For those not privy to my last (screened) entry: It's over. And it's heartbreaking, because Jon and I do love the hell out of each other and, when we're not talking about Serious Things and the Future, have so, so much fun together. In many ways, we're absolutely perfect for each other.

Except for the times when, you know, I want to talk about the Serious Things or when I start fantasizing about buying a home or moving elsewhere in the country or saving my pennies for a trip to Europe; I love the present moment, but get excited thinking about the Future, as well. He doesn't. And I've already edited the hell out of this entry, because the last thing that I want to do is publicly insult Jon. Please understand that he remains one of the most wonderful, amazing, beautiful people that I've ever met in my life...but, in the past four years, our respective priorities have changed and split, and we’re now facing in opposite directions. We can't be together. It's for the best.

Which - of course - doesn't make this any easier. "For the best" will not (endearingly, even four years later) snuggle close and snore in your ear all night. It will not deposit you at work with a kiss in the morning. It will not wink at you from the stage while you're dancing, front row. It will not call you "Ray-ray" and talk for your cats in funny voices or tell you that you're the most beautiful girl in the world or find you "adorable" when you play your latest song obsession over and over and over again in the same night. It will not repeatedly challenge you in Tetris (even though it loses 85% of the time), make your birthday presents by hand or drop everything in order to hold you when you're crying about the world being such a sad, sad place. It won’t forage through your jammie drawer and claim your favorite cotton jammie-pants as its own, parading around in silly pumpkins or stars or purple-and-pink checks. When you show up at the Diner, unannounced, it will not see you walk through the door and break into a grin so genuine and so perfect that your stomach turns into a pretzel and you know that, without question, you are loved more than any other girl has ever been loved. Period.

"For the best" will not make you tear up with happiness when you think about how lucky you were to have found him. It will not be your lover, your cheerleader, your champion, your family, your best friend. I had all of these things in Jon and now they're lost. I'm adrift without meaning; I can't remember how to live without him in my life.

But my friends are there, telling me that I'm strong and reminding me to put one foot in front of the other, giving me purpose and plans and direction. Last weekend? Jessica/minkey_winks left work early. She drove through Baltimore, scooped up some vegan pizza and cupcakes and cake-cake, and landed at my house in her work clothes. And stayed there - in those same work clothes - for two days straight. That's fucking hardcore. And we met up with Miellyn and Shaun, who brought me presents (vintage craft books and a pedicure kit) and fed me tater tots and wine and super-fancy, ~130 Proof, limited-edition bourbon on Saturday night, and then Jess handed me over to Mie and the two of us rendezvous'ed with Erin (who has volunteered her mother's beach house as the site for a near-future escape, God bless her) for brunch and such on Sunday morning. And Mie offered me her couch for the night, but I had to be alone for a little bit. And I've called each one of those girls, in total meltdown hysteria, at various times throughout the week, and they've been there for me, in so many ways. And I knew that I had good friends before, but...wow. These are really, really good friends and they've worked tirelessly to fill the Jon-shaped emptiness that has threatened to swallow me whole, over and over again. I am grateful and humbled.

(Likewise with the lot of you, many of whom have extended phone numbers and offers of couches and guest rooms and booze. I still have a number of emails to respond to - it's hard! everything is so impossibly, stupidly hard! - but please know that I appreciate each and every one of you. Seriously.)

(I spent a number of years as an introvert and/or an angry, self-destructive depressive; while those days are long past, it still comes as a surprise to learn that people find me "likeable".)

I'm meeting up with an in-town Jeff and his friends tonight - in a venue that requires me to walk directly past a gainfully employed Jon (my ex-boyfriend!) - and, hopefully, seeing a similarly in-town Nina shortly thereafter. And then I'm running home for Thanksgiving to be with my family. And very deliberately not thinking about how He was supposed to be there with me and how much I was looking forward to spending another set of warm-and-cozy holidays with him. Yeah. Definitely not thinking about that.

