Sunday, July 13, 2003
*sigh*
StalkerBoy showed up again. It was about an hour and a half ago. I had just stepped out of the shower when I heard the doorbell rang, so I threw on my robe, peeked out my peephole and saw him again. Not wanting to face him with nothing but a robe and wet hair (I've no doubt he would have put two and two together and gotten a little too excited), I went back to the bathroom, continued my ablutions and proceeded to ignore his subsequent doorbell ringing. Yes, I could have just thrown on some clothes and opened the door, but the blinds are still open and there is no door blocking the view of the hall from the front windows. Additionally, my clean clothes that I laundered yesterday were all in the living room and, well, see previous blinds statement.
I don't think he would have bought the "not home" feint, since I had left the living room TV blaring before entering the shower (not something I do often), so I'm hoping that, somehow, he heard the running water and got the message. At any rate, I have no idea how long he hung out at my doorstep, since I couldn't hear him through the aforementioned running water and I only heard the doorbell ring twice (though who knows how long he had been ringing it before I got out of the shower), but I'm hoping that he got the hint pretty quickly.
And next time, if I'm not freshly out of the shower, I will confront him.
I don't think he would have bought the "not home" feint, since I had left the living room TV blaring before entering the shower (not something I do often), so I'm hoping that, somehow, he heard the running water and got the message. At any rate, I have no idea how long he hung out at my doorstep, since I couldn't hear him through the aforementioned running water and I only heard the doorbell ring twice (though who knows how long he had been ringing it before I got out of the shower), but I'm hoping that he got the hint pretty quickly.
And next time, if I'm not freshly out of the shower, I will confront him.
Carol, are you home?
So, what does one do when they discover they have an intermittant stalker?
Today, at fuckoff'o'clock in the morning (tm Sep), otherwise known as 4:30am in these parts, the doorbell rang ever so loudly. I was sleeping on my lovely new-to-me $20 sofa that I bought from a neighbor, as I am wont to do during these horridly hot evenings (the sleeping, I mean, not the buying of $20 sofas), since my bedroom fan stopped working and the only air conditioning in the apartment is in the living room (I even moved my alarm clock to the living room, at least until I can get around to buying a new bedroom fan). I stirred, rolled off the sofa, thanked heaven that my robe was nearby, since the nightshirt I was wearing barely covered my ass, and then only if I didn't bend over or reach up. Pulling on the robe, I padded over to the front door and, disregarding my first instinct to pull aside the curtains on the door window, I instead peered through the peep-hole.
There, standing on my doorstep, was this guy. A guy that I used to know, with whom I had sex once about four years ago (in my old Escort, of all places). The sex was drunken on his part and self-pity-filled on mine. A guy that, though we had exchanged a few e-mails the first year or so afterwards, I've not seen since then, admittedly more from my efforts than his. A guy who had, about one or two years before, shown up on my doorstep in the early evening with no prior warning, spending ten minutes ringing my doorbell and knocking on my door and calling my name through the mail slot and going to my bedroom window, attempting to peer through, then walking back to the front door to continue with the doorbell ringing. I managed to keep hidden, because I was in no mood to deal with him (this was when I was going through my depressed state).
My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that he was ringing my doorbell again, at such an early hour! I probably should have just opened the door and told him I didn't appreciate his sudden appearance when most decent folks were trying to sleep. I mean, unless he carried a weapon, which I doubted, I was sure that I was in no physical danger. He's approximately my height (5'6") and far scrawnier than I am. I probably outweigh him by about 80 pounds. And I'm fairly strong. But that would have involved confrontation and I tend to abhor a great deal of confrontation, especially when I'm barely fucking awake!
No, instead I crept back to my sofa and made myself as small as possible, tucking my feet into the cushions and thankful my robe was covering most of my legs. Then, as the next ten minutes passed and he continued with the calling and doorbell ringing and knocking and such, I mentally smacked myself as I remembered that three of the four living room window blinds were somewhat open and, while two of them were directly over the back of the sofa and I knew that by smushing myself up to the back, I'd be difficult to see, one of the windows had a bird's eye view of the length of the sofa, despite the shrubbery outside. Unfortunately I was afraid to grab the sheet nearby and pull it over myself, because that might make a sound and, with my windows partially open, sound would be bad. So I made myself even smaller as I heard him leave the front door, walk to the aforementioned window, then call my name through it. I couldn't tell if he could see me or not, but I didn't move to check. He went back to the front door to continue with the ringing and the knocking and the calling through the mail slot.
The entire time I was thinking, what if I were in Fresno, like I was originally supposed to be before the plans were canceled? What if I had moved away? Thank heaven I don't have my car anymore, if he went to the back he could see it was carless and maybe think I wasn't home. And does he really think that by showing up unannouced that I'd be inclined to partake of what I can only presume to be a booty call? And what if he's done this before on nights when I really wasn't at home? How many times has he done this, unbeknownst to me?
Finally, after an eternity, I heard the screen door close one last time and I think I heard a car drive away. I think I stayed in that position for another five or ten minutes, I'm not really sure, before I grabbed the sheet, covered myself with it, turned over and fell back to sleep.
Oh shit. I just remembered that on my front door window is an emergency sticker stating how many pets I have so that, heaven forfend, if there's a fire or something the firemen (or whoever) know that I have cats an I want them rescued. And on the sticker is my work number, so that they know who to call in case something happens while I'm at work. Did StalkerBoy take that number? The last he knew I was working at Disney, over two years ago.
I so don't want to have to move because of this. I have a nice apartment that's a great price for today's obscenely expensive rental market. I'm comfortable here. I've been here for over seven years and I'm not really looking to move unless I can get a roommate.
