Concert on a School Night

Over the weekend Elizabeth fell in love with this band, and since they were playing a show, she wanted to go.  She asked a bunch of us to come along, and as I got an invite, I said sure.  Jane and Ruth were both going to come, but they didn't show up, so we left without them.  I was disappointed, since I like hanging out with both of them.  Ruth recently complained to me about Jane's behavior, so I wonder if neither of them showed up because they thought the other one might. 
We took a cab, which I about never do.  We split it four ways, so the good news is that I only owe Miriam five dollars for the night.  (I am miserably bad with change, and didn't have any fives or ones to give her.) 
The cab driver was totally awful.  He sounded totally confused with Claire told him where to go.  He kept repeating it as if he'd never heard of it before, and this makes me nervous.  What is it with non-native English speakers repeating everything you say to them?  It makes me wonder if they aren't understanding, which would be fine, if they would just ask.  There's a guy at the caf that does the same thing.  When he first started working there, this would really irk me, but now I mostly ignore it. 
It took him a while to find it, and then he sort of just left us in the middle of the street.  Um, gee, thanks?  Claire told me she thought he was "absolute crap."  Amen. 
The concert was at this hotel.  Actually, I'm honestly not sure if it was a hotel, because the ground level was a very dark bar, with all this wood paneling so it looked super fancy and old, like it would be the sort of place Victorian playboys or Edwardian lords or even flapper girls.  I hate the phrase "old-timey" but that's what it reminded me of. 
We went up these stairs, where everything was painted a kelly green.  At the top was this bizarre room.  It was a greenhouse on the roof of the building.  The floor had hexagonal white and black tiles, like a bathroom (and again, an old bathroom, like something from the fifties) and Victorian streetlamps in the middle of the room.  In one corner, the band was setting up.  On the side opposite of where we entered, a very large and fancy bar was being set up.
We were early, which was weird, because Elizabeth thought we were going to be late. 
No, instead we spent a lot time sitting around waiting.
The music they played while we waited was all very mod, very forgotten bits of the London 60's.  I rather liked it.  I used to listen to this music a lot as a young girl, but I haven't for ages.   
I feel a little badly about admitting this, but I was not happy with the other sorts of people at this gig.  There were a lot of women there, and a lot of them were tall and leggy and clearly could be models.  I am not a beautiful person; I felt uglier than normal there.  There were also a lot of hipsters there, and I could feel myself roll my eyes internally at them. 
Claire asked me where I had gotten my outfit, which was the same one I had worn out a few weeks back when I went out with Erin and Carrie.  I told her I had mostly gotten it second hand.  The dress, belt and pants were all very cheap, and considering how good I looked, I was pretty pleased with this.  The sweater was my Mom's, on loan.  And the underwear and panties I had on underneath were mine, along with the socks and tennis shoes.  (Aren't you glad to hear that?)  "I spent about fifteen dollars on this outfit, overall" I told her, which is pretty damn good.  She was impressed. 
At this point, a man sidled up to us.  He was with a girl.  He looked Mediterranean, with the dark eyes and hair and beard.  Usually, I would find someone like this attractive, but the skin around his eyes was all red and there was something about him that was off. 
For some strange reason Claire felt the need to tell him I was a bit rambunctious.  He didn't grin but said "Tell me more."  Oh ew.  Okay, moving on. 
The opening act was this young man from a band who was just playing solo.  He was okay.  He was playing a very country/blues kind of sound, which normally would be fine, but the crowd clearly wanted to party, and here he was, sort of killing the mood with all these sad songs about girls leaving him.  He had one about, I kid you not, driving out on New Orleans during Katrina. 
How old is this guy? I thought.  He looked my age or slightly older.  He was near New Orleans during Katrina? 
He was also weirdly egotistically.  Like, he had this whole thing where he acted as if he was amazing, and although his playing was quite good, there was nothing about him that was memorable (other than maybe his strange self).  He seemed to be playing mostly as a way of pushing himself on the audience. 
He talked to much, and Claire didn't like him or his music and she didn't like that he was swearing.  At one point, she said something under her breath about the swearing, and it was at the perfect moment, because a hush just happened to fall on the audience right then, and everyone heard her.  Claire covered her mouth in embarrassment, and I roared with laughter. 
The guy continued playing slow songs.  There was something about him that was really awkward, but he also seemed really oblivious about it. 
"Did you think you were the best I ever had?" he sang.  I found myself thinking that if anyone had him at all, he'd be terribly lucky. 
Finally, he realized his slow songs were slowly killing everyone, because midway through one he said "Fuck it.  I'm going to play something uptempo."  And he did and it was surprisingly, mercifully, better than what had been happening. 
Afterwards, he announced he was going to send free zip files with full studio albums from his band to all of us, and curious, I signed up for it.  Unfortunately, this meant having to go up and talk to him in person, which honestly, I wasn't really interested in doing.  He shook my hand and he seemed okay, though still a little full of himself.  He talked to me as if I should immediately think he was a genius, and this annoyed me. 

