Love story and medieval fashion.

I'm becoming more and more convinced that I was born in the wrong century. I recently watched the music video for Taylor Swift's new song "Lovestory."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KlbB7qt6v_0

You see the guy (your "romantic interest" for the next three minutes) wearing a very elaborate Victorian-esque outfit. Ruffles at the neck and everything. And I start to gape a little. A few mintues later, he is in a white linen shirt (open at the neck - of course), with light brown trousers and dark brown shin-high boots running across the meadow. And I almost swoon.

So it seems to me that I need to find myself a guy who also appreciates all things medieval. Someone who, if indeed they were born in the correct time period, at least understands the effects of a white linen shirt. Open at the neck. And swords. Oooo.......

Oh, dear. Wherefore art thou, dude?

My new song.

So friends and I used to joke that my song, the song written about me, was Shiksa Goddess from Jason Robert Brown's The Last Five Years. (Lyrics and YouTube provided below.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJkG7wCv0lI
http://www.soundtracklyrics.net/song-lyrics/the-last-5-years/shiksa-goddess.htm

There is a simple reason for this. As of freshman year of college four years ago, I am a shiksa. E spent about a month with me and determined that I was exactly the kind of large breasted Gentile girl that Jewish mothers spend sleepless nights worrying that their nice Jewish sons would fall for and bring home. That's why she made me a shirt. For Christmas.

Now, I have found, there is a new song to add to the list. I Could Be in Love With Someone Like You. Still Jason Robert Brown, but a new solo CD. Don't you fear, I am still a shiksa. This new song even mentions it in one line. I've just moved from Goddess to Queen. I can live with that. I've put links to the lyrics and YouTube video below. Just take a look and a listen. It's impressive.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQDm3ika4v4&feature=related
http://www.jasonrobertbrown.com/music/clothes/lyrics.php?songID=clothes08

Domesticated but not tamed.

Today was a lovely day that starts with last night. Last night I went to a friend's birthday party, staying almost the entire time with a small group of people in the kitchen gathered around the veggies and a delicious mango salsa. Leaving there around 11PM, I got home a little more than a half hour later, where I then proceeded to make myself a cup of spiced cider and crawled into bed with Dune: Messiah for a couple of hours. It's a lovely combination - hot beverage and book - that always leaves me feeling warm and content.

This morning was a long one. I awoke several times to the sounds of the snow storm outside, and curling up further under the blankets, let myself drift again into sleeping, finally getting up after noon. Clearly the weather had made sure that I should not leave the apartment, so I settled into the tasks I enjoy and the tasks I needed to get done. I made breakfast and beer bread, did a load of laundry (which I just finished folding and putting away), caught up on some TV watching, crawled back into bed for some more reading and a nap, and went downstairs to make dinner. Not that bad of a dinner either. Steak with onions, garlic, pinenuts and balsamic, mashed potatoes and broccoli, and the beer bread. Not too bad if I do say so myself. And now I am here, blogging about my simple day while I debate whether or not I want to watch a movie before I crawl once more into bed with my book, and what kind of tea I wish to make myself. For the moment, my worries are put away, to be dealt with. For the moment, I find comfort in the things that feel good. My clean room. My empty laundry basket. My full stomach and the knowledge of leftovers for lunch.

Before I go to bed, I will put the chicken for tomorrow's dinner in warm saltwater to soak in overnight. I have some small Christmas shopping to do, after which I will come home and bake and cook. Tuesday I will worry about packing for the trip to warmness, as I am calling the visit to my parent's new house, for then I will be forced to start dealing with reality again. For now I am concentrating on the simple happiness of the day, of the same expectation for tomorrow, and how lovely the snow looks outside. I'll deal with digging out the car later. Right now, the decision is mighty: chamomile or peppermint?

Q: Who's a mister grumpy gills?

A: me.

I am grumpy. I know this. I accept it, although I am trying hard not to embrace it. I would try to just suppress and get over it, but the last time I did that I let a not-so-nice man do not-so-nice things. So now I am allowing myself to be grumpy and trying things to make it better rather than push it down. Like Rogers & Hammerstein's Cinderella. Or fudge.

I know what the problem is, too, which is almost frustrating in and of itself, since I don't really consider it a good enough reason. Things that I have dealt with for years are now starting to become things that I can no longer handle with the same necessary levels of compassion and patience. I think it comes from being outside of the situation enough to have gained the perspective that normal people don't have to deal with this. Normal people do not continuously let themselves become therapists to their parents. Normal people do not worry that some day their parents might actually divorce, and wonder which someone fears more - the failing of a marriage or the loss of the health insurance. Normal people do not have to repeat the same conversations with someone because they were too intoxicated to remember they spoke to you. Twice.

I realize that this is way more info than anybody reading this expected to get. Don't worry, it probably won't happen again. I do try to keep the personal shit away and stick to musings and thoughts and more friendly feelings about the world. But for now I'm tired of the rosy glasses, and would like people to understand where I'm coming from. I'm not upset at you, I'm just having a very angsty the-world-isn't-fair moment. It will pass. I know it will, because it always does. It did yesterday. Yesterday I had finally had enough of the world and retreated to solitaire (the card game) and music. And eventually I was able to come back down. I walked down the stairs and without words climbed into the lap of someone who I knew wouldn't ask any questions. "Are you OK?" is possibly the worst thing to say in these moments. Of course I'm not OK. If I was, do you think I would have been stressed out enough to need to leave the room? Instead I need exactly what I got, an arm around me and a pillow under my head. A silent reminder that world will eventually right itself. And eventually I came out of my shell, and started to talk again, and was able to laugh, and even touch other people. I'm getting better. I used to be much worse. It used to take much longer, and with much more coaxing. I let more people in now - I'm writing this, aren't I? Tonight, the solution is a hot shower to mentally cleanse, and fudge and Cinderella. With a friend. Not alone. I am driving somewhere to make sure that I am not alone. I really am much better. It just takes time. And patience. And sometimes, like right now, pure will.

