Number one reason why I love my Mom:
I just told her I ate Lays for brunch.
I.E. I didn't eat breakfast or lunch but I did eat a bag of vending machine chips at some indiscriminate time.
You know what she said back?
"Plain or BBQ?"
:)
I love my mom.
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
It's a Miracle
The most amazing thing has happened!
Since I've moved here, the Jehovah's Witness must've knocked on my door ten times. But almost every single darned time they look at me and say "Oh. YOU'RE not hispanic. Estupido." and then like, leave.
But this morning, I responded automatically "Buenos Dias!" and even though I could barely understand his darned accent, and have no exactly what exactly he was saying (besides something about "his name", is this important?" I smiled, said thank you, and took my very first Jehovah's Witness pamphlet (you know, the ones with the pretty pictures) in Spanish.
Silly, I know. But I realized a few days ago that even though it would've cost me lots of money and lots of time I REALLY should've signed up for Spanish class this summer, if only to get in the practice. So if I'm lucky, they'll put me on their door to door list, (or more likely I'll keep having lost people knock on my door expecting a Mexican, I suspect the last tenant here was Mexicano....) and maybe I can brush up on my poor dusty language :D
Adios,
Monica
Since I've moved here, the Jehovah's Witness must've knocked on my door ten times. But almost every single darned time they look at me and say "Oh. YOU'RE not hispanic. Estupido." and then like, leave.
But this morning, I responded automatically "Buenos Dias!" and even though I could barely understand his darned accent, and have no exactly what exactly he was saying (besides something about "his name", is this important?" I smiled, said thank you, and took my very first Jehovah's Witness pamphlet (you know, the ones with the pretty pictures) in Spanish.
Silly, I know. But I realized a few days ago that even though it would've cost me lots of money and lots of time I REALLY should've signed up for Spanish class this summer, if only to get in the practice. So if I'm lucky, they'll put me on their door to door list, (or more likely I'll keep having lost people knock on my door expecting a Mexican, I suspect the last tenant here was Mexicano....) and maybe I can brush up on my poor dusty language :D
Adios,
Monica
Friday, July 9, 2010
Summertime
Did anyone else notice that my last post was my 70th?
WOOHOO!
I figure, that I haven't been writing this blog for a year, yet, and there are 52 weeks in a year, yeah? That's a pretty g00d ratio, even though I haven't been writing much lately.
It's July. I've been alone in my apartment for....three weeks now? Give or take. I regret not being able to go to the airport with Miki. And I don't blame myself for shutting myself into the house directly after she left and sitting there staring at my laptop pretty much doing nothing all day long. When I came out of my stupor, I cleaned. Like, deep-cleaned.
And the next morning I did even more.
Every week, or so, I've been doing major cleaning. It's amazing the little things that Miki did everyday that kept this place from being a wreck. I've got a little ways to go (*coughs*the dishes smell nasty*coughs*) but I've improved a lot from even since she left.
Although, for the third time, Marin has knocked my hanging plant off the shelf. This time it upended directly into their water dish (which I had just filled, because they had been screaming at clawing at my door for a while) so there was a mud-tsunami all over the floor.
The plant was un-salvageable. Which pissed me off because I had worked hard on nurturing that silly thing!
Oh well, I guess I still have my spider plant, yeah? And I must've bought the hardiest African Violet on the planet, because I haven't watered it in a week, give or take, and it's got the biggest flower buds opening that I've ever seen.
They're pretty, I'm pleased :)
I signed up for a fiction writing class for this summer, I can't remember if I mentioned that previously *is too lazy to check*. It's fun, actually. We got homework on the first day, but that didn't irritate me because it was the most interesting first-day of class I had ever experianced. You know how boring the first class always is? How you always wish that it was the second week already so things would quit being slow? Well, the professor jumped straight in and it was so challenging, and made me think and I really appreciated it.
I wish every teacher taught like her!
Even if she is a tad too perky. Like, scarily so. Sometimes her smile outright scares me. I wonder if she's on uppers, or anti-depressants or something? I wouldn't be too terribly surprised.
We only have to write one short story for this class. Some people are clearly taking advantage of this. I.E. the people that assume short story means a quick exposition that's only 5 pages or less long.
I say, that a short story should only be that short if it's
a. super good
b. super dense
c. all of the above.
