Expensive Candy

I went to the movies yesterday with my beloved sister, and ended up sitting next to one of the most horrific first dates I have ever seen. Totally decent looking guy, not-to-special girl, obviously on their first, maybe second date. Now I can judge these to fairly freely, I have been on MANY a bad date, and am pretty sure I can spot one when I see one. From the moment they took their seats she was texting on her phone. Every few minutes he would make a very valid attempt to initiate a conversation, and try to get to know her. The conversation was something like.

Guy: So, what does your family do for Christmas? 

Girl: We go to Florida.

Guy: What part of Florida?

Girl: South Beach.

Guy: I've never been there but that sounds nice. Must get humid though?

Girl: Not really.

Two minute extremely awkward silence.

Guy: I don't know what I am going to do for the holidays. My mom and dad moved up North, so I'll probably just be alone. Blah, blah, blah.

The guy tried, I mean not just with his very heartfelt attempt at communication, but you could tell he had taken time and thought about what he was going to wear. You could tell he put on his nicest casual button down, jeans, clean sneakers, he had tried. She continued to text as the movie started. I had over heard her complaining about something to the guy, something about her eyes couldn't stop watering or something. Through out the movie she would mumble a complaint and he would say stuff like, "Should I take you home?" or at one point, "Do you want me to rub your shoulders?" to which she would respond with, "No, please, don't touch me." It was PAINFUL to sit next to. I noticed that she was eating those strawberry sour belts, you know, the expensive candy. I wanted to stop the movie, turn the lights up and just turn to this sad duo and say to the girl:

Who the fuck do you think you are? Here is this totally decent guy who most likely bought your ticket to this piece of shit movie (that we both know he probably has no interest in seeing), not to mention your five dollar coke, and that rediculously priced candy. If you were so uninterested why did you agree to go out with him? Because you didn't want to hurt his feelings? How the fuck do you think he is feeling right now? Put your phone away, sit next to him, and occasionally smile. Say "thank you" and mean it, ask him questions in return, tell him that he smells good, and try to laugh at at least some of his jokes. You are not that cute, really, he's probably a little out of you league actually. 

I haven't been on a date like that in a while, one where the guy took time to pick out his clothes, and really tried. I just wanted to thank the guy for trying. The fact that he didn't just take her home and go get a beer with his friends. He stuck it out and was a gentleman. I mean, he should have shown a bit more back bone, but I got the feeling he had liked this girl for a while. What a bitch of a date though. I have gone on a lot of dates with guys who were just not what I was looking for, but never did I behave like this girl. I smiled, and I made conversation to the point that I applaud myself. If the guy was a complete dick I would obviously act accordingly, but if I guy tried and was sweet I would never be so rude to dismiss his presence so blatantly. 

Thanksgiving weekend gives me far too much free time. It has been delightful to have friends in town, and shop, and drink, but it's only Saturday afternoon and I am ready to go back to work. I am lacking stability at the moment, and would gain more from a point of focus than copious amounts of free time spent doing whatever it is that I do. I did however purchase a ticket to Los Angeles, so at least that brings me one step closer to living. LIVING. 

Intentional Break

I have absolutely no plans to live my life grinding it out five days a week at a job I hate, in a life that I am not passionate about. Comfort is for when you die, you only get one chance to live each day. I've been in a cloud of confusion for a month now because of some tangled heartstrings, and pride is telling me it's time to break free. All of this poetry brings me to the desert, with Skipper. If I boss agrees, I will be jetting down to L.A. to meet Skipper, and then the two of us will be driving into the desert. Backgammon, martinis, some Nupro, and if I can keep my shit together, a blog. It smells of Gonzo, and I kind of like it. I mean, this is why I signed up for that credit card right? 

