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30April | i'm all caught up
Well, I've been back from Portland for about two days now and still not feeling quite normal. I had just begun to feel restless about living at home, with not much social interaction and also not much work on a weekly basis, and then to be in a completely new and vibrant city, with so much newness to see and feel and do, and begin planning my future both with and apart from Brian, just kind of shoved me off the edge. Now I'm even more anxious for life to get moving again, so much so that I'm needing to force myself to enjoy the present. The concert last night was good. It wasn't the kind of heart-stopping, emotional experience that every other Hanson show has been for me, and in some ways I think I'm getting too old for the frenzy that many other concert-goers experience when they're there. I arrived at 6:00pm, which was the time stated on my ticket, but the line was still wrapped around the parking lot. I stood behind two teenage girls in tank tops and jeans - it was roughly 45 degrees out. They shivered and jumped and wished they had kept their sweatshirts, which they had left in their car. Which was about 10 feet away. Inside, I wanted to find a place to sit, but it was pretty packed already and I settled on a railing by the side of the stage - later on I would leave this post to go say hello to Stephen Kellogg, knowing I would lose my spot but realizing that I didn't really care where I stood. The place is so small anyway - I could see the stage from anywhere. When Hanson came out I was somewhere near the back and while they were entertaining - truly performers, and energetic and this time with a cause (poverty and AIDS in Africa) - I couldn't help but feel like half of me wasn't there. I was anxious about a meeting with a temp agency I had this morning, about Brian getting home safely (he left earlier in the day), about the next three months of my life, about Portland. I felt more removed from the band than I ever have before, simply because my life has been too busy for me to keep up with their goings-on the way that other fans have. They hosted a walk earlier that day - before every show they invite their fans to walk a mile barefoot with them as a reminder of how many children in Africa walk barefoot every day. I knew about these walks, but it hadn't crossed my mind to attend. I probably wouldn't have had time anyway. After the show I contemplated staying to try to meet the band - the last concert I'd been to, I wasn't able to because of rain, and also because I needed to get on a train back to the city to work the next day. But it was cold outside, I didn't have another jacket, I was tired, and my allergies had begun to act up. I'd already met Stephen Kellogg - the prospect of standing around, sneezing, cold, and dealing with the throngs of girls who were sidling up to security guards and batting their eyelashes to get tips on when and where the band would emerge, was just too much for me to handle. So I left and called Brian and went to Wawa instead. I won't say that I'm not disappointed that my feelings have changed. I guess right now I just have a lot of other, more personal things to fill my head than to chase the fleeting attention of three people who won't remember my face after I turn away. They'll always be important to me, and the causes they're fighting for have invigorated my belief that their heads are truly in the right place. I'll settle for the idea that this is just another marker of growth for me - sometimes just the music is enough.
29April | not many words to say
I think I've changed. Thoughts tomorrow.
28April | not quite time to back-post
I've had an exhausting, topsy-turvy day which included a red-eye flight back from Portland, on which there was a cat sitting in too close proximity to me. I'm thinking it might have been under my seat, which would explain why the entire flight I felt like my eyes were going to fall out and die, and my throat was itchy and sore. Needless to say, I got off the plane and wanted to cry and scream at the girl who had brought her cat. Anyway, I've spent the day recovering and being sad that the trip is over. I have emails to write, stories to read (and write!!), pictures to post, and of course, three posts to make up for Blog 365. Oh yeah, and tomorrow is the concert of the century. I can't believe it's already here! Time flies... yet I still can't seem to find the patience for it.
27April | this is how i feel about portland
26April | i know! i'm behind!
We've been extremely busy with all sorts of fun and exploration the past two days - yesterday there was not a drop of rain to be seen so we took full advantage and did a lot of bus riding and walking. I'm in love with this city. I'll write more when we're back, scout's honor.
25April | karel learns to ride the bus
Probably the most difficult adjustment I am going to have to make out in Portand (besides the rain, I suppose) is riding the bus. But, why, Karel? you ask. Didn't you live in NYC and use public transportation for three years? Don't you know the subway system like the back of your hand? Well, yes. But I rarely rode the bus. For some reason, I find reading bus maps and schedules almost counterintuitive to subways. Is it the fact that they ride aboveground? Maybe. Does it make sense? No. Well, Portland doesn't have a subway. The public transportation system, Trimet, consists of buses, streetcars, and light rails. No underground shenanigans. As today was sunny, warm, and bright, I decided we should leave the rental car at the hotel and set off on foot, and learn to ride the bus. Not having enough exact change to just hop on the streetcar at Portland State, we headed to Safeway, where I'd read one could buy Trimet tickets. I tell the guy at the Customer Service counter that I'd like to buy Trimet tickets. 'How would you like to buy them?' So the guy directs us to Pioneer Courthouse Square, where there is a Trimet information center that will help us buy tickets, get maps, and learn about zones. We get there and to my dismay, there is no bus map like there is a NYC subway map, that shows you where every stop is, and where there are transfer points. In fact, the bus schedules don't even list every stop, only certain stops along its route. Is this how NYC bus schedules work too? Notice that I never really knew. After poring over several schedules and feeling frustrated and grumpy, we finally got on a bus heading to Northwest/Nob Hill. As I sat and stewed over the bus schedule, then pulled out the MAX (light rail) map and schedule, it all made sense to me, like the gears in my brain had finally clicked into place. And that is how I learned to ride the bus!
