growing in the goo

You know how sometimes you have those days where you hate everyone who dares tremble in your path? I'm thrilled to note that today was not one of those days.

I was a little irked when I got off at Chinatown and these people waddled out of the train, then cut in front of me at a full-scale molasses-in-July speed, and I was forced to apply my metaphorical brakes. I got around them, headed toward the exit, and I got caught behind a little kid, so I slowed down.

(N.B.: I don't mind being behind kids, slow people who have short legs, or no legs, or one leg that's fine but the other in a crutch. I'm not totally heartless.)

There were these two girls (women?!) around my age walking behind me. I caught a piece of their conversation...
Girl A: He's perfect.
Girl B: He is great...but he does have flaws.
Girl A: Oh, I know. I just don't want to ever find out about them.

Isn't that wonderful? It reminds me of the Sara Evans song "As If"—as in,

You don't have to tell me what you're thinking
You can keep all that to yourself
Baby we got such a good thing going
don't show me that you're someone else

I think we've all been there (are there?) and it's fun to overhear other girls saying the ridiculous things that my friends and I think and say. Sing it, sister! Enjoy the fact that you think he's perfect. Why not?

Then—on to the hair salon. I hate how they're all psychotic about YOU getting there on time, but then you wait for 20 minutes while they do their thing in the back room. At any rate, I was prepared—I had brought along a book.

So, J my hair stylist pops out around 10 minutes later and we did our "introductions" and I said what I wanted done to my do. I then got my hair washed; in a sink, by the way, that was comfortable(!), and then I went back to J's chair. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was sort of stunned when he threw the towel over my head + face and vigorously rubbed it. It was strangely strong and gentle. When he finished 10 short seconds later and pulled the towel off my head, I had this embarrassingly huge grin on my face. Maybe it was just the contact with a guy, even if he was gay? Who knows. All I can say is that I actually enjoyed a stranger smothering me with a towel and then shaking.

Post-haircut I made a beeline to City Sports. This marks the beginning of the Great Red Sox Experiment: 2008. This season I'm going to actually make an effort and TRY to like the Red Sox and understand and take part in the whole experience that gets the populace of Boston in a frenzy. Last year I had promised Pat that I'd give it a go "next season," and go figure—"next season" came awfully fast. I thought I'd have at least until April, you know? So, naturally, in order to transform into a mega-fan, I thought it important that I look the part. But I couldn't find a hat in City Sports that fit my noggin semi-comfortably. They all did weird stuff to my ears.

(While pulling hats on and off I couldn't help but think of those tips in Glamour and Cosmo about how to "make that salon blowout last." Hint: it's not by trying on baseball caps.)

I booked it out of City Sports empty-handed, and thought I heard someone call my name. Turned quickly, saw right behind me a tall attractive male wearing a gray hat, but no one I knew. Darn.

UM I'M AN IDIOT. J.C. WTF?! Why do I never EVER EVER EVER realize that it's you when it's you?! Luckily you're used to this horrendous mental block of mine...and you know that I don't purposely PRETEND to not know you, so you persist in calling my name. And I love how you said "I thought it was you, of course you were coming out of City Sports." Actually, the gym and I are estranged this week...but I'll make an effort to go tomorrow just because you were that sweet.

I think the problem is that we have genuinely random run-ins and seeing you is akin to a celebrity sighting. And I have an excuse for the time that we were at the CUA football game and the Sun was blocking my eyes. You looked headless. But, really? I don't really know why you don't smack me on the head. Perhaps you should start.

At any rate, it was a thrill to run into J.C., even though it was a delayed reaction on my part. Hope you and Reds had fun at the circus!

Back to the hat hunt. Not being one to give up in the face of adversity, I went into the Lids at the mall near my apartment. The girl at the counter was pretty useless, and I didn't really like how she was wearing her hat anyhow, so I didn't really want her help. I was texting Pat and Bub to try to determine the proper fit: is it supposed to do weird stuff with my ears? Is it better for it to be too big or too small? What are the no-no styles and colors that I should avoid?

I was standing there in the tiny corner trying on five different RS hats, elbowing for room with this ungentlemanly guy who was checking out the Yankee paraphernalia and boxing me out. Already getting into it, I mentally thanked him for providing me with my first "Yankees Suck!" animosity.

