don't care to hear 'em play a tango, I'm in the mood to gear a mambo

I'm feeling energetic tonight. I hung out with Daniel for a bit, which was lovely as always. Then he left to be all fabulously academic, and my original plans involved changing into pjs, doing multiple loads of laundry, and either watching Back to the Future or yet more episodes of Friends. [Sidenote: I have been on a ROLL lately with the Friends-watching. For serious. I'm rocking through season three presently, watching such gems as The One with the Jam ("Remember when your mom used to drop you off at the movies with a big spoon and a jar of jam?" and The One with the Race Car Bed ("Do I have a middle name? Okay... Monica... Faloola... Gellar.").
GLORIOUS.] Then, I realized I had energy. Possibly enough to go out with co-workers. And look cute. For serious. I'm rocking the autumnal style of a short skirt (not TOO short. I'm not a hussy, people. Nor quite that bold.) with tights and hott heels. This is going-out type clothing, people!

You know, I was always staunchly anti-tights. Up until this very autumn, the fall of my twenty-third year, I hadn't worn tights of any variety since I was possibly about six years old and my mother made me. My mother is the sort of woman that declares once it is chilly outside, you wear hose with a skirt. Or just wear pants. Every other woman in attendance at a winter function could be wearing a skirt and my mother would bust out the black slacks because hey, they're dressy. She went to my cousin's wedding a month or so ago and called me practically two times a day during the weeks leading up to this event with countless fashion inquiries.

To put this in context: I am my mother's only source of fashion information. Her seventeen-year-old daughter chooses to deck herself out in textbook Hollister (not the slutty stuff) and Aeropostale (without all the corduroy). My mother has no close friends. No, really. I'm not exaggerating or being mean or anything. She keeps in touch with her one good friend from high school, who still lives in PA. She has a terrible relationship with her one sister, who also lives in PA. Her best friend is my Dad, who similarly, only has her for a friend. They are there for each other more than one hundred percent, and that is all they need. I've always found this to be both admirable and a little sad. My friends in high school would always talk about how they had to stay home and watch their siblings because their parents were going out to dinner with their friends, or going to such-and-such's soirée, or meeting so-and-so for a movie. My parents never did that. I believe they hung out with my little sister's best friend's parents once. And I don't really know why they were invited, because it was an evening centered on playing cards, and my parents don't play euchre (I know. They've lived in the Midwest for thirteen years and DON'T PLAY EUCHRE?!? O THE TRAGEDY!). We don't have any close family within a twelve-hour drive. So we were each other's friends. We kids, of course, found circles of fellow kids to chillax with, but my parents were always totally fine with just having each other. That astounds me.

I love spending time with my guy. He's incredibly good to me and we get along swimmingly, probably because we laugh at each other's insane sense of humour. However, I have absolutely NO PROBLEM AT ALL when he's all "Hey, I have ish to do tonight, so I'll catch you tomorrow," or, "Hey, Taylor and I are hanging out tonight and we haven't chatted in awhile so is that cool?" He never has to make excuses as to why he isn't hanging out with ME ME ME ALL THE TIME OMG PICK ME. Never. Busy tonight? Sweet! I can watch a guilty pleasure movie like The Secret Garden and not feel silly! [Sidenote: he has totally watched this with me. Now THAT's a keeper, ladies.] I can browse blogs on the internet and suddenly realize three hours have passed! I can read Agatha Christie and get visibly excited when Hercule Poirot is close to nabbing the murderer! [Yet another sidenote: he's totally seen me get nerdy with books, so this probably doesn't count either. Hmm.] Similarly, he knows he can call me to say hi and I'll say, "Hi I love you but I'm hanging out with work people tonight so I'll talk to you later." See? We can have friends AND still see each other pretty much every day.

NEW TANGENT THAT IS VAGUELY RELATED BUT ALSO SORT OF NOT, AND ALSO, MY GOSH I'M A.D.D. TO-DAY: Practically every serious couple I've known has gone from perfectly normal, sociable individuals to the glued-at-the-hip, incapable-of-going-anywhere-without-the-other type once they found "that special someone." I have ALWAYS been highly displeased with this type of behaviour. I HATED that my friend would just disappear or become someone else, just because they had found a boyfriend or girlfriend. I always thought that your significant other should complement you (different from "compliment," people) and help you to become the best version of yourself - YOURSELF - and not dramatically change you in any way. He or she should accept you for who you are. I have known many people who were a vibrant, sparkling, unusual personality that, once attached to The Significant Other Unit, became a much stifled, quieter version of him or herself. Does that make sense?

