Happy people: an observation.

I wonder if they're as happy as they look.
I wonder if I ever look that happy.
I wonder if I ever am that happy.
I remember feeling the way they seem. So then is it just possible, but just not current?

I know I'm not supposed to compare myself to other people. I know how hard it is not to though.

It makes me sad to think I don't feel that way. Worse, I want to. But I don't feel as though I can control it entirely. It's dependent on people in my life just as much as it is in the outlook I take. People have a huge influence on my happiness. You see, I have this empathy tendency. I can feed off of others' excitement, or fear, or sadness, or negativity. Maybe that's why I want to do what I want(ed) to do. (Side note: I want to work with kids moreso than adults these days.) Working with adults kind of seems like a disastrous idea, if the empathy thing holds any water.

One would assume the solution is to surround yourself with positive things/people -- something that has become a recurring theme at this point in my life. Since James, I've noticed this coming back around again & again. I want to, but somehow I tend to attract the tired, down people. I wonder if that's the workings of my subconscious.

Then again, I'm lucky to have some friends that are utter optimists. I may not always seek them out, but they're there and they usually find me and they lift me up. I love those guys.

Maybe I'm not as bad off as I think I am. I mean, I have to work at it, but I have been making an effort to shrug off the unfortunate and laugh off the coincidental and breathe the entire time. I don't know how to teach myself to take life less seriously, but I know it's got to be on the agenda.

Enough of this. I just made brownies, and I'm going to have tea & brownies.

Also, today, I got new boots. Now I have awesome brown and black boots. That made me happy. :)

Happy Halloween!

What a day & it's only 9am!

I leave the apartment, walk the 100 feet to the end of the block and turn the corner. As I approach the next street, a school bus turns off of it and two girls scream out of a back window "Happy Halloween!" Without a thought, I waved and screamed it back. I wasn't really expecting myself to respond, so I was a little taken aback when I heard the words & the cheeriness come out of my mouth.

I get to my car and head towards the GCP. After sitting at the light on Jewel at the GCP for what feels like minutes (it's a pretty quick light generally), I realize the light just isn't changing. So, for the first time ever, I honk with an effective purpose, and people moved. I made my right turn and grabbed up my cell phone. I dialed "311" and reported the light. Again, something I really wasn't expecting me to do, but before I could realize what I was doing, the words, "Hi, I'd just like to report a malfunctioning traffic light," were coming out of my mouth. Of course I had to be transferred to another department to tell the same story all over again, but ultimately, the report was made. Hooray good deed! (Kind of, at least.)

Immediately after hanging up the phone, I notice one of those traffic-alert signs that then read, "Delays Ahead Exit 23 to 24." No big deal, I thought. Just one exit. That's never too bad. However, we basically stopped near exit 24, and I noted how odd that was. So I began paying attention, and the next clue I noticed was there were no cars on the westbound side of the highway, leading me to conclude that they had actually closed the highway.

As it turns out, they did. Exit 24 westbound on the Grand Central Parkway this morning was closed. The accident? A car, a truck and a police car. It was an absolutely horrible thing to have happpened, but the coolest thing to witness. I tried to get a picture, which I will attempt to upload this weekend. Of course, I hope everyone was okay. But what an interesting morning!

Here's to having a good night following a good day -- because my theory on not being able to have both has needed to be disproven. So there.

Good things.

1. I got an A on a test I took on Monday in my class on Germany. I got a B on my last test, and this one counts for more. See, when life isn't so horrible, my grades don't completely suck.

2. Barack Obama made me cry tonight. I know this doesn't come across as a good thing, but with six days left 'till the election, and a ton of things to do for school, I will make an effort to get that man the vote. I believe him. I don't usually believe politicians, but I sincerely believe this man is fighting for something we do, in fact, need. Something to bring this country back on its feet and stop it from heading somewhere noone has seen since the 1930's. I know the odds for him suck despite the polls. I know I've never voted, and therefore have never had the right to complain. But this time is different. This time it doesn't just feel like fancy rhetoric. I believe in Barack Obama. Anyone, everyone, please vote for this man on Tuesday.

3. The Phillies just won the world series! This shouldn't technically make me happy, as I'm a Yankees fan, but I have a few friends from Philly and I know how excited they are (shout outs to 'Stine, Case, Josh & B!). I am incredilbly happy for the team and for their fans.