Getting pushed out by the jerk, I stood closer to the middle of the tiny store, alternating between the L and the XL, and I ran into a stalemate. I looked at the hats in my hands, feeling quite confused and lost. Alone. All of a sudden, like an angel from on high, I heard "Get that one. That's the one to get." I looked up, grateful. A fan (one of my future kind!), in D.C., waiting to take me under his wing! I stepped toward him, but stopped short of the doorway, not wanting to kick things off with a theft. He stepped in, and I told him my "too big" or "too small" dilemma, and I modeled both of them for him while his wife smiled in a strained manner. He weighed in with his professional advice, and I picked one. It was great.

When I got to the register, I had the thought that maybe...maybe none of the hats feel right because I'm unsure about this whole venture, and that's coming out as not finding a hat that truly fits me. Maybe I'm not really ready to commit to the Red Sox..maybe I'm not done trying on different hats. Not to get serious for a second or anything.

By the time I left the store I was already loving humanity and planning on blogging about this when I got back to my apartment. I stopped at the corner store to purchase turkey sausage for dinner (I ended up "making" cereal instead, though)...and was kinda disappointed when I saw that the owner was not behind the counter, but another woman who seems kind of blah and, quite frankly, doesn't give me the warm welcome to which I am accustomed. I did my sausage acquisition in the rear of the store then made my way to the front counter...where I heard the melodious tune that accompanies the Final Jeopardy question. I involuntarily exclaimed "Oh!" (as the guy paying for his foodstuff shot me a look. what a snot.). The eyes of the woman behind the counter, however, lit up when she recognized in me a fellow fan. The too-cool-for-school guy left, I put my purchases on the counter...and we both turned eagerly toward the T.V. to catch the final outcome. The answer was "Beethoven" (I would have gotten it wrong), and there was a MAJOR UPSET as the anticipated loser raked in $30,000! The cashier said that she loves it when there's a big surprise at the end, and I agreed.

Okay, I know this next sentence is really dorky, so bear with me. It was really nice to share the Final Jeopardy question with someone else...usually it's just me yelling at the T.V. It was an unexpected, delightful end to a pretty delightful day. Who would have thought that I would have found all these interesting, amusing, and heartwarming people and things at all these fairly mundane places?

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

- RUDYARD KIPLING

A few things...

1) There is something Very Wrong going on next door. The dog has been barking non-stop inside the house from at least 10 p.m last night until now (5 p.m.). Either the owners went on a mini-vacation or they have been murdered and their poor dog has been trying to get someone's attention, but we're ignoring him because this isn't the movies and we don't really believe in Lassie anymore. It's kinda stressing me out, because a barking dog is an unhappy dog...he's probably really anxious. I hope the people come home soon! Should I try to communicate with the doggy through the window?

(Just kidding. Already tried that this morning, of course. Relax, it was from the sidewalk. I didn't actually get in the shrubbery.)

2) I love love love Men in Trees. It's such a great show. The characters are all likable, the scenery is beautiful, the girls wear such cool clothes! It makes me want to buy a cabin in Alaska on a cute little pond and sit on the dock writing on my laptop whilst drinking coffee. Any takers?

3) Last week when my parents visited they gave me a little gift bag as an Easter present. I decided to wait until today to open it (okay, on Thursday I dug into the chocolate that was peeking out of the bag), as my "Easter Bunny present." Might as well keep the fantasy alive as long as possible, right? When I told her that I was saving it until today, my mom said that she felt bad that she didn't put more stuff in it. But it was totally great! My favorite thing is this beautiful, bold necklace...I actually involuntarily said "Ooooooh!" when I opened it—it's a giant silver star. I showed it to P, and she said something along the lines of "That is so perfect for you that I feel like you already own one!"

Without further ado, here it is!


Haha - like the exotic shadow pattern on my fleece + neck? It's from our window bars. The greatness of the present is actually two-fold...according to the box, she bought it for me when she was in Vermont on the family-minus-me ski trip. And the beautiful bracelet that she bought me is from the all-the-females-in-the-family-minus-me jewelry party. Obviously she's thinking of me (she's my mom!), but it's the icing on the cake to know for sure. You know? It was a fantastic Easter present.

4) Last thing. I think the upstairs neighbors finally discovered the invention called "the radio," because they've been listening to music all day, and neither P or I have ever heard any sort of tunes emanating from their apartment. Thus far, I'm loving their tastes. There was some Queen, Rolling Stones, Bach (or something). Maybe they only indulge in the radio once a year as an Easter treat?

