Merry Christmas

Oh, it is lovely to be back "home" in Pennsylvania. It's always a little weird to come back to a house that is less and less mine every year. There are reminders everywhere of what a different world this is than the one I'm used to these days. But it's good because it reminds me of where I came from.

Today, after opening presents in the morning (after cinnamon rolls and a cup of DD coffee), we drove down to visit the graves of my aunt Anna Mae and my great grandmother. Philadelphia... man, what a trip. I can't tell if it was always so run-down and I just never realized as a kid, or if it's entropy at work. But it's such a startling reminder of how the other half lives. I feel truly blessed to have lived the life I've lived so far. I am happy for my parents that they too escaped those neighborhoods.

Anyway, the big point here is that traveling 3,000 miles in a matter of hours can really do stuff to your perception and your emotions. Just yesterday around this time I was somewhere over the Great Lakes. Weird. Airports at ungodly hours during Christmas time also play with my emotions. In a good way. I had time to kill yesterday morning at SeaTac. Here are some things I saw:

1) Old-timey carolers. It was kind of random, but lovely. They just walk through the airport singing songs in 4-part harmony. Strange thing at 6 AM though. I first mistook them for Menonites. Then I remembered where I was. And also they started on their next song.

2) A girl sitting with a cup of Starbucks coffee: she had a sleeve around it (natch), but she was also drinking it through a straw. Apparently I am not as original as I thought. Or maybe I started a trend. I should have looked into Trademark law sooner.

3) While perusing the the shops in the main terminal, a picture frame with part of an e.e.cummings poem on it. It's funny how I was able to recognize it even though it's not one I've ever read before. I still don't understand how anyone could not like e.e. cummings. But maybe that's just me.

4) Little girls "riding horsies" through the terminal. They were so small. It's sad that we lose our ability to see invisible horsies as we grow.

5) Twilight coffee! It's probably a good thing I get back at midnight. I would be tempted to buy it.

6) A sticker: Milk sucks. Got margaritas?

7) NO CHRISTMAS TREES. Just one small pink (lest red should offend anyone, I suppose) poinsettia. I am for equal opportunity in public spaces. But really, Washington is the Evergreen State. Put a Star of David on top- I won't get offended. But no trees at all makes me a little sad.

Conversely, seen at Philadelphia International:

1) Bearded lady. For real. You'll have to take my word for it, though. There was no subtle way to take a picture.
------------------------------------

Also, it's my first Christmas as a Christian.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel has come to thee, O Israel!

Merry Christmas

Tonight Tonight, or "I am but one small instrument"

A summary of my night...

Good: Love Actually (yes, again)

Bad: Flow charts

Good: Gliffy

Bad: writing scripts for websites

Good: old journal entries in which I mention "Goodbye Sky Harbor"

Necessary: Compliment sandwiches

Bedtime for Me

I write to help me fall asleep. It's like taking out the trash. Not that it's all trash, but it's at least like putting away the folded laundry so you can reclaim your bed or sofa or dining room table and resume normal life.

Ironically, I've been writing for the last two hours and I feel like there's more going on up there than ever. I'll try to match up the socks:

The best things about this weekend:

1) I fixed my own damn dome light. Finally. Found the right bulb and everything. Why do we even have men? ;)

2) I put up my Christmas tree. It gives off that warm homey glow.
2a) Cinnamon candles. Retailers across the nation are learning that if it smells like cinnamon around the holidays, I will buy it. It brings me joy.
2b) Not one, but two local radio stations have started playing round-the-clock Christmas music. I heart Andy Williams and Perry Como, and I don't care who knows it.
2c) I now have a job and that means I get to buy Christmas presents for people. This also gives me joy. Let me know what you want for Christmas.

3) I've gotten three days out of my bottle of merlot. 21-year-old me would be very disappointed in 26-year-old-me, but 26-year-old me doesn't care because I get to drink my wine on my own terms, thank you very much. It lasts longer this way and doesn't make the room spin.

4) Brussels sprouts with garlic and bacon. Everything is better with either garlic or bacon. Especially better with both.

5) I made it to the gym twice and worked off those sweet potatoes. My friend made me hurt, but I love her all the same. She's a great motivator and will make an awesome trainer. And in the meantime I get to use her for free :)

6) Made it through the Sunday service alive. Running the video gives me a knot in my stomach every time, but the warm fuzzies I get from serving far surpass the butterflies.

Six feels like enough (that's three whole pairs). I think I'm coming down. Thanks for reading. Time for zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...

On smelling like someone else

Yes, I realize that is a bizarre title for a blog. Let me (try to) explain.

I borrowed a spritz or two of perfume from my friend yesterday, and the scent is still in my scarf, which is currently wrapped around my neck, right under my nose. It's a scent I like. It reminds me of this expensive shampoo I used to have. Which I only bought because it smelled like "bitchy girl." It reminded me in some abstract way of the rich girls, the high-maintenance girls I'd always avoided in high school. The girls who seemed to have everything so easy. I bought the shampoo because for a few hours after my morning shower, I felt like everything was easy for me. I imagined that men turned their heads when I walked by. I set my jaw differently. I walked taller. I pretended that I didn't have to care about anything.

