New Criticism
I sit
my back to a space heater
reading poems in a book
signed by the author,
a professor I had years ago.
Had, in the sense that he taught me
and in the sense that I always wanted more.
The course was literary theory
and he liked New Criticism
which removes the writer from the writing.
But I never bought it.
You couldn't read those poems
and not get to know the soul
that was translated onto the page.
I loved to hear him read from his work,
his unique cadence
the rhythmical dripping of double entendre
made me feel
that I had something to say.
But now, I have nothing to say.
Or, rather, everything I have to say is Memo.
To: You
Re: See how well I'm coping
When the truth I need to face
is that a heating unit
bought at the Home Depot for $12.95 plus tax
is doing the job you used to
keeping me warm
against the chill autumn nights.
And neither of you
understand
why I keep these books of poetry
on my shelves
and read them when I feel lonely.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Reclaiming Losers' Club
I am happy to report that last night was a completely non-Loser's Club goes to the PBR.
It turns out that, thanks to the miracles (?) of Western medicine, my family felt well enough to make the trip up north. And my mother's doctor vehemently asserted that none should be contagious. So, I decided to risk it.
All told, a good time was had by all. Sure, it was difficult for me - I think Mr. Zips could have really enjoyed it. And I was hyper aware of his absence. But other than a few tears, the evening was mostly filled with laughter.
One rider got a concussion, but all the riders walked off the field. And as Flint remarked, any PBR event that ends with everyone upright suggests that Life is Good.
I opted not to stay at the hotel in CT - the Grizwald family room sounded like a TB Ward - and so I started the two hour drive home at 10:30. Why I woke up wide awake at 7 this a.m. is beyond me. Ah well, lots of time to run some errands before making the drive up north.
Apartment hunting (finalizing?) and yoga workshop, sunshine and cool, dry weather - Life IS Good.
It turns out that, thanks to the miracles (?) of Western medicine, my family felt well enough to make the trip up north. And my mother's doctor vehemently asserted that none should be contagious. So, I decided to risk it.
All told, a good time was had by all. Sure, it was difficult for me - I think Mr. Zips could have really enjoyed it. And I was hyper aware of his absence. But other than a few tears, the evening was mostly filled with laughter.
One rider got a concussion, but all the riders walked off the field. And as Flint remarked, any PBR event that ends with everyone upright suggests that Life is Good.
I opted not to stay at the hotel in CT - the Grizwald family room sounded like a TB Ward - and so I started the two hour drive home at 10:30. Why I woke up wide awake at 7 this a.m. is beyond me. Ah well, lots of time to run some errands before making the drive up north.
Apartment hunting (finalizing?) and yoga workshop, sunshine and cool, dry weather - Life IS Good.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy
First, a refresher on "Losers Club Goes to the PBR." This is, pehaps, the most loserclubish of all loserclub histories.
Year one, Mom loses her glasses. And gets so frenzied trying to find them that she works herself into a fever. Glasses are found and she winds up spending the time between the "Meet the Riders" event and the actual bucking at a Barnes and Noble taking a "sink bath" to cool down and refresh after sweating off all of her makeup.
Year two, Mom and I are driving down to Worcester, MA from Brattleboro, VT. The weather forecast doesn't look good, but what the heck. By Greenfield, it's snowing. By the time we get on the Pike, it's icing. By the time we get to Palmer, it's whiteout conditions. To this day I still have flashbacks to being behind the wheel, unable to tell where the sky ends and the road begins.
Year three we get smart. (ha!) We rent a hotel room in Worcester so we can get up early, go to the Meet the Riders event and then spend the afternoon relaxing. Except that we get over to Meet the Riders and find out that it was held two hours earlier because the hotel double booked the ballroom. Despair ensues. But no matter, someone on the inside tells us that the cowboys come back to the hotel after the event to blow off some steam. So after the event, we too go back to the hotel. Mom meets Justin McBride, the night's winner and one of the biggest all-time champs. Mom gets so excited that she starts dry heaving in the cab.
All of this to fill you in on this year's Loser Club.
Parents and Big Bro were to be driving up to Mohegan Sun. Me and Mr. Zips were to be meeting them in CT. Much money was spent on tickets.
So I am bitter that there will be an empty seat next to me. But I did my best to put a cheerful face on it and had decided that I would use this opportunity to Git Me a Husband. After all, those boys may not be too bright and they might be *just a tad* too religious. But they sure are good lookin'. And rich. And in damn fine shape. (They buck bulls for gods' sake!)
Too bad that this is the most loserclubish of all mostloserclubbish years. Because this year, Mom and Dad are sick. Not just sniffle sick. Full on, knock-down-drag-out sick. And contagious. And so they're likely not going to make the drive up to Mohegan. And, even if they do, I'm not sure I could chance catching what they've got. Because (if I haven't mentioned) I start my new job in two weeks and I'm moving in four.
Of course, the irony is that if Mr. Zips hadn't timed things the way he did, this could have been an AWESOME weekend. An evening filled with adrenaline. A paid-for hotel room for the two of us.
Buckin A.
Year one, Mom loses her glasses. And gets so frenzied trying to find them that she works herself into a fever. Glasses are found and she winds up spending the time between the "Meet the Riders" event and the actual bucking at a Barnes and Noble taking a "sink bath" to cool down and refresh after sweating off all of her makeup.
Year two, Mom and I are driving down to Worcester, MA from Brattleboro, VT. The weather forecast doesn't look good, but what the heck. By Greenfield, it's snowing. By the time we get on the Pike, it's icing. By the time we get to Palmer, it's whiteout conditions. To this day I still have flashbacks to being behind the wheel, unable to tell where the sky ends and the road begins.
Year three we get smart. (ha!) We rent a hotel room in Worcester so we can get up early, go to the Meet the Riders event and then spend the afternoon relaxing. Except that we get over to Meet the Riders and find out that it was held two hours earlier because the hotel double booked the ballroom. Despair ensues. But no matter, someone on the inside tells us that the cowboys come back to the hotel after the event to blow off some steam. So after the event, we too go back to the hotel. Mom meets Justin McBride, the night's winner and one of the biggest all-time champs. Mom gets so excited that she starts dry heaving in the cab.
