So I broke up with my boyfriend last night. Did I also mention that I’m a firm believer in jumping right into a conversation?
Anyway, don’t cry for me or send me gentle comments of regret and sympathy. It had been coming for a while. I started thinking about it before I returned to Alaska, but some wise friends suggested that perhaps I ought not make decisions about my relationship while I was suffering from depression. Good advice, but I found that my therapist and I were mostly talking about why I was unhappy in the relationship. I ended therapy last week, which was about one week after I resolved that it was over. That it took two weeks after I made up my mind to actually see him and end it is an entirely different story.
Can I keep his mom in the breakup? I mean, his dog is cool and all, but I really like his mom. Maybe we can split her and I’ll get her every other weekend and two weeks in the summer.
But more importantly, I am single once again. Kind of the way I wanted to be when I broke up with Tom in January. And you know what that means …. time for a costume night with my girls.
to license his music
1) Bud and Clamato is never a good idea.
2) People rarely know which font was used in their tattoos. For the record, it looked like a Blackletter to me.
3) When men are hitting on you in a hippie dive bar, you would think that engaging them in a false conversation about how happy you are that Palin got the VP nod would make them leave you alone.
4) Men will agree with anything if they are trying to get laid.
When the shots came, we all toasted with a hearty "Go Sarah!" while my friend Andy nearly died of laughter in a corner.
1) Arse Elektronika. Apparently, it's some sort of dirty conference. This year's theme? "Do Androids Sleep With Electric Sheep? Critical Perspectives on Sexuality and Pornography in Science and Social Fiction"
2) Are the kids these days really feathering their hair? Even the boys? God I feel old. But this reminds me why I prefer bald men. It's so much harder for them to have fucked up hair as long as they stay current on the shaving.
It’s the weekend. Oh yeah! What’s on my to-do list?
* A beer tasting tonight. Bonus: It’s at the Winter Show, so I can see all the latest snowmachines! I plan to follow the beer up with a trip to the Marlin for, well, more beer. And dancing!
* Chores chores chores. Bob is doing a great job of attacking our woodpile, but I’ve got to clean up the yard a bit and try to round up the errant wood that floated away during the flood. Plus I ought to:
- Put my old studded tires on Craigslist
- Do my drawing homework
- Finish some sewing projects
- Clean my room
- Winterize my car
- Install the closer on the sauna door
- Start downloading the Mira Betz video (I am sooo behind on this project!)
- Rehearse Victoria’s breakdancing robot choreography
- Have brunch with Amanda and get caught up
- Go to an organization meeting for Barack the Vote
- Fix my personal life
- Hit up the library for some DVDs I have on hold
- Value Village misses me
- Apply for disaster assistance from the flood
- Place a massive order from Amazon, which kind of requires me to go to Barnes and Noble for some research
- Try to avoid making any baked goods. The stress baking has got to stop. Can't I just start stress running? Or stress swimming? Or not stressing?
I added a new feature to my sidebar - an online playlist of music I'm currently digging. It should be updated about as often as the "books I'm reading" list. I have been tinkering with the code that the music site generated, and have removed the annoying links, but can't quite get it to size up to my sidebar properly. That may be a task for another day.
Congrats to Tom, who completed another Equinox marathon in fine form. And then realized that it was going to hurt to bike home after running 26+ miles.
My current random thoughts:
- Is it wrong to decide to stay in Fairbanks simply because the dry climate here gives me great hair?
- Are the Palin hackers after me, too? Because someone was tinkering with my Yahoo! account. Good thing I rarely use that one anymore. I'm going to delete a bunch of stuff from it.
- I like coming home and seeing my wood pile growing. Almost as much as I like scoring almost half a cord for $37.
OK, the log didn’t really win in the end. I’ll get the last laugh as I burn the bastards in my woodstove this winter. This weekend Marmian and I decided to tackle the firewood project. I have a friend of a friend who had some cut wood, some downed trees and some standing dead trees she wanted off her land. Two women, two trucks, one chainsaw. We went to work on Saturday afternoon, cutting down trees, loading up cut wood and lengths and hauling it to our respective house. We managed to put away four truckloads in about five hours. I fled to Chena Hot Springs that night to:
a) soak my aching bones
b) bid a fond farewell to Victoria, who leaves Alaska on Tuesday
After downing some ibuprofen before bed, I awoke to sore and achy muscles on Sunday. Nevertheless, Marmian and I drove out again for more wood. We were pickier this time, cutting into the downed trees to determine the quality of the wood before proceeding. We were also a hell of a lot slower, getting just two truckloads in four hours. A lot of that time was spent debating a particularly heavy piece of wood that was good for burning but was going to be a bitch to cut down, load, unload and split. In the end, I made a persuasive argument that healthy forests flourish when a certain amount of organic matter is left to decay and feed the young trees, and we left that piece there.
We made the mistake of stopping at Carl’s Jr. on the way back into town. This was a mistake not only because I ate another deadly bacon guacamole burger, but also because we sat down, then discovered our muscles had stiffened, leaving us nearly unable to stand up again.
It’s all worth it, though, to look at the large pile of wood next to my driveway. Next weekend I’m going to put the roommate to work cutting wood down to length, splitting wood and gathering kindling. Marmian and I hope to make one more run out to the property for more wood, and I’m also going to get a load of slab wood for fire starting purposes. When you combine this with the triumphant return of my furnace, I’m starting to feel more prepared for winter.
And war wounds? I gots ‘em.
The insurance adjuster called. My car is a total loss. He said it was underwater for over a week. Um, yeah, I knew that. Now if you could please figure out if you’re going to give me any money for it, I’d greatly appreciate it. Speaking of money, today is PFD-and-energy-rebate day. $3,269 in my account. Ka-ching! Things are looking tough but not undoable for the winter. I think any car money will just go into my Roth IRA and the extra into mutual funds. And next year I'll probably head back to the land of small dry cabins. They're cheaper to heat.
Things that excite me:
- my furnace appears to be fixed
- sauna party tonight
- the new Jenny Lewis album hits stores in 11 days
- hot springs with the dance troupe tomorrow, possibly followed by dancing at the Marlin
- gathering some free firewood with Marmian tomorrow
- my shiny new “Picard/Riker ‘08: Leadership for the Next Generation” T-shirt. order yours here!
- a 4-mile run this morning
Things that do not excite me:
- the overwhelming aroma of fuel oil that woke me from a dead sleep this morning
- the prospect of paying a LOT of money for more firewood
- this week at work - lots of Department of Defense people here for the annual security review
- women who will vote for Palin just because she has ovaries
- art class - I hope this moves into the other category soon
But Christopher Walken? He's the scariest man in the world. He'll kick your puppy if you look at him wrong.
| Make your own at MoreCowbell.dj | ||
I've been having fun since I found this site a few days ago....
