It's always a difficult journey home along those long gray roads, especially in the murky darkness of winter mist and rain. The medians blur together like a miniature version of L. Frank Baum's golden avenue to Oz and sometimes the reflectors in the middle glimmer with the suggestion of treasure in the distance.
It can be a lonely trip returning to the mundane realities of home after so vibrant a weekend away. How was Dorothy able to stand it, I wonder? How do you experience life in Technicolor and yet afterwards still find beauty in the greys of Kansas?
It is a hard fall from so high a place.
I know there exists a safety net below me but I cannot seem to make it out clearly in the shadows. I'm grateful for those who hold its ropes taut, invisible though they remain in my ignorant darkness. Yet still my mind yearns for reassurance.
Where does my life lead? How on earth will I possibly ever maintain a sense of calm in the midst of so many tempests? How do you teach yourself the serenity to withstand the aftermath of disaster, failure, and disillusionment?
Where do I begin?
Monday, December 10, 2007
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Number 4: "It was almost lifelike."
Location: Kokomo, IN (City of Firsts)
Date: Friday November 30
Event: Out of the Blue show feat. Elise Shrock
Venues: Sycamore Marketplace...
followed by the infamous Sycamore Grille...
the McDonalds on Sycamore...
and, of course, Camp Mitchell.
Chalk this one up to one of my more colorful hometown evenings with my parents, a gaggle of Purdue kids, several buckets of flavorful lagers, Diana's 2am organic brunch and cocktails, and shamelessly enthusiastic best friends.
[To set the stage for the evening, allow me to fast forward to 9am the next morning... when I woke up in my parent's house... in the guest bedroom... in a twin bed... with my brother's friend sharing the bed with me... and another of his friends in the other bed. Yes... classy.]
The evening began chez Shrock, a fashion show extraordinaire to the background television soundtrack of Amy Grant and her husband on Oprah. That's right... Amy Grant in all of her 'let's watch my schmoopy wedding montage and sing carols' glory. To her I say, "Congratulations, Ms. Grant. Your hair has improved since 1991... but we would all sleep a little better at night had we not endured the video of you on the porch of a log cabin in your rocking chair and his-and-hers velvet cloaks."
Apparently this is the ideal conservative religious marital fashion experience. One can only compare the bedazzled, country-fried "Mr. and Mrs. Federline" track suits and shudder. Equally.
By six o'clock the Von Shritzell ladies find themselves at the Marketplace facing down a giant pile of fried green beans, sweet potato fries, wings, and a steaming bowl of fresh mussels. Meal highlight: collecting bones, shells, and corresponding bits in large plastic pitcher fondly referred to as "The Gut Bucket." Said vessel gleefully photographed to preserve memory of its loveliness. It's the art of the everyday that truly brightens life.
The acoustic stylings of Jay and Dave opened the stage. Unfortunately a certain core of Lafayette patrons were not present for this due to a severe case of Being Lost In The Middle Of Nowhere. Things were a little tense upon their arrival due to the flaming daggers shooting out of a certain few sets of eyes toward the unfortunate (and hungover) driver. Pats and Eddy quickly attempt remedy by ordering drinks.
Fast forward to Out of the Blue's second set, a three song number featuring a local radio celebrity. Side Note: Etta James should always be followed by ad-libbed "If I had a Million Dollars." It was spectacular. Favorite verbal praise of performance: "I mean... they told me you were good... but you were, like, really good. Seriously."
I shan't attempt to describe the joy and merriment of getting down on the dance floor with our mothers, brothers, fiancees, and a certain middle aged gentleman who knew me well in childhood who told me directly that I had "grown up nicely."
Have since decided to ignore shady undertone of said compliment and pretend that my... err... physical development had anything to do with it. Because that is simply creepy and I won't allow breast-related asides to rain on my back-home-again-in-Indiana groove parade. Eeeeeeeeekkk.
Kudos to the gentlemen for volunteering to dance with us. Simply astounding what a few liquid dance lessons can do for the manliest of fratmospheres. Well done, boys. Well done.
Determined after closing several sky-rocketing bar tabs that the night should not end, our fraggle of a group proceeds one block west to another downtown drinkery. Although this place remains at the top of the alleged 'where to go for Kokomo nightlife' list, we managed to catch a completely deserted cavern of a bar and descended upon one of many empty tables... Truthfully I was relieved. The last thing most of us wished to encounter was a barrage of awkward meet-and-greets with former high school classmates and any variety of childhood acquaintances.
Although, even in my hazy/giggly/slurring state, I do recall finding the waiter to be most unfriendly. Considering that we were the only patrons (and therefore his evening's source of income) I find that a very unacceptable rudeness. Bad form, sir.
Cue Allison ordering tequila shots. [mistake]
Cue Allison drinking a kamikaze shot immediately after. [worse mistake]
Cue caravan to McDonalds. Pulling around the drive-thru in parallel, we leave our windows open to allow for conversation between my car and Wes's... which I don't actually have any clear memories of but I am certain involved several well-placed Sordid Lives quotes and a good deal of ridiculousness.
As passenger, I find myself suddenly affronted by one husky stack of 20-something redneck man leaning into my face and bellowing inquiries as to the nature of our interaction with the boys in Wes's car. "These guys botherin' you?" He had jumped out of his enormous black rumble of a pick-up truck with the itch to start a fight under the stale veneer of chivalry. Oh my redneck life.
Am pretty sure I did my best drunken-blonde-bat-of-the-eyelash-breathless-gasp, "What? Ohhhhh! noooooo! [giggle] That's my fiancee!"
[I must give thanks here for our heroic sober drivers, Wes and Eddy. Most deeply appreciated, especially in the circumstances. Sobriety in Kokomo is not an easy thing.]
We return home to Camp Mitchell and descend upon the kitchen like animals to the food trough. For reasons unknown, Mama Mitchell was still awake and whipping up cocktails and scrambled organic eggs with the gusto of an infomercial chef. Have been informed that I paired my snack wrap with a couple heady crown old fashioneds. [yet another terrible mistake]
We split into each and every room in the house, pulling out beds and blankets and couches like the drunk refugees that we are. In my now-blacked-out oblivion, I decide to forgo my own down-feathered cocoon of a bed upstairs for one in the guest bedroom. Am quite positive I invited myself and forced one of the boys to sleep with me. In a twin bed. In my mother's guest bedroom that she calls 'the pretty room' and my grandfather calls 'the dead ladies room' due to its set of heirloom furniture and many family photographs of now-deceased female relatives.
As I said, I do not recall this portion of the evening. I do recall, however, waking up and squinting at my wrist for the time. 9 am. Completely disoriented, I swivel my gaze around the room in exhausted stupor and wonder where the hell I am and how the hell I got there. Am wearing my black bar top and a pair of my youngest brother's athletic shorts. I turn over and come face to face with my brother's friend staring at me with a look that says, "I don't know what to do with you and cannot make up my mind how to politely address this awkward situation."
Allow me to clarify that this night was not one of aggressive romantic intentions on my part. To be quite honest, I. hate. sleeping. by. myself. This sentiment is exponentially magnified by massive consumption of alcohol and my general sense of decorum is thereafter discarded entirely.
