Wierd Dream Week

For some reason my dreams have been much more vivid (and strange) this week, so here's another one for the vault:

I was lying in bed, which I tend to do after J leaves for work, because both of us would wake up a little later when he was in school, and damn if I'm going to break that habit just because his commute changed.

His iPhone rang, and I wasn't sure if it was an alarm or a text message, so I picked it up, and it started freaking out on me and suddenly I was in his google reader. I saw that there was porn in his reader (do porn sites have rss feeds?), and not just a little bit of porn. We're talking massive amounts of porn. I just kept scrolling down because I couldn't help myself. And I kept seeing more and more porn.

This one I knew was a dream, but let's face it - a little too close to reality for comfort, brain (I was in my bed, with my own covers, sheets, bedroom - every detail exactly as it would be in life). I'm a realist, and I know porn exists. I even know my boyfriend looks at porn, although I have no idea when or how often (and I like it that way. Even though technically I don't disapprove of looking at porn, it's not something you want to walk in on your S.O. doing). But on his iPhone?! That's the part that was gross.

Did You See My Pajamas? That's Because I LIVE HERE.

One of the perils of city living is that I occasionally frequently have to kick people off of our stoop. Usually it's some drunk or drugged up homeless person who is yelling at passersby or has passed out on our stoop so suddenly that they bang the doorway on their way down. Part of me has intense yuppie guilt about asking them to move it, then telling them to move it, then telling them that I'm phoning the police. The majority of my other parts have a short fuse, though, and would like to be able to step onto our threshold without also having to step on a vagrant person, so I end up calling the police about 70% of the time (I call often enough that I am heeded from time to time by the regulars). Occasionally, though, it's not a homeless person. Sometimes it's people in business suits. Or small families with noisy children. And for some stupid reason, it takes me longer to deal with them than it takes me to deal with the homeless people.

Tonight, as I was sitting at my desk trying to think of a good blog entry, I was debating whether or not to ask a woman who was having a cell phone conversation on our stoop to move it along.

Tonight, I finally reasoned that I kick bums off my stoop without a second thought, so why not someone who is clearly on the phone with work or their family, who might be on their way to a nice dinner, or a warm home? They have equally no right to loiter on the property I rent and bother me. Maybe there are quiet persons chilling out there more often than I know, and to them I say chill away - I only use my door a handful of times during the day, anyway, so rock on, because you're not bothering me at all.

This woman, however, was bothering me. So why was I sitting at my desk trying to enjoy a glass of wine instead of kicking her off my stoop so I could actually enjoy it? She was breaking both of the rules I use to determine whether to call the freakin' cops about the homeless people (being noisy and being relentless about being noisy), so why on earth wasn't I telling her to leave?

And now I segue to honestly ask: what the hell is wrong with people? I don't go and stand on her front porch and have loud, chatty conversations. There is nothing really so different about an urban stoop. I don't know how to describe why it's not okay to people not in this situation, except to tell you that it's private property (and that there are noise ordinances). I get that for some inane reason it probably seems okay to you, to stand "innocently" on my stoop and talk loudly (I'm sorry, at your natural volume? Really?), I really do. However, as a first floor urban apartment dweller I am here to tell you, world - it is not okay. It is not okay for you to be on someone else's stoop doing anything. Ever. Especially if you're doing it loudly!

In the end, I didn't even kick her off my stoop because she was that annoying - I did it because of the principle of the matter. These poor homeless people have nowhere to go, but they drive me bonkers, so I ask the police to help me deal with them. This woman was wearing her "I'm an entitled cunt" business suit and having a chatty cell phone conversation on my front porch even though the weather outside is beautiful (i.e. no rain or snow she was taking shelter from). Let's take a moment to reflect on that. Poor homeless person. Noisy entitled asshole.

The only question I still have for myself is why did it take me so long to open my door and stare at her with a deadpan face, holding a glass of wine in my pajamas, until she got the hint?

The Naked Dream

I had that dream last night, the one where you're naked in impossibly uncomfortable situations.

