It's all about the hummus....

I discovered recently that picking a personal trainer that fits you is as challenging and important as picking a therapist, or a boyfriend. Indeed folks, not any old person with an ego and a penchant for weightlifting will do. Because value systems and personalities are as varied as the snowflakes outside this nasty winter day, one must carefully observe and investigate prior to investing one's life savings.

Granted, I am not actually looking for a trainer at the moment. I merely took advantage of an opportunity for a *free* session at the gym I just joined. The gym at which I sit at this very moment, waiting for food to digest so that I can run three miles while watching either '80s music videos or the Saturday afternoon flick of the week on my treadmill.

Last week I embarked on a one-hour training session with a gentleman who insisted on me telling him my life story. I refused but he insisted. Finally I began to very plainly say that I was overweight, having some challenges with my esteem and wanting to change that, only when I began to speak, he interrupted me to relay his life story. It was one that revolved around the tragedy of a motorbike accident, which led to him losing his muscle mass and clients, it was meant to inspire me but instead left me asking, so what? But mostly because during the whole story he kept saying: "I know EXACTLY what you are going through.." He then proceeded to ask me what my diet was, when I told him about my fairly regular lunch meal of hummus and veggies, his eyes glazed over. "What is hummus?" he asked.

I almost fell out of my chair. I explained, "It's ground chick peas, garlic, lemon....wait, you never heard of it?" He hadn't. He unabashedly stated that if it was not something that was served at Applebee's or TGIFs then he wouldn't know. OMG. This is Chicago, folks, you can't throw a stone without hitting a restaurant that serves hummus. But he, a native Chicagoan, had never heard of it. Sigh. It went downhill from there. He measured my body parts, including my chest, insisting (albeit in a non-creepy way) it was necessary. Asked me my height-5'6-but he wrote down 5'7. Asked me my weight and exclaimed I was the exact same weight and height as his wife. You know, 5'7 and *** pounds. Exactly the same. He then told me his wife used to be over 200 pounds but he got her to lose weight....just like he could help me.

When we got to the work-out portion, he made me jump up and down for about 5 minutes to warm up. I wanted to kill him. I told him so. I think he thought it was because it was *hard* but after several men walked by smirking at my bouncy heaving chest, I really considered punching him in the face. He then had me weight-lifting-it was fun and moderately challenging. At the end, he asked me if it was a good work out and I told him the truth, that it was ok. I am a novice at weights and though I consider myself pretty athletic, by the end of this experience I was not entirely sure. He asked me if there was any way I could work his training into my budget, I flat out said no, and waited for the pain to come. The notorious, day-after-a-good-work-out pain, the I-can-barely-walk pain. It never came. I had some soreness, but nothing worth mentioning. I knew then that the gut-feeling I had was right-I AM athletic and strong, but this guy looked at me and saw my weight and assumed I was a lot weaker and out of shape than I am. The biggest problem with this guy is he didn't SEE me or HEAR me at all.

I ran into him 3 days later, and he asked if I was sore. I told the truth again. Not a bit. He smiled and said "Well, I'll have to get you back in and remedy that!" I didn't have the heart to tell him I would never ever use him as a trainer......but I know now that budget permitting, I am definitely going to be very selective next time around. And the first question I will ask any potential trainer is if they like hummus.

Took the day off because I was birthed today. 32 years ago. Woot.

Don't got much too say. 'Cepting it's my birthday. Was born some 32 years ago.

Thinking mebbe the thing to say is whut's done been said already. Lookee here at one o' muh best friends words. They nice and proper they is.




http://abilynn.wordpress.com/2009/11/12/mx3d-ignls/Women's Bain-analyzing a thing too damn much

False Memories

I have noticed lately that when I tell some stories from my past, certain folks have begun to claim my experiences as their own. Hating acorn squash and sitting at the table for hours until I came to my senses to eat it, is now apparently something that my brother remembers as being his story.

Having a friend who had partied too hard accidentally pee all over my things on a trip to New Orleans many years ago is now apparently something that happened to my friend Margo. She also claims I was sharing the bed with the same partied-out friend. Although the reality is that SHE and I were sharing a bed, and I was the one who woke up to my phone ringing (my grandfather had passed away and someone was trying to tell me)only to discover the sound of running water nowhere near the sink of the bathroom. Upon inspection, I discovered the source, dangerously close to my belongings stashed on the floor next to said-partied-out friend's bed. I had to hand-wash my sweater and later tossed out my purse. Gross gross. But Margo swore up and down that the memory happened to her.

I was indignant of course-how dare she take my own awesome victim-story, one worthy of the eye-popping looks of disgust I sometimes crave for attention. Oh no she didn't. I set her straight in an accomodating, reluctant-to-start-a-fight way by conceding that she must have woken up after me, while it was still happening, and I pointed it out to her. She settled into that explanation, but even that is not true. What is true, is that 2 hours later, when the alarm went off and the six of us who were crammed into that room got up to get ready to drive back to Houston, I pulled her aside and told her. I know this assuredly because this was the weekend Grandpa died and most of these details are burned into my memory as a result. Less than three hours later I was in a van crying my eyes out while my slightly awkward, hungover friends were silent and unsure of what to do with me.

But was I really certain? It brings to mind a lot of questions. I mean, if brother and Margo were as certain as I know I am, what's to say they aren't the ones with the rightful ownership of these memories and I am the thief of the story? How reliable are our brains really, and why does this happen?

I have read articles about studies regarding witness testimony and how unreliable that is, how much we are all influenced by our own biases and how hard it is really, to give accurate descriptions given the numerous factors that get in the way, both external and internal. There are a lot of articles and studies done on false memories, as well. Apparently the only way to determine which of our memories is true is through outside collaboration. Although my petty self would not mind doing this, I know the other people involved probably cannot be bothered.

That being said, I am going to go ahead and exercise my virtue of detachment and....move on.

Skip-a-month

I cannot believe it is already November. A lot has been going on, but mostly I am just not on the interweb very much anymore.

Recent bloggable topics that reside in my head but may never make it online:
-the most perfect beautiful day i have ever known
-facing mortality
-false memories
-managing expectations
-Teaching the Faith
-Chameleons


That being said, or written, rather, I have a few minutes of lunch in which I will, in fact, blog something.

Cheers.

Replenishing

And so begins the replenishing process, that of my soul, my bank account, my ambition, my confidence and my lessons.

I have been at it about 3 weeks now. I am ingesting a wealth of thoughts and realizations and trying to manage the stimulation that I am overwhelmed with. I am happy and fearful. That much is certain. I am so full of bloggable thoughts that I am yet uncertain how to put it all down here and right now am content to have an explosion of words just end up on the screen, even if it is not making of sense.

First I guess I want to talk about need.

Six years ago when I got my first consistent office job (you know, lasted longer than a few months, included health insurance and required a college degree just to walk through the door) I really thought I was on the up-and-up. I was convinced of my ability and talent and I was looking forward to having a new definition of self as it related to career.

What I did not realize at the time, was that I was also looking for my self-esteem. I was looking for a new kind of friend, the ones I had been spending time with were slipping away into life changes and oblivion. I did not yet recognize the trend of me looking for lost parental love in the guise of friends and work, not yet, but I felt the pangs of need. So when things went south there, when I realized my amazingness would not be recognized and in fact, I would be made into a scape-goat, I was absolutely devastated. When I climbed out the ocean of this experience, I dove back into uncertainty with a new job where I felt the same excitement as before, but felt a wariness that I was unable to place.