All of this to fill you in on this year's Loser Club.
Parents and Big Bro were to be driving up to Mohegan Sun. Me and Mr. Zips were to be meeting them in CT. Much money was spent on tickets.
So I am bitter that there will be an empty seat next to me. But I did my best to put a cheerful face on it and had decided that I would use this opportunity to Git Me a Husband. After all, those boys may not be too bright and they might be *just a tad* too religious. But they sure are good lookin'. And rich. And in damn fine shape. (They buck bulls for gods' sake!)
Too bad that this is the most loserclubish of all mostloserclubbish years. Because this year, Mom and Dad are sick. Not just sniffle sick. Full on, knock-down-drag-out sick. And contagious. And so they're likely not going to make the drive up to Mohegan. And, even if they do, I'm not sure I could chance catching what they've got. Because (if I haven't mentioned) I start my new job in two weeks and I'm moving in four.
Of course, the irony is that if Mr. Zips hadn't timed things the way he did, this could have been an AWESOME weekend. An evening filled with adrenaline. A paid-for hotel room for the two of us.
Buckin A.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
My Wife Has?
Watching the Democratic debate tonight. I'm such a dork.
I really like Barack. No secret. But I'm not sure what I think about his response to Equal Marriage. Sure, he talks about extending rights and benefits (without defeating DOMA btw). Great. When Tim asked him if he'd talked to his daughters about same sex couples he answered, "My Wife Has."
What does that mean? Does it mean Daddy Obama is uncomfortable talking with kiddoes about the gays? Does it mean that Daddy Obama kisses kiddies on the head and sends them off to bed and lets Mommie do the parenting? Or, maybe it's just an honest response - kids asked mom one day, out of the blue, the way kids do, and mom responded, end of story?
I wish I could stop reading so much into all of this....
I really hate to say this but I love Barack's rhetoric, but Hillary sounds like she's got the numbers, the stats, the facts, and the (ugh) experience. Unfortunately, she looks awful. Hill, hon, lose those jowls. I knew Richard Nixon and you, Hillary, are no Richard Nixon. (OK, I didn't really know Richard Nixon.)
PS - Go DENNIS! I really wish I could believe that a vote for Kucinich would matter...
PPS - I am a tad offended by one of the final questions: Candidates, name your favorite Bible passage. I mean, sure, they all had good responses. Love your neighbor, Do unto others. Sentiments that are noble and good in general. But why specify Bible? Is this not America? Why not say religious passage?
Of course, I was cheered by Barack's response that he would have to say The Beatitudes. Did he say Blessed Are the Cheesemakers?
I really like Barack. No secret. But I'm not sure what I think about his response to Equal Marriage. Sure, he talks about extending rights and benefits (without defeating DOMA btw). Great. When Tim asked him if he'd talked to his daughters about same sex couples he answered, "My Wife Has."
What does that mean? Does it mean Daddy Obama is uncomfortable talking with kiddoes about the gays? Does it mean that Daddy Obama kisses kiddies on the head and sends them off to bed and lets Mommie do the parenting? Or, maybe it's just an honest response - kids asked mom one day, out of the blue, the way kids do, and mom responded, end of story?
I wish I could stop reading so much into all of this....
I really hate to say this but I love Barack's rhetoric, but Hillary sounds like she's got the numbers, the stats, the facts, and the (ugh) experience. Unfortunately, she looks awful. Hill, hon, lose those jowls. I knew Richard Nixon and you, Hillary, are no Richard Nixon. (OK, I didn't really know Richard Nixon.)
PS - Go DENNIS! I really wish I could believe that a vote for Kucinich would matter...
PPS - I am a tad offended by one of the final questions: Candidates, name your favorite Bible passage. I mean, sure, they all had good responses. Love your neighbor, Do unto others. Sentiments that are noble and good in general. But why specify Bible? Is this not America? Why not say religious passage?
Of course, I was cheered by Barack's response that he would have to say The Beatitudes. Did he say Blessed Are the Cheesemakers?
Antidote for a Bad Day
I'm having a bad day. It's 9:30 a.m. and I've been awake for 5 and a half hours.
But no matter how bad it gets, I'm still way better off than David Hasselhoff.
I give you the antidote for a bad day.
But no matter how bad it gets, I'm still way better off than David Hasselhoff.
I give you the antidote for a bad day.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
24601
One of the MAJOR drawbacks of being a theatre geek is that there is a showtune for every occasion. And for the past three days I've had, "Who Am I?" from Les Miz running through my brain.
The Universe has given me the ultimate Clean Slate. New Job. Newly unattached. A chance to move to a new home. So, who will the new me be?
On Sunday, I went up to Gloucester and was amazed. Immediately came home and started dialing numbers listed in the For Rent pages. I started imagining apartments. Places where I could start a new future - places where my new life would take shape. What would this future look like? What was perfection for me?
One apartment sounded great. Two plus bedroom in an old Victorian, porch, quiet neighborhood, one block from the beach, around the corner from the train station, 4 miles from the new office, same neighborhood as my "sister gym." Then I saw it.
To say it was in bad shape is an understatement. There was still a Red Sox calendar and Patriots poster on the wall from the last tenants. The bathroom was pink. And that's only the tip of the iceberg.
So, okay, apartment not for me. So I drove to the next showing in downtown Salem. This apartment was FABULOUS. Brand spanking new building - just gutted and completely refabbed. Above a vegetarian restaurant and in the quiet section of downtown Salem. So, what's the drawback? Well, aside from the uber high price tag, the apartment just didn't seem me. It was sleek and shiny. But there was no room in the kitchen for storage, for extra soup cans, bags of rice, plates and coffee mugs. It was a kitchen for a person who eats an awful lot of takeout. And my bookshelves would look horribly old-fashioned in there, with their books that have actually been read and have the dogears and coffee stains to prove it. And to top it off, while I love Salem, I wouldn't exactly be in the midst of nature, living above a restaurant on a city square street.
