Life is a Glorious Cycle of Song

Spur of the Moment Decision

2007-01-11T11:04:00.000-05:00

OK, I don't like it here anymore. I wasn't thrilled with the Beta version of blogger, I see what they are trying to do but...

And now to use their newer, admittedly better, features I'd have to use one of their boring generic templates and I like my three columns and and and YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!

I'm moving to WordPress, but I'm going to try to make as smooth a transisition as possible.

The switch will be occuring over the next few days, but new posts (like maybe, just maybe one about boogers) will be here:

www.cycleofsong.wordpress.com

Change your bookmarks!

Interest....Wanning....Must...Get...Help

2007-01-10T11:00:00.000-05:00

This is a call for topics. I need something to write about. Any suggestions to write about current political events will be summarily dismissed. After all, do you want this person...

trying to write about anything so complex and mine-ridden?

Another Dunkin Donuts Story

2007-01-08T08:56:00.000-05:00

Some of my long-time readers may remember this Dunkin Donuts Story:

I woke up early today. With a thought of finding out about the new position, I dressed in pinstriped trousers and my rose-colored sweater that makes my skin look fab-u-lous. I did my hair. I took extra care with my make up. I strutted out of the house feeling oh-so professional, put together, and--dare I say it?--even pretty. And best of all, I still had time to stop and get coffee.

As I exited my car and strode confidently across the parking lot, I garnered an admiring glance from a cable guy or a telephone repairman. As I approached the outer door to Dunkin' Donuts, two men vied to hold open the door for me. "Damn," I thought, "I'm good." So I gave them my best movie star smile and said "Good Morning, thanks so much!" Brilliant, Lori, brilliant. I proceeded to head toward the inner door, stepped off the mat, slid the 3 feet across the lobby, smashed my knuckle against the glass door, and ended with my face smeared across the plate glass , gripping the door handle like a drowning woman holds onto a life buoy. My vain hope that nobody saw my acrobatics was quashed when I hauled myself upright and noticed that everyone inside the store had turned their heads my way at the sound of flesh hitting glass at high a velocity.

Brilliant, Lori, brilliant.

Well, this one is not a traumatic story. I just wanted to send a little shout out to my coffee man, Ray. Now that I am near a DD with a drive-thru, and thus have a reduced risk of slamming my face into plate glass, I go nearly every morning. And nearly every morning there is Ray, smiling at me. He smiles at everyone, I think, but Ray remembers me. And he sees me and says "Oh! Hi Ma'am!" Like it wouldn't be a good day if he had not seen me. And when he hands me my usual Medium with Cream and a Splenda he always says "Here you go. See you later." The past week or so, Ray wasn't there, and every day was a little more wrinkled. But this morning he was back!

So Ray, if you read blogs, which I somehow doubt, and you happen to come across this one (which I doubt greatly), I just want you to know that you make my morning. Not only do you keep me caffeinated, but you start my day off with a smile, and that's definitely worth more than they are paying you.

Hide my phone!

2007-01-05T08:25:00.000-05:00

My friend Cavi is home from grad school for the holidays. Tonight I'm going to have dinner at her parents house in beautiful Cornwall, Pennsylvania.

I have a bit of trepidation, though. Here are some of the things I did the last time I went to Cavi's house (New Year's Eve 2005):

Taught her parents how to country line dance while doing shots of tequila
Took video of her parents country line dancing while doing shots of tequila
Drank a case of beer in a hot tub, topped off with champagne at midnight
Ran around snowy backyard in my bathing suit at midnight, being only marginally sucessful at avoiding piles of dog poo.
Called everyone, and I mean everyone in my phone to tell them I loved them and Happy New Year and, apparently, asked some of them if they would marry me.
Called everyone again and said exactly the same thing.
Called one more time.
Broke a beer bottle when it fell off the side of the hot tub. Tried to pick up all the glass, but found out later that I didn't succeed when her father got glass in his foot the next day.

I'm really surprised they are letting me come back.

Newsflash

2007-01-04T13:04:00.000-05:00

Apparently, when I'm drunk, I make this face:

*Makes a note not to get drunk anymore. At least around a camera.*

Christmas Baby

2007-01-04T11:11:00.000-05:00

I realized today that I hadn't checked my Yahoo! mail in ages, since I've been using my gmail account. So as I sorted through spam, I came across the happy announcement that my friend Lisa in Austin had her second son the day after Christmas:

Congratulations Lisa, Quentin, and big brother Lewis, he's beautiful!

Ellis Daniel, 8 pounds!

The Friendly Skies

2007-01-03T15:54:00.000-05:00

I've come up with yet another ~~excuse~~ reason why I'm single. I'm not very friendly and open when I'm by myself.

This struck me at the Charlotte airport on Monday night, when a man sat down on the floor beside me and began rubbing the carpet with the palm of his hand, coming disconcertingly close to my upper thigh. Strangely, he hadn't seemed crazy up until that point, or after the rubbing.

Although my recent trip to England was the first time I spent real vacation time on my own, I do generally travel by myself. This means that I'm trying to watch all my stuff, keep track of my tickets, find gates, etc all on my own, and look reasonably confident while doing so. I have a special "travel face" that I wear, I think. And I don't think it's a very friendly face.

In fact, it's not meant to be friendly. And that's my problem. I don't want to make pointless small talk with strangers. I don't want to know where the person next to me is headed or what they were doing in the area. Frankly I don't care, and I can't bother pretending that I do. And I especially don't want to smile at you or your small child as they tear around the airport while I hope against hope that the kid isn't sitting near me on the flight.

But people who do those things, smile at strangers, talk to random people...they end up sitting next to someone on their flight and chatting and finding out that they went to high school with that person's cousin whom they later end up marrying all because of that conversation on the commuter flight to Boston.

Catching up a bit

2006-12-29T08:08:00.000-05:00

While I haven't been keeping up with my blog lately, I have been posting pictures on flickr quite consistently. So if for some reason, you are interested in the events going on in my life, you can always click over there to the left and see a running log.

That's one 2006 New Year's Resolution that I have kept: taking more pictures. I realized that the big events, the one people generally remember to take pictures of, are the ones you'd remember without pictures. It's the little times with friends when you should really take pictures, documenting the way you were, really, most of the time. Especially now that I have a small digital camera, I nearly always have it with me. And I've gotten some great shots!

Basically, since I had gotten back from England, I'd been looking forward to my friend Ana's visit here from Austin. We went to Long Island together for a wedding. It was the best wedding I've ever been to, bar none! Maybe because we got to dress up. But mainly, I think, because Venezuelans know how to have fun, and fun means DANCING! We danced for about 10 hours straight, I swear, at different venues. I learned a lot of from the women about movement, although for most of the time, unless Ana was translating in my ear, I had no idea what anyone was saying! But oh, it was so. much. fun!

We also had a great time exploring Manhattan. Every time I go, I find more neat places...and Manhattan during the holidays is almost magical.

While we were in Long Island, one of the wedding guests told us we should see Jones Beach, so, since it wasn't really that cold, we found our way there with our friend Robert. It was an unplanned but really great day. I found out later, that I had actually been to Jones Beach with my brothers and when I was a baby!

Then came Christmas, which was quiet but lovely. Christmas Eve was still and reverent, the way it should be. And my Meggie was there with me, like she should be. :O)

And on Christmas Day, as is by now a tradition, in the evening I went over to Meg's parents house to exchanges gifts and visit with Megan, Dave, and Meg's parents as well as their "kids," the Irish Setters, Finnegan and Clancey. (The first two pictures are Finnegan, the second two are Clancey.)

So those are pretty much the highlights. Tonight I leave for North Carolina to spend the long weekend with Tim and Karen and my other favorite dog, Bailey. And in the New Year, I'm going to blog, I swear.

New Year's Resolutions

2006-12-26T11:31:00.000-05:00

1. Reinvigorate this blog and my attitude toward it. (this really isn't first on the list in my head, though, I must admit)
2. Pray more, worry less.
3. Dance more.
4. Find a way to give back (time).

Travel Journal Day 6

2006-12-07T15:49:00.000-05:00

[So this is the last day of my trip that I actually journaled. I suppose I'll have to delve into my memory for the rest.]

November 16th
Wake in: Bath
Sleep in: Oxford

I'm on the train headed to Oxford, but I have to manage a switch somewhere called Didcot Parkway. I should have a half hour before it leaves to figure it out.

I was just thinking "wow only 3 more days" but then "actually I might be about ready to head home by then." It's tiring going from place to place. It was great at the White Hart Inn in Bath because I wasn't always worrying about where my stuff was, because I could lock everything in my hotel room and only carry the minimum. Maybe the lockers at the Oxford YHA will be bigger. I am so glad that I brought the earplugs and sleeping mask! The earplugs even helped lots at the hotel because the window wasn't very good at keeping noise--traffic noise mainly--out. I might see if I can bump to a private room at the hostel in Oxford. It's all on credit card after all. *fear and trembling*

Last night was hard, like I said. Being alone, then surrounded, then alone again. But you know, it's just one of those things that you put your head down and bulldoze through (kind of like the crowds of schoolchildren at the Roman Baths). So I reached out from where I was: sent N a text to let him know I was coming in, gave P a call to let him know the same and to find out what his plans were.

Today I should be arriving at Oxford at around 12.15 and then meeting up with N. He seems to be a bit reserved, but a nice guy, so we'll have to see. I'll be on my best non-Americanly, non-obnoxious behavior. Tomorrow we will meet with P and I have all day in Oxford. The next day I leave in the evening for Manchester, overnight there and then home.

***

6pm

I got off the train and (yay!) there was N to meet me at the station.

Oh how lovely to have someone to help me negotiate finding the hostel. He seems quite nice altogether and has said I can stay in his guest room tomorrow night if I want. And I splurged and got a private room at the hostel for tonight.

I am now safe at N's and he's going to make me Toad in the Hole for dinner.

[In the afternoon we walked around Oxford a bit and I took some pictures. We had lunch at a pub called The Turf. To get to N's I had to take the bus all by myself because N had cycled into town, but he beat the bus to the stop and was there waiting for me again.]

Travel Journal Day 5

2006-12-04T16:53:00.000-05:00

November 16, 2006

Wake in: Bath
Sleep in: Bath

Yesterday was a lot of fun. It was lovely to wake up in my own room and not have to worry about getting a shower before everyone descended to the bathroom or having to ask a stranger for help to figure out where I was going. hatter is intelligent and easy to talk to and it was nice to hang out with him for another day. Jo didn't arrive until 11.30. She's great, too! The three of us met up and went to a sweet shop/cafe called, of all things "BOSTON TEA PARTY," to eat cake for my birthday.

Then we went on a tour of the Roman Baths. It was a really good day. The only bad thing was we each had our own audio devices so it was kind of an individual experience.

But we seemed to manage enough chat and laughter. And, oh, it was lovely to be with people and share what I was thinking! (Although this journal entry will probably suffer.)

The baths were amazing. To think that you were standing on stones that had been walked on by people 2000 years ago! It's why I love Britain. That sort of history isn't present (or wasn't saved) in America. I love the sense that some things: people's feelings about each other mainly, haven't really changed though circumstances have.

After the baths we went to the posh Pump Room (where we tasted the waters--not as a bad as I feared, although a bit sulfury) and had "high tea." With four glasses of champagne to share between us, of which I drank about 3 1/2. It was quintessentially English. The sandwiches and cakes were even on those tiered trays. It was lovely!

We got done with that and wandered over to the Museum of Costume, which was included with the ticket to the baths. But by the time we got there (champagne makes me dizzy!) it had just closed.

