amanda-rants

For The Love of Music

2012-01-27T17:13:00.000-05:00

There is a moment that any fan canrecall when they fell in love with a band. While parts of my record collection I have been given for free – and Imean in a physical way (my iTunes account is made up completely of music thatI’ve personally downloaded from CDs and vinyl). But each record that I’vebought, and some that I’ve been given have a very specific purpose. They remindme of someone, or some particular life event, or resonate with a part of methat I can’t quite explain, but somehow that album can make whatever I’mfeeling make sense.

I am not the only person who feelsthis way, and I think most of my friends would agree – I can say that becausemost of my friends and I are friends because of a common love for a certainband. It’s kind of a litmus test when I meet people, not because I’m trying tobe a dick, but because an interest in music and a love for it is often aquality people that are curious and observant and well, interesting, have.

They get it.

I don’t remember the first time Iheard Pulp, but I do remember when I realized that those songs that I had been dancing to were by them. Spinning tothe chorus of “Do You Remember The FirstTime” – there aren’t words for that. That probably seems silly to a lot of you, and that’s okay.

Today tickets to see Pulp at TheWarfield here in San Francisco went on sale at 10 am. I set three alarms, justin case I slept through the first two (I didn’t) so that I would be up and havemy information plugged in as their website allows. This was followed by aninvitation to the “waiting room” – a virtual line of some kind before ticketswent on sale. I did this on two computers – not because I had an interest inbuying 293487 tickets, but because I wanted to make sure I had a decent chanceof getting tickets at all, and I called their ticket provider AXS, and stayedon hold for a solid 20 minutes before I was told that they had sold out in fiveminutes.

Five. Minutes.

I looked around the internetyesterday to see if any tickets were for sale elsewhere, maybe leftover from apresale and there were. They were. I posted on The Warfield’s Facebook pageasking when the presale had occurred. They said there wasn’t one, unless therehad been one on Pulp’s page without their knowledge. I couldn’t find anythingthat would lead me to believe there was one of any kind.

I digress. The scalping. Thewebsite allowed for you to buy eight tickets at a time. I know it’s up to the venue, but to allow thesale of such a high quantity plays right into the scalpers grubby little hands.I have been to a lot of concerts, with and without other people, and I’ve neverknown of anyone to need that many, let alone be able to afford it off that bat,and let their friends pay them back later. Maybe I just have poor friends.

One would think that if you own avenue, you do it because you love music, because you’re a fan. And The Warfield isn’t an arena, it is a dedicatedmusic venue, with a capacity of about 2000. If you’re really a fan of music,and enjoy sharing that experience with others than why would you allow policiesthat fuck over the fans? With big names, you won’t lose money by restrictingthe quantity – people will still buy their tickets, though probably not quiteas fast.

Which brings me to scalpers.Whether you’re charging ten or a hundred dollars more, you’re still making itthat much more difficult for fans, presumably poor bastards like me who spendall our money on rent and going to shows, from seeing a band we love. You can’tlove music, or really anything and willfully fuck over other people.

Over It

2012-01-13T15:42:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting in the common room in my hostel. This is the same hostel I stayed in when I visited San Francisco last November, but there's a big difference in staying for a few days on vacation, and staying for two weeks looking for and then waiting to move into an apartment.

I thought spending two months living with my parents was bad, and then I came here. I've been sharing a room with five other people here, five. FIVE. And at least two of them change every other day. I think I've shared my room with at least thirteen different people in the past twelve days.

People are terrible. They are the worst. They are loud, and they don't flush toilets, or wash their hands, and they take up so much space and don't seem to understand that by, "excuse me," I mean, "get the fuck out of the way." Isn't "excuse me" one of the first phrases everyone learns whenever they learn a new language? Perhaps I should try "excusez-moi" or "entschuldigung" instead.

Then there are the people that live and work here. I know one of them as she and I shared a room when I was here before. And I don't mind them, it's just that I like having my shared room to myself when everyone else is out being a tourist, so I stay in it in the mornings only to be interrupted by the person who cleans the mirrors, and then the person who vacuums, and the person who cleans the sinks and then the person who comes round to check that those things have been done.

This is no way to live.

I'm amazed at my tolerance so far.

Don't get me wrong. I enjoy being around people, when I have my own place to go home to. I'll talk to anyone, and I like most people when given the opportunity to talk to them individually. I hate having to introduce myself to someone new all the time. The other day someone called me "Judith" and I knew they were talking to me, but I didn't bother correcting them because why does is matter? I figured I'd never see them again.

Wait, I take that back. I don't mind introducing myself to new people that are potential new friends - people who actually live here, too. That is something that I do like about San Francisco overall, the people are friendly and most aren't from here either. In that way it reminds me a lot of DC - but I won't go on about how much I miss DC.

A friend reminded me this week that you suffer for the things you want. That's true, this is what I've wanted for the past two years, and I have it now. I may be living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and oranges, but it'll be worth it, right? Right?

"There" is now "Here"

2012-01-09T18:45:00.000-05:00

I haven't stopped moving since my last post two months ago. My brother and his family flew in from Basque for a couple weeks. I got my official acceptance letter to advertising school, and had to scurry to find loans to get me to San Francisco. I called my friend with whom I had thrown around the idea of a cross-country road trip together with, he was available, and bought a trailer. Christmas happened. I left, and now I'm writing this from a hostel in the "Tendernob" - the area on the border between the Tenderloin and Nob Hill districts of San Francisco.

Whew!

I live here now.

In San Francisco. On the other side of the country, and basically the other side of the world.

The first day here I had orientation, followed by moving my life out of a trailer and into a storage unit, followed by an interview, followed by class. I slept better that night than I had in weeks. Since then I've sent out numerous emails of desperation in response to Craigslist ads looking for roommates.

I've done this before, I've lived with strangers, and it's turned out alright. But that was in a city that I was familiar with. Though, I did start getting responses, probably one for every four I wrote, and finally saw several places this weekend.

Before I arrived here, I had done some research as to where I figured I would end up living, based on cost and proximity to my school. One area, Ingleside, proved to be much farther, and depressing than I thought it would be. There really isn't anything there, save for the occasional corner store and BART station. I saw two rooms there. The first was in a house that was shared with three gay men - all of my dreams about living with gay men were crushed upon seeing this house. It was messy, and dirty, and there was a craft project taking over the kitchen table, and while the room I would have been living in was okay, I wouldn't have been able to deal with the rest. The second house was shared with two chicks of ambiguous sexual orientation. This house, like the first was also messy and cluttered, and the girls were far too laid back.

I am not laid back. I like things to be done, and in an orderly fashion. Thing have places, and they should be in their places.

Another room was in an apartment in The Mission, a neighborhood I like, a lot, and have stayed in on a previous trip. I saw this room with two other people, one of which left at the same time I did. As we were walking down the stairs he turned to me and said, "that place was a shithole. I can't live somewhere like that!" Indeed.

There are a few other students in my very situation. All of us are new in town and many are new to this country. One had mentioned that he and a friend of his were looking and invited me to potentially live with them. The apartment they had chosen was in The Haight, right on Haight Street across from a park. It was a corner unit, and all the windows had decorative stained glass along the top. It was small, but sunny, and so beautiful, and so expensive. Part of me wishes I hadn't looked at it at all, just because now I know exactly what I'm missing. But I'm sure they'll find someone to rent it with them.

The room I've settled for isn't in a beautiful art-deco building, but it is quaint, and clean, and tidy. AND it's not full of clutter. I may collect books and records, but do you know how easy it is to dust around those things compared to nicknacks? And do you know how much I hate dust? I hate it, a lot. This apartment will be easy clean! Above all else though is the location, it's in the Inner-Richmond (of course I'll be living in Richmond, I just can't escape it) and close to the Presidio and Golden Gate parks, and just a short bus ride from downtown.

I'm so excited. I'll have a real place to live in a week!

Going Home

2011-11-23T11:00:00.000-05:00

I have moved...back in with my parents...

That is how much I wanted to get out of Richmond. That, and I'm planning on moving to San Francisco to finish school, and because it's awesome. Have you ever met someone from San Francisco who you didn't like? I haven't. No one ever says, "Ugh, San Francisco, I never want to go back there."It's not Mississippi.

It's certainly been a transition, one that I've been avoiding by not being home as much as possible. I moved Halloween weekend, in the sleet, with a migraine, so it more terrible than moving usually is -- never mind all the little things, the miscommunications, the lack of communication. It got done, and we all sat down for beef stew my mother made for everyone else because I don't eat beef, she had prepared the freezer and packed it with vegetarian lasagna.

The next 48 hours were spent mostly moping and reconsidering all of my life choices.

Fortunately I had made plans to be in San Francisco the first week of November, my birthday is the 3rd and I really needed to be relax. Though my idea of relaxing usually just means avoiding people I don't want to talk to and keeping myself busy elsewhere, which is exactly what I did.

I'd arranged to meet with the admissions advisor at the school I will hopefully be attending, and let the few people I know there know I would be in town, but mostly I just wanted to explore. I had visited in the Spring of last year as well and I wanted to do the things I didn't get to do last time on this trip.

Anton, Karin, Me and Timon after lunch in Golden Gate Park.

After a very long and unnerving taxi ride into the city with a dead cell phone and a cabbie who didn't know how to use his GPS or speak English, I finally got to my hostel, cried, and fell asleep. The morning was much happier and after meeting a couple of my roommates and a couple of dudes at breakfast, four of us decided to rent bikes and make our way across the Golden Gate Bridge. I had not packed anything for this type of activity, and biking 22 miles in skinny black cotton pants was not my favorite thing, but it was well worth while. Now, the city is famously seven miles by seven miles, we had figured we had gone maybe 15 miles, and then we pulled up Google Maps and marked the multiple circles we had made on accident.

I had set up an appointment with the Admissions Advisor (AA) for the next morning and managed to find it without getting lost and made decent time walking. AA and I talked for almost two hours. TWO HOURS. I like to think that this is a good thing, though perhaps I totally blew it. She invited me to sit in on a class the next day, so I'm guessing I didn't blow it. The class was small maybe ten students, and everyone was actively engaged and supportive in offering constructive criticism of each others' work. I fell in love, as I knew I would, with everything -- the students, the teachers, the smallness of it all within such a large city -- it was perfect. The community created there was shat I should have looked for when applying to schools four years ago. If only I had been somewhere, or been exposed to anything. My parents wanted me close, and I have found close to be a miserable place.

It was my birthday and I had spent most of it wandering around Chinatown after the class. I don't particularly like Chinatown, most of the things there creep me out, but some of the things are also entertaining. My favorite was definitely the "erotic art" that had been etched into various surfaces and shapes and molded into what I can only guess were bookmarks and paperweights. Though, I am no scholar of erotic artwork, so I'm probably wrong. However, shop keepers do not enjoy loiterers snapping photos of their wares to tweet. Erotic art is serious business.

That evening I had dinner by myself at a tiny, dirty burger place that offered veggie options (I may not eat meat, but I eat veggie burgers all the time) before heading to The Mission to meet my one friend that was in town. He was out with two of his coworkers, and between the three of them my glass didn't get empty. We ended up hopping around until we went to a particularly terrible bar that was having some sort of electronic dance night, I think, I'm not completely sure, BUT there was dancing and I got to dance and my friend is an excellent dancer, and I could not have asked for a better birthday. (Thanks, guys!)

My last day was spent between bed and getting lost on the Embarcadero followed by wandering around downtown in a haze in an effort to make myself do anything aside from sleep.

The idea that I will be living there is one that I still haven't quite wrapped my head around. It's beautiful, and the urgency and support shared by everyone there is unlike anywhere I've been. I keep waking up and missing my studio in Richmond, and then I remind myself that I gave it up because I want so much more, and I'm going to have it, soon(ish).

Letting Go

2011-11-22T09:30:00.000-05:00

"I haven't posted anything in two months."

"I know."

I write, and then I delete it, and then I start over and then I end up crying and falling asleep. I'd like to post more, I would, but I really hate crying, and writing anything worthwhile, usually results in tears and me making really terrible faces.

"I'm not ready to not be part of my family yet, and I can't do that to them."

"But that's what art is."

"You don't understand, I can't stand my family, but they're not bad people and there are things that all of them don't know and I don't want to say anything yet."

Sam is an only child, but has a lot of cousins on both sides of his family. I am the youngest of five and have two cousins on each side, I don't really know any of them. But as my siblings have all spawned the feelings at family gatherings have certainly shifted. It's more hectic, but generally we, the adults are better behaved than we were a few years ago. Perhaps though this is just a phase my family is going through.

But they really don't like me writing about them. That's really hard for me. Because it's my nature to share, and overshare. Last Christmas things got crazy and my sister *August requested that I change her name. I get that, I do, and she and I didn't talk for a few months after that, but part of me really wants to not care. That part of me wants to say, "if you really loved me, you'd recognize that this is something I have to do" - and eventually I will, but I haven't yet.

I went to New York this week and when I got back I noticed that my dad had made some changes to the computer (he's anti-wifi, long story) and I went downstairs to get him.

"You changed the password? I can't update anything. I'm so pissed."

"That's it! I don't have to help you. Not if you're going to use that kind of language."

Pissed. That was the word that he was upset over, this, the man who routinely went on angry tirades while I was growing up. The man who used many a name, including a variety of fun four letter words in my direction growing up.

I pulled him back and he told me to not use that kind of language, again, and I told him to come back upstairs.

"I didn't hear you say 'Please.'"

"Please."

He put in the password and then told me the password.

"I didn't do anything bad to you."

"What?"

"When you were growing up. You act like I did all these things to you."

"What are you going on about, you did do lots of awful things to all of us."

"I don't remember them."

"You called me a 'fucking ungrateful twit' when I was sixteen because I had forgotten where the remote was."

"I don't remember that."

"You threw a tea set at me because I forgot to put it away and it broke as it his the wall behind me. I was five."

"I guess I've blocked all that out, I try to remember the good things."

"I do, too. It's just hard sometimes. And you're not like that now."

"I hope you've written this down."

"Not all of it. And I haven't published it because you're not the asshole you were then. I haven't wanted to hurt anyone."

"You need to write it all down."

And I will, but I'll include the good parts, too. Those existed, but it's hard growing up and going to the park and having a great time and not knowing what will set anyone off. Or going to the zoo, or bowling or piano lessons. There were so many rules, some I didn't even know about until I had broken them.

"You should probably be in therapy."

"I was for years, and things are a lot better when I'm not around you and mom."

"Maybe you should go back."

He's probably right, but more than anything I feel like I don't have to hold on to things anymore. Part of that is really scary, but everything feels so much better when it's shared.

September 11: Ten Years Later

2011-09-09T17:31:00.000-04:00

I was still getting to know the girls at my lunch table, we were all beginning sixth grade together in a new school. An eighth grade teacher on lunch duty escorted my friend, Elizabeth, to the front office. Her mom had called and wanted to let her know that her dad was alright. Elizabeth's dad was in the Marine Corps and had been in New York that day.

We hadn't heard anything from teachers or other students. I had noticed a few students leave school early, but nothing out of the ordinary, though as the day progressed and class sizes shrunk it became more apparent.

When Elizabeth got back from the office she told us that a plane had hit some skyscrapers in New York. None of us knew what the World Trade Center was, none of us had been there, I had never been to New York City. It was completely foreign to me. It wasn't until I got home from school that I found out about the plane that had hit the Pentagon, just twenty-five miles away from my house.

Volleyball tryouts and all other after school activities had been canceled. My mom wasn't home, but she didn't want me to be by myself and had asked her friend to meet me. It wasn't that I wasn't allowed to be home alone, it was that she was nervous. I don't remember the woman's name, but we sat on the couch and watched the footage together. I don't really remember talking to my parents about it. I knew what happened, I had let it set in, but I wasn't scared.

That night everyone in my neighborhood had flags and candles set out on their porches. School had been canceled for the next two days and everyone on my street was outside. While the adults talked amongst themselves, me and a couple of other kids noticed the helicopters flying overhead in regular intervals. We were used to seeing them, it's fairly normal to see one any day anywhere in the DC suburbs, but not as frequently as they were that evening, and for the following months.

The next day's paper included a printed flag for readers to tape in their windows and doors. The candles continued to be lit each evening. The eerie sense of unity persisted well after the paper flags had faded and been thrown away.

I understood what terrorism was, but it wasn't a word that I had heard much before September 11th, I wasn't aware of The Middle East, or what countries it was made up of - I could hardly pass my states quiz in History class. September 11th very abruptly made me aware of a much larger world, one in which one's nationality and religion mattered. I had Muslim friends and classmates from everywhere, and that day didn't make me reconsider their friendship, it wasn't something that anyone cared about at lunch, not at school. They were Americans too, and just as affected as I was.

Of everything everyone seemed to be feeling, the only emotion that had really set in for me was sadness. I was confused. We hadn't done anything, at least nothing twelve year olds are aware of, and the idea that people existed whose intentions were to interrupt my life, who set out each day to conceive new ideas for inflicting fear upon anyone vulnerable enough to accept it, that, that was what I didn't understand. Ten years later there is still no understanding to be had. As long as people remain scared of the unfamiliar, of the foreign, of people in clothing different than our own, with customs traditional to a culture we ignore and bigot, the hatred and fear and terror will persist.

Procreation Starts With Prayer

2011-08-06T13:38:00.001-04:00

I spent the first eighteen years of my life learning about marriage and what a woman's role within those sacred confines means. My brother served a mission for the Mormon church and got married less than a year after he returned, as the Church encourages all Return Missionaries (RMs) to do. This was, and to my parents still very much is the ideal.

Recently I was discussing sleeping-bags with my dad, and he offered to buy me a new one. But I am very picky about these things and told him that I wanted a specific one, one that cost about three hundred dollars. His response was, "well I want you go marry a Return Missionary." This has become his response to my expressing most any desire. As the cliche goes, "it's nice to want things," and he and I want very different things for me.

My mother is more passive about it. She will call me and tell me about a former friend or acquaintance who is getting married, AND they're getting married in the temple, or they're having a baby with the person they married in the temple, or even "so-and-so has started dating someone, they are Mormon." That is great for them. I am so happy that someone else has found something that makes them happy, and that they found someone else who is also made happy by that same thing, but I'm not interested in being sent pictures from their weddings, or of their babies.

One of my best friends from childhood got married almost two years ago. A girl I grew up with had her first kid about a month ago, with her RM husband. Another former friend got married last month and my ex-best friend is getting married next week. This means that they will all be procreating the entire time I'm busy avoiding responsibility, so for at least the next decade of our lives. Don't get me wrong, I like babies, but few that aren't related to me, and I imagine, if I'm not keen on their parents, their chances dwindle significantly.

Mom: "You know So-and-so's baby is due..."

Me: "That's great, but I really don't care."

Mom: "Well, I just thought you'd want to know."

Me: "Nope!"

Mom: "But you were close growing up."

Me: "No. We weren't. Mom, I am not interested in hearing about her or anyone else' wedding plans, dating lives, or pregnancies. They aren't a part of my life anymore for a reason."

Mom: "I can see now is not a good time, I'll let you go."

Me: "Thank God."

This did not stop my mom from sending me a picture message from a reception a week later.

End Times: The Rapture

2011-05-20T16:12:00.000-04:00

FUN!

Tomorrow, or today depending on where you are in the world, bodys and/or spirits are supposedly ascending up to heaven to hang out with Jesus for The Rapture. I'm pretty stoked about this. I mean, I spent the first eightteen years of my life going to church every week, my summers going to multiple Mormon camps, high school getting up early to attend a religious class before school every day and youth events multiple evenings each week. All of this is to say, that when I let that one dude put his hand up my shirt that one time when I was fifteen, started drinking alcoholic beverages and dancing around naked on friends' roofs, I'm pretty sure that I gave up, what obviously would have been a free pass to heaven. Though, I do bake people things and I think that should count for something.

Though, since I'm not going to be ascending to heaven anytime in the next thirty-six hours, I am really looking forward to several things, but mostly the end of people screaming at me in public places or passing out propaganda. Guys, Mormons train their youth to be missionaries from a very young age, and I have had to knock on strangers doors bringing them the good news under the umbrella of a "Youth Activity." Why anyone willingly does this is beyond me.

When we're left behind, there won't be anyone to tell us to turn our music down, or that out outfit shows too much skin, however, there will be pundits and politicians. I know Glenn Beck thinks he's getting into heaven, but I'm pretty sure he'll still be here, so will Palin, and O'Reilly, I'm pretty bummed out about it. In fact, just thinking about it makes me wish that I had not had any fun ever, but then I also never watch Fox news so I think I'm good. And by good, I mean, I don't watch Fox news, so I'm totally getting into Heaven.

Belated Mother's Day

2011-05-13T18:58:00.001-04:00

My mom about my age.

For Mother's Day I went to church with my parents. It's simple and free and my parents take way too much pride in showcasing their spawn at church, it's not just them, it's a Mormon thing. Church, for me is like a role in a play that you were in in high school that you still remember all the lines to - it's just like that. I wear a sleeved dress with a relatively modest neckline, that goes down to at least my knees with modest heels. And lipstick, red lipstick (because other colors are useless) that my mother has implied is "inappropriate." It sends the wrong message to young return missionaries.

I went for all three hours. It's very strange going now, the congregation is mostly young couples not much older than me that already have multiple babies. It freaks me out, not because I don't like babies, they're fine, but because that could have been me. I could be the young mom taking a toddler to the bathroom while prgnant with another. I could be a stay at home mom, already, at 21.

My mom stayed at home until my dad retired from the Marines and my family moved from North Carolina to Northern Virginia. She got a job at the local hospital doing administrative stuff and started cleaning on the side, as the hours at the hospital became more restrictive, she quit and expanded her cleaning business. She taught us to clean, all of us know how to clean a bathtub and a kitchen sink, and that all you really need is warm sudsy water and elbow grease. As a result I have little patience for people who have ever paid anyone to clean up after them.

My mom is the hardest worker I know. She's scrapy. She grew up with nothing, in a podunk town in Eastern North Carolina. She put herself through community college where she got a degree in court reporting, did that for a bit, worked at a hospital for a bit, worked in social services for a bit, and eventually married my dad, had five kids and started her own company. . She moved around a lot, all my mom ever wanted was her own a house. Her house, that she could fashion in any way she wanted. And she does.

My mom is familiar with others' good will, and as a result she exhibits that gratuitous excess. There is not a person who's situation she is not familiar with or unwilling to help. She's opened our house to those who need a place to crash, provided clothes, a shower, food, whatever is needed to those who need a helping hand. And she taught all of us what it was to work and to be compassionate, and to be nice - though, I am not always very nice, I'm working on it. And when I'm being a bitch she won't say the word, she'll fidget and warble unintelligibly, because she is a lady and ladies don't use that kind of language.

She doesn't get me. And most of the time I don't get her either, and sometimes that makes communicating with one another difficult, but this is something we both recognize. She didn't go out much at my age, and she certainly didn't kiss strangers and she lived close to her entire extended family until she got married to my dad who scooped her up and took her to California. She doesn't understand my restless nature, but she listens.

Playing House

2011-05-05T19:03:00.001-04:00

I was talking to my friend Mark recently and he asked me about my dating situation. This is always (never) a fun question. I'm always "seeing" someone, and then I get bored and then we have The Conversation. This usually comes after they feel like I've really let them in, like they could really get to know me - but that's not true! I'm just an oversharer!

I don't like sleeping (and I do mean sleeping) with people that I'm not into, I don't like cuddling. Your body's warmth is making me hot, and I'm totally fine over here.

Remember, I like making out with strangers and then never talking to them again. The whole relationship thing leads to The Crazy (also found here and here) and finding someone worth risking that for is uncommon. I have an alternative to all of this I like to refer to as Playing House.

It includes all the benefits of a relationship,without any of the consequences because you don't spend enough time together to actually develop real feelings. It only lasts a couple days, or a long weekend, sporadically throughout the year. These "relationships" can be wherever with whomever, but they cannot happen with someone that lives in your city. My favorites of these have includes, The Annapolis Lover, The Russian and West Coast Paul.

You go out as though you are a couple, you might even hold hands. You have breakfast, you go shopping, you discuss things as though you are in a committed relationship, but you're not. You or him, get to go home, back to your single life where you can have the whole bed to yourself and not be irritated by anyone's inability to squeeze toothpaste from the bottom of the tube or leave dirty dishes on the counter (really dudes, why are these things so hard?).

