The One... The Only... The Vieve

God hates California, again, some more

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Ding-ding! Two for sunshine!

Riding my bike to work and more generally about town has made me much more aware of the following:

• Shitty pavement
• Shitty drivers (especially the car that passed me on the left and cut me off while I was making a left turn this morning onto Mass Ave; maybe it's time to master the windshield bitch slap)
• How much I sweat

And finally, but most importantly:

• How happy it makes me, getting around so quickly and elegantly by the power of my own two little legs

Evidence

Someone was skeptical about my earlier claims (see below).

Nyah!

Beauty and truth and pigtails

The pursuit of truth and beauty is a sphere of activity in which we are
permitted to remain children all our lives. -Albert Einstein, physicist,
Nobel laureate (1879-1955)

Today I'm wearing a Where the Wild Things Are t-shirt and have my hair in pigtails. Not sure what this has to do with the pursuit of beauty and truth, but I'm sure it's related somehow.

Bubbly

I have no focus right now. So antsy. I want to go outside and run around. Spin around until I fall down. Roll down a hill and muss my skirt and get grass stains on my knees. Dive into an ocean and let the surf toss me around. Swing on the swings until I'm good and high and then jump off. Walk around a little above-ground pool as fast as my legs can push against the water, until I get a good whooshing whirlpool going. Climb a tall crooked tree. And then, after all that, I want to drink some Kool-aid and eat a Pudding Pop.

Am I regressing?

Brave and luscious

This week had a poor start, but it has blossomed into something exciting. The fruit is ripening on the tree, and I'm so close to plucking it, I can almost taste it.

I feel so brave. The bike riding is one part of this. If you had asked me even a year ago whether I thought I would be cycling around the city streets, I would have stammered a timid, "Ummm, n-n-o? Maybe?" But here I am, better and braver than I thought.

But the bigger and more exciting thing is coming soon, and I can't wait to jump off that proverbial cliff and get things rolling. It feels so incredible to be taking such risks, in so many ways. These particular things, and in my life in general. I'm doing what I want, for myself, without guarantees but with hopefulness and joy, and it is luscious and energizing. Things that used to be just plain scary are now, well, still a little scary, but definitely doable and, even better, thrilling. Deliciously thrilling.

Yum.

Chumbawumba

My head is very full today. Jumblywumbly. It's uncomfortable, and the resurgence of allergies and perhaps one too many beers last night are both adding to the effect.

I always have lots of things in my head, but only sometimes does the pressure build to where it's irritating and utterly distracting. Today is one of those days. There are things that are bothering me, things I want to know, things I just want to talk about, but I can't talk about them with the right person. Haven't really ever been able to, come to think of it. I've tried, but it's like talking to a tilty brick wall, both blank and inscrutable and threatening to topple over and smoosh me. A precarious position. It's frustrating, and it adds to the pressure. But there's nothing to be done about it. Sometimes these things just are what they are. Very bothersome.

So I have all of this kinetic energy whizzing around in my head, little bits pinging around. Trapped with no place to go.

There's nothing to fear but...making lefthand turns on Mass Ave during rush hour

I'm slowly conquering my fears of biking betwixt and between Boston-area traffic. I really don't mind the cars going past me -- it's negotiating intersections, making lefthand turns, having to actively interact with the cars that makes me nervous. But yesterday I rode down to Union Sq. and back (with a pit stop for a beer and a chat), and that went pretty well, even though Summer St. is pretty sucky, pavement-wise. I had to merge with traffic on Bow St., get to the other side of the road, merge again onto Somerville Ave., and then get over to the other side again, with hardly a break in the flow of cars, and it all went pretty damn well.

Today I rode to work, and decided I just didn't want to deal with a bunch of left turns, so I walked across Mass Ave onto Upland. It felt like cheating a little bit, but I think that's OK for now. No sense in scaring the bejeezus out of myself when I don't have to.

