Home again, home again

You know how when you go visit somewhere you often leave happy to be going home? Not beacause there is anything wrong with the place you were, but because you just want to sleep in your own bed? That's how I felt yesterday. I spent the last 5 days at Ginger's house. Ginger of Delusional at Best.blogspot.com that is. She's one of my bestest friends, and we had a blast. I feel like this at the end of almost every trip, vacation, whatever. I like my place, I like to spend time here. I have set it up pretty much how I want it. The only real changes I would make include not having to deal with my stepfather.
While I was at Gingers place I read a book called "Prep". It was about a girl in boarding school. It reminded me that high school is universally awful. That I am not unique in my hatred of that time. I've developed a theory that it has to do with brain developement. Brain vs Mind if you will. It's when you start to look at the world and see how you are different from it. Or at least how different you feel. It's funny that we all think that OUR experience was unique, was somehow ... deserving of notice by the world. And then you read a book like "Prep" and even though you didn't go to boarding school you recognize yourself in the main character. You think that some one understands, that they "got" it. And we never think that, having read that book, we are not all that unique.
To go with that theory is this one, high school never ends. Life is just a continuation of all the cliques, drama, and game playing that happened in high school. The popular girl has a different title now, and the principal is called "the boss" or the ceo. But the social break down of the office is damn near identical to high school. I don't know anyone who REALLY enjoyed high school. I mean in their heart of hearts, that part of themselves they don't tell anyone about. I think it was awkward and uncomfortable for all of us. And those who say it was the best time of their lives are either lieing (to themselves and everyone else) or their lives currently suck. And to think how baddly my life would have to suck for high school to be the highlight kinda terrifies me.


--Little Bird is in the nest

On the phone and in my apartment

I am currently in the middle of arguements with my cable provider. Not that surprising is it? Especially considering the fact that Comcast is my provider. About a month ago I had a techncian in to fix my reception. He did, and he broke ny orange buddha head. The buddha head was about 5 feet away from the tv do there is no reason it should have happened. So I called in a damage complaint. Then I needed to have a digital converter box installed. Then they sent me the wrong box and sent someone to fix my reception that I did not need. Then they sent someone to bring and install the right box. Then I called to complain that I hadn't heard from anyone about the broken buddha head. That person told me it normaly takes one month to get through those things AND that I must have the item to show a supervisor when they come to inspect. No one said anything like this during my initial phone call. Thank God I saved it. So I called yesterday to complain that I STILL had not heard from anyone concerning my buddha head. I told the lady that I would start calling everyday until I recieved a check to replace it. I was transfered to a supervisor, and given the name of an individual who will expidite this issue. On top of all this I am not getting all of my channels. I told them this and they did some wierd stuff that included turning off my cable box remotely (not just cutting transmision, but actually physically turning it off-- as in not plugged in off) and they got back my missing channels but now I am missing more so a tech is coming over between 1 and 5 to fix this. At some point last night I recieved a phone call from a survey-type company wanting to know how satisfied I was with Comcast. Me, the pissed off one who's had personal property damaged and can't watch a few of her favorite channels. They wanted me to rate Comcast!! I had a few choice things to say and did give them good ratings when it came to them being polite and curteous and not being put on hold for forever and a day. They may blow you off, but they're very polite while doing it.
Add this to the stress of having to stay at a friends house because my folks have told friends of theirs that they could stay in MY apartment. The stress of this includes the place having to be clean enough to perform surgery in. And the removal of any and all items that personalize my space. The one exception? My salt and pepper shaker collection. My step-father actually thinks the collection is cool. I just need to put the shelves for them up. I would rant some more about this but I have to go put everything of mune that is in my room in a hiding place while still leaving room for the guests to put their stuff (as if this were a hotel--devoid of personality). Bitter? Who? Me?

