For My Fellow Bike Commuters

Dear Cyclist-Who-Thought-He-Almost-Got-Hit-By-A-Car-This-Morning:

That car had its turn signal on long before you approached the light, and the light turned green just as you approached his blind-spot. I know, I know - you were in the bike lane, which naturally means that all those mean-old cars have got to stop for you, even when you're not biking defensively* or paying attention to anything, which is why you yelled at him, I presume. God - that motorist was such an asshole. Except...wait...he didn't even honk at you!
*(See Collision Type #3)

I noticed that you had the decency to seem embarrassed when I yelled that you should pay attention, and that the guy had his turn signal on. I probably shouldn't have called you an idiot, though.


Dear People Who Got Tickets After Running The Red Light on Hampshire and Broadway:

I'm sorry. I totally empathize, because it's happened to me before, and half of you did check for cars, although you managed to somehow miss the bike cops (who were positioned in the middle of the bike lane)...but who am I to judge.

I do not, however, empathize with the guy who got exasperated with me for waiting at the red light and ran it even after I said, maybe with not enough conviction, that there were cops ahead. You, sir, definitely deserved that ticket. Perhaps, though, it was a little mean-spirited for me to shout "HAVE FUN WITH THAT" just before the cop held his hand up in your face and pulled you over.

But three cheers to the Cambridge Bike Cops. Thanks for finally starting to do your jobs (for the most part...well...it's a start).

I was reading stories about the bicyclist who was struck and killed by a trash truck in D.C. on Tuesday, and while wading through all the comments on the WP story about drivers vs. "asshole bicyclists", I saw this:

No, the stories about bikers who choose to run red lights aren’t irrelevant. Someone has placed a bike spray painted white at the intersection of Connecticut and R as a memorial to Ms. Swanson. This morning, as I sat in my car on R St. at a red light during rush hour, I watched as a young woman pulled up right next to the white bike. She appeared to be in her twenties, and was wearing a helmet. Having seen the aftermath of yesterday’s tragedy, I wondered if she knew what had happened just 24 hours earlier, at that very spot. Just as I pondered that thought, she glanced quickly in both directions, then rode across all six lanes of Connecticut, rather than wait the extra 30 seconds for the light. Yesterday’s horrible accident may have been entirely the truck driver’s fault, but bikers and drivers alike can do much to improve safety on our streets.

Let me tell you, lady, I will bet you money that this girl was perfectly aware of what had just happened in that intersection, was probably scared shitless to be on her bike at that moment, and used the "extra 30 seconds" to put herself ahead of traffic - which is actually a smart way to ensure you won't be wedged in by the cars waiting at the light with you - provided, of course, you check that all six lanes (omg, so many lanes) of traffic are clear before you go. I get a kick out of the philosophical pondering regarding this girl's safety, when the cyclist likely did make the decision, not out of haste to reach her destination, but out of a desire to not get taken over by a car.

I've gotten a citation for running a red light on my bike before. I admit, fully and freely, that I deserved it, but where are these damn cops when cars are parked in the bike lane? When people are riding their bikes on the sidewalks? Where's the city funding for cops who actually do their jobs? Since that citation, would I run a red light again? You betcha. Especially with the frequency that people use their turn signals out here. It's just safer, sometimes. It's sad that it takes stories like this to make me sit back and think about how recklessly I ride, but with every one I read I try to take a little bit of knowledge away, and hopefully will be more conscientious (and alive) for it.

By the way, the nicest thing a cop has ever done for me in my life, ever, was force a car to remove itself from the bike lane when he saw me coming up the road - I seriously wanted to make out with him for that.

P.S. - the "white bike" she was referring to was a ghost bike.

Seems like a fair price to me!

How much would you pay for the luxury to not give a crap about something?

Yesterday, at work, we were given the numbers for the bonuses we will be getting at the end of the week. We recently switched to a Performance Based Compensation plan that involves all kinds of ratings and algorithms and numbers. It's kind of cool, actually, since I tend to prefer numbers (because I went to MIT or why I went to MIT...the eternal question).

Yesterday, one of my coworkers came over and asked (aggressively? Am I projecting?) whether they had messed up one of my numbers, because they seemed to have messed with hers. In the previous round of bonuses, they had screwed up some input or another and instead of fixing it then, they promised it would be fixed in the future.

