|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| « listening, waiting »
voicemail greetings are there for a purpose and i wish people who call the wrong number would pay more attention to them. wrong number calls seem to happen in waves, and it would appear that my number is up. one or two every other day for the past week, at all hours of the day and night. 6pm, asking Gil to call him back. 2am on a tuesday, with a drunk rambling message. i'm pretty sure i don't know this person...but i couldn't hear them clearly enough to be positive.
i don't use my name on my voicemail, but you'd figure someone would recognize that it wasn't their friend's voice. i suspect that some of these calls are legitimate, but i just don't pick up if i don't recognize the number. my reasoning is that if it's really that important, and they really are looking for me, they'd leave a message...and i'd call them back. that's a reasonable assumption, right?
free reverse number look up online is pretty useless, but interesting. the nerd in me has started keeping a spreadsheet of these mystery numbers, detailing whether it's a mobile or landline, where the number comes from, date and time of most recent call, and total number of calls. the thinking is that maybe after a while i'll notice a number that seems to call consistently (but maybe doesn't leave voicemail), and i'll somehow connect the dots (not sure how, but i'm being optimistic here) and figure out who it is if i know them....and eventually pick up some day to see if my assessment is correct.
slightly neurotic, in a passive antisocial way, yes....but i've been burned before calling back to numbers that i didn't recognize
-- it was a wrong number that turned into a "you sound so cute, what's
your name? want to meet up for coffee sometime?" sort of deal and
repeated attempts to call back. no more.
| | |
| « changing relationships »
i caught myself mid-sentence as i was halfway through lecturing him about how he should really see a doctor once a year for a physical, for his overall health. he groaned and said he just didn't want to know. maybe it was the wine, but the realization that we were where we were at that particular point in time and the way i was going into nag mode with him probably also played a part. attended a party at a former professor's house last night, and had the pleasure of seeing almost all of my art professors from my wellesley days.
it was surreal on one level because i had never imagined that the student teacher relationships i had with all of them would ever evolve and go beyond the studio into what it is today (at the very least...emails...and on the other end of the spectrum....weekend trips, movie nights,
bbqs, dinners and long conversations about art/life/love/travels over
bottles of wine). then again, it's also difficult to imagine that we would have went our separate ways upon graduation. they are -- and always have been -- a mix of friend, teacher, and surrogate parent.
"what? no time for painting? easy. marry a rich guy, quit your job, and paint full time."
- professor who shall remain anonymous
| | |
| « learning at work »
an ongoing source of amusement in the pod at work among my coworkers is trying to figure out what i remember from the 80s, my awareness of pop culture (mostly in the form of movies from the 80s to present day) and boston sports. theories of why i lack this knowledge have ranged from lack of older siblings to being female to being a young 'un. but, really, it's not like there's a huge age difference; it ranges from three to eight years. whatever the reason, or through a combination of reasons, it's enough to "distort" my perception of the world through their eyes and warrant further "education" on these topics (with the aid of youtube, wikipedia, and imbd), adding more to the list of random things i learn at work.
i was five years old when the 80s ended, and i have no recollection of anything before the age of about four and a half from preschool. any reruns of tv shows that they can recall from the 80s that ran into the 90s, i probably missed because i was too busy watching cartoons (roadrunner, anyone? *beep* *beep*), nerding at the library, or going from piano to dance lessons. nowadays, i spend more time sleeping, working on my art, going to yoga, or trying out new recipes or restaurants than i do going to the movies on weekends (maybe once every 2 months or so at the rate i'm going). when it comes to sports, i admit i only follow game schedules to know which days of the week i should consider altering my commute home to avoid the mobs heading to fenway. blasphemy!
...i lead an exciting life.
and to be honest, i don't remember too much of the 90s either, but let's not share that with my coworkers, lest they start blasting 90s tv show theme songs from youtube and singing along to those too.
| | |
| « mail »
dropped a letter into a mailbox last week and realized that it's not very often that i physically mail something without kissing the envelope. snail mail to friends and loved ones are sealed with saliva and kissed seconds prior to being dropped off in a mailbox or at the post office. regular snail mail (e.g., response to a survey, etc) is sealed with tap water and doesn't receive any parting love. i can't remember a time when i've done this differently. silly, i know, and i'm not sure where i acquired the habit, but it's a bit of a ritual now.
as germy and gross as it is to lick an envelope (why can't they taste good?), i can't seem to bring myself to lick my finger and then use that on the seal. licking to seal gives me a -- false, but still very real feeling -- sense of well-being and then to kiss it before it leaves my hands is the final step. it's as if i'm willing the letter a smooth swift journey on its way
to the intended recipient. and i suppose part of it is symbolic as
well, to literally send a bit of myself.
if i accidentally drop it into the mailbox without kissing it first, i
get antsy and end up staring at the box in a panic, tugging at
the handle for the hinge repeatedly and hearing it squeak back at me....as if to
say "no, it's already in and you can't
take it back out. it's doomed to slip into a crack somewhere at the
post office and never see the light of day ever again!" if only mailboxes came with an "Undo" button or had a pop up prompt that asks "Are you sure? Yes/No?" when you drop off mail. annoying, maybe, but some days i'd like to Ctrl z that big blue box, get my letter back, kiss it, and be on my merry way. neurotic episode optional.
| | |
| « hoarding, loathing, and points »
rewards points on credit cards bring out the hoarder in me, with a dash of self-loathing mixed in there somewhere. it's a pleasant surprise to realize one day that i finally have enough points to redeem for something, anything....cash back, miles, gift cards...because i feel like it's one of those totally feasible milestones (with time, and spending) that you for some reason never quite expect to reach because the numbers always seem so high. but it's doable. and it's AWFUL, because then i'm reminded of how much i've spent over the course of the card's lifetime-to-date.
and despite reaching a cutoff where i can use my points for certain items, there is the feeling that i don't really need to redeem anything now, do i? no, i don't (what would i do with an xyz gift card anyway?). so i don't. i'll wait, thank you...because i'd like a plane ticket of some sort. and they continue to sit there, building up over time, occasionally taunting me to redeem them for something that i don't really need or want every time i get that little email notification. i think that's what gets to me the most. the email notifications. they're mah points! i do what i want!
| | |
|
