Yes, I'm going to get the majority of my stuff from Philthydelphia (or Killadelphia, as Lamb of God would say) this weekend, along with Liam. The cat hasn't yet made the trip, but she's on the schedule for sometime in October. That month's going to be busybusybusy anyway... Oh shit, that's NEXT month. Well! L. pointed out the other day that I've been here almost 2 months, which makes it almost 4 months that we've been in constant contact with each other. Seems more like forever and not just a short period of time, considering that now the leaves are changing and a minute ago it was hot as hell and the sun was setting after 8:00 at night. We're taking the train down and driving a UHaul (Lil' Sammy represent!) back. I hope that Dad is wearing an appropriately pastel polo shirt when he picks us up at 30th Street Station tomorrow afternoon. It could be any one of them: carnation pink, butter yellow, salmon, lilac. He has a veritable rainbow of them, all of which set off his permanent tan. Somehow, I find it hard to believe that Mom was tanning alongside him yet her skin has reverted to the translucent French-Canadian hue while his has evolved into something close to beef jerky. I suppose I'm fortunate to fall in between the two, rather than favor one or the other. I definitely don't freckle, but Liam has that market cornered with his Irishness. No, no red hair this time. Just one tattoo. And he has his wits about him, thank Christ (you're welcome). I can't imagine life without him, and life has been very, very good for the aforementioned past 4 months. Finishing the week off, I interviewed for my job (with some modifications since I left in '07) yesterday and it seemed to go well. I have to tweak my resume for the company president so the important things jump out--that is, I've worked on the products that the position focuses on, quite conveniently--but it would appear that things are on the right track and that I will be a full-time WKL&B employee again before the end of the year. Phew. I know how lucky I am (VERY), and I'm ever so thankful. I don't subscribe to a higher power other than myself, but I do think that fate has finally turned around and started giving me the good shit over the bad shit.
Ah well. Back to work, I suppose...
25 September 2009
18 September 2009
I heart my life.
No, really. And I'm not on anything that's forcing and/or convincing me to think as such. For realz, it's de troof. I have many people to thank for the sitcheeasheeion, Liam Gallagher most of all, but that doesn't mean that other contributors have been marginalized. I keep people in my life for a reason and don't befriend just anybody--and I'll cut you out if you misbehave, don't cross me--so things are quite copacetic right now, if I do say so myself. I got my old job back, I got my apartment, I got mah love, and it's all good. I feel so positive that I might crap myself. What!
08 September 2009
Catharsis is...
... When your ex finally takes two seconds to move you from the coveted #1 friend spot on their social networking page of choice. Not that this sort of thing should really matter at all, considering how the person in question never bothered to update their status to "in a relationship" during the course of said affiliation. Ah, and, lest I forget, the lies regarding his age and height are still ever present. From the perspective of someone who stands just shy of 66 inches, you, sir, are still short (bad pun intended) of the 68 you claim. The real catharsis won't come until I'm 100% deleted as a friend, but somehow I've escaped that fate for the moment.
This begs the question, however, of why things like one's status should matter. Have we become so mindlessly sucked into our virtual worlds that the health of our relationships depends on a click within a check box? I can't say that I find myself falling victim to such an extreme, but I would much prefer that someone who's in a relationship say so rather than not. Moving to the next previous ex, this was his major flaw--honesty in general, that is, and not just online. One thing I can't stand is being cheated on, and god forbid that I ever wind up as the "other woman" without knowing it. I hate to say that it's happened before, but it has. But I digress.
Now that most of us are thoroughly indoctrinated into the social networking world and therefore dependent on the accuracy of the information contained within, the least people can to is to not lie about the big-ticket items. Fudging on height and age isn't as reprehensible as doing the same regarding one's eligibility status, unless we're talking someone who claims to be six feet tall and isn't even close to that in a good pair of heels or someone who knocks 5-10 years off of their age because they want to target a younger demographic. It all comes out in the wash, ladies and gents, when you meet for that first fateful time. I gave the short fella credit, but in the end, it just didn't work. Nobody's fault, just plain old incompatibility.
