Fishing Around

While on a trip to Dillons to pick up a few things I had forgotten at my south town market store the song I had thought of earlier in the day yesterday started playing. How creepy is that? I have long considered Frank Sinatra’s New York New York my favorite song despite the trends of musicians and songs observed. My sister was on air at an indie radio station for years and so I myself went through an indie phase. It’s still prevalent in my musical tastes.

So, this song started playing. For awhile I thought it was Tony Bennett’s I Left my Heart in San Francisco because I knew San Francisco was in the title. Alas it was not Mr. Bennett’s.

During my junior year of college I ran amok. I needed to do something. I applied for study abroad in a different country. Actually it was a toss up between three countries. The one I ended up in was in Central Europe. I needed to fulfill either a study abroad or an internship to graduate. Unsuccessfully attempting several internship applications, I decided it was wiser to leave the country. Hey, anytime you have a curriculum excuse for leaving the country is easier to nudge a parental unit. Not so much my parental unit but still: “You’re going where for a semester?”

It seemed that everyone in the program was paired with individuals from our group. Except for about five of us. I got a crazy roommate. It had to be the language barrier. Or it was me.

My experiences with roommates has been interesting. I lived with the same roommate my first two years of college. She was great. We didn’t get close more than likely due to the fact that the first three months we lived together she didn’t invite me to go and hang out. Or party. Then after that, whenever she did, I declined. No one from my high school attended my college. She came from a high school that more than likely sends about a quarter or a third of their graduating class each year. So, I knew no one. It was probably persuasion on the part of some of her friends who were really cool that she decided I was okay. But by then, I was working and had found my own niche of French class buddies. Then she decided I was weird and that was okay with me.

My study abroad roommate was different. She got up at the crack of dawn and started doing yoga with the blinds and windows open despite the subzero temperatures in February. She may have been some kind of physical education major, I’m not sure. The language barrier: I can get myself through two languages, three if I’m nudged greatly. She seemed to speak the three that I didn’t. Major bust, eh? She also hiked, biked, swam, and ran. If I see her at the Olympics this year I’ll let you know.

I’m pretty sure she also thought that I partied too much. If she had met my roommate from sophomore year, college roomie who would have told her that I did not ever do such a thing hence I was weird, she still may not have believed it. Maybe I did go a little amok that semester. Not overly though. Our group was rowdy, crazy, and loud.

Alas, I matured considerably during that time.  Not overly but considerably.  Decided that I was going to go to grad school and started preparing to think about the LSATs.  I also discovered some intricate and fun aspects of a career a relative had pursued.   So, it was the crossroads and the early rumblings in my brain of the career and the grad school curriculum I would eventually pursue (after flunking the LSATs a year later).

Back to the roommate: She went home every weekend. So I was left to my own devices and the group. I also lived in a suite that didn’t have anyone from the program.

There were four rooms and two baths in a suite that had a little kichenette. Whereas the Spanish kids suites in the program suites’ were noisy and loud, ours was pretty quiet. There were three rooms with girls and one who had two guys. One of the guys was either never home or was with his girlfriend constantly.  This is the story of his roommate.  (Both the guys spoke some English as did one of the girls.)

One night he got seriously tanked. I swear. It was about one in the morning and I awoke to him drumming along on his guitar on the balcony. If Kat had been there she would have flipped. She got freaked at me when I studied past midnight. Not only was he drumming, he also started singing. Hence, when I heard the song at Dillons, caught a few verses, and googled, I found it! Here’s to all my fellow BlogHer girls:

(Seriously this is the song he was singing. I am not even remotely kidding.)

This may have been a welcome on Friday not as the conference is concluding but heck my brain and  questions posed to me in the span of a day do not work that way.  Hope it was great!! 

