Monthly Archives: August 2010

things I’m looking forward to.

1. Labor Day weekend.

2. SOMETHING else in September.  It can’t possibly be a vat of schoolwork and sadness. — That’s right! The New York Renaissance Faire!  Huzzah!!

3. Steven Wright on 10/16.

4. Eastern State Penitentiary at some point in October.

5. Taping of Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me! on 10/28 with Sean.

6. Halloween weekend in NY.

7. Thanksgiving Break.

8. Winter Break.

9. Any and every visit by Stefan between my monthly trips back to NY.

And then, y’know, next year and stuff.


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Please let this girl, this life, these problems be gone forever.  This was saved in my Google Docs, and was only ever shared with 2 people.  I’m ashamed and embarrassed that I ever even had to write these words.  But I’m deleting my Google Docs, and need a place to store this.  So here it be.  The bad days in a crappy relationship a mere two years ago (seems like eons, thankfully)…

I say “I’ve never not waited to eat with you” hoping he’ll understand. But what do I think he hears? “I need to have a problem and/or control, and you screwed up and should be sorry.” I get it — it’s inconsequential. There must be something deeper then. So far tonight, in my head, I’ve pined over the eating thing, my utter inactivity in the kitchen, the unimportance/lack of response to either of the “making plans” emails, and to top it off, I’m not really in the mood to watch him stare at his computer all evening, which he’s done since he’s gotten home.

He says he’d miss me; he’s said he’d be miserable without me, but I wonder how true that is. From his lack of communication all I can gather is that were I not around, life would go on pretty normally for him. He says I need control over everything, but at the end of the day, I am the one with everything to lose. My life changes dramatically with the absence of Chris. What changes for him? He gets more space, money & time.

I don’t know how long I can live in the dark. I don’t know how to fix our gigantic communication problem. I want my safety back. I want my desire to live happily together forever back…but those were seemingly slapped out of me. Literally.

I want to stop feeling helpless & hopeless. I want my dignity back, most of all. With each passing day, muscles ache less, bruises fade and my memory of Saturday isn’t as strong. But that whole ordeal is just plain unresolved. My words don’t come out right, ever. I doubt paper would even change that.

I’m dying of ignorance. What are the things Chris appreciates? What are things that piss him off? Hurt him? Make him insecure? Make him feel honest-to-goodness love and honest-to-goodness hate? I can honestly say I don’t know, and if that’s the way I have to live my life, I have to choose not to.

There is quite obviously a power struggle problem in this relationship. I feel as though I have little, living in Chris’s apartment, playing by Chris’s apartment rules, doing things socially that Chris doesn’t necessarily want to do, but wouldn’t say otherwise.

On the other hand, he sees me as having all of this demanding control, but I’d like to know where and over what. The blinds? The dishes? I rarely touch either (anymore). How am I supposed to know anything? All I can do is conjecture what I think he might think, and then he tells me I don’t know him at all. Well how am I supposed to know someone that never explains who they are?

This entire thing sounds like nothing but one big complaint, which, in a way, it is. It’s my first (and lamest, by the way) attempt at some form of anger management. I know the first thing I probably should be doing is talking to Chris, but that would only come across as me being negative, controlling and needing to have a problem. Sadly, that’s not true. The truth? The problem(s) never actually went away. So what option do I have other than shut my mouth, spread a grin, and pretend nothing was ever wrong to begin with? Of course, this is the reason things escalate to where they eventually do. I fear bringing things up, nothing ever gets addressed (properly) and instead all of the underlying emotions come out in a fit of crying/anger/rage.

Yes, I need to lighten up. I need to pick my battles. I need to beat my insecurity into submission. I need to know when enough is enough. I need to gain some independence.

I am far from perfect. But I am no worse than he, only in another form; another extreme.

Dear God, I want more than anything for this to go well. For me to feel like we live in an apartment together, for there to be open communication and fair shares of control and affection and respect, for the theme of the relationship to be “happy” and not “fixer-upper.” I used to think I had to work alone, fix myself to fix it all, but that’s not really the case. I am not nearly the sole responsibility for what goes wrong here. I am half. And I can’t bring my half down to next to nothing at all without knowing it’s a two-way street, worth the trip. Sure, I come out a better person in the end, but I just can’t go through it all alone. And just when I think Chris is right there with me, I find out he thinks all of these bad things about me, and I slip right back to where I started, if not farther back.

Well, all my “anger management” did was create confusion, frustration and even more helplessness.

