Canned Sanity

Episode 58: Reflections of the Dance Floor

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 20:03:00 +0000

No particular event...rather I've lived this multiple times.

Even if I close my eyes I still see all the bright lights and flashing colors. My whole body is absorbed into the pulsing rhythm but for a few seconds I'm reliant on sensation.

Humans don't have the senses some animals do, cats for example, but I can feel the people around me. The sweat, body heat, and the movement of the air as people move closer, winding together and splitting apart. There's a girl with her back to me just a few inches away, her hair brushes me as she turns. Her gentle touch on my arm forces my eyes open and my head whips around.

Eye contact. It's rare. Generally I'm looking distractedly beyond my partner or at a body rather than a face. There's a need to follow physical cues that eyes just won't give. Sometimes, with a good partner who is clear, or who one knows well—one can stare up into their eyes and let things proceed as they will. Usually though, I have to make sure my shoes aren't getting stomped on.

But now, my eyes lock with this stranger and register the call for help. It's a subtle cue, for all it is obvious to me. Her eyes widen and her head jerks infinitesimally towards the man behind her. A sardonic smile flits briefly across my face as I notice the overeager aggression in his dancing.

There's no time for a verbal or physical cue to the other people near me--including the man I'm ostensibly dancing with—in times like this it's intervene first, answer questions later. He's got an arm around her waist and while she's following him, it won't take much to break his lead. Time for me to move in.

I grab her arm, pulling her forward and right up against me. She's eager to follow, even to a strange girl several inches shorter than she is and no definitive protection from the creep she's getting away from. We're both banking on the potential that guys like to watch women dance together but not indefinitely. Immediately we turn so our sides face her former dance partner—he's now faced with two shoulders that aren't attached to the same body. And those shoulders have arms and long, fast moving, well manicured nails. This is a little harder to grind to than a single front or back.

Still moving quickly to try and prevent any recurrence of the pairing, I throw my own head in his direction, allowing my hair to snap out. It's a cheap trick but people tend to stay out of the way of long ponytails flying and it gives me a second to find the shirt of my most recent partner. Ah, there—vision blurs up to make eye contact even as I'm already reaching for him.

It's the best that can be hoped for—he's not oblivious to what I've just done and why and realizes he was not the issue. Having comprehended all of that, it's not hard to insert him in between us, even as we continue a circular dance step.

Now my back is to the creep and I'm full flush against my former partner, looking over his shoulder to the other girl. She and I effectively sandwich my partner for a few seconds and then –then she's three feet away, headed for the bar and a drink.

My partner hasn't let go of me and I won't move away from him—which is good because the other guy is now in search of a new target. But I will close my eyes and listen to the music, now twenty-five seconds further into the song.

Episode 57: Strike a Pose

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 17:00:00 +0000

I'm working with a new photographer. Well, he's not new, but working with him is for me.

It had been a couple of years since I'd done anything like a formal shoot and to describe myself as nervous would be to put it mildly. I didn't expect it to go badly--I photograph well and I take direction--but would it be what he wanted, would we be able to get it to work?

I ended up first in the dress I wore for my senior recital, the floor length silver number that makes only a token spaghetti string of elastic towards covering my back. It's a different version of sexy--one that doesn't call for too much bosom or legs. Which was the near opposite of the other outfit for the shoot. Do you remember that night you and I went out in the City with some of the girlz and ended up controlling a not-very-big-dance floor for a few hours? The night I'd figured out that I could do the entire dance break from Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied." while in 4" heels? I'd been wearing a black tunic style shirt and jeans. Rather than going tunic-top, we opted to pull the hemline down a little more and skip the pants for the shoot--in essence what I see most girls at clubs wearing these days. Also, I was wearing the shoes from your wedding. My make up was simple, scrounged from my different bathroom drawers and shoved together at the last minute. Once I have a day or two that doesn't involve running hither and yon, the goal is to get over to Sephora and get a new foundation and some blush. I don't wear either much--preferring a sheer creme to powder, a bit of eyeliner and eye shadow and calling it a day.

The worst of it was that my hair had decided it wasn't cooperating. I'd done everything I knew how to get it to work with me, but the latest reformulation of Pantene* has been turning my hair slowly to straw and that night it had just given up the ghost. We left it pinned up in a bun, only eventually pulling it to a pony tail that looks a lot better in pictures that I felt it looked in real life. I've switched to Aussie for now and it's already looking much better.

And for three hours we worked. Apparently he took over 500 pictures, which surprised me. I had estimated more in the 200-300 range. It doesn't seem like a particularly tiring task. Stand, turn, smile, look up, look down, cheat left, turn your head, look at the camera, pull your right shoulder--no, sorry,--your left shoulder, tighten your back. It was the end of an already long day though and by the time we finished, I was wiped.

Last night I finally got to see the first round cut and discuss a few things. He somewhat prefers the left side of my face, though he's not totally locked in on that statement. There were a few pictures that really popped and a few that I hope never see the light of anything other than his computer screen. We quibbled over whether or not seeing the thigh line on hosiery was sexy.

You could see the exhaustion in my face in some of the pictures. Not many, but occasionally when I wasn't posing or attempting to infuse my face with any particular emotion, tired took over and my eyes went bleak. Those shots bothered me--though they're probably some of the most realistic. It is hard to not want to look one's best before the lens and best rarely equals blank exhaustion.

And, by the time we'd finished chatting, we'd set up two more shoots. So I think we can say this has been successful. Now if we can just find a time to shoot when I don't have to get up the next day...

*So, part of moving back to a major city means that when I start griping about things like my shampoo, a friend of mine will chirp up and say that they know someone in that lab. We found out that there were a lot of unnecessary chemicals in Pantene and they've actually stripped the product down. Unfortunately though, this makes it useless to me. 14ish years of loyalty--down the drain.

