Dreams...

I was seduced by a much older man in my dream last night - completely obsessed, he goes back to his wife, once he sees me again with his wife by his side, he goes mad - yells at me saying 'why did you let me go back to her she's so boring (his wife)' has a creepy gleam in his eye, and shoots me in my right arm. And then I wake up.

Seriously, my dreams are outrageous.

"I'm gonna have fun in the city..."

Sitting on the deck with my roommate this morning, I regailed him about my rather whimsical day I experienced - and one I had not yet slumbered upon.

Having slept in like how a proper day should be partially spent doing, I awoke with a particularly profound ephiphany shortly thereafter -
and actually needed to vocalize said epiphany in the form of an exasperated voice message.

My heart is racing fast.

Due to the excessive amounts of soreness shooting through my body like a cold, steel pinball machine, I sat in the only area the interwebs are accessible (the kitchen table)
which, isn't the most comfortable position - what with them high rise chairs n' all.


Tonight, I'll spend my bread
Tonight, I'll lose my head
Tonight, I've got to get
Tonight



My ears perked up to these lines crackling through my radio as I sit propped up in my bed writing this.

Since one ridiculous thing thall shall not be spoken of that I use too much didn't seem to want to work yesterday, I amused myself gabbing into the phone with Fozzie Bear while sitting
outside on a step.

Up in the tall trees, the birds were ravenous with conversation - thousands of improperly spaced chirps with no real regular metrical ticks (beats.)
I wondered what the fuss was all about; I felt left out.

It's hard to focus my thoughts into my fingers at the moment - distraction is now in the form of the experimental notes permiating and penetrating
through a door into my ears: Mike is writing a song on his guitar.

I want to be verbose but I feel like I should be succinct - every moment was profound: I bounced around the city in perfect harmony - keeping to the beat of
the music flowing against my eardrums - albiet the lightning bolts in each right step; walking in town felt completely different to me.

First stop - sitting, smiling, and clapping watching the band The Red Hot Chili Pipers vibrantly perform classic and current alternative rock hits - kilted, attractive young (and old) scotsman: three bagpipers, two drummers (one of the snare persuasion), the ring leader singer.

but lest I ramble - it was an explosion of excitement. It was sold out; I had met one member of the opening band and their roadie from San Francisco as they sat next to me at a bar the previous night, and told me to show up.
I didn't know how well I'd pull it off, but with some talk and patience, I explained to the people at the door what had happened hoping for a 'long shot in the dark', I eventually stated, and as vindication that I wasn't some loon with a fake story, waited as they were busy breaking down their set.
I had missed it, tried not to be upset; the moment in time to see the interesting scotsman I'd conversed with had past.

During my patient waiting, I walked outside and talked to a young couple from Ware, when - who comes walking down the street?
Oh, you know, just Santa.

After some real life reality talk of his 40 year old career being the big jolly man took place, he asked me, "Do you still believe in Santa?"
I felt a little taken aback, attempted not to stutter, and mustered something hardy along the lines of "of course, of course I do!"

I left prematurely after asking a bagpiper - whom, was taking a break outside while the rest of the band still charged ahead on-stage inside - "If you could say one thing about America (in the five weeks that they had toured across the states) what would it be?"
It was the girls. Apparently they don't put out well back home.
"But, admittedly, they're crazy, right?"
He agreed to an extent.

To then adventure to watch some of the best comedies that always make me laugh aloud on television with three compadres in a comfy home,

visiting the chivalrous man at work - making unnoticeable funny faces at the comic book power duo of Urban Outfitters - drinking a beer, reading about the Airstream Turkey Wagon. Giving a kiss on the cheek goodbye...

and when I finally began my journey home, through my blurry near sighted eyes - spotted my best lady waving me down to cross the street. She pulled my leg to come join her with a free IPA involved, and I refereed a game of boggle between her and another friend. Little miss word genius won.

It became time for Boggle champ to go be a diner waitress - and I glued my butt to the bar, sipped coffee, read and discussed the newspaper with Kreg as he made me a cheeseburger, got hugs from friends who came in, and then finally trotted my way home.

