Birds of my Neighborhood

Much of a good thing

2007-05-21T13:12:00.000-07:00

This morning I went to the supermarket to get some food for the day. I picked up:

- 1 lb of cherries
- An orange bell pepper
- A Fuji apple
- A bag of almonds
- a pack of multi-grain, low-calorie English muffins
- Some sliced turkey
- A cup of coffee.

Before 1 pm, I had consumed:

- All the cherries
- The apple
- 1/2 cup almonds
- 1 English muffin
- The pepper
- Two slices turkey
- Two skinless chicken breasts from El Pollo Loco

Besides the poultry, I calculated that so far, by 1 pm PST, I had consumed 30g of fiber.

Bear in mind, will you, that the recommended daily allowance for a healthy person my weight is around 20 - 25 g of fiber.

I've been encouraged to "keep this going" and not stop now. I have like, 8 more hours ahead of me. Too much of a good thing? I guess I'll find out later.

Sleep in my head

2007-05-18T16:01:00.001-07:00

I've been listening to Sufjan Stevens' Greetings From Michigan about nonstop the past few days. Other things on constant play:

William Orbit - Strange Cargoes
Four Tet - Rounds
Drums & Tuba - Mostly Ape (the song Brain Liaters puts me in a sexy mood)
A Pacific Model - Divisions (probably my most recent favorite album)

All of these albums are pretty low-key and moody, like a deep afternoon trip into the mind. Sometimes I like to put on music that just sort of harmonizes with the chords of my mood. Right now, at this instant, the 9 minute and 35 second jam of Unspoken by Four Tet is helping me space out while still tuning into the needs of the day.

Music and food. I think these are the two things I blog the most about.

And now the food...again today for lunch I had something called a "salad" that had no real business calling itself a salad. There was lettuce and some tomatoes, but that was about it. "Taco Salad" it was called. I really do get a kick out of ordering things that attempt to call themselves "Salads" but are really just bowls of chicken, cheese, and chips.

I'm going to the Gilroy Garlic Festival this year. Today I had a couple garlic herb french fries. Now, I cannot wait for July. Stay a good 50 yards away from me if you're downwind, folks. I have no self control.

Blissing out.

Check yourself

2007-05-13T18:16:00.000-07:00

My brother had this website posted on his website, and I just had to click it:

Notice your nuts!!

If you're a guy, I recommend watching this.

And then watching yourself. My brother and many other men have their lives today because of their watchfulness!!

Friday random

2007-05-11T09:50:00.000-07:00

I really really really really love Matisyahu. I could listen to "King Without a Crown" every day. Just check out this awesome chorus:

So what's this feeling?
My love could rip a hole through the ceiling
I give myself to you from the essence of my being
and I Sing to my God these songs of love and healing
I want Mashiach now so it's time we start revealing

Most reggae music, especially roots reggae and dancehall stuff, is about God. Its really not all about the weed, heh. A hassidic Jewish reggae star? That gets play on KROQ? Seriously people, it doesn't get better than this.

I had guacamole last weekend that I would probably commit violence for. It was *that* good. Lucky me, its just easily available at my local farmer's market, so whew - no violence necessary.

I got so excited yesterday at work, that I started shaking. It was weird. I think it was a combination of the following things: Too much coffee, not enough food; my lunch was spent walking 1.5 miles in 90 degree heat to get a peach smoothie; I got really good news from a cross-country friend whose excitement was infectious; I got good news of my own of two super-duper good grades in my classes. It was weird but thrilling.

I watched a television special on nuts the other day that was actually very entertaining. I had no idea that there was such historical significance to my pistachios.

Some things are just wrong.

2007-05-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

Pickles are sacred. They are meant to be salty, sour, vinegary and sometimes spicy. Nearly any food can be pickled. The appropriate pickle color ranges from green to yellowish-green, unless the food being pickled was a different color to begin with (see: cherry peppers, giardinera, etc). The only acceptable exception are pickled beets, which are delicious and turn everything they touch a lovely shade of aubergine.

So when Dan showed me this today, I almost had a heart attack. This, my friends, is sacrelidge.

This? Is a Kool-Aid pickle. The New York Times has an article all about them. Instead of brining in the traditional salty/sour/vinegar mixture we so know and love, people are drowning perfectly good dill cucumbers in vats of KOOL-AID and giving them to CHILDREN. Because if there's one thing kids need, its MORE SUGAR.

Pickles, in the traditional sense, are a healthy and satisfying snack. Vinegar is an excellent appetite suppresant, and stimulates the digestive system. Cucumbers are a low-calorie and fiber-full part of a balanced vegetable diet. They accompany sandwiches and soups like nobody's business. Part of the pleasure of a picnic lunch is a soft sandwich, some iced tea, and a crisp, tart, sour pickle. Am I wrong on this?

No. I am not wrong. KOOL-AID PICKLES ARE WRONG.

First, they came for the Twinkies with the deep-frier, and I said nothing, because I don't eat Twinkies.

Then, they came for the pickles with the deep-frier, and I said nothing, because I was confused as to why someone would want to deep fry a pickle. Seems to defeat the purpose but whatever, America likes to fry stuff, go for it.

But this has gone TOO FAR. Here's a quote that perfectly summarizes the absolute horror that this instills in me: "The school sells Kool-Aid pickles from the popular red flavor family at its fund-raisers."

Say, NY Times, can you tell me what flavor that pickle is again? Oh that's right. It's RED flavor.

Red isn't a flavor, people. Red is a color. Colors do not have flavors. Pickles are not meant to be part of the "red flavor family". Pickles are PICKLE flavor.

Good sweet gherkins, it really is the apocalypse.

Oh, do not fly away

2007-05-09T09:19:00.000-07:00

I really wish I could be a bird sometimes and just open up and fly around.

Baby, its hot outside

2007-05-07T15:55:00.000-07:00

There are only three certainties in life: death, taxes, and California summers start early, start hot, and stay that way until well into October.

Its May 7, and for the past few days, summer has announced its arrival. Its 97 degrees outside right now. 97, for heaven's sakes. I went walking outside since I'm trying to get in shape for summer (ha) and I realized, doggone it, I'm too late. It IS summer.

I never wear shorts. Back in the day when I was in a lot better shape, I still didn't wear shorts. I have an interesting build that results in shorts cutting me off in a bad place on my leg, no matter how long they are. They ride up and look generally unflattering on me. Instead, I wear jeans, other pants, or more likely, dresses/skirts. Skirts are the best. Its like built-in classy air conditioning for your lower extremities.

Summer nights are the best, though. Lounging in bed with the windows open and the fan on, the air on your skin and a smile on your face. I like going for walks, runs, or really just hanging around outside on summer nights. I firmly believe that the world would be better and happier if we adopted a nocturnal summertime schedule. Everyone just sleeps during the day, wakes up around 7 pm to watch the sunset, and then goes out about their business. Cool, collected, rested, and refreshed. And, no more sunburns - skin cancer incidents drop!

Some things about summer heat are great. The freezing cold Pacific ocean actually feels good, for one, instead of like taking a bath in a meat locker. The days are longer, and the sunsets are later so I get to enjoy more of them. I love cold, ice-cube filled iced sun tea, I love cold crisp summer fruits and veggies, and I really just like wearing as little as possible around the house in an effort to cool off. Snowy sheds her fur; I shed my sleeves and socks.

Well, its definitely summertime then. Here's to the next 7 months or so of heat and sunshine. Baby, its hot outside.

Pork belly

2007-05-04T16:01:00.000-07:00

Some days bring nice surprises.

Today, though I entertained three offers for lunch (that's right - not one, not two, but three serious offers for lunch) I chose one that brought me by way of Lucille's BBQ. I've been day-dreaming about BBQ for a while, so you have no idea how happy the idea of going to Lucille's made me. I felt so shameful ordering the "Texas Pork Salad" because the words "pork" and "salad" are never used together. The juxtaposition was enthralling.

I came back from lunch to find a dozen red roses waiting for me at the front desk. Holy moly! Surprise surprise! THAT was unexpected. And wonderful! And wow, ah jeeze. Heh.

Then I got a call from my cell phone company. I'm behind on my payments apparently, which is BS. But oh well, crap happens.

If someone isn't treating you right, why stay with them? Its the question of the day.

Tonight, I'm going to laugh until I cry. I need the exercise. Laughter works out the abs. My pork belly needs it.

I have

2007-05-03T14:49:00.001-07:00

Random Thursday

2007-05-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

I think Thursday posts are going to be just bits of random thoughts as they spring to mind. I can't always be deep and pensive.

I've had a special request to show off my dog, Snowy. Oooooh...you just had to put that big red button in front of me, didn't you. Such a shiny, shiny button.

*press*

Sigh. You asked for it. I need more pictures of her. I wish I had a real camera.

I don't understand why it takes women an hour to do their makeup. I have really put a lot of thought into this, and I still don't get it.

I ate shrimp last night, and every time I eat shrimp I feel like I'm reclaiming my lost youth. My parents insisted I was allergic to it for so many years, either in an effort to protect my health or perhaps their wallets. Finding out I actually have no food allergies was liberating. Therefore, when I eat shrimp, I feel slightly rebellious against my parents.

That said, I just realized I'm the wimpiest rebel in the world. Some kids go nuts and get tattoos, piercings, do drugs, run away, etc. Me? I colored my hair purple. Coming home with my aubergine head, my mom's first comment was "Oh you look so pretty! What a lovely purple color!" And later in my life, I eat shrimp. "Ha ha! Take THAT mom and dad!" Yeah, they're not buying it.

I always forget that a martini is really just a inverted-conicular glass of vodka. This realization usually comes after I've finished said inverted-conicular glass of vodka. Darn tasty though.

Cooked dumplings last night for someone. Special? Hm. I think so. :) Those things are painstakingly slow to cook, though. Well worth it, however. Very well worth the wait, as are many other things in life.

I just looked around my desk and realized its a mess. My car is a mess. My room is a mess. My kitchen however? I fastidiously keep it neat and clean. Something's gotta give, I suppose.

Is it wrong that its not even 10 am and all I want to do is listen to funk music?

Insect summer

2007-05-02T16:44:00.000-07:00

One of the unfortunate features of Southern California is the dearth of insects. I know some people may find this perplexing; insects are usually regarded as a necessary annoyance and something most people would be happy to be rid of. But as I lay in bed last night, drifting off to sleep, I was struck by the silence in my room. The only noise outside I heard was the oceanic whisper of the freeway nearby, and the occasional tire wheels on the asphalt driveway.

Laying in bed in New Jersey, my summertime lullabies were the chirping of crickets and the frogs in the nearby swamps. The tinny buzzing of mosquitoes outside the screen, and the occasional "thwop" of a powdery moth wing striking the porch lights. If one were took glance out the windows, into the inky, humid night, it would appear as if one were floating in space - surrounded by the twinkling posteriers of fireflies as they unpredictably spark and hush.

The time of Jersey summers is marked by insects. In May, the dragonflies and ladybugs begin to appear. By June, the heat and humidity from the storms pressing off the ocean hatch various larvae, and housewives and housecats everywhere chase houseflies around the home. Praying mantises delight children and scare grownups by saying their devotions on the leaves of summer squashes and ripe Jersey tomatoes. Butterflies hatch around August, and in particularly sweltery years, the cicadas emerge from underground hibernation to sleepily loll around the air, flying so slow and so lazily that bird only have to fly past to grab a healthy meal for their hatchlings.

I saw more fat birds in the summer of 1995, when the cicadas hatched, than I ever have in my life. Standing in front of the YMCA where I worked as a lifeguard, I would be endlessly amused at the thick-bodied bugs clumsily puttering around, utterly defenseless against the dozens of birds that would just pick them off out of the air like popcorn. We had a lot of happy, well-fed birds that year. It was also a banner year for car washes.

Laying in bed, I strained to hear some sign of life. Not a single cricket? No thwocking moths? Not even the faintest hint of batwings, happily chowing down on their six-legged nocturnal feast? There was nothing. I haven't even swatted a fly.

I fell asleep humming this song by Ida:

Always more than I can catch inside this jar
Lighting up the night sky
Flicker in your eye
Ladybugs crawl across your hand
In plain sight, broad daylight
I don't mind

But in the dark
Invisible and beautiful
Then gone again
When you've forgotten them
They're back again
On and off
On and off
On and off

Only a fool tries to follow the light of a firefly

-Ida, Firefly

Mercy me

2007-05-01T12:54:00.000-07:00

"That the whole day may be made perfect, holy, peaceful and sinless, let us ask of the Lord." -The Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrystostomos, petitions

That's St. John Chrystostomos. He wrote the Divine Liturgy of Orthodox Service, and that particular petition is my favorite. Immediately following it, we pray for the Lord's mercy, and then for "an angel of peace, a faithful guide, a guardian of our souls and bodies, let us ask of the Lord." These two petitions come about halfway through regular liturgy, and for some reason, I meditate upon them most often.

Orthodox liturgy is meant to be meditative. Many parts of the service repeat each other, and for much of the service we stand, sing, and move through fluid metanias and motions to bring our entire being into harmony with the prayers. It's really one of the most peaceful and beautiful parts of my week, and I miss it when I don't get the chance to go.

I often meditate upon this particular petition. The concept of praying each day for a peaceful, holy, sinless and perfect day is quite powerful. What is a perfect day? How can one truly be sinless? How can we be holy? Isn't it the nature of man to be as far from perfect as possible? Its an impossibility, completely unattainable as a human being, and yet we pray for it nonetheless. The second petition, regarding the angel of peace, acknowledges our fallability and is a plea for help, to guard both our soul and our body, one permanent and one so delicately impermanent.

An impermanent creation can never be perfect; it will always be destroyed; however, this is untrue as long as its perfect nature is that of impermanence. I believe this is the core behind these two petitions - the hope for the impossible, the acknowledgement of the impossible - it really just comes down to an acknowledgement of hope. In my toughest times I don't always wish for my life to be holy, peaceful or sinless - I just want perfect. Every day, I must remember, to petition for my angel, my faithful guide, and the guardian of my soul and body. I can hope and pray, but I clearly am not meant to do it alone.

Let us be attentive.

Anyway. Enough introspective reverie. I could and would (and some would say, should) spend all day meditating upon each individual line of the liturgy, but I have things to do, unfortunately. Work, school, and the like. Cooking, especially - lots and lots and LOTS of cooking.

The days have warmed up and I've enjoyed taking Snowy out for her walks. I never thought I'd love something as much as I love that dog. I find myself doing the dreaded "Mommy-gab" where I say "Wanna see pictures of my baby?" and whip out a brag book if someone so much as hints they may be interested. Heck, all they have to do is ask, "What time is it?" and I say "No clue, check out my dog!" But what can I do? She's cute, for pete's sakes. She has a little nose and dainty little paws and a curly tail and satellite dish ears. She sheds like crazy and can't fetch, and loses bladder control when she's really excited. She doesn't bark too frequently, but she does attach herself to you like velcro if she likes you enough. Usually only takes about 3 visits. She's pretty easy.

We should all be so eager with our love.

Hungry eyes

2007-04-30T13:25:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I went into Hollywood for dinner at a sushi/shabu-shabu place. It being Hollywood, I got a little dressed up so I didn't feel like a land manatee walking around in a forest of willowy pipefish. It mattered none; my brick-house calves and healthy shoulders make me feel like a linebacker just walking down the street. At least I can rest assured knowing that my assets are God-given, and there are women that will happily dole out $10,000 or more to have the voluptuousness that I've inherited and cultivated through a steady regime of walking the dog, not sleeping enough, and having a strong taste for pizza and wine.

Waiting in the foyer of the restaurant, I spied four young swan-like girls all perched on the vinyl bench, waiting for their table. Their attire was sharp, and correct in its of-the-minute style. Their hair was perfectly coiffed in razor-cut mod styles, and their shoes were to die for. I'll admit that much. Their shoes put my Target-bought wedge heels to shame.

I noticed something about them though, that was difficult for me to pin down at first. There was something in the flicker of emotion on their faces; the patina of trying just slightly too hard. They sat up a little too straight, and slouched just a little too artfully. Their eyes shifted left and right, attempting to watch others watching them without knowing they're watching. See and be seen. Their eyes were hollow and empty.

One girl in particular looked especially frail. She had the most delicate, porcelain Asian skin I've ever seen. Her lips were parted slightly with a rosebud shape, and her nose seemed to just float dead center of her symmetrical, exotic face. Her eyes, though beautiful, were the most lifeless of the four with her. She seemed almost doll-like.

I watched her while she sat and waited for her food. The waiter brought her a small bowl of miso soup. Her eyes looked at it hungrily, but also with a little bit if indifference. The bird-like sips of her soup barely seemed to moisten her lips. When the sushi came out, she ate two pieces. Her friends ate a little more but not much. Most of the food vanished before the check came.

Beauty is so fleeting, and life itself not much more long-lasting. For what purpose does one choose to view the world through such hungry eyes? In a world where many die for a few grains of rice, a few sips of water, is it truly the expression of our decadence when we simple choose not to be decadent? Her face haunted the back of my mind all night. That poor, hungry porcelain doll.

Fridays are for dreaming

2007-04-27T08:47:00.000-07:00

Over the past few weeks, I've noticed a re-emergence of my dream life. I've always had an active imagination, and sometimes I wonder if I live too much inside my own head. Dreaming is something I look forward to every night; the possibilities that my mind conjures up are vivid, full color and so lifelike I wake up often unsure if my dreams are real, and this waking world is a dwelling of my subconcious.

For a while, my dreams were stifled. I'm sure I dream; we all dream, every night, but we don't always have the pleasure of recalling the movies our mind makes. Over the past few weeks though, my dreams have burst through and remain so vivid that they linger for hours well after waking. It's actually getting to the point where my dreams are so enmeshed in the activities of my life that I don't know sometimes if something I remember is an actual event, or just something I dreamt a few nights ago.

I've been dreaming a lot about airplanes. In my dreams, airplanes are friendly, sweet beasts...soaring effortlessly and wizzing around in the sky, like Superman. It's like the old dream of flying, but now with stewardesses and comfortable first class amenities. In these dreams, the airplanes whisk me to temples in Nepal, or cathedrals in Rome, and hilltop vineyards in the South of France. I meet up with friends and family members on these exotic journeys. My brother and I ended up at a lovely, sweet-aired mountaintop in the north of Italy, and we jaunted off to Belgium and the Netherlands. I travel the world in these dreams, the sole passenger on an airplane coasting through the sky as naturally as the blood in my veins.

I've dreamed I was a baseball games with Prince William. In this reverie, we laughed at the players and his father scoffed at my question as to whether he'd ever become king. The next day I was randomly invited to an English pub by a friend I hadn't seen in a long time. The walls were plastered with images of the British royal family. Odd, isn't it?

Last night my dream invoked a scene from my night. Earlier in the waking portion of my evening, I spent some time with a few classmates at a local wine bar. Following that, my dreams took me back to the wine bar, where I enjoyed more conversation and good wines. Same friends, and same scene, as if the night wasn't supposed to end so I continued it in my dream. I don't know what it all means. I spent a good portion of my morning hazily attempting to distinguish the blurry lines between my reality and my surreality. Lately, its not so easy to do.

Eat it

2007-04-26T10:19:00.000-07:00

My last blog was called "Salmon blog" and when I get around to it, I'm going to actually secure the domain "Salmonblog.com". Its currently up for grabs. Only problem is I don't know what to do with it once I get it, so I haven't done it yet. Anyways, this works for now.

I don't like cooked salmon though. Broiled or baked, or otherwise cooked, it makes me feel nauseous. I don't know why. I just have a really adverse reaction to it. Raw however, is delicious.

I love cooking, though. I was a vegetarian for many years, and now that I'm an Orthodox Christian, I spend a good chunk of my year as a vegan due to our various fasts and feasts. I make excellent tofu, amazing pasta sauces, spicy peanut soba noodles, soups and some amazing eggplant parmesean. I never was good at cooking meat, and I don't like most cooked fish, so it was easy to do.

But, and apologies in advance to Fromage, I've been eating red meat again. I have been really enjoying and savoring steak though. But given that I haven't eaten it for years, the process of cooking said steak has been a maddening and sometimes rewarding trial and error experience. Sometimes it comes out great, and other times I'm left with something I could use to resole my shoes or fix a loose tile on the roof. Not even the dog will eat it, and she licks her own butt.

Last night however, I can honestly say I knocked this one out of the ballpark. New York strip steaks, wrapped in butcher-cut bacon (not that packaged Oscar Meyer stuff, no sir), seared and then broiled to perfection. A Marchand du Vin reduction sauce with shallots and thyme. Garlic rosemary baby red potatoes and blanched fresh green beans on the side. Warm rolls with an entire bulb of roasted garlic and butter. Sauteed mushrooms and shallots.

And copious amounts of red wine. Cop-i-ous.

I can honestly say this is one of the best meals I've prepared in my life. I felt ten feet tall when it was all plated. The aromas, the textures, the pairing of wine and food, was just perfect. Sometimes when you're good, you're good.

Its also nice to take a break from the regular weekday dinners. For me, its usually a toss-up between a salad, a sandwich, a hastily made pasta dish, or as of late, ramen with roasted chicken tossed in and mixed with Sriracha. Mmmmm.

Now, I am hungry.

Get off my lawn

2007-04-25T13:50:00.000-07:00

I'm getting older.

I'll turn 27 this year, and I think its starting to show. Not just five years ago, I could hang with the best of them. I'd stay up late, wake up early, run myself into the ground just to blossom even brighter the following day. And sure, at 26, I'm not worried about carrying around a cane or anything, but aging is a real thing and its basically making itself known on a regular basis.

Last night, I went out for drinks with some old friends and one new friend. Everyone was sweet and wonderful. I chatted a bit with the new friend, a nice married girl 23 years old. We hit it off pretty well. However, she mentioned that she wanted to be "done with" having kids by age 30. Admirable! I really do think that's great. You have a lot of energy as a younger person, and you get more years with your kids. A bit of me twinged with jealousy, I'll admit.

I'm 26, almost 27. The soonest I could see myself having a kid is by the age of 30. I know many women have kids after this age; its nothing new or remarkable. But it does make me a bit conflicted.

I wonder sometimes if I have made the right choices in my life. Education, independence, work. Me me me me, me. I've never tried to share my life with another person, and I wonder if I should. I wonder if I'll even get the chance to.

Married people look at singletons and wistfully recall their single days; the singletons gaze longingly at their wedded compatriots. The grass seems greener over there, but I don't think that means the grass is dead and brown under my own feet. I think its more like...I have one kind of grass, and that's another kind of grass, and I just want the option to see if I like it better. Still, when married people look over at my grass, I bitterly just mutter "get off my lawn".

I am getting older though. I went to the dentist yesterday, and my teeth are sensitive and being worn down. "At your age," started the dentist, but then she checked my age and said, "Well, at your age, it shouldn't be THAT worn down." I got my teeth sealed for sensitivity, scrubbed and picked and polished, and given some paste that is supposed to help me rebuild enamel. Its usually given to the elderly, or to bulliemics. Being neither of those things gave me a little twinge of ennui.

I'm getting old, I thought I'd be enjoying it more, but instead my teeth are getting weaker, my womb is getting lonely, and my left hand is without any sort of tell-tale tanline. The "you're still pretty young" line is getting old, too.

"My wife is beautiful"

2007-04-24T13:53:00.000-07:00

I went to the doctor a month ago and was told I was most likely toxic for mercury. This was alarming, since it wasn't what I went into the doctor for, but apparently my symptoms mimicked mercury toxicity. I was upset about this because I really like sushi and figured it was my weekly sushi consumption habit that was causing this to happen. Ruh-roh.

Anyway, I avoided sushi for about a month until my bloodwork came back. And it turns out, I'm not toxic for mercury at all. I'm the picture of heavy metal health.

So I decided to go get some sushi for lunch today. I've waited long enough and a little lunchtime Japanese sounded like the greatest thing ever. I ordered a spicy tuna hand roll and a yellowtail hand roll, and some of this amazing chicken udon soup that they make better than anyone ever has. This is seriously some delicious soup. I am convinced it has magical healing properties.