It's not just the insomnia that has my stomach in knots. Though my staggered sleep sessions and lack of proper food today certainly have me off balance. Tomorrow I start my evening class for the fall semester. If you didn't know, I've started taking some foundation classes for possibly getting another degree in graphic design. UAF doesn't offer such a degree, so I'm just getting a lot of the basics out of the way, and I'll look into transferring when I'm ready to move on.
What class, you may ask, has me so worried? Basic Drawing. Why am I scared of drawing? I'm so Type A. I like things to be under my control and as perfect as possible. However, I lack artistic skills. And now I have no choice but to take a drawing class. And seriously, when I try to draw an apple, it had better fucking look like an apple!! Whoa. Deep breaths. This is going to be a humbling experience.
4:42 a.m. and I'm posting? Insomnia has struck again. It doesn't come often, but there's no way to fight it when it happens. I'm just glad it usually doesn't occur during the week. I've found that the only viable solution is to go into work at around 3 a.m. and just try to pull off a full 8 hours. By that time, I'm often ready to go to bed and try to realign my sleep schedule. My bosses have always been pretty flexible with my schedule, but it's still strange for them to find me working feverishly at 7 a.m. and then watch me depart before noon.
Despite my hopes that returning home might ease the depression that resulted from my extended trip to Connecticut, I'm still in a bit of a funk. The random crying jags seem to be lessening, but the return hasn't been the cure I'd hoped it might be. I still have my house, which survived the flood, but share it with two new people. We do not have our heat back yet, so I am curled up under an electric blanket borrowed from a co-worker. My relationship is in a weird place that I don't want to think about or define right now, as the only logical thing seems to be to end it. Am I being overly analytical? I started therapy on Friday. Some wise and cranky old vegans told me that it was OK to feel sad, especially given the amount of crap I've had to deal with in the last 2 months. I'm hoping to get out of therapy without any medications, but when I lay awake at night, my stomach twisting in knots as my mind races and picks apart every aspect of my life, analyzing all problems and possible outcomes, well, it starts to seem like a magic pill might be a good thing.
Yawn. I'm going to read car repair forums until I feel tired enough to tackle this "sleep" thing again.
4/29truth.com has a beverage-spewingly funny post. I'm not going to violate their copyright and reproduce it, because you can just click the link right here.
OK, I'll spoil it a little. McCain is a Cylon.
Seriously, go read!
I nearly fucked up my entire blog just trying to put in a new element. Somebody please remind me that I cannot use the new version of Blogger. My XML isn't valid and I haven't the energy to look at it. I don't have the energy for much these days, but that's a story for another day.
Today is the day I put it all in the hands of you, the readers. I am back in Fairbanks with my shiny new-ish car. And since I've got many weeks yet before I can actually register it in Alaska, I've got time to think. I'm thinking vanity plates. I've never done them before because, well, my cars don't last that long. But this one had better last, dammit. I'm going to make the $30 investment that share my passion, my pride AND my joy with the world.
So, what will they say? Well, that's where you come in. I'm putting up a poll to let you vote on what my new vanity plates should read. I'm going to give you several options, along with the "Other (See comments)" option that will allow you to make your own suggestions. And per a discussion with Christi and Tom today, I am pretty sure that the DMV will not let me put "Asshat" on my car.
Screw this country. I haven't had cell reception anywhere yet. I'm holed up in a tiny 8x8 cabin because it
a) has wi-fi (again, the first I've encountered in Canada)
b) has a shower next door
I'm in Whitehorse after some epic 800-mile days, getting ready to push for home.
My dad got out of the hospital on Tuesday. He went back into the hospital today. But it's a different hospital this time.
I'm starting to think he's just pulling this shit to keep me around. If you can have Munchausen syndrome by proxy, does he just have Munchausen syndrome? Or is it my mom who is secretly poisoning him?
Once again, I'm feeling like I'll never get home. My cat is an orphan. She was evacuated by canoe to my ex-boyfriend's house, then over to Dara's. Dara is in New England now, and I think her family is checking in on the cat. Or she has a friend staying at her place. Or something like that. Nibbles is going to totally snub me when I get home.
gay boyfriends in Fairbanks
Tom always says I shouldn't quote myself in my blog. Which lead me to....
My dad is recovering, but slowly. His heart is not repairing itself after that heart attack, so tomorrow the doctors are going in again. They'll do another angiogram, then place two more stents to help repair his hear. Dad is being persnickety, and refuses to let the nurses take any more blood for tests. I can't really blame him, since one arm is completely shot, and the other is covered with bruises and track marks.
But it can't all be hospital time, so Saturday I joined my sister and brother-in-law for a trip to the casino. They had tickets to see Chris Rock, but not me. No, I went to see Charo. If you don't know, Charo is like the Shakira of the Rat Pack. Like if Dolly Parton and Elvis had a Spanish daughter.
She's a big hit with the gay crowd, and it's easy to see why. It's hard to explain the singular joy of a Charo concert. She's loud, Latin and campy. And a little bit of me will always be with her. Because my hair got caught in her costume bodice. How did that happen? Don't ask.
But don't think she's nothing but Vegas. In the second half of the show, she toned things down, pulled out her acoustic guitar and started to play. She's trained with Andres Segovia, and it shows—the woman can play! Yet another free concert that was worth every penny. And I spent most of them in the magic crystal martini mountain after the show.
I'm in Connecticut, dealing with my father's health. My work laptop is wonky, slowing down my efforts to do my job remotely. I don't know if my house is livable or if I'll have to move when I get back. I don't know where my cat is living these days. I don't know if my boyfriend is aware that I'm still alive.
It's one of those not-good days.
Where did I last leave my updates? I don't think I've been very forthcoming in blogular terms.
My father had the surgery last week. The stent was successfully placed, meaning they won't have to do open heart surgery. This is normally cause for rejoicing, but you don't know my father and hospitals. A bout of Legionnaire's Disease about 30 years ago left doctors wondering what the long-term effects on his health would be. Apparently, it results in a bad case of everything-that-can-go-wrong-will-go-wrong-itis. Seriously, he's 61 and has the circulatory system of a 90-year-old man. He's already had a triple bypass about 5 years ago.
