Sunday, July 31, 2005


the darn sofa

that's me lying on the sofa that we carried up four flights of stairs, in my sensible moving furniture outfit.


Where have all the 22 year olds gone?

It all started at the hotel near E's apartment. We went to the convenience store to get candy (classy, I know. It's "the new Loft") and while in there I saw this HUGE jar with a picture of a miniature schnauzer on it. E and I started laughing as I talked about buying it for my mom in memory of Cleo.

All of a sudden, I hear a snicker at the ice cream freezer. I turn and there's a young blond whippersnapper. I smiled and ask (beguilingly, I bet!) "Are you laughing at me?"

He responds, with the razor sharp wit of a teen - "No, the ice cream is funny."

I laugh and then tell him about Cleo and whatnot. (obviously I need to work on my flirtatious repartee) Then his little bro comes by to join in on the fun of chatting with a Mrs. Robinson, and E and I take that as our cue to jet out of there.

I must be honest. Calling him 19 is probably being generous. But he talked to me first, darnit!

The next night E, C-note, T and I go to "Tom Tom" - my version of Hell. Loud, dark, crowded, full of drunk skanky people. Being anti-social, I found a couch upstairs and sat down. Soon a bevy of boys sat down around me, probably hoping that I'd feel awkward enough to leave them the couch to themselves. No such LUCK, Boys! I stayed there, and Nate and I started talking. Turns out he's interning on the Hill, is a student at Yale. Going to be a junior. After I asked him how he got in there ("oh, I've had a fake since I was 15") he offered to buy me a shot and I said okay.

Yeah. A 19 year old bought me a shot at a club/bar. And it was good! He was probably afraid I was going to tell on him to the bouncer, haha. (for the record, I wasn't going to. just to let all of you know)

The next day I decided to walk from the Mall to the Lincoln Memorial. I walked up there, sat on the steps and cracked open "Gone with the Wind". It was especially poignant since the book is about the Civil War and I was sitting on the steps of the place that reveres the man that is most hated in the book. After a bit, a male sat down near me, and he was just staring into space looking at the view. My kind of guy.

His cell phone rang, he talked a bit, repeated an address, then hung up and asked me if I had a pen for him to borrow. Being the nerd that I am, of course I had one. We ended up talking, and he's an archtecture student at some university in Florida. I offered to walk him to the place he didn't know how to find (being the kind and solicitous tour guide that I am) and he accepted my company. At the end of the walk, he asked for my phone number.

Dear Jorge is 19.

Where have all the 22 year olds gone?

Thursday, July 28, 2005


DC Update

Still in DC, right now I'm on E, C-note and T's new couch. But first things first.

The trip started off with a bang when I sat down in my assigned seat on the airplane. The guy beside me turned, shook my hand and said "Hi. I'm Cristefano, your neighbor for the next hour." He seemed nice, but I was hoping that a) my neighbor would move into the empty window seat next to him and b) that he wouldn't be talking the whole flight.

Well, he didn't move (i guess he enjoys cramped spaces? and stealing my armrest?) but he did stop talking briefly after that. He took out his headphones and a PDA looking device and started listening to music. Before, and during takeoff. I was going to tell him to put it away because I didn't want the plane to have an electrical breakdown since he was listening to music but - here it is, folks - I didn't want to have to talk to him for those extra 5 minutes.

I decided that not listening to him was worth jeopardizing the whole plane's safety.

Then the drink cart rolled around, and he asked for two glasses of tomato juice. Questionable, but okay. I guess some people have to buy the crap, otherwise it wouldn't get sold. The flight attendant raises the plastic cup to put ice in it, and he goes "NO! NO ice." Frantically, as if he's allergic to water. The FA says "okay..." and then Cristefano asks if he can just have the cans. She acquieces.

She and the cart push on up towards the aisle, and Cristefano turns to me (ignoring the fact that I have my headphones on) and says "You know, she just commited a safety violation. This can be used as a weapon." Mistaking my look of horror and distaste for one of incredulity, he continues "No, really. It's in the book." And then he weighs the can in his hand, as if testing its strength and durability for crushing skulls.

After that, Cristefano and I didn't have very much interaction.

