My New Home Away from Home

(Originally written on September 22, 2009)

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I am finally into an apartment and am no longer living in the B-Dub!  It’ll still be a while before it feels like home – it won’t feel like home until I have Peabody and Lilly here – but it just feels great to get out of the hotel!

Out of Character

(Originally Written on August 30, 2009)

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This is my sixty-ninth post!  Woo-hoo!

Alright, now that I’ve gotten that bout of immaturity out of my system…

I realized tonight that this is the first time that I have been away from home for any length of time and not looked back on a single photo – not even of Peebs and Lil.  THAT is really weird.  As (I think) I’ve alluded to before, I am obsessed with reminiscing and taking tons of pictures.  I think I have strayed away from looking back at pictures this time because I’m afraid that it’s just gonna make me miss them more.  But now I’m worried that I’m not missing them.  I don’t know what’s worse…

My Departure

(Originally written on August 22, 2009)

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Today I began my journey to Philly.  And I got off to a late start – I wanted to leave by 10am, but things kept piling up onto each other and it just didn’t happen.

One of the things that held me up was Chip’s and Dale’s birthday lunch (they turned 19 today).  By the time I got to Beast’s and Martyr’s house to drop off Peabody and Lilly, it was around 11:30am; hence, I decided that I may as well stay for lunch.  Martyr is currently studying to become a masseuse and was getting out of class at 12:30pm-ish, so I shared a couple of beers with Beast, Chip, and Dale in the meantime (early, I know, but I wasn’t just going to leave perfectly good beer sitting in my empty apartment after moving out – and sharing it with Beast, Chip, and Dale is much better than just leaving it with them and not being able to partake in the drinking of it myself!).

Also at the house was my grampa (Martyr’s dad).  He and my brothers have always had a special bond.  And by that I mean that it is public knowledge to the entire family that Chip and Dale are his favorite grandkids.  Martyr thinks that he has gone out of his way to make such a dramatic effort with them in order to somehow make up for and/or forgive himself for being such a poor father.  (Grampa was a drill sergeant in the Army and was outrageously strict whenever he was actually home – he did two additional, voluntary tours in Vietnam and one additional, voluntary tour in Korea on top of his mandatory tours.  Of course there’s more to it than that, but that’s the base of it, I believe.)  So, anyways, it was no surprise that Grampa made the three-hour drive for their birthday.

Well, let’s just say that Grampa and I have had our disagreements throughout the years.  I have a pretty strong personality and he is very structured in his ways – it’s his way or the highway.  He also drove semis for a living after retiring from the Army (he gets restless if he doesn’t have something to do), so he’s really familiar with the national highway system and such.  So, for example, while we were waiting on Martyr this morning/early afternoon, Grampa took the opportunity (as he does) to tell me how to drive – and there’s no interrupting him once he’s started!  So even though I sat there and repeatedly and continually said, “I know, Grampa, that’s exactly the route that I’ve already decided I’m taking,” I still had to listen to his whole 20-minute spiel.  And then he went on and on about how there are a lot of toll roads up in the northeast (which my Google Maps directions already told me about and for which I brought my change collection).  He just likes to take charge of everything…and it’s kind of a pain-in-the-ass.

So, anyways, back to the birthday lunch – as we were sitting there and I was getting ready to depart on my journey, Grampa turns to Martyr and asks her if it would be alright for him to come with her whenever she brings up Peebs and Lil.  And she said YES!  Why the hell would Martyr tell him that it’s okay for him to come up and help me move in?!  Shouldn’t that be MY decision? Ugh! I can just see him telling me exactly how to arrange everything in my apartment…

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The drive today was a nightmare:  I drove past/through three accidents that brought traffic to a standstill.  For the last one, I only moved five miles in one hour.  Come on, people!  After passing the first accident you should have taken it as a sign that you should drive more carefully – let alone after passing the second one!

•     •     •     •     •

The ceiling of this Holiday Inn Express is glittered…  I even called down to the front desk to check if it’s supposed to be that way.  It is.  That kinda creeps me out…

My First Love

(Originally written on June 17, 2009)

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The very first love of my life (besides Beast, I suppose, but that doesn’t count – aren’t all girls’ first loves presumably their fathers?) was Puma, my first cat.  He’s a black, brown, and grey Tabby.  I can remember picking him out when I was in the first grade:  he was the runt of the litter and the only kitten that wasn’t all black.  We were told that he was a girl, so I originally named him Dina, like the Alice’s cat in Alice in Wonderland.  However, once we got him to the vet, they told us otherwise, so we changed his name to Tiger on the spot (original, I know).  And over the years his name has evolved to Puma.

