a lot of valuable information about development first-hand. Mainly that there are a whole lot of social factors that matter just as much as infrastructure, economics, government, etc in making “development” actually work. And that termite -infested houses that are only 20 years old really don't help the matter one bit.

Dammit. I just found another termite. I’ve been on and off staring at it for the last 30 minutes writing this letter trying to decide exactly what it was. It didn’t appear to be moving, pegged to the wall in front of my face. I kept trying to decide if it had gotten anywhere every few words when I’d look up for verification. Well, I just looked up and it was gone. Meaning it was exactly what I thought it was. Sigh.

Well, enough is enough. I think I might just call it a night. Alls well that ends well, right? And, perhaps that the termite fell off the side of my wall and is likely dead upon my floor is a good sign and a good way to end the day.

Physical

2007-04-09T11:21:00.000-05:00

I miss physical intimacy. Touching. Feeling somebody else´s skin and having mine felt by someone else. The one night encounters are fine and well, for sure and I'm even really starting to crave (in a purely rational sort of way) the surprise hugs that my little six year old brother and four year old cousin come running in to give me. But it's just not the same as being with someone I know--whose body I know and want in an intimate way. It's interesting--and yes, I have given this a lot of thought given some recent events and revelations--how most girls, I would venture to say, fall in love with the emotional side of relationships. I concur, that yes, I too, am an emotional creature. At the same time, it's emotional strength that I already have. I don't generally need anyone to assure me of my capabilities or fullness. Physical needs, though, one just can't satisfy on one's own in the same way that somebody else can. The pat of a back, rub of an arm, hold of a hand just feel so much better when done by someone else. I recently read in a magazine article written about supermax prisons that prisoners go mentally insane in as little as 48 hours being in a dark cell alone with gloves on their hands--keeping them from being able to even feel their own skin. I found this interesting and extremely enlightening. So I don't know...thoughts for the day, perhaps.

Judge

2007-04-01T17:29:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time since I've written. I always think about writing, but writing just is no longer as accessible as it used to be and I lose my thoughts too quickly to ever really get them down. I have, though, been thinking a lot about judgements and just making decisions before you ever really have a chance to be tested and how it´s just not always so simple as it seems. There are plenty of things that I've always said I'd never do and slowly but surely many of them are being crossed off the list without much thought. It just gets me thinking that maybe it's not so good to say what you would or would not EVER do because no one really ever knows. Situations all turn out to be different and how can we really know how we may or may not feel down the road. I sort of thought that I was over saying that I would never do things as of a few years ago thanks to several happenings, but I guess I wasn't over it, because now it's just happened again. On that same note, now I'm finding it hard to decide if I should think "no regrets" no matter what. No matter who I might hurt--be it myself or someone else. It's also becoming easier to give in and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or bad. Perhaps that's the point. It's never inherently "good" or "bad" it's what the people decide that makes it what it is. Philosophically, I'm not sure that it matters. We live in a society, so to some extent there have to be defined good and bad. Perhaps it just might be important to really analyze what I've already decided to judge.

Emotion

2006-11-20T10:31:00.000-06:00

So I was on the phone with a friend the other night and told her that I thought I was falling in love (long story, don't ask...not all has a happy ending...at least not yet). She was really excited because she said that (not in these exact words, but to the point) she was really proud of me for letting myself get to that point. I know that in her heart of hearts she didn't mean to say anything offensive, but I sort of took it that way. More than anything, it worried me that that was how she percieved me. I tend to be an extremely emotional person. I think, more than many people, I let myself get too carried away by my emotions, often. Maybe because I am aware of the power that my emotions have on my life, I overcompensate too much. But then, that worries me. Does that mean that to the rest of the world I appear to be an emotionless, cold person? I certainly hope not.

Last summer when I was in Spain, I called a friend after a particularly liberating experience and she told me that she thought I was one of the (well, I actually don't remember what she said...)...but something along the lines of me being emotional, sensual, etc...and I agreed with her. I guess she wasn't surprised by the situation, but then this friend was. Okay, I know I'm not making any sense. I wonder that it's just when people know me I become a different person. I don't know.

Anyway, that's all.

Transparent

2006-10-28T17:50:00.000-05:00

I'm always amazed at my inability to keep things inside. I don't really talk when I'm unhappy and I hate for people to think that I ever am, so I just try and be positive. Well, I guess I didn't hide it all very well in my last email because I got about 5 responses trying to cheer me up. The thing is, I'm doing okay. I have my moments, but I'm hanging in there. It's be a slow and rough week--for work and non work related reasons--but it's just another challenge to face, and I'm okay with that.

It's great to read J's blog, but it also makes things, because I don't really feel like I'm doing all that much that is meaningful for anyone. PC stresses that we should never compare ourselves to other PCVs because everyone has their own experiences and everyone's situations are different, but I still can't help but think about it. I guess I'm just at the point where I'm questioning a lot of things.

On a positive note, I met with a group of women yesterday and I think we're going to start something interesting, so we'll see.

Tired

2006-10-12T12:35:00.000-05:00

I'm really tired and my eyes feel hot and my back aches. I don't think I'm getting sick, but sickness is slowly moving through everyone in my house. I hope I'm not next. I try to keep my window open as much as possible, but it's either be sick or be eaten alive, and I haven't decided which is worse. I hope I'm staying healthy because I'm not looking forward to being sick in a tiny house with one bathroom and 7 people. Sigh! Think healthy thoughts. Think healthy thoughts!

Hooked

2006-09-26T12:11:00.000-05:00

Okay, I'm hooked. This is dangerous. I'm generally an optimist. But, I'm also a realist, and I really don't see how anything good can actually come out of this in the future. I shouldn't worry. I should just deal with today and worry about tomorrow later. That's what I tell him. But it's really hard and I'm not sure how to deal with it! I think I just need to stop thinking. That thinking stuff tneds to be the problem with me as it is.

Boy

2006-09-19T13:05:00.000-05:00

I hate that this is what it comes down too, but I'm not about to go advertising this to the entire world judging by my track record. But, I found a 'boy.' I'm trying not to be too excited about it, knowing that things like this often turn into disasters, especially given the circumstances, but it's hard. I really like him. He really likes me, too. At least that's what he says. He called me first, so that means something right? It's actually really cute. It all just worked out to be really cute. He saw me, we met, we met again, one thing led to another and then there's now....

The problem is, that somewhere within the second we met again, one thing led to another and then there's now, he broke up with his girlfriend and I'm not sure what to make out of that. I mean, did I break them up? And, if I did, does that mean that us being 2 hours apart is going to bring them back together? These are things I don't have control over, really, which is what makes this all so scary.

I want to call him today. I think I will. The calling is hard. Language complicates things beyond belief. But it's okay. He's patient, and so am I.

Okay, that's all. It feels good to get that out.

Homesick

2006-09-11T16:10:00.000-05:00

I'm not really homesick. I didn't really expect to get homesick. I didn't feel homesick last year in Europe, either. I mostly just miss people, but people could be anywhere. Sure, there are certain conveniences in the States that I wouldn't mind having right now (good roads, fresh smelling air, diversity in food), but as it is, I'm doing fine. I would give anything, though, to go home for one night. To sleep in my own bed, to see my dogs, to hug my mom and to get a sweatshirt, to two. It's the clothes, actually, that I miss the most. I just have to wait until December.

That's not what I was going to write about, originally. But, I can't remember what it was, and I wanted to write something to get back into the habit...

Back

2006-08-29T11:36:00.000-05:00

So, I've been wanting to write a lot of stuff here for the last couple of months. Really, I have. But, it never seems worth spending the money. I'm in more or less contact with lots of people--email, phone, letters--so, is there really that much more to say that isn't already being said? Sort of, I guess. I mean, my emails are sort of censored. My phone calls definitely are. My letters, well, they're not censored, but it's so laborious to write how I actually feel. I really just want to talk to people. The problem is that I only talk to my parents and I don't want them to worry, so I don't tell them anything that bad. I generally don't feel bad, so it's not a big deal, but there have been a few tearful situations where I restrained my urge to call in order to not make anyone worry unnecessarily.

Who would have thought that the problem that I'd have would be with my family. Well, at least I didn't. And, about cleanliness. I mean, I think I'm one of the cleanest people (neat, I guess, not clean) people I know, and I certainly have never had issues with my person to person skills. I have since turned my host family against me and I'm hoping when I return it will all be water under the bridge...we'll see.

Okay, signing off. I'm going to try to do this more often, but I certainly make no promises.

Expert

2006-06-25T00:42:00.000-05:00

I'm one of those people who mostly just likes things that I'm good at. Not surprisingly, this poses many a problem. If only I'd managed to tolerate stinking at "insert activity here," I'd be an expert "insert personal form of activity here."

Examples:

Piano
T-Ball
Track
Flute
Ballet
Hip Hop
Softball
Basketball
Volleyball
Sewing
Cooking
Painting

I've been missing softball lately. I've been having urges to play. But, given that I hadn't so much as picked up a softball in a couple of years, I was nervous. It's such a psychological game, really. I don't pick up a softball, therefore I don't practice. Therefore, I'm worried I'm no good. Therefore, I don't pick up a softball. And the cycle continues.

Anyway, I suggested that we go to the batting cages while I was home a while back. Sort of one of those future, non-committal, "oh-that-would-be-nice" sort of suggestions. My dad and I used to practically keep those batting cages open when I was in high school. They should have just given him a free pass given how much money we (he) spent. He'd been suggesting it all week and I--out of nervousness of sucking--was doing a good job at changing the subject mid-sentence.

Yesterday, we had about 20 minutes to kill. I suggested we play catch. I forgot how much I loved it. We only threw for a little bit, but it felt so good. And, I was actually pretty good, still. Some reincarnation of beginner's luck, I guess. Inspired by that, we headed to the cages this afternoon.

At these particular cages, it's quite obvious when the ball whizzes by unmet by the strength of an aluminum bat. The fast pitch softball is all the way at the end--sort of like a corner office, I guess. So, everyone (everyone) hears the thump of the ball as it hits the carpet at the back of the fence. Unsurprisingly, I was having second thoughts. The sky looked like rain, and I was crossing my fingers it would come before we arrived.

Alas.

We got in the cages. 3 tokens each, just to warm up. I figured I'd just bunt the first few just to get the hang of it. Oddly enough, I didn't need to. I was actually pretty darn good. I hit almost everything and half of the shots would have surely been base hits with a bit of strength in my run. Building off of that confidence, I headed to the fast pitch baseball. Amazingly, I was damn good there, too. I hit nearly all of them as well.

The high.

God (etc) must have taken note of my previous poor-attitude, however. Mid-way through the baseball, the guy came out and told us that there was lightning and we had to leave. Damn. And, I was just getting good.

Point being, if I would just getting over being bad at things, I think I could actually be pretty good. Sigh.

Money

2006-06-23T01:51:00.000-05:00

It's funny to me how sensitive people are about money. I guess, to a certain extent, I am too. I guess I don't really mean sensitive, in the sense of it being a touchy issue--though it certainly is for many. Rather, I mean sensitive, in that no one wants anyone else to know exactly how much they earn. Even though, often, that's all pretty obvious based on (often) unavoidable observables: the car that one drives, or the meals that one eats.

I'm dying to ask how much people are earning. And, why wouldn't I? Especially right out of college. Of course I want to sense what I'm worth--can I compare myself to those around me with similar credentials, skills, goals and (potential) jobs? How can I really know how much I am worth unless I know how much those are worth around me?

People always seem to be trying to make it known that "they're okay." That they don't need anyone else's help. I think that's silly. Take the help you need. Give a little later--when it all comes back full circle. Point being, people get so stressed out about things like paying for dinner or accepting gifts. I don't get it. I guess my philosophy is you pay if you want. And, if I want, I'll pay instead. It shouldn't really be that big of a deal.

Wow, I'm really out of blogging-shape.

Random

2006-06-23T00:56:00.000-05:00

I seem to have this habit of falling for my friends. Or becoming friends with those I've fallen for, whatever the case may be. Someone said it's because I'm too friendly, I don't know. That I'm not good at flirting, just at being a friend. I had another of those conversations where I help a friend--or not really help, but listen and support a friend--through opposite sex sagas. Only it wasn't a friend. I mean it didn't feel like a friend. Oh well. I guess it is better to have friends.

On a slightly more important note, I have been using Listerine for the past week and that stuff is wicked (I like that word) strong. I have worked myself up to 30 seconds. But, let me tell you, it sure wasn't easy. My mouth burns for about the first 15 seconds, with a crescendo around second 16. After that, though, the power wears off. That's not to say that I'm not extremely happy when the second hand rolls around to half past. It does make my mouth feel extremely fresh. If it wasn't for CR, I'd be hooked.

Friends

2006-05-29T22:24:00.000-05:00

I don't believe in collecting for the sake of collecting. I believe in purposeful use. Dust. Cars. Antiques. Whatever. I believe in having things that are useful and enjoying their use. Having 10 roadsters and getting satisfaction from their use is one thing. Having 10 roadsters and keeping them in your oversized garage to polish on Saturdays is quite the other.

As it is with friends. The facebook and my space kind. Perhaps it's not nice of me, but if you're not my friend in person, I don't see why you should be my friend on-line. I've been fairly loose with this in terms of facebook. I'll confirm the friendship so long as we have met. It doesn't matter if we've ever shared juicy gossip over a pizza pie and huge chocolate chip cookie. But "my space?" Well, I think I gotta be a bit more picky.

Today, I got a friend request for my "my space" account. It was for A. I wracked my brain trying to figure out who this shady A figure was while waiting for the invite to load. The only one I could think of is a friend from high school. Sure, I'd be her friend. Cause, well, I am. But where in the heck did she ever find my profile? Wow, word gets around.

Well, it turns out it wasn't that A. Instead it was an A who doesn't usually have time to smile at me as we pass in the quads. It's okay, I understand. Making snooty, "bug-like" faces takes long enough. I wouldn't want her to be late for class.

