Friend Bear You are everyone's ideal friend because you are sincere and genuinely kind. Sometimes you worry about your friends' problems so much, you forget about your own responsibilities, which can get you into trouble. For you, it's the little things that really count. You also happen to be the main driver of the Cloud Car. No speeding!
Take the Which Care Bear Are You? Quiz!

Busy-ness = Cure for Obsessive Thinking

I've been way too occupied at work for the last couple of days to spare an ounce of energy on worrying about anything that is not work. And while I left the office last night with a solid wall of tension for a back, it was nothing a bubble bath (with bath confetti!) couldn't cure...

Before heading home,though, I did ride up to the suburbs in search of a dress to wear on my date tomorrow. After trying on several I remembered why dresses are my archnemesis. Short torso, short legs, hips, and an ample bust = pants.
It was only a mild disappointment. I usually don't even think to look for dresses, but something about the onset of spring and wanting to be romantic and coquettish made me think of a twirling skirt with hose and pumps.

I did find a couple of great tops, some fun accessories, and a way marked down pair of Steve Madden Mary Janes with a chunky heel. So tomorrow's outfit is all decided and I'm feeling pretty unphased for the time being.

Tonight I hang out with Sarah, E, and the good neurosurgeon. Should be a lovely occasion.

I've been trying not to blog out of my anxiety, hence the brief, sporadic posts of late. Things are good...deadlines at work loom large, but with an all-hands-on-deck philosophy, our team is making it, together, as we are wont to do.

As for the dating realm, things have been rocky, but not in a way that is totally awful. I had an excellent first date a week ago tonight and a pretty stellar text message the next morning which did much to buoy my spirits. The gentleman really enjoyed himself.

And then? Days of not much. Then,on Wednesday morning a follow-up e-mail; then some more texting, and I found myself, well...shutting down toward this person. Even once outing number 2 was scheduled for this sunday afternoon, I started to talk myself out of liking him (I told two people today that maybe I wouldn't enjoy him half as much in broad daylight).

I don't like having the rhythms of my life upset too much. After years of being twisted up in in knots all for naught, over a man, I am extremely protective of my sanity. I hated that I was all wound up wondering if I was actually going to see this person again. Just before he got back in touch (about four days after the first date) I was getting ready to write the experience off as a fluke.

After talking at length with Sarah about this I can see that I'm trying to do that preemptive thing again. It's tricky for me; I'm a complete dating novice (not to mention generally intolerant of having to wait). Truthfully speaking, I was just too excited about this guy too fast, which did nothing for my perspective.

He actually waited a judicious beat before contacting me again. Something that I would completely respect and attribute to a wonderful sense of pacing under normal circumstances(if I hadn't lost my mind completely there for a while).

So, in an effort to keep it real and to keep my peace of mind in check, I'm moving back to the middle. Whatever happens I'm vowing to have a measured reaction to it.

An Experiment

I'm trying something for the next little while. Being still and not racing to any conclusions. about anything.

i did a full program on the elliptical tonight. back in the game!

P.S.

I don't know why some of my comments links show up as "archived." It's a glitch. You can still click on the link to voice your opinions when that happens... just so you know :).

The demands of my day dictated a certain level of gravity. I am an editor, therefore I edit. Being an editor requires a singularity of focus it is damn hard to employ sometimes, under the most ideal circumstances. So much harder to affect when you've been kissed for the first time in 16 years. I told you, blog world, I am chaste. I meant it.


I'll spare you a pedantic post. Let this suffice for a summation of last night. The chemistry--conversational and physical--was intense.

we kissed goodnight.

Release

After hemming and hawing and mulling over my options, I did something mature. I wrote to Mr. Close Encounters and asked him to drop me a line to let me know if our tentative plans are a go. I eliminated all qualifiers and editorialized, apologetic words, and just put it as simply as possible. It was important to me to strike the right tone. I didn't want to communicate a)desperation, b)annoyance, or c)insecurity because none of those things were part of my experience. I did feel disappointed at the thought that nothing would come of our eerie pre-meeting last week, but it was nothing I couldn't get past. I just needed to close the loop.

I didn't feel right just deciding, preemptively, that it was a closed chapter (my usual modus operandi in these types of situations). So I convinced myself that it was not unreasonable to write again without the benefit of a last reply from him (I loathe having to contact someone again when the ball is decidedly in his court to get back to me). Whatever the outcome, I thought, taking back a bit of control will give me the peace of mind to not care whether he writes back. And it did.

He wrote this afternoon to suggest that we get together tomorrow. Along with the suggestion, he mentioned some other newsy things about his walks to work and how pleasant they've been in light of the weather. The timeframe he mentioned won't work, so I asked if we could push it back a bit. And now it's a done deal. Tomorrow night, I will actually have a conversation with the man I saw from across Calvert Street. Exactly one week from the day of that weird, highly-charged encounter.

I assumed that my prodding him with another note (via the site) was the impetus for his e-mail today, but when I logged on tonight, I saw that he has not been active for at least the last two days. So, whether I wrote him [again] or not, I would have heard from him today, it seems.

The object lesson for me is that it's okay for me to be present, to ask for confirmations, to decide how long I'm willing to indulge not knowing something crucial, how vital it is for me to do what I need to do in order to be okay with myself. It's not that my making choices changes another person, it changes me.

Honestly, there was a moment right after I read his e-mail when I felt just the tiniest bit disappointed that he had written after all... because I was so okay with never hearing from him again, because I wasn't waiting for him... I don't know if that makes any sense.

Don't get me wrong. I'm happy I'll actually get to meet him, but arriving at the point of peace with "whatever" put me in a different head space--a detached place of no clinging or grasping.

When what you want comes to you--after you've put it into perspective--it's still a welcome arrival, but not a matter of your life. Realizing this can only serve me well as I continue to navigate this new territory.

Still Pending?

I'm not so sure anymore. The last time I heard from Mr. Close Encounters was Friday evening. He suggested that we meet up this week. I replied and encouraged him to e-mail with a suggested day. And coming on 4 days since then.... nothing. Not a word. I know this kind of thing happens. The Fizzle Out Phenomenon.

As to guy #3, he did write me to suggest a follow up, but because I felt more "I could be his friend" than "I could be his lovah" vibes, I wrote back what I hoped was a breezy note telling him that it was great to meet him, that I felt that the two of us could be "terrific friends!" and that I'd be game to meet up again, but that the next several weeks will be nuts, so I'd have to drop him a line at some point when things calm down.

I was/am concerned about getting into a pattern with anyone that I already know I'm not interested in, romantically. I know that meeting up with him again would have been enjoyable, but I have to keep in mind that I didn't meet this person in class, or through some other context in which one could assume a premise of friendship. I have to be cognizant of the fact that I met this person through a dating context, so the expectations, at the outset, are a little different. I can't bumble into a scenario in which I have to consider someone else's investment in me. It's important not to be cavalier.

Another [decaf] latte, a nosy cabbie, and a rejection
(in the key of pizza and a martini, a la "Lush Life")

I met up with guy number 3* at the new Starbucks in Charles Village. Like the 2nd meeting, it was a pleasant, good conversation, nice rhythm, etc. He's been the only person so far to even suggest that we might meet up again. We ran the gamut of jazz, his work as a video journalist (he's the guy who filmed that unfortunate bird's collision with Fabio's nose), and politics--all very amicably and with a greater degree of ease than I had with either of the first two. He offered to give me a ride home afterward, and though I sensed that I would have been fine, that he was totally safe, I declined. I just like to maintain my independence in these scenarios as far as getting myself to and from the destinations on my own terms goes. I told him, non-comittally, to e-mail me (about meeting up again).

