Friday, June 29, 2007
Posting
Abby and I just realized you can't add to a posting, but if you want to continue a story already written, just make a new post with the same name of the story and put part 2 or 3 or whatever after it and we'll figure it out.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
ew.
Friday December 22, 2006
ew.
It's a sad day when you wake up to go to work, go to put on your favorite new coat, and realize that you sat in something extremely gross in the cab ride home the night before. Even sadder, to think that anyone will care enough to read about it. I'm bored. Humor me. I will spare the details, but the dry cleaner was appalled and instructed me to go home immediately to try to scrub it out with cold, ONLY cold water, no soap, no soap. She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, telling me to bring it back immediately after the coat seemed to "brighten up." I almost feel like I should be at home looking after it, like she suggested, waiting for its mood to elevate, making sure that it's not getting too much sun in the kitchen (*no heat, no heat,* she said). Instead, I am at work on my 5th to last day, waiting for a client to call, who won't because it's the weekend before Christmas. I will be working on some personal things very soon, as soon as I'm done writing about my favorite, yet smelly, green coat. Stop reading. This is boring. Here is a photo of my favorite green coat before she or I knew what was to come. From here on, I will call her Lulu.
ew.
It's a sad day when you wake up to go to work, go to put on your favorite new coat, and realize that you sat in something extremely gross in the cab ride home the night before. Even sadder, to think that anyone will care enough to read about it. I'm bored. Humor me. I will spare the details, but the dry cleaner was appalled and instructed me to go home immediately to try to scrub it out with cold, ONLY cold water, no soap, no soap. She looked at me with sympathy in her eyes, telling me to bring it back immediately after the coat seemed to "brighten up." I almost feel like I should be at home looking after it, like she suggested, waiting for its mood to elevate, making sure that it's not getting too much sun in the kitchen (*no heat, no heat,* she said). Instead, I am at work on my 5th to last day, waiting for a client to call, who won't because it's the weekend before Christmas. I will be working on some personal things very soon, as soon as I'm done writing about my favorite, yet smelly, green coat. Stop reading. This is boring. Here is a photo of my favorite green coat before she or I knew what was to come. From here on, I will call her Lulu.
laundry: thinking about my coats
monday january 22, 2007
laundry: thinking about my coats.
The first real snow as far as I'm concerned! I'm at the laundromat, sitting near the door, stealing wireless, freezing, but can't bear to wear my coat. I hate my winter coat(s) this year, although I'm not sure that I ever enjoy wearing a winter coat. They always seem so bulky. I've been ranting and raving (or just ranting?) lately about this. Oh, Lulu , I didn't say *hate.* I'm just a bit displeased right now. Why aren't you smaller? Was I that much larger when I bought you or did I just not care? I am always so impulsive. When Queenie told me she would not change the style of Lulu (which would have made her fit me better AND be more stylish AND keep me warmer), why did I not insist? Queenie was so cute, peering over her glasses at me, but at the same time looking up from her 5 foot stance. Oh Queenie, why did you deny me? People were complimenting this coat left and right. But the truth is, she is way too big. Peter told me so, and he is so right. Colin told me he agreed that I do dress too frumpy. Oh dear. And then there is my big puffy blue coat. To quote someone who hugged me the other night - *Wow! Very Puffy!* It was a hand me down from Megan and I loved it at the time. I look like one giant ball of puff. Though, it is totally the kind of coat you want to roll around in the snow in. Did I mention it's snowing??? One of the many good things about this delayed winter we had, was all the extra time I got to wear my Kim Kelly vest! Yes, I love you Kim Kelly vest, though I'm not as big a fan of Kim Kelly herself. Sorry, Lou, I'm just not. (And no, still not Angela.)
I just noticed there is a payphone in here next to the change machine. I forgot all about payphones. This poor guy just locked himself out. Man, I'm cold. Puffy coat, will you be good to me? I'm thinking that while I am typing, the answer is no.
Oh dear, *locked out guy* just left in a huff. He is swearing. Poor *locked out guy.*
This guy just walked in and said hi as he approached the change machine. I just caught him looking over as he poured his Tide into the washer. I wonder if he thinks I'm a super-smart grad student working on a super-smart paper or maybe that I'm writing a very heartfelt email to some friend who lives overseas. No, no I'm not. I'm just blogging about my ill-fitting winter apparel, whom I've named fondly (and crazily.) Move along, Tide guy. Don't be impressed.