Now, people have tried to tell me, "But Holly, it's called MATURING. They were SO CHILDISH before. Now that he or she is in an adult relationship, it ALL CHANGES." To which I say: HELL NO. Just because we're "adults" doesn't mean we can't have fun and be random and a little crazy at times and ridiculous when we feel like it. People can still have fun even when they're fifty-five years old and have gray hair and reading glasses and three children (yes I did just describe my father, who is a quiet, reserved sort of individual in social situations, but has one of the most playful spirits I've ever known, a joy that only reveals itself when he's with my mum and sibs). Story example: the other week, Wellie (the Little Sib) was taking photographs outside for her photography class. Her assignment was to take photos of "letters" she found in nature/ordinary objects/creative ways to invoke the alphabet/etc. She was struggling a bit, and I joked that she should just write a letter on a piece of paper and photograph that. So my dad immediately found some post-it notes, drew random letters on five or six, and proceeded to sneak out back and post them all over the porch for Wells to find. My mum, dad, and I hid in the sunroom, giggling at ourselves, watching Wellie creepily from the glass doors as she came around the side of the house and indignantly noticed my dad's trickery. SEE?! BE OLD(er), STILL HAVE FUN AND BE WEIRD AND EMBRACE YOUR INNER CHILD. These are the things I will remember about my dad when he's gone, not what he got me for my birthday or how nice our house looked.

That tangent got way out of control. I should have warned you at the onset of this post that I was in a random sort of mood.

I still have energy. I still rather want to go out with chums tonight, but now it's coming on eleven and I have to work tomorrow night and I still haven't done any of my four loads of laundry I know need to be done and I should probably be responsible and go to bed early for once in my bloody life. But I still look cute.

images of broken light which dance before me like a million eyes

Extremely random thoughts for you on a blustery Sunday evening in Indiana...

Presently watching The Holiday for the hundredth time and desperately wishing I could move to England.

Also loving England because of three hours spent with my dad this afternoon browsing England vacation websites.

The smell of campfire makes me want to stand outside and breathe deeply for hours, until my toes go completely numb and I can't feel my ears.

Waiting to hear back from a local, slightly upscale restaurant for a serving job... perhaps a step up from the 'bee's and a more profitable second job in the near future?

Thinking a lot lately about the future; Dan asked me where I see myself in May, and I didn't have an answer.

Getting tired of my intense paranoia concerning germs and illness.

So very over all the ridiculous, immature, childish drama at my lovely restaurant of employment.

Totally at a loss as to what to wear over my impending weekend spent out of town.

I hate living in what I consider to be an untidy sty of occasional filth, but haven't any time to properly tidy it.

Really tired of always paying bills and not saving any money for my future.

Wishing I had time to learn to cook properly, and perhaps sew, and definitely read more books.

Rather chagrined that I'm always complaining in these posts.

I definitely enjoyed my long weekend without a roomie, but I have to admit I'm rather pleased she's back (just helped her carry bags in).

Slightly concerned for my health, what with my roomie and bf suspecting an iron deficiency and a general feeling of being "off" for the past few weeks.

Dreaming dreams and wishing wishes, without fully realizing any of them.


At risk of sounding cliche or girly or whatev, yet not caring if you think that because it's true, I am completely crazy about this guy:

I know, I know. Go ahead and make fun of me. Here's to hoping.

there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend

Sunday morning, I agreed to close the bar for JH on Wednesday so he could go to the Miss Gay Indiana pageant in Indianapolis, I think. He does a drag show and was trying to make some more contacts so he can start making money from this relatively new venture, and I was more than happy to work his nighttime bar shift for him. This story is not about that.

Wednesday evening, we really weren't that busy. I was trained as a bartendress (as I like to call myself) in March of this year, if I remember correctly. As far as bartending goes, I'm still quite new at this whole game, especially considering I am not a heavy drinker and had little to no familiarity with most of the liquors behind the bar before I started serving them. To work a nighttime bar shift, and have to balance both rail guests and servers' drinks from the well, is both overwhelming and an exciting challenge. I love moving quickly and attempting to make the drinks as fast as I can, while still building rapport with my guests so as to boost my tips. All in all, I was rather proud of my performance this particular evening.

