This popped up in one of the blogs I read…

A piece of literature stands as an artifact of an individual’s experience; to read, appreciate, and ingest a piece of literature is to immerse yourself in the mind of another person. There is no closer intimacy than that achieved through immersion in the writings of another; the fear of someone reading your diary attests to this. Physical intimacy is a superficial closeness; behind the flesh and intensity of engagement, one can still hide one’s true self. In fact, many people engage in intense physical intimacy specifically to obscure their true selves. To know someone, you must interact with their mind; a piece of literature is the mind laid bare.

I often wonder about my little readers out there. How well do you think you know me? What I write may or may not be true but it had to come from something I experienced. Didn’t it?

Part of my frustration with dating is that I don’t know exactly what I am looking for. I will know it when I see it I think. In the back of my mind I know that eventually I would like to meet someone who is just like one of my best guy friends that I could never date because I feared that the friendship wouldn’t survive if it didn’t work out.

I am often too grounded. I question everything. I like looking after people. I need adventure, a co-conspirator, someone who can convince me that fairies exist.

I think this has sparked a recent interest in younger men. I joked about being a cougar in training. I am not looking at dating a twinkie. Just someone who hasn’t become bitter and jaded like myself.

I am not in a mood for much of a rant today. I just want to share some things I’ve been pondering.

Chances are there are people out there experiencing the same things.

First off, I found out that my friend Adam is tired of the BS related to dating too. There’s got to be a better way to get to know people.

Second, It may be the season for giving right now, but it is also the season for dumping. The Thelma and Louise adventure occurred the day after Thanksgiving. I was dumped last year on the day before xmas.

And as much as we hate to admit it, none of us wants to be alone.

This weekend has once again confirmed my lack of coordination. I tell you, I am like a baby giraffe or a muppet. Or maybe a muppet version of a baby giraffe.

Friday I was silkscreening some stuff with handmade screens and I was sitting at my drafting table on the rolling chair. I leaned to reach for a tissue to wipe up the paint and managed to fall out of the chair. I felt like the little old lady in the Lifealeart commercial.

Saturday I managed to injure myself once again. The flourescent light in the kitchen decided that it wanted to join it’s mate which had been taken down over a month ago. In removing the light box I managed to cut my finger and cut my foot on one of the clips that held the light in place. (will that force me to wear shoes in the house? Hell no!)

Sunday I decided to install my new mailbox. I managed to smash my thumb with the hammer (blood blister) and scrape my leg hauling off the old mailbox.

I hope the rule of 3s still applies. If it doesn’t, atleast my tetanus shot is still current.

Since I started this stroll down memory lane…

One of my earliest memories is of this album cover. I also remember listening to it with my dad. I don’t know how old I was but I recall my dad having a big ‘fro.

I don’t have that many memories of hanging out with my dad. He travelled a lot. But this album reminds me of him. I was his princess.

I remember my first record player. It was a little one that played 45s. I had my own collection of Raggedy Ann and Andy records along with a few random singles.

The second record player was the Fisher Price record player. Now that was a serious record player. I could play 33s on that one. In addition to Strawberry Shortcake, the Care Bears, and the Smurfs, I remember playing Prince’s Purple Rain, my 45 of Strawberry Beret, and the double album soundtrack of Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the BeeGees and Peter Frampton.

It was all about vinyl. I remember dancing around the basement (I grew up in the east so we had basements) with my mom. I remember the album covers. Lips Incorporated, Sugar Hill Gang, Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder, Rufus and Chaka Khan, Tina Turner, the Pointer Sisters, the soundtrack to the Wiz…

I took care of my records. I made sure that they didn’t get scratched. I kept the jackets in good shape. There was a certain level of respect for records. CDs are fairly indestructable. I’ve destroyed many jewel cases and left many cds abandoned under the front seat of my car.

In case you were wondering, I still listen to all of the old stuff. Right now I am listening to Earth Wind & Fire. But it’s all mp3. One of these days I will go back to vinyl. I have a record player (just in case).

I’ll admit it. I have a Sunday routine. Any other day of the week I just wing it. But Sunday, there is a routine. Sometimes you just need to decide on a day to get things done.

As much as I enjoy sleeping in, back when I had roommates I would get up early on Sunday just to enjoy some quiet. I’d bake muffins or some other tasty breakfast treat, and enjoy my coffee, maybe read the paper. Then I would clean the house (I cleaned the house a lot when I had roomates).

When the roommates were gone, I started waking up later. I’d still bake stuff but just not every week. Sometimes I’d clean, most of the time I would not. When there were boys in the picture, I enjoyed loafing in bed and then grabbing a late breakfast.

Now that all is quiet, I listen to chillville on the radio, I get out of bed around 10. I change the sheets on my bed (cause it is the only way I remember to do it on a regular basis) and I do laundry. I clean up around the house and try and put things back in order after a week of leaving things wherever I dropped them when I came in from work.