The plan was for another boring entry… about food.  So, I’ll leave that for now just for you!  So here are a few of my favorite things as (questions) posed by Samantha:

1. What is your favorite thing to do alone?

Haven’t done it in weeks but exercising.  The rest of the summer will more than likely be slower so I’m hoping to get back into the swing of early morning walks.  I’ve buddied up in the past and though it was nice I like to keep things at my own pace.  My thoughts usually run amok whilst the music plays.  My best ideas are cultivated this way.  My most wacky too.

2. What is your favorite thing to do with your best friend?

Vegging out in a living room watching movies.  Going out to sushi bars and enjoying red plum wine. (Have you tasted that stuff?  It’s delicious.)

3. What is your favorite band?

Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band.  Plainly in love with Bruce right now.

4. What is your favorite song?

Of all time?  Frank Sinatra’s New York New York.

5. What is you favorite part of your job?

Everything.  I like my job.  It’s not what I thought it would be… it’s better.  I do a lot of various things that I didn’t know were included in my job desciption but I like that I’ve made them part of my job description.  It’s never boring, it’s downright crazy at times, and I don’t know what to expect on a daily basis because if I say “I’m going to accomplish A, B, and C today”, I may only dabble in B and do D, E, and F.

6. What is your favorite TV show, on now?

In Plain Sight.

7. What is your favorite TV show all time?

The Office, though I have not seen all episodes. In catch up mode.

8. Who is your favorite actor?

John Cusack, without a doubt.

9. What is your favorite film?

Casablanca.

Thursday Thirteen Random things going through my head:

It’s six in the morning, why am I #@*$#*( up?

Driving a bunch of miles for a meeting tomorrow morning.

Why am I up? Geek. To make it to a tour of a state capitol for one of their last tours.

Sushi. Pad thai.

Why in bloody hell am I taking five pairs of shoes?

I wish this meeting was in the Big Apple. (The guy conducting the meeting is a Big Apple-r.) How casual is this thing going to be?

Target. Macys. Bed Bath and Beyond.  Walking through browsing awesome stores without buying: Priceless.

Is the coffee done?

Why didn’t I mapquest and figure out where to stay last night? (Too busy mapquesting all major shopping centers in major cities I will be driving through.)

Totally psyched to be in a city with more than 100,000 people.  Totally psyched to wear pointy-toed black heels.

I need to find a casual purple dress. And a lovely lamp.

I heart the New York Times.

Why is it still dark?

Oh Oh!! Speaking of the NYT, did you see this: Why Do People Love to hate The New York Times?

You know I read it all the time. Sorry NYT I don’t hate you. My college department made us read you on a daily basis. I got sick of your paper version. Delighted when I discovered a few years later that you had online material. I didn’t read you. I thrive on you now. Thank you.

The fact that we were made to read it stands fine by me. It was one of the first papers that I was able to get through, enjoy, and question. It’s like any information resource. I love information. I moved on from it. I became addicted to BBC, CNN, the Wall-e, the (Washington and New York) Posts, AP, PR newswires (I’m a dork you know that already), and everything in between. It was a start and I keep returning to it.

My favorite quote by Jack Shafer from the piece: “People love to hate their newspaper for the same reason they love to hate their relatives. There’s aggravation built into any relationship that’s really close. If you read any newspaper you’re going to get wound up in it, you’re going to be delighted by it occasionally, and you’re going to be pissed off by it.”

Like the fact that I get pissed at Joe all the time.  Same thing.

A Hostess faceoff:  the Ding Dong to the Zinger.  Remember when driving through the city, there happened a store devoted to Hostess and Wonder products?

Ding Dongs are not my thing.  Zingers are more so.  Despite the fact that chocolate has been in my life for centuries, Ding Dongs did not cross my path till the Hostess store.  Not a fan of them.

Forgoing various carbohygrates and trying to stay true to a pure natural diet, I had the most unyielding craving for macaroni and cheese one day weeks ago.  Despite trying to keep pasta out of my cupboards (did not last long)  I have developed a great relationship with it.  Yams too.  Beets too. 

