Pseudo-Mom
I'm sick today. The icky, feverish, bone-aching, migraine, sore-throat sick. The kind of sick where you want your mom by you, smoothing your hair back and bringing you 7-up in a mug. Mom is two hours away, but John was just a few minutes away, and he took care of me today. I didn't want to be in my dorm all day, because Saturdays are noisy, and I knew that there'd be music and yelling going on most of the day, so John made up a nest for me at his apartment. He took his futon mattress into the kitchen (by the heater) and gave me lots of blankets and pillows, then said that he was going to go get a bagel and coffee from the coffee shop. He was gone for a long time, and I fell asleep, but when he came back, he was carrying a bag from the supermarket.
"I got you something!"
"what?"
"Dish soap!!"
"Ha, ha."
Actually, he brought me orange juice and cinnamon rolls, and spent the afternoon hovering over me, brushing my hair back from my forehead and pouring more orange juice into my special cup; I lay on the sofa with my head on his lap, falling asleep again; I moved to the futon, and he brought a book over and stayed by me while I slept.
And each time I woke up and realized that he was still there, that he wanted to be near me even though he knew that he would definitely get sick too...I felt so lucky.
--
He has a couple of shirts hung up in my closet, in case he has to head right to work after class -- he doesn't have to go home; he can just swing past here and grab his shirt. I keep going over and burying my face in the cotton, because that scent, the smell of his soap and cologne and him...that's one of the only things that I can actually smell today.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
meme: 5 Guilty Pleasures
I was tagged by Sar quite a while ago, but couldn't come up with 5 truly guilty pleasures. But I'll have a shot at it:
1.) Cutting my hair. I do it too often, because I obsess over the feeling of doing it - the sound of the blades cutting the hair, the euphoria of seeing a mass of hair that I get to throw away. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I used to have long, long, long hair, and never cut it myself until a few years ago. (I cut my hair again tonight -- it's above my shoulders and gently layered, straight, with a few pieces pinned back from my face. I like it, very much. )
2.) I read, waaaay too much. A couple of semesters ago, I was averaging 5 extra-curricular books per week, in addition to my homework and textbooks (I also pulled a 4.0 that semester O:) ).
3.) Surprising John when he's at work. I don't do it that often; probably 5 times, but I love the look on his face when he hears someone ("NO! Another customer! Aaaagh.") approaching, then looks up with his bored, "How may I help you" face and sees me instead! His look freezes for a second, then melts into a huge smile.
4.) "Pure Seduction," a new scent from Victoria's Secret. My friend Jamie bought five bottles and gave one (GAVE ONE!) to me yesterday. I can't stay away from it - it smells almost like candy and makes me want to lick my arm (I have; it didn't taste as good as it smells).
5.) Reading weblogs. I found a few more recently that are so great; I really enjoy getting the little insights into people's lives.
There! I tag Jenni, Heidi (because, hello! You still haven't done it! ;) ), Heather, and Di.
1.) Cutting my hair. I do it too often, because I obsess over the feeling of doing it - the sound of the blades cutting the hair, the euphoria of seeing a mass of hair that I get to throw away. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I used to have long, long, long hair, and never cut it myself until a few years ago. (I cut my hair again tonight -- it's above my shoulders and gently layered, straight, with a few pieces pinned back from my face. I like it, very much. )
2.) I read, waaaay too much. A couple of semesters ago, I was averaging 5 extra-curricular books per week, in addition to my homework and textbooks (I also pulled a 4.0 that semester O:) ).
3.) Surprising John when he's at work. I don't do it that often; probably 5 times, but I love the look on his face when he hears someone ("NO! Another customer! Aaaagh.") approaching, then looks up with his bored, "How may I help you" face and sees me instead! His look freezes for a second, then melts into a huge smile.
4.) "Pure Seduction," a new scent from Victoria's Secret. My friend Jamie bought five bottles and gave one (GAVE ONE!) to me yesterday. I can't stay away from it - it smells almost like candy and makes me want to lick my arm (I have; it didn't taste as good as it smells).
5.) Reading weblogs. I found a few more recently that are so great; I really enjoy getting the little insights into people's lives.
There! I tag Jenni, Heidi (because, hello! You still haven't done it! ;) ), Heather, and Di.
Mad Skillz
Mad Skillz
Briane: Did you just cut your hair?!
me: Yes.
B: By YOURSELF?!
me: Yes.
B: Whoa! Those are Mad Skillz!
me: Like Nunchucks Skillz, and Computer-Hacking Skillz...only not so cool.
B: You have Haircutter Skillz!
Wow, I am so marketable.
Briane: Did you just cut your hair?!
me: Yes.
B: By YOURSELF?!
me: Yes.
B: Whoa! Those are Mad Skillz!
me: Like Nunchucks Skillz, and Computer-Hacking Skillz...only not so cool.
B: You have Haircutter Skillz!
Wow, I am so marketable.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Baby sale!
Baby Sale!
Today John and I were at the mall and walked past Gymboree.
This was in the window:
Today John and I were at the mall and walked past Gymboree.
This was in the window:
I wanted to stop in and buy one, but John said he's not ready to be a dad yet.
FREAK. ME. OUT.
FREAK. ME. OUT.
It's almost one in the morning, and I've been doing some reading for my Political Science class; my room is nice and clean, and the window is open a crack for some fresh air. I just heard a really icky, rough, male voice from down in the parking lot, and so I went to the window and peeked through the blinds -- a guy in a hooded cape was darting across the grassy area behind this all-female dorm, over to a waiting car (glad I'm on the 3rd floor! I would hate being on the ground-level). The cape was flapping in the wind, he looked really weird, and I'm still freaked out. We've had incidents here with people, dressed as vampires, wandering the halls in the middle of the night, ugh.
