Blaura Blog

2008-12-26T13:09:00.000-08:00

Sweater Obsessed

I won't be talking about shopping here, although part of this sweater obsession has resulted in me being constantly on the lookout for sweaters. And there are some very nice sales out there, my sweater wardrobe is expanding.

The past few weeks in Denver have been chilly. The temperature varies between cold and most extremely cold, and I just can't seem to get warm. This isn't entirely unusual for me, I've always been found heating my bum near the fire, or cuddled up under as many blankets as can be spared. But this year, instead of just dealing with the cold as I've usually done (and in the past I've eventually learned to get used to the cold) I seem to fear the cold. I take extra precautions against the possibility of getting a chill. Each morning I put on at least two layers, top to bottom. If this keeps up, I'll need to buy half my clothes in a larger size, just so I can fit everything underneath. And still, if you believe, with my thickest and nicest long underwear bunched up under my sweaters and pants, I am still cold. Is there some point where too many clothes provide the opposite effect? Perhaps there is a kinetic battle going on between all my layers, and the cold is winning.

I spend a great deal of time at work lately, and the temperature there is never pleasant. I'm still unable to determine if it's colder than most places, or if I'm just the exception. The other workers seem to be split; sometimes they are wearing their coats and scarves, other times they complain of being too hot. Me, I'm sometimes so cold my nose starts dripping.

And outside, I won't be found without my long down coat. Of course, with all my layers on under the coat, I'm starting to feel like Ralphie's younger brother in A Christmas Story--my arms sticking out straight from the sides of my body, and me waddling around like a fat little duck.

This morning I awoke to a wet ground. It seems that rain fell overnight. This is highly unusual for Colorado this time of year. Yet it makes me feel like spring is around the corner. Maybe my being too cold is psychological. Maybe now I can believe I'll be warm once again.

2008-12-25T22:17:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas!

Here is a list of things I like:

My down booties...I didn't even know they made these things until recently, and I don't know why I was asked so suffer to long. If only I can convince B&N that I need to wear these to work.

Snowboarding...I love the free feeling, swooshing down the hill, passing skiers from Texas. I also recently discovered how relaxed I become when I listen to music, and how much easier and more fun snowboarding becomes.

The beaded birds on my Christmas tree...they sort of remind me of the National Lampoon christmas tree, which actually contained a squirrel, not a bird. But these birds perch on the branch and make me happy. Who puts beaded birds on their tree? I do.

Going on dates...David took me out to dinner the other night. How nice it was to feel singled out and special!

Online shopping...my new vice. Victoria's Secret is my favorite for shopping, but lately I've been branching out. It's fun to have a package sitting outside the door when I get home. I think I like it much better than physically shopping because I don't have to worry about other shoppers.

Sugar cookies. I challenge anyone to make better sugar cookies than I do.

Leo Tolstoy. War and Peace, Anna Karinina. Most Russian writers, I like. You should too.

Guessing what I'm getting for Christmas...David hates when I guess right. He likes me to be surprised. I think I'm getting a Nintendo DS this year. Or a KitchenAid mixer. I'll let you know...I have a pretty good record.

Spaghetti...need I say more?

Driving fast...now that gas costs less, is it ok?

Lists...I think lists are great. I like making lists to keep organized. I like using lists for logic. I like seeing objects compared in the same list. I love lists.

2008-12-24T21:49:00.000-08:00

Retail, re tale, re tell

I'm working in a store. During Christmas. I feel this gives me perspective on the human race, how they are feeling, what they are thinking, and what the general mood is out there. After surviving the pre-Christmas shop, I can say that overall I am pleasantly surprised. I expected the masses to be raging, for people to pass their frustration on me--the lowly worker bee. For the most part, this didn't happen. Many people passed along their "happy holidays" and "merry Christmases" and "thank you for helping me because I can't help myself-ises." Of course, there were those who couldn't help themselves. They were complainy, wouldn't be satisfied if I had delivered the products to their home in my bikini, and could have done with a good old-fashioned throttle (ah, how I daydream!).

Which brings me to the next surprise of the season. How short-tempered I've become. Oh how short. tempered. I've. become. Seriously. I'm so easily bothered by how stupid people can be. And how quick they are to treat me like I'm stupid. I cried one day, as one lady impolitely asked me to hurry up and just tell her what the total was, and as she took her dear time writing her check, I just looked over the line of people and realized none of them knew me. How much I like to read. How many instruments I can play. What a delightful sense of humor I have. And the tears came for minutes after that. The customers after her pretended not to notice that I was having difficulty controlling my emotions. No one asked if I was okay. No one told me to take a moment for myself. And ever since that day, I make less of an effort to make the customer care about me. I roll my eyes at them as they struggle to remember the name of the book they drove all the way across town to pick up. I walk away from them before they have a chance to ask another question or (heaven forbid) thank me. I interrupt them when they take too long to say what I already know what they are going to say. One day, a man was in a hurry and decided to take it out on me. I proceeded to move as slowly as possible. What little power I have over the consumer, I have decided to abuse.

This is not me. I don't like it. Yet, I am unable to stop the behavior. Sure, some days are better than others, and I'm able to pull lame jokes out of thin air for the entertainment of my customer, or I'm able to smile through some small abuse. But others are so bad I can feel the hatred seeping out my pores (and I despise anything seeping out my pores). I think the solution is to quit. To stay in bed all day (or for as long as I want), and to never work in customer service again. Problem solved.

2008-09-27T23:20:00.000-07:00

It's Hard To Catch Up

Ok, here's the whirlwind tour of my life...

I'm in school for web design. That technically means my blog page should look better than it does. Maybe it will someday...that's a gauge of my talent-to-be and the capabilities of Blogger. If you see my official blog switch web addresses, you'll know which one it is.

Next...I'm working at Barnes & Noble. I'm sad that I've advanced no further than when I was sixteen--working retail. I'm sad that people call me "hon" to get my attention. I'm sad that I'm not a good gift wrapper, and some poor soul must accept my excuse for a gift-wrapped present. I'm sad that I'll have varicose veins by the time I'm 35. Enough on this subject.

What else...the election? I'm into it right now; it's important to me. Please vote for Barack Obama. John McCain scares me; I'm offended by his choice of Palin; Palin's inexperience makes me wish I was Canadian. During the first debate I kept expecting McCain to rip off his rubber face mask, or to admit he comes from planet of the apes. Admittedly, I used to be a McCain fan. Perhaps that was before he became such a Republican candidate for the presidency. Perhaps it was before he turned into a politician I don't recognize. Enough. Some of my friends (unfortunately) are Republican. I'm working on them....

What else...I don't know that anyone reads this any more. If you do, please let me know. I'll stop pretending like I'm the only one listening.

Love you all (meaning me?)...

2008-06-28T08:31:00.000-07:00

Me So Funny ...........................................................................

Occasionally, I will consider a career--really consider it--and decide I would be great at it. For example, I would be an excellent architect, teacher, golfer, professional Boggle player, and writer. But to be an architect I would need to go back to school for an entirely different education, which I can't afford. To be a teacher, I would need to get over my fear of being mistaken for a student, and I would probably need to be more excited about the actual teaching and less about the long vacations. Golf--maybe I wouldn't be a good golfer after all, but I would bring some long needed style to the game. Boggle--I'm not sure anyone can do this game professionally. And writer--ah, well, I'm still working on that one.

The most recent profession, and I think I could actually do this one if I put my mind to it, is to be a standup comedian. I began watching NBC's Last Comic Standing this season, and after seeing all the failures who think they really have something to offer, I decided there no reason I couldn't join them. Now I go around making up comedy routines in my head. I'll start with a not-so-surprising statement like, "I hate picky eaters," and then I'll imagine a picky eater in my head and I'll make fun of them. Then I'll segue into how I'm not a picky eater, but I'm picky about preparation. I won't eat chicken unless it's been so processed that it looks like a bulging finger. Or how Chinese food is so greasy, and, well, I'm still working on how to turn this into a joke. Clearly I'm not stage ready.

But as with most of the other careers I've failed to realize, something holds me back from being a comic. The fear of rejection. I've been up on stage before, enough that I would be able to guage the audience's reaction if things weren't going well. It seems like some comedians never practice the art of translation from their head to their mouth to the ears to the brains of their audience. They never really stop to think if someone else will think their material is funny. They only practice in front of the mirror, playing both parts. They recite their routines to no one in particular while walking down the sidewalk on the way to buy another rubber vegetable for their prop box. And one time, they told their best joke to their mom, and she loved it.

That won't be me. Instead, I'd rather attempt to be funny on this blog, and hopefully, one day, someone will read it and laugh a little.

2008-06-26T21:50:00.000-07:00

It's Been Too Long, And I Have So Far To Go .....................

I've gotten that itch again...the need to tell people about the trivial thoughts that appear in my brain. Many moons ago, I taught myself to turn these trivial thoughts into blog topics. For a time, those thoughts disappeared (that's not to say I began having significant thoughts), and alas, in the past few weeks, I've noticed their presence again.

And so now I come here to store those thoughts. It makes me wonder though--will these thoughts add up to anything one day? Why do I bother? I suppose I like to humor myself, and occasionally, if my internal comedy button is turned up to high, I like to humor other people. And now I feel too indulgent, so I will stray back to my original intended topic.

All I can think about lately is gasoline. And since I drive a little ol' Honda, this whole gas conservation thing is new to me. Two weeks ago, my husband purchased an old bicycle for me to ride around town to complete my errands...I've stopped running errands. I only drive my car to work, which is now 20 minutes away compared to my previous job which was only seven minutes away. On this drive, I constantly watch my speedometer, edging away from the maximum speed posted on the highway. Since I've begun this, I've noticed my car uses a noticeably lesser amount of gas, and I am pleased.

But how, I constantly wonder, can I use even less? Every time I turn on the radio, some reporter is telling me that the cost of a barrel of oil has risen again. Who knows when it will end? Today I heard that John McCain is in favor of offering up a $300 million prize for the first person to develop an engine that doesn't run on oil. I'm beginning to hear of alternate fuels more mysterious and complex than cars running on corn or McDonald's grease waste: like Brown's Gas, a device that can be attached to your engine that converts water to a gas that raises the octane level of the gasoline and causes it to burn much more efficiently. Translation: less trips to the gas station, more trips to the grocery store. Phew, this stuff makes my head spin.

I'd like to end this blog with an anecdote. I'm working at a day camp with school aged children for the summer. We talked about oil spills one day, and I began by explaining where oil comes from, and how it is used after it is drilled. Essentially, as I told the children how much our daily lives are dependent on this mucky stuff dredged up from the depths of Earth, I was overwhelmed. I suddenly wanted to pick up a huge sign and protest somewhere. Get in people's faces and make them face reality. Accidentally spit on them during passionate speeches. Really feel like I can make a difference in the world on this subject.

But where? And how will I get there if it is too far to ride my bike?

2007-12-14T13:57:00.000-08:00

Eat Me .......................................................................................................

If anything worth doing is worth doing right, then why do people give Christmas baked goods that were made with the flair of an five-year-old? What kind of message does one mean to send when they gift gingerbread that breaks your teeth, unidentifiable blobs covered in shredded coconut, and fudge that never hardened properly?

Maybe I'm being too picky. It's possible that in this Martha-Stewart-crazed world I've come to expect nothing less than perfection--especially in presentation--from any homemade product. But I think Martha would agree that burnt cookies say "I don't have time for you. These cookies are as stale as our friendship."

Today I beheld one of those cookie platters that was wrong on so many levels. First, it was cleverly disguised beneath a sheild of colored saran-wrap. This served to spare the giver from the receiver's scrutinizing eye, because anyone can judge a cookie platter in an instant, and the results of that instant analysis are displayed facially almost as quickly. Beware the plastic wrapped cookie platter, it means the giver knows the cookies it contains are flawed.
Under the plastic (yes, I ventured to explore the platter's entrails), there were clusters of cookie subspecies. One grouping were balls rolled in coconut, which was burnt. Not being able to see what lay under the coconut layer, I counted this cookie unfit for consumption.
Next was a loaf of some sort, wrapped in an additional layer of plastic. The extra plastic may have been used to spare the other cookies from contamination. Loaf: inedible.
Nearby were cookies with Hershey's kisses in the center. Kissed cookies are often delightful treats, but the cookie portion of these were so flat and over-cooked that the sugar had undergone a transformation in the oven, producing a dark and bitter glaze so horrible it would prevent anyone unlucky enough to try and eat it from ever reaching the chocolate center.
And lastly, there was some fudge among this bunch. The fudge was also wrapped in plastic--stay away. I do suspect that if I had unwrapped the fudge, it would have had fingerprints all over it. Fudge is delicate, and should be handled properly.

Here are some tips for those who insist on bestowing their baked failures upon us.

Spread the holiday cheer with skillful strokes of white frosting, not with gloopy improperly mixed frosting that looks like melted candle wax.
If your baking is infamous, stick to one kind of cookie, avoiding a platter which only gives people the choice of what kind not to eat.
Simplify, simplify, simplify. Don't hide bad baking under layers of coconut shreds, sprinkles, discolored frosting, red hots, gum drops, licorice, or colorful plastic wrap.
And finally, everyone knows you keep the good cookies for yourself. Why not prove to us you really can cook, and that you really do care? Tis the season to share the tastiness.

2007-11-25T08:28:00.000-08:00

Broken Hearted

I had planned on returning to this blog with some happier tales...

Oscar was hit by a car last week. He didn't make it.

He was my constant companion at home. It took me weeks to get used to having a dog-shaped shadow follow me around the house, but once I was, I couldn't have asked for a more loving friend. He fit perfectly into any crook around my body when I watched TV or lay in bed. He lovingly shared his toys, and he perfected the doggie hug--straddling his hind legs around my waist while resting his front paws and head on my shoulder. I can still remember exactly what it feels like to hold him, to imagine him just on the other side of the room watching me, and to see him toss his toy in the air and prance around after it.

Outside, Oscar was hardly matched for speed, and would run around whether there was another dog at the park or not. He was dog-curious, and could usually get most any dog to chase him around the park; he even adjusted his speed for those who weren't as nimble-pawed as he was. He did, however, have one of the most annoying barks imaginable: a high pitched bark/howl hybrid that could last up to five seconds, often with successive vocalizations and at nothing in particular. I grew used to it though, and just told people that he had a lot he needed to say.