So we wandered into a pub. We sat in soft comfy couches next to a fireplace. (Oh how I love the British pub!)

It was really hard to say goodbye to them and see them off.

I am really surprised at how the thought of being completely on my own again affected me. I cried. . .but not in front of either of them (yay me!). It was hard to lose everyone again and face traveling today by myself and all. I guess what I've learned is that I can do it, and I can enjoy it with some effort, but I'm not really a person who should plan long stretches of travel on my own. It's been very good for me to have to do it: find places, buy tickets, take trains, pick places to see, go to them. But I'm not sure if travel is really meant to be solitary. It's all right if you're cute little girl-Kelly who meets people through people who offer her under the table jobs and stuff, but that's not who I am.

Travel Journal Day 3, 4

2006-12-04T15:30:00.000-05:00

[sadly, or maybe thankfully, I journaled less when I was meeting people. I might try to fill in some of the blanks, though.]

November 14, 2006
My 30th Birthday

Wake in: Cardiff
Sleep in: Bath

Last night was probably the best night at the hostel. I don't know if there was anything different about the people or if I'd finally gotten comfortable. I ended up watching Anchorman on DVD with a bunch of people. Two Canadians (both named Kelly, although one was a guy), a young English couple, an Australian tomboy called Naomi, and a guy from Israel whose name I never found out.

They let me pick the movie because today is my birthday. We laughed a lot. I still went to bed at 10 though. The girl Kelly was really nice. She is on a 10 month (!!) journey, kind of just going whenever, wherever. How cool is that? This morning she and I walked to Starbucks (again, I know) and talked about this and that over coffee.

Then I walked back to the hostel to check out and catch the train to Bath. I even remembered to stop at the station yesterday to buy my ticket. So my pack is heavy and I was thinking that it was a good think I didn't know the train time because I couldn't walk any faster even if I had to rush. But when I got to the station (resembling a turtle) I went to the information desk to find out which train I was meant to be taking. The guy told me I wanted the Portsmouth Harbor train and there was one there now if I could catch it. But when I got to the platform. . .no train. I thought I would have to wait an hour, but it turned out that the train was a bit late, so here I sit. I'm sitting at an actual little table with 4 train seats around it, which is prime real estate and quite handy for journaling.

hatter sent me a text saying that he missed his train and won't be there until 2. I'm kind of glad because I'm sweaty from carrying the pack and it would be nice to have a chance to wash my face, etc. I should get to Bath at 12.30 I think.

I wanted to remember to write some observations about the way the girls here always seemed "dressed." I'd never make it here long term because they never seem to dress bummy. You know...run to the grocery store in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and sneakers.

November 15, 2006
Wake in: Bath
Sleep in: Bath

So I found the hotel pretty uneventfully, after staring at the map in the train station for a while. I was very glad to put my pack down, I don't know how, but it seemed heavier. I set my stuff down in my own little yellow room and freshened up. I took some pictures of my room and the view from the window.

Then I went back to the train station to meet hatter. We had a wander around, had a pub dinner, wandered some more, had coffee.

In our wanderings we stopped at the Jane Austen Centre. There's a painted statue of Jane and I took a picture of myself next to her, but the way it came out she's looking at me like "Why the hell are you touching me?"

Today we will be celebrating my birthday with Jo, who is driving over from Southampton just to meet me!

Travel Journal Day 2

2006-12-02T15:24:00.000-05:00

November 13, 2006

Wake in: Cardiff
Sleep in: Cardiff

My last day in my twenties. I'm back in Starbucks listening to a buzz of British accents. Well, actually I think they are mainly Welsh.

I woke up this morning after a tossy turny kind of night. The thing is, though, that the "mattresses" are covered with plastic and the bunk beds are metal, so it makes lots of noise when you roll over. I try to do it quietly and each time I think "OK that'll be the last position switch," but I never realized before just how often I wake up and switch sides. Anyway, I woke up with this thought: "I can't believe I'm here by myself doing this."

But I am, and it hasn't been awful. I've talked to people, shopped, toured castles, and taken photographs. I think I am really quite proud of myself. And today is probably the last full day I'll be on my own until my flight home. [So you don't think I'm whining too much, remember that I had a day and a half worth of straight travel by myself, too, which involved getting to and from airports, late flights, O'Hare International, and overnight flight, a train to find at the Manchester airport, another change of train, a change from a train to a bus, and back to a train again, and then a walk to find a hostel with a 40 pound pack on my back.] The Starbucks here have breakfast sandwiches. Today I'm having egg and Lincolnshire sausage. I wonder what makes it Lincolnshire.

A girl from New Zealand leant me her phone charger. Yay! I was getting worried about that! I just hope no one steals my phone while it's charging. After I'm done here, I'm going to St. Fagans.
***
5pm
Right, back at the "hoppin'" hostel bar. Meaning it's nearly always empty. They say that's because it's winter. So the good Samaritan who leant me her phone charger did so in vain. Who knew that you have to switch on the outlets like a light switch? Oh well. Maybe h will be able to help me out with something tomorrow. It'll be good to a) see a friendly face and b) have a room of my own with a (it has to be) bigger shower.

Still, I made it through my first hostel experience. Ok, today...Well Starbucks in the morning, as I wrote this morning. Then I went to what I thought was the bus ticket office, but was really a bus ticket office, and not the one I needed. Still, they knew what I was talking about, and told me where I needed to go.

Then it was back to the hostel to pick up my phone (see charger incident) and change my shoes because I remembered from last time that St. Fagans could be muddy. Probably one of the smartest things I've done the whole trip. It rained during the night last night, and was sprinkling this morning, but the sun shone for quite a bit of the day today. I'd say I had the perfect day for wandering around St. Fagans.

But wait, I'm still at the hostel. So I set off for the bus station, which is right next to the train station. Everything in Cardiff is quite easy to figure out or navigate. It seems like a lot of thought went into the layout of the city and its services.

On the way to the station, someone asked me where St. Mary's Street was, and I knew! She was just walking in the wrong direction, but still...I was quite pleased.

I was, of course, early for the bus. I think someone came up to me and asked me for money, but she talked so fast I had no idea what she really said, so I sort of just gaped at her and put one hand up and she walked away. Maybe they thought I didn't speak English.

Got on the bus and to the museum uneventfully. It was as cool as I remembered and this time, I even went into the castle (which is more like a mansion) and its gardens. I spoke at some length with one of the guides, and he told me about how there is a long history of strong women in Wales. He mentioned a story about a woman, Satcha, maybe?, who ran academies to teach men how to fight. And a woman started the "Rebecca Riots" to protest excess toll booths on the roads of Wales. He said they had put so many up and that and the people were so poor that by the time they had paid all the tolls to get into town, they barely had enough money to pay for the necessities for which they went there. He didn't seem adverse to talking, he even ignored some other people who came into the cottage and kept talking to me. He was kind of cute. I saw him again later and he said "hello again." Thrill, I know.

I took loads and loads of pictures and paid 2 pounds to have a guidebook. I keep thinking that I want to be able to really tell people and show people what I did [I haven't really done this.]. I'm journaling so much because I don't have anyone to share my day with, or anyone who shared it. Still, I think I'm going to be glad I did and it certainly gives me something to do after dark. [In Cardiff, when I was on my own, I didn't go out after dark.]

So by the end of walking the better part of 180 acres of the museum, my feet felt like they were about to fall off, and the little sandwich I had was long gone. So I stopped in their little snack bar and had a basil, Caerphilly cheese, and tomato sandwich. I was so hungry and the cheese was melty so I didn't even pick the tomatoes off. [I hate tomatoes.]

So tomorrow is my birthday. The fact that I'm 30 is crazy. I'll bet I'm the oldest person in the hostel [I wasn't--by far]. I always come into my own with things too late.

Anyway, it seems like a lot of people here take advantage of the whole "free use of the kitchen" thing. Yesterday a couple made spaghetti with sauce and cheese. The person sitting near me now is having a whole sit down dinner: chicken, potatoes, vegetable. That's just nuts! You have to buy it and then, worst of all, you have to clean up the kitchen. No thanks, I'm on vacation, I'll eat out.

Travel Journal

2006-12-01T08:01:00.000-05:00

I thought I'd do best (and be the most accurate) by just copying what I wrote in my journal for each day. I will be censoring somewhat, I imagine, because I did use the time to work some stuff out that had been muddling around in my brain. You know, those things that pop into your head and you push them back because maybe you are in an inappropriate location to deal with the feelings or for some other reason. Or maybe I'll post some of it, who knows

Anyway, don't blame me if you think it's all boring rubbish. In fact, don't even tell me if you think it's all boring rubbish. Just guide your mouse up to that "next blog" button and move on.

Sunday, November 12, 2006
Wake in: Cardiff
Sleep in: Cardiff

Today is my first non-traveling day on my own. So here I sit in the lounge of the hostel. I ate a free croissant and I'm drinking some free water. I'm thinking that I'm the only person without at least one traveling partner. That surprised me, and it's kind of a bummer.

As soon as the I think the shops open (maybe 10?) I'm going to walk to Queen Street or High Street and look for a coat. Then I think I'll go to the National Museum of Welsh Life in St. Fagan's. And I'm going to try hard not to wish I weren't by myself! Especially since I have all day tomorrow on my own too.

***
First full day alone in Cardiff. 10.05 am in Starbucks. Yay! Food and coffee! So this trip was supposed to contain reflection on where and who I am at 30 (well, in 2 days). I think Cardiff is a good place for these reflections, not just because I am by myself, but also because this city holds a lot of bittersweet memories for me. This city was very special to B at a time when he was very special to me. And I think he is somewhere here, in Cardiff, with his wife and that is just...weird. And poignant. And a bit like debriding a wound. B is a large part of my history and, therefore, a large part of who I am now. And this, to me at least, will always be his place.

So maybe I should start with him. What things, good and bad, did B teach me about life and about myself? B taught me that all of life could be an adventure, and that you don't have to settle for the mundane. On the flip side of that, he did not seem to have the capability to be content with home ever. And from all that I learned that I like to have adventures and look at things with interest and imagination, but that I am, quite often, content with home, hearth, and family. Travel and new experiences are necessary and wonderful, so I don't become insular and ignorant. But I need to know I have a home to go back to.

B was gentle and kind. On the flip side of that, his inability to hurt me short-term mad for what ended up being a long-term betrayal, and that hurt worse. From all of that I learned that I deserve gentleness and kindness, but even my vulnerability deserves honesty. Also I learned that I do have the ability to read people. I saw what was coming long before it came, but I just wouldn't let go. I need to learn to trust those instincts and not to hold on to things that are really gone, just because they are comfortable.

***
4.50pm
Today I went shopping to find a coat. I had forgotten how cool High Street shopping can be, although I'm sure the people here take it for granted. In Cardiff (and most other cities that I remember) the High Street is a broad street closed to traffic (in fact there is no road) with shops of all sorts on either side.

What was a bit frustrating...it's always quite hard to find my size in normal shops, but at least at home I know the shops that do carry my size. Here I don't know what's what. But still, it forced me to explore a bit, and I did find something. I t seemed like every single coat had real or fake dead animal fur gratuitously slapped on it somewhere. But at least the coat that I bought had removable fake dead animal. I threw it in the hostel waste basket, where it looked disconcertingly like a ferret, curled up asleep.

