The topic of money comes up and everybody starts feeling bad about themselves for one reason or another

I fear this post is going to come across as pure, unadulterated whining--the type of whining that I promise you I've already slapped my face in the mirror about in order to attempt to snap out of it. If that's what it sounds like, I want you, Interested Party, to know that I don't mean it to be. I'm confused, I'm conflicted, and yes, I'm a little jealous and sullen, and quite frankly, I don't like any of it.

Yes, this is going to be a post about wedding planning. Or at least, wedding contemplating. Feel free to skip merrily to the end where I will attempt to have a less-bitter sign-off.

From what I recall of my studies, the bitterness, frustration, jealousy, and subsequent guilt about the antecedent feelings are fairly typical of one from a middle class upbringing. I've been sitting here in the pants I bought on sale, eating the food I got at the grocery store using coupons, surfing the Internet on the computer my dad and I built from salvaged parts several years ago, and staring at other couples sitting pretty in their Ivory Towers of Wedding Privilege (and please, I know how ridiculous that sounds, considering my ability to even be able to legally get married is privilege enough. Remember the guilt I'm feeling?). On my left side, I have the Wedding Industrial Complex shoving champagne toasts and chair covers in my face and my WIC-influenced friends ever so excitedly chatting me up about the open bar we're obviously going to have and all the hijinks they're going to get into as we party into the night. On my right side, I have a family history of modest church hall receptions of punch and cake, and a vast blogosphere of people (yes, even on my beloved APW) who had the resources and mental fortitude to throw awesome parties on "tight" budgets (say, under $15K).

From APW, probably from elsewhere

And here we are, caught in the middle. On the one hand, I'm so, so proud of my parents for raising me to be self-reliant, thrifty, and forward-thinking so that the concept of spending even $5,000 on one day (even, especially!, if it was other peoples' money and not my own) makes me want to throw up in my Payless shoes. On the other hand, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll really regret it if we don't have some sort of reception/party that involves drinking and other people dancing. Then, on the other hand that I've grown out of sheer frustration, I wonder if I will then regret THAT decision in two years when we realize we have to postpone buying a house because we need another two years to re-save up for a decent down payment (or, hell, later this year when I look at my savings and go "hey, where'd my Jetta Money go???").

What it's all boiled down to is me windmilling my arms around in an attempt to stab anything and everything in sight out of frustration with myself and the universe when I read discussions about budgets. I'm jealous of the couples who are shy and private and were over the moon to have a 10-person wedding where they met at the courthouse and then went to dinner at their favorite restaurant afterwards. I'm jealous of the couples who are paying for everything themselves and who seemingly have no qualms about dropping so much money on one event. I'm jealous of the couples who have parents in a position to insist on paying for most things or everything.

I wish we were the type of people who could look at our collective savings and go "Yes. We can afford a baller party that people will have an awesome time at, and not regret not having this money afterwards in the slightest." I wish we were the type of people who, if my mom announced she was liquidating her 401k because it was useless to her, could go "Awesome. Thank you so much, we are forever in your gratitude, and will put you in a very nice home when you're senile." I wish we were the type of people who didn't value social ritual, and could say "Let's get church-married and go home and watch Netflix while drinking 2-buck-Chuck." To say any of these things, however, would be a betrayal of who we are. Realistically, the responses I and The "why would we stop at Burger King when we can just eat trail mix for 14 hours on this road trip" Boy would have would be "This is House Money and also parties are stupid", "omg mom, no, thank you but please no", and "but SB shrieked and danced outside of a restaurant in 40* weather when we told her we were engaged, we can't not invite her or then not feed her!" respectively.

My mom told us to just elope, and if how crazy I'm feeling already is a portent for what's to come, she might be right.

F* this,
Thrine

Come grow old with me, the best is yet to be

I'm engaged! *confetti*

A friend I've had since high school has always been unfailingly enthusiastic about his life. He's had more jobs than I can count and took far longer than normal to finish college, but he always threw himself 100% into whatever venture he was embarking upon. He would speak so convincingly about each and every new life path (each with its own 5-year plan) that despite the fact this life plan was different every 4 months, I believed him every single time that This Was It and it was going to be Awesome.

That sort of optimism is alien to me. I hold on to doubts and fears and when I look five years into the future for any given thing, I see a thousand paths of disaster lying in wait. I try to be optimistic that, well, my life's been pretty good so far, so the chance of a flash flood washing away all my belongings and ruining my newly painted apartment walls with mold is really quite slim; yet I still have that little voice going "yeah...but it could happen, so don't get too excited".