This may sound slightly screwy to some of you, but you probably haven't tried it, or are one of those really obnoxious people that are always in relationships. I would like to spend this decade of my life moving frequently and without reason to stay in any one place, for me, this works.

Best of Richmond, in my humble opinion...

2011-05-04T19:51:00.001-04:00

Style Weekly put out their "Best of Richmond" issue last week. I don't think there was a single category that I agreed with. Nevermind that it was their "biggest reader survey" ever, it was out of touch or maybe the majority of their readers don't live within the city limits of Richmond. The "Richmond Metro Area" is not Richmond. Much like the "DC Metro Area" is not DC. And, if it's not apparent from everything I have ever posted ever, I hate the suburbs. I may be a product of the Northern Virginia sprawl, but I in no way endorse it - meaning, I could not care less about the opinions of non-city dwellers regarding the "best of" anything within city limits.

I also think that there were far too many categories, so I've made my own list based on me spending way too much money and going out way too much.

Best Venue: Alley Katz
This is based solely on the space and not on the names the venue attracts. It's big enough, but maintains an intimate feel. The staff is friendly, the drinks are cheap and the soundsystem is great.

Best Sushi: Akida
Sure, they don't have tater tots, but those aren't Japanese, so why would they? For someone looking for authentic sushi and sashimi, this is the place to go. The space is small, rarely loud and great for a first date or taking a friend from out of town.

Best Cafe/Coffeeshop/Place to use the internet for free: Lamplighter
It's not just for hipsters, it's become the neighborhood hangout. I cannot go there without running into at least three people I know, and like. They have never once messed up my order, and everything I've tried on the menu is delicious and reasonably priced. The vegan and vegetarian options make this place great for everyone. The staff is friendly and patient, even during their busiest hours. Though, I recommend ordering ahead if you want a TLT&A during their lunch rush. They cook in order the orders are placed, and it'll be ready when you get there.

Best Museum: The Children's Museum
Sure, the VMFA has the Picasso exhibit, but have you ever taken your small relative to the Children's Museum? I have just as much fun as they do pretending to drive the ambulance, digging for dinosaur bones and making crafts. (Related: I am a huge dork.) I've never tried to go without a small relative, that probably wouldn't be welcomed by museum staff or parents, but it would still be fun. My nephew's favorite exhibit is the Newsroom.

Best Place for Karaoke: New York Deli
The crowd is different every week, and spands well beyond the regulars. The talent is unexpected and those performing are unassuming. I don't love the DJ, I think he talks too much and has terrible hair, but that's neither here nor there. (But seriously, dude, you should cut that ponytail off.)

Best Brunch: Lulu's
Have you had the Red Velvet Waffle? No? You are missing out. Though, perhaps you prefer a savory brunch over a sweet one, in which case their menu is perfect for you. Omlettes, fritattas, meat, it's all there. I like to go with a friend and split the RVW and the Greek fritatta. Though, it fills up fast, so go with a small group or with a couple people and sit at the bar.

Best Restaurant: Water Grill
I like seafood and I like patios and I reallyreally like seafood. Nevermind the great service or ambiance or it being conveniently located down the street from Bev's and The Byrd, get me some scallops!

Best Bar: Ehhh, this is a toss up. I can't decide between Bamboo or The Whisky.

Bamboo: It's always full of townies and the food is fairly high-end for a bar. For late night snacking I like to get the fried eggplant appetizer. I also like that all the staff has a constant smirk on their faces.

The Whisky: They serve their entire menu until last call. All of it. And from open to 3 pm, they offer a 25% discount to anyone who lives or works in The Fan and on rainy days ask for the "rainy day discount." They offer plenty of vegetarian and gluten free options. Don't ask for your regular drink, tell the bartender what you like and have them recommend something new - you will like it, promise. Try the green bean fries.

Best Place for Finding single men with jobs and cars for your friends who don't go out much: The Rebublic
Seriously, it works. Every single time.

Sure, there are other places to go, but most other categories seem irrelevant as Richmond isn't large enough to really support multiples of things. And besides all be do is go to shows, karaoke and drink anyway.

GROSS!

2011-04-28T18:19:00.000-04:00

A couple days ago I noticed a weird red spot on my back. It was slightly itchy, so I figured it was just a bug bite. Then it started to hurt yesterday and I thought it was a pimple so I kept putting acne goo on it. Then I made the mistake of asking my mom to look at it last night when I was home and she spent about ten mintues poking and proding it and I kept fidgeting - it was terrible. I get queasy over most things that have to do with my body.

So, I mentioned it to my sister this morning and then she looked at it. Freaked out and told me to go see a doctor, just to make sure it wasn't a staph infection. I spent the following twenty minutes looking at pictures of staph infections (you're welcome!).

"Are you sure you're going to be okay at the doctor's alone?" My sister has no faith in me. "Because you know, they lance it and then they squeeze it and rub a cotton swab in there..."

"Amanda, I'm happy to go with you... you really don't handle these things very well." My mom doesn't have any faith in me either.

I didn't have an appointment and they weren't able to see me, so I went to the emergency room at Fort Belvoir (because my dad's a retired Marine and I'm still on their insurance). There, a doctor did exactly what my mom did, but with needles. And I didn't scream. Or cry.

"I don't think it's staph, yet, it's probably just a boil, but we're gonna treat it for MRSA anyway." That's cool, I guess. "It still might get worse, but just see your primary physician if it does, but it's probably not a big deal."

Yep. Totally not a big deal. Or it could be. I'm not gonna worry about it.

Savannah: The Abridged Version

2011-04-27T19:59:00.003-04:00

I started writing a post that detailed all the stupid that happened surrounding the trip to Savannah, and then I decided that that was a waste of time. So, here's the abridged version. One friend had terrible allergies, as did everyone else in Savannah, and the other got a terrible sunburn.

On the drive down: Not everyone is going to like all of the music played on this car ride, so you need to chill the fuck out.

Post-Arrival: Complaining to me is not going to improve service at this shitty restaurant.

Day Two: You not bringing a swimsuit, towel, or sunblock is not my fault. Neither is your sunburn. And pointing out every fat person in a stupid t-shirt is unnecessary, as is moaning in pain regarding your burn. Suck it up.

Day Three: You're probably not going to want to walk around in the heat with that burn...can we go get me more allergy medicine?

Day Four, post-drive back: Did I offend your friend? She seems really annoyed with me.

This was at dinner after a bottle of cocktail sauce exploded. I smelled delicious.

And the good, because despite all the stupid, I did have a great time.

Day One: We stayed about two blocks from the beach on Tybee Island, about fifteen miles outside of Savannah. This was fantastic. I could not have been happier with where we stayed. After dinner we were able to hang out with my friend Sam. Savannah is incredible at night, my introduction to the "to-go" cup was probably my new most favorite thing. The ability to just pour your adult beverage into a plastic cup and leave is great. If you've been there, you probably already know this, or if you aren't a drinker, I guess you can't really appreciate it, but it's so convenient. We went to several bars that were loud, and relatively dancey before I asked him why he kept taking us to these places and he goes, "because that's what girls like, or at least girls here." But we weren't really looking for that atmosphere so he took us somewhere more low-key.

After the bars had closed we walked down to the river and up to a couple of haunted houses. I have no idea what neighborhood I was in, but Sam kept telling us about how haunted Savannah is, which I knew, but I scare easy and the entire city is a graveyard and I was freaked out. I was very happy to get back to the hotel that evening.

Day Two: This was the beach day. We encountered jellyfish, and thankfully none of us were stung (that would have been a fiasco). I parted ways after the previously mentioned debaucle to calm myself down and went to the lighthouse and museum on the island. I am really afraid of heights, but I have this stupid thing where I feel the need to conquer my fears all the time, so I walked to the top of the lighthouse (this took a lot longer than it should have) and while the view was gorgeous, I was quick to collect my breath and head for solid ground. The history of Tybee Island was interesting as well, apparently there's an active atomic bomb somewhere off the coast that's been there since WWII and during the colonial era, it was a haven for pirates.

That night I went out with Sam by myself. It was Sunday and downtown was mostly desolate, which was nice for us. It's strange, we've known each other since high school because of a mutual friend, but he and I didn't really become friends until we both moved away from Northern Virginia.

Day Three: This can be summed up quickly - Paula Deen's Lady and Sons is as delicious as you would hope it to be. I highly recommend going for lunch and asking to sit in the bar on the top floor, you won't have to wait and the service was fantastic. This was followed by spending too much money on cute things, all of which I have used, eaten or worn, except for this gun shaped ice tray, this I gave to my brother-in-law, and he uses it every day.

That evening we got the car packed up so that leaving the next morning would be a snap. It was, and the drive back was much more pleasant and faster than the drive down.

They say you don't really know someone until you travel or live with them, that's mostly true. I consider myself a fairly cynical, sarcastic person, but I also like to have a good time, and when in Rome, or Savannah, or Tybee Island, do as the locals do. Thankfully, people and cities aren't all the same, and I'm curious enough to be patient with what I don't like to make room for and anticipate the things that I will like.

Savannah: The Prologue

2011-04-15T15:02:00.001-04:00

A couple months ago my friend, E, suggested that we go to Savannah, Georgia because she was born in Georgia and wanted to go back one more time before she goes abroad for grad school - because she has no intention (mostly) of ever coming back to the United States. I'm down for most things, so I agreed to go. Her summer plans are still up in the air, she doesn't know where she'll be interning yet, so we decided it had to be in April. We went this past Saturday and got back on Tuesday.

My friend, K, lives with a bunch of my friends in DC. She's from the Pacific Northwest and had never been south of Richmond before this trip. I don't think she was fully aware of what she was getting herself into.

Jesus Waffles

I grew up in Norhtern Virginia, but I spent all of my childhood family vacations visiting family members. My mom's family is from East North Carolina, she grew up specifically in Kinston (it's off 41, close to Goldsboro, yeah...). My dad was born in Memphis and grew up between there and Phoenix. We're Southern. I have been to pig pickings. I can drop "y'all" without noticing. I am fine walking around in jorts without shoes on. There is a part of me that is instinctually Southern. I can't shake it. I used to hate it, but I know my family's history, and there's a lot to be embarassed about, but I understand it, and I can't change it, so I accept it and love it anyway.

I've also written about Fat People here before. And I enjoy making fun of people as much as everyone else, or maybe more than most, but I am unphased by the South. I have seen Confederate flags worn and displayed unironically, proudly. I know that there are still people that refer to the Civil War as the War Between the States, and that those people don't think that race had anything to do with it, it was, to them, a Big Government infringing upon states' rights. My personal opinons aside, I get it.

People are fat, and sometimes people wear shirts with Tweety Bird on them, or relatively offensive racial or sexist slurs, or something five sizes too small - that's a typical Southern beach town. All of that aside, they just don't care. No one can accuse them of being uptight, they're happy with who they are and they own it.

Dodge City

2011-04-06T17:54:00.001-04:00

The more I talk to people in Richmond, the more I want to pack up my car and drive away. I don't hate Richmond. I used to, but I've come to be content here. Content is a dirty word though, it's one step up from settling. I have no intention on settling for anything because it's comfortable or easy. Richmond is comfortable, and cheap, and yeah, easy.

I left Northern Virginia for a reason. In the past few weeks I have run into more people from my home town than I do when I'm home. I'm not into it. I didn't like them there, and I certainly don't like them here.

When I talk to people that grew up here, went to college elsewhere and then came back, I just don't get it. Perhaps I'm not southern enough, or not easily satisfied, but I have no desire to stay in one place. I grew up in the same house for the first eighteen years of my life and was never the new person. Richmond hasn't been much different. People are content to stay here forever, I just can't do it.

I know people my age that live with their parents because they're saving up to buy a house, which I guess is great for them? The only purpose I see for owning property is to eventually fill it with a family, and that freaks me out. That's just where my head goes, house equates "would be happy to make babies and stay here forever." I understand that "rent is a waste of money blahblahblah..." but is it? Having a house comes with it's own problems.

I get to live in a shoebox and have people clean the foyer for me and I don't have a yard to mow or maintain, and when something breaks, I don't have to pay someone to fix it. It's a pretty sweet deal. And I can buy my way out of me lease whenever, or ride it out, and leave and not have to deal with finding tenants to rent to or someone to buy it. Ideally I'd like to move every three to four years from now until I get knocked up or resign myself to being a spinster - which, by the way, does not sound that bad.

That's another thing about Richmond. Everyone here seems to knock up or get knocked up between 27 and 34 and then they're stuck. Sure, kids are great, I like most, but when there's another parent involved you can't exactly get up and go. All of this is to say, nothing scares me more than the idea of doing exactly what I'm doing now in two to five years from now or beyond.

It's so easy. It would be so easy, but I would regret it and then drink myself into a stupor and try to convince myself that this is the life that I wanted. It's not. Not now, not ever. Complacency to me, would be giving up. I hope to always be yearing for something more.

Social Media Monster

2011-04-04T19:08:00.000-04:00

When I was in high school, I had a MySpace page (okay, I still do, but I don't remember the last time I checked it). I frequently got into arguments over the most petty things. Then I started reading blogs and had similar arguments there. Stupid.

I've always been opinionated. This isn't something I've ever tried to hide. But when I go back and see the things I said and the arguments I was a part of, it's no wonder people found me so irritating. I didn't have anything better to do, but wanted to feel involved in something. Feeling involved and being involved are two very different things. Being petty online is in no way being involved. It took awhile for me to learn that.

I wrote for Brightest Young Things, then I started writing for VCU's student publications and then a few other blogs. I was writing before in all the petty comments I made, but I wasn't being constructive and I didn't have a focus. Of course, I was also unhappy and unhappy people tend to be a little nocuous. Finding a focus and realizing that someone could be entertained, or relate to my stupid life changed that.

All of that, the blogs, the "networking" sites, and now Twitter and Foursquare and Flickr, and everything else, all of that is Social Media. It's so weird that three years ago I didn't know the phrase, and now am involved with it all the time (maybe too much).

Most of my friends don't use Social Media beyond Facebook. They might have a blog, but most of them don't. To them Facebook is mostly about staying in touch with people they already know, stalking frenemies, and reconnecting (stalking) people they knew years ago. They are missing the point.

I admit, I do use Facebook mostly for personal relationships. The people I'm "friends" with there are people I know and see and plan on seeing again (or awkwardly running into), and more importantly, would be happy to see again. However, my blog and my Twitter (which I use as a microblog) are available for public consumption.

The things I post in public are meant to be shared. I believe that the internet, but specifically Social Media, allows for us to grow beyond our comfort zones and create larger, more supportive communities. It's not meant for hiding behind a screen to argue petty issues, it's about relating to others, whether through similar complaints, senses of humor, or concerns.

So when I complain about bad drivers, or make fun of people that are (in my opinion) badly dressed, or Sketchers, or Mormons, or hair, or any other thing around me, know that it's a superficial comment. I don't have a disregard for people that drive badly, I'm sure they're fine people, most of my friends are bad (i.e. slow) drivers. When I comment on someone's hair, it's only because I do hair for a living, and in my head I'm thinking of all the things I'd like to do to it. Because at the end of the day, I only notice because for some reason, I care about strangers and feel insignificant surrounded by so much that's bigger than myself.

Richmond Drivers

2011-04-01T20:17:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure how your car pertains to a higher being.

I love driving, on highways and parkways and expressways and toll roads and any other place that doesn't have stop lights and stop signs. I am great at driving in those places. I have a tiny car that's relatively low to the ground. It's only a four-cylinder, thankfully. If I had anything with a larger engine I'm sure I would have had my license suspended by now. I like speeding, not because I'm in a hurry, but because I like getting wherever I'm going as fast as possible. I drive as though I have to pee really badly, all the time.

This type of driving doesn't really work in Richmond. People here are not in a hurry to get anywhere, ever. They take their time. They're okay with not honking at people who take more than ten seconds to go at a green light. They also don't mind going ten under the speed limit on heavily trafficed roads. I don't understand it, I'm anxious to get where I'm going, whether it's the grocery store, to meet friends, to get to DC - it doesn't matter. This also applies to drives I take on late nights to nowhere, it's nice to move as fast as my mind is moving sometimes.

While discussing our upcoming trip to Savannah, my friend says to me, "It's supposed to take what eight hours to get there? So, that means you'll have us there in six."

I grew up in Northern Virginia. I know traffic. I know my way around it. And I know like 92473 ways to get wherever I need to go. I have no concept of what a mile is, but I can tell you how long it will take to get somewhere. Since moving to Richmond I don't like driving anywhere that takes more than fifteen minutes to drive to (unless it's another city's limits). If it takes more than fifteen minutes to get to, it's probably not worth going to anyway, i.e. the suburbs.

These are my issues with Richmond drivers:

1. Signals

Every car made ever has two of them. They work when you push a lever up or down. They allow people around you to anticipate your turn. It's a courtesy to those around you, prevents accidents, and when both are flashing they let people know that they should go around you. Anyway, they're really great, and I highly recommend using them.

Though, they can be used improperly, like when you need to change lanes and you do so, but you forget to turn your signal off after your move and proceed to irritate everyone around you. Stop it.

2. Speed Limits

No one in Richmond seems to be aware of what they mean or how they work. Sure, you're not supposed to go faster than they say, but you're also not supposed to got ten under the speed limit. I get it, if you do this you're probably really stupid and not sure where you are (get a GPS) and aren't stopping for directions, or you're really old. I don't care, just think of all the people that have to pee and get out of their way.

3. Abrupt Stops

Oh! Hi! I see that you're a chick my age and apparently a terrible driver. You've stopped in the middle of a main street, cool. You're picking up your friend? They're taking forever? I know how that goes. I also know that you have a button on your dashboard with a little red triangle on it, you should push it. See what happens. Oh, crazy, it turns both your signals on. Thanks! Now I know to drive around you when the other lane is clear. That was like so easy.

4. Parallel Parking

Richmond has shit public transportation. The buses are undependable, and...oh wait, there is no other form of public transportation, so we drive everywhere. That's fine, but we live in a city and there are a lot of us. You don't need six feet between you and the other cars to pull out properly. Really. You are part of the parking problem. Don't complain about not being able to not find a spot if you typically take up two.

If you don't live in the city and aren't accustomed to parallel parking, please stay in the suburbs with your giant car. We live here, and we park on the street and you're wasting space.

5. Cobblestone

There is a particular stretch of cobblestone called "Shockoe Slip." I have to drive down it every day on my way home. The speed limit is still 25 MPH there, and it is still two lanes. I promise.

6. Lanes

These are conveniently marked in contrasting white or yellow on the black asphalt. In most areas there are two lanes. Pick one! Stay in it. And if for some reason you need to change lanes, use your signal!

7. One-Way streets

I get it, you're drunk. We all are. I assume that you know how to read arrows. Follow them.

8. Trucks/SUVs/Other giant vehicles

You (I'm assuming) live in the city. Why would you need a giant car? Do you transport things frequently? If you do, it's probably a company car, in which case there's probably a company lot you can leave it in. Do that.

9. Magnets

Your car is covered in them. They support some really noble cause, I'm sure. But you're not really raising awareness, you're saying, "Hi, I feel the need to advertise everything I'm associated with in public, all the time." We don't care. And I will remove them from your car when I'm drunk. You are welcome.

10. Vanity Plates!

Virginia has an inordinate amount of these because they're really cheap here. Cheap also sometimes (most of the time) implies tacky. It's great that you're "OPNYN8D" or "AWWWSUM" - we all feel this way about ourselves, but the rest of us let other people find out in a personal, less public way.

The End of My Rope

2011-03-29T16:23:00.001-04:00

I work in a really small salon. Aside from me there are only two other stylists, the owner and a girl my age who got her license last summer, and three receptionists. There's never more than four people working and we all contribute to all the menial tasks.

Lately, well since deciding to take a break from school and started working full-time in January, I've become obsessed with becoming busier. When I was working part-time it felt like I was busier, but with the same clientele and twice the hours, it doesn't quite feel that way anymore.

Business is slow most days and maybe once a week I'll be pleasantly surprised by a full day of walk-ins. I hate walk-ins. I'm a planner, I like knowing ahead of time what I'm going to do each day whether I'm at work or not. And I like to be busy. All the time. I don't deal well with boredom. For example, I am at work, right now, writing this instead of doing someone's hair.

I've been told that maybe I should look elsewhere, but I really love the people I work with. I couldn't ask for a better boss, and the girls I work with are like family, and I really want the salon to do well. Since becoming a full-time employee I've been trying to figure out what I can do to increase business. I've passed out fliers and coupons, "welcome bags," told everyone I encounter where I work - and I've created Twitter and Foursquare accounts. We've had a Facebook account, but it wasn't until recently that my boss made me an admistrator.

My boss' updates and mine can be very different. She may post something about a sale we're having, and then post again later that day about going to Lowe's to pick out pansies for the flowerbed out front. I hate the later of these. We're good at what we do, we shouldn't have time to update Facebook, let alone go shopping for pansies! No really, true story. I wanted to shoot myself in the head the day that she was outside weeding the flowerbed.

Explaining to her the benefits of Social Media and how we're not using it fully is difficult. She has never had a cell phone, she thinks the amount of time I spend on my Android is silly (though, if I was busy doing hair, I wouldn't have the time...). But the people with the silly smartphones, they're the ones that we want in our door. They're the one's that are going to check-in and tell their friends where they get their hair done.

I've asked her repeatedly to re-do our Web site as well. It looks like a MySpace page circa 2003, with the two-tone scrollbar and everything. Nevermind that the page is in no way user friendly and uses way too many words. It's all words. But not words used effieciently, the page goes on forever and is repeated and information is copied and pasted from product lines' Web sites - it's terrible, but she maintains confidence in our "web guy." This man was also kind enough to tell her that he wasn't "sold on Social Media" after she told him how I had started using it for the salon. Of course he's not sold on it, it's not profitable to him if one of her employees is doing it. Duh.

I've tried talking her into advertising with local publications, but the one she contacted didn't respond promptly or something and "it's expensive." Expensive is relative, and if you have to spend $500 on an add to get three new clients in, it will pay for itself.

Her idea of advertising is pursuing old clients, which is also important. I agree that clients should be rewarded for loyalty, but sending a postcard to someone every week just doesn't seem to be effective (because it's annoying). We get calls regularly from people asking to be taken off the mailing list, and I don't blame them. And the money we spend on that could be well spent on something else (like a pay-per-click add on fucking Facebook).

We ran a special where clients got a percentage off their serivce if they followed us on Twitter or "Liked" us on Facebook, it was somewhat successsful. It would be nice if we offered a discount for booking in advance, like before you leave the salon, like they do at every other salon everywhere, but nope. That would be an inconvenience? Or something..I don't know. I have absolutely no idea. But when you've been running a salon for 25 years, one would think you would be booked weeks or at least days in advance, no?

Sorry, this is all so disorganized. What do you do when you don't feel at all supported by your boss when you're trying to do something better for business? I'm at the end of my rope.

Making Out With Strangers

2011-03-24T14:53:00.000-04:00

When I drink, there are three things that I really like: lipstick, speaking in a British (awful) accent and making out with strangers (or friends).

1. Stephane

Last week I got a call from a number I didn't recognize and they didn't text or leave a voicemail, so I didn't think anything of it. Then they called again a couple days later. I texted back to see who it was. The poor boy, he was a stranger that I kissed right after the part where I kissed my friend and drove uptown two weekends ago.

This boy's name is Stephane. He's a beautiful French-African dude. I know this because he sent me his picture, which I will now use to avoid him just in case I happen to be at that bar on a Saturday night ever again. That was a fluke though. That is still the only weekend I have ever gone out to the bars on my block. I intend to keep it that way.

So Stephane keeps texting me and wants to hang out. I did make plans that I was happily able to break this past Tuesday, I would feel bad about it, but...oh, no there are no reasons to feel bad about it.

2. Daniel

This past Sunday a couple of friends of mine came down from DC to see another friend's band play here, coincidentally at the same bar I made out with Stephane in. Anyway, my friends were kind enough to buy me several shots of whiskey, among other things.

After our friend's set was over we walked to the bar that I live above and continued the party there, where I met Daniel.

