Without Email for a Bit...

I'm in Denver, I've moved into a dwelling place where I will be warm and dry. A little too warm, maybe, but after all my complaining about the chilly temps in the Bay Area, I'm going to forgo complaining about the weather until I either lose my windshield in a freak hail storm or am swept away in a tornado.

There's no cable or internet until next Friday. This saddens me on a few levels:

• Blogging will be difficult
• I will be missing an episode of my new favorite show: Flight of the Conchords
• Life without email feels...empty

But hey, I've managed to both blog and pre-order the next Harry Potter, so my internet life is not all that bleak. No need to take pity on me.

Until the internet graces me with its presence once again...

Obstacles in the Road

A while back I had said that when I heard on the traffic report that an object is in the road and slowing traffic I would blog about it and relate it to marriage. It's been a long time coming, but there was a large piece of sheet metal in the road yesterday afternoon. So, here it goes...

At first, I had to think about what a piece of sheet metal in the road means. Isn't it flat? Couldn't you presumably drive over it and be fine? Yes and yes. But sometimes an obstacle arises that we are afraid of. After all, an obstacle is an obstacle. It's out of the ordinary. We'd prefer to drive on the smooth part of the road where we know what to expect, and so we avoid obstacles, even ones we can drive over, whenever possible. We figure the consequences (slow traffic) are worth it as long as we stay secure.

Same as in any relationship. Sometimes there are little things that come up along the way that we would rather avoid than confront (or...drive over?). Keep on ignoring those little things and they eventually accumulate (think traffic jam). Maneuvering through the relationship and feeling as free as a speedster on the open road becomes too difficult for us...sheet metal-like obstacles pop up everywhere and close us in. We all know how it feels to be in a traffic jam--we get tense and frustrated. The same happens in a relationship where you are avoiding problems. Even though you think you are avoiding the problems, they surface in other ways. The relationship can become tense and frustrating.

To me, the lesson is clear. In a relationship, driving over the sheet metal is a matter of communicating. Take the little things as they come. Deal with them before they get frustrating. You might need to slow down a bit, but once you're on the other side, it's smooth sailing...I mean driving.

From the Dog's Mouth
an excerpt from Oscar's diary

Can someone please tell me about cats? I am very curious about them, and they seem to reciprocate, yet when I get near them their tail flairs out like a feather duster and they make this high pitched hissy breathing sound, which also displays their pathetically small yet sharp teeth. I can only imagine what would happen if I tried to initiate play.

In the past month no less than four cats have moved in. They are everywhere, and they must have some sort of cat communication system set up because every time I see one, another soon follows. They use this communication system regularly. It's gotten to the point where I can't go outside without seeing them. I can't take a poo without looking over my should only to find them peeking out from the underbrush. Occasionally they creep closer to me, sensing my weak moment. It's vicious, and I won't stand for it.

I'm not saying that I'm afraid of cats. The reason I ran away this morning was because I still had a lot of landmarks to pee on. And if I appeared to be nervous or jumpy it was actually because the temperature had dropped significantly overnight, and as we all know, my fur isn't sufficiently thick enough to keep me warm. Coupled with being put face to face with a species of animal I just don't understand (and before breakfast, no less), it's evident why I couldn't stay and chit chat with the local cat gang.

And this is the one thing I don't understand: why are cats allowed to roam free? Isn't it evident they are a vicious type and a menace to dogs everywhere? Beyond that, it's not fair that they walk the streets at will while I must remain at the end of a tether. Me, sweet, innocent me, who has never thought of stalking another animal this way (what? birds are animals too? and squirrels? since when?). It's an outrage. I'm tired of their mind games, and as soon as I figure out a way, those cats will be sorry they ever interrupted my business.

No More Talk About Houses

I'm pretty sure I jinxed this one too. We're not getting the cute house on the end of the cul-de-sac. It's turned into an awful situation that could possibly drag on for some time. I'm not even going to speak about houses until I'm living in one.

Skeptical Surveyor

A few weeks ago, I read about a college student who pays for all his partying by filling out online surveys. At the time, I didn't think much of it, just wondered what he would do when the day came to get a real job.

Now I'm wondering just how much he could have been making. I suppose it depends on if he is under-aged or not, because clearly you spend more money if it's actually legal for you to drink. Let's say he is of age and spends $400 a month on booze for himself and the ladies.

If I could make an extra $400 a month, I would be happy. It's not enough to support myself or my husband, but it is enough to help ease the pressure in other financial areas. So today, as I was cruising around Craigslist in search of my dream job (sleeping, reading and writing), I stumbled on one of these survey ads. I signed up. I made $26 in a half an hour.

