It's on...

In the battle against complacency, it has come to my attention that it very nearly won yet another victory this week when I was given some well-placed and well-timed compliments. It's amazing what a sedative medicine compliments are to me. Give me one I believe, and I forget I was unsatisfied. Tell it to me sincerely with a little bit of honest contrast and I will abandon the mission at a hand and sit and revel in appreciation.

I just want to keep in mind long enough that I am not satisfied so that moments like these, when I have a computer at hand and little else to do, I actually spend that time doing things like working towards the specific goal I've had in mind for the last few months that will only be accomplished if I work instead of think about how nice it was I got those nifty compliments.


That being said, I am so going to bed now.

And a very wonderful person and total BFF of mine has just entered this country, albeit on the other side from where I am. Cannot wait to see her!!

New awareness

So one of the most frustrating things I think about being human are the autopilot reactions and interactions one has when thrust into social situations that are in no way reflective of their actual self or character.

On an intellectual level, I believe that all human relationships circle around this struggle for love and recognition. And on a personal level, this is how I interpret the things I see and also what helps me forgive and empathize and also understand myself. In some cases,this exchange is a healthy and beneficial interaction but in just as many other cases it is a draining and unhealthy thing.

Although I am getting better at being healthy about it--drawing successfully on the love and support of God, family and friends enough to make it through a day--in certain areas I am still so very vulnerable. And I do not like that very much. I find that around certain people and definitely in certain situations, I do and say things that are geared towards conveying a certain unspoken message. In other words, I resort to passive aggressiveness. "BLEH, BLEH, BLEH," is what comes out. What I really want to say is: “Why do you not love me? How come you do not think I am so amazing? Why can’t we be friends and why am I not president of the company yet?”

The funny thing is, while it is happening, I begin to have an out of body experience where I can see myself doing it and I want to stop me, but since I am out of my body, I am powerless to stop it. Later, after I return to my body, I get mopey and repeat stupid observations to my friends as I try and nurse myself out of embarrassment and mortified memory. I recently realized I was sabotaging a friendship that I really did not want to sabotage. And now I am not sure it is mendable and though it is only conjecture that the person in question wants to be my friend, I would really like to work on being open and present no matter what so that the horrible autopilot passive aggressive monster goes away for good. Go away monster, please?

Remember this?

Lost Without You

My beautiful, battle tried and true, fabulous iPod is gone. I have been coping with a sense of loss for 6 full days and I have come to realize some things.

iPod=substitute for cigarette addiction. Not kidding!

Ever since it's been gone I have kind of sort of wanted to smoke. I didn't realize how much I'd come to rely on the surety of music in my ear until just now. And I find that I am not necessarily in a position to immediately replace the purchase, and that in and of itself makes me want to cry.

I have to listen to my own thoughts...or READ? Just kidding. I love reading. I have a book I am really into now which is good because with the amount of time I sit on trains a week, without that I think I would go crazy.

The part I am not thinking about is the place where I lost it-it is a place that many of us would like to think of as a place where no one would steal things. And the people I was around are people who know me and ideally love me enough not to steal from me. Well, we will not think about it. I have reached out to one last person-the person who gave me a ride home that evening, to see if he may have it in his car.

Here's hoping, and dreaming.

Here's a little song for my lonely iPod:

(imagine me singing to it:)

Baby you're the perfect shape (square)
Baby you're the perfect weight (fair)
I got your for my birthday
Can I hear this play, can I hear that play?
I tell you when to go or stop,
and you know how to play your part
I know you'd never hurt me

blah blah blah more lyrcis that rhyme...

I'm lost without you
Can't help myself
How does it feel?
To know that I love ya baby
I'm lost without you
Can't help myself
How does it feel?
To know that I love ya baby

How old and farty are you?

A co-worker brought this to my attention. Apparently those of us that are too old cannot hear these sounds. The younger folk can use them as phone rings and a teacher cannot hear when they get calls in class.

Of course, it seems to me that whether or not a teacher can hear the sound is mout since you cannot answer a call when you are in class anyway. But what do I know? The knowledge that you are being called and the delight of being capable of hearing something your farty old teacher cannot hear must bring untold delights to the youth of this day and age. Ah to be young!