I'm sure he's a lovely fellow, really, but he called me the next day. Before noon. Even if I get up before noon, there are few circumstances when I will answer my phone before then. Anyway, my friend passed me my phone and told me it was "Daniel" - I had programmed his number into my phone this time. Progress!

He first commented on how I wasn't actually British. Nope. Not a lick. I'm from Drunk.

Then he continued to text me incesssantly with emoticons and improper grammar. Neither of those are preferred qualities.

3. Evan

This past Tuesday I went to a party followed by dinner, followed by filling out an application at a bar (I'm not really sure how that happened, but please call me back!) and then karaoke. All of it was "fantastic." I used that word almost all of my tweets that night, and can only imagine that I said it, in my British accent, even more.

It was at the karaoke joint that I made out with and exchanged numbers with Evan, who after a text the next day, has a girlfriend. Sorry, Girlfriend, 1) for making out with your boyfriend and 2) that you're dating a dude who makes out with other people, unless you're into that, then great for you!

The lesson learned here is that boys are silly, and don't understand that a girl really can just kiss you and absolutely not ever want to hear from you again, but give you her card to be polite.

P.S. Related, if someone gives me their card, I always email first, as should you, though if someone is giving you their card and not just their number, they are probably okay with never seeing you again and just being polite.

Bad Influence

2011-03-22T16:57:00.000-04:00

When my friend, E moved to DC a couple months ago she kept talking about meeting new people because she had "burned so many bridges" in Richmond. E and I have known each other since high school, but were equally annoyed by each other then. It wasn't until I moved to Richmond to attend VCU that she and I became friends. After a bunch of haphazard encounters we finally started hanging out on purpose.

A few weeks ago we were exchanging stories of our childhoods. She told me about how making friends was a game to her as a child, she would go places determined to make as many friends as she could and fully aware that she would never see these other children again. It didn't bother her, she just figured she'd make new friends later.

I was the exact opposite. I had a few very good friends at any one time. My kindergarten best friend was a girl named Kimberly who would get upset with me daily, usually at lunch or recess, and tell me that we weren't friends anymore. And every day as we stepped on the bus she would ask if we could be friends again. Of course we could, I had never considered us not to be friends anyway. I'm still this way. I could list the number of people I've had legitaimate falling-outs with on one hand.

E doesn't disregard her friends, quite the opposite, and I think this is why we're friends, she just doesn't allow herself to deal with other people's problems and projections. That's not to say that she isn't there for her friends in their time of need, she is, but she also isn't going to let you go on about things that don't matter for weeks on end. It's healthier.

I have only recently been okay with letting go of relationships. I don't do it well, and I tend to hold on for far too long. My, now ex-best friend, and I had not had a decent conversation for months. The last of which she had told me about the possibility of her getting engaged. Then I was supposed to visit her and things fell through, and then I saw her briefly at church of Christmas but she insisted that she was busy the entire time she was home, and it wasn't until after New Year's when we finally had it out, via G-Chat. Seriously.

The Ex-bff is still a practicing Mormon. She has never been particularly good at communicating her feelings, she's always taken the passive route whereas I take everything head on. We grew up together. We sang duets almost annually at church Christmas parties and planned youth activities together because we didn't trust (like) anyone else's judgment in where the balloons should be placed for youth dances, or what songs should be put in the Mormon-camp song book. We never had that much in common, but we complimented each other well and enjoyed making fun on the same people. She was really the only reason I went to church in high school, and she was fully aware of that.

It wasn't until we had this G-Chat conversation that I realized how much she disapproved of my life. It came out of nowhere, we hadn't talked, what did she know? She explained that she had tried to be subtle before, I had no recollection of this. She said that I was "self-destructive" and "let people walk all over me." She was the first one I told after I had sex for the first time, but I never expected her to go out and do the same. I never expected her to do any of the things I did.

She recently got engaged. He was, is, her first kiss. And from what my mother has told me, she has quite grad school. I haven't talked to her about it. She made it very clear that she had no interest in having me be a part of her life anymore, which hurt, a lot - I cried all day that day, and then it was over. I haven't talked to her about the engagement, but part of me can't help but think about all of her ambition. I don't think it just went away, I just can't believe that she gave up going to the best school in the country for her program to get married. But then, we don't really know each other anymore. Apparently she's changed just as much as I have.

E had a similar experience around the same time and we both decided that we were part of people's resolutions to rid their lives of "negative" influences. Good riddance. Thankfully E and I negatively influence each other regularly.

99: (No) Pants Dance Party

2011-03-18T16:05:00.005-04:00

Chris Owens is a local photographer who has a project called "100 Portraits 100 Days." Last week he needed a salon to use for a set for one of his shoots (portrait 98) and through Twitter I was asked if he could use the salon where I work. I got the okay from my boss and we were set.

I was familiar with the project, I know several of the people he has photographed and did hair for one of the shoots. Each portrait captures a specific characteristic or cause of the subject. When he was done with the shoot at my shop I asked him about his last two subjects and how he picked them. He explained that he had approached people to take part in the project, but as it grew others approached him. He didn't have anyone officially set up for the last two, so I asked him if I could be a part of it.

On Twitter I frequently use the hashtags #nopantsparty and #nopantsdanceparty. Chris liked the concept and we shot it in my apartment this past Monday.

I put on a decent mix, but he asked me for a larger range of motion, so I turned on Florence and the Machine's 'Dog Days' - a song that despite it's slow intro, I always lose my shit to at dance nights (in DC, not Richmond). It's a song that I've had on pretty heavy rotation for a couple of years (see here for embarassing ramblings from dorm life! They were so deep! Please note that I didn't proof read that post at all!).

If you've seen Florence and the Machine live, or the original video for Dog Days, that is pretty much how I dance. There's lots of spinning and flailing involved. I think Chris captured it perfectly.

All by Myself

2011-03-17T16:11:00.009-04:00

The past two and a half months have been full of the changes I've wanted (mostly), in the best possible ways. First of all, I quit school and started working full-time. This was something I had been considering since the shitshow that happened this past November. I have never enjoyed school, the only reason I graduated from high school was because my test scores exempted me from most of my exams and I had teachers that were very generous in extending deadlines for me. I have never been motivated by grades, I couldn't care less about them, I wish I did, because I do value learning, just not in such a structured way. And certainly not about Byzantine art or the complexities of a pig's chest cavity.

Deciding to temporarily halt my education was not an easy decision. When it comes down to it though, there was nothing about it contributing to my happiness - it was a constant strain emotionally and monetarily. I couldn't enjoy basic social interactions without being reminded that I had a paper due the next day in addition to having to go to work. But I love my work, I look forward to it each day, I love interacting with my clients and knowing (or hoping) that I have the opportunity to make them feel slightly better, or at the very least look slightly better than they did before they sat in my chair.

I had already signed up for my classes for this semester before I decided not to go back to school. When I clicked the little arrow next to each class to drop them, part of me felt uneasy; school is what we're told we're supposed to do for as long as it takes to get us where we're told we need to go. And my parents had been paying my tuition. I withdrew before telling them and it wasn't until after several weeks of "classes" that I finally told them. They took it surprisingly well. They weren't angry, all they said was not to expect help financially save for occasional car maintenance. It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from our relationship, not that it's ever been the most healthy of relationships, but it's easier to talk to them now because school isn't an issue and I'm not relying on them financially.

Secondly, last year I wanted a boyfriend, or thought I did, but in retrospect I was just looking for an escape. I thought being a relationship would make me happy. I thought I was in love three times last year. That's stupid. So stupid, there are not words for how stupid that is. I wasted so much time talking to my girlfriends about whoever and why was he with her when he should be with me. God, it was fucking terrible. I cried so much. I already cry a lot, at well, most things, but last year it was definitely excessive. I was unhappy with where I was living and hated being at home and didn't ever feel like I could totally be myself. Since moving into my own place I feel like an entirely different person. And all that effort I put into thinking I thought I wanted a relationship, I've refocused and enjoy being at home, by myself. And frankly, I'm over dating in Richmond (and DC), it's boring. Boys, I'm not sorry, but you're boring.

I've found that in my time spent alone, with my phone turned off, a record playing and sitting and reflecting is more enjoyable than everything else. I enjoy going out, but I love going home and not having to still be on to interact with a roommate or their friends; to a bed that I don't have to share with pets or humans. The mess is my mess and there's no one to be clean for and there's no one else's mess to irritate me. Perhaps this sounds selfish, but everything I'm doing right now is in an effort to maintain this contentment. I don't need anyone or thing or class or job to screw that up. If something isn't contributing to my happiness, I've finally learned to have control and dismiss it.

The friends that I've made here are some of the best, and they're slowly moving away. I have one in DC (soon London) another in New York, another moving back to Norfolk, etc. It's seems appropriate for me to get things in order to move too.

Lesson Learned

2011-03-16T10:36:00.004-04:00

I have rules against going out before 10 pm. Nothing good happens if you do. You get drunk too early, you're shitfaced by the time you need to go home, do and say things you shouldn't, etc. I typically don't do shooters (save for shots of whiskey) and I'm not a catch-up drinker. All of this is to say, I attempt to be responsible, most of the time.

This past Saturday I lost my shit.

I was invited to play "bar poker" - $5 buy-in, five bars, draw a card at each bar, whoever has the best hand at the end of the night wins. We met up at 8:30 and were at our third bar, and five drinks in by ten.

I remember going to the first four bars, none of them were bars I frequent as I don't usually hang out in my neighborhood. It attracts suburbanites that wear Ed Hardy like it's their job, I'm not into it. And I'm not into "dancing" to top 40 singles. Nothing about my neighborhood really appeals to me after 10 pm Thursday through Saturday nights, but I thought I'd give it a go. I would not have had a good time were it not for the people I was with and the amount of shooters I did.

By 11:30 I was gone. The only reason I know this is because of the drunk texts the next morning that I had no recollection of sending. I left my friends around one after smothering one in lipstick and thought it was a great idea to walk upstairs to my apartment, grab my phone charger and bag, because I only had my wallet and my phone was dying (it's an Android, go figure). And then I thought it was a brilliant idea to drive uptown. How I managed to not kill anyone, myself, or get arrested is still beyond me. Feel free to judge, but know it's not something I'm proud of, but I can't change it and I'm thankful that none of the above happened.

Anyway, I drive uptown, park, but can't remember my friend's address and my phone keeps dying so, from what I vaguely remember I plug my charger into someone's porch outlet and eventually get to my friend's house around 3 am. By that time I'm more aware of what's happening. We end up watching TV and eating cereal and fall asleep on the couch. In the morning I can't find my bag, but I have my phone, my charger and my keys so I figure it's somewhere I'll find it later and go back to sleep.

I was wrong. We searched everywhere, closets, the basement, random storage areas and could not find it anywhere. From this point I can only premise that I left it on someone's porch. Fuck. This is terrible. Really terrible, but we both have places to be so we search for my car instead. It was parked a lot closer than either of us thought it would be.

I get home and find my apartment trashed. I managed to knock everything that could be knocked over, over, which also explains all the bruises I've found on my body since then. But I'm still bag-less, wallet-less, ID-less, money-less, so after sulking for a bit I head back uptown and walk the streets in about a two block radius around my friend's house looking on people's porches, knowing how creepy I must look to those passing by.

And nothing, except a pink post-in note with my friend's address scribbled on it illegibly.

Sunday ends and I can't sleep, so I clean. Subconsciously, I'm pretty sure I was punishing myself - my mother used to always make me clean things as punishment and at really inconvenient times. I'm terribly anxious after I lose things, not because of the credit cards or various IDs, but the totebag and all the buttons on it that I've been collecting from shows and elsewhere since I was fourteen, and the clutch I use as a wallet that an alcoholic, chain smoking, retired nun gave me.

I checked the activity on my cards and there was none, but I canceled my debit card just in case, and went to the DMV to get a new license. Afterward I had to drop some things off at my sister's, my sister who has never had a drink in her life and rolls her eyes anytime I mention my drunken stupidity, as she should.

Monday evening, I wait until it starts to get dark and I attempt to retrace my steps again, hoping that the dark may jar some memory of Saturday night. It doesn't and I go home and attempt to sleep again. Monday night's sleep was worse than Sunday's. I woke up around 4 am and fall in and out of sleep at odd intervals after that, by sunup my neck is in knots.

Tuesday morning I arrive at work in a hurry for my 9 am appointment, and I find my totebag, complete with wallet, cards and IDs in the back room, on the table where I presumably left it and at the front desk, where I clock in, is a stack of pink post-it notes.

Christmas: Part 2

2011-01-17T14:34:00.003-05:00

(My apologies for the delay between parts being posted, I've been sick and remain internetless. I'm working on that though - and by "working on that" I mean, I'm working on not being so poor.)

Archer is six. We let him stay up fairly late among all the bustle and visitors on Christmas Eve, it was of no matter, he was up at eight Christmas morning and ready to open presents. As we each made our way to the living room, we noticed that Laiene had not joined us. Joseph explained her fear of the dog, and I went upstairs to tell her that Biscuit had been put in the basement for the time being. She claimed to be jetlagged and to have a headache. I left apologetically and rejoined the rest of the family downstairs.

It was a small Christmas. We’re all grown now and gifts don’t excite us the way that they once did. I got a crock pot and a waffle iron while April got a toaster. Santa “forgot” Archer’s Packers helmet and jersey, but left a letter assuring him it would arrive soon via his elves at UPS. Archer is also the age at which it’s acceptable for him to express disappointment with his gifts – he did not like the array of books and crafts I got him; he made a blatant frown and questioned them. Apparently space origami and Nate the Great aren’t cool anymore. My bad.

My thrift store finds were better received. My dad seemed pleased with his framed picture of John Wayne, and my mother unsurprisingly forced a smile upon opening the painting I gave her. August’s welded peacock hangings apparently match her bedroom theme. April’s candles and salt and pepper shakers are at use. Steven (bro-in-law) filled his Migo mug with instant coffee. Joe seemed amused by his beer mug (he brews his own).

I spent the time after present opening attempting to find someone to take Biscuit, just for the day, just until we could find a kennel. While I was holed up texting people who had dogs in the area, August lost her cool and started yelling about how Laiene was being “irrational” and how Joe shouldn’t “allow his wife to behave that way” while stomping and slamming doors. Growing up, having holes in the walls wasn’t unheard of, but we’re adults now and there is now a hole in the newly painted wall behind the door of my old room. Additionally, the new latch has come loose.

I tried talking to August, but it was about thirty seconds before I was being “condescending.” I’m not sure why I even tried, there’s no reasoning with unreasonable people.

August and Laiene later apologized to each other and we all made our way to the Kennedy Center to see Shear Madness. The show was cute, a murder mystery, the babies slept through it (thankfully), we had a great time. We walked through the building afterward for dinner at the terrace restaurant (banquet hall). Dinner was delicious and the babies managed to stay quiet – somewhere, someone was looking out for my family’s sanity that day. Lord knows what kind of drama would have occurred with impatient parents and crying infants to deal with. It was the end of dinner that caused some friction. August and my dad have very similar ways of dealing with everything, they are both impatient and loud and have a complete disregard for causing a scene in public places. FUN!

August had asked for boxes for the leftovers and my dad wanted to leave them.

“This was expensive, I’m not going to waste it.” August began.

“It’s really not necessary…” My dad continued.

“Well, we’ll eat this later.”

“August…”

It’s getting heated, so I interject, “it’s not a big deal.”

“Do you think we look poor or something?” August quipped.

“Yeah, I suppose I do,” my dad said sorely. “Poor” is something my parents grew up in and have made every concerted effort to not appear that way in their adult lives.

“Well I’m not wasting it…” And she finishes filling the boxes with leftover lamb and mashed potatoes.

By the time we made it home the tension had settled, but I was close to losing my cool so I changed and made my way back into the city for a friend’s dance night – by myself. Though, I wasn’t really by myself, my friends were DJing and others had managed to escape their families too and we all celebrated the birth of Baby Jesus with shots. I spent that night ~~dancing~~ spinning, literally. Play me Blur, New Order and Arcade Fire – in that order, and I will spin forever. Christmas night was like that. After such a stressful series of events I needed that, the music, those people, that venue – DC.

I crashed at a friend’s house that night, and managed to make it to church the next morning.

Christmas: Part 1

2011-01-06T20:51:00.003-05:00

(Read the previous post and this will all make more sense.)

I am the youngest of five children by eight years. Given that I had the house mostly to myself after the age of ten, save for those occasions when a sibling would move back home for a short period of time, I never had the house to myself when one would really like to have space – any amount of space, the holidays. Because my siblings range from eight to fourteen years older than me, the amount of space has gotten smaller as they have adopted significant others and started reproducing. There are fifteen people in my immediate family – FIFTEEN PEOPLE. That includes three spouses and five grandchildren – all of my siblings are parents. And I don’t have two parents, no, I have at best six, at worst nine. That is nine people who think that they know what’s best for me in this life. I am forever at the bottom of the totem pole.

I had to work Christmas Eve and spent as much time as I could at home, in my studio apartment, by myself, in solitude, before I had to face Interstate 95 and head North to the wasteland that is Northern Virginia. There were ten other people, including two infants, plus two dogs, waiting for me and I wasn’t quite ready to deal. When my mom called to see what time I would be arriving, I only told her that it would be later rather than sooner, I think she understood.

When I was a kid (though that’s relative, because I’m pretty sure the majority of my family still thinks I’m five) I always had to give my bed up to accommodate the adults. I would sleep on a pallet set out for me in my parents’ bedroom as my bed would be occupied by Joe’s girlfriend, August’s boyfriend, Uncle Keith, etc. It was never really a choice, I had no say in the matter, and I didn’t mind too much. I would create a nest of sorts between the pallet and the area that I could fit into under my parents’ bed. But I’m not five anymore, and I prefer beds. So when I heard that my eldest sister, August, wanted to put me on the couch so that she and her son could share the guest room with two twin beds, I was happy to hear that my mother refer to me as an “adult” – so Archer got to sleep on a pallet in my parents’ room.

This is how my relationship with August usually goes. We do not get along. We never have. She dismisses me as a human being and considers me to be pretentious, snobby, rude, condescending, spoiled etc. which is interesting, because we rarely speak to each other. I don’t think we’ve had a two-sided conversation in my entire adult life. This isn’t just my relationship with her, she has regarded my brothers as “detached” and “estranged.” Of all our siblings, August really only likes April. August and April are complete opposites – August made a point to be obstinate. August is more impulsive than I am and lives in a world with very few consequences. April lives for those consequences; she is cautious and has boundaries; she is the closest to what our parents hoped for in all of us. I am somewhere in the middle, not as reckless as August – I have a plan, and I’m doing my best to make what I want in this life to happen independently of say, oh, I don’t know, my parents; I’m not nearly as cautious as April, though. August is far left of everything, and April is far right (mostly), and because I’m in the middle, they both regard me as being much like the other.

So, I got to share a room with August, and her dog, Biscuit, an 18 month old, male Pitbull. Yeah. Now, we grew up with dogs, and there are only six months of my life that I remember not having a dog – that was the time between having to put one dog down and adopting another. Our sister-in-law, Laiene, is Basque (look it up, I don’t feel like explaining, but do not call her Spanish, ever), and she has never had a pet and is afraid of dogs. Sure, she’s been around my parent’s beagle/lab mix, Emmy, but she’s mostly deaf and blind now, and in no way compares to a puppy Pitbull. April had told August not to bring the dog, my parents had asked August not to bring the dog, and I didn’t have a say, because as I previously mentioned, we rarely speak, and Joseph and Laiene had no idea about the situation. So August brought her sweet, but unwelcome dog.

I arrived on Christmas Eve around 9 pm, followed shortly by my uncle Keith and his roommate David. My mom prepared some leftover spaghetti for them, and not me because there was not enough left over for me too so I had some leftover salad and bread. Keith isn’t a fan of crowds, none of us are, but he has a choice in the matter and only stayed for an hour or so before going home. We exchanged gifts and hug and made small talk upstairs while my dad and Joseph fell asleep in front of the TV – typical.

The amount of eggshells we tip-toed around that evening was unlike anything I have ever done. Despite my direct (read: blunt) nature, I do what I can to keep the peace, especially at home. I don’t need to partake in any more family brawls than necessary. I have learned this, and this is why when inundated by family, I tend to hide wherever I can.

Laiene’s family is smaller, and from what I can infer, much less loud and boisterous and generally not as confrontational as we are. I was able to talk with Laiene for a good while and meet my nephew Ibai (E-bi) for the first time. Ibai was asleep and Laiene was hiding from the rest of the clan. She is much more cool-headed and shy than the rest of us, though just as stubborn.

That night when we finally went to bed, August and I fell asleep discussing our respective love lives. I find it troubling that they seem so similar. We’re thirteen years apart. My life is supposed to be messy and busy and troublesome, but hers is even more so. I date guys that are closer to her age than mine, and she dates guys that are more age appropriate for me. I prefer something to balance my mess with something stable, and she manages to find something just as messy. So I listened to her, and I tried to tell her about my life, but it was useless. As soon as I began she claimed to be too tired to continue the conversation. Typical.

Christmas: The Introduction

2011-01-06T20:02:00.004-05:00

There are a lot of people in my family and of the fifteen immediate members, eleven of us were home for Christmas this year. To make it slightly easier, let me introduce them. We’re really spread out and getting this many of us together is very rare. So here’s a brief outline of my family so that you can have a better understanding of the distance and age. We’re all over, everything, all the time. And we keep reproducing. Chances are you will eventually meet one of us and you may or may not develop an opinion of all of us based on that particular member. Don’t. We are the most grab-bag bunch of people to be called a “family.”

Mom – Annise (it’s French, but we aren’t) – 62

Dad – Leb (it’s Russian, but we aren’t) – 62

They reside in Northern Virginia.

Joseph – 35

Laiene (wife of Joseph) – 31 (I think, I’m not sure)

Ibai (E-bi, Joseph and Laiene’s son) – 4 months

They live in San Sebastian in Spain. Laiene is Basque. They met in DC about eight years ago.

August (changed as requested) – 34

Archer (August’s son) – 6

They live in North Carolina.

(Steven – 31, but he and his wife Lessa and their kids Ella and Rocket weren’t here this year so don’t worry about it. They live in Utah.)

April – 28

Steven (April’s husband, not to be confused with our brother or uncle named Steven) – 28

Olivia (April and Steven’s daughter) – 4 months (she is three days older than Ibai)

They live outside of Richmond, Virginia.

Hanging Out

2010-12-24T12:31:00.006-05:00

I enjoy hanging out with friends. We go to movies, or to each others' houses or with the advent of my birthday, we mostly wobble around from bar to bar. We are those annoying "early twenty something" girls that you probably hate. But that's my interpretation of the phrase "hanging out."

This is not everyone else' interpretation. Or perhaps it's just Richmond's interpretation is different, I really don't know. I don't know slang, and I'm not a passive communicator, I say exactly what I mean. The end.

I had been out on a few dates with a particular guy in town, and that fizzled, or at least it did for me. I told him one night while we were sitting in my car that I didn't think we were romantically compatible. He didn't like this response, and went on to ask me why I would join a dating service if I wasn't looking for a relationship. This seems silly to me, the implication here, at least what I gathered, was that he thought I was looking for something instant - that I was looking to jump into something quickly. I wasn't, and I'm not. Actually, let me rephrase that, I'm not looking to jump into anything with anyone that I don't have that immediate connection with. It's not "love at first sight," it's more something at first glance. It's a lingering feeling, connection that isn't forced, it just is.

Though, I did enjoy the time we spent together, the chemistry just wasn't there. He explained that he "didn't need anymore friends" which is fine, but rude to say. And I told him that I was looking more to meet people than for a long-term relationship; if something didn't work out, well then at least I'd met someone new and hopefully someone that would still be interested in knowing me.

He leaned in and "whispered I'm going to make this hard for you" and kissed me. Like that was supposed to change my mind or something. It didn't. He got out of my car and I went home.

The following weekend he sent me a series of passive aggressive text messages, though when I finally confronted him about it he claimed that I just didn't "get his sense of humor, yet." This combined with condescending statements regarding how I interact with people and that I need to be "socialized" - whatever that means - didn't exactly help his case. So when he called me a week later at two in the morning and asked if I was "hanging out" I wasn't sure what he was talking about.