Puma was never the friendliest cat, but he and I have always had a special connection – he slept with me every night, would only let me pick him up and hold him, and would only come when I called for him.  Mind you, I endured his wrath more than a couple of times and Beast nearly killed him once for scratching my face up.  I remember one time when he bit me, I retaliated by holding him down, scolding, “How do you like being bitten?” and then biting him on his back.  Ha ha ha – I was pulling cat hair out of my mouth for days!

Well, Puma is 17 years old now.  He has definitely mellowed with age:  he’s friendlier, lost a few of his marbles, and looks pretty mangy.  He still brings his kill presents of mice and birds to the front and back doors of the house, but now lets anyone pet him without retaliation (but I’m still the only person that he’ll let hold him).

Anyways, when I brought Peabody to Beast’s and Martyr’s house as a kitten, he and Puma instantly bonded.  It was really cute, the way they played together and how Puma tolerated Peabody’s kitten antics.  Lilly, on the other hand, not so much.  And, surprisingly, it’s her that gives him the hard time, even now after she’s been around Puma for a couple of years.  She really hates him.  I think it’s because she can sense Puma’s and my closeness and it makes her jealous.  And she’s really aggressive, just in general.  I think she understands that she has to share me with Peabody, but she’s too territorial to let another cat (Puma in this case) be loved by me.  As little as I get to see Puma, I wish Lilly would lay off of terrorizing him!

Oh Dear

(Originally written on June 16, 2009)

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I don’t even know where to begin with everything that has happened today, but I’m gonna give it my best shot.

I have been watching over Ursula, Chip, and Dale and holding the fort down at Beast’s and Martyr’s house since Sunday because Beast and Martyr are in Arkansas for Beast’s cancer treatment (Beast has a very rare cancer:  multiple myeloma, and that’s where the specialist is) and Martyr’s dad (my grampa) couldn’t make it (he normally steps in to do this kind of stuff in situations such as this).  So, for starters, I’m a little out of my element since I’ve been living out of a suitcase and not getting to sleep in my own bed.  Also, Peabody and Lilly are going nuts being around Martyr’s three cats – they are not happy about it.  Anyways, before they left, Martyr told me that no friends were allowed to spend the night while she and Beast were away.  Not too much to ask, right?  Wrong!  You see, I’m the “cool sister”, if you will, that normally hooks Chip and Dale up with booze when they need it (they’re only 18) – the way I see it, if they don’t get it from me, they’re just going to go and get it from someone else (and Ursula refuses to help them out, even though I did it for her until she turned 21, too…).  So Chip and Dale have been bugging me about that.  And, oh yea, Ursula loves to be a tattletale and get the three of us in trouble; she has a history of being untrustworthy and guilesome.  So I’m torn between maintaining my “cool sis” rep and truly earning Beast’s and Martyr’s trust (while also avoiding having to worry about Ursula’s big mouth).

So now that I’ve gotten that important bit of background laid out, let’s take a step back to what happened last night.  Mario’s parents recently (like, within the past couple of days or so) abruptly decided to get a divorce…while they were on the third day of a two-week long (originally intended, that is) romantic beach getaway together.  In the heat of the argument, Mario’s dad took the car, leaving his mom in Florida by herself with no way of getting back (apparently, she commanded him to do so, making sure to be completely moved out of their house before her return), and came back to town alone.  So…Mario and his family (minus his mom, of course) have been drinking quite heavily over the past couple of days since his dad’s return.  Well, last night was no exception.  I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak with Mario in person about his parents’ situation and wanted to be there for him, and he invited Chip, Dale, their bandmates, and me to join him and his family in drowning their sorrows.  I figured, hey, Martyr never said anything about spending or not spending the night out…so we took Mario up on his offer.

Some more relevant background information real quick:  you see, over the course of the past month or so, I’ve been getting these signs from Mario that indicate that he likes me as more than just a friend (but I don’t see him that way).  For example, whenever we’re sitting next to each other, like, on a sofa watching TV or whatever, he will rest his hand on my knee or airdrum on my knee (he’s the drummer in his band), and he once texted me, “I had the biggest crush on you in high school.”  I mean, what am I supposed to say to that?

Well, yesterday afternoon, Mario sent me a series of texts consistent with what I just explained, two of them being, “I’ll feel much better once you’re here,” and, “Everything will be better when I see you.”  So before heading over to Mario’s place, Dale, the bandmates, and I went to Los Compadres for dinner, where I made sure to down a couple of margaritas.  Chip was hanging out with his girlfriend and was planning on catching back up with us at Mario’s afterward.

Okay, I’m starting to see where this is going:  if I continue to describe all the details, this one post is bound to quickly turn into a novel.  So, long story short, I let Dale borrow my car (as opposed to driving his own) – but not before lecturing him (in front of his bandmates) on driving carefully because I’m responsible for everything while Beast and Martyr are away.  Dale met up with us at Mario’s later, but didn’t drink, so I rode back home with him (to Beast’s and Martyr’s house) after a bit.  Not only did I want to avoid any uncomfortable occurrence between Mario and me, but I also felt that staying the night at the house is part of what Martyr asked me to do.