Cue Diana entering with water glasses, a barely concealed smirk and roll of the eyes, and ibuprofen for all three of us. Drew soon follows with a shot of Mona Vie for me. [best hangover cure ever] Let it be said, this situation is most entertaining in view of my mother's staunch no-sleeping-together-in-my-house-unless-you're-married rules. Ah yes. Turns out I do have an inner sense of rebellion. Very Easy Rider. Take that, Mom.
Although... in all truthfulness... Eddy's shrugged summation,' You sleep where you fall,' is closer to the truth of my choice of bed.
Breakfast finds a few stragglers and I seated around the kitchen table pouring over the local newspaper and heralding the town's landmark tourist attractions, specifically Old Ben (the taxidermied remains of the largest steer I have ever seen in my entire life and subsequent proud town trophy. Additional bizarre fact: Old Ben's tail was stolen years ago and remains mysteriously absent to this day. I'm not kidding).
I miraculously managed to eat about a third of a banana and later some of Diana's world famous banana bread as well... followed by a 30 second shower and change of clothes.
I say my goodbyes and kiss my parents. I walk down the driveway to where E had parked my car the night before... only to find one dead-ass battery and a car that not only won't start, it won't even gurgle a complaint. As in silent. No. Juice.
I hobble back inside and plead for my father's help with a jump-start. It just so happens that we are a household with its own car-starter. Yes, auto troubles are so typical of our clan that my father felt the need to invest in a product specifically designed for dumbasses. Turns out it just wasn't man enough to get the engine started. I mean honestly, when E and I hit the skids, we really go for broke. Our motto? "Go big or go home." We therefore turn to the tried-and-true jumper cable method. 20 solid minutes of revved truck engine and linked motors later, my battery is still absolutely lifeless.
Mind you, it is a Saturday (the second busiest of the holiday shopping season) and I am due to be at work.
Thankfully Dad roots around in the basement workshop and discovers the God of All Jumper Cables. These things were seriously the thickness of Paul Bunyan's wrists and had the aura of brawny man's man oozing out of their sinister copper jaws.
Well, those actually worked after a while and I managed to peal out of the neighborhood and make it to work only 15 minutes behind schedule. Of course by this point my fourth hangover of the year has me in its evil clutches and I am stuck in the anxiety nightmare of a whirlwind retail cyclone. Oh, and my bosses' boss spends the afternoon at the store. I swear this woman has a sixth sense for when I will overindulge and purposely schedules her visits exactly one day later.
Yikes.
Date: Friday November 30
Event: Out of the Blue show feat. Elise Shrock
Venues: Sycamore Marketplace...
followed by the infamous Sycamore Grille...
the McDonalds on Sycamore...
and, of course, Camp Mitchell.
Chalk this one up to one of my more colorful hometown evenings with my parents, a gaggle of Purdue kids, several buckets of flavorful lagers, Diana's 2am organic brunch and cocktails, and shamelessly enthusiastic best friends.
[To set the stage for the evening, allow me to fast forward to 9am the next morning... when I woke up in my parent's house... in the guest bedroom... in a twin bed... with my brother's friend sharing the bed with me... and another of his friends in the other bed. Yes... classy.]
The evening began chez Shrock, a fashion show extraordinaire to the background television soundtrack of Amy Grant and her husband on Oprah. That's right... Amy Grant in all of her 'let's watch my schmoopy wedding montage and sing carols' glory. To her I say, "Congratulations, Ms. Grant. Your hair has improved since 1991... but we would all sleep a little better at night had we not endured the video of you on the porch of a log cabin in your rocking chair and his-and-hers velvet cloaks."
Apparently this is the ideal conservative religious marital fashion experience. One can only compare the bedazzled, country-fried "Mr. and Mrs. Federline" track suits and shudder. Equally.
By six o'clock the Von Shritzell ladies find themselves at the Marketplace facing down a giant pile of fried green beans, sweet potato fries, wings, and a steaming bowl of fresh mussels. Meal highlight: collecting bones, shells, and corresponding bits in large plastic pitcher fondly referred to as "The Gut Bucket." Said vessel gleefully photographed to preserve memory of its loveliness. It's the art of the everyday that truly brightens life.
The acoustic stylings of Jay and Dave opened the stage. Unfortunately a certain core of Lafayette patrons were not present for this due to a severe case of Being Lost In The Middle Of Nowhere. Things were a little tense upon their arrival due to the flaming daggers shooting out of a certain few sets of eyes toward the unfortunate (and hungover) driver. Pats and Eddy quickly attempt remedy by ordering drinks.
Fast forward to Out of the Blue's second set, a three song number featuring a local radio celebrity. Side Note: Etta James should always be followed by ad-libbed "If I had a Million Dollars." It was spectacular. Favorite verbal praise of performance: "I mean... they told me you were good... but you were, like, really good. Seriously."
I shan't attempt to describe the joy and merriment of getting down on the dance floor with our mothers, brothers, fiancees, and a certain middle aged gentleman who knew me well in childhood who told me directly that I had "grown up nicely."
Have since decided to ignore shady undertone of said compliment and pretend that my... err... physical development had anything to do with it. Because that is simply creepy and I won't allow breast-related asides to rain on my back-home-again-in-Indiana groove parade. Eeeeeeeeekkk.
Kudos to the gentlemen for volunteering to dance with us. Simply astounding what a few liquid dance lessons can do for the manliest of fratmospheres. Well done, boys. Well done.
Determined after closing several sky-rocketing bar tabs that the night should not end, our fraggle of a group proceeds one block west to another downtown drinkery. Although this place remains at the top of the alleged 'where to go for Kokomo nightlife' list, we managed to catch a completely deserted cavern of a bar and descended upon one of many empty tables... Truthfully I was relieved. The last thing most of us wished to encounter was a barrage of awkward meet-and-greets with former high school classmates and any variety of childhood acquaintances.
Although, even in my hazy/giggly/slurring state, I do recall finding the waiter to be most unfriendly. Considering that we were the only patrons (and therefore his evening's source of income) I find that a very unacceptable rudeness. Bad form, sir.
Cue Allison ordering tequila shots. [mistake]
Cue Allison drinking a kamikaze shot immediately after. [worse mistake]
Cue caravan to McDonalds. Pulling around the drive-thru in parallel, we leave our windows open to allow for conversation between my car and Wes's... which I don't actually have any clear memories of but I am certain involved several well-placed Sordid Lives quotes and a good deal of ridiculousness.
As passenger, I find myself suddenly affronted by one husky stack of 20-something redneck man leaning into my face and bellowing inquiries as to the nature of our interaction with the boys in Wes's car. "These guys botherin' you?" He had jumped out of his enormous black rumble of a pick-up truck with the itch to start a fight under the stale veneer of chivalry. Oh my redneck life.
Am pretty sure I did my best drunken-blonde-bat-of-the-eyelash-breathless-gasp, "What? Ohhhhh! noooooo! [giggle] That's my fiancee!"
[I must give thanks here for our heroic sober drivers, Wes and Eddy. Most deeply appreciated, especially in the circumstances. Sobriety in Kokomo is not an easy thing.]
