Being a Better Mousetrap

One of the things I was most excited about when I got into Syracuse was the opportunity to go to a school where no one knew me. I could start afresh. I could be whomever I chose. To a girl who graduated from high school with the very same people she met the first day of kindergarten, this notion of reinvention was mythical and fantastic. I had great visions of who I'd be.

I got to Syracuse and began my reinvention. I spent the next three years trying to undo the damage the new me had caused. Not all of my reinvention was detrimental, some of it I have happily kept. But much too much of it was me in costume, a fascade of a person who didn't exactly exist. I was so caught up in being the better mousetrap that I forgot what I really was at my core. The people I befriended knew the part I was playing, they didn't know me. I have never felt so lonely. My Morma (Swedish grandmother) used to say, “Never forget who you are and what you stand for.” Sometimes we get so caught up in what we could be, in the winds of our potential, that we forget to have any sort of anchor. Potential is a delicious and dangerous treat, no?

Since that reinvention of almost a decade ago I like to believe I've stayed fairly honest about who I am, to both others and myself. I more or less learned my lesson. I think it's important to try to be a better person, to take those clean slates as the opportunities that they are and use them to change what needs to change, but in an intentional and tempered manner. What is so bad about us that we feel the need to play someone else?

OPP

So I think I finally have a job (or two?) but I am tempering my excitement until I actually hear someone say, "You've got the job." It just looks really good from here. Big interview on monday! Being unemployed this long I have been afforded a lot of time to myself and I have to say: I'm going to miss it. I really like being by myself; being alone and yet I am not in the least bit lonely. I like my social time too, but I've throughly enjoyed taking my time through my day, spending time writing, reading, guitar, doing little tasks, etc. I like my own company. I'm thinking that eventually I'd like to get my own place, live alone for a while, see how I do. I've never had the chance to decorate my own apartment or house, I've always lived in other people's places (a very different kind of OPP, yeah you know me) and I would like to try my hand at it. Have my own space and a sense of permanence. (Don't get me wrong: love my roommates, love my current house, just thinking down the road. Don't freak out Jane...). Though if I do get a chance to work as a writer and I live alone I am in great danger of never leaving my house and becoming a complete recluse. You may not think this is possible but I'm here to assure you, oh, it is. I'm a closeted recluse...I just play a socialite on TV.
I guess the first step is secure a job, then think about the What Next when it's the time to.

What!?

So Sean Taylor, one of my favorite Redskins players, died this morning after sustaining a gunshot wound to his thigh during an attempted robbery at his home yesterday. Taylor was the anchor of the defense, the guy that would alter offensive schemes because he was in the game. It's a surprise and a crushing blow--I mean the guy just got engaged and had a 1-year-old daughter...he just got his life together, it seemed to just be starting. He was sort of the face of the franchise. So senseless. It does feel like I've lost a friend of sorts, someone I cheered for every week for the past 4 years. So weird to take it hard.

Notes

This is what happens when a dachshund dives into a pumpkin pie. Awesome.

My two most prized possessions are handmade for me by people I love dearly. Every day I look at them and I am thankful. One is a two-sided, stuffed corduroy quilt my grandmother made for me for Christmas in 1993, the other is a 250-year-old two paned window my dad refurbished and made into a mirror and gave to me for my birthday in 1995. I would run into a burning building to save these two things. They remind me I'm loved.

The other night I made myself a dirty, dry martini and drank it while taking a bubble bath. It was even better than it sounds. Best idea EVER.

Getting married doesn't make you a “grown up”. Having kids doesn't make you a grown up; neither does owning your own home. Cooking your own Thanksgiving dinner for guests: grown up. Way to reach adulthood, Leslie.

Things I've grown to appreciate as I've gotten older: olives, tempaeh, The New Yorker, dominoes, well-tailored clothing, binoculars, good bourbon, NPR, punctuality, slippers (or shoes like them), Lowes.

If food coma is an American art form, I am DaVinci.

Since I was robbed I've cleaned out my car a few times. Thanksgiving Day I was putting something in my back seat and, looking down, found my camera. It was behind my passenger seat the whole time. Next to the stolen piggy bank. But it was never spotted by the jerks. Thank you Lord.