Should this happen again, and it very well might, I will confront him. Because this? Is beyond the pale. I'll just make sure I have my crowbar in hand. Just in case.
Today, at fuckoff'o'clock in the morning (tm Sep), otherwise known as 4:30am in these parts, the doorbell rang ever so loudly. I was sleeping on my lovely new-to-me $20 sofa that I bought from a neighbor, as I am wont to do during these horridly hot evenings (the sleeping, I mean, not the buying of $20 sofas), since my bedroom fan stopped working and the only air conditioning in the apartment is in the living room (I even moved my alarm clock to the living room, at least until I can get around to buying a new bedroom fan). I stirred, rolled off the sofa, thanked heaven that my robe was nearby, since the nightshirt I was wearing barely covered my ass, and then only if I didn't bend over or reach up. Pulling on the robe, I padded over to the front door and, disregarding my first instinct to pull aside the curtains on the door window, I instead peered through the peep-hole.
There, standing on my doorstep, was this guy. A guy that I used to know, with whom I had sex once about four years ago (in my old Escort, of all places). The sex was drunken on his part and self-pity-filled on mine. A guy that, though we had exchanged a few e-mails the first year or so afterwards, I've not seen since then, admittedly more from my efforts than his. A guy who had, about one or two years before, shown up on my doorstep in the early evening with no prior warning, spending ten minutes ringing my doorbell and knocking on my door and calling my name through the mail slot and going to my bedroom window, attempting to peer through, then walking back to the front door to continue with the doorbell ringing. I managed to keep hidden, because I was in no mood to deal with him (this was when I was going through my depressed state).
My eyes widened. I couldn't believe that he was ringing my doorbell again, at such an early hour! I probably should have just opened the door and told him I didn't appreciate his sudden appearance when most decent folks were trying to sleep. I mean, unless he carried a weapon, which I doubted, I was sure that I was in no physical danger. He's approximately my height (5'6") and far scrawnier than I am. I probably outweigh him by about 80 pounds. And I'm fairly strong. But that would have involved confrontation and I tend to abhor a great deal of confrontation, especially when I'm barely fucking awake!
No, instead I crept back to my sofa and made myself as small as possible, tucking my feet into the cushions and thankful my robe was covering most of my legs. Then, as the next ten minutes passed and he continued with the calling and doorbell ringing and knocking and such, I mentally smacked myself as I remembered that three of the four living room window blinds were somewhat open and, while two of them were directly over the back of the sofa and I knew that by smushing myself up to the back, I'd be difficult to see, one of the windows had a bird's eye view of the length of the sofa, despite the shrubbery outside. Unfortunately I was afraid to grab the sheet nearby and pull it over myself, because that might make a sound and, with my windows partially open, sound would be bad. So I made myself even smaller as I heard him leave the front door, walk to the aforementioned window, then call my name through it. I couldn't tell if he could see me or not, but I didn't move to check. He went back to the front door to continue with the ringing and the knocking and the calling through the mail slot.
The entire time I was thinking, what if I were in Fresno, like I was originally supposed to be before the plans were canceled? What if I had moved away? Thank heaven I don't have my car anymore, if he went to the back he could see it was carless and maybe think I wasn't home. And does he really think that by showing up unannouced that I'd be inclined to partake of what I can only presume to be a booty call? And what if he's done this before on nights when I really wasn't at home? How many times has he done this, unbeknownst to me?
Finally, after an eternity, I heard the screen door close one last time and I think I heard a car drive away. I think I stayed in that position for another five or ten minutes, I'm not really sure, before I grabbed the sheet, covered myself with it, turned over and fell back to sleep.
Oh shit. I just remembered that on my front door window is an emergency sticker stating how many pets I have so that, heaven forfend, if there's a fire or something the firemen (or whoever) know that I have cats an I want them rescued. And on the sticker is my work number, so that they know who to call in case something happens while I'm at work. Did StalkerBoy take that number? The last he knew I was working at Disney, over two years ago.
I so don't want to have to move because of this. I have a nice apartment that's a great price for today's obscenely expensive rental market. I'm comfortable here. I've been here for over seven years and I'm not really looking to move unless I can get a roommate.
Should this happen again, and it very well might, I will confront him. Because this? Is beyond the pale. I'll just make sure I have my crowbar in hand. Just in case.
Tuesday, July 08, 2003
*slaps forehead*
Mike Reed's journal reminded me about the passing of David Brinkley and Al Hirschfield. As one of my little hobbies when I was a pre-teen was trying to count the "Ninas" in Hirschfield's caricatures, this oversight is rather unforgivable. My hat is off to these fine gentlemen.
(While I feel a little bit "Hmmm" at Strom Thurmond's death, I was neither surprised [except in a "Wow, I thought he was going around forever, like a roach," kind of way] nor particularly broken up about it. Considering my far left leanings, it's hardly surprising.)
***********************************************
TeeHee! And *snort*.
(While I feel a little bit "Hmmm" at Strom Thurmond's death, I was neither surprised [except in a "Wow, I thought he was going around forever, like a roach," kind of way] nor particularly broken up about it. Considering my far left leanings, it's hardly surprising.)
TeeHee! And *snort*.
Hello, my name is Carol...
... and I am a fraud.
Well, maybe not a fraud. Just a little on the weak side. See, since 1996 I've been a vegetarian and I've self-identified as an ethical vegan since 1997. I was pretty hardcore for a while, feeling good about myself for my decision but trying not to be too obnoxious to others about their dietary choices. After all, who wants to hang out with a self-righteous vegan? I sure as hell don't.