I Hate Laundry

Somedays, nothing goes right.  I was having one of those days yesterday. 
It started with me needing cash.  I walked to the nearest shop and looked through the things.  I was going to buy a drink, but I was sort of wary of doing this, since temptation was going to be high.  I have given up pop for Lent, and there wasn't much else there to buy.  I finally settled on a vitamin drink, which was hopefully healthy. 
I bought it and got the cash back I needed and went back to my building. 
Usually, there are meant to be these rolly laundry carts in the laundry room.  You can borrow one and put your things for washing in it.  There's been a problem with people taking them and then not returning them.  And I found myself annoyed and on the end of this problem when, yes, I was in a rush and there were no carts.  I didn't have anything else to take my laundry in, so I took a chair that happened to have wheels.  I was hoping that no one would see so that no one would see how silly I looked, a mile high pile of clothes on a chair, but I forgot about it as soon as I realized the chair would need to be pushed extra hard between the crack between the floor and the elevator. 
There was another woman in the elevator.  She was going to do laundry.  Oh no, I thought. 
I exited first, and went into the laundry room quickly, beginning to put my laundry in a washing machine.  I was already so behind schedule-wise, and if I didn't get two machines I was going to be even farther. 
Someone was calling in the hallway.
I peaked my head outside and saw the woman from the elevator and another woman standing there, a sock in between them on the floor.  My sock. 
This sort of angered me.  It was a sock.  Not even a pair, just one sock.  They both saw me and saw where I went.  Both of them had their hands free, and not either of them could pick up said sock, walk into the laundry room, (which is right next to the elevator) and hand it to me.  No.  They had to call at me. 
They had to call at me so that I would exit the room and so the woman in the elevator could take the machine I was going to take.
Obviously, I was really annoyed.  There was something about it that smacked me of how very rude they were.  I probably glared at the woman.  I would have probably said something to her, calling her something equally rude, as soon as I finished trying to cram two loads of laundry into one washer, but then Sarah came in the room.
Sarah said hi to me, and I said hi back, my mind only half paying attention to her.  I was clearly busy.  She kept talking. 
"So you heard about what happened?" she asked. 
"Yes."  I had.  I had wondered if it was going to embarrass her to the point of dropping out of sight.  I would have probably disappeared, had I done the same thing. 
"Well, I have these nieces and nephews, and the oldest nephew is just like Dennis the Menance-"
Seriously?  I thought.  Do I seriously have to deal with this now?
"-and he is just like him, and after I told them about what happened he said 'Well, that was probably the leprachauns' and then I remembered that was the old story the Irish use to use when they did do something wrong.  How appropriate, right?"
"Yeah, that's a cute story."  It came out hollow, and I didn't mean for it to.  I like Sarah; she's nice; I was trying to be nice back to her. 
"Are you having a bad day?" she asked. 
Sarah's actually pretty good with human behavoir.  I was sort of surprised she didn't pick up on my stress earlier. 
"Yeah.  I need an extra washing machine."
Sarah looked into the one nearest her.  "This one is done.  Let's take the clothes out."
The woman from the elevator walked towards her.  "No, I'm using that one."
And the other one on my left, I thought.  There are two sizes of machine, and she had enough for one small one, but felt the need to use both one small machine and one large machine.  I was still annoyed at her for the sock incident less than three minutes ago. 
"Oh," Sarah said. 
"It's really okay," I said.  I was stressed, but I was trying not to take it out on her.  I just needed to cool off. 
Sarah promptly left, and so did the other woman.  I pilled as much as possible into the first one, but realizing I couldn't get anymore in, realized I would have to wait for the next machine to open up.  And would be even more behind. 
I sat down and did some reading while I waited.  The woman eventually came back and said hi to me.  I didn't give her much of a glance, but maybe she sensed my anger because she left pretty soon after that. 
Eventually, a second machine opened up, and I got the rest of it started.  Sarah came back in with a collection of books.  She said she was cleaning out her place and she had lots of good titles.  I had already taken a bunch of books from her earlier. 
"I'm sorry about earlier."
"It's okay, we all have bad days." 
We talked about books for a while, and she talked about one of her favorites, Overheard in NYC.  She had it with her and I looked over it while she talked to me about it.  "When I first read it ten years ago, it really offended me," she explained. 

