My Dinner With Gordon
 
I suppose I should rejoice that we are now so "familiar" with each other that he can point out to me that I have something in my teeth, and he can ask me to tell him "the moment [his] hair no longer looks good." I decided to be intentional about having a good time with him on Friday. No matter what preconceptions I had, I decided not to miss the point of the evening, whatever it was. So, I got all zen about it.
 
We sat in a booth that was a bit uncomfortable for me given that it seemed to have been designed with two heroin chic people in mind. Gordon, being slender, had no trouble. I didn't have "trouble," per se. It just wasn't effortless. It was not a secret that something bigger would have accomodated me better. So, I said to myself 'Kate, he can see you. He knows you're not a small person. Sliding into this booth gracelessly wasn't his first tip off.'
 
About two hours before he came to get me, I found myself becoming cripplingly sleepy, so I ate a donut and drank some sweet coffee to wake up. Eating the cake-like treat curbed my appetite, so I hardly ate anything at the restaurant. Gordon, however, was ravenous. I had never seen him wolf down food that way. Quasi-barbaric, but endearing.
 
This was hanging out, in every sense of the word. He chatted animatedly about his week, how he'd been something of a slacker, but hadn't meant to be. I told him that it seemed to me that all of his choices over the course of the last few days had taken him by surprise, and that perhaps making active decisions before he found himself in a moment would allow him more control over the passing of time... that he might get more done. I was playing the Wendy to his Peter Pan.
 
Okay, so whenever he asks about the novel I get non-committal. Gordon respects my poetry so much that he used to carry it around with him wherever he went. I can't let him read the romance novel, which is based on my own life, to some extent. But also, I can't tell him my nom de plume and the title of this pap, and trust that it won't tarnish his image of me as a literary lion. His respect of my art is the most defined thing about our relationship. I don't need that eclipsed by a project I've undertaken on a lark.
 
After dinner we drove around Marble and Resevoir Hills because he wanted to show me the architechtural features of some of the homes there. He told me he knows one thing for sure, and that is that he wants out of Baltimore. Gordon has wanted to leave this town since I've known him, and it keeps not happening for various and sundry reasons that I've always attributed to divine providence. I wonder why Baltimore won't let him go. He looked at me once when we were waiting at a red light and said "Don't you ever get sick of this place?" I kept staring ahead, and told him that I came back to Baltimore because it's where I wanted to be. He shook his head, mildly incredulous that anyone could feel that way.
 
At one point when we were approaching the mouth of I-83, he lamented how many times he'd been on that road, how he knew every bump... how annoying it was.
 
"So, you want to live someplace where you don't know the bumps in the road?"
"Yeah... No, not really..."
"It must be so painful for you to live inside your own head where everything is an immediate contradiction."
"Exactly!"
 
And there you have it. Finding no easy place to park around my neighborhood, we made the mutual, but unspoken decision that he would not come in afterall. And that was okay with me, because I wanted to be alone to think. In some ways it would have been nice if he had been there when I opened my award letter... he would have been the first to know. The cookie didn't crumble that way, though, so I shared my news with my sister, who's alone this week while my mom cavorts in Reno with Jim.

I have always connected with God the most profoundly through my tears--they are the bridge to intimate worship and insight into His heart. This morning during the service I thought about the goal of the Christian, which is to be in fellowship with Christ by way of suffering, indeed, to know him better through a metaphysical death (and eventually an actual one) and resurrection. Being in that place of celebration and corporate worship, I found that my individual experience of His grace was emphasized, and my tears flowed through the duration of the songs and prayers. God was my first experience of acceptance as a child, His heart the first place of true welcome. And in moments of reflection, I long for Him to the point of pain...finding that I would die to disappear into Him, to just hang on Him, and there is no fear of being shunned in that desire.
 
Usually, my thoughts are too much of this world. I am preoccupied with the earth, but when everything but Him is obscured and distant, the joy is fierce, indistinguishable, in some ways, from sorrow. Perhaps this is real seeing, the intermingling of death and love.
 
I am at once sad beyond my own comprehension, and transcendent beyond belief.