He was not without his quirks. I think that many other owners would have given up on Oscar, and they would have missed out on one of the sweetest creatures around. He was afraid of brooms, vacuum cleaners, Christmas trees, people wearing hats, trash piles and shopping carts. Loud noises made him shake and claw at my leg to be held. His separation anxiety elicited deep feelings of guilt from me and David, and his high pitched yaps of protestation at being left behind got us in trouble with the neighbors more than once. His wide eyes belied all the anxiety he had pent up, whether it was from his rough start at the shelter and prior, or just his disposition. But all of this was wiped clean when we saw his dog-smile as he ran around the park, or when he sighed in contentment as he curled up with us at night.

Oscar was a part of our lives for such a short amount of time, and I'm amazed at how deeply attached we became during that time. He truly was a family member. We were proud of his characteristics, and took every opportunity to boast of him. He was a one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable mutt. I miss him so much.

2007-09-20T21:37:00.000-07:00

No More Cheese Please

There was a dead mouse in the middle of the bathroom floor this morning. It lay on its side, legs and tail limply extending similarly to my dog’s mid afternoon nap position. I was startled when I saw it, even though I’ve been expecting it for days; the traps have been set since last Tuesday. I jumped and shrieked like the good housewife I am, and quickly closed the door. I left it there for David to take care of tomorrow. Disposing of dead mice was not something I wrote into my wedding vows, and since David said something about supporting me in all I do when he wrote his, I’ll defer to his words now.

It’s the first dead mice I’ve seen in nearly ten years. For a while, I was convinced that mice didn’t live in houses anymore. But ever since we've moved in to the new house, I've heard them scurrying around every night, eating Oscar's dog food, scratching the floor with their little claws, and running around in the walls doing who knows what to the insulation. I was annoyed, and afraid (in my teenaged years, I woke up to a mouse digging through my hair on my pillow--eww). We set the traps and I thought that was the end of it. I wouldn't have to think about mice again.

There is currently a dead mouse downstairs in the bathroom. It's laying on its side similar to how Oscar lays on his side now. I'm feeling guilty for the little mouse (and perhaps the five or so others that chose to die in more private quarters). The thing was basically harmless. In my childhood years, my brothers and I found baby mice in a drawer once. We kept them for a day and constructed obstacle courses for them and made them race until, well, until they died (probably from overhandling, lack of proper food, or something...God I'm a horrible mouse murderer).

Now should I expect a Blaura-sized mouse trap to be set for me somewhere? Should I forget the whole thing and except it? Should I make a shrine to all the mice ever killed with poison/traps/young children? A little of all three, I suppose. Are these the small things that really matter in life?

2007-09-11T09:33:00.000-07:00

I Live in My House

Finally, we are living in our house. We have searched, found, closed, and started to paint. Here it is:

The inside is not pretty. We've been painting the upstairs so that we can move all our belongings up there. Then we'll gut the kitchen and open up the spaces on the first level. The house sits back on the property so that there isn't really a backyard, but there is lots of privacy from the street. The patio area (pictured here) is situated between the garage and the house, and has lots of potential to become the fairy-garden I've always wanted.

The work we've put in has been very rewarding so far. I can't wait to have everything put in order, to walk through it all and think "I can do whatever I want here."

And, finally, I'll be constructing my writing room over the next year. It will need a new desk, some inspirational colors and textures, and some cozy sitting places. The ultimate goal is to create a sanctuary that neither television nor general laziness can penitrate. I'm convinced that once I have the writing room I'm thinking of, the room will do half of my writing for me. In fact, I'm blogging in the room right now, and I'm pretty sure the view from the window urged me to write some words, anything at all. "Don't argue," it said, "just write."

2007-08-12T21:58:00.000-07:00

Where Does Time Go?

I don't mean to get philosophical, but time is complex. Think about this time and that time, and time to come. Time on a speeding train. Time capsules.

And all the time I waste on the weekends.

It's a strange phenomenon. Time speeds up on the weekends. It slows down to a halt when I'm having a bad day. And since it's easy to talk about time in terms of speed, someone needs to invent a time brake and a time gas pedal.

Then again, what would I do with my manipulated weekend time? This weekend, I had to nurse a hangover and avoid my neighbor (long story). I didn't have the energy to take Oscar to the dog park. So is my real problem time management, or an energy deficiency? That said, I probably don't deserve a time manipulation device. I like to think I'd use it to get more writing done, and to accomplish very important tasks, but let's face it--I'd just take more naps.

2007-08-06T20:24:00.000-07:00

Doin' the 78-mile Shuffle

The time has come to recap my biking adventure of August 4th, 2007.

There were three goal levels for this event, chosen in hopes of completing at least one of them:

Primary: to finish

Secondary: to avoid injury

Tertiary: to not die

Goals accomplished: all

I had not been very positive about the event leading up to it. I was envisioning a rather large trailer hauled by a black-smoke chucking tractor piled high with dead bodies and mangled bikes, with my poor bones draped right on top. However, the day before the race I read some advice in a biking magazine (I guess they are good for something). The advice said to be positive. How generic, yet so true. I decided no harm in trying. This trick came in handy for the last thirty miles, half of which were pure uphill-hell (Vail Pass, not recommended if you are looking for a good time). Whoever wrote "The Little Engine that Could" never knew how many people they would save.

Fun facts about Blaura the Biker this past week:

1. The Monday prior to the race I went out for Thai food and received the following fortune cookie after dinner: The climb up the mountain is worth the view at the top. Seriously, I have a knack for acquiring fortunes that really mean something.

2. Floyd Landis (the guy who one Le Tour last year and is now under investigation for doping) participated in the very same ride as yours truly. Apparently he began his trek after I did, meaning at some point he passed me by. We could have rubbed elbows.

3. I cried like a baby when I finished the race. A part of me really believed I couldn't do it. It was pure shock to reach the end--intact!

4. Time to complete: 7h 34 m, Average speed: 10.3 mph, High speed: 40.8 mph, Average speed on uphills: 4.2 mph

2007-07-23T22:24:00.000-07:00

The Summer of Harry

I am a mediocre Harry Potter fan. I read all the books and see all the movies and am entertained by them, but am not willing to wear Hogwarts robes or memorize what spells each witch and wizard specializes in. I paid the extra bucks to see the new Potter movie in 3-D (only the last 20 minutes are presented in this format), and I had the new book delivered to my door on the release date. Currently, I am in the middle of chapter 12, but am still able to tear myself away to do laundry, check the housing market, and, apparently, blog.

Reading this book, I wonder how one person could concoct this whole new world and set of characters and captivate the entire planet. I try to get my own wheels turning, wondering what the next craze could be, and if I might be able to create it. It's exciting and yet very depressing to think about. Exciting because it all sounds like so much fun, and depressing because every other writer out there would love to do the same thing, but obviously can't.

Either way, I have to admit I'm still inspired. That is why I deem this the Summer of Harry. It's the last time he'll be so omnipresent, and who knows when "the next Harry Potter" will arrive.

2007-07-18T21:38:00.000-07:00

My Life is a Cycle

pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal pedal

That is what my life is all about right now. I wake up and walk Oscar (walking motion is very similar to pedaling), and then I eat breakfast while watching the Tour de France (lots of men pedaling), and then I go pedal my bike. I practice efficient pedaling. It is my weakness right now, because I have just discovered how to use all my leg muscles to pedal and now I have to train myself not to pedal the way I have been pedaling my whole life. Ultimately, it will help me climb up all those mountain passes on August 4th, the day that is looming ahead, and the one that worries me on a daily basis.

Thank you, "Pigs Eat Corn," for calling me The Man, because it is a male dominated sport, and maybe if I think more like a man, I'll get through all this just fine. However, I have included a picture of one man who didn't know when to quit. May I never wind up like him (although my rear is way cuter).

I rode 20 miles today, I thought of it as my warm-up ride. Tomorrow I'll kick it up a notch and aim for 30, and this weekend I'm doing a 50 mile ride. This is all good, except that those of you who have been to Denver might have noticed how flat it is. I need some mountain training. Someone, please, call me King of the Mountains? I think I can trick myself into believing it, especially since I look good in polka dots.

2007-07-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

It's Been Ages

This is the first week I feel somewhat settled in Denver. The first week was a flurry of unpacking and decision making about what I could live without for the next two to three months. Then I took a trip to Dallas to visit my friend Kristin, and due to heavy holiday travel, wound up spending an extra day in the airport trying to get home. When I did get home, I was looking forward to some stability, which would have helped when I fell off my bike and hurt my wrist. Along with the wrist injury came an annoying head cold, and finally, this week, I am on the mend.

I suppose I owe an update in other areas as well. We're still looking for a house. We viewed a gorgeous bungalow with the highest ceilings, and I was getting that I-really-want-it feeling in my stomach until we walked to the backyard and saw the most atrocious carriage house backing the property. Half of the backyard is taken up by a giant, red, adobe-looking square thing with windows that is apparently a residence. And owned by someone else. Grrr. I really was hoping for a two-car garage. Why does every home have its compromise?

And the only other update is that I'm training for a 78-mile bike ride in the lovely Colorado Rockies on August 4. The ride goes over the Copper Triangle, and as of right now I am not in any sort of shape to do this thing. This has made my little wrist injury and head cold especially annoying. But, with some heavy training over the next three weeks, lots of goo and water, I will hopefully make a decent showing (and by decent I mean I'll finish).

That's all from Colorado Land for now. I'll be on the computer all week, perhaps with something interesting to say.

2007-06-30T20:11:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-06-21T09:38:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-19T09:18:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-18T11:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-14T13:06:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-13T13:55:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-06-12T16:36:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-11T14:14:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-08T10:51:00.001-07:00

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!

2007-06-07T09:14:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-06-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-05T16:40:00.001-07:00

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.

2007-06-04T10:39:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-05-29T11:16:00.000-07:00

It's Safe to Look Now

Well, maybe not, but I feel really good about this house. The last one I blogged about was indeed jinxed, perhaps by my premature public declaration of love, but we are past the first hurdle on this one, so I show it to you without fear.

Ok, it's not anything like what I imagined what we'd end up in, but that's the beauty of being flexible, right? In this case, while the house is very well done, it lacks the charm of the house I had my eye on before. This house overcomes that with it's location: near a pool, tennis courts, park, public golf course (yes readers, I have been known to swing a club), and the Cherry Creek bike trail.

Additionally, this house has the biggest yard we'd seen to date (yay for Oscar!), a finished basement including wet bar (party at my place!), and room to grow when I finally allow my motherly desires to take over. Oh, and did I mention the convection oven? Be prepared for some future food blogs!

So, cross your fingers. This house in under contract, and we hope to close by the end of June. We'll all be lounging on the back deck sipping margaritas and BBQing in no time (like it's never been done before)!

2007-05-25T12:43:00.000-07:00

Fasting for Imagination

Last night I began a fast...of television. I will allow myself a very limited amount of viewing. I have deemed that only weather reports, and certain HBO programs will be worthy of my attention from here on out. And if you're saying to yourself "hmm, this fast conveniently coincides with the finale of American Idol, The Office, Scrubs, and 30 Rock," well, you might be on to something. I can only imagine what I'll do once Project Runway comes back on.

So what did I do with my first night of freedom from the evils of television? Perhaps I worked on a writing project for a few hours, cleaned up the kitchen, vacuumed my car, or caught up with family members I have been out of touch with? No. Perhaps I went for a long walk, cooked myself a fabulous dinner, or finished reading the novel I've been neglecting for the past two weeks? No. I read a magazine and fell asleep. Not even the ring of my cell phone with David beckoning on the other end could rouse me. And every few hours I opened my eye just a
crack to see my partner in crime, Oscar aka Mr. Blackpants, basking in the new freedom of being so recently released from the shackels of worthless programming.

Tonight I am going to lay a shroud over the television, to symbolize its death in my living room. Not too big of a shroud, though, I might need to watch something, just a short little something, when there's nothing else to do.

2007-05-24T10:55:00.000-07:00

Bowling Bummer

I went bowling last night. Perhaps I should begin this rant by explaining my relationship to bowling, as well as my competitive spirit. Then I will summarize it all for you in a somewhat inconclusive manner that will leave you wondering about your own bowling drive, and, ultimately, how it connects to life overall.

I've been bowling for most of my life. My parents, recognizing that bowling was a great family activity, would occasionally take us all down to the bowling alley, tie up our toes in those delightfully distasteful shoes, and help us select the proper weight ball. One thing they never gave us, however, were the gutter bumpers. We were going to learn how to bowl properly. Fear the gutter, aim for the highest pin in the formation.

In high school I took an individual sports class, where I learned and was tested on bowling etiquette, scoring, and terminology. I already knew most of what we learned, since I'd been tallying score cards for a few years. However, I don't want to make myself sound like a big ol' bowling expert, or like I'm even a good bowler. The most I learned in the bowling class was how to approach certain shots. I throw the ball very straight down the lane. There's no fancy spin, and I'm not even particularly graceful . Frequently, I find myself lining up a perfect roll, only to have all but one pin fall down. To pick up a spare on the 7 or 10 pin in the back, you shouldn't bowl along the gutter. Try coming across from a different angle.

So, last night, with all this bowling history behind me, I want to bowl well, like I always do. I can usually expect to break 100 (I told you I wasn't very good), and on a good bowling night I break 120. My best score is 142, and that was very exciting. I'm always salivating for that next high score, I'm always out there to beat myself. Of course, it doesn't hurt to have competition on the team. It keeps me modest, mostly, and forces me to realize that even though knocking down nine pins seems quite good, it does nothing toward launching my score to the unatainable (at least for me) 300.

I had a horrible bowling night. The first score was 102, the second 82. There was some beer drinking involved, but I really can't blame that. And each time I let the ball slip off my fingers at 14 mph, I thought If I practiced, I could be better.

But in this case, I don't think it's true. I took bowling for an entire semester, and my score virtually remained in the 120s the entire time. Maybe bowling is the one thing I can't be better at. Maybe we just have to accept that we'll never be able to do everything. I have to accept that I'm never going to be a good bowler.

2007-05-15T14:26:00.000-07:00

Home Is Where the Heart Is

Awww, it's enough to make you feel cozy, thinking of a charming house with the little panes in the windows and the breakfast nook and the veranda and the porch swing that you're going to put up so you can sip lemonade and watch the sunset behind the mountains. That's what we're going after. Yep, we're packing up and heading back to Colorado.