I had gathered that he thought I was interested in his friend, not true, and thought he was asking about his friend. His friend and I had been "hanging out" in my sense of the phrase, platonically. He went on, "No, are we hanging out?"

I think we use that term differently, you mean are we dating? No. I thought I explained this to you last week.

"No, we made out in your car."

No, you kissed me, there was no making out.

"So, we're not hanging out?

No. I am not interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you. I'm sorry.

"Oh, well, bye."

This was followed by him tweeting about "realtalk" and then blocking me on Twitter. Real mature.

Let's be clear though, I had been seeing him less than a month, and we had never had a DTR (define the relationship talk), so I wasn't leading him on. I've been out with lots of people and met lots of people and generally putting myself in new environments in which I can meet new people. I'm not "hanging out," I'm hanging out and I prefer it that way.

Getting Excited About Christmas?

2010-12-20T16:06:00.004-05:00

Christmas is in five days and I still have the majority of my Christmas shopping to do. I'm poor, so I'm only buying my immediate family presents this year, and I'm getting them from thrift stores. My sisters and I all have an appreciation for the odd, unique, generally old things you can find, but the rest of my family won't be so easy. My mom prefers gaudy, new things a la model homes - that kind of gaudy. Everyone else isn't as picky and may not love what I get them, but will deal.

As picky as my mother is about what she wants, she's just as picky about giving us what she thinks we should want. For example, I need new clothes. The last time I went shopping was in September, I bought a (third) pair of black skinny pants, two plaid shirts and a red dress. With the exception of that dress (that I've only worn once) that became my fall uniform. Since winter has arrived I've modified it slightly by wearing tights under my pants and t-shirts under my button-downs. I keep it basic because I can't afford to dress better. My mother hates this, she's always telling me that I need to get some nice "slacks" and to let her know if I'd like anything from Talbot's, Chadwick's, Bowden, etc.

This summer she told me to email her some dresses I'd like, and she'd get me a couple. I sent the email, everything was around $50. She didn't like any of them and in return sent me links to dresses she thought I would like. They were terrible. And I didn't end up with any new dresses. THANKS, MOM!

So, the other day she and my dad were in Richmond and we were all at my sister's house, and when my mom goes to hug me, she very conspicuously looks at my shirt tag, and then makes this face. The corners of her mouth curve up and inward and she squints her eyes, it's terrible, but it's her "I'm up to something face"- because she hadn't already given herself away. I had been warned that my mom was planning on buying me a coral sweater set, so I told her very plainly not to. I would not wear it.

Last year I asked for an oversized, black, merino wool sweater. I got a black Merona (the Target brand) sweater instead. Not the same thing, but at least she tried.

I don't ask for a lot, but I am very specific about what I want. And as my mother has learned, and demonstrated this summer with the dresses, if it's not what I asked for, I would rather go without.

My sister April is smarter about her responses to "What do you want for Christmas?" She asks for practical gifts with very little specifications. This year she told me mom that she wanted a toaster, no particular brand, no specific color or size, just a toaster. Well my mom decided to get an expensive one, since it was all April had asked for. Then this conversation happened:

Mom: What else do you want? Something big? (Big, i.e. more valuable than a toaster)
April: Something that I can use the internet on...
Mom: ...
April: Like a netbook?
Mom: I was thinking a gym membership...

1. April has a gym membership.
2. My mom can be such a bitch.
3. April can fit into her pre-pregnancy clothes.
4. Could my mom be any more passive aggressive?

My mom thinks April is fat, and that I dress terribly. Ohdeargod, Christmas is going to be so much fun.

The presents that I have bought so far aren't great, I've definitely done better (with more money) in the past, but I'm doing my best to be inspired. And as cheesy as that may be I think I'm doing alright so far.

Faking It Pt. 2 (wherein I overshare)

2010-12-03T14:58:00.007-05:00

(If you're Mormon and/or related to me, you may not want to read this, just a heads up.)

I spend way too much time with my sister, April. She's a stay at home mom and they have the internet and netflix, and more food than I do, and the cutest kid ever - all of which are reasons to go there. But because she stays at home, she also enjoys (or pretends to) my stories of being single and stupid and doing very stupid things, especially concerning the opposite sex and/or booze.

April and I are fundamenally very different, she is conservative and wears muted colors, and I am very liberal and prefer bold colored everything. She also has all these rules, rules about life and dating like, "don't bake for him until he's bought you three dinners" and "no telling him what he would look better in before five dates" - the list goes on and she's more than happy to enlighten me whenever something goes wrong.

She thinks that I have terrible taste in men, "he's ugly/fat/old/etc." followed by "and he's just not that into you" are frequent things she vocalizes. And she makes no effort to remember anyone's name "until she meets them." So all the guys I date are worthless phantoms because I can't seem to have a normal dating life, but I'm really good at the non-relationship. These are relationships that aren't defined, he is not my boyfriend, I am not his girlfriend, and usually one or both of us are projecting our feelings for an ex on to the other person.

Well I was seeing this guy for just under two months, given things moved really fast, but he was the one that said "we" first. I don't do that - because then I end up being that crazy girl who wants things to move to fast, so I wait and see. I'm really good at this. I also don't hold hands in public, or kiss, or generally behave as though I'm dating someone unless you know, it seems like a sure thing.

This guy in particular said "we" first at a concert we went to. We were talking to a friend of mine who DJs and happened to be djing the following weekend and Boy looked at me and asked if "we" would be going. I had been planning to go as I do most months, but I had planned on crashing at a friend's place. I explained that I was sure my friends probably wouldn't mind putting him up to with which he responded, "Oh, we'll just get a hotel." What? Right, because that's something that people that have been dating less than a month do without the intention of being in a relationship. Sure, it could translate into "I just want to fuck you in a hotel" but come on, you don't have to go to another city to do that. It was the night before going back to DC that we had the "I'm not interested in seeing anyone else, but I don't want to rush into another longterm relationship" talk. Story of my life.

We go to DC, we have a great time, we continue to see each other, we do coupley things, we go to a few shows, and then when we're on our way to a movie he says, "I woudln't care if you slept with other people..." "Really?" "Yeah, it's not like we're in a relationship..." "You're right, we're not." We're just spending several nights a week at each other's places and people are starting to regard us as a couple, but yeah, we're totally not in a relationship.

Things fizzled, that's fine. He didn't want a relationship. Whatever. I can deal. Then my birthday happened, and he slept through it because he had been "working a lot..." So I drunkenly sauntered over to his house and woke him up at 1:30 am. There were tears involved and I think I may have shouted something along the lines of "I want to be in love!" Because I am melodramatic and generally impulsive.

He did take me out the following week and we had a lovely, if not slightly awkward time. But I am not the type that just stops caring about people. I've never understood how people just stop talking to their exes, and he's not even a real ex, an ex-lover? That sounds cheap. Anyway, I'm usually pretty good at staying friends with people, even Mr. Potato Head and I managed to get back to being friends.

Everything was fine until last week. I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I've been struggling with money, school, the move, really just life this past month and went out every single night for two weeks in an effort to escape it, because that's healthy. Last week I was out with some girlfriends and I wanted to go sing kareoke, and with no obligations the next day we saw it fit to drink in excess (cue Four Loko). As I was walking up I ran into his roommate who told me that he was there, which was fine, except he was there with a girl, which also would have been fine had he given me a heads up.

We had talked two days prior and I had told him about my joining OkCupid and the dates I had been on, he didn't say anything. So walking up and being told and then seeing what was happening was like a punch in the face. I managed to keep my cool-ish - I spent a lot of time smoking other people's cigarettes and pacing up and down the block while my friend went inside and made new friends. But what's worse is that he did introduce us, and later I put two and two together and she dated one of those OkCupid guys I went out with. It's incredible how small this city is.

I went home that night and didn't sleep. That was followed by days of not sleeping or eating, and the knot in my stomach just got bigger and eating became near impossible. The amount of anxiety I experience in five days was more than I think I've ever experienced. It all culminated over the weekend with a series of panic attacks, passive aggressive tweets (that I later deleted) and vomiting in my friend's toilet Saturday night. Sunday was spent in a daze of trying to get things accomplished and attempting sleep, but turned into another panic attack on Sunday that ended in my friend's living room with a xanax in one hand and a bowl in the other. If nothing else, the munchies got me eating.

Monday I went to April's and she pointed out how terrible I looked, I hadn't spent more than ten hours in the previous four days in my apartment, and was still wearing Friday's clothes. Classy. Gross.

I'm not sure why, or how these things affect me the way they do, but they do and there's not a whole lot I can do about it. He has no idea (though he might read this, probably not). I even cut his hair and had him repay me in the form of liqour, and with the exception of a few awkward moments, it was mostly fine. Fine is what it has to be, because I'm not going to stay in to avoid uncomfortable situations, they happen, and I put on a happy face and deal. It's all I can do.

I've never had to deal with this situation before, I've always remained friends, or at least friendly with my exes. I know I'm going to run into them, and just because we're not together doesn't mean that you stop caring, and if I care about anyone in the least I usually make a point to say hello. It just sucks when you realize that you were someone's rebound, and that it's not that they didn't want a relationship, they just didn't want it with you. Even after all the "signs" and words, and all the little things, they're okay not talking to you and they aren't ever going to suggest hanging out, or grabbing lunch or drinks. All of that is fine, because thankgod, you aren't pregnant, and you can move on to the strangers on the internet that think you're "sexxi" and put on a happy face.

Faking It

2010-11-30T13:03:00.003-05:00

So I finally bought the domain for amandarants.com, but I can't use it yet because I bought it with another email address other than the one used for this blog.

It's been almost two years, but after my freshman year at VCU I didn't get any of the internships I had applied for so to make some extra money I decided to start removing wallpaper. My sister had just moved into a house covered in it and I found that I was quite efficient at removing it. I created an email address for this endeavor, and somewhere down the line it became associated with this blog instead of my primary email address. Though whenever I try to create a new blog with my primary email address it won't let because Blogger still thinks that it's associated with this blog.

So, I did end up getting an internship with WashingtonPost.com's Going Out Guide, and the wallpaper removal thing never happened, and I would like to delete that email address but am afraid to considering the circumstance.

In case you were unaware having multiple email accounts become complicated especially when you don't check all of them regularly. I counted, I have six, or seven? Not totally sure. Why do I have so many? Not sure about that either because there are really only four that I use, the one for this blog, the one for school, my personal email address and my "professional" email address.

I spent most of yesterday trying to get things configured, called my computer nerd friends, and wracked my brain trying to work it all out. It's a slow going process, but I'm learning things that will probably be useful in the future. This is my attempt at being tech savvy - I'm not, but I'm going to pretend.

I really need to put up and pay for the internet

2010-11-21T19:13:00.001-05:00

So, the abridged version of the past three weeks.

1. Signed the lease for my new place and moved. I'm now living in a studio, by myself, without roommates - WITHOUT ROOMMATES, in Shockoe Bottom. Sure I live above a really shitty bar/club combo thing that plays really terrible Top 40 music three nights a week, but I live alone, and it is clean, and I'm usually out those nights anyway. My neighbors are alright, no one is particularly loud and I'm pretty sure there aren't any hookers that live in my building - I'm moving up in this world.

2. Turned 21 - this may or may not have led to me standing outside of someone's house in the rain and crying after they slept through my birthday. Happy Birthday to me! And then I may or may not have continued to get drunk and/or stoned elsewhere. Yay! for healthy decisions!

3. I didn't go to Pittsburgh as I had planned. Christina's grandfather died and then she had to work, and I had a series of money issues and it was generally just a bad weekend. So I'll probably go after the new year, and I'm really hoping that she and her boytoy come to Richmond over the holidays.

4. I joined a dating site, because you know, I want to go on dates and have some semblance of a normal dating life that doesn't include men twenty years my senior. I'm not sure what the problem is, but meeting people in Richmond is one of the hardest things. Making friends is difficult enough, but dating is near impossible. I've been out with friends and not met anyone, I've been out by myself and not met anyone - though the last time I went out by myself was to a post-punk dance night and I was that girl dancing by herself - a couple of dudes talked to me after and said that they had seen me dancing/that I was a good dancer, etc. but they waited until everyone was leaving. WTF? Anyway, I was annoyed, so this whole online thing is something I'm giving a shot. So far it's been pretty entertaining, I have learned to delete messages from dudes who don't wear shirts in their profile pictures, and some dudes think that liking "blockbuster movies and lemonade" makes them a catch. It doesn't. I've only been on it a week and I've already been on a couple dates with normal dudes, or seemingly normal dudes.

Seriously, the past three weeks have been insane. And I still don't have the internet at my new place because I'm poor, so I'm writing this from a cafe down the street from me. I'm really embracing the poor writer/student cliche.

As a result of being 21, I've been going out more, in Richmond which has been nice. I've only spent like one day in DC in the last month and that was to see La Roux. I finally feel like a Richmond kid, it's terrible, but probably healthy.

Completely unrelated and I'll probably post about this later, but don't fall asleep at your friend's house when they're doing mushrooms.

My Face is Bigger than Your Face

2010-10-29T23:02:00.001-04:00

This past week I've been tweeting a lot about my face. The itching that started Monday, I mistakenly thought was related to my allergies and developing sinus infection. The two red spots that showed up Tuesday on either side of my right eye I thought were developing pimples. Tuesday night my forehead started to feel slightly bumpy. I called my friend who's an epidemiologist and explained to her what was going on, she told me to take Benadryl and that if it didn't help to see a doctor. Wednesday morning I had a nice ring around my entire right eye and spots developing on the left. I went to the doctor.

Except, I am still on my parent's insurance and have not seen a doctor in Richmond in over a year when I went to the VCU student clinic. But since I'm not a student there I can't go there anymore and my primary physician is located in Northern Virginia. So I had to call Tricare and was finally able to see someone at Ft. Lee. But because Ft. Lee is still more than thirty minutes away, I have to find a civilian doctor that takes Tricare to be my primary physician.

So I see the doctor, Dr. Huggins, a very short, plump woman who seems to think that continuously poking and prodding my face is somehow going to make it better. After some time (I think she took her time poking and prodding to make it seem like she was actually doing something) she writes me a prescription for an antihistamine. Then she leads me to a nurse to get my flu shot - I should mention that I don't typically get a flu shot, just because I unfortunately do not make my health a priority and I only got inoculated out of convenience, and it was free. I think I'm getting over my trypanophobia - I didn't cry or hyperventilate. PROGRESS!

I then make my way to the pharmacy and on the way I'm passing all these people in militay uniforms. I don't care so much about the uniforms, but in contrast to them I look sorely out of place. Aside from my face's mutation, my clothing says "Hi, I'm a poor student, am probably a lot more liberal than you, and yes I've been wearing this particular hoodie since the fifth grade." When I walk up to the pharmacy's receptionist, instead of greeting me with a hello or similar salutation she says, "What did you do to your face?"

I made the mistake of trying a fancy face wash my mom had samples of when I was home last weekend. I don't typically use much on my face. I have really sensitive skin and like to keep it simple, but I had been having all these small breakouts lately so I thought I'd try something stronger. Boy, was that the worst decision ever. I can only compare what is on my face to that one time in the seventh grade when I got poison ivy really bad and used it as an excuse to skip gym for three weeks. Except, it's on my face. And my right eye lid is swollen to the point that there isn't really a lash line and it makes reading small print difficult because everything looks blurry. And instead of missing gym I am missing what I have made out to be the best weekend of this year. I asked to take tomorrow off about a month ago for the Stewart/Colbert Sanity/Fear rally/gathering, and have been looking forward the Halloween festivities since last year. Last Halloween was pretty epic, if not messy.

(This is me last year as a candy striper very happily wearing a friend's "wild thing" head.)

I've digressed. Anyway, so, Wednesday I go to class that night and after I finish my quiz my professor comes up to me with the in-class assignments and tells me that I look contagious and if I need to go home. I proceed to call my boss and apologize for needing the next day off. Thursday is spent in bed hiding from the world until my sister stops by with neem and coconut oils that I had asked her to pick up for me at the suggestion of another friend. The oils are supposed to help with the swelling or something. "It really does look horrible," thanks, April. I don't know why she was so surprised. Sure, my typical descriptions of things I'm excited about may be a bit hyperbolic, but not about things I'm not excited about. Guys, it really is that bad. I have friends who keep claiming otherwise, asking for pictures, but I refuse to make any documented evidence of this situation.

This morning it wasn't any better. Please excuse me for insulting the only real socialize healthcare system in the US as I do like having it, but they never give you the good stuff the first time around. They would rather give you amoxicillin when you need augmentin - I know the difference and when which is necessary. (Example: I took one augmentin that I had lying around for the pesky sinus infection I had developing - POOF! Nipped that in the bud!) Hydroxyzine was just not doing the trick, so I made my way to the emergency room downtown to see a doctor that wasn't a contractor for the government. And while I was waiting in my room some man from the Richmond Health Department asked me if I wanted to get tested for HIV, for free. This week I have not been one to turn down free health related things, so I obliged and got free condoms to boot! "The pink one is for the guy who conveniently forgets to bring his own." What a sweetheart, right? And during such a shit week what could be better news that to have someone tell you that you're HIV negative? Really, in this life, I don't think there is anything better than being HIV negative.

I have had my sunglasses on this whole time. The doctor comes in and asks me to remove them and states, "This is a really impressive case." Impressive is not something anyone in this sort of situation wants to hear. It's the same thing doctors used to say as they called their colleagues in to look at my giant thyroid (it's something like 10 cm wide, which is apparently huge). I have also brought all of the stuff I have been taking, applying and an ingredients list I had the facial cleanser's company send me. He writes me a prescription for prednisone and I'm done. I have contact dermatitis, but a really bad case of it so I'm getting the big guns.

I've taken three today and so far it hasn't really made a difference. But it needs to start working by Sunday because my military ID expires on Tuesday (because my birthday is Wednesday) and if I have to see a specialist it would have to be on Monday. This all presents a problem because I had originally planned to renew my ID on Monday, but I won't be doing that because of the face issue. My mother suggested that I go ahead and do it and then get a replacement later, but that would require me to go out in public without sunglasses and make documented evidence - all things I am not going to do. My mother also didn't believe how awful I look until my sister told her. My parents are going to be in town tomorrow to visit my sister and her baby and want to swing by and see me to, this cannot happen. My mother is one of those people that always has a camera with her and in 20 years she would love to get out these pictures for family gatherings, I'm sure. They do not have my address, and I am not giving it to them.

Birds have it made.

2010-10-13T20:50:00.001-04:00

Last night I had dinner with a friend. We had Thai. I never get Thai food. It was delicious. So, I'm having it again tomorrow for a different friend's birthday - her choice. He was telling me all about all the things in his life that are currently bothersome, and I of course did the same.

He told me that I had to stop feeling guilty about things, which is true. For example, right now, I could be writing for school or a publication, but I'm not because right now I need to do this. And later I'll probably write some really terrible poetry and attempt to play the piano and become frustrated because I'm not nearly as good as I used to be.

I saw my parents this past weekend. It was only for an hour or so, and I needed my dad to sign some stuff so that I can hopefully move into my own place. So, my mother was sitting there with us and started going on about how her children don't like her. This isn't true. We do like her, but as with my father, we prefer small doses. I suppose this may seem mean or ungrateful. I can only be around them for so long before I start feel like a terrible person. My mother will first ask me about school and why I'm not done yet. Then she will tell me about some people at church that I don't know or care about and how they're getting married or having children, two things I am in now rush to do. And then she'll ask me about my job and tell me about how another person is making so much money doing something different. This will all lead to politics, something that we will never agree on.

I finally told my mother that it's not her that I don't like, it's the fact that she constantly puts herself down and then blames her children and compares us to everyone else. Life is hard. We're just trying to make it. I'm young, I have the rest of my life ahead of me and who knows what that means. I can only listen to what a disappointment I am so many times.

Going to a community college and getting an associates degree in court reporting in the sixties is hardly comparable to going to the largest university in the state and then flunking out. I feel terrible about all that wasted money and time, but at the end of the day I know that I'm much better on in Richmond than I would have been had I stayed in Lake Ridge. Anyway, I get like this after having those kinds of conversations with my parents.

I'm trying to get myself situated enough so that I can save up and after I finish my own associates degree in Liberal Arts, I can go somewhere for a year. And between now and then I'll hopefully find a way to get over all my qualms regarding writing. I mean, I just wrote all of this. I'm sure that were my parents to see it they wouldn't exactly be happy, though it's not my job to make them happy. I have the beginnings of things written that ideally one day will be published that I would like to spend more time on. And I'd like to spend more time writing music, and maybe attempt to get over my stage fright; grow up. Growing up seems an impossible thing to do.

I'm moving, again, and not to DC.

2010-10-07T13:19:00.001-04:00

When I moved in with Adam in June, I had been in a hurry to find some reasonable human being to live with in a very short period of time. I basically had three weeks to find somewhere to live.

Adam is straight-edge, and vegan. Which isn't a problem. We don't share food, with the exception of his candy. His diet is made up primarily of fried potato products and candy - he doesn't like the banana flavored laffytaffy, so he puts it in a bowl for me. I think this is gross. But that's just fine because he thinks that all the dairy products I consume are gross.

He is also not in any way type-A. I am. And this is where I have driven every roommate I've had insane. I like the areas that we share to be clean, but not your version of clean, my version of clean. And then I start to resent the person I live with for not having the same standards that I have and I start doing passive aggressive things, like not taking the trash out when it starts to smell, or not doing dishes - just to see how long it takes them to notice.

When I moved in I liked that Adam was a DJ, had a great music collection, small label and is just generally a music person. I didn't realize that he had so much stuff. And I really don't like stuff. I am a minimalist. I like my books and records, but I like them stored in a non-obtrusive way. I like linear things and I like stacks and defined angles. And I really don't like dog hair.

Adam has two dogs, two pugs. And I grew up with dogs, I love dogs and generally prefer them to cats. But I don't think I've ever been around two dogs that shed as much as these two do, or maybe it's just because there are two of them. And nevermind the older dog's bowel issues - I bought a plastic rug for the living room specifically because of this problem.

So, Adam and I had it out the other night. I've wanted to move out for awhile, but wasn't really sure how to go about asking out of my lease. And I didn't mean for it to happen the way that it did, but basically he told me I was mean and I told him he was dirty, and then we talked about our fucked up families. It actually felt a lot like a lot of the conversations I've had with my family members growing up - things almost always started with an argument, then turned to tears, then eventually a rational discussion was born. Age-wise he would fit perfectly into my family, snugly between Steven and April.

So, now I'm on the hunt for another home. One where I live by myself. As much as all of my roommates have annoyed me, I can honestly say that I love them. But as a favor to the rest of the world, I really need to live alone. Well, as a favor, and for my sanity. The only issue with this is that it will be slightly more expensive. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will A) be living in the ghetto or B) be living in not the greatest conditions. I prefer the former.

I looked at a tiny one-bedroom earlier this week and it was kind of perfect except for the location. The leasing agent even warned me of the proximity to one of Richmond's most dangerous developments. This doesn't bother me as much as it will bother my parents. The place is in a quadraplex and the other tenants are mostly nursing students that attend classes on the nearby MCV campus.

I'm looking at a studio today that's in the noisy Shockoe area. I'd be living above a bar, which again doesn't really bother me because it means that I could be as loud as I wanted to. And I have an appointment to look at another one bedroom later today that's in my current neighborhood - it's more expensive, but all inclusive.

I am using one of my old roommates as a reference so that she can attest to my cleanliness and orderliness. I'm not a bad tenant, I'm just a bitch to live with.

Birthday Prep

2010-10-03T23:18:00.001-04:00

Shit. It's been weeks since I've posted anything. Though, if you've followed my tweets you'll see that I have been busy bitching as usual about life's injustices, or my first-world inconveniences via my new Android. It is my new favorite thing. I've become one of those terrible people that are constantly playing with it. AND THE APPS. Let's talk about Tetris. I love that game. It's probably the only video game that I have ever been any good at, and I played it the other day until my battery died. It's been a week, and I use that phone literally all the time. What's the weather like? What time does the show start? What's the latest on NPR? It's all there. All the time. Literally at my fingertips. I know this isn't something new for most people that have any clue about technology, but I am so technologically inept that this thing continues to blow my mind.

Aside from my new toy, my life has gone like this: work/school, nap, work/school, food, internet/hulu, food, work/school, show, food, sleep, work/school, food, nap, etc.