Having come across some great vegetarian recipes I have discovered that that’s where all the cool culinary vegetable mixtures lie.  I’m seriously into vegetables lately.  The farmers market opened up last week in town and I missed out on it.  I hope to be back Saturday morning for it.  My carnivore nature will not go away despite this.  I like my burgers.

I’m going through a really weird food change lately.  Bread, ice cream, tortillas, and all forms of chocolate (besides the Zingers and Ding Dongs) do not make an appearance here.

My dad wasn’t one to go to a car wash that often.  We’d have fun washing cars with big yellow sponges and big flowing warm bubbles.  The first time I went through a car wash was probably when I was about eight.  At least the first time that I remember.  The blue machines shook the car and plastered it with water.

I just took my car through the wash and that’s what came to mind.  The weird memories that flow back to you. 

I’m such an amateur when it comes to car washes.  I had to debate with myself whether my side mirrors fold in (they do not) and whether I was supposed to leave my car on.  My classy previous car Mark(y) did not go through car washes.  He was too superior.  He did not get dirty.

The nasty spots on my windshield haven’t gone away.   I’ll probably get more by the end of this week.  But I thought I could drive around for a day or two without them.

Thanks for all the awesome furniture tips!!  I knew I loved you guys.  I’m trucking on and investigating all possibilities.  Craigslist and flea markets abound.  The Modern Gal is also furnishing her new place and gave me the idea from her post today to check out flea markets! Flea markets!  There are about three in a town half an hour or so from here.  While googling away I found a bunch of antique stores in one of the cities I will be in on Thursday.  But flea markets did not cross my mind.

You know it’s harder than I thought it would be, living in the middle of nowhere.  The middle of nowhere is coming to a metropolitan area near you!!

Just look at my favorite Big Apple article: Country, the City Version: Farms in the Sky Gain New Interest.  A few months ago, I saw an interview with a mayor of some major city.  I cannot recall where but they had started gardens and green spaces on the tops of buildings.  I think it’s sort of cool.  However, there’s also the possibility, like here where I live, in the middle of nowhere, amid fields of agriculture, pastures, and ranches, that some of these fields are not meant to be cultivated.  The climate is a bit too arid for some of the agriculture.  Whoever thought I would know this?  I surely did not.

Personally before this comes to fruition I would love to be driving an aerocar and have a dog named Astro.  But that’s me.  That would be a lot cooler.  I’ve become addicted to Nora Roberts In Death series and it seems they drive aerocars.  (In actuality, I seem to have become addicted to every series of books imagineable.  It’s ridiculous:  Stephanie Plum, Jack Daniels, Eve Dallas.  Hopefully I won’t get addicted to the Goth Girl series.  I know a lot of adults who are into that series.  I do want to read the Mary Roach books.  Someone recommended those to me the other day and then I discovered that Zandria was reading one of them.  I swear people.  All of you spook me.  We have too much in common.) 

Memo to car companies:  Get cracking on my aerocars!

It took me seven to nine months to hang photos and art on my walls. There are now thirty one holes around this place.

Since coming back I have gone on a furniture rampage. Seriously. I broke into my sister’s flat an hour after my flight got in. I fell in love. I’ll share a secret with you: I lived in that flat through graduate school. She has most of the furniture inherited from my parents basement and bedrooms that wouldn’t fit into the house they purchased while we were in college.

She’s made the place homey and cute and they almost had to drag me back to the airport to fly back.

If you look at my place you’ll find a more streamlined existence. I try to keep stuff in their place. Or rather find a home for everything. This, however, does not include the piles on my floors at any given time.

The history of my furniture: I managed to get ten pieces into my parents SUV along with my clothes and the like. I had a bed delivered. The two purchases I made here were a futon and a kitchen table. My kitchen table is the second most expensive piece of furniture (aside from my bed). I love my kitchen table.

Anyways, I have to drive a full workday this week for a meeting on Friday. To a capital city. Since I’m going to be amid stores that are universal to everyday people, I thought I might check out some sales and furniture stores.

