My 20-year high school reunion was last night. I don't really have a whole lot to say about it except that I'm really very glad I never went down the tanning booth path that so many of my classmates did. Like, whoa.
We should all have renewed faith in the power of sunscreen
And diet. And exercise.
Having babies clearly changes the body. I'm scared.
The thing is, people were exactly how I expected them to be. This is not to say that it was a bad experience. Not at all. Except for the fact that I started hyperventilating as I approached the entrance. And that I could hardly take a single step once I got into the room. And that I couldn't make eye contact with anyone for the longest time. And that I could only focus on one person at a time. And that some of my best, most natural conversations of the evening were with the spouses of my former classmates. Some of them made really good choices.
Some people got stupidly drunk. Those people are exactly those I figured would.
No, people were the same, more or less. My class was a tough crowd. Then, and now. I still don't like the people I didn't like then. I still like the people I did. I am as neutral as I always was about the people who then barely hit my radar. If I expected anything different, I would have been sorely mistaken.
There really were no big surprises. Except that the night ended way too quickly.
30 August 2009
11 June 2009
What's for dinner
This is is my perfect meal. It nourishes, relaxes, comforts. I only eat this by myself. I only want to eat this by myself. This perfect meal is a solitary effort. This works. Every single time.
Potatoes, fried in a cast iron skillet.
Add bell peppers, fry some more.
While that's going on, whisk some eggs with salt and pepper.
Turn the heat down pretty low and get rid of some of the frying oil (most of it, actually) from the skillet.
Add a whopping handful of spinach and watch it wilt.
Add the eggs, scramble and then dump it all out onto a plate.
If they're in season, slice up an avocado.
I would never do this in front of another person. Not ever (again). I've come to understand that this is my "alone activity." One of my favorites.
Potatoes, fried in a cast iron skillet.
Add bell peppers, fry some more.
While that's going on, whisk some eggs with salt and pepper.
Turn the heat down pretty low and get rid of some of the frying oil (most of it, actually) from the skillet.
Add a whopping handful of spinach and watch it wilt.
Add the eggs, scramble and then dump it all out onto a plate.
If they're in season, slice up an avocado.
I would never do this in front of another person. Not ever (again). I've come to understand that this is my "alone activity." One of my favorites.
02 June 2009
This endless mess
The last few days, weeks have been an exercise in mess. As in transferring the mess from one location to another, from one city to another, from one apartment to another from one room to another. As in attempting to clean up one mess but making another in the process. As in not understanding where the mess came from in the first place, whose mess it really is and just wanting it to go away.
There's an ebb and flow to messing things up. Things in this room are a mess of details and where all of it is supposed to go. Truth be told, there's not really enough space for all the stuff that I (we) have to put here. Although I already tossed a bunch of clothes I no longer wear, lost the sofa and bench (to very good new homes), boxed up books and CDs to be sold at a garage sale, consolidated the kitchen collection and pared down my lotions and potions, there's still more to clean up.
It's overwhelming, really. Two people in love decide to live together. There are days when I feel like I've dumped everything somewhere else and that someday in the distant or not-to-distant future, I wonder if I'll wonder where I've put it. That pretty barrette that I wore only once since I bought it four years ago, but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might have need for a pretty barrette. There are also days when I feel like I've implicitly obliged Patrick to dump everything in order to make room for all my stuff. And I wonder if he'll wonder whatever happened to the set of sheets that didn't fit any bed in this place but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might need to cover a non-existent inflatable bed of a size and shape yet to be determined if and when guests come from out of town.
I keep thinking that if we just close our eyes, toss it all in the dumpster and never look back we won't even know what we've missed. This mess.
I love Patrick. Without any hesitation, I love him. And this is the most right thing I've ever chosen in my entire life.
But moving is a messy bitch.
There's an ebb and flow to messing things up. Things in this room are a mess of details and where all of it is supposed to go. Truth be told, there's not really enough space for all the stuff that I (we) have to put here. Although I already tossed a bunch of clothes I no longer wear, lost the sofa and bench (to very good new homes), boxed up books and CDs to be sold at a garage sale, consolidated the kitchen collection and pared down my lotions and potions, there's still more to clean up.
It's overwhelming, really. Two people in love decide to live together. There are days when I feel like I've dumped everything somewhere else and that someday in the distant or not-to-distant future, I wonder if I'll wonder where I've put it. That pretty barrette that I wore only once since I bought it four years ago, but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might have need for a pretty barrette. There are also days when I feel like I've implicitly obliged Patrick to dump everything in order to make room for all my stuff. And I wonder if he'll wonder whatever happened to the set of sheets that didn't fit any bed in this place but maybe should've kept because one never knows when one might need to cover a non-existent inflatable bed of a size and shape yet to be determined if and when guests come from out of town.
I keep thinking that if we just close our eyes, toss it all in the dumpster and never look back we won't even know what we've missed. This mess.
I love Patrick. Without any hesitation, I love him. And this is the most right thing I've ever chosen in my entire life.
But moving is a messy bitch.
07 May 2009
What went right.
Someday, people may read this particular post and think to themselves, "Wow, I wish I'd chronicled all the things that went right in my life." And when they do, I hope they know that I wish that too. Because I'm quite sure that I will forget to write about so many of the things that are about to go right. Starting now.
