The Girl in Black

Se necesita una poca de gracia.

Thursday, March 31, 2005

Scream a symphony

As of 4:00 this morning, I am officially moved out of my old apartment. Finally! I am bruised, sore, and sleep deprived, but I am out.

*sigh* Now to unpack all those boxes.

Since I spent all night cleaning and packing and moving, I didn't get a chance to get lunch makings for today from Publix, so I decided to go out to procure some sustenance. As I neared the Quiznos, traffic slowed to a grinding halt, trapping me in my air-conditionerless car (it works intermittently) in the middle of Orange Blossom Trail in Beautiful Southeast Orlando. And yes, that beautiful part was sarcastic.

Orange Blossom Trail (or OBT as we locals affectionately refer to it) is one of the most horrid roads that I have ever experienced. The part near my work is six lanes (plus a median/turn lane) of utter hell. All of the buildings are placed so far back from the street that you can't ever find the place you're going unless you've been there before. (There are blue city signs closer to the side of the road, indicating which turns take you to which businesses. It has been told to me that this is for road construction purposes, but I haven't seen any construction on this part of OBT ever. I think that the city knew they effed up people's ability to find where they're going, so they put the signs up as extra help.) No building is more than a few stories high, all buildings float in a parking lot sea, and the land has been razed flat by developers. No tall trees, no tall buildings, not even green grassy fields. Just merciless sun, wide open parking lots, dirty unpaved shoulders, grimy strip malls, and traffic. Even the swanky brand new buildings (like the new KIA dealership) look dirty.

Oh, they tried to prettify part of it (near where I work). They put in brick sidewalks, pretty street lamps, and some interesting (read: ugly and overbearing) truss structures to hang traffic lights on. None of it works, because it's all disproportionate to the size of the road. And again, everything is spaced so far back, and it's all lumped together, so the effect is lost.

The other part of OBT is the red light district. And of course, the two transition into each other. So you can go to the somewhat nice 24 hour Kinkos and get both your copies made and a hooker. If you go at the right time.

So after enduring OBT for a bit, I made it to the Quiznos. Inside they were all saying that there was an accident close to the road that I wanted to take back to work (I can make a neat little loop by taking a different road to and from, so I don't have to turn left. I hate turning left onto roads like OBT without a traffic light.) As I grabbed my flatbread sammich, I steeled myself to prepare for the traffic. Fortunately things were running a little smoother by the time I made it out.

I was blasting Chopin's "Raindrop" Prelude, in response to the SUV blasting Christina Aguilera, but decided I wanted something more uptempo. So on comes The Chemical Brothers song, "Let Forever Be." And right when it comes on and I'm starting to get into a happy groove, I see the accident.

It was right in the middle of the intersection of the road I had to turn on. The car I saw had its entire front driver's side smashed in. This car was decimated. And as I turned onto my street, I saw the firefighters gathered around, and the police, and a normal person or two, and I suddenly thought that perhaps someone was badly hurt, or perhaps dead. I felt a tremendous wave of sadness for the situation (seeing horrible car accidents always makes me feel such), and yet here I had this ecstatic, joyful song playing in my car. I felt sort of callous about it, I wanted to hear it. But it just didn't have the same punchy effect on me.

And yet I never changed tracks.

Wednesday, March 30, 2005

A quick note on synchronicity

But then I have to go. (I have to return the cable box to Bright House for lunch today. Yay.)

So, at one point, I did The Girl In Black (the strip) for a local culture website called The people who did it were friends of a friend, and I never met them face to face. Until last night.

My next door neighbors were kind enough to sign for an important FedEx package I received when I wasn't home (how totally cool of them!). One of them recognized my name, and heard me talking to another friend outside my apartment last night (thanks again for the help with moving, man). It was pretty cool putting a face to an email address.

The funny thing was, when I first met my other friend, he recognized my name from my comic strip the one time it ran in the Orlando Weekly (a long story). We were talking about that fateful meeting, and how I had my usual "What? Strangers know my name?" reaction not twenty minutes before my neighbor introduced herself.

How's that for synchronicity?

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Something borrowed, something blue...

...and a penny in your shoe.

They always leave out that last part. But I suppose if I was going to be having a big fancy wedding and be on my feet all day in shoes that look better than they feel for the sake of this being my one "big day" and all, I'd want to leave the penny out of the shoe too.

