Ode to a clean room?

If KK can blog to a missing shoe, I can by all means blog to a clean room. Seriously. I moved into this house on August . . . 24th? Somewhere in there. I am proud to say that today, October 30, I have finally managed to move in. That is, my room is clean, and I have homes for all of my little knick knacks and I will actually sweep my room to get all the dog hair off the floor (that will happen tomorrow because tonight there is a party going on and I do not wish to interrupt it by walking into the room, grabbing a broom, and walking out . . . that would be awkward).

That said, I would have to venture that having a paper due on Halloween and having roommates who want to celebrate the night before is a good idea. I mean, if nobody was here, I'd be out in the living room watching tv. If I didn't have a paper due, I'd be out in the living room partying. But here I am, saving money and cleaning at the same time. Also, I have hung essential items on my wall, like my Moira pillowcase I got for my birthday when I was 4.

Speaking of that pillowcase. It was much to my chagrin that my beach towel was seriously worn when I pulled it out of the dryer this evening. You know how sometimes towels start to fray at the edges and they get all natty and sad? Well, this one is starting on the very unfortunate decline in that direction. This got me to thinking, I've had this towel since I was eight. It's about damn time. I am the biggest pack rat, I have a pillowcase from 4 and a towel from 8? I also use a bath robe my sister got when I was 10, have a hat I got when I was 11 hanging from my wall, and use a bed cover given to my parents before I was even born. That said, I hope that when I get married I get a huge trunk in which to put all these things. I admit it might be weird to have them as a part of my life once it is also somebody else's life, but I neeeeeeeeeed to keep them. Mr. Bear on the other hand, might just have to sleep with me and my husband. So, dear prospective men, I apologize. You can sleep with whatever you want (except another woman), just give me my bear.

I guess this is really an ode to life. That sounds better than an ode to a clean room. Well. I guess it isn't really an ode at all . . . But I like it.

Womanizer.

Why I love Gossip Girl. Because they mix sexy men and Britney Spears. It's like a gay club, but with more hope for a straight girl!

Rob Thomas

I just walked into my room and turned on iTunes for the first time today. First song that pops up is "Ever the Same" by Rob Thomas.

After tonight's "Always Sunny," you've gotta wonder if it's just a freaky coincidence? I think not.

This is Sinbad's house!

2:47 pm

As I sit in class, listening but not taking notes, I have to wonder if this could be the downfall of me as a student. Being a body in a class is not the same as being an active member. Then again, not being in class at all is very often what really gets me into trouble. Seriously, though . . .

I spent yesterday's Comparative Religious Ethics class drawing the letters "th" numerous times to see which way I liked it best. FYI, see the diagram to the upper left to see which I prefer. While the latter is more attractive, the former seems more natural. I like natural.

In my mass media class, I created a Fall 2k8 playlist and tried desperately to think of an appropriate name for it- which led to musings on happiness (see- yesterday's blogs).

In Critical Theory, though the feminism unit was intriguing, I spent the first ten minutes figuring out my own little bout of feminist writing (though it is not particularly groundbreaking, see below).

And now here I am in some meta mess. (The more I avoid it, the more I'm drawn to it. Perhaps from now on, it'll be known as the meta-flame and I'll be a Robbins-esque libidinous moth, trying so hard not to jump in head first.) Class is nearly over and my understanding of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood is very, very nominally broader.

So back to the question- is this a good thing or a bad one? Well, we'll continue this vein next class. Unless I find something else to write about. I probably will. Stay tuned at some future date for my humble insights into the romantic night I spent with Miss Maggie May.

Feminism

I am written in the margins. But I am not to be marginalized. I will do more in my tiny space (with my pencil) than you will do on a whole page with your heavy black ink. I could change the world just to prove you wrong, but I am above that and will change the world because I want to (and can). I will start in the margins, and perhaps I will end there. Stretching across the page is not my goal. If I can just put one little pinprick in one little part of your heart, I will know you are changed. And I will be changed, too. All the way over here, in my margin.

Post Script

Shortly after posting my last blog, La came home from Hadley's with miniature ice cream sandwiches and asked if I wanted one.

