I did not see The Boy last night. I saw one of my best friends instead and another girl I haven't spoken to in a long time. It was fun to be without him, to be the other person I am with the girls. Some people say that you should be who you are around everyone, but each person gets someone a little different, that's just the way things are. I am not the same person I am in front of my parents that I am with The Boy, that I am with a bunch of giggling girls talking about fashion, What Not To Wear, and our lives. It's a different connection, it's a different feeling, and I enjoyed it.
It's been so long since I've spent time with just girls, sitting around with the tv on, commenting on life, throwing out the details of importance and non-importance. It was fun and I hope to do it again soon. I shall be seeing those same girls tonight and we wish one of them a Happy Birthday, which I hope it is indeed.
Currently, I am looking for music online, trying to find something with meaning, with substance, and a sound I like. This is hard and I am not really sure why I am doing this. I no longer listen to music in the car. I strictly listen to books on CD. Each time I enter the car a story plays for me, a story that I recall the last edges of, shimmery edges of excitment, of feeling I didn't want to get out of the car because then the story will end. But I do not bring the tale inside, no. It stays in the car. It is only meant to be heard in bits and pieces, not in long stretches. For I listen to books I would never otherwise read, could never otherwise finish. I would have given up on them in the first few pages, but with a voice slipping from the speakers, the story takes on a lifelike quality... as if a friend is in the car beside me waiting for so she can finish telling her story.
She waits for me. And it's nice. Just like my friend waited for me to ditch The Boy for a night, just like I waited for her to finally have time for a social life, we all wait. And the wait is worth it.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Thursday, May 31, 2007
It's memory weekend
The sun shines, the car heats up, and I ride.
The Boy and I went to the Big City this weekend. We took in some sights of life, of real life in some unsuspecting places. (We went to visit his friends and didn't get a chance to see my friends. I think the next trip we take out there will be to see my pals so he can have the chance to do the meet and greet. )
We drove through rain and beautiful sun. Then on Saturday we enjoyed the sun on our skin, too much sun our on pale skin. From peachy tones to red they went. Dreams in the Mist, Miss Blueberry Juice, and Little Wagon entertained us with their strong muscles, sleek coats, and flying tails and manes. They ran for our delight while we tried to bet which horse would come in first. I was often wrong, but was right a few times. I took that long shot and earned two dollars. Count 'em, two. What a booty to take home. Alas, all I took home was a new hat in order to prevent my head from burning and to be allowed the luxury of not squinting into the sun for hours, the Boy still holding my hand, and a new experience. The horses were not the experience alone. I witnessed love in the bleachers. An older couple, two women, both of whom smoked their lungs that day, like jerky, tough and dry women, who held their arms around each other and spoke of the mundaneness of life. It was not that they were lesbians that was new, it was the way they looked at each other, with adoration, that caught my eye.
Another new experience was the Bon fire we went to late that night. While the bon fire itself was not new, getting lead poisoning from a 50 year old picnic table that was destroyed by karate kicks and a chain saw in the dark of night was new. The early morning trip while driving drunk people to Denny's was not new. However, being the only white people in a room filled with 40-50 Black people was new, especially since many of them lived up to the stereotype of "urban black." Baggy pants, huge t-shirts, sideways hats, the n-word flying fifty miles an hour at each other, the man who blames the African-American manager for being an Uncle Tom because the manager is trying to do his job and force an unruly patron to leave, the belly and booty bearing clothes on the women. The girls were quiet, eating their meals, and talking amongst themselves. It was the men, the boys who called attention to themselves.
We sat silent and soaked it in. My French Toast soaked the sugar free syrup. Perhaps the French Toast absorbed more than syrup, maybe it took on a bad attitude, maybe it carried in it's crevices a negative connection, but whatever that French Toast hid in itself, I threw it up four hours later.
We went home on Sunday. I did not feel well most of the day. A slow nausea wandering around my body, coming to roost here and there as if my elbow would suddenly be on the verge of throwing itself out or my hair desperately wanted a hat in case it had to purge excess oil or something. We stopped by an outlet mall, picked up some clothes for The Boy and a shirt for myself. I will write more at another time.