But pennies in shoes isn't really the issue of the day (although there are plenty of them scattered around the old apartment, along with other loose currency).

Something blue is what I'm talking about. And that something blue is my ex's yarmulke
. Somehow, this innocent little cultural item (made of suede, not cloth mind you) ended up being left behind in the old bedroom. And again, somehow it got mixed in with the pile of white sheets lying on the floor, waiting to be washed.

The 350 threadcount sheets.

The only set of sheets for my bed I own at the moment.

And now there are several nice blue stains on the outer corner of the only white 350 threadcount fitted sheet I have for my bed. (There is no hiding this against the wall, but I suppose I could hide it under the covers...)

However, I think the yarmulke survived.

Of course, I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I really feel. It's more amusing to me than anything. My ex and I had some small words over who would get the bed, and it seems like he unintentionally got in the last one. Frankly, I was more worried about the yarmulke than the sheets. However, I was promised my pretty dress
in payment for packing and shipping my ex's belongings back to him. (And disposing of the things he doesn't want anymore.) I have been hard pressed to acquire said dress in a size becoming to me, so perhaps this is a sign to get new bedclothes instead...

Monday, March 28, 2005

Flirting with an old flame


They say that when you are addicted to "something," said "something" is your best friend and/or your lover. "How could I ever live without *blank*? We've had so many good times together."

If you have never experienced a true addiction, let me tell you that this statement is absolutely true. (If you have, you should know what I am talking about.) You think thoughts like "as long as I have *blank* my shitty life/job/whatever is tolerable." Whatever you are addicted to seeps into your identity, insidiously infiltrating all parts of your life.

Of course, I am speaking of my own experience with cigarettes. (We won't go into any compulsive eating habits just yet.)

I mentioned that I had found my ex's emergency pack while packing up yesterday. Given my current habit of bumming smokes from friends on the weekends (mostly), and the stress of moving all weekend, what else would I do but smoke them?

But, weren't they all nasty and stale? Honestly, I didn't notice a difference except that I didn't get a strong buzz off of the first one. (This may also be because I had been bumming from my brother and his girlfriend the day before.)

They actually helped me get through the day a little, as I had an excuse to step out onto the porch and take a "breather" every so often. It was so nice sitting on that fifth floor porch with the wind whipping around me on a warm spring day, inhaling smoke and watching it swirl away. And at night, I watched the fireworks from Universal (yes, you can see them from my old balcony). It was beautiful, peaceful.

These were the good times I remember. Taking time to stop and contemplate things, yet doing something "active" at the same time. Allowing myself to stop and enjoy the outdoors because I had an excuse to do so. It's so easy to forget the bad times: the dehydrated smoking-in-my-car-on-a-hot-Florida-day feelings; the constant nervousness around people I didn't want to smoke in front of, wanting to get away but not wanting to be obvious about it; the burning and sick feelings of smoking too many, and yet reaching for more out of habit. But I could taste the cigarettes in my mouth, and smell them on my fingers, and I liked it.

It's really painful. I know I have the choice to go out and buy a pack and start up again for good. (Of course, in my head I think "Just for a little while.") And I also know I have the choice to stop again, and revel in the freedom I had found when I quit initially.

And yet, how do you say goodbye to something you love?

I have a theory, that a lot of people hide behind things like smoking because they are afraid to be who they really are, that they can't handle their own personal power. So they dull it down in order to get by living in the "real world" while they really could be soaring in the stars. I realized a little while back that such has been the case with myself. If it's not smoking, it's something else that I use to ignore things in myself. And I've been at such a crossroads lately...I think maybe it's time to try to fly.

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Almost finished moving...

And oh what a move it has been.

But it hasn't been that bad, really. Just something that needs to get done. I was a leg up on my brother, having packed the kitchen up all nice and neat (I even labeled the boxes!), but on the "Big Day" when I scheduled the truck, there was still plenty left unpacked that I had forgotten about (like an entire closet of art supplies).

However, most of everything got packed up and moved out. I am blessed to have such a helpful family that lives in town. My brother's girlfriend, and an old friend from high school helped round out the team, and we were able to knock out all of the furniture, packed boxes, and newly packed boxes over the course of the day. (Of course, we had a late start. I love my brother dearly, but punctuality is not his strong suit.) But it didn't matter. Having a whole team of supportive people to make the day go by faster did.