I came away from this experience feeling that I could be this guy's friend.

It wasn't too long before I sucessfully hailed a cab. The true anecdote begins once I was inside the Checker vehicle. My driver was obviously not a native speaker because his language constructs were circuitous and awkwardly formal. This did not deter him from being chatty in the least, though. He asked me if I was leaving work. I told him that I wasn't, and tried to leave it at that. He asked if I was headed home, so I told him that I was. Then he asked me what I'd been doing, where I'd been, etc.

Me: Meeting a friend for coffee.
Cabbie: Who paid?
Me [bewildered by the acuity of his question]: I did.
Cabbie: Why?
Me: Because I'm the one who wanted coffee...
Cabbie: Did he drink anything?
Me: No, actually.
Cabbie: Why?
Me [intrigued but wanting to end the interrogation]: Because he didn't want anything...

He went on to ask me "how often do you do this?" I asked him if he was asking how often I meet friends for coffee or how often I drink coffee. I kept to the story of having met a preexisting friend for coffee because it was easier than explaining that I met someone for coffee that I don't actually know for a quasi-date, etc.

Suddenly I was in the unenviable position of having to keep up a lie about catching up with an old friend for coffee, that yes I had known him a long time (Is he your "growing up neighborhood friend?"), that no, even though this person was my very old friend that I did not know what he did for a living (when the cabbie asked me about my friend's job).

Then he upped the ante. Big time. My driver tells me that it is possible that this friendship can become something more. I laughed nervously and in an attempt to brush him off told him that I supposed anything could happen... He then said "these things always begin that way." I continued to laugh nervously.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything more until he dropped me off in front of my building, but what he said next was just as unnerving as anything else.

Me: Thank you.
Cabbie: Okay; good luck with your relationships.
Me [uncertainly]: Um... thanks.

Even though this driver was unusually oblivious to his customer's boundaries, I think I indulged it as far as I did because his comments were eerily prescient. Not so much about this guy that I saw tonight, but just generally, intuitively sound given what I'm purusing in my life right now.

On other fronts, a man that I contacted via the site today (I had not initiated contact with anyone in days) wrote back to say, in so many words, "Thanks, but no thanks." He used the pre-fab message "I've just met someone and I want to see what develops."

I've realized that I like it much better when a rejection is silent. I prefer it when the guys just don't write back at all.

* not the guy I saw the other morning. that date is still pending.

Fishing for salmon, losing at backgammon...

Last night's cocktail fete (post a ceiling water damage maintenance scenario) was a success. I am amazed at how many dishes salad, hors d'oeuvres, pizza, and martinis can generate. I went home with Sarah afterward (midnight!) so a terriffic stack of plates and bowls were waiting for me when I got back home tonight. It took me about an hour to get everything back to normal (and hence my internal agitation barometer back to neutral).

The Sarah-one and I parted ways at Kohl's--she had to get to a friend's party--where I began to shop for some date outfits. It was a little depressing, though by no means surprising, to know that I am back up a few sizes. In spite of all that, I found two wonderful shirts, a sweater, a terrific pair of black pants, yoga pants, a pair of casual shoes, and other various and sundries. Though the fact of needing new clothes with which to make good first impressions on potential suitors prompted these purchases, these new things will be good for work, too. The yoga pants, obviously, are neither for dates nor work (unless I get suckered into a couples' yoga class at some point in the future).

As to being back in the larger sizes, all I can say is this: It's a good thing I joined a gym (right near work!) on Thursday. I start working out again next week. Thank God!

Close encounters of some kind or other

what would you say if I told you that as I was walking toward the light rail this morning (after a brief 7-11 coffee run) that I saw a man I've been communicating with for the last several days via the dating site?

I've only seen a few photos and exchanged limited e-mails with him,but when I saw him I knew who he was right away. And he saw me seeing him and I saw him seeing me. But neither of us said a word.

We were close enough to make each other out, but far enough away that calling out would have been ridiculous and not a little embarrassing. I thought about doing it anyway, but quickly rejected the idea in favour of my dignity. Clearly he did the same, because though he kept walking this morning (after staring at me for a judicious beat from the other side of Calvert street) I just got a note from him that said "i saw you this morning. didn't i?"

i feel so much more streamlined...

hair cut

The Part of You That No One Sees

You are powerful, passionate, and dominant.You have a vision of how things should be, and you do your best to make things happen.People rely on you for your strength. You are a rock to many. Underneath it all, you aren't so sure about your passions.So many ideas spark your interest, it is hard for you to get behind a select few.However, you see indecision as a sign of weakness. So you pursue your goals full force - no matter how foolish they turn out to be.

What's" the Part of You That No One Sees?

You Are Guinness

You know beer well, and you'll only drink the best beers in the world.Watered down beers disgust you, as do the people who drink them.When you drink, you tend to become a bit of a know it all - especially about subjects you don't know well.But your friends tolerate your drunken ways, because you introduce them to the best beers around.

What's" Your Beer Personality?

Manicure

i went for the purply-brown colour this time....

green tea latte... so zen!

She liked imaginary men best of all...

I did have a date on the books tonight, but mounting evidence dictated that I cancel it. Permanently.

About a week and a half ago an intriguing guy wrote to me and after a series of back-and-forth messages via the site's interface, we set up a plan to have coffee. A few days later during an instant message exchange he let me know that he'd like to wait until after his bi-weekly trip to Vegas to confirm. He explained that the Monday and Tuesday after a Vegas run can be "rough."

I wasn't terribly bothered (little investment makes for supreme peace of mind), but I registered the frequent gambling right away. He's gone twice a month since March of 2006! According to him he only breaks even because even though he wins, once he factors in the expense to get out there and back, he doesn't come out ahead.

As I mentioned, this man's profile intrigued me, and when I agreed to meet him for a late coffee at the One World it was with the understanding that this date would be more anecdote than anything else. It seemed to fit with my goal to be more open...to hilarity, to inanity, to whatever... And I thought he would make me laugh.

I wrote him yesterday morning to confirm for tonight. He responded, letting me know that he'd lost for the first time in a year, but hoped to recoup the thousands of dollars he was suddenly short by way of some other betting pool he was in. He still didn't know about Tuesday (tonight) because he needed to get some sleep, but that he would let me know today (Tuesday). He acknowledged that letting me know his plans on the day of would probably be too late.

Because I had plans last night, I decided to wait to see how I felt after that rendezvous to determine if I still wanted to keep the Tuesday plan with gambler guy. I realized that while I was truly not upset about his lack of commitment to the date we made, that this lack of commitment was not something I should indulge, certainly not for the sake of having a mere anecdote to share on The Baltimore Chronicles.

Between the compulsive betting and the lack of a firm grasp on subject-verb agreement/word choice, I decided to let his ship sail. I wrote him last night when I got back from the bar where I met the second first date and told him that a same-day confirmation would be cutting it too close and that due to my own social calendar, a reschedule was not something I could foresee.
I thanked him for contacting me initially and wished him the best.

This joker writes back and says:

"That was one strange response. So is it my lost or did I just get lucky?" [sic]

So, blog world, there's my anecdote from the date that wasn't.

The Kind of Thing You Only See In Scented, Glossy Magazines...

My second first date was significantly better than my first, first date, but there will not be a second date in this case, either.

He was incredibly nice, intelligent. Affable, witty, kept the conversation going. I knew that whatever happened this exchange would be pleasant and I wasn't nervous beforehand at all. This guy was just so much more mature, so much nicer than the first guy even in our initial e-mail exchanges. He presented just as well in person. But. No spark. What this date had in common with the first was the mutual understanding that there would be no future meetings. It wasn't as dramatically realized, but still obvious enough, I think, fairly early on.

