Saturday, April 30, 2011

In which I talk to myself.

So, as you might have guessed, I live alone now.  Well, with my cat.  Which is totally cool and fine.  I'm liking it actually.  If I put something down, it's exactly where I left it when I get back.  If something is misplaced or a mess, I have no one to blame but myself.  It's great.

This being said, I have spent an ungodly amount of time on the telephone and texting lately.  And I also tend to talk to myself.  (I did that before, but now it may have increased.)

Today, my stubborn ass was trying to put together a vacuum cleaner without any tools.  Because I don't actually own any tools.  And my stubborn ass refuses to spend money on them because, seriously, WHEN am I going to need them?

Well, except for putting together this vacuum cleaner.
And my new bicycle.

Oh, whatever.  I can clearly enlist the help of others.

Or just use my hands.

Today, I chose the latter.  I figured it wasn't a big deal, it was only one screw that secured the handle to the rest of the vacuum.  No biggie.  So I fussed with it a little and was able to screw it in without a screwdriver.  I wiggled the handle.  Pretty stable.

"HA!"  I yelled, triumphant.  "Take that, vacuum!  I don't need any stinkin' tools."

Then I pushed the vacuum forward maybe a quarter of an inch, and the handle fell off in my hand, the screw shooting out and rolling across the floor.

It was one of those moments where I could only shake my head.  And then tweet about it.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

A story in three photos.

I have been incredibly fortunate lately and have attended some really wonderful shows, both on Broadway and off.  I've seen Bebe Neuwirth perform in Addams Family and Victor Garber (my current muse) perform in Defying Gravity for the New York City Opera.

But I have this really bad habit of getting over-excited as the performance begins, and I remain so through the entire first act.  I clamp my Playbill over my face as shown.  My excited breath fogs up and heats up the Playbill...

Which results in the ink rubbing off.  ALL OVER MY FACE.

(So in short, if you see me in NYC with ink smeared all over my face, odds are I've just seen an amazing show.)


(Also: Please excuse my hair, but note my fabulous manicure.  I have been very sick lately and in bed.)

Sunday, April 24, 2011

Real*Love

I should be doing homework, but instead I can't help but bring you another edition of Real*Love.

I am absolutely in love with these little love birds!  It's playing right into my ongoing bird obsession.  I'm thinking of buying this rubber stamp, but I'm not even sure what I'd use it for.  Maybe I'll just steal the image and hang it on my wall instead.  So damn cute!


I love these Rubis Swiss tweezers.  They might not look like anything special, but they're "Swiss" and they're full of holes!!  Like swiss cheese!

I don't know if someone did that intentionally, but I appreciated it anyway.









And also, this video by Mika.  I love it!

Okay, that's all I've got for now.  Just a mini update of sorts, I guess.  Gotta get back to work! :)

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Learning something about myself.

When I have absolutely no idea what's going on, my typical response is "FULL SPEED AHEAD!"

I guess I think it's better to throw caution to the wind and learn things, then to sit around and try to figure things out but never really be sure.

This has bitten me in the ass once before.  But I'm bouncing back.

Like Baz Luhrmann said, "Do one thing every day that scares you."

Today is taken care of.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Sickness and a pricing fail...

So, as I mentioned, I got my top two wisdom teeth out and my past few days have been slightly pain-filled (thank God for Vicodin) but today I started getting a cold which just made everything worse.  :(  I guess my immune system had been fighting this one off, but was weakened due to the surgery.  I hope this passes quickly.

Just a note to show you something funny I found at work...a total pricing fail if there ever was one:


You may need to click to make that a little bigger...but they actually RAISED the price beyond retail, but crossed it out to make it look like you're getting a deal.  Good job.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

I am paying you to do a service, not to yell at me like I'm your child.

I got my top two wisdom teeth out today.

Of course, this had been something I had been dreading for years.  I'd quite literally put it off since I was a teenager.  I figured hey--they didn't hurt, so why bother?  I'd like to keep my teeth in my mouth.

But, eleven years later I'm struck with this interesting fact about wisdom teeth.  Left unattended, wedged all the way in the back of your mouth, there?  They rot.  That's what they do.  It's not pleasant.

So I made my appointment, split the actual event in two (the top two were priority--also the cheapest) and went in today, scared shitless but being brave.

They sat me down, took away my sweater (and of course it was freezing in there), took off my glasses (yay, now I am completely blind) wedged my head back in the chair and started giving me Novocaine shots.  It actually wasn't so bad.

