5 reasons to date locals

You have probably figured out by now that I am at least 75% mushy, even though I pretend to be tough, impenetrable, flighty, brash, lewd, and other non-mushy things.  Yes, I like kittens and ballads and Dove chocolates and I'm part of the royal line of RomCom Queens.  I also have been known on more than one occasion to make gagging noises when people are being cute in my vicinity, especially my sister and her boyfriend, or my parents, or Mary & Zach.

Double-kitten cuteness: Stella chomping my first-ever Beanie Baby, Snip.

That being said, how about we agree that inconsistency is a human condition, that Valentine's Day kind of makes everybody want to puke, even if what we want to puke is rainbows and carnations, and that I will try to spare you the obligatory mushy-gushy V-Day post and will not entirely succeed.

My intention here, so you can hold me accountable, is to err on the side of unromantic practicality: One major benefit of dating, especially as the new kid on the block, is the opportunity to explore new places and activities that I wouldn't normally look into or even know about.  This is also why it is a good idea to date locals.*

*J., this is not why I go out with you, I swear...


There are definite ethnographic benefits of getting close to the natives for purposes of becoming more familiar with the culture of interest.  Here are a few:

1. You get the inside scoop on local lore.  One night in New Orleans on Spring Break, I picked up a Bourbon Street bartender, born and raised in 9th Ward Nawlins.  When I told him I had never fallen in love with a city so hard and so fast, he asked, "Have you drunk tap water?"  I said I had, and he assured me I would return.  "You'll be back," he said.  "That's what they say: you drink the water, you'll come back someday."

As it turns out, I'm on the books to head back to NOLA this summer--as a chaperone this time.  Are you scared?

OK, moral of the story: There's magic in the water.  Be warned.

I realize that story is not Delaware-related, but I'm pretty proud of it, and the principle still stands.  Although I have heard that Delaware water isn't really potable.  And also that the nuclear power plants across the highway from my house were built in the 70s and are now breaking down.  Straight into our 'hood.

2. You have someone to drag along with you to check out venues.  At work I click a lot of Twitter links to Delaware events and attractions.  (If anyone is interested, follow the #netDE hashtag for all that good stuff.)  Anyway, I often stumble upon awesome activities or features and I can just share links to things I want to check out.  Dates are not likely to say, "No, let's not check out this incredibly cool activity."

3. They can recommend venues.  They tell you what's good, because they know.  They can show you all their favorite places, the places they've been going for as long as they can remember, the burger joint with the best fries because they have really compared most of the fries in Wilmington.  They usually have backstories too, like, "That's the place I went when I had just turned 21 and my cousin almost started a barfight so I've never been back."

In that vein, they can also tell you where not to go.

4. You know how to get there.  Locals know their way around better than a GPS or even an atlas, which especially south of Wilmington are often glaringly 10 years out of date.  Better yet, locals know shortcuts and back roads and beautiful scenic routes like the proverbial Valley.

And best of all, locals sometimes like to pick me up and take me to the destination, so I never actually have to figure out how to get there.  Ever.

5. You know what to order.  Back to Twitter.  The Wilmo Visitors' Bureau (@VisitWilmington) often posts links to at least one really excellent food blog, which is/are torturous to read at work because of the utterly delicious eateries and entrees they review and recommend, NONE of which I can eat at work.

Anyway, that blog recently featured this awesome-looking café called Lucky's, and when I caught myself drooling on my keyboard I sent the link to J., who messaged me back, "I go to lunch there all the time!  They have awesome..."  Now I don't remember what he said was awesome, but he was gung-ho about it and will definitely tell me what's good.

***

Update: Since starting this post I have been to Lucky's Coffee Shop and I can safely say the grilled ham & cheese sandwich, the turkey club, and the banana cream pie are all delicious.  Also, good jams (the 60s Sirius station).  And super cute place in general.


However, I have to revoke #4 above: Locals do NOT, in fact, know their way around.  I mean, it's not a given.  Sometimes you might drive around for 40 minutes or so looking for the interstate, or US 202, whichever shows up first.  In the meantime, you might hit pretty much every other highway in the state while driving in unclosed polygons across the whole northern half of Delaware.


You might.


It's not so bad, though.  After all, you learn a lot about a person when you're driving down unlit back roads in a car with them, "looking for the interstate"...

rubber-banding

I'm on vacation!  Out of the office until Wednesday, and the restaurant too.  I'm definitely looking forward to having some time off, but I'm also mildly terrified about having nothing on my schedule, no obligations or anything.

...Besides carrying the star into the crèche on Christmas morning.  I have graduated from my days of playing Mary, Mother of Jesus, and my days of co-writing and co-directing overambitious nativity villages and talk shows.  I am moving into a new role.

Speaking of changing roles, my latest realization is how utterly awful I am at transitions.  The other day I walked into Bishop's after work and I must have been acting weird because the guys said, "Hey, are you OK?  You seem... distraught."

