I'm sitting here trying to figure out which words that are in my head want to come out through my fingers and onto the screen. There are too many swirling around. The last 36 hours has been exhausting. I've been searching for answers that I know are not there, searching for a reason why this had to happen...even though I'm aware that that answer will never be found. In a life where I constantly search for reasons why something is the way it is, there have been too many times in the last few years where I've had to accept that a reason will never be known. I can feel my heartbreaking with every tear that falls from his eyes, with every smile I see on her face in my thoughts, with every question still left unanswered. I want to believe so badly that the words I hear myself saying are true, but this is the first time in 36 hours that I haven't been trying to be strong for someone that needs it so badly right now...and my thoughts are turning darker as the familiar unsettlement returns.

Yet, I find myself in the face of the capacity of the human heart and I'm able to find some solace in the compassion that exposes itself so raw during a time like this...the capacity it has to reach out to another in pain; the ability it holds to drain hard emotion simultaneously with another experiencing similar tearing; the desire it has to do anything it can to make someone else's pain cease...even if it's only for a few hours of rest. This undeniable ability we hold in just a few words or movements toward another in pain is sometimes all the answers we need, if just for a moment. It somehow makes the pain of unanswered questions, bearable.

I'll try to stop searching for answers, and start creating the reasons why I'm still left breathing.

I'll do that for you. For all of you.


I'll do that for me.

A little bitching with your coffee, by Undecided

I spent an entire week working on some new publications for my office, actually enjoying the creative process and even working while at work (I know, crazy idea, right?)...and it was just squashed to hell by my boss. Everything. The only thing she liked was the color scheme; and the color scheme? Yeh, it was the same as before. I've been sitting at this desk for three years now, telling myself it's okay to be at a job that I'm not really into, because I'm in transition, trying to find what I want to do next. Along the way, I've learned that the majority of people my age are in transition...and do you know what that means? Alot of unhappy, confused motherfuckers. So now I'm sitting here, pissed off that the work I've done for the past week --- and enjoyed --- was a waste of my time. I could've been writing for my blog. I don't get paid enough for this shit, and yet I'm supposed to work as hard as if I were getting paid 10's of thousands more? It just doesn't make sense. And then it's only worsened by the fact that I've spent some good time looking for other jobs, sending out my resumes, working on bullshit cover letters, to only hear back from a job that can only offer 20K. Is that even minimum wage? What are we supposed to do? I realize that I've got it better than a lot of people, that I have a job and should be thankful for that alone, but it sucks because people my age, with the same background and experience, are getting things practically handed to them (just so you know, S, I'm not talking about you...you deserve every bit of happiness that you have gotten in this world, more than anyone I know, in fact. And you know what? A lot of my true happiness these days is drawn from people like you, people who are just shining in their life, it couldn't feel more wonderful to have a close friend getting everything they've wanted, and being genuinely happy --- it gives me something to strive for, and I thank you for that. Okay...now back to bitching...) where was I? Oh right, people getting it handed to them...I think I'll move on from that, because now I've lost where I was going. My point here is that this is bullshit. It's bullshit that I want a new direction in my life, I'm searching for that direction, and while others seem to get it layed before them; I have to dodge bushes and rocks and trees, and the road is all covered in brush...and I'm trying, I'm trying hard...but it's just not clearing up for me. I'm wondering when the hell a wind will come and clear the path...it's been three years now of calm.

Last night, on my way home, I saw a shooting star when I was in the middle of a city. Later as I was walking Took, I saw another shooting start above the trees. I don't know, I felt like maybe it was a sign of some sorts. But then again, a part of me thinks that we create signs when we feel we need them...and I'm okay with that. So I think I'm going to tell myself that the shooting stars were signs, because honestly, I can't remember the last time I saw one. And that part of me that I mentioned above, almost feels like if we believe in signs, we'll force our way to that change we create. Surely three years of trying to create change, will finely pay off. I hope soon, I'm not sure I can handle much more of this underpaid bullshit. I can't even afford to pay off my loans for the education that supposedly got me here. This society is fucked up.

And those are my thoughts for this friday. Now I have to go work on a spreadsheet for it to only be returned to me in need of being changed...again.

Check it out: my almamater, Appalachian, got some props from SustainableBusiness.com. It's an article of the Appropriate Technology department that I got my minor in Sustainable Development through. It's nice to see they're getting recognition, it was a great program.
Aw...kind of makes me miss the ol' Boone.

(Direct link to article here.)

We should be so proud.

It's good to know that the people who write the speeches for our lovely president are just as intelligent.

http://www.sadlyno.com/archives/002012.html

Skip over this if you want to stick with the thought that I'm doing well still. (Because I really am, but this doesn't show it. AT ALL.)

I was telling Rob this morning that I'm back into the phase of my life where I don't care to know what's going on in the world, because it upsets me too much. It's an ignorant and selfish way to live, I realize this, but then I read things like this:

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/11/international/middleeast/11hotels.html?hp

and I am overwhelmed with guilt, hatred, and fear. We have no idea, and will never come even close to understanding what it is like to live life like this. We can read it all we want, read the gory details that the NY Times press explain with such indifference, feel like we're going to be sick with disgust, but still not come close to knowing what it's like to be present on one of the happiest days of your life, filled with such euphoria...and have it turned into a day of blood and death and torn limbs. We only know such scenes from a Hollywood set. We are so sheltered and removed from this, as much as we want to think that our glutenous American lives are horrible and difficult, they're not. They will never come close to the lives of most of the people on this planet.

When I read things like this, I feel so insignificant, so helpless...I want to crawl inside and cry without end. I get confused and distraught, wondering if I should feel blessed and go out and utilize the freedom that has been bestowed upon me by a chance birth, or if I should feel hatred and discontentment with my siutation and the people around me.

This is why I think sometimes it's better to be ignorant. I know these things go on, but when I have such evidence through descriptive words, there's nothing I can do but cry. Then I go out to my car, with only thoughts of what I should eat for lunch and what music I should listen to, and feel disgusted at how much people take this for granted. I don't know how to feel...because I can't feel. This isn't feeling. None of what I experience are close to the feelings some endure.

And as I write this, the Party Shuffle plays "Amazing Grace."

Here's to 26!

...let's hope it's the best year yet. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ILL NA NA!!

I love you tons!

Back from a Maine hiatus.

A week in Maine does a body good. I left on hiatus rather abruptly. I was so tired of my muddled mind, my disappointment in myself, my unhappiness with the world around me, that the wednesday before last week, I decided a vacation it would be. I went home to Maine to stay with my parents. I spent the entire week do nothing but sleeping in, running by the water, hanging out with Took, eating free food, and staying up late. The one productive thing I did was work on my resume and apply to a job. It felt good. All of it. I needed this in so many ways. And now I'm back and feel refreshed, I even told a homeowner in the neighborhood that I park my car in that the work he's done on his house "is lovely." I said "lovely." To a stranger. I never say lovely. I think I even smiled.

Things are clearer now. The problems I was dealing with (and still am), don't seem nearly as paralyzing as I thought they were. They still exist, and are still on my mind, but I feel like I can handle them now. I had a hard time leaving Maine, I even cried a little bit as I drove away...even at 26, things don't seem as bad when you have your mom there to hug you. I'm lucky to have that, to have a home to escape to, and parent's to help me get through. I'm focused now on making the change I've craved for so long. I'm still not sure what the change will be, but I feel it coming...which is something I couldn't even come close to before I left. It feels good. I am also aware that I do this, that I go from up to down to up to down like I change outfits in the morning, but for now, I will try to revel in this, and be productive while I'm on this current up.

I came home to a beautiful vase of flowers from Rob by my door, wood on my porch from a friend, and a card from one of the most incredible friends a girl could have. Last night as I was getting ready for bed, the dread of coming home had transfixed itself in the Christmas lights on my ficus in the dining room to feelings of contentment...it was good to be home...even if this isn't going to be my home forever. I was happy for the night, happy for the people in my life, and happy I had escaped, even just for a week.

My (sort-of) moment in the sun.

Clem Snide's "Moment in the Sun" from their Ghost of Fashion album, just plain makes me feel good. It doesn't hurt that, for once, I woke up on the right side of the bed and am (surprisingly) rather pleasant. (Don't tell anyone, but I think I'm even smiling!) Eef's "la la la la la la..." in his odd, somewhat shrilly voice is balanced out by his quiet expression of it being his "moment in the sun" by stating: "I'll share my problems with the world, pycho-sematically, I'll sing...to God and all his pretty girls. lalallalalla..." It's funny how he turns his problems into such seemingly cheerfullness, and sings his happy "la's" succeeding the expression that "hunger, war, and death is bringing everybody down." Well, pretty girls and the Wo/man above, it's not necessarily my moment (I'll leave that to Eef), but damnit, despite the hunger, war and (most recently) death...I'm feeling good today.

It's actually kind of a weird thing that I'm suddenly happy. (Those moods, they sure are sneaky!) This week, my car finally had had enough and decided it was time to quit. The clutch has been going for quite some time now, and well, it went. I was on my way home from work on Tuesday and after having it freak out in downtown Providence at a light for the second day in a row, it finally decided it wasn't going any higher than 2nd gear. After swerving some so the car wouldn't stall as I was following a truck going slower than what 1st gear should be for (I couldn't get it to downshift, either), I put my flashers on and pulled off. Shortly after, I commenced in a mental breakdown. I was not ready for the expense this would cause me, and the fact I would be forced to rely on others (something I have a really hard time doing...it's part of that whole independent thing I thrive on). Rob came to my rescue while I was waiting for the AAA guy to come help, and kept me occupied by spouting off to me about the idiocy that are his students.