Anyway, I played the sound and my 21 year old coworker heard it. I did not. I turned it up. Then I heard it. I turned it down and then 2 other youngish types started to complain about the sound. I found it fiendishly enjoyable! A way to annoy certain people and not be bothered one bit. Guess it goes both ways!

Tee hee.....

Baby Weekend

This weekend was full of babies and people and traveling and not traveling and that was all very fabulous.

I inadvertently cooked something this weekend that smelled so bad that was not fabulous. It was horrifying beyond all repair. Rather than share the details, I choose to keep my friend/readers in suspense and just mention that I am getting a new oven as a result.

Let your imaginations run wild.

Today's Lunch Special

On the board:
For lunch today I took a pleasant walk with Sarah through the loop to the comic book store, where I procured the latest Buffy the Vampire Slayer issues.

I discovered, to my delight and only limited surprise, that good ole’ Joss has also begun an Angel series as well, also picking up where he left off of the Season 5 finale.

The store I was at did not have the first issue (it was already out to issue 7) but I am so all over that as soon as I can. Sigh, I can live again, now, I can live again!

No Pity

I have heard several times over the years and once just recently from people of the male persuasion that it is unfair that women can 'wear whatever they want' to work. Specifically I have heard the complaint that women can wear flip flops and open-toed shoes when men are limited to sweaty uncomfortable shoes. Let me just elaborate what I am really hearing: "Wah, wah!"

For realz tho, all jest and jibes aside, for a long time I maintained to these men, when they would listen, that women wear comfortable flip flops to work and then change into uncomfortable shoes when they get there. So they still had nothing to complain about. I had one gentleman insist that this 'changing of the shoes' did not happen but since he was being belligerant I chose not to pay him any mind. I admit I got a little prideful and self-righteous without ever really exploring the issue, just fearlessly defending my sisters when the subject arose. Never, I would insist to a man, would you actually SEE someone wearing those hideous flip flop heels to work and try to pass them off as professional! But then, alas, a colleague of mine, whose fashion sense I respect, came in the other day with a really sharp business suit on and those flip flop sandals. Her pants were so long that it really looked like plain ole' flips and I was mildly appalled and humbled at my previous attempts to defend my sex. I made as polite a mention as I could about the shoes and she affirmed rather confidantly that they were heels so they 'counted'.

Far be it from me to try and determine where the line should be drawn when contemplating business attire, business casual and casual. It really is different from place to place; my current place of employment is 'business casual'. There are plenty of websites that will lay it out for you but each site is slightly different and honestly, there are different standards. But thinking in particular about a complaint one guy made about not being able to wear shorts when women wore skirts all the time, a visual image appeared in my head and several things crept into my awareness at once.

1. It would look ridiculous to me if a guy suddenly started wearing shorts, no matter how nicely pressed, to work.
2. It does not look ridiculous to me if a gal wears shorts or a skirt, if nicely pressed.
3. All of the items women wear that are supposedly unfairly more comfortable, are also more revealing.
4. We all are used to women revealing their bodies more than men.
5. It is expected in this society that a woman would/should/want to reveal her body and be on display.
6. It looks weird when a guy does it because we, as a society, are not currently in the habit of viewing men's bodies as something for materialistic/animalistic appreciation, or rather, objectifying them.

For a woman, it seems part and parcel that we show a little skin, so much so that even a nice ensemble that covers most of the body but reveals a little view of skin is even noted and commented on. If a man were to wear a suit and say, role up his sleeves, we would never say, oh how sexy and smart! I am not bashing clothes here, or rather, that is not my intention. I enjoy being a woman and I do not think we should let what others are taught reflect on our self image.

I live in my own special world where I try to balance an awareness of how I am perceived with my own sense of self worth, and where I try to stay mindful of the fact that I exist in a world of others where what I do, say and wear can impact and influence others. I can also accept that what I wear may spark an action that, though I am not responsible for, can influence me positivly or negatively.

But what it comes down to is that I have no pity for the complaining man, and I know exactly why. If you, oh sad and mournful gentleman, would like to trade us up for objectification, second class citizenship and overall demeaning and widely accepted views of womanness and womanhood, then perhaps I will let you complain about not wearing flip flops to work. Either way, since this is not meant as a man-bashing, 'who has it worse' kind of thing, I forgive you. It sucks for you in other ways I am sure, and we can talk about it later if you want. But I would like to close the book on this chapter.

