Girl's night out at Target:
1 bag of Valentine's Day gummy hearts (75% off--I am the bargain QUEEN)
Season One of Grey's Anatomy
Multipack of Tampax
Get well card for a coworker
Nyquil liquicaps
Two V-day red thongs, on sale
Monday, February 20, 2006
Baggage
Yesterday I went back to my apartment and looked around, trying to figure out what to bring over to LunchBoy’s house next. During vacation, we discussed the whole moving in together thing and agreed that it was almost a moot point considering that I haven’t slept in my Cambridge apartment since early December. Still, all my stuff is there. In Cambridge, I mean. And it’s one thing to talk shop but it’s another to do the actual heavy lifting, so to speak.
We both had bad colds all weekend, probably from all the sick people we were stuck in airplanes with last week. It’s been a bad winter for colds and this one has sapped all the energy out of me. Lunchboy looked so ragged after a trip to Target that I left him on his couch while I went foraging at my place.
Once I got there, I stood in my living room and did a 360, considering the options. But something didn’t feel right. This wasn’t how I wanted to start, not just start the process of moving but start whatever might come after. Alone. He would have come along, so it wasn’t like I was mad. I just didn’t want to start off on that foot. Impatience is easy for me to give in to, but this time I fought it. Even though I can’t wait to have all my stuff in one place, I went back to Lunchboy’s house empty-handed. The heavy lifting can wait a week. I’d rather do it right.
We both had bad colds all weekend, probably from all the sick people we were stuck in airplanes with last week. It’s been a bad winter for colds and this one has sapped all the energy out of me. Lunchboy looked so ragged after a trip to Target that I left him on his couch while I went foraging at my place.
Once I got there, I stood in my living room and did a 360, considering the options. But something didn’t feel right. This wasn’t how I wanted to start, not just start the process of moving but start whatever might come after. Alone. He would have come along, so it wasn’t like I was mad. I just didn’t want to start off on that foot. Impatience is easy for me to give in to, but this time I fought it. Even though I can’t wait to have all my stuff in one place, I went back to Lunchboy’s house empty-handed. The heavy lifting can wait a week. I’d rather do it right.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Ah, Dilbert
"This is how I feel when I'm with you."
"I make you want to run away screaming? How romantic."
"No, it's a compliment. You're perfect."
"Ohh. How sweet. I think."
"I make you want to run away screaming? How romantic."
"No, it's a compliment. You're perfect."
"Ohh. How sweet. I think."
Double take
Do you ever have those moments where something happens, something strange and shocking, and suddenly it feels like the universe has tilted off-course and the world will never be the same again? In the past few days I’ve had about 5 of these moments. OK, that’s an exaggeration. It’s more like 3. But 3 is enough to make me shake my head and wonder how I got to be (almost) 31 and still be so naïve.
1. On the flight to Charlotte on Tuesday, I looked up from my book to see a girl in the row ahead of me reading Maxim. Now, guys read Maxim all the time, though most of them are smart enough to do it in the privacy of their own homes, where no one but the mailman and the box of tissues has to know about their reading habits. But women? That’s kind of rare.
So I looked closer and saw that the girl was about thirteen. My thought process went something like this:
--This is disturbing.
--Am I old and stodgy for thinking it’s disturbing?
--What does she think she’s going to learn from the “Dump Your Girlfriend For Me” column?
--This girl is 5 years away from ending up in Girls Gone Wild and saving the tape so she can show it to her grandkids.
--Even if she’s gay, it’s still disturbing.
--She probably wouldn’t like it if I reached over the seat, grabbed the magazine and gave her a lecture on healthy body image and self-esteem.
--Oh my god, I can’t believe I thought that. I am becoming my mother.
2. I found out that a good friend came close to being acquaintance-raped while on vacation in Florida. She’s a strong, street-smart woman who has no trouble asserting herself in situations that would tie my tongue in knots, so it was sobering to know that this kind of thing can happen to women who have survived their 20s and know how to handle themselves.
3. My college alumni magazine arrived and I made the mortal mistake of flipping to the alumni notes section in the back. Every time I read those notes, I make a vow to myself that I won’t read them ever again and then promptly forget about the whole thing until the next time the magazine shows up and I read the notes and remember why I made the vow in the first place. Because no matter how satisfied I am in my life, that stupid magazine always makes me wonder what the hell I’ve done with the last ten years.
