I got back a little while ago from 2000 14th street, where I picked up our road closed signs for out front. We’re moving next Friday. I think (I’m crossing my fingers, praying) that Toby found a non-mafia run moving company. So that’s good. Over the past few days, I have understood why people get so desperate they look to voodoo for getting their fuckshitup on. Because man! I would love to stick some pins and needles into the ass of several moving companies right about now.

These signs are much easier to acquire than I would have thought. All you have to do is call some phone number, talk to a wonderful gal named Deidre and SHABAM!! You get to close the street off.

If you would have had me place a bet on who would be the rudest, most difficult to deal with during all of this moving crap, I would have betted AGAINST the DC government. However, they were not only exceptionally helpful but they made me laugh as well.

Hats off to the DC government.. The cops might suck balls but the people working the counter are top notch. And I told them so.

Today, there are numerous people trickling in from out of town for Toby and my post-wedding/now going-away party. And I’m excited. Even though I anticipate crying often, realizing this is the last time I’ll see many of them for a while.

I always cry. I cried last night during ER (again).

I just really dread saying goodbye.

When I was a kid, we moved often. And I remember the few days leading up the our pending roll-out and how I could not stand the act of actually leaving. I used to promise myself that I would not turn around once we’re in the car. I would not turn to see who might be waving. It bothers me that distance forces objects to become smaller. I might dedicate the rest of my life trying to alleviate this phenomenon and our perception of size. But there’s a strong suit for everyone. And that sort of task is not one of mine.

(I read once about an architect who designed an airport where the person leaving left from the second floor. So when their loved one was there watching them enter into the boarding area they had to ride escalators to get to the top which was lined with glass, exposing sky. That way, even though the leaver would inevitably be getting smaller, they’d be rising at the same time.)

I have left many times. I have disappeared in the middle of the night. I have left after people have all gone to work. I have left notes, and past-due rent checks, little presents and sometimes nothing. I am the ugliest leaver there is. And all my actions have been based entirely on fear.

And so life is funny.

Life is funny because we’ve had this party planned for months now. We’ve known who we’d like to invite. I’ve pictured the evening in my head over and over again. We knew we wanted it to take place around May 1st. How was I to know then that we’d be moving to San Francisco not a week later?

Life is funny because this weekend I’ll be forced to face my ugliest fear. The fear of leaving, distance, and that of objects becoming smaller. And I wish I had the name of that airport now.

While we were in SF Jason told us about this wonderful site at brunch. And I totally forgot about it. Today, my friend Ben aimed it to me. It’s a damn treat!

I just heard some terrible news. Mike (nifkin) and Andrea’s apartment burned down. They lost everything. Everything. Their rabbit is ok but their fish died. Their stuff is gone. I am so very sad for them.

Maybe we can set up some sort of donation thing for them both. Maybe people could donate some clothing or money or something to help them get their lives back in order.

This is horrible. They are such great people.

Last night Toby and I went out for dinner with Keith and Marjorie. Keith has a PhD in Philosophy from Columbia University. Marjorie is a doctor. Toby is a programmer. I am a graphic designer. This information is totally irrelevant.

Last night, after we had dinner, the three of us headed over to The Reef for a few adult beverages. It’s not often that I look at the contents of my life and think “I wish I could have done that instead” or “I would have liked to have been more like that person.” I’m pretty happy with everything. I have been handed opportunities for 30 years and am so grateful for each and every one of them. But I have to admit there’s just something about Marjorie that makes me think, “Man, I wish I could spend a week visiting her life.”

It’s rare we get to see the lovely Marjorie as she is always working nights. But it’s those same nights which deliver her so many unbelievable stories as well. And no matter what we do or where we go, somehow, Marjorie ends up telling us a story or two. Last night, she took us to the OBGYN at a hospital in Atlanta.

Marjorie told us the story about “The Stank.” It involved a very obese woman, a little oral sex and some old hamburger meat. There was the story about making ten bucks with two fives, a woman’s vagina deposit box, and a McDonald’s lunch paid for with a fiver directly withdrawn. There was the story about a self-proclaimed straight gay man and a long lost pointy tool. All the while she spoke, I listened in absolute horror, fascination dripping from my face, thinking, “What I wouldn’t do to be given another life and grow stories like this!!”

• lesbians
• webbed feet
• french kissing
• hot legs
• gay porn
• self suck
• hot lady
• banana peel rectum
• interpol
• thong butts
• amy legs
• lady legs
• asian kids
• legs hot
• young penis
• urban decay
• tindersticks
• pee pants
• poop stories
• reading man

So, today as I’m checking my stats for the first time in days, I discover my latest search strings and they bring me a little horror. They always do. I used to write poetry with them, operating under the concept:

If you can’t beat ‘em. Join ‘em.

Now, I just sort of look at them like those little memories I pretend aren’t real or would ever actually admit to. Sometimes, I wonder why people look for the things they look for. Take, for example, “Banana Peel Rectum”. What sort of information was this person actually seeking? Surely, they were disappointed once reaching Depot de la Mihow. I just don’t offer that type of service.

And I pass judgment on them. I have to admit. Especially the person looking for “Young Penis.” Wha? Are you sick? Or do you have a long lost lover with the last name Young?

So, today as I hovered over google.com’s search box, with the keys making up the phrase “Finding my Wa” burning my fingertips, I simply discover the cure to the world’s weird wonderment. I know what will turn my search strings into Rated-G material. Everyone, and I mean everyone, needs a little Marjorie.

Toby and I are having serious headaches with finding movers who aren’t working for Tony Soprano. And now we have discovered that it’s such a problem, it’s on the Better Business Bureau Homepage.

I am about to freak out on some faceless assholes. Any insightful information around hiring someone to move us would be incredible. These people are so shady and weird. We’re dealing with people over the phone whose smokey, cheap suits I can actually smell and whose breath reeks of yesterday’s vodka.

I’m starting to wonder if we should do this ourselves.

Does cancer itch? I have these two, itchy bumbs on my chest (no, they are not called “boobs”.) They have been there for many weeks now. And they itch. It could just be some skin problem.