So, Todd mentioned Joanna Newsom the other night at the Choose to Find duo show. He named a song for her and I gasped from my seat. The strange thing is that I put her away and sort of forgot about her for a while. Josh (W not K) burned me her latest and I haven't listened to it in months. I was addicted to her first disc over the summer. Addicted. I will never be able to listen to that disc and not remember the summer of 2006, the summer I actually left my job and embarked on numeorus adventures (We will call them journeys, Carson.) Oh Joanna, I have such a short attention span sometimes. October, 2003, my 27th birthday, I was obsessed with knitting. I kept talking about knitting. I loved knitting. I received two *Stitch and Bitch* books from two different friends, and a knitting kit from another. I realized last January that I had forgotten all about knitting, and decided to pick it up on Superbowl Sunday (By the way, sorry Pats fans). And not one more stitch, one year later. December, 2004, Carrie got me Barack Obama's book "Dreams From My Father", and I only made it through about a third. I was obsessed with him, yet somehow the book made it into the "I'm reading these someday but not this second" pile. I'm thinkin' now's the time to pick that one back up!
Man, I'm cold! I wish I was in the dryer with the clothes tumbling around right now. But, if I was that small, small enough to fit in the dryer, Lulu would definitely be WAY too big.
laundry: thinking about my coats.
The first real snow as far as I'm concerned! I'm at the laundromat, sitting near the door, stealing wireless, freezing, but can't bear to wear my coat. I hate my winter coat(s) this year, although I'm not sure that I ever enjoy wearing a winter coat. They always seem so bulky. I've been ranting and raving (or just ranting?) lately about this. Oh, Lulu , I didn't say *hate.* I'm just a bit displeased right now. Why aren't you smaller? Was I that much larger when I bought you or did I just not care? I am always so impulsive. When Queenie told me she would not change the style of Lulu (which would have made her fit me better AND be more stylish AND keep me warmer), why did I not insist? Queenie was so cute, peering over her glasses at me, but at the same time looking up from her 5 foot stance. Oh Queenie, why did you deny me? People were complimenting this coat left and right. But the truth is, she is way too big. Peter told me so, and he is so right. Colin told me he agreed that I do dress too frumpy. Oh dear. And then there is my big puffy blue coat. To quote someone who hugged me the other night - *Wow! Very Puffy!* It was a hand me down from Megan and I loved it at the time. I look like one giant ball of puff. Though, it is totally the kind of coat you want to roll around in the snow in. Did I mention it's snowing??? One of the many good things about this delayed winter we had, was all the extra time I got to wear my Kim Kelly vest! Yes, I love you Kim Kelly vest, though I'm not as big a fan of Kim Kelly herself. Sorry, Lou, I'm just not. (And no, still not Angela.)
I just noticed there is a payphone in here next to the change machine. I forgot all about payphones. This poor guy just locked himself out. Man, I'm cold. Puffy coat, will you be good to me? I'm thinking that while I am typing, the answer is no.
Oh dear, *locked out guy* just left in a huff. He is swearing. Poor *locked out guy.*
This guy just walked in and said hi as he approached the change machine. I just caught him looking over as he poured his Tide into the washer. I wonder if he thinks I'm a super-smart grad student working on a super-smart paper or maybe that I'm writing a very heartfelt email to some friend who lives overseas. No, no I'm not. I'm just blogging about my ill-fitting winter apparel, whom I've named fondly (and crazily.) Move along, Tide guy. Don't be impressed.
So, Todd mentioned Joanna Newsom the other night at the Choose to Find duo show. He named a song for her and I gasped from my seat. The strange thing is that I put her away and sort of forgot about her for a while. Josh (W not K) burned me her latest and I haven't listened to it in months. I was addicted to her first disc over the summer. Addicted. I will never be able to listen to that disc and not remember the summer of 2006, the summer I actually left my job and embarked on numeorus adventures (We will call them journeys, Carson.) Oh Joanna, I have such a short attention span sometimes. October, 2003, my 27th birthday, I was obsessed with knitting. I kept talking about knitting. I loved knitting. I received two *Stitch and Bitch* books from two different friends, and a knitting kit from another. I realized last January that I had forgotten all about knitting, and decided to pick it up on Superbowl Sunday (By the way, sorry Pats fans). And not one more stitch, one year later. December, 2004, Carrie got me Barack Obama's book "Dreams From My Father", and I only made it through about a third. I was obsessed with him, yet somehow the book made it into the "I'm reading these someday but not this second" pile. I'm thinkin' now's the time to pick that one back up!
