flashdance

It’s friday night and I’m getting ready to go out. Pete Yorn’s Undercover comes on and I am dancing. Arms wild, eyes closed, like I have never danced before. And I don’t care that people can probably see me through the blinds. I know I’m pulling a Grey’s Anatomy, all limbs and no rhythm but I don’t care.

And I think about the first time I can really remember getting ready. Halloween, freshman year of college. I let the girls do my hair and makeup and I don’t recognize the person in the mirror, a little unsure. But I go out into the hall and you’re there. And I ask you how I look. I want you to say ‘great’ or ‘hot’ or something, but instead you say ‘different.’ In a bad way? No, I just look different. And I can’t stop thinking about it all night. Not even when we are in the club, packed so tight we can’t really dance to the music that’s too loud to hear. I never go back to that club. But at the end of the night you make me a sandwich and we watch tv.

Pete Yorn ends and Kelly Clarkson comes on. Since You’ve Been Gone. And it is senior year sorority bid day. We’re so excited about the new girls and just to be there together that we are suddenly on the stage and jumpingjumpingjumping and singing so that my throat hurts the next day but I don’t care. We don’t need anyone but us and suddenly there is a freedom that wasn’t there before.

Rooney and I think it’s my phone ringing, but it’s the song up next. When Did Your Heart Go Missing. Every time my phone rings I want to dance. But I settle for moving my foot, imperceptibly.  Only now, alone, I let loose. And the cat watches me from the bed, thinking I’m crazy but not caring as long as I feed her and rub behind her ears.

Zolof the Rock and Roll Destroyer and I’m behind the counter at the ice cream parlor. You turn it up and we dance behind the counter. But the customers don’t care, they love it. Or are too drunk to care.  I’m in a tshirt, covered in ice cream, feeling pretty when people smile at me.

more clever than I

Text Messages That Would Have Been Helpful from McSweeney’s
My favorite: ‘hey u, horse = greeks. dont let in. did i leave my toga @ ur place? txt me back’

Also, my quote of the day on igoogle: “I do not read advertisements. I would spend all of my time wanting things.” – Franz Kafka

That crazy Czech, he’s so right.

dinner minus party

Why can’t life be like it is in the movies? My mother’s a great cook, so I should be as well, right? Only I’m not. I burn chicken and undercook vegetables and pasta because I like the crunch. Most nights I can’t be bothered to cook anything, and I eat Kashi frozen meals more that I care to admit to.

But tonight I have to cook, for three guys no less. So more that making something edible, I have to make sure there’s enough food. Who even knows how much guys eat…they’re like garbage disposals. My thought is to make Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic, some green beans in a vinaigrette (look at that word and tell me it isn’t spelled weird), couscous and a salad. I’m pretty sure I’ll nail all the sides, but that main entree could be tricky. So the question is, do I have faith in my cooking abilities, or do I buy something frozen in case of emergency? This is the constant struggle in my life. Not over dinner, necessarily, but in general. Do I stay confident and hope for the best? Or should I be realistic and prepare for all contingencies.

As a girl who always carries an umbrella, I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll do.

because I’m Irish and it’s my right

To a Child dancing in the Wind

I
DANCE there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water’s roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool’s triumph, nor yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?

II
Has no one said those daring
Kind eyes should be more learn’d?
Or warned you how despairing
The moths are when they are burned,
I could have warned you, but you are young,
So we speak a different tongue.

O you will take whatever’s offered
And dream that all the world’s a friend,
Suffer as your mother suffered,
Be as broken in the end.
But I am old and you are young,
And I speak a barbarous tongue.

W. B. Yeats

in transit

I didn’t hear what he said that made her laugh so hard, but she couldn’t stop. It became one of those silent laughs, eyesclosedmouthopencan’tbreathe laughs.

“Stop laughing,” he said, but it was a tease. “I mean it, it’s not funny.” But apparently it was, she just couldn’t stop laughing. He counted to ten, without plans on what he’d do when he finished. It wasn’t even an empty threat, it wasn’t a threat at all.

The train slowed coming into Penn Station, and he moved towards the door without a look back. She followed, pouting at him. “I’m not looking.” But he was. She kissed his cheek, but it wasn’t enough. “It’s going to take a lot more than that.” The last words were muttered from under her lips, she’d moved on from his cheek.

When the train lurched she grabbed his elbows for support, and he grabbed her arms back. I guess she was forgiven, because she smiled up at him. If I hadn’t been so exhausted the whole thing would have made me gag. But instead I thought about sometime in the future, if they broke up, when one of them might think back on this. Or maybe they wouldn’t even remember it. Maybe, when happiness comes easily like that, when your life is filled with those little moments, you don’t catalog them all for a rainy day. Maybe you just live them and leave them behind when you step off the train.

my ass = kicked

I was so right about the trainer. I am in major pain, which apparently is a good thing. There is a muscle right under my rib cage that I swear wasn’t there before, but it’s throbbing. The gym I went uses Super Slow resistance training, so after 8 super slow push ups when I fell on face I got a “Good job, that’s exactly what you want.” It was an eyes squeezed shut, deep breathing half hour, possible the most intense workout of my life (and I’ve tried Budokon).

The stairs in my building could prove to be a problem this evening.

complimentary

Lately, life seems to be all about perspective. After spending the past few days feeling like an emotional freak, I get the following IM from my sister:

Amanda: I need a perspective check….
You’re the most normal person I know

I find this…oddly comforting. Although given that Amanda is strictly abnormal, I’m not sure this qualifies me for whitepicketfencenormal, or just for notbeingeatenbycatsnormal. Still, it’s nice to be somebody’s mostnormal.

In other news, I’m trying out a personal trainer tonight. I’ve never been to a trainer, and I’ll admit to being completely terrified. Her name is Natasha, and even though she seemed kind when I met her yesterday, I’m sure that was just to lure me in so she can kick my ass today. I’ll let you know how it goes.

my new boyfriend

Maybe I’m jumping the gun on spring cleaning, since it’s still arctic outside. But I couldn’t help it. I live in an old building, and while I love my apartment, I don’t love the constant feeling of dust and wall debris under foot. So I cracked.

Isn’t he beautiful? I could not be happier with my latest purchase. This is the first time I’ve really felt like my apartment is clean since I moved in a year and a half ago. And even though buying a vacuum seems like a really grownup thing, it isn’t the way I do it. That is to say, on the phone with my mom in Bed Bath & Beyond getting her to look up each model on consumer reports. I do love that woman.