So my car is now sitting in my driveway, waiting until I have enough money to get it fixed. All this comes when I finally decide it's time I suck it up and admit to myself that I just don't make enough to get by, and a second job it will have to be. Then yesterday, Rob comes to pick me up, and tells me some horrible news that a friend of his died the night before in what could possibly have been a result of him taking his own life. I'm not sure if I've talked about it much, but suicide has been something I have been unfortunate enough to have dealt with in my life more than once, so it hits a nerve when someone I have met or know through others takes their life. It conjures up painful memories and unanswered questions. Yet, somehow, even though I was thinking about my personal losses and feeling for Rob's friends, I woke up this morning thinking maybe my problems aren't so bad. Worrying about how I'm going to apy for my bills, my disinspiring career, and my never-ending indecision, are merely passing woes. I'm thankful to be alive, to be able to feel pain and saddness, and know I will get out of it, instead of being unable to see the light of happiness in the distance. I at least know I have a light, somewhere.

However, you all have been with me long enough to know these little bubbles of happiness don't last for too long. At least for now, I can listen to Clem Snide tell me that I had better pray that "I never wake up to find my dreams have all come true, cause if [I] get everything [I'd] hope for, then [he] will have to punish [me]" and be thankful that I'm able to feel. Even if feeling means being sad and scared, at least I can feel. My dreams are still out there, and although I may be a little off-course right now, I'm still on the course. And for today, that's something to smile about.

Bitching again.

Only in Rhode Island do you witness a driver yelling at a pedestrian crossing a street IN A CROSSWALK. The NERVE! I swear, I love this state, but when it comes to driving (and walking), I'd rather live anywhere else but here.

Grand Canyon gaps, scrunchies, and two left feet.

There's this couple in my salsa class that fascinates me, to say the least. The man is probably slightly younger than my dad, I'd say probably mid-forties and about as white as a man can get. He looks like he's straight out of the 80's, doning a combover, boat shoes and collared shirt, his belt holding his jeans up mid-waist. He's always been very friendly to me, introduced himself right away, and making it a point to introduce the "woman" that came with him as his wife. This is where it interests me, his "wife" must be younger than me, perhaps even closer to the early 20's (shit, I've just realized I've made it into my mid-to-late twenties. How exactly did that happen?), very beautiful with creamy dark skin. She's still working the scrunchie, along with the flared jeans, hoodie, gemmed belt and keys hanging out of her back pocket. Her sneakers are Sketchers or Keds or something of the sorts, and her smile lights up the room. But she looks like she is barely out of high school, and they're all over each other like newlyweds. And, well, it freaks me out a bit. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for the older men, I've been known to date a few that are already into the next decade, but I would never consider marrying one of my dad's buddies, that's just weird. And as I was partnered up with him this week for a dance (he's horrible, by the way, NO rythym what so ever. Did I mention he's as white as white can get, right?), I found out he travels to Panama rather often for his job, and his wife stays here while he's gone. This adds to my intrigue even more. This curiousity all comes after I joked with my hairdresser the other day about finding myself an "older" gentlemen on his last breaths to marry and fund my future career goals (you don't mind, do you Rob?), but realizing that this really does happen, in between jokes. Anyway, it's just weird. I wish you could see them, you'd agree. I mean, there's an age gap, and then there's an age canyon..and they're breaching the grand canyon of gaps. I don't think I would find it so weird if they weren't so damn giddy.

Well, maybe the joke is on me...she could know something that I don't. I know she's definitely not in it for the salsa, the man has two left feet.

It's Friday, ya'll. I'm breaking out the Kanye today, trying to prepare myself for this weeknd when I go to see another one of my friends step out of the single world and into the married one. The numbers are dwindling quickly...and apparently, even the younger scrunchie-wearing ones are snatching up anyone they can get their hands on*.

Have a great weekend, friends.

-----------

*I feel the need to point out, that although I find this weird and seem to have a rather all-too-familiar-bitter-tone to my observations, I swear I'm cool with it if they're in love. More than cool with it, actually, if people are fortunate to find true love, then by all means -- relish in it, and dance salsa with it. Even if there are two left-feet involved.

Take THAT, Myspace.

Since I'm rather jealous of Myspace's "Currently listening" option on their blogs, I've decided to add my own little icon and link in the sidebar so you can see what album is presently on rotation in my player. It will often clue you in on the mood I'm in as well; so it's sort of a dual-purpose icon - you can decide beforehand if you want to read my post or not, and you can find out about some great music you may or may not have heard of at the same time. I'll try to update it as often as I can (well, more like as often as I have the motivation to do so) so you can hopefully be exposed to someone new to fill your ears.

Currently, it's Jeremy Enigk, who was given to me by Rob as part of my birthday-music-stack of cd's (Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!) that he so graciously gave me as part of my gift. I believe, and I could be wrong considering my memory, that Jeremy was the man who Rob dubbed as "folk-like." I love how music can sound so entirely different to two separate people, that's the beauty of it. Because to me, if this is folk, it's manic-depressive-on-acid-folk. Which, clearly, more folk music should be. The track, Call Me Steam, actually reminds me a bit of a distorted Silent Night, with some off-key vocals and flutes, all the while sounding enjoyable. If that doesn't entice you to listen, I don't know what will.

The rest of it makes me want to stand outside in the rain screaming in agony to the grey sky while simultaneously curling up on the couch with nothing but my dog and some wine to drown my sorrows. Man I love this kind of music.

Bi-polar music.

My moods have been rather bi-polar lately. The good moods come random, and hit me mid-laugh when I can't stop and there's no explanation for the change in spirit. Literally, I will wake up absolutely miserable, and within a few hours, unable to get the smile off my face. Today I've gone from internally singing Red House Painters and Elliot Smith to bouncing my head to Kanye West while singing a duet with Otis in my head to Gone. Or like last night, I lose my voice belting out Oh, Atlanta with Alison Krauss, only to wake up desiring Adem.

I wish I could change my moods as easy as it is to change a cd in my changer. Or maybe that's the solution, whenever I'm feeling Elliott Smith, put in the Dandy Warhols or Eels as an experiement for my head, hoping with the change of tune, a change in attitude will coincide. I realize this is not a new concept, but I'm often contemplating the effect music has on me, as if melodies and lyrics are in place of blood in my veins. I think about the people who have no desires towards music, and I'm sad for them. Without music, I would be bored with just the voice in my head. I need a soundtrack to supplement my words and transform my thoughts.

Even if my soundtrack is currently R. Kelly's Trapped in The Closet, at least I can be temperarily (or rather regularly) be consumed with the work of an R&B artist's mind, and forget for a moment the drama I may have conjured within my own reality and focus instead on a circle of adulterers in a 30-minute musical drama masterpiece.

This is the brilliance of music. I may not be able to play a chord on my own, I can at least indulge in the talents of others to make my day go by a little bit more easily. And in some cases, a little bit more bi-polary.

Friday frustrations.

I just ran into someone in the hall that I met my first few months here in Providence who had got back from taking a year off of medical school. In our polite catching-up chit-chat, he teased me that I hadn't yet moved to a vineyard in California. Instead, I replied that I had since moved out of the city, and yes, am still working in the same position. Here he is one year away from becoming a doctor, and I'm still barely making it by with a desk job. I felt like an asshole.

You see, I am always coming up with new ideas. Either a new place I want to move to (I was serious about moving to a vineyard in California, specifically this place), or a new career move I was thinking about taking. The thing is, I'm dead serious when I'm talking about my plans, but chances are, I'm going to change my mind in a matter of time. I was just talking to a friend of mine today over IM how we're both kind of stuck because we find so many things interesting that's it's difficult to center that energy into one thing and go for it. This has been irritating me for years now.

And today, running into my old friend, it all really hit me hard. I've mentioned I'm tired of voicing my thoughts on actions I want to take here before, but I'm also tired of never sticking with something I at one point deemed as exhilirating and a worthy direction to head. I feel like it's making me seem like I'm all talk. And actually, I'm beginning to realize I just might be. But I'm stuck, I've been stuck for years, nothing feels right to me and I'm scared nothing ever will.

I crave the change and yet don't know what the change is. What if I never know? How can I find motivation to get out of where I'm at if I don't know where to direct it? And why is it people like me spend their entire life searching for what they want to do, when some people seem born with it?

Welcome to the past.

Women everywhere were just simultaneously and unwillingly forced back into time where we had no choice when it came to our bodies, when the government thought they knew better than we did.

Read the horrible news here.

Pro-lifers were just granted the satisfaction they've been searching for for decades, and we dismissed all their hateful actions of harrassment and burning of clinics with this one vote.

Salsa, on PMS.

During last night's salsa lesson, the smile that was continuously on my face was masking the following thoughts (proof that the salsa classmates you usually adore, are not as loveable the week before your period. Man, girls are bitches. Consider yourself warned.):

* Dear Girl-Who-Wears-the-80's-Dancer-Gear: this is not Flashdance and you are not impressing anyone with your backless leotard and cutesy skirt. And careful, if you move your hips out to the side any further, you're going to start knocking people out left and right. I'll make sure to avoid you. That, and your boyfriend creeps me out. Will you tell him to stop staring at me with that goofy grin on his face? And last night, we apparently had a moment that I was not aware of sharing, because he looked at me then laughed like something just happened between us, but I missed it. I mean, how did you guys get permission from your parents to stay out so late, anyway? Isn't 8 past your bedtime?