Looking for houses hasn't been awful. Luckily, it's a buyer's market, so it feels like we've been able to walk among houses and raise our nose in disgust at all the bad apples. But we've also been able to locate the house I described above for a reasonable price. (No, it's not this house pictured...if I publicize the house we want too much, it might go away.)

But it doesn't feel like the house search has just been about finding the house of our dreams. I'm sure we don't have enough money for that. I've resisted falling in love with any house, especially ones out of our price range, or this house that we are about to put a bid on. If I fall in love with it, my heart might get broken, and that's not a positive way to settle back into my home state. So what I'm going for here is finding a good place to start. The current house on our radar has a lot of good things going for it, but there are certainly some traits we're willing to overlook. I know I'm not going to be attached to any house until I can sit on the grass in the front lawn and listen to the wind rustling through the trees overhead, and know that the sound will always calm me down.

Until then, we're still searching for home.

2007-05-08T09:51:00.000-07:00

Where Has My Imagination Gone?

I keep trying to think of things to write. I keep trying to let myself be swept away by a thought. I keep trying, but apparently you can't force it. I'm stuck in an
imagination rut. Perhaps it's because I've just finished school and my mind has decided to turn itself off for a while.

On Wikipedia, imagination is defined as: the innate ability and process to invent partial or complete personal realms within the mind from elements derived from sense perceptions of the shared world.

I'm feeling abnormal because I'm not able to access my ability to invent realms. I try to access the creative part of my brain, the part that seemed like a floodgate every time I had a deadline. Now it's my job to learn how to imagine things because I want to, not becuase I have to.

But it's not like I haven't been trying. I've been at my computer several times since my last day of class, trying to work out this character I've had in my mind, but my mind feels stopped up. At first I thought I was just tired, but now I feel like there might actually be a clog somewhere in my brain.

I need a brain plunger. Or a brain plumber. Or a brain vacuum. Or maybe I need to just settle down.

2007-05-04T09:14:00.000-07:00

The Day Has Come

I finally get a weekend where I don' thave to worry about getting my homework done. After dreaming of the possibilities (there was hope for a camping trip), I've decided my time would be best spent at home, cleaning up after myself.

Let me explain the significance of this: I hate cleaning. My house has gotten so bad that I am unhappy when I come home. Seeing clothes strewn over every possible chair arm and back possible does not make me happy. Not being able to sit in the loveseat by the computer does not make me (or Oscar) happy. Not being able to navigate my way through the bedroom because there are so many pairs of shoes, dirty clothes, bags, mismatched jewelry, etc. does not make me happy.

So I'll be folding laundry with a spring in my step, doing the vacuum cleaner cha-cha, and dusting away all the accumulation of the past few months--the stress, the late nights, the work I was forced to do. It's spring cleaning, and this will be a great way for me to step into my new freedom. A Clean Home is a Happy Home, and the People Who Live in a Clean Home are Happy Too.

2007-04-30T11:53:00.000-07:00

So Close, Yet...

Tomorrow is my last day of class ever. I've already blogged about this. But I still have one more paper left to write, and that's really wearing me down.

I was supposed to get started on this paper two weeks ago. I was supposed to work on it all last week. I was supposed to research it and begin writing it Saturday. I was supposed to finish writing it yesterday. Did any of those happen? No. Of course not. In the true spirit of procrastination, I am doing this final paper correctly--at the last minute.

Tonight, I am supposed to finish my paper. I do believe this will happen, since I am not one to turn in late assignments. However, I also have two other assignments due, and those are currently taking a back seat (as if there is another back seat left on this procrastination bus).

So here's to old habits, excuses, and plain ol' not wanting to do homework. Wish me luck, I have a long night ahead of me (all nighters are sooo undergrad).

2007-04-23T11:09:00.000-07:00

A Little Late for Resolutions...

When the New Year rolled around, who knows what I was doing (actually, I was probably shoveling snow off my mom's car in Colorado), but I was too busy to think about improving myself. Realistically, I knew it wasn't going to happen in coordination with the start of 2007. But now, with my thesis behind me, and what feels like a new life ahead, I am going to start a list of things to accomplish.

Read all the books I've been ordering on Amazon but haven't had time to read yet. This should carry me through June.
Learn French. I've already started this, but with the thesis and end-of-the-semester papers, this pursuit has taken a backseat. I've discovered podcasts and websites to help me learn, and hopefully I'll be able to say something other than "What date is your birthday" soon.
Garden. Not only are my house plants suffering from neglect, but my green thumb has been ignored so long it's faded to a wan-pea-soup color. Ewww. I hear sunlight is the cure.
Travel. This list is long, and always the most difficult to fulfill. I have plans for a trip to Buenos Aires in October (and I'm looking for a travel partner). Smaller trips include (but are not limited to) road trip up or down the California coast, British Columbia, Texas, Minnesota, and Hawaii.
Keep my house clean. Oh wait, this list should be inspiring. Dare I bog myself down with chores? The answer is yes. Having a bedroom as messy as mine is embarrassing and distracting.
Train Oscar. Despite being the world's best dog, Oscar needs some work. He pulls on the leash, barks at dogs, and growls at anyone wearing a hat. Oh boy.
Ride my bike more. I love going fast on my road bike, and I could use the exercise.

Well there it is. I hope you weren't expecting things like bungee jump, or space travel, or swim the English Channel. Those things are for people who like big rubber bands, have lots of money, or know how to swim. I am none of those, and I apologize if I disappointed you.

2007-04-19T15:46:00.000-07:00

My Life Continues

I just turned in my thesis. The weight of the past two years has finally been unchained, and I can move and flex and walk and...oh, what should I do with myself?

I've been looking forward to some feeling of freedom. Like, what will it be like to come home from work and not have to pull out my laptop and write a paper? What will it be like to travel on the weekend with a book I chose to read myself? What excuse will I think of to get out of keeping the house clean (because really, that is my biggest concern)?

But I also hope that the weight of the past two years continues to exert itself from time to time. I don't want to forget what it's like to work on my writing. I don't want to forget how good it feels to finish a story and think that someone else might like to read it. That, more than obtaining an official looking degree, is what I went to school for. I needed discipline, and I really hope that part of that lesson sunk in and became a part of me.

The celebrations have not yet begun. David offered to throw a party, but my inclination is not to have one. My first big deadline has come and gone. There will be many more. This is my new life, and I hope it's a hardworking one.

2007-04-18T11:07:00.000-07:00

Birthday Dog Blog

I can't believe that Oscar's birthday has come and gone, and I didn't blog about it. I'm feeling very guilty, and if I had a tail, it would be between my legs. Sorry Oscar.

Oscar's birthday, April 15th, is an arbitrary date. We knew he was probably born in April, based on when he began losing his puppy teeth. I chose the 15th because it is smack dab in the middle of the month. Just because tax day also traditionally falls on this day does not mean we should think any less of Oscar.

On Oscar's big day we took him on a forbidden bike ride. Although Oscar is small in stature, he is the best for taking on a bike ride. He's not so big that his joints and size slow him down. He zips up and down the trail, and probably covers twice the ground his human companions bike. Seeing Oscar run would bring a smile to anyone's face. He lights up, opens his mouth and flops his tongue over his teeth, lays his ears back, and takes off, as though he were a windup car that has been waiting to be released. Running is his favorite thing to do, so of course, we were going to take him for a nice run for his birthday. The only problem is that most trails don't allow dogs, and if they do, they are supposed to be on leash. It is nearly impossible to successfully bike with your dog on leash.

But hey, you do what you can to make your loved ones happy. Oscar ran off leash. We were prepared to pay a fine. Thankfully, the day turned out well for everyone. No fine for us, and Oscar was so blissfully happy by trail's end that it made breaking the rules (dare I say the law?) very much worth it.

For dinner, Oscar dined on flank steak. He was a happy boy. He deserves it. He's a good dog.

Happy Birthday Oscar!

2007-04-13T14:51:00.000-07:00

Sleepy Blogger

I had the most difficult time blogging yesterday. I want everyone to know that, in case you were wondering why I was not only talking about 6th grade, but writing like a 6th grader. The reason was because I had stayed up the entire night before putting together my final story for workshop. I kept falling asleep while writing my blog, and even though I started dreaming, I kept typing. That's right, I was typing my dream. It was such a fascinating idea that I decided to write a big long email to David and see what happened. Here are some exerpts from my dream email (copied exactly as they appeared in the email):

I can't believe I'm not sleeping yet. I don't know what the deal is, I'm really sorry to waste your time, maybe I'll erase all these and then I'll put ( I had a hard time finding his sweater here).

Can you imagive being a doctor? Whow, the email I am typing to you looked like a logo just now, and I was going to ask you where you were going. What country are you visiting? I want to go somewhere warm so that I can wear my shorts. You want to go somewhere where there aren't so many locals. we hate people. I would rather eat a sunflower.

Remember when you were speaking Spanish and the guidebook had been drawn on? Who brought the kid to dream about thigs. Not meDo you have to wear a diaper there? Because I don't have one for my family.

You souh read my sample outine with the double boiler
wow, I'm super tired. I just had a little dream about winning the Double Tree. Now I'm sleeping. I wonder if this will be hoof ro you. Does she have a lazy eye too? I can't tell. I can see the heat from the sun backthat side. There I went, drooling again.

2007-04-12T16:29:00.000-07:00

Stapler Fear

My stapler ran out of staples today. It's such an infrequent ocurrance that I take it as an omen.

Nothing has happened yet (but the day isn't over). I'm worried this one will be a bad omen. In sixth grade, I put a fairly heavy-duty staple into my thumb. They had to use a long flat screwdriver to get it out. Then I got to sit at the receptionist's desk for the rest of the afternoon, which was a fun little job. I think I remember seeing the staple in 6th grade on the other side of my nail, and that image wouldn't shake from my mind.

So I'm not sure how to take the stapler omen...should I prepare for an evening of kicking my feet up and relaxing, or should I grab a box of band-aids and avoid sharp objects altogether? I hope not the second, because I nearly had an incident this morning. I put the wrong size staples into the stapler, and then the top kept springing back on my vulnerable hand. I was having serious flashbacks.
I am afraid of my stapler.

2007-04-11T10:25:00.000-07:00

This Goes Out to My Grandma

It's Grandma's 80th birthday today. What I love most about the whole situation is that she's excited, and she still looks forward to her birthdays.

Weeks ago, she revealed to me that she had never had a birthday party. It was a big hint: throw me a party, or else. Just kidding. She's not like that. But seriously, I knew the party would be a big deal to her.

The invitations have been sent out, the location has been booked, and the menu written. There will be friends and family (minus one V.I.Son, but that's a whole other story and not blog material), a little booze, a game or two, and the best part of all--a Hollywood theme. I'm putting my photoshop skills to good use and transforming old photos of her into starlet movie posters. I've also ordered some party decorations to help set the mood. I plan on making her wear a boa throughout the whole event, and maybe even some kitschy costume jewelry, and long gloves. I can't wait to see it all turn out, and see her have a great time.

Happy Birthday Grandma! Love ya!

2007-04-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

JEaNS

I've come to a sad realization. My jeans are out of shape. I know the old trick: wash them and they will be restored. But after a while, they are just too worn out. They hang from the hips without attitude. They make my butt look like a sunken pie.

And what makes it worse is that jeans are so difficult to shop for (unless you have that "certain" figure, the one even sweatpants look good on). So when the day rolls around when your jeans give you the "I just don't have the energy" look, and they begin to suck the life out of the rest of your outfit, it's only natural that you put off the search for a new pair. It's just too much work, and the jeans concur, "Nothing is worth making an effort for anymore."

Once you muster up the energy to go shopping, the word has spread. Your jeans have told every other pair of jeans in the entire world that you are coming. Therefore, every pair you try on skips straight to the hanging "I don't wanna make your ass look good" phase. The trick is to be impulsive. Grab a pair on your way to lunch. Don't take your old jeans with you. Better yet, don't even try them on.

I'm still waiting for the full bad-jean coma to sink in. Besides, I don't have time to shop for jeans (is that me or the pants talking?).

2007-03-26T16:43:00.000-07:00

Vegas Virginity Revoked

I had always thought that if I went to Vegas I would get bored with it quickly. But once I got there -- and while I was suffering from excessive alcohol intake -- there was so much to see around me. I preferred to walk around. I didn't want to sleep.

I've had a tough time conceptualizing my Vegas blog. What can I say that hasn't already been said? I closed clubs, saw strippers, rode in a limo, gambled, was wooed by the bright lights. I didn't see a show or show girls, and only noted one Elvis. Still, even without those, I feel like I had the typical Vegas experience.

But what was fascinating was that people go there with expectations (allow me to generalize). Everyone expects you to leave your former life at the gate of the airport. You are expected to let loose and forget any decent upbringing you might have had. You are expected to engage. If you don't, you should go back to your hotel. And for that matter, you should go home. If you aren't there to get crazy, what are you there for?

I would like to reiterate that these were not my expectations going in.

Maybe that's why I was so taken with Vegas. I've never been to such a place. How does a place like that develop? Who thinks all that stuff up? Who wakes up one day and says "I'm going to rebuild the New York skyline" and not only that, but has the confidence that people will like it? At first, my head was swirling.

But I don't think it's the concept people like, it's the escape. Everyone is well aware it isn't real. And because of that, maybe people start to think that, while they are there, they aren't real either. Without reality, the other beliefs fall away.

2007-03-15T15:03:00.000-07:00

It's Tough Living in Health Food Nation

Let's face it, we still like our junk food.

I am of the camp that believes if you are eating healthy most of the time, exercising, and drinking lots of water, that you can slack off every now and then. I give in to my little cravings, which don't come very often.

Like this afternoon, when I went to the vending machine to get a tasty snack. I wanted potato chips, or something salty, maybe a little greasy. I felt like being naughty. Naughty tastebuds. But standing in front of the vending machine, there was none of that. Dried fruit. Sunflower seeds. Trail mix. Oatmeal. Who puts oatmeal in the vending machine? And the sticker on the glass in the top right hand corner taunted me: Healthy Options Vending, Do What's Right For Your Body. Bah!

There was one empty row in that vending machine. I bet that's where the baked Lays were. Wake up Healthy Options Vending! You lost a sale because you failed to indulge my insatiable lust for junk food this afternoon. Forcing your supply on us will not increase our demand. I left the building and found a place that could give me what I needed.