As I ate my soup I overheard the patrons at the table next to me. Two businessmen ordered some sushi and started tapping on their Treos. One of them looked about 3 years older than the other guy. The older guy handed his friend his silver Treo, saying "Here, take a look at this."

The younger guy took a hold of the Treo, and made a little happy remark at the picture displayed. "This is your daughter?"

"Yeah, beautiful isn't she?"

"She is, she is. I bet you're happy!"

"Absolutely, man. Absolutely. I mean, my life is perfect. I have a beautiful daughter. My daughter is just so beautiful. My wife is beautiful. I have a beautiful family, home, and everything is great. I don't even care about my house, a job, it doesn't matter...my wife is beautiful and my baby is perfect and my life is perfect."

I love when a man brags about his wife. There's a certain sense of love and devotion to gushing about the beauty of one's spouse, and especially a man praising his wife. You can't argue with it and I think everyone can appreciate the love there.

I kept eating my soup, wondering if there was someone out there who someday will hand my picture to his friend and say, "This is my beautiful wife."

It's been a long time.

2007-04-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

Well, Blogger, its been a long time. I know, we had a good thing going there for a while, but then that hussy MySpace came along and I know, I know, I was tempted by the fruit of another. Tempted, but the truth is discovered.

Much like the mistress, MySpace seemed to offer me so much that you weren't able to provide. Pictures of me and my friends, a chance to increase my friend count like some sick WoW level up. Parental controls and instant access to everyone I've ever known, ever. I admit, we had a good thing going, I suppose...but I soon came to realize that exceptional apps have exceptional problems. MySpace is a germ-ridden festoon of waste and excess. Blogger, I should never have left you.

In the past year, I've shared my many ups and downs with my MySpace blog. It was a pretty fun operation. I had a lot of readers and a lot of people enjoyed my insights into the mundanity of my life. And it was mundane. I started grad school, met up with and broke up with people, gained and lost 10 lbs, went red, brown, light brown and blonde again finally, long and short and shoulder-length. I went to NJ a lot and around the country many times. I made a big decision to convert to Antiochian Orthodox Christianity. It has been a good year.

And now I come back to you.

I've learned a lot, Blogger. I've learned that simple is better. I learned that the best things in life are free and don't come with a Top 8.

Will you forgive me? Take me back? Can we start over, together, sharing our lives for the betterment of humanity? Or at least, as a way to kill a few minutes and give me a forum to post my innermost random thoughts on nothing of much importance whatsoever?

I've missed you Blogger. Let's work this out. We can move on, together. And on, and on, and on.

Heading Out

2006-08-31T09:37:00.000-07:00

I turned 26 last weekend (toot toot toot) and so for my birthday I'm going back to NJ for a few days. I miss my family so bad. I won't get to see Matt, since he's still in France, but I will get to see my mom, dad, twin brothers (not my twins...they're each others' twin), dogs, cousins, aunts, uncles, granpa, oh geeze...everyone. People are just coming to see me. Its pretty crazy. So much for a relaxing weekend. I told Steve (the new BF, yes I'm still quite excited about this) that when I come visit, its like a giant Panda being born at the zoo. And everyone comes into town to see it.

I start school at the end of the month. Whoa. School. I remember when I posted that I decided to apply to school. That was only back in May. August is almost over, but it went FAST. Didn't it?

The cat has stopped peeing on the furniture. VICTORY!

I had such good sushi last night. Seriously. But it was a comedy of errors with the waitress. She was a young girl who barely spoke English. Obviously some indeterminate Asian language was her first. I was excited when I saw pompano on the menu. Pompano is a small silver fish; they make sushi out of the meat, and then fry the entire rest of the fish (head, bones, and all) and serve it like a cracker. Its really good, actually. So I ordered that. The trainee nodded and just said "OK, yes, OK" and left. So everyone else gets their food and were offering it to me to taste, but I didn't eat much because I was waiting for my pompano. Finally everyone had finished their dinners, and I still had no pompano. So my friend Sarah's boyfriend (also named Steve, do not get them confused, because we do...) calls the head waitress who is training the young girl. He asks where my pompano is, and she says, "Oh we have no pompano today, sorry" so I had to order something else for dinner, after everyone else had already eaten. Awkward. I got a few hand rolls, they were great though. Huge, and full of awesome spicy fish. Anyway, we get the bill, and sure enough young trainee's still charged me for the non-existent pompano. Oh well. Minor things yes, and it didn't get me down, it was just funny. The sushi was fantastic though.

Well if I get time back in NJ I'll blog from there. I'm back and bloggin'...all two or three of you who read this, how excited are YOU?

What's happening?!

2006-08-22T14:17:00.000-07:00

Lots happening! I don't post much here anymore, I should, but I don't have time and no internet at home. Plus, I've kind of moved my blog to MySpace. Yes, I broke down and got a MySpace account. I like it because I feel I have more control over who reads and sees my stuff. So, if you have a MySpace account and miss my daily dailies, let me know what it is and I'll add you as a friend so you can get all the daily blog goodness. Otherwise, its going to be few and far between here on Blogger.

Anyway...my brother is done with his treatment. He's still recovering, and has a long journey ahead of him to get better, but overall he's much improved. Thank you everyone for your kind thoughts and prayers...I truly believe they've bolstered him through this.

Well this Sunday is my birthday and I'm turning 26. What a lame year. 25 was like the last "hurrah" of my youth, and now I have no excuses anymore. I'm 26. I am going to grad school for an MBA. I am on Weight Watchers and eat frozen diet meals rather than sandwiches for lunch. I use anti-wrinkle creams. I worry about my cat. Its happening, I'm getting older. I will embrace this with as much grace as I can muster.

I live with a cat now, as mentioned above. I like the randomness of an animal in the house. I do not like that she has taken up peeing on everything. The vet says its just her marking her territory in a new house, but still, its been a month that I moved...she better get over this quick. I can only stand having vinyl covers on all my furniture for so long. Any ideas on how to stop a cat from peeing on stuff?

A Heavy Sadness, A Weightless Feeling of Hope

2006-08-07T15:06:00.000-07:00

My brother Matt continues to struggle with his cancer treatment. We never expected it to be so harsh. He just completed his first round of chemotherapy, and is slated to continue treatment this week. His plans to start the second round were put on hold, however, due to an emergency in Paris hospitals, which bumped him out of his bed for the week. My mother is out there visiting him, which is good and also probably stressful...both for him, and her. For him, her presence is another responsibility that he must handle, in-between coordinating with doctors, specialists, government officials (it is Socialized health care, after all), and also while trying to find a job and get a work-permit Visa. My mom is also probably a little stressed; seeing your firstborn son struggle through the side-effects of chemotherapy is not the most pleasant sight I can imagine. He is losing his hair, but he just went ahead and shaved it all off. As a guy, he is afforded that one luxury. Plus, apparently he looks pretty good with the new 'do, so I think that has boosted his ego a little and bolstered his spirit. Nice to know that even during chemo, people think you look pretty hot.

Once this round of chemo finishes, he'll be done with the worst of it. Then starts the tedious maintenance of his treatment...the monthly CAT scans, the bloodwork every three months. Settling into life post-cancer. Finding a job that allows him to stay in France, with those he loves, doing what he loves to do. Keep the struggles he faces in your prayers. He has appreciated so much the prayers and warm wishes of everyone, and loves to get emails, cards, and packages (if you are so inclined). Still, a nice email is so welcomed by him. Let me know if you want his email address.

As for me, I've moved into the new place and have been there a little over one week. I like it a lot so far. I start my "new student orientation" at UCI on August 26th, I turn 26 on August 27th, and I start school on September 28th. So many changes. What will my 26th year bring? A new school, a new apartment, and many golden oldies like my friends and family. I have a tremendous hope, which feels so good, as it has replaced a deep sadness I felt not too long ago. I hope for my brother, my mom, the rest of my family, and for you all as well. As I mentioned before, changes are in the air. Be open to them.

Things come together

2006-07-21T17:52:00.000-07:00

I found out yesterday that I have been accepted to the Fall 2006 Fully-Employed MBA program at UCI's Paul Merage school of business. This is, without a doubt, some of the best news I've heard in a long time. For those keeping up, I decided sometime in May that I felt like going back to school. I applied to one program and had about two months to get everything together. Well, it got together, and I'm now going to be a proud Anteater come September. My 26th year on planet earth will be once again as a starving student.

I'm really getting back to the student roots, and moving out into a new apartment closer to school and work with a friend of mine. After three years of living alone, I'm getting a roommmate again. Apartment-mate is more like it; "flatmate" for you folks in London. The place is nice - roomie and has fine amenities like a few pools, a workout facility, BBQ's and billiards, and the apartment itself is beautiful. My friend and I are very excited. Above all things, though, this place is "pet friendly" - a blessing considering there will be a cat moving in with said roommate and I will hopefully be getting a dog as soon as I learn to manage my work and school schedule.

There is one more thing left to "come together" neatly in all of this. I don't dare whisper its name for fear it does not come. But with so many sea changes in my life, I have a strange inkling that there is a shudder in my reality that will bring the final piece falling into the picture.

More desert artistry

2006-07-03T06:03:00.000-07:00

I call it Listen to the Sunset. Inspired by a synesthetic friend of mine, someone who can "hear" things he actually sees. Other synesthetes "see" things that they hear. In my mind, this is what a sunset sounds like. Apologies also to "Wings of Desire".

Changes

2006-07-02T13:33:00.000-07:00

It is time for some changes in my life. It has been one year since a significant event in my life occured, and with the final half of the year 2006 ahead of me, I am preparing for a radical transformation that I feel will shake the cobwebs off my spirit and refresh my soul.

First, as of today I am officially a chatecumen at St. John the Theologian Eastern Orthodox Christian church. I made the decision a few months ago to convert, but my education in the faith officially begins today. I have my book, I have my lessons, but most importantly I have the commitment of myself and of my church to see me through a year of learning. By Easter season next year, I will have completed my chatecism and will be officially a member of the Eastern Orthodox church. I have such a great feeling in my soul about this; it is the single greatest life change that I have yet experienced, beyond the decision I made in 2002 to move to California.

Second, I made the tough but necessary decision to move away from Whittier. I have spent three years living here, with an incredible community of friends and neighbors, and it is with great sadness that I leave a town and a life built here that I love. But as my good friends also move on, to other parts of the world, I recognize that the memories I have in Whittier are not always fond. There is a lot of sadness I experienced here, as well as incredible happiness. I will be leaving in August, moving to Orange, and starting a new life in a new home in a new town, with new neighbors. What I will be enjoying, however, are old friends again - old friends who I will now live closer to, and be able to better share in their lives. My church, my job, and hopefully my school will be closer to me, and I'll be part of a great community again.

Third, today I will submit my completed application for graduate school. I am applying to one program - the UCI Fully Employed MBA program. And while I recognize that I am a qualified candidate, I am still nervous as all get-out because this IS the only program I will be applying to. I made the decision about two months ago, almost on a whim, but it has progressed nicely and the school has confirmed that this is definitely the right time and place for me to continue my education. I know they want me to be a student there, or at least that's the impression I get - I just have to make sure I position myself in the best light. Even the most confident person has anxiety as to whether they are good enough for what they truly want the most - and in this case, I go to bed at night hoping my essays are well-written enough, my studies for the GMAT are complete enough, and that when the day comes that I get the envelope, that it is a thick one. Please pray for me, as I will know by the end of this month if I am accepted or not.

In smaller changes, I am once again going blonde. I like myself with lighter hair. And speaking of lighter...I made the somewhat difficult decision to join Weight Watchers. Well, the decision itself was easy, but admitting to myself that I really needed to join WW was the difficult part. "But you're not overweight," some well-meaning friends have said. But that's not the point...the point is, I'm not the woman I want to be. How can I get confident enough, and open to the love of someone else, if I cannot feel love for who I am? I hope I can find the strentgh withim myself to remain as committed to my own health as I am to my faith and my education.

His Cancer Days

2006-06-24T13:18:00.000-07:00

My brother is being treated for cancer. Saying it out loud makes it seem real but once it's real, it can be acknowledged and dealt with. I've chronicled his treatment and updates on him on my MySpace site, so below are the posts I've made about his progress. Pray for him, please.

Part 1: Shot from a Gun

My brother Matt lives in Paris, France (as opposed to Texas or Vegas) and its so darn cool that he does. I spent New Year's with him this year, popping corks on real Champagne and drinking wine that would be kept behind double-bolted doors in America due to the price. He's got the love of his life with him, he's handsome, has a great degree, speaks a gabillion languages, and is all-around fantastic. Yeah, life is good for brother Matt...usually.

Matt is about 17 months younger than me. Whereas I was the "world's most wanted baby", and my parents tried for 8 years to conceive me, Matt decided to start the sibling rivalry in the womb and became a fetus when I was barely a 9-month old. So every single moment of my life has been lived with Matt. He's a constant, and he's also probably the person in this world I have the most love for. He's been through a lot in his life, and so seeing him happy in a place he likes with the person he loves is a blessing. The sibling rivalry has disappeared and has been replaced by a friendship and kinship that makes the continential and oceanic distance between us a moot point.

So just like they say some identical twins feel each other's pain, Matt and I sort of have the same thing going on. I don't know why. It's not a literal type of thing, but we definitely have a connection. He knows when I'm sad, I know when he's upset. We are each other's sounding board, and my cell phone bills are a testament to this. Calling France is expensive, yeah.

Anyway, this week I've been hurting and worrying for him because he has gone through a really rough situation. About a month ago, he found a lump on a testicle during a routine self-examination. *And people, you should be doing these - guys, check yourself, and girls, check your breasts once a month. They work.*

He went to the hospital in Paris, and they at first thought it was probably just a cyst or some sort of infection. They scheduled a biopsy for him and he went for that earlier this week. Instead of fully sedating him, they just numbed him from the waist down (think epidural) because it wasn't expected to be a too-invasive procedure. However, when they started the procedure, they realized the lump was actually a very aggressively growing tumor. He had to have the entire testicle removed, a not-uncommon plan of action when that type of tumor presents itself.

He was conscious and able to discuss it with his doctors before they finalized anything, and he knows it was for the best. Early blood tests and CAT scans are promising and he believes the biopsy will reveal that whatever was attacking him was removed before it could affect anything else. He is comfortable with the decision; as he told me, a month ago he felt nothing, and within a month the tumor had grown to over a centimeter. This was a very aggressive growth and he was wise to act quickly.

He's since been released from the hospital and is recuperating and resting at home in Paris. He has the support of his friends and partner, and my mom is going to be visiting him soon. He assured me that a common follow-through procedure to this type of surgery is a minor cosmetic adjustment to make sure everything appears normal, and he still will continue to have full reproductive function should he choose at some point to have children, so that's good. That is also a very common future for men who have this surgery.

So anyway, most of you who visit my site are prayerful people, and for those of you who aren't, I know you are mindful and caring people. My brother is a huge part of my life and someone I love more than pretty much anyone else in the whole world. And while I feel weird asking you to pray for us (I feel bad that for this entire blog I've made you focus on someone's testicles) I do hope you remain mindful of your own health and those that you love.

Routine self-exams save lives. If caught quickly, these things can be remedied and your lives can continue normally. If you wait, or are afraid, you may risk more than just a scary trip to the doctor. People love you and care about you, and they want you to be healthy and safe. So do everyone you love a favor today, and check your balls and boobs. You'll be glad you did, and so will I.

Part Two: Bullet: Dodged

My brother confirmed with me today that the testicle they removed last week was indeed cancerous. He has something called an "embroynic carcinoma", which defined is "a highly malignant germ cell tumor made up of tissues derived from the embryo." This sounds weird I know, but basically what it means is, that he has cells that started multiplying and growing out of control, and had it not been caught when it was caught, it would have spread and led to a LOT more complications than just simple testicular removal. He has to go for monitoring four times a year, but won't need chemo or radiation. He has a very strong prognosis for a life free of any further problems related to this issue.

The message here is that these types of cancers are indiscriminate. Matt is a healthy, educated, active, and young 24 year old guy. He does everything possible to ensure he's a healthy person. A month ago, there was nothing odd about his body, and within a month an aggressively malignant tumor began growing in a very dangerous part of his body. He is well aware of the bullet he dodged by being so careful and concerned about changes to his health and well-being.

Testicular cancer can be cured if caught early. It also can kill quickly if not treated promptly. Testicles sit right around major arteries, lymph nodes, and other large body parts susceptible to cancer such as the color, prostate, kidneys, liver, stomach, and bone. Do yourselves a major favor and schedule monthly check-ups. It doesn't matter how old or young you are, how healthy you are...cancer waits for no one. It can be caught and cured.

Part three: Bullets still flying

More updates on my brother. And please indulge me in these blog postings; they are allowing me to express feelings and get out worries and stresses and downright tragic, depressing feelings about something that means more to me than you can ever imagine.

I found out today my brother has been told he will need "two or three" sessions of chemotherapy. While they felt confident they had removed all his cancer during his surgery, the cancer center in France feels that a "preventative" course of chemotherapy is in order to kill off any remaining "germ cells" that might cause further cancer. Since his tumor was so malignant and so aggressive, they feel this is his best chance for long-term survival.

Survival. Shit, I really hate typing that while thinking about my brother.

I can't really get over thinking about my brother as a "cancer patient". And yes I know that Lance Armstrong and thousands of other young, now-healthy men have had this happen to them, but those are inconsequential to me. Those men, I'm sorry to say it, don't matter. They're not my brother. This hits close to home, and its even harder because he's so far away in France. Chemotherapy. Chrissakes...I think I start crying every time I think about it. And I don't want to do that, I want to be strong for him, because that's what he needs.

I sent him a few gifts today, seasons 1 and 2 of "The Kids in the Hall". That was always a favorite after-school show for us growing up, and to date some of the most hilarious comedy ever. Laughter is good medicine, and since I can't be there to blink in his pictures and make him wear the "king cake" crown, I'll have to send some support and laughs from across the continents and oceans. And hopefully soon, very soon, his cancer days will be over as quickly as they started, a faded memory no more important than a ticket for the train.

The Lebanese Invasion of Suzanne's Nostrils, part 2

2006-06-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

Last night after my appointment with Doctor Lebanon, I went home and did a little internet research about nasal polyps. Every page I came up with indicated that steroid-based nasal sprays do a fine job at shrinking the swelling that comes with nasal polyps, and that surgery is often a last-ditch effort to remove only the largest and most obstructive polyps. I remembered I had some Flonase spray, which is a steroid, and so I took a nice shot of that before bedtime. I took another one this morning, and was treated to mostly opened sinuses all day. Still had a runny nose, but again, mostly breathable.

My appointment with Dr. H_____ was at 3:15. I walked into his office and was instantly back in 1973. Granted I was born in 1980, but somehow I imagine this is what everything in 1973 looked like: wooden panelling, macrame wall hangings, yellowed photographs of men with mustaches and paisley vests and women with shiny but short "Laverne & Shirley" hair-dos. I half-expected there to be ancient copies of Ladies Home Journal and National Geographic on the "mod" wood-formica furniture, so it was a bit of a color shock to see this month's issue of Cosmo on the table. Odd.

Due to the disco-era decorations, I mentally named him Doctor Disco. However, I then met the good Doctor, and he was quickly renamed Doctor Octogenarian (or, Doc Oc for short.) I'm doing him a favor by placing his age roughly in the 80's, too. Heh. But also very kindly, and explained things to me a LOT better than Doctor Lebanon.

He was puzzled that my symptoms came on in the last month. "That's pretty sudden," he mused. "You have no history of this in the past at all?" I assured him I didn't. He did some more poking and prodding, but was gentler than Doctor Lebanon. He confirmed I had swelling, but was cagey on diagnosing me with polyps.

He showed me a picture of the human sinuses. It goes a little something like this:

See all those large openings? "It's impossible to see inside those things without doing proper investigation. There's no way he looked inside and immediately knew you had polyps. At this juncture, I think polyp surgery is a bit hasty, especially since we were able to get your swelling down in 24 hours."

I paraphrase, because he actually explained it in a LOT more detail, with graphs, charts, and anatomical models, but that's the basic gist. He then sat for a minute thinking, which was really cute actually, just the way he sat and rested his head in his hand (I really have a fondness for old people, I just do. Especially elder ENTs. That are gentle. And sweet. I bet he would have given me a lollipop if I was younger.)

"How's your sense of smell?" he asked after a minute. "Fine, I guess, why?" I replied. He told me he wanted to test it out.

He took a yellow card down with a few "scratch n sniff" spots on it. He scratched one, gently closed my right nostril, and asked me to smell with my left side. "What do you smell...whiskey, grass, leather, or lavender?" I couldn't smell anything at all. Nothing. Just...air. I thought it was a trick question. He had me smell with the other nostril, though, and it was clearly a very strong lavender scent. I repeated this test with a few other scent patches, but the end result was clear: I have no sense of smell in the left side of my nose.

This seemed to alarm him. "I don't get that. You should have something, just a little bit. But there's nothing at all. Hm." He did the cute thinking thing for a while longer, and came to his conclusion. "I am not convinced you have polyps. They usually don't develop in just a month. I want to do a thorough check on you though; do some head X-Rays and also put you under a "twilight" sleep for an endoscopic investigation inside your inner sinuses. I want to see what's causing your blockage. It just sounds...peculiar to me."

Now I was alarmed. This is a man who was probably born during the invention of the cotton gin. Doc Oc has been around the block, and so for my situation to be seen as peculiar to him had me thinking one thing: "Oh God, I have cancer. Cancer of the sinus and nose and its going to go into my brain and I have 2 months to live."

I did not want to share this panic that I had with him, though. Not yet. I agreed to the investigative procedures, grateful that he disagreed with Doctor Lebanon about the allergy shots, and also grateful that he wasn't in such a hurry to hack/chop my sinuses apart. His approach seems more common sense, and tempered. But still. I am now convinced I have nose cancer.

I was given an injection of an anti-inflammatory as a parting gift, and instantly whatever swelling was left in my sinuses disappeared. My arm is a bit sore, but if I complain about that, then I really sound like a Debbie Downer. Stay tuned for part 3, in which Suzanne gets her head examined...literally.

The Lebanese Invasion of Suzanne's Nostrils, Part 1.

2006-06-13T17:19:00.000-07:00

Those of you who really spend quality time with me know that for the past month or so I've struggled with breathing out of the left side of my face. My left sinus was so blocked up that sleeping at night became a problem and I constantly was sniffling and blowing my nose. In the past week its become impossible to even blow my nose, due to how blocked off the sinus passage was, and my nose runs uncontrollably. I was doubling-up doses of Sudafed, taking Claritin-D, Benedryl, Afrin, and doing saline nasal washes/flushes (attractive, I know). Nothing was helping. I spent all weekend feeling miserable and most of yesterday hating being alive as well.

Last night it got so bad that while on the phone with someone they actually thought I was crying. But no, I was so unable to breathe out of my nose and my sinuses were so full and swollen, that it was impossible to speak normally or really even breathe at all. I could breathe through my mouth, but my asthma was aggrivated by some hookah I'd smoked at a Lebanese restaurant earlier in the evening. Oh the grim forshadowing.

I left work early and got an appointment for this afternoon with a doctor with a curious sounding last name. I went in for my appointment, and was greeted by a seemingly kindly, older fellow with a soft accent and a nice, grandfatherly smile. He put me at ease. I asked him where he was from, with his nice last name and soft accent, and he said "Lebanon." So from here on out, he is known as Doctor Lebanon if you are following along at home.

I sat in his little chair and he put the cool light-up headband on and started sticking some instruments into my nose. One instrument blew some fine misty liquid in, and another instrument sucked all the junk back out. He blew and sucked out my nose a few time (hehehehe...funny) and declared "Polyps".

After the initial declaration of polyps, he added, "Big, big polyps. Your entire sinus is blocked. Completely blocked, wow. Hm. How long has this been going on?"

"A month or so," I replied.

He just shook his head. "Well, they have to come out, or you won't be able to breathe." In his reticent way, that meant I need nasal surgery and quick.

So he prescribed a CAT scan for me and I have to make that appointment very soon. I was a bit grumbly and nervous about the possibility of some pretty extensive facial surgery in my very near future, but then he came out from his office and issued a second wave of attack that really caught me off guard.

