meeting the parents... i had myself convinced that it was a big step. "it's only as big a deal as you make it to be." truer words were never spoken. it's big. not because i'm ashamed of them, or nervous they'll embarrass me - whip out those incriminating childhood photos (thank God hardly any exist to my knowledge). they're not that kind of parents. stories and tales of misbehavior, curiousity, mischief and danger - more than likely. we have some of the best stories...
no...because we're a big deal. this is serious... i actually see this going somewhere. continuing into something. they're opinion is like gold to me. i'm dying to show you off. to show them the reason for this impossible smile, this infinite contentment, this impassable excitement.
i can't wait...because you're perfect.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
sea
Heavy hearted. Complete lack of understanding. A lump in my throat I can't seem to swallow. Such a long, painful, torturous fight...only to end like this. A friend. A father-figure. A jokester. A child of God.
It's events like this - events? Changes? Endings? Times like this that make a person wonder what the point of it all is. Makes a person cherish every single thing in their lives that much more; want to gather it all close and hide it away, protect it, so it never happens again.
When all I want to feel is faith, trust, hope... I feel emptiness, anger, heartache.
I'll miss you George.
It's events like this - events? Changes? Endings? Times like this that make a person wonder what the point of it all is. Makes a person cherish every single thing in their lives that much more; want to gather it all close and hide it away, protect it, so it never happens again.
When all I want to feel is faith, trust, hope... I feel emptiness, anger, heartache.
I'll miss you George.
Friday, August 21, 2009
commercial America
It's come to my attention that the majority of people in grocery stores must be positively miserable drivers on the road because they can barely control a shopping cart - carriage, buggy, whathaveyou. Now, I'm aware that WalMart is the American giant that is slowly dominating the commercial world, and I'll admit that I'm suckered into their low prices gimick just about every time. But, despite my satisfaction when I compare my shopping receipts from Walmart to those of other stores, it doesn't really help to quell the frustration - the utter animosity and violent aggrivation - that results from any time spent there.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from work, after having stopped at the gym to mercilessly torture myself for just under an hour, and I knew I had to do some grocery shopping if I was going to rest through the night without a grumbling stomach. And...the penny-pincher my parents raised me to be...I resolved on heading down 146.
Well, I'm not sure if anyone else has this same experience, but I'm pretty sure there's a conspiracy where I always pick the gimpy cart. You know the one. The cart where one wheel keeps determinedly jerking to one side and sticking there, making an absolutely horrid screeching sound across the mass-produced linoleum.
So, while attempting to make my way through the store with a cart insistent on moving in any direction but straight, I then had to battle with every other incompetent, no-common-sense imbicil lacking any idea whatsoever how to follow the rules of general grocery store traffic. Two imaginary lanes. Both going opposite ways. Ironically - just like driving on the road! When you're on your errands, trekking down the road, you don't just stop in the middle of the road at an angle and sit there and stare at the stores, homes, and whatnot off the side, do you?? No. Well.... at WalMart... you do. And somehow the majority of the Walmart customers have acquired this glazed-over, "I have no brain cells" look in their eyes.
It's a customary occurrence... I'm sure any other normal human being who steps into WalMart experiences the same thing. If I'm wrong, please tell me.
Yesterday, I was on my way home from work, after having stopped at the gym to mercilessly torture myself for just under an hour, and I knew I had to do some grocery shopping if I was going to rest through the night without a grumbling stomach. And...the penny-pincher my parents raised me to be...I resolved on heading down 146.
Well, I'm not sure if anyone else has this same experience, but I'm pretty sure there's a conspiracy where I always pick the gimpy cart. You know the one. The cart where one wheel keeps determinedly jerking to one side and sticking there, making an absolutely horrid screeching sound across the mass-produced linoleum.
So, while attempting to make my way through the store with a cart insistent on moving in any direction but straight, I then had to battle with every other incompetent, no-common-sense imbicil lacking any idea whatsoever how to follow the rules of general grocery store traffic. Two imaginary lanes. Both going opposite ways. Ironically - just like driving on the road! When you're on your errands, trekking down the road, you don't just stop in the middle of the road at an angle and sit there and stare at the stores, homes, and whatnot off the side, do you?? No. Well.... at WalMart... you do. And somehow the majority of the Walmart customers have acquired this glazed-over, "I have no brain cells" look in their eyes.
It's a customary occurrence... I'm sure any other normal human being who steps into WalMart experiences the same thing. If I'm wrong, please tell me.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
smile
Always on my mind... Just the thought of you makes me smile. Intolerably happy. When I'm not with you, I'm thinking about you, and the next time I'll see you. I think back and wonder how it's only been such a short time... I feel like you've been in my life forever. And yet I wonder how my life was before without you...and I never want to go back.