Now, with my hindsight glasses on, I can see which parts of those jobs and experiences were just the shit luck of the draw, and which parts were enabled by me. More importantly, I can see which parts I let slide because of my desire to be liked and loved, where I was a victim of injustice and when I should have stood up or walked out. I also discovered my own nature when it comes to work and the workplace. I learned about my demeanor, how people react to it, how easily misunderstandings arise and I learned a lot about professionalism and candor.

I'd like to think I am bringing into this job a lot more wisdom and self-awareness and self-love than ever before. But what I am discovering anew with these last three weeks, is the limits of my capacity, and how I can manage them so as to get the most out of my ability, and how fear and desire can help maintain humility and conviction and perseverance.

For example, fear of being late and 7 months of mornings to myself has caused me to realize that I need to create a morning for myself in order to be ready for the day spiritually and literally. I now get up at least an hour and half before I have to leave for work in order to give myself time to wake up fully, eat a large healthy breakfast, pray, watch tv, wash dishes, clean and other such things. I may soon add working out to this venture, which may mean I need to get up even earlier. Doing so gives me SOO much peace of mind and keeps me from starting my day with guilt and justification (thinking about how to explain why I am 5 minutes late to my boss). It also allows me to rev up for the day, which I'm hoping will pay off with lots of success down the line.

Additionally, because I start with a spiritual morning, I no longer notice nor feel the need to find soul-mate best friends at work. This enables me to work harder and with less distraction, while still keeping mindful of the need to be welcoming and friendly to the more than 120 folks I brush elbows with in the day.

Of course, what this ends up doing, though, is driving me with a need to chat in the middle of the day. I have no FB at work, and I check emails but do not send any, so on my lunch break I have found myself dialing like a madwoman, hoping one of my girlfriends is around to chat. Similarly, when I get off of work, and am walking to the train, I start to call around aggressively. And yet, once I get home, I am done. Don't call me after I walk through that door, I am done. Time once again, for me time. For spiritual unwinding. A few gals and guys, and family, make the short list. In other words, if they call after 7 or 8, I may answer. But that is a short list.

This is what I need in order to replenish for the next day. I think it may not always be like this. I may be able to fill my evenings with more eventually. I will have to, in fact, to reach certain life goals. But I'm first on my list of people to take care of these days. I love it. I feel good about it. I look forward to all the TLC and learning I will get these next few...months, days, years...oh heck, let's make it lives. In all the Worlds of God.

Overstated, Overwhelmed and Overjoyed

I've been pondering these last few days about how to blog about this thing in my life, how do I break the news, and, as with everything, each moment of decisiveness was informed by my mood at the time.

My mood has been apprehensive, giddy, suspicious and fearful, joyous, celebratory, knowing, doubtful, satisfied, scared, excited, impatient and so full of determination that I am not sure the self I knew is the self I am.

I have never wanted anything so bad. I have never been so convinced and I have never been so willing to work hard and learn fast and do what it takes and I am genuinely excited and equally scared of where that will take me.

See, the thing is, I got my dream job. I did. I got the number one, best job, made for me, job of my dreams and I am so tickled and scared of my success that I am not sure what to do with myself.

The process was so fast and God-inspired that I know divinity was intervening and not remotely subtly. Basically on Monday of last week, I called this company, a company I coveted for the last two years, sent my resume to several times, and subsequently had given up for lost. I don't know what prompted me to put myself out there again, but I did. And somehow, I got in touch with the Director of the department, and managed to give a quick spiel of my zeal that impressed. I was unable to send my resume to him until Tuesday, but when he got it, he called me right away. Here's how it went in short term: Monday, call. Tuesday, resume sent and then phone interview. Wednesday, in-person interview. Thursday, in-person interview. Friday-job offer. Following Wednesday-start date. Got my job in basically one weeks time. Hot damn.

It will take me awhile to get back on my feet financially, maybe a couple months. But I will and I will be better and more secure than before. I will be more content as well, knowing that my efforts are going towards something that really matters to me, something I can stand behind and be directly rewarded for.


That being said, I am also afraid I could wake up from this dream of mine. A part of me feels unworthy, I know I am worthy but I am not sure my heart always agrees with my head. Each day on the new job will build that confidence, I am sure.

But for now.....wooooooooooooofuckinghooooooooo!!!!!!!

Brainstorm, write until the mind releases...

I'm on the verge of an emerging urge to post
my emotions
to shout from the proverbial rooftops
that I deserve this
and yes, I'm nervous
and on fire with
burning desire.

How badly do I want it?
Enough to know that if it doesn't happen
and I tell 600 plus *friends* on FB
that I'm close, and then don't get it,
that I may have 600 plus reminders
of the loss after it's done.

600 *I'm sorrys* and 600 *That sucks*
600 *Something better will comes* and
600 different ways to sum
up the misery of
unemployment
600 ways to find new enjoyment
6oo ways to find Patience and tell her
to step over my way
600 reasons to cry away the frustrations

600 lamentations and acts of love
all in one, or 2, or 600 clicks of a button.


So instead of the post, and the follow up post, and the responses there,
I give you here, venting space to grace the cockles of my soul.

And a little jumping up and down and hands clasped together in hopes and dreams and patience besides...because the call may come tomorrow and then all this now unknown will be known.

Oh McGraw...

Now here is a company that I interviewed with twice. A company that told me last time that they would love to have me on, but that they had to hire someone with more 'direct' experience. I had passed the editing tests. I had impressed and connected at the interview. This was more than 4 years ago now, and I am long over the pain of that rejection.

Now the editing path is no longer my path, and McGraw is no longer on my radar. So much so that it took me awhile to realize the book I have had in my possesion for the last several weeks is indeed the very type of book I would have been editing had I been hired that fateful day years and years ago.

It is a math book, created to help one succeed at the GRE and GMATs....and every OTHER page has an editing error. I am aghast. I am appalled. This book came out recently too. I am somewhat bitter AND content to know that whoever they hired to do that job is sadly, terrible at it. I would have done better. I do know that. Much better at catching all the errors. I hope someone has told them and they are frantically working to put out a new version, I just wonder at what cost?

Oh McGraw....

In the dawn of this new life....

I am in Minnesota this morning, sitting in the quiet morning sunlight, the calm before the storm, and contemplating my travels to this point and the convictions that got me here.

On Sunday, my father will be marrying a new woman, and the family that I struggled for 11 years to make my own will soon change and the things I once took for granted will forever be gone from my life. Being a foster child at the age of 7, I remember, unlike some other children adopted in infancy, dreaming about the perfect parents. I remember imagining a field of flowers, with two smiling adults, tossing me around and laughing. Beyond this image, I knew with a surety that love and happiness would surround me, and my 7-year-old brain never made it more complicated than that.

When I got my wish, when I got not only parents, but a sister and another brother to boot, not to mention a soon to come baby brother as well, I couldn't really believe my luck. For the first time in my life I had my own birthday cake, new clothes, a Care Bear who I could hug to sleep at night, and plenty of people to make that dream of love come true.

The reality settled in, however, and though love grew out of familiarity, the stress of moving with complete strangers whose expectations did not match my own began to catch up with all of us. What followed was 11 years of trying to understand each other, all the while trying to play the roles we thought we were to play, mother daughter father brother sister...when I left, my understanding of love was different. I knew that love wasn't a field of flowers and laughter. But I knew it could be dedication, and good intention, and forgiveness, and tolerance.