However, true to form, I lost it later in the day. Mainly because my vigilant packing squad infiltrated my ex's closet, something I had meant to deal with myself at a later time. Not only was the pressure of having four people awaiting your orders amidst the chaos bad enough, but suddenly I was being asked questions about things I hadn't even thought about yet. And I was met with many amazed comments of how much stuff he left behind for me to send back to him.

It didn't help that the night before I enlisted my brother, his girlfriend, and someone else on a semi-impulsive painting party. The music was kickin', the mood was high, we just didn't have enough paint to finish the job that night. D'oh!

To make matters worse, the lovely dark brown that I chose as an accent wall for the living room seems to have dried darker with the second can I purchased at a later date. D'oh again! I am wondering if perhaps it is because I went over some of the already dry areas for touch-up? I will need to return to Home Depot to suss out this matter...

But this is a big milestone in my life. This is the first time ever that my life is completely my own. My parents aren't supporting me (like they did in college, and I thank them every day for it), I have no roommates, I have no live-in significant other. I am completely alone and independent, and I'm loving it! Even all the rest of the moving that I have to do myself, I feel so good about it. (My mother can't help but try to tell me how to do things, but I now have the werewithal to ask her politely to lay off. She's working on it. )

I could write about all the emotions that have surfaced over the weekend, how my neighbors seem pretty cool, and about how I found my ex's emergency pack of cigarettes (score!), but for now I think the best thing to do is slather on a deliciously cool and chocolatey face mask from Lush and kick back. I've still got work to do tomorrow, as well as work to go to tomorrow.

Bon nuit!

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Isn't it funny...

...that I seem to have become slightly less materialistic? Well, perhaps no one has noticed inasmuch, but I have. (The few "girly" posts I have attempted feel a tad forced.)

I used to go to the mall almost every weekend. I haven't been there in a month and a half save for last Saturday to go and claim my pretty dress as payment for mailing my ex his belongings. I still want to dress nice and wear makeup, but it's not my entire life or my highest priority.

The mall was fun and all, but I didn't feel the same that I used to. I used to dream of the "good life", where I would be able to do things like shop at Neiman Marcus for clothes, wear Prada shoes (I've always loved that name...Prada), and buy all of my cooking gear from Williams-Sonoma. Now? I don't know exactly what I want anymore. Life isn't about money, and it never really has been, but I was starting to think so just a little. Being so unhappy probably wasn't helping. And think on all of the other lost souls wandering the mall, looking for fullfillment in Burberry and Louis Vuitton.

My brother is right to despise it.

Not that I'll ever stop going completely. I still have to find a nice pair of shoes that fit me after all.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

Dear Goddess, Please Make It All Stop...

Darlings! Soooo much has happened since I last posted! Let me tell you...

At 7:10 am last Friday morning, the fire alarm went off in my apartment. Now, this piercing shriek of an alarm usually goes off at about 3 am and is usually a false alarm. (It's literally painful, and often I am forced to lie hunched up in bed with my fingers in my ears until I can compose myself.) So this time, instead of getting ready for work as usual, I paced about for a bit in confusion, trying to decide whether I should ignore the potentially false alarm or actually get my stuff and the cats together and get out following the "we didn't think anything was wrong" method.

When the alarm shut off after about ten minutes, I figured everything was alright and went about my business. Until I heard what sounded like the shower running in the bathroom my ex had occupied for the past three weeks. (I'm in a 2/2 right now.) Thinking that somehow my cats were able to turn on the shower (hey, it was 7:30 in the morning!) I went to investigate. And what do I see upon investigation but my own "Deus Ex Machina" moment a la last week's trade show pouring down out of my bathroom ventilator. (A steady shower of water pouring onto the bathroom floor through the bathroom ventilator, that is.)

Call me Noah, for I had quite a flood on my hands. (One of my friends had described my situation as "biblical.")

Fortunately, I was luckier than the guy next door to me. Most of the water was on the tile in the bathroom and kitchen (which quietly turned into a lake while I was showering for work in the not-flooded bathroom), all of the water came into the apartment on the side where my ex was staying, and he had just left town when the rain started. (My neighbor had a small lake forming outside his front door by the time I left for work.) No major furniture damage either, not even to the massive, ubercomfy queen sized bed that I have had yet to reclaim as mine.