24April | portland, day 2
Today was the second day of rain, overcast skies, and overall chill. Makes me thankful that I bought my new rain jacket! Despite the weather, though, we had quite a busy day, including apartment viewings, Brian's first trip to Trader Joe's, a job interview (for Brian - he did really well... fingers crossed), and exploring parts of North, Northeast, and Southwest Portland. I've started to get a feel for the city and its outskirts, and am starting to realize how stagnant I feel in my current situation. I didn't necessarily miss the freedom that I had in NYC in the months that I've been home until I found the place I want to unleash it in - there's so much unexplored territory that feels so much more comfortable than I think I had the mind to feel back in Brooklyn. One thing that Brian and I both noticed almost immediately is how friendly everyone is in comparison to the people we encounter back East. During our short trip into Safeway yesterday, at least four people stopped to greet us and ask if we needed any help. People smile at strangers here - which is not altogether foreign back at home, but also not a common thing. I feel almost cynical just walking around here, by comparison. On deck for tomorrow: sunny skies and setting off on foot!
23April | guest blog, with pictures!
today was the first on our own in Portland and after going to the supermarket, which by the way everybody was very nice!!, we went to a small diner called Stepping Stone. Here contained are some photos taken for enjoyment of others
Unseen here was 3 fantastic pieces of french toast with the REAL 100% maple syrup
Realizing that we didn't meet the $20 quota to use our $10 gift certificate that Karel obtained she decided drugs were the best answer to get that 20 bucks. By that I mean a bloody mary loaded with alcohol. soon after sucking down half of it she made it known to me she was feeling drunk.
apparently eating celery when drunken is more fun than appears. she didn't eat it all because she was too slammed to see it when it got smaller. then she laughed
such a nice picture of us 2 in front of the Stepping Stone. nothing funny about that. DISCLAIMER: Brian likes to exaggerate. So take everything he says with a large grain of salt. A chunk, one might say. Thanks - Karel.
22April | today's the day!!
We are leaving for Portland today. It is going to be a long trip... train into NYC, subway to airport and then waiting and waiting until our flight at 7:20pm... we're slated to arrive in Portland at 11:00pm PST. I wonder what we'll do to occupy ourselves at the airport. Last time I spent an extended waiting period at an airport, if you remember, I bought internet access and blogged and did all sorts of fun internet things. Not sure if I'll resort to that this time. See you on the flip side!!
21April | do you think she meant to say that?
At the checkout line at Target today: Our three items: condoms, 'personal lubricant,' 4-cheese shredded blend. As the cashier hands me the bag, she says, 'Have a nice time!'
20April | ready for rain
Hi friends, Okay so, after the incredibly lovely, warm, appropriately spring-like temperatures of last week, it is cloudy and overcast today. Tomorrow we're headed off to Portland, land of rain, and the forecast for the week shows temperatures in the mid-50's, and rain every day. RAIN ALL THE TIME!!! Well, I've been mentally preparing for it. And I also got this:
Except I got it for cheaper at Marshall's. I've never owned a real rain jacket!! I'm in love.
19April | we make such a great team
Something that Brian's wanted to do for a while is learn Chinese. Now, most guys I've dated have wanted to learn at least a little bit of Chinese - namely, how to swear and say nasty things about someone's mother. Or, how to say beer. But Brian's desire to learn Chinese is genuine - he's just finished an eight week class at Keene State called 'Contemporary Chinese Language and Culture,' in which he learned some basic words and phrases, but by no means was it like a Chinese language class. So tonight, we got back from a shopping and dinner trip and decided today was a good a day as any to start on his lessons. I found some really old flashcards of the Chinese alphabet that my mom used to teach us when we were little, and he learned the first 14 letters, both in name and order. Then I also found a CSL book from my mom's stash in the basement (she's the Curriculum Director of our local Chinese School) and we went through lesson one, learning its characters, definitions, and stroke order. I have to mention that I implemented some teaching techniques that I use for the Early Reading Program at SCORE!. Haha! They seemed relevant. Anyway, it was great, because he is dedicated to and excited about learning, and I wholeheartedly enjoy teaching. It is way perfect. Now I am sleepy!!
