I never want to be a teenager again. Never ever ever. So that's one of the things that I guess I can be grateful about getting older for, unless reincarnation does in fact exist and I am just marching unknowingly to an an unlimited future of teen lives. I'm not sure if that's how reincarnation works, and I realize that the likelihood of my continually experiencing the same bored, privileged, suburban teenage life over and over again is very small... I'm just saying that now that I have lived to be 26, I feel confident that I will make it into old age, unless illness or other malicious forces (not my hand) intervene.
One of the major downers that I recall about being a teenager is the feeling that nobody liked me, except maybe my grandmother (and what was her problem) and a few friends. Accompanying this was loneliness and lack of self worth. I dealt with these feelings in different ways as life progressed: as a kid I read books constantly, when I was a little older it was hours of television, and when I was still a little older I discovered the joys of alcohol. Luckily I didn't become a real drinker until I turned 21, but I got into enough trouble with my parents as a teenager involving alcohol that the level at which I consumed it then was about as damaging to my life as it was when I lived away from home and was legally able to buy it.
When I was a kid I had a huge appetite and a fast metabolism. Puberty was a crushing blow. I gained 20 pounds in less than a year. However, I could not conceive of changing my diet and was accustomed to eating every meal until I felt physically sick or uncomfortable. I remember one day in high school someone brought in donuts for the class. Someone else brought in apples. The really pretty blond girls (who looked like they were 30 rather than 16), ate the apples while I miserably enjoyed the immediate gratification of my donut (I probably ate two).
At some point when I was a teenager, I got the idea that a good way to lose some weight would be continue eating all of the huge servings of food that I was accustomed to for every meal and not exercising, and to somehow force all of those excess calories out of my body. I'm sure had I been another type of person I would have tried starving myself, but that was not the type of quick fix solution I was into. I once wrapped packing tape around my belly as a type of a corset to sleep with, which goes to show you the level of planning and common sense I was employing in my quest. Not only was the packing tape (obviously) ineffective, it was pretty painful to take off.
So for some years I was bulimic. I have to say that it's pretty convenient that this nice medical term exists that veils the inherently disgusting nature of making yourself vomit and abusing laxatives. Add to this that being an incredibly insecure, unhappy person didn't make me super nice to others. My first few boyfriends experienced pretty insane levels of jealousy and anger from me. I once threw an entire smoothie into my ex boyfriend's car.
So, one of the best things that ever happened to me was transferring to college, moving into an apartment with people who became really good friends, and getting a job at a co-op. At school intelligence was really valued, which was not something I recognized much as a teenager. And at work all sorts of people were liked and accepted, and no one was rewarded for being a jerk. I made friends and stopped watching so much t.v. I stopped worrying as much about what I looked like. I gained weight, cut off my hair and was really, really happy. For a few years I did have crazy anxiety about my teeth, sure I was going to lose all of them after mistreating my mouth so much, but eventually I went to a dentist and as far as I know dentures are not in the cards-- yet.
Fast forward a few years later and I'm still ironing out some kinks. I take from those experiences some valuable lessons, and a plan for what I will try to impart to my daughter, if I ever have one. Life is good, I'm okay, and I'm ready for what's coming. Life can be hard enough without being on your own side. Teedle-y-dee, off to work I go!
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Napping through the Revolution
I have a cold. This is not at all surprising to me, although I was trying to wish it away and kill it with spicy food (sometimes effective methods) yesterday; the mere four hours of sleep I got last night certainly did not help.
Since my last post, I was rehired at the grocery store that I worked at before the job that I will be losing (sooner rather than later now, though they still haven't given us a date). I've been going to both most days, working 5 am to 5 pm, leaving home by 4 a.m. to catch the train. While I actually prefer the early shift, I had a feeling that not having the ability to nap would catch up with me, as going to sleep before 10:00 p.m. is impossible (and before 11 is a challenge), even if I intend to be up by 3:20 at the latest. Waking up this early I set the maximum five alarms on my cell phone-- as a coworker once said, my body tricks me into getting more than I am alloted of that sweet, sweet sleep.
So here I am on a Saturday night, wearing an XXL "Stick it to the Man!" co-op shirt that I got for free from my work one of the two other times they hired me (continuous employment! gratitude!) borrowed pajama pants, and my old friend blue bathrobe, who hasn't made an appearance since last March. I am missing a potluck and music at my favorite coffee shop/food hang out place. I don't even care. I feel so tired and run down, I'm excited to maybe watch a movie (something of the sweet and sappy variety, perhaps starring Meg Ryan) and make some citrus ginger juice with my new juicer before going to sleep at a reasonable hour and waking up feeling refreshed and 100% better tomorrow morning (it's called the power of positive thinking;)
The best part of my work day today was feeling like a know-it-all when I was alone in the walk-in, putting away pallets. Yes, I enjoyed standing in a refrigerator as I was getting sick, stacking boxes that weigh 20-50 lbs on average. 1.)It makes me feel cool and macho and 2.)Even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob (to borrow a phrase from Catcher in the Rye. How hip! I barely remember that book. I liked Nine Stories, but gave my copy away and never finished Franny and Zooey although of that I have two copies), even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob, I do enjoy the feeling at work that everything is in its right place, and also rearranging the boxes to fit something where there was previously no space for it. Look at the apple section! What was previously a haphazard mess is now neat stacks of Spitzenbergs, Galas, Fujis, Honeycrisps, etc, etc, sorted by dated oldest received on top, partial boxes put out or on the cart.
The last time I worked at this store unloading pallets drove me crazy. Ice cold water drips from boxes down onto your hair and into your shirt, boxes are heavy and cumbersome and hard to maneuver in the little space available after the walk-in is crammed with multiple pallets and carts of product. Coworkers forget to move a poorly placed box, or just do something of questionable judgment, like sticking a heavy citrus box on top of delicate grapes. I hated setting up the olive bar as well; the smell of that much brine at 5 am made me swear I never wanted to look at anything from the olive bar again, let alone eat it.
However, months have passed and I am over it. I actually asked my coworker if he wanted me to do the olive bar this morning. Feeling competent is nice, although I'm self concious that I might not be moving fast enough.
As for my other job, I go in, shuffle papers, make copies, respond to emails, and feel not very useful to my boss. I'm just not there for enough time in the afternoons, but I can't commit any more time than I already am. Luckily, some of the people in my office have found jobs/have finally gotten interviews, so there is less of a doomsday feel around the water cooler (actually, the water cooler is in an empty cubicle that no one hangs out in, last occupied by the student intern that had the unfortunate learning experience of watching the agency implode this summer).
So, this is life right now. Work. Juicers. A slight cold. I'd better not get cold sore, or to use a less disgusting phrase, though not as accurate, sun blister (less disgusting to me. Don't even use the "h" word). Those are the worst. I already feel pretty haggard, these past two and a half weeks. I think I may have gotten less than a handful of solid nights of sleep in that time. However, as the protests around the country will tell you, I am one of the lucky ones I guess. No unemployment. I'm eligible for awesome benefits after a few months. I'm really enjoying working a physical job and working with my friends again. It's an alright place to land. I just gotta get over this dang cold!
Since my last post, I was rehired at the grocery store that I worked at before the job that I will be losing (sooner rather than later now, though they still haven't given us a date). I've been going to both most days, working 5 am to 5 pm, leaving home by 4 a.m. to catch the train. While I actually prefer the early shift, I had a feeling that not having the ability to nap would catch up with me, as going to sleep before 10:00 p.m. is impossible (and before 11 is a challenge), even if I intend to be up by 3:20 at the latest. Waking up this early I set the maximum five alarms on my cell phone-- as a coworker once said, my body tricks me into getting more than I am alloted of that sweet, sweet sleep.
So here I am on a Saturday night, wearing an XXL "Stick it to the Man!" co-op shirt that I got for free from my work one of the two other times they hired me (continuous employment! gratitude!) borrowed pajama pants, and my old friend blue bathrobe, who hasn't made an appearance since last March. I am missing a potluck and music at my favorite coffee shop/food hang out place. I don't even care. I feel so tired and run down, I'm excited to maybe watch a movie (something of the sweet and sappy variety, perhaps starring Meg Ryan) and make some citrus ginger juice with my new juicer before going to sleep at a reasonable hour and waking up feeling refreshed and 100% better tomorrow morning (it's called the power of positive thinking;)
The best part of my work day today was feeling like a know-it-all when I was alone in the walk-in, putting away pallets. Yes, I enjoyed standing in a refrigerator as I was getting sick, stacking boxes that weigh 20-50 lbs on average. 1.)It makes me feel cool and macho and 2.)Even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob (to borrow a phrase from Catcher in the Rye. How hip! I barely remember that book. I liked Nine Stories, but gave my copy away and never finished Franny and Zooey although of that I have two copies), even though I am a gross, disgusting, embarrassing secret slob, I do enjoy the feeling at work that everything is in its right place, and also rearranging the boxes to fit something where there was previously no space for it. Look at the apple section! What was previously a haphazard mess is now neat stacks of Spitzenbergs, Galas, Fujis, Honeycrisps, etc, etc, sorted by dated oldest received on top, partial boxes put out or on the cart.
The last time I worked at this store unloading pallets drove me crazy. Ice cold water drips from boxes down onto your hair and into your shirt, boxes are heavy and cumbersome and hard to maneuver in the little space available after the walk-in is crammed with multiple pallets and carts of product. Coworkers forget to move a poorly placed box, or just do something of questionable judgment, like sticking a heavy citrus box on top of delicate grapes. I hated setting up the olive bar as well; the smell of that much brine at 5 am made me swear I never wanted to look at anything from the olive bar again, let alone eat it.
However, months have passed and I am over it. I actually asked my coworker if he wanted me to do the olive bar this morning. Feeling competent is nice, although I'm self concious that I might not be moving fast enough.
As for my other job, I go in, shuffle papers, make copies, respond to emails, and feel not very useful to my boss. I'm just not there for enough time in the afternoons, but I can't commit any more time than I already am. Luckily, some of the people in my office have found jobs/have finally gotten interviews, so there is less of a doomsday feel around the water cooler (actually, the water cooler is in an empty cubicle that no one hangs out in, last occupied by the student intern that had the unfortunate learning experience of watching the agency implode this summer).
So, this is life right now. Work. Juicers. A slight cold. I'd better not get cold sore, or to use a less disgusting phrase, though not as accurate, sun blister (less disgusting to me. Don't even use the "h" word). Those are the worst. I already feel pretty haggard, these past two and a half weeks. I think I may have gotten less than a handful of solid nights of sleep in that time. However, as the protests around the country will tell you, I am one of the lucky ones I guess. No unemployment. I'm eligible for awesome benefits after a few months. I'm really enjoying working a physical job and working with my friends again. It's an alright place to land. I just gotta get over this dang cold!
Monday, August 29, 2011
The Titanic
There is only so much television that I can watch before I feel depressed. Granted, I love t.v. but spending a perfectly good evening watching more than two hours watching television makes me feel pretty crazy. that isn't to say it isn't done, but I'd prefer otherwise.
I've been lacking in imagination, and have had been lazy with my brain. I'm housesitting for my boss- who I like very much, however I worry a lot about her continuing to or consistently liking me. She seems to. This is nice. of me. right? She's a cool lady.
My job (secret), I'm not crazy about. The people are wonderful and I'm getting laid off soon anyhow. But it's been stifling, man. Going to that office everyday, everyone knowing that they're losing their jobs (the agency is closing). However, everyone else is in an employee union and know they know when they're losing their jobs. Not me. I'm an independent contractor. And my program isn't defunded. It's just moving somewhere at sometime. Has anyone told us when? No. Is there an answer to when I will lose my job? Probably in a month or two. Am I still moving ahead like I'm not on a sinking ship? Yes, indeedily do.
*To be fair, everyone else is also fully invested, have careers and morgatages and kids and car payments. Not me.
And, despite not liking my job too too much, the uncertainty is getting to me. And I might not qualify for unemployment if I can't find a job, which never occured to me, because I've never been unemployed before without it being my choice and in such a crappy economy. And I think I accidentally downloaded a virus onto my personal computer the other day. From Netflix. Not porn. Which is irrelevant, but I'm on a roll here.
I don't love my job (something I hope no one at my work realizes), but I worry about everything, all the time, so this is stressful. I should focus on the definites. So I don't know when, but I know I will. The bigger picture, so to speak. Like a break up, or a good friend moving away. Loss is inevitable. Like death. I am calm, I am accepting. I'm still getting a paycheck. You see, these things called dollar bills don't come easily. They're important. If I can just secure them and somehow keep them... not worry about such frivolities as healthy expensive food and shelter. And fun. I like to have fun.
The best things in life are free, like love, or a good attitude. However, call me bourgeousie, I think that money definitely helps. And my employer is the only entity that gives it to me. So. There's that.
I've been lacking in imagination, and have had been lazy with my brain. I'm housesitting for my boss- who I like very much, however I worry a lot about her continuing to or consistently liking me. She seems to. This is nice. of me. right? She's a cool lady.
My job (secret), I'm not crazy about. The people are wonderful and I'm getting laid off soon anyhow. But it's been stifling, man. Going to that office everyday, everyone knowing that they're losing their jobs (the agency is closing). However, everyone else is in an employee union and know they know when they're losing their jobs. Not me. I'm an independent contractor. And my program isn't defunded. It's just moving somewhere at sometime. Has anyone told us when? No. Is there an answer to when I will lose my job? Probably in a month or two. Am I still moving ahead like I'm not on a sinking ship? Yes, indeedily do.
*To be fair, everyone else is also fully invested, have careers and morgatages and kids and car payments. Not me.
And, despite not liking my job too too much, the uncertainty is getting to me. And I might not qualify for unemployment if I can't find a job, which never occured to me, because I've never been unemployed before without it being my choice and in such a crappy economy. And I think I accidentally downloaded a virus onto my personal computer the other day. From Netflix. Not porn. Which is irrelevant, but I'm on a roll here.
I don't love my job (something I hope no one at my work realizes), but I worry about everything, all the time, so this is stressful. I should focus on the definites. So I don't know when, but I know I will. The bigger picture, so to speak. Like a break up, or a good friend moving away. Loss is inevitable. Like death. I am calm, I am accepting. I'm still getting a paycheck. You see, these things called dollar bills don't come easily. They're important. If I can just secure them and somehow keep them... not worry about such frivolities as healthy expensive food and shelter. And fun. I like to have fun.
The best things in life are free, like love, or a good attitude. However, call me bourgeousie, I think that money definitely helps. And my employer is the only entity that gives it to me. So. There's that.
Monday, August 8, 2011
You can stay, but the world will change around you
Hi again. I've been having a great summer. Summer really loses some of its luster when you leave school completely; you have to go to work everyday, it just gets hotter outside. However, it has been my experience these past few years that summer still has some of that same old magic, even as life slips into a new routine (one that doesn't involve playing soccer and sardines in the street. "Car!... game on."). Summer nights, sweaty bike rides, getting a little smelly, feeling strangely natural with your skin constantly moist from lack of air conditioning. I love it. I generally say that autumn and early winter are my favorite seasons, but that may be something I just tell myself before seasonal affective disorder sets in and my body starts screaming for some sushine.
Anywho, I've had a good run of weekends. The past couple months, every weekend has been so fun. I'm not sure when it will end. It doesn't have to end, but the likelihood that things will continue uninterrupted as they are is definitely zero. This realization is nothing new on my part. It's the same old worry; worring about nothing, about things that haven't yet happened that I have no control over. However, what is new, is the idea that I don't want to be in flux today. This is probably a good sign, I must be somewhat content. I was just sitting in my backyard, with my cat, and I thought, "what if I just stayed here for a while?" Well, I'll tell you what: I'm losing my job. (It'll be okay.) Our beloved family dog was recently put down. Two of my housemates are getting married (to each other!!! exciting!). Friends are moving to other cities (but they're here now...!). And so on. It's life.
I don't think that I do actually just want to sit here. However, life has a way of setting a pace that I cannot readily adjust to. And that's fine. I am beginning (on a teensy small scale)accept the impermanence of everything and that it's all okay. Even if it makes me unhappy sometimes. It also makes me happy sometimes. That job that I had that I hated when I was twenty years old, sure glad that was not permanent. Or heartbreak, or disappointment, or yada yada.
These weekends can't last forever, my housemates will eventually move away, people that I'm accostomed to enjoying on a semi-regular basis will get jobs in other cities, sometimes far away, people will get married, have babies, people will die. People will die? Is that what I just said? Again? Hey, I'm not the decider here.
I always remind people (and myself) of that. Not intentionally. What a bummer. I had coffee with my mom earlier today and she mentioned that it was going to be my nana's 70th class reunion. My reaction was that I dread the day when I have to get used to most of my friends and family beginning to pass away. At that age they begin to consolidate the graduating classes because they keep shrinking.
Anyway, I'm very lucky. You have to have something to be afraid of losing it. And I'd been kicking rocks for awhile. So in the words of al green,
"Don't look so sad I know its over
But life goes on and this world keeps on turning
Let's just be glad we have this time to spend together
There is no need to watch the bridges that were burning"
I'm so emo. That's still a thing, right? Another thing, I don't know how to work apps, I don't know Justin Bieber, google+ frightens and confuses me. I'm just a 20th century girl, trapped in a 21st century world. grow. change. vinyasa. hot tub time machine.
Anywho, I've had a good run of weekends. The past couple months, every weekend has been so fun. I'm not sure when it will end. It doesn't have to end, but the likelihood that things will continue uninterrupted as they are is definitely zero. This realization is nothing new on my part. It's the same old worry; worring about nothing, about things that haven't yet happened that I have no control over. However, what is new, is the idea that I don't want to be in flux today. This is probably a good sign, I must be somewhat content. I was just sitting in my backyard, with my cat, and I thought, "what if I just stayed here for a while?" Well, I'll tell you what: I'm losing my job. (It'll be okay.) Our beloved family dog was recently put down. Two of my housemates are getting married (to each other!!! exciting!). Friends are moving to other cities (but they're here now...!). And so on. It's life.