Man, I'm cold! I wish I was in the dryer with the clothes tumbling around right now. But, if I was that small, small enough to fit in the dryer, Lulu would definitely be WAY too big.
Box of Lions
"Where did you get that scar?" asked the man.
"From catching fireflys in the pale sunlight in the frozen wastes of Florida" replied the llama. "What about yourself? What did you do to mangle your tailbone so badly?"
"Same thing as you, soupcan. Only a little different."
Then, the bakery lights finally warmed up to the point where the maps of the factories could be left alone. Both old friends left the storefront complete strangers, as they always were.
"From catching fireflys in the pale sunlight in the frozen wastes of Florida" replied the llama. "What about yourself? What did you do to mangle your tailbone so badly?"
"Same thing as you, soupcan. Only a little different."
Then, the bakery lights finally warmed up to the point where the maps of the factories could be left alone. Both old friends left the storefront complete strangers, as they always were.
pigtails.
Sunday, June 17, 2007, 3:19 am
pigtails.
Remember that time we walked back to my house from Brookline. I promised to drive you home to J.P. once we got there. Hand in hand, just 2 minutes into our walk,, you yelled at this cab driver "Don't move that car!" as he watched us pass by. I could not stop laughing as he had not even stepped into the vehicle, but you explained how paranoid you were that he would gun it in drive, when he might think he was in reverse, running us poor girls over. I stood by my previous statement that he was not even in the car yet. You just couldn't help yourself.
You were so happy that we are both fast walkers and we wonder why everyone isn't. You are president of the "Could you walk any fucking slower?" club, and I am its only member.
This tricky intersection was coming up at Comm. Ave, and we discussed our strategy. It was around this time that everything you were saying made me think of Stevi and how I felt like I've known her almost as long as I've known you. You kept telling me that you loved *us*. And I love us too. I loved it when earlier tonight you played with my pigtails and told me it was because you wanted to play with your own but that would look weird. You picked mine up instead. *You can play with mine if you want* and I took your not so subtle hint. For 5 seconds, we stood across from each other twirling each others' pigtails, before finally bursting into laughter. I liked my hair better and wondered if that was mean.
So, we approached the scary intersection by Comm. Ave and you were terrified of the median. I am so glad one of us was not inebriated since you were freaking out. You're ok. You're ok. The crosswalk is right there. Ten minutes in, and we are on the BU bridge, taking a little break to enjoy the view. I loved it when you gave me too much information, even though the sober you never wants to hear such things from me.
Standing there, looking out at the Boston Skyline, lights bouncing off the Charles, I thought how this could potentially be a romantic moment, but instead it was just me and my best friend. And that tonight, that was so much better. Talking about boys and life and love, I took your hand once again, ready to walk. You said you loved how I knew that we needed to switch and I agreed that I was definitely on the wrong side.
Down Putnam Ave, you tripped on the sidewalk. You said you are so lucky that you were holding my hand or you would have been face first into that person's yard. It was the first time in a while that I've heard *I love you Abby* so much in one evening and I will cherish it for a bit. You were amazed at how organized my closet is compared to the rest of my room, and I explained that it's bit of a process.
Twenty-six years we've been friends and as we got into my car, you asked me if we were fucked up. I asked what you meant and you told me to just answer the question. I don't envy you right now. I don't. Two summers ago, you were barging in on me and Tom, telling me that I was going to get married before you. And now, I'm out of the race. I feel kind of free.
I promised to teach you some tennis, and you told me more times how I'm the cutest person you know. I wondered about what my summer would hold and you reminded me that I am a playa. I watched you trip again, this time walking onto your front stoop, and then I turned up Coldplay for the ride home.
pigtails.