At this point, almost ten years after graduation, it’s hard to remember who anyone is anymore, especially since most of them now have hyphenated last names because they’re almost all married. Many of them are having babies. Flipping through the alumni notes last night, I realized that boys with whom I once did tequila shots and then watched them throw up on the lawn are having children. Men who drank vast quantities of green beer that contained live goldfish on St. Patrick’s Day are now being called “daddy.”
Something about this just rocked my world. Then there was the half-page article on a guy I hooked up with during senior week. Scary mary.
1. On the flight to Charlotte on Tuesday, I looked up from my book to see a girl in the row ahead of me reading Maxim. Now, guys read Maxim all the time, though most of them are smart enough to do it in the privacy of their own homes, where no one but the mailman and the box of tissues has to know about their reading habits. But women? That’s kind of rare.
So I looked closer and saw that the girl was about thirteen. My thought process went something like this:
--This is disturbing.
--Am I old and stodgy for thinking it’s disturbing?
--What does she think she’s going to learn from the “Dump Your Girlfriend For Me” column?
--This girl is 5 years away from ending up in Girls Gone Wild and saving the tape so she can show it to her grandkids.
--Even if she’s gay, it’s still disturbing.
--She probably wouldn’t like it if I reached over the seat, grabbed the magazine and gave her a lecture on healthy body image and self-esteem.
--Oh my god, I can’t believe I thought that. I am becoming my mother.
2. I found out that a good friend came close to being acquaintance-raped while on vacation in Florida. She’s a strong, street-smart woman who has no trouble asserting herself in situations that would tie my tongue in knots, so it was sobering to know that this kind of thing can happen to women who have survived their 20s and know how to handle themselves.
3. My college alumni magazine arrived and I made the mortal mistake of flipping to the alumni notes section in the back. Every time I read those notes, I make a vow to myself that I won’t read them ever again and then promptly forget about the whole thing until the next time the magazine shows up and I read the notes and remember why I made the vow in the first place. Because no matter how satisfied I am in my life, that stupid magazine always makes me wonder what the hell I’ve done with the last ten years.
At this point, almost ten years after graduation, it’s hard to remember who anyone is anymore, especially since most of them now have hyphenated last names because they’re almost all married. Many of them are having babies. Flipping through the alumni notes last night, I realized that boys with whom I once did tequila shots and then watched them throw up on the lawn are having children. Men who drank vast quantities of green beer that contained live goldfish on St. Patrick’s Day are now being called “daddy.”
Something about this just rocked my world. Then there was the half-page article on a guy I hooked up with during senior week. Scary mary.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Word cloud
Carmen posted her version of this last week. I just think it's such a fun little tool. It reminds me of refrigerator poetry. Years ago I bought a huge box of magnetic fridge poetry but by the time I had my own fridge to post it on, the trend was over. Le sigh.
Aftermath
Back at work. I never thought I’d be so glad to be back at work. Or back in Boston. But by yesterday morning I was literally bouncing up and down in my eagerness to get home by any means possible, even if that meant renting a car and driving for days, eating horrible roadside fast food along the way. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. We landed last night and somehow the airline managed not to lose our luggage in the Bermuda triangle that is southwest Florida. I refused to believe that we’d actually get home until I physically set foot inside the door and detached the cats from my legs. Get home we did, though. The cats still can’t decide if they hate us or if they can’t stand to be less than a foot away from wherever we happen to be.
Let me just say that while Scully’s got a bladder that is disproportionately large for a kitty her size—when she pees it sounds like that drunken Tom Hanks scene from A League of Their Own— LunchBoy’s cats are award-winning poop machines. I have never seen cats who love filling up their box more than those two. Multiplied by 9 days, that’s a lot of cleanup work. That’s love for you.
My legs and hips are aching from being twisted up in airplane seats for too many hours. I anticipate carnage being wreaked tonight at yoga, seeing as I haven’t done anything more than paddle around in the ocean for a week and a half. Considering the quantity of fruity rum drinks I consumed last week, drinks strong enough to make me pass out at 4pm on our first day in St. Lucia, there’s going to be some major on-the-mat cleansing.Must. Stay. Awake.
Last night I dreamed about B in San Francisco. He wanted to get together again and I was assertive enough to list all the reasons why I wasn’t interested in his attention. I’m getting better at drawing lines in my sleeping as well as my waking life.