* Ok, perfect girl with the perfect looking boyfriend: you are obviously a dancer, because you move like a dancer - but being a dancer already does not a good salsa dancer make. Although, you sure do think you're great at it with your perfectly level head and and your perfectly swaying hips, but you are not perfect; in fact, you kind of look like you're doing a toned-down version of Riverdance. And besides, your boyfriend seems like he's one of those guys who probably only dates girls as perfect looking as you. And that irritates me. Not because I'm envious, but because I've dated one of these guys (not because I was perfect, but because I'm good at making people think I am. HA! Had you fooled until now, didn't I?); and let me tell you, he actually admitted to me that he would have broken up with me if I had gotten fat. And because he also knew how to cry and how to threaten suicide, I still stayed with him 7 months too long. (When now I'm realizing all I had to do was get fat.) But that just pisses me off that people like that even exist and people like me fall for it because we're too nice to dump someone we don't really like and because we're too lonely to want to be alone, even though they're boring as hell.

Ok, sorry, where was ? Oh right...back to salsa.

* Someone in my class looks like the Ghost. I'm scared to dance with him. I don't want him and his black-rimmed-glasses near me, I might knee him for making me miserable all those months (years), and well, he doesn't deserve it because he's not him, and that would just be plain mean. Besides, I really like his girlfriend, she's hilarious and fun and dresses nicely, unlike Flashdance girl who I want to accidentally trip.

* Guy with the accent, you wear WAY too much cologne. Really, you don't have to roll around in it, didn't anyone teach you the-spray-in-the-air-then-walk-through-it trick? And, although this is your second time around taking the class, don't act like you know more than me, I may be clouded and confused temperarily by the burning sensation in my eyes from the pungent skunk-drowned-in-perfume scent that's surrounding us, but I'm pretty sure you are not the salsa-god, and I am not Penelope Le Peu, so give it a rest already.

* Hey girl-that-looks-like-she's-in-her-own-world, obviously imagining herself whipping it up on the dance floors at the Latin clubs...although you might seem like a badass white girl salsa dancer, you are not even close! I saw you last night trip on your own feet, and then when we went right, you went left. You may want to give it a rest, you are not as smooth as you think you are, stop blaming it on the guy when it's obviously you trying to take control...wait a minute...this is me. Ok, ok, you do have smashing hip movements. So what if you trip on your shoes? You pull it off with such grace, you hot-stuff, you. Keep it up, badass.

-------------

Ok. I'm begining to think Blogger should have a PMS-filter. Just a thought.

Well, guys, I think my idea of celebrating my birthday for the entire month is finally coming to a close. And I must say, this year, I think I may have overdone myself and people might just be rolling their eyes at this point if they have to celebrate it one more time. And I must say, I don't blame them.

So even though today is offically the day, I'm having a hard time actually believing it myself. I thought maybe if I posted this picture, I might actually feel it. Fortunately for me, there is one person who has yet to celebrate it with me, and tonight he's taking me out in style. I'm pretty much the luckiest person alive, not just for the feast that will be laid before me tonight and the company that comes with it, but for everyone that I am blessed enough to have in my life. Especially those that travel thousands of miles just to spend a day or two with me. Sometimes I don't think I deserve it, but boy does it make me happy (and, a little misty eyed).

Thanks, guys, I couldn't have imagined a better birthday. You're the best.

Here's to 26!

I'm not happy to see you, I just live my life consistently cold.

Sometimes I think I should be arrested for walking around like I do in my office. Seriously. I'm x-rated on a daily basis.

Gangstaknitta, can you knit me some nipple sweaters?

Out with the 25, in with the good.

I've been having run-ins with the past as of late, and it's throwing me off a bit. I'm not sure how to process it all, what it is the instances are trying to tell me. For a week now, it's been one after the other. And they haven't been pleasant reminders, they've been emotionally filled and a bit distressing. Many have come in forms of dreams, others in email or voicemail, and only one in person. It's not like it's unusual for me, people coming in and out of my life from my past, but never have they happened all at once and provoked so many thoughts. Perhaps it's because my birthday is coming up, and, like New Year's, it's causing me to think about the previous year and what's to come in the next. In any case, it's making me feel a little uneasy about things, leaving me to wonder where it is I should turn next.

This week has caused surpressed feelings to resurface, feelings that I've purposely learned to ignore for a while now. Feelings that I had once been devoured by, but managed to uncover myself from and push them aside in order to go on with some kind of normalcy. The one somewhat-positive reminder of my past was in a dream I had a few night ago of my friend Tim from childhood. This positivity drips of irony, considering he killed himself a little over 3 years ago, and left me with feelings of negativity and confusion, not optimism and contentment. Whenever he visits me in my subconscious, he is always the Tim that I knew and loved, that I never once felt threatened by, the one who could always make us laugh and feel like a kid again. I broke his heart once we were 8 and he never let me forget it; I would give anything for him to tease me about it one more time. I've had dreams where I've repeatedly asked him why he did it, why he couldn't of just come to one of us for help, but I've never gotten an answer. I'm always waking up just as puzzled as before. I feel unsettled the rest of the day, left with a desire to hide and be alone with my thoughts. I want to erase that moment, erase the last few years of his life so he'll come back. I want to be back that New Year's eve when I last saw him. I just want him to still be alive.

I feel the need to know what these instances are trying to tell me. I pride myself on being able to find a reason for just about anything happening in my life or in others; but this time, I'm a bit stuck. Are they to remind me of who I was, remind me that I need to deal with the feelings they left me with? I feel like there's nothing left to uncover. My thoughts were consumed all too long with them while they were happening, more time spent will feel like a waste of energy. Yet, when I still think about each person, each is linked with remaining feelings of restlessness, feelings that have been left unclosed. I feel guilt or am filled with questions, something that won't allow me to close that part of my life just yet. Or maybe I'm being over-dramatic, like I often am. But even still, something is preventing me from figuring it out.

I hope maybe all this questioning will soon be turned around, maybe these instances are preparing me for something that's coming, something that will finally allow me to feel settled. I hope this is it. I'm ready for my thoughts to be calmed even a little bit, I want these reminders from my past to be welcomed.

This birthday, I'm blowing my candles out with hopefulness running through my head; and the hope that with my breath, the questions will be blown away.

I think this year is going to be different, I've paid my dues. It has to be, I'm not allowing it to be anything else. I'm tired of the bad, and ready for the good. Bring it on, life.

Disappointment, recurring.

Ok, so remember this whole thing? Well, I guess I never really went into it as to why it didn't last, because, well, I didn't feel like talking about it all that much. But I've just heard that he's back together with her. You know, the other girl that he was choosing between? The other girl that he continued to bitch about while with me, pointing out all the qualities I had that she lacked and that he despised in her? Yeh, her. The one that supposedly had lost out in the choice.

I'm not jealous of her by any means, as I've got a good thing going myself right now, I'm just more or less disappointed in him. And disappointed in myself. Disappointed and frustrated that I, yet again, trusted someone and what they said. I've said it before that I trust too easily, almost to the point where I'm bordering on naive; but honestly, I don't want to stop trusting people. Yet it seems more and more things like this keep happening, and sooner or later this trust thing is going to stop happening.

Does the deceiving ever stop? Can the trust ever truly exist? I'm beginning to wonder.

She's no Commodore 64.

I just got off the phone after a 5-minute conversation with a computer. And it wasn't the press 1 for this or press 2 for that kind of call that we're used to, this was a full-on, comprehending digital female voice. When asking me what it is I wanted, the lady machine could understand my words, even gave me options. In fact, during the conversation T was asking me something, and as I replied to her or if I laughed out of pure astonishment, the machine lady interrupted her spouting of options to stop and say, "I'm sorry, I didn't understand that. Did you say...?" When I stated I didn't have a second number where I could be reached, she replied, "That's ok, we still have your first number, don't worry." (And I was, people, I was worried!) She even looked through her digital datebook to find a time for the next repair man to show, and when she finally asked if I could be available from 9 a.m. to 6 pm. today, Friday, September 17th, for a techinician to come to my house, as if a machine myself, I finally requested to be transferred to an agent. And she understood my request.

All this had come after a call last night to pay my cell phone bill (late), where the first few minutes Miss Verizon Digital Lady expressed her heartfelt sympathy to me for the families in Louisiana that lost their homes and lives. Miss VDL contined to voice how they're committed to making the transition back to normal lives as easy as possible for those effected by Hurricane Katrina, and they'll do everything they can in order for that to happen. Something just seemed wrong about a machine spouting off words of compassion and dedication. It doesn't quite have the same effect coming from a robotic voice, even if it was programmed to sound warm and sincere.

I know this isn't all that uncommon, guys, but this morning I'm having a hard time believing we're actually there, that the future we were waiting for is present. The words of Chris Martin singing "it could be computers looking for life on earth" are suddenly true now, not a hundred years from now. And as I hypocritically transform my human voice into digital words and code for computers to display, I'm suddenly longing for the time where 2010 seems light-years away and human contact and interaction were actually needed, desired even. And all this came from my need to get online at home after finally installing a landline a week ago(remember those?) that is now broken, when I spend all 40-hours of my work-week staring at a computer. It just doesn't seem right.

Can't it just be 1985 again?