I was shopping at a Payless with my mother, sister and grandmother, and for some reason didn't have clothing on most of the time (at one point, I put my ipod into my pocket, so why I couldn't keep that skirt on the entire time is beyond me). I was actually fine with it (I've been working out, lately), until I noticed someone from my former job was there, also. As it sunk in, and I started panicking and feeling very self conscious, I noticed large pockets of people from my former job milling around, for some reason taking a tour of the building (why a typical modern Payless in El Paso would be architecturally significant to a firm in Boston is beyond me).

I jumped behind a clothing rack, fully expecting to be able to throw a dress over myself and have them ring it up as I walked out, but in between me and the women's clothing section was a group of people my age being dominated by someone I particularly dislike, and she was coming my way, talking loudly about herself, as usual. I pretended to be casually browsing the toddler's clothing in my birthday suit while she kept creeping up around the corner, and I was willing myself to become invisible or sink into the floor, somehow.

Fortunately, this is when my alarm clock rescued me.

Maybe on a related note, I start my first class at MassArt tonight.

Global Warming

I thought this video presented something Really Important in a way that is both visually stunning and easy to swallow. I made a mental note to add even more energy saving measures to our list after this.




I just hope the message gets through to more people, and that instead of dismissing it as a myth, or crazy liberal bunk, they get on board with simple, everyday changes that can make a difference to the future of our planet.

It's really not that hard, and it doesn't even have to be more expensive, to stop supporting companies that don't do anything to change the current situation. Believe me, there's a lot more that J and I could do, but just think of what we as a city, a country, a planet, could do if every household simply reduced their waste, and stopped to think about their environmental impact every time they purchased something, or drove somewhere, or shopped for things. It would just be a start, but what a great start it would be.

P.S. The song, Treeology by Shady Bard (myspace), was also featured in an episode of Grey's Anatomy this season (as well as two other songs in other episodes), which is why it might sound familiar.

Sore Throat

I have had a persistent sore throat for exactly two weeks, now. I can barely remember a time when I didn't have a sore throat. I had my throat swabbed, and an initial swab test didn't indicate strep, but the lab results haven't come back, yet.

This is seriously hampering my ability to a) be a nice person and b) get shit done.

It may or may not have been swine flu. That's definitely what I told everyone at Josh and Chana's wedding I had. Heh.

For now, MedlinePlus recommends the following:

drinking warm liquids like honey or lemon tea.
Gargling several times a day with warm salt water (1/2 tsp salt in 1 cup water)
Cold liquids and popsicles (yey, popsicles!)
Sucking on hard candies or lozenges
Using a cold mist humidifier
Over the counter pain medication (I use Ibuprofen)

I suppose this is all I can do for now...Hopefully settling back at home will help, since I've been traveling quite a bit these past two weeks.

Also, apologies if I gave anyone the swine flu (kidding).

(I'm not really sorry).

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

Why has your stomping gotten worse?! For all the complaining I do on the Internet, I am wholly certain you have no idea that this blog exists, much less that I'm your irritated downstairs neighbor, and therefore your elephantine stomping can't possibly be retaliatory.

The only explanation I can venture is that you went away on spring break (which was sweet heavenly silence, you should go out of town more often. Like, permanently), where you spent the week eating cheeseburgers and small children.

And now you're eating trails of Cheetos that have been laid across your apartment (J's contribution to the theory) for exercise, since you clearly weigh 350 lbs, but I have to say - you would benefit more from a stationary bike, and so would my sanity.

Signed,
Please Sweet Jesus do not renew your lease.

“Not a bear in sight. The Bear Patrol is working like a charm!”

I found this article today concerning the overwhelming number of pedestrian deaths in LA: http://www.citywatchla.com/content/view/2148/

I wish I could say I thought there was a solution, but as long as people rely so heavily on their cars to transport them from place to place, this is going to be a problem. I can't count the number of times on my hands that I have nearly been hit by cars while I'm in the middle of a crosswalk, and once I nearly struck a kid while I was in my car because he darted into the street unexpectedly - in a crosswalk. For that reason alone, I can't blame the drivers any more than the authorities can, but at least I wasn't eating a sandwich when I nearly hit the kid

