I took my last final today, so bring on the trashy romance novels and B movies! There's nothing like going from physics to The Real Housewives of Orange County. I'm going to plant myself on the sofa and not move until the new year. I'm going to order people not to ask me anything that might provoke thought. Don't even ask me the time (even though my watch is digital)! My sole purpose is to make the new neurons in my brain atrophy beyong all repair. When I return to school, they will have to put me on the short bus.
Now that I think about it, I mean I wasn't really thinking I was just, you know . . . Anywho, I might get off the couch for Christmas. Then again, I might not. I'll just sit there until the drool starts. As a Christmas present to those in my household I should probably shower. The smell will be pretty pungent by then.
No seriously, I am plum-tuckered out! Stick a fork in me--I'm done! I can make no contributions to society at this point. Just let me waste away in peace. Do not resuscitate. Good-bye world, it was really great getting to know you and all the laws of gravitation that make planetary motion possible, but I have to go now. It's time to share myself with others, namely Redbox and Ti-Vo.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Pee and Planes
There are not many activities during which I can say, "I'd rather be studying for a physics mid-term right now," but during the pre-Thanksgiving house clean-up that thought actually popped into my mind. Somehow I ended up with two bathrooms and given the choice between any sort of contact with urine and studying for physics, I gotta tell you physics will win every single time. I guess I shouldn't complain since someone had to pull fistfulls of my hair out of the shower drain. Karma's a "B" depending on how you dress her.
Needless to say, the time consuming clean-up was worth it to have so much family here. Unfortunately, some siblings were sorely missed this year due to work obligations. While I have never been a proponent of arson, I was getting really creative with ways to get them here in time for Thanksgiving. I had a hard time assembling Team Let's-Torch-That-Joint so I gave up on sticking it to The Man that was keeping two of my siblings from me. The good times weren't as good without them. To add to the drama, another one of my siblings almost didn't make it here due to mechanical problems with his plane. I'm convinced Delta stands for Disasterous Experience Likely To occur at Anytime. It's enough to drive someone to drink! Pass the scotch.
Besides pee and planes, Turkey Day was a success. Since some were absent, I took it upon myself to eat for them by proxy and am now contemplating a gastric bypass. Lipo at least. I love spending time with my family and it's comforting to have them around, even if for a few days. My mom was the first to arrive and she brought with her two old school kung fu movies she found at a kung fu kiosk in DC (don't ask). As we watched Shaolin Avengers we reminisced about old times. Both of my parents were involved in the martial arts so we reminded mom of the bedtime stories she told us which were sometimes storylines from kung fu movies and sometimes kung fu stories she made up herself. Either way, our bedtime stories were action packed. They included sound effects, hand gestures and eventually the detailed, violent demise of the antagonist. I'm a sucka for kung fu movies to date. In fact, I think I feel a Thanksgiving tradition coming on. Instead of going around the table and saying what we are grateful for, we can each take turns saying which kung fu move we'd use to pluck someone's eyeball out. Good times.
For some reason, my mother insists on going shopping on Black Friday. We tried to tell her some poor pregnant woman got trampled last year at a Wal-Mart which prompted the most quotable quote of this Thanksgiving vacation. It was the comment made by my brother in response to this story, "Funny, I thought Wal-Mart customers were a little more classy than that." Nevertheless, we ended up at the mall. To my great surprise we weren't subjected to any cannibalistic attacks from rabid shoppers and we all survived unscathed. All in all, a wonderful holiday spent with wonderful people.
Needless to say, the time consuming clean-up was worth it to have so much family here. Unfortunately, some siblings were sorely missed this year due to work obligations. While I have never been a proponent of arson, I was getting really creative with ways to get them here in time for Thanksgiving. I had a hard time assembling Team Let's-Torch-That-Joint so I gave up on sticking it to The Man that was keeping two of my siblings from me. The good times weren't as good without them. To add to the drama, another one of my siblings almost didn't make it here due to mechanical problems with his plane. I'm convinced Delta stands for Disasterous Experience Likely To occur at Anytime. It's enough to drive someone to drink! Pass the scotch.
Besides pee and planes, Turkey Day was a success. Since some were absent, I took it upon myself to eat for them by proxy and am now contemplating a gastric bypass. Lipo at least. I love spending time with my family and it's comforting to have them around, even if for a few days. My mom was the first to arrive and she brought with her two old school kung fu movies she found at a kung fu kiosk in DC (don't ask). As we watched Shaolin Avengers we reminisced about old times. Both of my parents were involved in the martial arts so we reminded mom of the bedtime stories she told us which were sometimes storylines from kung fu movies and sometimes kung fu stories she made up herself. Either way, our bedtime stories were action packed. They included sound effects, hand gestures and eventually the detailed, violent demise of the antagonist. I'm a sucka for kung fu movies to date. In fact, I think I feel a Thanksgiving tradition coming on. Instead of going around the table and saying what we are grateful for, we can each take turns saying which kung fu move we'd use to pluck someone's eyeball out. Good times.
For some reason, my mother insists on going shopping on Black Friday. We tried to tell her some poor pregnant woman got trampled last year at a Wal-Mart which prompted the most quotable quote of this Thanksgiving vacation. It was the comment made by my brother in response to this story, "Funny, I thought Wal-Mart customers were a little more classy than that." Nevertheless, we ended up at the mall. To my great surprise we weren't subjected to any cannibalistic attacks from rabid shoppers and we all survived unscathed. All in all, a wonderful holiday spent with wonderful people.
Monday, November 16, 2009
No News is Good News
I was really excited to find out that I'm not the only person that cries at NPR. Crying while watching Oprah I can understand. I'll even cough up a few tears for the occasional chick flick, but being moved to tears by news radio is not normal. In defense of NPR, half the time I'm crying at WUNC which is really North Carolina Public Radio. They have this daily program called the story that is so tender that I can't help tearing up every time I listen. It's like a Hallmark commercial on crack.
NPR and I have finally reconciled after a brief cold war. I had to stop listening around the time the Iranian elections were going on because I became terribly upset that the people there were not able to get an honest and fair election even with civil protest. It was the suppression of these protests and the subsequent censorship of the people who wanted the rest of the world to realize what was actually going on in the country that left me in emotional turmoil. It was just too much for a morning commute. I can't walk into my first class of the day, which happens to be chemistry, weeping. There's no crying in chemistry.
One morning last week the voices on the radio were discussing women and their new roles as the primary wage earners in the family. Unfortunately, females are still not making as much money as their male counterparts which makes it harder for mothers and wives to keep thier families afloat. They also mentioned that single mothers are the hardest hit by the economy. Having been raised by a single mother, you can imagine how passionately I feel about the issues surrounding this topic. Given, I am an emotional person, but I would feel selfish if I ignored the plight and issues that others face. However, I feel like I need some sort of news buffer to maintain my emotional stability. Don't even get me started on broadcast journalism. I will be traumatized for a full day for each minute I catch of the evening news on TV. Stories about kidnapped children, police officer shootings and unemployment rates make me want to plunge myself off the nearest building while shouting "The end is near!" I may have to ensconce myself in a virtual cacoon that includes only my concerns and the concerns of those closest to me because believe me that's enough drama for a Spanish novela.