1, 2, 3 - 5, 6, 7; 1, 2, 3 - 5...

The salsa lessons started last night, kids, and I'm gonna be rocking it Havana Nights style in no time. My nervousness in going it alone was pretty quickly squashed when I realized about half of us were solo. So now I'm thinking in threes: 1, 2, 3 and 5, 6, 7, which is a weird transition having spent a large part of my youth dancing in 8's. I think I caught on without much delay, and I felt like I was already ready for a little latin club action. Far from it, though. Give me 6 weeks, I'll be tearing up the competition on the dance floors; no one will have seen a white blonde girl danca salsa like me. Watch out, Providence.

90210 vs the OC

If yesterday's post was the funniest thing I have seen in a while, this might be one of the funniest things I've read in a while. And, I happen to know a few women who will appreciate it, including the 3 I watched it with every week in college. (I apologize ahead of time for the lengthy copy and paste of the comparison, but it was sent to me in an email, and I'm too lazy to find the link.)

I give to you, the 90210 vs. O.C. debate, by Bill Simmons from ESPN.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

You're right, it's time. Let's break this baby down, Dr. Jack-style. To keep things fair, I'm only comparing "The OC" to the first two seasons of "90210."

Premise: "90210" revolved around two twins from Minnesota moving to Beverly Hills and dealing with rich people. "The OC" had a troubled kid from Encino moving to Orange County and dealing with rich people. The lesson, as always: You're probably going to have a hit show if an outsider is dealing with rich people. "The OC" pilot was better -- actually, it was probably the best episode in the history of the show -- but "90210" gets points for originality. Too tough to call.
EDGE: EVEN.

Stars: Brandon Walsh could have been a pretty corny part in the wrong hands, especially when the pilot had him turning down the advances from a smoking-hot chick in a hot tub, or the episode when Emily Valentine slipped him an ecstacy pill and he reacted like she had infected him with an AIDS-infected needle. It was also confusing how the writers made him the moral conscience of the show, then gave him a gambling problem out of nowhere, or had him smash up his car in a DWI accident. But Jason Priestley handled all of these things, became a pretty big star, helped launch the remarkably bizarre sideburns trend, hosted an "SNL" episode and breathed life into lines like "You sure you should be driving?" and "You OK?" Good actor, great part. He was the rock of the show -- we even forgave him after he broke the Code of Guys and started dating his best friend's girlfriend. Meanwhile, if it wasn't for Marissa, Ryan would have been the weak link of "The OC" -- he was very good in the first few episodes, before the whole "he's a brooding outsider with a hair-trigger temper who means well" act wore thin because they ordered too many episodes at once. By the end of the season, Ben McKenzie (who plays Ryan) was stuck doing Jay Mohr's eyeball rolling, "I love her man!" impersonation of Andrew McCarthy, only he wasn't kidding. So they preppied him up in Season 2, gave him a self-deprecating sense of humor and a broader personality, and now he's an absolute mess -- to the point that they're starting to steer the show around Seth. What happened to the guy who wore leather jackets and white T-shirts and couldn't express himself? Now he's whipping out one-liners like Yakov Smirnoff. I'm confused.
MAJOR EDGE: 90210.

Breakout Sidekick: I'm already on record as saying that the guy who plays Seth (Adam Brody) has the best chance of anyone to become the next Tom Hanks ... and yet, I'm not sure Seth could carry his own show. He's a little too manic. Dylan McKay? He could have carried his own show. And then some. I'm just saying.
EDGE: 90210.

Babes: Tough category for "90210" -- there were only four girls on the show, and two of them were Tori Spelling and Gabrielle Carteris. Ouch. I liked Jennie Garth, and her Kelly Taylor character clearly foreshadowed every loathsome character we would see 14 years later on "My Super Sweet 16," but she wasn't prettier than anyone on "The OC" (except for maybe Ryan's new girlfriend). And Shannen Doherty was too wholesome and crazy-looking during those first two seasons, although maybe she had to be. As for "The OC" ... good golly. It's a murderer's row. You could make the case that Alex (Marissa's new girlfriend) and Summer (played by Rachel Bilson) are two of the hottest characters in the history of televsion -- that's right, I said it -- with Marissa right behind them, as well as Julie Cooper and Seth's mom making the Meredith Baxter-Birney Hall of Fame for smoking-hot TV moms. Say what you want about Josh Schwartz (the creator of "The OC"), but the man clearly knows what he's doing.
MAJOR EDGE: The OC.

Parents: I liked the Walshes, but the Cohens serve the Brandon Walsh role for "The OC" -- in other words, they're the collective rock of the show, which made it so infuriating when they introduced the recent storyline where Sandy Cohen struggles with unresolved feelings for an old flame (played by a Botoxed-out Kim Delaney). Too out-of-character for him. Anyway, I can't ever imagine the Cohens getting slowly phased out of the show like the Walshes did, or getting transferred to Hong Kong and knocked off the show. Wouldn't happen. Only one thing saves this from being a complete landslide: The opening credits of "90210", when James Eckhouse (as Mr. Walsh) would proudly turn around with his arms folded over his chest, followed by the "that's right, I'm Mr. F-ing Walsh!" smile. That always killed me.
EDGE: The OC.

Wet Blanket Character: This boils down to Andrea (90210) against Caleb (OC), which is ironic because they're both the same age (bah-dum-cha!). But at least Caleb serves some sick, twisted purpose -- he's a villain, just a bad one. Andrea murdered entire episodes at a time -- she was like a cross between Adrian Balboa and Ted Bundy.
EDGE: The OC.

Theme Song: I can't believe I'm saying this, but ...
EDGE: The OC.

Unintentional Comedy: Between David Silver's budding music career; the two-part accidental shooting death of his buddy with the cowboy hat; Brandon nearly making the basketball team when he was like 5-foot-5; Andrea being like 35 in real life; and every single scene with Steve Sanders -- including the unforgettable adoption episode, which should have won Ian Ziering an Anti-Emmy -- I'm not sure we'll ever see the likes of "90210" again from an Unintentional Comedy standpoint. (Again, Ian Ziering was one of the stars of this show. The man had a blonde mullet perm. Repeat: Blonde mullet perm.) Anyway, "The OC" is too smart for that stuff -- if anything, the Unintentional Comedy is intentional, if that makes sense (like Luke's "welcome to the OC, b---h!" scene, a parody of those cheesy 80's scenes with the Zabka-like villains, the more I'm thinking about it). I'm pretty sure they're parodying shows like "90210" with some of these plots -- like Caleb's secret daughter being involved with his other daughter's surrogate son, or the entire episode when Luke's dad was outed -- which is one of the reasons I enjoy the show so much. No premise is too absurd for "The OC." At this point, the only Unintentional Comedy happens during any scene when Marissa has to act, especially if she's throwing a tantrum or pretending to be drunk. I keep waiting to find out that Mischa Barton is Keanu Reeves's illegitimate daughter. Then again, she's no Ian Ziering.
HUGE EDGE: 90210.

Plot Lines: "The OC's" biggest mistake was the way they raced through plots and relied too heavily on the "tune in next week!" factor, which is a pretty dangerous way to go -- we weren't even midway through the second season when they were playing the lesbian card. At the rate they're going, by Season 4, we'll see Ryan kidnapped by a UFO or something. I also think they juggle way too many plots, almost like the TV version of the Memphis Grizzlies playing too many guys. And with so much going on, the characters are racing through their lines now, so everyone talks in the same snappy, sarcastic fashion and you almost need to watch the shows twice to pick everything up. With "90210", they were very good at building shows around guest stars and one-episode plots during those first two seasons, with almost everything revolving around Brandon's world and the Dylan-Brandon relationship. Some of those early episodes stood on their own, like the one when Brandon dated the racist volleyball player, or the slumber party where Kelly confessed that she lost her virginity in the woods to a conniving senior. (It's weird, I can't remember what I did last week, and yet I can remember all of these stupid episodes). When something major happened -- like the Dylan-Kelly-Brenda love triangle -- it happened over the course of an entire summer, not two episodes, and it actually made sense as it unfolded (they set that baby up like a multi-episode arc in "Lost"). I don't feel like there's any rhyme or reason to the stuff that happens on "The OC" -- personified by Marissa falling for another woman during February sweeps. That's right, it's girl-on-girl action, Thursday on Fox!
EDGE: 90210.

Gratuitous use of half-siblings and step-siblings: It took a few years for "90210" to master this one, whereas "The OC" jumped right in -- at this point, Seth is related to everyone on the show except for the gardener.
EDGE: The OC.

Hangouts: "90210" had the Peach Pit, where aggrieved teenagers gathered to bitch about their parents, throw down some greasy food and crack wise with Nat (the one-note Peach Pit owner who inexplicably landed in the credits in Season Six). My favorite part about the Peach Pit was that Dylan hung out there -- here's a 17-year-old kid who didn't need a guardian and somehow knew every shady character in Los Angeles, someone who Mr. Walsh thought was WAY too dangerous to date his daughter, yet you were always most likely to find Dylan in a diner having lifetalks with someone who was three times older than him. How did that make sense? It was right up there with Daniel-San introducing Mr. Miyagi as his "best friend" in "Karate Kid 3". As for the Bait Shop, which became the main hangout on "The OC" this season, this might be the most unrealistic club on the planet. First of all, it's never crowded, even though they frequently have bands like The Killers playing there. Second, they don't card at the door, but there's a full bar. Third, it's the only music club in America where it's possible to have full conversations without shouting at the top of your lungs, even when the band is playing on stage. Fourth, there are no fights, no mosh pits, no obnoxious bouncers, no marijuana smoke, no cigarettes and nobody ever throws up. And fifth, none of the characters on the show are aspiring musicians along the lines of David Silver, who would have belted out
"Precious" on stage at least six times by now. So why even have the Bait Shop? Again, I'm confused.
MAJOR EDGE: 90210.

