the daily snivel
Dinner with Celeste
It had been entirely too long since I'd had the pleasure of spending time with my good friend Celeste, so we made plans to go out for dinner last Thursday and finally catch up. I'd last seen her on Canada Day, when she'd joined us for the festivities and alcohol consumption and fireworks at a friend's place. That night, I lent her my rear bicycle light so that she could have a safe ride home amongst the drunks (see her tale of what happened on the way home that night, below), but also because I knew I'd want my light back someday and this would oblige me to make plans to see her again (instead of just being my usual neglectful self. Nevertheless, it still took me two weeks to have enough time to see her again, what with my ridiculous work ethic and many, many hours of unpaid overtime put in at the Legal Clinic.
Celeste is a tremendously fun person to spend time with, as she is full of amazing stories and prone to unexpected twists and adventures. I've known her for ten years now, since I was 18 and she was 14, actually, and we both had funny coloured hair and mooched around downtown like the cute little misfits we were. Throughout the years her intellect and worldliness have been surprising -- she's been out to get Noam Chomsky for as long as I can remember, but is also well-traveled and knowledgeable about world politics, computers, technology, and indie music. She's beautiful and clever and always makes me laugh. We don't often get to spend time together, since we're both on the go and throw ourselves into work and school, but she's loyal and thoughtful all the same.
Like many single people, we ended up talking about our frustrations with the dating scene and how long it had been since either of us had had sex. I thought I would have anyone beat in terms of imposed abstinence, but Celeste was way ahead of me. We're both kind of picky (despite both professing not to be), and Ottawa is a strange town to meet new people in since people who are at all interesting seem to hook up quickly and for long durations here, leaving outsiders to their own devices.
One of the great stories Celeste told me happened last weekend, during the Ottawa Bluesfest. She wound up as a lone girl in a hotel room with five band members and, instead of what one might think would happen, she charmed the (figurative) pants off the lead singer by talking about Linux, which the whole band then breathlessly joined into because they were all huge nerds who love girls who can talk about computers. Then they all pulled out their Powerbooks and played around on iMovie all night. I swear, that should be a Letter to Penthouse just because everything points to it turning out sleazy, and instead it just makes you think.
After our relaxing dinner on a patio, Celeste and I wandered to her house so that we could pick up her new iBook and to allow her to change. Celeste just bought her Mac this spring, and I offered to install some software for her since she hadn't gotten very far with that yet. I was thoroughly enamoured with the design of her computer -- it is one or two revisions ahead of my beloved 600 mhz iBook, and seemed very solidly put together and looked even more elegant than my own beauty. I envied its speed, amount of storage and RAM, and the fact that it came with a CD-burner (I cheaped out of that option, back when it was even an option, when I bought my laptop, and never stopped regretting it). So, once back at my place, we played around on her computer, installed Microsoft Office, and discussed our mutual discovery that you have to install a whole lot of extra Microsoft software if you want to really watch all those celebrity sex tapes from the internet on your Mac, because those cursed Windows Media Files aren't going to play themselves.
As we talked and relaxed, Celeste commented that I had the most dreadful bed, since this was where we were sitting. I was forced to agree. My bed frame is new and attractive (it's a metal IKEA Tromnsnes bed in black lacquer with brass bedknobs at its four corners), but my mattress is well over ten years old and the box spring isn't much younger. Together, they are a creaky, saggy, lumpy mess. The springs in the mattress have started to poke through the top of the mattress, it sags under its own weight in the middle, and it guarantees a night of tossing and turning and waking up stiff. Flipping it over just makes it sag the other way. One of the many, many reasons I'm not tempted to go out and meet interesting people who'd like to see me naked is that I'd simply be too embarassed to have them in that nasty old bed of mine. Only my cat finds the bed comfy, and frankly he finds shoeboxes that are in fact too small for him to fully squeeze into comfortable, so his opinion has little weight.
Nevertheless, Celeste asked me if I would caress her arms and lightly scratch them with my fingernails, just because she missed being touched by people who weren't solely seeking to make out with her. I was happy to oblige, since I don't get to touch people affectionately very often, and it was indeed very nice to feel the goosebumps on her skin as I gently dragged my nails across her soft arms and ran my fingers along her. She made happy noises and closed her eyes to relax and enjoy the experience more. It was at no point a sexual feeling, just sensual. I think non-sexual touch is a very soothing and necessary component of mental well-being, since it conveys safety and affection and reassurance. I also gave her a small backrub, and we chatted about things that need to be changed about my bedroom, which I admit is a little too loud and busy and full of knick-knacks and posters I don't entirely identify with anymore -- and the whole scheme conspires to make it look like an 18-year-old lives there, rather than a 28-year-old who is a year away from graduating from law school.
