Claire's Birthday Dinner

I was talking to one of Claire's friends, named Chris.  He was telling me about his hometown, how everyone muttered and how he had taken up speaking fast but that he didn't really have an inbetween speaking speed. 
"You don't have to perform for me," I said, referencing the fact that he was an actor. 
"So just to be clear," I asked.  "Are you gay or straight?"
The other people at our end of the table heard us, and they went up in fits of laughter.  Both Vicki and Amanda admonished me for speaking to him like that. 
"She doesn't have a filter," Amanda said. 
I do too have a filter.  There are all sorts of things I don't say, and I suspect that people would be deeply scarred if they heard the majority of my thoughts.  In comparison with other people, who lack thoughts to say in the first place, sure, it looks like I am filterless.
I suspected that Chris wouldn't mind me asking, and he took it like it was totally normal.  "I wake up everyday asking myself the same question," he said. 
After a while, one of Claire's other friends came along.  He sat down at the table next to Chris and in front of me.  He was dressed as a hipster.  We chatted about the neighborhood and made fun of hipsters and how expensive the whole thing was.  As he was talking, his voice reminded me vaguely of someone's, and then it occurred to me that he sounded just like Kashif.  And then as we continued talking, I realized he didn't just have Kashif's voice but that same particular sweetness that I've only previously encountered in Kashif.  Too bad this young man was gay. 
He talked to me about singing, which he was apparently into, and about how everyone can sing, and about the business aspect of getting a job in singing.  He asked me what I did, and I said I was a poet. 
(As an aside, can I just say how impossibly hard I find the question of who I am or what I do?  I hate the idea of identifying myself as just one thing.  But at the same time, if allowed to, I would babble on forever about who I am and I suspect people still wouldn't know.) 

In any case, the young man was nice enough to be supportive, ask me who my favorite poets are (another question I dread and never seem to just have a good, truthful and concise answer to).  He told me he liked Sylvia Plath, and since I like her too, that got us both off and running.  We discussed the Bell Jar. 
He also was nice enough to make some suggestions for where I should go read my poetry.  He told me it was casual, and not to worry.  I really don't like to read my poetry; part of the reason I write is because of my aversion to performance. 

Maxwell had moved over to sit with us at that point, and he talked about his failed attempts at dating and how much he really wished he could be on Gossip Girl.  A lot of people probably wish they were on television shows, myself included, though Gossip Girl isn't the first one that comes to mind. 
Chris and I continued talking a bit.  He told me about how much he loved Joss Whedon, and guessing correctly, I asked if he liked Firefly.  (Shocker, he did.  When boys say they like Whedon, none of them mean they like Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel, what they mean is that they like Firefly.  Which would be fine but I wish they'd be more honest about it.)  He also said he liked Dr. Horrible. 

At this point, I mentioned to him that I wished someone would invite Whedon to work on Broadway, as I thought it would be interesting to see him work in a live audience setting, and this got the boy talking about a live production of Dr. Horrible he'd seen.  He went through everything with me, the actors, the singing, how Bad Horse was managed, how the lighting worked; it was very detailed and very boring, as I hadn't seen this live production.  (It was almost as bad as listening to Emily earlier that day rave about Darren Chris on Glee.) 
And then Chris mentioned he had a girlfriend. 
Oh Gods, why bother? I thought.  And I was a tad annoyed Claire had sat me with him with no indication that Chris wasn't single. 
Obviously, it was time to abandon ship. 

We talked a little more.  I asked him what it was like to work with Claire, and he said that she was his favorite person, and that of everyone he knew, he thought she was going to make it.  We chatted about superheros, particularly Spider-Man.  We ate our dinners, and Maxwell shared his chips with us.  (Good man.  There are few things I like better than food, and one of them happens to be free food.)  Then I went to the bathroom.  I made the move of leaving, but then was persuaded to stay, and sat at the other end of the table with Jenny, Tamara, and Ruth. 
Ruth was complaining bitterly to Tamara about school, who, possibly more bitter than Ruth about the whole thing, was whole heartedly agreeing with her.  We started talking about the waiter, who I've encountered a couple of times before at this place.  He is very talk, and somewhat built, with a little fat  on him.  But what I find extraordinary about him is his face, particularly his hair.  It's very dark and long, and in some guys, I find long hair very attractive, as with him.  He had the whole dark eyes thing to complete the look.  He looks very much like he should be playing in band, particularly bass or even maybe drums.  When we asked him last night, he said that he use to play football and that's all.
That's all, I thought.  Good Lord, you must be lying.  I can't imagine that he is only a former football player.  And, moreover, what the heck is he doing being a waiter at a restaurant?  Surely he must have some other goal.  I was hoping he would illuminate us as to that.  (Jenny joked later that he was an Amnesty International lawyer, which I would find totally acceptable, vaguely intriguing, and a surprising choice.) 
Then we decided to move on to our next place.  We walked down several blocks to a pub I had passed by multiple times but had never been in before. 

