while the boss is away ...

I avoid doing real work. Also, it's so so so so nice outside. I need to be back in the sunshine. When I went out earlier I was instantly in an excellent mood. Not that I'm necessarily in a bad mood now, but outside playing in the sun listening to She & Him and Shout Out Louds I was in a much better mood.

It's hard to motivate for work when there are so many other things I could be doing on a day like today. I could be taking apart this skirt I'm wearing for instance and preparing to make another in a different color. I could just take my camera for a walk through my city. (I do want a springtime picture of the carousel.) I could go stand outside the bank and beg for them to make a decision. I could practice drawing elephants.

Instead I'm stuck at work.

And for some reason I'm nostalgic right now. And it makes me a little sad. It's the sort of nostalgia that makes you wonder why you are the way you are. It just pops up out of no where. Or maybe a certain song pops in your head and said song makes you remember a certain time in your life. I blame today's nostalgia on the cooped up nature of my work. I also blame the beauty that is today and the teenage boy riding his skateboard in the parking lot of the coffee shop I go. And while we are blaming, let's blame the onerous file to the left of me that I don't want to address but I have to address.

Instead of addressing it, I look for YouTube videos. YouTube is absolutely amazing. You can find anything. Like the video posted below.

This one reminds me of college. I was forced to watch it a lot. At around the 4:10 mark, Jason Lee sings the cutest song ever. That would be the song that just popped in my head while I rifled through some file cabinets today looking for the onerous file. Or part of the file that has no disappeared. [Don't worry, Team P--- I found it.]

However, when I say I was forced to watch the video let me be honest. Let me describe the conversation.
boy: Hey wanna watch that Jason Lee video? (insert title of random video)
me: Is that the one where he sings that cute little song?
boy: Nope it's a different one, but just as awesome.
me: Okay. Does he sing a cute little song?
boy: No. He skates. He's Jason Lee. Before he was Brodie, he was a skater.
me: Oh, so no new cute little song then?
boy: No.
me: Oh.
[pause ... followed by silence ...]

boy: Wanna watch the Jason Lee video where he sings that song that's pretty funny?
me: If you want.

[Yes, I am a brat.]



I love it. In defense of my brattiness (also, this was during a very bizarre klepto phase. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you the tale) I did have to endure a whole heckuva lot of "hey watch me skate" and "hey, sure I'll walk you home, but only if I can climb every single tree on the way there" and "look at the giant cut on my knee. Soooo much blood."

[please refrain from commenting on the boys of my past]

Searching for that video, led to me looking for my favorite Jason Lee scene from Mallrats. (How much do I love Kevin Smith for this Whalers reference?)



Yes. You're welcome.

Rainy weekend musings

It's rained pretty much non-stop this weekend. I sort of like it. It fits my mood.

I spend last night with my oldest niece. She is now 13 and is a total grown up. She likes shopping. And to attempt philosophical conversations. And quotes Aristotle on her blackboard. When she caught me smiling at the blackboard she seriously informed me that there is nothing funny about Aristotle.

We spent the night in the mall and I managed to channel my own teenager years as a mallrat (Oh How I love the smell of commerce in the morning!) and do some of my own shopping I had put off for a good long while. We eventually got hungry and had to find a place to eat that did not have a three hour wait and provided reasonable gluten free options for me.

We settled on a restaurant and halfway through our meal I remembered that my last time there was with my mom. One of her favorite past times was to go to the mall and shop. She also loved to devour a hamburger with french fries. It was something I tried to consistently make time for with her. I loved it. I didn't get sad about eating there. I had fun. My niece cracks me up.

I was in a bothered mood most of the weekend however. And it's times like this I begin to feel so much resentment towards the hand I was dealt in life and the choices I made. I have been making a very concerted effort for over a year now to "forget regret" and not look back in anger towards the things that happened in life. My mom got sick. I chose to stay at home and decided against various life experiences. I shut myself down in a lot of circumstances because it was just easier. And now - I'm trying to move beyond that. It takes a lot of effort to break down walls once they're built. It's a little bit like scar tissue. The walls start to layer over each other at some point.

Usually when I've let people in it's after months (and in some cases years). Months before I ever allowed any sort of vulnerability in front of them. Before I ever said what I've been feeling. Or call to vent about a crappy day. I don't do it. Or didn't do it. I'm trying to do more of it now. But I am always so wary. I don't want to be burdensome. I've had the friends who called me every single time something went wrong. Every bad date. Every bad work day. Every bad argument. I used to get the call. I've had to cut them out. (that is also an ever evolving process) I don't ever want to be "that person." It takes me a long, long, long time to trust people. And when I have that trust I expect it to be respected and valued. And when people trust me, I value that trust.

When that trust is broken it hurts. It hurts a lot. When something I don't give out easily is devalued I get angry. I don't like to feel betrayed. Or to be allowed in a situation where I'm left feeling the fool.

Needless to say something happened with a friend. Or someone considered a friend. I'll survive. And maybe remain friends with this person in the future. Stuff happens. The particulars don't matter. I'm not angry so much as upset that I wasn't respected.

The best cure for this was definitely a night with a 13 year old. The world through her eyes is one of such promise. At one point during our long chats she mentioned that maybe she should be a reporter because newspapers could use her help. A few minutes later she confessed to loving space too much to want to be a reporter. And then she asked me why I was a lawyer because in her words "you are sooooooooooooo not a suit person. You bought a pair of red converse because a character in a tv show wore them for pete's sake!" (true words - mouths of babe - you know the saying)

I hope we can have more of these nights. I told her last night my mission was to be the cool aunt. Her response was "done, now what will you do for me?" That's my girl.