Long story...somewhat shorter: Some woman once came so close to hitting me that she actually tapped my leg with her bumper while I was coming home from the supermarket, just a block away from my house - in the home stretch if you will. It wasn't until long after she'd sped away, screaming at me to go fuck myself that I realized how close I had come to being sprawled out in the intersection, a bloody mess, with the eggs I'd so carefully packed smashed all over the pavement. The woman who blamed me for being in the street while I had the walk signal? She had been eating a fucking sandwich when she shit her pants realizing there was someone in the crosswalk. I didn't even have an opportunity to respond, I just stood on the street corner, jaw slack, eyes wide, while it sunk in what had just happened. For all the care I had taken to look both ways twice, she probably wouldn't have been held accountable, anyway - it was a sandwich, but it could have just as easily been a cell phone or a noisy child in the backseat, or she could have been rummaging for a CD. It still would have been my fault for being in the street; just as much consolation to a dead pedestrian than an injured one. If that's not a WTF realization, I don't know what is.

Let's please keep in perspective that this is in Cambridge, of all places - one of America's most walkable cities, not that traffic cesspit we call Los Angeles. To make matters worse, they seem to have been channeling Homer Simpson to come up with a solution. FTA:

Meanwhile, traffic engineers argue for the removal of crosswalks in Los Angeles, pointing to a study performed several decades ago in San Diego that indicates that less traffic fatalities occur without a crosswalk than with a crosswalk.

“By your logic, I could claim that this rock keeps tigers away.”
“Hmm; how does it work?”
“It doesn’t work; it’s just a stupid rock!”
“Uh-huh.”
“... but I don’t see any tigers around, do you?”
“Lisa, I want to buy your rock...”

Bishop Allen Tickets Procured Today

Number 24 off the list!

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP

You know, I thought it had been a little too quiet the past week. A little too calm, a bit too relaxing...our upstairs neighbors were definitely on spring break.

And now they're back.

Goody.

Black Bear lyrics - Black Bear

Black Bear on MySpace

I couldn't find the [correct] lyrics to this song anywhere online, so I decided to post them here. This album is pretty amazing, circa 2006, and the only reason I'm posting this now is because I'm making a B hearts J playlist and this song, black bear, reminds me strongly of him. I had to transpose them, anyway, because I have OCD when it comes to song lyrics, so here they are for the Interweb:

In the woods in the mountains
Is a good place to begin
A song about a black bear
Living in his black bear den
Doing all the black bear things
A black bear just might do
I hope in my next lifetime
I can be a black bear, too

And here comes black bear now
Crashing through the brush
Unfazed by thorns of branches
That would hurt me to the touch
In pursuit of some small animal
The food chain is a truth
And the bear has the advantage
Of the massive claw and tooth
But he'll also stop for berries
Or honey from the bees
Or nuts that he can shake down
From the canopy of trees
And afterwards he'll have his choice
From any stream to drink
While I fill up another cup from my old kitchen sink
And if he wants he'll have a nap
And dream his black bear dreams
That I could only dream of
Like I dream to drink from streams
And as he sleeps he hears the breeze
and knows that he is safe
While I'm sleeping with the fan on
To drown out my lack of faith
The simplicity of solitude is a hard thing to perfect
Stealing happiness from loneliness is not a simple theft
But the black bear has it figured out
And gets what he deserves
And the fur that he is wearing is the fur that he prefers

And when he stared across the river
Into my eyes
It made me shiver
And I knew that it was lovely
To have a black bear thinking of me
And when he thinks he is thoughtful
And when he rests he is restful
And when he runs he runs the fastest
And spins the earth right on its axis

And that's his gift to all
Showing us the sun
Keeping time for everyone
A steady beating drum
And in all the dirt he bounds upon
He'd leave his heavy track
That is deep when he is young and blue
But deepest when he's black
Because color for the black bear
Is a synonym for age
If I were one then I'd be in my cinnamon phase
Instead I am of 22 and the decades weigh a ton
This new century's essentially a bullet from the gun
It takes coffee, pot, they cost a lot, just to stay abreast
But the coffee hits my sense of loss and makes a nervous wreck
The simplicity of solitude is a hard thing to perfect
Stealing happiness from loneliness is not a simple theft
But the black bear has it figured out
And gets what he deserves
And the fur that he is wearing is the fur that he prefers

And when he stared across the river
Into my eyes
It made me shiver
And I knew that it was lovely
To have a black bear thinking of me
And when he thinks he is thoughtful
And when he rests he is restful
And when he runs he runs the fastest
And spins the earth right on its axis

You can hear it on his myspace page, along with a few other pretty amazing songs. He says this album was deeply personal, and that shines through in the brilliance of his lyrics and the folksy rhythm of his guitar.

