The far right AND left scare me.

It was business as usual, my routine this morning. After a half asleep decent attempt to get ready, shove my uniform in the dryer for ten minutes to de-wrinkle, gulp down a cup of coffee, and get to work EARLY mind you, I found myself getting easily sidetracked 'upstairs'; If it wasn't for getting riled up at the news articles I read everyday, I'd worry that I was just another ignorant American.

In comes in my favorite eighty-something regular, nicknamed Duffy. Getting his signature senior citizen discounted small coffee with cream, I greet him everytime he arrives with a giant smile and a wave. Young for his age, Duffy is a bright blue eyed limber, smart, compassionate man. Once handed to him, he sits down at a table with his coffee, enjoys it slowly, and then leaves. Not usually one to pry into other conversations, he always looks like he has something interesting to say, so I take it upon myself to begin.

While a couple days ago we spoke of how the beautiful Farrah Fawcett was overshadowed by Michael Jackson's passing, today was different. I sensed in him the same agitation I felt, and I was first to let him know.

What started as a general brushing over of current events (or, me regailing him of what I'd read recently to break the sleepy spell we both seemed to be under) ended up with him telling me I should go into politics: from discussing the democrats overthrowing congress to dictatorships, I seemed to have his complete attention. And no where was he telling me I was wrong.

That's the thing, everyone wants to throw the old out the windows. Ratings came out recently indicating that Fox News is the number one rated network, and people sit there and have the audacity to say things like, "Of those two million viewers (oh right, two million) - most are old - and I can't wait until they pass." or, that they're all crazy. Where's the compassion for those who have lived through it all, the good and the bad?

I explained to him how I believe the two party system is defunct, and how there is a need for someone who is fiscally republican while being morally/humanitarily democratic, or something of the sort. "It's up to your generation to figure it out," Duffy said. "You need to get past the party boundaries." We spoke of the mountaneous debt facing and threatening to capsize us all. "I'm afraid it's even going to hit the tail end of our generation too," my dad said this evening after posing the same conversation onto him.

Many more recently have told me how I'm a very objective, collected person, and well, to consider politics - intrigues yet intimidates. I'm very good at making my case - but what would I do? What would I lobby and campaign for?

Oh right - getting my generation out of their perfunctory mindset. As I mentioned this to another bright, intelligent young woman of my age she said, "That's a difficult one." Yes, especially after they've been coddled: they think they're so important, that they don't do anything important. As generations go by and instant gratification worsens - so do the crops, and it takes a lot to get them back in shape. "I'm sick of newer generations getting sicker - mentally and physically," she said, to which I replied, "Well, it's like golden retrievers, you can't keep genetically rebreeding them; they get worse off everytime. Why do you think they're so easy to please?" and added a quip, "They'd bow down to a dictator, no problem."

Master! (This just made me think of Dug from the movie Up.)

Well, I think it's my new lifelong goal to attempt to get people of my age to see, whaaaaaat's goin' on, what's goin' on...

If that doesn't happen, I'm leaving one hell of a long ass note when I die saying "Shame on everyone." Better yet, it'll be on my tombstone.

this is not a love story

I've met two guys off of OkCupid as of this summer after moving to Southwick, mainly for the fact that I don't know any men within a 45 mile vicinity and they seem to be the only gender I get along with. I was honestly just looking for guyfriends who'd want to hike and go grab coffee/beers with - alright fine, I was looking for that possible romantic spark too.

While the first one I don't count as a date, seeing as he lived five minutes away in Southwick - one hour coffee shop conversation in which he admitted not looking for anything, to which I agreed - was a giant with a ponytail who could barely fit in his car, the second one, has baffled me.

It started with him saying:

Hello, I'm living in western mass for the summer and would love to talk with you. I started school studying literary journalism and ended up concentrating somewhere else. I like your blog quite a bit and would love to follow up with your posts and talk with you about them.

The mix of passages you've quoted in your profile is wonderful and I'd love to have jokes with you about them. If you are interested in talking I wish you would be in touch.



First off, any person I don't know who takes the time to read my blog and approve of it makes me unshakeably curious. But the last sentence just seemed too odd to me. 'I'd love to have jokes with you about [the quotes]?' Either he has stories to tell regarding them that I'd think are funny? Or events that'd happen/be experienced together in which we could pertain to the passages?

