June 13, 2009

June 13, 2009

It is done. I have finished unpacking my house, everything is put away (mostly). It was a hard last push, but well worth it. We finally got the living room set up which took us two whole days. One of them was spent with my husband encouraging me while pushing me into a hole in the wall. I then had to crawl behind the wall upstairs dragging 100 feet of ethernet cable and a tiny little lamp with an extension cord like a little attic miner. I then had to shove my hand through some insulation into a dark hole in the floor and then feed the wire through it. Meanwhile my hubby hung out downstairs next to the panel we removed from the bathroom (no insulation) and waited to feed the wire down to the basement. Then I had to run down to the basement climb up on some unbalanced coolers and chairs, feed the wire across the ceiling through a hole in the wall to the laundry room through the ceiling some more to a hole my husband drilled in the ceiling. Then he fed the wire while I crawled through the entertainment center, under the wires and carefully not tipping over our tv and I pulled the wire up, and had to sit behind there squished between the tv and the wall for an hour while occasionally feeding some wire while trying not to get tangled and pull everything on top of myself. Thankfully I only pulled down the power cord to the X-Box 360, which might sound like not a big deal except it has a surge protector the size and weight of a brick that just narrowly grazed my skull and bounced off my forearms. I have the duck and cover reflexes of a child who grew up during the cold war.
Then, because I am his “freakishly tall wifey” I was designated light hanger-upper. I had to hang the lights up on our porch. Somehow I always get the shaft because Im skinny or tall or I can crawl behind stuff. Not cool. We also hung up curtains and a new table cloth, set up our dvds, organized our recycling closet, set up my husbands statues and all thats left to do is hang up posters. Woohoo. Now perhaps I can get into a regular routine. Im hoping to start getting into photography again, except my camera is being wonky. It was a pretty crappy camera to begin with, good for point and shoot on vacation but its not vary good for any skilled photography. Only automatic settings and a very slow shutter speed all the time, even at noon. This week it would take only four pictures before it would claim the battery was depleted and shut off. Other times it wouldn’t even turn on. I think its time to start hunting for a new camera. Any suggestions? It has to be under 200$ max and thats pushing it.
I should be getting into a regular posting schedule soon instead of being so erratic. See you next post, hopefully with pictures!

June 05, 2009

June 5, 2009

I’ve done absolutely nothing this past week. I am a failure, and a lazy ass. Ive done nothing but lay around, wasting time. I couldn’t tell you what I did exactly I did to waste all that time, only that it wasn’t worth remembering and therefore must be something terribly unimportant.

Things I did do this week:
Ate chips and cheese dip for two hours
Worked on a picture that has the potential to become my new branding device
Stared at my pea soup green pool wishing I could swim in it without fear of developing an ailment
Played computer games with the hubby
Watched several crappy movies including Drag Me To Hell, Babylon AD, Mall Cop and Be Kind, Rewind
Watched one good movie on accident, Live Free or Die Hard
Ruined a batch of potato salad

In between all this heavy duty stuff I would laze around, read some more of my book and sleep. What hard work I have to do all the time. I don’t know how I do it sometimes.
Today I did do some necessary cleaning of the kitchen and bedroom, just to make myself feel useful.
But alas, I have spent too much time sulking and delivering news of my intensive labors. I must retreat back to my hovel and resume my work.
My husband is asking me to move a large chair up the stairs. Oh boy, what fun!