I don't think that I do actually just want to sit here. However, life has a way of setting a pace that I cannot readily adjust to. And that's fine. I am beginning (on a teensy small scale)accept the impermanence of everything and that it's all okay. Even if it makes me unhappy sometimes. It also makes me happy sometimes. That job that I had that I hated when I was twenty years old, sure glad that was not permanent. Or heartbreak, or disappointment, or yada yada.
These weekends can't last forever, my housemates will eventually move away, people that I'm accostomed to enjoying on a semi-regular basis will get jobs in other cities, sometimes far away, people will get married, have babies, people will die. People will die? Is that what I just said? Again? Hey, I'm not the decider here.
I always remind people (and myself) of that. Not intentionally. What a bummer. I had coffee with my mom earlier today and she mentioned that it was going to be my nana's 70th class reunion. My reaction was that I dread the day when I have to get used to most of my friends and family beginning to pass away. At that age they begin to consolidate the graduating classes because they keep shrinking.
Anyway, I'm very lucky. You have to have something to be afraid of losing it. And I'd been kicking rocks for awhile. So in the words of al green,
"Don't look so sad I know its over
But life goes on and this world keeps on turning
Let's just be glad we have this time to spend together
There is no need to watch the bridges that were burning"
I'm so emo. That's still a thing, right? Another thing, I don't know how to work apps, I don't know Justin Bieber, google+ frightens and confuses me. I'm just a 20th century girl, trapped in a 21st century world. grow. change. vinyasa. hot tub time machine.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
That's what friends are for!
Today I want to talk about the terrible spectre of loneliness. Jokes! I'll get there.
Last night I got to visit with one of my dearest friends, Meg, who moved to Germany this past year. Meg is teaching english and living with her very nice german boyfriend, Matthias. I met Meg in college; through a mutual friend we became housemates when we transfered to university from community college. We eventually worked together, and also had many classes together, as we had the same major (except she was a double major and also studied German). Needless to say we became pretty close and sometimes really, really annoyed each other.
Meg is hilarious, loyal, yada yada yada, super cool and I love her. However, in talking about how awesome she is, I'm going to move on to a more depressing subject, because that's how I roll.
I feel like people often live smaller lives as they get older, sometimes become increasingly isolated... if you are a part of an intentional community like a housing co-op or a church (alas, I'm not religious) this may be less of the case, but as I get older things seem to be super in flux, and while the relationships remain, the physical presence of certain loved ones in my life is less so. Life! Ah well.
I'm very lucky and surrounded by great people most of the time. However, things have changed. I have two friends who live with each other and are besties, and I think longingly of college when I hear that they have matching hats that they wear when they decided to smoke weed and get silly. Now, I would prefer not to smoke, but I would like someone to wear a matching hat with.
Meg and I, as lady best friends sometimes do (maybe fellas as well, but it doesn't seem so to me), had a best friend's inside joke book that we called, "the bible". In it was shared experiences, memories, general silliness. Last night she picked me up at my house, and I was laughing almost immediately. We hung out at her sister's house, and then I decided I was hungry at 10:30 at night, and we went to the store and joked that we were acting like we were high (so much talk about weed. we weren't)because we were giggling and getting too excited about seeing "perfect food bars" on the shelf, and filled our arms with snacky, munchy foods.
You know, I'll say it again, I'm lucky. Throughout my life, I've gotten close to many people over the years, and have had these moments in time where I got to be especially close to a friend. Then things shift, you're still close, but you don't spend all of your time together. I have in the past tried to make boyfriends that person, but in that case there's the special danger of co-dependence and losing yourself in a romantic relationship (and driving the other person crazy/away. overshare?). Probably not always, but I think it takes more practice for some (me). I think that my sister would be down to hang out all the time, and cook and laugh and etc, but we keep living in other states. Bummer.
At this point, I worry that this sounds like a sad, lonely blah blah that is a time and enjoyment suck. I woke up at this morning and walk/ran to the train station (further from Meg's sister's house than I was thinking. sleepiness!) and then walked from the train station to my house. So I had some thinking time. Meg's sister is an attorney in my office and could have given me a ride to work, but I accidentally washed a contact lens down the drain last night/wanted to take a morning constitutional/see my cat. That's right, my cat. I embrace it. I am not, nor will I ever be a sad cat lady. You have to be sad to be a sad cat lady. I may be unmarried forever, but I think that having an animal to care for is good for most people. Levon is a great comfort and joy to me. And when I get the blues... she's great. Anyhow, I have to change for work, but I let me say that I am pretty happy about opportunitities to see my loved ones.
Gah!
Last night I got to visit with one of my dearest friends, Meg, who moved to Germany this past year. Meg is teaching english and living with her very nice german boyfriend, Matthias. I met Meg in college; through a mutual friend we became housemates when we transfered to university from community college. We eventually worked together, and also had many classes together, as we had the same major (except she was a double major and also studied German). Needless to say we became pretty close and sometimes really, really annoyed each other.
Meg is hilarious, loyal, yada yada yada, super cool and I love her. However, in talking about how awesome she is, I'm going to move on to a more depressing subject, because that's how I roll.
I feel like people often live smaller lives as they get older, sometimes become increasingly isolated... if you are a part of an intentional community like a housing co-op or a church (alas, I'm not religious) this may be less of the case, but as I get older things seem to be super in flux, and while the relationships remain, the physical presence of certain loved ones in my life is less so. Life! Ah well.
I'm very lucky and surrounded by great people most of the time. However, things have changed. I have two friends who live with each other and are besties, and I think longingly of college when I hear that they have matching hats that they wear when they decided to smoke weed and get silly. Now, I would prefer not to smoke, but I would like someone to wear a matching hat with.
Meg and I, as lady best friends sometimes do (maybe fellas as well, but it doesn't seem so to me), had a best friend's inside joke book that we called, "the bible". In it was shared experiences, memories, general silliness. Last night she picked me up at my house, and I was laughing almost immediately. We hung out at her sister's house, and then I decided I was hungry at 10:30 at night, and we went to the store and joked that we were acting like we were high (so much talk about weed. we weren't)because we were giggling and getting too excited about seeing "perfect food bars" on the shelf, and filled our arms with snacky, munchy foods.
You know, I'll say it again, I'm lucky. Throughout my life, I've gotten close to many people over the years, and have had these moments in time where I got to be especially close to a friend. Then things shift, you're still close, but you don't spend all of your time together. I have in the past tried to make boyfriends that person, but in that case there's the special danger of co-dependence and losing yourself in a romantic relationship (and driving the other person crazy/away. overshare?). Probably not always, but I think it takes more practice for some (me). I think that my sister would be down to hang out all the time, and cook and laugh and etc, but we keep living in other states. Bummer.
At this point, I worry that this sounds like a sad, lonely blah blah that is a time and enjoyment suck. I woke up at this morning and walk/ran to the train station (further from Meg's sister's house than I was thinking. sleepiness!) and then walked from the train station to my house. So I had some thinking time. Meg's sister is an attorney in my office and could have given me a ride to work, but I accidentally washed a contact lens down the drain last night/wanted to take a morning constitutional/see my cat. That's right, my cat. I embrace it. I am not, nor will I ever be a sad cat lady. You have to be sad to be a sad cat lady. I may be unmarried forever, but I think that having an animal to care for is good for most people. Levon is a great comfort and joy to me. And when I get the blues... she's great. Anyhow, I have to change for work, but I let me say that I am pretty happy about opportunitities to see my loved ones.
Gah!
Saturday, June 25, 2011
I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee
I just went to the most fun yoga class. Let me preface all of this by saying that I am new to yoga. My funny teacher said that I was "like a gps" and "the leaning tower of Pisa". I'm not very good. Two other things that I liked that he said were, "the best reason to smile is no reason at all" and "the simpliest act of love is paying attention". He advised me to tryto become a masseuse, to have maybe may jobs instead of one, and to not get married until I'm at least 30 (he's seen it many times he said, men want to "capture" a woman, and he sees women giving all of themselves over.) He also invited me to his bikram yoga class and offered me thirty free days at the studio.
I am sometimes very lucky. sometimes I am incredibly unlucky. But, as far as random acts of kindness go, I feel like I've been, I don't know, pretty blessed (I don't know how to describe it). I have a nice bicycle because my mom's best friend's husband is an exceptionally nice guy and gave it to me.
Have I told you the story of the man who once gave me a hundred dollars for no reason at all? Maybe. Maybe I've written it before too, but here it comes: I was working at a grocery store as a cashier (this happened a few years ago) and this man that I recognized, but didn't really know came through my line. He gave me a card. at that time, being a young lady college student I sometimes got attention from the male customers. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted the card to look open later. I didn't want him to ask me out. He seemed nice enough, but it was pretty awkward.
So later, I opened the card and was freaked out as I pulled out $20 bills. I called my manager immediately (I wasn't sure I would be allowed to keep it/nor did I want to keep it) I read the note, my manager read the note, and my friend Elliot who had come to run with me after work read the note. "It's a nice note," Elliot said.
Basically, the man had said that he had come through my checkout line at some point and saw that I was really happy. (And I was really happy that point in my life. I would sing at work. It's a place I'm trying to get back to.)
He was not happy. He knew no one in town, he might have been drinking too much, he was unfulfilled. He said that he looked at me and figured that he wanted to be in that place that I was in. So he wrote a list, and gave himself a deadline. He worked hard, ended up divorcing, really struggled, and now he was happy.
I saw him later in the store and we talked about his gift to me. He said that he felt like he had to do it, like he was on a crashing plane making promises about what he would do if his life was spared. When he wrote the list, I guess he thought if it worked he would give me $100. I tried to give it back to him multiple times (a nice gesture, but the letter I prized) but I ended up just giving him a mango. then I moved away and moved back and I haven't seen him again.
Anyhow, I don't believe that these things really speak to what kind of a person I am (except sometimes very lucky and sometimes unlucky), but they do speak volumes about the kindness of others and the impact we can have on other people, even strangers. I am not always a kind person, but that is my worthiest aspiration. All things will come from it. Health, from kindness to myself. Wealth, for the riches of integrity and good relationships. Strength, for doing what is not always easy.
Okay, clearly I was just in a yoga class. I'm done. Love, Rachel
I am sometimes very lucky. sometimes I am incredibly unlucky. But, as far as random acts of kindness go, I feel like I've been, I don't know, pretty blessed (I don't know how to describe it). I have a nice bicycle because my mom's best friend's husband is an exceptionally nice guy and gave it to me.
Have I told you the story of the man who once gave me a hundred dollars for no reason at all? Maybe. Maybe I've written it before too, but here it comes: I was working at a grocery store as a cashier (this happened a few years ago) and this man that I recognized, but didn't really know came through my line. He gave me a card. at that time, being a young lady college student I sometimes got attention from the male customers. Not wanting to be rude, I accepted the card to look open later. I didn't want him to ask me out. He seemed nice enough, but it was pretty awkward.
So later, I opened the card and was freaked out as I pulled out $20 bills. I called my manager immediately (I wasn't sure I would be allowed to keep it/nor did I want to keep it) I read the note, my manager read the note, and my friend Elliot who had come to run with me after work read the note. "It's a nice note," Elliot said.
Basically, the man had said that he had come through my checkout line at some point and saw that I was really happy. (And I was really happy that point in my life. I would sing at work. It's a place I'm trying to get back to.)
He was not happy. He knew no one in town, he might have been drinking too much, he was unfulfilled. He said that he looked at me and figured that he wanted to be in that place that I was in. So he wrote a list, and gave himself a deadline. He worked hard, ended up divorcing, really struggled, and now he was happy.
I saw him later in the store and we talked about his gift to me. He said that he felt like he had to do it, like he was on a crashing plane making promises about what he would do if his life was spared. When he wrote the list, I guess he thought if it worked he would give me $100. I tried to give it back to him multiple times (a nice gesture, but the letter I prized) but I ended up just giving him a mango. then I moved away and moved back and I haven't seen him again.
Anyhow, I don't believe that these things really speak to what kind of a person I am (except sometimes very lucky and sometimes unlucky), but they do speak volumes about the kindness of others and the impact we can have on other people, even strangers. I am not always a kind person, but that is my worthiest aspiration. All things will come from it. Health, from kindness to myself. Wealth, for the riches of integrity and good relationships. Strength, for doing what is not always easy.
Okay, clearly I was just in a yoga class. I'm done. Love, Rachel
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
how did you not see that baby lurking in the bathwater?
I broke the babka. I just made my first chocolate babka (anyone else remember that Seinfeld episode? apparently cinnamon babka is a lesser babka. I like saying babka.) Earlier, as I was preparing the layers, I initiated a conversation with my housemate about the babka, where I had the delight of using the word in almost every sentence. Babka.
Well, I broke the babka, because I was impatient to move it out of the pan and onto a plate. typical. It'll still be tasty, but slightly less impressive. I probably won't eat it, but will watch the rate of consumption of it by my housemates to determine if it's work baking again.
Speaking of broken things, I've noticed that I seem to be surrounded by a lot of quirky appliances, for lack of a better term. Most of my electrical appliances come to me or are soon on the fritz. my record/cd cassette player/radio does not have full funtionality,my cell phone deletes telephone numbers at whim (I should do something about that, but I keep forgetting). Our house is an old unit, something is always breaking, the clothes dryer is turned on with a fork and has no working timer. The stereo doesn't really work... all of this, let's call it charm.
For the most part it doesn't bother me, and it can be kind of funny at times (my cousin and I commiserating on the terrible cars we once had), but... it's a nice thought. If something is broken, but still adequate (like my old laptop that I had to hook up to a monitor because the screen was broken), why not make do? maybe that's being cheap or lazy, but I think there's some wisdom in it too.
Well, I broke the babka, because I was impatient to move it out of the pan and onto a plate. typical. It'll still be tasty, but slightly less impressive. I probably won't eat it, but will watch the rate of consumption of it by my housemates to determine if it's work baking again.
Speaking of broken things, I've noticed that I seem to be surrounded by a lot of quirky appliances, for lack of a better term. Most of my electrical appliances come to me or are soon on the fritz. my record/cd cassette player/radio does not have full funtionality,my cell phone deletes telephone numbers at whim (I should do something about that, but I keep forgetting). Our house is an old unit, something is always breaking, the clothes dryer is turned on with a fork and has no working timer. The stereo doesn't really work... all of this, let's call it charm.
For the most part it doesn't bother me, and it can be kind of funny at times (my cousin and I commiserating on the terrible cars we once had), but... it's a nice thought. If something is broken, but still adequate (like my old laptop that I had to hook up to a monitor because the screen was broken), why not make do? maybe that's being cheap or lazy, but I think there's some wisdom in it too.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Juicy, Biggie Smalls. Gangsta
hello friends. I have had the luck of chatting via the internet with one of my best friends (so great! so smart and hilarious and cool!) meg, who is currently living in Germany. To anyone who is anti-facebook or internet communication, I have to say that I feel like at least 90% of the people I love are on the move, or will be, and I thank god for anything that allows semi-easy communication.
Moving on, it's a good morning. I woke up at 6:30 or something, not realizing that I didn't have to work, but that's being a grown up, I guess. When I was younger I bet my mom's friend that I'd still be sleeping until noon when I was thirty, but that's clearly not happening. 6:00 or 7:00 more like it, with 9:00 sleeping in, and 10:00 really late, unless there's another person to influence me. Hey-o! Ignore that last one. I am a sexless character, absent those characteristics.
Anyway, meg and I were chatting (as it is described), and I thought, I love a man who likes to see me eat. I feel like that is a sign that someone truly cares about you. I have had some a*hole boyfriends (no offense to any of you who might be nice people but were terrible as my boyfirend) and have been a jerk on countless occassions myself (romantic relationships are the weirdest kind of relationships), but anyone who encouraged me to eat/made me food/ate mexican food with me, I think, it couldn't have been all bad.
I (overshare) have a not great relationship with food. I used to, and still do in some ways, think that if I could just lose some weight, all of my "problems" would somehow magically disappear and I'd be a better person. One of the better things that happened to me was when I went to college, gained weight, frumped out, and still had friends and went on dates. I had value beyond achieving whatever idea I had that I was not measuring up to.
I still worry about getting older and becoming a sexless (earmuffs, apologies) creature, wearing mom jeans and getting jowly, but what are you gonna do? And I have a twin sister (not identical) who is in excellent shape who I can see as an example of our genes treated right. whatever. she's a mutant. a perfect mutant, who is my best friend, but where did she come from? She's unlike the rest of our family.
Anyway, as a person who, in effort not to be unhealthy about things (I wish I weren't this way, but that's okay) refuses to eat: bread, sweets, dairy most of the time, and sometimes grains and floury deals(which sound unhealthy, but if you saw me eating a burrito or naked, you'd know I'm okay). I love a man who likes to see me eat taco bell, but doesn't make me feel like a freak for the agreement I've come to with food. That is all.Now everyone, go and listen to randy travis "They say time takes it's toll on the body, makes a young girls brown hair turn grey, but honey I don't care, I aint in love with your hair, and if it all fell out, I'd love you anyway." I's a sap.
Moving on, it's a good morning. I woke up at 6:30 or something, not realizing that I didn't have to work, but that's being a grown up, I guess. When I was younger I bet my mom's friend that I'd still be sleeping until noon when I was thirty, but that's clearly not happening. 6:00 or 7:00 more like it, with 9:00 sleeping in, and 10:00 really late, unless there's another person to influence me. Hey-o! Ignore that last one. I am a sexless character, absent those characteristics.
Anyway, meg and I were chatting (as it is described), and I thought, I love a man who likes to see me eat. I feel like that is a sign that someone truly cares about you. I have had some a*hole boyfriends (no offense to any of you who might be nice people but were terrible as my boyfirend) and have been a jerk on countless occassions myself (romantic relationships are the weirdest kind of relationships), but anyone who encouraged me to eat/made me food/ate mexican food with me, I think, it couldn't have been all bad.
