thirtyteen

things I just don't understand

2012-01-11T00:20:00.000-08:00

Zombies
Ok. I suppose I can suspend disbelief enough to buy that corpses could possibly be reanimated by some means (after which destroying the brain permanently kills them). But assuming they are still walking around dead/decaying/decomposing, why/how could they possibly feel hunger?

Or ok, I'll give you that they want energy to sustain their undeadyness. But if you think about it, vampires need blood to sustain themselves because their immortality is blood based. So let's say that radiation is what's brought corpses back to life....wouldn't it make more sense for zombies to seek out sources of radiation to sustain their "life" as opposed to brains/guts? I gotta stick with the whole they're-obviously-dead-and-decomposing thing and say that I just don't think they'd be able to even digest brains/guts.

Lotion Pumps
So the lotion gets down to just under half the bottle, and all of a sudden it's really hard to pump out. You pump, nothing. Then pump again, nothing. You know it's in there because the bottle still has some heft to it. So you start furiously pumping faster and harder until the lotion finally--naughtily--squirts out, missing your hand completely and landing on the sink or, worse, your shirt.

Am I to believe that in this year of 2012, there is no way to improve the lotion pump so that one doesn't have to take the top off the bottle and turn it upside down over a bowl or cup just to get the bottom third of the lotion out?

Can't they put an insert inside the bottle to push the lotion down as it empties, so that the extra pressure pushes the lotion into the tube as the vacuum sucks it out?

Come on lotion people, you need to get on the ball with this. We have electric can openers, sliced bread, anti-lock brakes, maglev trains, vending machines that take debit cards... Is it too much to ask to have a lotion dispenser that I don't have to jerk off?

Radio Waves/Wireless Internet/Cell/Phone
How can these things pass through us, and yet we don't hear/see them until they come out on the radio or computer or cell phone? How is the information invisible??

OR IS IT? Maybe it's not invisible to us. Just about everyone at some point has experienced knowing who was calling before the call hits, or having a song in their head as they turn on the radio only to hear that same song playing at that exact moment. Some people chalk it up to being psychic, others chalk it up to coincidence. What if it's neither? What if we really are "hearing" the information passing through the air? I mean, it's there somewhere right, even though we can't see it or touch it? Maybe some people have better receptors for that sort of thing than other people do.

Cable Television Bundles
Why do cable channels have to be bundled? I've never understood this. Let the crappy channels fail. If they don't produce shows that people want to watch, then why make people pay for them?

Right now we have limited basic cable...which is the absolute least amount of cable you can get. But if we were allowed to pick cable channels "a la carte", I would seriously campaign for us to get more channels. And you can actually thank Netflix for that. Because I have learned that I seriously LOVE Syfy.

If I could, I would get Syfy, IFC, BBC America, A&E, Sprout, Discovery and a handful of others. But I don't have that option. I don't want shopping channels, cooking channels, and sports channels.

Why can't we have the option to pick the channels we want? We could add and remove channels as our interests change.

This Music Video
This actually makes me really happy, but makes no sense at all.

thoughts

2011-12-30T00:03:00.000-08:00

--I discovered the meaning of life once. A pity I was so drunk at the time, though, that I don't remember what it was.

--H likes to tell the story of how we became best friends in middle school as the following: We were in Mr. Horne's 6th grade social studies class, and she sat right next to me. One day, Mr. Horne gave us the option to work in pairs on some project. H turned to me and said, "Hi! Would you like to work together!?" ...I replied, "No."

--Sometimes I like cigars.

--It scares me that kids who were born in the late 90's won't know what life was like before September 11th.

--I think "biblical" religion is based on OCD. Ex: "Shit! I sat in a chair after my menstruating wife sat in it, and then I went to check on my cattle and they were all dead! I know it's because of that!! Now I need to go spear a pigeon through the heart on an alter and burn some incense, then chant and hop counter-clockwise on my right foot whilst tapping my head with my left hand..."

--I don't remember anymore which class it was, but one of my professors joked that he made sure to avoid being near drivers who had Jesus fish on the bumpers of their cars because they were "ready to die".

--I remember being 6 years old. I was in art class. We were in the room with the kiln. Our regular classroom teacher, Mrs. S came in and talked to the art teacher, Mrs. O in a hushed voice. They both sort of started crying, but were trying not to. They told us that there had been an accident with Challenger. We had all previously written letters to the teacher on board the shuttle. It still makes me sad. I still remember the room with the kiln...how it was only lit by the daylight coming in from the window--no overhead lights--when Mrs. S came in to break the news.

--Husband and I have been thinking of making a serious life change. The thought of it scares the crap out of me...but I know that at some point, my life has to change anyway. So...I dunno....maybe his way is the way we should go right now...

have yourself a merry little casserole

2011-12-21T07:48:00.000-08:00

Here it is folks--for all seven of you who expressed interest in my party potato recipe!

Some of the items I used are kind of specific, so I hope you guys have access to them all wherever you are. Probably the most important ingredient to stick with is the Daiya. I have really come to love Daiya. It really gets nice and gooey, unlike rice cheeses. And it's soy free, unlike...soy cheeses. And it's vegan, so you can sleep at night knowing you haven't aided and abetted the molestation of cow teats for your own gluttonous purposes.

I really hope you all like this!! Let me know what you think.

CHOLESTEROL FREE PARTY POTATOES

Ingredients

1 package frozen shredded hash browns (I used the 20 oz Trader Joe's brand)
1/2 c butterish product (I like earth balance), melted
1 tsp garlic salt
1 1/2 c Trader Joe's Organic Butternut Squash Soup--Reduced Sodium
1 tsp of Better Than Bouillon Organic Vegetable Base (chicken would probably work well too)
1 package Daiya cheddar style shreds
1 medium onion, diced
splash of soy sauce

for topping:
2 cups corn flakes, crushed
1/4 c butterish product, melted

Directions
- Dissolve bouillon in the butternut squash soup
- Combine everything but the topping ingredients
- Spray a 12x9 pan, and put your potatoey mixture in it
- Mix your topping ingredients together and then layer over potatoes
- Bake at 350F for 45 minutes

Why I'll apparently never make something of myself.

2011-12-19T20:49:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite holiday dishes is Party Potatoes. Unfortunately, they are not a very heart healthy meal. They're loaded with sour cream, cream of chicken (or celery, or mushroom) soup, cheese, & butter. With all of the dairy in them, I feel guilty making them for holiday meals because my brother doesn't tolerate dairy very well. And it makes me nervous to let Husband eat them cause I worry about giving him a heart attack.

So I have been on a mission to create a better version of them.

And tonight I did it. Yes, dairy free. Yes, cholesterol free. Yes, creamy and decadent.

I was very excited that I came up with a relatively healthier version of my favorite potato casserole. I wanted to share my recipe with the world, so everyone could enjoy them.

And then something happened. My crazy ass family loved them. And my crazy ass family said that no way should I share my recipe. After a long discussion in which it was seriously decided that I should start a business making potato casseroles--and that if I didn't I was passing up my shining opportunity to make something of myself--I started feeling really depressed, and no longer so excited about my new recipe.

Something that started out beautiful and pure became corrupted through the course of dinner conversation. It almost makes me dislike Party Potatoes because I know that if I share my recipe with my friends, every future holiday dinner in which I make these stinking potatoes will now involve at least one convo of how I could have been some great potato casserole mogul, but blew it.

I think I still want to share my recipe...if people want it, that is.

Maybe it's egomaniacal to think this way, but I keep imagining people eating regular party potatoes on Christmas day, and later keeling over from heart attacks. What if my potatoes could have prevented that? In that case, sharing my recipe would be like a public service. I mean, if I can make something just a wee bit better (I'll be honest, I can't vouch for the safety of the sodium content) then don't I have a moral obligation to share it??

I will leave the decision up to my friends. If enough people tell me that they would like to try my recipe, then I will post it on my blog. And if no one is interested, then I won't..and possibly someday I'll go on to become the Potato Queen of SmallCollegeTown. Simple enough, eh?

Please post in the comments (here, or on g+ or fb) if you would be interested in such a recipe. Even a simple "Aye" vote will do.

this morning's waking dream

2011-12-03T10:19:00.001-08:00

I had an appointment with a psychologist at his condo at 7 pm. While I knew this was wildly wrong, I found it exciting because I had a crush on this guy.

When I got to his place, his daughter--who I think was about 10--opened the door and let me in. He wasn't there yet, and Sophie (the daughter) seemed really excited that someone else had shown up to talk to. She was just non-stop bubbly talk, and before I knew it, we had frozen pizzas in the oven and she was braiding my hair. She had also managed to talk me into watching "Titanic" with her--which I've always thought could have been about an hour and half shorter, and that I told myself I would never watch again.

I actually really enjoyed Sophie's company, but I was beginning to wonder if he hadn't sort of planned to make me an unwitting babysitter...but then he showed up! I think it was around 7:30 by now. We kept watching "Titanic" and eating pizza. At some point, he said we should probably start talking and asked Sophie to leave the room. She seemed kind of bummed. Then she asked me, "How long do you think my hair is?" I told her I thought it was about 10 inches, and she got really excited. (I'm pretty certain this is because I've had Locks of Love on my mind lately.) Then she left.

I was excited to be alone with my crush, and that he was giving me a free therapy session.

Except I didn't actually really get to talk at all. HE started talking...which at first was interesting, but quickly became him telling me all about Sophie's mom (who I think was also named Sophie) and why they got divorced, and blah blah blah. Suddenly he wasn't as interesting as I originally thought.

Blah blah blah blahblah blahblah blah he rambled on.

Occasionally I would say, "Mmhm"....(blah blah blah)..."Ok"....(blahblah blah blah blah)..."Well, yes, you do need validation, of course"...(blah blah blahblah). Around 10 pm, I realized this had turned into ME giving HIM a free therapy session.

Then his girlfriend showed up. They started getting ready to go out somewhere, and asked me along, but I said I was tired. As they walked out the door to go, he told me to lock up when I left.

I started to clean up the kitchen--washing all the dishes Sophie and I used earlier during pizza time. I wiped down the counters and swept up the floor.

Suddenly a girl came in--I think she was around 19 or so. She startled me a little bit because her entrance was so silent and it seemed she just materialized behind me. She looked like a partier--had a nose ring, unkempt hair, a little scant with the clothes--but she was friendly enough.

"I'm sorry, but So&So (whatever the Dr's name was) didn't tell me to expect you." I said.

"Oh, I'm his niece, I'm staying here for a few weeks. My name is So&So (don't remember), but my uncle calls me Zaster. ....As in, Disaster." She rolled her eyes. "He gave you a free therapy session, didn't he?" Apparently this was a common occurrence.

"Yeah..." I said. "I was just getting ready to leave."

"Ok, well you don't have to go if you don't want to," she said, and I saw one of her friends bring in a keg.

"No I really should be going, I should have been home hours ago," I said. I noticed there was a long line of Zaster's friends (?) trailing out the door, waiting to come in.

It was 11:30 by this time, and I was sooooo tired. My phone rang, and it was Husband, wondering if I was ok.

"Don't worry, I'm on my way home now." I felt a little weird leaving the Dr.'s house while his niece was getting ready to throw a wild party, but at the same time I figured that was his problem, not mine.

I was asking the door man how to get to my car in the parking garage below the building when I woke up.

I actually had managed to sleep in quite late--til about 9:30 or so. I laid there for a minute thinking about what an odd dream that was, and wondering how you dream up people you've never met or seen before. Where do these people come from?

blurgh

2011-11-30T05:59:00.001-08:00

Just awoke from a really stressful dream...

Husband came home one night and wanted to go to the store to get ice cream. I was already wearing my pajamas, but said I'd ride along because I really had a craving for celery, and salad stuffs.

We went to a specialty store, that catered to a specific community. Husband found his ice cream really fast and went to the check out. I said I'd be just another minute.

I looked around, and couldn't find any celery...or leafy salad greens...or...anything that looked recognizable. There was a small selection of some really weird looking things that I opted against.

I went to go find Husband so we could leave, but he wasn't in the store. I looked out into the parking lot, and the car was gone. He'd totally forgotten about me and just left!

I had left my phone at home, and didn't see any payphones anywhere. I didn't have my wallet with my ID or anything either...just some cash in my jacket pocket.

I decided to keep shopping for a little while...surely Husband would remember me as soon as he got home, and then come back for me!

I found the only cart available...which for some reason had cleaning lady supplies in the lower basket. As I was shopping around, the other store patrons kept looking at me like I was an outsider--which I was. I could actually feel snobbishness coming off of them like heat.

I ended up finding some things to buy (something that looked like a large brass candlestick, and something that looked like a long, skinny, old-fashioned light bulb) and made my way to the check-out. The store was getting ready to close, and ALL the customers went to the check-out at the same time as me. It seemed there were a hundred people in line.

I looked out the front windows at the parking lot, and Husband still had not come back. He had seriously forgotten about me!! I imagined him getting all the way home, eating his ice cream, and then falling asleep on the sofa--all while I was stuck at this store with no way to get home, surrounded by people who didn't want me there.

Feeling super stressed, I asked the people in my line if anyone had a cell phone I could please use. The woman in front of me was the only one who offered her phone. She looked worried as she was handing it to me, and asked how much it would cost. I told her it was a local call and shouldn't cost anything, but I would give her $10 if she would please, please please let me use it. Her phone looked all stainless steel, and I didn't see a keypad anywhere...just a smooth surface. She sighed and rolled her eyes when I asked her how to dial. Then as soon I started dialing, she shrieked at me, "Are you leaving fingerprint residue on my phone??" I couldn't see anything, but she started frantically wiping it down with a cloth.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you use this," she said, snatching her phone away. All the other customers looked down their noses at me.