Just to get this out of the way...I'm watching TV and just saw another match.com ad. And I just gotta say, they are NOT reeling me in. If anything, they turn me off. There's that really maniacal juggling person, and there's someone laughing like she's high, and people giving sideways looks...and then on the radio they have some guy laughing in a self-deprecating manner of how he sleepwalks and goes to bed with his socks on. Those are endearing traits that I'd like to eventually learn about someone, not traits that are used to hook me in.

(and yes, admittedly I'm guilty of gabbing about my obnoxious sleep habits, but I'm not doing it to advertise.)

OH, and I hate those chemistry.com ads. You were rejected by eharmony. Deal. They don't have to accept you, and to be honest, you all sound like a bunch of whiners. So can it and stop looking desperate.

I fear that the past couple of days I've developed some weird "oil that greases the wheel" vibe about me. Now, before I go sounding all egotistical, let me explain. It started yesterday evening. I was on the Metro heading back from the stupid gym, and I was standing in my spot across from the door. Even though I like to eavesdrop, I went against my usual M.O. and put on my iPod in order to hit my daily quota of 20 listens of "So Close" from Enchanted. SO GOOD.

We get to Metro Center, people efficiently file in and out, as they are supposed to do. The door chimed, and one side shut, but the left side stayed open. The doors chimed again, the left side of the door stayed open, then tried to shut again...but didn't. Everyone was staring at it dumbfounded. In no mood to miss LOST, I went over and tugged on the plastic part of the door, and slid it shut.

The train took off. While heading to the next stop, I was thinking about the possible ramifications of my actions. What if the door was actually broken, and someone leaned against it, and fell out? I mean, even though the sign says "PLEASE DO NOT LEAN AGAINST DOORS," I'm always doing it. Always. Then it would be my fault, since I forced the door shut. As we rolled into Chinatown, I decided that I would contact the conductor if it had issues again.

Luckily the door decided to function normally, and all was well.

Fast Forward to Today—needing a surge of caffeine I strode into Starbucks at 3:20ish. I was shocked to see that it was full...I had been in work mode, in our empty office, and hadn't expected anyone to be around. But, alas, there were. Okay, so...at my work Starbucks, there is one main line and two registers. There is a column in between the two registers, so if someone is directly in line behind one line, they can't see that the other is open.

So, I was enjoying my little break in the aromatic local coffeehouse, even though it did involve standing in line. But...the line. It wasn't working right. The register to the right was empty, but the next guy in line wasn't moving toward it. I didn't particularly mind, but the cashier at the second register was giving me significant looks. As if he expected me to do something about it! I decided to actually earn the occasional employee discount that they throw my way, so I gingerly stepped up a few feet and tapped the guy on the shoulder, and sweetly gave him the 411. He didn't really seem too grateful, but shuffled to the right cashier and made his order.

Then, against all odds (who ARE these people?! Mormons?!), it happened again. The guy at the register said "Next!" and gave me another significant look. In turn, I looked back at him and looked pointedly to my left. The cashier got the hint and got the attention of the other guy without my help.

I felt all line Nazi for clueing in the first guy, because, well, I sometimes do get annoyed when people don't know what to do in the Starbucks line. I don't care if they order their drink wrong (I do that all the time), but it shocks me when people don't use common sense. Like when they make the line wrap all around the stupid display instead of just going to the right. But it's times like those that make me realize that I'm wrapped a bit too tight. And it makes me chuckle and chill.

One more thing. I guess sitting alone watching TV on a Friday night leaves me chatty...to my blog.

Post-work I headed toward the Metro (notice a pattern? work. metro. starbucks. work. gym. tv. scintillating.). I hopped on the escalator and noticed a bit of a jam. A quarter of the way down there was this couple standing. Side-by-side. Oblivious. People quickly piled up behind them. A guy stepped down beside me, and gave me a tiny embarrassed smile as he passed and stopped on the step in front of me. A woman walked down, stopped next to me, and said "Tourists." a bit pissily, but quietly.

I looked behind me to marvel at how fast the action piles up—just like in those Visa commercials!—and the woman behind me smiled. A couple of steps back, I heard someone else say "Tourists!" and a male responded, quite indulgently, "Well, I guess it is Friday."

Miracle of miracles, no one bitched at them. Can you believe it? Humanity and charity in the darkness of the commute!