Roommate Troubles

When I was younger, I started leaving rooms when I got really angry.  I didn't have to do it a lot, but occasionally I did.  I did it mostly to allow myself the time and space to calm down. 
At around one in the morning yesterday I realized I needed to do the same thing.  So I grabbed my key and left. 

I ended up in one of the common rooms, watching television.  The screen was all snowy, but I watched part of an episode of Stargate Universe, which I had actually never seen before.  I tried to concentrate on the show and not what was making me angry, although my mind kept wandering back to my problems.  I hate this. 
By the time I went back to my room, I had a compromise in mind.  It was too late to do anything about it tonight, so I tried to sleep. 
And couldn't.  Again, even though I tried to concentrate on sleep, my mind was wheeling around problems.  This is both a good and bad feature.  Good in that I can usually quickly figure out how to fix something.  Bad in that I have a hard time thinking about anything else, and when I'm trying to sleep, not being able to relax is bad. 
But also because, well, the problem was my sleep.  There's a lot of noise on the street below us, even well into the night.  My roommate won't let me close the window at night because she says she gets too hot.  And then the noise keeps me up.  (It apparently doesn't bother her one bit.)  Instead of her, say, not wearing winter pajamas to bed, which would be an obvious way to fix it, she said something that angered me last night, which is what prompted the retreat.  I was trying to be the better person, but trying to do that was meaning I was up half the night, the sound of ambulance sirens and car door alarms keeping me up. 
I tried to tire myself out.  I have all sorts of tricks that sometimes work.  I got on my computer for a half hour, hoping the harsh computer glare would make my eyes tired.  No luck. 
Around 4:30 this morning, still awake but in that state of "dear God, just let me sleep," another set of sirens went off and I finally shut the window.  It took me at least another half hour, but I finally fell back asleep. 
She woke my up in the morning, opening her drawers and doing something strange with liquid.  (Every morning there's a glug, glug, glug sound and I find myself wondering why she can't do that in the kitchen, since that is where she is heading next.  I am trying to be patient, but I am stunned by how generally inconsiderate she is.  When she is sleeping and I'm awake, I try to do things that are either inherently quiet or if they aren't and they have to get done, I try to do them as quietly as possible.  Every morning she must open and close at least six drawers.) 
I got up then because it's not worth trying to fight it.  I just got up and waited for her to close her drawers enough to let me walk past.  Once she was out of the room to get her breakfast I changed and got breakfast myself. 
I was tired at breakfast this morning.  My eyes were doing that itchy thing that tells me they're red and that I'm tired.  I didn't really feel like talking to anyone.  I thought about offering her a compromise, trying to decide which one would be the best. 
When I got back to the room, I sat down at my computer and started doing my usual morning routine of catching up with the news.  And she left.  I was going to offer it to her this morning, but she's gone. 
Part of me is still really angry.  Like, ready to pick a nasty fight angry.  But the other part of me so wants to make this work, since other then the noise thing, I mostly don't mind her.  I can try to forgive the early morning wake up if I can just manage some decent sleep in the first place.

