Blogember: Day 12

Today's prompt is: Your First Pet

I can't actually remember the order that my 3 main childhood pets came into my life. I grew up with 2 cats (Becky and FatBoy/Kitty BiteU) and 1 dog. Despite the fact that I actually only have a photo of Becky on my laptop here - I'm going to talk about my childhood dog, Tera.

Sorry, Becky. Not today.

After a slew of adopted dogs that didn't work out, my parents came home one day with Tera. A small ball of energy with hair that stuck up all over the place. It would eventually grow out as she grew up into the long thick hair that people usually associate with a collie.

Her actual name was Ephemeroptera Heptageniidae which is the scientific name for some kind of mayfly. Don't ask me. My parents are science-y insect people and I obviously wasn't allowed to name her. Which is only too fair considering that I named a cat Becky, a previously adopted Irish Setter Donut O'Dog (he was Irish) and would later name a dog after Taylor Hanson. Not that a name a regular person can't pronouce is much better come to think of it, but I digress.

I have two very clear memories of Tera - the first is of her laying on the floor across the front of my bedroom door at the end of the hallway. I would often trip over her in the middle of the night leaving my room and she would prevent anyone from coming in. My big protective Lassie.

The second is in the summertime, my parents would have her hair shaved down because it was hot and there was a literal ton of it. You could read embarrassment all over her face when she would come out of the groomers naked with little bows tied by her ears. We had to put a t-shirt on her (one of mine, The Little Mermaid), tied up in a knot on the back or she would refuse to go outside. Poor baby just didn't want to be naked in public - who can blame her?

Tera lived a long life for a collie and went to sleep only when her body couldn't hold her up anymore. She was the perfect companion to grow up with and I still miss her today.

Blogember: Day 11

I'm a little behind on the old blogember prompts due to moving across the country, but I'm getting back in the swing now with day 11: 3 albums you would take in a deserted island.

This is a decidedly difficult choice to make. In my move, instead of eliminating CDs - even ones that I am positive I'll never listen to again (seriously, Limp Bizkit? I'm not sure what I was thinking either) - I bought a giant CD carrying case, tossed the booklets and jewel cases and shipped every single one. So, how in the world can I just pick 3 to listen to forever?

And yes, it will be forever. I have no survival skills. I know I'm not getting off of this island.

Okay, here goes.

1. Neutral Milk Hotel - In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
This is one of the most important albums of my life and one that I can barely go a few days without listening to at least some part of it. Every time I listen, I discover something new, so it's practically like not having to choose one static album at all. 

2. Hanson - This Time Around
Obviously, I love Hanson. Almost as much as I hate them. And This Time Around is the best Hanson album with so much personal history for me, that there's no way it's not coming with me. Let's be real, though. I'll skip Love Song on the island the same way that I do now. Sorry, Ike.

3. Michael Jackson - Thriller
Come on. Every song is perfect. Could anything be better than loudly singing Baby Be Mine alone on an island while trying to make friends with the wild animals and avoid certain death? Nope, not a thing.

There we go. Three albums, One island. And I'll hit publish right away to avoid the intense desire to add about 30 more just in case.

 

 

Blogember: Day 1!

When my girl, Tahnie, asked on twitter who would be interested in doing a daily blog challenge in November I was like ME I WOULD LIKE TO DO THAT THING because hey, it takes away the true horror of having to come up with things to write about on my own and I’m about to be unemployed anyway, so I might as well.

Today we’re sharing one of the best lessons life has shown you.

My first inclination was to toss my arms up in immediate defeat or crack a few jokes and toss in a couple gifs of infomercial people not being able to drink milk like human beings. Because I’m bad at feelings? Not having them, let’s be real. I have about a million annoyingly intense feelings every second of the day. Sharing them, however, is a different story, so sharing personal feelings about life lessons? Nope.

I thought about it for a while and decided to just do it. In the end, I came up with this: It’s okay to accept help from other people.

This might seem like a no brainer to most people but I’ve always been the helper, not the helpee. I will do absolutely anything for the people that I love and ask for nothing in return. I might have a bit of a martyr complex, who’s to say? It has absolutely led to me allowing people to take advantage of me, but I didn’t care and I couldn’t stop.