Goals
 
I drew up a list of "Personal Goals for Summer 2004," broken out by month (June, July, August). For the most part, I am right on schedule. I've accomplished a few things that were slated for August earlier this month, and in other cases, a given goal might no longer be relevant, so it gets a deletion mark, not crossed out (there is a subtle but important distinction).
 
I'm planning a wardrobe revamp for next month, so maybe I'll work in the manicure I was supposed to get in June, then. Today, I have a hair appointment, then Artscape with Victoria... but first brunch with Sarah and Michael at Cafe Hon.
 
I will talk about last night's dinner with Gordon at some point. It wasn't "bad" by any stretch of the imagination. I just have to figure out the angle from which to write about it.

Sticking the key in the mail slot, holding my leftovers from dinner, I thought to myself 'I guess I've gotten all the good news I'm going to this week.' I  heard a concrete number in reference to my bonus (forthcoming), received the windfall from my old company, and bought a new computer all in the space of about three days. I figured I'd come to the end of my "good run." But, there was one more surprise... Hopkins sent an award letter. I've received a federal loan, more than enough for both semesters.

Gonna Get Myself Connected

I financed a new computer last night. Between my imminent bonus and the cashed out stock from my former company, I should be able to reduce some debt and pay off the loan I got to make this mini miracle happen. It was killing me to have to be online for 40 minutes (in some cases) to send a few e-mails. Anything more involved than that? Forget about it! I opted to buy my printer at a later date. I'm thinking that I'll get one around the time of my mid-August paycheck. My new machine should be arriving next Friday!

The book club has not yet met for various and sundry reasons. Last week it was because two of the four of us, after uncharacteristically busy months, had not progressed with the book. Now, today, one of our members has been knocked out by an unbearable tooth/mouth ache. I'm now on the group's third book--roughly 2 months ahead of schedule. In some ways, I like having my evening free to work on my novel and to eat a leisurely dinner, etc.

No sooner than I wrote the words "I haven't heard from Gordon since last Friday..." he called me at work. He said "I was just driving by your job and thought I'd call you." We talked about nothing in particular for about 10 minutes, during the course of which we also confirmed our dinner plans. I asked him to pick me up from work on Friday so we could eat some place closer to my office. It is his job to pick a place. I'm interested to find out which restaurant he chooses.

We touched briefly on the party I opted not to go to on Saturday. He expressed again that it was a shame I couldn't be there, and I agreed saying that I was "bummed" that I missed it.

Having had some time to think about it, I still think that I wasn't supposed to be at that party because I ended up having some amazing prayer time that night, but the reason I decided not to go was faulty. I am going to try my hardest not to let my insecurites keep me from enjoying my life. And I was rude about the woman to whom he gave a ride. I need to acknowledge that in print just as I maligned her in print. Here's the truth. Whatever her intentions or inclinations, she is a friend of his, and I need to respect her. My relationship with him will not be anything less than it is meant to be because of her or anyone else. Not even I can get in my own way if God is in this thing.

Working from home today has been productive. I feel that my editing is more focused in this space. I went to the dreaded One World for a Swiss chocolate coffee (medium, in case you were wondering)to go, and then came back to my apartment just as it started to rain in fat splats. In an instant mashed potatoes snafu, I ended up using all my half and half so I was forced to venture out for my daily dose. The Swiss chocolate was a great accompaniment to the maple and brown sugar pop tarts. I'll have to remember that combination.

I've been giving my sister "assignments" over the summer, including, but not limited to: developing schematics, assessing her own personal style, and writing essays. She is such a good sport; it actually thrills her to be given a new task. We also have an end of telephone conversation ritual. We each have to tell each other "something good."

Before we're about to say good-bye, one of us (usually me) will say "Let's do our something goods." Essentially, we take a moment to intentionally speak well of the other, to praise an improvement we've noticed, to "bless" an event that's coming up by proclaiming that it will be phenomenal, etc. The Bible says that we should "speak things that aren't as though they were," and that "faith comes by hearing." I guess you'd call them benedictions.