And tomorrow, on my own terms, I might be ready for the trail mix.

2007-03-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

A Few More Wedding Pictures...

And yes, it was very cold outside!

2007-02-26T09:32:00.000-08:00

Obstacles in the Road

This will begin a series that I've been wanting to do for a while now. Occasionally, on the traffic report, there is the most interesting object obstructing traffic flow. Once it was a family of ducks. Another time was a kitchen sink. We can imagine how these items wound up on the road, but it's another trick to surmise their overall contribution to the flow of life. I've decided to report on these items as I hear about them and relate them to my new favorite subject--Marriage. Perhaps the topic I relate it to will change over time, but I don't see the well running dry on this one.

So, last night, around 11 pm I was listening to Coast to Coast AM. The traffic report came on. A washing machine was blocking traffic on the Bay Bridge.

Clearly, the washing machine relates to domestic duties. And why should I see it as an obstacle? Not only because I have quite a large pile of laundry that I ignored over the weekend, but because there will always be a pile of laundry. And if I am to follow my dream of avoiding the cubicle life-style, I must come to terms with the washing machine. If you are the one at home, you have to do the laundry. It's part of the territory, right? And since this blog comes on the heels of my "treat women equally" blog, I think I should mention that just because we want to be equal doesn't mean we can stop doing the laundry. Then we'd stink like the menfolk.

Actually, what I'm thinking when I envision a washing machine on the road is: Is it still there? I wonder if I could go pick it up. Washing machines are expensive.

2007-02-25T21:43:00.000-08:00

Thoughts on the Awards

I've always wondered why the best actress award is given a few awards before the best actor award. What is the hierarchy here? Is it necessarily possible for a male actor to be better than a female actor. Maybe. I can't comment on the performances this year because I didn't see them all. What I'm driving at is: why don't they switch the order up? One year the men go first, and another year the women go first. That sounds fair. However, I don't know if this is an issue to anyone. So maybe we'll keep it the same. Except that the end of the Oscar's always seem so male dominant. The male best actors, the male directors, and the male producers. Too macho for me. I actually sat this year watching the entourage of The Departed settle into their seats, like the real part of the awards ceremony had begun. And where were the women? Clapping.

Also this past week, the people with the $$ at Wimbledon decided that women will be awarded the same prize money as men from here until forever. I think that's great. The men players? Mixed reaction, mostly thinking it's not fair. It's true that the men play up to five sets, while the women are only stretched to three. But the women are not given the option of playing five sets, and I bet that if they were, we would wonder what the fuss was all about. Remember when women weren't allowed to run marathons? Because they were told they didn't have the stamina, that they might not survive. Hogwash.

And now I might add that my opinions are highly effected by my attendance at a predominantly women's college. But it has been freeing. I highly recommend it to everyone, because women aren't so bad after all.

2007-02-15T08:37:00.000-08:00

I Said "Husband," He He

It's been like a dirty word, whenever I go to say it, so instead I gesture and over-emphasize. "You know, my husband." The word is still foreign to me. And it's like people are waiting for me to say it, and point out that it's one of my first times saying it. "Ooooh! Your husband! You said it! Oh, look at you blush, you blushing bride, you!"

Then again, being married for only a week and a half, I haven't had many opportunities to use the word with strangers. Until this morning. I explained that my husband had been into the store the other day. The woman on the other side of the counter wasn't phased. Who knows if it even registered. They have married people come in all the time. But for me, it was a huge hurdle. I'm always being told that I look sixteen, or twenty-two. One of these times I'm going to say something about my husband, and someone is going to stop me and ask "You're married? Are you old enough?"

Yeah, people. I'm old enough. I'm married. Get used to it. I know I have to.

2007-02-13T09:22:00.000-08:00

Alien Skin (or, the honeymoon episode)

First, consider the following circumstances:

Lounging in the sun for at least two hours a day. The Aruban sun, near the equator, which, without the cooling trade winds of the Carribbean, would scorch any skin type to perfect medium-well-steak standards.
Slathering on a palmful of sunscreen every morning. 45, which should protect even the fairest skin from the Aruban sun oven. And it's waterproof, so that not only will the wearer be able to enjoy the beach and the pool, but the water will bead up and glide off the skin oh-so pleasingly.
After a few days of this routine, have a full body massage. It begins with a skin brush, which only feels good because the skin has been so carefully protected from sunburn. Then heated oil is gently rubbed all over, releasing any tension which may have resulted from the constant cooling trade winds + sticky sunscreen + long hair issue.

They all sound nice, right? Except that just hours after the massage, some tiny itchy bumps appeared on my feet. I couldn't sleep because I hadn't experienced such itching since I had the chicken pox in second grade. I thought I was either allergic to the oil, or that we had bedbugs in the bottom corner of my side of the bed. No bedbugs, I checked.

I took several showers, thinking if it was the oil, I could wash it away and I'd be fine. The bumps spread. I had them on the backs of my knees, the backs of my hands, on my forearms, my neck, and my thighs. They weren't red, just itchy. So damn itchy.

Well, I'm back from Aruba now. I still have the bumps. Was it the sun, or the sunscreen? If it was, shouldn't they have gone away by now?

And the thing is, I'm so far behind at work and in school that I don't have time to go see the dermatologist. And I can't take Sudafed because I can't risk losing even more time for homework to the ensuing sleep. What to do?

At least I don't look like a lizard. But if I end up looking like this guy here, I think I will find the time for a remedy.

2007-02-12T06:54:00.000-08:00

The Blaura Wedding

Weddings go by too fast. Already I'm only recalling pieces in my mind. But to summarize, I think we threw a pretty good party.

I wish I had more pictures, but seeing as I just got back last night (at 1:30 am, and headed off to work this morning), I'll have to post more later on. Thanks to those who have already forwarded their pictures, Snapfish is going to be getting some money from me this month.

Since it's so hard to recap your own wedding (I'm sure the first words out of every bride's mouth are "It was so beautiful" -- well, it was). The setting was amazing, the food was delicious, the ambiance was special. So vague, but it you had been there, I think you would agree.

With the Oscar's coming up, and the Grammy's finished last night, I'm inspired and think the following is the right thing to do. Imagine me on a big stage in full gown glamor, holding an obnoxiously large statuette of linked wedding rings that has been inscribed with "Best Wedding of the Year."

I would like to thank David's family for being so supportive of our dream wedding, and for making the long trip out from New York, Long Island, and Boston. I'm glad we finally got our two families together.

I would like to thank my family for coming together for me. Having both of my parents near me once again meant so much. And my sister and brothers made for the best looking bridal party on record! Not to mention their willingness to put up with my frantic demands for last minute help, they helped iron out (literally and figuratively) some little kinks. Thanks Myra and Paul for making the trek to Colorado and representing the Minnesota crew. Thanks to Carolyn with the final touches.

To the decorating crew--Ilze and Mike, thanks for devoting your Saturday to my demands (the place would not have been transformed without you!), and Lance and Lance Jr. (even though there were some funny mistakes with the place cards, you helped me out tremendously!).

To the demolition crew--Gavin and Lauren for spearheading the chucking of the decor. I know there were others who helped with tear down, and thank you for making it so effecient. I especially liked the part where I got to leave and didn't have to help!

And to some VIPs--Robert, for a beautiful job of handling the ceremony; Candace, for your gorgeous handwriting and for creating the impetus to try Argentinian steak (yeah Beef Club); Yuan for photographing the wedding free of charge (can't wait to see how they turned out!); the readers, Erin, Chris, Stu, and Kiki; Mom, Debby, Jannean, and Ilze for working on decorations weeks in advance, and seeing through a crazy lady's vision; Sun, for handing out programs; Justin, for overcoming shyness to take everyone's picture for the guestbook...

[the background music is starting up, meaning, the speech has gone too long]

And finally, to my new husband David, without whose love none of this night would have been possible. I love you and can't wait for the next adventure!

2007-01-25T19:31:00.000-08:00

What is the World Coming To?

Something has been bothering me for weeks. It's not constant; just when I see the advertisements drive by on a bus, or interrupt my valuable television viewing time. Each time these cross my path, I can't help but wonder why we need to see every possible version of a storyline. Book, movie, action figure, and don't forget the musical.

I would have never imagined that Edward Scissorhands and Legally Blonde would be candidates for musicals, let alone the winning candidates. Think of all the other movies that would have suited this genre better. I just can't imagine a man wearing scissor gloves night after night while singing about cutting hair and shrubbery. Even worse, I can't imagine that people want to pay to see this. Do they expect the experience to enrich their lives? Really?

And Legally Blonde: The Musical must have sprung from the choreographed scene "Bend and Snap." Bend me over and spank me, I think it's a terrible idea.

I like to think of the musical as the little sister of opera. I love opera, and I take it very seriously. I don't take lil' sis as seriously, but there is a soft place in my heart for it mostly because it encapsulates the word "music." Some very important work has come out of the musical stage, and it's one of those things that makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside just because it's so American. Well, not anymore. I don't want to associate with it. I don't see how music from either of these features will ever enter the repertoire of great music. In fact, this whole situation disconcerts me so much that I'm afraid no good music can ever be written again. All the good music has been written; that's the only excuse for this mess.

The hills aren't so alive with the sound of music anymore.

2007-01-22T14:13:00.000-08:00

It's Not Easy Being Caffeine Free

When I was younger I thought all children grew up to get jobs and drink coffee in the morning. Coffee drinking seemed to be a right of passage into the "real" world. If you didn't drink coffee, you didn't know what was up. And since I was a youngster with a tender tongue and no taste for coffee, I used my taste buds as a guage for how far I had to go.

Well, the coffee never caught on at the party that is my mouth. When I do drink it, I must dowse it with sugar and cream, and can you really call that drinking coffee? I certainly don't, although Starbucks makes a killing off of it.

So, either I have still not grown up, or my whole theory about coffee drinking was a complete childhood misunderstanding. I wish to argue that my instincts were not as far off as you might think. I don't think non-coffee drinkers get the same respect as coffee drinkers do.

The first time I met my fiance's parents, they were so shocked I didn't drink coffee that I was afraid they were going to kick me out. While drinking a glass of orange juice, I read an article taped to their fridge about all the benefits a cup of coffee can give you. Funny, it didn't mention any of the bad. I still wonder if, every time I pass up a cup of coffee in front of them if they question my worth.

And just this morning, I went into the kitchen at work to get some hot water for some tea. The hot water dispenser at the cooler was only spewing out tepid water, and the hot water tap on the old coffee maker has been broken for months. I went to complain that there are no amenities for the non coffee drinkers (the coffee lovers in this office just got a brand new espresso machine, ooh la la)...tea drinkers have to work so much harder to get what they want. I should not have complained, and boy, was I put in my place. There's always the microwave, and some people do not have enough time to listen to every little tea drinker's complaint.

So, if you are a tea drinker, or perhaps you need some hot water for your insta-oatmeal, do what you can for now, and take comfort in the knowledge that one day we will be recognized!

2007-01-17T09:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks for Sharing

It has been suggested that I blog about both boogers and Oscar. So now I will relate how this morning I wiped an eye booger from Oscar's eye.

He was sitting on the couch. I sat next to him. His black fur gleamed in the early morning light, and he opened his mouth in a wide yawn as if to take in as much of it as he could. Suddenly he thought he heard something behind me, and he stretched his head up to see over my shoulder. It was then that I saw it; a dull blob in the corner of his eye, a blackish Oscar eye booger.

He continued to be interested in some noise behind my back, as I reached up with my thumb to his eye. He jerked his head back, too concentrated on the scene behind me to allow his owner to perform doggie hygiene on him. But I just dug in, but not too hard. It doesn't take much to get an eye booger to stick to your finger. By now, Oscar knew what I was doing and he took interest. He likes to make sure I got it all out by sniffing my fingers and licking them. That's right--Oscar eats his eye boogers.

And what was behing my back that kept him so captivated while I did my best to release him from eye booger hell? David. That's all...I mean, David!, the very interesting man on the other side of the room who had 10 minutes earlier given Oscar a brand new squeaky toy. We love David. Maybe he has more toys up his sleeve.

2007-01-09T15:14:00.000-08:00

Getting Bored

I'm so tired of coming to this blog and reading about my wedding. Other people must be getting sick of it too. So, unless something really major comes up (or if people genuinely seem interested in every little wedding detail), no more mention of the day I completely relinquish my single status.

What else is going on with me, though? School starts again next week and I'm eagerly looking forward to tax season. I should get lots of tax dollars back, thanks to my student status.

Sheesh, I am boring. This is why I've been avoiding this blogging place. I want you all to believe that if I had any interesting bit of knowledge, an epiphany of some sort, or just a plain ol' good story, that this is the first place I would put it. I've hit a dry spell. My apologies. I will return as soon as I can.

2007-01-05T14:46:00.000-08:00

Backup Plan

In case of another freak snow storm the weekend of the wedding, it might be good to have a backup plan. I don't think most people will be willing to trek back out to Colorado for a postponement date, so maybe on the second try elopement will be best.

And since I can't imagine getting married in some stuffy judge's office, why not head to Vegas? They have lots of themed weddings to keep the event fun. Some of my favorite options are getting married at Paris, Las Vegas, 50 stories up in the air in a reconstructed Eiffel Tower; on a Venetian gondola on Lake Las Vegas, complete (I imagine) with a singing gondolier; in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon; or on a pirate ship. Doesn't that sound fun? I almost wish I had gone this route to begin with. Oh well, too late, unless the snow does come.

2007-01-04T13:42:00.000-08:00

Have a Happy

Where to start?

Happy New Year: I haven't yet had the pleasure of writing 2006 and catching my mistake. This was much more common in the era of check writing. I might never catch on to 2007...

Happy Snow Storms: I love the snow, as I have written in this very blog. But this year (or was it last year?), the snow is testing my patience. I missed Christmas because of the mess in Denver. And once I got to Denver, more snow came, nearly ruining my chance to get my act together for the wedding. There is only so much you can do when all the stores are closed. But alas, the snow finally began to melt, and I spent a lovely afternoon at Hobby Lobby, buying wedding decoration supplies, and later, getting high off of paint fumes with my mom. Good times.

