I was packing up some of my clothes yesterday to get ready for the big move (today) and decided that such a task deserved at least some background TV so I flipped on Oprah. Watching Oprah has actually become a secret habit of mine when I head home early to “take the dogs out” or lately “pack up some stuff.” It’s Oprah time and what better to do at 4 p.m.? I didn’t know Brooke Shields has such bad postpartum depression after her baby was born!

I positioned my boxes right on the bed so that I had a good view of the television and thus the “background TV” was pretty much foreground. In fact, I’d say watching the show, and not the packing, was my primary activity. But Oprah tells it like it is. Yesterday she had on these women who have hoarding disorders. Women whose homes were a wreck because they could not get rid of anything. One had dog poop all over her house and she explained to Oprah, “those are my puppies! I love them!” Jesus, woman. Anyway, I started two piles - clothes I was taking, and clothes that could go to Goodwill. I’ve been meaning to do some sorting so this was as good a time as any. I picked up this one pair of strechted out, high-waisted, rainbow-colored underwear that I got at Victoria’s Secret in about 1992 and thought, “Awwwwwww, I’ve had these for so long!” before I threw them in the pile I’d take with me to my new home. Then I looked up and watched this woman tell the story of how she had, like, 81 cats, and thought about these women, keeping stuff so just not to have to get rid of it, and I thought about pizza boxes stacked to the ceiling and I put that pair of underwear in it’s rightful place, the trash can.

I was looking through “Together for Life” this morning, my new favorite book with which J and I will plan the religious portion of our wedding. I was telling him that there are some passages from the Bible that are out as far as I’m concerned when we are choosing what we want read during the ceremony.

First of all, the passage that talks about how women need to “be obedient to their husbands,” and how you shouldn’t “wear gold bracelets” and dress yourself up because that should “be inside,” - that’s out. The first part for obvious reasons and the second part because I do like to wear, if not gold bracelets, then gold earrings and also cute, sometimes expensive shoes and the like. And you can’t put fashion “inside.”

I also don’t want the passage that talks about how fornication is bad, because first of all, that’s untrue, and secondly, I don’t think the people at the wedding are mature enough to handle that kind of language without laughing a little. I’m certainly not.

I was listening to the local radio show “The State of Things” on NPR several days ago. The show featured a religious roundtable, during which various leaders of various religious sects talked about issues important to them. One guy, Imam Abdul Waheed, of the Islamic Center of Durham, was talking about how in his religion people didn’t stop working or doing anything else on Sunday, because in his religion, the day of the Lord is Friday. He was all into how Friday people should come together and get excited and all, and he read this passage from his religious book of praise that said something like…”And the Lord, and his people, should come together on Friday, and we shall celebrate Friday with our mirth.” And I want that read at the wedding.

I was telling J about our escapades last night, documented on this webpage in fact (there will be no more of that…), this morning, and mentioned we’d played Twister, which I hadn’t played in forever, and that it was so much fun. J said he didn’t think he’d ever played Twister. I found this astounding. But maybe it was because he was too busy playing Policeman da da da.

Once, while we were hanging out with his good friends from college, J was telling some tales from his childhood and spouted off something about “Well, when we were little and we’d play Policeman da da da…” and then kept talking as though this was totally normal. “Wait a second,” we countered. “Policeman da da da?” And J just gave us blank stares like we should have known what this meant. We didn’t, and all agreed it was something we needed to hear - after all, this was the kid whose mom used to wake him up in the middle of the night, tell him to get up because the family was driving to Disney World, wait until he got sufficiently excited, and then gleefully inform him she was just kidding. Surely other childhood wonders existed in young J’s life.

Here’s how it works: Policeman da da da is a game J played with his two younger sisters in the swimming pool. He would be the bad guy - a typical character was a stranger trying to give them candy - and the girls would scream, helpless, no one to save them. Just in time, however, J would go underwater, do a quick transformation of mindset and emerge, shouting, “Policeman da da DAH!” He turned himself into a policeman and so could save his sisters! Once he became Policeman da da da J would catch the bad guy (himself) and put the bad guy (himself) in jail, appropriately located behind the pool ladder. That’s right. He’d put himself in jail. I’m hoping this innovative game will catch on here in North Carolina. I have a feeling it’s gong to be a summertime favorite.

it wont be the LAST5 POST. just he last drunken post.

dear Blog,
tonight, anna,milloni, jen, derek and i decided to celebrate jen’s first semester of law school being over. we drank drinks, talked the talk. one thing we did also was to play twister, which is exquistite once you’ve had a few!!

a few things….
tom - LEVEL 14 BABY!!!!

j - you are not on the level but i love you.

the thog is , who knows what??? i wont’ do this agai9n but i feel the need to yell some throw downs.

anna says - can i get a god damn????

milloni says - i WILL make out w/cara for 500 bucks!!!

derek - i love lamp.

jen - sex and drugs, baby, sex and drugs.

thank you for listening. i promise this will be the only and last post.

just a note to my audience. = i know there are only about 10 of you, but thank you so much for readinging my writing. it emans mopre to me than you could ever know. i’m totally serious, despite all the wine.

xxoooxoxoxoxox
cara maria

This morning, after bringing the very first box of stuff over to our new house, I drove up Airport Road towards Franklin, which will be my new route to work once we move. As I’d been planning, I drove up Franklin, found a great parking spot, and walked to Starbucks to get a tall, skim latte. I fear this will become a habit as I’m going to be passing Starbucks every day on my way to work, something I’ve never had to deal with before.

I like walking on Franklin Street in the morning because it’s the busiest place anywhere close to where I live, which isn’t really saying much. People are, however, catching the bus, going to class, and getting tall, skim lattes or other favorites. This morning there was a slight whiff of exhaust fumes in the air, always a pleasant (yes, I mean that) reminder that my life does not revolve around the rural landscapes, customs, and accents of North Carolina.

I also noticed students on my walk up Franklin to Starbucks. This isn’t unusual, after all, it’s a college town, and it’s easy to spot them with their backpacks, walking to class or getting breakfast or telling weekend tales, much like I used to do on similar mornings up and down Commonwealth Avenue in Boston. Two girls crossed my path at one point, obviously students, chattering on about their weekends and their days ahead, ending the conversation, “Will I see you at lunch?” “Yeah, I’ll be at lunch.” “See you at lunch!” And suddenly I was filled with an inexplicable joy at their interaction. College! And for the first time ever I saw them as in a totally different stage of life than I was. I probably wouldn’t pass anyone on my way to the coffee shop and I certainly wouldn’t make lunch plans at some communal dining hall or favorite hang out. Instead I would go to work and obsess about my current state of being. No carefree “see you at lunch!” could ever save me now but strangely enough for the first time ever I felt absolutely no regret, longing, or affinity regarding those college years, long gone. It was only a week ago that I spotted students lounging along the sidewalks in flip flops and tank tops enjoying the newly warm weather and I thought to myself “IF ONLY!” wishing I could regain that state of mind. But this time - nothing of the sort. They made me smile with a remembrance of things past and absolute acceptance of things present. Not that I’ve ever heeded the “college is the best time of your life” credo. In fact, I’ve always hated it when people utter those words. But this morning under grey skies on my way to get my favorite coffee drink it became startlingly clear that I have moved on. To what? Wondering what’s next in a far more urgent fashion than I ever could have mustered during those glorious college years? Yes. And someday I’ll look back on this.