here comes the rain again

RAINMAGEDDON 2011 has begun.  Philly will get up to 12 inches of rain overnight.  Mayor Nutter just warned everyone that the electricity might go out for "ten days to two weeks," which seems ridiculous.


i'm freaking out.  i like rain a lot, but i really hope that we don't lose electricity.  i can't sleep without a fan blowing on me. 

pray for us sinners and our electric companies.

 

outta my, outta my head

today i'm listening to Coldplay's "Every Teardrop is a Waterfall" on repeat.  i heard it in a pub last week, and i immediately loved the tinny sound and the Irish-y guitar.  the video is pretty sweet, too:





when i get tired of hearing that, i listen to my girl Robyn's cover thereof.





love it. love it bad.
   

hoffman says...

It doesn’t matter what people tell you. It doesn’t matter what they might say. Sometimes you have to leave home. Sometimes, running away means you’re headed in the exact right direction.

   

post(ing) secret(s)

i checked Postsecret today, rather than yesterday, because where i was yesterday included:

-Baltimore. so much fun.
-I-95. not a fun drive when horribly hung over.
-my couch. so hung over.
-my bed. early.  so tired.  

these weekend adventures wear me out. 


fun times, though.  my awesome travel companion took some cool photos.  maybe i'll be able to share one or two.

 

my afternoon smile

today at the cafe i received such an unexpected, surprising compliment from a regular customer: that i look like a teenager.


wellll.... kind of. the conversation went as follows:

nice red-headed girl: Did you cut your hair?

me: Yeah, I just got bored and shaved it off.

nrhg: It looks good!

me: Thanks.  People keep telling me that I look younger.

nrhg: Yeah, you do.

me: Like I'm 16?

nrhg: Yeah.

[later, when the customer was leaving]

me: See you later!  Thanks for saying I look like I'm 16.

nrhg: You sort of suggested it, so --

me: Okay, see 'ya.

wasn't that so nice of her?  here i am, almost 30, and people think i look so young, including the produce lady at Reading Terminal last week. 

  

raining on Sunday

a rainy, grey Sunday afternoon.  i've already done lots of laundry, cleaned the house, and gone out shopping at Reading Terminal.  

the only things left to do are to crawl back onto my bed, start a new book (which came highly recommended from both T and Tay [yes, they're real people even if they don't sound like they are]), and spend the afternoon in silence.

you probably can't see him, save for his fur poking out, but Mr. Finch is lazing with me, in his favorite prison cell of a laundry basket.  

plath says...

Some things are hard to write about.  After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones.  At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

so much is going on, or gearing up to go on, right now that i don't know where to start.  how to frame it.  which reasons to offer, which to keep to myself.  so, for the time being, i'm simply not writing about any of it on here.  my old-fashioned, pen-to-paper journal helps me to get it all down in sentences, and out of my brain, for now.  i'll tell you all about it when i know how to do so.

 

idle hands...

this morning, in what was likely a subconscious effort to expunge all of the sins of this weekend, i thoroughly cleaned my entire bedroom and bathroom, moving furniture and pulling frames off walls and books off shelves.  so much Clorox, Comet and Lysol used.  life is now so clean and so fresh-smelling.


apparently my hands, when idle, are the germophobe's playground.  that may not make sense.


then, still restless, i shaved off all my hair (on my head.  not elsewhere, though i could stand for some trail maintenance and -- nevermind).  

and yes, people, i know i need to Botox that forehead wrinkle away.  it's on my to-do list in the upcoming years.

post(ing) secret(s)

i think i learned this lesson in my early 20's.  the single life can be a lot of fun, and waiting for someone to come along is a waste of time.


having said that, it will be nice to once again have a guy to call mine.  whenever that may happen.

   

one of these things is not like the other

during my weekend trip home to the country, Cassifrass and i hung out for a little while with my brother and his girlfriend.  when we arrived, they were drinking beer and swimming with some friends; these are good things, as they made it easier to cut the visit short once the smalltalk got boring.

as Cass and i sat talking to the ladies, my older brother and his friend engaged in what appeared to be a cannonball contest.  with every splash of water that came in our direction, Cass's cringe became more bitter, and i couldn't help but laugh at how ridiculous it was that two slightly under-the influence, 31-year-old men were having an awesome time together, just challenging one another to bigger and splashier jumps off the diving board.  

as i sat with my legs hanging into the pool, content to enjoy the sunshine and the peaceful backyard, i couldn't help but note the many differences between me and my brother.  we grew up together, but we never had much in common.  

you see, i was never like that.  ever.  not even at the horseplayful age of ten did i engage in such antics -- let alone at 30.  i remember that once i was old enough to do so, i preferred to swim alone so that i could pretend to be a mermaid and see how long i could sit on the bottom of the pool before surfacing.  back then my brother and his neighborhoodlum friends were an annoyance during my imaginative, self-contained playtime.  

my ma still likes to tell people that i was such a quiet child that she would have to come looking for me to make sure i was all right, and she'd find me in silence, writing or playing with Legos in my bedroom.  not that i wasn't an active youth; i could spend hours jumping on our trampoline while listening to my walkman (when i got my first Ace of Base tape, i almost wore out that trampoline).  did Ma wonder why i sat in my room reading and re-reading my favorite books, like "Ten Kids, No Pets" (i loved that book and read it so many times) while my brother and the other neighborhood boys built and raced bikes outside?

most likely, she always knew i was -- um -- different.  this weekend's visit home reminded me that i still am.  i guess i was born with it. 

on an unrelated note, here's this photo:

note: this is not a photo of me or of anyone i know. i only wish i had that complexion. 

   

burroughs says..

I used to feel so alone in the city.  All those gazillions of people and then me, on the outside.  Because how do you meet a new person?  I was very stumped by this for many years.  And then I realized, you just say, "Hi."  They may ignore you.  Or you may marry them.  And that possibility is worth that one word.

sometimes i find myself saying hello to strangers and asking them, "How are you?" as if i'm working -- when i'm not working but am simply in a public place.  

in my experience, the elderly are happy to answer and even chat.  young people just seem to be creeped out.  i'm not even a creepy person.  i guess if you start talking to a stranger who's around your age, he or she thinks that you're flirting or trying to pick him or her up.  i should just save my niceties for the elderly.

  

my afternoon smile

i just caught myself chuckling as i remembered a ridiculous conversation that i had with my normally sensical mother during my weekend visit to the country.  i was trying to pet my neighbor's goat, seen here:

Ma: They had another one, but it died.
me: That's sad.  What happened to it?
Ma: Nothing. It just died.  Goats do that.
me: It didn't just die.  Animals don't just die for no reason.
Ma: Goats do. Out of the blue.  
me: No they don't.
Ma: Trust me.  They have seizures or something.


all i could do was laugh at her.  if any of you have experience with goats spontaneously expiring, let me know.  i have some experience with goats, believe it or not, and i don't recall them dropping like flies.  when i was young, i had a pet goat named Nanny.  she didn't die.  we had to send her away because she kept spitting on us and biting everyone who came near her.


at any rate, it was a nice weekend away from Philly and a nice visit with the fam.