I promise next post will be nicer.

A day of thanks.

Today is Thanksgiving. While I have spent Thanksgiving away from my family before, I have always spent the day with a family - if not my own then with another's whom I am close to. This Thanksgiving, however, was not usual in that sense. Today I spent with friends, and with friends of friends, trying to communicate across languages that no one spoke very well and coming up with/explaining strange English idioms. Today I needed to phone two numbers to speak with my parents, one of which I had never dialed before. Today I woke to an empty house, and watched the Macy's parade alone with my eggs and my tea. It was not a bad day. I had a lovely time, and shared many laughs, and only now have lost my voice. (I have been quite sick over the past couple of days.) I do not regret the day, nor the circumstances that have brought me here - quite the opposite. But there were several points along the way in which the strangeness struck me. I've never woken alone before. There was always someone waiting to greet me to say hello and "happy day!" There was always someone else in the car on the way to wherever we were going. I never had to call twice. It is a poignant reminder of my choices, and the situation in which I have placed myself. And in the end, I'm glad of it. I had a wonderful day, I don't mean to say that I haven't, really. I'm happy with where I am in my life, and proud of the decisions I've made. But when you have a big, loud, at times overly-affectionate family, spending the holidays in a certain amount of solitude strikes a chord that is at once both a pleasant change of pace, strikingly unfamiliar, and just strange. You are both glad to get a break but confused at the scenery change, and almost more confused by how much you miss them. An interesting paradox.

Also, I got Rick-rolled this morning by the Foster's Imaginary Friends float at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. How blissfully uncool.

Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna turn around and desert you...

Trust falls.

It was mentioned to me recently that I have strange definitions of the word trust. Or, more precisely, the people who I choose to trust are not necessarily the most obvious choices to the world. This got me thinking about who I trust, why I trust them, and what are the qualities I find most important in someone I allow myself to get close to. The answer, I have found after much digging, comes in three parts - which actually makes a lot of sense if you know me and my history. The three qualities are as follows: emotional stability, honesty and respect. I need you to have your shit together. Not 100% of the time, because that would just be unreasonable. And you don't need to be completely void of demons, because we all do and that just means that you've lived some. You just need to be able to handle what life throws at you without sweeping everyone around you into the shit storm. Emotionally stable and capable and strong. It's a good thing.

The other big thing is honesty. I value knowledge and truth, and appreciate where I stand with people in their lives. I'm a pretty shy person overall, and so I want to know what level we're playing on. I find that this way I am much more capable of interacting with people at a much more sophisticated level, instead of pussy-footing around on eggshells trying like crazy to figure someone out as is sometimes wont to happen.

Respect is a weird one, because I expect in a very specific way. You don't have to be generally nice for my gender - you can still be a womanizer and gain my trust. You also don't have to put me on some kind of pedestal - because damn, that's creepy. I just want to feel like if I say something, you will take it seriously. If I say I don't want to do something, it's not forced upon me. If I take offense to something in the conversation, we can move on and change topics. If I give an opinion, we can have a discussion about the difference, but I'm not automatically wrong just because I express what's on my mind. Really, just more about common courtesy and capable social interactions.

I've also realized that it takes a while for someone to lose my trust once it is given. I'm not the kind of gal who takes forever to give it to someone and then will take it away with the slightest offense. Quite the opposite. What this means, however, is that once my trust in someone is lost, it is quite difficult to get it back, generally because I have given many chances that were taken advantage of, so that once it is gone, I am so emotionally spent from dealing with the person involved that I want very little to do with them at all.

I'm not quite sure why I decided to write all this out. I just got to thinking and when I finally came to some conclusions, thought I should share them. Trust is a funny thing, and in my case, given only to a rare few, and even fewer in full. I find it an interesting philosophical concept. The online dictionary defines it as the "firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing; something committed into the care of another." It speaks to me, as I find this definition to ring true, but also to different levels of degree. There are some to who I have a firm reliance on their integrity, ability or character. There are many fewer to whom I would commit myself into the care of. Maybe I should work harder on that. Maybe I should fall. Maybe, though, I'm doing just fine.

Over the river and through the graves.

As previously stated, I work near the Charles River Reservation. Not previously stated, because before yesterday was not known, is that also near the Charles River Reservation is a cemetery. A really big cemetery. I looked out across the river yesterday on my lunch hour walk, expecting to see some meadow across the way, and some geese and ducks playing on the water. There were geese and ducks. There was also one of the biggest cemeteries I've seen, hiding apparently behind the cover of the leaves that have only now fallen enough to catch a glimpse. It was one of those "Huh. Wasn't expecting that one" moments.

And now I understand why the area is called Purgatory Cove. No lie. This is the name.

Awesome.

Obnoxious v. precocious.

Let me start out by stating that I am all about the children. I'm used to them, like being around them, and want them in my future. (Distant future, but it's a definite desire with me versus a "maybe someday with the right person" kind of attitude.) I say this because I want you to understand exactly how much it takes for me to call a child pure obnoxion. (No, it is not technically a word. No, I don't care.)

I'm babysitting for my little cousins today, aged 5 and 3, pretty good kids about 90% of the time. No biggie. Quite fun. I taught the elder that she could, and should, defy the gender binary and that it really was OK to be both a knight and a princess at the same time. I showed the younger that I could sing Aladdin's part in "A Whole New World" and no one was going to stone me. Good times. I also got a new crayon drawing for my office wall. Sweet. I love art.

