Best of 09

I thought, to wrap up the year, I would include a "Best of 09" feature, of my favorite blog posts over the past 12 months. Writing that sentence out sort of sounds like the ultimate in narcissism, now that I think of it, but hey, who doesn't love a little pat on the head from themselves. Now I'll just go make myself a drink, and then reward myself for that too.

It just so happens there are twelve of them, one for each month of this crazy year. So, sit back and enjoy, in no particular order, my favorite blog posts of 2009.

Best of 09...

Funniest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/01/hilarious.html

Friendiest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009_01_01_archive.html

Loviest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/02/note-from-less-than-perfect-time.html

Massachusetts-iest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/03/things-i-will-miss-about-massachusetts.html

Loneliest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/03/lunch-lessons.html

Best Picture:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/07/first-day-of-rest-of-my-summer.html

Scariest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/08/persistent.html

Target-iest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/08/public-is-just-pubic-with-no-l.html

David-Duchovney-est:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/08/x-equals.html

Biggest Relief:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/08/exhale.html

Dreamiest:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/08/inexplicable.html

Best of the best:
http://adversecurls.blogspot.com/2009/11/home-homeowner.html

3:08 p.m.

I have nothing overwhelmingly insightful or thought-provoking to say right now, but I wanted to document that at this moment, it is 3:08p.m. on a Tuesday and I am wrapped in a blanket, sitting on a couch near a fireplace that is roaring, with leopard print slippers on, a romance novel on my lap and a beer close at hand. I think this is the very definition of relaxed.

Post-Christmas Smoked Turkey Enchildadas

Tonight, we are making smoked turkey enchiladas, and I can only say that I feel nothing but relief that Christmas is over. That's me, saying that. Me, the one who loves Christmas and the holidays so much that we got married at that time. Me. This year, Christmas was a bummer. I'm so glad it's over.

I feel as though I am already making New Years resolutions, like Christmas has ended and a new thing is beginning. I barely remember New Years Eve last year, except that we went to a party at the Gulu and I didn't want to be there, so we left before midnight and celebrated New Years in the car, driving home. I think, somehow, I was already leaving that place. I knew I didn't belong, no matter how much I wanted to. And this year too, I am struggling, so uncomfortable in my own skin. I don't belong here. I can't think of celebrating, or of anything but the house. Of moving. Of having my own space and sitting in a bathtub that is my own, a living room that I've created. Of putting dishes away wherever I decide they go. Of being alone with the one person that I love more than anyone of earth. Of only us.

As is often the case, after a few days of not going to an office and sitting at a desk, I feel like I'm brimming over with creativity. I want to write and paint and dance and sing and go out into the night and cast spells. I want to mow the lawn again, sit on the porch, plant flowers.I want to make things. I want to eat potato salad and cook outside and read in a hammock. I want to go on vacation. I want my life six months from now.

Tomorrow we begin a week of earnest, hard work on the house. And each day will bring frustration, progress, and (I hope) bring us one step closer to being in. And hopefully, there will be time for a little painting and reading and writing snuck in as well. I'm starting 2010 early this year, calling 2009 over and done with as of now. This is our year, internet.

This is our year.

Merry Christmas Eve 2009

Well, here we are. It's been a year I've been blogging here, albeit ever so sporadically.
This year is so different, we've enacted so much change in our lives and things will never be quite the same again. Good and bad, happy and sad, I find this year that Christmas has made me a bit melancholy. Things aren't as easy as I thought they'd be, not quite the way I imagined them. That's the adventure and the truth and the slightly tepid way that life goes sometimes though.

I was always a naive, gullible child, and believed in magic far longer than most other children. Christmas Eve was always a night where magic and possibility was tangible. It was there in the starry sky, in the moonlight on the snow, in the up-past-bedtime and the "do I hear sleighbells?". I'm so glad I had that, so glad that even as an adult I've had magical Christmastimes, even if this isn't exactly one of them.

This year feels frantic, panic-attack ready and stress-filled. This year it's all "hurry, get this floor down and that drywall up, now run and buy presents, just get anything that you see...". It's drive here and drive there and call these people and make sure you haven't forgotten anything and I feel as though I haven't had time to breathe, much less clean my bedroom or take pleasure in wrapping gifts or even just hold hands with my husband in front of a fire. There is no time for us, only for things and other people. Next year, it will be better. Next year we'll have this house, we'll have each other. Next year everything will be easier. I firmly believe this. We just have to remember to breathe, and to put ourselves, and each other before all of the other things that have come first this year.

Merry Christmas 2009. Even if you've kind of been weird.

Thanksgiving

Riding home fromthanksgiving at SAMs mOms house. There is some crazy conspiracy theory talk in this car right now. Sigh. Well, I'm thankful for this family, even if we are all wackos.

Home. Homeowner.

Well, it's been more than a month of ups and downs and upside downs and down down downs, and it all led to this-- We own a house! A house! We own it! It has a roof (that needs fixing, but still!). And walls (that are coming down...)! And rooms! And floors... oh the floors are the best of all. Beautiful. Hardwood. Shiny.

We own a house. There is so much to say surrounding that, how exciting and terrifying and overwhelming that fact is, that I can't put it all here. I'm so tired from all the house-buying and house drama and now, house hammering and house fixing, that I can't put it all down here. But. But I am happy. For the first time in a long time I am not stressed about our living situation, because there is a light at the end of this tunnel.

I'm sure there will need to be more explanation. More venting. More frustration and wonder and terror and excitement. For right now, this is the best I can do. And I think we did good.

Sixty

This is my sixtieth blog entry. One for each second in a minute, for each minute in an hour. I think of just how much has changed since the first blog entry I wrote, and it is truly astonishing. A new city, a new job, a new life. Suddenly we're on the cusp of homeownership. We've overcome an incredible fear, in what happened in august. We've survived living in the place that we have been, and everything that comes along with being in that place. We've learned how to be in Vermont. We've made friends. Made progress. Made some mistakes. Made some margaritas.

Oh god. There have been margaritas.

It is 6:29 and I am at my desk at work still, the last person in the office other than the slightly creepy guy who sits upstairs and doesn't ever talk to me. I am so happy here.

I want to be funny, or insightful, but I guess for now this is all I have. I'm too tired for insight. Last night I woke up, wide awake at 4:40 a.m. For anyone who is even remotely familiar with me, you will understand that this is not a pleasant or welcome state for me to be in, unless I haven't yet gone to bed. I am a night owl. I laid in bed and tried to understand why my stomach was churning and my heart was racing. I thought of clients, of getting work to the printer and god if I have to hear that woman talk again I will just punch myself in the face, I thought of the house that we are trying, trying, trying to buy. I thought of my Mom, and her appointment today to get checked up and be sure that the cancer hasn't come back. Everything I thought of just made my heart beat faster. So I counted the minutes. And eventually I fell asleep. About sixty minutes later.

How quickly things change.

House

Just say yes. Please. Just say yes. I'm not sure what I'll do if I have to wait another full day.

Please.

Yes.

Please.

Beginning

I feel as though I'm hurtling through these past weeks, so full of fast-paced work, and traveling, and love and life and excitement and hope that it takes my breath away. There are a lot of beginnings happening right now.

First, the beginning of fall. This bright new season in Vermont. My first autumn here is gorgeous and crisp and moving so fast before me. It seems that the chill in the air just began, but already the leaves are on the porch and the twilight begins at 5p.m. Already this beginning is ending.

The beginning of a new phase of life-- homeownership. Is it possible? Really, truly possible? I have been holding my breath, crossing my fingers, squeezing my eyes and my heart shut, because it is too much to hope. But it seems as though it is really happening. Like right now. Each minute we get closer. I am terrified.

And finally, the beginning of a life together. Andrew and Samantha had the most beautiful wedding, and she was the most beautiful bride I've ever seen. Samantha is a woman who was meant to be a bride, so graceful and elegant and calm and poised. I love them both, these people who are now my family. It makes me love John even more, if that is possible, for bringing them into my life, for sharing his life with me.

And so it seemed apt to begin writing a new chapter in this blog. It seems I just can't stay dedicated to writing every night, but I'm trying. I'm trying. I'll try some more. This is a new beginning. Anything is possible.

