Jalopy Heart.

Referenced in my earlier post- this is one of the pieces performed by David Wax Museum. One of the lovelier things I've heard in recent recollection. This musician sounds like someone who's felt his share of life, with truly soulful qualities in his voice and a somewhat Dylan-y feel.

Jalopy Heart

What could you want with my jalopy heart
what could you want with my jalopy heart
it's rusty and battered and falling apart
you're probably wasting your time trying to get it to start
my jalopy heart

though I still may know how to love
I still may know how to love
I still may know

what could you want with my rattlesnake skin
what could you want with my rattlesnake skin
I've shed it before and I'll shed it again
be it useless and gray as an old man's chin
my rattlesnake skin

though I still may know how to feel
I still may know how to feel
I still may know

what could you want with my antique music box voice
what could you want with my antique music box voice
it'll play you a song, a faintly audible noise
now a dirge but once a song of rejoice
my antique music box voice

though I still may know how to sing
I still may know how to sing
I still may know

though I still may know how to love
I still may know how to love
I still may know.

Waltzing Mathilda

So last night, my roommate and her boyfriend pulled me out to one of our favorite watering holes for some live music. Apparently, her favorite band was performing- David Wax Museum, I heartily recommend them. They play something that sounds acoustic-y with Mexican influence, and some folk/bluegrass.

At some point, my roommate starts getting hit on by somebody who is clearly not getting the hint that he ought to back off so I stuck myself in between them. wrong decision. This guy didn't even blink at the switch up and I quickly realized my error (with horror). But, I was saved. A guy from across the room has been watching my roommate and her friend dance with her boyfriend, and introduces himself as a transplant from Texas who is studying economics, and is desperately missing the dance halls, and would we mind terribly granting him the favor of a dance or two when the second set started?

I used to love dancing (with the exception of crappy club dancing, I don't consider that dancing, I consider it- well... let's leave that alone), not that I did much formally, but I went out and tried to learn salsa a few times in college (we'll discount the customary pre-teen ballet and tap dancing) and spent an inordinate amount of time when I was tiny standing on my mom's feet while she two stepped around the kitchen (and loved it). Anyway, haven't been dancing much in years. I stopped in college when my partner took a few toe nails off because he thought dancing was for sissies- made another attempt a couple of years ago with my subsequent boyfriend and it rapidly turned into one of the worst ideas ever, second only to the prior attempt with the prior partner.

Given my prior experiences, I was graceful and tried my damnedest to deflect to my roommate and her friend. He seemed to take it. I mean there was nothing conspicuously wrong with the guy, I was just already being rudely pawed by some neanderthal who insisted "I'll look cuter if you let me buy you a beer", I like my toenails where they are, and don't like dancing with strangers (even though, obviously, I've had such great luck with people I actually know.)... As you can tell, I was a veritable cornucopia of good will. But he was real polite, and when the freak show next to me started getting physical and I was running out of ideas (that didn't involve me breaking a few knuckles) to dissuade him, he seemed to take the cue and came over and offered a hand (which I practically lunged at, taking it as the rope of salvation that nobody can appreciate quite like a stupid girl cornered in a bar like the fox in a fox hunt). But so I didn't look desperate said "Oh, I guess I can manage just one."

This is no exaggeration when I say that I had the dance of my life and walked out of the bar feeling like a woman (and a badass). Does that even make any sense? because it surely doesn't to me. Compounded by the fact that this gentleman was my current acting savior, he was a phenomenal dancer. There was some two stepping, some jitter bug, and after we caught our breaths and downed a lot of water (bowing to the fact that we were obviously getting old and out of shape from the inactivity of graduate school) he taught me the cotton eyed joe and, bless his heart, to waltz. He said I followed really well, picked up the movements quickly, and had a great sense of rhythm. His friend said he saw the guy dance frequently, but scarcely with women who could keep up (insert unabashed self boasting here). We both love dancing, he doesn't sketch me out, and we're both quite clearly not interested in dating, so we're keeping in touch on the offhand chance that we both have free time.

Anyway, overall it was spectacular- My roommate's boyfriend at some point bought a band t-shirt, whipped off the one that he was wearing, slung it over his head, and pulled on the paraphernalia only to discover that it was a women's medium. That was a highlight along with my dancing excursion.

surprise.

It's been a good long while since I posted last. Funny story (except not really): turns out I've had Lyme disease for the last few months and only just finished the necessary antibiotics to get rid of it. It's still sort of hanging around in a residual-symptom-sort-of-way, but certainly better.

Terror.

I just had a brush with death- my roommate and I tried to bring the cats to the vet clinic and it was, hands down, the most terrifying experience of my life. The female cat doesn't genearlly meow much, but she does a really convincing impression of a bear that's been kicked in the middle of a snow storm during hibernation. MRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWWWWW. Boy cat was really reasonable and only presented moderate resistance (spread eagle across the door like a flying squirrel that didn't notice a window). After using the arm of the couch I had the carrier propped against as a monorail track a few times, I got him in and he didn't offer to punch holes in me which I appreciated- but girl cat was just having none of it. Letting her figure out that the carrier was where she was destined to go in the first time I tried to just pick her up and put her in sparked a reaction that was something akin to what happens to Edward Norton in the Incredible Hulk. After some negotiation that she was not at all interested in, we were asking the question: How many graduate students does it take to get an obviously angry cat armed with exacto knives into a carrier (without losing something vital, like most of the blood in your circulatory system after she gets done with you)? When I gathered the nerve to try and catch her as she ran past, I missed, and then caught her in the hallway, halfway up the wall (the WALL)- I really don't know how this happened, but like Houdini, girl cat apparently flies. By this point, I had on long sleeves and gloves and had to pick her up with a towel. I thought she was going to kill me! But we made it to the clinic on time, and the vet says it's not particularly uncommon for cats to show up in things like laundry hampers so I didn't feel so bad about the fact that the only thing we had big enough to get the cat into without getting killed was the kitchen garbage bin. When the vet asked her to after the exam, she dutifully walked into the carrier. It's safe to say that I lost a fair amount (all) of my dignity in the affair.