A friend of D's came around in the afternoon. Rang the doorbell. Nice and polite. Comes in to the house. "You're really short." Thanks, kid, hadn't noticed. I hadn't realized that the reason I have a flippin step stool in my kitchen was so I could reach the mugs on the top shelf of the cabinet. Didn't know that my grandmother and mother had the same in theirs for the same reason. Thanks for the epiphany. Later, same pea pod asks me how old I am. "I am 22 years old." "Wow, you're really old." Really? Like your mom isn't 10 - 15 years older? I'm not exactly ailing over here. Then the best part. She starts walking away from this explanation of how terrifyingly near the grave I am, and then backpedals to add, "you're really short for your age." Yeah, well 5 year old D here has a higher reading level that your noxious 8 year old self, so why don't we cut reiterating the obvious and refocus our energy on phonetics so you can finally get past "Hop on Pop." I mean, what the deuce?

I appreciate precociousness. There's a level of wit and a smattering of intelligence that accompanies such behavior that can be endearing and valued in a young child. But this moved way past precocious. This kid was obnoxious, pure state-the-obvious-in-case-we-all-didn't-get-it-the-first-time-and-not-even-in-a-tactful-manner honky. There were other instances which prove this, and I'm really not going to detail them all out, but goodness...

And I bet her parents think she's cute.........

There and back again... in 39 hours.

[Written at 4:48 CST/5:48 EST]

The past couple days have marked my first experience in the world of business travel. The company I worked for thought it would be good for my general knowledge of the company to go on a tour of the facility where we complete most of the production of one of our primary products. A facility which is located just outside of Dayton, Ohio. And since the tour is the only reason myself and a few other of my co-workers were going, we would go one day and come right back home the next. Wednesday to Thursday. No problem. Ugh…

Wednesday morning I woke myself up way before the ass-crack of dawn – 4:45AM. Since I had stayed up to watch the election results and Obama’s subsequent acceptance speech, I didn’t actually head off to bed until about 4 hours previous. Needless to say, I was a little droopy-eyed. Met up with the right people, got on the plane, spent about an hour in NYC, and the headed off to Ohio, where we quickly checked in and I quickly crawled in bed to take a nap. My room was pretty great – decent sized bathroom, couch, desk, TV with cable. And a king-sized bed. All to myself. I loved it. If I had the money – and, you know, the space – I would buy one. Pure heaven. I could have shared it and never even known. I spread myself out and didn’t kick the wall, I turned over and was able to look at the pure vastness next to me – I would say that I slept like a baby except that my little cousin used to get her feet stuck in the slats of the crib and wake up everyone up screaming. Let’s just I slept quite well, thank you. Almost as good were the paintings in the room. Great whimsical landscapes of rolling hills that seemed nostalgic of the times when Ohio used to have geographically diverse terrain – you know, before the great tectonic shift.

After the nap, it was time for dinner. We went to a very good chain Italian restaurant called Bravo’s where I had the most delicious pesto tortelloni I’d ever eaten and listened to some repeated melody playing over the loud speaker that was part Bowie’s “Under Pressure,” part theme song from Super Mario Brothers and part Wes Electronica DJ on acid. Bizarre. After dinner and some pretty great tiramisu, it was back to the King (as I was now calling my bed) and a pretty terrific night’s sleep.

Morning. Breakfast. Starbucks. Presentation and tour. Awesome machines. The complete geek in me that is in love with robotic technology had about half a dozen joygasms during the 45 minute tour. Pure brilliance. Beneath the silent squee’s were also musings about how the building would work as a BDSM dungeon. I mean, come on. The machine that spins so that plastic wrap can wrap itself around whatever’s on the metal circle on the floor? The place where our coupons are kept – called “the cage” – where only one person is mandated to manage? How could it not?

Airport. Lunch. Plane ride to Chicago. Pretty uneventful, all things told, except when I got in I learned that my flight back to Boston was delayed by more than an hour, and that just sucks. The airport itself, on the other hand, is amazing. Passing from Concourse C to B, I had to go through this hallway where they had those walking ramps where you walk at your normal speed but actually are going about 10 miles an hour faster, and so it feels weird to get off because you feel like you should still be being propelled forward. Adding to the psychedelic ambiance were walls with soft pastel lights shining behind the frosted glass blocks, and neon string lights on the ceiling being lit up in wave pattern going back and forth and forth and back. Music played on overhead that it reminded me of the last time I was in a planetarium, or some slow information ride at Disney World’s Land of Tomorrow. And so now I sit in Chicago, waiting for my delayed flight to finally start boarding, listening to the balding guy in his tweed suit across the way from me talk and the phone and am surprised to find out how much he sounds like Russell Brand, and eating the most delicious caramel apple I’ve ever had in my life. Caramel base, dipped in confectioner’s sugar and rolled in brown sugar and cinnamon. My mouth hasn’t been this happy to have something in it in way too long. And so, with any luck, I’ll be in Boston before 10PM. With more luck, I’ll be home before 11PM. If not, I may be going to work pretty late tomorrow.

A little night music.

I have realized lately that I have an extremely eclectic taste in music. Less perhaps realized and more once brought to my attention. I was looking for a CD tonight, as I have on a bit of music kick as of late, and found a few more that I hadn't listened to in a while, and thought I should rip onto my laptop, subsequently being able to make it onto the iPod.

The first CD was "Once More With Feeling," yes the Buffy Musical Episode. The other CDs I found were Jewel's "This Way," Goo Goo Dolls' "What I Learned About...," The "8 Mile" Soundtrack, and The Clash's self titled album. Not bad eh?