Then the dentist asked, "So you didn't take your Ativan this morning?"
(She had written a prescription for me to calm me down.)
Numbly, with a mouth that felt like it had lumps coming out of it from all sides, I managed to say, "No, I took it."
"Who drove you?"  The assistant asked.
"I did."  I answered.
"No," she repeated.  "Who drove you?"
"I did." I said again.

At this, the dentist started freaking out.  It all happened so fast that I'm not even sure what it was all about--she was yelling at me that I CANNOT take an Ativan and drive, and that I HAD BEEN TOLD that.

I told her I had called the receptionist a few days ago, specifically to ask if I was okay to drive myself.  I rehashed the conversation, that went something like this: "I was able to find the Ativan bottle, so I'll take those...but I need you to fax me in another antibiotic.  Is it okay if I drive myself if I'm only getting Novocaine?"

The receptionist said, "Yes."

Now, we could argue that sentence forever.  I tried to cover all my bases, but apparently I worded it wrong. As soon as I re-told that sentence to my doctor, she flew at me, enraged and screaming.  She got inches away from my face and just yelled at me, saying things like, "How dare you accuse my staff of..." and "If you ask a question like that..." and "My staff is not trained to..."  I wasn't catching everything she was saying, but it was crazy.  I can't think of a recent instance where I had felt so unsafe.

I cried.

I can't help it.  I can be a pretty tough bitch at times.  Funerals are nothing.  Pain is nothing.  But really...when my tears decide to come out, they're on a schedule all their own.  And at this moment, it was their time.

The dentist sighed, loudly, angrily.  Slamming stuff around behind me, she barked, "Let's get this over with."

All I could picture then was Orin from Little Shop of Horrors, choosing his most gruesome tools, working without sterilization or anesthetic.  I suddenly didn't trust this angry lady to do ANYTHING short of cause me excruciating pain.

"No."  I said, and sat straight up in the chair. My mind was going, this is ridiculous.  I don't have to put up with this ridiculous treatment.  I'm just going to leave and find another dentist.


But now I was met with an additional problem.  Because they already knew I had taken an Ativan (which, by the way, is a mild sedative...VERY mild.  It calmed my nerves but I was still wide awake and alert.) they weren't going to let me leave.  [Liz Lemon gets a root canal on Valentine's Day, anyone?]  So I had to put my tail between my legs and have them call my mother, who came to retrieve me.

By the time my mother got there, it was decided that since I really DID need my wisdom teeth out, and I had already paid, and was already numb, already had two days off and the appointment--that I'd go through with it.  My hope was that with my mother there, maybe the dentist would take a slightly softer approach this time.

She did, my teeth popped out in under a minute.  She hugged me and sort of apologized, saying that she had a 25 year old son and we're all the same.

I left feeling really angry and insulted.  First of all, the label on the bottle says, "Take care while operating a car", which is not the same as "DO NOT DRIVE".  Second of all, despite my fears, my tears (and the fact I had to call my mom...) I am NOT a child.  Because your son and I are of similar ages doesn't mean you know shit about me.

(My mom told them she'd drive me home and then we swapped cars in the parking lot so I could take myself.  I made it home FINE.  Honestly, there was never any danger!)

I'm going to go back to this woman for my lower wisdom teeth as well.  She comes very highly recommended  and the surgery itself was quick and completely painless.  But I really could have done without the...well, whatever the hell that was.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Please tell me I'm just too old to get the joke...

While browsing facebook, I stumbled upon this photo:
(It has been cropped to hide the person's identity, and clearly for this reason, I am NOT going to provide photo credit.  Deal with it.)

Now...it may be difficult to see what it says under the girls hair.  Let me help you out with that.

My inmate looks better than yours.

I'm really just left blinking at this one.  Really?  Really?  I don't even know where to begin.
I suppose if someone is serving under a false sentence, that's one thing.  But do we really live in a day and age where we proudly flaunt that our man is doing time--and looking damn sexy while doing so?

I mean, believe me, I'm loyal to a fault.  I'm all for supporting your loved ones in their times of need and during some pretty awful circumstances.  But I wouldn't be wearing this shirt.

(Also: Are enough people buying these that there is a real market for them?)

I cannot even imagine what atrocity will come next.

/wet blanket signing out.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

More kale and tofu than a vegetarian could stand...

Or: 8 days of peace & music
I am back from Goddard now...and how the hell do I explain what just happened?  It was a bizarre and intense experience that I suppose only happens when you throw the artsy, literary and intellectual people together for eight days, take away most forms of deodorant (direct quote from Meg: "Tom's of Maine can suck my dick!"), mix in some alcohol and see what you get.  I have a feeling this is exactly what the 60's felt like.