18April | warning: dorkiness ahead
Remember when I said I was a total dork and loved maps? Well... I have been working on this Portland trip for about four hours now. If I ever doubted that I inherited sick, anal planning skills from my dad, those doubts have been laid to rest. Allow me to present... my workspace. (click to enlarge... you know you want to)
Allow me to explain... so obviously that large map is my AAA map of Portland. It's somewhat marked up with locations, but the map is so detailed that I wanted to have more pinpointed directions to the places we're hitting. So I planned out a rough itinerary for our trip, and printed out directions from Google Maps according to the itinerary. For places in the Downtown area, I went to the Trimet system website and used the Trip Planner. Then I labeled each map by day, color-coded it (not because I need to... but because it's fun!!) and paperclipped them. Oh, and those gift certficates? Restaurant.com totally kicks ass. And they're having a sale so I got 50% off already cheap gift certificates to nice places. I have about eight of those in the stack. Also, in my research I came across a website that lists all the places in Oregon that have free wi-fi... so I printed the list from Portland in case we need to look something up during the day. Finally, I figured we needed a city map. I know that we can probably get one while we're there, but it came up in my online searching and I decided it wouldn't hurt. Did I mention that I love maps? Now if you'll excuse me... I need to go have lunch. :)
17April | staving off boredom
So, I'm off work today. I was also off yesterday, and will be off tomorrow. What have I been doing, aside from watching disappointing Oscar nominees? I've been planning my and Brian's trip to Portland next week. Oh, did I not mention that we're going? Yeah, we are. We bought the tickets back in December, and we'll be there Tuesday night through Sunday (red-eye flight back getting in Monday morning). Yesterday I went to AAA and picked up a map and tourbook, and have been marking locations in different neighborhoods on the map like a tourist dork. I must say, I sort of like it. I think maps are fascinating. I'm excited for this trip on several levels. I'm really looking forward to exploring a new city, especially after my home city of several years had started to wear on me, and I now live in the same town I grew up in since age six. Also, this is the first trip Brian and I are taking together. It doesn't necessarily feel like it, since every time we see each other one of us is making a trip, but this time neither of us is on home turf. I'm interested to see how it'll play out. Finally, Brian's coming down tomorrow night to stay the weekend before we leave on Tuesday, which means we'll be spending about 10 days together!!! This is an all-time record high. Haha. I hope we don't kill each other. Oh, and I have to finish my writing club story by next Monday!! I better get started now.
16April | i'm definitely going to upset someone with this
So... I just watched Atonement with my parents. My mom had seen a commercial for it on TV and requested that I Netflix it, then promptly forgot about it completely when it arrived a couple weeks ago. ('Mom, I got Atonement for you.' 'What's that?' 'That movie you wanted to see.' 'Oh, the one with the little boy and the music?' 'Um... no.' 'What's Atonement?') Anyway, I thought it was going to be great, after all the Oscar hoopla. Except it just wasn't. I don't think Keira Knightly should be cast in any more movies until she eats something, because watching her onscreen is like watching a live skeleton. However, aside from that, I felt like the characters were pretty hollow. Cecilia was a snob and a half, Briony was annoying, and Robbie had nothing going for him except his lovelorn desire for Cecilia the snob. And. Okay. What the heck was with the French soldier? Was that supposed to make sense in the least? Finally, the end was just a copout. Nothing like a dry monologue to wrap things up nicely. Did the screenwriters get lazy? Tired? Trying to meet a deadline? Don't you know what happens when you write to meet a deadline?
15April | now with illustrations!
I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but somehow getting on the ancient desktop in my parents' computer room and starting up a scanner, then waiting ages for the scanning interface to load onto the computer and etc etc just seemed too daunting most days. However, NOT TODAY! Let's cut straight to the chase. I used to be fat. I may have been a chubster as a kid, and people would always tell me that I wasn't fat, just a little bigger (good thing I was tall, I guess), but by the time I hit my later teen years I was fat. In fact, I was medically obese with a BMI of 33.7. (The National Heart Lung and Blood Institute states that a BMI of 30 or greater constitutes obesity.) I'm not going to get into the emotional implications of all that, because today is all about photographic evidence. Witness my eight-year-old self, in front of a KFC in Taiwan.
Note adorable little brother. He was such a monkey. A cute monkey though. Maybe one day I'll dedicate another post to pictures of him as a small child. Also, I found this picture and just thought it was funny. My older brother took this because he thought he should commemorate my notorious 'angry look':
Let's fast forward eight years. I was a junior in high school. Although from eight to sixteen I always thought I was fat, when I look back on pictures of late middle school and early high school I look pretty normal. In comparison to the skinny chicks I went to school with though, I felt like a heifer. By later high school, though, it started to balloon.
