For those of you that know me, chances are good you have wondered where in God’s name I have been. But c’mon, did you really think I wouldn’t fall off the map for at least a little while?
For those of you that don’t know me, and read my blog, this post is an update on my life. It is largely insignificant in the blogging world, and probably unimportant– unless you are stalking me, in which case, you may already know this information but could use it to gain some kind of understanding into my psyche.
Where to begin? Working two jobs only proves itself stressful when A) a bike accident has left your knee in a crippled, swollen, sliced up state and B) you’re hungry because working two jobs means you can’t purchase any groceries. For instance, right now I am eating pretzel M&M’s out of the party size bag. This is breakfast. Mostly because I cannot fathom eating another peanut butter sandwich. Thankfully my knee isn’t aching in its typical, sharp-as-a-knife manner– rather, this is more of a dull roar.
Oh god, there is a point where one may have consumed too many M&M’s for breakfast. Someone bring me a glass of water.
Even if I consistently felt shitty (and thankfully my allergies have gone away), this week could not be anything less than fantastic. Shawn went to Alabama and left me with his Border Collie, Hot Sauce. Hot Sauce has been my favorite little buddy. We play with bubbles and frisbees in the back yard, go for long walks, and leave the bulkhead open so we can meander and get fresh air at night. He is as charming as he is sweet. No one cuddles quite so well. I have zero intention of returning him. This dog is mine now.
It’s not that my priorities or goals have fallen by the wayside, but I live to work (and work to live) now. Today is the tenth consecutive day that I have worked either job. It’s hard to find time to write or read or journeys to uncharted territory when you sleep eight hours (back to normal!) and barely fit in showers. (SIDENOTE- I’m not dirty or stinky, but realistically, it’s difficult to squeeze in a shower or two every day.) I do laundry when I have no underwear left, but that is nothing new.
After work, I don’t want to sit down and write four or five pages or expound useless crapola about life into the blogosphere. I want to socialize with the guys I am forbidden too busy to really talk to while at work. I want to play with mallets (pronounced malLAYS) on deserted beaches and swim in icy ocean waters and kick back an adult beverage or two. Or six. But I’m young and I bounce back from shit like that. Mornings aren’t painful, nor should they be. That might mean I am burning the candle at both ends.
I know how that turns out.
When I think, or find myself having the time to think, I think of ways to get in trouble with old friends; seduction tactics; lyrics to Phish songs (the most fitting include “There’s a blank space where my mind should be” and “’bout as faithful as a slot machine, pays off once in a while but then she’ll rob you clean”); how I really should clean my room; how I really should eat something; the direction of my own life compared to the wanderers around me; obscure sandwich ideas; ways to obtain ‘beach waves’ in my hair without actually going to the beach; ways I can get more beach time in per week; babysitting; bathing suits; and anything that qualifies as “Something I would do in my free time, if I had free time.”
Aunts, cousins and friends alike, they ask me when I can visit, when they can visit, when am I free.
If I had an answer, I would tell you. But I don’t have one. For all intensive purposes, I am not free. I am a machine, running around, working like a little bee-eye-tee-see-aich. I am free after eleven and before eight thirty. Are you a night owl? Do you mind sharing a twin sized bed? Are you bringing friends? Any aversions to cold?
I invite you all to visit, but I warn you that I cannot hold your hand and I cannot devote all my attention to you.
Alas, I find time to cook steaks and potatoes and onions on the grill and to share wine and potato chips with friends and roomies. We can sit in the yard and talk about college and moving forward and understanding what it means to capitalize on ones time. We can recount tales of stupid love and stupid times and stupid stupids. I’ll make you dinner, because I like to cook, and I like you, so it seems natural that the two coincide. It’s too bad I can’t drop everything to make this happen– because you know that I would.
Today I am bringing back the fresh white t-shirt. I swear no one ever looked so nice and felt so clean.
Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: Falmouth, feels like summer, happiness, life, summer, work
Even if I had never been to Falmouth before, I would still know that it is Memorial Day Weekend.