So, bearing that in mind, he got the stent. And then he started having bad back pain. And then he lost feeling in part of his body. Paralysis was a risk with the surgery, and it's been one of his big fears. All this stress combined with recovering for surgery is a recipe for disaster, and thus he had a heart attack. And then the doctors found fluid building up in his lungs. And so they sedated him and put him on breathing machines, aka life support. And then he regained consciousness long enough to rip out his tubes, causing a panic in the cardiac intensive care unit. And so now he's sedated once again and tied to the bed, just in case he wakes up.
The doctors estimate he'll be in ICU for at least another week, then about a month more in the hospital before he can come home. And if I sound flip and not too concerned, well, just bear in mind that I joke my way through any tough situations.
To distract myself, I went down to Mystic on Sunday for brunch at Kitchen Little with Meg. Mystic is my old stomping grounds - I spent my formative teenage years hanging out at the Green Marble coffee shop, mocking tourists, getting up to all sorts of no good. It felt weird to be back, though I skipped downtown because it was the outdoor art festival weekend, which is always a madhouse. And in case you're wondering, yes it is the Mystic of Mystic Pizza.
In the evening, I headed for the casinos. OK, it's true that I grew up in the country. It is also now true that the largest casinos in the world have been built in that countryside, which is a little freaky. But it also means concerts. On this particular night, at this particular casino (Mohegan Sun, instead of Foxwoods), I had my choice of three concerts. I could have gone to rock with the old hippies at Jethro Tull. I could have schmoozed with the blue hairs at the Smothers Brothers. But both of those cost money, and I have highly honed skills for getting a cheap night out at casinos. So I opted for the free show by They Might Be Giants. One local ale and one giant foam finger later, I was chatting up the people at my table and then bopping along to the entirety of the Apollo 18 album, plus a few extras and a few encores. The band dubbed it the "Night of 1,000 Fuckups." They came pretty close to success.
Today it's back to business. And by "business" I mean "sitting on my ass in the hospital instead of at home."
In an effort to save some money, I used some Alaska Airlines miles to get to Seattle, then bought a ticket from Seattle to Hartford. Clever, yes? No.
My father's surgery did not happen last week, which means my flights home tomorrow won't happen. And now I have to deal with two airlines.
My tickets on United? It seems the best thing to do is just not show up for the flight. It will cost me a $150 airline change fee, a $30 Orbitz fee plus the cost difference for a new ticket, which is around $120. Grand total: $300. On a $475 ticket. I can get a one-way ticket for under $300, so why bother jumping through these hoops, especially with the possibility of my flights changing again?
My tickets on Alaska? I cancelled the return leg. For right now they aren't charging me anything, but they're also holding my 10,000 miles for that leg of the ticket hostage. If I rebook that specific leg, I will be charged $100. If I don't rebook it and buy a car and drive back, which is looking increasingly likely, I forfeit the return and lose the miles but don't have to pay the $100.
And why, you may ask, would I consider driving back?
My car is the blue one in the back. Apparently the ground is much lower in that part of the driveway - who knew? So, why rush to get home? I'll just have to canoe in to my house and try to find a car in town to buy. Might as well see if I can get a better deal in the Lower 48 and drive back.
- Soy and mirin glazed tofu with spicy peanut sauce
- Dairy Queen soft serve ice cream
- Wasabi goat cheese
- Sushi
- All-you-can-eat Indian lunch buffet (and I can eat a lot)
- Mango ginger stilton
- Devil dogs
- Apricot wheat germ muffins
- Bombay fruit salad
- Corned beef hash — this was in the hospital cafeteria, where apparently they don't believe in overcooking it so that part of it gets all burnt and crispy
I know that no one ever believes me when I say I'm from the country. No one believes that Connecticut has any countryside left. But really, it does - mostly in the small area around my parents' house. Examples:
- Upon leaving the house to head to town for some groceries on Monday, I promptly got stuck behind a tractor.
- The farm stand has pies for sale on Tuesdays.
- While in the entryway looking at a flyer for a haunted pumpkin ride (not happening until October), I realized that the bank smells like manure.
- We stopped by the general store for grinders (know as sub sandwiches to the rest of you). The general store is located on the town green. I think it sells chicken feed along with people feed.
- Sign on the road: Baby donkey, $500.
And now for the update on my dad. We went to the hospital on Wednesday, leaving at 5:30 in the morning to get there on time. It is not sunny in CT at 5:30 a.m. Chalk one up for Fairbanks. A lot of the day was spent doing tests, including an angiogram. The two surgeons needed to talk with each other about the best way to proceed, so naturally one of them was in surgery most of the day. We left the hospital with a "We'll call you about scheduling surgery sometime within the next two weeks." That was a little disconcerting, as I came home on Family Medical Leave expecting that the emergency surgery would happen immediately (as in the day we went ot the hospital) and I could return to Alaska the next week. All jokes in my previous post aside, this is not a vacation and I am not at the beach. But I have had some damn good cheese.
The good news is that the FDA has finally approved the procedure they want to try on my dad, and the surgeons say he is just within the limits for them to do the surgery. For right now, the surgery is scheduled for next week. I wish I had more news of any sort, but I don't.
So I fly to Connecticut because my father is sick and in need of surgery. And while I'm here, dealing with this, what happens?
Oh, does that look bad? Let's take a look at the close-up.
I know I have a history of bad language on this blog, but seriously? Seriously? Fuck me.
According to my roommate, the water is around 3 feet deep. Our landlord dropped off a canoe. The rain stopped this morning, but the water is a few inches from getting into the house. And it will keep rising even after the rain has stopped.
My friends are trying to mount a rescue effort while I sit here, 5,000 miles away, unable to shake the feeling that I'm screwed.
Trapped in D.C. No flights out until tomorrow, if then. Almost rented a car to drive back. Have been up since 9 a.m. Saturday. Have not eaten since 5 this morning. Must find food or will eat my own foot. All clothing, toiletries, etc. in checked bag trapped at airport. Just found laptop charger and am now very happy. May start using full sentences soon.
Ugh. Travel commences tonight. I don't normally mind traveling, but buying a last-minute ticket means taking whatever The Man has to dish out. In other words, it's the middle seat for me. I've got a total of 6 flights on this trip, with one aisle seat and only one precious window. I think I hate everyone else on those planes who had the luxury of planning ahead for their trips.
10 days on the East Coast. I've told my father that the only reason I'm actually coming home is to go shopping. And I will certainly do some of that. But for those of you who don't know, I am going home because he is sick. Hence my lack of recent posting. Dear Papa has three aortic aneurysms in his heart, one of which requires immediate attention. He'll be playing the part of a guinea pig, as he's going to try an experimental procedure first. Open heart surgery is the last resort.
But rather than stress him out, I'm going to list some things that will have fellow Alaskans green with envy.