This morning at 6:30am, Dale walked into my bedroom (I had been sleeping).  He quietly approached my bed, handed me my car keys, and said,

Elliott, you aren’t going to believe this…but I wrecked your car.

What?  You’ve got to be kidding me.  Come on, it’s 6:30 in the morning.

No, I know you told me to be careful, but…

Are you serious?

Yea.

Upon realizing that Dale was, in fact, telling the truth, I first made sure that he and the bandmates were alright.  Then, he explained to me what happened:  they were sitting at the red light at the entrance to our neighborhood and when it turned green, Dale decided to floor it.  Then, a deer hopped out in front of the car and he swerved to avoid it, colliding with the guardrail.  They didn’t call the police to report it because they were afraid that there might still have been traces of alcohol on their breath. Oh dear… Well, what was done was done, so I told Dale to just go to bed and that we’d take care of it later when we were awake.

I got up and took a look at the damage:  shattered left headlight and severely dented front bumper, hood, and left front panel, which was pressing on the tire.  I don’t know how he was able to drive it the rest of the way home.  Anyways, Dale wouldn’t get out of bed, so I took it upon myself to inform Beast and Martyr about the incident.  I was expecting the worst – something along the lines of them telling me that they couldn’t believe that I had let this happen.  But, surprisingly, they took it really well.  Really well…and then they informed me that they’re having to extend their stay in Arkansas from tomorrow’s original return date to Friday because of Beast’s condition…  Great.

Oh!  And I also awoke this morning to a couple of additional little “surprises”.  I received a text from Mario last night sometime while I was asleep that said, “So I really like you,” and, around the same time, he twittered or tweeted or whatever, “@[my twitter name] but I am SO into you.”  I mean, the text was one thing, but all of our mutual friends/contacts/followers (I don’t let anyone follow me who I don’t know) can see and read his tweet – I don’t know if they would necessarily get it; they could think it’s an inside joke or something, but still!  What am I going to do?  Do I confront him about it?  Do I just continue to pretend that it didn’t happen?

The Music Box

(Originally written on May 20, 2009)

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In September of 2007, Martyr’s mother (my gramma) died from ovarian cancer.  She was by far the grandparent that I was always closest to.  Like me, she was an artist – only, she preferred oil painting, whereas I prefer sketching and working with colored pencils.  Now, Gramma was never one to play favorites, but I think the two of us had a special connection because of that (the art).

Anyhow, Martyr and her sister (my aunt) were responsible for dividing up Gramma’s estate after she died.  I submitted my request for only one item:  a little 3” long by 4” wide by 1” deep jewelry/music box.  It’s really primarily a music box because the music-workings take up so much room that the remaining space for the jewelry compartment is only 3” x 1” x 1”.  I guess I could put a couple pairs of earrings in there…  For as long as I can remember, that little music box sat on the counter in the hallway bathroom of her house.  When we were really little, Gramma would play it whenever she gave us baths.  Over time, however, the inner-workings of the little old box had broken so that when wound up, the key would unwind crazy fast as soon as you let go of it – within seconds, regardless of how much you wound it.

Lately, I’ve been hanging out with Mario a lot more.  Sometime last week after a drunken night downtown, I briefly mentioned the music box and showed it to him when he dropped me off.  I didn’t think anything of it, just a drunken tangent, and I assumed that he dismissed it as the same.

For my Bacchus trip, Mario volunteered to feed Peabody and Lilly while I was away.  Thus, I temporarily entrusted him with a key to my apartment.

After carrying up my luggage when I got home this afternoon, I plopped down on my sofa and audibly exhaled as I looked around at my apartment.  When I glanced in the direction of my dining table, I noticed that Gramma’s music box was sitting on it.  I thought, “That’s odd, I always keep that in my bathroom upstairs.  What is it doing down here?”  I got up, walked to the table, and noticed that there was a note in front of the music box that read, “Open Me.”  It was fixed! Immediately, a huge grin took over my face and my eyes welled up with uncontrollable tears of reminiscence, happiness, and gratitude.  I then waited a bit to calm down before calling Mario and thanking him.

No one has ever made such a nice gesture towards me or in any respect as benevolent as what Mario did by fixing Gramma’s music box.  I know I could have taken it in and gotten it fixed at any time, but I probably never would have.  I mean, I only talked with him about it that one time, that one brief moment.  And then I come home after three nights away and he’s gotten it fixed for me.  It just means a lot.  Because I do miss Gramma so much – even when she was sick from her chemo meds, she still had a sense of humor about her.  It’s really refreshing that Mario did that for me.  I’m not sure how I’m going to thank him; I’ll just have to think about it.