Wednesday night, I was closing the bar, performing various cleaning tasks and whatnot, and I dragged my garbage can out to the back docks, where a few of the cooks were sitting on boxes and empty kegs taking a brief smoke break. One in particular, C, sports dark hair and a lip ring, and shares my sarcastic sense of humour to the point that we get along quite well. At least, as well as I can gather from the brief chats we've shared here and there during the times our shifts overlap. He's one of those co-workers I genuinely enjoy talking to, because he's funny, always kind to me, and never lashes out against the other cooks or the servers like so many back-of-house associates tend to do. I appreciate a strong yet controlled personality. We could use more of those at the 'bee's. Anyway, I dragged my garbage out back and C was out there smoking. Now, I don't smoke, and actually abhor the habit for a variety of reasons (I know people who have had emphysema/lung cancer as a result of being around heavy smokers, secondhand smoke gives me a horrid headache, etc.), but I do like to chat with people when I can, and unfortunately, a lot of the chatting and getting-to-know people happens when they bond over their cigarettes on the back dock. I chatted with C and the other cooks for a few minutes and C mentioned that he and D, one of the closing servers, were going out to get a drink after work, and invited me to join.

Wednesday night, I faced a quandary. I have been invited out multiple times by people I work with. One clique in particular has invited me to join them at various low-rate bars and/or clubs numerous time, but I have yet to join those particular shenanigans. I did accompany them to BW3's one night, which helped secure my "cool" status, but considering they don't really invite me out much anymore, I'm guessing I'm not enough of a drinker for them. Also, the conversation they pursued during our time out was both vulgar and somewhat out of my sheltered little comfort zone at times. Therefore, I am usually relatively wary when invited to chillax by 'bee's people. However, C seems like a nice guy, and D is a very pleasant sort as well, having been nothing but sweet to me, so I seriously considered it.

Wednesday night, I had almost decided not to join my co-workers, when D approached me in an excited frenzy (she's rather high-energy), shrieking that she heard I was going out with them and ohmygodthatissoawesomewearegoingtohavesomuchfun!!!!!111. "Self," I declared, "You really do need a drink. And you like these particular co-workers of yours. Let's do this."

Wednesday night, C and D and I went to a new-ish bar that C knew because it was a renovated version of an older place he used to go to regularly. To make a long story short, we three immediately bonded over the experience of attempting to defer the affections of two seriously creepy drunkards - one of which wanted me to leave the other two so he could tell me a secret, and the other which asked D to kiss him now multiple times. C was a splendid male companion to two young females (that made us sound really young or something; we're all pretty much the same age), refilling our drinks for us from the pitcher we split, telling the creepy guys that we were both his and he doesn't like to share, holding us one on each arm as we left so no one would get any ideas. After this somewhat unnerving experience, we went to a much friendlier pub and laughed about it over a bucket of beers. Normally I'm not a beer person, so C collaborated with the bartender at this pub (who he knows well) to pick a beer for me to sample. To my surprise, they were successful, and I enjoyed a rather tasty Honey Brown.

Wednesday night, I enjoyed myself enormously until three-thirty in the morning, talking and laughing and bonding with C and D. D had to go home relatively early, since she lives forty-five minutes away, so C and I continued chatting for awhile, played a game of pool, and called it a night. I got two new contacts in my phone from my new 'bee's friends, and realized that I miss having a variety of people to hang out with. Don't get me wrong, I love my roommate and my significant other very much. I haven't seen my roommate in two days and I have a number of stories to tell her. If I don't see my guy for a few days I actually miss him; which yes, sounds lame, but what can I say, I'm a passionate person. When I got in my car after the night o'random shenanigans with co-workers, I realized I had a huge grin on my face because I had so much fun and it was just so REFRESHING to know it's possible to have other friends. My roommate has a number of other people she makes plans with, and I'm not always invited because I don't really know her other friends very well and it's not like you have to be attached to someone at the hip just because you share an apartment. In a way, it's nice to know I might have a few friends of my own - REAL friends, not just random alcoholic buddies like the other clique at the 'bee's. We actually talked about ourselves and personal lives and real things, and they both told me multiple times that they really enjoyed hanging out with me and we are SO doing it again soon.

Thursday night, I was hanging out with JK, another co-worker, with whom I share a deep and loyal love of "The Office." We had made plans weeks ago to watch the season five premiere together, and began the evening with dinner at-where else?-Chili's. My sister joined us. The conversation evolved into JK sharing various tidbits of gossip she heard around the 'bee's (my sister is a hostess at the 'bee's, so she knew all the people JK was referring to), some of which was highly implausible. She shared one extremely far-fetched instance that she claimed involved C and D; I wisely refrained from mentioning I hung out with them the night before.