"And I want a full battery of allergy tests, and you're going to need weekly allergy shots."

Uhhh...OK. Here's where I hold up my hands. I just had a full battery allergy test last year, and I told him that. "No, I want my own. I only trust my own." I said, "But I don't want shots. I have had shots before and they did nothing." He shook his head and honest to God said, "I am the expert. I'm the doctor. I know. You listen to me, you need the shots. And you will have these tests. That's that."

And with that he walked away, leaving me to his grumpy receptionist who gave me a look that basically said, "I dare you to challenge Doctor Lebanon."

Well I will challenge Doctor Lebanon. There is no way in high holy Honolulu that I am going for allergy shots once a week. And yes while I acknowledge that I do have a major problem with polyps growing in my nose, I have not had any serious allergy problems in like, 25 years that a little OTC allergy medication didn't fix. I had shots once, and they suck, and they didn't work. A pill a day did a LOT more for me. Plus, I didn't like his attitude.

So I left with my marching orders to get this allergy testing done as well as to get a CAT scan. It's been a nice day today so I walked to the doctor - about 1.5 miles one way. And I'm really glad I had to walk back, because on my way home I pass a nice, homey building with the sign on it: "Dr. H_____, Ear Nose and Throat Specialist." Hmmmm....so I say to myself, "Self...let's go get a 2nd opinion. Right NOW."

Well, Dr. H______ didn't have any walk-ins available at that moment, but he does have me on the schedule for an appointment tomorrow at 3:15 pm. His receptionists were sweet and when I told them I came from Doctor Lebanon's office they just laughed. "No wonder," said the kindly, young receptionist.

Stay tuned for tomorrow's installment of The Lebanese Invasion of Suzanne's Nostrils, part 2. Will she submit to shots in the arm? Will the CATs do their scan? How long until she breathes again? Stay tuned...

Hot hot heat

2006-06-04T20:21:00.000-07:00

It's HOT in SoCal babycakes. Too hot to think, too hot to eat. Now that the sun has gone down I'm going to make some food, but for most of the day I laid around like a sweaty loaf of human.

I did have a nice, productive weekend, if by "productive" you mean "lazy but fun". I saw the Arctic Monkeys on Friday night, which was totally great. I also spent 5 hours at my friends' pool on Saturday and I have the suntanned legs to prove it. I made chicken and fish tacos as well as shrimp ceviche for the yummiest hot-weather dinner ever. And today it was too hot to think so I laid around and did a lot of nothing.

I did, however, get inspired by the cool photo-collages that the McM's do. You would, as you could say, call me a fan of theirs. So I did this photo-collage-homage to them. It's called "Fan Club". It was also inspired by how I was feeling today. Which is very, very hot.

Hey! Remember me?

2006-05-29T20:57:00.000-07:00

Wow! So where have I been hm?

Well, for starters, I just haven't wanted to write. That's OK. There hasn't been much of anything to write about. And yet, there is a lot to write about. There are a lot of changes, and yet things are always and everywhere the same.

My friends are leaving, but it seems like there is more of a rotation...a changing of the guard. The Shacks are off to Washington; Lady and Sir McM are going to Barcelona and then to Missouri. But I have new friends that in the past year have brought happiness and joy to me, and now I enjoy learning life lessons from these individuals while I embrace and yet mourn the physical distance coming between my "old" friends and I. In the same vein, while work continues to provide the same opportunites and setbacks, I am initiating behind-the-scenes change by continuing my application to graduate school. I will know by July if I will be getting into the Paul J. Merage school of business at UCI.

I'm applying to a competitive MBA program for fully-employed professionals, and though I am already a very strong candidate, a low GMAT score might kill my chances. So I am studying and making painful realizations about my intellectual strengths and weaknesses. Writing and reading comprehension, grammar and sentence correction = very very strong. Critical reasoning = average/slightly above average (getting better with practice though.) Mathematical reasoning and problem solving = poor, marginally below average at best. I'm good with fractions and simple algebra; however, I have a terrible mental block for anything beyond that. I remember learning this, I remember what the formulas look like, but I feel such despair and despondence realising I just am not analytically oriented. One day, I'll write a best-selling novel about math anxiety. It will contain nothing but the most perfect grammar. Until then, the GMAT is stressing me out.

I had been very down about my personal, romantic life. I had been a member of eHarmony for a while, paying a premium top-dollar for a service that paired me up with some very handsome, successful, and interesting men that I had absolutely no intention of ever pursuing a relationship with. The chemistry...it was just not there. The very last eHarmony guy I went out with seemed the most promising, and we actually made it to a 3rd date. But it petered out, somewhat unexpectedly, and yet somewhat predictably. I wasn't too into it, and I think I wanted to be into him a lot more than I actually was. He was good-looking, a medical school candidate and military officer, polite and Christian, and sweet and honorable. But if the connection isn't there, then it isn't there. So I quit eHarmony. And then I met someone. And I'm not sure where its going and nor do I really care; I'm not really one for hurrying towards a particular destination. But it was refreshing to realize that sometimes you don't have to pay a lot of money to meet genuinely interesting, attractive, intelligent, and - best of all - chemically compatible people. Sometimes, they just quite literally come to you. Like, sometimes, you don't even have to leave your house. So when you're holed up in your apartment and your friends attempt to call you out to the latest speed-dating or blind-date adventure with "You won't meet anyone if you never leave the house" you can just sort of say "Yeah, well, I'll take my chances."

I made a cake the other day that was an indication of the mad baking skills I am aquiring in my advancing age. On the bottom, it was a dark chocolate cake, then I covered that with vanilla cream cheese frosting. I then baked a vanilla cake of the same size, and carefully placed THAT on top of the iced chocolate cake. I then covered the entire thing in a layer of chocolate cream cheese frosting. Then I spelled out a nice well-wishing message to one of my coworkers, and dusted the whole thing with "fireworks" made from powdered sugar. It was SuperCake. And it was good. I have in the past made a Pink Cake for a Brazilian friend's 24th birthday (in Brazil, turning 24 means you celebrate your "Gay Birthday" and guys are feted with pink parties.) I also made Red Velvet cupcakes for Cinco de Mayo with vanilla frosting and green sprinkles. My next attempt is going to be a cake inspired by the famous black-and-white cookies you can buy in train station bakeries on the East Coast. I can't wait to have an occasion to bake it. Like, say, Thursday. I also want to attempt Petit Fours...I've seen it done on TV and I know I can do it, I just have to attempt it.

Baking, GMAT, dating, oh and I'm going to see the Arctic Monkeys on Saturday. Woosh! That's awesome. And I had sushi twice last week...and I made a whole roast chicken in my crock pot, flavored with carnitas and garlic. And I make the BEST eggs, if I can say so myself. And Steve from Trader Joe's works at the TJ's by work now...that's pretty cool. So, I guess there is a lot going on. I'll try to document more about how the grad school saga goes. I just hope upon hope I get in...because that would be awesome. Almost as awesome as a cake inspired by a black and white cookie, or meeting your next date just by not even leaving the house.

Guesthouse

2006-05-20T18:34:00.000-07:00

I love hanging out at my friends' house. MJ and CJ have a cool garage, from which I am typing this and sipping wine. A dry-erase markerboard drawing of koalas playing in a band has been up on their wall for about a year. Good friends like this make weekends worth having.

The garage is full of music and the trappings of kids, but these are perhaps some of the coolest kids around. Well all my friends have cool kids. It makes me wonder if one day I'll have kids of my own, and if they'll be as cool as theirs. Some people have envy of others belongings or posessions. I have envy for my future hypothetical progeny.

They don't make things like they used to. My mom has an old Electrolux vaccuum and she's had that thing since we were kids. Well, before we were kids. It's the vacuum you repair, not replace. CJ says that's not necessarily the modern American desire, to make the effort to repair when replacement is so convenient. But its not disposable; you do with what you have, and you like it more because of the work that goes into it. You can't replace your kids, nor can you really "repair" them. I really don't like disposable culture. I don't know how a vacuum has to do with any of this, but the fact that Electrolux is the repairable vacuum means its something worth keeping. I think it can teach us a lot about how we enmesh ourselves in modern psychological value...of things. You can't and shouldn't just throw it out if its not perfect. Maybe you can just fix it up.

Like a ghost

2006-05-16T23:53:00.000-07:00

I've been so far gone the past few weeks, its just nuts. I don't even know where to begin. But I will say this, with full certainty: Automatic sinks are evil.

I'll expand on that thought later. Think about it for a while though. Chew on it, let it sit in your brain. But don't forget it, because that is a fact, jack.

I'll be back soon.

Perchance to dream

2006-05-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

I seem to need sleep a lot more than usual lately. While I believe this is just a natural reaction to my increased levels of physical activity, I sometimes worry about how dependent I am on the whimsy of my circadian rythyms.

Time was - time, being maybe six months ago - I could stay up late, wake up early, and a cup of coffee later be fresh as a daisy. Granted, I wasn't excercising like I have been lately, and I was in the worst part of a bad depression I've just recently risen from. You'd think that given those circumstances, I'd actually be sleeping *more*, but I wasn't. I'm not sure what I felt compelled to stay awake for, but it was easy enough to do, so...I did it.

Now six months later, depression abated and excercise back on my plate, I am sleeping a lot more. And I mean a LOT. I think yesterday I was asleep longer than I was awake. Now, granted, I stayed up until 5 am on Friday night and "woke up" at 8 am, but from about 3 pm until 8:30 this morning I was asleep. I left work early Friday because I could barely keep my eyes open, the sight of which prompted my manager to tell me to head home. This had been a very demanding week at work, but I was going to be around 8 pm nearly every night and getting my required 7 to 8 hours, so I wasn't sure why I just needed sleep so badly this weekend.

Maybe its the quality of my sleep. I woke up between 3 and 4 am every night this week, when the sprinklers go off in the yard. This has never woken me up before, but for some reason this week, it was like an alarm clock. Falling back to sleep at 4 am, only to wake up an hour later, results in a restless 60 minutes of half-conscious flailing. It doesn't help that I have crazy dreams between those hours, ones where I wake up honestly not sure if they happened or not. Not all are pleasant. So perhaps even though I am sleeping more hours, the quality of my sleep is compromised, though I am not sure by what.

I should be sleeping well. I am eating very healthy, working out every single day, and most importantly I'm "myself" again if you know what I mean. I'm not worried, not very stressed, and mostly happy with the direction my life is going. I made the decision to pursue graduate school, having chosen the program I want to apply to, and I'm working on that right now (wish me luck...we'll see how this goes.) So things are overall good. Why then is it so hard to get out of bed, and so easy to get back in?

I love babies

2006-05-01T09:00:00.000-07:00

And I love to hold babies a lot...below, a little wee one less than one day old. She's my friends' newest (well, first) addition to their family. Isn't she adorable!

Congratulations to happy parents B. and M. from south Orange County (I don't like using real names online, usually.) But they do have a beautiful new baby daughter. Our prayers should go out to these new parents as they begin their path of parenthood!

On the Record

2006-04-28T20:13:00.000-07:00

When I was 19, my one desire was for a record player. I don't know why I wanted one so badly; I just knew I wanted one, and that I would be somehow happier if I had one. I didn't have to wait too long for a record player, thankfully, and my aunt and uncle were more than willing to donate their old turntable to me, along with an old Technics receiver and some hefty wooden Ohm speakers. The amazing retroness of this Hi-Fi system was exactly what my muddled 19 year old self craved, and I couldn't wait to spin some vinyl and bask in the crackly, popply sound of "authenticity". Problem was, I didn't have any records.

So I did what any independent, self-assured 19 year old college student does when she wants something: I asked my parents for records. I knew we had a ton of them; when I was a kid, my favorite rainy-day activity was to put on a little Paul Simon or Joni Mitchell or The Smurf's All-Star Show (seriously, great album, and I remember every single song from that thing. And I better - I listened to it nearly every day from 1984 - 1988) and dance in the basement playroom. I recall a large, musty travelling trunk full of records, and the way their dry cardboard sleeves smelled when you opened that trunk after a few days. Musty, but warm; it's what I believe to be the smell of music.

My mom was less than forthcoming with the albums. Seems she was emotionally attached to her pressing of Hair, Hejira and The Hissing of Summer Lawns. I would be destined to purchase nearly every Joni Mitchell album on CD later in my life, but at the time I was just frustrated. I had the record player, not she, and I deserved those albums. My dad, being the type who is wistful only in his memory, was more than willing to donate to my cause. I remember walking out of his New Jersey rec room with nearly fifty pounds of vinyl-coated music.

I was surprised at the collection my dad had amassed. As a child, my married parents had consolidated their records, and so my innocent mind hadn't associated any particular artist with any particular parent. To be honest, most of my musical association was to my mother, as she was the one home with us during those rainy days when we spun records. Didn't matter if it was that hippie stuff by the Grateful Dead, or the jazzy stuff by Michael Jackson - it was all her, all the time, and our dad was basically a wallflowered participant occasionally able to join into our musical festivities. My dad was the suit-and-tie guy, the guy who we loved more than anything, and the guy we all wished would roller-skate around the basement with us to Diamonds on the Soles of her Shoes on wet Mondays. But Dad had to work, and we got to play. And that's how it goes as a child in a traditional family.

After the divorce, my parents didn't just split up marital assests like homes and children; they also had to split their record collections. I admit that it wasn't until I was older, and the divorce was years old, that I felt I was learning who my parents really were. Going through those records my Dad gave me, I realized how much his music was part of our childhood. HIS music. These were his records, before I was born, before he had met this part of his life, when he would blend his audible tastes with his first wife, and later extricate that taste back as a singular posession. It was his history, and therefore my history, told through song.

My father was more eclectic than I had given him credit for as a child. Where I had for years though of my mom as the carefree hippie, and my dad as the suited businessman, I now discovered he was the owner of all those Grateful Dead albums. And here is a Bob Dylan record, with Bob happily puffing away at a joint on the back cover! Dad had an original pressing of Pink Floyd's The Wall, with all its provocative album art; my Dad had the Psychadelic Furs album with that song Pretty in Pink that he would sing to us absent-mindedly. Dad's was the gentle Cat Stevens, the hard-driving Steve Miller Band, and a little pop with XTC, Elvis Costello, and Dire Straights. Dad was hip!

Album by album, I recalled childhood moments where a song carved a wrinkle in my brain, and left an indelible memory. The train-centric country songs such as Orange Blossom Special of the masterpiece album Will The Circle Be Unbroken was his, and I recognized this gift as the treasure it was. I knew I loved that song The Weight; it was fun to finally realize that it was my father who had bought an album by The Band sometime back in the 70's.

However, one dicovery was the most moving of all. I understood as I held it in my hands, that it was my father who had made the purchase of my beloved Paul Simon albums. I cannot begin to describe the movement in my heart when I placed Graceland on my record player, and let those gorgeous songs work their way back into my ears, into my heart, and into my soul once again. It was the first record I played on my new record player, and I think it was the first time I really heard those songs as a true adult. As a child, I danced to Paul Simon; my father had told me "He tells a story with his songs; listen now, really listen - he's telling a story."

It isn't just Paul Simon who tells a story, though. Personal taste in music is perhaps the most clear depiction of an individual's soul; seeing, touching, and of course listening to those records was like looking straight into the eyes of my father's soul. I was amazed that so much of my own soul looked right back at me. Our lives were on the record, pressed in the lines and released by a pin-thin needle, one song at a time.

"People say she's crazy, she's got diamonds on the soles of her shoes. Well, I guess that's one way to lose these walking blues - diamonds on the soles of her shoes."

My favorite author wants me dead

2006-04-23T23:47:00.000-07:00

I've never been what you'd consider to be a popular person. Throughout my life, I've lacked whatever quality that certain people have which makes them irresistable to large swaths of people; a charisma or an aura of greatness that draws people in from near and far. When I was younger, those too immature to realize their talent for popularity used it as an exclusionary measure. If you didn't stack up to whatever it was that they "had" - nothing you could actually name other than appeal - you were out of the clique, destined to befriend the orange peels and fish scales of the world (the meatier pieces having been doled out to those more worthy).

As people get older, their talent for popularity doesn't dwindle, but instead becomes more refined. Rather than use it to exclude, those truly blessed with the ability to charm find it more helpful if they include as many people as possible into their daily circles of life. Smile at the barista, wink good morning to the receptionist, or ask the bank clerk how his day is going. Endear yourself to as many people as possible; shake a hand, gain a vote. Always be smiling. Everyone thinks they're your friend, and you'd never tell them you weren't, though it is implicit to all but the most truly dense that you are but one of this charming person's coterie.

I digress from the point of my subject, being that David Sedaris, the author, wants me to die. Specifically, death by cancer of the lungs. And this is unfortunate because I realized tonight that David Sedaris is a wildly popular person, who has learned to turn his childhood of unpopularity into the ultimate underdog story. He was locked out in the snow, or perhaps he can't speak French very well, but his unflailing tenacity to turn every mundane life event into a well-worded essay has made him one of our most contemporary popular authors. An entire successful career in writing, made out of a life full of loathing. And as I stood in the hour-long line to get my copy of "Dress Your Family in Corderoy and Denim" signed, I felt popular, too. I'm part of his crowd, see? I'm one of the smart people. All the smart people like David Sedaris. He'll sign my book and I'll make a comment about my brother living in Normandy and we'll laugh. He's been doing it all night with all the other autograph seekers! He spends full minutes with each one, talking about funny things, making everyone feel special. He'll make me feel special, too. And after he goes off with the couple in front of me in line to smoke a whole cigarette with them (10 minutes with one pair of autograph seekers! Smoking their cigarettes!) it was my turn. And it was then I realized how incredibly unappealing and unpopular I really, truly am.

Our exchange went like this.

DS: "Sorry! I had to, you know, 'take some medicine' out there."
Me: "Oh! Ha ha, I completely understand..."
DS: "Do you, now, (looks at my book) Suzanne? Do you smoke?"
Me: "I...uh, well, no, I don't..."
DS: "Well why not?"
Me: "I don't know, it's not for me, I guess."
DS: "How old are you, Suzanne?"
Me: "25."
DS: "Perfect age to smoke, why haven't you tried it?"
Me: "I did try, it just wasn't for me..."
DS: "Well, was driving for you the first time you tried it?"
Me: "Uhm...well, actually yes. It was. Heh!"
DS: --stares blankly--

At this point he scribbles something in my book, I say something embarassing about my brother and Normandy that sounded a lot wittier in my head than it did when actually vocalized, and the conversation hit a silent pause more dead than a funeral parlor at closing time. I thanked him sheepishly for the autograph, shook his hand, and walked away having spent no more than 60 seconds with my favorite author...an author who previously had spent 10 minutes with a boring, ditzy couple in front of me, the female half of which sounded like Minnie Mouse on acid.

I walked out to my car before I was brave enough to read what he'd written. It wasn't much. Just a pen-and-ink drawing of a smoldering cigarette with the following autograph: "To Suzanne: START. David Sedaris."

Drought of Creativity

2006-04-20T08:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't been able to really come up with much creative, mainly because I've allowed my brain to go on vacation. Work has been fun yet stressful, though a friend is leaving and that makes me sad. But happy at the same time, because I'm always glad when friends follow their hearts. It inspires me to do the same. Just like how McM and McM are going to somewhere exotic, to follow their artful hearts, I sometimes I have to remind myself that while it is rational and correct to do all my thinking with my brain, I have to let my heart feel and follow where it wants to go.

That said, there's not much new to report on the homefront. But I'm happy, which I have to say, beats all other alternatives.

Best April 16th Ever

2006-04-16T23:17:00.000-07:00

It started out rocky, but got smooth real quick. Our reservations at a Laguna Beach brunch hotspot were exchanged for an impromptu meal at the Five Crowns in Corona del Mar, where I dined on stilton-cheese topped salad and eggs benedict. I washed it all down with a spicy, salt Bloody Mary. The day was gorgeous and we walked it all off with a stroll around the impressive houses of the Corona del Mar area, imagining ourselves on those balconies, languid in our riches, soaking up the sun and bathing in our imagined wealth.

After a quick change out of the our Sunday finery, we drove up to Universal Studios for a spur of the moment excursion. I was hesitant to believe that Universal on Easter Sunday would be a good idea, but it was I that would be proven quite wrong. Every ride was free and clear, and we waited no more than 10 minutes for an attraction. Though we got there around 5 pm, we still saw and experienced the entire park in about 3 hours - unheard of on a normal weekend! There was much delight in the "4-D" adventures of Shrek, and a few pounding hearts during "Backdraft" and "Jurassic Park" but I think the best ride of the night was "The Mummy". I screamed so hard during the entire ride, I've nearly lost my voice.

After the park closed at 8, we meandered over to the University City Walk. I suggested a dinner at Buca di Beppo, which was appreciated by all involved. Our table was great, the food smelled fantastic, and I didn't think it could get any better. But again I was proven wrong, for who happened to be seated immediately across from us but current American Idol frontrunner Chris Daughtry himself! My dad and his wife recognized him right away; since my back was to him, it took me a minute or two, but he was exceedingtly gracious and gregarious and let us all take photographs with him. He threw his arms around me and snuggled up close for our photo, which actually came out a lot differently than we had posed, since I guess the camera we used has a weird delayed-shot feature. No matter...the shot looks more natural that way, and just looks like two friends chatting with their arms around each other...sort of like in US Weekly. It will be up in my pictures section soon, no doubt.

Interesting side note: Chris wore a great little cap which we playfully demanded he remove. He was game for it and delighted us all with his adorable bald pate. He wore a lime-green zipped hoodie sweatshirt that was surprisingly soft, and he was a firm hugger. He was shorter in person than I expected, and seemed like exactly that which he was: a normal guy experiencing sudden fame, intense and good-natured, and he was handling it well.

We ordered so much good food that it was a requirement we take it all home. Since Dad and his wife are visiting from out of state, all the wonderful Buca di Beppo came home with me. I literally have 6 take out containers. SIX. That's like...six full meals, if you have ever been to Buca di Beppo. Maybe more. Awesome. This has to be the best April 16th of all time.

Hello Photo

2006-04-14T08:30:00.000-07:00

Here are some shots from the Cancun trip. It's settled - I need a digital camera. These came out way too well.

My mom's first shot of the trip. I look a little elvin. I believe this was lunchtime. We had fish tacos and fresh fish ceviche. Mmm.

My mom, beautiful and healthy and enjoying those chips. I think she's just awesome. We had such a blast together; people kept calling her Susan Sarandon. With the hat and glasses, it was easy to mistake her for the actress. She's exploited this resemblance before.

The view from our lunch table above. My mom took this photograph. The water really was that incredible. Just breathtaking. I've never seen anything like it.

After lunch we fed some iguanas. They were huge.

Iguana, up close, with beautiful blue water in the background. I wish I were an iguana.

It rained, very briefly. Laws of physics declare that with a white light source hitting a prism at the exact angle, a refraction of color will occur, forming a perfect rainbow, which amazingly came right out of my mother's hand.

Rainy day reading.

The rain stopped and so we hung out at the swing-in bar. Yes, swings! Swings = fun!

The following day, we took a boat to the Isla Mujeres to swim with dolphins. Just to prove we were in Cancun, behold the gigantic Mexican flag behind my mother.

That water was like nothing I've ever seen.

So beautiful it almost hurts.

The aformentioned dolphins.

It was such a great trip. I have more photos coming but they're on another, non-digital camera, so they probably won't be as good. I can't believe I was just there two days ago. It was four days of nothing but absolute beauty.

Mexicancun

2006-04-13T09:41:00.000-07:00

Hey! So, if you've been visiting this website for the past five or six days (and you have, I know you have) and wondered why I hadn't posted anything, it's not because I don't love you. I love you all very much. And it's not that I had writer's block either. No, far from that, actually. Because writer's block implies you are trying to write something, and the truth is, I wasn't trying to do much of anything this past week.

Well, to be honest, what I was trying to do was decide if a Mai Tai or a Tequila Sunrise was the more appropriate beverage at 10:00 am. The answer was, and for all time will be, the Tequila Sunrise. It's got "morning" written into its very name.