"No please! I have no way to get home! Please, I have to call my husband!" I was almost in tears.

It was quite dark outside, and I realized I'd either have to walk and try to find my way home, or figure out how to get a taxi to go home. If I got the taxi, I wouldn't be able to buy my two items.

It was starting to feel like I'd been in the check-out line for hours. When I finally got to the cashier, I told them that I wouldn't be able to buy the items, and could I please use their phone to call a taxi service? They told me that if I wasn't buying the items, then I'd have to put them back myself and start over at the end of the line in order to use the phone.

I put the items away. Then I looked hopefully out the window again, but still, Husband had not come back for me. I wondered how long it would be before my family realized I was not there with them. How long would it be before Husband remembered he had forgotten me?

I was feeling rather sad and angry, and I got back in line.

Then I woke up.

Bummer

2011-11-28T09:13:00.001-08:00

So I have given in, and gone back to Facebook. Which really upsets me/makes me ashamed of myself. I really really like Google+. As far as I'm concerned, it is a seriously superior network.

Everything looks better on Google+. It is more organized. It is sleeker, sexier.

Have I mentioned I love Google+?

But for some reason, it's the best social network that my friends aren't using.

And with much the same disappointment & disbelief that I felt when "Arrested Development" was cancelled after three seasons, I have gone crawling back to facebook.

No. Not facebook, which I hate, which I abhor, which I viscerally....dislike. To my network of friends. Because I seem to be stuck in a seasonal, darkness-induced funk at the moment, and the simple feedback of having a post +1'd (errr, "liked") helps to cheer me up.

Sigh.

Just you wait, facebook...just you wait. Daylight starts coming back in 23 days.

And I hear that "Arrested Development" is coming back.

stuff

2011-11-25T20:16:00.001-08:00

I might have escaped October, but I still find myself haunted by M. It's been 12 years now since he killed himself...hard to believe.

I awoke suddenly last Tuesday at 3 am from a disquieting dream that M was in. I was back at State School, except I was still 32--not 20. And it didn't look like State School, even though I knew it was supposed to be.

I was visiting with M, although I don't remember seeing or hearing him. I just knew he was there, and I was talking to him. We were at an indoor pool on campus; the building was warm and steamy. I was standing next to the pool, and I saw something floating...at first I thought it was a chunk of wood. But then I saw it had scraggly hair...and I realized it was a body.

C (one of my roommates from college) came running up to me with a school newspaper and showed me an article that there was a missing dead boy. Someone had stolen a little boy's body from his grave, and his family was distraught.

I pointed to the body in the pool, and I said, "Oh my god, C, that's gotta be him." The body was very badly decomposed; the flesh on his face was gray/black and flaking off. We tried to fish him out of the pool and C went to call the authorities.

Then the dream changed slightly, and I was talking to someone--I don't know who--about M. M was still there, invisible and silent. I was still at the side of the pool, but I was saying, "I still think about him every day."

And then I turned to where M was, and I said to the air, "I still think about you every single day, M." And I started crying, hard.

That was when I woke up, with a start. I was alone in my hotel room with the lights and tv still on. I did not wake up crying, but rather shivering--despite the fact that the thermostat was set to about 80 and I was still wearing my jeans and sweatshirt. I felt shaken. Not really sad, but disturbed.

I don't actually think of M every day anymore. At least, I didn't think I did.

I did not go back to sleep. I flipped channels on the tv, and did crossword puzzles. The sun came up, and I started the day.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple weeks ago I had a bad headache. They started happening every so often after I had Son...I'm fairly positive they are triggered hormonally. I have yet to determine if they are migraines or tension headaches, but when they do occur they stick around for at least a day or two. By the time it gets under full swing, my entire body aches--down through the soles of my feet. Sometimes slathering vaporub or icyhot all over my back and shoulders helps a bit.

The afternoon when my headache started, I was sitting at my mom's computer in the loft. I saw a white blur out of the corner of my eye that looked like it was going down the stairs. It startled me, but when I looked over the staircase, there was nothing there.

Then about an hour or so later, I saw the top of a head of dark hair going down the stairs. Or so I thought. Again, nothing was there. I had actually jumped that time, as no one else was in the house aside from me and the kiddos. It was really weird, and a little unsettling. But I just chalked it up to my eyes playing tricks on me.

Later that night I took Mom to Kohl's. I was waiting for her at the check-out, and looking towards the entrance. A customer came into the store, and I saw a white fluttering in my peripheral vision--like a dove--fly in through the door and across the the ceiling. But there was no fluttering sound. There was no dove flying around inside of Kohl's.

I was really unsettled at this point. I didn't mention a word of it to my mom--still haven't actually. Googling didn't help much, unless you count freaking me out about potential retinal detachment as helping. I told Husband later the next day, and he expressed some concern. But I've decided not to worry about it unless it keeps happening (so far, it hasn't). I did have a pretty wicked headache, after all.

consonant

2011-11-24T02:11:00.001-08:00

Funny, the things you think about when you wake up in the middle of the night and can't fall back asleep.

For instance, have you ever met someone and at the moment when you make eye contact with them, there almost seems to be an audible click? For some reason, you are on the same wavelength with this person. You will likely laugh at the same jokes, which others might find lame. You might quote the same movies, and have similar tastes in music. You will likely enjoy bouncing ideas off each other for hours, feeling high off each others' energy. Some people just innately understand each other.

I love it when I find this. And if you spend enough time with these people, your thoughts will function in sync. When I was in junior high, I used to spend nearly entire summers at my friend B's house, in her rec room. We would pretty much camp down there, watching Comedy Central, or Poltergeist 2 (which she had on tape!), or playing Super Nintendo and joking that Rydia in FF2 had a bad home perm. I knew our minds were melding when we both said at the exact same time, "Pringles would be nice".

With my friend H, we also spent A LOT of time together. I actually woke up on Christmas day a few times at her house. Our goofy little quirks also seemed to be innately compatible. In 6th we grade spoke only pig latin with each other for about a week or so. One day, we even managed to have a moment of telepathy during a conversation. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but I remember one of us saying, "You know what would be great to do?" and even though no words were exchanged to convey the idea, the other just knew, and said, "Yeah, that's a great idea!!"

I like to play this little "game" with Husband. It's something I started doing with friends in junior high. Husband hates it...I think it freaks him out a little. One of us thinks of something in a category (like color, number, or day of the week), and the other tries to guess which number or color or day of the week is being thought of. Some days it doesn't work at all, but then some days it's dead on.

On the flip side of connecting with people, sometimes it will happen that I'll meet someone and I'll know shortly after speaking that this is a person with whom I am dissonant. I hate being on the receiving end of...The Look. I'm not exactly sure what The Look means (is it judging me crazy or stupid? is it impatience? is it pity?), but I know that for whatever reason, this person just doesn't get me.

Sometimes I feel like harmony/dissonance with people is based geographically. I've noticed people seem to connect with me more in certain cities than in others. I think that the bigger the city, the easier it is for people to connect. Maybe it's just a statistical type of thing though...like, a bigger pool of people would mean a greater chance of running across harmonic encounters?

Hrm. I don't know.

Maybe it's some sort of evolutionary leftover from hunter-gatherer-tribal days...like an animal pack or herd connection.

As I was laying there in bed (before I decided to get up and binge on Pfeffernusse cookies--damn you Trader Joe's, you stronghold of snackery!!), I started to think of people like jigsaw puzzle pieces...

Each person has a piece of the picture on them, and is compatible with the people/pieces who make up the rest of the picture around them. Maybe the dissonant people are really just pieces who are in a different area of the puzzle, making up a different portion of the final image.

A first time for some things, & seconds for others.

2011-11-23T17:11:00.001-08:00

A submarine, an Atari arcade game, the Blue Man Group. I didn't hear hammering during my first ever MRI experience this past Monday...I heard a rhythmic sort of music. At times--as I could feel the sound inside my head--I even imagined a giant electromagnetic dolphin bouncing sonar off my brain.

And of course everyone was right; the metal plate in my leg was perfectly fine. It wasn't nearly as unnerving an experience as I had built it up in my head to be. Yes, it was very tight quarters, but the tube was lit. So I closed my eyes and pretended I was going into a stasis tube for a long journey through space.

Score 1 for Jess's active imagination!

And then yesterday, I got to have my very first ever lumbar puncture. Which also was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. A couple times I felt a sort of tickly zing, but once I was numbed, nothing. Of course it really helped being surrounded by really friendly, upbeat people the whole time. My back has been a little tired and achy feeling since, but it's beginning to feel a bit better.

I suppose the fact that I'm not concerned with the results of either procedure helped to make them less stressful. I can't even imagine needing these things done to determine if something was wrong with me.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Originally, I announced to my family that I would not be making my most favorite potato dish for Thanksgiving. Tonight, my growling stomach is weakening my resolve. I have decided to leave it in Husband's hands...if he comes home with the ingredients I texted him with, then we will be having....PARTY POTATOES!!!!! YAYYYYYYYY!!! Probably the most unhealthy potato casserole in the world, they are DELICIOUS. If you have never been exposed to this, then you simply must Google "party potatoes" (sometimes they are also called "funeral potatoes" or "company potatoes"). It involves a lot of cheddar cheese, a lot of butter, sour cream, cream of chicken/mushroom/celery soup, and is topped with a nice crunchy layer of rice krispies/corn flakes. IMO, if it was any tastier, there'd be vice laws against it.

YUM, & a Happy Thanksgiving!!

IS our children learning??

2011-11-09T11:09:00.000-08:00

It's happening. I have now been out of school (or any sort of formal setting) long enough that I am forgetting grammar rules I used to care about...and I find that I almost don't care anymore. <gasp!>

Where once I used to cringe when I would hear people say something like, "I seen him over there." I now find myself saying things like, "Where is you's guys located?" when on the phone with local businesses.

It didn't really dawn on me that my grasp on good grammar was slipping until I realized that I didn't know the appropriate usage of words in the following situations:

A) I am married, but I have kept my maiden name. So am I Mrs. MaidenName? Or does "Mrs." only apply when you are referring to the traditional instance of a woman taking her husband's name? What's disturbing is that my husband and my brother have the same first name (although I don't call them the same name, because that would be weird). So if I were Mrs. MaidenName, I feel as though people would automatically assume in conversation that my brother is my husband. <shudders> Do I fall into the mysterious "Ms." category?? What is Ms. anyway? I've always reserved it for divorcees and widows, but does it also apply to single older women? Is there an age cut-off for Miss?

B) What is the plural of a business whose name is possessive? Take, for example, the chain of stores run by a Mr. Trader Joe. All of his stores that I've been to have horrible parking. So would one ask, "Why do all Trader Joe'ses have small parking lots ?" Maybe it's Trader Joe'si.

3) I try not to think too much about politics because it sends me into fits of nihilism, but the name of my country is really starting to bother me. The United States of America. It's plural, but singular. And it's kind of a lie, really. If we were really a federation of united states, then The United States of America should be referred to in a plural form--for example, when saying, "The United States of America are proud of their volunteer federalized military!" But our states aren't actually States. They are more like provinces. If our states were really a federation of independent bodies, then for grammar's sake the actual name of our alliance should be The Federation of United States of America. And now I feel like I sound crazy. Hrmph. I don't even really care--it's not like it makes a difference anyway what the name of our country is called.

I actually find myself wondering how important grammar is anymore, so long as people clearly understand each other.

In conclusion (and as usual), I have no good conclusion. So here is a video of a song that--despite diggin'--I prefer to be performed by someone else.

floating

2011-11-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it seems there is a general theme in my life, whether it be finding St. Benedict medals in random places, or seeing silver Toyota Matrixes (Matrices?) EVERYWHERE after having one myself (seriously, I went to to the gas station the other day, and two other ones pulled up at the SAME time as me!).

Is there an external force at work? Or is the brain like a computer in that it uses a logarithm to determine what you think is the most interesting information, and then slowly begins to filter everything but that information out? Kinda like how Netflix makes recommendations based on movies you've watched and rated as liking. (Which is how I've ended up with a recommended category of "Understated Scandinavian Dramas" on my Netflix page).

I watched a very sad Swedish movie the other night called "A Song for Martin". It's about this violinist who falls in love with a composer and they end up getting married (they are both older and this is a second marriage for each). Their happiness is short-lived when the composer--Martin--begins displaying signs of Alzheimer's. It progresses rather quickly (IMO, at least) and after three years (I think), his wife Barbara can no longer manage taking care of him and he ends up in a nursing care facility. It's sad for Martin, but I think most of the drama centers around how Barbara copes with losing her husband. She tries so hard to keep things normal, and by the end of the movie, I really felt tired for her.

I recently became involved in this Parkinson's study, and for some reason I never really realized before that PD came with dementia, but now I think about that. And it makes me sad. Then Netflix throws this Swedish movie at me (although you can't really blame them because I DO apparently find understated Scandinavian dramas entertaining). Then last night Husband was listening to Radio Lab and they were apparently talking about transient global amnesia, so he made me look it up on the internets. I've had family who've gone through dementia (I'm not sure if it was actually Alzheimer's), although they lived several states away and we no longer traveled that way regularly once I entered high school. So I did not truly experience how it affected them.

So I've had memory loss on the brain. (That sounds kind of weird, doesn't it?).