What I've learned from these two social outings is that even when you know who you are looking for, you have no idea who the person is. In both cases, the live version of the photograph that piqued my interest had precious little to do with the actual person who came through the doors. And while neither of the men I've seen told me this, I am almost positive that they felt the same way upon seeing me. This is the girl I agreed to meet?

I continue to feel that this whole undertaking is a success because I am learning so much about myself in these scenarios. I'm learning something about men, and just the yearnings of people in general. We're all doing our best, hoping someone will find us interesting whether we are or not. In most cases, we are not half as intriguing or dynamic or funny or smart as we think we are.

We just have these little moments when a globally acceptable version of who we are emerges and if we are lucky there is someone there with a camera, or we can cleverly turn a phrase to make our idiosyncracies endearing. And that's what we put on display for the dog and pony show world of online dating.

I get so philosophical after these dates, but really I think it boils down to what Jerry Seinfeld said on his show. 99% of the world is undatable. Undatable!

I've been back home for just about 2 hours now and I think I've finally decompressed enough to pop in the latest from Netflix.

My sisters and I barely made a dent in my mom's 30+-year collection of junk, but that's to be expected. I think we'll be helping her to dig out of this hole for about a year (It's like pulling teeth). We got rid of about 15 large garbage bags of stuff, and about 6 or 7 more bags are going to be donated to a thrift store tomorrow.

Her house wore on me and I am just really tired. At the same time, it motivated me. I threw out some stuff of mine that's been sitting around with no clear purpose.

Intervention

For the last several hours my sisters and I have been going through my mother's things and throwing them away or bagging them up to be given away to Goodwill.

All of my life, my mother has been a packrat. My father, during the time they lived together, only enabled this tendency in her with his own hoarding instincts. As my mother's emotional and psychological disenfranchisement became more pronounced, so did her penchant for clutter.

I used to say "my mom has a lot of stuff, but she is very clean." And then one day, a few years ago, I realized that her "clutter" precluded cleanliness because it is impossible to clean when there is literally no clear surface in a house.

We have not been able to sit at the dining room table in at least five years. There is trash underneath it. There are piles of knick knacks, papers, and "decorations" on top of it.
My mother had begun to store wrapping paper, all manner of baskets, trinkets, and just plain crap in the shower of her second bathroom.

She's been begging me for months to come home and help her clean, and for as much as I've wanted to, I know that her take on "cleaning" is to separate her clutter into piles--to "organize" the mess--to migrate it to a new corner. I told her that if I came home, it would not be to help her clean, but to help her throw things away. My mother is a good month of continued purging away from cleaning up.

Among the things I found today:

Several bags of bags
Natty hair pieces/wig attachments
Colouring books
A book that explains menstruation to teens (written in the 1960s if the illustrations are anything to go by)
Hair conditioner that I am certain was in the main bathroom when I was in high school (1987-1991)

She has been fighting us at every turn. The only peaceful moments we've had are the ones when she went out to run errands. The push/pull between wanting to respect her and let her make decisions about what to throw away and what to keep is butting up against the cruel necessity of simply putting things in garbage bags without telling her anything.

And what is worse, her car has become an extension of the house. When she picked me and Caryl up at the train station last night, there was not enough room in the car for us both because of all the junk she carts around purposelessly day in and day out.

It's heartbreaking.

My middle sister gave voice to my darkest thoughts. How hard, she wondered, would this be if we had to dig through all this stuff after our mother's passing (which is not something we foresee in the immediate future, but still is an inevitability)?

Very Quickly...

I'm going to work today, then directly to visit my mom for the weekend. Not much is going on except that I caught up with a classmate last night. We met at the Brewer's Art, but finding that too crowded we left for Sammy's where we sat at a quiet, smokeless bar till closing.

In other news, a promising man has established contact. I volleyed back. We'll see if it materializes. Still have to firm up plans for Monday's and Tuesday's meetings (that's really what they are like... scrambled versions of the job interview construct).

Anatomy of a first (and only) Date:

He was late, not unforgivably so, but late enough that I bought my own decaf cappuccino to justify taking up table space. I decided that I would wait until 8:30 before I gave up and left. A half an hour late means one of two things: the person is unavoidably and thoroughly waylaid or he is not coming. At 8:15 my date (who, I quickly realized, peaked in his not-that-great-to-begin-with photo) arrived.

There was an instant, simultaneous realization that this would be our one and only date. I saw in his face the mirror image of my own epiphany and I was...relieved. It is possible to meet someone for an uncomplicated coffee and to leave it with absolutely no feeling of awkwardness because it didn't mean more to one of you than the other. This is the experience of mutuality I've been waiting for my whole life!

If nothing else ever happens with this Dating Schematic I'm spearheading, this object lesson is worth the money I spent to join the site and for the cappuccino.

Once I realized I was absolutely free to not care about anything he said, I engaged him from a place of almost academic curiosity. His aspirations? To write children's books (he feels that the illustration doesn't have to be that great... it's only for kids, afterall... I know. Don't say it.)
What would stop him from pursuing this dream? If he got some girl pregnant. (He must seem like a real prizewinner right about now. He actually wasn't bad at all... It was a joke... I think.)

We migrated to the safe topics. Things like "Top 5 Books," and "So, what kind of poetry do you write, exactly?"

My personal favourite moment of the night? When I told him that my master's concentration was poetry and he said:

"Oh, I thought it was creative writing."

I thought about letting that slide. But then I said:

"Some would argue that poetry is creative writing..."

[Confused silence]

"...but you are probably thinking of fiction when you say 'creative writing.'"

To which he replied:

"Yeah... like, plot."

My second favourite moment of the night?

When I decided that I would only stay for as long as my drink lasted and then left as soon as it was finished. My companion actually ordered food, which was fine. Luckily, we finished up at about the same time.

We had been talking about what we each hope to "get" from online dating (we agreed that something about it continues to feel 'inorganic.')

I loved what he said when I put the question to him:

"Not a damn thing."

So, once I drank the last drop, I said:

"Well, my coffee is done and you're done... so, I have to be going. Even though you're not staking your life on this thing, I wish you luck." And I shook his hand.

Speaking of plot.

The next installment of The First Date Chronicles will go live on Monday night. That's when I have my next adventure in the world of meeting-men-for-beverages-so-I-have-anecdotes- about-which-to-blog.

Booked for the foreseeable future...

Tonight is my one free night, and in truth, I sort of wish I had some noble cause occupying my time. Too much time to think these days is utterly unhelpful. Tomorrow I'm meeting up with Sarah after work to procure some donation items for a local shelter (and then maybe attending a poetry thing on Preston Street...if I get home in time); Wednesday, I meet a virtual stranger for coffee; Thursday, I meet a classmate to catch up; Friday, I take the train to visit my mom for the weekend. I think I'm also free next Monday, but then I meet a different virtual stranger for coffee on Tuesday the 6th; Wednesday the 7th--manicure; Thursday the 8th--hair appointment; Friday the 9th--cocktails/dinner and a movie with friends. I should be grateful...and I guess I am, but thinking about it all so close together like that is a tiny bit overwhelming. I think I'll feel better once I get through this Wednesday. It's a little unnerving. And yet,I set the wheels in motion.

Feeling terrified usually yields a good result. I guess it's a good thing I'm terrified...

February Strikes Again!