I’m sweating (finally) and cars are driving by as I attempt to best ride Jackie Wilson down Main Street after a long day at work. What ever happened to brisk nights when it was me and the road and the occasional drunk stumbling out of the Towne Tavern? Cruising past the harbor, distant music drifts as the band jams on the porch at the Boat House. 7-11 is hopping with the same amount of life. I wonder if they have ever done so much business at 11 PM on a Saturday.
Work is another story. Everyone is running– and I mean running– down the line and through the kitchen and out of the walk-in refrigerator. Nearly a hundred people come in and out of the restaurant in a matter of hours. There’s cursing and messes and humidity. No one is angry– or at least no one is showing their anger(yet) — but everyone is on edge, at least a little bit. But, at the same time, kitchen dogs and servers alike rejoice in the fast paced excitement.
I wouldn’t have to go to work or ride my bike to know that it’s Memorial Day weekend. If I stand outside, with my eyes closed, the buzz of the world crescendos and I just know. It’s here. It’s time. It’s Memorial Day weekend.
It is finally summer.
I can breathe a sigh of relief and say ‘I’m back. I’m here. This is everything I’ve been waiting for.’
One day, if you’re lucky, you’ll find yourself walking on a crowded sidewalk with strangers of the present, in their crew neck t-shirts and their leather sneakers. You’ll see all the standard conventions of life and social acceptability. You’ll look at yourself and realize you are no different from the rest of them, other than that radiant blonde hair that turns white in the sunshine. The holes in your favorite navy shirt will never stop you from wearing it, even after the German words fade from yellow to a crispy shade of brown. You’re gonna wonder what the hell happened, when did you get so boring. When did any of it matter?
You’re going to run into the middle of the street and shout out loud, and the only one that will hear your voice is you. The people who stride down the sidewalks won’t give you another look. Their iPods will continue to pulse black music into their skulls without hesitation. You shout, your arms raised above your head, and your neck outstretched, as if to greet the rain. It feels like nothing. An old taxi cab will stop just short of you. You will look at the sad, confused cabbie for a brief moment and you will continue to walk to the other side of the street.
It’s gonna hurt to see that, despite the news and the passing of time, not much will have changed.
You’re going to wonder why you wasted afternoons watching SportsCenter, if you should’ve written better papers. You’re going to debate your own moderation, or lack thereof. But not until your numb walk down dirty buzzing city blocks leaves you standing in front of the familiar turquoise vinyl of your apartment. Wind will rip through your coat but you won’t even notice that you’re convulsing with shivers. You’ll trudge up the staircase and fall into your studio as the wimpy key finally catches the lock. You’re going to look at the white walls, the grease on your TV screen and the empty bottles on your decaying coffee table.
It will be the first time you’ve ever realized how alone you are, but you still can’t feel the cold.
When you think your fearlessness will carry you through, you will look back at the burnt bridges and ransacked buildings you left in your home. You’ll realize that fearlessness is not enough. You will have to go back from whence you came, shovel snow and pick up trash and chop fallen tree limbs before you can return to your white walls of the present. You’ll swim against the tide. It would’ve made sense to change, but sitting, half drugged by your own emotions, you will realize that it didn’t have to be this way.
You’re still too proud.
Filed under: College, travel | Tags: bus, cell phones, complaining, frustration, life, music, quotes, rules are meant to be broken, silence, strangers, travel
“Buses are like a box of chocolate. You never know what you’re gonna get.” – Forrest Gump, or someone like that…
All my life I have taken the bus. Before I went to school, I took the bus with my parents from the Newton Campus to Shea Stadium for Boston College football games. I went to school, and every year, I took the bus. I even took the bus senior year when I had no car and no ride. (Yes, I was mortified.) Now that I am at college, I take the bus to get around. I take it on campus, to CVS, to the mall, to go home, to go anywhere.