Movie:
On a lighter note -- I'm trying to rid my mind of that image -- John and I went to see "Firewall" last night. It is, I swear, the CLASSIC Harrison Ford Action/Thriller. John and I were waiting with bated breath a for particular Harrison Ford Moment we had predicted-- where he would be standing, dirty and disheveled, suit jacket open, his hair sticking up, breathing through his mouth, voice all rough and out of breath: "I WANT MY FAMILY BACK." Bonus if there's blood on his face.
(Seriously, though, it was one of the best movies I've seen in awhile. Go forth and view it!)
Music:
"Stairway to Heaven" is one of my new Favourite Songs. John has an iPod, and I played "StH" on Friday as we were running some errands; it was a melancholy afternoon anyway, quiet, with a horrible windchill, and as we were driving past the lake, I saw a phenomenon of nature that I've never seen before -- it was so cold that wisps of moisture were instantly frozen above the water, and being drawn up to the low-lying clouds. The surface of the lake was covered with the dense, whitish-grey tendrils, some connected to both the lake and the cloud simultaneously. It was breathtaking; it looked like it would be footage from the Arctic (which is what we practically were -- a windchill of -40F! Ugh.).
Led Zeppelin is one of my new ventures into classic rock; this adventure began early last semester, when I discovered the Beatles. My parents never listened to classic rock when I was young; I grew up listening to classical music, and I always come back to it -- far different from John's youth; his parents were born in the Sixties, and John grew up listening to their music: Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones. Last September, I began listening to the Beatles, with the help of shared libraries on my iTunes network. I loved what I was hearing, and for weeks, the Beatles was the only music I paid attention to. "Eleanor Rigby" is one of my very favourite songs of theirs; one of the things I love about the Beatles is that their sound is so distinct -- and their songs are so memorable; they can never be confused with a different band, with a different song.
And now it's way past time for me to go to bed.
It's almost one in the morning, and I've been doing some reading for my Political Science class; my room is nice and clean, and the window is open a crack for some fresh air. I just heard a really icky, rough, male voice from down in the parking lot, and so I went to the window and peeked through the blinds -- a guy in a hooded cape was darting across the grassy area behind this all-female dorm, over to a waiting car (glad I'm on the 3rd floor! I would hate being on the ground-level). The cape was flapping in the wind, he looked really weird, and I'm still freaked out. We've had incidents here with people, dressed as vampires, wandering the halls in the middle of the night, ugh.
Movie:
On a lighter note -- I'm trying to rid my mind of that image -- John and I went to see "Firewall" last night. It is, I swear, the CLASSIC Harrison Ford Action/Thriller. John and I were waiting with bated breath a for particular Harrison Ford Moment we had predicted-- where he would be standing, dirty and disheveled, suit jacket open, his hair sticking up, breathing through his mouth, voice all rough and out of breath: "I WANT MY FAMILY BACK." Bonus if there's blood on his face.
(Seriously, though, it was one of the best movies I've seen in awhile. Go forth and view it!)
Music:
"Stairway to Heaven" is one of my new Favourite Songs. John has an iPod, and I played "StH" on Friday as we were running some errands; it was a melancholy afternoon anyway, quiet, with a horrible windchill, and as we were driving past the lake, I saw a phenomenon of nature that I've never seen before -- it was so cold that wisps of moisture were instantly frozen above the water, and being drawn up to the low-lying clouds. The surface of the lake was covered with the dense, whitish-grey tendrils, some connected to both the lake and the cloud simultaneously. It was breathtaking; it looked like it would be footage from the Arctic (which is what we practically were -- a windchill of -40F! Ugh.).
Led Zeppelin is one of my new ventures into classic rock; this adventure began early last semester, when I discovered the Beatles. My parents never listened to classic rock when I was young; I grew up listening to classical music, and I always come back to it -- far different from John's youth; his parents were born in the Sixties, and John grew up listening to their music: Led Zeppelin, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones. Last September, I began listening to the Beatles, with the help of shared libraries on my iTunes network. I loved what I was hearing, and for weeks, the Beatles was the only music I paid attention to. "Eleanor Rigby" is one of my very favourite songs of theirs; one of the things I love about the Beatles is that their sound is so distinct -- and their songs are so memorable; they can never be confused with a different band, with a different song.
And now it's way past time for me to go to bed.
Saturday, February 18, 2006
In hiding because the sun's out...
In hiding because the sun's out...
I hate sunny Saturdays. Actually, I don't like sun in the winter in general, because it's blindingly bright. So today, I've been hibernating in my room, with the shades down, trying to budge this headache by drinking water and eating peanut m&m's, wearing huge sweatpants and a Bosnia shirt.
We hooka'ed it up yesterday; my Iranian professor invited us to an informal gathering, and we smoked hooka and drank tea for an hour. John is buying a hooka from the professor, on an installment plan ($10 here, $20 there, until he's paid about $100), but we joked that since the professor is genetically predisposed to be really good at bartering, by the time John pays him, the asking price will actually be $300 and our first-born son.
I hate sunny Saturdays. Actually, I don't like sun in the winter in general, because it's blindingly bright. So today, I've been hibernating in my room, with the shades down, trying to budge this headache by drinking water and eating peanut m&m's, wearing huge sweatpants and a Bosnia shirt.