After I found my coat I was going to go to the Museum of Welsh Life at St. Fagan's but I thought maybe tomorrow, being a weekday, would be better time to do that. So today I went on a tour of Cardiff Castle. It sits in the middle of everything and parts of it were built during Roman, then Norman, then the late 19th Century. [there seems to be some key word missing there maybe "times", or "occupation"] While I was getting my tickets, I met a family who sounded American. Turned out they were not only from Pennsylvania, but from just up the road a piece in Nazareth. The girl, probably in her early 20s, was studying in Cheltenham, and I wished for the millionth time that I had gotten my act together and done that!

The tour guide was Australian, and very knowledgeable, with a comfortable voice. I saw one other person there alone: a guy. I'm quite sure he was British or at least European (some look is usually distinguishable, yet I couldn't tell you what it is) but he was carrying a few cameras. I caught him looking at me a few times, especially after I talked to ask a question, but I didn't say anything either, because something about his demeanor didn't welcome it.
[It was weird nothaving anyone to converse with, and I missed it.]

Aside:[I can't remember what prompted this] Everyone here seems to smoke. It seems like the tightening restrictions at home have either a) gotten everyone to quit or b) it just seems that way because there is no where left to smoke. I am especially surprised to see how many women still smoke here.

Anyway, the castle tour was well worth the money, although we weren't allowed to take pictures inside. The family that owned the castle, the 3rd Marquis of Bute, hired an American painter to do some of the walls and the tiles in the children's nursery. You can have weddings in the huge ornate dining room for 250 pounds an hour, 3 hours minimum. It's the oldest part of the castle, dating from medieval times, although it's been redone by the Marquis and architect William Burgess.

After that I walked back toward the hostel and used my map from my guidebook to find a pub up the road a ways that was also listed in the guidebook. I ordered a roast chicken dinner, which I took a picture of (surreptitiously with my camera phone, though). It was good but I didn't finish all of the chicken, broccoli, or cabbage(?), even though I've been walking all day with only that muffin and coffee for sustenance. Now I"m listening to everyone watching "the footie"-- apparently Arsenal are playing--and enjoying a pint of Stella.

I'll admit that I've left my guidebook out on the table face up, hoping someone would ask me about it, but no one has. Although now I must look intent on writing. I know if I asked for help or a question everyone would be very friendly, but they tend to keep to themselves otherwise, at least here in Cardiff.

Last night I must have slept from what? 8.30 or 9.00pm until 7.45am. It was a good sleep, with earplugs and sleep mask, and I don't feel out of whack at all yet. Hopefully I have escaped the jet lag, at least in this direction. I have to remember tonight to leave my watch on. I don't want to leave my phone on all night [I forgot my charger] but it drove me crazy to wake up in the morning and not know what time it was. I saw daylight and figured I should get up, is all...

I only spoke to one girl in my room (which has 8 beds, 4 bunk beds) and she was only there for one night because she was auditioning for something or other today.

Oh I lied, one girl said goodbye to me as I was coming into the room after going to the bath room in the morning. I think she was headed out. It's only 4.30 now and I've run out of amusements. Apparently all the shops close at 4pm on Sundays.

[a long refection on my work and career and future in that regard come next, which I am not going to post, plus this has gotten really long and I'm sure you all stopped reading long ago. More tomorrow.]

Ok Ok

2006-11-29T07:40:00.000-05:00

I'll admit it. I'm back. You're forcing me to accept that my vacation is officially over. And I'll post, I promise. This weekend I'll do a travel log. Just give me till this weekend. I'm sorry I've been so neglectful. Posting about the trip puts it officially in the past and puts me back at this desk editing my little heart out, and I'll admit that half of me has still been away. But it's not only you guys I'm neglecting, if that makes you feel any better.

I owe my brother a thank for the cool and unique birthday gift as well as a phone call from Thanksgiving. I owe my grandma a thank you note, and if I don't send it soon she'll probably send someone after me. I owe my room a cleaning and a picking up of all the clothes I have strewn all over because I decided at the last minute not to pack them. And etc, etc.

In the meantime, you can check out my pictures here.

The Pause that Refreshes

2006-10-23T07:04:00.000-05:00

I've decided to take a little break from posting. As of right now I am planning to resume with posts about my trip to England and Cardiff, either during (Nov. 10-20) or when I return.

Nothing is wrong, I'm just focused on a few other things right now, the trip included. I don't know how much I'll be reading other blogs, either, but I shall pop around a bit now and then. Please feel free to email me.

Somebody's Daughter

2006-10-12T07:28:00.001-05:00

Last night I had a car load of stuff to unload at my mom's. The problem was that it was absolutely pouring! I knew I wouldn't want to do it when I got up in the morning, so I forced myself to make the 5 or so trips in the downpour.

I walked into the house dripping and was about to head upstairs to change when I thought to myself "I wonder..."

Instead of going upstairs I walked into the kitchen and stood in front of my mother. "It's raining really hard out there," I said. "Brrrrr, I'm freezing now!" *Drip drip* Then I waited.

My mom turned to look at me and exclaimed: "Get upstairs and get out of those wet clothes before you catch a cold!"

I smiled and headed upstairs, secure in the knowledge that some things never change, even if you are a month away from turning 30.

The World Keeps Spinning

2006-10-09T10:22:00.000-05:00

This was a hard, sad weekend for a few of my friends for different reasons. I'm praying for them and thinking about them every day. I know sometimes it's hard to believe that the world could possibly keep on going and taking you along with it.

"You Never Know What's Wrong Without a Pain--Sometimes the Hardest Thing and the Right Thing are the Same"*

2006-10-05T14:48:00.000-05:00

Last night I logged onto MSN messenger. My heart was immediately up in my throat and my hands froze, hovering (can one freeze and hover at the same time?) over the keyboard. CB was online. I had no idea what to do. I just...stopped.

I guess what was running through my head was: Is this going to be it? Our big conversation? Is he finally going to explain? Or maybe he'll just start cursing at me. What if he doesn't say anything at all? I don't really want to say anything at all, but maybe I should. Does he still have me on his friends list? Can he see that I'm here?

It was for me the equivalent of that time you ran into your ex at the grocery store and just stared at each other and walked away.

He logged off. I resumed typing. And life marches on.

*Apologies to Jennie for stealing her title format. And that is a quote from the band The Fray...great album!

The Game

2006-10-04T08:58:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling more like my old self lately for various reasons. Yesterday I briefly pondered the idea of online dating again, perhaps eharmony (my friend's sister married someone she met on eharmony). But in the end I just couldn't do it.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be up for subjecting myself to the actual "dating" process again: The exchange of pictures that may or may not look like you or your date, the trite places to meet for the first time, the awkward conversations as you ask the same questions you asked another person last week and answer the same questions you've been asked a million times. At no other time do you have to keep explaining what you do at work, what your taste in music is, what hobbies you have, and how many siblings you claim than when you are dating. Just. Can't. Do. It.

The question becomes then, is there a way to avoid this? Ideally, I guess, I'd begin a relationship with someone I already had a connection with. There's a few people I'd consider for this but a) they are either taken or far away b) even if they weren't I'm not sure they'd consider me a very good prospect. I am little hard to handle.

So I guess for now I'm still out of the game until one of the guys I already know comes to his senses. . .or takes leave of them, depending on how you look at it.

Tis the Season to Scare Ourselves Sh!tless

2006-10-03T06:51:00.000-05:00

I wonder if human beings are the only species that purposefully terrify ourselves. Think about it, we watch horror movies, we ride amusement park rides, and this time of year, we go to haunted hayrides, haunted houses, even haunted prisons.

I shouldn't really say "we" because, although I do love amusement park rides, I can't participate in any of the halloweeny things that are around this time of year. In fact, the only one I might be talked into is a horror movie, and then only if it's old school. I have a much too vivid imagination. It's not that I've lost my grasp on reality--I know that they aren't real. But they are meant to feel real and that works for me. Plus, to be perfectly honest, I'm not overly fond of the dark.

I find it interesting that the very things we are shocked and horrified by in the news on a daily basis, the things from which we hope to keep our friends and families safe, are the same things we will pay $20 to have someone pretend to do to us or $10 to watch done to other people. I'm not criticizing, I just find it an interesting phenomenon, and one that I personally cannot handle. Do you go to the various hauntings available this time of year? Do you pay to be scared? Why do you do it?

Ok, I guess

2006-09-28T19:10:00.000-05:00

When someone tells you that they are sorry, does it ever make you feel as good as you think it will when you're daydreaming about them coming to their senses? When someone admits that they did everything wrong, does it make a difference, really, since they already did it? If what happened really mattered, does sorry ever really change anything?

Coming out of the (Shoe) Closet

2006-09-28T14:58:00.001-05:00

I've never been particularly succeptable to clothing fads. By that I mean if something was trendy and I liked it and it was flattering on me, then I might buy it. But I would never buy something simply because it was trendy. So, how can I justify my purchase of these?

These are probably the ugliest pair of shoes under creation.

Yes, I now own a pair of black Crocs. And let me tell you this, my doubting friends. I have issues with my feet so shoe shopping, while enjoyable, produces limited choices for me. My feet, inside of said Crocs, are the most comfortable they've been in years. They weren't lying when they said that the shoes mould to the shape of your feet. I love my ugly shoes. I'm pondering other colors.

Try them on. You'll be a believer.

(I should so get money for this plug.)

This is the Receipt from the first time we had Italian Food Together...

2006-09-27T11:00:00.000-05:00

I save things. I'm almost 30 years old and I still have (properly folded) notes passed to me in high school. I have movie stubs and show tickets. I've got broken jewelry. I even have a few rocks. I save them because they remind me of good things, yet I can remember the good things without these reminders. I like to have them. I have almost every letter I've ever gotten in the mail in a shoebox in my closet. I've tried to throw this shoebox out every time I move, but I just can't do it. Most girls I've spoken with have some sort of shoebox like mine. Maybe more than one. . .maybe one for each relationship.

My question is: are guys sentimental like this? Do you have the slip of paper she wrote her number on that first meeting? Do you have the envelope with a return address that you've already memorized? What do you save and why do you save it?

The Balloon Festival

2006-09-26T14:42:00.000-05:00

Not one balloon did I see at the balloon festival. Balloons have pretty stringent weather requirements. Saturday it was raining and Sunday there were high winds. The one time the balloons did go up, we missed them.

Still the trip was nice. It's beautiful country up there on the New York/Vermont border. Here are the pics:

Flicker Photo Se t

I did have a bit of a scare. I found a tick on my leg on Sunday morning. We watched the bite area on Monday and since it looked like this:

I made a doctor's appointment. So the good news is that I probably don't have Lyme's Disease. The bad news is when my friend removed the tick she squeezed so hard that she gave me a haematoma on my leg at the site of the bite--hence the red and purpleness.

One last thing: Go here. Wes drew my picture, as he promise a long time ago.

Time Flies when You're Focused on Being Completely Self-Centered

2006-09-21T06:28:00.000-05:00

Today "Cycle" is 2 years old. Yes, it's my two year blogiversary. It's been an interesting, if not particularly well-doumented year. I went through a long blog dry spell. I hooked up, I broke up, I kissed a stranger in a keg room in back of a bar. Oh, I didn't tell that story? My bad. It was funny, too.

My anniversary post last year was well received so I thought I'd do the same thing again this year.

Here are some "clips" from my better posts from September 2005-September 2006.

***

A little over a year ago I had all four of my wisdom teeth removed under general anesthesia. It all went off without a hitch. Yes, it hurt, but I didn't have any of those horrible after-effects that they warn you about, like dry socket. I did everything they said: iced it, didn't drink through straws, didn't eat the forbidden foods.