Unfortunately, I came home to four industrial blowers and a huge dehumidifier staged at various spots in my apartment, taking up space and making a terrible racket. Plus, my apartment which was only slightly left in chaos after the departure of my ex had become an even more disheveled mess. How is a girl supposed to relax with her favorite cds and/or television shows when her living room is akin to a noise-cancelling wind tunnel?

And it doesn't stop there. Not only did the heavens rain down dirty water into my peaceful home, but my ex had unknowingly forgotten to undo a setting on my computer used because we were networked together. (You simply cannot live with a techno-geek and not have all of the computers in the house networked. It is law.) So for all of Thursday and Friday I had no internet at home. Obviously, I tried to spend most of the evenings out.

Of course, right when my internet was fixed my computer speakers decided to flake on me, so I couldn't take refuge in my mp3s in the one quiet room in the house. *harried sigh*

Aaand I finally did my taxes, and for the first time in my life I owe. A lot. ("Mazel tov on being a taxpayer!" my ex tells me. I know he's snickering somewhere...)

All of this background stress took its toll, and by Sunday night I was hardly in a mood to go see Interpol all on my oddy knocky. But go I did, and rockin' they were. I even made a new friend! Yay for being outgoing and meeting cool people.

So much more to write and do and say! Perhaps another post later...

Thursday, March 17, 2005

He's gone...

...back home to family and old friends. And his sendoff is a grey and rainy day, and one last kiss on the cheek from me.

He opened up my world, showed me different ways of thinking and being, took me places I never would have been otherwise. I wouldn't know The Mars Volta, or Interpol, or Gargamel if it weren't for him. I wouldn't have seen the green rooms of both the Orlando House of Blues and Hard Rock Live (HoB's is more comfy). I wouldn't have seen what it's really like to work in a campaign office. I wouldn't have seen Bruce Springsteen. And I wouldn't have passed up on the offers of nearly so much pot.

So raise a glass of Guinness (it is St. Patrick's Day after all), and toast my ex. May his future path grow ever brighter.

(It's always easiest to speak well of the recently departed, whether they be that way by locational circumstances or more finite ones.)

I'm going for pizza tomorrow with my coworkers tomorrow, and have a rather busy weekend ahead. (Yes, Interpol and the House of Blues are involved.) So blog posts only if I feel like it.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

No post, being responsible

Gotta get my utilities and internet set up, as well as reserve a truck to move my stuff around with.

And then, tonight, I'll do my taxes!

Life is just so rich sometimes...

Tuesday, March 15, 2005

So Long and Thanks for all the Sex...

My ex is leaving for good on Thursday. Right about now he should be looking for the packing tape so he can get together his belongings in boxes. He won't be taking much, but he is taking the booze, so I'll have to find an alternate form of payment for those who help me move later this month. But that doesn't really bother me.

I think I'll miss having him around actually. Despite the lack of privacy, it's nice to have another human being in my apartment. (I often had roommates when I lived "alone" before.) I suppose we would have made terrific roommates if it weren't for all of the emotional baggage.

I was thinking on it this morning, how we were both finding that there are good things about living in Orlando. We both have cool friends, and there are fun things to do that we never did when we were together for some reason. (Goddess knows what posessed the two of us to think we had to do things together all of the time.) We were talking about how it's tempting to want to stay here, and my ex said that I should still get out and move to San Francisco like I was wanting to.

Then he had to spoil the friendly moment by teasing me, saying that it's where all of the flighty, freaky people are, so it's where I belong. (He didn't use the exact terminology, but that's the gist of it.) His tone was rather snide, but I ignored it. Or joked along, or whatever. I just went along with it. It didn't register with me until now how much that kind of statement really stings. He claims that he always accepted me for who I was, and still does, and yet he teased and continues teasing me in a rather disapproving tone about what he percieves to be my faults.

Why would I want to put up with that? Did I do that to him? I'm sure I did at times, and I am sorry for it, because claiming love, acceptance, and tolerance only to undercut your partner with snide comments thinly veiled as teasing jokes is not a healthy exercise in a long term relationship.

So, lessons have been learned, and moving on is happening. At least the sex was pretty darn good for the most part. (The snuggles were pretty awesome too.) I suppose I'll be hearing about all of this if he's there when I get home...

Monday, March 14, 2005

Another rainy day...