FIX YOU

I'm listening to the kind of music nobody in their right mind admits to listening to. It's rock music performed by a cello ensemble. While I love the rendition of Journey "Don't Stop Believin'" and "Sympathy for the Devil" what got me the most was this song I'd never heard the name of- Fix You. It turns out that it's by some band called Coldplay (yes, I live in a vacuum and had no idea). But this song... It rises in this subtle way from a rather unremarkable melody to an incredible chorus of harmonized voices. It's as though you can feel the resonance building in your skin, and then it breaks and something that you didn't know was in you is drawn to the surface. Depending on the time of day, it brings with it joy or weeping to the surface.

Cats + Sponges = fungus.

Sometimes when you do stupid things like clean your dishes with the same sponge you use to clean your counters, you boost your immune system. Other times, you unwittingly give yourself fungal infections. I wish I was joking.

So my rent-a-cats like going on every flat surface in my house, including my counters and table. I recently discovered that they were still doing this, and that the funny marks I'd been wiping up were pawprints. What I'd like to know is how the bleeding hell did I make it out of the jungle without bringing home something living on me and that was mildly parasitic, but come back to Cambridge and get a cat or two and suddenly there it is, it's a critter that just popped up like a daisy in spring. It's hanging out on my arm. I'm almost positive it's a fungus. I'm more than a little horrified. I've had a few spots for awhile now but.... eee........... this one in particular is making me unhappy. I mentioned it to a friend last night and they didn't look terribly impressed. What can I say, I'm a classy sort of dame.

I Hate Shopping of Any Kind so I Act Like a Jerk to Amuse Myself

I inherited a behavior from my mother. I talk at people at random. and at length. Also, I embarass my sister in public. I mean, I don't go so far as to sing opera (oh yes, my mother SINGS OPERA if you get pissy in the store) but I do use underwear as ammunition and make fun of ugly clothing. I believe there's a picture from my friend's bachelorette party when we're in Foxwoods and I'm making faces at a silicone bra stuffer- but that's another story.

On this particular occassion, my roommate succeeded in getting me out of the house to have a few beers with her and friends at one of my favorite watering holes. It was a lot of fun, the girls are such great people- and as usual, the evening was punctuated by some of my bad decisions. Bad decision (or awesome depends on how you look at it) number 1, having 5 Guinnesses (Guinni?) in 2 hours. Bad decision number 2, but possibly not bad, deciding that the 24 hour Shaws is the next stop. We needed frozen pizza and creamscicles.

Having already prefaced this story by outlining my random talking and inclination towards embarrasing behavior in public spaces, I guess we can get straight into it. The last time I picked up a frozen pizza was a similar occassion with my summer roommate whom I love. She made it clear to me, at the time, that the delux pizza had not only the most crap on it, but was the cheapest and therefore the best bang for your buck. I decided that this wisdom should be shared, not only with my current roommate on our current excursion, but the poor man sharing the frozen food isle with us at 1 o'clock in the morning. He had already made the unfortunate mistake of suggesting his usual pizza. Of course, I had to tell him that thank you for your suggestion, but my decision is made, and also better, and here's why. This was followed by a comparison of price, size, etc, and that, ok, so I usually institute a rule of not eating things that have more than 5 ingredients or things I can't pronounce, but in this case it's acceptable. My roommate went and got some margarine, which I also made a show of berating, because I was in "I hate stores" mode and told her that there was real butter in the freezer, and in droves, and proved my point as to why the margarine was bad by attempting to read off the ingredients that I couldn't pronounce. However, the guy in the isle, who was by now invested in the conversation/ordeal he'd unwittingly sucked himself into, turned out to be a nutrition and something something food healthy whatever grad student, and read the ingredients and said that actually, it was okay to eat this. You may or may not know that I have a really terrible obsession with I Can't Believe it's Not Butter but when I'm in this mood, it doesn't matter if I'm being hypocritical and also inappropriate. I swiped the margarine and told him to stop encouraging this behavior. My roommate eventually realized that this wasn't going to stop by my accord, and encouraged heading for the check out line with "I'm tired and I need to eat this pizza, we're going home." Probably a wise move because I wasn't going to stop being embarrasing unless somebody else said something. I mean, it looked like he had a thing for her, so my reasoning at the time was that if we stuck around, something would happen.

Continued Adventures in Rent-a-Cat Land

Things have lagged a little but it was because I suffered some temporary idiocy and thought I had scurvy but seriously, outside of 18th century pirates, who the hell gets that? Saw a doctor today and funny enough, not scurvy. Fell asleep in the waiting room of UHS but since there aren't backs to the chair, I woke up leaning on some poor guy wearing a flu mask. It was stellar. As always, there are new developments in rent-a-cat land.

1) Cats can poo at will and without limits. On that note, time spent in conversation in the general viscinity of the cat box is directly related to the number of visits a cat will make. The longer you talk, the more use the shovel will get and sooner.

2) The only food that may be consumed processually and directly from the fridgeration unit is ice cream because it can be eaten while standing and the carton may remain out of easily accessible cat reach as the freezer is rather high. It is nolonger acceptable to be lazy and assemble other food products in front of the fridge. Putting the bowl of Cheerios on the floor in front of the fridge to pour milk in it so that you only have to make one trip across the kitchen instead of two will not save you any energy because it will inevitably end up with curious cat face in it and you will need to get a new bowl anyway.

3) You may not think that the toilet is a wading pool, and you may be of the opinion that there aren't fish in it. but if the seat isn't down, nobody with 4 paws and fur believes you.