And I love how he said passages, as if I had extracted them all from a novel. (Some did, some didn't.)

So I responded back, adding on an ultra lame 'your wish is my command' [alright, so I like to be ordered around, what of it?] and we played a bit of cat and mouse with text messages for a while. He was hesitant using the phone to talk, adding on he'd rather 'meet in person whenever I had the time.'

Couple days later, I have the worst nine hour day at work ever getting verbally harassed by a customer (in which my manager had to throw him out) I went home to an empty house (to myself for the weekend), opened a bottle of vanilla smirnoff, and stayed up watching the sunrise.

To the best of my ability, I tried to get ready the next morning for work, but I just couldn't: I called in to work for the first time and had decided I needed a personal day. Laying back in bed, I couldn't fall back asleep, started kicking myself for calling in, then a hair brain scheme of spending a day in Northampton crept over me like one of those pesky cartoon clouds that follow everywhere you go - it needed to be done.

So I set off on 10 North with no particular plan in motion, besides walking into Herrells and seeing my lady love. Parking in a lot, I made my way around town, people-watching and smiling at adorable little toddlers (one in specific, was walking in between easel-like signs and shot gap toothed smiles in my direction) - I had skimmed my way through Faces in fifteen minutes and then went to the underground bookstore and sat in a chair surrounded by bookshelves and read the first 25 pages of Jean-Paul Sartre's 'The Age of Reason' (which, at page 60 now is really captivating), bought it, then booked it next door to Herrells.

As I sat drinking an 'Elvis' Favorite' milkshake (banana ice cream and peanut butter) and reading my new book while Patrice flew around like a busy bee working (but shooting me smiles!) it dawned on me that this mystery man could possibly be around, so I texted him. He was at a nearby gorge taking a swim, but said he'd be in town soon and would like to meet up.

Then it was another cat and mouse. He told me he was walking up Main Street, but I didn't know where for the life of me. This did finally allow me to talk to him on the phone, and his voice seemed to have a fun characterization to it. "Just walk in that direction and let's see if we notice each other," he said, and that was my only consolation.

The thing is, I was still so in the dark about what he looked like? His pictures showed only half of his face.

Spotting a bench, I text him and forfeit.

A rather handsome, albeit eclectically dressed fellow walks up to the right of me and says, "Give up that easily?"

A salmon colored shirt and pinstriped white pants? While we walked and talked, I tried to wonder silently what brought along the 'look' of the day. Finally caving and asking, I learned that he did have some eclectic ways to dress - like wearing short shorts along with his flamboyantly pink colored bicycle team/company shirt while driving his motorcycle, just to be ridiculous.

Sitting by a giant rock structured water fountain, we spoke of many things - the conversation ebbed and flowed into another, and I picked up this feeling that he knew many in town - a twenty something mother and her little daughter walked by, and he smiled at them. We watched a little old lady dip her hands into the pool of the fountain.

Then he asked me what I wanted to do. I'm never good at picking, but the walking and talking combination was working well, so it was between walking around Smith College or walking through some fields to visit his place. "I don't want you to try to think I'm luring you there."

I smiled into his brown eyes... I was already hooked. I wanted to be lured, and I got the sense that he knew too - for all I know, he could totally have this game down pat. But I figured, what the hell, and when we were walking through one of the fields, I joked, "You could kill me right now for all I know, there's no one out here!"

He admitted to me that he liked to be the 'good' pretentious, the one where you want to share your knowledge with others. I'm much in the same, so I did gather that vibe from him, along with a bit of haughtiness I found... alluring. I had never met someone like him.

We passed a very orderly tag sale on the way to his place and we decided to stop. We petted the dog and I was enamored by the fact that he made pleasantries with the lady: initiated a nice conversation with her; it was nice to be with someone who took charge. I found a kiddie wooden xylophone that had a song booklet, so I played a bit of jumbled 'When the Saints go Marching' to then end playing 10 notes perfectly, to which he smiled and laughed.

Living in a very purple old house (with amazing old windows), he showed me to his room (lives with roommates) to which there were was a loaded, giant bookshelf, a movie projector (which a white cloth hanging up on the wall opposite) bike tires, and random odds and ends. He started sharing with me magazines he read and liked for their literary style and as I flipped through one, he sat closer and closer, eventually giving my back a little single hand massage while I looked.