Let me just say that while Scully’s got a bladder that is disproportionately large for a kitty her size—when she pees it sounds like that drunken Tom Hanks scene from A League of Their Own— LunchBoy’s cats are award-winning poop machines. I have never seen cats who love filling up their box more than those two. Multiplied by 9 days, that’s a lot of cleanup work. That’s love for you.
My legs and hips are aching from being twisted up in airplane seats for too many hours. I anticipate carnage being wreaked tonight at yoga, seeing as I haven’t done anything more than paddle around in the ocean for a week and a half. Considering the quantity of fruity rum drinks I consumed last week, drinks strong enough to make me pass out at 4pm on our first day in St. Lucia, there’s going to be some major on-the-mat cleansing.Must. Stay. Awake.
Last night I dreamed about B in San Francisco. He wanted to get together again and I was assertive enough to list all the reasons why I wasn’t interested in his attention. I’m getting better at drawing lines in my sleeping as well as my waking life.
Sunday, February 12, 2006
Stuck
It's been a long two days. After blissing out on the beach for a week, we got to the airport in St. Lucia on Saturday and heard about this blizzard thing. Everything going to the Northeast was cancelled. We elected to fly to San Juan and catch a flight *somewhere* today. Except with the blizzard overflow plus the Rolling Stones concert and a big convention in town, there were no hotel rooms within a two hour radius of San Juan. So last night we dined out on flight vouchers at the airport McDonalds and slept on the floor of Gate 2 in the American terminal. When I'm less fried, I'll tell the story of the woman who snored like a dying, flatulent grizzly bear and the nightmares caused by hearing, "Ladies and gentlemen, we would like to remind you that smoking is prohibited in this terminal" every 3 minutes all night.
At 8am, we flew to Miami and then to Fort Myers, where we are crashing with Lunchboy's mom until we can get back home. Our luggage is still somewhere between San Juan and Miami--the airline isn't sure. Right now it looks like we're on a flight back to Boston on Tuesday afternoon, but we'll see what happens. After 24 straight hours of being in transit, I'm just glad to sit still someplace that isn't the airport. Shower, clean underwear, non-airport food. Yay.
At 8am, we flew to Miami and then to Fort Myers, where we are crashing with Lunchboy's mom until we can get back home. Our luggage is still somewhere between San Juan and Miami--the airline isn't sure. Right now it looks like we're on a flight back to Boston on Tuesday afternoon, but we'll see what happens. After 24 straight hours of being in transit, I'm just glad to sit still someplace that isn't the airport. Shower, clean underwear, non-airport food. Yay.
Friday, February 03, 2006
En vacances
Off to St. Lucia til next Saturday. I'll try to post some photos between now and then depending on internet access at the hotel. Otherwise, I'll be planted on the beach, daquiri in one hand, Lunchboy in the other.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Neither here nor there
Sometimes you can tell when you’re in transition and sometimes you can’t. There’s the overt kind of change—moving, a job shift, a relationship beginning or ending—and there’s the silent sort, where everything stays the same on the surface but something inside of you shifts gears and goes in a new direction. It’s not black and white. Every choice, every decision is a transition of sorts and they all have their own beauty, their own power to transform.
I’ve been used to the overt transitions, the ones you can’t miss, or seeing the quiet transitions in hindsight after they’ve snuck up on me. Right now, though, I feel like I’m in the midst of *something*. I don’t know what it is, but for the first time in my life I feel present enough to know that there’s a shift taking place. The signs are in my dreams. For the last two weeks, my dreams have been filled with journeys. Every night I dream that I’m ready to leave where I am. There are boxes to be packed and road trips to plan. One night I dreamed that I left everything behind and jumped on a train headed cross-country. Other nights I cram my car full of stuff and then try to fit Scully’s carrier somewhere, because she comes with me everywhere even in my dreams.
I was brought up believing that dreams are important tools for understanding one's inner life, so I don't take the dreams literally. What’s most noticeable for me, though, is the feeling of peace that suffuses the dreams. I’m ready to embark on a new path leading...who knows where.