Being with The Boy is my greatest example of that. To be fair to my psyche, my tendency to doubt our future had concrete evidence (see: him breaking up with me for a month in 2010), but ever since we got back together things were wonderful. Amazing. Completely different than the previous five years. I could tell he was just as invested in our relationship as I was and I would tell myself that is was real, this was It, finally. I was 99% sure of us, and our 5-year (10-year, 80-year) plan. 99% is easy to round up to 100%, and it was easy to tell myself that the part of me that was holding on to the 1% possibility that something could go awry was just being silly and pragmatic, that I was only doubting because it'd be illogical not to. Because honestly, who's 100% sure of anything? Fools, that's who. Right?

But then it snowed.

The first snowfall of the season finally came, and The Boy was uncharacteristically eager about going downtown Naperville to walk around and look at the snow. It snowed, and with just the soft rustling of snowflakes filling my ears, he asked me if I wanted to marry him.

I unromantically asked him if he was sure, and his eager/terrified nodding persuaded me that he had, in fact, thought this through and he was, indeed, sure. We put a simple and beautiful ring on the fourth finger of my left hand, hugged really tight, and smiled like goons. While the world around us was freezing over and turning a beautiful and brilliant shade of white, the 1% left inside me melted away. And let me tell you, 100% is absolutely nothing like 99%.

Don't get me wrong, I know things could still go wrong. People change, life happens, and the possibility of Forever is not a guarantee. But right now, in this moment of time and this stage of our life, I'm 100% sure that this is what we both want, that we're 100% in this together, and 100% going to promise to try our best to make it happen.

Can Finally Rename The Bookmarks Folder From "Unmentionables" to "Marriage Stuff",
Cathi

Love, got the windy city on my back

You know, I think I might miss it here after all.

Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements

According to Blogger's wonderful ability to save drafts of entries the following are topics which have been on my mind but left abandoned due to lack of time or follow-through (in chronological order):

-Gunshots, more specifically how I heard them one night and did nothing about it, despite fancying myself to be the type of person who would call for help if she saw or heard something amiss.

-How much I truly resent having poor eyesight, illustrated by my blind, shuffling walk home from the hipster eye doctor one bright, sunny afternoon after my eyes were dilated.

-The appalling sexism evident in the re-opening of public examination of Chris Brown's assault of Rihanna after "S&M" was released, re: "Did you hear that song? She obviously liked being beaten up, Chris did nothing wrong, poor maligned thing!" (read as: raaaaaaaaaaaaage)

-Work ethic and a sense of responsibility, and how I have it, despite evidence that neither are requirements or even expectations at Erie St TGIF.

-My increasing itch to do better for myself when it comes to my employment because despite being happy in the moment, I'm quite frankly disappointed with how I think my job reflects upon me as a person.

-The great internal conflict I had to face when confronted with Alex's application for a job back in Kentucky, whether or not I was willing to uproot myself if he got the job and what it would say about me whichever way I chose.

-The sadness, ambivalence, and guilt that came along when my friend from high school, Kristen, passed away.

-City life, what I've learned, how I've changed, if I'm ready to leave.

This all, more or less, encompasses my last few months. My last day at Erie St. was Sunday which was almost disappointingly anticlimactic after eleven days of constant, busy shifts. I took a week off so I can slowly pack, and just enjoy my remaining time here on the Northside. Thus far I've been to the beach three times, slept in until I just felt like getting up, painted my nails, spent good time at good bars with some good friends I'm sad to be leaving behind, and less frivolously packed my dvds and books and swept up the living room. After the absolute nightmare that was my move into this apartment, I'm hoping to make the move out of it as pain free as possible.

Lots of Future Things are looming in my sights and tying my tummy up in knots, but I have faith things will settle down soon enough.

The Marrying Kind

I think this entry is going to end up being a lot of things.

Wedding planning is daunting, and I say this as a mere Wedding Recruit (aka Maid of Honor) for the Poncho Wedding Extravaganza. Daunting can be both good and bad, it just means there's a lot of choices, a lot of information, and a TON of distractions. Fortunately for me, I can immerse myself into this project and allow myself to be distracted by the shiny things, the pretty things, and the hilarious antics of anonymous brides without having to worry about money, deadlines, or letting anyone down.