We hooka'ed it up yesterday; my Iranian professor invited us to an informal gathering, and we smoked hooka and drank tea for an hour. John is buying a hooka from the professor, on an installment plan ($10 here, $20 there, until he's paid about $100), but we joked that since the professor is genetically predisposed to be really good at bartering, by the time John pays him, the asking price will actually be $300 and our first-born son.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
Yeah, right...
Yeah, right...
"Stop it. Quit teasing me."
"But, honey! I'm not teasing you -- I'm celebrating you."
"Stop it. Quit teasing me."
"But, honey! I'm not teasing you -- I'm celebrating you."
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Saturday!
Saturday!
I love Saturdays. This is how my Saturdays usually go:
Option A:
I wake up around 8:30 but stay in bed for at least another half hour, stretching, savouring the feeling of not having to go to class, not having to be somewhere doing something. I finally roll out of bed, into some clothes, and John and I meet for breakfast at a little diner-type restaurant. We've been there more than a few times for weekend-breakfasts, because they have amazing pancakes -- thin, delicious, and perfectly golden -- and wonderful coffee, and they're really cheap (think $3.75 per person). We take our time eating our breakfast and slowly drinking our coffee. For some reason, our conversation usually turns into a discussion about our families, about growing up, about our parents. Mostly about our parents and their parents; perhaps something homey about the nature of the restaurant, of the elderly waitstaff, encourages this.
Option B:
I sleep like a rock until 10:30, and after I rid myself of the last vestiges of sleepiness, I don jeans, sweater, and a light jacket, and meet John for lunch. We discovered a quaint pub-like restaurant a few months ago; the building didn't look promising; the cinderblocks needed another coat of paint, and looked rather run-down. We pulled open the heavy door and entered into a room that was full of people; the low ceiling and dim lights made for a den-like atmosphere, warm and lethargic, and the decorations were an eclectic mix of oddities: train lights, a sea bass, animated Christmas characters, and nautical and sports paraphernalia (fishing nets, buoys, NFL stuff). We finally found two seats together, and after skimming through the short menu, each ordered a hamburger and a side of fries. The food came in just a few minutes, and they were the best burgers we'd ever had -- thick and juicy, on a home-made roll, with plenty of lettuce and tomato, and fresh home-made fries. The best part: $10 covered the meal and tip.
The evening: Usually spent watching a movie or taking a walk; tonight, though, John works. He's leaving the apartment door unlocked, so I'm going to go take advantage of wireless internet and a kitchen.
Yes, I love Saturdays.
I love Saturdays. This is how my Saturdays usually go:
Option A:
I wake up around 8:30 but stay in bed for at least another half hour, stretching, savouring the feeling of not having to go to class, not having to be somewhere doing something. I finally roll out of bed, into some clothes, and John and I meet for breakfast at a little diner-type restaurant. We've been there more than a few times for weekend-breakfasts, because they have amazing pancakes -- thin, delicious, and perfectly golden -- and wonderful coffee, and they're really cheap (think $3.75 per person). We take our time eating our breakfast and slowly drinking our coffee. For some reason, our conversation usually turns into a discussion about our families, about growing up, about our parents. Mostly about our parents and their parents; perhaps something homey about the nature of the restaurant, of the elderly waitstaff, encourages this.
Option B:
I sleep like a rock until 10:30, and after I rid myself of the last vestiges of sleepiness, I don jeans, sweater, and a light jacket, and meet John for lunch. We discovered a quaint pub-like restaurant a few months ago; the building didn't look promising; the cinderblocks needed another coat of paint, and looked rather run-down. We pulled open the heavy door and entered into a room that was full of people; the low ceiling and dim lights made for a den-like atmosphere, warm and lethargic, and the decorations were an eclectic mix of oddities: train lights, a sea bass, animated Christmas characters, and nautical and sports paraphernalia (fishing nets, buoys, NFL stuff). We finally found two seats together, and after skimming through the short menu, each ordered a hamburger and a side of fries. The food came in just a few minutes, and they were the best burgers we'd ever had -- thick and juicy, on a home-made roll, with plenty of lettuce and tomato, and fresh home-made fries. The best part: $10 covered the meal and tip.
The evening: Usually spent watching a movie or taking a walk; tonight, though, John works. He's leaving the apartment door unlocked, so I'm going to go take advantage of wireless internet and a kitchen.
Yes, I love Saturdays.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Envelope me
Envelope me
Bad news always comes in long, thin, white envelopes. Another bill, another statement from the college. So today when I opened my mailbox (on the first try, even, which in itself is a miracle, for we have ancient combination-lock mailboxes that are amazingly difficult to open), and beheld a wide, thin, ivory-coloured envelope, my excitement was piqued.
I'm on the Dean's Honor Roll. And I have a certificate to prove it.
Bad news always comes in long, thin, white envelopes. Another bill, another statement from the college. So today when I opened my mailbox (on the first try, even, which in itself is a miracle, for we have ancient combination-lock mailboxes that are amazingly difficult to open), and beheld a wide, thin, ivory-coloured envelope, my excitement was piqued.
I'm on the Dean's Honor Roll. And I have a certificate to prove it.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Those Shoes.
Those Shoes.
I have a pair of huge, ugly, bright-white Manly Reeboks, which I have used only a few times, for an aerobics class I took LAST winter (couldn't wear street shoes in the dance studio).
I unearthed them the other day so that I could go work out, and John freaked out.
"What?! Those...those are hideous! Do you have ANY different shoes?"
"JOHN. This is my only pair of sneakers."
"But--"
"Stop, stop, don't even...Please?"
