Monthly Archives: June 2010

The Greatest Saturday Ever.

It’s going to take a few days to get my voice back, but this is one of those rare times where that’s totally and completely okay.

Originally, I was going to Philadelphia to look at a few apartments for myself and another girl in the program I’m starting in two months (!), but on the way there, Stefan convinced me to look into something by myself first.  I would have looked at the apartments anyway, but instead of taking three hours to get from Lindenhurst to Philadelphia, it took five.  It would have taken closer to six if I didn’t cut through the divider to the service road that was moving quite nicely.  (Oh, and for the record, they actually closed the Jersey Turnpike-twice-for no reason.  Just kicked everyone off in two separate locations.  Nothing going on in between.  Fucking Jersey.) Anyway, I canceled one appointment, and told the other guy that I’d call him when I got there since he lived near enough to just swing by.  I made the decision not to call after checking out the street and outside of the building.  I’m still tossing back and forth between having a/several roommates and living alone.  I’d like the privacy, but I’d also like the camaraderie that every other college student ever has had (except me).  I guess I’ll check out studios and see if it might be worth it, then make a decision.

Since we were in Manayunk, we decided to stroll through the Manayunk Arts Festival, where I “oohed” and “ahhed” and Stefan came up with ideas for leather, glass, wood and metal work.  Quote of the event for me was “I need a cooling station,” which almost tied with “Ooh! Puppy!”  There was definitely some interesting stuff there, and I’m still thinking about finding this one red painting that I really loved. I didn’t take a picture of it, but I should have.  Instead, I took this for Jenny (panda lover): adorableness.

After THIS,

next he'll be joining 'Nina in the trapeeze act.

Balance guru.

we headed back to the car and drove through Center City to get cheesesteaks from Pat’s (NOT Geno’s).  I should have asked someone, but my main concern there was the number of Phillies garb donned on a majority of the patrons at both vendors. I concluded, and hopefully was correct, that these people had recently gotten out of a Phillies game (and my phone conveniently told me that they had played, and had lost as well.  I snickered…quietly…to myself).  I’m thinking of keeping a log of the cheesesteaks I encounter from this one to the time I pick a favorite.  Maybe it’ll be the first thing I write in my new little Moleskin. 🙂  I’m just not sure how to rate them.  I mean, they’ll ultimately be relative to one another.  Ah, well, I’ll think of something.

We ventured back to NY after that, full of cheesesteaky goodness.  The story itself is rather boring if you’re not me, but I want to remember this moment, so I’m going to write “Whispering Woods Rd.” here so that hopefully I don’t forget.  Now, back to our regularly scheduled blogging.

I’m not entirely sure how we wound up in Coney Island, but we did.  For a Cyclone ride and some Nathan’s (because the day was obviously then also about good food in addition to good art and good times).  I’ll admit, I was rather scared of the roller coaster.  Even though I’d been on it before, under the same exact conditions, save for the big beer I had the first time around. Fortunately, I wasn’t forced to sit in the front car, but I don’t know if I can escape that forever.  However unlikely, we’re going to try to go back often before the summer’s out and I move.

While on line at the Nathan’s, somehow cheesesteaks get mentioned and a guy near us on line says, “You go to Pat’s?”  Stunned, we got into a conversation about how we had just come from there earlier. I guess that means we picked a pretty good starter spot for Linda’s Adventures in Cheesesteaks.

Before getting back to the car, we wandered through what can only be described as a Stoner’s Market. Apparently, Further, Phil Lesh and Bob Weir played a concert at MCU Park and their hippie followers set up shop and camp in the parking lot.  I have never experienced anything like it, and, unless I start smoking massive amounts of weed, I don’t know that I would ever feel comfortable there.  I hear the Fruity Pebble ganja treats are good, though. Just sayin’.

Seeing as I wasn’t 100% sure how to get back to the Belt Parkway from Coney Island, I accidentally wound up somewhere I did know-blocks from 86th Street.  No matter how much food we had eaten, no matter how greasy and fattening and terrible for us all of it had been, there was absolutely no way I wasn’t stopping at L & B’s for a square.  (And since I had their number in my phone–a minor mundane detail about me that Stefan found particularly amazing, though why, I still don’t understand–I called earlier to find that they were open until 1 a.m. and therefore our 12:15 a.m. arrival was a-ok.)

We got back to Lindenhurst around 1 in the morning and split to shower.  But I went back to Stefan’s, watched most of Jaws, and fell into a peaceful, content sleep.  I’m not sure I’ve ever had that awesome of a day.  All of these things I would normally have done alone (okay, I probably wouldn’t have been watching Jaws), I did with someone who not only also liked them, but appreciated them.  If I thought I could have captured the excitement on Stefan’s face waiting for the Cyclone, I would have taken a picture and hung it on my wall.  As he put it later, I “felt like the man.”  But I also felt like there was someone else out there like me.  This is a rare occurrence and I’ll take it for as long as I can get it, to be honest.