After the first couple weeks of in class writing exercises and reading assignments/write-ups we're doing...little progress report thingies, I suppose. You bring in your finished/unfinished story, read it to the class, and we workshop it. Talk about the likes, and the things that can be improved (besides spelling and grammar, just the big-stuff) while you aren't allowed to talk.
No one wanted to volunteer. It was silent for 5 solid minutes, so I jumped and raised my hand. Of course, as soon as I did that....the rest of the class jumped to volunteer next.
Thanks guys!
So I went first. And no, I'm not gonna tell you what my story is about! I had no fears about telling the class, and the teacher, because they are oblivious about the undercurrent of my story. At least, they will be until it's finished. And maybe they still will be afterwards! But anyone that knows me intimately will know that this is an important narrative for me to write, and I don't want to spoil it before it's even finished :D
I did my workshop on Wednesday. I had 5 pages ready, I believe. Maybe a little less. After the workshop, I added 2 or 3 more, which was an awesome feeling. And I don't mean to the end, as in writing more of the story. I mean, like, improvements. Added descriptions and scenes. Yesterday I went to the writing center and worked more on my story, and when I took the suggestions home and worked on the story last night....It cut off a half-page or more. >.< Darn. Seriously?
But I wrote more in the park today. In the super hot weather.
It's been 90+ degrees all week! It's been crazy. I'm not sure I've ever experienced a heatwave like this. I'm also not sure if I can ever remember being comfortable in short sleeves (tank tops, even!) and shorts, without getting chilly somewhere or getting prickly arms or too cold toes...
I like the feeling :D
Even if this wretched heat has been setting off my migraines like nothing else...
So I only have two weeks or so until the end of this class. I have 8 pages written, and I predict it should be around 20 pages long.
Do you think I'll make it?
This thing is coming along a lot slower than most of my stories. I think it's because I've been so...deliberate with it. Making choices that have real purpose, dumping extraneous information, misleading the reader, adding in hints that mean nothing until later.
It's a blast, really. And writing this story proves to me that I have the talent to do something better than the silly little scribblings that I've been writing all these years. 6, to be exact. It pushes me out of my comfort zones, expects me to experiment and think, uses my brain.
No longer do I let my fingers run away with me, or even my brain, for that matter. I make conscious decisions, insert ideas that are relevant and slowly build the story. All of it rushes to my head and gives my fingers life. Slow life, I've slowed down. Whereas I normally pump out 20 handwritten pages a day, I've meticulously arranged these 8 typed pages over the span of the last couple of weeks.
I think I have something going for me.
I don't want to flop.
I don't want to write something that has the potential to be good, but falls short. That rushes at the end and leaves you unsatisfied. I want a polished piece that you, the reader, wants to come back to and read over again and try to find something new, something more interesting. I want to write a work that has hidden nooks and crannies that you have to dig deep into for the things you need, that cause you to think. That cause you to question. That cause you to wonder if your life will ever be the same.
If I cannot do what I want with this piece, then I don't think I'm cut out for this sort of thing. But I think I can do it. I know I can.
Because I'm faaaabulous! :)
Someone workshopped yesterday, that obviously wanted his whole written piece ready to show us. A nice though, but a little rushed. It read a bit like an essay a junior-higher wrote for a contest. Good, might even win, but not to college standards. Or printing standards for a short story. It had so much potential, that it nearly hurt my eyes. And I saw exactly where he went wrong: He wanted so badly to finish, that he quit focusing on the story and what he could do with it, what the story itself could do, and looked only to the finish line. He saw the ending in sight and sprinted for it leaving his team straggling behind him, out of breath and left behind.
I want so badly to see him focus on his story and make something amazing of it. It's such an important and intimate topic for him that he could really pull it off. I want to see him do it, and I think I'd do anything to get him there.
In fact, after he wrote his amazing first line, I helped him translate it to first person (because that was exactly what his story needed) and gave him an equally strong second line. And because I'm such a nice person (not even being sarcastic here) I even let him use my exact words for that second sentence, and let him write around my suggestions. He had such a strong and interesting beginning, and the rest piled up like a train-wreck. I was a bit disappointed.
But you know what disappointed me more?
I made an effort to find something I liked about his story (he had amazing detail that I'm actually jealous of), and gave him some well-meaning advice on how he could improve...And nearly half the class sent him flames in response to his story.
Don't know what a flame is?