A side story: I was studying for my history test tomorrow and watching the game with little cartoon dudes on mlb.com. It was the top of the 9th, 2 out, runner on 2nd and 2 strikes to the pinch hitter the Rays put in. Tim turns to me at that moment and says, "did your internet just cut out?" WHAT?! It did. I didn't actually get to see the final pitch, even if it was in cartoon form, because our router chose that moment to crash. It came back up just in time to see the "Phillies Win!" captions. I laughed for minutes.

4. Chris is helping me make my costume tomorrow. We're going to go to Michael's and get some stuff to make me a wand and a crown. The fact that he offered to do this for me makes me feel loved. Not that I question if I am. Just that it's nice to feel.

5. Halloween is Friday! Sure, I don't have any candy, but maybe I'll grab a bag or two tomorrow--just in case. Maybe kids in Queens don't trick-or-treat, but I'd rather have extra to eat in the apartment than not have some for the kiddies if they do swing by. But then I get to dress up and go out, with Chris, and potentially sing me some karaoke.

6. I bought Chris a present. It takes place next Friday. I'm afraid that's all I can divulge at this time. More later.

7. Joana asked me if I wanted to go see the Radio City Spectacular Holiday Show next month. I've never been, and for 40 bucks, I'm soooooo there.

So now I've spent most of my night watching Barack, the Phillies and writing this. I'm going to go devote an hour or so to studying for tomorrow's exam, then try to get a decent night's sleep.

It's nice to have good things to say. I like the way this feels.

Happy Labour Day! (...)

...if you live in New Zealand, that is. Humorously, the calendar also calls today a "Bank Holiday (IRL)." I imagine Ireland is having a bank holiday (or maybe not; I've never paid attention to "IRL" on a calendar before and thus am not sure what it means exactly), but all I can think of is that it's a bank holiday "in real life." I need to get out more.

Oooh, perfect segue!

So that is just what I've been doing--or, at least, have begun to do. I think I realize now that my doing-of-things used to fuel my blog. It made me have something to say; it made me feel somewhat interesting, like there was something in my life worth writing down & remembering. It's been so stagnant lately because, well, my life has been as well. Here's the basics (pre-excitement):

- I live in Forest Hills, with Chris, since the end of August. This has not been an easy transition. I have not given up hope yet though, either. There's got to be some making-it-work time, or we didn't really try, right? I predict, and truly believe, we are now on a clear path to perfection (or as close as we can come to it).

- I drive to Stony Brook every day, for school and work. This largely fuels my desire not to want to do things other then getthehellhome at the end of the day, but that has made me quite lazy, and not a little cranky and needy. Time for a change!

- When I'm not driving or in school or work, I'm home, either doing homework, playing WoW (which is nowhere near as often as one might think -- I do a lot of homework), cleaning something in the apartment, or tapping my foot waiting for Chris to want to do something together. Bad Linda. (The foot-tapping and its effect on Chris also fuels my desire to go out & play.)

- Sometimes, on weekends, you can find me in Astoria, playing with my friends over there. But I'm too "early" for many of those excursions. They like to go out around 10/11-ish. I like to leave for the night somewhere near 12/1-ish. I used to be a 4am-er, but I was never a 10am-er. No way, no how.

And that brings us to now. Of course I've not had much to say -- I haven't done anything! But things are changing. I now have something to talk about...

Last Thursday I went to dinner with an old friend, Brian. We went to a cute little Italian place that his family frequents. Thursdays are apparently "wine night" there, so we split a bottle of pinot noir for half its cost. The food was yummy; I left my leftovers at his apartment, but mostly because I didn't pay much for it. We also watched Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle, or whatever that horrible movie is titled. It was definitely an eyeroll-worthy flick. But I hadn't seen it, and it was in the collection I was able to choose from, so I picked it. It kept the mood light & silly anyway, despite the fact that it appeared to frustrate Brian some. I got home at a fairly decent hour of 11-11:30pm.

Friday Joana & I went to see Bess Rogers (a friend of mine from high school) perform at Canal Room in NYC. She was awesome, as usual, though "usual" for me has only been two shows now. ;) But I like going to see her; her songs are pretty amazing and she has real charisma on stage. We keep telling each other we'll "get together for a drink..." but it's now become a staple of our seeing each other at her shows. We laugh, say, "no really," and someone else comes over to discuss something she said/did on stage. I tend to slip past, and leave the establishment.

