Lost In Furniture Candy Land

Even though it was utterly exhausting to watch those men move all of our stuff on Saturday and then later have to dig through the stacked boxes to find the damn silverware so we could eat dinner (my life is so hard), the next morning my sister and I decided to run some errands. We rented a cargo van from Zipcar for 15.5 hours (for just $130 for the day, gas and mileage included—I freaking love Zipcar). We wanted to take advantage of Massachusetts’s tax-free weekend and trek out to Target and IKEA to fill our new places with even more stuff while also making a trip up to New Hampshire to store a few things at my uncle’s. Plus, I just really like to drive.

Once we clambered into the tall van and finally discovered where the release to the emergency brake was hiding, we were on our way. But apparently I have been a pedestrian for too long, because at the very first stop light I encountered I attempted to go once the WALK signal came on. Oops. But no harm, no foul. I was able to switch into driver mode and it was smooth sailing from then on.

Kind of. I must say I drove that huge cargo van around like a champ. I was able to finagle my way into some impressive parking spots and even avoided the stupid Massachusetts drivers intent on pulling out right in front of me. But getting around the Northeast without getting lost, even with some form of GPS, is almost damn near impossible. I made the probably-terrible yet slightly-amusing decision to have my sister be the navigator. Any of you who know her also know her lack of directional skills. There were a lot of incidents that went something like this:

Me: Which street do I turn on?
Her: That one (as she points behind us).

And traffic circles. WHY DO THEY EXIST. Even our weird sister-talk (where we know what the other is trying to say even though she’s failing at actually saying it) didn’t help me here.

Me: Where do I go? Which exit?
Her: The right one!
Me: They're all right!

But we survived. And it felt good to get out of the city and drive with the windows down. (See? It’s the simple joys in life. I bet you non-city people take your daily driving adventures for granted.)

Once inside, though, it seems I’m the directionally challenged one. Who here has been to an IKEA store? Then you know it’s not entirely my fault that I got completely lost. I made the mistake of separating from Sarah at one point in search of a cart and then the even bigger mistake of walking through a door in an attempt to bypass the long line of people shuffling down the aisle. By the time I found an abandoned cart to steal, I had absolutely no idea where I was. Now some of you may be thinking, What’s the big deal? So you walk around until you find your sister. Thanks. But this is a very daunting task in a store that’s 350,000 square feet and makes you go through all of the different departments on a winding path that looks suspiciously similar to a Candy Land game board. I tried to retrace my steps, looking for something familiar, and occasionally going through a door promising a shortcut and rainbow color gumdrops. After what felt like half an hour but was probably three minutes, I broke down and called The Sister—for help? for moral support? I don’t know. But I do know I was for some reason almost in tears as I tried to make my way back to her. “I’m lost. I’m like really lost. What are you near?” Couches. “But I don’t see any couches. All I see are beds and there’s a big room of lamps back there and I’m going the wrong way down the path and everyone is glaring at me and—Oh, sorry!—and now I just ran the cart over some woman’s toe.” She stayed on the phone to help calm me down as I continued ignoring the large arrows on the floor pointing the opposite direction and passed the clocks and dishes and—couches! I found her.

It turns out I was not the only one to find IKEA a little too intense that day. We later walked by a 20-something girl crying in the middle of the aisle, telling her friend, “I’m just so overwhelmed.” Granted, she could have been talking about her life or her boyfriend or her student loans or something, but I still felt her pain.

All was right again in the world once we made it out of the maze and up into New Hampshire where my aunt and uncle had all the fixins for root beer floats. Yes, root beer floats can make everything better.

And beautiful views aren't too bad for the soul, either.
Boston's Zakim Bridge

Oh, The Memories

I hate that I have to start every blog post with something along the lines of I’m sorry I fail at ever writing blog posts.* But c’est la vie.