Friday afternoon, I was once more working the 'bee's, and found myself in a conversation with M and A, both servers who are a bit younger than me, but have been part of the 'bee's culture for either as long as me or a bit longer. We discussed the insane gossip mill present in our workplace, and A remarked that she had been a victim of the rumour-mongering a few times in the past. In addition, she has told me numerous times about how she doesn't get along well with D, and a manager actually spoke to her about it, stating that D heard all kinds of stories about things A said about her. Can we say DRAMA?! Basically, the point of this entire long, drawn-out story I'm sketching for you, is that I am constantly astonished at the force and power of the gossip/rumour mill at the 'bee's. Is any other workplace like this? People's names are constantly dragged through the mud for various reasons. There's a never-ending cycle of whispers declaring who slept with who and who is secretly gay and who cheated on their boyfriend with that manager. It's impossible to keep up with and quite frankly, a rather tiring task I don't care to participate in. I didn't tell any of my co-workers for six months that I was seriously dating my guy because heaven knows what they would do with that information. And it's true - once they started finding out, I was teased a few times through inappropriate comments. Nothing mean-spirited, just not particularly in line with my moral system. It just astounds me that people are so immature to talk about people constantly behind their backs, to stoop to child-like methods of deceit and bickering, and that no one is exempt from this vicious game, not even managers or the youngest, most innocent of hostesses.

Saturday morning, I wrote a ridiculously long post about my recent workplace musings, and wondered whether other workplaces shared this madness.

treat me like you did the night before

I'm a common courtesy contradiction.

The other day I was leaving my apartment building, and was astounded by a simple action. I live on the third floor, so I have to descend a few flights of indoor stairs to get to the door that leads out to the parking lot. I locked my door and started down the steps, moving at my usual brisk pace. When I came around the final corner, I saw that an elderly gentleman was holding the door for me.

When I say elderly, I mean ELDERLY. Thinning silver hair, deep-set wrinkles, hunched shoulders, outdated-and-ill-fitting mustard yellow suit, leaning heavily on a scratched wooden cane. He was OLD and practically HANDICAPPED and he heard someone coming, so he held the door for them. I was the only one around at the time, so he wasn't just holding it for his wife or someone he saw coming in from the parking lot. He heard footsteps from upstairs, which can only mean a person descending to exit the building, so he held the door. It's practically melodramatic for me to be writing about such a small event, and I'm sure he thought nothing of it, but I was just thinking about common courtesy the other day, only to be blown away by this tiny old man who took the extra time to hold the door, when it was probably going to take him ten more minutes to hobble to his comfy armchair and put the cane down for the day.

Now, when I say I am a common courtesy contradiction, I believe I share the affliction of being a hypocrite with the vast majority of the population. I will hold doors for people, and make eye contact, and smile at strangers, and wait for people at crosswalks, and say "please" and "thank you" quite frequently when at a restaurant or somesuch. However, I also tend to tailgate if you're driving ten under the speed limit and I'm late for work, because lord knows that makes me personally want to speed up, when someone is so close it's like they're driving in my bloody trunk [this is when we all laugh and point fingers at Holly and say things like "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WOMAN, CONTROL YOUR ROAD RAGE!"].

I went to a friend's wedding this weekend, which was beautiful and perfect and basically gobs of fun. Upon leaving the reception, Daniel and I were walking out into the beautiful night - my feet were killing me, of course, from the fabulous peep-toe heels I was sporting all night - and we passed a woman talking loudly to someone in a van pulled up to the sidewalk. They were having some trouble coordinating how to load some boxes of glassware into the van when the cart kept trying to roll away on rickety wheels. I took in the situation in a glance and was all set to keep walking, when Daniel released his loose grip on my hand and immediately went over to the woman, asking if she needed assistance. It was quite apparent that this woman was taken aback by such a kind offer from a random stranger.

I never thought of myself as an inconsiderate person before. I always say "Oh, I'm sorry!" or "Excuse me, sir" if someone bumps into me in a public place - even if it was their fault, not mine. I cannot fathom those who just bump into others and say nothing or ignore people who serve them in such positions as drive-through fast food attendants, or waitresses, or bank tellers, and refuse to say thank you to those working such menial jobs. I became more and more aware of the overwhelming rudeness present in our society when I started waitressing. People who don't say those magic words you learn as a little kid, who just hold out their glass and give you a look when they want a refill, who leave ten percent tip or less because lord knows the person serving them doesn't have bills to pay or children to support whilst working eight hour shifts for $2.13 an hour. I'm not trying to turn this into a rant at all; I'm just wondering where the concept of common courtesy has gone. I had a table on Sunday consisting of parents and four kids, between the ages of about ten and fifteen, I would say, and they were the most well-mannered group of that age children I have ever waited on. They all spoke to me clearly when ordering or asking for refills, smiled genuinely, and thanked me sincerely. It was just so refreshing to see that some parents still attempt to instill such values in their offspring.