It has raised a lot of questions in my own mind regarding my own relationship. I've tried very hard over the last five years not to compare my relationship to Poncho's but I'm willing to admit that it's difficult not to. We started dating our dudes more or less within a week of each other back in 2006 and being the same age and going through the same timeline with undergrad and all, well, I don't think you can fault me too much for occasionally making mental Venn Diagrams. I always knew it was a bad idea to do this, if only because comparing your life to others' is never an advised activity. Poncho and I go about things very differently; relationships beings the crowning jewel of our differences. We expect different things from our partners, our communications skills are on opposite ends of the spectrum, and as time went on our academic and professional life paths diverged. Trying to compare my relationship with hers is like trying to compare cats and dogs. Everyone has their preferences and opinions, but at the end of the day they're entirely different animals.

Not that this hasn't stopped me from watching her get engaged and begin wedding planning with a tinge of envy and wondering to myself "why isn't this me?" The Boy and I have been together for five years now, we're happier together than we've ever been, we've occasionally discussed our wedding (ranging from the less-serious "let's bake brownies instead of a cake and have people vote whose they like best" to the much more serious "you know I refuse to convert to Catholicism, right?") and we quite often speculate about a life together. So, why aren't we a mirror image of my best friend and her boyfriend? Well, a hundred reasons, but none more important that "Because. That's why."

I mean let's be honest, I'm not ready to be a wife. Not yet. This doesn't mean that we're not in love, or that our relationship sucks or that I'm experiencing doubts or some need to go sow my wild oats (or whatever it is single people say when celebrating their singleness). It just means I have some personal goals I need to accomplish before I can even realistically entertain the thought. This is something that I've had to remind myself what feels like a thousand times in the last month, and something I will have to continue to remind myself as the excitement for Poncho Wedding Extravaganza ramps up. I'm happy with The Boy. I'm happy with where we are, and who we are together. We're right where we should be, doing what we need to be.

Life is not a competition. Other things are, like bartending, debate, or which sister is prettier and more successful. But not life.

Found myself today singing out your name

One thing that was often lacking in Blog.1 (This being Blog.2, you see) was, in a word, transparency. I tended to wait to write entries until I felt I had something more significant than "some fat lady was all up in my grill on the bus and I was wigging out about it, so I tried to imagine that her stupid butt that was bumping into my shoulder was just a pillow, a nice, soft pillow, which worked great until she finally moved and I realized I'd been crop dusted." After telling this story and being rewarded with uproarious laughter (instead of the polite chuckles I usually get after botching a story) I've decided that maybe my everyday life might be worth sharing.

Another stumbling block when it comes to my ruminating about the thoughts tumbling around my head is the fact that I am blessed with many relationships and therefore my daily ruminations often center around the people in my life. Since the dawn of my blogging years, yes, even back in the self-centered days of my freshmen year in high school I was intimately aware of the fact that the words I was producing were going out into a public realm far more vast than I could possibly anticipate. Strangers might deduce my location and kidnap me after school! People who wished to do me social ill in the hallways might read this! I was giving the link to all of my friends, so they'd definitely read all the salacious details about them that I'd penned. MY MOM MIGHT READ THIS. As I've matured a bit, the concern that my employers could access this has occasionally crossed my mind.

So despite being an angst-ridden teenager, I still knew that I had a responsibility to protect not only myself, but also the people in my life from the ills of the Internet. This transformed from the fear driven into me by Oprah and the Naperville Police Department from "being abducted by creepy men in trenchcoats" to "I really shouldn't talk about my friends' and family's lives without their permission". This manifested itself most keenly when it came to the relationship I've been in for the last five years. A large part of it was my fear that if I spewed sappy/wobbly word-vomit out into the universe that if/when he decided he wanted out of the relationship everyone would know what a fool I'd been, but part of it was also wanting to respect his emotional privacy by keeping things like "he threatened to kill half a dozen people today when we were stuck in traffic, and I nearly believed him" to myself. I've held firm to the belief that by protecting and censoring my own thoughts, opinions, and ruminations about the actions of people I love, or my feelings about the state of things that I was protecting them. Really, I was just shielding myself from disappointment.


Those days are over, my friends. Not that I'm going to begin revealing secrets my loved ones have trusted to me, but the simple fact is my life IS the people around me. Without my family, The Boy, Poncho and Boy-Poncho, and the less-frequent though equally important friends who bless me with their presence I would have very little to talk about.


Unless you care to hear about my frustrations with LOST, in which case I have lots to talk about.

Here's to you, the good life, and me

Oh. Hello.

It's been so long since I've been to this site that my browser history didn't even contain "www.diaryland.com". I had to type out the full URL. And now I've typed it out twice. My life is hard.

A brief synopsis of my life:

-After accidentally winning my store-level bar champs, in three days I shall be competing at the regional level. I not-so-jokingly keep telling people that if I get through it without bursting into tears, I will consider it a personal success.

