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Writing Tripe Since 2004
BlogYear in Review 2005

BlogYear in Review 2006
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Thursday, August 31, 2006
Lori, You're Going to be a STAR!
I believe I have mentioned my former career in amateur competitive roller skating. My obsession with roller skating began when I saw the outfits that Melissa from church got to wear during her competitions. Oh! The lace! The rhinestones! The flutter hems!

After my first lesson, I became convinced of my destiny. I was headed for the big time: The Keystone State Games! And one day, it was inevitable, they'd make roller skating an Olympic sport. I'd be a (chunky) vision in a lavender sweetheart neckline with pointed sleeves. Oh yes, I was on the path to greatness, skating over anyone who tried to get in my way. Did it matter that my father had to do janitorial work at the skating rink to pay for my obsession? It would just make my biopic more interesting.

I used my toe stop to catapult me ever higher through jumps like the loop, the salchow, even the axel. I could spin until the people watching got dizzy. And boys, I have the medals to prove it. I was a Queen of the Rink, I owned it and they all knew it. Me and the other cool girls made up "routines" to such classics as the Tiffany version of I Think We're Alone Now and every Debbie Gibson song, so that we could impress all the troglodytes who came to the public sessions and had to wear rental skates.

The broken nose that I got slamming into the back of someone's head during a race? HA! That only enhanced my cool factor. Yes, that is my blood soaked into the floorboards. Yeah, you wish you were me.

And you just wait. One of these days, inline skates will go the way of the LeCar and real skating will come to the forefront once again. That, my friends, is when I stage my comeback.

tags: ;;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
I've known for a long time that my brother was HIV positive. I've known for a long time that he would be at the mercy of an endless array of drugs, treatments, and doctors for the rest of his life. I've even known, deep down somewhere, that more than likely one of the myriad opportunistic diseases that prey on the weakened immune systems of HIV patients will eventually be what takes his life. I know that he works hard to live, but that sometimes it feels like more than he thinks he can bear.

Always, though, there is a disconnect. Maybe no more than that I am not my brother. Maybe no more than a human inability to truly acknowledge mortality. Maybe distance. Maybe fear. Maybe denial. Maybe selfishness. Maybe weakness. Maybe.

I can hug my brother, laugh with my brother, eat with my brother, share a soda with my brother and not acknowledge the fact that he has HIV. I have talked to him about how the side effects of his medicines make him feel tired, or tingly, nauseated, or itchy. I have looked in his cabinet and seen rows of white prescription bottles, and watched him take pills from those bottles. And while I certainly wasn't completely unaffected, somehow none of these things were able to penetrate the thick skin I had developed to deal (or not) with his disease.

Now I'm standing beside him with a hypodermic syringe in my latex-gloved hand. My other hand rests on the shoulder on which I used to ride. Part of my brain is listening to my brother tell me how to angle the needle--"no, a little bit more than a 45 degree angle"--and depress the plunger. Another part is thinking "I can do this because I love him." I prick him once because I pull back suddenly. His blood looks just the same as mine. And then I do it, just like he does three times every day--stick the needle in, depress the plunger, extract the needle. . .

For that moment, the needle under his skin had penetrated mine. For that moment I was fighting his HIV just as hard as he was. Right then, I knew, and I didn't think anything could ever be the same again.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Things in my Office that Line Up
In light of yesterday's revelation, I decided to see how extensive
my penchant for lining things up was:The blurry, but already documented, lined up bulletin board.

Lined up pictures.

Lined up lip balm.

Lined up hidden quotes under my desk that only I can see (although these are looking a bit worse for the wear).

Lined up according to size

Lined up pictures (see me and Becky?) Lined up stars. A twofer.

A whole cart full of lined up.

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy?

I swear to you that I'm not a bad driver. I'm not. I've gotten one ticket at 2am on my 20th birthday for running a yellow light. I had my (old) car in the body shop once, and that was when my neighbor hit my parked car in our driveway. I may have a bit of internal roadrage, but I don't do anything more than yell in my car. I don't tailgate, and while I might not exactly obey the speed limit, I don't go any faster than the state of the roads dictate. People willingly let me drive.

