Monthly Archives: March 2008

signs of addiction

ever see a girl go almost teary-eyed at the prospect of no cadbury cream eggs?

surveillance video at the 7-11 on the 900 block of Market may have some footage. 

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Life Before Jack

Garfield Minus Garfield

 (thank you cecil vortex)

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when time collides

I worked at the Gap in college.  And yeah, I was a total Gap girl.  I actually think it did a lot of good for me, taught me not be afraid of girlie clothes (even though nothing really beats a cozy men’s sweater).  Ex-boy was working at the Discovery Channel before moving into its corporate office and having the whole division shut down.  During one Christmas break I stayed with him in Florida and transferred to the Gap for that month, which just happened to be directly across from the Discovery Channel.  It was fun.  Slow mornings found me standing next to the mannequins in the front window making goofy faces and slapping my butt while ex-boy did the same and passers by must have thought that particular store was nice to hire a mentally retarded girl. 

When holiday shopping picked up tons of people trapped me in the store, literally.  Some nice, some pissed, and some weirdos like they guy who asked me to try something on for him because his girlfriend was the same size as me (yeah, no.)  And then I turned around and right in front of me was ex-boy.  But, it wasn’t ex-boy.  It was the ex-boy of 10-15 years in the future.  And I stopped, and stared, and I started at the top of his head with the dark curls streaked with grey fly-aways popping out all around his round head, to the pigeon feet around his eyes, he was a bit thinner in the middle than I’d expect, then the scrawny legs, to the black converse.  Grey sweater, dark jeans, black converse.  I looked right into his eyes and did the goofiest laugh and smile that I can still mimic because it’s not a laugh and smile I had ever done before or since that moment.  This was perhaps in the expanse of a good few minutes of this guy probably thinking once again, how nice, they hired a mentally retarded girl.  But he was smiling, and it was cute. 

Recently I’ve been noticing ex-boy (yes, people, obviously we’re dating again but he hasn’t yet come back to being just boy b/c there are still issues, obviously, issues) what?  oh, he’s starting to get these wild grey fly-aways that poke out straight in his head of curls.  And the pigeon feet are deeper.  And the smile with teeth is more frequent.  And sometimes I see him standing up watching TV (why he always stands to watch TV I don’t know) but he’s becoming that same person I met at the Gap 5 years ago.  And I keep wondering when we’ll find ourselves back at Cordova mall in Pensacola during Christmas time for him to run into the me of the past.  I keep hinting that he has to put things in his wallet, pictures and stuff to carry with him for when he sees me again.  I tell him what I want him to say, the things to warn me against.  But I know he’ll forget, and he’ll stare at me with that smile on his face, maybe thinking wow, I never noticed how much she’s aged.


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that guy

On my first day in lab this semester there was this sorta hot guy that caught my eye.  He was scruffy with a hat on and grungy clothes, unshaven.  And when someone sneezed he said “salut.”  and that killed it.  He followed it up shortly with a way too loud proclamation of how he spent the holidays in Peru and it was just amazing despite the fact that his tone stayed completely flat while he described this life-changing experience.  Ugh, I hate those types.  Loud-talkers annoy the crap out of me, but that’s b/c I have way too sensitive hearing in a society where everyone has already blown their ear drums (and yes, I know I’m a low-talker.  Quite aware, no need to point it out.)  It’s that I’m indifferent because I’m trying to be indifferent attitude.  It’s why I cringe when I hear Paris Hilton’s voice on the television.  It’s why I don’t trust people who wear big fat sunglasses indoors and act like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.  It’s what prevents me from being friends with some people, I just can’t get passed it. 

I’m pretty sure I feel so strongly about it b/c in high school I was completely unable to be indifferent.  I cared way too much about grades and over-reacted at most things.  Then I went to England for a senior trip and in Bath there was this student-waitress that served us at a cafe and we said something and she responded “cheers” and omigod I so wanted to be her.  So indifferent and living in Bath working at a cafe.  In between ordering and waiting for the food to arrive I had already decided I was going to go to college just so I could become her.  And then she came back with the food and we conversed more and she said “cheers” about four times over in that short period of time and I realized I had to change my life’s plan because now she just sounds stupid.  And I don’t want to be stupid.

I’m glad I decided to accept that I could never be that.  Because I remember distinctly the first time I saw wild turkeys on the side of the road and if I had to hide my excitement at that moment in order to maintain my image, I would have blown up.

