I'm back in Brooklyn. My computer, however, is still in Pennsylvania, with my errant father, who called me this morning to ask for the password to log on to the computer. Which means, for the past week and a half, my father has been in possession of my computer and not looked at it once. On the silver lining side: I find myself fortunate to have a roommate with a fairly nice mac laptop, and she lets me use it.
Unfortunately, my roommate is getting married. Hopefully, by the time she does, I'll have my laptop back. With my father, who knows. Since my roommate is leaving me and I'm still a full-time student who barely makes enough to eat and take public transportation, I need to find a new roommate. I have specific qualifications, and believe me, you don't qualify. I'm hoping that the snooty girl who just called me fifteen minutes ago and who is coming on Thursday to look at the apartment doesn't qualify either. I'm looking for the perfect roommate. As more and more people contact me about the room, time restrictions aside, I'm fairly certain she doesn't exist. Sigh. Looking for a roommate is sort of like shopping for Mr. or Miss Right. One creates this image in one's head that is totally smashed by the real-life options.
Coming up -- when my computer is delivered safely back into my hands -- more updates! Photos! Pretty illustrations created in Adobe Illustrator! I took a picture of this amazing bruise on my knee, the residue of rock climbing on Saturday, but I can't post it yet. When I can, I'll give you the full story as well. A little teaser -- it was GREAT. I am so sore. I can't wait to go again.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Fixing mistakes
The house has been a bit more tension-filled lately than usual. It's possible that there's more tension because school was canceled on Wednesday, and no one was able to escape the stifling confines of the house except my older sister.
Another possibility is that everyone has been more on edge because the baby Greg has refused to sleep through the night. Three nights of little sleep + seven grumpy people = Recipe for Lots of Tension. The baby Greg is one of the few infants who does not succumb to my ability to soothe. The baby Greg hates everything, and protests by crying. The latest thing the baby Greg hates? Falling asleep, apparently.
With everyone ready to punch through walls, the house has been interesting. This includes my brother sitting on my littlest sister today. We were about to play a round of minigolf on the gamecube. She accidentally selected a different character than the one he wanted. He sat on her, she ran off crying to Mother, and I played all three characters myself until he was sent to his room and she composed herself. Somewhere in the middle of that particular incident, he proclaimed that he doesn't "freak out over little things." I said, "She gave you Maurice instead of Julian. Are you sure you don't freak out over little things?" He was suddenly very quiet.
Not too long after that, my older sister asked me if I'd been putting the antibiotic powder in the baby Greg's formula when making him bottles. "No," I said. "You didn't tell me to."
"I DID tell you," she insisted. "You don't listen to me!"
"I DO listen to you," I said, knocking the golf ball a little too hard and wincing as it bounded way past the spot I was aiming for. "You didn't mention it."
"I DID mention it," she said. "That's why he's been crying! You're the reason I haven't gotten sleep for the past three nights!"
Tonight, the house is utterly silent while the baby Greg sleeps peacefully.
Another possibility is that everyone has been more on edge because the baby Greg has refused to sleep through the night. Three nights of little sleep + seven grumpy people = Recipe for Lots of Tension. The baby Greg is one of the few infants who does not succumb to my ability to soothe. The baby Greg hates everything, and protests by crying. The latest thing the baby Greg hates? Falling asleep, apparently.
With everyone ready to punch through walls, the house has been interesting. This includes my brother sitting on my littlest sister today. We were about to play a round of minigolf on the gamecube. She accidentally selected a different character than the one he wanted. He sat on her, she ran off crying to Mother, and I played all three characters myself until he was sent to his room and she composed herself. Somewhere in the middle of that particular incident, he proclaimed that he doesn't "freak out over little things." I said, "She gave you Maurice instead of Julian. Are you sure you don't freak out over little things?" He was suddenly very quiet.
Not too long after that, my older sister asked me if I'd been putting the antibiotic powder in the baby Greg's formula when making him bottles. "No," I said. "You didn't tell me to."
"I DID tell you," she insisted. "You don't listen to me!"
"I DO listen to you," I said, knocking the golf ball a little too hard and wincing as it bounded way past the spot I was aiming for. "You didn't mention it."
"I DID mention it," she said. "That's why he's been crying! You're the reason I haven't gotten sleep for the past three nights!"
