Every Sunday night is the same. After watching Grey's Anatomy with the roommates, I turn off the television and say these 8 words:
"I don't want to go to work tomorrow!"
It's my mantra and I'm sticking to it.
Monday, November 21, 2005
Friday, November 04, 2005
R.I.P. dear house
Today my parents sold our house and I feel like they have sold my childhood and all my beautiful family memories. I realize that this is a completely absurd way of looking at the situation, but there you have it. It feels like a family member has died and I cannot get beyond this irrational sense of… (dare I say it) betrayal.
We moved into the house on Raich Drive when I was about a year and a half old and I have no memories prior to the ones I have in that house. If you haven’t spent your entire life in one house, I guess you wouldn’t understand, but the prospect of never having another Christmas or another big family gathering at that house is almost too much to bear because I have spent every single Christmas in that house except one.
I buried my hamster underneath the redwood trees in the Japanese garden. There were sleep-overs in the playhouse that my dad designed and built for me, and I gave myself a black eye (and a scar) swimming in our pool one hot summer night. I pricked my fingers picking roses in our rose garden. My dad and I made applesauce in our kitchen with the apples that grew on the trees out back.
There are so many things that my parents will leave behind – things they build with their own two hands. My dad designed and built the gazebo and all the layered decks. He painted our house by hand. Together my parents built a garden that could easily be in a magazine – if you’ve ever been to my house, you know that it’s true. When I envisioned a room with spring green walls, my mom painted them. She put beautiful things everywhere and made everything warm and wonderful.
I tap danced and learned to sew in our garage. I learned my lines and practiced my Mock Trial speeches in the blue-bathroom shower. I used to think the guest bedroom was haunted. In the summer the attic fan outside my bedroom roared and lulled me to sleep. When I could not sleep my best friend Lauren and I would lay in my bed talking about silly and fantastic dreams. At one point, we tore out the carpeting in the family room, and my brother and I rollerbladed on the bare concrete. We played basketball in the driveway, although neither of us is any good at it. We slid down the stairs on the hardwood floors after Aurelio came to wax them. On Christmas mornings, Sean would climb in my bed and we would lie in bed guessing what presents were under the tree until the morning light turned wintery orange, and it was late enough to wake up my parents.
There has always been something about that house that nurtured my creativity – I have written more stories there than anywhere else, and even now find that I can think better there than any other place I’ve ever been, or ever will be. Today my parents sold our house. But they have not sold our house, they have sold our home and as a result I have no longer have a place to go home to. Instead I will go to my parents’ house… in Atlanta… a city I’ve never even been to.
We moved into the house on Raich Drive when I was about a year and a half old and I have no memories prior to the ones I have in that house. If you haven’t spent your entire life in one house, I guess you wouldn’t understand, but the prospect of never having another Christmas or another big family gathering at that house is almost too much to bear because I have spent every single Christmas in that house except one.
I buried my hamster underneath the redwood trees in the Japanese garden. There were sleep-overs in the playhouse that my dad designed and built for me, and I gave myself a black eye (and a scar) swimming in our pool one hot summer night. I pricked my fingers picking roses in our rose garden. My dad and I made applesauce in our kitchen with the apples that grew on the trees out back.
There are so many things that my parents will leave behind – things they build with their own two hands. My dad designed and built the gazebo and all the layered decks. He painted our house by hand. Together my parents built a garden that could easily be in a magazine – if you’ve ever been to my house, you know that it’s true. When I envisioned a room with spring green walls, my mom painted them. She put beautiful things everywhere and made everything warm and wonderful.
I tap danced and learned to sew in our garage. I learned my lines and practiced my Mock Trial speeches in the blue-bathroom shower. I used to think the guest bedroom was haunted. In the summer the attic fan outside my bedroom roared and lulled me to sleep. When I could not sleep my best friend Lauren and I would lay in my bed talking about silly and fantastic dreams. At one point, we tore out the carpeting in the family room, and my brother and I rollerbladed on the bare concrete. We played basketball in the driveway, although neither of us is any good at it. We slid down the stairs on the hardwood floors after Aurelio came to wax them. On Christmas mornings, Sean would climb in my bed and we would lie in bed guessing what presents were under the tree until the morning light turned wintery orange, and it was late enough to wake up my parents.