We might as well be strangers. I’ve thought about treating this apartment like a roommate situation. Like a do-over with Liz and Laura. But I don’t want to. I dunno, I just feel so…lonely.

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The Second Greatest Saturday Ever (and some other stuff).

Apparently the 27th is a key day (see: June 27th’s post for further details).  So not that I think I’ll ever forget yesterday/today, but we all know how I am with the memory, so I’m writing this as a reminder (and maybe a little to gloat).

I left for Philadelphia on Thursday, after spending the prior week and a half making a point to see Stefan every single day.  Everyone said that’d make it more difficult when we finally did part ways, and it did, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  So needless to say, when I left, I had intermittent bursts of minute-cries.  But I hugged my mom, packed up my cat, and headed southwest.

Fortunately, Thursday was a busy day.  I unpacked a majority of my boxes and then hustled to grab a shower before meeting up with my new cohort.  It was nice to get to see and interact with the people I will be seeing and interacting with for the next 4-5 years.  I paid too much money towards the bill, but I couldn’t not give a good tip, while I still have the cash at least. I also got a ticket for sheer stupidity.  Note to noobs–don’t listen to homeless guys about parking meters.  They can spot a foreign plate a mile away, and they need the money more than the meter.  So that $36 check will be the last money I spend for quite some time that is not a necessity (rent, utilities, school books, gas) or a very cheap beer.

That night was not an easy one.  I was too sober to forget about life or to fall asleep.  I drugged myself into unconsciousness to get through the first night alone in almost two weeks.  I woke up periodically throughout the night to note how loud buses are outside the window and that I had forgotten to pack a blanket (shout out to Elliot for lending me one yesterday!).

Friday, I woke up probably past noon and proceeded to put away all of the clutter I had accumulated on my wall ledge.  I also hung up all of my pictures, under the impression that a realtor was coming to check out the premises between 5:30 and 6:30 as per my landlord.  (I’m pretty sure they didn’t, but I can’t be certain.)  I then once again hustled to shower and head to Kajal’s to have some company on my adventures in La Salle-land.  She took me to get my ID card, then shopped with me in the school store and brought me to the clinic to show me around (we got in because someone was actually there, though they are generally closed on Fridays).  She also came with me to Comcast, to pick up my self-installation kits for cable & internet services (to two different Comcasts).  After I dropped her back off at home, I ran to Elliot’s for Taco Night and Water Ices on the Schuylkill.  He lent me Zelda for my Wii and a blanket, so I didn’t have to shiver the remainder of my nights here until next weekend.  Also, his tacos rock.

When I got home near 10, I talked to my mom for a few minutes and attempted to start on the whole cable & internet thing.  I didn’t get too far.  The modem worked, but I couldn’t get it to connect to my Mac.  The cable box…wasn’t given to me.  Yes, folks, I left Comcast without a cable box.  I had a second modem, for phone service, instead.  How I could have been so retarded so as to walk out of the building without a cable box is beyond me.  So I have to go back on Monday or Tuesday (or Wednesday, who am I kidding?) to exchange it.

But I was feeling rather down (day two – just as bad as day one), so I tried playing some Zelda, which wasn’t so bad until I kept screwing up one single task, so I gave up.  I texted Stefan to see what fun he might be having (masochist?), and he said he was doing laundry with his roommate and then potentially going to a late-night or all-night shooting range out east with his friend.  I did my best to be encouraging, knowing he’d really enjoy that, but being incredibly sad all-the-while.  He said he’d call when he got back later, and I was temporarily sated.

I played some Wii sports until I got tired of that, and then figured I’d finish putting together my coat rack and follow that up with some sappy-ass guitar playing.  I got as far as 95% done with the coat rack when my phone rang (near 1:30 a.m.).  Stefan starts going on about the moon, asking if I can see it from where I am.  I recalled there being an almost-full one recently, so I figured he was maybe on his way home from the range or something, but I made the joke that I was in a whole ‘nother country and the moon didn’t shine where I was.  But he said he was outside smoking, and I should go check out the moon, probably from the front, since the back yard is so limited.  I went outside to check it out, and poked my head out of the little indent of a porch I have.  Some guy was walking up the street, so I retreated back to where I was, but I couldn’t see the moon since it was obstructed by so many trees.  Next I hear, “you looked right at me, and didn’t even know it was me.”  And there he is.  On the phone, standing in front of me.

I can’t even explain what emotions crossed over me.  I think I yelped and stared for a while.  I giggled a lot, and just kept saying, “you’re here…”  I have never felt so ecstatic in all of my life.