- Target
- Sushi
- Real cheese
- TJ Maxx
- Malls
- Indian food
- Indian grocery stores
- Pirated Bollywood movies for $2 at Indian grocery stores
- 90 degrees
- Beaches
I've heard from a lot of people wanting to know why I haven't been posting lately. Or, to be specific, they've told me to get off my ass and on my blog. Rather than explain where I've been, I thought I'd share this latest gem.
From the San Francisco Bay Area craigslist:
Nemesis required. 6-month project with possibilty to extend
I've been trying to think of ways to spice up my life. I'm 35 years old, happily married with two kids and I have a good job in insurance. But somethings missing. I feel like I'm old before my time. I need to inject some excitement into my daily routine through my arm before its too late. I need a challenge, something to get the adrenaline pumping again. An addiction would be nice, but, in short, I need a nemesis. I'm willing to pay $350 up front for you services as an arch enemy over the next six months. Nothing crazy. Steal my parking space, knock my coffee over, trip me when I'm running to catch the BART and occasionally whisper in my ear, "Ahha, we meet again". That kind of thing. Just keep me on my toes. Complacency will be the death of me. You need to have an evil streak and be blessed with innate guile and cunning. You should also be adept at inconspicuous pursuit. Evil laugh preferred. Send me a photo and a brief explanation why you would be a good nemesis.
British accent preferred.
George Carlin, legendary comedian and funny motherfucker, died of heart failure in Los Angeles today. Carlin's bawdy humor always struck a chord with me, and I went to see him many times (usually with my friend Wayne, a dead-ringer for George. It was fun to fuck with audiences).
In honor of George Carlin and in a pathetic attempt to get my blog blocked by even even more censors, I present Seven Words You Can Never Say On Television (but can list in your blog unless you are actively job hunting):
- shit
- piss
- fuck
- cunt
- cocksucker
- motherfucker
- tits
See? Just be happy I didn’t call them hot bitches. On top is Itchy, Victoria’s Italian Greyhound. On the bottom is Zoe, Robin’s Italian Greyhound.
Saturday morning Robin took the big step of entrusting me with his dog. Zoe and I left him at home and went off into the big, wide world for our doggie playdate. First stop was Jeremy’s house, to pick up Jeremy and Jacques, his Chihuahua. The four of us tried to hit the Farmer’s Market in style for some falafel, but were quickly hustled out of there by an employee pointing out the “No Dogs” signs. My SUV was quickly transformed into Dog-catraz, as we put Zoe, Jacques and Itchy in the back. My car has never been so full of cute before.
After lunch, we headed over to the dog park and met up with Anne and Chachi, her pug. It is worth noting that the Fairbanks dog park is full of Fairbanks dogs. Big, loud Fairbanks dogs. Despite the relative safety inherent in being part of a group of small dogs, Zoe had some trouble hanging with the big boys. When I took her leash off, she trotted over to the fence and stared forlornly at my car. Pick dog up, bring dog back into dog park, repeat. After a few cycles, I put her back on the leash and took her for a walk around the perimeter as a form of therapy.
Back at the small dog picnic table, everyone else was having a grand time. Chachi amused herself by baiting the big dogs, then running away from them as fast as she could. When they started closing in, she would dart under the table for protection. This brought the big, drooly dogs in close proximity to us. Victoria was the unfortunate one in the line of fire when one drooler did the head shake.
I stopped at my office on the way home. I looked back before entering the building, and Zoe had her paws on the driver’s side window and was staring at me with the same intensity she’d stared at the car at the dog park. Awww! When I came back out 5 minutes later, she was in the same position, staring at me. AWWW!!!!!! Cue the sappy violin music. When I got to the car however, I noticed the detritus of my almond cake on the passenger seat. Note to Robin: If your dog got sick, that’s why.Because we were tired and I wasn't sure if I was going to see Robin that night, I took Zoe back to my house. After one hiss-and-swat attack, Nibbles seemed to call a truce with Zoe. In fact, I spent part of the afternoon in bed with the dog on one side of me and the cat on the other. The terms of their peace treaty did not include being in close proximity to each other.
On my way to a party that night, I dropped Zoe off in Ester. This is the part where I should say that Zoe was happy to be home. It would certainly make Robin feel better. But she did not want me to go. Her little whines at the window as I walked away made that abundantly clear.
And the rest of the night? Rock Star party, barbecue, hitting the Marlin for the Good Daze/Paper Scissors show. I danced for hours in brand new heels. They are broken in, as are my feet. It made me remember how much I miss going out. I need to start doing that again.
I don't know what was going through my head when I got to the gym Monday morning. To be precise, "Maybe I ought to run a few miles today" was going through my head, but I don't know why. I haven't run since my chiropractor told me it was bad for my knees. I love Dr. Linda Schertz. She gives me excuses not to run and prescribes me medically necessary (and thus covered by insurance) massages. So, having not run for about 18 months, I decided to hop right into it and ran about 1.5 miles. Tuesday morning my legs rebelled and informed me that we would not be going to the gym. As my main means of locomotion, they have the final say-so in such matters. We reached a truce and went to the gym today, but it's an uneasy truce. They still hurt.
Last night's attempt at mini cheesecakes was less than successful. I ended up with a bit too much filling in each well, causing it to spill over a bit as it baked. Not necessarily a disaster, but it made it impossible to run anything around the edge of the well, thus making it nearly impossible to push the cheesecakes out. I've selected the two best candidates to bring to Robin's house tonight. I plan to investigate this more thoroughly. If I can't master mini cheesecakes, I'll never get to move on to tartlettes. And lord knows I want a bunch of tartlette pans.
I'm getting stymied by Fireworks. Why should I use a different program to do essentially the same things that Photoshop does? I'm going to have to look into this program a little more.
Heard at a friend's house:
it makes it easier to get along after you break up.
I know it strikes most people as strange, but this breakup with Tom has been the best breakup of my life. For those of you who haven't bothered to read my entire blog for the backstory, here's the Cliff Notes: Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy. Girl and boy date for five years, live together, get recognized as non-gay gay partners by girl's workplace. Girl and boy travel to New Zealand. Girl breaks up with boy in shadow of Mount Doom. Girl and boy continue to live together (separate bedrooms, people!) until their lease is up.
I know, I know. As my friend Anne put it, "You people are off the charts weird." But it works! Tom and I are still best friends. And as his mom put it, "You two sure got over each other quickly." And it's true: We are both new in relationships now. And, um, still sharing a house. Which is pretty awkward. However, Tom has found a place and is getting ready to sign the lease, so he'll be gone by next weekend. Until then, though, we continue to spend our sunny Saturdays running errands and eating corndogs and discussing the pros and cons of our new relationships. Plus, he got me a mini cheesecake pan on Thursday. That man understands my need to bake. And he wants mini cheesecakes.
