November 4, 2009
I wrote all this in a journal uber early this morning, my weary and heavy eyes couldn't bear to look at a computer screen. That's right, I went all old world nostalgia for you. 4:21am Wednesday I'm already thinking about Christmas: who to buy for and what to get them. I must keep it to the bare essentials of people. Harsh sounding, I know, but I don't have oodles of cash to dole out on every person I've crossed paths with and deem them worthy of a gift. I'm mean. I think it's me just being honest and not mean. Now I'm meandering. 6 people, that's about it I think: parents, sister, and 3 best friends. Although there's one person that could change that number. I'm not a large fan of surprise gifts. You know.....someone you didn't get a gift for and wasn't expecting to get a gift from gets you a gift, so now you have to get them one in order to eliminate awkward moments. Then you get mildly irritated at the fact that you have to go do a rush shop. Geez, Christmas is 7 weeks away and I'm already stressing out about it. Good news is I already know what I'm getting one person, so that's one off the list. Just have to get it. That will come. Tomorrow is more or less Guy Fawkes Day. I watch "V for Vendetta" on November 5th every year, and that day only (circumstances permitting of course). I've successfully changed how I write my capital M's, as in I don't have to actively think about doing it, I can just write the new M. At some point or other I've always changed a letter or two. Maybe it's a subconscious thing: for years I've been on an unassuming mission for what I feel is how I can perfectly execute my native tongue's alphabet. I think I have accomplished said mission.....granted nothing seems to match. It's quirky yet flows with precision and grace. Geez, I sound vain and entirely narcissistic. About my handwriting/printing. Chicken scratch really. Drunk and pretentious chicken scratch. Haha, I'm envious of the handwriting of others, so neat and clean. And the handwriting of some of the other people involved in those others make me glad that my motor skills are "sharp" and I'm not as awkward as I initially thought. Still, my writing is weird, but the M's were the missing piece. Well done. I can't properly hold the pen here due to a teeny laceration. Funny how something so small can do that. The pages look like my hand is being guided by someone else other than my own neurological commands. My duvet seems to slide further and further off the foot end of my bed every night. I have to exert a lot of pulling force to readjust causing me to use up my energy reserves. Currently there's hardly any in them. There's no heroic expenditure reminiscent of "thrusters engage!", it's more along the lines of an old man grunting and wheezing while he tries to stand up from an armless, cushy, too-low-down chair. Crisis averted, warmth and comfort retrieved. I love this movie. It's in my top 3. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. One of my favorite lines is: "Sand is overrated. It's just tiny little rocks." Go figure, I'm unable to sleep when I'm in the perfect nook that's so warm and comfortable. A perfect fit we are. So instead I leave and put on a movie, and suddenly I feel the sleep coming. The opening credits for this one aren't even done. I'm just like my mother that way. She always falls asleep in movies, before it even really starts. David Cross making a birdhouse is sublime and truly funny in it's delivery. I'm going to slip into sleep now, but first a lullaby: ".....Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin' Clementine, thou art lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry Clementine....." How somber. I like it. Meet me in Montauk. Breathe. 4:48am Wednesday
November 2, 2009
Alright alright, now my mind is racing, so you're in for a real treat: 3 posts in one day! I'm tired but not sleepy, my back aches and am so restless I can't lay down. I've decided to watch Mary & Max again. It's so wonderful that I've fallen madly in love with it. I'm deeply attracted to films and television programs of odd and disturbed people/characters, they're more honest and truly relatable. This movie makes me smile, inside and out. Floyd's sitting on my lap. I love it when he does that; just relaxes and doesn't try to eat my crackers or knock stuff off the computer desk. I've thought of something for me to do in the near future, an art project of sorts. I have so many framed pictures that I don't necessarily like anymore, so I will take them out and replace them with my own photos. I know that it sounds exceedingly simple and unexciting, but it will be fun and more involved than that. My project was just a tangent that stemmed from one of my most prized possessions: a framed picture that my most treasured made for me for Christmas last year. I would like him to make me another. I also thought about how not too long ago he asked me with such enthusiastic curiosity about the blog that you are reading. I see now that he had hopes of me showing it to him right then and there. I have not yet shown it to him. Purely because his opinion matters most to me and I'm worried of what he'll think of this. Then I gave my head a shake when I thought further on it: He's an artist and doesn't show any of his work to me until he's ready or when it's ready enough to be exposed to new eyes and ears. That takes courage and strength. I need to be strong like him. Unafraid. Well, here I go, jumping in with both feet, I'll send him the link. Hahaha, look how brave I am, a link! He can look in his own time and let me know what he thinks, if he wishes. I ran out of milk. Perhaps I'll go for a brief walk to the store tomorrow to get some, maybe make some cupcakes too. I'm getting tired of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and a severe lack of sweets to satisfy that darn sweet tooth of mine. I think I'm past the uber contagious part of the swine, but still, the walk will nevertheless be brief. Anyhow, on with the wedding studies and Mary & Max. Aspies for Freedom! Breathe.