Since I left home 13 years ago, I have grown to love my family even more, in part because of who I am, in part because of what they have continued to be for me-facing the outside world is a sure-fire way to realize how much you have been given in life at home. But now, years later, the marriage I thought was the backdrop for my dream life, my dream love, my perfect parents, is over. All the things I knew of romantic love have been challenged. Though I am writing about this now, this is not sudden. It has been gradual and I am very certain when I say, this is better, and this is right. I am also certain when I say had this happened when I was still a young girl, this would have been devastating to me.

Now I am filled with calm resignation, gladness and wonder. I sat down to the computer this morning, my dad's super fast internet connection (yay!), and my eyes fell upon his vows. My father is in love, really in love, for the first time in his life. Although he would beg to differ, my truth is such. My father is a new man. A wonderful man, full of love and devotion, some of which I wanted for myself back when, but all of which I am glad he will be able to share with this new woman on Sunday.

Today all the family flies in, tonight is the rehearsal dinner, tomorrow the boat ride. Like I said, the calm before the storm. In the dawn of this new life, I am timid about the path, but certain about the end result. I am now redefining family again, for the second time in my life. The first time was filled with pain and sadness because of a naive expectation, deserved though that expectation was. I am older now, wiser, thank goodness, and capable of seeing the good through the tough and the sad and the bad. I don't think there will be any of that badness and sadness this time around, but there will be adjustments. Holidays will be different, more people will be there to get to know...but I am confident that it will bring new perspectives and new joys so all is well.

By My Heel, I Care Not...

Growing up with a staunchly feminist mother and a very feminine older sister, I have discovered that my own feelings in regards to high heels falls exactly down the middle. As I have grown through my early adult years, I have decided that some of my mother's feelings more than likely stemmed from an insecurity with her own femininity than from a desire to scorn all things feminine in the name of equality. Nonetheless, years of hearing her scoff at the impraticality of heels and the physical damage they do, and all in the name of impressing a man who could only appreciate a woman as a sexual creature have really sunk into my psyche.

Likewise, living with a beautiful, older sister who wore heels and makeup, and in general finding myself drawn to beautiful women in a platonic sense, I have known myself to be a person who craves all the accoutrements of feminity without regard to it's challenges and without much regard to what it could say about my own empowerment. Fashion in lipstick, clothes and shoes is artistic to me, emphasizing the exquisite God-given beauty one already posesses. Empowerment for me has always lain in the knowledge of detachment from a notion rather than enslavement to it. And being a person who can indeed step outside without makeup and who can cut all her hair off in one fell swoop, I have not worried about myself, though sometimes my mother's words still ring in my ears...

And so when it comes to heels, my opinion changes daily according to one thing and one thing only-my own desire to balance comfort and beauty. There are some days, weeks and months, actually, where I feel the need to revamp the hotness and I will begin to wear heels again, more regularly, but out of respect for my feet, I try to work out a compromise. I bring flats with me and switch into them when the pain is too much.

I am aware of the fact that countless sources claim that high heels can do permanent damage to your posture and overall well-being, which is why I like to listen to my feet when they hurt. I am also aware that consistent wearage (if I may pervert the English language so) can lessen the pain. Of the women I know who rock it out all the time, they all claim that to wear a heel all day causes virtually no pain, and they walk everywhere in them. I believe them. Sometimes I am inclined to force my way into being one of these women. But then my confidence in my own natural beauty returns and reason wins out and I am back to flats and comfortable shoes again and the thought flies away from me.

I am ok with this teetertotalling of sorts. I admire women who wear the heels all day and I empathize with women who cannot due to actual physical constraints. I know that for most of the rest of my life I will probably be this way. I will go through a period of no-heels and transition into a period, however short, of heels-wearing hotness.

As to the pain, I just read a brief article about how wearing heels throws your spine out of alignment and can do permanent damage to the Achilles' tendon, among other things. What surprised me most about the piece was the number of comments from women who wear heels simply because their boyfriends wanted them to. I am single now and feel really ok with being apalled at this.

Nonetheless, a wonderful male friend of mine (who has impeccable fashion sense) recently told me he prefers a woman in heels, at least for salsa dancing. At this very moment, I wonder if he has heard about the damages women experience wearing them, and if it would matter to him? I have a hard time believing that he would consider it a deal-breaker if he met an amazing woman who did not wear heels for whatever reason, but maybe he would. I was wearing heels for the first time in many months at the time of our conversation, and he seemed sympathetic to the pain I was in...

Where my mother and I are the same, is in the fact that we both reject the notion that our choices in fashion are ultimately for men's appreciation of ourselves. That indeed, we would choose to do something, though painful or harmful, purely because a man would want us to. There is a difference between doing something to feel beautiful and to take care of yourself, than to do something for acceptance or approval on a conditional basis. There is even a difference in doing something because you think someone else would enjoy it, than because they expect it, or would treat you differently if you didn't.

Anyway, I have talked enough. Suffice it to say, my dad is getting married in a week and I have to wear heels at the wedding. After my conversation with my male friend, I realized that I have to get my feet ready. That is why I am sitting here, at the coffee shop, in heels, tapping away at my computer. My feet will hurt later, but I want them to. After the wedding I may go back to flat-footed comfort. I may not. No matter what, I will be fly.

Things to think about

I have got a lot of things on my mind lately. One of them is a sense of accomplishment. I am proud of the things I have done towards my career lately.

One of the things on my mind is pimples on my face-I hate them and, vain though it is, I must admit that I am a bit more concerned about them than I should be.

Especially since I know the reason I have them is not because I ate bad, or forgot to wash my face, but because my body is just overwhelmed at the fact that it is a baby-maker. And since I want babies, I should be thankful, right? What if I had pimples and was a man???

Ok, thought I'd try that thought on for size. Maybe not so much. But still, baby-maker.

Most of the other things on my mind are about opportunities and events coming up, too many to elaborate, that all have potential to be amazing. In some cases, a lot of work is involved, and in taking on certain opportunities, others will be missed. And some of those missed opportunities are really more like....missed imagined opportunities. ROMANTIC ones. Perceived romantic ones, nothing like an actual DATE or anything. Just a chance at a conversation, really.

I am at a loss at the moment how to proceed.

I think I will go laundry and think now.....sigh.

Dreamy Dream Boy

You know I have a few self-imposed rules about blogging. Although it feels like a diary-since when I write in it, it is just me and the screen-and that feels private, I do not treat it like a diary.

Certain subjects are off-limits. I don't have a hard and fast rule about which subjects or topics, but generally anything about my love life is not written about; my crushes and my crushing defeats, friendship troubles, or anything that I think could be taken as a personal affront to a specific individual, and certain stupid things I am wont to do that I cannot make light of or make fun of just yet-mostly those things stay OFF the internet.

But today I am throwing that rule out the window in order to swoon.

Yes, SWOON.

I don't usually go all gaga for a man, at least any more. Life and years have taught me that no matter what a person looks like, their character is ever so much more important to me and inevitably detracts from or improves their physical appearance ten-fold.

It used to be that I could see a good-looking guy on the train and spend months generally excited about him, and genuinely believing in a possible future between him and me. After awhile, I began to reflect on my dating history and realized that the ratio of men I meet to men I can actually talk to for longer than 5 minutes about anything at all is about 1,000:1. Looks on the train lost all meaning, and the bar experience lost all lustre.