Inexplicable

Last night, first I dreamt that I was on the island, by myself, in the winter time, in the dark. I was in a camp, and built myself a fire, which in the dream I noticed was positioned in a very dangerous place. You see the free-standing fire pit was right at the foot of the bed in the dream... and all I could think was, "Man I better not kick my covers off or this whole place will go kablooey". Once I was done building my fire, I got down to business- the real reason I had come to the island.

I was here to rescue the cats.

It appeared that at some point several months before, I had brought 3 kittens to the island-- and left them there. I LEFT KITTENS. ON AN ISLAND.

WTF.

So I opened the door into the darkness, and stood shivering in what I can only describe as a Stevie-Nicks-- (we all know how I love Stevie Nicks)

(...Actually I loathe her. I want to set her on fire. HATE her. This one is not for you, Daddy.)

Stevie-Nicks-esque billowing black dress, black leggings, and long blonde braids. I opened the door and made the kissing noise that universally calls all animals and said "Kittykittykittykittykitty" and stood back, letting the cold winter wind stir my long, retarded-looking sleeves and dress. Suddenly a tiny cat appeared, and then two more, and then three after that, and suddenly there were like, eleven cats running in to be by the fire. Orange cats, tiger cats, a tiny black kitten. Spotted black and white cats. So many cats. And I thought "Oh shit. Which ones did I leave here?".

I woke up gasping from the stress of all the cats, and thought I saw someone walking in the hallway. I was too tired to care, so I fell back into a fitful sleep and had my second dream of the night which I will call, "Crazy reverse tsunami boat".

In this dream I went out on a big boat on Lake Champlain and as I got further and further from the dock, about halfway between the dock and Valcour Island, I noticed the water getting shallower and shallower. (Note: This is not how it is supposed to go in real life. That is some deep-ass water.) Suddenly there was no water left at all, just boats sitting on the bottom of the lake. I panicked and couldn't decide what to do-- should I run for shore and leave the boat? What if the water comes back? I will be stranded without a boat and my boat will be sunk. But if I stay on the boat, what will happen then? I decided to stay on the boat and dye my hair dark brown... so I did. But I forgot to take the hairdye out in time, and it turned purple, and then all my coworkers were like

"Oh wow. I mean woooooooowww. So... you got... your hair is different..."

I have no idea what any of this means- except maybe that I should sleep more. And not so much rum right before bed.

Mermaid

I have a very vivid memory from when I was a child-- swimming at a particular beach, on a particular summer day. The water was very clear and the bottom was all sand, the sun was coming through at just a certain angle so that if you opened your eyes underwater everything around you was gold and sparkling. A silent world of peace. The water was warm and the sand was soft and there was nowhere to be, nothing else to be doing besides diving under the waves, skimming along the bottom, reveling in the quiet, the colors, the fun. Feeling your body like a mermaid, like a fish, sinuous and in touch with every muscle.

Today I returned to that beach. And although I was an adult, for a moment-- I was a mermaid.

Artwork is by Molly Harrison and can be found: http://www.mollyharrisonart.com

Just today...

When I used to work in MA and was IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT, the cubicle next to me was, for a time, occupied by a certain lovely lady named Lucia. Lucia was many things-- an awesome writer, a beautiful woman, a chick with a badass tattoo, a calming influence in a sea of anger, etc. She had shaved her head, picked her own name (Lucia= bringer of light), she had no problem standing up to assholes who made me shake in my cute shoes, and giving hugs exactly when they were needed. She liked to sleep. Lucia was my hero.

On her computer, there were two post-it notes on either side of her screen:

Just today... Nothing is on fire.

And on the top of her screen:

Breathe.

Some less enlightened folks in the office made fun of these post-its. They mocked them. They didn't understand them. And I guess, until today, neither did I. How often we forget to breathe. How often we let the fires in our lives overtake our days.

Today, the sun was shining. I had lunch with my husband. The pizza was hot.
Tonight, the fans are cooling down the heat of the downstairs. The beer is sweating on the table next to me. It is very cold. The garlic was extra spicy that I put into the fresh guacamole I made. The avocado was very green.

Today, I breathed at work and looked around and thought "I am doing a good job."
Today a client signed a contract that I've been waiting for, and I made my boss some money. Another client joked with me on the phone. My coworkers made me laugh. They teased me about being afraid of spiders. Today we stopped for coffee. Today, I put myself before my life and all the demands of it.

Just today... nothing is on fire.
Breathe.

I get it.

Exhale

I got up and got into the shower. I am ok.
Washed my hair with the new shampoo. Thought about getting back into bed.

I chose my clothes. I am ok.
I dried my hair. I sang to myself.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I am ok.

I drank coffee. Rode to work. Listened to the radio. I am ok.
I checked my email. Had a meeting.
I said, bravely, "I will be out of the office this afternoon. I won't be back till tomorrow." I am ok. My voice didn't even shake.

I made phone calls. Sent email. I am ok.

My hands started to shake at about noon. I felt like I might throw up. I'm still ok.
I left the building. Said goodbye to the people around me. What will I know the next time I see them? The next time I walk through these doors? They can't smell this fear on me? This terrible not-knowing?

I have to be ok.

I went to lunch. I ate croutons. I am ok.
I teared up. I looked at my Mother's face. Her purse. The breast cancer ribbon on it. I am not joining this club. I am ok.

(It could be you. You could be next. Why not? Why not you? All those compliments on this beautiful hair and you will be bald and oh my god you will never have children why haven't wehadchildrenjohnwillbealoneandthelumpiskindofgonenowyouarelyingtoyourselfandwillyoucry whenyoudieandwillithurtandwherewillyougothisisn'treal)

I am ok.

I bought a book. Where will I be when I finish this book?

I held his hand. Felt the rain on my face. We found a parking spot.

I stopped breathing. I read "Cancer Center". I wondered if I had to throw up, how embarrassing it would be. I felt faint. Do people often faint here? They must.

Breast care center. I am ok.

hi I have an appointment. I see it in her eyes, "she's so young." She smiles at me, hands me a clipboard.

there are a lot of questions. I am ok.

There is construction happening. A man next to us jumps. Mom laughs at him. Everyone laughs. We are all ok.

I go into the room. Mom and John come with me. I am ok because they are here.

I put on the gown. It is too long and I feel like a child.

I am less ok.

I can't breathe.

The doctor walks in. He has a full orange mustache and no hair on his head.

Just lie back.

We're going to turn the lights off so it is extra terrifying.

In tv and movies ultrasounds look gentle. That is a lie.
They push hard. The gel is hot. I look at the ceiling tile.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

"Ok this all looks normal... (Pause) Hmmmm...."

I want to grab him by his mustache. What is this HMMMMM? I am dying. I am not ok.

I begin to cry.

He looks silently at the screen. I die a million deaths in my mind. I look at the ceiling. I'm dying. We should just start chemo now. No, that's a lie, there's no time for chemo because you're dying. You have two weeks. You have two minutes.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I can't stop the tears from leaking out the side of my eyes. He does not look at me.
My stomach is quivering.

"Ok, everything looks great. You can stop worrying. You can breathe now."

I laugh, through my tears. I exhale. I am ok. I am really ok. I am totally ok.

Every little things gonna be alright.

Thanks Bob.

X Equals

Can't quite seem to stop thinking about firsts and lasts right now.

Had a little mini-meltdown at the end of watching Californication. How silly.

My first ultrasound will be not for a baby, but for a boob. This makes me sad.

I can't stop wondering, is this the last time I will do this before I know that I have cancer?

The last time I will eat an ice cream cone?
The last time I will wear this t-shirt?
See David Duchovny's face?
Make Love?
Make a salad?
Eat dinner at home?
Go to Target
do laundry

Is it?
Is this the first of many scary times? The end of being naive enough not to worry?

I know this is unhelpful, but I can't stop myself.

I keep touching, holding, probing my breast. I can't find the lump anymore. Do I not want to, or is not there? Is this the last blog I will write before I know, one way or another?

And, perhaps worst of all, once I know-- will I believe?

David Duchovny and I-- we both want to believe.

Public is just "Pubic" with no "L"

This story begins at the Target (as most good stories do...), where I was today, perusing the shoes in an attempt to distract myself from Tuesday (and, cue BOOB!). My philosophy was if I could just distract myself by acquiring more THINGS, preferably Nice, New things from Target, I would forget about the possibilities that are two days away. It seemed life affirming.

