Birthday Fusion

This is an interesting time. Wednesday marked Sarah's last day at work;it was another coworker's final day as well (she and her husband are moving back to Miami). We went out for dinner and drinks, a kind of "last hurrah," to commemorate just how much fun it has been to be on this ride together. We were joined by another woman, who, like me, will still be reporting to that pirate operation we call a job on Tuesday morning.

Walking out of the building at the end of the day on Wednesday with Sarah(I actually did make it in for the latter half) gave me a distinct feeling of foreshadowing. I felt like I was leaving for good. I know my departure is imminent, but the end has not yet come for me.

Sarah's birthday was relaxing. We kicked about in the morning, very leisurely and low key. She opened the present I got her at about noon and LOVED it. Later in the day, we had to go to the MVA so she could get her license renewed. She also went clothes shopping and found some great stuff for summer and fall, including a lovely outfit that she wore to dinner last night.

The food was delectable. We all (Michael joined us) got the prix fixe menu, which included a hawaiian sampler appetizer, an entree, and dessert. Michael and I both got Hawaiian Martinis. Ms. Sarah got a Mai Tai. When it was time for dessert, it was chocolate souffle all around. I appreciated that Michael took the liberty of ordering for all of us (after knowing for certain what our selections were). Sometimes it's nice to let someone else just take care of things for you. I felt so honoured when he said "The ladies will have..."

I'm still at Sarah's now, but will be going home in a few hours. My sister is coming to see me tomorrow. I'm looking forward to a weekend of tidying, laundry, and reading. I've been out of the office so much lately, I can't distinguish one day from another. It's all felt like one ongoing fin de semain to me.

The highlight of our day today was the snowcones she made us with the ice shaver Karen gave her. Mine was grape flavoured with Malibu rum.

In other news, I'm on page 2 of the romance pulp novel I'm writing. It will be tres intriguing.

Something else on the horizon:

Going to PA with G and Sarah on the 24th. I have a feeling that will be an outstanding day.

Unexpectedly, I am home today. I am waiting for a package of incredible importance, and my rental office is not open on Wednesdays (UPS would normally leave parcels with the leasing agent). I'll end up making up the hours since I am taking an unscheduled day. Tomorrow and Friday were planned vacation days, so with Monday the 5th off in addition, I will not be returning to work till just shy of a week from now.

I had a great conversation with Gordon yesterday. When I got in from work, I had a very uncomplicated, but pronounced desire to talk to him, so I called him with no agenda except to hear his voice. He was on his way to church, so we talked for the length of his drive. I enjoyed hearing his obvious pleasure when I said "I just had the urge to talk to you..." I told him about the macked out present I'm getting Sarah (which is the package I'm waiting for), we chatted about him going up to Boston to maybe do a cityscape for Catchka. I joked that I am essentially his art dealer and that I have gigs planned for him that he didn't even know about. It was nice to be the voice in his ear, knowing I was having that moment with him, without physically being there.

I know you're thinking "Jeez. It was a phone call. What's the big deal?" The thing is that G and I don't really have a phone relationship. We primarily do e-mail and face to face visits, so oddly enough, a call is a real treat. Honestly, i felt so content afterward, that I sipped honey right from the plastic container. Access to him is much easier than I make it a lot of the time. I realize that if I want this man's heart, I can't see it as an elusive thing. Gordon is very uncomplicated in some ways. I mean, he has funks that he slips into, but he prizes the presumption of other people. It makes him feel loved when he is called out of himself into another place.

We are both instinctively internally focused, so it will take effort to make the leap. I'm not saying I plan to be the only one making this effort, but I can and should sometimes. Little moments of courage, like ringing him up out of the blue. A needless boundary erased.

Potential Money Maker

Hmm... I regret to admit that I went through a phase in my mid teens where I read a Harlequin Romance novel a day. This could be easy money.

I probably won’t get a chance to write again for a couple of days, so I’ll let this be my last hurrah before going into the weekend of Sarah’s birthday party. Her actual b-day is July 1, but the party is tomorrow evening. I am so psyched about the gift(s) I’m getting her, but at her insistence will be saving them until next Thursday when we celebrate on a smaller scale the fact that she’s turning 29.

Tonight we have a lot of shopping, cleaning, and rearranging of furniture to do. Tomorrow will be all about prep work and cooking. I’m tired now, but I know that there is no rest for the weary until at least 10 o’clock tomorrow night.

As it usually does toward the end of the workday, the temperature in here plummets to what feels like 50 degrees. It’s about 4:30, and right on schedule, I have an air conditioner headache.

It’s raining and grey, heavy like soup outside. The tea I made earlier is cooled, but still pleasant. I’ve thrown out some papers that I no longer need and I am trying to get my arms around all the different projects at work. The summer will be hectic. Add to this mania the fact that I need to find a new job by November, and what I have myself here is a real adventure.

Things are wrapping up for my manager. I hear her emptying files and throwing things away in the cubicle next to mine. It is such an interesting process—divesting one’s self of things that are no longer relevant, yet that for so long, were the very lifeblood of one’s work identity. Whenever I leave a job there is a little melancholy mixed in with the happiness that accompanies starting a new chapter. I have always liked the end of things better than the beginning.

What In The World is Wrong with the One World Café?

The One World Café first came to the corner of Canterbury and West University Parkway in the late 90s, or perhaps as late as 2000. Before that, it had a more southern city locale, and was touted by most as an innovative organic option amidst a sea of other coffee houses in Baltimore. I was doubtful, being a carnivore’s carnivore. However, I figured that as long as they offered half & half for the coffee, I could deal.

Before an ill-thought move away from Charm City in May of 1999, I had only been to the One World in Fells point (I believe that was the original location, but I wouldn’t swear by it), but one weekend in 2000 I was visiting a friend who’d just moved to the fringe Roland Park neighborhood in which the One World now resided. She was delighted to have this treasure within walking distance of her new apartment.

The food was good, the coffee was brewed to perfection, and I’d never had a mixed berry smoothie so delicious.

Fast forward to the summer of 2004. In an interesting twist of fate, I now reside in this same fringe Roland Park neighborhood, and can spit at the One World from my apartment.

