The Beginning of The End of Facebook

So... facebook.

I've been on facebook for almost one year. I joined up last September-ish when a friend told me it was the better way of keeping in touch. She was right. I do keep up with a lot of people I wouldn't necessarily talk to if they weren't on facebook; people who I do want to keep in touch with, people that I do want to hear from, and people that I don't necessarily think to pick up the phone and call.

Instead of calling, we keep in touch peripherally by engaging in trades of - admittedly - egocentric status updates that inform any "friends" of what we find relavant to report on.

And, I will say, I have hidden some people - who will remain nameless - because, honestly, I just don't give a shit what you are doing and when, but I had to accept your request for friendship because that's just the kind of girl I am. (You know, the kind who is easily pressured and extremely non-confrontational.)

I'm also the kind of girl that leaves people in what I like to refer to as "facebook purgatory." It's that transitional place where a person who has requested my friendship waits for me to "approve" or "ignore" their friendship. They request, and then... They just... wait.

My mother, not yet on facebook, finds it's concept truly horrifying. "Why would I want everyone knowing what I'm doing all the time?" she asks. "I don't know, Ma." I tell her.

She calls to tell me she received another email invitation from "facemail" and she is getting really irritated. "Don't these people have lives?" she asks, "Who cares what I'm doing?" "I don't know, Ma." I say passively.

And, really, I don't know.

As far as I see it, facebook is for people who have difficulty staying in touch, not people in relationships, which require communication, who are just too lazy to follow through.

The Completely Fabricated World

Remember when The Real World was... well, real? I mean, real is relative, in the world of reality television (oh, the irony), but you know what I mean.

I just watched (wasted) about fifteen minutes worth of the Real World Cancun. It is anything but actual, tangible, relative information. Not to say that MTV ever really broadcast actual, tangible, relative information (Singled Out, anyone?), but, really, this crap is ridiculous.

Ri. Dic. U. Lous.

Episode synopsis: Boy with plugs and tattoos (read: Token Bad Boy) gets drunk all day at the roommates' "job" (which is basically playing chaperone to masses of spring breakers) while he is not working, then brings the "whore from the booty-shakin' contest" home for some good ol' fashioned midday hookin' up, then sends her home, goes to sleep, and then doesn't get up for work when his way more responsible (read: Boring) roommate (you know, the MTV-thought-he'd-be-good-material-'cause-he's-gay one) wakes him up. When he is confronted by a boss about his not showing up, he says "cut the drama."

Cut the drama?

Oh. The real-ness of this is staggering.

Not long afterward, the boss calls a meeting to discuss the importance of showing up for your shift (Is this meeting material? Isn't this the entire premise of having a job?) and calling if you can't make it to work and the tattooed shift-skipper says in his one-on-one interview: "Way to call me out, dude!"

Yeah. I'm pretty sure that's what he was doing. He was definitely calling you out.

Then later, "I love you, Cancun, but I hate this job!" Well, Cancun loves ya too, buddy. Cancun and booty-shakin'-whores. They both love you.

Ugh. I can't.

Besides. Nobody lives in fucking Cancun. This is just gratuituos and nonsensical.

And, finally, a letter.

Dear MTV,

Are you that desperate? This should be called "The Train Wreck."

Your characters learn completely unrelatable life lessons like how to hold down a ridiculously easy job, how not to make out with their hot, sexy roommates while their significant others are hundreds of miles away, pining away while they film a booze-drenched reality show in Cancun. Calling them every night and saying "Baby, I love you" six hundred times might be enough. We'll see.

Thanks for my dose of self-worth tonight, MTV.

Love,

Katie

Dog Days of Summer

His favorite spot... inches away from the fan.

The Stoops in Philadelphia

This happened. We thought it was funny.

No drugs for you, it's all locked up.

The Day Mother Nature Cooperated With NBAM

We at the New Bedford Art Museum held our summer fundraiser, The Garden Party on the Harbor, this past Friday.

All day Friday, it rained. Until about three o'clock when things started to clear, it rained. But, it did clear. Eventually the sun shone, the birds sang. There wasn't even a hint of humidity that would have proven that the world had been water logged for a day. The weather was... perfect.

Thanks, Universe.

The event was fun, successful, and well-attended.

But most of all... it was pretty.

See for yourself.

In Memory

Last July, on this day, my best friend of fifteen years lost her mom to Lupus.

That's a hard sentence for me to write.

It's been a full year and it's still hard for me to comprehend that she's really gone.

When I go visit the house I sometimes catch myself expecting to see her there.