Had a little thundershower today. It seems to have passed. It's starting to rain like summer...

I called my old job to find out about my missing W-2 and found out that two of the girls whom I thought would have left by now are still there. Strange...

I'm in a bit of a goof-off mode right now. I could write, or I could go watch tv with the "new girl" at work. (And the "old girl" at work too. She's just as cool.)

Here, check out the links in this YankeeFog post. They are very funny.

Sunday, March 13, 2005

And if rain brings winds of change, let it rain on us forever...

There is definitely something about clubbing all night and waking up in the late afternoon... I always get into an odd mood. The events of last night have caused me to pull out my VNV Nation cds. Very good stuff.

The trade show ended uneventfully. The booth that was rained upon was back up and operational the very next day, with a sense of humor even. Little inner-tubes, umbrellas, disaster area stickers, and swimming goggles adorned the dried out booth, and a power point presentation showed the curious what actually happened. Mad props to them for that one, I hope they got some business out of all the attention.

The boys in the booth next door to ours had caught my eye as "cute and apparently my age" on the first day, but as I sidled up for a little friendly chat I soon realized that they were both entirely too shy to have any fun with. Of course, my coworker friend teased me incessantly about this for the entirety of the show.

I foolishly struck up major conversation with them on Saturday (as I did have to attend the third day as well), which was the day they were leaving, so any sort of hanging out was thwarted rather quickly. But I suppose it's all for the best, as I probably came off as quite talkative and opinionated (boys take note, this is what happens when you don't add to the conversation and merely ask a girl questions). The conversation helped the time go rather quickly though.

I helped with the strike and load-out of the booth, which amused me to no end simply because I had dressed for work (classy outfit, black pumps) and there I was pushing a dolly loaded with heavy boxes around all of the forklifts and gritty union workers.

I was simply exhausted by the end of it all, which meant that it was time to call my gay boyfriend and go out clubbing. I strapped on my sexy heels, dusted myself with sparkly powder, and set out to hit some of the most popular gay clubs in Orlando. It was a whirlwind tour, and I danced and drank and ogled many many men. Unfortunately there weren't as many women around as I would have liked (kissing a girl is most definitely on my lifetime "to do" list), but oh! To be young and glamorous and single, and run around town with your young, glamourous, single friend, drinking vodka and blasting club music in your car as you smoke your cigarettes and dash off to the next "happening" place.

(For the concerned, I haven't picked back up smoking entirely, but any former smoker knows how well cigarettes and drinking go together...)

We topped off the evening with greasy burgers from Steak 'n Shake, and an attempt to watch Family Guy that I was entirely too tired to stay awake through. I made my way home, and chatted online with another night owl friend of mine as I drank my water in an attempt to stave off hangover.

I woke up this afternoon a slow wreck, but it was a small price to pay for an evening's pleasure. I will have to do this more often.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Deus Ex Machina...


Trade shows are terrible for sensitive folks like me.

Take a vast, empty space, fill it with a maze of walls without ceilings that do nothing for the windswept-lot-ness of the place, throw in a large group of people, half of which want to talk to you about things you barely know about, while you stand on thin carpet over hard concrete, and eat outrageously priced food, and keep this up for eight hours a day over several days.


But the real fun was at the end of the day, when my coworker friend and I noticed one of the fire sprinklers had suddenly, inexplicable decided to deluge the booth below it in a shower of nasty fire-sprinkler water.

The fire alarms went off, and we decided to vacate for the moment. (The famous last words of many fire victims are "But we didn't think anything was wrong...") When we realized that it was, in fact, a false alarm, we headed back in and walked by the indoor rainstorm to see it for ourselves.

It was a complete misty waterfall raining directly onto one of the trade show booths. It looked like a deus ex machina moment in a movie. (Yes, I use the term deus ex machina rather looseley.) People were standing all around taking pictures, carpeting was hastily pulled back from the area, and the concrete floor was becoming increasingly flooded.

Goddess knows what chaos awaits me tomorrow, as I have to go back. (My boss has thrown his back out, so I get to fill in for another round.) So, again, no blog post unless I do one late.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Why does everything fall apart when it rains?

March is very fickle.

It starts to warm up, and the sun comes out, but then the wind picks up, and before you know it it's cold again. And today was one of those icky all day drizzles that makes you want to stay home, curled up on the couch in your favorite afghan, sipping the hot beverage of your choice.

