the recharge

There is something about home that recharges my batteries. Give me three days in the place I grew up and I am a new person. Like sending your American Girl doll to the doll hospital with her hair in clumps and arms on backwards and finding her on your doorstep two weeks later looking factory fresh. In this analogy, my mental status and outlook are the American Girl doll.

            In Philadelphia, I am an anxious and tired person. Whenever I am out, I’m thinking about being home and in bed and whenever I’m home and in bed, I’m thinking about all the time I’m wasting being a person who enjoys being at home in bed like some Wonka grandparent. I am morally neutral in the city, more prone to yelling and swearing and assuming people are trying to kill me or steal all my things or some sinister combination of the two. Though if you’re going to go through the trouble of killing me, you might as well steal my stuff too. I don’t need it anymore. Maybe just leave my driver’s license so people know who I was.

            That is a sentence written by Philadelphia Caitlin.

            But Harrisburg Caitlin? Oh man. Harrisburg Caitlin shoots to the other end of the spectrum. First of all, she is a social rock star. She wants to see everyone and engage in long conversations with them. She is up for flaming shots down town, social outings with parents and their friends, and one on one coffee dates with old classmates. On top of that, she is boundlessly witty and optimistic. She can quip with the best of them, listens more attentively, gives loving, compassionate feedback and is more generous with her hugs. Her anecdotes are taken to the next level and are always met with extreme interest and hearty laughter. Harrisburg Caitlin, believes in the general goodness of the world and her individual power to influence it for the better.

            I’m not completely sure how this recharge situation works though, because as it stands now, as you are currently reading this, you are probably thinking to yourself, the fuck would she ever go back to Philadelphia. And I will tell you the fuck I go back – because I’m afraid of taking advantage of the magic. If pumpkin spice lattes were all year round, would we love them as much? I’m afraid of making the magic into the norm and allowing it to lose it’s luster. So I haul my butt back to Philly but this time, as a changed butt. An optimistic butt. A butt who doesn’t believe that I am wasting my life and terrible at everything. No sir! I am a new butt, confident that I can do anything I want. I make plans on the train ride back and never once do I think I am not 100% capable of carrying them out.

            In Philly, I am a follower.  I direction-taker, never a direction giver. In high school, I organized things all the time. I loved planning projects and taking the lead. Now, Philly Caitlin waits for others to initiate then meekly follows behind, helping in minimal ways, where needed. And so it is necessary for me to return to the mother land with some frequency (but not too much!). I need to remember where I came from and be surrounded by the people who believe in me in the environment that created me. And I need to see how good it all is and believe once again that I came from all that good.

this guy

 

dates with this dude are the best. we are perfect palate partners and he consistently reads my mind when it comes to menus and date nights. so glad he's around, even if it is only a few times a month.

 

i think about my grandma at least once a day. pillows from her old guest room are on my bed as well as the quilt she gave me when i graduated, the same quilt her grandmother gave her. the patches on it came from her old clothes.

the little velvet couch and chair in the corner of my room were from her house as well and i wear her signet ring on a gold chain around my neck every day. i alternate between five pairs of her gold earrings.

i'm knitting a sweater and christmas presents for my family. i'm sewing my own halloween costume. she taught me the skills to do both.

this week a woman at work asked me a few questions about a scarf she's working on. at one point i found myself saying, "if you're not happy with it now, you never will be." a truth passed down by her.

i made her baked apples tonight. i'll make her baked man'n'cheese tomorrow night. i think of her when i put on perfume in the morning. i think of her when i'm choosing my outfits. would grandma janet wear this? she was always so put together.

i think i miss her more and more as i begin to see how deeply she's influenced me. so much of her has become a part of me. i was recently thinking about how much i would have loved to take her thrifting. how much i would have loved to show her around my house and cook her a meal. how happy she would be that i get to craft at work.

thinking of you every day. 

house

 

 i made this for work. and i would like to live in it. do you know who i would talk to about getting this made on a my-size scale? or shrinking me down so i can fit inside it? 

three things i definitely want in my grown up house, when i'm a grown up: a ping pong table, a trampoline, and a treehouse. obviously the last two can be outside of the actual house. in the backyard preferably. but once i have those things, i'll have it made in the shade. that's my american dream. also? it would ideally be an exact replica of my grandparent's house from growing up. that place was amazing. 

i'm consistently torn between wanting to set down roots somewhere and own a house, and wanting to move everywhere always. how can choose one place to make a home? can't i just have a home on wheels? can't i have a home with helicopter blades attached to the top? again, i need to know who to contact about this. do you people have connections? 