I expect, without realizing it, that when I pull up to the curb, I'll see her hand part the blinds to check who's arrived; that when I go inside, she'll get up to hug me, laugh her laugh - the one that sounds just like her daughter's - and tell me how happy it makes her that her daughter and I are still friends after all these years.

Certain things don't go away; certain memories, certain moments. They stay with you, like the person is with you.

I remember her. I remember her blue hairbrush that she'd tuck under her hair while it dried, her laugh, the way she used to absentmindedly write out words with her fingertips on the arm of the couch when she talked, the way she put on lipstick, the way she answered the phone, how much she loved her children, her husband, her grandchildren, and - literally - everyone who ever had the pleasure of crossing her path.

She had the most love to give, the biggest heart, the most welcoming, personable, and caring approach to life - and she lived it, every second, without Lupus. She may have had Lupus, but Lupus did not have her. Ever.

She'll never be forgotten, her memory will thrive amidst the family, friends and acquaintances that she left behind; that memory will keep her with us.

And though there are many thinking of her today, I can't stop thinking of them. The family. That close-knit, loving, adoring family, with hearts as big as hers; hearts that ache today, as they remember.

A Mother's Love

My mother called me this morning for two reasons:

1. She thinks the weird looking scrape on my leg is MRSA.
2. She instructed me that I need to wear bug spray more often; there's been a local discovery of equine encephalitis.

I am now heading into the walk-in because, knowing my mother, if I don't, she's going to call me every fifteen minutes until I have a diagnosis to report.

I really hope I don't have MRSA. I googled it, and it's effing disgusting.

Death Becomes Her

So, tonight while I was driving home amidst sheets - yes, sheets - of pouring rain, I had an epiphany.

It came to me, suddenly, while I sat at the slowest-changing light in all of Downtown - which, for those who care to know, is at the intersection of Route 6 & Pleasant Street.

I must pause now for a rant about this particular traffic light.

It takes forever. It's no wonder I always become contemplative at that intersection - it takes so damn long to turn green. And why must I always catch the red light, anyway? It doesn't stay green for as long as it stays red, clearly, or else I'd get the green one more often... right? Right.

Anyway.

So, I was at the light, watching the pouring rain fall in waves. The rain hit the shiny, well-lit pavement in time with the hazard lights that I could see flashing on the other side of the intersection. The lights were coming from a yellow cab, which was pulled over to the side of the road, it's lights flashing.

Moments passed and I was still waiting for the light to change to green. While I waited, I watched the rain, and the taxi, and then my mind started to wander.

Now, when I say "wander," what I really mean is that I started coming up with one of my imaginative, inventive interpretations of real life..

Case in point, this is what I imagined while I waited at the red light: That cab driver is totally being mauled and killed by a serial killer passenger, who will moments from now click off the hazards and drive away with the body of the taxi driver lumped to the floor in the front, then promptly pick up some thankful, sopping wet girl who has lost her umbrella and is walking to the next bar to meet her friends. He will pick her up, and then he will kill her, too.

All this because I saw some hazards on a taxi. I know. I'm fucked up.

But... the point is: my imagination is hardcore, and often I am capable of thinking of the worst possible things in a very short amount of time, with very little inspiration.

So...

I should write horror!

I can't believe it never occurred to me before.

Speaking of Family Vacations...

So tonight while I sat on the couch skimming The New Yorker...

Aw crap. Let's be honest, by "skimming The New Yorker" I mean it sat next to me on the couch while I chatted on facebook.

God, I'm even a bad liar in the blogosphere. Lame.

Anyway. While facebooking and cuddling with The New Yorker, perhaps hoping to retain some of it's genuis by means of osmosis, I overhead a familiar tune that caught my ear, which then peaked my interest enough so that I managed to tear myself away from the world of social networking and glance at the television for the length of a thirty second commercial spot.

The commercial was for an Atlantis family vacation.

The jingle was The Moldy Peaches.

You may be more familiar with this song because of Juno. It's the song that Juno & Bleaker (Bleeker?) sing to one another in the closing scene.

So, really, I like the song, but my issue is this: In the original song, Kimya Dawson sings the lyric "Squinched up your face and did a dance, shook a little turd out of the bottom of your pants" and in the Atlantis commercial, it's something like "We swim with dolphins and maybe go golfin'."

Ahem. Pathetique.

After viewing I was inspired and I decided to transcribe some correspondence.

Dear Atlantis Family Vacations,

Make up your own theme songs. Don't you pay people for that shit? If you're having difficulty filling writing positions, I know a few.

Love,
Katie

And, because they were not operating alone:

Dear Moldy Peaches,

Fucking sellouts.

Love,
Katie

Family Vacations are All the Rage

Not really.

