Friday, December 29, 2006


a Major Tom memorial service, courtesy of roommates

My roommates are also touched by the loss of Major Tom.

C-note sent me an extremely thoughtful (and amusing!) e-card. You can view it Here.

E wrote a poem, appropriately titled, "Wave on Wave." I am posting it with her permission. Enjoy!

Wave on Wave

Major Tom was quite a fish
he didn't ever act like a bitsh.
He was quite a catch to Megs
Even though he was missing something -- legs.
From the first day he entered apartment 428.
He though "damn, this brunette is pretty great."
He was there when she made out with a redneck she met one night at a bar - Brian.
Inner thoughts were screaming "There are other fish in the sea! You can do better, Meg, I ain't lyin!"

He never complained about his bowl breaking
He was pure "service before self" even if it was painstaking.

He giggled when Meg put him in a 1 gallon icetea jug after the day the glass broke.
that's when he thought "Damn, these gals are classy folk."
When Meg went away on vaca or there was that recent night she just was mysteriously gone - wink wink.
He knew he could count on the girl they called Court to keep him fed, "Hell ya, She's hot!!!" he'd think.
And then there were the days that he'd fast for long periods at a time.
And Elle would run in and layer on the food saying "shooot.. oh, phew.. you're still doing fine."

Major Tom, Swim far. Swim long. Heaven's clouds will open to you like waves breaking on the shore.
Be free. For you are a soul and a fish no more.


God rest his little fins

This week has been a rough one for the greats. First, James Brown. Then, Gerald Ford. And now, Major Tom.

He hasn't been doing too well, and it was sad leaving him during the day, knowing that he might not last until my return. Upon getting in the door, I'd pour some warmer water in the jug, sprinkle in some food, and give my inspirational speech, telling him that he was a fighter fish, so he better damn well fight! I know it seems nuts, but he seemed invigorated (or possibly annoyed?) by the attention.

This morning I got up, and hurried to the sick bay (aka our dining room), and he was lying there on the marbles, pale, staring at me with a white accusing eye. Had I been a good enough owner? Did I make him happy? I'll never know. But there he was, in eternal rest next to the gently undulating plastic plant.

He was a smart, spirited one...he used to jump when I was feeding him, and he'd play around when the light filtered through his bowl. I used to wrap my scarf around his bowl at night in our old apartment, and would keep him in my closet, to protect him from the wind howling through the open window. It's fitting that I wore that scarf today, to protect me from the howling wind on my commute.

I suppose I wasn't giving him the greatest luck by naming him after a song about a dying astronaut, but such is life.

Space Oddity, by David Bowie

Ground Control to Major Tom
Ground Control to Major Tom
Take your protein pills
and put your helmet on

Ground Control to Major Tom
Commencing countdown,
engines on
Check ignition
and may God's love be with you

Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Three, Two, One, Liftoff

This is Ground Control
to Major Tom
You've really made the grade
And the papers want to know whose shirts you wear
Now it's time to leave the capsule
if you dare

This is Major Tom to Ground Control
I'm stepping through the door
And I'm floating
in a most peculiar way
And the stars look very different today

For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do

Though I'm past
one hundred thousand miles
I'm feeling very still
And I think my spaceship knows which way to go
Tell my wife I love her very much
she knows

Ground Control to Major Tom
Your circuit's dead,
there's something wrong
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you hear me, Major Tom?
Can you....

Here am I floating
round my tin can
Far above the Moon
Planet Earth is blue
And there's nothing I can do.

Me and Major Tom bonding, during happier times

Major Tom during his experimental phase

Thursday, December 28, 2006


a belated ode to m.t.

So quite a few months ago, I remarked that I had, in a couple of days, carried a keg, been pulled over...and...oh yes, pushed a car.

Here is the story of my brush with the law.


So. Goofing off at work (because what is work for if not goofing off?), one day I listened to m.t.'s playlist. M.t. is this smart guy who can be pretty quiet, but you know he's always watching, and has some clever observation or quip. You never know what he's going to say, or if he's going to say anything, so standing next to him is sorta like standing on shifting sand, or on one of those trap doors in Sonic the Hedgehog. Is he going to be serious? Funny? Kinda scary and intimidating? You just never know.