We also had some pretty good Mexican food at Lupe's after we left Canal Room. Maybe it was the Jack & Coke, the Captain & Coke, and the pineapple mojito, but I definitely deem the food tasty. I was highly impressed by their chicken in the tostada salad, which was like a flat taco, but delicious nonetheless.

I was going to join Jo in a dancing excursion the same evening, but I wanted to try to get to pumpkin picking semi-early Saturday morning, so we opted just to eat and part ways.

Saturday morning = fail. I woke up at 9:30, which was great, but after not sleeping very well, I fell immediately back to sleep, for a final wake time of 11:30 am. Chris deemed this a little too late (what with the rain clouds ominously floating overhead) to drive out to Long Island in seach of pumpkins, so I opted to go without him. But first we had breakfast at the diner, and what I thought was a pretty good talk, chock full o' things we needed to discuss. IMO, it went well. I left him at home shortly therafter and borrowed his car to make the trip out to Long Island.

Along the way I sought out some company in the pumpkin-hunt, and was met with a positive response from my friend Rob, though he was unavailable until after 3:30. So I did some Costco shopping (75$ in regular household stuff like TP & paper towels & sponges--OMG!) and hung out at my mom's house for a while. He finally came by around 4:30 and no sooner were we in the car and headed towards any farm we could find, when a dull mist began to fall from the sky.

Determined to outlast the rain, I found one place that was closing at 5:00. We showed up? 5:05. I thought maybe Schmitt Farms would still be open past 5 on a Sunday, and they were only a few minutes away, but alas--they were not. So we did the only thing we could think of to get pumpkins...we went to the supermarket.

King Kullen was down to about 8 pumpkins, all of which sucked, so in the essence of pumpkin "picking" we hit up another supermarket. Waldbaums came through.

It was still fairly early, and I was under pumpkin budget, so I bought Rob & me some Taco Bell and we parted ways after going back to my mother's to pick up his truck. The day, on the whole, was fun.

That evening, after making it home in the monsoon of October 2008 and managing to unload the car, I put lots of things away and then prepared Chris & my pumpkins for carving. We searched for faces to carve, decided what we were going to do, made marker-rough-drafts and got to work. The results: (picture to follow). We also picked out the pumpkin seeds and toasted them in the oven for wonderful deliciousness. I enjoyed every second of our carving-time together, and even if he couldn't be there to run around Long Island in search of last-minute pumpkins, I had an excellent time with Chris just making fun faces out of pumpkins and spending creative time together.

Sunday was full of work, so I won't bother getting into any real detail on that one.

But all-in-all, an excellent weekend.

My day: 9/11 & Becky

I can't help but wonder if Themis Chronopoulis, professor of the rise and decline of urban cities, decided to show the film on the construction of NYC intentionally today. With several shots of the lower Manhattan skyline, coupled with higher-than-the-rest-of-the-month estrogen, I found myself misty eyed more than once at from 9:50 to 11:10 this morning.

NPR was discussing if we talk too much or too little about the occurrence seven years ago today. I was on a ten minute ride to work from campus, or I would have found out peoples' opinions on the subject, but it made me wonder what my own opinion was. At first thought, "just enough" came to mind. But I'm not sure. And I still don't know. Who's to judge what's enough or what's too much? For me? I don't think I hear about 9/11 all that often. However, I don't know that if I did, I wouldn't think it was being harped upon.

On my ride back to school from work, I caught a bit on school segregation. Popular theory of [the caller] was that high schools and colleges had racially segregated cliques. I immediately called my own high school days to mind, in an attempt to recall what it was like at good ol' LHS. But I don't actually recall what life was like then; I spent a lot of time avoiding that place. So I thought about the campus I was on my way to, and I came to the conclusion that segregation isn't really an issue at SBU. Most people are pretty friendly with one another, regardless of ethnicity or nationality. I think, as the host of NPR commented, colleges have been working at creating environments that encourage mingling.

What I had to say about it (out loud, to the car stereo) was that we've had this problem since Brown vs. the Board of Education and the military had to be called to assist in desegregation. Today's parents aren't used to it and therefore don't encourage their children to have friends of all nationalities. And it won't be easy for them to either, unless they are made comfortable with the concept. Is it possible? Probably. But I don't think it can be accomplished in the next few years, or even decade.