Pandora's Travel Mug

Somebody once told me that it gets easier. "It" must be the proverbial representation of life. While I'm really not complaining, and I like my life, that somebody definitely lied to me because I'll be damned if ANYTHING is getting easier. Every semester, I hear and then think in kind, this will be easier. Things will let up. Um, that's not true at all. My first year was mostly just figuring out how to acclimate. Then it was preparing for my major exams. Then it was making up for the fact that I just didn't "get it" (it being the transition) and had to make up for it- and what I'm finding is that things don't swap out for me, they just accumulate. So I'm not replacing one part of hell with another, I'm just getting a pile of things that will eventually, inevitably fall over. This semester, I get 4 classes, I get to teach 2, and write my proposal for my dissertation, and prepare for the exams (again). I'm not sure that I'm going to come out alive, but my advisor seems to think I can handle it and I respect him tremendously, so I'll put my faith in that if not in myself.

So anyway, I decided that what I really needed was some coffee. There's a travel mug on my desk. I haven't had coffee in a long time, at least not at the point where I drink it like I should have an IV- and I can't remember the last time I had coffee out of this mug in particular. I'm going to put it this way, if I could go back in time and stop myself from opening the mug, thereby preserving both my dignity and innocence, I would because coffee should, in my mind, never be a solid again after it's been ground and should also never breed critters. If Pandora had a modern day equivalent, that box would've taken the form of this mug. Oh yes, oh yes. it was that bad.

Cat-r-wall

I had an amazing new adventure with my rent-a-cats today. Well, okay, mostly just the one. We're beyond Houdini though, this cat apparates through walls, Harry Potter style. That's right, this cat could probably kick Dumbledore's ass. I wish I was joking, because that would make my life less terrifying. Honestly, the cats are great, but I live in fear of losing them somewhere and then having to explain to the legitimate owners that "Oh hey, about your cat..." My cohabitation is more or less pleasantly cute and fluffy, punctuated by moments of extreme terror.

I decided to do laundry because it's been awhile, and the cat accompanied me down the stairs. Usually, it does no good to try and keep him away from the basement because he'll inevitably end up down there regardless of the measures I take. Why? Because he's Harry-freaking-Potter, that's why. Anyway, we have an arrangement where I let him play downstairs and he lets me know when he's gotten bored of it. I used to try herding him around to get him upstairs but herding a cat in a cluttered basement is less than fun, and certainly not easy. Also, if I stand around and wait for him to get tired of the dust bunnies on his face, this doesn't happen and he finds them SO grossly interesting that they multiply to spangle all of his whiskers.

He never "knocked" so I went for a run. When I returned, he was still not at the door, so I ventured down after him to try and convince him that playtime was over. This didn't happen because he wasn't down there. I tried poking through my neighbor's side of the basement... and tried really hard in a paranoid sort of way not to look sketchy. This was a challenge because there is no way, in hell, that you can avoid looking sketchy when you're going through someone else's stuff and get caught. I didn't get caught, and anyway, my efforts were to no avail. I noticed though, that the door to the neighbor's side of the house was open. I tried constructing a request in my head that was appropriate for 9 am. "Hello, excuse me, did you happen to see a large black cat apparate through your door? I've lost mine. Yes, you see, he walks through solid barriers."

I did not, however, actually have to knock on the door because he wasn't behind it. He was actually over my head. by roughly 6 feet. in the stairwell. Let me just explain that the walls of the stairwell are flat. there are no shelves, hooks, or wires. Apparently, this cat can also fly. About 20 minutes of coaxing and the majority of my dignity later, the cat still wasn't out of the ceiling and I decided taht this must be because he was stuck. I did the next logical thing and got a ladder. I got my camera first, perhaps not the most constructive idea ever. I set the ladder up National Lampoon style in the stairwell, and I'm pretty well convinced that if the neighbors had opened their door at any point during this process, they would have unhesitatingly called the cops.

Upon reaching the apex of this precarious situation, I looked up and discovered that there was, in fact, no cat. He was gone. And there I was, wondering what the hell I was I doing in a Ph.D. program when I couldn't even figure out how the hell a cat got into the ceiling (yes, I am fully aware of how insane that sounds). When I heard a meow. On the other side of the door I had just closed. He was sitting on the other side of it on the floor, looking as though he'd been waiting for hours for me to get everything figured out. I'm pretty sure that this is goign to cost me my sanity.

Well hello, did you get those on sale at Old Navy? Me too!

You've probably noticed by now that I tend to approach everything in life with a certain amount of humor. I read once that you shouldn't laugh at everything because it trivializes things that shouldn't be trivialized. That might be true, but let's think about this... Just because you can find a way to laugh at the situation, it doesn't mean that you're trivializing it. Besides, what's the alternative to laughing? Crying? Anyway, you don't have to laugh "at" things, you can laugh "about" them. There is a difference, believe me. Dating is, however, one of those things you you have to laugh AT, and it's necessary because if I don't find a way of laughing at it, I'm going to abandon the idea of relationships altogether and go become a nun. it's been brought to my attention that I have a few idiosyncrasies that make dating a little odd for me. As mentioned a few posts ago, I have gotten dating out of my system for the most part. This is fortuitous because this crap makes me irritable. No I haven't dropped the idea of a relationship maybe someday being not such an inconvenient thing, but I have dropped the idea of bothering to go and find one now for various reasons.

I've ranted about before, I revisited the world of socially-functional-people-who-date a little while back. I may not have said it explicitly, but I'm pretty sure I have implied (strongly), that I make bad decisions. This isn't even just on the dating front, or on the choice of wardrobe- because I make bad decisions all around. When you combine all of these elements, you see me living in a snowglobe of things that should just not happen. I'll lend some insight into why I am a disaster.

