Of Insignificant Importance

Only I could do this.

How have I managed to guilt myself into becoming a "bad blogging buddy". Okay, so aside from the frivolous alliteration I manage at 11:45 PM, I really am starting to worry about my ratio of "Other thoughts" to "Blogging thoughts", and their implications of just how many man hours I've contributed to this time consuming yet completely gratifying past-time.

Basically, friends, what I am rambling on about is this: The time we have all dreaded is nigh. Whisper it with me: ...real life has finally caught up with me. I am bombarded with tasks at work, each one trumping the other, yet all immediate and all directly indicating imminent doom and ultimately resulting in paralyzing self-doubt*. Let the party begin.

Despite my heightened stress level, do you know what my ruminations consist of?

"Oh, crap! I didn't get a chance to peruse Mr. Hoss' blog today! I bet I missed out on a funny joke or crazy story. And what if he sees that I wasn't by to comment! After all he's shared with me about Vick's...he's going to think me ungrateful!"

"I hate that I can't read what canofworms has to say today. Hers has decidedly become my favorite blog. And on a day when I need a good laugh too..."

"My pals at Swankytown must think I've hung up my proverbial Counsilwoman Button and resigned from Counsil Chair of the Mighty Fine Town of Swank. Will I lose their votes next year?"

"And what of my Brit pals? And Mr. Curly with all his amazing adventures? Will I not be able to catch up with our man in the colonies today? And Cleavers...oh, Cleavers. Always a fun time at her place!"

"Will I lose my newly acquired readers because they suddenly find my blog boring and out of date? I promise, were this not [busy work season] time, I'd be much more up for entertaining guests!"

"I bet I'm missing out on so many pearls of motherly wisdom from Jona!"

"Thank goodness Huw's on hiatus for a bit!"

...and so on. Clearly, you are all a healthy part of the balanced breakfast I call "Of Insignificant Importance". My neuroticism won't let me get past the idea that, no, of course I won't lose my regular (ahem: LOYAL) readers due to consistently intermittent posting (is that an oxymoron?).

Surely I can take comfort in the fact that everyone understands what a busy spell is like!
(see: HolyCrapHowAmIGoingToGetAllThisShitDoneInTwoDaysOhAnd
[breathe]
Don'tForgetThatCompletelyUnnecessaryMeetingI'mBeingSentTo
[breathe]
ThatHasNothingToDoWithMyJobDescription
[breathe]
AndWillPutMeEvenFURTHERBehindDidIRemeberToPutOnDeoderantToday?)

Of course you know what it's like. Right? I said, am I right*? Throw me a bone people, I feel like I'm succumbing to the evils of stress.

Sidenote: If you are a new reader, every single link in this blog will take you to positively, hands-down one of the BEST blogs you'll ever read. Trust me.


*Thank you, Seth Cohen.
*Thank you, Charlie Brown.

If you are reading this as a blogger, you may well appreciate that with the release, satisfaction, hours of entertainment and friendship blogging offers, there is a degree to vulnerability about it. You let the world know your highs and lows, the details of your exciting life (or, more tellingly, lack of) and in doing so essentially leave yourself wide open. Fortunately you are afforded a degree of control of just how much you can reveal. What you can’t control is exactly who reads it.

Having someone unwanted finding and reading your blog is so unsettling, especially when done in an intrusive and insistent manner. When my ex reappeared on my stat counter a couple of months ago, I shrugged, assuming it was a one time offence; that he was just passing by to see what was happening or to annoy me. But now that he’s back as a frequent visitor, I feel kind of violated. This coming especially from someone who – the last time I asked him not to do this – imparted the classic assessment that I was "freaking weird and [should] get on with [my] life already." There’s no real reason for me to feel so irked, as there’s nothing contained upon my humble pages which he could really take offence to or I would be mortified for him to know. Nonetheless…

