you're on a plane. We're all on planes. Life is dangerous and complicated. And it's a long way down.

1. What is the craziest thing you've done in the last year?
   moved twice in fifteen days without having a real concrete plan for how to do it (physically), where to go, or how I would pay for it all
2. What is something that you've lost recently?
   someone I love, who's deemed that unimportant in relation to the rest of his options
3. Where does your patience suffer the most?
   work, by far
4. Have you ever reread a book?
   all the damned time. I've read The Brothers K more times than I can count, and The Girl She Used to Be (by David Cristofano) three times in the past six months, alone. Some of my favorite books are the ones that I get something new from every time I pick them up. I don't expect everyone (or anyone) else to feel the same way, but that's part of what I love about reading.
5. What is a TV show that you absolutely HATE to miss?
   Lately, I've been gobbling up as much House, M.D. as I can. Beyond the intellectual entertainment value, it's insight - into someone else, and into me.
6. How old do you wish you were?
   17, 21, 34, or whatever I am now. It doesn't really matter.
7. Do you know your neighbors?
   nope. I've met one of them, who's a rather darling fireman with no personal boundaries and a less chatty (but also perfectly nice) wife, but that's it so far. (Cut me some slack, though, since I've only been here for 18 days.)
8. Do you believe that opposites attract?
   I do, indeed. Maybe not for the best, but it seems to happen at least as often as not.
9. Who was the last person that made you laugh?
   I laughed aloud while talking with Fluffy and while chatting with The Cat today. It's a great thing to have such friends as these.

[from here, from here; title quotation by Greg House]

she made secret calls to the Monkey Man from a mansion on the hill

1. Many people who work a Monday through Friday job say T.G.I.F. (Thank God it's Friday). In my industry, Friday is the worst day of the week, so we say G.D.I.F. (God Damn It's Friday). What is your worst day of the week?
   if this is about work, then sometimes Monday, sometimes Friday. Wrong combination of people, wrong feel during the day. Just...wrong.
2. If you have a male dog and took it to a male veterinarian and the dog tried to kiss the vet, if the vet suddenly said "Woah! I don't swing that way. I don't kiss male dogs," would it send up a red flag to you that maybe your vet was having a little too much fun with female dogs or would you just think it's a bad joke? (This really happened to a person I know.)
   This is such a weird question, and it reminds me of my best friend's niece, who is both a veterinarian and socially awkward.
3. If you have a car, what is hanging from your rear view mirror? If you don't have one, what would you like to have hanging in a car?
   there's nothing on the mirror. I'm not notoriously not fond of stuff hanging in the way of what I'm supposed to see when I'm driving. Like, I try to surreptitiously yank other peoples' stuff off their rear-views when they're not looking. It makes me a little nuts, thinking about it. You have all that glass there to SEE through, but you willingly obscure it...why? Because you need to be entertained, while you're driving?! People....
4. I absolutely hate hummus. I can't stand it's baby poopish texture. I don't understand why people like eating it. Is there a type of food that you can't stand that everyone else around you seems to love?
   my former spouse is (was?) a big hummus fan. I've always thought it tasted like slimy mud, but to each his own. Um, I don't really like cold cheese of any kind.
5. Pretend you're eating a Tex-Mex grill type restaurant where you can totally customize your items (think Chipotle, Qdoba, Freebirds World Burrito, Moe's Southwest Grill, etc.) and you're ordering a burrito. What fillings/toppings do you ask for?
   steak, black beans, pico de gallo, chihuahua cheese, lettuce, & tomatoes
6. Does it bother you when people bring their puppies/little dogs into grocery stores in those dog purses?
   absolutely. Beyond the people who are allergic to dogs, there are a lot of people who simply don't LIKE dogs - and then there are those who would simply be disgusted at the thought of any animal hair near their food. Ugh! Leave your selfishness, and your pets, at home.
7. Has anyone ever un-friended you on Facebook (or another social network) for a really stupid reason? I ask because my minister's wife decided to un-friend me recently because I jokingly created an image of my name spelled in penis drawings. (It's a font called Cocksure.)
   I've been unfriended on Facebook more times, by more people, than I can count, for reasons that I knew, didn't know, understood, couldn't understand, will never understand, and for no reason at all. I found out today that I've been locked out of all aspects of one "friend"'s FB life except the dribbles that he deems worthy of me. Um, thanks? For...nothing? You ass. Better to be dumped than to get that kind of backhanded nothing.
   But, of course, there are also the friends who have a real profile and a fake profile, and only share the real one with their real friends. Why bother with a fake one at all? Do your fake friends matter to you? Isn't that a logical knot worthy of a big headache?
8. What is your toothpaste personality type?
   mostly stubborn and slow-witted, with moments of impulsivity & life-of-the-party-ness. Ohhh, kay.
9. What is your favorite thing to do on your "lazy days?" Singer Bruno Mars apparently likes to dance around with men wearing monkey masks (click here to see what I mean.)
   Sometime I don't think about nothing but the Monkey Man...but I'm more of a reader. And I like to make soup, or cookies. I used to be a writer, and will be again. And someday I'd like to spend a whole 48-hour period without moving or unpacking any cardboard boxes or arguing with any utility companies.
10. What is your absolute favorite thing to take pictures of? We all know what U.S. Congressman Anthony Weiner loves to take photos of, but with a last name of Weiner, what did everyone expect?
    hmm - plants? cats? the river? Maybe I just don't get out enough to widen my horizons & subjects. Rest assured, though, that I'll stay out of the processed meats aisle.