I don't really want her to be my "my space" friend. I mean, I guess it's no big deal. But she's really not my friend. I don't even know if she's an acquaintance. She just is. And that's all. Does having her as my "my space" friend diminish the friendships that I actually do have? "OMG, I'm in your top 8!!" Or is it all just a silly on-line game to which I'm giving way too much thought? I'm not sure. But, it shouldn't matter. I mean, I get to choose who I hang out with, right? I choose with whom I share bits and details over ice cream, right? So why not choose who gets the, echem, privilege of being my friend? No, not a privilege, just a truth.

Don't get me wrong, I believe in the power of networks and not burning any bridges. But, I'm not a big fan of this fake on-line cordiality embodied in the competition of most friends or the race to build a strong network. To be honest, having 9 friends is more telling than having 9 billion.

Pleasure

2006-05-25T23:20:00.000-05:00

Okay, so I'm sort of stealing this idea from someone else, but it's something that I've been thinking about for a while and my thoughts started making a lot more sense after a brief conversation I had about this yesterday.

I am a fairly pleasurable person. I do a lot of stuff because it's what I am supposed to do, but I also do a lot of stuff because it just plain makes me feel good. Take eating for example. I really like to eat. I like to eat foods that make me feel nutritionally satisfied, for the most part. Salads, bananas, soybeans, yaddah, yaddah. At the same time, I get a great deal of pleasure out of a big ol' hunk of chocolate cake. Nutritional value? Nope. Pleasure? Hell yeah.

I've always liked people who eat. A lot. People who don't eat much, or who are super concerned about what they eat rub me the wrong way. I never really knew what it was. Maybe just because I tend to be on the self-conscious side of my--let's just say--healthy appetite, I am even more self-conscious around people who have a great deal of self-restraint? I'm not sure what it is. It's not as if I don't like people who don't eat much, it's just a sort of pleasure that the two of us can't share together. And, being as that's a pretty big part of my life, it makes it hard to be comfortable in that sort of way. I'm not sure what it is.

So, here's where it gets juicy. To me (and the person with whom I was talking), food is like sex. Sure sex has some practical purpose. But only in the "salad, banana soybean" sense of the word. In the "chocolate cake" side of things, it's purely pleasure. Chocolate cake, like sex (daily, weekly, monthly, however often them kids are doin it these days--for non-reproductive purposes) just feels good.

My friend commented that one reason why she's a bit apprehensive when it comes to guys who eat less than her is this possible connection.

Let me elaborate (this is me, now, not her), because I totally agree:
Sometimes I wonder if I eat more than a guy if it means that I will want too much. If I will want to do things for pleasure more than him and if he will not be able to keep up. Not in a judgmental way, just good old fashioned compatibility. Does that make sense? Like if compatibility in eating is a predictor of compatibility in bedroom practices, at least in the frequency and (echem...intensity) departments.

Perhaps this is getting a bit graphic.

Take Juan for an example. (Now's probably not the time to get all friendly with the names, but what the heck, I'm feeling courageous). He liked to eat. Bad things. Things that made him happy. Chocolate things. I liked to eat most of the same things, but I was much more timid when it came to the quantity. I always ate less than him. Maybe just because I wasn't totally comfortable around him, I don't know. And, in the bedroom department, he was definitely, well, hmmm...let's just say he liked to eat.

But, we weren't compatible. So, maybe what it comes down to is shared eating (etc) reflects a deeper connection. A good start to a relationship? Or, at the very least, it's something.

Okay, I don't really have anything else to say, though I am completely aware that there's no good ending to this post.

Paper

2006-05-23T22:50:00.000-05:00

I am trying to write a paper, but I have nothing to say. Instead of writing, I am incessently checking facebook and my space (it's a new addiction) for some new, last minute update. Though nothing's being updated. I keep checking the fridge, but I'm not hungry. I think, perhaps, if I open it enough times there will (1) be something I want to eat, (2) I will be hungry or (3) my paper will write itself. So far, I'm 0 for 3. I also keep walking by the mirror. For once, I actually like the way I look. Today, anyway.

Mother

2006-05-15T23:56:00.000-05:00

For some reason people think I am their mother. Or that I am somebody's mother. Or, at least that I am motherly. Almost everyone I know has commented to this extent in some way, some time, over the years. While their comments are usually not meant to be negative, it is still something rather unpleasant to hear. Mothers are kind and good and strong, but they are also didactic and old and patterned (or at least in what they symbolize). I am 22 years old. Why would I want to be seen as a mother? I don't know, does this mean that I am boring and stagnant? Do people not do certain things around me because I am too much like their mother? Does caring about people, being friendly and organized while enjoying keeping my room clean, checking in and (every once in a while) baking cookies make me seem like a mother?

Today, my motherly-ness was brought up twice. Once when a friend kicked a piece of paper under a desk instead of picking it up, and the other when a friend wanted to "double check" with me about whether or not he could wash his baseball cap without damaging it. Both of these may seem innocent enough, but it is the context, rather, that heeds cause for alarm. I looked at friend A (the one who didn't pick up the paper) and smiled which caused her to pick it up and tell me that she has to be good around me because I am like a mother. What she didn't know is that my smile came after she bent to pick up the paper from the recognition that kicking away trash and then feeling guilty and picking it up is something that I often do. She, however, being that I am so motherly thought that my smile came pre picking up and that it referred to her neglect of doing what's right. Now, friend B agreed with me that his cap, could indeed, be washed. He even went so far as to tell me that he'd gotten other people's opinions, but he wanted to double check with me to make sure. Okay, well, who made me the washing expert? He doesn't even know me very well!

I suppose I am sort of motherly. But, I didn't think it was that obvious. I mean, both friend A and friend B are hardly my best buddies. They know me in certain contexts, but not very well. Yet, they still see me as a mother?

This sort of worries me. While I don't mind being a mother eventually, I'd rather not be one now. Mothers are no sexy (at least not to people who are not the fathers of their children). Mothers don't do fun, spontaneous things late at night (unless they're fun, spontaneous mothers, but this generally does not go hand in hand with "morality" and washing baseball caps). Mothers don't do bad things. And mothers, certainly are not 22-year-olds' best friends. All of this is highly questionable and quite a lot to think about.

Best

2006-05-14T22:25:00.000-05:00

I really dislike it when people sign their emails best. I mean, what does best really mean? It's sort of like the close-but impersonal, good friend-but gift certificate kind of closing. Like you want to sound nice. But not too nice. It's reserved for those people who maybe mean something to you. But, not too much. Because then it's also used for people who really mean nothing. Or not much. I don't know what it is. It just really bothers me. Especially when it comes from a friend who is really confusing and sends about a bazillion different conflicting signals and gives you a headache with all of the thinking.

Whew. Cheers. Don't get me started on cheers. Unless you're from England or a former British colony--in other words, if you speak with a "non-American" accent, well, just don't get me started.

Flirt

2006-05-12T17:38:00.000-05:00

For the sake of honesty in past preview notices, I am going to post on this topic. But, I'm no longer really into it. That's the problem with previews. It's like seizing the moment. If you don't seize it, then it passes and, well, you can no longer have whatever you'd wanted to have in that particular moment. So as with posts. I can't just wait to post something. If I don't post it when I feel it or think it or do it, then it's just too late.

Anyway, this all sort of works because I was talking about flirting with a friend today at lunch. I have a crush on this certain someone in a certain class and apparently the vibes are somewhat mutual. Problem is, my flirting, I fear is just being construed as friendly. At least that's what my friend thinks. I think that in the right moment, I'm actually quite good at flirting. Or, at least that's what I thought. Maybe I'm just good at being friendly.

In any case, this crush of mine is going to be practice. I mean, what have I really got to lose? Well, I don't want to think about that, nevermind. Mostly, it's not that big of a deal. I'm only going to be here for 3 more weeks so I may as well stop being so nervous that I don't do anything.

Today I was bold and waited for him and then I went out of my way to say hi and we talked. It gave me butterflies and I felt like a little girl all over again. Man.

Okay, I have nothing else to say.

Protect

2006-05-06T23:10:00.000-05:00

While watching Amelie tonight something struck me as interesting. At the end of the movie during the only "possibly-could-be-construed-as-post-sex" scene, she is holding Nino. They are laying together and his head is on her chest and she is holding him. Like taking care of him, or something. And, it struck me. It's the man who always gets held. At least for me that's how it has always been. In "life" the man takes care of the woman. Protects her. Tells her it's okay. Keeps her from harm. Or at least this is how it's supposedly supposed to be. But, in bed, it's the woman who takes care of the man. It's the man who is cared for--motherly--almost. I've always thought this was interesting--it's not really the first time that I've noticed it with my experiences, but tonight it was strange to see it portrayed in a film. I guess, in a sense, a woman takes care of a man's well-being (of course, all that I'm saying is not necessarily true and real, it's just how we're told it's to be--and, well, often how it is): cares for the home, feeds him, etc. So, why not hold him in bed? To keep him safe in a way that is different than what he is supposed to do for her. Truth be told, I've liked this. I like feeling as though I am responsible for protecting someone in such a vulnerable state. Making someone comfortable, caressed and held. Maybe that's how lots of women feel. Maybe this is common beyond just me. Hmm..well, that's all. I guess I don't have anything else to say about that. It just seemed interesting.

Perfection

2006-05-06T23:02:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how my self-confidence changes daily. Generally, though, the older I seem to get the more comfortable I am. The more I see (or understand) that I have a place in the world. A place that is my place. One that doesn't depend on anyone else, except for me. Physically, I struggle to feel good about myself. It seems to me that this is more the norm than the aberration. I no longer see that as necessarily bad, though. Perhaps feeling good about oneself comes with time. Comes with development and comes with the ability to see that personal identity can be separate from the rest of the world.

I always wanted to be able to wear stretchy shorts. Or shorts, really. I always wanted to be one of those people who looked good and who felt good about it. I go to the gym, but it doesn't really seem to do any good physically. Though mentally, I'm a nut case without a good workout. Anyway, my cousin gave me some stretchy shorts a couple of years ago and it's been my goal to be able to put them on and feel good about myself. For the sake of liberation, I don't know. I'd tried it a few times and never got out my front door more than once or twice. There was always some imperfection--some grand imperfection--that kept me from feeling as though I should be allowed to dress in such a way. Instead of wearing what I wanted, I could never get past what other people would think. Or, what I thought other people would think. Which, I come to realize, is a really unhealthy way of being.

The other day, though, I tried again. I put on the stretchy shorts and knew that I didn't look that good, but I felt good for the first time in those shorts. I felt strong and sexy and liberated. I felt as though I had a right to wear them even though I knew I wasn’t perfect. Other people could look at me and think whatever they wanted to think and I could just be me. The thing is, I couldn’t actually get myself to look in the mirror. It’s like I have this understanding with myself that whatever I think is fine—because it is just a though—but to test the thought with reality somehow threatens its truth and reinforces the fantasy of it all.

Since then, I’ve worn them a few more times. Each time, I look in the mirror more and more frequently. Gradually, though. And, each time, I feel less justified. I am back to wondering if imperfection deserves to be revealed. Yesterday, I actually talked to someone I knew in those shorts. I even rode the bike next to him. I was embarrassed and ashamed, but I didn’t let on. I think it’s as much a mental game as anything else. If I can convince myself that it’s justified, then somehow of course it is.

For the sake of my own personal triumphs, I’m going to try and get past thinking that it’s not okay. I’m going to put them on and be proud. Try and not care about not being perfect and just be whatever it is I am and feel justified in doing that.

Paper

2006-05-04T22:14:00.000-05:00

I am really very tired of reading my paper. I'm about to do it again for the millionth time--but, truth is, I probably haven't done it enough. I think I've put a lot of work into this, but, truth is, probably not enough.

Sometimes I can't tell if I'm too hard on myself or if I just don't do things to my fullest. Or, maybe I just don't perceive my amount of work, sweat, tears as being near equivalent to those of others. It could be that I perceive the complaining, the whining of others (and their really hard classes) as being bigger than they really are--like the bark is bigger than the bite, or something like that. I've taken hard classes, I think. I've been stressed, I know. But, I get through it. And, I (generally) do really well. But, I don't feel like I work all that hard. I mean, I don't study all the time. I don't study nearly enough as a I could (dare I say should). Maybe I just get lucky. I'm not sure. Maybe hindsight is 20-20 (or 20-10) in that the big picture, looking back, is that it is what it is. I forget the stress. I forget that maybe, in fact, I did give it my all. I'm just honestly not sure. I mean, what does it all mean? Do I give it my all if I choose to stop working at some point before it's perfect, before I get it, before I'm the best? Then, is it really my all?

So, anyway, here I go, having this gigantic assignment due tomorrow. I will be pretty proud of what I turn in, I think. But, I know it's not perfect. I know that it probably could be better had I stayed up late for the past week and not chosen midnight bedtimes, hours wasted at the gym and Charlotte Simmons. So, does that mean I didn't do a good job? Does that mean I deserve to do well? Does that mean I don't deserve to do well. I am honestly not sure.

Here I have this paper. The file, at least, is open. But, I'm not really working that hard. I have to do another read through, but I honestly don't know how many changes I'm going to make--how many changes I can make. So, if I turn it in less than perfect, did I somehow fail? Could I have worked harder? Should I feel as though I somehow slipped through the ambiguous cracks of achievement. Am I that one girl who "always" succeeds, but doesn't really actually do anything to get there? Is it bad of me to even think this?

All I know is that I've gotten far. More than just academically. Just far. I have friends, a family, a (fairly) stable demeanor and outlook on life, potential and education. But, what have I done to get it? Was I just dealt the ace? The lucky hand? Maybe I was. Maybe that's okay. Maybe I shouldn't feel as though I don't deserve what I have. But, I don't ever want to take it all for granted. Maybe it just means I have some greater duty in life. I was put here to do more than just well in school. To make someone, something, happy and complete.