The conversation was resurrected today, when I mentioned that this afternoon while he's in class, I'm going to go work out (second time in two days! wheee!).
He swallowed. "With those shoes?"
"Yes. With THOSE shoes."
"You need a different pair. Seriously, I'll chip in and help buy them!"
"...You know, John, there are people in 3rd-World countries who have NO shoes."
"So, you should give those to them."
I have a pair of huge, ugly, bright-white Manly Reeboks, which I have used only a few times, for an aerobics class I took LAST winter (couldn't wear street shoes in the dance studio).
I unearthed them the other day so that I could go work out, and John freaked out.
"What?! Those...those are hideous! Do you have ANY different shoes?"
"JOHN. This is my only pair of sneakers."
"But--"
"Stop, stop, don't even...Please?"
The conversation was resurrected today, when I mentioned that this afternoon while he's in class, I'm going to go work out (second time in two days! wheee!).
He swallowed. "With those shoes?"
"Yes. With THOSE shoes."
"You need a different pair. Seriously, I'll chip in and help buy them!"
"...You know, John, there are people in 3rd-World countries who have NO shoes."
"So, you should give those to them."
Monday, January 30, 2006
Regarding the New Shirt
Regarding the New Shirt
I recently purchased my first! ever! item of clothing from The Gap! (The Gap! cannot be said without an exclamation point of breathless awe). This item of clothing was on clearance, for my eyes always seek out every Sale! sign when I enter any store. It was long-sleeved and softly-knit, a quiet shade of pink that seemed to murmur, "You are in love with me, for I look like cotton candy. You want to hold me and worship me." I bought it, partially due to the fact that John had commented on the fact that I've been wearing mostly earth-tones lately, various shades of dirt and more dirt.
I showed it to him yesterday.
"Oh! Honey. I got this at The Gap! yesterday when I was with Kristen."
"You were with Kristen?"
"Yes."
"Kristen was with you when you bought this?"
"YES."
And his level of respect for Kristen decreased significantly, for she broke one of the main tenets of a Good Friendship: Friends don't let friends buy stupid clothes.
And then I fished the bag and receipt out of the trash can and set them on the dresser.
I recently purchased my first! ever! item of clothing from The Gap! (The Gap! cannot be said without an exclamation point of breathless awe). This item of clothing was on clearance, for my eyes always seek out every Sale! sign when I enter any store. It was long-sleeved and softly-knit, a quiet shade of pink that seemed to murmur, "You are in love with me, for I look like cotton candy. You want to hold me and worship me." I bought it, partially due to the fact that John had commented on the fact that I've been wearing mostly earth-tones lately, various shades of dirt and more dirt.
I showed it to him yesterday.
"Oh! Honey. I got this at The Gap! yesterday when I was with Kristen."
"You were with Kristen?"
"Yes."
"Kristen was with you when you bought this?"
"YES."
And his level of respect for Kristen decreased significantly, for she broke one of the main tenets of a Good Friendship: Friends don't let friends buy stupid clothes.
And then I fished the bag and receipt out of the trash can and set them on the dresser.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Yesterday...
Yesterday...
Yesterday was pretty fantastic. Mom and Dad, John and I went out for lunch and spent part of the afternoon together. I always love watching him interact with my parents -- joking around, talking politics with Dad, goofing around with my Mom. I look at him, and I am so proud of the person he is; the fact that he voluntarily spends time with my family (and likes it!) makes me appreciate him even more.
After Mom and Dad left, he and I went back to my dorm, because I needed to get a couple of things before we went to his place to watch a movie. He was sleepy, and I told him he could nap on my bed while I checked my e-mail and stuff. He slept through ten Beatles' songs, Faure's "Pavane" (2x), all three movements of Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto, and the first movement of Rach's 3rd.
We spent the evening watching movies at his house, drinking Sangria (and too much Boone's Farm Strawberry Margarita -- I kept giggling), and eating Nutella on crackers.
Here's the thing about Nutella. I had never tried it until two days ago, when I had heard enough about it that I was finally motivated to drive to SuperWalmart and try it myself. I sat in the parking lot after I made my purchase, unscrewing the lid to the container, and peeling back the gold foil with great anticipation. As I sat there in the early-morning sunlight, listening to Mozart (it was his birthday) and basking in the glorious warmth of 38 degrees, I lifted the jar to my nose and sniffed it -- then gnawed and licked every last morsel off the foil. I took it over to John's house at lunch, and we stood there in his kitchen, diving in, marring the smooth surface, gouging out lumps of the rich chocolatey-hazelnut goodness with our fingers.
That jar is 2/3 gone. This is the sort of disaster that happens when John's and my sweet teeth get together and participate in a full-on sugar orgy. We go to movies and sneak in our own candy (thanks for the big shoulder-bag for Christmas, Mom!). A bag of Jelly Bellies, a box of Junior Mints, and an Almond Joy? The Jelly Bellies are gone within the first few minutes, and by the time the credits roll, we're left with empty cartons and wrappers. A huge Cadbury bar? Gone in half an hour.
A week and a half ago, I was feeling rotten from PMS, lying on his sofa, watching a movie; he made me hot chocolate, rubbed my feet, covered me up with blankets, and kept stuffing Cadbury with Almonds into my mouth.
He looked at me questioningly as he waved a morsel by my face.
"Does chocolate really help?"
"...Relieve symptoms?"
"Yeah."
"No, but it tastes reeeeally good."
"Oh. Okay. Here, have some more."
