rachelpink rides the bus

Sky, Pale, Bathroom

I've got a case of the blues. It's a mild case. More like a baby blue. A bathroom blue. A robin's egg blue. 

Tonight I'm knitting, watching TNG (because those previews for the Star Trek movie are getting me all hot and bothered), and shooing cats away from my yarn. I'm wearing the snowman slippers that Donovan got me for Christmas so whenever I move my feet the little carrot noses flash red. 

This morning I downloaded the new Indigo Girls album off iTunes on Meg's fine recommendation. It's awfully good and familiar in the way that my favorite green sweatpants are good and familiar. Perfect for a blissful weekend at home in bed reading a good book, but not the kind of thing you wear out on a date.

There's something futzy going on with my left eye, I have an unrelated doctor's appointment tomorrow and I might have a cold coming on. I dyed my hair and my roots are kind of pink and I think I might have to spring for another box of a browner color because the pink is mildly ridiculous and decidedly uncute.  

These mundane details floating through my head are helping push away my temporary periwinkleness. 

There are nine million things to be happy and thankful for right now, things as far from blue as you can be. I get it. Just let me extend my weekend-long pity party for one more night. Then I'll move myself along to another color. Like lemon drop. Or chartreuse. 

Ice

I always have a bag of ice in the freezer. 

I could make my own ice, but I find pre-made ice cubes luxurious. 

Tossing, Turning

What a god-awful night. Crazy cats and bad dreams and loud neighbors. 

In my dreams I was in Chicago and I kept running into people from my past (nice people, people I like). They all lived in mansions. They all had a houseful of kids. And, I kid you not, they were all making homemade PIE. Each time I'd leave one of their homes I'd think--I'll never have a mansion and make pie while I live in NYC. It's just too expensive. Then I'd run into someone else and it would start again. Fancy homes and husbands and toddlers and PIE. 

What a low self-esteem dream! I'm glad I'm awake and back to my senses. I'm meeting Vince and Lisa for dim sum. No pie. 

UPDATE: At dim sum, Vince told me this dream means that my biological clock is going off. That can't be the case--when I feel the urge to nest, I get a new cat. And I have no desire for a new cat. Whew! Crisis averted. 

Spring Break

Today I wiped myself off myriad dating sites. Mainstream sites like Match and eHarmony and specialty sites for nerds and fluffy girls. Gone gone gone. 

I took screen shots of my profiles for posterity. I'm a saver. 

I didn't do this because I'm giving up. No, I don't give up. But I did need some space from the Fudgeicles and Chocolate Thunders of the world. And I wanted to stop the constant reminders and matches and special offers and free-communication weekends. 

Run, Rachel, Run

I never put iTunes on my (not-so-new) netbook, so I haven't been able to upload the Couch to 5k podcasts. That's a lame reason not to start running, so today I got it all settled. It was a bit of a pain because I had to migrate my Mac ipod to a PC. . . but it all worked out. The majority of my music remains on an external hard drive in my writing desk--but I'm just leaving it there for when the day arrives when I can buy myself another Mac. I have no plans to be a PC girl forever, maybe just until the threat of being a hobo is a silly memory. 

But I digress. 

So I found the couck to 5k podcasts, and they're loaded. I'm ready. The last time I tried this program I made it to week 3 or 4. I will do better this time. I really liked running, and it's free!  I already have good shoes from my last attempt. For the past few weeks I've been going to sleep early and waking up in the 6 o'clock hour. All the pieces are in place, now I just need to do it. 

Scotch and Soda

At my first TV night Lance ordered a scotch and soda--and I did the same. It was my first scotch and soda and it felt all Mad Men-esque to drink it. 

I don't particularly like scotch and soda, but I keep drinking it. 

When I first started drinking in earnest in college, my preferred drink of choice was Zima--the malt beverage for college girls. It got me drunk fast and it tasted like Sprite. Because I couldn't hold my Zima, I stopped drinking cold turkey until I was a senior. When I did go out I would order a Rolling Rock because I didn't know what else to ask for. . . which explains how most of my drinking preferences were born. 

Cosmos (in a non-martini glass) because I saw it on TV

Whiskey sours because that's what my grandma and grandpa drank

Rum and diet coke because I learned on the Weight Watchers board that it was only 2 points

Wine because it's what you drink at a business dinner 

Hard cider because, like Zima, it goes down so easy

My parents were not drinkers. Not at all. I have to coerce my mom into having a glass of wine at dinner, and my dad only drank a Bud or two when we had our Fourth of July party. Now he drinks lots of water. 