Fast forward to last night. C-note asked me if I wanted to come with her, L and Mike LaRosa to pick up a sofa in a U-Haul. Sorry mike, but my first reaction was "Mike? driving a U-Haul?" but then I decided that I have to be young and stupid at least some of the time, so I decided to come along. And I knew that it would turn out to be an adventure.

After a brief altercation with a Metro employee, I met up with C-note in the train. We rode out to the great suburbs of Virginia, where Mike and L picked us up in a huge yellow Budget rental truck. There we encountered our first obstacle - the front seat was not a bench seat, rather, it was two chairs. not a problem. L sat on the ground in the middle, C-note sat on the edge of the passenger seat, I sat on the passenger seat, one cheek leaning on the door, one arm around C-note, one arm frantically holding on to the random bar that was on the dashboard. The whole time I had visions of the door lock failing and me flying across the pavement. (It alternated of being really funny and then reallly scary in my mind)

We get to mike's house. He looks at our "moving clothes." L is wearing sensible flip flops (maybe the ones she got at CVS?), with work pants and a white button down shirt. Not bad. I'm wearing gold bejeweled flip flops, a white tank top and a short skirt. C-note is wearing 3 inch sandal heels, white capris, and a light blue button shirt.

Not a problem.

We somehow get the sofas out of mike's house - out of the sliding glass doors, off his porch and then up the (wet) grassy hill. And then into the trunk. A lot of squealing and exclamations of terror were made by all, but it wasn't that bad. We then decide to stop somewhere for dinner. A "quick meal" turns into an hour at least, and that included singing and dancing by the staff of the restaurant. (Why is that all the cute ones are 18? Darn it.) At the end of the meal, L says "AH! I forgot that we had to move the sofa in to our apartment!" It sounds like a ditzy thing, but to be honest, I had forgotten too. i think we were in denial.

Driving along the highway to DC was fun. Singing to country songs, looking like we were in a country music video. It worked. And the last song, pulling up to their apartment building, was a loud rendition of "All by Myself," as sung by Celine Dion. We put our hearts into it.

Through much pulling and finagling, we get the smaller sofa into the freight elevator. I was left downstairs to guard the bigger sofa. Growing bored, I manage to get it through the doorway and into the lobby, with the help of an older man who clearly didn't know what he was getting into when he offered to help the girl in a skirt move a 10 foot sofa. L and Mike come down in the elevator 20 minutes later, and we attempt to put the sofa in. And then again. And then again. It's too tall and too wide to fit.

and we realize that we have to carry it up the stairs. 4 flights. And by far, the scariest sight I've seen is that sofa standing straight up on the step above me, tottering along.

And at each switchback, the sofa is too large to just gliiiiide on through. We have to push it vertical, slide it back, then pivot for each turn.

There are 9 of them. And we finally get it to the fourth floor (SALVATION!) and at first glance, it's too big to fit through the doorway. We spend a good ten minutes on that step, panicked at the thought that all of this work was for nothing. But through twisting, turning, despairing and pushing, we got it through.

I took pictures of the finished sofa in the living room. I'll post it when I get home.

time to take a shower. I think I'm going to be late for lunch!

Monday, July 25, 2005



I went to a party at Tansy's grandmother's house yesterday in Kingston. It. Was. So much fun!

But....before I left my house, I had this weird almost debilitating anxiety about driving down there. It was to the extent where I was thinking "Gee. I definitely have a problem." Sometimes I'll feel really anxious about driving, or flying. Like, I feel as though I'm going to get into an accident. And I don't know why I get this way, becuase it's not as though I have ESP or anything.

So, knowing that times before when I've had this feeling nothing happened, I just sucked it up and went.

The kicker is, on the way down I almost got into an accident. I was driving on Rt 3 South (my favorite highway - wide lanes, courteous drivers, I'm very familiar with the road) and I was being pretty cautious/aware because that paranoid feeling hadn't died down. I wasn't driving like an old person (I was going 60-65 ish) but I had both hands on the wheel and I wasn't fiddling with the radio or anything.

This white SUV kind of passed me on the left (I was in the middle lane) and everything was fine until the dumbass decided to forget that I was next to them and changed suddenly into my lane. I went into action. Braked. BLARED the horn. yelled "OHHHH SHITTTTT" Someone in the oblivious car finally got a clue, and they went back into their lane. No sheepishness. Or waves. Or whatever you do when you almost destroy someone.