I printed out the 19 or so pages of the romance I'm working on and I see that I need to add some transition paragraphs, and make a decision about the lenght of my heroine's hair. It seems that she moves seamlessly from having a pixie cut on one page to wearing a "severe school marmish bun" on another. I guess I had two different concepts of her. Either way, I think she needs longer hair. No romance novel I ever read featured a heroine with short hair. I need to remember my target audience.

I've decided to work from home tomorrow. I need to focus. Too many interruptions at the office, besides it'll be Wednesday and as I've already established, that is the best day to be out of pocket.

Haven't heard from Gordon since last Friday and we are slated to go to dinner this Friday. I'm hoping he's open to do something in Fells Point. I already told him we're boycotting the One World Cafe: House of Disappointment.

Remembered

I had an increasing feeling of a homecoming in church this morning. A few more people, including the pastor, who were not there last week were in attendance this morning.

I saw the pastor's only son (he has four daughters in addition to this one boy) standing on the steps of the church building, just as he might have six years ago, when I was last there. "I haven't seen you in half a decade," he said smiling. I nodded, affirming that it had indeed been that long.

I remember this person as a young child. Now he's a young man, truly handsome, with the presence of someone who is coming into himself. He's probably been in love and kissed several girls since the last time I laid eyes on him.

The scriptures and worship songs featured in today's service really confirmed things that God has been revealing to me over the course of the year. I felt affirmed by the enthusiastic greeting I recevied from so many old friends, including my beloved pastor, who hugged me warmly after the service. He shared with me that not that long ago he came across the remarks he made about me the Sunday in 1996 that I became an official member of Faith Christian Fellowship. It seemed to me to be foreshadowing of my return.

Another member smiled brightly and said "I hope you are back for a while!" I stayed for the adult Bible study after the service, and talked with a couple of people who became members after I left, and so had no knowledge of my previous life at Faith. It's just easy and right being there--there is no awkwardness when you are where you are supposed to be, I guess.

I've come to the conclusion that I put way too many restrictions on situations and myself in situations, and that this prevents me from enjoying my life as it unfolds. I don't want to miss out because my concept is not lining up with reality. I'm realizing that reality is often better than my idea of what things ought to be.

I napped to Joni Mitchell's "Hejira," which eventually switched to Radiohead's "Kid A," for a couple of hours this afternoon. I woke up this morning at about 9:15, made some pancakes, and ate them while cranking out more of the dime store novel. I now have 18 pages. I guess eating flap jacks and cranking out pulp is tiring work! Now I'm listening to NSync's last studio effort, "Celebrity," drinking some coffee, and getting into the blogging vibe.

In an effort to stay on top of grad school stuff, I have been very proactive with Hopkins though they seem to have forgotten about me right after they admitted me. I wasn't even mailed the Fall semester catalogue, so I went online, downloaded the registration form, and mailed in my course registration. Because I have yet to hear from them about financial aid (and won't find out until the end of July), I had to indicate that my method of payment is TBA. Lame.

The registration office did e-mail me to ask for a promisory note in the event that I don't get any aid. Fortunately, an e-mail from me sufficed, so now I am enrolled in two classes for the fall term. I hope that it's not like pulling teeth every semester.

I am still learning to negotiate the pas de deux that is my relationship with Gordon. Our mutual friend and her husband are throwing a party today, about an hour away. My lack of a car is really beginning to be a problem. Unless I was offered a ride with another Baltimore local, I knew I wouldn't be able to make it. It's just as well, since the parties this person throws tend to be hard for me, for a number of reasons. But, I really wanted Gordon to want me to go. And in the course of an exchange about other things, he did offer to give me a ride. However, he's also giving someone else a ride. As a woman I know that this woman really wants to get close to Gordon, and I didn't think that my being in the car with them would be a good scene. I would be surly and annoyed, and would end up making myself miserable. If you've ever sulked at a party, you know it's not the way to go.

Gordon knows I don't like this person, so when I begged off, I feared that I would come off as childish, but I know whatever impression he has of me for letting this dame be a dealbreaker is better than the one he'd have of me if I lost it on her in his car.