Yeah, this song is totally J personified.

Spring Cure 2009

I'm participating in Apartment Therapy's Spring Cure for a second, hopefully more successful time.

Our apartment has been lived in for over eight months, and some things have just now started to come together, like our kitchen and my workspace, and if we're going to be here another year, I don't mind pouring more of myself into this place to make it feel like home, even if I'm not in the position to pour more money into it at the time.

The living room probably needs the least amount of work. It's where we keep our bikes, the couch and the TV, and our record player. J's workstation takes up one of the front window bays, and because our front door opens into the center of the living room, there isn't a lot to do in terms of rearranging. I think the coffee table could use a makeover, and if we ever found a new console that didn't break the bank, but still fit in the small space we have leftover, I'd snap it up in a heartbeat.

Plans for the living room: coffee table makeover, hang the ikea pendant light over J's desk, sew throw pillows using orange Marimekko fabric. Block windows using contact paper; take down blinds.

We moved my desk into the kitchen, which has been freeing and has relieved the aggravation of listening to the neighbors slam the door and do their laundry at the back of the house at all hours during the day. We hung a ledge over my desk where I'm displaying my camera collection, and I hung a rail above my computer to hold my colored pencils and inks. The second rail went above the stove, holding our measuring cups and a bag of onions, right now. I found an Orla Kiley stoneware canister, which now holds our coffee, and a gorgeous blue peppermill from Anthropologie, which could very well be the centerpiece of the whole kitchen, I'm that in love. The kitchen still needs a lot of work, though.

Plans for the kitchen: One more trip to IKEA to buy a spice rack for our grundtal rail, maybe buy a grundtal shelf, buy more hooks. Move asker pot to my desk, maybe use it for a potted plant. Hang "Now Panic and Freak Out" print somewhere near workspace or kitchen table. Finish block printing napkins, embroider rest. Sew curtains for kitchen window. Find new drawer pulls for desk.

That's all for now, I guess. The bedroom still needs a ton of work, and I could probably refinish that chest of drawers we pulled in from the street. I'm going to be pulling inspiration photos this week, and planning my attack. The goal is not to spend any money, with the exception of completing the grundtal solution and buying thread to sew my curtains and pillowcases.

You're on, Spring Cure 2009.

from postsecret.blogspot.com

I know I shouldn't even go here, because of all the topics that I least like to discuss, religion is in the top three, but comments like this really irk the hell out of me. So then your faith wasn't all that strong, post card person. You can't actually hate Bill Maher, because if you believed strongly enough, Bill Maher would just be another idiot in the masses whose faith was misguided and wrong. I think you hate yourself for being so weak. If you need other people to reinforce your beliefs? You're a sheep, which is probably appropriate given that you want to join the fold and all that. But I wish that, instead, this post card read "I hate myself for letting this guy confuse me about my faith when I was just starting to find it again." I'm pretty good at the self-loathing, post card person. I can teach you if you need a lesson or two on personal responsibility self blame.


Find religion, post card person, have faith. But stop blaming Bill Maher when it eludes you. It's not his fault you're confused.

I read post secret to feel connected with people, and that's what it did in it's inception, but these days I feel like it's just a bunch of people griping about asinine things, using bad grammar and being incapable of figuring out the difference between they're and their, and your and you're, while being homophobes.

Half Blood Prince Featurette

Something to tide us over until July 17th - which cannot come soon enough!

Crash Course in Cooking

So, I have been cooking more, lately - in fact we haven't spent any money on food since last Saturday when we went grocery shopping, and even after I used most of our food, I managed to squeeze some veggies and bulk potatoes into a soup!

It's overwhelming to throw down $100+ at the supermarket. It feels like quite a bit of money, and it kind of makes me want to cry sometimes, but we do everything we can to keep the costs low, and while we do treat ourselves every now and again (we don't scrimp on olive oil, for instance, or certain spices), we use coupons, buy store brands, and take advantage of sales.

I made myself kind of sad with the photography. Food photography is tough to begin with, but our apartment has such shitty lighting, and I occasionally get a good shot,







But mostly, I get shaky shots, or shots of pork tenderloin looking undercooked.

