charming will only get you so far

picking out and renting your first apartment for you, yourself and no one but yourself is very exciting.

it's like driving away from your parents' house for the first time just after they decide to trust you enough as a new driver.

you feel free. you feel invincible. you feel on top of the world. like the NIN song "nothing can stop me now... i don't care anymore."

so you go check out the apartments in town, the ones you have always had your eye on and thought, "wow, look at those historic, classy apartments. look at all of those windows! i'll bet they are cute with original hardwood floors and bathroom tile!"


when my lease with the roommate was up, i said goodbye and signed up for the first apartment i looked at out of greed for a classier, more modern lifestyle at the historic, classy apartments.

i got what i wanted: hardwood floors, tons of windows and original bathroom tile and fixtures from the 1920s.

the older women in my family call it charming. my friends call it adorable. visitors call it cute and are impressed by the bay window in the bedroom.

i've been biting my tongue on this one for a while... but after a year and half i can be frank.
what i also got with my charming apartment: drafty windows (i really think they are the original), slow drains (also the original), old fuses (you guessed it), hallow walls (yes, i can hear my neighbors doing it sometimes) and the latest... pipes that are apt to freeze.

i just keep reminding myself that spring and summer are somewhere around the corner and that when it is warm out, it is beautiful. great breezes, lots of windows to open, evening sunlight... everything i could have hoped for.

have i learned my lesson. yes, i think so. but who wants to live in a white-wall carpeted square if you can help it?

but for right now, the charm isn't cutting it. we'll see how i feel when the lease is up.

the man who doesn't care about the game

i never, ever thought i would be ridiculed for blocking out two hours of my night for my fantasy basketball draft...

i never, ever thought i would be chastised for choosing to watch a football game with my dad rather than help paint a fence...

i never, ever thought i would have to explain what a field goal is at a basketball game to someone older than seven with a 401k...

i never, ever thought i would have to justify watching the superbowl to anyone...

especially to a 28-year-old man.

within at least a month of each other in the past few months, i have had to make these proclamations to myself. i stop. blink. shake my head. and think, " can this really be happening to me?"

i never thought it was possible to date a man who did not like or watch college or professional sports. at first i thought i could get away with it. the olympics made it on tv for a few night last year. but that was it.

i'm not an avid sports fan, but i do enjoy it. i love the competition the professional drama. big plays. sore losers. important games.

but i don't enjoy dating a man who does not have any interest in sports at all. i don't think i can do it.

it's just a shirt

cleaning out my closet, i unearthed some obsessive behavior i had no idea i possessed.
i could not bring myself to get rid of certain things because they evoked memories of an event, a great time in my life or a certain person.

actually, i couldn't bring myself to throw a lot of these materialistic memories in the black donation bag.

example: back when i was much thinner (thank you, mono, for granted me a super-sleek summer of 2003) i returned from Rome, Italy completely infatuated. i had fallen for Italy. with the memories and love still alive, back home, i bought a green tanktop with a screen printed peach on it that said "Rome, Georgia, home of the greatest peaches" or something like that. that same week my boyfriend (also my greatest love of the early 2000s) attended lollapalooza, drank beer, took a ton of photos of our favorite bands with a very valuable photo pass and had an amazingly memorable day. maybe one of my favorite nights of all time. and i wore that shirt. actually, i wore that shirt, a short denim skirt and brown flip flops that kind of hurt my feet.

well, that love has since faded (may i never see him again) but seeing that shirt brought back that memory i had tucked away. i didnt so much think about the dude and all of the horrible emotional stress he has since caused me, but i remembered how i felt and the fun i had. i even smelled, hoping that it may smell like sweat, smoke or summer. it didn't.

six years later, i doubt i could fit a tit into that shirt.

i didn't put it in the garbage bag -- i just couldn't do it. i put it back in my closet.
maybe in the next closet-clearing round.

major overhaul

happy new year, as they say.
i say, i hope this fucking year is better than last fucking year.

here are my simple resolutions that no one but myself can help me with:

1- pay my bills on time. can it really be that difficult? how it is that people are so good at this? it's an art i have neither appreciated or adapted for my life. with a nice little christmas bonus i am starting off the year with all of the tools i need. let's see if i can master this once and for all.

2- say what i mean and mean what i say. if there is another thing i need to work on, it is uncorking the bottle of emotions i have invested years in. it's time to speak. count on me to tell you what i really think. you sort of realize as you get older that you don't have anyone else to shield your feelings for you. you mom can't tell your sister to apologize for throwing your barbies on the roof anymore. and your mom can't tell someone you love them for you. it's all you.

3- do the dishes. this one is a no-brainer, too. don't grow science experiments... just fucking wash them.