There has always been something about that house that nurtured my creativity – I have written more stories there than anywhere else, and even now find that I can think better there than any other place I’ve ever been, or ever will be. Today my parents sold our house. But they have not sold our house, they have sold our home and as a result I have no longer have a place to go home to. Instead I will go to my parents’ house… in Atlanta… a city I’ve never even been to.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
At the Gym
occasionally (though not too often) interesting and amusing things happen to me at the gym...
(1) McGym
As I hand Mr. Orange Tan my membership card-
Dude: Do you want to hear about this totally amazing limited time deal we got going today?
Me: (early for my class) mmm... ok. I guess.
Dude: Ok, so if you pay for 3 years of gym memberships upfront, today, at your current rate, you will pay only 25 bucks a year for the rest of your life! (smiles big cheesy grin)
Thinking and calculating how much 3 years of membership would actually cost...
Me: So... that would be nearly $1400
Dude: Yup! It's a hell of a deal
Me: (laughing) Ok, so assuming that I could afford to pay you $1400 right now, which I can't, I probably won't even be around here for three years.
Dude: Oh, but that doesn't even matter! Pretty soon we're going to be like the McDonald's of gyms!!! (he's really excited now) We're going to be EVERYWHERE! (making big hand motions)
Me: (raising an eyebrow and grimacing slightly)
Dude: uh.... we're going to be the Starbucks of Gyms!
Me: (walks away)
(2) Creepy Guy?
Most Tuesdays Lauren and I go to a kickboxing class and I'm always a little bit annoyed by the guys who linger in the doorway just a little too long watching a mostly female class jumping and flailing about. There's always at least one and today was no exception.
I'm happily doing my triple-jab-cross punches when I notice a creepy looking guy in white track pants and glasses standing in the back of the class, looking around and laughing to himself. This is enough to get me going, but next thing I know, he pulls his camera phone out out of his pocket and starts taking pictures. Now usually I can restrain myself, but today I wasn't going to take it. I turned around and walked up to him:
Me: What do you think you're doing!!!!!!
Creepy guy: (not even looking up from his phone) I'm filming my wife.
I marched back up to my spot in the class, feeling a little bit foolish. But let's be honest, filming your wife or just filming girls in the class - both are a little bit creepy.
(1) McGym
As I hand Mr. Orange Tan my membership card-
Dude: Do you want to hear about this totally amazing limited time deal we got going today?
Me: (early for my class) mmm... ok. I guess.
Dude: Ok, so if you pay for 3 years of gym memberships upfront, today, at your current rate, you will pay only 25 bucks a year for the rest of your life! (smiles big cheesy grin)
Thinking and calculating how much 3 years of membership would actually cost...
Me: So... that would be nearly $1400
Dude: Yup! It's a hell of a deal
Me: (laughing) Ok, so assuming that I could afford to pay you $1400 right now, which I can't, I probably won't even be around here for three years.
Dude: Oh, but that doesn't even matter! Pretty soon we're going to be like the McDonald's of gyms!!! (he's really excited now) We're going to be EVERYWHERE! (making big hand motions)
Me: (raising an eyebrow and grimacing slightly)
Dude: uh.... we're going to be the Starbucks of Gyms!
Me: (walks away)
(2) Creepy Guy?
Most Tuesdays Lauren and I go to a kickboxing class and I'm always a little bit annoyed by the guys who linger in the doorway just a little too long watching a mostly female class jumping and flailing about. There's always at least one and today was no exception.
I'm happily doing my triple-jab-cross punches when I notice a creepy looking guy in white track pants and glasses standing in the back of the class, looking around and laughing to himself. This is enough to get me going, but next thing I know, he pulls his camera phone out out of his pocket and starts taking pictures. Now usually I can restrain myself, but today I wasn't going to take it. I turned around and walked up to him:
Me: What do you think you're doing!!!!!!
Creepy guy: (not even looking up from his phone) I'm filming my wife.
I marched back up to my spot in the class, feeling a little bit foolish. But let's be honest, filming your wife or just filming girls in the class - both are a little bit creepy.
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