"I will need this winter scarf when it is cold and I am ALIVE."

"Oh look, a beach towel for NEXT YEAR. When I will take BOTH OF MY BOOBS TO THE BEACH."

Self-affirmation through shopping.

Anyway-- finding the shoes seriously lacking, I wandered over into women's wear to see what was on sale, and as I was considering the tissue-weight tank tops, I overheard the most upsetting conversation from the clearance rack just in front of me.

"Oh look at this ADORABLE little zebra-print bikini!!! Mom- I need this."

I looked up to find what appeared to be an eleven year old, extremely tan child; her cheerfully overweight 40 something mother; and a man. I cannot say who this man was, as in his full silver beard, he seemed a bit too old to be a father. Uncle? Great Uncle? Grampa? Neighbor who they gave a ride to Target? Step-Dad? Bus Driver? Under-cover cop?

I couldn't figure it out. I went back to the tanks.

"And LOOOOOOK they have it in extra small and Extra Extra Extra Large!! You can get one too Mom! We could match!!!!"

"Oh no. No way. Mom cannot wear that. That is not a Mom-Suit."

"But whyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

"Well, honey, let me be honest."

At this I looked up. Honesty in Target? I wasn't sure I was ready for this.

"There is hair that Mommy doesn't want the world to see that this suit just won't cover up."

"Ewwww. Well just SHAVE it, MOM!"

"Nope. No way. Learned that one the hard way. ITCHY"

At this point I have abandoned even touching the tank top and am blatantly staring at this conversation.

"Well just get a brazilian. Duh."

"Absolutely not. There is hair there for a REASON. God didn't just put HAIR THERE FOR NO REASON."

I started to back away as I watched Old Uncle Daddy grin from ear to ear. He thought this was hilarious.

As I scurried into the jewelry section to get away from this band of misfits-- afraid of what other life-lessons I might overhear if I stayed, I thought about this girl. At 11, I still believed in Santa Claus. I read Nancy Drew books. I had crushes. This girl knows what a Brazilian bikini wax is. Holy fucking shit.

I ended up in line behind them at the checkout. Turns out little miss tan got her zebra print suit, as well as sparkly zebra shoes-- along with an all too public education on the perils of pubic hair to boot! What a productive Sunday!!!

Turns out you can take the "L" out of public, and give it to Old Uncle Daddy to Leer with, and you've got a Sunday at the Plattsburgh Target.

BOOB!

I went whole 40 minute stretches today without thinking about my breast. My lump. My unlovely lady lump.

I would float along on a sea of normal and then BAM! BOOB!

Like it was hitting me in the face. I went to a meeting and sat in a room that I have been visiting once every couple weeks for the past couple months. All I could think was, "the last time I was in this room this was not even a possibility. this was not even a nightmare on the fringes of my brain. the last time I was here, despite anything else that was wrong, I was so so so happy."

BOOB!

I imagined a hundred futures in my head today, and lived them out in great detail and fear. Really it is just three that I wonder about.

#1. Best case scenario- this is nothing and I live my life. We go on. We make money and buy a house and have babies and someday a long time from now I will vaguely remember this moment when I gained perspective.

#2. Middle case scenario- this is something that can be dealt with. Maybe it is a blip of a something, a month long worry that ends up being fine but that needs to be dealt with and moved on from. Maybe it is a more extreme deal... one that involves a bit more courage and some lifestyle changes. Maybe it is a something that changes my whole life, but allows me to retain one.

#3.

Today I scheduled an ultrasound for next week. Tuesday. There are a million moments between now and Tuesday to wonder and worry. A hundred thousand or so to forget and then BOOB!

Tonight I looked in the mirror at my slightly stained t-shirt, my long hair, my eyes. I'm healthy. I'm young. Wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I see it in my eyes, feel it crawl along my skin and nest itself into me? I feel like I would know. But maybe not.

Persistent

Today the doctor found a lump in my breast.

My right breast.

Persistent, she called it.

"I don't want to freak you out" she said.



I can't breathe.

Conservative- she said. Thorough. Careful. "You deserve to have someone else do the worrying for you." She handed me a tissue. She said it would be alright.

I came home and cried. I touched my forehead to my husbands. I tried to remember the leaves. The sky. His breath on my cheek. If everything else faded, I would remember this moment of bright colors when I was very alive.

I slept. I went to sleep because my brain simply couldn't deal with being awake. In my dreams, there was something very important that I had to do, someone I had to speak with, but I kept floating up. Unable to finish a conversation. Flying, but trying to fight my way back down to earth. To solid ground. Like trying to stay on the bottom of a pool.

Why not me? When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I had the opposite reaction most people have. "Why not us?" I asked. "Bad things happen to good people every day. Why not us?"

28 year olds get diagnosed with cancer. Who am I to think it might not be me?

I can't breathe. I can't do anything but breathe.

I'm terrified.

Secret Garden

When I was a little girl, I loved this book. Mostly for the title, the cover illustration, and the idea. I was a dreamer, and in my world a secret garden was just about the best thing possible. Flowers, fairies, secrets, magic.

I think one of the things that draws me to Vermont, to the forest and the mountains, is the promise of this secret garden that still blooms in my heart. A place where I can dream, where I can read, where I can whisper. Where I can grow and nurture and soothe and day dream and waste time and hide.

And over the past couple of months, I've started on that dream. I've planted and sung and danced and sighed at the stars. I've chased firefly's. I've watered and coached and pleaded and relaxed.

I've struggled. This space isn't my own. How I ache for a space of my own.

But oh, how it has bloomed.
It may be borrowed, but it's beautiful.

A garden. A secret. A jungle. A cacophony. A promise. A wish.


It's not secret, but it is finally real.

The first day of the rest of my summer

Well hello. I haven't exactly been writing too much over the past, ohh, 4 months. It has been a confusing, angry, hopeful, distracting and overwhelming time. My hopes for the move to Vermont very quickly were dashed, and this time has been not at all what I expected. Occasionally better, very often much worse, but never expected.

And now, we've gotten it. We got what we've been wishing for- time. Together. Just us, just us being us, in a place. Back to our little family- our perfect little family that co-habitates so well.

Tonight I am going to mow the lawn. MOW THE LAWN!! BECAUSE THERE IS A LAWN!!! TO MOW!!!
Then we will sit on the porch and have a drink and light candles and maybe even make out a bit. Because we can. Because this (THIS) is what our life looks like when there isn't huge interference and stress. And no matter how welcome that interference, no matter how important and inevitable the stress, we are so much better without it. I think after 4 months, it had become a part of every day, every conversation, every interaction. And now, a huge sigh of relief. The reality we dreamed of every time we visited. Even if it is borrowed.

So, I'll try to do this more- try to make more time for just me now that there is time for us. I know how important it is, and how vitally I need this.

But for now, mowing the lawn and the porch is enough.

thank you. thank you god.

Quiet

Right now I am sitting all alone, locked into my office at that place I work. It is beautiful and totally quiet, for the first time today. I am reminded again how much I love this job. I love that I am sitting here and it is quiet and cool and the sun is setting over the river behind me and there is work to be done but none of it weighs heavy on me and makes me sad or angry or feel like I can't breathe.

I am sitting here now and in just a little bit I will get up and walk out and meet my husband. We will drive home and maybe stop at that little stand and buy an ice cream cone and we will go in the backyard and walk barefoot and look at my rose bush. We will make dinner and watch a bad tv show and go to bed early and read books and kiss and sleep and dream.

Nothing is ever perfect. But this is pretty damn good.

Home

I've been thinking a lot about home lately, spurred not only by my current situation but by those around me. About what it means to be home, to feel at home, to go home. I seem to be surrounded by this theme right now in my life, so I figure the universe might be trying to tell me something.

Right now, home is a strange place. Home is someone elses home, that they feel fiercely protective of and that they aren't sure they want me to be too comfortable in. Home is my husbands home, where he has a place all to himself (his music studio). I don't have that space. My space is borrowed. My things are in storage. I have my clothes, my sheets, my mattress-- everything else is not mine.

