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.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
99: (No) Pants Dance Party
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.
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.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
All by Myself
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Lesson Learned
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.
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.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Christmas: Part 2
(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.
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