Monday was a sick day.
Tuesday was a day of recovery.
Wednesday was spent marveling at the glories of being well. There is nothing like the first day of being well again. I could sit up straight for 20 minutes straight without taxing my body. Making instant oatmeal didn't cause me to break out in a sweat. My hands didn't ache after peeling an orange. Carbonation from gingerale didn't hurt my face. I can get the mail! Glorious day!!!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Nice Box
Yesterday I awoke promptly at 8:00 a.m. to discover that some sort of bug had entered my system and wanted nothing to do with food or liquids. This battle went on all day. A day riddled with feverish dreams, chicken broth, 3 cans of gingerale, less chicken broth, even less gingerale, then Cadbury mini eggs (the only thing my body didn't reject) and then more weird nightmares.
Today I woke up feeling marginally better, able to consume 8 ounces of liquid and retain an even 8 ounces of liquid. I also feel comfortable sitting up, though I have some dream hangovers to deal with (one involving a very frustrating flight to Somewhereville). I was going to do laundry, but I don't want to push myself too much. Instead, I have spent a good part of the afternoon watching a self help video (homework) and covering a cardboard box in plywood patterned contact paper. This amazing creation now houses all those pesky cords under my computer. THIS very station where I write weblogs and search for boys and write inspirational prose to my mother and some friends. I have decorated the epi center of thoughts in my apartment.
Don't tell me I don't do nothin'.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Therein lies the paradox
Whilst taking part in this little social experiment I call "Dating", I have encountered a wide array of some of this city's finest menfolk. Overall, I haven't had a terrible experience. The odd anecdote here, the random frustration there, and very little heartache, for the most part. I consider myself lucky in that last department. Naturally, most stories stem from some sort of mystifying occurrence or more likely an incredibly uncomfortable experience.
One major problem I have with dating is that I could talk to anyone for at least an hour. Anyone. I find it fascinating and rarely have trouble finding a topic to discuss, even (sometimes especially) if we have differing viewpoints. This may not seem terrible, but it does leave me wondering sometimes after a meeting "Was that a good date or just good banter?" Sure, some would ask if I felt a spark. Please don't get me on that spark business. Another time, perhaps.
However, the singularly most uncomfortable situation that can occur during a date is in regards to money. I hate talking about money with strangers, especially male strangers, and even more especially with male strangers I may want to have intimate relations with. It makes my skin crawl. I despise the song and dance once a bill arrives. The pause, the me slowly reaching towards my bag, the meek "No, don't worry about it!" followed by a simpering "Really? Are you sure?" YUCK! It is all so very false. Listen, if a guy invites me to his favorite Japanese restaurant on the edge of town on a rainy night, he better pay for the shark cartilage snack I had to chew for several hours that night. It was his invitation, his idea, ALLLL his doing. Likewise, if I recommend my favorite tapas place, I will expect to pay. I invited you. Get it? It's common courtesy. If these guys don't want to shell out for a meal with someone of incredible awesomeness, then don't suggest meeting at a fancy place. A ramen place, will do. I don't even expect dinner on a first date. I was wowed at the suggestion, but it was marred by the post date insights. That's right, folks, this fine young chap took me out for a fun time on the town, and then when I didn't appeal to his sensibilities, he took no time in telling me how wrong I was not to offer. Perhaps I should have run through the above mentioned drill, I will do so next time. My favorite part of all this is that now Mr. Decorum for the Modern Woman (he actually did say "the modern woman" twice in his email) Don't believe me? See below:)
"one thing I can tell you about dating is that you should offer to share the bill on a first date. most guys (myself included) will insist on paying it anyway, but it's polite to offer. and you should certainly always thank someone for paying. not a major deal, but I definitely noticed. " (I definitely thanked him, twice in fact. The first time he was checking his blackberry. I pointed this out to him and he said I should have said it again!)
"secondly, while technically it's true, I'd say our date was pretty neutral in terms of who asked who out. it's not like we met at a part and I came over and asked you to dinner. we met on a dating site. where the entire point is to date. if I hadn't said anything, I'm sure you would've eventually. but really, even this is besides the point." (This point is very confusing. Does he mean to infer that an internet related date is not a real date?)
"lastly, this doesn't at all speak to the point I was making. this talks about who should pay. I don't recall saying that you should've paid or even that we should've slit it. I obviously agree that I should've paid, because.....I did. what I'm saying is that it's gracious and modern for a woman to offer. it's one of those little etiquette dances that people do and I think shows class. the man goes for the bill, the woman offers graciously to contribute, the many politely insists on paying. the woman thanks the man, then and there. that to me is polite, appropriate, and modern."
has inadvertently made himself to look like a real prat by pointing out the deficiencies of someone else, thereby rendering all gentlemanliness null and void. Well done, young man. NEXT! Oh no, but there is more... He goes on to say that times were great despite my not being a modern woman, but he would have liked to make adult funtimes anyway.
