What I want will last a lifetime

I'm a happy single girl. That said, I eventually want someone in my life...the right someone. I watch the relationships around me spin and jerk like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival and think about what I want in someone to share my life with...wonder why I'm generally single and rarely together.*

When I went home for Christmas it was in observing my grandparents that I got some answers. They are about to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary this April, and while their relationship has had its share of ups and downs, their love just seems to grow. My grandmother's health has been deteriorating pretty steadily this past year, and I see how that pains him and how his devotion to her is unwavering. He still held her hand when they walked for the longest time, and now that she can't really walk very far he's one of the ones that helps her into her wheelchair. When she stopped being able to wipe herself, guess who was there. When he gets off work he spends is days at the nursing home sitting with her, and when hope seems to wane, he's man enough to cry. Throughout the years they've also shown me that love is something that requires work and that isn't perfect. He cheated once when I was really young. My grandmother loved him though and chose to stay...forgive...work through their problems. Love hurts, but when it's meant to be, working on it is worth it.

I want that love...the love that will be here for the long haul. I can't just love someone because I need someone in my life. I want that someone who still wants to hold my hand when I'm 70.


*In reality, I know the suitcase of issues I have contributes to my singleness ;-)

The apocalypse list

You may or may not know that I am obsessed with stories (literature/movies) with post-apocalyptic themes. I just finished a new anthology of post-apocalyptic fiction called Wastelands, and it once again got me thinking about my list. Basically my emergency preparedness list for things I need to do and have in order to be ready for the end of the world (any standard rapture scenario aside).

So, without further adieu, part* of my apocalypse list**...

1. Start a running regimen - All good survival stories involve running in one form or another. I need to be able to outrun the giant tidal wave or run faster than the other fleeing mass of people. Running seems like a basic skill that would improve chances of survival. I hate running.
2. Learn kickboxing - Along the same lines as running, this just seems like a good skill to have in terms of survival. You just never know when you're going to need to kick a little ass and defend your loved one.
3. Learn to garden - If the end of the world comes, the modern food chain (3 ears of corn for $1 at Wegmans) will likely no longer exist. Assuming there are still parts of the world whose environment will grow crops, a girl needs to learn how to reap and sow.
4. Learn to build a fire - It seems easy and basic enough, and I plan to stockpile matches. However, knowing what the average boy scout and caveman know should be essential.
5. Build basic supplies - While I realize that looting would probably be what would happen after a while, it would be nice to at least begin my end of the world scenario with a few basics. Gauze, duct tape, rope, flashlights and batteries, candles, water purifier (like you'd use camping), knife, etc.


*This is only the beginning of my list :-)
**Yes, I fully realize you may now think I'm a freak.

Over the shoulder

I am willing to admit that I read over people's shoulders on the metro. Rarely do I actually get into an article. It's really more glancing at the headlines. Given my schedule, there are many days where this is the only news that I get.

Anyway, earlier this week on my ride home, I found myself presented with more unique reading material. This woman sitting down in front of me (I was standing) was studying flash cards. Plumbing and water delivery flash cards. This was a middle aged woman wearing professional attire. Full suit, pantyhose, jewelry, etc. She did not look like someone looking to learn the intricacies of pressure valves.

What did I do? Continue to read over her shoulder and guess the correct answers with her. I won't lie. I would do a little hop in my mind every time I got an answer correct.

public art

At a nearby apartment complex, there exists a horrible sculpture of a horse. It is ginormous. It serves no purpose and looks like it was accidentally left by the Trojans. Its very existence bothered me. Basically, I thought the horse needed to lighten up.

So, in order to celebrate winter, brighten the life of said concrete horse, and give people in the neighborhood a reason to smile, I set about knitting a giant red scarf to outfit the giant concrete horse. After what seemed like months and a crapton of yarn, I declared the scarf done, and Allie (aka partner in crime) and I set out to scarf the horse.

At 22:00 hours on Saturday, January 5, the horse was bestowed its new scarf.























On a sadder note, the scarf didn't even make it 24 hours before it was removed. Some people just have no taste for art.