But these days, you enter the front door, sit down, and your table may or may not have been wiped. The cream will separate in your coffee if you don’t drink it inside of 2 minutes (because it’s so tepid), or, it tastes as though it has been brewed with cigarette ashes. The thick white mugs (which should be excellent at retaining heat but aren’t) are scuffed and scraped, and feel dirty in your hands, even though you assume they’ve been washed.

Which leads me to the hot pink lipstick my friend found on his water glass the other night… he only saw this after he’d had a few sips. I ordered French fries and a grilled cheese sandwich. The fries were cold when they came out. Cold and stale. So cold and so stale that the ketchup I used congealed on them in mere minutes. Between my friend and I, we ate a total of about 7 of them. When the waitress, who, like so many of the servers there, had a sanctimonious and superior air, finally troubled herself to return to our table, there sat the enormous plate of papas fritas, bearing more resemblance to little tomb stones than anything else.

It was a personal test for me to see if she would remove them from the check, or even ask if there had been a problem with the uneaten food. No dice. I guess after cornering the market, literally, on coffee shops that neighborhood residents can walk to, the folks at the One World don’t really have anything to reach for anymore.

And I guess this is working for them for now…since they’re always busy enough, but as for me, I’m willing to walk a little farther for cleanliness and hot food.

Putting the Cart Before the Horse

I've been out of step with God lately. It was not three months ago that I told him in a prayer that I would rather have intimacy with Him than anything else. This is before I had moved, gotten new couches, and when I was still pretty much on hiatus from a lot of my social interactions with friends.

During this time of consecration last winter I had recommitted to tithing, I was more prayerful, and I had a lot of focus at work, I just knew that I was really in fellowship with the Lord.

I've gotten lazy in light of God's blessings, and I've started putting a greater premium on things. Is it any wonder that I've lost my focus, my motivation, and that my finances are again out of whack, because I've been on a tithing break, no longer seek God with my heart every day? The Bible says that where a man's treasure is, there will his heart be also. It also says that seeking God's kindgom first ensures that the Lord will take care of every other need that I have.

I know this works. I am a witness to the faithfulness of God. So, why then do I grasp? Why then am I even tempted to make everything and everyone else more of a priority? In addition to catching up on some rest today, I am also reorienting myself to the Spirit of God.

I know that intimacy with Him is sweeter than anything else I crave, and actually facilitates enjoying every other relationship, and every other blessing so much more.

I can't sleep. I feel anxious about a great many things at the moment, and rest is elusive. It's been an interesting day. Essentially, I seethed over feeling unimportant to G from last night until about 5 p.m. this evening, and felt justified in stewing until it dawned on me that I'd handled the situation with him very passive-aggressively. I did a bit of soul searching and came to the conclusion that I needed to apologize to him for employing "conversational parlour tricks" (i.e., sarcasm as a smoke screen for hurt feelings) instead of asking him if he would have rather ended early and tried to get together another time... or, at least letting him know how bad I felt that he was so distracted. Honesty is disarming. Instead, by joking about it, I allowed him to not have to really address the issue, and it did us both a disservice.

He's replied, essentially saying that it [my infraction] was no big deal, and apologizing for being so tired. He vowed to have a double espresso next time so he'd be ready to talk. Why don't I feel better?

What I neglected to mention about our evening is a lot. There were several nice elements...encouraging sentiments, and at the end of all of it, I did enjoy seeing him. I think I just put way too much pressure on myself to have every interaction with him be great. I need to step back from that mindset, because it's preventing me from letting things come as they will.

I think that my completely out of synch sleep schedule has compromised my perspective on this and other matters, so I am going to take a mental health day to recover some lost ground. It's just shy of 3 a.m., and I'm not in bed, so going in to work tomorrow would not be pretty.

On other fronts, I'm noticing that my manager is still ruling with an iron fist, even though her days at the company are rapidly dwindling (3 left). I guess it's hard to let go.

CATS was wonderful, by the way. I am not usually a fan of musical theatre, but this was an engaging show. I especially appreciated how much care the actors took to really emulate the movements and behaviors of felines. Really a very credible presentation, especially for regional dinner theatre, which I've found to be lacking in other instances.

I could have had a V8!

My outing was lacking... first of all, I was awfully tired all day today. So tired in fact, that for the first time ever it occurred to me to postpone plans with Gordon, but since I am going to be busy for the forseeable future, I downed some strong coffee and ate a Snickers bar. In essence, I rallied.

He, on the other hand, was so tired he could have taken a nap right at our table, and nearly did. He was sleepy to the point of distraction... he kept staring down at his feet, or up at the ceiling, so at one point, I said very plaintively "Do you intend to look at me at all during this converstaion?" He told me he was thinking, then made it a point to stare at me in this exaggerated way for the next 30 seconds.

Oddly enough, I would say that our conversation was fine, for what it was. Him kvetching and me being mildly amused by it. I wore a smirk on my face for the duration of our sub par experience. It's not that I had a bad time as much as it is that I could have been doing something different and had just as good of a time. I could have contemplated my navel and felt better about it than I did this outing.

My mistake was in thinking that his seeming insistence about getting together meant that it was a priority... forget about my romantic delusions for a moment, and let's just put this where it belongs. Squarely in the friend zone. I was an afterthought. One more unremarkable thing he did today.

And he, sadly, was more unremarkable experience among the many I had today as well.

It's so funny; he looked especially nice tonight, and in some ways, between yawns, he was especially funny and charming. But it wasn't enough.

I'm going to bed.

It's been a wonderful weekend... and it's stil going. Yesterday, Sarah and I hooked up with our pal Naomi who left the area in January to head back to New Mexico. She has been on the east coast for about a month for an extended visit, and so we drove down to Montgomery county where she is based until Thursday. The rapport we have with her is easy, and the laughs were abundant. Sarah and I each have a great friendship with her, independent of each other, of course, but it's even more fun when we're all together.

My mom and co are arriving at about 4 to spirit me away to CATS, but in the meantime I'm nursing some Eight O'Clock Coffee from a favourite mug, and I'm waiting for my groceries to arrive. I've decided that I'm wearing grey slacks, a crisp white blouse, and black pumps to the show. I'll have my black cardigan along in case I get chilly at any point, besides it dresses up the casual of the white button down shirt a bit more.