I knew it was just a ruse, even back then. But it was fun to pretend. Now this smell doesn't remind me of those bitchy high school girls, those sorority girls on the train, those girls at the bars. It reminds me of those moments when I got to walk down the street and find a different sliver of myself. Ironically, the strong, bold part of me had been hiding deep down in there for a long time.

My vanity drawers are now full of perfumes and lotions and soaps, and all kinds of smell-good that I've collected over the years from gift exchanges and my mother's clean-out-the-cupboards projects and whatnot. And I get to choose how I smell on a daily basis. And up until yesterday, it all still somehow smelled like me.

But now, this scent on my scarf is foreign. It's a memory; it's not of the present. It's a different-meaning thing altogether to my friend who lent it to me (though, I'm not sure I'll really quite be able to give it back-- haven't worked that one out yet), I'm sure. For me now, it's a reminder of a good feeling I used to get. But it's no longer the cause of that good feeling. I'm pretty sure I don't need a shampoo for that anymore.

Just this...

I won't directly tell you much about me. But I will tell you this: I am white. And in winter my skin becomes transparent. Translucent at best. And it's scary, to know that people can see into me if they take a moment to look.

And this sums up what's on my mind right now. Just this.

Sugarhigh

A friend (you know who you are) fed me lots of sugar this evening (okay, yes, the hot chocolate was my choice- but the sundae wasn't), and so my synapses are firing away. Here's a random sampling of what's going on up there.

First, my hands ::still:: smell like terrible, cheap rubber from the mountains of promotional mouse pads that got delivered to my work today. Soap and lotion and perfume are no match for this smell. Rawr. This. Really. Angers. Me.

But despite that, I had a really awesome evening. One that I was unsure about, going into. But it turned out to be totally great. I laughed a lot and managed not to recite every line of Empire Records, and in doing so, was pleased to discover fun little details that I never noticed before. Well, let's face it, I probably noticed but have since forgotten. Which is kind of the same thing. Notably, the movie heavily plugs Gin Blossoms, which is lovely. Though I feel kind of conflicted about it because I was really thinking hard about going to see them live tonight. It's kind of ironic, when you think about it.

Speaking of feeling conflicted, I have a lot to think about. Hell, I feel conflicted about the fact that I feel conflicted. This can not be good. Do I stand strong or do I surrender? The obvious choice seems to be "stand strong" but at what point does that become "stay stubborn?" Connotation is everything.

I have recently realized that I am not even as cool as I thought I was until recently, which was not all that cool to begin with. This is a little sad, but also very freeing. I don't have to pretend to live up to anything anymore. I can embrace my dorkiness and run with it. Which I intend to do. There are so many things more important than others' perception of me, and I intend to focus more on those things than worrying about how they will look to all those people who don't know me. Intend is the key word here.

Tomorrow, I have three four five goals: 1) take a shower that stays hot all the way through (this takes some planning. Maybe 1A should be to adjust the water heater. This will also take some planning as I have no idea how to do this). 2) Finish the book I borrowed from a friend months ago. I meant to do this last weekend, but it wasn't officially a goal, so now I'm making it one. 3) Go on a photo stroll of Bellevue for an assignment. 4) Write. Lots. 5) Sort through some of the stuff that is floating around in my head. Four and five will surely go hand in hand.

I have not yet heard back from the apartment community to which I turned in an application. This community is run by the company I used to work for, so I know how things should go, and frankly, this is not how they should go. I know I'm not a high-priority applicant, but if you're going to call every other day "just to check in" after I visit, I expect you to also call me back to say "your application was approved, just so's ya know." I'm wondering if it's a sign that I should apply at the other place I'm considering, but sense is still telling me to be patient.

Patience is something I struggle with. In general. This makes me consider things that are best not shared in a public blog, so I won't. Share them, that is. If you really want to know, you can ask me. I might be inclined to share further.

Seeing as my feet are very cold, I've definitively decided it's time to get to bed. I got a new pillow today. It's probably the most exciting thing that's happened to me all week.

Don't judge me, cool kids.

It all looks so different in the dark

I'm blogging right now because I'm scared to go to bed. Which is dumb. Not scared like I think there's a monster under my bed or anything (just a snoring cat), but just because I feel like it's not the right thing to do. I'm listening to the rain pour down in buckets, and I'm simultaneously reeling from memories of wet streets in Allston and scared. to go. to bed. with this. in my brain.

Instead I'll ramble for a bit.

.

Okay, that's not happening so much. Here's what's on my agenda for the weekend. I'll leave out the uninteresting parts like events I'm going to. What's really important is waking up tomorrow and finishing The Shack (because I really need to give it back to Nic. I mean, come on, it's been like two months.) in my jammies and fuzzy purple robe. Then warming up a piece of pumpkin loaf from Trader Joe's and enjoying it with a big mug of DD hazelnut coffee. Yes. That is how Saturdays should start.