Shivers. Giggles. Smiles. Butterflies. Goosebumps. My heart skips a beat every time I pull into your driveway; and drops every time I leave. I don't want to ever lose this.
It's the little things that are so endearing. The way you scrunch up your nose when you're laughing. How serious you get when you're talking about sports. The way your arms fit so perfectly around me when we hug....
I'm always looking forward to the next time I get to see you... And relishing in it when I'm with you.
Amazing....
Shivers. Giggles. Smiles. Butterflies. Goosebumps. My heart skips a beat every time I pull into your driveway; and drops every time I leave. I don't want to ever lose this.
It's the little things that are so endearing. The way you scrunch up your nose when you're laughing. How serious you get when you're talking about sports. The way your arms fit so perfectly around me when we hug....
I'm always looking forward to the next time I get to see you... And relishing in it when I'm with you.
Amazing....
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
slime
I might be what could be described as ambitious in a variety of definitions. It's pretty characteristic of me to attempt to do everything I possibly can by myself. It goes back to learning to tie my shoe laces. If I can do it myself, I will, or I'll fail trying. One such near-failure ended with my full-size mattress practically flying off my roommate's SUV onto Rt 123 in Clemson.
Anyone who knows me well is aware that I've recently moved into a new apartment in Worcester. As can only be imagined I had very little to move with me, seeing as I'm only a year out of college and was forced to leave much of my belongings 1,000 miles away in SC. But, as I'm not only ambitious, but thrifty, I've come across a lot of free stuff including a few pieces of furniture that I've resolved to refinish. The first two pieces - my little kitchen table, and my desk - were refinished in the comfort and confidence of my father's barn where I had every tool at my disposal, and frequent unrequested advice that, in the end, helped those refinished pieces to emerge quite nice.
Well...today was not that. I was given an old bureau by one of my mother's friends that is serving as a version of a sideboard in my kitchen. It's dark maple coloring and ornate, discolored handles certainly clash with my modern, clean yet funky, design in my kitchen. I'd resolved to refinish it after moving in, and decided to tackle that task today.
If only I'd seen it all coming. First of all this piece was so old that the screws securing the drawer-pulls were nearly fused together and required some serious elbow grease to get them apart. As if that wouldn't make removing the fixtures difficult, they were also evidently made from the softest metal around as I nearly stripped the head of each screw in the process. Imagine me sitting Indian style on my kitchen floor, drawer in my lap, securing the hold with one hand while attempting to push and unscrew with the other... the whole time thinking "righty-tighty, lefty loosey" and double checking that I was even turning in the right direction. I finally quit with only 2 drawers remaining and I started the sanding process. Now, lucky for me, there's a porch off our kitchen where I chose to do this next task; convenient to avoid sawdust all over the apartment, and the fresh air was sure to speed up the drying paint.
Surprisingly enough, the sanding went smoothly - no pun intended. Aside from inhaling a good amount of what easily could be dust from lead-based paint considering the age and condition of everything related to this piece, I was able to get all the drawer-fronts sanded and coated with one layer of black paint. *Pause*
Earlier in the day, I'd been raiding my mother's open paint collection in search of black furniture paint. After finding a can and quickly asking permission to use it without really reading the specifics on the label, I left to begin my project. *Continue*
Now, based on previous experiences with both wall and furniture paint, it's always been customary to rinse out the brush after using it so that the paint doesn't dry, and the brush is then re-usable.
Once I'd finished my painting for the evening, I went inside to do just that. Making certain the water wasn't too hot or cold, I stuck the brush under the water stream and began to attempt to squeeze the paint out. First, I noticed that the water was still running clear...strange. Then, I noticed the paint wasn't coming off the brush - instead it was all over my hands!! And wouldn't come off! My hands were completely black, like I'd gone doing handstands in an oil spill. Panicing, I tried to rinse them off with soap and water to no avail. It only made the paint tackier. At this point I was at a loss. Carefully turning off the water and trying not to coat everything in some sadistic Midus touch of black slime, I wrapped a paper towel and called the only person I knew would help... My mom.
"Is the paint latex or oil-based?" Mom asked
Oil, after actually reading the label.
"Soap won't work then. Do you have any Mineral Spirits or Vaseline or baby oil?"
No... I don't even know what mineral spirits are.
"I'll just have to send your father up. I don't know what else to do. Don't touch antyhing."