So, driving home, I was in a bit of despair. Where - for that matter, when - would I find the right apartment? An apartment with character that was still clean and fresh. An apartment that let me adore nature and still curl up in a cozy, wuzzy nook and read or nap.
And then, staring at the moon and deciding I would let The Universe steer me right, my phone rang. There's an apartment in E. Gloucester, right off Niles Beach. 5 mins from the highway. Porch. Stained glass windows. I asked and the landlord said it was clean, repainted, refreshed. Now, I'm not taking her word for it, but it has potential. And, who knows, maybe it will be rented by the time I go look at it before the workshop on Saturday. But maybe, just maybe, it won't be.
I wish that everything was all settled and set and done. You know how I hate to be off kilter. But right now I guess I just have to trust that The Universe will help me discover who I am - and what I want.
Of course, here's the one drawback to not taking the Salem apartment. Real Estate guy who showed me around? MAJOR cute.
The Universe has given me the ultimate Clean Slate. New Job. Newly unattached. A chance to move to a new home. So, who will the new me be?
On Sunday, I went up to Gloucester and was amazed. Immediately came home and started dialing numbers listed in the For Rent pages. I started imagining apartments. Places where I could start a new future - places where my new life would take shape. What would this future look like? What was perfection for me?
One apartment sounded great. Two plus bedroom in an old Victorian, porch, quiet neighborhood, one block from the beach, around the corner from the train station, 4 miles from the new office, same neighborhood as my "sister gym." Then I saw it.
To say it was in bad shape is an understatement. There was still a Red Sox calendar and Patriots poster on the wall from the last tenants. The bathroom was pink. And that's only the tip of the iceberg.
So, okay, apartment not for me. So I drove to the next showing in downtown Salem. This apartment was FABULOUS. Brand spanking new building - just gutted and completely refabbed. Above a vegetarian restaurant and in the quiet section of downtown Salem. So, what's the drawback? Well, aside from the uber high price tag, the apartment just didn't seem me. It was sleek and shiny. But there was no room in the kitchen for storage, for extra soup cans, bags of rice, plates and coffee mugs. It was a kitchen for a person who eats an awful lot of takeout. And my bookshelves would look horribly old-fashioned in there, with their books that have actually been read and have the dogears and coffee stains to prove it. And to top it off, while I love Salem, I wouldn't exactly be in the midst of nature, living above a restaurant on a city square street.
So, driving home, I was in a bit of despair. Where - for that matter, when - would I find the right apartment? An apartment with character that was still clean and fresh. An apartment that let me adore nature and still curl up in a cozy, wuzzy nook and read or nap.
And then, staring at the moon and deciding I would let The Universe steer me right, my phone rang. There's an apartment in E. Gloucester, right off Niles Beach. 5 mins from the highway. Porch. Stained glass windows. I asked and the landlord said it was clean, repainted, refreshed. Now, I'm not taking her word for it, but it has potential. And, who knows, maybe it will be rented by the time I go look at it before the workshop on Saturday. But maybe, just maybe, it won't be.
I wish that everything was all settled and set and done. You know how I hate to be off kilter. But right now I guess I just have to trust that The Universe will help me discover who I am - and what I want.
Of course, here's the one drawback to not taking the Salem apartment. Real Estate guy who showed me around? MAJOR cute.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
The Power of the Leafy Greens
I went hiking up in Gloucester today. Partly to get out of the house on a beautiful Autumnal Equinox day. Partially to see what the North Shore neighborhoods had to offer. To perk up my mood (which was pretty bleak this a.m., truth be told) I wore my recent purchase from eatmorekale.com - a cheery Eat More Kale tee in seafoam green. Will be perfect for upcoming Mozz show....
Hiking makes me happy in ways that few other things do. The physical exertion, the scent of the trees, the occasional wildlife encounter. (Hello snake, my animal totem of old...) And it doesn't hurt if the trail you're following winds up at the top of a hill that overlooks Gloucester Harbor. Sun sparkling off ocean, lighthouse, white sails, treetops turning brilliant shades of red, yellow, orange...
Of course, the effort made me sweaty and hungry. So I picked up a local newspaper and stopped into a restaurant downtown for "big fuhd" and a peruse of the local Apartments for Rent ads.
I was deliberately trying not to notice the two gals that sat in a nearby booth that kept glancing over. Was I that messy from the hike? Did I have dirt smeared on my cheeks? What?!?
"I really like your shirt." Smile. "Where'd you get it?" (Is it me or did she do a flirtatious hair flip? No, it must be me.)
So, I told her and FriendGal and blahblahblah farmers' market blahblahblah yoga blahblahblah might know someone with an apartment opening up blahblahblah. Suffice to say, phone numbers were gathered.
So, blah blah blah, Girlfriend's still got game.
Hiking makes me happy in ways that few other things do. The physical exertion, the scent of the trees, the occasional wildlife encounter. (Hello snake, my animal totem of old...) And it doesn't hurt if the trail you're following winds up at the top of a hill that overlooks Gloucester Harbor. Sun sparkling off ocean, lighthouse, white sails, treetops turning brilliant shades of red, yellow, orange...
Of course, the effort made me sweaty and hungry. So I picked up a local newspaper and stopped into a restaurant downtown for "big fuhd" and a peruse of the local Apartments for Rent ads.
I was deliberately trying not to notice the two gals that sat in a nearby booth that kept glancing over. Was I that messy from the hike? Did I have dirt smeared on my cheeks? What?!?
"I really like your shirt." Smile. "Where'd you get it?" (Is it me or did she do a flirtatious hair flip? No, it must be me.)
So, I told her and FriendGal and blahblahblah farmers' market blahblahblah yoga blahblahblah might know someone with an apartment opening up blahblahblah. Suffice to say, phone numbers were gathered.