We return home to Camp Mitchell and descend upon the kitchen like animals to the food trough. For reasons unknown, Mama Mitchell was still awake and whipping up cocktails and scrambled organic eggs with the gusto of an infomercial chef. Have been informed that I paired my snack wrap with a couple heady crown old fashioneds. [yet another terrible mistake]
We split into each and every room in the house, pulling out beds and blankets and couches like the drunk refugees that we are. In my now-blacked-out oblivion, I decide to forgo my own down-feathered cocoon of a bed upstairs for one in the guest bedroom. Am quite positive I invited myself and forced one of the boys to sleep with me. In a twin bed. In my mother's guest bedroom that she calls 'the pretty room' and my grandfather calls 'the dead ladies room' due to its set of heirloom furniture and many family photographs of now-deceased female relatives.
As I said, I do not recall this portion of the evening. I do recall, however, waking up and squinting at my wrist for the time. 9 am. Completely disoriented, I swivel my gaze around the room in exhausted stupor and wonder where the hell I am and how the hell I got there. Am wearing my black bar top and a pair of my youngest brother's athletic shorts. I turn over and come face to face with my brother's friend staring at me with a look that says, "I don't know what to do with you and cannot make up my mind how to politely address this awkward situation."
Allow me to clarify that this night was not one of aggressive romantic intentions on my part. To be quite honest, I. hate. sleeping. by. myself. This sentiment is exponentially magnified by massive consumption of alcohol and my general sense of decorum is thereafter discarded entirely.
Cue Diana entering with water glasses, a barely concealed smirk and roll of the eyes, and ibuprofen for all three of us. Drew soon follows with a shot of Mona Vie for me. [best hangover cure ever] Let it be said, this situation is most entertaining in view of my mother's staunch no-sleeping-together-in-my-house-unless-you're-married rules. Ah yes. Turns out I do have an inner sense of rebellion. Very Easy Rider. Take that, Mom.
Although... in all truthfulness... Eddy's shrugged summation,' You sleep where you fall,' is closer to the truth of my choice of bed.
Breakfast finds a few stragglers and I seated around the kitchen table pouring over the local newspaper and heralding the town's landmark tourist attractions, specifically Old Ben (the taxidermied remains of the largest steer I have ever seen in my entire life and subsequent proud town trophy. Additional bizarre fact: Old Ben's tail was stolen years ago and remains mysteriously absent to this day. I'm not kidding).
I miraculously managed to eat about a third of a banana and later some of Diana's world famous banana bread as well... followed by a 30 second shower and change of clothes.
I say my goodbyes and kiss my parents. I walk down the driveway to where E had parked my car the night before... only to find one dead-ass battery and a car that not only won't start, it won't even gurgle a complaint. As in silent. No. Juice.
I hobble back inside and plead for my father's help with a jump-start. It just so happens that we are a household with its own car-starter. Yes, auto troubles are so typical of our clan that my father felt the need to invest in a product specifically designed for dumbasses. Turns out it just wasn't man enough to get the engine started. I mean honestly, when E and I hit the skids, we really go for broke. Our motto? "Go big or go home." We therefore turn to the tried-and-true jumper cable method. 20 solid minutes of revved truck engine and linked motors later, my battery is still absolutely lifeless.
Mind you, it is a Saturday (the second busiest of the holiday shopping season) and I am due to be at work.
Thankfully Dad roots around in the basement workshop and discovers the God of All Jumper Cables. These things were seriously the thickness of Paul Bunyan's wrists and had the aura of brawny man's man oozing out of their sinister copper jaws.
Well, those actually worked after a while and I managed to peal out of the neighborhood and make it to work only 15 minutes behind schedule. Of course by this point my fourth hangover of the year has me in its evil clutches and I am stuck in the anxiety nightmare of a whirlwind retail cyclone. Oh, and my bosses' boss spends the afternoon at the store. I swear this woman has a sixth sense for when I will overindulge and purposely schedules her visits exactly one day later.
Yikes.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Also...
Drew: Hey Wes, do you think you'll still be going out when I'm old enough to drink?
Wes: [pause] Does a bear shit in the woods?
Rod: Is hooni-juana really illegal?
Me: I just don't know what he wants from me!
Miranda: Well... have you asked him?
K: It's The New Yorker... it's existential.
Matt: I think you just need to molest him. Get it over with.
So you like me, huh? - Broken English
____________________________________
and this never leaves my thoughts:
I would know that
before this life closes,
a soulmate to share my roses -
I would make a spell
with long grey beard hairs
and powdered rosemary and rue,
with the jacket of a tux
for a tall man
with broad shoulders,
who loves to dance;
with one blue contact lens
for his bluest eyes;
with honey in a jar
for his love of me;
with salt in a dish
for his love of sex and skin;
with crushed rose petals
for out bed;
with tubes of cerulean blue
and vermilion and rose madder
for his artist's eye;
with a dented Land Rover fender
for his love of travel;
with a poem by Blake
for his love of innocence
revealed by experience;
with soft rain
and a bare head;
with hand-in-hand dreams on Mondays
and the land of fuck
on Sundays;
with mangoes, papayas
and limes,
and a house towering
above the sea.
- Erica Jong
Wes: [pause] Does a bear shit in the woods?
Rod: Is hooni-juana really illegal?
Me: I just don't know what he wants from me!
Miranda: Well... have you asked him?
K: It's The New Yorker... it's existential.
Matt: I think you just need to molest him. Get it over with.
So you like me, huh? - Broken English
____________________________________
and this never leaves my thoughts:
I would know that
before this life closes,
a soulmate to share my roses -
I would make a spell
with long grey beard hairs
and powdered rosemary and rue,
with the jacket of a tux
for a tall man
with broad shoulders,
who loves to dance;
with one blue contact lens
for his bluest eyes;
with honey in a jar
for his love of me;
with salt in a dish
for his love of sex and skin;
with crushed rose petals
for out bed;
with tubes of cerulean blue
and vermilion and rose madder
for his artist's eye;
with a dented Land Rover fender
for his love of travel;
with a poem by Blake
for his love of innocence
revealed by experience;
with soft rain
and a bare head;
with hand-in-hand dreams on Mondays
and the land of fuck
on Sundays;
with mangoes, papayas
and limes,
and a house towering
above the sea.
- Erica Jong
quotecyclopedia, November edition
E: Hey Allison, you ever notice how we're really only at our best... when we're horizontal?
Why are we in such a rush to move from confused to Confucius? Do we search for 'lessons' to lessen the pain? - Sex and the City
Kisses are a better fate than wisdom. - e e cummings
E: For the record, we are now going to refer to it as the crunk-try club.
Karson: ... and that guy in the grey vest? [head shake]
C: She looked like... Marie Antoinette. And not in a good way.
E: oh my god, you watched the showgirls vip edition without me?? i hate that i fall asleep so early.
Ok, you're not exactly what I call 'eye candy'... you're more like... 'eye patch candy.' - Will & Grace
Ana: I heard it... on the street.
LaTrelle: You eat with that mouth?
LaVonda: Mostly!
- Sordid Lives
UNDER PRESSURE. - David Bowie
Peter: Walked into bdubs kokomo... walked out. Drinking at chilis. This town rocks.
David: Man, there's nothing quite like Night Before Thanksgiving Bar Night With All The Local Rednecks In Your Hometown. Ah, I've missed it.
This bumper... was pulled off... by the bus... OF SELENAS! - Selena
and it's ALL coming BACK to me nowwwwwwwwwwww... - Celine Dion
Why are we in such a rush to move from confused to Confucius? Do we search for 'lessons' to lessen the pain? - Sex and the City
Kisses are a better fate than wisdom. - e e cummings
E: For the record, we are now going to refer to it as the crunk-try club.