Auto-Type

Ok, try and stay with me here, I am not in my right mind and my fingers seem to be on auto-type. I had a conversation with Skipper last night that gave me a good slice of that clarity I was looking for. Indifference is in hopeful sight and every thought that slips me up I put in my mental waste bin and flush. Big picture, bricks in a house. Skipper, it was your best pep-talk yet, and that's saying something. Life is short, but sometimes it feels huge. The role that people play in your everyday life. People that you might see day after day over coffee creamers only need one "Good morning," and next thing you know you are putting a little chocolate on their croissant and talking about where you get your tattoos. It scares the crap out of me how much I enjoy those sometimes superficial, mundane interactions. Adore it. Glow from it. Smiling, smiling, smiling. 

I went to Target this evening and bought a bunch of crap I don't need. A pair of boots, hand cream, a  top, gingerbread Pop Tarts, candy cane Hershey's Kisses, Jumbo Nerds, popcorn, macaroni and cheese (which was nasty, I had it for dinner), and a new car freshener. I'm helping the economy. The things I do for my fellow Americans!

Chef Doug is being a bitch about Christmas this year and has announced that Dr. Sylvia has been put on a tight budget. You can only imagine how I feel about this, especially after having him tell me he found his dream grandfather clock for a few grand. So I am going to be buying my own Christmas presents this year. I am in the process of writing my list. 

Ok, I am beyond the point of being able to process any kind of real thoughts. I need to be in to work early for some bullshit staff meeting, and then bake some shit. I don't know how long it will last, but I fucking love my job at the moment. I so probably am jinxing it by typing this. 

In Search Of Lassitude

I drove to the ocean after work today. I tried to get there before the sun went down, knowing that even if I made it for sunset I would probably not be able to see it through the fog. Fifteen minutes from my house and I was already under a thick gray blanket. There is something so comforting about driving through fog and being so close to the ocean. The ocean is such a massive being and fog has a tendency to press down all around you and enclose you within its self. I never got out of my car, I just drove. There wasn't much to see and my real purpose was just to be alone with my thoughts and feel whatever I might have been suppressing this last month. I should probably explain what I mean by that, but I am pretty sure that if you are reading this you already know.

If I try, I can see a lot of things in a logical light. Sometimes it takes me time to put aside preconceived notions or fear, and even longer to push aside my feelings. When I can avoid it I try to never get my feelings involved. I don't often feel things on an even level, it's either euphoric bliss, or bleak despondency. Black or white, plaid or polka dots. I don't do gray, I am not patient, I am drastic: yes or no. If life (or worse, a man) put me in some sort of gray area, I have a hard time finding a logical level for my feelings. It's like constantly bumping into walls, trying to find a door out. 

I didn't drive to the beach in search of logic though. For nine hours a day I try not to allow my personal thoughts effect my feelings. I actually am thoroughly enjoying my work at the moment. It allows me to focus my thoughts somewhere else, and more importantly, forces me to interact with people in an almost completely superficial manner. I go to work, I bake, I smile, I laugh, I bake, I banter, I smile some more, I charm, I bake, I joke, I complain, I smile, I bake. No one knows me, no one needs to. I feel better when I smile, and in my free time I don't find myself doing it nearly as much as I do when I work. I produce things, things that make people happy, even if only for a few minutes. When I wake up in the morning I feel good about going to work, and when I leave I feel good about myself, which is extremely rare to say about one's job. When I get home however, all the superficial interaction is gone and I am allowed to feel what I have been thinking. Driving allows me to think one thought at a time (obviously not the road).  I drove and drove under that thick cover of obscurity, and once I made it out the other side I find myself not completely sorted, but a little more at peace.

So that's today. Who the fuck knows what tomorrow has got going for it. 

Mayakovsky

It's early morning on a Saturday, and once again I find myself sitting in bed, in the dark, with the candle burning. I'm thinking. Thinking about someone, thinking about something, thinking about people and places I miss, thinking about places I want to see: thoughts are running free. I have so much coursing through my brain sometimes, I forget to breath. I sit in the dark and let them go. So let me grab my fishing poll and try to catch one...