Episode 56: A Matter of Time

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Fri, 11 Feb 2011 19:04:00 +0000

I unsuccessfully attempted to shake loose one of the boys I have been dating. I made the mistake of telling him the truth: it's a time issue.

As we've chatted about, I have three pressing time sucks in my life at present:

Work (including freelance)
Friends
Dating

Work is not really optional. And for the for most part I don't resent the time it takes. There will be times that I will, but for right now it's still a lot of learning, getting up to speed and balancing what I will and won't take home. My freelance work hasn't been too crazy for the past few months, for which I'm very grateful. That too is going to change in a couple of months pending a client's anticipated funding. I'm excited and hoping to put a big dent in the student loans and save up for a newer car. Also, I just heard that one of my clients that I've been begging to migrate has started training on their new system. I'm so happy for them--it's definitely time, even if it means I lose them as a client.

Friends are not something I'm willing to give up. I spent too long isolated, too far from all of you. Granted, you're still a bit of a plane ride, but now it's two and a half hours. Not an eight hour day of transit. In theory I could leave after work on Friday, catch the last flight and be there in time to still go out in the city. My friends are smart interesting people. We wouldn't be friends at this late of date if we weren't. So I want to spend time with them. I want to arrange gatherings of them and see what think tank type things spill out of us.

And then there is dating. Culturally I'm supposed to be doing it. I don't have anything particularly against it. But it takes time.

I know I probably went about it the wrong way, flinging myself back into the dating scene and spreading myself a little too thin over the month of January. If it meant that my SAD was under control, I was all for it. But now I find myself resenting the time it takes. These are not friends with whom I can meet for an hour and a cup of coffee and move on to the next thing. These are not people willing to wander around Home Depot with me for hours as I discuss the meaning of life and which entryway carpeting I want and how choosing a particular shade of brown will influence everything in my life and apartment.

Dating means running home from work, changing clothes, reapplying makeup, and abandoning my cat for four hours of awkward conversation. Dating is allowing a man to talk about himself for several hours and then finding out that he thinks you two have bonded because you're acting as his own personal therapist for the evening. Dating is realizing that during that goodnight kiss, you were planning a grocery list for next week and wondering if you'll be absolutely useless at work the next day if you go to the 24 hr laundromat as soon as you get home.

And so comes the resentment of realizing that I've given up a quiet evening that I really needed to sit in a crowded restaurant wondering if he's really that oblivious.

On a late phone chat with a friend we talked about what amount of time I was willing to put into things and the obvious split. I am perfectly happy to drop my to do lists in the interest of a late night drink, an unexpected dinner invitation, a crisis etc. but that I have trouble allocating time for dating. Maybe it's the guys I've met so far? Maybe it's just me?

However, in the interest of sanity and figuring out how not to resent the time and effort, I will pull back. I'm sure there are decent guys out there with whom I might bond but so far I haven't found one where an invitation for something beyond the first date hasn't sparked a twinge of resignation. One should not go into a second date because of obligation and with a garnish of slight frustration. Such is to say I am entirely abandoning dating, but the selectivity parameters are getting more restrictive.

Episode 55: In Which There is Hair Drama....

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 08 Dec 2010 17:19:00 +0000

They've changed Pantene and I'm not happy about it.

I knew they were redoing the formula again. I'd seen some television ads and they'd changed the labels on the bottles for the umpteenth time since I began. I don't believe in running out of shampoo and conditioner ever though, so I had a pretty decent sized stash of "old formula" that I was using up prior to the move.

Only, now I've run out and pulled out the new bottle of conditioner. Okay, I didn't actually run out, but I switched to the stock of new formula. Running out would have just meant a very late night run up to the 24 hour Walgreens. Either way, the result would have been the same.

I lathered, I rinsed, I reached for the conditioner. I squeezed the bottle and immediately I noticed something.

It smelled wrong.

I've been using Pantene since I was a junior in high school and figured out that it's conditioners made my waist length hair manageable. Over college, grad school, and beyond, I've found many many other women often with shoulder-length or longer hair who use Pantene. It's a sisterhood of sorts, and it was one you could identify by scent. I have, on occasion, walked past a girl and been able to tell that she used Pantene. When you smell it every day for years, it's a familiar combination of chemically scents. To me, it was one of the "clean" scents in my olfactory vocabulary.

Now...it smells sweeter. As though they decided that a shampoo and conditioner that many women use couldn't just smell clean but also had to have a sugary overtone to match with all of other super-sugary bath products that are thrown at us. I don't mind a sugar scrub or a sweeter body wash, but leave my shampoo out of it!!

Worst of all, I think the formula change might not be working with my hair. I'm not sure if it's just a winter and wind issue or a shampoo and conditioner issue. I might have to test a bottle of something else.

Call you from the shampoo aisle for suggestions...

Episode 54: Your Words are My Words

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 23:56:00 +0000

I'm nearly relocated. And it's been forever. Sorry. :)

Isn't it interesting how other people's specific words creep into your vocabulary? I listen to myself and hear not only the books I've read but very specific words and phrases that just...aren't mine. It makes me wonder what other people have picked up from me.

From the Blonde: Dude. Everything and everyone became a dude.

From you: "Here's the Thing, the thing is this...." And here is how we began most of our explanatory sentences for two or three years....possibly eight or ten.

From E: "Seriously?" It was her catch-all on her podcast. It was a statement, a question, and admonition, a command. And I listened to enough of her episodes that it became mine as well.