Happy One Month to Go: Until the wedding. I keep on wondering if I fit the part. Should I be freaking out about having so much to do? I actually feel calm. Things are magically falling into place. Which makes me wonder...when will it start to go wrong? I'm getting more worried about the weather, especially after the dowsing Denver got over Christmas. But then again, maybe that's all the snow they'll get. Maybe it will all be fine. Maybe maybe maybe it'll be the best combination of weather/planning/luck ever.

Happy Back to Work: Huh? I take it back. So sorry the holidays are over.

2006-12-21T14:29:00.000-08:00

Can I Hitch a Ride?

I was planning on going home tomorrow, flying standby, to Colorado. Now, thanks to the snow (which I had been raving about, way to repay the favor, Mr. Snow Maker), I can't go home until after Christmas. Do you realize what this has done to my Christmas spirit? Completely ruined it. I'm crushed. No--melted, into the little raindrops I so despise.

The only way I see out of this is to hitch a ride with Santa on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. Then I would be home in time for brunch with Grandma. But since my Christmas spirit is gone--there is no Santa to hitch a ride with, because he's not real (if you are five and you're reading this, sorry I ruined it, but you are five and reading, so you should probably be curing cancer or something).

My mom told me to make cookies. Yeah, like cookies can give me hugs and presents. It's not the same. Bah Humbug!

2006-12-20T12:10:00.000-08:00

Will people stop trying to break into my car? It's getting very expensive. I'm shelling out another $191 because of your antics. What do you think I am, made of money? You made me cry. I don't like giving the mechanic my Christmas bonus. And I don't like you stealing my things. Please stop.

2006-12-20T12:09:00.000-08:00

Encouraged

I took my car into the shop this morning, and while waiting for the shuttle to take me to work, I met a therapist who asked me what the heck I was doing out here in ol' CA. And so we got on the topic of my novel. He asked what it was about. I gave him a summary, and he was really interested. He liked the idea, and his imagination started twirling. He even remembered an old movie he liked as a child called Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid, which I will add to my NetFlicks queue shortly.

The most encouraging part was his genuine interest. He even offered to give me his wife's card, who works in publishing. I shyly declined. I'm not ready for that, I told him. I wonder when I will be? Maybe sooner if I keep getting positive feedback like this.

2006-12-19T10:40:00.000-08:00

BBBBRRRRRrrrrrrrrr

It's cold outside--for the Bay Area anyway. There was a frost advisory until 10 am this morning. I walked Oscar in the cold, but bundled up against the cold and kept up a quick pace to jump start my inner furnace.

I was prepared for the cold outside (except for the frost on my window, don't know where we put the ice scrapers--never thought we'd need them here!), but I wasn't prepared for the cold inside. Yesterday, I came into work and my desk area was just as cold as the parking garage had been. Today, the coworker across from me said the air conditioning was on when he came in.

I expect to be warm inside when it's cold outside. But right now my fingers are so cold they are moving notably slower. I have to stop periodically and sit on them, or warm them in my armpits. I've been wearing a scarf for two days. In the year and a half since I've been out here, this is the first time I've felt the need to wear a scarf. AND I'M INDOORS!!!

Please, send me a space heater for Christmas.

2006-12-18T10:17:00.000-08:00

I Had a Lovely Time

This weekend was a perfect combination of productive and lazy. It started off with an introduction to another sure favorite: the Very Dirty Martini. Thanks Brooke, for calling this drink to my attention. I've always liked pickly things, and now I have a drink in which I can embrace this.

The next day, all hungover and filled with my favorite hangover cure (tomato juice, tasty!), I embarked on the many errands that have been awaiting my attention. I found wedding shoes, and undergarments. I went to IKEA and stocked up on candles for wedding decorations, and even did some Christmas shopping for my nephews. Everywhere I went seemed to be the place to be if you wanted to avoid Christmas shoppers. My day flew by with ease, until I headed back to the city and did battle with traffic. I searched for wedding jewelry with my friend Tony, discovering that my dream look would cost me as much as the budget for the entire wedding. I'll be looking for cheap knockoffs online.

As the sun set, and I was bumper to bumper with fellow Bay Areanites (?), my Christmas miracle happened. I looked to the sky and saw flurries. I approached what I saw scientifically, not quite believing what I was seeing. Were the flurries bugs, or ash? Then one fell on my window and melted. SNOW! I was so happy! Just days after remarking the length of time since I had seen snow fall, a few showered my car. Whooo Hooo! Of course, not enough fell to even stick to the road, but I was happy all the same.

It was a wonderful day.

2006-12-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

In a Rut

I feel like all I have been blogging about is the wedding and Christmas and drinking. It's really wearing on me, to the point that I'm starting to believe all the hype. I have an alcoholic Christmas wedding problem, or is it that I'm a Christmas alcoholic bride? In any case, the doctors say it's not serious, and that come February 4th, all the symptoms will go away. Strange, though, that the Christmas part will stick that long. Maybe I can get some ointment to clear that up by the end of the month.

Great, now I'm all self-conscious about what I'm writing. I'm not going to get it right. I gotta go ______(Sing Frosty the Snowman/do a seating arrangment/spike the eggnog).

2006-12-13T09:29:00.000-08:00

Where's the Snow?

I grew up in Colorado. I lived there for twenty four years straight. I saw snow every winter. A year and a half ago, I moved away from Colorado, and I haven't seen snow since.

I get confused. I feel like I should wake up and see snow, but it never happens. It's cold here in the bay area, but all that comes out of the sky is a veil of mist. Either that or fat blobby rain drops (no, they're not that cute), that soak up the bottoms of my pants, and find thier way in my shoes, get my socks soaked and make me miserable in general.

What season is it? They say it's winter. I see the lawn decorations for Christmas on the lawns. But, if you ask me, having a Santa sleigh pulled by reindeer just doesn't make sense without the snow. I used to go sledding every winter, and I know that when you hit a patch of mud, the sled won't go. I guess Santa is more magic than I can imagine. But magic or no, don't you think he would adjust his outfit for the weather? He's always wearing that heavy coat.

Here is my

Ode to Snow

Falling from the sky,
so slow I can catch you
on my tongue.

You whisper past
my ear.
Patter in the pile

collecting on the ground.
A blanket of individuals.
Rain is all the same;

each drop
stabs
me in the heart.

Ok, so I just made that up, and you definitely won't see that in any anthologies. Now you know why I switched to fiction.

Pray for snow in Oakland.

2006-12-12T08:53:00.000-08:00

Nightmare on Wedding Street

Last night I had my first dream about the wedding, and I got upstaged.

Since dreams can come off as boring, I'll try to make this quick. It was the weekend of the wedding, and apparently we had some big group activity planned, which was to attend a football game. After the game, there was a big announcement about a wedding that weekend. I immediately thought they were talking about mine, but up on the stage (I know there's no stage in football), these older women in incredibly ornate wedding dresses made entrance after entrance, and lined up, and sat on chairs and smiled. Turns out those were just the women attending the wedding. Then the bride came out, wearing a copper gown with a gorgeous ivory wrap, and she was truly queen of the moment.

I was sitting in the stands in jeans and a hoodie. No so beautiful, not so queen-like.

Well, at least the worst has already happened. Unless I dream up something more horrific, because let's face it, this wasn't even that bad.

2006-12-11T08:48:00.000-08:00

Countdown to Forever

I suddenly realized yesterday that my wedding (David's wedding, THE wedding) is six weeks away. It has very quickly come to a point where I can keep track of just how much time I have left to turn into Bridezilla. I still don't think that will happen (ok, it might, and I'll be sure to keep an electronic diary of that moment).

Getting married shouldn't feel any different than what we have now. We've been living with each other since the day we met (we move fast, eh?, actually he was subletting a room in my apartment), we've communicated every feeling we've ever felt since that time. So on February 4th, we are going to wake up and say "Hello husband," "Hello wife," and that's the only thing that will change, but not really, because we already lovingly refer to each other as Mr. and Mrs., so we won't even have that moment, but then maybe there will be a spark behind his eyes, and I will feel something different, and that will be new, and...and...and -- what? Forever. There will be the next day, and the day after that. Morning after morning of "Hello husband," "Hello wife," and there will be stuff in between, and that will be life.

Is it good? The outlook is positive. But the thought of forever is a little terrifying. And it's only six weeks away.

2006-12-09T16:16:00.000-08:00

Ahhh...Just Sit Back And Rel--

It's my first weekend without homework in 15 weeks. At first, I made a list of all the things I need to do. Then I forgot them all.

I took a nap. And then I decided the house was so dirty I couldn't take it any more. And since no one likes to read about housecleaning, let's give it a code word --"drinking," to trick you into thinking you are reading something interesting.

I "drank" in the bathroom, I "drank" in the living room. I did a lot of "drinking" and I'm finding there are a lot of benefits to "drinking." The house looks better, I feel better, and I think I should "drink" more often. David "drinks" in the kitchen pretty often, so luckily I didn't have to "drink" in there as much. We've been letting things go around the house so much that we've got a "drinking" problem. Having a dog requires that you "drink" more than usual, and I just haven't been able to keep up. But now that I have more time off, I will try to "drink" every day.

I'd like to say that I'm sufficiently drunk, after all the "drinking" I've done tonight, but there's still a lot to be "drank" (?), and I'm getting tired. After all, "drinking" on your hands and knees would wear anyone out. There are still some other places I need to "drink," like in my bedroom. I also might take a shot at "drinking" and driving next time I'm in my car.

2006-12-06T09:00:00.000-08:00

Great Tip for Wasting Time

If you're going to be the best time waster you can be, you first need to commit yourself to as many activities as possible. That's what I did yesterday. Even though it was the last day of the semester for me, I still went ahead and scheduled a chapter due date for December 22nd. The phrase "take a break" apparently means nothing to me. In addition, I've also been adding wedding chores, as I like to call them, to my schedule. And of course, these chores must be done next week, but they won't get done until I start panicking over them. Oh yeah, and I still go to work every day on top of that. I'm not as busy as before, but it's enough to keep me going.

So, last night, as I was enjoying a glass of wine and flipping through the channels, I discovered the most ridiculous channel ever. It's called the Reality Channel, run by Fox, so you know everything on it is going to be either inappropriate or unnecessary, but at least mildly entertaining. I saw a commercial for a show about porn stars going to London to put on a Shakespearean play. That's right -- Shakespeare + Porn Stars = Valuable Programming. It brings whole new meaning to this quote from As You Like It: "All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts"

2006-12-05T08:47:00.000-08:00

Finger Lickin' Weird

We really take fingers for granted. I've been thinking about mine alot, wondering if anyone has ever had the bottom segments of their fingers fused to the middle section, so all they can bend is the top section. You might as well have not bothered growing opposable thumbs at that point, they wouldn't help.

And now I'm having two problems with my fingers: one is my own fault, and the other is the weather's. My fingernails are hideously long. Okay, not so long that I have to sheath them in a special leather casing, but any minute now I'm going to gouge myself with them, and it won't be pretty. It's like I'm walking around with dull knives on the ends of my fingers, and I've always been told dull knives are more dangerous than sharp ones, which technically means I have way more to worry about than Edward Scissorhands.

The second concern of mine is that my fingers are perpetually cold. Well, it's cold outside. I've pulled out the gloves, which is sort of ridiculous considering our low temperatures have been in the 40s, while other parts of the country are forming little ice crystals around their nostrils every time they step outside. But listen here, my fingers are cold inside too. Combined with my dull knives, that makes for some very clumsy and very risky moves. I hope all my apendages survive until I can dig out the clippers.

2006-12-04T09:17:00.000-08:00

Monday, Wha-?

This day is pummelling me. I want my weekend back.

On a brighter note, my nephew was born this morning. 5 lbs 14 oz., a little guy. His name is Nathan, with a middle name on its way any day now. My vote is for Christopher; it makes me think of the Hundred Acre Wood.

Welcome Nathan! Sorry to bring you into a world where, unfortunately, Mondays exist. But hey, you'll get used to it. And who knows, maybe you'll become the Monday Master, a guru for those of us who cannot, under our own power, get out of bed and make it to work sooner than fifteen-minutes-late to save our lives (and probably our jobs).

And so far, I see you've got it right Nathan. Babies sleep. A lot. This blogger is jealous.

Love ya kiddo!

2006-11-29T10:56:00.000-08:00

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I don't know how many times I've heard it in the past few weeks, but it seems to be a hot topic every year: How can those sales clerks stand to listen to Christmas music for hours at a time, day in and day out?

Well, as your resident expert (I spent over five years in the retail world), let me tell you. At first, it's great! Mostly because it's a welcome change from the previous cd the store has been making you listen to for the past six months. I have a theory that this is why Black Friday is such a success year in and year out: the sales people are so happy to have new music on that it puts a bounce in their step and a twinkle in their eye. Who wouldn't want to buy from them?

Fast forward a week: this is when you start memorizing the tunes you hear. This is not the worst stage, as you will see, but it is the point where the Christmas music goes bad. You don't know how many more times you can rock around the Christmas tree, or deck the halls. You rush to your car after work and turn on the radio -- only to hear more Christmas music! Ack! It's an attack. You turn off the radio and sing all the songs from Grease 1 and 2.

Another week goes by, and your brain is working overtime. By now you know all the words to all the Christmas songs, including Jessica Simpson's rendition of Santa Cutie (let's just pretend), AND the order the songs are played in. So when you go to your car for escape, there's something about the end of that Alanis Morissette song (you've exhausted your repertoire by now) that makes you want to segue into Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.

Another week goes by. You want to run around the store and scream because you know the next song is sung by Kid Rock (ugh, really, who would want him to spread the Christmas cheer? Bad choice). On top of it all, you are beginning to wish that there really were just 12 days of Christmas.

Another week goes by. By now you would have tuned out the music because it is so ingrained in your brain that you practically sing it in your sleep, but your manager finally pushes the shuffle button. This is particularly torturous because you expect to hear Up on the Rooftop, but instead you get White Christmas. It really messes with you. Many sales people develop ticks.

Alas, it all ends Christmas Eve. You turn off the lights to the store. You go to the cd player and remove Christmas Mix 2006. You leave the store. You start a small fire in the parking lot. You roast chestnuts on the open fire, and the cd (crackling and sizzling in the flames) finally provides just the right background music.

Happy Holidays!

2006-11-27T09:40:00.000-08:00

Coincidentally...

I went back home to Colorado for my Thanksgiving adventures. Well, truthfully it wasn't at all very adventurous, but you might say there were moments of melodrama.