I first have to give myself a shameless pat on the back for surviving almost a full year living with my sister and her boyfriend. Living with any couple is hard, as I’m sure you can imagine (or perhaps know from experience). But I feel it’s safe to say this particular couple is a special case. They are unbelievably corny and weird and lovey-dovey (and all of the things you hate to witness in your roommates). And yet I really like them and enjoy hanging out with them… so I have no choice but to put up with the torture. Who else would I watch back-to-back-to-back How I Met Your Mother episodes with? But I’ve made it, and I’ve even learned enough from my experience to craft this handy little how-to guide for other third wheelers out there. You’re welcome.

But Hallelujah, the Zs have stopped. Or at least have been drastically reduced. They informed me of a meeting they held the other day (meetings, apparently, will continue) where they talked about their use of Zs and realized it was annoying each but thought the other liked it. They still slip with an occasional “foodz” or “sleepz,” but I’ve learned to let it go.

I fear what The Sister and The Boyfriend will become once I unleash them to live on their own, though. In less than two weeks we’ll be parting ways and moving into two separate apartments in Cambridge. And although I’ll undoubtedly miss the mice** and noise and traffic and stabbings in my current lovely neighborhood, I’m mostly pretty freakin’ excited for the move.

I’m finishing up my summer class, a nonfiction workshop on memoirs. And despite one of my friend’s observations—“aren’t you a little young to write a memoir?”—I have come up with nearly forty pages of solid gold writing material along with countless ideas for future musings. And by solid gold I, of course, mean eh, it’s okay. But it has been fun wading through my memories, deciding which ones are real and which ones were manufactured, and talking over my pieces with classmates. If any of you out there are aspiring writers, I highly suggest taking a class or meeting with a supportive group of like-minded people; it’s very rewarding and motivational.

I love this quote from Willa Cather:

"All my stories have been written with material that was gathered—no, God save us! not gathered but absorbed—before I was fifteen years old."

I believe my own memories were absorbed, too. Some things I don’t want to remember (like the day I came home from school and found my cat dead on my bedroom floor). Some things seem to have happened solely to entertain me all of these years later (like the time I thought I was going to die from eating baking soda). But all of my memories have been absorbed and tucked away, ready to be dug out and explored when I’m ready. Or when I have fifteen pages due in 48 hours. You know, whichever comes first.

*Yes, I realize it's really pathetic that I only have 7 posts for the year and a half that I've had this blog.
** "Guys, we really shouldn't leave the bread on the counter because the mice might Aahhhhh!"

The Price I Pay

I haven’t yet decided if the entertainment my sister and her boyfriend provide is worth the pain I must endure as the witness.

New low: She called him last night from the bedroom to the living room. I mean, our apartment is kind of long, and sometime those 30 feet can seem daunting if you’re feeling extremely lazy. But calling him? Their bedroom is close enough to my couch that I could hear both sides of the conversation.

“Where are you?”

“The couch. Where are you?”

“The bedz. You come to the bedz meeting soon?”

Let me explain. #1. They’ve gotten into a nasty habit of ending every word they possibly can with Zs. Like lolcats but much, much worse. Example: of all the things he could have said when she showed him her new phone last month, he says, “Gasp, you haz the fancy phonez now?” And of course she answers with “I knowz!!” When she came to the living room one night empty handed, he asks, “You no find the cordz?” I think they’re just doing it in an ironic, sarcastic kind of way. I think. (I hope!) But it’s very possible it could also just be in a weird kind of way. Saddest thing about this: I’m not even exaggerating.

#2. They like to conduct “meetings” whenever they can. The first of this was early in the fall when they decided it was essential for them to have a book club meeting on my bedroom floor that I was not invited to. This “weekly meeting” has since only occurred once. They also frequently have “couch meetings.” Meaning they both sit on the couch. This one happens on a regular basis. And of course the “bedz meetings” I mentioned before.