From M: "Thank you so much." I think it's a Georgia thing. One doesn't just say thank you, one must pull out the whole phrase. And surprisingly I've found it pretty effective here in the colder northern regions.

I'll have to think what else has sneaked in when I wasn't listening. From whom have you borrowed?

Episode 53: You're Not Doing It Correctly

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 22:21:00 +0000

It's Labor Day Monday and I've spent most of the last three days snoring, cat snuggling, or somewhere in the depths of a book. As usual, great plans were made for the weekend and while some things got done, others have not--at least not as yet. I'll be up til wee hours tonight, I always flip back to nocturnal at times like this and there are things I still want to do.

Over the past week I've watched as my professional colleagues have tackled, yet again, the illusion of job availability being promoted in various places, the reality of job cuts, the frustration from lack of clarity of what constitutes professional work, arguments of elitism, and other things that seem to cycle through our discussions on a regular basis. There's a lot of I-didn't-sign-up-for-this and get-over-yourself and polite name calling going on. I've mostly stayed out of the fray, partially to keep from throwing another keg of gasoline on the fire and partially because I'd like to see what other answers come out before I try and formulate something too haphazard.

Ultimately I keep hearing the refrain "If Ur not XYZ, Ur Doin' It Wrong." It's everywhere in my profession. This could be in reference to the fact that I'm not regularly getting recruited from my current position, that I'm not getting 100% return on applications sent out, I'm not getting calls from professional publishers every week, not leading all the top presentations...

It spills over into personal life, crafts and hobbies too. If I'm not dating three men at once or in a long term serious relationship with a man I well believe could be "the one," if I'm not churning out excessive amounts of sweaters and lace weekly, not spinning and crocheting and weaving in addition to my knitting obsession, if I'm not blogging every single event of my week and turning out a best selling memoir on moving from two major cities to a town of 50,000 and what it's like to feel utterly friendless in the depths of winter isolation.

We're so focused on the negative, it's exhausting. So ready to cut each other down, render efforts wrong or perceive lack of rockstardom as laziness. If only, everything seems to suggest, if only we would put ourselves out there a little more, submit three more applications, one more article idea, take on six more tasks. Then! Then we would be worthy of being called excellent, being called a rock star, one of the worthy. I haven't figured out what magic level one hits to reach that, but then, I've never been much of one for video games.

I suppose I'm just suffering from whiplash from the condescension and struggling to keep up. Attempting to put myself out there in the most positive of ways and having just enough success that I seem to be getting regularly smacked with the why-aren't-you-doing-abc stick.

No particular ending to this...just getting the stream of conscious out and wondering if perhaps by writing it down, I'll find a path out. In the interim, I've a to do list to tackle.

Back to the grind.

Episode 52: I Could Do This Better in Heels

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 18 Aug 2010 14:58:00 +0000

One of my well known shoe rules is that I have to be able to run in them. That includes the 4" heels because I'm going to have to run to keep up with you or one of the other 6'+ men in my life or make a mad dash for a train, which inevitably involves at least one flight of stairs. There's method in the ankle-strap madness.

Two days ago I sucked up my various favorite excuses, pulled on sneakers, yoga pants, and a top designated for exercise and actually hit the bike path/walking trail behind my house with the intention of starting Couch to 5K.

Twenty minutes, combination of walking and running. I let me new Fuze choose music based on the genre designation of "Pop" and headed down the trail.

Explain this to me. That trail is usually empty when I head out with a podcast for a walk. I can go all the way to the Mexican restaurant at the end and back and see a half dozen people total. Why on earth were there 4,000,000 people on the trail then when I went out to alternate between walking and running?

Anyway, while I excel at the 4" heel, wearing a skirt, half tipsy mad dash for the train, actually jogging in sneakers while trying to keep my headphones in--seriously I must have the wrong fit on those things--was less than incredible. But I did it. About 11 minutes down the trail (3.5 ish songs) I turned back. I probably didn't have enough jogging in my ratio of walk to jog for Ct5K but I jogged.

Then I came home and lay down on the floor with my feet over my head and griped at the cat about the back of my legs hurting. I need to do more yoga. I like the 20 minutes and done then though.

Now then, I have to do it again today. Wish me luck and fewer people on the walking trail.

Episode 51: Romantic Pragmatist

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 01:42:00 +0000

As we sat talking, I realized for all the love stories I read, own, and share with friends, I'm rather pragmatic about this whole "falling in love and finding the one" thing. He seemed to absolutely believe and his passion, his description of hopeful searching, left me bemused, unsure of the appropriate witty comment.

It's not that I don't believe in romantic love, I do. I've met people who share it between them, some married, some not. I've also attended more than one wedding where it wasn't there. At times I've seen the bride or groom's affection and practicality and said "okay--they at least have that." Other times I'm standing in the back, watching the pictures being taken and wondering, worrying about divorce proceedings.You know that, we've talked about those weddings.

But I'm not sure I see it as something I expect for myself. It's not a feeling I'm actively seeking. I excel in my pickiness--call it shallow, call it self-protective behavior, call it what you will. There's a veneer and a shine on top of my feelings, for while it's easy--so easy--to love, to adore my friends, to draw so many close, it is nearly impossible to find someone s so special that I push the rest of the world away.

Of course, if this were a romance novel, the man who I'm supposed to fall madly into romantic love with would appear in 5...4...3..2.. and we'd need to have at least 150 pages of bickering while we attempt to suppress an undeniable attraction. Too Jane Austen?