But back to his playlist. It was wide and varied, featuring songs by Jay-Z, Edith Piaf, The Supremes, Johann Sebastian Bach, etc. One band, The Hold Steady, grabbed me with its random references to Catholicism, literature, and pop culture. A few days after my discovery I casually mentioned to m.t. that I loved that new-to-me band, and he told me that he and his friends were going to The Hold Steady concert in Baltimore in a few weeks, and asked me if I wanted to come along.

Well, fast forward a few weeks during which I was worried that I'd be the annoying girl crashing the cool guys' concert, and m.t. reassuring me a few times that it would be okay. And then I was paranoid about the driving situation (let's just call me high maintenance...), and I asked m.t. if he'd let me be the designated driver. Far from being insulted, he seemed pretty pysched that I'd let the burden of drinking rest on the shoulders of him and his friends.

The concert was awesome. But that's not where the story is.

Post-concert, the four guys stumbled into the car, laughing and having a great time, after hearing a great band, and getting to go up on stage with them, sharing a bottle of Jack Daniel's with the lead singer. M.t. was next to me, his three sweetheart friends piled in the back. I stood outside the car, adjusted my sweater, put up my hair, put on my glasses, got in, buckled my seat belt, tossed my pocketbook in the backseat, turned on the lights, and we were off.

Automatically consulting the rearview mirror, I remembered that there wasn't a rearview mirror. But I'm the girl who didn't know how to use her mirrors until she had her license for six months (remember the parking garage? yeah.), so I wasn't too perturbed.

Pulling out of the gravel parking lot, we had gone a block when I noticed flashing red and blue lights loom behind me.

I gasped, "Is HE pulling ME over?" and put on my turn signal, and began moving to the righthand side of the road.

My passengers screamed as one, because there was a car to my right that I hadn't noticed. Whoops. I remedied the situation, as that guy pulled away, thanking his lucky stars that I hadn't hit him.

After I pulled over, I began scrambling, trying to find the overhead light, because I had heard on Oprah that police officers are real people and get scared too. M.t. said, quite sternly, "Put your hands on the wheel," and I did as told, while the owner of the car turned on the light.

I rolled down the window, and the officer appeared, a skinny shadow, imposing and scariness personified.

I squeaked, "Hello, Officer."

And he looked at me, and smiled.

This is where m.t. said that we passed the test. There may have been four drunk guys in the car, but there was a dorky-looking girl as the driver, who was quaking in her brown sweater, too-tight blue pants, gold shoes and brown glasses.

"Did you know that your tail light is out?" he asked. I responded in a truly cowardly fashion, eagerly shooting out, "No! It's not my car!! I'm just the designated driver!"

M.t.'s roommate piped up from the back, saying that it was his car, and he had brought it in today to get it fixed, and he had the paperwork to show it. M.t. began searching for the paperwork in the middle console, and was coming up with nothing.

The Officer looked into the backseat. "Where's your seatbelt?" he asked one of m.t.'s friends.

I kept my hands on the wheel and looked staight ahead, but I'm pretty sure m.t.'s friend pointed to the unbelted belt next to him, as he said, "Right here!" because everyone had a good jovial laugh.

The Officer asked for my license, and I dug my hands in my tight pocket, barely scraping it out.

He took a look at it, and said, "Hey, you're from Massachusetts? So am I!"

Yesss. YESSS. YESS!!!!!!

I smiled in, oh, humongous relief, as I asked him where. He said Springfield. About 100 miles from me. Close enough!

As he walked back to his car to make sure that I didn't have any outstanding warrants, or whatever it is that they do, my passengers started nervously joking that I wasn't on the run with any outstandings warrants, right? I moaned and fretted that if we got a ticket, it would be my first one, ever, and this was the first time I had ever been pulled over. The friend who owned the car said, "I hope he doesn't notice the front headlight that's out" as I was hoping the police officer didn't notice the missing mirror. One of m.t.'s friends jokingly suggested that we get out and run, and I whipped my head around, losing all the sweetness and light I had been beaming with the force of the sun on the police officer moments before.

"If you do anything to get me arrested, I'll slit your fucking throat," I hissed and threatened, none too lady-like.

*Cricket, Cricket*

It was at this point that m.t. made an impassioned speech, saying that if it weren't for me, they would all be in jail at that moment. And, choruses along the lines of "Thank God for Meg," was passed around the car. Hurray!

The police officer came back, and m.t.'s friend handed the police officer the paperwork that he found. Sure as day, it said that the tail light was fixed. The officer gave a wry chuckle as he suggested that he go back to the shop and talk to them. I gave the police officer my most innocent, sober-deer-in-headlights look as he pressed a thin slip of yellow paper in my hands.