I laughed a little to myself, and then started to notice the different playlists I have on iTunes. They are as follows: Acapella, Country, Folk, Guitar, Holiday, Irish, Jazz, Metal, Musicals, Oldies, Opera/Classical, Sea Chanteys, and Workout (consisting mostly of electric/techno stuff). This all started this morning when I realized the three things I have been listening to almost obsessively lately are Les Miserables, Beethoven's Last Night (TSO), and a new band called Electric Six - whom I've apparently liked for years and actually had a bunch of their songs already, but didn't put together the fact that it was the same band.

I like music. I need music in my life. Thank God I like so many different genres so I never get bored and I can always find something I like. The only problem is that it can sometimes be hard for people to understand why it is actually a necessity, and not just something nice to have around. I play music when I'm happy, when I'm sad and need a pick-me-up, when I'm sad and angry and don't want a pick-me-up at all. I know when I'm truly unhappy when I can't remember the last time I sang or hummed some little diddy.

The best part is that now I can actually afford to go to concerts. Not seriously expensive ones, but like the $15-20 range, with a nice $25-35 occasional outing. I even found a couple of places near me where it fits my budget. Now I just need to actually go. And as much as I love it, it's always more fun for me to share. So I need people to go with me, too.

I know, I know. And the kitchen sink. I'm working on it. :)

OK Cupid and dining room chairs.

So I recently joined OK Cupid. I did it to friend a friend of mine, playing wingman a bit, and to start the whole "Meg is back in the dating world again" thing. Within 24 hours, I get contacted by eight different guys. The only thing is, none of them really seem up to snuff. And I'm not trying to be picky, I just don't see anything exciting about any of them. It might be that I'm not giving them a chance, but nothing actually seems worth it to actually respond. We'll see how this goes.

In another news, I bought some dining room chairs at Ikea today. All I need now is a bed frame, and my room will be set, and there will be nothing left to buy for the apartment. It's weird owning things. I've always bought my own clothes and books and movies and CDs and things, but to buy big things like furniture - it's a little weird. And good. And weird again.

Back to Freaks and Geeks.

Lord of the Rings / The Princess Bride

Yup. You heard me. This link will probably continue to entertain me for at least the next month. Take the plot of Lord of the Rings, with the quotes of The Princess Bride, and GO!

Makes me giggle.... hee!

Confuzzelled but leaving.

Boys are confusing. One minute they are wallowing in pain, the next they are telling you they'd be your wingman if there was someone to wingman for, they next they are biting your head off because you stated that you hated to agree with them on a certain point (hate that the point it right, not that I hate to agree - correct? that's what I thought, too), and the next you're sharing a smoke outside and laughing about Dune. I don't get boys. Or perhaps I do more than I believe, and I'm trying not to think about it.

Either way, none of it matters. In 12 hours I will be primping and priming and getting myself ready for a glorious weekend of good friends, good food, and - if I have anything to say about it - a serious amount of flirt. I will be dressed up and made up everynight, something that rarely occurs once, let alone continuously, and will be making breakfast on Sunday for some of the people I hold dearest in this world.

How silly is it that what I can't wait most for is waking up Sunday morning and baking bread while listening to showtunes and sea chanteys in my flannel? Hee!

A lovely fall weekend.

This weekend I woke up chilly each morning, read late into the night each evening, and made a lot of food. And, of course, did a lot of cleaning. I made vegetable soup that turned out wonderful, potato leek soup that turned out not-so-wonderful, beer bread, oatmeal raisin craisin cookies, and apple-cranberry crisp. And I actually got out of the house each night.

Friday started with a lunch trip out to the local pub, and then moved toward dinner at another pub. From there several friends and I went to see Burn After Reading, a slightly slow moving movie where the one liners are enough to make up for any other faults. After a trip on the T that ended with singing Only the Good Die Young - pretty loudly - it was back to home and a cup of tea and the rest of the book. (Wizard's Grove by Tanya Huff. Also, for those asking, I did a little research and am not nearly impressed with the rest of her works as much as I was this one.)

Saturday was filled with home-made soup and bread, watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall for the second time with a friend (who didn't enjoy nearly as much as I did), and then off to a soul/jazz concert at a little hole-in-the-wall bar that I can't wait to get back to. I had earlier that day picked up Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, and so with beer in one hand and the book in the other, I listened to a great (and free!) performance. Made me happy.

Today I baked. I mulled some cider, and then clearly and accurately determined I needed cookies to go with it, and then realized that I would finally use up the last of the rolled oats and the apples that were starting to go bad if I made a crisp. Hee...

Now I am cleaning my room, wondering where in the hell I put the nails I was going to use to install a shelf and put up a mirror, and about to fold clothes while watching Fiddler on the Roof.

Mmm..... For once, I feel pretty good about going to work tomorrow, due to the very relaxing and suprisingly productive weekend. And you know, I think I'll go make myself a cup of tea.

A little fall of rain.

So I've had this song from Les Miserables stuck in my head off and on since Saturday evening, when there literally was a little fall of rain. It will leave, to be replaced by another, and then it will rain outside and back in comes. This is not just because of the title, either, but more about the romanticism of each that have tied themselves eternally in mind. (And by eternally, I mean for four days.)

Rain has always been romantic for me. Rain means snuggling down in bed with a good book, drinking hot tea or mulled cider in a stoneware cup, wrapped in flannel or a wool sweater. Ideally in this fantasy, there is another also so stretched out, snuggling with book and me, looking occasionally over the pages to meet eyes and smile, and go back to the individual wonders of whatever world we are engaging ourselves in at the time. Thunder, on the other hand and like you would expect, is for more passionate activities. Kissing while the rain patters loudly on the windows and the thunder booms and the lightning lights up the room is another small fantasy of mine, yet to be actually be experienced.