But no, someone decided that life has to go on during these types of days, and so people go out and get into car accidents or get stuck in traffic or pulled over by the cops. It always happens, something always goes wrong on rainy days.

At least there are other kind souls in the universe (Publix in this case) who will smile at you and say "Now you keep warm!" and you can smile back and return the sentiment.

Apologies for the late post, if anyone's set teir lives to my little schedule. And I might not post tomorrow (unless it's later at night) as I am going to walk a trade show floor for the day and try not to get anyone to sell me anything (which apparently is the whole reason I'm going...)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

So, I can't just leave all my stuff in my old apartment?

It has dawned on me today that I seriously need to get my ass in gear and start packing up to move. The impetus for this was the plight of my brother and his lovely lady this past weekend. After the haphazard packing of many garbage bags, my brother looked at me, and with as much wisdom as the younger of two siblings can muster (actually, quite a lot now that I think about it) he said "Pack. For the love of God, pack. It'll make things so much easier for all of us."

And so commences the first Great Purge of 2005.

Would you believe all of the things I hang onto for no good reason? Art supplies I will never use. Crappy old projects from college I will never put into any portfolio. "Random neat stuff" that I keep squirreled away in boxes, only to appreciate when I either move or decide that it's time to go through my "Random Neat Stuff" to get rid of some of it.

If I don't bring this stuff out very often, then surely I don't need it. Right?

Unfortunately, one of the neat things about being a packrat is that every so often I go through my little treasure trove and find something really cool and useful to me at that exact moment. I see it as a metaphor for myself sometimes; being able to find hidden resources, things I didn't even know I had within me. (Well, sometimes I know things are there. I once was able to keep an umbrella hidden in my purse, which I then pulled out and suprised people with in the event of rain. Yes, in my head literal and metaphorical can meld into one amorphous shimmery cloud.)

How much of myself can I actually purge? I love simple, clean, and neat. But life is just so messy! No matter how big and broad and all-expansive you think something is, it is always made up of many smaller things. (Matter is composed of cells are composed of atoms are composed of protons/electrons/neutrons are composed of quarks, which can be charming I am told.) Am I pure and simple, or messy and complicated? Not that I need anyone to answer that for me, as I am perfectly happy being both at the same time...

But, for the sake of making my life more prone to transition and wanderlust (Will I ever truly settle down? There's so much of the world still to see!), I suppose I shall have to rid myself of some of the little trappings I have grown accustomed to shlepping around. (See? Yiddish rules!) It feels good to let things go sometimes. And I really don't think that I need all those old Fushugi Yuugi stickers anyway...

Monday, March 07, 2005

Channeling Rip Van Winkle...

No, I am not going off into the mountains to play ninepins with strange little men. And I don't drink beer. And I can assure you that I am most certainly not a henpecked husband. However, this weekend's events have reminded me of the similarity I once drew between myself and mister Van Winkle.

We both have a tendency to ignore our own lives for the sake of others'. And in Rip's case, it led him into trouble of some sort. (I am not sure of the archetypal meaning of sleeping for forty years as a result of helping a strange little man, as I missed my high school English class that day.)

What on earth could have happened to create such a profound revelation? Why, I'm glad you asked! One would think it is because I helped my brother and his lovely lady friend move from one apartment to another this weekend, but such were the acts of familial obligation (and a motion to seal the agreement for help in the moving of my own belongings later on in the month) and I had planned to spend a "reasonable" amount of time doing such activities. However, I always plan on vacating my social obligations at "reasonable" times, only to be drawn into staying longer for whatever reason.

I am hopelessly addicted to spending time with interesting people.

I ended up staying over and chatting for a good hour and a half longer than I meant to, leaving me a scant thirty minutes to do my bi-weekly grocery shopping. I made it by the skin of my teeth, but the only thing lacking was the salmon I had hoped to acquire (as the fish counter had already closed by the time of my arrival).

Missing out on a salmon dinner is not the most terrible thing in the world. But I realized that I have made this staying too long with people a habit for a very long time. One could pose the rhetorical whine "Why do all the good conversations have to happen when I have to do something else?" Or one could look deeper within, to the core beliefs that attract these situations.

Either way, I seem to have quite a puzzle on my hands.

Perhaps I shall end up theoretically asleep in the Kaatskills someday myself. Ah well, at least I'll be able to escape for a little while.