I've received some happy news. My former company is going to distribute my stock earnings to me by way of a check in about a month or so. It's not what I would call a lot of money, comparitively speaking, but it's not chump change either. It will help with grad school expenses, certainly. I may be able to buy a really nice laptop at minimal additional cost to myself. We'll see.

Well, I guess I'll go peruse my new "Entertainment Weekly." It seems that Christian Bale is slated to be the new Batman. I think he's so "very very."

I laughed! I cried! It was better than CATS!

My mother called me at work this morning to offer me a free ticket to CATS... a dinner theatre version. Of course I'm going! I love spontaneous social outings. I'm going to go with her, Jim, and my sister Caryl. So, in short, I'm getting some free entertainment, however sub par it might be, a meal, and the chance to see my mom and my sister twice in the space of one week.

I'm loving the thought of Sunday so far. I'm going to church for the first time in months; I'm having groceries delivered to me on Sunday afternoon, and then a night out. All of this excitement leading into Monday, which is the start of my manager's last week, and drinks with Gordon. All very promising stuff.

Let's not even talk about the fact that I am spending tonight and tomorrow night at Sarah's, and that we will be making lemon squares!

On a less joyous note, we found out yesterday that our office may be moving as early as January to a location close to BWI. That will make it officially inconvenient for me, considering the flexibility I'll need to have in order to accommodate my new grad school schedule. It looks as though I'll need to be looking for something else, personnel shifts or not.

Also, found out that bonuses don't come till the end of July. Something of a bummer, but I'll live. Have an awesome weekend, everyone.

And Devika, if you remember your dream, please tell me about it!

Facing Myself

I had a disturbing dream. In this dream, I was at a function with several friends, including Gordon. At the end of the function (not sure what was being celebrated, or if there was a specific occasion), I was offered a ride home by my good friend,Victoria. Sarah and Gordon were also in the car. Just as we were about to pull off, another girl who is a friend of Gordon's and Victoria's in "real life" asked if she could also get a ride. Everyone waited for me to give the okay. I understood that this girl did not have to ride with us, that she had other options, but I still didn't feel that I could be presumptuous enough to say no. So, I acquiesced, and felt usurped by her presence.

After we were dropped off at my apartment building Sarah asked me when I was going to exercise my right to say no to some requests. She told me that I had the right to tell that girl she couldn't ride with us. Essentially, in this case, I did not have to let someone else come between me and Gordon.

The dream took a turn when I saw Gordon talking to another girl (a blonde)in the lobby of my building. I understood that she was an ex-girlfriend, but that they had an active connection, emotionally. I heard him ask her why she was not wearing anything personal of his. The moment was tense between them, but I could also feel their history palpably, and took it as a sign that I needed to pack in any hopes of being with him.

I went up to my apartment and planned to get very drunk. There was a knock at my door, and I knew it would be the girlfriend from the lobby. She was accompanied by two large men who were there to protect her (should things get ugly with me, I suppose). I had a very large bottle of alcohol in my hand, and she said something to the effect of:

"Yeah, getting drunk is probably a good idea for you..."

She proceeded to tell me off in no uncertain terms, and to let me know that she and Gordon were very much apart of each other's present. I am under the impression that I attempted to downplay my interest in him in the dream, and so her attack became personal. She went away and then came back again, and this time she said:

"Look at you! You are so sloppy and fat... and by the way, Gordon is really disappointed in your body..."

Her tone was vicious, and I was yelling something in defense of myself, but I don't remember what I was saying.

I woke up feeling so disturbed, because it was clear that this girl that was talking to me was my own interior monologue.

Newly Shorn

I haven't had a proper hair cut in several months, so I made a salon appointment, took the day off work, and invited my sister up from the DC area to hang out with me.

I feel significantly less rag-tag with my locks chopped and coiffed, but it was so expensive (as it usually is). I'm essentially out of money again after having paid all my bills, done laundry, and giving Gordon the balance of what I owe him for the painting.

As it turns out, my sister is staying with me an extra night. She'll ride the bus with me in the morning, and get off at the train station, and I'll continue on to my connecting bus, and proceed to work as usual.

I've decided that Wednesday is really a great day to be out of the office. It breaks up the week so nicely. But, honestly, I'm loving every day now that I now my boss's days are numbered.

Other things to look forward to:

1. Bonus
2. Going to church on Sunday
3. Drinks with Gordon on Monday

I had way too much time on my hands this weekend. I self-introspected myself into a low-grade frenzy yesterday. I just sat around mulling over how I’m in a holding pattern, financially and relationally. If my sister hadn’t called and rescued me from myself, I probably would have lit my couches on fire just to have something to do. I was so motivated for action, I created a budget projection sheet in Excel. If you know me, you can appreciate the state of mind I had to be in in order for that to even seem like a remotely appealing idea. Now, I have nothing against Excel sheets; I just don’t make them, because I think in Word, not Spreadsheet. Desperate times, people. Desperate times.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t thrill me to bits when Gordon wrote me again yesterday evening and basically said, “Are you coming to Sarah’s on Thursday or not? If not, then we will have to go out for a drink sometime…” I love this “If you want me girl, let me know” vibe he’s pulling right now.

Even if it isn’t as serious as all that, at least he’s being intentional, and that can only lead to great things. If that boy plays his cards right, we might get this thing airborne by summer’s end.

Right now I’m editing a company manual. B-O-R-I-N-G.

A House is a House For Me

I've recently turned my attention to home ownership. I'm not in process, but I've started thinking about where I'd want to own when the time comes.

My bus route in the morning travels south on St. Paul Street, and on the way home in the evenings, north on Calvert Street. Between the 2700 and 3100 blocks of these streets are the best houses in Historic Charles Village. Built at the turn of the last century, or in the late 1800s, they are true treasures. Many of them have been converted into apartment homes, and rented to students and other transient types. However, some of them are still perfectly intact inside, structurally speaking. I have decided that I want to buy and live in one of these homes. Very Old World Baltimore.