I (overshare) have a not great relationship with food. I used to, and still do in some ways, think that if I could just lose some weight, all of my "problems" would somehow magically disappear and I'd be a better person. One of the better things that happened to me was when I went to college, gained weight, frumped out, and still had friends and went on dates. I had value beyond achieving whatever idea I had that I was not measuring up to.
I still worry about getting older and becoming a sexless (earmuffs, apologies) creature, wearing mom jeans and getting jowly, but what are you gonna do? And I have a twin sister (not identical) who is in excellent shape who I can see as an example of our genes treated right. whatever. she's a mutant. a perfect mutant, who is my best friend, but where did she come from? She's unlike the rest of our family.
Anyway, as a person who, in effort not to be unhealthy about things (I wish I weren't this way, but that's okay) refuses to eat: bread, sweets, dairy most of the time, and sometimes grains and floury deals(which sound unhealthy, but if you saw me eating a burrito or naked, you'd know I'm okay). I love a man who likes to see me eat taco bell, but doesn't make me feel like a freak for the agreement I've come to with food. That is all.Now everyone, go and listen to randy travis "They say time takes it's toll on the body, makes a young girls brown hair turn grey, but honey I don't care, I aint in love with your hair, and if it all fell out, I'd love you anyway." I's a sap.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
We are family... I don't know what to call this.
I am spending this weekend in the suburbs of Sacramento, the place that I grew up, although probably not the place I would describe as where I feel the most comfortable. My sister and brother are in town this weekend for a friend's wedding(more details to come), and I've been hanging out with them and my old friends, tomorrow some extended family as well. I borrowed my mom's bike to shake off the mid afternoon coma that I felt coming on. The bike is slower and heavier than my bike, with its fat tires, generous frame and ample seat. And the shocks... are those what they are called? I felt like I was riding a cadillac.
My sister just moved to a new town and has yet to find a job, and so she decided to come down on Tuesday. I felt so guilty throughout the week, because I felt unable/unwilling to sleep at my parent's house on the evenings where I had to go to work. She came to visit at my house on Tuesday, we visited my aunt and grandfather on Wednesday, on Thursday I made my mom, sister, nana, and boyfriend dinner at my house(they said it was delicious, thank you very much)...
oh no, my brother and friends just got home. This may have to be abbreviated. I whispered to them that I was writing on my blog and felt like a huge nerd.
By Friday I was exhausted and had to take a night off. I felt like a jerk, but if I don't get a little me time I get whiny and fussy like a little girl who needs a nap. However, the main event was on Saturday, so I feel like this may have been a wise move.
On Saturday we trekked to Ione, where I went to the most beautiful wedding ever, despite the buckets of dumping rain and it being held outdoors. Eli and Carina (Eli being my good friend as a result of his being one of my brother's best friends growing up) were getting married.
I can't really describe at the moment how beautiful this farm wedding was. The ceremony was short and sweet (I did not cry, though it was close), and afterwards we all went to this lovely outdoor area for hors d'oeurves and cocktails. Right before dinner it started drizzling. Soon it was pouring. Everyone was huddled under the tented areas, the women long ditching their party dresses for warm pants and sweaters. The bride's brother was amazing-- soaked to the bone, grilling beef parties and portabella mushrooms in the rain until the hundred or so (more? less? I don't know.) guests were all fed the main course. It was truly heroic.
The guests had been invited to camp on the property, but at this point, many people took down their tents. However, while it was cold and pouring, most people stayed, wet and uncomfortable under the tented area for hours.
The rain cleared out just as the party was relocated to the barn, which was filled with stacks of hay and they hung twinkle lights... we left and then came back this morning after the brunch for a gorgeous farm walk. I hope it's not rude to detail the events of someone else's wedding. It was just so neat. Because it was Eli and Carina and the so graciously invited up, my parents and siblings were all there, as well as the family members of some of our other friends.
Most of the people who were always at my parents house when I was a teenager were also at the wedding. It's so neat that everyone is still friends. I told my sister that no matter what else changes in my life and how much I can be resistant to leaving my own life to go to the burbs, seeing all of those old friends feels like coming home. She said that she was happy that I said that because she feels the same way.
So. Now that I am ensconsed in my parents house, my resistance of earlier this week has melted away. Work just exhausts me/I get easily overwhelmed when I have the perception that none of my time is my own.And I miss my cat. So, my brother is having a barbeque now. Whoo hoo! Thanks for listening.
My sister just moved to a new town and has yet to find a job, and so she decided to come down on Tuesday. I felt so guilty throughout the week, because I felt unable/unwilling to sleep at my parent's house on the evenings where I had to go to work. She came to visit at my house on Tuesday, we visited my aunt and grandfather on Wednesday, on Thursday I made my mom, sister, nana, and boyfriend dinner at my house(they said it was delicious, thank you very much)...
oh no, my brother and friends just got home. This may have to be abbreviated. I whispered to them that I was writing on my blog and felt like a huge nerd.
By Friday I was exhausted and had to take a night off. I felt like a jerk, but if I don't get a little me time I get whiny and fussy like a little girl who needs a nap. However, the main event was on Saturday, so I feel like this may have been a wise move.
On Saturday we trekked to Ione, where I went to the most beautiful wedding ever, despite the buckets of dumping rain and it being held outdoors. Eli and Carina (Eli being my good friend as a result of his being one of my brother's best friends growing up) were getting married.
I can't really describe at the moment how beautiful this farm wedding was. The ceremony was short and sweet (I did not cry, though it was close), and afterwards we all went to this lovely outdoor area for hors d'oeurves and cocktails. Right before dinner it started drizzling. Soon it was pouring. Everyone was huddled under the tented areas, the women long ditching their party dresses for warm pants and sweaters. The bride's brother was amazing-- soaked to the bone, grilling beef parties and portabella mushrooms in the rain until the hundred or so (more? less? I don't know.) guests were all fed the main course. It was truly heroic.
The guests had been invited to camp on the property, but at this point, many people took down their tents. However, while it was cold and pouring, most people stayed, wet and uncomfortable under the tented area for hours.
The rain cleared out just as the party was relocated to the barn, which was filled with stacks of hay and they hung twinkle lights... we left and then came back this morning after the brunch for a gorgeous farm walk. I hope it's not rude to detail the events of someone else's wedding. It was just so neat. Because it was Eli and Carina and the so graciously invited up, my parents and siblings were all there, as well as the family members of some of our other friends.
Most of the people who were always at my parents house when I was a teenager were also at the wedding. It's so neat that everyone is still friends. I told my sister that no matter what else changes in my life and how much I can be resistant to leaving my own life to go to the burbs, seeing all of those old friends feels like coming home. She said that she was happy that I said that because she feels the same way.
So. Now that I am ensconsed in my parents house, my resistance of earlier this week has melted away. Work just exhausts me/I get easily overwhelmed when I have the perception that none of my time is my own.And I miss my cat. So, my brother is having a barbeque now. Whoo hoo! Thanks for listening.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
One of these days (Emmylou)
I swear to goodness, one of the hardest things for me to deal with is the coming and going of people I care about. Selfishly, I want to keep them nearby. however, that is life, right? I went to two going away parties last night, and by doing so missed another one that was in another town. Gaaaaah! This modern life. It's okay. If we never talk again (which I hope won't be the case) please know that I love you and that it's the relationships that I have that make my life worth living. The end.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
San Francisco here I come
scott, "are you bringing the jar wine?"
me (idiot, completely serious) "should I? Is that tacky?"
I once excitedly asked my friend Hannah, when she had mentioned Boston, "you've been to Boston?!?" She laughed at me and said,"Rachel, I'm from new england. That would be like me asking you, 'you've been to San Francisco?!?" Well played.Indeed, that beautiful,prohibitively expensive city is just a stones throw from my hometown. It's where I am waking up today, in my friend's fancy company paid for temporary apartment as he works on an assignment. It's the day of bay to breakers, and moments earlier I was watching spectators stream outside of scott's second story window in where's waldo costumes.
Last night we went to the Castro, where we learned that a woman can be harassed and nothing done to the offender because, "it's a man's bar" (in retrospect it was interesting to complain discrimination to a gay man), and then I think we were in the mission (so hip! I don't know), where we had the luck/opportunity to meet up with Duncan, one of my favorite people who has moved to the bay. I would have liked to harass more friends come migrants to the city,but there was just no time and traveling as a group for britney's birthday made it impossible.
I love this fair city, although I can claim no special knowledge or familiarity with it. Fun fact for all of you identity stealers out there: I was born in the bay area. In penninsula hospital. My mama moved all of us elsewhere when I was still an infant because the bay area was too expensive. I have always wanted to live here now that I get to decide where I go/don't have three small children to pay for feeding and sheltering like she did.
My nana lived in south city for over twenty years and when I was a kid we would come out and visit her a couple of times a month. I remember thinking the car ride was so long and tedious (it was usually less than two hours). I love/d her apartment, which now only is a memory. Nana is still with us, but she has since moved about a a mile away from my parents house. Her apartment had shag carpeting and a long mirror that was cracked as a result of the quake of '89. She kept sodas in the spare bedroom for when we visited and had legos and barbies for us to play with, my brother getting priority for the legos (he had the power to tell me that he was playing with them and I couldn't). My nana kept a few special barbies that she said I could have one day if I ever started keeping my room clean. I never got those barbies.
Memories associated with south city include weighing myself on the bathroom scale (because it was fun) before I was even conscious of my weight as an indicator of other things (we didn't have a scale at home). I remember waking up to smells of bacon and eggs and drinking orange juice on the small round table in the space between the small kitchen and living room.
our sleeping arrangements were that I would usually sleep in the bunk bed in the spare room, while my sister would either join me or would sleep with nana(who snores) and my brother would sleep on the fold out couch in the living room. Sometimes, I would stay up late with him, watching tv until he kicked me out to go to sleep.
Nana lived by sign hill, which we once climbed. We would go to church with her (we only ever went to church with nana... a few times uncle john too) and sometimes get rolling pin donuts afterwards.
There was a jade plant in the lobby, and a little further back a washing machine and dryer that nana said she could have paid for over the years with quarters. It was a small unit. I like the memory of the big picture window in the living room and the ocean breeze that we would gulp in after emerging from the car upon arrival.
In the single hallway nana hung painted portraits of all of her five children that must have been drawn in the sixites or seventies. my mom's was done the latest, and was the only one done out of chronological order. My uncle john was a baby, and my mom, younger than him, was drawn as a child. A little further back, next to the spare bedroom, was a glass case filled with a menagerie or glass figurines. further back was my nana's room. I hardly ever went into that part of the apartment and would sometimes get scared by the portraits on the walls, and especially if the light was turned off.
In the spare room there was a detailed map of sixties era disneyland, and stuffed animals for us to play with.
People are waking up now and I need to end this walk down memory lane. love, rachel
p.s. the mexican restaurant in south city, la tapiata (I think it's called) has the BEST salsa for sale. I'm in the mission and the sheer volume of mexican restaurants makes me want to weep with happiness.
me (idiot, completely serious) "should I? Is that tacky?"
I once excitedly asked my friend Hannah, when she had mentioned Boston, "you've been to Boston?!?" She laughed at me and said,"Rachel, I'm from new england. That would be like me asking you, 'you've been to San Francisco?!?" Well played.Indeed, that beautiful,prohibitively expensive city is just a stones throw from my hometown. It's where I am waking up today, in my friend's fancy company paid for temporary apartment as he works on an assignment. It's the day of bay to breakers, and moments earlier I was watching spectators stream outside of scott's second story window in where's waldo costumes.
Last night we went to the Castro, where we learned that a woman can be harassed and nothing done to the offender because, "it's a man's bar" (in retrospect it was interesting to complain discrimination to a gay man), and then I think we were in the mission (so hip! I don't know), where we had the luck/opportunity to meet up with Duncan, one of my favorite people who has moved to the bay. I would have liked to harass more friends come migrants to the city,but there was just no time and traveling as a group for britney's birthday made it impossible.
I love this fair city, although I can claim no special knowledge or familiarity with it. Fun fact for all of you identity stealers out there: I was born in the bay area. In penninsula hospital. My mama moved all of us elsewhere when I was still an infant because the bay area was too expensive. I have always wanted to live here now that I get to decide where I go/don't have three small children to pay for feeding and sheltering like she did.
My nana lived in south city for over twenty years and when I was a kid we would come out and visit her a couple of times a month. I remember thinking the car ride was so long and tedious (it was usually less than two hours). I love/d her apartment, which now only is a memory. Nana is still with us, but she has since moved about a a mile away from my parents house. Her apartment had shag carpeting and a long mirror that was cracked as a result of the quake of '89. She kept sodas in the spare bedroom for when we visited and had legos and barbies for us to play with, my brother getting priority for the legos (he had the power to tell me that he was playing with them and I couldn't). My nana kept a few special barbies that she said I could have one day if I ever started keeping my room clean. I never got those barbies.
Memories associated with south city include weighing myself on the bathroom scale (because it was fun) before I was even conscious of my weight as an indicator of other things (we didn't have a scale at home). I remember waking up to smells of bacon and eggs and drinking orange juice on the small round table in the space between the small kitchen and living room.
our sleeping arrangements were that I would usually sleep in the bunk bed in the spare room, while my sister would either join me or would sleep with nana(who snores) and my brother would sleep on the fold out couch in the living room. Sometimes, I would stay up late with him, watching tv until he kicked me out to go to sleep.
Nana lived by sign hill, which we once climbed. We would go to church with her (we only ever went to church with nana... a few times uncle john too) and sometimes get rolling pin donuts afterwards.
There was a jade plant in the lobby, and a little further back a washing machine and dryer that nana said she could have paid for over the years with quarters. It was a small unit. I like the memory of the big picture window in the living room and the ocean breeze that we would gulp in after emerging from the car upon arrival.
In the single hallway nana hung painted portraits of all of her five children that must have been drawn in the sixites or seventies. my mom's was done the latest, and was the only one done out of chronological order. My uncle john was a baby, and my mom, younger than him, was drawn as a child. A little further back, next to the spare bedroom, was a glass case filled with a menagerie or glass figurines. further back was my nana's room. I hardly ever went into that part of the apartment and would sometimes get scared by the portraits on the walls, and especially if the light was turned off.
In the spare room there was a detailed map of sixties era disneyland, and stuffed animals for us to play with.
People are waking up now and I need to end this walk down memory lane. love, rachel
p.s. the mexican restaurant in south city, la tapiata (I think it's called) has the BEST salsa for sale. I'm in the mission and the sheer volume of mexican restaurants makes me want to weep with happiness.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
mama's day post
Hello everyone. Happy Saturday. I am so excited that it's the weekend and I hope you are too. Tonight I get to go to a minor league baseball game with my family... and what a great family it is. Not an aunt, uncle, cousin or otherwise that I am not ever stoked to see. Particularly, I'm excited about seeing my cousin Jenn. She and I have been friends/known each other since my mom and my (now) aunt (named) cheryle (I never call her aunt cheryle. rarely) have been friends, since I was a toddler. Cheryle married Uncle John, and hank goodness, both are now officially family (although, I wish there was a recognition of honorary members. James Barnes for one. Anyway...).
This is a mother's day post and I will be talking about my amazing mama. First, let me say that my papa, Carl, deserves some kudos too. He came in a little late in the game, about 1/5 the way into my current year count (although according to stephen hawking and common sense longer given the proportion to life lived then versus now.) Carl was always willing to be a loving father, even as I was unwilling to be his daughter. He's a good man. Moving on...
My mama is a badass. She is a creative genius. So, before I met her, before I was born, she used to fight forest fires. I like this detail. I know that she had a life before us, and I especially like thinking that she was so brave and tough and hung out with cool fellas in the forest fighting crime... okay so I added that last part. I didn't like the way that her "hanging out with cool fellas in the forest" sounded. However, I like the concept. I love the idea of her being a lady equal to all of those dudes, just a badass chick, hanging out, doing exactly what they did. anyway,
My mama became a mother before my age, and had my sister and I at my age. it was rough I'm sure. Add too that, she ended up being a single mother (because she is our biggest advocate, takin' no bullshit), and she made it work. My brother and my sister and I are all relatively normal and well adjusted. My brother and my sister are cooler than I am, but what are you gonna do?
My mom and I did not have the best relationship as I was growing up. They said I was the "challenge". I don't always agree with the history, but I understand it. I was difficult, we fought, we've moved on aka my parents have forgiven me for being shitty and I have attempted to reconcile that they are human beings.
My mom has transformed their house. it's incredible. We moved multiple times as I was growing up (it's called upward mobility bitches!), and my parents eventually bought a track house. Well, let me tell you, A. Lago doesn't sew, she doesn't sit and rest on her laurels, she transforms. what was a normal, blah house is now a work of art. it's taken about 15 years, but my mom feels she has gotten it just the way she wants it. I'm trying to figure out how to tell this. So, she is the type of lady who just can't sit through a movie. She will be ironing, or fall asleep, or what have you. She likes to stay busy (hence, the sleeping on down time). She sews beautiful things in the back patio, I have a blanket and a quilt that she has made for me that I will treasure forever. The house!
My mom, like most of the people in my family, is a civil servant. Teachers, public employees, that's the family. Having three kids young and going back to school as a single mom does not translate into $$$ for quite some time. Luckily, my mom is an incredibly hard worker (she deserves everything she gets!). Anyway, the house. I love my parents house, as it is an absolute labor of love. The front yard, can I even describe this? it used to be a lawn and some trees. I miss the trees now that they're gone, but they were dead and I'm not a homeowner, so let it go lady. The front yard is an amazing, amazing garden, with flowers and produce. The back yard is the same. My mom tried to have chickens (named after characters from "I Love Lucy') but the stupid county declined, even with her huge backyard and fancy coop... I've lived in a neighboring county where people house chickens in much less posh digs.
I would come home from school when my mom had the day off and she would have painted the living room. A cheap way to change things she says. She has personally (enlisting family help) pulled up the carpet and put in faux wooden floors all over the house. She has transformed every room. She has laid brick in the back yard and etc. This is all while working full time and the majority while having 3 to 4 to 5 unruly children (a most 1 or 2 were actually unruly).