When Celeste got too sleepy to hang out much longer, I offered to walk her home and we packed up and made our way back to her place. We talked about the fact that I'd had a crush on her for years, and she reminded me that there was a time when she was ready and willing to have me, but I'd said to her in a cab one night that I didn't think it would be a good idea for us to be romantically involved. I know I'd thought that in the past, though I'd actually forgotten I'd said that to her. But, you know, it probably is for the best. As beautiful and funny as Celeste is, and as lonesome as we can be, we'd probably end up hurting each other. I still have a huge crush on my friend in New York, and anyway I'm still working out and working on my body and not physically or emotionally ready to be dating. And you never know but that it wouldn't work out, and then we might be in the unhappy position of just being awkward around each other.
But I did tell her that I remembered telling her that to be a very difficult thing to have to do.
Update: Let it be known that I actually bought a new twin set this weekend for my bed. I went to the Bay and picked up a magical Sealey Posturepedic (sp. ?) mattress and box spring. I can't wait for them to be delivered. Even the demo model in the store was insanely comfortable. I flopped down and stretched out on the set they had in the store and just imagined what it would be like to sleep in something so comfortable. It was the cheapest set they had and it still felt like heaven. Happy nights, here I come!
Additionally, I started seriously auditing and cleaning up my room, with a view to making it a little more grown-up, even though it will always be funky and filled with objects that have meaning to me. But maybe that's the point -- a lot of the things in it ceased to have meaning, or ceased to reflect my personality, and just made it look adolescent. I took down my Christmas tree lights from the ceiling, and the jack-o-lantern lights from my doorway, I took down the Crow poster and recycled the Jolt Cola can tower, threw out old bits and pieces that no longer had much relevance in my life, and tucked some others away. I mean, my walls are still purple and I still have my vintage Star Wars toys, and my tree frog and many knick-knacks and candle holders and photos and pieces of art on the walls, but it no longer looks quite like the bedroom of a teenager. There's still work to do, but I could totally bring someone home now and not be embarrassed.
Lastly, I'm losing between 1-2 pounds per week right now, and have been for at least a month and a half. I won't say what I weigh, but given that I'm 6'2" and increasingly muscular, I'm really only 50 pounds from my ideal weight. This is a lot, but not as much as it used to be, and really quite attainable. I'm hitting the gym three times a week, I'm bicycling every day, and I'm eating really well. At the gym, I'm doing 30 minutes of cardio, plus bench presses, plus free weights, plus a number of those crazy weight machines targeting upper body muscles (as my legs couldn't get much better or denser with muscle mass). I can flex my arm and really show a number of muscle groups off. It's a wonderful feeling and I'm really encouraged.
Celeste is a tremendously fun person to spend time with, as she is full of amazing stories and prone to unexpected twists and adventures. I've known her for ten years now, since I was 18 and she was 14, actually, and we both had funny coloured hair and mooched around downtown like the cute little misfits we were. Throughout the years her intellect and worldliness have been surprising -- she's been out to get Noam Chomsky for as long as I can remember, but is also well-traveled and knowledgeable about world politics, computers, technology, and indie music. She's beautiful and clever and always makes me laugh. We don't often get to spend time together, since we're both on the go and throw ourselves into work and school, but she's loyal and thoughtful all the same.
Like many single people, we ended up talking about our frustrations with the dating scene and how long it had been since either of us had had sex. I thought I would have anyone beat in terms of imposed abstinence, but Celeste was way ahead of me. We're both kind of picky (despite both professing not to be), and Ottawa is a strange town to meet new people in since people who are at all interesting seem to hook up quickly and for long durations here, leaving outsiders to their own devices.
One of the great stories Celeste told me happened last weekend, during the Ottawa Bluesfest. She wound up as a lone girl in a hotel room with five band members and, instead of what one might think would happen, she charmed the (figurative) pants off the lead singer by talking about Linux, which the whole band then breathlessly joined into because they were all huge nerds who love girls who can talk about computers. Then they all pulled out their Powerbooks and played around on iMovie all night. I swear, that should be a Letter to Penthouse just because everything points to it turning out sleazy, and instead it just makes you think.
After our relaxing dinner on a patio, Celeste and I wandered to her house so that we could pick up her new iBook and to allow her to change. Celeste just bought her Mac this spring, and I offered to install some software for her since she hadn't gotten very far with that yet. I was thoroughly enamoured with the design of her computer -- it is one or two revisions ahead of my beloved 600 mhz iBook, and seemed very solidly put together and looked even more elegant than my own beauty. I envied its speed, amount of storage and RAM, and the fact that it came with a CD-burner (I cheaped out of that option, back when it was even an option, when I bought my laptop, and never stopped regretting it). So, once back at my place, we played around on her computer, installed Microsoft Office, and discussed our mutual discovery that you have to install a whole lot of extra Microsoft software if you want to really watch all those celebrity sex tapes from the internet on your Mac, because those cursed Windows Media Files aren't going to play themselves.