Lists

I am almost completely out of food. I've been concentrating on making strategic meals for the last couple of days, using up the last vestiges of things from the last shop, so I'll have room for new stuff when I bring in new market wares on Tuesday (my next pay day). I wrote an extensive grocery list yesterday.

My clothing situation is just as bad, but it's not just the case that I need to do laundry (and believe me, I do), it's that I also need my wardrobe replenished and revamped. A lot of my pants are wearing out in the seat, and I need more variety. It's time for a reinvention anyway. I have not made a list pertaining to this because it would be inexhaustible. I wish I had a 1,000 dollars up front that I could just spend on new stuff. I need so many things, it would take at least that to get me started.

Peeved

My hairstylist has yet to tell me what time my appointment is on Wednesday. I swear, if she didn't know how to cut my hair just right, I would go to someone else.

Resolution...Kind of...

Heard back from Gordon. He told me that if I wanted to mail him the money, that's fine... and added that he guessed he would maybe see me on Thursday. Que?

Close to The Chest

I have never negotiated relationships with men very well. This sad truth is not limited to romantic dalliances, but extends to boss to employee, friend to friend, and certainly father to daughter constructs, as well.

When it comes to love I am usually guilty of not having a poker face; even when I try to hide what I'm thinking, men can usually see right through to my deepest insecurities.

I bring this up today because my relationshp with Gordon seems to be waxing gibbous, and I suddenly feel a peculiar need to be guarded. Let me be clear, this is not about playing games, but more about not taking anything for granted.

Long story short, he and Sarah are getting together next Thursday to discuss a painting she wants to commission him to do for her. She offered to let me be part of this discussion, but I opted out, preferring to refrain from glomming myself on to their arrangement (I wouldn't have batted an eyelash at joining them in the past).

But, over the course of the last two days and a few e-mail exchanges with him, he's asked if I will be there (I said I wouldn't), suggested I come there (when I told him I was ready to give him the next installment of what I owe him for the painting I purchased a month ago), and expressed his hope that he would, indeed, see me there (in a separate e-mail about other matters).

I questioned my staunch position on not being there, but I decided that I did not want to be tacked onto someone else's agenda. I want him to make time to see me separately... but is this the point? I actually have no idea if I'm focusing on the wrong element of all this or not.

Anyway, what I've done is tell him that in an effort to get him the check sooner, I'd mail it. I assured him that we didn't need to get together in person for me to get him the money. I can't tell if he was simply trying to kill two birds with one stone, or if he actually just wants a reason to see me.

I fear that I am like Charlie Brown, turning everything into an existential crisis. I don't mean to, but at the same time, I don't trust my ability to read this landscape. I know my own heart; I know where I stand. I know what I have wanted this man to want from me for 5 years. I have wanted it so much, I let myself believe, on several occasions, that he was someplace, emotionally, that he just wasn't.

Here's the thing:

I don't want to be too quickly won, yet I don't want to discourage him, either. If I knew where he stood I wouldn't make this unduly difficult for him. By the same token, the one gesture I need Gordon to make is to demonstrate a real effort to be with me. No man has ever done that, and I think I need to know he'd go to great lengths to win my heart.

On a different, less confusing front, I'm happy the week is nearly over. My annual review went well; I've taken on some new responsibilities in light of the changing dynamic at the office, and now I'm just looking forward to the financial compensation that will come. I'll be doing the very grown up thing and using my bonus money to pay off some debt.

The First Saturday in June

Roughly one year ago today (taking the leap year factor into account)I was in Washington, DC with Gordon. We took a trip to the National Gallery, and it was pouring. I now refer to this day as our "soggy adventure." I was moneyless, without a functioning umbrella, and my shoes squeaked all throughout the museum.

I awoke this morning to the sound of rain batting the window panes in my apartment. I'd been dreaming of wretched interlopers of various types, all making clicking sounds. As soon as I'd rid myself of one, there was a new one with which to contend. My mother wove through these nocturnal images like a bright, but frayed thread.

As soon as I was conscious enough to consider extracting myself from the covers, I thought of last night's dishes. And then my bathroom, overdue for it's semi-weekly cleaning. I decided coffee would be my reward for knocking these two tasks out first thing instead of the prerequisite.

I've made a list of personal goals to accomplish during the summer months, one of which is to paint my apartment (the foyer and the living room). I just have to be careful to do one thing at a time so I don't get overwhelmed and bag the whole list. I do that to myself a lot.

I've also decided that I'm going to try going to the church I attended in Baltimore city from 1995 to 1998; it's time to go back. I was lying on my couch the other night, and I just realized it. simple as that.

My boss announced her impending departure at our team meeting yesterday morning. Incidentally, that afternoon we all went out to lunch to celebrate meeting our print deadline. Things have been fine for me at work for the better part of a month and a half (after a significantly rough patch between me and my soon-to-be-leaving manager), but I am still relieved. She is returning to her hometown because her spouse's job is relocating them there.

You just never know how things are going to work themselves out.

Because I had yet to hear anything from the financial aid office at my school, or from the FAFSA people, I called to check on my application last night. It's a good thing I did. Not only did I need to update my home address, but I needed to indicate that I had filed my taxes, because my app still showed the "will file" option. This was holding up progress, and I didn't even know it.

Supposedly I was informed of this via e-mail, but I'm telling you that I wasn't.

Well, I have a few assignments on my desk, so I need to put my editing cap back on :)

I spend a lot of time thinking about the kind of wife I never want to be. I have my parents' trouble-filled union to thank, in part, for this preoccupation, but I also see and hear a lot of women making a lot of mistakes that alienate the men they love.

It's been said that every man has both a king and a fool inside him, and that the one you talk to is the one who will respond. Most people respond to praise more than to negative criticism, and I'm not suggesting that one should not address areas that need improvement, but the way these things get addressed and with whom [outside the marriage] is where things can go awry.

1. I never want to be the kind of wife who belittles her husband in conversations with other women, family members, coworkers, to his own face, etc.

I have heard women "jokingly" undermine their husbands via discussions of his domestic bumbling or ineptitude in some other area, such as handywork or the ever-emphasized department of "romance," as in he's not romantic enough.

[Sidebar: Ladies, if you are with a man who has never been romantic, then please don't bemoan the fact that he isn't after you are seriously dating or married to him, okay?]