I've decided that February is the month of true Winter Weather in the Mid-Atlantic (i.e., snow/ice/the twain of ice and snow meeting). December and January are consistently manageable temperature and precipitation-wise, consequently, I don't mind them.

Sarah and I were going to join some friends of hers at Boordy for a wine & fondue event, but the road conditions precluded it. I wasn't totally bummed (I have plenty of household/work chores to do, really), but what if my heart had been set on it? I think what I hate is the feeling that things aren't possible...

Before the roads became unnavagable S and I did manage to get to Wegman's for light groceries--and thanks to that trip, I am now snug in my apartment eating a delightful salad of mixed greens, dried apricots & cranberries, walnuts, and gorgonzola. All tossed with a sweet raspberry vinaigrette. Soup to follow.

In other news, after a manicure yesterday morning, I decided to get them done weekly. Fourteen dollars is a completely reasonable indulgence. My cuticles were not doing well, and I am no longer foolish enough to think that I will do this for myself. I'm not dexterous enough to manicure my right hand with my left, so the presentation is always uneven when I attempt the homemade version...

To protect my nails and hands between treatments, I've finally invested in a cute pair of pink dish-washing gloves. Can't have my polish chipping after only a few days.

You Will Be a Cool Parent

You seem to naturally know a lot about parenting, and you know what kids need. You can tell when it's time to let kids off the hook, and when it's time to lay down the law. While your parenting is modern and hip, it's not over the top. You know that there's nothing cool about a parent who acts like a teenager... or a drill sergeant!

Would You Be a Cool Parent?

'Round Midnight

Scene:

Interior of a city apartment, Kate Krupnik's office

Lighting:

A lone desk lamp

Props:

red glazed mug, a sheet of lined paper (with writing)

Character:

Kate Krupnik, wearing a sweater, jeans, and bathrobe

The Situation:

Miles Davis's 'Round Midnight pours from the computer speakers on Kate's Desk. She is not ruminating or pensive, though the mood might suggest something akin to social malaise. You hear the faint, unintelligible dialogue of a television program in the next room. Kate is thinking about the fact that men under 40 seem ridiculously young, though she, herself, is only 33. She is thinking of the crepe she ate for dinner, hours ago. She is mildly hungry, but will do nothing about it because of the lateness of the hour. The solution, she understands, is to go to bed.

Exit Kate, Stage Left.

There's a recent trend in my life...bumping into people when I most need to see them, wonder desperately where they've gotten off to, or when I am not in any way thinking of them, but am delighted to see them all the same.

About a week ago I ran into a former coworker (he was referred to here as "Editor Boy") on the corner of Charles & Preston. This morning I was running a little later than usual and when I got to this fateful corner, realized that I did not have enough cereal for a full bowl once I got to work. So I stopped into XS (coffee bar, sushi bar, breakfast joint) for something. There he was again. Now I know the routine. I'm running late, I see him on or near Charles & Preston...

I've already mentioned that the Sunday before last, just before this Ice Debacle, I ran into an old friend who was wearing a Key Lime trench coat. She waved at me frantically from her car. I had been thinking about her, off and on, for the last two years. Because I decided to go to the nicer market, I saw her. I nearly went to the other grocery store. A split second decision led to serendipity.

I was on The University's campus today for business-related affairs. This is in no way usual, and my needing to be there was a last-minute thing. But once I realized I'd need to go, I had the strangest feeling I would see MNFA (my now former advisor). You may be thinking that this is not really odd or serendipitous since he teaches there. But given that he teaches at night in the MA program only, to see him walking about on the campus in broad day light is something I would never bank on.

In any case, there I was ambling about and then... there he was. I managed to catch up to him and we had an exchange that set my mind totally at ease where the Drunken Thank-You Dinner (DTYD) of two weeks ago is concerned. Really, I was quite embarrassed, and though it was not likely that I had eliminated all academic and literary credibility in one night, I still feared the worst. It was hard to reconcile his affability with the fact of my behavior (as I recalled it with staggering clarity the next day). Needless to say, his manner toward me was just as it always is. But I decided to allude to the evening, just to totally ease my mind. I told him that I hoped he'd had a good time, said "I wasn't quite myself..." and without missing a beat he said "I had a blast! It was so much fun!" There. A prayer answered.

In other news, I've agreed to have coffee with two perfect strangers. Not at the same time, though. All in the interest of casting a wide net. Aggressively, but not foolishly, open.

"You're not listening to me; I said 'I love you.'"

One of the clerks at 7-11 (where I went tonight for chicken broth and milk for a polenta I was planning) is flirtatious with me. At first, I didn't know if it was true flirtation or just friendliness gone a little awry (sometimes I really cannot tell). I usually ignore it.

As is always the case, I had my earbuds firmly in place, Robin Thicke's Evolution coursing through my ears at full volume (he incanted that I could call him my professor and see him after class), while the clerk was chatting with me. I responded to what I thought he was saying.

"Fine! How are you?"

He motioned for me to remove my earphones, and said the line that functions as the title of this post.

What could I say in return?

"Thank you! That is so sweet!"

And I meant it.

I'll take someone telling me he loves me, even if it is based purely on my sporadic appearances at his convenience store. I'm in a generous mood--in the mood to generously receive whatever kindness strangers want to proffer.

Favourite wintertime ritual?

the nighttime candlelit shower

Most unexpected source of a credible R&B debut? This man's son.

The Associative Property

bolognese, bougainvillea, tryptych, portico, chortled, acquiesce, curmudgeon, careen, waylaid, marooned, crevice, copacetic, dicey, penchant, concrete, dramatis personae, parallel, inclement, indisposed, veiled, negligent, errant, plaintive, indulgent, benevolent, irreverent, forgiven, perimeter, driven, ambient, flicker, bow, edge, strike, mahogany, inherent danger, spaetzle, sfumato, small, coffee, regretful girl, equinox, solstice, fusion, derision, ironic distance, rilke, solitude, come, yearn, stay, intuit, core, happy, wait, against, gorgeous indecision, access, wayward, audacity, vulgar, crass, base, dementia, psychosomatic, hypochondriacal, remnant, integral, enmeshed, indecipherable, wish, sow, reap, release, behalf, plunge, same, slowing roses, a rain with small hands, a bowed-head tulip, espresso, ask, darken against time, dirty ice, crunch, pivotal, appropos of everything, which is to say....

Open

I mentioned, earlier this month, that each week I try to open myself up to things I've been closed to before. This weekend (last night, especially) I made the decision to step out onto an ice floe. I didn't intend to, but I blame the domino effect.

On Friday night, after the reading, an opportunity was presented to me. Sometimes when one opportunity is granted, it gives you the courage to take another one. Anyway, I'm going to stay vague, for the time being, because I do believe that talking about anything prematurely can undermine it. In the past, this is something I've avoided, or have only half-heartedly attempted. In the recent past, I'd stopped considering it an option at all. But last night, I felt seized with the understanding that it was time--that I absolutely have to be aggressively open...

This morning, being on such a high from all my other risk-taking ventures, I decided to go to church. Last Sunday, on my way to the market, I ran into an old friend. She popped out of her car wearing a Key Lime trench coat--looking for all the world like the personification of good news. During the course of our brief but happy catching-up conversation, she gave me an address card for her church. As one who has been churchless for months, whether or not to go is always on my mind.

I did not know I was going to attend. I did not wake up with the intention of going. At 10:00 am, I was watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's," and finishing up my morning coffee. Then I understood that I would venture downtown for the service. There was no question about it. So I did.

I'm trying to listen to my instincts--really hearken to them--right now, especially. My youngest sister told me, a few days before this reading (a reading I was ambivalent about at best) that I would be helped, somehow, by it. That something would happen... I chose to believe her. It sounded right to me.