I’ve been used to the overt transitions, the ones you can’t miss, or seeing the quiet transitions in hindsight after they’ve snuck up on me. Right now, though, I feel like I’m in the midst of *something*. I don’t know what it is, but for the first time in my life I feel present enough to know that there’s a shift taking place. The signs are in my dreams. For the last two weeks, my dreams have been filled with journeys. Every night I dream that I’m ready to leave where I am. There are boxes to be packed and road trips to plan. One night I dreamed that I left everything behind and jumped on a train headed cross-country. Other nights I cram my car full of stuff and then try to fit Scully’s carrier somewhere, because she comes with me everywhere even in my dreams.
I was brought up believing that dreams are important tools for understanding one's inner life, so I don't take the dreams literally. What’s most noticeable for me, though, is the feeling of peace that suffuses the dreams. I’m ready to embark on a new path leading...who knows where.
My new hero
Had I know that there was a World Grilled Cheese Eating competition, my life might have gone in another direction.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Up from nowhere
In yoga last night, the woman on the mat next to me looked like a gypsy. Her ujjayi was so strong that it felt like I had a fan on my back for the entire class. When we reached savasana, the word “gypsy” stuck in my mind and all I could think of was an old friend from years ago whom I still miss.
In grad school, I lived in a beat up old Victorian with five other students. It was a good time but could also be a bad reality show on wheels. Our next door neighbors had a dog that never stopped barking and everyone in the house complained about the stupid dog waking them up early every morning. The dog was a big, shaggy golden retriever who never seemed to go on walks. So one day I went next door and asked if I could take the dog running with me by the lake. The dog’s owner, Stephanie, looked at me like I’d just handed her the winning check for the lottery. “Gypsy would love nothing more,” she said. This adorable, hyper dog was confined to a small house and that’s what was driving her nuts. Stephanie’s daughter was disabled and she couldn’t leave her alone long enough to take Gypsy for walks.
Every evening, Gypsy and I would head out around the landfill near Northwestern. At first she was totally hyper and almost choked herself on the leash, but Stephanie bought her one of those halter leashes and after that she was better. Eventually Gypsy stopped trying to jump on everyone we passed, smell every blade of grass and take a swim whenever we were near the water. She was good company and we had fun together. And clearly she loved the runs—whenever I arrived at the house to pick her up, she’d spin around in circles and pee herself. She also stopped barking first thing in the morning.
The runs with Gypsy stopped when I moved to DC, but I went back to see Stephanie every time I visited Chicago on business. The last time I was in Evanston, Gypsy did her circle dance by the door and waited near the dinner table, hoping that we’d go for a spin by the lake once the food was gone. But it was late and I was unprepared. The look in her eyes when I walked out the door without her still makes me cry. I wonder if she’s still alive, or if she ever got to run in the grass again.
In grad school, I lived in a beat up old Victorian with five other students. It was a good time but could also be a bad reality show on wheels. Our next door neighbors had a dog that never stopped barking and everyone in the house complained about the stupid dog waking them up early every morning. The dog was a big, shaggy golden retriever who never seemed to go on walks. So one day I went next door and asked if I could take the dog running with me by the lake. The dog’s owner, Stephanie, looked at me like I’d just handed her the winning check for the lottery. “Gypsy would love nothing more,” she said. This adorable, hyper dog was confined to a small house and that’s what was driving her nuts. Stephanie’s daughter was disabled and she couldn’t leave her alone long enough to take Gypsy for walks.
Every evening, Gypsy and I would head out around the landfill near Northwestern. At first she was totally hyper and almost choked herself on the leash, but Stephanie bought her one of those halter leashes and after that she was better. Eventually Gypsy stopped trying to jump on everyone we passed, smell every blade of grass and take a swim whenever we were near the water. She was good company and we had fun together. And clearly she loved the runs—whenever I arrived at the house to pick her up, she’d spin around in circles and pee herself. She also stopped barking first thing in the morning.
The runs with Gypsy stopped when I moved to DC, but I went back to see Stephanie every time I visited Chicago on business. The last time I was in Evanston, Gypsy did her circle dance by the door and waited near the dinner table, hoping that we’d go for a spin by the lake once the food was gone. But it was late and I was unprepared. The look in her eyes when I walked out the door without her still makes me cry. I wonder if she’s still alive, or if she ever got to run in the grass again.
Monday, January 30, 2006
Humbling moments
Watching Homer Simpson say he's 36 and realizing, "Oh shit, he's only 5 years older than me! AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"
More tea, Polly Prissy Pants?