Inevitably, it’s got me thinking about the whole anonymity issue a bit. There are certain people I just wouldn’t want to read this. And again, not because all my secrets would be exposed, but because I sort of see this as a dialogue between me and some friends, some old and some newly acquired (and all precious). Ex’s are, I suppose, a given, and doubtless it is the same for you too. I think there’s little risk of my parents knowing what a blog is, let alone finding mine, but either way, they are also on the “unwanted reader” list. Not that there is anything here that is too controversial that would cause an angry phone call or anything, but it goes back to my previous point of just wanting some privacy. Not total privacy: just privacy from certain people. There are also people who know me at work, or people who knew me at college and high school who, although I have no actual gripes or problems with, I just wouldn’t want to be able to read this stuff. Yes, I understand that one could use the argument of “well, then don’t put it on such a public forum like the INTERNET”…but still. When I transitioned from my Livejournal to this blog, I sent an invitation for some lurkers to email me and I would send them the new link. I further explained that I would be emailing the link to ONLY those I wanted reading my blog. Clearly, my plan to have only wanted readers failed.

Then there’s the subsection of ‘mystery readers’ (although in my case, those that try to remain a mystery are fooling themselves). Again, my stat counter thing makes it pretty clear that some of Huw’s friends read, and some of them comment and some of them do not (indeed, as he often rages, I have ‘stolen’ some of his readership). Another quick glance at the bookmarker’s IPs indicate there’s a good few couple of readers here who I don’t know (either really, or blogwise) who for some reason feel compelled to return. Not that I mind or anything - this is a lurk friendly zone and if people don’t want to out themselves that is fine - but still, the thought of someone somewhere sat at computer a thousand miles away, going to the trouble of pressing a load of buttons and then spending a few minutes reading about me? And not just once, but on a weekly basis or so? Well, I find it kind of… bizarre.

The Weekend Question. Who reads your blog that you’d rather didn’t; which lurker IPs have you scratching your head most; and who is your nightmare-scenario reader? Discuss.

This past weekend I watched my cousin perform To Kill a Mockingbird at a local church. As I watched the 6th grader girl play "Scout" (and do a mighty fine job, I reluctantly observed), I couldn't help but think back to my old glory days in acting. If I may take a minute to gloat (well, I could take a whole post to gloat if i wanted to, it's MY blog), I shall tell you that when I was a senior in high school, I won the title of “Best Actress” at our UIL One Act Competition

I was bitten by the acting bug when I was around 14 years old. I had, however, been performing some time before that. I cringe whenever I see old home videos of me during our family’s Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings…I was such a camera hog! I would tell jokes and do impressions. I did a pretty spot-on George Bush, Garth (from SNL’s Wayne’s World), Bobcat Goldthwait, and Elvis when I was just a wee girl.

However, there was one night in particular that I woke up with this pain in my stomach—it was a yearning to become an actress (or gas, but for this story, I like to say it was a yearning). I remember waking my mom up and telling her how I desperately wanted to act in movies. She told me to get back in bed or else, but the next day, she was kind enough to humor me with a conversation about my ga...er...yearning.

My previous acting experience included the lead role of Alice in “Follow that Rabbit”, a small (but important, I tell you) part in the spoof “Phantom of the Op’ry”, and an appearance as a Medicine Show Troupe Girl in “Tied to the Tracks”. These were all productions from my middle school days. So, okay, no REAL acting experience, but I was like, 12, so give me a break. And I remember people really liking me in those plays, so there.

My mom decided (which was very unlike her) that she would take me to see an agent. A few days later, I was signed with a local agency, and was already given my first job—a commercial for a theme park! It was so fun; we got to cut in all the lines on a really hot summer day, and no one could do a thing about it. Plus, I got paid what was considered a LOT of money to a teenager. Now, it just *might* cover my cell phone bill. After that, I saw stars. Acting was my life!

Unfortunately, casting agents didn’t agree. Because I was in school, I couldn’t go to auditions that were during school days, and my mom was not willing to drive me to the far side of the city, let alone Dallas or Austin, for an audition on the weekend. Needless to say, my exposure was limited. I had an audition once for some product, I forgot what, but it had me paired up with a boy, and the scenario was this: We were in the living room watching t.v., we look at one another, lean in to kiss, and JUST as we are about to, the parents come in and we had to spring apart so as not to get caught smooching. Oh good grief, the boy I was paired up with…the most delicious looking feast of a boy I’d ever set my teenage eyes on. Which only made me more nervous, and, surprise surprise, I didn’t get the part.