There was a minor freakout a couple weeks ago, but those happen regularly as a result of my talking myself into thinking crazy things and then acting on those crazy though and it usually results in a really long email and/or series of phone calls. All is better now. Except for waking up in the middle of the night realizing that I had been talking in my sleep and may or may have not said silly/incriminating things. If I had been told that this sort of thing would happen while I was growing up instead of all those other silly things about not touching the opposite sex, I would be a very different person. But no one has told me about my sleep talking in years, so I haven't thought much about it. My first roommate used to try and tell me things that she had heard, but none of it really made sense. Thankfully I don't sleep walk. I can only imagine what world of trouble that would get me into.

Moving on to more important matters. My birthday is in exactly a month, November 3rd. I will finally be 21 and it will finally be legal for me drink adult beverages in public places. No good will come of this. In fact, I'm certain that it will only lead to more embarrassing tweets and text messages and probably at some point tears, and probably public nudity. So, friends, please be kind. Those that know me well already know all of these things about me and should not be at all surprised when I call them at three a.m. spouting off all the things I know about angler fish, or showing up on their porch with baked goods and an apology for my drunkenness. So, really, nothing is going to change, except now when I get IDed, I won't have to come up with an explanation as to why I don't have my ID. I have gotten really good at this, and the majority of my friends are of age/old(er) and this usually helps my case when I explain to the bouncer that my car got towed and I got pulled over last night and my license was left on the seat with the ticket and registration... I have learned to just avoid female bouncers/bartenders/waitresses because this stuff never works on them.

I make a really big deal about birthdays because no one ever made a big deal about my birthday. This isn't to say that I didn't have birthday parties because I did, every year, but I always planned them, wrote out the invitations and I'm pretty sure I started planning them so far in advance that my parents didn't have a chance to ask me what I wanted to do before I had given them a detailed list of what was supposed to happen. Then when I didn't do this, well, it's never been good. And my friends aren't much better, I love them, but they are all dispersed around the country, and even if they were all in one place, I'm pretty sure none of them know the others well enough to successfully coordinate anything.

And let's be honest, birthday parties are not the most happening of events. They just aren't. So, I've decided to keep it really small this year and only the people that I know would gladly hold my hair back as I puke all over the bathroom at Bamboo will be there (Anthea, Eleana, I'm looking at you). And while I don't really expect presents, I have compiled this list of things to plant seed into the subconscious of my friends and family, except my family doesn't read my blog most of the time, so I'll be emailing them this list repeatedly through December in hopes that maybe they'll get it right at Christmas.

My new phone is my early birthday present from my parents, and I'm quite surprised that they got it right. It's a Samsung Galaxy S, and I was sure that I would end up with some awful Motorola contraption that they considered good enough.

1. Cake. It's my birthday, I should not have to bake my own birthday cake (though I probably will). My favorite cakes are Pineapple with cream cheese frosting, and banana cakes with peanut butter frosting. Though, pumpkin flavored cake with cream cheese frosting is also delicious, and I know that Carytown Cupcake has these flavored cupcakes, so...

2. Other food. Dinner. Somewhere that's not Mexican of pizza oriented. Somewhere that has seafood is a plus.

3. Card. Inside should be a short, but personal message. Nothing says you don't care like a card that you bought and simply signed.
4. Necklace. I am constantly resisting buying them. I have a necklace that I wear all the time, but it's really because it's sentimental and has a story. It's not just an accessory, it should have some meaning. The one I currently wear was given to me for Christmas several years ago by my brother. He lives in San Sebastian in Spain and the design is that of the fences that go around the beach there. Apparently it's some sort of Basque Nationalist symbol, but I have never been there, so I'm not completely sure. But my point is, he gave it to me, I don't see him often, and it reminds me of him. I should like you well enough that I would be happy to wear a reminder of you. Anyway, I really like this, this and this. (The last one reminds me of the carousel scene in The Catcher in the Rye, and if I had the money I would have bought it for myself by now, but I am poor.) And I don't like gold things.

5. Vinyl. I have not bought nearly as much vinyl as I have wanted in the past year, and there have been so many great things that have come out. A mix CD is also a great alternative, though like the card, it should require some thought.

6. Concert ticket. Sharing a concert with someone is always special if you both really love the band.

7. Clothing. I will probably take it back. So gift card is probably better, but if you know my taste well enough and think I dress well, then give it a go. If you are my mother, you should be aware of my taste, but because you don't like it, please refrain from buying me clothes forever and always.

8. Hats. But not a baseball cap or a beanie, I like and collect vintage hats. Sure, I don't wear them often enough, but I love them. And on crappy days they're a pick-me-up, kind of like wearing my favorite heels with my pajamas because I can.

9. BOOZE. Buying me a drink is appreciated, but if you really love me you'll buy me a bottle of Jameson, or Maker's Mark, or maybe some expensive vodka that I've never had. Or Amaretto. Or Gin. Please do not buy me anything sweet tea related, I am over it, it only leads to terribleterrible things (like all the scars on my body from tubing).

This is a really reasonable list. I mean, I didn't even list shoes, or furniture, or trips, or shoes...

@amandarants

2010-09-12T13:53:00.001-04:00

Awhile ago Lily Allen was posting clues via her Twitter page that led her fans to find a pair of tickets that she had hidden while she was on tour. I created a Twitter account to follow those clues and was really pissed that I had to work (and I think had a test) the day that she was in DC. Then I kind of forgot about it. Then a few months later I posted one tweet, and then today I finally gave in.

I have complained about people linking their Facebook and Twitter and Foursquare and blogs and GoogleBuzz and everything else together, as it means that you get updated multiple times. You check someone's blog and there's their latest tweet, you check their Facebook there's a tweet and link to their blog, etc. I'm moving towards becoming one of those people that really is constantly connected to everything all the time in a variety of efficient ways, that doesn't mean that I don't think that's it's ridiculous. It is, but I acknowledge that I am, too.

I'm @amandarants. I'm keeping it public, so even my parents will be able to read all of the absurdly embarrassing things that I will inevitably end up tweeting. Now, instead of sending drunken text messages to certain people, or to the twenty most "recent recipients," I can twitter and let the whole world know things that I will regret in the morning. YAY!

What's up?

2010-09-09T22:51:00.001-04:00

I hate that text message.

This is the text message that guys send when they're too chicken to call and/or are looking to get laid. It depends on the time of day, but no matter what time of day it is, it is a useless message. They don't care "what's up" they aren't interested in the fact that you are getting ready for work or class or bed. This is fine though because if they are sending you this particular message, they are bored and probably not worth spending time with anyway.

This is not the text message of a person that has a ton going for them. They probably aren't pursuing any hobbies, is probably not the most emotionally healthy person, and lacks the confidence to carry on an interesting conversation. Was that harsh? Perhaps. But I'm being honest.

If you do happen to respond to this message it will lead nowhere. It'll probably result in the following:

"Nothing much, just doing (insert mundane task here)."
"Sounds like more fun than I'm having (insert emoticon)."
"What's up with you?"
"(Insert some activity that you have absolutely no interest in.)"

This will go on until you, the recipient of the original text suggest that you hang out, because they don't have the chutzpa to ask you out on a date or at the very least instigate hanging out.

If he were actually interested in seeing you or how your life is going you would receive something more thoughtful. Perhaps a "How is your day going?" Or a "What are you doing later?" Or maybe something witty and related to whatever they're doing, i.e. "Did you read (whatever) on BBC today? Sending you the link now." Or "We fucking owned that shit. (insert sports team they love) 297397, (other team) 0." You get the gist.

"What's up?" is quite possibly the lowest form of communication. It's probably a template message by some mobile carriers. It requires no thought. Sure he texted you, but the likelihood of him texting several other people the vague, impersonal message is likely. It's an effort to make his evening slightly better.

And if you are one of those sad souls who sends that text message, please stop. Do something. Anything. Just don't be so lazy. This isn't even a romance thing, it's a being-a-decent-person thing. And decent people keep in touch with people, and ask those people questions and call them or email them about their lives, if those are people that they want to be in their lives.

"What's up?" is not a complete sentence, there's not even a subject!

While I understand that we live in a world of instance and brevity, if someone is worth staying in touch with they are worth asking real questions, and hopefully they think enough of you to do you the same courtesy.

Baking Slut

2010-09-03T09:42:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I was asked to fill out a survey for Hipster Wife Hunting, a blog out of New York that my friend Jessica contributes to. I am pin-up #37. And the last sentence in my self-description should read "I'm really goofy."

My sister April doesn't read my blog, and probably won't read my hipster wife description, but if she did she make note of my comment in regards to baking. You see, she thinks that I'm a "baking slut" because I "give it away for free" because apparently it isn't appropriate to bake things for boys before they "take you on and pay for three dates." She is full of all kind of wisdom like this. But my baking sluttiness is something more, it's a direct result of my "inner Mormon" - you see this is something that we all suffer from. We spent years baking things for people who were, like we are now, inactive members of the church in an effort to them how much we cared for and miss them. I know that this is complete horseshit though. I was always confused about why I would bother putting so much effort into something where we would inevitably be considered very strange by whomever we were delivering these baked goods too.

Imagine for a moment taking someone a plate of cookies that has not been to church, or whatever organization, in years. Then seeing them at school. You don't say anything because you don't know them. You just happened to see them the evening before because you and a group of other young girls have been encouraged to make her feel welcome, like a part of this group that she is not interested in being a part of, by giving her baked goods.

Then there were all those times when we baked for the missionaries, and the boys our age who were busy whittling or building a fire or learning about the importance of having gainful employment as to support your wife and 2984793 kids one day. We, the girls were practicing for the roles we would one day have as mothers - baking cookies for every occasion.

As teenagers, and then in college, Mormon girls will commonly bake things for the object of their affection. And he, unless he likes her back, will think she's insane. BAKING! FOR SOMEONE SHE HARDLY KNOWS! (Save for that one awkward dance together at the church sponsored dance a month ago.) Okay, I'm generalizing, but there are chicks that do this. I knew one who knitted a boy a scarf, it was really wide and not very long and I never saw him wear it. Nor did I ever see them interact. But it was fine, she moved on and was making stuff for someone else in the following weeks.

I don't typically just bake people stuff. I do enjoy baking and cooking, but I usually save the baking for thank-yous and birthdays. So, even if I did get three dinners paid for, there's still no guarantee. The term baking slut only came into play this summer because I knew so many people with birthdays during a couple of weeks and I made all of them a cake - and most of them happened to be dudes, and apparently it doesn't matter because baking a cake for a male friend somehow sends the wrong message? I disagree.

Sometimes, I even invite friends over and make dinner. And then we discuss the rationale behind the way all these people in our lives think. And sometimes, I even send friends home with leftovers.

Slut? Yeah, that's right.

Not Keeping My Opinions to Myself

2010-09-02T10:28:00.001-04:00

I knew that as soon as I posted this that someone would take it the wrong way. Though, my thinking this didn't keep me from posting it. That's what's great about a blog, I don't feel the need to use a filter. I can write about anything, but I try to be respectful of my friends and family as not to reveal anything that they wouldn't want me to, Christina I'm looking at you and please note that I still haven't posted a certain conversation from when we were fourteen and had a very skewed idea of everything. (Bwahahahahaha...I bet you're wishing right about now that we had never written all that down.)

I woke up this morning to an email from my mother that read, and yes I know what I wrote above, but this was just too ridiculous: My friend said she read your blog and she had no idea that you hated her because she was fat. Her feelings were hurt that you wrote those things. I didn't realize that I had singled any one person out. The idea that this person took my blog post so personally is upsetting, it's upsetting that there are people that I don't know who allow blogs written by some girl to offend them. And beside, if I "hate" someone, I'm not going to write a passive-aggressive blog post about it, I believe in confrontation, and the next time that person did something to slight me I would most likely confront them about it.

Anyway, I responded to this email, and I hope that this clears some things up: I don't know which friend you're talking about, but I'm sure I don't hate her. I am just generally annoyed by obese people. Most obesity is not hereditary and is nurture, not nature. Americans are not overweight because it's in our genes, it's because we live in a world of convenience and people don't take time to take care of their bodies. And then when I hear these larger people that don't take care of their bodies in the first place complain about how difficult it is to do things, I have no sympathy. They've made unhealthy choices and are obviously not motivated to make the necessary changes in their lives. It is absurd how large the average person has become in this country.
If Americans as a whole were to change their attitude towards food and eat healthier, exercise more - they would be healthier, fitter, and probably a helluva lot happier. I am in no way advocating that everyone should have a 26 inch waist, just that people should be conscious of what is and isn't healthy and work at keeping their body feeling good. I understand that some people struggle with weight their entire lives while others go years without taking care of their bodies and have it catch up with them later.

I had a roommate who used to always be on diet, but never ate well or exercised. Somehow people have still not figured out that "diets" don't work, but they're probably easier than learning portion control and learning how to make healthy things and take a walk every now and again. People don't educate themselves about food, about sex, about most things and would rather watch Good Morning America and learn about "superfoods" than get the facts. If you're interested you might want to read this, and this, and kudos to you if you're not bothered by it. I'm not prejudice against overweight people, I'm annoyed by lazy people who complain about things that are well within their power to change.

Just a reminder: I am probably younger than you.

2010-09-01T11:05:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure how exactly this came up, but it did.

Me: I had a Tickle-Me-Elmo.
Him: You did?
Me: Yeah, the original. The one that you could only get from PBS.
Him: Oh wait, you had one because you were a little kid.
Me: Yeah, I was like seven or something.
Him: And I was in high school.

I have conversations like this most days of my life.

I am afraid of being reduced to only being able to shop at K-mart

2010-08-31T12:32:00.001-04:00

My sister had her baby last Monday, the 23rd, and my sister-in-law in Spain had her baby last Thursday. I have a lot to say about this whole thing, miracle of life, and all that sappy shit, but it is a work in progress and I've been really busy with classes starting and pretending to have a life - i.e. doing what my mother refers to as "partying" and what I refer to as drinking too much and falling asleep in my friends beds, playing with strangers' hair (because I'm a cosmetologist and have mild OCD when it comes to hair and people that have good hair), and watching terrible tv. It's all very productive.

Anyway, if you've read my blog for long enough (or ever, really) you are probably aware of my prejudices towards fat and stupid people. And when those two things are combined I, well we just won't talk about it.

Yesterday I took my sister to K-mart. Yes, K-mart. She's on all sorts of meds still and isn't allowed to drive. She wanted some new shirts and nursing bras (SEXY!) but she didn't want to spend a lot of money on something that she probably won't be wearing for very long anyway. Really this was just a trip to reduce the frequency at which she has to do laundry. So K-mart, that godforsaken box with dingy lighting didn't have anything suitable. But they did have a lot of embroidered and bedazzled sequined sweatshirt-like things. The types of things that you only see morbidly obese people wearing. I used to think that only obese people bought that sort of thing, but then I looked at the sizes, they only had them in huge sizes - 1XL, 2XL, 3XL!

And to think, I have always wondered why larger people wore such ridiculous things as to draw more attention to how large they are. But it's not their fault! It's the only clothing they can buy in their size! I don't get it. Why can't they have a plain teal shirt without any sort of adornment? Why can't they have their elastic-waisted pants in normal denim washes? And surely it doesn't cost more to make something generic and basic than it does to make something that's tacky? And are people only that size within a certain income bracket? What is so wrong with the world that we've doomed large people to this fate?

So, as a result of yesterday, I almost feel sorry for all of these people who take up way too much space.

And because my sister was unsatisfied (thankgod, I'm not sure I could handle it if my sister was reduced to shopping at such a depressing place) we went to Target - another box store, but at least the clothes are cheery and blatantly rip off more expensive designers and has better lighting. Seriously, lighting makes such a difference.

No Babies

2010-08-13T09:25:00.001-04:00

Sometimes I'm not the one sending drunk text messages.

Him: When I'm 30 will you have my kid?
Me: What?
Me: No!
Him: Why not?
Me: Because I'll be 24?
Him: So?
Me: And I probably won't want kids then...

But really, this guy would actually probably be down with the Sunday-Dinner-Daddy situation.

A different conversation:

Him: Are you pregnant?
Me: No.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
Him: You're kind of religious, right?
Me: Not really...
Him: Well if you were pregnant...
Me: Dude, I'm 20...

I'm not going to write out the rest of that conversation. 1) My mom would cry. 2) I have no reason to believe that I am, or soon will be with child.

Dudes are so weird sometimes.

Also, baby related - my sister's due date was this paste Monday. The baby is still in her belly. And I spent last Wednesday with my 6 year old nephew, who is great, but I am so down with not having one of those for a very long time.

Summervention - Tubing Edition

2010-07-26T23:38:00.001-04:00

Two weekends ago I drove from Richmond to DC to go dancing and make out with strangers at my friend's party - which totally didn't happen this time (sad face). Then I drove to Baltimore the next day for dinner, and then I had planned to drive back to Richmond. But I ended up drinking and dancing in the rain in Columbia Heights where it was decided that we, the people currently there, were going to go tubing the following Sunday. I didn't actually think it was going to happen, though since going on the Fourth I've wanted a re-do.

Tuesday rolled around and plans were underway and what started as a drunken suggestion was coming to fruition. (note: Fruition is really fun to say.) Then Saturday morning I got a text message that started "Pt. 1 of 2..." explaining all of the details for the trip. You probably don't care about these details, but these small details are huge. You see, I am a planner. I like planning things. I have always had to be the person to plan anything that I've ever wanted to do. I mean, seriously I have planned every single birthday party I have ever had except for my 18th birthday where my mom attempted to give me a surprise party that turned into a roast, "write down something you've always wanted to say to Amanda, it doesn't have to be a compliment..." THANKS, MOM! Anyway, I have given up on birthdays and generally other people planning things because other people are lazy and prefer to wait around for someone else to do all the work. I got to be one of those lazy people this time. AND included in the plans was a driver and a van "so that everyone can drink." Yes. YES!

So yesterday I picked up a chick and we headed to the van! And the van not-so-quickly filled up with people and soon Brite - that's "beer plus Sprite" (actually Bud Light Lime), was being consumed and Powerade bottles were being emptied as to be filled with mixed drinks later. So everyone got their electrolytes and was fairly hydrated before we hit the river.

Once on the river we managed to not make it to the far, less rocky side like you're supposed to, but we too occupied with making sure that we were close to the coolers. And each rock we came to then became a "bar." Pretty soon we were divided and people had floated away but I fortunately (or unfortunately) was tied to the person tied to a cooler. This made going over and around rocks all the more fun, and as we caught up with people more attached themselves thanks to the rope and knife our Planner had brought.

When the rain came, and the tornado sirens were going off and it was raining harder, we stayed in the river and watched the lightening and finished our bottles of various fun things. It was at some point during the rain that we untied our "crafts" and the cooler tube got away before we were able to close the cooler. The cooler was saved as was an actual Sprite bottle full of vodka. And after that it's mostly a blur, a really fun, messy, painful blur.

I lost my tube at some point and somehow, thankfully, but not really helpfully, the Planner found it and returned it. Because he got back way before me. I'm pretty sure it was the lack of tube that resulted in all of the scrapes and bruises on my body. Except for my feet, they are perfect because I wore these.

Last night when we probably should have showered and sprayed our bodies down with bactine, we didn't. But if we had, our bodies may have felt slightly better this morning. I haven't seen all the spots on my body, but every time I move I feel something new that I didn't know could hurt before. It's all fine, I can deal, except for the gash on the left side of my left middle finger. For all you right handed people, the idea of this happening probably isn't very distressing, but for me I can't properly hold things and my handwriting has been reduced to third-grader scrawl.

The exchanges today have been along the lines of "my body hurts" and the reactions have been "what the hell happened to you?" But the best reaction was my sister who explained to her husband that I looked like "someone locked me in a cage with a rabid cat."

Moving is Living

2010-07-05T22:49:00.001-04:00

I made the mistake of watching "Up in the Air" again. I saw it for the first time when it was in theaters with my friend Spencer. We were escaping out families around Thanksgiving, I believe. He and I were both speechless at the end of it. I mean, what can you say? It's about our supposed realities that we create for ourselves based on delusions of our future.

Anna Kendrick's character, Natalie, is a foil to the selfish, conceited, condescending Ryan, played by George Clooney. Natalie is young, naive, indignant and Ryan has to show her the ropes and generally all the flaws in her way of thinking. That idea, of course, is that life is empty, meaningless, and weighing us down. He thinks it's revolutionary, Natalie thinks he's lonely and a pathetic shell of a human being. His love interest, a woman named Alex (played by Vera Famiga) seems to share his philosophy and love for travel or as she puts it so curtly they are "turned on by elite status."

Ryan and Alex make a point to see each other and fuck on their respective business trips. It's supposed to be a purely physical, maybe intellectual relationship - she seems to be the only person to understand his bubble. So, as movies go, their relationship deepens, or seems to. This is the part that I love because movies are always made about stupid women falling for jerks. But in this movie, he is the stupid one and ends up getting his heart crushed. I know on some level it's probably wrong for me to feel good about this, but this movie is about that guy who refuses to acknowledge anything beyond his glamorous career, and for once, there's not a fairytale ending. He doesn't see the light and she doesn't decided to be with him, they move on and I would assume are more careful in communicating their wishes with other lovers in the future.

It was already in the DVD player when I watched it again. My roommate recently got Netflix, I probably wouldn't have watched it again - not because it's not a good movie, it's a great movie, but because it makes me feel restless. All the feeling that I have right now are the exact same that I had the first time. And their very familiar. Their the ones that I get whenever I get too comfortable. This is a trait I inherited from my father and am drawn to in others. It's terrible. Wherever I am, I feel like I'm missing out on something else. If I'm in Richmond I want to be in DC, if I'm in DC I want to be in Baltimore, or Annapolis or New York or fucking Kinston, North Carolina. And if I'm in Kinston, I usually end up feeling terribly depressed and want to be in DC.

I have never lived in DC-proper, but I can honestly say that it will always be home base. One day, when I travel and have elite status at various hotels and frequent flyer miles I will also have an apartment in DC and will stay in it when I get tired of being elsewhere. And I probably won't go out while I'm there, unlike my current over-socialized trips to DC, I imagine that at the point in my life when I can have this, I won't go out much at all.

Until then I will continue to pretend.

dancing > crying

2010-07-03T12:47:00.001-04:00

Do you ever have days like this? Where those closest to you completely mock you and tell you that you're feelings are unwarranted? The whole having unreciprocated feelings things starts at such an early age.I could go on and on about how gender roles are defined and uncomplimentary from a very early age, but I'll save that for a research paper.

When I was three I was set on marrying the red power ranger or Elvis Presley - and I totally cried when I found out that Elvis was dead. I also cried when I found out that George Washington was dead - I had gone to "his house" shortly before finding this out and my dad did not tell me that we were going to a dead dude's house - MISTAKE! Ms. Malinowski, my kindergarten teacher, had to deal with a very distraught five year old that day.

The video won't let me embed, so watch it on YouTube .

If you're having one of those days, you can just watch this:

Do you feel better? Because I laughed for the entire duration of that video, and I would be content with that man singing the soundtrack to my life.

Now that you feel better, go dancing tonight, and if you're in DC maybe we can dance together.

Storytime

2010-07-01T12:50:00.001-04:00

Yesterday evening I met up with a friend with whom I have not seen a couple weeks. She is carless, so I picked her up and we went to our favorite burger place.

Me: Here we got these samples at work, but we just stopped carrying this line. Their great, but I don't need the moisture one, so I thought I'd give it to you.
Her: Thanks, and way to turn that into an insult.

She has curly hair and it's pretty, but it could be prettier.

Later we're sitting at a table on the patio of the restaurant and I see this guy with whom mutual friends tried to set me up with last year. He's cute and according to the mutual friends "looks just like Ian Curtis." We met up for dinner once and walked through Oregon Hill and then back to Broad Street for ice cream one evening last year. I'm pretty sure we haven't talked since then. He apparently has a girlfriend, she's probably an art student, he's getting his graduate degree in something art related. Anyway, so he and his assumed girlfriend end up sitting two tables over from me and my friend. Neither he nor I say anything to acknowledge the other.

I fill my friend in on all the ridiculous happening in my life, as per usual. My life cannot get cut a break, ever. I suppose it's better this way, otherwise I would be so bored.