But for now, instead of continuing to swoon, I really need to focus on some homework. I can resume full swoon later; I just never want to take a break from it. ❤


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I think I’m getting a little too emotional for my own good these days.  I’m moving to Philadelphia in a month an a half (this can’t possibly be true, says my brain), and after all of the cutting of ties here in NY, I’ve found one I can’t yet let go of. Were it two months ago, I would concede that yes, it’s my darling KJ.  But alas, I am forbidden to see and interact with the love of my life.  So who could possibly have me so tied down that I don’t really want to leave NY? If you really know me (work peeps, Jo, and Alex), you know the answer.  I’m not completely willing to admit defeat, but I’ll admit I haven’t felt this close to someone in a long time.  (My favorite part is the witty banter.  Witter banter always gets me.)

I feel like this is putting myself out there too much; setting myself up for disappointment.  As possible as that is, is it better not to risk it at all?  When 80% of your thoughts are consumed by someone, when you can’t resist seeing them on as close to a daily basis as you can manage…is this something to ignore?  Even if it all goes to shit, could it be anything less than another experience that allows for personal growth?

I tell myself these things, but inside, like any other human being, I’m scared as hell.

And then, in a great big fit of insecurity, I wonder, should I take it all back?

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I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.

But OMFG do I hate feeling restricted!  (Control freaks of the world, choose to or not to unite!)  I’m slowly returning from my depressive slump of roughly 30 hours, and thus am ready to share (most things) with the world.

I don’t even know what day it is anymore.  I don’t know what I did two days ago (unless it’s written in my planner).  I’m aware that I went to the Yankees game on Thursday with Bill, and that I went to Stefan’s afterward (I like RJS better, btw. But have it your way).

Friday…? Ah, yes, drinks at A-Bee’s with Alex. Always an adventure, as usual (at least I didn’t get drunk and kill the battery in my car by puking in the parking lot and passing out with the door open…again).  Mr. Family Dollar (whose name may or may not be Jamie) bought me a shot of an after-dinner drink because he’s not very well educated — Alex’s words resembled, “it’s like doing a shot of Amaretto-why?!”  Additionally, Matt (I’m like 80% sure that’s his name), whom I only remember from elementary school though he could easily have gone to middle or high school with me, gave me the second beer of his two-fer, and Alex treated me to my first pair o’ beers.  I guess I had more to drink than I’d realized.  Hmph. That explains how touched I was by the ‘escort’ with low self-esteem (are there ones with high self-esteem?) in the bathroom, when she grabbed my hand and begged me to play some music so she could feel “free,” explaining that she’s only there with the “playa that has white women hangin’ all on him” because the money’s good.  It wouldn’t explain, however, why I threw in $10 to try to help the waitress (the bartender’s sister) whose table decided to stiff her on the bill. Id’a done that regardless. We watched that girl cry half the night; I’m surprised we didn’t give her more, now that I think about it.

I then drove out to the OBI coast, alone, but got creeped out and ran home when I heard a CB scanner from not far away.  The bridges are still my favorite though.

Saturday…um…Saturday I think I spent half the day enjoying a book in the sun, but it couldn’t keep my attention (as it obviously isn’t right now as well).  I probably napped, because I do that a lot.  I went to Lake Success to clean the office, and then I went to Big Daddy‘s for dinner with Stefan, where I cried due to spice intensity.  (But the food is excellent! BBQ next!) I got beads for my non-existent scrapbook.  ❤

Sunday is where it all went awry.  I sucked down a cup of coffee, sucked up my fear, and opened my midterm (which I had 24 hours from 8 a.m. that morning to complete and e-mail back–online classes SUCK).  Turned out it was way easier than I was anticipating, and I banged out the 50-question exam in about two hours.  It would have been in less time, but I multi-tasked, talking with my mom, watching the Yankee game, playing online, texting, whatever.  Yeah. It was that easy.  I then straightened up some and left for the Buoy Bar an hour or two before I was set to meet up with he-who-will-probably-resent-my-writing-this.  I reviewed some resumes for my current position while drinking a pina colada and watching the sunset–so far, so good.  When he got there though, almost an hour later than agreed upon, I was rather relieved to find I had little-to-no emotional connection to the man I used to think I loved (we’re talking ’04-’05 here). If we didn’t have mutual people and experiences (and the goddamn cat) to discuss, we would have had little to discuss at all.  Maybe that comes with not speaking for five years, or maybe it’s as I had suspected: that I have changed (tremendously), and he has not.  Charlie Brown and Lucy, only this time more accurate. [[Side note: Dearest SD, assuming you read this, you crazy woman–no, I do not care about you and/or your life, nor do I plan on interfering with it or the people loosely associated with it. So back down.]] I won’t get into specifics, because they were part of our personal conversation and not for public display, but I left that place a mix of emotions.  For one, I was comforted by the fact I no longer act in a manner I did when I was 23.  Simultaneously, I pitied the part of me that did.  Not only did I have zero self-confidence, but I also had few morals or opinions.  I did what other people wanted, for no good reason.  I know I was also trying to “find myself” back then, but I was clearly doing a poor job of that.