Prom was a nightmare both years, from finding a dress to finding a date. (I asked 7 guys to junior prom and 10 to senior prom before anyone said yes. I'm not exaggerating)
At this point, I obviously knew that I was big, but I suppose it just seemed past remedy. This was just me. One day someone would see past my size and love me for the passionate, silly, articulate girl I was inside.
That's me topping out at 215 pounds, freshman year in college. By the end of the school year I was growing out of my size 18 jeans and realizing that I needed to do something about my weight, if for no other reason than a wider range of shopping possibilities. (Not kidding) So I started running every day and eating less. Spending most of my summer outside at day camp with 20 eight-year-olds probably helped, too - I lost 50 pounds in six months. That was at age 18. Seven years later, I've fluctuated quite a bit, though never come close to breaking 200 pounds again. I'm currently at an all-time adult life low and feeling mostly all right, eating well and with the most healthy outlook on food in a very long time, and my BMI is a 23.8. I'm pretty sure it's not skewed by muscle mass because let me tell you, I'm a total wuss.
Me now. I've come a long way and at the risk of sounding arrogant, I'm pretty proud of myself.
14April | some kind of twisted love story
Lately I've been reminded of my past, of all the copious failed attempts at relationships I've engaged in. I don't really want to get into details in public, and since most of my readers know my history I'll sum it up like this: before I met Brian in September I'd been chronically single save four short-lived relationships (none more than six months), the first of which messed me up for the rest of my dating life and two of which were emotional mindfucks that reduced my self-esteem to superficial threads of desperation. Also, most dating situations I found myself in, ended like this. (The third commenter is one of the perpetrators of the aforementioned emotional mindfuck.) I have a tendency to hold subconscious grudges against people who I feel have wronged me, even after I've psychologically rationalized their reasons for the way they treated me. (All I will say is that it all goes back to Freud.) I don't like it, but I also don't know how to work past it. I'm still angry about things, annoyed by others and, somewhere in the recesses of my heart, deeply hurt by others still. Being with Brian, especially lately as I become farther and farther removed from the city in which most of these dating fiascos of past happened, has mollified these memories for me. But as I spend most of my time these days alone and without him, I've had plenty of time to contemplate our relationship. He's become such a center for what I associate with relationships that I'd sort of forgotten what it used to be like for me. Now that these memories are slowly floating back to me, I'm feeling a duality of things. I still hurt from the way people used me, manipulated me, or just plain didn't care enough about me. Although I've rationalized that the reason for their actions is that we just weren't right for each other, either at the time or at all, I still can't help the pang of anger that sits squarely in my chest. But also, it's like I'm meeting Brian all over again. In the past seven months our relationship has grown and deepened past the point of newness and excitement, and we've come to know each other well enough that most things don't surprise me about him anymore. Suddenly I find myself reminded of the things that grabbed me from the start - things that told me this was right, and that he deserved all of the parts of me that no one else before him did. Small things - he smiled when we first kissed, genuinely thrilled to be with me and not just grunting, head down, like I was some conquest. He made it clear to me that he wanted to see me again. He told me I was beautiful. He called. He told me that I had been in his head all week after we first met. He counted down the days before he would finally visit me for the first time. Did I mention that he called? More than those, though, are the bigger things. When he recognized that he hadn't met and might not ever meet anyone like me, he didn't want to let me get away. He's not afraid of his emotions - things don't have to be hidden or unspoken, and his declarations of his feelings toward me are brazen and never retracted. He wants to share with me the things that he finds invigorating and beautiful, not just tell me about himself or his accomplishments or get me in bed with his wit and sarcasm (or alcohol). Consistently from the outset until now, he's recognized my qualities and what I possess as a self-actualized person, not just a girlfriend or specimen of the female gender. He has never, ever, ever ignored me, belittled me, or pointedly said or done anything to hurt me. I know it seems sort of silly to just now, at this random point in our relationship, be noting all of this, but these are things that just last summer I never thought I would have. I didn't think it was possible that anyone would be this good to me. I didn't think anyone could actually love me. I thought I was deficient, missing the DNA code for 'could be someone's girlfriend one day.' I had been pushed around, objectified, disregarded, forgotten, jerked back and forth so much in the past five years, without nearly enough periods of actual functional dating, that I sometimes believed that I simply wasn't worthy of the kind of love that I had always so wanted. I suppose the fact that I still ache from my past indicates that somewhere in the mire of my subconscious, buried beneath the parts of my brain that have acclimated so easily to being in a relationship, I still believe that. And that I'm still that version of me, wounded with my arms thrown over my head for protection even though I need no protection from the person in front of me. Lately I've been reminded of my past, and I realize that it still haunts me despite how much good I have in my present.