Over the last few years I'd slipped off the vegan wagon a bit, usually with a non-vegan bread product here, a little bit of cheese there, occasionally a dollop or two (or four) of ice cream off in that dark corner over there. But, though I was standing on the running board of the wagon, I still had it in my grasp, able to pull myself back on for a little while longer before sliding back out. After all, it's not like I was having cheese omelets.
Now? Now I've been flung off into the bushes, landing hard on my tailbone, still on the vegetarian road but watching the vegan wagon trundle off into the distance. And I tell ya, the dust it's throwing up in my face, while admittedly rather tasty, isn't sitting well in my stomach.
In the last week I've had cheese and veggie omelets on three separate occasions, twice with buttered sourdough toast. I've eaten garden cheeseburgers. A Haagen-Daaz ice cream bar. I don't think the tahini that I had with my falafel burger was strictly dairy-free either. And that dinner that I had with CuteNerdBoy a couple of Sundays ago? Featured a creamy pesto salad dressing and spumoni. (What? It came with the meal!) Oddly enough, I still prefer to use soymilk in my decaf lattes, or will have my coffee or tea with just sugar if non-dairy creamer is unavailable. I never said I was consistent.
I think part of it is that I've significantly stepped up my exercise program. Previously I got maybe 30-45 minutes of exercise a week. Over the last month I've averaged 30-45 minutes a day 5-6 times a week, not counting the walking to and from the bus stops (okay, sometimes running to and from the bus stops) or the stairs I take whenever I'm not wearing heels. As a result I may be craving more protein, something that my eating habits decidedly lack, due more to my own laziness than anything else - I mean, I actually like tofu, I just never prepare it.
But it does seem to be getting harder to resist the lure of the dairy and eggs, despite the fact that dairy does awful things to my sinuses. And despite the bad taste left in my mouth when remembering the original reasons I gave up all animal products, mainly the mistreatment of the animals in commercial factory farms.
Maybe its just time to revisit those reasons, because I'm not happy with my laxity in the vegan arena. And then, when the vegan wagon comes back 'round again, I can hoist myself up and plant myself firmly in the driver's seat.
Until that stupid Haagen Daaz coffee ice cream bar with almonds spooks the horses again.***********************************************
I finished Carter Beats the Devil yesterday during my lunch hour. It was definitely one of those "try to savor as long as possible, but read each page as fast as you can" type of books. I was actually sorry to finish it because I really enjoyed the time I spent in that world. Much of the action played out like a movie in my head, as befits a book by an author who has written for TV and films, read by a woman enmeshed in the entertainment indusrty. Sweet, occasionally breath-taking, with a few moments of "What?!" thrown in there for good measure. And since I've always been a sucker for fiction using historical people and events as the driving plot and characters, well, it's not surprising how much I enjoyed this book. I'll definitely keep an eye out for Mr. Gold's next novel.
Next on the reading list: Brave New World. I know it's criminal that I haven't read it before now, but I just picked it up from the library and I'm looking forward to this classic. I've been told that, as an ardent lover of 1984, the book should be right up my alley.
Well, maybe not a fraud. Just a little on the weak side. See, since 1996 I've been a vegetarian and I've self-identified as an ethical vegan since 1997. I was pretty hardcore for a while, feeling good about myself for my decision but trying not to be too obnoxious to others about their dietary choices. After all, who wants to hang out with a self-righteous vegan? I sure as hell don't.
Over the last few years I'd slipped off the vegan wagon a bit, usually with a non-vegan bread product here, a little bit of cheese there, occasionally a dollop or two (or four) of ice cream off in that dark corner over there. But, though I was standing on the running board of the wagon, I still had it in my grasp, able to pull myself back on for a little while longer before sliding back out. After all, it's not like I was having cheese omelets.
Now? Now I've been flung off into the bushes, landing hard on my tailbone, still on the vegetarian road but watching the vegan wagon trundle off into the distance. And I tell ya, the dust it's throwing up in my face, while admittedly rather tasty, isn't sitting well in my stomach.
In the last week I've had cheese and veggie omelets on three separate occasions, twice with buttered sourdough toast. I've eaten garden cheeseburgers. A Haagen-Daaz ice cream bar. I don't think the tahini that I had with my falafel burger was strictly dairy-free either. And that dinner that I had with CuteNerdBoy a couple of Sundays ago? Featured a creamy pesto salad dressing and spumoni. (What? It came with the meal!) Oddly enough, I still prefer to use soymilk in my decaf lattes, or will have my coffee or tea with just sugar if non-dairy creamer is unavailable. I never said I was consistent.
I think part of it is that I've significantly stepped up my exercise program. Previously I got maybe 30-45 minutes of exercise a week. Over the last month I've averaged 30-45 minutes a day 5-6 times a week, not counting the walking to and from the bus stops (okay, sometimes running to and from the bus stops) or the stairs I take whenever I'm not wearing heels. As a result I may be craving more protein, something that my eating habits decidedly lack, due more to my own laziness than anything else - I mean, I actually like tofu, I just never prepare it.
But it does seem to be getting harder to resist the lure of the dairy and eggs, despite the fact that dairy does awful things to my sinuses. And despite the bad taste left in my mouth when remembering the original reasons I gave up all animal products, mainly the mistreatment of the animals in commercial factory farms.
Maybe its just time to revisit those reasons, because I'm not happy with my laxity in the vegan arena. And then, when the vegan wagon comes back 'round again, I can hoist myself up and plant myself firmly in the driver's seat.
Until that stupid Haagen Daaz coffee ice cream bar with almonds spooks the horses again.