Over hill and over dale

Yesterday I went on a glorious bike ride out to Walden Pond and back. OK, it didn't start off gloriously, and there were less-than-glorious bits in between. But the sum of all the parts was certainly a big ol' ball of glory.

My first problem was finding someone to go with me on this adventure, preferably someone who knew where they were going or could help me figure that out (and wouldn't be pissed if we got lost, which I've learned is an essential prerequisite to traveling with me). I thought I had someone lined up, but laundry and other mundane chores took precedence, and I was resigned to either going alone or maybe taking a trip with less roads and scary cars. But then I emailed a friend, who just happened to be done with work at 3 and had her bike and a bathing suit in her car. Hooray! We decided to meet in Arlington around 3:30.

Before I left, there were three important things I had to do: take a Claritin (check!), attach the water bottle cage I bought on Sunday (uh, shit, no hex wrench thingy), and install the lock holder jimjammy thing (wait, fuck, how does this possibly fit..grr...in...mother shit christ...here?) for my bike lock. My sinuses were a little clearer, but the water bottle and lock had to go in my backpack.

The ride to Arlington was strewn with arborial peril. I had to get off my bike a few times and walk under or over downed trees that were blocking the path. Finally, I caught up with Antonia, and we were on our way. When we got to Lexington, we stopped and looked at the bike map I borrowed from my roommate. Another cyclist stopped and asked if we needed any help, and we discussed a good route to Walden. And we were off again, headed for the hills. OF DOOM.

Up until yesterday, all of my recent long(ish) bike rides have been along the bike path, which is more or less flat. I knew about the hill on 2A headed out of Lexington, and I had climbed it before, so I figured it wouldn't be a huge deal, these hills. Piffle. My legs are pretty strong, I'm in decent shape, I'm no pussy. I just hadn't thought about the cumulative effect of going up and down these hills for about 3 hours. It kind of hurt, and it was hard. But it wasn't too hard. I got passed a few times by other, more serious cyclists with quads of steel, but I never had to get off my bike and walk.

After miles of twisty, hilly, trafficky roads, and after having to backtrack a couple of times, we finally made it to Walden Pond. I stripped off my soggy clothes (my shirt was like a size medium salt lick at this point), tried not think about my exposed, blazingly white, slightly smooshy belly (and the stretched out bathing suit bottom that might not be covering important bits as well as I'd like), and dove into the pond, where I floated and tried to ignore the squelchy pieces of who knows what that kept brushing against my legs.

On our way back to our bikes, a little boy came up and asked us in toddler-ese something like, "What are those helmets for?" We said something about them protecting our heads if we fell off our bikes. He looked skeptical. His mother came up to us and explained that she made her son wear a helmet when he rode his bike, and that he hated it. So she and her husband epoxied a dinosaur head and horns onto the top of it, which seemed to help stave off tantrums. Horns, eh? Hmm... Perhaps a future project.

We decided to take a more direct way back, which unfortunately meant riding on Route 2 for a little bit before it turned into 2A. Riding on a highway with no shoulder and with cars whizzing past you at 60 mph is no fun, but it didn't last too long, and it was the faster (and less hilly) way to go. More unfortunately, we took a wrong turn, and went about 5 miles out of our way. At long last, we reached Lexington and the bike path, and I furiously pedaled home, trying to make it back before dark. (I did, but just barely.)

I felt tired and sore, but also a little triumphant. I got in some good road practice, and I'm less skittish about cars now. I saw doggies and horses and cows and a bunny rabbit! I went for a nice swim. I realized that I really need to buy some proper bike shorts (ow), and that I need to install that water bottle cage before I go for another long ride. I slept well last night.

I did it I did it I did it. I wonder where I'll ride to tonight...

Partners in _______

I've realized lately that I need more -- to use the online "looking for" term or what have you -- activity partners. People to ride my bike with, people to go camping with, people to get my ass to yoga with. People to go on trips with (particularly to Nova Scotia sometime this summer), to go to the beach with. I have a fair number of great and fun friends, but not everyone is into the same stuff, and people are busy with their own things.