Station Tune-In: Flat-screen televisions at Mass. Pike service plazas are getting a mixed reception from travelers

In case you don't want to read the article: TVs are getting placed on gas pumps, so you have the pleasure of watching & listening to "news bytes, sports highlights, and the latest Hollywood gossip" while filling up your gas tank. If that drivel wasn't bad enough, the main focus, obviously, is advertising. David Leider, the CEO of Gas Station TV, crowed, "We like to say the consumer is tied to the screen with an 8-foot rubber hose for five minutes."

This really makes me very, very angry. If these start popping up locally (wherever that might be), I'll probably either a) take a hammer to them or b) carry around pieces of cardboard and tape them to the screen.

There are few things I hate more than TV being forced upon me. United Airlines is also an offender, playing their stupid ads (the volume playing over the loudspeaker) on the ceiling TVs for a few minutes after the safety video. Contrary to what Leider might think, I'm not a captive audience. I am an extremely hostile audience.

I'm going to write contact Gas Station TV. Part of me wonders, though, if they're the vengeful sort who would then instantly make sure that all gas stations within a 50-mile radius would be outfitted with the TVs. It's a risk I'm willing to take.

And oh my goodness. On the page for gas station owners, it claims that the TVs will "result in customer loyalty, increased traffic and higher C-store sales."

Cam, sweetheart. Can we mine our own oil and gas? How does that work?

Feeling like a total porker back in November, I decided to join the newly opened gym by my work metro stop. The place is expensive, but I have to walk by it every day, twice a day. It's also pretty luxe...and I know lazy, gym-hating, me. In order for me to go to a gym, there needs to be a pretty big carrot (other than healthier lifestyle, living longer, and looking better).

The beginning, like most relationships, kicked off beautifully. Everything smelled new, from the freshly painted walls to the newly stained floorboards. The towels were pristine white and soft. There were more than enough treadmills to go around, all tricked out with DirectTV. The locker room, while awkward for a newbie, was roomy enough. And it comes with shampoo, conditioner, and body wash in each stall. They play classical music over the speakers, and provide hair dryers, and lotion. Also, they have bottles of hairspray and deodorant (which I've fucked up more than a few times, actually. And yes, "fucked up" - putting hairspray in one's armpit deserves such a strong designation, I think).

As the weeks rolled on, more and more people joined. What was once an endearing ragtag bunch became a crew of sleek workout hotties, wearing color-coordinated shirts and shorts, and actually wearing socks that matched the other. They took over the locker room, prancing around in little more than thongs, blocking the lockers. Like, WTF?

Two of my favorites: the woman who sat naked on a locker room bench reading a magazine, and the girl who curls her hair while topless. Not even a bra. It doesn't make sense to me. I can maybe, maybe understand being shirtless. But no bra? It's asking for a burn, right?

Also, those once-fluffy towels? Not so much anymore. And a couple of weeks ago I realized that whatever they use to bleach the shit out of them reddens and slightly burns my face. And I have to rush from work to sign up for a treadmill...luckily the sleek hotties seem to work until 6. And the boys? The male-female ratio is about equal, but it's not even, if you get my drift.

And I've spent more money on workout clothes the past three months than on...fun clothes. I tried running pants, but they get too hot. Shorts ride up. Spandex is TOO intimate. And though I love my jogging skirts, the shortie leggings underneath do some weird things and distract me from my goal of not falling off the treadmill. But don't fret if you're in a similar quandary: last week I bought some uber-dorky long female basketball shorts, and tonight they performed their function perfectly.

So, needless to say, the bloom is off the rose. But, Victory. I still go. And today, for the first time EVER IN MY LIFE, I ran 4 miles. I know that's nothing to a lot of people (like...you, Cam. And you, J.C., and anyone else athletically inclined), but it was awesome to hit that mark tonight. It feels so good to do something that I didn't think I'd be able to do.

Due to my abominable diet (hiii, homemade brownie in my left hand), I haven't lost any weight. But that's okay. That's not the point of all this, I don't think.

On a sidenote, today while running I listened to an NPR podcast about a guy who had a lobotomy when he was 12. His life is something out of a Disney movie: his evil stepmother hated him and wanted to turn him into a vegetable, so she had the operation done. It didn't work, so then she put him in foster care. What a witch. My favorite part is when he interviews his dad about the whole thing, and how his dad reacts....the podcast/story can be found here: Tragic Stories of the 10-Minute Lobotomy. If you're going to be commuting to work and need something to listen to, definitely give this a try!