Friday, March 04, 2005

Oi, what could have been!

My ex found this neat Jewish stuff online. It reminds me about all the fun stuff I learned from him about Jewish culture. For instance, there is something so cool about tossing a few yiddish words into your conversation every so often. ("Shlep" is one of my favorites.) Well, I've had other Jewish friends, so I already knew some of the yiddish. But I learned how awesome matzoh ball soup is (and knishes. Gods, to have the metabolism to be able to take on all that starch...). And I learned about some of the dynamics of Jewish culture in general.

The differences are astounding, or at least, they are to me. I was raised with a Christian mentality
(as it was all my mother knew at the time), and since there apparently wasn't a terribly large Jewish population in Central Florida (enough to allow the culture to be a part of daily life), all I knew were other "Christians." (This also includes "Christians-turned-Atheists", "Confused-Christian-Devil-Worshippers", "Christians-turned-Pagans", you get the idea.) Sure, there was always the "Jewish Kid" in class, but asking him questions every now and then barely scratched the surface. It was quite the culture shock to realize that the way I had been taught to think isn't the way that everybody has been taught to think. (Yes, I am aware of the existence of different cultures and their viewpoints, but it is easier to get the mental differences when there are other obvious differences like language and country of origin.)

I also learned that there are a lot of dumb Christians out there who look to re-incorporate Judaism as a part of Christianity, trying to fit it into their own little mold... I can tell you first hand, they don't have a clue. Instinct tells me to give them props for trying, but really, they just don't get it. (Note: upon trying to find a link for "dumb Christians" that outlines the mentality of Christianity embracing Jewish culture, I am hard pressed to find a good example. All I find are tolerant, seemingly well educated viewpoints. Score one for Google, or for the people of the internet promoting intelligence and tolerance in religion.)

Knowing all of this now, I will miss this influence in my life. I still may want to acquire a "shiksa" t-shirt, since by all rights I always have been and always will be. (Why not take a derogatory word and turn it into one of empowerment? By this logic, though, I am also quite a "raging bitch.") Conversion, though? Not so much...

Thursday, March 03, 2005

You know that feeling you get...

That feeling you get when you're talking to someone, and you have so much to say that you just keep talking and talking and they smile and nod but don't respond verbally, and after a while you feel like you're pouring yourself into a black hole?

No? Just me? Okay then...

I want to look at my site stats, but I have no idea how to do this. But this is a minor thing.

My major dilemma now is finding the perfect pair of shoes. (And you thought I was going to say something deep.) I had a revelation the other month, as if a light bulb turned on in my head:

I have wide feet, and therefore I need to find shoes that are made specifically for people with wide feet.


I was able to ignore this issue for most of my life because my footwear choices up until now weren't very girly. But heaven help me, I just love that current look of jeans with a boot cut paired with some sexy heels. (I have no idea how well this will translate onto my Amazonian frame, I mostly see it on thinner bodies. But then, most bodies seen on television end up being thin. And I do say "Amazonian" in the sense of being an "Amazonian Goddess." The fact that I tower over most of my female friends merely betrays my immortal Goddess-ness. Not to say that my female friends aren't Goddesses in their own rights, just not Amazonian ones.)

So after my brilliant revelation, I decided to begin my search in the shoe department of Macy's (where I happened to be at the time). I couldn't find a single shoe that didn't have "mediums only" printed on the label! So I decided to try my luck at the slightly more expensive Bloomingdale's. (I am learning that it is, in fact, worth it to spend a little more for the best thing for me instead of wasting money on something cheap that won't suit me nearly as well.) I walked in undaunted, only to be greeted by the same "mediums only" line on the shoe labels. So, thus daunted, I walked over to one of the shoe-guys and asked him if I would actually find any shoes that fit me in the store. The obvious answer at this point is no. Apparently Bloomingdale's does not stock wide shoes. Nor Macy's. (I mean, they're practically the same store, one of them just charges a little more...)

Don't stock wide shoes? WTF? How are we Amazonian Goddesses supposed to find fantabulous footwear if the supposed shopping meccas of the world don't carry our size? I am utterly betrayed. (Thus began my conspiracy theory that all rich people are genetically engineered to have perfect metabolisms, thin bone structures, and tiny feet. Even though I know that this is just what retailers want us to think.)

