A friend & classmate of mine recently wrote a poem entitled "I've come to realize", and it got me thinking what I have come to realize in my lifetime.
I've come to realize that free never means free.
I've come to realize that sex without love is an invitation to disaster.
I've come to realize that I like the sound of Foster's paws scraping on wood floors over the glamour of a nightclub.
I've come to realize that I am terrified of dying, but I really don't do much living.
I've come to realize that walking around naked is fine, except when the blinds are open and I'm surrounded by male neighbors.
I've come to realize that my bawdy sense of humor is just who I am, and that likely won't change.
I've come to realize that I'm not sure if I want kids someday, or if I don't . . .
And I've come to realize that it's okay that I don't know yet.
I've come to realize that I don't give myself enough credit.
I've come to realize that people with poor grammar really, really piss me off.
I've come to realize that the more people yell, the more I stop listening.
I've come to realize that I love puppy kisses.
I've come to realize that I love summer nights, and winter days.
I've come to realize that someday I'll be a hermit - if I can afford it.
I've come to realize that I deserve better, and that's no small feat.
I've come to realize that I have really big feet.
I've come to realize that I would get a foot reduction before I would get a breast augmentation.
I've come to realize that having a regular sleep pattern is the key to being a happy, kind person.
I've come to realize that I don't have a regular sleep pattern.
I've come to realize that I only take vitamins regularly if they are Flintstones brand.
I've come to realize that I would rather read a book than lose control.
I've come to realize that I am better than what I give myself credit for.
I've come to realize that knowledge is the best investment I can think of.
I've come to realize that I keep people at arm's length, though I may want to invite them in closer.
I've come to realize that it's okay to voice my opposition to anything I want to, as long as I do it respectfully.
I've come to realize that I have a pretty good life, and that I am a lucky person.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
More Red Lobster Stupidity
After the Behemoth Crab incident (Chinese Proverb: Man going backwards in office chair look like fat crab walking), my sister and I calmed down long enough to begin digging into our own dinners. My sister is so cute: long blondish brownish hair, and the same soft green eyes as me. Her hair was just a little disheveled, and my own was a short black nightmare yesterday as I battled a hangover. So we sat talking and eating while this adorable little munchkin kept trying to jump through the partition and hang out with us. He was blond, dimpled, and couldn't have been older than three.
Ang: "He should come hang out with us. We need more entertainment.'
Jess: "No we don't, but he is cute."
Ang: "I wonder what they feed kids here? Seriously, kids don't really like seafood, do they?"
Jess: "I doubt it. I don't know. We were weird kids, so we probably loved this shit."
Ang (her hair mussed, and a forkful of pasta in her hand. She was deep in concentration. "So what do they feed kids here? Like, fish sticks?
Jess: "Well - I don't - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Ang: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Jess: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Ang: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I don't know why it was so funny, but it was. And I had to simultaneously squeeze my cheeks and focus on not spitting out my potatoes AND not vomiting: I was stuffed already, and my sister's dry sense of humor didn't help.
Do you ever get the giggles so badly that you just can't stop? I was making a scene, and I knew it. Tears flowed, I made strange choking noises, and I couldn't stop it! Ang didn't help; she was making the same scene.
Moral of the story: Red Lobster DOES NOT serve fish sticks on the kids menu! What the hell?
Ang: "He should come hang out with us. We need more entertainment.'
Jess: "No we don't, but he is cute."
Ang: "I wonder what they feed kids here? Seriously, kids don't really like seafood, do they?"
Jess: "I doubt it. I don't know. We were weird kids, so we probably loved this shit."
Ang (her hair mussed, and a forkful of pasta in her hand. She was deep in concentration. "So what do they feed kids here? Like, fish sticks?
Jess: "Well - I don't - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Ang: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Jess: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Ang: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
I don't know why it was so funny, but it was. And I had to simultaneously squeeze my cheeks and focus on not spitting out my potatoes AND not vomiting: I was stuffed already, and my sister's dry sense of humor didn't help.
Do you ever get the giggles so badly that you just can't stop? I was making a scene, and I knew it. Tears flowed, I made strange choking noises, and I couldn't stop it! Ang didn't help; she was making the same scene.
Moral of the story: Red Lobster DOES NOT serve fish sticks on the kids menu! What the hell?
Effing Red Lobster!!
I never knew Red Lobster could be so funny. Granted, it's the home of mediocre seafood but I'm landlocked in Indiana, so give me a break!
Anyway, my sister and I had dinner at Red Lobster last night. No big deal, average meal. We sat at a table in the packed dining room where a sign over my head read "Flying Fish". Wow! I thought it was interesting. But, continuing on. . . .
To my left sat a woman of average age and average size, eating her snow crab legs. Next to her sat one of the biggest, most obese men I have seen in a long time. I would say he was about 5'9" and 450, busting out of his red, 5X polo shirt and dress pants. The sight of an obese man in Indiana is unremarkable, but he was sitting on an armless office chair, complete with wheels. Interesting, I thought. Did he ask for this chair, or did the hostess just hook him up with it instead of having to embarrass him? (Note: there's a point when you should consider NOT eating a tray full of Red Lobster pasta, and I think this gentleman had passed that point 150 pounds ago. But who am I to judge?)