[I'll admit that the title of the "cool aunt" was easy to achieve. I was only a teenager when she was born and we've always had a sister bond. Her brother raids my comic book collection. Her sisters are routinely raiding my accessories drawer.]

I get nervous of watching these kids grow up. I want to always remain close to them. I want them to always feel free to come to me when they need help. It's something I never really had. They have better relationships with their parents than I did, but it would have been nice to have someone I felt safe to talk to outside of my parents when I was a kid. Someone who wouldn't judge. Someone who would maybe encourage me to be more open with my feelings. So that when I hit my thirties I wasn't still learning that it's okay to be a little vulnerable every so often. I hope I can do that for them.

i don't wear nearly enough flannel

Or wool. Or leather. Or motorcycle boots. I'm also not a middle aged Woo Girl. Or a middle aged man with curly white hair or a beard. And I also don't smell like patchouli. I can not stand Widespread Panic. And I listen to no country music aside from the classics of Johnny, Willie, and Patsy. (Unless you consider Wilco, Whiskeytown, and the like country. Which my Toby Keith Nascar loving co-worker told me is most decidedly not country.)

Music I do like - I have an appreciation for the classic rock. I like good songwriters. I listen to a fair amount of punk. Indie rock is probably wear I lurk most often. And I went through a definite phase in life where lo-fi was the "most awesome fucking sound ever."

I also love hoodies and cardigans. I wear batman t-shirts and jeans. And pretty much live in one of the five pair of chucks I own. (work is clearly a different story - there it's skirts and heels and frill - out of work it's the same outfit I've been wearing the past 15 years.)

And this all brings me to seeing Todd Snider tonight. First, the show was in Northampton. And that sets a tone for everything. It makes me nostalgic for the days I lived there.

I lived on the second floor of this building. There was a dog called Artemis usually tied up outside the building. He ran away often and while he belonged to my neighbor, I often got called about the missing dog.

So once the wave of nostalgia passes, I head down to the Iron Horse - which is still my favorite place to see a show. I remember my first show there was Mary Lou Lord. She sang Indie Rock Boy. It made me smile. Back then I wore my blue Chucks or silver Docs and wore my hair red and lived in jeans and a hoodie. At that time those were socially acceptable for my organizing job.

Tonight we walked and scoped out a decent place to stand in the back. I have no idea who opened. I have no idea what she sang aside from the time she said the name Gram Parsons and I perked up hoping for Las Vegas or Streets of Baltimore. But, then Todd walked up the stairs and started his set.


There was lots of hootin and hollerin. And woos. My good the woos. I clapped and cheered and sang along with my favorites. But the woos and the hoots and the hollers were insane. And at that point I took stop of my surroundings and I realized how much I did not really fit in with this crowd. Sure, there were a handful of folks who were similar to me, but the majority were... well. They were the guy in front of me. He wore jeans and a denim shirt and a leather cap. Yes, cap. He also randomly started tried to beat out a rhythm on the table or the wall post next to him. But poorly. So, picture that guy times a couple 100 and then me.

But no matter, I laughed. I had a great time. I have said it before and I will say it forever I could listen to Todd Snider tell me stories everyday. He weaves a tale like few I know and I love it. He managed to make me laugh out loud with a story I've heard repeatedly on his live album, get a little sad remembering someone during "Lonely Girl," give out my own woot of enjoyment during "Conservative Christian" and then get the audience to laugh during a song about attempted suicide with "Sunshine."


It was a good way to end a day that had me angry about work, my lack of money, stupid drama and my own overreactions to things. I don't quite remember what I was angry about.


And in case you forgot yesterday was Dr. Seuss's birthday.




And

I see Firefly Salon and I immediately think of Captain Malcolm Reynolds. Some people think insects.

And lastly,

They were just sitting there. Waiting.

So what did I learn tonight - Todd Snider appeals to one of the most random demographics ever. I prefer driving down route 10 on my way home from Northampton (unless it's behind the dude going 25 mph...) And I miss my camera. Must use the baby more. And I am so totally chickenshit.

I

Happy Anniversary

February 27, 1965

My parents would have been married 45 years today. I love this picture. My mom's smile is ridiculous and wonderful. And whenever I look at it, I smile. She is just so happy. And that smile just rubs off on you.

Except, she smiled so rarely. I don't remember her being a happy person. Her life was not always positive. A lot of sadness lived inside her and it hurts me to know I never really understood her. Or knew her.

I know the facts. But who was she? What did she love? What was she like? Who was her first love? Did she have one? What was she like as a kid? What did she want to do with her life? What were her dreams?

And these are just the tip of the question iceberg. There is one person I can talk to. And I am trying to get over my anger and talk to him. But, until then all the questions linger.

I miss her terribly. It's amazing how it hits me. All is well. And then BAM! it sets in.

It started this time a few nights back. I'd had a god awful day at work. It was raining. I came home and decided to go for a run. The first song which popped up on the iPod shuffle was The Replacements "Bastards of Young." The song was appropriate for so many reasons. But the line which struck me was

The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest

And visit their graves on holidays at best

I listen to that song often. I don't know why that line struck me suddenly. Maybe it's knowing that the anniversary was approaching. Maybe it was because so much in my life has been uncertain.

Whatever the reason, that feeling sits there. And I miss her. I wish I could just sit with her and say "what should I do now?" But I don't have that luxury right now. I can talk to her, sure. And I do. But she isn't able to give me any answers. Or maybe she is.

I've been playing with a way to finish this post and I got nothing. As much as it doesn't fit with my mom or my memories of her here's a clip of The Replacements singing Bastards of Young. It does fit my mood.