There is one person in my life, however, who thinks I am a bad driver. And I am constantly proving him right. Every time he's in my car I do something stupid. Every. Single. Time. (Luckily for my car, he's not in it very often.) It used to really tick me off, but the more I had to slam on my brakes, or passed too close, or made a left on red with him in the car, the more I was willing to let him drive. I simply cannot operate a motorized vehicle in his presence.

This weekend I went out with him and his fiancee (who happens to be my best friend). Based on past experiences, and to avoid screwing up my new car, I let him drive it. But on the way home I thought, "Screw it, new car, new luck right? I'm not going to let him jinx me anymore!" And I slid into Miranda's driver's seat. Adjusted my mirrors, turned the key, put the car in reverse and promptly backed over a stack of two railroad ties that were being used as a barrier in the parking lot.


And speaking of driving, should this worry me?

My route to North Carolina Friday and the projected path of Ernesto:

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Monday, August 28, 2006
Playing with the Camera on my new Phone

Views of my office. Note how all the papers on both my bulletin boards are all lined up. I don't know what that means if anything--I just noticed it myself.

View from my office.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
A Lackluster Monday Post
One thing I can hear right now: The person in the office next to me hacking, sniffing, and coughing. Ergh.

Three things I did before I came into the office:
1. Pulled the covers over my head and tried to pretend it was Sunday
2. Got Dunkin' Donuts coffee
3. Filled up my gas tank for $2.83/gallon

Two things I have to do tonight:
1. Much laundry
2. Get passport photos

Artist that fits my mood at the moment:
David Gray

Word of the Day on my calendar:
Elucubrate: to produce (a written work) by working long and diligently.

Question of the Day:
Would you rather be a team leader, a team member, or work alone?
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Friday, August 25, 2006
Here's to Us!
I like to use words. I wouldn't call myself a writer because I don't practice enough and there are people who work very hard at it, one being Sally, who has just finshed her book and is in the editing process. But sometimes, you come across something and you know that although the style might be raw or just not yours, you could not possibly have said it any better.

Yesterday, I was wandering through Technorati see who used the same tags as me. And I came across something that I want to publish in its entirety. It's very long, but both Becky and I agree it's worth the read. It's from an as-far-as-I-can-tell anonymous posting on Philadelphia Craigslist.

Rant: Ode to the Nice girl

Date: 2005-11-27, 9:18PM EST

Ode to the Nice Girls
This rant was written because a nice girl finally snapped.

I've read the tribute to the nice guys; this is my response.

This is my tribute to the nice girls. To the nice girls who are overlooked, who become friends and nothing more, who spend hours fixating upon their looks and their personalities and their actions because it must be they that are doing something wrong. This is for the girls who don't give it up on the first date, who don't want to play mind games, who provide a comforting hug and a supportive audience for a story they've heard a thousand times. This is for the girls who understand that they aren't perfect and that the guys they're interested in aren't either, for the girls who flirt and laugh and worry and obsess over the slightest glance, whisper, touch, because somehow they are able to keep alive that hope that maybe... maybe this time he'll have understood. This is an homage to the girls who laugh loud and often, who are comfortable in skirts and sweats and combat boots, who care more than they should for guys who don't deserve their attention. This is for those girls who have been in the trenches, who have watched other girls time and time again fake up and make up and fuck up the guys in their lives without saying a word. This is for the girls who have been there from the beginning and have heard the trite words of advice, from "there are plenty of fish in the sea," to "time heals all wounds." This is to honor those girls who know that guys are just as scared as they are, who know that they deserve better, who are seeking to find it.

This is for the girls who have never been in love, but know that it's an experience that they don't want to miss out on. For the girls who have sought a night with friends and been greeted by a night of catcalling, rude comments and explicit invitations that they'd rather not have experienced. This is for the girls who have spent their weekends sitting on the sidelines of a beer pong tournament or a case race, or playing Florence Nightingale for a vomiting guy friend or a comatose crush, who have received a drunk phone call just before dawn from someone who doesn't care enough to invite them over but is still willing to pass out in their bed. This is for the girls who have left sad song lyrics in their away messages, who have tried to make someone understand through a subliminally appealing profile, who have time and time again dropped their male friend hint after hint after hint only to watch him chase after the first blonde girl in a skirt. This is for the girls who have been told that they're too good or too smart or too pretty, who have been given compliments as a way of breaking off a relationship, who have ever been told they are only wanted as a friend.