As many of you know, I am getting married in February. The planning is in full gear, meaning the invitations have been sent, the dress has been bought, and the florist has been contacted. The RSVP deadline is on Friday. But guess who's not coming -- my grandmother, who I've become very close to since my parents divorced several years ago. First, my dad told me she wasn't coming. Then my brother told me she wasn't coming. I still thought my powers of pursuasion would prevail, and that I could guilt her into coming, or somehow convince her that a trip to the mountains in the middle of winter is nothing but routine. But alas, my powers were too weak. She still said no.

My grandmother has not spoken to me face to face about her not coming, or even over the phone. Our main exchange was over email, because I knew I would never get two words in if I tried to talk over the phone, and supposedly she starts crying any time she thinks about it. It's very difficult to convey the entire situation (my grandma's fear of travelling anywhere, the usual old-person health issues, and her downright stubborness, for starters), but suffice it to say that I was expecting from her a heart-felt, possibly emotional, decline of invitation. It never came. It seemed she never intended to speak to me of the wedding.

Enter the bride, headed to Colorado for the Thanksgiving holiday. Bride had not spoken to grandmother in a month, still waiting for some word of regret. Nothing. Bride calls grandmother on Thanksgiving holiday. Grandmother makes no mention of wedding. Bride visits grandmother the day after Thanksgiving. As grandmother continues making no mention of wedding (she is sorting through her collection of newspaper clippings, trying to find something she had just quoted), over the radio plays the grand wedding march. The song everyone associates with the wedding. Bride opens her eyes wide, not believing what she is hearing. Grandmother pauses in her paper clipping search and says, "Well, listen to what they are playing," and hastily returns to her precious task.

I had never seen an 800-pound gorilla in the room. It's more terrible than seeing one at the zoo. I wondered if it was a sign? No, I decided, not for me. For her. And she didn't take it.

If there are psychologists who study the workings of the elderly brain, I completely admire them, yet wonder how they get anywhere. I just don't get it. I can't understand my grandmother's reasons. I'm sure she has many. I'm trying to accept that, but I think it's going to take me a long time.

2006-11-21T09:08:00.000-08:00

Oh My Head, My Aching Head

What a great week to come to work with a hangover. Let the holidays begin!

In honor of my nausea and head crunch, let's look at famous alcoholics. I was able to find several lists of these people. However, I don't know what qualifies someone as a famous alcoholic. First, you must be famous, that is obvious. But was the alcoholism famous too? Here's what I found:

Katherine Hepburn was on the list, but when I searched her profile on Wikipedia, I couldn't find anything about a drinking problem. True, there was so much going on about this woman that maybe the alcoholism just wasn't as interesting. All I can think of is the Philadelphia Story, which was written for her, and contains a fantastic drunken scene the night before her wedding.
Hangover cure: two aspirins and a cool cloth for your forehead

Dylan Thomas is a man who was known for his drinking. I've heard stories about him at readings, so drunk his breat smelled up the room (actually, I made that up). But he did like his drink, and ended up dying as a result at the age of 39. Apparently, he once returned from a night of drinking and announced his 18 straight whiskies must be a record. Why bother with the glass at that point? Just pour it straight down the hatch, that's what I say.
Hangover cure: a bottle of aspirin, and set up a cot by the toilet, you're going to need it

Reading about real people is getting depressing. The body can only take so much. I read about Billy Holiday (no wonder her voice sounds so sad), and Babe Ruth (although evidence of his drinking is hard to pull out through all the batting stats). Here are some people who never have to worry about their livers, but I suspect are heavy drinkers:

Santa Claus has a jolly red nose, and it's not from living at the North Pole. I suspect that Mrs. Claus keeps quite a liquor cabinet and that the couple raids it often. And what do they do with all those cookies the children leave out for Santa? He takes them home and dips them in spiked egg nog.
Hangover cure: more booze and eight aspirin for the reindeer (remember, Rudolf also has a red nose)

Bigfoot must be smarter than all of us to avoid being caught all the time. Even so, we have all seen the footage of the big man running through the woods. If we were to revisit that short movie, we would see the way Bigfoot holds his arms out for balance. He's clearly innebriated. And where does he get his booze? No, stealing from campers is too easy. He makes his own from tree bark.
Hangover cure: a nice long mud bath

Mickey Mouse is a closeted alcoholic. His problem is tough to pick out because he seems like the All-American mouse. But look at his friends. Don't tell me Daffy Duck slurs becauses he has a speech impediment. Goofy has that laugh that only comes out after you've downed a few stiff drinks. And don't even get me started on Minnie. Drunkeness is the only explanation for wearing so many polka dots.
Hangover cure: cartoons can bounce back from anything; just move to the next scene

2006-11-13T09:57:00.000-08:00

Addicted to Shopping

I recently went shopping. Before any of this blog can make sense, you must know that I spent all $17K that I was able to earn in high school on clothing, gas for my car, and the occasional movie or restaurant meal. I can't believe I used to live like that. Now times have changed. Currently, about 2/3 of my budget goes to tuition, with precious little left over for gas, credit card payments, insurance, and my long lost buddy--shopping.

I don't go shopping very often because it adds up. But do you know what else adds up? The urge to go shopping. After a couple of months my skin starts to tingle and all I can think about is how I have nothing to wear at home (even though I have enough clothing to wear something different every day for at least four months, doesn't mean I actually want to wear every thing I have). If you repeat something to yourself often enough, you'll eventually believe it, and that is how I end up at the mall three times a year.

At first I set a strict budget. "No more than $100," I tell myself. But then I see many items with great prices, and I can't help myself. "I guess I can put it on my card," is my inevitable white-flag of surrender, waving limply in the air.

I was curious to see if the signs of substance abuse align with the signs of :

* Smell of substance on breath, body or clothes.
Sweat, from the labors of shopping? Or maybe it's the yummy spiced chai I was drinking...
* Extreme hyperactivity; excessive talkativeness.
There is no way this one describes a shopper!
* Needle marks or bruises on lower arm, legs or bottom of feet.
I don't know about needle marks, but maybe pen marks, from signing too many sales slips.
* Changes in friends: new hang-outs, avoidance of old crowd, new friends are drug users.
I do like to shop with a new person every now and then. And who knows, they may be drug users...
* Change in activities; loss of interest in things that were important before.
What's more important than shopping?
* Defensiveness, temper tantrums, resentful behavior (everything's a hassle).
Yeah, everything is a hassle when you realize all your pants flare out at the bottom when everyone else is wearing the skinny leg pant.
* Unexplained silliness or giddiness.
This may be due to increased caffeine consumption while shopping. Or, seeing the pretty red shoe on my foot and trying to think of all the things I could wear with it. Ahh, like floating on a cloud!
* Paranoia -- suspiciousness.
What if the sale ends before I get there?
* Excessive need for privacy; keeps door locked or closed, won't let people in.
No, I will not show you how fat I look in this dress. And don't come in while I'm changing, I need to do laundry and I'm wearing granny underwear.
* Chronic dishonesty.
I didn't spend that much...
* Unexplained need for money; can't explain where money goes; stealing.
The need for money I can see, but I've never stolen a thing. Finally, a sign that my problem isn't as serious as it could be.
* Unusual effort to cover arms, legs.
Duh!
* Change in personal grooming habits.
I would hope that buying new clothing would encourage snazzier style.
* Possession of drug paraphernalia.
The only drug paraphernalia I can think of are crisp $100 bills.

2006-11-10T09:40:00.000-08:00

Procrasty Nation

I'm at a point where I can see many Tasks lined up in front of me, waiting to be selected and completed. I could work on my Virginia Woolf Paper. I could work on My Novel, or My Thesis. I could finish my Homework for Monday (or start it). I could settle up with the Florists for the wedding. I could Clean my House. But that is not my reality. I sit here, on my throne of procrastination and rule over these Tasks without force or undue action. I have no expectations of them, except that they remain near to me, fill my court, and worship the possibility that I could master them in a few hours if I wish.

And how do my subjects repay me? They move closer to my arch-nemisis, the Due Date. I have no idea what that horrendous villain could possibly do for them. Due Date calls first to my Monday Homework: "Come nearer, I can make you more significant. I can give you power; move toward my light and you will influence your former master in torturous ways." Because Due Date knows that if one of my subjects moves to his side for good, and passes by, that he will have won.

I cannot let that happen. Yet I always wait for Due Date to call upon my Tasks at hand. Why doesn't he just leave them alone? I've never been given the chance to see if the Tasks of my kingdom will interract in such a way that Virginia Woolf Paper will Clean the House, or if the Florist knows anything about My Thesis. No, the Tasks do not rely on each other this way. Due Date knows this, and he calls them, every time.

2006-11-09T09:39:00.000-08:00

Battle of the Sick

I last posted about my use of sick days. And wouldn't you know it? The sick day won.

I called in sick yesterday. And I was sick. My head hurt, I woke up unrested (and we all know rest is the key to getting over anything), and the thought of dragging my unhealthy body to a work place that only provides a course two-ply tissue for repeated rubbing of my runny nose just wasn't doing it for me. So, I sent the email to work announcing they would not be graced with my presence, and I went back to bed for three more hours.

I had hopes of making the most of my sick day. I thought David and I could go look at suits for the wedding. I thought we might take Oscar for a nice walk. I thought we might replenish the supplies in our fridge. But instead I watched Emma (for the second time in two days), took a nap, registered for wedding gifts, and watched Ghost Hunters. I feel better today, but I would have stayed home again...if I had any more sick time left.

Achoo! I'm back at work today, and I've brought my own box of lotioned, vitamin E-ed, and aloed kleenex with me. Just another month and a half until I get more sick days.

2006-11-06T11:18:00.000-08:00

Careful With Those Sick Days

I used a sick day last week after staying up all night to finish my novel submission for class. Was I sick? No. Did I feel well? No. Yet I feel justified in taking the sick day, and don't regret it.

But here I am four days later with the beginnings of a sore throat. My lower back is aching, even though I've already popped two ibuprofen. And have I considered throwing in the towel for the day and going home sick? Yes. Will I follow through? No.

I'm not the first person to recognize this problem--that some of us store up those sick days for when we really need them--which is definitely not at the sign of a sniffle or a tummy rumble. I suppose we are lucky, because when we really are sick it's never enough to keep us under the covers. Even if we did stay away from work, we'd still find ourselves out shopping or finishing up a few errands. I pity those who rely on the sick time to actually get well.

So I'll sit here for the rest of the day, convincing myself that my aches and pains are nothing that won't go away on their own, and plan how I'm going to use my remaining 12 hours of sick time before the year is up.

Be well.

2006-11-03T09:39:00.000-08:00

Special: Sleep 30% Off

I'm sleep deprived, folks. So if none of the following entry makes sense, or there are major errors in grammer or spelling (as if there was a standard for blogging), you know why. In the past three days, I have slept twelve hours.

Which is why I have this brilliant idea. It could never work, because there is no way to change the effects of sleep, but suppose we lived in a world where you were only rationed 7 hours of sleep a night. Some people would not use all of their sleep, and some people would use theirs up at the beginning of the week, and some people would become very regular 7-hours-a-night-sleepers. At first I was thinking it would be nice for the people who use less than their 7 hours to be able to sell their hours to the unrested. But that's not really fair. I'm thinking this system would be more of a use-it-or-lose-it kind of thing. However, for those who need more sleep, why not allow them to take a potion that makes their sleep 25% more effective. So if they only sleep for four hours, they wake up feeling like they slept for five. If seven isn't enough, they take the potion and feel like they slept for over eight.

Maybe when I wake up I'll realize how silly this sounds. But think about it...we take drugs to make our awake time more effective (caffeine, atterol, speed...), why not find something that makes sleep more effective, something better than just a sleeping pill.

Signing off....Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z

2006-10-30T11:32:00.000-08:00

It's a Day

I'm having one of those days where you feel like everyone can see your underwear, but no one is nice enough to tell you about it.

What does this mean? Am I feeling extra vulnerable this morning?

Or can people really see my undies?

I gotta go look in the mirror...

2006-10-30T08:34:00.000-08:00

Sounds Like a Big Bruise

I've got two things to talk about, Orange and Blue, and Orange and Black. Sounds like a big bruise.

Orange and Blue. It is time that I declare my allegiance to the Denver Broncos on this blog. This will not turn into some orange-blooded rant, but I would like to state my concern. I could not watch the game yesterday because the bay area does not believe Bronco fans can exist among so much black, silver, gold, and red. But yes, it is so, I and a few others do support Denver, and to my knowledge, we are all still alive.
Ok, maybe a little rant. What is up with our team? In the past few years, I've felt more passionate against the Colts than the Raiders (mostly because they are a better opponent). It's been a while since we've seen the Broncos get all rearin' to beat the living snot out of another team. We even held back against the Raiders and are damn lucky we didn't lose that one. Ok, I'm finished, but I would like to summarize: 2006 Broncos need more bite in their buck.

Orange and Black. Tomorrow is Halloween! I'm excited, even though I've never watched this holiday approach with less enthusiasm. I don't have a costume, I didn't attend a single party, and I haven't bought any candy for the stray trick-or-treater that may or may not come to my door. I'm excited because it means the live ghost hunting shows are on! Yesterday I watched the British Most Haunted crew sort through the underground tunnels of Edinburgh. There were rocks flying through the air and people possessed by angry spirits. Great fun. They'll be on again tonight and tomorrow night. Also tomorrow night, my favorite ghost hunting crew TAPS will be revisiting the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado. Their season finale last year was all about this place, and I'm hoping they find a good reason for me to stay up until 3:00 am watching them.

So now that I've revealed two of my passions, football and ghosts, I'm possibly setting myself up for disappointment. If the Broncos continue to lose (ouch) and the ghost shows aren't able to catch anything parnormal (ouch), I'll be all bruised up.

2006-10-26T10:37:00.000-07:00

Best in Show

Ok, so it was only graduation from the beginner dog obedience class, and there were only two other dogs, but my dog kicked ass! There was a relay/scavenger hunt where the owners had to take their dogs around the store finding items and performing dog tricks along the way. Oscar came cruising in ahead of all the other dogs.

I had said before that a certain other dog belonged in the intermediate class (she already knew everything we were learning), and I was worried that Oscar wouldn't have a fair chance. But lo and behold, that dog came in third place. I don't know what happened. Owner difficulties?