You can start to understand why this song is already tied to romance in my mind. The rain is small, and comfortable, and Marius and Eponine are embracing. Yes, she loves him and he does not reciprocate in the same manner - those particular feelings are saved for Cosette. And yes, there is that whole thing about how she is dying in this scene. And yet, for that moment, everything for her is perfect. Instead of living a life without him, she is able to spend her last moments in his arms. In all honestly, she probably would have chosen Option A if she had a choice, but since she doesn't, she dies. But she doesn't die alone within the barricade, one of the many crying out for the one they love. She is instead able to die in the arms of the one she loves most, and for this moment and this moment alone, she has obtained all of attention and love and does not have to share.

(http://www.allmusicals.com/lyrics/lesmiserables/alittlefallofrain.htm)

Maybe this strikes a chord because I have a terrible tendency to fall in love with my friends, and an even worse tendency to be completely mute about it. Marius certainly knew nothing of Eponine's feelings until that fatal song, and seems awfully surprised by it. Am I Eponine? I don't think so. As much as I will romanticize the rest of the world, I tend not to do the same for myself. Is there a Marius out there? Who knows? I do know that I would rather live than die of a bullet in 17th century France, no matter whose arms were around me. But maybe there is a lesson. Maybe I will listen to it. Maybe not.

Long live the Republic.

A weekend at Wes - chapter three + home again.

Thus ends the string of weekends in CT - for now. Three in a row, and I'll be back in another three. Three isn't so bad, is it? I cannot express how lucky I am to know the people I do. People who are supportive in every way imaginable, and truly care for me for no other reason than I am who I am. It does, however, make it very difficult to leave, and you sometimes end up saying goodbye about two or three times.

Bottom line, though, this weekend was wonderful. It was full of rain, which was not, but it was also full of good people and hugs and laughs and Star Wars Epic Duels, and every day had a story. Like the live music playing at dinner, starting off with Stairway to Heaven, ending with The Lion King, with a Fiddler on the Roof medley in between. (So happy I'm not kidding.) And like the awkward condom purchase. (Is there a way to purchase without the awkward?) The talk of a possible hookup turned me to thinking that since I am single lady who greatly enjoys physical contact in all manners of speaking, I would be remiss in leaving all contraceptive responsibility on another person. Whether this hook up happens or not, I think, it seems like the smart and safe idea. So now I have condoms, and lube made with aloe that foams like soap when it comes out, and no real idea when they might get used. And I'm pretty OK with that. I've done the rampant hookup thing before, and I am SO over that. I have found over time that I have become shamelessly monogomous, even in my hookups. If there is someone who I am doing anything with, I will only do anything with that person. If there later becomes a "someone else," I switch completely over. I would never expect the same thing in reciprication, it's my quirk and I don't feel it's one that's necessary to share, it's just a trait that I have developed that lets me be comfortable doing what I want to do. I stick to one person really for my own emotional wellbeing. I don't make emotional ties very easily, for lots of reasons that don't need to be explained right now, and so I think that this helps to keep me grounded and double-check to make sure that I don't hurt anyone else in the process.

I'm not sure why I feel the need to explain this. There's a lot going on in my head right now and so I find myself over-thinking and over-analyzing. It doesn't help that X has decided all of a sudden he wants to be my best friend and hang out with me, and called me sweetie last night, and talked about how he told his mom we were "on a break," but didn't tell his grandmother because that's just a can of worms that will be difficult to close properly. (Grandma isn't in the best of mental healths at the moment, so I can understand that one.) On one hand, getting back to a state of "I can be comfortable around you" would be really nice, considering we are living with each other. On the other hand, while I did say that I didn't want to close the door completely on us, I was thinking that I wouldn't rule out the possibility of whats-to-happen-in-years-to-come. Years to come. I don't like absolutes, because life can always change on you. And I didn't want to cut him out of my life completely, he's a good person who I enjoy spending time with. But we're not on a break. We're broken. And I have spent too much time trying to fix in the past, and I'm done. So now I'm worrying about expectations. I'm really bad at the "let's see what happens and cross that bridge when I get to it" game. I want to know now how someone feels about me, for better or worse. I want to know when someone doesn't like me, when someone does, when someone has real feelings that might be able to go somewhere, when someone is just in my life to be around for a bit. I think too much and wonder too much and daydream too much to not want to know.

I want a mind-reading machine. Just for 10 minutes. I would use for one minute on someone who just saw me walk into the room when they hadn't seen me in a while. That should be enough.

...Well that post didn't end where I thought it would.........

Oops.

So I almost did something incredibly dumb yesterday. I'm replying to guys post on Craigslist's strictly platonic section, since he's looking for a partner to go to swing parties with. Swing parties. Not, as my short email summarizing dance experience assumed, swing DANCE parties. After a brief Google search and an email to a friend, who is probably still laughing at me, I promptly deleted the draft. Wow. It was just a completely preternatural moment born out of pure and simple naivete on my part.

In other news I gave back X's leather handcuffs.

So that's exciting.

I sometimes wonder about my life....

A weekend at Wes - chapter two.

An extremely long week will be followed by another, but at least in the middle there was laughter. And friends. And unexpected surprises. And so much relaxing.

This weekend was the perfect answer to the "my relationship just died" blues. (Because even if you're the initiator, it still sucks hard.) I laughed so hard I almost cried, slept in unexpected places, including a balcony, and watched a movie with fight scenes so awesome I cheered. And last night I spent the night in Providence with Z & E, because sometimes its just not a good idea to go home yet.

I'd like to say that this week will be better than last. I'd like to think that things are finally beginning to get on the up and up. I also realize that is very naive and things will just generally blow for a while. But in the meantime, there are places I can go where I am loved for nothing but who I am, and boys I can kiss just because its fun and harmles and why not, and hugs just a-waiting for the taking. My birthday last year was not nearly what I'd hoped it would be. This year, next weekend, will be filled with people who care and hiking and breakfast and country fairs. And maybe even more kisses. I can get through the week knowing that.