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What am I doing here?

I’ve been extremely frustrated lately.  And it’s all coming back to one issue, too many people around.

The weather has been so nice lately which brings more people out and about (where were you people running the lake in the morning 2 mths ago, huh?)  And I swear every day last week I was yelled at, or sneered at, or stuck in some large crowd where a few people with chips on their shoulder made it known they were having a bad day and everyone should accommodate that.  And most of these people are whacks or crazies in some way.  Berkeley and my one block walk to the office is known for the crazies.  But I let it get to me.  And by the week’s end I was exhausted.  I was tempted to stay indoors on a 70 degree blue sky day in March just to avoid being around people (good thing I didn’t.  my day-walker complexion thanked me for it.)  But it has me asking myself what am I doing living in a place so urban when I have skin so thin that the crazy on the bike yelling at me for driving around him gets me shaky and teary-eyed. 

A friend told me last week she’s moving to a small mountain town in Colorado and I was full of envy.  I always tell ex-boy that my ideal house is the one from Sleeping with the Enemy.  Not the mansion on the beach, the small one she moves into by herself that has neighboring apple trees and a small yard and small kitchen for baking pies.  I love that house.  I love the idea of a small town with a main street where if I want I can ride my bike everywhere or drive out of town to go hiking.  When ex-boy and I lived in Walnut Creek, I used to ride my bike to work and to the farmer’s market on Sundays.  But it wasn’t small town enough.  Rich housewives still drove there SUVs everywhere and everyone walked around downtown just to be seen.  I hated the attitude.  So why do I live in Oakland where I more often than not hear my neighbors conversing through the thin walls or people yelling outside and every morning I walk by this odd halfway house/soup kitchen where everyone hangs outside in their slippers and overcoats and I hesitate to wonder if they’re wearing anything else?

It seemed obvious when we first moved here, but I admit it’s becoming more difficult to defend my decision to live here.

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makes me sad

I love this time of year when fruit starts to come back in season and I tend to go a bit overboard on it.  But there is one fruit that escapes my enjoyment.  And it’s my favorite.  And it makes me sad.  Every year since high school I try to eat a mango.  And the best part about enjoying a mango is that I take it up right from the peel and pretty much smash my face into the fruit while I eat it because I have no self control.  And it’s best enjoyed this way.  I stand over the sink and let all the mango juice run down my chin and I eat the whole thing then pick up the seed and pick off the remaining bits around it.

But I’m allergic to mangoes.  And I have been since high school.  I gather it’s mostly from the peel since I can eat pre-cut pre-packaged mango, but there’s no enjoyment in that.  So I try to eat a mango every year to see if perhaps the allergy has just disappeared.  And every year I am fortunate I keep a bottle of steroid medicine on hand once the effects start to kick in.  It’s risky, but mangoes are worth it.  Maybe next year…

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it will never be for lack of trying

Last night was not good.  At all.  It was one of those nights that caused an emotional hangover all day and made me walk into work really fast and hide in my cube because of that issue where I cry 2 tears and my eyes swell up big and puffy and where I had to miss class because I couldn’t get it together in time to go to class without possible stares as to why I looked like I took a high-pressured hose to my face.   This is what it means to have “the emotional fortitude of cottage cheese.”

Ex-boy and I have been really good.  And we can even talk about living together again.  Except we know that may not be within the next few months.  I made a promise to myself not to live with another boy until I’m engaged.  I made that promise to avoid ever moving in with a guy before knowing if I loved him.  Ex-boy admitted to me a few years back that when we moved to California together he wasn’t sure if he loved me.  Granted, I had a bit of a break down when we first arrived here and struggled with depression and seriously low esteem for about a year, but I couldn’t understand why we were living together when he wasn’t sure if he loved me.  I just don’t want that again.  Obviously we’re not engaged.  But we speak more freely about it, mainly me saying how I wouldn’t run out and shout it across the country if we were engaged, because it’s definitely something I would sit on for a while, just between us, to make sure it felt right before announcing.  It’s not something I feel the need to congratulate other people on like it’s a milestone in life you’re hitting, so I wouldn’t expect the same.  But that’s a rant on a different issue.