So what defines home then? I don't want home to be my things, because that sounds sad and shallow, but the architecture of a place, the things you see and touch each day make up such a large part of not only what feels like home, but who you are at home-- that I can't divorce myself of them and not feel a little empty. It is only my blankets, my art, my dishes in that storage unit in Enosburg Falls. I am more than my blankets and art. But then again, they help define who I am. I am a person who owns some awesome art. I am a person who loves to cook and has beautiful dishes to do so with. I am a person who delights in blankets. I imagine that when we move, it will be like Christmas as we unpack, all the beautiful things that I've lived without for months.

So, if home is not the things you love, it is (as one might have hoped) the people; and home is not the space you need (that I need so dearly); then how does one feel at home when there is no home to be had? I've been disappearing, finding space inside the pages of books. I've been sitting in a hammock and borrowing the backyard for a bit. I've been daydreaming in the car. And I've been waiting for a space to call my own. It's not working out so far.

And finally, what does it mean to go home? When we lived in Massachusetts, I was always so torn. I loved to visit Vermont and NY, to see family and relax in a way I couldn't in MA. I would sigh as we left, winding our way down I89 and wish we lived here. I would pine for dinners with family, for mountains and lakes and fresh air and stars. And then I would get home, to our cramped apartment and our cats and our late nights and pizza boxes. How I miss those late nights, that cramped apartment. Now, we have come home, and I miss where we were. I pine.

The toughest part about this is not knowing exactly what I miss. I do not miss the commute, the expense, the job, the community, the messy apartment. But I find myself pining for my kitchen counters (because they were mine?), for my late night with my husband (because we were alone, or because we were there?), for a life that is now gone. And the most upsetting thing about all of this is that I feel homeless, cast out into the world with no place of my own. I never would have thought I would feel this way, so angry and caught up in something that seems so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. But I do.

I want to go home. I just need to figure out where that is.

The good news is, I am positively certain of one thing. Wherever home is, be it in Vermont or someplace entirely different- I know that the only way I'll ever feel at home is if John is there with me. So, I guess this isn't all bad, after all.

Memorial Day

Today I woke up suddenly, wide awake. No drifting into consciousness and stretching into sunlight for me. John was gone, and the bed being empty seems like a defining moment for me each morning-- that moment I become aware he isn't with me-- and I would move mountains of blankets to be where he is. But today he is gone, doing a favor for a friend, and I awoke out of dreams of the ghosts of my past. I dreamt of ex-boyfriends, who tugged at my heartstrings and who made me thrill and cry. All of them, one way or another, made me cry.

One specific ex-boyfriend, who I met just before John haunted my dreams last night. What a silly girl I was, to not have seen the signs in the way he wasn't ever really totally interested. But I bought it, hook, line and sinker. I just wanted to be loved, to be adored, so badly. I think this was probably the biggest mistake I ever made in love, and I made it over, and over, and over again. Looking for a boy to adore me, when I couldn't find those things to adore in myself. Crazy.

But there were those exciting moments too, when the phone rang and it was him, he apologized for calling on Christmas Eve but didn't want to wait in case I made plans for the week. When he picked me up, he was so shy and said that he never thought I would have noticed him, sitting in the back of the English class. Ha! He was all I could see. In a sea of fraternity brothers and j-lo-fuzzy-pant-wearing-girls, that shy guy in the back who would blush when I looked his way was my Everest. I would find a way to get to him.

I don't remember him kissing me the first time (but I do remember the last). I don't remember much at all from that winter season-- I was a boomerang of depression and elation. I remember him getting into a fight over me. I remember walking in the snow. I remember another guy showing up at the bar where I was with him, the other guy I was also wasting time with, and me worrying that they would find out about each other. Silly Ashley, to not realize they were doing the same thing to me. In fact they might have been relieved.

In my dream I felt all of the excitement that comes with first skydiving into, not love, but some elation that only occurs in the early days-- when you haven't picked up someone's socks and wondered together how you would pay the bills. I woke up smiling. I love that memory. I love remembering that feeling. It is a feeling of no regrets. And even now, I know that I wouldn't give up my memories of that time, of those boys, of who I was with them, for the world. They made me who I am today.

I am a woman who is totally in love with her husband, because she kissed (quite) a few frogs before she got to him.

A list of things I do not miss, and some I do

For today- since I’ve been away and am feeling less than 100% creative- a list.

16 Things I Don’t Miss About Massachusetts, and 6 Things I do

1. I do not miss the traffic
2. I do not miss the despair
3. I do not miss hating people (specifically other drivers)
4. I do not miss dying inside a little bit, every day, as I sat in a cubicle
5. I do not miss the tolls
6. I do not miss wondering which bill I would pay late, and how much that would cost
7. I do not miss hearing the upstairs neighbors scream at their 5 children
8. I do not miss ordering food at least 2 nights a week because I was just too tired to cook
9. I do not miss the commute
10. I do not miss the noise
11. I do not miss the lack of backyard hammocks. And the lack of backyards at all
12. I do not miss the crazy right-wing radio station that was the only one with reliable traffic reports
13. I do not miss needing traffic reports to know if I should stop and get coffee because I would be sitting still for at least 40 minutes
14. I do not miss the lack of places to plant things (see above #11 for the lack of backyards)
15. I do not miss wondering who else had walked barefoot on the carpet in my living room
16. I do not miss the way I felt in Massachusetts

But...

1. I do miss wondering “Which Target should I go to?”
2. I do miss the Gulugulgulugulugulu Café
3. I do miss tacos
4. I do miss the grocery stores. Wayyyy better grocery stores
5. I do miss Steve. And Marie. And Laura, and JD and Darius and Greg and Jeremy and Kristen, and Megan (in my mind, you are still in Boston) and Colin and Sean and Julie and Jim and Jeff and Tana and Justin and Emmanuel and Russ and that guy who would read bad poetry at the Gulu and wear the big white sunglasses while he did it and even, yes, I even miss Gerard
6. I do miss the ocean

Seems pretty clear the decision was the right one. Next time, the list of things I love about being in Vermont. What won’t be on that list? Getting lost on a dirt road on top of a mountain. What will? Walking home barefoot and tipsy from the Snowshoe Pub in the middle of the street and knowing that I was absolutely, 100% safe, and absolutely, 100% happy.

Tuesday Evening

At 6:52p.m. and I am in comfy pants. There is a fire in the woodstove and my husband (oh husband!) has gone to get ice with which to make me a drink (or maybe two...). And even though I overslept today, and sort of feel like the only thing that could make me feel right again would be to sleep for a good 15 hours straight (oh sleep!)- I'm thanking God, and Oprah, and the universe, and all the little fishies in all the big seas that this craptastic day is happening right here, and not anywhere else.

Starting a new life

hello from Vermont! Boy, have I missing you, internet. John finally figured out how to access the wireless here last night, and I feel so much better now.

But really, how do you describe feeling better than the best you've felt in years? Because the best I've felt in years, that is about how I would describe being here.

The sun is shining on the beautiful huge porch just to my left out the window, John is cooking here in the warm, comfortable kitchen with me, I'm sitting here with a bunch of flowers in an antique glass pitcher on the table with me, my cat is sleeping in the fading sunlight on the floor. There is zero stress here.

There have been so many things I've wanted to blog about since I've been here- funny things and amazing things like how much I love my job, like the bearded man from next door who walks his big yellow dog at 7a.m. while carrying a huge fluffy orange cat in his arms-- just because the cat likes to be outdoors. Like the Montgomery Variety Show, which really just defies explanation in it's awesome weirdness. Like how relaxed both John and I are in this place that is just love and peace incarnate. Like building fires in the old antique woodstove and taking my first bath ever in an honest to god clawfoot tub. Like friendly ghosts (I hope). Like two weeks with no cell service and no internet. Like green grass under snow and tulips peeking out. Like being able to see the stars and breathe the air and feel it in my body that this is home.

There is so much to report that I feel like no one post could do it justice, so I'll stop here. There's a margarita calling my name anyway. I wish everyone sunshine, stress-free, Vermont margaritas. Just stop by, I'll share.

Enough to Make you Misty Eyed

Thing I will Miss about Massachusetts: Part Deuce

Every day as I make the long trek to and from my office, I would take a shortcut off of 1A and drive down Revere Beach, right next to the ocean.