I spoke to others about a friend's recent marriage. We're all optimistic about the relationship. And yet in the same breaths we debated not only who we felt was in a bad long term relationship, but whose divorce we might be quietly internally cheering. That number is low, few and far between of course, but the reality is we don't know what all happens behind closed doors, we're not in the relationships, and though the majority of my friends are marrying later, in their late twenties, and post-higher level education, and after living together, we'll still see disasters, messy breakups, midnight phone calls with people crashing on couches, hurt, destroyed friendships, all of that. No one really knows who, or when, or how, but we strive for our friends that it not be that way, that we see and know and love the exceptions--the ones with whom we may celebrate Golden Anniversaries.

But for me, for now, I think I'll hang out on the sidelines, keeping you and my other friends closest, the boys at arms reach, and the air mattress available for when somebody needs a place to crash and think.

Episode 50: Making Future Plans

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 21 Jul 2010 21:02:00 +0000

I've been casually browsing about for a lawyer recently. No, I'm not headed to court, but I was thinking again that end of life will come, no matter what else does (death and taxes, per Mr. Franklin). And while laws vary around the states, I do have some rather specific feelings about who should inherit from me, who should be making health decisions, what health decisions should be made, etc. So today I sat down with one of the local lawyers and he's drafting a will, medical power of attorney, and financial power of attorney. Not surprisingly, my mother's name features rather prominently on all of those documents.

What this initial process has shown me, somewhat to my surprise, is how little I think any of my stuff will matter when I've died. I have an apartment full of things that are part of my life, but when it gets down to bequeaths, the list is very short. This is not necessarily a bad thing but it does make one take a second look at the "stuff" in our lives. I need to make designations for the yarn stash*, the cat, and some jewelry, but that's about it. My collections of elephants and hedgehogs or the tea pots? Probably not something my siblings want. My books and clothes? Most likely being sold or donated. My excessive number of bottles of lotion from Bath and Bodyworks? I would hope no one keeps those unless they are really enamored of the scents.

I'm hoping to use this as a little motivation to clean out. If no one but me is going to want it, do I really need to keep it around gathering dust? And I'm not talking about things with sentimental value and strong memories attached. No, I'm talking about the lotion or stuff that strikes me as "immediate garage sale" candidates.

If you want one of the elephants or hedgehogs though, let me know.

*stop laughing and consider just how much yarn I've bought in the past three years. Uh huh....designating.

Episode 49: I'll be in My Happy Place...

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 23 Jun 2010 16:27:00 +0000

I can't tell what causes these cycles--snark and bitching will crop up all the time but it cycles. It's hit a particularly high/low point this week. Everyone seems to just need to walk away from the keyboard for a while.

I think that's one of the challenges of being as connected as we are. We're less inclined to take a step back, walk away from the situation, regroup, rethink--we react in real time and hurt feelings seem to be proliferating.

I have a bit of a break coming. By sheer force of conference attendance, I'll be offline except via my cell most of the day. And since I don't have a Droid or Iphone or HTC or..... I'll be just barely checking email and following just enough people on twitter that my phone will be constantly vibrating with updates. It's good to get away--from the every day, from the constant connection--even as I'll be surrounded by people of my profession.

We need more offline days. Sounds like it's time for me to fly home and see you so we can haul about and be crazy and offline together.

Episode 48: The Long Slog

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Sat, 12 Jun 2010 20:32:00 +0000

I'm one of "those" candidates. I work on my resume, I draft careful cover letters...and because I have the wonderful stain of children's work on my resume (which I can't remove without raising a lot of questions and eliminating most of my experience in this career field), I am continually passed over.

Three rejections recently. One was an internal hire, though they didn't bother to tell anyone that. No, they put out the job ad, pushed hard for applications, passed me through the layers, and then hired the person they already had inside.

The other two I didn't hear anything til it was a "you weren't selected." Which tells me nothing. No sense of why I wasn't considered even for an interview, other than the obvious that they are academic and I'm considered one of the lowly public types.

So it's back to hacking away at my resume, trying to figure out how to disguise what I do into an academically acceptable. And hearing from others that I should be spending all of my time volunteering to do what I'm trying to be paid to do. So wonderfully frustrating.

How are things in your job hunt?

Episode 47: Thursday Nights..

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Thu, 10 Jun 2010 21:38:00 +0000

It was the first night of the weekend. No never mind that half of us had class, or work, or whatever required us to get up the next day...

At times the routine was much the same: the same people, the same place--if the music was good and you felt safe and had fun, you went back. Other times it was just D and I, bouncing from club to club to club, pulling out fake names and cell numbers when strange boys asked, making a mad run for the parking lot at the end of the night, giggling all the way.

We always began fresh from a shower though by the end of the night we'd need to start all over again. Tight jeans, high heels, and whatever cute shirt came to hand. A dash of glitter sometimes and a little too much make up. Shiny hair and a ponytail holder around one wrist for the inevitable time our hair just got too hot to manage down.

There's an aroma about the clubs: sweat and alcohol, hormones and energy. It's a little too sweet and there's a tinge of cigarette smoke. Like the tooth-twinging antiseptic of the dentist's office or the acetone overtones of the nail salon, it just sets the scene, neither good nor bad--just how it is.

The music starts pounding the minute you walk in and your ears take only a minute to find the words beneath the rhythm and the noise. If you want to talk to someone, your best bet is to get really close and talk low--right into their ear. This, of course, means that to get your order across to the barely dressed girl behind the bar, you have to lean all the way over. As long as you're not leering, she doesn't take offense.

It's a culture of hand gestures, gentle touches, eye and body language. A single raised eyebrow can ask a ton of questions; a hand at your waist have myriad meanings. The tightly packed atmosphere means you're dodging feet and bodies--fingertips lightly splayed on a stranger's back as you slip behind--headed for the bar or the bathroom. And the ever-present watchfulness for bottles on the floor, spilled drinks, and friends or strangers who might need a rescuing hand.