Yet during my vacation from the news I did feel self-centered. I remained focused on my personal concerns and needs, effectively shutting out that which I could do nothing about. It's terribly easy to do. Let's be honest, my tears aren't going to end corruption in Iran. My grief isn't going to bring kidnapped 5-year old Shaniya back to life. Does knowing about the depravities of human nature lessen its horrors? I don't think so, but for some reason I also feel it's unethical to live life as if only I existed. Maybe it's the Letter from Birmingham Jail echoing in my mind "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," that encourages my outrage. Yet there is so much outside of my sphere of influence that I wonder if it's worth wondering what one person like me can do. This leaves me at an impasse. The problem is that while I look to NPR for valuable information about what is going on in the world, I also find that information evocative on a visceral level.
So, is no news good news?
NPR and I have finally reconciled after a brief cold war. I had to stop listening around the time the Iranian elections were going on because I became terribly upset that the people there were not able to get an honest and fair election even with civil protest. It was the suppression of these protests and the subsequent censorship of the people who wanted the rest of the world to realize what was actually going on in the country that left me in emotional turmoil. It was just too much for a morning commute. I can't walk into my first class of the day, which happens to be chemistry, weeping. There's no crying in chemistry.
One morning last week the voices on the radio were discussing women and their new roles as the primary wage earners in the family. Unfortunately, females are still not making as much money as their male counterparts which makes it harder for mothers and wives to keep thier families afloat. They also mentioned that single mothers are the hardest hit by the economy. Having been raised by a single mother, you can imagine how passionately I feel about the issues surrounding this topic. Given, I am an emotional person, but I would feel selfish if I ignored the plight and issues that others face. However, I feel like I need some sort of news buffer to maintain my emotional stability. Don't even get me started on broadcast journalism. I will be traumatized for a full day for each minute I catch of the evening news on TV. Stories about kidnapped children, police officer shootings and unemployment rates make me want to plunge myself off the nearest building while shouting "The end is near!" I may have to ensconce myself in a virtual cacoon that includes only my concerns and the concerns of those closest to me because believe me that's enough drama for a Spanish novela.
Yet during my vacation from the news I did feel self-centered. I remained focused on my personal concerns and needs, effectively shutting out that which I could do nothing about. It's terribly easy to do. Let's be honest, my tears aren't going to end corruption in Iran. My grief isn't going to bring kidnapped 5-year old Shaniya back to life. Does knowing about the depravities of human nature lessen its horrors? I don't think so, but for some reason I also feel it's unethical to live life as if only I existed. Maybe it's the Letter from Birmingham Jail echoing in my mind "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere," that encourages my outrage. Yet there is so much outside of my sphere of influence that I wonder if it's worth wondering what one person like me can do. This leaves me at an impasse. The problem is that while I look to NPR for valuable information about what is going on in the world, I also find that information evocative on a visceral level.
So, is no news good news?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
"The Brain-is wider than the sky-"
The Brain-is wider than the Sky-
For-put them side by side-
The one the other will contain
With ease-and You-beside
The Brain is deeper than the sea-
For-hold them-Blue to Blue-
The one the other will absorb-
As Sponges-Buckets-do
The Brain is just the weight of God-
For-Heft them-Pound for Pound-
And they will differ-if they do-
As Syllable from Sound-
Emily Dickinson
For-put them side by side-
The one the other will contain
With ease-and You-beside
The Brain is deeper than the sea-
For-hold them-Blue to Blue-
The one the other will absorb-
As Sponges-Buckets-do
The Brain is just the weight of God-
For-Heft them-Pound for Pound-
And they will differ-if they do-
As Syllable from Sound-
Emily Dickinson
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Ghosts of Halloweens Past
I expressed an interest in dressing up as Batgirl for Halloween because it seemed like the easiest homemade costume (minus the go-go boots), and because I thought my nephews would get a kick out of it. They're into superheroes like that. So, I was really flattered one day when my 5 year old nephew presented me with a gift . . .
It was a Batgirl figurine. This Batgirl already belonged to his and his brother's shared collection of superhero toys but he wanted me to have it. Tender! That sealed the deal. Batgirl it is. FYI, the other frontrunners were a pimp/suga-mamma and Uhura from Star Trek. As far as the outfit, I think I can borrow the black cape from a neighbor and use a regular Batman mask, of which there are a plethora around this house. My original idea of making a top and a skirt out of black GLAD garbage bags was promptly shot down by a group of girlfriends who obviously have no idea of the caliber of my Halloween costume home-making skills. So what if it's my first time making a Halloween costume, I thought the garbage bags would give the outfit a nice pleather look (although I'm not sure nice and pleather should be used in the same sentence). Taking my girlfriends' advice, I've decided on a black skirt, a black shirt and I'll probably print a Batman sign to tape on my chest. The only problem is acquiring a pair of go-go boots. I'm on it!
I thought I'd include some costumes from Halloweens past for your enjoyment.
1) For Halloween 2007 I was an Egyptian princess and I loved it!
It was a Batgirl figurine. This Batgirl already belonged to his and his brother's shared collection of superhero toys but he wanted me to have it. Tender! That sealed the deal. Batgirl it is. FYI, the other frontrunners were a pimp/suga-mamma and Uhura from Star Trek. As far as the outfit, I think I can borrow the black cape from a neighbor and use a regular Batman mask, of which there are a plethora around this house. My original idea of making a top and a skirt out of black GLAD garbage bags was promptly shot down by a group of girlfriends who obviously have no idea of the caliber of my Halloween costume home-making skills. So what if it's my first time making a Halloween costume, I thought the garbage bags would give the outfit a nice pleather look (although I'm not sure nice and pleather should be used in the same sentence). Taking my girlfriends' advice, I've decided on a black skirt, a black shirt and I'll probably print a Batman sign to tape on my chest. The only problem is acquiring a pair of go-go boots. I'm on it!
I thought I'd include some costumes from Halloweens past for your enjoyment.
1) For Halloween 2007 I was an Egyptian princess and I loved it!
2) For Halloween 2006 I was a soul sista from the sixties and obviously had a blast.
My personal favorite Halloween costume was one I wore to the Halloween Howl at Utah State one year when I was lion. Given, the costume was really hot (especially for dancing), but it was the most authentic costume experience I've participated in. Sorry there's not a pic for you but that was before digital cameras, folks. In short, I'm determined to enjoy this Halloween as a crime-fighter and hope wherever you are and whomever you choose to be, you enjoy yours as well. Happy Halloween!
