Purging Thursday, Jan 10 2008

It feels so good to purge your belongings. For me, it’s not just about more closet space, but it’s a cleansing ritual that begins with Chaos and ends with Order. With each item, I am deciding my Destiny. Am I the kind of woman who owns this? Who wears this? Who cares about this? After relocating twelve times in the past 4 years, it has become basic routine to cut down and cut back, then cut out. I was going to move to New York. I was going to be decidedly Poor and decidedly Happy. Now I am back in the trap of Midwest Materialism and I buy t-shirts instead of seeing Broadway plays. My mind strives for Simplicity but fails to find it in the midst of this constant disarray. I vow that with this change of locations will also come a change of Lifestyle. More Creation. Better Nutrition. Stronger Conviction.  

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Won’t you be my neighbor? Saturday, Jun 30 2007

Our neighbors have moved. Quite arguably my favorite neighbors, but I’m not inclined to choose favorites. The new neighbors, whose names I don’t know, are not friendly nor remotely social, hence my not knowing their names. I have seen them in their yard only once, when they spent a bit of their afternoon picking up leaves that had fallen haphazardly onto their lawn.

They live in the home directly behind us. One of my best friends used to live there, so him moving was a farewell to a childhood hangout as much as a loss of close familiar company. I was rather upset upon hearing the new of relocation. I can’t begin to know why, as I will probably move from my own home sooner than later and return very infrequently. Nonetheless, I am depressed about it. For the remainder of my time here I will hear unfamiliar voices and be forever wondering what the “new people” are up to. How will I get anything done?

I heard just today that the new neighbors are already planning to erect a tall fence on all three sides of their backyard. I find this to be insulting. Fences I don’t mind, for privacy’s sake, but I feel that they should at least get to know us before they decide we are the kind of people who need to be shut out.

It is a shame, the whole business of moving. The whole matter of change is exhausting and disheartening. Unless, of course, you are the one who is leaving.

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If you rent it, they will come… Monday, May 21 2007

I’ve been awake for ten minutes and I can tell it’s already going to be a bad day. I awoke to the sound of someone banging on my front door. Knowing it was someone who had come to pick up the chairs and tables we had rented for my grad party this past weekend, I threw on my glasses and raced down the stairs. I open the door to find three of the hottest guys I have ever seen in northeastern Wisconsin. My jaw nearly hits the damn floor as I realize that not only are they gorgeous, but I am in my pjs and not exactly bringing my A-game. So I open the garage for them and immediately call my mother. (Can you tell that being on the phone is my pretend protection?) So I quietly talk to my mom while I pace around in short shorts and an oversized shirt and watch these wonders of genetics carry away plastic chairs.

Are you kidding me with this?

See, the concept of a “hot rando guy” in this town is virtually non-existent for me. Guys I meet either aren’t terribly good looking or I already know them from high school or whatever. To find nice, polite, handsome men that I don’t know – ones that come to your house to do man-work no less – is a miracle! And apparently the most appropriate way to greet a miracle is with bed-head and no make-up.

What would a halfway intelligent, classy girl have done? Well, for starters, she would have taken an extra second to review her appearance. Maybe changed clothes. Then she would have made interesting and enchanting conversation with them instead of hiding behind a cordless phone. She would have perched somewhere like, “oh, hello, I’m fabulous, would you like my phone number?” except she wouldn’t have to say it because they would already have asked. All three of them.

Ugh. I have no game and no chance at ever having a boyfriend again.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to spend the rest of the day self-loathing and figuring out a reason to rent more chairs.

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Like Night Monday, May 7 2007

I will die in Wisconsin,
wishing I were anywhere else.
It will seem like night, though the evening is young.
I’ll look through the window,
shade half drawn,
and be mesmerized by the falling snow.
Staring at the impersonal sky littered with streetlights,
I’ll remember my childhood
and my days free of worry,
before I thought everyone wanted to hurt me.

I think it will be a Monday;
A lonely Monday, though crowds
gather outside my bedroom door,
never the foot of my bed.
My neighbors will be too busy to send their condolences,
too annoyed to say anything pleasant.

Renee McNamara is dead. More than dust will remain:
Pictures of a Hollywood smile; poems
that no one else wanted to read;
and music that only she heard.

- RM

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A Message From The Bean Friday, Dec 29 2006

In about 17 hours, I will be on my way to St. Louis, via the Japanese Sled (aka, my Nissan Sentra). I’m all sorts of nervous for all sorts of reasons. I’ll be meeting people that I have to convince to like me, which is nerve-racking in itself, but my main issue is the revisitation of a city that I loved so much for so long. To me, the city represents a life I had planned for myself that no longer exists. I wonder to myself if I can seperate my old life from my new one. I guess we’ll see.

This break was good. I guess I could have called some different people, but I didn’t. I stayed up much too late, drank too much alcohol, and laughed until I cried every single day. I heard J pretend to be Nurse Latina Emilia, got called a “bitch” for referring to poultry, and was called every variation of my high school nickname known to man. (Bean, Beaner, Bean Factory, Bean Wad, Beany, Bean Face, etc etc.) It feels like home, which of course it should, because it is. I’m a big fan of people and situations at school that make me feel like home, but sometimes I forget that there are people and things that don’t just REMIND me of home, but are the very definition of it. Those people are my favorite.

Ok, it’s time to start packing and whatnot. I’ll give you greetings from the Show Me State soon enough.

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On the Wisco Agenda Thursday, Jun 15 2006

Deep Thinking
Wine Drinking
Journal Keeping
Heavy Sleeping
Depth Seeking
Life Critiquing

– RM

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Winter in Wisco Tuesday, Dec 21 2004

My life is a cycle of anger, actions, and apologies.

I sit typing in a towel and every once and a while I glance outside at the blizzard happening on the other side of my window. I left Indiana in a t-shirt and can’t find a winter coat thick enough to keep me warm in Wisconsin.

Christmas is on it’s way, and only a few days until Santa brings his cheer. From living in Indiana, and in the Delta Zeta house, my mind is not focused on “Christmas” but on “Christmakah” and the “holiday season” and other variations of politcally correct well-wishing that includes Christians and Jews and anyone else that may not be all about Santa or Jesus or either.

It’s strange to return to my northern roots and hear the accent and feel the cold and see only Wisconsin plates as I drive down the ice-laden neighborhood streets. It’s a different world. And soon I will have to face my fears of what Christmas will bring and what attitude I will be forced to have. But more importantly, I need to take this time to figure out my next semester life. Will I be a dedicated student? Will I party more? Stop my political activism or become more involved?

The cold wind will kiss my nose as I walk to my car in a while so I can continue the ritual of Christmas gifts. As Cartman would say, “Jesus was born and so I get some presents.” If you want to come along, you know the number.

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