You are currently browsing the monthly archive for May 2007.

Got home from work, as always, am feeling rather… restless. Lay down for awhile, taking joy in the absentee my current roommate has become… consider if would be possible to make it downstairs, close the blinds and enjoy my wheat thins and cottage cheese topless. I decide against it, fashion a rather interesting dress out of an old sarong and continue on with my dvr day.

Except, its not cutting it. Writing wasn’t sounding the best, too much effort to go for a bike ride (and the light is fading fast, damn light), no book really has my interest…

I decide to make the apt look better, take out the trash, finish laudry, tidy up. I realize the need for clothes and throw on some ol’ white capris (the Ex once referred to them as J.Lo pants, right after yet another of our ill-advised meetings) and a black racerback tank. No bra.

I load up the car (freshly washed!) and head to the trash dump. On the way, I offer to take another couple’s trash as I was headed that way and it is at the other end of the building. Good karma for later, I was hoping.

Midway through my unload at the dump, another car pulls up and a woman gets out and unloads hers. I go back for one more load and a beautiful guy is standing there. I didn’t know we HAD beautiful guys in our neighborhood (makes note to go rollerblading/biking/jogging IN the neighborhood from now on). He motions for me to go ahead and even pulls out the remaining bag from my trunk and throws it in. Well, hello gentleman! TrashGentleman shall be his nickname, now lets hope I have a lot more fun ins with him!

Damn. AbsenteeRoommate is back. Guess that means no more lounging topless. sigh.


Well maybe, not quite. AlmaMater was the first place I ever moved to of my own accord. It had nothing to do with my dad’s company getting transferred, nothing to do with my parent’s decision to move for a promotion. Nothing to do with my family.

It was my decision.
So to say I loved that place would be an understatement.

My freshman year was a little rough. I lived with three jocks. Me the theatre/poly sci double major. Basically everything that wasn’t sports. I danced, but that earned me no new points. Most of my roommates were very unhappy there – the classes were too hard, they preferred to spend their free time drinking and partying at the frats. I did the same, and indeed, spent more weekend nights away from my room than in it.
Sophomore year was bliss – I had found a soulmate, who was now my roommate and we lived with two other theatre majors. They fought like cats and dogs, but we swore we would never end up like them. Most of the time was spent on AIM and web camming – oftentimes each other. From a space no more than 5 feet away. And we would talk until 3 am most every night.
Junior year we had a double. Just me and CollegeRoommate. First semester was a dream, we loved the space, the talking until 4 am continued, did miss the ac from prior dorm. Life was hectic. And then I met Ex. He consumed what free time and energy I had left – especially as I prepared to study abroad spring semester. Slight tension developed between CollegeRoommate and myself.
Senior year – stretched myself too thin, trying to repair/just live with CollegeRoommate, keep relationship with Ex alive and functioning, working for admissions, plus continuing my double major without dropping a ball. End of the year, I dropped them all (see: Mental Breakdown).

My trips back take me back to my first few years there, when I wasn’t over stressed or over stretched. When I would skip to class, make mix cds just for the purpose of listening to them as I walked to class. Enjoying the hella hill, the far walk from dorms to science building. To the novelty of meeting new people, just by seeing them around campus. The general atmosphere of safety and acceptance that exuded from AlmaMater.

Its home. And as this past weekend reminded me, always will be.

CollegeRoommate and I have since made up (after the demise of The Ex & I). Made up to the point of her moving to my fabulous city just to live a little closer. Admittedly, she is now researching jobs back in her old home town (also place of AlmaMater), as well as jobs here. Hope she chooses to stay. She reminds me of my sanity.

The past few weeks have brought me back to myself. My start at AlmaMater reminded me I could remake myself however I want to – all the lessons I learned in high school, here is the result. Being around people who have seen me in all my forms – dorky, goofy, un made up, glossy, fancy, fabulous, li’ skeevy, maybe a li’ skanky, drunk, sober, hungover, happy, sad, laughing and crying.

It makes me remember myself. I forget how easy it is to forget.

I can’t seem to stop writing today. Its actually rather odd. I think part of myself is filled with anxiety over the pending trip to my alma mater.

One of my very good friends, Carrots (as in she and I are like Peas and Carrots), graduates on Sunday and as such, I am headed back this evening to celebrate with her. The plan was for last weekend, but due to a friend freak-out, I remained home.