Church was okay.  The choir had a lot of unity among their sections, but as a whole, not so much.  There were parts where they were just off.  I tried to control my face so people wouldn't show my disapproval. 
One of the reasons I was excited to go to midnight mass was because this would mean there wouldn't be any children.  Which of course means that they only people who did bring a toddler sat right behind my Mom and me.  After the choir finished its first song, the little girl screamed "YAY!" and it echoed.  I was getting a headache.  Great. 
The little girl continued to scream during the service.  When the priest first ascended to the altar, she started screaming about Santa.  I considered turning around and telling her that Santa doesn't come to little girls who scream in church, because I could have sworn that my Mom told me that when I was a child. 
I guess what really annoys me about the screaming little girl is that you'd have to be stupid to drag your two-year-old out to a mass that starts at midnight.  And the church has a cry-room, and tonight it was totally empty. 
The priest gave a sermon on the historical background of Jesus's birth, talking about the Roman Empire.  I found myself thinking about Machiavelli's Monarchy, which is this eccentric argument about how monarchy is God's form of government because Jesus was born at the time of Augustus.  (Oh I know: where to even begin taking an argument like that apart.  I suspect this is why I've never come across anyone who's tried.  It's such a terrible argument no one even needs to refute it.)
People think history is boring, and no one in church was really that interested in Luke and titles, even though I thought it was interesting, but I took Roman history from a secular perspective, not a Christian one.
Right as we were going through the ritual for the Eucharist, the little girl behind me finally stopped screaming, but now she was sobbing.  That it took that long was shocking to me.  I didn't turn around to shake hands with these people because I was afraid my face would be all screwed up in disgust.
My Mom felt the need to give me a commentary of what was going on in the choir.  There's a new music director, and I hate to admit I find him very attractive in a vaguely Alan Cumming sort of way.  He was using an Ipad to play music off of, which I've never seen before, but I guess that's an application I had never considered for a device like that.
After mass I was able to avoid talking to some neighbors.  My family likes them but I honestly don't like most of them, and like I said before, I'm trying to avoid people I went to school with once because of the judginess of everyone.  I'm doing okay, and I'm grateful, but to some degree, people will always find fault with you.
We went home, and I was disappointed to realize church hadn't cheered me up the way it usually does.  I suspect that this is one of those things were I like church with friends or alone, and I found myself missing Paul again.
At home, my sister and Dad were making slushies with some new device my sister got for Christmas.  (She decided to open a gift early.)  She offered to make me one, but I honestly didn't feel like one.  I spiked some egg nog with spiced rum and that was okay.

My Dad went to bed and my Mom and sister went to watch a movie.  I saw that Invader Zim and Doctor Who were both on, so I went into another room to watch those.  And then ended up watching more of my hottness on Criminal Minds.  Which was fine with me.  I watched tv and did some creative nonfiction writing. 
Finally, around 3:30 in the morning, I went to bed. 
My Mom woke me up to open presents by texting me.  (I don't know why but my family has taken to texting me even when I am in the same building.)  And then Robert texted me "Merry Christmas!" 
I went downstairs to open presents because my sister was going to see her boyfriend later in the day. 
We opened presents.  I got some books, movies and music.  My sister liked the t-shirt I bought for her.  I'm still disappointed in myself for not getting her a purse like I wanted, but maybe that was for the best, since she got two purses for Christmas as was.  My sister ironically enough also got me a t-shirt, with a big cross on it. 
I went back to bed.  I didn't really sleep much because Jennifer, Ashley and Philip all texted me Merry Christmas messages.  I was surprised to hear from Philip, but happily so.  I've really missed him lately too. 
I gave up on getting more sleep and got up.  I went downstairs and started working some more on my writing.  My Mom came in and turned on the tv to a Christmas movie of some kind I had never heard of before. 
I thought about going with my Mom to the hospital to see my Grandma.  My Mom is afraid, in addition to all are other fears about her, is afraid that maybe she's lost her Medicare.  I really hope not, but this just seems like one more problem to deal with and we already have so many problems concerning her as it is. 
I offered to go, but my Mom told me to stay home because she wanted to stay all day and didn't want to come home early because of me.  So I guessed I was staying home. 
I took some notes on some ideas for romance novels. 
I tried to get some lunch.  My sister was doing some last minute baking, and it's kind of hard to get to stuff in the kitchen when someone's working on a food project.  When she was finally done, I tried to find something to eat.  I was going to make nachos (the only thing I've been really wanting to eat lately) but the cheese was gone and my chips were all broken up into small pieces anyway.  I decided not to bother.
Which is how I ended up spending my time in front of the tv.