Tomorrow I sign the lease on my lovely place in Waltham, a return that's been 5 years in the making. I had no idea that the Watch City would be the center of my universe. This calls for meatballs of the Swedish variety. Nothing like some good gravy to cleanse the mind and body while I browse the aisles of a certain retailer on the lookout for a brand-new bedroom...
This begs the question, however, of why things like one's status should matter. Have we become so mindlessly sucked into our virtual worlds that the health of our relationships depends on a click within a check box? I can't say that I find myself falling victim to such an extreme, but I would much prefer that someone who's in a relationship say so rather than not. Moving to the next previous ex, this was his major flaw--honesty in general, that is, and not just online. One thing I can't stand is being cheated on, and god forbid that I ever wind up as the "other woman" without knowing it. I hate to say that it's happened before, but it has. But I digress.
Now that most of us are thoroughly indoctrinated into the social networking world and therefore dependent on the accuracy of the information contained within, the least people can to is to not lie about the big-ticket items. Fudging on height and age isn't as reprehensible as doing the same regarding one's eligibility status, unless we're talking someone who claims to be six feet tall and isn't even close to that in a good pair of heels or someone who knocks 5-10 years off of their age because they want to target a younger demographic. It all comes out in the wash, ladies and gents, when you meet for that first fateful time. I gave the short fella credit, but in the end, it just didn't work. Nobody's fault, just plain old incompatibility.
Tomorrow I sign the lease on my lovely place in Waltham, a return that's been 5 years in the making. I had no idea that the Watch City would be the center of my universe. This calls for meatballs of the Swedish variety. Nothing like some good gravy to cleanse the mind and body while I browse the aisles of a certain retailer on the lookout for a brand-new bedroom...
03 September 2009
End of an era, start of the new.
I've finally made the jump to blogspot. LiveJournal had simply too many Russians and their pr0n was becoming overwhelming. I get mine exclusively from Cat in a Box, thanks very much. Cossacks need not apply.
Anyway. Yes, I'm well aware that it's nigh on 4 in the morning in the East, and yes, I'm fully awake and cognizant of what I'm doing. Falling asleep on the couch--only because of a distinct lack of a bed right now--and that, before 10 pm, is the obvious explanation for this apparent insomnia. It's also not for lack of happiness. I have many a thing running through my head these days. Just yesterday, in fact, as I cruised past Walden Pond on 126, the sun caught the water and I couldn't help but smile as a sense of placidity washed over me. I felt grounded, relieved, and satisfied, among other adjectives. This second time around in New England is it for me.
Part of my satisfaction lies in my discovery of what might be the perfect apartment, save for the slightly aged marigold electric stove. Still, I can deal, because I harbor a secret fear of exploding gas stoves. Not that I've ever experienced that, but the scene from Fight Club in which Ed Norton destroys his IKEA-filled luxury digs seems to have resonated with me over the years to an extreme. Alas, I'll have to deal with the slow, retarded method of cooking, but even so, it's what I grew up with, so no worries, really. The place I'm liking so much is in Watch City--Waltham--a scant mile or so from the Aspen office over by Brandeis, and merely 3 from the abode of the most wonderful man I know, over yonder in Watertown.
After reconnecting with my closest peeps here in Beantown, I received a cascade of "I told you so" in varying forms regarding my last relationship, some veiled no more thinly than "I never liked that guy, anyway." I won't go out on a limb and say that the relationship I had in Philly was a mistake, because it turns out that in my twisted little mind, I NEEDED that relationship to force me to take stock of things and realize that it wasn't the right place for me, nor was he the right person. I found myself being the breaker-upperer (heh) rather than the break-up-ee, for once. I'm usually the one who's far more attached and invested in a relationship, and therefore the one who takes the dissolution much harder than the one whose idea said dissolution was. I was being honest, though, when I told Chris that I didn't see a future for us. My saving grace came when he turned Jekyll-Hyde on me and showed his true colors. I hold nothing against him but for his constant whining about being under-educated and held back by his family. If you don't like the situation, hell, try LEAVING PHILADELPHIA.