They won't find me, so I guess I have to go out and find them. Maybe it won't be as difficult as I imagine.

That readin' stuff is out of sight

One of my mom's friends used to call me Easy Reader when I was little, maybe 5 or 6, because I always had my nose in a book (and sometimes two or three others going at the same time). That's partly why this Electric Company video made me smile this morning. That, and it's just so completely groovy.

Secretly filthy

Last night, I finally finally saw Peaches live. It was...amazing. Kind of indescribable. Definitely awesome, completely energizing, and so so sexy. Her costumes, her stage presence, the way she worked the crowd, her raw sexuality...my god, so exciting. I don't remember the last time I danced around and screamed so much at a show. (If you ask me nicely, I'll show you the moves to "AA XXX.") "Back It Up, Baby," my favorite song, was part of the encore, and it made my night.

I said it a few years ago, and I'll say it again: I want to be Peaches. I would be happy being even a quarter as sexy and rockin' as she is.

Flip flop

What do you do when you keep doing something you know is A Very Bad Idea, but you can't stop doing it, because not doing it seems worse? Because you can't quite give up that illusion that "if only..." something. If only things were slightly different, or if only you could numb yourself to the sting. If only needs and feelings would shift a bit to the left or right or center. If only you weren't such a tenderhearted ninny. If only you could choose more things: who you love, who loves you back, who came before, who comes after. And because you know that, despite these imperfections, there is a kernel of something so right and important it just can't be discarded. And because you're old enough to know that all things go and shift and mutate and change in the strangest ways.

And actually, maybe it's less of A Very Bad Idea and more just a tricky piece of navigation. Strange, unpredictable waters.

It's a puzzle. And it ties my tummy in knots sometimes.

Rock lobster

Last night I went with a group of people to The Barking Crab, a seafoody restaurant down by the water. I grew up partly in Maine, and went to Nova Scotia every year, and so grew up eating lobsters by default. It's never been fancy food for me -- special, but not elegant in any way. It's primal food, with lots of hands-on smashing and cracking and squelchy bits flying all over the place.

I've been craving lobster for the past month, so I decided to get one (despite the $20/lb market price -- my god). Toes got one too, and he'd never eaten a whole one before, so I promised to walk him through the procedure. When the bright red bug arrived, he looked a little daunted and grossed out, but dove into it with admirable gusto. (At least until he got to the part where you have to separate the tail from the body, which I have to admit is kind of oogy. There's a lot of green slimy stuff in there.)

Since the Barking Crab tries to be all rustic and shit, they don't have the normal metal nutcrackers I'm used to. Instead, there's a smooth rock on the table. The smashy-smashy "me use rock" thing is fun, but not the best tool for the job, since you end up squishing things along with cracking them. Still, it worked pretty well. Though it was covered with butter and lobster juice about halfway through, which made wielding it a little dangerous.

Lobster eating is serious business for me, and it's not like I get to do it every day, so I make sure to get every bit of meat there is to get. I sucked it out of the little legs, and found the little pockets between the gills. These were actually the best lobsters I've had in a long time, packed full of good stuff.

I had to scrape some tamale and juice out of my hair and off of my skirt when I was done, but a little mess is worth the pleasure.

Stuff, and things

I feel antsy today, without focus.

I seem to have developed Claritin-proof allergies. Annoying.

It's been a week since my last bike ride, and I'm itching to go on another one.

I have a strange and mysterious bruise on my left hand.

I ran out of new things to read last night, and so I had to resort to perusing the stupid Crate and Barrel catalog over my morning coffee. (Help me, Bookdwarf!)

I'm liking the weather today, but my office is freezing.

My room looks like a bomb hit it. Someone please save me from the laundry, unfiled bills, crinkled New Yorker and Weekly Dig magazines, books, empty water bottles, CDs, and other detritus before it buries me.

I got an email from the MSPCA this morning, asking for money (Flash the horse was 600 pounds underweight when they rescued him!), and it made me cry. I don't even like horses all that much. I am such a softy.