My push, during the last semester, was to embrace fragmentation--that elusive, abstract spirit of language--and to relinquish the letter of language. The object lesson comes home to roost in a million ways, flapping its wings vigorously.

Round Robin

Last night's reading drew an edgy, fringe crowd. I hit my stride on my third turn at the mic. There were these two cats--not hep, jazz dudes, I mean an orange tabby who was skittish but curious (naturally)and an open-to-human-interaction black and white feline. She (I feel that it was a she) was seductive, comfortable, in no way needy. They roamed around all night, getting into the food, enjoying the poetic vibe, I suppose. Sarah and I both smelled like smoke when we left the joint.

Come Saturday Morning

S and I went to see the new Hugh Grant/Drew Barrymore love fest "Music and Lyrics." Enjoyable.

Ravenous

Neither of us really ate (I had a glazed donut, Sarah had nothing) before the film at 1:35, so by the time it was over, we were cranky with hunger (having liked the film aside). Good thing there was a California Pizza Kitchen right next to the theatre. We got appetizers and dessert in addition to our meals.

Light Shopping

I found the HEMPZ Rosemary Mint Body Wash I love so much. It literally tingles on contact with the skin.

Taking Care of Business

My Federal refund came through, so I paid the state (ha!) and another outstanding bill, ordered someone a present I cannot wait to give (!), and ordered some new checks (I ran out last week).

Looking for something artsy to do on a cold night in Fevrier? Check this out.

I would like to take a moment to welcome all relatively new readers to The Baltimore Chronicles. If this is your first week/day/minute on the site, I promise that self-indulgent posts about winter ennui and sidewalk passability tests will not be the norm. I occasionally write about things like my frustration with the evangelical church, my thoughts on sex and sexual expression (as one who at the age of 33 has never indulged), and my love for the city of Baltimore, Underdog Extraordinaire! Yes, I know that that is something of a paradox. In the paraphrased words of Walt Whitman--"I am full of contradictory truths."

This blog is also preoccupied with the anecdotal element of life.

Por ejemplo: I bet you are just going to be thrilled to know that I wore not one, but two pairs of pants today.

This kind of information fascinates me to no end. If you are not similarly intrigued, keep coming back. There's guaranteed to be something here for you eventually. And if the present is not so engaging, then check out the archives. There's a real treasure trove of human pathos in those!

Upon the advice of two dear friends, I am embracing the fact that I can be a real mess sometimes. A colossal mess. Some people might even love me for that most of all...

Test Run

I just came back inside from testing out my usual route to the light rail stop for passability. I didn't make it a third of the way before I realized, with certainty, that there is no way I will be walking that path in the morning. Fortunately, I live on a bus route and I can get that bus to the light rail. I wish I had thought to get cash out of the ATM, because if I had I would think nothing of getting a cab to work tomorrow (and back home).

As if the ice and slush that have made the sidewalks a nightmare aren't enough, the cold is so bitter, the wind so hostile,that I developed an instant headache. This is really not good.

lonesome cup of coffee

ice upon ice upon ice. I am home again, working for roughly half the day. Then I'm going to tuck myself into a corner of my overstuffed couch and read, ruminate, and watch incredibly bad late afternoon television.

all night long ice splatted against my windows, sounding like a thousand freshly poured bowls of Rice Krispies--such a concert of snapping, crackling, and popping! I woke up off and on for a period of hours, but eventually I settled into the noise, made my peace with it as best I could.

I dreamed about my father. My whole family, really. In the dream my middle sister had made the decision to take back a negligent, purposeless boyfriend. I disapproved and could not hide it. Her poor choice had some direct bearing on a family trip or something like that... My father tried to speak to me about it. I said pointedly to him "I hold her completely responsible for this!" Just as pointedly, he said to me "She knows that!"

The point of this dream, I understand, is that when you are judging someone, holding their bad choices against them, they always know and no relationship can move forward from that place. That's what my father was trying to tell me.

In any case, I'm up now and working. Drinking what is a positively lonely little cup of coffee, and am not wishing for anything in particular, besides.

etc.

1. due to the inconvenient weather and an extremely caring boss, i was able to work from home today.
2. i definitely have the february blahs (see posts from last week).
3. i started listening to one book on CD, decided i was not into it by disc 3, and started another one. much better.
4. tomorrow is hump day, for which i am eternally grateful. the work week will fly by from here.
5. it's also Valentine's Day. This will have no effect on my life.
6. the most exciting thing that happened today? My New Yorker arrived in the mail. The only legitimate item amidst a slew of circulars.
7. i found a card i'd purchased a full month before my youngest sister's birthday, but had forgotten to mail to her. So i sent it off tonight. her birthday was in August.
8. i actually left my apartment (needed stamps--see number 7 above). the slushy snow/ice melange is going to be awful to walk on tomorrow.
9. after work, but before dinner tonight, i read some of Jane Kenyon's poetry. I deliberately paid closer attention to the poems i usually skip over to get right to my favourites.
10. i am watching "Auntie Mame." It arrived last Friday (netflix), but I am just getting to it. Charming, touching.
11. it will be a year ago on thursday that I first saw my apartment. i decided that night to rent it, though i wouldn't be able to move in until mid-April.
12. on thursday, i have my six-month eval. here's hoping...
13. i'm trying to work through my angst in healthy ways.
14. my jeans are a little loose.
15. someone in Paris comes to this blog, from time to time, but only stays for 0 seconds (according to sitemeter. can that be right?).

How Am I Going To Make It Right?

Finding myself bereft of the superimposition of an external narrative on my days, I went to the library. A brief stop home to divest myself of work-related things, and then back out the door, into a slight rain. Today was almost balmy compared to the temperatures we've had lately, so that further encouraged my decision to walk the distance required to scare up some more books on CD. For the last week, I've been listening to music at work, and I find that it does not, that it cannot distract me the way I seem to need to be distracted just now.

I feel exposed. Gutted. Raw. Something is trying desperately to make it to the surface and I suppose I should just let it. Such a feeling typically precedes an emotional, if not an artistic, breakthrough. It was not long ago that I was coaxing and courting this very thing. Being unhinged made for effective poetry revisions.

I found something useful in profound solitude, sitting at the apex of emptiness. I just can't seem to make myself want to go back to that again. Prayer has offered some solace--asking God to help me, to ground me, to forgive me for my shenanigans. But what I suspect is that I probably need to cry. To really cry over it, whatever it is.

New Stemware

Dinner & Drinks

The evening began with a lovely, sensual French red. This was my now former Advisor's (MNFA) contribution to the Thank-you meal I planned to honour him and Sarah for their significant, inarticuable support during the most crucial time in my creative life up to this point. I guess I can refer to him as my friend--it'll take some adjusting to get myself out of this academic paradigm where all that's concerned.

I would like to say that I was the picture of decorum and social appropriateness. This is not quite true. I found myself in the predicament of having had alcohol on a nearly empty stomach, and so felt the impact of said alcohol very quickly. Even at dinner, it seems that I didn't eat that much--the momentum was too strong, and it just built on itself.

You know those times when memories of things you said or did in a highly stressful situation, or as in this case, under the influence of a fine wine (and a martini), comes back to you in waves of recollection? Well, this has been happening all day.

I prefaced every question to Sarah with "Was there a point last night when I said....?"

The Highlights:

I announced at one point that I am Katherine Hepburn.
I asserted that I found Al Gore extremely sexy in the early 90s.
At one point, my hairclip fell into my martini. I promptly removed it and put it back in my hair as though there was nothing really unusual about this.