Our food arrives and I have ordered onion rings. I love onion rings, but I had forgotten how large the order was.

Me: Do you want any?
Her: No, I don't like onion rings.
Me: Really?
Her: I've always hated them.

about half an hour goes by...

Her: Actually, can I have one?
Me: Sure, but I thought you didn't like them.
Her: Actually, I've never tried them...(takes bite)...these are delicious!

We then proceed to walk around Carytown looking for hiring signs because she is looking for a new job. We see that a barbecue place is hiring so she goes in and fills out an application, I sit by an ice cream store down the way.

A woman and her two children come out of the ice cream shop. The little boy called Jack-Jack asks if he can sit by me (I'm in one of four chairs) an as I say yes his sisters sits in it, so he sits in the next one over. A man with a motorcycle helmet is sitting on the other side of him and becomes distracted by the helmet and drops his ice cream. While he is screaming, his sister tells me all about Robin Hood which happens to be playing at the dollar theater across the street, and their mother gives the boy her cone. She picks up her son's cone and sees that it can be salvaged. She takes a napkin out of her purse and wipes it clean and then trades her son. "You got a decent bargain, two flavors instead of one," say the man with the helmet. The boy settles down and my friend comes out and we continue on our way.

Today I had English. My "Image Analysis" was due today, it required me to find a print add in a magazine and criticize it. I chose a Skinny Cow add in Glamour magazine. I usually don't pay attention to add that aren't fashion related, but I have found that all the non-fashion related adds in women's magazines are incredibly insulting compared to the adds in men 's magazines. Ugh.

Anyway, we were told before our break to meet in the library after the break. I got there with a buch of my classmates and we all sat in a circle of loveseats and chairs. There was a little girl sitting on one of the loveseats and we all started talking to her and asking her about her books. Okay, not everyone, but me and the guy that I flirt with in this class (you have to have someone to flirt with in all of your classes, duh). Anyway, she was telling me all about her books when she left for a moment. When she came back she asked me to read her a story... I hesitated before asking her to pick one. She chose The Mitten, the story about a boy who loses his white mitten in the snow and a bunch of animals make room in it to keep warm before it gives and they are put out and then he finds his very stretched out mitten. The end. Anyway, I didn't make it though the entire story because my class was meeting in one of the group study rooms, but the little girl didn't seem to mind and thanked me for reading as far as I did. She was probably about six, and very bored. I would have been too, it was just so sad to me. I suppose it shouldn't be, but I had no idea who her parents were, but I can infer from my fellow classmates that they were probably single and can't afford childcare, and probably don't have time between work and school for storytime. It's such a shame, because storytime is really the only thing that matters before the age of nine when most people are capable of reading fairly well on their own.

My dad was the storyteller when I was a child. If we weren't reading one of the books from the giant stack we brought home from the library, he was making one up. He is to blame for my overactive imagination, slight paranoia and love for reading. And I find it difficult when I realize that not everyone is as luck as I was to have someone read to them everyday. I may be making too much of this, perhaps that girl does get read to frequently and just has no problem asking strangers to read to her. That's would still be an incredibly different experience than what I had, and I hope that's the case. Even so, those few minutes were surprisingly enjoyable as I read to not just her, but that circle of people. It felt strange, but comfortable.

I should really consider decreasing the frequency at which I listen to Brit-pop.

2010-06-29T23:26:00.001-04:00

As far as the opposite sex goes, I am terrible. This year has been one fiasco after another. It seems that I am excellent at finding out that dudes are in relationships, too late. Ugh. Later I think to myself, why didn't I ask? Because I shouldn't have to ask. Because if someone is in a happy relationship they will rub it in your face. They will make it known to everyone. They will wear it on their sleeve, because they will be proud and feel lucky to have found someone that cares enough to share their life with them in the same capacity they are interested in being in that person's life.

And the more I become acquainted with the opposite sex, the more I realize that they are all perpetually seventeen with major mommy issues, but idolize their daddies (despite their fathers' obvious flaws that they themselves have inherited). Or, they are the opposite - Mama's Boys. I deal better with mommy issues than mama's boys as the former is not looking for someone to replace their mother.

Their personality traits aren't the only things they have in common, no, I like guys that have the same name, or better yet the same birthday as previous boys. It started with the Spencers and has just snowballed since I was fifteen. Davids, Billys, Pauls, - though I have found that all my friends named Mark (none of whom I have been involved with romantically) are much better people than the others. I currently have three very good male friends named Mark. Perhaps I should date a Mark.

Anyway, my older women friends have given me no hope.

I once told my aunt that I would almost prefer a Sunday-dinner-daddy to a husband, and she told me I was on to something. I was joking, sort of. The Sunday-dinner-daddy is a dude whom I would be good friends with, who would be down with having a kid with me, but never getting married. The kid(s) would live in an apartment and we would each live in our own apartments and do a week on and a week off and have Sunday dinners together. It's not like people don't do this already, I mean, half of married couples end up getting divorce anyway, and why not save some grief and allow the children to think that this completely fucked up situation is normal? I mean, there would be no fighting, no parent worrying about the other's infidelity - you have to admit, as cynical as it may seem this idea has potential!

Especially after hearing about a dude's harem fantasy - a house with oh, maybe, three women all of whom are faithful only to him. I had to inform him that that's called polygamy, and if you're into the Fundamentalist Mormon church or Muslim, you are welcome to practice it. I then shared how ideal that would be for anyone, but let's be realistic, humans just don't function that way.

I used to be an absolutist regarding fidelity. I used to feel that if someone was cheating that the relationship should be over - the end. And then I grew up and realized that there is so much more to a relationship, and that if someone were to cheat on me, after punching them in the face, I would want to know why. And what's worse, is that I probably wouldn't care so much about the cheating as I would the lying. I would just want them to communicate in a healthy way with me. Unfortunately, I think that whole idea of communication is dying. No one wants to talk anymore, no one cares to make plans more than an hour in advance that could possibly lead to speaking in person - not skype, not texting, not emailing.

I'm a terrible romantic attempting to be a pragmatist. And I like writing letters and postcards, and if I must the longest emails you will ever read.

I need to move to Stokholm, and soon.

on being a girl

2010-06-29T09:29:00.002-04:00

On Sunday I wore one of my favorite dresses and as I left one friend to meet another - oh, a walk of about six blocks - a couple of men on bikes made comments and/or whistled at me. The bike part is important.

When I got to the restaurant, I removed my messenger bag that I always have slung across my back. Except this time when I removed it, I felt the back of my dress fall. It had ridden up significantly and those dudes on bikes were kind enough to not tell me. Awesome.

I need to invest in a new bag. Recycled rice bag messenger bags unfortunately don't go with everything. Especially that dress.

Actually that dress doesn't really go with much. When I was in San Francisco I wore it my last day there and as I was walking around Haight Ashbury it repeatedly blew upwards - I had many Marilyn Monroe moments that day. And it was on my way back to my friends place just before I was to leave that a man said, "Nice titties" to me. This dress is in no way provocative, I've had it for two years, and I really like it. But I may need to take a break from wearing it for awhile.

Though, the most important lesson to be learned here is that you should always wear cute underwear. You just never know who may inadvertently be seeing them.

excuse the sappiness

2010-06-28T00:10:00.001-04:00

I am an exceptionally social solitary creature. I love going out and I enjoy crowds, but I often go out by myself. It has developed from not appreciating the group experience. Growing up I had a fairly close group of friends at church, and we were mostly the leftovers from our older siblings group of friends plus some other miscellaneous misfits.

At school I was a wanderer. And over the years I have maintained friendships. I know people who's friends come through a revolving door, and I've never understood that brand of friendship. For me, if they don't stick around, they probably weren't very important to being with. Certainly people grow apart, that's understood, but despite your personal difference one would hope that you can maintain a level or respect and humility for the person that they become and the way the relationship evolves.

I don't cut ties frequently. There are only two people with whom I used to be close that I have absolutely no contact with now. One, I see occasionally, but we don't speak and it make me sad, but they made it quite clear that my friendship was smothering and they simply could not deal. And I do smother - I am decisive and persistent and I can be too much, impetuous even. I call into the double digits over and over to reach them, I text obnoxiously and send emails regularly. They know that I am interested in maintaining our relationship and even if we don't speak every day, or even each week, we know that when we do contact or see one another that we are there completely.

One friend once described my friendship as that of a crazed girlfriend because I don't stop, and I don't give up on someone that I feel I have invested emotionally until it is clear that they have no desire for me to be a part of their life. I have had falling-outs and I have had arguments, and they are resolved because we communicate. And we communicate effectively; it's an effort to understand how others operate, but we make that effort.

When Christina and I were fifteen (or maybe she had just turned sixteen, I may be taller, but she is older and she enjoys reminding me of this especially considering her recent 21st birthday - she doesn't even drink, what a waste!) there was a boy. She liked him, and he liked me, and I was stupid. I went out with him a few times, despite not being sixteen yet - that's the age when I was "allowed" to date. He drove a 1963 red Chevy Impala, and was a bishop's son, and I'm pretty sure that those were the only reason my dad let me go out with him. Anyway, this was the one time where Christina didn't talk to me. She was that upset with me. So I asked her to make a list of all the things that I did that upset her. That list was three bulleted, single spaced pages long. THREE PAGES! Of things that she didn't like about me. I swear she started from when we met at age five to then, and since then we have been able to resolve any dispute in a completely reasonable manner. Guys, she is my best friend, we have been for fifteen years. That's a long time. For anyone. And we are complete opposites about so many things, but we compliment each other perfectly.

Christina and I were talking recently about groups of people, and how we both prefer the type of relationship we - one the relies on those solitary moments together. We are very much one-on-one people. I may criticize everything from someones shirt and shoes to their tacky make up, but I will talk to them, and I will give them the benefit of a doubt. Everyone deserves at least one conversation to demonstrate their humanity - though it is incredible at how many people fail at maintaining the give and take a conversation needs. This is later reflected in their relationships.

I had brunch with my friend Maia today. We were unable to see each other while I was in San Francisco (she lives not too far from there) but she has been in town this week and were fortunate enough to see each other today. We have not seen each other since the inauguration, the day we met. We met while trying to leave the Mall, and we walked from the Capitol all the way back to the Lincoln Memorial, up 23rd street and then to Q and 14 for hot chocolate. We literally spent all day together. She is 4'11" and 48, and we come from entirely different backgrounds, nevermind the different life experiences. And today it was like no time had gone by at all. We fill each other in on our lives periodically, but not as regularly as I would like - I plan on working on this.

Back to Christina and I's conversation, we were discussing groups and how we were not really into them, and how this can be frustrating when one would like to have a gathering. I would love to have Maia and Christina together at dinner, but the likelihood of that happening is slim, as are most gatherings. The people that I call friends maintains to be a very small group. I used to think there was something wrong with this, but the relationships that I have near and far mean so much more to me than mingling. Not that there's anything wrong with going out and mingling, I love meeting new people, but not the way that I used to. I have become more concerned with keeping that friends that I have than with making new ones. It doesn't seem strange, but considering my age, I mean, I haven't met many people yet, relatively speaking. But those that have been kind enough to me, to talk and carry a conversation and dish it right back without restraint are those that I hope to know in another twenty years. For them, I am so thankful.

the closest I've ever come to getting arrested

2010-06-24T20:41:00.001-04:00

A few weeks ago I got a ticket for having my front headlight out. A total bullshit offense, right? I mean, I wasn't speeding, or swerving or remotely causing anyone harm. I AM NOT A VIOLENT PERSON. Just because I say "I'm going to punch (fill in the blank) in the face" all the time does not mean I would actually do it. For the record, I have never punched anyone, and I've only slapped two people ever - my friends older brother when we were like thirteen because he was being a dick, and a dude that I was totally not seeing last year for being a dick (after getting into a fight with me, it's best to apologize before making certain other remarks). Anyway, the ticket. I was issued a ticket for something other than being a crap driver, because I am not a crap driver. I am a fantastic driver, aggressive, slightly, but totally safe.

Completely unrelated: Since getting my front end suspension replaced earlier this year, my car totally doesn't shake anymore when I hit 70. And if I go faster (NEVER!) it still doesn't shake. YAY!

So, today was my court date. I woke up and took a shower and put on a cute vintage dress with cute sandals, and did not have to do my hair because !!! it is finally a length where it looks good when it air-dries! Anyway, I looked really cute today because court, like church, is an opportunity to boost my already extraordinarily inflated ego because I know that the likelihood of me looking cuter than most of the people around me is really high. Most days this frustrates me, I mean why don't people put in a little more effort?

I've been in a weird mood today, and apparently I'm taking it out on everything intangible.

I left my apartment with ample time to find parking, I thought. I was so wrong. I drove around for a fucking hour looking for a fucking parking spot. By the time I finally found a spot, I was half an hour late for court. Then I had to go through security. I had prepared myself for this part. I took everything that I knew was in my purse and not allowed in the courthouse out and left it in my car - my iPod, my phone, the granola bar. Apparently I had a spoon and the hardware from my curtain rod, a bottle of nail polish and my ipod headphones in my purse. And apparently, despite it not being listed anywhere (save the glass bottle of nail polish), those items are not allowed and I had to take them back to my car.

By this point I was really upset, but trying to retain my composure. This is something I am terrible at, what with all the crying I do. And then I read the sign above the door stating what is and isn't allowed in the courthouse, and it did not say anything about extraneous pieces of metal or headphones. Ugh. So, you know what I did? I threw my keys at the sign. At some point or another, I will throw my keys at everything. And if my phone happens to be in my hand, I throw that too.

A cop saw me do this and wouldn't let me go back inside because I was "hysterical." And he was "unsure" of what I might do once inside. Ummm... let's rewind for a moment, I'm a cute girl in a cute dress and I'm crying and yeah, I threw my keys. And this fucko was worried about me hurting someone. Seriously? Yes, and then another officer came outside and asked me what happened and I told him that apparently throwing my keys at a sign is illegal. To which he said "yes..." as though it was common knowledge. They went on to explain that I needed to calm down and that throwing something at government property could be considered vandalism, blahblahblah, and then they told me to calm down again. And Officer 2 explained that if I didn't calm down Officer 1 could arrest me. Arrest me? Amanda Pittman? The crying girl who just wanted to go to court to get her ticket dismissed? And they wonder why everyone hates them.

After this incident I had to go through security again, where I was told yet again to calm down. Like crying is a fucking crime. I cry, OKAY! I turned to the officer and told him that I would appreciate it if he didn't talk to me anymore because telling me repeatedly to calm down was in no way helping the situation. He stopped.

I found my way to the right room and they were on the Gs. Whew. So I pulled out my book and read for a full twenty minutes before another officer told me to put my book away. Seriously. I closed my book, but that wasn't good enough, no, I had to put it in my purse under the bench. I was still crying at this point, not for any particular reason, but because sometimes I just can't stop. Ugh. So I sat there silently making sure that the officer could see every scowl I cast in his direction until it was finally my turn. Though, I first had to listen to an officer and a defendant argue about french fries - true story. The officer said the defendant had McDonald's and the defendant claimed his fries were from Five Guys. Finally it was my turn and the charge was dismissed.

Finally.

Just when I was kindasorta starting to like Richmond, they had to remind me why I thought this city was stupid in the first place. This is why.

Amanda the not-so-Academic

2010-06-23T23:43:00.001-04:00

When I was in the fifth grade I was in every club, every organization, played softball, took piano lessons, was in orchestra, Girl Scouts, participated in a youth choir and other various church related activities. I also was relatively afraid of getting into trouble - I say relatively because I have always been willing to get into more trouble than Christina, but less than others (though this has certainly changed over the years). I typically did as I was told. I practiced the piano for half an hour every day and stayed up until I had done all of my homework and it was all correct. My entire life was structured, down to the minute.

At the time of "graduation" I received more awards than everyone in my class. I made the honor roll, I was even "orchestra student of the year" - and my parents had never heard me play the viola before. That was also the only year that I played the viola. I also got a perfect score on my writing SOL (the Virginia standardized test) - the prompt was "write about your favorite place" and I wrote about going to Taliesin West, Frank Lloyd Wright's school in Arizona. Do you see what type of kid I was? I was a nerd to the umpteenth degree. And I had manners and I would rather stay in during recess and read than go outside and participate in whatever games were taking place. The aversion I have towards my peers started pretty early.

This kid that I was, she got everyone's hopes up as to what my future would look like. I was on this path headed towards greatness. I wanted to be an architect more than anything and I was always in advanced classes. I started taking French in sixth grade and then took algebra in the eighth grade, and instead of taking art or music for my electives I took engineering courses that were weighted (basically AP elective courses) in the Project Lead the Way program.

It was at this point, my freshman year of high school when my parents could no longer help me with my homework, and all of the activities took a toll. And whatever sheltered world my parents had created around me shattered. Suddenly going from volleyball practice to a piano lesson to a Girl Scout meeting and then staying up all night to do homework wasn't working. So, I quit Girl Scouts. And then softball. And then piano. And then volleyball. And with each activity that I gave up, my parents became disappointed and I began to avoid conversation with them as I knew it would most likely result in their desire for me to be that fifth grader who was capable of, and did, everything. And by the time I was fifteen, I didn't want to do everything. I wanted a life, something unstructured. But all that really resulted from that desire was my disinterest in doing anything academic.

I was in the gifted program, and I was in the same classes as everyone else whose parents had been as involved as mine were their entire lives. There were about thirty of us, we all took French in middle school and we were put in most of the same classes through our senior year of high school. It was during my junior year of high school where I spent the first semester really not doing much of anything in my AP English class. After I scored the highest on the mid-term in the class my teacher took me aside and told me how frustrated she was that I wasn't performing at the level she now knew I was capable of. My cover was blown by some essay about a sarcastic orchestra conductor - apparently the rest of the class didn't catch the tone of the piece we were supposed to analyze.

My senior year, we had do a project for AP Government that required we volunteer for the political campaigns and then write a paper about it. My teach wrote "flippant" next to my grade. I think it was a B, but that's all he wrote.

I recently came across an interim report card from that year, I had a D in English as a result of not turning things in...yet. I got them turned it before the actual report card went out. I'm still amazed at English teacher's willingness to let me turn things in late. I swear I didn't do half the assignments at the end of my junior year, and I went to school even after it was out and my teacher was still there because grades weren't due yet. I would sit at an extra computer in her classroom and do the assignments as she was grading others. She may read this and correct me, I may be wrong, but I swear she would ask me if I was going to do something and if I said yes she would just give me the class average.

Every year it was the same. Every teacher I have ever had that has talked to me for more than five minutes has told me to stop being such a "slacker." By the time I got to VCU, I had gotten by because I knew my teachers and for the most part, they liked me, but more importantly, they put up with me. Except for The Don - whom I will write about later. Anyway, these teachers, mostly English teachers knew I was capable and they did what they could to encourage me. And I'm still in touch with the important ones. When I got to VCU I had to take this awful class that was what they had instead of English 101. It was taught by people from various concentrations and I got stuck with this dude who was working on his Theater PhD or something, anyway he was an actor and we did not get along. He was always telling me that I need to expand things and that I needed to change my attitude and then he made the mistake of telling my class that he graded us based on what he thought we were capable of. So, when we got grades back and I knew that I had written something that was helluva lot better than the girl from Martinsville, Virginia who didn't know the meaning of ambiguous, but she got a better grade than I did, I was furious.

I'm fairly certain that this is why I flunked out of VCU, well part of it anyway. When you're depressed and motivated by liquor and crackers, and then you are getting your lowest marks in the subject that you are used to getting your highest marks - it's frustrating.

I basically started over last semester at the community college in Richmond. And I like it better. Apparently I do better in small classes where the professors know my name and I cannot hide, and my English professor has a PhD in English and gave me a 95 on my first paper. Fucking finally. I know this sounds terrible, but I don't think I've gotten a mark this high on anything since starting college. This was a three page paper that I wrote in about an hour. Perhaps her standards are just really low because it's community college, but whatever, I finally feel like that stupid fifth grader again. Then I got a 101 (with extra credit) on my first history test of the semester. And then I got an 83 (which is a B, but wouldn't have been in high school) on my first Statistics test, a test that I swear I had bombed.

I'm fairly certain that this is a direct result of my general contentment with where my life is right now. I finally live in a healthy environment. I have a fairly healthy relationship with my parents that was not at all possible when I lived at home, and they have stopped badgering me about my studies. I love my job and I'm writing more. But I still feel like this is a cheap joke and that next week my professors will announce that they graded all of those thing incorrectly and that 95 was supposed to be a 59. So, I'm not getting my hopes up, but I am reevaluating my expectations that I have for myself and have learned how to structure my time in a way that is healthy and not overwhelming, at least for me. My roommate saw my schedule and told me that it was insane, apparently making a color-coded excel sheet and putting it on the refrigerator is "OCD." Whatever, it works.

The Abridged Version

2010-06-09T14:10:00.001-04:00

HI!HI!HI!HI!HI!HI!HI!HI!

I have been away for much too long. Mostly because the past thirty days popped my bubble and then shook the bubble batter and then spilled it all over my favorite dress.

Perhaps a simpler way of saying this would be that the universe took a giant shit on me.

Or, it just kept throwing punches at me and each time I got up, I was right back down.

You get the point (and probably got it after the first metaphor).

In the past month my leasing company terminated my lease which then left me to find a new place to live in a matter of three weeks to avoid paying rent for the month of June. Then classes started. And I had to work. And I went to San Francisco because I had planned that trip well before any of this happened (I had a great time and will write about it later). Oh, and while I was in San Francisco the left side of my head started hurting as a result of an infection in one of wisdom teeth. Then when I got back I missed my first day of classes due to my dentist appointment, and then had my wisdom teeth out and had to move the following weekend - Memorial day weekend, the weekend that NO ONE was in town to help. And amidst the move I lost my computer because someone (Dad!) told someone else to put it under the seat of the Uhaul, but no one thought to tell me and I thought it was in my Dad's mini-van and then well, whatever, I got it back. And then the week after living in my new apartment and getting relatively settled, I dropped a box of stuff off at a thrift store and thought I'd look around for a new couch. I was in for twenty minutes and when I came out someone had left a huge dent in my rear bumper and broken the left side's lights, but there wasn't any plastic on the ground, weird. Like, they cleaned it up or something and didn't leave a note. My car was already shitty, but I liked that it didn't have any defining features. Ugh.

Anyway, all of that happened. And now I am driving my new roommate nuts with all my organizing and rearranging and insisting that our apartment look like two adults live here. Though, I do recognize the fact that most people, regardless of their age, do not care about cleanliness and neatness and orderliness as much as I do. I keep moving things to logical locations that allow all the space to be used as efficiently as I know how, and he keeps asking me where it went. His laffy taffy? On the top shelf of the pantry with all his other junk food - but really that makes up at least half of his diet. It's bizarre. And he is Vegan. And he does not cook or really eat vegetables, unless french fries and potato chips count. His diet aside, he is wonderful, mostly because he is putting up with my neuroses better than most. And he has a full-time job, and responsibility and dogs, and these are things that do not frustrate me, because it means he has a real life, with little free time, unlike my roommates of past. I love both of those girls, but it's kind of irritating living with someone who is unemployed and perfectly content with that because they're full-time students. How anyone is okay with being jobless is beyond me. How anyone has so much unstructured time and doesn't feel compelled to fill it with cooking and cleaning and organizing is also beyond me.

I would make an incredible assistant or secretary or lifecoach. Also, I pull of the hot-secretary look very well.

Also, yes, I live with a boy. My parents are understandably upset and have yet to meet him. He is straight-edge though, and that is something I had to explain to them, and after understanding that he does not drink alcohol they approved, sort of. Still, what are they supposed to tell people!? Nothing, because it isn't anyone's business. And by anyone, I mean everyone at their church that I can't stand - i.e. a lot of stay-at-home-moms who talk too much. HI, CHURCHLADIES!

My apartment will hopefully be done with all the rearranging and storing of excess things in the attic by the end of this week. I hope.

boobs aren't cheap

2010-05-12T00:08:00.001-04:00

Today at work my co-worker, Abigail, and a client and I were discussing our lingerie. It started with shoes. Abigail was wear a cute pair of Asics Tiger sneakers and I have a pair too, but she paid $30 for her's and mine were $85. She got her's on sale, because she unlike myself, goes shopping to go shopping and only buys things on sale or clearance or at one of the Ross/Marshall's/TJ Maxx type of stores.