And then nights like last night, when I had a stressful day and have been eating cheese since 10AM, we make a 1/3 cup of lentils, have some hummus and call it a night. No, it's not gourmet cooking, but it's better than our usual standby of Taco Bell or Aram's Pizza.

So documenting hasn't improved my cooking, but cooking has improved my cooking, if that makes any sense.

The only recipe to emerge from this month was the Rosemary Chicken (first picture of the three shown above). It's delicious, it's baked, and it's got sweet potatoes and leeks, so the vegetables are right in there with everything - a one stop cooking wonder. I just need to get the quantities right, because the recipe calls for a whole chicken, and I'm just not comfortable with that. Next step: mastering the Rosemary Chicken, and finding a new recipe.

Hope

The other day I was walking home and I saw some Obama propaganda papered onto a light post. It made my heart skip a beat, and I was happy that I lived in this country, again.

The feeling took me by surprise, especially since the afterglow of Obama's inauguration has passed. I'm proud of us, America.

Keys: Found!

J found my keys in the unlikeliest of places - the one purse I didn't check because I haven't used it since last February! I guess I put them in there when I considered using the purse on Sunday, but forgot to bring them with me when I decided to use a large tote bag, instead.

PHEW.

Today is a mess

It started this morning, on our way out the door, when I realized that I couldn't find my keys. J was the last person to open the front door, and it's possible I haven't had my keys since before Saturday, when we went to dinner. I called the only two places we have been since then, and nothing.

J lent me his keys for the day, and instead of making a copy, we just figured we'd find mine when I got home and had a chance to look under every cushion, in every coat pocket. So I went to the Target in Dorchester, because I wanted some Orla Kiley canisters which happen to be sold out at every Target near me. I had a gift card from my birthday, and I've been waiting for just the right purchase, and thought I had found it in Orla's Target line.

All the way out in South Boston I find what I'm looking for, barely, because all of the canisters are busted, and besides, I left my gift card at home. I finally decided to buy the smallest canister they're selling, the only one that's not busted, which isn't going to be as useful as the bigger ones, but I figured it's pretty and today sucks, so I'm going to reward myself by spending money I don't really have on things I don't really need.

On the shuttle back to the T station, some random Dorchester dude screamed into his cell phone repeatedly. He must have called the same woman, Colleen, seven times over the course of our fifteen minute shuttle ride, to leave angry messages, or tell her that he couldn't hear her, but he'd call her back (fifteen seconds later), earning himself dozens of dirty looks from the passengers which did nothing to embarrass him or, more importantly, shut up his face. The best part was when he muttered something about "fucking people," to himself, and then apologized to me for his "language."

I finally got home, feeling completely on edge, wishing I had been able to make a Dr's appointment before March (I called in early January), because I've run out of Ativan. I tore the apartment to shreds looking for my keys, and still, nothing.

I already felt like I should crawl into bed and let today be done with, but I decided to spend time doing some data entry (my current paid gig). Nothing could get worse while I was innocently working at my computer, right?

I got an email from Urban Outfitters. Turns out that the two duvet covers I bought for $14, each, which I was going to turn into four curtain panels, have sold out, so they canceled an order I made early last week. I was so happy when I bought them because not only were they thicker fabric than the curtains with the same print, but each curtain panel costs $30! That was a savings of over $90! Not only did today suck, but now U.O. is going back in time, to my happy place, to screw with me!

I bought the last tapestry they had for $36, because fuck. I can only make two curtains out of it, if I'm lucky, so If they email me to tell me that I didn't get that "last one" in stock, I'm going to have to lick the Ativan dust out of my prescription bottle.

I am so done with today. Today can suck it.

Wait. What?

"When I was in high school, my desire was to be a sportscaster, until I learned that you'd have to move to Bristol, Connecticut. It was far away. So instead, I had a daughter and named her Bristol." -Sarah Palin

February's Book

This month, my book is 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus by Charles C. Mann. I'm barely 37 pages into this book, and I am loving it. The book addresses issues surrounding the Euro-centric view that is taken, even by many well-established anthropologists, of Native American culture prior to the arrival of Columbus (although Mann uses the non-p.c. term "Indian" to refer to any of the natives, he explains why in the book). Mostly, the book contradicts the belief that pre-Columbian Indians were "sparsely settled in a pristine wilderness; rather, there were huge numbers of Indians who actively molded and influenced the land around them." What drew me to this book, besides the fact that J recently bought it, is the idea that many Americans use pre-Columbian Indians as a model for eco-friendly life, even though our preconceptions about these people are way off. It chalenges many of the ideas we have today about global development, more importantly how to fix the problems we are having right now, and I have to say that it's a pretty fascinating topic.