The Boy and I went to the Big City this weekend. We took in some sights of life, of real life in some unsuspecting places. (We went to visit his friends and didn't get a chance to see my friends. I think the next trip we take out there will be to see my pals so he can have the chance to do the meet and greet. )
We drove through rain and beautiful sun. Then on Saturday we enjoyed the sun on our skin, too much sun our on pale skin. From peachy tones to red they went. Dreams in the Mist, Miss Blueberry Juice, and Little Wagon entertained us with their strong muscles, sleek coats, and flying tails and manes. They ran for our delight while we tried to bet which horse would come in first. I was often wrong, but was right a few times. I took that long shot and earned two dollars. Count 'em, two. What a booty to take home. Alas, all I took home was a new hat in order to prevent my head from burning and to be allowed the luxury of not squinting into the sun for hours, the Boy still holding my hand, and a new experience. The horses were not the experience alone. I witnessed love in the bleachers. An older couple, two women, both of whom smoked their lungs that day, like jerky, tough and dry women, who held their arms around each other and spoke of the mundaneness of life. It was not that they were lesbians that was new, it was the way they looked at each other, with adoration, that caught my eye.
Another new experience was the Bon fire we went to late that night. While the bon fire itself was not new, getting lead poisoning from a 50 year old picnic table that was destroyed by karate kicks and a chain saw in the dark of night was new. The early morning trip while driving drunk people to Denny's was not new. However, being the only white people in a room filled with 40-50 Black people was new, especially since many of them lived up to the stereotype of "urban black." Baggy pants, huge t-shirts, sideways hats, the n-word flying fifty miles an hour at each other, the man who blames the African-American manager for being an Uncle Tom because the manager is trying to do his job and force an unruly patron to leave, the belly and booty bearing clothes on the women. The girls were quiet, eating their meals, and talking amongst themselves. It was the men, the boys who called attention to themselves.
We sat silent and soaked it in. My French Toast soaked the sugar free syrup. Perhaps the French Toast absorbed more than syrup, maybe it took on a bad attitude, maybe it carried in it's crevices a negative connection, but whatever that French Toast hid in itself, I threw it up four hours later.
We went home on Sunday. I did not feel well most of the day. A slow nausea wandering around my body, coming to roost here and there as if my elbow would suddenly be on the verge of throwing itself out or my hair desperately wanted a hat in case it had to purge excess oil or something. We stopped by an outlet mall, picked up some clothes for The Boy and a shirt for myself. I will write more at another time.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Baby Bubbles
'Allo,
Sometimes, I feel otherwordly, maybe in this case other-country-y. I hear myself in an Australian accent in my head. I think I am just trying to make myself feel more exotic than the boring Midwesterner that I am. Accents seem so much more exciting, offering an imagination to those around you. Ah, the excitement, the enticement of lilting languages and drawling diction. I do love illiteration. I think it's marvelous.
I recently made the drive to my grandmother's house again. This time to say goodbye to her things rather than her body. It is a daunting task to clean her house, for it is not a normal house. There used to be paths in the house, things piled to the ceiling, boxes filled with unknown treasures, but mostly unwanted junk. Everything could be used for a part, everything had a purpose to someone. However, logic fails when you have to find that perfect someone in the midst of the nearly seven billion people on the planet.
During this last trip I looked at dolls. As a child, I did not care for dolls and the imaginary play that accompanied them. For me, dolls were boring as they did not do anything. Unfortunately, they still do not do anything. Even more unfortunate, there were boxes upon boxes of them. When I left after a long weekend of peeking into boxes hoping something else would be found in them, there were 50 boxes of dolls. When my father finally finished going through all the dolls, they would total 78.
One would think this would be a child's dream, a doll collector's paradise, and it would have been. However, these dolls were the neglected children of the doll world. Matted hair, pen inked onto their peach bodies, not even done well enough to be considered cruse prison tattooes. Merely, ugly, sad, worn out dolls that one their owners were done abusing them, were left for dead. They were sold for a quarter, they were given away, and my grandmother was the one who scooped them up.
I remember getting these dolls from her when she would visit. She would hand one to me so happily, as if I were getting a grand gift. As soon as she left, my mother would make me throw the doll away and wash my hands. I would gladly dump it into the trash and feel dirty, sullen just touching the one arm I limply hung onto while my grandmother was in sight. A soiled doll, with crusty hair, and eyes that no longer blinked open and shut, just one open and one shut, a nightmare of a doll for a gift is something I did not understand.
These dolls are something I still do not understand. I don't know why my grandma would be so interested in keeping these, in buying them, and then throwing them into boxes. If she were wanting to love one, wanting to relive her own harsh childhood in which she had no doll, I do not know where these come into play. I merely know that they do not come into play with me, they did not then and do not now.