This does not begin to scratch the surface. I was essentially a hot mess.

The fact that I was an unwitting, though very entertaining, inebriated socialite aside, the evening was a complete success. We were seated at just a little after 7, and we did not leave the restaurant until 11. There were anecdotes, quizzes, the sharing of desserts (my insistence on tasting other people's side dishes and chianti).

Here's what's clear. I've been feeling fragile all week, and I don't exactly know why. I think I'm mourning the fact that my master's career is over. I think that being with two people--two friends--that I hold in such high esteem made me feel kind of quietly daring and safe enough to be unhinged. There may be some pathology in that. I'm not exploring it tonight.

But I didn't like how I felt this morning. My first coherent thought was "Gosh, I am such an idiot!"

Sarah assured me that it was all fine, and that the atmosphere was very very convivial and good-natured. She did her best to convince me that while I was not my usually checked self, that I was not the ass I feared I was. She and MNFA had a blast. I felt that. I felt it being a good night (even drunk you know when the vibe is bad), and I liked the dynamic. If it should ever happen again (and I hope it does), I would have something to eat so there wouldn't be a repeat performance.

84,000 Different Delusions

For years, I've been under the impression that I don't like Nina Simone. Because of the network of shared playlists at la oficina, I've rediscovered her, via a coworker's iTunes library. And I love it. You know what it's like? It's like trying a refined food (or a food with complex tastes) for the first time when you're a child, when your tastebuds are untested and incapable of appreciating the textures different tastes afford. You may remain convinced that you hate said food, until one day, inexplicably, you are moved to try it again, and it is instant love. What happened? Did the food change? No, you did. Now you have a collection of food experiences that has properly oriented your tastebuds to receive this long-hated delicacy. This food, unbeknownst to you, has developed a context. A place in the spectrum of things you now cherish.

I also used to be under the impression that I did not like Jazz. It was torture listenting to my grandfather's records when I was little. I longed for the mindless pop of the day--not Bitches Brew, Blue Train, and Kind of Blue. Now, though, the colliding, non-melodic, law-unto-itself notes of a jazz riff are where I feel the most at home in music.

Each week, I try to open myself up to something that I've been closed to before. This week I've learned that it just doesn't get much better for me than Simone's version of "I Loves You Porgy."

Each week, I also write out a list of everything I'm afraid of in that moment. And then I come back to it a week later. I usually discover that within a span of 7 short days that everything I fear has either vaporized or worked itself out.

Inexplicably, for the last two or three days I've felt down on myself. Weirdly self-pitying, given how well things are going. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I listened to selections from The Cure's "Disintegration" album for an hour or so this morning. It's a great album, no doubt, but the desire to listen to "The Same Deep Water As You" on repeat does not bespeak a happy mood.

Fortunately, I was able to pull myself together and clear out the cobwebs. I filed some papers, followed up with people via e-mail (work-related missives), recycled unneeded paper, and formulated a game plan for my projects.

And then something small happened. In fact, it was completely mundane, and it certainly wouldn't translate to happiness for anyone else--but for me--it was the first legitimate reason to smile in about two days.

Still have a mild case of the blahs, but all I can do is ride it out. In the meantime, looking ahead....

Weekend in the Rearview Mirror/ Week on the Horizon

On Saturday evening Sarah, myself, and a couple of her coworkers got to partake of the the multi-course gourmet meal we won (as a four-person collective) via the Susan G. Komen donation raffle that was held at Sarah's job back in October. We started with pomegranate martinis, moved on to an appetizer of asian crab cakes (paired with a lovely Shiraz). From there we had a potato leek soup with braised scallops, which was followed by a mixed green salad topped with bacon, butternut squash, red onions, and creamy bleu cheese (all tossed with a subtle lemon vinaigrette). The main course, paired with another dreamy red (I do not remember the brand, vintage, or family of grape to which it belonged), was a macademia-encrusted mahi-mahi (so succulent), accompanied by a rice pilaf with orange zest, and fresh green beans & carrots. Dessert was two-pronged attack. Miniature molten lava chocolate cakes with mint-infused whipped cream and... key lime pie. We were meant to have a choice. We all chose to have a bit of both.

As per usual, I crashed at Sarah's house on Saturday night. Today, after watching the Sunday morning line up of shows on the Food Network, Sarah graciously did my taxes. Thankfully, the Federal return will yield a refund, but I'm getting a little nickeled and dimed by the state. I don't know why, and I certainly can't prove it, but I feel somehow that this must be Martin O'Malley's fault.

Tomorrow. Ah tomorrow. Back to work, full steam ahead. But Friday, oh friday... Well. That's dinner with Sarah and my now former thesis advisor. Finally, I'm taking them out to say thanks for seeing me through last semester.

my future

the gift

Met up with E right after work. We went to a lacklustre burger joint, then had an impromptu gabfest at my apartment. Now I'm tired, but feeling better for having seen my friend. Since I had not hung up a single article of clothing all week, once E departed I set about clearing my papasan of the week's work wardrobe, threw out some old magazines, arranged other things, and feel--if not better--then less like a complete failure. I find that I can't quite relax because of some apparent water damage to the ceiling in my dining room. I just want it fixed, already. In general, I feel out of control and out of sorts. This means I need to clean the bathroom and do my laundry. That's what it always means. I am oddly agitated and out of sync. ick!

Braised Red Cabbage leaves/plump flank of salmon flaking/Green garlic'd spinach

We are expecting a little problematic sheet of ice to crust the streets and walkways overnight. It is likely that I will work from home for a few hours tomorrow morning, but for as nice as being able to stay in bed a bit longer would be, I would like it better if we had no weather incidents. Once the streets are plowed, scraped, and salted, the sidewalks will probably still be a death gauntlet for all unlucky pedestrians, including yours truly.

I am still trying to corral all the bits of my work projects and I typically feel like I'm doing okay with it, but I also know what's at stake. There are a lot of things to consider, and all of them have implications for something else. I'm developing some project coordination muscles. Speaking of work...am still in love with my job, my coworkers, and my boss. When I get up in the morning, I like where I'm headed. Continue to be glad that I flew that other company's coop.

Grey's Anatomy promises to be good tonight. I think I'll heat up the kettle for tea and hunker down on the couch for an hour of dramatic bliss.

I'm tempted to say a lot of things, but I've finally learned that some cards must be played close to the chest.

I read today that blogging is on the wane. Technorati thinks 2007 is the saturation year--the time when the blog will have lost, finally, its cachet. I think a lot about whether this blog has outlived its usefulness. I know that my friends still enjoy it, to an extent, but I have to admit that I've not been totally successful at reinventing it.

My blog was born out of a desire to keep a secret and yet at the same time bespoke my need to expose that secret. It made for drama, pathos, and extreme emotionally volatile posts. It was tame content, but the fact that it was crucial that the content be hidden from one person in the world infused it with the element of the forbidden.

The jig has been up for a while now. Between that and my newfound committment to discretion, I'm only putting the "blog version" of my days on display. I suppose I could make this photo element work for me a bit longer, but I still know the truth. The Baltimore Chronicles needs a second life.

Here's some news, appropos of nothing: Received an e-mail from key University Personnel about my thesis and publication grade (the one I'm contesting). He thinks he might have a solution in the works. I'm hoping that it'll be relatively painless. Whatever the outcome at least I'll be able to respect myself for not backing down and refusing to take that joke of a grade on the chin.

I think I have a little touch of something. I couldn't even make it through my netflix selection--i'm not one for napping in the evening--but I fell asleep on the couch against my will. Eventually I gave up on the film, for tonight anyway.