I just read a review of "Misguided" (it was my second this morning, I must be gearing up to watch).

At the end of the review on Boston.com, the writer says:

"It's not a show I'd put on my DVR, but if I happened upon it, I might sit back and smirk."

Isn't that funny? The new golden standard is NOT sitting down at the appointed time and watching a show, but deeming it worthy to sit down LATER and watch it. It puts a depreciated value on the present and a higher value on the future. As in, "I am specifically planning to take time out of my busy weekend to watch This show."

OR, conversely, it puts a higher value on the present by saying that you're too important/busy/exciting to sit down and watch TV at the time determined by the network execs, and says that you'll catch the possible rubbish at a later date, when you're recovering from and building up energy for your adventures. You won't carve time out of your busy schedule to watch it, but you're leaving the option open for a later date.

Has TV become more important or less important with the invention of DVR?

I'd like to think that my friends and I are very pro-girl/sisterhood. Sometime along the way, we all realized that females in our society are pitted against each other, presented as competition. Competition for the job, for the men, for social standing. And, recognizing this fact, we came to a crossroads: either embrace it or be repulsed by it.

A couple of years ago I read Olivia Joules and the Overactive Imagination, by Helen Fielding. Olivia is attractive, friendly, curious. She's at party chock full of upscale attractive possible terrorists, and she has a run-in with another woman, who is seemingly into the same guy that Olivia may or may not be interested in (Olivia is actually investigating him). AT ANY RATE, Olivia quickly realizes that that girl is not on "The Girl Team." She's conniving, bitchy, and willing to do whatever it is to get Olivia out of the picture. Olivia proclaims something along the lines of: There are two types of girls: those who are on the Girl Team, and those who Are Not.

I think that was the first time I had thought about female relations in those terms. It was like good ole' Helen Fielding shined a bright light on my surroundings. It's so true...there are two types of girls: those on the girl team, and those who are not. We should all be on the same team. But it's so hard, especially when you like a guy and some other girl gets him, to keep this in mind. She becomes the bitch, your friends call her ugly and stupid to make you feel better, she (and possibly her posse) are the enemy.

But then you run into that girl or her friends at the bar, and you've had a few drinks, and you exchange words, and you realize. Oh, crap. These people are actually really smart, cool, beautiful, and intelligent. People you'd like as friends! They are catches. It doesn't make YOU any less of a catch, though. Life is not a zero-sum game.

I'd like to think we've all grown out of this. We've recognized the destructive patterns and, in the words of Dar Williams, "I will not be afraid of women."

Believe in the power of positive actions.

(and check out The Unretouched Woman, compiled by Slate.)

Hi Mom!!

I cannot wait to see you and Dad on Saturday! I can't believe I haven't seen you guys since January 1, and I miss you two so much. Thank you for being such an amazing and understanding parent...I'm sorry that I'm always surprising you (as you so gently put it). At least it will make for a great biography?

Love,

Your loving daughter

i saw you on the train the other day
and didn't say hello.

After being blog + gmail + gchat + facebook + texting friends, Cam and I have decided to take it to the next level...REAL LIFE.

Cam is freaking amazing and booked a trip to D.C.! And for all of you who are giggling into your coffee cups and exchanging knowing glances, I'll have you know that he booked a hotel. And he'll be staying there. So stop it.

I haven't told anyone except for my younger brother...I called him and he laughed, and his first statement was "Well, you still have mace, right?" But he's had online friends for years and understands. I'm sort of scared for my safety (no offense, Cam!), since I've read so many articles/seen so many news stories, etc. And if, you know, it does turn out badly (*knock on wood*), the whole world will read this blog and be like, "Well she had that coming!" Which will suck. But Bub reassured me that he wouldn't think that, so that's a comfort.

And Cam, I know you. This is all just my paranoid vivid imagination and covering my bases. And I understand if you're nervous about your safety, too (or maybe you weren't until I just said that). Haven't you ever seen a Lifetime movie? I'm referring to The Many Faces of Karen, something that C-note and I watched senior year of college.

I am looking forward to his visit so much. I'll probably faint right before I meet him.

If anyone has some great things-to-do-in-D.C. suggestions, please fling them at me. Feel free to deviate from the dorky...all of you know how much I enjoy staring at Lincoln's bloody hat in Ford's Theater, so I got that angle pretty much covered.