I just flew back home yesterday from a 5 day trip to Cancun, Mexico, with my beautiful and fabulous mother. This trip was a gift for each other, time far away from things like cell phones, jobs, responsibilities, and of course, computers. The only real technology we faced while down there was the key-card reader on the door of our resort. That thing gave us no end of trouble, let me tell you.

So we stayed at the Dreams Resort, which is phenomenally situated on a private end of a small peninsula along the Mayan Riviera. The color of the water there is beyond anything that can be described or even photographed. It does something to your eyes when you look at it in person; it coats your soul with beauty and an overwhelming love for life. If you go to the website linked above, you get an aerial view. In the smaller inset photo, you can see a long pier/dock thingy that goes out into the water. Sunday night, right before sunset, I did a running cannonball off that dock. It was impressive.

Oh, we just had a blast. I'm sunburnt a little on my back, but that's my only complaint. And it's not much of a complaint, because I got the sunburn while snorkeling and diving down through schools of electric-colored fish. I swam with a dolphin, who gave me a kiss on the cheek and let me hold her fins while riding on her belly. We even got to dance, heh. And of course I spent a lot of time doing nothing at all, laying down on cushioned deck chairs in front of a natural ocean-water lagoon pool, feeding bananas to a lazy sea turtle that lived there. I also fed fat, friendly giant iguanas that roamed freely, hoping for some crackers or french fries from the hotel guests. I made a few new friends with humans, as well. I didn't have to feed them french fries, but we did enjoy lots of tequila.

Such a dream. I'm sad its over. It was perhaps one of the nicest vacations I've ever had. I'm so glad I got to go with my mom, too...seeing her happy and healthy was the best gift I could have had. And remembering the color of that water, reflected in her eyes, full of smiles, really was the giveaway that for a few days at least we got to enjoy paradise.

Hmm.

2006-04-04T19:24:00.000-07:00

I drove to work so groggy from lack of sleep; this whole hour-ahead thing is wreaking havoc on my normal circadian rythyms. I had two cups of coffee to wake up, and as my punishment I nursed a low-grade headache all day long.

Driving home, it poured. I won't even go into how Californians drive when it rains. It's an old topic. It's beyond old. They can't drive. Some go too fast, some go too slow, everyone but *you* is a menace behind the wheel. We get it. Ugh.

Yet I am guilty of that myself, or at least have been. But today I vow to bite my tongue when I choose to complain about others on the road. I am not at my best behind the wheel anyway, especially when I become agitated. Truly, not my finest hour.

And still...just when I make this decision to be more graceful with other drivers in the rain, I am cut off by this, this, this THING in a huge silver SUV. Careening over the white dashed line as if it were a mere suggestion, I swerved to avoid a sideswipe. I looked over to see who is not paying attention today, and it was the Ultimate Bad Driver. I haven't seen an actual UBD before in my life, not in person, and I really though the UBD was a myth. Sort of like Nessie, or Bigfoot. I mean really; is there a person alive who actually eats dripping, messy fast food tacos while also text-messaging on a cell phone while they drive? In the rain? By herself in an SUV? And today my question was answered. There is a person such as this, and she looks down at her lap because it just got a nice plopful of sour cream and salsa in it. Red light? What red light? I should have taken a picture, but I'm sure it would have just been blurry and smudged, just like all those pictures of Nessie and Bigfoot. Besides, I was driving. Hands on the wheel, of course.

I pull into my block and I'm prevented from parking on the street by two large trucks and SUVs. I realize it had been flooding on my street earlier, but what was this all about? I maneuver around the large vehicles and I'm face-to-car face with a cop car. There is a cop leaning against the door, and three scrubby-dressed men all about age 40ish standing near him. As I get closer I realize they all have badges on chains around their necks. Plainclothesmen. Another cop car cruises down the street from the other direction, and parks behind the first car. I roll my window down as a pleasant, yet hard-looking, plainclothes cop leans over towards me. I ask if it's safe to park, and he says yes, just a little down the road please.

I park and get out, and the path I must take to get to my apartment forces me to walk right through this gaggle of goons. They all look up and watch me cross the street, smiling pleasantly, if not a bit flirtatiously. And I think...what is going on, really now? I get my answer when one uniformed cop says to another, all authoritatively, "Get her out of the back and search her." Out of the back of the second cop car, a youngish Hispanic woman wearing handcuffs is pulled out. She struggles a bit and resists searching, but calms down and lets them search her. I don't watch. I keep my eyes down and head to my door. I look up at the windows in my courtyard; every neighbor has their curtains drawn, but has a hand peeking through a crack. Everyone watches, but no one wants to be seen, voyeurs of schadenfreude, hidden in shadows.

So, Here's the Story of My Day Today

2006-04-01T17:31:00.000-08:00

Today I woke up and ate half of an entire package of bacon for breakfast. I said "Screw the fast, I want meat." I also shredded about half a large brick of whole-milk mozzarella cheese all over it and made sure to top it all off with about 7 fried eggs. I washed it all down with 2 liters of Diet Coke for good measure; I'm watching my waistline after all.

After breakfast I took a shower but didn't use any soap. I only had a sliver of Dove left and I was too lazy to open another box, so I just stood under the hot water for a while. I also didn't have any shampoo left, but I had a ton of conditioner, so I just used that. My hair is a bit pasty, but very shiny.

I put on some face lotion and decided I would pluck a few stray eyebrows, and ended up shaping these super-defined arches that make me look like a 1930's black-and-white movie actress. I tried curling my hair, but it was so weighed down with the conditioner, it just hung limply. So I put it into a bun.

I was hungry again so I ate the other half of the bacon on some toast. The toast was whole-wheat. I made the toast by basically just frying the bread in the leftover bacon grease. It was really, really good. I'd be worried about heart attacks but I don't usually eat like this. Its just...being pregnant really makes you crave weird food, you know? Like I have another friend who is currently expecting and I swear, she goes through seven jars of those bread-and-butter pickle chips a day. It's all she eats. That and vats of soy milk. Sometimes at the same time.

I was out of bacon and I knew I would need more for later; every morning I wake up craving it and the soy bacon just isn't cutting it anymore. I also needed some light bulbs, a pack of AA batteries, a tire iron, some Sharpie markers, a box of Cheeze-Its, and one pair of men's sandals in a size 12. I walked to Rite-Aide, which amazingly carries all these things. I got my stuff and headed home.

It was now about 11:30 and I had to get ready because I had a big date to get to. Thaddeaus and I are picking out our wedding cake. I just met Thaddy maybe like, a few weeks ago, but you know what? It's really something. I'm head over heels. His parents don't really approve of me, but what can I do...just because I spend my weekends boycotting stores that sell deli meats doesn't make me a bad person (nitrates are killing our elderly by driving up blood pressure! Someone has to stop these people!) I guess parents just don't understand, like that Will Smith guy said.

So anyway me and Thaddeaus met up today around noon-ish. We got some coffee, and then met Kathie at the bakery; she's making our wedding cake. I really want a chocolate cake with pink fondant icing, but Thaddy wants vanilla cake with chocolate fudge frosting. I actually hate cake, so I really could care less, but this wedding is all about me and if I want pink fondant I should get pink fondant!!! And that's basically my thoughts on how that goes. After a little argument, we settled on a two-tiered cake...the bottom half (the bigger half) will be my style and the top will be his style, though the chocolate fudge will have pink fondant roses all over it. We tasted a few cakes while we were there, and wow...it really was good. I got hungry though because I don't metabolize sugar well and it makes me hungry for savory food, so we got Mexcian at La Blanca Tabla.

After lunch, Thaddy had to get home because his mom needed to do laundry, or something, and he had his clothes in the dryer. I kind of get on Thad for still living with his mom, but I refuse to live with him before we get married. Besides, I'm afraid Thad will find out that this isn't even his kid. He kind of already knows its not, but its just one of those...don't ask, don't tell kind of things. I guess in 6 months when the baby comes out, he'll realize why I keep calling my fetus "Lil D-Twan".

So now we got our cake. It was about 3 pm and I was really tired, so I basically just woke up from a nap not long ago. I'm hungry again. My kitchen still smells like bacon, but its making me nauseous to smell it. Maybe I should wash the dishes. Nah...they can sit in the sink. I love living alone.

Anyway, tonight, I'm supposed to meet up with the girls and go to the shooting range. I don't tell many people about how much I like target shooting, but it's fun and a practical hobby, too. Maybe later we'll go check out "V for Vendetta". That Natalie Portman is a hot chick. So that's my day...pretty good so far! I'm really glad no one has tried to pull any April Fool's jokes on me, because seriously, those things piss me off so bad. People who still participate in doing silly stuff on April Fool's are just immature!

Well, that's it for now! Time to gear up for the range!

Life

2006-03-29T19:17:00.000-08:00

Last night, I held a little newborn baby that was less than 24 hours old. She weighed all of 6 lbs and 11 oz, was 19 inches long, and looked like an adorable little alien. Her eyes were big and grey, but she didn't open them very often. Her skin was olivey but pink and soft, so smooth that my substantially older and tougher-skinned fingers barely perceived any texture at all to her immaculate cheek. I thought to myself, "Just a few hours ago, you were a mystery wrapped tight in a bundle of water, blood, and muscle. Now you are perhaps the greatest gift to your parents, and perhaps to the world." But she wasn't thinking about all that; she was just sleeping and occasionally following her instinctual desire to turn towards my chest with an open mouth. "Sorry little one," I said, as it was not my child, "Nothing to see here."

It's the second time in my life when I got to hold a child less than a day old. I've held LOTS of babies, but to gaze upon the face of a true newborn is one of those experiences that is hard to put into words. We were all babies, we all have seen babies, and we know that a million babies are born every five seconds, or something like that. But until you touch, hold, and really see a baby that barely made it's way into the world, you've not understood how powerful of an experience it can be. The only thing I believe now that can top it, as far as intensity goes, is having that child be my own. I watched the video of this baby's mother looking at her child for the first time; her genuine and glowing exclamations of "I love you! I love you!" hit my emotional core like a punch to the face. I cried, a lot, but I was smiling the whole time.

Life really does hit you, and sometimes with violent intensity. Another set of related experiences I've had in my life involve dialing 9-1-1 "in case of emergency". The first time wasn't much of a big deal; I witnessed a head-on collision while I walked down the street. I happened to be standing next to a pay-phone, and was able to alert the officers. Another time was because of a fight I witnessed, and a guy got a bottle broken on his head. Ouch. But there have been those times when dialing those numbers was perhaps the most important thing I've ever done; I would venture to say it even saved a life or two.

Most recently, I witnessed some idiots racing on the freeway (I was doing 80-85, and they FLEW past me, so I estimated maybe 110, maybe 120+ mph) and then crashed horribly about 25 yards in front of me. I hit my brakes to avoid making it a pile-up; I slowed down enough to get a good look at the aftermath. One of the cars, a very nice Subaru Impreza WRX, had been knocked across 4 lanes and onto the shoulder. The passenger side of the car was destroyed, but it looked like the driver was OK. The second car, a silver sporty Lexus convertible (with the top up), wasn't so fortunate. The car had slammed driver-side first into the Jersey median, spun out of the control, hit the Subaru, and spun some more to finally rest in a cloud of burning rubber and smoke in the middle of the freeway. I couldn't see the driver, and the driver's side was entirely accordioned into itself. I didn't stop; to do so would have been to cause most blockage and perhaps another accident. But I did slow down enough to call 9-1-1, and report the accident. I don't know what happened after that. The freeway wasn't crowded, but it did have a regular stream of cars...I just prayed that no one else got hurt. I was pretty shaken up all day and cried a little, just without even thinking about it, but I wasn't smiling that time.

Calling 9-1-1 in a life-threatening emergency is both a very helpful, and a very helpless, feeling. I've been trained in first aide, CPR, and lifeguarding since I was 15. I know how to take a pulse, how to dislodge an object from a baby's throat, how to keep blood pumping on a person them to get oxygen into their lungs. However, when someone I loved stopped breathing, I could only sit terrified in the front seat of the ambulance and wail prayers to anyone that could hear me while the paramedics intubated and physically forced air into their lungs. I felt as helpless as a newborn baby, useless and powerless, completely at the mercy of more capable hands and wires and tubes. Needless to say I cried, and cried, and didn't stop crying for about 4 hours. Thinking about that day gets me choked up even now, even though this person pulled through and made an incredible recovery. Heck, even THAT part of the story is a little lip-quivering.

Life is so delicate and precious, and I don't just say that to sound like a greeting card from the local Christian bookstore. Holding that baby I could only think about how amazing her life would be...I tried to take a snapshot of the moment, so I could maybe one day tell her when she was old enough to understand, "I held you on the day that President George W. Bush's chief of staff stepped down; I gave your mom 6 celebrity gossip magazines and nearly all of them had some guy named Nick Lachey on the cover." It's kind of like how when I look back at newspapers from the day I was born, and I look at all those hairstyles, and I realize the joy my mom felt in forgetting all of that for just a minute, to look at me for the first time and cry "I love you! I love you!" as I took those first breaths of my unknown and yet-unlived life.

An Inverse Roller-Coaster of Emotions

2006-03-27T20:57:00.000-08:00

People say "Oh I'm on an emotional roller coaster" but really that statement is linguistically incorrect. It implies that when people are feeling good, happy, and well, that they are "up". It follows that when people are feeling blue, unhappy, and sad, that they are "down". Therefore, emotions cannot be described as a rollercoaster in this way; everybody knows that the fun, happy part of the coaster is when everyone plunges down and the up part is really slow, plodding, and terrifying. The really unhappy part of the rollercoaster is when it comes to a stop altogether, or perhaps that whole 3 hours you spend waiting on line.

So yes, anyway, I am not on an emotional rollercoaster. I am feeling blue tonight, so I guess that would put me in the rollercoaster-has-stopped category. And crap! That sucks, because I was doing so well and feeling so happy! Damn you, fluctuating body chemicals and emotional reactions to external stimuli! Why must you be so...so...fluctual? Is fluctual even a word? Damn you, emotions, causing me to make up words in my emotional stupor. Fluc you.

And maybe its the rain, or the darkness outside when I leave work, or the fear of the truck not being able to stop as it flys towards the red light, while I cruise tentatively through the green. What if he hits? It's lights-out for me. Then what? I should really put an emergency contact sheet in my wallet; how would the cops know to call my parents? Would they make an announcement at work? Who would take care of my finances, clean out my apartment, would my ashes go in the east or west coasts? Wow, what macabre thoughts. The truck stopped, though he did slide past the crosswalk. I was OK and made it home fine. Amazing what goes through someone's brain within a few fleeting seconds.

So, anyway, its just a fleeting moment I suppose. Just like that moment in the crosswalk. Tomorrow is another day, tomorrow will be a better day. Not that today was particularly bad, because it wasn't. It just wasn't the happiest day I've ever had. They all can't be wonderful.

This is how we chill from 93' til...

2006-03-25T17:29:00.000-08:00

I had lunch today with the beautiful and amazing Lady McM today, sort of randomly, because today was the great Uptown yard sale. I was going for a run to test out the new Nano (love it, but I have delicate, little ears, and I need smaller 'phones) and ran past the abode of McM and McM. Lady McM was holding the fort down while salers cruised the blocks. I promised to drop by after my run and bring over some items I hoped to get rid of, but the run was an hour long and by the time I'd showered and made my way back to her abode, it was noon. Noon is basically when the Rapture happens to yard sale items...all the good stuff is gone, and everyone is looking around at what was left behind thinking "Well, now what?"

So Lady McM and I decided the thing to do was to take the yard sale leftovers to the Salvation Army, and get something to eat. Which we did. And there was much rejoicing (yay). And around 2 pm, after a great meal, awesome conversation, and just enjoying the sociable afterglow of a productive, hard-working morning, we parted ways and I came back to my place to nap and relax a bit before heading to a party tonight at 5:30. After the party, I planned to go to Upland to see some other friends.

Except its 5:35 pm and I'm not at the party. I just could not get myself up and at- 'em this afternoon. Maybe its my leaden legs, sufficiently battered and beat from this morning's hill run, or its just the ease of life that happens when I sit inside my great little apartment, listening to music, and blogging. A steaming cup of Roastaroma tea, a cold glass of water, somewhat chilly bare feet, the sun disappearing quickly leaving a darkening atmosphere outside. It's cozy and relaxing. A 60-watt bulb glows in a lamp over in that corner. I'm totally chilling out.

One of the thing we talked about today was the joy of being alone. Not alone in life - it is truly the most wonderful thing that us humans are by nature sociable and community-oriented - but spending time with the company of ones-self. While Lady McM and I both adore spending time with friends and loved ones, it was clear we were both really excited at the prospect of an afternoon alone at home, doing nothing but productive relaxation. And really, all relaxation is productive as long as it makes one truly relaxed. Life is stressful enough, and often it is other people that cause that stress. The importance of solitude cannot be emphasized enough.

I think to some extent, everyone likes being alone. But I think it takes a certain person to totally revel in the indulgence of solitude. The kind of person who changes from pajamas to day clothes, only to curl back up in bed and read a book or watch a movie. The kind of person who adds "take a bubble bath" to their to-do list. The kind of person who will bake an entire cake - fresh icing and all - for no purpose at all. The kind of person who loves going to a restaurant and asking for a table for one; the kind of person who buys one plane ticket and books one hotel room on a vacation made for one. These people have pets, kids, partners, and/or busy jobs full of bustling and noise. And they completely and totally enjoy NOT having any of that stuff around for a while. Oddly, perhaps, they have a freakishly large music collections, usually (cough cough...you know ya'll do...) Maybe we all just find escape in music? And movies...if you love being alone, you probably have a Netflix subscription.

I think the reason I appreciate solitude is because I also love being around other people. So now its like, 6 pm, and I'm going to stretch my sore muscles, fix up my hair, and head up to some old stomping grounds to have dinner with some lovely people. Because nothing makes you appreciate your friends more than after you've spent a highly indulgent, relaxing, chilling Saturday afternoon home alone.

Post script for no reason at all: Hip hop is a music genre I think I go in cycles with. Some months can go by and I neglect it altogether, and then I'll have something spark inside my brain, and it becomes basically all I want to listen to. My hip-hop collection is weird, eclectic, and downright nerdy. I've actually made various mix-tape (and now, mix-CD and mix-podlists) I call the Nerdrap Volumes. I think I mentioned Dr. Octagon below, and today it's Blackalicious, Souls of Mischief, J5, and Slick Rick. And it is all really good. Head-bobbing, eyes-closing, feet-tapping good. It's smooth like butterscotch syrup on ice cream. Like a skin-dive in a perfect clear pool. Like dancing alone in your apartment on a solitary Saturday afternoon.

Oh!

2006-03-24T18:28:00.000-08:00

So, the other day, I went running in the hills near my house with my Walkman. I have this Walkman that plays CD's and its meant for "sports" meaning it doesn't skip. Everyone said "Oh get an iPod, get an MP3 player, so much easier blah blah blah" but I refused. REFUSED I SAY. And I was happy with my Walkman, and it served its purpose.

Until the other day. 10 minutes into my 45 minute run, it felt heavy, like I think I've mentioned before. So I gave in and got an iPod Nano. It came in the mail today. Let me just say, it is the most awesome piece of technology I think I've ever touched. First off...its TINY. Eensy weensy. I'm terrified I am going to lose this thing. Second, I just put a boatload of songs onto it and it still has room for more. Third...it just is cool. I know, I know, its a name-brand gadget and I sold out and blah blah blah but wow, this thingy is neat. I like it. I am so glad I got it.

So now I am listening to Dr. Octagon on my iTunes, remembering how much I liked this CD when I was in college, and enjoying it even more on MP3. Wow, this is going to be fun. And today was a good day. Rode around in a convertible all lunchtime long, got the Nano, going out for sushi in a minute or two. Doin' a little boogie in my apartment. Laughing a lot more lately. It is good, good, good.

Power to the People

2006-03-22T18:38:00.000-08:00

Viva la primer amendmento!

The Redhead was Right

2006-03-20T22:01:00.000-08:00

You Are Lisa Simpson

A total child prodigy and super genius, you have the mind for world domination.

But you prefer world peace, Buddhism, and tofu dogs.

You will be remembered for: all your academic accomplishments

Your life philosophy: "I refuse to believe that everybody refuses to believe the truth"

The Simpsons Personality Test

Fairly accurate.

2006-03-19T23:48:00.000-08:00

Virgo

August 23 - September 21

Don't be so nosy about other people's affairs today, dear Virgo. If you were meant to be included in the conversation, you would have been invited. Being suspicious of other people's actions and motives will only cause them to lose their trust in you. Don't go that route. Keep your abrasive and critical thoughts to yourself. Perfection is a hot topic in your mind. Realize that the only person you have control over in this department is yourself.

Feast of Saint Productive

2006-03-18T22:52:00.000-08:00

Today was a solitary Saturday. But a fiercely productive one. Consider the following:

I woke up at 7 am.

I got my requisite daily snark and gossip from Go Fug Yourself and The Superficial dot com. Yes, I do love to sniffle at the lives of the rich and beautiful.

I did my taxes. Whoa! And I did them right. Turns out I owe the gub'mint about $60. That's fine with me. Means I was keeping more of my money all throughout the year.

I went on a 6 HOUR CLEANING BINGE. Yes, I just got sick of the dust bunnies. Not only did I vaccuum them up, I annihilated their very existence. I also felt that cleaning wasn't quite cleaning without totally...

rearranging my entire apartment. I disrupted the stale feng shui and now there is a new freshness of energy moving throughout the space. Tomorrow before church, I will do a final smoke cleansing with burning sage.

I did my laundry, then folded and put away within minutes of coming out of the dryer. An accomplishment for me.

Cleaned the kitchen

Cleaned myself

Got two new pairs of shoes for work and play, on sale! Parade of Shoes...where'd ya get those shoes?

Nap. For 4 hours.

Woke up, made scallop miso rice-noodle soup, cracked open a bottle of Castoro Cellars Zinfandel, and I'm currently on an "intermission" break from watching The Constant Gardener. So far, very good movie.

Tomorrow, I will be attending my local Orthodox church. I'm pondering a decision I may make...soon.

Happy Birthday Brother Bird

2006-03-17T13:59:00.000-08:00

Today is St. Patrick's Day, but more importantly, it's my brother's 24th birthday. Brother Bird is living in France for a few more months, and so I called him today to find out how he was spending his Franco-Irish birthday: "I'm at a margarita bar, drinking margaritas."

Naturally, because that makes sense. Love you Brother Bird! Happy birthday!!!

I am so out of shape

2006-03-15T17:02:00.000-08:00

Today was my early day at work, meaning I get to work at 6 am and work until 2:30 pm. I usually have an appointment from 3 pm - 4 pm that necessitated the work shift, but today I didn't have it at that time. On the drive home from work, I pondered what to do with my usually full afternoon. I saw how nice the hills looked, and felt how perfect the air temperature felt on my bare arm, and decided when I got home I'd go for a run in the hills. I felt so energetic.

I'm glad I felt the motivation, too, because I'm going to Cancun with my mom in a little less than a month and I was a little worried about getting into my swimsuit. Granted, its a one-piece, and a flattering one at that, but I still want to look my best. Looking at some photographs I had taken during my summer in Italy a few years ago, I realized that I've put on a substantial enough amount of weight that I hadn't really noticed until you compare me now to me then. Maybe about 15-20 lbs. Wow, that sounds like a lot. It didn't seem like that much considering I'm still wearing pants I bought in high school, 10 years ago. But when I think about it, I bought those pants in that size because they were fashionably too big. Now, they just fit.

Do you KNOW how tough running up a slow, steady incline is? For 25 minutes straight? Carrying a "hello, welcome to the 90's" Sony CD Walkman, that stopped working after the first 10 minutes, in my hands the whole time? It felt like a lead disc. I could only make it 40 minutes...it may sound like a lot, but I'm used to running a significant amount more. I got home and felt like someone had beaten me up and stolen all my money. They did not, however, steal the lead Walkman.