"This isn't a ticket, or even a's just an 'advised'," he said, with an understanding look.

I blinked.

"So, like, I don't have to do anything? It's not a ticket? It won't go on my record?" I asked, or something along those lines. I was panicked. In shock. I don't have total recall.

"No, you're just advised," he said, again in an understanding manner.

He walked back to his car, and I gave a huge sigh of relief. I looked to m.t. for guidance, as I asked "So, um, what's the protocol? Does he go first? Do I go first?"

M.t. told me that I go first, and with the blinker going, and some careful checking in the side mirror, we were off.


Although I have quite a few other m.t. stories and memorable moments, that experience was my favorite. It was our bonding moment. It was my first brush with the law, and there's no one I would have rather experienced it with than with him.

Of course, this being D.C., us being young, him being incredibly awesome, intelligent, entertaining, this means that m.t. has moved away, to Washington state. Stinks.

He'll be super missed. But he's going to be a raging success. And how could we keep the ridiculousness that is m.t. all to ourselves? It would be selfish.

M.T: I'll be seeing you again!

Thursday, December 21, 2006


love/hate relationship (with/MSN) has another article that made me want to throw my computer screen out the window.

It looked promising. There's a tease on the main page, with a pretty, free-spiritedish blonde girl inhaling the sweet, sweet air of some wintertime wonderland. The headline is: Single This Holiday Season? There's nothing better!

So I opened the article, expecting some sort of written words that compared to the joy of inhaling the sweet, sweet air of wintertime wonderland.

Instead, it was some whiny girl with a rock on her finger bitching about how she has to buy evvvveryone presents, and one year a boyfriend bought her a gift set from Bath & Body Works. But you can tell that she's loving her "problems," and just likes complaining, and that she'd be whining her head off if she were single (actually, she admits that). She even throws out the pathetic "You're so lucky you're single, you can meet girlfriends for cocktails!" And "You can stay at the mall until it closes!"

That's such a flaming cliche. I mean, I sure do love getting cocktails with my "girlfriends," but there are definitely other perks to being single than a) not buying tons of presents for a S.O.'s family, b) not getting crappy presents from boyfriend, and c) closing out Target.

It all just seemed a little...circular. Like, you're lucky you're single, because when you aren't single, you have all these relationship problems to worry about. Is it possible to examine the virtues of being single without comparing it to being part of a couple? Or are all benefits of being single directly related to not being in a couple? I'm going to venture to say that being single is a state of mind, and people aren't defined by their relationship status, even during the holiday season.

"Single," as a word, means nothing. It just has loaded connotations, along with the word "taken," that imply a certain amount of baggage. This is not to say that I'm saying that relationships don't exist, that I'm railing against love, etc. I'm all for organized relationships, and fidelity, and commitment. But, too often, the word "single" is said, followed by either an implication of "hates life and is alone and tragic," or "oh, totally loves her independence and doesn't want to be tied down." But those are nonsense, and are convenient boxes for putting people in.

Single is a state of mind. Not in a, "Hey baby, I'm on a business trip" sense, but in a "Inhaling the sweet snowy air, enjoying life, not being ungrateful about presents" sort of way. In a "grab life by the horns" way. Call me silly, or naive, but I think the mountain air can smell good with a S.O. next to you, or if you're by yourself, or if you're with friends. And (this may come as a surprise to the whiny MSN girl), it is possible, when in a couple, to go to that mountain by yourself, or with friends, even if you do have a boyfriend or husband. The air may smell different...and feel different...but each situation has its perks.

So, go ahead. Act single. Act taken. Those words don't mean anything. And honestly, it's taken me this long to realize this.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006


sunshine and happiness

This morning I barely made it on the train, and got pushed from behind by some lovely person rushing to work. Whatev.

Seeing only a few seats available, I sat next to a dorky looking guy, who adjusted his coat so that my cushion was clear. I thanked him, took out my book, and began reading.

He looked at me, and said, dorkily and in a friendly manner, "Are you catching up on the classics for the holidays?"

I smiled at him, and said, no, well, maybe, I suppose, and said that I loved the book (The Man in the Iron Mask), and was reading it because I've enjoyed Dumas in the past.

