I actually managed to (a) dress myself (b) leave the house!! Go me! Actually, the evening was a steady degradation of plans to celebrate graduation – which I have not actually completed, though I did attend the ceremony a few days ago – which was first moved a day, and then moved another day. We were going to go to a nice opera, and then in the face of sold-out cheap student tickets and heavy traffic, quickly adapted the plan to a night of drinking and watching Date Night and shopping by the beach, where all the cool clubs are. Then it got kind of late and my poor, batshit crazy mom’s head exploded at the thought of my staying out past midnight even in the face of my long history of staying out until two or three in the morning, so we decided to watch Date Night and maybe just sip a beer at the nearby mall, which is a great hangout spot if you are a middle school teenager and not much else. And then my friend’s car broke down for the hundredth time and I naively thought it would be fine to go with M. and R., who are a couple, just the three of us, yay! So of course I sat in a dark theatre by myself for half the movie while they “talked” outside, and then sat in a dark theatre basically by myself while they cuddled nearby.

The movie, though, was pretty funny and I am not much of a socializer anyway, so I enjoyed myself pretty well anyway. Afterwards M. and R. once more wandered off by themselves and in a valiant attempt not to resent their couply happiness I listened to music and really, really wished anyplace was still open so I could have a drink, any drink, and then flirted with a security guard in a last-ditch attempt to entertain myself/FEEL LOVED confirm my ability to hold a conversation, and then I went home and watched Life and House Hunters International.

So, overall, can I say I have a life? Well, no. But I think I made at least a good-faith effort, right?


Now, sometimes (every few fortnites or so, apparently) I actually get the urge to write something, only to find there’s no computer nearby. So I’m starting  a new segment, cleverly called “Tuesday’s Moleskine,” because I have a moleskine (it’s black and fairly ridiculous), and sometimes I need to transcibe that bitch. See: tuesday morning at the airport.


“I am currently at the gate waiting for my plane to BALTIMORE whooo-yeah!! So, at this point you may be saying out loud to your computer screen, “Tuesday, this trip is getting a little redundant. It’s hardly the first time you visit Baltimore, and I’d thank you to get a hold of your fake enthusiasm, please.” Well, that shows how much youknow, because I’m actually inordinately, inappropriately excited! Yeah! Baltimore! Totally!

 OK, to be fair a large part of that is just being away from the towering, crazystrict presence of parents who don’t make any particular distinction between twenty and thirteen years of age (not, mind you, that I feel it’s worth moving out and like, paying rent to someone, especially when I have no steady income. Life is all about figuring out your priorities, and one of my big ones is to live comfortably, as much as that’s possible. Marry up*!).

 So I’m waiting for my plane to come. It only took me, oh, twenty minutes to attract the weirdos (ok, to be fair I have taken planes, buses and so on before without attracting any weirdos at all, so I guess I’m not going to go on a whiny rant about my (probably nonexistent) ability to attract weirdos. But let’s just say that I’m very delicate looking, very thin and sinewy but rather plain looking, in terms of attractiveness, and that combination (of seeming defenselessness coupled with possible self-esteem issues) attracts a lot of weirdos a certain kind of guy. Let’s just say before I decided to Not Date the inquirers weren’t exactly Prince Charming.

So, anyway, I have just set up my laptop when a guy, a bit overweight, late thirties to late forties (can you tell I’m terrible at guessing ages?), Haitian with the heavy accent to go along, sits across from me. No problem so far. I call up my dad to ask a question, and when I hang up HaitianDude leans over and asks to borrow my cellphone.

Now, sometimes I am rather paranoid, I can admit that pretty readily. So I hesitate to answer because I am having visions of him starting to dial and then making a run for it across the airport – which I will admit makes not much sense since he’d probably be tackled by security before you can say “Hey!” But paranoia isn’t supposed to make sense, so moving on I asked first if he was calling out of state or…? No, no, he assures me, not out of state. When I ask which area code (I realize this is a bit much, but after all I wouldn’t mind answering these questions were I the one asking to use some stranger’s very expensive, new looking razor cellphone), he explains, eventually, that he’s calling Haiti. To which I said, “Oh, it’s out of country. Yes, that’s much better.” Except the much-better part was in my head. So at this point I’m about to give up the phone, despite not being very comfortable, and I ask (yes, I was full of questions, I’m a very irritating person and you probably wouldn’t want to borrow a phone from me, because I am weird about things like that) about how long he would need: five minutes, he says.

