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Some of you may recall my movable type days and the serious magnitude of comment spamming that occurred here on loafe. That is one of the main reasons I made the switch to wordpress.

But I’ve been found again and those spamming bastards are back with a vengeance. They hate me, they really hate me. I am doing bulk deleting of all spam comments, but it’s highly possible that legitimate comments from spam-free readers find their way into the trash. I apologize in advance.

I suppose I also apologize for not posting more often, but I’m not in what one might call the best of situations, so bear with me. Despite my wishes, we’ve ended up temporarily living in western MA. It isn’t so bad, but it isn’t really where I want to be. When I lived in Boston, I fell in love with the city, not with small (way too small) towns deep in the heart of Massachusetts. I do like the quiet and all the trees and naturey bits, and people *seem* to be a bit more friendly out here, but I’m a city gal and my heart is longing for some city action.

Now, if this were the Gilmore Girls and I were living in Stars Hollow, that’d be a different story entirely.

So many things to talk about (especially considering the current state of this country), so little time. I’ll just not say anything, except I’m reading that book “french women don’t get fat” and I like it and there is some good advice and I really really really LOVE the idea that it’s okay, in fact it’s necessary, for food and eating to be pleasurable. But those french. man alive. I have such love-hate for them and it’s very difficult for me to know whether I hate them because I’m merely jealous or because they’re so damn obnoxious. It’s all that self-righteousness and self-aggrandizing. But I can only dream of being so cool.

I like that the book is helping me become more aware of myself and my actions, in every aspect, not just eating. And it’s inspired me to bring more class, more grace, into my life. It’s a nice thought. I like the idea of being more elegant and respectful. I’m not going to go crazy about it and be as frou-frou as the french, but a little bit couldn’t hurt. I’ll throw everything into a bowl and mix it up and be a bit frenchy and a bit hippy and a bit pagany and a bit nerdy and a bit crass and a bit spanish. sounds yummy, no?

The way the author talks about France and Paris is quite charming. I’ve always wanted to visit. All those fabulous streets and all the famous writers and artists who have lived and worked there…it’s very seductive and alluring. I can’t wait to go. America is holding me back from being the true artisan that I am (yes, it’s okay to laugh here).

I know it’s been awhile. It isn’t easy to post or even organize my thoughts for a post when I’m living out of a suitcase (well, I don’t actually have any suitcases, it’s more like some boxes and canvas bags) and trying to take care of a very active 1-year-old.

Plus, my lovely little mac isn’t hooked up yet, and I don’t like the idea of making an entry from someone else’s computer. I try to keep my site on the down low as far as family goes. What they don’t know can’t hurt me.

Anyway. I figured it was time for a post. Just gotta make sure I cover my tracks when I’m done. And thanks for the gentle urging, mr. jonathan.

So here we are! Back in Boston. And we’re trying to make things work. You know me…everything is last minute, so we don’t have a place of our own yet. And no jobs. But we have a lot of help. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.

I don’t mean to sound bitchy or ungrateful, because I am very appreciative of everything that people are doing for us. But I kind of wish everyone would let us be and give us a little breathing room. I feel like bobby brown. why won’t they just let me live? I am certain that everything will fall into place and it will all work out, but I need a little time to get things organized and figure it out, decide what’s going to happen, in my own way.

Gordon’s family is very big on the whole “have a plan” mentality. It works for them. It’s not very christa-friendly though. I guess I’m more of the “in the moment, by the seat of my pants” type of person. I’m not big on planning or making arrangements or preparing for the future or following through or any of that sensible nonsense. This may be good or it may be bad (a bit of both I think) but it’s how I operate. I figure things out as I go along. It’s what works for me. Sometimes it works out better for me than other times. And I’m okay with it. Other people though…well they aren’t so okay with it and it drives them crazy and makes them want to throttle me, I’m sure.

So yes, the adjustment period has been a little shaky. We’re trying to do things our way, they’re trying to do things their way and we’re all sort of meeting in the middle. We’ve been dividing our time between Gordon’s mother and Gordon’s sister, as we try to find an apartment and work.

I did have a job all lined up, ready for me to start as soon as we got here. But Gordon’s mother convinced me not to accept the job. It didn’t pay super great, but it was a job. It was money coming in, something we need very much. It was accessible by the subway (well, with a 20-minute walk, but I could use the exercise, boy could I ever, don’t even get me started there) and it would have been good enough for now. But I didn’t want to get Phyllis mad at me, so I declined the job. And now I’m really regreting it.

I have to stop letting people tell me how to live my life and start listening to myself. I know what is good for me and my family and what will work for us and what won’t. I know what I want and what I don’t want. I’m just too much of a wimp to tell other people that…plus, it’s hard when you’re living under someone else’s roof to not try and appease them.

Phyllis is convinced we cannot afford to live in Boston (and she may very well be right) and wants us to move deeper into western Massachusetts. Therefore any job that I go for should not be in Boston. But all the jobs that I can do and that will pay me a semi-decent wage are in Boston. And for whatever reason, she seems quite certain I can find a job that pays me copious amounts of money, without a degree, out in the boonies. Again, she may be right. I don’t know. Maybe moving into western Mass and finding work there is just what we need, but maybe it isn’t and maybe this is something that Gordon and I need to decide for ourselves, rather than having it decided for us, regardless of who’s house we’re staying in. If they didn’t want us here, they should not have said it was okay for us to be here. I hate feeling obligated to people, and it seems that the more people help us, the more they expect us to do as they wish. But I have to play nice. And don’t get me wrong, I do love Gordon’s family. They aren’t evil, they only want the best for us, and it’s great to be so loved and cared for. We’re very lucky to have what we have.