city life

 

i'm pretty future minded. i'm always thinking about what i want to do, where i want to live. i make a lot of lists. i plan trips and parties.

and every now and then i stop and look at my life, and i think to myself - i don't totally remember what i planned on doing at this point, but i'm pretty sure this isn't it. did i plan on living in philadelphia and working a 9-5 job? did i plan on dating a boy who lives two hours away? did i think i would look and dress this way? did i think i would think this way? did i imagine myself doing improv two to four nights a week? where did i see myself?

i don't even remember.

and i'm sure that two years from now, i won't even remember the plans i made for future me in the present. which begs the question, what's the point in planning anything? things aren't going to go as planned and that's not even a bad thing. it's just a thing. 

when i was in kindergarten, i imagined that sixteen year old caitlin would only wear stick-out-belly shirts and date a guy with a ponytail and a red convertible. when i was fourteen, i thought i would live in new york and be on broadway, despite my lack of vocal ability. i've wanted to be a journalist, the president, a teacher, and a doctor. and i'm not those things. and i don't want those things anymore. isn't it strange that we can change so much and still be the same person?

the point of the matter is, if you asked me five years ago where i thought i would be post-graduation, i would have never in a thousand years told you that i would be cramming a weeks worth of groceries into a bike basket and teetering home in the rain. never planned on that one.

a new map

 

so remember that last post, when i mentioned missing people and wanting to talk about it, then i never did? i'm going to do it now.

it's not even missing people so much as wishing there were fewer places. the people i love are scattered right now. i love people in philadelphia, new york, harrisburg, pittsburgh, baltimore, texas, indiana PA, georgia, new jersey, california, ohio, australia - all over. and i want to see them all, all the time. and i can't.  and it makes my heart physically hurt. there just aren't enough weekends to see everyone. we're all so busy and doing stuff and trying to appreciate where we are - i'm trying to make philadelphia my place and be a part of the city. but it's hard when i don't feel like a whole person - i'm a combination of all my people and they're all over the place. i'm sure there's a way to cope with this. people go on living without being in the presence of everyone they love all the time. but i'm not there yet. right now, i just want to pick up all the pieces, all the cities my friends live in and squash them all together on the map. maybe in some space in the ocean. so no one has to give up their city, but no one has to be apart either. who can i talk to about this map squashing business?

twenty two

 

i've been acting a fool recently.

late nights, open bars, and a big ol' mouth have lead me into situations that i'm embarrassed to think about the next day.

what's even worse than acting like a fool? dwelling on it for days after. turning it all over in your head until you believe it's way worse than you originally even anticipated. telling yourself that you should know better, that you're supposed to be more mature than that, more classy and composed.

but honestly? i don't know if that's true. it's probably true that i shouldn't split a bottle of wine with a friend before hitting a four hour open bar, or that i should at least pour the wine into a glass instead of swigging it straight out of the bottle. but i'm only twenty two. i just got out of college. i'm still in that mode. i have no dependents. no car payments or mortgage. i'm in this weird limbo where i have a steady paycheck but no homework and that frequently leads to happy hour. which leads to karaoke. which leads to embarrassing dancing.

point is: i need to take ten deep breaths, remind myself i'm only twenty two and don't need to have everything figured out, and never order whiskey sours again. 

 

my friend jon died a few weeks ago. it was really sudden and unexpected and late on a tuesday night and i had literally just seen him - he left my house around 10:30 and it didn't feel like a real thing or even a real possibility and it still doesn't, but it is. it was sad and is sad and will probably always be sad. it has made time seem nonexistant. like it was a long stick of hard candy, moving smoothly through the future and now it's smashed and i can't believe it was ever there.

when we found out, we all drove to his hometown in jersey. we all wanted to be together as if being together, in one place, in one room, ensured that no one else could go anywhere. we called other friends, more auxiliary members of our group, fringe folks, and told them the news. because what if they didn't find out and a month down the road at a party they asked about him? and also because i think we all needed to say it and say it calmly, as informers to solidify it in our own minds. to make it more of a fact and less of a terrible floating idea that was stuck in our throats. 

a lot of the time i felt neutral. felt like it didn't even happen or like maybe i was just watching it on tv or as a movie. but then it would hit me and i would cry a lot. or i would see someone else i love crying and get upset. i learned that none of my friends are pretty criers. we are all some loud and ugly sad people.

there were also a lot of very funny parts of the experience. things that jon would have thought were hilarious and written sketches about him. things like pubescent boy scouts and lisping priests who mispronounce names and facebook posts with lyrics quoted. jon was a funny guy and it was so appropriate to laugh during everything. 

i might post more on this later. i don't think it's a topic that i'll ever really be over. because it's not really a topic so much as a person.

am i missing something?