I don’t need you to help me get this stuck lid off the jar and I don’t need you to talk to me about this horrible thing that happened. I’m good. I’m great. Let’s talk about what you need.

Then, about 5 years ago, I woke up and my leg felt kind of…off. I spent a lot of the work day walking back and forth from my office to the bathroom in a bunch of weird and different ways to try and shake the feeling. The next morning, I woke up and my leg didn’t feel like anything at all. It was this part of my body that existed – I mean, there it was! But mocking me and not working.

I went to some doctors, had some blood work and MRIs and spinal taps before finally getting told that I had had Multiple Sclerosis.

I would sit on my couch and stare at my toes, willing them to move. They didn’t. I would also spend that time feeling guilty that I had needed other people to drive me places. I found myself apologizing to people for not being able to press down on the gas pedal and feeling ashamed of what was happening to me. On mother’s day, I called my mom in hysterics because I had been unable to take myself to a store to buy her a present and while I had tried to bake her cupcakes instead, I simply couldn’t stand on one leg long enough to get it done.

I didn’t tell anyone besides those that I couldn’t avoid telling. But from that small group, I needed things. I needed my sister to take out my trash. I needed my mother to hold my hand when I had the spinal tap. I needed my dad to bring me groceries. I needed my coworker to get the paper I had just printed. I needed a lot of things and I had no choice but to ask for them.

This weird thing happened, though. No matter how much I help I asked for, the people in my life still loved me and they still did things like bring me cans of dry shampoo spray when I couldn’t stand and shower, even if they maybe didn’t feel like it that day.

Now, so many years later, long after my leg started working again and long after the time when most people would ever know anything was wrong with me, I still find myself struggling to ask for what I need. Or want. But life taught me that I can. That it’s okay to not always be a rock. That I can ask for help and the world won’t simply stop spinning.

3,000 Miles, Give or Take Some Standing Still

Here’s the thing – I have, what I believe to be, two major personality flaws that have affected me throughout my entire life. All other flaws can take a backseat and, let’s be real, are probably just offshoots from The Two.

The first is that I can’t make a personal decision. Sometimes I’ll go to bed without eating anything because I just can’t choose what to cook. I’m also that amazingly fun girl in social situations who, when asked where they want to do, will always respond with “I dunno, what do you wanna do?” It took me approximately 10,000 years to just start this blog up again because I couldn’t be sure that I really wanted to do it.

The second is that I just don’t like myself. Every horrible thing you can think about the way a person looks, acts, and lives are things that I think about myself. It’s influenced the places I’ve gone, the activities I’ve participated in, the people I’ve chosen to love. Literally every aspect of my life is narrated in my head by a voice telling me there’s something wrong with me.

So, I’m sure you can imagine that sitting down and booking a one-way flight from NYC to Portland, OR was completely out of character for me. I had to complete the booking by phone in order to bring my cat along for the trip and as I explained my plan and what I needed to reserve, my voice got about 12 octaves higher. I practically screeched the words “one way” and peppered every sentence with nervous exclamations that everything was awesome. When I hung up the phone, the first thing I wanted to do was call back and cancel. “I HAVE 24 HOURS QUICK DO IT NOW” my brain was shouting at me.

But, I didn’t do it.

Instead, I slowly started to tell family, friends, and co-workers that I had booked this non-refundable one-way ticket. The reactions were mixed. Some people were excited. Some people were upset. But almost everyone ending up saying some variation of “I never thought you’d do it.” Surprise! Neither did I. I’ve been talking for awhile about wanting to leave Connecticut. In fact, I’ve been doing it since the moment I moved back here from Boston 8 years ago, so over time it just became word noise in everyone’s ears, including my own. Now here I was, telling everyone something they already knew and following it up with the information that I had booked a flight and my destination was basically as far away from them as I could possibly go.

Once I finally told my boss my plans and put in my official notice at work, this weird thing started happening where people – some I barely knew – would come up to me or call and tell me they heard I was leaving and we’d have the following conversation:

“Where are you moving?”

“Oregon.”

“Do you have a job lined up there?”

“No, not yet”

“Wow, that’s so brave! That’s awesome! Yeah! You’ve just gotta do it! Just get out there! You’re young! You have no one holding you back! So brave! What a challenge!”