Yesterday, I spent some time mapping out our drive across the country. We have decided that this time around, instead of site-seeing we’ll go the most direct route and see whatever we can along the way. We have decided to take route 70 nearly all the way across.

Although Mapquest keeps casually spitting out route 80, I don’t wish to follow that route. (Have you ever driven on Route 80? I grew up in central Pennsyltuckey, route 80 has always scared me. Granted, I’ve only been on it through one state, so who knows. But in Pennsyltuckey, due to its elevation, it snows there in the summertime sometimes. And that’s just weird.)

Route 70 takes us through all of the following major cities: Columbus, Ohio; Indianapolis, Indiana; St. Louis, Missouri; Kansas City, Missouri and Kansas City, Kansas; and Denver, Colorado. In St. Louis, we’ll check out The Arch. To be honest, I’m not sure what we might see in Kansas. Are there things I don’t know about in Kansas? Are there things worth checking out? Midgets, witches and dwarves, oh my? If it’s not in a film, I don’t know about it. Someone smarter needs to let me know.

Denver. Last time I checked, the Rockies were in Denver. That’ll be pretty awesome indeed. Aside from our trip last weekend to San Francisco to find an apartment, Toby hasn’t ever really been out west. He hasn’t ever seen these sort of terranes firsthand. And we’ll probably need to pick up another car just to just hold his many rolls of film. In or around Denver, after turning off John Denver, we’ll get the vespa out of the back, hop on and I’ll wet my pants, paying homage to this film.

At Utah, we must head north. However, Missy had the brilliant idea of swinging south a few miles to visit Arches National Park. I might do that. It really depends on how close Toby and I are to either being murdered by our cats, or we are to killing them all.

I think we’ll have to take some smaller roads to get up to 80 at Utah’s border. I think that road is route 6. We’ll reach 80 at Salt Lake City, Utah. 80 will take us all the way into San Francisco. I hear Utah is very pretty, so I’m sort of looking forward to that part. I have always been sort of terrified of Mormons, especially after reading Under the Banner of Heaven, but I have met a few who aren’t totally weird and insane, so I’m starting to change my mind a bit. I’m going to make t-shrits to hand out in Utah which read:

What would Joe Smith do?

Surely this has already been done, no?

Then it’s off to Nevada. I was in Nevada once. Nevada is super freaky. Nevada is earth’s equivalent to outer space. Interstate 80 runs through Nevada because it was given no choice. Route 15 does it for the gambling and the hookers. Otherwise there is really not much going on in Nevada. And I think that’s why I like it so much. What a weird, interesting place. Nevada is the “forgotten” albino child kept chained up in the basement. A child who has special powers. A child whose intelligence is off the charts. A child who can somehow feel the coming of lightening and who, by placing a hand on the head of a dying deer, can feel its pain. Nevada was directed by a pedophile.

I’ve veered off track. At Nevada, I’m sure I’ll be driving 152 mph in hopes of just GETTING THE FUCK HOME already. But who knows. So 80 takes us all the way into the city holding our new home. I’m nervous as all hell, excited and happy that I’m fortunate enough to be given the chance to drive this drive, and pleased with the fact that the only thing separating me from my eastern home is a whole shitload of dark pavement and yellow lines.

Well, we got the apartment we wanted. I’m so happy about that. It’s a bit more pricey than we had planned on, but there’s a lot of sunshine and an extra room for visitors who absolutely MUST visit us. I was going to post the listing but then figured putting our future address on the internet is probably not the best idea.

Things are working out, falling into place. A friend/coworker of Toby’s is taking our apartment here in DC. That also makes me happy; knowing someone kind and cool is taking over our lease is reassuring. Our landlord is superb. This brings me much ease.

Girl27 sent me the most thoughtful email. I wish to publicly thank her for doing this as I figure out a way to write her back without crying or something. She’s a sweet gal. She should write more.

This is a few blocks up the hill from our new apartment. I will most likely not be taking a picture of this nature again, as we have no car and this hill was a killer.

Again. To be honest, it took me a while to get over the views in San Francisco. I hope they never stop amazing me.

And again.

This is Cat’s car. I hear she spent a long long time decorating this one.

Sweet, Noe Valley. Our apartment is a few blocks from here.

Somehow, while we were looking for apartments we ended up at Lombard Street and didn’t realize it until we saw a band of tourists taking pictures. I figured they were there for the view of bay. But once we walked up to it, we discovered the famous, windy street. I think I’d hate to live there.

And then the trolly rode by. The apartment we saw a few blocks from here, was over-priced and really very small. But!

It did have a view of the Golden Gate.

We attempted to take another picture of the Golden Gate Bridge but missed. Silly Toby and missing the actual subject matter.

After a busy day of checking out over-priced apartments, we headed to Fisherman’s Wharf to see the boats and watch the beached tourists.

There was this guy. He seemed so content.

This is my attempt at an arty shot. Yes.

My father recommended we eat at Scoma’s. It was pricey, but the view and the food was excellent. And our east coast appetites had us hungry by 3, so we beat the normally huge crowd as well.

This was our view during dinner.

A self-portrait.

Some more lovely boats and water. I think I was most impressed with the lack of trash. In New York, while living on the waterfront, we found numerous floating turds, several used tampons, several opened condoms, just all sorts of trash and other unnameable crap. Anyway…

Another self-portrait.

Some more boats.

A Ohio waitress suggested we check out Mr. Bings. So we did just before passing out from exhaustion at 7:30 p.m.

This is Toby and a painting I could not take my eyes off of.

I discovered there is something which calms me down while flying. And from this point forward I will do everything in my power, including pay a little more, to fly with United Airlines.

Yesterday, Toby and I met Jason Zada and his wonderful wife, Liz out for brunch before leaving San Francisco. Jason is cofounder of EVB and is soon to be Toby’s boss. While we were eating eggs, laughing over laughing gas, the fear of the dentist, and flying, Liz mentioned something about how listening to channel 9 while in flight helped calm her down.