 

am i missing something here? like a longer manual to my i-phone? the one i got is only like four pages long and as much as i appreciate the minimalist look, it's not exactly what i find most desirable in a booklet that's supposed to tell me how to work a futuristic handheld space computer communicator. siri just turns on at random and picks up on the conversations inside my purse and then when i pull out my phone, gems like this one show up. i swear to you, good people of the internet, that i never said that. even though that sounds like an awesome jingle. i am not one to sit around on my phone listening to jingles. i don't know who that would apply to. uncle joey and uncle jessie maybe. those are the only jingle-men i know.

additionally, while we are waving our dirty pants out the awkward express eastbound to whaddafugggg land, because we spilled hot sauce on the crotch and had to wash them in the sink but the blue soap is also staining and now we're pants-less on public transportation - let's talk about shirt buttons.

i have grown some boobs recently-ish. maybe they were there before, but it's just been in the past six months that i've noticed them. this should not come as a shock to anyone, since i'm a woman but for some reason, they're still new enough to me that i forget about them. not usually an issue except when it comes to shirts.

i like me a button down, but boobs seem to disagree. i buy a shirt, put it on, button it up and boobs yell NOOOOOOO! GET US OUT OF HERE! WE BE BUSTIN' FREEEEE! they create this gap that makes me look like an extra in a britney spears music video. but my love for button downs outweighs the cries of boobs, so i continue to wear them.

and i continue to be paranoid about the gap. and the potential for other people to peep my cleavage. the pervs. this is not for you! this is a result of poor design! or my lack of knowledge about sizing!

and then i find myself checking on the gap all day, just to make sure the window to the valley of the boobs isn't exposed to the public.

and at the end of the day, i can't be sure how many people have checked out the boobs, but i know i've kept my eyes on them all day. this shirt has caused me to stare at my own cleavage all day. ironic, right?

do you like buttons? boobs? gaping shirts?

GI Mikey Y

 

this is a picture of my main squeeze, dj mikey y. his philosophy on hair cuts deals in extremes - let it get so long you can't stand it, then buzz it all off. never a trim. it's all or nothing. so sometimes, when he comes to visit for a weekend, he shows up looking like he just finished basic training.

 my old roommate beth left me her bike when she moved to texas which is a friggin blessing. mike yaz rode it into the city with me and we got ice cream and saw a comedy show. on the way home though, it was raining, and i'm not cool with leaving bikes somewhere foreign overnight so i told him we would have to muddle through. mike yaz was down but under one condition - he wanted to ride with his shirt off. something about not getting it wet? whatever.

so we trekked home in the rain, mike yaz with his shaved head & no shirt, looking like something out of a training montage. i kept yelling things at him like "you can be a champion but only if you feel like a champion." or "do it for sarah. do it for me. do it for yourself." and "come on! push!" things that a solid coach with a hurt past but still some glimmer of hope might say to their new protege.

do you have a strange but wonderful boyfriend? do you shave your head and ride around shirtless? have you ever been in a montage? 

sensitive diner

 

 i have recently discovered that nothing makes me more heartbroken and upset than discovering that a menu item i wanted is no longer available. something about selecting an item and building it up in my mind to a point where my mouth is already watering and i'm rereading the description over and over again, confirming that i have indeed made the best possible choice.

and then the waitress shows up. and i proudly tell her what i would like to order, hoping she will be impressed with my selection, a selection she knows is the best the menu has to offer. and i wait for her to applaud me and then -

her face falls. it twists into an expression of pity, similar to what you might offer an over enthusiastic child when you have to tell him the camping trip is cancelled.

she is sorry to report, but they are out of the (donut nutella muffins) (eggs florentine) (red jello). would you like to make another selection?

this news is so devestating that i'm never quite sure how to handle it. in a shocked voice, i quickly reply, "no. no thank you."

"nothing at all? we have a great cheesey skillet."