Then I took it a step further, and realized the ratio of men I can talk to, to men who have compatible senses of humor with me is about 100,000:1 as well. Then I got standards and also realized that the ratio of men I could talk to, that thought I was funny AND that I thought were handsome, was about 1,000,000,000:1.

And since it is really hard to meet 1000 men, and the liklihood of having all those things work for me specifically is really small.....I have a 'realistic' point of view. In other words, I rarely swoon. I rarely get excited about someone BEFORE I have ever spoken to him. Once I speak to him and he passes the 'can we hold a conversation' test, my interest peaks but never does it raise to that level of amazing....and a secret part of me thinks this will not happen until he really is the husband that I am expecting.

And never-the-less, three weeks ago, I met a guy who makes me swoon. 'Met' is not really the right word, since technically I met him today. He tried to talk to me today but I got all giddy and left. Oh, but he is my kind of dreamy. My kind of everything, which is a little scary because it's been a LONG time since I have been this swoony.

He plays at the beach and he is soooooooooo dreamy, I get all fluttery thinking about him. The good news is, though he is handsome, he is a unique enough of a handsome that I do not fear any of my other volleyball female friends will fall for him, so no competitive worries. But at this point I do not know if he is married-he ought to be because he has a million dollar smile and oh.....yes.....I'm still swoony, even here, at the library. I literally ran away from him today. I felt all sweaty and gross and full of sand. Which I was-sweaty and gross and full of sand. Not my most beautiful. Sigh. Kind of doesn't matter though.

Oh. My. Swoon swoon swoon swoon.

Dare I give revealing details? He is not from the US. He is OLDER. He is physically my type. He wears glasses. That is all I am willing to share, not too revealing, I know. But it is what it is. Sigh.

Ok I am done.

BTW-sand was so hot I actually acquired 3rd degree burns on parts of my bottom feet. It hurts to walk right now. I need to bring my sand socks next time. When I see my dreamy future lover.....ah ok. Seriously. If I had a picture of him I would totally post it on my wall and look at it regularly, just like a teenager. I am very giddy right now. Oooo, what if he liked me back? How exciting.

Ok I am done. For real.

Capitalize This!

Back in 1996, when I was 18 years old and e-mailing was still very new and we were all starting to make it a regular part of our existence, I remember there were very lively debates about formalities and punctuations in writing.

All of the sudden our attention was drawn to which of us and our friends were terrible spellers and had terrible grammar and punctuation abilities.

I remember cringing at the incorrect use of words like there, their, and they're, and thinking, very briefly, as an aspiring journalist, how glad I was that I was such a good speller. To this day I still hate bad spelling but if I love you, you are forgiven.

I also remember deciding, that in e-mails, we OUGHT to have the freedom to be informal. After all, I spent so much time trying to avoid the famous Medill F in my classes that I couldn't possibly be bothered by, for example, taking the time to capitalize my sentences or proper nouns. I mean, how inane and tiresome. This was the digital age! And anyway, I was writing to my friends, who love me and do not judge me based on my attention to typing detail. Later on, that attitude also began to apply to blogging as well.

If I have ever commented on your blog, more than likely, it was in all lower case. But I have to finally own up to something. My attempt at devil-may-care casual tones in typing is a fraud. I'm a poser to the nth degree. Because for all these years, I have staunchly told myself that NOT capitalizing was easier, and for all these years, that has been a bold-face lie.

I began to notice, I don't know however long ago, that when I really get into it, when I type without regard, that capital letters find their way into my writing. In other words, I start to type something and as the words begin to flow, my little pinky easily and swiftly drifts over to the shift button and before I know it- BAM!!!! 'I' is capitalized. Sentence beginnings have capital letters. Proper nouns have capital letters; and NOT capitalizing a word actually takes more time and conscious thought than the other way around.

Who knew? I did. And I was not willing to admit it, and it is so arbitrary that I don't want to dwell on the psychology behind it. I just want to own up to it without making any promises. I may continue to comment on your blog in lower case. But I know it's a front. I'm like the kid who smoked to be cool. Oh wait, I did smoke to be cool. Well now you know.

Another Irony

I get warnings a lot from random internet sources-ones that say if I don't do something, sign up for something, pay for something, that something bad will happen.

I have learned to turn a blind eye to most of these warnings.

Recently Yahoo started sending me 'warnings' about my account's safety or something or other, about how I could be saved from potentially losing my password and other things.

I ignored it until the other day I tried to log on and Yahoo told me that I would not be able to log on until I created a some safe questions. Safe questions that I could ask to be asked in the event I 'lost' my password and could not log in.

Now all this is fine and dandy. I have this 'feature' on my bank website, my student loan website, and various other sites as well. I am basically ok with it, because I tend to forget those log ins and passwords from time to time. Ironically, when I do forget, where do they send the little reminder? To my Yahoo email account.

Now where does my Yahoo account want to send my password reminder? To my Yahoo email account. The ONLY email I have at the moment. Which, and I shall point out the obvious, is ironic because if I forget the password to my Yahoo account, and then it SENDS my password reminder TO my Yahoo account, there is still no way I can get it back.

It's ok. I am not worried. I know I can get another email, but that would be yet another password to remember and I know I would not use it anyway. I am settled here. Content. If the impossible does happen-memory loss due to some extreme occurence, or some other unconscionable thing, then I will deal with it when it comes. I'm crazy cool like that. Cool as a cucumber.

my heart and souls

two very special women are in the process of traveling speedily towards me now from places very far away. one is in a car somewhere in TX and one is on a plane headed to Heathrow. also one very special dad will be driving my way in about 24 hours, give or take. not a one is coming to see me particularly, in fact, not a one of them has a primary destination of chicago, but i believe i shall see them and my heart will be rejuvenated. the time will be short. but it will be ever so sweet.

My Interweb Pet Peeve

....when people make appointments with me for the following day over email assuming I will get the email. I just found out I missed an appointment on Tuesday because they only decided to tell me about on Monday! And I haven't been on the internet for a couple days. Grr. There goes some money I could have made, down the drain.

I have also had 'interviewers' do the same thing. Come ON, people. Verfiy by phone.....BY PHONE!!!!

First Day at the Beach

Last Thursday marked my first day at the beach. It was about 65 degrees and cloudy and not a bit of wind, which turned out to be the perfect playing conditions ever. There was no sun to blind me, no wind to blow my serves every which way, and just cool enough that long volleys didn't end in me gasping for air about to pass out with heat exhaustion.

Also the guys who came out to play were great too, I wasn't the worst one there, which stroked my ego just a bit. And we were all pleasant and tolerant enough of each others mistakes while still exemplifying the desire to play hard enough that each of us got our volleyball fix by the time the sun set. We played straight for about 2 and half hours, three on three, barely any breaks between games. I felt.....very satisfied. I spiked some well, serves some great and bumped some awesome. I also made a lot of mistakes, which always motivates me to play more so that I can learn to make less.

I know what the summer has in store for me, too. Rainy days and windy days, stormy days and lightning over the water and drops that cool me down and wash my sweat away. Hot hot hot days and awesome sunset skies that go purple and pink and paint the clouds all manner of beautiful. Burnt skin and hot feet bottoms. Dehrydated bodies and sandy asses, which subsequently lead to sandy bags and sandy beds....Sore arms and stubbed fingers, cute boys and competitive girls. Ball hogs and players who think they are better than they are, sore losers and worse, players who think they are better than me because I am not thin, or because I am not a boy, or because I am not white. I can also look forward to late night nourishment on the patios in the hood, and reminiscing about the night and the past with friends, new and old, young and old, and from all walks of life.