-Living with the individuals I do is slightly more challenging than anticipated, largely because the challenges that I had anticipated aren't the ones that have arisen. Also: every male over the age of 40 who knows about my living situation seems to think my roomies are going to burst into my room in an unwashed mass with a chainsaw to break open my chastity belt. I'm not worried about the roomies, I am, however, worried about what these adult men were like when they were my age.

-As a kind-of birthday present to myself I purchased a couple month's worth of personal training sessions. They're going alright; I'm getting stronger, I'm seeing very slight muscle changes in my body and while I still can't say I like physical exertion, I can say I no longer categorically loathe it. The PT, Grant, is also making me Eat Healthy. Not "healthier", actually Healthy. It's very difficult and I find it more depressing than being squishy in the mid-section.

-For the last couple months I've been moping about due to a severe lack of an intimate-social life. Alex is in Kentucky, Miranda's in a cornfield, Linda's buried under a pile of Virginia Woolfe novels, and the couple other people I consider true, good friends have a schedule opposite mine. Despite working in a bar and hanging out at said bar holding conversations with coworkers and regulars, I've been feeling very isolated. A few drinks at a not-Friday's bar and some time spent at a delightful clam bake (food, not herb) has opened my eyes to the fact that my coworkers are, like, real people who I could possibly actually relate to. This is the first time in my whole life I'm actually having to make friends on my own merit, and I'm feeling reassured that it seems to be going just fine.

-Accidentally hung out with the elder Durbin's the other night when they appeared at Friday's while I was off-duty. While it felt a little strange, it wasn't uncomfortable, and I'm fairly sure they think I'm a fine, upstanding, responsible young lady who is perhaps suited for their son. I did start getting suspicious, though, when after mentioning I've paid off my student loans despite not having a Big Kid Job, they asked me if I have enough money for a down payment on a house. Dear Alex, tell your parents I'm not going to buy you a house, love Cathi. PS we can have joint custody of Guitar Hero if you wish, though.

-I'm discovering that being in a LDR is sad, but not horribly difficult. This is probably a fringe benefit of having the emotional depth of a puddle, in that while things like "sadness", "loneliness" and "hug withdrawal" exist, they aren't crippling me. I've gotten so good at ignoring my feelings that when important ones like these crop up I can Not Think about them with a practiced ease. It's kind of nice, in a pathetic way. I also think the distance, however vehemently I was/am against it, is helping us to put things in some major perspective, individually.

See you in a few months or something, Interested Party. Maybe I'll be skinnier.

Love Story,
Cathi

HDU

We were never meant to be, baby, we just happen

For the most part I live my life in fairly quiet complacency. I keep my head down, my eyes and ears open, and my mouth fairly well shut. It keeps things simple, and I prefer life to be as uncomplicated as possible. Every so often, however, something will set me off and jolt me from my even keel.

The most recent arsonist to light a fire under my feet antagonized me with words meant to be generic, but ended up landing squarely in the Very Personal section of my brain. I try to keep an open mind when it comes to other people's world views, but when push comes to shove, if someone with a different opinion than me actively attacks my point of view, shit gets real.

And by real, I mean that most of my formal logical argumentation training flies out the window and my tactics pretty much devolve to me stuffing my fingers in my ears and shouting "WHAT'S THAT? I CAN'T HEAR YOU! IS THAT THE SOUND OF YOU BEING WRONG?!" The instant it gets personal is the instant I stop caring about having an open mind and being a shining example of rationality.

My version of an "open mind" boils down to a sheer perception of rationality and maturity. If a person has spent time thinking about something and therefore reached some sort of conclusion, however wrong I may feel said conclusion to be, I will respect it. When my own rational decisions and conclusions are disrespected, my little feelings get hurt. I like to think that I've made pretty good life choices, and I also like to think that anyone who knows me also knows that I do most things with some sort of well thought-out purpose.

The rough part about my personal-opinion bubble being invaded is that I can't stop obsessing over it, going round and round in my mind, finding newer, stronger, and better reasons that I Am Right. Unfortunately, it all pretty much comes back to the fact that I'm a grown-ass woman, and I'll do what I want! You don't know me!

Step off before I pop off, son.
CMart

Congratulations, Class of 2008

I've got a plan: we walk out the door

Despite being rather insistant than I'd rather be shot in the face than have to sit through graduation, I realized tonight that missing it is robbing me of something I've overlooked: the goodbyes.