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Stretching
On Saturday morning after a short run I meandered into this yoga studio I had heard good things about. Two classes were about to start. I picked one of the classes thinking I could pay the drop-in fee after class and hoping there was no chanting involved. In true Murphy's law fashion, the class started with the chanting of some Sanskrit mantra I was unfamiliar with and I thought to myself, "Oh brother, should I split now?" My cramped neck and my aching lower back insisted that I stay. Luckily, the chanting was brief but the situation went from bad to worse when the instructor told us to pick a partner and help "ground" them by placing our hands on their hip bones, pushing downward as they reached up. First, I have never been in a yoga class where I had to partner with someone and second, I had just come from exercising and I was sweaty. I did the only thing I could, I feigned interest in some trees out the window hoping I would end up being odd man out. My efforts were fruitless. The petite, middle-aged man right next to me in the back row asked to be partners. What could I say? "I'm sorry, I smell right now and you really shouldn't approach me without an air tank or, at the very least, a protective mask." Believe me when I tell you I was in no position to be in such close proximity to a perfect stranger, much less one that was supposed to be crouched in front of me with their hands on my hips (plus, if you're gonna grab these hips at least offer dinner and a movie). Nevertheless, I conceded to his request and tried to act like men have their hands on my hips everyday. It was still awkward, but at the conclusion of the exercise I ended up appreciating the take-home message, "It's surprising how much higher we can reach when we are truly grounded."
I was relieved I had survived the entire debacle when, further into the class, we were working on balancing poses and the teacher wanted us to balance on one leg with the other leg out to our side at a 90 degree angle. This is not so bad in itself except that he also wanted everyone in the class to simultaneously hold the foot of the person next to them up. A brief word about my feet, they are the laughingstock of my entire family. Diplomatically put, they could be more aesthetically pleasing. My own brother-in-law (you know who you are) has insinuated that I could weed his entire lawn with my feet if I was seated on a skateboard to which he had given a good shove. So, I am sorry to report that I did not participate in this particular yoga class exercise. Mr. Middle-Aged-Man right next to me probably thought I didn't want to touch his feet. Little did he know I had his best interests at heart. Had I participated, I would have expected him to withdraw his hand immediately upon contact with my foot and pretend that acid had melted away his flesh as per family tradition. I know, kids can be so cruel. Although I did not participate fully in this exercise, the take home message resonated with me as I felt it was a life lesson I am still learning, "Success is easier if you can lean on those close to you for help and support."
I would tell you about spotting handstands and flailing legs at this point, but you get the general idea that this yoga experience was unlike any other I've had. I was stretched in more ways than one, but I have to say I felt like rubber after that class (this is a good thing since I went in feeling like the Tin Man) and my minor physical ailments were resolved. When I went to pay, I found out that the class was a 13-week series that had begun weeks ago. Ooops! I thanked the helpful gentleman next to me before I left and asked myself if I would do that again. Believe it or not, I think I would.
After a shower and a pedicure.
I was relieved I had survived the entire debacle when, further into the class, we were working on balancing poses and the teacher wanted us to balance on one leg with the other leg out to our side at a 90 degree angle. This is not so bad in itself except that he also wanted everyone in the class to simultaneously hold the foot of the person next to them up. A brief word about my feet, they are the laughingstock of my entire family. Diplomatically put, they could be more aesthetically pleasing. My own brother-in-law (you know who you are) has insinuated that I could weed his entire lawn with my feet if I was seated on a skateboard to which he had given a good shove. So, I am sorry to report that I did not participate in this particular yoga class exercise. Mr. Middle-Aged-Man right next to me probably thought I didn't want to touch his feet. Little did he know I had his best interests at heart. Had I participated, I would have expected him to withdraw his hand immediately upon contact with my foot and pretend that acid had melted away his flesh as per family tradition. I know, kids can be so cruel. Although I did not participate fully in this exercise, the take home message resonated with me as I felt it was a life lesson I am still learning, "Success is easier if you can lean on those close to you for help and support."
I would tell you about spotting handstands and flailing legs at this point, but you get the general idea that this yoga experience was unlike any other I've had. I was stretched in more ways than one, but I have to say I felt like rubber after that class (this is a good thing since I went in feeling like the Tin Man) and my minor physical ailments were resolved. When I went to pay, I found out that the class was a 13-week series that had begun weeks ago. Ooops! I thanked the helpful gentleman next to me before I left and asked myself if I would do that again. Believe it or not, I think I would.
After a shower and a pedicure.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Out of Touch
When I performed my last massage in June of 2008, I was burned out and my body needed a rest, having given massages for the last four years. The funny thing is, even though I have not given a massage in over a year, I still feel in my heart that I'm a massage therapist. I can understand defining yourself by what you do, but defining yourself by what you don't do? That's a little weird.
I had a dream earlier this week about getting bodywork and being outraged at the unprofessionalism of my massage therapist. I remember yelling at her that it was therapists like her that gave all of us all a bad name. The point is that I used the word "us." When people ask me what I do, my first instinct is to tell them I'm a massage therapist, but after mentally correcting myself I tell them "I study." There are a lot of things I can do, and much fewer I can do well, fewer still the things that I can do well and I truly enjoy doing. Massage is one of these and I miss it. It was something that made me feel I was making a contribution that was uniquely me. I mean, where else can you contact (literally) another human being without having to talk? Priceless. I think that there are many more factors involved in a massage than just mere physical contact. While the art of healing is still such uncharted territory, I feel there are few limits to the power of touch.
So folks, here's the 4-1-1. I'm going to get nationally recertified (which you should know is a semi-arduous process), but I am super excited to have this part of me back! Maybe I just have a case of distance makes the heart grow fonder, but I'm about to find out. And to all of you with headaches, low back pain, cramps, etc., I quote the wise words of Vanilla Ice when he said, "If you got a problem, yo I'll solve it." Physical problems that is, but you would be surprised to know how it's all connected. In short, go get some bodywork! If I'm in a reasonable radius, feel free to ask me for some.
I had a dream earlier this week about getting bodywork and being outraged at the unprofessionalism of my massage therapist. I remember yelling at her that it was therapists like her that gave all of us all a bad name. The point is that I used the word "us." When people ask me what I do, my first instinct is to tell them I'm a massage therapist, but after mentally correcting myself I tell them "I study." There are a lot of things I can do, and much fewer I can do well, fewer still the things that I can do well and I truly enjoy doing. Massage is one of these and I miss it. It was something that made me feel I was making a contribution that was uniquely me. I mean, where else can you contact (literally) another human being without having to talk? Priceless. I think that there are many more factors involved in a massage than just mere physical contact. While the art of healing is still such uncharted territory, I feel there are few limits to the power of touch.
So folks, here's the 4-1-1. I'm going to get nationally recertified (which you should know is a semi-arduous process), but I am super excited to have this part of me back! Maybe I just have a case of distance makes the heart grow fonder, but I'm about to find out. And to all of you with headaches, low back pain, cramps, etc., I quote the wise words of Vanilla Ice when he said, "If you got a problem, yo I'll solve it." Physical problems that is, but you would be surprised to know how it's all connected. In short, go get some bodywork! If I'm in a reasonable radius, feel free to ask me for some.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Restraining Order
I've got a stalker. Umm, he's one years, excuse me, one year old and he has ruined all my dreams in life. He's my nephew and I live with him so there are some logistical issues at hand if I do decide to involve the police, but he follows me everywhere. Even when I close my bedroom door I hear a teeny tiny knock followed by a demanding wail which obviously means "Let me in!!" I ask you, how is an aunt supposed to resist? I will tell you how. The last time I let him have free reign in my bedroom he began pounding on my scientific calculator and I couldn't graph a thing once I got to Calculus. I realize I may seem selfish and callous, but you have not heard the rest of the story. Allow me . . .
