Reacclimating

I celebrated my Memorial Day Weekend at Sarah's place by way of some serious downtime and DVD-watching, natch. Finally saw "In the Cut." It amazes me that sexually-charged, or sexually-explicit material (to be more precise) is what is considered "cutting edge." It isn't that I considered the sex in this film to be superfluous or even gratuitous, but I've noticed that pushing the envelope on sexual topics is most often linked with a sense of "danger" and "art" in literature and film.

We also checked out "Shattered Glass" the story of Stephen Glass of former New Republic fame. This story stressed me out because it details a brief period in the life of someone so undisputably talented who resorted to an ethics-less journalism career (a brief one, obviously, once he was found out)so he could received approval. Clearly a sociopath.

After a two-day stint away from my apartment, I came back home to retrieve a chair and a second free bookshelf courtesy of Karen and one of her former roommates from my storage unit. The elevator in my building was broken (again) on saturday when Jen brought the things by, so I had to have the items placed there until I could drag them up to the 4th floor via levetation device [today]. After resecuring the faux wood backing to the shelves, I placed my books that were still sitting in the foyer onto them. That ratcheted up my sense of order about 10 notches.

The chair is a dusty rose colour, in fairly good condition, with rocking capability. Once I get a shabby chic throw cover for it, I think it will bring some much-needed charm to the boudoir. I've always wanted a reading chair in my room.

Now that I'm mostly resettled in my city nook, have showered, put clothes away, and have a sausage casserole in the oven, I feel perfect. Nursing coffee from the rich, midnight blue, ceramic mug I bought in Maine 3 years ago makes it all complete.

Oh, and as it turns out, I may have been being a bit too harsh in my assessment of Friday night. G mentioned that he's already gotten several compliments on the hat....

Not quite Perfect

Trying to find parking near Hippodrome Hatters was distressing. The heat, pollution from exhaust fumes, and lumbering armored cars made the "up and back down and around" the one way streets irritability-inducing. Finally Karen just parked right in front of the store with her hazzards on while I went inside.

Earlier in the week when I spoke to the proprietor on the telephone he told me that he only had a few winter fedoras, all in extra large. This nearly discouraged me from going at all, because I felt that that size would be too big. I was delighted to see (when I finally made it into the store) that there were several types of brown fedoras in various sizes, now I simply had to take on the task of envisioning Gordon's head and intuiting what would be best (a rouse with which I had enlisted Sarah's help earlier in the week yielded no information on which to base a hat size for him).

The proprietor's nagging, overtly rude wife helped me. She was put out with my "show me some hats that correspond to medium and large" routine. She was belligerent about the fact that I needed to know a size, especially since these winter hats are final sale items.
The best part was my trying to explain to her that this hat was a gift for a friend and I couldn't just ask him outright, and she said "well I hope he's a very good friend." (This after I also explained that no, I did not have access to other hats of his, since NO, we do not live together.)

The hat that I felt the strongest pull toward was not the one I'd called about specifically (I'd seen it online). The hat that sang to my senses was a sensual chocolate brown, with an understated feather on the right side, expertly crafted, and the inside was satin. In other words a man's hat. The 40.00 piece of junk I called about looked as though it should sell for far less, so I paid a bit more than I was expecting to, but I couldn't not buy the hat I knew Gordon would love.

So on a wing and prayer I paid for the large (after trying it on myself a few times, and trying to guage from how much room I had in it, if it would fit G or not).

Karen, finally finding a legitimate parking spot, came in just as I was about to complete the transaction, and the lady proprietor's attitude toward me shifted on a dime. Karen, immediately upon seeing the hat, proclaimed it perfect, and I said "I think he will love it." The woman behind the counter started to smile at me, and compliment me on my excellent speaking voice, and wondered what I did for a living. Suddenly I was a person of intelligence, with white friends, maybe even buying a hat for a white man, who could afford to buy this top of the line fedora... I have never seen such a distinct shift in paradigms in all of my life. Not in a scenario like this one. Karen not only legitimized me in this woman's eyes, she legitimized my taste in hats!

I felt so proud of myself for the rest of the day. Carrying that hat box gave me such a feeling of accomplishment; I'd pulled off something that I'd only started planning the week before. It is not easy trying to buy a winter hat during the Summer months in Baltimore City--that's my object lesson in all of this.