I mean, the house is big enough, I'm managing to steal WIFI from some nearby provider, the kids have gone back to their actual home with their parents, which means the incessant cartoons, Oreo-eating, and dog-(mis)handling has drawn to a to a close... but now it's raining.

Rain. On my mini-vacation to the beach.

The beach. A magical, risky place where those who are pale-skinned, freckled, wide-hipped and sunburn-prone, such as myself, only spend one or two days every year.

Today was going to be my day.

I came prepared.

Board shorts. Tank tops. Sundress. Sunblock. A beach towel. Books. Magazines. A bathing suit, for Christ's sake.

And now this.

The plan has turned on me. Turned. In a big way.

We are T minus one hour away from our tour of the Cape Cod Potato Chip Factory.

I will revel in the golden chip's production, not the golden rays of sunshine; the cool metal of the factory lines, not the cool waves of ocean water.

Rainy family vacation.

Oh, joy of joys.

Let's Go Play on the Mood Swings

So, if we were to pretend, right, that somewhere, in a room some place, there exists a blueprint that's as big as me.

It's probably shoved in a really big metal drawer or something, kind of crumpled, but useful, nonetheless.

So, anyway, picture a huge, nearly six foot tall blueprint just sitting in a drawer, in a room. And, of course, this blueprint is basically a map.

A map, as it turns out, to me. A map of my "buttons," if you will.

Now, imagine that every little thing about me is mapped out on this Me Blueprint.

So, it clearly indicates things such as how many seconds I will wait behind someone at a red light before I honk; how long I can stand someone tapping their nails on a counter top; what you have to say in order to make me laugh so hard that I cry, etc.

This Me Blueprint is the deconstruction of everything that makes me tick.

Okay, now that you've imagined this document, imagine that someone has it in their possession. That they know it, have studied it, and can use it for good or evil.

That's what it's like with him.

He's got the freaking answer key right in front of him. He knows what to say, how to say it, and could probably bet money on what my reaction will be. I swing - good mood, bad mood, I like you, I hate you - back & forth; he's pushing me on the swing set.

I hate it.

So, I will now attempt to regain control of the situation.

I'm going to do some remodeling, change up the blueprints a bit, and watch him fumble through the old version, the one that's been shoved in a drawer for all these years, while a different contractor can get a look at the new specs.

(I might be stretching this metaphor a bit... but I'm kind of into it nonetheless.)

Seen & Heard (or) How I Spent My Sunday

So, I worked a double at the restaurant today. Being a Sunday, it was fairly slow, but of course, we try to keep laughing, keep busy, and keep entertained.

The first laughter-to-tears moment of the day happened after M & I stopped for coffee & a bagel before heading in to work, which is part of our regular routine.

As we approached my car, I gestured to the passenger side rear window and exclaimed, "I'm so glad that the torrential rain on Friday night washed all the seagull poop off my car!"

Not three seconds later, a seagull missed M by mere inches and dirtied the very same window that had been recently rained clean.

How does this happen?

The second hysterical moment came when the first table of the day handed their dirty chowder cup to their server for her to clear, and told her that they put their topical steroid in there because they were done with it, but that there was more in the tube and so she should "feel free to use it for any bites or itches" if she needed it. Are these people serious?


Then, since I had the camera out to document the topical steroid incident, I couldn't resist another picture when, while M was cutting fruit, I happened upon this:

Love Sundays. Love watermelon.

Good Morning, Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Marky & Tommy

Lately, I have been favoring my Ramones anthology disc two for breakfast. I push it in before my morning shower and the boys serenade me until I leave for work.

Many years ago, back when my little sister sported braces, I had dark-rimmed glasses, wore cardigans every day, and had super-short hai... oh, wait. Damn. Anyway - my sister was definitely in braces.

Ahem.

So, way back then, my dad, my sister, R and I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Ohio. We drove, those of us able to drive took turns at the wheel, and then we stayed in a hotel in Canton for a night or two when we got there.

It was awesome.

Anyway, besides that the featured exhibition was all about the Beatles, and pretty cool in and of itself, the Ramones had just been inducted. So, there was a plethora of Ramones paraphernalia everywhere you looked.

So with my pennies saved from my part time job, I bought the Hey Ho Let's Go two disc anthology. It was probably the most I had spent on one piece of music at that point in my life.

Anyway, now I only have disc two; disc one probably lingers somewhere in either R's or my sister's CD collection.

I suggest you try spending your early morning hours with The KKK Took My Baby Away, Psychotherapy, We Want the Airwaves, and - how apropos - It's Not My Place In the Nine to Five World.

It's motivating. And fun.