My mom is a good daughter. Unlike my mama and I, who had to come to an understanding, my mom has always (from what nana says) been a great daughter. Now nana lives about a mile away and my mom does so much for her. nana still does so much for the family (saying that I feel like I'm in the mafia. with reverse sexism) too. Speaking of, I really do feel like my mom holds things together. I have a big family (thank goodness and hallelujah!) and they are all great people. I feel like my mom is the main communicator/joiner of people.
What else? My mom always listens. And we talk. I tell her things that she doesn't want to hear (but I don't swear or talk about intimate relations. that would be weird).
Basically, my mom is wonderful. She has been a friend to all of our friends, especially those who were having trouble at home. She loves to feed people, she's funny, she has great taste in music. There is the unfortunate tendency to no recognize how cool your own parents are. I still act like a glum teenager sometimes when I go home. It's partially because I feel like I can be a big turd; one of my few safe spots. Unconditional love; don't f*ck it up! (oxymoron.)
That's all.
This is a mother's day post and I will be talking about my amazing mama. First, let me say that my papa, Carl, deserves some kudos too. He came in a little late in the game, about 1/5 the way into my current year count (although according to stephen hawking and common sense longer given the proportion to life lived then versus now.) Carl was always willing to be a loving father, even as I was unwilling to be his daughter. He's a good man. Moving on...
My mama is a badass. She is a creative genius. So, before I met her, before I was born, she used to fight forest fires. I like this detail. I know that she had a life before us, and I especially like thinking that she was so brave and tough and hung out with cool fellas in the forest fighting crime... okay so I added that last part. I didn't like the way that her "hanging out with cool fellas in the forest" sounded. However, I like the concept. I love the idea of her being a lady equal to all of those dudes, just a badass chick, hanging out, doing exactly what they did. anyway,
My mama became a mother before my age, and had my sister and I at my age. it was rough I'm sure. Add too that, she ended up being a single mother (because she is our biggest advocate, takin' no bullshit), and she made it work. My brother and my sister and I are all relatively normal and well adjusted. My brother and my sister are cooler than I am, but what are you gonna do?
My mom and I did not have the best relationship as I was growing up. They said I was the "challenge". I don't always agree with the history, but I understand it. I was difficult, we fought, we've moved on aka my parents have forgiven me for being shitty and I have attempted to reconcile that they are human beings.
My mom has transformed their house. it's incredible. We moved multiple times as I was growing up (it's called upward mobility bitches!), and my parents eventually bought a track house. Well, let me tell you, A. Lago doesn't sew, she doesn't sit and rest on her laurels, she transforms. what was a normal, blah house is now a work of art. it's taken about 15 years, but my mom feels she has gotten it just the way she wants it. I'm trying to figure out how to tell this. So, she is the type of lady who just can't sit through a movie. She will be ironing, or fall asleep, or what have you. She likes to stay busy (hence, the sleeping on down time). She sews beautiful things in the back patio, I have a blanket and a quilt that she has made for me that I will treasure forever. The house!
My mom, like most of the people in my family, is a civil servant. Teachers, public employees, that's the family. Having three kids young and going back to school as a single mom does not translate into $$$ for quite some time. Luckily, my mom is an incredibly hard worker (she deserves everything she gets!). Anyway, the house. I love my parents house, as it is an absolute labor of love. The front yard, can I even describe this? it used to be a lawn and some trees. I miss the trees now that they're gone, but they were dead and I'm not a homeowner, so let it go lady. The front yard is an amazing, amazing garden, with flowers and produce. The back yard is the same. My mom tried to have chickens (named after characters from "I Love Lucy') but the stupid county declined, even with her huge backyard and fancy coop... I've lived in a neighboring county where people house chickens in much less posh digs.
I would come home from school when my mom had the day off and she would have painted the living room. A cheap way to change things she says. She has personally (enlisting family help) pulled up the carpet and put in faux wooden floors all over the house. She has transformed every room. She has laid brick in the back yard and etc. This is all while working full time and the majority while having 3 to 4 to 5 unruly children (a most 1 or 2 were actually unruly).
My mom is a good daughter. Unlike my mama and I, who had to come to an understanding, my mom has always (from what nana says) been a great daughter. Now nana lives about a mile away and my mom does so much for her. nana still does so much for the family (saying that I feel like I'm in the mafia. with reverse sexism) too. Speaking of, I really do feel like my mom holds things together. I have a big family (thank goodness and hallelujah!) and they are all great people. I feel like my mom is the main communicator/joiner of people.
What else? My mom always listens. And we talk. I tell her things that she doesn't want to hear (but I don't swear or talk about intimate relations. that would be weird).
Basically, my mom is wonderful. She has been a friend to all of our friends, especially those who were having trouble at home. She loves to feed people, she's funny, she has great taste in music. There is the unfortunate tendency to no recognize how cool your own parents are. I still act like a glum teenager sometimes when I go home. It's partially because I feel like I can be a big turd; one of my few safe spots. Unconditional love; don't f*ck it up! (oxymoron.)
That's all.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Wings!
I started my day at 5:30 this morning. Got up, rolled many delicious spring rolls for breakfast and went to work, where my program had a meeting. The competent people in charge led the meeting and I sat in the back and took notes. Smiled in the lobby and pointed people to the sign in sheets and the restroom.
The meeting that we held today in Northern California will be held tomorrow in Southern California, which is where I currently am.
I got to the airport early; way too early as it turns out, as my flight was delayed. We were moved from gate to gate, I'm not sure what was going on. Three times! Three gates! Not that it was bother, it's just moving across the room, but as the terminal grew more and more crowded with delayed and frustrated people I began to imagine a world where we were stuck in the airport... indefinitely! Like there was a horrible blizzard or civil war just outside the gates. Would starbucks start giving out free lattes? Would we get meal tickets like in that Tom Hank's movie, The Terminal? How long would we have to be there before we started getting free shit?
We boarded, and I sat down next to a woman whom I'm sure thought I was normal and then I'm equally sure later regretted that assessment. As soon as we took off I began to feel the fear (recently developed... I went skydiving a year ago. maybe that contributed to it). I closed the window that I was sitting next to. I saw her eyes searching, her head turning repeatedly to see out neighboring windows. "Would you like for me to open the window?" I asked, like it wasn't weird to plop down next to a window and then shutter the extraordinary views from the people with lesser seats. She was in the middle. Have some compassion Rachel!
She graciously said that she just noticed that a window was missing from the panel next to me, wasn't that odd? Indeed, my window was buried behind my shoulder. Yes, odd... as the flight went on I tried not to cough, because no one wants to sit next to a sick person on an airplane, where you're all sharing the same recyled air. I was marginally successful, sucking ice from my tomato juice (which I only ever drink in flight). Then as we went down, because my face is clogged, as I have been sick, despite my faking, my left ear began to ache like crazy. "Ouch!" I exclaimed. The people next to me didn't notice/decided not to acknowledge the crazy grimacing lady that had started massaging her face. In retrospect, they probably didn't notice. I wanted to cry like the babies who were having similar ear troubles, but healthy adult shame prevented me, even though I did worry briefly about going deaf. After I worried about the seams of the planes ripping open or the plane falling backwards at take off. In between these anxieties, I read.
Sweet reward though... when I got to the hotel to check in, airport Mexican food in hand, just wanting a bed and maybe a t.v. sitcom, the lady at the front desk told me that I got complimentary breakfast and wireless internet. Buffett style breakfast! Hotel breakfast is so expensive! This is great!
My room is fancy. I feel like it's fancier than the last time I was here, but really, if it's not the best western I'm pretty impressed. I'm losing my steam for writing this.
Free breakfast combined with my exhaustion/planning for tomorrow Mexican food means that I have gone from food worries to feeling like I will have too much food. Alright. I'm clearly done writing this. I'm tired. My room is fancy. I wanted to tell you that. But that's all I can write at the moment. Goodnight!
P.s. For the record, the room is fancy not because of some high rollin, high falutin business. It's all a set rate. I believe the complimentary goods come from me being the lady that books the meetings with the hotel. the end.
The meeting that we held today in Northern California will be held tomorrow in Southern California, which is where I currently am.
I got to the airport early; way too early as it turns out, as my flight was delayed. We were moved from gate to gate, I'm not sure what was going on. Three times! Three gates! Not that it was bother, it's just moving across the room, but as the terminal grew more and more crowded with delayed and frustrated people I began to imagine a world where we were stuck in the airport... indefinitely! Like there was a horrible blizzard or civil war just outside the gates. Would starbucks start giving out free lattes? Would we get meal tickets like in that Tom Hank's movie, The Terminal? How long would we have to be there before we started getting free shit?
We boarded, and I sat down next to a woman whom I'm sure thought I was normal and then I'm equally sure later regretted that assessment. As soon as we took off I began to feel the fear (recently developed... I went skydiving a year ago. maybe that contributed to it). I closed the window that I was sitting next to. I saw her eyes searching, her head turning repeatedly to see out neighboring windows. "Would you like for me to open the window?" I asked, like it wasn't weird to plop down next to a window and then shutter the extraordinary views from the people with lesser seats. She was in the middle. Have some compassion Rachel!
She graciously said that she just noticed that a window was missing from the panel next to me, wasn't that odd? Indeed, my window was buried behind my shoulder. Yes, odd... as the flight went on I tried not to cough, because no one wants to sit next to a sick person on an airplane, where you're all sharing the same recyled air. I was marginally successful, sucking ice from my tomato juice (which I only ever drink in flight). Then as we went down, because my face is clogged, as I have been sick, despite my faking, my left ear began to ache like crazy. "Ouch!" I exclaimed. The people next to me didn't notice/decided not to acknowledge the crazy grimacing lady that had started massaging her face. In retrospect, they probably didn't notice. I wanted to cry like the babies who were having similar ear troubles, but healthy adult shame prevented me, even though I did worry briefly about going deaf. After I worried about the seams of the planes ripping open or the plane falling backwards at take off. In between these anxieties, I read.
Sweet reward though... when I got to the hotel to check in, airport Mexican food in hand, just wanting a bed and maybe a t.v. sitcom, the lady at the front desk told me that I got complimentary breakfast and wireless internet. Buffett style breakfast! Hotel breakfast is so expensive! This is great!
My room is fancy. I feel like it's fancier than the last time I was here, but really, if it's not the best western I'm pretty impressed. I'm losing my steam for writing this.
Free breakfast combined with my exhaustion/planning for tomorrow Mexican food means that I have gone from food worries to feeling like I will have too much food. Alright. I'm clearly done writing this. I'm tired. My room is fancy. I wanted to tell you that. But that's all I can write at the moment. Goodnight!
P.s. For the record, the room is fancy not because of some high rollin, high falutin business. It's all a set rate. I believe the complimentary goods come from me being the lady that books the meetings with the hotel. the end.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Billy Goat Gruff Came to Pay the Piper...?
Holy moly, I just got a ticket. I don't check my mail very often, so I'm pretty glad that I noticed it before the fine doubled. The graphic on the envelope looked so friendly that I didn't even realize what it was until I saw "violation enforcement" printed underneath.
I try to stay on the right side of the law. And I don't even own a car, which makes this so much more funny to me. From my mail, in one hand I had a check for the shares I had invested in the co-op (that I have since left and joined another) and a ticket for approximately the same amount (see my reimbursement disappear immediately! It's like a magic trick! Not the fun kind. like the lady getting pick pocketed while she's sawed in half. bad analogy.) Thank goodness it wasn't some $300/more bullshit.
A few months ago I was in Los Angeles for work (I'm going again twice this month. Ridiculous! Who is this lady?) and I decided to rent a car, like a big girl, since I am finally of age, and drive to San Diego to visit my cousin. I was driving at night, which is initially always a pretty terrifying experience-- my night vision sucks!-- and I missed a turn off for a toll rode. That's pretty sneaky Irvine; you have to leave the road to pay the toll. A cop passed me moments later and I thought, "I'm golden!" He didn't stop me! Upon my return driving towards LAX, aware of this process, I had the cash and the presence of mind to pay the toll.
So, this ticket is totally deserved. But what a bummer. And really, am I that terrible of a driver? I am in a car hardly ever (I can't even estimate) and a driver even less. And I got a ticket?!? That's so lame. This will probably temper my desire to make outlandish expenditures today (tattoos! long sleeved shirts to hide said tattoos!).
Today: I will work out at the gym that I am paying too much money for, but feel comfortable at, as there are no ladies wearing make-up or men who look like cartoon characters, as my friend caitlin described: they work out one particular part of their body, so all of their bits are disproportionate. Bits! I mean their arms, necks, torsos. It doesn't feel like a meat market. Neat. My mom is going to bring us my green velvet couch that she has been storing for me since I moved here, and also parts for my sewing machine (that she also got for me from my aunt). My mom, always looking out. Thanks mom! *I can guarantee she doesn't read this.
I've been up since 5 a.m. Happy Sunday. This might make for a rough Monday :/ I hope that maybe I'll take a nap later today, but at that moment it seems like a waste of time. Maybe around two o'clock I'll see things differently.
I try to stay on the right side of the law. And I don't even own a car, which makes this so much more funny to me. From my mail, in one hand I had a check for the shares I had invested in the co-op (that I have since left and joined another) and a ticket for approximately the same amount (see my reimbursement disappear immediately! It's like a magic trick! Not the fun kind. like the lady getting pick pocketed while she's sawed in half. bad analogy.) Thank goodness it wasn't some $300/more bullshit.
A few months ago I was in Los Angeles for work (I'm going again twice this month. Ridiculous! Who is this lady?) and I decided to rent a car, like a big girl, since I am finally of age, and drive to San Diego to visit my cousin. I was driving at night, which is initially always a pretty terrifying experience-- my night vision sucks!-- and I missed a turn off for a toll rode. That's pretty sneaky Irvine; you have to leave the road to pay the toll. A cop passed me moments later and I thought, "I'm golden!" He didn't stop me! Upon my return driving towards LAX, aware of this process, I had the cash and the presence of mind to pay the toll.
So, this ticket is totally deserved. But what a bummer. And really, am I that terrible of a driver? I am in a car hardly ever (I can't even estimate) and a driver even less. And I got a ticket?!? That's so lame. This will probably temper my desire to make outlandish expenditures today (tattoos! long sleeved shirts to hide said tattoos!).
Today: I will work out at the gym that I am paying too much money for, but feel comfortable at, as there are no ladies wearing make-up or men who look like cartoon characters, as my friend caitlin described: they work out one particular part of their body, so all of their bits are disproportionate. Bits! I mean their arms, necks, torsos. It doesn't feel like a meat market. Neat. My mom is going to bring us my green velvet couch that she has been storing for me since I moved here, and also parts for my sewing machine (that she also got for me from my aunt). My mom, always looking out. Thanks mom! *I can guarantee she doesn't read this.
I've been up since 5 a.m. Happy Sunday. This might make for a rough Monday :/ I hope that maybe I'll take a nap later today, but at that moment it seems like a waste of time. Maybe around two o'clock I'll see things differently.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
You really got a hold on me
This is not the most inspired blog entry, or it will not be, as I'm not really feelin it at the moment, but I am so flattered that my housemate sydney said that she reads this... and it was a really good day, so maybe there should be some record of this. for myself. and for you. if you'd like.
Last night was warm. It was wonderful. I saw Courtney and Nick and Nick shared some really fancy delicious scotch with me. Courtney took a sip and exclaimed, "oh my god, I just turned into an alcoholic. Making bad life choices." Well, you probably had to be there. That's always a sign of great storytelling, "you had to be there," no, you lack the imagination to say it with an interesting or fresh perspective. Anyway, I woke up, went to the co-op, saw some of the people I love the most standing outside (Grant! Graaaaaaaaaant! I screamed as I was walking towards him. And Ish. And Johnny.). I saw Sean stocking groceries on aisle 5. And Elizabeth, my old boss, sat and had her lunch break with me. I always feel slightly uncomfortable with my bosses, but that anxiety is gone now that I'm no longer employed there. Elizabeth and I might go hiking. It'll be be neat.
Then I took Caitlin out to lunch for her birthday. We ran into Lance as soon as we arrived at the Delta and the three of us sat enjoying the beautiful weather on the patio. I ordered two salads. for myself. Lance eventually left for a picnic in the arboretum.Enter Daniel, a lovely man. I went to greet him; he gave me a hug, picking me up (he's a tall gentleman), and then he joined Caitlin and me for the rest of our visit.
I had a perfect Davis day, and came home to my housemates hanging out in the sunshine, and my cat napping and then licking and biting my hand.
We are going project a movie onto the back wall of our house, and watch it in the backyard tonight.
Days like today make me so happy that another spring is here, and it really makes me nostalgic for days past and gone. I was talking to Caitlin and Daniel, and I was saying that whenever I have a day like this in Davis, I feel like I want to move back. Daniel pointed out that if I were there, I'd probably want to leave. It reminds me (I said this already) of how I used to feel when I would see a large body of water, like when we went camping at this man-made reservoir many times when I was younger. I would see the water and feel the desire to own it, or to become completely a part of it. I would want to drink it, to breath it, to be entirely submerged in it and to dissolve in it. Or I wanted to be able to scoop it all up and take it with me. Impossible!
That's how I think I feel about a lot of experiences in life. The good things, I want entire control and ownership. Is this true? I believe I did sum it up, that I try to remember that I can love a thing without having it entirely belong to me. So, like this day. It's wonderful and mine, but it'll be gone tomorrow. I might remember it, I might not. It'll probably become tangled with all of the good sunshiny days to come in this house, this year. The longer I stay here, the more confused the memories will become.
That's all. I'm feeling pretty good.
Last night was warm. It was wonderful. I saw Courtney and Nick and Nick shared some really fancy delicious scotch with me. Courtney took a sip and exclaimed, "oh my god, I just turned into an alcoholic. Making bad life choices." Well, you probably had to be there. That's always a sign of great storytelling, "you had to be there," no, you lack the imagination to say it with an interesting or fresh perspective. Anyway, I woke up, went to the co-op, saw some of the people I love the most standing outside (Grant! Graaaaaaaaaant! I screamed as I was walking towards him. And Ish. And Johnny.). I saw Sean stocking groceries on aisle 5. And Elizabeth, my old boss, sat and had her lunch break with me. I always feel slightly uncomfortable with my bosses, but that anxiety is gone now that I'm no longer employed there. Elizabeth and I might go hiking. It'll be be neat.
