I suppose you could call me a meticulous person. I live somewhere in between a state of carelessness and OCD that could be called meticulous. (It could also be called anal-retentive at moments, but we won't go into that now.)
Besides, meticulous sounds better. It means careful and tidy and attentive to detail--all ways in which I am fairly certain I can be described. I like to have the bed made (well, I insist on having the bed made--my husband indulges me). I like to have the bathroom counters clean and shiny. I like to keep the dust off the bookshelves (and believe me, this is no small task considering the sheer volume of bookshelves in our home). I hang the coats on certain hooks on the coat rack so that it looks uniform (this may be a revelation that borders closer to OCD...). We have nice things. I want them to stay that way.
I've never really understood people who live sloppily, and that is not to say that I judge them, I just come in to a messy house and can't comprehend what has happened. It's like the episode of Friends when Ross tries to date a supermodel whose name escapes me only to discover that her apartment is absolutely and completely trashed--to the exaggerated point that no one could actually live in such filth, but the point is that regardless of how hot she is, Ross dumps her because she lives in a dump. Mess and clutter gnaw away at me. Not that I don't have clutter. I just contain my clutter, in stacks and folders, stashed neatly away inside a cabinet or closet or file. Then, of course, I can't find it later, which has led to my reputation as something of a packrat, to which my husband can testify, as he has helped me move. Twice. "Do you need this?" he will ask. "Well...." is usually my response. He proceeds to toss said item into a garbage bag. At which point I protest. "If you're going to get rid of it, at least give it to Goodwill." I think we took half of my apartment to Goodwill after we got married.
My meticulous nature has yet to fully transfer to my husband, though. He is notorious for leaving glasses and half-empty soda cans scattered through the house, especially on nights when he is preoccupied by a certain computer game. We share the computer desk in our loft, and often the next morning I sit down to do school work only to find crumbs, sometimes enough that I can ascertain what he ate for dinner the previous night. And though he has learned to make the bed (thanks, honey), his bathroom habits are not up to par yet. As previously mentioned, I like a clean and shining sink counter. My husband has a frequent habit of trimming not only his facial hair but all of his other hair as well over the sink...on the exact day that I have cleaned the sink counter. So when I go to brush my teeth, there is enough of his DNA scattered around the sink to clone him. Last night I even found nail clippings. The FBI would have a field day with our home if they ever needed our DNA samples. What with the bathroom clippings and my constant (and involuntary) shedding of stray hairs.
Yet fortunately, Lucas is meticulous in ways that I am not--he is financially responsible, and now has an iPod Touch that has forced him to actually use a calendar. It's the single greatest purchase he has ever made. He also usually does the vacuuming and cleaning of other floor-type surfaces, a chore that I loathe. We made a deal after we moved in together that we would each have certain domains, and thankfully we are each meticulous about our given responsibilities.
And somehow, some way, my obsessive compulsive behavior has not deterred his love. It's an amazing feat, really. Sometimes we both wonder what we've gotten ourselves into. But there's never a dull moment. Except on my shiny bathroom counter.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
reflections
january 20, 2009.
This day began—ostensibly—
just like each one before it;
a January morning,
shining brightly crystalline.
But the nation rose—remarkably—
to stand as one together;
presuming, while the world looked on,
to gather on the Capitol’s lawn,
two million strong and joyous
joined in glowing adoration,
loud with crowing exultation,
loose with fleeing desperation.
He steps onto the platform
and our shoulders slowly lift
as he promises an age of change,
a healing of the rift
that has brought us to this moment:
the inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
As he speaks, we shine with pride,
people of heightened perceptions,
hearing in his voice the end
of malice and deception.
He has now been, officially,
cemented into history,
standing tall in his new company—
men of power and prestige,
surrounded by the living and the dead.
He rallies with the steady words
of Washington and Lincoln,
while Dr. King recalls his dream,
and listens to the masses scream
their confident approval
of this most auspicious day.
He holds their futures in his hands—
religion, economy, foreign lands—
he bears all the weight of the stifled and poor,
the prosperous man and the children next door,
the soldier still absent and longing for home,
the foreigner wanting a place to belong.
One hand on the Bible,
he embodies a new age
of great responsibility
in which the world can clearly see
us rise above our circumstance
to greatness, not just happenstance,
and lead the world in justice once again.
The hearts of the nation believe,
for this moment,
that one man can change the world.
This date will live in infamy
along with December 7, 1941
and April 14, 1865
and August 6, 1945
and November 11, 1918
and April 3, 1968…
January 20, 2009.
The inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
This day began—ostensibly—
just like each one before it;
a January morning,
shining brightly crystalline.
But the nation rose—remarkably—
to stand as one together;
presuming, while the world looked on,
to gather on the Capitol’s lawn,
two million strong and joyous
joined in glowing adoration,
loud with crowing exultation,
loose with fleeing desperation.