I talked to my dad for 18 minutes the other day. Normally an 18 minute conversation with someone isn't something to note, but if you consider that with my dad, conversations typically average about 58 seconds then with a complicated mathematical equation that I don't know or care about you will see that an 18 minute conversation with my dad is equal to talking to someone else for about 4.57 years. Straight.

Surefire cure when you are feeling down and out: The Best of Sam Cooke.

Pumpkin Pie: easiest thing to make. Ever. 2008: the year of the pies.

I desperately need to go home for Christmas and see my family. It's been too long and I feel like I've hurt them being away for so much time. And I just really want to sit out in the mud room with my dad, drink coffee and discuss something.

Song of the fall: “This is Not Your Year” by the Weepies.

Dear Middle School,
Is there any way you could give the right side of my face back? It really doesn't go with the whole adult theme the rest of my face is into. Pimples aren't yet retro, Middle School. If you could clear out by that big Christmas party, I'd appreciate it.

Mojo Kickstart

Jen and Kyle's wedding on Saturday night was even more fun than I expected. I volunteered to CO ropes at Windy Gap and free time was supposed to be done by 4:45, so ropes should have been done by 3:45. Nope. Try 5pm. Wedding starts at 6:30. Half-hour drive home, half-hour drive to wedding. Go. Holy shit. I did it, but just barely. I don't think my heart stopped beating wildly until they were pronounced. There is something that is so much fun about getting really dressed up every now and then; getting to see people who are normally in jeans and fleeces in heels and pearls. It was a whole night of dress up, and it had people in great spirits. I had a great dress (thank you, you three) and really needed a night of feeling pretty; a mojo kickstart in a way. Everyone partied sufficiently if I do say so myself. After the wedding a bunch of us headed to Barley's for an after party. I got home at close to 2am. That's way too many hours in heels if you ask me, but wow was it fun. Next up: The martini Christmas party! The event of December! Anyway, I started this list quite a while ago and thought I'd post it—again, every list is incomplete and it's up to you to complete it. Here's one befitting this weekend.

SONGS TO NOT PLAY AT A WEDDING

Love the One You're With--CSNY
I'm in Love with a Stripper--T-Pain
P-I-M-P—50 Cent
You Give Love a Bad Name—Bon Jovi
Little Miss Can't be Wrong—Spin Doctors
I Kissed a Girl—Jill Sobule
Big Pimpin'--Jay-Z
The Waiting Is The Hardest Part—Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers
She's Not the Cheatin' Kind—Brooks and Dunn
D-I-V-O-R-C-E—Tammy Wynette
White Trash Wedding—Dixie Chicks
Thunder Rolls—Garth Brooks
Girls--Beastie Boys
Momma's Got a Girlfriend Now—Ben Harper
Irreplaceable—Beyonce
Where Were You On Our Wedding Day—Billy Joel
Born to Run—Bruce Springsteen
Ready to Run—Dixie Chicks
Maneater—Hall and Oates
(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction—Rolling Stones
Careless Whisper—Wham!
Get Your Hands Off Of My Woman, Motherf-er—The Darkness
Strawberry Wine—Deana Carter
Tell Me Lies—Fleetwood Mac
99 Problems—Jay-Z
Angel of The Morning—Juice Newton
Gold Digger—Kayne West
Since U Been Gone—Kelly Clarkson
She's No Lady (She's My Wife)--Lyle Lovett
Papa Don't Preach—Madonna
Paradise By the Dashboard Light—Meatloaf
Billie Jean—Michael Jackson
U+Ur Hand—Pink
Love is a Battlefield—Pat Benatar
Break Free—Queen
You Can't Always Get What You Want—Rolling Stones
My Favorite Mistake—Sheryl Crow
What's Love Gotta Do With It—Tina Turner
Wake me Up Before You Go-Go—Wham!