This daunting task haunts us. We wonder why she kept these things, not just the dolls, but other things. We wonder so many things and in these boxes, these piles we do not find answers. Just dust and someone else's memories.
Sometimes, I feel otherwordly, maybe in this case other-country-y. I hear myself in an Australian accent in my head. I think I am just trying to make myself feel more exotic than the boring Midwesterner that I am. Accents seem so much more exciting, offering an imagination to those around you. Ah, the excitement, the enticement of lilting languages and drawling diction. I do love illiteration. I think it's marvelous.
I recently made the drive to my grandmother's house again. This time to say goodbye to her things rather than her body. It is a daunting task to clean her house, for it is not a normal house. There used to be paths in the house, things piled to the ceiling, boxes filled with unknown treasures, but mostly unwanted junk. Everything could be used for a part, everything had a purpose to someone. However, logic fails when you have to find that perfect someone in the midst of the nearly seven billion people on the planet.
During this last trip I looked at dolls. As a child, I did not care for dolls and the imaginary play that accompanied them. For me, dolls were boring as they did not do anything. Unfortunately, they still do not do anything. Even more unfortunate, there were boxes upon boxes of them. When I left after a long weekend of peeking into boxes hoping something else would be found in them, there were 50 boxes of dolls. When my father finally finished going through all the dolls, they would total 78.
One would think this would be a child's dream, a doll collector's paradise, and it would have been. However, these dolls were the neglected children of the doll world. Matted hair, pen inked onto their peach bodies, not even done well enough to be considered cruse prison tattooes. Merely, ugly, sad, worn out dolls that one their owners were done abusing them, were left for dead. They were sold for a quarter, they were given away, and my grandmother was the one who scooped them up.
I remember getting these dolls from her when she would visit. She would hand one to me so happily, as if I were getting a grand gift. As soon as she left, my mother would make me throw the doll away and wash my hands. I would gladly dump it into the trash and feel dirty, sullen just touching the one arm I limply hung onto while my grandmother was in sight. A soiled doll, with crusty hair, and eyes that no longer blinked open and shut, just one open and one shut, a nightmare of a doll for a gift is something I did not understand.
These dolls are something I still do not understand. I don't know why my grandma would be so interested in keeping these, in buying them, and then throwing them into boxes. If she were wanting to love one, wanting to relive her own harsh childhood in which she had no doll, I do not know where these come into play. I merely know that they do not come into play with me, they did not then and do not now.
This daunting task haunts us. We wonder why she kept these things, not just the dolls, but other things. We wonder so many things and in these boxes, these piles we do not find answers. Just dust and someone else's memories.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
I fail
This blog so often is a review of how often I fail at trying to better myself. Once again, I had started skipping my medication. I became a crying, sad-eyed, pathetic sack of life. I didn't laugh, everything hurt my feelings, I wasn't fun, but through that The Boy stood by me. He said it'll take a lot more than that to drive him away. Odd, Andrew was the complete opposite. I drove him away with that, however, that result was entirely appreciated. The Boy is my love. Andrew was but a mere stepping stone to get me to the point where I could meet and fall for The Boy.
Opposites indeed. Another opposite occured this week. I went to the doctor to have my diabetes checked. I again informed my physician (yet another new one albeit in a new town) that I a naughty, eating things I should not, not testing my blood, not taking my medicines, not caring for myself the way I should. She admonished me as she is supposed to and we moved on. My period was late and I thought nothing of it. A week late is nothing to me, well, it wasn't before I started having sex. Now, I suppose it should be a concern. However, when I informed her of the date of my last period, she proposed a pregnancy test. I agreed to one, just to be sure.
My period has been absenst for four months at a time before. If I am in any way stressed more than normal, I will be late or miss it entirely. If I am sick, it will be late. I was stressed towards the end of April, with the death of my grandmother and trying to clean her house out. More on that later. So, I peed in the cup, which I had to do anyway for the diabetic check. I went back to the office and sat there waiting for the results. I wasn't scared or nervous. I guess I figured I'd have to handle it one way or the other. I would have no other options but to deal with it if the test came back positive. So, I waited and twiddled my thumbs while pretending to read a magazine.
The nurse came in and gave a brisk smile, she whispered "Negative" and said I could go back to the lobby to make my follow-up appointments with the nutrionist and the diabetic educator. I left feeling fine, no different than I felt before the results were given. No huge sigh of relief, nor no sad feelings that I wasn't. Just neutral. Then, I started my period about three hours later.
I feel that irony and if it's not, it's sure something.
