Welcome To My Bed

Observe.

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+ That picture has nothing to do with anything.

+ The writing in Rolling Stone has gotten so shitty that I am convinced they've given run of the magazine to twelve-year-olds. Or monkeys. Or sea horses. Or maybe glossy journalism is just on its way to dead.

Honestly. The interview with Lady Gaga was booooooooorrrrringgggg. Do we really care that she eats chicken fingers on her our bus post-concert?? Somebody seemed to think so. But the compelling information was all buried under "I don't want to talk about it"s, which the writer seemed perfectly okay accepting. Sweet tenacity, RS. I would have like to see the writer ask her some hard hitting questions, but s/he seemed content to let Gaga decide what was getting talked about, so much so that some of the questions weren't so much questions as they were--and I'm being quite literal here--a simple, encouraging "I understand". HELLO???!! I mean, I know that print media is losing readership, but maybe that's because print media is letting itself go worse than a housewife four kids deep with a lapsed gym membership and a husband who's stepping out on her with the dry cleaner's daughter. The music reviews were somehow better written than the featured articles.

Do people really get journalism degrees so that they can fuck around, make parallelism mistakes, overuse m-dashes, and get paid? If so, sign me up. I'd love to forget that proofreading exists.

NOT.

+ I haven't seen my roommate in nearly two days. I know where she is, but I find it difficult not to be concerned.

+ The reason that jobs make you give two weeks notice, the REAL reason, is so that you have to endure the gauntlet of co-workers giving you shit for leaving. In my current situation, every shift I work is drowned in pleas for me to stay. I know I work hard (I don't know how to do things any other way). What I did not know was that I was so deeply loved by everyone at my restaurant. It's making things really tough. I get choked up about it at least once a day, usually when someone new finds out when my last day is. I invariably have to go through the explanation of why I had to switch jobs, which puts all my anxiety to the front of my mind. And then they get sad. And then I get sad. And then I run away into the kitchen to sneak a handful of croutons so that I have something to do (eat) besides all of this sad stuff. I hate goodbyes. They always feel wrong. No one is dying here, at least not anyone directly involved with work. I try to remedy the whole affair with deep breaths. Some days it works. Other days, not so much.

+ Have spent the better part of this week talking myself out of spending my rent money on another tattoo. Don't worry though, no appointment has been made. And I am writing a check to my landlord as we speak so the temptation isn't there. Even though it is. I hate being so broke. June is the worst restaurant month ever. Good thing I'm done with restaurants for awhile.

Good things come in all packages.

So many many many good things this past week, even through all of the tough stuff. I'll give you the run down quick right now, but there will be longer stories once pictures are uploaded, dates are finalized, and changes have taken place. I'm being vague. Bear with me.

+ Team practice is in full swing, and I'm not sure I've ever had a more rewarding space to grow artistically. My lady poets have given me endless happy surprises, and we've only really been at this whole process together for less than a month. Every evening we spend working together leaves me with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. This is why I love collaboration. Besides a regular case of the sillies that infects every meeting, there is so much to look forward to for the summer because of all the poetry that's happening. We have two regional slams this month (one in Boston on the 7th, details here, and one in Providence on the 18th) and, if all goes according to plan, two team features to get us all amped and ready for St. Paul. Not that we need any help getting amped. Every time we get together to work on our poems, I am lucky enough to get goosebumps from absolutely everybody's writing on the page, as well as their performance choices. It's good to know that I will be going to my first nationals with no doubts about how proud I am. I am putting together our team chapbook, literally beaming from ear to ear.

+ I took a brief trip to New Jersey this week to see my family and was blessed to be with all of my siblings at once for the first time in months. I also had the pleasure of introducing on of my dear friends and teammates to my whole family, and the talks that ensued were so special and important for me. Going home provides a fair amount of stress in most situations, but this time I made sure to love the trip for what it was, not fault it for the hiccups. Things are not perfect with anything family-related right now, but I'm confident we'll get through this rough time. My father inspires me more and more every day with how strong he's been through this whole scary process. I just keep believing in the resilience of the heart, both his and my own, that this is just a test and a testament to how strong we will always be.

+ When in Jersey, a Manhattan/Brooklyn visit is always in order, and this trip (though only two days long) was no exception. Christina and I had quite the adventure, not arriving home until about 6 AM after much traipsing around in tiny dresses and sweating in the unbearable heat. That sounds gross. I'm sorry. It's no comfort to say there are pictures, but there are. Also, lots of stories of strange encounters with men on the sidewalk. But more about that later.