I had a few more auditions, but after nothing was really materializing, we decided to pull out of the agency. I still have my headshots and slides…I looked like I belonged on the cover of Seventeen or YM (not because I was so photogenic or anything, but just because the pictures and poses were so good!).

After that, I limited my acting to school plays. I was a court jester in the musical “Once Upon a Mattress”. My theater teacher (who is now in jail for something a stereotypical theater teacher would pull) seemed to have it out for me, and cast me in a boy’s role (even though I did a back handspring on the stage during my audition for the lead role. Whatever.). I took that role and did my very best. I shudder to think I sang in front of my school body and parents and friends. In a court jester's outfit. Yes, complete with the goofy 3 pointed hat with bells on it. And pointy shoes with bells. And poofy jams. AND it’s caught on tape. Dah.

But then came my role as Hermia in “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. My fire for acting had fizzled out quite a bit, but it was still fun to run lines and make the character my own. I felt bad though, because our theater teacher had me really slap one of the actors—hard—because he said it looked more realistic than a staged slap. Sure it did, but this guy, who started out my friend, wasn’t too keen on me by the time the production rapped. This is when I won "Best Actress", which was quite an unexpected honor. But even more rewarding was the fact that I met some of my best and oldest friends, whom I still keep in touch with to this day.

Acting was fun. It was the first thing I had a very strong passion for, but don’t think I ever will again. Ah, memories.

Oh, and the answer's no. No one will ever see that tape of me signing and dancing to "Soft Shoes". Not even the boyfriend.

I have lost every single creative fiber in my body. And trust me, there weren’t that many to begin with. Most of my comments on all of your blogs are along the lines of “Hope you feel better!” and “That sucks!” and “Wow, that’s cool” and other such unoriginal, lame (but seriously, heartfelt) phrases.

I’m just NOT one of those people that can leave a really witty, observant, or punny comment on other peoples’ blogs. Unlike HIM. But, I suppose one of us had to have the smarts in the relationship, eh?

So, here’s what my life boils down to as of now:

I’m incredibly stressed out at work, but at the same time, I feel like I’m really digging my heels into my position here. I’m starting to learn more about the ins and out of this business, and acting like a grown-up, full-fledged, professional woman can be a really good feeling. You know, in between all the cussing.

Nic is leaving the city on February 26th to pursue other opportunities (see: be with the guy she really loves but won’t admit she loves just yet, even though we all tease her about it). We had to have a “talk” today to clear the air between our recent interaction—or lack thereof. Honestly, when I know someone is going to leave me, or there’s the chance that I will lose them, I back out first. That way, I’m more prepared (or so I think). I started doing that with her, which she interpreted as me being angry with her. I’m not upset with her, just the situation. It’s taken me a very, very long time to find another girl best friend, and just when I do and get settled into the comfy armchair that is Girl BestFriendDom, she leaves. It’s hard, and I’m sad. The end.

On a happier note, I got the most beautiful vase of roses and lilies delivered to my work yesterday morning*. Now, Valentine’s Day is a holiday I usually hate, and not for the reasons of “I was always alone” or “I was bitter and scored just before the day”…but for a completely unrelated reason that I would rather not disclose. But, instead of it being a day I dread so very much as per the past 6 years, my wonderful boyfriend made sure it was as happy and love-filled as possible. See, if this “thing” hadn’t happened, I would still be the sappy romantic girl who URGED Valentine’s Day to come forth and shower me with Russell Stovers Chocolates and long stem red roses and lilies, as well as sweet, meaningful cards. I think, and this is a very bold but true statement, that I can finally look at my future Valentine’s Days as something happy and positive, not sad and hurtful, as long as I have Huw in my life. So, a big THANK YOU to him for making that day the best it could possibly be.

I think that’s it for now. Frankly, I’m tired and don’t feel like thinking of anything else to write. Posts may be few and far between in the immediate future, because, well, I’m drained. But I’ll be reading yours, so write something good, dammit.