Storytelling 2

(Originally written on March 22, 2009)

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As I sit down to type today, Peabody is sprawled out on his back in a sun spot and Lilly is perched atop my shoulders.  Ah, I wish today could just be a lazy Sunday…

So to revisit stories from yesterday:  When I was roofied back in April, long story short, I reported the incident.  The morning after, I was suspicious and immediately went to get a drug test.  It came back positive for PCP.  After viewing the security tape, we ended up finding out that it was, in fact, the older guy at the bar that I had suspected.  BUT, he paid with cash and the bartender didn’t recognize him as a regular.

I also reported my rape immediately after it happened, and that investigation is still under way.  We actually know who the guy is, but he is denying it and the detective on my case is a bit of an idiot.  I don’t feel like talking about this particular story at this point in time, so I will revisit it later.

I really just want to stress that, even though it’s painful and humiliating to have to relive such a traumatic event, IT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU REPORT RAPE AND RAPE-RELATED INCIDENTS – IF FOR NO OTHER REASON, TO POSSIBLY PREVENT IT FROM HAPPENING TO SOMEONE ELSE.  Even though, for example, the guy who roofied me is unidentifiable, by reporting my incident, the police now have a file on the guy that can be used to help nail him later.

I really wanted to write more today and get off of the rape topic, but I better hit the books in prep for those two half-midterms I have tomorrow!

Stepping Back

(Originally written on March 20, 2009)

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Looking back at my last post, I see that I have quite a bit of explaining to do.  I guess I thought I’d be able to write more at the bar.  Everyone left me to myself when I was studying notes, but that all seemed to go out the window once the laptop came out…  Where to start?

I think I’m first going to give you a better idea of who I am and what I like and do:

I love music, my favorite genre being classic rock.  Led Zeppelin is my favorite band and Jimmy Page is a god amongst men.  Other favorite bands in the genre include Pink Floyd, The Moody Blues, Derek and the Dominoes, Queen, The Yardbirds, The Beatles (of course), The Who, and Blue Öyster Cult.  So, naturally, I got Chip and Dale hooked on the good stuff when they started playing guitar!  I grew up playing the piano, so I also enjoy the more classical stuff.  I listen to everything from opera to pop to rap (I can’t help it – I’m a white girl who loves to dance…or try at least!).

Beast sells beer and wine for a living, and has done so ever since I was born – it’s safe to say that he is a wine connoisseur.  I cannot claim the same for myself, but I am most definitely a wino!  He got me started at a very young age:  there is a picture of me taken when I was only two years old sitting at the table with a tall-stemmed glass of Pinot Noir and a plate full of Pinot grapes.  It is utterly fantastic – I’ll see about getting it scanned into the computer next time I go home.  Anyways, my favorite red is Farnese’s Montepulcciano d’Abruzzo and my favorite white is Selbach’s Riesling Spätlese from the Piesporter Michelsberg region.

I am the proud mother of two cats:  Peabody and Lilly (no name/identity protection necessary).  Peabody is a handsome, large-and-in-charge Orange Tabby that will be four on September 20^th.  Peebs is the biggest sweetheart and a huge pushover.  However, he doesn’t care for being held and cuddling is hit-or-miss.  He also has retarded nipples:  the last pair is instead a group of three.  Lilly is a blue-eyed Tabby Lilac-Point Siamese that will be two on May 5^th.   She loves to play fetch and I fear that she will never out-grow the kitten troubles.  Even though she drives me crazy, she is very loving.  She likes to cuddle and lick my ears.  I think she has a superiority complex because she always wants to be high-up on my shoulders or on my chest, as opposed to in my lap or me holding her.

I don’t believe in awkward situations.  I think it’s all what you make of it.  When most people think of something as being awkward, it’s because they aren’t equipped with the social capabilities that enable them to know how to act when caught off-guard.

I am a perfectionist.  If I am going to do something, I always go in to it with all I have.  I think this trait can be attributed to me being a competitive gymnast growing up.  I was good, too – I won first place on the balance beam at state two years in a row.  It really taught me how to focus and pay attention to even the slightest of details.  I think my competitiveness is also rooted in my gymnastics background…

Even though I’m incredibly independent, I have a surprisingly traditional view of dating.  Now, I don’t expect guys to open my doors for me all the time or anything like that.  Mainly, I don’t want to be the breadwinner – I think that’s the guy’s role.  When Martyr became pregnant with Chip and Dale, Beast told her that he didn’t want her to work anymore, that he wanted her to stay home and take care of the kids.  I am the person who I am today because of that.  For me, though, IF I ever even have kids, I just want the comfort of knowing that’s an option.  I’m too much of a workaholic to completely give it up!

That’s a good start for now.  I’ll prepare some stories for the next post.

p.s.  Still no word from that company…  On the other hand, I have been contacted by a different company that is located in Boston!