But I drank coffee, so I sifted through past memories all night - and missed a lot of old friends... but is excitedly meeting and wanting to meet lots of new people.

It was the day I apologized to Northampton for having a love/hate relationship with her.

prickin' at the pain.

"a careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life;
a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless."

- Anonymous





Imagining myself in a group therapy session is rather painful; my mind is burning as I try to envision this moment: what would happen, how I'd convey my feelings,which of those I would pick and choose to vocalize, how I would collect and perceive others difficult - possibly traumatic - situations; what I'd be able to say to help.I've always tried to think of, or consider myself, a helpful person.

At this given moment, late at night - I am now questioning how helpful I really am, hence the thought of therapy in the first place. It's as if I've reached the point of being completely sick of my mental thought process, but that's not it, there's a horribly long list, and I'm an exceptional list maker. My uncontrollable urges to say what I hold to be self evident (and combined with the influence of alcohol, is a force so terribly strong that no one, and I mean no one, wants to listen to - even if it holds a shred of credibility - hidden amongst the malicious poison in the positioning of my lightning bolt pinpointed pokes and prods.) What gave me the god honest right to tell others what I think they should do? How have I made these justifications? After you tell yourself something over and over again,you truly start to believe it is completely and absolutely okay.

How repetitive I can be - Miss Repeating Parrot. My mind is trying very hard to believe what I say, so out it stumbles - in hopes that, at the same time, others will believe it too. 'Oh I've lived in this place and I did this and this happened and I'm trying to accomplish this," Great. Say it a few times, well okay. Say it any more than that, exnay on the oopid stay. Dwelling on the rough bumps in the past needs to be washed away - the future and the unknown are trying to wiggle their way in, alas - there's still a swinging no vacancy sign. 'What is keeping them so long?' they wonder.

Is it that awkward prospect of... love? the most mysterious indefinable fallacy (note the extreme oxymoron) - translative and questioned in every language - am I really just waiting around, putting my life on hold, driving myself and others crazy because of... love? Am I that gullible and naive? Oddly enough, after two years of throwing myself at (not to) the dogs (after two previous years of manipulative misery - on both ends, may I add respectively) I am attempting something with someone. Tippy toe, day to day,with the highest level of uncertainty (and pushing against my fatalistic, defeatist, holier than thou attitude.) Do I really want to tell anyone about that? In a town where secrecy is problematic, I am making the decision to keep something to myself for once (even though thoughts of creating a column about these specific endeavors constantly run around in circles in my head: probably on lap 5,698 - and that's only this past month.)


To Be Continued (Bed time.)

yoyoyoyo sup ya'll mama KDs in da house

Seriously people, forget the party boundaries - its time to find the real leaders hidden under the woodwork (ala Independents who don't get the extra moolah from big business to fund their campaigns for the more moderate world's point of view) Obama, if you want to save us now, wave a little white flag of defeat over the White House and see to it that you find the best and brightest of this country to lead after your term hath expired.

United States of Crude Ass Shit.

The oil spill is killing me. K-i-l-l-i-n-g me.

Tried to put a cap on that ass, failed.

Tried again, quite sure I read the robot failed again.

Then this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/05/13/wheres-the-oil-your-gover_n_575647.html

They don't fucking know. They're not really trying hard enough. Let's just point fingers, let's just approve Shell to drill in the Arctic... let's just pretend all the fucking sea-life don't mean a damn thing...

God damn this country.

Smith College Greenhouse: 3/19/10

Once upon a chilly day in March of 2010, 

amidst the feminist confines of Smith College 

in Northampton, Massachusetts,

two non-students decided to gallivant to the greenhouse, 

and amongst the way, met a new friend: 

we had the goodies,

and our path laid out.

someone decided to follow...

the lil creep.

anywhozels, the rest of the photos with no ridic story attached

can be seen if you click the title of this entry.

Houston, we have lift off.

Hello blog, I'm back, and for good reason. It's time to REALLY use a blog for what it's worth. Why? Because as of today, everything we once knew is out the door, down the block... getting run over by a car.

Good news, Americans! Now other countries involved in our giant corporations have a say in what puppet will be in office next! (I'll get to this in a bit, don't get your panties in a bunch yet...)