Had to make myself get up, though, because otherwise my sleep cycle would be thrown way off course. I called my sister and e-mailed her some photos from the reading. I wanted to get her feedback on them while I was talking to her, because I knew she would talk to me about the nuances of each shot--her take on the facial expressions, the vibes each picture gives her, all that kind of intuitive stuff I love talking about with her. That girl is my sage. She sees a lot. Always has.

Today was mottled. I couldn't seem to get started. I did stuff, arranged stuff, tried to organize projects, but didn't feel like I totally hit my stride. I really hope I'm not coming down with something. I took an Airborne tablet this morning, but I don't know that it was successful.

Looking forward to getting my taxes done. This may be one of the last years that I get a refund for a while.

Baltimore Montage: A Love Story

The reading was a complete success. The room was packed with friends and loved ones (including Catchka, who came in from Boston to surprise me!), and I felt so loved, so empowered to read the poems with my guard completely down--with candor and simplicity. I felt myself being fully in the moment, fully engaged with the audience. I was connected to everyone and that made the event for me.

I had done a couple of runthroughs of my thesis over the last few days, focusing on phrasing and timing of select pieces. Right before Sarah picked me up for the reading, I did a full rehearsal, all alone in my apartment, which put me in a great headspace.

I expected to feel nervous when it was time to start, but as soon as I began to speak I felt safe and very much in my element. It helped, too, that I worked out the transitions between the pieces, being careful to think about which poems would benefit from some introduction or accompanying anecdote and which ones to go into without preamble.

To infuse some freshness into the experience of reading my thesis (plus the two new pieces), I changed the order a bit and arranged them so that there were word associations or thematic resonances between the pieces (the thesis, when submitted to the university, was arranged as a cohesive narrative progression) and it worked.

After the reading portion of the evening concluded, there was tons of effortless mingling. And thanks to the generous contributions of friends, there was plenty of wine and delicious sweets and savories alike of which to partake.

Oh. And my mom survived the reading of the poem with the slightly controversial line.

It was tremendous.

Rejection #2

Odd timing, this notice. It's the night before the reading (and I'm already having a bit of writer's crisis--wondering, truly, if i'm not something of a hack) and I found in my mailbox, once I'd come home from a meal out with a pal, this self-addressed envelope. It could only mean one thing. I briefly scanned the slip of paper that had been added to the pack of my sad little poems. It seems that they were "not right" for the publication.

Why is rejection always codified? It's just like being dumped(or eliminated as a possibility before the guy even really knows you). "It's not you, it's me..." "this is a bad time for me right now..." are replaced with "interesting, but not quite what we're looking for," and "sadly, your poems aren't right..."

I don't mean to be a baby about it. I know a writer has to earn her stripes by collecting any number of these little ego-crushing, existentialist crisis-inducing notes, but gah!

How am I supposed to stand up and read my work with a straight face the day after this latest disappointment?

Talked to my mom tonight. Tried to prepare her for one of the poems I knew she'd find shocking. Good thing I laid the groundwork. She nearly screamed into the phone when I read her the one little controversial line.

"It's a metaphor, Mommy."
"I don't care what it is, I did not raise you to use that word..."
"Well, it's art..."
"Art?!"
"Yes...."
"Lord, Have mercy."

Yes, God, please do.

I've been working on two new poems--that is to say poems that had nothing to do with my thesis--and I am so pleased with my progress that I may share them at this weekend's reading. One of them is more ready than the other, so the jury is still out.

Something that has helped with the one poem, especially, is employing the discipline of haiku. With few exceptions, I've written a haiku each day of the new year, and I find that it forces an economy of language and makes my phrasing crisp and pointed in my "real" work. Eliminating qualifiers and exposition is goal number one for my writing at this stage. In haiku there is no room for these distractions.

I'm a little nervous. I want the reading to go well. I want the pieces to be understood and well received. But this is where my role as an artist ends. I put my work out into the world and people will feel about it the way they feel about it. It's not up to me.

The Books on CD Parade continues. Now I'm on to Playing With Boys, and it is such a pleasant listen. I have 2 more discs out of the 13 to go. Three very different Latinas are at the forefront of this charming contemporary novel. It's about empowerment without being uber political in tone (that is to say it is not didactic and polarizing). The politics of the piece is secondary, I should say, to the stories of the women's lives. It's funny, consistent, and is an excellent study in voice.

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 55% Conservative, 45% Liberal

Social Issues: 75% Conservative, 25% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Ethics: 25% Conservative, 75% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 100% Conservative, 0% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

You Should Go to Grad School

Grad school definitely isn't for everyone, but it looks like it's for you. You have a pretty good idea of what you want to study - and how it will further your career. So go ahead and go for it! You're ready to be a PhD.

Should You Go To Grad School?

You Are More Yang

Masculine Creative Angry Spring Summer Morning Sun Space Active Wood Chocolate

Are You More Yin or Yang?

Because I'm truly confounded...

What is up with the rash of incidents of verbal insensitivity/stupidity a la celebrities lately? Have these people lost their sense of propriety? Their minds? Do they not have image consultants or publicists who can instruct them about when to speak and what to say?

I won't repeat any of the gaffes here because they were offensive the first time, so there's no need (and I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about), but come on!

Look, I'm not stupid. People say all kinds of things behind closed doors with likeminded friends. This is not a post about the beliefs that underlie what has been said. Too big a topic, so moving on.

But where is the filter that prevents stuff like that from coming out in a public forum? These people all have some degree of fame and have been groomed to always present well. So where's that Hollywood chip, that politically-aware mechanism that should be in place?

I just don't get it. How stupid do you have to be?

Saturday at The Filling Station

eating like a pauper

i've consumed more *peanutbutter and jelly sandwiches in the last week than i did in all of last year. it's some combination of trying to save money (i'm not destitute, but running a little low) and trying to create meals that have stricter parameters for myself. a sandwich has a very definite end. it's very contained. because i'm using low-cal bread, i usually have two as a meal, but sometimes i find that if i wait a bit between them, one will suffice.

recently, i've allowed myself to consider that i might be a food addict. i have a number of extreme tendencies (excess or abstinence) where consumption is concerned. for the last several months i've been informally gathering data about my food preferences, responses, and my emotions as regulated by food consumption.

several times in the last two months, i have experienced feelings of resentment about the fact that i even need to eat at all. i volley between that and feeling resigned to overeating, feeling helpless to the pull of heavy carbs and sweets that were abundant in my workplace and the whole wide world for all of December. i have to reorient myself because all of the detoxing i did a year and a half ago has been undermined by the last several months' reemerging habits.

there was this one day there were donuts or something like that in the office. all day. and i sidestepped the temptation (it took every ounce of my strength). Once i'd made it to the afternoon without a single slip, i thought i was home free. i left my area for a brief break, came back, and there were new goodies (savory this time) in the general area. and something literally snapped. i didn't feel there was any way i could withstand a second round. i didn't.

i had the thought that no one would expect a recovering crack addict to resist the drug on a table surrounded by all of its accoutrements, buffet-style, so why on earth was i being subjected to this torture? food is really the last addiction frontier. it's not entirely ignored as a problem, but is still relatively low on the radar. it's hard to manage, because everyone does need to eat--addicted or not. you can safely refrain (once detoxed) from all other substances and never need to touch them again. in fact, you mustn't, but food is the habit you can't completely break.

i don't want to externalize,though. i know that my patterns are the result of my internal landscape, so as much as possible, without beating myself up, i'm taking responsibility for myself and my habits. isn't that the first step? i have no specific goals (none that i will publicize this go round, anyway) except to create a new set of governing principles about food.

at its root, i know it's about feeling thwarted and powerless. there's some experience i want, there's some control i don't know how to take. food, for me, is about not being robbed. it's about a hunger so deep, it's bottomless.

it goes even deeper than i imagined. i spent so much time working this out, losing weight (some of which i have definitely regained), learning to reign myself in. and i did it all the right way. i thought it would stick this time.

the motivation for that overhaul was extreme devastation. when my grief, anger, and sadness lifted, the fuel that kept me going ran out. i felt the drive leaving me and i was terrified.

so now what? i can't avoid food. i can't make it my stand-in for unfulfilled longings. what's in between? i guess i'll find out.