As we talked and relaxed, Celeste commented that I had the most dreadful bed, since this was where we were sitting. I was forced to agree. My bed frame is new and attractive (it's a metal IKEA Tromnsnes bed in black lacquer with brass bedknobs at its four corners), but my mattress is well over ten years old and the box spring isn't much younger. Together, they are a creaky, saggy, lumpy mess. The springs in the mattress have started to poke through the top of the mattress, it sags under its own weight in the middle, and it guarantees a night of tossing and turning and waking up stiff. Flipping it over just makes it sag the other way. One of the many, many reasons I'm not tempted to go out and meet interesting people who'd like to see me naked is that I'd simply be too embarassed to have them in that nasty old bed of mine. Only my cat finds the bed comfy, and frankly he finds shoeboxes that are in fact too small for him to fully squeeze into comfortable, so his opinion has little weight.
Nevertheless, Celeste asked me if I would caress her arms and lightly scratch them with my fingernails, just because she missed being touched by people who weren't solely seeking to make out with her. I was happy to oblige, since I don't get to touch people affectionately very often, and it was indeed very nice to feel the goosebumps on her skin as I gently dragged my nails across her soft arms and ran my fingers along her. She made happy noises and closed her eyes to relax and enjoy the experience more. It was at no point a sexual feeling, just sensual. I think non-sexual touch is a very soothing and necessary component of mental well-being, since it conveys safety and affection and reassurance. I also gave her a small backrub, and we chatted about things that need to be changed about my bedroom, which I admit is a little too loud and busy and full of knick-knacks and posters I don't entirely identify with anymore -- and the whole scheme conspires to make it look like an 18-year-old lives there, rather than a 28-year-old who is a year away from graduating from law school.
When Celeste got too sleepy to hang out much longer, I offered to walk her home and we packed up and made our way back to her place. We talked about the fact that I'd had a crush on her for years, and she reminded me that there was a time when she was ready and willing to have me, but I'd said to her in a cab one night that I didn't think it would be a good idea for us to be romantically involved. I know I'd thought that in the past, though I'd actually forgotten I'd said that to her. But, you know, it probably is for the best. As beautiful and funny as Celeste is, and as lonesome as we can be, we'd probably end up hurting each other. I still have a huge crush on my friend in New York, and anyway I'm still working out and working on my body and not physically or emotionally ready to be dating. And you never know but that it wouldn't work out, and then we might be in the unhappy position of just being awkward around each other.
But I did tell her that I remembered telling her that to be a very difficult thing to have to do.
Update: Let it be known that I actually bought a new twin set this weekend for my bed. I went to the Bay and picked up a magical Sealey Posturepedic (sp. ?) mattress and box spring. I can't wait for them to be delivered. Even the demo model in the store was insanely comfortable. I flopped down and stretched out on the set they had in the store and just imagined what it would be like to sleep in something so comfortable. It was the cheapest set they had and it still felt like heaven. Happy nights, here I come!
Additionally, I started seriously auditing and cleaning up my room, with a view to making it a little more grown-up, even though it will always be funky and filled with objects that have meaning to me. But maybe that's the point -- a lot of the things in it ceased to have meaning, or ceased to reflect my personality, and just made it look adolescent. I took down my Christmas tree lights from the ceiling, and the jack-o-lantern lights from my doorway, I took down the Crow poster and recycled the Jolt Cola can tower, threw out old bits and pieces that no longer had much relevance in my life, and tucked some others away. I mean, my walls are still purple and I still have my vintage Star Wars toys, and my tree frog and many knick-knacks and candle holders and photos and pieces of art on the walls, but it no longer looks quite like the bedroom of a teenager. There's still work to do, but I could totally bring someone home now and not be embarrassed.
Lastly, I'm losing between 1-2 pounds per week right now, and have been for at least a month and a half. I won't say what I weigh, but given that I'm 6'2" and increasingly muscular, I'm really only 50 pounds from my ideal weight. This is a lot, but not as much as it used to be, and really quite attainable. I'm hitting the gym three times a week, I'm bicycling every day, and I'm eating really well. At the gym, I'm doing 30 minutes of cardio, plus bench presses, plus free weights, plus a number of those crazy weight machines targeting upper body muscles (as my legs couldn't get much better or denser with muscle mass). I can flex my arm and really show a number of muscle groups off. It's a wonderful feeling and I'm really encouraged.