All of the "surveys" had me take a look at similar websites (asking for people to sign up to take surveys, or trying to find people to find people to take surveys) and giving a two-three sentence response to what I thought of the site. Easy enough. I began realizing, though, that this process could be dangerous to the beginning survey-taker. It's clear that the surveyors themselves are the targets of all this marketing and this survey business. A few sites even asked for a one-time fee. I don't like the idea of giving money to make money. It can't always work out that way.

In order to cash out on my $26, I have to earn a total of $75 first. We'll see how long that takes, since there were only six surveys available today, and there might be none tomorrow. And $400 a month? If I only worked half the month, and did six surveys a day, I could do it. That is, if it isn't a scam too.

Bust out the Boxes!

Having moved every year since graduating high school (sometimes more), I consider myself to be somewhat of a moving expert. Perhaps this is also why I feel completely at ease with the progress I've made packing up the apartment so far. Number of boxes I've packed = Zero. I'm fine with it. Not a bit nervous.

It is true I'm cutting it close, especially with the one-woman team I have to work with (that would be myself, but hopefully not my organism self). Therefore, it is imperitive I begin packing tonight. The best place to start is with books. Now, lest I completely ruin today's blog with boring packing tips, I feel it necessary to end here.

I will, however, make a goal for packing boxes, and that is to pack 6 boxes tonight. That should cover the books and then some.

Yeah, I know, still boring.

I'm going.

Wish me luck...

I'm Not Serious

I fritter away my time worrying about why I can't motivate to take care of little things. If I were an alien scientist observing how this organism I refer to as my self behaves compared to other organisms, I would note that this self organism lays around frequently staring at blank walls or that squalid television set (is this the proper time to reveal I'm not doing so well with the TV ban?). When hooked up to a brain scanning machine, the brain activity produces meatball shapes in neon colors, indicating mismatched synopsis, or, in layman's terms, a lack of a serious hobby or interest.

I would perform simple experiments on my organism self. One would involve a broom, a toothbrush, a drum, and a slightly dirty floor. I would observe how my organism self is drawn to the drum, but because the floor is dirty, refuses to sit down and play the drum. My organism self would stare at the wall just to the left of the broom, allowing the broom's sillouhette to burn its image into my organism self's periferal vision. My organism self would develop a resentment not only to the broom, but also to the floor and the drum. My organism self would brush its teeth to pass the time.

Studies would eventually be conducted to see how my organism self would react to stimulants like book readings, concerts, and political rallies. These studies would be performed only after the organism self had proven its ability to align similar thoughts, problems, and activities. The studies could span years, and might be interrupted by other daily happenings such as marriage, geographical relocation, and family members (these interruptions may also induce a regression to the original state). Overall, the studies would prove to be inconclusive, and the organism self would be declared a dull member of society who only slightly contributes.

But I'm not an alien scientist. And this exercise was an effort to jolt myself back into existence.

Oh Money! Oh Job! Oh No Thank You..................................

If I could still get away with stomping my foot, clenching my fists, and wringing my face up into an unattractive pout (lower lip turned way down, eyebrows plunging toward the ground), I would throw a temper tantrum right now.

"But I don't want to get a job," I'd screech.

That's how I feel inside. My inner child is scraping at me under my skin, urging me to find any way out of this horrible, horrible thing Responsibility is making me do. "Surely there must be some way out of it?" the little child asks, "Please don't say we have to work. I'd rather play all day."

My eye has been caught by various entrepreneurs and speakers. By jobs that claim not to be jobs. By schemes promising me I'll never have to leave my house for work again. Work as a personal shopper or a mystery shopper or someone's grocery shopper. Learn how to get paid to travel around the world. Make up to $75 per hour on your computer.

But I have yet to find the one I am looking for: Sleep in for big bucks. Bonus checks for staying up late reading and writing.

Please keep your eye out for this job listing. I'm sure I'd be perfect for it.

How to Take Over the World

We've all had our stomach take over, driving us around the office, on the prowl for anything, anything to satiate its little growlings. While some people may claim to be in control of their snacking habits, the vending machine tells another tale...

Standing in front of that dratted machine this morning, with no desire other than to appease the pitiful pangs of my belly, I wondered who would be coerced into purchasing a "Smooshed Apple Flat" or the "Cococo Chocolate Organic Crackers." Only the deepest craving could force one to press the corresponding number and retrieve these scary sounding treats (if they can even be called treats). With so little options to vend today, and with such a pressing ache under my belt, I realized I was at the mercy of the machine. I suddenly saw the possibilities: by basing vending operations on a barter system, tasty snacks could be traded for small deeds. Imagine the possibilities. In the wrong hands, it could be dangerous.