*My flowers were the prettiest in the whole office. And I work with ALL women, most of whom have boyfriends, fiancés, or husbands. My boyfriend knows how to do Valentine’s Day right!

Today is just a disgustingly bad day. And the kicker is, I'm not really sure why it's a bad day. I had to wake up extra early this morning to be at work earlier, and that, coupled with not being woken up the way I usually am, just got me thinking "It's a-gonna be one ofa those daysa" (I think with an Italian accent sometimes).

But I got to work on time with minimal traffic, so no stress there. Then, at work, stuff is relatively stable. I mean, I did get some bad news concerning one of the projects I'm on, but it doesn't directly affect me, so not too big of a deal. I have a meeting this afternoon that I'm looking forward to (kind of), and I'm steadily getting work done (aside from my break to, y'know, blog about getting work done).

Basically, I have no valid reason to be in this poor of a mood, but I am, and I accept that. As should you. I think deep down, I'm frustrated with a whole myriad of things, and it's just weighing heavy on me.

The only good thing that comes out of this is knowing that Huw is having a miserable day too. Now, I know that sounds insensitive, but let me explain. See, there are times when we're talking, and he beats me to saying something that I was thinking or vice versa. This doesn't just happen every once in a while. Oh no, this happens sevearl times during the week. It's creepy, but in that "huh, I guess we DO make a good couple" kind of way.

Today, I feel our relationship has taken a brand new turn. Not only do we think alike, but we are starting to have bad days at the same time. Oh, and once, he got a cold and I swear to you, the NEXT DAY, I was sick as well. Creepy stuff, but I like it.

And while I used to be the kind of girl that would just have a bad day and resolve that it would STAY bad until I closed my eyes at night, I have recently turned into a person that tries to find the positive spin on a craptastic day. Today, for example, I get to go to my parent's house, eat really good food, and watch The O.C. with my sissy. That right there will bring a smile to my scowling face.

Then, tomorrow is Friday, and I will spend my afternoon in a training about gangs. Sweet, I'll finally learn from which pocket I should hang my blue bandana. Oh, and how to twist your fingers up and make like, words and stuff. Maybe I'll sag my pants. You just never know with me. I'm a wild card.

I long for the days when my "daily planner" was my Family Guy calendar, scribbled up with markings like "SPRING BREAK TO NEW ORLEANS...WOOOOOOOHOOOOOO!" and "The O.C. Season Premier!", and even still "2 week Christmas vacation begins!" (sometimes, and don't tell anyone, I miss seeing "Group Theories Final" or "Stats paper due" on my calendar).

Do you know what my "day planner" is now? An ACTUAL Day Planner. It's hardcore. It's got dates, and months, and places to write notes...and what's even MORE unbelievable is that the spaces for notes...well, they're filled with words like "Budget meeting 11AM" or "New grant meeting 1-2:30PM". When did I get so growed up? And is it okay that I still feel 18 inside?

Anyway, to say that this time of the year at my respectable place of employment is busy would be a gross understatement. It's a good thing I have Nic around to complain to when things have gone haywire (well, I might not have her for much longer...). Seeing as how my days are sucked dry with meetings and trainings and all that jazz, and my evenings are reserved for Huw Time and trash t.v., I have been on the low end of the creativity spectrum. So, for this post, I shall give you some random facts followed by a meme (something I cannot pronounce and swore I would never put on my blog. Desperate time, people.)

A recent post on Cleaver’s blog got me thinking about something. So, go read her post and then come back to mine.

The day Huw left Texas was a sad one indeed. I had already started to feel the sadness creep in even before he arrived. I figured, if he visited, that would mean that eventually he would have to leave, and merely that thought made me want to cry. He would tell me, “Well, don’t think about that now, concentrate on me visiting in (however many) days.” I would do that, get excited, then remember the inevitability of his departure some 2 weeks after his arrival, and would become disheartened again.