I’d nervously laugh and say something about hoping it works out. Then The Two would start to poke at my brain. Was this a mistake? This was a mistake. Brave!? I’m not brave! Can I just stop this train right now? I mean, no one is going to hire me and I’m not going to make any friends because I’m so boring and horrible and did I mention ugly? Hideous, basically. What did they mean I have no one holding me back? I’m an old maid and no one will ever love me! If I’m going to be alone forever I might as well be alone forever here where my couch is and my apartment's okay and my job pays my student loans! These aren’t compliments! These are veiled criticisms pointing out my impending life failure!

Seriously, thank god no one can hear my thoughts.

And here are the things that my brain forgets when it’s berating me for being too ugly to live: I want to move because I’m stuck in a loop here and it’s not a loop that makes me happy. I don’t know what’s going to make me happy and despite what I tell myself, that really is okay. It’s okay to still be figuring everything out and maybe I’ll always be figuring everything out – that doesn’t make me any less than someone who seems to have it all together. I can be a good and likeable person if I let myself be and yeah, maybe it is a little brave to sell all of your stuff and move across the country by yourself.

So, despite myself, in 31 days I’ll be hugging my family goodbye as they drop me off at JFK and boarding a flight to see what comes next.

The Needle That Sings In Your Heart

Originally posted on my old blog, Get Up Eight, which died when I didn't renew the domain. Reposting entries I enjoyed.

I’ve debated a bit about whether I should (and whether I could) write about what I did last night. There’s a part of me that knows that no matter what I say, I’m not going to be able to accurately reflect what it felt like but I want to try anyway.

So, what did you do last night? Me? Oh, not much. Just saw Jeff Mangum in concert.

I’m not going to go into the full history of Jeff or Neutral Milk Hotel, but I will say that seeing him perform was not something I thought would ever happen in my lifetime. I got into Neutral Milk Hotel late – in 2000, about a year after they disbanded and Jeff essentially disappeared from the public eye, I heard In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. A friend played a couple tracks over the phone to me and that was all it took. From that moment on Aeroplane, On Avery Island, and later Live From Jittery Joes (not to mention any b-side bootleg I could come by) became the soundtrack of my life.

Mangum’s voice sang me through falling in love and getting my heart broken. It was window down, warm summer day and the heart swelling feeling of singing along at the top of your lungs. It carried me through college, through moves, making and losing friends, life changing diagnosis’, the most amazing days of my young life and the worst.

In the 12 years since I’d first heard it, not a week has gone by where I haven’t listened to Neutral Milk Hotel in some capacity. Some weeks, not a day passed without it. And in all those years I knew that hearing this voice through my speakers was all I was going to get.

Until that wasn’t true anymore. Until Jeff played a few full sets that I wasn’t able to make it to and then…scheduled more. One of these newly scheduled shows was 20 minutes from my apartment and I was online the second tickets went on sale buying one.

I’ll be honest, even after I bought a ticket and the date approached, it didn’t seem quite real. Then, the date arrived and I was rushing home after work to get changed, grab my ticket confirmation and head to the venue.

The venue was a beautiful old theater built in the early 1900s that mostly focuses on plays with the occasional music act thrown in. I thought it was the perfect place for Mangum to play. Intimate, ornate and beautiful with an old timey feel that seems perfectly suited to the music we were about to hear.

The opening act, The Music Tapes, fronted by Julian Koster who played with Jeff in Neutral Milk Hotel, was fun and irreverent. A 7 foot metronome, a singing television and a little marching through the audience while playing music.  I enjoyed their performance, but if I’m being honest, I probably would have enjoyed anything. I mean, I was about to see Jeff Mangum, you know? I was already thrilled out of my mind.

They set up the stage for Jeff – a chair surrounded by 4 guitars, a few bottles of water and a sheet music stand with his set list on it. Finally, the lights went down and he walked out. Baggy pants, a plaid shirt and a newsboy cap with chin length brown hair – you’d never know that it wasn’t 1998 or that most of us had been waiting at least 10 years to see this. Everyone erupted in hollering and clapping while he quickly strode across the stage, took a seat, picked up a guitar and started playing Two-Headed Boy Part 2.

I couldn’t tone down the wild grin that had spread across my face while I leaned forward, hands clasped, and listened in dead silence with the rest of the crowd.