Still, the four holes in the back of my mouth were rather interesting things to have. I can still just barely feel them now, but they felt like craters at the time. And they took a really long time to heal. My first follow up visit, I was fairly confident that they would praise my diligence and due care, but when they cleaned them out for me and I spit into the cup it kind of looked like a chunky brown soup. Which was quite shocking, but also fascinating at the same time.

They gave me this contraption (it resembled a hypodermic syringe only the pointy end was wider) with instructions to suck water into the the syringe and then stick the pointy end in each hole and depress, flushing the contents of the gaping black holes in my mouth after every meal. This had a certain appeal to it, I will admit. Firstly, after I was done, my mouth felt so clean. And secondly, spitting the backwash into the sink and trying to guess what the pieces were from was an interesting diversion. Thirdly, I got to carry around a syringe.

I kinda miss my black holes.

***
I'm sure you are all sitting on the edge of your seats wondering how I handled the noisy neighbors situation. Well, because it wasn't loud music or TV, it didn't seem fair to go to the apartment managers for a noise the neighbors might not even have been conscious of. However, both my roommate and I are big chickens and we really don't want to approach the folks next door ourselves. My roommate is mostly annoyed with the occasional, yet all too frequent, thumps and bumps; but my biggest beef, as you might remember was the vibration I could feel through the wall my room shares with their apartment.

So I'm not sure what she's going to do. But I took action.

I rearranged my room. Now my bed doesn't touch that wall and I hardly notice it at all.

That'll show'em.

***

Now that I have begun my 30th year on this planet, I'd like to impart some of the wisdom I have gained over the years.

1) Just because you have been watching the Olympics, does not mean that you can lay a 2x4 from your bed to your dresser and use it as a balance beam. It will snap in half before you even get near the middle and a sharp wood shard will rake the back of your leg. (Wisdom circa age 8)

***

I stepped up to the electronic ticket machine and for some reason I couldn't figure out how to get a ticket for just one ride. I have this thing...I'd rather pay extra, drive to the next exit, eat something I didn't order, etc. rather than have everyone stop their lives while I figure out what I was supposed to be doing. So I just bought an unlimited ride one-day ticket for $7.

So then Becky strides through the turnstile, being encumbered by a huge silver rolly suitcase. But I cannot get myself and the suitcase through the turnstile at the same time. "It's fine," I think, "I have an unlimited pass." So I shove my suitcase through and tell Becky to grab it, at the same time as she is saying "but I don't think you can. . ."

Guess what. Turnstiles are smart. They have memories like elephants. I couldn't run my card through again. There's a rumbling in the distance. I'm on one side of the turnstile and Becky is on the other with my suitcase.

I couldn't think of anything else to do but step back to the ticket machine. This time I find the one ride ticket.

My last subway ride in New York cost me 9 bucks. Becky thought it was funny.

***

Dear Kevin:

Yeah, I do think it's weird.
And, no, I will not be posting a picture of my injured toe...especially now.

Sorry to "intrigue" you and then leave you hanging. I'm sure there's a website out there somewhere that can accomodate you, though.

Thank you for your well-wishes.

Cheers,
Lori

***

Last night I had my third dream in which P*r*s Hil**n and I were hanging out. This one happened to involve her falling down and needing a ambulance, which I called for her, my good friend. When the medics arrived they picked her up and threw her in the ambulance but she flew out the door on the other side and landed in the middle of the street.

***
Conversations in the Dentist Office Waiting Room

Me: . . .

TV: This is Lauren Hutton. I turned down 27 infomericals over the years. But this makeup is more than something I just put my name on. This is something I believe in.

Guy: hmph.

Me: . . .

TV: My makeup is specially formulated without the mica and shiny metals that get deep into the lines on your face and actually make you look older.

Me (thinking): huh. mica. shiny metals. do i have lines on my face? wonder how much it is.

Guy: This is the longest commerical I've ever seen.

Me: Polite mumble. (thinking) please please please don't start talking to me. your sneakers velcro. please please.

Guy: That's stuff's junk. Just junk. Doesn't do all that.

Me: mumble. (thinking) but it's all in one convenient disc, specially formulated to match my skintone and only $19.99. i can't be old enough to be thinking about buying this can i? but Lauren Hutton does look really good. please stop talking to me velcro man. where's the damn hygenist?

Guy: Like lipstick on a duck.

Me: . . .

***

Scene: hors d'oeuvres table at the house of Cavi's..um...cousin?

Cavi (scooping dip): I made this amazing Creme Brulee. I'll have to make it for you so you can try it.

Me: Really? Cool. Do you have a torch . . . Janette Isabella?

Cavi: I brought one. Yeah.

Me: *grin*

Cavi: Humor is so much more funny when you're smart.

Me: Absolutely.

***

I'm watching the Olympic women's figure skating. And I think Dick Button is mad that they woke him up from his cryogenic state for these games. Scott Hamilton and w hoev er that woman is are all "yes!, she's really enjoying her Olympic experience. She knows she won't medal, but she's really going after it." And "look at her, look at the fire in her eyes, she's out for redemption." After which, whoever wasn't talking says something equally nice, or even maybe says something slightly derogatory, but still sweet like, "I've seen her looking better but the pressure of this Olympic ice is intense." Meanwhile, all night long Dick has been living up to his name by saying things like "Well you'll forgive me for saying this, but I don't see any fire, I think she's a slow, clumsy, out of shape cow. I hope that's not being mean." And then there's this awkward silence while Scott thinks, "man if you weren't 200 years old and hadn't skated your Olympics on an outdoor rink in a blizzard, and if I wasn't afraid your head would completely fall off your body from your recent cryogenics, I'd so hit you now" and the woman is trying to come up with a way to politely disagree but she can't think of anything to say because he's Dick Button for God's sake.

***

Left PA at 4.55 am.
Arrive Nashville 7.30pm (really 8.30 but we gained an hour with the time change)

La Quinta. Spanish for "You'll get to your room and you'll be really tired, but have to go to the bathroom, whereupon you'll figure out too late that your toilet is plugged up. You'll try to fix it yourself by lifting the bar inside the tank and the toilet will overflow onto the floor. You'll use every towel in the hotel room to soak it up. When you call the front desk the woman will tell you that she doesn't know how to use a plunger and that maintenance will come out in the morning. You'll remind her gently that you'll probably have to use the bathroom again sometime before you check out. She'll tell you that there are no other rooms available, but she'll give you a key to a room across that hall that's not big enough to accommodate your party, but at least the toilet works. Then you realize that if you have to go pee in the middle of the night it will entail walking across the hallway in your pajamas. You'll resolve to go to sleep and forget that you just drank two glasses of iced tea at Cracker Barrel.

And it all went so smoothly up until that point...

***

The character in the movie was so like him. And the storyline. God, that storyline glued her to her seat and made her want to flee the room at the same time. But no, she hadn't cried and she wasn't going to cry. It was done and that was all.

The credits rolled and she rose slowly from the couch and said her goodbyes with the soundtrack still playing in her brain. Though it was pouring, she walked slowly to her car, unable to shake the feeling that she was somehow on the verge of something, the edge of something.

It was about then that the fireworks started. The last hurrah of some summer carnival nearby. That the noise shook her car felt right somehow, like it matched the frequency of her body. She drove away with colors spreading across her field of vision, looking like an impressionst painting through the raindrops. The lump in her throat turned into a sob and the sob turned into a force she couldn't stop. She cried and drove, her love exploding into pieces in the sky above her, leaving only the smell of gunpowder in the air and a smoky haze under every streetlight.

***

The past was asking me hard and hurtful questions like "Do you want this just to prove it can work?" A voice from my present, namely my brother, was also quite loud and persistent: "Why do you always choose unavailable men?"

My heart was louder. "You love him, you love him. He's not unavailable--or if he is, it's only temporary. You love him, you can do this. You can make it work. You never stopped loving him from when you knew him in college. You compared every guy to him. Here's your chance. Make it work."

I thought I loved him. I listened to my heart.

And I'll admit the idea of coming full circle was alluring. The reasons for relationships, for loving someone, are complicated. Deep inside, I have always chastised myself for not waiting until marriage to have sex. Whatever you might call that, it's there. And somehow the idea of ending up with the gentle, loving man I started with was somehow redemptive. Not to mention romantic and wonderful. It would be like all that went in between--the guilt, the fear, the betrayals-- never happened.

We were so good together, when we were actually physically together. It's flicking at the raw to wonder too much if we could have made it in the same country. I think we could have, but I'll never know. I so much wanted for this to be it. But it takes more than that. As another song proclaims: "Sometimes Love Just Aint Enough."

***

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*

***

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.

***

So that's it. I've stuck with this a lot longer than most things I've tried. And the reason is mainly because of you. I can't tell you what it means to me that you come every day, or once a week, or once a month, because you are interested in what I have to say. It's easy to feel quite small in this big world. The 30 or so people a day who come to my blog make me feel like I have some sort of a larger voice. Thank you, I really appreciate it.

A White Dress and EVOO

2006-09-20T07:40:00.000-05:00

For some reason, I watch the Food Network a lot. Keep in mind that as a rule I don't cook and I can't think of a time when I've ever made use of anything I learned while watching cooking shows.

Last night I had a dream that I went to Rachael Ray's wedding as her specially invited guest. When her husband (who I don't think I've ever seen on TV and must have made up completely in my head) read his vows to her he proclaimed that he would be taking the last name of Ray. He said "I love the name Ray, I love Rachael, and I love what her name has come to represent to America.

I started to tear up and went to sit on the stone wall next to Paul Deen. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," I said to the Southern Belle. "I know, child, y'all coming over for dinner after right?" said Paula.

tags: Rachael Ray;PaulaDeen;Food Network;dreams

Lazy but Beautiful

2006-09-19T08:06:00.000-05:00

I'm going away this weekend, so I have a lot to do at work to get my stuff ready for my backups. Therefore, I'm going to resort to a lazy post today.

These were taken Sunday morning at around 9 a.m. The light in the backyard was sublime. Look how it looks like light is coming from the center of each flower.

I'd Kick His 17-Year-Old Behind Into Next Thursday

2006-09-18T07:16:00.000-05:00

My second nephew, Taylor, is seventeen. Remember being seventeen? He lives in Oregon. Saturday, my mother spoke with him on the phone, and apparently he is considering not finishing out his senior year. My mom says that my brother and sister-in-law (who are no longer together) do not seem to be encouraging him to stay in school as much as they should. I don't know about that. BUT. I do know that if he were my kid, it wouldn't be his decision. If he were mine, he could either finish his senior year or enlist when he turned 18...which is probably why I'm not cut out to be a parent.

Mom wants me to write him a letter encouraging him to stay in school. I'd rather shake him. But, it's not my place. So I suppose my letter would go something along the lines of:

I remember how much High School sucked. How little I felt I was learning sometimes. How it was all about popularity and cliques and fights. . .and I can only image that it's gotten much worse since I've been there. I know that you are a man now, and a man makes his own decisions. But along with that, part of being an adult and making a decision includes examining not only what you want now, but what you will want in the future. You are so close to being done. You don't have to be valedictorian, you don't have to be homecoming king, or get all A's. . .all you have to do at this point is finish. Put your head down, charge through, and finish. Hate every minute, squeak by. Walk away with a diploma.

See, today, jobs that you could get with a High School Diploma are requiring a Bachelors Degree, jobs that you could get with a Bachelors Degree are requiring a Masters. Where does that leave someone who doesn't have a High School Diploma? That may not be the way the world should work, Taylor, but it is. Those 4 years in High School are going to seem like nothing to you almost as soon as you walk away from them, but you'll be spending the rest of your life in the working world.