"so I guess I'll just say that I had a good time on Friday night too. you are funny and easy to hang out with. but I guess I didn't feel that "spark" or something. sure that sounds rosey, but I'm sure you know what I mean. and while it probably would've been fun to go back to your place or something (not assuming at all that you would), I sort of liked you too much to do that, as weird as that might sound."
Way to raise the bar, tote le douche.
One major problem I have with dating is that I could talk to anyone for at least an hour. Anyone. I find it fascinating and rarely have trouble finding a topic to discuss, even (sometimes especially) if we have differing viewpoints. This may not seem terrible, but it does leave me wondering sometimes after a meeting "Was that a good date or just good banter?" Sure, some would ask if I felt a spark. Please don't get me on that spark business. Another time, perhaps.
However, the singularly most uncomfortable situation that can occur during a date is in regards to money. I hate talking about money with strangers, especially male strangers, and even more especially with male strangers I may want to have intimate relations with. It makes my skin crawl. I despise the song and dance once a bill arrives. The pause, the me slowly reaching towards my bag, the meek "No, don't worry about it!" followed by a simpering "Really? Are you sure?" YUCK! It is all so very false. Listen, if a guy invites me to his favorite Japanese restaurant on the edge of town on a rainy night, he better pay for the shark cartilage snack I had to chew for several hours that night. It was his invitation, his idea, ALLLL his doing. Likewise, if I recommend my favorite tapas place, I will expect to pay. I invited you. Get it? It's common courtesy. If these guys don't want to shell out for a meal with someone of incredible awesomeness, then don't suggest meeting at a fancy place. A ramen place, will do. I don't even expect dinner on a first date. I was wowed at the suggestion, but it was marred by the post date insights. That's right, folks, this fine young chap took me out for a fun time on the town, and then when I didn't appeal to his sensibilities, he took no time in telling me how wrong I was not to offer. Perhaps I should have run through the above mentioned drill, I will do so next time. My favorite part of all this is that now Mr. Decorum for the Modern Woman (he actually did say "the modern woman" twice in his email) Don't believe me? See below:)
"one thing I can tell you about dating is that you should offer to share the bill on a first date. most guys (myself included) will insist on paying it anyway, but it's polite to offer. and you should certainly always thank someone for paying. not a major deal, but I definitely noticed. " (I definitely thanked him, twice in fact. The first time he was checking his blackberry. I pointed this out to him and he said I should have said it again!)
"secondly, while technically it's true, I'd say our date was pretty neutral in terms of who asked who out. it's not like we met at a part and I came over and asked you to dinner. we met on a dating site. where the entire point is to date. if I hadn't said anything, I'm sure you would've eventually. but really, even this is besides the point." (This point is very confusing. Does he mean to infer that an internet related date is not a real date?)
"lastly, this doesn't at all speak to the point I was making. this talks about who should pay. I don't recall saying that you should've paid or even that we should've slit it. I obviously agree that I should've paid, because.....I did. what I'm saying is that it's gracious and modern for a woman to offer. it's one of those little etiquette dances that people do and I think shows class. the man goes for the bill, the woman offers graciously to contribute, the many politely insists on paying. the woman thanks the man, then and there. that to me is polite, appropriate, and modern."
has inadvertently made himself to look like a real prat by pointing out the deficiencies of someone else, thereby rendering all gentlemanliness null and void. Well done, young man. NEXT! Oh no, but there is more... He goes on to say that times were great despite my not being a modern woman, but he would have liked to make adult funtimes anyway.
"so I guess I'll just say that I had a good time on Friday night too. you are funny and easy to hang out with. but I guess I didn't feel that "spark" or something. sure that sounds rosey, but I'm sure you know what I mean. and while it probably would've been fun to go back to your place or something (not assuming at all that you would), I sort of liked you too much to do that, as weird as that might sound."
Way to raise the bar, tote le douche.
The Greatest
There is a new person in my world who I call "Life Coach". Life Coach sent me a form to fill out which involved a lot of goal making. Then, LC and I went over the form together. I quickly realized my goals were actually very easily attainable, and I hadn't once mentioned anything like a dream goal. This struck me as very telling. I distinctly recall a childhood full of sweeping proclamations. In fact, just saying any of them aloud is almost embarrassing at this point. What if someone hears me say "I want to be rich!" or "I want to be an architect!" Perhaps shooting for the moon in some ways, but certainly not crazy. Somewhere along the line I was told that these things weren't possible and now I have to unlearn. I cannot believe it is happening; all those little tidbits that self help books have been extolling about unlearning is all true. Brain habits. I need to break some brain habits.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Shut up the baby
One of the most fascinating aspects of being at home during the day is the opportunity to learn more about my neighbors. Once upon a time, my life was disrupted by a large black dog with a murderous bark. That dog has disappeared, and though I hated it with every fiber of my being, I hope that it is in a happy place.