Now maybe I’m just a terrible conversationalist (maybe, ha) but this seems like an awfully long time to be on the phone. Like, that’s a whole conversation with your lawyer or dad or something, not a quick check with someone like I assumed – I mean, I was a bit taken aback because I was assuming he’d say something like “thirty seconds” or “a minute”. At this point I start hemming and hawing some more, and then Guy very nicely guesses that I really don’t want to give up the phone and says “You can say no.”

So I say, “Yeah, sorry.” And smile all apologetically and go very quickly back to my ipod and laptop, because I have the strong sensation I have been a total bitch – which frankly I don’t mind being to someone I won’t ever see again. They’ll just be like “yeah, I ran into this real bitch at the airport” and that’s the end of that. So I put on my bitch persona, complete with headphones to block out further conversation.

 All that does not make him a weirdo, frankly it makes me a bit of a weirdo, if anything. But later, when he sits right up next to me and touches my arm and says, literally, “Do you know Jesus loves you”? Yeah, that’s when he makes my weirdo list. Will now retire the word “weirdo” from this post, btw.

 I say “Yes, I know.”

And he says “Do you?”

And I was like, “Yeah, really. I really, really, know. I am Christian.” And I was tempted to fish something Catholic-y from my bag but refrained in case he would then attempt to convert me to his particular denomination. And this conversation goes on for a goddam while, too – Jesus is great, Jesus loves you, give yourself over to Jesus, yes I agree, yes I have, and so on – and maybe I would have put an end to it a bit more abruptly were I not still feeling guilty over my non-phone-lending ways. Eventually he wandered off and has accosted (or, okay, from a distance it appears to be normal conversations but you know he’s out there pimping Jesus like nobody’s business) like three people since. Also, this is why Jesus gets such a bad rap – shit representation. Christians! Be cool!

 Other stuff going on around me includes: everyone has Dunkin Donuts coffees and bagels, which makes me glad I ate a lot otherwise I’d be wasting money on terrible, overpriced donuts, and there’s the most attractive gay boy sitting in front of me. Well, okay to be fair I have no idea what he looks like from the front, but his hair is so, so beautiful, a kind of layered medium brown that waves perfectly and goes down far enough that I can barely see a bit of pale, pale neck. And he’s wearing a lovely black shirt. He is like a vampire, and totally brings out the middle-school, medium grade lust in me. Yum, such delicate shoulders. I wish he would get on the phone again so I could listen to that beautiful, lilting voice encourage someone to finish their paper. Hmmmm.



*just kidding. No, really. If I end up marrying someone more well-off than myself I’d probably end up all resentful and insecure, like I’m the asshole mechanic husband with an inferiority complex who drinks because his junior partner lawyer wife makes more than he does. It’s just terrible of me! Oh well. A girl’s got to be able to take of herself, always, even when she currently isn’t – as long the capacity to do so is there. You gotta have backup. And so on. This was a pretty long footnote.”


I never really ever got around to finishing my bloggings of last year’s trip to Baltimore, but I’m feeling good about my writing prospects this time, because

a) it’s a much longer stay, three weeks and

b) I’m spending a good part of the day doing nothing, so I actually have the time

Until later,

– Tuesday

Was dragged to this little sushi place by a friend, under the pretense of going out for some Chinese. Devious!

So, I have stayed far, far away from sushi since…always, because I’d like to think that I know myself at least a little. Hopefully, enough to not be, like, “Ok, well I know I don’t like fish, or anything, really, that lives in or near water. And I know that my detestation for undercooked foods is such that I inevitably burn everything I cook….so, sushi! Sure!” But I figured, you know, trying something once is always blah blah etc, so we went to this little Japanese place where they give you chopsticks and no, they don’t have duck-sauce and you should never ask because you will feel very fucking uncultured and ridiculous.

The atmosphere was great, but the food itselfm, of course, was all very disgusting. I mean, it’s Raw Fish and Other Strange Things (which would be the name of my sushi place, just btw). I had to literally choke that shit down. But y’know, at least now when I insist that no, I would not like spoonful of fish eggs, thanks, I can feel very honest in my conviction.

