Wish List

There was a request to move that last post further down the page into oblivion, and so I am gracing you with my Christmas wish list.

Here is the list of wishes I sent my family:

• Yoga ball to replace office chair at work
• Yoga tops
• Yoga pants
• Silver watch
• BBC's Planet Earth DVD
• Books!
• White hoodie

Here's what I would actually like for Christmas

• My loose tooth fixed for good (boo to no dental insurance!)
• Sheets that actually fit our bed and match (can't ask my family for sheets for a full bed, as that would remind them (gasp!) we're not actually married!)
• Someone to take me makeup shopping and buy me stuff that actually works for me and show me how to put it on
• A bike, and to be able to ride it again without fear of it getting stolen or me getting hurt
• To be able to reduce the amount of stuff in my life, without actually having to get rid of any of my treasured possessions
• A really good night's sleep, or twelve
• Better eyesight without glasses or contacts
• A reason, a budget and a workspace to get out my sewing machine again and go to town
• An exchange rate in favor of the dollar, so I could travel more
  

Sometimes I Wonder

Originally written a few months ago.

Sometimes I wonder just what I am doing here. Not here in New York, which I've already discussed many times, but just here in general, at the point in life where I find myself.

We had a fight last weekend. General crankiness, wanting to finish Harry Potter, toothpaste and disagreement about coffee tables were involved.

From a distance of several days, none of those things seem very important now. I haven't learned to choose my battles, that's for sure. Nevertheless, during a fight, each new topic adds fresh rancor and resentment, at least the way I have been taught to fight.

Why is it so impossible to let go, to realize in the very moment that things are not as important as they seem? For several months I justified telling my boyfriend each time he did something I disliked, and exactly why it hurt me, by saying that at least I got it out in the open. Usually this backfired when he continued to do the same as always, which I interpreted as not giving a crap for my feelings. More recently, I realized it was rather a passive way to "improve" another person, to change him into the shape I thought a person should take.

At one point, I did swallow my pride and try to apologize, only to be pushed away. Perhaps we haven't learned exactly what pushes our buttons, when to step down and when to hold tight. There was more than one point this weekend when I thought, "Is this really worth it?"

But no matter whom I'm with, I'll still be struggling with the same tendency to resentment, the same loaded jabs, the same bitterness. I'm worried that as we have bigger things to fight about, our fights will get bigger, too.

Instead of trying to change the other person, how many years together does it take to change one's own personality?

It makes you pretty

I learned today that it takes exactly 22 "glurb glurb glurb"s from the water cooler to fill up my water bottle.

Well, that would be 22 individual glurbs, not 22 triple glurbs, which would come out to 66 glurbs altogether. But I was afraid if I just wrote one single glurb, you wouldn't know what I was talking about.

Then again, you probably still don't.

:(

I've been so depressed lately.

Not in a "are you supposed to slit your wrists across-wise or up-wise?" way, but motionless, energy-less, and bleary-like. I don't think it's the weather, as I finally have a window in my office and get some semblance of daylight.

But I Just. Don't. Feel. Like. It. I don't want to cook (hello, pasta!) I don't want to wrap any more presents. I don't want to read a book. I definitely don't want to go to work, and I most certainly do not want to pick up one more used tissue from the floor by the opposite side of the bed! Gross!

I do, however, want to eat ice cream, chocolate chip cookie dough, surf on the internet until Godknowswhat hour, snap sarcastic remarks in the Frenchy's direction, and in general be in a strop.

Help.

Gone fishing

So you'd think I might have learned from her, but of course not. Guess who went and dropped her Metrocard in the toilet, in the EXACT same manner?

Yes, that would be me.

I stared at it, trying to decide what to do. On the one hand, ew, toilet! On the other hand, it was an unlimited monthly pass. On the other hand, it was about a third of the way into the month. On the other hand, that's only a net loss of about 45 dollars. On the other hand, it's Christmas time, and I can think of a lot other things I'd rather be spending fifty dollars on. On the other hand, that's exactly what soap was invented for. On the other hand, I was just bragging about how I never got sick, not even from touching the subway poles. On the other hand, I've run out of hands.

I took a deep breath, rolled my right sleeve up, and--dip--drip--there I had it! I ran out of the stall (this was at work) and without even buttoning my jeans, spent the next twenty minutes frantically washing my hand, metrocard, back pocket, anything that might have come in contact with the card.

Suffice it to say that I have not contracted any Deadly Disease of Death, the metrocard still worked this evening, and most importantly, no one walked in the bathroom to question why I was scrubbing a small piece of disposable plastic, or why my pants were undone.

And no, I'm not going to tell you whether it happened before or after I used the toilet. There are some things I'd rather keep between myself and the porcelain gods.

The holidays are starting again

I have just managed to break a third of my miniature glass bulb ornaments into a zillion dangerous shards and covered my floor with a quantity of dried lentils, to boot.

Happy Holidays, folks. At least the bookworm looks festive.

Game of the year

I met a girl from Kirkwood at a wedding two weeks ago, and when I told her upon leaving that we were going to beat them, she kind of looked at me blankly. Turkey Day? High school? Football? "Oh, I don't really follow that."

Blasphemy.