I don't know how to explain it really, but breaking up brought us closer together. How did I manage to pull off ending the relationship but keeping him in my life? I don't know, but I'm so happy with the way everything worked out.
As for my new boyfriend, I told him this morning that I'm only dating him for his dog. Which is partially true. Zoe is absolutely adorable. I'm working on creating the Fairbanks Small Dog Playgroup. OK, not officially, but I do have two Italian greyhounds, one chihuahua and a hardened NYC pug lined up. We need to find a time to get to the dog park and strut our stuff.
marry someone out of spite
I have survived the following (in chronological order):
- a massively unhealthy dinner from Carl’s Jr. on Wednesday night (made even more unhealthy by my decision to swap out the drink for a Cap’n Crunch milkshake)
- beer. Quite a bit of it.
- moving furniture while drunk. When I was growing up, I used to rearrange my bedroom every few months. It was a small room with lots of furniture, but I found at least four arrangements that would work. Living in our cabin at the commune, I couldn’t rearrange because some of the furniture was built in. I’ve been in this house for 11 months and have rearranged the living room twice and my bedroom once. I am scared of being in a rut, even furniture-wise. Commitment issues??
- watching crappy TV with Jennie
- starting Thursday with a bottle of champagne. At 8:15 a.m. Don’t worry – I took the day off from work.
- finishing said bottle by 10:30 and realizing I hadn’t eaten food yet.
- an epic-length dinner at a local restaurant. We had no less than three people helping us, resulting in a lot of miscommunication, and it took us more than 90 minutes to get our food. The end result? 25% off our bill and profuse apologies from a young man who was wearing makeup.
- Bollywood choreography after a day of little work but much drinking
- a frank sex talk with my ex-boyfriend
- Thursday. In general.
But you know what can cheer me up even when I’m down? My grandmother sent me a dirty card. And tonight I’ll meet up with a friend who is in town from NYC for the summer. Dinner, hopefully no more drinks and a movie with a group of friends. I’ve nixed my plans to flee town for the weekend. Instead I’ll let James cook me dinner on Sunday. And I think I’ve found two grad students to move into my house. Life may not have been good yesterday, but it’s getting better.
Memorial Day weekend. Time to do nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Last night Marmian and I kicked off the festivities by going to see Matt Vrba playing at the Loon. Today is the Clucking Blossom post-mortem barbecue. Tomorrow is the Bob-Eley-cue. And Monday the university is closed. Coincidentally, this is also my boyfriend's day off from work, so I predict a lazy day of laying around and doing absolutely nothing for hours.
Later this week, as per usual, I will take to my bed for a day of dramatic self-absorption.
After that, the hunt for new roommates will continue. I've been talking with a few people, but have made no decisions yet.
Tuesday night brought the Meeting Of The Dogs. After dinner, henna, a movie and drinks, Victoria and I brought her Italian Greyhound, Itchy, over to Robin's house to meet his Italian Greyhound, Zoe. I guess IGs do have something of a territorial nature, because Itchy has assumed that I am her property, and thus she staked out a spot on my lap. As previously discussed, Zoe adores me, and thus she also staked out a spot on my lap. It's a big lap, and they are small dogs, but no human being can stand such a high level of cute for very long. Fortunately, it quickly degenerated into a lot of humping. Not on my lap. No pictures, but we'll have another doggie playdate soon.
Now to a more serious subject. Robin's best friend is coming to visit. Actually, the visit has morphed into coming up here for the rest of the summer. Now, this wouldn't be a problem, except his best friend happens to be female. And historically, I don't do well with female best friends. Of course, the inverse is also true: I often don't like the women my friends date. But back to the issue at hand: She is coming up. For the entire summer. And I'm pretty sure she's going to hate me.
Longtime readers of my blog who don't know me may be scratching their heads and saying, "But why would she hate you, Mary?" Longtime readers of my blog who do know me are cackling, because, well, they know me.
Let's look at the facts:
- I am dating her best friend
- He (and his little dog, too) adores me
- I have a somewhat caustic sense of humor
OMG this hurts my brain. And I promised myself I wouldn’t make this blog political.
OK, here’s the deal:
I will give baked goods to the first person who can:
a) name two of the dance scenes featured in this clip. Just the movie titles will do, though you get bonus points for knowing the names of the songs.
b) explain why this technically could never be considered a Bollywood clip
the damage an airborne log can inflict.
ability to bring down an
Imperial All-Terrain Scout Transport
I like it when people make me think. Driving home last night, Robin and I started musing over the difference between “oblige” and “obligate.” How can you not love a man who will discuss etymology with you? *swoon*
The dictionary, though usually my friend (OK, usually read by me and my friends at parties. Seriously.), was not help with this one. The definitions (of the transitive verbs only):
Oblige: {OFr obligier, obligare to bind, oblige < ob + ligare, to bind} vt 1) to compel by moral, legal or physical force; constrain; 2) to make indebted for a favor or kindness done; do a favor for;
Obligate: {L obligatus, pp of obligare} vt to bind by a contract, promise, sense of duty, etc.; put under obligation
Not so different, eh? Both words essentially mean to make someone feel like they have to do something. In common usage, though, I tend to think that “oblige” implies more of a voluntary act. Is this simply because we most commonly hear the intransitive form of the verb? “Much obliged” is a stand-in for “thank you” in some parts of the country, seeming to give the feeling that to “oblige” someone is to be accommodating to them, not to force them to your will. Conversely, “obligate” implies a forced or compelled act.
However, further investigation has shown that perhaps this understanding of the difference between the two words comes down to my nationality. We do not speak the Queen’s English in America. Rather, we have an English all our own. Don’t believe me? Try reading The Economist’s Style Guide section on Americanisms.
While The Economist simply states that it is oblige, not obligate, I found further explanation from an Aussie. As it turns out, “obligate” as a verb is an American construct not necessarily found in other forms of English. For example, Australians would say “Though the watch was meant as a birthday gift, he felt obliged to get her something expensive in return.” Americans would use “obligate” in that instance.
The moral of the story? Well, you can use “oblige” and “obligate” somewhat interchangeably, but it will mark you as an American. And if someone does you a favor, I would not recommend saying you are “much obligated.” And, more importantly, when you start talking words with me, I like you more.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have an RSS feed. I finally got off my ass today and subscribed to a whole bunch of blog feeds.