After all this bus riding, I have learned that a bus is, in fact, a box of chocolates. No two buses are ever alike. I have had phenomenal bus rides, complete with cool neighbors, no car sickness, and a great playlist. But I have also had God awful bus rides. ones that make you want to attack the driver, shank your neighbor, and drown yourself in the lavatory toilet at the back.
There are a lot of factors that can make or break a bus. For example, showing up early can be beneficial. I’ve been the first one in line before, so therefore, I got my pick of every seat on the bus. However, sometimes it is nice to be in the middle of the line. You get to pick your bus buddy, as opposed to the other way around. This can ensure that you don’t end up next to someone with body odor or listens to their music just a little too loudly. Usually, in either scenario, the bus ride will be rather bearable.
But if you miss the bus, like I did this weekend on an impromptu jaunt north, you should just consider yourself destined for a crappy ride.
For whatever reason, I found myself in the company of people who either A) had never ridden a bus before or B) were just plain inconsiderate. They didn’t make mistakes by accident. These people were in blatant violation of the Laws of Travel.
Here are some of the atrocities I witnessed in my weekend travels.
Bitching about the process. In Philadelphia, those headed toward New York had to go through a minor security check. They asked us if we had any drugs, alcohol, weapons, cell phone tasers, whatever. These two women in line with me gave the guard so much lip. It was unnecessary and totally against the rules. Rule #1: No complaining about anything. If you acknowledge something as a problem, it becomes a problem. You don’t want other people to get in a bad mood because you’re in a bad mood. But when you think about it, is it really that bad? It took one minute of your time, and for crying out loud, we were sitting around on benches in the middle of the night anyway. It did more good than harm, so just shut your pie hole and relax.
These women went on to also Complain about the driver. There is nothing that can be done about this one. (Actually, there is one thing you can do: drive your own car!) I know that we almost crashed into Jersey barriers, and that the bus practically flipped over when we sped through the hairpin turns before the Lincoln Tunnel. But gossiping about it and saying ‘Oh lord!’ loudly for the bus to hear, well, that accomplishes nothing.
Don’t disrespect the art of packing. While I am aware of the difficulties of packing reasonably (even I just want to throw it all in,) as well as the difficulties of sleep (my habits borderline nocturnal,) you need to follow Rule #2: Be smart. This being said, don’t carry more than two bags and don’t sleep outside. I watched this girl break a lot of rules at once. Not only did she over pack, complete with an animal print rolling suitcase, with the expansion zipper, a backpack whose seams looked like they wanted to scream out ‘TAKE SOME SHIT OUT OF HERE!’, and a sad purse, who hung limp and broken from the crook of her arm; but she also decided to throw it all on the ground and sleep on it. Luggage aside, she should’ve known Rule #37: Never sleep in Port Authority. But she had the gall to sleep on the ground, on top of her luggage! She made some novice mistakes, but God did she make me mad. Learn how to pack properly. There is no way she could’ve needed all that shit. There is no way any self-respecting person would have slept on that filthy tiled floor like a bum from the streets of New York! Were you tired from lugging all that shit around? I bet you were!
What if your mother was riding the bus with you? You would probably follow the standard conventions of life. Which is to say that you don’t make out on the bus. It is such an easy rule to follow. But the preppy couple in front of me couldn’t resist. It was as if he was leaving with the army tomorrow and they just had to get in every last passionate moment together. This violates Rule #3: Keep your shit together. I really didn’t want to watch these two make out, or snuggle, or share sweet-nothings. I’m sure that I was not the only one. I don’t feel the need to elaborate on this one… If you wouldn’t do it with Mom around, then don’t do it on a bus. (And don’t try to tell me you’ve made out in front of your mom. That’s bogus.)