This one's for the girls who you can take home to mom, but won't because it's easier to sleep with a whore than foster a relationship; this is for the girls who have been led on by words and kisses and touches, all of which were either only true for the moment, or never real to begin with. This is for the girls who have allowed a guy into their head and heart and bed, only to discover that he's just not ready, he's just not over her, he's just not looking to be tied down; this is for the girls who believe the excuses because it's easier to believe that it's not that they don't want you, it's that they don't want anyone. This is for the girls who have had their hearts broken and their hopes dashed by someone too cavalier to have cared in the first place; this is for the nights spent dissecting every word and syllable and inflection in his speech, for the nights when you've returned home alone, for the nights when you've seen from across the room him leaning a little too close, or standing a little too near, or talking a little too softly for the girl he's with to be a random hookup. This is for the girls who have endured party after party in his presence, finally having realized that it wasn't that he didn't want a relationship: it was that he didn't want you. I honor you for the night his dog died or his grandmother died or his little brother crashed his car and you held him, thinking that if you only comforted him just right, or said the right words, or rubbed his back in the right way then perhaps he'd realize what it was that he already had. This is for the night you realized that it would never happen, and the sunrise you saw the next morning after failing to sleep.

This is for the "I really like you, so let's still be friends" comment after you read more into a situation than he ever intended; this is for never realizing that when you choose friends, you seldom choose those which make you cry yourself to sleep. This is for the hugs you've received from your female friends, for the nights they've reassured you that you are beautiful and intelligent and amazing and loyal and truly worthy of a great guy; this is for the despair you all felt as you sat in the aftermath of your tears, knowing that that night the only companionship you'd have was with a pillow and your teddy bear. This is for the girls who have been used and abused, who have endured what he was giving because at least he was giving something; this is for the stupidity of the nights we've believed that something was better than nothing, though his something was nothing we'd have ever wanted. This is for the girls who have been satisified with too little and who have learned never to expect anything more: for the girls who don't think that they deserve more, because they've been conditioned for so long to accept the scraps thrown to them by guys.

This is what I don't understand. Men sit and question and whine that girls are only attracted to the mean guys, the guys who berate them and belittle them and don't appreciate them and don't want them; who use them for sex and think of little else than where their next conquest will be made. Men complain that they never meet nice girls, girls who are genuinely interested and compelling, who are intelligent and sweet and smart and beautiful; men despair that no good women want to share in their lives, that girls play mindgames, that girls love to keep them hanging. Yet, men, I ask you: were you to meet one of these genuinely interested, thrillingly compelling, interesting and intelligent and sweet and beautiful and smart girls, were you to give her your number and wait for her to call... and if you were to receive a call from her the next day and she, in her truthful, loyal, intelligent and straightforward nice girl fashion, were to tell you that she finds you intriguing and attractive and interesting and worth her time and perhaps material from which she could fashion a boyfriend, would you or would you not immediately call your friends to tell them of the "stalker chick" you'd met the night prior, who called you and wore her heart on her sleeve and told the truth? And would you, or would you not, refuse to make plans with her, speak with her, see her again, and once again return to the bar or club or party scene and search once more for this "nice girl" who you just cannot seem to find? Because therein lies the truth, guys: we nice girls are everywhere. But you're not looking for a nice girl. You're not looking for someone genuinely interested in your intermural basketball game, or your anatomy midterm grade, or that argument you keep having with your father; you're looking for a quick fix, a night when you can pretend to have a connection with another human being which is just as disposable as the condom you were using during it.