It was scary. They were about 3 inches from hitting me. I would have spun around and it would have been bad.

So. I was thinking. Did God zap me with a little paranoid feeling so that I'd be paying extra attention while driving yesterday? You cynics might say that me being paranoid made me into a bad driver, but I disagree. I was in my lane, going with the flow of the traffic, all in all, being a good driver. But being paranoid made me more aware of my surroundings and it made me not goof off or sing along to music or do whatever it is that I sometimes do instead of paying 100% attention to the road.

Something to think about. And for the record, I didn't have the paranoid feeling when I drove back from the party this morning.

Saturday, July 23, 2005


mish mash

I have horrible eating habits. Today (9 am - 11 pm) I've eaten:

kellogg's almond special K (started off strong)
3 chocolate chip pancakes
a coke
a snicker's ice cream bar (king size)
two bottles of water
a medium cup of cookie dough ice cream with reese's pieces on top
two fries (stolen from chris)
a large chicken cutlet sub
arizona iced tea
a cup of tea

my goodness. it was a banner day.

Tonight my mom and I went to an oldies 103.3 free outdoor concert. I always love going to radio station concerts, for the sheer joy of seeing what my fellow listeners look like. Supposedly TV and radio create subcultures, ones that make people feel like they belong to a community - even though they are participating in a largely individual experience.

Tonight, I met my community. A lot of the members smoke a lot. Many of the men wear unbuttoned shirts in public. A lot of the females sport unflatteringly tight clothes. Quite a few are homeless. On the plus side, a lot of the people are quite fun and dance around to songs they like. Some are safety conscious, and wear a helmet when on a bike (on a side note, I'm going to start wearing a helmet. Dorkiness be damned - or embraced!). For nourishment, us 103.3 members eat fried dough and lemonade (yes!!!), among other delicacies.

As of right now, I'm kind of glad that my radio community and I don't meet too often.

On the train back, my mom and I sat next to a 26 year old woman with a 2.5 week old baby in a sling on her chest. The boy (named Simon) is SO cute, and I couldn't stop staring at him. She and I started chatting about him, and she noticed my fascination with her child and she asked me "Oh, are you pregnant?"

AH! I got a wild look in my eye and swiftly looked at my stomach/abdominal region. Now, I'm not in the greatest shape (see above list for confirmation of that) but I definitely didn't look pregnant sitting there. I think. My mom said later (when I asked her in a panicked voice if I looked like I was expecting a human) that Woman-on-Train probably just was wondering if I was pregnant because I kept staring at her kid like I wanted to steal it. (for the record, she actually offered to let me take him home. I didn't take her up on it.)

But back to the train. One of my fellow 103.3 listeners (he was wearing an oldies t-shirt) was standing near us - we were sitting at the end of a row of seats, next to a door. He tripped over my mom's foot, or the folded chair she was holding, and then entered upon conversation with her. Took off his hat, showed her his black eye, and said "But you should've seen the other five guys!" My mom laughed politely. Then he kept talking. And talking.

I suddenly flashbacked to this morning, when I was eating those delicious chocolate chip pancakes -
MY MOM, LOOKING AT HER HANDS: Oh my goodness! I forgot to put my rings on today! I was using turpentine and didn't want to ruin them!

Good to know that getting hit on by crazy guys runs in the family.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005


How important you are

I don't think you realize how much you can make someone's day, how important you truly are.

and no, I'm not addressing this to one person in particular. But to everyone. And this isn't one of those "oh, you're so special, smile!" things. This is a "Stop being selfish and think about those that love you" thing.

Think about it. There's probably someone in your life who would smile and light up inside because they know that you thought about them, and that you care. It might be a friend who is always e-mailing/calling you, and you take your sweet time to e-mail them back. It might be a younger sibling. It might be your grandma. Regardless of who it is, this person thinks the world of you, and is genuinely happy when you deign (because often that's what it is) to contact them. It's taking time out of your "Busy Schedule" and showing them that you care. Going that extra mile.

(Let me add here that I have done the above. I have "taken my sweet time" responding to someone, just because they really weren't my priority at the time....or a few days later....or one week later. I am 100 % guilty of this.)