So my mom and I are going to do a dolphin encounter thing down in Cancun. We get a day to swim around in an ocean enclosure with friendly dolphins. I think that sounds awesome. My mom is the coolest; we seem to be drawn to off-beat animal-related adventures. A few years ago, we drove my pokey little Saturn up to the border of New York and Canada - in a blizzard - to dogseld for four days. We got the idea one night when we'd had a little too much wine with dinner. Giggly Sue and Mom call the Appalachian Mountain Club and before we know it we've booked ourselves on the back of a rickety wooden dogsled. While the dolphin adventure is a little warmer and less intense, I think mom and I both deserve a break.

But I am out of it. Shape that is. Give me some moral support while I try to whip this twentysomething desk jockey figure into something a little more worth of a real Spring break. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to run for more than 40 minutes.

Singapore Sling

2006-03-14T07:40:00.000-08:00

My dad made it safely to Singapore. If you remember from my previous post, he had the distinct honor of flying first class on Singapore Airlines. Here's his latest letter from a land afar.

Greetings from beautiful downtown Singapore. It's 10 a.m. here but 9 p.m. "body-clock" time. I'm trying to stay up as long as I can today so I can adjust quickly to the time change. The flight was about 18 1/2 hours direct; the longest direct flight in the world, or so I'm told! Believe me, no matter how posh you make it, that's a long time to be stuck in an airplane. I'll tell you all about it when we see you in April. Maybe I heard so much about how nice it was going to be, but I wasn't blown away. It was really nice, don't get me wrong but the food wasn't hot and the service was a little inconsistent. I guess I'm just cranky from being awake so long and here's how long it was. I slept 5 hours; read 200 pages of a book; saw two movies - Harry Potter 4 and Walk the line - and an episode of The Office; listened to the CD Thelonious Monk and John Coltrane live at Carnegie Hall; and STILL had time to kill. A reaaaaal long flight!!

Please pray for my dad, as he spends a week in a place he's never known, and again must endure an 18.5 hour flight BACK again (probably longer, given the direction of the wind flow). I know out first reaction is to think "Oh, he got to fly such a luxurious flight!" But he's right. No matter how nice you make it, that's almost a full day inside a small space with recycled air. Still...maybe he'll give me those Givenchy pajamas!

Fast Times

2006-03-12T19:28:00.000-08:00

Being a Seeker in my faith, I am enjoying this Lenten season as a Christian without a church. I have a very fortunate situation, in that I have a very comprehensive Catholic background, but I am now splitting my time between a non-denominational Christian church and an Orthodox ministry. It is two distinct ends on the spectrum of worship and both are enriching and enlightening.

This Lent, I have been doing my best to adhere to the Orthodox calendar of Lenten fasts and feasts. It basically means, that Monday thru Friday, I have to avoid:

meat

poultry

fish

dairy

eggs

alcohol

oil

OK. So, given, meat is easy to avoid. I basically do that anyway. Poultry, even easier. I am not a fan of chicken. Alcohol I can take or leave. Fish...harder, but not impossible (I am craving sushi though). Dairy and eggs...that's difficult, a lot harder than I thought. There is dairy and/or eggs in nearly EVERYTHING. Poor vegans. But OIL?! It is so hard to avoid oil. I was struggling so hard, and going so very hungry, until my friend C.J. told me he merely avoids olive oil as it is the richest and most common oil, and a little light oil is OK and fine for cooking purposes in watchful amounts. Thank God for grapeseed oil.

On the weekends, I can have alcohol and oil. But the thing is, when the weekend rolls around, my meatless/dairyless/eggless diet has made me ill-prepared to handle heavy, oily food and much alcohol at all. So I end up basically avoiding those things anyway. This is an experience, to be sure.

I'm not Orthodox, but I'm doing my best to follow this feast/fast schedule. I slip sometimes (how was I to know the black beans would have cheese on them, even if just a small sprinkle, at the restaurant?) but the goal is the same, and for the most part I've stuck to it well for someone who isn't bound to that religion.

What I'm drawn to most about the Orthodox religion is the discipline. I am enamored with the reverence, the tradition, and the discipline of this very regimented and yet very graceful expression of faith. I'm reading a lot of books about Orthodoxy and church history (though I am always somewhat skeptical of church "history"...history is whoever wrote the book's opinion of how it happened...but some facts are irrefutable, I suppose). I am also drawn to the individual relationship between the self and God that Orthodoxy supports. The church has a very supportive community, but at it's heart, it desires for the person to save their own soul before they worry about converting others. Salvation isn't just a one-day deal; you don't just "Get saved" and they move on. A person isn't "saved" until the moment they are accepted into Heaven; this is what I've always personally believed, and it's something they support in that community. It seems to touch the spirituality that lives within me.

I don't know if Orthodoxy is for me. The Orthodox church is mostly a surprise to me, really. C.J. and his wife M.J. have never tried to "convert" me, or even tempt me into joining their church. I always find that I'm inviting myself and seeking it on my own. I'm a Seeker in my faith and I don't know if this is the answer, but at the very least it has been a fulfilling stop along the way.

Go Go Korea

2006-03-08T12:22:00.000-08:00

I'm considering a trip to South Korea in August or September. My birthday is August 27 and I think it would be a really nice way to celebrate by going to a totally new country. I've never been to Asia, and though I'd hoped my first Asian trip would be to Japan, it seems that Korea might be a more feasible location. I have a old friend living there now with his wife (OK full disclosure: he's my college ex-boyfriend, but I have this weird habit of remaining friends with my exes...and why not? Six years after our relationship ended, I can now stay with him and his wonderful wife in Korea!) And while my Travelocity Fare Watcher shows that tickets to Tokyo are about $300 cheaper than to Korea, the total cost of the Korean trip would be less expensive (no hotel, touring with friends instead of with a group, and I think overall the country is a little less expensive than Japan). I love offbeat travel and I love to just pick up and go, so I think I'm going to go for it. For those of you who have been to Asian countries on vacation (Matt, Allie, Mike, Dave, etc) what do I need? Do I need to get a Visa if I'm just going for about a week or so? Advice?

This Sunday my father is flying to Singapore for a week on a business trip. He is fortunate enough to work for a company that will spring for First Class airfare when he flies internationally. He is flying Singapore Airlines, natch. First class. Do you even KNOW what kind of luxury that is? I mean seriously. Let me run down a little list of first class amenities on this airline:

Your own "suite" complete with fully-reclining leather chair designed for total privacy (no neighbors)

Givenchy pajamas and a down comfortor when you feel like taking a little nap

Food brought out when YOU are hungry (not when they feel like it)

Satay made of chicken, beef, or (my goodness) mutton with peanut sauce, or perhaps the chilled malossal cavier suits you better

High-end wine list

Bvlgari toiletries in the bathroom (because hand soap just isn't hand soap unless its Bvlgari)

Japanese Kyo-Kaiseki, a traditional pre-tea ceremony meal expertly designed by master chefs (go to the website to see a picture if you don't believe me)

Turn-down service (the chair becomes a bed!)

So those are just a few of the nice things he can expect on his flight to Singapore. And once he's there I know it is also a country of relentless hospitality. Now, this isn't something my father could just pick up and do...it just so happens this is a business trip and he is going on behalf of his company. But it is certainly a nice perk for him, as he does work hard and deserves a nice little break now and then. Doesn't mean I'm not jealous though. When I fly to Korea, I'll probably be in a crate in the baggage area.

Mondaybusiness vol. 2

2006-03-06T18:27:00.000-08:00

I watched the Oscars last night. What a terrifically terrible spectacle. Jon Stewart was brilliant, the montages were over-the-top but touching, and the awards were exciting. But I refuse to support any institution that awards an incomprehensible rap group over an American icon like Dolly Parton. Don't worry Dolly - if the Oscars don't recognize your incredible awesomeness, you should want nothing to do with them.

My neighbor does yoga every morning, and my friend Paul does sit ups and push-ups every morning. I need to bring discipline back into my life with some sort of morning movement. I did a yoga DVD this morning and tomorrow I'll try those push-ups. Good luck, oh she of the weak upper body.

In general, Mondays don't bug me too much. They do, however, raise my blood pressure to an unhealthy level. Luckily by dinnertime I'm back to my usual normal self, but for a few hours there...it gets intense.

I listened to some great music today: Pet Shop Boys' Discography and Garmarna's Hildegard von Bingen. I see nothing odd about this duality in my musical tastes.

Good God, combat boots are made for walkin', and generally being a total bad-ass. I love mine. I gain a swagger when I wear them. I will try to wear my combat boots at least 3 times a week. Only downside? Lacing and unlacing and lacing and unlacing.

I need to learn how to shoot a rubber band. I look embarassingly silly when I try, and usually end up just hitting myself on the nose.

Someone asked me today "Why do you believe in God?" I was going to write all this theory and explanation and such, but I just erased it all and wrote back "Because."

2006-03-04T20:56:00.000-08:00

The photographic proof of my Scrabble pwnage.

VICTORIOUS!

2006-03-03T08:55:00.000-08:00

I am undefeated at Scrabble. That's a major source of pride, but also fear, for me. Being undefeated means I am always being challenged, and at any moment I am aware that my years-long streak of non-stop Scrabble wins will come to humbling end. But then I play, and I win. Sometimes by a lot, and sometimes by a few precious points. I've played mature Ph.D.s and spunky youth alike, though, and so far I have always come out on top.

But last night my friend Mike asked me to play with him. We were having a pretty good game, both of us pulling out impressive words here and there. I was in the lead, but he was pretty close.

And then it happened. The board opened up and like Moses parting the Red Sea, I saw it...two triple word scores. And all seven of my tiles spelled a word that fit just perfectly in that little row. I asked Mike "Should I be obnoxious?" and with his blessing I put it down. "REGRINDS". From one triple-word to the next, end to end, it was worth 140 points. 90 for the word, and an extra 50 for using all the letters.

I have never scored more with one word before. I've only used all seven letters once in my life before (I spelled the word "BEAUTIES" - I remember these things) but this was magical. I have a photograph of it, I'll post it at a later date.

Oh geeze. I just know I'm going to get challenged within a few days and after saying all this I will be rightly and soundly defeated. It's coming, I just know it.

On Life and Lies

2006-02-28T22:18:00.000-08:00

This post is inspired by Ben's latest post.

I think that wine is the greatest invention of all time. Wine has permeated history to such a degree that it is a prevalent influence on the ancient Greeks, Romans, Turks, Mongols, and heck - even Jesus uses one of his earthly miracles to turn water into the sacred liquid. Wine. It is the backbone of fluid society.

I think in 100 years, concepts of race identity are going to be very, very different. I see it already: I am African-American, I am Afro-Hispanic, I am Anglo-Chinese. I know so many people that are the product of so many different races, that concepts of what a race is will be blurred and changed come 2106. Heck, it's probably going to be a lot sooner than that, but given a hundred years time I think it is almost guaranteed.

I think that kids today have a much better fashion sense than I do. I think this is because they might realize what a gift they have in their smallish frames...they can pull off daring ensembles a lot better than us curvy adults. I wore jeans and a sundress to work the other day with a grey cotton biker jacket, and I felt daring. A seventh-grader wearing the same outfit would not be treated the same. I think 25 years old is a lot older than I am quite ready to admit.

I think a good man is hard to find. Though, with modern technology, it's not for a lack of trying.

I think that not having a TV is only detrimental in very specific, short-term circumstances. I wished I had one during the Olympics, for example. However, I am glad I don't own one. It would be too much of a temptation.

I think that I am addicted to the internet. When it goes down around my apartment, I am thrust into a terrible mood. It frightens me. It makes me want to immediately pray and meditate for compassion, grace, and for God's sakes some patience or something until this lifeline of information capacity is restored.

I think that SUV's are just getting to be really passe. I think it is time for the re-emergence of the minivan as the "cool" car. Minivan drivers, assemble!!!

I think Trader Joe's should just have a giant basket of fresh fruit for people to select from when buying. All those plastic containers may preserve the fruit and keep it fresh, but it makes it seem so antiseptic. Major grocery store chains have attractive baskets of fruit every which way, and I like to see that. I feel more like I'm shopping at a farmer's market, which I would imagine Trader Joe's would be more inclined towards imitating. That said, I think Trader Joe's has THE MOST gorgeous employees of any food store. Hands down. Those guys? Are hot.

Things I Lied About This Week

I said I was a natural blonde. I am...but it is like a mousy blonde-brown, not a golden blonde. Not so much a lie, but more of an exaggeration.

I said I was having a good time.

I said I wasn't having a good time.

I said I was over him and he didn't mean anything to me anymore. What wasn't a lie was that I said it wasn't who he was thinking about...it was someone else. That wasn't a lie.

I said I was sorry. But I wasn't sorry at all.

Get Up and Move Something

2006-02-26T09:36:00.000-08:00

I am a lazy human being. I just have no motivation at all right now to move. Like a slug I will sit here and inhabit this chair, sip on my coffee and try, try, try to move something.

Yesterday was pretty darn good. I love days that are full of near-constant surprise. First, I woke up and it was foggy. I love fog! I stumble to my kitchen for my first glass of water, and I see my new neighbor S.T. Liaw aka Mike outside, carrying a box into his new apartment. Mike is moving into what we affectionately call "Crazy Lady's Apartment". Though the very (well, somewhat) normal Mike is its new inhabitant, it will most likely retain this moniker for the forseeable future.

I helped Mike put some stuff into his apartment, which was really exciting for me. I love that feeling of newness - new home, new paint, new stuff. New start. I'm jealous of his newness. I love my apartment, but at this time, the best newness I can have is a new wine rack, or a good scrubbing.

We got breakfast and then surprise! My other neighbors Krista and Alex joined us a Mimo's. We had a really nice breakfast, with Alex regaling us with tales of growing up with elephants in Brazil and his former job as a professional ninja. Alex reminds me of my uncle Steve, in all the good ways. Krista and Alex are perhaps two of my favorite people in the universe.

Mike and I spent the morning driving around, shopping...we got gardening supplies at Home Depot, outlets at Target, and celery at Trader Joe's. (Side note: there is a gorgeous guy who works at Trader Joe's, and I think I will try some pathetic attempt at talking to him next time I see him. Krista swears he checks me out, but I think he's just being polite and asking me if I remember how much my Chateauneuf du Pape costs...) Well, he was there, we made eye contact and had a nervous smile. Mike was probably like "Weirdo." I like Mike.

Also, its daffodil time at TJ's. 99 cents for a bunch of ten! I got 5 bunches and this morning I awoke to 50 gorgeous daffodils exploded on my kitchen table. Surprise!

After we got home, I realized with a panic that it was almost 2:00 pm. Jeeeeze where did my DAY go! I had a baby shower at 2:00 that I HAD to get to, and gifts that weren't wrapped yet. I threw on some slap-dash makeup and ran back out to Target AGAIN, grabbed some colorful wrapping, and proceeded to wrap a Diaper Genie on the hood of my (clean) car in the parking lot. Crap. For some reason I thought I had more time, like I thought it wasn't even noon yet. The wrapping looked pretty good though; I keep Scotch tape and a pair of scissors in my glove compartment for situations just like this. I was a little late, but less late than I anticipated, and it was all good.

Baby shower was enjoyable; I won a photo album. I think I posted earlier about my inability to put photos into albums, but maybe I'll make an effort now that I have a beautiful blank album. I can't stand empty paper...I have a compulsion to mark it up. A blank, unmarked piece of paper is too perfect, too whole and too symetrical...I need to change it somehow. I think I feel the same way about empty photo albums...I must ruin their perfectly emptiness with blurry photos of me blinking on top of the Arc du'Triomphe.

I got home and again had about infiniti phone calls I had missed while at the baby shower. My goodness, I could go months without anyone calling me and suddenly my voice mail lady is all "You have twelve new messages, you hot pimp." I returned a few, made last-minute plans (surprise!) with a friend who wanted to meet me for dinner, and had a pretty good dinner at a local restaurant. Spinach meltdown bazooka, my stars. Quite tasty.

Friend wanted to check out a local bar, but I was feeling tired. I called it a night and went home to watch - FINALLY - my DVD of Eddie Izzard (yes, I totally cut a sort-of date short to go home and watch my most recent Netflix DVD, but I know what I want and last night? I wanted a glass of pinot grigio and Eddie Izzard.) I fell asleep halfway through both the glass of wine and the DVD though, and woke up this morning proud of a pretty darn good day.

Balancing Act

2006-02-24T15:36:00.000-08:00

My friend James considers himself a Taoist, and as such believes everything in life has balance. Everything except cell phones apparently, but nevermind.

I was considering that thought - balance - today when I worked my day with a splitting headache. Five (!) Advil were not enough to quelch the throbbing pain. It's still lingering, albeit smaller now than before.

It is my cosmic balancing effort, the pain that makes me move slowly and shy from the light. For to earn this pain, I had to suffer the pleasure of a tremendously fun night out. Perhaps, the greatest night out that I have had in...months. Quite. Probably the Pirate Party tops it for fun in the past 6 months, but that's the highest bar you can set. Whenever a party is conducted to such an extent that even the dogs are dressed up and boogying down, you KNOW its a fun time. Last night was close to that.

And therefore, here I am today. At work, productive and cheerful, but if that afternoon sunlight slicing through my window here in my office gets any more sharp, I am going to...ouch. That thought hurt. Back to the grind

Four quarters forming a whole

2006-02-22T19:13:00.000-08:00

Petit Four

Tagged by McM! Here at McM and McM

Four jobs I've had in my life:
Checkout girl at the Stop n' Shop
Lifeguard (best job of all time)
Bookstore clerk
Corporate schlub

Four movies I can watch over and over again:
Maborosi - Kore-eda Hirokazu
Anchorman - Will Ferrell
Office Space - Mike Judge
Home movies from my childhood

Four places I have lived:
Chicago, Illinois
New Brunswick, NJ
Los Angeles, CA
The Earth, Milky Way Galaxy c/o the outer spiral arm

Four TV shows I love to watch:
Desperate Housewives
Grey's Anatomy (just because Sunday nights w/ my neighbors are the BEST)
Extreme Makeover - Home Edition (OK I cry. SO WHAT.)
Nature documentaries/NOVA

Four places I have been on vacation:
Amsterdam, the Netherlands
Paris, France
Central America (several countries)
Italy (all over the dang place)

Four web sites I visit daily:
Google
eHarmony (just leaving another door open, God!)
Fark.com the best source for "news" and a great user community. Proud to be a TFer.
MSN just because its my homepage at work.

Four of my favorite foods:
Sushi
Sushi
Pizza
Other food

Four places I would rather be right now:
New Jersey at my mom's house playing in the snow with her dog and my brothers
New Jersey at my dad's house playing in the snow wit his dogs and my brothers
France with my brother
Japan in a temple somewhere

Four people I am tagging:
Senior Liaw
Herr Fromage
Signore Troy
El Ben

Posted

2006-02-21T08:17:00.000-08:00

My friend Ben has a blog that has turned into a weekly advice column. Ben fields questions from pretty much every walk of life, and does a good job in doing so. He offers no-nonsense advice from a young male perspective.

Sometimes, however, he can't answer certain questions. This week, he wasn't able to answer a question sent in by a female reader, so he turned to me for an answer. Click his name above for the link to my response to a reader who posed one of life's eternal questions.

You can also email Ben your questions: askbens@yahoo.com.

Humility

2006-02-19T00:13:00.000-08:00

I am not above a little begging.
I am not above insults
I am not above revising my conspiracy theory
I am not above the law.
I am not above criticism;
I am not above reproach.
I am not above trying
I am not above or better than anyone.

I am not above helping people
I am not above spectacle and theatrics
I am not above lusting after material goods
I am not above sniping and posting.

I am not above lounging on the couch
I am not above changing
I am not above that - far from it
I am not above anybody.

I am not above flipping burgers
I am not above suspicion in her sight
I am not above a little vanity;
I am not above needing it also.

I am not above a brute-force approach
I am not above temptation.
I am not above outright lying,
I am not above average.
I am not above admitting my love...

I am not above using a curse word once and a while
I am not above Church and law
I am not above these standards myself
I am not above manual labor.
I am not above being laughed at
I am not above and beyond.

I am not above owning that I have this human weakness myself,
I am not above making the most of this unlikely situation.

I am not above 40.

poem based on Google hits for phrase "I am not above"

As If I Were a Common Criminal

2006-02-18T01:53:00.000-08:00

Tonight I drove him at 1:00 am. The streets were clean from the earlier rain, but drivers still used caution in their travels. Too much caution; the result of living in a place where rain is front-page news, and umbrellas sheild faces from the sun. I sped most of the way home. James may think it's a desire to drive fast that forces me to speed; however I can't recall tonight wanting to go as fast as I did. My feet just touch pedals and the car moves itself forward. Sometimes it goes fast. Not much I can do about that.

I expected what I found; a street full of cars without a spot to park for the night. My car is small; living in a city for years teaches you that larger cars are not always in charge, especially when it comes to parallel parking. The idea that I had to park my car nose-to-end with other cars was so ingrained into my psyche that I focused only on that when practicing for my driving test. The result was a perfect parallel park score. I failed the parking space test. Adding the word "parking" to parallel and I'm fine; tell me to park between two parallel lines and I will find a way to stump myself. As such, I found it easier to park a small car, and so I've always had something that was simple to fit pretty much anywhere.... between lines or cramped curbside spaces.

No parking spaces on the streets meant I would make a brief cruise down the alley behind the complex. The alley is dark, but wide, and is usually filled with both questionable silence and an eerie caucaphony of feral cats mating behind a dumpster. I saw him first, I think, rolling slowly in neutral with his lights off. The car may be black but the cops keep them clean, and so the moon reflected on the hood. For a minute we were facing down each other, he at one end of the alley, and I at the other. I continued slowly, growing increasingly aware that my very presence at that time in that place marked me as suspicious.

None of the spaces behind my complex was free, as if I would be lucky enough that they were. I contemplated parking behind a friendly neighbor, and waking up early enough to move my car back to the street, but I quickly gave up this notion as I didn't trust my ability to wake up that early on a Saturday morning. Quickly glancing in the rear-view mirror, I also realized I couldn't pull into their space, because I had an audience. His lights were still out, but he knew he was obvious to me now, and his invisible judgement of me was unsettling.

Not wanting to arouse any more suspicion than I needed to, I remembered passing an open space up the street a bit from my complex. It would be a bit of a walk back to the apartment, but since I was being followed anyway I felt I might as well take advantage of my police escort. As I pulled out onto the street, the headlights of the Impala behind me clicked on, illuminating my dashboard and framing my hair in a halogen halo. I drove slowly up the street. Come on...come on, I know I saw you, I muttered pointlessly to the curb. My anxiety was manifesting itself physically, and I felt my back muscles tighten. My jaw locked, and my left hand loosely roped the wheel while my right hand dug its fingernails into the leather on the gearshift. Would he flash his red lights? Why not just pull me over already, let me explain myself, let me unburden this guilt that isn't even mine to own? I haven't done anything wrong! Shouldn't I be given the benefit of the doubt?

All kinds of irrational thoughts plagued my head, but the one that was the most prevalent but horrifying was the one that was the most truthful: he just had to see my face. Young, white, female, innocent...a twentysomething caucasian girl alone at 1:30 am on a Friday night, wearing a J. Crew sweater and toting a sling bag, driving a Hyundai with a "Rutgers Alumni" license plate frame. I'd never even had a detention in high school. You can tell this just by looking at me, and that's all he had to do. He did. And he drove away.

I walked two blocks home, alone on the dark street. My keys jingled in my sweater pocked until they unlocked my door, and I closed it behind me with a click.

Short.

2006-02-15T19:05:00.000-08:00

I ate too much falafel. Oof.

CD burner works now, thank you Web-Toed.

Pomegranate Green Tea is delicious, hot or iced.

That's really all for now.

I can't do anything right

2006-02-14T18:56:00.000-08:00

I tried burning a CD on my CD burner, which was installed two years ago by two friends of mine who are both in the IT profession. For whatever reason, I never burned a CD. Now, I wanted to, and found I couldn't. So, I did pretty much everything I could do to get it to work. Turns out Sony doesn't make my model anymore, it ruined about 15 blank CDs that are now shiny coasters, and it frustrated me to the point of tears. I was up until after midnight last night trying to get the damn thing to work, but having no luck. I gave up and figured the burner was broken and bought another one today.