While sitting in the June sun, watching 500 people I don't know walk up and shake a drunk collge president's hand while wearing the most absurd clothing known to modern man is clearly not a situation I'd gladly sign myself up for, I'd forgotten that the formal ceremony would be not only my last chance to see some people who were a big part of the latest chapter of my life, but also an excuse to let myself cry a little.

I'm not the sentimental type, not really, but it struck me rather hard tonight that I will probably never see some of my college acquaintences and friends ever again. I went to the bar, as per usual on a Thursday night, with the usual crowd, but when I left, I knew it was for the last time, for real.

I will miss college and I will miss the people who I now realize I took for granted. My buddy Nicky D, who somehow always managed to earn the title of "friend" despite the fact that we only really hung out a handful of times during the last four years. The wily Bug, whose molestations weren't necessarily welcome, but always made me feel included. Monk, who was always around, always friendly, and always hilarious. Even Paige, who I never particularly liked due to one of my first encounters with her, but was a part of my life nevertheless. These are people who made up the landscape of my college experience, who I will not necessarily attempt to stay in contact with, and will assumedly never see again except for the odd reunion-esque get together.

There were no false promises of staying in touch. I told Nick it was a pleasue mostly being friends, gave some hugs, and waved rather casually, and that was that. We're all going on to a wide variety of things, all of which can be deemed "the real world". We will get jobs, have families or new groups of friends who seem like a family, get old, break hips, and eventually die. For most of the people I knew at NCC, all of this will happen without my notice and right now, not being afforded a formal, official goodbye, is weighing rather heavily on my heart.

The end of an era is scariest, I think, when you see it coming.

And so, my friends at NCC, I will miss you. Thank you for being a part of the last 3 years of my life. Thank you for making me feel like I belonged. Thank you for laughing with me, gossiping with me, and learning alongside me. I wish you the best, really.

Class of 2008,
Catherine

TWENTY OOOOONNNNNEEE!!!

You're just a sad song with nothing to say

It's been a week of 21st birthdays, and let me just say now that one of them ended with nudity (not mine) and the other one ended with an irate Greek woman poking a bar manager in the sternum and calling him "little man".

I'm not entirely sure I have the physical capacity to become so inebriated that I can think to myself "Now would be a good time to divest myself of my clothing, and go sit on the couch where the birthday girl is sleeping". Never have I had to demand of someone "why didn't you stop me?!", nor have I ever discovered myself to be dancing to some phat beat without the intent of irony.

The story of Miranda's 21st began with a major aerial journey, included a famous Friday's Birthday Blow Job and some major rocking out to Wicked and My Chemical Romance, and was consummated with an unsuspected couch visitor sans vêtement. 

Jaci's birthday, however, is a tale of truly bad manners taking a turn for the worse.

I'm not certain where her birthday began, but I do know it involved a herpes-penis (or "spotted dick" as Mrs. Gianaris so aptly named it) cake. It eventually led to Two-Nine. You know, that little red door next to Potter's Place? We had some drinks, my first one was more Jack than Coke and utterly nauseating. My second one was a Miller Chill, which didn't taste as bad as beer normally does. This was, perhaps, helped along by the appalling Jack:Coke ratio. A third (or fourth, for some) round was bought as the cry of "last call!" resounded. A rude bartender walked out to the patio and yelled "Everyone get out!", which we assumed was sort of a joke. A few minutes later a nice bartender explained that they were, in fact, closing, but normally it wasn't this early and we technically had until 12:45 to leave. Mrs. Peterson said we'd be gone in 10 minutes, just long enough to finish our drinks. Less than 30 seconds later, a small man wearing an earpiece stepped onto the patio and yelled "Everyone get out now! The bar is closed!"

While it ended on an amusing note (Mrs. Gianaris poking the guy and calling him a little man), I'm honestly appalled at Little Man's behavior. We were not drunk, for the most part. We were definitely not loud, or obnoxious. I don't even think any of us were laughing at any volume when he came out to yell. If he had asked us nicely, said the bar was closing early tonight and if we could hurry up and leave, it would have been disappointing, but nothing major. But to be yelled at like that, especially after dropping a couple hundred dollars and being completely tolerable, if not model guests, most especially when we hadn't even had time to start, let alone finish, the final round of drinks, was uncalled for.

In addition to the inability to get wasted, I also feel I'm incapable of such petty jag-offishness. Despite the fact that unless you're getting paid as an ass-kicker you're getting paid to be nice, I've found that people tend to respond better and adhere to your wishes if you treat them with respect. You greet them politely, apologize, explain what is happening, and then kindly ask for them to comply. They will be much more inclined to do your bidding, out of respect for you. Little Man has a lot to learn, it seems.