So, blah blah blah, Girlfriend's still got game.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Mabon
Mabon, (pronounced MAY-bun, MAY-bone, MAH-boon, or MAH-bawn) is the Autumn Equinox. The Autumn Equinox divides the day and night equally, and we all take a moment to pay our respects to the impending dark. We also give thanks to the waning sunlight, as we store our harvest of this year's crops.Mabon is considered a time of the Mysteries. It is a time to honor Aging Deities and the Spirit World. Considered a time of balance, it is when we stop and relax and enjoy the fruits of our personal harvests, whether they be from toiling in our gardens, working at our jobs, raising our families, or just coping with the hussle-bussle of everyday life. May your Mabon be memorable, and your hearts and spirits be filled to overflowing!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Why I Love Yoga
I've said it before and I'll say it again. I love yoga because it always always gives you exactly what you need.
Just got an email in from one of the many Yoga newsletters I'm on. This weekend is the celebration of International Peace Day, marked by the Global Mala project. And there's a studio near me that's hosting an event.
108 minutes of Sun Salutations to bring about peace. 4 rounds of 27 in this order:
Round One: Dedications for Personal Transformation and Realization.
Round Two: Dedications for Family, Friends and Precious Jewels
Round Three: Dedications for the World
Round Four: Dedications to the Source
Round Two: Dedications for Family, Friends and Precious Jewels
Round Three: Dedications for the World
Round Four: Dedications to the Source
Is this exactly what I needed or what?
Join in folks! You can practice in your living room, in your backyard, in your car. If you can't do a Sun Salutation, practice pranayama or just sit. It's for PEACE people.
Namaste.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Relationship 2.0
What I learned at therapy tonight:
If you do not learn from history, you are doomed to repeat it.
To this I say: DUH.
And yet, I obviously had to 1) live through it again 2) pay someone for 45 minutes of time to realize this.
Let's raise a glass in defense of V3.0.
If you do not learn from history, you are doomed to repeat it.
To this I say: DUH.
And yet, I obviously had to 1) live through it again 2) pay someone for 45 minutes of time to realize this.
Let's raise a glass in defense of V3.0.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Focus
At writing group last night, we had a High Fidelity moment - the three out of five of us who are suffering through/recovering from recent breakups made a list of top five breakup songs of all time. (I'm slightly embarrassed to say this conversation was brought on by my mention of the recent ticket purchase to the Morrissey show. Moz, how I love thee!)
So, in honor of Nick Hornby and John Cusack I give you ...
Good things that have happened to me in one week:
So, in honor of Nick Hornby and John Cusack I give you ...
Good things that have happened to me in one week:
- I got a new job
- Awesome yoga teacher is back teaching evenings
- I got to tell HR what I think of Napolean w/out fear
- I found out my gym has a "sister" gym exactly 3.6 miles from my new office. No joining fees!
- I don't have to go to FL for a tradeshow so I can go to the Eye of the Tiger class with Todd Norian and Ann Green
- I got a week's delay on my start date so I have a week to scratch my ass (or, more likely, hike and write)
- Morrissey tickets
- I've reconnected with some old and new friends - amazing people all
- I've lost five more pounds (ah, the grief diet)
- I signed up for NaNoWriMo (details forthcoming)
If you look for the good in things, you're sure to find it -- Pollyanna
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Doors. Windows.
Things in my life are moving at such a hectic pace.
My friend today told me, "I've never seen anyone more in tune with the energy of The Universe." I guess I kind of see what she means. Of course, I didn't actually want The Universe to make my boyfriend break up with me. But who am I to question divine wisdom?
I got the offer today. And it is truly an offer I can't refuse. OK, I could refuse it, but then I'd be dumber than a bag of hammers.
In so many ways it seems so perfect. A great job in a great location with great people. I mean, seriously, an olde manse on a hill in the middle of a forest? A house that's filled with spiralling staircases, wrought iron detailing, and a ghost? A chance to work with old and new friends (I already know two people that work there!). A reason to move to the North Shore - Salem, Gloucester, Manchester. Better pay (by a lot). Better benefits (by even more). And only one day's difference in vacation time. Not to even mention the chance to throw Napolean under the bus with my resignation letter....
So, what the...?
Well, what's really and truly making me sad in the midst of all this fabulous opportunity is this. I'm making this huge life decision without Mr. Zips by my side.
I know (IknowIknowIknowIknow) I've been feeling the Stage:Anger portion of grief for a bit now. It's a coping mechanism, a tool to help me move on, move past. But the reality is that I am still so damn sad. So damn heartbroken. So crushed.
And so I don't want to make this decision without him. Not that I have a choice. Not that I can call him up and tell him the news much less ask his opinion. But how sad it is that I have to.
Slacky said this to me today: "Well, I guess this is like they say, when a door closes a window opens."
I told him: Sometimes there's a part of you that really (really) wishes that you could leave that door open a tiny, little crack, just so the nightlight will shine through.
My friend today told me, "I've never seen anyone more in tune with the energy of The Universe." I guess I kind of see what she means. Of course, I didn't actually want The Universe to make my boyfriend break up with me. But who am I to question divine wisdom?
I got the offer today. And it is truly an offer I can't refuse. OK, I could refuse it, but then I'd be dumber than a bag of hammers.
In so many ways it seems so perfect. A great job in a great location with great people. I mean, seriously, an olde manse on a hill in the middle of a forest? A house that's filled with spiralling staircases, wrought iron detailing, and a ghost? A chance to work with old and new friends (I already know two people that work there!). A reason to move to the North Shore - Salem, Gloucester, Manchester. Better pay (by a lot). Better benefits (by even more). And only one day's difference in vacation time. Not to even mention the chance to throw Napolean under the bus with my resignation letter....
So, what the...?
Well, what's really and truly making me sad in the midst of all this fabulous opportunity is this. I'm making this huge life decision without Mr. Zips by my side.