I installed it fine, installed the software fine, and still it won't work. I'm beyond disappointed right now, just so frustrated because I want this thing to work. And it won't. And I can't fix it. I am feeling imcompetent, frustrated, lonely, and pissed off. And this whole post was just to vent about that.

This Is Not A Valentine's Day Post

2006-02-13T19:29:00.000-08:00

No sir, it is not. I have no Valentine, I have no desire for a Valentine, and quite frankly I think Valentine's Day is silly. I do, however, have a softness in my heart for the song "My Funny Valentine" because well...it is a beautiful love song, and also a huge string of backhanded compliments. I think it is the meanest song to sing to someone you love, because it basically says "I think you're ugly and stupid. But I like you that way, so don't change." What a love letter.

After the exhausting cleverness of my last post, I am unable to come up with something witty for Valentine's Day. I could rail against it, but that would just sound pouty. Oh pity me, the single girl with no one to buy her flowers. Well, people do buy me flowers, and they aren't my valentines. I would even talk about how happy I am being single, but that would sound defensive, like I'm trying to hard to cover up something...I just cannot win. This is the most horrible holiday ever...making me anxious for no reason. Plus, I find the combination of red and pink to be a highly offensive color combination, so the fact that aisles in Rite-Aid are completely dripping with this disgusting color combination makes me physically ill. Well, insofar as it hurts my eyes. I mean...I don't even like chocolate, unless its very small amounts of dark chocolate.

And after all, Valentine's Day makes no sense whatsoever, to me at least. Saint Valentine was a martyr. He was caught aiding the Christian couples that wanted to get married (along with Saint Marius) and was caught by Claudius II, who had outlawed marriages. Claudius Dos, being more than a little ticked off, arrested Mr. Valentine, dragged him bodily through the streets, and had him beaten to death. His head was also cut off. This apparently happened on February 14.

The Christian Church in Rome (I believe now known as the Catholics) had a lot to do with the changeover towards Valentine's Day as we know it. Just like Christmas got a makeover from the pagan solistice and tree-worshipping ceremonies that offended the Catholics, Valentine's Day descends from a very pagan ceremony. The Lupercalia, a feast to honor a heathen god, involved putting the names of all the eligible young women in a box. Men would draw them at random, ostensibly to take them out for overpriced fixed menus at their local Red Lobster.

The church, not liking all this wanton date-drawing, changed the custom and began drawing names of saints. And apparently, they decided that Saint Valentine would be the patron saint of the February feast formerly known as Lupercalia.

And so we have our modern day Valentine's Day.

I write all this not because I dislike Valentine's Day; I just think the creation of this holiday is rather humorous. I like learning the history of these sorts of things - why do we do what we do? I know I wrote earlier defending Christmas from people who do just what I did above: nitpick the reasons for the season, as if it did anything to lessen the importance and beauty of the holiday.

I do not place Christmas anywhere near Valentine's Day on the holiday importance scale, but I guess I do appreciate its existence. If I had a "Valentine" this year, I'd feel the same about it - of course, if that Valentine got me flowers I would probably be giddy as a giddy little girl. I'd love it. I do, however, think the creation of Valentine's Day is rather silly, given the history behind it and how violent Saint Valentine's end was. At least with Christmas, our Christ was born and we celebrate it regardless of whatever happened before. Maybe he wasn't born on that day, but that is the day we celebrate his birth. Valentine's Day was begat out of the brutal murder of a saint who married people in secret; it was also set on February 14th because of a pagan dating/marriage ritual. I just think it's a little silly.

But, I guess ultimately, without silliness, we'd be awfully dull people. And I did buy my mom flowers. I like thinking of her getting roses on Valentine's Day...besides, her prayers need to be answered, and I know she's praying to Saint Theresa. And that saint deserves more than just a day to her honor, in my humble opinion.

Best Jury Duty Experience Ever

2006-02-09T17:55:00.000-08:00

I had to serve jury duty today. It was my first time; for 7 stealthy years, I had avoided my civic responsibility. But the law found me, and so it was my turn to serve.

It was actually my turn to serve about 2 months ago. The LA county court system has this phone-in method where you are officially "on call" all week; you just call in each day to see if you have to report. Back in November, I was "on call", but I unfortunately forgot to call in one day. That was the day I was needed. Ugh! I worked it out with a nice county employee, who rescheduled my service to February. How quickly November turned to February!

Above, a judge of the Los Angeles Superior Court System. Circa 1978.

When I told people I was serving jury duty this week, the response was always, "Oh...I'm sorry." The general consesus is that jury duty sucks. Having never served it, I was under that impression myself. Until I got to go see it for myself. And you know what? Jury duty is pretty freakin' spectacular.

For one, I got the day off work and I even slept in an extra hour. That's because I didn't have to report until 8 am, and I'm usually at work by at least 7 am. So that extra hour was nice. The day was shaping up to be a really beautiful day, and I enjoyed the possibility of taking my scheduled hour-and-a-half lunch break outside. At work, I only get a half hour, or an hour on some days; that lunchbreak sounded pretty sweet to me.

Everyone says "bring a book" when you serve jury duty. I guess there's a lot of waiting around. I brought two books hoping to stave off boredom in the supposedly-boring jury assembly room. But what a surprise: the jury assembly room was awesome. Let me say that again: it was awesome. It had large, cushy red benches that you could totally nap on. I sunk into one of the benches and marvelled at the high ceilings, the spectacular view of downtown LA (we were on the 7th floor of the civic building, and today was a rare "clear" day in LA. Gorgeous!)

All beautiful people serve on juries. It's a fact.

Next to each bench was a small table, and piled on top of all the tables were tons of interesting books and magazines. There were soda machines, computers where we could get onto the internet (for a very small fee), and then I saw them: bookshelf upon bookshelf of PUZZLES. Many people don't know this about me, but I am a PUZZLE FREAK. The more difficult the puzzle, the more I want it. My mom once got me and my brother this 3000 piece puzzle called an "Impossible". It had no edge pieces, it had a recurring patterns of goldfish against a flat blue background, and it had five extra pieces that didn't fit anywhere. The lady in the store said most people never solve them and end up returning them in frustration. My brother and I were done in 3 weeks. Granted, we didn't sleep for most of that time, but we did it. My mom laminated it with puzzle glue and took a picture of it back to the store. The store lady was like "Who did that?" and my very proud mother bragged "My 12 year old daughter and her 10 year old brother." The weight of our preternatural puzzle-solving talents was undoubtedly too much for this woman, who for some reason, didn't believe my mom.

I digress. To me, heaven is one big great palace full of puzzles. God and I do a 5 billion piece puzzle together for eternity while discussing the eternal Truths about Christ and love. It is a beautiful scene. Back on earth, the jury assembly room was shaping up to be pretty sweet.

A crackle came from above, and the electric sound of a loudspeaker being turned on made everyone in the room sit up. A very melodic, yet dryly sarcastic, woman's voice welcomed us to jury duty. She came out of this little room in the back and for the next half hour or so walked us through orientation. We filled out some forms, and she kept the air light with little jokes peppered in. She knew most of us didn't want to be here, and from her dry demeanor, it was clear this may not be the job she envisioned doing as a little girl. But she was going to make the best of it, which was also to our benefit. You could tell everyone in the room liked her immediately.

One juror can make a difference. Could I be that juror?

After a painless orientation we watched this awesome video. It was about 20 minutes long and was this giant advertisement for how! wonderful! jury! duty! is! Badly acted, it at least looked like it was made in the past decade. The only thing that would have made it more awesome would be if it was made in 1978 and everyone wore feathered mullets. But even still, as a loyal Mistie, I loved the opportunity to sit and make wisecracks to myself while watching an overeager actor gush about how much she loved serving on a jury. I do admit, however, after they explained how it all worked, I was kinda jonesin' to get on a jury. It seemed alright after all.

When the movie was over, our orientation lady dismissed us for a morning break. "I finished early I guess...so, you guys just be back by 10:20 am." Alright! I'd been there less than 2 hours and I was already getting a 45 minute break! I went outside and got a coffee, and sat in the sun enjoying how gorgeous the day was. Had I been at work, I'd be in a flourescent-lit cubicle farm instead of enjoying the fresh morning air. The coffee was so good, and I had this dumb smile on my face just feeling the California spring sun on my skin. In February! Did you know it's snowing in New Jersey? I called my dad to brag. He just sighed heavily.

Back inside, the infamous "Waiting period" commenced. I grabbed a thick fashion magazine and began leafing through. Someone turned the TV to the news, and after a while I overheard "Now, Channel Four's 11:00 news." I read some more of the magazine, and then overheard "Welcome to Channel Four's 11:30 new." A half hour went by already? In just thirty minutes, it's lunchtime! Cool!

However, at 11:45 am, the loudspeaker crackled again. "I'm going to start calling a few names. When I call your name, say 'here' and wait further instructions." Everyone looked at each other nervously, and the orientation lady started calling roll. About six names in, she called mine. I confidently said "Here!" I counted until I heard twelve names, and waited for her to tell us what courtroom to go to. But she kept counting. Thirteen names, fourteen names, etc. I thought "Wow, there must be a lot of trials to screen juries for." Twenty names, twenty one, twenty two. Pretty soon, everyone in the room had said "Here!" Orientation lady got quiet, and then started to give us our instructions.

"OK everyone - take your juror badge out of the plastic holder" - which we all then did - "And then put it back it. Hahaha! Kidding! Hahaha!" We all laughed nervously, and I think we all collectively thought "What the heck? It's ten minutes until lunch...what is going on?" But orientation lady didn't leave us hanging long. We heard the sweetest words ever spoken to a roomful of potential jurors: "The court's given us clearance, and you can all go home. Your jury service has been fulfilled and you are done for the year. See ya."

A cheer went up through the crowd! We all filed up to drop off our badges, and I walked somewhat wistfully past the shelves of puzzles. I never got to touch a single puzzle piece. But my sadness faded quickly when I realized it was noon, I was outside again, and I had the WHOLE DAY AHEAD OF ME. Jury duty rules!

Above, a court reporter I never got to see.

I enjoyed lunch outside with a neighbor, and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning my apartment and listening to music. I even took a little nap. When work called to ask how it was going down at juryland, I hesitated to tell them that I was done before noon...but I'm honest, and it came out. I was worried they'd make me go in for a half day or something, but my boss who is awesome told me to enjoy my day. And I did!

Though I loved leaving early, I knew that staying wouldn't be terrible either. If I had to stay all day, I know I would have done about four of those 1000 piece puzzles. I was excited to be a part of the judicial process. It was also interesting being in a room with a truly diverse group of people. I started getting all sorts of ideas for screenplays with ensemble casts, set in a jury assemblyroom. Thriller: The room is haunted by the spirits of jurors past! Don't get called to courtroom 13! Romance: Two unwilling jurors find love at the soda machine. Action: Russian spies are planning to affect the outcome of one of LA's most notorious trials, and the day is saved by a rogue juror! It could go so many ways. Jury duty is good for the creative juices.

All told, jury duty was pretty sweet. In another 12 months I'll be eligible again. I can wait for it...but I won't bemoan it when my name is called.

Hooray! Jury duty is awesome!

Medicine-head

2006-02-07T20:46:00.000-08:00

It could be my 12-hour workday yesterday, and then waking up in the middle of the night last night only to lie awake for 3 hours unable to fall back asleep. It could be the reason my brain was elsewhere. But I think it was the medicine. The medicine has been interesting. During the day I take Robitussin CF, an innocuous over-the-counter suspension that tastes like moldy, unripe cherries. It has no alcohol and is non-drowsy. That does not mean "Will not make you talk like a moron because your brain is on vacation."

My appetite is still gone, too. I managed to eat a little Del Taco for breakfast, but stopped halfway through because I couldn't eat any more. For lunch, the office brought in Lucille's BBQ, and I couldn't even put a plate in front of me. Geeze - if I'm turning down free BBQ ribs, there must be something seriously wrong with me.

Today at dinner, when I actually had a little appetite again, I tried to say the words "Table" and "Chair". I said "Tair and Chable". And I didn't know why people were laughing at me.

But the best was on the way out, I called a fellow member of my business establishment "Chuck". His name is Larry. That made no sense whatsoever.

Maybe tonight I'll sleep, and the cough will stop, and I can get off the medication, and get back to normal. I'll probably still call people by the wrong name though, as I do that even when I'm healthy.

Bird Underwater

2006-02-06T16:37:00.000-08:00

I feel as if I am underwater. My entire head is clouded up with the illness I've been dealing with, and now it's in my ears. So, sound is muffled, which I have to admit I am somewhat enjoying. I can still hear music, but it is easier to tune out sounds I don't want to hear. I am also on a round-about of medications, including a cough syrup that has granted me the best slumber I've had in ages. Sure, it lasted 24 straight hours, but I'll take it.

During the day, however, I am taking non-drowsy Robitussin CF. It kills the cough, the chest congestion, and most of the head congestion...and my appetite. I think the only thing I've ingested today has been water, tea, and the occasional cough drop (particularly useless against the type of cough I have, but they taste good.) I stopped taking them however when I noticed the fine print on the bag: "Excessive use may have a laxative effect". Since it didn't say how many cough drops was "excessive" I stopped at two. Like I said, they weren't helping anyway. It is now quarter-till-five, and I am wondering if I should just eat something for "dinner" on the principle that my body needs food, I think.

The Robitussin, or rather it's appetite quashing effect, makes me feel light and floaty...adding to my already underwater sensation experience. However, emotionally I think I also have a distinctly aquaeous current running through me. I feel cool, clear, but changing. I think at any moment I could go from a friendly, musical fountain to a strong, forceful deluge. I am different today than I was yesterday. Well, obviously so, but in a more universal sense, I feel like a different person. I need to spend a great deal of time right now alone in prayer and meditation, for God's hand is moving over my waters, and I need to find out what direction I am flowing in. Or directions...could be more than one. It's hard for me to tell; my head feels like it's underwater after all. But one thing is crystal clear: it is a blessing to be alone right now. I am not done learning what I am supposed to learn yet.

Cold, Rainy New Jersey Days

2006-01-31T10:20:00.000-08:00

My Grandmother was an amazing woman, but I didn't know she could help control the weather. Her viewing/wake was on Sunday, and it was chilly and a little rainy, but not too bad. However, the forcast for her funeral on Monday was heavy rain and cold, possibly icy conditions. Monday morning was covered in a thick blanket of fog, but once we got to the funeral parlor, the sun came out. And then it was perfectly clear, sunny and it even went up t 65 degrees. In New Jersey! In January! It stayed wonderful until the evening, when the services had concluded, and the good-byes had been said, that it clouded back up and the rain began in earnest. Today, it's grey and rainy again, and the sky just seems unhappy.

I held it together rather well, given the circumstances. I love my Grandmother deeply. She was the only Grandmother I knew; my father's mother died of surgical complications when he was only 17. So, Grandma Gladys (or just "Glad") was the one who filled those all-important Grandma duties. She played Yahtzee! with us in the Poconos, and fried balony for us - a very decadent treat given how health-conscious my mother was. Small, ceramic dishes propped around her house promised morsels of candy, and we spent much time huntin down every little dish to see what it contained. We played with her fur coats and old costume jewelry in her attic, often dressing up the younger brothers and ourselves and then parading in her living room while she laughed. She was pretty great.

Seeing her in her casket wasn't all that difficult. She looked so peaceful, small and at rest. Her lips almost seemed at times to be hiding a slight smile; she always had this great smile that made you think she knew more than she often let on. She knew something we didn't. I lost it, however, when I got to the church. Walking up the stairs behind my mother, aunt and uncle, who helped my Grandpa follow her casket, I saw the long aisle of the church lit with candles. The Rosary Society that my Grandmother led for years came out in full force, and lined the entire aisle holding small votives. The ruddy, soft faces of these elderly women, watching their best friend and Rosarian leader make her final entrance in the church she loved so dearly, was too much for me to bear. I could not stop the tears as I made eye contact with those sad ladies...and then knowing that 63 years ago, my Grandfather walked her down the aisle to pledge his love to her until death...not knowing how fast 63 years can go by. And he kept his promise, until death loving her, and walking her again to the altar to one last time promise his eternal love as she was welcomed to eternal peace. I just lost it completely.

She made the sun shine, she made the night dark, and she made my life wonderful for 25 years. I wish I could have been a better Grand-daughter, but I loved her so much and will always love her. Her memory is rich and honorable, and she is not gone but is now forever. I cried in the church, but at one point I could not stop smiling - I just saw her sweet face, that surprised and genuine smile, and her sparkly eyes inside her large bifocals, laughing and smiling and loving her family - and I knew that was how she lived and how she'd watch over us now.

Goodbye, Gladys

2006-01-25T21:30:00.000-08:00

My grandmother died tonight. So, I will be flying home Friday to prepare for services. Please, your condolences are much appreciated...she was the only grandmother I knew. I loved her very much, and she passed away with peace and was accepted into a better place. I may not be around for the next while. Just...pray for those left behind. She was a wonderful woman, and deserves the happiness I know she now feels. But we are left without her. And that is quite a loss.

Introspective

2006-01-24T22:36:00.000-08:00

I named this blog "Birds of my Neighborhood". It's after a CD by this great group called The Innocence Mission. There is a song on this CD called The Lakes of Canada and I think this song is perhaps one of the prettiest songs I know of. It's really sad, though, and it always makes me a little introspective.

My memory is constantly reacting like ferrofluid and a magnet...something comes along, and *zing* I have a memory. The memories that keep coming up are bittersweet; they recall a time that I remember being really wonderful, with people or a specific person who made me very happy, and I'm happy every day to have those memories. But the fact that each moment in time is meant to be lived only once makes me sad. For example, in this movie I watched tonight, two characters played pool. And in a flash I saw the hands of the last person I played pool with, and I realized I'd memorized the topography of those hands. The slight bend of knuckles, the way each finger rests against the other, the smooth palm and the distinct coloring of pale skin. It was so vivid; I could even feel the way the hand felt when it high-fived me after I made a good shot. I just remembered the hands, though...the face was harder to recall. Blue eyes? What did the smile look like, or the laugh intone? I couldn't remember clearly. But hands, like a photograph, just appeared.

A really bittersweet memory, though, came later in the evening. My friend was describing in vivid detail a friend of hers. Adjectives like "generous", "giving", "loving of her neices and nephews" were tossed about. A picture was painted of an aunt who loved to take her friends and family travelling, who flew for business and vacations, who had made a fine living for herself out of hard work and gave much glory to the Lord. And my uncle's face appeared...clear as a bell. I wanted to say something, but it wouldn't have had the impact that my memory created.

These people didn't know my uncle, they didn't know how hard he'd worked, how generous he was, the way his smile was so natural and warm. His height, his skin always tanned, his golf clubs in his Mercedes sedans that always smelled like new leather (a scent that for some reason nauseates me to this day), his backyards with their green grass and glittering pools. It was all ours when we were there - everything he had was for sharing, for giving. We took trips to his beachfront vacation house in the summer, and Killington Vermont in the winter for skiing. We appreciated and enjoyed every moment, but not because I think at the time we realized that time was severly limited. When I was 22, he died very suddenly...this healthy, robust and successful man. A man who retired at 52...sold all his business, buildings, and interests in the company he built with his bare hands. A man who loved his wife that last day as much as he did the day he married her, a love rare and one that she won't ever have again. It was the day before Valentine's Day that he passed away. Sorry this is such a personal entry...this time of year always makes me pensive. I never made it for the funeral...the snow was so heavy that February that all flights were grounded. I never got to say goodbye. All I have is the memory of his smile..that funny apron he always wore when carving the Thanksgiving Dinner. God, I miss my Uncle Jim.

Misadventures in Hair Dye; Or, How Not to Improve on What God Gave Ya

2006-01-21T14:43:00.000-08:00

The box said "Warm Auburn Brown". The girl on the box had rich, chocolately hair with just the faintest hint of rich mahogany. She smiled coyly with her white teeth, the words on their pillows behind her lips, on the breath of a whisper: "Inside this box is the hair you are looking for." So, overcome by the promise of Feria, I took it home.

And this is what happened.

It's not warm auburn brown. It's red. It's richly, darkly, magenta-y red. It's not terrible, but it's not what I went into Sav-On for.

You might look at it and think, it's not bad. It is rather flattering, actually. With Suzanne's greenish eyes and pale skin, a dark red may be the change of pace that might be good.

This might be the dawn of a new day...a day filled with fiery ponytails, flashes of scarlett in the day's waning sunlight, a follicle of hair blending into the flicker of rays on the morning cloud cover. But look closer. Something isn't quite right.

Instructions said to use just enough hair color to saturate all strands. I used the entire bottle, and I thought that was saturated enough.

Apparently, not.

Though hard to tell with the $15.00 webcam I have plugged into my computer, my Feria experience isn't a total one. Somehow, I missed entire swaths of hair. I don't have the longest hair (though I do have some of the thickest hair my stylist says he's ever seen) but to miss such conspicuous areas of hair is just unimaginable. If it were closer to my original haircolor at all (a medium-density brown) it would be alright. But even THAT color had unevenness to it - dark strips in the front, memories of the time I had white-blonde hair with peroxide streaks; light dashes of lingering highlights. Now that I've gone and tossed a whole bottle of deep red into the mix, my hair is approaching subdued rainbow territory.

Part of me just says "Ah, to heck with it. Let it be." There is certain kick-assery in just saying "I meant it to be like that!" Or, at least acting like I don't care. Put a big smile on my face, and dare anyone to point out that right over my ear, on the left side, I kind of...missed. Well, so what? So I missed a spot. Did you know that world hunger hasn't been solved yet? That wars are raging all over the world that are killing hundreds every day? Or that someone right now is being paid to bash Christianity and convince others to turn away? Didja? Kinda makes my little brown spot seem a little insignificant. Now go make yourself some coffee and let's talk of important things.

But, the part of me I know I'll give into is the part that will go back to Sav-On tomorrow, get yet another box of the Warm Auburn Brown Feria, and attempt to patch up what wasn't done right the first time. I'll probably just end up making it worse, but at least I can say "I tried" before I bring my thick mane crawling back to my stylist, who will smile and flatter and fix what I tried to do myeslf.

Though I do admit I like what accidentally occured, the color I mean. If I could just even it out, I'll be pleased. And red all over.

Maybe I'm Going About This All Wrong

2006-01-21T10:25:00.000-08:00

I'm not sure what that headline has to do with anything, but I thought it sounded neat. Though I wonder, if everything I think I'm doing is all wrong, that at any moment this veil will be lifted, I'll discover another set of corneas, and the world will be revealed to me as it truly is. Or, maybe this is it, I see everything, and I just really need to stop procrastinating and go to the laundromat.

I had the opportunity last night to go to a lounge/club with some friends. It would have been a hip and late night. I would have put on nice clothes, curled my hair or at least twisted it up into some semi-elaborate style, and put some colorful powders and chemicals on my face to make me look "pretty". Instead, I opted to order in some Italian, have one glass of wine, and enjoy the cultural milestone that is Mystery Science Theater 3000. I don't know what it was, but staying inside seemed much more appealing than the forgery of personality that occurs in establishments like the one I would have visited yetserevening. I won't meet anyone while watching my DVDs of robots and droll space banter and bad movies, but I really didn't mind. There's a fine line between giving up completely, and letting God do what God does; I'll just take it on faith, though, that the love of my life wasn't waiting for me last night at the bar inside "Scorpions".

I mentioned in my last post that I got flowers, randomly. There's a little more to the story, and some of you may roll your eyes when I tell it, so I'll just put it out there and take it for what it's worth. Earlier in the week, my mom sent me an email "chain letter" that I was supposed to pass onto seven friends, including the person who sent it to me. If I sent it on to seven people within five minutes and made a wish, my wish would come true. The content of the letter was a prayer to Saint Theresa of the Little Flower. Catholics believe that prays to St. Theresa bring roses when those prayers are going to be answered. I haven't so much "practiced" being a Catholic for a few years, as I've been busier reading and praying on the word of God in the Bible, and allowing my own faith to bloom in the large community that is Christ. But my roots are still meaningful to me. So I sent the letter onto five girlfriends, one of my brothers, and back again to my mother. I said the prayer, and also a few other prayers of my own. I felt that any minder to pray wasn't a bad idea; sure, it's a chain letter, but for a few minutes I quietly offered up my prayers to God.