These emotions somehow tumbled into that which I was struggling to avoid: Father’s Day.  Anyone close to me knows and understands why yesterday might have been difficult for me.  I tried to run away into the woods to be uber-alone, but fear got the best of me and I settled on finding a semi-secluded spot I’d recently come to learn about (maybe I only pay attention when it’s something that can benefit me).  I sat with myself (and a host of mosquitoes) for an hour or so, letting myself be exactly what he wanted me to be: destroyed inside.  But I can only blame myself to an extent.  I did what I did, and I’m sorry I did it, and that’s all I can do.  The pain of silence is being dealt to continue to hurt me, but with that pain comes a level of logic and comprehension that allays its intensity.  I screwed up.  But I will not feel worse than the apologetic I feel naturally.  What I do feel worse about, however, is what being dropped by an immediate family member does to a person psychologically.  So, I guess if that was the ultimate goal, then no, I probably will never trust anyone fully with my heart and I will always assume I will be left alone at some point in all of my interpersonal relationships.  What I wanted last night?  Something, anything permanent.  But nothing is, and I guess I’d do better to face that fact than to brood over its morbidity.

I thought after a good (pathetic) cry and a night’s sleep, I would be good to go in the morning, but I was sadly mistaken.  I got up late and raced to a job where I was accused of something I didn’t do.  I was then told it was the third time I had made that error (I didn’t actually make it, and even if I had, it would have been the second time).  I lost the ability to eat, to stop my hands from shaking, and to stop assuming that maybe I had made the mistake–which is still entirely possible, but less likely due to some poking around for the answer).  I couldn’t even look my accuser in the eyes for the remainder of the day.  I all but cried (WTF is with me? I don’t cry for a year and a half, and now this?!), and I fled at the first opportunity.  I couldn’t bring myself to carry out the one task I was hoping to get accomplished today after work because I was not emotionally capable yet.  Instead, I binged on fast food with my mother, vented a little, and retreated into my book for book club (which is this Sunday, and I’m still 80 pages out).  I stopped doing that to write this.  I’m hoping it helps me get through this shit even faster, because I miss Happy Happy Fun Linda (trademarked from my “Happy Happy Girlfriend Land” coinage back in ’02), and I don’t like to see other people until she’s back.  She best hustle.

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Tromping Through Woods on a Rainy Evening

When someone says to me, “want to go hiking in there?” regardless of time of day (or night, like, say…1:30 a.m.), I generally tend to say yes.  Which is exactly how I wound up doing cartwheels in an open field, attempting (and failing) to catch lightning bugs/fireflies, laying on the roof of a lean-to, and destroying a very cheap pair of flip-flops this fine evening.  But every second was worth it, and I wanted to take the long trails back, get lost a few times, and maybe have to wind up sleeping out in the middle of nowhere.  I personally would have loved a little more lightning/thunder and rain, but what we got wasn’t wholly disappointing either.

I love that there are some emotions I have a certain level of control over, and some that I don’t.  When I felt scared out in the dark, after walking through trails I had convinced myself I could not find my way home through, I just changed what thoughts ran through my head, distracting myself. And, oddly enough, I trusted RJS (::wink::)…the type of person who would easily leave me out in the woods alone for a little while just to scare the fuck out of me.  Basically, if I had known him in high school, I’d absolutely loathe him.  But instead, I’m drawn to him, something I have a lot less control over.  Really, there should be little reason; we’re quite very different people, but I guess that doesn’t matter much to me right now.

I’m still working on this emotion-control thing (my former social worker, Lisa, says I have to “own” the type of emotions I want to experience), so the most prominent one right now is optimism (and more distraction, to be honest).  Instead of thinking – at all, really – I instead stop and enjoy myself.  Because pessimism is what has destroyed everything in my life that has ever gone to shit.  Instead, I’ll think about my “rape whistle” and the circumstances surrounding the moment in which I found myself holding it in my hands, beaming uncontrollably.  The down side?  I’m not nearly as open as I have ever been or could be.  I feel as though that can get annoying, or, at the very least, frustrating.  I’m countering that notion with the idea that it will change, in time, much like everything else I’ve believed over the past few months.