Now, about the aforementioned new guy, I can't gush enough. Bill and I have much in common on all sides of the equation, ranging from aspirations to our inherent fears. We've been through the emotional wringer and back again for various reasons. Although we're still very much in the beginning stages of our relationship, I can't deny the level of comfort I feel with him. Deep down I long for corniness and those little, subtle displays of affection that most people simply take for granted. When Bill reaches for my hand in the grocery store or makes faces until I acknowledge him with a kiss or other response, I get such a rush... the rush that was missing from my last two relationships. Dealing with a cheater is never fun, but dealing with someone who has no idea what he wants isn't much better (and never mind the whole doesn't-get-the-difference-between-discussion-and-argument bit I found in so many of my old emails about him). I don't see Bill having the potential to succumb to either fault at this point. We have many activities planned for fall, and finally, I have someone who wants to do things with me. I'm anxious with delight.
Well. So hopefully the apartment will work out in the coming week, and then after that I'll be back to work in Waltham. Last I heard from HR, my documentation on their end was "93% complete." Wondering what that last 7% is... In the meantime, I'll go back to re-learning all my shortcuts and haunts. Ah, Boston. How I missed you so.
Anyway. Yes, I'm well aware that it's nigh on 4 in the morning in the East, and yes, I'm fully awake and cognizant of what I'm doing. Falling asleep on the couch--only because of a distinct lack of a bed right now--and that, before 10 pm, is the obvious explanation for this apparent insomnia. It's also not for lack of happiness. I have many a thing running through my head these days. Just yesterday, in fact, as I cruised past Walden Pond on 126, the sun caught the water and I couldn't help but smile as a sense of placidity washed over me. I felt grounded, relieved, and satisfied, among other adjectives. This second time around in New England is it for me.
Part of my satisfaction lies in my discovery of what might be the perfect apartment, save for the slightly aged marigold electric stove. Still, I can deal, because I harbor a secret fear of exploding gas stoves. Not that I've ever experienced that, but the scene from Fight Club in which Ed Norton destroys his IKEA-filled luxury digs seems to have resonated with me over the years to an extreme. Alas, I'll have to deal with the slow, retarded method of cooking, but even so, it's what I grew up with, so no worries, really. The place I'm liking so much is in Watch City--Waltham--a scant mile or so from the Aspen office over by Brandeis, and merely 3 from the abode of the most wonderful man I know, over yonder in Watertown.
After reconnecting with my closest peeps here in Beantown, I received a cascade of "I told you so" in varying forms regarding my last relationship, some veiled no more thinly than "I never liked that guy, anyway." I won't go out on a limb and say that the relationship I had in Philly was a mistake, because it turns out that in my twisted little mind, I NEEDED that relationship to force me to take stock of things and realize that it wasn't the right place for me, nor was he the right person. I found myself being the breaker-upperer (heh) rather than the break-up-ee, for once. I'm usually the one who's far more attached and invested in a relationship, and therefore the one who takes the dissolution much harder than the one whose idea said dissolution was. I was being honest, though, when I told Chris that I didn't see a future for us. My saving grace came when he turned Jekyll-Hyde on me and showed his true colors. I hold nothing against him but for his constant whining about being under-educated and held back by his family. If you don't like the situation, hell, try LEAVING PHILADELPHIA.
Now, about the aforementioned new guy, I can't gush enough. Bill and I have much in common on all sides of the equation, ranging from aspirations to our inherent fears. We've been through the emotional wringer and back again for various reasons. Although we're still very much in the beginning stages of our relationship, I can't deny the level of comfort I feel with him. Deep down I long for corniness and those little, subtle displays of affection that most people simply take for granted. When Bill reaches for my hand in the grocery store or makes faces until I acknowledge him with a kiss or other response, I get such a rush... the rush that was missing from my last two relationships. Dealing with a cheater is never fun, but dealing with someone who has no idea what he wants isn't much better (and never mind the whole doesn't-get-the-difference-between-discussion-and-argument bit I found in so many of my old emails about him). I don't see Bill having the potential to succumb to either fault at this point. We have many activities planned for fall, and finally, I have someone who wants to do things with me. I'm anxious with delight.
Well. So hopefully the apartment will work out in the coming week, and then after that I'll be back to work in Waltham. Last I heard from HR, my documentation on their end was "93% complete." Wondering what that last 7% is... In the meantime, I'll go back to re-learning all my shortcuts and haunts. Ah, Boston. How I missed you so.
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