The tension of the week slips away as the focus becomes the here, the now, the music and the rhythm. The auto-tuned pop beats and the girls in ridiculous outfits resonate while the stress, the responsibilities, and the frustrations ooze out.

Too late we left the clubs, faced with the prospect of getting home, getting another shower, ripping off the entry bracelet or scrubbing off the stamp, grabbing a couple hours of sleep before waking with sore feet and the remnants of glitter still strewn across our skin. We downed coffee and hoped to stay awake long enough to make it through the day, yawning through the slight hangover and smiling at the intensity and total lack of importance of what came before.

I miss Thursdays nights.

Episode 46: Doing the Beautifying Thing

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Tue, 08 Jun 2010 23:26:00 +0000

I'm headed to a national conference in a couple of weeks and the planning has begun, as well as the self-beautifying. Eyebrows got ripped out this morning; hair appointment (not with MY hairdresser *shudder*) next week. I have this thing about appearing in a national arena and not looking sloppy, unprofessional, etc. I don't like oversized t-shirts, Crocs, or anything that screams my current role. The goal is to be well dressed and just slightly ambiguous.

So that meant that I went clothes shopping. I popped into TJ Maxx in hopes of finding cute but reasonable blouses or tops--something appealing but still work appropriate or even just conference appropriate. I went in with an open mind, prepared to find things in unusual (for me) colors, interesting or funky prints, something out of norm...

And found mostly completely unwearable garments in the juniors area or things in the misses area that started only at a size 8 and went up. I know it's one of those search for treasure things, where you really have to be willing to dig through every rack. I dug, I considered, I took chances and I drug 9 items into the dressing room.

I ended up with a single blouse. It's not as dressy as I'd like, but it's decent and long and I can add jewelry that will make it a little dressier. Most of what I tried on was far too large, despite being "small" or a misses "extra-small"---because, of course, females built like me must be 13 and dressing only like their fav pop-teen-singers.We can't possibly be healthy adults with a desire to look professional. And don't get me started on the Facebook book group slamming skinny girls. I watched various acquaintances join and seriously thought about messaging them all and telling them that yes, I was taking their "liking" of that group personally and that I considered it a blatant insult--or commenting on the now married/in-a-serious-relationship guys walls about how they "used to not feel that way." But while it would have been amusing, I opted on the side of just rolling my eyes and moving on.

Leaving there, I thought perhaps I'd find something at Macys. Why I even bother looking is beyond me--Macy's in the Midwest rarely stocks clothing in my size. Add to that the general blah feeling I had about everything I was seeing this season--electric sorbet colors and continued 80s trends, and I was almost ready for a triple scoop of chocolate ice cream.

So, frustrated and irritated with the fashion world, I headed to the one store I know I can usually find something: Express. It's often more than I planned to spend but it fit and usually I can find a top or two that I like. Less luck with pants, but I'll forgive them. I tried on six items: a dress and five blouses. Two of the blouses were too small--which was actually nice. I ended up purchasing three blouses and then came home and ordered the dress online. I'd forgotten my coupon and wanted to use it. I have nowhere to wear the dress, it's totally inappropriate for work, and I'm not sure I have an appropriate bra for it; but it made me feel pretty and feminine and young. Not my usual squash-my-sexuality-into-a-box-and-hide-it-away because I work with children/the public and need to be as asexual as possible.

Now we just need to find somewhere for me to wear it with my soon to be freshly shorter hair. Don't worry, just getting it trimmed and the layers cleaned up.

Episode 45: Change in the Mirror

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 19 May 2010 00:51:00 +0000

She and I were getting ready to go out shopping. It wasn't a particularly meaningful exit from the apartment, rather mundane among the ones she and I have had. As I shrugged on my fleece I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

And realized a face slightly different from the one I was expecting was looking back at me. A check at my companion confirmed something I hadn't really considered--we no longer look like "kids" anymore. At least....not to me.

I know it's been something creeping up on us for a while now--a transition in attitude and appearance to adulthood. I've been resisting it a little and I can't say I'm quite ready to shake off all things we associate with youth, fun and frivolity, but it's changed.

Our concerns and conversations are changing, settling around a more mature round of questions and complaints that will --strangely--stay more consistent longer than our earlier woes: families aging and passing, the merits of home ownership, whether or not we choose to have children, the long term relationships the majority of people are going into, settling firmly into our careers or dropping everything and trying something else.

Whither our debates about Bath and Body Words and the appropriate scent for the upcoming season? (Personally, I'm going mostly citrus all the time--leaning heavily on the lemon from C.O. Bigelow--tart without being dishsoap.)

But when we went to the bar or shopping or to a meal together, here were not two very young women, finding their feet, scrambling to find their identity as independent creatures--here were established women, still young, but not with the freshest face of youth one sees on those a decade younger than ourselves--who just legally obtained that word "adult."

I knew it would happen--aging does whether we like it or not. It was just interesting to see myself change from a young post-college to a young mostly-stable adult, and realize that I project myself a different way than I did then to others.

Of course, this doesn't mean I'm stable, that we've all figured out what we want to be when we grow up or with whom we want to be or how we'll get there. The questions remain, but the face is a little different now.

Episode 44: Idea Implosion

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 17:32:00 +0000

It's the challenges of telling people what you want that cause sleepless nights and endless lists and self debates that, of late, have led to throwing up my hands, turning on the TV and essentially plugging my fingers in my ears and yelling "La La La" in hopes my brain will shut off.

Only brains don't shut off...in the few minute drive to or from work, as I'm sorting through mindless emails, putting the 30234089234th DVD on order because one of my coworkers can't do her own data entry....

What do I want? More...that's the obvious answer, but it's not always so clear.