Out and About

Lisa was backing her car up. 
"There's a cop there," I noted, watching him walk past and then in back of the car.  We hadn't even gotten in the door yet, and there were police officers.  Was this foreshadowing? 
Once we got in, it definitely felt like we were early.  There was a ton of noise from the music, but almost no one around.  Two people came out and yelled at us, clearly both having a good time. 
I got a Long Island, because I have decided they are how I am going to judge a place.  Madison and Lisa both got the same thing, something fruity.  (I do not like coconut, which is why I do not drink things with coconut flavored rum.)  Madison said she wanted something that would get her really drunk, which is why a Long Island was really a good choice, but Madison likes fruit drinks. 
We found a place to sit near a billiard table.  It was this tiny little table, but the three of us squeezed in.  Madison had wanted to come here, but Dan had also suggested this place.  It was actually hard to imagine Dan hanging out here, but only because he likes to drink in the privacy of his own home. 
We caught up with each other.  I had already talked about what was up with me in the car, so there wasn't much for my to say.  Lisa talked about how her and Michael have started looking at engagement rings.  Even though Michael hasn't proposed yet, they've looked at rings, which really surprised me.  They've been together for years, and I figured they had thought about it, but I feel like you've kind of ruined the surprise of getting married if your partner knows you've been looking at rings. 
Madison talked about her crappy week at work.  She's been really stressed out.  She got reprimanded for a mistake.  Poor thing. 
As I was drinking the Long Island, I was struck by how hard it was hitting me.  I should have had something better to eat before we went out.  Like a hamburger. 
Tori joined us after about forty minutes.  She had a family dinner so she couldn't come earlier.  She got her hair cut, and it's one of those super adult short cuts that makes her look very momish. 
Tori complained about how her aunt harassed her at this family reunion over her hair.  And then she talked about her cousin, who doesn't speak any English. 
We were sitting near a window, so we enjoyed watching various people on the street.  There were a lot of bachelor and bachelorette parties wandering by and in and out of the bar.  One young woman was carrying a huge blow up penis.  She put it up against the window near where Lisa was sitting. 
In the meantime, I got a shot of whiskey and a Fuzzy Navel.  As I did the shot of whiskey, the man standing next to me at the bar was really impressed.  When I do whiskey, girls are totally ambivalent, but guys are always both scared and impressed.  
Madison wanted to check out the club next door, so we wandered over.  I decided not to order a drink right away, and I was really glad I didn't, because they were ten dollars.  (Who has that kind of money?)  All three of them got martinis of various kinds.  Tori's was bright neon blue and Madison's tasted like a thin mint liquidized. 
The only good thing about this club was that they played Lady Gaga's "Bad Romance." 

New Walking Regime

Went out for a walk.  Now that I'm back home, I have a very different walking thing going on.  At school, it's a suburban environment, so I walk on sidewalks and on relatively flat land.  Here, it's the nowhere, so I walk through woods and up and down hills.
This is probably better for me, excercise wise, just because I'm more likely to get my heart beating and to sweat a little.  I actually hate sweating, because I feel like if you run into a cute guy, it's the first thing that's going to turn him off about you.  (Though in my case, my personality would probably do that anyway.) 
I was out on a particular trail that I haven't walked since December.  Last time I was on this trail, I was with my Dad, Uncle and second cousin.  It was totally different with them. 
Also, I'm annoyed by people and their dogs.  I realize that people love their animals very much.  That doesn't make it okay to let your dog wander around without a leash.  It's hurtful to the environment, especially if it goes off the trail.  So don't do it.  Respect the woods.  Be a scout and leave it better than when you came to it. 
While out, I came up with an idea for a present for Mom.  It's something for the business she runs.  I'm going to have to come up with a clever name for it, but I think she'll like it, since she complained about not having one last year. 