And I put "busy schedule" in quotes, because you know what? All of us are busy. You can make time to talk to people too, even if you're running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Do you commute? Call the person on the phone when you're walking to your car, the bus, or the subway. Do you eat a lunch? Send a quick e-mail to the person before or after you unwrap your sandwich. Or even during. Chances are, they won't mind you chewing in their ear. Because they love you.

We live in the technology age. Call, text message, IM, e-mail, send flowers with a card, a carrier pigeon. Hell, even a letter. There's no excuse.

Perhaps I'm wrong. Maybe there is an excuse that I'm just not aware of. Or maybe I'm judging people too harshly. But please don't tell someone that you care about them, and then only contact them once in a while, when the guilt creeps around and you feel like you should.

Because no one don't needs friends like that.

And it especially hurts when you check your e-mail, seeing that there's one new, and finding that it's from Student Universe or Urban Outfitters, instead of from that person you were hoping to hear from. I blame myself, for giving a person such an important place in my life. Ideally, I could not hear from someone and it wouldn't hurt one bit. But the truth is, it hurts when I find myself thinking about someone a lot, and then I finally almost give up on hearing from that person, and they contact me again. And then I go back to hoping that new e-mails are from that person, that when my phone rings, it will be that person on the other line. Before you think I'm crazy, I don't want a thousand phone calls. Or a thousand e-mails. Or for someone to go broke over text messaging. But just a line, here or there.

And I guess this is my fault, for creating these expectations that people clearly weren't up to (for lack of ability or desire) meeting.

But the damage has been done. Because all that hurt, all that sadness during those times when I've hoped it was someone and it wasn't has built up. And it's hard to forget all of those times that I thought of someone...and then realized that you weren't thinking of me.

"I am far from attributing any part of Mr. Bingley's conduct to design, but without scheming to do wrong, or to make others unhappy, there may be error, and there may be misery. Thoughtlessness, want of attention to other people's feelings, and want of resolution, will do the business." - pride and prejudice

Saturday, July 16, 2005



Today my dad and I witnessed an accident on our way home from the boat. I was staring into space, then I looked to my left and saw a bicyclist unfortunately bouncing off the driver's side of a car in front of us. We were on the main street heading uphill, the car involved was taking a left to get on the street we were on. The bicyclist was heading down the hill, facing us, on the same side of the street of the driver taking a left.

All I saw was the collision, nothing before: the person on the bike had risen up (the back wheels were off the ground) and then it fell down. All I had seen was a helmeted head bump up, then down. The car hit by the bicyclist stopped. We all stopped. I was shocked. For real, everything around froze for about 10 seconds while everyone was just staring, thinking "Did I just see that happen?!"

And then it was like an episode of Rescue 911: suburban version. A woman in the car in front of us got out of the passenger side door and ran to the accident. I whipped out my cell phone and called the police, my dad pulled into a side street and parked on the curb. We hastily (yet cautiously) made our way over, where there was a tiny crowd gathering. The at least 65ish female bicyclist - hereby known as Old Lady - was still kinda sitting on her bike, facing the car and its horrified occupants. Some random man yelled "SHE'S going into shock!!" and my dad ran over and took the bike from the Old Lady and put on the sidewalk. Remarkably, it didn't even look damaged.

I milled around, shivering. I was not wearing any shoes.

well, not really, but you get the idea.

I walked around, looking dumbly at the traffic moving slowly around the clogged intersection and had a brief vision of me spectacularly directing traffic, a talent that before then, I did not know that I possessed. But then I realized that directing traffic, in the middle of an accident scene, while not knowing what I was doing, would be a very very dumb idea. So I just crossed the street a few times. I was pretty useless. A lady in a minivan shouted out of her car "Does anyone need a towel?" and I said yeah and took it. And brought it to the Old Lady and her bevy of helpers. By now, she was sitting on the ground. I got a good look at the car, it was light gold and had blood smears above the front left tire. There was a definite head smash on windshield mark. The only blood I could see on her was a droplet on her chin.

She seemed okay in the non-broken bones department, so that was a plus.

Then I thought about the two poor suckers in the car. They looked to be from 16-18. My God. If I had hit someone, I would have lost bowel functions then and there. Talk about a horrible nightmare! I have sympathy for Old Woman, but ... call me weird ... my heart went straight out to the kids in the car.