I must say, though, she’s got it pretty good. Many of their “couch meetings” involve her stretching out with her feet on him and him arranging his laptop or dinner plate to accommodate her. He’ll also cover, uncover, wrap, or unwrap her feet with a blanket at her every wish (which is very frequent, especially it seems through the quiet parts of movies). And from my outsider’s view, her biggest frustration with him is that he occasionally sits too close to her on the couch. As if the fact that he wants to be near her is a bad thing.

And speaking of The Boyfriend, I have to admit I also have it pretty good. You know the worst thing about this roommate of mine? He does the dishes way too often. I’ve literally had to go out to the kitchen and yell (or speak sternly) at him to “put that dish down! That’s not yours!” Sigh, it’s a tough life I live.

As Time Goes By

Wow. I really fail as a blogger. Good thing I never did quit my day job, huh?

I really have no excuse for not writing. Except maybe to spare you from the somewhat-boringness that is my life. That’s not to say I don’t enjoy said boringness. In fact, I have proven that “down time” can make me quite productive. During the summer I got a stellar job with flexibility for the semester, found a great (although now I might say “okay”) apartment, and learned brewed green tea bags do wonders for the bags under my eyes. Impressive, right? 

I’ve also learned, through the wonderfully informative Science section of the New York Times, that our fingers turn “pruny” after being in water for a while due to an evolutionary trait. Our bodies do this automatically to increase traction on slippery/wet surfaces. But anyway...

I realize I have a lot to catch you up on since we last met via this blog, but I feel I must first update you on how my whole “Quest for Tom Hanks” is going (I say “is going” rather than “went” because I’m not quite ready to give it up). Well, I never did run into him in NYC as I had hoped. I kept a lookout for him up until the second I boarded my plane, but to no avail. I did, however, see him over the summer… In his new movie, that is. Larry Crowne was everything I was hoping it would be: funny, sweet, and starring Tom Hanks. What more could I ask for?

In other news, Boston is making me realize how utterly unexciting I am. Mostly just because as I sit here writing this, I can’t actually think of anything to write. To risk boring you, I may take this time just to mention a few observances I’ve made in the past few months.

1. This varied Three’s Company living situation with my sister and her boyfriend is harder than I anticipated, albeit extremely entertaining at times. Living with a couple is hard enough. Now add in the fact that this couple is sickeningly “cutesy” — sometimes, I think, just to push the limits of my gag reflex.

“Hi Dear, how are you?”

“I’m feeling a little down today.”

“Oooohhh no. I’m so sorry, Dear. What can I do?”

“Thanks, Dear. Just having you here with me is making it all better.”

See what I mean? Gag. And then they have this ritual where they brush their teeth together every night and think they’re hilarious when they clink their toothbrushes together (cheering to healthy gums, perhaps?). But sometimes the boyfriend will decide to brush his teeth without her. Watch out! She doesn’t like that. And what’s really fascinating is the boyfriend never learns his lesson. At least once a week I must hear this argument; doesn’t he know by now? But I can’t really blame the guy. Sometimes you just want to brush your teeth on your own. I get it.

2. Grad school is simultaneously encouraging and disheartening. My professor’s introduction to Book Publishing began: “An awful lot of books die, and publishing is an extremely high-risk profession. If you’re here to make a lot of money, you’re in the wrong seat.” Well, the money part is not a deal-breaker; I’ve already resigned myself to not having a wildly successful career and instead just plan on marrying someone rich. But it’s proof that even the man who is supposed to be teaching the importance and need of publishing doesn’t have a whole bunch of faith that it will bring financial success. On the bright side, my classes this semester are looking very promising… if not for building skills, at least for building my resume with skills I’m going to pretend I have. Great plan.

3. Yes, public transportation CAN cause motion sickness.

Well, that’s it for my observances for now. I need to save some profound thoughts for future posts, after all. 