Glaring and embarrassing exclusion of any African-American characters: At least "90210" had a black manager at the Summer Club, or the episode when Brandon butted heads with Vivica A. Fox, or the one where Brandon nearly exposed the rule-bending on the hoops team. I'm not sure I've even SEEN a black person on "The OC." Has it happened? Did I miss it?
WORST OFFENDER: The OC.

Originality: "90210" mastered the love triangle -- which was shamelessly ripped off by every subsequent show of this ilk, including most of the excruciating "Dawson's Creek" -- as well as those preachy storylines involving alcohol, the loss of virginity, drugs, diet pills, drunk-driving, bi-polar girlfriends, elephant tranquilizers, bestiality and everything else you can imagine. It also invented the "outsider deals with rich people" concept, as we discussed before. "The OC" mastered the "parody of a 90210-type show that somehow carries the weight of a real show" dynamic, which is harder than you think ... but not enough to take thiscategory.
EDGE: 90210.

Inexplicable homoerotic overtones: When Brandon and Dylan grew matching sideburns and started calling each other "B" and "D," you would have thought they were a lock for this category. But between Seth and Ryan's "Single White Female"-like friendship and Marissa's new relationship, this isn't even close.
GIANT EDGE: The OC.

Cultural Impact: Brandon and Dylan started the sideburns trend back in 1991, leading to my ill-fated attempt to grow them during my senior year in college. I'd rather not discuss this again. Ever. But "The OC" never inspired me to do anything. Not even throw up in my mouth.
EDGE: 90210.

Watershed ridiculous episode (through two seasons): For "90210", it's the episode where Brandon dumps Emily Valentine and she melts down -- any show that ends with a crazy girl threatening to set herself on fire on the school's homecoming float is one for the ages. Of course, Brandon visited her in San Fran a few years later and there was no mention of any of this. You had to love "90210." As for "The OC," I'd have to go with the Tijuana episode, which ended with Marissa overdosing and Ryan carrying her in slow-motion through the streets of Mexico, one of those "I can't believe I'm watching this" moments in life that you can never get back. Throw in a homecoming float and we would have had a winner.
EDGE: 90210.

Final verdict: "90210" invented this genre, whereas "The OC" tried to re-invent it (throwing in a little self-parody to boot). "90210" didn't make many mistakes during those first two seasons, whereas "The OC" made a bunch of them (most famously, the Oliver debacle). More importantly, I can't believe I just spent 2,000 words trying to figure this out.
FINAL EDGE: 90210.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I would like to say, as much as I have grown to like the OC, I have to admit it doesn't come close to filling the void that 90210 left, and I believe Bill would agree with me. Your thoughts, ladies? (and any gents brave enough to admit they watched it. Go ahead, you can do it.)

If you guys have yet to see this, I recommend not wasting any more time and watching it immediately. It is perhaps the funniest thing I have ever seen. I mean, I couldn't be happier that he did it, as it was definitely needed, but the look on Mike Myers face, then the reaction of Chris Tucker had me almost in tears.

Watch it. NOW.

http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2678975?htv=12

And then...it gets even better when Chris Rock does this:

http://www.ifilm.com/ifilmdetail/2679500

My week in numerous sentences, bordering on a little too many.

Since I usually fill my blog of heavy, somewhat melodromatic posts, I feel it necessary to share with you all about my past week and how incredibly blown away I have been by it all. Please, read on. I hope you don't get too bored with all my gushing:

Do you all remember this? That was back in January that I discovered my potential new love, and before that I had been filling my friends and coworker's ears full of my desires to have my very own Mac. And as I am usually rather obsessive and neurotic about expressing my wishes, I no doubt did this particular wish of mine great justice by successfully making everyone roll their eyes every single time I mentioned it. Well, apparently, they had had enough.

In case any of you don't know me, you should know one thing: I am all about my birthday. It's not just one day for me, it's an entire month dedicated to just my birth. Really, I feel like everyone should make the biggest deal as possible about their birthdays. It is the only day (or in my case, month) out of the year that can be dedicated just to you. There's no need to be modest about it, I say live it up. You might want to start out with a birthday week, then work it up to the birthday month. A birthday year would be taking it to far, I mean, that's rather selfish, don't you think? There are a few other billion people to take into account. For me, this year so far has been no exception. In fact, it's been the opposite of an exception. (Hmm...what is that exactly? An inception?) It not even close to my birthday, it's still two weeks away in fact, but I already feel like I've had two birthdays. Thursday I came into work to a vase of sunflowers and a note that read, "Happy Birthday Month, (heart) T." T shares my affection for celebrating the birthdays to a T (ha!), so she tends to go all out at the sake of others as well. But sunflowers 3 weeks before my birthday, she took it up a notch, and I quite enjoyed it. I sat under the towering sunflowers as my sister called to have lunch with me a bit early that day. I thought nothing of it, she's often doing that. We had an unsuccessful lunch at the french place that others refer to as Au Bon Pain; me: The French Place whose name I refuse to say so I don't sound like the idiot American it makes me feel like. We head back about quarter of so she can say hi to T and J, on the way she makes a strange phone call to her husband but some weird person answers and she thinks she has the wrong number, but then it turned out to be his secretary. I'm still clueless at this point. We walk into the hallway and the door is shut and the lights are off, I express worry to my sister, wondering what happened. We open the door and all my coworkers and even friends not from Brown are standing all around, balloons, streamers, and good food surrounding. I was completely shocked. I would've been content with just that, happy that people had made an effort to celebrate my birthday early, in what is completely my style. I thought that was it, I was ready to eat and chat with my friends. But there were requests to open the present I planned on saving until everyone was gone so I wouldn't have to be watched. I opened just the end of it, and saw the beautiful two word name: "Mac mini." I was in shock. No way is that really a computer wrapped in the shiny purple paper, no way did I just see that correctly. Surely it was just the box. I continued unwrapping, and it was indeed a Mac mini. And the tears started flowing. And folks, they didn't stop for about another hour. I couldn't believe this many people had cared that much about me to put their hard-earned money into getting me something I had always wanted. Never in my life would I have expected this, I will forever be blown away when I think about how incredibly special and loved they made me feel with that one act of kindness and thought. Everytime I turn my comptuer on, I'm reminded that I am one lucky individual that has been blessed with the people in her life, in so many ways. I'm especially grateful to T, not only for this incredibly thoughtful act, but for being a constant in my life, and for being a wonderful, amazing, gratious friend that I am so lucky to have forced to be my friend. Ah, sometimes I'm proud of my skills of persuation.

And folks, this is not the end of it. In addition to this lovely unexpected surprise on Thursday, I also threw a little BBQ out at my house this weekend. It was appropriately dubbed, a "country shindig." And that it was. People came out, sangria was made, a fire was built, and food was consumed. It couldn't have been any better. I loved everyone there, and was so thankful they made the "trek" out to my house to enjoy the fresh air and the company of one another. It was pretty much the first party I had thrown on my own without the help of roommates, and not on that, but it was the first successful party I had ever thrown. I couldn't have been happier with the turn out. There were constant comments about how much colder it was way out in Foster compared to the city (only 20 miles east fo there, but you would think I live in a whole other country). Later in the evening, Took had managed to wrap himself entirely around my friend M's ankles and caused him to fall down. (Finally, our little trick had been mastered! Nice work, Took, nice work.) The best was feeding my friends, and them overwhelming me with compliments and requests for more. Nothing in this world makes me happier then feeding people and them loving my creation. If possible, cooking is kind of my art, and it's one of the few things in this world that I claim to not be all that bad at. So when I can witness a group of people enjoying what I put time into, I'm not sure I could get happier. I didn't want the night to end, I wanted people around my fire permanently, and laughter and conversations heard from my house on a more constant basis. It was lonely there last night, my house was too empty and Took was too bored with just me.

In addition to all of this, I've been keeping something from you. Kind of intentionally, actually. As you may have noted, I tend to jinx myself with talking about someone special here, so I've purposely been keeping it to myself. Although, I think I may have hinted towards it now that I'm thinking (here, in fact)...but I've been hanging out with someone new who really makes me smile and continues to surprise me. His intelligence is inspiring, and the similarities and connections between us are still being uncovered. More on this to come.

Overall, I have lately been amazed at how life throws things at you when you least expect it. For me, it was my trip to DC and the feelings and motivation that came from it, including a desire to move there. Since this experience, all these things have happened in my life that has made me re-evaluate my eagerness to move away from Rhode Island. People have come into my life that already held a love of this city, and have made me realize what it was I was looking past, and simply because of unsettled feelings I had of refusual of this actually becoming my home. The past week has reminded me of the friends I have made here and how much I love them all, and don't want to leave them simply because of stubborn reasons that I can't rightly justify. I'm not saying I'm ready to settle, as I'm not sure I'll ever be ready for that, but I am planning on sticking around for a little while longer at least. This city is special, and the people I have met in it, even more so. And I think that is one of the little pleasures of life, the realization that something of greater force is throwing what you want the least back into your life in pleasant little reminders. That maybe what you want, is already what you have, but for some reason, you just can't see it. This whole idea of life's little ironies is one of the many things in this world that continue to amaze me...