"Only if you'll sit and eat one with me," I said.

We sat in the living room talking about boys and eating something way too cold for a night like this way too late for any health nut (which we are not).

Now I'm in bed listening to "Reasons to Love You".

See, told you life was good...

She'll let you in her car, to go drivin' 'round.

At 7:28 tonight, I had a realization. In religious terms, had this particular realization been heralded by chubby children with wings and silken mops of golden curls, I might just want to call it an epiphany.

It was that powerful.

Brace yourselves, folks, it'll be a blog for the ages. What I'm going to say is short and sweet (or it could be, had I not the deep-seated desire to draw every word out of every situation). You will sit and think that it should be true all the time, but before you judge me as some crazy person, sit and think about whether or not you can say the same.

If you can, awesome. Sincerely, I think that it is fantastic in every way. I wish that I could say this all day, every day, but I think it's encouraging to say it and mean it any day, at any time. If you can't say this, I am sorry that you're stuck reading the blog of somebody who is saying it, because I know that's just like salt in the wound.

And with much (unnecessary) ado, I get to that little kernel which has kept you waiting with bated breath on the tips of your toes:

I'm happy. Really happy. And not some of the time, not on a day to day basis, not just when things are going right.

Yesterday morning, I walked into my house happy. And when I got there, the Waring brothers brought pancake mix and we let the puppies out in the yard and we hung out and it was really good. Just... simple. And still happy.

Then, probably one of the scariest things I have ever experienced. Charlie hobbled into the house, blood marking every part of the ground that her right paw touched. As she stood in our kitchen, it was literally spurting out, the type of bleeding you only see on Grey's Anatomy or in a Quentin Tarantino film. Bawling, and with Laurie in the back of the car also bawling, we drove to an emergency vet in Mount Pleasant.

Now, I know I've never really talked about the dogs on the blog except to say that they most likely think that we are all crazy. To sum up my relationship with the dogs, I love them. They are both La's and they both show her the highest degree of love and loyalty. But I adore them more than I realized. Charlie is, I would venture, exactly how I would be as a dog. She goes outside and runs around for twenty minutes like a bat out of hell and spends the rest of her day being lazy and a little bit weird.

So, we arrive at the vet, me cradling Charlie, La holding a (now horribly soiled) towel around her paw. A kind man who happened to be outside opens the door for us. We walk into the lobby and just stand there. Bawling, holding Charlie. If you've ever seen Michelangelo's Pietà right up close, you will understand the utter agony and depth of emotion. Granted our dog is not the crucified Jesus Christ and we are not Virgin Marys, the potential for loss was astounding to us.

Long story short, Charlie is now fine and has a pretty purple bandage on each paw and is learning to hobble on three legs and is laying at the edge of my bed as we speak.

I remarked to Laurie as we sat in the doctor's office that I was surprised by how quickly things could go wrong. We were having the perfect morning and suddenly found ourselves on the brink of what would be, for us, a tragedy. (That said, I should probably never have children. I would probably have a heart attack each time they fell from a swing.)

It wasn't until tonight, as I sat in class making a playlist instead of taking notes, that I realized how quickly things can go right. Despite our mishap yesterday, everything is going to be fine. Everything is still so, so good. And I thought about the past week. I had moments where I was upset, an entire hour-long phone call with my dad can attest to that, but on the whole, I came out of everything okay.

And not only okay, not merely surviving. But happy. I don't know exactly why, because I'm not one necessarily prone to unabashed joy (unless I am watching Chuck Bass on tv or dancing to no music).

It kind of feels good.


In other news, we have no water in our house. Kind of ironic, since Anna and Emily were just talking today about how we needed to change the bill to our name and start paying it...

In your eyes...

First, let me do the biggest shout out to my best friend and fellow blogger (newly!), KMK. Dear, KK. I love your blog and will read it daily. Not to mention that this chick is my best friend and also a seriously hilarious writer, she also is doing her first "friend interview" on me. An interview that I filled out at work this afternoon while eating a seared tuna salad and watching my section to see if it would ever get sat.