It should be a good summer, including all the things I love about Chicago and all the things that keep me humble and remind me to be thankful.

And again...in case you forgot.....

False Advertising

I am beginning to look into the option of getting an MBA (small yay) and in anticipation of the future, borrowed a couple books from the library the other day, one was entitled "101 Ways to Score Higher on Your GMAT."

Great, right? I am so gonna smartify myself by doing all I can do to score HIGHER on the GMAT, starting with reading this book, right? Wrong. So far all the book has told me is how to be a good manager, which, consequently, has NOTHING to do with taking a test.

It tells me how to work with people, how to motivate them, and how to present myself favorably to my superiors, which are all good things. But none of which help me to score higher on a test.

I flipped ahead a bit and it seems that there may be some fodder for improving my test-taking abilities toward the end, but honestly. I am very glad that libraries exist so that disappointments like this cost me nothing more than a few calories burned in the walk to the holy place of books. I like walking too, so all in all it works out.

Random observances

Recently I switched from the afternoon to the early morning swim and much to my chagrin, it is more crowded. And also to my surprise, I am the fastest morning swimmer in my lane, as opposed to being one of the slowest in the afternoon.

But being underwater and being faster, I tend to creep up on other swimmers and I have discovered what I think is the primary reason I am the faster swimmer. A good portion of my morning swimmates do NOT kick their legs very often. It's weird and all I can think is that they don't even realize it. Their legs are dragging dead weights and all that comes to mind is when I used to take dance lessons and be absolutely convinced my arms were perfect only to be shown by the instructor that they were flopped back too far or drooping.

Part of athletic ability in any sport is having a physical awareness of where your body parts are and what they are doing and I have found that without coaching AND lots of practice, your form will never improve. I just hope that my form is a-ok.

Like that challenge of patting your head while rubbing your belly, people are perhaps not aware of their inability to do two different things at once, kick and stroke. I passed one woman, after watching her half-ass kick between pair of her strokes, and after I passed her again a second time I noticed her kicking more and I wonder if my fly-by had anything to do with it.

Oh well.

Also-pool etiquette. If you are getting ready to start a lap-look to the other swimmers and please notice before you budge in front of a faster swimmer. Geeez that is annoying.


-----

I saw on the news this morning the story of a woman whose eyes were gouged out and nose taken off by her good friend's pet chimp. OMG. HORRIFYING. Apparently a nearly 200 pound chimp has nearly 4 or 8 times the strength of a human of that weight. ALSO!! this particular chimp was fed XANAX-WTF??!! Why would someone give a chimp xanax????? And this chimp was known for being surly, escaping the house by using keys, driving cars, and in general being temperamental. I think the poor woman who owned that chimp was judgementally deprived....but now I am sure she feels AWFUL that her friend is permanently blind now and had to have material attached to her missing lips so that she will be able to speak normally. But holy cow this is a horrifying lesson to be learned. The woman whose chimp it was stabbed the chimp with butcher knife and hit him with a shovel but still the chimp persisted in his attack.

I also read that another man lost his genitals and nose after a chimp escaped from a zoo and attacked him.

Erm. Wow. I have a new very healthy respect for them, and a little bit of fear too.

Lately

Lately I seem to keep finding these jobs that are, without a doubt, perfect for me.
Almost as if they had my very own name written in the job title. And though this has happened to me before, in the past, and not culminated in anything notable, each time the rush is the same. The excitement is the same. The thoughts are the same.

I start to think, "There is no way I am not getting this job! They will see my resume and cover letter and want to call me immediately!" I begin to imagine myself in the role. I usually jump around a little bit because the excitement of finding myself out there, in print, reflected in the description of something that never before existed in my imagination, is sometimes too much to contain in my seated form.

I usually pace around a few times and start to imagine the new cover letter I have to write, what tone should I take? How flippant can I be? How super qualified am I?

And then after some time passes, I get it done. I send it off. And then I wait. And wait. And wait.

And in the past, sometimes, a call is made. A conversation is had. Sometimes a letter is received. But nothing has yet panned out. But do not mistake my writing tone. Disappointment is brief but flutters by faster than helicopter seeds on a windy day. Discouragement does not exist. The fact alone that I keep finding these things with increasing occurences is a sign. But the thing I note, while sitting here breathing fast and unable to sit still, is this, in and of itself, is life being lived.

That whole phrase, "Happiness is a journey, not a destination," comes to mind in moments like these.

And I know that I am happy because this is my journey and it's making me smile and wriggle and jump.

My Mountain

So for the past three months I have been waging a war on many fronts. I have had many battles, some lost, but overall I hope I am winning. I think the end is perhaps over the next hump but I am still climbing so I will not know for awhile yet.

Most of the war is of extremely personal nature, most of it is internal,things from the long ago past that continue to creep up and remind me of things I want to forget, but the irony is once it is won, the external evidence will greatly outshine anything anyone has ever seen.

I have recently had to admit that a recent dating experience was borderline mentally abusive, and if it had proceeded any longer would have caused some severe lasting damage. When I tell friends of conversations I had with this gentleman and the things he said to me, the look of horror on their face says it all. It reminds me of how easy it is with verbal predators to fall into their traps. They know how to control you through juggling your emotions and playing on your intrinsic empathies. This man sort of knows he is bad news and ironically he ended it but I've had to face my own roll in beginning to spend time with him in the first place.

I have also accepted the fact that I have many addiction dangers, food being the least and drugs being the worst of it all. I am currently substance-free and I am learning to appreciate the magnitude of that. Although, as a disclaimer, I have been drug-free for many years, maybe not so much alcohol-free.... It finally occured to me that I spend most of my time now with people who NEVER experienced those habits to this degree, and the rest of my time I spend with people who still experience those things, and neither group seems to identify with the other.

All this has done for me is kept me from seeing what a true accomplishment it is and continues to be-to be substance-free. None of my current friends can truly relate to that. Except one person, whom I rarely see....but that is neither here nor there. I am looking to try to visualize what a huge deal this is.

But the thing that consumes me, the thing that takes most of my guns and battalions, is finding and pursuing my career. I am still looking for a job. But now there is something different in my soul. An excitement. A determination. A specific and very honed focus.

I will not go into detail but let's just say that I have direction for the first time in over ten years!!! That is a long time. I am very much looking forward to the next few years of my life because I think they will be very special....especially once the war is completely won.

new things in running

-i have begun to smell like ammonia.....bleh. what it means is there are not enough sugars in my body for the long runs i am taking. my body begins to breakdown amino acids, protein, in order to get energy. i have changed that by eating more carbs than i normally do the day before a long run, and drinking gatorade too, which helps. no more ammonia sweat.

-also, twice now i have noticed a dusty substance on my skin after a good run. the first time i thought it was because chicago is dirty. but then i realized it was dried sweat salt. awesome. if i don't shower and go out for fries, i can just rub them on my face to season them. also, chicago IS dirty.

I'm here but you can't see me....

I am a career pedestrian, having never owned a car, I have a lifetime of ped stories up my bum and some are funny, some are horrifying, and some are just plain boring.

But, as with anything in life, certain wisdoms and life lessons have developed from these experiences and while I'm certain that my anecdotes could make a book (hey maybe I should write a book about walking!!!! That is so a million dollar idea....I'm on it.) one observation that stood out to me is about how differently we function when behind a wheel versus out there in the wide open space with nothing but our clothes to separate us from the masses.