THREE WEEKS!

Living on my own gives me ample opportunities to have learning experiences where and when I least expect it....

Today I've done a bunch of loads of laundry, and I'm on my last batch. I put all of my sheets and pillowcases in the washer, and have been eagerly awaiting dryer time. Nice warm sheets = a nice night's sleep.

At least, I imagine it would be so. However, my washer has taken this moment to break, and stop just short of the drain cycle. I keep spinning the little knob, and pushing it in and out, trying to make it start. It restarts, then keeps stopping before the drain cycle.

(hah. I just heard it stop again.)

Guess I'm sleeping on my down mattress cover tonight!

Learning Experience #345:
don't wash all your sheets at once. especially not right before bedtime.

Even though it was pouring on Friday, I decided to make the 6-block walk to Potbelly for lunch. It proved to be an interesting one...

Being vain, I wore my heels to get my food. I wear sneakers on the commute, and I always feel so dowdy. And, to be honest, while it's nice to feel professional at work, the effect is completely wasted on the pretty-much-all-taken males at work. I should wear the heels to and from work, and sneakers at work, but I digress.

So, the light was changing, I decided to make a run for it across the intersection. Almost safely to the other side, the back of my foot exits my shoe. I hobble, and realize that that's not happening. As the cars 40 feet away rev their engines, and the light turns to green, I stop and adjust, then make a break for the sidewalk. I felt very J-Lo in The Wedding Planner, you know what I mean?

The next street, I had the light, but I almost got hit by a bicyclist when crossing. Ordinarily I'd be scared and not amused, but the guy was just sorta lollygagging (dillydallying?), whistling and looking in the other direction (I was staring intently ahead and trying to keep my shoes on) and I'm positive that at least a few people in the cars facing us were jonesing for a collision. We would have fallen on our asses, but no serious injuries. Almost like a comedy act or performance art.

At any rate. After those two unexpected events, I was in a good humor and wondering what excitement would be coming up at the next intersection. The sidewalk was pretty empty, except for this short little man coming toward me, also holding an umbrella.

As he was about to pass me, he gave me a huge smile, and said "Hello!"

To be honest, I was not expecting it. With my heels on, I probably had a good foot on him. So I giggled in surprise and threw out a "hi!" as we passed.

Smiling, I went about 10 more feet, then impulsively peered over my right shoulder, and looked back at him.

He was doing the same!! His cute little smiling face was over one shoulder, and he was holding his umbrella over his other shoulder.

I wish someone had taken a picture...we looked like some cheesy poster.

I really believe in some undercurrent of knowledge that runs through all of us. Or in people having a connection. Or, ESP. I don't know exactly what to call it. But something certainly goes on that's deeper than "coincidence."

For example, the evening I came home for Christmas vacation, my younger brother and I were sitting on the front porch shooting the breeze. We got on to the topic of how I have really lame and easy passwords (something that infuriates Bub), and then I bragged that I changed my facebook password to a hard one, and I said "you'll never guessss ittt" in an obnoxious sing-songy voice.

Bub smugly shot back, "I can guess it. Bananas."

My mouth dropped open. I stared at him. MY PASSWORD WAS BANANA.

Bub didn't believe me, even though I looked freaked out—so I grabbed my mom's laptop, and he logged me into facebook, and "banana" provided the open sesame. I don't know how he guessed it. I never have fruit passwords, and I only chose "banana" because one was on my desk when I changed my password at work back in November. Something was going on.

Something else happened tonight.

I had a delightful dinner with Mel, and was walking back to my apartment from the Metro. I decided to give Tans, who lives in Massachusetts, a call. We emailed a couple of weeks ago, and something in Florida reminded me of her, so I thought it would be nice to check in. It seems like I only call her when I'm a) inebriated or b) distraught over a boy, so I figured a little sober happy call would be nice for once.

I gave her a ring, and she didn't pick up, so I left a message. Then I called my Nana, walked back to my apartment, blah blah blah.

Checking my email before I went to watch LOST with E and Bill, I saw that Tans had commented on two of my facebook pictures, one of which I had tagged her in. I looked at the time stamps: 7:53 and 8:02. That struck me, since I figured that I called her around that time.

I checked my phone. I had called her at 8:02.

AMAZING!!

We haven't talked on the phone for more than a month. We haven't emailed for two weeks. And then we contact each other at the same time?

I love life...it's so interesting.