I'm also evil,
Cathi

Berlin, Christmas, worries

Don't want to be here in the future

It's been approximately two and a half days since I returned from what I'm thinking about calling "Sausage Fest 2006", because I love subtle innuendo where it has no place. I talked myself hoarse while narrating my pictures to dad and Linda, and discussed the differences in restaurant culture with a manager at work and I'm already trying to find different topics of conversation. I'm going to give myself until Christmas to talk and/or gush about my trip, and after that I'm going to try to move on. No one likes the annoying kid who begins every anecdote with "Well, when I was in (insert exotic and exciting locale)...". Like band camp stories, but not quite as lame.

When I was in Berlin, Germany...

...I had to pay 2 euro 50 cents for 8 ounces of water at restaurants
...I spoke a good deal of a German/English hybrid, and am still having problems speaking/reading in English-only
...a large bird escaped from the zoo which required Politzei on bicycles with nets to yell "HALT!" at pedestrians
...I saw a lot of really depressing, but really, really cool places and buildings
...no one would apologize if they ran into you while walking
...I smuggled a half dozen little packets of single-serving Nutella over the border
...the Reichstag (parliment building) went on lockdown while we were on a tour
...the Lostprophets rocked out and I chatted up two members of The Blackout
...some girls and I got stranded a couple miles away from our hotel mere hours away from when we were supposed to leave for the airport due to false promises of a 24 hour train system
...I really, really, really missed people here

I've never been entirely sure that I understand what "jetlag" is or feels like, but I do know that my body has never, ever woken itself up naturally at 7:30am, especially when my only obligation of the day starts at 5:30pm.

This Christmas is going to be a really lean one, at least on my end. The money situation is kind of dire and so my gifts for the very, very immediate family are super lame and somewhat inexpensive. I'm aware that it's "the thought that counts" but I still feel like a bad loved-one, even though I did put an excruciatingly large amount of thought into the gifts.

"Sexy Back" is my latest guilty pleasure.

Making a cake with one of my favorite people on the planet was one of the best belated birthday gifts I could have hoped for. The cake is delicious and the company was, as always, fabulous and reminded me that I don't see her nearly enough. I guess one of the bright sides of Alex running away to a big, fancy university is that I might see ol' Shiny Hair more often.

This entry is pretty long and somewhat pointless, but just one more thing before I peace out: Is it better to pretend that the inevitable isn't going to happen in less than a month, or is it better to worry about it because it is, well, inevitable? Fears about the near future have been slightly assuaged by a somewhat offhand comment about the far future, but make neither point in time any less scary.

Bust a move,
Kati

Nostalgia at its best

Her motives are pure and pristine, she's flawed like a diamond

As I was celebrating the "check engine" light finally turning off in Theo, a "Traffic Safety" truck gently rear ended me. I've been telling people I got hit by the irony truck.

Driving home from work tonight made me nostalgic. Sometimes I'll get this feeling of intense recall, of just knowing that I've felt a certain way before. It could be a combination of the light, a strange energy, or even just my mood, but sometimes I'll just remember rather suddenly that I've felt exactly like this before. Sometimes I can even remember the previous instance of that feeling.

Tonight I recalled that the first song I played in the replacement CD player I had installed in Theo was "Everlong" by the Foo Fighters. I also remembered a conversation with Chris Bogue about the song "Daddy's Little Defect" when I was driving the wrong way to the zoo. I remember walks with Danny by the poop factory; buying a scooter with Erik; sitting on a couch knowing Nick and Nicole were making out under a blanket; driving Pete home; how Chrissy kicked my ass on the bus to theatre fest; the time we piled 4 people on top of a sled; or that time some kids asked Sam where he got his Green Day visor, among other things. It was strange to have some of these seemingly mundane memories surface rather suddenly.

Walking in the front door of my apartment tonight was hilarious.

Things to look forward to in the somewhat near future:

-Chicago tomorrow
-Miranda visit?!
-Getting validated
-Visiting Linda
-First speech tournament

Tangerine Speedo,
Cathi

Group dynamics

It's much better to face these kinds of things with a sense of poise and rationality.

Group dynamics facinate me. The "mob mentality" that grips each and every single person when put in social situations is astounding. A person can be completely decent, thoughtful, and rational one-on-one, yet when placed in a group situation become the epitome of everything wrong with the world.