I don't know. Maybe it's a dead end to think like this. Maybe I should just not be so hard on myself. Not question what is. Pat myself on the back as say you've done well. Good job. You've really done well. Or, maybe I should not be so naive to think that it has been all me. Maybe I'm meant to have it easy so that I can get to harder things. Get to moving mountains. I just worry, sometimes (most times) that I'm going to get to that mountain. I'm going to push on that mountain. I'm going to see how to move that mountain. But, I'm not going to be able to. It's going to be too hard and I won't know what to do. I won't know how to deal with something I can't handle--something I can't handle on the first try--and I'll just walk away. That, to me, would be the ultimate failure. And, the fact that I don't want to read my paper for the sixth, seventh, eighth (probably more realistic than millionth) time really makes me worry that that's exactly what's going to happen.

Preview

2006-05-03T23:04:00.000-05:00

In an attempt to gain readership, I'm offering a sneak preview of a couple upcoming posts. Consider yourselves lucky.

#10
Perfection
Flirt

This is more for me than it is for you. I need to not forget these ever so important posts.

Trash

2006-05-02T19:53:00.000-05:00

I am a keep-aholic. I'm organized in my keeping, though. I may have a lot, but I know where most of it is. I don't like throwing anything away. Just in case. Just in case. The thing is, I often actually need things that I could have thrown away but didn't. So that just reinforces the fact that keeping is good. Throwing is bad.

Emails. Oh, emails.

Another thing I'm bad at getting rid of. I'm too sentimental and nostalgic on one hand--I have cute emails that different (different) people have sent me over the years. Also, though, I keep lots of administrative stuff. I delete it out of my inbox, but it's all still there. Just the other day, though, I actually referred back to something I'd deleted way back when. So, you see? That's why I keep it.

Anyway, I got an email saying that I was way over quota--I don't know, like 230 units of whatever that unit is. Yikes! So, I went to check my folders to see what was taking up too much space. I deleted about 40 emails from my inbox (my inbox is actually rather organized, I must admit) and a few from some other random folders. Checked back. Somehow I'd taken up even more space in the process! Yikes. So, I took a better look at the storage space and, much to my chagrin, turns out the trash was taking up just about everything. Sad, sad, sad. I knew what had to be done all along, I just refused to believe it.

I had to make a quick move before I thought about it too much. Oh my god! What if I needed a brownie recipe that Dari had sent me 2 years ago?? Oh my god! What if I wanted to remember an email back from Summer Diaries 04? What ever would I do? Quick. It had to be quick.

I ran my cursor over the trash icon. Circled it a few times. Pushed down on the mouse. But I couldn't let go. I really just couldn't let go. The thing is, I knew I had to. So, well, I did. Pride. The trash-less page was taking a long time to load and I got to thinking about that brownie recipe and how actually I would like to read back from 2004. Think fast! I pushed stop. Nothing. Again. Nothing. So, I closed the page. Surely that would do it. I logged back in just to be sure....and....what popped up?

A svelte under-quota, trashless browser. It was sad. But, I think this is a good time to be cleaning out things. It's all symbolic. Yeah. That's it. I like symbols.

Anyway.

To moving on. To letting go. To purging my trash.

George

2006-05-02T19:51:00.000-05:00

George was really a good guy (well, he's always a good guy, more that he was confident and well, different, I guess) on Sunday. And, actually, I still think I'm like him. But Sunday gave me lots of hope.

Protein

2006-04-29T18:51:00.000-05:00

Whenever I don't eat enough protein I eat really bad things all day. Take today, for example. I've had no protein. As a result, my consumption has included a spoonful of peanut butter and some grapes for breakfast, 3 pancakes for lunch, some bread, chips and chocolate for snack. Ick. Ick. Ick. I feel very icky. All I had to do was eat some protein and I wouldn't have needed to eat crap ALL DAY LONG.

Crap! What am I doing?? I'm supposed to be doing homework. Damnit (ha ha, I don't know how to spell that word!). That's another thing about protein. Without it, I am easily distracted and forget what I'm supposed to do.

By the way, did anyone ever notice that protein doesn't follow the little diddy: "i before e except after c"?

Okay, homework it is. First, maybe I should check my mail. I hope the little fabric sample came. But, I hope Economist didn't. I'm not done with last week's. And, then I'll want to read it.

No. Homework.

George

2006-04-29T17:32:00.000-05:00

Maybe I'm not really George. It's just that we just have a few similar characteristics.

Past

2006-04-29T17:28:00.000-05:00

By the way, speaking of living in the past, I saw Juan today and it made me feel really good. I sort of miss him. Well, I probably don't miss him. You know? Well, I miss something. Maybe he'll take me back. No, that would be a bad idea. At least we can go play tennis together--that's what he suggested today. And maybe go salsa dancing. That would be nice.

Photos

2006-04-29T17:20:00.000-05:00

I'm supposed to be finishing my paper. But, I'm not. There's really no excuse for it having taken me so long. I mean months, even. But, now, all I have to do is type in my changes and I'll be done. Something that should have taken me about 45 minutes has now taken me about 2 hours. And, I'm not even done. Instead, I'm eating chocolate and looking at photos on facebook. The chocolate isn't that good, but the photos are.

I love photos. Mostly of people. Events. Things that were fun. I think I'm pretty good at not living in the past, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. Photos, somehow, help me to appreciate it. Some of the photos were really funny. Well, the photos weren't funny, but somehow they made me laugh. It's like they made me feel connected all over again.

Okay, there's really no point to this post anymore. Plus, I am about to finish off my bag of chocolate. Yuck. I ate 2 $.99 bags of chocolate this week. It wasn't even good. That's the thing about chocolate--you can't eat a lot of the good stuff. If I had a box of, oh, I don't know, something good, I wouldn't be able to eat more than one or two pieces. But, I can eat an entire bag of Palmer Super Mix and Hershey's Solid Eggs in less than 7 days. Anyway, photos. They are nice.

Thief

2006-04-26T23:01:00.000-05:00

Someone stole my socks from my gym locker. They were used, smelly and [likely] sweaty. I hate the idea of using the same things over and over again, but it's such a pain to bring new clothes every day. I saw a [seemingly] great idea a few weeks ago and decided to take note. So, I stuck each sock a bit out of the little air vents on the side of the locker so they would hang a bit. This way, they wouldn't get all bunched up with my shoes and water bottle. I did this with my sports bra too.

I came in the next morning and the bra looked as though it had been pulled out a bit more than how I'd left it, and my socks weren't there. Hmm. Okay. I thought maybe I'd just brought them home and forgotten.

Nope. They're not at home. Well. Someone stole my gym socks. They were actually nice socks, too. Short and white. With little cushy treads on the bottom. I really liked them.

What kind of jerky thief steals socks? Smelly, used ones? And umbrellas, for that matter. Who steals umbrellas? Jeesh. Sometimes I am really confused.

Attraction

2006-04-26T22:24:00.000-05:00

The grass is always greener, right? It's never how you want it to be--even if it's how you've wanted it to be.

I used to want to be attractive. Which isn't to say that I don't still want that. The type of attractive that symbolizes nothing buy superficiality and, oh I don't know, conceit? Well, not in a bad way. But, just good looking. Whatever. Anyway, someone from the gym asked me out the other day. He knows nothing about me--except that I go to the gym. We talked for about 5 minutes and he asked me out. Juan knew me for about, oh I don't know, 10 minutes before he asked me out. It's only happened twice, and already it's too much. I mean, it's flattering, sure. Love at first sight? Lust at first sight? That's not what sustains a relationship. And, I think I've had enough of these little lust trists. I want to feel connected--Eek! I'm getting deep. Mushy and deep.

I'd just like to think that someone finds me the least bit attractive to think that I'm a good person (ha ha...I'm sure that's what they're thinking). But, really, now I just want to be a good person.

Okay, this isn't being all that fair or truthful. I don't want to just be (superficially) attractive. But, I want to also be charismatic and happy and I want people to be attracted to my personality in all respects, as well. I want to be a person that people generally want to be around. The problem, I'm realizing, is that once people (guys) get to know me, they don't seem to want to date me. What's with that? Am I missing something here?

I want to get to know someone. I want someone to get to know me and have that all be fine and dandy. Happy ending with a nice little bow. This doesn't mean I want to get married to the next person who contentedly falls in love with my personality. Of course not. I just want to be with someone who has developed into something more. Okay, so initial physical attraction is great. I don't mind that. But, I also need some reinforcement on the other side. I need to know that what I am doing--what I am--is good for someone more than just me. Not because I need outside motivation. But, because it's good to know that I'm someone around whom someone else wants to be.

I have a feeling that I just did a terrible job getting my point across. I think I'm going to make some people mad. Or, at least I'll be a bit misunderstood. But (I sound like a broken record), I know what I mean. Sometimes I'm just not good at writing it.

George

2006-04-23T22:52:00.000-05:00

I think I'm a George O'Malley:

Dependable. Good bedside manner. Relates well to others. Falls in love easily. Trustworthy and trusting. Strangely happy.

Lacks self-confidence. Is a punching-bag for others (but only from his--my--own doing). Confused.

Fate

2006-04-23T22:25:00.000-05:00

I'm pretty sure that I believe in some sort of fate. Maybe fate, as a word, is too loaded. Serendipity? But, then, if fate is too loaded, serendipity is not loaded enough. What I mean to say, is that I often feel as though I'm some where, some time for a reason. To see something. To see someone. To hear something I've been needing to hear.

We went to Oprah the other day. Like, we actually went to Oprah. Everyone wanted a new car, or at the very least, a Louis Vuitton bag. Or, Brad Pitt. We wanted Brad Pitt (well, not Brad Pitt specifically, but someone cute and famous). Instead, the show was about women who hate themselves. It was really depressing. But, I think it was almost fated. I mean, I don't hate myself, really. But, I could definitely relate to some of the things that those women said. Especially this mom who smokes a lot. It just all hit home. And, it made me think. And, I couldn't explain it, or share how it made me feel with anyone. It was just for me.

Then, on Friday, I went to this conference and happened upon a women with whom I used to work. It's this organization that I didn't keep in touch with, but should have. And she told me to send my resume.

And, today, I didn't want to babysit, but I did. And, it wasn't even my weekend, but I had switched somewhere down the line, so it became my weekend. This mom's sister was there and she asked me what I was doing when I graduated and I told her PC. And, she said all of these amazing things that made me feel so okay about it all. It wasn't even that she said that much. It all only amounted to about 3 sentences. But it was really loaded.

This evening I was riding home from CVS and saw Juan (I only say his name because no one knows him and I can't remember what weird code name I gave him before). I never see him just walking. But, he was just walking. And, we talked. It wasn't good. It was actually bad. But, it all needed to be said.

So, I don't know if this is all meaningless. It might be that if you connect the dots you'll make a picture nonetheless. Even if a picture doesn't really belong. But, then, does it really matter? What's the big deal if the picture is purely a manifestation of arbitrarily connected dots? Thinking that things work out for a reason gives me inspiration to keep on trudging. It's not that I think there's this ultimate driving fate and the plan cannot be changed. I believe in self-realization and self-determination and all of that. But, I also believe that it isn't always exactly as black and white as it seems. I believe in something bigger than me. Even if, ultimately, it is just me. But, I believe that there is some side of sub-conscious me that knows more than I do. Perhaps this is getting too convoluted. Perhaps I am tired. Perhaps I've had a really strange weekend (too say the least). Whatever it is, telling myself stories makes it all seem to be okay.

Bulb

2006-04-20T23:45:00.000-05:00

One of the lightbulbs in my ceiling fan keeps going out and then turning back on again. It's very odd. I hope it doesn't burn out because I just donated my last lightbulb to fix the light in the entrance way and I don't feel like buying another.

Continued

2006-04-16T23:29:00.000-05:00

But, even more than that. Today was really satisfying. Or, it had satisfying moments. Even though some jerk stole my umbrella and made me get soaked to the point of having two little wet marks perfectly placed directly on top of my chest, it was good. I spent the day reading and baking. But, not baking for me. Baking for people whom I love and being really happy to be able to do that. I'm so excited to have a family to cook for. I love when my dad gets excited about my cooking. I made him an apple streudel and he made me feel like the most important person on earth. It makes me feel so good to be able to give something special to people who mean so much to me. I may not be the best cook, but food, for me, is my way to share. I don't know if people realize that. But, I think that's how many lovers-of-all-things-food actually feel. Or, at least the people who create it. The people who receive it should know that the best food is the food that is cooked from the heart. It may sound cliche, but it is very much true. I don't cook for sustenance. I cook for emotion. Cooking, for me, is extremely personal. I would rather be naked in front of some people, than cook for them. Cooking, for me, is often when I feel the most vulnerable. I may not always fess-up. But, I bake. And, I think that might just be enough.

Tonight

2006-04-16T23:21:00.000-05:00

Tonight I had the most amazing dinner with an amazing friend with whom I've lost touch. For weird reasons. Uncomfortable reasons. But, we're moving past that, and that makes me feel good.

Dinner was her initiative. Her plan. And, it was fabulous. The menu was great. And, then we watched cable. Food TV. It was amazing. But, I already said that.

I felt amazingly complete and satisfied after my meal. It was a good meal, don't get me wrong. But, the satisfaction was also dependent on the company. Knowing that I was with someone who knew me. Probably who knows me better than most people. I never was afraid to be open with her. I don't know why. Being open is such a mutual thing.

It's funny, really. There are certain people with whom I want to be connected. But, they've hurt me badly. Yet, I almost don't learn. I keep trying to go back. Because I don't like to give up. And, then, there are certain people with whom I am really connected, but I don't give them enough of a chance. So many people, really. Why is that? It's like being attracted to the bad boy when the good boy is right next door. Is it for the challenge? For the prize? It tends to work out for all the wrong reasons. And, I know this. So, I don't know why I continue to try.

Anyway, I'm going to turn this back to being simple-minded and un-profound. Here's what we ate:

Mixed greens salad with crumbled goat cheese, chopped apple and balsamic caramelized walnuts with a red wine-mustard vinaigrette.

Freshly-baked crusty French bread with herbed cheese spread.

Thick and tender lentil soup--perfectly salted.