I was too scared to start anything. I was frozen, and he could sense my uncertainty. Promising he'd only do what I let him to was the ticket: after that, I was the one trying not to lose control, but the majority of clothes stayed on.

I was in a cloud of stupor afterwards: it didn't last long because he had to go to work. Walking me back towards town, I felt playful and put my hand in his, and then he put his arm around my neck. I stopped at Herrells, he departed with me on the front step, kissed me and said goodbye.

I went in, told Patrice how I was ravished, and decided to leave luckily right before the rain started.

I'm battling the feeling that he may be a womanizer.

Edit: It has been confirmed: he is a womanizer. My quizzitive nature paid off, turns out he's made creepy advances on some friends of mine. Is self denial in this season?


It wasn't like I was even considering dating the dude. I chalk it up to a new experience.

Mystery solved. I am the Nancy Drew of dates.

Pounding the pavement in western mass

With a pair of sandals on my feet and an Ipod in hand, I barreled down my unpaved street and took a turn onto Mortvining Road, my old jogging route that I haven't visited (in pedestrian form) since the summer of 2007.
Now, I live in Southwick, Massachusetts, or what's called the 'Notch.' (My father and stepmother have wanted to make merchandise, more of a joke rather when we're all inebriated) It's that little box on the top of Connecticut that juts right down into it - Granby, Suffield, and Westfield are it's neighbors. One actual part of the border is a mere mile from my house, and I pass the marker on my walk, where Mortvining turns into Vining.
After spending most of my day off running errands with my stepsister and eating the most delicious PB&J's imaginable (think apple pomegranate bread), the rain subsided, and I needed to pound the pavement.
Once I arrived at the stop sign a mile down, I didn't turn around like my typical, planned out routine. I kept going into Granby - took a random left down a little suburban street which led out to 10-202 (where the infamous yellow gaudy 'Granby Motel' sign with a backwards R stood in sight) and with some Forrest Gump kind of thought in my head, I just kept going.
Of all these roads I traveled down, all are heavily wooded, windy, hilly, and narrow - and no matter how far to the side I was, cars flew down the road, some just passing me as if I were an old car puttering down the way.
The funny thought that goes through my mind when I'm walking on busy roads (and 10-202 near the tail end of rush hour is no exception) is if they do stop to notice, do they find it weird for a little blonde young adult to be power walking, and intermittently at times, singing along to her Ipod? As I always read into everything (It is a trait that can be good and bad) I noticed some cars slowly take their time around me (unlike the ones who attempted to plow me down, to which I nodded my head in disgust) and I caught one older woman in her SUV stopped at a stop sign, smiling at me. I'd like to put thoughts in her head that she would possibly think, like, "It's nice to see a young person get out."
It was a wonderful time, because every mile there was a new scent. Passing by fields, all I could sense was aromatic flowers, the little farm down Vining choked the air with cow manure, and further down 10-202 I smelled wood burning stoves. I got sprinkled on, didn't mind, kept going, but not long after passing by the feeble little package store, I knew the sandals couldn't take much further.
What wasn't even a 20 minute walk turned into an hour, and as I walked back up my street my father's truck was coming out of the driveway. He was going to find me because he had been worried I was gone for so long, to which I said, "It's okay! I'm fine! I did it all the time in New Britain!" hopped in the truck, and kept him company running some errands.
It's nice to be back here.

Real > Virtual, but I love both.

Hour 60 of Escaping the 'Book: Re-considering. Practically my whole life I've always enjoyed sharing things that I learn with people: may it be articles, songs, stories, art, history, and more, cutting off something that has the ability to reach others simply doesn't make sense to me, especially when I am constantly away from everyone I know. (One minute, I'm in CT, the next, in MA.)

Probably only a handful of people chose to seek me outside of Facebook. One e-mail, some IMs, a few phone calls. I didn't expect many, although I was curious at best. I have found out that some do miss the added on cyber relationship, as if it is another sort of dimension to our typical lives. I just don't want it to overpower myself, and I worry about others letting it overpower them.
The important things are, I am not dependent on it for communication, I don't care what others think/say about me, and I use it appropriately.

Right now, this has been put on the back burner, and I'm actually still considering finishing out the week without it (think I'll come back soon for my typical antics) because I've been rekindling a friendship that I've sorely missed for a long time.