G came over at 8, and opened his present shortly after. This is where a new level of anxiety crept in. I knew the hat might not fit; It was a risk since no exchanges or refunds would be allowed.

He was very expressive in his gratitude, pronounced it one of the best gifts he'd been given in a long time, told me how thoughtful I was, and then tried it on, and looked in the mirror. He can wear it, but it's not a perfect fit. Slightly larger would have been better. That's when I had to tell him that the sale was final, and he quickly rebounded and said that it was fine, because he still loved it, and couldn't wait for winter so he could wear it all the time...

But the lack of perfection is a blight on my landscape this morning. I dreamt about this hat and trying to make it right all night.

It doesn't help that our evening felt far less date-like than our last interaction, and the coffee shop we went to was too loud to really talk after a while, and I didn't feel like shouting so I talked less than I would have normally. On his way to my place, he actually ran into some friend of his which made him a few minutes late, and he invited this person to come and hang out with us at the One World if he felt like it. The guy never came (which I didn't think he would), but that let me know that I am always a friend and never more.

So, on the one hand the evening was nice because when we did talk it was good, and he loved the present, and he picked up cicadas to show me just how harmless they really are in that they do not bite or sting (I was still too chicken to pick one up, even after G cajoled), but on the other hand when he left my apartment, I knew that there had been no real magic to speak of. I'm just a girl who buys great gifts, conceptually anyway.

All's Quiet on the Water Front...

Fell's point is slumbering deeply. For now. The weather is thunderstorm-likely (which i love), my coffee is thick and sweet (which is okay), and I'm nearly done munching on this bagel. Almost no one is in the office, and while I have work to do I'm mostly looking forward to getting a beer with Gordon tonight.

He did indeed receive the birthday card I sent him; he called me yesterday evening to tell me how touched he was, then promptly asked me if I wanted to get together. I was at Sarah's place, so we rescheduled for tonight.

More than ever, I hope I am able to score the hat for him. Tonight will be perfect if I can give him that perfect gift.

You have no idea how true this is...


You're a Speak & Spell!! You nerd, you. Just
because you were disguised as a toy doesn't
mean you weren't educational, you sneaky
bastard.


What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Post Haste

I finally sent off the letter I wrote a few weeks ago addressing the charges my old leasing company brought against me for damages to my former apartment. The hold up was due to two things: 1) I kept forgetting to bring in the forms I wanted to photocopy to accompany the letter, and to a less significant degree, 2) I did not remember the President and COO's name, and wanted to address my letter to him for maximum effect.

I decided that I would mail the letter today come hell or high water, but I just happened to receive an apartment satisfaction survey from my old leasing company in the mail yesterday that had this individual's name on it, so I completed my communique this morning, and dropped the three letters (I cc'ed the Property Manager of my former building and the Corporate office in MD)in the mailbox in time for the 9:45 pickup.

Speaking of mailing things... I also mailed Gordon's birthday card to him yesterday. He'll probably get it today. I decided not to mention setting up a time to give him his birthday present since I don't yet have it in hand. And, because when I asked him if he wanted to do something for his birthday, he was unsure about his own availability (or perhaps he was just being noncomittal due to disinterest), so I don't want to be pushy about getting on his calendar if he isn't up for any type of hang time on that day.

I have to remember that not everyone is as excited about birthdays as I am. I also have to remember that he may also just not want to spend time with me on that day. I know that I like to reserve my actual birthday for people who are very special to me... and I wouldn't want to hang out with someone who was a mere acquaintance, or with whom I didn't have a nearly perfect sense of simpatico.

Of course, If I were having a party, then it would make sense to have a variety of relationship types represented... I think you know what I mean. Anyway, when I asked him point blank a couple of weeks ago if he wanted to do something (after learning that he had no plans), he said he would let me know if he had a gathering a week or so after his actual birthday, but that he didn't envision anything happening on the day itself.

Oddly, this did not give me cause for concern at the time, but perhaps it should have been a big hint.

In an effort to better prepare for today's all-day meeting at work, I decided to come in at 7:30, so I could give myself something of a morning before our team project begins. I am presenting on a topic related to tests and test-taking at the top of this gathering, and I feel well-prepared. We'll see how it goes.