...that, and my inability to express myself accurately. I think the next book I need to read is a Thesaurus. Here are some pictures of the surprise party, and my reaction to the unexpected gift that is now threatening my relationships with actual human beings because I love it so much:

And here it is: Proof that way too much time was spent contemplating TITC, in chronological order. (R would be so proud.)

Here you go, Velumptuous ladies, you asked for it. I'm not sure you knew what you were getting yourselves into. The following should provide ample procrastination time. Let the discussion begin....

---

Thursday, August 11, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: trapped in a closet

Message:
you seem like an intelligent, creative, intriguing
being...so i am curious what it is about a video of r.
kelly waving a gun around and finding out his wife
knows the cop that interests you? is it a part of your
popular culture studies? or simply a burning desire to
be trapped in a closet?

and an even better question is: when do the next
chapters come out?

sincerely,
the only other person who watched it besides you,
courtney

(If only I knew where this was headed..)

----

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
now this is a subject i can get into. and, sadly, i
know a pathetically large number of people (say,
two or three) who followed the saga religiously.

i think i'm just trying to figure out if the r is as far
ahead of his time as i think he is, or if he's just a
very lucky idiot. but there are so many priceless
exchanges, odd minute details and
inconsistencies, and so much flat out insanity to
pts 1-5 (and i have no idea when the rest is coming
out - i heard he made 35 of them - but i'm there
when it happens), that i'm still struggling to wrap
my head around it all. and, yes, i'm kind of scared
to ask myself why i care.

and you, did you stumble along this epic on VH1,
or did kells have you from hello? that's important
for me to know before i really get into part one
alone.

it's too bad we can't have this exchange in song.
i'm suddenly inspired...

talk to you soon...
rob

(This was only the beginning, my friends. Only the beginning...)

---

Friday, August 12th, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
yes, however...if we were to have this conversation in
song, you would be doing all of the singing, and i would
just be mouthing my words. as for how i came across
it -- i did just happen to stumble upon it on mtv2,
actually. although, i was definitely sucked in as soon
as the husband came home and turned out to be gay.
(um, which is a little shocking, really) but priceless
exchanges, eh? and these inconsistencies you speak
of..i'm intrigued.

i might have to say he could be a very lucky idiot. i
mean, 35 more? i'm afraid his luck could run out with
that many more lyrical exchanges.

yes, this is a little scary. especially now that you
actually have me seriously contemplating the depth of
an r. kelly drama.

courtney

---

Sunday, August 14, 2005

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
scary, eh? the r's fear leads him to nearly
shooting someone around part three. and
really, why was he "scared"? so he got
caught in bed with the gay pastor's wife? i
also like that he says "all of this that i'm
going through is unheard." is it? is it that
outlandish?

other little bits: the cell phone ringing -
can you turn it on vibrate at mid-ring?
and who called him at 7 o'clock in the
morning when the "rays from the sun
wakes me" (poor grammar from the git.
learn how to use your prepositional
phrases, kells)? why doesn't this get
answered?

the "he says yes i says no he says yes i
says no he says yes it's the truth" line:
priceless. just priceless. just like "and he's
looking at the closet/and i pull out my
baretta/he's coming to the closet...now
he's at the closet/now he's opening the
closet." can you ever think of closets the
same way? can you?

another priceless one: "and she says rufus
you son of a bitch, and he says kathy you
go to hell." they don't read nearly as well
as they are sung, but what's with the weird
she gives r a biblical name at the club
(mary), and that turns out to be false. and
then he actually details her throwing a
pillow at rufus, like she tried to shoot him.

the part four sex scene: possibly trumped
by "i cannot believe it/ooh ooh ooh
ooh/here come's a policeman", which he
delivers w/o a hint of irony. and where the
hell did her brother twan come home
from? college? the army? prison? space
camp? but the sex is so lurid. i mean, his
leg cramp?

and who the hell is tina? why did his wife
mention "tina", only to move right to
roxanne? will we find out later? and just
how large is our man's persecution
complex?

oh, almost forgot: "there's a reason i'm in
this closet." "yeah, what are you, talking
clothes?" wtf?

well, if you weren't scared before, that's a
lot to write about r kelly right there. i think
i have to go give my brain a shower. in
the meantime, what else are you up to
when not getting sucked into r kelly's idiot-
savant psychodrama? as if that isn't
enough...

rob

(See, what did I tell you?)

---

Tuesday, August 16th, 2005

From: Courtney
To: Robert
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
ok. so apparently, i need to watch this one more time
before i can really add anything substantial to this
conversation. however, some initial thoughts: "there's
a reason i'm in this closet." obviously, being trapped in
a closet is figurative as well as literal. i mean, the
"reason" he speaks of is more than just for the clothes
because the pastor was not exactly a model of fashion.
so what then, he's feeling trapped because he's not
getting satisfied at home or something? but obviously,
as shown in the last chapters, he is getting rather
satisfied (physically) at home. so what could he be
hiding? what makes him trapped? ah...the depths of r
kelly's mind.

i was definitely confused as to why he felt the need to
bring the gun out. like you said, what did he have to be
scared about? obviously, he could have taken the
pastor, w/o a gun. was he really threatened by
someone half his size? i remember the phone ringing,
but i believe mine might have rang at the same time,
so details are a little blurry around this time. but
perhaps he just silenced the ringer? which can be done
while it's ringing. i'm a little blown away by the fact that
as soon as the husband gets home, he and his wife go
at it, all the while she knows r is in the closet. don't
you find this a little strange? i mean, i guess she had
to just go with it so that he wouldn't suspect anything.
but still, it's a bit odd. also, when r was calling home,
why would the guy that was with his wife answer?
that's a little unrealistic. of course, the dramatic effect
would not have been present had she answered.

so fast forward to the final chapters...that was a leg
cramp that caused him to stop what they were doing?
or was it the possible guilt or lack of trust? i think i
need to watch it again before we continue this
conversation. honestlly, i didn't exactly realize an r
kelly video could have such depth as this apparently
does. so either you are really good at finding depth to
just about anything, or i was oblivious of the layers at
first viewing. but either way, i think you are on to
something and i will try and find it again to watch it
more closely.

so this will have to be continued...

courtney

---

From: Robert
To: Courtney
Subject: re: trapped in a closet

Message:
sadly, i lost a thread of emails that my friend josh
(a brown grad studying middle-eastern politics in
jerusalem, and the smartest person our age that i
know) started among ten or so of us on the saga.
enlightening, and scary proof of how much
brainpower has gone into deconstructing "the pied
piper of r&b".

so, i'll keep the analysis short, but you touched on
the closet metaphor thing, and i can't help myself.
i'm not sure if r ever - intentionally - implicates
himself in that metaphor. it's like he says about
the pastor at the start of pt 2: "now he's staring at
me, as if he was staring at a mirror". this
foreshadows the pastor's own infidelity, and
his "coming out the closet". honestly, i think r's
persecution complex is too large for him to feel
any guilt. for (amazing) evidence, check out the
quote at the link below:

(Sadly, somewhere along the lines, the link was stolen from Friendster. Rob, do you still have them?)

at least i've proven i can talk at even
greater length about things unrelated to mr robert
kelly. i'll wait for you to take another look at the
video (but look for the poster in part five. beyond
priceless).

rob

---

And, that, my friends, is waaaaay too many words exchanged about R. Kelly. Or is it? It's up to you. I believe there are many more words that can be said, and Rob is your man. (Oh, and by the way, the last paragraph in the last post was taken from another message, I had to cut out the part where he asked me to have his baby, it was a bit ridiculous, and I tried to keep it to TITC-related.) There has been a few more exchanges in person, and constant references made. We still have yet to catch the VMA performance, I'm hoping to catch it on a re-run.

Ok...your turn.

And I'm out of my shell with a bit of a (heavy) bang.

In 5th grade I received a ceramic figure of a deer and some fake ruby earrings from my boyfriend on Valentine's Day. I still remember the card; it was a tri-fold, an arrow aiming for a heart, signed, "Your Boyfriend, Ebben" When, at that time, the title simply meant someone to tease on the playground. I think I may have broken up with him the next day with a note passed through a friend. I couldn't be his girlfriend any longer when it was his best friend I had a crush on that day. In high school, no one ever admitted who it was they were into at the time, it became a guessing game and an extended chain of "Telephone." My first real "love" was my freshman year of college with a hippie named Barrett. I had met him through a mutual friend and later ran into him at a show in the club next to my dorm, the next day begun a year and a half relationship. My first real boyfriend. I was convinced I would marry him, that it was that simple that your first love would become your life-long partner. After we broke up and I eventually moved on and it proved easy to fall for someone, maybe a little too easy. The only difference was that I would realize that they weren't necessarily going to become the "one." You could fall in "love" instantly because your only worries were writing papers and studying for tests, a romance made everything around you heightened. It might last, but it might not. You were surrounded by options, including, for the first time, a place of your own or of his own. Freedom allowed lust and infatuation to permeate your life (as well as lots of alcohol and other mind-clouding substances).