I can't wait to see Peaches Friday night. Bring on the hotpants and pink strap-on dildos!

I'm also excited to get crabs tonight. (Yeah yeah, not those crabs.)

Life is kind of exciting in general right now. Not in any major life-changing ways, but in lots and lots of small bits and pieces.

Fleshy

On days like this, I wish I could walk around naked all day. The thought of clothing -- or anything, really -- touching my skin is very very unappealing.

But then I think, if I get to walk around naked, then everyone else might too, and there are a lot of people I think I would rather not see naked. Although, it would be a pretty interesting day. Naked Day, full of double-takes back-to-back with theatrical cringes. Fleshy sensory overload.

Escape

I feel sweaty and hot and maudlin right now. Maybe it is the beer. Maybe it is all the pictures of babies that have been thrust upon me all day. Maybe it's the return to the workaday world after my fun birthday weekend. I dunno.

I think it's time to eat a chocolate chip cookie and watch some Firefly.

Wang chung

There are two kinds of people: those who don't really like birthdays and would rather they pass unnoticed, and those who like to celebrate them with gusto. I am one of the latter, and I like to organize multi-day extravaganzas to mark the anniversary of my birth.

The 2nd annual pre-birthday pilgrimage to Six Flags was hot, sweaty, adrenaline-filled fun. We were there from about 1pm until 9:30, riding rides, eating greasy foods, and guzzling water and frozen lemonades. The special Flash Pass was a terrific idea -- more time to sit in the shade, which helped stave off heat stroke. The Superman roller coaster is still my favorite ride, and we managed to get on it three times, each equally fun. I think you probably could have heard my cackling screams (scrackles?) over in Springfield. Mr. Six's Pandemonium was pretty fun, too, even though we didn't spin around nearly enough. (Whoopee!) And Colleen bought me the most awesome t-shirt, which I will cherish forever. It was a long day, and the drive home was kind of brutal, but we made it back safe and sound.

Saturday, I puttered around all morning, doing some chores and watching some Scrubs, and then I went to get my massage from the incomparable Lynda. She worked on me for about 90 minutes, eventually getting something in my neck/shoulder to crack and consequently unfreezing my right side. She's the best. Weary from Friday and Lynda's painful-in-a-good-way ministrations, I tried to take a little disco nap. I didn't fall asleep, but laying down for an hour was a good idea. It was going to be a long night.

Originally, I wanted to go to Central Kitchen for dinner, but they weren't able to seat a big group, so I called Green Street Grill instead. They were very nice and accommodating (even when I changed the reservation from 7 people to 9, 10 minutes before we got there), and the food was delicious. My sister gave me a new photo album, and Erin presented me with a crocheted squid. I passed my camera around, telling people to take pictures. I commented on how I always give my camera to other people, but that I've never gotten a picture back of, say, someone's balls. "I want to see some genitalia, people!" Be careful what you wish for.

After dinner, most of us headed over to Jacque's Cabaret for the drag show. It was a lot of fun, though I was a little sad we couldn't get closer to the stage. The floor was full of bachelorette parties (a bunch for lesbian weddings), and so we sat back a bit at the bar and whooped it up from there. Aaron got some good pictures, and I went up at one point with my camera and a dollar, to stuff in Mizery's or someone's bra, but I forgot to do that, and somehow the dollar ended up in my bra instead. Hmm...

When the show was over, we headed back over the river to People's Republik, where we stayed until closing. Things were a little blurry at this point. If anyone can fill me in on what we talked about (and maybe who stepped on my foot, ouch), I would be most appreciative. I'm pretty sure whatever I said was incredibly indiscreet, but that's just how the Vieve rolls.

Sunday, my actual birthday, was quiet and full of lounging and greasy brunch and The Big Lebowski and Best in Show and Thai food and phone calls from family and friends and lots and lots of water. It was a great weekend, and I send big hugs and kisses to everyone who came out and sent good birthday wishes. I have the best friends.