Dark-chocolate dipped strawberries.

It was one of those nights that we so satisfying that I was actually happy to come home.

Response

2006-04-16T23:11:00.000-05:00

I agree with Maylea. Well, I agree with smiling. But, not necessarily for the same reason.

It's the weak smiles that I get that make me feel like things are okay. I mean, I know that I'm nothing special. I know I'm not hotter than any of the other unattractive squirrels around campus (not that I agree with that generalization). But, daily connections with strangers make me happier than anything. These connections make me feel like the world is okay. That people care, somehow, about me--insignificant me. A me that they know nothing about. But, a me with whom they're willing to share a platonic smile. I don't even kid myself to think that it's a matter of cuteness.

I was actually thinking that today.

I was on my bike riding through HP and loving every minute of it. Glancing around. Making eye contact. Smiling. It didn't matter with whom. Just a little connection. It made me feel happy and complete. More complete, almost, than with most of the people I actually spend most of my time with.

I love jogging more than most things. And, I think it is for this reason, alone. I mean, it makes me feel amazing and empowered and healthy and strong. But, more than that, it makes me feel connected. When I jog, I share smiles and nods and sometimes a few words with people in the streets. And, other joggers. For that one moment, the two or three of us are connected and there's something really warm and fuzzy about that.

When someone chooses to look the other way--left, right, up, down--when I pass by, I feel dejected. I know that it is their insecurity and not mine, but still. How is a person not important enough to get even a glance?

I know it means more than that. But, think of how you feel when someone takes the time to look at you?

Who knows if this makes any sense. But, it's something I've actually been thinking about a lot.

Remember

2006-04-14T19:00:00.000-05:00

I find it amusing to consider the things that I remember.

My best friend in middle school and I were brushing our teeth one night. She didn't rinse her toothbrush after brushing, while I rubbed my fingers across the bristles under water in order to clean it. I commented on her not washing. I think I must have offended her. She commented on my rubbing the bristles. Apparently, that's not good for the brush.

So now I don't rub the bristles. And, I haven't since.

I still often think of that night, in my bathroom one night when we were only 12, when I'm brushing my teeth.

Girl

2006-04-01T22:24:00.000-06:00

Here I am, waiting to go out. Waiting for my roommates to be girls. And, I very much don't feel like one. I don't even know how to put my own make up on. She had to help me. Pathetic and ridiculous. I like getting dressed up. I just don't know how to do it. So, I generally don't.

It took me about 15 minutes to put on my nothing-special clothes, and a bit of eyeshadow and lip gloss and I was "kiss of approval" done. Or, as done as done is going to be.

I don't have anything to match my necklace. If I wear this, then I can't wear that. Right? But, I don't really have any other options. I guess I need to develop a collection. It will happen over the years.

We were really excited to go out at first. And then we became old ladies.

"I have nothing to wear."
"Me neither."

"I'm tired."
"My head hurts."

"Did you hear it's techno?"
"How are we gonna dance to that?"

"Okay, well, let's just go."
"Yeah, okay. We can leave when we get there."

Well, here goes. Nonetheless, I'm quite excited. I just wish I knew how to be a girl god damnit!

Secrets

2006-03-31T18:14:00.000-06:00

I was just thinking about secrets. I mean, what's the point? Why is it that we can't tell people certain things about ourselves. Is it from shame? From being too embarrassed as to how people might perceive we actually are? Or, maybe it's a sort of need for superiority. Like a childhood "I know something you don't know." Maybe it's to keep people on their toes, waiting. Hoping the next thing said is going to be juicy.

I don't think there's much about me that someone doesn't know. I guess I don't have secrets. There are plenty of things that individual people don't know, but, as a world, there's not much of me to hide. Odd. I wonder if that's how most people are. Probably not. I think I'm quick to share personal things about myself. That's probably not the best thing, though. Or, maybe it's only not good because no one else does that. It's not inherently unsafe. It's just that the secret-sharing is one-sided, or something like that.

I don't tell everyone everything about me because there's a lot-- a lot of stuff, I guess, that I don't want people (as a general rule) to know. But, someone knows. I think. I'm not sure if this is bad. Well, it's probably one of those socially constructed good/bad things. So, in other words, it's probably no big deal.

Alone

2006-03-29T21:10:00.000-06:00

Most of the time I think I'm crazy for supposing that I can go off and be by myself for 2 years. Totally, completely alone. Okay, well, I won't be totally and completely alone. But, I will be away from all that I know--people, ideas, culture--and that is really starting to scare me. It's not like I don't enjoy my own company is the thing.

I hate being alone in my apartment. I listen to NPR more for the company than for the information. Unfortunately. Even when I'm not physically alone, though, I feel mentally and emotionally alone. The thing is, it's not always bad. But, sometimes, it just doesn't feel right.

The most terrible thing about feeling alone is that I know that I'm not. I have so many friends: they're not the problem. The problem, is me. I think I'm too hard on people. Too critical of everyone--myself included. And in being this way, I drive people away. I think my problems are special. But, they're not. I think no one can relate--but that's only because I don't let them. I dig my own grave and that's what's so hard to come to grips with. It's not like I can't be different. I'm just not.

When I think about it all in these terms, being "alone" for 2 years doesn't sound so bad. Maybe the way that I feel alone here won't be how I feel alone there. Here my alone is isolating and self-perpetuated. It's like I'm a crazy person on the street. In the middle of hustle and bustle. And I get lost in the crowd. That's feeling alone. But being alone. Well, maybe that's different. If I have no one else to be with then it's not like there's something better. An invisible floater in the middle of chaos, on the other hand, always sees what could be and what isn't.

But, then, I'll come back. And, it will most likely be all the same. Unless I change. And, I do believe I can.

Cleansing

2006-03-25T23:05:00.000-06:00

Today I had to transfer my phone numbers from one phone into another and it was quite an eye-opening experience. I keep things. Most things. Important and unimportant. Just in case. Papers, books, pictures, notes, and phone numbers. I'd had my old phone (the duct tape was interfering with the reception) for about 4 years, I think. Maybe not that long, actually. But, I'd never really cleared out my phone book, so the numbers--some of them--were from people that I haven't talked to since high school. I made a point of only transferring in numbers that I actually need and, sadly, my phone book is now about half as full. I guess it wasn't so sad, just something, I'm not sure. A realization. It made me think of how many phone numbers I'll be clearing out come June or July. How many people I'll lose touch with and if I'll care just the same. I've come to appreciate people in my life for what they are--or at least I'm trying to--for me now and not trying to hold on to them for the future. I'm not sure if it's worthless to put time, energy, emotion into a relationship that is, logistically, not to last, but I don't think it is.

So, the hardest number for me to delete--but also probably the healthiest--was DM (this initial thing is very liberating, I must say). I haven't talked to him since the time we went to Chinatown at the beginning of last year and had that big soup thing. And, even then, it was weird and hard. I hadn't hardly even seen him since--maybe once or twice. So, I saw him in the library the other day and got this weird sad, sinking feeling inside of me. I didn't realize that I was so attached--I don't think I ever let myself admit that I could be. I was supposed to be having "fun," being "carefree." But, I guess it wasn't just that. He was the first person who showed interest in that way, and I think I was just too self-abating to think that anyone could want me superficially. I thought I was one of those people "you had to get to know" before I could be attractive. So, naturally, stupidly, I thought he'd, well, "want to get to know." Eventually. And, I got too attached. Anyway, I now, no longer have his phone number. I can't accidentally scroll across his name when I'm trying to get to someone else. And, I think that's really good. I'm proud of myself for getting rid of it. I have a few things lying around that remind me of him and I might just have to get rid of them too. Or, I'll keep them to remind myself that it's okay to hang on a bit. But only for memories and not for sad, sinking feelings.

It's not really true that I can see people for momentary friendship. Ultimately, I am too sensitive, too conscious, too I don't know, to not care. Especially with people I really like or look up to--who often don't realize how much I miss them--it's those people that I let hurt me the most. But, it's also those people with whom I need to learn to let go.

Escape (2)

2006-03-05T12:03:00.000-06:00

The other day I met the guy who was trying to escape from the Reg. He shook my hand so hard I thought my ring was going to sever my middle finger from the rest of my hand. Or, at least that there would be a hole where the stone was digging into the finger's side.

Anyway, I couldn't understand his name. I had to ask for him to repeat it, and I still didn't get it. So, I just pretended that I understood. We met at an Athens party. He doesn't want to go to Athens. I kept trying to talk it up and explain to him what an amazing experience it was for me, but he wouldn't have any of it. I hope he gets over himself. I was thinking how we go through so many experiences waiting for them to be over, anticipating the future instead of relishing in the present and I'm not sure the point. When I tell my mom how busy I am and she says it's almost over it makes me really mad. I may be busy, I may be exhuasted, I may be lonely, but it's what it is and I don't mind. I know I have good days and I have bad days. But, I don't want to ever skip through something, for fear that I'll miss what's around me, just to get to something new. I wonder how much there is that I don't appreciate or don't notice simply because I'm too unhappy with my now--anxiously awaiting the "light" instead of appreciating the path that gets me there.

Cute

2006-03-05T11:43:00.001-06:00

Something sad recently dawned upon me. I am not cute. I probably will never be cute, and, outside of being 3, I don't think I ever was. I'm not sure what it means to be "cute." But, I'm pretty sure I'd like to be that. Some people just embody cute. But, I don't think I do. I'm too (apparently and very superficially) self-assured and independent. I even have pink kitty-cat pj pants, and still, I don't think I'm cute.

I think cute is happy go-lucky, attractive in a simple, classic sort of way (not like a supermodel), giggly. I don't know what else. Small, I guess. But that's just the most obvious of the characteristics. And, I'm not sure that I'm really any of those things. PM (in the spirit of naming people) used to tell me I was cute. But I didn't (and don't) believe him. I think he had a screwy picture of who I was (am), anyway. He also used to say I was crazy. But that's only because I used to drink wine when I wasn't supposed to, or ask the waiter for a menu when he was too embarrassed, among other "crazy" things. It's not really because I was cute, or crazy, really. His comments should have made me feel special and connected. But, instead, they just made me feel more distant and alone.

Seriously

2006-03-04T21:13:00.000-06:00

Some things that people take so seriously, and believe, really crack me up.

1. Justice: I was just watching the news. Some guy was released after being found not guilty of rape charges. In his brief interview, he mentioned how now the public knows that he is innocent. If I had any ounce of faith in our justice system, I might find comfort in his conviction (or lack thereof). But I don't. I'm not saying he is, in fact, guilty. Rather, I just don't believe the guilt or innocence of someone simply based on a courtroom finding.

2. Politics: I'm not a very political person, but I do have opinions. The difference between me and most other people with opinions, though, is that I am pretty aware of the fact that what I think is simply that: what I think. It's not fact or true, necessarily. And no one has to agree with me. Where I work, I find it quite amusing the determination with which these people work. They are perfectly, 100% convinced that their political views are right (quite literally). That everyone else is wrong. And I just find that ridiculous. I don't agree with half the stuff they say--but who's to say that I'm wrong? We're both looking at the facts, right? Well, then why do we both see something so different?

2b. Conviction and faith: Again, as if anyone is really more right (or wrong) than anyone else. What makes people think that they know something more than someone else, anyway? Maybe they know something different, but who's to say what they know applies to anyone but themselves?

3. Patriotism: Where the heck do I even begin on this one...

4. Rich People: As if they're any different than anyone else.

5. People in power: See #4.

Exaggeration

2006-02-21T11:45:00.000-06:00

My last post got me thinking.

Exaggeration makes stories so much more interesting. I've been trying not to exaggerate as much. Like, instead of saying "I think I gained 10 pounds this weekend," I'd say "wow, I really ate a lot." Or, "I cut myself and it bled practically all night," I'd say "I cut myself and it bled for about 10 minutes and I just put paper towel on it and it stopped." Or, "I stubbed my toe and that hurt really, really bad," I'd say, "I stubbed my toe and that hurt for a few seconds."

But, it's not that interesting to tell stories like that.

This all stems from my desire to recount people's stories in my own head. I always wnat to know exactly what happened and how it happened. But, when people say things such as "it was 100 degrees in there," it's hard to write the story. I like to know how things are, not how they could be. You know?

So, I've decided to stop this terrible tendency to exaggerate once and for all!

Escape

2006-02-21T11:40:00.000-06:00

Someone is trying to escape from the Reg.

He keeps walking over to the windows and running his hands down them like he's trying to get out. It makes this odd squeaking noise.

We're on the fourth floor and this kinda makes me nervous. I hope the glass is glued in really well. He's a little Asian guy (probably weighs about two-thirds--I've been trying hard not to exaggerate--as much as me--not including his glasses cause those are kinda big), so I guess I shouldn't worry.

I want to go sit with him, put my hand around his shoulder and just tell him to leave. Take a break. Come back later.

But, who am I to talk? I'm posting in my blog.

He must have heard me typing, cause he's packing his stuff to leave.

Faux Pas

2006-02-21T10:33:00.000-06:00

I don't often commit a fashion faux pas. I don't generally try to avoid them, it just so happens I get lucky most of the time. My getting dressed routine most often consists of me pulling whatever shirt I can find out of my closet (although I do consider short sleeved or long) and then throwing it on top of one of my two pairs of jeans. So, no faux pas, more than having anything to do with how much I care about how I look each day depends, frankly, on the lack of diversity and selection within the three walls of my closet. It just so happens that it wouldn't be that easy to commit fashion faux pas when you have what I'm working with.

Today, though, was a big exception.

I knew the moment I locked my door this morning that I chose wrong--very, very wrong--but it was too late to turn back. I gave myself a quick once over and prayed that no one would notice.

Unfortunately, my first friendly encounter couldn't not notice if she tried. "You look like spring," she joked. Ha ha. I don't think she realized that I was already very much aware.

Now, as I walk across the quads, into coffee shops and the library I can't help but feel like a giant piece of pastel Easter candy. Pink on the bottom, blue on the top. Whatever was I thinking? I can only hope that my black shoes and black hat buffer the cutsey-ness just a bit. I've even thrown in a black scarf for good measure.