One thing I've always found relaxing is floating in a swimming pool, with barely anyone else around, and closing my eyes, and just letting myself float...float...float...until I can no longer tell the difference between myself and the water. Weightless. It's a different world.

Sometimes I try to envision what memory loss might feel like. And I imagine being in that swimming pool, floating. And there are sounds...it starts off like an orchestra tuning up before a piece, but then instead of music, there is a dull tone similar to a hum...buhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It crescendos as I imagine drifting into the deep end, and then my tippy toes can no longer tap the bottom of the pool. And slowly, I sink.

Is that what it's like? I don't know. I suppose it's not something one should imagine too terribly often though.

sleep tight

2011-11-04T09:26:00.000-07:00

When I first heard about The Family Bed, I hadn't any children yet, and I thought that certainly my children would stay in their own beds at night. *facepalm* I don't know who to attribute it to, but there's a saying that "Everybody is a perfect parent before they have any kids". True, true.

The other night at 2 am I awoke for a potty break. One of Baby Girl's hands was clenching a fistful of my hair, and the other intermittently would claw and clench my face or neck flesh (sleeping with Baby Girl is similar to what I imagine snuggling an affectionate raccoon to be like). Son was pressed up against my back, his knees jabbing into my kidneys. I was expecting Baby Girl to be there, as she has refused to sleep in her crib since she got her helmet. But Son should have been sleeping in his brand new twin bed (the toddler bed now dismantled and put away). We had all lain down in the big bed so we could read stories...and Husband was supposed to move Son when he came to bed.

Husband was not still up. I found him sprawled out in Son's bed (never had a twin-sized bed looked so spacious to me), slumbering peacefully. Irritated, I shook him awake. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you move Son?" Groggily, he replied, "Oh, you guys all looked so comfortable, I didn't want to move him."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had a great deal of anxiety in going to sleep as a child. One of the closets in my bedroom had a hatch to the attic--with a big ladder beneath it for easy access. Directly across from that closet door was my bedroom door, with a full length mirror on it that reflected the closet.

I believed that ghosts lived in the attic, and could come down at any moment. Then, my brother told me that skeletons lived in the basement, and that they came up at night, and would try to eat me if I left my ghost-ridden bedroom and attempted to cross the hall to the bathroom. Worse yet, if I actually did make it across the hall, there was a laundry chute in the bathroom behind the left shoulder of the toilet. I was convinced that gremlins would burst through it and attack me while I was going potty.

Many nights, I sat awake in my bed with the lights on, surrounded by an army of my bravest stuffed animals, reading through each of my books until I finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I didn't think I would ever tease my children with tall tales or boogey man stories. And for the most part, I don't think I have. I've even--much to Husband's dismay--refused to pretend that Santa is real.

But then it happened. One day while I was sitting at the computer, I heard the springs in the couch squeaking, and I told Son to stop jumping on the sofa. "How did you know I was jumping on the sofa??"

And that's when I said:

"Because I have eyes in the back of my head."

"No you don't!"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. All adults have them. They aren't like regular eyes, they are more like infrared. You have little buds for them right now, but yours won't grow in until you're about twenty." Son looked at me skeptically, still not sure whether or not I was telling the truth.

Later on, Husband caught him doing something while he wasn't actually looking, and Son asked him, "HOW did you know??"

Husband replied, "Because I have eyes in the back of my head!"

And I said to Son, "Seeeee, I told you!"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now that I have kids of my own, I have finally made my peace with the fact that Elmo came to Sesame Street. But oh, I do enjoy seeing him rattled a bit in this video.

a little kaleidoscope

2011-10-28T13:14:00.000-07:00

A few years ago was when it really struck me that nobody ever actually dies of "old age". When you get older, body parts can stop working as well as they used to (leading to various organ failures--which can cause death), but there really is no set expiration date on life.

I was reminded of this on this past Monday, when my brother and I took Cat to be put down. Cat was 20 years old--my brother got Cat when I was in 7th grade. Had we not decided that Cat's quality of life had deteriorated significantly (due to kidney disease/failure--which we've previously watched two other cats go through), she would still be alive today...and who knows how long she would have lingered for before all of her organs finally shut down and she died a slow, painful wasting death. Not officially of old age--although she was very old--but of organ failure. The vet said that with older cats, it's almost always the kidneys that go.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For about the last 12 years or so, October has become what I view as The Month of Death. I don't know if statistically more people across the board die in October than any other month, but in my life it seems that most people I know who've died have done so in October.

There were a few elderly relatives who died of heart attacks or strokes. My friend M, who took his own life. Another elderly aunt who passed last year after suffering in a vegetative state from dementia, with congestive heart failure. Then the two "mercy killings" of Dog last year (after the sudden and debilitating onset of lymphoma), and Cat this year.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Most Octobers over the past decade have typically been filled with dreams of the dead, and the feeling that darkness is sucking the oxygen away...It feels as though my soul holds it's breath for a month.

Then, the first day of November comes. Immediately it feels like a silent, stark, whiteness and an inhalation of fresh, cold air--such as I imagine I might find in a mountaintop temple. The thought of the dead who knock at the door no longer feels dreadful, but peaceful. The first day of November is like the ash after incense has burned. The first day of November is relief.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This year (and actually last year too), I find myself still looking forward to November 1st, but I haven't felt any of the usual dread that October brings.

I had my first visit for the Parkinson's study. And that was interesting. I drove down to Big City and had a variety of things done...the most interesting of which was being injected with a radioactive substance to highlight the dopamine in my brain so a machine could take pictures of it.

I kept waiting to feel nauseated, or tired, or to develop a headache, or feel otherwise ill. But I felt absolutely none of those things (which is actually kind of scary when you think about it, because if I didn't know I was being injected with something radioactive, I would never have known I was exposed to anything. It really makes you realize that one could be exposed to any number of substances in their lifetime and not have any idea). In fact, around the time of the actual scan (about 4 hours after injection), I started feeling really good...Upbeat--just a hair under giddy, even. A result of the dye? Maybe? I dunno.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Because friendship is not stalking, or a series of witty one-liners.

2011-10-07T09:02:00.000-07:00

I joined MySpace when I was pregnant with my son six years ago. I grew to love it. I began to not know what I did before it. I didn't think I'd ever leave it.

The following year, I joined Facebook. At first I didn't like it--there were no pages to decorate, and no music players. But then I started playing the apps. Suddenly, I realized that it wasn't about making my page look pretty for my friends, it was about INTERACTING with them. I started spending more and more time on Facebook, and neglecting MySpace. I didn't think I'd ever leave it, nor even want to.

Years later, I no longer feel enamored with Facebook, but enslaved. They have made numerous changes that I absolutely cannot stand, but I have continued to stick with it because: Nearly everyone I know is on Facebook.

Facebook has come to remind me of the Winchester Mystery House. They had something good, and then they kept messing with it and adding random, useless crap until it's one big, crazy mess.

If you want a list of the various things that drive me batty about Facebook, here it is:

1) Messages. I can't stand that they want to lump everything into a "conversation". WTF? I don't want to see all that old random crap my friend and I talked about before. I want to start a fresh message with a specific subject line. And I want my chats to be separate. When they changed Messages, it really irritated my sense of organization--and was my first serious indicator that Facebook simply can't tell good from bad.

2) Chat. First of all, its quality has always been spotty. The most recent change to chat is that they came up with that hideous sidebar showing all sorts of random friends who aren't even ONLINE. Why? To what purpose does that serve other than to ANNOY THE CRAP out of me with a giant effing sidebar. So I stay logged out of chat and I minimize the thing.

3) Friend Lists. The one thing I had really grown to appreciate, they just recently changed. They took a system that worked, and made a lesser system that kinda works, but not really. I had all of my friends organized into groups of how I knew them--from high school, from college, from work, from such-and-such location, from so-and-so's side of the family... Then Facebook decided that it should devise a list system based on the information that my friends list in their profiles. Suddenly the organization took control away from me, and gave it to other people. It's like having a neighbor come in and reorganize all of your books by color when you had them organized by genre. Technically, I don't HAVE to use the lists Facebook makes....but in the left hand column, they show THEIR lists, and show the number of updates that have been made to the list since the last time I clicked it to make the number go away. Whether or not my lists show up seems to depend on which way the wind blows at any given moment.

4) News Feed. They finally had a News Feed that I liked. At the top, I could alternate between "Top News" and "Most Recent". There was a drop-down menu that allowed me to filter the News Feed by my lists and view posts only by pages and whatnot. Now, it is one confusing mess. I am missing a lot of updates because of this new system. But never fear, because I can now observe in torturous, scrutinizing detail, the minutiae in my friends' lives and actions with the ever-present, ever annoying...

5) STALKER SIDEBAR. "So-and-so 'likes' Blippity Boop's post", "So-and-so is listening to 'La-la-la'", "So-and-so commented 'Blahblahblah teehee' on Floobie's post", "So-and-so is at PortAJohn right now", "So-and-so just updated their phone number 555-555-5555"... It is always on, and you can't make it go away.

6) They are constantly changing the way the Settings work. It's convoluted. It's confusing. And each time they change, they sneakily take away a little bit more of your control over your privacy.

With all of these things, I find myself genuinely disliking Facebook. I made the decision to finally quit.

Yes, I am nervous that I may not hear from some of the people on my friend list ever again. But if that's the case, then I suppose such a superficial friendship wasn't worth much in the first place, was it?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PS-- I am on Google+ now, and I actually really like it. I can filter the Stream by the Circles I put my friends into. It doesn't post my friends' every single waking action in the Stream. There is a separate section for games (games, btw, seem to function way better on Google+ than on Facebook). Hangouts rock--a Hangout is basically a chat room with webcams, so you can video conference with a bunch of friends in one place. There is also a basic chat function (if you use gmail, it is the same chat function).

Sea pirate cereal--part of a balanced breakfast.

2011-10-04T07:26:00.000-07:00

When I was in high school, one of the requirements for junior year was to complete a 2.5 mile run in gym class within a certain amount of time, I think about 25 min or something. If you did not complete the 2.5 miles in the time allotted, you would have to keep doing it until you could.

I *hated* running. I was not good at it, I looked goofy doing it, and I was disgusted by sweat. I never experienced any sort of runner's high or anything, like the athletic kids seemed to. Further I didn't seem to make any progress or improvement, despite the running we did every day.

And then in a split second, my life changed at the 1995 Homecoming Dance. I went dateless with a group of friends. I don't remember what song was playing when it happened, or what the theme of the dance was, but I remember that while I was sitting on the floor watching couples swirling and dancing on the other side of the gym--seemingly oblivious to the flurry of activity with the chaperones and paramedics--that Michael Jackson's "You Are Not Alone" was playing. I really did not like that song.

What had happened, happened very fast. I had been dancing, and hopping. And while hopping, suddenly...there was this loud crack, and then I fell to the floor. Initially I tried to stand up, but couldn't. To top it off, there was a freaky weird bulge in my upper leg. It didn't make any sense, but the signs were there. My first thoughts were literally, "There is no way my leg is broken. How could my leg be broken? There is no way my leg is broken. But...if my leg IS broken, I won't have to run the 2.5!"

The rest of the story of what happened is rather long, and although I dooo love to stray and go off on tangents until I no longer know what the original point is that I was trying to make, I will resist and save it for another entry. The thing to know is that I learned I had a bone condition called fibrous dysplasia (the monostotic variety, if you feel compelled to google it), and I ended up with a compression plate screwed into my femur. Oh, and in a sick way I was relieved to have broken my leg so I wouldn't have to run. When I returned to gym, I was placed into something called an "Adaptive PE" class, which structured PE around medical conditions. I was in Adaptive for the remainder of my high school career, and I never did have to run the 2.5.

From what I recall at my follow up appointments (the last of which was about 14 years ago, I think), I was told to avoid high impact activities like running, and stick to things like cycling and swimming. Since I was never a runner to begin with, I didn't think that would ever bother me.

Flash forward to today. I am 32 years old. I have not run or jogged since I broke my leg, except in extremely short bursts. And up until this year, it didn't really bother me.

For reasons that I won't go into because of that tangent thing again, I started looking at the US Coast Guard and US Navy websites. In my life, I had never seriously considered joining any of the armed forces. But as I started looking through the sites, I started thinking...what if?

I love the Navy's LifeOps tool . I love that they pegged me as enjoying role-playing video games (I *totally* do. High five if you're eagerly anticipating the release of "Skyrim" next month). I love the ocean. I love boats (err, boat rides anyway...I actually don't know much about boats themselves).

I started envisioning what Navy Jess might be like. Regular Jess is afraid of airplanes. But Navy Jess would get the hell over it, besides, whether or not it is actually safer, the thought of flying as military personnel feels like it would be safer. Navy Jess would get to wear uniforms at work...and to be honest, Regular Jess digs uniforms for work. Navy Jess would get to travel the ocean, be trained to do a specific job, have job security and health benefits--and retirement benefits! Regular Jess has absolutely none of that at the moment. Navy Jess would be awesome and confident.

At first, as I was looking through the sites, I thought, "I CAN DO THIS!" Even the video of Boot Camp looked fun...ish. Honestly, the biggest downside was looking to be whether I could handle being away from my kids. But I kept thinking that it was in their best interest really...it would mean stability for their future, and they could be proud of me.

And then I remembered my leg. And I found this page listing medical disqualifications.