She stood over my shoulder and watched as I opened my spreadsheet (I had not checked it before she came over - the reality is that I forgot that this spreadsheet is downloaded as a one page PDF, and our bonuses are right there in a bright yellow box, which the eye is immediately drawn to on our great big 19" monitors). She saw my bonus, then pulled a printed copy of her own out of her pocket, opened it a sliver, and said, "Nope, they didn't screw yours up, just mine," and walked away.

Fortunately, paper is not opaque when it's lit from behind, or I wouldn't know that she made a whopping $300 more than me - the cost of not passing the LEED exam. She did not get paid more than me based on merit, or because she's more awesome or pretty or better than me in any other way than she studied her ass off, gave up her life for a while, and passed an exam. We've already been through how I felt about not passing, and how I spent all of seven hours studying, and I knew that my bonus would be the consequence. Were she actually a friend, she would have at the very least looked away when I opened that file, but because she doesn't care about other people, it's completely beyond her comprehension not to be an asshole (otherwise in an ideal world, she would have shown me hers, too, because I honestly don't mind sharing these things with friends (I should have seen the whole thing coming, since it was barreling at me like an freight train)). I've known this about her for a while; It's not her fault I'm so damn gullible.

So, against my will, I started justifying the whole thing in my head last night; not because I need anything to change, but because I needed to feel better about the fact that she is a jerk. I know for a fact that when I started, I was paid more than another one of our co-workers, presumably because I graduated from MIT and, even though it is from an accredited university and they have worked here for three years (one year longer than me), their degree is from a less prestigious school. More people may have heard of her school, but it's still not MIT - and she has one year less work experience. I wouldn't normally think about these things so much, because I'm perfectly content with what I make relative to the market these days, but she annoyed me yesterday, and so I started rationalizing that she should go ahead and be happy with that $300, because I'm 89% certain it's absorbed into my slightly higher paycheck. Plus, I can always pass the exam at the end of the summer, if I decide I want to waste two weeks of my free time. I know she only feels she has to make other people feel badly about themselves so she can soothe her non-existent self esteem. Knowing that doesn't make me want to punch her any less.

So. I suppose that $300 is the cost of not giving a shit around these parts. Reasonable?

Weekend Bike Fun

On Sunday, Aaron, J and I took the commuter rail out to Ipswich for some fried clams. I did not have fried clams, but I did try one, threw up in my mouth a little bit, and remembered why I generally stay away from seafood. We went to Woodman's in Essex, and I would go there again in a heartbeat for some more of those onion rings. Mmmm.



After eating our own weight in fried food, we zipped off to catch the 7:51 pm commuter rail back to Boston. Unfortunately, J blew a tire on the way, and had to stop to change it. Aaron rode back to help him after riding the rest of the way to the station with me, where I waited.



A half hour and the train went by and there was still no sign of the boys. I was reminded of how awful life was back in the '90s - when people had no cell phones.

That's right - on a highway bike ride out in the middle of Rural Anywhere, MA, I forgot my cell phone. All I could imagine was that one of them had been overtaken by a drunk or negligent driver, and the other was frantically calling my cell phone while they waited for the paramedics to arrive, blood everywhere. It became so unbearable that after about 40 minutes of waiting for what, in perfect circumstances, might have been a 20 minute tire change, I borrowed a local teenager's cell phone. Fortunately, no one had been run over or doored, but Aaron's tire had also gone flat. There was blood, but it was from mosquitoes and not from a mangled car accident.

Silly me.

We ended up watching the Celtics game at a bar while we waited for the 10:20 pm commuter rail, and polished off a bottle of wine in the process. While I wouldn't have actively chosen to be out as late as we were, and blown tires are never fun, it was actually a successful bike ride - and we will be taking the commuter rail out of the city more often.

The Other Boleyn Girl (i.e. the Stupid American Version of the Story)

This weekend J and I watched The Other Boleyn Girl. To get the awful taste out of our mouths, we also finally watched Gone Baby Gone. I recommend Gone Baby Gone if, like us, you are the last people on earth not to have seen it. But right now I have to gripe about the Other Boleyn Girl.