October, Nutshelled: Near-dissolution of a four-year relationship. Depression as triggered by the rapid(/heartbreaking) decline of my two remaining grandparents. Flu-induced paralysis. Involuntary drop in communication due to broken computer (and a myriad of lost files and photos, which would leave anyone speechless) and similarly broken cell phone. Eight days worth of pink eye, which...seriously, October? Was damning me to a week of Coke-bottle glasses and un-mascara'ed eyelashes on top of everything else really all that necessary?

Et cetera, et cetera. It was a bad month.

For the most part, things have improved. I sacrificed my savings account in the name of a fancy laptop (farewell, iBook circa 2004! welcome back, PC!) and managed to switch cell phones without dropping a single contact and my eye has been de-pinked and respiratory system restored. And the boy and I are doing very, very well; if one good thing came out of last month's drama, it was a better understanding of each other and a shiny new openness/honesty when it comes to our communication. Preliminary results of being Bigger and Better? Encouraging. I think we're going to be just fine.

And Autumn's here, which is my absolute favorite. I made pumpkin-infused vodka last week (which later became dubiously successful pumpkin-spiced cocktails) and have been baking all manners of spiced things and knitting warm-and-cushies to wear and warming my legs with thick cabled tights and snuggling with the boy under quilts and cats and blankets. In sum: Autumn! Yay!

Between drama and illness, broken computers and firewalled websites, I'm incredibly, incredibly behind on journals and the on-goings of everyone/anyone who is not immediately tangible. But...maybe I'll catch up? One day? Maybe after dinner?

1. I hate that the Man blocked LJ. Hate.

2. To everyone who reached out to me via phone call or email or LJ comment in response to my previous (screened) entry: Thank you. Individual acknowledgment is on its way, albeit...slowly. (See above re: assholism of the Man.) In the meantime, please know that your kind words and gestures were invaluable, because...

3. ...I fell apart last week. Hard. Which was somewhat unexpected, as...uh, wasn't I the one who instigated this whole break-up scenario? Self-infliction aside, the impact was catastrophic; I zombie'd my way through the week, fueled by a diet of red wine and anti-anxiety pills and ~3 hours of sleep per night. It was bad. Bad-bad. Were it not for the fact that I have the absolute most incredible, wonderful, supportive friends (who voluntarily put their respective lives on hold in order to keep me company every single night)...well, I'd inevitably have lost my damn mind. As things were, sanity was pretty touch-and-go for the better part of the week.

4. We didn't break up. Which was very, very unexpected. There's no concise way to explain what led to our decision to stay together and - similarly - no detailed way to explain it without violating Jon's privacy. (I'm the only e-exhibitionist in the relationship.) The short version? We love the hell out of each other and are determined to find ways to make our differences more...compatible. As with everything in life, there are no guarantees - neither of us is willing to compromise our long-term goals and desires for a relationship, no matter how loving - but we're decidedly unwilling to walk away from This without giving it all that we can. So, we're trying.

5. We went away to Philadelphia this past weekend and, surprisingly, had one of our best vacations to date. Color us encouraged.

I invented a new sandwich** during lunch today, but, when I went to post about it, I realized that The Man had finally blocked LiveJournal. Legitimately, I have no right to be outraged - after all, it's perfectly reasonable to expect that said Man would prefer me to work, not blog, on his dollar - but still...OUTRAGE.

(** Ingredients: Whole Wheat Bread. Crunchy Peanut Butter. Your Co-worker's Extra Container of Jalapenos from Quiznos. Crushed Salt-and-Vinegar Kettle Chips. My menstrual cycle thought that it was the absolute best thing ever.)

In other news: The world's kind of awesome right now. Yay, world.

Greetings, inferiors! I am Commander Louise-Louisa. When I'm not plotting the mass destruction of humankind, I enjoy relaxing in my invisibility chamber.