Bummer. I have at least three of those things on that list...I'm prone to ear infections in my left ear (although I don't often need treatment for them). I have a moderate to severe hearing loss in my left ear (I think I might actually be legally deaf in that ear). I have persistent plantar warts (yes, it does suck). But the biggie is that darn metal plate in my leg, coupled with my bone condition. I have some pretty noticeable muscle atrophy of my quad near my knee, and I have a numb patch on the side of my leg. I am basically a physical reject--at least as far as military standards go.

My right leg feels fine...springy, even. My right leg...wants to run. It just goes to show you that while life is short, it's long enough that your interests and likes can change. I actually don't even mind that Michael Jackson song anymore.

It makes me mad at myself that I didn't enjoy running before, or that I don't have an opportunity for normal running with that springy feeling in both legs (or without the fear that my leg could break again around the plate).

But at the same time, it makes me aware that even though I can't do some things (or really probably SHOULDN'T do some things), that there are A LOT of things that I can still do. I can go cycling. I can go swimming. I can walk, briskly even. I could go climbing. I could go scuba diving.

So I guess Navy Jess will have to thrive in a parallel universe. Regular Jess will need to find some other ocean and boat loving job.

Today's video has been chosen by my 5 year old son. It was a close call between this one and the Navy Diver video, but ultimately I think the crocodile was the determining factor.

(ir)relativity

2011-09-24T07:41:00.000-07:00

Have I ever told you about my theory on deja vu?

When I was about 8 or 9 years old, I had this idea that each moment had an infinite number of existences...that each person had an infinite number of selves. In simplest terms, I believe(d) there is a me in front of me in time, and a me behind me in time. (In this belief system, time and the universe run on a loop).

If I, say, tripped on an uneven portion of sidewalk, I would say to the me who was two minutes behind me, "Look out for that! Don't trip!" I would try to send a vivid image to myself. I believed that when I experienced deja vu, that I was really receiving a message from a me who was in front of me in time.

Let me say that I don't believe *physical* time travel is possible. I think if you were able to leave this time, you would end up on a different plane of existence--not at a different point on the timeline of our current plane. Effectively, it would be plane travel, rather than time travel. I also think that to attempt such a feat is risky, and that you would never be able to return to this exact plane. I also can't imagine how on earth one *would* propel themselves physically between planes (even if you could generate 1.21 gigawatts!).

That being said, I think the capacity for Thought Travel should be seriously investigated. Often times people discount precognition and deja vu as being coincidence, or defects in the workings of the brain. But I believe that when people experience these things, they are actually receiving future thoughts from the thems in front of them. I believe that while the thoughts are coming from a time on a different plane, they could effect the future timeline of our present plane.

I believe this CAN be experimented with, and potentially be proven. But it would be a tedious task...it would likely take decades of research to prove--as the us in front of us would need to successfully send us a message (at the same time we are attempting to send a message to the us behind us). It would require a joint team of neurologists and physicists. And as I'm not sure what any potential benefits of proving Thought Travel would be, it likely would not really be worth researching other than for personal satisfaction.

Sigh.

what would you do

2011-09-11T16:22:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I used to think that if I won the lottery I would build a second chance apartment building for people who needed housing and a support structure. They'd have a modest apartment, in-house counseling available 24-7, help finding work, access to a community shuttle, and a small lot for gardening in the yard.

But then, when I was old enough to play the lotto, my mind started to shift to other things. Like, I would pay off my debts, and parcel out nice size amounts to family members so their kids could go to college or pay off home loans, and then anything that was leftover would be saved for me to live on. I kept thinking that no amount would ever be donated because the cost of living is so high, and no matter how many millions you win you could never afford to give any of it away.

How did this happen? What happened to the me who believed that if you win large amounts of money through the luck of the universe that you had a moral obligation to give a vast majority of it away or use it for the betterment of mankind?

The other day, I let myself think about what I would do if I won the Mega Millions. Let's say I won $100 million dollars. And let's say I only pay off my immediate family's current debts, and the remainder I am karmically obligated to give away.

If I had the power to improve life somewhere, to help put someone ELSE'S dreams within their reach, what would I do?

And I let myself think of possibilities...

I could:

- go to the hospital and settle everyone's unpaid bills.
- make a donation to a children's hospital.
- put wells in dozens of African villages.
- build a housing community for people who need help.
- send underprivileged children to better schools.
- build an eco-friendly power plant where people generate electricity by riding stationary bicycles or elliptical machines (this would also create jobs AND help the obesity epidemic! 3 birds with one stone!)

The reality is that I will likely never win the lotto (mainly due in part to the fact that I so rarely spend a dollar on lotto.) But right now, that's kind of beside the point. The point is trying to remember that everyone's livelihood has value, not just mine or my family's.

This year, I decided that I didn't want to die without having made a positive impact on the world. I don't want my main accomplishments to have been pointless (i.e. Mastering all skills in TES4 "Oblivion", or occasionally posting a funny facebook status).

The truth is, I DON'T have a lot of money to donate. And due to medical reasons, I don't really participate in athletic fundraising events (maybe someday when I have health care coverage and can regularly check-in with an orthopedist, that will change).

But I can help, & I can make a difference, even if I don't have much money and am not a runner.

My journey began with joining the bone marrow registry (see the "Be the Match" widget on the right). Then I started giving blood.

Now, it's looking very likely that I will be a control participant in an awesome clinical study for Parkinson's.

Then there's also these relatively tiny things that take mere seconds to do, like:

--Clicking through these sites daily so that advertisers will give money to causes like feeding the hungry, saving the rainforest, and supporting veterans.

--Or brushing up on vocab (and other subjects) while donating Free Rice !

Maybe someday I will win the Mega Millions. (And if that happens, I hope I don't let me down blowing it on a crazy fantasy like building my own version of the Nautilus and living under the sea like Captain Nemo.) But I hope that I can make the world a more positive place even if I don't have millions of dollars.

I don't have the handle--open the lock!

2011-09-04T07:46:00.000-07:00

Now that Netflix has raised their prices, we are dropping the dvd option. It does disappoint me that Netflix's streaming collection is lacking a little. Don't get me wrong, they do have LOTS of movies and shows available--I've found myself watching things I never would have seen with otherwise (like "Wendy Wu: Homecoming Warrior", or "Transamerican Love Story", or my current trainwreck obsession: "Hoarders").

They just don't have the movies and shows I want to watch when I want to watch them (shows you'd think would be STAPLES for their collection), for instance, "The Nightmare Before Christmas", or "The Goonies".

For new movies, RedBox or DVDXpress are really the best deal, but for older movies, where does one turn?

Well, I've recently discovered VUDU. If you have a ps3, the software is there, and it's definitely worth checking out. They don't have subtitles or captions for English speaking movies, which is kind of a bummer if you are like me and have some hearing loss. But hopefully that's something VUDU will work on making available soon. Also, it can seem a little overpriced for some stuff, but if you absolutely have to have a fix of a certain movie, it's got your back. Like when you really want to watch "The Nightmare Before Christmas", or "The Goonies". Which Son and I did this weekend.

Son is 5 this month, and I expected him to like "Nightmare Before Christmas", but we are still iffy on live-action films. So "The Goonies" was kind of a gamble for him, but....he LOVED it! I do have to say that I think the soundtrack helped a lot...(this child is terrified of "E.T.", and I'm certain it's because of the musical score & sound effects).

I like Goonies, but I couldn't believe he was laughing so hard at some of the stuff. And as we watched, and he enjoyed, something started happening to me. Something that I'm a little disappointed in myself with.

I started noticing little things, and questioning the reality factor of the movie. I mean, it's a movie about kids who find a pirate ship while being chased by criminals, so I understand that it's not the most realistic movie to begin with, but... these things started sticking out to me.

For instance:

--During the jailbreak scene, how on earth did Jake Fratelli get a pipe in his cell? Or wire to "hang" himself?? OR A PEN AND PAPER?? There seems to be gross incompetence on the part of the Astoria jail. It also bothers me that all the prisoners were in their street clothes, but since it's 1985 small-town Astoria I suppose I can let that slide.

--Why does the foreclosure of all of the Goondocks seem to rest solely on Mikey and Brand's dad?

--If the restaurant has been closed long enough to have that many cobwebs and debris, how on earth does it still have electricity turned on?

--That restaurant couldn't possibly be 400 years old (the doubloon was dated 1632). So why is there a secret passage under the fireplace?

--If there's pipes and stuff down there, how is it possible that Chester Copperpot was never discovered during the years between his death and when the Goonies finally found him? Was there no maintenance necessary for 50 years?

These are things I never would have thought of as a kid. And I know that we need to make exceptions for things like that. And I still think that "The Goonies" is one of the most iconic movies ever for my age group. Nearly EVERY single line is instantly recognizable when quoted. The acting is excellent. The humor is multi-generational. And the score was dramatic without being terrifying.

And Son enjoyed it. And I feel comfortable letting him watch it (as opposed to "Gremlins", which I don't think I'll ever let him watch...hell, it still kinda scares me!).

So, I think I can consider Goonies good enough for me.

(Oh come on, you *had* to know I was gonna post this song.)

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;IP&amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/p&amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&lt;/p&gt;

facepalm...at myself

2011-08-31T22:13:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a moment where you realize that despite your best intentions, that you are an asshole?

Today I was reading one the many blogs I follow, and the writer was discussing a really negative comment that someone made regarding recent events in the writer's life.

I felt a need to comment--my intentions well-meaning--to show support for the blogger. I commented on how the other person was being judgmental and making assumptions, and I had the audacity to ask, "Who the hell are they?" And then I made a judgment on the type of person they likely are.

And then an hour later it hit me. Who the hell am I? And I realized that without being aware of it, I had been a hypocritical asshole. Sure I could go back and delete my comment, god knows I do that enough on facebook when I realize I've said something asinine. But I worry that removing my comment might also look weird. So, to anyone who might happen to find my blog through that comment--whether or not you agreed with what I wrote--I wish I could take back the second paragraph of my comment. I will now retreat back into my world of being a silent observer of others' blogs.

&lt;p&gt;&amp;amp;amp;lt;br&amp;amp;amp;gt;I&lt;/p&gt;

I don't know why I feel the need to post songs in every entry any more. But I like this one. Originally I posted Denis Leary's "Asshole", but I changed my mind.

And so this is Birthday, and what have you done?

2011-08-03T16:25:00.000-07:00

I will be 32 years old in ten days. I don't even feel birthdays anymore...when I was kid they felt as exciting as Christmas; now they might as well be Casimir Pulaski Day. All they do is remind me that another calendar year has somehow slipped away and I am still in the same spot I was before.

Granted, I did produce a human life this year, and I suppose that's no small potatoes, but other than that....what have I done?

So, is this a mid-life crisis? Am I old enough to have a mid-life crisis? I suppose it depends on how long I end up living... If I live to be 100, then I guess I technically shouldn't have my mid-life crisis 'til I'm 50. So, is this...a thirdlife crisis? Crisis almost sounds too strong.

When I was in my early 20s, I knew for a fact that I was having some sort of crisis. I was severely depressed, it was a much more obvious thing. But this...this is different.

This is something more insidious.

I don't really feel depressed at all, but I find myself obsessed with death. I don't go out of my way to think about it, it just creeps up on me. I'll be sitting on the sofa, feel just the slightest little blub in the heart, or burp funny, or feel faint while standing up, and I'll wonder what it would be like to just keel over dead. That's it. Lights out. I tell myself that it's not gonna happen at that moment, no, "Not gonna be tonight!"

But then I think, "Maybe not tonight, maybe not next year, but it's coming. I AM GOING TO DIE. We are ALL going to die." Worse, I feel like I'm going to die without having accomplished anything. I've always been a big dreamer, and not as big a doer. When I die, what will my little fantasies have gotten me? I haven't gotten rich, traveled to France or Nepal, become fluent in a foreign language, done any great philanthropic thingy, learned a martial art, learned how to dance, learned how to play Euchre, and I've never even actually ignited the propane grill myself because I scare the beejesus out of myself thinking that it's gonna blow-up.

I suppose if I were single and childless, I would probably overcompensate by being somewhat reckless at this point in my life. I'd probably charge my cards out and travel travel travel. Maybe.

:-/

So, what have I done this year? What have I accomplished before my consciousness is extinguished to the great black nothingness (which could happen at ANY moment on ANY day)?

--I have birthed another human (might not mean much to other people, but it's HARD to do--even if you have a gorilla pelvis like me, so I'm counting it as an accomplishment).

--I got my violin repaired. (Although I guess this doesn't count for much if I don't start re-learning to play it).

--Joined the bone marrow registry. (You should do it too! It's really easy!)

--Thanks to Netflix, I have watched every episode of: "Roseanne", "Medium", and "Family Ties", and am working my way through "How I Met Your Mother", and "Charmed". And damn, Julian McMahon is hot, btw.

Hrm. Other than that I got nothing. These don't really seem like big things. Sigh.

how it's going

2011-07-19T14:47:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago, I decided I was done being a full-time stay-at-home mom. I was going to get a part-time job, gosh dang--it! I put on a nice blouse and some make-up, pulled back my hair and slapped on a smile. As I walked through Target towards the mall, and that familiar mall aroma wafted over me, I suddenly felt a weird anxiety towards asking for applications.

Feeling significantly less confident, I decided to just run errands...when lo-and-behold, a sign on Office Depot's door said they were hiring! I paid for my shipping boxes and bubble wrap, and found out what position they were looking to fill and for how many hours. They told me to apply online and the application would go directly to the store. I left feeling really good. In the car on the way home, I was psyched--"I AM GONNA WORK AT OFFICE DEPOT! Woooo!!"