This weekend I thought about addictions, mostly because a whole bunch of them came to the fore (not that their existence was a secret) and it was amusing. On Saturday, I was scrolling through all the stuff we’ve TiVoed and I realized that we have about 20 episodes of Good Eats on file. LB’s kind of addicted to Good Eats. His house is something of a secular altar to Alton Brown. If he’s not watching back episodes of the Simpsons or the Colbert Report, he’s got Alton on in the background while he reads or checks email. Alton’s inspired LB to cook some amazing things (like the French toast he made on Sunday) and the strawberry shortcake we tried during the summer. A couple of weeks ago, Alton did an episode on tea and both LB and I were kind of shocked to find out that all the lovely boxes of yummy tea in his cupboard are actually the tea equivalent of sawdust. So yesterday we went to Tealuxe in Harvard Square and invested in a Bee House teapot and 100 ounces of different teas that are definitely not sawdust. After we brewed a sample pot of the Royal Coconut, though, we both realized that after 30 years of drinking the plebian stuff, it was going to take time for our taste buds to get used to the real thing. The nice tea was yummy but it smelled better than it tasted. Then again, I hated the taste of wine when I was 5 and now I can put away half a bottle at a go, so I’m willing to be patient.
My addiction, of course, is celebrity gossip. So last night I kicked back and watched the SAG awards red carpet on E. Why are these shows so riveting?? I can’t look away, even when I see myself turning into the bitchiest witch east of the Mississippi. Really, they’re just people (albeit badly dressed people with a pony tail fetish) who could stand to think for themselves a little bit more. Still, it was nice to have company on the couch. LB joined me and occasionally chimed in on the celebrity watching.
“So who’s that?”
“That’s one of the Desperate Housewives. What the hell is she wearing?”
“And who’s that?”
“Oh my god, that’s Jaime Pressley. She used to be hot but now I don’t know what she did to her face. At least she’s still got the body.”
“I know!! Umm, nothing. I said nothing.”
My addiction, of course, is celebrity gossip. So last night I kicked back and watched the SAG awards red carpet on E. Why are these shows so riveting?? I can’t look away, even when I see myself turning into the bitchiest witch east of the Mississippi. Really, they’re just people (albeit badly dressed people with a pony tail fetish) who could stand to think for themselves a little bit more. Still, it was nice to have company on the couch. LB joined me and occasionally chimed in on the celebrity watching.
“So who’s that?”
“That’s one of the Desperate Housewives. What the hell is she wearing?”
“And who’s that?”
“Oh my god, that’s Jaime Pressley. She used to be hot but now I don’t know what she did to her face. At least she’s still got the body.”
“I know!! Umm, nothing. I said nothing.”
Friday, January 27, 2006
OK
| You are Betty Grable |
 The ulitmate girl next door You're the perfect girl for most guys Pretty yet approachable. Beautiful yet real. |
Thursday, January 26, 2006
So almost a Freudian slip
More fun with research: having regular sex will make you a better public speaker.
The well runneth dry
My heart has hardened to the panhandlers at the Alewife rotary. Every morning I see them walking back and forth, up and down the lines of cars waiting to get through the light. Many mornings, I handed them my stash of toll change—the plaintive hand-lettered signs they carry and their tired eyes were just too much for me to ignore. At first there were only one or two of them, but a few months ago their numbers swelled and now there’s a panhandler for all four entrances to the interchange. During the evening rush hour, I’ve seen five of them working the lines of traffic.
That’s when I started getting suspicious. And then I hated myself for getting suspicious. What kind of horrible person thinks badly of the homeless? But their hand-lettered signs all looked like they’d been written by the same person, and I noticed a certain organization to the way the panhandlers worked their assigned traffic lanes during the morning and evening rush hours. My suspicions were just something I felt terrible about, though. Until today.
This morning, all of the panhandlers had canes. All of them.
These people, who until today had ably trodden wet, cold paths through the snow and mud next to the road, were all carrying identical gray orthopedic canes, the kind you can get at the pharmacy. Do ploys get any more transparent? If one of the panhandlers had suddenly started using a cane, that would be one thing, but all four on the same day? My sympathy and generosity have tapped out as of now.
That’s when I started getting suspicious. And then I hated myself for getting suspicious. What kind of horrible person thinks badly of the homeless? But their hand-lettered signs all looked like they’d been written by the same person, and I noticed a certain organization to the way the panhandlers worked their assigned traffic lanes during the morning and evening rush hours. My suspicions were just something I felt terrible about, though. Until today.
