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

Oh look, it's that time of the month

If home is where the heart is then my home is where you are

I... suck at blogging.

It's not intentional, I swear. In the last month there have been dozens of interesting happenstances and amusing annoyances worthy of elaboration and articulation. I've even opened up the "new entry" page a few times and typed a few words, only to decide that whatever it is I had penned wasn't good enough. I think I'm mostly just out of practice.

My general life philosophy was demonstrated by a couple customers today. A dude was sitting at the bar top eating appetizers, and a woman wander over to a seat near him to sit and smoke away from the table where her friends were eating their dinners. She smoked about half a cigarette before putting it out and walking back. The appetizer man made some appalling sniffing noises, then grabbed the ashtray the woman had used and marched over to her table to complain that the cigarette was still smoking and it was bothering him. The situation ended on a bit of a "wtf?" note, but, as the woman muttered to her friends, "If you're sitting in the smoking section you have no right to complain about smoke."

*nod*

In addition to TAOG:D2K7, I have also been dealing with LOC:D2K7 (elongated as Living On Campus: Debacle 2007). I may or may not be living in a new room next term, depending on whether I may or may not have ruined the campus residency of my roommate. What I initially brushed off as youthful ignorance ("she's only 19, she'll learn") ultimately presented itself as depraved indifference, and I finally said "no more!". Once I know what's going on I think I'll create an entry dedicated entirely to LOC:D2K7. Until then, I can at least sleep at night knowing that, no matter what, I don't have to sleep in the same room as Creepy Cory ever again.

Aside to Creepy Middle Aged Man: I hope, that when I told you I was 22, that you felt as skeeved out as I did when you were hitting on me, especially since you asked after you told me your youngest daughter is 23.

Switching gears:

I know two people who have gotten engaged in the last two days and of three weddings happening in the next 6 months or so. 98% of the time, when talking to inquisitive bar patrons, the follow-up question to "do you have a boyfriend?" is "are you gonna marry him?"*. Needless to say, there's been a lot of talk about marriage going around. So much, in fact, that I had a nightmare about The Boy proposing to me during karaoke at Friday's (he sang "Nights In White Satin" by Moody Blues. It was a nightmare).

Don't misunderstand me. I'm all about weddings. Pretty dresses, free booze, an excuse to do the electric slide, and general lovey-dovey-ness all fall under "good ways to spend a day". I'm even all about having a wedding of my own some day. I'm just scared to death of getting divorced, which means any consideration ofactually getting married gives me the jibblies and induces musical night terrors.

I guess as a follow-up, TAOG:D2K7 turned out rather nicely. The Boy and I "had Christmas" early, and he accepted my insane gift with poise (and not too much sighing) and I was touched to the quick by the card he made me (and splashed around in puddles tonight in the gift he got me).

Being 22 feels a bit strange, like a new pair of jeans yet to be broken in.

Jibblies,
Cathers





*(for the curious: my standard response is "Well, I don't really plan on breaking up with him...")

Letters

If I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free

Dear SLT Professor: I'm not entirely convinced that you're allowed to declare yourself victorious when 20 out of 32 students show up for class, despite having told everyone class was optional. I'm pretty sure we're all there because going to class is habitual and the key to good grades. Not because of mystical manipulative powers.

Dear Roomie: When is it my turn for my boyfriend to live with me? I'm starting to feel a little left out.

Dear Hair: I know we've had our ups and downs, and I know you're under a lot of pressure to grow longer, faster, but if we could find some sort of compromise where you do what I tell you to, that would be great.

Dear Alex: Du hast Recht, wann du geschrieben hast, dass wir eine "beiderseitige Faszination" mit einander haben. Dich liebe ich mehr als ich kann sagen, und ich bin verruekt nach dir. Ich vermisse dich gerade jetzt, und will mit dir sein. Danke fuer die Erinnerungen, frueher und kuenftig.

Dear TGIFriday's: Please hire more bartenders. We're dying.

Dear Brain: Buck up, laddie. Hard times lie ahead.

Gag me,
Cathi

Breaking rules and breaking down

I'm bored of being God...

There's nothing more embarrassing than having an emotional breakdown in front of someone you don't even know. Well, other than maybe melting down on national television, but hey, at least ratings would be good. I must say, though, having a good cry is quite the stress reliever. I sort of feel like now that I've got that out, my life can proceed.

Trying to figure out what to do about where I'm going to live next year is the most frustrating ordeal I've ever had to go through. Thus the semi-public emotional breakdown. Honestly, who schedules room selection on dates and times during midterms when there are classes scheduled? NCC's Residence Office, that's who. Jerks.

Everything is just sort of coming to a bottleneck. I've missed 80% of my term thus far because of speech. I had to spend the last couple weeks concentrating on speech so I didn't suck at Nationals, but now that I'm back in the real world, everything is catching up with me. I have two exams next week, a scene to memorize and perform with an only semi-cooperative partner, and a "short" 5-8 page paper due on the same day as one of the exams. I need to sign up for an oral presentation, register for classes, figure out how to be in two places at once to get housing for next year, arrange meetings with interview subjects, call Phil from WJOL and start working there, not to mention even beginning to read for the exams/paper. I'm already exhausted and I haven't even started. Oh, I also have to work at some point. Eat and sleep too, probably. It'd even be nice if I could hang out with The Boy here and there, but that idea is almost laughable at this point.

Fortunately, I hear women are masters at multi-tasking, and since I, too, possess two X chromosomes, things should fall together magically. It's the power of estrogen. Let's just try not to have another emotional breakdown.

Logan,
Cathi

overwhelmed and underslept

With envy for the solid ground

Dear web log,
I will be treating you like a diary today, and actually acknolwedging that fact.
Love,
Cathi

Sometimes my friends have the annoying habit of asking me "what's new?", as if my life is a series of exciting happenstances, instead of a monotonous cycle of "school, work, speech, no sleep".