1) I want a different job in a different location. Alright, that's not new, but things have started to change with that. I told my two immediate supervisors--with great success! They're honestly supportive and that's amazing. It's unusual, for I think most managers aren't that way and most professions don't support someone coming to you and saying "I want more, I want to do other things..."--at least, not when those more and other things mean you'll lose your youngest professional staff member and won't be able to replace her indefinitely (hiring freeze).

2) I want to become better with HTML and CSS, and get my own website rolling. I have a good book on the former, I need to get ahold of the LisNews host for the latter...And I'm going to start doing the tutorials over at w3 schools--best free HTML/CSS stuff I've found out there so far. Maybe I can get that certification, that'd help.

3) I need to talk to more people. Talk talk talk talk talk... Several people have said they are happy to talk to me about what's going on, coming up, etc in academic libraries. I'd like to think I'm not entirely blind but it'd be good to get some ideas.

4) Turn off the TV, turn down the social networks, and just power through. I should get on a couple long plane flights--I get more done in airports/planes. Of course, I always take twice as much with me as I can actually get done...

That's just where the brain has started...but there's more...always more.

Episode 43: Tell Me What To Do...

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 00:15:00 +0000

I've hit one of those stumbling blocks where it's just not clear what will come next in my life. Yes, I'm praying about it; family is praying about it; and I'm trying to be patient and wait.

Patience is not something I have lots of, though most people seem to think I do because I learned how to effectively self-entertain.

I've started talking to my various mentors and being really honest about my frustration. I know I have a good stable job and I'm aware that's a huge blessing. Truly. Got that. But I need to get out of children's before I am pigeonholed for the rest of my career into something I never set out to do. I worked with children because that's where my friends were and that's how I could put myself through graduate school (along with the grad assistant stipend).

Unfortunately there aren't any really good answers. The job market begins to open again but with that is a flood tide of well qualified applicants. And I'm not local to a lot of the places I'd be interested in working. Places seem painfully reluctant to take people who would have to move. The why of this is unclear but that's where it is...

On Friday I'm having my two supervisors over for wine and cat-snuggling. They both have asked to meet the cat and actually it'll be the first time for the visiting my home. Which explains why I was frantically polishing the silver. I need to do more normal things like vaccuum still but who wants to do that when I can dust all my knick knacks and completely reorganize the bookshelves!

I know, I know...

Anyway, the point is that I'm going to ask them for help. I'm going to point out where I'd like my career to go and see what we can do to make things go that way.

They're good women, strong supporters, and I think they'll understand. It's going to be a horribly difficult conversation, but it's time.

Wish me luck.

Episode 42: Decluttering

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Mon, 19 Apr 2010 18:01:00 +0000

For all intents and purposes, looking at the to do list I had for the weekend, I was incredibly unproductive. No jobs were applied to, I have several really good blogs posts in draft that weren't finished, you STILL haven't seen my vacation pictures.

I spent the weekend puttering around my apartment cleaning. I took four bags of stuff out to the garbage, another five are in my trunk for Goodwill. I have a bag of things designated as "need mending." I've switched over to mostly spring/summer wardrobe (the linen is still packed). I polished the silver.

Yes, really. I polished the silver tea and coffee pots and the tray. It'd been longer than I care to admit and they were looking rather dingy. Now, shining gleaming silver. I feel the need for crumpets and cheese cubes. Fortunately, there are crumpets in the fridge.

I'm always blown away by a) stuff I have that I can get rid of that I should have gotten rid of forever ago and b) how things "fluff up" to fill the space.If I can go through and find a trunk full of stuff that needs to be donated and bags full of things that are ready to be thrown away...why haven't I? Why didn't I just get rid of things immediately? Granted, some of that was regular garbage and litter box changing and such...but still. And if you walk into the apartment? It doesn't look empty. It's not sparse. My stuff took off its collective corset and exhaled. It's actually slightly disheartening, because I wanted to feel like I'd purged.

And at 9:30 p.m. a nice young woman came by to claim three huge adult spider plants. Now we're back to a 1:8 mammal:plant ratio. At least we're well oxygenated.

Episode 41: Positive Human Connection

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 14 Apr 2010 01:05:00 +0000

I sat across the table from my friend, holding a beautiful earthenware mug. The coffee had warmed cold fingers; the company soothed busy minds.

And for a while we just held hands across the table. It was extremely intimate, though not romantic. Here were two human beings gently connecting, despite the haste of the world around us, the craziness of our regular lives. We spoke softly for some time, finding our way back to sanity but mostly just relying on each other to find a smile.

So much of what we do involves interacting with people, but without any physical contact. You and I used to work in a place where we had children climbing all over us. We were used to giving piggy-back rides, slinging a baby on our hips, and still managing to keep three other things going. When I changed to my professional position, it was with the understanding that you didn't touch people--because touching people meant a potential lawsuit. So despite working with vast numbers of the public every day, it's very rare that I actually touch someone.

And that spills over into the rest of our lives. Without close friends in the local region, I can go quite literally for days without actually touching another person. I keep up my traveling--Milwaukee, Chicago, Appleton--and there were many hugs there. Here locally--I think I've given/received 2 hugs since the New Year.

People need people--we need positive connection and one of the ways we get that is through human touch. A hand on a shoulder or hand; a hug; sometimes even just a warm handshake. Only, we're in a hypochondraic time where touching things and people is dirty, where we go through gallons of hand sanitizer, where touching others is considered impolite. Not that I don't have a huge amount of personal space--but you get the general idea.

Is it any wonder we all head for our massage therapists or even for a manicure/pedicure? We need some kind of human contact and soothing touch beyond brushing fingers with someone as we receive change at the coffee shop, assuming we're so anachronistic as to pay with cash.