Yesterday was pretty fantastic. Mom and Dad, John and I went out for lunch and spent part of the afternoon together. I always love watching him interact with my parents -- joking around, talking politics with Dad, goofing around with my Mom. I look at him, and I am so proud of the person he is; the fact that he voluntarily spends time with my family (and likes it!) makes me appreciate him even more.
After Mom and Dad left, he and I went back to my dorm, because I needed to get a couple of things before we went to his place to watch a movie. He was sleepy, and I told him he could nap on my bed while I checked my e-mail and stuff. He slept through ten Beatles' songs, Faure's "Pavane" (2x), all three movements of Rachmaninoff's 2nd Piano Concerto, and the first movement of Rach's 3rd.
We spent the evening watching movies at his house, drinking Sangria (and too much Boone's Farm Strawberry Margarita -- I kept giggling), and eating Nutella on crackers.
Here's the thing about Nutella. I had never tried it until two days ago, when I had heard enough about it that I was finally motivated to drive to SuperWalmart and try it myself. I sat in the parking lot after I made my purchase, unscrewing the lid to the container, and peeling back the gold foil with great anticipation. As I sat there in the early-morning sunlight, listening to Mozart (it was his birthday) and basking in the glorious warmth of 38 degrees, I lifted the jar to my nose and sniffed it -- then gnawed and licked every last morsel off the foil. I took it over to John's house at lunch, and we stood there in his kitchen, diving in, marring the smooth surface, gouging out lumps of the rich chocolatey-hazelnut goodness with our fingers.
That jar is 2/3 gone. This is the sort of disaster that happens when John's and my sweet teeth get together and participate in a full-on sugar orgy. We go to movies and sneak in our own candy (thanks for the big shoulder-bag for Christmas, Mom!). A bag of Jelly Bellies, a box of Junior Mints, and an Almond Joy? The Jelly Bellies are gone within the first few minutes, and by the time the credits roll, we're left with empty cartons and wrappers. A huge Cadbury bar? Gone in half an hour.
A week and a half ago, I was feeling rotten from PMS, lying on his sofa, watching a movie; he made me hot chocolate, rubbed my feet, covered me up with blankets, and kept stuffing Cadbury with Almonds into my mouth.
He looked at me questioningly as he waved a morsel by my face.
"Does chocolate really help?"
"...Relieve symptoms?"
"Yeah."
"No, but it tastes reeeeally good."
"Oh. Okay. Here, have some more."
Friday, January 27, 2006
Help us, Obi-Wan. You're our only hope.
John is obsessed with Star Wars (I do not utter the word "obsessed" lightly). When we first met, I thought it was cute that he liked Star Wars so much, that he had all the DVDs and debated Star Wars history with his friends. I thought this was a lovable little quirk in his personality, that he was so into the series. Star Wars hasn't ever been one of my favourite series; I don't pick it up and pop it in the DVD player frequently, by any means. I've watched it with him, and it was okay. Well, to be truthful, he and his friends watched Episode III; I fell asleep 20 minutes into the movie.
For Christmas, he got a book entitled, "Star Wars and Philosophy," and my heart sank just a little. No. Someone was feeding the obsession (That person must be the kind who would infiltrate the local AA chapter and pass around a flask of vodka at the meetings. Gosh. Idiot!).
Now, when he and his friend's conversations [d]evolve into a debate about the ancient Sith and how they rose to power, I've pretty much learned to tune them out. I know more than I never wanted to, about mitichlorian levels, about the Sith's enticement, about the fact that Darth Vader's costume was inspired by the apparel of ancient Japanese shogun warriors. I can sit there reading my own book with a tolerant -- if frozen -- half-smile on my fact.
But I just read this, and a chill zipped up my spine, for it's an eerie premonition of what our kids will be like.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Burn, baby, burrrrrn!
Burn, baby, burrrrn!
I just worked out for a solid forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes?! Why, that's almost an hour! Over six miles on bike, and over a mile of jogging/walking. !! So, after exerting myself and burning up all those fat molecules and calories, why don't I look any thinner? It's so disappointing. Maybe it's just a streak left over from childhood, but I always expect to be able to find some evidence (other than my aching legs and the fact that I'm smelly now) that I just exercised. Does my face look hollower? Do my legs look slimmer? Is my butt tighter? Are my jeans looser?
NO?
Crap.
Things have been pretty crazy this semester so far; I couldn't get into a certain class that I wanted, so I'm down to only 12 credits. It's okay though, because the classes that I am in are much more demanding than most of the other classes I've taken. My Topics in World History class scared the crap out of me during the first class; I wanted to run away, but that was partially due to the fact that I was sitting near the front of the room, and people were behind me. I don't sit in the back, against the wall (where I'd like to be), because I don't want the teacher to think I'm a slacker, and I want to be motivated to participate in class...but I hate having people sitting behind me. It freaks me out and makes me extremely uneasy. Today we rearranged the chairs; instead of the traditional setup, we put them in a horseshoe-shape around the perimeter of the room, and I could not believe how much that helped me calm down.
I'm taking a political science course this semester as well; the professor is from Iran, and hilarious. He knows John, and knows that we are together; when he sees me without John, he raises his arms into the air, "Dänika! Where is the man??" On the first day, he discussed his accent. "I do have an accent; I've had this accent for a very long time, and I don't think it will go away by the end of the semester. So if that doesn't work for you...there's the door." He touched on the subject of gun control: "Some people say that 'Guns don't kill people; people kill people.' That is ridiculous. And if you have a problem with that, it is not because I am liberal -- it is because you are stupid." Aah, the bluntness.
