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wish list ’09

Around this time last year, I wrote a wish list of things I would like, if only I had people buying me holiday presents. I figured I might as well see what I want this year.

Sheets. I would like sheets. Soft sheets, that properly fit the bed I sleep in. I am tired of rough, too-big sheets.

A light table! My art often requires me to trace things repeatedly. Without a light table, I am forced to tape things to windows on sunny days, pushing through discomfort and shaking the ink back toward the tip of my pen. If I just had a light table, these steps would be SO much easier.

A sequined skirt. I would love one in silver, but I’d totally take one in black. Along with this, I really, really want someplace to wear it to on new years.

Beyond that (and trust me, even this short list has been a stretch) I don’t want things.

I want my mom to move the damn green table out of this place, so I can de-cramp my studio.

I want all of her stuff out of here, actually, but that’s like wishing for the taj mahal.

I want to get into grad school.

I want a job.

I want to be able to get coffee with the scientist. I want it to be casual and pleasant.

Unfortunately, I don’t think those are things any Santa could really deliver on. A team of movers, an admissions board, and cupid, maybe. But not Santa.


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I Care Not How Silly They Are

My fantasies are still outdoing my real life.

Actually, my dreams out-do my fantasies. My subconscious brings me through adventures I would never encounter in real life: encounters with mystical creatures, gatherings of people I have met throughout many years spent in different parts of the country, bold dramas that would seem farfetched in even a prime time television spot. It’s all very dramatic and exciting.

My daydreams, however, my fantasies, are much simpler.

I dream of visiting back east and having every old friend/accquaintance be glad to see me.
Of being accepted to grad school and getting a job.
Of being able to drive and having a car to jump into to go for weekend wanderlust trips.
Of throwing small dinner parties of interesting people and being considered a good host.

Mostly, though I would like to tell you that I am FAR too mature for this kind of thing, I daydream about my enduring crush, Tom.
I daydream conversations about nothing with him while we lounge or take walks.
I daydream of us going to the bar we share and him showing all the bartenders that I am not just some girl who comes in regularly, but the girl he likes.
I daydream that, in bed, he is laying behind me, dozing in the mid morning light.

Sometimes I go out on a real stretch and dream up scenarios for us to inhabit:
He asks me to be his date for a family wedding and his mom likes me.
He drives me up north for my board meeting and kisses me on the way. All my non-profit friends like him.
I take him for icecream off of our shared campus when he is stressed out.
We move up north together as friends and realize we’re in love.

Sometimes I accept a time gap and dream up things like:
After a few years, we run into each other in a northern city and are struck with awe of each other. We begin to shyly date and it’s a happy ending of dinner parties and art and dreams fulfilled from there on out.

Oh, they’re cliche and banal and silly, I am sure. But they still beat the pants off my real day to day life.

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Pardon my being pessimistic for a moment- again- but my poor, overblown nose and aching sinuses cry out for it. I’m looking at that 4-part check list of my life: social, romantic, career, and health.

Social: I got nothing. Monday I was so hopeful, because I’d just met so many people I thought I could get along with. Today, my social life is as small and nonexistent as any day prior. My snuffly nose doesn’t help that.
Romantic: Well, Tom did get back in touch with me… whether it is a social or romantic thing for him, I don’t know. For me it still fits into the romantic category. However, it is romantic only in the scantiest sense of the term, as a couple of messages do not a renewed relationship make.
Career: Ah, the part in which it’s really my own fault that I went from 2 jobs to 0 in less than 18 hours. Hmm. Right.
Health: The part I turn to when all else is down, the supposedly comforting part- oh yes, at least you’ve still got your health.. except that I don’t.

Gee whiz. I ain’t on top right now, am I?

It’ll get better though. I know I said I was being pessimistic, but I do feel rather ok and even hopeful for someone claiming to be pessimistic. Sure would be nice if my inner ear would stop crackling every time I swallow or yawn, though. And nice if I could get some happy, trustworthy, hot making out. And a satisfying job. And a bigger social circle.


(ps- Day 13- Art Walk in downtown with my mom and some of her friends who’ve been wanting to meet me for a long time now. Shame I’m all groggy, no?)

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CDs, Bellies, Etc.