The Next Place

We tried another place for my Grandma, just because it seemed silly not to consider several options.  We walked into a place where there was a little alcove and a bunch of small cafe tables.  We signed in.  As we walked past, I noticed they had a drink dispenser just like the one the had at the caf at school.  I suddenly felt oddly homesick.  I missed school.  It was an odd thing to remind me of school, I guess, but it did.
We walked down long hallways decorated with green and yellow carpets.  Again, there was a lot of fancy decorating that reminded me of old homes.  We went through a large room that had a cross on the wall.
We came to a receptionist and asked for a tour.  She asked us to fill out a form.  My Mom started, then she was getting a call of her cell phone. 
One of the things I find that I hate about hanging with my Mom is that she is always getting calls from people.  Sometimes they are work related, but their mostly just women who call every day just to talk.  Sometimes I'd like to remind people that my Mom is very busy, and doesn't really have time to just talk.  My Mom passed me the clipboard, and I began to write other things out. 
When it came to my Grandma's conditions, my mind went blank.  I knew what was wrong with her, I could explain it, and yet the names of the conditions were just at the tip of my brain.  I knew that was a sign that I was tired.  I tried to fill it out as best as I could.
When my Mom got off the phone, she looked at my work.  "I wouldn't draw attention to this," she said.  Then she softened.  "But otherwise good job."  I wasn't really interested in what she had to say about it, one way or another.
The Program Director came to see us.  She was young, looking not that much older than me (which made me wonder).  She had long dark brown hair and freckles.  She was wearing a purple blouse with a big chunky necklace.  She took us around.
She reminded us, almost immediately, that they were a Catholic community.  They had mass once a week, as well as rosary once a month and other activities.
She took us into a room to see.  She showed us the bed, that a tv already came with the room.  She asked if my Grandma was on oxygen.  Usually she wasn't, but then my Mom mentioned she might be.
My heart fell a little.  No one had mentioned she was going to go on oxygen, though it made sense.  She had trouble moving, was tired all the time, and was having respiratory problems.  Oxygen made a lot of sense, though I find myself more worried the less she can do for herself.  The director showed us how the room was set up to conceal her oxygen tank in a wall fixture.
Every room was private, and every room came with a full bathroom.  That scared me a little.  My Grandma shouldn't be showering on her own, and she's lazy enough that she doesn't try, but I could see a resident who lacked that to try and shower on their own and then slip and fall. 
The director explained that my Grandma's drugs would generally be in her room, because they didn't like pushing a cart around like in a hospital. 
"Is there anyone on call at night?" my Mom asked. 
"I don't know," she answered.
That didn't sound so good to me either. 

Dinner at Jimmy's

I stood in Jimmy's room, trying to ignore all the signs of life that I would normally find interesting.  I was on the phone with my Dad.
"Can I come home a little later?" I asked.  I figured the answer would be no, because my Grandma was in the hospital, again.  And to some degree, rightly so.
"Why?"
"I got invited to a brunch with some friends."
"Okay."
I was relieved.  I wanted to squeeze out every last drop of goodness from this trip, especially since it looked like I wouldn't be coming home to anything good.  I had a bunch of business to attend to immediately coming home. 
This trip ended up being far more stressful than I thought it would be, mostly because the problems that I had last semester (my Grandma being sick, friends needing support, my various boy problems) all flared up again.  Mostly, it made me think that for all my trying to move on, nothing has really changed yet.  It's been a disappointment, to be honest.  I steeled myself to go back out to everyone.
Luckily, no one asked what the phone call was about.  Maybe, given what they know about me, they could have already guessed. 
Paul was working on shredding cheese for our meal.  Jimmy was cutting up onions.  There was nothing for me to do (though I offered to pay for my bit of the meal), so I watched.
"That's some great cutting," I told Jimmy.  It looked like the moves you see on one of those cooking programs. 
Jimmy didn't say anything, as usual.
"Jimmy won't take a compliment," I explained to Ben, who was sitting at Jimmy's computer in the living room area.  Ben laughed.  "I'm working on him."
Ben, meanwhile, was watching YouTube videos, everyone's favorite way to blow off time.  He told us he really liked Old Spice commercials, which sort of baffles me, because there's something gross and sleazy about so many of them.  We found one featuring everyone's favorite child star, Neil Patrick Harris.



Then Paul got on my political hero, Robert Byrd.  After looking awhile, we found what I consider his best speech, where he tells people he's older.  Ben watched it and said it was a really good speech.



Once Jimmy finished the dinner, we ate.  It was delicious.  Everyone fell silent as we ate.  Jimmy said that was a huge compliment in itself.  I'd be happy to have Jimmy cook for me all the time. 

Ben, it turns out, is a fan of Doctor Who.  Perhaps someone tipped him off to my love about it, because we got talking about it.  He was telling me he had just watched "The Lodger."
"That's the episode right before the two episode season finale."  Don't be surprised by this recall of mine.  I often am the one correcting people's knowledge of the show.
They were apparently showing that first episode of the finale, which I told him was good.  He was all baffled by my geekiness.  Get used to it, I thought.
We then started on the dishes.