I have a vision board. It's just a regular poster board you can get at a grocery store down the school supply aisle, but I've turned it into a collage of elements I want to incorporate into my life. For instance, there are pictures of women doctors, lots of happy little families, a romantic wedding and places I would love to visit one day. I cut the various pictures out of magazines and glued them on the vision board. I have also images of people engaging in various recreational activities like running, biking and snowshoeing. I like to look at my vision board and be reminded of what I want out of life, where I wish to go and what I want to do. It helps me visualize and plus, it's fun to pretend to be a little creative. Anywho, I entered my room one day to find the pictures torn from my vision board, the shredded pieces of my dreams lying in disarray on my floor. I was in absolute dismay. I immediately knew who the culprit was and I'll have you know that I hunted him down with the intent to strangle his little neck, but when those big sad eyes looked at me fringed with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, my violent intentions simmered down to muttered threats.
I spent a couple of hours one Sunday repairing my vision board meticulously, adding lots of new and beautiful images. It was the best version of my vision board yet. I was delighted by my handiwork, and to prevent such disasters as had previously befallen my dreams in life, I faithfully closed my bedroom door when I was not at home and charged admission when I was. Nevertheless, one day I came home from school, opened my door and found that my dreams were once again destroyed. The first time it was my dream of one day having a family that he attacked. This time it was the corner in which I had the pictures of all the doctors, especially one small article that included a picture of a female physician who traveled to third world countries providing medical care. My heart was broken and I was simultaneously outraged. I mean, how dare he?! It's a good thing God made kids so cute because this one would have never made it to the ripe old age of two! I'm sure he does not realize how lucky he is to be alive at this moment.
Working on in despair, I taped the picture of my favorite doctor back as best I could and tried to patch up the rest. You would think I would have learned by this time to not have any dreams in life or to place my vision board higher than two feet off the ground. I learned neither and it happened once more. To this day, I am too disparaged to even look at the sorry sham that used to display my fondest wishes and plans for myself. A restraining order does not seem like such a desperate measure now, does it? He's going down! If he thinks he can treat me in such a deplorable manner and get one sippy cup of kindness from me--he's wrong! It's on like Donkey Kong. The gauntlet has been thrown down, the glove has officially slapped me across the face. Little does he know that I rise to such challenges and I refuse to be bested by a one year old. I'll cut the feet off of his pajamas, I'll water down his apple juice beyond recognition, I'm crazy like that. He don't know me.
I'm open to any other suggestions that could potentially terrorize a one year old despot.
I have a vision board. It's just a regular poster board you can get at a grocery store down the school supply aisle, but I've turned it into a collage of elements I want to incorporate into my life. For instance, there are pictures of women doctors, lots of happy little families, a romantic wedding and places I would love to visit one day. I cut the various pictures out of magazines and glued them on the vision board. I have also images of people engaging in various recreational activities like running, biking and snowshoeing. I like to look at my vision board and be reminded of what I want out of life, where I wish to go and what I want to do. It helps me visualize and plus, it's fun to pretend to be a little creative. Anywho, I entered my room one day to find the pictures torn from my vision board, the shredded pieces of my dreams lying in disarray on my floor. I was in absolute dismay. I immediately knew who the culprit was and I'll have you know that I hunted him down with the intent to strangle his little neck, but when those big sad eyes looked at me fringed with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen, my violent intentions simmered down to muttered threats.
I spent a couple of hours one Sunday repairing my vision board meticulously, adding lots of new and beautiful images. It was the best version of my vision board yet. I was delighted by my handiwork, and to prevent such disasters as had previously befallen my dreams in life, I faithfully closed my bedroom door when I was not at home and charged admission when I was. Nevertheless, one day I came home from school, opened my door and found that my dreams were once again destroyed. The first time it was my dream of one day having a family that he attacked. This time it was the corner in which I had the pictures of all the doctors, especially one small article that included a picture of a female physician who traveled to third world countries providing medical care. My heart was broken and I was simultaneously outraged. I mean, how dare he?! It's a good thing God made kids so cute because this one would have never made it to the ripe old age of two! I'm sure he does not realize how lucky he is to be alive at this moment.
Working on in despair, I taped the picture of my favorite doctor back as best I could and tried to patch up the rest. You would think I would have learned by this time to not have any dreams in life or to place my vision board higher than two feet off the ground. I learned neither and it happened once more. To this day, I am too disparaged to even look at the sorry sham that used to display my fondest wishes and plans for myself. A restraining order does not seem like such a desperate measure now, does it? He's going down! If he thinks he can treat me in such a deplorable manner and get one sippy cup of kindness from me--he's wrong! It's on like Donkey Kong. The gauntlet has been thrown down, the glove has officially slapped me across the face. Little does he know that I rise to such challenges and I refuse to be bested by a one year old. I'll cut the feet off of his pajamas, I'll water down his apple juice beyond recognition, I'm crazy like that. He don't know me.
I'm open to any other suggestions that could potentially terrorize a one year old despot.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
HBCU vs BYU
For those of you who don't know, and HBCU is a historically Black College or University. Some popular ones you might have heard of are Spelman and Morehouse. I am currently attending a much smaller HBCU to get a 2nd bachelor's degree in Chemistry. Seeing as how my last classroom experience was at BYU, I've noticed quite a few differences in comparison.
First, there's a stripper in my calculus class. She's not just any stripper. She swears that our calculus teacher used to frequent her place of employment and when asked if she thinks he recognized her she replied, "Not with my clothes on!" That's not a common occurence at a private school like BYU. You get more return missionaries than strippers, really. It's refreshing.
Second, at BYU we often times started class with a prayer and on the odd occasion sang a hymn. At the HBCU I attend I hear a bit more colorful language than you would find in a prayer. My chemistry teacher curses at least once a class, and you know what? No one is surprised really--just me. I try not to giggle, look around and say, "Oooooo, he just said a bad word!"
Going to a private school has made me a prude but now that I'm on the other end of the spectrum I seem to be enjoying myself. One of the remarkable things about attending such a school is that I get to see people that look like me and make me laugh (even if they are swearing). I am appreciating Black culture more and more. Now I don't feel so bad when I'm late because people here are in my time zone, CPT (Colored People Time), or in other words at least half an hour late. Combine CPT with being in the South and I count myself lucky that my teachers even show up! I think this time zone ends when you step off campus, though.
I also love being surronded by intelligent and articulate people. I think society paints a picture for us of various ethnic groups and my favorite thing is seeing real live people break that mold. I'm glad I get to see it often on campus and hope to be able to make a contribution to whichever community I belong to like many of instructors and students here have.