( Further proof that felines are the superior being... )

Update regarding my SUPERHAPPYFUN trip to San Francisco forthcoming. Tonight, though, it's all about the gratuitous kitty photos.

Life has been on a rather pleasant upswing lately. Good friends bear most of the credit, with - admittedly - a few of my favorite alcohol manufacturers running a close second. A cause for concern? Eh, I would counter that Tipsy!Rachel is superior to her profoundly depressed alter-ego. Those tear ducts were long overdue for a vacation, anyway.

Behold! The Future!: After nearly a decade of living paycheck-to-paycheck, I continue to exist in a state of giddiness over my new-found debt-freedom. So, your second-favorite-band-in-the-world is forsaking DC on its current tour? No worries...just buy a plane ticket and catch their upcoming show in San Francisco, instead! Even more appealing than Mew is the fact that my dear polyphonicvegan (number-one-favorite-vegan-in-the-world) and her menagerie of critters are Bay Area residents and will be generously housing my ass for the duration of Labor Day weekend. And double-extra-bonus points for potential rinalia and aloha_moira sightings! I AM SO EXCITED THAT I'M ALL CAPS-LOCK UP IN YO' FACE. Just saying.

The Recent Past: Spent this past weekend at the beach (Fenwick/Rehoboth, DE) with a few of my favorite ladies. After being abused by Hurricane Bill - lending credence to my belief that good Bills are damn near impossible to find - we indulged our bellies and livers at the uber-delicious Planet X. Our waiter was a lovely lad who seduced us with both charm and free alcohol before paying our admission into a gay dance club, where, in the company of beautiful naked boys (dressed in accordance with that evening's GI Joe theme), we danced and danced without fear of being inappropriately groped. It was - in a word - perfection. Resident DD!Erin deposited our kind benefactor back at his house a few beers later; he offered us his home and pool, but Miellyn wisely noted the drowning potential - impressive for a girl who may or may not have fallen off a stage at the club - and we took our leave. Waking up in the morning was decidedly unpleasant for those of us who chose to imbibe, but not so for the aforementioned DD, who appeared to savor her first-hand accounts of things forgotten. Apparently, Drunk!Rachel is quite handsy with the gays and loosey-goosey with her water glass. It happens.

The Distant Past: I love minkey_winks. To illustrate: When your delightful frat-boy of a co-worker sends a series of drunk and increasingly abusive texts ("u better come [over] u ass-fucker") in an attempt to lure you out to Northern Virginia (i.e. not my natural habitat), how many friends would abandon the promise of fancy cocktails and sophis and embrace the hilarity of his invitation? Not many. So, we took the train out to NoVA in our fancy shoes and matching dresses (accidental), and were justly rewarded with an American flag-themed bathroom - ("These colors don't run. Also, they're mildew-resistant!") - and a cover band that paired Wheatus' "Teenage Dirtbag" alongside Avril Lavigne's "Girlfriend". Our NoVAenture ended when the Co-Frattie and his posse attempted to rumble with another group of similarly-themed lads...which is - really - the only way that it could end.

(** Being the term that a co-worker used to describe my dress du jour. I like it.)

Happy Birthday to polyphonicvegan!!!

BirthdayCelebratory!NSP cannot contain his enthusiasm over your Special Day. Clearly.



( Eh? What's this? )

The Good: Rachel - recently felled by what could be best described as "crippling depression" - forced herself to attend yoga class tonight.

The Debatable: Immediately following class, Rachel (plus Miellyn) took advantage of the adjacent bar's half-priced wine special.

The Ugly: Does vomiting on a neighbor's front steps en route home invalidate the aforementioned hour of sun salutations and bridge poses?

At the very least, an effort was made. That's more than I can say for the past two weeks of my life.

I should brush my teeth.

It's been a bad week for grandparents.

Leaky lungs, cancer, Alzheimer's, accidental drug overdoses...my stomach has been in constant knots for over a week. And it's not going get any better.