Then I have actual design work to do. Squeeeeeee! By the way, that is my new favorite word.

Fast forward to Sunday. I am thinking about starting a new blog about my new favorite things, but first have to decide whether the first entry will be about Trader Joe's or the word squee. Difficult decisions.

Which reminds me, I just dropped way too much money on a new pillow, but if I can manage to keep the room from spinning, I will sleep like a baby for the rest of my days. Only, a baby who sleeps. Not one that cries all night. Note to self: think up a better analogy for sleeping well.

I just stared at this thing on my desk for like, two solid minutes wondering what on earth it could be. Granted, it was hiding half under my keyboard, but still, E. It's too small to be a taffy. Too big to be a crumb from aforementioned (second current favorite word, after squee) pumpkin bread. Weird texture. Something the cat dragged in? I was scared to touch it. Caterpillar? Then I realized it was this little tiny shell I brought back from Florida. It probably got kicked around when my monitor fell over tonight. Note to self: stop using the desk as a place to rest feet. Got it.

Today started out weird, and then it got kind of good, and now it's all weird again. I wish it wasn't so cold out. I could really use a walk in the rain right about now. Instead of feeling trapped in my condo, in my room, in a chair in front of a screen. I should have called ___ up. Oh well.

Maybe I just need to get some sleep. Does it really have to be all that scary? Really? I will insert some html and hope that things start to look like themselves again.

Something I'm trying to make sense of ::Part 2::

...Still trying to make sense of this. Bear with me.

"After a day as good as today, how do you go back to the same life as yesterday?"

Two days after the wedding, it was my last day in Florida. I was sunburnt and sweaty and sore from a morning jog on the beach. I'd checked out of the hotel but still had hours to kill before my flight. So, feeling somewhat homeless, I slathered on the sunscreen, purchased a half-day beach umbrella rental, and tried to keep as much of my body as possible submerged under sea level.

The Gulf of Mexico was a new body of water to me. This is significant if you know me, because I grew up always around water. I am home when I am near the water. And it's so unlike any other water in my memory. It's so calm. The waves break on Sand Key at about knee level, and after that you're left with soft little ripples that barely lift you, but just bend you and pull you around like a long blade of sea grass. And it's warm. It's so warm. I've taken chillier baths. At first, in the hot sticky Florida atmosphere, it's almost not a relief to step into the water. The waves seem hot as they break against your body. Which is just all the more reason to wade in up to your chin and just hang out and watch the pelicans glide by at nose-level. I decided on this trip that pelicans are my new favorite things ever. They are at once completely ridiculous animals but also beautifully designed and graceful.

So it was in this setting that I had A Moment. Or two or three. A series maybe, or possibly just one extended experience. It's hard to tell. I'll jump to the end because I don't know how else to explain it all, but I wound up simultaneously laughing and crying. Not in a I-laughed-so-hard-I-cried kind of way, or I-laughed-to-hide-my-tears kind of way. But in an enormous outpouring of the depths of my soul kind of way. Like emptying my lungs to take in my first ever real breath of air. It was difficult to do, standing in the Gulf sobbing while trying to conceal my laughter. But I can't even describe how good it felt.

And I don't know why I felt this way. It came out of nowhere, like the twister that took Dorothy to Oz. Maybe there was a bump on the head involved, but so what if it makes the world take on more color?

So why? I thought. What is this? Why here? Why now? What is this sense of catharsis coming over me? I wasn't looking for one. And I don't think it was just one thing. It was everything coming together at once. Wringing out my insides and letting me dry in the sun.

I think it was A___'s wedding, for one. Giving in, after 26 years, to the idea that, even all grown up, you can never lose the connection to where you came from. For all the good and all the bad that comes with that. That people can reconnect. That we all find our way back to our roots in our own way, and that's okay. That's good. No need to keep running. Stop running. Let the water carry you where you belong.

I think it was the realization that I can stand on my own. I've traveled alone before, but I've never vacationed alone. I've never decided to find the way all on my own, to be okay being the only single on the beach, okay with my books and my magazines. To enjoy being with myself. I've recently made a number of decisions like this. And I am so proud of myself. I never took the time to be proud of myself until now.

And, maybe most importantly, I found God. Or rather, He found me. I can't explain this bawling, guffawing changing of my soul because it's not because of anything I did. It, like all the small amazing things that have happened in my life recently, are just little evidences of His grace. I was so stubborn for so long. And then He began showing me how to open my eyes. And He turned my heart. And maybe, just maybe, standing there in the Gulf under a huge blue sky was the culmination of it. Maybe that was a kind of baptism for me. Maybe.

So how was I supposed to go back to normal life after experiencing a quiet little life-altering spiritual awakening that day? Not easily, I can tell you that. But this here, this writing about it? It helps.

Something I'm trying to make sense of ::Part 1::

"After a day as good as today, how do you go back to the same life as yesterday?"