But until then, there is reggae - Willie Nelson style - on repeat. (Thanks, A.)

A weekend at Wes - chapter one.

I say "chapter one" because there are going to be two more - this month, in a row. Then back for pledging/homecoming in October, and again for Rocky Horror in December. But for now it is September, and we are in that interim space between finishing one chapter and not quite started the next.

I went down to CT this weekend to help my parents set up for their tag sale which will be next weekend. They needed bookshelves moved and tents set up and things of that sort. This takes us to Saturday afternoon, a lovely day spent watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy and the occasional walk around campus when I got too restless. Dinner with friends, hangout with friends in the Grotto, the watching of a silly movie, and time for bed - at a time way too late considering I was awake before 8:00AM. But off and on dozing until about 10:30AM made the day bearable and made sure I was not poor company for J on the ride back to Somerville. So here I am, not entirely comfortable that my parents are moving down to Florida, definitely uncomfortable with some things that I need to take care before I back down to Wes for Chapter Two, but surprisingly happy and confident with a feeling that I am loved by my friends and that things will be alright even if not exactly according to plan. I am looking forward to this weekend, when I may actually get a chance to wear the one piece of lingerie that I own as Eclectic will be throwing their annual Sex Party. I am looking forward to the weekend after that for the Durham Fair and a possible strip club excursion for my birthday. I am uncomfortable, and happy, with just the slightest twinge of uncomfortable with some of the happy. Now I just need to endure the week.

Happy Monday everyone.

A chilly and blustery day.

OK - maybe not so blustery. But chilly? Yes'm.

I awoke this morning downright cold. It was a little before 7:00AM, and the quilt had disappeared to some unspoken place sometime in the night, leaving my bare back exposed to the chill. As I went in search of cover, grinning like a madman, it occurred to me that perhaps Fall is really here to stay - at least for a little while. It is New England after all. And Fall is my own of my very favorite bits about New England. I sit here, typing on the computer, dressed in socks, athlete shorts, and a techwick top (my "shiny shirt," as E calls it), sipping a cup of tea in a stoneware mug with the wind and the chill making noise outside. Tonight, I shall snuggle in bed with a book, and perhaps even dare underneath the comforter - rather than just sleeping on top of it as the weather has necessitated recently. Perhaps I will even light the candlestick near my bed and the hurricane lamp on the dresser for a lovely romantic evening alone with my words and some camomile. It is a good night for reading, it is a good night for dreaming, and if karma will allow it will be the set up for a good day tomorrow.

Thoreau v. Chaucer.

Yesterday was a wonderful day. I started the morning with a discussion with the roomies about whether or not the Flash has good sex or disasterous sex based on the fact that he can vibrate on a sub-atomic level. A very deep conversation.... and yes, that is what she said.

In the afternoon I went to Walden Pond. I've been meaning to go for about a year now, and have just never made the trip for one reason or another. And since I didn't have quite enough in my wallet for the $5 parking fee, I went into downtown Concord - a quintessential New England downtown area with antique shops and small restaurants and a very confusing Bank of America ATM. While walking around, I found one such shop with a name I could not resist - Thoreauly Antiques. Yes, they did. No, I do not completely know why. But no matter how incredibly proud this pun would make a certain someone I know down in CT, and therefore a measure of bad the name actually is, it will always have a wonderful small space in my heart. For in this tiny little shop, I found a copy of the Works of Chaucer, dated to about 1894. For $5. And it's all mine. So while the morning comics discussion was pretty awesome, and the walk around the Pond was very calming and gave wonderful time to reflect, the book is the reason I stayed up way too late last night and probably will do again tonight.

(hehee....)

Summer Street and Magners.

Today I had a bad day. My car troubles are not yet over, despite the fact that I have bought a new one. The old one died, the new one is taking forever to be ready for me to pick up... its a mess. Going to and from work now takes me an hour and a half, but at least I can read on the way I guess. Not so easy when one is driving. ....Not so safe, either.

When the bus got to South Station, I was not yet ready to go home. Home is a bit of a place of mystery at the moment, based upon the ever-changing moods of one particular person, and I needed a few minutes to myself before I could even begin to muster the strength to enter. What to do when near South Station and a few minutes of gather-thy-self-togetherness is needed?

Go to the bridge.

So I did. I walked across the Summer Street bridge, stopping every now and again to look at the water, and then turned around a walked back. The wind blowing in my hair, the smell of salt in the air, the sound of the water below, and Boston's Financial District in the background, I was able to calm myself as I always can do in this spot. My bridge. Despite others who may try to claim it. We can take it outside.

Once home, it was immediately to a bath, a Magners cider, and a book. Finally, I was able to re-enter the world as a functional and pleasant human being. I love having a tub. I love having a bridge. All I need to make now is a head-hug. This is the hug where one arm goes around your waist and another cradles your head - the best kind to make a person feel loved and safe and that everything's going to be OK. Few in this world do this for me without being asked. Soon, I hope I will meet one of them again. For now, to Elora Dannon and dreams I go.

Sitting on the dock of the bay.

I work across the street from the Charles River Reservation. Lately, I've been taking a book and my lunch box out onto the dock for lunch, sitting and eating and reading and watching the river go by. Today a Canada Goose flew across, calling, I thought at first, to himself. Then I heard a voice call back at him from the water. They went through this call and answer routine, the call and answer coming closer and closer to each other until they were finally voicing in unison. This sight in that setting with a relaxed and happy Meg-with-a-book put me into a terribly romantic mood. I think I'm going to find myself watching "Sleepless in Seattle" or something similar when I go home tonight. An interesting mood/situation to find myself when I'm going to have the house to myself tonight. Oh well. When the mood strikes, what other opportunity is there but to follow. Who says you can't have romance alone? =)


....Wow. That sounded far more cynical than I meant it to. Smiles everywhere. And home soon.