Don't lose hope in the manners of humanity yet. There are still random acts of kindness out there.

On that note, I shall now phone in an order of delicious sesame chicken to prepare for the season premiere of The Big Bang Theory tonight on CBS. If you haven't seen it and appreciate smart humour and dorky guys in awkward situations, then I highly recommend it.

I've tried to telephone, they said you were not home, that's a lie

Still no reply from the job hunt.

I plan on sending angry emails this week. Okay, irate emails. Fine, not even irate; polite inquiries, really. They can't get upset at me for politely inquiring how the process is going, right? RIGHT?

If I don't hear back from any of this most recent round of jobs, then I believe that clinches it. I'm moving away. I don't even know where yet. I do know that I will wait until after the holidays, since business is finally starting to pick up at the 'bee's, slowly yet surely, so once I make it through the madness that is the holiday rush, then I will have sufficient funding - or at the very least, just enough so I can move away and not die for a month or two. Wise advice has helped me see that that's all I need.

With that sort of ambition, maybe I'll make all my dreams come true at once and move to England.... yes...

Ahem. Moving on, I picked up another shift tonight. Carside again. I really don't mind it, as long as people tip me. Which, most of the time, they don't. But every now and then it's a nice change to work carside. Don't have to deal with the constant interaction of bartending, always playing the listener or the entertainer. Don't have to worry about harassing one's tables repeatedly with drink refills or pushy dessert inquiries. Nope, just answer the phone, take the order, and take it to the car when they arrive. If I'm lucky, they see me for a minute, minute and a half, tops, and maybe reward me with a dollar or two for my efforts.

On a completely unrelated note (my, aren't we scattered to-day, mentally speaking), I'm terrible at keeping in touch with people. Truly. I've moved and changed schools so many times in my life, I'm used to just leaving it all behind and picking up in a new place, meeting new people, creating a new routine. After college, it was so strange to move back to a city I knew, with familiar locations and faces and phone numbers that weren't long distance for once. For once, I don't want to forget the people I left behind, those who made my four years of college so much more than tolerable, yet I'm falling back into the same pattern of forgetfulness. My best and dearest friend to me in the world and I have lost touch. We used to be able to talk for hours, exchanging random stories and oh yeah that reminds me of this that happened but wait I was telling a story and if I don't finish I'll forget and then we'll get on another tangent that leads to four more stories and meanwhile we can't stop quoting movies/TV shows we love to watch together and have to take a break to laugh until we can't breathe. Now, we're lucky if we talk once a week. I understand that's how life works and people grow up and reach the point where they have luncheons every now and then to catch up with "old college buddies" or whatnot, but I've never been the sort of carry that kind of friendship off very well. And I miss my best friend.




Why is it that you break twenty-one years of age, and suddenly realize that adult life is very different than you always imagined it, back when you were writing short stories as if all that was troublesome in the world resolved itself at age twenty-four? If that were the case, apparently I'm due to have all my worries resolved in the next year. If only it worked like my twelve-year-old self always dreamed...

These ramblings don't seem to make a great deal of sense, even as I glance back through them. I probably shouldn't even post this, but sometimes it's helpful to purge the mind of all those disconnected thoughts, just for housecleaning's sake, I suppose. Who know, you might even understand a little bit of where I'm coming from.

she's got a ticket to ride, but she don't care

[This post was written two days ago whilst chillaxing on a bench at a park near my apartment. It started with a memory and evolved into something like introspective wordplay. Not quite sure how the final result appears. You decide...]


I'm sitting on a bench in my apartment's neighborhood and out of nowhere, I can smell the ocean. I live in northeastern Indiana, so it's not like I'm anywhere near a significant body of water. I was dreaming about the ocean just the other day; perhaps this sensual anomaly is an answer to my prayers. I can almost taste the sea spray, hear the constant call of seabirds and children shrieking as they splash joyfully in the surf.

I miss traveling. The thrill that accompanies walking into an airport and inhaling the stale scent of leather luggage, constantly recycled air, and countless intermingled fast food restaurants. It is the scent of new books and magazines, freshly purchased for whatever journey their owner may be taking them on, combined with a million accompanying sounds -- countless backpacks and pocket-books and laptop cases zipping and unzipping in a neverending quest to retrieve boarding passes and passports and itineraries, bottle after bottle of overpriced soda releasing its carbonation in one swift burst; and of course, hundreds of voices chattering in excitement or questioning destinations in hushed tones or assuaging young fears. The cacophony of such a place has always been soothing to me, a gypsy at heart.