*by the way, i'm not suggesting that an all pb&j diet is something to do long-term. it's just refreshingly uncomplicated for the time being. it also really hits the spot.

Breakfast in New York (cabs outside Madison Square Garden)

I only had my camera phone, so the quality is grainy, and the distance too great, but all those yellow checker cabs were quite a sight. That is so iconically New York to me.

Tomorrow, a nice long train trip...

I'll listen to Ella's "I thought about you" as the track wends northward. Who will I be thinking about? You, of course...

Chaste Kisses

I had a dream last night about a quick succession of platonic (but heartfelt) kisses. I was on the receiving end. They were kisses from a former friend. There were three of them. All in the left corner of my mouth. I understood his intentions through the gesture. I knew he was saying
I'm sorry I didn't understand...

Judas's kiss was a kiss of betrayal. He was Christ's friend. In the book of Proverbs we read that wounds from a friend can be trusted, but that an enemy multiplies kisses.

These kisses are the only vestige I have of the dream. I remember nothing of the dramatic arc (there was a plot line of some sort), but I recall the feeling of sweetness, of fraternal love. These little conveyors, soft ministrations of repaired damage.

It all means that I'm at peace, I suppose, with everything. I seem to have this realization a million different ways several times a month, and each time it's utterly surprising. How resilient the psyche, how it can snap back from pervasive damage, intact.

It's Called A Breakup Because It's Broken...

Among the books on CD that I've listened to over the course of the last two weeks, this (the above linked title) was one. I have no actual need for the "smart girl's break-up guide" at this point in my life, but in the interest of diversifying my aural stimulii selections and diverting myself during long stretches of subdued work, I thought it would prove to be entertaining.

It's always a little interesting to read about heartache from an emotionally detached place. I guess it's nearly two years ago now that I was last truly decimated by anything or anyone, for "romantic" reasons (though there was nothing romantic about it. It was just so sad.), and according to these breakup gurus, I did everything right as I faced the dissolution of that friendship.

Essentially, once I realized the dye was truly cast, I did not telephone or try to establish contact unnecessarily. I got out of the house, got moving, and made myself my priority. I allowed myself to be as sad as I felt. Yay me. No overblown, pitiable gestures. I had my 20s and earlier heartbreaks for that.

In any case, I'm writing about this because it seems literally impossible to me that I could ever let myself be heartbroken again. I don't count the grief and sadness from losing a loved one in the category of "heartbreak." For the sake of this post, I am thinking only of these unrequited love jags I've gone off on in the past.

I'm so tragically pragmatic these days (with only minor dalliances with flights of fancy), and I have no expectations that another person could even remotely begin to make me happy (this is a very good thing). As much as I've wished for grand, passionate love affairs in the past, I think that never having had one has taught me something invaluable.

How to live without one.

The male half of the writing team, incidentally, wrote "He's Just Not That Into You." I wish someone had given me that book when I was 20. I might be a very different person now.

Purging

I pride myself on not being a hoarder, but like anyone, I have closets and drawers that need to be cleared. This past summer, I gave my sister quite a number of my CDs (after ripping them to iTunes), but I still have too many for my comfort. The upside is that I will not be purchasing anymore physical albums. In the interest of leaving behind dead technology, I am also selling/giving away my vcr and several vhs tapes. Eventually, I will replace some of the tapes with DVDs, but only if they pass the "must have" test.

After tidying the bathroom, I swiffered the kitchen floor, made pesto shrimp with wilted spinach tossed with shallots and garlic, then put in three loads of laundry. Once the clothes come out of the dryer, I'll pop in the latest from Netflix.

At some point, I'll have some cocoa and get ready for bed. I don't have tomorrow off, so I can't be a total night owl.

Today's Highlights...

I'm in a northern locale...

the city i've been to most often, other than my own city, Baltimore (my home, all of my bones remember), is where I am. I saw Catchka today... for dessert at Finale, and then back to my hotel room for talking and laughing and the making of phone calls to airlines who lost bags (hers not mine--weeks ago).

Then a dinner during which I drank two martinis. which made me think of someone I used to call lovemuffin...

I'll be on travel for the next couple of days, and sadly, find that I have nothing of import to write down to keep the blog warm until Wednesday night/Thursday morning. Nothing pithy. Nothing profound. By the time we meet again, I'll have taken off, landed, taken off, and landed again...

Just what this part of town needed

I've mentioned before that organically-minded grocers with a gourmet bent have forced the chains to go "whole grain" so to speak, in order to raise their game, and that ultimately this is a good thing. I may not have have mentioned this before, but there is a real dearth of any kind of credible market in the city (unless you happen to live in a trendy area), which often forces those of us who live here into the suburbs when it's time to shop. This is challenging if you don't have a car.

I worked near a Whole Foods for three years, so I had it good for a long time, but once that gig ended, I was back to relying on an okay, but not great neighborhood market. Don't get me wrong. This market has been there for me (and you can buy alcohol there), but it's dingy, cramped, and the produce, well... sucks.

Call me a snob if you want, but I believe I deserve fresh, crisp, unbruised fruits and vegetables. Here's the thing. Everyone deserves fresh, verdant, brightly coloured, unbruised produce. It's another example of the class divide in this country that only the sprawled suburbs and fashionable, gentrified areas of most cities and states have stores where the fresh food is actually fresh. That's not something I'm going to get on a soapbox about here. It's just a fact.

This is the point of this post. One of the chains (SuperFresh) opened up a store about 9 blocks from my place--far enough away from my neighborhood market that it still has a fair shot at staying competitive--but close enough that this new SuperFresh will provide another option for the residents of Mt. Vernon who want finer cuts of meat, organic options, good, fresh vegetables, and unwilted flowers for a fair price. This new store is a compromise between WF and The Neighborhood Store (not its name).

And what is more, it's a good enough walk away that I worked my glutes on the way there and back today. I couldn't be happier. This is a wonderful development and way over due. The joint was jumping! I think they're going to be around for a while.

Saturday Breakfast with V...

still life: black coffee in foreground, smoothie in recession

ready to dig in...

we were almost the only ones there...

China Black With Clover Honey
(learning to think in haiku...)

scalding water poured
over shiny black tea leaves

a red steam refrain

The Kone...

Arrived. About 5 weeks early! I guess the merchant went for the worst case delivery scenario. It has to charge for a full 24 hours before I can use it, though, so the great dust elimination operation I had planned for this evening will have to wait for tomorrow. No matter, I was able to take care of something else.

I guess I could start to put away my christmas ornaments. The tree comes down tomorrow, regardless, but it might be easier if I start the process tonight. The evening is still young, I suppose--it may be worth the effort.

Don't know if I've mentioned this (probably not),but I recently checked out a bunch of books on CD. Am currently listening to one about a woman who has been "possessed" by Franz Schubert. It's aptly titled Sleeping With Schubert. I'm at the part where she's about to give a big performance at Carnegie Hall.