I called the cable company last night to discuss the credit I want them to give me, and the rep tried to date it from last Wednesday. I told her that when I called on Wednesday my cable had already been out for 24 hours, and that I took care to let the rep to whom I spoke on Wednesday know this. She was hesitating so I asked for a manager and that seemed to bring her around to her right mind. I'm being credited from Tuesday.
I've also called the gas & electric company because my name was misspelled on the bill. That rep took care of my request with courtesy and speed. Needless to say I like her a lot better.

I keep forgetting that this is the week leading into Memorial Day weekend. Starting at about noon tomorrow, my boss will be out for the balance of the week (as will several others). I don't mind that I don't have anything big planned. I really want something spontaneous to happen between Friday and Monday.

Caryl and I toured my campus today; man, it was hot! We came back and had strip down to our underthings and lie directly in the line of the ac's cooling blast. Think Sierra Mist commercials with that dog. "Yeah, it's like that!"

We hung out at One World before we set off on our walking jaunt and each had a Wild Berry smoothie; it was very 1994, sitting on a coffee house couch, talking about life.

My cable had been out for the better part of a week; I was inadvertently disconnected, so a tech had to come out to reconnect me. I was miserable without cable... it's not that I had so many shows to watch as much as it was the being unable to watch anything! I hope they give me a credit for my mental anguish.

My sister will arrive on the 12:17 train, and then we will come back here and really hang out for the first time in several months. Her first semester away from home provided her with all kinds of experiences, and I need to catch up with the person she is becoming as much as I need to stay connected to the person she is.

I've decided what I'm getting G for his birthday (next Saturday). This was no small feat, believe me. I had to take several things into consideration: cost, his interest/desire in potential present, appropriateness of any ideas I had in light of our friendship, etc. For a while I thought I was going to have to go the somewhat pedantic route of the giftcard (now I love getting gift cards, but sometimes they can seem impersonal, and the person to whom you give it/them knows exactly how much you spent--which might make them feel bad/uncomfortable if it's a decent amount). I consulted a few girlfriends for ideas, but ultimately I just prayed about it.

As a meeting I attended yesterday at work was wrapping up, I got it! It was as clear as day, and I knew it was from God, who very awesomely reminded me of something G has been wanting for a couple of years now--that he's told me about in passing. Remembering it yesterday made me feel genuinely excited about giving it to him, excited just thinking about how happy it will make him, and unconflicted about it being too impersonal or too personal/extravagant.

I have a memory of standing on the stairs of the old Methodist church (with red doors) in the heart of Mount Vernon, four years ago, waiting for Gordon. He was meeting Victoria and I at the Charles Street book fair, but he was late, so she went to call him. This meant I had to wait on the stairs, and so got the privelege of watching him amble toward the meeting place wearing a brown fedora, simple trousers, and an unremarkable shirt. It was a foggy day, and he cut such a classic 1940s figure walking through the mist.

A couple of years after that, some dog in Tennessee mangled his fedora, and he's been lamenting the loss ever since. Whenever he mentions it, he looks so forlorn. So that's what I'm going to buy him.

Post Deadline Funk

For the last several months the deadline at work was a burden, a seeming impossibility, a pain in the derriere. And now that we've met it soundly, there is the lull, the anticlimax, and slight depression that follows making a tremendous effort. I've read about writers who become very depressed after completing a novel (or other type of book)because their days suddenly lack definition. They aren't sure who they are without this thing to which all their waking moments must be devoted.

Since last Wednesday I've kept myself busy by tying up loose ends...little assigments that had had to wait for the last 2 or 3 months; I've prepared for a presentation I have to give at next Tuesday morning's team meeting and I've started looking at the next component of materials to be edited, but something is missing.

The glorious frenzy; having something about which to complain; the feeling of satisfaction when I leave the office every day...knowing I practically killed myself to make something happen.

Honestly, it's addictive.

It's clear that my Summer Soundtrack is going to be Joss Stone's Soul Sessions. For the first time since I was about 8, I'm looking forward to the season.

There are no accidents...