Straight from Wikipedia:
Flaming (also known as bashing) is hostile and insulting interaction between Internet users.
In my experience, this is where a person ignores the rules of constructive criticism and simply bashes you about the head with a metaphorical baseball bat and calls you an idiot and stupid and a poor writer. One person's response said "This isn't a junior-high exposition", and another said "You shouldn't have bothered," I swear that Kenny was near tears.
And when he turned to me and told me that people weren't too nice, my first response was to say "Well, it happens," Mostly because I wasn't paying attention too terribly much. But I caught the words in my mouth, turned my full attention to him and said "It's best to ignore people when they're being rude without provocation, because those aren't the things you need to hear. You aren't going to improve if they bitch you out. You probably just shouldn't pay any attention, and only look at the honest critiques that tell you how to improve. For instance, I can promise that mine is clean."
And although his smile was strained, he thanked me and shook my hand. Of course, I didn't say things exactly like that, because I have an interesting dialect that doesn't directly translate into writing, and I was a little rude about these flamers, to be perfectly honest, but I spoke my honest mind and told him that he had a lot of potential.
He does. And honestly, it's amazing how far he's come. He's a cancer survivor. A few years older than I, but he's been in remission for five years. I think his cancer came upon him in elementary school, so it's doubly amazing how far he's gotten. And that's what he wanted to write about: A character fighting the fact that he could get sick again at any moment, and that no one thought he'd get through elementary school, let alone college, and him stressing out about a term paper.
Good idea, lots of details and facts and interesting things, it's just that the dismount was a little sloppy.
I wish him the best of luck!
So, I love how I've lived in this neighborhood for 7 months, and I'm only now meeting neighbors. Not just the people next door (I met the mexi to the right my first few nights here, and the ladies on the left I see at the mailbox all the time...), but like, in the area.
For instance, a guy that I see all the time walking to school or from school (usually directly across the road from me while I'm walking) lives two doors down from me! I saw him enter his door for the first time 3 weeks ago...
But then, he must not have lived there long, because I think that's the place where the pipes burst a few months ago when Dad went upstairs to shower and mum went downstairs to vacuum and she's the one that got the shower....I had wondered why it looked empty for a while. I think they moved out right away....I wonder why that never occurred to me? :D
LOL
Well, several months ago, a girl that I had met in my Fall Lit. Studies class (i.e., how to critique things) drove me home from Poetry. She wasn't half bad, she wrote a cherry blossom poem I rather liked, actually! Well, she drove myself and another guy to the same street and dumped us on the wrong part of the road, and I had just assumed that he lived across the street at the College Manor apartments, which was weird because I never saw him in the area, like, never ever.
Still hardly don't, unless I'm deliberately hunting him down.
But it turns out that he lives on the corner....Next door to that crazy guy with the whacko hair, rucksack, and orange sweatshirt that I thought was a homeless man!
His name is Kevin. And he doesn't live directly next to Dan. Right next to Dan is an unfinished apartment. But since the stairs on the other side of the building are unfinished (and until a few weeks ago stopped in midair) he walks up Dan's stairs and through the unfinished pad into his.
Which is kind of weird.
But yeah, Dan is the dude that lives across the street from me. We are in fiction writing, the second class we've taken together.
At first, I thought he was kinda weird. Well, not kinda: VERY. I'd feel him looking at me, so I'd look over at him with an eyebrow raised, and then he'd give me very...gross and twisted looks. Kinda like "HUH?!" on crack.
And then I'd ask "What is that for? Why are you looking at me?"
And he'd say "You're the one looking at me! Why are you looking at me funny?!"
So I'd throw my hands up in the air and turn away whilst he gave me more disgusting looks.
Drove me absolutely bat-shit.
Thankfully, he doesn't do that too often if you hang out with him a lot. He just tends to be....nuts....in class. Today, he actually told me that he looked at me a lot because the very first time he really noticed me was when I sat down right next to him in class, and proceeded to spend 10 minutes very focused on deliberately poking his hat.
And then ignored him for the rest of the class.
I guess it was like some lightbulb that got switched on and told him "She's interesting!"
So when he saw me in class with him, he bought me lunch (with his roomie) and I found out that he lived rather close, actually.