In non-school life, things have been pretty good, too. :) John might be going abroad to teach English in Japan for a few months after he graduates this May; we still haven't heard back from the organization as to whether he'd be able to do only half of the program, instead of being there for nearly a year. He'd be able to make more money teaching English in Japan than substitute-teaching here; so for that reason, Japan is quite enticing. However, the fact that we'd be apart for so long is the reason why he might not go to Japan; he had been rather excited about the possibility of Japan, until last Sunday, when I finally told him how I felt about it. I'd been 100% supportive for months (whoa! months! I can't believe how fast time is passing. :) ), because I want him to do what he thinks he should; yet at the same time, I did want him to know what I really think about it. I explained to him that I can see how enticing it is-- and that the separation would be easier for him due to the fact that he'd be in a new environment, with new people and experiences, which make the time pass faster...but that I'd still be here, on campus without him, not meeting him for coffee in the morning, not watching movies late at night, walking down the stairs to the Senate office and not seeing him there. And then I lost it -- I hadn't cried about it in front of him, because I didn't want to sway his decision, but this time, I had tears running down my face. And he pulled me over to him and cradled my head on his shoulder as he wiped the tears off my face. "Oh, baby, oh no, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
And a few days later when I mentioned something about Japan, he interrupted me --
"IF I go. And that's a really big 'IF.'"
And I felt like singing.
I just worked out for a solid forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes?! Why, that's almost an hour! Over six miles on bike, and over a mile of jogging/walking. !! So, after exerting myself and burning up all those fat molecules and calories, why don't I look any thinner? It's so disappointing. Maybe it's just a streak left over from childhood, but I always expect to be able to find some evidence (other than my aching legs and the fact that I'm smelly now) that I just exercised. Does my face look hollower? Do my legs look slimmer? Is my butt tighter? Are my jeans looser?
NO?
Crap.
Things have been pretty crazy this semester so far; I couldn't get into a certain class that I wanted, so I'm down to only 12 credits. It's okay though, because the classes that I am in are much more demanding than most of the other classes I've taken. My Topics in World History class scared the crap out of me during the first class; I wanted to run away, but that was partially due to the fact that I was sitting near the front of the room, and people were behind me. I don't sit in the back, against the wall (where I'd like to be), because I don't want the teacher to think I'm a slacker, and I want to be motivated to participate in class...but I hate having people sitting behind me. It freaks me out and makes me extremely uneasy. Today we rearranged the chairs; instead of the traditional setup, we put them in a horseshoe-shape around the perimeter of the room, and I could not believe how much that helped me calm down.
I'm taking a political science course this semester as well; the professor is from Iran, and hilarious. He knows John, and knows that we are together; when he sees me without John, he raises his arms into the air, "Dänika! Where is the man??" On the first day, he discussed his accent. "I do have an accent; I've had this accent for a very long time, and I don't think it will go away by the end of the semester. So if that doesn't work for you...there's the door." He touched on the subject of gun control: "Some people say that 'Guns don't kill people; people kill people.' That is ridiculous. And if you have a problem with that, it is not because I am liberal -- it is because you are stupid." Aah, the bluntness.
In non-school life, things have been pretty good, too. :) John might be going abroad to teach English in Japan for a few months after he graduates this May; we still haven't heard back from the organization as to whether he'd be able to do only half of the program, instead of being there for nearly a year. He'd be able to make more money teaching English in Japan than substitute-teaching here; so for that reason, Japan is quite enticing. However, the fact that we'd be apart for so long is the reason why he might not go to Japan; he had been rather excited about the possibility of Japan, until last Sunday, when I finally told him how I felt about it. I'd been 100% supportive for months (whoa! months! I can't believe how fast time is passing. :) ), because I want him to do what he thinks he should; yet at the same time, I did want him to know what I really think about it. I explained to him that I can see how enticing it is-- and that the separation would be easier for him due to the fact that he'd be in a new environment, with new people and experiences, which make the time pass faster...but that I'd still be here, on campus without him, not meeting him for coffee in the morning, not watching movies late at night, walking down the stairs to the Senate office and not seeing him there. And then I lost it -- I hadn't cried about it in front of him, because I didn't want to sway his decision, but this time, I had tears running down my face. And he pulled me over to him and cradled my head on his shoulder as he wiped the tears off my face. "Oh, baby, oh no, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."
And a few days later when I mentioned something about Japan, he interrupted me --
"IF I go. And that's a really big 'IF.'"
And I felt like singing.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:
| Level | Score |
|---|---|
| Purgatory (Repenting Believers) | Extreme |
| Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers) | High |
| Level 2 (Lustful) | Very Low |
| Level 3 (Gluttonous) | Low |
| Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious) | Very Low |
| Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy) | Low |
| Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics) | Very Low |
| Level 7 (Violent) | Low |
| Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers) | Low |
| Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous) | Very Low |
Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test
Monday, January 09, 2006
Very melodramatic - and completely honest.
Very melodramatic - and completely honest.
I miss him so much that my skin hurts. I know it's only been a week, and I should feel lucky, for there are so many couples in love, who can snatch only a few days here and there, with long, desolate stretches in between. So, people who are in relationships like that, I know, I know, I shouldn't complain. But perhaps the fact that he and I were so spoiled, in a way, getting to see each other very nearly every day since we met...maybe that makes it more difficult.
From the second we part, my mind counts down the minutes until I get to see his smile again, hear his laugh, read together, cook with him, be in his arms, and smell his neck. I had to leave abruptly last week, summoned home, and the fact that I didn't get to prepare myself for the parting, made it hurt worse. We talk on the phone, and while I'm happy that I know him so well that I can picture every facial expression that goes with his words, it makes me long for the days when it was strange to talk on the phone -- so foreign, to hear his voice without being next to him.