About a week ago, my lovely roommate invited me out to dinner with her and a friend. As we were getting dressed she mentioned that she really liked my jeans on me. When her hint apparently sailed completely unnoticed over my head, no more than briefly tripping over my oblivious "why, thank you!", she more pointedly told me that I should probably put them on because maybe, just maybe, it'd be a nice idea for me to wear womens' jeans as opposed to my usual mens' Old Navy shorts because in case it had escaped my notice, I was, in fact, not a man.

Some might argue that it is problematic when you show up to a date, and you realize that you own the same pants as the pair currently sported by the man you've just met- and you are a straight female. For a number of years, I've been informed that my habit of dress, or rather, complete lack of style and inability to adhere to social norms on an even quasi-regular basis, is strange, if not downright weird. I recently attempted, at the encouragement of my roommate and other women who know "what's up", to dress like a woman, at least for dating purposes. Because, honestly, what man wants to show up to a date to find that they're dating a slightly feminine version of himself? I'm sure you remember my discussion on hating clothes shopping? Well, men's clothing is a lot more sturdy, and if it takes longer to destroy it, it lasts in the field, then it's good enough for the office and I can delay shopping for replacements for even longer.

A few weeks ago when I went to see a man I met on a dating website. Just for the record, yes, online dating is weird, but when you live like a small rodent operating in a windowless office that is, minus the large spiders and dampness, a freaking cave, from whatever time you drag yourself out of your house in the morning until after dark at night, everyday (that's right, this includes an inability to recognize weekends or observe most holidays), how/where the hell else are you going to meet somebody? In the cave next door? Oh yeah, that's a brilliant idea just waiting to happen... But to swerve back on track, I wore a skirt. There was compromising involved. My roommate confirmed that I looked both acceptable and like myself as I combined the skirt with my usual button down field shirt. Come on, I wouldn't be me if I was dressed totally like a girl, now would I?

He was a nice guy, I hope he finds what he's looking for, which I believe is a lot- and as "not-right" a fit as we were, I think he deserves someone really wonderful. He found humor in everything, but with what I felt like was a touch of sadness. It was him in his words, but at the same time, it wasn't. I almost said as much, that I imagined he was actually a very serious person and he looked at me without surprise at my observation. "Aren't the most amused people the most serious?" He might not have realized it at the time, but the fact that I agreed with him wasn't because I was trying to be pleasant and affable, but because it resonated true. Consequently, I was being uncomfortably not-myself by attempting to dress passably as a woman for something that I never, in my right mind, would dress up for (oh wait, the norm means I wouldn't be on a date in the first place... what am I thinking?!) and feeling awkward about it. My brief experience with him indirectly set off the subject of this entry. My roommate lent her own insight into my dating situation (overall) and lucky for you and me, thought when we had him over for dinner that his style was as ridiculous as mine.

She was only here for a few months, most of which I was away for, but the only way to describe her is... she's a really unique person with a gift for making other people feel special. I miss her. Funny enough, she was not a fan of this man, and saw what I hadn't bothered to acknowledge, and believe it or not, it wasn't centered on my idiosyncratic style, but rather my inability to correct my behavioral approach to dating: he and I had nothing in common, were in two completely different walks of life, so what the hell was the problem, why was I still keeping up the charade of pleasant dating? She pointed out that yes, he was nice, but this shouldn't mean that I should keep seeing him; was I dating him because I wanted to or because it was there and convenient, was he really a good fit or did it just look good in theory, did I really want to be with somebody who was so concerned about things that were obviously the opposite of my concerns, yes it had only been a few dates but I should probably ask that question about "where's this going" now because he just said he was moving across the country and for pity's sake, couldn't I date somebody who didn't have two earrings? Her mother, who was visiting, asked quite seriously "Did they accidentally pierce the wrong ear and then go back and do the other?" I kind of appreciate a man who can pull off an earring, but I try not to admit that out loud. Anyway, she had a point, we weren't terribly intrigued by one another. I wasn't sure how to end it nicely and directly, so I did it indirectly and hilariously. Want to scare a man? Ask him to figure out how he feels about commitment early on.

Anyway, she and I had a talk about the previously mentioned man and his and my conversation plays into it a bit. I'm frequently fairly private about things, but she taught me that sometimes you have to be open. She noticed that I have a habit of letting things go, and therefore, while I'm pretty introspective, continue to make the same mistakes in relationships even though I recognize that I'm making them. I date people who are really not a fit, and I know that, and they're nice people (sometimes) but it's not going to work. I'll throw this out there as I frequently do, the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.

I have a few people to thank for their impacts on my mental processes, including that guy who I haven't spoken to and probably never will again (sorry about making that last conversation a freak show, I doubt you thought it was funny, but I sure as hell did). My roommate, of course. And somebody else who didn't seem to mind that I go everywhere in men's shorts and 3-sizes-too-big button downs. I'm undoubtedly going to stick with my current habits of dressing lackadaisically but maybe with special appearances in my womens' H&M jeans. I won't give away the ending just yet. I actually have no idea what it will be.

Cheers!

Living with Cats as a Non Cat Person

I am currently the renter of two lovely cats. Let me set this up: My sister is the cat person. She had one named Carmel that she'd carry in a backpack and would play fetch with her. I am allergic to cats (along with everything that has a pulse or pollen) and am more of a big ugly dog kinda gal. But these cats are nice. They belong to a colleague of mine and his wife who are away in the field for the next year. They had been prepared to bring the cats with them for part of the trip to leave them with a family member- preparations including installing chicken wire in the back of their car for a UFC style cage. It was amazing. So I offered and was happy to have them.

What I have learned in my first days as a temporary cat owner...

1) the girl cat and I cannot sleep in the same room. The status of this decision will be reassessed at a later date once she has settled in and become more acquainted with the new environment. Right now, she doesn't recognized that my face is different from the mattress and tends to stand on it at inopportune times, such as 3 AM when I am trying to sleep.