[from here, from here; title quotation from "Tweeter & the Monkey Man" by the Traveling Wilburys]

he is every other inch a gentleman

"What's that in my pants? How did that get in there? Why is it doing that?"

[title quotation by Rebecca West]

if you want to win anything - a race, yourself, your life - you have to go a little berserk

The good: Beef - well, really more onion & garlic than beef - soup. Homemade, of course. The big secret? Water chestnuts.
    The bad: the gas company. Staffed by morons from top to bottom.
    The ugly: wrangling with the cable company over a $143 bill ($97 of which has been paid, the remainder of which is not actually mine) and setting up new service and activating new service without having been given the new account number. The result: I'm online (obviously), I've got a $41 credit on account, and my service has been discounted by $30/month for the next six months. Thank you very much—and could you please talk to the gas company for me?
    The new: About 10 days ago, I had a conversation with my doctor about the sharp increase in the frequency and intensity of headaches I've had over the last 3-6 months. He offered me two options: more (or different, stronger) drugs, or another round of physical therapy. Not surprisingly, I went for therapy. I've had 4 sessions so far. My impressions: ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. My back, shoulders and neck and a freakin' mess. I've had entire nights where I haven't slept at all because the pain was so intense. Not the pain that had been in my head, but the pain that I've developed by going through therapy and doing the exercises at home. I know it's the right thing to do, that it's "good pain", but it's also agony.
    The old: a tiresome work thing happened. The neverending story of in-groups versus out-groups, and what happens when people are left out on purpose (or, if inadvertently, still in a way that's hurtful). The worst of it, as always, is that it has intensified the low feelings of someone I care about a great deal. Do what you want to me, but do not hurt the people I love.
    The hip: Oakley OO9124 sunglasses. It's about time I get some new sunglasses. I've had the current ones for, I don't know, 10 years? Maybe longer. One of the lenses is badly scratched. Somehow, I've always managed to put it off - other needs always come first - but, maybe.
    The cool: 54-40 Lost & Found Archives, including a remix of the song "One Gun", which I love.

The quotation: by George Sheehan.

lo! Men have become the tools of their tools

My cable went kablooie this weekend, so I'm only online at work. While it was supremely inconvenient to suddenly experience a tech-free weekend, it was also a hidden blessing; there is peace in disconnection. I read four books, made soup, and picked up some new plants. Photos to come.

And I'll be back online sometime later this week. Play nice.

[title quotation by Henry David Thoreau]

a promiscuous person is a person who is getting more sex than you are

    This item arrived at my place of toil the other day. The front is bad enough (the metaphor is frightening, when you think about it - the giant spike, rising through the pink folds...?!?!?!)
but the back, ugh! His name is "Knightridge." Exactly what is that supposed to bring to mind? And why are his face & neck so relatively clean, if his right hand & arm look like he's been working in a coal mine all the live-long day? She's also got a surprisingly frog-shaped bottom half.


[title quotation by Victor Lownes]

our only security is our ability to change

Progress!