Karson: ... and that guy in the grey vest? [head shake]
C: She looked like... Marie Antoinette. And not in a good way.
E: oh my god, you watched the showgirls vip edition without me?? i hate that i fall asleep so early.
Ok, you're not exactly what I call 'eye candy'... you're more like... 'eye patch candy.' - Will & Grace
Ana: I heard it... on the street.
LaTrelle: You eat with that mouth?
LaVonda: Mostly!
- Sordid Lives
UNDER PRESSURE. - David Bowie
Peter: Walked into bdubs kokomo... walked out. Drinking at chilis. This town rocks.
David: Man, there's nothing quite like Night Before Thanksgiving Bar Night With All The Local Rednecks In Your Hometown. Ah, I've missed it.
This bumper... was pulled off... by the bus... OF SELENAS! - Selena
and it's ALL coming BACK to me nowwwwwwwwwwww... - Celine Dion
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Let's see...
my whiskey cocktail is half-full... and it's not my first of the night.
there is a dead buck in the bed of the truck in the garage in my house. surprisingly that is not the lyrics to some backwoods redneck summer campfire song, it's just the reality of life chez mitchell.
if one were to take this as a slice of life of the mitchell family, one would actually believe that things were wonderful... because tonight? they were... they are.
watching scrubs rerun with peter right now. love it.
I built my own fire tonight, it's still smoldering in a sexy-hot-chocolate-ski-lodge-naked-under-a-blanket kind of way. for the record, no one here is presently naked.
I have no responsibilities for a full 24 hours aside from doing my laundry and creating a kick-ass thanksgiving feast-a-palooza. this year we are experimenting with turkey brining... don't know what that is? me neither... but it sounds promising. it too is relaxing in the garage with the dead deer. we here in the midwest are, after all, equal-opportunity carnivores.
good things:
scotch
whiskey
leftovers
frank caliendo
fender guitars
digital cameras
grapefruit
my dog, Mags
real fireplaces
feather beds
embarassing photo ops
massages - I could really use one
being home... in every sense of the word
not caring that I haven't slept... for days
waking up with people I love, regardless
knowing that I'm about to sleep... soundly (thank you, crown royal)
my whiskey cocktail is half-full... and it's not my first of the night.
there is a dead buck in the bed of the truck in the garage in my house. surprisingly that is not the lyrics to some backwoods redneck summer campfire song, it's just the reality of life chez mitchell.
if one were to take this as a slice of life of the mitchell family, one would actually believe that things were wonderful... because tonight? they were... they are.
watching scrubs rerun with peter right now. love it.
I built my own fire tonight, it's still smoldering in a sexy-hot-chocolate-ski-lodge-naked-under-a-blanket kind of way. for the record, no one here is presently naked.
I have no responsibilities for a full 24 hours aside from doing my laundry and creating a kick-ass thanksgiving feast-a-palooza. this year we are experimenting with turkey brining... don't know what that is? me neither... but it sounds promising. it too is relaxing in the garage with the dead deer. we here in the midwest are, after all, equal-opportunity carnivores.
good things:
scotch
whiskey
leftovers
frank caliendo
fender guitars
digital cameras
grapefruit
my dog, Mags
real fireplaces
feather beds
embarassing photo ops
massages - I could really use one
being home... in every sense of the word
not caring that I haven't slept... for days
waking up with people I love, regardless
knowing that I'm about to sleep... soundly (thank you, crown royal)
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
autumn clouds
I feel myself dangerously veering off the edge of my usual sense of self, at risk of somehow making that fatal mistake, that unforgettable hurtful remark, that unneccesarily heartless sneer at someone undeserving... I'm like some cliche 'mean' character who snaps at everyone and mistreats her loved ones despite being, on the whole, a very lovable person. [think Lifetime movie] It's like my next scene should be where some trusted mentor takes me aside for the pep talk and lays out the details of how my downward spiral affects others.
where is this angst coming from? this is not like me.
I'm worn down, worn out, and beginning to feel the november stress accumulate in my veins like a stored drug that I've grown to tolerate in high doses.
Please let tomorrow see the clouds lift and something sparkle in these blustery days.
where is this angst coming from? this is not like me.
I'm worn down, worn out, and beginning to feel the november stress accumulate in my veins like a stored drug that I've grown to tolerate in high doses.
Please let tomorrow see the clouds lift and something sparkle in these blustery days.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
priceless
online conversation with a friend has produced this gem of a quote:
my friend: i was like "i can't sleep." and he said "me neither."
so then i asked "well, want to do it and see if we pass out afterwards??"
hmmm. perhaps a new trick against the perennial insomnia that plagues my nights? oh I love it.
my friend: i was like "i can't sleep." and he said "me neither."
so then i asked "well, want to do it and see if we pass out afterwards??"
hmmm. perhaps a new trick against the perennial insomnia that plagues my nights? oh I love it.
The Mouth of Hell
Have managed only three hangovers* in 2007, a triumphant leap beyond previous years when that number was more likely per week. My binge-drinking years were not pretty... since then I've discovered that I'm a cheap date (take that as you will), more often prefer to drive myself around (thus remaining sober in the process) and provide my own getaway car, and I really don't like expensive bar tabs.
That having been said, however...
Today was the Colts/Chiefs game, a landmark event that brings friends into town and usually heralds large dinner parties and or bar crawls. This was not today's agenda, however, as I not only didn't see any of my Chiefs fan visitors but quite frankly didn't see the any of the game itself.
What was I doing, one might wonder, on this terrific Sunday afternoon?
Sleeping. Nursing off 2007 Hangover #3. I got sick. I drank milk. I clutched my temples and cursed vodka and martinis. I groaned aloud. I petered around my apartment after my 3 hour nap at a decidedly slow pace and thought about cleaning... but didn't. I brushed my teeth but decided showering required too much stamina. Smelly barwear was thrown into a heap in the corner and there it remains, marinating in the aura of last night's extravagance and bad decisions... like bringing everyone home with me and drinking more. Not smart, Allison.
At this point I'm just praying to regain strength and motivation before work tomorrow.
It was a great Saturday night, though. A great Saturday night.
*Side Note: Each hangover has involved a certain Ms. Edina. Coincidence? I think not.
That having been said, however...
Today was the Colts/Chiefs game, a landmark event that brings friends into town and usually heralds large dinner parties and or bar crawls. This was not today's agenda, however, as I not only didn't see any of my Chiefs fan visitors but quite frankly didn't see the any of the game itself.
What was I doing, one might wonder, on this terrific Sunday afternoon?
Sleeping. Nursing off 2007 Hangover #3. I got sick. I drank milk. I clutched my temples and cursed vodka and martinis. I groaned aloud. I petered around my apartment after my 3 hour nap at a decidedly slow pace and thought about cleaning... but didn't. I brushed my teeth but decided showering required too much stamina. Smelly barwear was thrown into a heap in the corner and there it remains, marinating in the aura of last night's extravagance and bad decisions... like bringing everyone home with me and drinking more. Not smart, Allison.
At this point I'm just praying to regain strength and motivation before work tomorrow.
It was a great Saturday night, though. A great Saturday night.