I can see it in everyone's eyes too. I think most people, recognizing that I am generally aware of the world, probably pity me more than anything else. I, in fact, pity myself. The girl who sold me my peanuts gave me a little glance and smiled a bit. A smile that revealed her sorrow for the fact that I still have much of the day to get through before I can go home and change--thank goodness for winter's early sundown.

Well, I suppose it could be worse. I could have forgotten to get dressed all together. Yeah. I'll keep that in mind.

Judgement

2006-02-16T08:30:00.000-06:00

"Bad people wear fur."

Today as I was walking to class, I noticed this very interesting bumper sticker and it prompted me to think of a few interesting things.

Like, for example, how this person knows that bad people wear fur. The statement is quite a generalization and it is also rather unclear. Does this mean that only bad people wear fur? Or that all fur-wearers are bad? Or perhaps, the only bad people are those that are wearing fur.

Do I think it is pleasant to wear a dead animal's skin and fur? No, not really. Does that mean that someone who thinks it is, is a bad person. Well, no, I don't think so. Maybe they're just a little unconcerned. Or, maybe uncaring. Or,
maybe just carnivorous. But, I don't really think they're bad.

Plus, who am I to judge? I own more than a few pairs of leather-clad shoes. I'm not sure there's a difference.

The funniest thing about the entire situation is that the bumper sticker was placed smack-dab in the middle of the trunk of her SUV. Um. Okay. I certainly don't think that SUV-drivers are "bad" people. My dad drives an SUV. And, while I attempt at persuading him to get a smaller car about every time I ride in it, I don't think he's all that bad. In fact, he's pretty good as far as I'm concerned. Plus, I can spout out all I want about saving the environment, but unless I'm Miss Perfect, do I really have that right?

The point being, someone should tell her (I say "her" for simplicity's sake but I don't mean to know that the driver/owner was definitely a female--though I have my suspicions), or at least politely remind her, that her fuel-inefficient vehicle is doing a lot of harm to the environment--killing off and damaging ecosystems (along with her little furry friends).

It's funny that this little discussion should come out of my own little head. The other day, Sunday, in fact, I was talking to a friend totally pissed off about how mean these certain people are in this certain coffee shop on campus. She politely reflected upon the fact that she "has never met any mean people." Once she gets to know those who seem mean at first, she says it's hard to see anyone as truly and honestly, deep down being "mean." While this made me really mad at first (I think I've met a few mean people), I think she might have a point. Maybe there aren't really any (well, I think there are a few) "mean" people in the world, just people who are misdirected at a certain point in time.

Which brings me back to being "bad.

Maybe there aren't really any "bad" people. Just misguided, unconscientious people living for values that you or I might not understand.

Pride

2006-02-05T11:22:00.000-06:00

Since when did having school pride become a bad thing? I am particularly fond of my (soon-to-be) alma mater and don't understand why that's a problem. I have a number of shirts (a few of them purchased, many more collected for free) that help me outwardly display my affection, and I would have no problem purchasing a few more before I leave.

I think, though, this pride thing goes way deeper than just school spirit. It seems to me that many individuals feel awkward about feeling good about something (be it oneself or someone/thing else). It's like people trump modesty for something grand and depressive--that state of melancholy, "I'm too good to really care" sort of stuff. Well, I think that's ridiculous. Why spend countless dollars, emotional well-being and time engaged in something that you can't be proud about? But, on a grander scheme, why go through life doing things that you're "just beyond caring about"?

Ultimately we're all stuck with our decisions and ourselves for the rest of our lives. Why not be happy about that? Or, if not happy, at least a little proud?

Chair

2006-01-29T18:10:00.000-06:00

Here I am. Sitting alone at the library. A big table all to myself. Well, not for long. In fact, I wasn't alone a minute ago, and I won't be alone in a few more minutes.

I was sitting here, two chairs on my side and one on the other, minding my own business. One of the chairs was pretty obviously unoccupied, but it was right across from me. It hadn't been pushed in from its last user and I was debating on whether or not I wanted to get up to push it in so I could use it as a foot rest. Some girl came over, interrupting my own little debate, and asked if anyone was using that particular chair. Well, not really. So, I bestowed it to her.

She brought the chair over to her table, situated her stuff. It was only then that I realized how ridiculous this was. There she is, at a grand ol' table. Just her and her boyfriend and four chairs. She stole my chair so that she could use it for the enjoyment of her feet--or so I thought.

She never actually put her feet up on that chair. Instead, she sat diagonally from the chair she stole from me. Put her jacket on the chair across from the chair she stole from me and her boyfriend sat on the chair she stole from me. Oddly enough, the chair that she sits across from remains unused. No books. No bags. No feet. No butts. And, with no obvious plans to put any of those things there, either.

Maybe she just couldn't stand to sit at an incomplete table. Well, in her effort to complete her table, she made mine quite incomplete. Sigh.

Statement

2006-01-29T18:08:00.000-06:00

The guy across from me is wearing a shiny metallic belt with cutouts in the shape of "PUSSY BOY."

Oh, the lengths people will go to make a statement.

Perfection

2006-01-27T22:46:00.000-06:00

I had just written this amazingly introspective and intimate portrait of myself on the verge of realization. And then it disappeared. Well, it didn't really just disappear on it's own, I made it disappear. Which is even worse. It might have been for the better. I might have been saying things I wouldn't have actually been glad I'd said tomorrow, or the next day. But, they were said, and they felt good saying.

So, the post disappeared and I just had to cry. Sometimes it just builds up so much that something ridiculous--like losing a post to the mysteriousness of cyberspace or the motherboard on my computer--sets me off. I spend so much time being consumed with being okay, staying sane, staying healthy while doing it all that sometimes I forget that it might be too much. But, somehow everyone else manages, right?

Tonight I went to a gymnastics meet. When I was little I used to love watching gymnastics. Yet, at the same time, it always made me feel bad about myself. It was almost as if I was adicted to the fascination of feeling bad about myself than actually enjoying watching the sport. I would look at those girls and wonder why it was that I wasn't good at something like that and why I didn't look as good as them. Yet, I couldn't turn away. Really any non-professional sport brings up these feelings for me. Only sports though. Nothing else.

But, tonight, it was different. I wasn't consumed by feeling bad. It was this odd realization of how things are. An acceptance, almost, that I could be that good at something. I'm just not, though, because I don't try. This could have made me feel worse, but, instead, it made me feel better.

We were sitting in, oh, I don't know, the third row maybe. Which was also really good. When I usually look at seemingly perfection, I'm usually looking at it through the lens of a camera, printed on the glossy pages of my magazine, or through someone else's perspective on my tv screen. But, this, was different. I don't know if it's cause I'm getting older, or maybe it was a fluke, or maybe just cause we were only 3 rows up. But, it didn't feel so bad. We were so close that I saw the bruises on their legs. I saw that their skin made dimples and little folds when the bent down to fix their taped up feet. I saw that their tooshies (quite strong, I might admit) jiggled a bit more than I'd ever noticed. And that was really good. Sometimes I forget that people aren't perfect. Instead of being consumed by their faultlessness--a faultlessness that I manifest, not one that is actually there--I looked at their faces and remembered--just for a second, but that's all it took--that they, too, were human.

It's odd to admit that I think about such ridiculous and "cliched" things. It's embarrasing to concede that I cry when I lose an unimportant piece of prose that doesn't even need to be written. But, it seems to me that if we all admitted these things, it wouldn't be so hard. We all spend so much time trying to be perfect that when people aren't perfect, I think they forget that no one else is too. So, I still want to be perfect. I still want to do good and be good. But, I guess it's not always that important. I'm sure I'll forget how self-assured I now feel in my momentary overwhelment when I wake up this morning

Sandwich

2006-01-12T13:37:00.000-06:00

I am currently eating one of the best sandwiches I have ever had---ever. Well, I guess that's not completely fair to say. I've had myself a fair share of really good sandwiches in my lifetime. This one probably isn't any better than the others. What does make this one a bit more special, though, is how crafty I was in creating it--bringing a tupperware full of stuffings, saving my bagel from the morning festivities and snagging some packets of mustard and relish on my way to work. Delicious.

Sandwiches are probably one of my favorite things in the whole wide world. I am such a sandwich snob and die for a good deli, and I think there's not much better than a perfectly--exquisitely--crafted sandwich. The great thing about sandwiches is that they really are amazingly easy to make. Which is why I have no clue how people screw them up.

There was an amazing Judaic-Italian deli on the north side that I went to once. I had myself the tastiest grilled sandwich with these amazing homemade, fresh and thick potato chips. I tried to go back about a month ago--I had been raving about it to a friend for the past 2 years and we finally decided to make the trek--and it was closed. How unfortunate for the world. Really.

I think people, in general, would be much happier if they had really good sandwiches every day of the week. I know that's all it takes for me.

Now, I must go on enjoying my creation.

Commitment

2006-01-09T21:38:00.001-06:00

Somehow I have already managed to overcommit myself. Well, I hate to say "overcommit" because I did it. It's what it is. So, it's not really over. Nonetheless, I constantly think that I am doing less, taking a break, letting myself relax only to find out that my schedule just keeps getting more and more full.

It's okay. I'd love a free day. But, all in all, this is exactly how I like it.

Pounds

2006-01-02T18:20:00.000-06:00

I tend to see the same people at the gym whenever I go. It doesn't really matter when I go, either. Somehow there are certain people with whom I share a sort of inner "gym clock." Anyway, I'd never seen this certain friend of mine at the gym. We don't actually just happen upon each other around town. It's either in class or on a planned outing. It's pretty safe to say that I'd never seen him in my grubby (well, I don't think they're that grubby, actually. I wear them around on a regular basis) gym clothes. So, maybe that's his excuse.

"Excuse for what," you say.

I'll tell you. But be patient. What is about to be said warrants much background information.

I walked in to the gym to see my friend talking to some cute, skinny (this is an important detail, and yes, I noticed) Chinese girl who was sort of working there. He glanced over and I waved so he came over to say hello. I was getting my card swiped so I was sort of distracted:

Me: Hey, I was about to call you. Well, not this second, cause I'm at the gym. But, I've been generally meaning to.

Him: Cool. When did you get back?

Me: (feeling a tad bit guilty) Friday. Late.

[You may want to sit down for this one]

Him: Nice. Did you put on some pounds over break?

Me: (uncomfortable laugh) Uh, really? I don't think I did. (looking down at my soaked sweatshirt) Well, maybe. Uh, it's raining pretty hard outside. Maybe it's the water.

Him: (chuckling as if to show disbelief) Yeah, maybe the water's dragging you down.

Me:(quickly changing subjects) So, are you going to play basketball? The gymnasium looks closed.

Him: Yeah. Where are you going?

Me: Upstairs.

Him: See you around.

That just doesn't seem right, I don't think. I mean, he's not my best friend. Or my mom. Not that either of those people would likely comment about an increase or decrease in my reserves.

I may or may not have put on some pounds over break, but can one really tell that sort of thing? I mean it's only been 2 weeks. Is that even possible? Of course, now, I'm going to think about this for a long time. Of all people to say that sort of thing to. For one, I'm a girl. Come on. Plus, I'm me. I don't like to mess around that sort of thing. He must not know me at all.

I think I'd be equally bothered if this had been a girl telling me this, but that he's a guy puts a whole different spin on the matter. Is this what guys think when they see me (rhetorical question people, really. No reply required). I guess this isn't something I really need to bother myself with. But you know I'm going to. I know I shouldn't worry about his comment--the fact that he would think that is one thing and isn't all that terrible, but to say it out loud to my face is just bizarre.

I guess the ridiculousness of this is just so great that it's possible that he was just teasing me. Yeah that's it. It was just all a joke. Ha ha. Ha ha.

Time for dinner.
(Ironic, isn't it?)

Dressed

2005-12-31T19:15:00.000-06:00

I'm trying to get dressed, but I don't know what to wear. I want to wear something great. Something fantastic. But, I don't really own anything that fits either category. Plus, I feel really sick and dumpy--not really in the great or fantastic sort of mood.

Brother

2005-12-28T22:46:00.000-06:00

I've really always wanted a brother.

When I was in Kindergarten I even made up stories about a brother that I had--he didn't really exist.

It's not so much the sibling thing, though. A sister wouldn't be the same. It's always been a brother.

My cousins treat me like their little sister (even though I'm 4 years older than the oldest). We don't see each other often--usually twice a year. And, that's unfortunate. I think they're both great. When I was visiting them a few days ago, my brotherly desire was reignited.

We spent a good couple hours making up new verses (Eminem style) to the diarrhea song (we had some good ones) while washing dishes and then fighting over the remote (they refused to switch over from football to Desperate Housewives even during commercials) and wrestling.

I don't know where this brother thing came from and I certainly don't understand why singing about diarrhea and being pounded to the ground would cement this desire.

Personals

2005-12-28T22:38:00.000-06:00

Why do people always ask me if I have a boyfriend? I don't think this is a "me" thing. I'm guessing it happens to everyone. But, that doesn't make it any less annoying. Random people, too. Why do people even care? Is it really any of their business?

I never know how to respond to this question. And, I never even know how to react to my response once it has already been formulated.

I usually try and make up something fluffy and convoluted--like "maybe," or "oh, not right now,"--but it usually ends up being taken as something depressive.
Oh, it's okay honey. You'll find someone. As if a boyfriend is something important that has been lost in the depths of my closet or something--it's just hiding and not ready to come out.

This question never fails to make me feel bad about something that I really don't feel bad about. Okay, well the psychiatrist in me says no one can make you feel something you don't already feel yourself. But, really. It all makes me wonder if I am somehow incomplete. How we're all supposed to be paired up somehow. How life just isn't right without sharing it with someone intimate. That really bugs me. I can be such a stubborn and grumpy person that I wouldn't be surprised if I just answered no for the rest of my life.