We stayed up until 5 somehow (and he got that whole cable modem up and running) and then slept in until 1.  We then went to D’Alessandro’s for lunch (cheesesteaks with onions, mushrooms, whiz and hot peppers-yummmmmmy!).  He brought his metal detector to scour the yard, so I weeded (a gigantor trash bag full) while he detected for a few hours.  I cleared out half of the yard and he found a musket ball and some coins.  I still have half of the yard to clear out, so he’ll be able to look for more afterward.  After a couple of showers, we went to Acme and grabbed groceries.  We then figured out how to cross the Wissahickon train station to get to the diner/movie theater/liquor store and picked up some wine.  He made me a delicious meal of chicken marsala with pasta and poached pears for dessert, while I cleaned up.

After dinner, we basically lay in bed for hours, and it was glorious (the incredible massage helped).  Until, of course, 12 a.m. rolled around and he had to head back to NY for work tomorrow afternoon.

He left, and I came back inside and stared at myself in the mirror for a few seconds.  I fought back tears and then I took a deep breath and told myself “one day at a time,” and that five days isn’t very long (I’m going back to Long Island next Thursday/Friday for a few events).  But really, one day seemed like a lifetime.

I can’t put down too much about how I feel, because it seems unfair to post it publicly when we don’t really talk about it.  In short, though, I am my absolute happiest when I am with him.  To boot, he was amazing at making dinner, and I was impressed and floored at how he dealt with all of my crazy quirks.  I know it’s stupid, but I highly regard the way those interactions turn out, and this one went so exceptionally well.  The whole day did, really.  It was comfortable, and it was full of care and chemistry.

All right, Train, do your thing:

“I’m not in it to win it; I’m in it for you.
If it’s love, and we decide that it’s forever, no one else could do it better.
If it’s love, and we’re two birds of a feather, then the rest is just whatever.
And if I’m addicted to loving you, and you’re addicted to my love too,
we can be them two birds of a feather…that flock together.”

Yeah, I’m a sap.  Shut up.

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click click boom.


Oh, The Expendables, you prove to be anything but.  However, I love you all nonetheless.  I made a decision tonight to purchase (or more accurately find a friend that will know how to make me a copy) The Expendables when it comes to watch as my “bad day” flick.  Through the movie, I wanted to punch the Spanish chick’s dad in the face (but then hug him later) — my daddy issues carry over into fucking everything, it seems — and smoke a cigarette, but most importantly I wanted to blow shit up.  Like seriously consider becoming a mercenary apprentice instead of a shrink (irony?).

I’m a little out of whack lately though, so I don’t know if that’s what’s causing me to suddenly want to play FPSes.   If I were a more patient person, I would take the time to get good at those.  But I can’t even level my alts because I can’t stand walking anywhere instead of flying or having mana drain after a single kill.  I was forced into giving it a shot when I got home in a “kill shit” mood only to find the CC realm down for maintenance for like 700 hours.  I didn’t make it 5 minutes on my ER alt before hearthing and logging.  I don’t have the kind of time for alts.  Nigga, please.

So back to being out of whack (ADHD WoW distraction over).  I think the hormones are doing their thing again, and I finally realize a second perk to the ol’ BC pills I quit taking.  None of this up-and-down roller coaster BS, just a stable independent semi-emotional state.  Now, I have days where I’m super-sensitive, days where I’m super-insecure, days where I’m super-secure, days where I’m on top of the friggen’ world, and days where I’m just emotionally disconnected.  Right now, I’m rather disconnected.  I can probably find a way to attribute the whole skipping the state thing into that — some mumbo jumbo about a natural defense (should I be calling it mumbo jumbo, or should I be making a career out of it?).  In any event, I’m almost certain it will go away (as the sporadic tears do–wtf?!?! I found myself crying on my way to work on Monday for all of 30 seconds. Then it was over. “Wahh, I’m leaving a job I can’t fucking stand!”  …and the salary?).  But I always have that tiny shred of doubt that lingers — what if it doesn’t go away, and everything/everyone that I love stops mattering to me anymore?  So roughly once a month I have this mini freak-out, usually just in my head.  Today, I put it down on paper (e-paper, to be exact).

So after all of that drawn-out explanation of my inability to feel empathy, I think I want to watch The Expendables once a month (or two or three or four times, depending on how many days this detachment lasts).  Sure, it’s not every girl’s “feel good” movie, but when I want to take an AA-12 to the world, this will keep me sane, because Caesar did it for me.