We're increasingly disconnected--relating to people through our myriad screens. I think it comes at a cost of losing some of our positive human connection with the world around us, and that caring touch.

And the irony that I write this so you'll read it on a screen because you're too far away for me to hug--yah, I got that.

Episode 40: I Appreciate

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Thu, 08 Apr 2010 17:58:00 +0000

Too often we talk about only the frustrating or the negative. A moment then, to smile about good things.

My USPS people here. I put my mail on hold all the time, I've always got packages going in and out, and it wasn't a problem when I showed up with a pile of papers and my passport and wondered how to get things to the Egyptian Consulate. My mailman (yes, actually a guy) knows I'm home Tuesday mornings and occasionally rings me to buzz him in for other people.

My UPS driver in Chicago. She brought so many cool and wonderful things and was always pleasant. I think my favorite delivery was the day I opened the door with a tray of cookies in one hand. She didn't blink, but held the spatula while I signed--left-handed.

My cobbler. Everyone should have one. I show up, say "can you do something with these?" presenting heels I've beaten into the ground, worn all over, and not polished nor barely cared for in the previous winter. He takes them and in just a few days transforms them into nearly brand new. And I am reshod once more, far more cheaply than buying new boots. I had one in NY and I have one now. I can only hope to find another good one the next time I move.

Episode 39: Staring at My Hips

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Sat, 03 Apr 2010 21:11:00 +0000

Combating negative body image, particularly one's own, is a daily task for most women. We fling ourselves through our morning routine, barely seeing our own faces in the mirror as we wash, dress, put on make up, style our hair and sprint out the door. We're terrified to know that if we did look, we'd find fault.

What specific challenge do I have? According to society and 99% of the women that I run into, I'm not allowed to be at all desirious of changing my body. I'm not permitted to be frustrated because I can't find clothing that fits, that I'm not as in shape as I'd like to be, that the voices in my head keep telling me that I'm not as pretty as other girls. To express any irritation results in scoffing, mockery, and derogatory "compliments."

This challenge comes because, according to Ann Taylor Loft, I'm a size 00P. How it is a girl with 34" hips has to wear a size that's less than existing, I fail to grasp, but that's the only size business pants I can buy that fit. All the pants at Banana are too big and I'm honestly afraid to try on anything at Express or New York and Co because chances are good I'll come out of the dressing room sadly, knowing that once again, I'm too small to fit into their clothing. And then I'll end up buying something trashy in one of the juniors stores just because it fits.

It's difficult being relegated to the juniors department when trying to find professional clothing. It's irritating when other women announce how it "must be those size 4 and 6s" who are proclaiming anything body image. And it's a continual ongoing assault on all sides.

The fashion industry, modeling industry, and make up industry tells me I'm not trendy, thin, tall, pretty enough. I've accepted that they're trying to tell me to buy their products in pursuit of one of those adjectives. If I were an inch or two shorter and about 15 lbs lighter, I might have a career in petite modeling. But I missed the boat on that one. They have, at least, a clearly defined motive--a bottom line I can clearly identify: they want me to buy stuff.

The women in my life tell me I'm scrawny, non-existent, too fragile, bony, not curvy enough--despite nearly 10" hour-glass curves. They tell me I'm unworthy to want better for myself because I've gotten my share and it's unreasonable to want to improve my health, my shape, and ultimately my life. I don't understand their motive.

Men I know keep announcing "they like a little meat on their women's bones." They openly discuss how thin girls are all sharp angles, are not real women, are too childish or boyish. I assume their motive has to do with them getting laid.

And I stand silently in the corner, knowing that to open my mouth will bring only ridicule. For in this world I'm told I have no room to have my say. I'm not allowed to be frustrated at a society where there's an enormous split between a celebration of the Renaissance, Titian woman and the glorification of toned, tanned, thin, blond celebrity.

Episode 38: Running Under Radar; Putting Myself Out There

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 16:12:00 +0000

A girl needs somewhere to write, to vent, to get it out there. I've tried sharing this blog a little more widely but I find I just can't. Even as supportive as my friends in the computer are, sometimes I just want to rant.

But today, it's a different focus. I need an accountability somewhere of my job hunt. Because we both know I'm looking and that I want away from where I am.

So....here's where I am, here's what I want. I want to be back in a bigger city. I want to not be working with the general public on a daily basis. I don't want my job description to be focused on storytime. None of these are sinful, I remind myself. I recognize what I enjoy and at what I excel and what will make me burn out between now and the next few years. Or the new few weeks. While I know jobs can't be exciting "all" of the time, it is the real potential of job resentment that I see coming that makes me realize I need to find something more suited to my career goals in short order.

Let's step it up shall we? I know you have wanted something different for a while too--let's be accountable to each other. Every day, every week, we need to figure out how to move on.

I'm going to go look through the folders I keep skimming and decide exactly to what I want to apply. Those descriptions are going in a concrete folder out of my inboxes and I'm going to work on a cover letter today.

What about you?

Ugly Washcloths and Plans

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 05:51:00 +0000

It must be approaching spring. Days are finally getting longer; I'm occasionally able to open the glass sliding door; I remember that I do have a balcony under the snow .

And I want to clean out stuff. It's a normal spring feeling right? Emerging from the layers we've buried ourselves in over the winter to realize you just want space, air, clean, and less stuff cluttering up.

It's started, somewhat, with yarn. I was sorting things again and wondering why I'd kept tiny balls of yarn where the project was long gone. These weren't even memory balls--ones that triggered the memory of projects into which I'd put hours, these were just random. I remembered the end project but it wasn't something I had a strong emotional attachment to by any means.