I rushed into the house, hurried Husband off the computer, filled out an application, and then carried my cell phone around all afternoon waiting for them to call me and tell me to come in to interview.

I've always been used to getting jobs right away, and being placed in positions of some authority and responsibility. Maybe not having worked in 3 years has worked against me (probably). Maybe it's because several of the places I used to work for no longer exist (probably). I dunno. Regardless, my confidence is deflated once again.

Worse yet, I just recently re-read my other blog--the creative writing one. And not only did I totally start something and not keep up with it, but I don't even think it's as good as I originally thought it was.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In other news, I've joined the National Marrow Donor Program! If you want to potentially save someone's life someday and you aren't intimidated by hospitals or needles, you should consider joining. YOU could be the one person to match a patient in need of a bone marrow transplant. If you don't think you want to be a donor but still want to help, you can make financial donations and/or shop at the online store. If you're interested, click the link above or check out the widget in the sidebar to learn more.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now I'm off to re-find my awesomeness. I'm sure I left it around here somewhere.

Sometimes....

2011-05-27T13:39:00.000-07:00

...I look at Canada and think that's what the US would look like in a parallel universe in which we never fought the Revolutionary War.

---------

...I look back on people I've criticized and realized I wasn't completely right--maybe even wrong. Or worse yet, maybe I was even actually seeing something in them that was the same as something in myself that I didn't like, and trying to convince myself that I not only wasn't the same, but was somehow better.

----------

...I wonder what it would be like to take what I know now and go back in time and re-do certain parts of my life, and then I realize that it's because of those experiences that I DO know what I know now and therefore by traveling back to "right what once went wrong", I would actually be negating my life and living in an impossible universe. I have this same conceptual problem when watching the "Back to the Future" trilogy.

-----------

...I wish that the movie rating system had been more accurate when I was a kid. I really don't think "Gremlins" should have been PG. It took me a long time to get over a fear of little monsters traveling through my home's air conditioning vents.

------------

...I feel really effing cool. Or potentially cool. Seriously, in my delusions of grandeur I'm a hottie bad-ass and am friends with crazy rich and powerful people. Or will be. And everyone will see me wearing my giant BluBlockers, sipping my grande decaf latte and want to be my friend.

------------

...I wonder how people realize they are suited for law enforcement. Personally, I tend to be one of those people who is crap in an emergency. I have an adrenaline response to even the idea of an emergency. In actual emergencies, I hyperventilate and shake. How do people know that they could walk into a room that possibly has armed and dangerous individuals and not urinate themselves?

-------------

...sunny days and car rides through big cities put me in a mood for 70s Soul music, or classic rock.

-------------

...I've got...

stop making sense

2011-05-18T01:19:00.000-07:00

Did I ever tell you about the time a medal of St. Benedict seemingly fell out of thin air and bounced off my head? It's a very long-winded tale that ultimately ends with a serendipitous moment in my car, moments after entering the freeway (moments after purchasing another St. Benedict medal at a Catholic gift shop), in which I felt the sensation that I was truly communicating with God. At the exact moment I felt this, I turned on the radio at precisely the exact moment that Norman Greenbaum's "Spirit in the Sky" started playing.

Sometimes I feel there are two halves of me. There's this part of me that feels a deep connection to the spiritual stuffings of the universe. And then there's the part of me that truly believes in evolution, and the Big Bang.

Are these incompatible beliefs? I don't know. In the matter of an hour I can oscillate through an entire range of beliefs...theism, atheism, Calvinism and predetermination, Buddhism, randomness, nihilism...

I keep coming back to the same questions:

1) Physicists KNOW the universe is expanding. But HOW is it expanding? (Unless you are Stephen Hawking, or an honest-to-god astrophysicist who can easily explain things in layman's terms, don't waste either of our time attempting to answer this for me.)

2) The following statements cannot be simultaneously true: God is all-knowing. God is all-powerful. God is all good. God has a plan.
--One of these things just doesn't fit in here. To make the assertion that God is omniscient, and omnipotent, AND has a plan, one must accept that God's plan involves psychos brutally raping/murdering/otherwise molesting innocent people, or that God's plan involves creating a human who is so severely disabled that the mere act of being alive is pain for them. In which case, God cannot be ALL good. If God is all good, but cannot intervene, then he is not all-powerful. You can see where I'm going with this.
So, assuming there is a God, which statement is the incorrect one?

3) WHY is it important for people to feel that there is any rhyme or reason to the things that happen to them? Shit happens all the time to the other beings in the animal kingdom and humans don't think twice. BECAUSE THAT'S JUST THE WAY THINGS ARE. Random, unforeseeable, uncontrollable crap happens.

4) That being said, why are some people seemingly magnets for good or bad events--regardless of religious or scientific beliefs?

I do actually notice certain patterns and imagery that keep recurring in my own life...St. Benedict being one of them. Sometimes little things fall into place so perfectly that it's seemingly planned to be that way.

I guess the realization I'm coming to is...Do I need to care about the answers to these questions? Can the puzzle only make sense in that hazy on-the-verge-of-deep-sleep mode of the mind? Do things need to make sense for me? Maybe beliefs aren't singular and linear. Maybe multiple beliefs can be true simultaneously. HOW could that be possible? I don't know. Does it matter that I don't know?

After

2011-03-09T22:05:00.000-08:00

I don't know what horrors happened to me in a past life, but I am one lucky woman in this one (in spite of my relaxation-impeding neuroses). Baby Girl was born just about two weeks ago, and her birth was almost exactly the same as Son's, although not induced. We ended up going to the hospital in the middle of the night, I got an epidural, and around 2 pm she started the journey outward on her own! It only took about ten minutes (maybe) of pushing once the doctor arrived. So I was a little surprised when she ended up being a 9 pounder! Shwoo. And I didn't tear. So I'm two for two on a medicated childbirth that DID NOT lead to a c-section (and I believe it happens this way more often than not, honestly).

Oh, and I'd like to state for the record--now that I have experienced both a pitocin-induced labor and a "regular" labor--contractions just hurt. They seriously didn't feel any different this time around than they did the first time. I guess everybody has a different experience and a different pain threshold though. I still think whoever invented the epidural is a saint. A SAINT. In fact, I think St. Epidural deserves her own funky holiday, with a celebration to rival St. Patrick's.

For the LC bizzatch who made me feel like crap after the birth of Son by basically implying that my epidural was the reason my baby was sleepy and became jaundiced--suck it! Baby Girl also developed jaundice, and the staff at this hospital was A LOT more informative about why it happened (in our case it was a blood type issue).

I also have a new favorite blog! I seriously love this woman. She says all the things I think about the home birth/all natural movement; she has the education to back it up, and she explains the data commonly used to lull people into a false sense of security regarding home births. So...SUCK IT, RICKI LAKE!

Wow, I'm really on a "suck it" roll. And I'm okay with that. And I'm exhausted. So I guess it's time to try to squeeze in a nap before Baby Girl wakes up wanting to fill her belly again.

So Much Trouble In The World...

2011-01-25T09:18:00.000-08:00

Some days are better than others. I don't have panic attacks, but a constant low level anxiety that fluctuates like the tide. It has gotten noticeably worse in the years since I had Son, and I feel it rising again with the impending birth of New Baby.

My excitement for New Baby is dampened by worry. Will Baby be born alive? Will Baby be able to breathe on her own? Will Baby develop jaundice? Will Baby be normal? I tell myself that once we make it past the hurdle of birth, I'll be done worrying. But my experience with Son knows that's not true. When we bring Baby home I will worry about SIDS, and will constantly check to see if Baby is still breathing.

With Son, I worry about him every time he leaves the house. I try to push away the thoughts that he could be run over by a car, stolen at the grocery store, or shot by some psycho who decides life is meaningless and is going to take as many people out with himself as possible.

The very odd thing is...my mind doesn't always think the same way I do about the world.

I had a dream awhile back in which I was with two other women who were older than me (and who vaguely reminded me of The Golden Girls, but weren't). We were sitting at a table in a dimly lit saloon. On one wall, there was a large wheel that was being spun by a portly man in a tuxedo. There were numerous panels on the wheel, each with a fate--some good, many bad. A group of people were watching the man spin the wheel, and occasionally I could hear gasps come from one of the watchers. I stood up and briefly watched the group who was watching the man, then sat back down and ordered a beer. I don't remember exactly what the three of us (the two old biddies and me) were talking about the majority of the time, but they then asked me what I thought of the man and his wheel.

"It doesn't even matter because it's so random," I said. "Really, the beauty of it all is the randomness, like a kaleidoscope." I said some other things that I can't really recall, but which were along the same vein. The two old biddies raised their beers to me and congratulated me, and told me I could join their "club" (or whatever they called it). I wish I could remember more of that dream, but it's been too long ago now and I didn't think to write it down at the time.

In other dreams I am on a spaceship with a large window, looking out at the stars. In real life I am terrified of flying and couldn't imagine enjoying going into space. But in the dreams, all I can see are the stars...there are so many, and they are so bright, and everything is quiet and peaceful, and the ship is just floating in space. In those moments there is no fear, only awe and a sense of quiet peace.

I wish I had these dreams more often because I tend to feel pretty good for a day or two afterward.

So I guess my main quest at this point in my life is to stop being terrified of randomness and darkness like this:

I'd love to have more days like this:

Machisma

2010-12-19T08:39:00.000-08:00

Up until about two weeks ago, I wasn't worried at all about giving birth to New Baby. After all, I've been there/done that with Son. I am probably the poster-child for an uneventful, textbook, hospital-managed vaginal birth. I was lucky enough to have a fairly uneventful, not-quite-13 hour labor and 20 min delivery with him (with no tearing!) and virtually no soreness afterward. Was I built for babies? Or was I just really effing lucky? I dunno. But I *was* induced (on my due date--because of gestational hypertension), and I did have an epidural. And I never really felt "robbed" of a natural childbirth...although the lactation consultant in the hospital passive-aggressively made me feel like crap for getting an epidural by commenting to the effect that my too-sleepy-to-breastfeed newborn was likely that way because of the anesthetic.

So anyway, yeah, I wasn't all that worried this time around. But now that I'm in the third trimester, I feel almost like a first-time mom all over again when it comes to thinking about labor and delivery and breech babies.

And I blame it on Ricki Lake (sort of).

See, she made this documentary called "The Business of Being Born", which is really just an anti-hospital, anti-doctor propaganda film for all-natural home-births. The ironic thing is that I feel her film illustrates the PERFECT EXAMPLE of why I would not opt for that scenario by choice. Her friend--and the director (I believe)--of the film was pregnant during the shooting, and they followed her pregnancy. She ended up going into pre-term labor (I don't remember the cause exactly but it involved her baby not being able to get nutrients properly) with a breech presentation. So she ended up at the hospital and having a c-section with her baby going straight to NICU.

At the end of the film they show Ricki interviewing her while she's holding her now 7 or 8 month old son, and Ricki obviously looks disappointed (and kinda snobby) about the fact that her friend seems unperturbed that she didn't get a home birth.

So basically this film just illustrated for me what I already believe:

Yes, childbirth is completely natural and women have been doing it for (at least) thousands of years. But you know what? DEATH and disaster are also completely natural in childbirth, and just because cave-people and the like died NATURALLY while doing it, doesn't mean that I want to experiment with the possibility of that happening.

I am not a thrill-seeker or an adrenaline junkie. I don't bungee jump or skydive. I don't even like to walk around town alone at night. Am I wuss? Maybe. Or maybe my survival instincts are just a little bit less naive than others'.

The point is, I'm tired of all these women nowadays who try to make other women feel like crap for getting epidurals, or for going to a hospital to give birth. It's nothing more than female machisma, in my opinion.

If there was no other choice and I had to have an unplanned home birth and everything turned out okay, of course I'd feel proud of myself. But it would be much the same way I'd feel proud of myself for surviving a shipwreck or plane crash. I'd be like, "HELLS YA! I DID IT! I'M A SURVIVOR, DAMMIT!" ...But NO WAY would I preach to other people that they should subject themselves to those risks intentionally simply because I survived that experience and came out okay.

The day I gave birth to Son, I experienced pitocin-induced contractions for about seven hours or so until I received my epidural. I've heard from some people that contractions from pitocin are worse than natural contractions--but more often I've heard from people who've actually experienced both that they're really kind of about the same. Initially I had wanted to see if I could handle a med-free childbirth, as I had been reading all sorts of new-agey books on how "beautiful" the experience was. But after even just the first couple hours of feeling my body wrenching itself open, I knew I didn't care. And I don't feel my birthing experience was any less beautiful for it. In fact, I think I (and my husband) enjoyed it significantly more than I would have had I gone natural. My OB commented that if I hadn't had the epidural, I likely would have endured tearing as my contractions were incredibly strong (when you hear stories about the baby shooting across the delivery room--that would have been my kid had the doc not made it in time for the final two pushes). But since I had the epidural (he said), it was much easier for me to manage the pushing as I felt no instinctual urge.

I, for one, am inclined to believe him. (When I was 16, my femur broke due to a bone condition I was unaware I had. To date, the worst pain I have ever felt in my life was when I was in traction for nearly 4 days before I had surgery to fix it. I had pain meds & muscle relaxers being pumped into me on a regular basis, but still, the occasional spasms were AWFUL. Even though it was 15 years ago, I still remember the sensation of my quadricep attempting to reassemble my broken bones by SMASHING it back together again. *shudders* So I can appreciate what uncontrollable muscle contractions are capable of.)