Then I took Caitlin out to lunch for her birthday. We ran into Lance as soon as we arrived at the Delta and the three of us sat enjoying the beautiful weather on the patio. I ordered two salads. for myself. Lance eventually left for a picnic in the arboretum.Enter Daniel, a lovely man. I went to greet him; he gave me a hug, picking me up (he's a tall gentleman), and then he joined Caitlin and me for the rest of our visit.
I had a perfect Davis day, and came home to my housemates hanging out in the sunshine, and my cat napping and then licking and biting my hand.
We are going project a movie onto the back wall of our house, and watch it in the backyard tonight.
Days like today make me so happy that another spring is here, and it really makes me nostalgic for days past and gone. I was talking to Caitlin and Daniel, and I was saying that whenever I have a day like this in Davis, I feel like I want to move back. Daniel pointed out that if I were there, I'd probably want to leave. It reminds me (I said this already) of how I used to feel when I would see a large body of water, like when we went camping at this man-made reservoir many times when I was younger. I would see the water and feel the desire to own it, or to become completely a part of it. I would want to drink it, to breath it, to be entirely submerged in it and to dissolve in it. Or I wanted to be able to scoop it all up and take it with me. Impossible!
That's how I think I feel about a lot of experiences in life. The good things, I want entire control and ownership. Is this true? I believe I did sum it up, that I try to remember that I can love a thing without having it entirely belong to me. So, like this day. It's wonderful and mine, but it'll be gone tomorrow. I might remember it, I might not. It'll probably become tangled with all of the good sunshiny days to come in this house, this year. The longer I stay here, the more confused the memories will become.
That's all. I'm feeling pretty good.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
What I want right now
I don't want to leave my room. I don't want to leave my bed. I would like to go back to sleep; I've been up for about four hours and I don't think that's possible.
I would like to take all of the things and people that have I loved in my life, and put them in a jar and drink them. To experience it all at once and all over again.
On the list (don't be scared about the jar comment):
Andy Cordova
Sean Johansson
Music by Al Green, Marvin Gaye, or/and Otis Redding
It's a Wonderful Life
Sleepless in Seattle
When Harry Met Sally
Dirk and Levon
Meg Blair
Dominic
Going to college
How I used to feel about working at the co-op
bike rides
hanging out at woodstocks
riding the train
airports
my sister
my brother
my family
my house
coffee dates
burritos
the ocean
trees
windows
weather
cold weather
Playing on our work softball team a few years ago
House dinners
Movie nights
the day we all watched MacGruber
Grant Parfitt
The city of Davis
Duncan and Mike Ulrich
Germany
That's it for now. Now I will describe my perfect day: friends, family, going to the ocean, eating burritos and drinking whiskey. Let that be life. shouldn't be too hard. Just have to get everyone back here. Maybe that will be heaven. (I don't believe in heaven.) The most pleasant dream.
I would like to take all of the things and people that have I loved in my life, and put them in a jar and drink them. To experience it all at once and all over again.
On the list (don't be scared about the jar comment):
Andy Cordova
Sean Johansson
Music by Al Green, Marvin Gaye, or/and Otis Redding
It's a Wonderful Life
Sleepless in Seattle
When Harry Met Sally
Dirk and Levon
Meg Blair
Dominic
Going to college
How I used to feel about working at the co-op
bike rides
hanging out at woodstocks
riding the train
airports
my sister
my brother
my family
my house
coffee dates
burritos
the ocean
trees
windows
weather
cold weather
Playing on our work softball team a few years ago
House dinners
Movie nights
the day we all watched MacGruber
Grant Parfitt
The city of Davis
Duncan and Mike Ulrich
Germany
That's it for now. Now I will describe my perfect day: friends, family, going to the ocean, eating burritos and drinking whiskey. Let that be life. shouldn't be too hard. Just have to get everyone back here. Maybe that will be heaven. (I don't believe in heaven.) The most pleasant dream.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
A Crucial Stage in Development
It begins. No surprise that I have adopted an adorable cat and she will be the topic of a blog post. I mean, look at her:
I have wanted to have a cat since I was a kid. Really, I have wanted a pet in general... my sister recalls, laughing, how I chanted, "my own hamster, my own hamster," repeatedly on our karaoke machine (it recorded tapes and the radio and our voice with a little plug in microphone... my mama and carl made it rain! I'm thinking about how many toys I had growing up. How I never realized this before. anyhow). I was trying to MANIFEST! Hamster, I want you. Please show up in my bedroom for me to love. We had pet rats in my fourth grade classroom, and I thought that they were so neat, but I remember that my mom didn't like the tails. We had a cat named Shay for a little while, but my papa Carl is allergic, so when we moved to the house that my parents still live in, we gave her to our friends from daycare Rose and Serena. It's funny how when you move only a few miles away when you're a kid, you can lose all contact with everyone from your elementary school. Or at least it feels that way. Three years feels like forever. I went to three different elementary schools, all in the same area. Looking back, kids from all three elementary schools ended up in my high school, and I even went to college with some but they all seem like really sharp divisions in time and space. Probably because they were. Three miles is a lot when you depend on your parents and the school bus for transportation. what was I talking about, my cat?
So, I always wanted a cat, but Carl is allergic. Not his fault.My Grandma would say,when I would whine about wanting a cat, that she would keep playing the lotto (and if she won she would get me a cat) And Carl also happens to be blind, so I grew up with the most wonderful, amazing yellow lab Guide Dogs in the house. Bruin I met when I was five, when I have my first memory of meeting my stepbrother and stepsister at Carl's apartment. He lived until I was... 15? I was a sophomore in high school I think. I remember the night before he was going to be put down sleeping on the floor next to him and crying and thinking that the next time we had a dog I wouldn't take him for granted like I took Bruin for granted. Then, we got Dirk.
Dirk was so young! I still think of Dirk as young, but it isn't true. It confuses me because my parents have a younger dog and I think of Dirk as a puppy still. Dirk was two when we got him, so not really a puppy. He was Carl's guide dog. He had very little interest in us at first. However, over the years, through me sneaking him snacks (I regret nothing!), him sleeping on my bed, me taking him for walks when I was grounded and couldn't hang out with my friends (if my memory serves well, that was often), he and I became best friends. When I had a car (my only car) he knew the sound when I came home and would greet me excitedly. I loved/love him.
so much.
When I transferred to college and finally moved out, I tried to steal him. My mom said (paraphrase),"You don't want a dog. You don't even want a plant. You want to be able to just go." and it's true. I think at some point I acted burdened to dogsit. However... this fear of committing to that kind of responsibility (useful or not) has stuck with me. My roommate meg and I would feed a stray cat we once let in from the rain, and kept coming back to sleep in our apartment. We called her Horatio and she might have had fleas. However, whenever meg who jokingly suggest that I get a cat, I would adamantly refuse.
Levon (my cat) has just sneezed. And in sleeping. So cute.
I know that my friends and etc are getting married and having babies and at one point that was appealing to me. It still is appealing to me. I think. But I have so much fear. Getting a cat meant a decade of commitment, and at the end of that decade (unless the lady is sick or hurt sooner:( ) having to be the person to make/finance all of those decisions. I don't want to be the person who has loved Levon for 10 years and to have to put her down because I can't pay her medical bills. Or to be the person to let her suffer because I can't part with her. Or, more selfishly, I might want to move somewhere where pets aren't allowed/far away/can't afford the pet deposit/anything and everything that could go wrong.
Just recently, I know I was talking smack about having pets. they are so unnatural, blah, blah blah. we are treating animals like babies,wasting resources, and some other bullshit (/perfectly reasonable stuff)I've forgotten about since Levon. Something that I might have fleshed out before, some other time, but now I don't care because I have a cat and I love her.
I actually expected that my mom would be disappointed in me for getting a cat. She was not. She seems to like Levon. I have really internalized that getting a cat is horribly irresponsible and will really limit my choices. As I was looking at pictures that that I took of Levon on my phone and giggling outside of the grocery store, I wondered, how did I build up something that makes me so happy to be such a scary thing? So maybe I can't move to Germany with Levon, but was I moving to Germany anyway? Not soon anyhow. I am embracing real life, and luckily levon is a part of it. She really is perfect. Soon we will be best friends. I hope! I'm used to dogs. Whatever. I love you Levon!
*I never understood why until recently that we all have things that we want that we are really afraid of. I always thought that it was foolish and cowardly not to pursue what makes a person happy. But now, as I feel so brave for getting a cat, I really have to say that all of these decisions can be scary, and I'm glad that I didn't understand that when I was younger. I'm sorry that I do now. It still seems like a silly way to live, but I don't know how to fix it, except to decide to get a few tattoos on a whim and to spend all of Sunday adopting a cat that you didn't plan to on Friday. Poor impulse control. that's my solution. Or taking advantage of unexpected moments of feeling like you know exactly what you want, and it's what you've always wanted and it's going to be okay. The end.
I have wanted to have a cat since I was a kid. Really, I have wanted a pet in general... my sister recalls, laughing, how I chanted, "my own hamster, my own hamster," repeatedly on our karaoke machine (it recorded tapes and the radio and our voice with a little plug in microphone... my mama and carl made it rain! I'm thinking about how many toys I had growing up. How I never realized this before. anyhow). I was trying to MANIFEST! Hamster, I want you. Please show up in my bedroom for me to love. We had pet rats in my fourth grade classroom, and I thought that they were so neat, but I remember that my mom didn't like the tails. We had a cat named Shay for a little while, but my papa Carl is allergic, so when we moved to the house that my parents still live in, we gave her to our friends from daycare Rose and Serena. It's funny how when you move only a few miles away when you're a kid, you can lose all contact with everyone from your elementary school. Or at least it feels that way. Three years feels like forever. I went to three different elementary schools, all in the same area. Looking back, kids from all three elementary schools ended up in my high school, and I even went to college with some but they all seem like really sharp divisions in time and space. Probably because they were. Three miles is a lot when you depend on your parents and the school bus for transportation. what was I talking about, my cat?
So, I always wanted a cat, but Carl is allergic. Not his fault.My Grandma would say,when I would whine about wanting a cat, that she would keep playing the lotto (and if she won she would get me a cat) And Carl also happens to be blind, so I grew up with the most wonderful, amazing yellow lab Guide Dogs in the house. Bruin I met when I was five, when I have my first memory of meeting my stepbrother and stepsister at Carl's apartment. He lived until I was... 15? I was a sophomore in high school I think. I remember the night before he was going to be put down sleeping on the floor next to him and crying and thinking that the next time we had a dog I wouldn't take him for granted like I took Bruin for granted. Then, we got Dirk.
Dirk was so young! I still think of Dirk as young, but it isn't true. It confuses me because my parents have a younger dog and I think of Dirk as a puppy still. Dirk was two when we got him, so not really a puppy. He was Carl's guide dog. He had very little interest in us at first. However, over the years, through me sneaking him snacks (I regret nothing!), him sleeping on my bed, me taking him for walks when I was grounded and couldn't hang out with my friends (if my memory serves well, that was often), he and I became best friends. When I had a car (my only car) he knew the sound when I came home and would greet me excitedly. I loved/love him.
so much.
When I transferred to college and finally moved out, I tried to steal him. My mom said (paraphrase),"You don't want a dog. You don't even want a plant. You want to be able to just go." and it's true. I think at some point I acted burdened to dogsit. However... this fear of committing to that kind of responsibility (useful or not) has stuck with me. My roommate meg and I would feed a stray cat we once let in from the rain, and kept coming back to sleep in our apartment. We called her Horatio and she might have had fleas. However, whenever meg who jokingly suggest that I get a cat, I would adamantly refuse.
Levon (my cat) has just sneezed. And in sleeping. So cute.
I know that my friends and etc are getting married and having babies and at one point that was appealing to me. It still is appealing to me. I think. But I have so much fear. Getting a cat meant a decade of commitment, and at the end of that decade (unless the lady is sick or hurt sooner:( ) having to be the person to make/finance all of those decisions. I don't want to be the person who has loved Levon for 10 years and to have to put her down because I can't pay her medical bills. Or to be the person to let her suffer because I can't part with her. Or, more selfishly, I might want to move somewhere where pets aren't allowed/far away/can't afford the pet deposit/anything and everything that could go wrong.
Just recently, I know I was talking smack about having pets. they are so unnatural, blah, blah blah. we are treating animals like babies,wasting resources, and some other bullshit (/perfectly reasonable stuff)I've forgotten about since Levon. Something that I might have fleshed out before, some other time, but now I don't care because I have a cat and I love her.
I actually expected that my mom would be disappointed in me for getting a cat. She was not. She seems to like Levon. I have really internalized that getting a cat is horribly irresponsible and will really limit my choices. As I was looking at pictures that that I took of Levon on my phone and giggling outside of the grocery store, I wondered, how did I build up something that makes me so happy to be such a scary thing? So maybe I can't move to Germany with Levon, but was I moving to Germany anyway? Not soon anyhow. I am embracing real life, and luckily levon is a part of it. She really is perfect. Soon we will be best friends. I hope! I'm used to dogs. Whatever. I love you Levon!
*I never understood why until recently that we all have things that we want that we are really afraid of. I always thought that it was foolish and cowardly not to pursue what makes a person happy. But now, as I feel so brave for getting a cat, I really have to say that all of these decisions can be scary, and I'm glad that I didn't understand that when I was younger. I'm sorry that I do now. It still seems like a silly way to live, but I don't know how to fix it, except to decide to get a few tattoos on a whim and to spend all of Sunday adopting a cat that you didn't plan to on Friday. Poor impulse control. that's my solution. Or taking advantage of unexpected moments of feeling like you know exactly what you want, and it's what you've always wanted and it's going to be okay. The end.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Sally Field's Oscar Speech
Have you noticed that no one really looks at each other in the elevator? I hope that no one notices me glancing around at everyone else automatically fixing their attention to the doors or the floor. If they do notice it might seem like it's the first time I've ever ridden in an elevator. I haven't yet learned the etiquette. So uncouth.
I ride the elevator at least twice a day in the building that I work in (up many floors, I'm not just riding up one or two and am lazy or injured), and the first thing I do when I'm alone with the doors closed is glance up at the mirrored ceiling and make a face at myself. It's an automatic reaction. Maybe mentioning it here will break the spell...
My eye has been twitching all this week. Not too noticeably like a tick, but the muscle around the lid keeps spasming. I have been told that this could come from clenching my teeth as I sleep, which could occur from stress. Great. My face is already responding with all sorts of exciting bumps and oils to this unbeknownst source of shoulder tensing stress.
Tonight I'm going to see a band that I enjoy. I feel like it's unfair that I am seeing them and my friend who introduced me to them is not, but c'est la vie. I am really excited about this weekend. I scheduled for a plumber to come on Monday (because that's what grown ups have to do, fill their precious free time with all of the jobs they don't get paid for. He'll be being paid to work on our toilet. He sounded very nice on the phone. Our last plumber seemed to resent me. I wasn't rude to him or anything. maybe I imagined it) and when he said he could come at 8, I said, "maybe do you have anything later?" Three day weekend! i might sleep until 7, I might sleep until 10!
It's raining outside and my housemate generously offered to drive me to the train station. From the station I will go to Nick's and off we will drive to adventure! I'm so tired. I am drinking coffee. Maybe I can take a power nap in the car, but that seems unfair. I'd be drooling all over the window and nick would be driving in traffic, in the rain. I should have made cookies. No time! We will have burritos. Before I was writing this I was eating a salad so fast I bit down really hard on the fork. Luckily my teeth are okay. I just kinda lost my health insurance. oh well. that's the name of the game folks.
Well, it's been an honor and a pleasure. thank you for reading. If I don't get too embaarrassed by the amount of posts I'm writing, I'll tell you all about our trip. Maybe.
I volunteered to write our programs newsletter or blog at work. I've been told that it might be an impossible task. We'll see. Something to add to the resume. Blech. I hate thinking about those things. It sounds like it could be fun.
I ride the elevator at least twice a day in the building that I work in (up many floors, I'm not just riding up one or two and am lazy or injured), and the first thing I do when I'm alone with the doors closed is glance up at the mirrored ceiling and make a face at myself. It's an automatic reaction. Maybe mentioning it here will break the spell...
My eye has been twitching all this week. Not too noticeably like a tick, but the muscle around the lid keeps spasming. I have been told that this could come from clenching my teeth as I sleep, which could occur from stress. Great. My face is already responding with all sorts of exciting bumps and oils to this unbeknownst source of shoulder tensing stress.
Tonight I'm going to see a band that I enjoy. I feel like it's unfair that I am seeing them and my friend who introduced me to them is not, but c'est la vie. I am really excited about this weekend. I scheduled for a plumber to come on Monday (because that's what grown ups have to do, fill their precious free time with all of the jobs they don't get paid for. He'll be being paid to work on our toilet. He sounded very nice on the phone. Our last plumber seemed to resent me. I wasn't rude to him or anything. maybe I imagined it) and when he said he could come at 8, I said, "maybe do you have anything later?" Three day weekend! i might sleep until 7, I might sleep until 10!
It's raining outside and my housemate generously offered to drive me to the train station. From the station I will go to Nick's and off we will drive to adventure! I'm so tired. I am drinking coffee. Maybe I can take a power nap in the car, but that seems unfair. I'd be drooling all over the window and nick would be driving in traffic, in the rain. I should have made cookies. No time! We will have burritos. Before I was writing this I was eating a salad so fast I bit down really hard on the fork. Luckily my teeth are okay. I just kinda lost my health insurance. oh well. that's the name of the game folks.
Well, it's been an honor and a pleasure. thank you for reading. If I don't get too embaarrassed by the amount of posts I'm writing, I'll tell you all about our trip. Maybe.