Music related crimes. There are several ways to go wrong with this one. This weekend, I witnessed them all. There is always the classic ‘I listen to my music so loud that my earbuds have microexplosions every beat that cause you to hear the music too’ debacle. I listened to one woman’s second rate rap music for ninety minutes. I wasn’t sure if the old ladies nearby noticed, but I know it drove me crazy. This was a violation of Rule #7: Be aware of your surroundings. This doesn’t happen quite as often as one would think, but today was a terrible case- the lady in front of me was rocking the Dr. Dre headphones… and singing out loud. She sang well, but she also sang very LOUDLY. Although she sat in the front seat, I am sure the entire bus could hear her. An unusual first happened today: some schmuck tested out all the ringtones on their phone, trying to pick a new one. The bus was silent aside from the murmur of wind and the buses engine. But then, the phone starts singing… and after one song, it sings another, and another. At that point, I was ready to turn around, stand up and shout “HEY FUCKER KNOCK IT OFF” in my big scary voice. I didn’t, but I am sure you can imagine me actually doing this. This brings me to another set of crimes:
Phone related crimes. These crimes are the equivalent of rape and murder in the travel world. In fact, Peter Pan bus lines outright banned cell phone use on the bus because it is so disruptive. It’s just as awful as farting in an elevator. Do not talk on your phone on the bus. I repeat DO NOT TALK ON YOUR PHONE ON THE BUS. If you don’t believe me, it’s Rule #10: Don’t talk on your phone on a bus. Today, I on my four hour leg from Boston to New York, I sat next to the world’s worst bus buddy. Not only did this bitch schmuck look at me through her mascara crusted eyes as if I were swine, but for at least three of those four and a half hours, she talked on the phone. (I should have known it would be bad from the moment I asked if I could sit next to her.) She tried to be quiet, I’ll give her that. But after twenty minutes of hearing her repeat “Mhmm, mhmm” over and OVER, I wanted to smash her Blackberry against the ground and cripple her fingers in an unbelievably vile and painful way. I debated telling her how much I hated her for being “that guy” when the ride was over, but I kept my mouth shut.
The most important rule of all: Rule #100: Roll with it. Let people do what they do. Accept things for what they are. People break the travel laws, just like people break the real laws. Maybe I was destined for a less-than-awesome weekend full of bus rides, but maybe I had nothing to do with it. There were times that I wanted to hurt myself (okay, mostly others,) but sometimes it is just better to let off some steam by abusing the courtesy wifi. After all, if you can’t verbally harass them, then you might as well get even by using all the bandwidth.
Filed under: Things I Like | Tags: broadway, Ghetto Klown, John Leguizamo, life, new york city, review, theater
I arrived almost thirty minutes late and entirely sick of the sea of tourists congesting the sidewalks of Times Square. Fuck fuck fuck was all I could think, despite my commitment to swear less for Lent. The usher showed me through the blackness to my seat. He seemed a little high. When I ran into him again later, he clearly didn’t have much of an idea as to what was going on.
I came into John Leguizamo with no expectations. I knew he was a funny guy, an actor, that he had a show in New York. But I had no idea what I was in for, or if I would like it, or if it would be shitty.
But within thirty seconds of taking a seat, I was laughing. This won’t be so bad, I thought to myself. Leguizamo danced. He opened fake doors. He made fun of every man he ever worked with. He danced. He made me feel.
It was unexpected. I went to see the show so I could laugh, not to have an emotional moment and think Wow I wonder if my relationship with my mom is as bad as his is with his father. Will we ever have this cry-in-each-others’-arms-movie-moment? I came for an escape from reality, yet it was the exact opposite—it threw me right into the life and times of John Leguizamo, Latino actor from Queens, ever disappointed by himself, his father, and the Mets.
Arguably, I felt more real cold hard emotion than I felt carefree with laughter.
I enjoy hearing people’s stories. I enjoy seeing something and saying ‘Hey, maybe I will have a story as lively and exciting as this one.’ I’m eighteen and I have not a clue as to what I want to do, who I want to be, where I want to end up. When someone else tells me their story, it piques my interest.
Maybe that is why I am part of the features section.
The simplicity of the set and props, the images that flashed upon the on-stage billboard, his costumes, they complimented the play well. His story contrasted the static of the stage. He was dynamic, emotional, fast.