I'm so proud of you. You're smart and funny and capable and handsome. You've got great taste in music (this is very important) and I'm so glad you're following in your grandfather's footsteps and taking up the guitar. You've dealt with so much in your life already, and you've dealt with it like a champ. Compared to everything else you've come through, these last months will be nothing. I love you and I wish you'd try.

I'd love to throw in some statistics, etc., but my instinct tells me that would be a mistake. What do you think? Is there anything I should add? He's soooo close. I wonder if he could test out? Does a GED count for less than a diploma? Any words of encouragement for him would be helpful.

Update: Scary Statistics

High school graduates, on the average, earn $9,245 more per year than high school dropouts. (Employment Policy Foundation, 2002).

In today's workplace, only 40% of adults who dropped out of high school are employed, compared to 60% of adults who completed high school and 80% for those with a bachelor's degree (Alliance for Excellent Education, 2003c).

Employment projections indicate that jobs requiring only a high school degree will grow by just 9% by the year 2008 while those requiring a bachelor's degree will grow by 25% (Alliance for Excellent Education, 2003e).

High school dropouts are 3.5 times more likely than high school graduates to be arrested in their lifetime (Alliance for Excellent Education, 2003a).

The U.S. death rate for those with fewer than 12 years of education is 2.5 times higher than the rate of those with 13 or more years of education (alliance for Excellent Education, 2003b).

I Swear I'll Never Do It Again

2006-09-15T08:00:00.000-05:00

Remember how this past Thursday I mentioned how Half Naked Thursday wasn't my thing and then I went on to post a picture for it?

Well, 9 times out of 10 any poetry posted on a blog is awful stuff. Robert Frost once said that writing freeverse is like playing tennis without a net. I don't read poetry blogs. I don't even write poetry...that I'll admit to. I'm not the 1 out of 10.

That being said. I'm going post a poem and I promise I'll never do it again. I've been going through boxes in preparation for the move and I found this:

A canopy made of all the places I've never been
Hangs above my head
Taut then slack
Adjusted by you.
Suurround here by my life and my things
Enveloped and comforted,
Cocooned and unfulfilled.
But you raise my chin
And direct my dreams.
The only way I keep hold of your hand
Is by running with you,
Through meadows
Fields of flowers,
Dark still lakes.
Passing through nakedness and euphoria
Feet flying, dreams ticking off behind us.
Joy trailing like the tail of a kite
Behind our dips and turns.
In your midst I beg for you to slow down
To look me in the eye,
To let exotic and erotic fade
And be with me in a moment
That has no deeper meaning or secret reason,
Only the feel of home.

Emails from The Edge

2006-09-14T07:49:00.000-05:00

-----Original Message-----
From: Karen
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 8:59 AM
To: Lori
Subject:

Can't breathe... too much..... no words

-----Original Message-----
From: Lori
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:14 AM
To: 'Karen'
Subject: RE:

Ok I would have died. Right there on the stage.

Bono's wife: ...

Bono: hunny, I told you before it's just a show. It means nothing.

Bono's wife:...

Bono: I'll be on the couch.

-----Original Message-----
From: Karen
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:19 AM
To: Lori
Subject: RE:

I get the feeling that the wife is used to that stuff by now.... and what about that chick? You KNOW she's ruined for life. How would you like to be the guy that took her to that concert... she'll probably never date again.

-----Original Message-----
From: Lori
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:22 AM
To: 'Karen'
Subject: RE:

I wouldn't!

Oh wait. I don't.

-----Original Message-----
From: Karen
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:26 AM
To: Lori
Subject: RE:

See? You saved time...

I just think it's funny to imagine her boyfriend there in the front row.
"Damn..."

I mean, what's he going to do? Kick Bono's ass?

-----Original Message-----
From: Lori
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:29 AM
To: 'Karen'
Subject: RE:

Bono would just calmly raise his arms and levitate away from him.

-----Original Message-----
From: Karen
Sent: Wednesday, September 13, 2006 9:42 AM
To: Lori
Subject: RE:

That's an even better mental image.

Shadows on the Cave Wall

2006-09-13T07:58:00.000-05:00

I've been single for most of my adult life. My longest relationship was three years and for most of those, I was well and truly on my own. So I'm quite used to it. And it is frequently brought to my attention--notably when an attached friend has to clear or at least mention any possible plan with their attachment--that there are things that are quite wonderful about being un-attached. Singledom carries with it a certain freedom that is enviable to people who have been attached for a long time, in much the same way that smoking carries an attraction for people who used to smoke. They often wish that they could still smoke, while at the same time they enjoy being able to look down upon people who do.

If I were to examine the times when I longed for a mate, excluding the practical--mouse wrangling, jar opening, etc.--I think I would find they frequently occurred when I was watching a movie or reading a book. Women complain a lot about how men are fed idealized versions of women in the media and have come to expect that of the real women in their lives. But I think that claim is universal and goes beyond gender.

Last night, while re-reading one of my favorite historical fiction novels, I felt the sting of singleness when the male protagonist said to his wife, "I talk to you like I talk to my own soul, Claire, and your face is my heart."Who talks like that? But unrealistic expectations aside, at that moment my bed felt very big and I wanted nothing more than for those words to be about me.

Or how about this? "I love that you get cold when it's 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."That monologue right there is the reason almost every woman I have ever known has loved the movie When Harry Met Sally and why most guys roll their eyes about it.

In Plato's allegory of the Cave, humans, chained and bound to face the cave walls, are only able to view the world via the shadows the fire in the center of the cave casts on the walls. They have no idea that what they are viewing is not reality. Plato further postulated that a human could turn around, and while at first the glare from the fire would be blinding, they could eventually see the world as it was and not merely its shadows. This, he said, was the path to enlightenment.

Today, perhaps a better analogy would be the images cast on a film screen by the movie projector. We've absorbed standard movie plots and movie endings and accepted them as our own realities--the way things should be. And while we might say we know that "real life," "real men," or "real women" could not possibly live up to these expectations, for most people this has only become only something we are supposed to say. And it's often said while staring raptly at one screen or another.

I realize that storytelling, in whatever format, is, and always has been, a vital part of the continuation of the human race. But, I wonder if it is possible to turn more to each other for the things we've begun to expect various media to give us: comfort, reassurance, entertainment, conversation, stimulation. Would our ideals (about love, courage, strength, beauty) change? Or have we simply come too far for that?

tags:relationships;movies;philosophy;rant;stereotypes

Options

2006-09-12T07:28:00.000-05:00

I looked on my list of possible blog topics that I keep in my favorite Moleskine. I've only got 2 left.

1. CD Review Rachael Yamagata
Yeah, that sure would be a good idea if I truly knew anything about music. Any CD review I would write would be more along the lines of "This CD is good because I like it. She sings pretty. She sings sad songs and happy songs. Everyone should get this CD." Ipse Dixit.

So no, no CD review.

2. Changing hobbies to suit a significant other
This would be a great topic for discussion, wouldn't it? I have both done this (I have a nice mountain bike sitting in my mother's garage gathering dust to prove it) and been accused of doing this when I wasn't. The post would pose questions such as: Is it really a bad thing to change (or add to) the things you like to do so that you have things in common with your s.o., especially if it's a mutual exchange? Have you ever tried something out because of an s.o. and then kept up with the hobby even after the relationship was over?

But neither of those things really struck me. Comments have been kind of lagging lately and I lose inspiration. So I've decided not to post at all today.

Oh...wait...er....

I remember.

2006-09-11T07:22:00.000-05:00

My Own Personal Soundtrack-Volume 1

2006-09-09T10:16:00.000-05:00

Songs that I like to think are about me:

Green Eyes-Coldplay
Lemon Parade-Tonic
Mercury-Counting Crows

Songs that make me want to kiss a boy/man/guy:

The One I Love-David Gray
Dusk & Summer-Dashboard Confessional
Fear-Sarah McLachlan

Song I listen to when I'm getting ready to go OUT:
Mysterious Ways-U2

Songs that various people have said remind them of me:

Pure-Lightning Seeds
And So It Goes-Billy Joel
I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For-U2

Songs to Drink to:

Wild Irish Rover-Dropkick Murphys
Full Circle-Aerosmith

My Breakup Songs:

Mr. Golden Deal-Tonic
I Will Never Be the Same-Melissa Etheridge
Time and Time Again-Counting Crows
God of Wine-3rd Eye Blind
I Don't Think So-Shelby Lynne

My Love Unrequited Songs:

So Cruel-U2
#41-Dave Matthews Band
China-Tori Amos
Do What I Have to Do-Sarah McLachlan

Song that Always Makes Me Happier:

Cecilia-Simon & Garfunkel

Song That Calms Me:

Learn to Be Still-The Eagles

Song that reminds me of a horrible night when I thought I could never shower enough to come clean:

Back 2 Good-Matchbox 20

Guilty Pleasure Songs:

I'll Be There for You-Bon Jovi
Goosip Folks-Missy Elliot

Songs I wish someone would sing to me:

Lullabye-Billy Joel
Tell Her This-Del Amitri
Wave on Wave-Pat Green

Songs that know about life:

The Waiting-Tom Petty
How to Save a Life-The Fray
Get Over It-OK Go
It'll All Work Out-Tom Petty

Songs to mmmmphmmm:

Yellow-Coldplay
Mouth-Bush
Crash-Dave Matthews Band
Your Body is a Wonderland-John Mayer

Music I edit to:

Mozart's Requiem
Barber's Adagio
Bach's B Minor Mass
Carmina Burana

If anyone is still reading and interested, I made an iMix of as many of the songs as were on iTunes. It's here.

Five for a Busy Friday (With 5 bonus things)

2006-09-08T08:59:00.000-05:00

Five things I'm afraid of:

1. Go-Karts
2. Jellyfish
3. Motorcycles (although I'm secretly fascinated by them)
4. Children after age 2 through age 17
5. Parties

Five things I'm not afraid of:

1. Any sized dog
2. Amusment park rides
3. Public speaking
4. Being alone
5. Heights

Football Football FOOTBALL!

2006-09-07T13:11:00.000-05:00

I like football. I like to hear their helmets smacking together. I like watching the receiver running along just barely staying in bounds. I like the collective sharp intake of breath when our quarterback gets sacked. I like football.

Tonight is the start of the regular season (Miami at Pittsburgh). Tonight is also the start of the football pool at work. A dollar a pop, most wins wins, with the score of the Monday night game as the tie breaker.

I'm horrible at the football pool. I just have the worst luck. I've tried everything: I look at the team stats one week, the Vegas odds the next week, quarterback stats the next. I've decided to adopt a new strategy.

Cutest quarterback wins.

Thank goodness the Patriots aren't playing the Giants, I wouldn't know who to pick!

HNT

2006-09-07T08:21:00.000-05:00

Certain bloggers have begun a tradition called "Half Naked Thursdays." Go ahead, Google it. Someone has even posted guidelines for it:

In that North American, Puritanical way that most of my readers think, "Nekkid", or its variations, somehow insinuates sex, or its variations. WRONG!! The purpose of "Half-Nekkid Thursday" is not to see sex acts! It is the celebration of exposure. Of your big toe. Of your breastbone. Of your knuckles. Of your uvula. Whatever.