Let's see, new things... new things. I've been hired into my first "real" radio station job. If I'm not mistaken, it entails me operating the board for WJOL AM 1340 for a couple hours a week. Nothing earth shattering or major, but a resume builder.

Brian mentioned a friend of his is moving to the city soon, and he's thinking about going with 'em. I think he was anticipating some sort of big, dramatic conversation where I may or may not have cried or gotten upset, but after him foundering around for about a minute I just told him to do what he thinks is best. I'm perfectly capable of figuring out what to do with myself. Plus I have parents I can live with should the occasion arise. I'm honestly not all that worried.

I still haven't had my State of the Union conversation, partly because I'm a big chicken when it comes to discussing "feelings" and "opinions", and partly because it's not of vital importance, yet. I keep getting clues that the conversation would tell me all the good things I want to know, so it seems silly to have to drag myself through something as painful as a Real Conversation.

One Nationals down, one to go, and I'm exhausted. All I want to do is sleep all the time. Alex said he doesn't understand how I can get so tired, but I don't really see the mystery in it. You average 5 hours of sleep a night and spend your days running back and forth across town, and cumulating them by standing for 5-8 hours having to be friendly to drunk people. I had fun at AFA, probably because it was a small group and the entire thing was pretty laid back. I even did pretty okay, but if you're not a Forensicator, be prepared for a long, confusing explanation of the numbers involved.

Here is what I want: I want to be able to wake up in the morning and look forward to my day. I want to be able to feel rested and energized. I want to have one or two nights a week where I can hang out with the few friends I have. I want to be able to spend relaxing time with Alex; not this hyper-intesne we-have-to-make-the-most-of-these-5-hours. I want to be able to afford to go out and do things, like see movies, go bowling, or even take a spontaneous weekend road trip. I want to have the time and energy to keep my room clean. I want to be able to have long coffee conversations with my sister. I'm still waiting to go on a photographic alley adventure with Miranda.

I just need a break, really. Freaking speech team.

That is all. Thank you,
Cathi

stress and conversation

I don't mind you under my skin

Stress is a compound interest problem. If I could remember my math classes I'd probably be much better equipped at dealing with life's little stressors. The issue is that when one thing is keeping you on the edge of your nerves, everyday annoyances needle you to the point where someone breathing too heavily through their mouth is liable to make you lash out. It especially doesn't help when a lot of the little things are consequences of the one big thing.

For example: let's say you're dead broke. What cash flow you are bringing in has to go directly to major things like rent, bills, and gas and you don't have anything left over. This means you avoid going out with friends, which is depressing. It means a debt you owe to your roommate is suddenly postponed, which creates tension. It means you can't buy someone a birthday gift, and that you're stingy when it comes to driving places so you can conserve gas. It means when your roomie is inflexible about getting $8 your frustration with their lack of understanding is compounded much more toxically than it should be.

The good thing about stress, perhaps, is that it makes you buckle down and focus on what exactly it is you need to do to eliminate this joy-killer from your life. Lacking money? Make every second at work count. Don't spend it on silly things like Taco Bell or CDs. Sit down with the roommate and calmly discuss what it feels like to be broke and how to work around the situation. Make conversations with the boyfriend and other significant people count, since seeing them is slightly more difficult. Strengthen relationships with the parentals so you can mooch off them.

Just kidding. Sort of.

My favorite type of conversation to have is the ones where we discuss how to properly go about building a conversation. It requires not only a knowledge about interpersonal communication but also includes a sharing of ways of employing insight and tact. Hypothetical conversations are always much more significant and difficult than their real manifestations anyway. It's good brain aerobics.

Conversations in the hypothetical stage:
-The Mutal Grievences
-The State of the Union
-The Cautionary Tale

Q.E.D. bitches,
Cathi


P.S. 4th Place in being funniest in the State!

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

The anatomy of happiness

If I had a million dollars I'd buy you some art, like a Picasso or a Garfunkel.

"Warm" is a good way to describe happiness, "fuzzy" perhaps not so much.

Sometimes I'll hold conversations in my head just to pass the time. Not in a schitzophrenic way, but in the more hypothetical sense where I devise a question to ask someone. Sometimes I'll try to imagine what their answer might be, but more often I answer that question myself, just in case if I decide to ask that question some day, I'll know how to respond if they ask me the question back. I think the key to this exercise is mustering up the courage to actually ask these questions some day.

According to sources I'm "supposed to be funny", and yet when I sit down to write in this thing my wit sometimes leaves me and I'm left with little to say other than obvious and often mundane things about my life. Here are a few examples:

-I'm feeling all grow'd up with my new apartment and freedom, but the full reality of being "on my own" has not yet sunk in.

-The boy keeps me smiling always and I can't quite figure out what it is that I did to deserve him. At the same time, I worry about thinking "like that", but sometimes I just feel so warm and debatably fuzzy I can't help it.

-I got hired as a server at Friday's and while I'm a bit worried about all the work it will take to train, I remember some of the waiters I've had and realize it can't be all that hard.

-Life with Brian seems like it will work out rather nicely. We spent about an hour the other night just lying around and talking the easy conversation of friends.

-I miss Linda a surprising amount, but random phone calls are a suitable replacement. She provided me with the quote of the week: "I wouldn't say that Geology makes me want to kill myself, but I'll do what I have to."

That's about everything even vaguely worthy of note. I will leave you with a thought that has been keeping me occupied when my brain has time to wander. How do you know it's love? And furthermore, how do you get over the intense, crippling fear of the sheer magnitude and responsibility that word carries?

I'd buy you a monkey,
Cathi

PS: Haven't you always wanted a monkey?