13April | these aired last night and i almost died laughing
12April | you'll think i'm crazy, i know
This morning I experienced the first true horde of children I've seen since my SCORE! director days. And it was... horde-like. But it solidified my belief that I really am just more patient than the average person with children. Even hordes of them. My current SCORE! center had a spelling bee this morning at one of the local private schools. If I had to estimate I would say that about sixty kids showed up, and half of them were in kindergarten through second grade. This half constituted the first spelling group to compete, and corraling them up on stage and getting them to stand in line formation and go up to the microphone in some sort of order was very much like herding dozens of penguins. (I picked penguins over cattle because penguins are cute and little, just like these kiddies were.) I got the feeling that most people would be daunted by such a task, or at the very least frustrated, but they were all just so adorable and excited. (One girl was nervous and afraid of heights and sweated her entire body's worth of fluids out through her hands, which I found out when I held her hand and brought her up the mic.) I wanted to give each and every one of them a big hug just for trying. Bring on the hordes!
11April | then it dawned on me
Last summer, not even a week before I met Brian, I went on a date with a peculiar, charming little man named Patrick. I met him online after a six-week fling (also online) had just ended and I was angry at myself for not being able to be completely, 100% myself with men, which led to them not really knowing me, and therefore, as I saw it, unable to see why I am so fantastic and they should want to date me forever. Patrick was refreshingly real after the six weeks of strange pretense with someone who held back almost as much as I did, but had ten years on me in terms of emotional repression. A Ph.D. student in Clinical Psychology, he was intelligent, articulate, analytical, and of course, nerdy. Whoo boy was he nerdy. And it was great. He told me about a collection of Star Wars figurines that he kept in tupperware containers in his apartment, and I was so moved that I decided it was okay to tell him that I love Hanson. And you know how he reacted? He gave me a high five. Anyway, I only ever had one date with him, because six days later I met Brian, and Patrick was too busy to get together again in the coming weeks and a month later I was a taken gal. Something about him, though, has been gnawing at me for the past six months, and I just realized what it is. He is the spitting image of Moby.
Hey. I told you he was nerdy. Whoo boy nerdy.
10April | i've finally cracked
I need friends. Ugh. I need social stimulation. It doesn't have to be intimate, or frequent, or intense. But I've realized that either I really am, by nature, awkwardly shy (shyly awkward?) or unintentionally unapproachable. I've been working at SCORE! for about a month and a half and interestingly enough (or not) I have a better rapport with the guys than the girls - but the guys are definitely in the minority. There's only one girl there besides my manager who's talked to me voluntarily, out of her own volition. Fittingly, I rarely work overlapping shifts with her. I can't decide if I'm the one who's antisocial and awkward or if, as the newcomer, I shouldn't have to be the one to put myself out there. Regardless, I think I need to join some kind of social group or something. There's a women's writing group at Barnes & Noble on Wednesday mornings that I might drop in on next week. And I'm checking out Craigslist to see what else I can find around here. Because as lovely as spending time alone can be, I've been alone a hell of a lot lately.
09April | i'm a little late in the game, but
I am now the proud owner of a pair of black Converse lo-top sneakers. I've never been particularly anti them, but just didn't think they looked that good on me. I kind of think that the larger your thighs and calves are, the less good the shoes look. (That is my humble opinion anyway) Anyway, due to my recent slimming down in the past year or so I've decided that my legs are now the appropriate size to end in Chucks. For the past few months I've sort of been drooling over these, from Target:
I love the little star on the side of each shoe. Anyway, they are $29.99 and I just couldn't ever bring myself to spend the money on them, especially after I no longer had a steady and fruitful paycheck. Today, I tried them on again, and bemoaned my financial situation. Then I remembered - the Gap sells them too! And I have a Gap gift card that I got from Digitas when I left! I hastily called the nearest Gap store and had them hold it for me, then rushed over and tried them on. Perfect! And now, they are MINE!!!
Too bad they don't have stars. But hey, they were (for all intents and purposes) free. I can't complain. Now I just need to make sure my legs stay this size.
08April | crap!
This writing club is preventing me from coming up with adequate blog post ideas. Bah, a girl just can't win. I can't even give you a preview because I'm having a hard time finding a flow with this week's story. Have you heard of Restaurant.com? You can buy gift certificates for restaurants in your zip code for a fraction of their value. It's not a scam, either... I've used them. Don't say I never taught you nothin'!
07April | i'm uncharacteristically exhausted
So my post for today will be a mere link... But what a great link it is. Ha!!