So now we eat together. Which is good. I get to bounce story ideas off of him, and get free food in the bargain. Even with Miki here I never remembered to cook too often, and only occasionally got to mooch off of her, but my eating habits have gone rather downhill since she's left, so it's nice to have somewhere to go to mooch eggos or pasta or something :D
I still have my own problems with listening to other people, some sort of weird lack of patience. Which makes no sense because I can listen to annoying people natter about their problems for like, an hour in grocery stores and other assorted places...But I can't listen to friends, family, and intimates?
0.o
But I guess we're learning together, because I get to talk, and I get to listen etc. It's nice having an impartial listener, a friend. And someone who might have an idea what to say back. Yup, it's nice.
Not the same as a boyfriend, though. Which I'm glad for. He's not that, that's for sure!
:D Sorry Dan :P
So I got a roommate. Sorta. I think so. I also think that there's been some sort of miscommunication somewhere. She's that type that's super paranoid about roommates. Afraid they won't pay rent. Afraid they'll steal things, or will be hard to get along with...But so far she's moved in her stuff, dodged all talks about rent, and has told me that she has no money and won't be back until the end of July.
And did I mention that her stuff is up in the small bedroom behind her newly locked door? Yeah. She went out and bought a doorknob so that she could lock it. To be fair, I can't complain: My bedroom door has a lock and key. A few months ago I had a key fall on me in the hall closet that didn't fit the front door, and I only figured out that it went to my bedroom a week or two ago. So now we match.
But I only ever lock my door if I'm inside and only shut it when I want the cats out. I never leave it wide open, but I rarely shut it either. I've always liked having my privacy (comes from sharing a room for 10 years give or take), but living with Miki really made me fond of being able to see the person I live with.
I'm not sure what bugs me more, the fact that the door is closed and now the hall is dark and gloomy, or that she assumes that I'll steal stuff, when I'm the one with all of my stuff vulnerable around the house and she's gone and moved in without even bothering to help me with the rent!
I'm not the only one that can see the problem with this picture, am I? Needless to say, I am probably not sharing this blog with her. Which means I should probably refrain from posting the link on my Facebook anymore...No worries, I haven't done that in months :)
Dan and I built a garden on the patio the other day! Like, literally. He had a wooden frame, so we (meaning I watched and he sweated) nailed landscape fabric to the bottom, and filled it all with dirt.
He bought seeds, some of which are way out of season...
Here they are:
Roma Tomatoes
Romaine Lettuce
Spinach
Rosemary
Sage
Basil
Cilantro (which mum says, btw Dan, to go right ahead with. It'll grow just fine right now.)
and Chives
I just killed my Basil, on purpose because I couldn't get rid of the aphids. And let Miki's lemon mint thingy die for the same reason. I shoulda put the second one outside, though, because (2 weeks later. darn.) now my african violet has them....Anyone have coffee grounds? My roommate drinks it...But since she's not here and her coffee maker is locked upstairs I can't make weak coffee to spray the darned this with!
I have dying chives and a hardy rosemary outfront. Might plant the chives in the back in a few weeks and pretend they grew from seeds...Oh wait, did I say that out loud? :D
But the rosemary is in a nice pot, and is blooming, with all of my lavender, so it's fine.
And apparently I have dastardly luck with Pansies....mine petrified. But my primroses are making a gallant attempt! I should probably move them out back, they get waaaay too much light out front.
Poor things.
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
WOOHOO!
I figure, that I haven't been writing this blog for a year, yet, and there are 52 weeks in a year, yeah? That's a pretty g00d ratio, even though I haven't been writing much lately.
It's July. I've been alone in my apartment for....three weeks now? Give or take. I regret not being able to go to the airport with Miki. And I don't blame myself for shutting myself into the house directly after she left and sitting there staring at my laptop pretty much doing nothing all day long. When I came out of my stupor, I cleaned. Like, deep-cleaned.
And the next morning I did even more.
Every week, or so, I've been doing major cleaning. It's amazing the little things that Miki did everyday that kept this place from being a wreck. I've got a little ways to go (*coughs*the dishes smell nasty*coughs*) but I've improved a lot from even since she left.
Although, for the third time, Marin has knocked my hanging plant off the shelf. This time it upended directly into their water dish (which I had just filled, because they had been screaming at clawing at my door for a while) so there was a mud-tsunami all over the floor.
The plant was un-salvageable. Which pissed me off because I had worked hard on nurturing that silly thing!