2) the boy cat is Houdini reincarnated. He can open cabinets without opposable thumbs, and compress his body to fit through 3 inch spaces. This is quite a feat, because he is quite a substantial cat. I discovered this last night after I tore my house apart looking for him. I opened the back door to find him, much to my horror, sitting expectantly on the other side of it. Windows are now opened exclusively from the top. Actually, my roommate and I had held a powwow over the bathroom window a few days before, in the bathroom, which is about on par with a 2 by 3 janitorial closet. We figured it was too high and too thin a space for him to get through. WRONG.

3) both cats appreciate singing.

4) both cats are apparently tone deaf, because I know I sure am, but they seem to enjoy it all the same.

I decided to send the cat owners weekly status reports. This first report included essentially what I have written above. Hopefully, my office does not discover that I might be eccentric as a result.

Cheers!

Using "nigh" in a sentence.

For the last several weeks now, I've appeared on a radio show. I channel the persona: George. George is a Maya shaman who helps people find their balance with the earth and cosmos through pilgrimage and new age-y hocus pocus once they've had balance tipping experiences like liposuction. Because, really, once you've had the fat removed from your keister and injected into your face, how can you be anything but out of sync with the universe at large? ...of course my name isn't really George. That'd be ridiculous. It's Jorge.

It's occurred to me that most of the things I make up and spout out over the air waves in that one hour a week are totally socially unacceptable and the least PC ideas to promote ever. Essentially, if anybody at my office actually listened to this at some point, I'm pretty sure that I'd be in deep crap.

Last week I believe we got into the subject of male lactation. This most recent show was pretty firmly centered on how man feels like an island despite all of the social connection crap like twitter and facebook. I am proud to say that I do not twitter or tweet or whatever that's called. Okay, so I facebook, but I'm working on that. It's going to take a 12 step program, I know it.

Anyway, what this leads to is that the last month or so has been an incredible learning experience. I moved into my new house with new roommates and they're the most amazing individuals I've ever met. I'm typically a little socially withdrawn, a hermit if you will. Sure, I gave a speech in college about how my comfort zone is not having one and that likewise you should challenge yourself to go and seek out new places, people, experiences... Why yes, I do love traveling. I thoroughly enjoy going someplace new with no language skills (up until I need to find a public restroom, then it's like the most uncomfortable game of charades ever). I like meeting new people... as a part of my JOB. On my own time, I usually stay in, and savor the solitude. While that's good me time, it doesn't make for a terribly socially functional person. My roommates have challenged me to go out, to get to know people, and all the while, to be myself. Extravagantly.

In all seriousness though, I'm pretty lucky. I thought I was past that stage of making lifelong friends but I was clearly and happily mistaken. I'm also in denial because one of them is leaving to go back home- home that's across the continent. It's safe to say that I'm about to be devastated.

Now for your viewing amusement... hopefully the link works.... I've been fiddling with the damn thing for nigh an hour.

http://www.ted.com/talks/elaine_morgan_says_we_evolved_from_aquatic_apes.html

...Because it seemed like a good idea at the time.

That really is the name of the game, isn't it? It seemed like a good idea at the time- that's why we're doing anything that we're doing. "Why are you in the field that you are?" "because it seemed like a good idea at the time." "why were you running with scissors?" "...it seemed like a good idea at the time." "What happened to your hand? is that a machete? what were you doing with the machete?" "...it seemed like a good idea at the time?"

As you can see from the somewhat frightening train of thought displayed in the previous paragraph, there's a running trend right now in my life- I mean aside from the ongoing trend of various school work-related issues inducing feelings of wanting to impulsively play in traffic. Life is ridiculous. There's just no way around it. Currently, this stems from the "It seemed like a good idea at the time... to go on that date." Believe you me, it pretty much never is. I know, I know, the gypsy woman at Quincy Market promised I'd be getting married soon so why give up now? I'm pretty sure that given the trajectory of the current trend that this would be a poor move, and much more on the side of an error worthy of a Greek tragedy than a blessing. I wish I was joking. Luckily for you, I'm not.

Yes, I recently ventured back into dating. Possibly 'nough said. But I'll continue. Harkening back (is that even a valid phrase? Oh well it is now) to my last post yet again, the gypsy woman's blessing/prophetization (might also be a made up word) is turning out to be such that I might be justified in going back and demanding a refund. I mean, I can't because I don't actually want to get married. Heck, I don't even really want to force it, but situationally, online dating "seemed like a good idea at the time." Anyway, the dress she sold me was pretty.

But what leads to this being a good idea at the time? I'll pose the question: When you're back from a country that's 12 time zones away with the mother of all jetlags, you have no money, no ID, no credit card, what do you do? I'll tell you: if you're single, you sit at your computer at 4 o'clock in the morning because for you it's technically the middle of the afternoon and you're not seeing the backs of your eyelids anytime soon regardless of how tired and delirious you actually are. Then when you see one of those creepy ads on your e-mail sidebar (you know, the ones that mirror the content of your latest e-mails? you tell your friend "I like peas" and you end up with ads all over the place spouting headlines about "fresh produce!" "organic peas!" "green dye!" and my personal favorite "find peas in the yellow pages!") that says: "make a free profile," you do it. Why? because it seems like a good idea at the time- note that in order for it to be a good idea, that time is when you're jetlagged beyond coherency and you can't focus enough to do something constructive like read, and everything else in the city is closed.

So what am I doing? Nothing anymore. I seem to be getting the attempt out of my system. It's sort of like giving birth, as it's been explained to me. You forget the insanity of your last "relationship" almost immediately (bunny ears are necessary in this case). Well, I cyclically will attempt to date, then turn unhappy when they realize "oh weird, you really are going to keep up this prolonged adolescence with this ridiculous job, aren't you? can you like, not?" and then I will run for cover. After awhile I'll forget (because I have the memory retention prowess of a domesticated gold fish) and think "huh, that wasn't really so bad, maybe I'll give it another shot". Then all hell breaks loose and I throw up my hands and wonder what ailed my head enough to make me think that that was ever a good idea. Okay so it's not like that right now, but it's not my favorite place to be ever. I'm going to have to see that gypsy woman about a blessing or remedy or some such to ward off the selective amnesia.