+ I have a new job. I start July 12th. I'll be working in retail, which, in pretty much any other case, I would be dubious about. However. Faces is the kind of place I'm going to fall in love with and never want to leave. Aside from the fact that waitressing has been draining my lifeblood without providing fair (or livable) compensation, my restaurant isn't exactly geared toward mohawked, rainbow-haired twenty-somethings with ambitious tattoo plans and a great deal of financial woe. In short, I'm not really the look they're going for. No matter how much I bust my ass, this will always be true. I will always be the "alternative" one. If the money was better, I'd be able to deal with this, but the money just hasn't been there because of this damned recession. So, I decided to take my love of customer service elsewhere. This elsewhere happened to be only up the block. And chock-full of rainbow-haired, tattooed twenty-somethings with big smiles, along with all kinds of quirky awesome for sale (and the best return policy I have ever heard of in my life--any time, for any reason, with or without a receipt). As my time in the restaurant winds down, I am getting really sad, but at the same time, I know that this change is definitely for the better.

+ In closing, last night was Star Trek drinking game night at Kevin's, and we had quite the time. We watched the belly dance episode from the second season, which was really a murder mystery, which somehow ended up being about metaphysics and time traveling non-humans, which is why I love Star Trek. But what I love even better is a combination of Star Trek and Ke$ha, courtesy of Christina:

Magic morsel #12: "It's Sputnik, sweetheart!"

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I had a lot of chatty customers today at lunch (despite it being one of the slowest shifts I've work yet), among them an 81-year-old man who needed someone to tell stories to. I got an earful about UMass's institutional history, the difference between majoring in engineering and business, a breakdown of Cold War dating practices in the Pioneer Valley. The hierarchy was as follows: Mount Holyoke girls were pretty, but "daddy paid for everything" so those dates were expensive; Smith girls we equally spoiled, but not much to look at (his words, not mine); truly, keeping your "biology station" (his brilliantly witty term for "car") on home turf and trying your luck with the "university special" was most likely your best bet.

What a piece of work. Every pub-type job I've had (and they've been numerous) produces curmudgeons like this one who want everything done just so and expect a hearty laugh at every slightly inappropriate joke. Typically I just play dumb. Customers tend to like you better when they think they're smarter than you are. I take very little of what they say, beyond making sure they feel attended to.

But this man's non sequiturs. He blew me away with the strange language he used for everything he spoke about. The most important thing he said to me was, "Sputnik changed the game! Changed everything forever!" He kept repeating the inventor's name throughout his rambling story like a magician's incantation. I know that he meant things were changed forever for him, because it opened up the field of engineering at a former agro-only college. But it was pretty wonderful to think of Sputnik floating in orbit, each blip transforming a life below into something entirely different with it's big shiny face.

Without even thinking, I picked up the book I had to read for next week and then promptly smacked myself in the forehead with it, because the universe basically sent me a telegram to remind me to do my homework:

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It's nice when the world jumps out at you from behind a tree and hands you a bit of gravity's sureness for your trivial day to day activities, like somebody's speaking through a headset into your ear saying, "This is exactly what you need right now!" I could use similar signs in all other arenas.

Got that universe? Drop some knowledge over this way please!


P.S. Happy 500th post everybody. Cheers for reading along all this time.

Magic morsel #4, and the bulleted play-by-play.

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start your day off the hippie way


I love you Internet. With all of my swollen lonelygirl waitress heart. You are who I came home to on Sunday after over eight hours on my feet and an extra table in my section, my pocket fat with other people's money. Cass mixed me up a triple-strong bourbon sour and we sat with you, Internet, and enjoyed the view out our treehouse window. It seems you end up being our companion on every-post work outing. I want you to know how much I appreciate the matching lengths of our attention spans. Granted, I have more of an excuse at that point in the day.

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We've been absentee blog parents, and Grössby and I have kisses in atonement for that.


Alright, now that I've done that bit, I can give you the rundown of how my time gets eaten by the world. In the past week I have:

+ dyed my hair again (maybe? I am losing track of days)
+ dined in Worcester with my sister on a pre-V-day reunion (post to follow later)
+ officially passed Div II (yay for starting my thesis!!)
+ found out that the other Emily at work and I are TOO SIMILAR
+ got an oil change, which ended up in my being informed of an "excessive oil leak"
+ epically failed at making the CUPSI team in spite of winning nearly every slam at Hampshire this year
+ made massive amounts of cash on Valentine's Day and have since renamed it "the best night of the year to be a single lady waiting tables"
+ got sad and lonely
+ got happy and rowdy with the poets
+ went on a V-day roommate date to the Holyoke mall for some single lady lingerie shopping
+ made a video blog that is now lost to time cos youtube deemed it "too long"
+ sat in my window staring at the snow that I don't want to clean off my car
+ bought new slippers for the end of all these long days; they looks like this--

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Cos if you're going to revert to childhood as soon as you get in the door from you taxable-income-and-adult-language-only restaurant job, you might as well cause a wild rumpus in the process. Am I right? Also, when things like this (novelties that I'm not really sure I need expressly) are on double and triple discount in the sale bin, I have a difficult time saying no.

Tonight is the erotic open mic, and I only have a short time before work to acquire a few supplies, if you will, so I need to venture out in the snow storm ASAP. False eyelashes and fishnets, for the win! And don't worry, I'll get Cass to finally bring her camera out this time.