I first wrote this line in my notebook on April 19, 2004, and it's followed me around ever since. It was especially true of a day a couple weeks ago, a day I'm only beginning to wrap my head around. I took a trip to Florida to see my first-ever friend get married. To a wonderful man, at that. And I guess if any of the rest of this is going to make any sense, I have to first talk about that.

I have very few memories of a time before A___. We went to the same preschool from early on, somewhere between 9 and 15-ish months of age. From that point forward, she appears in many, if not most, of my significant memories of childhood. To name a few: a preschool field trip where we traded tiny freshwater clam shells picked off the shores of the Delaware because we were best friends, probably the very point at which symbolism entered my life. Starting each day coloring in pictures her mother drew for us. The first time I ever had a playdate at my house: we trashed my room, pulling every stuffed animal in my inventory off the shelves and playing make-believe all day. The first sleepover I ever went to: we gave each other moisturizing facials that were bright blue and ran around the house until they dried enough to peel off. Most subsequent sleepovers went much the same way. Even though we went to different schools after age four, she remained my best friend. She was always the person I wanted to be more like. I was always just a little behind- not as good at Super Mario World, my hair never as long or flowy, certainly not as good in sports or at dancing (I still think her improv in the middle of that one dance recital video is better than the choreography- I stand by this). But despite never feeling like I was as good, I still wanted to be around her. As we matured, as she grew tall and thin and I stayed stuck at five feet and, admittedly, a little chubby, I only wanted more and more to learn how to be more like A___. I never thought to be intimidated or resentful the way I somehow learned with subsequent female acquaintances. I just enjoyed dressing up together for Halloween, being silly together, planning (for years, at that) to build a wonderful, magical flying car that we could get away in instead of cleaning up our rooms at dinnertime... I enjoyed talking about boys, music videos, just doing life together. I always imagined us being friends forever. I imagined us as grown-ups living next door to each other in Florida ('cuz that's where Disney World is- and by the way, we'd drink nothing but virgin strawberry daiquiris like we had all during our Disney trip when we were 11)... I pictured us at each other's weddings.

So even as we drifted apart during the high school years, after she became a boarder at her high school and I moved north just enough for my parents to remind me what a chore it was to cart me back and forth between our new lives and the old, even all through that time I thought about her often. The internet was still newish back then, and I'm bad at the phone, so all I really knew how to do was think about her and miss having my friend in my life.

I regret, these days, missing out on that part of her life and not including her more in that part of mine.

She caught up with me last year, at 25, after 10 years of only an email here, a family Christmas card there. And through the wonders of Facebook...

So yeah, I wouldn't have missed this wedding for anything. And even though I wondered for a while whether I was still at all relevant in the crowd, there I was in the classic wedding "This is Your Life" slideshow. The two of us wearing those silly glasses with the big noses and mustaches. Together in a preschool play. Dressed up as hippies for Halloween. And I realized I was there because we had shaped each other. I have no idea how much I gave to her, and I'm not going to flatter myself by thinking it's all that much. But I realized that so much of who I am is because of her. As much as I try to tell myself that I'm a new person every time I move or change boyfriends or start a new job. There is no denying that I came from that little girl who just wanted to be always-friends with A___. And there I was, at her wedding, seeing her all grown up and knowing that I am too. Still just a step or two behind, but just happy that she found someone who I knew instantly was right for her at the very core of who she is. Because it's who we've always been.

Findahappyplacefindahappyplacefindahappyplace...

Today was a Rough Day. A Long Day. A day that Keeps Going. I wanted to cry more than once, but decided to suck it up and be a big girl instead. So along that line of thinking, here is a list of things that didn't suck about today (aka, things that make me happy- in no particular order at all):

1) New sheets. Yes, they're a little more purple than they looked in the store, but really, how did I not know about combed cotton until today?

2) Coconut shrimp with mango chutney. 15 minutes in the oven = deliciousness.

3) Checking everything (well, all the important stuff) off my list before leaving work for the day.

4) There is a fluffy cat on my lap right now, and his eyes say "there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be than here with my mommy."

5) Clock spider in the corner? Dead. Much easier to remove than the live ones. :)

6) I received like, 1,123 long-distance hugs from old friends tonight.

7) Despite being a requirement, I get to make a collage for a school project. I like making collages even more than I like making lists.

8) I am in the midst of an Arrested Development binge, and it is wonderful. Try staying sad or angry while watching this show. I dare you.

9) Being included on a business trip to Boston is ever-so-slightly more likely after today.

10) Peanut butter and wild raw honey on wheat toast.

11) A back-and-forth game of "here's a song you'll like" with a good friend.

That's right. This list is so awesome it goes to 11.

From 10/9/09

I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it just a little bit: sprinting through the ATL airport to catch my connecting flight, scheduled to depart in only minutes. Knowing that people were looking at me, feeling artificially important. I can admit it because I so rarely do anything that makes me actually important, therefore I can afford to indulge my narcissism on occasion.

