Here in Katie’s Head

This Saturday night, a couple of my friends threw a cocktail party.

Over the course of the night, several people there confessed to me that they had never been to a cocktail party before and didn’t know what to expect. I don’t think it was a very cocktail-y cocktail party, really.

I brought an old friend as my date because we desperately needed to catch up. A few hours into the party, he gasped when he recognized a guest as she came in the front door. I didn’t know her, but she graduated from our high school a couple years before us.

I knew her sister, though. Her sister is awesome. Back in high school, we took photography together. That was the last year the school had an old-fashioned darkroom. We used to go into the light-proofed closets together to wind our film, because the dark is scary and getting film onto the spindles correctly is hard. I remember taking very few photos worth looking at but having a lot of fun doing it.

I found my old camera — the old, cheap SLR I got for my eighteenth birthday to use for that photography class — recently. I played with it a little, trying to remember how to use it. It still baffles me.

Tonight I got into this stupid mood. Mostly because The Class was really sweet tonight, and damn it, why don’t I have a hot handyman to kiss me in the middle of my flooded living room? Is that so much to ask? So I got out my camera and tried to take pictures. And I’m pretty sure I don’t remember how any of the controls work anymore. I remember the f-stop, I remember the shutter speed, I remember vaguely how they work, but I don’t remember which way I should set them to get the picture I want. And I think maybe my shitty lens is scratched (reminder: don’t loan camera to siblings unless you’ve got collateral).

But if the pictures come out, I have two dozen shots of my bathroom tiles to forever preserve the details of a bathroom that still tells the stories of the previous tenant (specifically, that her daughter got a little wild with the crayons).

Also, the Mirror Project finally updated, so my most recent shot is now up. For the record, I did hang that mirror up, but it fell off the wall and the frame broke a week later. My attempts at repair failed. And I really need to figure out how to use my SLR because my cameraphone takes the worst photos ever.

(And for the worriers: all is not wrong in my life. Work is going really well. I wrote up a tech wishlist last week and was granted everything I asked for. And we have a new Senior Editor for Interactive and he’s way cool. I feel better about my job that I have since…ever. And I had a byline on a big Sunday centerpiece a couple weeks ago. Yay, work. Boo, personal life.)

Posted: 11:58 pm · Category: Misc Friends, Photography · Comments: 3

I can’t recall my parents ever having a genuine argument. Minor disagreements, yes. But real fights, never.

And probably because of that, the thing that makes my skin crawl like none other is when someone forces me into an argument in front of other people.

I can argue in private just fine. I don’t raise my voice too terribly loud, but I will still argue. But not if there’s a witness. I refuse to argue in front of other people. I’ll forfeit if I can’t convince my adversary to postpone or relocate the fight.

That is just background information for the rest of this post.

I live on a block full of people who are quite the opposite. Because public arguments freak me out, I’ve not had the guts to peek out the window and spy on the spectacles that seem to unfold in the street, at the top of their lungs.

My possibly faulty assumptions based on limited eavesdropping have led me to understand that there is a couple who lives down the block who prefer to finish off their arguments with one person fleeing into the middle of the street, shouting some rather alarming ultimatum, and then disappearing (do they drive off? I never hear a car start, but there’s never a reply to the screaming). Last week I saw TWO POLICE CARS in front of what may be their house. This makes me more comfortable with the idea of calling 911 next time I hear one of them yelling in the street.

And there are the neighbors who get a little shouty on the front lawn right before he leaves for work sometimes.

And then there is my duplex-mate, the cat lady who remains very mysterious. Today, for no discernible reason, she stomped to her back door and started screaming bloody murder, calling her cat to come inside. I can only guess that her shrill screams failed to lure the cat.

(I don’t like her cat. Partly because he’s ugly. Also because he’s kicked the pre-existing and more likable cat off my lawn. But mostly because the female cat who is in heat ALL THE FREAKING TIME did not need a male to mate with UNDER MY WINDOW WHEN I AM TRYING TO SLEEP. I’m pretty sure I blogged about having that same problem back in high school. LISTEN TO BOB BARKER, PEOPLE. SPAY OR NEUTER YOUR PETS.)

Anyway. All the screaming, yelling, shouting and other loud angry noises that my neighbors make is really starting to get old. And progressively more unnerving. It seems the renters are more prone to random acts of crazy than the homeowners on the block, but they’re all nuts.

In conclusion: Crazies, please shut up.

Posted: 11:48 pm · Category: Duplex · Comments: None

So maybe I’m not entirely Valentine-less.

:)

Posted: 7:37 pm · Category: Evan · Comments: None

A few weeks ago, I bought Love Is a Mix Tape and read the first half.

Last night I got around to reading the second half. The sad half.

The book is a memoir, written by a music critic about the too-few years he spent with his wife before she died (which he reveals at the start, so I didn’t spoil anything). Each chapter starts with the track listing of a mix tape that he was listening to when the events in that chapter took place. It’s about the music as much as it’s about the relationship, and it’s a great book.

I read the first half with a smile on my face, enjoying the musical references and song lyric quotations. And after the second half, I curled up in the fetal position and cried. And then I thought about a friend who, if we were still on speaking terms, I would love to discuss this book with. And then I curled up on the living room floor, where it is big and open and there is nothing to remind me of anything, and cried some more.

(People who know me in real life are always skeptical when I reveal myself to be the kind of person who cries at sad movies. Or episodes of Grey’s Anatomy (but not this season). Or books. But it’s true. Underneath the snark and eye rolling, I am a crier.)

Last week, I realized that this will be my first Valentine-less Valentine’s Day since my junior year in high school. And then last night I read this book about a guy who loses his wife when they’re still both young, and the lesson I, tired and up far past my bedtime, took away is this: If you’re lonely, that sucks. But if you find someone who is perfect for you, one of you will die first and that sucks even more.

So while I full-heartedly recommend this book, I would advise saving the last few chapters until sometime when you haven’t just had a craptastical week that appears to be leading into another equally craptastical one.

And as for me, February cannot pass quickly enough. March will be better.

Posted: 8:52 pm · Category: Books · Comments: 1