He steps onto the platform
and our shoulders slowly lift
as he promises an age of change,
a healing of the rift
that has brought us to this moment:
the inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
As he speaks, we shine with pride,
people of heightened perceptions,
hearing in his voice the end
of malice and deception.
He has now been, officially,
cemented into history,
standing tall in his new company—
men of power and prestige,
surrounded by the living and the dead.
He rallies with the steady words
of Washington and Lincoln,
while Dr. King recalls his dream,
and listens to the masses scream
their confident approval
of this most auspicious day.
He holds their futures in his hands—
religion, economy, foreign lands—
he bears all the weight of the stifled and poor,
the prosperous man and the children next door,
the soldier still absent and longing for home,
the foreigner wanting a place to belong.
One hand on the Bible,
he embodies a new age
of great responsibility
in which the world can clearly see
us rise above our circumstance
to greatness, not just happenstance,
and lead the world in justice once again.
The hearts of the nation believe,
for this moment,
that one man can change the world.
This date will live in infamy
along with December 7, 1941
and April 14, 1865
and August 6, 1945
and November 11, 1918
and April 3, 1968…
January 20, 2009.
The inauguration of the 44th President
of the United States.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
the state of the music
I should've known better.
I only listen to the radio if I am in my car, and recently discovered that The Mix does "New Tunes at 9" every weeknight. I was excited about this, thinking that on my way home from classes I could get to hear some new cool music. I should've known that "new" tunes don't necessarily mean "good" tunes.
The following are artists recently heard on New Tunes at 9 and the comments I have regarding their songs.
Dear Kelly Clarkson: I have always liked you. I still think you are the best American Idol. I love your Breakaway album. But since then you have continued to disappoint me. And this new song? Really? How can you take yourself seriously while singing "My life would suck without you"? That's a terrible title and a terrible lyric and you deserve better. My regrets.
To Hinder: I will give you credit for having one of the catchiest songs about cheating on your girlfriend--I will admit to listening to it from time to time. But I guess your new song, Without You, made you realize that if it's hard to be faithful once, the romance won't last long, since now you're fine without her.
Saving Abel, your lyrics are so inappropriate that I don't even want to quote them on my blog, yet you have managed to get mainstream radio play. How did you do that with a song that's about all the things your girl does for you in bed? That's what you like about her, not her personality or her character. And here I am watching you move up the charts. Ugh.
Oh, Beyonce...you are a beautiful and talented woman. Why do you sing such crappy songs? I am forced to turn off my radio any time they come on, that's how awful they are. No offense.
Dear Meiko, I don't even know how your song makes sense. You claim that you know better than to be friends with boys with girlfriends, but the rest of your song is about stealing another girl's boyfriend. I heard it and was confused.
Miss Taylor Swift, how old are you again? Your song starts with the line "we were both young when I first met you"...um, aren't you still young? That's what I thought. You are not old enough to have flashbacks yet or tell tales of when you were young. Let's leave that to The Killers, please. But darn it, if this isn't a pretty catchy super-sappy overly-cheesy song. It did get stuck in my head the other day. But I'm not happy about it.
The rest of you featured on New Tunes at 9, I will let off the hook for now. But if this is the direction pop music is headed, I want no part in it. It is maddening to hear so much bad music broadcast nation-wide, while the talented songwriters remain stuck in obscurity.
In the words of Keith Martinkus...That is all.
I only listen to the radio if I am in my car, and recently discovered that The Mix does "New Tunes at 9" every weeknight. I was excited about this, thinking that on my way home from classes I could get to hear some new cool music. I should've known that "new" tunes don't necessarily mean "good" tunes.
The following are artists recently heard on New Tunes at 9 and the comments I have regarding their songs.
Dear Kelly Clarkson: I have always liked you. I still think you are the best American Idol. I love your Breakaway album. But since then you have continued to disappoint me. And this new song? Really? How can you take yourself seriously while singing "My life would suck without you"? That's a terrible title and a terrible lyric and you deserve better. My regrets.
To Hinder: I will give you credit for having one of the catchiest songs about cheating on your girlfriend--I will admit to listening to it from time to time. But I guess your new song, Without You, made you realize that if it's hard to be faithful once, the romance won't last long, since now you're fine without her.
Saving Abel, your lyrics are so inappropriate that I don't even want to quote them on my blog, yet you have managed to get mainstream radio play. How did you do that with a song that's about all the things your girl does for you in bed? That's what you like about her, not her personality or her character. And here I am watching you move up the charts. Ugh.
Oh, Beyonce...you are a beautiful and talented woman. Why do you sing such crappy songs? I am forced to turn off my radio any time they come on, that's how awful they are. No offense.
Dear Meiko, I don't even know how your song makes sense. You claim that you know better than to be friends with boys with girlfriends, but the rest of your song is about stealing another girl's boyfriend. I heard it and was confused.