The white pants doctrine

When I got on the metro this afternoon to make my way home, I noticed a
sunflower seed (shelled) stuck to the seat. As I brushed it away, I
began to wonder how anyone could survive wearing white pants.

Every summer (well, winter, because we all know the fashion mags are
seasons ahead), the fashion mags flaunt chic, crisp white pants and
flirty white dresses. Given how messy life is I've always wondered how
certain woman (wide ass doctrine aside) pull them off. Are there lives
so together that dirt and grime are repelled?

It came to me once I saw today's sunflower seed that these people must
live a more peaceful life than I. People who wear white pants aren't
the people who use public transportation and navigate the dark grease of
a metro elevator or the darkened metrorail seat. These people don't get
up at 5:30 am dressing for two jobs and the 17 hours of treachery their
outfit will have to make it through. They don't have to worry about
potentially having to venture to the river during the day or getting
tossed in front of an espresso machine that night.

If they did, those white pants would be dingy and would bear the mark of
wrinkles rather than a hot iron.

The going home list

I write this as I try to convince myself to go to sleep. I have an early flight tomorrow that will take me from San Angelo, TX to Fairfax, VA. God, coming home makes me so contemplative. Thoughts tumbling in my head like a hamster chasing its shadow as it runs on it wheel. Tonight I’m trying to remember the little things about this place that I always forget. The little things that make me shake my head but also what make me love it just a little.

I always forget that

• Each bedroom in my house has a vanity for doing one’s hair and makeup and that it’s so much nicer to do this at a vanity than at a bathroom mirror.
• One town can feel like two towns and that each side of town has to have its own Wal-Mart, Sonic, and various other establishments.
• Texans keep Wrangler in business.
• “hon” is the proper way to greet someone.
• Everything is so flat and the buildings so low.
• Certain rooms in my house seem to have animal themes. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be some PETA nut or a veterinarian.
• I could own a house for $20,000 and a mansion for $300,000.
• Beige has to be written into the town bylaws somewhere.
• My milkshake does, indeed, bring all the boys to the yard.
• It’s good to have a place called home.

So last night I swear I could have gotten myself killed.

It's about 12:30, and I've been asleep for about 40 minutes. I wake up to hear someone trying to get inside my apartment. I blame my next thoughts/actions on being awoken. In my head I'm thinking this is Scarlet trying to get into my apartment. I think I think this because I know she is in the ffx area and plus I'm groggy. She has a key, but the deadlock is in place.

Anyway, I go to the door to let her in...looking out the peephole first. I see someone disappearing aound the corner. In my head I still think this is Scarlet, so I open the door and stick my head out. I then call out "I hope you're not a killer" and giggle.

Well, I'll be damned if some sketchy guy doesn't come back around the corner. I was shocked beyond shocked and think I still had the smile frozen on my face. Anyway, he's bumbling some kind of weird apology/excuse. I don't think I said anything at all. I just moved back into my house and locked both locks again. I slept with my sidekick under my pillow after that.

Crazy, huh? I'd like to think he was lost or drunk and not really trying to get into my apartment. If he was really trying to get in, I bet he's never come across anyone like me before...calling out to him and saying I hope you're not a killer.

You cut me

I've been lost in thought a lot lately. I've been thinking about the little ways we cut the people who wander through our lives. Friends and loved ones whose lives so intertwine that sometimes it gets confusing as to where one begins and another ends. Connections that not only strengthen relationships and build closeness but that also sometimes wind up like twister. As bigger, more painful life experiences happen to us I wonder why these twists...these inadvertant cuts hurt like they do.

My goal for the holiday season is to embrace simplicity and attempt to cut those around me less (and take their cuts less personally).

Let me in

I was alone pretty much the entire day and spent like 90% of it inside my apartment. When I realized my evening plans were falling through around 2:30, it hit me that it has actually been ages since I've been by myself for this long.

If I'm going to be honest, it was a bit unsettling. The thing is, while I'm good at being alone and don't lack for things to entertain me, I'm sometimes afraid of being left alone with my thoughts. An entire afternoon and evening to ponder the mistakes I've made in my life, what's missing and who I miss? Call me crazy, but I was a little wary.