I had to focus on my own meal, however, and my sister and I ordered. And I casually glanced over every so often at this behemoth in his red polo shirt, but my sister and I never verbalized what we were thinking. (Reminder: my sister and I are both huge bitches. But on the up side, we're both funny as hell.) Midway through our appetizer, after behemoth had decimated his tray full of food, his wife neatly folded her napkin and stood to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I waited for him to get up as well. And though he did not stand, I was not disappointed.
Behemoth grabbed his two canes and ROLLED BACKWARD OUT OF THE RESTAURANT in his office chair!! He brought his own office chair to the restaurant, and wheeled through two dining areas!
Ang: "Did you - "
Jess: "Don't. I can't even look at you right now."
Ang: "Okay, wait. It'll pass."
Jess: "Ok. Breathe."
Ang: "Nobody else looked! How can that be?!"
Jess: "Breathe in, breathe out."
Ang & Jess: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"
Ang: "How do you think that conversation went? 'Honey, I'm gonna just start bringing my own office chair whenever we go out, ok? 'Sure honey, that's a great idea.'"
Jess: "Umm, should I tell them that they actually make wheelchairs?"
Ang: "Nope. It's much funnier this way. But I wonder how that conversation went down. Seriously."
I just don't know, kids. I just don't know.
Anyway, my sister and I had dinner at Red Lobster last night. No big deal, average meal. We sat at a table in the packed dining room where a sign over my head read "Flying Fish". Wow! I thought it was interesting. But, continuing on. . . .
To my left sat a woman of average age and average size, eating her snow crab legs. Next to her sat one of the biggest, most obese men I have seen in a long time. I would say he was about 5'9" and 450, busting out of his red, 5X polo shirt and dress pants. The sight of an obese man in Indiana is unremarkable, but he was sitting on an armless office chair, complete with wheels. Interesting, I thought. Did he ask for this chair, or did the hostess just hook him up with it instead of having to embarrass him? (Note: there's a point when you should consider NOT eating a tray full of Red Lobster pasta, and I think this gentleman had passed that point 150 pounds ago. But who am I to judge?)
I had to focus on my own meal, however, and my sister and I ordered. And I casually glanced over every so often at this behemoth in his red polo shirt, but my sister and I never verbalized what we were thinking. (Reminder: my sister and I are both huge bitches. But on the up side, we're both funny as hell.) Midway through our appetizer, after behemoth had decimated his tray full of food, his wife neatly folded her napkin and stood to leave. Out of the corner of my eye, I waited for him to get up as well. And though he did not stand, I was not disappointed.
Behemoth grabbed his two canes and ROLLED BACKWARD OUT OF THE RESTAURANT in his office chair!! He brought his own office chair to the restaurant, and wheeled through two dining areas!
Ang: "Did you - "
Jess: "Don't. I can't even look at you right now."
Ang: "Okay, wait. It'll pass."
Jess: "Ok. Breathe."
Ang: "Nobody else looked! How can that be?!"
Jess: "Breathe in, breathe out."
Ang & Jess: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"
Ang: "How do you think that conversation went? 'Honey, I'm gonna just start bringing my own office chair whenever we go out, ok? 'Sure honey, that's a great idea.'"
Jess: "Umm, should I tell them that they actually make wheelchairs?"
Ang: "Nope. It's much funnier this way. But I wonder how that conversation went down. Seriously."
I just don't know, kids. I just don't know.
Oh, I just realized. . .
Saturday night I got home from a late shift at work, and I felt . . . hmm, how exactly did I feel? I felt like fighting, like partying, like going out for some drinks and dancing until every particle of stress and care had been flung away from me. I felt like listening to angry rock music and taking shots. I felt like grabbing a guy and taking him home. I wanted to feel like the badass I used to be.
Shit.
So I got home, whipped up mixed drinks for my sister and myself, and got ready to go. I was going out partying, damn it all. So I slapped on a coating of makeup, tousled my hair into a sexy mess, threw on jeans and a decent shirt and left to meet my friends at Piere's, a bar here in Fort Wayne that is more a meat market than anything else. During my overnight shifts in the ER, I have seen more gunshots, knifings, sexual assaults, and simply morons - and they've all come from Piere's. Needless to say, my guard goes up. But there's something about walking into a bar and having everyone look at me that I needed Saturday night. I needed to feel sexy, though I wanted no one there to talk to me, or touch me. It's a double standard ; )
So I sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink. Then I looked around me: women were dressed as absolute sluts. I can't imagine why men would never take them seriously. The men who were there rain in packs, afraid to look uncool walking by themselves, without a posse to flank them. In short, I looked around with sober eyes and thought to myself, "Shit I'm getting old. I'd rather be home blogging."