That was on the 11th. Yesterday, I got roses delivered to me at my office from a friend who like I said, had heard I'd had a bad day. He wasn't one of the people who got the letter I forwarded along. The timing was noteworthy to me; I can't remember the last time someone got flowers for me. It's got to be at least over a year (not counting my mother - she and I send each other arrangements randomly as sort of a sweet mother/daughter inside joke). We don't often send roses, though. I called my mom that afternoon I got the roses and told her what happened. "I guess your prayers are going to be answered," she said. I would be too hard-shelled to say it didn't thrill me to hear that, but I always remember when God answers prayers, he always reserves the right to say "No." It will be seen.

How to Have a Good Day

2006-01-20T17:21:00.000-08:00

So today was mostly a good day...mostly. But let's focus on the goodness.

This morning for breakfast I had my leftover quiche. I've become a quiche queen since my trip to France, and I'm amazed at the simplicity and speed at which one can make a pretty impressive meal. So, it was leftovers, and it was delicious.

For lunch, I got Chipotle with four coworkers. We basically sat around eating our burritos in pure food heaven. Anyone who hasn't had Chipotle food is missing out tremendously...pretty cheap, very fresh, really delicious. It was a good lunch!

Work went by quickly, mostly a blur. Around 1 pm the receptionist called me and told me I had "something" at the front. I get all my packages delivered to work after an incident in trying to get them delivered at home, and I was expecting an Amazon.com delivery, so I went to pick it up.

Only it wasn't Amazon.com, it was a box of flowers. Eight long-stem roses mixed with yellow Gerbera daises, so beautiful and all for me. They were from a friend who knew I was having "one of those days" the other day (yesterday was terrible) and just wanted to cheer me up. It created quite a stir, too, which was cute...well, it made my day. What can I say. All girls love flowers.

THEN! As if it couldn't GET any better, I ended up getting the Amazon.com stuff ANYWAY today as well. And what did I get? Why, volumes 2, 3, and 6 of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 collections! Yes, I have 12 episodes plus shorts vols 1 & 2 and Mr. B's Lost Shorts. My goodness! So I'm going to go order a pizza now, and I have a bottle of wine, and some friends may come over later, and here we go...it's time for MST3K! Movie sign! Wow I'm a huge nerd.

Good Pain, Bad Pain

2006-01-17T21:18:00.000-08:00

In one day it is possible to experience a whole gamut of pain. Some pain is good, some pain is bad. Some examples:

Good pain: Post-workout soreness

Bad pain: The heartache of seeing a former flame burning hot with someone who is not you

Good pain: Cramps (yes, those kind.) I dunno. For me these are a good pain. Oh, they hurt badly, but they remind me monthly that everything is working as it should.

Bad pain: Headaches, especially those one that get behind your eyes.

Good pain: Deep-tissue massage. Feels so bad its awesome.

Bad pain: Being in the same room as a former friend and knowing you can't talk to them.

Good pain: The tingly sensation once a body part wakes up from "being asleep" (I like that!)

Bad pain: Papercuts.

Good pain: Seeing someone so beautiful and untouchable, and knowing your love is unrequited (its so much more romantic that way)

Bad pain: Ear infections. Someone I know at work has one of these, and I feel so bad for the guy...your whole HEAD hurts - ears, eyes, jaws, brain, neck, etc. You want to die.

Good pain: I've heard childbirth is actually a good sort of pain. I've never had a baby, so I can't speak for myself, but my mother once described it as "the most pleasure she's ever felt in her life." Is she off-base?

Bad pain: Fundamental loss. Loss of a loved one, loss of a relationship, loss of faith, loss of self.

Mondaybusiness

2006-01-16T20:32:00.000-08:00

Mondays are these days where I don't have to be at work until 11:30. I have business to complete before then, so I usually end up logging about 30 minutes of work at home which I use towards my day. I always think I'll have this really full afternoon, but Mondays are on a whole pretty slow, and it being a holiday our business was slower than usual. I stretched my day out until 8, taking "lunch" at 6 pm for an hour, which means I worked tonight from 7 pm until 8 pm. Its 8:37 pm at present and I am finally home. Since I woke up at 7 am and did some work, I stretched my work day even further to about 13 hours.

Though admittedly much of this morning was spent in my pajamas and a sweater, drinking coffee and reading the news and chatting with people who really should have been working as well.

I love driving to work, or anywhere really, and looking at the faces of other drivers. There are the perma-surprised faces and ramrod posture of nervous drivers doing 10 mph under the speed-limit. Why are they so nervous? Are they living in constant fear that a bright red bouncy ball will roll under their wheels, followed by an oblivious child? They're squeezing the steering wheel so hard, they could make juice out of it. I also notice a lot of very serious looking young men, who have one hand firmly planted on the top of the steering wheel, and the way their leaning so much, their head actually appears right between the driver's seat and the passenger seat. I guess they get a better perspective that way? Is there some bird poop right in their line of sight if they were to sit straight in their chair?

I love the cars that ride really low and have the bass pumping really high. Bass-pumping cars usually are accompanied by the head-leaners, but not necessarily. Sometime, though, it is a surprise as to who is driving a bass-boat. In the O.C., its possible that the Corolla with the hard-core rap pounding out of it is driven by a blonde high-schooler on her way to Hollister. It is like a mystery. I'm always intrigued to see who it is.

I love onions but they leave behind a funky odor when you eat them. Not just on your breath, but on your hands, especially if those onions are on a sandwich. I'm glad I ate my sandwich for dinner instead of for lunch. That's a really random observation.

I realized when I got to work that everything I wore today was scaled slightly smaller than most clothing, but on purpose. My jeans were pedal-pusher style. My shirt was a snug polo, and my cardigan was a 3/4 sleeve thing. I said to someone that I just wanted to feel long and tall today.

I love photos but I hate putting them into books. I do not understand this hobby of "scrapbooking". What do you do? Put bits of things into a book? "Oh here's the first photo of me and my boyfriend, along with the ticket stub from the movie we bought and a piece of the greasy napkin he used to wipe his hands during dinner...we had burgers. You can tell because I taped a ketchup packet to this page." I want to start a scrapbook of all the things I can collect under my fingernails in any given day. Skin...earwax...makeup...tomato sauce. Oh, here's the day I decided to try clay sculpture. And here's the day I took a wax mold of my belly button. Anyway...So all my photos are in these neat boxes but none are in order. It's like having all your MP3s on random at all times. Sometimes I want to look at photos so I just pull out a box, and start flipping. I'm sure someday I'll want to get more organized about it, but then again, maybe not.

I will be participating in a performance art project this Saturday, created by McM & McM (link to the right there.) I am thrilled. What will I be doing? It is a mystery. Check back for more information...but if you're in the Ventura area say, around February 4th, you can see me doing some art through physical expression.

Funny Things

2006-01-15T18:44:00.000-08:00

I love my friends, because they are far more clever than I will ever be. Today's after-church lunch at Mimo's, the local spot for everyone to congregate and eat and talk after services, was the highlight of my day because of a few select conversations.

1) Murray's confident proclamation: "Nobody does better fine art than NASA!" and then having the evidence to back it up. Murray sees art everywhere, and in such a way that you realize he's right.

2) Another Murray story about his high school friend who was "A 30 year old who found his high-school body and re-implanted himself into it." His recanting of how this guy ran for high school president, only to shock and awe the entire captive HS audience during his candidate speech (by basically putting on a whole Hitler act) was brilliant and awesome. If we lived in ancient Native American times, Murray would be the guy who told stories to the entire tribe. We'd trust our entire oral history to him and would not be disappointed.

2) Another friend (oh, forgot his name, drat) trying his wife's cantaloupe: "OK I'll have a bite. *takes bite* Yep no, I don't like it still." Further discussion revealed his dislike of cantaloupe was that for a fruit, it did not meet his exacting standards. However, if cantaloupe was a vegetable, it would by far be an awesome taste treat, because one would not expect a vegetable to taste that way. But being of fruit origin, it disappointed every time.

3) Everyone at the table had a story about living in a gorgeous house during college...some houses had dumbwaiters, some had amazing copper ovens, some had beautiful mosaics on the porch. All stories ended up like this: "And we TRASHED that house..."

OK, I'm bad at retelling. But it perked me up so much. I wish I could film certain parts of my life because the way things play out seems better than anything you could script. Murray is right...art is everywhere, and sometimes it's in the form of clever, witty, funny friends who consider the possibility of naming a casino "Huevos Rancheros".

Settled In

2006-01-15T09:14:00.000-08:00

It's been a week since I've returned from France. The bags are unpacked, the souveniers given away, and the wine has been racked. I have most of my photos developed, but not all of them, because the roll of film isn't used up yet. So how the sun is out and I'm leaving for church in about an hour, because it's Sunday.

It's amazing to me how quickly my week went by. 24 periods of time don't seem too long anymore...I wonder if that's how it goes as you get older. As a child, it used to take me a long time to walk across the backyard, having little legs and all. Similarly, time seemed to creep by...perhaps because I had a smaller understanding of the meaning of time? I'm not sure. All I know is that time is only supposed to fly if you're having fun, and I can't say I've been having fun the entire time that my days are racing away at an incredible rate.

I think its the result of having been in a beautiful country all last week, and then coming home to California, that has me a bit melancholy. I didn't come home to much. Apartment, friends, job, car. Sounds nice I guess but is that really all? I've got that unfulfilled feeling again and I'm not sure where it's coming from. I look out the window and I think "Really, is this what there is?" I know people love California and come from miles around to be here, but I can't be the only one who has a hankering to get in her car and drive away, again, to somewhere else. Anywhere else.

I wish that wasn't my first instinct to run away when I get that feeling. Well, I suppose its not running away, but running towards. I ran to California (not literally...that would be quite a feat) but I had to escapte the New Jersey winters. Winter here is certainly milder, but the city is so unwelcoming that it feels just as cold. I don't even like the way I blog lately...I used to be funnier. I think I wrote this exact same blog entry a few months ago. Meh. That's what SoCal is...meh. Well....let's see what I can change about that.

Back in the US...SA

2006-01-08T07:54:00.000-08:00

12 hour flight...9 hour time difference...7 days in France...5 rolls of film....1 awesome trip.

I don't know how to begin to blog the past week, but it was just great. Maybe I start from the beginning.

I arrived on Dec. 31st at 7:30 am, where it was raining, cold, and confusing. France is on a more northly latitude that SoCal, so the sun didn't rise until like 9 am. I got off the plane...and onto a bus? Not into the airport. The bus took us to the gate where our passports would be checked, a small indoor room facing a glassed-in wall of small booths where French immigration officials should have been sitting. But no one was in there. I found one person among the throng that spoke French and English, and we joked that French labor laws must prevent anyone from actually working before 8 am. But 8 am came and went, and as more international flights arrived, the small room was getting more and more packed...and more and more anxious. Finally, several French police officers let the crowd know that someone had left a bad unattended and they were figuring out what to do with it. What that ended up being was clearing out the gate (where my brother happened to waiting for me on the other side of the glass gates) and then, after an hour of standing around and acting sassy, blowing up the bag. In the airport. KA-BOOM! We all applauded, and within a few minutes were shuttled through the glass gates. The immigration officers, who were allowed to work after all, just being kept "safe" I guess elsewhere, seemed embarassed and didn't even stamp my passport or check my bags. I just got a "bon voyage" and was soon in a little Peugeot on my way to the heart of Paris.Bienvenue a Paris indeed!

I was picked up by my brother Matt and his friend Pilou, and we dropped my bags off at Pilou's apartment. Pilou is what we were calling "half a lawyer", meaning he'd passed the French bar exam and was now working on his year and a half of apprenticeship before being able to hang his own shingle. He was fortunate enough to have a wonderful little studio in the heart of Paris, a short Metro ride to anywhere we wanted to go. But it was small...I shared the bed with my brother and Pilou slept on a mat on the floor for the week. I was so grateful for it though, and it was fun having slumber parties with my brother again. There were nights we'd watch South Park DVDs while eating foi gras on the bed until 2 am.

I'm getting ahead of myself. Within a few minutes of dropping the bags and changing my clothes, we were on a Metro to the Eiffel Tower. I haven't developed all my pictures yet, but I have a few that we got on a digital camera...here's my favorite shot of the Eiffel tower from that first cold morning in Paris.
We didn't get to the top that day...it would have been a good day, too...nice and clear. But the throng of tourists that were mobbed underneath the four base posts was impossible to wade through, and it was a 4 hour wait. We got a few pictures of it and in front of it, then moved on.

I think we walked around some more and mentally planned out the week. I think we went back then and I passed out for a few hours. When I woke, Pilou made a delicious quiche...seriously, delicious doesn't even describe it. It had cheese and this awesome prosciutto-like stuff called "lardon" or something. Just amazing. We hung out and then all changed for the New Year's party we were heading to.

The party was at the apartment of some friends of Pilou and Matt who they both met when studying abroad in Belgium (my brother is a world traveller). Here are some great photos from that night:
Above: Isabelle, me, my brother, Pilou, and Ngoc.
New friends, Ngoc and Thomas. That's real champagne they are holding. It was really, really good...we had 5 bottles of it.
Me and Pilou with one of the many bottles of really terrific wine we enjoyed. I must say, I've never drank better than I did that night. Just the happiest, greatest feeling. Not knowing French didn't matter...not when music is the universal language..
I believe ABBA was playing. Above, Pilou, Ngoc, Thomas and moi. It was a lot of fun, but mostly because I got to see my brother. I heart my brother. Here's a great photo of us both...seriously, this is one of the best photos I've ever seen of us two:
It's clear we're siblings.

The night was great and we didn't get home until well after 5 am.

The next day, we started touring seriously. In the next three days, we went walking a LOT...Paris was gorgeous and just wonderful to walk around in. It was cold though; apparently, it was the coldest winter on record or something. I just know I had to walk around every day in my big, red coat with my funny hat. My hat was a beret, just because that's the only warm hat I own, not because I thought it was French...it was cute, though. Here are a few shots of where we went on our touring.
Above: Matt and I on a pont over the Siene with the Louvre in the background. Its a HUGE museum. We didn't go in, just walked around and enjoyed the architecture of it. We did get to the Musee d'Orsay where I very randomly met my friend Martina, who happened to also be in Paris at the same time. Huge city...giant country...she was only in Paris for about 48 hours, and we just happened to be in the coat check line at the same exact time. How serendipitous is that? More pics...
Here is Pilou and I in front of the Sacre Cour in Montmartre. Its a gorgeous white church, but maybe more well-known after the movie Amelie. Its the location in the movie where she draws all the blue arrows to send her beloved on a goose-chase for his photo album. Someone repainted the blue arrows on the stairs...its cute, but it is a gorgeous church. We went to the top and enjoyed the view:
You can see the Eiffel tower in the background. It was hazy, but this was a fun trip. To get to the top, you have to walk on the actual roof of the church. Its really amazing and worth the 5 euro it cost to get to the top! We went to the top of a lot of places, including the Arc du Triomphe, where my brother snapped this really gorgeous photo:
*blink* See Sacre Cour in the background? There is a better pic of this shot but I like this one. Its just real. Not every photo is a postcard.
At the bottom, the facade of the Arc has some awesome statues. Here I am imitating this particularly...interesting one. I got the arms wrong trying to imitate this vengeful angel.

Anybody read David Sedaris' book Me Talk Pretty One Day? Anyone who's read the story in it "A Shiner Like a Diamond" will understand why I titled this photo Amy Sedaris.
Anyway...that's all I have the energy to update now. I'll talk more about the things we saw...the food we ate (awesome food...) and all the great stuff. I will have more photos coming up once I get my own pics developed. Thanks for all who read this blog and wished me well on my trip - I had a GREAT time! Glad to be home though. My own bed is something I would travel across the world to.

Dispatches from Somewhere in the Middle of Paris

2006-01-03T01:40:00.000-08:00

I think I'm in love with this city. Its so cliche to say something like that when one visits a beautiful place, but I'll be dead honest - it's not always so terribly beautiful. It's the dead of winter here...the high yesterday was 42 degrees and it was windy. The latitude of France is such that it gets a very low sunlight, and at that it doesn't rise until around 9 am. But to enjoy only the superficial or the stereotypical is not really to enjoy the entire picture. It's a different way of life, I guess...it's not one that's more gentile, or intelligent, than my life in LA. But it is one that for whatever aesthetic, sensual and tactile reasons, is more appealing to me.

I'll put it this way. On the metro, I saw an ad for a beer they sell out here that is marketed as a Mexican type of cerveca. It had pictures of limes, tequila bottles, and sombreros. It looked a lot like an ad for tequila or Modelo in the states. And I just realized...dang, I really don't like that aesthetic. It's just not something I miss...the SoCal focus on partying it up, with its roots in beer and limes and...I don't know how to explain it. I guess I am not looking forward to returning to a place with dirty open lots, dry deserty road shoulders, and billboards every five feet along 8 lane highways. I like the closeness of Paris, the fact that walking is easier than driving, and taking the metro is obligatory rather than a painful and cumberson necessity for people who can't take a car every day. I don't think I'd want to live forever in Paris (though if someone forced me to I could probably be convinced) but being here made me realize I don't want to be forever in LA. Maybe not even much longer at all. I left NJ because I was tired of the scenery, and now I'm just really grossed out (for lack of a better term) by the garishness and aridity of LA. I don't know where to go, or even when I'd ever go there...I'm tied to LA now by a job and a life and a wonderful circle of friends I love dearly.

I look forward to 2006 being the year I find myself, where I belong and can call home. I think I've been wandering, running away, and hiding...even if I've just been staying in once place for a while. But there is an antsy feeling...a tickle in the throat of my consciousness that is saying "Move over a little...what is that over there?" This is a good place to start my new year. It is opening my eyes. When I feel like I'm unhappy where I am, seeing somewhere new is the balm that soothes that sometimes painful abrasion. My brother just picked up and moved to France (after a year of working to procure a job and the legal requirements to work here) but he shows me daily that we are never held captive by our surroundings unless we build the bars ourselves.

So...will this caged bird fly? It remains to be seen. Time to visit the Musée d'Orsay and then do some shopping.

A Quick One While She's Away

2006-01-02T01:28:00.000-08:00

Well, happy new year all the way from Paris. It is beautiful here and I am having a wonderful time visiting my brother and friends. The celebration for welcoming 2006 could not have been better...foi gras! Champagne! More foi gras! More Champagne! And lots of dancing to ABBA. Obligatory.

Well, today we go to the top of Eiffel, Arc de Triomphe, and Montmartre. Its been rainy and cold, but today seems to be lovely so I hope to take many photos. For the moment I will have more cafè au lait, and yeah. I'm still couch jumping, but now with a French accent.

I Am Going to France Tomorrow.

2005-12-28T19:11:00.000-08:00

Since I've been a good and humble girl the past five months or so, and not trumpeted this news for all to see and hear, I'm going to do one little minature breakdown and just spaz out. Ready? You won't see this again so don't blink.

*I AM GOING TO FRANCE TOMORROW!!! FOR NEW YEARS!!! I WILL DRINK REAL CHAMPAGNE IN PARIS TO RING IN 2006!!! I AM THE AWESOMEST PERSON AND I CAN'T WAIT TO GO I AM SO PSYCHED! I AM JUMPING UP AND DOWN RIGHT NOW! ON A COUCH! LIKE TOM CRUISE! BECAUSE I AM GOING TO PARIS!!! TOMORROW!!*

-ahem. Well, that's that. So...well, Friday I'm going to Paris, not exactly tomorrow. But I'm going to bed shortly and then it will be the next day and THEN I'll be going tomorrow. Hooray, PARIS!

We Have the Same Eyes

2005-12-27T06:04:00.000-08:00

You scored as Soren Kierkegaard.
You are one of the few theistic existentialists, and therefore you believe in truth that you can live, but you are grounded by the Absolute, God. You are an original thinker that likes cigars and is sweet.

Soren Kierkegaard

68%

Martin Heidegger

57%

Friedrich Nietzsche

50%

Not An Existentialist

46%

Albert Camus

43%

Jean-Paul Sartre

29%

Which Existentialist Philosopher Are You?
created with QuizFarm.com

Sweetness and Light

2005-12-25T19:46:00.000-08:00

To make up for the vitriol of my last post (again, many apologies for the uncharacteristic outburst, but I believe we are allowed those once in a while, and not everyone is relentlessly cheerful during the holidays) I am going to post something funny and something cute.

First, the funny. I got a package for Christmas from my middle-teenaged brothers. They're old enough to drive but not old enough to vote, and they're just the best brothers in the world. I mean that's just the objective truth. So they are twins and got me a gift together, how sweet is that? It was a gorgeous silver bracelet, and exactly my style. I was awed at their intuitiveness and how well they knew me, even though we live so far away. Jewelry is a very personal gift, one I don't usually accept unless it comes from immediate family, and even then I am very, very particular about what I will and will not wear (case in point, I've had pierced ears since I was an infant, but only started wearing earrings again two years ago, and own only one pair of simple studs.)

So the bracelet is exactly my style and I was so touched at the time and care that went into their picking it out especially for me. For teenagers, they are so intuitive and mature and tasteful, and it was with happy, misty tears I opened the card (yes...I open cards after I open the gift, when no one else is around.) And the card made me fall out of my chair with laughter. It read on the front: "Elf Pickup Lines" and had cartoony elves drawn with cheeky sayings like "I've been told I'm good this year" and "How about a hot toddy for that hot body?" It was so funny coming from them, again because I know they picked it out on their own, and I was filled with giggly laughter and love. Because that is SO my family...a gift so special because we do know each other so well, but we all have that same, slightly deranged sense of humor that we let slip with our Christmas cards every year. Things may change, but its merciful that things seem to stay the same.

And now, as a tribute to my friend C & M's sweet children, who have adorably replaced "I killed you!" with "I pwned you!" when playing at vikings and cowboys, I offer this cute little Photoshop.

Merry Christmas Blogosphere!

Christmastime in the Deep, Deep South

2005-12-23T12:45:00.000-08:00

Its Christmastime and here I am in Southern Californian exile. I'm technically at work right now, writing this, but its slow and I'm a master multitasker.

Christmas in SoCal is always a peculiar beast. In the temperate climate we pay so dearly for, there are no seasonal cues that the holiday should be coming. In NJ where I am from, the leaves turn red and gold around October, and by November their crunching groundcover competes with the frost on the grass for your morning foot-driven symphony. Here, the only cue I know is that the stores start hanging up "Season's Greetings!" posters and people go bananas with the lights. No one on the east coast does the powergrid-choking displays like us Californians do, because no one is crazy enough out there to spend an entire day in sub-freezing temperatures dangling blinkie twinklings from precariously icy rafters. No sir. They are too busy sitting inside, solemnly gazing outside at the bleak, dead world beyond the windows, telling themselves "I should be cheerful...I should be happy" but of course knowing much better and feeling much worse. Then they trudge back to their small, dark rooms and try to hibernate until springtime.

At least, that was my experience. I can't presume to speak for everyone.

Anyway, the weather being what it is out here, I find myself being in *generally* good spirits around wintertime, as it usually necessitates the occasional donning of a "coat". Maybe a hat, at times. At night. With a short-sleeve t-shirt on underneath it. Most people today are wearing flip-flops outside.

Yet Christmas in California is much less the joyeux noel I'd hope it would be. There are the obvious reasons for this...not being with my family this year, my grandmother's admittance to a recovery hospital and my grandfather's subsequent admittance to a hospital as well due to health problems, my struggle to remain unflinchingly happy to be single and without someone to love, my pressures mounting up at work, my unhappiness with my physical self. The general sadness that I'm pushing through and have been pushing and praying through for the past few months.