I finished Carter Beats the Devil yesterday during my lunch hour. It was definitely one of those "try to savor as long as possible, but read each page as fast as you can" type of books. I was actually sorry to finish it because I really enjoyed the time I spent in that world. Much of the action played out like a movie in my head, as befits a book by an author who has written for TV and films, read by a woman enmeshed in the entertainment indusrty. Sweet, occasionally breath-taking, with a few moments of "What?!" thrown in there for good measure. And since I've always been a sucker for fiction using historical people and events as the driving plot and characters, well, it's not surprising how much I enjoyed this book. I'll definitely keep an eye out for Mr. Gold's next novel.
Next on the reading list: Brave New World. I know it's criminal that I haven't read it before now, but I just picked it up from the library and I'm looking forward to this classic. I've been told that, as an ardent lover of 1984, the book should be right up my alley.
Monday, July 07, 2003
It's a logical faith...
I have received the TPM service medal for "outstanding service on the intellectual battleground."
Rock on.
(When I have more time I'm going to further explore TPM Online. It looks to be exceedingly cool.)
***********************************************
As has been noted everywhere else but here, the past few weeks have been pretty tough in regards to the passing of creative legends. Katherine Hepburn, Hume Cronyn, Gregory Peck, Barry White, Buddy Hackett and now Buddy Ebsen. While I never felt any strong connection to any of these legends (well, except maybe Hume Cronyn, there was always something about him that made me smile), I can certainly feel a sense of loss for the entertainment community. It's been said that "they don't make 'em like that anymore."
Ain't that the truth.
Rest in peace, oh legends of the arts.
***********************************************
Dennis, oh Dennis, I used to love you, but I think the bloom is off the rose.
Rock on.
(When I have more time I'm going to further explore TPM Online. It looks to be exceedingly cool.)
As has been noted everywhere else but here, the past few weeks have been pretty tough in regards to the passing of creative legends. Katherine Hepburn, Hume Cronyn, Gregory Peck, Barry White, Buddy Hackett and now Buddy Ebsen. While I never felt any strong connection to any of these legends (well, except maybe Hume Cronyn, there was always something about him that made me smile), I can certainly feel a sense of loss for the entertainment community. It's been said that "they don't make 'em like that anymore."
Ain't that the truth.
Rest in peace, oh legends of the arts.
Dennis, oh Dennis, I used to love you, but I think the bloom is off the rose.
Musical interlude...
I held you close to me
Once in a distant dream
Far from the shores of my fear
I sailed on this ocean
Where all I imagined could happen
And now you are here
It's so hard to touch what is out of our hands
To know and to trust what the heart understands
CHORUS
Only the ones who believe
Ever see what they dream
Ever dream what comes true
Life gives us magic
And life brings us tragedy
Everyone suffers some loss
Still we have faith in it
Childlike hope
There's a reason that outweighs the cost
And gravity throws all these rules in our way
And sometimes the spirit refuses to play
[CHORUS]
Oh Love
Turn me around in your arms
And in this dream we share
Let us not miss one kiss
And add my regrets to the tears in the rain
That's what the color of roses contain
[CHORUS]
The Color of Roses - Beth Nielsen Chapman (from Sand and Water)
I've completely and irrevocably fallen in love with that song over the last week. It breaks my heart and fills me with joy and wonder each and every time I listen to it. Here are the artist's thoughts about it (from Beth Nielsen Chapman Online):
“The Color Of Roses was written with Matt Rollings; it was very subliminal in terms of the way the lyric presented itself. The vowels seemed to have been lined up in place on the early work tapes where I tend to just sing nonsense syllables prior to having lyrics. I noticed this after the lyric was finished and happened to hear an old work tape from months before. I love what this song says. That to believe is to manifest, and that in spite of all we must grieve, there is incredible hope and beauty in life.”
Labels: musical interlude
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
I feel the need...
... the need to read! And I'm totally excited about the need to read.
I've been an avid reader for many years, ever since I first picked up Red Light, Green Light in kindergarten. I devoured books, always wanting to cram more information into my developing brain. I frequently shut myself in my room during my pre-teen and teen years due to my then-extreme shyness and my desire to live in other worlds in my head, aided by the magical invention of words on bound paper. While I eventually lost most of my shyness, my fascination with the written word never ceased.
But over the last two years my desire to sit and read anything besides magazines, newspapers and websites dropped off sharply. There were stretches of time lasting months when I didn't pick up a book at all. A highly unusual occurance for me. I had started reading books more often about six months ago, but it still took me weeks to finish novels which previously would have been polished off in less than a week.
So, what's changed, you ask? Well, bus commutes lasting two or more hours certainly have something to do with it, I'd say. But I find I'm getting excited about books again. Part of it may be the new Harry Potter book, which I'm hearing is terrific. I've only read the first two, so I don't want to pick up The Order of the Phoenix just yet. But I do want to go to the library and check out the first two for brushing up, then borrow Books 3 and 4 from my friend Sarah as soon as possible. However, during my lunch hour today I felt an overwhelming desire to stop by the local Barnes and Noble and buy Carter Beats the Devil. I've heard wonderful things about it lately from friends and acquaintances, then, yesterday at the MetroRail station, I spied a rider carrying it and was overcome by the need to read THAT book. So now I've got it in my possession and have already started it, reading the first seven pages on the walk from the Barnes and Noble to my office. Yes, it does look interesting already.
It's nice to be excited about reading again.