My Toolbar Bookmarks were becoming increasingly complicated. There were the design blogs that updated a lot and I visited daily. Some had sporadic updates, so I visited them weekly. But sometimes the sporadic sites would have a good run of posting and I'd be stuck wading through stuff for an hour.
Now all of those blogs (well, at least the ones that have feeds) go right to my Google Reader. What did I do before Google? It's my default e-mail client. I G-chat with my boyfriend almost nightly. I sort, store and share documents and calendars. Ah, Google, how I love thee!
and falling in love like hell.
Saawariya featured two songs within the first 9 minutes and some of the worst subtitles I've ever read. To be fair, it's a pirated movie that I bought for $2. It's also based on a short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky, "White Nights." The set was very reminiscent of Moulin Rouge, in that it was set in the seedy part of town frequented by prostitutes (Note: I'd pay many rupees for Rani Mukherjee. That raspy voice!) and there was the windmill/bar decorated with Christmas lights.
None of the songs on my poorly pirated disc were translated, but the director made up for it with a dance scene featuring the main actor dancing around in just a towel. A towel which kept slipping out of his grip. The boy wasn't my cup of tea, but when you're laid up on the couch with cramps, you take what you can get. Plus, Rachel has been teaching us some choreography to "Chabeela," though Rani does it better.
This movie probably would have kicked ass in the Diwali box office, except it came out against Om Shanti Om. Sure, Saawariya has Rani Mukherjee and Salman Khan, but they are secondary characters. Om Shanti Om has Shahrukh Khan. Topless. With water pouring down his body. I'm sure there were other people in the movie too, but I forget.
Thank you, Farah Khan, for talking SRK into beefing up for an item song in Om Shanti Om.
In conclusion: You should maybe watch Saawariya if you can find a copy with better subtitles. Mine is like Hinglish from hell. And you should definitely watch Om Shanti Om. You probably won't get all the inside Bollywood jokes. But the "Dard E Disco" scene more than makes up for that....
characters surviving the night after they see
weird lights in the sky and their RV breaks down
I like to think that my experience with role-playing games
gives me an advantage if aliens attack.
The best part of the whole movie was the Peldon,
and she didn't even get probed.
making us watch really, really bad sci fi
(for the record, it was the Brown Peldon)
I was late to work this morning because I had to swing by the church and pay my respects to spring. It is officially dead.
I woke up to pouring snow. I didn't know snow could pour, but that's really the only way to describe it. And yeah, I'm happy that my new boots are suddenly practical. And awesome. A full 360 degrees of awesomeness, to be exact. But I'm still getting sick of winter. Bring on spring!
And on a side note: This photo is taken from the lovely deck of my lovely house. It shows my lovely boardwalk leading out to my lovely sauna. I've decided that I am not going to move out of the house when the lease is up. Instead, I am going to find two new people to share the house with, and will keep on rocking the 70s house and sauna.
his food
You don't tell us you have dessert and then give us fruit.
Just ... just ... fuck you!
Jennie's previous "desserts"
I'm a little red-faced, but I'm not afraid to admit when I've done something dumb.
I was posting a survey on one of those dastardly social networking sites, and one of the questions was "When do you shower?" and I said I shower at the gym. Today I realized that the person who wrote it probably wasn't from Alaska, and probably meant "time of day" not "day of the week." For the record, I shower in the morning, but only gym mornings.
The following is an excerpt from the July 1943 issue of Transportation Magazine. This was written for male supervisors of women in the work force during World War II.
Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There’s no longer any question of whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.
Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:
- Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they’re less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn’t be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
- When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It’s always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
- General experience indicates that “husky” girls – those who are just a little on the heavy side – are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
- Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination – one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.
- Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
- Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they’ll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
- Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.
- Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
- Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can’t shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman – it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.
- Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl’s husband or father may swear vociferously, she’ll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
- Get enough size variety in operator’s uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can’t be stressed too much in keeping women happy.
I guess I am rubbing off on you.
Our beloved student employee Stefani will be leaving ARSC today. Something about graduating and wanting a real job. I don't know. I wasn't paying much attention, since she wasn't talking about me. Eh, I'll still see her at The Pub tonight. Fairbanks is too small for us not to run into each other, hopefully a lot!
I think all my hippie, if-it's-yellow-let-it-mellow tendencies get ruined by the fact that the automatic toilets at work flush at least twice every time I enter the stall.
Which is to say that I'm back at work after the previous post.
IUD lessons learned:
- I need a special card to fill prescriptions, which I did not have when I went to Fred Meyer.
- Vicodin did not touch the pain. Hence the day off from work yesterday.
- Vicodin makes me ill. Only a tub of Alka Seltzer and my iron will kept me from getting sick last night.
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Seriously, we are entering into the TMI zone.
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No, for real. I'm going to talk about things like cervixes.
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Well to hell with you, then. You were warned.
Of all the things I'll miss about my ex-boyfriend, I think I'll miss the vasectomy the most. No, it's not a dignified way to start this post. Please reference the above warnings. Anyway, neither of us had any desire for children. Zero. Zip. Zilch. And other words meaning "none" that begin with a Z. In the end, though, he made the decision and I just reaped the benefits.
Back on the single scene, I find myself jumping through hoops. The first hoop is the whole do-you-ever-want-children issue. Because I'm not looking for a relationship, but it makes no sense for me to get involved with anyone with long-term potential if we disagree on this one very big issue. I am 30 years old. I do not want children. People tell me that I am too young to make such a decision, and that I will change my mind. I say: Bullshit. I'm pretty sure that when a 21-year-old breeder announces that she loves kids and wants to have, like, four, no one tells her that she is too young and will change her mind. In our society, it is acceptable to want kids, but unacceptable to not want them. Why?
I believe the prevailing idea is that it's selfish of me not to want kids. Somehow my greatest gift to give this world comes from my uterus, not my brain. I'm told that children are my legacy, that they will take care of me when I'm old, that I will never know greater love than the love of a parent for a child. I happen to think that my talents are greater than the ability to conceive, and that I might leave this world with some other legacy. Perhaps I'll design a kick-ass font. All I know is that I don't think I need to contribute to the genetic pool in order be remembered after I am gone. And I can't hold out hope for children taking care of me in my old age. This is America. This is why we have nursing homes and the state of Florida. How often do you really hear about elderly folks moving in with their children? By the time I'd need them, my kids would be busy raising families of their own to take advantage of the obvious opportunity to get revenge for their upbringing. And as for love? Well, I have been well and truly loved in my life. My parents put up with more shit from me than they should have, but they loved, love and will continue to love me. I have a sister who has been there for me for 30 years even when we hated each other, and a brother-in-law who makes me happy because he makes her happy. I've had boyfriends who loved me and friends who loved me and a cat who is kind of whorish and will love anyone, but I secretly believe that she loves me above all others. And in return, I have loved back. If you've ever been the object of my love (or even my affection), you know that there is nothing I won't do for people I care about. I will drop everything (including a cooking project) and go pick up a friend who had her heart broken, then force her to crash a party at the Curling Club because it will cheer her up. I will defend my friends' rights to speak their minds and maintain their opinions, even when they completely conflict with my own. I will be the one who comes to visit you when you cannot leave the house. In short, once you are inside the inner circle, you can count on me when you need me.
