Wednesday, August 26, 2009

I'm in like

Phase 1: I meet a nice guy whilst out with Geno's friends.  (He's one of 'em.)  He's super nice, and I don't think much of it.  Afterwards, when analyzing his friends to his face, Geno confirms that he's way nice.

Phase 2: I go to a house party with Geno's friends.  He's there, still nice, and I find myself kind of excited to see him.  Throughout the evening, we don't bond extensively, but it becomes clear that he is abundantly considerate and fun-loving.  He dances much, without worry of any judgement.

Phase 3: I get home from said party and decide to allow myself a crush on him.  The terms include the idea that this won't amount to anything, I'll probably get to know him better and stop crushing for lack of stuff in common, but I'll fantasize like a teenager and allow myself this indulgence b/c it's been too long.

Phase 4: I wake up the next morning to a friend request from him on facebook.  So I tell myself I'll interpret this as reciprocal crushing (even though it's not likely) to enhance the quality of my own crushing.  Fun for fantasyland.

Phase 5: He makes funny comments on my facebook page and pays attention to me.  Could he ACTually be interested?  No, he's just nice, I'm sure.  But now I like him more, damnit.  He invites me out last-minute to a gig of a fellow friend-of-Geno's.

Phase 6: I go out to said gig, taking a wing (wo)man for cover, which helped my insecurities immensely.  Trying not to expect too much, I had an excellent time with all the peeps there, including my wing man, and shared some knowing glances with the crush.  Am I over-interpreting?

Phase 7: Wing man, crush, and I share a ride home.  It's amiable, light-hearted, and pleasant.  I'm sitting next to him, slightly touching, but not overdoing it.  We discuss Gilmore Girls.  He says he's a fan.  No really.  (Is he a real person?)  Another knowing glance is exchanged post-cab, and we go our separate ways.

Phase 8: I drive wing man home, then come home myself, thinking in a perfect world I'd have an email from him.  Guess what?  He totally sent me a message about the GILMORE GIRLS*.  After explaining the specifics of his fandom, he asked me to come out with the group more often and said flattering things.  Now that I think about it, there was no blatant romantic undertone, but it still made me feel all warm and goopy inside.

And the crush stands strong.  Thank goodness.

*I haven't discussed my Gilmore Girls fanaticism in depth (or at all?) on this blog, but know that it is deep and sincere.  I cried when the show ended, and I miss them as if they were my friends.  I take comfort in their companionship through watching the show, and despite the pathetic nature of that statement, there is nothing to be done.  I Love those characters and find solace in their nature when the rest of the world has run amok with my confidence in humanity.

Friday, August 21, 2009

TMI

You've been warned.  This post has puh-hersonal information in it.  But this keeps making me giggle, so I have to document my inside (my own head) joke.

Eons ago, my now adult cousin gave me a bookmark for Christmas.  He made it himself - it's knitted or crocheted or something, probably made it in class.  Anyway, it's made of pink and white yarn (the kind that fades back and forth) and looks like a squiggly, corkscrew-shaped worm with a long, slim tail (the bookmark part).  The fatter, corkscrew worm part is still kind of long, and it has those little crafty bug-eyes glued to the head.  Very cute.

I recently found this treasure, and have placed it in a book that's on my beside stand.  Every time I walk into my room, I see it there, next to by bed, alongside my book, out in the open.

Well, my nearest and dearest vibrator also happens to be pink and white, and the colors swirl up in the same candy-cane color stripe fashion.  So for the last several days, I give myself a little start when I walk into my room and think, "Uh-oh, I left it out.  What if Geno saw it?  He would be so uncomfortable!  Poor guy.  He probably wouldn't even say anything . . . ." then I realize that it's the bookmark.  All is well.  Heightened heart rate for nothing.

Heh heh.

And by the by, since I did actually increase my heart rate, does that count as exercise?

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

I'm getting better at the guitar

I'm not picking or anything, but I'm jumping to different chords faster than ever before, for me.  It's fun.  My latest two favorite songs to play are "Go Home" by BNL (peppy and catchy) and "Shame" by the Avett Brothers.  I've been listening to that one multiple times on the way to and from work this week.  Lyrics from memory, you ask?  You got it.  This is one of those songs that I thought was fair upon the first listen, but I'm enjoying the lines more and more as I give them each more thought.  Ah life, so many truisms.  

Ok, so I was wrong about
our reasons for us falling out
of love, I want to fall back in.
My life is different now, I swear
I know now what it means to care
about somebody other than myself.

I know those things I said to you,
they were untender and untrue
I'd like to see those things undo.
So if you could find it in your heart
to give a man a second start
I promise things won't end the same.

Shame.  Boatloads of shame.
Day after day, more of the same.
Blame.  Please lift it off.
Please take it off, please make it stop.

Ok, so I have read the mail
the stories people often tell
about us that we never knew.
But their existence will float away
just like every word they say
and we will hold hands as they fade.

Shame.  Boatloads of shame.
Day after day, more of the same.
Blame.  Please lift it off.
Please take it off, please make it stop.

(my favorite part here....)
I was so sure of everything
my love to you, so well received.
And I just strutted 'round your town
knowing I didn't let you down.
The truth be known, the truth be told,
my heart was always fairly cold
posing to be as warm as yours,
my way of getting in your world.
But now I'm out and I've had time 
to look around and think 
and see into another world
that's filled with guilt and overwhelming

Shame.  Boatloads of shame.
Day after day, more of the same.
Blame.  Please lift it off. 
Please take it off, please make it stop.