But maybe it's not just as simple as 'getting old'. Twenty-seven is not old by any means, but there is a certain maturity that I have reached - stop scoffing - and it's certain that I don't belong at a dive like Piere's. I've passed the point of the one night stand, and the idiocracy of trying to meet someone at a bar. That's right up there with spitting into the wind, in my opinion. So I stood there watching the skank parade pass me by. Some girls looked up at me and glanced away immediately; others stared openly as I, 6 feet of Jessie, and my friends, 6'10 and 6'2 respectively, stood by the bar. It's interesting to watch, really. But I decided that I was not one of those girls anymore, those who measure their sex appeal by how many drunk people ogle me in a given night. There's more to me than that, and I left the bar a disappointed and self-assured woman.
I can't explain that last thought, except for this: I'm disappointed that I'm restless enough to try to measure myself by others, and self-assured enough to realize that I don't need it. Interesting realization, Jess. Perhaps a little late coming, but as long as it happens, that's all that matters.
Shit.
So I got home, whipped up mixed drinks for my sister and myself, and got ready to go. I was going out partying, damn it all. So I slapped on a coating of makeup, tousled my hair into a sexy mess, threw on jeans and a decent shirt and left to meet my friends at Piere's, a bar here in Fort Wayne that is more a meat market than anything else. During my overnight shifts in the ER, I have seen more gunshots, knifings, sexual assaults, and simply morons - and they've all come from Piere's. Needless to say, my guard goes up. But there's something about walking into a bar and having everyone look at me that I needed Saturday night. I needed to feel sexy, though I wanted no one there to talk to me, or touch me. It's a double standard ; )
So I sauntered up to the bar and ordered a drink. Then I looked around me: women were dressed as absolute sluts. I can't imagine why men would never take them seriously. The men who were there rain in packs, afraid to look uncool walking by themselves, without a posse to flank them. In short, I looked around with sober eyes and thought to myself, "Shit I'm getting old. I'd rather be home blogging."
But maybe it's not just as simple as 'getting old'. Twenty-seven is not old by any means, but there is a certain maturity that I have reached - stop scoffing - and it's certain that I don't belong at a dive like Piere's. I've passed the point of the one night stand, and the idiocracy of trying to meet someone at a bar. That's right up there with spitting into the wind, in my opinion. So I stood there watching the skank parade pass me by. Some girls looked up at me and glanced away immediately; others stared openly as I, 6 feet of Jessie, and my friends, 6'10 and 6'2 respectively, stood by the bar. It's interesting to watch, really. But I decided that I was not one of those girls anymore, those who measure their sex appeal by how many drunk people ogle me in a given night. There's more to me than that, and I left the bar a disappointed and self-assured woman.
I can't explain that last thought, except for this: I'm disappointed that I'm restless enough to try to measure myself by others, and self-assured enough to realize that I don't need it. Interesting realization, Jess. Perhaps a little late coming, but as long as it happens, that's all that matters.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Itemize
One paper done (pending revisions, of course), and only the Jenbe project left to go. I'm almost there! Almost to the end of the semester, and though I want to look up and feast my eyes on the finish line, I duck my head back down and get to work - until tonight when I let loose and go out darankin'! Anyone care to join me in a couple hours of absolute mindlessness? If not, I'll drink one for you. = )
Monday, April 6, 2009
Day 2, 33 left to go . . .
Day two of living with my sister, Angela. I've gained 5 pounds, in 48 hours, and I am currently working on a red wine buzz. She cooks. I drink and do homework, re-searching aspects of my life. Life is beautiful, as they say in Europe, or in better places than here. My sister has no appreciation for wine, but I can forgive her that. Besides, I just taught her a new trick: we can now make the world's smallest wine glass symphony.
Tonight, she cooked while I did some research for my final paper. It's depressing and raw work, leaving me mentally exhausted and emotionally taxed. After a couple of hours, I took an emotional health break while she whipped up grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and soup. Now we sit side-by-side on the couch, Angela playing with the wine glass, totally engrossed in rubbing a finger on the rim of my wine glass. She makes music, and I make word art. Who said we weren't talented? "It's fascinating, this sound." In the same breath she adds, "I need to get out more." Ha! So do I! She dislikes most wine, but appreciates its beauty, the way it swirls in the hand-blown glass. I appreciate both aspects, but am slightly engrossed in research, and I need to get back to it.
However, it's these moments laughing with my sister that I appreciate, much more than researching a dark topic. I'm happy researching the bottom of this dark wine.
Tonight, she cooked while I did some research for my final paper. It's depressing and raw work, leaving me mentally exhausted and emotionally taxed. After a couple of hours, I took an emotional health break while she whipped up grilled ham and cheese sandwiches and soup. Now we sit side-by-side on the couch, Angela playing with the wine glass, totally engrossed in rubbing a finger on the rim of my wine glass. She makes music, and I make word art. Who said we weren't talented? "It's fascinating, this sound." In the same breath she adds, "I need to get out more." Ha! So do I! She dislikes most wine, but appreciates its beauty, the way it swirls in the hand-blown glass. I appreciate both aspects, but am slightly engrossed in research, and I need to get back to it.
However, it's these moments laughing with my sister that I appreciate, much more than researching a dark topic. I'm happy researching the bottom of this dark wine.
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