After college, it has all become so complicated. Expectations are present, realism sets in. It's no longer as easy; the brain kind of gets muddled in the process and you can't shut the thinking off, no matter how hard you try. I think it's when you fall for someone married, that it really sets in that you can no longer have the free-falling romance of the college years. Next thing you know, you're invited to your first love's wedding and then have to refer to his partner as his wife when they drive through town and ask to stop by for a visit. And now, instead of the foolishness of just thinking someone could very well be the "one," you actually have to consider it. It needs to at least be an option, or you feel like you're wasting your time. But after years and years of that question turning into disappointment and ill-judgement, it becomes even more difficult to fall. You can physically feel your body holding back, putting a shield up around the heart, requiring it to be chipped away at over time; the safegaurd getting more and more nails hammered in each time it's successfully torn down and put back up again. You don't want to be that one with the baggage, the one that sabatoges good things when entirely having the intention to do the opposite. But you realize, eventually, that the baggage isn't baggage at all. The bags you're carrying are simply reminders, warnings if you will, that the shield is still present and it's there for a reason: because along with the realism that sets in at this age, you're also aware of what exactly it is like to be completely and wholly consumed with love, and you know what's at stake if it doesn't work out. I don't even wish that I could be back to the times of checked boxes on passed notes, because I wouldn't have known what it was like to really feel. All this goes through your head even with the first hello to someone new, and you there's no preventing the flow of thoughts that come with it. It's a tiring battle, this falling in love. It's no longer ceramic animals and cheap earrings; it's the hope of a partner to share your Sundays with, the hope that in the end, it will all be worth it.

I guess the hard part is allowing the sheild be chipped...even if it is little by little.

Apologies and random thoughts.

Don't you like that I outed myself, only to leave you hanging as far as more posts go? Yeh, my head has been in the clouds this last week. That and I think I may be being a bit bashful. See, I've given my blog address to someone of the male-variety who I happen to find extremely intelligent and who also happens to be an excellent writer..so now one might say I'm having stage fright.

But some random thoughts to hold you over until I come back out of my shell:

* The eels, Blinking Lights and Other Revelations (a double disc), is worth downloading. If not simply for the fact they have a song titled "Going Fetal."

* Do you know how difficult it is for a girl to make girlfriends? It's not easy, my friends. Girls are petty little bitches. But when we do make girlfriends, man, it is so worth it. This feat occurred on Saturday, and let me just tell you, this girl drinks whiskey. Enough. Said.

* I've decided (along with above friend) that I need to stop voicing my thoughts so much. For example, thoughts on actions I'm contemplating taking. It only works to my disadvantage. Either they tell me something I don't want to hear (meaning, their opinion), or, I later turn out to not at all do anything of the sorts and feel stupid for voicing my idea prematurely. Which, I would say, the latter happens 9 out of 10 times. My brain switches gears about every 5 seconds. I can be totally psyched about something for one minute, then the very next minute, absolutely realize there is no way I would ever considerate that. So in other words, my indeciveness, from now on, is becoming mute. I think.

* I need to read more. Must read more. Need more knowledge.

* Earlier this week, I was a spider. Which is ironic, considering spiders put more fear in me than axe-murderers (ah-hem, R). As much as I fear spiders, it turns out I don't like being them, either. Go figure. Providence is a small, small city; in fact, it is bordering on incestuous. Quick synopsis, try to follow: Tuesday night I went to a bar with a friend of mine to meet up with some friends. We get there, and his ex-girlfriend is sitting with my ex-boyfriend's new girlfriend (and are roommates, no less). The friend's ex also is not a huge fan of me, considering I hang out with her ex often. At one point she also liked someone else I just recently met and have been hanging out with. At another point in the night, this same girl inquired about another friend of mine who was also there, stating she found him attractive and had seen him around. I bet if we had polled the room, guaranteed everyone had slept with one another through one person removed. Now that's an image for you.

* Did I mention my new friend ROCKS? She does. No, really.

* Look at that, you ended up with a post after all. It's your lucky day.

Annonymous no longer.

(In D.C., on one of the insane escalators that city has. I think if you look closely, you can see your reflection in my forehead. You almost need some sunglasses to look at this picture.)

As part of this new me that emerged from my trip to D.C., I've decided not to be annonymous anymore. I'm not sure what sparked it, I just figure I have no reason to hide behind my words. They're my thoughts and my life, I shouldn't be embarrassed to own up to them -- whether the words themselves are embarrassing or not.

After all, I embarrass the shit out of myself on a daily basis in real life, why not do it on the Internet as well?

--- Courtney

This is just too good not to share:

Chick: "I swear to god, I don't know how nothing has happened to me yet, either I am infertile or the cure for herpes in is my vagina."

--- Overheard on the 6 Train, NYC

I just found this site, Overheard in New York, that posts different things overheard on the streets in NYC. It's hilarious.

(And to give credit where credit is due, I found it through this guy, also a good read: The Hanging Stranger.)

A photo.

In leu of a boring written post about what I haven't done today, you're getting a random picture from my trip to D.C. This was taken in a bar in Adam's Morgan after the sangria we consumed at the mexican restaurant around the corner. At the time, I thought it was a brilliant picture. Now that I see it full size, it's not quite so brilliant; but I still find it kind of cool at the same time.

Enjoy. And have a great weekend!

A change will do (me) good.

I need a change in my life, ladies and gents. But what that change could be, I am a little stumped on. I thought the new purse and dress purchased this weekend at great deals would help my little slump I have found myself in as of late, but alas, it did little for the cause. A new haircut? New glasses? A move? A new career? I thought maybe even moving around the furniture in my house would help, but there are little possiblities there as my house is uber old and lacks the space needed for such moves.

Any thoughts?

In other news, I further perfected the grilled pizza last night. It was absolutely delicious. The concoction was comprised of the usual whole-wheat crust from Federal Hill, homemade pesto from the basil in my garden and garlic (grown locally), carmelized onions (once again, from a locally grown onion), local mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, mozzarrella, and feta. Seriously, I make a lot of pizzas, and this was my best one yet. Oh how I love thee pizza.

In addition to needing a change, I am also in need of a new project of some sorts. I've been thinking of writing a book (but then again, who isn't these days?), or actually setting up my sewing machine. You would think the project of my jewelry making would be keeping me satisfied, but sadly, I have the attention span of a two year-old when it comes to projects. I really dislike that about me.

This weekend should be fun. I am heading to the Newport Jazz Festival for the first time on Saturday, then to Maine w/ T on Sunday for a little Peak's Island reggae. Good times, good times.

Until then, I will most likely bore you with more pointless posts such as this one. See why I need a change?

You should see me with a Maglite, I'm bad-ass.

Having four days off is delicious. I'm having a difficult time getting back into the swing of things, especially because that would require actually being on the swing prior to leaving for my mini-vacation. I did nothing of particular note, except spend a lovely evening with some wonderful people (hi C and M!) and an old friend (hi old friend who doesn't read my blog!) on friday night. We all met at their house before heading to dinner, and they almost had to drag me off their porch for some food because I really loved their porch. Really, I love it. I'm thinking about moving to their porch, it's that great. I think my love for it has to do with the fact that my porch is big enough for a few plants and door into my house, and the view from the porch is that of an overly-large lilac tree and some even more trees behind that. But on their porch, you get ample space that you could probably hold a mini-marathon on and has views of drag racing and sunsets. Both of which I witnessed on friday. Dinner was great. And I really do love those guys. I think I can honestly say they are two of the most incredible people I have met, and their relationship should be what everyone strives to have, it is that great. I'm really glad I met them, even if they are all-too-often consumed in med school life and don't get to hang out as a result, but I guess I'm ok with that, considering they want to be doctor's and all. They are really lucky to have met, and the best part of that is they appear totally aware of that, and most people often forget how important that is. I admire that to no end.

So guys, this is a total suck-up so you'll want to hang out with me more. Is it working?

Just kidding. You guys really do rule. Oh, and your stories of the ER are totally making my blog when I'm struggling for topics. Trust me internet, you won't want to miss out on these.

Anyway, the rest of my weekend was fairly good, minus the fact I was stranded in Foster because my car's brakes decided they would start making a piercing sound that caused me to want to stick sharp objects into my ears so I could no longer hear. I feared driving anywhere and causing further damage, so I was stranded alone dogsitting for my dog and my sister's for almost 36 hours without any other human contact. Oh! Sunday night, after watching a not-so-great movie, I was walking back to my house and noticed my car's dome light was on. I walked to the car thinking the door had been ajar, but no...the switch had been turned on. At this point, all of my body started shaking and I thought someone was going to jump out of the woods and abduct me and no one would ever find me again because everyone refuses to drive to Foster in this state, so of course they would never drive out if there was a chance they wouldn't even find me. So I cautiously opened the door and shut off the light, and continued to totally freak myself out the rest of the night. The three people I spoke to after I realized my life was threatened by the light-turner-oner were of no help, too. One lived in Providence with no car, one in California with a car, and one in Boston, also without a car. THEY WOULDN'T OF HELPED. So there I was, clutching my 15-inch, 5-pound Maglite in my hand the rest of the night, afraid of every room in my house.

But luckily, I must have intimidated whoever it was with my immense strength and Maglite weapontry, because I escaped the night unscathed. And here I am, at work, after 4 days of being gone. But I did come in to an email from a friend of mine that sent me a link for a story on Cindy Sheehan staking out at the end of the driveway at the President's summer house until he speaks to her. To read the article, click the links below. The NYTimes one you need to sign-up (for free), but I went ahead and found a CNN artcile that's free if you're too lazy.

NYTimes

CNN

Also, if you missed my post about her incredibly powerful talk here in Providence, read it here.