I'm not holding anything back this time. For so long, I've kept silent, but now I can honestly say what I've been thinking about Obama's administration, a year of drinking spoiled milk. For the entire election, I tried, like the good college student I was, to stay actively informed... watching - reading - observing, hell, I was working for my campus' newspaper, and were running stories and articles left and right. Debates? Watched them all, lobbying? Hell no, and I'm glad I didn't (even though a majority of my fellow staff writers showed where their loyalties stood rather quickly), because I was up in arms about who to choose up until the very end, just as I was about the recent Mass Senate election. (I voted for Obama. I reprimanded myself merely a day after.)

Sometimes I'm just too objective... but being on the fence isn't such a bad thing. If someone can't choose.. that's admirable to me, means you're not easily persuadable. If one doesn't believe in the party system, like myself, WHY would you vote? Similar-minded people, where are you? We need to band together to create a group that would be impervious to ridicule - have elements of truth and honesty, no falsehoods allowed. (Get back to this too again at some point I'm sure.)

Yes, this might sound horribly, horribly disjointed right now, but being silent for so long, now I want to say everything. Something literally HIT me today, I actually said aloud in the bathroom, sitting on the toliet, "It's time to get serious." (How serious can you be on a toliet? hmm..)

Alright, so today... what's really pissing me off, is Obama's typical, repetitive sentiments. Yes, I know, most Presidents probably have had them, yes this is where people would bring up Bush to me in an argument, (I dislike arguments by the way, more for conversation that helps each other understand?) but, in regards to the most recent Supreme Court ruling, at this point in the failed 'Hope' campaign, who wants to hear this?

"With its ruling today, the Supreme Court has given a green light to a new stampede of special interest money in our politics," said President Obama in a statement. "It is a major victory for big oil, Wall Street banks, health insurance companies and the other powerful interests that marshal their power every day in Washington to drown out the voices of everyday Americans... That's why I am instructing my Administration to get to work immediately with Congress on this issue. We are going to talk with bipartisan Congressional leaders to develop a forceful response to this decision."
(Source: Huffington Post)

- Special interest money in our politics? Oh boy oh boy, Obama is doing a Mr. Burns hand gesture in his giant armchair...
- Now to most, this may sound like he 'cares' about the 'everyday Americans.' but, he also said, 'major victory!' for the Big'uns! That sentence alone is a mindfuck! Drowning out voices, well, they really don't want to listen to us complain, right?
- He handcrafted this one real well; I can just picture big corporations reading it knowing it's Obamas secret way of saying "GREEN LIGHT GUYS!" - cut to guys dancing around Wall Street.
- And of course, like all of his gift wrapped speeches, his passive aggressive, oh so typical 'yeah we're going to work on this immediately but really, I've told you I'm Superman and I'm trying to do everything, so don't expect it to actually happen.'


I can't stand to watch this man speak anymore, it's so shifty it drives me nuts. Saw his initial response to Haiti, had to turn the channel. Robotic, monotone, head turning left, right, left... like boot camp. But he doesn't have to impress us, right? Kinda.. gave up on that? Mired in a heavy workload one 'hopes?'


But you know, maybe that's all I should really write about Obama, because I'm not writing to be just another silly pundit. Yes, I can analyze his actions the way I'd like, and what I think is the truth, but it will not get me any further, nor this country, for that matter.

What I really aspire to do, writing here, is to try to get others at least CURIOUS about political subjects. It might take baby steps, but it's better than what I've been reading some people saying, who tell others to give up on everybody with the resounding words of 'fuck it, they'll always be ignorant.' who wants to say something like that, and let's say, if a catastrophe happened (who knows...) your friends and loved ones got left in the dust? (That was a lot of 'says'... Say say say, what you want, but don't play games, with my affection...)


Here's to political writing endeavors! AND - I want FEEDBACK. EVERY KIND OF FEEDBACK. (As long as it's intelligible.) If you read something and don't think I understand what I'm talking about, MAKE me understand. Hopefully I can/will/attempt to bring some perspective, maybe I won't, who knows? Doesn't hurt to try.