My favorite is how when you are safe (safe being a subjective word, of course) behind tons of steel and chrome, it is so easy to yell and scream and curse, commit acts of passive aggression and in general denounce the characters of the other human beings around you merely because they are in your way. We honk like it's going out of style and to me, it seems the pinnacle of rudeness most of the time, except when it's ok, which is far less often than you think.

Because really, when you think about it, what if it weren't the streets, what if it were the sidewalks? What if you were downtown on a Monday during rush hour? Person A just brushed your coat-do you yell and scream at him, or better, blow a loud air horn in his ear? You don't, because you know that it would seem ridiculous, that while his disregard for your personal space was certainly an affront, that more than likely it wasn't on purpose, that he may not be paying attention and aside from a minor fleeting feeling of irritation, you LET IT GO. Or maybe you don't. Maybe you are a sidewalk-rage fiend, and you begin to follow him real close, almost but not quite stepping on his toes, and do this all the way until you reach his building, at which point you stand outside as he walks in, and glare at his back hoping he will look back and feel the wrath of you.

There is this phenomena, I used to call it the 'car-honking theory' but soon realized it was a poor, poor name for what I am about to explain-that happens every single day thousands and thousands of times a day. Basically it's when cars are lined up to make a right turn on any intersection, and the light is green, which in all cases means that they can drive right? WRONG. They can drive only and only if someone is not in the crosswalk, because obviously, it's the law, but more importantly, if they drove forward, they would HIT the person in the crosswalk. What often happens in these cases, is while the first car in the right turn lane is waiting, one or two cars back in line, there is someone honking furiously. That person is frustrated because they believe, with absolute certainty, that the reason the person in the front is not turning is because they are stupid, don't want to, or because they are simply crazy, and that the honking will instill smartness and make them drive.

What that honker never knows, doesn't see, is the pedestrian in the street. It never occurs to the honker that if the car first in line did indeed drive that there would be an accident and people would get hurt. See, I think people are all varying levels of mean and will say and do things or stand by things done and said out of pride that are atrocious, BUT I think most people would not knowingly encourage random murder and mayhem. Which is why I can only assume that those honkers, who cannot see the pedestrian, are themselves assuming that there is nothing there. In other words, that their vantage point is just as sufficient for the making of driving decisions as the person in front of them's vantage point.

I've been that person, the driver, who was frustrated because a car in front of me wouldn't go, only to be ashamed moments later, when a little old lady appeared from the front of their car, that I could not see. I have been with friends who have honked and seen in passing the biker or the mom walking the child that we couldn't see at first and I have seen the honkers honk as I walked down the street and wondering why they did not seem to care about the children who were then crossing the street.

And so I wondered, how often it is, in life, that we make snap assumptions, decisions, based on the things we could clearly see, never guessing, never knowing, never having one inkling, that there was something there that we could not see. Something that would have changed everything, literally thrown all in a different light.

My brother once told me of a conversation he was having with a respected teacher and professor, a colleague of his-they were talking about living in the US as a Jew versus an African American and were discussing the challenges each group has had to face and I remember the professor was undermining the severity of the African American experience in relation to his personal history and experience as a Jewish man and my brother made a very poignant point, that African Americans are still LIVING in the land that opressed them specifically. That we live in a land where a slave owner is on the one dollar bill and that today this is not even questioned. The teacher had never seen it from a different point of view, and was reluctant to admit there was a side, that he had not only not considered, but wasn't really aware of.

You know that saying-"the older I get, the less I know?" Eighteen year olds know EVERYTHING, by the way, and I know much less than they do because I am in my thirties. I shudder to think of how little I will know when I hit sixty, but seriously, folks, just what is it that I don't know and how much of what I am putting out there based on snap decisions and judgements could potentially hurt someone?

Ultimately, the thing about cars, and sometimes blogs, and all those things we can use to communicate with others without looking them in the eye, is that we begin to lose sight of compassion and basic respect because we don't have the benefit of someone looking back at us when we put it out there. We forget that eyes will see and ears will hear, even if we are hidden behind a vehicle when we say it. We feel less compelled to 'think' before we speak with the horn because the very fact of the horn's existence seems to justify our use of it. And it's so easy because the person or persons we are speaking to often do not have an opportunity to respond, so the consequences of what we say are insignificant to our eye. We don't have to look at it, so in essence, it doesn't exist.

What ends up happening, in our attempts to show someone else what they should know, should be doing, or how much they suck, is that we show the world, and ultimately ourselves, how much we don't know.

Grr Factor of the Day

When I choose to go to the coffee shop, rather than the library, for internet. Pay the expected amount of dollars for a beverage (and internet usage) and proceed to log on....and the damn shop's internet connection is not working properly. Then I have a full cup of tea and no way of doing the job stuff I meant to do and I want to kick someone because it is too late to change my mind and go the library and too much a waste of money to go to another shop to get another tea I do not even want to drink. If I did not think swearing was uncouth for an online medium, I would say one right now.

Missed Opportunity

I moved into this neighborhood nearly 4 years ago and I still cannot stop singing it's praises, but sadly I have failed to take full advantage of some of it's more convenient conveniences.

I remember when I moved in being delighted in the to discover an Ace Hardware less than three blocks away-I remember going there to make spare keys once and discovering they had ever so much more than hardware! Much of what I needed around the house could be found at Ace, from laundry detergent to potato peelers, lamps to scotch tape and batteries, picture frames and more! But after learning this bit of useful information, I promptly forgot it. See, Ace is not on my way to the train station, it is in the other direction, which I only walk by on random occasion, when my mind is usually miles from scotch tape and detergent. Also, when I did walk by, it was always closed.

And inevitably, because Ace was not something I grew up on, my mind always turned to Walgreens or Target when I needed things like that anyway, so always I am going to these two places when Ace was always RIGHT THERE....and now...

A few weeks ago I walked by and there was a sign saying Ace was closing down!!! Also there were signs saying that there is 20-50% off every thing in the store. And in my unemployment you would think my mind would remember that and take note and yet I have been to Walgreens like three times since this whole discount opportunity has been right at my fingertips.

Gaowrsh.


In other news, as I walked to the coffee shop today I gazed at the beautiful storm cloud floating overhead to the southwest, and the patch of blue sky to the East, and the white clouds there all glowy with sunset. I pondered the storm cloud's deep greenish gray color and wondered why I wasn't more worried. Ten feet from the door of the coffee shop it burst and the heavy drops came down on my umbrella-less self and I thought, 'Perfect timing,' as I ran to the door and made my way inside....

Quote for the last day of the Fast

"Climb up over the top.
Survey the state of the soul.
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying.
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself
All the strengths you have inside still rising..

Climb up over the top
Survey the state of the soul
You’ve got to find out for yourself whether or not you’re truly trying
Why not give it a shot?
Shake it, take control
And inevitably wind up
Finding for yourself all the strengths you have inside of you"

-Song for a Friend, Jason Mraz

More Dream Stuff

WATER-
To dream that you are walking on water, suggests that you have supreme and ultimate control over your emotions. It may also suggest that you need to "stay on top" of your emotions and not let them explode out of hand. Alternatively, it is symbolic of faith in yourself.

NIGHT-
To have a dream that takes place at night, represents some major setbacks and obstacles in achieving your goals. There are some issues in your life that you are facing, but are not too clear. You should put the issues aside so you can clear your head and come back to it later. Alternatively, night may be synonymous with death, rebirth, reflection, and new beginnings..