I must find out more about this channel 9.

Channel 9 broadcasts air-traffic control communication for everyone on board to hear. And it doesn’t only cover the flight you’re on, but every other flight sharing a similar path as well. And I’m putting it simply when I say, it was truly fascinating and oddly relaxing for me.

I knew when we were turning, dropping, lifting, landing. I knew that Northwest Flight 1049 was going through some serious turbulence and could just not seem to shake it. I knew that we would hit some in a hundred miles, but that it would only last a few minutes. And Alaska, flight 231 was leaving Denver’s airspace and picking up a city westward.

In-between moments of wiping the drool from my face after suffering from random head-bobs and sudden Xanax-induced, narcoleptic-blackouts, I was soothed by the voices of the men and women working in air-traffic control. And, dare I say, I actually enjoyed last night’s flight. Is this a specific feature for United? Or does every airline offer this option? I’m truly sold on this idea. How so very interesting and soothing.

I will buy Liz flowers for turning me onto this. That’s for sure.

I have to ready the final I prepared for a class I teach this afternoon. So I should hop to that and stop rambling. Pictures to come tomorrow. Along with hopefully good news about our future place of residence.

Well, we have looked at several places. One of them is awesome. We’re waiting to hear back about it. Another, has been offered to us, but we’re holding out.

I’m tired. The streets here are really hilly, windy, and windy, they’re pretty much any adjective ending in “y”. The sun seems to be shining always. The fog drips in like the steam lifting from some Halloween witches cauldron. I am Gretel. He is Hansel.

We’re staying in Chinatown. Our room is small. Windows face other windows, and if you’re able or brave enough to stick your head out you can see that there is sky way up there.

We lost our car once. Thank goodness for hand-held honky things and 15 minutes to find it and get out.

There’s a place called Twin Peaks. I haven’t seen it.

We have met many people from Ohio.

It’s only 9 p.m. and I feel like it’s after midnight. Oh… wait….

It’s a wee hour of the morning, a mere 5 a.m. TobyJoe and I are heading out for the weekend to find places to live in San Francisco.

I plan on writing from there.

(p.s. I still hate to fly.)

Toby is selling stuff. If anything looks appealing. Buy it. :]

Click here to find out more.

(p.s. We need the money.)

This morning, a representative from Allied is stopping by to give us a cost estimate for moving our belongings across the United States. I’m crossing my fingers it doesn’t cut in too severely to our moving bonus.

Yesterday, I spent an hour or more searching for the cheapest one-way car rentals. Many seemed like a steal. Take Dollar Car Rental for example, the weekly fee was 351.00. I went through the entire reservation process before I noticed that there was a 650.00 one-way drop off fee applied. That, including the rent, the normal fee, the gas and our lodging would have surely driven us into financial ruin. Pun whole-heartedly intended. National was just pricey. No unlimited mileage for the mini-vans. I have no idea why that was the only car suffering from distance anxiety.

Finally, it came down to Avis. For those of you who care, you can rent a mini-van for a week from Avis for the low low price of 621.15 bucks. That includes all the hidden fees and unlimited mileage. On top of our gas and insurance, we’re coming in at just under a grand. (I hope). Lodging on top of that shouldn’t be too bad. We have decided that instead of seeing the Grand Canyon this time around, we’d go direct. We’ll see the Rockies and Salt Lake City, Utah, we’ll drive right through Death Valley and much of the desert. That should take my west coast edge off.

I laid awake for a better part of the night thinking about everything. Thinking, is probably not the best word to describe my sleepless night. It was more like panicking. Though, I have been told that the cats would fare better driving with us, I’m still not happy about having them do so. Who else worries about their animals so intensely? One can’t help but wonder if I’m transferring a bit of fear.

Don’t get me wrong, I am still very excited. But I’m still also a nervous wreck as well. I have taken to writing friendly strangers living in San Francisco in hopes of arranging to meet up one day and chat. (Now that I have typed that out, it doesn’t seem as intrusive and strange.)

I know this fear and nervousness will go away. But for now, I have basically put my life here on hold. Hell, in some cases, I have already left it. I physically can’t bring myself into pottery any longer. And yoga? Forget about it! I have this idea in my head that it will be the last time I will every walk into the studio again. And I get worked up because I liked everyone so much. So what do I do? Instead of facing my fear of saying good bye, I just stop going. That’s an excellent way to keep friendships. Why am I such a massive wimp?

To take my mind off saying good by and facing my insecurities, I am going to switch gears this morning and start worrying about flying. Yeah.

I finally got around to downloading, optimizing and then uploading some of the pictures from the other night. A few of them had to be censored. While nothing was too over the top (i.e. nothing would have gotten us or anyone around us arrested), I chose to not show a few in respect to the people in the picture.

I Wuv Porn: The Evolution of Matchbook Art. At Bedrock they have white matchbook covers and people like to write information on them as they sit at the bar. Much like a fortune cookie only you shouldn’t eat the outside. This was a group effort. That last one we did was just strange.

This is a person I don’t know but I took her picture anyway. We were at Loreal. I was getting to know my new camera.

Night Construction Downtown. (Near the MCI center).

Weird Obligatory Night Alley Shot.

Missy and Gerry at Loreal Plaza

Another young lady I don’t know but took a picture of anyway.

Toby, Donnie, and Paul. We are now at Bedrock. (I’m noticing some of these are out of order. Oh well.)

Calvo and Mia.

Malcolm and some girl who told a story about a cat fight she was in. She’s a stripper somewhere downtown. Apparently the girl bit her arm. I saw the bite. Quite a tale told.

Much later, at Aroma. Gerry, Katrina, Olivia and the back of Soung’s head.

Gerry doing something to Missy. This looks abusive, but Gerry? He ain’t like that.

Gerry again. Closer this time. (Sometimes we call him Moby).

Toby doing something. He looks like he just got done yelling STELLA!!! or something.

My god, I look terribly horribly frightening and gross.

Paul, looking good and drunk. (I hope otherwise he’ll have some ammo to use against us all surely.)