And now I’m going to leave you with a quote that more or less sums up my life right now:

I tried not to think about my life. I did not have any good solid plans for it long term — no bad plans either, no plans at all — and the lostness of that, compared with the clear ambitions of my friends (marriage, children, law school), sometimes shamed me. Other times in my mind I defended such a condition as morally and intellectually superior — my life was open and ready and free — but that didn't make it any less lonely.
– A Gate at the Stairs, Lorrie Moore

A Spoonful of Updates

I fail.  Not even my excitement of having a blog could keep me on track for updating all of you fine people.  But no worries, I have a long list of things I want to share, so you will not be disappointed.

Some new developments:

*As if seeing him on stage was not enough, I was lucky enough to run into Alan Rickman at the NYC Ballet as well!  And when I say "run into" I mean "stand five feet away from while debating whether I should speak to him or not, awkwardly walk towards him, and then feel his jacket brush against me as he walks away."  It was epic.

*Our film event a few weeks ago proved to be an exciting adventure for multiple reasons.  Not only did we encounter a strong wind tunnel in the train station stairway that would have given Hurricane Donna a run for her money, I got to show off my (pretend) hurdling skills while becoming a delinquent (along with my professor) as I jumped over the turnstile to run onto the train!  It was more exciting than that time I ate Subway at Mugger's Coffee House (Christine- that's for you!).  

But back to the point, we went to the Landmark Loews Jersey Theatre, a beautiful old movie theatre, to see The Big Sleep with Bogart and Bacall.  I love classic black and white films (or maybe I just like knowing my grandma loves them and that I get quality time with her when we watch them together?), and it was really neat to see a classic up on the big screen.

*I'm having a love affair with Central Park; I run off to it whenever I can to get away from my cramped room, and I constantly find myself daydreaming about the open lawns, winding trails, and charming bridges that I long to return to...  

*I. Hate. This. Heater.  The heater in my room was sent from the evil spirits of No Sleep Land.  It's one of those old radiator heaters that always has water rushing back and forth in the pipe.  And it has decided that its favorite nightly activity is to clank very, very loudly and once in a while shoot out water in a game called "how much of Katie's stuff can I drench?"  It's great fun.

From the Empire State Building

*My friend from home, Brittany, came to visit this past weekend and I finally got to do some tourist stuff I've been looking forward to!  We walked through Central Park and Times Square, got dinner in Little Italy, went to the top of the Empire State Building, and saw a Broadway show (my first!) - Mary Poppins.  It was just as magical as you can imagine and more.  Statues came to life, Bert walked on the ceiling of the theater, and Mary Poppins floated up with her umbrella to wave to us in the balcony at the end.  And we even got a surprise guest in the form of a little kid in the audience who loved to sing along to every performance of "Spoonful of Sugar."

 

*As I'm catching up on journal entries for events, I've realized I still need to let you know what I've been up to lately.  Let's see... we went to Dizzy's Jazz Club to listen to Randy Weston's "African Rhythms," a surprisingly perfect blend of jazz and African beats.  The moody atmosphere in the club was really fun, and the $15 per person minimum on food/drinks forced us to order an insane amount of appetizers and desserts that we all shared.  I walked through a great exhibit of Edward Hopper's paintings at The Whitney Museum.  I saw Don Pasquale at the Metropolitan Opera, heard the London Symphony Orchestra play Mahler's Seventh Symphony at Avery Fisher Hall, and saw very impressive puppetry and hand-shadow skills in Stravinsky's opera The Nightingale at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (BAM) Opera Hall.  I heard the amazing, patriotic songs of Kate Smith sung by the wonderfully talented soprano Stephanie Blythe - I tried to stop the tears from spilling over, but "When You Wish Upon a Star" and "White Cliffs of Dover" were too much to handle, in a good way.  We walked around art galleries in Chelsea one day with our art professor.  And just last week we spent the day at The Frick Collection, where I saw some great Turner pieces and made a guard scowl at me when I dropped my audio guide on the marble floor.

*And, oh yeah, I'm going to grad school!

Well, I think that's it for now.  Must get back to those pesky journals (actually, I really don't mind writing them - it's just that my perfectionism makes it a very long process) and maybe grab a few Oreos before bed.  hehe.