What's in the Water?

Has anybody else noticed that EVERYBODY is getting married/engaged/having babies? No, seriously, there are albums all over facebook of surprise weddings that I never saw coming. I'm not the only one who feels like this is a frightening development and that maybe there is something in the water. Por ejemplo: I was talking to my oldest friend about this, and mentioned, "oh did you see that so-and-so got married?" there was a pause, followed by "...To a man?" "I know, right?"

I'm not saying I need to get married, I'm just sort of surprised. But I have been in 2 weddings and am coming up on my third performance next October. Yes, it's a performance. If it sees me in a dress, with make up and shoes other than sandals, then it's a performance. I liked those weddings though, probably because I know the people and love them dearly. What's that saying? Three times a bridesmaid? Oh well, it happens.

1) Back when I was a teenager, I was in my lovely cousin's wedding. It was great, my uncle had a string trio/quartet/gang of string instrumentalists play at the reception. At some point they played a Celtic set and the groom and his family (they're Irish) hit the floor step dancing. I was impressed.

2) Last year, I was in a childhood friend's wedding. That was a spectacular endeavor, let me tell you. I got fitted for the dress and then promptly left for the field. All summer. I went from France to Turkey to Guatemala to Honduras and it was a little on the ridiculous side. Last time I went to Guatemala I came back about 20 pounds heavier. I know right? I went from 115 to 135. I'm pretty sure that was horrendous. Okay so gaining a few inches (or like 5) on my waist wasn't my favorite, but really, the horrifying part was that I had to buy new clothes. Let's just say that I'm not a fan of shopping. when you hate shopping or being around a lot of people, suddenly being faced with the fact that you have to replace ALL of your pants feels what I would imagine knowing you're about to be hit by a car feels like- you've just walked into the cross walk and realized that car just isn't stopping... I mean, especially when you've spent the last 20 years getting away with wearing what mom brings home (from 6th grade...), and hand me downs from your god mother's sons (things that I love and STILL keep in my closet).

I mean, part of this phobia comes from the fact that mom insists every article of clothing, and therefore all pairs of pants, are sewn differently. Yes, I still go shopping with my mom when I have to get clothes. 1) if she left it up to me, I'd put it out of my mind and it'd just never get done 2) if I am forced into doing it out of necessity by myself, odds are that I can't be trusted and will botch it somehow. Well, I'm improving recently... But anyway, it isn't enough just to try on a size and see that it fits and go pick up a stack of size whatever pants. Oh no, no no, if you need 3 - 5 pairs of pants, and decide to go simple (as I will to get out of the store as soon as possible, damnit) and pick 3 - 5 pairs of the SAME pair of pants, you are stuck in the dressing room for the next hour and a half of your life trying on every pair of size whatever pants to make sure they fit as well as pair-of-pants-take-one because "No, Lauren, they are NOT the same! Look, this one has a funny pocket..."

Back from that tangent, yeah, so I came back the week of the wedding terrified that I wasn't going to fit into the dress. I had absolutely monitored all of my eating habits that summer- dress fit fine, was even a touch big. I can't say that I wasn't pleased. While I was in Honduras, I had commented to a friend's boyfriend, who happens to be Mexican, that I needed to be on a diet. He thought this over with grave contemplation etched into his face for a few seconds before carefully responding, with deliberation: "Yes." His English sounds phenomenal because he listens to American music all the time. But he didn't actually have any idea what the hell I was saying, so positively responding "yes" seemed like the thing to do. His girlfriend was horrified. Last time he and I had a talk that ended like this was

Me: "Wow, your English is a lot better than my Spanish!"
Him: "...yes."
Her: "NO!"

You see where this is going. So anyway, I kept myself well enough limited on insane food intake to fit in the dress and attend this wedding in decent shape (haha, shape. Like in-shape. I think I'm funny...).

3) My other childhood friend is getting married next October. I'm ridiculously excited about this. Her fiancee proposed in Paris, and I'm pretty sure that he's my new favorite person. I get updates from time to time in my inbox about the state of the union (haha, more funny...). I love it. They've known each other since high school, it's like a fairy tale romance.

So here I am, I bought a dress from this Ukrainian woman in Quincy a few weeks ago. She asked me where I was from, what school, etc, and when I finally broke down and told her she, being the stellar saleswoman she was, called me a genius. This led to, "you have a boyfriend?" "um... no." Seeing this as a mistake, she turned mystic, but still very nice of course. She blessed my dress, gave me a discount for being a foreigner, and told me I would definitely be getting married soon. Awesome. Actually, it makes me wonder if that's what this is all about? This woman has been blessing dresses and inducing marriage all over the place. Half of my graduating class DOES come to Boston/live here.

On the subject of Office Renovations...

Alright, I can admit it. I'm procrastinating. I've been up since before 7 am, a weird trend that's marked this week. I've been productive, writing various things for a few hours only after taking a 3 mile run. but now I'm at the lunch time crawl. Which is ridiculous, because I ate an entire pizza by myself last night... I know, that made no logical sense. I'll leave you with this tid bit... and then go back to typing.

"So, now's not the time to ask for the approval to renovate my office into a replica of the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon? ...don't give me that look. If you can think of another way that I can include 'punch it, Chewie' into daily conversation, I'd love to hear it."

:)

What month is this? Is this really August?

I've come to the conclusion that I exist within a black hole, and its vacuum travels with me wherever I go. No, seriously, how did it get to be August already?