I have tried this type of shopping, but it doesn't work. My mother turned me off to it by taking me TJ Maxx far too often growing up. This isn't to say that I don't occasionally go to this type of store, I do, but find that they are only good for kitchen items and shoes and occasionally pre-screened DVDs.

Abigail went on to say that she had just bought a bra for fifteen dollars. I do not think I have ever paid less than thirty dollars for a bra, ever. I mean, I wore training bras for far too long (this is relative, people) because I had an aversion to "triangle bras." Why? I don't know, I suppose it was before I realized what support was and how important it is and that the uni-boob look is never good, though excusable while exercising.

Seriously, the last bras that I bought were all $50+ on sale! But then, I was also the only eighth grader with a C-cup. And it wasn't a "C-cup" it was an almost D-cup.

I have tried to find bras at these clearance stores; they carry decent brands, but they never fit me right or have my size. My mother, like Abigail, does not have this problem. She also would prefer to get a "good deal" and then complain about a top shrinking. Very rarely do I have this problem and most of what I have I wear for awhile. I have pretty much been the same size since I was fifteen and can still wear those clothes, though I have recently been getting rid of them because I never wear them. My taste has changed.

My mother grew up being poor. She literally lived next to the train tracks, I have seen the house, and it is only a couple of yards away from the tracks. She went to Rose's and always had a job. She is the hardest working person I know. And she is fairly frugal, but is willing to spend money on things that she deems "classy." She considers J. Jill to be classy, but still thinks that she's getting a good deal when she guys a shirt that shrinks after the first wash.

My mother's day post is coming soon, probably tomorrow. But I cannot not think of her whenever the subject of bras or boobs come up, as she has never had a problem with either and in turn teases me about my problems and frequently suggests breast reduction as a viable option, followed by "get those things out of my way." Thanks, Mom!

Eviction Pt. 2

2010-05-10T15:54:00.001-04:00

Today, Anthea and I made our way down to our leasing office to ask what "non-remediable" offense we done. We waited for about half an hour before the leasing agent showed up to talk to us. And then, we weren't even invited back into the office, he just leaned across the receptionist's counter.

Me: Can you explain this to us?
Him: We want you out in thirty days.
Me: Yeah, got that part, but what did we do that went against the lease?
Him: You brought a dead rodent into the leasing office and told a couple not to rent with us. It's bad for business, and not matter how many times you say you're sorry, it's still non-remediable.
Me: Uh. Huh. Okay, but you didn't state that in the letter.
Him: Look, you can take us to court and this will turn into a long, drawn out process, or you can just move out.
Me: Will we be getting out deposits back?
Him: We will still sent someone over for a move-out inspection, so unless you trash the place, there shouldn't be a problem.
Me: That's all we wanted to know.

We don't really care that their reasoning for kicking us out isn't kosher, because I mean, we hate it here - especially during the renovations. If we cared to stay here we could probably take them to court, but we really just want our money back. And will wait until we have it back before we obnoxiously spread the word of how terrible they are. If I had known getting our of my lease was this easy, I would have found a dead mouse and used it to this advantage months ago.

We will be filing formal complaints with both the Better Business Bureau and the Health Department. And if I find anymore mice in my apartment, I'm going to take them to the leasing office again. Also the leasing agent is such a prick, he was so snide. How can anyone maintain any level of dignity and work for such a corrupt company?

Eviction Pt. 1

2010-05-07T23:19:00.001-04:00

This evening after work I came home to the Mormon magazines my dad has mailed to me and an envelope from my leasing company. Inside the envelope I was anticipating another memo regarding the renovations, but instead was a notice that read:

Dear Tenants,

This letter is to inform you that effective today, May 5, 2010, we are sending you a 30-Day Least Termination notice, per Section 21-D. You must vacate the apartment effective June 5, 2010.

If you have any questions, please feel free to contact our office. Thank you.
Section 21-D reads:

Non-remediable Violations. If Tentants(s) commit material noncompliance which is not remediable, Landlord may serve on Tenant(s) a termination notice stating that the Lease Agreement will terminate in thirty (30) days for the reasons stated terein without allowing Tenants(s) an opportunity to remedy such breach. If a breach of Tenant(s)' obligations under the Virginia law, or the Lease agreement, involves or constitutes a criminal or willful act, which is not remdiable and which poses a threat to health or safety, Landlord may terminate the Lease Agreement immediately by giving of and appropriate written notice.
Please note that in the letter they did not mention what I was being evicted for. This entire week has been so surreal - like something from a crappy comedy about a single woman who keeps running into problems in the new city and is looking for a better life, but needs to learn to appreciate the life she has and takes down a company along the way to discovering herself. I mean, they have no reasonable explanation for my eviction. I have only paid my rent late once, and that was because I thought I had three business days, but it's actually three regular days and I paid the fee and everything was taken care of that day. As far as I know, no one has ever complained about me and until this week I haven't had excessive problems with my appliances and despite the roach infestation, I can't complain.

In the last year I have learned way too much about roaches. And I have found that a 3:1 ratio or boric acid to cocoa works really well for getting rid of the vermin. Also, there are a lot of species and at least five of those live in my building. I could work at one of those bug zoos - also, I have the appropriate shorts for such a job. They are khaki and I wear them all the time.

I have wanted out of my least pretty much since I moved in and now they are kinda, sorta, doing me a favor by "terminating my lease" only five days after I give them my 90 days notice. So to get this straight:

-My roommate and I gave them the required notice to discontinue our lease.

-I called and visited the leasing office repeatedly this week to resolve various issues that resulted from renovations, nothing that I did.

- Received a letter kicking me out without an explanation.

I spent a great deal of time tonight looking up reviews of the company and most of which were negative, and the positive ones were so obviously not real it was pathetic. I then moved to the Better Business Bureau and found that this particular company was graded an F and there were 56 complaints filed in the past 36 months.

Yeah, I'm going to be spending a good portion of Monday in the leasing office waiting to talk to either the manager or the owners of the company. And I will be moving out by June fifth, and I will be taking them to court. And I will win.

Renovations Pt. 3

2010-05-07T15:04:00.001-04:00

I am losing my mind.

I am honestly going to commit some sort of crime that will be excused because of my insanity.

The renovations have done nothing but inconvenience my life.

So, since they've started, everything that could go wrong went wrong this week:

1. The AC broke
2. Dead mouse
3. Broken window
4. BROKEN REFRIGERATOR.

Mind you, there was nothing wrong with my apartment before, except for the occasional brown bug - but I can deal and have dealt for a year. I understand that my leasing company is out to make money, and part of that means getting tax deductions for "renovating" hundreds of apartments. This week though, this week has been a complete nightmare.

And then there's that whole starving student thing. I had enough food to hold me over until I get paid on Tuesday, but with the exception of the vodka and thinmints, everything else in the fridge and freezer was thrown away. For dinner last night I made guacamole and had my friend bring chips. And today my coworker bought me lunch, so I'll pay her back.

My parents have done renovations to their house while I was growing up. And never in my life were things this stressful. I have had strange men, most of whom have bad teeth (I have a thing about teeth, I have a difficult time trusting people with gaps) and I had no say in the times they work in my apartment. So, unless I've had class or been at work, I have been sitting on my couch because I'm paranoid that one of these dudes will raid my vinyl collection and I'll have to buy it back on Ebay. Or steal my laptop, but even that has been with me most of the time, just because of this reason. It's not with me today, and I'm worrying about it. Luckily my roommate is home, so it should be fine.

But I don't have any real food except for maybe some french-cut green beans and rice. I can't even make a grilled cheese sandwich. It is Friday though, I don't really need anything except vodka and thinmints anyway.

Running Through Walls

2010-05-06T13:05:00.002-04:00

I know that I posted the 'Walls' video two posts ago, but I'm posting it again. This time with an explanation.

Among my all time favorite bands, and mind you my musical taste is always growing is the band Shout Out Louds. I love them. All of them. All of their albums. All of their songs.

I saw them for the first time this past Sunday, it was a long time coming. I reviewed the show for The Vinyl District (it will be up tomorrow) and I interviewed Adam Olenius and Bebban Stenborg for RVA Magazine (that's coming later as well). They are more charming than I had anticipated. And Adam is much taller than those videos give him credit for.

Anyway, 'Walls.' 'Walls' is one of those songs that I just cannot stop listening to.

Walls lyrics:

You know it, there's a a wall and you just run through it.
You had too much to drink, and all those telephone bills...but it's worth it.
Victoria, I just knew I'd end up in Victoria.
I took too many pills, and wrote my will just to get to you.

I need a pencil, a piece of paper, a lock and a cage.
It feels so much better now, getting rid of my rage.
I'm suspicious. I'm suspicious and can't keep my mind straight.
I see them when I sleep, nowadays, so sleep now and go.

It's so new now, being the one building all the roads.
Can't wait to crack all of your codes.
Learn how to ally, allies who know how to love.
And show you how it looks up there, it looks like a bug, so go.

Whatever they say, we're the ones building walls.
Whatever they say, we're the ones who never say no.
To get to know yourself, you gotta run away.
Never trust anyone, so run away, run, run, run.

- Adam Olenius

This is exactly where I am in my life right now. But don't misinterpret the last stanza, I don't think it's really about running away from things as much as it's about finding out what those things are and changing them.

I know I need to write more. I know that I need to read more, travel more, be more. I know that I have a lot of things about myself that are going to change on their own and other parts that I will have to be more proactive in changing.

I really need to become better at editing my own work. Luckily, I have a friend who has volunteered to do that for me. And if he has anything to say about my life (and he does), I should be done writing a best-seller sometime next year. So, between semesters, I will be writing, a lot. And he will be telling me that it's all complete shit and to change this and to "lift" that.

Renovations Pt. 2: I want my old Apartment back

2010-05-05T16:31:00.001-04:00

This past Sunday I woke up to an apartment that was 88 degrees. Inside. It was hotter in my apartment than it was outside. And this was after they installed the new AC units. I wasn't home most of Sunday and my leasing company's office isn't open on Sunday, so I waited until Monday to call and complain. Apparently my apartment is not the only one with this issue, and apparently my leasing company doesn't care enough to check out who they hire, because the dude that installed mine and about three other units (not Ed) wasn't certified or something. AWESOME! So Anthea and I have had the front and back doors open for most of the time we've been home since this weekend.

I really wouldn't care that much about how hot it is if I could just hang out naked in my apartment, but I can't. There have been random dudes in and out of my apartment every day this week. And I am just not that open. So, I've been dealing with the heat, and the random dudes.

Monday we were told that we should go ahead and clean out all the cabinets because they were going to be replaced on Tuesday as well as all the appliances in the kitchen. Then we got told that we were also going to have everything replaced in our bathroom the same day. At first, I was excited about this because it meant that I was going to be rid of all these dudes sooner.

Silly, me.

While I was cleaning out the cabinet under my kitchen sink, I found a dead mouse. This is the second dead mouse I have found in my apartment this month and the third mouse overall this month. This is not cool. I mean, I already have to deal with roaches. I don't need mice.

Aside: I do think that mice are cute, and they have been my favorite animal since I was a toddler and got a Fischer-Price stuffed animal Christmas mouse every year.

So, I put the mouse in a container and saved it. Tuesday, all the construction workers came into my apartment and sawed and drilled and generally made a mess, and after class I took the mouse down to the leasing office.

Me: I would like to speak with (the owner's of the leasing company who happen to live two blocks from me).
Bitchy Receptionist (who used to get her hair done at my salon): They aren't here.
Me: Yes, they are. Their car is parked outside. They drive that Lincoln SUV.
BR: That's none of your business.
Me: Well, I know they're here. If they aren't available, fine, but don't lie to me.
BR: They are unavailable.
Me: Well, I would like a maintenance request/complaint form.
(She brings me one)
Me: Can you make sure that they get this? (I pass her the container)
BR: Sure, what is it...Oh, what a cute, poor little fellow...
Me: You must not live in one of their properties.
BR: That is also none of your business.
Me: You wouldn't think it was cute if it was the third one you'd found in your apartment in a month.

When I got home, I pulled up right as a leasing agent and an interested couple were parting ways. I waited until the leasing agent was out of hearing range and word vomited all over that couple. I told them everything negative that I have experienced in the last year of living here. I'm pretty sure I talked them out of leasing with my company, at least I hope so. I wish I had been so lucky as to have someone tell me not to rent with them last year.

When I got inside I saw that they were done with the bathroom and kitchen, but nothing was really different. I mean, yeah, there were new things, but it isn't impacting my life in a positive way. This whole thing has been a headache. A huge, fucking headache - a migraine. My bathroom now has new everything, but it's exactly the same as the old stuff - still a white toilet, but one with a plastic seat instead of the heavier kind; still a pedestal sink; still a claw-foot tub, but this one has been re-varnished. The kitchen has a new fridge but it's still a 3/4 sized one and there wasn't anything wrong with the old one. We have a new stove, but instead of a drawer on the bottom of it, we have a broiler - so there's storage space lost. And the cabinets are new, but aren't as deep as the old ones, and they didn't replace the small cabinet/counter that used to be on the other side of our fridge, so where we used to have a place to store baking sheets, set our mixer and toaster, and had a drawer for utensils - we don't. So now I have to figure out where to put this stuff. I haven't tried the dish washer yet, the old one didn't work as well as I would have liked it to, and I've gotten used to hand washing dishes, so I probably won't use the new dish washer.

Do you have a headache? Because I do. That wasn't a metaphor. I really do have a headache.

Today they started working on our porch. And our specific part of the porch has had a huge hole over it since December. I have complained about it repeatedly since then and it has slowly grown larger. It started as three small holes last summer and finally the whole thing just fell through Sunday. So now I have strange dudes hanging out tearing down asbestos and lead infested paint and plaster - so I can't open my porch door. And to my delight, after I got home from a meeting today and had settled into my couch and computer when one of the panes of my porch door breaks. One of the workmen had bumped into it with a 2x4. I go out and ask about them fixing it. One, who did not do the breaking tells me that he'll do it within the hour.

He comes in and is picking out pieces of glass and stripping paint off pieces of wood and constantly pulling his shirt down because his fly is down. I pretended not to notice. Anyway, so we're talking and he's fixing my door and we're discussing the type of people that live in my building now versus when I moved in. AND apparently there are not only strippers above me, but also across the hall and a prostitute in #11! Apparently the prostitute was very unhappy with strange men coming in and out of her apartment...so she gave them half off.

They guy fixing my door said that he found this out from another worker who took her up on the deal! AGHHHHHHHHHHHH! Twenty-five dollars. TWENTY-FIVE DOLLARS! That's all she charged! I'm already hated by everyone in my building because I'm that bitch who asks them to be quiet at two in the morning on weekdays, so I was really considering asking her if it was true. I mean, I'm really curious. I want to know how she got to the point in her life where she will fuck the Mexican day-laborers for $25. Seriously? If you're going to sell yourself, don't be so cheap. And fuck businessmen, and charge them hundreds of dollars, if not thousands. Now, I don't have any experience in the sex trade, but I wouldn't fuck someone so cheaply. I would hang out in yuppie bars, find a really drunk one, go home with him, take all his cash and credit cards and be on my way - you know, take total advantage of the John. Or hotel bars, or something. I mean, hasn't she ever seen Secret Diary of a Call Girl?

(If you're Mormon, you probably shouldn't watch this, it's cause to speak with your bishop and go through the steps of repentance.)

Twenty. Five. Dollars. You charge more than $25 for that.

I don't care if it's not true, it's still the most pathetic thing I've ever heard.

I mean, damn, I thought people paid more than that for head.

August cannot come fast enough.

The Undeserving

2010-05-03T23:11:00.001-04:00

I drive around in the car that my parents bought me with the insurance money they were given after I got into an accident in the car that they had previously given me. While I drive, I put the windows down and turn the music up as loud as it will go. The music comes from a black ipod that was bought for me by a friend for my birthday after I stupidly left my old one, that I saved up for an entire summer to buy, in my car - that was when I found out that the locks didn't work all the time.

Sometimes when I'm driving around in the bubble that I've created, I come to stop lights and intersections. At these places are men and women two, three times my age with signs. Written on those signs are questions, thoughts, sometimes the single word "help."

I'm not a religious person, and I wasn't even raised Catholic, but I've adopted that cross thing that they do. And while I'm avoiding eye contact, I look up to the God that may or may not exist, but I believe in, and I do that cross thing and think to myself how good I've got it.

Those men and women have lived longer than I, and they've probably worked harder and experienced things that I may never experience, both good and bad. When the light turns green I think of the granola bar that I keep in my glove compartment and how I should have given it to them, but it's too late. Then I show up late to wherever I'm going, somewhere that requires me to have money, gas money, ticket money, food money - money. Disposable income. Money that I can spend freely on whatever I choose, because I earned it, because I'm fortunate enough in my twenty years to have both a job and parents who make up the difference.

Today I looked at studio apartment in a clean building that didn't have roaches or mice, and there was a diverse population in both age and ethnicity that lived in the building. I looked at this building because I like nice things, and while I don't consider my upbringing to be particularly luxurious, I wasn't poor and I've never known real hunger. I have gone to the dentist every six months my entire life, and when I get sick I don't have to worry about absurd premiums. And when the crazies start to creep in, I can pay someone to listen to my demons. And when something doesn't go my way, I can make a fuss until it does, because I wasn't told no very often.

And it's because I am not familiar with the word no that I am able to fumble my way around and maintain the level of comfort that I feel I deserve. But I don't, at all. And that is really scary.

I'm trying to earn it.

2010-04-30T22:14:00.002-04:00

Dear Universe,

I would really appreciate it if you would quit teasing me. I mean, I'm a social person, I put myself out there. I mean, I put out. And I am fully capable of meeting the following type of boy:

Boys in cities other than the one that I live in
Boys in relationships
Boys that travel constantly
Boys that live with their parents
Boys that don't have cars
Boys that don't have jobs
Boys that like boys

But I would like to meet someone with the following:

A car, job and a home not shared with any family members. It's a plus if he lives by himself. One that has a job, but doesn't travel every other week. And a boy that is not at all involved with anyone else. AND LIVES IN RICHMOND. And one that likes girls and only girls - fine if he had that one experience freshman year, but he should have it all out of his system.

I know that seems like an impossible list, but surely there has to be someone like that in this godforsaken city. I mean, really. I didn't even get to physical preferences ( 6'+, not blond hair, and it would be nice if all of my clothing was too small for him). And it would be nice if her were into music, has some athletic ability, and bathes on a regular basis. If he enjoys bourbon, red wine and watching bad tv that would be nice too. I also like dudes who look good in jeans and suits and know when it is appropriate to kiss in public.

But above all, the single-straight-in-Richmond part it the most important. And maybe that bit about kissing. I'm usually against PDA, but I had a poster of "Kissing the War Goodbye" on my wall at my parent's house in high school. And I fell asleep wishing to be that nurse a lot of nights, and it's all so horribly pathetic and romantic, and I have been kissed like that exactly once. I want it to happen again.

Sincerely,

Amanda Jewell Pittman

P.S. If this means I have to stop kissing in general for awhile, I could do that. I need to learn self-control anyway.

I go to shows to dance

2010-04-28T12:09:00.001-04:00

I went to a concert last night. Not Phoenix, but Frightened Rabbit in DC because someone was kind enough to put me on the list. So, I get there during Maps and Atlases. And there are these three fat girls between me and the stage.

I was told that after I had lived in Richmond that I would become racist, that hasn't happened. I still think that people's economic situations are more relevant to their behavior than their race is. My only prejudice is against fat people. This is not to be confused with overweight people.

Overweight people are your friends, they don't suck at life, they dance at shows and they dress well. Fat people, are the opposite. I mean, would you call anyone that you like fat? No, because it's a mean thing to say. And I know I'm being mean right now.

Anyway, I am the biggest Frightened Rabbit fan I know, that is not borderline stalker (Eric, I'm looking at you). I saw them for the first time backstage at the Black Cat two years ago and fell in love. And I for some reason have not bought a ticket to see them ever, that first show I was reviewing (because Oxford Collapse was also playing) and then when they played Inauguration weekend I, like the show last night, wasn't anticipating a sell out, and talked my way in. Anyway, they were incredible last night, and the fat girls in front of me kept complaining about my dancing and screaming.

Dude. Really. We're at a fucking show. Manners don't exist and if I haphazardly run into you, I'm not sorry, because we're at a show and you should be moving too. These three chicks occasionally moved their heads, but mostly made me hate them more each time one of them took a turn to go get drinks and another would give me a look and say "my friend is coming back" or "my friend is back." It's a general admission show! People move. Get over it.

Also, to my left was a couple that was obviously in high school. They didn't move either. And they only knew songs off The Winter of Mixed Drinks. And the girl kept looking at me like I was insane. I went to shows in high school and I danced my fucking brains out. I was that annoying girl in high school now I'm just that annoying dancing girl who's still not 21, when is she turning 21?

I also drank a redbull as soon as I got there, and I'm not someone who consumes caffeine very often. A redbull does to me what a couple lines would do to someone else. So, I was super "jumpy" as Eric said.

I didn't even push to the middle, I was already so close that I didn't need to push any further forward, but my friend is not as aggressive as I am at shows. I can only imagine what the fatties would have passive aggressively said not-so-under-their-breaths if I had done that.

I have been to shows where short people have said to me and whomever I was with that we were too tall to be in front of them. I would really liked to have said something along the lines of, "you are taking up too much horizontal space..." but somehow that's not yet socially acceptable. I could go on about fat people in other areas of life, but I'll save it for another post.

Cartwheel Fail!

2010-04-26T23:25:00.001-04:00

"I'm running late. I may or may not have fallen..."

"You are too old to be scraping your knees."

"Drinking wine and then doing cartwheels is a bad idea."
"Duh."
"But I'm usually coordinated enough to do relatively simple, fun tasks on whims."

"Did you skin your knee?"
"And my hands."
"How did you do that?"
"I did a cartwheel that started on the grass and ended on the sidewalk."
"Was there alcohol involved?"
"Yes..."

"Well I wasn't sure what was happening. One minute you were walking beside me, the next you were like, falling in slow motion, and I couldn't do anything at that point."

"My knee! Watch the knee!"

"How does my face look?"

"Beautiful."

There was this one time, not at all related to the above, where my sister thought it was a good idea to do a cartwheel on my bed and got her foot stuck in the wall. Unfortunately we have neither cartwheel incident on video, so I found this instead.

And this:

I hate running.

2010-04-26T15:19:00.001-04:00

My ass is sore. I would ask someone for an ass massage, but I don't think that would go over very well, though I can think of a couple of people who would probably oblige.

I am not a runner. I hate running; probably more than any other thing that I have ever done. Sprint? Sure! Hike? Great! Walk? For hours! Run? No.

I grew up playing softball and volleyball. Neither sport requires long distance running, though I did have the occasional coach who thought it necessary to lead us on several mile runs after we lost a game (and for the record I hated her, and she was a terrible coach aside from those runs and she was no match for her predecessor). I also used to go to the gym when I lived with my parents. I can stay on an elliptical all day. But "running" a mile on the elliptical is not the same as running a mile outside. That machine totally lies. I used to go to the gym and do an hour on the elliptical before making my way around to the other machines, and it wasn't a problem.

I have been making an effort as of late to take better care of my body. I already eat fairly healthfully and stretch, and hula hooping (it totally counts as exercise). I went for an interval jog on Friday. I ran a block, walked a block down to a local lake then walked around the lake and ran/walked the way back. It was easier on the way back, so I did it again on Saturday. And, it totally kicked my ass. It doesn't help that I'm bad at breathing - that sounds stupid, I know, but really I think that I lack the lung capacity to breath correctly while running. This is something I really need to work on.

I have no intention to run a marathon or participate in any sort of race. I would just like to develop some level of endurance, of which I currently, apparently, have none.

On Sunday, instead of going for my walk/run I went for a walk with my very pregnant sister. She is six feet tall, and prior to her pregnancy her strides were something my 5'7" couldn't always keep up with. Sunday she kept telling me to slow down, something I'm used to hearing from my shorter, slow friends, but not from her, and I know it's wrong - she is pregnant, but this is probably the only time that I will ever be faster than her at anything. She, in addition to volleyball, played soccer and ran track, so whenever I've complained about running she has always had something to say.