Tag, You're It

So, among my weird anxieties there exists one about being chased which translates into my refusal to participate in any games which require chasing - such as tag, dodgeball or manhunt.

But, I mean, really, in my defense, who the eff wants to play a game called manhunt anyway? A game is supposed to be fun, it is not supposed to imply hunting other humans. Geesh.

But, then again, what's dating but hunting your preferred gender? Hm. I'm channeling a moment in Wedding Crashers here, I think. In fact, I'm sure I am. The quail scene... anyone? Anyway, I digress.

Okay, so the point is: I do not like being chased.

Oh, also, I hate go karts and things of that nature, as well. Just, basically, whatever you do - don't chase me. Don't chase me on foot, don't chase me with a ball, don't chase me in a little tiny car. Thanks.

So, anyway, my realization for today is that, in fact, I do enjoy some chasing every now and again. However, I like the proverbial chase, not the literal one.

If you say you aren't chasing me, I'll want you to. If you are chasing me, I'll wish you weren't.

Ah, this is so me: the ever fickle, ever searching-for-greener-pastures, ever unsure, ever uphill-battling.

Settle? Nope. Contentment? Nuh-huh. How about a difficult journey? Now you're on to something! How about a difficult journey that will make you question everything, run you through a gamut of emotions, and never actually resolve at a conclusion? Oooooh. Yes! Pick me! Pick me!

Decisions, (In)Decisions

Maybe I'm not so good at compromise.

Ahem. The preceding admission is the understatement of the century. I know I can be a brat.

I want an oompa loompa and I want it now!

And now, I think I know what I want, and I think I'm ready for it. But, if it's the right thing... why is it so damn difficult? What's with the resistance? Ugh.

I just want it my way.

And though I won't necessary do it quietly, I'll probably stick around patiently until the situation is resolved.

But why does it have to take so much effort?

Geesh.

I'm going to go read up on hostile takeovers.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Things aren't always perfect. In fact, they might never be perfect. But, there's one way to counter that: overwhelming, inordinate optimism.

I often find myself in the position of token optimist; when my friends have pessimistic tendencies, I'm typically the person they come to. Funny, though, I can't always do that for myself. However, as of late, I am sensing a shift in my self-administration. I'm becoming more hopeful for my own sake. How exciting, right?

It's a beautiful day, and it's my day off. I'm having lunch with my friend and while I wait I'm blogging from the side porch. The breeze is blowing and the dog's sleeping next to me... it doesn't get much better than this. Thanks, Universe.

Sunday Funday

It was a beautiful, well spent day off, in three parts:

First: Brunch for two. Two Bloody Marys, two Eggs Benedict, and two steaming cups of coffee.

Second: Cocktails at Joe's.

Third: Mussels at the Black Bass, followed by a delicious butterscotch creme brulee. One table outside, one bowl of mussels, two martinis and a couple hours of conversation; it was an awesome afternoon.

I have to work in the early morning so I called it a night early. But, being awake & alert at the office tomorrow seems worth it.

In other news, R & I have been talking a lot and I'm wondering: What happens when the future changes because of the long-since past? Was it always like this?

Even though I came home early, my active memory will keep me up all night.

Fountain of (My) Youth

Here's another favorite spot of mine in Downtown. For a few years, it was what my roommates and I considered "The Front Yard."

It's where people toss pennies in and make wishes; it's where I've kissed boys; it's where I've broken up with boys; it's where I've lounged and read and dog-walked. And it's so damn pretty at night.

I love my city.

In Flight

This tragic, dismantled, littered and overgrown void in Downtown is one of my favorite spots... the bird silhouettes specifically. It's just a small glimpse at a beautiful surprise in the midst of an ugly situation... a metaphor I'm often inclined to adhere to.

There has to be something surprising and miraculous in every downtrodden situation, right?

Anyway, in honor of their metaphorical flight, I'll talk about my own: I decided to not see the Boy anymore. I flew away. Fast, like always.

Sometimes being single feels tragic. Sometimes it feels just right.

Dating (or) The Chapter I Missed

So, today I slept until one in the afternoon. One. Crazy. Though that's all well and good, now it's three in the morning and I'm still wide awake. Hence, my brain starts overworking, over wondering, and over interpreting.

Here's my latest issue: I've never dated, in the adult sense of the word. I've never gone on dates with one person while we both "date" other people in order to decide who the best and most worthy person is to date exclusively. Is this normal?

R & I met when I was seventeen. We dated (entirely exclusively) until I was twenty-one. I have no idea why or how, it's just what we did. The other boyfriends I had after him were boyfriends by default... we didn't date. We were "exclusive" because we spent so much time in each others presence that there was no other way to be... we had no alone time, no privacy, and too many mutual friends to be dating other people at the same time.