I know (IknowIknowIknowIknow) I've been feeling the Stage:Anger portion of grief for a bit now. It's a coping mechanism, a tool to help me move on, move past. But the reality is that I am still so damn sad. So damn heartbroken. So crushed.
And so I don't want to make this decision without him. Not that I have a choice. Not that I can call him up and tell him the news much less ask his opinion. But how sad it is that I have to.
Slacky said this to me today: "Well, I guess this is like they say, when a door closes a window opens."
I told him: Sometimes there's a part of you that really (really) wishes that you could leave that door open a tiny, little crack, just so the nightlight will shine through.
Think Arthur, Think!
"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, "is to learn something. That's the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then - to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. "
-- T.H. White, The Once and Future King
-- T.H. White, The Once and Future King
Monday, September 17, 2007
I'm Being Born and I Am Dying
Met with my book group tonight for a screening of Orlando (book written by Virginia Woolf, movie starring Tilda Swinton). It was great. Except for the massive technical difficulties at first, the night went off famously. I'd forgotten how great that movie was - how perfectly Tilda embodies the character, the emotion of Orlando. And how friggin tongue-in-cheek perfect the scene w/ Billy Zane was, full of mist, dark horse, dark hair. Oh, yeah, and how completely ridiculous the ending is with that gold lame angel. Where the hell did that come from?
The first time I watched Orlando was at Colby, after we set several pieces in a longer dance work to songs from the soundtrack. The ending was set to "Coming" - a haunting piece that talks about life, death, rebirth. Or, more eloquently, "life is not a whatnot and its none of your goddamn business."
After tonight's movie, we all decided we'd had such a good time we should do this again next Monday. If men can have Monday night football, we can have MadFemmePride movie night. After we're even going to go for some beers. I laughed a lot - even though I barely know most of the people. And I found myself looking forward to next week.
Funny, to think that if this night had been scheduled two weeks ago, I probably wouldn't have gone. Would have needed to get home. Watch How I Met Your Mother. Figure out what to do for dinner. Be a dutiful wife, er, um, girlfriend. And I wonder - to the point of sobbing myself to sleep - why I have no friends in town.
I'm actually looking forward to next week. We're going to watch "Another Kind of Marriage," an account of Vita Sackville West's lover before she met Virginia Woolf. (What can I say, gals in the groups are obsessed with V.W.) And, for previews, we're going to screen an 18-minute stag film that one of the gals bought at an estate sale. I warned everyone: soon we're going to get labelled as "those crazy lesbos that watch porn in the Harvard Science Buildings." You know what? I don't care.
The first time I watched Orlando was at Colby, after we set several pieces in a longer dance work to songs from the soundtrack. The ending was set to "Coming" - a haunting piece that talks about life, death, rebirth. Or, more eloquently, "life is not a whatnot and its none of your goddamn business."
After tonight's movie, we all decided we'd had such a good time we should do this again next Monday. If men can have Monday night football, we can have MadFemmePride movie night. After we're even going to go for some beers. I laughed a lot - even though I barely know most of the people. And I found myself looking forward to next week.
Funny, to think that if this night had been scheduled two weeks ago, I probably wouldn't have gone. Would have needed to get home. Watch How I Met Your Mother. Figure out what to do for dinner. Be a dutiful wife, er, um, girlfriend. And I wonder - to the point of sobbing myself to sleep - why I have no friends in town.
I'm actually looking forward to next week. We're going to watch "Another Kind of Marriage," an account of Vita Sackville West's lover before she met Virginia Woolf. (What can I say, gals in the groups are obsessed with V.W.) And, for previews, we're going to screen an 18-minute stag film that one of the gals bought at an estate sale. I warned everyone: soon we're going to get labelled as "those crazy lesbos that watch porn in the Harvard Science Buildings." You know what? I don't care.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
The Hill
I think 24 hours in the Nation's Capital was enough. Not that I didn't have a great time. It was fabulous seeing BBB again - every three years just isn't enough. But the DC life just not a life I could ever envision myself leading. The bars, the networking, the ever buzzing city. It was a very distracting 24 hours.
I marched in my first ever peace march. Okay, not really. We were headed to touristville (the Smithsonions) and stumbled upon the Answer Peace March. I'm not a fan of Answser, but I am a fan of peace. Apparently (according to the locals) this was a small rally, but it looked pretty big to me. (Note: see how small it really was? Itty bitty living space...)
After the "march", we made it up to the field surrounding the Washington Monument and sat down in the sun. I talked some, got quiet some, BBB showed off his brilliance and wit. I got a sunburn. It was really, really nice. On the way back to his place, I stopped at a CVS. The woman behind the counter asked me how I was and, automatically, I replied, "I'm good." It was only later that I realized it was kind of true.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm still sad girl. Cried the moment I walked into the door at home. Even cried at the friggin laundromat. But, BBB has seen me come out the other side of messier things than this and reminded me, once again, how strong I am.
The night - surprise! - was filled with bourbon and discussion. We managed to find a quiet, out of the way table and talk ourselves into oblivion. As per usual. I haven't made any decisions yet - not that there are any explicitely to make - but I do feel hope. And, more than that, I remembered parts of myself that I'd forgotten were there. Things I'd repressed for so long because I'd gotten so fearful of being alone.
And getting off the plane at Logan, I remembered a similar arrival so many years ago now. Another arrival when I was greeted by a husband and felt myself deciding, then and there, that having someone always to greet me was not necessarily more important than "following my bliss." It seemed easier, back then, to say that my entire life was ahead of me, that I would rather be happy and alone than paired off and mostly content. Of course, I was seven years younger then and knew a lot less about the world.
Still, flying home, getting into my car, making it home to the kitties and the bathroom floors - which were NOT peed on! you go girls! - I felt myself taking back a little bit of a Kalesy who'd gone away for awhile. The one who's proud she went to a good school and, yes, used to be an "obnoxious college kid." The one who believes it's important to go to a peace rally even though she knows it will never change a single thing. The one who likes sitting on the patio at the bar, having cocktails until the sun goes down, talking about things that matter (the Iowa gay marriage case) and things that don't matter (that girl should NOT being wearing those pants).