This weekend, tis do or die. She heads to Alaska for six months (phenom!) and if I want to see that smile again, road trip it is! Last time I visited, I had to pull over five miles outside of the quaint little town that houses my alma mater and sob. The last time I had been there (at that point), was my graduation. When Ex and I were on a temporary break and I was on a break down. If my parents hadn’t showed up and literally sat by me while I finished a few papers and projects, its entirely possible I would not have graduated. I have never been that low in my life, and never intend to let myself get that low again. The death of my relationship, combined with the  end of my after graduation plans (move in with Ex), the stress of graduation, and the fact my best friend of three years and I were in a stand off (I disliked her boyfriend, she despised mine – three years later, they’re both gone and she & I now live in the same town) all combined to just make it too much. Too much. Thankfully my amazing parents seemed to know and came into town 5 days early, to help pick me back up. I could not have done it on my own, but it was exactly what I needed.

Anyways, I sat by the edge of town and sobbed, upset with myself (I was then, with a job I hated, not paid well, and did no real use there), upset that my last memories of a place I loved so much, for so long, were tainted by the demise of a relationship, upset that I felt I had failed so many friends and teachers. The curse of an only child – I love to please people. I get more upset when I fail someone than when I fail myself. In my major, I was always told that I would go on, I would do something. That *I* would be something. Nothing like graduating with two degrees and not finding a job that would use your degrees, oh, ever. This trip, I anticipate to be much better. Now that I’ve gotten over the horrible hump of the first trip back. Almost like seeing an ex again for the first time – and now, now I have new memories. Then: I ripped the oil pan off my car. ($600 and 3 days later I finally got out of town. This was when I was working hourly, so I was also out 2 days of work.) And I was sick, during mid-terms, so I’m sure my Carrots loved having me lounge on her pull out couch and cough, sneeze and read my way through her nights. But now.

ow is spring.
I will NOT be driving the same road that raped my car. The Ex is no longer an issue (or at least as big of one). I have a job that still doesn’t use my degrees, but does use me. A roommate who continuously make me better. A cat that reminds me what love truly is. And friends, friends who let me know that me, as myself, is quite possibly one of the best things ever. I am happy.
I am proud of myself.

And I can’t wait to show it off.


Half of my co-workers are pregnant.

I make that impressive, but my “department” consists of four people. So 2 of them are pregnant. 2 were engaged, but one broke it off. That leaves 2 crazy single people.

But, by proxy, we get to go through pregnancy – they crave ice cream? We all get it! They want to determine the sex of their child via the needle test? We all try.

The needle test is as follows. Thread a needle, about 10 inches of thread. Do not tie. Hold the needle above your left hand, palm down. Hit the needle in the web of your thumb & forefinger twice. Not like a pendulum, just tap it.

Then turn your palm over and let the needle settle and hold steady above the center of your palm. It will take a few moments for it to move. Eventually it will start to move either back and forth or in a circle. If you wait, the motion might change.
Back and forth – boy
In a circle – girl

My test came out boy, followed quickly by a girl. So my needled paused for awhile, then moved back and forth, then switched to circle.

I quit then, because I really only want two kids.

NOT that I have any intention of having children anytime soon. Hell, I’ve just finally gotten to the point where I am even remotely open to the idea of the R-word.

It’s been over two years since the Ex and I have broken up. Admittedly, we had a relapse last year. And I’ve dated, slept with, fooled around, gotten numbers, even had two guys say “I love you”. And I’ve not emotionally connected, not in the same vein as the Ex, with any of them. (Don’t worry, those stories will come) I’ve been fond of several, and wanted more. But with the Ex there was always an unspoken bond. We were each other – just male/female. I was a little younger, he had some learning to do. But I thought we would grow together. It’s 4 years later and hes still the same person he was when we started dating.

I’ve recently cut him out of my life, blocked him on the infamous myspace, deleted him from my email, blocked him from the phone & instant messaging. As best I can. I thought moving out of state would take care of it. It didn’t. So maybe this cut off of all contact will do it.

Especially as he always seems to pop up, JUST as I’m starting to move on, or reach another level with a relationship. I know I allow it, as it keeps me from having to move forward… or let someone else in.

But anyways – apparently. Eventually. Sometime down the road.
A Boy, then a Girl.


Its okay to believe in Prince Charming, but you have to believe in midnight too.

disarming (adj): tending to allay suspicion or hostility; winning favor or confidence siren (noun): a seductive or tempting woman, esp. dangerous or harmful