As someone obsessed very interested in Tudor England, I have read enough on the subject to know the basic plot-line. Especially regarding Henry VIII and his various wives. Yes, a lot of my "research" has been in the form of historical fiction, but I promise that I do my share of non-fiction reading as well.

The only [moderately] appropriately cast character was Scarlett Johansson. Natalie Portman is no Anne Boleyn, and the only thing Eric Bana has going for him as Henry VIII is his girth (comparing him to Jonathan Rhys Meyers, anyway). And going into it, I figured I would be bothered by the casting, but it turned out that the casting was the least of my concerns.

However, in the interest of time, I need to get off my chest the one thing that bothered me enough to warrant a blog post and ban further discussion of this crap in my house. I am referring to the scene where the Boleyn/Howard group is sitting down at the table, and someone mentions, in abject horror how their plot would mean that the king would break from the church. Oh My God! Break from the church?! Insert horrified face, here.

Jesus Christ. That's the whole POINT, isn't it? One of the political benefits of having a Boleyn on the throne was to reform the church, and they're not even portrayed as Reformists? Anne herself is known to have shared Reformist literature with the king. It's a good thing we don't have bricks in the house, because that's when one would have hit the TV.

The book took a lot of liberties that, while entertaining, were at least plausible - this movie didn't even attempt to pretend to know anything about anything - and what's more, they didn't even show any boobies, which is the only way I could convince J to watch this movie with me; we figured with Johansson and Portman, there'd be at least one far-fetched, stupidly inaccurate lesbian scene. I mean, I'm angry. We're talking exponentially worse than Everything is Illuminated, which at the very least stands on its own as a movie, and has a stellar cast.

Also, if I see another brown haired, dark eyed Spanish "beauty" playing Queen Katherine...I will be writing an angry letter to someone.

In other words, things are going well

Last night, J got me an air conditioner. He may as well have given me a ring.

This morning, I told him that I was thinking about getting table runners for the kitchen table instead of place mats. He looked at me and said, "okay."

Yes, there has been a period of adjustment, and yes, there have been a few incidents over some things like closet space and beds and my pile of clothes...but how can I not be totally head over heels for this guy?

We're slowly making it a home.

Photo a Day Challenge

This sounds like an incredible motivational tool to start using my fantastic Rebel XTi more often.

I am frequently frustrated with the quality of my photos, but it's almost as though I know exactly what I could have been doing right...only I didn't. The only way to improve is to take more photos, and I keep *almost* being "the person with the camera," but I'm not quite there yet (I am known as "the Polaroid girl," but that's another story).

There are a bunch of great shots I want around my new neighborhood, so I think I'm going to start there. It's J's "old" neighborhood, and I already have a few picked out from all those times I walked to his place. I think this is going to require a bit more thought, though.

Unprofessional, Like all the Kids These Days

I went to my orthodontist yesterday to get the "news" on my post-surgical braces status. Several things went wrong.

I am seeing a student at the Harvard School of Dental Medicine. I started going there as a patient in 2004 - when this whole orthodontic debacle began. Since 2004, I have had 4 different orthodontists. Well, three if you consider that I have only met this fourth one once, at an appointment with my previous guy.

I have always gotten lucky with the students I've been assigned, and I am still under the same faculty adviser, so regardless of the student, my broader treatment plan will stay the same.

Unfortunately, yesterday I had to see a student that was not my regular orthodontist. Nor was my faculty adviser there - none of the people who have met me before or are familiar with my case were there. Instead, I had to see a faculty member who is not familiar with surgical cases (not just mine! ANY!), and who hadn't even seen my chart before he met me (I don't think the student had, either, but that's just one of the many nuts on this sundae).

My original appointment was scheduled for last Friday, but it was canceled, presumably because "the clinic was closed," so my new guy called to re-schedule for this Wednesday.

Because I am so close to having these braces off, the plan was to get me in as soon as possible - I guess my next appointment couldn't be until late June, which is kind of when we want to start getting on this whole retainer business - and get me the fuck out of these godforsaken braces, so no appointment before then was kind of not an option in my book. I think he gets that.

What he evidently DOES NOT GET is that if I am not going to be seeing HIM or anyone else who has dealt with my case in ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM - maybe a PHONE CALL WOULD BE NICE.