Meat n' Potatoes

'Children are our model because they have no claim on heaven. If they are close to God, it is because they are incompetent, not because they are innocent. If they receive anything it can only be as a gift.” -Brennan Manning, Ragamuffin Gospel

Stewing on that these past two days. Lessons are like magic eye drawings. The situation is a blur, a mess of color and incongruity until suddenly order and purpose burst forth (though lessons usually aren't in the shape of dolphins or a pirate ship) and an “Aha!” escapes. This whole year has been a lesson in accepting love, not in a form that I am typically comfortable with but in the messiness of imperfect life. I like love when I feel like I don't need it; like love to be a nice bottle of wine brought to a dinner party, rather than bread and potatoes given to a starving stomach. Because unearned love has no paybacks, doesn't have a running tally of “first you, then me, then you” fairness and that scares me, makes me feel very self-conscious and naked. Looking back on literally all of 2007 I see situation after situation were love was given freely in ways in which I am least comfortable. I think my removal from the intern program and yet staying on at Windy Gap is the greatest example. It was a hard realization to discover that that staff loved me enough to make a tough call, and in hindsight it was truly for the best. They loved me enough to say no.

And then there has been this business of this Fall. This is probably the closest I've been to a starving stomach since high school and there are people whom I love dearly loving on me in the ways I desperately need but can't fully express. I have been loved so well through all of this. What I receive is nothing I have earned; it is given. And what a gift it is.

(And Robin, there are things I'm not good at. I made a list earlier this year—it's right here)

(Yesterday was also my weird day. I think everyone has at least one a year, a date that is too full of memory. I creep around, pausing at every creak and sigh. There is much to think about)

Favorite Things

So that last post was about as fun as a pencil in the eye. I know that and I'm sorry. I decided to do something a little more fun: post some of my favorite photos that I have and why they are favorites. It made me laugh just putting it together. Enjoy.

Notes on this photo: #1 Liz is wearing an Asian style beanie and plastic yellow fisherman's waders. #2 Beth is actually crying and trying to hide that fact. Love this photo so much. Summer staff, 2004.

My niece and my bosses' daughter...can you guess which one has more relaxed parents? Olivia's sunglasses are on upside down too. Best part: Those are actual Mardi Gras beads. I...um... “won” them at an “Anything For Beads” party my freshman year of college. What, is that weird to then put them on kids? At “CRABFEST!” 2k5.

So this kid I went to college with, Martin, made stickers and sold them. One day he was in the Student Activities Office and gave me a couple, including this one. It spawned a very awkward conversation about my breasts. Very awkward. Seth took this photo in the mud room of my parents house while we were drinking 40s and calling Romano, summer 2003.

The only picture I took the entire time I worked in the Brooks Brothers outside of Rochester. Steve bore an uncanny resemblance to the photo on the wall and he liked to stand next to it just to freak out customers. Oh what we do for fun. Spring 2005.

So in early 2005 I drove out to Jersey to spend time with Seth, Caroline and Brandt. Seth and Caroline get into a “cleavage” contest and right before I took the photo I managed to say something that offended Caroline and this is what I got. Look at the concentration on Seth's face. Amazing.

Give Up

Ok, I give up. Hands where you can see 'em, towel thrown in. I'm so tired I'm done. I haven't had a job in almost two months and currently my bank account practically shouts that fact. Since I've been unemployed I've been robbed, gotten very “whooping cough: the return” sick, applied for 20-some jobs and now my check engine light has come on. And right before that I got dumped, so yeah that's fun. I haven't slept through a night in practically a month and really do think I've developed an ulcer. Awesome. I'm considering skipping the wedding on saturday to wrangle at Windy Gap for the cash. It's practically nothing but it's more than I currently have. I really can't handle anything else. I am so frustrated and stressed and distraught and at my wits end—I feel like I am barely holding on. I'm sorry to dump this on my blog, where I try to put things in a funny perspective most of the time, but I'm too tired to do it anymore. And I'm not asking for money or sympathy, but dammit it's my blog I can vent if I want to. It just all hit me yesterday harder than it has previously. I need something to look up. This fall has been one gut kick after another; I can't believe how the bottom just keeps getting lower. I know God has the best in store for me but he needs to hurry up and fuckin' pull that shit out quick before I run out of alcohol and start drinking Scope. Or antifreeze.