In other news, Becky, a former waitress co-worker of mine, came into my office today. At first glance I thought maybe she had a speech problem I never noticed. Or maybe a child (it's entirely plausible from what I recall of her personality from back in the Bennigan's days) with a tongue thrust...who knows? Instead, in making my way around the office wall to give her an "OMG! I haven't seen you in forever!" hug, I noticed the pamphlets in her hand, and her male companion. Wishing she had noticed the "No Soliciting" sign (in hot pink) on the door, I asked what she was doing there. "Uh, we have spa packages, actually," she replied. Through an obviously forced smile I reminded her of the notice on the door and told her she couldn't be there. I noticed a self-righteous switch in her attitude. I asked a few questions about the biz and she felt the need to toss in how much "more money" she makes than the cranky people that throw her out of their offices. She also showed me all of the sign-ups they had accrued during the course of their beg-selling, and explained that it had nothing to do with begging and that they were quite educated, and then I think something about having her own business. Understanding her need to feel bigger, I marveled at her accomplishments and told her how great it was to see her. She did the usual: asked what I had been up to these days and such. She brought up that Kristy had gotten married. Realizing it as the words were flying out of my mouth, "I know. I was there," was probably the most pretentious thing I could have said. I was met with a high-pitched, "oh," and decided Becky hadn't changed, and I had. And even though it was this vain, superficial comparison, I felt a little bit better about me, and the person I had become.

Dear Dad

I know blaming you is not the answer, because my actions are my own fault, but I can't forgive you. If you weren't in my life, sure, I wouldn't have been born, but the way I grew up, sometimes I think that's better.

No one should have to go through this. No one. I spent 7th grade on suicide watch in middle school. Who does that? Why--please explain to me why--it's so easy to be so mean. Tell me how disregarding peoples' feelings can come without conscious awareness. I know you know the answer, because you do it to me every day.

I did it every day too, once. And I thought it was the biggest mistake of my life. Now I realize not being able to stop, now, is actually the biggest mistake of my life.

You couldn't & can't handle that part of yourself, dad, but I fight every day to try to handle that part of me. I just love when I can get it right--the feeling of comfort and happiness is just utterly amazing. You'd think that'd be enough for me to keep away from the mean, but somehow, it's just not. I can be a hurtful person, and I am very ashamed of that. Because not only does no one deserve to have to fight to remain good, moreso no one deserves to be treated bad. For someone to play the role of "mean guy," someone else has to play the role of "victim," and I'm sick to death of claiming victims.

Just because I've made progress in this field doesn't make it okay as a behavior. I hurt people, and that hurts me. Why do I even have the capability? And even if that's something everyone is born with, what makes it so much more difficult for me?

Every time I slam a door, every time I use any variation of spite, I think of you, dad. Because all joking aside, "I learned it by watching you." I don't know how to forgive you for that. I'd like to think learning how would "set me free," but I'm also not sure it's that easy.

But damnit, more than anything else in my life, I want to be nice. To the people I love.

fantasy dream.

Well, kind of.
It starts here, in Forest Hills. Kind of.
Several of us --mostly Chris's family though, I believe -- are in what feels like an inn. It's as if we're in some kind of cross between Ireland (where I've never been, so I may just be talking out of my ass here) and New York City. Chris says something in an upstairs bedroom that I don't particularly care for, so I head downstairs, into a main room. I settle off to the side, in what could be considered a kitchen in a small apartment, but doesn't feel like a kitchen in this instance. I sit on a regular plastic/metal chair and wait.

A few minutes pass, and Rachel comes over and stands behind me. She starts telling me stories about her hair, and how she had formerly cut it, or style it, or whathaveyou. I feel a brush being pulled through my hair and I realize she might have thought I was sitting there waiting for her to cut my hair. But the brush feels amazing, so I continue to listen to her talk, and wonder how I would ask her to cut it were that what she was planning on doing.

In her talk of hair length, she refers "like this," indicating she wants me to turn and face her, so I do. She takes my eyeliner pencil cap off (though where she got it from is beyond me), places my chin in her palm and begins to apply eyeliner to my right eyelid. At that point it seems as though she is quite confidently going to give me a "makeover" as though she is some kind of authority on the subject. I feel awkward, but somewhat proud. I glance over at Chris, who has also entered the central room. He appears unimpressed.

With that, a woman sitting on a couch adjacent to us frantically begins asking for help, as her makeup experiment has suddenly gone awry. Rachel rushes over to assist her, and for some reason, I leave the establishment.