Flipside

2005-12-19T23:31:00.000-06:00

When I was in middle school, my best friends and I got really into Oasis. We all had the Wonderwall album and listened to it nonstop. To this day, I know most of the lyrics to nearly all of the songs.

At that time, my dad also started liking the band. I remember that being strange. A middle-schooler who shared musical inclinations with her dad.

The other day when my dad came to pick me up for dinner, he was listening to Shaggy. Later on the drive, Eminem came on and my dad commented on the sophistication of his poetry--something about being smooth and rhythmic or something.

Now, my mom just informed me that she's gotten into Wu-Tang Clan. She likes their beat. I already knew she was into the rhythm thing. After a roadtrip with her and my musically-minded cousin in high school, she's become one of Sublime's biggest fans.

I'm like the dorky side-kick to my really cool parents. Strange. But, oddly understandable.

Bible

2005-12-19T01:16:00.000-06:00

I've decided to read The Bible.

I never had much of a religious upbringing. Both of my parents were sort of force- fed religion when they were growing up and, I think, were pretty hesitant with me. The countless Catholic school horror stories I've heard from my mom could fill the entire "C" encyclopedia and just knowing my very, very Orthodox Jewish grandmother is enough to pity them both. They aren't really anti-religion, I would say. Just pro-"make-your-own-decisions-about-God." So, they never really told me much.

My dad supported me in my endeavors to attend Sunday school at my best friend's church for a year or so when I was in elementary school, after which he would whisper yell to me in the background while I was talking to my grandma, "don't tell her we went to church." My dad knows a lot about religion and the bible and such and I've always enjoyed what he tells me. Yet, I've always felt like I was missing out on something. It's not that I feel immoral or empty, because I don't. But there's all this religious hubbub that I just can't relate to. I've always sort of had this desire to know about religion. Not because I really buy into most of it, but I'm more fascinated by the history of it all and the absurdity with which people eat up gospel like it's air and water.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I was watching Disney's The Prince of Egypt with the kids that I babysit for at a local church every other Sunday and my religious desires became re-ignited. I decided that I wanted to read The Bible--an ambitious endeavor for even the most fervent, but one, nonetheless, that I think I am willing to take on. I told my Dad and Mom and they were really supportive. My mom actually said that she's been wanting to read it too.

I wanted my dad to help me pick out a good one to read. I knew that I wasn't going to get through anything that's complicated and in verse, but I also din't want the translation to be so screwy that the meaning's been sucked right out of the pages.

We went to the bookstore and asked the guy where the Bibles were. Well, my dad asked. And, in asking the innocent salesclerk, he suggested that perhaps the Bibles happened to be in the religious fiction section of the store. My dad has a very strange sense of humor. The guy didn't know how to respond, so I piped up: "uh, that was supposed to be a joke."

I found myself a nice book and started it last night. I'm beginning with the New Testament cause my dad told me that the Old Testament is really depressing. But, I want to get to that next--it's the story of Moses that really fascinates me the most. Last night I read about the birth of Jesus. I'm only on chapter 5, but I think it's going well. I'm very aware that this could be a lifelong thing. I mean, it is The Bible and all. It's neat though. Definitely a good story--with interesting historical context--and one that I think is good to know.

Cavity

2005-12-16T17:59:00.000-06:00

My health is about the only thing I'm really good at. So, I'm a pretty good student (though I work really hard at that, it certainly doesn't come naturally!) and I can run a fair distance. But, being healthy? Well, that's one thing that I don't usually get wrong. And, I must admit, I take some pride in being a fairly physically healthy person. I'm glad to be able to say that I have never had major surgery or broken any major bones. It even brings me great satisfaction to miss the flu/cold rounds each year at school. I've always been a pretty healthy person and I'd like to keep it that way.

So, naturally, when I found out that I had a cavity yesterday it about put me to tears. Me? A cavity??! Oh no!

I dread the part of the check up where my dentists sticks his little pokey tool into each tooth and I feel a little tug back like it's getting stuck. I cringe each time it feels slightly stuck for fear that the decay has grabbed hold of the pointy sucker. Yet, I'm usually alright. So, this time around, he took out this crazy laser thing and started poking around in my teeth. Apparently this thing registers decay at a much more precise level than any human can. And, sure enough, it caught some in #30. Damn. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be embarrassed or sad or mad. Was it those frozen m&m's I just can't seem to shake? Or, because I've sort of fell off the flossing band-wagon ever since Greece? It's hard to tell.

After I made my appointment to get the decay removed I asked my hygienist if I wasn't brushing correctly and she assured me that, no, that wasn't the case. She told me not to beat myself up over it. My "home care" looks good. *Sigh.* At that point, the whole thing seemed kinda ridiculous to me and I sort of had to laugh. My "home care" seemed good? Okay.

Last night there was a Peter Jennings' special (his wife produced it after he died) about the rising cost of health care. I just caught the end, but the point was made that better access to medical care is actually making people sicker. People get all these tests and check-ups only to keep getting sick. At the same time, I can't help but wonder if all of the new fangled medical contraptions are what's making us sicker. I mean, if my dentist hadn't have used the laser-o-dent, or whatever that stupid thing was called, to scan my dental crevices than, well, I wouldn't have a cavity. Right? I guess this brings up the age-old "tree-falling" issue. If my #30 is decaying, but no pokey thing is there to see it, then is it really decaying? I honestly can't say for sure.

Re: Typical

2005-12-16T17:53:00.000-06:00

I've been doing a lot of thinking regarding the last post. And, I'm not sure how I feel about what I wrote. I don't think I completely agree with myself anymore. The more that I thought about it, and tried to group my friends somewhere, I realized that none (well, maybe there are a few exceptions) of us really belong to any group. We're all sort of a little of this and a little of that. So maybe that's our group. The no group group. I don't know. I think the point was that I had been with a friend whose friends embody a group that I just don't. And, it got me thinking. It wasn't like I didn't fit in or anything like that. We had a great time and no one seemed to care particularly much that I was a tad bit different. Yet. I don't know. Still, there's something very nice about being able to make little categories for people to belong to and something very convenient about saying "I don't belong to any of them." But, that wasn't my point. I don't exactly know what my point was, though. I'll think some more.

Typical

2005-12-13T01:04:00.000-06:00

I don't consider myself to be the "typical" college student.

To me, there are three main types of students:

1. The crazy, obnoxious, drunk kind.
2. The nontraditonal, hippy, let's-all-be-friends messy kind.
[subgroup a: hipster, alternative, "I'm-different-than-everyone-else kind]
[subgroup b: don't really care about the future, "don't tie me down" kind]
3. The really smart, future-oriented, I'm-gonna-get-a-kick-ass-high-paying-job kind.

I don't really feel like I fit any one of these groups. The weird part is, that I know and am friends with all of these types of people. I was just at my friend's place for dinner. And her friends are mostly 2. I think. And, I just felt really old and mom-like. I don't think that I have a problem with having fun or anything. Admittedly, I can be a little uptight about certain things. But, I think I'm fairly good at just having a good time. But, with the type 2 people, I just feel really boring, conventional and apprehensive. Take for example, I had to really turn a blind eye to the nasty sponge that I was using to clean the dishes and all the scum that was living in the water that had collected at the base of the dish rack. It was tough, let me tell ya. I wanted nothing more than to just empty out the whole damn kitchen and clean it. And, this is not to say that I am Ms. Martha Stewart. My room is definitely a mess, there are dust balls floating around my apartment and "gasp" even on my ceiling fan. But, still, certain things really bother me and it is a mental wonder that I get over them.

Back to the groups. I don't think I'd be able to categorize myself into one of them even if someone was threatening me with no more frozen peanut m&ms for my entire lifetime (though I'd try really, really hard). I don't think I'm 1. And, I'm probably not 2, subgroup b. But, as for the rest, I'd say I'm a bit of each.

So, this is a little too clean (I'm now using clean to mean something other than lack of dirt). Categorizing people is like trying to put a round edge on something that just has to be square. But, still. I think it's more or less true. I mean, even if everyone is indeed different, I think there are still certain ways that we group ourselves. And, I just don't know where that leaves me. Maybe I'm group 4. Whatever that may be.

Sleep

2005-12-13T00:59:00.000-06:00

Last night I finally ended my "6 hours of sleep a night" streak. It was up to 12. I got myself started, and I just couldn't stop. Go to bed at 1:30, wake up at 7:30. Without even trying.

But, last night, I slept almost a full 8 hours. Unbelievable. Someone could really give me a medal or something. Maybe a little congratulatory pat on the back or nod or something. It was great. Problem was, I was more tired than I had been on only 8 hours. I think it's just that the momentum is wearing off. I've been running and running and running on nothing. But, now that nothing (well, something is finally gone.

Tomorrow I don't have anything particularly important planned, so I might actually get a full 8 hours of sleep! Wow. I don't know. That might be pushing it. If I go to bed now, I can still wake up at a reasonable hour and not feel like a total slob. [Actually, it's almost 2 now. 8 hours might be cutting in close]. Tomorrow I think I want to read. Go to the gym, sweep my floor, have lunch with a friend, and read. Sigh. [Contented].

Stacking

2005-12-13T00:42:00.000-06:00

Tonight, we the odds were stacked in our favor.

I went to dinner club at a friend's apartment and we cooked up a storm.

So, the way it works, is that someone sets a theme (it usually has something to do with fancy food) and then everyone brings a dish to that theme. Then, there's voting. The person who makes the best dish wins this crazy aluminum foil gladiator-esque belt. The belt gets passed around to all the dinner club winners.

So, my friend and I are ambitious chefs. Or, she is at least. And I'm just inspired. I am most definitely content with simplicity (I've recently perfected the best caprese open face sandwich with fresh basil, mozzarella, tomato, cucumber and a splash of balsamic), but if there's fancy-pants to be had, I'm always game. And she is definitely fancy-pants.

Anyway, we made a lot of food. Everyone brought one dish, but the two of us together brought five. And it was all amazing. I left before the voting actually took place (it was getting kinda late and I wanted to catch the bus), but there was murmur that we should get the prize just for the fact that we made a good third of what was out there. I didn't like that though. If I'm gonna win, I want to win fair and square.

In case you're wondering, this was the menu:

Suppli with a little mozzarella surprise
Stuffed mushroom caps
Lettuce boats with marinated pork
Fresh baked herb bread

Stew
Pesto pasta salad with kalamata olives and broccoli
Spinach and bacon quiches

Creme brulee
Apple souflee
Ginger ice cream
Pumpkin Pie
Cafe parfait with caramel and chocolate topping
Three chocolate bread
Chocolate Fudge

Needless to say, I'm really full. It's not so much full though that I ate too much. It's full on sugar. And, I think that's the worst feeling in the world (well, maybe not the worst). Yuck. So, I went to catch the bus and it didn't come so I called the police guys to see if the bus was running. It wasn't running till midnight and it was only 11:30, so I requested umbrella coverage. I had to wait on the corner for a few minutes for the cop to come and then he actually made me walk home which was disappointing. But, not really. It felt great to walk after all that food. And, I got to have a great phone conversation while I was walking. It took me 25 minutes to get home.

So now, I'm ready for bed. I'm excited to brush my teeth, most of all. I love the feeling of freshly brushed teeth and the taste of toothpaste. Plus, I have scope toothpaste, and I'm a big fan.

Guilty

2005-12-11T19:49:00.000-06:00

Okay, I don't feel a whole lot better than when I wrote the last entry. In a sense, I feel ridiculously worse. Sometimes my silly complaints seem so miniscule in the grand scheme of pain and suffering. So what if it was just a couple ridiculous TV shows (I hate having to admit that one of them was Extreme Makeover Home Edition--but only because Desperate Housewives wasn't on...wait a minute, that's probably worse) that made me remember this. I still remember. All in all, I have it pretty good. No major stresses in my life. I'm happy. I'm healthy. I have a family and friends. I have 10 fingers and even 10 toes. So who am I, really, to sob over people not caring as much about me as I care about them (well, I wasn't really sobbing, but there were a few teensy tears involved).

I mean, sure I do feel bad sometimes. I don't take back that I get lonely--that I have been feeling particularly lonely the past few days--but I will rethink how I go about thinking about myself and my relationships with others. It's not that bad. Sometimes it all hurts, but, relatively speaking, I should be counting my blessings because it's actually all pretty good.

Lonely

2005-12-11T18:13:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I think I put more effort into things than it's worth. It's not even like I care about trying too hard--it doesn't seem too hard, really. It just doesn't feel good when I realize that it's all so one-sided. I guess I shouldn't care. I should do things because I want to do them. But, I think there is so much more to community and friendship than that. Sometimes you do things because you genuinely want to do them. But, other times, you do things because, well, it's nice to do them for other people. I find myself periodically feeling like I give all the time and don't get anything back. That I care too much about other people, but that the people that I care that much about don't really care all that much back. So, then I end up pretending that I don't care to protect myself from being hurt and it's just a lonely mess. And, now I feel terrible for even thinking this way--that I need to get in return for my give. But, you know, it's true. For me, at least. And, the truth is, I don't do things so that I can get something in return, but then, every once in a while, I realize that a few of my most desired relationships are just that. So, is it bad to want to get something from someone? I can't decide. Is it bad to be good to people so that they'll be good to me? Or, then is it not really being good to others and just a convoluted and confusing way to be selfish? I don't know. This really all confuses me. I guess maybe I just care about the wrong people--which sounds even worse, but might make the most sense. This is actually not a new problem. I've been trying to figure this out for a long time. Or, it could be that I just want different things from relationships than people are willing to give.

I was thinking how I didn't want a boyfriend. I've been thinking about this a lot, lately. About how I'm content with me being me and myself and me being me and my friends. But maybe that's just cause I wasn't lonely. Now I'm lonely, and all I want is someone who cares about me--cares deeply. Someone who thinks I look good and someone who thinks I am good. But, I can't decide if I like the idea of having a boyfriend for just the idea and that in practice it doesn't make sense. I think, really, want it comes down to is having someone reinforce that I might possibly be the tiniest bit attractive. Inside and out--honestly.