FLOATING-
To dream that you are floating in water, suggests that you have a handle on your emotions.

SKYSCRAPER-
To see a skyscraper in your dream, represents your high ideals, creativity and imagination. You always aim high at whatever you do. It also suggests that you have great foresight.

C'mon Baby!

If my laptop could talk he would be the poster child for the Little Train That Could....Every time I try to turn him on, he just sits there and does nothing and in my head I am imagining all of the little electrodes just loping around the inside of my baby trying to find the right places to go in order the get the engine started.

If I press more delicately or firmly on the 'ON' button, nothing happens. If I hold it down for thirty seconds nothing happens. Finally, after a few minutes, he will sputter on and the light for the power shines green and ready. Then, a mere 10 minutes later he is ready to go. Not surprisingly the amount of time it takes for my computer to turn on is directly related to how long he was out in the cold. The longest was 40 minutes until today-I have been here for more than an hour and my baby is finally working. I was about to give it up for lost when my half-settled finger finally got a response. And I get it, I do, heck- my extremities refuse to work until they are warmed up too.

But being that I am currently jobless in need of a job, this type of thing is not....reassuring. I need my baby to work, and keep working, at least until I get that money job that is surely right around the corner waiting for me. But I do not have internet at home and I must indeed leave the house every day to go to the libes, where the interweb is free and abundant, but my baby does not like the trip. Either he is a cranky four-year old that I need to coddle and coax into submission, or he is a 400-year old man (who knows how computer years translate-much faster than dog years, I am sure)who is merely ready to pass the torch on. I can understand that. And being a bit of a secret gadget junkie who has managed to put her obsession on hold until reason dictates it a reasonable purchase, I fully intend to be one of those people who gets a new computer every couple a years, just because.

But not today. I did look at laptop prices today on the libes' computer while idly and randomly pressing my baby's button and realized it will be possible once I get that money job to get a new computer but I'm not quite there.

And let me tell you something-I know all about patience now. The Lord has given me to find infinite and copius amounts of patience. Soon I will also know all about gratitude as well. Nothing like the memory of lugging my baby to the libes in the cold dead of winter and then sitting around waiting for him to catch his bearings will make the days of internet at home on a computer that works seem like pure heaven. I look forward to that. Pure Heaven.... sigh.

Courage, Presence of Mind, and Grandma's Lasagna

One of my favorite memories from childhood is driving to Chicago after the Christmas holiday every year to visit my Grandma and my mom's siblings. There were always more presents and even better, Grandma's cooking. Her fudge and her chocolate chip cookies, cliche though it is, were THE BEST.

But the thing I hungered for, the thing I fantasized about for months at a time, was her meat lasagna. I remember none of us kids could ever seem to get enough of it. By the time I graduated from college, the tradition of going to Grandma's had changed for me-I was living here in Chicago and would often be home in MN during that time, and my own parents and siblings were no longer too keen on going for various reasons.

Also, after Grandpa died, the gatherings themselves stopped happening, or were transferred to an aunt's house or something. I lost track, myself. But I had determined by this point, to get the recipe myself anyway. However, everytime I was around Grandma, I forgot to ask. Years went by and I kept forgetting. Until this past year, when she herself began to talk of death as though he were a welcome friend, I finally got around to asking. Morbid, I know, but it is what it is....

And so my Grandma, vibrant but slightly slower than she used to be, walked over to the cupboard and reached up and brought down a box. She pulled out the recipe and gave it to me to copy, but she was in a hurry to get somewhere and so stood over me as I copied it out. I wrote fast. And I interpreted, for the writing of the recipe was not as straight-forward as it could have been. No worries, I thought, I will figure it out later. I am a smart person. Plus Grandma is hurried and therefore I am hurried.

Finally last night I decided to put the recipe to the test.

I had acquired some gluten free lasagna noodles a couple weeks before but needed more ingredients. Since the local grocery by my house did not have affordable swiss cheese I decided to walk to the nearest Jewel over a mile away. No worries, it was nice out. Though I was nearing the end of my fasting day, I figured I would have the ability to accomplish my goals with reasonable clarity. Empty stomach, be damned.

And so I walked. I had the recipe card in my bag. I arrived at the store and the plethora of food immediately overwhelmed me. It was 5:00 pm and my last meal or drink was of course around 6am in the morning. I was very thirsty. Distractingly so. I wandered around for a bit in a haze and decided to start with sauce first. On my list it said: 18oz Tomato sauce and 1 can of tomatoes. I realized immediately what my mistake was. Because she was in a hurry and because she is my Grandma, I did not clarify with her what this meant. Did she mean spaghetti sauce (what my dad uses for his spinach lasagna) or ACTUAL tomato sauce? And what kind of tomatoes? Diced? Stewed? And what size? Turns out there are NO 18 oz cans of sauce anywhere in the store. Just 14.5 ounces, and 28 ounces. In both tomato sauce and spaghetti sauce. Being as famished as I was, this knocked me out for about 20 minutes, as I strolled up and down the aisle trying to remember what Grandma had told me.

I had once made the mistake of using tomato sauce instead of spaghetti sauce and it made a huge disappointing difference in my recipe. I did not want to do it again. But alas, I trusted my interpretation of my Grandma's recipe, ie. trusted my Grandma. Never mind that we may not speak the same cooking language. Where my dad would have been certain to clarify-'spaghetti' sauce vs 'tomato' sauce, I assumed Grandma would too. Even though they are two different people, not related by blood or anything.

I finally settled on 1 14.5 ounce diced tomatoes, 1 14.5 ounce can tomato sauce, and 1 8 ounce can of tomato sauce. Then I noticed something curious on my recipe card.

It said to stir until thickened. But stir what? I was to brown the meat. I knew that, with the cloves. But meat does not thicken. Nor does tomato sauce. I shrugged, unable and unwilling to figure it out but by this time so determined that this was going to happen that I marched on.

I grabbed the cheese in hurry, 8 oz of swiss, and a carton of cottage cheese. The carton was a guess too-since there was no size on the recipe card. I said a short prayer at that point, hoping this would at least be edible.

Then I slooped over to the meat counter, where they had pre-packaged meat in 1.5 lb packages and 3 lb packages. I needed 2 pounds. And it was expensive meat too-much more than the $2.19/lb at my local store. I was incapacitated for another 10 minutes as I debated on buying more than I needed at higher prices, or less than I needed at higher prices, OR walking that whole mile again and then some to the local store to get exactly what I needed at the right price (I am unemployed, you know).

I checked the meat counter at Jewel and they only had the $4.49/lb available to package at my choice. WAY too expensive. So I called it a day, and made my purchases and proceeded to walk to the other grocery store. By this time I was mortally thirsty and though I realized it was after 6pm and I could in fact, eat, I wanted to wait to get home and say prayers. It seemed so unceremonious to break down then and there...

After the stop at my local store I finally got home, said a quick prayer, ate a snack and drank some fluids and proceeded to COOK. I was excited. I counted out the 12 noodles I would need to layer the dish, and added 3 more noodles to the pot to boil. I browned the meat. Added the cloves and the tomatoes-deciding that this is what she meant by 'thickening'. Shredded the cheese. It was starting to smell a little, and not like Grandma's recipe. I knew with a fear, right then and there, I should have stuck with the spaghetti sauce and NOT the tomato sauce.