At least, according to Freudian theory. Anyway, because I forgot my umbrella in G's car on Friday night, I got to see him this morning when he brought it by my office. Of course, I had to put away the little framed photo of him that I keep to the left of my computer monitor. Didn't want to freak him out...

I waited for Gordon just outside my salon; I ended up running into Michael's roommate, Aaron, so I chatted with him for a few minutes, my eyes scanning the street for G's red mercedes all the while. Eventually Aaron and I parted ways, and I began to walk toward the end of the street to see if I could spy the man I'd been anticipating, when I heard him call my name. I turned around to see him coming toward me, smiling.

He touched my hair and told me how soft it was, he said that it looked beautiful... twice.

The place we were going was just on the next block, and as we walked there, he told me how much he's been wanting to try it since I first mentioned it to him a month or so ago. We sat on the third level in the corner. It took us forever to even look at our menus, we were chatting so animatedly. I ordered a "Sex & The City" (cointreau, raspberry schnapps, pineapple, and vodka)... I forget the name of his drink, which was Japanese.

A waiter came over to us with a candle for the table to "make it more romantic," he said. Gordon thanked him. Later, we toasted to being 30 and having more adult priorities, like buying furniture instead of cds and wanting to own homes, not just rent apartments.

I was touched when he told me he should give me permissions to his Web site (in the context of asking me if I'd seen his recent updates); and even more touched when he asked my opinion of an art endeavor that had been suggested to him.

When our sushi arrived, the individual rolls we'd ordered came out on the same plate, creating a wonderful feeling of intimacy--substantiating the existing feeling of intimacy between us. Near the end of our meal, he said "I assume you want a ride back to your apartment." I nodded, and he said "well I'd love to come in for a cup of coffee..."

Our fingers touched and parted in quaint hand kisses spontaneously when we exchanged things on the table, or he touched my hand for emphasis when reaching the climax of an anecdote... and I remembered my uncannily intuitive sister telling me on Wednesday night that she had a vision of our hands touching when I told her about our plans for tonight.

On the way to his car, we stopped off at his bank so he could deposit the check I'd written him for the painting, and when we left the atm vestibule, he noted that our banks are across the street from each other... "it's like we're neighbors..." I smiled at him, and indicated that yes, it was just like that.

As we walked the two blocks to his car, he sang "Endless Love" (both parts) for me in an exaggerated falsetto, and I appreciated even more, his fearless sillyness... his goofball antics.

I made him coffee while he lay on my couch reading my new issue of Entertainment Weekly, and he looked so comfortable, I wanted to ask him to stay... I knew he was dreading his long drive back up to the country where his parents live (he's pet sitting for them)... I almost asked him, but knew he couldn't (and that he wouldn't).

He gave me the leftovers from our plate; I left my umbrella in his car.

"It's Friday... Now we come to the paying of the bills..." Lucille Clifton

I have already posted all the bills I'm to pay during this pay period. I sent a friend who has yet to move into her new place a housewarming card to her new address, I sent my mother a later Mother's Day card, and I've eaten a sundried tomato bagel w/cream cheese for breakfast (coffee and orange juice accompanying).

The deadline is met, I've started a book club with three other fabulous ladies, and I'm getting my hair done. What a triumphant day!

It's only 6 after 8 and already I have a caffeine headache...

Well, it was bound to happen. I missed my connection bus this morning, by about 3 seconds due to several factors--like the fact that my first bus hit a slew of red lights on St. Paul street, that this one kid is the slowest in the world at putting his money in the till, which held up a good three people behind him, that the driver is really starting to push the envelope of lateness in general...

So that meant waiting 20 more minutes for the next connection.

And what is worse, it's beginning to get hot! One radio station that I listen to in the morning just kept using the term "sticky" to describe what today's weather would be. Tomorrow, it will be about two degrees hotter than today's high temperature. For the next 3 months I'll be taking two showers a day. I never feel truly clean from May through September.

I think most of the answers to any quandry one might face can be found in the immortal Kenny Rogers classic The Gambler

With that being said, I am steeped in research of the 1920s, since it is important to me to write about the decade with authority and integrity. I'm friends with an architect who, upon her return from Turkey, is going to come out to my building and discuss with me the elements of its design and structure that are especially characteristic of that period.