"no. nothing at all."

because i have formed such a mental bond with that menu item - that unavailable menu item - that to order anything else would seem treason. the widow going home with her deceased lover's brother. i won't dishonor what we had like that. your memory will live on (donut nutella muffins) (eggs florentine) (red jello).

after the initial shock, i feel slightly embarrassed. of course they're out of (donut nutella muffins) (eggs florentine) (red jello). that was the best thing! the waitress is not impressed with my selection; she pities me for even picking it - the most obvious, most popular menu option.

and that is how my breakfasts/brunch/dinners are ruined.

maybe i will learn to cope better when i'm 23.

the august hiatus

 

 legit bloggers take a break right? like once a year, in the summer, they put up some post explaining that they aren't going to post for the rest of the month and they're just going to go sleep or paint neon things on canvas tote bags or play with their floppy haired babies while eating arugula. you know how they do that?

now that we're all on the same page - can i just blame my absence on that? is that acceptable? i know i didn't put up a picture of a dog in a vase with heidi braids and say a formal 'tttfn darlings!', but could you guys just be good sports and go along with it so i don't feel like a bum for farting out two weeks in a row? thanks pals.

also: a picture of my bike basket. full of purse and snacks and booze.

on forgetting people's names

 

 don't do it. i hate it.

right off the bat - rant disclaimer. it's gonna get ugly up in this cyber space. this is a hot button issue. but that's why the internet was invented, right? so i can throw my opinions into the faces of all four of my readers like they're gospel truths? i'm going to say 'yes'.

i absolutely can't stand when people don't remember names. "I'm just so bad with names!" they say, as if being bad with names is some biological disorder, like being allergic to dairy or more susceptible to diabetes.  i'm no science major, but i'm fairly certain that there's not a specific chunk of your brain labeled 'remembering names' that you just happen to be missing.

i get that you meet a lot of people. i get that you might not see some people for years at a time. but if we're coworkers? learn my name. are we working on a class project together? learn my name. are we consistently running in overlapping social circles? learn my name.

and of course, i will absolutely learn your name. and remember it. because it's one simple word that sums up your entire existence. when i want to refer to a complex organism with independent thoughts and memories and life experiences, there is only one word that i need to know. how convenient! i think the very least i can do is remember that one simple little word.

are you still going to pull the 'i'm-not-good-at-remembering-names' card? well here's some advice - get better at it. you're going to keep meeting people, and they're probably going to have names (unless it gets really trendy to reject names, but even so that seems like it's years down the line), and you're probably going to sound like a asshole who is incapable of remembering simple information that is so important to that person because you're too wrapped up in your own thoughts to actively listen to the human being in front of you, and i'm going to punch you in the gut. or at least rant about you on my blog. so take that.

(also: i like toast. avocado and homemade strawberry jam toast.)

care for some cheese with your whine?

 

total upfront disclaimer: if you don't feel like listening to a whiny baby, turn your internet butt around. 

Goddamn. Why is no one talking about this mother flipping age? More specifically, why is no one talking about how badly this mother flipping age sucks?

Can we all just come out and say it? That 22 is the worst age ever? (Though I’m sure 23 is a close second.)

Whenever people talk about ‘their twenties’ I feel like they’re referring to 25 and beyond. And before that, everyone just mentions college. At the most, the age bracket of 22-24 is referred to in vague terms. “After college I rolled around.” “Post grad I bler de blah’d.” “Fler de der de dah 22.” Is there an international conspiracy to gloss over this dark age of a year? The only people who actually mention 22 are the beautiful morman mommy blogs, god love them. (you know I read like eighty bajillion a day. And every time I fall in love with a new blogger? You bet your sweet candy ass they’re a morman blog.) But when they talk about 22, it’s in relation to their one year wedding anniversary. SWEET BEANS. CAN I GET A NORMAN PERSON IN CYBER SPACE WHO REMEMBERS THESE DARK TIMES TO OFFER SOME WORDS OF SOLACE?!

Even my mom finally fessed up. As I whined on the phone (the new standard for our conversations) about being 22, she finally sighed and said “Yeah. I feel like a lot of people don’t talk about that.” “That” being the feeling of failure when you can’t find a job after graduation. Or the feeling that comes with finding a job and knowing you’re locked into something indefinitely. “That” being the feeling that everyone else is doing something more meaningful than you. “that” being the idea that you’re not good at anything and you’re’ going to get stuck where you are right now, forever. “That” being all your friends moving back home and talking about how much it sucks and still being jealous that they get to hang out with their moms. “That” being the weird guilt you feel for wishing you still got to live at home. “That” being the heartache that comes with not being able to be yourself at work or work within your skill set. “That” being the state of limbo your whole life is in. And the guilt you feel for being such a little turd about something so many people have lived through before.