So... I went to China. My wallet was stolen with my passport, my cash, my license, my credit card, even my student ID. In my first hour on Chinese soil. This could be funny, except not really. I spent hour 2 in the police station. At least I could amuse myself with the hilarity of the officers' facial expressions as my friend, who is Chinese, told them my name- which is obviously very far from Chinese. The trend of people speaking at me, and then asking why I was acting like a deaf mute, and then raising an eyebrow and dropping a jaw at "What? Huh? I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese" continued throughout the duration of my trip. Actually, it only got funnier as custody (of me) was turned over to a friend who is tall, blond, blue eyed, and speaks fluent Mandarin. Perhaps the best reaction ever was on a bus. An elderly gentleman gave my arm a tug as I was standing on the crowded bus, so that I could sit in the newly vacated seat beside him. He seemed very amused by my dress which was... distinctly field clothing, and chuckled to himself as he inspected a corner of my obviously not-so-feminine shirt. I would sort of smile, nod, and offer him some of what ever the hell it was I was eating. I think it was Baodzu... anyway, as we neared my stop, my friend came up from the back of the bus, and poked me to let me know we were getting off. I asked her to tell him I didn't speak Chinese, because I hadn't had the heart to tell him myself. She leaned in, and told a now very bewildered man that the girl sitting next to him with a very Chinese face was not Chinese, didn't speak Chinese, and that she was sorry. He stared for about a minute before dissolving into a torso shaking laugh. There are other stories, but I'll save them. Otherwise, I saw the beautiful Sichuan countryside, and hiked the tallest mountain in China, Emeishan. There were monkeys. They were enormous. But Emeishan was an incredible thing in and of itself. On the way there, we visited Leshan, which has the largest Buddha, carved into a rock face, and walked in the Yangtze.

So the mountains of China are all outfitted with stairs for hiking trails. This might seem more helpful but actually, it's like the mother of all staircases, and it's hell on your knees. However, the biodiversity on the mountain was incredible. I keep journals when I travel, and I write in them religiously.

Excerpt: "The stone steps, some of which were recycled grave stones etched with characters, were very low, straining the knees. As we walked, I started to observe the wealth of ecological richness about us. Colorful butterflies frittered about in the tree canopy and up and over the path. Earthworms, formidable in size to snakes, iridescent, sneaking across the steps. What I believe were even planaria, glistening along, narrow bodies clinging to the earth as they inched forward so smoothly that they may as well have been gliding by a mechanism imperceptible to the human eye. Slugs as big as potatoes, lurking everywhere, but even so with a lovely camouflage encasing them to disguise their surfaces as fallen, curling leaves..."

So now I'm back. I got over the jetlag better than expected. Mom picked me up for the family vacation the next day, and after lunch on the way up, I apparently passed out in the front seat for the next 5 hours. When I woke up, we were at the cabin. I groggily got out of the vehicle, and was just coherent enough to drag myself inside and find my room- since my sister and I were sharing the room with the bunk beds, and she'd claimed the bottom, I somehow made it up the ladder and crashed for the next 15 hours or so. all in all, a pretty spectacular performance. Completely slept through dinner. It was great.

Maine was wonderful. My uncle came and he's just been diagnosed with cancer... they're pretty sure he'll be okay, but we played a lot of board games, he won all of them, and wandered around the coast. I went back to running and would go out every morning for 2-5 miles, eat roadside blueberries (I know, healthy, right?), and pick lupines. I did a lot of work on my prospectus. This was, of course, vetoed by my director, but at the time I felt productive.

Back at school, I still run 2-4 miles every morning, or at least 6 days a week. My vegetables in the garden are... well, they're stunted. I have a patch of vegetables so stunted by the incessant rain that they're miniaturized. I can make perhaps half a salad. At least it'll be adorable.

The highlight of my day today, which broke up the paper writing, was going out for lunch... and a little more. It was splendid!

Now, for your viewing amusement: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e_TIOfUEudo

My awesome roommate found this and passed it my way. I appreciated it. I was on the floor laughing. Cheers!

Oh, the Mundanity of a Day Without Sleep.

I'm on my 40th hour with no sleep. I think. I'm not entirely certain anymore. You see, I had a presentation to give today in class, and I spent about 20 hours on it straight. Starting yesterday early afternoon. Then I just decided not to go to bed, went to my office around 8 pm, went and picked my roommate up from the airport- she got in from her cruise with a sun burn. I commented on the novelty of a sunburn and how I was envious for one of my own. She thinks I'm weird.

Gave said presentation, which after spending so much time on, one would think it would last for the prescribed 40 minutes to an hour. Instead, it seems that 20 hours of work equates roughly in my speaking speed to 15 minutes of actual presentation. When I looked up at the clock and saw that there was half an hour left I was positively mortified. Luckily, there were enough questions (either because the subject material was interesting or because I was inarticulate the first time I ran through the material... who knows... I try to comfort myself by thinking it was the former....) to keep up going up to the last minute of class. Though I got the stern: You're coming to office hours tomorrow, right? which, the professor is right, I have to go. he's been exceedingly helpful, and even though it's like digging at my own side with a screwdriver, might be one of the best remedies for my infernal shyness.

Oh, yes, but now my eyes have ceased to focus and images are starting to cross.

Surveys, Downpours, & Beers

I've been putting in vast amounts of my time trying to compare costs for various data carriers for this project I'm doing. I won't bore you with the technical details, but this stems off of a project that I started working on over the summer, surveying a river valley and the spatial relationships between particular monuments. Neat, eh?

It's a rainy-ish day out and on one of the early days of the survey, which was only about 2 weeks to begin with, it was a little bit cloudy but nothing spectacular. Our biggest goal was to measure the distance across the valley using a total station- so you shoot a beam of light from the machine to a prism which reflects it back, and in the time it takes for the light to travel, the distance is calculated.