On Jezebel there has been a series of postal exchanges, the most recent of which has been mix-cds. I excitedly signed up to participate, understanding that one of the points was to get the cd in the mail asap, so that the recipient could enjoy it. I confess: I finished mine yesterday, packaging and all, but I haven’t sent it yet because I just enjoyed looking at it so. Look:

See? Cute! Neat! Cool! I’m quite proud of my crafty dual cd case making. I keep playing with it. I’ve really got to send it out… but… look! Neat! Cute! Cool! Eeee! I am so pleased with myself.


Recently I noticed something new about my body. My belly sticks out. Not just a wee, little, oh-look-at-her-girlish-curve bit, either- it’s really progressed outward. I am shocked into pilates. I began again today, playing the dvd after I vacuumed the floor so as to have an actual place to work out. I don’t think my belly muscles have ever trembled quite so violently during these exercises.

My own belly made me think about couple-dancing. Things like the waltz, the polka, swing, even just swing-yer-partner type dances, where the man leads and you put your arms around each other. Many of the men I have danced with over the years have had large bellies. Not just a pudge hanging over their belts, either, but a full grown expanse of girth. Such a girth that, even with proper spacing of the arms, which normally would provide plenty of space between the bodies, you cannot help but press against their bellies as you dance. It is impossible not to, and I always feel just a bit awkward as I try to overlook the fact that I am being pressed into much closer contact than is normal, simply by sheer size of their waists.

Upon realizing how very much I needed to resume pilates, I discovered a guilty bit of sympathy toward these men with their bellies.


I banged my elbow on the door frame and it hurts. My cat won’t quit whining that he is hungry, despite his being well fed. I need to go to the post office. Etc., etc., etc.

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Seriously now.

For fuck’s sake.
How are you supposed to invite someone out if you can’t get ahold of them?
If you can’t call them directly?
Can’t ask to be called back?
Can’t text?
Can’t email?
Can’t fbook-message?
What am I supposed to do here? Send letters in the post? Order a singing telegram? Rent a billboard on his path to work? Hire a plane to fly a banner back and forth wherever he might be?
I mean, jeez oh man, could he make it any more difficult to get ahold of him?
Every time that I finally do, I vex about how difficult it was to do so, and he acts surprised that I bother mentioning it, as he knows how difficult it can be… well does he know how frustrating it is to try so damn hard to get ahold of a person and not be able to say a word about it to them?
Damn, damn, damn.
See also:
For fucks sake.

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Medicine for the annoyed soul

I have been mighty cranky lately. No, not cranky so much, but annoyed. I am heavily annoyed.
My friend is dating a guy I don’t like, and really, I don’t think there’s much to be done about it. I’m not gonna go all “wha wha, I don’t like him, pick him or me, whaa” because a) that’s stupid and b) it’s not really my business whom she dates and c) it might only push her away. But when I found myself unable to not say anything, I suggested in a most supportive fashion that she remember to maintain her self, allowing her to fill in the rest: and not completely lose herself in head over heels infatuation which might just burn out. That was weeks ago, btw. And she was so hardcore about it- agreed vehemently, she would not lose herself in him, would focus on herself, would remember her independent person…
I’ve barely seen her because she spends most all her free time with him, every night with him, all the time with him. Recently she told me how much we ought to hang out, she was going to call me today- and did, in time to tell me about how many hours she had been away from him and what a hurry she was in to get back. Plans we made weeks ago have lost all security and have been set adrift in a sea of last minute maybes.
Wha wha wha. I know I’m whining. But really, I am annoyed- annoyed as I would be with any good friend who did just as she declared she would not by going all MIA, diving headfirst into full-time devotion- and even more annoyed, because on top of her misbehavior, it is misbehavior for the sake of someone whom I really do not like!
So, whaaaa.

Here is a video of a duck snoring. At least while watching this, it is hard to be annoyed.

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In which I complain:
When I moved here, I knew that I was going from having a good amount of people I could hang out with to, well, two friends.
When I got here, I found out that one of them has become a Total flake. This was frustrating, but at last I still had my other friend to hang out with, and saw her about a couple times a week, to do really interesting things, which helped.
But now- now! She has flaked on me seven times in the last two and a halfish weeks. To make it worse- she’s the one suggesting all these get togethers, and then canceling them, day after day after day.

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