What about Brian's hair, continued

Hee hee. I like to think that Barry Watson read my letter. It's not great, but it's much better. I'm taking credit.

psa: dwight k. schrute

In case you missed the commercials, or *gasp* forgot, be sure to watch SNL this Saturday, as it will be hosted by Rainn Wilson, aka Dwight K. Schrute. He is indeed everywhere. I personally hope for the inclusion of a digital short, and perhaps a skit with Rainn and Will Forte's character Andy, the Customer Service Rep. Ohhhhh noooooo!

tis,

a scint week for blogging... so much too say. so filled with laziness... but perhaps this weekend... dare to dream... after all it's actually blessedly friday.

irritated by:
haven't heard from 2nd interview
laundry piled up in corner
dust
canvases to be worked on
lack of quality programming

ticked

okay so this is seriously gross. i was attacked by a tick. but like i don't know when. all i know is that i brushed my left arm this AM and it was there- attached to my upper left arm. i pulled it out and killed it and could not stop saying GROSS all day. i'm saying it right now. GROSS. is all i can say. damn off trail hiking. the more disturbing is when it mightve latched onto me... i shudder to think it'd been on me all day into the morning... bcs that was the last time i went off trail... that's what i get for offtrail hiking. GROSS. when i found it i was in a conversation with my inv. manager and so grossed out was i that i could not even say a word to her, as i brushed my arm- nor anyone lest they know that i'd been infected... i possibly concluded that i will wake up tomorrow taken over. it's so so unpleasant. hopefully no redlines will spread up my arm. for fucks sake. it's so GROSS.

dear wardrobe,

It's time we have a serious chat. As you well know, we haven't been getting along for quite some time. Not that we're fighting exactly; I would just call the relationship "unharmonious." You have a few pieces that I regularly hang out with, take to lunch, and what have you. But the majority of your numbers have been on strike for awhile now. It's finally sinking in that we need to face our issues and if needed, part ways. Because... I'm thinking, now that I'm prego, it's going to be quite a long time before I can even think about trying to wear those shirts and pants that I'm still not able to wear as a result of the first go around. I feel like it's more of a shape issue, in the end--that it's not so much the weight hanging on, but that your body just forever changes shape. And I've got to stop denying...

I bought a very nice mauvey shirt yesterday at Target in the size I would have worn before, though, and it gave me great hope. It made me think that it was possibe to get along with shirts, new shirts that actually fit the right way. Shirts that are long enough, for one, and shirts that could not double as a corset. And as much as it pains me to think about saying sayonara to my red Curious George shirt of yesteryear, I'm kind of thinking that by the time, if ever, I'm the right "size" to wear it, I'm probably not going to want to anymore. First of all, at that point, it will be years old. It's already kind of ratty. Actually, I think it was kind of ratty after the first time I washed it. WHY am I feeling bad that I can't properly wear this thing? Seriously... All these shirts I'm thinking of pink-slipping are on the ratty side, no wonder they don't fit right. Dear lord. Okay, that's IT, we're cutting the cord:

Goodbye to:
red Curious George
yellow UNCW shirt with hanging threads
bright green Tinkerbell with peeling graphics
electric orange Old Navy shirt I haven't even worn since... like, I can't even remember! WHY is it still in my drawer.
John Bender shirt? okay, maybe I'll save that for K.Lo
orange camping shirt with fabric so thin it's falling apart in my hands
brick Bonnie's Snow Lodge shirt, peeling graphics
another red graphic T that was tight and uncomfortable when I bought it 4 years ago, much less after it was washed once--and the seams are totally crooked
black tank-top that always looked terrible on me anyway

And others. There will be many others. And then the pants, and the sweaters, and the long-sleeve T's and jackets. And maybe even the SHOES, just for kicks, hahaha. Look out wardrobe. Management is cracking down.

xoxo,
pen with eyes wide open, now

Warm Weather

I'm sitting at my desk, scrubs is on in the BG. I'm wearing a burgandy tank top and some basic blue underwear. I sort of like the outfit, though minimal- the colors are perfect. Like I could be in a Dove or Jockey ad. I feel good about it, with my flipflops and grungy hair done up in a band. The air is warm out- over 80, and no ones home. It's an odd sort of quiet. Like I should have a purpose or something to do. It makes me want to leave the house and go on errands- but I think maybe I'll just wander outside, look around at the flowers and come back in. Maybe distractedly pick up a book or watch the Extras Season 1 dvd. Or just stare into space and dream about organizing our junk room. Maybe I could paint. . .

Maybe that's it- it's poised and expectant. And I'm uncomfortable with the lack of definition.

Like it was a full day over. Made more stepping stones, watered plants, watched pinky/brain2, had lunch, helped friend move couch, conversed, more diet pepsi, conversed... the day is full and why ruin it with something else.

Dear Saturday Night Appletini,

Alas, but I cannot partake of you, and it is so sad, because I had such big plans. What to do without your fantastic electric green yumminess, not unlike a sour apple Jolly Rancher. Perhaps a glass of wine, a solitary beer, consumed at a slower-than-snail's pace? What a tease, what torture, to be within a good buzz's reach.

Not that I'm complaining, not really. Okay, maybe a little bit. But only because, how often do I purchase apple martini mix? Like, never. So close I was, and yet so far. See you next year, perhaps? In the meantime, there are friends, and the promise of another Bug.