Oh well, I guess I still have my spider plant, yeah? And I must've bought the hardiest African Violet on the planet, because I haven't watered it in a week, give or take, and it's got the biggest flower buds opening that I've ever seen.
They're pretty, I'm pleased :)
I signed up for a fiction writing class for this summer, I can't remember if I mentioned that previously *is too lazy to check*. It's fun, actually. We got homework on the first day, but that didn't irritate me because it was the most interesting first-day of class I had ever experianced. You know how boring the first class always is? How you always wish that it was the second week already so things would quit being slow? Well, the professor jumped straight in and it was so challenging, and made me think and I really appreciated it.
I wish every teacher taught like her!
Even if she is a tad too perky. Like, scarily so. Sometimes her smile outright scares me. I wonder if she's on uppers, or anti-depressants or something? I wouldn't be too terribly surprised.
We only have to write one short story for this class. Some people are clearly taking advantage of this. I.E. the people that assume short story means a quick exposition that's only 5 pages or less long.
I say, that a short story should only be that short if it's
a. super good
b. super dense
c. all of the above.
After the first couple weeks of in class writing exercises and reading assignments/write-ups we're doing...little progress report thingies, I suppose. You bring in your finished/unfinished story, read it to the class, and we workshop it. Talk about the likes, and the things that can be improved (besides spelling and grammar, just the big-stuff) while you aren't allowed to talk.
No one wanted to volunteer. It was silent for 5 solid minutes, so I jumped and raised my hand. Of course, as soon as I did that....the rest of the class jumped to volunteer next.
Thanks guys!
So I went first. And no, I'm not gonna tell you what my story is about! I had no fears about telling the class, and the teacher, because they are oblivious about the undercurrent of my story. At least, they will be until it's finished. And maybe they still will be afterwards! But anyone that knows me intimately will know that this is an important narrative for me to write, and I don't want to spoil it before it's even finished :D
I did my workshop on Wednesday. I had 5 pages ready, I believe. Maybe a little less. After the workshop, I added 2 or 3 more, which was an awesome feeling. And I don't mean to the end, as in writing more of the story. I mean, like, improvements. Added descriptions and scenes. Yesterday I went to the writing center and worked more on my story, and when I took the suggestions home and worked on the story last night....It cut off a half-page or more. >.< Darn. Seriously?
But I wrote more in the park today. In the super hot weather.
It's been 90+ degrees all week! It's been crazy. I'm not sure I've ever experienced a heatwave like this. I'm also not sure if I can ever remember being comfortable in short sleeves (tank tops, even!) and shorts, without getting chilly somewhere or getting prickly arms or too cold toes...
I like the feeling :D
Even if this wretched heat has been setting off my migraines like nothing else...
So I only have two weeks or so until the end of this class. I have 8 pages written, and I predict it should be around 20 pages long.
Do you think I'll make it?
This thing is coming along a lot slower than most of my stories. I think it's because I've been so...deliberate with it. Making choices that have real purpose, dumping extraneous information, misleading the reader, adding in hints that mean nothing until later.
It's a blast, really. And writing this story proves to me that I have the talent to do something better than the silly little scribblings that I've been writing all these years. 6, to be exact. It pushes me out of my comfort zones, expects me to experiment and think, uses my brain.
No longer do I let my fingers run away with me, or even my brain, for that matter. I make conscious decisions, insert ideas that are relevant and slowly build the story. All of it rushes to my head and gives my fingers life. Slow life, I've slowed down. Whereas I normally pump out 20 handwritten pages a day, I've meticulously arranged these 8 typed pages over the span of the last couple of weeks.
I think I have something going for me.
I don't want to flop.
I don't want to write something that has the potential to be good, but falls short. That rushes at the end and leaves you unsatisfied. I want a polished piece that you, the reader, wants to come back to and read over again and try to find something new, something more interesting. I want to write a work that has hidden nooks and crannies that you have to dig deep into for the things you need, that cause you to think. That cause you to question. That cause you to wonder if your life will ever be the same.
If I cannot do what I want with this piece, then I don't think I'm cut out for this sort of thing. But I think I can do it. I know I can.