Anyway, it wasn't just that I felt eyes on me; it was the thrill of not knowing for sure that I'd make it. It was the brilliant feeling of forcing my legs to keep carrying me (and my backpack, and my prescribed neck pillow- which, by the way, was so worth it) even though they told me they were done. It was the adrenaline that built as I first started my trek 1000 feet to the B terminal, the decision to hoof it instead of waiting for a tram. The real-life video game appeal of dodging other travelers as I careened through the airport, praying I wouldn't trip over my own feet- which almost happened a few times, let me tell you.

It was the gradual release of anxiety as I began to count down the B gates, from somewhere in the twenties down to two as I continuously weighed those numbers against the few precious remaining minutes before my flight would leave me behind without so much as a backward glance.

Then, finally, at the gate, the quiet, unannounced glory of "I win." The singular knowing, as I boarded the almost-full plane, red-faced, out-of-breath, that I had worked harder for my place than anyone else.

By the way, ATL is a hot, sticky place in October.

Deepest, sincerest apologies

...But not really. I know, what a tease. I haven't posted anything in a very long time, I realize. And there is so much to catch up on, but because it's all still happening, I can't pause to reflect just yet.

Everything is truly amazing right now, and I'm seeing the world with a level of clarity I don't think I've ever experienced before.

Hang tight, all three of you. Before long I am sure to be spending more hours of the day inside, and perhaps I will be able to fill you in on all this goodness.

Overheard

Things I overheard while out and about the other day:

Outside Starbucks: "I now read every book like the bible... Highlights, notes in the margins..."

While passing some older ladies on a park bench: "I think that Obama's doing a fine job." (said with emphasis on that... as opposed to any other Obama.)

Outside of the salon: Mom to son: "You'll live."
Son to mom, furiously scratching the back of his neck: "No I won't. *sob*"

Just thought I'd share.

Introverted Narcissism

I've been writing a lot lately. I think I just plain forgot- for a long time- how much I love to write. The beauty of writing is that the more you do it, the more you think in WORDS. The easier it is to understand the details of what you see and the emotions that you attach to things. I discovered this years ago in college when I kept a notebook (in the Joan Didion sense) on me at all times and was always prepared to write down any thought that seemed even remotely significant. The beauty of it is that my thinking became cyclical- in a good way. The act of writing commits thoughts to memory, and more often than not, in a way that involves rhythm and/or alliteration and/or metaphor, etc. The world comes into focus when you can link occurrences by common threads, relate thoughts to each other, and otherwise undergo a constant analysis of the world around you and your relation to it.

The downside is, you start to think your every insignificant thought is important. "It must be shared with the world!" you say to yourself. I'd sometimes catch myself referring back to entries in my notebook in conversation, as if they would have any meaning whatsoever to my audience. Typically not the case.

I guess the point of all this is, here I am again, futilely trying to throw my inner thoughts out into the world. Take whatever you want from this blog. Discard anything you don't need. But thanks for indulging me all the same, all two or three of you.

Dreams of Ocean City

I picked up a book at the library today for three reasons: 1) The title is One for Sorrow, Two for Joy, which is a line in one of my all-time favorite songs (it precedes "five for silver," in case that wasn't obvious). 2) The book takes the protagonist to Ireland, and I've always been fascinated by all things related to the Irish part of my heritage, especially lately. 3) I opened the book to skim over a few pages, and I opened directly to chapter 5, which begins "Ocean City, New Jersey..." At that point I felt it was destined to be.

I've been terribly nostalgic lately, an occurrence I blame primarily on my Facebook addiction and the hours of the day I spend with iTunes on shuffle, listening to song after song that yanks me backwards into various periods of my life. Consequently, my dreams at night are mostly full of people from my past- anywhere from elementary school up through college. They all take place at schools I've gone to, or houses I've lived in. And many, including last night's, take place in Ocean City, NJ- where my grandmother lives and where I've spent much time throughout my life. Ocean City, though somewhere I don't frequent much anymore, being on the other coast at the moment, is still the place that gives me the strongest feeling of home. It was always my happy place as a kid, even through the unhappiest times. And now it is the setting for too many dreams where the ocean comes up and swallows the town whole.

Last night's dream was a happier one. It was a dream in which time and age were fluid things. Where family and friends were one and the same. Where the living and the dead stood side-by-side for photographs on the boardwalk. I woke with an ache in my heart that has followed me around all day. I'm not usually one to be dramatic about these kinds of things, but when I read the narrator of this book describe Ocean City in winter time, I had to close the book. My ears filled with a ringing, and behind it, the far away roar of the Atlantic Ocean. I felt like the wind was knocked out of me.

It's too early for me to go on into any detail about why I reacted so. But it is deeply, terribly significant. And so I am certain I will dream of Ocean City again tonight, and again, and again, and again.

Eli Porter and my quarter life crisis (part 3)

Let me start out by stating that I have been in the midst of a quarter life crisis more or less for the past five years. Without going into detail (it's really not that interesting), my current state of mind is somewhere in the third phase of said QLC, the previous two phases bearing their own distinct questions about existence with brief periods of contentment in between.