Another busy week has passed.

Yesterday marked my first week at the new job. I'm wiped. It's not that I was pushing 40 hours of physically tasking work, mind you. But all of the new information that I need to observe, all of the new processes that I need to learn - I feel like I'm back in school. And since it is getting into late August, that feeling will not be going away soon, I fear.

It is strange, not getting ready to pack up and move on. I've unpacked most of my boxes in the new apartment, and so very much into the later stages of "settling in." And yet, muscle memory tells me that I need to be packing again soon, figuring out what I'll need and what clothes are worth bringing to start the new semester. The semester that's never going to start for me. That's sounds a little melodramatic, I admit, and I don't mean it to. It's just that I have to mentally get myself used to the fact that I'm not going to college this semester. Honestly, I'm glad I'm not. I'm glad I don't have to deal with papers and homework and readings that I only half care about. But I will miss the people like you don't even understand. I already do. I don't quite get how I won't see so many people that I care about several times each week, and in some cases, each day. I know its a transition, and change is good, and believe me, I totally agree. I just wish that the transition and change didn't come with this feeling like I'm not where I'm supposed to be. I can't wait for my birthday. I'm going back to Wes for the event, seeing as I was so sick on my actual 21st. I'll hit up a bar with some friends, end the evening in the Grotto surrounded by my dearest ones, and sleep on some floor of some friend who has yet to be determined. (Any takers?) Then on the way back home, I'll stop at 6-Flags New England and scream my lungs out with my best friend. Then I'll go home. I think that will help. Knowing people are where they are, and that we are still a part of each other's lives despite differences in distance and circumstance.

I think I just have been missing a part of me that needs to feel love and appreciated and respected. Hell, I think I honestly just need a really good hug that doesn't pull away after a a second because it's too hot, or not right now, I'm doing something. Can't wait for my birthday. Gonna be a good on so many levels.

Up at 8:30, tired at 11:00

Yeah. That's me. The life of the party. Got up around 8:30AM because some doofus started what sounded like hammering a tree outside my window. 10 minutes later, he stopped. Too late. He couldn't have waited just another half hour?

On the other hand, I finally got around to organizing the storage space. I moved the "salvageable boxes" (the ones to be used for next time - who seriously thinks about next time now?) to the area that's hardest to get to, and consolidated what's left of my boxes to be sorted later into one small corner. AKA: move the stuff that isn't going to be touched to where it takes effort to get to, and the stuff that I will be needing muchmuch sooner closer to the door. Now you can actually walk in there again. Incredible! Usable space! Whatever will they think of next?

Except that now I'm tired and in about 3 hours will be picked up by E & Z to go hanging out over their place in Providence. Good thing, too, since all three of the boys have taken off for the weekend and the internet is spotchy at best at the moment. I'd have been bored out of my gourd. Thank God for friends who have good music available.

But in the meantime, there is a significant need for a shower and some quality time alone with the quiet and my book. Get out the pillows and the quilt and I am in for a glorious few hours until good friends come to pick me up for some glorious (and much needed) hang out time. Can a weekend get much better?

Getting settled

It's exactly like it sounds. It's slow, it's painful, and it's totally nothing like what you planned. Instead of sitting right now at a desk, I'm sitting at a side table on a floor pillow. Instead of a bed with a headboard and box spring, I'm sleeping on a mattress on a floor. And I love it.

My room is small, in every sense of the word. It is lacking both in square footage and ceiling height. I say it's "me-sized." It's nothing more than I need and everything I wanted all in one. My night table is here with my small pewter lamp, my cedar chest is filled with sheets, extra comforters, and extra blankets for when it finally gets cold enough to need them. My grandmother's dresser is filled with clothes that I use everyday, my clothes for work lie in a shared closet in the room just down the hall, and my long dresses and things lie in another room entirely. My curtains let in tons of natural light yet still let me sleep in, and on the bed is a wonderful quilt with lots of pillows - perfect for late nights reading. It's smaller by far than any other room I've ever had, my books are spread about the house because there isn't the space for them, my closet is filled with narrow shelves of awkward heights, and I enjoy every minute. I read in a book somewhere in which a bedroom was described "as though the character's personality had exploded onto the walls." I don't think we're quite there yet. I'll need to put up a poster or painting or two before that's the case, but I do think that the room is an accurate reflection if who I am right now, and not who I sometimes think I should be. For the first time in a while, this room truly feels like home.

Moving jitters...

Tonight is the last night I'll spend in what I'll always think of as my parent's home. The home I grew up in, spent 14 years laughing, crying, fighting, picking my self again in. I'm moving away tomorrow, they're moving away in a month or so. They're putting on a tag sale for things they're not bringing with me, for things I'm not bringing with me. And its a great adventure. But its also a bit scary and more than a bit overwhelming.

I will be glad to finally be surrounded by my things, to sleep not just in my sheets, but on my mattress, on my bedframe, with my clothes in my dresser. I haven't had that for years now. I don't even think I've slept in my parent's house at all since the summer before my sophomore year of college - three years ago.

It's happy and exciting and I'm starting a whole new chapter in my life. But I'm also realizing how much of an end that last chapter has come to, and its a very strange happening. They say change is good - I say change is good. But this is a lot of change, and its finally hitting me all at once. I hope I'm prepared. I hope I'm ready for the challenges that I'm purposefully setting up for myself. I hope any mistakes I make are lessons I can learn from.

Because ready or not, its coming.

Today was a dumb day.