My dearest Cam,

I've spent all day considering your offer, which has been a pleasant diversion. It's almost convinced me that I should imagine marrying a different guy each day of the week, in order to give myself something to daydream about. It's a whole new fantasy life!

But, no, I decided that daydreaming about marrying You, only You, is enough. Everyone else pales in comparison. And how could I say no with your cute face smiling at me from your blog? Irresistible.

However, just like you, I do have my terms.

- we will live at least half of the year in the Boston area.
- you will buy me things for the sheer joy of buying me things to make me happy. For reference, I like sapphires, convertibles, flowers, and, hell....anything. A donut works too.
- you're a dog person. right?!
- you won't make me eat Mexican food, insisting that I "do like it, I just don't know it yet."
- you will let me lie sometimes with my head on your shoulder with your arm around me. It's nice. It makes me happy.

In return, I'll...
- become a better SCUBA diver so we can go on amazing dives together (and not just in quarries).
- make you dinner all the time.
- learn to cook so that dinner is edible at least part of the time.
- run a 5K every so often so we can mutually pretend that I'm in shape.
- not make you edit my nanowrimo submissions, just because it's so sweet that you thought of that.
- love you for who you are.
- make you the freaking happiest man alive.

See you in Vegas in 45 hours!

gchat kisses,
meg

but scuba diving was AWFUL.

(okay. I'm on the Tarpon Springs' library computer, and I only got 11 min and 15 sec to tell my tale. excuse the typos.)

So, I was super nervous. I've had a cold all week, and I'm always stressed about equalizing, and even more so when I'm hacking up crap every couple of minutes. But, per Cam's advice, I loaded up on medicine, and I was barely coughing as I headed out to the sea with my new dive buddies. The buddies? Totally surly. Two guys, around my age. Didn't talk much, looked like pros. One girl, around my age, didn't talk much, looked like almost a beginner. One older guy, Bruce, who I cozied up with and asked him to zip up my wet suit (the zipper was in the back). He seemed happy to do it.

Anyhow, it was all looking good until we reached the end of our journey out. The boat was rocking back and forth, my wetsuit seemed to be suffocating me, all I could smell was neoprene and gasoline. As the two crew guys tried to set the anchor (and as I resisted screaming HOW FREAKING HARD CAN IT BE?!?), I pulled at my suit, swayed back and forth, and the mom of the other girl offered me dramamine. Thank God. I chewed it up and swallowed, then took a swig of water.

Unfortuately, obviously, it didn't kick in immediately. The anchor was finally set, and the divemaster could tell I was having problems. I looked back, and saw one of the hardcore guys my age tossing his breakfast over the side. I looked forward, ineffectively clawed at my gear, and stumbled to the side of the boat, dry-heaving. Nothing came up, but I felt awful.

The two crew-members basically grabbed me, put me in my gear, checked my air supply, and I fell back into the water, where I was expecting relief. But, big surprise, I felt the waves EVEN more when I was in them. I put my snorkel in, then my regulator, and noticed from the sound of my breathing that I was actually, truly hyperventilating. My dive buddy (the girl) was probably like "wow. what a loser." The guys on the boat told me to grab the line and pull myself to the front of the boat, where we would use the anchor line to guide our descent. I eventually got to the front of the boat, with my leg wrapped around the line, hyperventilating, and my girl asked me if I was okay. I gasped, honestly, "No. I need to get a grip."

Eventually I got a grip, helped by the truth that it would be less rocky under the waves. I descended, and equalizing was a piece of cake! I was shocked and pleasantly surprised.

(only 3 min and 30 sec left! it's like a typing test.)

So we paddled around underwater. My goggles were fogged, but I was still too freaked out to fill them with water to clear them. My breathing slowed. I still couldn't look down, because I was afraid of barfing into my regulator. Eventually I sorta cleared my goggles. While my buddy was looking at the army tanks, I was watching her like a halk, not wanting to lose her. Keeping her bright yellow tank in sight was my salvation.

Dive over, we ascended. The waves came. I gradually, painfully, heartbreakingly pathetically made my way to the boat. My goggles were fogged. I was blind. I was a moron. Eventually I got my fins off and got into the boat.

I ditched the next dive, choosing to instead stare at the horizon and say Hail Mary's.

57 seconds. I think I'm made for quarries. Lakes. Ponds. Pools. But don't let this stop anyone from diving. It was just a rough time for me.

GOTTA GO!