I'm glad, so glad, I went. And I'm glad, so glad, and so very very grateful I have such amazing friends.
I marched in my first ever peace march. Okay, not really. We were headed to touristville (the Smithsonions) and stumbled upon the Answer Peace March. I'm not a fan of Answser, but I am a fan of peace. Apparently (according to the locals) this was a small rally, but it looked pretty big to me. (Note: see how small it really was? Itty bitty living space...)
After the "march", we made it up to the field surrounding the Washington Monument and sat down in the sun. I talked some, got quiet some, BBB showed off his brilliance and wit. I got a sunburn. It was really, really nice. On the way back to his place, I stopped at a CVS. The woman behind the counter asked me how I was and, automatically, I replied, "I'm good." It was only later that I realized it was kind of true.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm still sad girl. Cried the moment I walked into the door at home. Even cried at the friggin laundromat. But, BBB has seen me come out the other side of messier things than this and reminded me, once again, how strong I am.
The night - surprise! - was filled with bourbon and discussion. We managed to find a quiet, out of the way table and talk ourselves into oblivion. As per usual. I haven't made any decisions yet - not that there are any explicitely to make - but I do feel hope. And, more than that, I remembered parts of myself that I'd forgotten were there. Things I'd repressed for so long because I'd gotten so fearful of being alone.And getting off the plane at Logan, I remembered a similar arrival so many years ago now. Another arrival when I was greeted by a husband and felt myself deciding, then and there, that having someone always to greet me was not necessarily more important than "following my bliss." It seemed easier, back then, to say that my entire life was ahead of me, that I would rather be happy and alone than paired off and mostly content. Of course, I was seven years younger then and knew a lot less about the world.
Still, flying home, getting into my car, making it home to the kitties and the bathroom floors - which were NOT peed on! you go girls! - I felt myself taking back a little bit of a Kalesy who'd gone away for awhile. The one who's proud she went to a good school and, yes, used to be an "obnoxious college kid." The one who believes it's important to go to a peace rally even though she knows it will never change a single thing. The one who likes sitting on the patio at the bar, having cocktails until the sun goes down, talking about things that matter (the Iowa gay marriage case) and things that don't matter (that girl should NOT being wearing those pants).
I'm glad, so glad, I went. And I'm glad, so glad, and so very very grateful I have such amazing friends.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Sometimes People Are Nice
Today, Slacky McSlackyPants sent me this flower. Because, he said, he doesn't like seeing me sad. Even though he doesn't even know why I'm sad.Good guys do exist.
Period
Against conventional wisdom and my friends' good recommendations, I called Mr. Zips last night. And although you wouldn't know it to look at me this a.m., I do feel better for it.
Before I was maintaining some amount of anticipation. Now I just feel resignation.
I got a massive four hours of sleep on it and, although it still sucks out loud, I see a future ahead of me.
It helped that I woke up with my two girls nestled, side by side, into the curve of my belly. At least - at the very least - they love me.
Before I was maintaining some amount of anticipation. Now I just feel resignation.
I got a massive four hours of sleep on it and, although it still sucks out loud, I see a future ahead of me.
It helped that I woke up with my two girls nestled, side by side, into the curve of my belly. At least - at the very least - they love me.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Further Tales
This is going to be kind of a schizophrenic entry (and we know I don't use that word lightly). Not to mention long. But there's lots going on. You've been warned.
The big news is, the sun came up today. I didn't think it would. I don't know if I wanted it to or not. But up it came and it forced me to get out of bed, to face the world, to even drive into work. And I made it through the entire day. I couldn't stop crying - or more accurately, I couldn't stop myself from crying when crying wanted to come over me. Walking by the Domino's Pizza at lunch. Sending off files to FedEx Kinkos for printing. After spin class while I wiped down the bike. For someone who doesn't cry, I've been doing a whole lotta crying. But amazingly enough, I also managed to laugh and smile today. Not a lot, but it's a start.
I went to yoga last night. And, as is always (always!) the way with yoga, the class was exactly what I needed. The instructor was subbing for the regular teacher because he was celebrating Rosh Hashanah. Apparently in addition to the Jewish New Year, yesterday was the Ethiopian New Year - and it just happened to be the Ethiopian New Millenium. And so she started a medition on clearing away the old, that which does not serve, and making room for the new. That every moment, every breathe we take, we are new people. And there, in the middle of class - in the middle of downward facing dog - I started crying. Again. But this time they were really good, cleansing tears. And somehow, in the midst of all this pain and heartache, I felt somehow lighter, freer.
Now, I'm not saying that any of this has been easy. But I do think it's a chance for a new lease on life, to be cliche (yes, that's cliche, not clique, Napolean). Which is only highlighted by my whole Door. Window. Revelation.
It looks like I might get the job I'm up for. They called wondering about salary ranges and positions and the like. Nothing definite but I was told they were "putting things together." Hmmm. A chance to be in a truly creative job. A chance to work with people I like, admire, and respect. A chance to work and live on the North Shore, moments away from beaches and trees. You can see that this would clearly be a miserable decision.
Of course, all of this was temporarily forgotten when I got home tonight and found a check in the mail from Mr. Zips. I had asked him to mail me his half of the Maine trip cost. He mailed the whole thing. With no note. Nothing. Not even in the memo line. I didn't want the whole thing - we agreed to split it. Here's how this makes me feel:
I feel like he's used me for free room and board for months. And now that he doesn't need the extra money (since the wedding is over) he can kick me to the curb. I know this isn't a fair (or, likely, very accurate) assessment, but there it is. So, to make himself feel less guilty, he sends me the whole amount. Does this make him feel better? It doesn't make me feel better. I don't need your pity money. I don't care how guilty you feel. I offered love, caring and what (for me) amounted to commitment. $225 doesn't make that go away.