Anyway, now I'm left wondering if I was just lucky the first time around, or if I should expect a similar outcome to Son's birth. I suppose a bit of it will depend on if I develop blood pressure issues again this time. So far I'm doing good in that department, but my bp didn't start rising until the final month of my first pregnancy. If my bp stays good and there are no other crazy issues, I'll be curious to see what it's like to not be induced this time around. Maybe the contractions really *won't* feel as intense as pitocin-induced. But I doubt I'm going to feel a need to suck it up and go all-natural if I have a choice. Medicine has advanced significantly in the recent past, and I sure as hell am not going to pass up an opportunity to take advantage of that progress simply because Ricki Lake and the "natural" movement try to make me feel less "womanly" for doing so.

By the way, here's a trailer for a REAL documentary (not a propanda film) that's awesome about babies and is visually stunning:

P.S. It should be noted that if you go to the official website for this film, you can read more about the families involved. The American family who went with a home birth ended up needing to take their infant to the hospital for respiratory issues. Also on the website, the tribal mother in Namibia states that the main reason she participated in the film was because the filmmaker paid for her medical care, and she wanted to take advantage of the hospital care.

Sad day.

2010-10-27T04:50:00.000-07:00

I think the hardest part of loving someone must be surviving their death.

About a month ago, Dog was a little more tired than normal, and we discovered lumps in his throat. I kept hoping it was just an infection, something that could be easily cleared up with some antibiotics. After the first test came back inconclusive, my hopes started to wither. The second test came back as lymphoma.

After some googling, I quickly learned that cancer is the most common cause of death in dogs. And that without chemo, the prognosis was dim...averaging 4-6 weeks.

Dog was already in his 10th year, and going through chemo only seemed like an expensive and futile way to prolong the inevitable.

So we began giving him Prednisone to help make him comfortable. And as we felt the swelling go down in his glands, we became hopeful that Dog would be the one to beat the average prognosis. We talked of him being around for Thanksgiving, Christmas.

While we did notice his increasing tiredness, he didn't seem much different otherwise. Until this past Friday, when I noticed it appeared he was having a slightly difficult time with not slipping on the kitchen floor. Saturday morning, he needed help standing up.

But even that morning, I didn't realize how bad it was until I saw the food still sitting in his bowl. Dog and I sat together outside on the deck, and I pet him for hours. Until he saw a squirrel on the back fence, and decided cancer or no--he was going to make one last effort to show the squirrels who was boss. I watched my dog hoist himself up and walk to the steps. Start down the 5 steps. And then fall off the bottom two.

Horrified, and hating myself for having let him do that, I ran over to where he was on the grass to make sure he hadn't injured himself. He looked at me, and I knew Christmas was a pipe dream. He stopped walking that afternoon. He continued to refuse dog food, but the junk food junkie in him couldn't turn down any of the previously Forbidden Foods I offered him--chunk light tuna, chicken, an entire meal of doggie treats, mahi mahi steaks, hamburgers, and chicken strips from Jack in the Box.

Over the next few days, Husband and I painfully deliberated over Dog's fate. Yesterday saw the relatively peaceful passing of Dog, followed by his burial out at Brother's house, near the mountains. Euthanizing Dog was one of the toughest decisions I've ever been a part of, but it was definitely much better than how he would have otherwise gone.

The last weekend was very hard...watching him deteriorate. Watching him die was very hard. Burying him was surreal. We burned sage and I planted some tree seeds on top of him.

But coming home last night and opening the door and really realizing he wasn't there anymore was the worst.

No more food-stealing ninja. No more head in my lap, looking up with expectant eyes, begging to go chase the squirrels. No more clicking toenails on the floor, or jingling tags. No more cuddling when it's windy.

I also didn't realize how much it meant to me as a stay at home mom to have him there with me during the day--another adult to hang out with. Everywhere I look, I see memories of him. And I still expect to see him there.

I try to picture him happy in a meadow, chasing squirrels and finally catching one. But it doesn't stop the tears.

IN WHICH I'm a nasty critic (but a well-meaning, and fairly nice person...I think)

2010-10-20T05:54:00.000-07:00

It's not that I haven't been doing anything noteworthy the last few months (I've finally read Stephen King's "The Dark Tower" series, and read those "Eragon" books. I've taken a trip to Chicagoland, and redecorated a bedroom, oh, and I'm still incubating Second Child)...it's just that I haven't felt compelled to write about any of those things.

Or about anything really--until now.

I've been watching tv shows on Netflix again. This time it's "Stargate SG-1". Last night I finished season 8, and watched (a mistake?) the first episode of season 9 before bedtime. I must say...the things I loved about "Farscape" might just be the things I really really don't love about season 9 of "SG-1".

I dunno, Claudia Black isn't so bad...Vala is very much not Aeryn Sun (although I find aspects of her costume too similar). But, I really don't know as I want John Crichton on SG-1. At the outset I thought Ben Browder might be an interesting addition, but by the end of the episode I really began to question if he acted any other flavor. It's like having a big bottle of rum and only ever mixing it with coke, instead of making a mojito. Yeah, maybe that's it...he could have been mintier.

But that's not all. The season 8 finale did NOT provide a satisfying resolution to the Samantha Carter/Jack O'Neill storyline. That's part of the reason why I bothered to watch the first episode of 9. I kept hoping that with Jack retiring, we'd at least hear that they were shacking up together and living happily ever after-ish. I mean, c'mon writers, what is wrong you heartless sons of bitches??

So right now I'm wondering if I should even continue to watch the show. I'm tempted to ask Google if it's worth it, but after the "Ballykissangel" debacle (see above--"heartless sons of bitches") I had told myself I wouldn't do that again.

I might give the show another couple episodes. After all, Michael Shanks is a pretty good (and hot) actor. I think. I mean, I haven't seen him in anything else, but c'mon, the episode where he had like 7 (or however many) other people inside him? I was almost crying!

Can the rest of the gang make up for John Crichton who's not supposed to be John Crichton? Will I ever find out if Jack O'Neill and Samantha Carter are having an off-SGC hot and heavy romance?

Hrmph. Okay, a couple more episodes it is.

Now here is a music video with a cow:

So....been awhile since I've written...

2010-07-12T20:29:00.000-07:00

The white dry-erase sign in our factory would proudly state:

It's been 3 years, 7 months, 25 days since our last accident! :-)

We would get complacent, maybe perhaps a bit cocky with our track record...But it would just so happen that the day OSHA stopped by to check on reports of employees not wearing the recommended hardhats, there would be an accident at the factory.

At least in this instance no one has had their brain bashed in from an encounter with heavy equipment, or had their fingers smashed off in a press. But the record is broken nonetheless. And the employees--all of two of them--have had the complacency (and maybe perhaps a bit of cockiness) deflated straight out of them.

In case you haven't figured out from my quickly thrown together metaphor, I'm attempting to find a way to just come out and say, "Surprise! I'm pregnant. Again." There. I said it. That wasn't so hard actually. I'm pregnant. Preggggggggnnaaaaaaaant.

Anyway, we are happy, even though it was unplanned. It's impossible to not be happy and excited, regardless of how terrified and angsty we feel about the future.

I've known for a few weeks now and was planning to wait until crossing the 12 week threshold before going completely public, but I feel like my anti-elastic body is already beginning to betray me. With No. 1 Son, I started off quite a bit smaller than I am now, and didn't show until I was nearly 7 months along. This time, even though my uterus is currently only the size of a softball or so, I can already feel my misplaced innards bloating and sloshing around. I'd like to think I don't appear to be getting fatter--and the scale says I'm not--but I certainly feel like I am.

So, if in the last couple of weeks, you have been wondering why I seem more tired and out of breath than usual, or why I tear up at seemingly odd moments (like when listening to Shakira's "Waka Waka"), or why I appear to be avoiding the smell of peanut butter and popcorn, then this is your answer.

So...I have no good conclusion for this blog entry...so here is a song that is stuck in my head at the moment:

Address Unknown

2010-05-02T19:47:00.000-07:00

It's raining out today. The street outside has indentations from where cars drive, and the rainwater travels through these like little streams in the pavement. The trees lining the block are beginning to fill with tiny green-gold leaves. The air is fresh here--not like back in Chicago--and it is earthy and damp and smells like camping after the fire pit has been extinguished.

I've found myself thinking of you again the last few days. Thinking about how we sat around joking about how if one of us died, the other would give the eulogy. We were ever macabre.

One of my memories of you is a smooth egg of lapis lazuli that I take out and gaze at sometimes, but it is inevitably snatched away by monstrous fanged dust bunnies with red eyes that spring out from the woodwork and shriek at me with disdain.

In my dreams we have sometimes visited with each other, much like old friends meeting up for coffee when in the same city. While I don't remember most of what we talk about it, I nearly always feel better afterward. They happen infrequently enough for me to believe they are meaningful and with purpose.

But this evening I am sad.

Open to interpretation, any takers?

2010-04-27T14:56:00.000-07:00

I was wandering through large rock formations in the desert...like badlands. There were several other people with me, although apart from seeing Bret Michaels, I don't remember who they were. We were searching for something--a special cactus I think--that had some magical medicinal property to it. I noticed that Bret was gone, then the others started disappearing too. I didn't know if it was they or me who had strayed from the group.

But then I saw the cactus! It had flowers--mostly white, but pink in the center and on the edges. I called out in the hopes that the the rest of the group would find me. That was when I noticed the bee. It was huge--the size of the tip of my thumb to the knuckle. It was flying right around the cactus flower I was looking at. I backed away slowly from the flower, but the bee followed me. It didn't seem menacing, but curious.

The bee buzzed around my head, then landed in my hair. I felt it walking on my hair briefly, then I took off again. I thought that might have been it, but then it flew in close to my face, and landed on my forehead. It's fuzziness tickled me--it sat directly in the center of my forehead (where the fabled third eye is). I was holding so still and quiet, and the tickling was beginning to feel overwhelming. My back was beginning to feel like it was going to twitch because of the tickling. I wanted to brush the bee away but I didn't want to scare it into stinging me.

One of the other people in the group showed up and exclaimed, "You found the cactus! Where's Bret?"

The bee buzzed super loudly when it heard the other person talking, which seemed to make the tickling on my forehead intensify. I thought for sure it was about to sting me because the other person startled it. But instead I woke up. Concerned I might actually have a real bee on my forehead (because it was still tickling), I cautiously brushed my hand across it. Nothing was there.

The Whitehorse Experiment

2010-04-23T12:58:00.000-07:00

When I was little kid, I thought I might be decent at writing. I began this story about a squirrel knight who goes off on an adventure. I never really got to the point of the adventure. Aside from assignments in a high school creative writing course, I was never really good at finishing any stories I started. And eventually I gave up on thinking about being decent at writing.

But I've started thinking of it again. And in the spirit of trying new things and making new paths for myself in my thirties, I've decided to create a blog where I can experiment with creative writing. I have no idea if anyone will read anything I post; and I hope no one says mean things.

I'm no Stephen King, but I'll never get better if I don't let anyone read anything. So here goes. Check out my creative writing blog at: The Whitehorse Experiment.

night terrors

2010-04-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

At some point last night my three and a half year old son crawled into our bed and fell asleep on top of the blankets.

I woke up with a start at 2:11 am from some dream I can't remember at all, looked over at him, and brushed my fingers through his hair. He was cold.

I placed my hand on his little chest, and felt nothing...no breathing.

I said his name. No response.

OhshitNo

Frantically, I started shouting his name (ohshitno) and shaking him by the shoulder (ohshitNO!).

Husband rolled over--annoyed--and said, "Jessica, what!"

Then Son lightly made a sleepy groan and shifted his head. Now when I placed my hand on his chest, I definitely felt him breathing, and his heart beating. I gently moved him to under the blankets so he would warm up. Then I laid there next to him, staring at his (amazingly) still sleeping face, my heart pounding like a jack hammer and adrenaline flowing through my veins.

Several minutes later--just when I was about calmed down--I heard an incredibly loud sound rather like an airplane...and it sounded like it was getting closer. And closer. Certain I was about to be Donnie Darkoed by a jet engine, I braced myself and closed my eyes and waited. But then it was suddenly gone. I didn't hear the sound traveling away from me, it just was gone. I told myself it must have been a truck on the freeway or something.

Then I spent the next twenty minutes before I fell back asleep wondering how on earth I'd reached this neurotic point in my life.

Before I had my son, I think I had fairly normal fears in life. I didn't like flying, or tornadoes. I had issues with public speaking, although I could talk to people on a one-on-one level fairly well most of the time. I didn't see any fun in the thought of bungee jumping.

After the birth of my son, there suddenly appeared a plethora of things I needed to worry about. Among other things, there were: sick kidnapping strangers, drunk drivers, molesting babysitters, choking hazards, electrical outlets, flammable pajamas, botulism in honey, the soft spot on the head, my own death from my poor dietary habits leaving him motherless, and the big scary--SIDS.

For a short time when my son was about two or so, I thought that maybe it would be easier if I had a second kid. That maybe I'd stop fixating on all the horrible things because I'd have...a spare. But then I began to realize it wouldn't work like that. It wouldn't lessen the worry, it would double it. So, Son will most likely remain an only child.

Suddenly I realize something.

I might be as crazy (and I say that in the most lovingly way possible) as my mother. And I understand now why she was over-protective, and unfortunately I think I'm headed the same way.