From there, we got to talking about other books, and he recommended an author (Dan Simmons), whose name I wrote down. Then we talked about his work, where he went to school, etc. I noticed that he was wearing a ring (a-ha! I'm learning!), so I asked about his wife, and what she's doing. I learned that she's in a PhD program at the University of Liverpool, and they're moving to the U.K. in August so that she can finish her program. From what he said, it sounded as though her enthusiasm for the project was waning, and he was very determined that she finish.

He asked me if I was going to do graduate work, and I said that I wanted to do everything at the moment, so that I probably will go back to school once I narrow it down. He asked me what I wanted to do, and I said that I thought that law school looked like a lot of fun, and really challenging, but that I don't want to be a lawyer. And I said that I want to own my own business, so having an M.B.A. would certainly be useful.

He, noticing my ringless hand, asked me if I was single, and I responded (dorkily and randomly), laughing, "Oh, single as the day is long!"

And he replied, "Well, the days are getting shorter," which I thought was awfully sweet. And smooth!

I told him that I had a few wacky dating experiences, and said that I took a break, and took SCUBA lessons, and wrote a novel (he had heard of NaNoWriMo). Then somehow we got on to the subject of games, and he said that he likes to make board games as a hobby, and he told me about one that he created, called Walls. I recommended the game Deflexion (now known as Khet, apparently), and he said that he saw it in the SkyMall catalog, and that it looked fun.

At this point, the train reached the stop before mine. I wished him luck with his job and his upcoming move to the U.K. And he wished me luck with persuing higher education, editing my novel, and my dating life, counting off each on a finger.

I got off the train happy, and smiling like a buffoon. He was such a nice guy, and so interesting to talk to. I love meeting random people and getting a peek at their lives, to see what's behind the stranger's face.

Monday, December 18, 2006


In dire need of a christmas cheer transfusion

Feeling the press of Christmas and not having (m)any gifts for my loved ones, I decided to suck it up and go shopping this evening after work. My first stop was Filene's Basement, in the silly hope that the cheap, yet tasteful picture frames that I did not buy last week were still there. Not only were they not there, but the entire display had miraculously turned into a rack of bras. Small matter.

So I loaded myself onto the train, and zipped to Pentagon City. On the way over, I mentally went through my list. I had to buy Yankee Swap gifts - the most pressure-filled gift event there ever was - something for my mom, something for my older brother, something for my Godson. And frames for my dad's gift. And a few other doodads.

I decided that I would first stop at Eddie Bauer. I had this semi-lame idea of buying one of those squishy handle umbrellas for the Yankee Swaps, along with an oven mitt-looking ice scraper that keeps the hands warm. Kind of a crappy weather themed gift. Not the best idea, but it was the only one I had. And I was sorta hoping that a gift idea for my older brother would fall from the rafters in there.

I hesitated on the second floor, then went up to the third. Not seeing the store, I meandered/made a beeline to the directory. I first checked under men's fashions. No luck. I checked under women's fashions. Nothing. A minor setback, I paused, then rallied, deciding to go to Kay-Bee Toys to get Ry a present. Not remembering which floor the zoo was on, I checked under the "Toys & Games" category. Kay-Bee wasn't there, but there was a nice little label saying "New Store Coming Soon!" in its former location.

I stared at the sign, dumbfounded. Bouncing back, though slightly less resilient than before, I decided to keep moving. Who needed the stupid directory, anyhow? Especially when I had a miniature one in my pocket.

Remembering my Crate & Barrel plan, I headed to the store of over-priced glittery goods, incredulous at my yucky luck. When I got to where I was going, my jaw dropped, and my eyes widened in the manner of someone who had been unexpectedly slapped. Crate & Barrel was nowhere to be found. For reals. I consulted my pocket directory, and it was not on there. I put my hand on a bench, suppressing that "I went to the wrong airport" feeling that was bubbling up in my stomach.

And then the dizziness hit. My cold had been stuffing up my nose all day, and making my face hot, but the dizziness was a new feature. I took out my phone, needing to comiserate with someone about the ridiculousness that was Pentagon City. While the phone was ringing, I checked the other stores on the map to see if there was anywhere that I wanted to go. Bebe? Arden B? United Colors of Benetton? Guess? XXII? WTF?

My mom came on the line, and gave me the appropriate sympathy. I said, "I mean, honestly, is this a bad dream?" and that made me realize that, no, it was real, because I never wonder if I'm dreaming in my bad dreams, I just plunge blindly down tunnels of despair.