Wednesday’s Photo 06-03-09

June 3, 2009

June 01, 2009

June 1, 2009

The week that I have internet finally installed in my own home is the same week that I am absolutely too busy to do anything worth writing about. I’ve baked cookies, cut my hair so short that I have been called “sir” at work and failed at both setting up my studio and at fixing my pool. I didn’t completely fail at setting up my studio, but it isn’t complete. It’s like having a todo list. You can’t cross it off unless it’s completely done. And without crossing it off you never feel that sense of accomplishment. I would have finished it except for the horrific bout of the worst pms related cramps I’ve had in my entire life, a three day migraine and a case of food poisoning. I don’t usually get cramps or headaches, let alone migraines. I also don’t go out searching for old, undercooked food so that I can spend three quarters of my day in the bathroom. I did get pretty far in my current book because of that. I’ve begun reading all of Christopher Moore’s books and I’m currently stuck on Island of the Sequined Love Nun. Not my favorite but I must trudge through. I can’t ever bring myself to quit on a book I’ve started. It might just be because I finished Bloodsucking Fiends in a day and a half because I could not put it down. I decided I was going to read them all in the order they came out, and because of this I didn’t jump forward to You Suck. I’m almost regretting that decision now. I can’t get thoughts of Jody and Tommy out of my head.
Moving forward, nothing terribly notable is happening on the house front. Only that the pool needs fixing and there’s not much we can do about it being that we’re not professionals and don’t have any money. I had to spend a good chunk of my paycheck to finally get my Massachusetts drivers license. Stupid RMV. Now I’m living on ramen and pb&js, but at least I can enjoy them in my new spacious home. If only houses were edible. I have read that if you have an edible house it turns you into a cranky old woman who likes to eat children. I’m not entirely sure if that’s true but I wouldn’t want to tempt fate so I guess I’ll stick to ramen and pbj for now.
In between working and hiding out in the bathroom, I’ve been beginning to write my memoirs. I’m new to this writing stuff, nothing besides thesis papers have warranted much attention. I’m also writing it out of order. There are some things better left for later. I’ll say I’m doing it to build suspense and to create an interesting time shift for the reader. “Tarantino-ing” it, as I’ve heard it called. It might just be because I’m not ready to write about some things yet.
I should go check up on the hubby and his friend, they tend to go on fixing-sprees and these things don’t go over very well for me when they’ve been drinking. Man-stuff I suppose.

Here’s a link to Christopher Moore’s blog: http://blog.chrismoore.com/
Check out Time Travel Tweets. Good stuff.

Turning a line in a song into the end of who I am.

May 31, 2009

I was backing up through a crowd, just barely dodging his grasps at me. The crowd wouldn’t move out of my way, they wanted me to be caught. He was stumbling, leaning on people as he struggled closer. I could see the tears on the face as clearly as I could smell the vodka on his breath.
“Just leave me alone!” I turned to run away.
“I can’t live without you!” He wailed as he dropped to his knees, clinging onto the pants of one of his friends who had come to console him. I could hear him sobbing into the fabric of her clothing, her consoling him called me a wretched bitch who didn’t know what she had. He was probably still downing alcohol, and considering how to fit this moment into song.

I had left him. We had only “dated” for two weeks. We went out to a football game tonight, and before the sun had even set he was taking shots of alcohol from an nondescript bottle. “Why do you have to do that?” “It numbs the pain.” I didn’t need this. I had told him I was leaving, and I could see him put it through his “emo” filter, the pain and agony were heightened. He overreacted. He could live without me.

I walked around, looking for a familiar face. I zipped up my jacket to cover myself more, and noticed the boy who sat next to me in my english class. I walked over, “Hi, it’s Sean right?”
“Yea, hi. Are you okay?” I had been crying.
“I know we just met but could you do me a favor? There’s this guy chasing me and I don’t really want to wander around alone.”
“Sure, hang out with us.”

I don’t remember much of what we talked about that night. I remember a boy coming over and staring at my breasts. “34 B, right?” “Um, yea?” I replied trying to cover myself. “Justin is coming over here.” Sean held me close to him. I could smell his cologne on his black t-shirt. He had dark hair, very light skin with light freckles. He had steel grey eyes. I would fall in love with those eyes, and it was those eyes…
“Come back to me Tobyn, I need you, I can’t live without you. You are a part of my soul. Please come back to me.” Tears were streaming down his face, he was hunched over while he was pleading.
“Leave me alone Justin, just go away. I don’t want to be with you, you’ll be fine.”
“Please, Tobyn!–” He began to plead again and reached out to me. Sean turned me to his side, clutching me closer and cut him off. “She doesn’t want to be with you. Go away,” Justin looked to me, then to Sean, and back. He walked away, digging into his jacket for his drink.
I looked up at Sean, smiling. “Thank you”
“Not a problem.” I tried to take a small step away but he still held me close. Wrapping his other hand around me, I could feel him lean his cheek against my hair. I hadn’t meant for this to happen. He smelled so good. Why do boys keep wanting me? They never paid any attention before. His clothes were so soft, his hold stronger than Justin.
I found myself pressing him up against a wall, my tongue touching his, his arms still held tight around me, we were part of the few who were last to leave.
“Would you like to see a movie tomorrow with me?” He ran his fingers through my hair.
“Sure, call me with a time” We walked up to the parking lot interlocking fingers, sure to let go before coming into eye sight of our parents. I looked back as I got into the car but he was gone.
“You have fun?”
“Yea, I guess so.”