When I was 13, I vowed to be the coolest mother alive. I would let my kid go to concerts and stay out past 8 pm on a school night. I would let him go shopping at the mall--sans parent. Later (after my driver's ed experience), I also was determined that when I taught my kid to drive, I WOULD NOT gasp, brace myself, and stomp an invisible brake while traveling at 15 mph in a deserted parking lot.

And now I don't know if I can do any of this. I'm a traitor to my adolescent self.

Anyway, so I was laying in bed thinking of all of these things and then suddenly realized that all I needed was jet engine and in the strawberries. Which I'm sure would have made perfect sense if I hadn't snapped awake at the thought of strawberries and then realized I must have been drifting off to sleep.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

too tv

2010-04-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

Okay. I seriously need for "LOST" to be over. Last night, I realized that I could watch season 6 online. Duh. And I was up until 2:30...again.

But then, I woke up at 8. And continued watching episodes!

I'm now completely caught up.

I have to see this show through to the end now...but after "LOST" I'm gonna seriously need to take a break from the tv.

I went through my Netflix instant queue and deleted several shows I was thinking of starting ("Rescue Me", "Firefly", & "Heroes"). I just can't get this involved again.

Flincher

2010-04-12T13:47:00.000-07:00

I went to bed at 2:30 am, after finishing a "LOST" bender on Netflix. I had never seen the show before last week, and I've spent the better part of the last few days immersing myself completely with the island. Until last night--when I finished season 5. Now I must wait until Netflix gets dvds of season 6 before I find out what happens. I am determined not to Google it, lest I end up with another disappointment like the time I found out Assumpta Fitzgerald gets friggin' electrocuted.

I resisted "LOST" for a long time...for some reason, my brain is convinced that if so many people like a show, it must be really lame (I'm not completely sure why I think that way, but I think somehow it has to do with NKOTB.) But, to all of the folks involved in "LOST", I owe you an apology for ever thinking this show was probably lame.

It's definitely a crazy show. And in some episodes--in the second and third seasons--I was pretty convinced the writers had no plans for the future...that they were winging it episode to episode. But I love this show! Aside from the first season, I'd have to say the fifth season is the best so far (not having seen the final season yet, anyway)--mostly because I think it's nice that they are starting to clear up some of the mysteries.

Anyway, so I was up until 2:30...which is REALLY REALLY late for me. I'm tired. And I feel weird. I think I've watched waaaaay too much "LOST". I've been dreaming about it the last few nights (and I keep hearing the background soundtrack in my head). It's kinda like when you work a lot, and you end up with workmares. Or when you play too much Tetris, and then when you're not playing it you still see falling blocks when you close your eyes.

I know I'm close to the end of the story and I want to see how it all ends. But I'll miss it...The same way I miss any good book when I get to the end.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I am terrified of airplanes. I have taken exactly 3 vacations via air travel, with a grand total of six flights--the last being in November of 2004. My first flight ever was when I was 8. It should have been fantastic, as we were headed to Disney World for Christmas. I don't really remember the flight, but my mom says it was a nightmare--she had to drag me kicking and screaming onto the plane...then afterwards--for the flight back to Chicago--she said I was practically catatonic the entire time.

The only reason I have come up with for this utter terror at such a young age is that my sitter--an older woman down the street--told me some horror story about a little boy who saw the wreckage of his father's plane crash and learned that his dad was dead when he saw his headless body being dragged out of it...on tv. I have no way to know the truth of the story she fed me. That woman had to have been sick in the head to have told a kid a story like that right before a vacation to the happiest place on earth.

I can't say for sure that THAT particular story is why I'm terrified of airplanes, but it certainly did make an impression on me then.

As an adult, I know I know I know that the statistics are in favor of air travel. And I have a good number of friends and family who fly rather frequently with no problems whatsoever.

But... I am a wuss. There is something about being in a metal tube hurtling hundreds of miles an hour through the air, miles above the earth that just....scares the crap out of me.

My last flight was from O'Hare to Seatac; I was 25, single, and childless. If ever there was a possible turning point moment in my life...it was then. The flight was pretty good--very uneventful. I had just spent the weekend with family, all who extolled the virtues of flying. Somewhere at Seatac after we landed, I saw a departure sign for Honolulu...and for a few moments, I totally considered ditching my family to hop on a plane and head to Hawaii...with no plans at all, just a carry-on full of clothes needing to be washed.

In the car on the way back home, I watched all the cars on the freeway and thought about how dangerous driving supposedly was compared to flying. I kept thinking about Honolulu. I told myself someday I would go.

But of course, there were more plane crashes. And in the time since then, even just visualizing take-off causes an almost overwhelming anxiety and I feel as though I'll have a heart attack. So I decided that the easiest thing would simply be to tell people that I have a medical condition which prevents me from flying.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Did you know that you can still travel by boat to Europe? I have no idea why I thought that when Ellis Island closed up, people stopped traveling by boat.

I also have no idea why being on a boat in the middle of the ocean is any less frightening an idea than flying across the ocean. Especially considering it would take about a week to travel from New York to England. It must have to do with the illusion of being on the ground.

You want to hear the kicker?

Husband is afraid of the ocean, and has never traveled by boat...anywhere.

What a pair we make. It seems the most exotic vacation we'll ever take anywhere is likely to be a rail trip to Montreal.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was never in soccer. Or any sport involving running and projectiles. In gym class, I was...The Flincher

A classmate--I don't remember who anymore--tried to give me advice on how not to dodge the ball. They asked me why I did it, and all I could say was that it was reflex. Then they said that the worst thing that would happen if I was hit by the ball, was that I'd be hit by the ball. And that it would only hurt for a few moments, and it wasn't that bad.

It was interesting advice and all, but I still couldn't stop flinching out of the way. And considering my brother whipped a basketball at my head when I was 6 or 7, I would have to agree that the worst part about being hit with the ball was...BEING HIT WITH THE BALL!

Perhaps if I'd grown up with soccer, and had taken several more shots to the face and head, I'd be less afraid of projectiles.

But who can say. I think it's an evolutionary defense mechanism.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This morning after dropping Husband off at work, I was driving home when Billy Joel came on the radio. And for some reason, the song managed to fit all of these things I seemed to be thinking about simultaneously. I had a moment where I wondered if I was having some sort of mental break as I turned up the song and sang along (badly, at the top of my lungs).

I thought about my 3.5 yr old son in the back seat, and how I hoped he would be way cooler and braver than I ever was.

I thought about hopping a plane to Honolulu and whacking myself in the face with a soccer ball.

I can't even say why this song in particular stuck out in my head, but I gotta say, I have a new appreciation for Billy Joel. Cause the guy just knows, ya know?

thoughts, in poems

2010-03-31T23:06:00.000-07:00

Same on Either Side
I just don't understand
why you don't
understand.
How can you not see
what is really going on?
You're wrong!
Crazy, even!
I can't talk to you
any more,
you silly asshole.

Spring
In the grey drizzle,
an oil rainbow on the ground
colors a puddle.

More Dry
I forgot about the sheets
in the dryer.
They were still damp
and not ready
for bedtime.
As I laid me down to sleep,
my hand brushed through
a pool of Husband's sweat--
which had collected
on the polyester blanket
used to cover the mattress.
Revulsion for synthetic fibers
swept over me--
I wiped the droplets from
my fingertips.
But...
also guilt--
because it was I
who forgot about the sheets
in the dryer.

qualitative

2010-03-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

According to WolframAlpha.com, I have been 30 years old for: six months and 25 days, or twenty-nine weeks and three days, or 206 days, or 146 weekdays, or 0.5644 years. And what have I done in my half a year of thirtyness? Nothing. Nothing that really stands out in my mind anyway. I haven't gotten a new job, or moved my family out of my mother's house, or lost a significant amount of weight, or studied math.

I've done little things though. Yesterday I trimmed dead limbs off the raspberry bush and told it how lovely it was. In the last week I've rescued two bees from being stuck inside the house. I've begun learning how to use my sewing machine, and have managed to make several weird-looking handkerchiefs made from old flannel pajama pants. I've given up shampoo (although I've taken to regularly using handmade soap bars instead).

Are these important things I've done? I don't know.

I'd like to think that the little things I do ripple outward and have a larger positive effect somehow.

I wonder if I do enough good little things to make up for the not-so-good little things I do. If the good ripple outward, then surely the negative do too. Do positive and negative actions weigh equally? Do small positive actions make up for regular inactivity?

fractions of a day

2010-02-26T12:37:00.000-08:00

She pulls the ground beef out of the package with her fingers; little bits of cold, pink flesh get wedged under her nails. She drops the meat, in chunks, into the frying pan and tries not to think about how unnatural it is for beef to come in little tendril-like noodles. This is organic, and comes from grass-fed cattle...surely that's better than the mass-produced, gooey alternative. But it still is unnatural, and she still doesn't know if the poor beast was dead when it was sent to the grinder.

She thinks again about becoming vegan. Vegan vegan vegan...after a while it sounds like virgin. Vegan virgin vegan virgin vegan virgin...They begin to seem quite similar to each other--both words evoke an image of a purity of sorts, and both words are something she isn't.

With the spatula, she stabs repeatedly at the beef in the pan, breaking it up into little crumbles. Is this what becomes of non-vegan, non-virgin women? she wonders, Mashing meat (and men) into little bits so it can be mixed into something palatable? She ponders this a moment, and then begins to feel rather like an artist. Yes, an important task, this is.

Later, while her husband is eating his sloppy joe sandwich, he thanks her for making dinner.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One morning, after she drops her husband off at work, she suddenly has a craving for Starbucks.

She no sooner orders a tall decaf latte through the drive-thru, than her toddler son begins screaming, "Noooooo! I don't want that, I want apple juice!" She calmly explains that the coffee is for her, not him, then proceeds to call back out to the box to ask if she can add an apple juice to her order. The voice is of a different clerk however, and in her belly she feels a suspicion this will throw off the line of orders.

Mother and son wait their turn, watching the taillights of the three cars ahead of them as they go past the window to collect their goods. The boy absentmindedly kicks the seat in front of him and giggles as he wiggles his index finger into his cheek. The mother sighs lightly while she pulls her bank card out of her wallet.

Oh no. The smiling clerk is holding a wrapped muffin out in her left hand. "You had the muffin and the vanilla soy latte?" she asks expectantly.

Shit, I knew I'd throw them off with the add-on apple juice. "No, I'm sorry, I had the tall decaf latte and an apple juice," she replies.

The clerk's eyes widen with worry as she retracts the muffin-laden hand and turns towards the register computer screen. "I'm so sorry, but we seem to have forgotten your order."

"Oh that's no problem, it's understandable," and it's all my fault anyway, "these things happen." She shrugs and smiles.

The clerk smiles too, then re-rings the order on the register. Within two minutes the latte and juice are passed from window to car. The clerk smiles again, and enthusiastically entreats the woman to "have a great day!".

"You too," the woman smiles. She sips her decaf latte, and it is good.

appreciation

2010-02-22T08:07:00.000-08:00

Last night the crescent moon was bright white. The stars looked crisp against the wonderfully cloudless, dark blue-black of the sky. Two airplanes coming from different directions (but both seemingly headed northwest) sparkled in the distance.

Orion, the first constellation I was able to easily recognize when I was a child, was right there--in front of my window....A giant stellar billboard of sorts.

Last night, the sky was for me. Or I was for it? I suppose it doesn't matter which is which. The point is, the sky was beautiful and I saw the beauty.

When I laid down in bed, I felt very peaceful.

I have known the sweet, juicy crunch of the apple. I have smelled the damp earthiness of the forest, and the fresh saltiness of the ocean. I have scratched chicken pox, screamed going into traction with broken bones, and felt the grass between my toes and a warm breeze on my cheeks. I have seen snow-topped mountains in the distance, plains as flat as a pancake, water as far as the eye can see, cornfields saturated with fireflies, and trees the size of skyscrapers.

I may never get to Europe or Australia or anyplace else before my time is up. But I have still seen koalas and kangaroos, zebras, giraffes, and elephants. I know that seahorses and aardvarks and scorpions and guinea pigs all co-exist on this Earth with me, incredibly enough.

It's the diversity of it all that blows my mind. I get to live with it all--the known, and the unknown.

And on top of that:

Last night I got to see that beautiful sky.

A Jess of No Trades

2010-02-17T10:16:00.000-08:00

My friend M and I were eating breakfast after a night of working on projects at the university library, when he told me he'd dropped (or considered dropping, I can't remember anymore) all of his classes for the following fall and withdrew from his major. "I told my mom," he said, "I told her: It's just not my bag, Mom." At the time, although I was worried for him, we both laughed lightly over his quoting Austin Powers to his mom. I wish I could remember more of that morning--more of that conversation--as that was the second to last time I would ever speak with him again.

Looking back, neither of us could see ourselves doing anything professionally in the world. At least, that's what we told each other. We spent countless hours sitting around talking about everything and nothing. He named us--together with our friend Michelle--The Deadbeat Club (after the B-52s song).

A decade later, I have no college degree and I'm still my own deadbeat club. I suppose it's rather amazing that I still have zero ambition. I've often wished I had some definitive interest in something or an innate talent to guide my way. I can only conclude that it's some defect in my personality that holds me back.

Professions I considered as a child were:
1) Astronomer (but that turned out to be too sciencey for me)
2) Veterinarian (again, too sciency)
3) Being a Rich Person (yes, when I was 8, I thought I might just become obscenely wealthy for no apparent reason)
4) Work in a candy store (I actually did this in college. It's amazing how easy a dream this was to accomplish. Now what?)