And by the way, she so has a vehicle of her own. Dubious.

It's not that I worry that something will happen between them; I don't. I just hate social usurpers, and that is the kindest thing I could call her. And really, with us both in his car, what would separate us in his mind? We're two women who can't even drive ourselves to a party. I'm too prideful, I know, but I can't play second fiddle to that sociopath.

So, again, I am choosing to take myself out of the equation. I just told him I would see him next week for our dinner engagement. Of course, we also have the roadtrip the week after that. So, I'm being selective about this one event instead of being an ass.

Aromatherapy Dishwashing Liquid

I know that these so-called aromatherapy household cleaning products are the latest marketing ploy, and I have fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. Does anyone need lavender and ylang ylang essences in their Palmolive? Probably not, but that's the kind I just bought. The point is that for under 3.00 you can not only buy a bottle of soap that will last about 3 months (not bad) or more, but you can fancy yourself a progressive, interesting person just by washing your dishes.

So, as I sit in my vintage apartment drinking a double spiced chai, writing a romance novel, and gabbing on the phone with my sister, I have a benevolent feeling of well-being. I'm doing okay for myself, I think, somewhat self-congratulatory. I have cutting edge dishwashing liquid. Right...

Laundry, usually my favourite chore, was made rather complicated last night by an inconsiderate soul. I live in a building that boasts one communal laundry room. Four washers and four dryers. In a building of about 30 to 40 apartments, that is reasonable, but not by any means a lot. I always try to monitor my washer and dryer cycles down to the minute so that others don't have to deal with my lag time, or worse, decide whether or not to remove my clothes so that the machine can be made available.

Some guy was using all four washers when I took down my stuff. They were all silent but full of men's clothing and underwear. I left my basket in the basement and went back upstairs to wait. I waited about 35 minutes before I ultimately removed clothes from two of the four machines. Of course, I had the same issue to confront when it came to the dryers.

Other than that, I had an inordinate amount of trouble with my internet connection, and feel again, the absolute need for a newer, faster computer. Small steps. Small steps.

Dinner, once I finally got it made, was very good. I used a K.C. Masterpiece Honey Terriyaki barbecue sauce, dijon mustard, honey, and brown sugar to baste some spare ribs. I sauteed fresh zucchini in olive oil and sprinkled with salt. It was a nice combination. I'm looking forward to leftovers.

A business-related e-mail to G yielded dinner plans for the 16th. He's still being proactive about getting on my calendar which is a welcome change from the old order of things.

I am so relieved to be going back to work tomorrow. I feel like a fish out of water, and need the structure of tasks and deadlines to give my days a shape.

I've had no agenda since Sarah and I parted ways on Friday night, social or otherwise, and I feel that I am on the verge of losing my sanity. Not only have I finished the first book the group will be discussing this coming saturday, but I have also finished the second book, not to be discussed for another month yet! Of the things I am hoping to get from my church experience, more opportunities for social outings is one of them. I'm sure school will help with that too. I need to be moderately busy or else I lose my focus. Aimlessness is bad for the soul. I updated my resume last night. It took all of five minutes, and then I was idle again.

I did end up seeing my sister for a couple of hours on Saturday night, which was nice, but I'm looking forward to her coming back in a couple of weeks. Artscape will be in full swing the weekend of the 16th and 17th, and I think she'll enjoy going to that.

Let me take a moment to be grateful. I've been kvetching incessantly lately. I am grateful for having engaging outings and plans for the rest of the weekends in July. I am grateful that I have a job which allows me the ability to live alone, pay bills, eat, and enjoy a level of comfort that so many don't have. I am grateful that I am starting grad school in the fall. I am grateful that I will be able to pay off some debts in a few weeks. I am grateful for my relationships with my sisters. I am grateful for the Monday night UPN network. I am grateful for bus fare and clean laundry. I am grateful that I live exactly where I want to live, and finally, I am grateful that God has given me a dream He intends to fulfill.

Have a wonderful night; I hope your tomorrow is even better.

You can't go home again, or can you?

Even though I returned to my beloved Baltimore City two years ago this month, I did not automatically return to the church that had been my home, inseperable from my concept of this town, before I left.