So don't say you're on the lookout for nice girls, guys, when you pass us up on every step you take. Sometimes we go undercover; sometimes we go in disguise: sometimes when that girl in the low cut shirt or the too tight miniskirt won't answer your catcalls, sometimes you're looking at a nice girl in whore's clothing - - we might say we like the attention, we might blush and giggle and turn back to our friends, but we're all thinking the same thing: "This isn't me. Tomorrow morning, I'll be wearing a teeshirt and flannel shorts, I'll have slept alone and I'll be making my hungover best friend breakfast. See through the disguise. See me." You never do. Why? Because you only see the exterior, you only see the slutty girl who welcomes those advances. You don't want the nice girl.. so don't say you're looking for a relationship: relationships take time and energy and intent, three things we're willing to extend - - but in return, we're looking for compassion and loyalty and trust, three things you never seem willing to express. Maybe nice guys finish last, but in the race they're running they're chasing after the whores and the sluts and the easy-targets... the nice girls are waiting at the finish line with water and towels and a congradulatory hug (and yes, if she's a nice girl and she likes you, the sweatiness probably won't matter), hoping against hope that maybe you'll realize that they're the ones that you want at the end of that silly race.

So maybe it won't last forever. Maybe some of those guys in that race will turn in their running shoes and make their way to the concession stand where we're waiting; however, until that happens, we still have each other, that silly race to watch, and all the chocolate we can eat (because what's a concession stand at a race without some chocolate?)

Sometimes the nice girl gets sick of waiting

tags: ;;

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Wise up, man.
I often find myself in the role of "the girl to whom guys talk about their girl problems." Although some would find it intimidating to be the spokesperson for womankind, I relish this role.

I will now impart some secrets to you, as I did in the month that I started this blog. I'm here to help, gentlemen.

[actual]Q: If she says she just wants to be friends then why does she still wear cute little low cut sundresses every time we get together. Could it be that she secretly wants me bad?

A: Ok, there's a chance that she simply enjoys wearing cute little low cut sundresses. However, just because she doesn't want you doesn't mean that she wants you to stop wanting her. Quite the contrary. It's nice to know someone out there is pining for you. As long as you aren't as stalker or creepy, the longer the pining can last the better we feel, really. Don't lie girls, you know it's true. She doesn't secretly want you if she's turned down several opportunities to have you.

Now this is a big one. This one isn't in the form of a question, but it's important nonetheless. Listen carefully:

With women, nothing ever "just happens." Trust me. We've at least thought about it, if not planned what outfit we were going to wear. And more than likely we've discussed the occasion and the outfit with our girlfriends. We always know.

Someday soon, men, you'll remember this information and thank me.

tags: ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
The Wonder Drugs?
My heading is throbbing right now like I'm sitting next to the cymbals while the orchestra does Rhapsody in Blue.

I took two Ibuprofen.

About a half hour later I realized that this was no normal headache because my eyebrows and upper nose felt like the features of early man.

I took two Tylenol Sinus pills.

So now I'll probably need to have my stomach pumped AND I have a horrible headache.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Nightwatches

My mind is a jumble lately with the upcoming roadtrip, the move, the bigger trip to England, and all the little tasks that go along with accomplishing all of that within the next 3 months. I've been having some trouble falling asleep because my brain refuses to cooperate. "Enough with the To-Do Lists!" I tell it and it says "But what if you can't find any places to say in Bath and what if you should not have sent that email and what if you forget to renew your drivers license in the midst of all that and what if you think you have enough money for all this but you really don't and what if you can't figure out how to change planes in O'Hare and what if your roommate is mad at you because you waited til now to tell her you didn't want to renew the lease and what if you can't find a place to store your stuff and what if you get lost on the way to North Carolina and what if you made a mistake getting that new phone yesterday even if it is pink and what if..." And I can't stop it. Gah.

Yet when I wake up in the morning or when I'm sitting at work I realize that I do have it all pretty much under control. That I have time. And, most of all, that I can ask for help if I need it.