Trying to fill the hole in me.

May 30, 2009

I’m fifteen, sitting at a lunch table, the smell of bleach and cleaning chemicals permeates the air, covered over with the smell of various drinks from Dunkin’ Donuts. I have my nose in a book, sitting in close proximity to people I only know because I need someone to sit near to feel less alone. Most of my life has been spent searching for ways to find companionship, superficial or otherwise. Ever since I found out what it was like to have someone else to care for besides yourself, I felt like I couldn’t be alone. I had no one.
These girls dressed in hot topic clothes, with dark dyed black hair, jelly bracelets, spikes, dark lipstick, etc. I remember they were talking about how cute they thought the lead singer of HIM was with his “beautiful eyes, that could stare straight into your soul”. I tuned them out, went back to my book.
“Oh my god, look who’s coming over here.”
“Why wont he just leave us alone?”
“Cuz, he thinks he’s cool shit, you know?”
“Shh, don’t let him hear you.”
The boy invited himself into their circle, and joined their conversation, talking about bands he’s seen and inviting them to one of his shows. They humored him, “Oh, you like Taking Back Sunday? I love them!”,”Did you hear track number 14? It makes me cry everytime.”,”Oh fuck yea! I’d love to see you play a show! Maybe we can hang out after.” I kept reading my book.
“Hey there.”
I looked up, a bit startled by the voice directed at me. “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m Justin.” He sat down on the bench directly to my left. He was smiling, dark hair hung in front of face. I remember that I couldn’t decide if I thought he was cute. He had clear skin, nice eyes, but something about his face was weird. Perhaps I instinctively judging his facial symmetry. I read somewhere that people symmetric features are subconsciously found more attractive than people with asymmetrical features.
“Hi. I’m Tobyn” I looked back at my book.
“Do you like emo music?”
“Emo music?”
“Yea, my band plays emo, do you like that kind of music?”
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never heard it.”
“Well I’ll bring in a mix tomorrow.”
“Okay?”
“See you.”
I kept looking at my book.
“You shouldn’t see him. He’s weird.”
“Okay” I had read the same sentence five times. The bell rang for A period to start.
By C period the next day I was listening to an 18 track mix “first half is alternative-emo and the last half is real emo” and having the same indecision that I felt about his face. Half of me loved listening to the distraught pining of a boy who had loved and not received it in return, listening to the verbalization of someone having their heart ripped out. I had a weakness for their words, the longing in myself had subsided temporarily but every once in awhile I could feel it pulling back up, climbing up my heartstrings and jutting out through my throat. I missed him. The other half of me wondered how anyone could listen to this crap. I guessed it was like beer. You had to build up a tolerance before you could really appreciate it. “It’s an acquired taste.” I came to find out that usually signifies crap that other people know is crap but try to get you to like it anyways. They’ve already tortured themselves to the point of tolerance so that they think they’re cool. Now they need to convince someone else to do it so they’re not alone.

“You’re a touch overrated,you’re a lush and I hate it but these grass stains on my knees they won’t mean a thing”

A week later Justin and I were out on a picnic table. He was flicking his tongue in and out of my mouth, his lips open limply, like a hyperactive snake inside of the mouth of a death fish. At least his breath was minty. I let him slip a hand up my shirt. After an hour we were walking hand in hand through a park, he was talking about a show, some song he had written and brooding. I noticed, the “emo” didn’t stop with the music, it flowed into his life. He was an over reactive boy wrought with emotion, his body decaying with despair, his heart wrenched in a vice, unable to feel, yet struggling, desperate to give me his love, becoming too attached too quick like love was just a line in the song he was living and he only had three minutes to love and be left and sing the sorrows of his soul. I looked at the trees and wondered why I still felt empty.