I just finished reading Devil in the White City, the biographical tale of the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893, and how the fair created the perfect setting for serial killer H.H. Holmes. Devil in the White City is written with a kind of narrative that reads almost like fiction, and I thought I'd continue in that vein with 1491. Mann writes as an archeologist, a scholar, and just a regular guy who thinks the topic is pretty awesome, and the latter is how his writing comes off.

More on Customer Service

I have always believed that everyone should have a job in customer service at some point in their lives. I learned more working retail this holiday season, after leaving my office job, than I ever did at that office job. However, the best part is that while you may have to deal with irrational people in corporate life (I know I did. All the time), the irrational people stories in retail are usually more colorful, although there's a lot to be said about the temp at my old firm whose "contract wasn't renewed" about four months after he punched a wall because I guess that's how long the paperwork takes.
But anyway, now that I've already blurbed my (second) worst corporate story, I thought I'd share my worst retail experience.
Just before Christmas I was ringing up a woman's purchases - a vase and a particularly unwieldy bunch of fake flowering branches, which were too large for our standard bags, but who the woman had insisted be "wrapped up so [she] could get them home safely." She handed me her credit card, and after I swiped it, I turned to look for a solution while she signed the pad. I was in the middle of shimmying these things into one of our umbrella bags, when she reached over the counter and grabbed her card, telling me, "I'm going to take my card. I've been a customer here for years."
I smiled and nodded (who cares how long you've been a customer here?), then wrestled with the branches some more. After finally getting the things settled in their bag, I put the charge through to get her receipt, when she asked me if I was going to check her signature.
Stunned, I said, "Sure, can I see your card?"
She showed me her card, but kept a death grip on the thing instead of letting me have it. "Looks good to me. Here's your branches...and..."
"How could you possibly remember what my signature looked like?" She demanded.
I told her that, out of habit, I had glanced at her signature before I cleared the screen, and her A's were similar. She was clearly bat-shit crazy, but hadn't deliberately signed the two differently (although I wouldn't have put it past her).
I handed her things to her over the counter, but she wouldn't have any of it, and kept insisting that we discuss why I was so stupid—at no point did she even give me time to interject with niceties—and after a few minutes of listening to her berate me, I was done. I just wanted to get to the long line that was building behind her.
Finally, I interrupted her. "Okay," was all I said, then turned around to help another customer who had been patiently waiting for this lady's insanity to simmer down. Thinking that if the worst I could do to this woman was not say "Have a nice day," (since she wouldn't let me, anyway) I thought ignoring her might get rid of her, and it did. I proceeded to help a very nice man choose some cookware...
Until about thirty seconds later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Crazy had come back to tell me that she didn't appreciate my attitude, and she did not like the way I'd left things with her. She wanted to know how on earth I decided to work in retail if I hated people so much. Then she asked to speak to a manager.
She asked my manager if they could speak privately while she looked at me with crazy eyes. Out of earshot, she told my manager that she would not, could not buy anything from someone with such a negative energy. She returned everything, but that's not the best part. She then made my manager RING HER UP AGAIN.
The store didn't lose any money, and this woman got to go home with some ugly fake branches no one sane would ever need. My manager and I had a "talk" about this situation—we talked about how bat-shit crazy that woman had to have been. So the moral, here?
Maybe there is no moral. One thing I know for sure - this woman has never worked in retail. She could also use some lessons in common courtesy ("Would you please check my signature so I can have my card back? I'd hate to forget it"), as well as a refresher on cause and effect (before the incident, I had been smiling happily, and chatting about how beautiful those stupid, ugly branches were going to look in her house). I hope that her cat (this woman had at least three cats, trust me) ate every last fake flower on those hideous branches and cost that woman thousands in vet bills, because I'll bet those ugly branches are not very good for cats' stomachs.