Kitchen (from dining room)
Kitchen (from dining room)
Living room (note the CD rack on the left--the two African violets on top were a gift from The Decorator. Once I've re-potted them, they'll live in the kitchen window and a couple of the kitchen window plants will move to the ledge of the window on the stairs [see below].)
Half-bath, & steps to basement (note the little part of the maple-topped cabinet at right--that its final destination).
Living room (the general layout is right, with the couch, coffee table, TV and desk where they belong. The 5 extra maple bookcases, the closet organizer, and the wicker trunk that is half-hidden under the dining room table [in a previous photo] are still waiting to go upstairs--as are 8 more boxes of books; I've taken the rest up this weekend.)
Hats (on the "balcony" ledge of the 2nd floor. It seemed like a productive use of space that would otherwise be wasted - and for a notoriously difficult to store/display collection.)
2nd bedroom
Walk-in closet (from 2nd bedroom)
Window ledge on stairs to 2nd floor - it will eventually be filled with plants, etc.
[the title quotation is by John Lilly]

it is impossible to imagine Goethe or Beethoven being good at billiards or golf

1. How many hats/caps do you own? How often do you wear them?
   20-some? Probably? Maybe 30. I don't know. I'll probably find out this weekend when I try to find/make room for them. I wear a hat maybe 5x/year. I love my brown straw cowboy hat with the turquoise beads, but it's a little flash and reminds me of the last time I drank tequila—to my detriment—so I usually just sigh and move on. The fez (red velvet) has gotten some recent play. Hats are fun.
2. You wake up in a darkened circus tent, wearing a bright blue and yellow clown costume and a fluffy red wig. There is a dwarf standing over you with bucket of water. "You okay?" he asks. What’s going on?
   First, I'm assuming that is an empty bucket, formerly used for water, since I did not likely wake on my own. The last time I woke in a situation even close to that, I'd fallen asleep in a station wagon parked outside a 4H barn after a wedding in Iowa at which I'd been the bride's stand-in at the bar crawl between the wedding and reception. Apparently it's "the done thing" down there—the bridal party drives (!) from bar to bar, drinking at each one. Since this particular bride was small in stature and reasonably sensible besides, she didn't want to get completely wasted before her reception, so as people bought her drinks in each bar (which one might expect), she took a polite sip and then handed them off to me. Since I was not yet of age, I was more than happy to 'make them go away.' She was drinking Chambord & orange juice. Or, more accurately, I was drinking that, after she'd had her one tiny sip. After awesome reception food (fried chicken! Oh happy day!) and stupid dancing and what-have-you, I got as far as my friend's faux-paneled station wagon before passing out. I woke around 5:AM with the sun beating down on my face, my entire body cramped, and hating life. After two Cokes and a package of Hostess cupcakes for breakfast, I was a much happier camper.
   Right. So. Circus tent, clown costume, dwarf. My guess is that I was out with George—nowhere near Fluffy, who hates clowns—and something went terribly awry, involving Chambord & orange juice. With luck, no one was tattooed while under the influence.
3. If you could be a member of any band in history, which would it be? What would your role be, or have been?
   Robin Hood's merry men. My role would have been, no doubt, "naysayer" and perhaps "devil's advocate."
4. Show and Tell. What comes to mind first when you see this picture? Or, tell a story if it reminds you of one.
   Public Domain PhotoI had a PhyEd unit in HS called "Recreation & Leisure Sports"—shuffleboard, ping pong and...what else...dodgeball? I don't recall. Anyway, the guys had to involve the girls in class, even though they hated to do so. When we had the ping pong tournament, I was paired with my dream guy: Jay. He was a basketball geek, underfed and overstimulated, very into sports (which is still a massive understatement), and utterly oblivious to girls. Although I was reasonably coordinated, I wasn't even on the map when he was around. So, rather than lose the tournament (which he would never consider), he "taught" me just enough to help him win. I became a kick-ass server—and then stayed the F*** out of the way so he could get it done. Once the teacher realized what we'd done, he insisted that the girls actually participate in the game. Then Jay taught me a few sneaky moves, little dinks just barely over the net and that sort of thing. It was enough to make us a damned good pair, and we won the tourney by a lot. I was hoping that it would be my entry into the secret life of Jay...but it was just freakin' ping pong after all.
   It turned out to be a good skill to have. My best friend in college and I used to play a lot of ping pong to relieve stress, although we sucked badly (I was out of practice and she just stunk). We spent more time chasing the ball across the cement floor than we did actually playing—but it was incredibly fun and memorable. And then I ended up married to someone whose parents had a ping pong table in their basement. We used to play as a way to have conversations without his parents hearing us, because they are both hearing-challenged and the pinging and ponging was enough to drown out our voices. Frankly, it was also a reasonable excuse to be out of their vicinity for an hour at a time, which was desperately needed. We became pretty good volley-ers out of necessity; it's easier to make escape plans when your voices are covered by the ping of a tiny white ball.
   My parents also have a ping pong table in their basement, purchased on a whim (mine) a few years into my marriage—proof that my dad still has a very hard time saying No to me. That table hasn't been unfolded in ages, having fallen victim to the accumulation of "stuff" in the basement (my parents', mine, and now my brothers'). Hmm, maybe I should have them bring it down here...?