Instead, it would be so great if people thought to themselves, "Wow, that girl knew the best thing when she saw it." Because that's the truth.
I did.
And here's how it happened.
One day I logged into Myspace. Yeah. Myspace. Normally I'm a Facebook girl, but I do have an account (which I rarely check) and in late January of this year, I logged in. Don't you just love being greeted with "New Comments!" and "New Event Invitations!" and "New Messages!"? I know I do.
Actually, it was only one new message and it was from Patrick, sent January 18th, with the subject line: Anybody home? I know this because I still have the email. Patrick is the ex-boyfriend of an acquaintance of mine, a Swedish girl I met (also through Myspace) a few years back when I was getting ready to move back to Seattle from Sweden and wanted to keep up my language skills.
A number of pleasantries exchanged, an invitation to a birthday-bowling party, an apology for not attending said birthday-bowling party with a consolation "let's get a drink" offer later, and we somehow found ourselves falling in love. Well, that's jumping ahead a little.
The "let's get a drink" offer resulted in meeting at the Bohemian--a coffee shop--at 4pm where I drank tea (because I was getting over a cold) and where he drank wine. Which led to dinner at Circa (because I worked there at the time and could get us food on the cheap). Which led to late-night happy hour at Mission--where I again drank close to a gallon of tea.
He, probably fairly well buzzed, left around 1am. Yes. 1 am.
And here's the best part of all: He didn't even kiss me!
No. I'm not kidding.
I don't think it was until the next day that either one of us realized that we had just had the motherload of first dates. And that it had gone really, really well.
The next weekend was Valentine's Day. And of all things that could go wrong, having a 2nd date on Valentine's Day catapults those things into a whole new level of awkwardness. So I did what any right-thinking person would do and invited a group of friends to accompany me on my 2nd non-date, which just happened to be an evening of bowling, with Patrick.
Let it be known for all of eternity that while February 2009 was indeed a "dry month" for me, I had allowed myself one day of, ahem, wetness (so to speak) and Valentine's Day was the designated date.
At some point, Patrick asked if he could "crash on my sofa" since it would not be prudent to drive in any sort of intoxicated condition. I agreed, and even went so far as to bring him a pillow and blanket.
But then.
Well, then we started talking. About all sorts of pain and other miserable things. It was Valentine's Day after all.
It started getting late. Very late. And while we were talking, Patrick began playing with my hair. And before I knew it he had caressed my cheek. And then he softly lifted my chin and kissed me in the sweetest, sincerest, most deliberate and loving way.
And that was really, really right.
Even better? I will always remember the date: February 15th, 2009.
Instead, it would be so great if people thought to themselves, "Wow, that girl knew the best thing when she saw it." Because that's the truth.
I did.
And here's how it happened.
One day I logged into Myspace. Yeah. Myspace. Normally I'm a Facebook girl, but I do have an account (which I rarely check) and in late January of this year, I logged in. Don't you just love being greeted with "New Comments!" and "New Event Invitations!" and "New Messages!"? I know I do.
Actually, it was only one new message and it was from Patrick, sent January 18th, with the subject line: Anybody home? I know this because I still have the email. Patrick is the ex-boyfriend of an acquaintance of mine, a Swedish girl I met (also through Myspace) a few years back when I was getting ready to move back to Seattle from Sweden and wanted to keep up my language skills.
A number of pleasantries exchanged, an invitation to a birthday-bowling party, an apology for not attending said birthday-bowling party with a consolation "let's get a drink" offer later, and we somehow found ourselves falling in love. Well, that's jumping ahead a little.
The "let's get a drink" offer resulted in meeting at the Bohemian--a coffee shop--at 4pm where I drank tea (because I was getting over a cold) and where he drank wine. Which led to dinner at Circa (because I worked there at the time and could get us food on the cheap). Which led to late-night happy hour at Mission--where I again drank close to a gallon of tea.
He, probably fairly well buzzed, left around 1am. Yes. 1 am.
And here's the best part of all: He didn't even kiss me!
No. I'm not kidding.
I don't think it was until the next day that either one of us realized that we had just had the motherload of first dates. And that it had gone really, really well.
The next weekend was Valentine's Day. And of all things that could go wrong, having a 2nd date on Valentine's Day catapults those things into a whole new level of awkwardness. So I did what any right-thinking person would do and invited a group of friends to accompany me on my 2nd non-date, which just happened to be an evening of bowling, with Patrick.
Let it be known for all of eternity that while February 2009 was indeed a "dry month" for me, I had allowed myself one day of, ahem, wetness (so to speak) and Valentine's Day was the designated date.
At some point, Patrick asked if he could "crash on my sofa" since it would not be prudent to drive in any sort of intoxicated condition. I agreed, and even went so far as to bring him a pillow and blanket.
But then.
Well, then we started talking. About all sorts of pain and other miserable things. It was Valentine's Day after all.
It started getting late. Very late. And while we were talking, Patrick began playing with my hair. And before I knew it he had caressed my cheek. And then he softly lifted my chin and kissed me in the sweetest, sincerest, most deliberate and loving way.
And that was really, really right.
Even better? I will always remember the date: February 15th, 2009.
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