Lunch with Paul

Nate and I had a long talk, mostly about relationships, and then we retired to our separate rooms.  Nate and I, I suspect, could really live together.  I think we get along swimmingly.
The next morning, we were waiting for a call from Jimmy, who was going to be able to tell us what was the what when it came to Paul visiting.  Paul was really the reason for this entire visit.  At the beginning of the month, Paul texted me, saying that he was going to visiting, and that maybe I should consider coming too.  Twenty minutes later, Nate texted me, also saying that I should come visit.  It took a bit of work, but I managed it.  And now I was finally going to see the person I wanted to see: Paul.
As I was waiting, I began setting out my stuff to retouch my toenails.  As I was just about to start, Nate got the call.  Paul was indeed here.  So we should all meet over at Jimmy's place.
When we got there, Jimmy cracked open the door.  There he was, his beard recently trimmed.  I hugged him and it felt so good and familiar.  And then I hugged Paul, and again, good and familiar.  Then next thing I thought was "Damn, Paul's lost some weight."  Like, at least ten pounds.
Ben was going to hang out with us too, so we walked to a Chinese food place via Jimmy's suggestion.  Paul joked about how Jimmy had taken Kristina to this same place for their dinner before the Honor's College Ball.  I hadn't heard this but I was sort of horrified.  I mean, I don't know if going out before hand is necessary, but seriously, not some hole in the wall with suspicious looking furniture.
It was broiling hot outside.  I was grateful that I had worn a light shirt and capris.  We sat inside, but I could feel sweet build on my forehead and above my lips.
We ordered food.  We ate.  We watched this scary television program they were playing in the restaurant.
I haven't seen Ben in a while, and he announced he's going to graduate school in Sweden.  Ben has Swedish ancestry, so this isn't totally strange, but he doesn't speak Swedish.
I have personally considered going to England or Canada for graduate school, but the idea of going to Sweden (or any other non-English speaking country) has never occurred to me.  Apparently you don't need good grades either, as Ben assured me.  I would like to go somewhere far away for graduate school, but this has problems too.  One one hand, I like traveling and having adventures and being far away means my parents are more likely to keep their distance.  On the other hand, I'll be far from my friends, and I want to be around them.
After we ate, we headed over to this record store that I frequent.  Again, I found myself thinking about how I hadn't gotten to do so much in college.  I had a whole fantasy involving going to this store with a young man, going back to his place and putting on some spacey records, laying on our backs and having one of those long conversations that you have with someone you love.  And then being totally junior high and making out.
As you can see, in addition to having a real life, I have a pretty active fantasy life.
We mostly talked while in the store, though Ben got excited when he saw some stereo equipment on sale for a good price.
"If you don't buy it, it's like you're losing money," I said.
"Yeah, that's exactly how I feel!"
I don't really know Ben as well as the other boys, and maybe that's another failing on my part.  I seem to have managed not to do anything right in college.

Library Fantasy #2

I spent a ton of time today and last night doing reading for various classes (a piece on the Crusades, one of Saint Louis, part of a book on Shell Oil in Nigeria, Oranges are not the Only Fruit, "Recitatif," a Winterson article.) Mostly, when I'm doing a lot of reading, I wander around until I find a comfy/semi-quiet spot to work in, since I don't have a couch at my place right now and I get antsy if I'm not moving.
One of my favorite quiet places are on the second floor of the building I live in. There's these two different rooms in two different corners of the buildings, and they're perfect. Generally, no one's there, and there are leather couches and tables and chairs. One of the rooms has tons of books, which I cataloged as a sophomore. Last night and today, I opened the windows, and enjoyed the nice weather and the perfect atmosphere for productivity. The weather has been a big help in keeping my mood up, and being left alone made it possible for me to really concentrate. I actually don't mind interruptions, usually, from friends. (It's when it's people I dislike it's a problem.)
As I was sitting in this reading room, I found myself fantasizing about having a large library someday. A nice library is a real steal. (The picture is from a conceptual piece for Buffy the Animated Series, which never happened. As of right now, it's my ideal library, except I want there to be comfortable, huge chairs, like the kind you find at Barnes and Noble, and blankets and even Snuggies.) I want to have lots of books, strange ones, leather ones, fugly ones. I want there to be no room for anything else, so there's no art on the walls. Except for Roman Empire busts. When I was in London, I hung out a little at the British Library, and one of the workers told me of a library they had received was cataloged by whatever Roman bust was on top of the shelf. I can say that I'm probably not that crazy, but I definitely want a collection: Julius, Augustus, Caligula, Nero, Hadrian, Marcus Aurelius, Sepitimus Severus, Caracalla, Elgabalus, Valerian, Diocletian, Romulus Augustus, Justinian. And then of course, when I have visitors to my library, I'll see who's up on their stuff. Maybe to throw them off, I'll throw in Suetonius and Catullus and see who's really on their game.