As I've commented before, I do try hard not be naked, so HNT just isn't my thing. However, the other day I was reminiscing about the silly things we did in college and I remembered a certain spring day (it was college, right Meggie?--maybe this will get you to actually comment). Meg and I had sorrowfully noted that the woodsy field across from her parents' street was going to be developed. As I said, it was spring and the field was full of purple and white wildflowers. So to celebrate and eulogize this field we visited with our cameras out and our shirts off. So this will be my one and only contribution to Half Naked Thursday ever. . .

tags: half naked Thursday

It's a Stupid Quiz, Anyway

2006-09-06T07:16:00.000-05:00

You Should Be a Film Writer

You don't just create compelling stories, you see them as clearly as a movie in your mind.
You have a knack for details and dialogue. You can really make a character come to life.
Chances are, you enjoy creating all types of stories. The joy is in the storytelling.
And nothing would please you more than millions of people seeing your story on the big screen!

What Type of Writer Should You Be?

That result is kind of funny because I was just talking with Tim and Karen this weekend about how movies just aren't really my thing. It's not so much that I'm picky about what movies I watch, is that I'd chose a bunch of different things over watching any movie at all. There's exceptions to this rule, of course. But I suppose if you write movies, you wouldn't necessarily have to watch them. Oh well, what do Blogthings know? Only what I tell them, I guess.

Devolution

2006-09-05T13:30:00.000-05:00

(The title is a joke by the way...no hate mail, please)

I wanted to post a little something about my weekend in North Carolina, during which my friends tried their hardest to turn me into a redneck; but I'm still interested in your answers to the question posed in my previous post, so scroll on down when you're done here.

I arrived late on Friday night (left at 11am and arrived at around 10.30 due to traffic and Ernesto) so there was not much time for rednecking. I woke on Saturday, eager, as you can tell from the following picture, to begin my education.

First some "juice":

Then it was time for breakfast.

And then, of course, the traditional Saturday morning trip to purchase a wheelbarrow or two.

Soon it was time for the crowning glory of my weekend.

What more could a girl ask for, really? Except maybe some barbeque.
Yeah, barbeque would have been nice.

Excuse me, M'am?

2006-09-05T08:45:00.000-05:00

I drove to Charlotte, North Carolina this weekend and got back home late last night. More on the trip later...

My very last pit stop was at a large rest area in Maryland. I filled my tank, parked and ran into the bathroom and back out as fast as I could, because I knew I was on the home stretch. As I sprinted down the stairs and back out to the car two men stepped in front of me. One was holding a mostly grown yellow kitten in one arm. He said "Excuse me m'am, can I ask you a question?"

I have a hard time being rude, but I did manage to stammer something like "uh I don't really have time, I have to uh..go." I dodged around them both, headed to the car, and locked myself in before I even started the engine.

What do you think he wanted to ask me?

Trip Update

2006-09-01T07:14:00.000-05:00

I have made some progress on planning my trip to England/Wales in November. Actually I'm quite proud of myself, for I have booked all of my places to stay. When I purchased these tickets, I wasn't planning on having to pay for accommodation, so I've chosen to stay in hostels for much of the trip. Hostels have an added advantage for someone traveling alone: besides being significantly cheaper than even a B&B, they also have more of a community spirit. I'm hoping that I'll get to meet some neat people who will maybe want to sightsee together. If not, that's OK, too. I'm looking forward to spending sometime wandering on my own, regardless. I need to regroup, refocus, and rethink.

So anyway here's my itinerary so far (in the interest of letting potential stalkers know exactly where I'm going to be--but seriously if you reside nearby or are taking at trip at the same time, or, more likely, want to schedule your own trip so you can be with me--let me know, we'll hook up.)

Saturday, November 11th
I arrive early in the morning and I'll be taking a train from the airport to Cardiff. I'll be staying in Cardiff Saturday-Tuesday, leaving Cardiff probably around noon. I've been to Cardiff before, and I can't to get back. It's really one of the best cities I've ever visited.

Tuesday, November 14th (My 30th birthday *sigh*)
I'll leave Cardiff for Bath. I did some exploring online and found out that you can download MP3 walking tours of Bath. Perfect! I've been to Bath before, but not properly. Bath has a lot of Jane Austen associations that I want to explore. I'll be there through Thursday morning.

Thursday, November 16th
I'll wake in Bath but sleep in Oxford. I'm looking forward to exploring the libraries and museums here. I'll be here through Saturday morning.

Saturday, November 18th
I'll wake in Oxford but sleep in Stratford-upon-Avon. Cheesy touristy stuff about Shakespeare here, who actually spent most of his life in London, but still...I'm going to try to catch a performance of King Lear by the Royal Shakespeare Company while I'm here. Maybe I'll see Patrick Stewart *swoon* who performs with them from time to time, I hear.

Sunday, November 19th
I plan to spend much of this day in Stratford, but I'll be heading back up to Manchester in the evening.

Monday November 20th
Fly home.

Lori, You're Going to be a STAR!

2006-08-31T07:49:00.000-05:00

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: roller skating;childhood;me, me, me!

Positive

2006-08-30T11:35:00.000-05:00

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.

Things in my Office that Line Up

2006-08-29T11:05:00.001-05:00

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.

A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy?

2006-08-29T06:44:00.000-05:00

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:

Playing with the Camera on my new Phone

2006-08-28T12:44:00.000-05:00

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.

A Lackluster Monday Post

2006-08-28T07:08:00.000-05:00

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?

Here's to Us!

2006-08-25T05:54:00.000-05:00

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: craigslist;girls v. guys;rants

Wise up, man.

2006-08-24T11:22:00.000-05:00

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: good advice; guys v. girls

The Wonder Drugs?

2006-08-24T09:25:00.000-05:00

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.

The Nightwatches

2006-08-23T06:59:00.000-05:00

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: what ifs;me, me, me;misadventures

She did? And other search related comments

2006-08-22T12:45:00.000-05:00

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!

tags: how they found me

The Bane and Blessing of Local News

2006-08-22T06:40:00.000-05:00

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: george mallet;local news

ALERT ALERT

2006-08-21T18:21:00.000-05:00

New blog on the Blogroll:

Munificent Musings

Enjoy.

Weekends

2006-08-21T09:06:00.000-05:00

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: Bailey; weekends; playlists

Outside

2006-08-18T19:11:00.000-05:00

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.

Why I Should Never Watch Dr. Phil with my mother

2006-08-18T18:15:00.000-05:00

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: . . .

It's List Time!

2006-08-18T06:52:00.000-05:00

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.

Onward:

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 is...do 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: Five for Friday; misadventures

It's the Little Things that Make Me So Happy

2006-08-17T08:37:00.000-05:00

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: me, me, me; working; questions

Check this out!

2006-08-16T13:43:00.000-05:00

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: bloggers; the woods

Fight

2006-08-15T19:21:00.000-05:00

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: what matters; rants

Journaling

2006-08-15T09:59:00.000-05:00

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?

Beachy Keen

2006-08-14T08:56:00.000-05:00

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:

Umbrellas

Boardwalk Eats

Dunes

Action Figures

Skyride

Little Boy Digging

Beach and Pier

Beach Day

Boardwalk Arcade

tags: photographs, adventures

No More Discovery Health Channel

2006-08-10T07:16:00.000-05:00

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.

tags:dreams

Testing testing

2006-08-09T14:42:00.000-05:00

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!

tags:misadventures;blogging

And Weird Things Happen to Me

2006-08-09T08:53:00.000-05:00

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.

The Truth Hurts

2006-08-08T13:03:00.000-05:00

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?

I'm a horrible person

2006-08-07T08:00:00.000-05:00

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 BUMP...how 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.

New York Trip

2006-08-05T22:00:00.000-05:00

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.

Housecleaning

2006-08-02T12:05:00.000-05:00

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:

TJ
DallasDysfunction
Mist1
Evil Ninja Monkey
OTOH (who's been around before I think)
Marie
Sesnyde
cowchica
and
Paul

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.

2006-08-01T20:38:00.000-05:00

Points if you can guess where the new picture was taken.

August 1, 1948

2006-08-01T07:04:00.000-05:00

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.

Hickory Dickory Dock

2006-07-28T07:08:00.000-05:00

My roofmate and I aren't home very much. When we do come in, we're usually on our way back out so mail gets tossed on the coffee table, jackets get hung over the dining room chairs, and there's a lovely pile of shoes near the front door. We're messy people, but we aren't dirty. We do dishes, take out the trash, keep food in the cupboards, and sometimes we even vacuum.

So imagine my surprise last night when I leaned from the couch to the coffee table to grab my drink and saw something scurry from underneath our door jamb (gah, the hairs on the back of my neck are raising as I type this) toward the far wall. I screamed...yes, I screamed like a little girl...and I must have scared it because it ran back into the fucking crater under our front door that is apparently usually covered by our doormat. I had no idea it was there.

My roofmate was still at work, so I had to deal with this alone. Deal with it? Right. I squished into a corner of the couch, curled my legs up under me, and proceeded to utterly panic:

There's a mouse. A dirty poopy mouse. IN OUR HOUSE. Shit Shit Shit. How did it get here? What do I do, what do I DO??? Call roofmate! Yes, that's it, she'll come home and then at least I won't be alone with the mouse that is IN OUR HOUSE. She's not answering....

HOLY MOTHER OF PETE THERE IT IS AGAIN. SCRRRRRRREEEEEEAM!!!

A mouse that I'm fervantly hoping is the same mouse comes scurring out of our coat closet on the other side of the room.

*ding dong*

Shit that's my food. How can I get to the door without my feet touching the ground?

When my roofmate finally got home from work, I had been sitting on the couch with my feet up for approximately 2 hours. I had to pee really badly, but there was a large stretch of mouse infested floor between the couch and the bathroom. I had called emergency maintainance, but they apparently didn't consider a mouse an emergency. Roofie can be a self-proclaimed bitch on wheels when it comes to stuff like that so she called them back and some poor sad tired man had to come out at 10.30 pm to set up a mouse trap for us. We certainly weren't going to do it.

Apparently, from what he told us, the building that we live in has been having a "little problem with mice." And all they can do is trap them when people call. He said he thought someone had probably brought them in on a recent move-in. Oh and they're going to come out today and fill the gaping chasm leading to hell that is on the inside of our front door jamb.

I'm completely and utterly skeeved out. It's not the mouse itself that creeps me out, I've held mice. But they came out of a cage. I've dissected a rat. But it was dead already. But I refuse to co-habit with something that doesn't use a toilet, is associated with people who leave food in piles on their kitchen floor, carries the Black Plague, and can eat it's way through a cement door jamb and apparently muscle aside a carpet remant. I'm throwing out EVERY. SINGLE. THING. in our cupboards. Maybe even the dishes.

*shiver*

I hate all my clothes

2006-07-27T11:32:00.000-05:00

Yep, it's about that time of year again. I don't know if guys go through this, but, for me at least, every August and every (oh, say...) March it's the same thing. By August I hate all my summer clothes and I fondly remember all the comfy, cozy, fleecy sweaters and such in those magical boxes under my bed. I long for that chilly nip in the air that means I can wear my funny hat with the ear flaps again. And maybe, just maybe, I even miss the snow. This attitude always comes at least 1 to 2 months before sweaters will be a viable clothing option.

Around March--which, along with February, is the most miserable, windy, icy time of year in Southeastern Pennsylvania--I begin to feel like I've eaten an entire skein of yarn and if I have to keep my neck, head, arms, hands, and legs covered for one more second I might implode. I want nothing more than to shove all my sweaters in those stupid boxes under my bed and get started on my vast selection of capri pants and wispy shirts.