Essentially, a lot of man-bashing goes on under the guise of teasing, and of course I have participated in this socially acceptable brand of belittling in the past. There was a very timely article in "Glamour" magazine last month which posits that male-bashing accomplishes three things:

a) it actually enables less than glowing male behavior
b) it furthers the very helplessness in emotional and relational landscapes that women are trying to better negotiate with the men in their lives, and
c) just makes women who do it more bitter and less attractive to really excellent men

2. I never want to be the kind of wife who nags.

The Bible says that it is better to live on the corner or a roof than with a contentious wife, that a nagging wife is like a constant dripping.

I have heard women, in an effort to make a point, maybe even a legitimate point, berate a man within an inch of his dignity and his sanity. Nagging may produce a short-term result, but at the cost of intimacy.

It's an easy habit to slip into. No one aspires to be a nag; most nags probably don't hold their behavior against the stark light of truth. Nagging kills the spirit.

3. I never want to be the kind of wife who makes herself an obstacle to her husband's pursuit of passions and hobbies that do not include her.

If you've ever caught an episode of MTV's "Newlyweds" with Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey, you know what I'm talking about. It is a pet peeve of mine when women turn their lovers into their sons by intimating that permission is necessary for him to go off and do something with friends. It is a hallmark of insecurity to begrudge your spouse time to himself. I especially hate it when wives insinuate themselves in a man's sacred territory... be that his home office, or his outings with pals, or into the metaphysical sanctum of his solitude.

The German Imagist Rilke posited that the greatest benefit of marriage is that it provides one with a guardian of one's interior life. A spouse should demand that his or her other has room to think, breathe, and be...

Finally, I never want to be the kind of wife who does any of the following:

4. Makes my spouse responsible for my happiness (requiring him to be everything to me)
5. Fails to celebrate his idiosynchrasies and complexities
6. Does not know what he needs from me
7. Fails to call him on something that might threaten his integrity, our marriage, or other principal concerns.

Kamikaze Cicada

One of these benign, but no less annoying, pests is fluttering crazily outside my window. You get the impression he knows he’s got a shelf life of about a week, and is desperate to mate, because if it doesn’t happen now, then he’s screwed, in a manner of speaking.

This is reminding me of something Gordon said last Friday night. “If you see two of them mating, you can pull them apart.” I’m remembering how easily he picked one up, by its paper thin wings, and then gently set him back down again. Taking note of this simple indication of manual dexterity, I realized he would be a very good kisser. I imagine that his mouth would feel, at first, like papery wings and then become firmer and fuller, but still a little tentative. The beginning of a new kind of dialogue would be born between us.

I regret that I didn’t have the guts to pick up one of these uncoordinated insects last Friday night. It reminded me of being on the playground in sixth grade when the boy I like asked me to pick up a worm, and I was too squeamish. I had failed his little test of “how fun are you?” And I felt similarly that I’d passed up a chance to show Gordon the little daredevil I still have inside. Somehow, though, I don’t think it’s too late to feel a cicada’s wing.

Confessions of a Former English Major

There are a few books, canonical, that I have never managed to read or complete reading.
Wuthering Heights. I did not give a rip about Heathcliff and Catherine’s relationship and the tumultuous moors, which symbolized their torrid attempts at love. Much more compelling was Jane Eyre’s heady, nuance-driven passion toward Mr. Rochester.

The Iliad and the Odyssey. Or Homer’s Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee of Greek literature, given far too much credence as god-like renderings of a mythological war, and the stupid decisions that ensued after a hothead got the hots for a woman whose face could launch a thousand ships, supposedly. What the Iliad has given birth to is one very useful adage. Don’t look a gifthorse in the mouth. Thank you, Homer, exit stage right.

For years, I beat myself up for not loving the classics; I believed there must be a deficit in me that I should be far more moved by the contemporary than the antiquated. Then, I realized that there is a system in place that is responsible for this complex I carried. It's the same system that dictates to me what beauty is by way of magazine ads and billboards.

Okay, so now I proudly say that I despise the Romantic Period of lit and poetry. Screw Keats, Shelly, and that other guy, too. No, I don’t like Wordsworth and Longfellow—and all that pastoral imagery that makes me want to run for the hills. I can tolerate Tennyson, whose "Lady of Shallott" is a timeless masterpiece, intricately and intimately detailing the isolation of the feminine psyche. Masterfully crafted phrases. Stunningly deft and piercing language. I don’t even care that it rhymes. It’s genius.

And before you think otherwise, let me disavow you of the belief that I am simply despising form for the sake of doing so. Ezra Pound drives me insane—a textbook case of the “Emporer’s New Clothes” alive and well. I challenge anyone to show me a Pound poem that isn’t utter inanity. I shouldn’t be too judgmental. I guess it’s the equivalent of a single dot of paint on a canvas that goes for millions, and has to be roped off in prestigious museum. Ah, yes, I guess I’m missing the point. No pun intended.

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.

As of yesterday, I 've been at my curent job for one year.

I've been having the hardest time falling asleep in my new bedroom. There are so many noises, either from the building settling, the steam pipes hissing, or the upstairs neighbors walking around on the floor of my bedroom ceiling--and last night the added bonus hearing him or her drop what sounded like the equivalent of a thousand marbles, twice!

I haven't talked to the leasing company at my old apartment building yet. The property manager was out taking some sort of class yesterday, but I'm hoping to get that all straightened out this morning.

I did, however, find my AA batteries. I'd packed them in a box of stuffed animals and other things that had no obvious grouping. I think we all pack at least one box like that during a move.

This weekend, I'm looking forward to doing laundry, marketing, and maybe doing a little work from home (deadline time).

A Heist of Sorts...

So, I got a bill from my former leasing company for a couple of things. One of which is stove cleaning and the other of which is the replacement of a vanity top that was not broken when I left. You better believe someone is going to start off her day hearing about this--Little Miss Property Manager better be ready to rethink a few things.

I have set aside three shopping bags of books to donate to this worthy cause (also see new permanent link on the right under "Welcome to My World"). I realized that in spite of all the assessing and reassessing I've done of my possessions and clothing over the last couple of years, I haven't taken the proverbial pruning shears to my reading collection. So I've bagged the books that I'll either never read again, never read in the first place, or that I've outgrown.