My nose, Soung and Toby.

Missy looking at Toby like he just took a picture of her underpants.

This begins The Nipple Series I’ve been working on. This is a nipple. (I will not reveal whose is whose.)

I think we can figure out whose nipple this is.

Another boy nipple.

This is a nipple. I will refrain from disclosing the owner of said nipple. heh

Getting to know my camera a bit more.

Donnie and TobyJoe. Gerry and Soung wayyyyyyy back there. (Bored yet?)

I forget his name. But this is the lovely Katrina. She was the birthday girl.

Gerry and TobyJoe. They look as if they’re about to kick my ass.

These gals began to dance. And so I began to take their picture. They so did not care.

Some guy I decided to bother. I do that.

Oh, this was great. Nearly got beat up over this. We were in Adam’s Morgan later and I decide “Wouldn’t it be funny if I started to take pictures of people while they were eating pizza in cabs?” The guy there, he almost got out and kicked my ass. Oh well. And she just looks surprised.

Again. Cab waiters.

And again.

Look who finally put their site up.

It looks strangely familiar, but who can complain when he built it all, ground up.

Let’s all say hello to my lovely husband. I can’t hardly wait until he gets his photos up.

Today is my brother and Mel’s anniversary as well as my parents.

Two years ago today.

Happy Anniversary, everyone. :]

For the low, low price of $2.43, now if we go down in a blazing heap of metal somewhere over the midwest, I will no longer care as much. I will no longer sob uncontrollably if we hit turbulence. And there’s a good chance I might even sit through some god awful Disney film. And remember it.

I just got back from the doctor. All I had to say were a few sentences using the words “flying, irrational behavior, September 11th, New York, and please” and he wrote me a prescription “to take the edge off”. He was nice about it too, even offered up some sympathy. I hope this works.

Today, I plan on calling San Francisco apartment places, applying to some more jobs, scheduling vet appointments to find drugs for my felines as well, and mapping out our trip. I have to call around and see if we can get dialup accounts started in order to document the trip and ensure we have cable/internet once we’re in San Fran. I’m not even sure who covers the entire nation. Perhaps Earthlink?

We’ll see if I get any of the above completed today. I’d be willing to vote against myself right now.

I have been thinking. That’s all I’ve been doing, actually. This would be much easier if the people in my life weren’t so perfect. Over the past several days, I have received some of the most thoughtful emails and phonecalls I have ever gotten. People are offering everything from their advice to their favorite restaurants, from their strength to their saddness. It will be hard leaving here. I don’t think anyone has any idea how much so. It brings me some of the most concentrated sadness to say goodbye to such an amazing group of human beings.

I really wish I could take every last one of them with me. How selfish am I? I can’t thank people enough. And I’m strill trying to figure out how to do so.

(I’m getting worked up again. Must. Shut. Up.)

It’s job search time. I began this morning. I have noticed something about the wording for west coast job descriptions in comparison to the east coast, on the west coast people use terminology like this.

While I am not a copywriter, I’m pretty killer. So I applied letting them know as much. I’m so killer, apparently I’m able to commute to LA every day from San Francisco. Now I must work on the provocative part.

This weekend, I took about 159 pictures. Some of which are NC17. When I get around to downloading them, I’ll post them for all to see. But in the meantime, I have classes to teach and radical jobs to apply to.

Oh, and I’m still totally freaking out.

We fly out there this Friday for the weekend. We’re going to find a place to live while staying in the Best Western downtown. We’re very poor right now, so we cutting corners as much as possible. For example, we take the redeye, getting us back east by 5:50 a.m. It was like 300 dollars cheaper to do that. I’ll be a pleasure next Monday while teaching.

I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow where I will sing for some drugs. I am just not willing or ready to fly. And the last trip we made, I spent the entire way back sobbing AND on valium. I hope she takes pity on me and doesn’t see me as some total flake in search of a few pills. Though, that’s starting to sound about right.

So many things to decide on. So little time.

My bestest pal, wonderful friend, Gerry is coming down for the day tomorrow. We’re going to show him a DC fine time. I can’t wait to catch up and rest and hear all about how great San Francisco is and how he’ll come visit often.

All is o.k. with the existence of The Shins.

So Says I

(3.27 mgs. Click and drag the link to your desktop. Or whatever right click command push button PC crap one does. :] )

I’m an emotional wreck. I’m always an emotional wreck, but this time crosses the line on emotional wreckage. I’m experiencing the sort of emotional wreckage you scrape off the pavement with a spatula.

We’re moving to San Francisco. At least for a while.

The past several days, I have gone from completely and totally excited to acting as if someone died in 30 seconds flat. It’s nearly absurd. (Damn chemicals). While I’m excited about being able to see red woods, it’s kicking my butt the idea of picking up and moving 3000 or whatever number of miles away from here. I wish I could assure to my father that it’s not his fault for moving us all over the eastern seaboard all our lives, that people move these days, that some folks just like to wander.

(I love my family. I have always been very close to my family. I love them with all my heart. They must know this.)

Why is moving so hard for me? It’s always been hard for me. Why can’t I see this as the best, most exciting adventure possible? Instead, I do that for a while, then I think things like what if something happens to someone in my family? What if I’m too far away to get back in time? What if Ryan is lonely? What if Missy and I lose touch? What if I never see Soung again? What if what if whatifwhatifwhatif?

What if?

What if my cats die on the airplane? Or worse, what if I drive them out there and they run away and die in the desert from dehydration or get run over by a camel? That would be terrible. Does anyone want a cat for a while?

I want so badly to know and predict the future. I want to know that this won’t render me a blubbering idiot with puffy eyes for the next month.

I want everyone to live forever, and near me. I want to invite them all with me. How much does that cost?

I’m excited. I am. The idea of seeing HUGE trees excites me. I’ll be near Crater Lake, something I have dreamt about seeing over and over again. We’ll bring back wine and take pictures of amazing scenery. I’ll see Reno finally, Death Valley, and cliffy coastlines.