I'm glad I live in a part of the country that gives me such wonderful seasonal opportunities to bemoan my wardrobe.

Haze

2006-07-24T07:10:00.000-05:00

The character in the movie was so like him. And the storyline. God, that storyline glued her to her seat and made her want to flee the room at the same time. But no, she hadn't cried and she wasn't going to cry. It was done and that was all.

100 Things; or I Heart Self-Indulgence

2006-07-21T10:22:00.000-05:00

Looking around a bit on the blog-o-sphere after reading TJ's post, I realized that a lot of people, including some friends have done a "100 Things About Me" post. And since the world does, in fact, revolve around me, how could I fail to join in.

So, in no particular (conscious) order:

I'm a fast reader but I often get bored in the middle of a book and switch to a different one.
I'd rather watch a movie I've already seen.
I have a strange phobia about making phone calls. When I finally do make a call, if I have to leave a message for the person to call me back, I start to dread their return call.
If I had to work in a blue collar job, I'd like to either learn how to lay cement or make things out of bricks.
I love dogs out of reason but I don't have one yet.
My father died in 2001.
I'm terrified of losing my mother.
When I was little I mostly played with "boy's toys" especially any sort of construction set and I liked stuffed animals better than dolls.
I try not to hate anyone.
I really want to find someone who wants to marry me just as I am, where I am (and vice versa).
I wish I didn't get so attached to people. I think I love too hard.
I like babies, but I'm very uncomfortable around most children. I fear I have no maternal instinct, but I'm facinated with the idea of pregnancy.
I broke my nose in 6th grade while in a speed skating race (on roller skates) by crashing into the back of someone's head.
Yes, I really do think that people should be interested in this list.
I know what having a panic attack feels like. And it's awful.
I love all amusment park rides.
I flirt, but I don't think I'm particularly good at it.
If it wouldn't be a waste of money, I'd get my Masters in English Literature. I say it would be a waste only because I don't want to teach.
I get frustrated with people who don't think as fast as I do. I'm sure that people get frustrated with me for not thinking as fast as they do.)
I talk to myself in the car and in stores.
I miss Austin.
I wish I had a nutritionist and a trainer, I'm horrible at self-motivation and I eat my feelings.
I have 4 nephews, but I don't know any of them very well.
I'm very much the baby of my immediate family and the only girl. And I act like it--but just around my family.
I was in the 95th percentile for the verbal section of my SATs but only in the 25th in math. I think I have discalculia.
I choose to be alone a lot.
I wish I were a better Christian
Most of the time I think I'm a pretty cool person, yet one who sort of bumbles her way through life.
I don't feel grown up enough to be almost 30.
I like working with men better than women.
I worry at how selfish some of my thoughts are.
I try not to lie.
However, I'm a good liar when I feel backed into a corner.
I was a virgin until I was 20.
I like public speaking.
I want to live in Boston some day.
With a few exceptions, I don't watch new TV shows.
I learned how to weld last year, but I haven't done it since.
I love roadtrips.
I won a fiction writing award from the Greater Lehigh Valley Writers Group when I was in college. I have the story somewhere if anyone is interested.
I don't try to write to be published because I'm scared I'll fail.
My college internship was at a magazine called Compressed Air
I imagine scenes from the book Anne of Green Gables to help me fall asleep at night.
I've only snuck into one movie ever.
I've never seen any of the Godfather movies or Braveheart or Forest Gump or countless other movies that you think I should have seen.
I'm very messy at home, but extremely organized at work.
I like my Windows' toolbar on the right hand side, not the bottom.
I've had a girl crush.
I've slept in the same bed as a married man. (But I've never seen two people squish further away from each other on the same bed--and we were above the covers.)
There's still one "bad boy" in my past that I'd probably find hard to resist even though I know he's not good for me.
I try hard not to repeat mistakes
I don't dream about my wedding or my wedding dress. If forced, I'd probably say I wanted a big backyard BBQ.
I'm censoring this list.
I usually choose the hard road.
I love to swim, but I'd rather be in a pool than a lake. I don't like to swim in the ocean.
I'll kick your ass at Monopoly.
I'd like to think I could kick your ass at Scrabble.
At the end of the day I think of conversations that I had and things I did that day and analyze the heck out of them. Usually to my detriment.
I have no idea what I want to do to leave my mark on the world.
I have become resigned to the fact tha I probably won't leave my mark on the world.
I avoid politics and discussing politics. I purposely know as little about politics as possible so I can avoid these discussions.
I have had an article published in an online journal.
I have climbed a mountain.
I had a really embarassing experience at an indoor rock climbing gym and I haven't been to once since, although I really enjoy climbing.
Same for horseback riding.
I hate dating. (But the previous two embarassing experiences did not occur on a date.)
I don't mind only having a few good friends.
I've known my best friend since our senior year in high school and we've never had a fight.
I search for father figures, even at 29.
I like to feel small.
I've been to England 4 times and France once.
I have a whole box of old letters that I'll never throw away.
I'm always shocked by what I look like in pictures.
If I won the lottery I'd use my money to outbid developers who bulldoze our farmland here in Bucks County.
I'd probably be more superficial if I could afford it.
I very rarely wear high heels and I always regret it when I do.
I love the woods.
I like all kinds of music, even country.
I'm secretly facinated by any sort of montage where they mix video clips with music.
My life has a constantly evolving soundtrack that I keep in my head.
I used to be a competitive roller skater (jumps, spins, sequined outfits and all) I even have medals.
I'm very competitive in general.
I tend to trust people even though I pretend to be jaded and cynical.
I'm optimistic.
I used to be scared of getting kidnapped and that fear is only buried just under the surface.
I wish I could drive a car with manual transmission.
I like scenes in movies where people are walking in slow motion, they always look so cool.
I like to edit because I like finding other people's mistakes. I hate it when people find mistakes I missed.
If I could have any job I wanted, I'd like to be a dog trainer.
I think I'm just the right height.
I know what people notice first about me, but I wish it were something different.
I had major surgery when I was around 5 years old.
I have one ureter on my right hand side and two on my left. (You're supposed to have one on each side.)
If I could trade bodies with anyone it would be Jennifer Lopez.
I like songs with words that read like poetry. I get obsessed when I find one, and play it over and over. I always listen more closely to the words than to the intricacies of the music. (I guess that could be three things but they're all related.)
I love writing with Sharpies and felt-tip pens.
I'm not really good at anything artistic.
I write in a random mixture of print and cursive, but I never use the cursive lowercase "b" or "z."
I have had more romantic relationships that started online than those that started any other way.
I've never had a nickname that wasn't a variation on Lori.

Stick that Where?

2006-07-20T09:08:00.000-05:00

Let's talk about bumper stickers. I hate them. Sure sometimes they can have mildly amusing sayings. In fact I've often thought about having one made that says "Genius is the cross I bear." But I still hate them.

I just don't understand why you'd put stickers on an expensive piece of machinery that, more than likely, you will have to try to convince someone else to buy at some point. I have used a bumper sticker on my car for one reason--to cover up a stupid mistake I made while learning Lori's Life Lesson #378: "Just because there was no one in the driveway behind your car when you parked it last night, doesn't mean there is no one behind it this morning. Defrost your back window."

No one cares where you like to go on vacation, where you had your cat neutered, or what your "other vehicle" is.

Things you stick on your car can fall into various categories:

Stickers with dates on them: They're really only "cool" the year you got them. Who cares that you went to Marriage Encounter 2003? It's 2006 and you're divorced.

A large subcategory of stickers with dates are campaign stickers: You lost. Now what?

Stickers proudly proclaiming your religion: You'd better represent then. No road rage, flipping the bird, or cutting people off in traffic.

Stickers with punny sayings: Is it really that funny? Is it funny more than once? Do you really need a conversation starter on your bumper?

Stickers broadcasting your sexual orientation or your opinion on any sexual orientation: I like my tires full and my car un-keyed, how about you?

Magnetic ribbons: Enough already, huh? The only thing you are supporting is the car magnet manufacturing industry.

So resist the urge. I'm still going to laugh, even if it's paid for.

It Could Have Been A Great Day

2006-07-19T15:38:00.000-05:00

Hey, who knew you could put italics in your post title? Cool!

This morning had all the makings of a wonderful day. Upon arriving at work we had no power (some fierce electrical storms last night), which meant not only were there no lights, computers, servers, air conditioning, and telephones, but also no toilets as we run on a septic system.

We all sat around the lobby waiting for someone with some authority to tell us to go home, which happened an hour after I had gotten there. We all left with that lighthearted feeling that only an unexpected paid day off can provide--the electric company had said they'd have the power up around 8 p.m.

I got home around 9.30 a.m.

They called us back in at 10.30 a.m.

So here I am. There's no airconditioning upstairs where my office is. There's no voice mail. And none of the engineers came back in.

So, yeah, it could have been a great day. But it wasn't.

I like this quote from Colette

2006-07-18T12:10:00.000-05:00

Colette was kind of...controversial, and I don't know the particular context of this quote, but I still like it:

"I love my past. I love my present. I'm not ashamed of what I've had, and I'm not sad because I have it no longer."

I'm not sure if I can claim any one of those things. Can you? Should we be able to?

My British Network

2006-07-17T07:54:00.000-05:00

...which I think consists of two people.

About 2 or 3 weeks ago I purchased plane tickets. I fly into Manchester on November 10th and leave from there on the 17th. In between there falls the momentous occasion of my 30th birthday.

So with the way everything worked out, it looks like this is going to be a solo trip. I'd like to kind of do a literary journey and visit the Bronte house, Jane Austen's house (does this exist?), etc. But I'm entirely open to ideas. I've got 10 days to kill and I need help.

I need cheap places to stay and cheap/free/ or pricey but extremely interesting places to visit. They don't need to be in the Manchester area.

Suggestions please...Pash, Coffee Lover, I'm a talkin' to YOU specifically and anyone else who has any good ideas. I know my bloggers won't let me down.

Then there's the little things

2006-07-14T15:21:00.000-05:00

I'm proud to annouce that someone found my blog while searching for "inverse mullet."

I can die now.

Do I do the Autopsy?

2006-07-14T07:01:00.000-05:00

Or do I just let it lie?

I debated this question last night as I was trying to fall asleep. While I think it would be cathartic to dissect this most recent of my relationship failures, I could do it in a journal, or in a letter to a friend. A blog (regardless of its readership numbers) is an awfully public place to examine something that involved two private people.

On the other hand there are certain people who read this blog as their only communication with me, who seem, for whatever reasons, to have a genuine interest in my life and to care for me and what's going on with me.

So I want to post something, but I'll try to stick to the things that directly had/have to do with me. It's not fair to disparage CB. He's still the same wonderful guy he was when he was my boyfriend. And, in the larger sense, not counting some words that could have been redacted, neither of us did anything wrong. Those things that sabotage more rooted relationships than ours-- infidelity, jealousy, selfishness--they weren't what ended things.

Here are the things that I did wrong:
I didn't listen to my gut in the very beginning. "Listen to your heart" is a great name for a song, but it doesn't always work in the real world. Sometimes you should listen to those voices from your past experience. Mine were saying things like: "But you know that a long distance relationship broke your heart into pieces, some of which are still only attached with duct tape--do you want to go through that again? Should you want to go through that again?" The past was asking me hard and hurtful questions like "Do you want this just to prove it can work?" A voice from my present, namely my brother, was also quite loud and persistent: "Why do you always choose unavailable men?"