*Side Note: Each hangover has involved a certain Ms. Edina. Coincidence? I think not.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
To-Go List
I spend most of my time traveling "in-between..."
between homes. between jobs. between friends. between cities.
This is not to say I'm transient in the sense of skipping across relationships and locations like a stone skimming over water, no... Merely that I quite honestly live behind the steering wheel of my automobile, am rarely home for any sincere length of time, and I adore the chase and change of life on the move.
Am compiling a list of destinations for the upcoming months, an ever-growing agenda of friends to visit, events to attend, places to wander. I find myself promising excursions and promptly blending dates into a mental slushie, but nonetheless look forward to road trips, airlines, and the joy of sleeping on sofas and air mattresses.
Early Spring shall hopefully find me...
NYC
DC
Chicago
Milwaukee
Boston
Easily grasped distances, mostly Midwest/East Coast. Am feeling the flutter of giddiness at the thought... because it has been such a beautiful autumn, travel-wise. I long for more.
between homes. between jobs. between friends. between cities.
This is not to say I'm transient in the sense of skipping across relationships and locations like a stone skimming over water, no... Merely that I quite honestly live behind the steering wheel of my automobile, am rarely home for any sincere length of time, and I adore the chase and change of life on the move.
Am compiling a list of destinations for the upcoming months, an ever-growing agenda of friends to visit, events to attend, places to wander. I find myself promising excursions and promptly blending dates into a mental slushie, but nonetheless look forward to road trips, airlines, and the joy of sleeping on sofas and air mattresses.
Early Spring shall hopefully find me...
NYC
DC
Chicago
Milwaukee
Boston
Easily grasped distances, mostly Midwest/East Coast. Am feeling the flutter of giddiness at the thought... because it has been such a beautiful autumn, travel-wise. I long for more.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
what dreams may come
this is a moment held perilously aloft in fantasy for years, a lifetime to be truthful. I cannot in any possible way portray the truth of this second, this slice of my life. I am stunned silent, suspended mid-emotion and quite frankly... happy.
yes, I said it. I'm happy aka content aka You Wish You Were Me. It's real. It's out there. It exists and for this one (probably quite brief and transient) moment I am actually happy.
really happy.
H-A-P-P-Y for those of you who know me if even slightly well enough to understand.
for justifiable reasons [known to a confidential few, a very slight few],I'm overflowing with the ripple effect love... I love you, I love you, I love you.
I ask only for this blissful glimpse, this delight... this is what they were talking about...
this is it, this is really it. Please give me strength and fortitude of character to follow this path. It must be true.
It must be.
yes, I said it. I'm happy aka content aka You Wish You Were Me. It's real. It's out there. It exists and for this one (probably quite brief and transient) moment I am actually happy.
really happy.
H-A-P-P-Y for those of you who know me if even slightly well enough to understand.
for justifiable reasons [known to a confidential few, a very slight few],I'm overflowing with the ripple effect love... I love you, I love you, I love you.
I ask only for this blissful glimpse, this delight... this is what they were talking about...
this is it, this is really it. Please give me strength and fortitude of character to follow this path. It must be true.
It must be.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Marathons, Monuments, and Mattresses: Indy takes on D.C.
One of the greatest weekends in memory: Washington D.C. with Jules, Lauren, Abs, and Jen (and company)...
While I am still attempting to catch up on sleep and desperately hoping that I can soon recover my voice, I am afloat on the high of a weekend of nothing but good things. Yep, take that as a Martha Stewart reference... because it was.
Also, let it be noted that this weekend (Sunday, specifically) was witness to the birth of a new WLU slogan... the brilliance, genius, and true inspiration of one Ms. Julie Arnold:
"WE LOVE US
SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO."
Expect tshirts, billboards, drunken text messages, a few handmade sharpie tattoos, and perhaps even the revival of the political button... we're definitely taking this one global.
While I am still attempting to catch up on sleep and desperately hoping that I can soon recover my voice, I am afloat on the high of a weekend of nothing but good things. Yep, take that as a Martha Stewart reference... because it was.
Also, let it be noted that this weekend (Sunday, specifically) was witness to the birth of a new WLU slogan... the brilliance, genius, and true inspiration of one Ms. Julie Arnold:
"WE LOVE US
SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO."
Expect tshirts, billboards, drunken text messages, a few handmade sharpie tattoos, and perhaps even the revival of the political button... we're definitely taking this one global.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Homecomingpalooza... the aftermath
1. my laptop has gone to complete shit and finally refuses to turn on... AT ALL. motherfucker.
2. several new bruises. origin unknown.
3. I wanna borrow that top.
4. my feet still ache from imitating a marathon runner in stiletto heels on Saturday night in downtown Bloomington... and shortening my skirt to barely-ass-grazing-length to extend leg stride... which is a fantastic way to meet middle-aged, pleated-Dockers-wearing, stumbling-down-drunk, I-think-I'm-still-as-sexually-viable-as-I-was-in-college, I'll-hit-on-you-by-mentioning-that-my-daughter-is-your-age-too male alumni... oh and one older gent actually asked for a ride to Indy. Classy, sir. If I might suggest next time you omit the detail that your wife doesn't know where you went for the weekend. It doesn't arouse much sympathy and certainly weakens your potential hook-up factor. Just saying.
5. have taken to wearing my glasses as part of general protest against putting effort into my appearance. now remember why I don't like wearing glasses: they get so damn dirty, you know... constantly. who has time for that? plus I miss sunglasses. Sayonara, Team Dorothy Parker.
6. laundry.
7. continued disgust at all things involving, featuring, approaching or concerning Nancy Grace.
8. NPR pledge drive week means I'm listening to XM.
9. new addition to house furnishings now increases my seating capacity from 6 to 15. This is good news as the long-awaited Boob-Tube-a-Palooza is now officially on the horizon. Start preparing costumes.
10. purchase of the week: $6 hardcover Cole Porter songbook. So in love, indeed.
11. 'What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap? Bob Kelso.' [Scrubs is the greatest thing to hit the insomniac television lineup in years.]
12. YEAH COLTS.
13. Washington D.C. in t-minus 3 days.
2. several new bruises. origin unknown.
3. I wanna borrow that top.
4. my feet still ache from imitating a marathon runner in stiletto heels on Saturday night in downtown Bloomington... and shortening my skirt to barely-ass-grazing-length to extend leg stride... which is a fantastic way to meet middle-aged, pleated-Dockers-wearing, stumbling-down-drunk, I-think-I'm-still-as-sexually-viable-as-I-was-in-college, I'll-hit-on-you-by-mentioning-that-my-daughter-is-your-age-too male alumni... oh and one older gent actually asked for a ride to Indy. Classy, sir. If I might suggest next time you omit the detail that your wife doesn't know where you went for the weekend. It doesn't arouse much sympathy and certainly weakens your potential hook-up factor. Just saying.
5. have taken to wearing my glasses as part of general protest against putting effort into my appearance. now remember why I don't like wearing glasses: they get so damn dirty, you know... constantly. who has time for that? plus I miss sunglasses. Sayonara, Team Dorothy Parker.
6. laundry.
7. continued disgust at all things involving, featuring, approaching or concerning Nancy Grace.