But what the hell is it with families being so good at laying down the guilt trip? My family, Gordon’s family, it doesn’t matter. They know how to pester you in all the ways that count, until you feel so guilty and horrible about yourself that you’re nothing more than a lump of warm, soft clay in their hands, ready to be shaped into whatever they want. It’s maddening. I hate feeling powerless. And when you have no money, there is little else to feel.

Here’s the thing: school starts in January and the last thing I want to do is end up out in Hicktown without a car or real access to public transporation, in a job that I don’t like and that doesn’t offer me the flexibility to go to school in the spring. Because you know what that will mean? That come spring semester, I won’t have the ability or resources to go back to school. And that is simply unacceptable. I made it this far and I’m not about to let it all go because other people don’t think it’s feasible. This my effing life. And no one else has to live it but me. It’s easy for people to tell you what to do when they aren’t the ones having to do it.

Whew. I sure didn’t mean for this entry to turn into a bitching-moaning-whining episode, but I feel better. I’ve faced adversity much worse than this and I know that in the end, I will do what’s right and best and everything will work out. It always does. When people aren’t telling me otherwise, I am confident and secure in myself. Really. It’s true. I think so anyway. I don’t know. Maybe not.

And besides, there is some good news. The sequel to Katamari Damacy is out today (We Love Katamari). I’m going to roll you up into my life!

There is quite the fight of wills going on right now in my little triplex and it’s both amusing and irritating. First off, let me just say that I think it is very annoying that I’m living in a cute little collection of apartments in a shitty neighborhood with shitty neighbors. Even though it doesn’t really look like Melrose Place, the life I envisioned in this little “courtyard” is so displeasing and disappointing, the furthest from MP that you can get.

Anyway, the “family” at the end has for whatever reason decided they should have control over the entire property and make all the rules for everyone else, as it suits their needs. The particular battle happening right now, a battle that has been going on for several weeks, has to do with lighting. Let me briefly explain. There are four property lights, two covering the parking area and then two inside the “courtyard.” My family doesn’t mind the parking lights. But the lights for the “courtyard” have become a real problem for us. One of the lights shines directly into the living room and Ry’s bedroom. And the other light shines directly into my bedroom. And these aren’t soft, pretty lights that turn off and on when they sense motion, which I wouldn’t mind. No, they are bright glaring lights that turn on at sundown and go off at sunrise. In other words, they are on ALL NIGHT LONG. It looks like daylight shining through our blinds. I’m not exaggerating. They’re Altoids-intense, my friends.

These lights were operational when we moved in last year. At that time, the bulbs were a orangey glowy sort, not all that pleasing, but not obnoxious beyond reason. They created a small glow into our rooms, but nothing we couldn’t deal with, we got used to it. There were times when I just wished the lights were gone, because they were so unnecessary, and I had even thought about finding a way to turn them off, but then they just stopped working, back in December, right after the property changed owners. So for many months there was no problem and no obnoxious lights and life was great.

The whole lighting situation surfaced when the “family” at the end decided one day that they didn’t like how dark it was when they brought their three small children home at 11pm at night (which in itself is annoying, because every night, without fail, they come home with crying whining kids and you know why? Because three small children should be in bed sleeping at 11pm at night not running around all over town with their selfish parents and I know I am getting sidetracked here but it truly drives me bonkers). So the “mother” of the family talked with property managers and the maintenance guy came along and fixed the lights and the battle began.

The first night of the lights, we tried to live with it. We really did. But the were a real distraction. Not just a minor annoyance, but a major issue. Like I said, I would have accepted those orange lights, or even better, if they had installed motion-sensor lights. But they didn’t and those bright glaring lights shone into our living space all night long, disrupting our relaxation and sleep. And I don’t see why I should have to live so uncomfortably for the neighbors just because they think it’s too dark (which it isn’t at all, the house next door to our triplex has motion lights that come on when you walk by and they’re so bright light up our courtyard).

So, the next day Gordon took out all the light bulbs. Ahh, calm and peace, at least for us. A few days later, new light bulbs appeared. We again tried to accept the lights, but to no avail. So Gordon unscrewed all the bulbs, but left them in the sockets this time. It’s been this way for a few weeks. Tonight however, swords were unsheathed. When we came home, the lights were working again and this time there was a note on the wall. It said: “To ALL residents….due to bad lighting blah blah blah, please don’t mess around with the lights, blah blah blah, The Management.”

Oh boy. OH BOY.

Now, we’re leaving in two days. If there hadn’t been that note, well, I would have just dealt with it. But that note…it really got to me. I don’t like those people to begin with, they are extremely unfriendly and from what I’ve witnessed, they don’t respect their children very much. And I know for certain that the property managers did not come to our triplex at 6pm on a Saturday, which is when we left, to fix lights and leave notes. Which means that they typed up the note themselves and assumed that because it said “The Management” we’d sit up straight and drink our milk and eat our vegetables.

Needless to say, the lights are off and our apartment is blissfully dark.

Everyone knows it was us messing with the lights, so the fact that the note was there and the line said “To ALL residents” with the “all” part in bold and underlined, and the lights were fixed only AFTER we left (I was home just about all day long), was just the thing to push my buttons. If our courtyard was truly in the dark, if it was impossible to see, I might be more understanding. But there IS light, you CAN see and those fuckers only have to walk MAYBE 5 total feet in the “semi-dark” before they get to their place, which is lit up like Times Square.

I know no one else in the world cares about this situation, but I feel better having vented about it. What is it with people needing 100000-watt light shining over every single step? A little bit of darkness is okay, it’s good, it’s natural. christ in a tin can, people need to end this crazy obsession with bright lights and just enjoy a little night. It’s good for you, good for the soul.

And don’t even get me started on the parking issue we’ve had with the very same family. Seriously, don’t get me started.