That said: Running away for a few days in order to restore some much-needed sanity. Apologies to any/all neglected friends; I'll catch up with you as soon as I figure out how to keep my head above water.

To friends, family and co-workers: I am known for my cupcakes. Cupcakes are what I "do".

Tonight, however, the cupcakes are being stubborn; they don't want to be "done". So, I'm inadvertently skipping ingredients, running out of sugar (both granulated and confectioners), putting full portions into halved recipes and breaking my handheld mixer. (Fact: Under a deadline, potato mashers can cream sugar and margarine with the best of them.) (This method tends to be a bit hard on the arms, though.) My sink is piled high with batter-caked dishes. My floors are coated with shortening and flour. My garbage can contains a dozen cupcakes that refused to be "did". The cats haven't been the focal point of my life in almost THIRTY MINUTES and they're - quite understandably - livid.

A few weeks ago, these little failures - though clearly trivial in the Grand Scheme of Things - would have been enough to send me into an epic panic attack. Tonight? I'm unbothered.

In sum: God bless modern medicine.

Not surprisingly, a clear head does wonders for the ol' plus/minus recap. In an uncharacteristic display of positivity, today's pluses outweigh the minuses. What a relief.

+ My ill-fated cupcakes will (possibly) be accompanying me to the Cowboy Cabin in Berkley Springs (West Virginia) this weekend for consumption by me and four of my absolute favorite ladies. In addition to (probable) cupcakes, we're armed with booze, knitting projects, shitty girl-movies and mineral spa appointments. I'm not particularly good at being a girl, but the supreme estro-tastic'ness of this cannot be denied.

+ Similarly estro-tastic things of late: Dancing(/hopping) my ass off to Brit-pop last weekend and bravely overcoming the aftermath in order to attend a yoga class the following day. My first attempt at yoga (three years ago) was uninspiring; this one made me break a sweat. Because we're apparent masochists, Miellyn and I dropped mad coin on a membership and have resolved to make this a Weekly Thing. Good times.

+ The boy and I went to see Harry Potter at the historic Uptown Theatre last night. It was all kinds of awesome - (even the Potter-uninitated Jonboy loved it) and I can't wait until julietori and I have our second viewing. Nerd power, y'all.

+ Continuing in the theme of nerd: Earlier this month, Jon and I saw the National Symphony Orchestra perform Video Games Live at Wolf Trap. Hearing a full orchestra's interpretation of Metroid and Zelda? Watching Martin Leung play his Super Mario medley live (while blindfolded, of course)? This, too, was all kinds of awesome. We prefaced our concert experience with a picnic in the meadow, which I used to justify the purchase of a $26 bottle of organic pistachio oil. Fact: Organic pistachio oil is excellent atop thinly sliced avocado on a baguette. Bonus points for finishing it off with a crushed pistachio nut sprinkle.

+ And then there was the Best Night Ever, which consisted of dressing like adults (me in secondhand Heatherette, Jon in secondhand Versace), dropping $150 on a sidewalk dinner at Equinox and then wandering through downtown DC like a couple of (well-dressed) tourists, before climbing into a tree and watching the moon rise over the Washington PhallusMonument. Perfection.

+ Every now and then, I get brave(/drunk) enough to pick Lou^2 up. And, every now and then, she lets me. I put her on the kitchen counter. I take her off the kitchen counter. These transactions last mere seconds and are conducted with arms outstretched, but to not be eaten alive? PROGRESS.

+ Random sources of joy: The Mount Pleasant Farmers Market, having plans for the next seven weekends (involving friends and oceans and sisters and other such things), finding good books in "Gratis" boxes throughout the city, securing kick-ass tickets to August's Flaming Lips show, warm weather and - incredibly - the jalapeno plant that I've somehow managed not to kill. (It's my first vegetable-bearing success, you see.)