Why does everything seem so overwhelming during the nightwatches? It reminds me of a poem I used to like when I was younger:

What if By Shel Silverstein
Last night as I lay thinking here,
Some Whatifs crawled inside my ear.
And pranced and partied all night long.
And sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow tall?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems swell, and then . . .
The nighttime Whatifs strike again!

tags: ;;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
She did? And other search related comments
Someone recently discovered my site by searching for " alanis morrisette peeing in paper cup." She did? When? Isn't that Ironic?

There has also been a rash of people searching for information about having shingles around the eyes. That makes more sense. But I'd suggest looking on WebMD. But mine did go away with no scars and no optical damage. Seriously though, if you think you have shingles around your eye get off the computer and call your doctor, it could be very bad.

I think my favorite recent search has been "I refuse to be hurt anymore." More power to you sister, I hope you find what you're looking for!

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
The Bane and Blessing of Local News
George Mallet [rhymes with dismay]: And in national news, August 22 could prove to be a day of violence or a day of prayer.

*cut to story and reels about the various religious beliefs about what August 22 represents. mention that Iran chose to annouce the continuation of their nuclear program on August 22 as opposed to August 31st.*

*cut to interview with expert who has written a book on the subject rife with doomsday prophecy*

George Mallet: AND if the world doesn't end today, you might be in the market for a new car. . .

Me and remote: *click*

tags: ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Monday, August 21, 2006
New blog on the Blogroll:

Munificent Musings

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
For me, it's always been a toss-up as to which is better: a weekend with nothing to do, or a weekend filled with plans. When I've had a couple of the latter I tend to wish for one of the former.

This weekend was one with no real plans. It was OK but not fabulous. I'm almost through Mists of Avalon, which is good considering I'm also reading a book called Katherine, Outlander (again), Middlemarch, and Women in Love. That's not including the books I only pick up every once and again like my Britain guide books and the Bill Bryson book I picked up at the Strand (you know, the one with the grimy little girl handprint on page 10).

Labor Day weekend, though, I will be driving down to North Carolina. I have some good friends who recently moved down there, and I'm really excited to see their new place, and play some Trivial Pursuit. HA! (inside joke--sorry). But they know and I know the real reason I'm going down is because I miss her:

Tell me that is not a great expression!

Anyway, if you know a fast route to get from PA to NC, lemme know. I love road trips. If you have a great roadtrip mix CD (or a great idea for one) and you'd like to share the playlist in the comments, that would be really great too.

What your favorite way to spend a weekend these days?

tags: ; ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Friday, August 18, 2006
It's around 8pm on Friday night and I'm sitting outside on my mother's deck. I wish you could see the sky right now. It's this amazing shade of perikwinkle fading to a blue so light that it is almost white. And I can just see twinges of pink from the sun that is setting behind the house, outside of my view. Small cottonball clouds have arranged themselves in rows that are not quite straight but absolutely perfect.

Some bird is singing his last song of the evening. It could be the last song he'll ever sing, but he's singing like it's his first. The cicadas are out too, hiding in my sunflowers, I think. No one is mowing their lawn or proving their dominance over nature. There's just enough of a nip in the air to remind us all that fall is coming. There's nothing like fall in Pennsylvania, no matter how far I may roam.

I'm glad I came outside this evening. I could have missed it all, never known it existed:this show that is always a bit different than the night before.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Why I Should Never Watch Dr. Phil with my mother
Scene on TV: Newlywed couples trying to save their already rocky marriages by engaging in such challenges as shopping together, cooking a meal, learning the tango, and changing the tire on a Hummer.

Mom:See that! Listen to the way they talk to each other! I'm so glad that you're smart enough not to get yourself into a situation like that. They probably rushed into marriage, you're smart not to have done that.

Me: Mom, noone has ever asked me to marry them. I'm not smart, just single.

Mom: Well. but...

Me: . . .
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
It's List Time!
First: The guy in front of me in line for coffee this morning ordered an Onion Bagel with Strawberry Cream Cheese. Is he trying to torture himself? Ew.


I finally got up the courage last night to tell my roofmate that I didn't want to renew our lease for next year. In the process I found out that our lease is actually up in mid-October and not November like I had first thought. Whoever heard of a lease being up in the middle of a month? But anyway. . .