Adieu for now--not quite sadly,
prego (yowza!) pen

Happy Valentines Day!

version 1.0

I've talked about losing my brain cells several times on the blog, particularly during pregnancy. Or maybe I didn't, and I've lost too many brain cells to remember properly. It wasn't just pregnancy, because I'm still pretty dumb; I really think, at least for me, it's being out of school. Every once in awhile I'll say something that sounds like the old me, the school me, and I'm like... whoa. Did I really just formulate that thought in my brain and express it out loud effectively? Maybe it wasn't even particularly impressive, but at least it wasn't completely daft. The "right" word seems consistently to elude me, and basic facts about the world that I once knew, whether useful, useless, or somehow in-between, seem to be lost forever. Or maybe they're just buried under the rubble of pop-culture fluff and mommyhood that seems to occupy much of my immediate thought bank.

I used to be good at school, like really good. I'm not saying that is the indication that I was once smart, but it can be an indication. I was also a hard worker, but I was genuninely good at school. I don't mean grad school, either, by the way. I mean, I did fine in grad school, the GPA was up there, but for pete's sake, they might as well have graded us on a smiley face/gold star scale, right? Show up to class? Smiley face! Complete all projects? Gold star! But I digress... In both college and grade school, I pulled in almost all A's. I like, knew stuff. All the subjects, too--math, science, language arts. I was better at biology and chemistry than I was at earth science and physics, but I still killed the Regents at the end of the year. They were my mental glory days. God, I hope not. And of course at the time, I thought it would actually get me somewhere. I mean, I'm certainly not complaining about my current life status. (And I'm also not trying to brag about school--it just happened to be a pretty big part of who I was, back then.) But obviously, what we think we're working toward while we're growing up, that glowing reception from the Big World Out There and all the people in it who will recognize our specialness, the big "prize" of a fulfilling, exciting career--it all goes up in a sad puff of smoke the second we graduate. Or maybe not for all people. I won't assume it happened to you. And maybe I'll come back around to it--to writing, I mean. And intelligence?

I digress again, but not really: intelligence. I suppose all those facts I once had in my brain, the knowledge of How to Do Stuff, and what trigonometry means, are all gone because I don't regularly flex those muscles anymore. It always comes back to exercise, doesn't it? J.Lo likes those books that have lots of facts, trivia, etc in them, and for some reason I never got into them. But maybe I should try. Like I should get out Jon Stewart's book about America and learn what really happened. I should pick up the books we do have on our shelves, the factoid ones, and flip through whenever I have a chance, and try to learn or relearn some things. I don't even know why... on one hand, it's like, what's the point? Who is it for? Why, why, and why? It's not going to get me any A's (or gold stars, heh) this time, and I'm not trying to build my resume. But maybe it will give me something else to think about, or give me some interesting things to offer the world, or maybe just make me feel... less dumb. More alive? More like an older (time-wise, not age-wise) version of myself. Hmmm.

fat

there was, and this was, suppose to be different but i feel consumed by something more assured then a particular consternation.

mostly or so far lately, when i think about what i've been thinking about, a flat lines goes across the screen. at church a friend asked me how i was and nothing flitted across my mind, possibly my bloodsugar level was low, and then when i thought back to maybe a couple hours before there was something possibly heart breaking hovering there, absurd in its correlation to me and to my conclusion about it but nevertheless, but then the day moved on and it was gone- that happens occassionally to me like waking from autopilot and suddenly i feel tired, sad, possibly anxious and i pause mid sip, take a deep breath and engage a mental diagnostic- oh yah, that's right, there it is- a minut? minute. whatever. assemblage of fine points- mine and some from other people that materialize into apprehension, an event, a phrase, a metaphoric turn to the meaning of the thing.

autopilot is good for a lot of things, like the 6min anger delay button. fuming after i'm out of the situation or possibly reticent. it's odd how it takes several occurances to register on the scale, how it coalesces into a thought and then-

it happens occassionally when weight becomes the topic of anyones conversation. i note the features of the person, pros/cons... decide whether they have a right to be complaining, a right to think they look ugly or insecure in a bikini- think within a mili-space that i would "kill" to have such a body, and think them very foolish for such an utter lack of perspective. which i know we're all entitled too. they say healthy but what they mean is less repellant. but as we are all self-consumed, slips are inevitable in regards to how we really feel about ourselves. most always in my life i have never wanted to be anyone but myself- possibly, most defintely a better version, taller, thinner, smaller feet... but when it comes to it, i fought very hard to be happy with me. and i see people betray themselves that when they look at other women they wish they were them, and i think but you're beautiful- why don't they see that they're beautiful... and i think tragic. and it passes to annoyance when in comparison they have very little to do- i'm glad i can be here for perspective, a reality check- i have for instance $77,000 in debt and maybe 80+ to lose... and i scoff at their 20lbs or their $2,000 debt, whatever, i don't want to begrudge them with an eyeroll but i do. it is something possibly very big or insurmountable to them... i do not have a boulder on my back despite it... as a book reminded me, events in themselves aren't significant but what people think of them are, makes me think all those attitude adjustment tapes could work... really, after all. if i wanted them too.

i like my view from here, quietly, raucously going about my business. i am in the water, knowing i should've shaved, lap after lap watching the line and the flags pass on the ceiling, watching the cute old korean couple, the professional girl swimmers, the woman who wears make up into the water, the beautiful and disruptive boys, (much hotter than those body builder types) and my friends and this life i'm in, the skin i'm in has a fit that is wholly mine. and every minute in such naked spaces i have to chase away the chill that says, but you're, and they might, staring, awkward, retreat, dripping wet, inconvinience, betrayal to peace, transforming, blissful flatline of doing what i do because it makes me... happy? the healthy benefits aside. so that when i glance up from a thoughtless space it will not have been about vague apprehension but a rememberance of to whom i belong and to whom i serve- a far more reassuring space then the failure of being someone i am not.