There's a possibility of him teaching in Japan this fall, for four months, and the thought of it seems impossible right now, when I miss him so much. I know we could manage; of course we would. But it would certainly be a lonely time -- and so odd for me, still being in school without him there. No staying up late working on papers together, no early-morning coffee dates, no late-night perambulations through town -- l-o-n-e-l-y.
I love that we don't have to do anything in particular when we see each other -- it doesn't have to be a Huge Event, like, Oh, Look, Honey, We're Going Out for Dinner -- we're happy to just be with each other. Reading, cooking, watching movies -- just being. Sometimes we do go out, for dinner, or to a movie, but it's just another fun thing we do; it's not a big deal. When we met, we automatically had a certain level of comfortability, and ever since, that comfortability has merely increased. Things have never been tense or stressful -- I've never felt as though he expects me to be something I'm not; I've never felt the need to continually, purposefully, impress him.
But now, now, I just miss him.
I miss him so much that my skin hurts. I know it's only been a week, and I should feel lucky, for there are so many couples in love, who can snatch only a few days here and there, with long, desolate stretches in between. So, people who are in relationships like that, I know, I know, I shouldn't complain. But perhaps the fact that he and I were so spoiled, in a way, getting to see each other very nearly every day since we met...maybe that makes it more difficult.
From the second we part, my mind counts down the minutes until I get to see his smile again, hear his laugh, read together, cook with him, be in his arms, and smell his neck. I had to leave abruptly last week, summoned home, and the fact that I didn't get to prepare myself for the parting, made it hurt worse. We talk on the phone, and while I'm happy that I know him so well that I can picture every facial expression that goes with his words, it makes me long for the days when it was strange to talk on the phone -- so foreign, to hear his voice without being next to him.
There's a possibility of him teaching in Japan this fall, for four months, and the thought of it seems impossible right now, when I miss him so much. I know we could manage; of course we would. But it would certainly be a lonely time -- and so odd for me, still being in school without him there. No staying up late working on papers together, no early-morning coffee dates, no late-night perambulations through town -- l-o-n-e-l-y.
I love that we don't have to do anything in particular when we see each other -- it doesn't have to be a Huge Event, like, Oh, Look, Honey, We're Going Out for Dinner -- we're happy to just be with each other. Reading, cooking, watching movies -- just being. Sometimes we do go out, for dinner, or to a movie, but it's just another fun thing we do; it's not a big deal. When we met, we automatically had a certain level of comfortability, and ever since, that comfortability has merely increased. Things have never been tense or stressful -- I've never felt as though he expects me to be something I'm not; I've never felt the need to continually, purposefully, impress him.
But now, now, I just miss him.
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas!
Gifts received from family:
glasses/contacts (from mom and dad)
Shower gel, chapstick, lotion (from nieces)
Borders & Waldenbooks gift card (from brother/sil)
French book & scrapbooking stuff (from sister/bil)
Gift received from significant other:
turquoise/gold bracelet, very Egyptian-looking (if they used turquoise, that is)
Gifts given:
beautiful old book (to John)
JFK memorial record (you know, like a biiiig black cd?)(to John)
(p.s.: the items I gave to John were things that I had procured long ago; I didn't have time to go Christmas shopping this year, so the gifts to my family are still forthcoming.)
(p.p.s.: actually, there's another gift to John - I'm not telling him that my IQ is nine points higher than his; no, I'm not vocalizing this, just having a fun old time partying it up inside. Woohoo!)
Thursday, December 15, 2005
I was homeschooled.
I was homeschooled.
Over the past while, JBK has been continually amazed at how little pop culture I was exposed to when I was growing up.
Today, over lunch:
"How about 'Cheers'?"
"No. Never."
"Never seen 'Cheers'?!"
"No."
"Wow. This is like discovering an Indian tribe that evaded the White Man and his influence."
Over the past while, JBK has been continually amazed at how little pop culture I was exposed to when I was growing up.
Today, over lunch:
"How about 'Cheers'?"
"No. Never."
"Never seen 'Cheers'?!"
"No."
"Wow. This is like discovering an Indian tribe that evaded the White Man and his influence."
Monday, December 12, 2005
I'm on my way . . .
The past couple of weeks have been absolutely brimming with emotions. Frustration, stress, bliss, comfort, annoyance, panic, contentment, and the knowledge that everything is exactly as it should be. (Except for this nasty cold . . . And the karaoke.)
My door is shut against the sound of my dorm floor's Christmas party (Bah, Humbug!), my drawing utensils are scattered about me, making a halo of chalks and cray-pas to my prostrate body, as I lie on my stomach, gazing at a blank sheet of 9x12 paper.
I have to stare at the sheet for a second, poring over every square inch of white perfection. It always intrigues me, takes away my breath for a minute. It's beautiful in its very newness, yet I wonder what it will become. It's pure potential.
(As are we all.)
It's times like this that my senses are heightened, that I love even more the feel of the chalks between my fingertips; I revel in the chalkdust leftover on my hands, the dust caught on my carpet or desk as I gently blow the loose particles from my drawing.
I've organized my drawings in this end-of-semester frenzy, realizing that I need eight more before the end of the week is up. I've been drawing steadily through the semester, but I'm too much of a perfectionist, and that's my hangup. If I had realized earlier, my teacher doesn't care what it looks like. She exclaims over a few stray coloured marks across a sheet of black paper -- the squiggles must speak to her. But I'm clinging tenaciously to my belief that my drawings should BE something, something I recognize. At this point, it seems that for me to resort to churning out Modern Art, well, it seems like a cop-out.