I’d love a purple dresser for my bedroom. Why purple? I have no idea. I have gone gung-ho about the purple dresser. What I’d love more is a really cheap purple dresser. Like a long older-looking piece. I have no scruples in painting it purple.

We have two or three furniture stores here in town. I know the owner of one of those. I’ve been meaning to walk in one of these days. The other furniture store I drive by to go grocery shopping south of town. It’s where my bed was delivered from. I have not been in it yet though. They’re having a sale. I almost went in yesterday.

What I’m looking for is a red couch. Or this really cool green-leafy couch I found at IKEA. I fell in love. They also have short dressers for really cheap.  Unpainted, which I could paint. The thing is the wall I want to put them on is large so I’d prefer something longer (like the one in the middle but with a cheaper price tag).

Someone at work is obsessed with garage sales. We spied the ads at work Thursday night. I almost made it out to some this weekend. Alas, I changed my mind.

It might take me another seven to nine months to make up my mind on these issues.

I have become immensely intrigued by Real Simple magazine. They have great recipes and organizing knickknacks. I’m in love.

If you know of any cheap places, let me know! I’ll fall in love with you.

It’s a dreamy sort of day:

What are some recurring dreams you’ve had?

The one that comes to mind that I had for years after my mom passed was seeing her in a large crowd and not being able to find her.  Like in a large Los Angeles crowd (I have not been to the west coast) or at a carnival.  Those stopped sometime in high schol or early college.

I’ve also had this one dream twice:  Being in a large open gorgeous stairway with the guy of my dreams.  Like the guy.  However, I have not been in said stairway nor do I know where it is located.  Nor have I found the guy.  But that feeling you get after one of those, I love that feeling.

What is the significance of dreams in telling you about yourself?

I like to think it’s my subconscious telling me weird stuff.  I don’t like when I think I’m going to have great dreams one night and they’re not so hot.  I love when I think it’s going to be a crappy night and the dreams are the greatest.

You’re going to think I’m a crazy: When I was in my second semester of graduate school I went out of the country to an island with a bunch of friends (which I would recommend) and their kids (not so much recommend) for spring break.  One night I had the greatest dream.  Like, you know one of those you feel absolutely loved, mushy, hug from someone dreams.  I came back and went to visit my parents the next day and they told me that my maternal grandpa who I had not seen in years (I’m a horrible relative as you may have guessed) passed away.  I thought of him giving me that big mushy hug right away.  I like to think that dreams can be intuitive.

How do you feel after you’ve had one of THOSE dreams?

I feel…. What is the defintion of THOSE dreams?  Like bad dreams or sex dreams?  Sex dreams are okay.  Bad dreams are fine.  I haven’t had nightmares in a long time.  I think the one that I can vividly remember occurred when I was seven.  I feel icky from bad dreams… I’m not a fan of that weird feeling after them.

What was the last dream you remember?

There was an incident with makeup.  I do not wear a lot of makeup to work on a daily basis.  But there was a coverup incident in the dream.  It was smeared and all gunky.  This might have been because of the fact that I lotioned up my sun-killed peeling shoulders.  They feel great today.  The last few days I have been trying to find a strapless bra to wear because they have been killer, man.

When did you last dream about something that later happened as you dreamt it?

This has not happened to me.  I’ve only felt like that deja vu feeling occasionally, like I have been in this spot in my dreams, and now here I am in real life.  Nothing concrete.

Thursday Thirteen Reasons this past week was sweet:

Driving down to the city on the last day of June to a bright and gorgeous evening.  The greenery of the fields, the blue sky, and the miles ahead, music blaring.

The guy who a few towns and states over waved to me on that journey.  Discoveries of the wonders of wide open spaces and big cities will not cease in this lifetime.

Enjoying a great week with my family with whom there is never a dull moment.

Being banned from eating sushi in the backseat of my sister’s two hour old new car.  Sushi I acquired at a grocery store.  Because the first day with my family was not boring.  Rather tiring, enthralling, and crazy.