In the morning, I watch the sun glint off the water like a thousand diamonds. I watch the ice float towards the shore. I slow down. I don't care if I'm late. I roll down the windows, even when it is only 17 degrees, just to be that much closer to the water. You can taste it in the air. I like to feel the wind on my face, see the early morning people walking down the boardwalk, by themselves, with dogs, with each other. I wonder what their jobs are. I breathe.

At night, I feel the tension come out of my shoulders as I drive along the beach. The worst of my commute is over. I am almost home. During the summer, I watch the yo-boys with their car stereo's blasting, sitting on their cars with milkshakes, trying so desperately to look cool. I breathe in the scents of summer, sunblock and ocean and ice cream and fried food.

There were winter storms when I drove by and saw waves bigger than any I have ever seen. There was a foggy, raw, fall evening when the fog pressed so close that it seemed there was no ocean, no world beyond my car. So many moments of sunshine and peace, driving by the ocean.

It is my moment of zen, no matter the season.
I will miss the sea.

Procrastination

Well, the landlord is showing our apartment, so I can't actually be there right now. That would be awkward. So I thought, "why not break out the old mac and take it down to the Gulu... drink something other than alcohol for the first time in three days... maybe write a little...". But I'm lying to myself. This is all just an elaborate excersize in avoiding packing. And I am the queen of procrastination.

Lunch Lessons

Well, today is the first day of my last week as an employee of my current job.  And where I expected to feel elation, freedom, relief and release-- I actually found myself feeling a little melancholy.  A little blue.

Today, for the first time in months, no one wanted to go to lunch with me.  Usually, (for some strange reason) I am the popular choice for lunch excursions.  I think because I have a car, go to good places, shower daily, and am not totally creepy.  Indeed there have been times I have had to turn people down, as there was simply no more room in my car.  But today, all my friends had forgotten me, they are making new lunch plans with each other.  

I went alone to Whole Foods, which was my daily sojurn when I was first hired.  The salad bar was my friend.  The flower section was my garden to wander through and have a few moments respite from the clients, the coworkers, the Russians.  

I believe in the cyclical nature of life, the way things return to you when you need them to, when you need reminders.  Perhaps, life needed to remind me today that already, it is starting to go on without me at my job, in Massachusetts.  This state, this job made its mark on me, but I may not have left a lasting impression on it.  And that's ok with me, I am surprised to realize.  I do not want to be remembered for my amazing work in pre-tax benefits, or PROTECTING THE ENVIRONMENT.  Already they are moving on, as am I.  

Perhaps the funniest thing of all for me to consider today, as I drove the familiar streets and got my familiar salad, went in my usual line, beat the pesky short green light, avoided that annoying pothole-- was all this familiarity.  The topography of my life for two years suddenly changing.  

I am a cancer, born in July.  But I was due in June, (I was late in birth as I am in life) so I just missed being a Gemini, and I think that duality is a bit of who I am.  As a cancer, I crave stability, I want a full fridge; to know where I'm going; safety and security and family hugged to me like the endless blankets I love to collect.  But there is this other part of me that can pick up and move to Vermont- that can throw away things I've owned for years, that craves simplicity and cleanliness and emptiness.  That thrills on not knowing.

And I found this duality today, as I pouted through my lunch hour and drove my familiar streets.  

Moving to Vermont thrills me. 

Letting go of this place is so hard.  

I'm so excited to be someplace else. 

But not knowing where I'll have lunch-- terrifying.

Things I will miss about Massachusetts: Part 1

As I was driving through Lynn the other day, and talking on the phone to a friend, and way too tired to be doing either of these things (let alone simaltaneously), I noticed a creature that I saw far too often in Lynn and one that I always had unanswered questions about.  I call her: 

"Takes the stroller to the grocery store and uses it as a cart to bring the groceries home Lady"

I have so many questions about this behavior.  

Is there a baby in the stroller?

If yes: YOU ARE SMOTHERING THE BABY!!!!!  THE BABY CAN'T BREATHE!!!!!

If no: Did you walk the empty stroller to the grocery store to use it as a cart?

   Where is the baby?

     Is it your stroller or did you borrow it from someone?

     Why don't you just steal a cart?

    Did you use a cart at the grocery store, or use the stroller as your cart the whole time?

I would, when I lived in Lynn for two years, occasionally see people walking empty strollers around, and would feel a surge of panic,  and wonder if I should try to communicate to them that there was indeed NO BABY in the stroller.  "They probably know that" I would think to myself to forgive myself for not trying to attempt the language barrier.  But where was the baby?  And why walk around an empty stroller?  

I guess they were all just on their way to Stop and Shop.

And weirdly, I will miss this about Massachusetts.

Change

I've been thinking a lot about change lately-- about how difficult it can be, how exciting and stressful, how scary and exhilerating, and how often we try to prevent it with everything that we are.  

3 weeks ago, John and I were in New York visiting my parents, and we were sitting at a restaurant having lunch and discussing how great it would be if we were closer, if life were different, if we could visit more often and not have it involve a 5 and a half hour drive to get there.  How much we wished things could change.  Within a week, I had applied at a new job, gotten an interview, then a second interview, and how 3 weeks and one day later we are moving up there.  This enormous, impossible change that we were wistfully daydreaming about is happening.  We have passed the point of no return and we are moving, in less than a month.  In less than a month we will be Vermonters, we will be living in a bigger house than we have ever lived in together.  We will be starting new jobs.  We basically are changing everything about our lives; stepping way out of our comfort level and trying something different.  And I love it.  It takes my breath away.  

All of the biggest celebrations, all the noteworthy events in our lives are based on change.  Passing from one year to the next we celebrate birthdays, we celebrate graduations, we celebrate moving from childhood into adulthood, we celebrate new jobs, we celebrate lives when people pass on.  Marriages, retirements, even holidays.  It's all about change.  

How funny, then, that it is so scary.  That we don't let ourselves change when it is the thing our lives need most.  I applied for this job in Burlington on a whim, thinking to myself that the economy was in the shitter and there was no way this would happen.  It was just an extension of my daydream-- just something to do.  But it changed everything.

You really can change your life just by changing your mind.

John and I moved to Massachusetts to begin something brand new.  We moved here for different opportunities, for school and for life.  We came here and we struggled, and we grew, and we learned how to love each other more.  We became a unit in a way we hadn't ever been before.  We fell in love again, with each other and with ourselves.  We became a family with our cats.  We found true friends.  When he graduated in May, we knew our time here was ending, we just weren't sure how to move on.  And I think each day since then, we've been leaving a little bit.  Saying goodbye to people and places that made our time here what it was.  But we were stuck.  We didn't know what to do next.  It was confusing and overwhelming.  We were hamsters stuck on a wheel.  We made just enough to pay the bills for the month and have a little fun, but none to save.  It seemed impossible that we would ever be able to leave.  We began to hate it here.  We hated the commutes, our jobs.  We hated our apartment, the neighbors.  And then all of a sudden, we took a leap of faith.  We did something crazy, that we knew couldn't work out.  But it did.  We changed out minds about what was possible for us.  And we made a new future.  It isn't the one we had in mind, going north instead of south.  But it feels right.  It feels exciting.  And it feels different.  And that may be the best of all.  Because as terrifying as change can be, at least it's something new.  

Ooooooohhh weeeeeeeeee

We're starting a new life

Happy Valentines Weekend

Went to Plattsburgh this weekend to be with the parents.  We went to the winter carnival in Saranac Lake, saw the ice castle, played with puppies, ate lobsters, got in the hot tub, played cards, wiid, and slept.  We looked at stars.  We could see them.  We breathed.  It was wonderful, and romantic, and awesome.  I adore my husband.  I feel so lucky to be able to spend time with family.  I am thankful for everything and everyone I saw this weekend.  I want it to be a more permanent thing, being closer to family and being in a place that I love.   A place where I feel relaxed and a place where I can breathe.  John and I are working very hard to make that a reality. Now, we just need a little luck on our side.  Fingers crossed.

seriously

how can we even be related.