So I did what any resourceful girl would do, I headed straight to the internet. "Find anything you want on Google" my ass! I tried for two hours to find relevant, straightforward information on how to measure my feet and buy proper shoes, and, several print-outs and foot tracing later, I'm still confused! The best thing out of it was finding this one drag queen's detailed guide to the mechanics of women's shoes. It was actually kind of neat and informative. Shame I'm not a guy.

So, despite my lack of "actual shoe size" knowledge, I thought I'd look at what would be available to me, and I was able to find some online stores with cute looking wide shoes. And since my search was all-encompassing, I learned that a lot of snazzier, "couture" designers (Kate Spade for instance) don't make wide shoes at all. (Conspiracy theory: 2-2) And I just have to ask, what's so wrong with my money? Just because I was born with certain genetic traits that I had no conscious say about, I'm not allowed to sport designer digs? Surely there are fashionistas out there with feet that don't fit the "norm." You'd think that there was some kind of law against people with "non-standard" body types looking good or something.

Well, there's a problem with society today that we talk about but never seem to get anywhere with.

So I'll probably just have to go in to Nordstrom's. I don't know what they have in their store down here, but I know that they have wide shoes online (unlike certain other department stores I have already mentioned). They have excellent customer service (I have seen it in action), they just don't always have what I want, and I'll feel terrible if I just go in there to get my feet measured.

*sigh* This whole lifelong theme of "not fitting in" (in any way, body, mind, spirit, etc.) is really annoying. I would vacate this plane of existance if I consciously knew how.

And yet...

I find I can take this on as a challenge, and if it's a challenge it's actually, dare I say, fun! So wish me luck, I'll find that damn pair of shoes one of these days. And then, to be safe, I'll buy one in every color.

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

I'm Waking Up to Us...

I've been getting into a little bit of Belle & Sebastian lately, with one song in particular having floated through my head premonition-like since a month or two before my breakup.

It's a wonderfully melancholy tune, but since Belle & Sebastian is the "best Scottish band of all time" I decided to get some help understanding the lyrics
. Now, after having read them, I simply must say that the person singing the lyrics (whether it is actually heartfelt by the author, or it is simply a made up character) is a real dick. I can't feel sorry for anyone lamenting over things like how he "fed her [his ex] with a spoon" and "helped the kid survive." Not that I fully subscribe to such philosophies, but (in my opinion) this is a classic example of the male gaze if I ever saw one.

And yet, the season has arrived.

I realized this morning that the state of unsettled limbo that I have been in for the past month has come to an end rather suddenly. I can feel it deep in my heart chakra (where I sense most things like this) that the shift is over and now all of the remaining pieces will fall into place. The chapter is closed, and I find myself sad. I will miss the chaos, for it made things insteresting.

I've learned a lot, grown a lot, lost a lot, and regained a lot. I feel more comfortable with myself as a whole now than I ever have in my entire life, and I know that I can only move forward from this moment. I truly regret that my ex and I have parted ways, I honestly had hoped we would have grown into our happier selves together. He gave me what I needed at the time I needed it, and I know I've stated the sentiment before, but I will never forget him for that. I only wanted to give back to him in the same manner, but apparently it wasn't for me to do so.

Now that I know the general direction of our lives (at least for the moment), it's easier for me to see the good things about him again, and wish him all of the best (as I often do anyway). I myself feel so free, it is as if I have wings.

But even now as I greatfully whisper a "thank you for the opportunity" to all parties involved (mortal and not), I have another Belle & Sebastian song floating through my head. It's true, I always cry at endings.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Will you get this...?

Blogger seems to be acting up. But anway,

I may have an apartment! I am just waiting to hear back from a lady that I am, in fact, an upstanding citizen of the community, and am not the type of person to skip town without paying the rent.

This is why I am posting so late. I had to go out during my lunch hour, and I didn't really feel like typing something hurried at work before or after.

Not like I have all that much to say today. I did find out that my ex didn't get the job he was hoping for, so he'll be packing up and leaving soon. I am slightly distressed, as the guy deserves a good job. And more than that, he really deserves to be happy. I hope he finds it, and soon.

March is blowing in "like a lion" as the saying goes. I find it funny that the day I find my place to live is the day that my "roommate" finds out where he will be living as well... The Goddess works in mysterious ways I suppose.
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