***********************************************
Game Night on Friday turned out well, I'm happy to say. A smaller crowd than last time, despite the higher number of RSVPs, but I didn't mind that so much because it was less crowded this time around. I welcomed, I circulated, I played Mille Bornes in a decidedly ruthless manner and Scrabble in a rather befuddled and frustrated manner and had fun. I think I was even hit on by one of the LAPC participants. All in all another successful evening. Last Saturday's turn as make-up person went so well that I'll be performing the same function for my friend this coming Saturday in Redondo Beach. And the movie and dinner with the Jill Sobule lyric-sending friend (hereon refered to as CuteNerdBoy) on Sunday went very well. As a matter of fact, the evening had a few date-like aspects to it that I was rather pleased with. I had suspected that it might, but was unwilling to admit it to myself or anyone else because CuteNerdBoy and I had previously agreed that we would like to be friends again. We'll see what happens.
I'm off until next week (a rather busy four day holiday weekend lies before me), but a hearty "Kick-Ass Fourth of July Weekend" goes out to all of you. And for those not in the U.S., have a great rest of the week and weekend!
I've been an avid reader for many years, ever since I first picked up Red Light, Green Light in kindergarten. I devoured books, always wanting to cram more information into my developing brain. I frequently shut myself in my room during my pre-teen and teen years due to my then-extreme shyness and my desire to live in other worlds in my head, aided by the magical invention of words on bound paper. While I eventually lost most of my shyness, my fascination with the written word never ceased.
But over the last two years my desire to sit and read anything besides magazines, newspapers and websites dropped off sharply. There were stretches of time lasting months when I didn't pick up a book at all. A highly unusual occurance for me. I had started reading books more often about six months ago, but it still took me weeks to finish novels which previously would have been polished off in less than a week.
So, what's changed, you ask? Well, bus commutes lasting two or more hours certainly have something to do with it, I'd say. But I find I'm getting excited about books again. Part of it may be the new Harry Potter book, which I'm hearing is terrific. I've only read the first two, so I don't want to pick up The Order of the Phoenix just yet. But I do want to go to the library and check out the first two for brushing up, then borrow Books 3 and 4 from my friend Sarah as soon as possible. However, during my lunch hour today I felt an overwhelming desire to stop by the local Barnes and Noble and buy Carter Beats the Devil. I've heard wonderful things about it lately from friends and acquaintances, then, yesterday at the MetroRail station, I spied a rider carrying it and was overcome by the need to read THAT book. So now I've got it in my possession and have already started it, reading the first seven pages on the walk from the Barnes and Noble to my office. Yes, it does look interesting already.
It's nice to be excited about reading again.
Game Night on Friday turned out well, I'm happy to say. A smaller crowd than last time, despite the higher number of RSVPs, but I didn't mind that so much because it was less crowded this time around. I welcomed, I circulated, I played Mille Bornes in a decidedly ruthless manner and Scrabble in a rather befuddled and frustrated manner and had fun. I think I was even hit on by one of the LAPC participants. All in all another successful evening. Last Saturday's turn as make-up person went so well that I'll be performing the same function for my friend this coming Saturday in Redondo Beach. And the movie and dinner with the Jill Sobule lyric-sending friend (hereon refered to as CuteNerdBoy) on Sunday went very well. As a matter of fact, the evening had a few date-like aspects to it that I was rather pleased with. I had suspected that it might, but was unwilling to admit it to myself or anyone else because CuteNerdBoy and I had previously agreed that we would like to be friends again. We'll see what happens.
I'm off until next week (a rather busy four day holiday weekend lies before me), but a hearty "Kick-Ass Fourth of July Weekend" goes out to all of you. And for those not in the U.S., have a great rest of the week and weekend!
Friday, June 27, 2003
Wait, do we collect Free Parking or not?
Such a weekend I have in front of me!
Tonight is my writing group's second Game Night, an event that is promising to become recurring. Basically it's just a bunch of people, most of them strangers, getting together at a bakery and playing board games for three hours. Sounds a bit strange and geeky and, well, it is, but it is also tons of fun. Last time I was a bit nervous because the majority of the participants came from LAPC, most of whom I'd never met before, and as a brand spanking new LAPC Event Coordinator I was plenty nervous. Luckily most of the LAPC folks showed up and later told me they had a blast, asking to be informed of the next game night. I even had people who wanted to come but had previous conflicts express a desire for us to have another game night, so I considered it to be a great success. All told there were approximately 35 people that rolled dice or played checkers or chess or just basically kibitzed at May's event, a nice mixture of LAPC folks and friends/family of the organizers.
Tonight 32 people have signed up through LAPC, plus maybe another ten or so friends/family members. I'm just hoping that 1) there will be enough room for everyone and 2) people will have as much fun tonight as they did before. I've already promised one man a rousing round of Milles Bornes, so I've got to keep that promise. Luckily the bakery also serves sandwiches and drinks, so for those who haven't had time to eat before they arrive, well, they have that to look forward to.
Then tomorrow I'm going to San Diego to play make-up person to a friend who has a bathing suit photo shoot on a yacht and the rest of the weekend will be spent cleaning so that I'm not embarassed when, on Sunday evening, I will be going out for dinner and the DGA screening of The Hulk with a friend with whom I've recently reconnected (he of the Jill Sobule lyrics). Since he's going to pick me up, the chances are pretty good that he'll see my apartment for a short time and no one should be subjected to my apartment before it's cleaned. That's just cruel and inhuman punishment. It may even be against the Geneva Convention.
I can't wait for the weekend to start!
Tonight is my writing group's second Game Night, an event that is promising to become recurring. Basically it's just a bunch of people, most of them strangers, getting together at a bakery and playing board games for three hours. Sounds a bit strange and geeky and, well, it is, but it is also tons of fun. Last time I was a bit nervous because the majority of the participants came from LAPC, most of whom I'd never met before, and as a brand spanking new LAPC Event Coordinator I was plenty nervous. Luckily most of the LAPC folks showed up and later told me they had a blast, asking to be informed of the next game night. I even had people who wanted to come but had previous conflicts express a desire for us to have another game night, so I considered it to be a great success. All told there were approximately 35 people that rolled dice or played checkers or chess or just basically kibitzed at May's event, a nice mixture of LAPC folks and friends/family of the organizers.