This Morning

I slept in today. Sleeping in at home is usually a bad idea. For whatever reason, my Mom looks down on sleeping in. I'm not sure why exactly, given that I don't have anywhere in particular to be today. But if she was home, she would taunt me about it, or, if she was in an especially bad mood, she'd pick a fight with me over it.
Which is why I was so pleased that she isn't home today. I can sleep in without drama.
Getting up was another matter. I went down to the kitchen, where my sister was eating. I scavenged around a bit. There's nothing to eat here. I should be more specific: there's nothing to eat here I haven't had twelve times already this week or isn't bad for me. So I'm often left wondering what I should eat. Skipping meals is bad for you, but I often find, despite my hunger, that there's nothing here I want to eat, and end up not eating. I go for the not eating.
Then I'm back up in my room, turning the computer on. And there's no internet. There's internet for everyone else in the house, but not me and my computer Stella. No. This would be too easy. I mess around with it for a minute. Nothing.
I just got a new device a few days ago that was suppose to make it so I could get internet easier. It was working perfectly for the last few days. My Dad asked how it was last night at dinner. "Great," I said. Should have knocked on wood. I went to go get my Dad and asked him to look at it, since if anything should happen to Stella when I'm using it, I'm in trouble. If anyone else messes it up, it's the universe's fault.
So I'm back downstairs in the kitchen, again, rummaging, looking for something to eat. Still nothing. I consider one of my usual techniques for not being hungry while at home: drinking water. It's the sort of terrible thing an anorexic does, but it gives me the brief allusion that I'm full. I go with it. As I'm opening the fridge, one of the magnets falls off the door and breaks.
That's it. It's official: today is crappy. I've been up for a whole nine minutes and I've gotten frustrated by three things already. Now you wonder why I hate being at home? My minimum for frustration at school is usually three hours.
My Dad comes down and asks if he can reboot the computer. Seriously? I could have done that. I thought about doing that, but considering how bad it is for Stella, I decided against it, because there must be some other way to fix the problem. "Don't you think it's bad that it has to be rebooted?" I ask him.
"Look, there's no other way to fix it. If you have a suggestion, I'd love to hear it."
Woha. That was uncalled for. I asked a question, one that, given the circumstances, is valid. Rebooting is not good for a computer. You should do it only in extreme circumstances. Like, you know, when there is no other way to fix something.
This is one of the things I really struggle with when it comes to my Dad. He doesn't take criticism at all, to the point where it's impossible to have a conversation with him, even a calm one, over a problem. As bad as I am with criticism, I am not nearly this bad. This is one of the ways I hope I am never like my Father. If you have a problem with him, you're stuck, because he'll never listen to you. He'll never consider that you might have feelings and that he is (unintentionally or not) stepping all over them.
He goes back upstairs to mess around with the computer, but has no luck with it, and gives up after ten minutes
Oh, and now I'm hungry again. Perfect.

I Will Tell About It

Like I mentioned earlier this week, there was a picnic for graduating honors seniors. It was mostly fine. I ran into Mikey, and he told me all about his plans to go to New York. I ran into Courtney, and she told me all about her plans to go to Japan. I told them I was still waiting. I increasingly hate the waiting. I want to tell them that I have a plan, and it involves things. Mikey and Courtney are gracious people; neither of them made me feel bad for not having anything definite, but this doesn't help me feel better.
I didn't know the vast majority of people there. There was a couple there, Lauren and Paul, and they had just gotten engaged last night. I don't know why, but it bothered me. Looking at her face, which still had childhood's freckles, and his face, unpocked. There was something too young about them. The only thing I could think about was Kristina's smart remark a few weeks back about getting married young and having a tiny ring. Their ring made me think of the rings children find in their cereal, the kind that little girls play with when they are playing princess. She picked the tomatoes off her sandwich and gave them to him.
I walked home. I slept. I had a strange dream that I've had before and has nothing to do with this. And then I realized what it was that was bothering me as I woke. Looking at them, I went back to May 1937, the Sharon Olds poems. I've always liked this poem. I've always thought that I understood the angst of knowing how deeply your parents hate each other. And I still do, but now I understand why when people my age say they are getting married, or do get married, why I think "No. You don't understand how bad this could be. Be smart. Don't do this."
But how could I tell people that? It's easy to dismiss me; after all, I've spent the last three years avoiding long-term relationships. I'm finally ready, emotionally-speaking, to try again, to really try again, with some I love, but I've discovered recently that there's no one that feels the same about me. And I could be bitter about that, but then I think of this poem. I think of books on hips, of marriage, of "we would never hurt anyone," of wrong men, of suffering, of hunger, and of paper dolls, and then finally I think "No. I'm choosing. I am choosing to take things slow. I'm choosing to be smart."