Oh, and one more thing, I'm thinking about getting rid of this whole annonymous thing. Any objections? I'd probably keep my friends annonymous, though. Ok, I'm done boring you to death. You may go now.

So I know I've been on a roll lately with my posts, but I wanted to give you a head's up that I'm not going to be around for the next 4 days. Tomorrow I am taking off and going to the beach with my sister, and Monday we have off because Rhode Island is the last state in the country to celebrate Victory Day (previously known as "Victory over Japan Day"). So don't miss me too much, I will hopefully come back with the same motivation to post as regularly as I have been as of late.

Have a great bug-and-bat-free 4 days! I'll be back real soon. I promise.

I may be losing it.

Last night, on my way home, I looked down at my hand right as I was about to shift and saw the biggest ant I have ever seen crawling on my hand. I freaked out, of course, because I'm not one for the crawling creatures, and I seriously think it could've bitten my thumb off. Later on, around 9:30, I was making one of my trips to my sister's house across the street and I was dive-bombed by two bats. They came within a foot of my head, stopping briefly before me, then zoomed past to the field. I, of course, stopped in my tracks and screamed. Because, you know, that's obviously what will save me from getting my eyes gouged out by two evil bats. Not too soon after, I went to bed. Right above my bed is a window with a fan blowing in, and directly on me. As a result, I am paranoid something will fly in through the fan and attack me in my sleep. I was on the cusp of sleeping, where dreams feel like your reality, and saw sworms of those giant mosquitos (you know the ones, they're not really mosquitos, but look like the big brothers of mosquitos?) surrounding my bed. I freaked out, started waving my arms frantically, jumped out of bed and turned on the light to see that there was absolutely nothing in my room. It had been a dream. After laughing out loud to myself, as well as catching Took's look of "What the hell is your problem, lady?!" I fell back to sleep to later dream I was being covered by ants.

Do you guys think I need to move back to the city, or what?

He's worth it.

Usually when Took and I go for a walk, he's in his own world having a personal adventure of mysterious scents and varying landscapes of tall grass and poop graveyards. He trots along with his tongue hanging out and a look of determination in his eyes. But sometimes, he comes out of his world and realizes I'm walking along with him. He stops dead in his tracks, looks up at me as if to say, "Oh...It's you! You feed me and scratch my belly! I like you!" and then he wags his tail and looks up at me, not budging until I scratch his head. For everyone who comments that dogs are too much responsiblilty and question why I would take that on, this is the reason. That single moment where he realizes who I am and makes eye contact as his smiles, is what makes all the responsibility totally worth it.

Evidence

A while back, I came across the site Postsecret through the Blogger welcome page. Postsecret started as an art project compiled of secrets annonymously confessed on post cards. The idea took off and became so popular a blog was started to post a few of the thousands they began to receive. This morning a friend of mine suggested I check out the new secrets that had been posted (new secrets are posted every Sunday). This one struck me:



How can you be so power hungry that you can ignore the plea of soldiers, the mental poisoning of YOUR citizens, W.? How much more proof do you need before you decide to pull out our daughters and sons from destroying someone else's land and killing themselves and other innocent people? Perhaps you should send your own daughters overseas and see if they come back just as they left. Or if they come back at all.

I think you may need to reacquaint yourself with the definition of freedom. I'll make it even easier for you: here's a link.

------------------

Click here to read the rest of the secrets at Postsecret.

More gushing about my garden, a bit about my weekend, and finally D.C.

It's riding on borderline freaky how much I love my garden. I have yet to sleep outside next to it, but when I was planting it, I did have a hankering for rolling around in the compost it was so rich and beautiful. I was thinking how if I were to do it for my job, if I would still love it as much, or if farmer's just loose the love of gardening when it becomes their way of making money. Right now, I'm abound with cucumbers and zucchini, and still basking in the glory of being able to share my veggies. If I were doing it for a living, I'm afraid it would suck the love right out of it. Just a thought. Also, my zucchini and cucumber plants are attacking my skin. I just looked down as I'm typing this, and it looks like I got into a fight with a hundred kittens. And I say kittens because they're little scratches. I'm not sure if I'm allergic, or this is normal. But I digress...

I had such a great weekend of normality. And I was excited about that, internet. Although, something happened friday night that threw me back a bit. I went to a friend's house for a party they were throwing and I was the first to show up. Soon, about 15 girls around the age of probably 20 or so came walking in with cell phones in their hands and apparently having forgotten to put clothes on. So not too long after this, I got told that I'm too mature by friend. Hm. Too mature - I've definitely never been told that one. It could've been because compared to the 15 year olds that were there, I could've been their mother. But apparently, he meant it as a compliment -- he said he was intimidated by me because I'm so mature. Nice, huh? I left not long after that, I had to get up early for Bingo anyway.

Ok, so instead of posting what I wrote about DC in it's own entry, this is what I have to say: D.C. blew me away. I have left there energized to finally do something for myself. The people I met were familiar to me, welcoming of me -- I was a part of their family the second "hello's" were exchanged. They were intelligent, kind, open, driven -- each incredible and owning of a passion I crave. I walked miles and miles, enough to aquire painful shin-splints, and now the last thing I want to do is drive my car or sit down. For months now, I've felt bored and uninspired. My life had become routine and pre-planned. The people I met had a purpose to their lives, they had a cause they were fighting for, something they felt was unjust and needed attention. And not only did they hold this, they acted upon it. It effected me in a way I didn't expect, I found motivation for something I didn't know I had. The first night there, I met my girffriend H's friends and instantly was surrounded by political debates and current issues I hadn't thought twice about. It was refreshing, and quickly made me feel like I needed to stop living in my hole. The next day we attended a panel discussion on hip hop and culture and how it can be transformed into a positive influence and put back to it's roots. The discussion continued for about 4 hours, followed by a couple of performances by political hip-hop artists, including one that was H's friend. It was amazing. That night we went out for Mexican food and sangria that knocked us on our asses. It was GREAT to sit there and chat with my girlfriend, to catch up after FOUR YEARS of not being in touch. It was like we hadn't gone a day without talking. The rest of the time there was spent exploring the city (including the zoo that I didn't like all that much) and hanging out with her friend Alex who is so sweet and intelligent and kind (and walks dogs for his job!). She also had a dinner party where one of her roommates made a lasagna out of ingredients from their garden, and it was one of the best meals I had ever had. I honestly can not say enough good things about my trip and D.C. I feel like I'm not even doing it justice. And my girl H...ROCKS. What a cool chick. I didn't want to leave, I wanted her in my life on a daily basis, not a flight away. Not only is she one of the greatest people I know, but she's actually SINGLE! *GASP* I mean, I thought I was the only one left, people! All in all, it was one of the best trips of my life, and I've been a lot of places.

So that's the short recap of D.C. Hope you're not disappointed, but most of you I've already talked your ears off about it anyway.

Happy Birthday, S!

Today, one of the greatest people I have been blessed to meet in this life, is celebrating her birthday. She's miles away...and having the time of her life. I couldn't be prouder of her for making the move that she did; she is an example of strength. S is one of the kindest, funniest, sweetest, most beautiful, sincere and genuine people you will ever meet. I am so lucky to have her as a friend. I can only hope to give back to her what she has given me over the years, for she deserves nothing but the very best.

Have a wonderful, fair-filled birthday, S. I love you with all my heart!

My garden.

So this is the full garden (well, actually, to the left are more plants -- but it's the majority of it). Sorry the pic is kind of little. But isn't it beautiful? I love my garden. Can you tell? I also have some lettuce in there that I just realized I didn't label. You can kind of see it in the top picture above the zuchini leaves and below the tomatoes. It looks really great and almost ready to pick, except it's really light green and I'm wondering if it's going to get darker. It looks exactly like the picture on the seed packet, except for the color. Anyone know if I'm doing something wrong? And check out that Took plant, isn't it handsome?

I'm so proud! Look at my little pepper!

Oh how he's grown...the time goes so fast.
*sniff* *sniff*

Pride a ribbon could never display.

Last night as I was driving home, my phone rang and up popped my dad's picture. Earlier in the day, I had emailed the below post to my mom, curious as to what she would think about what I had wrote. She emailed me later saying she was impressed by what I had written and thanked me for sharing it. What I didn't know was that she had forwarded it to my dad (which I would've done on my own, I just spaced it). I answered my dad's call and he immediately said, "I'm so damn proud of you." I asked why, and he replied, "Your mom sent me what you had written, I am so proud. This is what we need to do, this is what you kids need to keep doing. They did this for Vietnam, and it eventually ended the war. I think this is great." I was taken aback by his comments, I certainly hadn't expected them. I knew my parents weren't in agreement with Bush, but I was not exaclty confident they felt this war was unjust, as politics are not usually a topic of choice in our family. What my dad said next, filled me with pride - he had forwarded what I had written to everyone he knew. He had also printed it out, and was bringing it into work today for his coworkers to read in the break room. (Actually, his words were, "I'm bringing it in so all those damn republicans can read it.")

Guys, I can't explain how this made me feel. Up until two weeks ago, I was an avid news-avoider. I have the NYTimes as my homepage at work, but I would only quickly glance at the headlines and then continue on to my other work out of fear of becoming sick with what I would read. But my trip to D.C. struck me, made me realize I need to stop living in the dark and find out ways to make a difference. And I can already feel it. I'm psyched my dad is doing this, that he's going to share the story that made this whole thing so real. If it even changes one person's opinion, I'll feel like I've succeeded. And you know what? This is only the beginning.