[from the original source; title quotation by H.L. Mencken]

it takes courage to grow up and become who you really are

    Photos of the new place. Excuse the mess....
    Dining room (from living room)
Dining room (from kitchen)
Decklet (from dining room)
Kitchen (from dining room)

Kitchen (from dining room)
Kitchen (from dining room)
Kitchen

Living room (from dining room)
Living room (from dining room)
Living room (from main entryway)
Living room
Stairs to 2nd floor
2 sets of stairs
Steps to basement
Half-bath
Living room from half-bath
Steps to basement from half-bath
Main entryway from half-bath
2 flights of windows & stairs up
Main entryway (from stairs)
Living room (from stairs)
Living room (from stairs)
Living room (from 2nd floor)
Bedroom
Doors to 2nd bedroom & main bathroom (from bedroom)
Linen closet and entrances to 2nd floor rooms (from 2nd floor landing)
2nd bedroom
2nd bedroom
Walk-in closet (in 2nd bedroom)
Main bathroom & landing (from 2nd bedroom)

[title quotation by E.E. Cummings]

life is like this: sometimes sun, sometimes rain

19 years. Some days - like today - I miss you terribly.

strip away the justice, justify the scrutiny

[background music: I Almost Told You That I Loved You, Papa Roach]

    Against all odds, I'm surprisingly less bonkers than I thought I'd be at this point. Why? I've got the keys to the new place, which doesn't yet have a name.

[Better Now, Rascal Flatts]

    Landlord Bob met me over there, keys and garage door opener in hand. While I brought in a carload of stuff (random things that didn't need to be packed into boxes so I'd just stuffed them into cloth shopping bags) and stored it as out-of-the-way as possible, he made the last door-lock installation (front door) and repair (door to garage) so that I've got new keys and no one else has them.

[Nookie, Limp Bizkit]

    I was careful to take my shoes off on each trip in, because the carpets were freshly cleaned and I want to keep them that way as long as possible.

    It felt good to get a start on the move, to do a big chunk of the manual labor myself (which I "missed out on" for the move to The Rat Hole because of the timing with picking up the truck and having the cable installed). It already looks like somebody belongs there.

[Hate that I Love You, Rihanna]

    And the place is beautiful. Even as I was getting physically tired, hauling my out-of-shape ass up to the second (third? whatever?) floor to leave things in the main bathroom, I kept thinking how amazing the fancy windows are—they are easy-open and self-locking—and how damn cool it's going to be to sit at the top of those stairs and talk on the phone with my friends from NY, CA, and AK.

[Gotta Have You, The Weepies]

    And I don't even talk on the phone all that often. Maybe now I will?

    I also crossed my own personal Rubicon this afternoon, writing The Letter to the Rat Hole Landlords (a.k.a. Slumlords). It is a delicate balance of "conveying the extent of my personal dismay and fear" and "subtly threatening to use the power of my legal education and expertise"—which really means 'hiring an attorney to represent my interests because I wouldn't have more than the first clue how to do that', but they don't know that. I was as polite as possible.

[Don't Say You Won't, Alkaline Trio]

    If you know me at all, you know I have the knack for being horribly impolite when I wish it, so count it in my favor that I held back. I was respectful, but direct. I was direct, but not aggressive. I expressed the problems, offered a solution, and indicated that I expected the solution to occur. No, I'm not really banking on it, but since legal relationships are all about who pays, it never hurts (OK, it rarely hurts) to make one's preference known.

[Giving Up, Ingrid Michaelson]

    Anyway, it was remarkably freeing to write the damned letter. I'd been stressing about it for a week, since I talked to The animal-brained Lawyer (who, naturally, created his own...no, he didn't create it, but he was, prehaps, the contributing factor to my own internal drama). He's like, what—a Coke at bedtime? a triple-serving size bag of M&Ms for lunch?—to me, whirling my brain like Skittles soup. I can count on one hand the people who leave me feeling 3 steps behind; he is the leader of the pack. So. Yeah. I knew I had to write the letter. I put it off. I wrote it today. It's 3 pages long. It wasn't easy. But now that it's done, I feel 100x better.

[Letting Go, Lupe Fiasco]

    I'm also not deluded enough to think that it's really going to work. It seems important to reiterate that.