I have no intention of paying for a gym membership, and as I said, the gym is totally fake. So, slowly, but steadily, I'll hopefully be able to develop a respectable running habit. Though, I'm totally going to stop if certain parts of my body start to shrink. I like my body as is, I would just like to be able to run a mile without falling over after.

Renovations Pt. 1

2010-04-22T14:55:00.001-04:00

There are currently four dudes hanging out in my dining room replacing the furnace and A/C units. Which is awesome, but hugely inconvenient and uncomfortable. We have had maintenance issues before, mostly in the bathroom, and those maintenance guys have been great. One, Ed, and I saw each other so often last summer that I would just call him directly when there was a problem. It turned out that my upstairs neighbors were retarded and only put a liner on one side of their tub so the water that made it's way out the other side would collect and trickle down through the electric system and collect in the light in our bathroom. I finally asked them if I could see their bathroom to see if I could figure out what the deal was, and when I saw that, I politely asked them to get another liner for the other side of the tub. Stupidstupid girls.

Anyway, Ed. He got to the point where he would call me and vent. I think he started to think of me as a surrogate daughter or something. He was about my dad's age, and was also a Viet-Nam veteran and his contracting business had gone under with the recession so he started working for my leasing company to make ends meat.

While I was on vacation with my family I got a call from Ed's ex-wife asking for Rachel (or Anne?). Apparently Ed and his daughter were estranged and his ex saw the area code and thought that maybe my number was his daughter's. He died of heart failure. I wasn't able to make it to the funeral. No one has been as reliable or informed as he was.

The main guy working on the HVAC stuff reminds me of Ed, but is not quite as conversational. And the other dudes are all Hispanic and don't speak English well, and ogle me when I leave my room. This is only the beginning of the renovations for my apartment. They started renovations on all of the buildings on my block a couple months ago and the various plumbing and roofing trucks have been taking up all the space in the parking lot. It's now to the point where we can't park there at all. And supposedly we'll have all new appliances by the end of the month and a new tub (while I like the current claw-foot tub, it's not quite long enough for me to fully enjoy taking a bath) and sink in the bathroom.

I find it interesting that this is what my leasing company is "fixing" because the only complaints that I've had since moving in have been vermin related. Though, I've been pretty good at dealing with that problem on my own, it would be nice if the leasing company hired an exterminating company. Oh, and my neighbors. The ones across the hall and the ones upstairs are so loud, ALL THE TIME. I should not have the television on and still be able to hear my neighbors across the hall or outside. I'm pretty sure Richmond has no idea what common sense or common courtesy are.

I would gladly go without a new refrigerator and dishwasher if they just got rid of the bugs and replaced the plaster walls with sheet rock and put in double-paned windows. Really, people, you have no idea what a luxury double-paned windows are. With my luck everything will be done by the time I move out and I won't even get a chance to sort of enjoy it.

I think I can...

2010-04-21T21:48:00.001-04:00

The semester is ending, summer is approaching, and I'm totally not having summer this year. I'm determined to just get this shit, i.e. school, over with. So, I'm taking sixteen credits. I'm already freaking out about next semester and I'm not even done with this one. AND I have ton of stuff left to do. Ugh. So this weekend, I had previously planned on driving to Chapel Hill to see Frightened Rabbit (because the DC date is sold out and I'm going to see Phoenix that day anyway). This is kind of a big deal. I once drove to Philly and back in one night to see a show. This isn't unusual behavior for music nerds, but to normal people who don't get pissed when their favorite band(s) don't play their city.

Anyway, my point is that I'm attempting to be studious and giving up something that I love (A LOT, I saw them three times at SXSW) in exchange for something incredibly boring.

I have two, not one, but TWO friends who are graduating a year early from college and going to grad school this fall. They will be 22 with master's degrees. And I'm totally throwing a pity-party, my apologies, but I wish that I was as motivated as they are regarding academia.

I really want a degree in something Mass. Comm. related, but am starting to think that if I could just power through (and perhaps develop an addiction to Adderall) and get a degree in English or PoliSci and then get a master's in another city in something Mass. Comm. related. It would be more economical. That's what I'm telling myself, for now.

Even if the people here are terrible drivers, and generally incompetent, I've made it this long, I can tough it out a while longer.

On Being Christlike

2010-04-17T17:36:00.001-04:00

My sister April and I are very similar in a lot of ways and quite opposite in others (politics, for example). Last night she came over and while we were downloading CD's to my computer to put on her ipod because her computer's disc drive is broken, we were Facebook stalking people(that we totally don't make fun of). YOU KNOW YOU DO IT TOO.

We are totally going to hell.

Anyway, upon seeing one picture:

(Someone thought that they were being creative. They thought wrong.)

Me: Do you see that?
April: The window treatment?
Me: Yes.
April: It's terrible.
Me: That's what they did at some church activity about living within your means.
April: Yeah, and the other roommates are too busy trying to be Christlike to tell them how bad it is.

We have given up on trying to be Christlike, I mean my sister is a Republican. And Christ was totally a Socialist (Hello bread and fish parable!). I'm a Libertarian, so I'm like halfassing the whole Christlike thing.

I apparently made one of my youth leaders cry after commenting on her dress. Another leader told me about it later. I would feel bad, but she totally dresses better now. Though, I have since learned to be more tactful. I think. I'm probably in denial about that.

Among Other Things

2010-04-08T02:13:00.001-04:00

I had the following exchange Sunday morning. My friend who was crashing at my place is Jewish and had complained about his roommate who kept texting him Easter related things. He also made me watch part of some basketball game Saturday night. Apparently my lack of interest in televised sports is a character flaw.

Dude: Do you know what today is?
Me: The day Jesus rose from the grave?
Dude: No. It's the first day of baseball season.

I should probably start feigning interest in sports more. It's not that I don't like them, I do like them, I would just rather be watching them in person. I can only watch volleyball and figure skating on tv and sometimes Premier League Football (because of all the faux-Europeans I know in DC) and sometimes swimming, but that's only men's swimming. Have you ever met a male swimmer that was out of shape? Exactly.

And tonight I met with a classmate to work on our project for PoliSci. We had never really talked before and we ended up talking for awhile. He uses Linux. And is an only child. And knows a hell of a lot more about what's going on in Gaza right now than I do. Our project is about that particular conflict, more specifically Ehud Barak, but that's all beside the point. We were talking about parties in Richmond, or how loud the Fan is or something when this exchange happened:

Dude: My neighbor called the cops on me the other night...
Me: That's odd, what for?
Dude: Acetone doesn't burn at a very high temperature......
Me: ...
Dude: ...it's not like gasoline...
Me: I have no idea what you are going on about.
Dude: I set this dude on fire..
Me:..
Dude: Well not really him, but his pants.
Me: I can't tell if you're being serious or not.
Dude: It was acetone, he was fine, I've done it before.

Umm...hilarious? Awesome?

And then I went to see the Screaming Females and Antlers, but it was sold out. At Gallery 5. The place has a capacity of 150, but I have been there several times before and it has never had more than fifty people in attendance. People in Richmond never pay for shows unless it's something huge at The National. And even then, if it sells out before the day of it's because people from everywhere except for Richmond bought tickets after the show in their city sold out (think Spoon, Wilco, Morrissey, My Bloody Valentine, etc.). Anyway, bummer.

So I went to my sister's to pick up the remainder of my laundry that I had started at her house earlier today. And she, being with child, decided to read to me from all the check-lists and pamphlets her doctor had given her. She has decided to have a natural birth.

April: Ten centimeters? Why is that the magic number? I don't want to start pushing until eleven.
Me: Well, that's roughly five inches, and that's about the diameter of a baby's head.
April: No. Have you seen my head? My baby is going to have a big head.
Me: But what about your husband?
April: No, my head has always been big. Have you seen my baby pictures? My baby is going to have a big head.
...
April: Mom is going to want to be in the room.
Me: I thought you didn't want her there.
April: It's going to be your job to remove her when I get annoyed.
...
April: Having a kid is going to be so hard.
Me: Are you just now realizing this?
April: Yes. Do you want it?
Me: No. I am quite happy being childless at the moment.
April: Oh.
Me: Why did you want one?
April: I thought it would be fun.
Me: No way. It's going to be hard and terrible. But kids are the opportunity to put the best of yourself into the world.
April: That's true. Who told you that?
Me: No one. That's why I want to have kids, one day.

Everyone in my immediate family will be a parent by the end of this year except for me. Currently I don't want to have kids until I'm at least thirty. April keeps telling me that I'll change my mind in an effort to "catch up" with my siblings. This may end up being true. I am younger than all of them by at least eight years - my whole life has been an attempt to catch up with them. It hasn't mattered though. To them I will always be five, or at least the age they were when they moved out.

I also want to spend my twenties moving every couple years. I mean, I grew up in the same house for the first eighteen years of my life, I should see something different. The life I want, or have slightly planned in no way includes other people. I want to be out or Richmond by 2012, and hopefully move to Austin, but that as well as everything else is tentative. Maybe I'll move to Topeka and write about Westboro Baptist Church, or to Tombstone and be a tour guide at the OK Corral, or Montreal and learn Canadian French, or Stolkholm and form a Swedish-pop band, or to Sicily and drunkenly marry a beautiful man who doesn't speak English, or to Russia and drink lots of vodka and pretend to be Julie Christie in Dr. Zhivago, or to Fiji because I don't know anyone who has ever been there, or Iceland just to be the new girl.
Or anywhere and be Julie Christie. You should Netflix Billy Liar, especially if you're a Morrissey fan.

"She's crazy, she just enjoys herself."

Story of my life:

Four Days

2010-04-08T01:59:00.001-04:00

I am a terrible roommate in that I am really particular about everything. I am getting better though, now I wait a couple of days before mentioning the dirty saucepan that may or may not still be on the stove. My roommate is a far better person than I am, but she doesn't notice anything. Ever.

This is why I'm a bad person: I sometimes will not do dishes or leave messes in hopes that she will notice.

This past weekend, I didn't do dishes for FOUR DAYS. And then, after FOUR DAYS, she complained to me that they were starting to smell. I did them. But the smell is still there. I have searched for rotting things, there were none to be found. The trash has been taken out. The smell is still there. She tried cleaning the disposal, and nothing.

I told my sister and she says that something has died in out plaster walls. I have several friends who have had this happen to them, and it wouldn't surprise me at all. Someone should just burn all these buildings down and start over. And then rebuild them exactly as they were, but you know, with modern materials. And double-paned windows. And multiple cabinets in the kitchen.

Airport Departure: Part 3

2010-03-23T05:46:00.001-04:00

At four o'clock in the morning the last thing I want anyone to do is talk to me, let alone have anyone "joke" with me. No, absolutely not. I haven't eaten anything, I didn't get a full nights sleep, and it sure as hell was not in my bed. I swear, if someone so much as looks at me the wrong way this morning, I am going to punch them in the face.

(I don't actually ever punch anyone, but I say that a lot. It's cathartic.)

I don't hate this person from Richmond, but I would never have chosen to travel with them on purpose. Last night he went on about how I look for dramatic situations to place myself in as to keep myself amused. This is not true. This shit happens. For example, the absurdity of the past twenty-four hours. He misinterpreted me from over a year ago, I hate it when people claim to "hate drama." No one "hates drama" because their lives would be fucking boring if there were no shred of drama in it.

Anyway, I am fully capable of reflecting on my life all by myself and last night's psychoanalysis was unwelcome, but mostly because of the person it was coming from. I almost wish I had cared enough to return the favor.

Today's security line was nonexistent. We got here over an hour ahead of time, and there was no line. There was not a single person ahead of us. Do you understand? I waited in a line yesterday that was like a mile long, and today, NOTHING. At least I still have internet access and can vent uninterrupted without anyone telling me to feel better. Everyone needs to vent, and yeah, I've vented a lot, but would too in my situation, or want to, or maybe not. Maybe you're a better person than I am. Maybe. I doubt it though. If you had spent twelve hours in an airport yesterday without the promise of going anywhere, you would probably hate everyone within sight too.

In the mean time, this is kind of making me feel better.

My flight leaves in less than an hour. I will be home, to my empty fridge and overflowing recycling in about six hours!

Airport Departure: Part 2

2010-03-22T23:16:00.001-04:00

After waiting a few more hours, a friend (frenemy? acquaintance? we are incapable of being nice to each other) from Richmond showed up. And guess what?! He was stuck too! Yay!

Then. THEN! A friend (ex-ish) showed up from DC. I haven't spoken to him for a couple of months. Or, I should say, he hasn't spoken to me because he's been in Mexico, or Austin - his family lives here, but they are from Mexico, and he's been with them for various reasons and kind of disappeared. The last I had heard was a letter, a note really, about how he was sorry, but had stuff going on, here is your Magnetic Fields ticket. So, seeing him was completely unexpected.

Everyone was flying out of Austin, to Atlanta, out of my gate. Including Louis C.K. He was shorter than I had though he would be, but cuter, too.

I made more calls, caught up with my sisters, and boy 3. And then after being told that there were no more flights leaving for Atlanta until tomorrow morning my Richmond Friend told me he was getting a room at a nearby hotel and that if I didn't want to stay at the airport I could crash there. Whew!

Unfortunately, my dad called...again. And then my mom. Both felt the need to berate me for "staying with a stranger," I'm not sure where this idea came from, but I was tired of dealing with them and so I hung up. They have called since and left messages that I have not and probably won't listen to. To them I will be perpetually twelve years old.

The hotel had a "happy hour" with free chips, dip, veggies and beer. It was everything you needed to throw a shitty party, but it was free and I was hungry. And after making my roomie watch Gossip Girl we went to Denny's. Denny's. That family restaurant that I associate with drunk assholes in the old part of Woodbridge off Route 1. Well, they have one here, and it was just as shitty, but they had milkshakes so I was fine.

Now, I have a bed, and a wake-up call for 3:45 am. Hopefully, I'll be at home by noon tomorrow. I will be home, to my apartment in twelve hours! TWELVE HOURS! I love Austin, but I love my bed more. Goodnight!

P.S. Just got a text from my dad: "R u safe call me"

P.P.S "Call me when you get this message:

P.P.P.S "Where r u and who r u with?"

Maybe I'm not twelve, maybe sixteen and staying out past curfew.

Airport Departure: Part 1

2010-03-22T15:03:00.001-04:00

I am sitting in the airport in Austin, Texas. I am at the same gate that I was at seven hours ago. The same gate that my 6:55 am flight left from. The same flight that I missed due to the longest security line I have ever seen. Guys, I'm from Washington, DC, the capital of security. I mean, really, this line was out the door, down a block or so and then back again. Over an hour in a security line, and now I'm stranded in this airport, at this gate, where there is a woman wearing pajamas waiting for a standby flight for herself and her 16 month old son. The pajamas. Ohdeargod, sure this isn't 1964, I don't expect people to dress up, but pajamas in public are unacceptable.

Really, I don't care that much, but am projecting my frustration towards her. And the Delta worker's makeup. One lady had on an awful shade of reddish-brown eyeshadow on, but only had it on half of the eyelid and did not blend it with anything. Another lady lined her lips in a similar shade, but filled it in with a shimmery pink. Ugh. Unless you're Middle Eastern, you probably don't have the complexion to wear those shades appropriately.

I wish it was 1964 and all the stewardesses were still stewardesses and not flight attendants and were really good looking and wore those awesome uniforms designed by someone in the fashion industry and not someone who took sewing in Home Economics in the seventh grade. In my perfect world they would also be wearing fabulous shoes, and not flats with white socks.

I need a hug.

I couldn't sleep last night because I was worried about over sleeping. Then I had this awful dream about going to South by Southwest (SXSW), and in the dream I kept having horrible things happen to me that would have probably prevented me from going to SXSW, but in my dream I was intrepid and invincible and shameless - there was definitely a make-out break in my dream, you know, between car accidents and catastrophes. Apparently making-out is something that I value, a lot. (Hi, Dad. If you are reading this, please know that I only kiss Aryan looking, return missionaries who are officers in the Armed Forces.)

Anyway, I woke up well before my scheduled wake-up call, and tried to sleep some more, but it didn't work. Then the call came and then my phone's alarm went off. I was out the door by about 5:10 am. I walked to the bus stop where the Airport Flyer was supposed to pick me up, but it was late. I was trying to save money. I mean, the bus was only a dollar, a taxi would have been about thirty plus a tip. I should have made plans for the earlier bus, but I honestly thought an hour would be fine. I was sorely mistaken, and now, because I didn't pay full price for my ticket I am not a top priority.

I have talked to everyone this morning - my mom, dad, boy, other boy, girl, etc. And of course there is nothing that any of them can do except offer some level of empathy. My parents are worried, boy 1 was empathetic and in a different airport, boy 2 was in same airport but his flight was leaving on time, and girl has offered to pick me up in Richmond whenever I get back. It's too bad my brother is a pilot for American and not Delta, I don't know if he could do anything for my cause, but it would at least be a start. Here, I have nothing.

So, I have read and slept and paid eight dollars for internet access so that I didn't completely lose it. And now there is some dude who keeps looking at me. I want him to stop it.

I should probably start my SXSW write-ups or do some homework, but I am a zombie and in no condition to do anything productive.

Sorry, Dad, but umm...What?

2010-03-10T16:47:00.002-05:00

I find cussing to be funny in certain (most) contexts. My father does not. Recently my father has joined Facebook. And because I am a relatively nice daughter, he and I are friends, according to Facebook.

Now, I love my dad. He loves me, he worries about my well being, and because I have not turned out at all to be the person that he had hoped I would turn into when I was born, we don't always get along. And sometimes, a lot of the time, he does embarrassing things.

(This is a picture of my dad from this past Christmas. He bleached his hair and beard to look more like Santa.)

For example, when I started writing for a certain Web site two years ago, and I was going to help out at their relaunch party, he emailed them and accused them of "exploiting" his then eighteen year old daughter because I was writing for them and helping out at this party without pay. I was at a National's game with a twenty-five year old when I got a call from one of the editors at the Web site. It went something like this (and please keep in mind I had not yet met these people, all of our communication had been via email):

Dude: So, we just got an email from your dad...
Me: um...
Dude: Are you sure you can help on Saturday?
Me: Yes.
Dude: We don't want to be responsible for you getting into trouble or anything...
Me: I'm really sorry, my dad is kind of um...crazy, um...sometimes. And I'm sorry that you had to experience it before i got a chance to warn you.
Dude: Um...right. So, Saturday is still going to work?
Me: Yes.

This was also at a point in my life when my dad went through the phone bill and put the numbers of the people I had called into his phone. So, that twenty-five year old I was with got a call from my dad while we were at that game. I can't relay that conversation to you as I was not part of it, but this guy was not very happy about it. Apparently my dad offered him steak and was not happy to hear that he was vegetarian. Real men eat meat, or something.

After that call, I got a call from my dad asking when I would be home. I had made plans to go to said dude's house and cut his hair after the game, and my dad wanted me to bring this guy by the house...I went to this guy's house, cut his hair. He cried. And then at some point we ended up making out.

This was probably the most absurd day of my life.

Until about six weeks later, after my graduation when a 37 year old friend came by my house for the open house. We thought that it might be a good idea for my parents to meet someone that I spent time with when I went to DC, we were wrong.

So, my dad and this guy had this conversation:

Dad: So, how old are you?
Dude: 37.
Dad: Do you have any kids?
Dude: No.
Dad: Well, if you did, maybe they could hang out with Amanda.

Yeah, later that dude and I agreed that that was probably the stupidest idea either of us had ever had.

Two years prior to both of these events:

My friend, a guy-friend, who could drive, and I used to hang out quite a bit. I'm not really sure how we became friends, except that it was through a mutual friend. And before we met this group referred to me as "The Chunk" because when asked if I was skinny, my friend told them no. Which was true, and still is true, but I'm not chunky either. I have an upper and lower half that fit quite well together, in my opinion. Anyway, I embraced the nickname, and it became a joke thereafter.

This guy, he and I bonded over our atypically dysfunctional families and our nonconstructive ways of dealing with it. This was my sophomore year of high school and this was the year that I started having panic attacks regularly and seeing a "crazy doctor" for them.

One day he and I had made plans to get lunch and play pool at the local Hard Times Cafe. He picked me up, and my dad answered the door - with a knife. This wasn't the first time he had done this, he had pulled out a knife to scare one of my sisters' guy-friends (who is now gay) years before. My friend handled himself fairly well, and acted obliged to see the rest of my dad's collection. And when we finally left he went off about how crazy my dad is, and how the knives weren't even cool, all looked the same, and what kind of person does that? My dad, that's who.

This friend was also the person who, when in the middle of a panic attack gave me a cigarette to calm me down. It kind of worked. And we spent that afternoon smoking and sitting on an old sofa on some dead end in Manassas.

Well, this friend and I still have some undefinable relationship. He calls me a bitch and I tell him that I miss him. He points out something stupid that I said, and I tell him how happy I am to hear from him. It's just how we work.

Well, he commented on my Facebook profile picture a couple days ago and called me a "crazy bitch" to which I agreed. And left a comment saying so. My dad also saw this comment and was not happy about it, and left another comment about how he "would love to get his hands around (my friend's) throat." and how "please (his) family must be that he is so respectful of women." Then my friend retorted and mentioned the knife collection, and how "your daughter isn't ever going to bring anyone home..." Um...

Facebook notified me about these comments at the same time. So, like four hours too late. Luckily my dad did not see the retort. I can only imagine what sort of reply that would have induced.

I called my dad last night to attempt some level of understanding. It didn't work. He doesn't understand why or when it would be funny or appropriate to call someone a bitch, dick, prick, asshole, slut, whore, pussy, etc. My relating a story about me and my sister April and how we call each other those names all the time didn't help. Now he thinks that I don't have any self-respect.

So, umm...all those times growing when I've tried to explain to people about my dad, they always think that I'm exaggerating. I'm not.

blubbering

2010-03-05T00:20:00.001-05:00

I went to a show a last night and knew(ish) the drummer of one of the bands playing. We chatted for awhile before he asked me if I had seen the movie 'And Education' - random. Of Course I had. He went on to specify where and when I saw the movie. Apparently he was working the projector for that particular showing. And he saw me, bawling my eyes out and waiting for the rest of theater to empty. I was aware of someone looking at me at the time, but wouldn't dare look at that person while my face was decorated in hives and wet with tears. Embarrassing.

We didn't discuss why I cried. Thankgod.

I had dinner with some friends that night, and came down with an awful migraine. I spent about half of dinner in the bathroom where the window was open and the cool air was the only thing helping. After dinner I gave on of my friends a ride and started crying in the car, and then made my way to the movie where, with napkins in hand, I cried some more. This isn't anything particularly special, but I am the ugliest crier in the world. It's a family trait. All the women in my family become covered in hideous red spots and get all snotty. What's worse is that I can drop at the drop of a hat, though not on purpose, it's just that everything makes me cry. And this combined with the migraine and then I mild, but long panic attack - it wasn't good.

I called my mommy. And she and I drove for a few hours with her asking to drive every five minutes or explaining that maybe I should just stay the night. I always drive when I feel shitty, there's just something about it that's calming and unlike anything else. I've gotten to know 64 quite well since moving to Richmond as a result. This particular night though, my mom, she never quite knows what to do in situations like this. It took awhile to explain to her what my panic attacks are, she doesn't recognize them and instead thinks that I'm just being unreasonable. But that night, she got it. And I calmed down and dropped her off and continued driving back to Richmond.

So, this dude, whom I barely know, saw me in the middle of this ordeal. And brought it up four months later. Strange.

Going for Gold

2010-03-01T13:05:00.001-05:00

If there were a gold medal for being an emotional champ, I would surely have won it long ago.

We are one, we are
Two people inside one body
Our own disgrace
Emotional champ so sorry

No sleep tonight
Only sweet reminders
Say keep tonight
Cause it's all I wanna
Do

We are one we are
Shaping signs from nothing
We are done we are
Forgetting this means everything

No sleep tonight
Only sweet reminders
Say keep tonight cause it's all I wanna
Do

All I wanna do
Emotional champ so sorry
All I wanna do
Emotional champ so sorry

-Emotional Champ, New Buffalo

I am out of tissues. And my red hoodie's sleeves are in bad shape.