Declaring to a parental unit as they dropped me off at the airport that I was moving to the east coast.  The reasoning?  The phenomenon of five major airports within hundred mile radiuses.

Not freaking out at the airport when my luggage was lost.

Instead, driving down the main drag of city street until I came upon a liquor store.

Walking into the store, hauling my wine and champagne bottles to the counter, and regaling the startled Chinese proprietor with the fact that my luggage was lost. 

He was lovely.  Probably thought I was a nut.  It was my level-headed way of not freaking out.  He gave me all kinds of cool directions.  Like Target.  However, I decided against that one.

Finding a store devoted to Wonder bread and Hostess products.  They had no Tastykates.  A weird phenomenon in these parts: there is no wonder bread.  Close that gaping mouth.

Getting take out at a Thai restaurant.  Calamari and pad thai, I sometimes wish you were within a reasonable driving distance in my life on a daily basis.

Finding that both of my bags were on the next flight.

Driving home to the middle of nowhere with gale force rain loudly screeching cheesy love songs and discovering that one of my windshield wipers died on me figuring that it’s going to take me at least four days to recover from this week.

I’m the worst daughter on the face of the planet.  I spent the last week with my lovely family who I hadn’t seen since before the holidays.  Christmas holidays.  There’s a lot that can happen in a span of that many months.  I can get married, pregnant, and they wouldn’t even know.

Except for the fact that I cannot keep a secret for too long.  It’s genetically ingrained in me to not keep anything secret.

I got back late this morning. 

I was supposed to get back late in the evening last night.  But something happened.  Life happened. Smirk.

I got off my plane.  Went to get my luggage.  My luggage did not appear.  Neither one of them.  So I had to chill around the city for a bit.  Then I went back.  My luggage had miraculously reappeared.  I was going to freak if it didn’t.  The thing is this:  I know how the airlines work.  There is no rational reason that my luggage did not appear on the aircraft.  I wasn’t too early or too late.  It could have been the screeners, the luggage handlers, or the weather.  The weather was blamed.  Whatever.  It only started dripping a little. 

When you get off an aircraft, discover your luggage is missing, you freak out.  I almost freaked.  This has never happened to me before despite the fact that I have traveled quite a bit.  Like a lot.  So statistically things were in my favor. 

It’s not like anything was that important to me.  The lovely plate my aunt gave me as a souvenir from my future home state and life as Mrs. J. Morelli was in one of those bags.  I did not freak.  There is a dilemma though.  When you have a five hour drive home ahead of you.  What do you do?  Discussion ensued between myself and the airline individual.  Rerouting to another city.  Them shipping the luggage to me.  Me thinking No way, you guys are going to lose them.   They probably wouldn’t.  However, I felt naked, five hours of my journey still left to go, and alone in the middle of nowhere.  So I stayed on and waited for the next flight in.

Now, as I write, I am sporting the gym shorts I used to wear in high school phys. ed. and an outrageously colorful shirt from the same era.  These are seriously the only clothes that fit me from high school and thankfully I was able to find them in my sister’s flat which I broke into.  She is the keeper of my stuff.  The extra five boxes of books and a box and a half of clothes live in her spare bedroom.  Until I decide to move.  Or to drive home home to pick them up.

So, I started driving late.  The adrenaline would not go away.  That’s what my parents thought I would do.  Well, not really.  One half campaigned mightily for me to spend the night in the city.  The other half knew I’m an obsessive control freak who would get up in the morning despite getting in at two three and going to work because I’m a hardcore workaholic.  Which is what I did but don’t tell anyone, okay?

Every hour on the hour as I drove I thought Another freaking hour.  I said freaking.  I don’t swear.  But I say freaking a lot.  It makes me start singing Super Freak in my head.  Go figure.  It got daunting when I exited the super highway of interstates onto smaller routes.  Then I averaged out how many cars I saw pass me on my merry way.  Not pretty.

But I’m here! Tired.  Barely getting through workday. Thinking of sleep.

Gleefully trying to find out what happened in your lives over the span of the last week.