So, now I'm wondering: How does this dating thing work? How do I go on dates with more than just one boy and not feel guilty? How do I handle that the boys will go on other dates and expect me not to feel jealous?

Wait... are we all just running a tab in our mind of who we like more than whom? I mean, I hate reality dating shows, but really, are they that far away from the real reality?

Are they really that exaggerated, or are we all hosting our own personal reality dating show in our head until we decidedly select the person who's lasted round after round until they have proved their worthiness and we decide they win?

I'm so not an adult. I don't care what my age says... I'm not cut out for this. I just want to watch movies and cuddle with my boyfriend. No games. No bullshit. No challenges. No competition.

Good luck, right? Yeah.

Spoken Word

This weekend is Summerfest in Downtown. People from all over the place flood the streets for folk music, food, craft beer, art, authors, museums, galleries... you name it - you can find it this weekend.

The restaurant I've worked in now for - gasp - six years, is right in the midst of the craziness.

By the end of today I will have worked nearly thirty hours in three days. Funny things start happening at the end of these long shifts...

Me: Clearing plates from customer's table. How was everything tonight?
Customer: Oh... soooo good. Delicious.
Me: Excellent. Would you like anything else tonight?
Customer: Rubbing belly due to fullness. A stretcher!
Me: Only if we can share.
.
.
.
Me: How are you, folks today?
Customer: Very well, thanks.
Me: Great. Would you like something to drink?
Customer: Are your eyes real?
Me: Gesturing to my face. Yes. Yes, it's all real. Something to drink?
.
.
.
Me: Can I help you sir?
Guy Waiting at the Bar: Can I have a glass of wine to go?
Me: Um. No. I'm sorry...
.
.
.
Me: Would you like something to drink?
Customer: Gestures to her nine-year-old. She'll have a virgin martini.
Me: A virgin martini?
Customer: Yes. Something with no alcohol in it.
Me: A virgin daiquiri? A virgin colada?
Customer: A martini. Without any alcohol, though. She can't have one with alcohol.
Me: Exasperated, to the little girl. Do you like strawberries or pineapples better?
.
.
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Oh yeah. And, happy Fourth of July.

Addiction

I can't stop listening to the Dark Was The Night compilation.

We've technically been involved since February... approximately four or so days after it became available on iTunes. After buying it, I played it incessantly. That is, until I didn't anymore. The problem was that other things got in the way, like Ida Maria, The Walkmen, and the new Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

But then, something happened...

I rode the train home from Stamford, CT a couple weeks ago. It's about a three hour ride, and I was tired, slightly hungover from a weekend's worth of wedding festivities, and a tad reminiscient for the good times that were had. I chose to play the DWTN comp and I listened to it in it's entirety for the first time in a long time. I watched the scenery speed by, I watched the nameless, muted faces board and exit the train; I watched the conductor pace the aisles and the girl next to me sleep. I watched and I listened and all over again I fell in love with the music on this album.

I can't explain what it does to me... it makes me think, it makes me listen, it makes me happy and it makes me sad. Each song just so gracefully marries into the next; each voice carries so lovely a tune that I nearly believe nothing more remarkable could happen, and then it does, and it's not just any voice, but that of a cello.

It's a lengthy musical committment to listen to it all in one sitting, but I swear I would ride the train to Stamford again just to be able to fit it all in to one moment, one uninterrupted chapter, one deep inhalilation... it's that good. It's that impressive. It's that crave-able.

Check it out.

Ten Things

In no particular order, for no particular reason, here you are:

1. I'm tired of hearing people complain about the rain. It's New England weather; it does whatever it wants. Get over it. Yes, I want summer, too, but nothing can be done.

2. I'm becoming mentally antsy... it's time to start writing again, and not just in blog format.

3. The mantra Let It Go must become more of a presence in my life. It applies to everything, and I need to practice it more readily.

4. I have a flat tire; my car is sitting outside my house. I haven't dealt with it yet, and I should have done so by now. Welcome to My Anxiety.

5. July Fourth is in two days. Two. Where has the time gone?

6. I promised myself I would do something incredible in August... but what? Any ideas?

7. Sometimes being a bad liar doesn't pay off. I share my opinion a bit too readily, and I need to realize that omitting an opinion is sometimes kinder than sharing one.

8. I need a roommate. Seriously. For real. Soon.

9. Fresh eggs are 100% better than store-bought eggs & I found a local source, so now I don't have to wait for visits from or to my parent's house. Yay.

10. Dating is fun. (Smile.)