We are no less than one hour into our acquaintance, and the words "Unprofessional" and "Asshole" have already crossed my mind multiple times.

Also, the guy I saw gave me a new upper wire, so my teeth are moving - PAINFULLY. They'd better be moving in the right direction, too, because at my next appointment this kid is already going to get a big damn lecture from me on professionalism and how I do not like him very much, yet.

Deer Island Bike Ride

J and I went for a bike ride today. It felt nice to be out, and it's not humid enough for riding in the middle of the day to be miserable. Here's the route we took:

That little loop between markers 22 and 28 is the little "detour" we took when we turned right instead of turning left. It was a nice detour - took us right through a Jewish cemetery, which was really beautiful. It was also a hilly detour, unfortunately. 30 miles or so in total.

Boycott Starbucks? Well, Now I Don't Want To.

Starbucks Logo Under Fire

According to the post, "A Christian group based in San Diego called The Resistance says the logo looks like a naked woman with her legs spread like a prostitute."

Well...thanks. Now it does.

How hypocritical funny is it that a group with higher moral standards than "the rest of us," is even capable of seeing something so profane in a harmless image? It speaks worlds to me about the inner workings of their minds. In response to the lewd picture on Starbucks' temporary new label, they are calling for a national boycott of all Starbucks.

Now, I do think that there are loads of other, more important reasons to boycott Starbucks, but I'm feeling oddly torn. While I do buy the occasional latte or coffee from Starbucks, I prefer to support local coffeehouses - and while it has more to do with personal preference than making a stand, I certainly feel a slight tingle of ethical superiority whenever I walk out of 1369. Sure, sometimes I walk out of Starbucks thinking about how reprehensible it is to support a "big corporation" instead of my little local house, but mostly I think about how much the caffeine is going to help me get through the rest of my miserable day (I usually only purchase on particularly bad days at work).

So if you'll excuse me, now, I'm going to go out and buy a venti caramel mochaccino, to show my support for real-sized whorish mermaids with half-exposed breasts.

Because I Heart Science, That's Why

Last night J and I were watching How It's Made, the one where they describe the process of making wheel loaders (Season 3 Episode 3).

Me: *starts laughing hysterically*
J: ...did that wheel loader just get bukkake tsunamied?
Me: *continues to laugh hysterically*

We both love learning about technology. Especially technology that ejaculates lubricant. It combines our love of science with our love of being twelve.

An Open Letter to the Woman Whose Day I Ruined

Dear Probably-Otherwise-Law-Abiding-Citizen who maybe recycles and, I'm guessing, totally loves puppies:

Today, when you made that right turn onto Highland while I was in the crosswalk, and I pointed at the walk sign after you hesitated, tried to keep going, then finally decided not to hit me with your SUV, you were in the wrong. I only say this to educate you because you felt the need to [incorrectly] educate me.

See, the lights at this street - as at many others - turn yellow, then red. The typical protocol for such an event would be to slow down, and then stop your car (or floor it to beat the yellow, yes, I know you do it. I do it, too). Yelling that you "can't see it," referring to my walk light...well, that was just ridiculous. See, I know you can't see my walk light, the one that's perpendicular to your line of vision? - that's why I rely on the traffic light - the red one - to let you know that, okay, you need to stop now. Not because there's a pedestrian in the crosswalk, which I happen to think is a perfectly valid reason to stop, but because stopping at a red light is the fucking LAW.

When you tried to justify your law-breaking reckless idiotic driving, I flipped you off because a)I almost got run over by your car while I had the legitimate, carefully thought out right-of-way - I was in the MIDDLE of the street when you turned, and b) shut the hell up, lady - if I wanted to hear about why you almost hit me, I'd have stopped in front of your car and asked.

I'm going to let bygones be bygones, though because you made me laugh - hysterically, actually. I absolutely loved your parting shot of, "Oh! Just....Just...GO BACK TO YOUR COUNTRY." Like the time the SUV driver called me a "Jew," and I wondered why he felt the need to guess at my ethnicity/religious preference to form an insult, I have to wonder how and why you think I wasn't born and raised here.

Probably because I wasn't driving an SUV like a Masshole.