That said, I kind of made the decision early on to have it so. It's always good to make sure you can stand yourself because you never know if you'll wind up alone later in life. hahaha...that might sound so negative, but it really wasn't meant to be. The only moment that could be construed as melodramatic was listening to a Decembrist mix (the slow shite) and lying on my couch.

In addition to listening to music, I (1) watched an episode and a half of Ugly Betty; (2) bought two pairs of shoes and a pair of magenta tights; (3) had a photoshoot with James; (4) watched Marissa die on the OC; (5) did laundry and dishes; (6) ate someone else's leftover spaghetti; (7) commented on Flickr photos; and (8) did a lot of thinking.

Not a bad day at all. Just not something I want to do all day, every day.

Sometimes it's fun

Real story with male customer yesterday:

(while looking up books by a particular author)

him: Is that tattoo on your hand permanent?

me: It is.

him: I like your earrings.

me: Thanks. The robots match the one on my leg.

him: Really? Let me see. (leaning over customer service counter)

me: (pulling up my skirt to show tattoo)

him: wow.

me: Well, it looks like the only book by the author you gave me is How to Get a Woman in Bed. (and I start cracking up hard core)

Hakuna matata, bitch

Hakuna Matata. Shake It Off. Que Sera Sera. All of these songs are about* just letting go and letting live. This whole mentality has been one that I have been trying to embrace for the past few weeks.

Ask any of my friends and they will likely roll their eyes and explain how I haven't stopped singing Hakuna Matata at every opportunity. It goes beyond singing the words to a song, however. It's about managing expectations and learning to find that happy medium. The fact of the matter is that I expect a lot from the people around me, more than they should be required to give, and when they don't deliver, my disappointment is extreme and the aftermath brutal. I realized I was tired of constantly being unhappy with people because they didn't act in the way I expected them to or respond in the way I wanted.

Lowered expectations equals greater happiness, right? I'll let you know how it goes. ;-)

*to me

We brought Italy back

In the ongoing saga of my kitchen and learning to cook, Steven and I "made Italy*" last night in the form of lasagna.

Lest you think we took the easy route, Martha Stewart and her damn Blueprint magazine (<3) taunted me into making my own meat sauce. Steven was my hero in using his muscles to break up pieces of the tomato, so I wouldn't have to deal with a chunky sauce; however, our one mistake was chilling on the balcony and admiring the trees. When he popped his head back in to check on the sauce, we discovered it had started to burn. Oops! A little bit of water and spicing (and tasting) and we were back on proper footing. Layer upon layer upon layer, and it was done. I don't know about Steven, but I felt smidge of pride when we pulled it out of the oven, and it looked all golden and yummy. One thing I've figured out about cooking is that I enjoy it a lot more when I'm cooking for and with people. The social aspect of food bringing people together is nice ancillary benefit. *according to Allie

The San Francisco treat

Having spent the better part of this week in San Francisco at a work conference and jetting back on a red-eye last night, I am exhausted. I find myself wondering if I can blame at least some of my exhaustion on being able to hang out with colleague turned good friend and boo, Elizabeth. When given the mandate that we should drink together while I was out on the left coast, Elizabeth took it to heart. Tuesday evening rolled around and Scarlet and I found ourselves in Elizabeth's Berkeley backyard kicking back with a drink in our hands.

If I weren't so tired, I would tell you what a good hostess Elizabeth and her bf Mark were. We were fed and watered like you wouldn't believe. It was also nice to spend time in their little community where neighbors and housemates came out to the yard to imbibe and grab a bite. Is the barometer of a good evening being made to feel comfortable and at home? Is it not remembering how you made it back to the hotel the next morning? hahaha.

Give a girl a kitchen...

...and she just might start to cook. Not that any of my previous apartments were kitchenless, they just didn't have granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances and other features that mock me and my budding pot collection. It also happens to be the first kitchen that is all mine!