I have started to tell people at work that I went to Harvard. I applied as a joke in my Senior year of high school, just to see if I could get in, and I did. I think it was because of my personal essay. The topic given had been "Who are you?" Not at all broad or daunting, but seeing as I wasn't even interested in Harvard, I let loose. I think at one point I even likened myself to the great Malcolm X, and definitely sprinkled a couple "F" bombs in for flavor. I was proud of the six pages I sent them and can recall dropping it in the mailbox with a light heart. 

Suffice it to say, I wasn't really that surprised when the Dean of Admissions called me personally on a Saturday, to offer me an early admission. I thanked Bart, but told him I would have to think about it. I was not all to interested in going to school back East. I had already been accepted to Parson's in New York and declined, and so I really wasn't considering Massachusetts. 

I had a dream that night though. I was in a room, surrounded by gold statues of myself, all from different periods in my life. There was my infant self, my toddler self, my child self, my teenager self, my college self, my adult self, my middle age self, etc. I walked around the room and looked at each statue. As I stood in front of my college self I noticed an "H" on the lapel of the corduroy blazer my statue was rocking. As I reached out to touch the "H" my phone began to ring, it was the Dean calling to see if I had made a decision.

So yeah, it wasn't that hard getting into Harvard, I am not too sure what everyone is always talking about. I didn't make a 3.0 all of high school, never played any sports, lied about my community service hours, wasn't a part of yearbook, and never belonged to any clubs. But they loved me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had no real academic right to be there, that I hadn't put nearly as much effort into getting in as the others, but I can safely say, Harvard welcomed me with open arms, and open hearts.

I started out as a U.S. history major, I adored U.S. history in high school. America's power was established in lies, and I wanted to learn the truth. Unfortunately, it didn't take me long to figure out that a BA in U.S. history from Harvard wasn't going to offer me a whole lot of job opportunities, and logically switched my major to Russian literature. 

After a year and a half of Tolstoy, Bulgakov, and Gorky, not to mention J. Crew miniskirts, and twin sets, I started to think that Harvard wasn't all it was chalked up to be. I mean, give me a break, it's a college. Do you know how many douche bags go to Ivy Leagues. It doesn't make them smarter because they went to Harvard, and it definitely doesn't make them a better person. So I said, "Fuck Harvard," and left. That's it, no hard feelings, but "peace out." Simple as that. It just wasn't meant to be.

Shortly after I moved to Switzerland, became a lady baker, and then moved back to California, and am now sitting nice and cozy in bed, with a book of Russian Fairy Tales at my side.

Tether Ball

I have had potential blogs running through my head these last few days, but as I finally sit down to type, nothing comes. I am sitting in the dark, Aloha Orchid covering the herbal scent in my space, thinking. I type a paragraph and then I delete it. Now I find myself writing about not being able to write.

Freon

When did my weekends start to be so boring? This weekend was not nearly as bad as last weekend, but that's only because my sister came home yesterday. If it wasn't for her I would probably be banging my head against the wall right now.

Once again, it is early on a Sunday morning. I've been up since six, and have already enjoyed my first cup of coffee and Sunday-morning bowl. I got my new slipper-socks on, and my "Aloha Orchid" candle lit. Inside my chest my heart is beating, and outside my door the wind is blowing. My space is a mess: clothes, books, drawings, captain's logs, shoes, Glenn's socks, dvds, pens, magazines, un-opened bills. I am waiting for Glenn and my sister to wake up so I can have a bagel.

I am reading a book of Russian fairy tales. They make absolutely no sense to me, but I continue to read them. That's how I feel about Russia in general though. Twenty people suffocated on a Russian nuclear submarine today. It's not as bad as the Kursk, but it still doesn't help Russia's track record ith submarine malfunctions leading to mass deaths.

I have been racking my brains for a new adventure. Something small, that I could do over a weekend. I just need to do something, seeing something, anything. I'm open to ideas.

I think they are up! I so wish we were having French toast instead of bagels.