So I went to the passenger side door, where there was a wide-eyed boy sitting there. 'SHE'S going into shock!' Man was at the window and it seemed like he was yelling. I took control of the sit-u-a-shun and started talking to the kid, asking if he wanted to get out of the car or stay where he was.

For some reason I then abandoned this line of inquiry - oh yes, the fire truck came and I was getting out of the way - and went back to the corner of the abandoned bicycle. An ambulance came swiftly after, and my dad called me to this nerdy looking cop (what a bummer) that he was talking to and I gave him our names, number and address, and told him that all I saw was the bike hitting the car.

It seems like Old Lady was at fault, because by all appearances, she had actually crashed into the car. The gold car had just stopped at a sign and was going again, and he hadn't even turned his car yet. Old Lady had smacked right into the driver's door and window, getting thrown a bit onto the windshield. My dad said that judging by the bike, she was a serious biker and perhaps she was "trying to make a time and wasn't being careful." (Pure supposition on his part, but it adds flavor to the story.)

I then went back to the corner of the abandoned bicycle, where two friends of the poor guys who hit Old Lady were talking. Apparently Gold Car Bike Hitter is 18, and was following his friends somewhere. The friends realized up the road that something had gone horribly wrong in their mini-train, and turned their vehicle around to see what had happened. They came upon their friends in their stopped car in the middle of the intersection, a woman sitting down next to the car, blood smeared above the tire. Four people surrounding Old Lady and cars backed up because of the interference.

After shooting the breeze a little bit about who was at fault, the wife beater- wearing friend turned to me and mournfully said,

"Well. I guess we'll never make that pool party now."

Friday, July 15, 2005


my life has meaning!

I just was driving to the video store to return a DVD....because, let's face it, I didn't have anything else going on, and on a side street I came upon something a bit large in the middle of the road. As I driving up to it, I was thinking "Hmm. Can I go over this thing, or do I have to swerve?" My mom's car has a very low clearance, and the last thing I want to do is incite my parents' ire. So I reduced my speed (because I am nothing but a courteous and friendly driver, haha) and as I was coming upon it, my thoughts went as such:

"okay...keep can totally make it over it....yeah...OH MY GOD IT'S A TURTLE!"

I stopped. Backed up. (there weren't any other cars on the road. for then, anyhow). I got out of the car, leaving it in the middle of the lane, blocking any other cars that might be coming down my side, and I walked up to the little guy.

I had scared the CRAP out of this turtle. The head and legs were nowhere to be seen. I think I had been .3312487 seconds from putting it into the big pond in the sky. I gingerly picked it up, and brought it across the street and gently placed it into the yard that I had stopped in front of.

Then I looked up, and realized that there was a red SUV patiently waiting behind my mom's car. I flightily yelled "sorry!" and waved. I was deliberating going up to their window and exclaiming "I SAVED A TURTLE!!!" but then I decided that that may be considered weird, and that they probably didn't care anyhow.

So, mission accomplished, I got in the car, and drove away. Looking in the rearview mirror, I then realized that the people in the red car lived in the house that now had a turtle in its yard. So uh, I guess they do care, since I had stopped my car in front of their house and deposited a turtle on their property.

While driving, I had been feeling useless and like a waste. Not killing the turtle caused me to examine things with a new focus and gave me a purpose that goes beyond who I am and what I can do for myself. When I stopped to help the turtle cross the road, I didn't just save his life. I also saved mine.

BTW: After my life-saving mission, I realized that what I had done was very dangerous, because I had been kneeling down in front of my car. What if some crazy had come along and decided to ram my mom's car? I should have at least pulled over. I can see people's comments in the paper... "that's just like her, to save a turtle." Something that could be taken either way, haha. The Herald would have some obnoxious headline, such as "HARE WINS THIS RACE!"

Tuesday, July 12, 2005


just thought I'd share

Monday, July 11, 2005


even bridget jones had a job

blah. I want a job! HIRE ME, PEOPLE! Although I suppose I haven't been working as hard as I should have been on the whole "job searching" thing. I've been spending a lot of time babysitting, and just slacking off in general. But I must redouble (or requadruple?) the efforts tomorrow, if I truly want to get things settled.