8. NPR pledge drive week means I'm listening to XM.
9. new addition to house furnishings now increases my seating capacity from 6 to 15. This is good news as the long-awaited Boob-Tube-a-Palooza is now officially on the horizon. Start preparing costumes.
10. purchase of the week: $6 hardcover Cole Porter songbook. So in love, indeed.
11. 'What has two thumbs and doesn't give a crap? Bob Kelso.' [Scrubs is the greatest thing to hit the insomniac television lineup in years.]
12. YEAH COLTS.
13. Washington D.C. in t-minus 3 days.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
journey's end
Home from watching the wolverines trounce the shit out of the boilermakers. It was all kinds of ugly and depressing, and I didn't even attend Purdue... and quite frankly I have been known to support Michigan, you know, a lot... but there is still something in me that feels the need to defend a poor little cluster of 19 yr old boys in tights who (while shamefully losing) are being screamed at and taunted by 110,000 screaming Michigan fans. Really. It wasn't pretty.
Like my grandfather's best man at his wedding famously reminded everyone (not at the wedding but on multiple other occasions), "Remember, it's just a group of undergrads playing a game in the grass on a Saturday afternoon."
Lake Michigan is beautiful, tranquil, and awash with some of the most soothing landscapes imaginable. Mostly I just wanted to sit alone and read Anne Morrow Lindbergh and chew on a pencil and take long, contemplative walks along the beach.
So, you know, I went to the Big House for my dose of serenity and inner calm.
I have just woken up from a solid 5 hour nap, am still at home, and am stuck in that post-nap lethargic limbo of not feeling awake but hating myself for desiring more sleep... I guess I had a lot to catch up on from these past several weeks.
Oh, and I really wish we had some apple butter. That would be great.
Spent the entirety of the road trip listening to Tony Dungee read his memoir. Several thoughts:
1. His voice is absolute magic... it is velvety and calm and well-articulated and always filled with that mild thunder of conviction and strength. I wish I could install a permanent version to read to me nightly as I struggle to sleep. I would listen to him read the phone book, microwave oven manuals, advanced physics formulas, binary code, whatever... and it would be beautiful.
2. I am becoming rather well versed in football names, figures, plays, and team locations. This is a good start and has given me a miniature sense of hope that I may one day become one of those really cool girls who isn't such a complete sports-trivia dumbass.
3. Everything in his life, as detailed in the book, manages to become glory and education made manifest. Something to work on.
4. Becoming extraordinary in Coach Dungee's mind is simply being the best at what is ordinary. A simple philosophy and perhaps the best new approach for one overly-analytical-o'erarching-dreamer-lost-soul-wanderer such as myself. Like we always learned in high school - 'keep it simple, stupid.' Also something to work on.
Like my grandfather's best man at his wedding famously reminded everyone (not at the wedding but on multiple other occasions), "Remember, it's just a group of undergrads playing a game in the grass on a Saturday afternoon."
Lake Michigan is beautiful, tranquil, and awash with some of the most soothing landscapes imaginable. Mostly I just wanted to sit alone and read Anne Morrow Lindbergh and chew on a pencil and take long, contemplative walks along the beach.
So, you know, I went to the Big House for my dose of serenity and inner calm.
I have just woken up from a solid 5 hour nap, am still at home, and am stuck in that post-nap lethargic limbo of not feeling awake but hating myself for desiring more sleep... I guess I had a lot to catch up on from these past several weeks.
Oh, and I really wish we had some apple butter. That would be great.
Spent the entirety of the road trip listening to Tony Dungee read his memoir. Several thoughts:
1. His voice is absolute magic... it is velvety and calm and well-articulated and always filled with that mild thunder of conviction and strength. I wish I could install a permanent version to read to me nightly as I struggle to sleep. I would listen to him read the phone book, microwave oven manuals, advanced physics formulas, binary code, whatever... and it would be beautiful.
2. I am becoming rather well versed in football names, figures, plays, and team locations. This is a good start and has given me a miniature sense of hope that I may one day become one of those really cool girls who isn't such a complete sports-trivia dumbass.
3. Everything in his life, as detailed in the book, manages to become glory and education made manifest. Something to work on.
4. Becoming extraordinary in Coach Dungee's mind is simply being the best at what is ordinary. A simple philosophy and perhaps the best new approach for one overly-analytical-o'erarching-dreamer-lost-soul-wanderer such as myself. Like we always learned in high school - 'keep it simple, stupid.' Also something to work on.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Fuck
Today:
1. Lafayette - car finally spiffed up and soon to be liberated from lifelong muteness and given his first horn. woot woot.
2. Shopping with Diana... including the "Sportsman's Warehouse," a testosterone mecca with the apparent motto of "You either shoot it, stuff it, or marry it." Shudder.
3. "Cirque Dream" at Clowes Hall with Diana, etc. Basically it's a cirque show with a jungle theme... or as I like to think of it, contortionist jungle teletubbies on crack. I had an anxiety attack, Diana was beside herself with delight. Fucking serious, I feel like someone beat me with a steel pipe (physically and emotionally). damn shit damn damn damn damn.
4. one gloriously large and strong Old Fashioned... I do love coming home to the Mitchell liquor cabinet... crown royal as far as the eye can see... and I so desperately (desperately) needed a drink.
5. no sleep for the past few nights + uber-strong cocktail = sleep of the innocent tonight. is going to be magnificent.
6. drive to michigan tomorrow. when I feel actually like myself (free of residual stress and kentucky bourbon) and definitely going to tally up the number of hours/miles spent in a car during these 4 days... because shit, it's a lot.
7. call me tomorrow.
1. Lafayette - car finally spiffed up and soon to be liberated from lifelong muteness and given his first horn. woot woot.
2. Shopping with Diana... including the "Sportsman's Warehouse," a testosterone mecca with the apparent motto of "You either shoot it, stuff it, or marry it." Shudder.
3. "Cirque Dream" at Clowes Hall with Diana, etc. Basically it's a cirque show with a jungle theme... or as I like to think of it, contortionist jungle teletubbies on crack. I had an anxiety attack, Diana was beside herself with delight. Fucking serious, I feel like someone beat me with a steel pipe (physically and emotionally). damn shit damn damn damn damn.
4. one gloriously large and strong Old Fashioned... I do love coming home to the Mitchell liquor cabinet... crown royal as far as the eye can see... and I so desperately (desperately) needed a drink.
5. no sleep for the past few nights + uber-strong cocktail = sleep of the innocent tonight. is going to be magnificent.
6. drive to michigan tomorrow. when I feel actually like myself (free of residual stress and kentucky bourbon) and definitely going to tally up the number of hours/miles spent in a car during these 4 days... because shit, it's a lot.
7. call me tomorrow.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
town crier
Currently find myself in a situation not unlike that of my high school years: sitting in the basement of my childhood home delaying the inevitable insomnia by diddling away the evening hours while my family slumbers two floors above.
I was admiring the stars from my backyard and drinking in the fresh breezes of autumn, now (it seems) at last upon us... it is so peaceful here, so green and spacious, and the country air is sweet with the promise of harvest and drifting leaves... my absolute favorite time of year. It's nice to be able to sit alone and appreciate the serenity of the blue-green darkness, bask in the 'silence' of the nocturnal creatures, "so loud, so loud the million cricket's choir..."
my thoughts are compressing with recent events, the speed with which life can change... for better or worse. these next few months look to be laden with heaviness, speckled with trials... we have seen and survived worse, I know. I know. And this too shall pass.