So it was a nice break from the norm to go see my friend's band, Eli Porter , play a gig at the High Dive in Seattle last weekend. By my estimation, it had been a good two months since I'd touched a drop of alcohol, and about two years since I'd seen any live shows (a travesty on both counts). They played a great show, complete with glow sticks, balloons, and various light-up apparel (and really great music, too!).

Being out of the game for so long made me appreciate both sides of the nightlife coin. For one, there is something inherent about dive bars that makes it acceptable to dance when I have no business doing so. It's one of the only viable excuses I have to let loose and have fun and forget my annoying self-consciousness for a while. But even better than pretending to be a 21-year-old, drinking to oblivion, making eyes at boys, praying that someone will ask for my number by the end of the night, I found myself perfectly happy to be 25 and taken. Despite my nostalgia for my college days, it was a lot more satisfying to be able to dance around and be silly without worrying about who was or was not checking me out. It was easier to talk to the lead singer about the set without feeling like I would come across as a little college girl pseudo-groupie. At the end of the night, after a respectable two beers, I rode home with my married friends, and we talked about the music instead of the drama of who-checked-out-who. And I think for the first time since my last birthday, I didn't mourn 21, but celebrated 25.

The Most Awesomest Day in Kirkland Ever

I live in a large-ish town or small-ish city known as Kirkland, Washington. It's a great place to live. Since I love making lists, here's one (in no particular order) of why my town is particularly awesome today.

1) The Howard Mandville art gallery. I'm in love with everything in that place, always.
1a) They are latte-friendly.
1b) They currently display a painting of Manhattan that made me cry.

2) The Kirkland Antique Mall. I can, and did, wander this place for hours. While it is funny to compare the West Coast's idea of antiques (~1930s to 1970s) to the East Coast's idea of antiques (~1700s to 1950s), there is something really comforting and infinitely fascinating about taking in such a massive collection of people's former possessions. Every dainty little teacup and garish brooch and oxidized fountain pen whispers stories about the lives of the people who once owned them. I could see how every little thing could have once been representative of a child's favorite memories at grandma's. With my own grandmother's health failing, it made me realize how much of her will still be around in her patterned dishes and salt and pepper shakers and rocking chairs and prints on the walls. Hopefully as those things get passed around she will be able to tell everyone about our Thanksgiving dinners and summers when the ocean breeze would waft through her house.

3) Marina Park parking is now all free until 5 PM. No more circling, waiting for those five free spots to open up. Yes.

4) I saw two girls on unicycles today. Like, regular, possibly even popular, 14-year-old girls on unicycles. I wish I had been cool enough to get away with that when I was that age.

5) Van Morrison seemed to be playing everywhere I went. Including my favorite song of his, "Into the Mystic". Nice.

6) Earlier today I wandered through Juanita Bay Park (north of downtown). I heard at least 15 distinct bird calls.
6a) While walking downtown I heard at least five different languages, apart from English. That was one of my favorite things about living on Park Drive in Boston for a summer in college. Diversity is a beautiful thing.

7) I saw two separate dudes riding recumbent bikes . I don't get recumbent bikes at all. It seems unnecessarily frightening to be weaving through traffic on two wheels while reclined. But both of them looked like the happiest people on the face of the earth, so kudos.

8) It was a day of small pleasures, one of which was watching little kids delight in throwing rock after rock into the lake. I've often wondered if small children will ever tire of throwing rocks into a body of water. At 25, I think I have almost as much fun watching as they do in creating successively larger splashes. I remember taking pleasure in such a small feat when I was a child. I'm sure my parents did when they were children. I hope the trend continues.

To

A thought occurred to me the other day; I don't really know why. As my buddy Lucas says in Empire Records, "Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear." My thought is this: "to" is the most important word in the English language. Here's why. "To" establishes a relationship between people and other people, objects and other objects, people and objects, objects and people, and so on. More and more every day I am reminded of the selfish nature of people, and how much our collective society caters to the individual. Especially in today's world, where everyone is freaking out over whether they will have a job tomorrow, or a roof over their heads, or money for their latte, there is an increasing disconnect between individuals and the world around them.

Let's think of our prepositional little friend, "to". "To" can be used for good things, such as "the handsome stranger applied sunscreen to my back," or "All signs point to yes". "To" can be used for bad things, such as "She handed the speeding ticket to me," or "Why would anyone do this to us?"

This was probably all subconsciously spawned by my recent burglary. As someone who has now been unemployed for over four months, I can empathize with people who are in tough times and are desperate for even a couple bucks. But the fact of the matter is, there is always someone on the other side of the story. When they took my stuff, they didn't just take things, they took my time and energy, sentimental objects (see previous post), and generally left a mess for me to clean up that is ultimately more expensive than the value of stolen goods. What if the thieves had taken a moment to think about the people they did this to? On a related note, I've dealt with a lot of bureaucracy in the last week, which has only furthered my belief in valuing relationships. Respect is a mutual thing, and it's alarming to see how many people out there expect to receive it without giving it out. Give love to each other.