First of all, how pumped am I that that's the word they came up with!  Secondly, after they called me out, a lot of my tension evaporated, and I smiled and realized that I am often distraught when I walk in there.  I'm easily distraught from one side of a new situation to the other, and it takes me so long to adapt.  Which is a strange thing to realize (over and over again over the last few years) when "adaptable" used to be a pretty accurate descriptor of me as a kid.  Of course, back then I had to be.

And I guess, if we're being realistic, I still do, because life is basically a series of changes.  I wouldn't want to become prematurely stuck in my ways at the age of 22.  I hope to at least be 80 before that happens.

I can't knock on my need for routines, though, and on a more fundamental level, some sort of stability.  Thus my uncharacteristically vehement response yesterday morning to certain suggestions about my future...

When I came upstairs in the morning, Grampi was already up and bumbling around.  Now, first off, you need to understand that the communication centers of my brain don't fire up until I've been bumbling around for at least 20 minutes.  Also, I'm definitely not interested in small talk over breakfast.  Breakfast with other people is a time for communal basking, or important discussions.  And when I say important, I mean touchy-feely important.  Like relationship-talk.

Anyway, he asked what I studied in college (even though he totally knows, and brings it up himself from time to time) and then asked if I'm planning on going to grad school in the near future (the answer is no, because I'm sick of school, I don't know what I would study if I went back right now, and I love working).  My early morning mumbling problem also makes conversation difficult, especially with someone who doesn't understand me very well on a regular basis.  So I mumbled that question away, and then he said, "You know, anthropology has been one of the great passions of my life" (an odd contradiction to the anti-anthropology creationist sermon he preached to me on a flight to India 4 years ago).  "Have you ever considered mission work?"

I think I actually snorted, and responded shortly in a definite non-mumble, "No."  Not that don't revere the incredible work of my grandparents (all four of them) and appreciate the experiences I was able to have as a result... I just feel quite certain that the type of mission work he's talking about is not my life's calling.

"You have some skills, though, that could really serve you well as a missionary!"

For some reason it took me twice as long to eat breakfast and get ready for work.

Every semester, every vacation, every project and job I've been amazed at how long it takes me to settle into a new routine, a new way of thinking and of doing things.  I feel like it used to be a lot easier, and I'm wondering now if I'm subconsciously resisting change as a defense mechanism, to protect my seemingly fragile core and foundation.  Things--my future, my control--feel uncertain.  This is disconcerting.  It makes me act irrationally and defensively, to protect the delicate balance I have worked out to move forward.  Ironically, when I am existentially so unbending, it makes me more vulnerable to the threatening aspects of change, and I bounce back less readily.  A la bridge pose mantra, "I am vulnerable.  I am strong.  I can be vulnerable because I am strong."

As far as getting comfortable goes, I'm just now starting to settle into my jobs and my routine, after how long?  I'm starting to feel actually comfortable with the people I work with, to feel some rapport.  On Wednesday I brought a fruitcake to work to share, and--it's not too early to share this here--my top New Year's resolution is to express my appreciation more openly, to say thanks more often.  So I wrote this in an accompanying note, and it's always strange to me when people are surprised to hear that I like them, or to hear anything that I think, in fact.  It's just so transparent to me!

Speaking of saying thank you, Coffeeshopcrush finished (and loved--no surprise) The Princess Bride...  And he introduced himself, and now that I know his name, the saga is over.  As promised.

Happy Christmas weekend, Merry Christmas Adam, because Adam came before Eve (via @jensentweets on Twitter)!  More to come this weekend, I'm sure.

Until then, I'll get a headstart on 2012 and say thanks for reading!

sweet nothing

My head feels a little fuzzy right now and it's disconcerting.  It's been a weird week, and one that seemed to stretch on endlessly.  This is a strange season in the adult world.  I've been watching Facebook statuses and Twitter streams about final exams and feeling very, very far away from that.  I'm gradually sending out my long-distance Christmas packages, although I may hold off on the rest of them until after the holiday to avoid the endless lines at the post office.  But getting text messages from recipients makes me ache to be there with them as they open the boxes and each individual package.  Actually, a lot of text messages in general are making me ache to speak face-to-face with their senders.  It's so beautifully devastating to have a feeling like that.

Speaking of beautifully devastating, I'm eating breakfast alone right now, on a gorgeous Sunday morning, listening to Straight No Chaser's Christmas album.  Current track: Christmas Wish.  I'll spare you the eye-rolling gushiness of any real lyrics, but the gist of the song is "I want somebody to love this Christmas."  Watching the "12 Days of Christmas" video on the lyrics website makes me miss the Limestones.  And missing the Limestones makes me miss Face and Homecoming and shivering our way down to Huggs to watch The Bachelor on Monday nights after dinner, sometimes battling snowdrifts and whiteouts.  (And so on and so forth.)

Looks like a white Christmas this year will be nothing more than a dream, if that.