But for now perhaps it is easier to sit in the starlight and just be... the acceptance will come, it will come, it will come... "if I fall, let it be from a high place..."
I was admiring the stars from my backyard and drinking in the fresh breezes of autumn, now (it seems) at last upon us... it is so peaceful here, so green and spacious, and the country air is sweet with the promise of harvest and drifting leaves... my absolute favorite time of year. It's nice to be able to sit alone and appreciate the serenity of the blue-green darkness, bask in the 'silence' of the nocturnal creatures, "so loud, so loud the million cricket's choir..."
my thoughts are compressing with recent events, the speed with which life can change... for better or worse. these next few months look to be laden with heaviness, speckled with trials... we have seen and survived worse, I know. I know. And this too shall pass.
But for now perhaps it is easier to sit in the starlight and just be... the acceptance will come, it will come, it will come... "if I fall, let it be from a high place..."
Monday, October 08, 2007
Plateau?
I feel like I'm riding the tail end of a bright and sparkling comet, hair blowing in the space-wind (there is such a thing, right?) and face alive with the future ahead of me and the recent triumphs of the past few weeks behind in the stars...
Except this feeling is so fragile, so sensitive... a house of cards (to switch metaphors) leveled by the slightest touch. Such is my life that I know to expect not only the unexpected but also the bitch-slap of reality and daily trifles.
To quote Elise, "I've hit a plateau." I could perhaps be headed toward greater heights, merely settling for a moment to enjoy the view, or I could be seated atop what is to become the peak of the mountain, about to slip, tumble, or descend with caution, who knows?
I suppose this is just classic anxiety kicking in or maybe some deeply-ingrained WASP sense of guilt for having been so happy and blessed of late... my friends are incomparably wonderful, my family has even reached some sort of stasis, my days have been filled with events and memories and I feel loved and appreciated...
So what could possibly be coming around the corner to tear it down? Is it completely terrible that I'm so terrified? I'm just not accustomed to long spans of general happiness... or really any span of general bliss... the past decade of my life has been certainly positive in many ways but oh so incredibly dark, "so dark, so dark and deep... the secrets that you keep..." [apologies for the Les Mis. reference]
It's just that... my life is a lovely and precious thing at the moment, certainly far from 'perfect' or 'ideal' or 'well-planned' but remarkable in the way everything is seeming to appear... even the weather is better and brighter than it has been in years... aside from the fact that it's mid-October and the record-shattering heat is a most alarming environmental issue... but it's sunlit and embracingly warm. One of my neighbors* (one I actually don't know and don't think I've ever seen in my life before) decided to take a little siesta in a chaise lounge outdoors this afternoon... wearing nothing more than a speedo!! SPEEDO! As in man bikini!
*For the record, he was at least quite attractive... and kudos to a fellow uninhibited spirit... but this is certainly uncharacteristic of Indiana autumn behavior. IE: Von Maur has already transformed itself into Santa-Snowflake-Holly-Jolly-Christmas-Land and there are roadside stands selling pumpkins.
Anyway, perhaps this is just life as it should be always?
Except this feeling is so fragile, so sensitive... a house of cards (to switch metaphors) leveled by the slightest touch. Such is my life that I know to expect not only the unexpected but also the bitch-slap of reality and daily trifles.
To quote Elise, "I've hit a plateau." I could perhaps be headed toward greater heights, merely settling for a moment to enjoy the view, or I could be seated atop what is to become the peak of the mountain, about to slip, tumble, or descend with caution, who knows?
I suppose this is just classic anxiety kicking in or maybe some deeply-ingrained WASP sense of guilt for having been so happy and blessed of late... my friends are incomparably wonderful, my family has even reached some sort of stasis, my days have been filled with events and memories and I feel loved and appreciated...
So what could possibly be coming around the corner to tear it down? Is it completely terrible that I'm so terrified? I'm just not accustomed to long spans of general happiness... or really any span of general bliss... the past decade of my life has been certainly positive in many ways but oh so incredibly dark, "so dark, so dark and deep... the secrets that you keep..." [apologies for the Les Mis. reference]
It's just that... my life is a lovely and precious thing at the moment, certainly far from 'perfect' or 'ideal' or 'well-planned' but remarkable in the way everything is seeming to appear... even the weather is better and brighter than it has been in years... aside from the fact that it's mid-October and the record-shattering heat is a most alarming environmental issue... but it's sunlit and embracingly warm. One of my neighbors* (one I actually don't know and don't think I've ever seen in my life before) decided to take a little siesta in a chaise lounge outdoors this afternoon... wearing nothing more than a speedo!! SPEEDO! As in man bikini!
*For the record, he was at least quite attractive... and kudos to a fellow uninhibited spirit... but this is certainly uncharacteristic of Indiana autumn behavior. IE: Von Maur has already transformed itself into Santa-Snowflake-Holly-Jolly-Christmas-Land and there are roadside stands selling pumpkins.
Anyway, perhaps this is just life as it should be always?
From Blossoms
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.
O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.
There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.
- Li-Young Lee
Saturday, October 06, 2007
la chouffe
1. I love brunch at Hoaglin's. Best hangover relief ever... and some damn good coffee.
2. Wedding-stravaganza Saturday has begun and I have T-minus 46 minutes to pull myself together, pack anything I might need for tonight, the wedding, a bar, a sleepover, work at 7 am tomorrow (am quite delighted, really), and the Colts game afterwards. Sometimes I wonder why I pay rent at all and don't just start living out of my car.
3. It is 90 degrees outside... and it's mid-October. But global warming is still a conspiracy theory concocted by a set of crazy left-wing fundamentalists, right?
4. I just had the greatest shower imaginable... hurrah for rinsing all that bar-scum down the drain and scrubbing off last night's slutty leftover makeup... sweet blessed relief.
5. No sleep last night and no sleep tonight pretty much guarantee a forecast of Mitch the Bitch appearing in full glory tomorrow. Those damn Colts better win.
2. Wedding-stravaganza Saturday has begun and I have T-minus 46 minutes to pull myself together, pack anything I might need for tonight, the wedding, a bar, a sleepover, work at 7 am tomorrow (am quite delighted, really), and the Colts game afterwards. Sometimes I wonder why I pay rent at all and don't just start living out of my car.
3. It is 90 degrees outside... and it's mid-October. But global warming is still a conspiracy theory concocted by a set of crazy left-wing fundamentalists, right?
4. I just had the greatest shower imaginable... hurrah for rinsing all that bar-scum down the drain and scrubbing off last night's slutty leftover makeup... sweet blessed relief.
5. No sleep last night and no sleep tonight pretty much guarantee a forecast of Mitch the Bitch appearing in full glory tomorrow. Those damn Colts better win.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Gen XYZ
In order to keep up with our lives, we have taken to sending intricately and painstakingly detailed emails to each other daily. We not only describe daily events but have also taken to including full verbatim excerpts of our own text message conversations. Is this pathetic, we often wonder? Survey says: nah. We'd do the same damn thing in person if we didn't live an hour apart so we are merely taking advantage of this glorious technology-filled era we live in.