But I like a glass of wine with dinner. Or a few scotch and sodas with my tater tots. My dad calls me a lush, but he also thinks beer is a gateway drug for meth. 

Shelter Me

I was jazzed about this morning's shift at the shelter. Sick of being an inept dog cage cleaner, I decided that today was the day for me to figure out how to do it with speed and efficiency. But then I woke up to two emails from volunteers who couldn't make it. That left me with one person on cats. . . so it looked liked my dreams of dog-cage excellency would have to wait another week. 

After changing into my shelter outfit and eating some of my dad's tasty homemade irish soda bread for breakfast, I zipped over to the R train. Trouble trouble trouble. I noticed a trickle of people coming out of the trains while disgustedly dialing their cell phones. This could only mean one thing--the train wasn't running. And I was right. Ugh. There's no other way for me to get there--it's much too far to walk--so I hailed a cab. 

OK, so I started my shift down two volunteers and thirteen dollars. And if the train wasn't running. . . that didn't bode well for the other volunteers. . . 

When I got to the shelter super star volunteer W. was there. I've never been so happy to see someone in my life! Then I saw A. coming around the corner. He was an unexpected surprise since he's not an official volunteer with my group. And he does kitty cages like its nobody's business! And thank goodness, because W. and A. were the only ones who made it in today. Normally, we have a total of 7 volunteers. Today we had 3 including little ol' me. 

But we got the job done. I started off working on dog cages. When that slowed down I started helping with the kitties. The whole morning was chill and relaxed and we all were in a groove. 

I spent over three hours cleaning, but we did it. The work got done. The animals were napping when I left. The trains were running again. And even though I've really done nothing else today (save some errand-running and napping), I know today was pretty damn productive as Sundays go. 

I Continue to Stimulate the Economy

Right, so because I have an extra three cents in my pocket I decided I needed a new dress for Meredith's wedding. No, that's not right. I actually don't own a single thing that would work for a wedding. Unlike just about everyone else in the universe, I have not been burdened (scratch that, BLESSED) with billions of weddings. Anna's wedding is the last one I remember, and that was eons ago. And on Block Island. Sigh. Happy memories. 

So for Meredith, I needed a new dress! I can't look shabby on my pal's big day. After scouting out a bazillion blogs and websites, I found a delightfully inexpensive saucy red dress at Macys.com. And thanks to Jaimie I found a bonus coupon code which made this pretty little thing come out to forty-eight bucks. 

Super cute, no? It's got an exposed zipper, as you can see. I tried it on in the bathroom at work (so classy, right?) and Jaimie gave it a thumbs up. She also mentioned something about duct tape in lieu of a strapless bra. . . and I'm still trying to wrap my head around that idea. Ouch. 

Born to Run

Can you believe it's been almost a year since I moved into my apartment? Amazing. 

In celebration of that anniversary, I've been listening to some of the songs from my happy mix--a mix of songs that Anna and Meg included in my happy book back when I made the decision to move. 

This morning my iPod kept shuffling to "Born to Run." The more I heard it, the more it made me smile. It made me think of Tammy and Anna and other good people. It made me think of playing the saxophone back in high school and summer nights and dancing like mad. 

Overheard in Apt. D6

5:30 PM 
Rachel arrives home from work, drops her bags, and immediately feeds the crying cats their shared can of Iams chicken pate. 

6:05 PM

Rachel leaves the apartment and heads to her volunteer gig. 

8:15 PM

Rachel returns home and cats begin to scream for more wet food. As Rachel changes into her pjs and takes out her contacts, Foster follows her around while cat-screaming. 

Rachel: Ooooh no. No no no. Just because I came home twice tonight does NOT mean that you're getting more wet food. Stop screaming. You're not getting any. I am NOT kidding. This isn't a joke. Stop. 

Foster continues to  pace and scream. Cupcake compulsively scratches on her cardboard scratcher. 

Rachel: Seriously guys. What's so tough to understand? You got your food. You ate it. Remember? At 5:30? Delicious wet food. Mmmm.

Foster screams in my direction while I warm my pita in the oven.

Rachel: You know what? You're not getting wet food. Nope. None. Never ever again. It's over. Ha. 

Rachel refills the DRY food bowl and hopes for the best.