Outside, I wait for Rachel, though I'm not sure why. I explain to some guy about the scene that had just taken place while we walk down what looks to be a relative of Yellowstone Boulevard. Rachel eventually catches up to us, and in that same moment I realize she was holding my eyeliner back at the inn and it was still likely inside. She cheerily states she'll go back and retrieve it, but I follow, only I am slower than she and she is already ahead of me.

I return to the "inn" shortly thereafter and she is nowhere to be found. A barmaid/innkeeper type woman is cleaning up in the exact location we had recently departed. She mentions I'm probably looking for the "TooLowToHearWhatSheIsSaying" but I explain, as I find both the pencil and the cover, that I am only there for my eyeliner, which yes, could have been purchased for pennies elsewhere.

Curious as to where Rachel had wandered off to, I head back outside. Upon my departure, a man with whom I am evidently acquainted "oh, hi!"s me. I return the salutation, but explain that that someone is waiting for me outside or I would stay and chat.

I immediately spot Rachel and hurry over. I convey that I had found what we had both gone to seek. She happily acknowledges our triumph and we begin walking down the street.

After a short journey we enter a shop as though we are on a mission. There are two old men sitting next to a table containing a type of pastry--perhaps rugala. We determinedly head for the set of stairs in the back of the establishment and exit to a series of alleys. After setting off down one of them, I turn behind me to find the source of some commotion we can both hear, but Rachel comments that they are high school kids and we should proceed forward. I reply that we'll just have to go through the ghetto then, bound down some stairs, and following, Rachel laughs. I duck out of the alley and land on a city street. Faintly, I recall a memory in which Chris and I had traveled this path before and found it to be the incorrect way. I verbalize this thought and Rachel agrees to try to find the right one. We turn back to the shop. As we re-enter, the two men attempt to engage us in friendly conversation, noting how quickly we have returned, but we politely decline. I state to Rachel that if I recall correctly, there is a different staircase that we need to take out of the shop, but that Chris knows for certain. I begin to search rooms, but realize Rachel is not with me. I call out to her, several times, and she replies that she is talking with the shopkeeper, but headed in my direction. She joins me in the room in which I am standing and leans against a wide door frame, while I sit on the floor, defeated.

What she says next immediately confuses me. I can't recall exactly what her words are, but it is clearly acting. A puzzled expression crosses my face. With that, Chris enters the room and begins speaking aloud to himself as though preparing for a game later, which is what I assume he is doing. It is also the first time I notice character/game pieces on a table in the center of the room. Understanding that Rachel wants to lure me into a role-playing game, I turn back to her and in an accent of some kind, exclaim in response to her question, "but we don't even know where we are!" Chris's attention turns to us, and I immediately ask him where the stairs that we are looking for are located. He answers without words by handing me a piece of construction paper with what looked like a message on it. Whether attuned to Chris's, creating my own, or a combination of the two, I am instantly filled with pride once again, mostly because Rachel has swayed me into a game I honestly believe I will enjoy playing. I glance at the paper, which has the words "Basement for rent" written on it, with a description of the space available underneath it. I smile knowingly and thank him, placing the paper on yet another table in the room. "The basement," I say to Rachel, and on a double-take, pick up the paper once again. "I think I'd better hold on to this as well," I explain, "wouldn't want someone to move in and block our access." Rob Smith-Hoffman, out of nowhere, leans over to Chris and whispers, "she's a smart one." Chris smiles and I make my way to the basement staircase. Rob follows.

There are three people on the stairs, though I don't know them. The first one is close to the top, and upon my arrival he "hits" me with a mock weapon. I "hit" back, and Rob notes the "damage" being done as well as comments on it. I lose comprehension at this point, but I don't give up. I apparently "kill" my attacker through a parry and a kick, though I've no idea how. The two other people are towards the bottom of the stairs and I stare at them, suddenly realizing I'm in combat, and this is not table-top. Slightly nervous I turn to my former attacker and ask what to do next. "How do you want to attack them?" he replies. I make the motion of jumping, arms up and over my head, superman style, at them. "Or can I not do something like 'jump'?" I inquire. He tells me that I can if I really want to and explains what happens if I kill both of them from the blow, or just one, or if I miss completely. I ask another question or two, about cost of attacking, cost for different styles and the like. I turn back to the battle, but two security officers are standing just below me on the stairs. I look over at Rob. "Are these guys real? Or are they your guys?" He laughs and tells me that they're actual security guards. I look back at them, half-laughing, not sure if I believe him. At this point I get the impression we are in a public place, blocking a staircase and shouldn't be there.

I wake up.