Sex Flags

I keep typing that wrong. That must mean something. Perhaps that I am a bad typist. Hmm...

I'm headed to Six Flags today, for my annual pre-birthday pilgrimage to the nearest land of roller coasters...

Sorry there, I was just in front of my mirror doing a little herky-jerky "I'm goin' to Siiix Flags, uh uh uh uh huh" dance.

So, yes. We have coupons for buy-one-get-one-free tickets, so I think we're going to splurge on the Fast Pass. I've always looked at those groups askance when I've seen them saunter up to the ride from their special entrance. What pansies, so bourgeois. But it's going to be 96 and sunny and humid today, and I'd rather be a pansy in the shade than a hard-ass with heat exhaustion.

Time to pack up and get ready to head to Agawam, suckahs!

Better than I think

This morning, I went on a 20-mile bike ride to Lexington and back. I woke up at 6, waited for toes to wake up his groggy ass and haul it across Cambridge, and hit the road around 7:30. We took the bike path, and made a little side trip up the big(ish) hill in Lexington. I rode on the street, and I was nervous, especially when we made left turns in morning traffic, but I did it, and I didn't freak out at all (outwardly, at least). It was a great ride -- steady and sweaty, but not too exhausting.

I've had a lot of reminders lately that I'm better than I think I am. Smarter, saner, more honest, cuter, more capable, stronger, sexier, more adventurous, kinder, and so on than I give myself credit for. My inner critic is a real cranky bitch, prone to hyperbole, and I need to remember that.

Tinkerbell

I'm turning 31 soon, which seems like a big number to me. It sounds kind of, well, old. Mature. Grown up. I don't really feel that way, though. Sometimes that's a not-so-good feeling: I wonder why I'm not more settled, why I have 3 roommates instead of my own house, why I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up, why I'm not where I thought I would be by this ripe old age. (What that "where" is, I'm not quite sure. Just that it was different in my 21-year-old imagination.)

But usually it's kind of glorious and fun. I get carded at the liquor store and at bars (and sometimes they do a little double-take when they see the 1975 there on my license; one time last summer, the bartender almost turned me away because she looked at it quickly and thought it must have read 1985). I have a pretty carefree life, comparatively -- I can stay out late, or sit on my porch for hours reading, or eat popcorn for dinner, without worrying about what kind of example I'm setting or being pulled away by someone else's need for my time and energy. 14-year-olds check out my ass (hee). I'm not stuck -- in a rut, in a career path, in a shitty marriage.

I don't want to get old, and I don't think I ever will. Even if I eventually have that mortgage, that husband, those kids, I don't ever want to be stuck or beaten down by life or soured by existence. I want to wear pigtails, and keep makeup-y gook off my face so you can see my freckles, and wear fairy wings when I go to the circus, and go to Six Flags and scream on the rollercoaster, and have sudden cravings for chicken fingers and ice cream and just grab a friend and go, and dance until 2AM, and run through sprinklers, and play skeeball, and never ever wear pantyhose or a suit. Live with joy, and mistakes, and ridiculous situations, and spontaneous adventures, and gut-busting laughter, and wriggly victory dances.

I'm not old, and I'm old enough to know that. But boy, am I going to embarrass my hypothetical future kids some day.

Hot wheels

Look at my new bike!

A 2006 Specialized Sirrus hybrid, in black, an early birthday present from my parents. It is gorgeous. I can't wait to go for a long ride. I also got a lock, so this one won't be stolen away under cover of night.

I think I'm going to go down to the basement now for a bit and gaze at its black, mysterious, shiny beauty.

Frustration

Last night, I decided I wanted to go to Cabot's in Newton and get something greasy to eat -- chicken fingers, yes! -- and an ice cream sundae. Cabot's opened in 1969, and I doubt it's changed much since. Lots of vinyl booths and breakfast all day. It's like a family-run, local, good Friendly's. Nothing fancy, but comforting, and the ice cream is top notch.