So what's been weird about this week?  Plunged into it on Monday in crisis mode, which is a difficult way to start a week.  Everyone at the restaurant seems perpetually wired lately, which is not really surprising given the season and the particular circumstances.  On Friday everyone in the office dressed up, dashing and beautiful, and rode up to Philadelphia in a limo for lunch at an exclusive city club.  I had to look up online what "business elegant" is, and didn't find a clear answer--but I'm starting to realize that it's important (at least for me) to synthesize my own personal sense of style with the Rules of Professional Dress.  I work more effectively that way, and I feel more confident and communicate a little more successfully.  (How successfully I really communicate these days, with anyone, is up for debate.)

Speaking of communicating, I feel like I haven't really talked to anyone in ages.  I did get a heartwarming message last night from a really important person, someone I haven't heard from in years.  He is a person I knew for 2 months, maybe, but I do not hesitate to say that he taught me a lot about love.  Not in the way you might think, not fiery, passionate love, but how crucial it is to believe that no matter what happens, someone will take my hand and never let go, not until the cows come home, if that's how long it takes, even if we know virtually nothing about each other.  Because this is what he did for me, and has done, and neither of us will ever forget that moment in time.  I think I can still feel his hand in mine.  It's like the phantom limb effect.  It really sticks with you.

I miss those conversations.  The ones where you don't have to say anything at all and it says more than you could ever say if you kept trying to say the important things forever.

Anyway, the club was gorgeous and FULL of history and portraits of important Americans and Philadelphians since Independence.  (Strange that for some people "Independence" brings to mind much more powerful and mixed memories than for me.  This is just occurring to me, that "Independence" was so long ago that I have largely taken it for granted throughout my life.  Meanwhile, Time magazine named "The Protester" as its Person of the Year, because many groups around the world have been battling for this very thing this year: Independence.)

On my way home my mouth felt parched with a thirst that water could never satisfy, so I stopped to get a smoothie from Coffeeshopcrush.  Seriously, this boy must read constantly.  It's inspiring, and it's caused me to carry Tuck Everlasting around with me almost everywhere.  This book may well end up blowing my mind.  Anyway, he told me "not to worry about" the smoothie, and that he's been trying to come up with a book to lend me now.  I really cannot wait to see what he'll come up with.

I tried to write this post last night, but my brain was even less attached then.  I was sitting with my brother and sister in the living room, watching SNL and reading DamnYouAutoCorrect.com while Thom surfed 9GAG and Maria fell asleep mummified by her blanket.  Everyone was saying SNL was especially good last night, and every single trending topic on Twitter was SNL-related, and I definitely was laughing pretty hard, but I don't think I've ever actually watched it before.  I've also never been to Philly before.  Checking things off my very mundane bucket list.

I guess it's OK to have nothing to say.  It's just nice to have somebody to say nothing to.

at least one fun thing

This weekend I earned myself the nickname "Constablogger," as in "Oh Constablogger... you're at it again!"  (A fond overture, I hope.)  Not because I was actually consta-blogging in the cybersphere, as you may have noticed, but I mentally consta-blogged EVERYTHING--so this could get long.  But I hope you'll love the weekend as much as I did.  Read on!

The highlight, of course, was Audrey's visit.  This just colored everything sunny and wonderful.

To the Delaware River!

Before I get to that, though, I've got to put in my customary plug for Bishop's Coffee.  On Friday I stopped in for lunch (the most delicious bowl of chili I have ever eaten) and the guys said, "Hey, where you been?"  I commented on T.'s mustache and he explained that he was growing it for charity--specifically, a children's grief center called Supporting Kidds, incidentally located right across the street from my work.  First of all, I am SO down with this charity (see my brief consideration of a career grief counseling, c. 2009) and second of all, mustaches are hilarious.  Coffeeshopcrush came in halfway through my lunch, so I ran to grab The Princess Bride out of my car before heading back to work, successfully leaving my cell phone on the table and managing to not say one single thing to anyone on my way out because I was so flustered.  And everyone was looking at me like an alien had just exploded out of my sternum.

It occurred to me that the book has my full name inside the cover, so if anyone were to do his due diligence (i.e. internet stalking) he would quickly discover my careful documentation of the Coffeeshopcrush Saga.  Blushing like crazy right now.  But I have since gotten behind myself on that front, because really it is, at the very least, a fun storyline.  Plus, this phenomenon is part of the American Dream.  Which I am not ashamed to be living.

Speaking of the American Dream, I had to work both jobs on Friday, so my mom graciously picked Audrey up from the bus station and they apparently hit it off.  (Is anyone surprised?)  They made dinner together and when I got home we all sat around the dinner table, Mutti, Papa, Maria and her boyfriend, Grampi, Audrey and me (Asha was at a friend's house).  The way I always wanted to eat supper, all crammed in, with some non-nuclear family members squeezed in there, with multiple sub-conversations going on and hilarity everywhere.  We sat there for hours exchanging stories between the generations and laughing like you'd never seen before.  Divine.

We of course stayed up way too late, drinking and watching Friends With Benefits, which is fantastic, and talking in the dark 'til all hours.  So the next day we dawdled over blueberry pancakes and leftover quiche, and headed out to do "at least one fun thing."  Destination: Historic New Castle.

We unknowingly stumbled into the Old Town's Spirit of Christmas celebration, which meant there was music on the streets in spite of the cold.  Shops boasted discounts, restaurants boasted special hours or menu items, classic homes opened their doors to visitors, tour guides in colonial garb welcomed us to historical interest points.

Again by accident, we ended up in the foyer of the Van Dyke House on Delaware Avenue, a giant old mansion previously inhabited by 17th century Delaware statesman Nicholas Van Dyke.  There was a wedding, "rumored to have happened" in the sitting room, in which the bride was given away by the Marquis LaFayette.  A portrait of his portrait hangs over the mantel in that same room--the original can be found in the White House.  The dining room was set with the same heavy, ornate dishware that set it when director Peter Weir stayed there while directing Dead Poets' Society.  Audrey and I flipped out when we learned this.  I didn't know DPS was filmed in Delaware.  That movie propelled my adolescence.  First point gained by the First State this weekend.  (Also, Robin Williams sometimes sat at that dinner table while discussing the movie.  Audrey was really in conniptions about this.)

The current owner of the Van Dyke House told us about The Castle, or Lesley-Travers Mansion, and gave us very vague directions to get there.  So we set off in search of the Presbyterian Church and its free historical open house maps, and ended up instead in the original New Castle Courthouse.

If you ever look at a map of Delaware, you might notice that its northwest border makes a perfect semicircle.  The very top tip of this courthouse is the center of that circle.  I think it's a 15-mile radius.

Inside, the courthouse looks like the set for a stage production of The Crucible.  The walls sport portraits of important historical figures: Peter Stuyvesant, last director-general of New Amsterdam, now NYC; William Penn in armor at age 22--the first and last portrait of this famous Quaker convert; and Virginia Governor Thomas West, titled Lord De La Warr, in whose honor the British dubbed the local Native American tribe, the river, and the First United State of America.  This building houses an incredible amount and array of historical moments.  The colonially-dressed tour guides greeted us jovially and told us stories about Delaware falling first into Dutch hands, then Swedish, then Dutch again, then British, and then becoming the first state to ratify the American Constitution!  (As Midwestern college grads, we were particularly interested in the Swedish occupation and their Fort Christina, named after the popular 15th-century child queen.)  All four of these flags hang outside the courthouse and on the flagpole on the Delaware River:

Flanked by the wild roses that stubbornly greeted us at every turn,
even in the chill of December.

By the time we left the courthouse we were getting hungry again, but we decided to walk to the river and then work our way back into town.  The river was beautiful (even though I told Audrey a million times it was the ocean--false) but it was weird to see Jersey's factories spewing black smoke into the air just across the water.

"Send out a signal, I'll throw you a line..."

We had taken a mental note on our way in to have lunch at Jack's Bistro, which advertised beer chili and local craft beers--both good things, obviously.  So we made our way back there and it was the best idea ever.  We asked about the craft beers in such detail that our server said, "Hang on, let me go get a beer guide."

I was expecting a sheet of paper or a brochure or something, but instead a man in business casual approached our table and listed their featured local beers: Dominion Oak Barrel Stout (they also make a delicious root beer with pure honey, which we got to try), 16 Mile Amber Sun Ale, Dogfish 90-Minute IPA, and another really hoppy one we both blocked out completely because it sounded so bitter.  We got the stout, which had this smooth vanilla bean aftertaste, and the amber sun ale, which was good but paled in comparison to the stout (literally--ha, ha).  Who would have thought I would be turning into a dark beer kind of girl?

Also, does anyone know if lip prints on glasses can be used to identify people?

Audrey and I were enjoying ourselves, and our beer and our food, so much that it seemed like half the waitstaff was hovering unnecessarily in our area, lingering over table arrangements and such.  We got a triple recommendation for the mascarpone cheesecake, and swooned over it, swooned over our server and swooned over the beer and the beer guide.  Lots of swooning going on.  (How do you get that job, anyway?)  We lingered so long it was 4:00 by the time we left there and the festivities were all winding down.

We decided to wander quickly through the streets in search of The Castle.  Aturret teased us through the neighborhood, peeking occasionally between houses and trees, but ultimately it eluded us, and all we found was this:

Sounds like part of a frat house liturgy, but I think it's just a warehouse company...

I had to work again on Saturday, but after I got home we decided to go out downtown, to Chelsea Tavern, recommended to me by Coffeeshopcrush.  We found it on Market Street, and debated far too long over whether the parking spot we found was actually a parking spot or not...  And then we entered, and we were suddenly surrounded by young adults in Santa hats.

Turns out we had walked into the middle of Wilmington's Santa Crawl, specifically a sect of Rugby Men in Hats.  It's too bad we didn't know about it ahead of time.  They explained it all to us and invited us to jump on their bus, but we had just bought drinks so we said we'd catch up with them.  A really nice girl who was with them told us they were headed to Trolley, so we finished our G&Ts and set off.

The problem is, we didn't know where Trolley Square was.  We tried to follow the Santa Crawl buses but kept getting stuck at red lights while they zoomed on through.  After several variations on a loop around Market Street, we gave up and stopped at Shenanigans, right at the bottom of the hill.

This turned out to be the best decision ever.  Shenanigans is the type of place where the old jukebox has been refurbished and there are dartboards everywhere and the linoleum floor is chipped and scuffed.  The type of place where the bartender (originally from Ireland) tops off your pint when it's looking low.  Maybe I'm behind the boat on this one, but he told us that Yuengling is the oldest brewed beer in America, which is cool.  Audrey had never even tasted it before.  And not so long ago, I used to hate Yuengling.

"It's not every day I pour the last bit of Cuervo for anyone..." - Irish bartender
Note: This is not a drunk photo--we were just laughing too hard to hold still.

We decided around 12:30 that it was time to move on.  The bartender gave us souvenir Shenanigans stress-ball footballs for being out-of-state, despite my DE driver's license.  The guys had given us vague directions to Trolley, so we decided to give it one more shot (not the alcoholic kind--unrelated to the photo) and, if that failed, to go home.

Of course we ended up driving around for at least another half hour, and ended up in some secluded parking lot with no clear affiliated establishment, so thought we'd better hightail it home.

I was sad to drop Audrey off at the bus station on that beautiful Sunday afternoon, but I felt so rejuvenated to have had her here.  My mom even said she was a pick-me-up for the whole house.  One of our themes for the weekend was that we want to work on infusing life into our families, the same way we do into our jobs and our friends.  This takes work!  And it's so easy to get complacent, to hole up on our own in these houses full of people we love, instead of feeding energy into making healthy, happy homes and families.  This is a common danger of ministry, we have seen, and a common downfall of extroverts like ourselves.

But our gift exchange is fulfilling, this trading spontaneous visits and meals and sweatpants and pillow talk.  Audrey brought a flood of rare affection to my life, as usual, and the weekend seemed to just float along like the wind through sea grass and river waves.  So easy, so comfortable, so lovely.  And as usual, we worked through some important things together.

Plus, this weekend sealed the deal for me on Delaware.  I want to keep my George-Washington-the-Explorer hat on and forge the Delaware River for myself, meet the ghosts, drink the beers, and talk the talk. It's happening.  I'm investing.  I'm going to live up to my driver's license.

First step, I should probably get some license plates to match.

...and the sagas continue

I know this is my second post today, but I'm expecting to be somewhat off the grid this weekend, so I wanted to leave you all with some nice fluffy updates.  You might want to ration yourselves ;)

So I'm battling myself over this dumb issue: Coffee.  Unlike most other coffee drinkers, my issue is not being addicted to it, but not being addicted to it.  I want to drink it, because it's really my most legitimate reason to visit Bishop's and Coffeeshopcrush, and also it's so delicious there; but it tends to make me jittery and anxious and sweaty and just in general throws a wrench in my normal physiological and psychological functioning.  (Can I just point out how precariously similar those two words are?  ...OK, moving on.)

While I intend to never stop visiting Bishop's, I have decided to cut down on my caffeine consumption.  This means that I'll have to step up my game on the Coffeeshopcrush front proportionally, if I want to keep getting a return on my investment.  So this afternoon I went in "to buy Christmas gifts" and we talked about books.

This is excellent, because I can talk about books for years and years and years.  I spent the first 14 years of my life, roughly, reading, so I've got a lot of material.  Some amusing facts:

- Somehow both of us somehow missed reading The Catcher in the Rye during our high school English careers, and when he brought this up we both felt suddenly compelled to read it now.

- He has at least 3 copies of Tuesdays With Morrie, which I already mentioned, but I was pumped, because I LOVE that book.  He said it's because he lent it to someone, and then bought another copy thinking he would never get the first one back, and then lent that one to someone else, and got another one to lend to another person, and then eventually got all three of them back.

- I said my version of that book is The Princess Bride, and he cut me off: "That's a BOOK?!  Because seriously, that's my favorite movie of all time."

...Could I be more ecstatic about all of this?

You already know the answer.

The latest episode from the Cricket Saga closely follows the weather.  Now, I feel no remorse for rubbing our 60-degree days in your faces, dear Minnesota and New York readers!  Granted, they have been pretty soggy 60-degree days, but I don't mind that much, especially if I don't have to go anywhere.  Unrealistic, I know.  But still.  And today a cold breeze bit at my neck, but the sun was gloriously golden.

Anyway, I have noticed that the crickets start to emerge at the end of a warm, wet streak.  They are still lethargic and have not been singing much, and I can squash them fairly easily--but I'd better not get overconfident because I missed one the other day that should have been such a sure shot.  I got cocky, that's all.

As the cold streaks get longer and colder, though, the black wasps suddenly appear in my living space.  They seem to be really struggling to stay alive, and a few of them just died on their own, but anyone who has been outside with me knows that I am the wasp's smallest fan.  So I am actually quite pleased with the fact that I have not lost my head over a wasp intrusion, at least in the past month.

Incidentally, months seem to be just flying by lately.  The weeks just fall after each other and everything kind of blurs together...  And as college semesters are finishing up (I ran into a post-finals UD bar crawl this evening in Newark) I'm realizing that nobody really breaks my schedule now but me.  I mean, I could pretty much go on indefinitely in this routine.  For the most part.  At least theoretically.  (See me getting nervous about falling into a rut?  It's a trigger.)  I'm not going to graduate or pass a course or have to go back to school in September ever again, if I don't want to.  That thought simultaneously saddens and liberates me.

The Christmas/Scrooge Saga seems to have hipstered and meta-hipstered its way into conundrum status, as I spent most of my afternoon listening to Trans-Siberian Orchestra and trying to decide who sings the best version of Baby, It's Cold Outside.  Meanwhile, I roll my eyes and toast to the other Scrooges and Grinches, pretending like it's not eggnog in our mugs.  (So far, this is merely imagery.  Just to clear that up.)

I'm excited because tonight I met some really cool ladies, an extension of the "That's What She Said" crew from last time--Craig, you've got yourself and the crew blog-dubbed for good now!  I'm thinking we're going to get along and have some good solid fun together, and I couldn't be more pumped.

And speaking of cool ladies, Audrey will arrive by bus from New Haven tomorrow night and isn't leaving until Sunday afternoon!  It's been too long since I've seen her, partly because my last drive that direction was such a shitshow, but also I'm thinking we're both settling in a little more where before our lives were marked by some degree of desperation.  I can't say for sure, having not really talked with her in months (see, there they go again), but that's my hunch.  So this weekend I'm looking forward to just doing whatever with my good friend.  And next time, in the promising throes of 2012, I'm pulling for another CAK reunion.  Queens is calling to me: Come, my love, my faithful subject!  (Get it?  Queens?  "Subject"?)  But I'm not ambitious enough to tackle NYC at Christmastime, even if I could get enough time off work to get up there.

So I leave you, dear readers, hanging from a cliff on the Mount of Saga.  But only for the time being.  I'll be back soon enough to save you from your fate of uncertainty.  Until then, get your own adventure ;)

This might be a good time to mention that I've been considering a new feature on this blog: Guest bloggers.  Believe it or not, I know at least 700 or 800 other people who are also now taking some kind of baby steps, and thinking about them and what they have to do with the rest of their lives.  It would probably just mean an extra post every couple of weeks, depending on how many people get involved.  So keep an eye out for that coming up, and please let me know if you'd like to contribute!  There is nothing too mundane :)

getting social

So today I finally started the Conversation with Coffeeshopcrush.  I mean, after the customary enter-and-talk-small, and after he remembered that I like 2% milk, even though I haven't been by in over a week.  I said, "So I've got a question for you.  Where is your favorite place to drink beer?"  Get right down to the point, I say.

In the middle of the conversation I turned around and there was this small boy glaring up at me like an angry cartoon child, so unfortunately we should hurry it up.  But before I left he got out of me that I went to school in Minnesota, and he said, "You don't have an accent..."  I love when this is the first thing people say when I tell them I went to school in Minnesota.  I laughed.  "That's because I've tried to cover it up."

"It's not bad, though," he said.  "It sounds so wholesome!"

Wholesome.

I talked to Lisa on my birthday and she accused me of talking like an East Coaster, though, which I'm tickled about.  I will acknowledge the fact, for accuracy's sake, that she has been holding her breath for me to get my East Coast Twang back, so she might be rushing it a bit.  But I've started calling people "hon," which is what people do around here, so I may blend in yet.

Anyway, I got a scoop on places to go outside the college 'hood, which is also positive.

I also hit up my second Wilmington open mic last night, and got another scoop from a Wilmo native: "Have you been to the Valley?"

Now, I will just say that calling something "The _____" is a great way to get me interested.  It's just so beautifully mundane.  Doesn't "The Valley" usually refer to someplace in California?  I'm not sure, but there are valleys EVERYWHERE.  On the other hand, when I went to Maryland that one time I said, "I'm just surrounded by highways," and everyone there said, "Yeah, and it's just so flat."

The Valley in the Flatlands.  So intrigued.

It's on my list.  Sounds like a good place for a picnic.

I think I might have actually driven through there, and it's a part of Delaware that is so lush, with old winding roads and crumbling stone bridges.  He said earlier in the fall, when the sun still comes through and the leaves haven't dropped, is the best time to go.  "Just drive around back there for awhile and you'll see what I mean," he said.

This is exactly why I wanted so badly to find an open mic.  Because I went there, got myself a drink, and slid into an empty booth.  And after about 2 minutes, a couple of guys burst in the door and suddenly my booth was full of guys and coats and books and even a guitar.

It wasn't totally random, because we'd keyed into each other last time.  We liked each other's words.  This is one of my favorite ways to connect with people.  That creative circuitry is just so exhilarating.  And it makes me feel more grounded and comfortable with loving language when other people are twirling the shit out of it too.

There's something about poetry that opens up your soul to the other people in the room.  It's like, these people know what it means to love.  And what it means to suffer.  I remember reading this Kafka essay senior year of high school--I mean, let's be honest.  I don't remember reading that essay, but I remember this one line, at the bottom of some random page in the middle of all that depressing existential babble, that basically claimed that poets feel the world's suffering in an intensity far beyond the experiences of an average human being.  I think he meant "poets" in a loose sense, but I don't think he was that far off.  A lot of the poets I know are really intense people.

I realized suddenly, as though my pages slapped me in the face, that I have mostly performed old pieces.  And the more time goes by, the older they get.  I haven't written a lot of new stuff in years, nothing worth performing, anyway.  What I have written can mostly be found on scrap message paper, kitchen slips, paper bags, and napkins, and they're all clipped together next to my bed and none of them are finished.

I feel like I'm on the verge of decoding a new Rosetta stone, except this one is a message sent from my future self that I have to crack.  Like all of these little snippets of poetry will somehow, not literally, but conceptually get taped together into the True Revelations Of My Life As It Is Now.  Which is definitely different than it was in 2008, when I wrote Confessions.  I'm not trying to be condescending to the earlier versions of myself, but there is at least one new layer to me now.  Probably a few new layers, considering everything that has happened since I was cranking out all kinds of cadenced masterpieces with widespread appeal.  I'll get there eventually, I guess.  Until then, I've got a new genre to work through.  So enjoy, my lucky readers ;)

So, in reverse, that was Thursday, Wednesday...  Tuesday I went to the Y with my mom and we just chilled in our own little elliptical worlds for awhile.  As Mutti said on our way out, "There was a lot of testosterone flying around in that room tonight."  True.  I was kind of loving it, to be honest.  But there was this one kind of small guy bouncing around looking really chipper, with those South American laugh lines I find so comforting.  All those guys in the free weights area always look so stiff and serious, but this guy was almost dancing.  He walked in front of me, caught my eye, and smiled.  Such an easy, open smile.  Unassuming.

He was lifting next to the paper towel dispenser when I finished, so I threw caution to the wind and said, "You have a really nice smile."  He flashed it again, looking delighted.  Then he casually lingered while I put my rainboots back on, cleared his throat, "You also have a... beautiful smile."  And then he pulled out my favorite line: "Do you come here often?"  Except it was a legitimate question.  The best.  Really.  His name is Daniel, and that's the story of my first non-staff introduction at the Y.

cusp

So The sun enters the fiery realm of Sagittarius.

This part of the solar journey brings the longest nights of the year,

nights filled with festivity and exploration, new friendships, travel, reading,

study and passionate work toward the goals we believe

will help ourselves and our loved ones prosper.

- Horoscopes by Holiday

How fitting. Just so you're all aware, we are now officially under my sign. (I refuse to acknowledge the apparent horoscopic glitch about all the signs being off by however many months; I was, am, and always will be a Sagg at heart.) So, please celebrate. How could you not, with "nights filled with festivity and exploration" and all that?! I think I'm finally ready for this. Let's hope I haven't missed my chance with Coffeeshopcrush. He seemed less receptive to my halfassed non-advances today.

Either way, he'll have to wait until next week, because I'm tired and cranky already just thinking about 2 days of holiday hostessing...

On the plus side, my new mattress is being delivered tomorrow, and I was just reading "The Entrepreneur's Guide to a Good Night's Sleep." Not that it said anything new, but it just struck me as particularly profound today. Maybe because I somehow managed to trick myself into napping last night, and I feel a little better overall ever since.

I also finally got through my Box of Papers to Sort and Process, and at the very bottom I found two brochures from St. Olaf's Counseling Center, one titled Loneliness and one titled Addictive Relationships. I picked them up at the mental health fair in the spring, stuffed them in the bottom of the box and completely forgot about them until right now--which is pretty ironic considering I probably set them aside with this transition in mind. This is the first time in awhile that I look at these brochures and think, "Maybe someone I know will need these" instead of "I wonder if there's anything in here I don't already know."

To summarize, in case someone I know DOES need these, the loneliness brochure basically says, "Use this time to figure out and enjoy yourself." Check. And the addictive relationships brochure says, "If you know you're in a relationship that's bad for you but you're convincing yourself to stay in it, find a support group and work your way out." Also check. Awesome.

I interrupted the writing of this episode in my life to go to Zumba, speaking of enjoying myself. An hour of busting moves really gets those endorphins going, and driving through a blinding rainstorm to get to the move-busting is almost as inspiring.

By 8pm, the torrential downpour had subsided to a drizzle like a gazillion dancing ladybugs--NOT Asian beetle bites. The kind of drizzle that makes you feel like you're stuck in the movie Push, or maybe American Beauty. I drove to pick up Asha with the window open and Lady Antebellum blaring on the radio.

This is why I moved home. To pick up my sisters when my parents can't, because the conversations I had with my mom when she chauffeured me around in high school were the ones that solidified our relationship.

I tried to listen more than talk. But I realized, my big sister never gave me any love or life advice (probably because I don't have a big sister). I blundered through all that on my own, and figured everything out in hindsight, since I'm always too immersed in the present moment to lift my head and check out the scene. She looked at me as I talked and said, "I never knew of any boyfriend you ever had, but now I realize you dated like 20 guys." Yeah, ok, great. But now I have something to share.

If I could give one piece of advice to everyone I ever meet, it would be this: Forget what you "should" feel in a certain situation or relationship, and spend your time figuring out what you DO feel about it. At least be honest with yourself to avoid digging yourself into a hole, where suddenly one day you look around and realize you can't tell which way is the sky anymore.

This sounds really dark and sad and morbid. But if I was ever lost inside the Earth's crust, I can see the whole sky now, and I can tell when it's sunny and when it's raining. And I'm taking this time to really feel the sun and the rain on my skin, and figure out what I like to do in all kinds of weather.

November has always struck me as a grey month, but this one has been enlightening. I really love it, despite the tempests and the indecisive sunshine, and the total whiteout that will no doubt engulf me on my way north this weekend. Praying for a smooth drive, but I can't wait to go "home."

yesterday's counterbalance

My too-abstract last post left me feeling unsettled and highly dissatisfied, probably because it was really an awkward love-child spawned by my reactions to Lizzy's most recent "realtalk" post and Bundl's most recent philosophical musings.  I decided to post it anyway because I learned at college that unfinished or unpolished thoughts can be just as valuable as polished ones.  That "choose your own adventure" concept has a lot of potential.  Maybe it will be the key someone -- a later version of myself, perhaps -- was looking for to open a door to adventure, or Pandora's Box, or something.

So I'm going to go in a different direction.  Please enjoy the following numbered list of things I'm excited about right now.  (I love lists, and you secretly do too.)

1. This morning I stumbled across an incredibly cool living-history project: A grad student at Oxford is tweeting WWII in real time over 6 years.  Most likely I will phase it out before the end, but maybe I will get emotionally invested as if I was living through the war myself in 1939-1945.  Either way, I'm impressed at his commitment to six years of what sounds completely exhausting but will most likely prove very personally enriching for him...  And the concept of this project completely titillates me.  On the ground, modern re-created history!

2. I have achieved official Regular status at Bishop's.  I now chat and joke with every person that works there, and half of them know me by name.  #Coffeeshopcrush must remain anonymous until the right moment.  I'm not really sure why, but it seems like an unspoken rule of interaction.  I know, I know, rules are made to be broken, but we all know I like the intrigue.  Yesterday he told me that Adele smokes, which I somehow managed not to know despite loving her music, and which disappoints me; and also that Train once came to Wilmington.  My hope is restored that important things do happen here.

And then he called me "Hon," which is just funny.  I should just legally change my name to Hon in this state.  Because that's pretty much my name now.

3. Christmas is coming.  Well, more importantly, Thanksgiving is coming FIRST, and then my birthday...  For some reason I feel like turning 22 will constitute my admission into REAL adulthood, because when I consort with the over-21 crowd hereafter I will no longer be the "new biddy on the block" since I have obviously been showing my legal ID successfully for over 365 days.  I may very well be deluding myself, since adulthood, like marriage, is probably just a widely-believed urban legend.

What is actually exciting about my birthday, though, is that I'm determined to do something to celebrate it.  I'm afraid to jinx my ideal plan by talking about it until things are set in stone, but I have an ideal plan and I haven't been this jazzed about something in such a long time that the excitement alone is noteworthy.  I'll give you a hint: it involves me actually playing in the 4th Annual Turkey Bowl -- my first EVER.  Happy birthday indeed.

Also, I love stuffing, butternut squash, and pecan pie -- all Thanksgiving dinner staples.  Immmmmpending food coma GO.

4. Christmas is coming.  I'm not looking forward to it in the I-wonder-where-Mom-and-Dad-hid-my-presents kind of way.  I'm looking forward to it because I have some sweet gifts planned out and although it's not yet the last minute I've already started pulling things together!  I'm also feeling ambitiously crafty, and I have a few awesome projects under way.  Most of them must remain a mystery for the time being, but I will say that I might actually finish my big cedar trunk by the end of the year!  Lofty goals, I know.  But I am a woman of action, and I do, in fact, get things done.

Except my NaNoWriMo novel.  But we don't have to talk about it.

5. Holiday says it all.  (I'm a Saggitarius -- what's YOUR sign, boy/girl?)