My mom gave me the spirit to go on, and I less than enthusiastically headed over to the Borders/Linens N Things/Best Buy/Marshall's mini-mall. At Linens N Things I found a nice frame for my dad, and things began looking up. While waiting to pay, I looked at Border's, and realized that maybe they still had Apples to Apples, the game that I bought for my mom last Christmas. And if something's good enough for my mom, it's good enough for the damn Yankee Swap.

I went over there, did a little circle, and ended up at the Information Desk, where a guy was asking an employee if he could put his books on layaway. His voice was like Sidd's, and I listened for a second, enjoying it because a) Sidd has a nice voice, and b) it was nice to be reminded of Sidd.

Then another employee came over, I asked my question, and he responded in the negative. Gaarrggh!!!

This whole time I was still feeling dizzy, and entertaining myself by wondering what would happen if I fainted.

I shot into Best Buy, and headed straight towards the TV seasons, and picked up Boston Legal. I wanted Boston Legal. Too pissy to play the "what would others want" game, I bought Boston Legal, hoping that I end up with it in the Yankee Swap. So here's hoping.

I then went for a spin in Marshall's, turning my nose up at what little I saw, and then being glad that I did because the line was horrendous. Absolutely horrible. Trudging back to the metro, I enveloped myself in a shroud of pity so thick that I almost didn't hear a friend's roommate loudly calling my name several times.

We stopped to chat, and he told me an amusing story of how he used to live with an illegal immigrant. I was all spacey and sorta rude, and apologized for it, saying that I wasn't feeling well at all. We parted ways, and I continued my trudge.

At the metro, walking to the turnstile, I saw a little boy, not more than four, crying and holding his young mother's hand. She was yelling at him - not speaking harshly, but yelling - calling him a stupid ass, and saying that they missed the train because of his slow ass. I wanted to pick him up and give him a big hug...I stopped walking, and they kept walking down the platform, his cries and her chastising echoing off the walls.

Being overemotional and tired and feeling sick and throwing myself a little pity party on the platform, tears came to my eyes thinking of that poor little boy. And I realized that I had bought a frame for my dad that held three pictures, all vertical, or all horizontal, and swore out loud, silently. I had two vertical pictures, and one horizontal.


Before some random blogger comes out of the blogosphere to call me self-centered or whatever for complaining about this...let it be known that I know this is peanuts.

It's only 10 p.m., but I'm going to bed, after I send a short email to Sidd saying hello, and that I miss him and hope he's doing well.

And it's time for a good quote:

"The best bridge between despair and hope is a good night's sleep" - E. Joseph Cossman

Look out, Malls. I'm coming back tomorrow, and I'm going to squeeze every little last present out of the marrow of your commercialism.

Sunday, December 17, 2006


sunday sunday sunday!

Today is the one year anniversary of E accidentally (perhaps subconsiously?) putting a stop to my spiral of stupidity. Here's to friends who do what you don't want them to do, but then you are so grateful for it when looking back...

Also, on an unrelated, but not unconnected note, here's to friends who say the hard things that you don't want to hear, but that you have to know. It's so easy to be a fair-weather friend, and to say what someone wants to hear. A true friend risks you getting mad at them, knowing that short-term awkwardness is better than pretending all is fine.

(please don't take this as an invitation for people to tell me what I don't want to hear! Well, if there's something I gotta know...)

Right now I'm blasting and singing along to "Say it Right" by Nelly Furtado. I was in E's car last week, and that and "Irreplacable" were on a constant loop for about a half hour. I started out being like, "oh GOD what is that miserable noise?! That's a SONG?!?" to just now, when I plunked down .99 cents for it on iTunes. Brainwashed, perhaps. But I'd like to think that I like the lyrics, and therefore, the whole song is now more attractive. don't mean nothing at all to me...

Wednesday, December 13, 2006


picture of grace and Kristi Yamaguchiness

So I'm sitting here, a tad nervous, because my feet are in the tub, soaking. And what would happen if my computer were to slide off my lap? I don't think I'd get electrocuted (doesn't one need to be connected to a power source for that?), but I know that my computer would be kaput.

Just had to get that off my chest.

Tonight E and I went ice skating at the National Sculpture Garden. Since we're from the land of ice and snow, and I had at least four years of ice skating lessons when I was younger, you'd probably think that we'd kick ass. Well, not to disillusion you, but we don't.