But anyway, thanks for making me laugh. I know I shouldn't be really happy that I totally ruined your day, but...well, I am. Hope you don't mow down any pedestrians on your way home.

Love,
me

Two Months

Tuesday marks the two month "anniversary" of my surgery. Eight weeks will have gone by, and even though there's still numbness, even though I can't chew everything I'd like to - I like to think that the worst of it is behind me.

I've already said how little the cosmetic side of this surgery played into my decision, but today I took some progress shots (missed week 6 due to puffiness and week 7 due to blurry camera syndrome), and I am really happy with how much softer I look:

Here's a before shot for comparison:

My orthodontist told me I looked "younger" when he first saw me. Now, I think that's way harsh (just kidding), but he's right. I do look different, and probably for the best. The thing is, now you can see my braces even more than before - so next step is to get those bad boys off my teeth. Like, now.

A Day of Chairs

Since I'm moving out of my old apartment, I've started assessing my needs versus my wants in terms of...erm, shall we say, crap I own. Some of the crap is very very necessary - I need it to live. Things like my CD collection or my box of matches, or a rather large accumulation of pens.

J is, in contrast, a minimalist. He's coming into this apartment with what I consider the bare necessities (and believe me, he's going to act all aghast by how much stuff he has, you wait and see). Furniture. Clothes. A computer. The bare minimum.

Lately, mostly to avoid going through my matchbook collection, I've been complaining about my honking big leather office chair. It's comfortable, and at $30 second-hand, it gets the job done. Or it used to. This chair has served me well for over 4 years now, but the time came to finally get rid of it - partially because there's barely enough space for it in my room now, and the new space is going to be exponentially smaller. Mostly because I found this chair on sale at Target:

Today, I convinced J to go to a yard sale with me, and along with a muffin pan, for a grand total of $5, we picked up these:

So many chairs. So much awesome.

Bike New York Ride

J and I participated in the Five Boro Bike Tour this past weekend. The ride itself was exhilarating and very, very cool. We started at Battery Park, rode up through Manhattan, over to Astoria and Queens, down through Brooklyn, and finally out to Staten Island. We took the ferry back to Battery Park, and then we rode back to Brooklyn (although we walked a lot of the way once we got over the bridge).





The things we saw during this race...they will stay with me forever. Firstly, and most significantly, we saw someone get maced. While we were waiting in an enormously long queue to get into Central Park (made infinitely worse by the sidewalk jumpers. You know who you are. Each and every one of you is going straight to hell, I hope you know), some homeless guy started causing a ruckus. We didn't personally notice anything until he slammed his cane down onto a car and started screaming nonsense at one of the cyclists. A cop came out of nowhere and nonchalantly maced the guy in the face. I would have been screaming my lungs out, but the homeless guy just leaned over on a nearby railing - defeated. I don't have any social or political commentary about it, I just have never seen anything like this. Then some mentally disturbed and presumably homeless woman started screaming things about cops and homeless people, but it was impossible to tell whether her rage was directed at the homeless guy or the cop. Thankfully, we made it into Central Park unscathed, shortly after she started her screaming rant.

There were several accidents. Whenever there was a ramp and a turn, people would take the turns too quickly, and there were one or two of those. Honestly, I have never seen such blatant disregard for other cyclists, and I have a pretty rough commute (relatively, I mean). There was also a nearly fatal heart attack on the Queensboro bridge, but fortunately, the man made it. It was decently scary, and did not help to ease the anxiety I was already facing when going over two of the major bridges.

A lot of people have noted that this is a great ride to do. Once. Which is what the friend who recommended this ride told us, too.

That being said - in total, it was an amazing ride. Too many people, but riding through NYC (and vowing never to go to that dump again) without any cars was too good an opportunity to miss.

Too bad my jaw is a wreck two days later (my surgeon said I should be good to go as far as riding my bike went, but a little bit of research and a conversation with my OD has indicated that maybe 50 miles was a bit much before my 3 month post surgery mark...).

Rage is a four letter word

I am now five weeks (plus) post-op. To be honest, I thought that after about a month I would be a little bit happier. Things I am actually very happy about involve having the surgery itself out of the way, and knowing that because I was the "optimal" age, the recovery (and braces!) will be over sooner rather than later. Unfortunately it only gets me so far.