What I liked most about Leguizamo’s one man show was that it was clear he was human. Yes, he acted, it was clear he embellished a little here and there. Yet he was telling his story in his own words and with a flair only he could produce. He stumbled over names here and there. He focused his energy on the story telling, not so much his every step and smile.
It wasn’t a play. It was a story telling. It revealed something about a man I had only known for his roles in comedic movies and television.
Was it the best show I had ever seen? No, but it’s reality and honesty and personality was refreshing. It was unlike anything else I have ever seen on stage. I liked it. It was worth my time, and I am glad I went.
Filed under: Late Night, Uncategorized | Tags: alive, bullshit, changes, Charlie Sheen, honesty, life, outside the box, resume, work
Filed under: Photo du Jour | Tags: Charlie Sheen, katieism, life, photo, Rant
I would like to say a few words…
I love Charlie Sheen. If I had it my way, I would do horrible things to Charlie Sheen. I don’t care if he is older than my father, or that he is drug addled, or whatever crap you have to say about him.
But I definitely wish I had the gumption to say “Who the fuck cares?” quite like Mr. Sheen can.
And in the stifling environment that is college, I find myself really complacent. There is nothing I absolutely love or absolutely hate. But man, when I look to someone with passion, I would say Charlie Sheen has it, for better or for worse.
I hope that one day I can shout “Who the fuck cares?” and really live for five minutes. Sky diving, keg stands, streaking. Whatever. I admire Charlie Sheen for actually being moderately successful while still sticking to his guns, him self, his core. That, my friends, is what is really most admirable in the guy.
Filed under: Rants & Ridiculousness | Tags: happiness, life, Rant, slacking, sleep
It is 6:30 in the morning, and I am laying in bed, and it has been hours since I’ve slept. Surprise, surprise.
I’ve got a million and one things to do today, and I am thoroughly fatigued, and I have nothing better to do than sleep. But instead, I am wide awake, watching Netflix and playing games on facebook.
It’s a huge stupid waste of time.
When is this going to end? I always feel like I am busy with another waste of time. Even things of marginal importance are fleeting and ultimately make no impact on my ability to sink or swim. Going to the Phonathon is just another way to pass the time; homework is a means to an end; to do lists carry as much life as any rock or grave in a cemetery.
People can talk out their ass about how important college and learning and education and resumes are to my future, my life, my well-being, but I still can’t help but want to shout “Bullshit!” as if I’m at a basketball game bearing witness to a poor call for my team. Not that basketball matters, either.
Yet, in my most idealistic plans for the future, I am still a schmuck, not unlike Duchovny’s character on Californication, or even Dexter’s ditzy sister, Debra. Sexy and doing cool things, but still doing nothing, or at least feeling shitty nine times out of ten. I want to feel as good as people on tv look. But we all know, that’s never happening.
If I picked a career tomorrow, one that in the end would allow for the most happiness, or at least perceived happiness, I would tend bar. Eventually I could manage the place, and who knows; down the road I could open my own joint.
I would be Dee, if Dee were a brunette and lived in some city other than Philadelphia. (I’ll be honest- there just isn’t enough to do here.)
But in the midst of my midnight ramblings, I have discovered that despite my boredom, I have figured out the way I deem something worthwhile, or at least if it has the potential to make me happy. These may seem irrelevant, arbitrary, or at best, unusual. But, such is the case sometimes.
- Does it lead to a chance to drink more wine?
- How funny is it?
- Will it matter in an hour? A week?
- Can I still be sassy?
- Can it be done barefoot?
While the answer to one of these questions may not affect any of the others, if it meets all criteria, it certainly is something that I really, really like.
Not sleeping doesn’t have any of these qualities, aside from being barefoot. (It’s weird to sleep with shoes on.) College is also limiting in the sassy/funny category.
Life, however, should be all of the above. Life should not feel like a huge waste of time.