I volunteered to write our programs newsletter or blog at work. I've been told that it might be an impossible task. We'll see. Something to add to the resume. Blech. I hate thinking about those things. It sounds like it could be fun.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Valentine Angst?
"I choo choo choose you."- ralph wiggum
I am fairly neutral about Valentine's Day, so I really don't have much to comment on it in one way or another. Either I am dating someone and it could be a thing, or I'm not dating someone and it's not,... I remember maybe three or four occurrences on Valentine's Days that I've lived. One is today.
I do know that I once got a toy singing hamster. that was neat. I think he sang, "love machine." I also remember that in 8th grade my sister broke up with her "boyfriend" (sorry to rat you out sita) on Valentine's Day. I was once of the opinion that that was kinda mean, but why go through the charade of any event that's shared with the person you're supposed to love (they were in 8th grade. I mean generally)when you know it's not true (unless you have kids and it's christmas or something). I guess it's kinder... I don't know. Now I'm thinking of When Harry Met Sally, "I didn't want to ruin your birthday." Ah. Love that movie, yes I do.
I do like flowers. Receiving and giving them. "god's decorations," I heard a lady call them. I think that boys like getting them too. More so than stuffed animals. that one took me a while to learn. My mom and my sister both are not big fans of roses. I say why not? They smell good, they look good... at this moment I hate my evening latency period. I just want to lounge around. Immediately upon coming home, I took off my greasy work clothes and put on my comfies. Now it seems like a chore to go grocery shopping. I will just be here. In my disgusting bedroom. With all of the stuff. My room that I loved before I actually lived in it and let my crap take over every part of it. Whew! I think I'm going to watch a movie tonight. And so it begins. Not living my own life and watching other people on the screen do it for me. I kid. I am going to enjoy the heck out myself. Full belly. Soft bed. Let's go. To the grocery store. I need: coffee, eggs, dressing... and sunflower seeds. shelled. For my salad. I can do it. Happy Valentine's Day!
I am fairly neutral about Valentine's Day, so I really don't have much to comment on it in one way or another. Either I am dating someone and it could be a thing, or I'm not dating someone and it's not,... I remember maybe three or four occurrences on Valentine's Days that I've lived. One is today.
I do know that I once got a toy singing hamster. that was neat. I think he sang, "love machine." I also remember that in 8th grade my sister broke up with her "boyfriend" (sorry to rat you out sita) on Valentine's Day. I was once of the opinion that that was kinda mean, but why go through the charade of any event that's shared with the person you're supposed to love (they were in 8th grade. I mean generally)when you know it's not true (unless you have kids and it's christmas or something). I guess it's kinder... I don't know. Now I'm thinking of When Harry Met Sally, "I didn't want to ruin your birthday." Ah. Love that movie, yes I do.
I do like flowers. Receiving and giving them. "god's decorations," I heard a lady call them. I think that boys like getting them too. More so than stuffed animals. that one took me a while to learn. My mom and my sister both are not big fans of roses. I say why not? They smell good, they look good... at this moment I hate my evening latency period. I just want to lounge around. Immediately upon coming home, I took off my greasy work clothes and put on my comfies. Now it seems like a chore to go grocery shopping. I will just be here. In my disgusting bedroom. With all of the stuff. My room that I loved before I actually lived in it and let my crap take over every part of it. Whew! I think I'm going to watch a movie tonight. And so it begins. Not living my own life and watching other people on the screen do it for me. I kid. I am going to enjoy the heck out myself. Full belly. Soft bed. Let's go. To the grocery store. I need: coffee, eggs, dressing... and sunflower seeds. shelled. For my salad. I can do it. Happy Valentine's Day!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Aunt Chita
My grandfather’s aunt was a nun who lived in Los Angeles. We called her Aunt Chita. For most of her life she was known as Sister Adele Marie. [The story goes that my mom was supposedly named after her, but my mom claims that she was actually named after a girl that my grandfather went to high school with and thought was pretty.] Aunt Chita’s family was Mexican (she was insistent that they were Spanish-Mexican) and “chita,” (so I’m told) means “little one”.
She was born in 1901 and lived to be over 100 years old, although I regret that I cannot remember what year exactly she passed in. The blow of her death was softened by its expectedness, given her advanced age, and the distance that she lived from us. She lived in a convalescent home for nuns (I always thought of them as retired nuns, but that doesn’t seem right. You don’t retire from being a nun) attached to a college that sat above a posh neighborhood in Beverly Hills. I think I remember when we were driving towards the home, up the windy streets, that we passed the house that O.J. Simpson was supposed to have committed murder in. The view from across the parking lot was of The Getty. Pretty nice real estate.
Aunt Chita spent most of her adult life as a high school Spanish teacher, if I remember correctly. She was on a mission in Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was bombed. She wrote books. I was told she became a nun because she was the youngest girl in her family and her mother wanted one of her daughters to become a nun… and she was born at the beginning of the century, so that’s what happened. Aunt Chita was physically small, but she had big personality. She had a great sense of humor. She played piano beautifully, even in her nineties. Once a sister walked past as we were in the gorgeous visitor's area, where Aunt Chita was near a piano. The sister requested that she play a song. Aunt Chita wanted to know what the sister would give her. “I’ll pray for you,” the sister said. Aunt Chita said that she would prefer some candy.
While Aunt Chita eventually lost her short term memory and we would reintroduce ourselves to her repeatedly over the course of our visits, she maintained a good memory of the distant past. Unfortunately I only have retained a wisp of a recollection of her talking about eating watermelons when she was young.
She had a good friend, Sister Kathleen, who we also would see when we were down in L.A. Sister Kathleen was slightly younger, but she is also gone – cancer. Once she decided that it would be good for us kids to see a recently deceased nun that was lying in state. I had never seen a dead body before. I remember looking at this old woman who had no attachment to me, and being kind of freaked out.
For Aunt Chita’s 100th birthday they got a mariachi band and served virgin margaritas. I can’t remember if this was the same trip, but someone once gave her a beautiful Hawaiian lei. Her skin looked so delicate, and the flowers were so vibrant.
I can remember the cafeteria and the visiting area, and how she would ask us if we had to use the lav or the john (which we always thought was funny). I was getting out of the shower tonight, and I felt like writing these memories. They’re all I have of her. If I haven’t written anything about her, I have definitely talked about her. She was a neat lady. I was too young to really remember all that much. Maybe this is the beginning of the time where I begin obsessing about my family history. My grandma knows it all. She’s all about family trees and genealogy. More than that I’d like to preserve my own memories before I forget. It would be impossible for me to completely forget Aunt Chita, but it’s getting murkier as time passes and I cram my head with new memories. I feel like a few years ago was one of happiest times of my life, and even with that so recently ended I barely remember most of it.
I meant to go to bed right after my shower. Oops.
She was born in 1901 and lived to be over 100 years old, although I regret that I cannot remember what year exactly she passed in. The blow of her death was softened by its expectedness, given her advanced age, and the distance that she lived from us. She lived in a convalescent home for nuns (I always thought of them as retired nuns, but that doesn’t seem right. You don’t retire from being a nun) attached to a college that sat above a posh neighborhood in Beverly Hills. I think I remember when we were driving towards the home, up the windy streets, that we passed the house that O.J. Simpson was supposed to have committed murder in. The view from across the parking lot was of The Getty. Pretty nice real estate.
Aunt Chita spent most of her adult life as a high school Spanish teacher, if I remember correctly. She was on a mission in Hawaii when Pearl Harbor was bombed. She wrote books. I was told she became a nun because she was the youngest girl in her family and her mother wanted one of her daughters to become a nun… and she was born at the beginning of the century, so that’s what happened. Aunt Chita was physically small, but she had big personality. She had a great sense of humor. She played piano beautifully, even in her nineties. Once a sister walked past as we were in the gorgeous visitor's area, where Aunt Chita was near a piano. The sister requested that she play a song. Aunt Chita wanted to know what the sister would give her. “I’ll pray for you,” the sister said. Aunt Chita said that she would prefer some candy.
While Aunt Chita eventually lost her short term memory and we would reintroduce ourselves to her repeatedly over the course of our visits, she maintained a good memory of the distant past. Unfortunately I only have retained a wisp of a recollection of her talking about eating watermelons when she was young.
She had a good friend, Sister Kathleen, who we also would see when we were down in L.A. Sister Kathleen was slightly younger, but she is also gone – cancer. Once she decided that it would be good for us kids to see a recently deceased nun that was lying in state. I had never seen a dead body before. I remember looking at this old woman who had no attachment to me, and being kind of freaked out.
For Aunt Chita’s 100th birthday they got a mariachi band and served virgin margaritas. I can’t remember if this was the same trip, but someone once gave her a beautiful Hawaiian lei. Her skin looked so delicate, and the flowers were so vibrant.
I can remember the cafeteria and the visiting area, and how she would ask us if we had to use the lav or the john (which we always thought was funny). I was getting out of the shower tonight, and I felt like writing these memories. They’re all I have of her. If I haven’t written anything about her, I have definitely talked about her. She was a neat lady. I was too young to really remember all that much. Maybe this is the beginning of the time where I begin obsessing about my family history. My grandma knows it all. She’s all about family trees and genealogy. More than that I’d like to preserve my own memories before I forget. It would be impossible for me to completely forget Aunt Chita, but it’s getting murkier as time passes and I cram my head with new memories. I feel like a few years ago was one of happiest times of my life, and even with that so recently ended I barely remember most of it.
I meant to go to bed right after my shower. Oops.
Monday, February 7, 2011
My terrible vision of things to come
Everyone loves sunshine.
Glory in dreams of ice cream sundaes dripping onto swimsuits, knobby knees half submerged/sun toasted in aquamarine bliss--the coconut-y chemical aroma of Hawaiian Tropic mingling with the chlorine and wet concrete mist of the public swimming pool.
Baseball games that end right around dusk; dirt streaking blue jeans and staining white t-shirts, hoodies pulled over tousled hair as the hatchback trunk of the minivan slams shut and everyone goes home for a dinner examining new mosquito bites.
Everyone loves sunshine. I had a debilitatingly boring day today. As I left work after 5 pm, I thought, "I do not love sunshine."
Granted, I just came back from Southern California, where I had my fill of gorgeous weather for a few days. I having already worn a sun dress and felt warmth on my bare back at the beginning of February.
I have always had the association of boredom with sunny days.
Sunny weather is kind of bland. Everything is revealed all at once. There is no fog or shadow, just harsh brightness. Some days this is nice. I especially like it when it is sunny and a little cold. Sun is usually a novelty in those cases and it's not hard to be happy about not having to bundle when leaving the house.
Since I've gotten older I've begun to enjoy more outdoor activities that are more easily facilitated by comfortable weather. Comfortable. Unchallenging. Unchanging. Pleasant for a day or for an hour, but not for always. I love morning fog and gray weather and sometimes rain.
My debilitatingly (the computer keeps telling me that I'm making up words) boring day has made me think of what always hovers in the back of my mind as the nightmare of my future. Sunny days spent inside working, going home and making dinner,watching tv. And repeat. This is actually what I do on a regular basis now (minus the television, but plus more computer use), but in my nightmare version I am bored all of the time. Bored at work, bored at home, bored even when I sleep. Completely static and unfulfilled. Sunny days sometimes remind me of this.
Days that are windy and icy cold (for here, which is not ever truly icy cold) or mornings where you can see your breath, there's an electricity in the air. It's like sunshine cooks all of that electricity out and the air becomes like a tepid bath.
I don't know. I prefer the beaches of Northern California to Southern California, but I am afraid of actually going into the ocean (sharks!) and have never been to bonfire (a dream)... and have in recent years really begun to enjoy the sweating and stinking and sundresses of summer. And although I know it's physically unhealthy, I sometimes feel the one link that I have to my ancestors who have been assimilated out of/ are otherwise unknown to my present existence is the deep tan that I am able to develop after one painless sunburn. My last name is Italian, didn't you know this? And Aunt Chita's family was Mexican... however, as my grandfather said, my grandmother came from a "good German family." and who knows about that other half of the family. My father's last name is German, I think. The rest is a mystery. The cause of my melanoma will not be.
Maybe I am not enamored with sunshine as a condition that I often do not get to maximize my enjoyment of it. This seems unlikely as I am practically never outside at dusk, however whenever I am I only can think that dusk is the most beautiful, wonderful time of the day. Maybe it's from growing up here and there just being too much of it. I used to always equate summers with standing in hot black asphalt parking lots that could make a person sick.
Anywho. It'll be nice when the days get longer. I just love summer nights.
Glory in dreams of ice cream sundaes dripping onto swimsuits, knobby knees half submerged/sun toasted in aquamarine bliss--the coconut-y chemical aroma of Hawaiian Tropic mingling with the chlorine and wet concrete mist of the public swimming pool.
Baseball games that end right around dusk; dirt streaking blue jeans and staining white t-shirts, hoodies pulled over tousled hair as the hatchback trunk of the minivan slams shut and everyone goes home for a dinner examining new mosquito bites.
Granted, I just came back from Southern California, where I had my fill of gorgeous weather for a few days. I having already worn a sun dress and felt warmth on my bare back at the beginning of February.
I have always had the association of boredom with sunny days.
Sunny weather is kind of bland. Everything is revealed all at once. There is no fog or shadow, just harsh brightness. Some days this is nice. I especially like it when it is sunny and a little cold. Sun is usually a novelty in those cases and it's not hard to be happy about not having to bundle when leaving the house.
Since I've gotten older I've begun to enjoy more outdoor activities that are more easily facilitated by comfortable weather. Comfortable. Unchallenging. Unchanging. Pleasant for a day or for an hour, but not for always. I love morning fog and gray weather and sometimes rain.
My debilitatingly (the computer keeps telling me that I'm making up words) boring day has made me think of what always hovers in the back of my mind as the nightmare of my future. Sunny days spent inside working, going home and making dinner,watching tv. And repeat. This is actually what I do on a regular basis now (minus the television, but plus more computer use), but in my nightmare version I am bored all of the time. Bored at work, bored at home, bored even when I sleep. Completely static and unfulfilled. Sunny days sometimes remind me of this.
Days that are windy and icy cold (for here, which is not ever truly icy cold) or mornings where you can see your breath, there's an electricity in the air. It's like sunshine cooks all of that electricity out and the air becomes like a tepid bath.
I don't know. I prefer the beaches of Northern California to Southern California, but I am afraid of actually going into the ocean (sharks!) and have never been to bonfire (a dream)... and have in recent years really begun to enjoy the sweating and stinking and sundresses of summer. And although I know it's physically unhealthy, I sometimes feel the one link that I have to my ancestors who have been assimilated out of/ are otherwise unknown to my present existence is the deep tan that I am able to develop after one painless sunburn. My last name is Italian, didn't you know this? And Aunt Chita's family was Mexican... however, as my grandfather said, my grandmother came from a "good German family." and who knows about that other half of the family. My father's last name is German, I think. The rest is a mystery. The cause of my melanoma will not be.
Maybe I am not enamored with sunshine as a condition that I often do not get to maximize my enjoyment of it. This seems unlikely as I am practically never outside at dusk, however whenever I am I only can think that dusk is the most beautiful, wonderful time of the day. Maybe it's from growing up here and there just being too much of it. I used to always equate summers with standing in hot black asphalt parking lots that could make a person sick.
Anywho. It'll be nice when the days get longer. I just love summer nights.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Boring but not bored in L.A.
When I listen to Iron & Wine (trapeze swinger), I feel like I should be staring out of the window at something distant and invisible in the horizon, or at a photograph of a lost love... I am in Los Angeles. In my hotel room. My bed is very comfortable. Television is boring and has nothing to offer me.
The euphoria that I felt earlier has faded. I am still very happy, even after a glance in the full length mirror at myself and my swollen belly as I was changing, having consumed an overpriced asian chicken salad, minus the chicken-- might have felt more worth it if it had chicken, but then I wouldn't have eaten it, so, there you go. I contemplated room service, but that just seemed like too much. I went out looking for a drugstore and should have taken advantage of a not super delicious looking burrito place called "Cilantro's."
I feel like whenever I am at home, I'm always daydreaming about being somewhere else. Being out of context there is so much processing happening, I think it's so wonderful and stimulating to take in new sights and surroundings, even if it's in pretty mundane situations... and I find myself pretending that I am starting a new life whenever I'm visiting a new city. It's funny. All I ever want to do is find someplace comfortable and stay there, but I want to do this is a million different locations. There also something wonderful about walking around in an unfamiliar place without knowing a soul (I know Natalie, but she and I had parted ways for the evening).
Anyhow, it's been nice. I fell asleep immediately on the plane; the flight was super short. I went for a lovely jaunt while looking for contact lens solution to replace the stuff that leaked out of the travel bottle and all over my bag. I was calling and texting and giggling and grinning at strangers on the street, taking pictures on my cell phone of my bed. Speaking of...
this is my exciting hotel room.
this is right down the street.
and this... and this...
this is what it looks like outside of my bedroom window back at home. It's a little fuzzy in light of recent events. Isn't it lovely? I will return to it soon. I'm tired. I'm going to read and go to sleep and wake up in a bed that I've never slept in before. This is great.
I overheard a lady who was exiting the elevator refer to me as a "pretty little girl" to the gentleman who was accompanying her. I initially suspected that she was drunk, as she seemed confused about how to the elevator operated. Upon hearing her say this I decided that drunk or no, she is probably the nicest person in L.A.
The euphoria that I felt earlier has faded. I am still very happy, even after a glance in the full length mirror at myself and my swollen belly as I was changing, having consumed an overpriced asian chicken salad, minus the chicken-- might have felt more worth it if it had chicken, but then I wouldn't have eaten it, so, there you go. I contemplated room service, but that just seemed like too much. I went out looking for a drugstore and should have taken advantage of a not super delicious looking burrito place called "Cilantro's."