I feel like Russell Crowe in The Cinderella Man....this time around I know what I'm fighting for. My bread. (or was it my milk?) At any rate. I'm feeling it now. And what do you guys think? Should I move down to DC with a full time waitressing job, relying on getting another job after a bit? I'm inclined against that plan, b/c, knowing me, I'll get bogged down in the demands of waitressing...and then not find a real job. ever. And have you ever seen me carry something without dropping it at least one time before reaching my destination? I'd be a horrible server.

I think it's high time for bed.

on the upside, I'm really looking forward to going to maine.

Saturday, July 09, 2005


Frosting on the cake

Funny how sometimes the tumblers of life match up, and for a second, everything registers "PERFECT!" on the personal richter scale. I was driving home today after picking up my dinner - the fantastic chicken cutlet sub from Richardi's - and I had the radio on. One of my favorite songs was playing, "Wave on Wave" by Pat Green. It's one of those that I haven't yet downloaded, so I haven't ruined it or become immune to its powers.

I turn the corner. and BAM!

A rainbow. Has every color in it, the works, ROY G BIV.

Yes, in one moment, I had my favorite sub, a favorite song and a rainbow.


This section is called "The Adventures of Meg and Bubba at the airport"

We went to the airport today to pick up my parents. They said they'd be getting in around 4:15, but I knew it would take them longer than that to get to the car. But I also hate being late, and I HATE waiting at the airport after my flights come in, so I got there at 4:17. Well, once we were "standing" curb side by the arrivals area, I started to feel spacey and was feeling a hankering for a DD iced coffee. Bubba offered to get one for me, but alas, we did not have a dollar between us. Luckily, my dad stows change in his car, so I lazily rummaged through and found some quarters and dimes.

Yes, I made the poor kid pay in change.

While he was in the terminal, he glanced at the arrivals board, and noticed that the next flight from Rome was due at 5:02. He came back in the car, told me the news, and I promptly asked for a snack to hold me over. We spent about five more minutes rummaging around for MORE change, and my dad totally had a huge supply of quarters. Bub was like "Do I HAVE to go back and pay with change aaaaaagggaaain?" But since he only has his permit, I couldn't leave him alone with the car in the "no parking zone."

Yes, I made the poor kid pay in change again.

"I'll Always Love You" came on my ipod, and I used the solo car time to blast Whitney Houston's touching and highly emotional ballad. Bub came back in, and turned it down, though only slightly. Paying him no heed, whipping up into the final chorus, I belted out "AND IIIIIIII IIIIIII IIIIIIIIIII willl ALLLLWAYS LAAAHH-" at that point, there was a knock on my open window. Still singing, I turn. Mouth agape, the music is pulled from my lungs and is left hanging awkwardly in the air. A State Trooper is at my window - an unexpected audience! But instead of offering praise, he succinctly asks me to either move to the lot across the way, or just circle. Bub (now hiding his face in horror) and I choose the lot. I think he suffered memory loss as a result of embarrassment, because while the song is STILL PLAYING as we're driving away, he goes "OH God. Were you singing to this song?!"

We pull into the lot, and realize that we'll have to pay all in dimes, since the quarters went toward the Dunkin Donuts Feed the Joyces fund. The longer we wait for the jet-setters to land, I tab the amount in my head. 40 dimes...50 dimes...60 dimes....Bub hits a goldmine and finds a quarter and a nickel in his pocket. Back down to 30 dimes.

Sadly, the ending is not so dramatic as being reduced to begging, coffee and doughnuts in hand. My mom had a ten on her, and we sailed from the lot with two dollars to spare. Oh, and good thing I got there at 4:15. We left the airport at 6:01. But better safe than sorry!

Friday, July 08, 2005



So I just found out that jamming on one's brakes to aggravate a tailgater is a characteristic of Massachusetts drivers.

Thursday, July 07, 2005


I <3 Mr. Petrov and driving rules and regulations

Younger brother told me about a little known hero today. September 26th, 1983 Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Petrov, in charge of watching for an american nuclear missile launch against Russia, was alerted by his computer of several missiles on their merry way to his homeland. He had direct orders to launch a counter-strike on the U.S. in the event of an attack. Luckily - providentially - Petrov did not trust his technology and felt that the computers had malfunctioned, and he did not order a strike on the U.S. He was not praised for his quick thinking, rather, it was swept under the rug. In order to make this a meghan-centric event, I feel obligated to mention that I would have been incinerated at the tender (yet adorable) age of 8 months and 24 days.