“And all I need to know is that I’m something you’ll be missing”

On another day I was sitting in that same park alone, with my headphones on and a fleece to protect myself from the chilly late September air. I thought about my past lover. Why did I still feel empty? Why was it not enough to feel his hands on me, his warmth against me, to listen to him talk? His hands are not as rough as yours, never having needed to really work. His voice is not as soothing as yours, self centered and incoherent. And his warmth is irrelevant because his soul never touches mine, we may be close physically but I feel as though we’re in different worlds.

“The truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I’d apologize for bleeding on your shirt.”

I’m still trying to fill this hole you left in me.

May 23, 2009

May 23, 2009

“Honey, what’s a lobster bake?”
“Well, first you make a pit in the ground and start a fire. Then you put a pot of water on it and let it boil, then you begin interrogating the lobsters. They’re not gonna talk though, because they’re lobsters and lobsters can’t speak. So then you just throw them in the pot and cook em up. Then when they’re all done you grill them up to make them nice and crispy and tasty and then you eat them.”
“Ew.”

May 21, 2009

May 23, 2009

This situation should accurately demonstrate why I hate the RMV:

The lady at the counter pauses and gives a glance over to her friend who is now playing “Macho Man” rather loudly on her radio. They exchange some jokes and commentary before the lady returns to the business at hand. She issues me a request denial form because I cannot produce adequate proof of residency. At this point in time she is holding four pieces of paper with my full name on it as well as a computer screen right in front of her. And then she spells my name wrong. Not kind of wrong, like switching a vowel but really wrong as in dropping two letters and exchanging one for an ‘a’.

The RMV is just someone’s joke right? No one could have really thought that this whole process was a good idea. No one is that stupid or mean. I really hope all the employees are in on it too, because that’s just sad.

May 20, 2009

May 23, 2009

How do you fix the drain to your tub? Well it’s a simple task that can be done in 20 minutes with a few parts from the Home Depot. All you need is a plumber’s wrench, some sealant, and a few feet of pipe that are the same shape, size and width as the pipe you are replacing. Now shut off the water, remove the old pipe, put in the new pipe, seal, tighten and tadaaa! You now have a fully functional tub drain once more.

Of course it is never that easy. Here’s how our tub got fixed. Step one, visit favorite diner next door to the house you used to live in. Chat up the owner (who is an adorable mid-twenties Portuguese woman, very nice, love her to death) and get her to find you a cheap plumber. She calls up her very Portuguese mother and you can try to eavesdrop on their very loud and very funny mother-daughter conversation that is entirely in Portuguese. I do not know Portuguese but I could tell you exactly what the conversation was about, since most mother-daughter conversations go this way. She asks for number to the plumber she knows, mother says “Oh no, use this guy he’s great,” “No, mom, I just want to call so-and-so” and after all that you get the number for Vanür, a Brazilian plumber who only speaks Brazilian Portuguese and that no one you know can vouch for. Great! End of step one.

Step two, drive 40 minutes to pick up plumber, drive back 40 minutes to house (with plumbing) and let the guy stare at the bottom of your tub for a bit. Now take him to Home Depot so he can get the appropriate parts. Drive back to house. Drive back to Home depot to get parts he forgot. Drive back to house. Wait 4 hours for him to finish work. Then drive 40 minutes back to drop off plumber while your tub is still leaking and he is telling you in very broken English that “es un CLOG, use el Drano, si, es muy bueno, etc. etc.” Oh, and by the way my husband does indeed speak Portuguese, but he wont tell me what they are talking about, only that he doesn’t know the word for pipe and that the language from Portugal and Brazil is different. True, since there is an entire ocean in between them, that would make sense.

Step three, use Drano, wait overnight and voila, tub is fixed. It’s been two days but I’m still crossing my fingers hoping that something doesn’t go horribly wrong.

Now throughout this whole mess, I stayed home cleaned and scrubbed everything in the kitchen, rearranged some furniture, put away all the dishes and food and we now have two fully complete rooms. One to sleep in and one to cook in. That’s all we need right? Only six more areas to complete.

May 19, 2009

May 23, 2009

“It’s a bright summer day outside. It’s beautiful, and you can tell because the homeless are ripening nicely”


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