which way does your antenna go

I met maisnon last night, but, in all the excitement of meeting her, completely spaced out on any photo-documentation of the event. Here is how maisnon won over my heart within five minutes of our meeting- she took it upon herself to fix my car clock, by pulling out the driver's manual from my glove compartment, and got my cell phone out of my purse to get the right time. What is not to lurve?!? Maybe you had to be there, but I found it quite fab. Now, every time I check my clock while driving, I smile to myself.

This was all a particularly nice way to meet her for the first time, because I was having one of the lousiest days in recent memory. I am losing motivation by the minute at work. The uncertainty of where I will be in two months' time has induced insomnia, which is not helping in the motivation department any. Worst of all, I had an argument with my brother about all of it right before leaving to meet maisnon that had me on the verge of slamming the phone down on him. I wish I could hurtle some insult at him, but he would not deserve it. He simply does not understand what I am talking about at times; the things that matter to us are just vastly different. Even for that, I can not fault him- some times I honestly believe his outlook is healthier than mine. He can be satisfied by living in a fantastic city, having good friends, having an income that keeps financial worries at bay. I am the malcontent. We were going in circles. He thought we were talking about the same thing, but we may as well have been two different planets orbiting around the sun with unique trajectories. Before a fiasco of massive proportions ensued, my cousin rescued me by calling on the other line, giving me an excuse to exit stage left.

At any rate, I should likely put a disclaimer on this site, forewarning folks that there may be some massive whinging for an extended period of time. I feel like I am caught between the Scylla and Charybdis. And my friend R tried to make it simple for me today, by just asking the question, "How badly do you want it?" It's the right question, but it gives me the wrong answer. A part of me is rebelling against reality, wanting to want everything, instead of wanting what I want most. If that makes any sense. In short, I do not want to leave this city. I could write it a hundred valentines, and probably have in one form or another. There are a million reasons to stay, and only one reason to go.

In the usual tangent, I had reason to smile from ear to ear the other day while listening to the radio. The DJ played a song called Two Girls from a "band out of Maine." This caused me to perk up my ears. My friend A is a Mainer, and years ago, he had dragged me to concerts all over Manhattan when a band called The Rustic Overtones were in town. Even though I rolled my eyes at him, I actually liked their music, and they were electric live. They did a cover of Sledgehammer that used to turn me to goo. I saw them at the Mercury Lounge in Manhattan, the Trocadero in Philadelphia, little venues everywhere in a 100-mile radius of New Jersey. Hey, I lived in New Jersey, I wasn't picky about my social calendar at the time. The band dissolved, just couldn't seem to find their niche, even though one of their albums even featured a guest appearance by none other than Ziggy Stardust himself, Mr. Bowie. I called A as soon as I heard this song on the radio this week, because the vocals sounded strangely familiar. A said- "that must be Paranoid Social Club." And sure enough, it was. Obviously, it's taking very little to make me giddy these days.