06April | this has been bothering me for a while now
You all well know that I love Target. I especially love the sale rack... picking up a marginally cute piece of clothing and seeing a ridiculously low number on the red stickered price tag, and suddenly it graduates from marginally cute, to cute, to possibly cute on me. It's like a little present. Then, when I take the item to the price scanner and it's even lower, it's like little present #2!! (This game works almost no fail at Macy's. Try it sometime when you're feeling unloved.) However, I have an ongoing beef with Target.com: they somehow manage to make their clothing look as unflattering and awkward as possible on their eyeless models. More than once, I've gone to their website in an attempt to find something that I bought in the store to show someone and nearly didn't recognize it because it looked so horribly awful on the model. Exhibit A:  Most immediate question: why the heck is this cardigan buttoned all the way to the top? Is she cold? Shy? Rashy? Second question: why is the sweater practically molded to her body, nary a wrinkle or fold or shadow in sight?
Exhibit B:  This is Target.com stylists' biggest problem (dysfunction) - pulling every top as taut as is humanly possible, so that the model inevitably looks like she has a grotesquely long torso and is wearing a dress from Gymboree over her jeans. Look at the outline of her waistband and fly. There's gotta be at least six to eight inches between her waist and the sweater's hem.
Exhibit C:  Case in point: this t-shirt is yanked so low that it GETS IN THE WAY OF HER LEGS.
Exhibit D:   I own this dress. When I scrolled through the website looking for it to show Tatiana, I almost missed it because of the shirt they placed underneath it. (I know that's a style, but I think it's pretty fugly - it is a halter and I think it makes the back look strange.) Then I was almost too embarrassed to send it to her because I didn't want her thinking that I had bought an ugly dress. Again with the buttons all the way up to the top, and neat, pleated little collar! What is up with that?? Does Target want to sell their clothes online or what? I'm not even sure I can begin to discuss the creepiness of each shot being cut off just before the model's eyes. Yet she's smiling. Because Target is shiny, happy, and eyeless.
05April | the longest night
This morning is the second consecutive morning that I've been up well before noon. However, while yesterday's early rising was for something completely nostalgic and indulgent, today I woke up at 7:00 after having fitfully fallen asleep two and a half hours prior, thinking that my boyfriend was dead, missing, or a combination of both. We'd spoken in the afternoon briefly and, having not really had a decent phone conversation since last weekend, I told him I would call him that night. I spent the evening making dinner, chatting with my parents, and finishing up my story for my writing club, so texted him around 10:00 to let him know I would call soon. I didn't receive a text back, but figured he was waiting for my call. So I finished my story around 10:45 and called him, to no answer. Thinking he might be out somewhere, I settled in to my next disc of Bones and waited for him to call back. After every episode, I called again to no answer. This is pretty atypical and has only happened once before, when he accidentally left his phone at home. I figured he would come home eventually and call back, no matter how late it was. I finished watching Bones at around 2:00 and was starting to worry. He's been out late before and far be it for me to bemoan this, but the anxiety had already set in. What was he doing? Hadn't he thought that I might be trying to call? He gets worried if he calls and I don't respond in a reasonable timeframe. Wouldn't he assume the same of me? I called again and left a message asking him to call me so that I knew he wasn't dead, then tried to go to sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, though, my mind began to race through various scenarios of what might have happened to him. Maybe he was hurt somewhere. Maybe he was drunk (unlikely, but him not calling me back for four hours is also unlikely). Maybe he had gone traipsing in the woods and gotten lost in the dark. Maybe coyotes had gotten to him. Maybe he'd been in a horrible car accident and was laying somewhere, dying or already dead. Needless to say, I did not fall asleep. I went back downstairs and turned on the television to distract me. By now I was calling him every half hour, more in an attempt to do the only thing I could, because the likelihood that he would have missed the previous multiple calls, yet pick up the latest, was pretty slim. I contemplated driving up to New Hampshire, though I was unsure what I would do once I got there if he were in fact missing. And if he was hurt and in the hospital, surely his mother would have called me. At 4:00 I relinquished the television plan and headed back up to my room to attempt, again, to sleep. I called him again and left a third message, telling him that he needed to call me now. Back in bed, I started to think that if I didn't hear from him by morning I would call his house. I hadn't wanted to call in the middle of the night and worry anyone else, but if he was still unaccounted for by morning I felt that it might be cause for alarm - and calling at 8:00 goes down a bit smoother than calling at 4:00. I