We see this at parties where some people become more outgoing, louder, or perhaps more belligerant, picking fights with people in moving cars when that is not something they normally would have done. We see it when guys get together and the guy who has a distaste for alcohol suddenly begins to brag about every alcoholic encounter he's had, comparing the effects of whiskey to vodka. We see it with girls who travel in packs, and the one who commonly gets mistaken for a boy gushes about her love for "passion pink" nail polish.

Perhaps we are all ruled by stereotypes, and the fact that Linda and her friends talked about whether they or their sisters would get married first is just them conforming on a subconscious level to how girls are supposed to act. Or perhaps stereotypes truly have ground in reality, and when the group of 15 year old boys moon us unsuspecting DQ employees, it's because that is really how 15 year old boys act.

On a different note, I am again reminded about how much petty worries suck, espeically when they are out of my control. I'm just a bit concerned that if I don't get these worries straightened out, it will eventually result in an argument that shouldn't have to happen.

I haven't been this happy in a really long time, but I also haven't been this stressed out, either. I can't have everything, I suppose.

Member's area,
Cathi

Ethical questions

Is this all you have to say? This broken boy will hang on every word. You tell me that you need me while I slowly fall apart.

What if I was keeping a secret from you, would you like to know?

Would you like to know that I'm having second thoughts? That due to circumstances beyond either of our control I'm thinking of withdrawing? Or would ignorance be bliss?

Or what if you are the only thing I can think about, day and night and all points in between wakefullness and sleep? If every time you spoke to me, looked at me, my entire world stands still and crumbles the instant our connection is broken? Is that something you would like to hear?

How about if I feel that I'm better off without you? That you make my life impossibly complicated and I am and would be grateful if you just left me alone? Would that be too hard for you to accept?

Or do you just want to hear the good secrets? That every time I listen to Saves the Day I think of you? That when I try to describe the feeling of an instant connection, of people who are meant to be in each other's lives I tell a story about you? That when you look me in the eyes and smile I feel like I don't deserve you?

What if I had no secrets from you? If I told you everything I felt, thought, and contemplated in regard to you, the good and the bad. Would you still want to know me? Be with me? Hang out with me? Be a part of my life? Is the disclosure of private information an asset or a destructive force?

Maybe.

Perhaps.

Hypothetical moral crisis,
Cathi

Sitting, waiting, wishing

You can't stop wishing if you don't let go

Does taking solace in someone else's loneliness make me a bad person?

Probably.

This feels like it will end up being one of those stream of consciousness, list-esque entries because I don't have much of a focus for my thoughts today. So be it.

How am I? Sick. Busy. Happy. Empty. Usually all at the same time. I had a discussion with a friend about how the key to happiness is just being busy enough so that you don't have time to be miserable, and I'm finding that this is true. I have been adequately distracting myself so that it is the infrequent moment when the tired, silly angst grabs me. Those moments still hurt like hell, though.

How are you? Everyone I know seems to be in different conditions. Existing, falling, thriving, succeeding, coping, waiting. Whoever you are, I hope the state you are in is a happy one.

I hate having secrets, especially when it is only from one person because they are so hard to maintain, and often so pointless.

Not only is this a self centered, list-like stream of consciousness entry, it is a short one. I have run out of thoughts, worries, or complaints. I'm exhausted through and through and racking my brain for more substance is proving too much, and putting this off for another day feels like a waste of what little I have penned. So good night, my precious friends. Tomorrow is a busy, distraction filled day.

Siting, waiting, wishing,
Cathi

Reminding myself about the people in my life

If the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too

Do you remember when you gave me the nickname of Stabby the Clown?

Do you remember when you walked around downtown Naperville with that decoration you stole from the Arabian Nights homecoming dance dangling out of your fly?

Do you remember when we stayed up almost all night eating as much crap as we could, popcorn, extra-chocolatey hot chocolate, pretzels, frozen pizza, chips, and whatever else we could get our hands on, and then watched House on Haunted Hill with massive stomach aches?

Do you remember when we talked about bees?

Do you remember when we would go sledding down the barely imperceptible incline in the front yard, and that was thrilling enough?

Do you remember when you came to visit me at school even though we had only hung out together once or twice before, and how it wasn't even weird?

Do you remember how I always had something witty to say whenever you showed up, but really just wanted to throw up the whole time?

Do you remember when I dragged you three blocks in the freezing cold after we saw Blue Man Group just so I could take a picture of The Man Hole, and you accidentally yelled "sick!" just as a gay couple walked by?

Do you remember when you almost crashed the car when I said "I'm holding a joint right now!"?

Do you remember when we traded pants at Rachel's birthday party?