Tonight 32 people have signed up through LAPC, plus maybe another ten or so friends/family members. I'm just hoping that 1) there will be enough room for everyone and 2) people will have as much fun tonight as they did before. I've already promised one man a rousing round of Milles Bornes, so I've got to keep that promise. Luckily the bakery also serves sandwiches and drinks, so for those who haven't had time to eat before they arrive, well, they have that to look forward to.
Then tomorrow I'm going to San Diego to play make-up person to a friend who has a bathing suit photo shoot on a yacht and the rest of the weekend will be spent cleaning so that I'm not embarassed when, on Sunday evening, I will be going out for dinner and the DGA screening of The Hulk with a friend with whom I've recently reconnected (he of the Jill Sobule lyrics). Since he's going to pick me up, the chances are pretty good that he'll see my apartment for a short time and no one should be subjected to my apartment before it's cleaned. That's just cruel and inhuman punishment. It may even be against the Geneva Convention.
I can't wait for the weekend to start!
Wednesday, June 25, 2003
One more momentous event...
... happened last summer and I can't believe I forgot to mention it - meeting, in real life, my friend Linda for the first time.
She received frequent mention in the old journal, but here's a brief bio thingie on her for the new folks:
Linda is the webmistress of a very cool website about a very cool actor. She and I met online through her site in the winter of '98/'99 and struck up a terrific friendship which remained web- and phone-based due to the distance (she lives in Holland).
Finally, last summer, she visited the U.S. for the first time. She was fortunate enough to stay with her friend/idol and his lovely wife and as a result, I was fortunate enough to visit several times, even running into the actor once in his backyard when meeting Linda to go to the movies. She and I spent a lot of time together in her three weeks here, spending a day in Santa Barbara, another day in San Marino with my mother, going to movies and dinners and just generally having fun. She's as warm, silly, intelligent and personable in person as she had been via internet and phone and we had a grand time before she had to pack up and head home.
Wonderful thing is, she's visiting again this year! I don't know how she managed to do it, but she's spending another three weeks in sunny Southern California in August and I can't wait! Lots more fun is sure to happen, what with plans to go to Big Bear and maybe spend a day in San Diego, not to mention convincing her to attend an LAPC event so she can meet even more terrific people. I'm even hoping to throw a party when she's here so that she can meet my friends that she didn't meet last year (which is most of them). And since this may be her last visit to the U.S. for a few years (while she finishes her schooling), we'll definitely going to have to make the most of it.
August is going to be a blast!
She received frequent mention in the old journal, but here's a brief bio thingie on her for the new folks:
Linda is the webmistress of a very cool website about a very cool actor. She and I met online through her site in the winter of '98/'99 and struck up a terrific friendship which remained web- and phone-based due to the distance (she lives in Holland).
Finally, last summer, she visited the U.S. for the first time. She was fortunate enough to stay with her friend/idol and his lovely wife and as a result, I was fortunate enough to visit several times, even running into the actor once in his backyard when meeting Linda to go to the movies. She and I spent a lot of time together in her three weeks here, spending a day in Santa Barbara, another day in San Marino with my mother, going to movies and dinners and just generally having fun. She's as warm, silly, intelligent and personable in person as she had been via internet and phone and we had a grand time before she had to pack up and head home.
Wonderful thing is, she's visiting again this year! I don't know how she managed to do it, but she's spending another three weeks in sunny Southern California in August and I can't wait! Lots more fun is sure to happen, what with plans to go to Big Bear and maybe spend a day in San Diego, not to mention convincing her to attend an LAPC event so she can meet even more terrific people. I'm even hoping to throw a party when she's here so that she can meet my friends that she didn't meet last year (which is most of them). And since this may be her last visit to the U.S. for a few years (while she finishes her schooling), we'll definitely going to have to make the most of it.
August is going to be a blast!
Monday, June 23, 2003
So, Carol, what'cha been doin'...
... in the last year and a half?
Good question. Not quite sure.
Actually it's been a rollicking not-so-great time over at Chez Carol. Since the last time I graced the pages of online journaling, I had to go to the emergency room for chest pains (which turned out to be stress-induced costochondritis), watched as family members feuded and went through a rather serious depression due to family and work issues, which friends busted through after asking if they had pissed me off, since I hadn't spoken to many of them in months. Soon after the depression started to lift my family found out that my father wasn't the man we thought he was, some of the details being unsavory enough to cut him out of the family permanently, causing my mom to leave him and file for divorce, whereupon there was much familial strife over the course of the holidays.
I got hired on permanently at the company where I was temping, but am discovering that it doesn't quite pay enough for me to be able to live off. And the politics are, in many ways, worse than Disney ever was, in part, I believe, due to the smaller size of the company. So I'm looking for another job. Again.
In addition, through a combination of my own embarrassing irresponsibility and a lowish salary, I lost my beloved Saturn and am currently finding myself carless. So I've been re-discovering the joys of public transportation. Pluses: I don't have to fight the traffic. I can catch up on my reading as I commute. I'm not contributing to the massive traffic snarls. And the people watching is fascinating. Minuses: it takes me approximately two hours (one way) to get to and from work. Many Los Angeles buses are notoriously late, which causes me to miss the buses that are actually on time. It's difficult for me to go somewhere on a whim and many times I rely on friends to drive me home from social engagements (though, to be fair, most of them offer to drive me before I can even ask). And some of those people that I get to people-watch? Are more than a little on the scary side.