Finally, there’s no cheesy-ass love story.  Sure, Christmas gets all bent out of shape when the girl he thought was his turned out to not be, but it ends there for the most part.  Ross needs to save a girl, but there’s no smoochy smoochy barf scene at the end or anything.  When talking about loving or living with a woman (can’t recall which, but it doesn’t really matter), Ross tells Christmas that someone said to live with (or love, whatever) a woman, you have to learn to/be able to live without her.  Hell yeah.  None of this “OMG I would just die without you!”  Sure, sure, it happens pretty regularly with the elderly couples that have been together for a few decades, but they did that to themselves, really.  Keep it separate, people.  Have your own lives. I don’t know how many times I have to say that.  Sometimes I need to hear it, too.

So no sappy crap, lots of explosions and fire and guns…oh, and did I mention copious amounts of witty banter?  Have I yet mentioned today how much I love witty banter? Between hot men? (+10)

Lacy’s new mans could seriously DIAF; I don’t handle domestic abuse really well, so I squirmed a little when they showed that welt on her face.  Too bad he didn’t use an open hand.

Okay, so there were plenty of bad scenes.  There was a fair share of poor acting.  There were things that didn’t make a whole lot of sense (they had to fly in under the guise of taking pictures of exotic birds to basically not be executed immediately, but they went back and just magically wound up inside the palace that Ross had somehow managed to figure the entire layout of from afar).  But all-in-all it did what I, personally needed it to do.

Now to re-rent Snatch and Lock, Stock.  ::sigh::  Jason Statham, have my babies.

Click click boom, bitches.

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The most appropriate adjective.

Facetious: joking or jesting, often inappropriately.

Sarcastic: a sharp and often satirical or ironic utterance designed to cut or give pain.

Sardonic: disdainfully or skeptically humorous : derisively mocking.

Merriam-Webster attempts to distinguish these words, but not well.  Listed as a synonym for sardonic is ‘sarcastic,’ though I do not believe that to be the most accurate representation of the words.  My quandary is that I am trying to figure out how to classify my potential response to the mail I received from my father today.  The single-paged document was a printout of their current cell phone bill, showing the Email & Web for Smartphone service charge of $29.99.  The only thing written on it was an arrow to the $29.99 fee and “Please pay. Thanks.” in my father’s handwriting.  I drafted a response:

I received your request today for payment on your current cellular phone bill.  Inasmuch as Verizon bills their service in advance, the charges listed therein should no longer be applicable due to the removal of the phone number xxx-xxx-xxxx on August 3, 2010.  The data plan would no longer have been required as of said date.  However, as it is an optional feature on the account, it might behoove you to verify that it is no longer being billed with the removal of the Android device, so that there is no future billing for the service.  It might also be a good idea to have the feature prorated to the August 3rd date, Verizon willing.  As the billing period began on July 29th, total monies due for the period 7/29-8/3 would be roughly $5 (+ any applicable taxes/fees).  Since I no longer have access to the online account (it follows the phone number itself), please let me know if you would like me to submit a check to either yourself or Verizon for that amount.

The two questions that remain are: (1) How exactly would I classify my attitude in this correspondence, and (2) how will it be received?  The latter is really independent of the former, but for my own general information, I’d like to understand how I feel about it.  (And a hidden 3rd question: Do I have the balls to hit ‘send’?)

Am I trying to be funny?  No, so facetious appears to be out off the bat. It teeters on sardonic due to its mocking tone — it will without question be perceived as mocking, and I am fairly certain that the comment, “she’s her mother’s daughter — cheap” will accompany the receipt of the message.  I always appreciated when he ridiculed her in front of me.  (<–sarcasm).

So I guess what that really leaves is sarcasm.  As much as I would rather it not be sharp or designed to cut, it fundamentally is.  It was an attempt at professionalism, but I feel as though giving it that tone automatically makes it sarcastic. And how could it not?  If anything, it’s 1,000x better than my original response (which was not actually drafted, but posted as my Gchat status): Dear Dad, Feel free to deduct the $29.99 you have requested from the remainder due me from my grandfather’s house sale, to wit: $90,000.00.  Please remit difference of $89,970.00 at your earliest convenience.  XOXO, Linda.  Now that, my friends, is facetious (yes?).

I can’t get into the whole house-sale thing, because it still makes me want to vomit and punch babies simultaneously.

As a co-worker commented, this sounds so much more like a quarrel between friends than anything between a father and a daughter.  I agree with her, which makes it harder to find the “norm” for correspondence like this; there just isn’t any.

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Black and White

I’m either really lucky or really fucked. “We’ll see.”

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