For those of you who may have glossed over this detail, or forgotten, I am trying to find information about the very first tenant to occupy my apartment in the 1920s when the two buildings that comprise my "development" were originally built. I want to write a story or a series of poems that are inspired by my findings. To this end, I have become utterly fascinated with the 20s, and have amassed some wonderful information from the Internet alone. I am in touch, via e-mail, with the rare references Library at Cornell University, which has tons of records on my little Baltimore neighborhood.

At this point, I may need to get a grant and quit my 9 to 5.

Peanutbutter sandwich and Herbal Tea: A Tale of Purging and Reorganization

Before we set out for the baby shower yesterday afternoon, Sarah came over to peruse all the books I'd set apart to donate to The Bookthing, and took about five of them for herself. We put the rest in her car and dropped them off at the charity headquarters. Then, we went to Karen's house to get an entertainment center she wanted to give Sarah (Karen is also purging because she's moving); we had to take it apart to get it in the car. Karen's roommate was looking to unload a bookshelf (smallish), so she gave it to me. It ended up fitting very well in the backseat.

We brought the bookshelf back to my place, and then headed to our old neck of the woods (I refer to my years in Montgomery county as my period of exile) for the baby shower. I was glad that I didn't feel awkward and out of place as I tend to feel at events like that. I used to call them "woman rituals," and I think I felt that I stuck out like a sore thumb because I despised my own femininity for a long time.

It also helps that I always feel at home among this particular group of women, so I guess it stands to reason that I didn't have any anxiety.

When Sarah brought me back home today, I dove immediately into the act of deciding which books to put on the new shelf, which I earmarked to go into my bedroom. Bookshelves serve a beautiful dual purpose. Not only do they house one's literature, but they are ready made surfaces for things like photograhps and candles. I was also able to unpack a few more things and display them for this reason.

I am very fortunate to have a free storage space in the basement of my building; I decided to unpack the four boxes I had remaining, and put everything I was not going to unpack, or for which I did not have room in the apartment, in two of those four boxes, taped them back up, and carted them downstairs for safekeeping. I threw the other boxes out.

I'm not sure what brought this on, but I also put the photos in my photobox into some type of relative order--by era of my life--and called it a day.

I found a few things to take to the office--that I didn't want to throw away, but that don't really fit the tone of my place. I also came upon a poem I wrote a few years ago that I'd been wondering about off and on. I thought it was lost. Small steps and giant leaps.

I'm now eating a peanutbutter sandwich, drinking herbal tea, and looking forward to getting my hair done on Friday, which is payday, and sushi with Gordon.

We are closing in our deadline at work; as of next friday afternoon, we will be wrapping it all up. I am leaving the office a bit early to go to a much needed hair appointment, and then meeting Gordon for sushi (and to give him a check for the painting I just bought). We are going to rendezvous at the newish Coffeehouse/Lounge/Sushi bar on Charles street, which is just a block up from my stylist.

Today, I am going with Sarah to a baby shower for a mutual friend. I am looking forward to the food. I love shower fare--because I love appetizers, punch, and presents, even when the gfits are not my own to open. If I had my way, every day there would hors d'oeuvres to eat and presents to open. Heaven on earth.

Happy, The End...

One of the longest, unresolved issues of my adulthood was resolved last night.
He didn't want to get over her. I know it's just a tv show, but sometimes life imitates art. It seems to me that once a man reaches a conclusion like that, nothing can hold him back--and it only takes a moment. Ten years of inertia (or limited progress) pivots on an instant of clarity.

And for the record, I am....





I'm Chandler Bing from Friends!

Take the Friends Quiz here.

created by stomps.

Homage To My Friends

This show made its debut during the fall of 1994 season; I was just beginning my senior year of undergrad and didn't watch much tv. My life was already filled with enough drama, what with needing to make my peace with the fact that my real life was about to start--and I was smarting over the fact that the boy I loved had transferred to the University of Washington in Seattle. At that point in my life everything seemed over. I think I remember seeing promotional ads for the show and making the uninformed opinion that it seemed stupid, so I did not see any episodes during its first season, and was none the wiser as to what I was missing.

A good friend of mine who'd graduated the year before was now out in the "real world" and made the connection; she told me it was great comedy, so on the strength of her reccommendation alone, I started watching it the following year--my first year as a working adult with no class schedule and no idea what would come next.