- My mammogram revealed a handful of wee cysts in my right boob. They're benign and "no big thing" (per my doctor), but I can't help feeling betrayed; the right boob was always my favorite.

- The grandparents continue their slow decline. And this is where I stick my fingers in my ears and start singing La-La songs. Coping mechanism of choice, really.

+ I feel sane again.

+ I haven't cried in a week.

+ Yay.

Off to frost what I hope to be a successful batch of choco-stout cupcakes. If all else fails...at least I have a half-bottle of chocolate stout left over. Say my shoulders: Shrug.

Truth be told, I'm sitting on the floor of my living room, watching MTV air back-to-back Michael Jackson videos, with tears in my eyes.

Think: Elementary school idol. My inner-child is inconsolable.

Edit: Clarification, since I appear to be in the minority...

Mere hours after we were deposited back on U.S. soil, Jon and I found ourselves at the police station, filing a report for his missing Stella scooter (i.e. my boy's primary mode of transportation). And then the rains came and my bedroom flooded. And I dried it out and it flooded again. And again. And again. And AGAIN. (Woe to the basement dwellers...) And my 80GB iPod went belly-up and I regretted not having a back-up drive. And my remaining grandparents have been diagnosed with lung cancer and Alzheimer's (respectively), and I'm really fucking tired of cancer and grandmas who forget who I am. And now I have a prescription for an anti-anxiety drug - says she who avoids medication - and a mammogram scheduled for next week, because I'm short-fused and my right boob hurts. And my job sucks.

All of this - and more! - has been chipping(/hammering) away at our collective post-Mexico Zen. And I'm doing that thing where I've been trying to pull myself together and neglecting friends and emails and phone calls in the process. As per usual: Highs and lows, highs and lows. I'm getting there.

In better news:

* The anti-anxiety drug works. At first, I was having a bit of anxiety-drug-induced anxiety - like, I'd backslid into being a medication-dependent 20-something - but the clear-headedness is refreshing. A temporary fix until I get my shit in order, if nothing else.

* My job sucks, but at least I'm still (silver lining) gainfully employed. And rumor has it that an offer letter exists - somewhere! - and is slowly making its way to my hands.

* I GOT TO MEET polyphonicvegan!!! AND SHE TOTALLY SLEPT ON MY FUTON!!! This bullet is worthy of both Caps Lock and multiple exclamation points, because L. is a total bad-ass rockstar. She - and her mixed posse of San Franciscans and Bostonians - arrived on my doorstep slightly over a week ago, and it was all YAY. We ate copious amounts of vegan food and NSP whored himself out for their cameras and...uh, that was about it. Tourism is overrated, anyway.

* Although my inner-feminist takes great issue with "girl" video games - (i.e. girls can be wedding planners! Girls can have "babyz"!) - I cannot help, but praise We Cheer, which has replaced the ever-judgmental Wii Fit as my exercise regime of choice. I (aka the anti-cheerleader)(aka flag squad forever!) was skeptical at first, but OH MY GOD. The fun. Every night, I jump and cheer along to "Footloose" and "Eye of the Tiger" like an absolute moron, but the impact on my spirit has been awesome thus far. Don't judge me. Just try it.

TOTAL. HEAD. EXPLODY.

That said, I have all of two seconds to spare SLASH encourage you to reacquaint yourself with Kyle Cassidy's candidacy announcement and then visit the LJ Advisory Board polls, which are now open.

NSP wants you to know that he's not above whoring himself out in the name of democracy.



See the belly? The belly wants you to vote, so go. Vote. In the name of the belly.

Kyle Cassidy is running for the LiveJournal advisory board. Says he:

"After much thought I've reluctantly decided to run for the LiveJournal advisory board, a position of great work, exposure to drama, and no pay. I'm doing this specifically to push for one thing - an account backup and restore feature. In the past year I've seen too many people's accounts deleted and replaced with advertisements -- and shocked to discover that LiveJournal has no method to restore these. Years of people's lives lost. This needs to change. After that we can tackle all the business about who doesn't want whom to post where.