Ready for a change

Vermont.

a note from a less than perfect time

Dear John,

Today I found a picture of you from before we met.  You were so handsome.  You are so handsome.  I love the you in that picture, full of bravado, not quite sure of yourself.  I love who you have become-- the perfect match to who I am, the one who fills up those places in me that are empty.  I hope I do the same for you.  I love that you go to the laundromat.  I love that you hate the way I do dishes.  That you let me sleep in.  That you hold my hand.  I know things have been difficult lately, with the way the world is and our less than perfect place in it.  I promise it will get better, and I promise that I do believe that, even though some days I want to run away into the night, away from every scary stressful thing that overwhelms me, which is most of life right now.  

I never, ever want to run away from you.  Only with you.

I love you.  Thank you for being everything you are.

ash

A sign of spring

5p.m.- still light outside. Sky is cotton candy blue. If only it weren't so cold.

Brrrr...

A typical Wednesday

My Morning

6:50 a.m. First Alarm- snooze
7:10 a.m. Second Alarm- snooze
7:15 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:20 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:25 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:30 a.m. Snooze Alarm
(somewhere in here I started having a bizarre dream about my HR person being a short story author, who wrote a story and printed it at work and named a character "Ashley" and said that he wished she wore pantyhose more frequently. In the dream I found the story on the printer and for some reason got very upset, thinking it was a veiled comment on my thighs being fat. In the dream I cried. This is how I woke up this morning. Sadly, this is not that weird a morning.)
7:35 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:40 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:45 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:50 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:55 a.m. Snooze Alarm
7:59 a.m. Ugghh
8:00 a.m. Scurry toward the bathroom. Be sure to bend down in the kitchen so the strange guy next door can't see through the window that I am topless. The floor is freezing. I am late. Again.
8:04 a.m. Go too fast in the shower. The water is hot but the air is so cold. Get goosebumps. Almost fall getting out. All the towels are slightly used.
8:06 a.m. ahh, a moment of pleasure in the day. Blowdrying my hair. Ohh the heat. It is so warm.
8:08 a.m. Husband walks by, sees I am naked. Give him a look that says, "Don't even consider it."
8:08:30 a.m. Get groped. Like it a little. No you don't have time to like anything!!!!!
8:09 a.m. Step into the kitchen. Cold again. Remember you are topless! Bend down and scurry.
8:10 a.m. Luckily I picked out my clothes last night and hung them up so I would know what to wear. What's this, the black pants fell on the floor, and the orange cat made a bed out of them?? Too late to plan anything else. Wear them anyway.
8:12 a.m. Sigh. I am covered in cat hair.
8:13 a.m. Grab a granola bar. Search for socks. Put granola bar in pocket. Socks on. Boots. Feed cats.
8:16 a.m. Spill entire cat dish of water on kitchen floor. Fuck it.
8:17 a.m. Jacket on. Remember that jacket sleeve is wripped. Sigh. Why can't I have nice things? Pick cat hair off knee.
8:18 a.m. Kiss husband.
8:19 a.m. Carefully. Carefully down the snow covered icy back stairs.
8:20 a.m. throw the keys in the car. Start the car. Windshield wipers immediately engage, as I was using them last night, and dump 3 inches of snow onto my ass. Sigh. Grab mittens. Begin cleaning car off.
8:22 a.m. Husband begins helping. Feel guilty. He shouldn't be late too, just because I am lazy and can't get out of bed. I WANT TO GO BACK TO BED.
8:27 a.m. Get into car, attempt to back out of driveway.
8:29 a.m. Finally on the road. I have no wiper fluid. Within 3 minutes I cannot see out the windshield.
8:30a.m. Pick cat hair off knee. Eat granola bar.
8:40 a.m. Stop at gas station. They are out of wiper fluid. Back into car. It is so cold.
8:50 a.m. Stop at next gas station. They have wiper fluid. What's this? Ohh, you don't accept credit cards for less than $10. Gas? Don't need it. Coffee? Oh, you don't have it.
8:52 a.m. Suprise myself and the clerk when I growl that it is illegal to do this and they must accept my credit card.
8:53 a.m. Be astonished when this works.
8:55 a.m. Open hood of car. Look for where the wiper fluid goes. (you're late you're late YOU"RE LATE FOR WORK DON"T FUCK THIS UP YOU'LL BREAK THE CAR!!!!!!!!!!)
8:56 a.m. Look around for a gentleman. Any man. Anyone with a penis.
8:57 a.m. Sigh. Figure it is probably the little thing at the front with the picture on it that sort of looks like glasses. Or a picture of a box. What is that picture of? Is this it? OH GOD I AM GOING TO BREAK THE CAR.
8:57:23 a.m. Hope.
8:58 a.m. Start the car. Press down the wiper fluid stick. IT WORKS!!! I FIGURED THIS OUT!!! BY MYSELF. OH MY GOD I AM SO LATE FOR WORK.
9:15 a.m. Grumble as I sit at a light.
9:20 a.m. Sigh. Pick cat hair off other knee.
9:36 a.m. Take the exit off the pike. Speed.
9:40 a.m. CONSTRUCTION??? You've got to be kidding.
9:42 a.m. Pull into parking lot. No legitimate spaces left. Park anywhere. Try to look like there was a good reason.
9:45 a.m. Sit down at desk. Grumble to myself. Go get coffee while computer warms up.
9:47 a.m. I have recieved 3 emails. THREE. Why was I rushing? Oh yes, that's right, the crushing judement. Feel the judgement crush me from every cube around me.
9:49 a.m. Forget about it. Wonder how bad it would be to leave early.

My hair is on fire

An actual im conversation from my day:

Fender (2/2/2009 10:13:04 AM): every day, I feel like I learn one new thing that makes me want to set my computer on fire, and run screaming from the building, and never come back

Coworker, who shall remain nameless (2/2/2009 10:13:25 AM): this was it?

Fender (2/2/2009 10:13:32 AM): maybe, who knows
Fender (2/2/2009 10:13:36 AM): the day is young

Coworker (2/2/2009 10:13:45 AM): very true

oh megan. hello.  hello my dearest, most missed friend.  It is 11:11 p.m. Sat. night.  MAKE A WISH!!! IT IS 11:11 and I didn't even intend that.  Let me preface this by saying I have had had too much to drink.  Too much to drink and I miss you.  I miss you terrible and I miss you and all night I have thought of you and how you would laugh at things I was seeing.  Specifically, I was at Gulu Gulu in Salme, and it was super busy, lik ethe busiest ever, and they had all these coasters that said "SAVE THE HOOCH" and had this weird drawing of a chick pointing at her hoo haa.  Save the hooch as in hoochie mama.  HOOCH. VAGINA.  SAVE THE VAGINA.  SAVE THIS CHICKS VAGINA.  HER VA  Jay JAy.    So I had too much to drink, and it was a cd release party of some douche bag, and all his douche bag friends were there, so I kept picking up coasters, and bringing them to douche bags, and being like "I thought you'd like this.  I got it for you.  This is yours now."  and hten I found our there were pins.  PINS.  PINS THAT SAID SAVE THE HOOCH.  So I started giving those away.  And then John said it was time to go, so I left.  And all the way to the car, every person we passed, I yelled, "SAVE THE HOOCH!!"  and a few were like "wOOOO YEAH!!!!!!" and others were like "What's with that girl? talking about VAGINAS????"  but basically, this is an email to tell you never fear.  I got you a pin that said "SAVE THE HOOCH"  because it will be funnier in German.  It has a picture of a cervix on it.  Not really. An animated cervix.  I'm gonna call that an anmcer.  yes.  I got one for you.  And I need to mail it to you.  And this is basically a very convoluted drunk way of saying I need your new German address.

You address.

In Germany.

Save the HOOCH.

WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

I miss you.

(If you were here, you would understand all of this.  and that is why I love you so.  And that is why you are the best friend ever.  And I miss you)

I miss you.

ash

Endless Possibilities

Friday afternoons are my favorite part of the week.  Endless opportunities.  What will this weekend hold?  I predict a sleepy saturday morning, filled with coffee and bagels and food network under a quilt while I sit on the couch.  Autopilot on.  I predict a late saturday night with too much whiskey and maybe some dancing and jumping.  Some competitive wii.  I predict a banana split.  I predict that this moment holds all my happiness, every early morning and late afternoon sigh of this week. Every time I scraped the windshield, shivered as the car warmed up, thought about getting coffee but realized I didn't have time.  All those moments spent waiting for right now.  When I have the ability, however limited, to change my future.  Whatever I want it to be. Productive or lazy, sleepy or boozy or busy or a weekend spent reading an entire book and never putting on shoes.  I could run away to Montreal.  Or Aruba.  I could never come back.  I could take up knitting.  I could bake a four layer cake.  I could take a nap.  