Holy healthy frustration!

Over-prescribed America: the pharmaceutical industry has successfully turned everyone into hypochondriacs. Nikki, my roommate, works at a pharmacy, and has to deal with getting harassed by individuals who firmly believe that without their medication, they will surely die. Yes, they literally question her, "Do you want me to die?"

Nikki spoke of how pharmaceutical companies, who send reps around with a big wad of money to descend upon doctors and shower them with freebies (in the form of computers and other high tech gadgetry) to use their crap (yes, crap), even make medication for side effects to their own product.

Say, a migrane medicine? Ah yes, I should stock up on high blood pressure and nausea pills too. Or maybe, I could really just drink more water.

Words escape me feeling this utterly painful pit in my stomach in regards to the sadness felt towards the current state of society: that it seems, no one can just fend for themselves: they must always be desperately seeking out some instant temporary relief.

Where's the journalists who are questioning Obama for essentially getting secretly financially involved with all these big company juggernauts? The muckrakers who want to go in and dissect these soulless (albeit beneficial, at times) burdens upon our country? Where's the writers who want to urge Americans, as well as every country, to re-learn how to take care of themselves, in which they wouldn't have to bow down to these modern day carpet baggers?

Under rocks, I suppose. Maybe I can coerce them out with a stick... heeere journy-journ. Come out, come out...

Frazzled.

I have a close friend in Northampton who, day by day, has been expanding my knowledge on the current agricultural crisis.

My interest in the topic started when I saw a This American Life episode last winter where they went to an engineered pig farm, but the more I read, the more I'm getting frustrated. Here's some links to various sites/articles/documentaries: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Monsanto, http://www.foodincmovie.com, http://www.organicconsumers.org/monlink.cfm

and apparently, this is the woman to turn to, an Anastasia who lives in the outskirts of Siberia: http://www.ringingcedars.com





even more importantly, I'm teetering on the edge of wanting to be more outspoken about being against Obama. Just as many vegans don't expound their views onto others, I'm not doing so in regards to how I feel towards our current president, but honestly, Americans of every race and religion need to wake up. As a journalist, messenger, whatever you want to call me, I need to be true to myself to say what I think. Think what you want, but I wouldn't call myself misinformed.


[I'd like to think these people weren't crazy.]

On a different note, I have taken much consideration into becoming a vegan. Moving to Northampton has opened my eyes, broadened my horizons and perspectives. Connecticut is in denial mode major, and I'm glad I got out.


Food for thought.

"Oh come on. You haven't even tried donuts yet. You wanna store some fat, that is the way to store some fat, you'll be sweating through the winter."

Thursday night. Time: around nine pm.

In a quasi sedated state, my roommate Nicki and I decide to leave the apartment. As Nicki grabs something, I lead the way out, walking down the steps, and as I throw open the screen door, I see something that stops me dead in my tracks.

A large, brown bear.

Yes, Yogi the bear had decided to grace his presence upon the residence next door. The only thing separating myself from this nuisance was a miserable looking fence, one that said bear could pulverize in a pinch.

Alas, he was occupied in Fantasyland: four very large, full garbage cans were there for the taking. Nicki and I stood at the fence, transfixed on our visitor. While our neighbor called animal control, Nicki took photos with her phone, and I let out a "Holy shit I can't believe it's a bear" (or something to that extent) every few minutes or so.

At times, he'd look up at us, but that was all; he could care less. Funniest moment: him climbing into a toppled garbage bin, and our neighbor laughing, "If only we could shut the lid and catch him."

When he had exhausted all of his options, he decided to wander down towards an old folks establishment. "If they see him, someone's going to have a heart attack," I told Nicki. I was worried however, for he was walking towards South Street, which is extremely busy.

Running down the road, we found him chilling by a tree. All of a sudden, a helicopter began circling above us; I believe they may have used it as a tactic to 'scare' him back into the woods, and he did run away.

Later on at a friends house, I was a mere feet away from a skunk, who was apparently munchin' and crunchin' on a nice bag of trash. Arriving home, we find out that a neighbor's dog got skunked.

Yes, I made an Over The Hedge reference. It had to be expected, right?

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.