Today, I woke up way earlier than usual. I woke up around 8 (probably because I passed out on the couch last night around 8ish woke up around 10ish and then fell back asleep). I made whole wheat biscuts and started the laundry. I spent a chunk of the morning on the internet doing research for a sewing class. Then I puttered around in my sewing room. I did the final fitting for the prom dress I am altering. I went outside for a bit to take care of my roses that had decided that they wanted to lie down. I made homemade veggie burgers (I have faith that the weather will improve and we will go back to the regularly scheduled grilling season). I returned to the internet to research composite lumber (for my fence) and dual-flush toilets (I need to replace the toilet in my bathroom and I am looking at the high efficiency ones). I made lunch for the next few days. I chatted with Megan on the phone and then I made quesadillas for dinner. Then it was guilty pleasure tv time. Every Sunday I watch Extreme Makeover Home Edition (and usually have a good cry during the heartwrenching moment when they move the bus). Then I fold laundry.

Back to that whole thing on appearances. Kids always pick up on differences. Even in the earliest stages of development they start to sort things out, group them by similarities.

My mom enrolled me in gymnastics when I was about 4. (It probably had something to do with the fact that my sister and I were using the basement couch to vault off of.) Anyways, I wasn’t all that coordinated. I blame it on the fact that my legs were way out of proportion with the rest of my body (and then there was the fact that I was chubby and lacking in upper body strength).
One day sticks out in my head. I was at gymnastics and I had decided to cover myself in white chalk. The chalk that we used on our hands to grip the bars. I thought nothing of it. I was wearing my leotard and I started with my legs. Then my arms. I don’t remember if I got to my face. I just remember my mom being mad and taking me to the restroom to remove the chalk.

Kids notice differences. I was convinced that my sister, who is several shades lighter than me, was adopted. When I was a preschool teacher one of my kids asked if the brown washed off. I had to explain that it didn’t (and I recall secretly wishing that it did).

About 9 years ago I made an attempt to domesticate this cat. Sure he may look like some average lazy-ass house cat, but that is only during the winter. As soon as spring hits, he is out the door. New baby animals, BEWARE. Louis was a dumpster diving kitty before we rescued him, part of him will remain that way forever.

Every year I take him to the vet and get lectured on what a bad pet owner I am. I should keep the cat inside. He will live a longer life (the cat is atleast 10, I think he has lived way past the lifespan of the average dumpster diving cat.

So, why am I babbling about the cat? Megan is concerned that one day I will be feral like my cat.

So what exactly does that mean?

I asked the Wikipedia.

“A feral animal is one that has reverted from the domesticated state to a stable condition more or less resembling the wild.”

She’s basically concered that lack of contact with actual human beings will ruin my whole ability to socialize/communicate with others. In some ways I agree (I might consider myself socially challenged), but in reading the definition it doesn’t say that being feral is a bad thing. It can lead to diversification of the species (but I don’t think that excuse is going to fly with Meg)

A while back, Meg established the rule that I needed to be out and about with people atleast twice a week. I could hermit all I wanted for the rest of the week. But there is a flaw in that requirement. Going out to a concert counts as being out and about with people. Even if I go alone. If I am not going out to meet up with people I am still capable of withdrawing completely.
One show that sticks out is the Of Montreal show I went to at Emo’s. I was tired, it was cold out, the venue was crowded and smokey. I was grumpy. I didn’t talk to anyone and I pretty much spaced out and enjoyed the music. Once I got past the doorman asking for my ID and stamping my wrist I was done interacting with people. Usually I am not that bad, but I find myself doing that more often lately. I caught myself zoning out a few times like that during SXSW.

My not meeting new people is partially my fault for closing myself off. But it is partially the rest of the world’s fault for not letting me in.

As for the cat, well, maybe he will be a full-time house cat in his next life.

I bought my first piece of exercise equipment a few weeks ago. I had been chatting with Meg about the fact that “my people” may look good but they drop like flies without warning. I decided that I needed more than pilates. I needed cardio. But I hate running (I feel like a muppet when I run). I used to do the whole cardio strip tease thing with Leslie but, the studio closed and I didn’t want to join the gym to take the class.

March is a good time to hunt for exercise equipment on Craigslist. Most people are cleaning out their garages and giving up on that new years resolution. I was thinking eliptical machine or exercise bike. Something that I could use while watching tv. Even better if I could find something for $50 or less.

I found a Gazelle for $50 and talked the owner down to $40. Unfortunately I don’t have a vehicle that could go pick it up. Then by total chance I found another one listed on Craigslist for $30. I called around to see if someone could go get it. I lucked out. Keely was downtown and she had $30 to pay for it.

I am now the proud owner of the Gazelle Supra. It’s slightly used, I cleaned it up (it was covered in red dust) and oiled it up. I replaced the batteries in the “computer). The model doesn’t exist anymore (the name has changed) but the new model costs about $279.99. The only thing missing was the cup holder. Which really isn’t that important. I attached some velcro to it so I can stick the remote to it.

So now I do my zero impact run on the Gazelle while I watch tv. I figure I can watch crappy shows like “The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll” as long as I am working out. It’s not as bad as if I was just lying on the couch watching such crap.

I feel better since I started on this quest. I don’t know that I will live any longer because of it. Will it make me more coordinated. Make me less muppet-like should I decide to take up running? Who knows? Health aside, I just want to look good naked.