I have always believed that you can't go home again, or rather, that you shouldn't. I didn't want to live the exact same life I had here before. I didn't want to assume that God wanted me to slide right back into my previous niche. I didn't want to be defined by the person I had been back in 1998. I didn't want to run the risk of becoming a cliche.

When I attended Faith Christian Fellowship from 1995 to 1998, there was one type of member I feared becoming. There were about 5 older women who were pillars of the church. Very committed, fun, intelligent women with a lot to offer, and who offered their resources and their time willingly. These women were all upwards of 45, and had never married. They were not likely to be married for a garden variety of reasons, ranging from church demographics (Most men their ages were already married) to aesthetics (a couple of them were not physically attractive). As a 22 year old, I already feared this fate overtaking me. I worried that it was my cross to bear, and the thought of going back to a church I had first attended in the proverbial summer of my life with my proverbial autumn fast approaching, depressed me. The church can be the most lonely place for a single adult who does not have a vision for permanent celibacy.

I still remember quite clearly the Sunday morning I was sitting in one of the front pews when the Lord spoke to me, almost as a sidebar, and said "your husband is not coming through this church." The revelation took me aback, because for once the topic of marriage was far from my thoughts. I was on the outskirts of facing the fact that I knew it was time for me to leave FCF. Shortly thereafter, I did officially leave, and I moved to Gaithersburg by that time the following year.

That piece of information is not what led me to leave, because I remember thinking "Okay, God, well in a couple of years when that's an issue, I'll deal with this." I actually forgot about this conversation the Lord and I had until I was well into the process of withdrawing my membership.

So, my own fears of looking like an old maid coupled with the understanding that the primary relationship of my life would not be initiated through my association there, left me feeling like "what's the point?" when I did come back to town.

I know that "everything works together for the good of those who love God," (Romans 8)so I have to believe that the two years I've been back, not attending Faith, have happened just as they should have. When it was time for me to be in a corporate worship setting again, the Lord made it plain to me, and I was ready to go to see, at the very least, if I should again avail myself to this body of believers, or if I should close the door once and for all.

The more things change the more they stay the same. I saw so many familiar faces. It was as though nothing had changed, yet the faces of the adults I knew and loved are older, hair is gray now (or more gray), wrinkle lines and smile lines are cut deeper. And the children whose wounds I have dressed, whom I taught in Sunday School, that I hugged as babies, not even school age, are all grown up.

I had a very significant friendship with the pastor and his family, especially with his oldest daughter. She was in her early teens when I first came to the church. She is now 24, two years older than I was at the outset.

I sat there singing songs I sang the last time I was there, six years ago, feeling like a prodigal daughter who wonders if anyone will remember her and be glad of her return. I had to confront the fact that I am nearly 31, and things have not gone according to [my] schedule. I have to trust that other people will not see me as I see myself. A failure, an unpopped kernel, a sexless spinster.

I don't know what the ultimate purpose in my returning is, but all I can do is be faithful to what I do know, and go back next Sunday.

Lamb and Rice

After checking in on Karen's cat last night, Sarah and I headed to the Glory Days Grill where we shared a buttery crab dip appetizer. My meal was a less than stellar plate of chicken tenders, but c'est la vie. Afterward we headed to the Barnes and Noble in Towson where I perused several books over a coffee, but purchased none.

I slept in this morning, and enjoyed a couple of pieces of oven toast and peppermint tea before heading to the supermarket to get a few necessities like olive oil and half and half.

Before I left my apartment on Wednesday evening, I set some lamb chops down in the fridge to thaw. Tonight for dinner, I made the last of my basmati rice tossed with scallions and onions and lamb chops pan sauteed in butter and the dijon, honey, balsamic, olive oil, and garlic marinade that I concocted. When the meat was ready, I set the chops on a plate and poured the pan drippings into the rice.

I'm excited about going to church tomorrow morning. I trust that the message, whatever it is, will be timely.

My sister, as it turns out, is not coming. I'll try to connect with her in a couple of weekends, maybe.

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.