Tonight, the house is utterly silent while the baby Greg sleeps peacefully.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Going back
I haven't seen my high school in four years. As I walked down the steps and into the cafeteria, my heart climbed into my throat and remained lodged there all evening.
I owe them $500 or so for tuition. They almost didn't let me graduate because of it. But there is a God, and for some reason, He cares about me, and through His grace, I graduated.
I am still embarrassed about that debt, however, and I had planned not to show up again until I had it. My plans changed with the re-introduction of a certain boy, and then the re-connection of a certain friend, who told me that she was starting a newspaper. Good-looking boys and newspapers, all in one night? I managed to bribe my brother into driving me. My brother brought his girlfriend and his best friend, and then my sister tagged along, and thus it was that the five us crammed into my brother's friend's mother's car.
All of them smoke, and during the ride home, they not only froze me to death with the windows hanging open, but they also nearly scalded my eyeballs out of my head because my sister was unable to get her cigarette ashes out the window. Today, nothing was more frightening than little bits of embers in the dark shooting towards my face. However, the screaming definitely released some tension, while simultaneously annoying everyone else, which was an added bonus.
We've always been outsiders at my high school. I was never sure why, but I do know it seems as though not much has changed. People were friendly, yes, but there was that nagging, underlying feeling that told me I didn't quite belong. I believe that's a reason why I value my family so much. No matter what happens or how they treat me, it is an undeniable fact that I belong. We're a broken, neurotic mess, but we care about each other; we'd give our lives for each other.
----
All of the above was written yesterday. Today is my birthday. (Edited after some more thought.) Suffice it to say that while I view my family as a neurotic mess, myself included, I love them to death.
And about that good-looking boy that I mentioned both above and in previous posts? I saw him when I visited the high school. He spent all his time ogling and not talking, and I have several Facebook messages that include the phrase "u look good," with nothing else of substance. Dud. Good-looking, but a dud.
----
I can't quite see the lesson here, in all of this. It's somewhere, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be learning, or what I'm supposed to be doing. I walk down the halls of my old high school, and aside from new paint and faces growing older, nothing's changed. What am I waiting for? What am I looking for? What do I want?
I haven't the slightest idea.
I owe them $500 or so for tuition. They almost didn't let me graduate because of it. But there is a God, and for some reason, He cares about me, and through His grace, I graduated.
I am still embarrassed about that debt, however, and I had planned not to show up again until I had it. My plans changed with the re-introduction of a certain boy, and then the re-connection of a certain friend, who told me that she was starting a newspaper. Good-looking boys and newspapers, all in one night? I managed to bribe my brother into driving me. My brother brought his girlfriend and his best friend, and then my sister tagged along, and thus it was that the five us crammed into my brother's friend's mother's car.
All of them smoke, and during the ride home, they not only froze me to death with the windows hanging open, but they also nearly scalded my eyeballs out of my head because my sister was unable to get her cigarette ashes out the window. Today, nothing was more frightening than little bits of embers in the dark shooting towards my face. However, the screaming definitely released some tension, while simultaneously annoying everyone else, which was an added bonus.
We've always been outsiders at my high school. I was never sure why, but I do know it seems as though not much has changed. People were friendly, yes, but there was that nagging, underlying feeling that told me I didn't quite belong. I believe that's a reason why I value my family so much. No matter what happens or how they treat me, it is an undeniable fact that I belong. We're a broken, neurotic mess, but we care about each other; we'd give our lives for each other.
----
All of the above was written yesterday. Today is my birthday. (Edited after some more thought.) Suffice it to say that while I view my family as a neurotic mess, myself included, I love them to death.
And about that good-looking boy that I mentioned both above and in previous posts? I saw him when I visited the high school. He spent all his time ogling and not talking, and I have several Facebook messages that include the phrase "u look good," with nothing else of substance. Dud. Good-looking, but a dud.
----
I can't quite see the lesson here, in all of this. It's somewhere, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be learning, or what I'm supposed to be doing. I walk down the halls of my old high school, and aside from new paint and faces growing older, nothing's changed. What am I waiting for? What am I looking for? What do I want?
I haven't the slightest idea.
Monday, December 29, 2008
The baby Greg
I have never before taken care of a baby that cried so much.
He is most comfortable in a specific pose: he needs to throw his head back and face you, staring up at you while you support his head. When he's happy, his lips purse and his eyes cross as he tries to look at your face. When he's upset, his upper lip starts to quiver and then he gasps for air before expressing his disappointment in a surprisingly non-abrasive way.