I might experience another earthquake. (And this time actually realize it’s happening).

I want Toby to understand that I’m just like this. It’s not forever, but I’ll be up and down for a while. I will and have gone from jumping up and down with excitement to crying when my cat sneezes.

I think it was Tom Petty who said

The waiting is the hardest part.

(And doesn’t he live there?)

See? I’m all out of whack. Is valium over the counter yet?

But honestly, I am excited. Upon rereading this, I realize I sound totally devastated. Who could be? What a great opportunity.

(Everyone tell Toby I’ll be fine.)

Toby and I have been talking and talking and talking. We have been losing sleep and doing some more talking. Last night, we had one of our better, more productive chats from 2 a.m. until 5:50 a.m. after my waking up from dreaming about a bunch of barren landscapes holding hints of lonely. I met him at awake and so we talked. Toby makes me laugh. There is nothing that will stop that from happening. Ever. We can laugh no matter where we live. (It’s the little things, ultimately).

After the dreams I had last night I reread this post. And thought, maybe I’m better at imagining situations rather than making them happen. Maybe I just tend to over-think everything.

I’m so tired today. I’m running slower than usual. And I have classes to teach.

P.S. Forgive me for sounding like such a spinning banshee yesterday. I think I was just freaking out. That’s the problem with a personal web site, you tend to broadcast shit before you’re ready.

Massive change is coming our way. After I’m done throwing up and out of total shock, i’ll write more about it.

(No, I am not preggers. I don’t think).

1.) Yesterday, I took Charlie’s advice and wrote a professional Dear John letter to the Gap-wearing hippies. I haven’t heard back from them. I’m assuming that’s a good thing. But I’ll be on the look out.

2.) I decided last night while trying to fall asleep, that “Blog’ is the new “Fuck” It’s a word that can be used in every way, noun, verb, adjective.

I write on this blog.

I’m actually blogging about this.

Are you going to the blog party?

This is a blogging mess!

I very bloggly spoke my mind today at work.

Ok, so maybe that doesn’t work. I’m having trouble coming up with it used in every way. Fuck wins. But that’s only because we have no coffee.

3.) We finally saw Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind. And I really enjoyed it. We knew exactly what was going on (I don’t wish to say much more for those who haven’t seen it) but it was still a great film. And I didn’t cry. She who cries during ER episodes, did not shed a tear. I liked it a lot more Charlie Kaufman’s other two (more popular) films, I might add. Then again, I did not care much at all for Adaptation. I am not at all surprised that the director happen to be a director of music videos. It showed.

4) I feel exceptionally boring today, so I wish to have a contest. I wish to have people (if there are any still reading this) to find as many posts across the internet beginning with the word “So.” (Remember, use the link button on the comments section if you wish to post).

Due to spreading myself too thin and my total inability to use the word “No.” I have managed to confuse and/or create new and uncomfortable relationships up and down the U Street/Logan Circle/Dupont Circle area.

The Gap-wearing hippies I mentioned some time ago (you know the ones who have asked for 6 revisions and have more recently began sending me other existing yoga studios’ logos to copy) have been calling me like they have a baked birthday cake for my dead son. Their urgency is freaking me out. Their lack of couth is admirable. Their readiness to rip people off is shocking. Their ability in leaving so many phone messages is unnerving.

(Someone write them and tell them I can’t help them any longer. They’ve taken this to level abusive).

No.

The other yoga studio? Hell, I’m just now starting to drop the ball on. (Though it hasn’t been that long). I should just write and explain that after the project shifted from design to production, I’m not the right person for the job. I should have just said,

I don’t do HTML templates. In fact, I sort of suck at it. I’m more of a designer. I should just stick to that.

But I did not. I was just sort of thinking maybe I’d grow a new me who is in fact great at HTML templates.

(She’s not sprouting).

I watched a movie once. It’s by far one of my all-time favorite films. It’s called You Can Count on Me. I think I liked it most because of my instant fondness and affinity for the main, female character. There is this one scene where she’s talking to a priest after having an affair with her married boss (who has a pregnant wife at home) and having a relationship with a man who wants to marry her but whom she is rather bored with. The priest is asking her why and when, basically trying to understand how it is he can help her. He says to her:

Why did you do it then?

And she answers, as if realizing it for the first time herself:

I felt sorry for them. Isn’t that stupid?

Her saying this, I can assure you, doesn’t mean in any way that she feels these people whom she’s invited into her life are lesser than she. Sometimes it’s not what is said, but where what is said is placed. (I’m explaining this as I don’t want people to directly parallel my saying yes to every job relationship that comes my way because I feel sorry for them. There’s a lot more to it than that.) It’s more of a realization that she’s not all that, that her being there doesn’t help them at all. That, in a way, her playing an active but complacent roll is causing everyone (including herself) more harm than good. The scene leaves one wondering if the relationships she’s created are a mere guise, helping to distract her from taking control herself.

Anyway, the scene has a level of desperation and sadness to it. There’s a feeling of remorse and shame. She gives the impression of having little to no control over the events unfolding around her. The story is about real-life struggles-struggles we can all relate to. It made me feel better knowing that there are others who have trouble being strong about the little things-the chores in life. That’s what life is ulimately made up of—thousands of little things we need to finish and do, held together by even smaller things, stress-division. And, for me, It’s the little things which are easiest to relate to yet the hardest to confront or control. I guess you could say that I loved this movie for waking me up to this.

So ever since then, not only do I have a really huge adoration for Laura Linney but I’ve been trying to figure out a way to change the one thing about me I have never been able to help and that’s my inability to say no and a many yes’s ability to create turbulence. I need to realize that I can’t do everything. And that if I think I can do everything I will eventually lose site of everything and end up old and alone, fat, poor, and married to a hundred cats.

o.k. I feel bad for acting so angry over the misspelling of the word “Collum” earlier. I have calmed down.

God, who posted earlier, made me feel guilty and bad. He has a habit of doing that.

I am sorry, God.