There has been a rage inside of me for the past week. Something indescribable and ugly. Something hideous and so unlike "me," it's hard to watch.

Things that may have contributed are the fact that J was gone for two weeks. He was gone, and he was working hard and he was stressed. He was stressed and I missed him tremendously by the second week, and it was not a good combination. I may have had some conflict with certain people in my life - things that normally I am capable of pushing beneath the surface and airing at therapy - things between me and someone I actually like. It left me tired and vulnerable, and I was incapable of dealing with other people in my life that I don't like, but can typically interact with using a modicum of friendliness. I'm puffy and swollen again, and I'm sick and tired of having a "broken" face; sick and tired of not being able to eat real food. I'm feeling better about the whole "I'm going to be beaten, gang-raped, or hit by a car" thing, but "better" is relative, obviously.

In short, I am feeling off. My roommate can sense that I've been off (even though she's been working a lot), and even if J is too stressed to notice all of it, we've discussed it. I haven't been able to call home in over a week because I just can't deal with it.

Is it the medication? The rage I've been feeling has been absolutely apoplectic, and it makes me remember my very second psychiatric evaluation when I was prescribed this medication. One of the side effects, my psychiatrist said, was blinding rage. He told me how one of his patients described how she suddenly found herself screaming at cars as they went by because they were making her angry. Because they were driving by. That's how I've been feeling this week - except I'm muttering angry things at people on the streets instead of screaming at cars. But I firmly believe that's next.

The troubling part is how I've been on this medication for a year now. How I haven't changed doses. How, while I missed a few pills while I was immediately post-op*, I haven't missed any in weeks. (*several doctors and nurses told me it was okay because the drug is slow release, and builds up in the system enough to skip one or two)

If it is my medication, I have a lot to think about. I was prescribed these meds specifically because I'm young and my depression is mild. The sexual side effects are rare, which was genuinely the biggest concern at the time, but a new medication would mean a new round of "adjustment," which is currently more daunting than facing another week of this.

I feel empty inside, and I want to feel whole again, like I have in the past three months. I've been riding it out for a week, and I'm coming up with nothing. My biggest problem in the past was believing that if I dug deeply enough, I would find the answers within - but that only made deeper wounds. This time I want to be stronger than that. I want to admit that I need help. Why is it so hard to be okay with that?

Tokyo Police Club @ Paradise Rock Club

So I did end up going to the Tokyo Police Club show, after all. I had to leave early because my jaw was hurting, my feet were sore, and I was exhausted (I would say I'm old, but I'm "recovering from surgery," people. Seriously). I was out of pain medication (and by that, I mean ibuprofen; all I'm taking these days), and the thought of dealing with jaw pain plus having to find a cab, plus being afraid of being mugged/stabbed/raped if I tried to walk home (I should talk to my therapist about this fear: it's very real and exaggerated and probably not entirely normal), I decided to leave in time to catch the T.

All of my issues aside, this concert was great, and I had a front row view standing between a really cute couple that had been dating for 2 years and five months, and a girl who kept giving me the death stare. I think she thought I was going to invade her space, so I went ahead and did, at least with my camera lens.

These guys never disappoint and the opening acts were also stupendously awesome. Meligrove Band opened with their rockin' Canadian sound - they were exactly the type of band I'd expect to open for TPC and their banter was amusing.

After Meligrove, I was completely blown away by Smoosh. Like everyone else there, I had previously heard their cover of Bloc Party's "This Modern Love," and when they played it, I was in heaven - but their entire set was amazing. These girls are incredibly talented and beautiful, and they drew me in from the first beat to the end of the last song. The drummer, Chloe, rocked out like she was part of that drum set, with a blue halo around her the whole time. Asya's voice was so beautiful, I think she replaced Karen O as the female vocalist I would give my left arm to be.

Then, Tokyo Police Club came out. Graham had his back to me the whole time, so I didn't get to watch him very much, but my view of the other three was pretty darn good:

Their new album, Elephant Shell, came out this week - and it is really good. Decidedly more polished than their original sound, but it definitely still has the raw feeling to it that made me fall in love with them. Plus, they're fucking adorable. And I want to have their babies.