We rented our skates from the surly girl at the counter, stuffed our bags and shoes into a locker, and timidly stepped onto the ice. I was pleased to see that it was covered with a hearty layer of shavings, thereby making the demon ground less slippery.

E got her ice legs sooner than I did, and before I knew it, she was off, and I was clinging to the boards, hobbling and wobbling. I left the boards after a minute or two, but never lost the "head down butt stuck out" pose that frightened skaters tend to adopt. The lights strung around the rink were beautiful, and the delightful strains of The Beatles were filling the air, along with shrieks and swears from panicked ice-goers. And it was so neat to skate in the shadow of the National Archives. I'm such a sucker for D.C. shit.

As we went around and around the ice, I began to realize that it felt suspiciously a lot like exercise. We were even on a track. Kept repeating the same route. Not getting anywhere. I began fantasizing about having a river of ice run through the city, to at least shake the whole thing up a la Hans Brinker. E was in her full-out running speed mode (in her "I'm trying not to fall" way), so I decided to heed the burn in my legs, and take the road less traveled...along the edge.

Eventually she met up with me, and we decided to try our hands at skating backwards. We started off not going anywhere, but gradually began to get moving, in an entirely ungraceful manner...but it got the job done. Life is all about taking challenges, right?

So then she went around the whole rink backwards, with me as the first line of defense against rogue skaters, and then I gave it a shot. We realized that "All You Need is Love" had been playing nonstop for the past 15 minutes, so we decided to try to make up a lame skater routine to accompany it.

As I was waddling backwards past a guy and a girl, the guy interrupted me. He said, in all niceness and seriousness, "Hey, how do you do that? We're trying to learn to skate backwards!" I pretty much laughed in his face, but then told him my advice. It was, as follows: Just wiggle your butt a lot. And bend your knees. And put pressure on your toes. You get the idea.

So we skated backwards with him and his girl for a while, eventually coming to a stop and making chitchat in that making new friends in the sandbox way. After we covered the where we all work, where we're all from, and where we all live topics, E coughed a little awkwardly, and we skated off, all cool, of course.

"All You Need is Love" was still playing as we took to the center to practice our twirls and figure eights, ignoring the daggers being thrown at us by the scary hockey guys who actually did know how to twirl. And my twirls were not so much twirls as they were mediumish circles.

And speaking of scary hockey guys. As an FYI, for all of you single girls on the prowl, The National Sculpture Garden Ice Skating Rink is not a place to meet guys. The guys there were either on a date with their girlfriend, or on a date with their boyfriend, or on a group date with girls. There were lots of dates going on, couples falling in love, etc etc. We know, because we took pictures for about five blushing pairs (oh, I'm just jealous. They all were cute). I did have a moment with one guy...I was skating backwards, and he somehow ended up behind me on the boards. Had he been there? Did he spiral out of control? I'll never know. But I bumped into him, and he put his arm around my waist, and he apologized. I think he needed something sturdy to hold on to.

On one of our final runs, "All You Need is Love" was still playing. As I passed by a girl, she was in the classic scared skater stance, but with her arms also airplaned, and she deadpanned, "All I need is a shotgun."

Sunday, December 10, 2006



This evening I was in Chinatown with dinner on my mind. I stood at the corner, waiting for the light to change so that I could cross the street.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand timidly move between me and the girl next to me. The hand was grasping a tiny purple violet, and the flower was offered to the girl.

She swiftly turned down the offer, seemingly without a thought. The hand went to my side, and I looked at the person behind the gesture. A man, maybe in his 30s, maybe in his 40s. He had a beard, a dirty face, and sad eyes.

I said "No, thank you," and crossed the street.

I had gone about five paces when it hit me, and I just wanted to burst into tears. He had been holding two flowers. Had he seen us, and picked them for us, to brighten my day, her day, and his day?

I was so afraid of accepting because I didn't have any money on me. I didn't want to take the flower, and make him feel cheated when I didn't give him a dollar for his kindness. I didn't want to deprive him of a source of income, to feel like I owed him, and to feel bad for taking without giving in return.

It was the wrong decision.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006


maybe I should buy perfume...

This evening when I was commuting back to my apartment, this nice young teen asked me if I wanted the inside seat. I said yes, and sat down, opening my book and minding my own business, reading Catch-22 and trying to decide if I like it.

One stop down the line, he turned to me, and said, "You smell like carry-out."

I had no idea what he said, so I was like "huhhh...curry?"