--Little Bird is stressed to distraction

Altered

Have you ever had one of those moments (hours) where you just sat and listened to music? Where the music just seems to transport you? There are only a few "albums" that do that for me. Robert Miles' "Dreamland" is one of those. I don't really know what it is about it but it just makes me feel like everything is ok. It's kinda trancy, almost like it could make you feel "chemically altered" without the chemicals. I don't know if it was the artists intent but I feel... hope when I listen to it. And peaceful. Sometimes I'll listen to it with the sound low, and fall asleep to it. I always have amazing dreams when I do that.
Enya's "Watermark" is another one of those "albums" that takes me away. There are only so many that can do that. Most of the music that I have purchased does fall into that catagory, but then, I only buy what I really really like. I have (like so many people I know) different music for different moods. Dreamland and Watermark for introspection. The Wall and other Pink Floyd for nostalgia*. Guns n' Roses and other hair-bands for a different type of nostalgia. I am a child of the 80's after all. If I were to meditate for real, it would be to music. I hate overly loud music, which is why I haven't been to many concerts, but also prefer it to be perfectly audible. I know, picky. The only types of music I loathe are gangsta rap and new country. Oh, and recent boy-bands. I can tolerate hip-hop, and top-40 (that would be recent top-40) but prefer my own weird choices. Pink Floyd, Robert Miles, Enya, Eagles (I never claimed to be consistant) Indigo Girls, and Massive Attack. All of it in one way or another takes me somewhere. Be it back in time (in my head, people) or deep in thought, music is a pancea of sorts. It soothes, or invigorates. It alters the listener.

* I was friends with pot-heads when I was younger, this is what rubbed off on me. Pretty good when you consider the habits I COULD have picked up.

P.S. I put the word albums in quotation marks only 'cause when I think of albums I think of great big vinyl records, not CD's and therefore albums are physical items, not the concepts they really are. My own brand of logic for you. And no, I am not truely old enough to remember LP's.

--Little Bird is headed for Dreamland

Sunrise

WHEREIN I LEARN I AM NOT 21 ANYMORE

This past Friday night I went to a friends house to drink beer and watch movies. And eat pizza. I didn't think I would be out all that late. But I missed the latest Addison bus around the time Robn Williams was finding out that his newfound Vietnamese friend was the enemy. So I drank more beer and we watched another movie. And an episode of "Digging For the Truth". And another movie. And finaly I was walking to the bus stop at 5:20 Saturday morning. Have I mentioned that I am NOT a morning person? Of course, I hadn't been to sleep at all so as far as I was concerned it was still Friday. I got home to sleep for a very interupted five hours and proceeded to walk six miles. I am still recovering from this. I very nearly fell asleep WHILE WALKING yesterday and didn't get up 'till noon today. I must say though, the park (Lincoln Park) was lovely at 6:00 am and while it was too cold for the way I was dressed (not a heavy enough coat) I saw the sun come up and it was worth it.

--Little Bird is older than she would like to admit

The Saga Continues

Last night, kinda late, I checked my e-mail. Lo and behold, I recieved an e-mail from HNG (I need to come up with a new name for him) telling me why I hadn't heard from him. Apparently he was involved in an accident while on a "fast ropes excersize" that resulted in " a few bruised ribs, minor concusion" and reduced his cell phone to "crumbs". He was kept overnight for observation and that's when he realized he had "no way" of communicating with me. He requested that I call his work phone (cell) and wants me to come visit him. Do you see the giant mac truck sized holes in that story? I do. Allow me to point them out. First, when exactly was this "accident"? Before he didn't call for 10 days prior to his not showing up? Or maybe it was just a day or two before he didn't show up. Secondly why did he wait 3 days after he got home to e-mail me and tell me what happened? I must not have been a priority, or my feelings. If the "accident" was early in the 10 days I DID call his work phone and he never called back. AND he could have e-mailed me from the hospital. IF I was important enough to him.
Yes, I know this makes me soud spoiled and awful. But I am worth the effort of a phone call! To me his story sounds waaaaayyyy to convienient. He's not that lucky, and I'm not that stupid. Since I do NOT have the word Mattel stamped across my lower back he can stop toying with me.

Little Bird is NOT a plaything