Do you remember how we were so sure the school system had a conspiracy against us when we were at last placed in the same class, they divided up the 5th grade and you got moved?

Do you remember when we set up a brownie stand in your backyard to sell them to golfers, and Ms. Rzeppa was the drink cart lady and she gave us a free pop to share?

Do you remember when I told you that you looked good, and you told me that it looked like a clown threw up on me? Yeah, thanks.

Do you remember when we would take walks at obscene hours of the night, and I would never wear shoes, and then complain about my stupidity?

Do you remember when you wanted me to be in a Michelle Branch music video you were making, but I didn't know any of the words?

Do you remember when we were driving back from the movies, and we sang our hearts out to "Shine" by the T's, and you commented upon our three "fucking" years of friendship?

Do you remember when we were at state for Group Interp and the senior girls convinced you to try on a Hooters shirt, and you struck a hilarious sexy pose that haunts you to this day?

Do you remember when we would just drive around aimlessly, windows down, talking about life, sometimes belting out a Disturbed song or Barbara Ann?

Do you remember when we lit those leaves we put in the Walgreens shopping cart on fire, and my neighbor came out and yelled at us?

Do you remember going to get our ears pierced together, and I decided to go first and then passed out, thereby shaking you up and terrifying that little girl?

Do you remember when we would eat at Taco Bell almost every day, and that time you made "fire cheese!"?

Do you remember sitting in your bedroom and listening to "Graduation" by Vitamin C and crying, wondering if life after middle school would be the same?

Do you remember when I could convince you to ditch your option period and come to Taco Bell with me, and we'd sit and talk and bask in the glow of being deliquents?

Do you remember when I loved you? Oh wait, that's right now.

Ressurecting memories from ashes,
Cathi









Awkward moment of the day:

Scene: I'm being a DJ, Wes comes into the studio and begins looking at the away messages of the people on FM89's buddy list.

Wes: Let's see what you're doing.
Auto Response from Dusted Pyxie: I love you.
(pause)
Me: Uh, apparently I love you.

Kentucky

I'm not proud of much, but when I'm somewhere else in this world and a stranger asks me where I'm from, I stand a little straighter, my shoulders square a little broader, my eyebrows raise a little highter and with a smile I say..."Chicago".

Yet another weekend filled with reminders that I do not, in fact, talk like a normal human being. At one point I found myself surrounded by Alabama students after a rallying cry of "Y'all! Come here! Listen to how she says 'Chicago'! Hey, say it again!" This was the break of routine that I needed to draw me out of the mood I had been in. My sleep cycle will not recover for days, but the stronger bonds and the better mental health was worth it.

Nothing new, exciting, or interesting has happened to me recently with the exception of this trip, so if I talk excessivly about it, forgive me. Life has been somewhat painfully monotonous until this weekend. Highlights: buffalo chicken pizza, hour long conversation with Brady, nude mice with Courtney, 6th place, dominating Burnt, hot tubbing, Jimbob, and being insightful. For the record, Jimbob is a real person whom I met this weekend.

Short entry. Big smiles. Empty hearts. Lots of love.

Mutual Adjustable Punch,
Cathi

petty girls

What we smile about behind your back would make you want to die, and that's our goal

Girls can be evil bitches, and I'm saying that nicely. The complexities and subtlties of female cruelty never cease to amaze me. Unlike those of the male persuasion, I can understand and comprehend the elaborate dances that are inter-female relations even if I don't like or condone them.

I spent part of tonight "bonding" with a classmate of mine over how neither of us are very fond of her roommate. I overheard her ranting to one of her friends, and later on I expressed how I was relieved that there was someone else on this planet who also did not like the girl in question. Looking back, I suppose I initiated our petty, ruthless conversation, but it was never my intent. I didn't mean for it to turn into a bitch-fest over exactly what about the girl we didn't like.

To be fair, my new friend did most of the complaining; it was her roommate we were talking about, after all. I simply stated the reason I didn't like the girl: I overheard her making fun of a friend of mine one time, and once you do that, you're more or less out of my esteem forever. However, I did not stick up for this girl, nor did I contest my new friend's somewhat petty complaints. I let her detail small infractions, ridicule room cleaning habits, and describe how said roommate doesn't even know how many people hate her.

It's a sad world we live in, us girls and women with few real problems. We expend a good deal of energy into maintaining friendships we don't want, scorning people who have done us no wrong, and smiling at everyone so that we always appear to be on good terms. To imagine the things we could accomplish with the time and resources we pour into our Drama would probably make you combust.

Mitosis,
Cathi