Per her request, I'll give Sarah first dibs, but either way, the unwanteds will still be leaving my house, making room for new stuff. Perhaps, I'll need only one good bookshelf for now after all is said and done.

Getting There

I now have curtains hung in both the bedroom (sage green to match bedding) and the livingroom (sheer burgundy with chenile embroidery); I have unpacked my books, save for one box, and have stacked them neatly in the entry way. This current method of display will serve two purposes:

1. It will prevent them from getting warped and pressured, (which might happen if the boxes remain stacked on top of each other for a long period of time).

2. Seeing them on the floor will motivate me to get bookshelves; if they had remained contained in cardboard I could justify putting off getting them a permanent place to live. I cannot live with such an eyesore for long.

I also purchased a new remote control for my television to replace the one that broke and the video cable necessary to hook up my DVD player (I think). I'm going to need some assistance figuring out that part of it, but at least I can now turn my tv on and off without getting off the couch.

I have blown my hair out for the first time in about 5 months; it's much longer now than I imagined. I've been wearing it curly since about November because I couldn't really afford to go to the hair salon for the full relaxing treatment and haircut I'd grown accustomed to since last May, when I got the adorable pixie.

It's been in crisis mode for about 3 months, so I decided to make a salon appointment even if it means going without groceries... anyway, I took a blowdryer to it this morning and was pleasantly surprised by how much progress it's made while left to its own devices.

I had a trying time installing some new Internet software this morning, but I finally got it right and now I'm online for significantly cheaper than I was with AOL, which is a rip off.

Nothing much else to report; I had coffee and toast and apricot jam for breakfast. I'm listening to a local radio station (something I almost never do) and have been treated to a long set of 80s hits, including Tears for Fears's "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," which just ended.

I usually shy away from discussing my romantic foibles with Gordon because I am always so mindful of the fact that he, himself, rejected me... and I don't want to give him cause to think about the fact that he rejected me--because I know that this is not uppermost in his mind when the two of us are hanging out.

I also shy away from wanting to discuss his romantic mishaps because it throws into sharper relief (for me) that I asked him out and he said no... this man who feels largely rejected by women, rejected me. I have lived out our friendship trying to sidestep this landmine, or to gloss over it, but it is a huge pit that has to be acknowledged.

He initiated the line of discussion, sort of.

He recently sang and played guitar for a friend's wedding; he confided that he's been asked to do this kind of thing a lot lately, and he said to me "Don't ask me to play at your wedding...I don't want to become like the Wedding Singer." I debated saying nothing because the comment was rhetorical, but in the end I couldn't help myself. I said "I won't," and left it at that.

We spent a lot of time talking about our anger at our parents and the ways we have felt failed by the poor guidance they provided to us. He mentioned finances and romance, specifically, calling these the two most deficient areas in his life.
Because it would have been traitorous to the conversation not to, I told him about the fact that I have been praying through the perpetuated stigma of rejection that seems to attach itself to every woman in my family. I told him that my entire life is a reaction to my mother, and not wanting to repeat her mistakes. I said to him "Well, I'm not in a bad relationship, but I'm also not in any relationship at all, because the minute a man expresses interest in me--even if I would be inclined toward him, I lose interest right away." I even told him that I am drawn to people who are likely to reject me.

All this in the context of the ways we both felt we'd aided and abetted our own miseries. He shared with me how he feels utterly disregarded and not known by his parents--in some ways, emotionally orphaned. And I also heard him be verbally protective of them, qualifying his statements by mentioning their good intentions, not wanting to paint them in too bad a light.

And I sat there in pajamas with a towel wrapped around my head, feeling that in spite of the fact that I'd gone out to buy beer and cookies for our visit, that in spite of the fact that I had coffee brewing--and that he was sitting on my couch, pouring out his heart to me, making me laugh--in spite of the fact that I was buying yet another painting--in spite of the fact that I said to him "It seems to me that you just want to be really, intimately known..." that it was not going to be enough.

I did not have a bad time at all; as is the case with most of our visits, it was very good, very full. And I didn't feel angst-ridden after he left or upset by anything he'd said. I just wonder if I need to get to the point where I make up my mind to be his friend and wish him love with someone else, someone he would really want. I feel so sad now, typing this.

He told me that he is envious of me; perceives me to have it all together... I told him that I am quite capable of irrational meltdowns, that I feel insecure a good bit of the time.

I am encouraged, though, that I see so many of my prayers for him being answered. For example, he's trying to quit smoking.

Tough Choices

There are so many things that I need to buy or have done that there is no way to really decide which one of these is the most critical. I have decided to go with one of Gordon's paintings and my hair, first. He has a lovely piece that I've been eyeing for a while entitled Baltimore Elegy; I am procuring this painting tonight! I will have to pay him in installments for it, but it is now mine, for all intents and purposes. I am so glad he told someone else that he could not have it once he learned I had my heart set on it.

And as for my hair, well I'm sorry if this sounds backward or perverse, but as a woman a lot of how I feel about myself is inextricably linked with how I'm feeling about my hair. I've called to try and set something up for May 15th. It's been too long. I look like Orphan Annie right about now. I can't have a great apartment and jacked up hair. It's incongruous.

Settling In

My alarm clock has a cd component, and for the last 4 years I've been waking up to the opening strains of the cd of my choice. Since the move, I've had America's Greatest Hits in the player, so I hear the excellent guitar riffs of A Horse With No Name and open my eyes just as the sun rises over the buildings. The sky is usually purple at this hour (6 a.m.), and I am in a room with a hardwood floor that is pleasantly cool to my feet when I pad to the bathroom.

I put some more things away last night. One of the amazing features of my place is a built-in floor-to-ceiling pantry in the kitchen. I finally have adequate room to display all my pretty things--latte mugs, tea sets, kettles, vases, etc.

I need bookshelves in the worst way! All my books are still in boxes, some sitting on top of each other, and I worry about them becoming pressured and warped. I'm wondering if it wouldn't be better for me to take them out and stack them in a corner than to leave them that way for the next month or so...