FYI- I had one table tonight, it was a single dude. He left me ten dollars on his twenty five dollar meal. It was sad that I only made ten dollars, but happy that I made it on a single one top.

Anyyyywaaaaayyyyy, I was seriously planning on plugging Krystina here, so here it is: Vanity. Live it, learn it, love it. This girl is amazing and I mean that.

In other news I had the most romantic walk ever. No kidding, full moonshine, empty inlet. Marshes. Lighthouse. Arthur Ravanel Bridge. Cruise boat in the harbor, followed closely by a sunset cruise. And as I rounded the battery, right along the marsh, a single shrimper casting its net. Oh, and I was also with Chris's dog. Seriously, I cried on the inside that I was walking a friends dog and not a boyfriend. It'll happen one day... Maybe?

My stomach is now protesting, and according to Sweet D, the Red Sox won?! Why is such a great night ending in such pain?

xoxo, GG? or just me.
Mo

I don't care if you really care, as long as you don't go.

Sometimes I have to wonder just what the dogs are thinking when they watch what goes on in this house. Today is Tuesday and I haven't worked since Saturday. In my three days off, I wonder increasingly what they think of what goes on when I'm here.

Exhibit A- Details Magazine. Apparently, this is a men's magazine. I use the word "men's" to really mean "metrosexual's". I mean, seriously, many straight-laced straight men would cower at a magazine targeted for them that discusses "douchebag hair", "winter wardrobe", and "The Gossip Guys". Ohhhh, those Gossip Guys! You will be pleased to know that there are also pictures of David Beckham in a cardigan, a great article by Augusten Burroughs, and a interesting portrait of Ridley Scott. It isn't all about the Gossip Guys, they just happen to be the most amazing part of the magazine. (At least in this issue. Apparently, there's one with Shia LeBeouf, too...) When I got to the part where they interviewed Ed Westwick, I literally went "Eee!" and took the magazine into my room to read it in bed. For some reason, I did not think it appropriate to hug the magazine to my body and grin in the livingroom. I don't think it is appropriate to hug magazines to your body and grin in any room, come to think of it. Perhaps I was just going to my room to hide my shame... The dogs followed, though. Luckily, they just fell asleep on the floor.

Exhibit B- Music. Seriously. I am now listening to Nick Drake, and that is suitably appropriate for 7:41 in the evening, laying in bed and writing a blog. Just a few minutes ago, though, I was actually bouncing in my seat to "Lovefool" by the Cardigans. Part of the song rings too close to home, but mostly, it is so catchy. Sure, you say, that song went out of style, oh, who knows, when Baz Lurhmann's "Romeo and Juliet" stopped playing in the theaters. But I still like it and I will still play it. Plus, it is less embarrassing than the Taylor Swift or, oh, don't say it, you know I'm gonna, Miley Cyrus that I've been known to pump through the speakers in my weakest moments. I'm not sure that the dogs really notice my music, but I would imagine they'd have to. Who couldn't notice "Jesus, Etc."?

Exhibit C- And this one must really mess the dogs up. Facon. Yeah, I said it. Fake-bacon. Facon. Every time I cook it (or one of the girls does), I imagine those commercials with the dog nose running through a house and into the kitchen screaming "Bacon! Bacon, bacon, bacon, bacon, BACON!" Our dogs don't do that. Luckily for me, I am not pulling out Beggin' Strips, though. I am enjoying the salty, savory goodness of a product that looks/smells/and tastes so suspiciously like bacon that sometimes I have to pause and wonder just what is going into my body [editor's note- "That's what she said."]. In fact, Zuli started whimpering as I wrote that sentence. I would guess that either she objects to this facon or wants me to respect her utter restraint in not trying to eat it every time I cook it. Or she is just uncomfortable on the wood floors.

I could use more examples of things that really seem to confuse the hell out of the dogs: cigarette smoke, why in the heck I actually do my laundry on occasion and take away their happy home on the floor (La has already done this, so they sought refuge in my wasteland of a space), and of course, beer, but I shall stop.

Blogging? It's been a while. Felt good... I guess.