He's usually upset because he hates all bodily functions. All of them. He can't stand burping, spitting up, or anything out the other end.
I thought I'd gotten used to him. He'd certainly gotten used to me--I was finally able to put him to sleep and even make him laugh. When we'd met for the second time Dec. 24, after our initial meeting Thanksgiving Day, he started crying the moment I touched him. Now, he seemed able to tolerate me. But then something happened I did not expect at all.
I was trying to feed him. He was crying, and nothing could make him happy. He took a few sips from the bottle, then was completely disinterested. Then the projectile vomiting started. I was alone with him--his mother had left to run some errands, and I sat there in horror while he gushed forth, three times, streams of spit up. It was everywhere. Then his face grew red and he cried, and finally, he had no strength left and lay listless in my arms.
I was horrified, and quickly found my phone to call my sister. She didn't pick up, but a few seconds later she walked in through the door. When I explained what happened, she said, "Oh yeah, he does that. He can't digest his food sometimes."
I have a small amount of patience, but my sister's capacity is even smaller. She's the only person that has the ability to truly calm him, and she is either fed up or so tired that she's ready to ... well, she once used a very strong word that I'm sure she didn't mean because she needs sleep.
"He does that."
Poor baby.
He is most comfortable in a specific pose: he needs to throw his head back and face you, staring up at you while you support his head. When he's happy, his lips purse and his eyes cross as he tries to look at your face. When he's upset, his upper lip starts to quiver and then he gasps for air before expressing his disappointment in a surprisingly non-abrasive way.
He's usually upset because he hates all bodily functions. All of them. He can't stand burping, spitting up, or anything out the other end.
I thought I'd gotten used to him. He'd certainly gotten used to me--I was finally able to put him to sleep and even make him laugh. When we'd met for the second time Dec. 24, after our initial meeting Thanksgiving Day, he started crying the moment I touched him. Now, he seemed able to tolerate me. But then something happened I did not expect at all.
I was trying to feed him. He was crying, and nothing could make him happy. He took a few sips from the bottle, then was completely disinterested. Then the projectile vomiting started. I was alone with him--his mother had left to run some errands, and I sat there in horror while he gushed forth, three times, streams of spit up. It was everywhere. Then his face grew red and he cried, and finally, he had no strength left and lay listless in my arms.
I was horrified, and quickly found my phone to call my sister. She didn't pick up, but a few seconds later she walked in through the door. When I explained what happened, she said, "Oh yeah, he does that. He can't digest his food sometimes."
I have a small amount of patience, but my sister's capacity is even smaller. She's the only person that has the ability to truly calm him, and she is either fed up or so tired that she's ready to ... well, she once used a very strong word that I'm sure she didn't mean because she needs sleep.
"He does that."
Poor baby.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Merry Christmas Eve
Oddly enough, I've realized that I've misplaced my bad luck, and while I can't say I miss it, it does feel strange not to have it around. I fully expect it to show up relatively soon, especially because I'm writing about it, and writing about something like bad luck automatically jinxes the writer. It's a rule. These rules are printed in gold on parchment, and they are handed out in elementary school, along with cooties and crushes.
Somewhere, somehow, I switched a fully panicked interior and exterior for a much calmer version.
For example, when I made it to Penn Station today and found my train, I fully believed that I'd gotten on the wrong train. This has become a tradition for me.
Yet I didn't panic, which is what I normally do. I normally start to sweat and freak out and call my mother and explain that, well, I'm sorry, but I might be a little late for the holiday.
Instead, I realized that if I had gotton on the wrong train, I was still headed to Dover, and I'm fairly certain I could just disembark at Dover and get on a train headed in the other direction. It's like driving. If you make a wrong turn, you can turn around. This sage piece of advice was given to me by a friend, and, I must say, it was a breath of fresh air in a dank room--especially because I tend to freak out on a regular basis.
Or, shall we say, I tended to freak out on a regular basis. I don't know why I am suddenly so calm and collected.
As if in homage to my new thought processes, when I was faced with traveling, on two separate occasions, down a flight of stairs, and then up a flight of stairs, two different gentlemen carried my over-stuffed, two-ton bag for me.
It made me feel all grown up and something like a lady.
I'm sorry, fellas, that it was so heavy. After all, I'm going to be in Pennsylvania for awhile, and I couldn't figure out how to pack any lighter. But thanks again, and Merry Christmas.