Before starting the next song, he quietly said, “You can sing along.” He played the opening notes to Holland 1945 and the whole crowd yelled out the countdown 2...1, 2, 3, 4 and we sang. After it was over, a girl near me exclaimed “I just sang with Jeff Mangum!” in a shocked tone and that was exactly how I felt.

The setlist for the show couldn’t have been more perfect. I teared up when he brought Julian out and they played Engine. Before playing Little Birds he told us that he didn’t play the song much, strummed one note and joked “So, did you like it?” There was so much laughter and joy from both the audience and Jeff.

People shouted out song requests – one guy called out for True Love Will Find You In The End, which Jeff had covered in the past and Jeff replied, “Hey thanks, friend! You too!” Someone asked his favorite color (it’s yellow), someone else yelled out praises that made him laugh. At one point he paused and asked us if we were happy. I yelled out “HELL YES” amongst a chorus of voices yelling out the same. A venue full of people who couldn’t be happier if they tried.

He played King of Carrot Flowers part 1, Naomi, Gardenhead/Leave Me Alone, A Baby For Pree, King of Carrot Flowers part 2 & 3, Oh Comely and Ghost. Each song was better than the last. His voice was perfectly on point the entire time. Everyone in the crowd threw back their heads and sang out I love you Jesus Christ; Jesus Christ I love you, yes I do with all their hearts.

Then he started Two-Headed Boy to close out the show. It was flawless and overwhelming. I spent a portion of the song with my eyes closed so I could listen better. At the end of the song, he stopped singing and told us to sing. 1600 people singing the ending de de de’s as Julian and the rest of The Magic Tapes came out and they went right into The Fool. To say people momentarily lost their shit was an understatement. The horns, the accordion, the percussion, the guitar – it was perfect, it was beautiful, and it was entirely unexpected.

After The Fool, they all walked off stage and the crowd immediately leapt to their feet, cheering and clapping until Jeff and Julian came back out to play In The Aeroplane Over The Sea. Julian played the singing saw while Jeff played guitar and sang it out. It sounded exactly like every emotion I’d ever felt while listening to that song through all the moments of the last 12 years of my life. Every time I felt overwhelmed in love, every time I laughed until I cried, every beautiful second was sounding back at me for those final 4 minutes.

Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The lights came up and we all poured out of the building and stumbled to our cars. For a minute after I got in my car, I just sat in silence – a smile playing across my face and my eyes welled up with fresh tears. Had it really happened? Was I really there? I keep describing it as overwhelming and it was. It was perfectly, joyously, heart-wrenchingly overwhelming but it had happened. I saw Jeff Mangum. I watched his smile light up a room and I heard my life pour out of his mouth while I sang along.

And a small part of me – the tiniest part that only I can see – feels like a different girl because of it.

A Blog About Blogging

Originally posted on my old blog, Get Up Eight, which died when I didn't renew the domain. Reposting entries I enjoyed.

So, let’s be frank here shall we? Blogging…I’m not good at it. Don’t get me wrong, I have all the best intentions. I have moments practically every day where I think “That would be such a funny blog” or “I should really write about this” but then…well, I don’t. Maybe I sit down to do it but then my apartment is too cold to stay at the computer or I’m hungry or I need to pee or what is my cat doing or is there a rerun of America’s Next Top Model that I’ve seen 73 times on television? You see where I’m going.

 If only I had a laptop, I lament, I would be such an awesome blogger. No, I wouldn’t.

At some point while pondering New Years Resolutions, I thought that I might want to really start updating my blog and writing more. I would talk about everything! I would make goals! I would DIY! I would network! I would be funny! I would be touching! I would share art! I would talk about my day to day life! It would be awesome! Look at your calendar. As I’m writing this, mine says January 12^th, which is a full 11 days after the rest of the world had settled into working on their resolutions. Mine haven’t even been written and if I’m being honest, they never will be.

Okay, I did write some resolutions. But I was drunk and can’t read them. Story of my unhelpful life.

If you’ll allow me a moment to get a little introspective, I believe my problem with blogging is this: any blog that I create is based on the notion that people will have to like me, as a person, for whatever reason, in order to read it. This cuts my readership down to about 5 if I’m being generous. Why? Because here’s the deal – I’m not going to teach you how to cook anything. At best, I may share a photo of something I cooked – at worst, I’ve started eating it before the thought occurs to me. I can’t be expected to take progress pictures, who do you think I am? Replace “cook” with “craft”, “draw”, “DIY” and any other common blog topic that involves the process. Obviously, I’m not eating all of that after completion, but you get what I’m saying.