Example, excerpt from this morning's email of last night's Retro Rewind:
Had a blast with Wes at the V... natch. We got there around 10:40 or so and the dance floor was... empty. Except for us (duh). Hilarious - a whole lotta awkward kids hanging around the perimeter waiting for somebody else to be ballsy enough to start the party. Pshhhh. Wes and Patsy promptly took full advantage of our time in the spotlight. You would have loved it - it was like the luau all over again (only this time instead of a table full of SMUMs and SMUBS - that's right, Smug Married Undesirable BITCHES - it was just a bunch of 22 yr olds hovering around without purpose). LOVE IT. Now that I'm thinking about it... perhaps we should just change it to SMUB... really, the 'B' could stand for either BITCHES or BASTARDS quite interchangeably. I think I'm on to something here. Unisex insult. Go Team AbFab! - P
I must admit, some of our most brilliant life wisdom has resulted:
Wouldn't it be nice if it worked in a way that we could just call up
someone and say "Hi, I'm really interested in you" in both a "I find
you interesting and intelligent" and "i really want to get into your
pants" kind of way. "Would you like to go out and have interesting
conversation and top off the night by sleeping (this may or may not
mean sex) with me?" Things would be so easy.....if only. - E
This brings up a point I have been discussing with Julie of late. Jules was saying how she wished somehow the world could reinstate the Victorian practice of 'stating one's intentions.' As in announcing that one would like to begin courting... for the record, I love that word, "courting." Puts such a refreshingly elegant spin on what we now commonly refer to as "hooking up" or (ugh) "hanging out." No messy decoding of body language or online profiles or ambiguous remarks, just a good solid "I LIKE YOU, LET'S GO OUT" kind of thing.
This is in keeping with our motto or rather description of self, romantically speaking: "forward but old-fashioned." As in I have no hesitation about initiating romantic exchanges of any level - communication, invite, asking for phone numbers, seduction scenes, what have you... but despite my bit of Gloria Steinem sparkle, I often wish someone else would do the job for me. Sometimes it can be the most wonderful thing to actually be pursued and wanted without all the effort, tu sais?
Example, excerpt from this morning's email of last night's Retro Rewind:
Had a blast with Wes at the V... natch. We got there around 10:40 or so and the dance floor was... empty. Except for us (duh). Hilarious - a whole lotta awkward kids hanging around the perimeter waiting for somebody else to be ballsy enough to start the party. Pshhhh. Wes and Patsy promptly took full advantage of our time in the spotlight. You would have loved it - it was like the luau all over again (only this time instead of a table full of SMUMs and SMUBS - that's right, Smug Married Undesirable BITCHES - it was just a bunch of 22 yr olds hovering around without purpose). LOVE IT. Now that I'm thinking about it... perhaps we should just change it to SMUB... really, the 'B' could stand for either BITCHES or BASTARDS quite interchangeably. I think I'm on to something here. Unisex insult. Go Team AbFab! - P
I must admit, some of our most brilliant life wisdom has resulted:
Wouldn't it be nice if it worked in a way that we could just call up
someone and say "Hi, I'm really interested in you" in both a "I find
you interesting and intelligent" and "i really want to get into your
pants" kind of way. "Would you like to go out and have interesting
conversation and top off the night by sleeping (this may or may not
mean sex) with me?" Things would be so easy.....if only. - E
This brings up a point I have been discussing with Julie of late. Jules was saying how she wished somehow the world could reinstate the Victorian practice of 'stating one's intentions.' As in announcing that one would like to begin courting... for the record, I love that word, "courting." Puts such a refreshingly elegant spin on what we now commonly refer to as "hooking up" or (ugh) "hanging out." No messy decoding of body language or online profiles or ambiguous remarks, just a good solid "I LIKE YOU, LET'S GO OUT" kind of thing.
This is in keeping with our motto or rather description of self, romantically speaking: "forward but old-fashioned." As in I have no hesitation about initiating romantic exchanges of any level - communication, invite, asking for phone numbers, seduction scenes, what have you... but despite my bit of Gloria Steinem sparkle, I often wish someone else would do the job for me. Sometimes it can be the most wonderful thing to actually be pursued and wanted without all the effort, tu sais?
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
The Parallel Lives of Patsy and Edina
As usual, Pats and Eddie are living in twin universes, one in Indianapolis and one in the City of Firsts. Thankfully, things are going well for both of us on some counts.
Most recent email excerpt from the fabulous Elise Shrock:
score for the AbFabs.
Pats and Eddie: 2 Skinny fake bitches of the world: -2
The scores are looking good, as we are ahead.
Most recent email excerpt from the fabulous Elise Shrock:
score for the AbFabs.
Pats and Eddie: 2 Skinny fake bitches of the world: -2
The scores are looking good, as we are ahead.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
1 2 3 4 FIRST DOWN
I feel as though I have traveled the Indiana interstate incessantly for 5 days and am soon to arrive upon the start of another such week of travel, trailing brake lights, and destinations unknown... this whirlwind of journeying back and forth between my ever-growing circle of families and evolving friendships certainly has taken its toll upon me physically over the past two days and I've slept as soundly as one who has never known the loneliness of restless nights... too soundly, it turns out, as I hauled myself a breakneck speed to work this morning (late, oh so desperately late).
This is the life I lead, one in limbo between my multitude of obligations and my desires. I feel like a moth drawn to the flame of family and was so gratified by the weekend and its exchanges, so purely joyful for the sake of it, basking in the glory of high-spirited games and get-togethers, the ambrosia of love that is created in such a closely connected group, my original set...
Many of us had not been together since the memorial service (and Hawaii before that), and therefore to see everyone at the game on such a miraculously beautiful afternoon was a very sweet privilege... you can see the change, certainly, but mostly it is a sensed loss, an unspoken collective missing of someone as everyone settles around this newly diminished family structure. I was so glad we made it to that end of the campus at last. Such wonderful family.
And today itself was the occasion for not one but THREE best friend high-fives. THAT is progress.
...
In theory I was an existentialist, a creator of meaning and value, but in reality of course I was a seeker. I couldn't help trying to read the world like a book of signs: the cadet, the receding lights of the train, the American women, the beaming face of the man with the umbrella and now the circus posters. Who would catch me as I somersaulted through space?
- Robert Hellenga, The Sixteen Pleasures
This is the life I lead, one in limbo between my multitude of obligations and my desires. I feel like a moth drawn to the flame of family and was so gratified by the weekend and its exchanges, so purely joyful for the sake of it, basking in the glory of high-spirited games and get-togethers, the ambrosia of love that is created in such a closely connected group, my original set...
Many of us had not been together since the memorial service (and Hawaii before that), and therefore to see everyone at the game on such a miraculously beautiful afternoon was a very sweet privilege... you can see the change, certainly, but mostly it is a sensed loss, an unspoken collective missing of someone as everyone settles around this newly diminished family structure. I was so glad we made it to that end of the campus at last. Such wonderful family.
And today itself was the occasion for not one but THREE best friend high-fives. THAT is progress.
...
In theory I was an existentialist, a creator of meaning and value, but in reality of course I was a seeker. I couldn't help trying to read the world like a book of signs: the cadet, the receding lights of the train, the American women, the beaming face of the man with the umbrella and now the circus posters. Who would catch me as I somersaulted through space?
- Robert Hellenga, The Sixteen Pleasures
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