My heart was louder. "You love him, you love him. He's not unavailable--or if he is, it's only temporary. You love him, you can do this. You can make it work. You never stopped loving him from when you knew him in college. You compared every guy to him. Here's your chance. Make it work."

I love him. I listened to my heart.

And I'll admit the idea of coming full circle was alluring. The reasons for relationships, for loving someone, are complicated. Deep inside, I have always chastised myself for not waiting until marriage to have sex. Whatever you might call that, it's there. And somehow the idea of ending up with the gentle, loving man I started with was somehow redemptive. Not to mention romantic and wonderful. It would be like all that went in between--the guilt, the fear, the betrayals-- never happened.

We were so good together, when we were actually physically together. It's flicking at the raw to wonder too much if we could have made it in the same country. I think we could have, but I'll never know. I so much wanted for this to be it. But it takes more than that. As another song proclaims: "Sometimes Love Just Aint Enough."

2006-07-13T12:37:00.000-05:00

I couldn’t be
Everything that you wanted
I couldn’t tell you
Everything that I wanted

I wanted to tell you
What you did for me
I wanted to need you
‘Cause I needed to know

I couldn’t be there
and I couldn’t hold you here
so
I had to let you go

I started writing
and I was so happy
and I started thinking
about all of the fun we had
We traveled
and we found each other
but I wasn’t strong enough to know

And I couldn’t be there
And I couldn’t hold you here
So
I had to let you go

It wasn’t me who said I’m leaving, no
Or maybe it was
Hell, I don’t know

I couldn’t be there
and I couldn’t hold you here
so
I had to let you go

I wish you well
On all your journeys
And I think you’ll do
Everything that you wanted
And I start thinking
Bout you being happy
So I won’t feel so bad
When I’m all alone

I couldn’t be there
And I couldn’t hold you here
So
I had to let you go.

I had to let you go.

--Cory Morrow, "I Couldn't Be There"

Squash!

2006-07-13T06:44:00.000-05:00

Some of you might remember my post when we first planted the garden. It looked like this:

As of last weekend it looked like this:

The seedless cucumbers are growing up the fence, the huge thing on the left there is really 3 tomato plants which escaped their stakes during the recent deluges and the big leaves on the right belong to a very dominant and very prolific yellow squash plant. The lettuce is underneath there somewhere, the spinach couldn't take the rain.

This is my butterfly garden:
All perennials in there, so it doesn't require much tending. In the back you can just barely see the new addition, an official butterfly bush. When I took the picture I had just finished deadheading that. I can't remember what those tall purple things are called. I'm sure someone will know. Behind those in the spring I had gorgeous hot pink flowers from the daisy family.

So as far as the gardening goes, it hasn't been a bad summer.

Here are some pictures of some of the lilies elsewhere in the yard. It was quite early in the morning and the light shining through them was incredible. The pictures--as is always the case--just don't do them justice.

The Allure of Target

2006-07-12T07:08:00.000-05:00

Target Shopping List

1. Shower Curtain

In Target Cart at Checkout

1. Shower Curtain
2. Cute Lavender outfit for my friends' new baby girl
3. Cute Pink outfit for my friends' new baby girl
4. A Quart of Milk
5. Two Boxes of Cereal
6. New Dashboard Confessional CD
7. Natasha Bedingfield CD
8. Limp Bizkit's Greatest Hitz (shut up. seriously...shut up.)
9. Shout Color Catchers

Well, whatever

2006-07-11T12:23:00.000-05:00

I'm still alive, kids. Been ducking and dodging, slipping and sliding, and taking it on the chin the past couple of weeks. Lots of things are up in the air right now, but you know what? I'm OK and I will continue to be so.

This weekend I finally bit the bullet and got rid of the little blue car. I'm now the proud owner of a 2003 Subaru Forester. Her name is Miranda and she has met with the approval of the safety sticklers at work. I'm quite pleased, yet worried about my tendancy to spend large amounts of money when I am unhappy.

My big brother is flying into the area tomorrow! I'm still trying to figure out if he is Evil Ninja Monkey of the previous comments...but I've never heard him use the word 'peckish.'

I'm still in the process of trying to convince work that they need me to fly out to Seattle for a few weeks to help set up the new office. I'm not sure what the hold up is, as they'd only have to pay for my plane tickets, but we shall see. I just want to be away from here for a while...scratch that, I need to be away from here for a while. I wouldn't mind actually leaving the planet, but I think that might be harder to arrange.

Remember, they're watching.

Update.

2006-07-06T06:28:00.000-05:00

Friends move.
Boys lie.

A Small Justification

2006-06-14T08:23:00.000-05:00

It seems that I've been leaning toward the "photoblog" and I'm really not a good enough photographer to do that. Oh well. My blog as a reflection of myself is only doing it's job--I'm obsessed with my digital camera!

In fact this morning on my way to work I got stuck in a bit of a traffic jam—the aftermath of a the natural magnetic attraction between a dump trunk and a ditch. But one of the great things about living in Bucks County is that here's what I saw out my window during the traffic jam:

Not so bad really.

At Peace Valley Nature Center

2006-06-12T09:16:00.000-05:00

Bucks County, PA

Self Portrait-June 2006

2006-06-09T10:59:00.000-05:00

Texas Pictures

2006-06-08T07:35:00.000-05:00

OK, I'm going to post some pictures that I took in Texas. I can't fit these in with the story of my trip, really. I figured that vacation was as good a time as any to figure out the features of my digital camera and to try to develop a photographic eye. (Hey that was kind of punny.) Here we go:

Here's a picture that I think really personifies (if that's the right word) what Austin is all about and why it's so cool:

Normalcy

2006-06-05T14:34:00.000-05:00

I'm back at work. I've got tons of pictures to share and a semi-truthful story about how I sprained my RIGHT ankle the day before I had to DRIVE home. Stay tuned, as soon as I catch up!

Nashville

2006-05-24T20:32:00.000-05:00

Left PA at 4.55 am.
Arrive Nashville 7.30pm (really 8.30 but we gained an hour with the time change)

La Quinta. Spanish for "You'll get to your room and you'll be really tired, but have to go to the bathroom, whereupon you'll figure out too late that your toilet is plugged up. You'll try to fix it yourself by lifting the bar inside the tank and the toilet will overflow onto the floor. You'll use every towel in the hotel room to soak it up. When you call the front desk the woman will tell you that she doesn't know how to use a plunger and that maintenance will come out in the morning. You'll remind her gently that you'll probably have to use the bathroom again sometime before you check out. She'll tell you that there are no other rooms available, but she'll give you a key to a room across that hall that's not big enough to accommodate your party, but at least the toilet works. Then you realize that if you have to go pee in the middle of the night it will entail walking across the hallway in your pajamas. You'll resolve to go to sleep and forget that you just drank two glasses of iced tea at Cracker Barrel.

And it all went so smoothly up until that point...

On the Road Again

2006-05-22T07:05:00.000-05:00

There, now that I've put that song in your head for the rest of the day...

There are 2 more days (including today) before Mom and I leave on our cross-country trek to Austin for my nephew's high school graduation. Mom hasn't been to Austin since Dylan was...well...1 or 2 years old. Maybe my brother remembers better when it was. I know she wasn't out there the whole time that I lived down there. She doesn't fly, you see, hence, the drive. The good thing is, I'll get to play off this good deed for a looooooooooong time. Muhahahahaha.

The plan is to drive from Sellersville, PA to Nashville, TN the first day and then from Nashville to Austin, TX the next day. Around 30 hours of driving as near as I can figure. I'm banking on the adrenaline to get me there, and I've given myself extra time in case I can't manage a 2 day trip back home.

Here's the route:

We're staying at a hotel with wi-fi both in Nashville and in Austin, and I will have my laptop with me. However, I have failed numerous times to blog while on vacation, so I'm not making any promises. But I will promise that if, somewhere in Virginia I have a mental breakdown and refuse to go any farther, I will blog about that.

Does this qualify as Ironic?

2006-05-18T12:30:00.000-05:00

So last night I was sitting on the couch waiting for my hoagie to get delivered. It was taking sooo long. I get a call from the restaurant saying the delivery guy was having a hard time finding the place, I clarified a bit and was told to expect my sandwich in a minute or two. Ten minutes later when the doorbell rang I was STARVING, so I grabbed my wallet and wrenched the door open with what could only be classified as a disgruntled look on my face.

Standing at my door was a man with a suit and a badge.

No, I'm not kidding.

A man with a suit, and a badge, and a gun was standing at my door.

I was quietly having hysterics because my roommate engages in a sort of recreational activity sometimes frowned upon by the authorities, and at certain times, evidence of this activity is around shall we say.

Turns out he was doing a background check on my neighbor who apparenly wants to apply to the police academy. I've never spoken to my neighbor, I've only seen him out shoveling snow while wearing shorts. So I didn't have much to say, really.

Personally, I think BPS told him to check up on me.

New Camera/New Garden

2006-05-17T13:46:00.000-05:00

I got my camera on Friday so naturally I took it with me while we ran errands on Saturday.

I've decided that I'm going to create a dog montage. Starting with this distinguished gentledog who as L.M. Montgomery wrote knew that she had nothing to do but sit and wait "so she sat and waited with all her might and main."

After running around getting all the necessary "ingredients" we set to work on the garden. Here is the garden before planting, but after all the backbreaking tilling and sifting and adding of new soil:

Now here's a shot after planting melons, peppers, onions, lettuce, spinach, and squash. Haven't put the tomatoes in yet. Oh, and the marigolds around the perimeter keep the bad bugs away.

It was the perfect day to be outside working. However around 3 there was a crazy thunderstorm and I was afraid everything would get washed away. They seem to have made it through OK, but only time will tell. This weekend we'll plant the tomatoes and cucumbers and finish planting the herb garden, which I didn't take any pictures of yet because it still looks messy.

Monday night when I got back to the apartment it was sunny, but raining and I saw a rainbow. So I took this picture:If anyone knows how to capture a rainbow on a digital camera, let me know, because this picture doesn't do it justice at all.

That was my weekend in pictures. Back to your business.

CB Was Here

2006-05-16T10:17:00.000-05:00

I thought perhaps with the resurrection of my blog some of you might have had a fleeting moment of curiosity about how CB and I are doing. So I'll update.

Everything is good. Obviously it's not easy being separated by a large body of salt water, but it's also not impossible to deal with. Basically we make sure that we have some sort of contact (even if it's just a text message) every day. I called Cingular and got a really good rate to call him, and he did the same with whatever crazy British company he uses. (But my rate is better--God Bless America! United We Stand and all that)

We have experienced a brief glitch as his company has given him a 6 week kilt-wearing assignment in Scotland. As he'll be staying at a hotel, he may or may not have internet access and may or may not have a computer. Still, there's the phone and I'm almost looking forward to improving my epistolary endeavors. Except the hand cramps, I hate the hand cramps.

As of right now, the plan is for me to spend two weeks there for my big three-oh in November. I think that's probably when we'll do a lot of the "what now?" kind of talking. We'll see. But the point is we're doing really well.

A new chapter

2006-05-15T07:58:00.000-05:00

At my sessions with one of the surprisingly compassionate counselors at BPS I have resolved many things including:

I have forgiven the person or persons who turned me in, realizing that they were only looking out for my good and the good of my blog.
I have examined ways that my blog and I can inject some excitment into our relationship.

To that end (#2) I have purchased a Nikon CoolPix. Now that I have a digital camera I feel like I have the means to add some immediacy to my blog entries. I have taken some exciting pictures of my thrilling weekend. However, I forgot to bring the download cable. Baby steps, as they say.