However, life hasn't been all Sturm und Drang. Though my job is leaving me less than thrilled, though it I've met some wonderful, generous people that I love dearly, including my immediate boss (who is ten years younger than me and cooler than cool). One of my oldest friends married a pretty good guy and my baby sister is engaged to another pretty good guy. My friends have, once again, proven to be the most kick-ass friends in the history of the universe, being supportive beyond belief.
As I've mentioned before, I've joined a writing group, consisting of five other women who listen to the pieces being read, most of which are deeply personal, with nary a judgment about the writer and the gentlest, but most salient of criticisms being offered. And support a plenty to be found. Heck, one of them, a USC sociology professor, has a book being published in September of this year, in which all the members of the writing group appear in the acknowledgements.
I've also discovered the wonders of therapy and was lucky enough to land an excellent therapist the first time out, someone who keeps reminding me not to beat myself up so hard about things I feel I haven't accomplished, but to look at the real reasons why I'm not doing what I want to be doing in life, but to also be practical about my life. My self-esteem, low in my youth, but high for most of my twenties, has been rather blown to bits of late and she has helped me in the rebuilding of it. There's still a bit to go, but I do feel much better than I did this time last year.
Sometimes I find myself ruminating on recent events, feeling the darkness pull me down. Then I remind myself that all of this is temporary and that I'm a very lucky person, when all is said and done. Over the last couple of weeks I renewed contact with a friend that I had lost touch with for several years. He sent to me the following Jill Sobule lyrics:
I don't want to get bitter
I don't want to turn cruel
I don't want to get old before I have to.
He said that he tries to hold on to that sentiment.
So shall I.
Good question. Not quite sure.
Actually it's been a rollicking not-so-great time over at Chez Carol. Since the last time I graced the pages of online journaling, I had to go to the emergency room for chest pains (which turned out to be stress-induced costochondritis), watched as family members feuded and went through a rather serious depression due to family and work issues, which friends busted through after asking if they had pissed me off, since I hadn't spoken to many of them in months. Soon after the depression started to lift my family found out that my father wasn't the man we thought he was, some of the details being unsavory enough to cut him out of the family permanently, causing my mom to leave him and file for divorce, whereupon there was much familial strife over the course of the holidays.
I got hired on permanently at the company where I was temping, but am discovering that it doesn't quite pay enough for me to be able to live off. And the politics are, in many ways, worse than Disney ever was, in part, I believe, due to the smaller size of the company. So I'm looking for another job. Again.
In addition, through a combination of my own embarrassing irresponsibility and a lowish salary, I lost my beloved Saturn and am currently finding myself carless. So I've been re-discovering the joys of public transportation. Pluses: I don't have to fight the traffic. I can catch up on my reading as I commute. I'm not contributing to the massive traffic snarls. And the people watching is fascinating. Minuses: it takes me approximately two hours (one way) to get to and from work. Many Los Angeles buses are notoriously late, which causes me to miss the buses that are actually on time. It's difficult for me to go somewhere on a whim and many times I rely on friends to drive me home from social engagements (though, to be fair, most of them offer to drive me before I can even ask). And some of those people that I get to people-watch? Are more than a little on the scary side.
However, life hasn't been all Sturm und Drang. Though my job is leaving me less than thrilled, though it I've met some wonderful, generous people that I love dearly, including my immediate boss (who is ten years younger than me and cooler than cool). One of my oldest friends married a pretty good guy and my baby sister is engaged to another pretty good guy. My friends have, once again, proven to be the most kick-ass friends in the history of the universe, being supportive beyond belief.
As I've mentioned before, I've joined a writing group, consisting of five other women who listen to the pieces being read, most of which are deeply personal, with nary a judgment about the writer and the gentlest, but most salient of criticisms being offered. And support a plenty to be found. Heck, one of them, a USC sociology professor, has a book being published in September of this year, in which all the members of the writing group appear in the acknowledgements.
I've also discovered the wonders of therapy and was lucky enough to land an excellent therapist the first time out, someone who keeps reminding me not to beat myself up so hard about things I feel I haven't accomplished, but to look at the real reasons why I'm not doing what I want to be doing in life, but to also be practical about my life. My self-esteem, low in my youth, but high for most of my twenties, has been rather blown to bits of late and she has helped me in the rebuilding of it. There's still a bit to go, but I do feel much better than I did this time last year.
Sometimes I find myself ruminating on recent events, feeling the darkness pull me down. Then I remind myself that all of this is temporary and that I'm a very lucky person, when all is said and done. Over the last couple of weeks I renewed contact with a friend that I had lost touch with for several years. He sent to me the following Jill Sobule lyrics:
I don't want to get bitter
I don't want to turn cruel
I don't want to get old before I have to.
He said that he tries to hold on to that sentiment.
So shall I.
Friday, June 20, 2003
One Word - Paper
Here's a prime example of the types of pieces I put together for my writing group, inspired by one word:
I should clarify, the above story is completely fictional. My writing group paid me the compliment of thinking it was a true story. Such sweet women!
The paper was gaily festooned with hand-drawn balloons and streamers and wrapped packages, which also depicted gaily festooned hand-drawn wrapping paper with balloon and streamers and wrapped packages. The paper took on an Escher quality in its colorful simplicity. No, not Escher. More like one of those infinity mirrors that seemed so cool back in the Eighties. Now many folks considered those mirrors outdated, but I still found them kind of cool. Maybe I was stuck in the Eighties. Maybe I was just easily fascinated. Who knows?
I looked at the wrapping paper, so carefully drawn by my friend, and tried to follow the little drawings on the little packages as far as I could. I think I counted four distinct patterns until the drawings ran together enough to look like solid colors. So very pretty. I was touched that my friend would take the time to fashion the festive pattern on the fragile pearlescent tissue paper that wrapped the small box.