My original plan was to move my stuff into storage at the beginning of November, stay with mom until I left for England on November 10 and then start looking in earnest for a place on my own when I got back. Whereby I would not have the pressure of finding something before my lease terminated so I could get what I really wanted.

Then I found out I might need surgery on my foot which means that I would not be able to put any weight on that foot for 6 weeks. So the stay with mom extended slightly, which was slightly worrying but still fine.

With the earlier deadline it's time for me to start making to-do lists. I have to get a storage shed, and the sooner the better so I can move a little at a time and maybe not have to rent a truck or movers. (I don't have that much stuff; by choice I live pretty light, in order to facilitate my transient nature.) I'm kind of excited about all this, but it does mean a lot of things happening all at once. It also means a commitment to be here at this job and in this state for another year I think. But who knows what the future holds.

My question of the moment I move with all my babies (my books) or do I pare down? You probably won't understand how hard a decision that actually is.

Because of the boring nature of this post, I shall add a Five for Friday List

Five Things I Can See Right Now

1. The picture of the Yip Yip Martians on my office door
2. Matvif my inherited spider plant. . .who I should probably water today
3. My date book where I write the cases I worked on and how much time I'm billing to them
4. My picture of me and Becky from the night we went to see Phantom of the Opera. (Until just now I didn't realize that she referenced the same weekend in her post yesterday.)
5. My Word-A-Day desk calendar showing that the word for Friday, August 18, 2006 is "paean"

tags: ;

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Thursday, August 17, 2006
It's the Little Things that Make Me So Happy

It has always amazed me how much I let small things affect my mood. Likewise, it is astounding how I allow the mood of other people to change mine.

This is probably most noticible at the office. If we're having a steadily busy day with a lot of motion and activity and noise, I feel propelled to create my own busyness, motion, activity, and noise. If it's a mellow summer Thursday with both offices on either side of me empty and 1/3 the rest of the building also on vacation, it's very hard to motivate myself, even if the missing are not connected to my function at all. If I speak for any length of time with someone at work who is upset or discontent or frustrated with the way things are going, I, too, become a malcontent. I'm not really a person who makes attempts to cheer people up, instead I empathize and fall into their groove.

On the flip side, little things can make me happy. A set of new felt-tip pens, a visitor, a great mix CD, a beautiful Saturday morning that everyone else is sleeping through.

Do you allow the mood and attitude of others to change your mood?

tags: ; ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Check this out!
Mosey on over to this blog: The Bemused Muse

Not only does she use the same template as I do, (Complete with the Navbar ;O)) but she has a similar affinty for the woods.

tags: ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Life is about the fight. You always have to be ready for it. You have to be ready to stand up for yourself because there are few people who will stand up for you. And because half the time the fight is against your own fears.

The fight.

To not be manhandled by a mulitbillion dollar corporation still willing to cheat you out of $100. To not be shoved under the mat by your government. To get that raise you know you deserve. To be seen. To be heard.

It's all a fight.

To keep moving when you'd rather stay put.
To be still when you want to run.
To choose the hard road because there is something worth having at the end of it.
To keep loving someone when you can't see their face.
To keep loving someone when you know how it feels to lose someone you love.
To live when you know you are going to die.

You have to pick your battles. Save your strength. Pick out what you think is worth fighting for. If you can't fight for love, over and over, scar crossing scar, climbing over fear and loss and depression, and all the minefields in your brain. . .then none of the other fights matter.

tags: ;
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
I'm curious. How many of you who blog also keep a personal handwritten (or typed, I suppose) journal. If you do, is that where you first write your ideas for you blog posts or do you use your handwritten journal for a completely different purpose? Is it topical? A book of sketches? Musings too personal to share in the blogosphere?

I used to keep a handwritten journal and I've recently started one up again because I think it's important to have a place where I can write absolutely anything I want (because, while my blog is fairly open with names and personal happenings, it is self-censored). But I'm finding that blogging has spoiled me for journaling because I miss the interaction and the comments. I'm just wondering if others have better luck with this.

As always, I love your input.