Miss Taylor Swift, how old are you again? Your song starts with the line "we were both young when I first met you"...um, aren't you still young? That's what I thought. You are not old enough to have flashbacks yet or tell tales of when you were young. Let's leave that to The Killers, please. But darn it, if this isn't a pretty catchy super-sappy overly-cheesy song. It did get stuck in my head the other day. But I'm not happy about it.
The rest of you featured on New Tunes at 9, I will let off the hook for now. But if this is the direction pop music is headed, I want no part in it. It is maddening to hear so much bad music broadcast nation-wide, while the talented songwriters remain stuck in obscurity.
In the words of Keith Martinkus...That is all.
Monday, January 12, 2009
the wii
This post has been on hold for a few weeks because I thought Lucas would blog about it, but he hasn't yet, so since I have nothing else to blog about, meet our Wii Fit.
We got a Wii Fit for Christmas as our gift from Luc's parents, and it is one of the coolest things ever. No, really, I don't even like video games, but this is spectacular. Not only does it have balance games, yoga, strength training and aerobics, it is your very own personal trainer, complete with sarcastic comments and just enough of an attitude to make you feel guilty about your health choices.
For instance:
I logged in this morning after having not logged in since Saturday (only one day removed). The Wii Fit proceeded to ask if I was "too busy to work out yesterday?" You can almost hear the condescending tone, especially since Lucas has now become self-conscious about not only how much time he puts in on the Wii Fit, but about his eating habits. He even refused to go to McDonald's last week on the premise that the Wii would know that he had been to McDonald's. (Since watching Eagle Eye, he has become a little paranoid.)
But the games are fun, and this may be the only time EVER that I succeed in beating my husband at a video game. It has become my own personal conquest. Every time I get a higher score on a balance game I send him a text letting him know. And I successfully managed to make my Wii Fit age equivalent to my actual age, so I had to let him know that too. Unfortunately, he has managed to make his Wii Fit age younger than his actual age. But today I beat his score on the snowboarding game, for which he has many excuses, but I still hang on to the fact that even if it's nothing like real snowboarding, I still won!
We got a Wii Fit for Christmas as our gift from Luc's parents, and it is one of the coolest things ever. No, really, I don't even like video games, but this is spectacular. Not only does it have balance games, yoga, strength training and aerobics, it is your very own personal trainer, complete with sarcastic comments and just enough of an attitude to make you feel guilty about your health choices.
For instance:
I logged in this morning after having not logged in since Saturday (only one day removed). The Wii Fit proceeded to ask if I was "too busy to work out yesterday?" You can almost hear the condescending tone, especially since Lucas has now become self-conscious about not only how much time he puts in on the Wii Fit, but about his eating habits. He even refused to go to McDonald's last week on the premise that the Wii would know that he had been to McDonald's. (Since watching Eagle Eye, he has become a little paranoid.)
But the games are fun, and this may be the only time EVER that I succeed in beating my husband at a video game. It has become my own personal conquest. Every time I get a higher score on a balance game I send him a text letting him know. And I successfully managed to make my Wii Fit age equivalent to my actual age, so I had to let him know that too. Unfortunately, he has managed to make his Wii Fit age younger than his actual age. But today I beat his score on the snowboarding game, for which he has many excuses, but I still hang on to the fact that even if it's nothing like real snowboarding, I still won!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
the in-between phase
I hate the in-between phase. I never have enjoyed it. I have always wanted to move ahead, on to the next thing, get on with it already. But I am in a very long in-between phase at the moment, working on my degree so that I can continue with the trajectory I long ago set out for myself. In the meantime, I work part-time jobs here and there, keeping myself busy with activities, but stuck in this rut all the time of feeling like I'm still waiting for my "real" life to begin. At 26, you'd think I'd have moved past that stage by now. I revert, though, to my last post, knowing that my identity is not in what I DO, but who I am.
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
Anyway, while sorting through all of this yesterday, I took some time to write. And here's what crawled out of my creatively dormant state.
.the in between.
in between the earth and sky
the reasons why
all disappear…
and asking only cultivates
an attitude of fear
of knowing all the answers
and failing just the same,
of looking through the surfaces
and finding just a game;
in the winter air
the need to care
can slowly wisp away…
a breath of air that dissipates,
the lonely sigh that emanates,
the heated tongue that hibernates
until the spring appears
but in between
we catch the dream,
the falling star,
the fable;
and all the things
that grant us wings
catch up before we’re able
to open wide
before the tide
our hearts, our souls, our hands
and grasp the fleeting vision
cast out upon the sands
waiting to be gathered
by the willing and the meek
granting sparks of purpose
to the ones with time to seek
the in between
appears unseen
and waits to be discovered;
in the waiting and the wanting
lie the opened and uncovered,
where the cracks have broken open
and the truth peeks through the holes
and we see with eyes of hoping
the way back into our souls
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