I want to finish things--like the yarn. So in the past couple of days I've been knitting ugly washcloths: cotton yarns that have nothing to do with each other in terms of color. Ugly mismatched washcloths will do just as good a job on the kitchen floor.

I want to read the books in my library basket, which may mean taking some time off of putting things on hold or just adding them to the "to read" list---which I might get through if I win the lottery tomorrow and don't have to work for the rest of my life--but that's doubtful (too many books, no lottery ticket).

I want to read the mumble long backlog of National Geographics so I can recycle them. No, the library doesn't need them. Trust me.

I want to use up the yarn leftovers and finish the 8-10 half done projects around here.

I want to mail off the four packages that just need tape and labels before they go to friends and family.

I want to clean out the coat closet and the linen closet. What on earth did we put on those higher shelves?

I want to transcribe the novel I started into the computer and see if I can actually make some progress on it.

I want to go through my books again and see if maybe there's some that can go...I doubt it, but it's worth looking through again.

I want to get my Egypt journal done and my pictures up.

I want to report back to you of the rejections and successes, rather than just the status quo.

So...that's the plan for the next 3.5 weeks. Pretty reasonable to do list, don't you think?

I'm on washcloth #4....

Episode 36: A Familiar Feeling

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Fri, 08 Jan 2010 22:28:00 +0000

I gave up regular sleeping during my teenage years. It wasn't for lack of my mum trying but with school, all the various extra-curricular stuff I did (newspaper, clubs), homework, and my own interests, it went by the wayside. This only got worse in college as I'd have a full day of class, evenings of music rehearsal, hanging out with friends and then, oh right, homework. I rarely saw Cyn, my junior year roommate, as she rose at around 5 a.m. and I went to bed usually between 3 and 4. We spent far more time with one of us unconscious while the other did her homework/workout/whatever than we did hanging out in the room together.

There came a point where the exhaustion I felt upon waking each morning was normal. My muscles would resist as I'd haul myself out of bed, feeling gravity's heavier than usual pull. I'd pour the first of seemingly endless cups of coffee (or cafe mocha) down my throat and slowly the feeling would recede, draining out of my toes as the caffeine levels in my bloodstream returned to normal.

And then I would go back to mum's on break and snore on the couch for a week before my body shrugged off the perennial state of exhaustion.

I sleep more now than I did then, usually. I've gotten to where I mostly make it to bed by 2 a.m., though a very short list of people have permission to call later than that and do. Still, at present, there's not as much in life the seems to invigorate me to keep to all hours. That and my winter insomnia hasn't fully set in.

But occasionally I'll stay up, working on a project, reading a book, watching the latest season of a television series I can never remember to catch when it actually airs, or just staring blankly out the window--not fully awake but not really resting either.

Then comes the morning with its inevitable alarm clock, text messages, and--in parts of the year--daylight. My eyelids haul themselves up, I smack the snooze button and there it is: the drained feeling. An old friend who has shown up again, not entirely unwelcome. I flash back to thinking about 8 a.m. history class, wondering if my roommate is up yet, thinking about the caf and whether or not I'll have time to get a cup of coffee and an egg sandwich before I have to be wherever. Or I instinctively wait for my cell phone to ring so one of my best friends, my manager at the time, can tell me where I'm substituting that day. The mornings she calls now for Excel help really throw me.

I miss the exhaustion sometimes, for while I'm sure it's much healthier for me to be sleeping, I felt like I got so much more out of my days then.

I'd say perhaps I've just learned to manage my time better but even I don't believe that.

Episode 35: Back To How We Used To Be

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 19:03:00 +0000

When we first became friends, we used to talk. Not just about classes and homework, concerts and lovers, but beyond. We spoke of esoteric and argued the ridiculous. People joined the conversation, phased in and out, tossed out an opinion and ran. We did the crossword puzzle together and debated the clues. We went to concerts and performances.

Now the world has run us over. We have work, families that have different needs from us, and things no longer seem as straightforward as driving down campus to grab lunch together was. Add to that national, local and global challenges that seem to rear their heads and be ever increasingly exploding in our faces: economy, transportation, health care, aging. We worry about our jobs, whether or not to have children, our parents, our siblings, home ownership, and our sanity.

We do not talk of literature, of abstracts, of an art piece we admired. What debates we have feel stilted and rushed with no potential other than wistfully wishing there was a side to things other than "bad." Our opinions are settling as we fling ourselves further into adulthood, our minds less flexible than during our teen and early twenties years. The energy that spurred us on, out until dawn, back up for class, work, fun seems curiously missing, replaced with perpetual exhaustion, endless cynicism, and an exhausting cycle of always behind.

We detox at each other just enough to hang up the phone, walk away from the screen, and realize that no matter how much that helped--a hug would have made it infinitely better.

This, then, is my new years wish for you--to bring our old conversations forward again, to call you for clues to the crossword that I can't solve, to tell you of what I've seen, to go to a museum together instead of watch reality television. There has to be appreciation of beauty and good and we need to use our minds.

It'll be a stretch, it might require some yoga afterwards, and it still won't be as good as a hug. But it will be something.

Episode 34: Can and Can't

noreply@blogger.com (HL) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 20:16:00 +0000

In 2010 I will try to accept what I can and can't do.

I can't change the past.

I can't change the extended family I was born into.

I can't change the choices others have made.

I can't break down the wall of futility by beating my head against it.

I can't please everyone.

I can choose who I keep in touch with and the family build for myself.

I can let go of people who are willfully self-destructing.

I can see there are other things out there for me and pursue them.

I can clean out things that are unnecessary clutter.

I can stop listening/promoting/being a part of the drama.

I can love greatly, widely and deeply.