But the distance across the valley was pretty damned big. I don't ask any of my team to do anything I haven't done or won't do, so I took my friend's boyfriend's GPS and went with a guide that morning. Upon reaching the top, the battery went dead, and I became extremely unhappy- but... saw that there was a point from which I could plant a prism and take the point without trees in the way.

So when I returned for lunch, I informed said boyfriend that it would be his turn after lunch. One of the students expressed an interest in tagging along on the trip, and since I was shooting, I said sure. He could practice his Spanish, the boyfriend could practice his English, the guide could take some time to walk instead of excavate (which I prefer too) and I could take the point.

But before they left, I noticed the clouds in the sky- we were in the rainy season afterall- and voiced some concerns about the weather. "No, no lluvia. No es una problema." About 15 minutes after they left, and the hike takes about an hour or two up the other side of the ridge, the winds picked up and the clouds descended on us. Our director came booking it up to the site "Pack it in! The skies are about to open up! We're in for a torrential rainstorm!" I got a little uneasy. I'd harangued the boyfriend that morning to not forget the cell phone, specifically for the purpose of dealing with the survey today. We could call him! Tell them to come back down... Unfortunately, their end wasn't getting any reception. One of the supervisors reassured me and said he'd seen the driver take off like a bat out of hell when the winds picked up, and he was likely on his way to pick them up now- because the guide knew, and would bring them back down the ridge immediately.

This might have been the case in an ideal world. About an hour later we were all indoors at one of the lab facilities. Our director going through roll call to make sure that all the field school students were in. There was a long pause at one point. "Um, has anybody seen..." I cringed and slunk into the adjacent lab space of the girl whose boyfriend I had just sent to drown with the student and offered to be slave labor on her current sorting project.

Some 5 hours later - I had stayed late at the lab - I finally went back to our living quarters. The boyfriend and the student were just getting back from the trip, and were drenched- though with mud up to mid torso. I ran to the friend and her boyfriend's room. "um... I'm sorry? Desculpe?" "...take your phone." was the response from the bathroom where he was wringing out his clothing. The student, apparently, had had a blast and was regaling his fellow cohort with tales of the bridge being washed out, tramping through fields, etc. "We called the driver! He didn't pick up! His wife did! she said he was at the bar!" Apparently, when the winds picked up the guide didn't bring them down- he rushed them to the top. Afterwhich point, they finally ventured down- as the lightening bolts were all around them and they were standing at arguably the highest point of a cleared ridge under an itty bitty aluminum roof... but at the bottom, the river had risen by several feet and the bridge was washed out. So they had to find an alternate route- which entailed wading through streams all holding onto the pole for the prism so they didn't get swept away (particularly the guide, he was definitely under 5 feet tall) going several miles out of the way and trespassing through the fields of various farmers. Luckily, the guide they were with knew everyone in the general area, and so they didn't get shot at. At least I could tell my director that I hadn't killed off his student. For the rest of the season, I'm pretty sure that most of the students who went on survey believed that the guide was god.

Beers and dinner were on me.

Partly because of the ordeal- mostly because I was sending them back up the next morning.

Monkeys, "Kitties", and Reinvention

Once upon a time, I had strong opinions. While I've never been the type to be imposing, it was comforting for me to have them all the same.

In the last 18 months I suppose something changed all that, and much of my internal dialogue dissipated. I went from being extremely introspective to hardly being able to look at myself without becoming frustrated.

In the last few months, however, I've been trying to find the patience to redefine myself within the same margins I maintained in that time long lost, but perhaps with room for expansion. If that makes any sense outside of my head.

This was set in motion when I began rereading some books that I once held extremely dear. I remembered that I could think about things beyond what I am supposed to be studying- talking, well... talking is still another matter. But one hurtle at a time.

In line with uncovering what I used to be, here is one of my favorite memories:

Our first day in camp of my first field project, our director showed us around, and pointed out things we should probably avoid contact with: "Do you see that spiny semi-venomous swinging vine? Don't touch it." Several weeks later, I went out on survey and learned, the hard way, that you do not brace yourself with your hands when you fall. Instead, you fall like a tree. The reason being, that I soon discovered, because you will almost certainly lose the use of your hands for several days. The vine he had pointed out was miserably on the ground in front of me, and I ended up with needle like points in my right hand, under my nails, and all the way up my forearm. Several months later, there would still be points working their ways out from the depths of my flesh. As one might have guessed, the survey team was some hours away from camp, so I was stuck on the sidelines for a day or so.

While I sat, fixing my notes- left handed, awkwardly- and contemplating life, I started listening. The jungle is no quiet place. The noise rivals that of an urban place, only the notes of the tune are more pleasant. Eventually, I put down my notebook and looked. Having grown up in a house tucked in a small nook in the woods, and being slightly socially awkward, I learned early that you could become acquainted with secretive aspects of the forest if you were quiet and patient. With me was sitting the eldest member of the team- in his 60s, with more vitality than anybody I had ever met, and also who knew the jungle better. After some time in silence, a small body poked its nose out of the underbrush, and weaved its lanky body through the clearing we were sitting in. Clearly a mammal, but like none I had ever lad eyes on. In passing, it gave us an unconcerned glance, as though we were little more than another tree among many but with an odd scent, and moved along on its way to someplace important. I turned to him after the gravity of the animal's presence had dissipated. I had been speaking Spanish for little more than a month or two, but managed weakly: "Que es?" to which he answered with an enchanted look and slight shrug "No se."

The fall on the spiny vine was actually a blessing. We were later graced with the visit of howler monkeys and a jaguarundi. I keep travel journals to keep track of the progression of my thoughts when I go someplace- I wrote of the encounters very lightly until now. This could be a function of my needing time to find appropriate wording for things very dear to me. Have you heard the Twain expression: "The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightening and the lightening bug"?