Remember that time we walked back to my house from Brookline. I promised to drive you home to J.P. once we got there. Hand in hand, just 2 minutes into our walk,, you yelled at this cab driver "Don't move that car!" as he watched us pass by. I could not stop laughing as he had not even stepped into the vehicle, but you explained how paranoid you were that he would gun it in drive, when he might think he was in reverse, running us poor girls over. I stood by my previous statement that he was not even in the car yet. You just couldn't help yourself.
You were so happy that we are both fast walkers and we wonder why everyone isn't. You are president of the "Could you walk any fucking slower?" club, and I am its only member.
This tricky intersection was coming up at Comm. Ave, and we discussed our strategy. It was around this time that everything you were saying made me think of Stevi and how I felt like I've known her almost as long as I've known you. You kept telling me that you loved *us*. And I love us too. I loved it when earlier tonight you played with my pigtails and told me it was because you wanted to play with your own but that would look weird. You picked mine up instead. *You can play with mine if you want* and I took your not so subtle hint. For 5 seconds, we stood across from each other twirling each others' pigtails, before finally bursting into laughter. I liked my hair better and wondered if that was mean.
So, we approached the scary intersection by Comm. Ave and you were terrified of the median. I am so glad one of us was not inebriated since you were freaking out. You're ok. You're ok. The crosswalk is right there. Ten minutes in, and we are on the BU bridge, taking a little break to enjoy the view. I loved it when you gave me too much information, even though the sober you never wants to hear such things from me.
Standing there, looking out at the Boston Skyline, lights bouncing off the Charles, I thought how this could potentially be a romantic moment, but instead it was just me and my best friend. And that tonight, that was so much better. Talking about boys and life and love, I took your hand once again, ready to walk. You said you loved how I knew that we needed to switch and I agreed that I was definitely on the wrong side.
Down Putnam Ave, you tripped on the sidewalk. You said you are so lucky that you were holding my hand or you would have been face first into that person's yard. It was the first time in a while that I've heard *I love you Abby* so much in one evening and I will cherish it for a bit. You were amazed at how organized my closet is compared to the rest of my room, and I explained that it's bit of a process.
Twenty-six years we've been friends and as we got into my car, you asked me if we were fucked up. I asked what you meant and you told me to just answer the question. I don't envy you right now. I don't. Two summers ago, you were barging in on me and Tom, telling me that I was going to get married before you. And now, I'm out of the race. I feel kind of free.
I promised to teach you some tennis, and you told me more times how I'm the cutest person you know. I wondered about what my summer would hold and you reminded me that I am a playa. I watched you trip again, this time walking onto your front stoop, and then I turned up Coldplay for the ride home.
Starter story
"So where are you from?" he asked, lighting her cigarette for her with a fancy Zippo. (click.) "Boston," she said while looking around the bar.
The feeling of hard top
A bright red ball rolled across the asphalt covering of the playground. I watched as it weaved through a couple of crevices carved into the ground. My hands rested on the grainy surface sprinkled with a dusting of dirt and sand leftover from the afternoon recess. The yelling, the singing, the sounds of sneakers slapping against the pavement in the rhythmic parade of tag once all encompassing and yet almost unnoticeable, was now gone. One-thirty now - the kids were back in class ever since their teacher, round and sharp in her blue courderoy dress, called out their names one last time to get in line and march through the great aluminum doors. I watched the last two holding hands (best friends forever) walk through the doors. I watched the door swing close behind them. And then I walked onto the black ground and took a seat right in the middle of the four square court. The ball was still there. I stretched my toe out a little to the right and tapped it away from me.
I really miss the days of four square. The feeling of winning and having your friends back you up just so you can stay in the top spot. I miss the days of recess. Running as fast as I ever have chansing the boys in a game of flirtatious fourth grade tag. Left with memories and vivid recollections of the feeling of hard top. Not that bad a thing, afterall. Some people will never feel it. And some people will never remember.
I really miss the days of four square. The feeling of winning and having your friends back you up just so you can stay in the top spot. I miss the days of recess. Running as fast as I ever have chansing the boys in a game of flirtatious fourth grade tag. Left with memories and vivid recollections of the feeling of hard top. Not that bad a thing, afterall. Some people will never feel it. And some people will never remember.
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