He said, "No, carry-out." Seeing the blank look on my face, he goes, "CHINESE FOOD."

Instead of wailing "You jerkface! I do not!!" I somehow kept my composure, just smiled, and said, "Oh, really!" and went back to my book, with that strained grin plastered to my face.

I totally did not smell like Chinese food. Not like that's a bad thing to smell like, but I know that I did not. I may now, since I cooked up some fried rice 20 minutes ago, but I didn't have an odor on the metro. What was up with him? Way to mess up my focus. I was no longer concentrating on whether or not I liked my book, I was trying to figure out if he really thought that I smelled like Chinese food, or was just being stupid.

Anyhow. So Monday night I tried to jog—(actually, E and I, one of our resolutions is to give ourselves proper credit/not hide light under bushels, so, therefore...)—I was jogging, and my younger brother called me.

(I had my phone because E and C-note made me bring it along.)

Attempting to establish and maintain cool runner's poise, and miserably failing, I was flailing my arms and trying to catch my breath, windmilling up the hill. He quickly realized that I didn't know the information that he was seeking, so he hung up.

Forty minutes later, whilst I was collapsed across my bed, mightily pleased that I had done better than expected, my mom called. I bragged about my working out, and she told me that that was why she was calling: she and my dad didn't like the idea of me out running around at night, in the dark.

I got rather dramatic, and was all like "It's dark when I get up. It's dark when I get back from work. And there's no way I'm going to work out during lunch." I pulled out my now-favorite line. "I have to live my life, mom." She said that I should use the treadmill, and I told her that when I use the treadmill, all I can think about is how much I hate the gym, whereas when I'm outside, I'm thinking about a variety of things, such as: "oh my God, I'm going to die on this hill of death." and "why does my mouth hurt a lot? is that from the cold?" as well as "it's okay to walk. It's like the rotary: no one will know if you screw up."

The point of all this is that I can't believe we live in a world that has people (my parents, my roommates, my boss) worried about me when I go jogging in a little circle around my neighborhood. Where I live. That's ridiculous - not that they're worried, but that they feel like they have a reason to be worried. And the fact is, it's entirely plausible that I could be dragged into the woods or something. Especially since I move at a glacial pace.

So, it's like, I'll carry my pepper spray with me, stay in the well-lit areas, and looking menacing and bitchy to all who see me. But shouldn't there be a better way?

Tuesday, December 05, 2006


These make me cringe

Bathroom keys, a la Cosi, or other places where they want to make sure that only patrons use the bathroom, and not desperate people off the street.

All covered in germs. Gross bathroom germs. Which you then transfer to your food, or what-have-you. Last week I was there and I saw someone place the key on a menu, and I almost barfed.

Also, apparently I don't have weak nails, I just have ridiculously clumsy and forceful hand movements that even make acrylics pop off with gleeful abandon during everyday, simple tasks, such as taking a skirt out of my closet and opening the refrigerator door. How do I function?

Sunday, December 03, 2006



So today, while driving to church, I got a phone call from my older brother. I picked up, thinking it was sorta odd that he was calling me. He was like "Hey, Meg, I'm here with Erin!"

And I was thinking that I was going to a) crash, or b) get arrested, so I was like "Hey! I'm driving, can I call you back in five minutes?"

Then I remembered that he never calls me, and that it's even weirder to call me and put me on speakerphone, so I said, "Wait. Actually. Is it important?"

Mike said, "oh, no," while Erin shouted in the background "Yes!!"

And then Mike told me that he and Erin...GOT ENGAGED!!!!!!!!!!!

Today they went to the beach, and were walking along it, looking for seaglass. They started to walk back to the car, and near the fence, Mike "found" a bottle with a note in it. He took the note out, and gave it to Erin. While she read it, he got down on his knee and proposed. Erin said that she couldn't finish reading the note because she was crying. :-)

Here's to gaining a sweet, thoughtful, wonderful sister in Fall '07!!

(picture is from this past August)

Friday, December 01, 2006


kill AIDS! Whoo!

Go to this site, and "light" a candle. For every candle that's lit, Bristol Myers Squibb will donate a dollar to the National AIDS Fund. Do it. You'll get that "feel good" feeling for verrrry little effort.

Light To Unite

BTW - I reached my 50,000 word goal on time! And last night there was a coincidental instance of my characters popping up in bars. But more on life later. Get clicking!

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?