I was also thinking about how I've never really been with a guy who knew me before being with me. My very limited "relationship" experience has been with people who I didn't really know. So, what does that mean? I am probably paranoid in thinking that I am just a loser who no one who actually knows me wants to be with. But, I honestly, can't help but to think that. I mean, it sort of makes sense--all the pieces fit. Sometimes I think it's cause I'm too nice. But, I'm really not. So then I think it's cause I'm not nice enough. But, that doesn't make sense either. So I don't really know what it is. Whatever it is though, makes me feel like the biggest loser alive. Why is it that some people have people who care about them--in a romantic, intimate sense--and others don't. Sure, they just haven't found the right person, but why not?

Gum

2005-12-09T12:45:00.000-06:00

I am at the library trying to do everything but write my darn assignment. It's the only thing left to do and it's really, really hard. The hardest part, really, is that it's so easy. We've been working up to this assignment all quarter and I have, basically, already done what I need to do. But, it just doesn't feel like enough. I don't feel like I've put enough time into this class. Like I really know what the heck I'm doing. But, what makes it really difficult is that I'm actually doing something. Both my instructors told me that they were really impressed with my progress and wished that the class was 18 of me instead of me and everyone else. But, part of me feels like I've just done a really good job of bull-shitting them and that I really don't have much going for me at this point. It's really confusing. I think I'm really good at pretending like I know exactly what I'm doing, but, in reality, I'm as lost as everyone else. I'm just good at doing what needs to be done, right? But, it doesn't always seem like I'm actually doing much. I don't know, maybe I'm too hard on myself.

So, anyway, there was a point to this post that had everything to do with the title. Honestly. So, now I'll get to that:

I just swallowed my gum. I don't know why. All of a sudden I just forgot that I was chewing gum or something and instinctively swallowed what was in my mouth. It's a good think I'm not a baby putting lots of odd objects in there, cause based on what I've just done, I'd have swallowed those things too.

So, my swallowing my gum gave me something to write about in my blog and I was really excited because it meant that I didn't have to write my assignment anymore! Yay!

I've been at the library almost 2 hours now and done practically nothing.

But, I'm being more productive than the guy in the comfy chairs next to me. He's been sleeping the entire time I've been here. Yesterday that happened too. There was a guy sleeping for a good 3 hours in the comfy chairs. Don't people have homes? I'm sorry, but I just don't get it.

Bleah...I'm never the one at the library the last day of finals. This feels terrible.

It's truly amazing how empty this place is.

Ok, back to work.

Decisions

2005-12-06T23:11:00.000-06:00

I'm terrible at buying plane tickets. The process always includes me calling everyone I know (sometimes even knocking on doors) to ask when everyone thinks I should leave and what their plans are for the potential departure days that I am considering, and then checking every possible airline website to make sure that I am, indeed, getting the best possible deal.

This process also always includes a phone call to my dad whence I ask him when I should come home and he says, in his usual tone of voice, "Honey? Do you have problems making decisions?" And then I yell, "Yes!" Then he counsels me on the fact that there "are no wrong decisions." Yaddah yaddah.

Last night, he even made me tell him what would happen if I chose the wrong day to come back. "Well," I said, "I'd be sad and wish I was home. Or, I'd be sad and wish I was here." Then, he told me how big the universe was and said something about there being billions of stars or something and how long it would take to get across the galaxy--point being, it didn't really matter when I came and left. I don't know, really. I started to tune that part out. He sure doesn't make it easy to be emotional, that's for sure.

Anyway, long story short, I bought my plane tickets.

Re: Halloween

2005-12-05T13:52:00.000-06:00

Okay, I don't even like that word: sluts. But, I do think it's true.

Halloween

2005-12-05T13:49:00.000-06:00

On a short little internet break to review some of my friend's photos I was prompted to remember something another friend had said to me a few weeks ago:

And, I quote (I don't think she'll mind):

"Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress as sluts."

Amen.

Snow

2005-12-01T09:24:00.000-06:00

I love love love love love the snow!!!

Nothing

2005-11-30T17:49:00.000-06:00

I'm so used to being busy that I sometimes don't know how to relax. This afternoon, I had an uncommonly long chunk of time with no meetings, appointments, classes, work or office hours. I'm home now. Don't know what to do. It's funny how I've become so accustomed to running around all day that when I don't have to, it just feels odd.

So, I made myself a nice hearty lunch (grilled cheese, greenbeans, vegetable soup and the last sliver of pumpkin pie from Thanksgiving), searched the coupon section, made a few phone calls and now I'm making cookies.

Speaking of which, it's amazing how just an extra 6 tbsp of flour changes an entire batch of cookies like night and day.

Chinese

2005-11-28T20:44:00.000-06:00

Today someone told me that I seemed more Chinese than American. Then, he said, "no offense." What the heck is that supposed to mean??

I don't think he meant it in the sense that being Chinese is a bad thing--heck, he's Chinese. But, rather, that I would take it that way. I don't know which part was more strange--him thinking I'm Chinese-y or him thinking that I'm anti Chinese-y.

So, this, naturally, got me thinking. What does it mean to be Chinese? What does it mean to be American? I don't really know much about either, but it seems to me that I'm not very "Chinese." (Not that being so would necessarily be a bad thing). I think the way I took it is that this kid was commenting on my "hard work and dedication." [This is pure speculation on my part.] Which brings me to an interesting point....people think I work a lot harder than I do. This isn't to say that I don't work hard, but it's definitely not "all work, no play." Sometimes, even, it feels like quite the opposite. Work, to me, is greuling and stressful. Strain and pain. But, I hardly ever feel that way. Maybe when I go to the gym. But even that gives me a strange sense of blissful satisfaction.

So, I don't know. I told him that we should discuss the matter more. Over a pot of dumplings perhaps. I'll volunteer to pick them up in Chinatown.

Well, depends on what message I'm trying to send. A big juicy hamburger might be better.

Pregnancy

2005-11-22T20:11:00.000-06:00

This may come to a shock to some of you--but probably not to all.

Sex is completely safe during all trimesters of pregnancy.

When I pull up the internet at work, I am confronted by the MSN home page. It hardly ever fails that I am quickly hooked by some silly headlin: "Find the Best Buffets in your City!" "Tips from the Rich!" "Rock Hard Abs in 5 Minutes Flat!" Or, in the case of today: "Boy or Girl: 38 Ways to Predict your Baby's Sex."

Well, I'm not pregnant, nor do I expect to be any time soon. Nonetheless, I was hooked.

I read the 38 little factoids. Some were really interesting--having morning sickness early in the gestation period (if that's what it's called for humans...) signals a girl, as does moodiness, cravings for sweets, and breakouts. Sounds like a girl to me.

At the top of the article there was another bit of bait. And, I just couldn't resist:

"10 Facts About Sex During Pregnancy."

So, I've been periodically reading a fact here and there when no one is looking. You know how rumors spread. My pregnancy would be on the front cover of the paper in time for next week's readership.

Recipe

2005-11-21T23:06:00.000-06:00

A little something tasty that we made last night (a recipe that we'd like to take full credit for, thankyouverymuch):

3 1/2 pounds of pumpkin (~2 cups or 1 1/2 pie pumpkins)
1 med yellow onion, diced
2 tbsp olive oil
3 celery stalks, diced
3 carrots, diced
5 garlic cloves, diced
1 tsp spicy curry powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp salt
2 tbsp butter
4 cups vegetable broth
1/2 cup milk

Cut pumpkins in half and scoop out seeds.

Bake pumpkins, cut side down, for approximately 1 hour at 350 degrees.

Heat olive in saute pan and add onions, carrots, celery and garlic.

Cook on low heat, stirring occasionally, until soft—about 20 minutes. Add salt and curry powder. Add 1/2 tbsp butter.

When pumpkin is soft, scoop out the meat and add it to stew pot with 1/2 tbsp of butter. Add vegetables and broth. Mash together, but keep in lumps. Bring to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes.

Turn off heat. Stir in milk.

Serve and enjoy.

Embryo

2005-11-21T20:41:00.000-06:00

I don't totally know what eggs are--chicken eggs that is. I mean, I know what the egg is, but I don't really get why they are the way they are. Does that make sense? I think they're tasty, but I prefer not to think about what they actually are. I guess I'm not that easily grossed out. I can handle most things that make people cringe. But, animals. Well, I just don't like eating them all that much.

I'd gotten those little blood specks in my eggs before. I never really considered it all that much. I figured it was something to do with the baby chick to be--had the egg been fertilized, but, eh, just shrugged it off.

I always called it the embryo, though. For no reason. I didn't really think it was an embryo. Just called it one.

So, the other night when we were making cupcakes, there was a little blood speck in one of the eggs. And, as usual, I called it an embryo.

That elicited much uproar from my baking buddy who, upon closure examination, confirmed that it was, indeed, an embryo. And that she even saw a little eye in the tiny speck (about the size of half a grain of rice). I laughed (uncomfortably) and peeked into the bowl myself. There was definitely something in the speck. But, an eye? After much negotiation, we extracted the "soon-to-be" baby chick from the cupcake. She offered to explore it under a microscope. But she was just kidding--unfortunately. I would have been delighted to actually see the little bugger in high definition.

Instead, he (she? It's probably too early to tell) went in the trash can. I have yet to take out the trash. Weird as it is, the remains of the past potential for a little baby chicken now RIP in the blue spinny top canister in the corner of the kitchen. I might have to get that out tonight. I can't bear to sleep with the dearly departed just a few rooms away.

Pumpkin

2005-11-15T23:52:00.000-06:00

I just made chocolate pumpkin bread. And it's really, really good.

Fresh from the oven. Hot.

I love it when the butter melts into all the little pores.

Mmmmm....

Heels

2005-11-15T23:39:00.000-06:00

I hate high heels.

But, they make me look good, I think.

I know why people wear them.

I love wearing my long wool jacket and heels. I feel sophisticated and even (I can't believe I'm saying this in public), sexy.

But, they just hurt too damn much.

And, sexy might not be worth all that pain.

But, more than the pain, high heels symbolize something. Something more than me. Accessories have meaning, more than just being. And, that, more than anything, is why I don't think I can really wear heels. They're just not me. I don't embody the high heel image. Though I try to pull it off every once in a while.

Problems

2005-11-15T23:22:00.000-06:00

I have sort of always wondered why we're all so negative here. Part of it, I think, is we're all self-selectively self-destructive in a very productive, smart, progressive sort of way.

Today, I was at a meeting and we were discussing whether or not people liked the health center. Everyone was saying that they'd had only good experiences there. That really surprised me. Not that I have much first-hand knowledge, but I'd really only heard people complaining about the place. Someone mentioned that we're trained to find problems. That's the fundamentals of our education.

I totally agree.

Sure, maybe we have negative tendencies to begin with (I refuse to go as far as to say we're all pessimists, because I, for one, certainly am not). But, I think also, this girl had a point. We've been trained to question what is. We've been trained to see what's wrong.

Hopefully, to make it all better.

Facebook

2005-11-06T19:14:00.000-06:00

Today I really wanted to check facebook at the library. And, I was too embarrased to be caught looking at the screen. I'm sitting in one of those computer clusters, though. I'm facing the front, but I don't know who is behind me. Facebook is one of those things that I only admit to using when in good company--when I'm with people I know. I like to pretend that I don't succumb to things like reading people's profiles who I briefly meet, or getting really excited when someone changes my wall. Last week I met someone as I was walking down the stairs. We talked for a few minutes and he introduced himself. But, I can't remember his first name. Only his last. But, I do know his major. So, I wanted to look him up, to see if he's there. But, the internet is down in our apartment and I've been too embarrased to check in public. Ridiculous.

Even the fact that I am writing in my blog in public is minorly sketchy. I wouldn't want to be revealed. Since no one really knows the real Lisa Lovely. Right? Right? You all just wish....

Anyway, I guess I'll have to wait to check facebook until Thursday. That's when we get internet again. Until then, I hope nothing majorly important gets said.

Food

2005-11-03T21:24:00.000-06:00

Today I bought a $4 and 4 cents lunch at the GSB. It wasn't even that much food (a little salad and a piece of bread). I wasn't even hungry. I went because someone wanted me to go. But, I had just eaten breakfast--a bowl of cereal and half a banana. Then, after my midterm, I still wasn't hungry. But, I wanted a scone (I'm still on the "I'm-in-Europe-eat-whatever-I-want-whenever-I-want-it" Mindset). So, I bought one for $1.69 at Plum Cafe--which really isn't called Plum Cafe, but that's what I call it. Then, I wanted something else so I bought a chocolate muffin for $1.63--it was really gross by the way. I had a few bites, took a few hour hiatus from eating to do some homework, and finished it later. Although, I almost returned it. But I ate it instead. Then, I still wasn't hungry but I wanted something else. I've really been wanting pizza. So, I bought some Bosco sticks (my first-ever) for $2.71.

Do a quick little calculation....doodeedoo...

I spent $10.07 on food today. And I wasn't ever hungry.

Name

2005-11-03T21:20:00.000-06:00

When I was little, my mom would tell me I was her best daughter. "I'm your only daughter, mooooom." So tonight she tells me that she has trained her kids (she's a second grade teacher--wow that sounds so good!) accordingly. "You're my best kids," she tells them. "Except for Lisa Lovely," they finish. How special.

Forget

2005-10-24T23:53:00.000-05:00

I'm turning into the person who forgets what people tell me. That person always bothered me. You know the one who would ask you the same question time after time. And when you'd respond, they'd have no idea that you'd already told them? Well, I haven't gotten so bad that I don't even catch on that I already know. But, I fear I'm heading in that direction.

Opposite

2005-10-24T23:49:00.000-05:00

Does telling someone of the opposite sex that they're "smart and pretty" necessarily mean anything? Is that just friendly? What about buying them things? Is that just friendly too? Well, I'm not reading into anything. Because whenever I read into things, I'm the one who, invariably, gets hurt.