However, there are other, more esoteric reasons for being sad about the holidays. For one, I just think our country is just way to cynical. Christmas being what it is, we've debated and dissected the entire holiday season. Can I even call it "Holiday Season" without some Christian with misplaced priorities criticizing me? As a Christian, should I even be celebrating this bastardized version of celebration over the recognition of the birth of my Lord? Should this even be a holiday? Or should I be celebrating full-tilt with reckless abandon? Have I licked too much envelope glue or something?

I just think I watch too much TV. And by "too much" I mean the one hour a week I see in pieces when I run at the gym. Yes, even that is too much. But you might be surprised about what exactly I'm so anxious to avoid on the TV when I do watch it. Its not that I don't roll my eyes when I see blaring advertisments pressuring me to buy, buy, buy in the name of Christ. Its the fact that Christ's poor name is being given a royally crappy treatment lately.

I'm so, so, sick and damn tired of some yapping head blah-blah-blahing on about "Well Tom, the Bible states that Jesus was born around harvest time so that means he wasn't even born until possibly September, so you know this whole farce of Christmas is just a pagan tree-worshiping ceremony transformed by Catholics looking to control the spread of Druidism" OK shut up. Stop talking. All these talking heads getting paid to yak on and on about stupidity that we all know, like its going to change anything, like anyone actually watches CNN or Fox News or MSNBC and changes their mind because some pancake-faced idiot told them that Mary was only 12 years old and probably gave birth in a henhouse, not a manger, and it really is just mindless drivel and television filler. Is it that easy to get on TV these days? Why haven't I made a million dollars yet then, I'll just start rambling Dadaist phrasings and wait for someone to film me and put me on "Crossfire".

TV makes me so angry, so unbelieveably angry. Yes! Mary was probably what we consider a child. But considering that life expectancies back then were probably mid 30s or 40s, she probably wasn't too unusual. Sure, he might have been born in September, but lots of holidays fall on arbitrary dates, just to give us a reason to remember them.

Celebrate Christ's birth on December 25th, or September 3rd, or April 13th, or whenever, I do not care. Just celebrate it and move on. Celebrate it every day! He is our Lord and deserves constant and neverending praise! So don't go on TV and tell me that Christmas is a pointless holiday, because by the mere fact that some talking-heads mouth is vomiting words cheapens and lessens the point to begin with. Yes, the Catholics did historically change the "meaning of Christmas" by choosing to set the calendar to coincide with pagan holidays. But that does not mean that their adoption of one set of beliefs has to be the only way we think of the celebration. To me its just an excuse, a reason to remember, a noted day on the Calendar that you take time for, look forward to, and use to recharge your own faith in case the many pitfalls of the year brought your soul down. There is nothing wrong with Christmas.

So many people rant and rave about the "materialism" of Christmas so I won't add to the already dead-beaten-horse arguments there. Obviously it is too material, especially here in California. But the more abhorrently material it is, the more I find myself turning to the faithful rememberance, and it is so easy to make myself avoid getting caught up in the secular holiday drive. It's really easy to avoid the devil when he makes it plainly obvious he's in the room. It's also really easy to turn off TV when some smarter-than-thou person gets up there and is actually given more than 2 minutes to say his piece and then go back to his or her miserable, cynical, critical life. Christmas is too commercial yes, but it should also not be bashed between commercial breaks.

So it brings me down. It makes me sad. The valuable things about Christmas - the family, the food, the warmth and laughing with my fabulous relatives - are missing this year, but at least my faith is working to fill in some of the blanks. I wish you all a very Merry Christmas. I hope its not peppered by quasi-touretic rants (like yours truly above...sorry about that, I usually don't curse, I was just brought to rage by too much media being hurled at my poor head...TV makes you violent after all, it seems) and I hope you all receive blessings in the new year.

I'm going to France in a week, ya'll.

So iGroovy

2005-12-21T20:14:00.000-08:00

I got iTunes. I am iHappy. That is all for today...driving in my car I had so much more I wanted to write, but for some reason I am totally not creative once I come home. I just sit here staring at the wall with some block in my head. I have bills to pay and food to make but sitting here listening to my iTunes playlist is just feeling so good right now, I'd rather just iSithere and iListen. And put little letter I's in front of iEverything.

How about I just list the songs I've got on my "Party Shuffle" instead.

Currently listening: The Who "Teenage Wasteland"

Up next:
DJ Shadow and Dan the Automator "Punjabis, Pimps and Players"
Yo La Tengo "Don't Be Sad"
Bowery Electric "Under the Sun"
Tortoise "As You Said"
The Temptations "NaNaNaNa...Goodbye"
The Beta Band "Wonderful"
Elliot Smith "Sweet Adeline"
The Beta Band "Space Battle"
Andres Segovia "Sarabande - Three Pieces for Lute"
Weezer "No One Else - Acoustic"
Bert & Ernie "La La La La (From Sesame Street)"
Bright Eyes "Lover I Don't Have to Love"
Drugstore "Alive"
Eels "Animal"

That's it and it just keeps randomly adding songs. Yay. I mean...iYay.

At The Mall

2005-12-16T22:33:00.000-08:00

Today, I went to the mall. I hate the mall. The mall is infected with demons that bring my soul to a dark, evil place. Its bascially an incubator for the seven deadly sins. When I am in the mall, I am filled with envy, loathing, wrath, lust, gluttony, sloth, anger, and all those nasty emotions, mainly because some angsty-looking Abercrombie model is towering 14 feet over my head and I know I can't afford the ugly-ass jeans he's not wearing, because he's naked. Some tarted up 14 year old with sparkly eyeshadow and a years worth of eyeliner is verbally molesting her cell phone while toying with a price tag that I'm pretty sure has the first 9 digits of pi written on it, with a typo where the decimal should be. I'm only marginally joking around here. But I was in a good state of mind today, and I had to get some gifts for some people, so...to the mall I went.

Instantly I was surrounded by roving, unwashed masses that stared with cow eyes at equally vacuous window displays. Bored-looking Victoria's Secret salesgirls feigned chipperness to ask me if I wanted to open a store credit card with them. Actually, it was more like: "So Miss? If you open a credit card with our store? Today? You could save, like, 10%? Do you want to do that?" And since only one of those sentences was actually a question, I just politely declined on basic grammatical principal.

In the Aveda store, a sprite-like boy with hair that looked like he styled it with Valvoline questioned my choice of the "Brilliant" brand shampoo. "Its a really deep clean; I didn't like it," he claimed. From his piecey, matted hairdo I could garner that he didn't like anything cleaning him too much. I just smiled and purchased my $11.00 bottle of not enough nice-smelling shampoo.

In the Hollister store, I lasted only about 30 seconds, long enough to register three things: 1) OH aaagghhhh nononono! Kill it kill it! 2) That girl has a nice starfish necklace, its sparkly and 3) Exit door is that way. It was later by the Watch Stop I realized what had frightened me was the seemingly neverending line of OC high school girls queued up at the register. The atomic weight of their acrylic nails, lip gloss and hair extensions was enough to set my own molecular structure on an unstable course.

In J. Crew I began coveting...and coveting and coveting and coveting. I'm an unapologetic preppy and nobody does unabashed preppiness like J. Crew. But since I was there for gifts for others, I hung my head and walked out, with a tender touch of the cashmere scarves on my way out the door. Another day, my garment-dyed, Italian-milled lovelies. Another day.

In Hot Topic, I wistfully stared at the racks of Manic Panic hair dye, fondly remembering my halcyon days of college, when I could color my hair purple and let my skin go ghostly white and no one so much as blinked. It was so natural on me that my own mother said "Wow, that color actually looks natural on you." My own mother people. And here at the transitional age of 25, I was told my some higher-ups at work that if I so much as put a single strand of purple hair on my head I can kiss my professional aspirations good-bye. I guess I should be happy I had those days when I did. Still, I miss my lavender locks. They were pretty. I got a gift card for a more fortunate friend who can afford to be more creative with her own body.

I marched around valiantly, going from one store to the next, occasionally purchasing an item to be wrapped and unwrapped at a later date. But after a few hours in the trenches, I had to leave. I can only handle so much enclosed merriment and materialism. Once my friends ventured into the Apple store (a place created for the sole purpose of making you feel inadequate with all the crappy, no-good, very old technology you pathetically own, you miserable failure) I knew it was my time to go home. Overall it was a good run to the mall, as far as mall runs go. Today, for the most part, I defeated my shopping demons.

Except for the ones in California Pizza Kitchen. I thought the wild mushroom pizza woud be innocent enough, but I trust my stomach, and right now I know its not lying when it says "ooooh....no good. No good."

Why Am I Sick Again?

2005-12-15T21:15:00.000-08:00

The girl is sick. Again. With a mega of a head cold. Why does this happen? I was feeling great, too. I'd been training for a triathlon, running swimming hiking and biking, eating well, feeling happy finally. And now WHAM! Germ attack!

I'm taking Zicam and the various Quils, but this was a sudden onset of the snifflys and so I'm hoping its just as quick to go away. I'm building a nice little tissue pyramid next to my bed. I lurched out long enough to post a bit about how ill I am and to take the hot, attractive photograph of myself holding the saber of hope for cold sufferers everywhere: The homepathic Zicam cold remedy. That, and maybe some Japanese Udon soup tomorrow, should have me back on my triathlon-training feet in no time. But for now...UNNNGH. My head feels like someone turned on a snot hose and filled it up to the brim. A gelatinous mass of yick. *sniff*

In other news, I made a wonderful tortilla soup the other night after my swimming workout. It was a recipe I gleaned from my friend CJ this weekend. It involved lots of roasted vegetables and was 100% delicious. In sad news, I got some upsetting information regarding my grandmother, who will soon be living in a very nice assisted living home. So the story has a happy ending, I hope. Pray for her if you are inclined towards doing so. In touching news, I got a wonderful Christmas card from the man who kept me sane on my flight to NJ earlier in November.

Some of you know the story, some of you don't, but basically I was on a night flight to NJ and during a round of terrible, horrifying turbulence I went into a panic attack. I hadn't had one before, or if I have it wasn't nearly as bad, but it was bad. The man sitting next to me was a gruff-looking, mountain-man kind of Grizzly Adams dude. He held my arm and just his kind touch instantly calmed me. I honestly felt the spirit of God helping me to relax and breathe; I don't like strangers touching me, especially ones with big grey bears and Jack Daniels t-shirts. But he was different, calming and I felt at ease with him. He was literally a guardian angel to me and kept me upbeat and focused the whole flight out, playing cards, talking, and keeping me in good spirits until I could finally sleep (and this was a red-eye, so we were the only two actually awake on the plane.)

During the flight he had given me a cool catalogue of funky scientific supplies you can order. I tucked it into my purse, and forgot about it until I was back in CA. I had told everyone I knew about the guardian angel on the plane. I wanted to send him a little "thank you" card and remembered the catalogue, so I just wrote up a quick note and mailed it out to the address printed. I didn't get a reply, so I just figured I'd done the kind thing and thanked someone for taking the time to help me ease my flight fears and make me feel safe, and left it at that.

Today I got a Christmas card that touched my heart. It read: "I believe in angels, because of knowing you. And I really do believe!" It was from him, he had sent me what he wrote was one of the two Christmas cards he was actually going to send out this year. Apparently my thank you card was quite moving to him. Well, that is a Christmas card I know I will keep. What a nice gift, and a nice way for this sick girl to end her day.

Oh My God

2005-12-12T21:24:00.000-08:00

I came across a funny picture the other day on the internet. It made me almost spit out my tea.

Its so funny...and yet I am going to wax philosophical about it. Yes, I know its a joke about the Burger King commercials (which I love by the way, I absolutely LOVE). But it asks a good question: Where is my God now?

God has been in a lot of interesting places for me lately. He was on a plane, and looked a lot like Walt Whitman with an affinity for Jack Daniels. He was in the icy blue eyes of one of my favorite coworkers. He was in the chubby smile of my friends' little girl, and in the loving embrace of my friend Meg. It's a fantastic gift to see God in everyday people, and to really feel his presence near me.

For a long time I felt out of touch. I guess I had tuned that part of me out. Everybody I knew was wonderful, and fulfilling, but ask me to "see God" in them and I'd look at you like you had three heads. God was something you did on Sundays. He didn't really embody the real. Not then anyway. But over the past few months its been touching and gentle in the way that God has made it very, very clear that he is very, very real and he is very, very interested in the interactions of my life. It comes with a clarity that is coupled with an opaqueness that is hard to describe...I can see so much but understand so little. It brings me happiness.

I'm not nuts. I'm not a born-again zealot. I'm skeptical and curious and empirical. I'm a rational human being. This is why its so cool to me that God has been so present...it is in things that make sense to me. Irrefutable feelings, though I know that's an oxymoron. But just like you put your hand on a hot mug of tea and think "Ouch, hot" I have been touched by others and thought "Hey, God."

Through Him, in Him, with Him I am becoming a better person. I am healing wounds within me that made me hateful and spiteful. I am a temple for all things good. I'm sounding more and more like a crazy, hippie Jesus-freak more and more every day but I think I'm OK with that, because I know myself and how I deal with things. So I guess when I'm asked this question:

I guess I can say He's been everywhere to me. Just like that Burger King mascot. I love that guy.

About Time

2005-12-07T21:51:00.000-08:00

I cleaned the dishes.

I wore my hair down.

I told someone who needed to shut up to "shut up"

I got my heater fixed.

I ran 5 miles.

I didn't call him.

I got the help I needed.

I got my awesome team at work pumped for Christmas.

I resisted the urge to punch someone.

I wore combat boots with a skirt.

I gave away $10.00.

I made chili in a crockpot.

I called my mother.

I got the help I needed (worth mentioning twice.)

I stood up for myself.

I kept my mouth shut.

I said what was on my mind.

I got a good night's sleep.

I'm going to bed right now.

Ever So Cold

2005-12-05T09:20:00.000-08:00

Contrary to popular belief, California is a cold place. Its December, and last night it got down to the forties, and it will get colder as the winter marches on. I figured, when I have to wear a long-sleeve shirt, a cashmere sweatshirt, long flannel pants and warm cashmere socks to sleep in, while tucked in under flannel, fleece, feather and velvet bed linens, its time to light the heater pilot and get some warmth going.

I called the gas company and they very kindly dispatched one of their guys to light my wall-furnace pilot, which I had extinguished earlier in the year when we had some torrential downpours. Seems my roof has a leak that funnels water RIGHT THROUGH THE WALL HEATER and I was afraid of the pilot going out while the gas continues to leak out into the apartment. So yea, earlier this year, I went cold as well and hoped that once the rain started the landlord would fix the roof so I could run my heater. But then the rain stopped, the weather got warm, new problems came up, so I didn't think at the time to pursue it further since there was no immediate need.

Now, there is an immediate need. I'm cold. VERY cold. My hands hurt typing this. The gas company guy took a look inside my wall heater, and said he couldn't light it. Apparently, its so dirty and rusty inside (from the rain earlier this year...) that if he lit it, it WOULD produce carbon monoxide and that would poison and/or kill me. So, better cold than dead right now, I guess, though my hands are blue and I'm kind of shivering even though I have hot tea and soup right now.

I called the landlord and laid it all out on the line, said I needed her to call me back today, I'm cold, I can't light the pilot, and if the rain comes we're back at square one. Wish me luck, and send me warm thoughts.

Oh also...I went to the dark side. I've got a "My Space" page. LAME! The URL is www.myspace.com/neighborhoodbird. Big surprise!

Mantra

2005-12-03T22:48:00.000-08:00

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Do not call him

Gay Tree

2005-12-02T16:45:00.000-08:00

Every year in the Neighborhood, the Birdie family makes a big to-do about putting up the Christmas decorations. My mother has boxes and crates of the things all piled up in her basement storage, and every year she hoists them out of the subterranian and lays them out in a giant splay. From the splay, we choose our theme of the year. One year was all white and gold, and the living room and dining room were all decked out in glittering garland and gossamer chintz. The tree had white and yellow lights, and beautiful, delicate ornaments that fit the regal theme.

For another year, we did a International Christmas theme and hung different cultural icons all over, such as small, satin depictions of concubines and a little Indian sitar ornament. We even had intergalactic tidbits, including an electronic Star Trek ornament that relayed a recorded message from Spock wishing all beings a happy holidays, and to live long and prosper. Every year is something new, but after 25 years of family decorating I figured she'd run out of ideas.

Clearly, not. I called home while bored on the commute from work, and caught the remaining Jerseyians in full-on decoration mode. I asked my brother Mikey how the decorations were coming this year.

"Mom made a gay tree. It's got all these satin and frilly ornaments everywhere, and the lights are pink and purple."

I laughed assuming he was kidding, in the sense that when you're 16 everything is "gay". Chores are gay, chick flicks are gay, going to the dance is "gay, mo-om..." but he seemed serious.

Of course, I know my mom didn't make a gay tree on purpose. If you take a quick stroll through any Christmas-theme store and you'll see that pink and purple trees are kind of this year's "in" thing. But nothing makes you miss your family more, than hearing your youngest brother dead-pan to you, that in the spirit of Christmas, our tree this year is decidedly "gay". That's just comedy right there. Gay tree. Now I'm homesick.

Gimme

2005-12-02T12:21:00.000-08:00

Somebody out there...buy this for me.

Its the Discovery Channel Robo-Raptor and if I was a kid this would be the coolest toy in the world.

Who am I kidding. I'm not a kid but this is still awful cool.

Buy it for me here.

New Friends

2005-12-01T11:48:00.000-08:00

I have some new blog friends. Please check them out as they are awesome.

The Beantown Bwana is all sorts of cool. Wicked cool. Mostly wicked.

Aughra is one Bad News Blonde. She's also a hip mom and hot stuff to boot. And a great writer.

Fromage aka Patrick is a San Francisco beat generation survivor who inexplicably loves my site too. Love him back.

Major Generalizations

2005-11-30T09:06:00.000-08:00

Let's go back in time to when I was 17 years old at my first year in Rutgers College. I had NO idea what I wanted to major in. I was good at, and interested in, biology, physics, singing, art, political science, history, and psychology. What a mix. During my first blurry year of college, though, I managed to chose a major and minor that I stuck with for the whole four years. I chose political science as a major, something that to this day I never ever regretted as it was the greatest education experience I could have asked for, and for kicks I had a film studies minor. The film studies minor was also the perfect minor - I got graded for watching awesome classical and foriegn movies. What beats that?

Just for fun, I took a quiz on the website My Majors dot com to see what their system recommended I major in, if I was 17 again. It asks you pretty obvious questions like which subjects you are good and which ones you like, but it also asks more esoteric questions like "Is power important to you?" "Do you want to work with children or adults?" "Do you like to education large groups of working people?" The questions aren't yes or no either; they are more on a sliding scale of like versus dislike. I was fascinated at how accurately the system described me and my choices in life. Here are the top six majors that were recommended for me:

1) Political Science (wow! Bulls-eye right out the cannon!)
2) History (and I didn't even give historical types of subjects very high rank in terms of liking)
3) Geography (cool!)
4) Environmental Studies (this is a subset of the science of physics. I took a few environmental science courses in high school and college and always posted the highest grades, even if I wasn't that great in other science and math fields.)
5) Urban and Regional Planning (all those years of obsessively controlling my denizens of SimCity2000 are showing for something!)
6) Public Administration

It looks like I majored in what I should have majored in. Makes me wonder now why I'm working in management for a straight-up business environment. I could be a political historian map-drawing environmentalist!

Learning a Lesson

2005-11-27T20:30:00.000-08:00

Sigh. I'm learning, slowly. I'm sometimes slow to learn tough lessons. You can tell me "Hey maybe you shouldn't do that, because of x y and z reasons" and I'll nod and say "You know what, that's right. Good plan. I see your point." But as soon as I have a moment of weakness, x y and z fly out the window, and I've made the same mistake again. Then my rear-end hurts from all the kicking I'm doing.

I'm not sure what its going to take for that lesson learned to stick, but I hope I can persevere. The sermon in church today was about perseverance. The ministor spoke about how even in the toughest times, the most pleasing prayer you can offer up to God is one of thanksgiving. I think that's the most difficult lesson there is...being thankful for the hardships that appear in our lives. We all go through the toughest of times, have those obsessions that plague our heads, the weaknesses that make us hold our foreheads and touch our temples and sigh heavily, knowing we've gone and messed it up again.

The one thought that keeps me going day in and day out is that within love there is grace. God's grace, friends' grace, family grace, love's grace. I have to give myself the same consideration. It takes much training, and a lot of repeating the lessons over and over. A famous dancer does not perfect her movements overnight, but learns her gracefulness though hours of difficult, and often ungraceful rehearsal. I digress here but have you ever seen the feet of a dancer? Their deformity, black and blue blisters, destroyed toenails and awful callouses are the pain that they bear on a daily basis to persevere in their quest for grace. Like them, I am building up my own callouses, nursing the bruises to my spirit, the result of so many slips and falls and stumbles.

I'm not someone who is used to failure, but I'm also someone who has never been amazingly gifted at anything either. I made high marks, but my brother always scored higher. I had friends, but my other brothers were given the gift of charisma. I could draw and sing, but I never had the talent that they possessed. To this day I'm not sure what my gift is, and surrounded by so many gifted friends as I am now I struggle daily with my own mediocrity, my own inability to make these hands make anything other than a few words on this website and a sandwich or two. I'm funny but not that funny. I'm smart but not that smart. I'm pretty but not that pretty. I'm a beta around so many alphas trying to figure out what I contribute and where I fit in.

So is it any wonder I keep returning to a place, trying to find a person, that eludes me? The promise, if ever fleeting, of someone to like me for me, retarding my growth towards a more perfect and spiritual self, causing me to stumble and return to that place I know is no good for me. Well, I know the truth is plenty of people like me for me, but the person who did and then stopped is the one I keep chasing...but isn't it always the way? And yet as I chase I see its a mistake and that it is failing the lesson I'm teaching myself, and I'm letting God teach me. He's closed a door, so why do I keep throwing myself against it? I need to take off my blinders and just look out the window that I know is open, I can feel that it is open, because ever so slightly I feel the breeze on my face.

I Made a Turkey

2005-11-24T20:51:00.000-08:00

This was my first Thanksgiving where I cooked the meal. I actually did half the meal, with my neighbor Krista pulling the other half through with flying colors. It was a first for both of us, to be the ones creating the Thanksgiving feast. For a total of five participants to our Misfits Thanksgiving celebration, Krista made twice-baked sweet yams and vegetarian goulash. Guests brought an apple pie, stuffing, and some other snacks. My contribution to the ginormous spread was another homemade apple pie (fresh crust and all), corn on the cob, more stuffing, roasted potatoes, a huge green salad, and...THE TURKEY. Yes, I did it. I made the holy grail of Thanksgiving foods...the mythologized and cannonized Thanksgiving turkey. In my kitchen. With my bare hands. My turkey-cooking hands that will never be the same again, for they have known what it is like to successfully and deliciously master the perfection of the fabled bird.

To be fair, Krista is the one who bought the thing (a 10 lb bird, we thought would be plenty to feed the four or five people expected for dinner) and marinated it in a simple red wine marinade. Around 2:30 today she brought over the now-purple fowl, and I gave him a nice massage with an entire stick of butter, a process that made Krista a little queasy. I had no problem rubbing butter all over the raw turkey, even shoving my bare hands between the skin and the meat to put pats of butter thoughout the bird. And into the oven he went, seasoned with little more than butter, salt, pepper, and the red wine marinade.

Three and a half hours later, and after I added roasting potatoes and stuffing the cavity halfway through the cooking process, we had a perfectly done, tender and juicy turkey that was more incredible than anything Krista and I expected. For two people who have NEVER cooked a turkey before, we ended up with something so spectacular that our guests were seeking seconds and packing Tupperware containers for their lunches tomorrow. It was juicy...it was tender...it was so incredibly awesome that Martha Stewart herself would have wept, with fat tears of joy streaming down her proud face.

And I did it. I scored a 3-pointer at the buzzer. I kicked the game-winning field goal with 5 seconds left in the game. I stole home. I cooked the Thanksgiving Turkey and I did a DAMN fine job of it. The pie wasn't bad either. I'm in such a soporific state right now, I'm going to pass out and leave a keyboard imprint on the side of my face. Ohh, holy tryptophan. I can't believe it. I made the turkey.