Opposites indeed. Another opposite occured this week. I went to the doctor to have my diabetes checked. I again informed my physician (yet another new one albeit in a new town) that I a naughty, eating things I should not, not testing my blood, not taking my medicines, not caring for myself the way I should. She admonished me as she is supposed to and we moved on. My period was late and I thought nothing of it. A week late is nothing to me, well, it wasn't before I started having sex. Now, I suppose it should be a concern. However, when I informed her of the date of my last period, she proposed a pregnancy test. I agreed to one, just to be sure.
My period has been absenst for four months at a time before. If I am in any way stressed more than normal, I will be late or miss it entirely. If I am sick, it will be late. I was stressed towards the end of April, with the death of my grandmother and trying to clean her house out. More on that later. So, I peed in the cup, which I had to do anyway for the diabetic check. I went back to the office and sat there waiting for the results. I wasn't scared or nervous. I guess I figured I'd have to handle it one way or the other. I would have no other options but to deal with it if the test came back positive. So, I waited and twiddled my thumbs while pretending to read a magazine.
The nurse came in and gave a brisk smile, she whispered "Negative" and said I could go back to the lobby to make my follow-up appointments with the nutrionist and the diabetic educator. I left feeling fine, no different than I felt before the results were given. No huge sigh of relief, nor no sad feelings that I wasn't. Just neutral. Then, I started my period about three hours later.
I feel that irony and if it's not, it's sure something.
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Guesstimator
My grandmother died on April 21st. I went to her funeral on Wednesday and said goodbye to a body, to a woman I didn't really know.
I sat at the funeral home, staring at her casket during the viewing/visitation on Tuesday thinking about what I would miss about her. My views were so negative. I felt she was this stubbon old woman who loved her junk more than anything else. She had strong opinions about the world, politics, and sometimes those views were incorrect. Opinions can be wrong when they are not based on fact, but on unobjective, false "facts." However, I wasn't viewing her in the right context. My grandmother had some money, not enough to make her a millionaire or even a hundred-thousand-aire, but enough that when people came to visit, she paid for meals out. We always went out while there. If one of her children or grandchildren needed to borrow money, she would whip out her checkbook and fill in those blanks. And while she expected payment of that loan, she had a long grace period and no interest.
I didn't see genorosity where I should have. I didn't see a woman who had a tough life and just wanted to leave something for her children to make their lives easier. She was undemanding, her only desire to choose where we went out to eat. She had friends, whom I saw at her funeral. I never met them before, and one in particular surprised me.
My mother requested that at the fellowship, I take pictures of those in attendance. It is very hard to get all those people together, espectially together while they are looking dapper. I felt very southern, having been to a southern funeral where they photograph at the funeral home, the casket, the body, etc. Very different from our version of, let's hold the tears in, let's not show emotion, and certainly do not take pictures. But we deviated. I stood poised for a photo of an older woman, white hair spikey on her head. She smiled for me and then said, you must be Amber. I said, yes and asked how she knew. She said that my grandmother talked about me all the time. I stood surprised, mouth open, and eyebrows raised. She gave a small smirk and said, you must not have known your grandmother very well.
I will be the first to admit, that I did not. I tried. She would not open up to me nor to anyone I knew. There were secrets in her that she was not willing to share and I do not know why. I don't know if it was just a generational thing, if she just didn't like talking about herself, or if she really thought those secrets would be damaging. The white haired woman with the spikes grinned bigger stating that my grandmother had told her that I was mischievous. I inquired as to why my grandmother would say that, the woman just smiled. I told my parents this information and my dad was quite confused and had no idea what his mother would have meant by that; my mom was baffled also. Perhaps, my grandmother didn't know me very well either. The road goes both ways.
I am not mischeivous nor have I ever been. My parents lucked out on getting me as a child, especially after having to deal with my brother's antics. I did well in school, did not have to be prompted to do my homework, I did not drink in high school, did not have sex until a few months ago, did not get into trouble, etc. My downfall as a child was that I was mouthy, which may have caused some headaches due to my high level decibels of yelling, were nothing compared to what my brother brought on.
So, I shall miss my grandma. She had this cackling laugh that drove me nuts. She told me to be a "Good Doobie," and I have no idea what that means, she had a house full of junk, and loved coffee with great passion. Her last words were "I would like a cup of coffee." Now, that's a fan starbucks needed in their corner. So, grandma, my next cup of coffee (I will have to add cream and sugar substitute, sorry) will be for you, for your honor. I will sip and think of you. I will stir my coffee and remember the short moments I had with you. When I pour the cream, it shall disburse in the liquid, forming an outline of your face and this is when I shall weep.