Stupid

2005-10-24T23:32:00.000-05:00

Today I humbled myself and went to be tutored by someone who I knew would be younger than me. I hate admitting my deficiencies in economics to people who don't really know it's true. Actually, let me clarify that. I don't mind admitting these deficiencies if it is purely a superficial admittance. If it's just something like "oh, I never get that," but that won't ever actually be tested so people still might think I'm smart. So, anyway, this class that I'm in. I'm in it all alone. Well, not really all alone, but I only know one person in the class. And he has yet to realize that I am, indeed, stupid*. And he's one of those people--like most people that I only sort of know--who actually think I'm one of those really smart, really put-together types. Let me save you all the suspense: I'm not. So, this weekend, not only did he get to witness my stupidity, but I had to go through it all tonight, as well. When we were working on the problem set, I didn't understand how to do one of the problems and it was something ridiculous that I should have understood. When he explained it to me, I told him sorry, but I was really slow. And he responded with "well, we haven't done it in a while and you'll get faster." He's nice.

So, tonight I got over myself and went to be tutored. Knowing good and well that I'd be older than my tutor and get it half as much. Turns out she was, and turns out I did. But, I actually had the problems more or less correct--or at least was on the right track. Which was good. But, anyway, so there was another guy in the cubicle with us and they are both in 203 right now. They asked if I wrote the paper or took the test (we had options). I told them that I wrote the paper and that it was the only "A" midterm I've had here. The guy commented on my honesty and said that not many people at our school would admit to that. I wasn't sure what he thought I was admitting. My stupidity? Cause I admit it all the time. It's just that no one believes me. And, I'm not sure that I'd want them to, anyway.

*when it comes to economics--that's what my mom assured me on the phone this evening

Gone

2005-10-23T22:36:00.000-05:00

European beauty products are not as good as American ones. Which is odd. Europeans have that look, you know? That really good, really stylish, I-just-used-really-fancy-beauty-products look. But, they are still really bad.

I just used up the last glob of Greek lotion that I bought in, well, Greece. The lotion was terrible. It is called Sanex. And now it is in my trashcan. I actually understand everything written on the package. But, not because it's in Greek. Because it's in Spanish. I found that really odd. Anyway, I just used up the lotion and was kinda sad about it. Even though it was so terrible. I'm almost nostalgic for my lotion. I'm almost done with my shampoo too. But the shampoo is bad, as well. I'll be happy to be through with it--and so will my hair--but it's kinda sad to be done with that part of my life. The part of my life when I bought shampoo and lotion in Greece.

I finished up some Spanish toothpaste over the summer. This was, by far, the worst toothpaste that had ever graced the surface of my pearly whites. The minty flavor lasted all of 3 minutes and after that came a terrible, gritty taste that I, invariably, was forced to mitigate with a stick of gum. But still, the last time I brushed my teeth with it I was sad. The entire week before I knew that my toothpaste was about to run out, I only used the tiniest little spot of paste to brush my teeth--which, I shouldn't have to say--was even worse for that non-minty flavor. But, still, I just wanted it to last.

PDA

2005-10-23T16:45:00.000-05:00

There is not much that I dislike more (not including things like world poverty, famine and war) than PDA. Today as I sat in the library doing my homework, minding my own little business, my unparalleled productivity kept being interrupted by the kissing of these two annoying people sitting down the way. They weren't even really kissing, is the thing. The girl was sitting across from the guy (I'm not positive it was a guy, he/she wasn't facing me and had very inconclusive physical characteristics) and facing me). She would periodically (and by periodically, I mean at least 6 times in 4 hours) get up to walk around the table and hold her face really close to the other person's face as if she was kissing him--with the head tilt and everything. But, it was one of those really terrible, nails-on-a-chalkboard kisses (if it was indeed a kiss) that is really quiet but still makes a sound. You know? Like when someone is trying to be polite by whispering, but the sound of trying to be quiet it is just so jarring that it would be better if the person didn't even try to be quiet at all. Anyway, I found it all terribly revolting. I am a rather romantic person. Little affectionate hand holds or a kiss and hug at the airport always make my inner tenderness warm and fuzzy, but I find nothing more annoying than two people who think that the rest of the world cares about their physical connectedness with one another. I don't. And I don't think that many people do. Or maybe that's not even the worst part of it. The worst part of it is just that people get so involved with themselves that they forget that there is an entire world around them.

When someone was disrupting the class, my 6th grade science teacher (Mr. Momburger--yes that's his real name) used to stare at the person while making this weird, dynamic hand-gesture of a planet rotating around the sun and yell this is not you. the world does not revolve around you. I always thought that was funny. It still makes me smile. In fact, it just did.

If I wasn't in the library, and I couldn't care less about my reputation, I would have done a Mr. Momburger on these people today. Lucky for those who know me, I didn't. And lucky for all of us, they just left. It just started raining and I hope that they were too busy kissing in the quads to run inside before getting wet.

Dinner

2005-10-17T23:44:00.000-05:00

So, Sundays and Mondays have sort of become the make dinner together night. Although last night we didn't. I made banana bread instead, watched the White Sox game and went over to a friend's house to watch Desperate Housewives. But tonight we were all here and it was nice. We made teriyaki vegetable stirfry over udon noodles. I didn't want my bowl to ever be empty. I even ate with chopsticks to make it all last longer--the last little bits of flavorful garlic and egg were a bit tricky to maneuver. I really enjoy making dinner. But, more than that, I really enjoy being cooked for. I didn't totally appreciate this notion of having someone else cook for me--I mean other than my mom, though I am beginning to appreciate that since she stopped cooking for me about 4 years ago--until this summer, I don't think. The best is when it's really out of care. I had two amazing dinners made for me this summer--not amazing because of the ingredients, though they were good too. But amazing because I didn't have to do anything. And not because I didn't want to, but because the other person really did.

(by the way, blogger spell check things that "stirfry" is supposed to be "stripper." it's not.)

Donut

2005-10-15T13:45:00.000-05:00

I've been really wanting a donut lately. I don't know why. It's not really an intense craving or anything. The cravings come for random reasons--like I'll see a picture or something. They're fairly short-lived, too. Mostly, I've been really wanting a lot of crap food for no reason--food that I usually don't even like all that much and that is equally disappointing when I finally get my hands on it. So the latest cravings have been grands biscuits, pillsbury cinnamon rolls, m&m's, mr. goodbars, pizza, donuts.

It almost embodies the classic ideals of liberation. Like finally being free from the shakels that are "caring" (not that I would go even half as far as to say that's how I actually feel). This summer I just ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. It worked out well for a few reasons. But most of those reasons no longer exist back on domestic soil and with the existence of other confounding issues. Yet, I have not fully discarded this sense of attainable desire. I have yet to make it unattainable, but I'm not sure if this is really that good of a thing. It's like I'm a foreigner to tasteful marvels and just desire the ability to experience them once, if only to say that I did. Like seeing the Empire State Building in New York, or something like that. Like I am here, so I may as well.

So, as for donuts. When I was dropping off the van at the police station on Saturday the police officer was really nice and he had a dozen krispy kremes sitting on the dispatcher table. He offered me one, and I obliged willingly. I think he was surprised that I said yet, but he smiled and went to get a napkin. I was mostly excited because I'd never had my very own krispy kreme. I once had a bite of someone's at a study break 2nd year, but it was far from indulgent and the taste lasted less than 15 seconds. Well, suffice it to say, this time around wasn't much better. He handed me the donut--I was extremely hungry, having way passed my usual 4 hour fasting ability. I was surprised at how light the thing was. It felt like nothing more than air. I took one bite, and then two, then three, four and maybe five. And it was gone. I couldn't believe it. How anti-climactic is that? I don't know what the big deal is. I hardly even had time to relish in the amazing experience that krispy kreme is all cracked up to be, because by the time 45 seconds had passed, the donut was gone. And, I hardly even knew where it went.

Misbehavin'

2005-10-12T00:25:00.000-05:00

Last night I took a shift that had me working with my roommate--bad idea. I think somewhere there's a sort of rule on that sort of thing. It sort of goes with the whole, "no dating in the workplace" idea: no working with friends who might cause you to get into trouble. So, we didn't get into trouble. But, we were having almost too good of a time. I don't think I'm at liberty to share--I'd have to clear it by her--but let's just say, at one point, I unplugged the computer and we couldn't figure out how to turn it back on. None of the passwords that we could think of worked. I ended up having to call my supervisor's cell phone and even he didn't know! It was all hilarious and a good spot in the evening.

I've been feeling really bad lately. Not like down, or depressed. I mean I've been feeling like I am bad. I don't do my problem sets super early like I used to, I'm behind in reading, I forgot about meetings and TA sessions and I was a misbehavin' in the workplace. And, I haven't decided if it's better to be upfront about something I think I'm probably not supposed to do and risk no being allowed to be on this board I want to be on, or if I should feign ignorance when the issue comes up. I never was very good at "oops." But, I just might have to try.

I guess that's all good. It means I'm "normal" (whatever that means). My mom was trying to give me tips about my senior year and her biggest worry was that I would study too hard. What kind of mom thinks her kid studies too hard? She said, "Lisa Lovely, I want to make sure that you have fun this year. Let loose." She's a good mom.

Marathon

2005-10-09T23:49:00.000-05:00

Today was the marathon. My friend ran the marathon for the 2nd time. I wanted to run the marathon. I even trained for it this summer. But when I went to register mid-July, it was already full. The whole, entire, 40,000 people marathon was full! Who'd have thought that 40,000 people could have their act together enough to plan ahead that far in advance? Amazing.

Well, next year, maybe. I just need a buddy. A running buddy, that is. Maybe I'll place an add in the peoples section. Tribune.

Clean

2005-10-09T23:40:00.000-05:00

I love to clean. Except for scrubbing walls. I don't like scrubbing walls at all. My mom always tries to get me to scrub my walls and I resist with as much might as I can.

I love to clean and cook and do the food shopping. If this was 1951, I'd be quite the commodity. I guess times sure have changed. Now I just need to, too.

The unfortunate thing about cleaning, though, is the bug usually gets me when it's time for bed. Like now. My bedtime goal was 11. My roommate said "I'm going to scrub the tub" around 10:30 and that's all it took. I attempted to mop my bedroom floor, but the act was rather futile. It's pretty dirty, and the dirt's not going anywhere.

But, my sheets are clean and the apartment is swept, and the bathroom sparkles and the trash is ready to be taken out, the dishwasher is full and set to go, and I even washed the dishcloths. I think I'll call it a day, or, well, a night.

Me

2005-10-09T00:57:00.000-05:00

[I'd like to just start off by saying, I really need to go to bed! I've really needed to go bed for about 2 hours now, in fact. But things just keep coming up. I really want to start a new book, but I picked it out with someone else and we are planning to start it together, and I didn't tell her that I wanted to start it tonight. I might just start it anyway.]

So, I was just thinking about a story that my mom tells me about myself. It's probably terribly selfish, but I love the stories that my parents tell about me being little. They're so much fun to hear.

Anyway, so my mom had taken me to the doctor for a routine check-up. I think I was only about 3 or 4 (but, I tend to be really wrong about these things, I guess I could have been 5?). And the doctor was asking me all sorts of questions while she was making me say "ahhh" and checking my pulse, or something. And, one of her questions was, "LisaLovely*, who do you love?" And, my response was "me!"

I love that story!

*Name may have been changed to preserve anonymity.

2005-10-09T00:30:00.000-05:00

Have you ever been so excited about seeing someone, only to see them, and then realize that they didn't really care?

Mood

2005-10-09T00:24:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how quickly a mood can change. I hate that. I hate that I can become such a victim of the people around me. I was in such a good mood. I blow dried my hair tonight and even cut it a little--I was feeling fun and ambitious, so I gave myself some angled bangs. I turned up the music and danced in my bathrobe and I felt so good. Now I just want to cry. And, I sort of know why, but at the same time, I hate that I know why. Because knowing why means that I don't have to cry. I'm not really sad though. Because I know what's happening. It's weird. Wanting to cry and being sad, but at the same time, not really being sad. And being strong enough to know--even during weakness.

Laundry

2005-10-09T00:15:00.000-05:00

I did my laundry tonight. I don't really mind doing laundry. Well, I don't mind doing it if I don't have anything else to do, but I hate it when it all piles up because I haven't had time. I hate piled up laundry. One of my favorite things in the whole wide world is freshly cleaned sheets. But more than that. I love having just come out of the shower, being clean, smelling fresh, my legs shaved. It's night. I'm tired and I have a good book. And, I love crawling into my sheets. My freshly cleaned sheets.

My mom uses laundry soap without scent. She's allergic to the perfumes, I think. So, laundry isn't as extravagant at home. It's still wonderfully amazing to sleep in fresh and clean sheets, but the absence of smell makes it all somehow incomplete. When I buy my own laundry soap, I get the kind that smells amazing. It's almost like a splurge. It makes me feel decadent, like eating chocolate cupcakes. And I just want to share the experience with someone. But no one is here, but me. Well, someone is here, but at the same time it's more like I am the one that's not here. Like, almost, I don't exist.

Tonight I made my bed. And it looks amazing. I just walked back into the room and the entire space was filled with the fresh aroma of warm laundry and clean. And I am clean. I just want to go to sleep.

One

2005-10-07T00:18:00.000-05:00

So the biggest problem that I have with this blogger thing is that I feel like it paints only one very small dimension of who I actually am. Maybe I wouldn't care about this if I didn't know who reads my posts.

If I write about being sad, does that mean I am only sad?
If I write when I am happy, does that mean I am only happy?
If I write about being confident or funny, does that mean I have no problems?
If I write about thinking someone is cute, does that mean that I only think about one thing?
If I write about loneliness, do I need constant company?
If I write about disconnect from those around me, am I unsatisfied?

Sure, I guess at those moments, I might be some of those things. But, I am also a stew of all of those things at the same time. When I'm happy, my sad is still there. And when I'm lonely, my contentedness does exist. Maybe that's what makes all of us so multi-dimensional. We are a compilation of our many emotions all at the same time.