You Know What Would Make the Day Better? Some Rejection. Or Grilled Cheese.

Today is my mom's birthday. She doesn't read my blog but it's nice to wish her the best anyway. I talked to her for a while on Monday and she has a convoluted way of encouraging. My mom really wants me to be a professional writer; has wanted this for me since I was in elementary school. Mom isn't someone who will totally encourage our endeavors unless she really believes we can do them, so the fact that she wants this so strongly for and from me is an honor. If I wanted to be a, say, mathematician I wouldn't be getting the parental backing I have now so I know she really does think I have what it takes. I have always loved writing even before I knew of her desire about my future and I'm not entirely opposed to it; if I could be a professional writer I'd do it in a heartbeat. But being a “professional” writer means selling myself and dealing with slugs of rejection from all sides, two things I've never been keen about. She thinks this ridiculously long trek through the land of unemployment is a sign from the heavens that I should be writing; I told her its a sign that I need to get a damn job and write once the car payment is in. But she is my mother, so now my brain can't stop thinking about it, about getting the courage to go for it, about what I would submit and to whom.

Other thought: I was watching “Rent” last night (don't judge me, I love that musical. This is why I can't keep a relationship, because I'm borderline uncool nerdy. Next thing you know I'll be playing world of warcraft and talking about how Bilbo Baggins is “sexy”) and I realized a line in a song I'd never picked up before. It's “...where all the scars of the nevers and maybes die...”

I'm mulling over that. It is a fascinating truth, the scars of nevers and maybes.

Not-So-Good...

So yesterday I had a bunch of time on my hands (as the Redskins blew what should have been a decisive win...WTF) and I started making random lists. These are two of them. Not saying they are hysterical, just entertaining. I got nuthin' goin', why not work on lists. Add to 'em if you want to.

Not-So-Good The Next Morning:
reheated Indian food
reheated rice
Tattoos
Haircuts
Rob Schneider movies
That wrestling match
Most anything that starts with “Hey! Watch THIS!”
Last night's high kick contest
Twister marathons
Blue glittery eyeshadow
5" Stripper Boots
Almost anything involving tequila

Probably Not So Good to Have Straight and Narrow:
race tracks
mazes
GLAAD presidents
lazy rivers
bras
Fun straws
small intestine

Dis is Me

I'm thinking about disparity. That's it, that's the whole blog. Catch that pearl while it falls from my lips, kids. I write insight in fortune cookie sizes now. Ok, sarcasm aside. I remember years ago coming to the realization that there is vast difference between believing in one's ability to do things and the belief in who one is at their core. That it is possible to have great faith in what I can do, but very little value in who I am. Does that distinction make sense? I don't think I struggle with this today to the severity I have in previous years, but it is still a disparity I wish I didn't have. I'm frankly amazed how many women are afflicted with this—the ability to be extremely successful and seemingly brave and yet so fragile and frightened, with an insatiable need for affirmation or attention to give value to who they are. Some people put their whole worth into what they do and yet some do so much but don't realize they have value to place (and then there are the hypothetical healthy ones, who place worth in who they are and what they do is simply a reflection of a worth rooted elsewhere. We call these people “liars”). I think this whole month and a half job search thing has me doubting my ability to do anything; I don't know what I would do if I could do anything, how can I even have an inkling now? Any idea I have is vague and amorphous, a world seen without definition or reason. Without confidence in what I can do my worth bounces like it's in its own game of Breakout: from Christ, to friendships, to future, to faith, to crisis. I was tired of bouncing two weeks ago. But with each bounce the disparity between what is concrete and what is sand becomes clearer and for that I am thankful.

Songs We All Know

When I was went to visit Lizzie in the UK last year we made a list of songs that people our age know all the words to; those songs that can be played in confidence that people who were in high school in the 90s probably know all or part of. This is not a complete list, feel free to add more. It's just funny to think about. And Leslie wanted to know what we came up with, so really this is just for her.