First, there's a stripper in my calculus class. She's not just any stripper. She swears that our calculus teacher used to frequent her place of employment and when asked if she thinks he recognized her she replied, "Not with my clothes on!" That's not a common occurence at a private school like BYU. You get more return missionaries than strippers, really. It's refreshing.
Second, at BYU we often times started class with a prayer and on the odd occasion sang a hymn. At the HBCU I attend I hear a bit more colorful language than you would find in a prayer. My chemistry teacher curses at least once a class, and you know what? No one is surprised really--just me. I try not to giggle, look around and say, "Oooooo, he just said a bad word!"
Going to a private school has made me a prude but now that I'm on the other end of the spectrum I seem to be enjoying myself. One of the remarkable things about attending such a school is that I get to see people that look like me and make me laugh (even if they are swearing). I am appreciating Black culture more and more. Now I don't feel so bad when I'm late because people here are in my time zone, CPT (Colored People Time), or in other words at least half an hour late. Combine CPT with being in the South and I count myself lucky that my teachers even show up! I think this time zone ends when you step off campus, though.
I also love being surronded by intelligent and articulate people. I think society paints a picture for us of various ethnic groups and my favorite thing is seeing real live people break that mold. I'm glad I get to see it often on campus and hope to be able to make a contribution to whichever community I belong to like many of instructors and students here have.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
The Gateway to the West
I went to St. Louis for the wedding of a good friend and I got to stay with my beautiful cousin who lives in a wonderfully chic area of town and to tell the truth, I fell in love with St. Louis! In retrospect, I think I just really enjoyed being with family and friends whom I haven't seen in ages. However, on behalf of St. Louis, I would have to say that this city was an excellent backdrop for such festivities.
My cousin lives a block away from a little strip in St. Louis that has wonderful restaurants, shops and boutiques. I enjoyed strolling down Washington Avenue and wandering into its charming nooks and crannys. The wedding itself took place on 9/11, which I initially had some reservations about, but it turned out to be such a beautiful day. The wedding was held outdoors at a vineyard on an open terrace and my girlfriend was the picture perfect bride. She was literally glowing. I have no idea what makes them glow like that! My guess is MAC make-up, but I digress.
The day after the wedding we all went galavanting around St. Louis to see the sights. We saw the St. Louis arch, the Eads bridge and went to the City Museum. My cousin said the City Museum was unlike any other and to wear jeans and comfortable clothing. I soon found out why. The City Museum is a huge jungle jim. There were slides, caves, tunnels and all sorts of adventures for both adults and children. I went on this eight story slide that was shaped like the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. Needless to say, I couldn't walk a straight line afterwards but thankfully, no one issued me a breathalyzer. Then I went in some open air tunnels that were outdoors. The only thing separating me from a drop that would at least severely injure me was some iron grating that I was crawling through on my hands and knees. I almost died. It was awesome! I felt like I could see the entire city from up there (while I was praying really hard for the laws of physics to hold for just another minute).
I left for home the next day banged up and bruised from running around the city museum but glad that for a minute I felt like a kid again. Two thumbs up for St. Louis.
My cousin lives a block away from a little strip in St. Louis that has wonderful restaurants, shops and boutiques. I enjoyed strolling down Washington Avenue and wandering into its charming nooks and crannys. The wedding itself took place on 9/11, which I initially had some reservations about, but it turned out to be such a beautiful day. The wedding was held outdoors at a vineyard on an open terrace and my girlfriend was the picture perfect bride. She was literally glowing. I have no idea what makes them glow like that! My guess is MAC make-up, but I digress.
The day after the wedding we all went galavanting around St. Louis to see the sights. We saw the St. Louis arch, the Eads bridge and went to the City Museum. My cousin said the City Museum was unlike any other and to wear jeans and comfortable clothing. I soon found out why. The City Museum is a huge jungle jim. There were slides, caves, tunnels and all sorts of adventures for both adults and children. I went on this eight story slide that was shaped like the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. Needless to say, I couldn't walk a straight line afterwards but thankfully, no one issued me a breathalyzer. Then I went in some open air tunnels that were outdoors. The only thing separating me from a drop that would at least severely injure me was some iron grating that I was crawling through on my hands and knees. I almost died. It was awesome! I felt like I could see the entire city from up there (while I was praying really hard for the laws of physics to hold for just another minute).
I left for home the next day banged up and bruised from running around the city museum but glad that for a minute I felt like a kid again. Two thumbs up for St. Louis.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
33
Apparently 33 is an amazing number. I had no idea that this number was special, until my birthday came and I actually turned 33 years old. This revelation came to me via an old roommate in Maui that I revere and adore for her life experience. I called her right before my birthday and told her how old I was gonna be, to which she replied in a very animated voice "That is best age ever! You should be so excited!" I rarely get that kind of response when I tell people my age. Mostly people just nod their heads in somber silence as if already listening to my eulogy. My Maui friend, however, seemed so darn excited about the number 33 that I decided to do some hard core research on the number 33. Enter stage left, GOOGLE.
Turns out, 33 is the most influential of all numbers. It combines 11, the most intuitive of all numbers and 22, the most powerful of all numbers. Now listen, I don't really ascribe to tenets of numerology, whatever they may be, but I thought this little piece of information was motivating and I am rarely one to shun motivation. "When expressed to the fullest, the 33 lacks all personal ambition, and instead focuses its considerable abilities toward the spiritual uplifting of mankind . . .This is shown in its determination to seek understanding and wisdom." Well, I think it's safe to say that I am no way near lacking personal ambition but I love the idea of seeking understanding and wisdom which leads to the spiritual uplifting of mankind. So here's my personal goal for the year 33, it's the Age of Enlightenment.
It's been a little over a year since I started this blog and titled it Year of the Dragon. It was a year of exploration and personal struggle, a year of regrouping and redirection. I have renamed my blog to reflect my goals for the year 33. I'm starting with peace. In the words of Eckhart, "There is no one who does not want peace." So, I am going to do the things that bring me peace and maybe my peace will bring the world more peace. Some of the best advice I've ever recieved came from my Acupressure teacher who said, "If you want to stop war in the world, first stop the war within yourself." In other words, if I want more peace in the world, I must first create peace within me. It may sound cheesy but I've got a plan and I'm going to work it! This will be a year of years and hopefully, I'll find myself closer to God at the end of it (and He'll forgive me for the brief stint in numerology).
Turns out, 33 is the most influential of all numbers. It combines 11, the most intuitive of all numbers and 22, the most powerful of all numbers. Now listen, I don't really ascribe to tenets of numerology, whatever they may be, but I thought this little piece of information was motivating and I am rarely one to shun motivation. "When expressed to the fullest, the 33 lacks all personal ambition, and instead focuses its considerable abilities toward the spiritual uplifting of mankind . . .This is shown in its determination to seek understanding and wisdom." Well, I think it's safe to say that I am no way near lacking personal ambition but I love the idea of seeking understanding and wisdom which leads to the spiritual uplifting of mankind. So here's my personal goal for the year 33, it's the Age of Enlightenment.