So if it's not love and not a legacy and not security, then what is it that drives people to reproduce? I think that it's often selfishness, or an attempt to correct another area in their life where they are unhappy. I don't expect this opinion will be popular. Many of my opinions are not. But I've always thought that people need to be truly happy as a single person before they get into a relationship. It therefore follows that people should be truly happy in a relationship before they add another person to that relationship. But this is often not the case. Babies don't keep couples together - they drive couples apart. I know of friends who seemed to have the ideal relationship until they had kids, and now they bicker. A child is a physical, mental and financial strain, and if you're not strong enough to deal with it, the strain will break you.
As far as my reasons for not wanting kids, they're pretty simple. 1) I don't like kids. 2) Kids would negatively impact my chosen lifestyle.
I really don't like kids. They cry and poop and puke, often all at the same time. When a baby cries, my womb does not twinge. I do not think that someone needs to find out what's wrong and comfort the baby. I do think that someone needs to stop the crying. Several of my friends have kids, and I imagine that as I age more of them will join in. My friends' kids are OK. I can handle them in small doses. When they cry, I can hand them back or I can leave. They're also made up of approximately 50% genetic material that I have already approved of. And I think my sister will pop a few kids out sometime soon. In fact, I hope she does. I will give those kids Pixie sticks taller than they are, and noisemaking toys, and make them run in lots of circles, and then give them back. No, seriously, let me babysit them! To recap: Kids of friends and family = OK. Kids of people I don't know = likely to work my nerves.
And I know that "my chosen lifestyle" sounds all gay. But the fact is that if I had children, I'd have to constantly put their needs and desires before my own. I'd have to buy a house in a good school district and save my money for orthodontic work. I wouldn't be able to run away to foreign countries for weeks at a time. I'd have to utter phrases like "Make your poopies in the potty." I'd have to make my life revolve completely around theirs. And I just can't do that. Not now. Not ever. I am a person who craves alone time. Who enjoyed having the house all to myself for the weekend because it allowed me to get some thinking done. Who needs privacy and quiet.
So those are my arguments against kids, and the reasons why I look for men who do not want kids. But finding a man who doesn't want kids is only part of the problem. There's also the second hoop. Remember the whole vasectomy issue? Well, without such drastic measures, sex is fraught with land mines. Condoms are the sanest choice, since they also provide protection against diseases. But condoms can break. Or in the heat of the moment, you can forget. I know, I know, I can hear your lectures from here. Let's not pretend this is an ideal world, OK? This is the real world, and shit happens. And when it does, it leaves me in a bad spot. I can't do hormonal birth control. I'm crazy enough as is. But the fear of pregnancy is always, always on my mind. And having had to take Plan B recently has made me realize that I need a long-term solution. Ironically, despite all my arguments against having children, I'd have to persuade doctors to have a tubal ligation. People still think I might change my mind. So yesterday I met my new best friend, Mirena, aka the Baby Blocker 2.5.
And now we truly get into the TMI. Because, yes, I got an IUD. I got one because, no, I do not want children. And I'm at home today because, dear God, it hurts. I knew going in that the insertion would be painful. I didn't know that it would cause me to nearly pass out, or to lose all feeling in my face, or would make my ears vibrate, or make me shake uncontrollably on the table for a few minutes. I unfortunately didn't know I'd need more than just my health insurance card to get my Vicodin prescription filled. I didn't know that the pain would continue the next day. And despite all that, I'm still glad I did it. Thanks to a state-sponsored program, I only paid $150, which works out to less than $3 a month for the next five years, which is how long it will last.
So now that birth control is off my mind (and forever lodged in yours if you ventured this far into the post), I can stop worrying about babies and start worrying about other things. Like the fact that the guy I started dating a month ago has become my boyfriend. And that scares me, but not as much as the fact that he's not planning on staying in the state. Knowingly getting involved in a relationship with an expiration date is not a good idea. I am aware of the fact. But I can't ignore the way he makes me feel when I am around him. There was an instant sense of ease around him. Things are effortless, even though, on paper, there's a lot of effort involved right now. I imagine there will be more posts and more angst over this man in the future.
Time for a little spring cleaning, of the blog variety. I tided up my links and finally updated my library. I should probably put the same effort into my house, but I'm sick.
Actually, I'm feeling heaps better today. I woke up this morning without the sensation of my throat swelling shut. I think lots of rest and an early evening nap yesterday did me good. Those of you who know me well may wonder just how damn sick I am to be taking a nap. I am not a napper. Naps leave me feeling groggy and disoriented, often unaware of either the time of day or my location. I can wake up at 6 a.m. and feel annoying chipper, but if I wake up at 6 p.m. I am a crankypants. However, I've located a master napper, a sleep sensei, if you will, who has been patiently guiding me through the process of napping. The road is not easy, but it is rewarding.
Who is Patient Zero? Who got me sick?
I started coughing a few days ago, and have now devolved into a general lethargy and the feeling that my throat is swelling shut. I came home from work early yesterday and opted to stay home today. I'm not quite at the point of crawling into my ancient Grateful Dead shirt and moaning that I'm dying, but it's close.
Of course, the truly sad part to all of this is that I seem to have passed the germs on to the new man, thus eliminating the chance of pressing him into servitude for the duration of my illness. I think that the first sickness is a good test. Does he offer to get you mugs of tea? Gently kiss your feverish brow? Smile bemusedly as you predict your imminent demise? However, when you have passed the germs on, the best you can hope for is no accusatory glares while he coughs up a lung.
The much-neglected cat is enjoying some quality time with me while I am home sick. She alternates between crawling under the blankets and trying to lay on the laptop. I anticipate she will try to lay on my head when I watch a movie. If she's lucky, it will be a Bollywood and she can lay on my head for three hours.
BSG 1-3 before trying to join in for Season 4
I love conferences. Especially the kind that have leftover food all day long.
The new guy I’m dating? Yeah, his dog totally likes me more than him. Example: We went back to his place last night, and when we walked in the door, she jumped around in circles for a bit, as IGs are wont to do, but then came and begged me to pick her up.