I had an inkling of an idea that my downstairs neighbor was a babysitter during the day, but those suspicions have been confirmed with the sounds of 8:30 a.m. chatter in the hallway, followed by the shutting of a door and wails of a child. I never liked my neighbor much. She once called the police at 7:00 a.m. because I was "walking around with shoes on". When the coppers came to my door and told me of her complaint, I was so taken aback all I could manage to say was "Are you going to arrest my shoes?" They disliked her and now I was making their lives difficult, but I would like to think in a cute, punchy way. I likened myself to a wise-crackin' 20-something sassy gal about town in an early '80's sitcom. Kind of like the white neighbor in Good Times. Sure, I may look like the privileged white girl in the 'hood, but my life was full of trials and tribulations. During a more somber episode, perhaps, insights into my troubled childhood, or an abusive relationship would be exposed, making the neighbors love and appreciate me that much more.
But I digress. My point was to say, there is a baby crying downstairs. Please shut up the baby. I am trying to weblog, people!
I had an inkling of an idea that my downstairs neighbor was a babysitter during the day, but those suspicions have been confirmed with the sounds of 8:30 a.m. chatter in the hallway, followed by the shutting of a door and wails of a child. I never liked my neighbor much. She once called the police at 7:00 a.m. because I was "walking around with shoes on". When the coppers came to my door and told me of her complaint, I was so taken aback all I could manage to say was "Are you going to arrest my shoes?" They disliked her and now I was making their lives difficult, but I would like to think in a cute, punchy way. I likened myself to a wise-crackin' 20-something sassy gal about town in an early '80's sitcom. Kind of like the white neighbor in Good Times. Sure, I may look like the privileged white girl in the 'hood, but my life was full of trials and tribulations. During a more somber episode, perhaps, insights into my troubled childhood, or an abusive relationship would be exposed, making the neighbors love and appreciate me that much more.
But I digress. My point was to say, there is a baby crying downstairs. Please shut up the baby. I am trying to weblog, people!
Monday, March 2, 2009
Serendipity
One of the first books I remember becoming mildly obsessed with as a child was 'Serendipity', by Stephen Cosgrove. It could be very well that it was just because it was a story about the trials and tribulations of an adorable monster, or it could be that I just liked that word: Serendipity. When I finally realized what it meant, I grew more fond of it. My childhood was good in many ways, but I remember feeling a great deal of frustration. Learning that there is such a thing as perfect timing, a happy accident in the cosmos thrilled me.
It had been a long time since I'd last thought about serendipity when I walked through the L'Oreal Academy doors on Saturday morning. After getting the obligatory forms signing away hair freedom, I looked up and saw none other than my friend from San Francisco. Apprehension isn't generally a feeling I get in regards to haircuts and things, but I certainly knew I was in good hands when I saw Amita. Any tension I had dissipated, and it was lovely just to sit around, flip through magazines, talk hair, or simply listen to others talk about hair. Something about it was incredibly soothing, like a 2009 version of the salon the ladies have in Steel Magnolias. Though I am quite pleased with the recent turn of umployment events, I still feel a bit of apprehension now and then. It has only been a week, so ask me again in a month. Seeing Amita, chatting up a storm and having my look transformed by someone I trust was incredibly soothing. And FUN! I expected one thing and got quite another; perfect timing.
It had been a long time since I'd last thought about serendipity when I walked through the L'Oreal Academy doors on Saturday morning. After getting the obligatory forms signing away hair freedom, I looked up and saw none other than my friend from San Francisco. Apprehension isn't generally a feeling I get in regards to haircuts and things, but I certainly knew I was in good hands when I saw Amita. Any tension I had dissipated, and it was lovely just to sit around, flip through magazines, talk hair, or simply listen to others talk about hair. Something about it was incredibly soothing, like a 2009 version of the salon the ladies have in Steel Magnolias. Though I am quite pleased with the recent turn of umployment events, I still feel a bit of apprehension now and then. It has only been a week, so ask me again in a month. Seeing Amita, chatting up a storm and having my look transformed by someone I trust was incredibly soothing. And FUN! I expected one thing and got quite another; perfect timing.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Prep
This tableau strikes me as lovely and hilarious. I mentioned to a friend the fact that the cover of this book makes everything in my apartment look different, and I don't think he believed me. I am not judging the book, mind you, but it is certainly changing things in my immediate world. Even better is that I started to take the picture and Mr. Furpants jumped into the frame, ready for action.
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