 Did you know I painted this desk? I did. It tasted really great, too.

I’m also not going to give you helpful tips on how to live your life to its full potential or get out of debt or open a 401k like other common blog genres. Why? Because when I’m looking at my electric bill at the same time I’m looking at concert tickets for a concert that’s not even in my state, I’m buying the tickets and worrying about it later. That blog would be called “How To Get In Debt & Stay There.” I also don’t care how you quit your job and are now blogging from beaches in Fiji. Know why? Because in order to have that life you have to write really boring blogs about how other Joe Schmoes can do the same thing and I’m nodding off just thinking about it.

 Full disclosure, I have a 401k. Do you know how it works? I don’t.

I don’t care about SEO. I consider networking just a way to get free drinks. I don’t want to utilize social media to my advantage. I find all that horribly boring and would probably be stomping my way to the computer like Paul Rudd having to clean up his plate in Wet Hot American Summer if I had to read about it without getting paid for it, forget about blogging about it.

Unless utilizing social media to my advantage means getting my favorite celeb to retweet me and fall in love

So, without a niche, shall we say, anything I blog is about me or things I think are funny/interesting, and relies on you liking me enough to read it. I don’t even like me enough for that. I’m kind of smarmy and have a bad habit of getting fixated on things. Obviously, I think my fixations are funny but twitter has shown me that other people may not always agree. That’s right, I was persecuted and unfollowed for professing my love of Tim Riggins and Hanson.

 Professing it 1440 times doesn’t seem like that much to me.

I suppose what I’m getting at here is this: my intentions are to update my blog more. It didn’t work out for me last time because I was trying to have A BLOG where I posted about IMPORTANT GOALS and WORTHY TOPICS and that just doesn’t work for me. I want to be vaguely anonymous in terms of never connecting my social media/blog to my job, and write about that time I dropped my pizza in a puddle and cried about it or that time I gutted a teddy bear to sneak a video camera into a concert.

Welcome to that.

Harry Potter

Originally posted on my old blog, Get Up Eight, which died when I didn't renew the domain. Reposting entries I enjoyed.
 
Last night I went to the last ever midnight premier for a Harry Potter movie. It was what I’d come to expect from these experiences – long lines of people waiting to get in, chatting about our excitement with new faces who’d be our new best friends for the brief hours where we wait, rushes to get the best seat, then more waiting. Invariably, people will be decked out in full costume. A Mad Eye Moody will try to get the whole theater to do the wave, which we will and the closer we get, someone will start calling out the minutes left until it starts to which everyone else will cheer.

There’s a lot of pent up energy. This time, more than usual because we all have a sense that this is the final time we’ll be in a group like this, sharing our love for a group of people that we’ve come to know as family and a story we’ve come to feel as our own.

It’s never a quiet group, but I have to say that last night’s premier was different. Instead of a din throughout the whole movie, it was as if the whole crowd acted as a single entity. We all laughed at the same moments, cheered at the same moments, clapped at the same moments, and cried together at the same moments.

This is the world and the culture JK Rowling created. We knew what was going to happen. We read every word that was written. We’d already seen Snape’s true colors and discovered what Harry didn’t know about his fate. And yet? We sat there in dead silence while Harry watched Snape’s memories and made his way out to the forbidden forest, resolved to do what we already had accepted that he must. The only sound in the crowd of hundreds was that of muffled sighs and sniffling from everyone, male and female, young and old.

I’m truly sad that this whole experience, the books and now their movie adaptations, are over, and as we all shuffled off to our cars at 2:30am this morning I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with a gratitude at being able to be a part of it at all.

I came to know this world later than a lot of people did. I was too cool to read books about witches and wizards when they first starting coming out. It was baby stuff and I rolled my eyes at it, truth be told. But when I finally gave in and got sucked into this world, things changed. It was vast, complex and compelling. There were no black and white personalities – people were good AND bad; they were heroes and villains at the same time; they second-guessed themselves and they made mistakes – some terrible – in their histories. They were human, flawed, and perfect. And I’m going to miss every one of them.