A really great Friday evening

This past Friday a friend and I met up to go support an ex boy of hers in one of his art shows, or so I thought. She was in one of the pieces and we were curious as to how he would render her in still life. We decided to go right after work and I met her at the Ogilve train station and we walked over to Halsted and bussed it to Pilsen. Exactly at 6 we walked into this small art gallery that was completely empty save the art on the wall and after looking at the photo/stamping of her and glancing at the other pictures, I was sort of like....'umm, ok how long do we have to stay?' It was a small gallery, more like a small room and the ex was not yet in appearance but there was a table in the back hosting cheese, crackers, cookies and red and white wine. Liz helped herself to a glass of red and I took some cheese and wondered if we were 'supposed' to just yet.

Thinking he would appear at any minute, we began to more closely examine the art, each piece was devoted to an ex of one of the two artists displaying their work. Her ex had actually taken photographs of his girlfriends and made large stampings of their images, the stamps themselves were of numbers significant to the nature of his relationship with the particular woman in question. For my loverly friend, it was a date significant to the ending of their relationship. It was creative and awesome. The other artist whose work was in the room was a woman-her exes were represented by photographic prints with a quote underneath, something the guy had actually said to her during the course of the relationship. I could go into how powerful it was, intriguing, but I never considered myself an art critic. I liked it. I did.

While waiting for him to show, we stepped outside and saw another gallery across the street. Through the window were people dressed a little fancier than we were, all drinking wine, and the art in that room looked like sculptures. Liz and I wondered if it cost money to go in there and as we strolled a bit further down the street and she lit a cigarette, we concluded we did not belong there. We did not mind because it was a warm enough evening and we have no place to be.

But then on our right we realized was yet another gallery. With people inside. With beverages and an aim to look at things. Hesitantly we buzzed the buzzer, thinking if they didn't want us we'd find out soon enough. Turns out they did, or rather, the door was not locked. We walked in and were greeted with several ceramic pieces of art, very spatial and colorful, on the walls and mounted on square stands. A kind and smiling lady offered us refreshments and told us about the two artists in the gallery, who were also milling about answering questions. In the back of the room another artist's stuff was on display, textile pieces, felting, beeswax and bronze pieces all evoking fairly strong emotions from me. A gorgeous little toddler was putting on a show as his mother spoke to an elderly couple and a woman very SATC Charlotte-esque wearing a fabulous ensemble talked quietly to a group in the front. We conspired, Liz and I, and decided she was the gallery owner. When we walked out of this one the sidewalks were now filled with people. Finally we accepted this was a 'thing' and we began our exploration in earnest. Visited several more galleries, (there were at least 10 I think) and talked to a few artists, weaved in and out of people nearly as art-like as the art, made a dinner out of chocolates, cheeses, strawberries, runts and other snacks even ran into a few people we knew.

We did make it back to her ex's gallery and chatted him up a bit, met his wife and eventually left for a real meal slightly north of there. It was delightful. I saw some really amazing things.
It's called 2nd Fridays and is basically art gallery after art gallery opening it's doors to the public and rolling out new....art. Once a month every month apparently. I am so going to do this again.

#@%$!!

I met an exuberant and delightful woman this weekend who introduced me to a new way to not swear. Every time someone said something worthy or wacky she said "SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!" with a big emphasis on the SH and F part of the sentence. It was quite entertaining but did increase in me the desire to ACTUALLY swear.

I've lately been in use of an exagerrated "SHOOOOOT!" (which I think I got from a certain Miss Carlson) when things are not quite going my way but still revert to the very succint "sh%t!" when I make a mistake on the volleyball court, and apparently no amount of children within earshot has changed that. I definitely go through periods where I swear like a sailor and others where I have the language of an angel. I was raised not to swear but it was never ingrained so much that I felt any sort of heavy guilt if I let one slip. And when I am angry I do tend to let 'em fly, not so attractive but hey for some reason it always always makes me feel better.

Mind you I do NOT find any satisfaction is saying these things to an actual person and I find myself deeply affected when they are directed at another actual human being. It is a verbal weapon and can be as damaging as sexual harassment....but let's not vent about that today.

Let's just reiterate that I do swear....and I try not to....but I like it.

Shoooooot.