[Never Say Never, The Fray]

    So now I'm sitting in my fairly barren rat hole, listening to a mix I'm working on (for the neverending broken heart, who contacted me last night for the first time in a month—because he missed me), drinking a well-earned beer, contemplating either a cool shower and then bed, or just falling into bed and a shower in the morning. It's looking more like the latter.

[Lover Lay Down, Dave Matthews Band]

    9:30 tomorrow, my most good-natured (no, it's not a crime) and probably most patient friend will arrive. We'll take a load of plants, food & clothes to the new place on our way to pick up the truck, and then it's ON: six hours to move everything the *bleep* out of the Rat Hole and into the new place. I don't care what happens to any of it, where any of it goes, beyond getting my bed upstairs and set up. The rest of it can happen when it happens. Once it's all out of here, I'll be comfortable in mailing the letter (yes, with a receipt) and never returning to this place. Ugh.

    The new place is really great, though. Can't wait 'til y'all see it.

[title quotation from the Lupe Fiasco song, above]

a bone to the dog is not charity

    The daily meltdown... A couple of hours ago, I was pacing the living room (of the rat hole, as it shall henceforth be known), brain racing, heart pounding, hands and knees shaking, and, most notably, sobbing almost uncontrollably. Yeah, that was fun. For about 10 minutes, I completely lost it. The same as usual—money, time, organization, fear, drama, stress, blah blah blah—had me totally overwhelmed. The good news is that once I'd gone utterly mental for a bit (and talked [and blubbered] to Fluffy for a half hour) I sucked it back up and got my shit back together. Sensibly filled the 5+ boxes that were sitting around half-packed for the past couple of days, plus probably 5 more. Sorted half a box of paperwork to recycle. Took a LOT of deep breaths.

    OK. I can do this.

    Still, if anyone is available on Sunday to shove some furniture into a truck and take it out again an hour later, I would love you forever (even more than I already do, considering that I've brought you here).

    The good news: I got verification from my coworker/employee who shall be known as The Decorator and her husband The Handyman that the new-new place is as awesome as I thought it was. Which is a relief, eh?

    I cannot wait until I can write, think, and care about something other than this. It won't be long, surely - right?

[title quotation by Jack London - and the second part is this: "--charity is the bone shared with the dog, when you are just as hungry as the dog."]

if it is worth taking, it is worth asking for

I would like to write a short, cute, pithy post about the last couple of weeks' activities. It's impossible for me to write it quickly, though, since I've yet to wrap my brain around it for myself, much less in a way that will allow me to express it sensibly to anyone else. It's certainly not yet mellowed to the level of "cute." And "pithy" implies an eloquence or forcefulness of which I'm not currently capable.

A list will have to do.

• I've moved, thanks to 9 people who: cooked for me and the crew; moved my stuff; drove the truck; kept my old place clean; tried to clean the new place; made some unexpected, impromptu repairs; and kept me sane.
• I cleaned the old place from top to bottom, thanks to 2 very dear friends who gave up a full holiday weekend to laboring in a sweat-box with a stressed-out caffeine addict.
• I got back my full security deposit plus my last month's rent, which I'd paid when I moved in - thank God, as you'll see later.
• Upon moving in, I discovered some problems. The new place was not what it had seemed. Most apparently, it was dirty. Less obviously, it had defects: serious problems that affected the day-to-day use of the structure and keeping my possessions within it. I began to experience significant doubts about my future there.
• Because of those doubts, I knew that I could not trust the people with whom I'd made the agreement to stay there. I needed to get out.
• Since I made that decision (or, more accurately, since I intellectually acknowledged that I'd already made that emotional decision), I've been searching for a new place to live...again. Although the school's-out period might seem like the perfect time to look, there really isn't much available right now. I was starting to feel pretty desperate. I also wasn't sleeping well, or at all, because of the insecure feeling that I have in the current place.
• It pays to know people. On a whim, I stopped by the office of my former landlord/real estate agent, to see if she knew of any available rental properties in my price range. She knew someone who knew someone, and when all was said and done, I had an excellent prospect. I'm going back to see it again tomorrow night (probably) with a friend--a second pair of eyes is key, now, so that I don't miss anything like I did the last time. It will be a while before I trust my own judgment as freely as I did before.
• I've spent every night sorting, discarding, and packing. It is incredibly depressing and stressful, thinking about moving again, and also about extricating myself from the place and the people that I've come to so dislike and distrust. There are times when I really, really wish that I could just turn over the reins to someone else, because I don't think I can handle this for one more moment; I've clearly proven that I'm not up to the task. But there is no one else, so I take a breath, suck it up, and start again. It's not so long before all of this will be just a memory.

[the title quotation is a Gaelic proverb]