RIP Grandma Doris
I sat at the funeral home, staring at her casket during the viewing/visitation on Tuesday thinking about what I would miss about her. My views were so negative. I felt she was this stubbon old woman who loved her junk more than anything else. She had strong opinions about the world, politics, and sometimes those views were incorrect. Opinions can be wrong when they are not based on fact, but on unobjective, false "facts." However, I wasn't viewing her in the right context. My grandmother had some money, not enough to make her a millionaire or even a hundred-thousand-aire, but enough that when people came to visit, she paid for meals out. We always went out while there. If one of her children or grandchildren needed to borrow money, she would whip out her checkbook and fill in those blanks. And while she expected payment of that loan, she had a long grace period and no interest.
I didn't see genorosity where I should have. I didn't see a woman who had a tough life and just wanted to leave something for her children to make their lives easier. She was undemanding, her only desire to choose where we went out to eat. She had friends, whom I saw at her funeral. I never met them before, and one in particular surprised me.
My mother requested that at the fellowship, I take pictures of those in attendance. It is very hard to get all those people together, espectially together while they are looking dapper. I felt very southern, having been to a southern funeral where they photograph at the funeral home, the casket, the body, etc. Very different from our version of, let's hold the tears in, let's not show emotion, and certainly do not take pictures. But we deviated. I stood poised for a photo of an older woman, white hair spikey on her head. She smiled for me and then said, you must be Amber. I said, yes and asked how she knew. She said that my grandmother talked about me all the time. I stood surprised, mouth open, and eyebrows raised. She gave a small smirk and said, you must not have known your grandmother very well.
I will be the first to admit, that I did not. I tried. She would not open up to me nor to anyone I knew. There were secrets in her that she was not willing to share and I do not know why. I don't know if it was just a generational thing, if she just didn't like talking about herself, or if she really thought those secrets would be damaging. The white haired woman with the spikes grinned bigger stating that my grandmother had told her that I was mischievous. I inquired as to why my grandmother would say that, the woman just smiled. I told my parents this information and my dad was quite confused and had no idea what his mother would have meant by that; my mom was baffled also. Perhaps, my grandmother didn't know me very well either. The road goes both ways.
I am not mischeivous nor have I ever been. My parents lucked out on getting me as a child, especially after having to deal with my brother's antics. I did well in school, did not have to be prompted to do my homework, I did not drink in high school, did not have sex until a few months ago, did not get into trouble, etc. My downfall as a child was that I was mouthy, which may have caused some headaches due to my high level decibels of yelling, were nothing compared to what my brother brought on.
So, I shall miss my grandma. She had this cackling laugh that drove me nuts. She told me to be a "Good Doobie," and I have no idea what that means, she had a house full of junk, and loved coffee with great passion. Her last words were "I would like a cup of coffee." Now, that's a fan starbucks needed in their corner. So, grandma, my next cup of coffee (I will have to add cream and sugar substitute, sorry) will be for you, for your honor. I will sip and think of you. I will stir my coffee and remember the short moments I had with you. When I pour the cream, it shall disburse in the liquid, forming an outline of your face and this is when I shall weep.
RIP Grandma Doris
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Toss Up
This is going to be a grab bag entry, you don't know what's going to be inside. Scary part is, neither do I.
Let's see, what there is to share.
I nearly bounced some checks, which I've never done before. Hopefully I learned my lesson.
I nearly lost my camera in a dance club. Correction, I did lose my camera in a dance club and after crying for about fifteen minutes, having a mini pep talk with The Boy, and moping, it was annouced by the DJ that a camera had been found. A member of our group walked up to the DJ booth and heard some other guy claim the camera was his. Our friend knew the DJ so she passed the camera to him, which if it came down to it, the pictures on there would prove whose camera it was.
I drank a lot over Easter. I tried to keep up with former Frat boys and I think I held my own. It was a fun Easter since The Boy and I went to the BIG City to visit some of his old friends. They are great people.
The Boy and I broke my box spring while gettin' it on. So, when my tax return finally appears I shall be buying a new bed. I am not sure yet if it was worth it. ;)
My paternal grandmother had a massive stroke this weekend and according to the CT scan, she's basically brain dead. My dad and his siblings are going to have to decide whether or not they wish to keep her alive by artificial means. I believe they will choose not to make her body live on when her spirit is already gone. They seem to be leaning towards that. There is talk of me being a pallbearer. My mom keeps wondering if it's okay for a woman to be one. I keep telling her there's no reason I can't be one and the only reason men are usually pallbearers is because they can usually lift more weight. I would like to be one. It would feel right doing something for her.