And everyone, they have a heart.
And when they break and fall apart,
they need somebody's helping hand.
I used to say, just let 'em fall.
It wouldn't bother me at all.
I couldn't help them, now I can.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Conflicting Experiences

Last night I went to dinner with friends.  It was absolutely lovely and charming.  I met their little girl for the first time, and she took to me immediately, which felt fantastic.  (Doesn't always happen with her, and doesn't always happen with little kids and me.)  Anyway, it seemed good times were had by all.  And after the visit, I walked around Millennium Park for a while.  It was a warm night, and Lots of people were out and about.  Many families.  The two big screen sculptures with the fountains around them were crowded, and little children ran around in their bathing suits and wet clothes.  It was SO charming.  They were giggling, chasing, splashing, and all had Huge smiles on their faces.  It was a completely wholesome scene, and I caught myself smiling many times, just being around it.

Then this morning.  *sigh*  I woke up at 5 to go to the bathroom.  I decided to check my email, so I sat at the dining room table, facing out to the street, one room removed.  We have one of our front windows open (with screen) to get a breeze through the house.  With no warning, I heard three extreme, desperate, male screams.  One right after the other, less than a second between them.  It completely scared me.  First, because the tone of them was so intense and desperate.  Second, because we don't have curtains.  The glass in the tops of the windows is so pretty that we didn't want them.  And with the dining room light on, anyone outside could see me sitting there, paying attention.  In short, I was freaked.

I rushed to my brother's room and woke him up.  There were no follow-up noises.  But because the scream was so, again, extreme, I decided to call the police.  As I walked back out to make the call, a car turned on and pulled away from across the street.  More freaked.

Here are the scenarios in my head:
1. Someone was murdered.  This is the least likely scenario, but the easiest to jump to when one is paranoid.  The killing happened with a blade or blunt object, as no gunshots were heard.  If they'd had a silencer, I don't think the screams would have happened.  But I see no bodies outside, so they must have taken it with them.  (Now I'm also thinking that there could still be someone outside, and they're watching me through the windows, and I'm next.....)
2. Someone mentally ill was outside.  They make loud, painfully inappropriate noises at inopportune times, and I misinterpreted the intensity of their intentions.
3. Some drunk IDIOT made these noises.  But it really wasn't a drunk-sounding thing.  It was so strong and it sounded like there was a great deal of out-of-control emotion behind it.
4. (Maybe the most likely scenario)... someone had an absolutely horrid night.  He got dumped at five in the morning, or someone close to him died, and he had to leave wherever he was.  So he walked out to his car, and took a moment to scream and let out some of the anger, tension, etc. before getting behind the wheel.

But really, I've never been this physically, mentally, and immediately scared.  I called the police (3-1-1), and they transferred me to 9-1-1, which apparently they're required to do when screams are heard.  I told them what happened and gave them my contact information.  As I typed here, I saw a police SUV drive by, back, up, and drive by again.  So clearly nothing shady can be seen from the street.  A relief, to an extent.  

It's now six a.m.  In about a half hour, I have to take my car in to the shop.  This means I'll be freaked and paranoid as I walk out to my car, and as I'm sitting before I drive away, and especially in the 45 seconds my car won't start.  (Why I'm going to the shop.)  Then I'm taking public transportation home, so that'll be a paranoid walk as well from the bus stop.  

So we're going with the somebody-got-dumped theory.  That MUST be my focus when this comes to mind, or I'll lose years from stress.  I'm kind of mourning my warm and cuddly feeling about Chicago from last night.  And wondering (a) if this noise would have woken me from a sound sleep (maybe not with the window air conditioning unit in my room), and (b) if groggy me would have gotten up to call the police.  Don't know.

It's getting light out.  I'm tense, but my heartbeat is returning to a normal pace.  How on EARTH do people live day to day in the middle east with suicide bombers making regular appearances and people being killed on the street with such regularity?!

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Electrician Extraordinare!

I successfully hooked my stereo up to the television, so we have decent sound for when I watch the Gilmore Girls.  (Priority.)  However, the ole' cd player just isn't working the same way.

So I took apart the stereo.  I used two different screwdrivers and most of my brain tools and dug around its insides.  I scooped out a bunch of goop with q-tips, which I now think was some kind of lubricant for all of the wheels and whatnot inside there.  It only took me 20 minutes to discover the tiny, oddly placed, thin, black flap that covers the cd reader, so I could q-tip it and blow on on it for a while.  Very scientific stuff.  

So after working my magic for a while, the thing played almost one whole song on one cd.  Not the first song.  The seventh.  

Magic!

AND, on top of all that impressive activity, I managed to put the whole thing back together, just the way it was.  Amazing.

Friday, August 07, 2009

It's not for nothing, you know

When a two-year-old throws herself to the floor, writhing and yelling incomprehensibly, wholly inconsolable, we pity her.  She is tired.  Frustrated.  And she lacks the skills and experience that would allow her to either control her frustrations or vocalize them more appropriately.  She is acting like a child because that is all she knows how to do.
 
But let's not write off her behaviour as simply childish just yet.
 
Doesn't that sound like it would be satisfying?  When you're in a piss-poor mood, and you're expected to buck up and tackle some really challenging obstacles, aren't you at all tempted to just throw a tantrum?  I don't even want to complain to anyone.  Nobody else has to be there.  I just want to fling my body to the ground, flop around in protest of my responsibilities, whine, grunt, stretch, and then get up and move on.  It sounds cathartic to me.  Making my personal space my own little punching bag.
 
Of course, that might be frowned upon in the work place.