So, I picked up my indulgent friend (who agreed to go even though he had biked 68 miles that day and was exhausted and headachey and full of Indian food), zipped down the Mass Pike a couple of miles, and...it was closed. Fuuuuuck. I trudged out of the car to the front door, and they were closed for their summer vacation. Which I can't begrudge them, but...poo.

I still wanted chicken fingers and ice cream, so we drove around Newton kind of aimlessly for about half an hour. ("Don't worry, I know where I'm going. Sort of.") Finally, in Newton Highlands (where they have the thickest brogue of all Newtonians), we found a pizza place across the street from an ice cream place. It would have to do.

It was not as good as Cabot's. No vinyl booths or chipper waitresses. My ice cream was a little funky and icy, like it had melted and been refrozen (though the hot fudge was terrific). I was disappointed. I really had my heart set on this one thing, and I couldn't have it, and it made me pout. But I forged ahead, and tried for something else, and it wasn't as good as my ideal, but it was still fun. I had good company, my belly was suitably distended from grease and full-fat dairy, and flashing hairy girl pits and big ol' man ear piercings around the western suburbs is always kind of satisfying. ("Oh my, we're not in Cambridge anymore, are we.") And Cabot's will be there next week. I'll just try again.

But then, this morning, I tried to go to the gym at 6:30, so I could get some biking and rowing in before breakfast with my parents. But it's not open until 7:30, which is too late for me to go. Which is frustrating. And I had the most frustrating dream last night, about flying to Cambodia but not being able to find the damn plane and having to run around all Amazing Race style, and ended up with me whining, "I lost my yummy snack!" Oof. I hope this isn't the start of a trend.

Stuckness, gobblegobble, and blazing productivity

I've had a rough week. I've felt stuck in an impossible situation, and it's made me sick and panicky and exhausted. I'm making small moves to extricate myself, though, and I feel better already. For the moment, at least.

A friend tells me the Kendall Square turkey is back, preening himself and gazing at his lovely visage in the windows near the Biogen building. (Last time, he was by the Volpe Transportation Center.) You should go by and say hi. But don't take pictures of the buildings. It makes the security guys cranky.

Today I paid bills (including rent -- sorry, Mr. Landlord), renewed my driver's license online, and ordered new checks. It took me, oh...20 minutes, but I've putting it all off for over a week. Sometimes I'm very very silly.

Dinner

Tonight I ate edamame salad and flax seed granola in soy milk for dinner.

I am such a fucking hippie.

Sammich

I've been feeling pukey and dizzy off and on for the past few days. Tired and spacey. Am I dehydrated? Anxious and intermittently panicky? Low blood sugar? Exhausted?

Yes, yes, yes, and yes. Oof. I've had at least 2 liters of water today, fruit, chats with friends about the various crap that's on my mind, and, just now, a big ol' tuna sammich. I'm hoping another chat I have scheduled this afternoon, plus a lot of sleep this afternoon/tonight, will set everything right. Fingers crossed. I'm tired of feeling yucky.

Connect

I want to connect. I want to form ties. I want bonds and bridges. Pretty relationships (of all kinds) wrapped up in neat packages with cute bows have appeal. But connections are always tenuous, and they make me vulnerable, and I fuck up and they fuck up. And neat packages are only just for show -- they aren't real. Real is messy and chaotic, unpredictable and strange. Scary sometimes. But god, so exciting.

I've been trying to forge ahead through the currents. Maybe it's time to yield a bit. Float. Glide. It doesn't have to be such a struggle.

I kept standing like I'm 5'8" instead of 5'4"

I've had the same conversation at least three times this week:

"Yeah, well, I am pretty short."
"What? How tall are you?"
"Five-four."
"What? Really? You seem taller."

Today I told someone about this, one of the shortness-disbelievers, how no one seems to think I'm so small at first, and he said, "I know now that you're only 5'4", but you carry yourself like you're 5'8"."

I love this.

Apricot and the Sassy Pits

If I ever start a band (you know, if I learn to play an instrument or something), that's going to be its name. Rawk.