Another note, all of my friends from afar should come visit me. :)
Work is interesting and keep challenging me each day.
Let's see, what there is to share.
I nearly bounced some checks, which I've never done before. Hopefully I learned my lesson.
I nearly lost my camera in a dance club. Correction, I did lose my camera in a dance club and after crying for about fifteen minutes, having a mini pep talk with The Boy, and moping, it was annouced by the DJ that a camera had been found. A member of our group walked up to the DJ booth and heard some other guy claim the camera was his. Our friend knew the DJ so she passed the camera to him, which if it came down to it, the pictures on there would prove whose camera it was.
I drank a lot over Easter. I tried to keep up with former Frat boys and I think I held my own. It was a fun Easter since The Boy and I went to the BIG City to visit some of his old friends. They are great people.
The Boy and I broke my box spring while gettin' it on. So, when my tax return finally appears I shall be buying a new bed. I am not sure yet if it was worth it. ;)
My paternal grandmother had a massive stroke this weekend and according to the CT scan, she's basically brain dead. My dad and his siblings are going to have to decide whether or not they wish to keep her alive by artificial means. I believe they will choose not to make her body live on when her spirit is already gone. They seem to be leaning towards that. There is talk of me being a pallbearer. My mom keeps wondering if it's okay for a woman to be one. I keep telling her there's no reason I can't be one and the only reason men are usually pallbearers is because they can usually lift more weight. I would like to be one. It would feel right doing something for her.
Another note, all of my friends from afar should come visit me. :)
Work is interesting and keep challenging me each day.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Too Long
Well, I am finally back in my chair and writing again. I have missed it so much.
But my moving plans did not go according to... well, plan. The weather pushed back the move three weeks, leaving me without my computer and internet access for another month. Ugh. So, I have you, my dear readers, haven't abandoned me for more frequent and interesting places.
I am back now, hopefully for many, many posts.
The move went well. I had help from around the world. Or from two states. :) My cousin, her boyfriend, two uncles, my dad, my mom, and my boyfriend all heeded the call for help. It went quickly, much more quickly than expected. Unexpected, was the sheer amount of stuff, of things I have collected in so few years. It's disgusting. However, I seem to be only getting more. My parents, specifically my mom bought me a new set of dishes even though I don't cook very often and I have a complete set already. Oh well, they are pretty. :)
I haven't moved all my stuff in, some of it is still at The Boy's, but slowly it will make it's way over. By the end of this month I want it all in, put away, pictures hung, shelves holding little knicknacks, etc.
My apartment is very similar in its layout to my old apartment so I feel quite at home and relaxed in this one. I am enjoying my new job, though I feel completely and utterly stupid sometimes. They are just so many little rules, little tidbits of information, policies to follow. It's complex and complicated, and some days my head hurts when I shut off my computer and walk out the door to work.
I do want a second job. I have this intense desire to sell furniture. I love furniture and why not sell it. I've never had a sales job before and the extra money would be nice. There's an opening at a store right near where I currently work and live, so tomorrow I may stop in and ask about the position.
Well, this is GOA signing off until my next entry which I suspect will be real soon.
But my moving plans did not go according to... well, plan. The weather pushed back the move three weeks, leaving me without my computer and internet access for another month. Ugh. So, I have you, my dear readers, haven't abandoned me for more frequent and interesting places.
I am back now, hopefully for many, many posts.
The move went well. I had help from around the world. Or from two states. :) My cousin, her boyfriend, two uncles, my dad, my mom, and my boyfriend all heeded the call for help. It went quickly, much more quickly than expected. Unexpected, was the sheer amount of stuff, of things I have collected in so few years. It's disgusting. However, I seem to be only getting more. My parents, specifically my mom bought me a new set of dishes even though I don't cook very often and I have a complete set already. Oh well, they are pretty. :)
I haven't moved all my stuff in, some of it is still at The Boy's, but slowly it will make it's way over. By the end of this month I want it all in, put away, pictures hung, shelves holding little knicknacks, etc.
My apartment is very similar in its layout to my old apartment so I feel quite at home and relaxed in this one. I am enjoying my new job, though I feel completely and utterly stupid sometimes. They are just so many little rules, little tidbits of information, policies to follow. It's complex and complicated, and some days my head hurts when I shut off my computer and walk out the door to work.