It's been a little over a year since I started this blog and titled it Year of the Dragon. It was a year of exploration and personal struggle, a year of regrouping and redirection. I have renamed my blog to reflect my goals for the year 33. I'm starting with peace. In the words of Eckhart, "There is no one who does not want peace." So, I am going to do the things that bring me peace and maybe my peace will bring the world more peace. Some of the best advice I've ever recieved came from my Acupressure teacher who said, "If you want to stop war in the world, first stop the war within yourself." In other words, if I want more peace in the world, I must first create peace within me. It may sound cheesy but I've got a plan and I'm going to work it! This will be a year of years and hopefully, I'll find myself closer to God at the end of it (and He'll forgive me for the brief stint in numerology).
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Getting Old
In this blog I will present the supporting evidence of my latest hypothesis, which is I'm getting old. Allow me to present exhibit A, incurring an injury while performing a seemingly harmless activity. For example, I was doing handstands with my nephews up against a wall. The next day I had what felt like a rotator cuff injury. It hurt to raise my arm and change the radio station in the car. To add insult to injury, literally, my nephews remained unfazed by previous day's contortionism. The idea of getting injured probably never even occurred to them.
Moving on to further proof, random lower back aches. I never used to understand why people complained about back pain when getting out of a car. I mean, you're just sitting there, right? What could possibly be so traumatizing to your back while you're sitting for half an hour, listening to music? Maybe it's the music. The worst is waking up with a back ache. I swear someone must have been doing yoga to me in my sleep. One of these nights I'm going to just pretend to be asleep and catch the culprit red-handed!
Lastly, I hear myself complaining about music and I know I'm getting old. I love to listen to anything I can dance to which is usually pop music or hip-hop/R&B. I have become so disenchanted with hip-hop lately because I don't enjoy hearing about explicit sexual encounters on my way to the grocery store. As I've aged, I think I've become a little more prudish when it comes to music. I remember what a scandal "Push it" by Salt 'n Pepper created when I was in elementary school, but I loved it. These days I just don't want to hear it, which is qualitative proof that I need to reserve my spot in a nursing home. Just hand me a cane or walker and I'll commit myself because the last thing I need is to go around saying "I can't believe what the kids listen to these days!" I feel like I have been forced into rock, easy listening and country music. It's a tragic tale, really.
It's cold in here. . . What time is it?
Saturday, July 4, 2009
North Carolina, First in Flight
Since I was whining about Maui in my last post, allow me to extol the virtues of North Carolina for a brief moment. My North Carolina top five are as follows:
5) On the interstate islands separating lanes they plant bunches of beautiful flowers. Most of the time they are of one color and lately it has been yellow. So picture yourself driving on a bright and sunny day and your eyes are assaulted with a sea of brilliant yellow flowers on the side of the road. Given the right moment, day and time it is a stunning sight or at the very least a cheery one. This picture was taken as I was driving so it really doesn't do the flowers justice, but this is kinda what it looks like.
4) It is so green here. I realize that having lived in Utah for the longest time I am used to a different type of vegetation (albeit breathtaking in its own right), but I feel like the neighborhoods in this state are cut directly out of a forest. If humans were to suddenly disappear in North Carolina all signs of civilization would be gone in 2 weeks, overrun by wildlife and vegetation. This state is so thickly wooded and that lushness is so close it's right behind you and just over your shoulder. It's really refreshing to think that Mother Nature is not so far away. This next picture I took 2 blocks from my house and I love it. I feel like the woods are beckoning.
3) Diversity. I am currently taking a class at an all Black university and let's just say it is a far cry from anything I've ever experienced before and I'm loving it. I also like that I can go to a Malaysian restaurant and eat authentic, not to mention delicious, food. It's just nice. There is even some other adorable little interracial kids in our neighborhood, but none as cute as my nephews.
2) The confederate flag--Oh wait, I hate that. However, I do think there's something to Southern hospitality. People aren't usually just plain rude here. It's almost like courtesy is mandatory, which is a good thing. Being originally from New York I haven't completely lost my suspiciousness of strangers being nice to me, but since I have lived in North Carolina I've learned to drop my guard a bit.
DRUMROLL PLEASE . . .
1) Fried chicken. Let's be honest, the South don't play when it comes to fried chicken and barbeque. I actually think BBQing is a competitive sport around here, but I digress. Seriously, I have tasted some of the best fried chicken I have ever had right here in Dixie folks and I ain't lyin'. AND I have yet to taste Bojangles fried chicken which I hear is off the hook!
Well, there you have it. I might miss Maui but the flowers, having mother nature so close (I almost ran over a jackrabbit on the way to the gym the other day), diversity and good ol' fried chicken tend to ease my nostalgia a bit. This one's for you North Carolina!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Nostalgia
I have sand in my backpack. I refuse to clean it out. Every time I see that sand I remember Maui and dragging that same backpack filled with my journal, a book and snacks to the beach. I remember relaxing in the unrelenting Hawaiian sun. I remember the smell of the ocean water and the heavy air. Sometimes the sand was too hot to walk on and would burn the bottom of my feet. Looking back, it was a small price to pay for the spirit and beauty of such a place.
The sand in my backpack is a portable piece of Maui and it would almost kill me to get rid of it. It's so nice to have something to remember it by. I took no pictures while I was there, at the time I didn't have a camera. The sand is my personal photo album, a sort of time travel machine that transports me back there as I remove a formidable science textbook from my backpack these days. Even though I had two jobs when I was there and worked my little fingers off, I made time every week to go to the beach. I mean, why live on Maui and not go to the beach? That's just plain sacrilege. Going to the beach was peaceful and renewing.
The funny thing is that I cannot articulate what I miss most. I think it's a combination of the island aura, history and people that created the magic I felt there. Before I went to Maui I heard someone refer to it as their "happy place" and I would have to agree with her. I think Maui is my happy place despite my being worn out and tired when I was there, despite arriving there without a home and without friends (although I left with some) and despite my having only a single item of baggage filled with my possessions. Plus my backpack. I think a person can still be happy under those circumstances, and I was.
I know without a doubt I am in the right place now but sometimes I miss the smell of the ocean and hearing its waves. At least I have some sand.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
The Highly Improbable
I know you're going to find this inconceivable, but I recently became a certified group fitness instructor. In plain English that means I can teach aerobics. This coming week I have an interview plus a practical demo with one potential employer and an actual step aerobics class with my only real employer since I've been certified. This will be the first step class, or any for that matter, that I've taught in six years. Needless to say, it's time I addressed some concerns.
First, I'm not built to suit a fashion model's size. I weigh XXX (hint: this is a really big number) and if those gym rats come in expecting to see Suzanne Sommers they're going to be really surprised when they get Queen Latifah, okay? The whole point in initiating this hobby was to give me an incentive to reach my fitness goals. The fringe benefits of being a fitness instructor are 1) someone is paying you to work out regularly AND 2) a free gym membership. No one wants to pay for those these days.