Ironically, that friend of mine didn't watch it much past its first season. But I, between new episodes and syndication, I have seen almost every show three times--minus that year-long stint where they were trying to hook up Rachel with Joey which was just wrong....

I loved how it came in at the beginning of the coffee renaissance and used that reworked concept of the tavern-as-meeting-place to reengage an entire generation. I loved that it was smart show, and that even if you don't fit into the exact mold of one of the archetypal characters, there is something in all of them to which you can relate some element of your life experience.

These six adorable neurotics saw me through my 20s --every heartbreak, every new job, every new apartment, every dry spell, every success, every annoying circumstance--year after year. And my heart still swells every time I see Ross kiss Rachel for the first time, and the second time.

What can I say? They were there for me....

Poetry, Sheer Poetry

Several months ago now I went online to take a poetry I.Q. test. One of the components is that I had to submit a poem of my own to the people at Poetry.Com. For those of you who are uninitiated, Poetry.Com is one of these organizations that would publish breakfast cereal ingredients if someone submitted it to them under the guise of it being "poetry." Everyone is a winner, and the poems always get published--and you don't have to buy one, but wouldn't you love to see your poem published in a leatherbound book-with gold plating on the page edges that you can show all your friends?

Anyway, I wanted them to process my results to the very legitimate quiz on the constructs and techniques of poetry, but I couldn't do it without them "assessing" one of my own works for merit. So, I submitted a poem to which I feel no overt attachment, that I will never try to publish elsewhere, etc. Well, you'll be glad to know that it was heralded as an "excellent" poem (on their rating scale of "not bad," "pretty good," and "excellent"-- at least I imagine that's what it must be), and will I grant them permission to publish it in one of their leather-bound volumes? I didn't return their permissions form, so now it seems that I won the editor's choice award, and they want to record it on a cd!!!

I'll just keep throwing out their follow-up material, but it's worth the hassle. I got a 10 out of 11 on the I.Q. portion of the test. It seems that my grad school dreams are well-founded.

I have a system for preventing the accumulation of paper clutter. When I check the mail daily, I process it immediately, standing in the kitchen, before I even take my shoes off. I open up all bills and detach the statement from the other pages, remove the envelope in which I will be including my check, and throw out all the extraneous parts of the package before I even take any relevant notices to the desk in my bedroom. There, any bills that must be paid by the next pay cycle are grouped together into a paper clip stand, the sole purpose of which is to "clip" all my bills together.

Other things like bank statements, pay stubs, or coupons go into my top desk drawer (I'll admit I need a more sophisticated system for dealing with these items in a more timely fashion, but I'm working on it). Magazines go into a neat stack of others I need to read in the living room beside the couch. I work through a few a day, and throw them away as soon as I've read every article I'm interested in reading.

I immediately hang up my coat, and if I'm changing clothes before starting to cook then what I'm wearing gets hung up or goes into the hamper. I also like to wash dishes soon after I'm done eating, because it weighs on me, emotionally, to know I have things accumulating in the sink.

A little goes a long way when it comes to these peace of mind measures.

I may be able to get some bookshelves (gratis) from Sarah's parents. Let's hope so... Watching an episode of "Clean Sweep" on TLC this morning I saw my dream coffee table (dark wood with both a top surface and bottom shelf). I paid the rent then went marketing to the little store that I used to go to to buy lunch and groceries when I lived and worked near Hopkins the first time around (97-99). I loved seeing some of the very same people behind the deli counter and stocking shelves that I used to see everyday back then. It gave me a lovely sense of continuity.

Speaking of anecdotal history and continuity, I have decided to try and unearth records of the name of the original occupant (the circa 1920s occupant) of my apartment. I have been romanticizing his or her life all week, and if I turn up anything exciting I may write a story about it. It's been fun making up theories about it for the last couple of days.

Well I'm working on some editing, so I'd better go. Just wanted to post something to let everyone know I'm still here.

Oh, P.S. I've decided to try and lose weight again. I did this once when I was 22, and it was a successful campaign, though not one I sustained. I'm just not happy with the way things are, and I'm ready to feel good about my body, once and for all.