Some info is right here:

I vote that Sept 26th should be called Stanislav Petrov Day. Brother thinks that Earth should be renamed Petrovia.

A little rant on driving. Like all drivers, I think I'm the best driver out there. Or at least in the top 15%. Of course, we all have our when I almost rear-ended a truck today that had stopped at a stop sign (WHY DID YOU STOP AT A RED LIGHT AND LET ME HIT YOU DOING 80!?) when I was laughing at younger brother. Luckily, his high-pitched scream of terror jolted me to attention.

But take this as a fair warning. If you tailgate me, I will go slower. Especially if I am going faster than the speed limit anyhow. If you're on my butt and I'm going 35, do not think that I want to go wherever I'm going so badly that my speed won't immediately plummet to 25. I know this is akin to being an evil and dangerous driver, but I derive great pleasure out of making some loser who is tailgating me slow down even more.

And for you who live in Braintree, or visit Braintree, or plan on going to Braintree one day in the future, the rotary is only ONE LANE. It may be super wide, but it is one lane. When I am cruising around the circle, yes, I do notice you sneaking up on me on the right. You are not invisible. If you were, I would surely hit you, since I plan on bearing to the right momentarily. I wonder if you behind me can tell when I put on my blinker that it's done with a snappy anger, to put you back in their place. To say "NO! This is my lane. YOU JERK!"

IF I could, I would slam on my breaks and make people rear-end me. Just to throw that out there...


bear with me

I hate it when people post songs or poem that are meaningful to them. Even though it's special to a particular person, it makes for a boring read for the rest of the world.

On that note, please bear with me. I'm going to post this poem, hoping that it may help others. Thanks to C-note for showing it to me a while back.

(oh, and I can't promise that I won't post any other songs or poems, but I'll do it as little as possible. And I'm not cheating, I'll do another entry tonight.)

After a While
by Veronica Shofstall

After a while you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't mean security,

And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises

And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes wide open,

With the grace of a woman,
Not the grief of a child

And you learn to build all your roads on today,
Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn that even sunshine
Burns if you get too much

So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure...
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth,
And you learn and learn...
With every good bye you learn.


Tuesday, July 05, 2005


She liked looking in the mirror while I held her up

I feel as though I first must say that I've been very blessed, because I haven't yet experienced the death of a loved one. I've known people who have died - mostly relatives of my relatives - and it has hurt to know that people I love have been in pain, and it has been sad to know that one less familiar, friendly face is somewhere in the world. All of these friends and family members: you are in my prayers.

On that note, I really miss Cleo, my miniature schnauzer. She was put to sleep April 18th. When she was younger, she was, I must admit....extremely annoying. Barked a lot, jumped up, ran away every chance she could get, ate all of my library books. But I loved her. And I don't want to sound like one of those crazy pet lovers, but she loved me too. She'd come running to the door when I came home, she'd follow me around the house, she'd jump like crazy when I picked her up, she'd sit quietly when I was talking to her and petting her. Right now a kaleidoscope of memories is going through my mind - me dragging her into my grandma's pool and getting scratched because she was scared, her barking every time I got out the peanut butter (because she knew that I'd be making her a peanut butter cracker sandwich), her being off the leash in my front yard and running towards me super fast, then veering off to tease me. Cleo giving me away every single dinner when I slipped her food under the table, because she would bark and then my family would yell at me.

The last few years were rough on Cleo, rough on my family. While I was at school, her health was steadily deteriorating. She went blind, had random nasty tumor things growing on her, she became arthritic. With the blindness and arthritis, she got heavier and heavier, until her stomach looked swollen.

Every time I left for school, I acknowledged that each time that I was seeing her might be the last. I'd always say on my way out "Bye Cleo! I love you and be good!" It was something I said, that followed on the heels of promises to be safe made to my mom.

But I never expected that when I came back from graduation, she wouldn't be there, like she had been for the past 11 years. And still, when I turn the corner into the kitchen, I expect to see her there, parked on her cushion in front of the heat/air conditioning vent. I anticipate hearing her bark as I unlock the back door, I still avoid "poop alley" - where she'd go to the bathroom in my back yard.