At this point I simply need 300 of you to support my nomination in the lj_election_en community. To do this post a reply to my nomination post here and simply say "I support this nomination". This needs to happen before 4:30 PST Today, so do please vote. The election will be on the 22nd and I'll come back to you then."

Speaking as someone who has tediously copy-and-pasted the bulk of her journal into MS Word (seriously), I would love to have the option of a more user-friendly back-up system. So, go forth and click, friends! And then add Kyle's journal to your friends list, because it is an absolute joy to read. Just saying.

Less than five minutes into my phone interview, I was interrupted.

"You sound young. How old are you?"

"Um...thirty?"

"God. You sound seventeen."

My interviewer then demanded to know why I never got my degree.

Sooo...that went well.

Last night, I accompanied profwidow to see her boyfriend's band, The Mostly Dead, play a show at DC9. They shared the line-up with a few other bands, including one that incorporated a mandolin and some bagpipes - BAG. PIPES. - and that made me kind of happy. (BAG. PIPES.) So, I go home and upload one of their albums to my iPod and fall asleep. As I do.

See, the thing about live punk bands is you can't understand a single word that they're saying(/screaming/growling) during their shows. And I'm listening to my iPod on the bus this morning and realize that I just spent the previous night bobbing my head to this:

"It’s not a kid, it’s just a thing.
Selfishness is the song you sing.
It’s your body, it’s your choice,
but the life inside you has a voice."
(from Fight to Live, Flatfoot 56)

Aaargh, Christian hardcore punk! You tricked me again! With your tattoos and your angst and your spitting...how was I to know that, deep beneath your kilt, there lurked the [insert organ here] of a pro-life advocate?

And here I thought that their cover of "Amazing Grace" was meant to be ironic. Sigh.

I have no memory of my twentieth birthday.

And my twenty-first birthday was bad, bad, bad. Courtesy of an ex-boyfriend - the bad one, the worst one - I spent the day in tears, planning [ultimately unrealized] escape routes. From him. From my job, from my home. From living.

My twenties began their slow path to redemption around age twenty-five. And, last Wednesday, we finally made our peace and I thanked them for all of the good times and, reservations be damned, decided to turn thirty.

So far, so good.



( Fear no swine. )

I know my last few entries have been (best described as) weak sauce, but so great is my addiction to this song that another YouTube embedding is, like, crucial:


It makes my feet happy!

So: I traded office chair for bar stool a few hours early today. A co-worker and I had a teleconference scheduled for 4:00p, so we ducked into a nearby alley and called in from our respective cell phones. I am pleased to report that my corporate facade has been perfected to the point where I can successfully participate in a meeting, inebriation undetected. Or maybe I shouldn't be too proud of this fact. Later, I snuck away with different people and drank some more and started to feel woozy-bad and took the bus home. At 7:00p. Since then, I've been engaged in alcohol countermeasures and cat worship and You Tube. And it's just barely 10:00p. Once upon a time, I had bigger and better plans for this evening, but...nope.

Blogging about getting drunk is lame.
Ima go make some waffles.

People who go out of their way to rescue injured kitties are the best kind of people. True story.

Got a few extra dollars? Then consider passing them along to help out this little girl and the kind folk who shelled out over $2,000 of their own cash to fix her busted leg.

Not a cent to spare? You can always help by reposting this link in your own blog.

The resident fattycats and I thank you.

Last month, Rich from FourFour posted a gif-happy tribute to the bizarre awesomeness that is Kate Bush, thus renewing my long-lost love affair with this woman.

So, in response to the truckload of crap that Monday has dumped in my lap, I've spent the evening learning the dance routine from Kate's "Wuthering Heights" video. Choreography is my coping mechanism of choice.



Kate Bush, how I love thee.