Anyway, Oscar's prize was a pull toy that says #1 Dog. But, not surprisingly, he seemed more interested in the thrid place prize, which was a little pumpkin that squeeks.

Good job Oscar!

2006-10-25T16:40:00.000-07:00

Recycle a Bicycle

I have two trash cans under my desk. One is blue. It's where the happy trash goes. The trash that will find new life. The trash that will see the sun again one day soon. If you don't believe in reincarnation, look in the recycle bin. It would be interesting to know if a napkin can come back as a newspaper, which comes back as a book, until it comes back as--what? A diploma? Can recycled goods acheive unconditional love for all trash items recyclable and nonrecyclable alike?

The other trash can is black. The black hole. It eats whatever I put into it, and then where does it go? We are conditioned not to ask such questions. It's a mystery, and perhaps some physicists are working on unraveling it's hidden secrets. Or perhaps if you get too curious, two men in black trench coats will come to your house and go to open up their coats, spilling empty packs of cigarettes, banana peels and a used condoms on the floor. Some things are better kept as secrets.

I just finished drinking a Starbucks. Here's my question. Does the empty container belong in the blue or the black can? The plastic lid must go in the black, even though it has a recycle sign. The blue can is for paper only, and I abide by the rule "if it tears, it goes in" (not a good rule for recepticles of any other kind). Am I supposed to put the cup in the blue can? Do I rinse it out first? I am faced with similar dilemmas all day long. Every time I reach for the cans, I wonder, what fate am I choosing for this article of waste? Will I create new life, or add to the problem? I happen to know that neither of my parents recycle. Can I possibly make up for theirs and millions of other people's recycling handicap by making the right choice?

I put it in the black hole. Let me know if it travels through a time warp to your home.

2006-10-23T09:51:00.000-07:00

Go Ahead, Call Me A Child

A message has been coming through to me lately. It says "It's ok for you to keep your childlike tendencies. It's a sign of your strong creativity." So next time I throw a temper tantrum, remember I'm harboring my creativity.

It makes sense. Children have the best imaginations. I've read it is because they are living in the moment. If they didn't sit there an observe the current situation, they will learn more. They see colors and hear sounds without distraction. The environment stimulates their minds and it produces scenarios and pretends all sorts of things adults are not capable of.

I have been trying to live in the moment.

With so many things going on in my life (to fill you in--full time job, full time graduate school, full time puppy, planning a wedding, and oh yeah--my relationship) my mind is jumping all over the place. How can I possibly expect myself to sit down and work on my novel if Im mentally veering off track all the time?

Heres my experiment so far: Try to remind myself I'm in a moment whenever possible. This morning I'm sitting at the front desk putting a mailing together for the publicity department. I note how heavy the paper is in my fingers. I feel the increased pressure it takes to fold the pages. And I breathe, knowing that this is the only place I could possibly be at the moment. Hopefully, by not worrying about all the other things I could possibly be doing or thinking about, some creative thought will seep in.

Its also calming to think of myself carefree as a kindergartner. Im content with what Im doing, because its not possible to be doing anything else.

Send me some building blocks, Im ready to construct something grand!

2006-10-19T09:09:00.000-07:00

Back to the Mundane

It is ok for you to uncover your eyes now, unless the dentist makes you squeemish. I would like to recount my dental experience from yesterday for you all now. It was bizarre.

Usually, the dentist doesn't ask you many questions. That's the hygenist's job, and she asked me plenty of questions last Friday like "How's your novel coming along?" "What should I write my novel about?" Please, lady, it's hard enough for me to focus on writing without a bunch of plaque catapulting off my teeth from the end of your scrapey tool. But by the end of the cleaning she had the most brilliant, un-thought-of idea for a book ever. She said, "Maybe I'll write a novel about a dentist who falls in love with the hygenist, and they can make steamy eye contact over their patients." Right.

Now to my dentist. We see a Korean dentist because it's David's way of giving back to his culture. I go along with it, because Asians are smart people, and I can support David in this way. Our dentist has a thick accent, and luckily I have practice with David's parents so I can understand him. But now I'm not so sure my listening skills are so good. These are the four things my dentist said to me yesterday:

This job is better for a man, not a woman. There's too much physical exertion involved.

One of my patients made me very happy this morning. I did surgery on his gums a few days ago. I told him I would use a new proceedure and it wouldn't hurt at all. This morning he came in and he said "You were right. I went home, and it didn't hurt at all."

If life has a speed limit, I'm going about 40 miles an hour.

I feel like it's the 4th of July!

And all this while he was drilling into my tooth, without numbing my gum (my decision, but it was a tad painful). At least my dentist feels comfortable enough to say what's on his mind. Maybe he thinks of it as therapy. After all, aren't dentists supposed to have the highest suicide rate out of any profession?

2006-10-13T09:19:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Bachelorette part five

It's a sad day in bachelorette-dom. Invitees are dropping of the list like flies. I don't think I came on too strong, so hopefully these girls have something better to do than spend a refined, intellectual night out with a young lady who is about to lose her freedom to household chores and marital spats. Don't feel guilty.

The fun will go on! It's easier to keep track of a smaller group of women anyway. Perhaps the girl who was going to make out with a different guy at every bar has just declined her chance to smooch the night away. Perhaps the girls who are going out of town will miss out on the most incredible night imaginable. We'll never know.

Or will we? After the big night, look for a detailed account of the bachelorette events, complete with pictures and embarassing tales. Then we'll know. But really, don't feel bad. More shots for me.

Confession #5
I felt a little rejected at first, but I'm still determined to have a good time!

2006-10-12T09:42:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Bachelorette part four

What to wear?
Something that screams "I'm taken!" or "Take me now!"

The costume option. I don't have many costumes at home, but the ones I do have are cheerleader, Marilyn Monroe, and boxer. Hmmm, Halloween is just too close.

This is a fine example of the "I'm not interested" look. I could wear my glasses for the ultimate studious nerd signal, some frumpy shirt buttoned all the way up to the top removing any hope of a sneak peek, and to top it all off--running shoes.

And finally, the underwear and hair look.

Cast your votes. I'll wear the winner on Saturday (HA!)

Confession #4
I prefer the "Take me now!" look

2006-10-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Bachelorette part three

Here are some of the shots I would like to try this weekend, and a short note about what I think of their names:

Purple Hooter
Vodka, Triple Sec, Chambord, Ice
Ice first - 4 oz Vodka
1.5 oz Triple Sec
2 oz Chambord
Shake and strain into four glasses
I don't even want to know what the creator was sitting in when they named this beverage.

Pink Panty Pulldown Punch
1 750ml bottle of vodka (a fifth)
3 oz Lemon juice or 1 can of lemonade concentrate
9 oz jar of maraschino cherries
2 L Sprite
Pour it all, including the juice from the cherry jar into a punch bowl and serve. Wear a belt.
Apparently, this drink was invented so that the bachelorette's friends could pull down her pants and get a look at her famous pink undies.

Pucker up Foreplay
8 oz Absolut Vodka
4 oz Pucker (melon is good but others work)
12 oz Pineapple juice
12 oz Cranberry juice
Ice
Fill all ingredients in a pitcher and serve.
Maybe it all feels better with a little pucker, sucker!

Confession #3
I intend to take full advantage of those who will buy me drinks.

2006-10-10T09:41:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Bachelorette part two

The only time I will don a veil (since I've chosen not to wear one at the wedding), could possibly be at the bachelorette party. For some reason, these awful bachelorette brand of veils are designed to make the wearer look as cheap and white trash as possible. Decked with ribbon rosettes and fake pearls, these stiff toule veils wouldn't flap in the breeze if they were in a hurricane. They look itchy, dirty, and always make me think they are second hand.

A history lesson on the veil reveals that it was meant to keep the groom from seeing the bride until it was too late to back out. Or that the veil protected the bride from evil spirits that would be lured in by her beauty on her wedding day. Or maybe it was a way to tantalize the groom--thinking he'd want what he couldn't have (flawed logic, since he was getting what he couldn't see!).

Let's think about the veil. It's symbolic, representing the release into womanhood. Removing her guise of innocence. Opening her eyes to--to what? Sex? It's ridiculous. Think of a father walking his daughter down the isle, and when they get there, he lifts the veil and says "Your mother and I should have warned you. About tonight..." No it doesn't happen. Now women wear the veil because they think that's what they are supposed to do. It doesn't mean a thing anymore. It's part of the costume. Which is why no one protested when it encroached on the bachelorette party.

Clearly, the veil has become nothing more than an advertisement: I'm getting married. Buy me a drink, dammit!

Confession #2
I think veils are dumb

Tomorrow I'll spice things up a bit by providing my thoughts on binge drinking.

2006-10-09T10:35:00.000-07:00

Confessions of a Bachelorette part one

The big event to look forward to this week is my bachelorette party. I have to admit, I'm pretty excited to let loose. Although, I still have a few months to go until the wedding, so should I hold back a little? Nah!

My friend Kiki was so gracious to put together a girls night out, while David and his friends are celebrating the rights of the bachelor in Vegas (thank god for those commercials--what's happens in Vegas stays in Vegas--I don't even want to know!). So far, I know we are meeting at my friend Brooke's house for dinner and drinks, and after that, it's anyone's guess.

So, what exactly is a bachelorette supposed to do these last few precious days of singlehood? I associate these parties with heavy drinking, incriminating photos, and flirting with men who will never be attainable again. Who says this has to end once you get married? (just kidding David, I love you).

Thankfully, according to one source, less than 20% of bachelorette parties involve a stripper. That is the last thing I want to see, some banana hammock wagging around in front of my face. Gross!

So here it is folks:
Confession #1
I am a boring bachelorette.

More to come this week.

2006-10-05T11:56:00.000-07:00

Hot Dog Eating Contests Explained

It's still an enigma to us: how competitve eaters keep it all down. I went behind the scenes with the rising star of the eating industry and got answers to all the questions. He's a man of few words, but it's evident he knows how to eat. Here is its, a Q&A session with Mr. Chuck Upster:

1) What food contest do you prefer to perform in: pie eating, hot dogs, or something else?
Well now little missy, I's a be liking all kinds of food. Don't really mind too much just as long as the food be good. Can't be eating nothing which aint cooked like. Got me a bad gut ache once cause I's be eating a hot dog which gone bad by 'bout two months. I was sick as a dog for days, you just ask Isabelle and she tell ya 'bout it.

2) You had a brilliant performance in this year's Nate's Hot Dog eating contest at Coney Island. Although you didn't beat Kobayashi, you were just 6 hot dogs behind. Was this your personal best?
Sure, might as well of been, don't really recall too much 'bout that now. I's just be focusing on getting 'em down before tha other feller.

3) Do you prefer to vomit between rounds? What are your feelings about vomiting?
Ain't really got ta say much 'bout vomit. If a man's gotta vomit, a man's gotta vomit. I's a just think it be the same as peeing in a drinking competition.

4) How do you train? Walk us through a typical morning before a competition.
Well that's a good question now young lady. Isabelle usually makes me a fried breakfast which usually contains eggs, bacon, beans, corndogs, fired toast, sausage, ham, cheese and a couple cups of coffee. I usually focus my mind on the day's event. She says I'd be like an athelete or something, all tensed up waiting for the storm. You know, just like the Rocky feller in those films.

5) How did you get started in eating competitions? How long does a typical eating career last? Have you gained weight since you started?
Down at Cotton Eye Joe's burger joing, they had this here big 40 oz. prime steak. Old Joe himself said "you eat that and you get you and your woman a free meal." I said "Shit, I could eat me four of those steaks, Joe," and so I did and we got the meal. Joe then said "how's about I be your manager and we enter you into the competitions where you eat food." I said "sure, so long as it ain't on Thursday when Smallville be on."

6) Are you a purist--a picnic style eater (eat the hotdog with the bun), or do you prefer to eat them separately? Do you use anything to make it go down easier (like water or condiments?)
I just eat 'em.

7) Any advice for blossoming young hot dog eaters?
Just remember the stomach is expandable. That's all.

8) I'm curious what the after effects of a competition are. Do you get bloated, feel sick, have to spend an entire night on the toilet? Or is your body used to it by now?
Nah, just wash the food down with a coupla 40s.

9) What is Mrs. Upster like? Does she have any good hot dog recipes for our readers?
Isabelle don't really cook. We get meals for free down at Joe's, him being my manager and all.

10) There are rumors spreading that you take muscle relaxants to help you stuff your face. This is clearly a violation of International Federation of Competitive Eating rules. What do you have to say about these allegations?
Huh?

Thank you for your time Chuck. I don't think I've ever seen someone answer questions in hot dog color before. Good luck in this year's competitive eating season.

Special thanks to KS for putting words into Chuck's mouth!

2006-09-26T17:07:00.000-07:00

Stand Up For the Little Blogger

I've discovered my new favorite hobby. That is, blogging. It makes sense. I say I'm a writer, and what better way to show it than to flaunt it? (Hey, I can hear you snickering, and I don't like it)

This job isn't as easy as it might seem. You have to get over a strange brand of stage fright. You have to think of something interesting to say. And you have to write in all in a way that is provacative and plain makes sense. I've already received constructive criticism as to how I could make my blog more appealing. And don't you know that I stay up late almost every night sweating over what the next blog topic will be?

Here is a ground rule set by some self-proclaimed guru of bloggers:
Celebrities and other well-known personalities -- actors and entertainers, politicians, corporate CEOs -- are the only people who can get away with "themeless" blogs, because readers will tune in to find out what they have to say about pretty much anything. For example, millions of people will flock to a Brad Pitt or Charlize Theron "what I did this weekend" blog; but no one, besides family and friends, will really care what you or I did this weekend. So, unless you have a very unique writing style or an oddly interesting life, your blog must have a theme -- general or specific.

I object! I do I do I do! It's like this guy thinks he is King Kong, and he wants to run around squashing all the little blog uprisings.

I'll admit it: My blog is THEMELESS! Does that make me boring? Perhaps, and if so, move on to the next one. I happen to think that every now and then I will have something good to say. Sure, this guy is talking about the people who think they can blog every day and make money off of it. But simultaneously, he is crushing the inner writer in all of us.

You see, there has been a problem devoloping alongside this fancy internet world. While we focus on faster, easier ways to communicate, we are losing the art of communication itself. When was the last time you sat down and wrote a letter? And who has time for Christmas cards any more? That's right, only little ol' granny sitting at home (cause she's afraid her computer will take over the world).