That said, my crew has been pitching in with cooking lessons. Poor Allie kicked off the lessons and was forced to suffer the most. I think she had been deluding herself into thinking I was hiding secret kitchen supplies. I had a big pot and a little pot. Evidently this is not enough to make spaghetti with Italian sausage. I had to give her lessons in how ghetto fab I can be and show her how to strain pasta without a strainer.

Ravena proved herself a formidable teacher the next week with a lesson in meatloaf and Parmesan mashed potatoes. She actually made me add spices, mash the potatoes myself and mold the meatloaf. She had incredible patience with me and all of my questions. Of course, who wouldn't question directions like "just a little" and "a pinch". Chez Ravena also introduced alcohol into the cooking lesson mix with some Scrumpy's organic hard cider. Yum!

My latest lesson packed a one-two punch of fajitas and mojitos by Scarlet. Her lesson was by far the easiest in that it involved a spice pack that answered all of my seasoning questions. Ice cream sundaes by Steven completed the evening.

Lest you think I'm not venturing out on my own, I even tried a little Texas fare last week in the form of steak fingers. Yes...Texans really will do just about anything with steak.

Living slowly

I've been fascinated for the past year with the slow life movement. Maybe it's because I spend so much time working and scheduling myself with an inch of exhaustion. I also like the way that it embraces living simply. I mean really...why does life have to be so complicated, so drama filled? Aren't we at fault for most of the drama and things in our lives? I know there are things that happen to us that are beyond our control, but when I think of the recent drama surrounding me (illnesses aside), I feel like all of it are things that I can in some way control. At the very least I could decide to extricate all of those complicating factors from my life.

If I have that much control over my own life, then why don't I? Because sometimes life is just too complicated and not all black and white. Sometimes the gray is important, too.

Staying alive

I'm alive. I still haven't read the new Harry Potter, but I have managed to move into a hott new apartment, make a movie for the 48 Hour Film Project, and attend its big screen debut earlier today. I'll be back in the swing of things tomorrow, but until then, check out what we came up with* for the film project when we drew super hero as our genre.



*Please note that quality has been sacrificed in order to condense this for the internet.

Such a Harry mess!

Do you remember those famous battle scenes in movies? The ones where you can feel the approaching army by the rumble that grows increasingly louder and the ground literally vibrates? This has been the scene at the bookstore as we edge closer to the release of the 7th Harry Potter book.

I'll admit that I'm geeked. I've developed my own theories as to what really happened with Snape and whether Dumbledore is truly dead. Hell, I even volunteered to work during the Harry Potter midnight madness and will be there until 3 am ensuring voracious Disciples of Rowling get their fix at the earliest possible second.

What I do find annoying is the corporate mumbo jumbo Barnes & Noble (the Barn) is pushing. Rather than try to play it cool, the Barn (NYC HDQ) is working themselves into such a frenzy and virtually creating the chaos they are trying to avoid. Will it be crazy? Yes. Is this probably one of the most anticipated books ever? Yes. Are we going to get robbed of all of our Harry Potter books by customers who are over informed of our order and when it is expected? Doubtful.

Do you think I'm crazy? Take a look at some of the rules for yourself.

1) Do not tell customers or members of the media how many Harry Potter books we are expecting.
2) Do not tell customers or members of the media how many Harry Potter books have been reserved.
3) Do not talk to members of the media about Harry Potter. Direct all inquiries to blahblahblah.
4) Do not tell anyone when the Harry Potter books will or have arrived.
5) Under no circumstances are cameras or cell phones with cameras allowed in the vicinity of the Harry Potter boxes.

It's like they're issuing a personal challenge to me when they repeat such stupid rules to me every single night. I'm considering selling the right to touch the boxes on Ebay since they didn't bother to forbid me from doing that.

P.S. If you're so worried about people knowing when your shipment of HP books arrive, don't suddenly cover the window in the door to receiving with paper. It's a bit obvious to everyone.

Unbreakable

Allie recently turned me on to Chuck Klosterman and one of his essays entitled Nemesis*, where Chuck illustrates with his prosaic words what women and comic book fans around the world have intuitively known for years. Most everyone in the world has both a nemesis and an archenemy. It is here he brilliantly defines the difference between nemesis and archenemy.