Another concern is I'm a gimp. I have one foot, to be honest a whole leg, that does not work like it should. I've broken my right foot, never went to physical therapy and still walk with a limp. Further studies on my gimp leg have shown that the problem with my noticably smaller right leg may not be easily remedied anytime soon. So, in addition to getting Queen Latifah for an aerobics instructor, my lovely students are getting Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot (except it's my right foot). I've just gotten inspiration for the title of my class: Quasimodo Step. Maybe I'll add the byline "If the instructor can do it, you can too!"
Anyway, I guess I'm up for an adventure. At best, I'm hoping I don't entirely cripple myself or anyone else. I guess I could always teach a geriatric class or something. Nursing homes need aerobic instructors too, right?
First, I'm not built to suit a fashion model's size. I weigh XXX (hint: this is a really big number) and if those gym rats come in expecting to see Suzanne Sommers they're going to be really surprised when they get Queen Latifah, okay? The whole point in initiating this hobby was to give me an incentive to reach my fitness goals. The fringe benefits of being a fitness instructor are 1) someone is paying you to work out regularly AND 2) a free gym membership. No one wants to pay for those these days.
Another concern is I'm a gimp. I have one foot, to be honest a whole leg, that does not work like it should. I've broken my right foot, never went to physical therapy and still walk with a limp. Further studies on my gimp leg have shown that the problem with my noticably smaller right leg may not be easily remedied anytime soon. So, in addition to getting Queen Latifah for an aerobics instructor, my lovely students are getting Daniel Day-Lewis in My Left Foot (except it's my right foot). I've just gotten inspiration for the title of my class: Quasimodo Step. Maybe I'll add the byline "If the instructor can do it, you can too!"
Anyway, I guess I'm up for an adventure. At best, I'm hoping I don't entirely cripple myself or anyone else. I guess I could always teach a geriatric class or something. Nursing homes need aerobic instructors too, right?
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I'm Outing Myself
I like zombies. It all started with a mercilessly violent video game that my brothers used to play called Resident Evil. I would watch them murder the living dead (and zombified canines) in the cold and dark basement and either cover my head, close my eyes or scream as the situation on the screen warranted. At the end of the zombie slaying session I came to find that I had enjoyed myself. Fast forward a decade or so later and I have seen all the Resident Evil movies, of which there are three. The last one, Resident Evil: Extinction, I saw by myself. I don't want to go into what a bad idea that was right now, but my point is that I went out of my way to see a zombie movie with no encouragement.
Enter stage left my brother the zombie lover. He is seriously "Zombie or Bust" and is well prepared should the zombocalypse occur tomorrow. He knows the best weapons to use in any zombie vs. human battlefield scenario and is intimately acquainted with the cinematic history of zombies starting with black and white movies. If you could obtain a degree in zombie studies, he'd have a doctorate. It is really he that influenced my decision to choose zombies over vampires as my death dealing monsters of choice. In addition, my sister gave me a book about the zombocalypse called World War Z that I surprised myself by liking. Believe it or not, the book was boring at times, but it had frightening highlights which I thought were quite redeeming (i.e. the computer nerd in Japan that was forced to fight off zombies with an ancient samurai sword).
There were two distinct events which made me realize I have an in-the-closet, voyeuristic fascination with zombies. First, as I was mindlessly channel surfing one afternoon I happened upon a B movie on some no-name channel about a zombie outbreak in a prison which I could not stop watching. Needless to say, it was ghastly. Second, a few days ago I saw the mecca of all zombie movies, Dawn of the Dead. I really enjoyed it although I'm not sure the chainsaw accident was necessary. Even so, I am still pondering adding it to my top ten favorite movies of all time. I'll put it between Pride and Prejudice and The Little Princess. So there. I am officially out of the closet. I just couldn't handle the secrecy. I hope that I will not be discriminated against in any manner because of my preferences.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Powerball
I'm not the biggest proponent of gambling but I was sorely tempted to enter the Powerball lottery recently. Don't get me wrong, I've pulled a slot machine handle on the rare occasion but in general I try to avoid gambling as much for religious reasons as for logistical. I like to hold on to what little money I have. Anyway, this Powerball lottery was calling to me in silky beckoning tones and I had to ask myself, "Is playing the lottery really gambling?" A part of me says "yes," but a part of me says "tsk tsk tsk!" Let's get this straight, I spend one buck, choose 6 numbers and could potentially win 87 million dollars? Sounds great, where do I sign?
Alas, I was too late in getting off the fence. The latest drawing was Saturday, February 28th and I am still shedding bitter bitter tears over my lost millions. At least I have the profound meaning in my last fortune cookie saying, "There is in the worst of fortunes the best chance of a happy ending." I take that to mean the next Powerball lottery is all mine!
Alas, I was too late in getting off the fence. The latest drawing was Saturday, February 28th and I am still shedding bitter bitter tears over my lost millions. At least I have the profound meaning in my last fortune cookie saying, "There is in the worst of fortunes the best chance of a happy ending." I take that to mean the next Powerball lottery is all mine!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Tea Time
I grew up watching my grandmother drink Celestial Seasonings tea. Her favorite flavors are Chamomile and Red Zinger. It's peculiar how I can remember little details like that and forget the more significant ones. Entire events have melted away into the black void that is my memory but I remember grandma and Red Zinger Celestial Seasonings tea. I wasn't a big fan of tea in those days but I have grown to appreciate tea since, and have developed a particular affinity for Celestial Seasonings. It helps that my sister is currently finishing up her dissertation and she has to have her Lemon Zinger tea to stimulate her writing juices. She always offers me some, so I've had more tea exposure than usual of late.
The quality of Celestial Seasonings tea is excellent and it's Mormon approved (aka caffeine free), but my favorite thing about it is the packaging. There are inspirational quotes on every box. For example, I'm staring at a box of Lemon Zinger and reading, "The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to ourselves." The quote is attributed to someone named Montaigne. I should probably know who that is, but I don't. There is an equally insightful quote on the bottom of the box. When the occasion strikes, the Celestial Seasoning quote angels will put a poem on the back of the box, or an excerpt from Life's Little Instruction Book. Celestial Seasonings has had these wonderful sayings, quotes and poems on their boxes as far back as I can remember.
So I got to thinking, being the inspirational quote addict that I am, who selects and assembles these quotes? I want to be that person. That is a job I can definately do. Forget medicine, I can inspire and touch people's lives by picking the perfect words to adorn a box of Celestial Seasonings Tea. But what to put on my resume . . . Hmmm, maybe I'll disclose that I always bring a couple pages of my favorite quotes and sayings when I workout on the stair stepper or the elliptical machine. Maybe my 4 months working for Franklin Covey will impress them, that place is the mecca of inspirational quotes. I think my store manager got sick once from an overdose, actually threw up. She had been working with the company for years, though. Besides, if I get the job and nausea overcomes me, I'll have tea to soothe my tummy.