Because I'm faaaabulous! :)
Someone workshopped yesterday, that obviously wanted his whole written piece ready to show us. A nice though, but a little rushed. It read a bit like an essay a junior-higher wrote for a contest. Good, might even win, but not to college standards. Or printing standards for a short story. It had so much potential, that it nearly hurt my eyes. And I saw exactly where he went wrong: He wanted so badly to finish, that he quit focusing on the story and what he could do with it, what the story itself could do, and looked only to the finish line. He saw the ending in sight and sprinted for it leaving his team straggling behind him, out of breath and left behind.
I want so badly to see him focus on his story and make something amazing of it. It's such an important and intimate topic for him that he could really pull it off. I want to see him do it, and I think I'd do anything to get him there.
In fact, after he wrote his amazing first line, I helped him translate it to first person (because that was exactly what his story needed) and gave him an equally strong second line. And because I'm such a nice person (not even being sarcastic here) I even let him use my exact words for that second sentence, and let him write around my suggestions. He had such a strong and interesting beginning, and the rest piled up like a train-wreck. I was a bit disappointed.
But you know what disappointed me more?
I made an effort to find something I liked about his story (he had amazing detail that I'm actually jealous of), and gave him some well-meaning advice on how he could improve...And nearly half the class sent him flames in response to his story.
Don't know what a flame is?
Straight from Wikipedia:
Flaming (also known as bashing) is hostile and insulting interaction between Internet users.
In my experience, this is where a person ignores the rules of constructive criticism and simply bashes you about the head with a metaphorical baseball bat and calls you an idiot and stupid and a poor writer. One person's response said "This isn't a junior-high exposition", and another said "You shouldn't have bothered," I swear that Kenny was near tears.
And when he turned to me and told me that people weren't too nice, my first response was to say "Well, it happens," Mostly because I wasn't paying attention too terribly much. But I caught the words in my mouth, turned my full attention to him and said "It's best to ignore people when they're being rude without provocation, because those aren't the things you need to hear. You aren't going to improve if they bitch you out. You probably just shouldn't pay any attention, and only look at the honest critiques that tell you how to improve. For instance, I can promise that mine is clean."
And although his smile was strained, he thanked me and shook my hand. Of course, I didn't say things exactly like that, because I have an interesting dialect that doesn't directly translate into writing, and I was a little rude about these flamers, to be perfectly honest, but I spoke my honest mind and told him that he had a lot of potential.
He does. And honestly, it's amazing how far he's come. He's a cancer survivor. A few years older than I, but he's been in remission for five years. I think his cancer came upon him in elementary school, so it's doubly amazing how far he's gotten. And that's what he wanted to write about: A character fighting the fact that he could get sick again at any moment, and that no one thought he'd get through elementary school, let alone college, and him stressing out about a term paper.
Good idea, lots of details and facts and interesting things, it's just that the dismount was a little sloppy.
I wish him the best of luck!
So, I love how I've lived in this neighborhood for 7 months, and I'm only now meeting neighbors. Not just the people next door (I met the mexi to the right my first few nights here, and the ladies on the left I see at the mailbox all the time...), but like, in the area.
For instance, a guy that I see all the time walking to school or from school (usually directly across the road from me while I'm walking) lives two doors down from me! I saw him enter his door for the first time 3 weeks ago...
But then, he must not have lived there long, because I think that's the place where the pipes burst a few months ago when Dad went upstairs to shower and mum went downstairs to vacuum and she's the one that got the shower....I had wondered why it looked empty for a while. I think they moved out right away....I wonder why that never occurred to me? :D
LOL
Well, several months ago, a girl that I had met in my Fall Lit. Studies class (i.e., how to critique things) drove me home from Poetry. She wasn't half bad, she wrote a cherry blossom poem I rather liked, actually! Well, she drove myself and another guy to the same street and dumped us on the wrong part of the road, and I had just assumed that he lived across the street at the College Manor apartments, which was weird because I never saw him in the area, like, never ever.
Still hardly don't, unless I'm deliberately hunting him down.
But it turns out that he lives on the corner....Next door to that crazy guy with the whacko hair, rucksack, and orange sweatshirt that I thought was a homeless man!
His name is Kevin. And he doesn't live directly next to Dan. Right next to Dan is an unfinished apartment. But since the stairs on the other side of the building are unfinished (and until a few weeks ago stopped in midair) he walks up Dan's stairs and through the unfinished pad into his.
Which is kind of weird.
But yeah, Dan is the dude that lives across the street from me. We are in fiction writing, the second class we've taken together.