The solution? Certainly not emails. Oh no no NO! Emails are one of major problems leading to our communicative downfall, along with it's evil little brother, text messaging. What will set us straight again are little things like blogs. Sure, half of them are terrible. But they'll get better over time. And every now and then, a Blogging Star will emerge over the horizon. Who knows, in fifty years there might be an English course called History of the Blog. I even think this blogging generation could spawn the next Charles Dickens. Imagine, a complex blog interwoven with every blog entry before and after it; a serial of electronic life!

2006-09-22T13:25:00.000-07:00

The Cell Phone Sagas

Sounds like it might be a good movie, right? Yet when we see them going on right in front of us, we cringe, we get angry, we demand to know what is wrong with society!

I'm pretty easy going about cell phone use. I take mine everywhere, and I use it just about everywhere. This afternoon, I've taken time to find out why the world thinks cell phone use can be a problem. These are the ones I completely agree with:

Safety: Driving with one hand on the wheel while complaining about the idiots on the road would be an example.
Content: I'm not sure what has desensitized people to talking loudly about their bodily (mal)functions. In addition, I would like to point out that background noise counts as content, to the person you are talking to. To that end, do the women who talk on their cell phones in the bathroom while they are tinkling and flushing really think their friend on the other end really wants to hear that?
Timing: DO NOT answer your phone while we are having dinner without asking if it is ok. I think it's rude to assume that your companion wants to hear your one-sided half of a conversation. There are other obvious situations: movie theaters, job interviews, funerals...
Tone: You don't want to reveal your true colors to the public if you don't have to (especially if you are really really nasty)

Speaking of nasty, the following is also a big no no...

Now for the things I think we could be more lenient about:

Multi-Tasking: I do not have a land line at home, so I rely on my cell phone for all communication to my family in Colorado, and to my fiance who is often away on trips. These people call me on their schedule, not neccessarily on mine. Sometimes I happen to be grocery shopping. As long as I'm not broadcasting my personal life, why should anyone care? As long as I'm paying attention to my surroundings, why should anyone get upset? There are times when multi-tasking is not appropriate (like driving, as discussed above). But we should recognize that the more technologically advanced we become, the more multitasking is going to become a part of our lifestyles.

Proximity: Why is anyone complaining about this? I've heard that the proper etiquette is to stand with a 10 foot radius around you while speaking on the cell phone. Sure, this is easy enough. Now imagine you are in an elevator, and someone is gabbing away on their phone. It bothers you. Why? What if they were having the same conversation with the person standing next to them? Would you still be bothered? This leads to a hypothesis...people must not like the idea of seeing someone talking to thin air. If they can't see what's going on, they get frustrated. There may be hundreds of explanations. Ultimately, it might be that people are still not used to seeing humans interract with technology. It's just a hypothesis.

To sum things up here, let's remember that our society is changing. With so much technology growth, we're seeing stretch marks in our daily expectations. These will go away, and they'll smooth down. When the generation that has caused all the need to grumble ages enough to grumble about the generation following, we'll probably be complaining about a neo-letter writing campaign. We'll say: "Why doesn't anyone use their cell phone anymore?"

2006-09-05T19:42:00.000-07:00

I'm growing up.

Yes, after 26 years (very nearly), I have found a reason to embrace responsibility. I get up early. I make my lunch for work. I've been going on walks, doing my dishes, and this is the longest my room has been clean since my mom gave up cleaning for me when I was six. I'm getting my homework done on time...actually, the procrastinator in me is still going strong. But overall, I have changed.

And what brought on this change, you might ask? Did my stirring blog from a couple weeks back have that large of an impact on my lifestyle? Did my doctor tell me I only have a few months to live? Or am I on medication that has whipped me into shape? Nope. None of the above...I got a dog.

For the first time in my life, someone is completely depending on me (sorry David, but you are way more independent than this pooch). He needs me to wake up and walk him so he doesn't pee on himself. He needs me to keep him from barking at the strange noises coming from the speaker. He needs me to keep him from soiling a shoe and chewing my dirty socks. I have an important job.

Everyone, meet Oscar:

How could you resist giving this guy what he deserves? His original owner was a crack addict man named Monica, who brought Oscar (then named Tokyo, bleh) and two other dogs stuffed in a duffel bag to the shelter. Oscar had mange, and now is afraid of anything bigger and louder than him. Except me, that is. This guy follows me from room to room, he sits by me every chance he gets, and he cries like someone sat on his tail every time I try to leave the house. Very cute. Very time consuming. Very different from what I expected.

I'll keep Oscar around. He's already learning so much. I have him in a secret competition with my brother's dog, who is also quite a looker. So far my dog has a better name, and is apparently smarter. By the time the two meet, my dog will be a perfect gentleman and try to make nice. His dog will jump on my dog and try to tug his ears. Oh well, it's how doggies play.

On a final note, I'm running out of plastic grocery bags--you know, for the poo. If any one is reading this and is in town, I'd be happy to take them off your hands. Sheesh, I'm in too deep (not in poo, in puppy love!).

2006-08-30T16:20:00.000-07:00

What do we do with Pluto?

The loss of Pluto to the solar system planetary family has made us all stop and take notice. Maybe it's our need for soft news after weeks of daily war reports and the upcoming anniversaries of two huge American disasters (Katrina and 9/11). Yes, it is good to have balance.

For some reason, I can't stop thinking about Pluto. I've always thought of it as a potato-shaped ball of ice, with little divots in it for sledding, maybe some flatter spots for ice skating. When I did a report on the planet in the third grade, I drew a snowman shivering for the cover. Now I don't know what to do with my image. Essentially it stays the same. But would I want to take a vacation to Pluto, a dwarf planet, when I could visit a real planet?

The news has far reaching effects. Most notably, on the astrology community. Here is Astrology.com's reaction to the news.

This doesn't mean that you should disregard
Pluto's place in your charts! It hasn't left
the solar system; it's just in a new category.
Historically, astrologers have examined
events in the world at the time of a planet's
discovery for clues about what it represents.
As god of the underworld, Pluto represents
power, transformation, the cycle of death and
rebirth, and the process of breaking down and
rebuilding. And now the status of Pluto itself
is transforming -- a sure sign of its power
and influence! Time will tell if the scope of
Pluto's symbolism will decrease as a result of
its reclassification. In the meantime, Pluto
retains all its astrological significance, as
it continues to orbit our Sun.

Clearly they are worried about the destruction Pluto's demotion will bring to their industry. As they should be. Either we take the road that astrology is a bunch of balogna, an interpretation of "signs" vague enough to make everyone believe the stars are speaking to them, or we buy into the "signs" and take the interpretation further--that Pluto's demise signifies a greater downfall on the mortals. Events in the news would certainly point to this. Coincidence or Balogna? I like the balogna with the little olive pieces in it. Constellation bologna, you might call it, if you were an astrologer or an astronomer.

And the next important issue to be determined-- what about Mickey Mouse's dog? I recall Pluto being a very happy dog, but maybe those days are also numbered. It's a good thing his friends at Disney are supportive, otherwise the dog might have started slipping some tonic in his dog water, if you know what I mean. Here's what those cartoon heads had to say about the news, posted officially on the Disney website:

In reaction to news yesterday that Pluto was demoted to the status of "dwarf planet," the Seven Dwarfs issued their own short statement:

"Although we think it's DOPEY that Pluto has been downgraded to a dwarf planet, which has made some people GRUMPY and others just SLEEPY, we are not BASHFUL in saying we would be HAPPY if Disney's Pluto would join us as an 8th dwarf. We think this is just what the DOC ordered and is nothing to SNEEZE at."

As Mickey Mouse's faithful companion, Pluto made his debut in 1930, the same year that scientists discovered what they believed was a ninth planet.

Said a white-gloved, yellow-shoed source close to Disney's top dog, "I think the whole thing is goofy. Pluto has never been interested in astronomy before, other than maybe an occasional howl at the moon."

As long as Pluto continues to be walked and loved by Mickey, I think everything will be fine in this department.

And what will your reaction be? Will it inspire you to clean out your closets, to get rid of that bikini that really doesn't cover enough flesh to be considered clothing? Will you finally throw away the moldy leftover meatloaf in the back of the fridge, since technically, all the mold on it disqualifies its edible status? Or maybe you'll just sit back and watch life go on as usual. Because really, nothing has changed.

Check out this interview with the ex-planet itself.

2006-08-29T14:11:00.000-07:00

The Salt Water Taffy Shakedown

I always feel like handing out assignments for people to go find out about, then report back to me. Well, things are changing. I'm going to tackle this one myself. I want to know more about salt water taffy.

I love grabbing a bunch of them, not knowing what flavors to expect. Then you unwrap it, peel the sticky body away from the wrapper, and pop it into your mouth for a minute of creamy and chewey heaven. That is--if you get the right flavor. I recently tried a butter popcorn flavor and felt like I had a tablespoon of artificial butter on my tongue that wouldn't melt. If you are ever uncertain about your flavor of saltwater taffy, let me make a suggestion-- try the nibble method. The method is a bit of an art, since you need to get enough to determine the flavor, and to enjoy the bite if the flavor is worthy. Don't try licking...salt water taffy is meant to be a full-mouth experience. You have to commit to biting.

Now, where did the silly name come from? I wish I had something interesting to report on this front, but apparently no one really knows. There is a charming story involving some ocean flooding, some candy, a little girl looking for a treat, and a store owner joking "all we have is salt water taffy." There is also speculation that the name comes from the ingredients. While salt and water are *sometimes* in the recipe, brine, seaweed, and fish pee are not.

Salt water taffy has been around since the late 1800s, and originated somewhere near Atlantic City, where it is now a requisite souvenir purchase. It's made with a variety of ingredients that are not very good for your teeth, including corn syrup, butter, and sugar. The mixture is boiled to a specific temperature (too hot and the candy is brittle, too cool and the candy is chewy). The thickened mixture is then slung over a hook and pulled, over and over. This forces air into the candy, and the candy is pulled until it is five to six feet long. In the old days, people with arms six feet long were employed to do this job, nowadays robots with six-foot-long arms do it. When the candy is too hard to pull any more, it is removed from the hook and put on a table to be cut and packaged.

Some fun facts:

National Salt Water Taffy day is May 23rd
Salt Water Taffy is also the name of a 1930s movie, and a band active in the 60s
Interesting flavors include: Cantaloupe, Grand Mariner, Hawaiian Punch, Jalepeno, Peanut Butter Grape, Pumpkin Pie
The most popular flavors are: Chocolate, Cinnamon (really?!), and Peppermint.

People are so boring sometimes. I say we work hard to get Jalepeno the recognition it deserves. I'm sure it's such a delightful flavor, and is the perfect compliment to any fajita, taco, or margarita.

2006-08-24T12:27:00.000-07:00

Blaura's Blog Fear Factor

When I was younger, my biggest fear was of aliens. My dad watched so many UFO investigations, abductee interviews, and alien dissections that I was convinced it was only a matter of time before they made an appearance at the foot of my bed in the blackest night, beamed me up to their spaceship, taped my eyelids open, and forced probes through my bellybutton while brainwashing me telipathically. I've learned to convince myself that they aren't interested in my particular earthling ways, and to my knowledge, I've never taken a tour of the solar system.

Fears change. Even though I can turn out the light without worrying ET will pay me a visit, I can't get to sleep without experiencing my much more mature fear of failure. We all have it. It's what motivates us to direct our paths to the same desk and chair at work, and what makes us work so hard on our relationships. It's a matter of pride--how we see ourselves and how we perceive others see us. Mostly, it's a healthy fear. And of course, sometimes it's not.

There are many things I could be afraid of failing at, and the scenarios run through my head all the time. They will always be there, but I feel like there must be peak times in your life when they creep up the most. Maybe I'm entertaining the idea that I'm going through some sort of quarter-life crisis.

Seriously, I feel like I'm above a puppet show with all sorts of strings in my hands. Which ones do I pull? Which ones will make the show move along smoother? Are they all connected to something, or are some of them just strings with nothing on the other end? I know which ones are which, for the most part. There's the wedding string that is getting heavier and heavier by the moment. There's the school string, which right now is pulling the line pretty taut. And then there's the mysterious string of the future, that dangles casually into the deepest pit. How far down does it go? Do all strings originate from this string? And, finally, how do I keep all the strings from knotting up.

Hmm, I smell a story here. I need to face my fears. Maybe I'll write a book about aliens descending on a play and abducting the audience members, changing their lives forever. Would you buy it?

2006-08-22T16:57:00.000-07:00

Hello! This blog is has been transplanted from my MySpace account. I think what I disliked about posting my blogs over there was that I could see the random people that were potentially looking at my blog. I suppose that's a possibility here, too, but I don't anticipate browsing through other people's blogs very often. And therefore, I will feel secure, and less like a proded, raw piece of meat.

Having said that, I don't want to give the impression that I'm too shy. I am shy, but this blog will force me to break free and share some thoughts. And who cares if no one reads this? Who cares if everyone I know reads this? Either way, this should be fun.

It's Tuesday evening, and I just finished my Monday. After taking a day off to get my dad to the airport after his visit, I feel like the week is just beginning. David is gone until Thursday, so that means I still have a couple more days to myself. Usually I spend these types of days on the couch, or occassionally catching up on my reading. Tonight I have big plans for writing a lingering assignment before school starts, and maybe busting out that yoga mat that has been in the closet for months and months.

Lately, I've noticed I have a problem. It's lack of motivation. Every now and then I notice this ailment and it really bothers me. So I'll go home, go for a run, leave the tv off all night, make a tasty dinner, get some work done, head to bed at a decent hour, and wake up the next morning feeling relaxed as a result of my productive evening. On really good nights I'll do a load of laundry and do the dishes. Very rarely, I will clean the bathroom, or put the laundry away.

I've proposed a lifestyle change for myself. It is to acheive the "productive me" I just described. Hopefully, by making my announcement public, I will feel more obligated to veer away from my nasty habit of laziness. [For those of you that don't know me, please don't place a picture in your head that I am glued to the couch with various unidentifiable crumbs wedged between my many fat rolls. My action here is actually to prevent that from ever happening.]

So, faithful readers (pretty easy title to acheive since I've only posted one blog, huh?), this is my vow to you: I hereby promise to change my ways. I will not venture out to the wastelands of sloth. I will pick myself up and trudge (however painfully it may be) to the land of productivity! Harrah!