I feel like whenever I am at home, I'm always daydreaming about being somewhere else. Being out of context there is so much processing happening, I think it's so wonderful and stimulating to take in new sights and surroundings, even if it's in pretty mundane situations... and I find myself pretending that I am starting a new life whenever I'm visiting a new city. It's funny. All I ever want to do is find someplace comfortable and stay there, but I want to do this is a million different locations. There also something wonderful about walking around in an unfamiliar place without knowing a soul (I know Natalie, but she and I had parted ways for the evening).
Anyhow, it's been nice. I fell asleep immediately on the plane; the flight was super short. I went for a lovely jaunt while looking for contact lens solution to replace the stuff that leaked out of the travel bottle and all over my bag. I was calling and texting and giggling and grinning at strangers on the street, taking pictures on my cell phone of my bed. Speaking of...
this is my exciting hotel room.
this is right down the street.
and this... and this...
this is what it looks like outside of my bedroom window back at home. It's a little fuzzy in light of recent events. Isn't it lovely? I will return to it soon. I'm tired. I'm going to read and go to sleep and wake up in a bed that I've never slept in before. This is great.
I overheard a lady who was exiting the elevator refer to me as a "pretty little girl" to the gentleman who was accompanying her. I initially suspected that she was drunk, as she seemed confused about how to the elevator operated. Upon hearing her say this I decided that drunk or no, she is probably the nicest person in L.A.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Don't Forget the Name Badges!
To be so blase about having to travel for work. I've seen it. People grumbling about being confined to the beige walls of the Fresno Marriott, caged in with other discontented out-of towners, with their stale continental breakfasts, styrofoam coffee cups and local news broadcasts blaring on the cable tv-- only watched at night as distraction from what brought them to this miserable place-- papers scattered all over those scratchy hotel blankets. Island print in teal, purple, and orange. fluorescent light streams out of the cracked bathroom door, all an inhospitably cold formica tile. the fan hums audibly, but does little to dissipate the trapped moist air that just hangs in the air and settles on the mirror. The windows are sealed, the curtains pushed back to reveal a view of the hotel parking lot and the grand promenade that features a strip mall with an ancient and abandoned looking Long John Silver's.
Well, I cannot afford to be so blase. I am looking forward to it.. I am going to go to our Project Director's Meeting, and I'm pretty delighted at the thought of leaving town. I just hope that everything goes smoothly and that I do an okay job. I'm a civilian, a non-special, just working on logistics and trying fly under the radar. I have a ride to and from the airport and have been advised to wear comfortable shoes.
I must not forget the name badges tomorrow. This is key. What confidence can I be expected to have in any of this panning out if I forget something as simple as the name badges? It all hangs in the balance here. That and my snacks. I bought two snack bars, and I'll be damned if they are consumed except for in emergency. No idle chewing; I will not be taken down by low blood sugar.
Wheeee! You see, I don't do this very often. I think everything will be fine. Unless I forget my toothbrush. Do they sell toothbrushes in Los Angeles? I'm sure they sell everything in Los Angeles. Here's a goat! A human liver! Land of dreams, you know.
Well, I cannot afford to be so blase. I am looking forward to it.. I am going to go to our Project Director's Meeting, and I'm pretty delighted at the thought of leaving town. I just hope that everything goes smoothly and that I do an okay job. I'm a civilian, a non-special, just working on logistics and trying fly under the radar. I have a ride to and from the airport and have been advised to wear comfortable shoes.
I must not forget the name badges tomorrow. This is key. What confidence can I be expected to have in any of this panning out if I forget something as simple as the name badges? It all hangs in the balance here. That and my snacks. I bought two snack bars, and I'll be damned if they are consumed except for in emergency. No idle chewing; I will not be taken down by low blood sugar.
Wheeee! You see, I don't do this very often. I think everything will be fine. Unless I forget my toothbrush. Do they sell toothbrushes in Los Angeles? I'm sure they sell everything in Los Angeles. Here's a goat! A human liver! Land of dreams, you know.
Friday, January 28, 2011
COOKIE
While a number of more significant things occurred today during my 13 hour workday (13 minus 1 hour minus 15 minutes minus 30 minutes minus 15 minutes) one of the more pleasant happenings was receiving an email from our Executive Director, complimenting the chocolate chip cookies that I had brought into our office's pizza party birthday celebration for three of my very pretty coworkers who all happen to be in their thirties.
The recipe yielded about 4 dozen cookies, as my preference is that the dough is rolled slightly smaller that a golf ball before cooking. Someone once said of these, "there is something virtuous about small, single bite-sized cookies." To my delight, the cookie tin was completely empty at the end of the lunch, and ours is a small office.
I never enjoyed baking or cooking except in recent years. I still don't like it like Hannah, or, god forbid, my sister (I'm not sure why god should forbid it, but it felt right). I recently visited my sister, and from the second I got off of the plane we went straightaway to two grocery stores, and then she wanted to talk recipes, and plan what we could try to whip up in the kitchen over the next few days. My sister is thin. She has no excess of body fat. Anywhere. She runs, and lifts weights and was a soccer player from elementary school to college. She has impressive biceps and I believe an occasional 6-pack. I idolize her, but not for those reasons. I just think she's amazing. Her discipline is impressive though. She's a person I'm pretty sure who has never smoked a cigarette, doesn't really like drinking... she works as a therapist with disabled children who sometimes smack her, and otherwise act out... and she's funny and nice and family oriented and beautiful. But!I just can't get as excited about cookbooks or how the body functions-- she should be a doctor-- as she does(And my brother is really cool. and my stepsister is really great. But I need to get back to the cookies. My brother makes a mean breakfast, though we're more alike in the kitchen I think).
My sister used to bake even when we were in high school, which isn't odd, but was foreign to me, as this was the height of my love for taquitos and all things pre-made from Costco. I moved out of my parent’s house without knowing how to cook. I remember I thought, at age 21, that I had discovered the best in cuisine with this delectable recipe: a cheese totino's pizza--the party pizza! (Shout out to Grant! Every night a party pizza and two bricks of ramen) a cheese totino's pizza with a fried egg over easy and yellow mustard. I recommended this to people. I once ruined spaghetti that same year, when trying to make dinner for a date. I served undercooked pasta, complete with my own special sauce: Marinara, red wine and cream of mushroom soup. On the side was french bread, layered with a thick paste of mayonnaise, onions and paprika (this can actually be tasty when prepared right, a friends mom's special). He chewed politely and said, "well... it's not great," and offered me some pointers.
By the time I was 24 I had progressed slightly. I had been working at a food co-op for a few years and was getting a little sensitive about my ingredients. I was surrounded by people who loved food: good, quality, healthy food, and this was something of a new education. I know that cookies are not "health food" per say, I'm just trying to put it out there that I was on the cusp of learning how to follow a basic recipe and the realization that I didn't need to go to the frozen section to sustain myself.
So, last fall (completely by my own fault), I ended up squatting in the house of a new friend I had met when I sublet a room from her and her friends during summer. I paid rent, and was in everyone's way as they started the school year. I had all of my sh*t piled in the corner, and slept on the ground without a mattress in either the kitchen or the living room. I would bring home old produce from the co-op, sort of as a peace offering and a thank you for invading-your-most-personal-space, and the young woman who was letting me stay would whip up the most amazing dishes. Maybe it was sleeping in the kitchen, but it made an impression.
Anyway, I had to move out. It was a completely unsustainable, temporary living space. I had the good luck of running into one of my good friend's former housemate's girlfriend (whew) and she invited me over for a pizza night at her boyfriend's house. I went and they happened to have a room for rent, Hannah (my good friend)'s old room. I had pleasant memories associated with that house. The people seemed great. It was clear that I needed to leave the house I was currently in sooner, rather than later (I sound like I was a mooch. I wasn't! But I was an imposition), and I had just realized in the past few days that I probably wasn't going to join the coast guard (my plan at the time) and would be in town for at least awhile.
So I moved in. It was great. My housemate and coworker Grant (remember, totinos party pizza and two bricks of ramen?) became one of my best friends. He is one of the funniest, if not the funniest, most quick witted people I know. Marriage material I say! Ladies, take notice. Anyway, when I first moved in I was not immediately comfortable. I was comfortable, but I wanted my housemates to like me. I lived with four men and was the youngest person at the residence. I remember, one day I decided to make cookies for my housemates... maybe we were having a house game night. I just remember that I chose the simplest recipe that I could find-- the cheapest as well. It had, I think, peanut butter, sugar, and butter. they were okay. they became my standard for a quick minute. I progressed to chocolate chip, and then discovered the joys of soft-baked *I will never understand the appeal of a crispy cookie.
It was cookie mania! I was baking cookies sometimes more than once a week, filling the plate on the counter as soon it was emptied, most often I suspect by a hungry grad student, given name Zach. I was mailing cookies to friends out of state, bringing in cookies to my coworkers at 4 am, baking cookies for family members. It was like I had finally found my hidden talent, although it wasn't really a talent, it was just committing to memory a recipe that is printed on the back of most packages of chocolate chips.
My aunt cheryle once commented that feeding people is in my blood and that might be so. Observe my grandmother, whom I believe I have many, many adorable, funny stories about, that I am reticent to regale you with, as I don't want to seem like I'm mocking the woman. Case in point: Christmas Eve, this year. Nana is putting the pressure on me to accept her offer to bake me a batch of cookies. I am declining because 1.) I'm weight conscious and always give them away and that seems unfair 2.) she is always trying to give me something, whether it's old thank you cards, or tupperware, or once, a girdle. *Note, sometimes it's lovely stuff. Other times I'm pushing back plastic basket woven napkin holders. "Nana, thank you, but I don't want any cookies." I say again. "Don't you know anyone who likes cookies?" she says. "Just take the cookies." my mom whispers loudly. "Alright nana, I'd love some cookies." "Well, I don't want to force you..."
Whenever I am a host, or know that someone is unhappy, my first instinct is to feed them. I have played the humble cookie troll for my long-suffering (not so long) gentleman friend when he has scary work/school obligations. One of my many, most likely never going to happen dreams is to open a health food restaurant with my sister, somewhat like Sprouts, a casual eatery in Tahoe. We have a system at our parent’s house, she cooks, I clean. Our restaurant could be like that, I manage and she cooks, both of us researching delicious food-- I would specialize in the vegetarian and vegan fare, she would look for non-dairy options (she is lactose intolerant, like most of the world's population. Fun fact).
Anyway, I moved out of the house with all of the dudes and into one with Hannah (whose old room I had been living in-- had my own bathroom. Quite a step up), which happens to be occupied (at present) by four other girls and only one boy, whom is romantically attached to Hannah (which has a gender neutralizing effect?). A difference. Come to think of it, I have lived with either all gentlemen or ladies in intervals.
(Hannah has said more than once that she only wants to live in a house with a gas stove. So it is clear where she stands. I mean, a lady who has a stove preference. Call me uninitiated.)
One of my first impressions of this household was the impossibly coolLaurel
However. I have since learned that although everyone in this house is abstains from most junk food (with the exception of that pop tart eating, ramen noodling minx sydney), they all enjoy cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, nutella, waffles, stroopwaffles, etc. Even with this knowledge I have not resumed my baking schedule. It was another time perhaps, another place.
When we have house dinners (which are... so great.) I usually try to make something healthy, without cheese or bread or any of the sinful things that I tell myself I can't eat, which normal people enjoy and don't obsess about. But whenever I want to delight or otherwise impress I pull out my novice baking knowledge. My boyfriend's parents I have tried to woo with pie. On Christmas Nick unfortunately witnessed a meltdown as I realized that chocolate chips were subpar and my split seconds (my FAVORITE cookie) were too under baked, and not worthy of serving.
I thought about that email that I got today as I bike home from the train station; it feels like so long ago, first thing this morning. The depressive in me is ready for some sunshine, but I do love fog. I love biking through fog in the cold; this morning I felt like I was a fish or frog cutting through a vat of ice water. Speaking of ice water, when making an all butter crust, use ice water. And when making cookies, bake them until they look like they are firm, but still pale, and they will cool into the softest, most soft-bakiest cookies ever. And whenever everything else is in doubt, remember that given the right tools, you have something to contribute at work, even if it wasn't what you had hoped for. Like baking cookies that people liked, even if this has no bearing on your job at all. This is all terrible. Goodnight my lovelies.
The recipe yielded about 4 dozen cookies, as my preference is that the dough is rolled slightly smaller that a golf ball before cooking. Someone once said of these, "there is something virtuous about small, single bite-sized cookies." To my delight, the cookie tin was completely empty at the end of the lunch, and ours is a small office.
I never enjoyed baking or cooking except in recent years. I still don't like it like Hannah, or, god forbid, my sister (I'm not sure why god should forbid it, but it felt right). I recently visited my sister, and from the second I got off of the plane we went straightaway to two grocery stores, and then she wanted to talk recipes, and plan what we could try to whip up in the kitchen over the next few days. My sister is thin. She has no excess of body fat. Anywhere. She runs, and lifts weights and was a soccer player from elementary school to college. She has impressive biceps and I believe an occasional 6-pack. I idolize her, but not for those reasons. I just think she's amazing. Her discipline is impressive though. She's a person I'm pretty sure who has never smoked a cigarette, doesn't really like drinking... she works as a therapist with disabled children who sometimes smack her, and otherwise act out... and she's funny and nice and family oriented and beautiful. But!I just can't get as excited about cookbooks or how the body functions-- she should be a doctor-- as she does(And my brother is really cool. and my stepsister is really great. But I need to get back to the cookies. My brother makes a mean breakfast, though we're more alike in the kitchen I think).
My sister used to bake even when we were in high school, which isn't odd, but was foreign to me, as this was the height of my love for taquitos and all things pre-made from Costco. I moved out of my parent’s house without knowing how to cook. I remember I thought, at age 21, that I had discovered the best in cuisine with this delectable recipe: a cheese totino's pizza--the party pizza! (Shout out to Grant! Every night a party pizza and two bricks of ramen) a cheese totino's pizza with a fried egg over easy and yellow mustard. I recommended this to people. I once ruined spaghetti that same year, when trying to make dinner for a date. I served undercooked pasta, complete with my own special sauce: Marinara, red wine and cream of mushroom soup. On the side was french bread, layered with a thick paste of mayonnaise, onions and paprika (this can actually be tasty when prepared right, a friends mom's special). He chewed politely and said, "well... it's not great," and offered me some pointers.
By the time I was 24 I had progressed slightly. I had been working at a food co-op for a few years and was getting a little sensitive about my ingredients. I was surrounded by people who loved food: good, quality, healthy food, and this was something of a new education. I know that cookies are not "health food" per say, I'm just trying to put it out there that I was on the cusp of learning how to follow a basic recipe and the realization that I didn't need to go to the frozen section to sustain myself.
So, last fall (completely by my own fault), I ended up squatting in the house of a new friend I had met when I sublet a room from her and her friends during summer. I paid rent, and was in everyone's way as they started the school year. I had all of my sh*t piled in the corner, and slept on the ground without a mattress in either the kitchen or the living room. I would bring home old produce from the co-op, sort of as a peace offering and a thank you for invading-your-most-personal-space, and the young woman who was letting me stay would whip up the most amazing dishes. Maybe it was sleeping in the kitchen, but it made an impression.
Anyway, I had to move out. It was a completely unsustainable, temporary living space. I had the good luck of running into one of my good friend's former housemate's girlfriend (whew) and she invited me over for a pizza night at her boyfriend's house. I went and they happened to have a room for rent, Hannah (my good friend)'s old room. I had pleasant memories associated with that house. The people seemed great. It was clear that I needed to leave the house I was currently in sooner, rather than later (I sound like I was a mooch. I wasn't! But I was an imposition), and I had just realized in the past few days that I probably wasn't going to join the coast guard (my plan at the time) and would be in town for at least awhile.
So I moved in. It was great. My housemate and coworker Grant (remember, totinos party pizza and two bricks of ramen?) became one of my best friends. He is one of the funniest, if not the funniest, most quick witted people I know. Marriage material I say! Ladies, take notice. Anyway, when I first moved in I was not immediately comfortable. I was comfortable, but I wanted my housemates to like me. I lived with four men and was the youngest person at the residence. I remember, one day I decided to make cookies for my housemates... maybe we were having a house game night. I just remember that I chose the simplest recipe that I could find-- the cheapest as well. It had, I think, peanut butter, sugar, and butter. they were okay. they became my standard for a quick minute. I progressed to chocolate chip, and then discovered the joys of soft-baked *I will never understand the appeal of a crispy cookie.
It was cookie mania! I was baking cookies sometimes more than once a week, filling the plate on the counter as soon it was emptied, most often I suspect by a hungry grad student, given name Zach. I was mailing cookies to friends out of state, bringing in cookies to my coworkers at 4 am, baking cookies for family members. It was like I had finally found my hidden talent, although it wasn't really a talent, it was just committing to memory a recipe that is printed on the back of most packages of chocolate chips.
My aunt cheryle once commented that feeding people is in my blood and that might be so. Observe my grandmother, whom I believe I have many, many adorable, funny stories about, that I am reticent to regale you with, as I don't want to seem like I'm mocking the woman. Case in point: Christmas Eve, this year. Nana is putting the pressure on me to accept her offer to bake me a batch of cookies. I am declining because 1.) I'm weight conscious and always give them away and that seems unfair 2.) she is always trying to give me something, whether it's old thank you cards, or tupperware, or once, a girdle. *Note, sometimes it's lovely stuff. Other times I'm pushing back plastic basket woven napkin holders. "Nana, thank you, but I don't want any cookies." I say again. "Don't you know anyone who likes cookies?" she says. "Just take the cookies." my mom whispers loudly. "Alright nana, I'd love some cookies." "Well, I don't want to force you..."
Whenever I am a host, or know that someone is unhappy, my first instinct is to feed them. I have played the humble cookie troll for my long-suffering (not so long) gentleman friend when he has scary work/school obligations. One of my many, most likely never going to happen dreams is to open a health food restaurant with my sister, somewhat like Sprouts, a casual eatery in Tahoe. We have a system at our parent’s house, she cooks, I clean. Our restaurant could be like that, I manage and she cooks, both of us researching delicious food-- I would specialize in the vegetarian and vegan fare, she would look for non-dairy options (she is lactose intolerant, like most of the world's population. Fun fact).