While I would not take over the world with this plan (it could be done, by no means is this the most efficient way), I'm thinking of installing one in my house to barter for small chores. You may have a cookie if you mop the floor. You may have a granola bar if you empty the dishwasher, and so on. The beauty of it all is that I won't have to feed my guests anything significant and they'll never notice because the junk food compensation will outweigh their expectations. Believe me, it will work!

New Advice Column

In this vast technological world, us bloggers have to stick together. That is why I am plugging my friend's new advice column, The Cure for the Common Question. Andie, the expert advice-giver, has long dreamed of becoming an advice columnist, and let me tell you, she gives really good advice. She's thoughtful, has great life experience, and is always spot on. I've gone to her many-a-time for words of wisdom, and have never been disappointed.

She's looking for serious questions about the problems you're having trouble wrapping your head around. To submit a question, email her at andieeast@gmail.com. If you have trouble locating this address, I've linked to her blog on this page, which has instructions for getting your question through to her.

Happy Internet therapy-ing!

Happy National Women's Confidence Day

What a great idea. I heard about this on the radio last night exactly while I was reading Virginia Woolf's A Room of One's Own. Woolf was talking about how women (in the 20s) were overcoming the expectations set upon them over the centuries, how the day to day life of a middle class woman was virtually a mystery up until the 1800s, and how even through the 1800s a gifted woman had to hide her work behind a male pseudonym. I started thinking about the obstacles women face in the 21st century, and hearing about National Women's Confidence Day (NWCD) helped to clear things up.

Women are still trying to prove themselves, yet maintain their identity as women. Any year now I'm going to face the decision to continue working or to stay at home raising kids. I have to seriously consider how my priorities will have to adjust when I have a family. And all along the way, I have to have the confidence to make it all work: to maintain whatever work schedule I'm on, to sell my passion as a viable living, and to be the kind of parent I hope to be. Getting much more into the detail than this begins to make my head spin, and my heartrate quickens. Luckily, because I know millions of women carry this off every day, I feel so much better.

And that's what this day of recognition is all about. Here are the goals of NWCD:

• To remind women everywhere to empower themselves with self confidence every day.
• To create an opportunity for women to help other women live more confident and fulfilling lives via educational programs, fundraising, self-empowerment and volunteer work.
• To tribute women who contribute, via education, fundraising, self-empowerment and volunteer work, to other women helping them to gain more confidence and self esteem.

I'm curious to know how Woolf would update her essay 80 years after she wrote it, and especially to see what criticisms of society she would have now. Surely the volume would triple in length with all that's happened to women since Woolf died. But my question is, would Woolf's tune change from having a room of one's own to having self confidence? Well, as far as fiction is concerned, having a room full of self confidence can't hurt.

Some Sort of Rut?

I just realized that I'm in another rut. A blogging rut, at least. All the blogs I've written since getting out of school fall into one of three categories:

• About buying a house
• About my lack of imagination lately
• Cover topics that begin with the letter B

Ok, so maybe the last on is a stretch, because "Bowling Bummer" and "The Banana Bread Blog" cover completely different subjects. But this is also the Blaura Blog, so it's obvious I have some subconscious alliteration thing going on.

So, does this blog count as thinking outside of the blogging rut box? Unfortunately not; it falls into all three categories. Sheesh, I need to try harder.

The Banana Bread Blog

Everyone who has ever baked a banana bread believes that theirs is the best in the world. This is unfortunate, because they are living a lie. Mine is the best.

Ok, I'm willing to share this title with my mother, since I use her recipe. I would extend to her the same right--to bestow the same honor on whomever shared the recipe with her--but I honestly can't speak for their baking method.

I wish that I had a secret to share about the banana bread, but I don't. Perhaps the secret is that I don't try to make it flashy and fancy. It's banana bread, people, not a sparkly bejewelled sweatshirt.

Now the question of quality and perception of quality comes to everyone's mind. The perfect banana bread must not be too dry (I think we can all agree on that, at least). It should maintain the same density throughout (we've all had that bread that gets harder to chew the farther your teeth get from the top). And the top...well, that's where the magic happens. The very top of the banana bread should open like a seam, it spreads just so, naturally, and in tasty goodness. The top isn't crusty, but a moist squishy layer that will stick to your teeth and cling to your taste buds. It's the epitome of the art of baking, where flour and banana and sugar and egg and whatever else the recipe calls for cease to exist as ingredients and come together in harmony.

If only we could each live our lives through the metaphor of the banana bread top. We'd all be pretty special.