I need Christmas asap.

oh what a beautiful morning

 

this is my bed in the morning. i love these pillows so much, i've been motivated to make my bed every morning. they're pillows from my grandparents house and it's such a nice reminder of them and all the memories i have with them. i can think about them right before i go to bed and first thing in the morning. fairly ideal way to start and end a day.

zambonis and mexican brunch

 

someone once told me that's it's better to work on things you're already good at, then try to get better at things you're bad at. though i disagree overall (if i'm bad at parking, but good at eating pie,  i should try to be better at parking! not perfect my pie-eating!), i'm sure this is mostly applicable to the working world and picking an expertise so you become 'lighting guy!' or 'quicken girl!' and not just a jack-of-all-trades, "i dabble" kind of person. but honestly, i go back and forth on it. it would be awesome to excel in one area. be the best zamboni driver in the county and really know those zambonis inside and out. but there are only so many ice rinks - and then, wouldn't it be cool if you were also a roller derby ref? you tried it once and sucked, but you could work on it.

i don't know where this is going. i know very little about zambonis. i would be a terrible zamboni driver. allow me to distract you with a beautiful picture of some huevos rancheros i inhaled this week. i eat like a king when i'm with mikeyaz.

would you prefer to be REALLY GOOD at one thing? or to diversify your skills and just be proficient in a lot of things? which do you think is more valuable? ideally, i would like to be REALLY GOOD at a wide range of skills. but that's a cheater's answer. answer it for real friends!

wednesday? really?

 

 how? why? not fair. these weeks are all just flying by and getting ahead of me and there's no end in sight for anything anymore. and by that, i mean i won't be going back to school in the fall. expect things to get either really depressing or really phsychotic around that time. not sure which way i'll swing on the emotional scale, and it's probably best that we're prepared for the worst. hopefully it won't be so bad that this becomes a poetry blog. that would be a serious turn for the worst. let's all just think optimistically about this one.

speaking of optimistic: i painted some polka dot pants. right now i'm saying it's because of the sorching heat, but let's see if i actually wear them in the future. place yer bets. i can't even predict the outcome. will i drink too much wine and dinner and decide to take them on the town? will auditions for clown millionaire come to town?  will i enter into the witness protection program and be placed in children's book? WHO KNOWS.

and look at the time now! now it's friggin thursday and this post is void! i'm not changing it. ya'll can deal.

home and sweets and home sweet home

 home visits have been full of good food and loving family members and silly conversations mixed in with the serious conversations. it is everything i need all the time.

on the subject of comparing myself to animals

 

isn't it weird how human women compare their bodies or have body ideals? i'm fairly certain (though not 100% certain because i was only a communications major. not some fancy zoo or forest major.) that bears don't compare their bodies. bears don't tell other bears that they could stand to lose a few. that they have a little belly pooch working. that their arms are looking a little flabby. bears are just cool with wearing their fur coats and picking up bear cubs by the scruff of their neck and catching salmon. if there is a popularity system within bears, it's probably something like "belinda bear's growl can be hear across the canyon." or "susan bear can tear up a deer carcase within two minutes." (again, i would like to stress how little i know about animals.)

bears (and while i'm riding the presumption training, other animals) value each other (or themselves) based on what their bodies can do as opposed to what their bodies look like.

are ya'll okay with being more like bears? cause i'm down with being more like bears.

in other news: i had a delicious dinner with my family last week (as pictured above). and not once did i think about arm flab. BEAR LIFE.

secret garden

there's a spot on campus that we refer to as the secret garden. considering temple has 36,000 students, it's probably not that secret. but we like to think it is. it's tucked away behind the 7/11, next to a banquet hall used for various campus events and, unlike the grassy area by the bell tower, there's hardly anyone ever there. you have to descend a few steps to get there and the sloping hills surrounding the secret garden are covered in greenery. it's a pretty sweet spot for a city campus.

it's also a pretty sweet spot for impromptu picnics. we've been trying to squeeze in as many activities as possible the past few weeks, before our lease is up at the end of june and everyone leaves. 'everyone' isn't really 'everyone'. but it's some major players. and the end of june isn't even our real expiration date. beth is moving home june 18th to work at camp, then moves to austin in august for grad school. keiran's starting to shuffle her stuff back home the second to last weekend in june. christine is slowly pushing things into trash backs from her move back to new hampshire. even though the people are still here, watching the packing happen is sometimes enough for me to start to feel sad.

i'm no better though - i took home my first load of stuff last week, including the saggy bean bag will all love to hate. it's literally like sitting on the floor, the beans are so smushed. our downstairs walls were covered in posters and paper since the first week we moved in and when i took them down on Monday, you could see clear outlines where the pictures used to be, protecting the wall from the slight sheen of dirt found elsewhere. the house is starting to come apart. pretty soon it won't be ours.

so we're filling our remaining time with picnics and bike rides and spontaneous brunching and wine'n'wigs nights. which i think is the only option. because the other options are solo wine-drinking and crying to episodes of 'cheers'.