“Open it!” she demanded, amused at my fascination with her handiwork. I did as she commanded, gently prying the taped ends so as not to disturb the artistic paper. She blew a sigh through her teeth, impatient with my ministrations, but she knew better than to urge me to hurry up. I was a careful un-wrapper even with commercial paper. There was no way I was going to destroy something she had taken so much care to create.
Finally the last of the tape was lifted and the paper fell away from the plain brown box. I removed the top carefully and pulled aside the translucent tissue to reveal a delicate wire picture frame. Glass beads in blue and green and purple adorned the wire frame, which turned this way and that in a maze of copper, looping back to its point of beginning before taking off in a new direction. It was both simple and complicated, like the wrapping paper, like my friend, and I loved it.
Surrounded by the copper wire was a picture of my friend and me from happier times, before her marriage problems and my family problems, when we were both much younger and life seemed so much simpler. As I looked at the younger us, our smiles as big as our futures, tears formed in the corners of my eyes. I knew what she was trying to say with this gift. That life was both as simple and as complicated as the wire frame, but that, no matter what happened, we would still, at heart, be those same girls that looked at the future with such optimism and that we would always be those girls together.
I looked up at her. “Thank you,” I said, nearly breathless. Her knowing eyes smiled back at me.
I should clarify, the above story is completely fictional. My writing group paid me the compliment of thinking it was a true story. Such sweet women!
Labels: story time
And the content is...
You may ask, as well you should, just what I intend on publishing here. I don't think it'll be the same as Fleeting Imprints, wherein I tried my hand at "essays" about the minutae of my life, the stock in trade of online journaling, as many of you know. That isn't to say that such essays won't appear, because I'm just egocentric enough to think such minutae, told in a hopefully entertaining manner, will be of interest to someone out there.
I'm thinking of also publishing the odd short story here and there. Due to the fact I'm a very lazy writer and the pieces written for my writing group are usually thrown together at the last minute (thank you, one word, for your inspirations!), I've developed a tendency to write tiny little short stories which should fit into this format fairly easily.
Short movie reviews may pop up (Danny Deckchair is a cute movie - nothing earth shattering but definitely fun to watch). Or waxing poetic about the talents of certain actors and musicians. Or promoting local bands that I think need to be known outside the Los Angeles area (your humble chronicler’s town of residence).
Yeah, yeah, don't go getting all excited about it. No need to pass out from sheer expectation.
(Is this where I develop a pithy end line? Seems rude to just sign off. Oh well.)
I'm thinking of also publishing the odd short story here and there. Due to the fact I'm a very lazy writer and the pieces written for my writing group are usually thrown together at the last minute (thank you, one word, for your inspirations!), I've developed a tendency to write tiny little short stories which should fit into this format fairly easily.
Short movie reviews may pop up (Danny Deckchair is a cute movie - nothing earth shattering but definitely fun to watch). Or waxing poetic about the talents of certain actors and musicians. Or promoting local bands that I think need to be known outside the Los Angeles area (your humble chronicler’s town of residence).
Yeah, yeah, don't go getting all excited about it. No need to pass out from sheer expectation.
(Is this where I develop a pithy end line? Seems rude to just sign off. Oh well.)
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Let start at the very beginning...
So. Here I am. Creating a 'blog. Well, if that ain't nifty I don't know what is.
See, I used to be one of them online journaling types back in the day, but it's been over a year since I updated Fleeting Imprints (which never really took off, though I had a few readers and did have fun with it), and I find I'm kind of missing it. It's not like I've stopped writing, since I belong to a great writing group, wherein I feel pressure to write something new each week, even if it's just a quick one page story.
But I'm in the mood to write publicly again and really wanted something different and, well, 'blogs seem to be the rage now. I mean, even Chuck and John have gotten into the 'blogging thing. So here I am, seeing if I can sit at the cool kids' table again, when I've never even been at the cool kids' table (yeah, that's me with the theatre geeks in the corner) and I'm still not entirely sure what a 'blog is, except that it tends to be shorter and easier to update than a standard online journal.
Ugh. I'm getting all meta here and who really enjoys meta talk except those in on the meta? Not exactly engrossing reading, ya know.
Hopefully, in the future, this reedy lil' blog will, indeed, be all the fun of the fair, but without the nauseating food and overpriced carney booths. Though we might be able to scrounge up some cotton candy, if you want.
Stay tuned!
See, I used to be one of them online journaling types back in the day, but it's been over a year since I updated Fleeting Imprints (which never really took off, though I had a few readers and did have fun with it), and I find I'm kind of missing it. It's not like I've stopped writing, since I belong to a great writing group, wherein I feel pressure to write something new each week, even if it's just a quick one page story.
But I'm in the mood to write publicly again and really wanted something different and, well, 'blogs seem to be the rage now. I mean, even Chuck and John have gotten into the 'blogging thing. So here I am, seeing if I can sit at the cool kids' table again, when I've never even been at the cool kids' table (yeah, that's me with the theatre geeks in the corner) and I'm still not entirely sure what a 'blog is, except that it tends to be shorter and easier to update than a standard online journal.
Ugh. I'm getting all meta here and who really enjoys meta talk except those in on the meta? Not exactly engrossing reading, ya know.
Hopefully, in the future, this reedy lil' blog will, indeed, be all the fun of the fair, but without the nauseating food and overpriced carney booths. Though we might be able to scrounge up some cotton candy, if you want.
Stay tuned!
Registered!
This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, Los Angeles, San Fernando Valley, English, Carol, Female, 36-40.