I do want a second job. I have this intense desire to sell furniture. I love furniture and why not sell it. I've never had a sales job before and the extra money would be nice. There's an opening at a store right near where I currently work and live, so tomorrow I may stop in and ask about the position.
Well, this is GOA signing off until my next entry which I suspect will be real soon.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Why do I do these things?
Sometimes I do not have any excuses for myself. I cannot conjure up those words that will make me feel better for being a failure. I had an appointment this morning at 10am, of which I was instructed to be there thirty minutes prior. I set my alarm, alas, I only set one alarm. I don't get off work until 11:30 and didn't make it home until midnight. I am usually wound up from work and cannot jump into the bed the minute I walk in the door. So, I stayed awake and puttered around. I packed a few things, I ate some dinner, I worked on some word puzzles, I played online, and finally felt the tuggings of sleep in my eyelids.
I laid down. I wiggled. I turned my head, I cocooned in the blankets as I so love to do, and nothing. Sleep hid from me, it tortured me by calling my name and telling me how sweet it would be. But alas, it did not show itself to me. Finally, sleep must have come out from hiding. I woke up at 10am, just in time for my appointment. But because arriving a half hour before the appointment was so stressed, I called to wonder if I should still go. The clerk told me that I should not go there, that I should reschedule. Damn.
I tried to reschedule, but nothing worked. I am moving in a week and will be living an hour away with a not-quite permanent work schedule. Thus, this cancelled all of my appointments for the day, the endocrinologist, the diabetic educator, and the nutritionist. So, I called my regular physician to leave her the message that I missed that appointment and I could not get into see the endocrinologist until next week, which doesn't work for me. I called my aunt, who is also a doctor in The Boy's town, to ask her for a recommendation for a regular physician and an endo doctor. We'll see how it all pans out.
I am lame. Sleeping too late made me cry and I felt so much shame. I am scared The Boy will be so disappointed in me. I am disappointed in me.
I also keep having dreams I cannot breathe. Today, I actually can't. I am so stuffed up and coughy. I called in sick. I no longer care what they think. I need some rest before Monday, a chance to get well so I can think and learn new things. So, I can start my new life fresh.
It's Girl of Approval, signing off and screwing up.
I laid down. I wiggled. I turned my head, I cocooned in the blankets as I so love to do, and nothing. Sleep hid from me, it tortured me by calling my name and telling me how sweet it would be. But alas, it did not show itself to me. Finally, sleep must have come out from hiding. I woke up at 10am, just in time for my appointment. But because arriving a half hour before the appointment was so stressed, I called to wonder if I should still go. The clerk told me that I should not go there, that I should reschedule. Damn.
I tried to reschedule, but nothing worked. I am moving in a week and will be living an hour away with a not-quite permanent work schedule. Thus, this cancelled all of my appointments for the day, the endocrinologist, the diabetic educator, and the nutritionist. So, I called my regular physician to leave her the message that I missed that appointment and I could not get into see the endocrinologist until next week, which doesn't work for me. I called my aunt, who is also a doctor in The Boy's town, to ask her for a recommendation for a regular physician and an endo doctor. We'll see how it all pans out.
I am lame. Sleeping too late made me cry and I felt so much shame. I am scared The Boy will be so disappointed in me. I am disappointed in me.
I also keep having dreams I cannot breathe. Today, I actually can't. I am so stuffed up and coughy. I called in sick. I no longer care what they think. I need some rest before Monday, a chance to get well so I can think and learn new things. So, I can start my new life fresh.
It's Girl of Approval, signing off and screwing up.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Apartment II
Because I was already in town viewing apartments, I figured it would be a good time to visit The Boy. We went to lunch and it was fun. I was so giddy about my new place. I couldn't sit still. I was bouncing in my chair.
Afterwards, I went to visit my old college roommie and I had so much fun just chilling with her while we glanced at the tv now and again. She just gets me and makes me laugh. :) When I finally showed up at The Boy's place, he said he was getting worried but that he knew I was at her house and thought that if I didn't come home by 11:30pm, he would go looking for me. Awww, sweet. :) He cares.
I am not sure how to say this. I don't know if I want to make it elaborate or just lay it out there on the table and say it. I am leaning towards the latter. I lost my virginity that night. It wasn't the greatest moment. It was quick, slightly painful, and nice. We were safe and protected. And I'm glad I waited and glad that it wasn't a big production. Just a spur of the moment, let's do it kind of thing. I think if there had been a lot of drama with it, I would have been disappointed. But the way it was.... was nice.