In college, in a class that I frequently found to be "optional" in my schedule, I had a teacher that was obsessed with Jonathan Swift.  I can't find the specific essay, but I remember one whole afternoon (on a day I actually deigned to show up), spent discussing the idea of postponing happiness, how Swift said that we humans are really incapable of being truly happy because we always want the next thing to happen.  She illustrated by saying that she always thought she would be so happy on vacation, sitting on a beach with a margarita in hand, but then once she was gone she could only think about everything waiting for her at home.  And I remember at the time taking copious notes, because I saw so much truth in this statement.  How I wanted to prove Jonathan Swift wrong and truly live in my moments of happiness.  Or maybe I just wanted to prove her wrong.

I am now happy (!) to say that I am happy.  

It is Friday, and I'm happy.  And even when I postpone my happiness, I know when it will come. Friday afternoon.   

Friday afternoon I can change the future.  Friday afternoon I can do anything.

Hangover

Who gets a hangover on a Wednesday? A booze hound, thats who. Vodka and I are not bff's. In other news, we have had our 132nd snow storm of the year, so I got to work from home today! Yay! And it's Wednesday, as previously noted, which means it's open mic time down at your favorite and mine, the Gulu Gulu Cafe in witchy Salem town. I'm betting on the dude with the dreds to do some more bad poetry. Last week, he yelled "FUCK" into the microphone gratuitously, as some nice family decided that this just wasn't the place to bring their tweens for some cozy cocoa. Whoops!

udders

Blech. I am an old, creaky, hungry, grumpy*, sore old lady. Pictures of the fabulous new dining room table are soon to follow though.

And now- a quote from my weekend, as I heaved and ho'd (ho'd?) furniture all around my house.

John- "You know, your boobs look really great in that shirt"

Ashley (straining to lift something far too heavy, glares at John)- "Awesome. Lift this now or get me a beer. Possibly do both"

John- "They look so good I am tempted to call them tits. Because that seems dirtier."

Ashley- "I hate you. Move the t.v."

John- "Does that offend you? Calling them tits?"

Ashley- "No, I would be offended if you called them 'teats'. Now get me a beer. And a hot dog."

John- "Don't put this on your blog, ok?"

Ashley- "BEER. HOT DOG. NO PROMISES."



*I just read "hungry grumpy" fast, and for some reason in my head it became "humpy". Filthy.

HILARIOUS

I have an issue. I mean-- I have several issues, but one that I will discuss here, now. It has to do with alcohol. And volume. And my total lack of control over one once I have had the other. I don't know why I feel the need to yell when I drink; or to dance, or sing, or jump four vertical feet in the air and grab some guy I don't know that well around the neck and ride him around, but I do.

And that's my Wednesday. And not just one Wednesday, but a lot of Wednesdays.
And Fridays, and Sundays, and Tuesdays and Saturdays and Thursdays.

Monday I am in bed by 9p.m. and asleep like a little church mouse.

The thing is, I have a feeling that I am even louder than I think I am while I'm doing it. And I think I'm pretty loud. I also happen to think I am hilarious. After five rum and diet coke's, I am Margaret Cho. But not asian. And funny. Actually I am more like Mario Cantone. Only not a dude.

Ok, I'm just me, wasted. But funny. In fact, on a recent drunken Saturday night, I was hilarious. I was also pretty sad, because one of my favorite people was about to go very far away. So I had a few rum and cokes. Four or so. Or nine. Whatever. And the bar we happened to be at, celebrating this last American night that this very favored person was having was showing bull riding on their television.

BULL RIDING!!!!!!!! What could be more AMERICAN??!!?? AND HILARIOUS!!??!!

So I wandered up to the bar to order another drink that I totally didn't need at all, and turned to a bespectacled, tight-jeaned hipster gentledouche beside me and elbowed him. He winced, and held his delicate, girl-like ribs and glared at me as I gestured toward the televised cowboys and said-- "Doesn't that make you kind of want a cheeseburger?"

HA! A CHEESEBURGER!!! BECAUSE THEY ARE RIDING COWS!! HILARIOUS!!!!!!!!

(Also, as previously noted I had consumed seven rum and diet cokes on an empty stomach at this point, so at this point nothing sounded better to me than a cheeseburger)

He scowled at me and rubbed his doucheribs and said, "I'm a vegetarian. And that makes me want to punch Texas in the face." And really, I had just had too much to drink. So I should have walked away, maybe blushing. Embarrassed. Cowed. Shamed.

But no. I was hungry. Hungry, and HILARIOUS. So I said back to him- "Really? It makes me want a cheeseburger. And I love Texas. I'm from Texas" (I am NOT from Texas) "I'm going to tell Texas you want to punch it in the face, and it's going to come kick your ass."

None of this was said quietly.
So, maybe the volume isn't my only concern. But at least if it was quieter, no one would hear me making an ass out of myself. Of course, they would also miss the hilarity.

Or maybe not.

Change has come to America

And I am so proud to be American.

Ode to Monday Afternoon

Oh, sour Monday afternoon. You are gray, cloudy. You promise snow. I hate you. You make me want to nap (is it you, or the whiskey last night that makes me feel this way???). Either way. The only thing that could possibly fix this sleepy day, this horrid beginning to a week, this piss-poor January, this itchy 2009, is this.

John, take notice. Only that will make me happy.

Prelude

Have you heard of highway insomnia? I can't find any articles about it online, but it was referenced in a 30 Rock so I know it's not just me. Highway insomnia is when you suddenly snap to and you're in your driveway, but you can't remember driving there. Like you've just zoned out while you were driving and have no memory of anything after you got into the car and started it.

Well, right now my life feels like I've got a serious case of highway insomnia, but reverse. It's like sometimes I come to and I am driving to work, and I can't remember anything since my drive home the night before. As though being in the car, listening to the dulcet tones of Jay Severin is my life, and what I do, what I ACTUALLY GODDAMN DO, that is just the prelude to one of my commutes.

Prelude to my commute. Sounds like a song. A very sad, very pathetic song.

It's just a hot dog

Once upon a time, I was 15.  When I was 15, all knees and elbows and dirty blonde (not yet adverse) curls, I had a summer job at a hot dog stand.  It was a 1950's inspired carhop joint, the kind where the food sits on the tray on your windowsill, and you are waited on by sweaty cute 15 year olds in day-glo pink polo shirts. It was an all-female staff-- aged everywhere from 15 to somewhere in the mid 70's.  This summer job actually put me through college, I worked there for 9 years, and moved up from "carhop" to "michigan maker".  Michigans is what we were famous for. (If the concept of "michigan" is foreign to you-- first of all, I'm terribly sorry as you've missed out on life-- and secondly, visit this link for some info).

So anyway, this was a busy little place, right down the road from the VFW and a prime location for anyone and everyone after the VFW softball tournaments.  It deserves it's very own post, perhaps several, as I believe that this experience had a profound effect on both who I am and how I work.  But there was a lesson that Ronnies had taught me that I had forgotten until recently.

I struggle, in my cubicle job (as previously noted here) to deal with the rigamorole of every day life, just the normal stresses of being a person interacting with other people; which sometimes strikes me as the hardest part of any job.  Recently I've been feeling particularly challenged, and one night as I stared at the ceiling above my head at 3a.m. and tried to muddle through how to deal with my latest career-adventure, I reminisced about Ronnies and the simplicity of it.  It was kind of idyllic really.  The shifts were around 6 hours, 5p.m. until you were done cleaning, usually around 11p.m.  The tips were good, the customers were friendly.  As I mentioned, it was an all female staff, and of course if you put that many women together in a small building with no air conditioning there are going to be a few estrogen bombs that go off, people will bicker about the right way to clean the counter, and how much SoftScrub is too much SoftScrub, but in the end it was sort of like having a big family of nosy, meddling aunts and cousins and little sisters.   You hated them and loved them.  