But gradually, this feeling is fading. And more and more, I no longer think she'll be there, I don't get that nasty surprise when I realize that the cushion is long gone, that the food bowl that I had tripped over for over a decade isn't in its spot. But as much as it hurt me, I loved that nasty surprise. Because it meant that in that moment before I realized, I had my dog back again.

When washing dishes the other night, I noticed a familiar shape on the windowsill. My mom had saved Cleo's name tag, red metal and shaped like a dog bone. It's so strange to see something that was such a part of her sitting there, as if waiting to be picked up and re-attached to her collar. I picked it up, rolled it in my hand, then put it down.

It's comforting to know that a piece of her is still here.

Saturday, July 02, 2005


please like me!

So. Today I stopped in front of my house to grab something and K was with me, she wasn't wearing shoes. She got out of the car on my side, because she didn't want the people outside across the street to notice her lack of footwear. Full and comfortable and serene in my 22-year old wisdom, I scoffed "hah! who cares what other people think!"

oh wait. I do.

I used to be so afraid of what other people thought - during the middle school years, especially. I was afraid that my jeans were too short (oh wait, they were) and was convinced that everyone around me thought/knew that I was the biggest dork. Why was I a dork? Because I babysat and didn't like to go out? Because I had a perm? Because I liked to read? Why didn't I believe in myself? The fondest memories I have of are people being nice to me, and demonstrating through one way or another that they thought I was okay.

Generally, my area of insecurity was, and still is, how I look. I don't think I really care if people think I'm dumb, because I feel fairly confident in my intelligence. Maybe that's a mistake, but oh well. In high school, girls were a bunch of sticks, so I was afraid that I looked too fat. Whenever we had no uniform days, people would be like "wow, did you lose weight?" So I guess I did look chunky in it. But that only made me look better on those non-uniform days, so it worked out...

In high school, I found this really cool dark red leather jacket at my grandparents' house. I wore it to school the next day, and this witch of a girl, a supposed friend, said "THAT is the ugliest jacket that I have ever seen." I gave her a dirty look and pretended that I didn't care. Sticks and stones. But guess what - I never wore the jacket again.

I think "hey, I want to look good. is that being afraid of what people think? Am I another COG IN THE MACHINE?!" Nope, and there's definitely a difference between looking good/trying to impress and being afraid of what people think. If I want to look good, or if I'm wearing some quirky shirt or belt or shoes, I'm doing it because I like what I'm wearing. And yeah, I'll feel good if someone compliments me. But if it comes down to looking at my closet, practically panicking over the grey sweatshirt vs. the green zip-up sweater (casual vs. the mom look), - and I secretly want to wear the green sweater, but don't want to be a nerd - it's that I'm afraid of what people will think.

Before classes began freshman year, there was this "game night" in the now-defunct Ratt. I remember being in my dorm room with my older brother, going "WHAT SHOULD I WEARRRR?" I wasn't satisfied with anything, and I remember that I chose olive green capris and clunky brown sandals, still dissatisfied with the end result. Both items are long gone to goodwill, but the memory of myself fidgeting in those clothes, and the insecure feeling that accompanied it, lurks as a reminder of how not to be.

All that anxiety was for nothing. Hi. 1) it was the ratt. 2) I stayed there for 10 minutes, then I realized that I was having a miserable time and went back to my room. 3) it was dark and crowded. No one could see my clothes anyhow.

The other day, I met up with some middle school people for the first time since...oh, middle school. I called E, and said "I was the biggest dork in middle school. I have this ONE TIME to make up for a THOUSAND bad impressions!" I can still hear her cracking up in my ear - because she knew exactly what I meant.

What the heck? I was wearing the same outfit that I had so confidently worked in D.C. two weeks before. How about having some faith in me and who I am. And honestly, if I'm good enough for my family, for my friends, for the random non-english speaking men who hit on me when I'm trying to buy food at food courts, I should certainly be secure enough to hang out with some people that I kinda knew eight years ago.

I can pretend all I want that I don't succumb to peer pressure - but the next time I'm staring at my closet, or rifling through my clothes, convinced that everything I have is ugly or not cool enough - I'll know that my seventh grade self is back in action...

and I'll have to execute order 66.

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