Runaway Train—Soul Asylum
No Rain—Blind Melon
Shine—Collective Soul
Basket Case—Green Day
Closing Time—Semisonic
Undone (Sweater Song)--Weezer
Daughter—Pearl Jam
One—U2
The Freshman—Verve Pipe
Only Wanna Be With You—Hootie and the Blowfish
Smells Like Teen Spirit—Nirvana
Possum Kingdom—Toadies
Santa Monica—Everclear
You Outta Know—Alanis Morrisette
Under the Bridge—Red Hot Chili Peppers
Cumbersome—Seven Mary Three
Two Princes—Spin Doctors
Blister in the Sun—Violent Femmes
Stay—Lisa Loeb
Santeria—Sublime
Run-Around—Blues Traveler
Wonderwall—Oasis
Mr. Jones—Counting Crows
Ants Marching—DMB
Interstate Love Song—STP
Spiderwebs—No Doubt
Hey Jealousy—Gin Blossoms
Lightening Crashes—Live
Today—Smashing Pumpkins
What's Up—4 Non Blondes
Only Happy When it Rains—Garbage
Glycerine—Bush
Dreams—Cranberries
Losing My Religion—REM
All I Wanna Do—Sheryl Crow
These Are Days—10,000 Maniacs
Lovefool—Cardigans

In addition to this mix there is also the Mid-90s chick mix, which was made in college and includes songs by Paula Cole, Meredith Brooks. Poe, Sarah McLachlan, Jewel, etc. It's a funny flashback as well.

Go Sho'ty

Today is my blog's 5th birthday. Happy birthday, blog. I'm gonna buy you a pony.
And by pony I mean those tiny bottles of Rolling Rock beer.
Way to exist before blogs were cool!
Way to document the past five years exclusively through my eyes!
Way to survive something like 5 name changes!
Way to only post 34 times in all of 2003! That was a good year to skip!
Remember that fun weekend we had, blog? Of course you do, you have documented it for me!
You sure do deserve that pony, blog.
Or at the very least, a silly hat.

CRUSTY CRAB!

I wrote a post about my weekend, (which was original and amazing), but written down it was just sort of boring so I tossed it. I'm feeling repetitive and unoriginal. It's like when your father tells you the same story for the 4^th time; looses its freshness. I went out with friends! Martinis! Adventure! Redskins! Woohoo! That was it. Sometimes brevity peaks out and gives the world a raspberry before it goes back into the chest where verbosity normally keeps it locked up. See? Back to too many words.

So I realized my digital camera was also in my car when it was broken into, so if you thought I didn't post enough photos before...well, now I got nuthin'. Maybe I'll start depicting everything with little dot drawings like they have in the NYT. Or draw events like they do with courtroom painters. Maybe I'll do fingerpainting, Mfers. Oh well, camera was a graduation gift from my father—I needed a new camera, but it had great sentimental value to me. Of course I'm a packrat, everything has sentimental value in my sick sick mind.

Quizzo on Monday: Amazing. Possibly the best team ever. First off I won a shout out question (correct answer: “CRUSTY CRAB!”) so I got a Jack of the Wood t-shirt. THEN by the end of the second round we were in the top 3 teams. After the speed round (we kicked ASS on that one) we were one point from first place. Final round we tied for third—just two points from the winner. For this I blame the following: Kenny Lofton, Ethopia, Friday, Blake Edwards, Road to Rio, James Earl Carter, and all the other answers we got wrong. But that is the highest we've ever finished; go us. Thanks to all who made appearances. Remember: everyone is invited to Quizzo...unless you dated one of us. I've got standards.

I finally finished Mrs. Dalloway. Only took me a good six months to get around to finishing a book that is less than 200 pages, but now I feel like I need to go back and read it quickly; to make it all make sense. That was a dense read. Recommended if one has the time to give attention to every word or phrase as if it stood alone. And really, people were surprised that Virginia Woolf committed suicide? Really? Did they bother to read it? It's like people being shocked that Sylvia Plath killed herself—did ya read The Bell Jar? That's a new list right there: Obnoxiously Obvious Holy Shits. Holy shit George Michael is GAY? Clark Kent is Superman!? Bruce Willis is dead in “The Sixth Sense”!? RuPaul is a MAN!?