The rice, utterly doused in soy sauce, was pretty good, though. And also, most of what I ended up eating. Here’s to leaving a bunch of raw fish at the table and looking vaguely eating-disordered (people assume this about me! *is sad*).

So I’ve decided that posting madly for a couple of days and then disappearing for several months at a time is totally a valid schedule. I feel no shame! Meanwhile, a girl briefly abandons her blog and then come back to find everything’s changed! Dammit, wordpress! How am I supposed to publish a flurry of inconsequential and confusing updates on my life and readjust to the new interface* in the two or three days I have available before I must vanish once more??

Luckily, I have an impressive backlog of unpublished drafts. Although, I’m not sure how I feel about posting about my “new job!” now that I’ve worked there for several months, been fired, and hired anew? Mmm.

*I have no idea if that’s the right word, there.

Also, I’ve just realized that the spell-check here doesn’t recognize “blog” as a real word. Oh, thanks again ,wordpress, I’ll be sure to change that to change that to “bog” (pretty appropriate, actually!) or “bldg” (really, spellcheck?) right away!

lest she break out in hives. So, it’s finally getting a bit colder down here – the last two nights have been down around fifty degrees! I haven’t broke a sweat in nearly three days! Hurray seasonal changes! Unfortunately, the winters down here are kind of unstable, so that yesterday we dropped thirty degrees and I nearly died (seriously, I spent all day shivering. I think I may have lost some weight). Today, I wake up and promptly curl up and whimper (internally) for a while as the cold tried to become one with me.

So that when I rushed out of the house to catch the bus (late as usual) I realized a bit belatedly that hey, I only own flimsy t-shirts! So I grabbed some vaguely-thick looking half-sleeve thing from my sister’s closet and off I went. Only it turns out it wasn’t really as cool today as yesterday, by like ten or fifteen degrees, so that on what was easily the best day I’ve seen in a year to be wearing sturdy jeans and a good t-shirt, I was nearly-sweating (but not quite! thanks, dove deodorant!) and just kind of uncomfortable.

Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass doors of a building and realized that I’m actually wearing the ugliest. fucking. sweater. ever. I literally paled. It’s hideous! There’s glitter involved, and fakefakefake diamond things, and a drawing of a fucking butterfly! I can’t even think about it, it makes me feel faint. When you consider my hotmess hair (I really, really need to get myself to a salon to straighten my roots – they’re nearly two inches and I look infuckingsane), and my poor, yellowed, unpolished, bittendown nails, and I probably look like I just, just barely function. Sigh.

Or, y’know, just take note. After weeks of hanging out at the pharmacy indecisively between bus routes and feeling uncomfortably guilty about the fact that half my nail polish bottles currently reside in a sad vinyl make-up bag at the bottom of my dresser, I finally dug up three bucks of my hard earned cash and bought another Milani – “Cool Vibe”.

That was on Friday. I put it on last night and was quite pleased – I had been staying away from hot pink because it can look quite tacky, but this color was very strong, without being dark, and I floved it with all my shallow little heart. Then I walked into the bathroom, glanced down lovingly and bam – I had purple nails! Dark, dull, purple nails. At least I can put to rest all my thoughts on how I would look in purple – the answer is a loud, definitive “god awful”. Ugh.

As far as I can tell, the color change has nothing to do with light intensity, so I assume it’s the type of lightbulb. I can’t confirm this because I have no idea what kind of lightbulbs I have, and no, I never will. But sometimes my nails are awesomecoolpink, sometimes fuglydepressingpurple. *shrug*

And yeah, this is how I come back after a long and unexplained hiatus. You can really tell how critical, complex and thoughtful this blog is, can’t you?

Well, instead of working on my research paper yesterday, I spent forty minutes dissolving into giggles and feminine snorts over this site. It’s cakes. It’s amazing. Ok, I may have been in a delirious state of mind (the kind you slip into after reading several thirty-page studies on pleading behavior [why do I choose these topics? Why?]), but really, Cake Wrecks is gold. I laughed myself so tired I just went right to sleep afterwards, like a baby. Hence my mad scrambling to finish that paper in three hours today.

Oh my God, my paper’s due in two days.

Personal favorites, in no particular order:

Inspiration vs Perspiration (IMO, best if you scroll down and don’t look ahead too much)

Beyond Bizarre

and What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate