in which i wuss out

Okay, so you guys gave me fantastic feedback. And I am most grateful.

And I am a wimp. I am a wimp because I didn't do ANY of your ideas. I am a scaredy cat.

I had a bunch of excuses to give you, like it's my ladies time, and I had a headache and I was recruited by a renegade group of interior designers for an tour of Columbia's best restrooms, but the truth is.....

I'm wimpy. I am Wimpy Wimpleton from Wimpledom.

And when I get a B+ instead of an A because I missed out on this extra credit, you can totally say "I told you so".

I give you full permission.

i need your help. and i need it fast.

I am in most desperate need of your assistance.

I need to act out.

And I don't know how.

At all.

See, in my psych class we have this extra credit project and of course, OF COURSE, it involves making a complete fool out of myself. Which in theory I love, but when pressed, I hate.

We are assigned to select any socially unexpected behavior, like facing the wrong way in an elevator or singing at the top of your lungs in the grocery store, and to then perform said behavior while an amused friend pretends to not be a friend and records the reactions of the surrounding lab rats.

Doesn't that sound like fun? I think it sounds like fun and I start thinking of ideas and then I remember that I will need to actually DO these things and then it doesn't sound like fun anymore and I am possessed with a sudden desire to curl up in the fetal position.

So, please. Please. PLEASE. Help me. Give me a suggestion, okay? Something that will help me get an A in my psych class, and not something that will land me in the psych ward.

Also I need the idea by tomorrow.

Morning.

Uh.......thanks.

you, me, and lady gaga makes three

Last night I had a dream that I had lunch with Lady Gaga.

I was with my blog friend Miriam at my friend Nicole's palatial Utah manse and we were just kicking it and I was feeling pretty good because Lady Gaga and I totally hit it off. Like, I made a joke and she laughed and stuff.

Only then I thought it would be a good idea to take a bath. And I left the room and took a bath, and in the middle of splashing around in the bathtub I had an inkling that maybe my behavior might be seen as strange in some circles and maybe I didn't pick such a great time for a bath.

So I got dressed, and when I went out to the living room Lady Gaga was leaving which made me sad because I hadn't gotten to know her nearly as well as I wanted to, and I tried to say something but Lady Gaga just ignored me and she gave Miriam a hug goodbye and I was like, hey, no fair.

And then I woke up.

the entirely true story of Fancy Train

I kinda have a thing for the Loch Ness Monster.

Also for Bigfoot. And the Chupacabra. Pretty much any mythical beast I am a sucker for, truth be told. Also I really like an underdog, and if the underdog is a gigantic prehistoric sea-monster or a misunderstood twelve-foot hairy ape, so much the better.

If there's any sort of special WATCH THIS CRAZY PERSON TELL YOU WHAT THEY SAW feature on TV, I watch it. If our Netflix cue has some mystery-creature flick listed, I was the one who picked it. When that poor Bigfoot professor at that school in Idaho was getting picked on by all his fellow professors and they wouldn't let him play their professor games, I felt for him. I really did.

And while I might tell you it's because I'm a decent person and I don't like to see people get picked on (which I don't) really, REALLY, the reason is this:

I kinda want Bigfoot to be real. I want them all to be real. And they're not. But, BUT, I think I may have found the next best thing. An honest-to-pete, real-life mythical beast. It exists, I tell you. I have seen it.

What is it, you ask? Well, I'll tell you:

One of the brand-spanking new fancy trains running on the A line.

See, the trains that run on the A line are, in a word, yucky. Ooooky. Gross. Craptastic. Speeding bullets of nastiness.

There is a slight chance that I'm exaggerating, but not by much. When you go to the east side, the trains are all super nice and the seats are this really refreshing powder blue and the announcer voice isn't some disgruntled person with a voice sounding like a really mad grown-up on Charlie Brown and if you're a west side person, it makes you feel sort of short-changed.

So a while back all us west side people got really excited because new trains started showing up. Shiny, new, powder-fresh trains. And then they disappeared, never to be heard from again.

Until Tuesday.

I was on my way home from class, waiting to transfer to the A at 168th. I was reading my book and fantasizing about ice cream, when I heard the subway coming.

And I was happy because I hadn't been waiting long and I looked up and it didn't look like ANY train I had seen on the west side in FOREVER and then there it was, speeding past, practically trailing it's fresh new train scent, looking all sparkly and new and fancy and it was out of service and it sped away just as quickly as it came, going I don't know where.

I stood amazed, and then, just as quickly as the train, came emotions. Denial- surely it wasn't-surely not-

And anger- why? Why bring this glowing beauty so free of stinky smells and sticky spots into my life for so brief a time? And why am I not at home yet, because I really want ice cream?

And then, finally, acceptance. Life brought us together for this brief moment, me and the mythical creature I will refer to hereafter as Fancy Train. And there must be a reason.

Maybe it's so I can tell people. Yeah, that's it. I'll quit school and make a bunch of signs and maybe set up shop next to that scary guy who does the yelling at the Times Square station. Also I probably should have a gimmick, like I won't pluck my eyebrows until I see Fancy Train again.

It will be a lonely road from here on out. Now I will be the crazy person being interviewed for those documentaries. And nobody will believe me.

Where was it going? Where did it come from? Did the teenagers making out on the bench next to me even notice?

I guess when you walk the lonely road you have lots of questions. But the lonely road isn't so bad, really. Maybe I'll run into Bigfoot.

he waxes profound

Paul (after watching American Idol): I just had an hour of my life sucked out of my life. It's deep. Think about it.

a lightness in my soul

Hi, blog. Remember when I told you that I wouldn't neglect you ever ever? That I would be there for you, in good times and bad, until computer virus do us part?

Sorry, blog.

Really, I mean it. I'm sorry. It will never happen again. It's just that I was busy. Nothing funny is going on, I SWEAR. Please accept these red roses and this heart-shaped box of chocolates as a sincere expression of my deep and profoundly felt sorrow at the hurt I have caused you, blog.

What? You're not buying it? I thought the heart-shaped box of chocolates would do the trick, for sure.

Okay, okay. I'll level with you.

I did IVF again. And it didn't work. Again.

And it turns out that when I am in the middle of an IVF cycle, I cannot concentrate on anything.

Anything.

Everyone and everything I see reminds me of babies and all I want to do is look at baby products online and my brain turns to a gigantic bowl of baby oatmeal and if I attempted to write a blog post all that would come out is something like goo-goo-ga-ga BABIES and there is nothing whatsoever I can do about it.

But now, it's over. No more shots, at least for a little while. No more hot flashes and mood swings and feeling like I'm turning into a science experiment. Life has become normal again. Well, normal..... with extra twinkies.

My brain has begun once again to recognize non baby-related terms. I actually feel like exercising. Studying is again possible. And I feel like writing.

But what is there to say? What do I feel like saying?

For a while, the words in my heart and head were kind of sad. They matched my feelings, I guess. So it's not that I didn't think about you, blog, because I did. I just didn't want to bum you out. You're not a living being and thus are unable to eat cookie dough and I just didn't know how you would deal with sad feelings without cookie dough.

Today, though, the words in my heart and head are different. They match a lightness in my soul. And my soul feels like warm yellow sunlight and like flying on a trapeze and like when you eat a warm chocolate chip cookie with milk.

My soul feels good.

My soul feels like everything will turn out okay. And while I wait, there are warm chocolate chip cookies with milk and Paul to eat them with.

love and boxes

I am thinking about love.

We've been getting ready to move apartments. That's why it's been like a million years since I've posted. I've been clearing and cleaning and folding and boxing up our lives, and the words inside my head have been waiting to be aired out.

And now it is late, and I am sitting on the couch and our apartment is a mess and I should probably wash the silverware but I don't want to.

I want to think about love.

I like love. I love love. Always have. A good portion of my formative years were spent yearning for romantic connection, memorizing old musicals, dreaming of the day when the stories spun in my head would be for reals.

I think Paul kind of shakes his head at my shameless romanticism. Honestly, I shake my own head at my shameless romanticism. In my defense, I am far more sensible now than I was at fifteen. But I am who I am, and knowing I can frequently be somewhat silly and ridiculous in no way prevents me from being either silly or ridiculous, especially when it comes to love.

And so what I want to say is this:

The love I pictured in my head when I was fifteen is not the same love that I experience now, sitting among empty pizza boxes and odds and ends waiting to be packed.

The love I experience now is sometimes messy. There are disappointments and bad smells and unwashed silverware. Boxes to be packed, work to be done. Hard work.

But there is also Paul scratching my back and Paul smiling because I don't know how to use tools and Paul holding me when I cry and he puts his hand on the back of my neck which feels protective in a nice way.

And all of these things well up inside me and make a feeling unlike any imagined abstract passion, a feeling that is clean and constant and true.

And strong enough to withstand moving apartments.