According to Klosterman, a nemesis is some one you kind of like even though you despise them. You would probably have drinks with your nemesis and go to their wedding**, if invited. Your archenemy, on the other hand, inspires such hatred that you won't even admit to hating them for fear of giving them the satisfaction. If your archenemy died, you would throw a party and dance on their grave.

The funny thing is that, while my archenemy came to mind almost immediately, I'm having a hard time identifying my nemesis. I'm sure I've had a nemesis over the years and probably could have named one immediately in high school or college. Is that I'm too old for a nemesis right now? Do I only harbor long-term grudges that speak more to the level of archenemy? Maybe I need to meet more people so I can develop a nemesis.



*Also known as The Importance of Being Hated.
**Of course, you would also be hoping it ends in a bitter divorce.

You better recognize

In the 4th grade I started a gang. I will readily admit the elementary school Serena was a hellion and probably merely a precursor to the pain-in-the-ass I am today.

Gathering a group of my female friends from all walks of life, I convinced everyone we should be a gang to defend ourselves in the elementary school social hierarchy. I named my gang the Let Me Call You Sweetheart Gang and set about developing our marketing campaign. Now, at the age of 11 I didn't know the phrase marketing campaign existed, but that's exactly what I was doing.

Our name came from this t-shirt I had with Minnie Mouse on it and a button that played Let Me Call You Sweetheart when pressed. Not exactly fear inspiring, huh? Looking back, I can't remember the exact purpose of our gang or if we even lasted past that first playground session. What I do remember is spinning on the merry-go-round as the tennis courts whizzed by. I remember the lone guy in our group talking about how his cousin could hook us up with gang shirts and those satin jackets with the embroidery on the back. Our jackets were going to be light pink satin and have a broken heart stitched on the back with the gang name. Our jackets would have our name embroidered on the front.

I don't recall much else, but I can still feel my excitement at the thought of those jackets and how cool we would look. I think I watched Grease too often as a child.

The one where a $1 beer equals happiness

I consider 7-11 to be a bit of a cultural mecca* that has only recently for me been replaced by Sheetz/Wawa. I like that it's filled with all walks of life and all sorts of items you never knew you needed. There are very few places that I walk into and automatically start craving a hot dog. I can also get a cheap bottle of Andres champagne or a mega slurpee if I so desire.

Every time I hear of a new, more obscure soda product I automatically assume 7-11 will be the one to bring it to the masses. When I was looking for the pink cigarettes put out by Camel where did I go first? 7-11. It shouldn't surprise you that when looking for the new Diet Pepsi Max** this Friday that I automatically assumed 7-11 would be place to go. As we strolled into 7-11, it soon became clear that they were Max-less. Never one to turn my nose up at a Diet Coke, I grabbed the nearest chilled bottle and made my way to the register, stopping only to search for that mystical cupcake. However, almost all routes to pay lead you past the hot dog roller. What proceeded was, upon reflection, a conversation that very much reminds me of Beavis and Butthead for some reason.

Scarlet: "I love their hot dogs."

Me: "Me, too. I'm going to get one."

Scarlet: "Me, too."

Seconds later my eyes alight on two of my favorite words: clearance and $1. There, in a bucket by the cash register was perhaps the best clearance sale ever. "Clearance. $1 beers. Any kind."

Me, nudging Scarlet: "Look. They have beers on clearance for $1."

Scarlet: "Really? We kind of have to get one."

Me: "Ummm...yeah. How can you not get clearance beer for $1."

Scarlet: "Yeungling. I'm getting the Yeungling."

Me: "Hmmm."

Scarlet: "Miller Lite blah blah blah is good."

Me: "I'm getting the Yeungling. I think I can drink a Yeungling."

Me: "We can drink these at my new secret place."

So it was with a Diet Coke, hot dog, and a Yeungling that I left 7-11.

7-11 is vintage.

*Cultural mecca a la Fast Food Nation-style infamy.
**with supposedly more caffeine