Anyway, I moved out of the house with all of the dudes and into one with Hannah (whose old room I had been living in-- had my own bathroom. Quite a step up), which happens to be occupied (at present) by four other girls and only one boy, whom is romantically attached to Hannah (which has a gender neutralizing effect?). A difference. Come to think of it, I have lived with either all gentlemen or ladies in intervals.
(Hannah has said more than once that she only wants to live in a house with a gas stove. So it is clear where she stands. I mean, a lady who has a stove preference. Call me uninitiated.)
One of my first impressions of this household was the impossibly cool
However. I have since learned that although everyone in this house is abstains from most junk food (with the exception of that pop tart eating, ramen noodling minx sydney), they all enjoy cookies, cakes, pies, ice cream, nutella, waffles, stroopwaffles, etc. Even with this knowledge I have not resumed my baking schedule. It was another time perhaps, another place.
When we have house dinners (which are... so great.) I usually try to make something healthy, without cheese or bread or any of the sinful things that I tell myself I can't eat, which normal people enjoy and don't obsess about. But whenever I want to delight or otherwise impress I pull out my novice baking knowledge. My boyfriend's parents I have tried to woo with pie. On Christmas Nick unfortunately witnessed a meltdown as I realized that chocolate chips were subpar and my split seconds (my FAVORITE cookie) were too under baked, and not worthy of serving.
I thought about that email that I got today as I bike home from the train station; it feels like so long ago, first thing this morning. The depressive in me is ready for some sunshine, but I do love fog. I love biking through fog in the cold; this morning I felt like I was a fish or frog cutting through a vat of ice water. Speaking of ice water, when making an all butter crust, use ice water. And when making cookies, bake them until they look like they are firm, but still pale, and they will cool into the softest, most soft-bakiest cookies ever. And whenever everything else is in doubt, remember that given the right tools, you have something to contribute at work, even if it wasn't what you had hoped for. Like baking cookies that people liked, even if this has no bearing on your job at all. This is all terrible. Goodnight my lovelies.
Monday, January 24, 2011
I failed creative writing in high school. Twice.
That half packet of snack sized peanut butter has been my saving grace. Low blood-sugar, it's no joke! [I thought after I fished the packet out of my bike bag, after deciding that Taco Bell is not real food-- delicious, delicious junk food-- and biked past the establishment on my way to the station, I felt my mood begin to change dangerously. It happens so quickly. Thank goodness I was unable to find that packet last night!]
Before I even tucked the stray d'anjou pears in for the night, under the tissue paper I had hastily torn off their comrades-in-arms who made it into the display basket at the grocery store where I am currently employed, I I thought tonight might be night for a blog entry. Why? Oh I don't know, one spends the past eight hours daydreaming and crazy ideas just start to creep in.
I believe that I have been unjustly maligned by rumors that I have bad taste in movies and in music. Rumors! Observable fact for some. Well, the buck stops here, kiddo. I am here today, naked (not naked. never naked. the shame!) before you, to declare my love of the genre of romantic comedy, and for musical artists like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam.
This sort of thing is totally subjective, and I will tell you, I don't like the movie Donnie Darko, or Napoleon Dynamite, I thought that Rain Man was dumb, I don't like listening to the band Pepper, or the Doors... I'm trying to remember other things that I don't like, but that seems pointless. We all have our preferences.
My sister and I used to watch Sleepless in Seattle or While You Were Sleeping everytime that we went to visit our nana when we were younger (this may have been a couple of times a month). Sleepless in Seattle is one of my favorite movies. FACT: Tom Hanks is a good actor. He is incredibly likable. He is (or was the last time I was paying attention) box office gold. I would say that he is not unlike a less virile (sorry Tom) Paul Newman of our day. Meg Ryan was the creme de la creme of female leads. Who could hold a candle to her? Julia Roberts? Pffft. Please. I am clearly not a student of film, and I have said this before, but let me say on the internet that I think in the most simplistic terms that the romantic comedies of the 1990's were created in the perfect storm of conditions for fluff. What's that? Economic prosperity? Political correctness? Less muss and fuss there. Men and women as equals at home and in the workplace, shifting dynamics that are new enough to be a part of the conversation, but established enough that Meg Ryan can play a savvy, capable journalist without it being a thing. (Come to think of it, she was a journalist in another of my favorites, When Harry Met Sally as well). Also, in some of those movies you've got some Robert Downey Jr., you've got some Sandra Bullock, you've got some other people who make some waves when they star in more serious roles.
And what is so wrong with just wanting to watch two nice people fall in love anyhow? In Sleepless in Seattle, Tom Hanks's character is just a nice man who loses his wife, whom he was madly in love with, to cancer. Her just wants to be a good dad (and is one) to his son, who is fairly well adjusted and likable considering. Meg Ryan is a nice lady who does a few crazy (and sneaky) things for love that might not fly in real life, but who cares. Bill Pullman's character is a nice guy too, they don't make him look like a jerk just because he's wrong for Meg Ryan. And now onto music... I need to go to bed.
I like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam. I think is this fine. Their millions of fans would think this is fine. However, however... you know who you are. Their music is fun. I kinda think that's the point of music sometimes. Right? Right.
Randy Travis sings one his most famous songs, "They say time takes it's toll on a body, Makes the young girl's brown hair turn grey, But honey, I don't care, I ain't in love with your hair, And if it all fell out well I'd love you anyway." Well, that's just sweet. I'm not even a person who conducts myself in a way where I put my sexuality out there (frankly, I'm uncomfortable talking about it here), but ( I am neurotic), I do fear what I believe will be my loss of sexuality as I age.............. This is a sweet love song where someone is telling another person that there's a bond that remains after the bloom of youth has faded. This reminds me of a man who was briefly employed the first job I ever had. This man, who was older (not old) got a job in the store after he was laid off from the company he had been working for, his career, and this was a temporary paycheck. He had an anniversary coming up and he talked about how important it was to have things that you love about the person that you're married to after gravity starts doing it's work and life throws you a few curveballs.
When I was younger I feel like I used to seek out some things that made me unhappy. Sad songs, unrequited love stories, things that I thought were romantic and fitting of what life was really like, the experience of being alive, TO BE ALIVE! TO FEEL PAIN! Oh, my, oh, goodness. Well, I think that life is challenging, and I don't think that even the schmaltziest romantic comedy could ignore that. Even the terrible ones (I can't remember the name, the one where Katherine Heigel is a newsperson in Sacramento. Putrid. Terribly written, I couldn't finish it) have to deal with some conflict. However, in these movies you get optimism. Hope. Comfort food. I like it. There is that quote, "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, where you stop your story." Instead of being a story about Tom Hanks character's wife dying, or about his son going to college, or about he and Meg Ryan's character getting a divorce or one of them eventually passing away, it's about them falling in love. falling in love, which is one of the most wonderful things that a person can experience. And they don't even meet until the end, so it's all possibility, no details, no mess.
Nick was making fun of me for my sentence, "I understand canned beans" in a previous post, so I'm sure that I've left myself open to a little more ridicule here. Oh well. That's opening my mouth. Some of my favorite movies: It's a Wonderful Life, Annie Hall, Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Odd Couple, The Godfather, The Notebook (yes and I forgot to say that, while I have never read a Nicholas Sparks book, yes), and etc and so on. None of these movies are terrible. They are quite enjoyable and well made. E-n-d.
p.s. my mom's favorite movie is The American President, which is another good one. If you haven't seen it, you get a progressive, yet cautious president played by Michael Douglas who delivers speeches written by Aaron Sorkin (not in the movie), and falls in love with a strong (redheaded.) lobbyist, played by Annette Benning.
Before I even tucked the stray d'anjou pears in for the night, under the tissue paper I had hastily torn off their comrades-in-arms who made it into the display basket at the grocery store where I am currently employed, I I thought tonight might be night for a blog entry. Why? Oh I don't know, one spends the past eight hours daydreaming and crazy ideas just start to creep in.
I believe that I have been unjustly maligned by rumors that I have bad taste in movies and in music. Rumors! Observable fact for some. Well, the buck stops here, kiddo. I am here today, naked (not naked. never naked. the shame!) before you, to declare my love of the genre of romantic comedy, and for musical artists like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam.
This sort of thing is totally subjective, and I will tell you, I don't like the movie Donnie Darko, or Napoleon Dynamite, I thought that Rain Man was dumb, I don't like listening to the band Pepper, or the Doors... I'm trying to remember other things that I don't like, but that seems pointless. We all have our preferences.
My sister and I used to watch Sleepless in Seattle or While You Were Sleeping everytime that we went to visit our nana when we were younger (this may have been a couple of times a month). Sleepless in Seattle is one of my favorite movies. FACT: Tom Hanks is a good actor. He is incredibly likable. He is (or was the last time I was paying attention) box office gold. I would say that he is not unlike a less virile (sorry Tom) Paul Newman of our day. Meg Ryan was the creme de la creme of female leads. Who could hold a candle to her? Julia Roberts? Pffft. Please. I am clearly not a student of film, and I have said this before, but let me say on the internet that I think in the most simplistic terms that the romantic comedies of the 1990's were created in the perfect storm of conditions for fluff. What's that? Economic prosperity? Political correctness? Less muss and fuss there. Men and women as equals at home and in the workplace, shifting dynamics that are new enough to be a part of the conversation, but established enough that Meg Ryan can play a savvy, capable journalist without it being a thing. (Come to think of it, she was a journalist in another of my favorites, When Harry Met Sally as well). Also, in some of those movies you've got some Robert Downey Jr., you've got some Sandra Bullock, you've got some other people who make some waves when they star in more serious roles.
And what is so wrong with just wanting to watch two nice people fall in love anyhow? In Sleepless in Seattle, Tom Hanks's character is just a nice man who loses his wife, whom he was madly in love with, to cancer. Her just wants to be a good dad (and is one) to his son, who is fairly well adjusted and likable considering. Meg Ryan is a nice lady who does a few crazy (and sneaky) things for love that might not fly in real life, but who cares. Bill Pullman's character is a nice guy too, they don't make him look like a jerk just because he's wrong for Meg Ryan. And now onto music... I need to go to bed.
I like Randy Travis and Dwight Yoakam. I think is this fine. Their millions of fans would think this is fine. However, however... you know who you are. Their music is fun. I kinda think that's the point of music sometimes. Right? Right.
Randy Travis sings one his most famous songs, "They say time takes it's toll on a body, Makes the young girl's brown hair turn grey, But honey, I don't care, I ain't in love with your hair, And if it all fell out well I'd love you anyway." Well, that's just sweet. I'm not even a person who conducts myself in a way where I put my sexuality out there (frankly, I'm uncomfortable talking about it here), but ( I am neurotic), I do fear what I believe will be my loss of sexuality as I age.............. This is a sweet love song where someone is telling another person that there's a bond that remains after the bloom of youth has faded. This reminds me of a man who was briefly employed the first job I ever had. This man, who was older (not old) got a job in the store after he was laid off from the company he had been working for, his career, and this was a temporary paycheck. He had an anniversary coming up and he talked about how important it was to have things that you love about the person that you're married to after gravity starts doing it's work and life throws you a few curveballs.
When I was younger I feel like I used to seek out some things that made me unhappy. Sad songs, unrequited love stories, things that I thought were romantic and fitting of what life was really like, the experience of being alive, TO BE ALIVE! TO FEEL PAIN! Oh, my, oh, goodness. Well, I think that life is challenging, and I don't think that even the schmaltziest romantic comedy could ignore that. Even the terrible ones (I can't remember the name, the one where Katherine Heigel is a newsperson in Sacramento. Putrid. Terribly written, I couldn't finish it) have to deal with some conflict. However, in these movies you get optimism. Hope. Comfort food. I like it. There is that quote, "If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, where you stop your story." Instead of being a story about Tom Hanks character's wife dying, or about his son going to college, or about he and Meg Ryan's character getting a divorce or one of them eventually passing away, it's about them falling in love. falling in love, which is one of the most wonderful things that a person can experience. And they don't even meet until the end, so it's all possibility, no details, no mess.
Nick was making fun of me for my sentence, "I understand canned beans" in a previous post, so I'm sure that I've left myself open to a little more ridicule here. Oh well. That's opening my mouth. Some of my favorite movies: It's a Wonderful Life, Annie Hall, Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Odd Couple, The Godfather, The Notebook (yes and I forgot to say that, while I have never read a Nicholas Sparks book, yes), and etc and so on. None of these movies are terrible. They are quite enjoyable and well made. E-n-d.
p.s. my mom's favorite movie is The American President, which is another good one. If you haven't seen it, you get a progressive, yet cautious president played by Michael Douglas who delivers speeches written by Aaron Sorkin (not in the movie), and falls in love with a strong (redheaded.) lobbyist, played by Annette Benning.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
In bed, thinkin thoughts.
I'm at home today, not feeling great. I can't actually eat anything, and this is not fueled by my desire to be the oldest person in the Russian Ballet. I was thinking about having babies. Not casually like, "today I will have babies!" But more in the sense that if you have children, your love and various bullshit has much more weight than if you skip that step altogether.
Like, if you marry someone or don't and don't have kids, if you're a shitbag (whether you can make justifications or blah), it's something that gradually disappears. Your partner (or, partner is a misleading word, when you've been treating that person like less than an equal partner) moves on, or if they don't, their friends can only be so supportive. Initially, they're like "jimmy is such a douche! F*ck (I still have standards) him!" but eventually it's like, "hey lady, get over it. you crazy. no wonder he dumped your ass."
Children are like the oral storytellers of their parents misspent youth. Oh, I'm so hurt! Oh, this was so hard! And who will tell you otherwise? Children are innocents. This is why it is so dangerous to have kids before you're ready to give up your own childhood. You may feel like a child, but you have more of an idea of what the consequences of your actions are than a nine year old would.
I think that parenting has to be the hardest job ever. Ever. I've seen parents that don't want to tell their kids "no" because they don't want to give any sign that they don't love them. There are plenty of parents who are not at all involved in their kid's lives, which is a shame and sometimes a gift. Or some well-intentioned parents have had their relationships with their kid's altered for the worse as a result of their relationship with their partner. Or, whatvever. Families do.
Today is my mom's birthday. She's great. She had three kids by the time she was my age. Man! I look for her approval before I make any big decision. I ask her advice about everything and I probably tell her too much. For most people, our relationship with/without our parents is one of the most significant relationships we will ever have. This is the person who (in theory) will know you from the day you are born until the day that they (or you, in rarer cases) die. My idea of ideal parent-child dynamics is very much an American or western standard, or I regret to say that i know too little about most other cultures to know how they operate. I am grateful that my parents have tried to be realistic with me in regards to expectations about jobs I could have, and emphasized that I need to know what my priorities are. They have never been prejudiced about who I should love... they might object to my bringing home a Republican, or someone way outside of the mainstream (not that republicans are way outside of the mainstream. think... cher impersonator. my parents might initially have a problem with my bringing home a male cher impersonator. but they would be won over if he treated me well. eventually), but as far as ethnicity or gender I know whoever I decide to date it's cool to come home for the holidays. I know because they have told me so.
The greatest gift, besides raising me with material comforts and teaching me the importance of manners, is that my parents accept me as I am as an adult. Sometimes it is begrudgingly (my mom hates tattoos) and if I were truly destructive, I know that would not stand... but on the whole, I am very appreciative for this. My mom has emphasized that you can really do whatever you want until you have kids. But, and I know this is what she really means: you can do whatever you want, within reason, and kids are awesome. But it's best to not before you're ready.
Like, if you marry someone or don't and don't have kids, if you're a shitbag (whether you can make justifications or blah), it's something that gradually disappears. Your partner (or, partner is a misleading word, when you've been treating that person like less than an equal partner) moves on, or if they don't, their friends can only be so supportive. Initially, they're like "jimmy is such a douche! F*ck (I still have standards) him!" but eventually it's like, "hey lady, get over it. you crazy. no wonder he dumped your ass."
Children are like the oral storytellers of their parents misspent youth. Oh, I'm so hurt! Oh, this was so hard! And who will tell you otherwise? Children are innocents. This is why it is so dangerous to have kids before you're ready to give up your own childhood. You may feel like a child, but you have more of an idea of what the consequences of your actions are than a nine year old would.
I think that parenting has to be the hardest job ever. Ever. I've seen parents that don't want to tell their kids "no" because they don't want to give any sign that they don't love them. There are plenty of parents who are not at all involved in their kid's lives, which is a shame and sometimes a gift. Or some well-intentioned parents have had their relationships with their kid's altered for the worse as a result of their relationship with their partner. Or, whatvever. Families do.
Today is my mom's birthday. She's great. She had three kids by the time she was my age. Man! I look for her approval before I make any big decision. I ask her advice about everything and I probably tell her too much. For most people, our relationship with/without our parents is one of the most significant relationships we will ever have. This is the person who (in theory) will know you from the day you are born until the day that they (or you, in rarer cases) die. My idea of ideal parent-child dynamics is very much an American or western standard, or I regret to say that i know too little about most other cultures to know how they operate. I am grateful that my parents have tried to be realistic with me in regards to expectations about jobs I could have, and emphasized that I need to know what my priorities are. They have never been prejudiced about who I should love... they might object to my bringing home a Republican, or someone way outside of the mainstream (not that republicans are way outside of the mainstream. think... cher impersonator. my parents might initially have a problem with my bringing home a male cher impersonator. but they would be won over if he treated me well. eventually), but as far as ethnicity or gender I know whoever I decide to date it's cool to come home for the holidays. I know because they have told me so.
The greatest gift, besides raising me with material comforts and teaching me the importance of manners, is that my parents accept me as I am as an adult. Sometimes it is begrudgingly (my mom hates tattoos) and if I were truly destructive, I know that would not stand... but on the whole, I am very appreciative for this. My mom has emphasized that you can really do whatever you want until you have kids. But, and I know this is what she really means: you can do whatever you want, within reason, and kids are awesome. But it's best to not before you're ready.
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