Then there’s the second issue that hides in the shadow and prevents us from moving forward.  I talk to him about what I was feeling when I emotionally cheated on him and what I was feeling when I was with that other guy.  Whatever is left of the issue is mainly me trying to build up my esteem from what happened.  Ex-boy left this long letter in my apartment when the whole thing went down and in it he wrote something along the lines of when I realize what’s going on don’t be too hard on myself because I have a tendency to hold myself up to standards I would never apply to anyone else.  It’s exactly what I ended up doing and I am still struggling with the slap I gave my self-esteem.  So when someone at work came up to me the other day and told me about the colleague that’s been crushing on me for a while now, I ended up writing ex-boy an e-mail about how nice it is to be liked by someone I’m not canoodling.

So I send ex-boy an e-mail about how it’s hard to believe anyone I’m not fooling around with likes me and add to it the fact that ex-boy found the pics from last fall of me and the other guy that I never deleted along with keeping a web site I have no need to keep up with in my reader and there you have last night.  There’s me struggling with my self-esteem and ex-boy struggling with the trust that I won’t jump at the next guy that shows interest and in between, somewhere, we’re trying to move forward with a healthy relationship.

One of my favorite things about my relationship with ex-boy is that throughout our 7 years he has given me space to be quiet with my thoughts and not pester me about what I’m thinking.  If he sees weeks go by and I’m still stuck in my head, he pulls me out, but he always gives me time.  Now that time I take to myself has him filled with suspicion that my emotions are elsewhere because for a while they were.  But they’re not elsewhere.  My world is pretty darn selfish at the moment.  Just me trying to put some self-control back on the sugar-addiction before I add body-image issues to my list of things to work on, my puppy that has me concerned over his seasonal allergies, and figuring out when the right time is to move forward with this relationship.  In any case, if me and ex-boy don’t make it, no one can ever say it’s because neither of us tried.

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ask me again why I don’t trust food

ex-boy tuned me into this blog.  well-written and hysterical.  and a nice reminder of why I should never trust overly-processed food.  (that and I’m just finishing up Botany of Desire by Michael Pollan, and the last chapter is another good reminder.  very good book.)

Steve, Don’t Eat It.

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it’s sweet, in a “i like to lick your feet” sort of way

It has been 4 months since I got Jack.  And as he sits here and stares at me while I type, I realize how odd it is that in such a short time this puppy has changed my day-to-day life so much.  I have no problem getting up to run 3.5 miles every morning and then walking it again in the afternoon because it’s for him more than it is for me.  He lays across my books when I study on the couch and and he lays across my feet when I sit at the computer.  In public places he crawls behind my legs to sit and watch people.  He’s so excited to see me in the evenings that he tinkles.  No other boy ever gets that excited to see me…

But there’s this weird attachment thing he has going.  I would suspect it’s an Aussie Cattle dog trait, like a sign of sincere loyalty to the owner.  He licks, everything.  And since he has this sandpaper tongue, he can disintegrate whatever he is licking in a matter of minutes.  But lately, his choice lick is the carpet.  I couldn’t figure out what the pleasure in licking was b/c his eyes kind of glaze over and relax when he does it.  But after giving is some thought, I think the reason is a little gross.

My hair has grown longer and the one drawback to long hair is that it is more obvious how much I shed.  I hate walking around barefoot and getting long blond strands wound up around my toes.  It really grosses me out.  When I wash my hair, I run my fingers through it to pull out all the loose strands and pile them on the shower wall so they don’t clog the drain and so I can easily throw it out.  I frequently wipe up all the hair off the sink basin and bathroom floor because having hair everywhere makes me gag.  And I think Jack licks anywhere he finds my hair as a sign of affection.  He’d sit and lick my bare feet all day if I didn’t stop him (see? sweet at first, but really, it’s a dog, licking your feet, it’s gross.)  So the next best thing, licking strands of my hair off the bed and floor.  That is until the long strands get digested and come out the other end.  Yup, just gross all around. 

Ex-boy won’t let Jack lick him at all while I occasionally stick a hand out and let Jack go nuts until he falls asleep.  But Jack also doesn’t find ex-boy’s feet as a place to rest his butt when nothing interesting is going on.  I think their relationship suffers for it when they get into tiffs over sharing the bed or play-biting or the fact that Jack burps after he eats and ex-boy thinks it’s sooo disgusting and I give Jack accolades over eating his food (he was so scrawny and wouldn’t eat when I first got him!)  In any case, while it’s yucky weird, it’s also sort of sweet if Jack is indeed purposefully finding my hair to eat off the carpet.  No, see, reading that sentence I’m back to it being freakish….


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