So here it goes again.  The same, but different. ❤

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A post from my phone.

Because I can. Keep smilin’ all!

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Never give up; never surrender.

Much more entertaining in the movie, but it was a thought that ran through my head today as I took a biking respite at Fireman’s Park.  It was here, while mesmerized by the glare of the sun rippling through the light motion of the water, that I decided what I was doing to myself was unfair.

The bench from which I gazed upon the shining waters of...Lindenhurst.

The specifics of it are unnecessary, but for all of 4 minutes and 19 seconds, or the amount of time it takes to get through OK Go’s “Shortly Before the End,” I did a smidgen of soul-searching.  My soul keeps itself hidden fairly well, but with all of the conversations I’ve been having with my mother lately about what I want, and what I used to want (and the remarkable discrepancy between the two), answers are (quite fortunately) finding their way to me.  I mean, sure, some of them are so blatantly obvious that they’re impossible to follow-through.  It’s like saying, “I don’t get enough sleep.”  “So sleep more.”  Yeah, sure, sounds like an awesome plan, but how do you just jump right into it?  SO much easier said than done, right?  Well, much like everything else, it’s a work in progress. But progress is progress is progress, and I have made some.

Some notes about me I’ve recently come to learn:
1. I will never ask anyone to do anything with me, ever.  This includes the hex I just recently put on the Queens peeps to come to my house in July.  Never mind.  I mean, yes, you’re all still invited, but no, none of you have to go lest I be incredibly mad at you.  Disappointed–maybe slightly, but that shit goes away almost immediately (trust me; three beers and I’ll think you had already been there & gone).  Basically, Im’a do what I want to do. And anyone that wants to join me is welcome. Anyone that feels obligated is not.

2. I’m so afraid of boredom, I don’t allow for any.  I pack a schedule that doesn’t allow time for much of anything because when the time rolls around that nothing is planned and nothing is going on, I feel empty.  I don’t know how to seek people out, but that makes me exceptionally good at telling people ‘no’  (creatively, some might say) because I already have 30 million things to do that day/week/month.  This isn’t the worst thing in the world, but I don’t particularly want to miss out on something great because I was “too busy.”  This goes for people, experiences, and the like.

3. I don’t generally want to talk about who said what and how the latest pair of shoes is trending.  I want to talk about why that person said that, and what the fuck Arizona thinks it’s doing, and why we have BAJILLIONS OF OIL poisoning all kinds of wildlife that will very quickly directly affect us…and why no one seems to want to talk about that part.  But sadly, I do not know how to socially transition to topics like that.

4. “In time we hate that which we often fear.” -William Shakespeare  This is true.  I am beginning to hate the things I fear.  And seeing that I do not like to hate things, instead I will try to seek out courage, and face those fears.

And now, an hour later than I had intended, I bid thee a good night. ❤


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the “final” three months.

March – June. Significance: I’m finally over it.  It took 17 months and a really pathetic comment, but I’m over it.  (Halle-fucking-lujah!)  In a pitiful moment on March 5th, I scribbled the following on a page in my mini-journal (oh, the irony!): “Life is still just a series of experiences without Chris.”  To be fair, I later wrote, “If the train isn’t moving, it is spinning.  If it moves, I am ok.”  Today, June 1st, I’m totally fine (well, it’s been about a week-I needed to test its validity).  And in truth, I wasn’t wrong.  Life is still a series of experiences without Chris, I just have no need to be that specific about it.  It’s also a series of experiences without my bff from elementary school as well. I guess what I’m trying to articulate is that not only do I not feel like my heart actually belongs to someone else, but I can look back at that blurb in my book and think, “disgusting.”  So, Jenny, what was your theory on how long it officially takes to get over someone?  I don’t think I made par, but it’s really refreshing to know I can feel this kind of freedom.  Of course, being broken up with by an immediate family member could have helped.  The pain is just…different, is all.  My heart = still all mine.  Hands off, bitches.

June – September. Significance: my last few months in NY.  I feel like there are so many things I want to cram into them, but I have no idea what they are.  Strange, right? I know June is going to be gone before I know it — BBQs/birthdays, overnights at SBU, articles articles and more friggen’ articles, summer course-work — it is undoubtedly going to fly by.  July promises to be a little less insane, but busy nonetheless.  August, however.  August is mine.  I will have 30 days to (a) find an apartment; (b) move into said apartment; (c) see everyone I know.  I am going to try my absolute damnedest to NOT have any more summer course, or research work, or child care hours.  I want to go to the speech office, come home and do whatever I want.  Because I need that damn month.  And come August 30th, my life as I know it will be completely different.

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