Well well well, hello again fellow citizens of the online world. Yet again, I've let my duties as a blogger slip tremendously out of reach for quite some time. Perhaps that's not a bad thing. I don't mind necessarily, hopefully neither do you. Seeing as how I've been less than inspired as of late (very late), I'm just going to ramble, which is what I think (subconsciously initially, now turned an obvious acceptance) I originally started this damn thing for. So here's some little tidbits of what's been going on: I've "gone back to school". I took (for the most part have finished and am currently studying for my final exam) a Wedding Coordinator Certification course. It was wonderfully intense and filled with more things to learn than I had anticipated. Oddly enough, proper table settings and dining etiquette was one of my favorite parts. I say it's odd because it's extremely rare that I go to a fancy place for dinner where I have to be a tad more polite than I already am ;). Now if ever a time arose that I would eat somewhere so fancy that I could appropriately critique the settings and manners of those around me like an immensely snobby and elite socialite, I would be all over that like a fat kid on cake. I look forward to that meal. (*Note: this photo was from a general image search of 'wedding table setting'; quite nice, I spot some errors from what I was taught, but still very posh. Must make mention that it was a photo found on a public domain of Jenna Bush's wedding. Pretty!) I've very recently been infected with the H1N1 flu virus. It has been an experience in itself. At first, I thought I was just getting a cold, so I thought: "No big deal, it's just a cold. Inconvenient, but simple." I was sorely mistaken. Swine flu hits hard and fast (well it did for me anyways). It seemed to come out of nowhere on Thursday, when just a day and half prior, I thought it was a little cold that I could handle like a big girl. Nope, I was a big baby, a pale sweaty mess of a person who felt the most comfort lying on the tile of the bathroom floor. Symptoms (for those who are curious) are just your general flu symptoms but intensified about 25 times. I couldn't stand up without blacking out, so there was no way that I could get myself to the doctor. I summoned my mother from her work and we ventured into the realm of extreme illness. The ambulance came and I'm so glad that I got two very handsome paramedics (Bill & Shane) to come to my rescue. They were polite and had the same sense of humor as myself. It made the whole thing bearable. To Bill and Shane, thank you so much for peeling me off the bathroom floor and putting up with my inane chatter about how ridiculously intense the show "Trauma" is. I was in the hospital for 9 hours. It went by faster than you would think, but only seeing a doctor twice in that time, it became apparent how short staffed and screwed up our medical profession is at the moment. I understand that if the triage area of emergency is overflowing, that you need nurses in there to help facilitate patients and whatnot. But if there are simple cases (like myself) that can be taken care of quickly, I would think that they would finish me off and send me out in order to free up a bed for someone who needs it more than I did at that point. It's not that I'm unappreciative of the care I was given, but I would've happily given up my bed if I was able to, to the 18 month old kid who was crying so hard he was screaming. The "fun" part of it all aside from the paramedics (I guess someone was looking out for me in one way or another), was that I had a few firsts: my first IV and first x-rays. The IV was neat, a wee bit painful at the start but once the nurses (Monica and Leanne, thank you too!) hooked up the IV fluids, I could feel it running through my system. It was a cold feeling and it ran up my left arm and down each digit of my left hand. It was tres cool (no pun intended). To cut a long story short, I've been in the doctor prescribed quarantine of my apartment since Thursday night late. I have two and bit days left. I missed out on my favorite holiday, well one of them anyways, and am running out of food to eat. It's unfortunate, but I'm feeling a hell of a lot better than last week. Oh well. In my prescription isolation, I've discovered a new tv show that has captured my interest and is holding it rather well. "Bored To Death" is what it's called, and yes the irony of it's title is obvious to the time that I discovered it. It's awesome! And it reminded me of how great Jason Schwartzman is, that Zach Galifianakis will never be not funny, and that Ted Danson is incredibily delicious in this role. Could be the sharp suits, perfect white hair, and unscrupulous nature, but it's tantalizing all the same. It's about a writer (Schwartzman) who gets dumped because he drinks too much and smokes too much pot. In his hurt and shame, he places an ad on Craig's List that he's an unlicensed private detective. He's more or less successful in his cases and completely unorthodox. FYI: he only drinks white wine and doesn't smoke as much pot now. In this time away from the world, I've discovered what people matter to me and whom I matter to. It's surprising to say the least, but I like it. I'll leave it at that for now. Moving on..... My amazing friends, Jen & Steve, brought me some masks and movies: masks to reduce infection of others that may come by my humble abode, and movies to pass the time. Out of all of the ones they brought, I was most excited to watch "Mary & Max". A claymation movie about a little girl in Australia who chose a name at random from a New York phone book to write to a potential pen pal about where babies come from in America. Pop cans? No, they wouldn't fit through the hole. She doesn't know because in Australia they come from the bottom of beer glasses. This random man is an atheist Jew with Asperger's syndrome. Just imagine all the great letters they write to one another (they were fantastic!). It's funny and tragic. Very dark and heart warming. I fell in love with it instantly. Well I must part with you now. I need to continue studying for weddings, watching Bored, etc. I'll keep you posted. I want chocolate. Damn. I will leave you with what Max would say every time he brought his letter to the mailbox: "Go in good health." Again, I spew out irony. Breathe.