This morning, all of the panhandlers had canes. All of them.
These people, who until today had ably trodden wet, cold paths through the snow and mud next to the road, were all carrying identical gray orthopedic canes, the kind you can get at the pharmacy. Do ploys get any more transparent? If one of the panhandlers had suddenly started using a cane, that would be one thing, but all four on the same day? My sympathy and generosity have tapped out as of now.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Four things
Carmen tagged me with a meme. I'm of two minds about memes. One the one hand, they’re fun to write. On the other hand, they can be annoying to read. When written by people I don’t know or read that often, memes feel like one long, linked up in-joke. Without some context or an interesting story to give the information some background, I kind of don’t care. I guess I’m a sucker for narrative.
So here’s my four things and I understand if you don’t want to read them.
Four Jobs I’ve Had:
--receptionist in the non-invasive cardiology lab at Brigham & Women’s Hospital. It was a temp job. There were no windows and the two techs who did EKGs and echocardiograms were always hitting on me. Also, people frequently came in to ask if I knew where the morgue was. Frequently they were picking up or delivering something morbid, like a head (really). It got too depressing, so I quit after a month.
--page in my local library. I got to put away books and stamp checkout cards for 4 hours after school. There was no better job in the world. It meant I could sneak upstairs and look at pictures of the boys I had crushes on in old yearbooks, and explore parts of the library that were 150 years old. I kept getting in trouble, though, because I was always reading the books I was supposed to be putting away. One of my duties was to call people and let them know the books they’d requested had arrived. Once I had to call a deaf man to tell him his copy of “The Joy Of Sex” had arrived and I ended up screaming it out for the whole library because he couldn’t hear me.
--chambermaid at the Westmoor Inn on Nantucket. Scrubbing toilets and changing nasty bedsheets isn’t what I’d call romantic, but it meant I got to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth for $5 a day. It also meant I got to see what people kept in their rooms—ribbed condoms were popular--and how much they bought at the cheesy island stores (a lot). The guests got tanked every night at the wine and cheese hour and frequently tipped the hotel staff large amounts to stay silent about their bedroom activities. The Inn itself was haunted and that kept things interesting. I fell in love with outdoor showers, beach combing and evening runs along Cliff Rd.
--reporter for an entertainment magazine. Best. Job. Ever. I got paid to network at movie premieres and DVD release parties. My first week on the job, I attended a two-day industry event at the Bacara resort. No one blinked an eye at the crazy amounts of DVD swag I got in the mail. The schwag was creative—the Bubba Ho-Tep DVD came in a yellow plastic bed pan. Also, I worked across the way from E!, so I got to watch all the weird celebrities arrive at the building. I used to bump into Ted Casablanca in the café. Juliette Lewis used to show up in our lobby all the time and I once peed next to her in the restroom. She sang while she peed.
Four movies I can watch over and over:
Bring It On
Center Stage
Star Wars
Last of the Mohicans
Four places I’ve lived:
Florence, Italy
Los Angeles, California
Waterville, Maine
Evanston, Illinois
Four TV shows I love:
Grey’s Anatomy
The Office
Scrubs
Battlestar Galactica
Four places I’ve been on vacation:
Bermuda
Paris
the Pacific Northwest
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Four blogs I read daily:
Carmen
Defamer
Dooce
Blah-di-Blog
Four of my favorite foods:
Cheese—any variety except goat cheese which, for some unknown reason, I cannot stand.
Fresh bialys from Kossar’s
Burritos from Poquito Mas
Sushi sushi sushi
(and the harvest pumpkin soup from Au Bon Pain. Yes, that’s five. Deal.)
Four places I’d rather be:
--climbing the stairs in Santa Monica
--hiking in Marin
--exploring someplace I’ve never been before, preferably somewhere warm and sunny. Beaches and mountains are a plus.
--in LB’s hotel room
Four albums I can’t live without:
Duran Duran, Greatest Hits
The OC Soundtrack, Volume 2
Nick Drake, Pink Moon
Doves, Lost Souls
Four vehicles I’ve owned:
A gold 1985 Toyota Corolla
An unwieldy lime-green Trek mountain bike
Supergirl rollerskates
A 2004 magnesium gray Honda Civic
Four tagees:
Renate
Pound Foolish
Bryna
Elle Charlie
So here’s my four things and I understand if you don’t want to read them.