At first, I thought he was kinda weird. Well, not kinda: VERY. I'd feel him looking at me, so I'd look over at him with an eyebrow raised, and then he'd give me very...gross and twisted looks. Kinda like "HUH?!" on crack.
And then I'd ask "What is that for? Why are you looking at me?"
And he'd say "You're the one looking at me! Why are you looking at me funny?!"
So I'd throw my hands up in the air and turn away whilst he gave me more disgusting looks.
Drove me absolutely bat-shit.
Thankfully, he doesn't do that too often if you hang out with him a lot. He just tends to be....nuts....in class. Today, he actually told me that he looked at me a lot because the very first time he really noticed me was when I sat down right next to him in class, and proceeded to spend 10 minutes very focused on deliberately poking his hat.
And then ignored him for the rest of the class.
I guess it was like some lightbulb that got switched on and told him "She's interesting!"
So when he saw me in class with him, he bought me lunch (with his roomie) and I found out that he lived rather close, actually.
So now we eat together. Which is good. I get to bounce story ideas off of him, and get free food in the bargain. Even with Miki here I never remembered to cook too often, and only occasionally got to mooch off of her, but my eating habits have gone rather downhill since she's left, so it's nice to have somewhere to go to mooch eggos or pasta or something :D
I still have my own problems with listening to other people, some sort of weird lack of patience. Which makes no sense because I can listen to annoying people natter about their problems for like, an hour in grocery stores and other assorted places...But I can't listen to friends, family, and intimates?
0.o
But I guess we're learning together, because I get to talk, and I get to listen etc. It's nice having an impartial listener, a friend. And someone who might have an idea what to say back. Yup, it's nice.
Not the same as a boyfriend, though. Which I'm glad for. He's not that, that's for sure!
:D Sorry Dan :P
So I got a roommate. Sorta. I think so. I also think that there's been some sort of miscommunication somewhere. She's that type that's super paranoid about roommates. Afraid they won't pay rent. Afraid they'll steal things, or will be hard to get along with...But so far she's moved in her stuff, dodged all talks about rent, and has told me that she has no money and won't be back until the end of July.
And did I mention that her stuff is up in the small bedroom behind her newly locked door? Yeah. She went out and bought a doorknob so that she could lock it. To be fair, I can't complain: My bedroom door has a lock and key. A few months ago I had a key fall on me in the hall closet that didn't fit the front door, and I only figured out that it went to my bedroom a week or two ago. So now we match.
But I only ever lock my door if I'm inside and only shut it when I want the cats out. I never leave it wide open, but I rarely shut it either. I've always liked having my privacy (comes from sharing a room for 10 years give or take), but living with Miki really made me fond of being able to see the person I live with.
I'm not sure what bugs me more, the fact that the door is closed and now the hall is dark and gloomy, or that she assumes that I'll steal stuff, when I'm the one with all of my stuff vulnerable around the house and she's gone and moved in without even bothering to help me with the rent!
I'm not the only one that can see the problem with this picture, am I? Needless to say, I am probably not sharing this blog with her. Which means I should probably refrain from posting the link on my Facebook anymore...No worries, I haven't done that in months :)
Dan and I built a garden on the patio the other day! Like, literally. He had a wooden frame, so we (meaning I watched and he sweated) nailed landscape fabric to the bottom, and filled it all with dirt.
He bought seeds, some of which are way out of season...
Here they are:
Roma Tomatoes
Romaine Lettuce
Spinach
Rosemary
Sage
Basil
Cilantro (which mum says, btw Dan, to go right ahead with. It'll grow just fine right now.)
and Chives
I just killed my Basil, on purpose because I couldn't get rid of the aphids. And let Miki's lemon mint thingy die for the same reason. I shoulda put the second one outside, though, because (2 weeks later. darn.) now my african violet has them....Anyone have coffee grounds? My roommate drinks it...But since she's not here and her coffee maker is locked upstairs I can't make weak coffee to spray the darned this with!
I have dying chives and a hardy rosemary outfront. Might plant the chives in the back in a few weeks and pretend they grew from seeds...Oh wait, did I say that out loud? :D
But the rosemary is in a nice pot, and is blooming, with all of my lavender, so it's fine.
And apparently I have dastardly luck with Pansies....mine petrified. But my primroses are making a gallant attempt! I should probably move them out back, they get waaaay too much light out front.
Poor things.
Regards from Purgatory,
Monica
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