It was too late for that thought-I just hoped it would taste OK.

As I took out the brown rice noodles and began to layer them in the pan, I realized I has waited to long and the damn noodles were all breaking apart. Still I charged on-beginning my layering process with the meat and the cheese. Reached for the cottage cheese and opened the container and there were dark green spots in the cheese. 'Is this rotten?' I wondered. No-it was not rotten. It was cottage cheese with CHIVES in it. First of all, gross! Second of all, I can't believe I grabbed the wrong kind. I was halfway through this whole experience and I knew that chives would destroy the already failing lasagna beyond eating capacity.

So I threw on my shoes and literally ran 4 blocks BACK to the store and got another 'carton' of cheese and RAN back to my kitchen, where the rest of the noodles had already begun to stick. Then to my surprise, I ran out of noodles. My beautifully layered lasagna could only be partially layered. How does this happen? Can I not count? Wait, don't answer that. I finished the recipe best I could and popped it in the oven and prayed again that it would turn out. It was actually edible so I can't complain but I am glad I wasn't having anyone over.

The funny thing is you'd think I was very cranky in all this, but really it was more like I was in my own special comedy of errors. Although I was not laughing out loud, I was laughing in my heart.

On the Fast

It's the fourth day of the Fast and my prayers are ardent. Familiarity couples with newness to create a brand new Fast for me-one with more time for personal reflection and for waging new battles.

I hope by the end of this one the strength I search for has found me. I also wonder what to wear to the Naw-Ruz party?

On Lost

For the last, what is it, five years(?), I have been told numerous times that I would LOOOOOVE the show Lost. I have listened to thrilled peers as they ponder and worry and wait with anticipation for new episodes. I'll admit, I was intrigued. And given the slightly (or greatly) supernatural nature of the show, I assumed what friends have about me, which is that I would love the show.

So finally a few months ago I began the Netflix journey. And here, a mere season and a half later, I am officially giving up. Well-acted? Why yes. Interesting? Why yes. Well-written? Well....while I think the plot lines are intriguing enough, maybe too much so, I absolutely hate the character development. It's a personal taste thing for me. I discovered a long time ago that I don't particularly enjoy watching people be bad. It doesn't not float my boat to watch deliciously evil people accidentally blowing heads off of young men sitting in the back seat of a car, nor does it ever make me happy when the bad guys win.

So when you take Lost, where bad is good is bad turns bad-it just frustrates and irritates me.

For example, when you begin to imply that a group of people who would steal children and hang people from trees are possibly 'good' or redeemable, or you have a terribly immature and bitter father to kill two innocent people and serve 5 others up for slaughter all in the name of saving his son then you have completely lost me.

The reason why I have always loved science fiction and fantasy is because it always presented interesting opportunities to test the true capacity or capability of man to overcome his base/animal nature to grow in his virtues, the things that make him or her essentially human and different. In other words, I like when you take an unbelievable situation and create a character who was believable, and experiement with how that character then reacts to that situation.

But what you have with this show is a bunch of people who to me, are not believeable.

For example, an African-American woman who would be a part of a group that would kidnap a child and torture a father for no reason other than they can and it's interesting is...unbelievable. Call me naive on that one-but so many things are unbelievable in the natures of the characters in this story. I could go through and list a bunch but it would take too long. I understand they are trying to build some of that unbelievability into the 'lore' of the island, that perhaps the 'island' brought this mix of truly effed-up individuals, killers, addicts, dishonest and pathetically victimized individuals together, for a reason. But to me I would much rather watch a bunch of folks mired in depravity IMPROVE their character rather than fall deeper into it while people keep dying left and right.


And that is just me and my taste. I like to watch things that make me feel good, things that horrify me without redemption. Other people are different. That's cool. There is a small chance that I could watch through all 7(?) seasons and find that redemption, but I don't want to, because if it is not there, I will be even more frustrated.

Work it baby!

This time around I am working the people angle, primarily focusing on opportunities that come with the added bonus of a friendly friend or past acquaintance recommendation attached to it. Hopefully this will spin me into the world of wonder at a much faster pace.

In other news, last night I dreamt I was in a triathlon and I was swimming in very cold water and my arms were made of non-wet cardboard and they were very tired. Also there were these very attractive yet obnoxious group of youngsters bothering me. Very strange.

Be careful what you wish for....

Monday morning when I went into work I felt a bit of culture shock. Perhaps because the weekend was so....in my element. I was with friends and people who love and honor me and I laughed and slept and worked out and had time alone. So when the first person of the morning inevitably asked me how I was doing I gave the cursory and truthful, 'I'm ok.'

My feelings were parallel to that of a person who had just come back from vacation or from very far away, I felt alienated and out of place. But nevertheless I hunkered down, thinking to myself that I really do have to keep to this job search I have been doing, and that maybe I should just take a vacation day after all, for no other reason than being there made me feel less than.

I knew I was pms'ing and I was surprised at 430 pm how much work I had gotten through. I began to begin my closing tasks, getting sidetracked, as I always do, by new incoming calls. But when, at 445 pm, I got laid off, I was not entirely shocked. I had a little outburst where I confessed to my layer-offers personal matters that were not their business, but besides that I was cool. Literally cool.

When I got fired two years ago, and laid off for the first time 9 years ago I was not fine. I cried for days and felt REALLY bad about myself. I was plunged into a state of despair. And so I marvel today at my current state of calmness and determination. I can already tell you that I am, though still pms'ing, pretty sure I will not really feel like hearing from people that they are 'sure I will find a great job' because 'I am so capable.' This time around those words will not really be comforting because I finally know, after 9 years of this 'adult in the world' life that I have been living, that this is the one thing I am ABSOLUTELY sure of, is that I am capable. Yet being sure of that has not yet found me a a great job, nor is it the safety net one can rely to keep a job.

I also do not want people to just send me tons of 'contacts' or jobs that I must feel impelled to sort through merely because I am unemployed. Nor do I want advice that implies I should 'take anything' because I need money. See, I've played that game before and each time it has led me to dissatisfaction and yes, to the same place I am now.

I also do not need to be reminded of the state of the economy. Because saying so belies the undercurrent of thought that you think that I might think that the reason I am not finding a job is because I am not good enough at job searching, so you remind me that it's not me, it's them, that sort of thing. And though I must lend reality some level of authority, I by no means wish to let myself be motivated by negativity or comforted by it.

Though I am fully aware of my financial situation and the fact that one needs money to buy food shelter etc, I no longer want to be ruled by that philosophy, either. I want to be ruled by the philosophy of self-worth and idealism. The idea that I deserve to work somewhere that makes me proud to be there, a place that honors and values me for my full capacity, one that FITS me and pays me accordingly. Finally, after 31 years, I am in a place where I can recognize what I deserve and I have the strength, patience and determination to go after it and continue to go after it until I get it.

I want my friends to understand and my acquaintances to respect and strangers to see that picking a job to me this time around will take on the same importance of picking a husband. I will not settle, because, as I said before I already did that and know what it feels like. I'm looking for a new game.

And so with a touch of cynicism, a ton of conviction, and endless determination I set out to find my next adventure. Wish me luck, say me a prayer and give me hug, because that is what I need most from you.

postitive thoughts into the world

facebook sometimes makes me jealous of other people's lives and friendships. grr. argh.
need to work on that since i am totally manifesting greatness in lives and friendships THIS year.

for real yo.

Blasted Tuesdays

The most true article ever written about how I feel right now