The downside to all this is that she finally managed to lick my face when I was distracted. I do not like animals licking my face, mostly because they have the flexibility to lick almost their entire bodies. I know where that tongue has been!
For now, though, I am gloating and enjoying the canine lovefest.
I take great pleasure in the following video.
Heard in the office:
I was told that today would be 50 degrees F and rainy. I was lied to. I woke up once again to falling snow. I know that I live in Alaska, but I’m getting tired of the snow. I’ve been following Jennie’s theory of buying lots of cute shoes, thereby forcing the weather to change so that I can actually wear them. So far some of the shoes have not seen the light of day. What gives, Fairbanks?
The troupe performed at yet another gaming convention over the weekend. The crowd was small, but the performance was well received. I think they didn’t know what to do at the end of the grand finale, which was a Battlestar Galactica dance. The night was not without mishaps, like when I tried to quickly put on a head veil for the Bhangra Throwdown. Epic fail. I somehow grabbed it upside down, such that the combs were curving away from my head. Needless to say, it came off during the dance.
After the show, we tried to go to The Pub for a Clucking Blossom fundraiser, but the place was at capacity. We consoled ourselves that at least we could go bowling instead. Not so much, as they had just closed down the games (though they tantalizingly left the blacklights on in the bowling alley). And thus did we end up at Denny’s at 11 p.m. on a Saturday night in full costume.
She's been talking me off the ledge for the past few days, so I figured I owed her a little something.
Thanks, sweetie! Nothing says "I love you" like velvet snakeskin Melos!
I haven't had the chance to do anything bizarre to my hair color yet, but I did get the matching nose ring on Friday. The glasses, however, are still the old Ethels.
We miss our Jellybean. Come back from Florida soon!!
Above, Liz models the new Indian panel skirts, shows off our lovely deck and expresses her love for Victoria.
There have been many interesting developments of late. I'll keep some of them to myself for now, but throw you a few bones. I got my nose pierced last night. Yes, it was already pierced, but now there are two rings and it's very matchy-matchy. ArctiCon is coming up and the first Battlestar Galactica dance is looking good. Plans are afoot for some new dances as well. We're mulling having extra rehearsals, because it seems like we keep coming up with more stuff to do.
I'm signing off so I can have breakfast (finally), go to the library (maybe), take a nap (probably) and go to the Cover Up (definitely).
I’m not responsible for the accuracy of the data. I can only speak for the quality of the visualization.
when his work was challenged
Had fun playing in the Discovery Lab today. OK, it’s not playing, it’s working. Official business and all that. But, damn, those programs are fun. I was especially intrigued with a new interface Dave had come up with for DAVE. As you may recall, my troupe danced with this computer program for a First Friday in November. The new interface is basically the same (as far as I can tell), but looks a lot cooler, as it projects an image of the body onto the background screen. Although I was there to photograph the Virtual Mars program, I grew obsessed with capturing a ghostly image of Dave the person playing with DAVE the program. I couldn’t use the flash, as it affected the camera for the program.
In more mundane news, I dreamed I cut bangs, but that they actually looked good. Clearly a dream. I also dreamed that I was on the phone with my sister when I realized that a catastrophic event had shifted global warming into high gear, and that the waters were rising and I had to get out of the house. I told her I had to get off the phone, but didn’t mention the fact that there was rampant flooding and I probably wouldn’t see her alive again. Does that make me a bad sister?
I think that dating has officially made me 14 years old again. There’s this whole sort of merry-go-round of “I like him. Does he like me? How can I find out if he likes me?” For the most part, I’ve been ignoring it and just asking the guys out, which is very feminist and progressive of me, but I find that I’m scared to ask out the guys I really like. Which is neither feminist nor progressive. In fact, it’s the act of a 14 year old.
Interesting article in The New York Times. Apparently "farmer" is the new black.
I like how they mention that the Carhartts used to be ironic. Here in Alaska they're just practical.
And in non-stolen-from-the-Interwebs news, finishing the play means that I’ve got time to socialize again. and this weekend “socializing” meant a bar and a date. Not on the same night. On Friday night I met my dance troupe for wine and food at Lavelle’s Bistro, then I headed to The Marlin to see The Good Daze. They were the band for the play, and they produced some music that still rings in my head. We’ve talked loosely about the possibility of collaborating, so I wanted to hear more of their music. It’s a definite possibility! While at The Marlin, I also met someone quite intriguing whom I sort of know from afar. Fairbanks is a small town, and it’s inevitable that we’ll know people in common, so I was pleasantly surprised to see him talking to a friend of mine. Especially because it gave me the chance to talk to him, though not for long enough. I did get the chance to catch up with many old friends as well.
The date was with someone I was introduced to recently. And when I say “introduced,” I mean “he came to see the play and now probably suffers from the delusion that I regularly stumble around in a skimpy outfit snorting powdered sugar from a little bag.” Despite the less-than-illustrious meeting, we had a good time. We caught a movie at The Blue Loon (Sweeney Todd, which made me realize that I much prefer the Bollywood version of musicals. Please don’t try to move the plot along or deliver lines of dialogue while singing. Just do your acting stuff and then occasionally break into song and dance) and had dinner (where I ran into friends who gave me the eye for being out with a man who was clearly in the not-Tom category).
Sunday turned into a bagel marathon at Lulu’s with a friend. I think we were literally there for 3 hours. Because I’m irresistible, she also came over for dinner last night and helped me devour the metric ton of chocolate my mother sent me for Easter. (Thanks, Mom!) In return, I helped drain her pocketbook by introducing her to endless.com. That’s what friends are for.
Two different friends, two different takes on Peeps....
Image courtesy of Meg Breton, as designed and photographed by her husband David
Image courtesy of Miss Victoria Regina's friend Chuck
Things on the web that make me happy and sad....
When did the short bus kids learn about fonts?
I know I've threatened it before, but this time I really did go get a funky, Flock-of-Seagulls haircut. Don't worry - I can always grow it out again.
No pictures until I figure out a fun way to dye it....
The woodstove is not hot enough, making me cold. But the oven is too hot, burning my brownies.
Can't I just bake the brownies in the woodstove?
Camino Real is over. Finished. No more hanging out on stage, pretending to use drugs, trying to sell myself to the audience. It was a great show, but I look forward to getting my life back. I haven't been to the gym in almost a month, I've cooked about 3 meals in that time, and my sleeping schedule in just plain screwy.
On the bright side, I managed to not get any of the various forms of cold, flu or bubonic plague that were sweeping through the cast.