From there, it just spirals outward. What if we were conscious of all the effects our words and actions did to the world around us? What if we could sense what each styrofoam box would ultimately do to the Pacific Ocean? What if we could see how many times a smile would get passed on when we show it to one other person? What if we could really know how much it means when we really listen to our partners? How much of a difference does it make when we talk to people and not at them?

I wonder...

My Case of the Mondays or Why I Seem So Bitter Lately

So, last Monday I had the good fortune to get robbed. What a wonderful thing to wake up to! I've made a pro/con list to assess the situation.

First, the cons:
1) Taken:
-Black leather goes-with-everything purse purchased for a fantastic price on sale at Target .
-Inside said purse: similarly fantastic clutch containing debit card, credit cards, checkbook, driver's license, a whopping $7.85 in cash, library card, checkbook, Canon Powershot SD400 digital camera, pair of earrings that go perfectly with a new shirt I recently purchased.
-Older, but still much-beloved wallet containing rarely-used credit cards, Social Security card (yes! I get to wait in line at the DMV AND the Social Security Office!), family photos, Qdoba gift card still good for 8 free entrees, and a friend's note written to me in tenth grade (I'm a girl. I'm allowed to be sentimental.)
-Empty, slightly-more-stylish purse. Goes great with my spring jacket. Built like a tank, this thing has survived falls, spills, and being stuffed until most normal purses would burst at the seams. Was the perfect size for toting around paperback books.
-Pentax ZX-M 35 mm SLR camera.
- Canon EOS 20D digital SLR camera with 8 GB memory card and top-of-the-line polarizing filter. I'm so glad now that I decided not to scrimp on that. Now without a camera to my name, I feel naked.
2) The douchebags had the balls to break in while I was sleeping in the next room
2a) They came in through the sliding door that we never lock. D'oh.
2b) I was apparently sleeping like the dead and b/f was sleeping with earplugs in because our upstairs neighbor stomps around all the time. Convenient.
3) They left the door open. Considerate of them, so as not to wake us up. Apparently it was not enough to rob me, they also wanted to drive our heating bill up.
4) They didn't take anything of my boyfriend's. Just my stuff. Awesome.
5)I am now left with an overwhelming icky feeling, fairly certain they were watching me at some point.
6) Calling out the police to assess the scene caused me to reschedule a job interview. I was not offered the position.

Now the Pros:
1) They apparently discarded all the credit cards after being unable to use them at the self-serve gas pumps. I can only guess that they got hung up on the part where it asks for the zipcode. The zipcode of the house they targeted and physically entered to rob.
2) While $7.85 is approximately 45 minutes worth of unemployment income these days, I'd had $25 in there just the day before. I can deal with the fact that I'll never get my 45 minutes back.
2a) The Starbucks card in aforementioned black leather purse had $0 available on it.
2b) As mentioned, one purse was completely empty, except for maybe a tampon and an Equity Pen. Epic Fail for those guys.
3)Stuff they left behind:
-iPod
-cell phone
-computer (they couldn't lug this thing away if they tried)
-car keys
-platinum and diamond necklace chillin' on my computer desk
4) Aforementioned Pentax camera was on my list of stuff to sell on Craigslist. I was hoping to get $100.
5) Aforementioned (much-loved) Canon 20D was a gift. I didn't personally lose any investment there. Except for the filter.
5a) screw-on attachment for tripod was not attached and therefore not stolen, thus not rendering it completely useless.
6)We didn't wake up, and therefore didn't have any kind of dangerous or otherwise awkward confrontation
6a) While there was clearly entering, no breaking was involved. Thus, no repair bills.
7) The cat , though noticably freaked out, remained unharmed.

One can clearly see that there are more pros here than cons. Obviously, therefore, the idiot thieves did me a solid. Thanks, d-bags.

Sorry to have shown some ambition- it won't happen again

I, like all of us, am a statistic. Nay, many statistics. You can't do anything these days without being required to fill out "optional" surveys asking you anything from your ethnicity to your shoe size. Some supreme being somewhere is supposedly compiling all this data in attempts to make sense of the modern world. I think this is, at least for the most part, crap, but that's besides the point. My point is, I am one of hundreds of thousands (have we crept into the millions?) of unemployed "out there" today. Despite the overwhelming boredom that creeps in some days, it's actually not so bad. I'm still collecting unemployment, and without having to go to work every day, I'm saving a bundle on gas, food, lattes, and other former necessities (I had a habit of visiting Ross on my lunch breaks from time to time).

Actually, that's not even my point. The point of this blog is the ridiculous hoops one is made to jump through these days in their quest to seek gainful employment. It's taken me a while to realize how bleak the job market is, but I've pretty much got it now, thank you. It doesn't matter how you go about your job search, and it hardly matters how qualified you are. No matter what door you beat down, you can rest assured there are hundreds of other applicants beating down the same door. Many have gotten there before you, and many have similar or better qualifications.