I can understand misspelling words like “Hexadecimal” on a test but a word like “Column?” When someone spells “Column” “Collum” AND they’re in college, AND they are in (what I’m told is) a great college, I have to wonder if the latter is indeed true.

I don’t pretend to be a great speller. As a matter of fact, I actually suck at it. However, you better believe that if I were taking a test surrounding HTML and Dreamweaver, I would know how to spell words like “Column.”

Details, people. Come the fuck on already. Collum?

Yesterday started off lovely. I walked to the yoga studio at around noon to take the 1 p.m. class. I took some pictures along the way. D.C. in the springtime is really quite lovely. I’ll get out more this year, try and soak up the images around town before we move someplace else.

Here is the wall on 14th Street behind Rice. I enjoy this wall. I have no idea why. It borders and empty lot, prime real estate, I’m not sure it will be around for much longer.

Here it is again. A wall. Joy.

Here is a picture of some tulips. These were by far the reddest tulips on the block. The begged me to take a picture.

After class, Amy, Kyra and I went out for some eats. And like any good yogi does after working out, I ordered a Yeungling. This is where my night began. Mind you, it was only 3 p.m. After we ate, Kyra headed home and Amy and proceeded on through Adam’s morgan. We ended up at L’Enfant. This is a picture Amy took of a girl at the cafe. She was reading the menu.

Here is a tree outside the cafe. Amy took this one as well. She’s a photographer. She creates magic when behind a lens.

We continued to drink. I had two more beers there.

We paid our bill. And she suggested we head up to the Toledo lounge where we continued to drink beer. Later, we were to meet TobyJoe and Mike for dinner. I was already pretty sauced by the time we met them.

We went to the Rumba Cafe where we ordered Mojitos. Mojitos are evil. The devil makes them. (Because of this picture, TobyJoe shaved.) We sat there forever. Our food wasn’t coming. So I got it in my head to cancel the order and head across the street for Tapas at Anzu.

At Anzu, we ordered and the food actually came. The wine did as well. We polished off two bottles. At some point in the evening-operating under the false pretense that everyone not only watched Full Metal Jacket a hundred times like I had, but were also able to quote said masterpiece on call-I said to the waiter:

I like you! You can come over and fuck my sister.

Everyone laughed but no one at the table had ever heard the line before. And judging by the disappearing act our waiter pulled, he hadn’t ever heard it either.

But this was after he took our picture.

But the chef came out. Maybe he wanted to have my sister.

Toby and I must send Mike a check, because he must have spent a fortune on that meal. He knows we’re good for it. Plus, he knows where we live.

Oy, me head.

Today, the yogals are going out for drinks after our 1 p.m. class. I can’t wait to see them again. It’s been THREE WEEKS since I have been to a yoga class because of my back. Today will be lovely.

On Sunday, (Yes, Easter) I’m having HR Block tame my beast of taxes. That should be a bloody tear-jerker.

For the past week, I have spent much of the time going back and forth between wanting to take a full time job (which was offered to me without my asking), wanting to stick to running my own business and relaxing a bit (once this crazy semester ends), and wanting to pack everything up and head someplace entirely new and exciting, starting from scratch and seeing where our careers end up.

I think some people have the idea that the past few months have been relaxing for me. That quitting my full-time job in January and not working from 9 – 5 has somehow been relaxing. This could not be further from the truth. Whatever gave people that impression, I would love to see as well, because the past 3 months have proven to be some of the busiest, most stressful months of my entire adult life. Relaxation is an impossible feat when you have as many as 50 students whining over the cost of photocopies from Kinkos or the price of a portfolio sleeve from Utrecht. I relaxed for one, brief week while in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. And even then we were practicing 3 hours of yoga each day.

But I am not complaining. I am merely trying to sum up the innards of my tumultuous head over the past couple of days.

Do I take a full time, high paying job? OF COURSE! Right? Who wouldn’t? Hell, it’s only a 5 minute WALK from where we live. There is really no good reason to NOT take this job. No one in their right mind would turn this down.

At first glance, this is totally true. I won’t argue.

I have had so many jobs. I know that people say this all the time. But, for real, I have had many jobs. (Just ask scbob!) I have worked for over 12 different design and design-like companies (even if a few of them were only for a week’s time) since graduating from college 7 years ago. I have not stayed one place longer than 1.5 years. I either get bored and leave in search of something new and more exciting. And if that doesn’t happen right away, someone eventually comes along, seemingly out of nowhere, offering me another position elsewhere. They dangle more money in front of me, and better (sometimes false) promise. While I don’t think any one office I have left is in the habit of hating me upon my leaving, there are a few places who would not hire me back. I know this is true. They know that at one point I might become bored and move on again. To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll ever shake my antsy. Ever.

So do I take this job knowing how I am? How I have been? Knowing that I could easily decide that this is not for me in a month or two?

Here’s the other hard part. I’m not ready to give up just yet and by “give up” I mean settle. I’m 30 years old and I keep thinking to myself,

I don’t want to stay here forever. I don’t want to buy a house and one day raise a family here in D.C. I wanted to live other places. Am I ready for this sort of a commitment?

(Who knew that marrying someone would have been easier to do over the taking of a job. I never thought twice about marrying Toby).

So here I sit. Today was deemed the day where I had to fax back that piece of paper saying I DO! Or NO WAY! Last night I sat there hovering over it, pen in hand, trying to figure out what it is I should do. I read it over and over again, looking at the vacation package, the 401 K, the benefits of having my uterus explored for a mere 10 buck co-pay, and I thought to myself,

You’re not entering the fucking military, Michele.

Sign.

Date.

So that’s that. I start work (again) on the 28th of April. I’m an “Art Director” now. That’s my title. If only it were that easy to apply the word “Director” to one’s own life. As it stands, I really need to hire a life-advisor to assist me. Because in one year from now, I see us in an entirely different state (or District), working entirely different jobs.

But who is arrogant enough to ignore friends Chance and Promise? And besides, I have always let Life decide for me. My life doesn’t trust Me to make its decisions anymore.

(Now I can pay for the breast augmentation I have wanted to have done).