Afterwards, I went to visit my old college roommie and I had so much fun just chilling with her while we glanced at the tv now and again. She just gets me and makes me laugh. :) When I finally showed up at The Boy's place, he said he was getting worried but that he knew I was at her house and thought that if I didn't come home by 11:30pm, he would go looking for me. Awww, sweet. :) He cares.
I am not sure how to say this. I don't know if I want to make it elaborate or just lay it out there on the table and say it. I am leaning towards the latter. I lost my virginity that night. It wasn't the greatest moment. It was quick, slightly painful, and nice. We were safe and protected. And I'm glad I waited and glad that it wasn't a big production. Just a spur of the moment, let's do it kind of thing. I think if there had been a lot of drama with it, I would have been disappointed. But the way it was.... was nice.
Apartment
I am an internet junkie. If I can find it online, I'll be there looking for it. I found an apartment management company in The Boy's town and applied for some apartments online. I had Monday off and had planned on spending it doing laundry, but the management company called and said that they had some apartments to show me and when could I see them. So, I dashed off to The Boy's town and saw some ugly apartments for expensive amounts. Well, expensive to this area. We make people in other parts of the country scream with envy when they hear our apartment rents. Thus, I am spoiled.
However, the first two apartments I saw were cringe worthy. Torn, dirty carpet, metal closet doors (this is the weirdest phenomena I've seen in The Boy's town), gold appliances. I cannot have gold appliances. I developed a phobia when I lived with my roommate in our first apartment. We had two gold fridges, both of which had mildew growing on the inside of the fridge where the motor, coolant machinery is. And it made our food taste awful, it made us sick, and to this day I remember the smell. The smell still makes me gag. It was thankfully winter when this problem started occurring and we could store our food outside on the patio area. So, they were totally horrible apartments and they require the tennant to pay heat, electricity, and hot water. Hot water?!!! What kind of crazies are they?
So, I had a list of other apartment addresses I just wanted to do drive-by's on to see what they looked like on the outside since I am not completely familiar with this town. I wound up having to pee and decided that I'd get a paper while I was at a gas station. This proved to be the greatest choice. I got the paper, circled a few promising ads, and with the knowledge that my dad told me "I'd rather have you in a nicer apartment than a shabby one and have us subsidize your for longer," I moved my price range up. It pays to be Daddy's little girl. :)
So, I called and a man answered. He was actually at the building I wanted to see. I met him there, we went in and I saw new carpet, wooden closet doors, white appliances, heat and hot water are paid, there is a garage, I saw a microwave above the stove, the bathroom was all white, and I said I want it. He said okay, let's fill out paperwork and get your credit check started. By the end of the night, I paid my deposit and now I have a cute, two-bed room apartment that I like. So, yea!
I think once I am all moved in I shall have a house warming party.
However, the first two apartments I saw were cringe worthy. Torn, dirty carpet, metal closet doors (this is the weirdest phenomena I've seen in The Boy's town), gold appliances. I cannot have gold appliances. I developed a phobia when I lived with my roommate in our first apartment. We had two gold fridges, both of which had mildew growing on the inside of the fridge where the motor, coolant machinery is. And it made our food taste awful, it made us sick, and to this day I remember the smell. The smell still makes me gag. It was thankfully winter when this problem started occurring and we could store our food outside on the patio area. So, they were totally horrible apartments and they require the tennant to pay heat, electricity, and hot water. Hot water?!!! What kind of crazies are they?
So, I had a list of other apartment addresses I just wanted to do drive-by's on to see what they looked like on the outside since I am not completely familiar with this town. I wound up having to pee and decided that I'd get a paper while I was at a gas station. This proved to be the greatest choice. I got the paper, circled a few promising ads, and with the knowledge that my dad told me "I'd rather have you in a nicer apartment than a shabby one and have us subsidize your for longer," I moved my price range up. It pays to be Daddy's little girl. :)
So, I called and a man answered. He was actually at the building I wanted to see. I met him there, we went in and I saw new carpet, wooden closet doors, white appliances, heat and hot water are paid, there is a garage, I saw a microwave above the stove, the bathroom was all white, and I said I want it. He said okay, let's fill out paperwork and get your credit check started. By the end of the night, I paid my deposit and now I have a cute, two-bed room apartment that I like. So, yea!
I think once I am all moved in I shall have a house warming party.
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