So I'm stuck here with black hands for an hour? No way. I start to think about anything oily I have and I recall my bottle of olive oil in the cupboard. Nearly breaking it open in desperation, I poured a little in my hands and rubbed frantically. Amazingly enough...it was working! So, half an hour and half a bottle of olive oil later, alternating with soap and water, I was able to get the majority of the pain off my hands. It was most definitely with relief that I realized I wouldn't be walknig around with black hands for weeks.
So, for any ambitious do-it-yourselfers out there, either avoid oil-based paint or make sure you're well stocked in olive oil.
Anyone who knows me well is aware that I've recently moved into a new apartment in Worcester. As can only be imagined I had very little to move with me, seeing as I'm only a year out of college and was forced to leave much of my belongings 1,000 miles away in SC. But, as I'm not only ambitious, but thrifty, I've come across a lot of free stuff including a few pieces of furniture that I've resolved to refinish. The first two pieces - my little kitchen table, and my desk - were refinished in the comfort and confidence of my father's barn where I had every tool at my disposal, and frequent unrequested advice that, in the end, helped those refinished pieces to emerge quite nice.
Well...today was not that. I was given an old bureau by one of my mother's friends that is serving as a version of a sideboard in my kitchen. It's dark maple coloring and ornate, discolored handles certainly clash with my modern, clean yet funky, design in my kitchen. I'd resolved to refinish it after moving in, and decided to tackle that task today.
If only I'd seen it all coming. First of all this piece was so old that the screws securing the drawer-pulls were nearly fused together and required some serious elbow grease to get them apart. As if that wouldn't make removing the fixtures difficult, they were also evidently made from the softest metal around as I nearly stripped the head of each screw in the process. Imagine me sitting Indian style on my kitchen floor, drawer in my lap, securing the hold with one hand while attempting to push and unscrew with the other... the whole time thinking "righty-tighty, lefty loosey" and double checking that I was even turning in the right direction. I finally quit with only 2 drawers remaining and I started the sanding process. Now, lucky for me, there's a porch off our kitchen where I chose to do this next task; convenient to avoid sawdust all over the apartment, and the fresh air was sure to speed up the drying paint.
Surprisingly enough, the sanding went smoothly - no pun intended. Aside from inhaling a good amount of what easily could be dust from lead-based paint considering the age and condition of everything related to this piece, I was able to get all the drawer-fronts sanded and coated with one layer of black paint. *Pause*
Earlier in the day, I'd been raiding my mother's open paint collection in search of black furniture paint. After finding a can and quickly asking permission to use it without really reading the specifics on the label, I left to begin my project. *Continue*
Now, based on previous experiences with both wall and furniture paint, it's always been customary to rinse out the brush after using it so that the paint doesn't dry, and the brush is then re-usable.
Once I'd finished my painting for the evening, I went inside to do just that. Making certain the water wasn't too hot or cold, I stuck the brush under the water stream and began to attempt to squeeze the paint out. First, I noticed that the water was still running clear...strange. Then, I noticed the paint wasn't coming off the brush - instead it was all over my hands!! And wouldn't come off! My hands were completely black, like I'd gone doing handstands in an oil spill. Panicing, I tried to rinse them off with soap and water to no avail. It only made the paint tackier. At this point I was at a loss. Carefully turning off the water and trying not to coat everything in some sadistic Midus touch of black slime, I wrapped a paper towel and called the only person I knew would help... My mom.
"Is the paint latex or oil-based?" Mom asked
Oil, after actually reading the label.
"Soap won't work then. Do you have any Mineral Spirits or Vaseline or baby oil?"
No... I don't even know what mineral spirits are.
"I'll just have to send your father up. I don't know what else to do. Don't touch antyhing."
So I'm stuck here with black hands for an hour? No way. I start to think about anything oily I have and I recall my bottle of olive oil in the cupboard. Nearly breaking it open in desperation, I poured a little in my hands and rubbed frantically. Amazingly enough...it was working! So, half an hour and half a bottle of olive oil later, alternating with soap and water, I was able to get the majority of the pain off my hands. It was most definitely with relief that I realized I wouldn't be walknig around with black hands for weeks.
So, for any ambitious do-it-yourselfers out there, either avoid oil-based paint or make sure you're well stocked in olive oil.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sunday
Happy. Giddy. Excited. Incapable of smearing the goofy grin from my face. It finally all becomes clear. I can see from all the past experiences, all the hurts and pangs and broken expectations... it all makes sense because now - now I can look back on all that and see how this is 10, 100 times better. I've found it - those butterflies, those knots, those shivers that give me goosebumps for no reason other than inexplicable glee. Can't wait to see where it goes....
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