I'm really not sure what just happened.  I've come away from things different, with a very distinct feeling that although I am isolated at home--there are more people like me out there.  I have never met so many kindred spirits.

There's disappointment, too.  I may or may not have met a guy there...who may or may not have a girlfriend?  I don't even know.  I'm not naive...I'm just hopeful, and so often let down that now I find it hard to trust what people tell me, if there's any sign at all in opposition.  I want to let go and live and trust.  But I also don't want to get hurt and find myself foolish ever again.  I wish I was one of those people who found their soulmate right away and never had to deal with this crap.  It must have been so easy for them.

Speaking of soulmate, I was lucky enough to meet Meg (hi Meg!), who is awesome and lots of fun.  We have deemed each other soulmates (maybe soulsister is more appropriate? but that makes me want to sing Lady Marmalade...) because we keep finding random things we have in common.

All in all, things are different now.  I moved back home to an empty apartment, a very sad cat, a change in my self esteem, and a weird feeling about life in general.  Not good, not bad, just...weird.  It's going to take some sorting out, I think.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Oh, progressive college.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I chose this school.

But you know what?  I can handle it.  I'm really determined and it's going to happen.  Even though because of my placement, it means I have to complete three projects this year that most people who just start out at a college don't have to do.

I've been really productive here, though, and the really difficult projects will serve to get me skipped ahead a semester, which means I'll graduate after a year and a half, saving myself probably $11,000 in the long run.

I hope I can keep up the productivity when I get home.  It will be so worth it if I can, and so detrimental if I can't.  I accept gifts of lattes and discouraging words* to keep me going.




*you read that right.  for some reason, negative events light a fire under me much more so than positive encouragement. I have no idea what that says about me as a person, but I guess I'll take it.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Say "I love you" if you mean it.

Love XOXO
Warning:
I'm going to get a little bit deeper here than I usually do.

I've always been a very loving person, but over the years I have obviously, like everyone else, been hurt.  Had my heart stomped on.  Eh, it happens, right?  Hindsight is 20/20.  But, the problem is, sometimes you take just a little bit of that pain with you, without noticing it.  It might affect you in weird ways.

My last relationship suffered from this.  The most obvious side effect was that I found myself blaming him for mistakes that my exes had made.  Sometimes, my fears were valid.  Sometimes, they were not.

The thing that I realize now, is that most of my fears (especially my nightmares) were just my brains way of saying, "I love you.  Losing you would be more than I could stand.  Literally my worst nightmare."

But when I took the time to tell him my nightmares, instead of interpreting it that way, he would interpret it as: "I don't trust you.  You are going to cheat on me."

The side effect that we dealt with from the beginning was my somehow complete inability to just say, "I love you."  I'm not sure why, but it had suddenly become three awkward words that I couldn't utter.  When he said it first, I was able to repeat it--but I could never, or almost never say it on my own.

Very early in our relationship he asked, "Why don't you say it?"
I responded with, "I don't know.  I feel it.  I just can't say it."
He told me that this was okay.  It didn't bother him that I couldn't say it.

But you know what?  It hurt our relationship.  Whether or not we realized it at the time.

And now that we don't have this relationship, I want to scream it.  I want to post it on his Facebook wall and punctuate our gchats with it.  I want to text it to him and call him pet names and say ridiculous things that I should have been saying all along.  I passed a girl leaving a voice mail message for someone today: "I love you, and I'll talk to you later."  she said.  And I was envious that the words came out so easily.  Has she never been hurt?  I thought.

He's alive, but it almost feels as though he's dead.  People mourn that they 'never had the chance to say 'I love you' one last time', but this is the same way.  I could say it, sure, but it has become inappropriate now.  It would be met with an:  "Alison, let's not do this.  This never ends well."

He doesn't read this, so I can say it here.  Inappropriate or not, this is my blog.  I love you.  And, additionally, the words I have been saying over and over for the past three months, but haven't changed anything:  I am so sorry.


(I attended a workshop the other day on ways to communicate more effectively.  It held a mirror up to my flaws and really just made me upset.  If I had gone to this meeting six months ago, we might still be together.  I only hope I can apply what I've learned and he may one day reconsider.)


So the point that I want to get across with all this?  Say "I love you" to the people you love.  Even if it's hard.  Even if it's awkward and you're afraid and you've been hurt.  Because not hearing it has an impact--and when you are no longer able to say it, you'll wish you could.