Impossible, I used to think. I am generally a pretty modest person, but I do know that I'm smarter than a lot of people out there, and pick things up a lot quicker than the average bear. My problem is simple. I am young and still trying to figure out who I am going to become over the course of the rest of my life. Curse you, mom and dad, for not copulating five years earlier, for telling me "you can be anything you want to be," for sending me to the college of my choice instead of forcing me into the work field so I could gain experience in every single proprietary software program that any employer may ask me to know. Job ads are now only looking for individuals who:
1) Have spent at least 5 years already in that particular narrow industry
2) Are preprogrammed to know all the idiosyncrasies of this new office and the people that reside therein
3) Are willing to work for $10 an hour (no offense to people who make $10 an hour, but chances are it's not paying for the mortgage)
4) Are not planning on needing a filling, getting in an accident, or becoming ill for the first 90 days after the first partial month worked
5) Have no plans to ever do anything with their life except work in that particular place in that particular menial position for that skimpy paycheck for the rest of their days.

Here's where I come in. I have a music degree. Not the most practical choice, I know, but I was 17 when I chose my college, I worked hard, got ahead in school, and graduated with honors. It was only after I grew up a little that I realized life was about more than one's career, and I didn't want the lifestyle that came with hanging out in a recording studio for 80 hours a week. Sorry for maturing, future employers. I know it's confusing seeing a music degree on my resume, but ask me about it, and I'll put it into perspective for you. Anyway, since then I've held two jobs, each for about a year and a half, each progressively more demanding than the last. Let's not forget there's my student employment job which was often a full-time gig, one that I held for more than half of my college career. But, because I am actually somewhat of an overachiever, I decided that wasn't going to be that and enrolled in an online school to earn a second degree. Stupidly, I put this on my resume thinking that it shows I have direction in life and am not just floundering around waiting for opportunities to be handed to me. Because it's online, guess what? It means I never have to leave early to make a lab time or a study session.

To make a long story short, I've sent out hundreds of resumes and gotten six interviews, none of which turned into jobs. At the last one, I paid close attention and realized that the turning point in the conversation came when I gave them my anticipated graduation date, still at least two years in the future. I really had them, too. I had even convinced myself that I was really looking forward to learning about the foreclosure business and would remain dedicated to performing, delivering, etc., etc. The fact that I am looking for a job that I am currently qualified for (instead of the job I want that I'm not qualified for yet) is killing me. The fact that I don't want to settle for only that like they did, is what's been killing me.

Two days ago I took all mention of my current studies off my resume. I have three interviews lined up in the next two days.

Sorry to have shown concern for my own future. I'll have those TPS reports to you by the end of the day.

Oh snap, I'm blogging

So I'm sitting at Kahili Coffee today, sipping on a white chocolate mocha and tracing figure eights with my foot (I'm a very jittery person as it is- coffee doesn't help the matter), when several thoughts occur to me. In no particular order (okay, the order that makes the most sense now):

I should blog. Duh. I thought of this for several reasons. One being that I severely need typing practice in this time of joblessness. While I've been putting this off because I don't intend to be an admin the rest of my life, I still desperately need it in the short term. The second being that I enjoy the bandwagon. It's comfy and I usually get a window seat. The third being that in a burst of caffeine-induced mania I remembered that once upon a time I was good at writing. The kind of good that got me nods from a bestselling author or two (no, seriously). And thus, I need to write again. So here I am.

Along that line of thought, I really want a laptop so I can perform said writing in aforementioned coffee shop. I've been dreaming of a Macbook Pro, but maybe I should hold out with my G5 at home and get a Dell just to write or do some light -shopping (as in Photo-). All of this is of course contingent on me finding employment, which may well not happen until my typing skills are somewhat improved.

Still along the blog train of thought, the main reason I've been putting it off is because I figured there was no point in publishing anything until I'd gotten it perfect. I had to have the unifying idea, the color scheme, the first three posts, the name, everything all planned out before I could "break ground". F--- that. I do that crap all the time, and nothing ever gets done. Freakonomics seems to be doing just fine with no unifying theme, so I think I just may be okay, too. Chances are no one's ever going to read this anyway, and as I've already mentioned, readership is not the point. So I'm not going to be an obsessive perfectionist about this. I may not even post anything after this. Who cares? I'm having fun for now.

New topic: all coffee shops should play at least one Smiths song every hour. Continuous Smiths for hours on end, maybe a little much, but at least one every 60 minutes. I'm starting a petition.

Something that has plagued me for a while is the usage of quotes, particularly from music, in various every day situations. While I use them frequently myself, and often appreciate them when I run into them, a lot of them make me cringe, even when they're from songs I like. Sometimes nerdy people quote a song and instantly seem cooler. Some cool people quote a song and instantly become a tool. Why is this? I wondered for a long time. It came to me today that the obscurity of the quote is directly proportional to its coolness factor. Some simple guidelines: If the quote is a) the title of the song, b) the first line of the song, c) from any part of the first verse or chorus, that quote is lame (particularly if that song was a single). If one quotes anything from subsequent verses or the bridge, that quote then becomes acceptable. Bonus points if the song was not a single, and/or if it was from a record before the artist's breakaway album. I hope that clarifies things.