The quality of Celestial Seasonings tea is excellent and it's Mormon approved (aka caffeine free), but my favorite thing about it is the packaging. There are inspirational quotes on every box. For example, I'm staring at a box of Lemon Zinger and reading, "The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to ourselves." The quote is attributed to someone named Montaigne. I should probably know who that is, but I don't. There is an equally insightful quote on the bottom of the box. When the occasion strikes, the Celestial Seasoning quote angels will put a poem on the back of the box, or an excerpt from Life's Little Instruction Book. Celestial Seasonings has had these wonderful sayings, quotes and poems on their boxes as far back as I can remember.
So I got to thinking, being the inspirational quote addict that I am, who selects and assembles these quotes? I want to be that person. That is a job I can definately do. Forget medicine, I can inspire and touch people's lives by picking the perfect words to adorn a box of Celestial Seasonings Tea. But what to put on my resume . . . Hmmm, maybe I'll disclose that I always bring a couple pages of my favorite quotes and sayings when I workout on the stair stepper or the elliptical machine. Maybe my 4 months working for Franklin Covey will impress them, that place is the mecca of inspirational quotes. I think my store manager got sick once from an overdose, actually threw up. She had been working with the company for years, though. Besides, if I get the job and nausea overcomes me, I'll have tea to soothe my tummy.
"Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself. Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections but instantly set about remedying them--every day begin the task anew."
-Saint Francis de Sales
Monday, January 26, 2009
Political Merchandise
I went to a rally and got an Obama T-shirt. That's the only paraphernalia I have that has anything to do with the new president. I think this is admirable considering my options. I have been completely overwhelmed with the amount of Obama merchandise out there. Kelly Ripa has an Obama watch, Sherri from The View bought an Obama bobble-head, I can't watch TV without seeing five commercials advertising commemorative Barack Obama dishes, I mean plates. To top it off, I have even seen commercials for Malia and Sasha beanie baby dolls. It's an Obama-wonderland. In the spirit of honesty and forthrightness I admit I thought about purchasing Ojamas, which are Obama pajamas I heard advertised on the radio when I was driving. Hey, they sounded soft and inviting! They might give the Snuggie a run for its money.
If I wanted to, I bet I could furnish any room in a house with Obama stuff, an Obama couch, Obama wallpaper, Obama carpet, Obama coffee table, you get the picture. As for the kitchen, I'd already have the plates. Out of deference to our president himself, I will embark on no such cause. In his inaugural speech he did kinda call Americans out for irresponsible financial behavior. When the president calls me to action, I'm there baby. My Obama room will just have to wait until he ushers in times of peace and prosperity, at which time I think I'll purchase an Obama handbag with matching Obama shoes.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Relative Comparisons
My sister and I think her newest baby (Littlefoot) looks like our mom when she was a baby. So I thought I'd post a few pictures and let you decide. Above is baby and here's mom . . .
Maybe you can't really tell because she is small in this picture, but I think you'll get the general idea. So, what's the verdict?Sunday, January 11, 2009
Monster House
When I moved in with my sister and her family I was introduced to a fantastic movie called Monster House. Monster House is an animated film about 3 kids who attempt to survive increasingly aggressive attacks by a haunted house. It is an excellent and hilarious movie. Do yourself a favor and watch it. You won't regret it. My nephews have seen the movie so many times that they spontaneously erupt in dialogue from it. The reason I'm telling you about this movie is because there's a real monster house. We saw it.
My nephews, Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent, got bicycles for Christmas. They are extremely enthusiastic about these bicycles and want to go bike riding everyday after school, so I go bike riding. Alarms should now be going off in your head given my previous near-death experiences riding bicycles. The bike I ride was originally intended for a 6 year-old and says Tony Hawk on its miniature chrome crossbars. When I ride Tony (I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate the rumors surrounding that statement), I have to leave the earrings at home because I swear my knees brush my ears. Unfortunately, I have not mastered the art of riding a bike standing up. That would solve the problem of me eating my knees every time we go bike riding and solve the problem of my bum getting sore. Think 6 year-old bike seat--OUCH!
I mistakenly made the comment on the first day of bike riding that my butt was getting sore. On our next day's bike ride Clark Kent, who is 4 and always lagging behind because of his training wheels, yells up to me "NAJAH, is your butt sore?!" I was mortified and ignored the question out of shock. Undeterred Clark screams all the louder, "NAJAH!! Is your butt sore?!!" Luckily the street was vacated which gave me the chance to yell something back that I will not disclose at this juncture. I deliberately navigate away from the topic by suggesting we bike to an abandoned and dilapidated house the kids have nicknamed "the monster house".
The monster house is located at the end of our street as you turn onto a backwood winding road. I wasn't too scared to approach it because I had my nephews to protect me. They do attend an after-school program called Little Ninjas, so I was leaving the defense part of our plan to them. Anyway, we left our bikes at the stop sign and walked the short distance to the monster house. The boys believe it was the first house ever built, and from the looks of it that could be true. Bruce Wayne, who is 6 years old, initially wanted to venture into the house but as we neared it and the eerie ambiance of the house enveloped us, we decided against entering. We looked through glassless and broken windows into deep darkness. We could barely make out a dilapidated mattress flipped on its side in one of the rooms. We dared not tread upon the rickety porch in order to turn the rusted doorknob of what must have been the front door.
The three of us stood there silently getting spooked out by how creepy it all was. Suddenly we heard a startling noise that became a nonverbal cue for all of us to simultaneously start running for our lives. You'll be surprised to note that I didn't scream, out loud anyway. We made it safe and sound back to our bikes without being attacked by poltergeists and we rode home to a conversation that sounded like this: "Man, that house was scary," and "That house is going to give me bad dreams tonight!" Then, of course, we rented Monster House.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Soulmates
Someone gifted me a miniature edition of Dating for Dummies. Don't worry, I wasn't offended. I'm 32 and still single so I've accepted the fact that I need all the help I can get. After all, I am a reject of eHarmony and LDSPromise. So I started reading, thinking maybe I'd add to my oh-so successful repertoire and learn something. Chapter 1, subtitled Predate Warmups, contained a checklist determining if I was ready to date. Number one, you've got a stable place to live and a way to make a living. Hmmmm, I guess I don't need to read anymore, but I continue anyway.
Moving on to the subject "where to meet people". The classroom--I don't go to school, next? Parties--I potentially have some work to do here. Movies, this book specifically mentions the lines we stand in to get a movie ticket. I would have never thought of this one since couples usually go to the movies together and I go with family. What's the consensus, should I check the guy out ahead of me in the movie line? Never underestimate the power of a well timed butt pinch. Grocery stores, Laundromats, and bus stops are also listed. These seem a little farfetched to me. They don't really seem the place for a "What's your sign?" But I obviously haven't gotten to the pick-up line chapter. I mean really, a bus stop?! I think my chances are better for picking up a homeless guy at a bus stop instead of a date, but then again the book wasn't specific.
My next post will be about the transient I might be dating (we're perfect for each other!) or Chapter Two of Dating for Dummies.
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