The new bus commute is a dream! I pick up one bus directly across the street from my building, and fortuitously, this busline runs perpendicular to the busline I'd been riding to work before I moved, so I get off and pick up my usual line, and there it is. At work at the same time, though I live farther away, and I don't get up any earlier than before. You can't pay for fortune like that.

I finally wrote the lovely Devika; that made me feel better. And Gordon wrote to me (an e-mail) asking how the move went (he was out of town last weekend). That made me feel good, too.

The cable guy was a half hour early. I'm turning off the shower and I hear the beep of my intercom that let's me know I have a visitor. I'm dripping wet, and in the buff, so I grab my robe and buzz the guy in. The cable company gave me a window of 9 to 1 p.m. The rep showed up at 8:30! Usually the installation tech comes at the end of the time span they give you, in my experience.

Oh well, who cares? I have cable again.

I slept well, and feel right about being in my new apartment. No wistfulness about the old place at all. One major difference. Here, birds chirp and sing. In my old neighbord transvestite hookers whooped and hollered.

Without a Hitch

I always appreciate what good friends I have on days like this--when they all come together from various places in the state and haul all my worldly goods from one place to the next. The move went off without a hitch, and everyone loves my new place.

I have had to make my peace with one unsettling truth. Without a true dining area, I've had to face the fact that the table and chairs I'd ordered simply will not fit comfortably in the new place. It wasn't delivered on Friday with my new couches because the set was out of stock. Fortuitously, it seems now. I called to cancel it altogether this afternoon. I'll have to improv a solution to my table quandry, but in the meantime, I've got a beautiful couch and accompanying love seat.

I bought curtains for the bedroom tonight. I'll have to get ones for the living room in a couple of weeks. I also bought a welcome mat. This is the apartment in which all my dreams are going to come to pass. I feel that in my bones.

Giving Credit where Credit is due:

After a series of thoughts on the new title of my blog, Sarah finally came up with the idea of using this quote from "Breakfast at Tiffany's"; Originally, I planned to use a template featuring a classic picture of Audrey Hepburn as Holly Golightly, but there were technical difficulties. Ultimately, I picked this template because of its classic, clean lines, appealing colours, and the lack of images...it provides more freedom. The creator of the template designed it to be more "professional," and I thought that it fit my emerging life as a grad student, etc.

Today is the Day:

At about 11:30 I leave work for the next few days to establish my new life in my cute little vintage pad. I'll arrive at the leasing office today at noon, sign some final papers, and then I'll check my mail and go and bond with the empty space for a bit. I want to take some time to pray in there, before any of my things arrive, to set the tone, Christen the rooms, so to speak.

Last Night:

Gordon came over, ostensibly, to get the program I wanted him to have from my poetry reading a few weeks ago. We watched the chronicles of a young Superman together, drank coffee from 7-11 (my coffee machine is already packed), and did what we do best. Chat about everything and nothing in particular. My favourite element of our night was how happy he was to see me... and later when he said to me that I always have the best stories...things I've never told him before. I can't wait to start hanging out with him in my new apartment. And since this place is walking distance from my new digs, we can hang out here, too.

The most unexciting quiz post ever, but affirming...

you will become a well-known writer


what is your future job?
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4 Days Out

I've packed my computer and taken my mattress and box spring off the frame. I kind of like having my bed on the floor; it's very sexy with the shroud (Which will be the last thing I take down, it being my favourite thing in the apartment). As a single adult with no romantic entanglements, I use "sexy" only in a conceptual sense, of course.

I called my "new" leasing office yesterday to ask if my name had been placed on the mailbox since my forwarding order is due to take effect in a couple of days, and I wouldn't want any postal personnel to be confused. Something solidifed for me when the leasing agent told me I already have things waiting for me there. I went online and requested a change of address Card from the MVA, which should come to my new place in about a week and a half. The next big thing is new checks. I wonder what my motif will be. I wish there were a series of "poet checks," or checks featuring excerpts from literary works. I would be all over that.

My good friend V sent me an Easter card and a desk calendar (with daily meditations for Single adult Christians); I received them in the mail yesterday. The timing was impeccable since I had something of an internal crisis about this issue all day at work. Today's thought is: "You pay God a compliment by asking great things of Him."--Teresa of Avila.

It was fortunate that Caryl ended up spending last night with me; not only did I get the opportunity to see her and spend time with her, but she helped me unload my trash. It would have been significantly harder to negotiate getting that stuff into the freight elevator and down to the garbage scowl on my own.

Last night while my sister took a nap I took all of the paintings and prints down from my walls. I always forget how much sound wall hangings absorb, how they fill a space, and give it character. As soon as all Gordon's paintings came down, this apartment started to look generic... like someone had abandoned her life here.

In addition to helping me throw old, pointless things out, Caryl also took several things from me that I didn't want, but that weren't really trash (if she hadn't wanted them, they would have been gotten rid of). It is one of my "things" that when I'm over something, I'm over it. I don't brainstorm ways to make it of use to someone else. I am also philosophically opposed to donating worn, shabby things to charity... as though to say I am doing someone less fortunate a favour by giving them something I am ready to discard. I always get major flack from friends for this mindset, but I think generosity is parting with something of good quality, that you, yourself, might also want, but willingly give up. I like the idea of buying new things and donating them. I always wonder if something costs me nothing, on some level, if it means anything to give it up.

I'm enjoying a cup of my current favourite tea, Tension Tamer, and watching an ABC Family Special "See Jane Date." It's cheeseball, but I like these feel good made-for-TV romantic misadventure stories.

In other news, my mom brought me an Easter basket when she came to pick up Caryl today--to my recollection, I haven't had one of these since I was a young child. It was a sweet gesture. She also brought me portions of the food she made early for the dinner she's hosting tomorrow since I won't be there. She looked pretty with her nails all done and painted pink.

Passion

I stood under the pounding hot water of my shower this morning remembering the depictions of the unbearable beating Christ bore and I cried.

It used to be Sarah's and My tradition to read the entire book of the Gospel of John aloud to each other, taking turns by chapter, every Good Friday. It is my favourite of the tellings, not because the facts are different, but because it is a literary account. A bit more poetic in its rendering than the other three, which are synaptic. But I digress.