I really started to understand what was going on the night before his last full day and night in Texas. Pretty soon, I thought to myself, I would be back in my bed alone, without the sound of his snoring to lull me to sleep. After a short cry, I realized that I still had another day and a half with him, so I decided to suck it up and make the most of it.

Heavy hitting sobs came the day and night before his last half-day in Texas. I cried and he held me, telling me such sweet things that made me wring out every last tear I had in me. Until the following day.

We were both in morose spirits when he was packing, and oftentimes, I would have to excuse myself to have a good, shoulder-shaking sob in the bathroom. I would return to him red-faced and puffy-eyed, where, upon seeing my tear-stained face, he would embrace me tightly, which would only serve to set me off again. When we finally managed to get him all packed up, he said his last goodbyes to Herman Froglegs and the apartment he had come to know so well, and we set off to give him his last Texan meal before returning to the UK. He chose Taco Cabana.

I must have started and stopped crying at least 5 times in the 3 minutes it took us to get to the restaurant. In line, as I was wiping away my tears, the (really nice) man behind the counter said something that, for some reason, prompted me to tell him, “Oh, he’s my boyfriend from London, and I have to take him to the airport to go home today.” He sympathetically shook his head and wished us luck. Which, you guessed it, made me want to cry even harder.

We got our food and sat at a sun-lit table, quietly and robotically munching on our tacos and nachos. Although the bean and cheese nachos were delicious, I couldn’t find a way to taste them, and every bite reminded me that I was one bite closer to having to say goodbye to him. Slowly, I lost my appetite. Huw would reach over and stroke my hand or leg. I don’t know if it was just the overflow of emotions I was feeling that day, but even his touch made me want to break down, buy a passport and a ticket, and hop on a plane with him back to the UK. Instead, I cried. Some more.

I know the thought passed through my head at the time, but it was merely a moment that it was in the forefront of my mind before my thoughts were consumed with what I was going to say to this amazing guy before he got on a plane that would take him away from me for 4 more months. Once he left, though, and I had time to cry and process my sadness, I started to wonder: What did people around us think when they saw us?

Imagine. You’re an innocent bystander in this, the saddest of days for two people you don’t know. You’ve strolled into Taco Cabana for a quesadilla and a Coke, and you notice at a table not too far from you, a couple. Or so you think. You dissect the situation piece by piece to draw a conclusion. There’s a boy and a girl. They are sitting close to each other, not one across the table. They touch, but not too often and you haven’t seen them kiss yet. No visible signs can point to them being any more than friend or relatives. Then you notice that the girl is constantly wiping away tears. The guy eats in silence, looking preoccupied but still paying attention to the girl. But wait…aren’t we close to the medical center? you think. And then you figure, yes, that’s it…someone they are close to for some reason must have died or become gravely ill. But that scenario just doesn’t seem to fit. You decided that you’re better off not knowing, and as you get up to throw your trash away, you take one last, long look at the couple over at the next table, and see them share a longing stare and a small kiss. But the girl is still crying. Even though you don’t know who they are, visions of their positions in their chairs, the guy’s saddened expression and the girl’s tears frequent your thoughts. The last thought before you go to sleep that night, surprisingly, is them. And then you hope everything worked out for the best.

I’ve seen these types of situations before, but usually, they are pretty cut and dry. A girl is yelling at her boyfriend in front of the movie theater for accepting a phone call from an ex-girlfriend. A boyfriend is clearly avoiding his girlfriend’s attempts at touching him or holding his hand for some unknown, but very powerful, reason. But what do you make of a situation where two people, clearly a couple, are visibly upset but still continue to dote upon each other? Quite a thought, if I do say so myself.

It’s funny how everyone in this world has a life, a series of events they participant in from day to day, and yet, we know nothing about most of these people. The ones we do come into contact with usually demonstrate normal behaviors, none too out of the ordinary to make us do a double take. But then there are a few people whose lives you will always wonder about. For Cleavers, it was the couple on the train. For someone else, it could have been Huw and me. Such an odd thought.


Sidenote: The countdown to London in May has officially begun, as you can see on my countdown timer to the right!

and a P.S.--How sad is it that I know this guy. I went to elementary school with him.