And it was easy.  You take the order, make the food, bring the food, make the change.  You mop the floor.  Refill the soda.  Steam the hot dog buns.  You make french fries.  You clean the fryer. Clean the ketchup bottles.  You flirt with the older gentlemen so they give you a whole dollar for a tip.  You drive home under the stars with the windows down and listen to the radio too loud.  You make yourself a milkshake for lunch.  You sit outside when there are no cars and work on your tan.  You do crosswords and listen to country music on the radio in the morning before you open.  There is always coffee.

But of course I'm remembering it simplistically.  There was no air conditioning, but a ton of cooking instruments.  It was H.O.T.  People got grouchy when they had to wait for their food. People didn't tip. People tipped a quarter.   Coworkers whispered about you when you arrived late, or had to leave early.  Calling in sick wasn't an option.   

And as I lay there at 3a.m., one specific memory cut through the nine years of noise.  

It was early August, just after a baseball game, and it was hot.  It was HOT.  And there were so many people there, it seemed we would never be able to get all the orders out.  And everyone was in a hurry.  I think I was 16 or 17, a seasoned vet at this point.  And as I tried to balance two trays full of food out the side door, one of the customers lost it.  He freaked out and started yelling inside the restaurant "This is just BULLSHIT!!  I HAVE BEEN HERE FOR OVER 30 MINUTES!!  WHERE IS MY ORDER???"  

At this moment, any person in the food service industry would want to look at this man and say, "do you see everyone else here?  everyone else here is also waiting.  do you think you should go to the front of the line just because? JUST BECAUSE, YOU FUCKER?"  

But on this rare occasion, we were spared having to respond, as the man next to him turned and said, 

"Hey man, calm down, it's just a hot dog." 

And everyone in the restaurant had a little laugh.  It's just a hot dog.  Really.  Calm the shit down.  It's just a fucking hot dog.

And suddenly it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't all that different now.  Maybe every job was just a version of Ronnies all over again, just with different hot dogs.  So this has been my new mantra, as I wander through my days and interact with grouchy, overworked, douche bags.  It's just a hot dog.  Nothing to get worked up over.  It's not my whole life, it's just a hot dog.  

It's just a hot dog.

breathe

It's just a hot dog.

It's a Girl Thing

   She takes after me.

Happy Wednesday (ughh...)

Ugghhh.... it's only Wednesday? Really? No, wait, REALLY? Because it totally feels like Thursday night. Like tomorrow is Friday. Ughh.

Going to the open mic at the Gulu Gulu Cafe in Salem MA tonight to take in some...

music? poetry? dramatic readings? interpretive dance? instructional cooking demonstrations?

Who knows. We'll see when we get there. Mostly I'll be taking in wine. Happy Wednesday.

cat lady

I have three cats.  Yes.  Three. Cats.  Let's not talk about it.  Or, I guess, at some point we will talk about it, but now right now.  This is your introduction to them.  The big orange cat is Fender (my namesake).  The little tiger cat that looks like she's afraid of everything and might pee on the world to get back at it for being so scary- that's Ruby. A.k.a. The Dube.  A.k.a. Duberoo.  And the little asshole looking black cat.  That's Murphy.  He's one of the official cats of Salem. Don't ask.

Access Extra Hollywood

I have a cubicle job (as previously noted) where I spend most of my life (being IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT), and after a long day of being trapped to the point of hyperventilating by 3 gray walls, I like to come home, kick back, and enjoy myself with a little duo I like to call "Access Extra Hollywood". This is a sick, sordid pleasure that I have. I like to watch Access, followed by Extra, all the while sipping whatever alcoholic beverage is handy, wearing my sweater boots and forgeting about my day.



And it is a sickness. I don't understand it. Why do I watch these shows? And if I must watch, why do I need to watch two? in a row? that have exactly the same stories on?



what. the. fuck. is. wrong. with. me?



But it can't just be me, certainly there are other Americans who suffer from AEH, or else they wouldn't have programmed them right next to each other. Is it because market research shows that we are all just in need of a little zoning time at the end of the day? We just need to turn our brains off for an hour before we can engage with other human beings again? I find that my need for AEH corresponds directly to the type of day/commute that I've had. The worse my day, the more likely that I will walk in like a zombie, hands tremoring with the need to sit down, pick up the remote, and not speak to anyone for an hour. Mario Lopez will fix it for me. And Tinisha. With all that hair. Get me a drink. Someone, for the love of God get me a drink but DO NOT TALK TO ME. I DO NOT WANT INTERACTION. I only want GOSSIP. And trivial, meaningless pictures of beautiful people in their beautiful clothes. And I want to know what's going on on American Idol, and Dancing with the Stars (I don't even watch dancing with the stars, why do I care about this????), but I must know who wore what to the Oscars and what did JensayaboutAngelinaandbradjohnmayerbillybushsexandthecitymoviemileycyrusgodiHATEmileycyrusINEEDAREFILLONTHISMARGARITA!!!!!!!



Perhaps I should use my wii fit instead of watching these shows? Maybe, maybe just a couple times a week. AEH hurts so good.

telecommute

It is 4:46p.m. and I am in my pajamas, which I never took off. I have a side ponytail (it started out on top of my head, at some point), mascara under my eyes from last night, and I haven't brushed my teeth today. 2009!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

I did manage to get a little work done today, and I also tried out our new wii fit (there's a way to motivate yourself, have a little icon of you suddenly double in size and look like it's got a problem with donuts).

Yes, today was a "work from home" day, which actually is a great luxury. I can attire myself as I please (see above...) and no one can bother me, walking up to my desk and saying things like,

"so... um. Do you know if we use recycled paper in the office?"
Do you know if we can recycle plastic bags in our desk recycling bins?
Do you know what kind of light bulbs we use?
Have you thought about retrofitting the lightbulbs with motion sensors?
Have you considered battery recycling for the office?
Do you know what kind of glue is on our envelopes? Was it tested on animals?
Do you buy carbon offsets? Can I buy them from you? We should sell them, as a company!


Yes, I get much more work done when I don't have to answer questions like this. Did I mention, I was recently introduced to a new hire as "this is ashley, she's IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT".

That's right. Me and Al Gore. So I really enjoy the working-from-home, not-gonna-brush-my-teeth days.

I suppose I will shower before the husband comes home, so he still wants to live with me.
2009. Rockin and Rollin and workin from home.

Dear 2009,

Welcome!  We have high hopes for you here in the bewitching little town of Salem, and in particular, in my house.  Your predecessor, 2008, well... let's just say that she left some things to be desired, and a few messes for you to clean up.  I know, no one likes walking into a job that has already been started, but such is the nature of your position.  

2008 brought us some great times, a trip to Mexico for John and I (although Montezuma certainly did get his revenge on us), a fantastic few days on the beach in Goose Rocks, Maine.  There was a very troubling airplane ride up north to be with my mother, while she had breast cancer, and a potentially life-changing trip down to Tennessee for my husband, who found what may be our future.  

But 2009, I'm ready to welcome you with open arms and get off to a fantastic start.  So far, although we've only known each other for about 16 hours at this point, I have to say I'm pretty impressed.  You came with a beautiful late morning of sleeping in, a nice (filling!) lunch of pasta, and a leisurely shopping trip for fun, frivolous things.  I can't ask much more of you at this point.  I'm going to go take a nap, 09, (can I call you 09? niner?), and when I wake up we'll spend more time getting to know each other.  

Before I go, let me fill you in on a couple of things I hope we discover together over the next 12 months or so.  I think we'll be moving some time in the next 11 months or so, to start a new adventure.  I know, another Halloween in Salem would be very  magical, and who knows, it may still happen.  We'll see.  I have my 10 year high school reunion this year, 2009, and I'm looking forward to seeing how people have been doing.  I had the rare opportunity to never move during my childhood, so these people that I graduated with and I have a very unique shared history.  I remember who they were, and they remember me as I was.  I'd like to get back to being a little more of who I was at 18.  I hope you bring good health for all the people I know, as 2008 certainly taught me that when you have your health, you have it all.  Lastly, 2009, I think this year my only project will be myself, and making who I am better.  In years past I have focused on creativity, on work, on making money (they aren't always the same thing), on weddings, on family.  But this year is for me.  I think I deserve it.  

So, welcome 2009!  And I'm off to nap. I'll see you in just a bit, and we'll get into some trouble together.