imagined that if I called his mother and he wasn't in his room, that I might call in at work and really head up there to search for him. Or sit by his bedside at the hospital. Or punch him in the face for doing this to me. I fell asleep at around 4:30 clutching my phone and dreamed about search parties and dead bodies and skeletons (thanks, Bones) until my alarm went off at 7:00. The instant I realized that my hand was still wrapped around my phone, I remembered the state in which I had fallen asleep. I called him again - nothing. It was too early to call his house, I thought, so I tried to go back to sleep, already sensing that it was in vain. I started to imagine how the rest of my plans for this year would pan out if he were gone, no longer a part of them. I wasn't sure what I would do - where I would go - how my plans would change, if at all. Fifteen minutes later I knew I had to get up, do something until at least 8:00 when I would call his house. So I left. I wrote a note to my parents so they wouldn't freak out when they woke up and I was gone, telling them simply that Brian was missing, I was having severe anxiety and thus had to leave the house. I drove mindlessly with only half my brain, returned a DVD at Blockbuster, wondered where else I could go at 7:30 in the morning. Starbucks. A jolt of caffeine might relieve my tense exhaustion. At 8:00 I called him again - no answer, as expected. Then I dialed his house with trepidation. What would I say, or do, if they went into his room and he wasn't there? Would I cry to his mom? His dad? Would I explain to my parents that I was leaving right now for New Hampshire to look for my missing and possibly dead boyfriend? Could I really do that? What would I do if something terrible had really happened? What kind of reality would I find? Worse, what if no one picked up at the house? What could I do then? His dad answered and I instinctively asked for his mom. She wasn't home, his dad said - away at a bowling event. 'Oh... do you know if Brian is home?' He went down to find him, and I waited in dread. I heard two voices, and as quickly as relief rushed through me, a lump rose in my throat. Then, Brian. 'Hello?' Then the tears. The fact that I was sitting outside a tiny, already busy Starbucks barely fazed me. I set my glasses on the table next to me, covered my face and wept. He had been home the entire night, having fallen asleep at around 10:30. His phone? In his truck. Had he been expecting my call? Yes, but he never heard the phone ring and then he'd fallen asleep. Later on, after the emotional outpouring and the apologies, he told me that he had dreamed about me. My parents beeped through - they'd gotten my note. I told them that everything was fine now, and the relief in my mother's voice soothed me... somehow, the fact that she was so concerned about his well-being was just the note of comfort I needed, and the empathy that my parents had about my need to leave the house - something that they've never particularly understood - spoke to me. After we hung up, I talked to Brian for another hour before heading home. I'm still trying to make sense of my emotions here, and figure out what this all means to me, besides the fact that I obviously have anxiety issues, and that the long distance thing is wearing the hell out of me. I hate that the only immediate contact I have with him is a phone, that he may or may not have with him, and that if something had happened there would have been at least a five hour drive between me and being there with him or his family. I have a four hour shift at work today and part of me considered still calling in sick, but I'm not sure that having more idle time would be good for me, and having publicized this on my blog I can't very well call in with a lie anyway. Ha. More thoughts to follow... maybe.
04April | if only my 8-year-old self could see me now
The rumors are true: The New Kids on the Block are reunited. They have an album coming out this summer and a tour slated for the fall. I won't deny it - they look good. I also won't deny that after consecutive days of not being able to get out of bed before 11:00am, I woke up at 8:00 this morning to watch them on the TODAY show. Whatever gets me up, I say. However, it was irritating, to say the least, that the interview was practically inaudible over the sounds of screaming fans. I'm no stranger to that, having been a teenybopper in my youth and attended my fair share of Hanson concerts. However, these were not teenyboppers, or even teenagers. Judging by the relative age of their fans in their heyday and the years that have passed since then, I would place the average age of the women in the crowd to be about thirty-two. What in tarnation are thirty-two-year-old women doing SCREAMING at the top of their lungs in Rockefeller Plaza? I can understand being excited. Incredulous. Starstuck. All the childhood memories of idol fantasy rushing back in one heartstopping moment as they emerged from behind the curtains. But. The screaming. Are we twelve? Have we no shame? Have we no respect for the people sitting at home trying to hear anything that they're talking about? This kind of makes me glad I wasn't around for Beatlemania. Well, in actuality I wasn't really around for NKOTB-mania either. I caught the tail end of it, and never went to any shows or watched any television performances. Probably also a good thing. Hanson-mania was exhausting enough.