So I'm here tonight, listening to Shivery, staring at reflections of Christmas lights, and catching a glimpse of random snowflakes as they lazily waltz past my window.
I'm distressed. Christmas Eve has always been my favourite of the Christmas holidays, for Christmas Day holds memories of hot, dry air, blindingly bright sunlight, and a tangle of emotions, including being on edge, frustration, confrontation, and being rushed. I love preparing for Christmas Eve -- I love anticipation, preparation, the excitement of looking forward to something. And this year, I'm being robbed of it. My last final is on December 23rd . . . which means that I'll get to my parents' house either the night of the 23rd or morning of the 24th. NO TIME TO PREPARE ANYTHING.
I feel as though I'm robbed of one of my favourite parts of the holidays. And that makes me so sad. I think it might be the culmination of a ton of things on my mind, but I cannot wait to have a place of my own, a house, with a husband, with some colour other than BEIGE on the walls. I want to slather indoor semi-gloss paint onto blank walls (and revel in the colour and smell of the latex paint), pin up some of my artwork and photography, arrange furniture, bake, cook, do dishes, organize my spice rack, go grocery shopping together, lust after baby clothes at the mall (oh, wait, I already do that . . .), make the place a home, comfortable and welcoming.
My door is shut against the sound of my dorm floor's Christmas party (Bah, Humbug!), my drawing utensils are scattered about me, making a halo of chalks and cray-pas to my prostrate body, as I lie on my stomach, gazing at a blank sheet of 9x12 paper.
I have to stare at the sheet for a second, poring over every square inch of white perfection. It always intrigues me, takes away my breath for a minute. It's beautiful in its very newness, yet I wonder what it will become. It's pure potential.
(As are we all.)
It's times like this that my senses are heightened, that I love even more the feel of the chalks between my fingertips; I revel in the chalkdust leftover on my hands, the dust caught on my carpet or desk as I gently blow the loose particles from my drawing.
I've organized my drawings in this end-of-semester frenzy, realizing that I need eight more before the end of the week is up. I've been drawing steadily through the semester, but I'm too much of a perfectionist, and that's my hangup. If I had realized earlier, my teacher doesn't care what it looks like. She exclaims over a few stray coloured marks across a sheet of black paper -- the squiggles must speak to her. But I'm clinging tenaciously to my belief that my drawings should BE something, something I recognize. At this point, it seems that for me to resort to churning out Modern Art, well, it seems like a cop-out.
So I'm here tonight, listening to Shivery, staring at reflections of Christmas lights, and catching a glimpse of random snowflakes as they lazily waltz past my window.
I'm distressed. Christmas Eve has always been my favourite of the Christmas holidays, for Christmas Day holds memories of hot, dry air, blindingly bright sunlight, and a tangle of emotions, including being on edge, frustration, confrontation, and being rushed. I love preparing for Christmas Eve -- I love anticipation, preparation, the excitement of looking forward to something. And this year, I'm being robbed of it. My last final is on December 23rd . . . which means that I'll get to my parents' house either the night of the 23rd or morning of the 24th. NO TIME TO PREPARE ANYTHING.
I feel as though I'm robbed of one of my favourite parts of the holidays. And that makes me so sad. I think it might be the culmination of a ton of things on my mind, but I cannot wait to have a place of my own, a house, with a husband, with some colour other than BEIGE on the walls. I want to slather indoor semi-gloss paint onto blank walls (and revel in the colour and smell of the latex paint), pin up some of my artwork and photography, arrange furniture, bake, cook, do dishes, organize my spice rack, go grocery shopping together, lust after baby clothes at the mall (oh, wait, I already do that . . .), make the place a home, comfortable and welcoming.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Things I've done in the past 10 days:
Things I've done in the past 10 days:
- made four batches of cookies
- taken two naps
- taken a wintery hike and numbed my mitten-less hands
- worked
- made a paper snowflake
- done dishes (not my own)
- watched "Back to the Future" for the first time
- gotten another A (!)
- killed the battery in my replacement vehicle (way to go)
- been having wheat again
- been mocked
- bought carrot cake for my roommate's birthday
- not changed the month on my calendar
- had the opportunity to study abroad in South Korea for free
- rewatched "It's a Wonderful Life" and decided I don't really hate it
- cried during "It's a Wonderful Life"
- laughed a lot
- drawn for my class
- listened to much Christmas music
- discovered that when transcribing an interview recorded in a crowded Starbucks(?), it's sometimes easier to discern the interviewee's voice when I cover the speakers with my hands or arms or other appendages.
- made four batches of cookies
- taken two naps
- taken a wintery hike and numbed my mitten-less hands
- worked
- made a paper snowflake
- done dishes (not my own)
- watched "Back to the Future" for the first time
- gotten another A (!)
- killed the battery in my replacement vehicle (way to go)
- been having wheat again
- been mocked
- bought carrot cake for my roommate's birthday
- not changed the month on my calendar
- had the opportunity to study abroad in South Korea for free
- rewatched "It's a Wonderful Life" and decided I don't really hate it
- cried during "It's a Wonderful Life"
- laughed a lot
- drawn for my class
- listened to much Christmas music
- discovered that when transcribing an interview recorded in a crowded Starbucks(?), it's sometimes easier to discern the interviewee's voice when I cover the speakers with my hands or arms or other appendages.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