Four Jobs I’ve Had:
--receptionist in the non-invasive cardiology lab at Brigham & Women’s Hospital. It was a temp job. There were no windows and the two techs who did EKGs and echocardiograms were always hitting on me. Also, people frequently came in to ask if I knew where the morgue was. Frequently they were picking up or delivering something morbid, like a head (really). It got too depressing, so I quit after a month.
--page in my local library. I got to put away books and stamp checkout cards for 4 hours after school. There was no better job in the world. It meant I could sneak upstairs and look at pictures of the boys I had crushes on in old yearbooks, and explore parts of the library that were 150 years old. I kept getting in trouble, though, because I was always reading the books I was supposed to be putting away. One of my duties was to call people and let them know the books they’d requested had arrived. Once I had to call a deaf man to tell him his copy of “The Joy Of Sex” had arrived and I ended up screaming it out for the whole library because he couldn’t hear me.
--chambermaid at the Westmoor Inn on Nantucket. Scrubbing toilets and changing nasty bedsheets isn’t what I’d call romantic, but it meant I got to live in one of the most beautiful places on earth for $5 a day. It also meant I got to see what people kept in their rooms—ribbed condoms were popular--and how much they bought at the cheesy island stores (a lot). The guests got tanked every night at the wine and cheese hour and frequently tipped the hotel staff large amounts to stay silent about their bedroom activities. The Inn itself was haunted and that kept things interesting. I fell in love with outdoor showers, beach combing and evening runs along Cliff Rd.
--reporter for an entertainment magazine. Best. Job. Ever. I got paid to network at movie premieres and DVD release parties. My first week on the job, I attended a two-day industry event at the Bacara resort. No one blinked an eye at the crazy amounts of DVD swag I got in the mail. The schwag was creative—the Bubba Ho-Tep DVD came in a yellow plastic bed pan. Also, I worked across the way from E!, so I got to watch all the weird celebrities arrive at the building. I used to bump into Ted Casablanca in the café. Juliette Lewis used to show up in our lobby all the time and I once peed next to her in the restroom. She sang while she peed.
Four movies I can watch over and over:
Bring It On
Center Stage
Star Wars
Last of the Mohicans
Four places I’ve lived:
Florence, Italy
Los Angeles, California
Waterville, Maine
Evanston, Illinois
Four TV shows I love:
Grey’s Anatomy
The Office
Scrubs
Battlestar Galactica
Four places I’ve been on vacation:
Bermuda
Paris
the Pacific Northwest
Hilton Head, South Carolina
Four blogs I read daily:
Carmen
Defamer
Dooce
Blah-di-Blog
Four of my favorite foods:
Cheese—any variety except goat cheese which, for some unknown reason, I cannot stand.
Fresh bialys from Kossar’s
Burritos from Poquito Mas
Sushi sushi sushi
(and the harvest pumpkin soup from Au Bon Pain. Yes, that’s five. Deal.)
Four places I’d rather be:
--climbing the stairs in Santa Monica
--hiking in Marin
--exploring someplace I’ve never been before, preferably somewhere warm and sunny. Beaches and mountains are a plus.
--in LB’s hotel room
Four albums I can’t live without:
Duran Duran, Greatest Hits
The OC Soundtrack, Volume 2
Nick Drake, Pink Moon
Doves, Lost Souls
Four vehicles I’ve owned:
A gold 1985 Toyota Corolla
An unwieldy lime-green Trek mountain bike
Supergirl rollerskates
A 2004 magnesium gray Honda Civic
Four tagees:
Renate
Pound Foolish
Bryna
Elle Charlie
The snowy road
Snow usually makes for a messy commute but this morning it somehow transformed Rt. 2 into a place of beauty. I wish I could have stopped to take pictures. The bare trees and dirty highway were frosted with snow, and the sun was fighting to burn through the morning fog. Traffic wasn’t bad, so I could actually take the time to appreciate the momentary loveliness. The Cambridge Reservoir looked like a completely different place. Out on the little islands, trees rose out of the mist with an air of purpose and mystery. Newly coated with snow, the ice looked fresh and inviting, like things do after a good, hard rain during the summer. I sometimes forget how pretty Boston can be during the winter and it was nice to be reminded.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