Also: I've finally found a 3-column based template to use with Blogger. So more changes will be coming soon and will hopefully be the last for a while. I think I'm going to go with only having a color scheme in the header and/or columns and simple black on white text for the postings. My plan is to change the header frequently but to keep the posting scheme the same.

UPDATE: the template is in place, what do you think?
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Monday, August 14, 2006
Beachy Keen
I went to the Jersey Shore (or as they say around here 'I went Down the Shore') yesterday for the first time in ages—not counting Atlantic City, you don't go to AC for the beaches.

It was a good day with my friend Melanie, her parents, and her nephew. And the weather was absolutely perfect (in the 80s, clear skys, nice ocean breeze). Here are some shots:


Boardwalk Eats


Action Figures


Little Boy Digging

Beach and Pier

Beach Day

Boardwalk Arcade

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Now, see, what I had in my head for the whole tag thing is something quite different from what I think is happening.

In my little world, I thought that tags would be a good way to keep track of my own posts, like you (or more likely, I) could go to all the posts I had written on a given topic or tag. Instead it seems to me that by clicking on a tag, we are tracking all of the people in the whole entire world who have used the same tag as mine.

I'm too much of an egomaniac to properly appreciate that. Does anyone know how I can make it happen the way I (*stamps foot*) want it to happen?

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
No More Discovery Health Channel
I had a crazy nightmare last night, or this morning really, at around 3a.m. I know because I looked up at the clock when I sat straight up in bed to feel my face and make sure there wasn't blood all over it.

My mom told me when I was little that dreams are all the junk stored in your brain from the day, and that junk comes out all mixed up sometimes. Well she's got a point. Last night immediately before bed I was reading The Mists of Avalon and Igraine the High Queen, who was now living in a nunnery after the death of the High King kept, thinking she heard her daughter crying out for her in pain. (Meanwhile her daughter was halfway across the country having a baby that Igraine didn't know about.)

Ok that's situation 1.

Immediately before I started reading I was watching a teenage boy get have gastric bypass surgery on the Discovery Health Channel.

Situation 2.

So I suppose I shouldn't have be surprised to find myself on an operating table, fully awake, while some surgeons dug away at something near my upper left thigh. I could feel it, but I wouldn't say it was painful. Then something went wrong and I heard the surgeons start to panic and felt blood spurting out of my femoral artery and felt it splattering on my face. I felt one of the surgeons plunge her hand into my incision and try to put her finger into the place where the bleeding was coming from. And I began screaming and screaming and calling for my mother.

It was rather awful, and was still so vivid in my mind when I sat down at the computer this morning, that I thought maybe if I got it all down it would lose some of its immediacy.

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Testing testing
From now on I shall be attempting to include tags with my post. What do you mean "why?" I don't have to justify myself to you!

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
And Weird Things Happen to Me
One great thing about living in an apartment is not being responsible for any repairs or maintenance. I'm handy, but I'm generally lazy about that sort of thing, so I'm not sure if house ownership is for me.

But in order for things to work out in apartment living, you have to stay on the good side of the management and maintenance. Calling them out one week for a vanishing mouse at 10pm is one thing. Having them come out two days later to fix the gap under your door jamb, well that's just follow up.

But calling them after-hours the next week when you look up at your kitchen clock and see this:

That's when they probably start to wonder what sort of racket you have going on.

On the other hand, I have a new appreciation for the ability of latex paint to stretch and hold large amounts of water.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
The Truth Hurts
Another "what were they searching for?" update:

Someone found my blog while searching Google for "life cycle phobias having children"

Spot on.

Welcome, it is a scary thought, isn't it?
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Monday, August 07, 2006
I'm a horrible person
So Saturday Megan and I had just finished wandering through the Central Park Zoo and were sitting on a park bench elsewhere in Central Park, gathering some energy for further adventures. We had bought something to drink from a vendor and had pulled out our books, prepared to enjoy the sunshine and the day. (see post below for pictures)

I had just purchased this book at The Strand and was just digging into it when a family sat down on the bench next to us. The mother was what I, rightly or wrongly, think of as a typical New York mother: fast-talking, fashionably dressed, with fashionably dressed children orbiting at various distances around her while she tries to figure out a way to talk with both hands while holding a cell phone to her ear. Her little girl of about 4 was ping-ponging from one park bench to another, her curly hair and Kitson shirt no doubt charming the entire park. . .except for me. Me, I was wary.