03April | perspective
At a loss of things to write about today, I dug out some old journals and read through them in an attempt to find an entry that I could transcribe. One journal was from the second semester of my freshman year in college, and the other is one that I started the summer after I graduated college and... well... I still haven't finished. I haven't written in it in a year. Can you believe it? An entire year. Anyway, I couldn't find one that I could comfortably transcribe. For one, my handwriting is atrocious at times. I guess when I'm scrawling emotionally I'm not really thinking about future me's ability to read it later. But for another, these entries are so depressive. The one from freshman year is full of self-doubt, self-loathing, and the desperate want to be appreciated by just one boy, any boy. And the post-college one.... well. Relationship issues left and right, hating my job, struggling with the city, food, my weight, my happiness or lack thereof. I think it's especially striking to look at my 17-year-old self's thoughts. I knew I had insecurities then, and your typical collegiate angst, but revisiting it now eight years later, all I see is such sadness. Private, helpless sadness, and a yearning for self-actualization and peer acceptance. Seeing the words I wrote in the past somehow allowed me to gain more clarity on how and why things unfolded the way they did during the rest of my college years. These past two months have been a strange escape from forward-moving life. I'm living in my childhood home, and the pace of my days has slowed almost to a crawl. I feel like I'm perpetually holding my breath, like this is just a hiccup in the momentum that my life has been taking. I've been feeling kind of down lately, like I'm not doing enough with myself, and like my lack of fruitful employment (10 hours a week is NOT enough) is indicative of my uselessness. But remembering how green I was then, how much I've grown and the obstacles I've tackled in order to get here, I feel more self-assured and that after this hiccup passes there will only be more forward movement. And eight years from now, I'll look back on my blog and cherish the time that's passed since now as well.
02April | today's project
was myself:
AFTER:
First haircut in over a year. Woohoo! I also experimented with some makeup and was going to post a picture of myself in full regalia complete with lipstick, but I looked so freakish with lipstick on that I didn't want to horrify you all. So all you get is hair. And my shoulder. Sidenote: Tatiana wanted me to post a different picture, because my face looks weird in this one, but my face looks weird in all of the pictures I took. This one actually most accurately reflects my face. I guess it's a little weird in reality. Besides I think this one is a little more artistic than a front-facing headshot. Oooooo
01April | a piece of what i've been working on, first draft
It was Terry Bonnemarche’s dream to be a hero. He wasn’t particular about the kind of hero, or what he had to do to achieve the heroism. It was the kind of loose fantasy that only comes into focus at certain points – for Terry’s hero fantasy those points were the beginning, in which he ran at top speed down some long pathway, the three-quarters point, in which he held a small, reviving figure in his arms, and the end, in which a crowd of bystanders applauded him and clapped him on the back. Sometimes he got hugs. Other times he got his name in the papers. Either way, Terry knew that the opportunity for heroism could arise at any moment, so he had to always be prepared. He was lucky to have already mastered swimming; four years at the YMCA back in middle school and high school had allowed him to spend summers as a lifeguard at the community pool. The sun was a bit harsh on his fair skin, but it was nothing an umbrella and a bottle of zinc oxide couldn’t fight. Every summer had been uneventful, however – nothing disastrous ever seemed to happen on his shifts. Kids would play nice, stay within the boundaries, and always wear the appropriate floatation devices. One time, though, he came close. It was an off-duty day, actually. Terry didn’t usually go to the pool on off-duty days, but something that morning had told him he should be there just in case. So he stepped into his non-uniform, blue with white Hawaiian flower swim trunks, threw on a crisp white Ron Jon Surf Shop t-shirt, grabbed his towel, Yankees cap, zinc oxide, sunblock, and nose plugs and headed off to the pool. They had just opened the pool when he got there, so only a few swimmers straggled in the shallow end and one or two lappers snaked back and forth in long strides. The lifeguard on duty was Trish Hardwick. Terry had English, History, and Gym classes with Trish and they once did a History project together. She was pretty nice, but after their project ended she didn’t talk much to him anymore, not even when they saw each other at the pool. After a quick scout of the patio, Terry spread his towel out in a shaded area with a good view of the pool. The sun was partially hidden behind a large billow of cloud, but it was humid enough to still be sweltering. Settling down on his towel, he removed his t-shirt and began to apply zinc oxide and sunblock. First, he slathered the SPF 45 sunblock onto his small, squarish shoulders, then smoothed it over his sloping, spongey stomach. The zinc oxide was smeared in one long stripe that stretched from one cheek, over the bridge of his nose, to the other cheek, and then he was ready. It all happened in an instant. One moment, Terry watched as Trish climbed down her lifeguard stand and knelt next to a swimmer clinging to the edge of the pool, and in the next moment Trish was tumbling into the water headfirst, knees and ankles following her in a tangle, and she didn’t surface for a good thirty-seven seconds. By the thirty-eighth second Terry was on his feet and sprinting toward the pool. He didn’t even hesitate as he reached the edge and dove into the water, its icy shock barely registering as he searched the depths for Trish. No body to be found, only lower torsos and kicking legs. One leg came very close to nailing him in the face and as he followed it back to its owner he saw that it belonged to a body clad in a familiar red one-piece lifeguarding uniform. He surfaced. There was Trish, floating by the edge of the pool, quite safe. Looking confused, but also amused. It hadn’t been an accident, or an emergency. Just some kids clowning around and maybe it only looked like an emergency. But thanks for watching out for them anyway, even while he was off-duty. to be continued-
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