Minutiae Mashup

Things that have happened this week that were probably blog-worthy, but I didn't blog about:

Sunday I rode my bike for the first time this season (to work...and then back home...seven hours later). There are so many muscles I use to ride my bike and, let me tell you, most of them aren't anywhere near my legs! Ouch. Riding has improved vastly since then - the two other times, I mean.

On Tuesday, I had dinner with my friend, Matt. Matt is going to Northeastern, he works at the Boston Globe, and he "freelances" at Tomb. In short, he is an interesting guy. He was supposed to go to a Tokyo Police Club show with me this week, but in an unsurprising display of stupidity I have him the wrong date (Tuesday), so we had dinner, instead. I heart Border Cafe.

Wednesday morning, there were cops outside of my windows. So, there is a set of condos that went up next door to us recently. They've been done with construction for about seven months now, and already the yuppie couple in the top unit has moved out. We assumed that this had something to do with some neighborhood gossip about the husband in one of the couples being wasted out of his mind at the end of our block one night. Another neighbor found him and walked him (more like dragged him) home. But three cop cars? Either both of those completely normal looking yuppie couples were crazy or the other couple moved out because of the crazy in the lower unit. There's also some Rock Band going on over there. I know. I've heard it. To further confuse us, my roommate attests to witnessing some naked peeing off the balcony, but that was the top unit - so see what I mean?

I decided to sell the tickets to that TPC show on Craigslist. Then I decided to go. Then I decided to sell only one ticket. This all worked out, but from point a to point b was kind of stressful and crazy. However, it all worked out - the end.

J has been out of town for essentially two weeks now. He flew to New Mexico last week on Tuesday morning (5AM - who drove him to the airport thank you very much?) then came back in on Friday night. We celebrated one of my friends' birthdays on Saturday, then he flew out to Arizona early on Sunday morning. I should be glad I got to see him on Saturday, but two weeks is a seriously long time. I might be complaining, but that would be unbecoming, so let's just say I'm stating...

...In the meantime, I have watched a lot of bad TV that he won't typically put up with and I have started "packing," which means that I have taken stuff out of places and am trying to decide whether or not to keep it. "Packing" looks a whole lot like "dumping out every single one of my drawers and then not cleaning up."

I should be better about updating this thing.

Apartment Hunting

Did you know that the average person will live in ten places over the course of their lifetime? I believe it - this new apartment will be my fifth, and three out of those five times I have had to deal with Craigslist. Craigslist and realtors.

I'm moving on June 1st. And so is J. We found the new place fairly quickly - with relatively low stress. And yeah, that freaked us the hell out, because we expected to have to jump through more hoops. To be honest, I've always been lucky enough when it comes to apartments, but not without hard work, and this time there was hard work, but it was concentrated, and we got it over with kind of quickly. I'm kind of sad to be moving, but I'm also so ready for the next stage in my life.

After seeing quite a few places that were really sub-par, J and I found a total hipster apartment with hardwood floors and a newly updated kitchen in one of the trendier, younger neighborhoods in Cambridge. The second bedroom is really small, but who cares?! We just need the one, anyway. The thing is, we walked away excited, but not sure. There were two places we could manage to live in out of six that we'd seen that day, but neither of us had that feeling in the bottom of our gut.

We ended up taking the apartment after deliberating for an entire night. We decided because we both felt that our previous apartments were miracles from heaven that we were probably putting them on a pedestal, and we were probably never going to have that feeling at our navels. Nowhere was going to be as cheap as either of our places and still have the same standard of living - but neither of us was willing to be "the roommate" that said "get out of here" to our roommates, and also, J was unwilling to live in the 'ville. Do you know how much of his life he owes me for making me move back to Cambridge? A lot.

We are going to make this place look so boss. I'm excited. About everything but the Cambridge thing.

Queen of Wishy-Washiness

I signed up for a screen printing class yesterday. It is one session, from 4-6PM on April 26th, and I am looking forward to it. At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to do it...$35 is cheap for a class, but couldn't I put that money towards a kit, instead, and learn how to do it myself? But then I considered how long I've been telling myself that I'm going to do that, with no results.

I've been thinking about actually listing stuff in my etsy store. I am the queen of no follow through. But then again, I did sign up for this class. So maybe I can trade in my title for "queen of procrastination," instead.