I'm off to be surprisingly calm and collected ... my family is coming to get me tomorrow. I'll see if they can break me. They usually do.
Have a great holiday, faithful readers. Merry Christmas. Happy Hannukah. Happy New Year.
Somewhere, somehow, I switched a fully panicked interior and exterior for a much calmer version.
For example, when I made it to Penn Station today and found my train, I fully believed that I'd gotten on the wrong train. This has become a tradition for me.
Yet I didn't panic, which is what I normally do. I normally start to sweat and freak out and call my mother and explain that, well, I'm sorry, but I might be a little late for the holiday.
Instead, I realized that if I had gotton on the wrong train, I was still headed to Dover, and I'm fairly certain I could just disembark at Dover and get on a train headed in the other direction. It's like driving. If you make a wrong turn, you can turn around. This sage piece of advice was given to me by a friend, and, I must say, it was a breath of fresh air in a dank room--especially because I tend to freak out on a regular basis.
Or, shall we say, I tended to freak out on a regular basis. I don't know why I am suddenly so calm and collected.
As if in homage to my new thought processes, when I was faced with traveling, on two separate occasions, down a flight of stairs, and then up a flight of stairs, two different gentlemen carried my over-stuffed, two-ton bag for me.
It made me feel all grown up and something like a lady.
I'm sorry, fellas, that it was so heavy. After all, I'm going to be in Pennsylvania for awhile, and I couldn't figure out how to pack any lighter. But thanks again, and Merry Christmas.
I'm off to be surprisingly calm and collected ... my family is coming to get me tomorrow. I'll see if they can break me. They usually do.
Have a great holiday, faithful readers. Merry Christmas. Happy Hannukah. Happy New Year.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Conversations with Grace
When I'm bored, I sometimes text my sister Grace and ask what crazy thing happened to her that day. Sometimes it takes a little while, but she always provides me with a story. Most often, they don't make sense, but because it's Grace, my crazy, crazy sister Grace, it's all hilarious to me.
"Chip brought me the clothes I left at his house and two of the three shirts weren't mine."
"He gave me roses and I gave them to my teacher."
"Well, I went to walk in between these two people and I got stuck and they started to pull me with them! So I started to yell and then they noticed me and separated."
"Well yesterday I was drinking my juice in class minding my own business and this kid throws his bag at me! It hit my arm and made the juice spill all over me! So then he bends over to pick his bag up and I pour the rest of my juice all over him."
"Well actually this kid spit on my chair in class it was so gross."
"Chip brought me the clothes I left at his house and two of the three shirts weren't mine."
"He gave me roses and I gave them to my teacher."
"Well, I went to walk in between these two people and I got stuck and they started to pull me with them! So I started to yell and then they noticed me and separated."
"Well yesterday I was drinking my juice in class minding my own business and this kid throws his bag at me! It hit my arm and made the juice spill all over me! So then he bends over to pick his bag up and I pour the rest of my juice all over him."
"Well actually this kid spit on my chair in class it was so gross."
Sunday, December 14, 2008
I'm getting him the LOTR trilogy, plus The Hobbit, 'cause he's too cute
My 13-year-old brother, David, has a girlfriend. Her name is Meghan. He asked her out, and he picked her because of her personality and looks. They’ve been dating for a week and a couple of days.
“So,” he said after giving me the low-down, “How’s your love life?”
I laughed. “Nonexistent. But there’s this guy I’ve been talking to.”
M My 13-year-old turned 30-year-old brother then gave me some advice:
- You can’t pursue the guy because some guys don’t respect you if you pursue them.
- You have to let him know somehow that you like him and that you wouldn’t mind having a relationship with him.
“How do you let – how would I, as the girl, let him know I wouldn’t mind having a relationship with him?” I asked, bemused.
“I have no clue. You just have to let him know somehow,” he said.
“How did Meghan let you know?”
“She didn’t.”
“So how did you know to ask her out?”
“We’ve been friends for awhile, so I decided to take the gamble,” he said, suddenly becoming 35.
“Will you take her on a date?
“If I had any money. I’m getting a job soon. But we do hang out a lot. I went to the dance with her. And I see her everyday in school. We have the same lunch block.”
“Where do you see this relationship going?”
“Good.”
“David, I love you. You’re so cute.”
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