This morning started out at 7:00AM, waking in order to try to make it to the DMV to get a Massachusetts driver's license. Two hours later, I walked out of the DMV with no license, because none of the 5 documents I brought with me to verify my residency in Somerville counted - including two documents sent to me at that address from the DMV itself. I need a utility bill or bank statement. Looks like this task is going to have to wait.

This afternoon, I went to work finishing the transcriptions I've been typing as a semi-part-time job. My space bar had already fallen off, but the rubber tip was still on, and so it still worked with some manner of integrity. No longer. The rubber is off, folks. (Yeah, feel free to giggle.)

So I go to buy a keyboard. The Staples closest to me doesn't have one for less than $50. But the one about a mile away does. So I walk. And I get a keyboard for $15. Hurray! And there's a bus right by the Staples going back home! Hurray!

But I get on the one going away from Coolidge Corner. And towards Harvard. And I'm too proud to get out when we stop and there's the 66 bus going in the opposite direction right across the street. So from Harvard I go to Park Street, and from Park Street back to Coolidge Corner. Finally. Almost two hours after I left in the first place. No doubt it could be said that by the end of the whole ordeal I was frustrated, hot, tired, and feeling more than a little moronic.

But hey - at least I got to cross a bridge.

Bittersweet memories

Last night I had a dream, so real I expected my reality to be different when I left it. Among other things, I was at a writing workshop in some anonymous city, and found a dream-friend of mine who was there as well for other reasons. (I say "dream-friend" because I knew them well and recognized them in the dream, but was not able to recall the face afterwards.) Happy adventures and much laughter ensues. The dream ends on a bridge with a caress intended to get hair out of my face which then continued down my cheek. It was at that point that my alarm woke me (stupid alarm) and a moment later a driver outside my room lay on his horn. Not surprisingly, I was not able to return to the dream. Before I was able to recognize what was reality and was subconscious, I had this tumult of intense including feeling loved, feeling safe, feeling respected and yet protected, but still somehow sad with the realization that I couldn't have what I wanted - all with this level of intensity which surprised me for, you know, not being real. Perhaps I've spent too much time lost in my books and my daydreams, where love stories are told in ways that rarely happen in "the real world." Pity.

I heard a song for the first time the other day that I fell in love with. I think it may just be the inspiration for the dream. Drat Shawn Colvin. And yet, can it come again, only this time without the obnoxious driver and the interruption of NPR?

Venetian Blue

It still hasn't snowed in a lifetime
And I am still frozen in time
Where did you come from?
How could you leave
And why can't you be mine?

I'm caught in between a lifeline
And a love so deep I will drown
Let it pour like silver
In this empty room
And wear this memory down.

So come to me soon and I'll hold you
We'll be eye to eye, skin to skin
And I'll stroke the fire
Of this cruel December
Until I see you again.

Then I'll lay you down in May
I'll have my way with you
The water town
Is raining down
Pools of Venetian Blue

Let it pour like silver
In this empty room
Pools of Venetian Blue

Lobster bottle?

Today I was introduced to a wine in the shape of a lobster. Yes, folks, that's right. A lobster. No longer merely an animal in the modern elementary school nativity play. This only-red-when-cooked crustacean can now be found molded in glass with alcoholic liquid inside. Check it out!

It's a mad mad mad mad world.

Today has been a strange day. My trip to the bank to change my address resulted in an acapella group audition, my feud with the bank's alarm continues, a ladybug took a rest on my thumb, and I have come back to the apartment to find that with new windows comes a pet fly. Just one. His name, I have determined, is Guildenstern. (Wanna guess what I'm watching right now?)

Which brings me to last night. There is a website I stumbled upon which makes recommendations as to a child's name based on the names of the parents. So despite the fact that I tried 4 different guy friends of mine, and got back four different male names (Keith, Dylon, Brice, and Gaven - only really approved of Brice, and then only maybe), apparently my daughter's name is destined to be Brynn. The male names changed, but the female name stayed the same. Who knew?

H'ok. So.

I had a really weird day yesterday. I was feeling a bit bummed out, with the no-job thing, and the everyone-goes-to-Europe-at-the-same-time thing, and the I-had-an-interview-that-lasted-10- minutes-and-I-got-to-say-all-of-three-sentences thing. It's about 11:30AM/12:00PM, I'm hungry, let's read - clearly its time for an Auntie Anne's pretzel from South Station and some serious bridge time and reading by the docks.

I love that stupid bridge. I'm there every time I'm even remotely in the area and have the time. It's so windy you can't hear sometimes, and the smell of salt from the moving water below (despite the level of grossness that the Boston Harbor currently, well, harbors)... I don't know. I guess I just expect that with the right song on the iPod Prince Whats-his-name is going to come along and sweep me up in an affair of romance and passion that even William Gordon, Orson Scott Card and the fairy tales can't compete with. Some days its nice just to revel in the daydreams, despite the realistic attitude you try to adopt in life.

Realism hit a few hours later, however, in the best of ways. After... too many... months of looking, I finally got a job. One that I even want this time. After the background check, a drug test (I told you so, Adam), and some paperwork, I will be the new Client Services Associate at a marketing firm in Waltham, MA. So now I'm jumping for joy, really wanting a beer, and not worrying quite so much about the possible hundreds of dollars it might take to get the car ship-shape. (Anybody know how to change a catalytic converter? I'll treat you to good sushi...)

So yeah. After a few calls around, Boy came over to celebrate- I told him I'd treat him to Mamma Mia!, which we saw today.

And that's been the past day. Strange, good, full of dreaming. Moving in a week. Got the electricity/gas started at the new place. Just can't wait to be in my own bed with my own furniture and my own quilt to wrap in and an actual income. Someday soon!