Of course I know that the whole relationship and breakup is far, far more complex than that. Oh what a tangled web. But, tonight, coming home from Day One of life in the world without Mr. Zips, that's how I feel. For better or worse.
But life must go on. So, today, I booked a weekend trip to DC. Many people know why going before would have been a questionable if not downright poor decision. But right now I need to get out of the apartment, I need to be told I'm loved, and I need to not feel guilty about doing a shot or 12 of Jamesons.
And one final note. Thank Heaven and all the Powers and Beings in it, for friends. They are wonderful. I would not be half as sane as I am right now, without them. I love you. All of you.
The big news is, the sun came up today. I didn't think it would. I don't know if I wanted it to or not. But up it came and it forced me to get out of bed, to face the world, to even drive into work. And I made it through the entire day. I couldn't stop crying - or more accurately, I couldn't stop myself from crying when crying wanted to come over me. Walking by the Domino's Pizza at lunch. Sending off files to FedEx Kinkos for printing. After spin class while I wiped down the bike. For someone who doesn't cry, I've been doing a whole lotta crying. But amazingly enough, I also managed to laugh and smile today. Not a lot, but it's a start.
I went to yoga last night. And, as is always (always!) the way with yoga, the class was exactly what I needed. The instructor was subbing for the regular teacher because he was celebrating Rosh Hashanah. Apparently in addition to the Jewish New Year, yesterday was the Ethiopian New Year - and it just happened to be the Ethiopian New Millenium. And so she started a medition on clearing away the old, that which does not serve, and making room for the new. That every moment, every breathe we take, we are new people. And there, in the middle of class - in the middle of downward facing dog - I started crying. Again. But this time they were really good, cleansing tears. And somehow, in the midst of all this pain and heartache, I felt somehow lighter, freer.
Now, I'm not saying that any of this has been easy. But I do think it's a chance for a new lease on life, to be cliche (yes, that's cliche, not clique, Napolean). Which is only highlighted by my whole Door. Window. Revelation.
It looks like I might get the job I'm up for. They called wondering about salary ranges and positions and the like. Nothing definite but I was told they were "putting things together." Hmmm. A chance to be in a truly creative job. A chance to work with people I like, admire, and respect. A chance to work and live on the North Shore, moments away from beaches and trees. You can see that this would clearly be a miserable decision.
Of course, all of this was temporarily forgotten when I got home tonight and found a check in the mail from Mr. Zips. I had asked him to mail me his half of the Maine trip cost. He mailed the whole thing. With no note. Nothing. Not even in the memo line. I didn't want the whole thing - we agreed to split it. Here's how this makes me feel:
I feel like he's used me for free room and board for months. And now that he doesn't need the extra money (since the wedding is over) he can kick me to the curb. I know this isn't a fair (or, likely, very accurate) assessment, but there it is. So, to make himself feel less guilty, he sends me the whole amount. Does this make him feel better? It doesn't make me feel better. I don't need your pity money. I don't care how guilty you feel. I offered love, caring and what (for me) amounted to commitment. $225 doesn't make that go away.
Of course I know that the whole relationship and breakup is far, far more complex than that. Oh what a tangled web. But, tonight, coming home from Day One of life in the world without Mr. Zips, that's how I feel. For better or worse.
But life must go on. So, today, I booked a weekend trip to DC. Many people know why going before would have been a questionable if not downright poor decision. But right now I need to get out of the apartment, I need to be told I'm loved, and I need to not feel guilty about doing a shot or 12 of Jamesons.
And one final note. Thank Heaven and all the Powers and Beings in it, for friends. They are wonderful. I would not be half as sane as I am right now, without them. I love you. All of you.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Misery
Ironically, enough, the title of the first movie I ever saw with my first boyfriend.
Question: Exactly how bad for your karma is suicide?
I ask it for purely rhetorical reasons of course. Mostly.
Question: Exactly how bad for your karma is suicide?
I ask it for purely rhetorical reasons of course. Mostly.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
I Am Sad
This post was going to be all about how - although I was having a tough case of The Reds (and if you don't know what that means you should watch Breakfast at Tiffany's), there was a bright spot in the lovely woman at Rebecca's Cafe who knew that I wanted a Veggie Soup To Go and cashed me out before I even waited in line. It was meant to be a meditation on my predictability, my need for days and moments to be planned.
Instead, it is this.
Mr. Zips and I broke up. For the last time.
Because even if either one of us tries to reconcile, I just don't think it's going to take.
The reality is this: I understand that being together doesn't mean mean being fused at the hip. And what he's finally realizing is that being together means two individuals - who aren't fused at the hip - living independently and living supportive lives.
Up until now he's felt we need to be fused at the hip. Since the Minneapolis wedding, he's felt that he needs to be his own person, take care of himself. What he doesn't seem to understand is that these aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.
Of course, if he were a decent human being, he would have mentioned this to me without having me to force the issue. Heck, he would have mentioned it before Minneapolis. But at the very leat he would have mentioned it before I, psychic though I am, picked up on it and had to hand him his razor and shampoo and tell him to leave.
The shithead in me wants to call Army Boy and BBB and arrange for some comfort duty. I won't. Yet.
I feel like shit. I hope that my job won't suspect too much when I inevitably call in sick from work tomorrow. Because I've been crying for hours and am days away from sleep.
I'm trying my yogini best to see the lesson that The Universe is offering me. But right now I just need more bourbon.
Instead, it is this.
Mr. Zips and I broke up. For the last time.
Because even if either one of us tries to reconcile, I just don't think it's going to take.
The reality is this: I understand that being together doesn't mean mean being fused at the hip. And what he's finally realizing is that being together means two individuals - who aren't fused at the hip - living independently and living supportive lives.
Up until now he's felt we need to be fused at the hip. Since the Minneapolis wedding, he's felt that he needs to be his own person, take care of himself. What he doesn't seem to understand is that these aren't necessarily mutually exclusive.