Seeing 'The Passion of the Christ' last night overwhelmed me, but I didn't feel as though I had been run through, emotionally so much as I felt the weight of God's love. I was seeing the story I know, the story I believe unfolding before me--and it was not less meaningful because I know it. The only comparison my fumbling brain can find this morning, in the grey light of this Good Friday, is that it's like hearing someone you love say your name in a certain way, that only He or she can say it, and in that instant, you know you are home. If I wished anything, it was that I could know what it was like to look into his eyes, to have experienced him when he was on this earth in bodily form...to have taken bread from his hands...to have heard him laugh. I know I will; I know he lives; As he promised, he dwells in me, and he knows my name. And when he died; love for me, for the world, compelled him to endure the indignity of torn flesh on two wooden beams so that he could rise again to redeem those who believe.

Nothing but relentless passion could enable a man to stand still for a bogus trial on bogus charges. It is human nature to self-protect, to want vindication, to be enraged over injustice perpetrated against one's self. But as he now asks me to do, he denied himself, took up his cross, and followed the road to the end. Greater love has no man than this....

As for me, I wonder how I can be so prone to wander....

Prone to Wander (Chris Rice)

On the surface not a ripple
Undercurrent wages war
Quiet in the sanctuary
Sin is crouching at my door

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring me back to life

I wake to find my soul in fragments
Given to a thousand loves
But only One will have no rival
Hangs to heal me, spills His blood

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring me back to life

Curse-reversing Day of Jesus
When you finally seize my soul
Freedom from myself will be the
Sweetest rest I’ve ever known

How can I be so prone to wander
So prone to leave You
So prone to die
And how can You be so full of mercy
You race to meet me and bring my back to life

Today was wonderfully productive; I was in such a good mood. Meetings went smoothly, I was on my editing game; my manger told me she sees the effort I'm putting forth to help meet deadlines. I felt validated. For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like the other shoe would be dropping on my head any minute; I've packed as much as I can as of right now; I am throwing things out...

The only snag in the fabric is that I was reminded of the fact that all annual reviews are conducted in June, regardless of one's actual anniversary date, so any bonus I might get is a couple more months off. But, this could also work in my favour. Perhaps I'll have a better chance of getting a favourable review if there's distance between it and the incidents at the office from last month. March was not good for the old career.

Moving on. Literally.

All my bags are packed; I'm ready to go...

According to my own "Packing Stratagem" I'm ahead of schedule. On what was probably my last trip to the neighborhood market this morning, I got paper plates so I can pack up my dishes in the next couple of days. I'm cooking my last "big" meal tonight (I'm thinking it will last me the better part of the week)--slow cooked ribs with a brown sugar rub.

At 7-11 I bought plastic knives, forks, and spoons, Hefty trash bags, and two newspapers. At the moment, I'm doing laundry and watching one of my favourite movies--"Breakfast at Tiffany's"--which I always forget is based on a book by Truman Capote. I've never read it.

I've been sending Gordon batches of my poems via e-mail attachments over the last few days. He wants to try to use some of them as song lyrics (He's in a band and plays classical guitar). When not doing this, I've been throwing things out, planning to give away other things. New wine in new wine skins. I don't want my new life to explode because I brought vestiges of my old life with me.

Pearls before swine?

In a good will gesture (I guess) from a week and a half ago my boss asked me if I would bring in a poem to read (my tiny department knew about the reading last Friday at St. Mary's) at this Friday morning's roundtable. I felt, at the time, that this was suspicious given that I'd just been written up (but after I'd come in with a rebuttal letter), but I didn't feel like it was a bad thing, necessarily, just.... well, duplicitous.

In any event, I am prepared to share if she remembers to ask me. If it has been forgotten, I'm not going to bring it up.
I don't know if reading my poetry here would cheapen it, would cheapen me. Dance, little monkey! Dance! I am sorry to say that I feel that way at the office these days...

Even with the cleared air, and my unspoken agenda to steer clear of my manager, being around her makes me feel like I'm supposed to feel grateful for something, and I hate that.

Urban Blight

Baltimore City, once fully worthy of its nickname (Charm city), has been dying from the inside out for decades. I have not lived here for decades--but the rotting buildings tell the story of years of neglect. I posit that the character of its politicians has much to do with this. Some of you may have heard that the city school district is upwards of 60 millions dollars in debt. The initial solution? To cut, substantively, already underpaid teachers' salaries. This was met with immediate rancor, so other options had to be unearthed. I'll be honest. I stopped paying attention after awhile, so I don't know what conclusion was reached--but I know board members were forced to resign, and that subsequent investigations are in the works.

60 million dollars missing. Every little hamlet blighted by graffiti, malevolent street urchins, boarded up homes, virtually the whole city unemployed. Where, exactly, is the money going? I know efforts have been made to revamp and preserve important buildings, to reopen centers of artistic and cultural expression (like the Hippodrome), but most of this city's residents--who are poor, disenfranchised, and undereducated do not have a paradigm that will allow them to even care about this. I think theatre and art are vital elements of a town's financial and psychological construct, but as conceptually explained by Maslow's triangle of self-actualization, when people live in ghettos where the pervasive fragrance is essence of urine and gun powder, and rats rule the roost, who in the hell gives a rip about the reopening of a place that their very life experience bars them from attending?

It is not enough to leave this city to itself. It is not enough to ride on the coattails of its former glory while looking squarely at its unraveling threads and say "This is still the best place to be."

I have never loved Baltimore because of what it is, for the most part, now; I love this city because I feel what it is supposed to be--what it once was. The essence is still there. But if we wait, pretty soon the 5 or so remaining excellent areas of the city will fall prey to the same fate. I am fiercely loyal to this town because I know what it's capable of; I see the vestiges of accessible grandeur; I see its heart, wholistically. I adore the wonderfully innovatively-themed bars, coffee shops, and eateries. I love this place....

Baltimore has a legacy of greatness in industry, in cultural development, in kitsch, in history. This city is like your favourite aunt, whose beauty in her youth was staggering, but after years of loving bad men and poor dental upkeep, is now perfumed with cheap liquor and tobacco--because she forgot who she is, because no one reminded her...

I believe it's not too late.