Clinton is to saxophone as Kerry is to ___?

I wonder if the Republicans will lose the election over this.

I’m regretting that I didn’t make it mandatory my students watch Condoleeza Rice testify this morning and start class a bit later.

As it stands, I’m going to miss the end of it. It seems pretty momentous. The last time this much excitement was abuzz here was when Clinton was going through the impeachment hearings.

It’s a moment like this one where I am excited about living in D.C.

If anyone ever wishes to buy me something extra special, This stuff is amazing. When I wear it, I tend to smell myself a lot. I just sit there and sing:

I smell pretty. Oh so pretty.

You should buy yourself some too.

The motherload came in last night. Not only am I finally figuring out how to download from the new camera, but Toby got some print film back as well. Needless to say, there are a lot of images. I only have a few listed below, we’re still trying to organize everything on the site, and we’re still building out the other pages. But here are a few for now. (They’re clickable too!)

TobyJoe swimming in Turks and Caicos. We took this with the underwater throw-away we bought down there. I thought this image summed up the Beaner. (michele)

TobyJoe, a self portrait. Taken with his new Bessa R2. (He thinks this image sums him up more. I might have to agree). (TobyJoe)

Image taken by Toby with his new Bessa. (He loves this camera. It is pretty hot). (TobyJoe)

A picture of me waiting for my drink at Irving’s bagels. Toby thinks this image sort of sums me up. I’m not arguing. I can see it. (TobyJoe)

Construction on Kalorama. This is what Toby looks at every day on his way to work. (michele)

Jill Hinckely at the studio. Jill owns the place. She has taught me so much. (michele)

A mural behind Adam’s Morgan. (michele)

This is Brett. He works at Hinckely Pottery. (michele)

This is Ilya. Her mother is Celine Dion’s stylist. Ilya is a beautiful little girl. These things are totally unrelated. I’m just tired and making little sense. (michele)

The streets of where we’re from. I love the multi-colored houses it gives everyone a sense of community. Now, if only they didn’t all cost 1.25 million bucks. (michele)

A pig Toby took a fancy to. (Sitting in Saint Ex waiting for our eats). (TobyJoe)

Sill life. (michele)

Unfriendly carpet for sale. (michele)

Incupeeper. The cutest Easter display I have seen yet. (On 14th street at Home Rule). (TobyJoe)

I can’t believe I almost forgot. This is a fuzzy Tucker. He is special. Isn’t he shockingly fuzzy looking? (michele)

Over the past couple of weeks a smell has been brewing in our hallway. At first it wasn’t too bad, it smelled like rotting vegetables or perfectly healthy cabbage. Lately, however, it has taken on the smell of something dead.

My mind goes instantly to thoughts such as this:

Toby, have you seen the neighbors lately?

And even though he has not seen out neighbors lately, he assures me they are not in the apartment next door rotting.

Last night I brought Schmitty outside into the hallway to sniff around. I thought that maybe his horny nose might find out where the smell was coming from. Instead, he ran straight for freedom, down three flights of stairs, headed for the front door. That plan backfired.

So we’re not sure what it is. And I’m afraid to go into the hall.

Along with something dead, we have a strange plumbing situation going on as of late. And I’m only now hoping that these two things are not related. A nightmarish imaginary idea of mine is to have a rat bite my ass when I sit to pee. What if there is a dead rat who wanted to bite my ass rotting in our pipes?

It’s times like these where I am happy I don’t own. It’s like handing the baby back when it cries. Ain’t my problem, you deal with it.

A little over a year ago, I finally found out what NATCH means. For the longest time, I thought NATCH was some sort of tourettic way of throwing someone off. It wasn’t that at all.

There are words and phrases I have used nearly all of my life. And if spoken, only some of them happen to fall within what the Catholics call a cardinal sin. I am guilty of using these from time to time without giving much thought towards what it is they actually mean or where it is they come from.

A few weeks ago, Toby shared with me the origin of SHIT. Now neither one of us wrote the Book of Shit. So we can’t be certain this is factual, but it does makes some sense. I guess I’m willing to believe that at least part of it is true. Back in the day, they used to ship dry manure and waste via boats from one place to another, places where there wasn’t a lot of livestock and the like. They shipped it dry, in the hull of the boat. Over time, the dry manure would get wet (for obvious reasons) producing methane gas. Several ships were lost due to explosions. So they moved the SHIT above. And this is when SHIT came about, standing for

Ship High In Transit

See? That word ain’t so bad. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT.

Now let’s talk about FUCK. Fuck apparently stands for:

Fornication Under Consent of the King

But I’m not so sure about that.

Last night, after calling someone a SCUMBAG, I was enlightened with its meaning. I had no idea that SCUMBAG refers to a condom, natch. Did you? I would have guessed it to be some sort of fish chum bag or something. Who knew all this time I’ve been calling people everywhere condoms?

I fear I may have spread myself a bit too thin recently. I think I may need some help finishing the work I have.

I need to grow a backbone already.

First of all I would like to apologize to my husband for not waking him up sooner in order to enjoy a cup of espresso with me as well as a bagel from Irving’s. Time got away from me this morning. I had one more round (probably not really one more, but I’m drawing the line at five) of logos to create for the Gap-wearing hippies.

Anyhow, yes, I purchased a new camera this weekend. It’s damn pretty. I do believe I’m going to name him Otis. We’ll see. He could end up with little camera ovaries, in which case, she will be a girl named Otis. Such a fine girl, she will be.

This weekend, Toby and I visited Pennsyltuckey. We rented a car, an Impala to be exact. The car is huge. So huge, I may have ran over a cone at the gas station. The cone-carnage may have sent me into a fit of cheek-blushing giggles when I realized I killed the florescent bastard, dead, in front of taxi drivers and Sunday travelers.

We left on Saturday morning, bright and early. Equipped with bagels, Jay Z’s Grey Album, two Nirvana cds, and a mixed c.d. I had long forgotten about, we set out for the hills of Pennsyltuckey.