Of course, if he were a decent human being, he would have mentioned this to me without having me to force the issue. Heck, he would have mentioned it before Minneapolis. But at the very leat he would have mentioned it before I, psychic though I am, picked up on it and had to hand him his razor and shampoo and tell him to leave.
The shithead in me wants to call Army Boy and BBB and arrange for some comfort duty. I won't. Yet.
I feel like shit. I hope that my job won't suspect too much when I inevitably call in sick from work tomorrow. Because I've been crying for hours and am days away from sleep.
I'm trying my yogini best to see the lesson that The Universe is offering me. But right now I just need more bourbon.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
I Am Ridiculously Cute
It's been a bi-polar day. Some really amazing news (apparently the interview went much better than I thought) some really irratating news (two peeps leaving writing groups and being very mysterious as to reasons why. Woman who's story was reviewed this week (me!) is paranoid... )
So, it's been mood swings galore.
Still, I got home to this:
So, it's been mood swings galore.
Still, I got home to this:
Is she the epitome of adorableness or what? Just makes me so sad that I've had to leave her alone so much these past few weeks. Of course, she's let me know how angry she is - it's like missing the litter is an Olympic Sport and she's in training....
Good thing Momma loves her Kitty.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Am I Good Enough? Smart Enough? Do People Like Me?
I went on a job interview today - with a well-known and well-respected agency north of Boston. I have no idea how it went. When I interview - especially with so many smart and talented people, all the damn insecurities creep out. So, I wind up clamming up, getting nervous, and basically turning into Freakazoid. And then I get to my car and realize all the things I shoulda woulda said.
I was much more relaxed and had a much better meeting with the second person I met. Unfortunately, he's not the hiring manager. Still, he does influence the hiring manager, so there's that. Plus, I have two folks on the inside that I like and respect on this inside rooting for me.
Here's the thing - and I know this is premature. If I get this gig, my whole life would change. Goodbye leaving early to catch the yoga class w/ the awesome teacher. Goodbye being able to goof off a fair amount b/c there's no one in the office to tell. Of course, there's also the fact that it would allow my creativity to flourish, would pay better, wouldn't involve Napolean, and could even (theoretically) support a move to Salem or Gloucester.
So, I've got lots of thinking to do if - and that's a big IF - I land this gig...
In other news, I went to yoga tonight, to calm down, so to speak. Afterwards, I noticed a fellow student getting into a car with an Anusara bumper sticker. So we start chatting and it sounds like she's connected in with other local Anusarians. Instant kula! She gave me her email and I'm gonna send her a mail tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, finally some friends....
So with that, I'm gonna stop shoulding all over myself, Stuart Smalley.
I was much more relaxed and had a much better meeting with the second person I met. Unfortunately, he's not the hiring manager. Still, he does influence the hiring manager, so there's that. Plus, I have two folks on the inside that I like and respect on this inside rooting for me.
Here's the thing - and I know this is premature. If I get this gig, my whole life would change. Goodbye leaving early to catch the yoga class w/ the awesome teacher. Goodbye being able to goof off a fair amount b/c there's no one in the office to tell. Of course, there's also the fact that it would allow my creativity to flourish, would pay better, wouldn't involve Napolean, and could even (theoretically) support a move to Salem or Gloucester.
So, I've got lots of thinking to do if - and that's a big IF - I land this gig...
In other news, I went to yoga tonight, to calm down, so to speak. Afterwards, I noticed a fellow student getting into a car with an Anusara bumper sticker. So we start chatting and it sounds like she's connected in with other local Anusarians. Instant kula! She gave me her email and I'm gonna send her a mail tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, finally some friends....
So with that, I'm gonna stop shoulding all over myself, Stuart Smalley.
Monday, September 03, 2007
I Do
I'm back safe and sound from Mr. Zips' best friend's wedding. And, despite two hangovers, a complete lack of sleep, and lots of time spent hanging out in airport lounges, I'm mostly glad I went.
It was nice to spend time with Mr. Zip's friends and nice to see how the other half live. 'Cuz the bride's family? Yeah, filthy friggin rich. Hopefully Mr. Zips will post some of the piccies so I can load 'em up.
Because so many people were flying in from so far away, the happy couple had planned lots of things for everyone to do. Which was pleasant because it gave us a chance to meet lots of really cool, talented, creative people. But also gave us absolutely no downtown. Mr. Zips and I didn't get to explore the city at all - no sculpture garden, no Mississippi, no St. Paul and the new Japanese Zen Garden.
What surprised me most about the whole weekend was my complete and total sappy emotional reaction to it. The shindig made me almost want to get married again. Almost. I guess at heart I'm just a stinkin romantic and need to get myself to a 12-step meeting right away. Or, at the very least, stay far far away from weddings.
Anyway, I've got work in the a.m. and then a very exciting interview on Wednesday. (Keep your fingers crossed!) But I've been up since 8 (went to bed at 2 a.m.) and travelling all day. So, it's bed time for me.
It was nice to spend time with Mr. Zip's friends and nice to see how the other half live. 'Cuz the bride's family? Yeah, filthy friggin rich. Hopefully Mr. Zips will post some of the piccies so I can load 'em up.
Because so many people were flying in from so far away, the happy couple had planned lots of things for everyone to do. Which was pleasant because it gave us a chance to meet lots of really cool, talented, creative people. But also gave us absolutely no downtown. Mr. Zips and I didn't get to explore the city at all - no sculpture garden, no Mississippi, no St. Paul and the new Japanese Zen Garden.
What surprised me most about the whole weekend was my complete and total sappy emotional reaction to it. The shindig made me almost want to get married again. Almost. I guess at heart I'm just a stinkin romantic and need to get myself to a 12-step meeting right away. Or, at the very least, stay far far away from weddings.
Anyway, I've got work in the a.m. and then a very exciting interview on Wednesday. (Keep your fingers crossed!) But I've been up since 8 (went to bed at 2 a.m.) and travelling all day. So, it's bed time for me.
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