She paraded too closely by once or twice, and on about her fourth orbit she looked me straight in the eye for a full second and then smacked her grimy little palm down on the book I was reading and walked away.

Megan immediately started laughing. I suppose it was funny in a sense, but I certainly wasn't finding it so at the moment. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to dump my blue Gatorade on her curly blonde head. I wanted to see her little butt hit concrete. (Hence the title of my post.) I did not ask her to come into my world, I did not even smile and make much of her, which I can imagine for some kids can get to be too much. I was simply reading a book on a bench that happened to be attached to where her family decided to sit.

Her mother was, of course, on the phone. Her father said something like "Britainnia, that's not nice." And in between trying to make or cancel a reservation for some hot-spot her mother said "Britainnia darling, that's obnoxious and rude...NO I SAID WE COULD NOT MAKE IT THERE BY FIVE, I DON'T CARE WHO YOU HAVE TO would you like it if someone hit you...YES, WELL THEY'LL JUST HAVE TO WAIT A LITTLE LONGER. We're leaving."

I received no apology, not even a half-hearted, I'm-sorry-I-really-have-no-idea
-how-to-parent-my-child smile.

I just sat and stared at my book until they were gone.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Saturday, August 05, 2006
New York Trip

Some pictures of our Saturday trip to walk the city and attend Sarah's housewarming party.

We wanted to make sure we got a picture of how pretty we looked before we left and got on the grimy train and sweated all over the city. As per usual, Meg and I accidently color coordinated.

On the train. I can't remember why were making those faces.

This was a memorial on 5th avenue near the Empire State Building at what I think was a Quaker meetinghouse. The green ribbons stood for prayers for peace, the blues were prayers for the people of Iraq and the yellows were for American soldiers. This is only a small portion of the fence in front of the meeting house that the ribbons were tied on.

At Shake Shack. Can't go to NYC without eating at Shake Shack.

Ok, I just love this picture. Because, really, what's cuter than underwater polar bear butt?

Unless it's sleeping polar bear belly. So hard to remember that given the chance these creatures would rip my heart out and eat it still beating.

A stop at a Starbucks on the wrong end of 79th Street.

This is what the view from Sarah's new place would look like if you spun around very fast. (Or if you didn't know how to take pictures at night--the moon looks kind of cool though.)
Thanks for a fun evening, Sarah, and for being the cause of a fun day.

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Well, last time when I changed my color scheme on my PC you couldn't read it on an LCD screen. So this time I changed the color scheme on my laptop and I hate the way it looks on my PC. I look at my blog more on my PC so, I'm not sure what I am going to. The sidebar definitely needs work.

I'd also like to thank the new people who have wandered here recently and left a comment or two:

Evil Ninja Monkey
OTOH (who's been around before I think)

Stick around. Your comments make my day! Everyone else: check out their blogs and tell 'em I sent you.

Update: Oh and the picture was taken in Wales on the way to Aberystwyth.

posted by LoRi~fLoWer
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Points if you can guess where the new picture was taken.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer
August 1, 1948
Today was my dad's birthday.

He died in 2000, so today isn't as hard for me as it once was. He's gone and I miss him, but life finds a way to take hold of you and move you along. I am the person I am today partly because of the way he and my mother chose to raise me. Good and bad, that's his legacy and I know he was proud of me.

Today, on the day he was born, I am remembering something he used to do for me from the day I was born until I was about 5.

When I was very little and I was upset he used to sit me in his lap in the big gold lazy-boy rocker and sing to me:

"Rockin' in the bye-bye chair with Daddy and Lori."

The rest of the lyrics he made up as he went along, until I was calm, or asleep.

I have never in my life felt so safe and special as I did in that chair with him.

Thank you Daddy.
posted by LoRi~fLoWer

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