I love Pennsylvania. I have no idea when or how that happen, but I love the state. I even greet her when I’m driving. Every time I hit the border marked by the huge blue WELCOME TO PENNSYLVANIA! sign, I toot my horn. It’s just something that I do, my way of saying hello to her.

There’s something about that particular state. In between its hills-within valleys that look like 80 year old skin-she lies flat and dirty. She’s like a dusty old car hiding her true personality, orphaned by a one-time loving owner. If you were ever forced to spend time in Pennsyltuckey, you’re aware of its worth. If even just through good and bad memories alone. If even if it felt as if you were going nowhere.

We drove via 15, through Gettysburg, Harrisburg, and Lewistown. We watched old farm houses spit out smoke through puffy, old cheeks. And the number of roadkill there! My goodness, the state motto should be changed to PENNSYLVANIA, THE ROADKILL STATE. I’m thinking of going into business. The business of stuffed highway roadkill. I will make coats and feed millions.

Film Follies was only o.k. It has occurred to me that it is indeed true that year you’re in is the best year. So that happens every year. There’s a pattern here. They’re not all the best. But they are all the same. There’s always a lot of ASS humor. (Now I know where I get it from). There’s a lot of sexual innuendoes, TV smashing messages, booze-bingeing messages, in-the-closet wanna get humpy on your frat boy best buddy sorts of messages, girls being beaten sorts of messages, you get the point. Rarely do we see something new addressed. Two years ago, people created September 11 montages, but that was just trite.

Perhaps I’m a tough critique.

This year, however, the leaders (16 mm films synced to music, animated frame by frame by sleep deprived students) were phenomenal. They were superb.

We hung out at the University Club. Where I had walked by thousands of times but never was invited in. I had a coworker who got it on with a smart guy who lived there. But the closest I ever came to getting inside the University Club was renting him a movie once or twice.

I didn’t want to be a part of that club anyway.

We hung out at the Garage Mahal. We sipped Straub beer and play pool. We visited Zeno’s which is located directly above the center of the Earth. I saw the BIGGEST most disturbing pile of vomit I have ever seen in my life. I was shocked by the amount of food that came out of that person’s face. It was an astonishing amount. Surely would have entered the Vomit Book of World’s Records. I almost took a picture to send here, because I surely would have guessed it to be soup.

Enough about that.

We arrived home yesterday evening just in time to order Thai food and watch the Sopranos, which was so unbelievably good. I don’t think there was ever a show which has ever made me feel so uneasy. Wonderful.

It’s time to get bundled up now and face the frigid tundra. I just can’t believe we’re considered south.

I brought myself a brand new Canon Power Shot Pro 1 this weekend. I haven’t ever owned a camera quite this nice before. I keep admiring it from a near. The things it can do!

I need to name him.

Yes, indeed.

Horses do indeed have buddies. Maybe this horse mistook his visitor for a small cow?

Moo moo.

Toby and I are visiting good ol’ State College tomorrow. We’re going to see the Graphic Design department at Penn State put on their annual Film Follies. That should be fun. I wonder if anyone from my class will be there.

I think Toby is only going to play pool with Todd at the Garage Mahal (aka Todd’s smokey garage in his back yard). But what do I know. :]

Irving’s Bagels, here I come!

Well, we have finally signed a contract regarding our post wedding party. And go figure, we’re only four months late. Nothing says we’re married! like a four-month old newsletter.

Another job on mihow’s list: Design Invitations Immediately. (Only question is, what are they to be? I’m a designer. That means I have to design and construct something sort of interesting in less than 4 days. Not gonna happen).

So that’s happening.

And this is happening too. (link lifted from blurbomat.com).

And yesterday, much to my absolute horror, I read this article in the Post.

(If you can’t get to that and are too lazy to register [as I have been guilty of in the past]. this link will work as well.)

Not only is the story specifically horrifying, but the Post printed pictures of the decapitated, one armed victim right smack dab in the middle of the paper. Let me start by saying that I meant what I said in an earlier post about how I become enraged when I’m hungry, I also meant what I said that I can’t tolerate witnessing acts of violence. I’m not sure when this happen, but over the past several years I have become a massive blubbering wimp. This means no more violent film, no more tragic news stories on 20/20. I am thru.

So you might say my emotions were mixed regarding the picture.

While I hope to hear that people aren’t hiding behind kids’ gloves in regards to the war, I’m also not keen on having the image placed on the forefront of my mind. And if I had children, and they had seen the photo, it would break my heart trying to explain this to them. I’m not sure I can explain it to myself. I’m not sure I ever want to understand.

How do the family members of the men slaughtered feel? I imagine this horror over and over again. The victims names where not yet released as of yesterday via the sweaty hands of the press. But the name of the security company out of North Carolina was. It hurts me to know that there are a number of family members thinking that this could be a photograph of their father/son/brother shown decapitated and hung from a bridge in Fallujah, Iraq.

After seeing that image yesterday I wanted to lay blame—raw, hate-felt blame. I wanted to hold someone accountable for the death of these men. My hatred and my blame went instantly to GW Bush and the administration. I know that there are many people out there ready to pounce on me right now. But it’s not really my point. What I am just now realizing is that if my first reaction was that of hatred and blame, what might the reaction be for those pro-Bush and pro-war? Will this act as fuel for them (i.e. KILL THE BASTARDS! THEY’RE ANIMALS!) reiterating hatred towards Iraqis everywhere in turn further reiterating Iraqis’ hatred for us? Isn’t that what got us here in the first place? Will an image like the one printed in the Washington Post remind us that maybe this war isn’t such a good idea after all? Will an image of this nature do the American people any good? Are we moving towards better? Because I’m just not sure anymore.

I can only hope for a quick change. This has gone on way too long. (Much like this post).

I got the job offer in writing today.

What to do. What to do. I think I will spend the weekend thinking about this. Someone flip me a coin.

I stand corrected, they did all have the type on correctly. In many cases you can’t read it, but it’s there and it’s not hand-written.

Sometimes, it’s wonderful being wrong.