I truly envy people who just KNOW what they want to do, or are actually GOOD at something--like dancing, singing, public speaking, cooking, sewing, schmoozing, being funny, understanding math, etc.

I know I'm certainly not alone--I worked retail for several years and I'd have to say that most of the people I've worked with were in a similar boat...just unable to see themselves doing something professionally.

I've decided to make a list of things I'd like to try, to see if I can uncover some hidden talent:

1) Sword-making. Or Blacksmithing. Or whatever it's called. I just think it would be awesome to learn how to make swords and shields and cuirasses and...yeah!

2) Raising sheep for wool. I know absolutely nothing about taking care of sheep, other than they wander hillsides and certain breeds of dogs are better at rounding them up than others. And, if I were a shepherdess I could carry a hooked staff.

3) Sewing, knitting, and other things textile. I mean, if I were to raise sheep for wool, wouldn't it be better if I could use the wool myself? I just need to get over being intimidated by the sewing machine and whatnot. And learn how to make a loom. Or use a loom.

4) Cooking--although I have mixed feelings on this, because I happen to like eating. I can cook decently enough, but if I were to get too good at it then I might never lose weight.

I really don't want to be working for someone else, I'd rather work for myself. I just keep thinking that there's gotta be something I'd be good at.

cursed (TMI alert)

2010-02-15T10:18:00.000-08:00

When I was first initiated into the ranks of menstruating women, I didn't understand what all of the negative fuss was about. I didn't experience pms back then--no bloating, and aside from the generic depression of the teenage years--no mood swings. From the point at which I began having periods to my pregnancy with my son, I had a fairly regular 31-33 day cycle with AF visiting for 7 days.

At thirty years old, and three and half years after my son was born, I have turned into the woman who cries during ASPCA commericals, or during moving musical scores in movies. I have daily issues with anxiety. And in the last week and a half of my cycle, I am likely to turn into the Incredible Hulk if my husband's dirty socks are on the floor next to the laundry basket instead of in it. In fact, just *thinking* of that is causing a surge of "GrrRRAAAAAAAA!" at the moment.

When I was 28 I began experiencing heart palpitations that began to occur during the second half of my cycle (it took me awhile to figure out they were cyclical), but mostly only during the winter months, and only when I was relaxing. After two winters of god-awful palps, about $2k or so thrown at drs. (thanks for nothing but sucking my money away, health insurance), and two different heart monitors, I was told that it was nothing to worry about--just a sort of extra heartbeat. It was recommended that I reduce my caffeine intake so as not to trigger it. So that's what I did. Last April I gave up caffeine except for the occasional chocolate or hot cocoa. It does seem to have helped somewhat, this winter there's only been an occasional tiny flitter of a flubbub--nothing like the last two winters. *knock on wood*

About the last seven months or so, I've begun to experience cyclical bouts with itchy skin/rashes as well, that occur on my neck, wrists, the backs of my knees, and my ankles. It usually happens around day 15 or so of my cycle. Oh, and another thing--since I had my son, my cycles are shorter, about 28 days. And in the last two years AF has started to gradually decrease her visit to only 4 days. So far I haven't missed any visits though. And don't even get me started on the headaches.

So, my best guess is that something hormonal is at work here. If I had the means and the wherewithal, I would go back to the doctor and request to see an endocrinologist or SOMEBODY who could figure this all out for me. But I can't do that because in the U.S. health care is not a right, it's a privilege for those who can afford it. But that's an entirely different sort of blog entry that I don't want to get into right now, lest the Hulk begin talking.

I wasn't really expecting this to start for another ten years. But now that I'm experiencing this, I don't care if I go through any sort of premature menopause. I certainly don't want to be dealing with this crap 'til I'm fifty.

So, my dear Aunt Flo, you--and your little hormones too--can suck it. This one's for you:

A good day

2010-02-13T23:22:00.000-08:00

This morning, Husband, Dog, and I went for an early morning walk on one of the trails that runs through town. The sun was just coming up, and the air was cool but surprisingly balmy. Nothing beats springy-fresh morning air.

As we were walking through a lightly wooded area, Husband spotted a raccoon watching us.

"Oh, look at him just sitting there!" I exclaimed.

We stood very still watching the raccoon. Raccoon stood very still watching us.

And then--"Oh! There he goes through the trees," Husband said.

But he hadn't truly gone. "No, he's right there, see?" I pointed, "He just moved for a better view of us, it seems."

Raccoon held his little hands in front of himself, twiddling his fingers. In a ninja-like movement, he suddenly darted down and then reappeared another two feet closer...still watching us.

"What a funny raccoon! It's like he's coming toward us!" We laughed. Nervously.

Raccoon moved again.

"Wow, he's a rather...large raccoon. I didn't realize they were so big..." --Husband.

"Do you think he thinks we'll give him food or something?" --Me.

"Maybe." --Husband.

Astonishing silence and indifference --Dog

Raccoon was now a mere twenty feet away from us. After Raccoon advanced again, we decided to skedaddle. I can't recall ever having been so close to a wild raccoon before. Aside from a slight worry over being attacked by a large raccoon, it was a pretty cool experience.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I took Mom shopping today, and was highly tempted by the organic shampoos and face washes.

I haven't used shampoo on my hair since a couple days before New Year's. The first couple weeks I washed with water only, but then come PMS week I broke down and used some baking soda. I've washed my hair and face with a paste of baking soda several times since then--about every three or four days. It actually works pretty well as far as taming the oils, but I noticed today that I have some mild dandruff.

I don't miss the soup of chemicals in regular shampoos at all. But I do miss the ritual of shampooing and conditioning, and the aroma. I'm very tempted by organic products, but at the same time, I'm kinda pleased with myself that I'm not currently beholden to the (shampoo) Man. If I buy some, I think I will just end up disappointed in myself. I should really try to determine if it would be cost-effective to make my own. Of course, a giant box of Arm & Hammer costs about $2.30. It's pretty hard to beat that.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Husband and I celebrated our Valentine's day early by going out to dinner and a movie today.

Husband had never been to Old Country Buffet and I hadn't been there in years, so we decided to go there because we had a coupon.

As I was loading my (first) plate with macaroni & cheese, and orange chicken, and carrots...and getting a Sprite (although while searching for straws I discovered the Icee machine and had instant regret)...I realized that Old Country Buffet is eerily similar to Pinocchio's Pleasure Island (minus truant, cigar-smoking boys).

After my second plate (a slice of pizza), it would have been poetic if I had, in fact, turned into a donkey.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We saw "Avatar" in 3D. I was a little worried that after hearing all the hype over how great the movie is, I wouldn't be able to help being disappointed. BUT I WASN'T!

The detail of everything that went into that movie is...simply brilliant. The story was very beautiful (even if the base of it was a typical romance). The people and emotions really strike a chord. The Na'vi are like a version of us without self-centeredness.

Everything in their world is interconnected. But really, that's true of our world as well--it's just that on Pandora there's a more obvious physical connection.

I totally believe in the Gaia philosophy. I think of all living things on Earth as being types of cells in a giant living organism. And I think Earth is a cell of a larger being.

Something I've liked to do since I was kid, is try to feel the Earth move. I'd lay really still on my back--palms and feet facing down. Then I'd think about which way was East, and how the Earth would be rotating. I'd listen to all the night sounds, and just focus on Earth. And it seemed I could feel the Earth turning. It is one of the most peaceful feelings ever.

A decade late and a dollar short

2010-02-08T08:31:00.000-08:00

About a month or so ago, I began watching tv shows via streaming Netflix. I started with "Torchwood" as that had been on my "to-watch" list for awhile ever since I caught an episode while flipping past CBC.

For the majority of the last ten years, I haven't been an avid television watcher, so there have been many shows I've missed. Thanks to Netflix, I can catch up on some of the ones I've been meaning to see, and some other ones I hadn't even thought of.

Since I liked "Torchwood", Netflix recommended some other shows--"Farscape" and "Ballykissangel"--of which I'd never seen any episodes. I decided to go with "Farscape" first because I was still in a sci-fi mood. I quickly became engrossed, and viewed entire seasons in a matter of days.

Alas, only the first three seasons are currently available for streaming on Netflix. So I got left at the end of the season three cliffhanger with...well, a cliffhanger. ARGH! I now need to wait for the season 4 dvds to find out what happens to Crichton, Aeryn Sun, and the gang. And that might take awhile as I must wait for Husband to return the dvd he currently has out. I'm determined NOT to ask Google what happens in season 4, so that I can still enjoy it when it finally arrives.

In the meantime, I started watching "Ballykissangel". It began to fill the void left when Moya seemed to disappear through a wormhole leaving Crichton stranded in deep space in naught but his module.

The romantic tension between Father Peter Clifford and Assumpta Fitzgerald fulfilled a perverse need (that I didn't even realize I had) to see a priest fall in love with a woman and be torn apart by it.

And it was a cute show. Up until season 3.

At the end of the third episode of season 3, Peter decides to go on retreat and Assumpta decides to move to Dublin. Then, in episode four, they are both gone, Niamh is running the bar, and not a single person in town mentions the either of them! I thought, "Surely that's not the end of them!"

And I realized something--that episode without them was one of the most boring ones I ever saw! I decided I didn't want to invest any more of my time in a show if the characters that made that show were gone. I broke my "no Google" rule to find out if Assumpta was really gone off to Dublin for good...and I found out something even worse.

THEY KILL HER!

Apparently in the episodes that follow the most boring one I ever saw, Peter and Assumpta come back, and after some mess with her having gotten married they begin to work through their feelings for each other. Peter decides to leave the church, and Assumpta gets ELECTROCUTED.

ELECTROCUTED!!

Peter and Assumpta never even properly kiss!

WHAT.

EV.

ER.

I couldn't believe it! I was soooo disappointed that I removed the show from my instant queue and gave the third season a meager two stars. I just couldn't continue to waste my time waiting for something that wasn't going to happen. The other characters were nice and all, but not enough so to continue on without Peter and Assumpta. Of course, that's just my opinion. Apparently, the folks at the BBC thought otherwise because the show continued on for another two seasons.

So now I'm back to where I started--waiting for discs to come in the mail. I have plenty of other shows waiting for me in the instant queue...maybe I'll check them out. Or maybe I'll just read a book instead.

They all suppose what they want to suppose, when they hear... Oom-pah-pah!!

2010-02-03T10:55:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking about music a lot the last two days. Mostly, I've been wondering how music became so hard-wired into our emotions and identities as people. It has the mysterious power to persuade us to spend money (through commercial jingles), to dance, to lull us to sleep, to instill a sense of longing for two people in a movie or tv show to *finally* get together. Try watching "Ratatouille" or "Batman" with no musical score and it will be a much different experience. Some music can inspire us to create new and beautiful things through artwork, or it can inspire us to go to war--and likewise fill the opposing force with a sense of dread (bagpipes, war drums, what-have-you). It can make time at work go more quickly, and can also make for a more fruitful cardio session.

But what I want to know is...WHY???

Another thing--I know very few people who enjoy listening to their favorite song quietly. Nay, most people I know enjoy FEELING the music reverberate through their brain. It doesn't matter how much I tell myself I will not crank the volume on my iPod, I inevitably find myself slowly raising the volume until I am not just listening to music while riding my stationary bike--I AM the music, in my very core.

My dog and cat do not seem to feel the same way, although I've heard there have been studies that show a correlation between different types of music and growth in vegetation.

I've come up with a few ideas about the origins of the connection between music and the human psyche:

1) We were once slaves to an alien race that bred us to respond to music as mind control. Since coming to Earth and being freed of bondage, we've kept our inclination towards music despite our freedom. (Ok, to some folks, I admit this will sound crazy, but you simply can't disprove it at this point in time.)

2) It has something to do with God. (The good 'ole fallback, cause, you know, the dude's responsible for everything. Assuming, of course, you believe that.)

3) Looking at the big picture, the Earth is an organism unto itself. Humans and other animals and plants and such are simply like cells to the Earth. The core of the planet is it's heart. Petroleum and water are it's plasma and blood. The Earth itself creates music as the moon revolves around it, and it likewise revolves around the sun--the core resonates rhythms towards the surface. Like the tide responds to the moon, we respond to our Earth's rhythms and express those rhythms as human-interpreted song. So really, our music is the Earth's music. Our music reflects the overall health of the planet. This is the theory I'm leaning towards, although I'm not sure why humans and vegetation would be more inclined towards the Earth's musical rhythms than other animals.

honey our budget's a disaster, but your hair looks like...

2010-01-09T15:02:00.000-08:00

A positive thing about not having a job is that I can really let my eccentric side flourish inside my home. For example, after my last entry, I started really thinking about giving up shampoo. So I did! I have not shampooed or conditioned my hair since 2009! Instead, I vigorously massage my scalp in the shower under plain old water every day.

For the first couple days, I felt really greasy. But now my hair almost feels normal. It's still oilier than shampooed hair, but it doesn't seem to be stringy and greasy anymore. And while it doesn't have much volume (I've never been able to achieve volume without numerous hair damaging products), it actually seems thicker--and even healthier--than it has in awhile! Perhaps it's all in my own imagination, but I'd like to think not.

I've read in online forums that people who use WO (water only) tend to see the same washing results as they did with shampoo after about 3-4 weeks of quitting. After about a week and a half, I'm pretty impressed with what I see so far.

If you Google "songs about shampoo", you'll actually get quite a few hits...and if you surf long enough, you'll get to old shampoo commercials! For some reason, this old Prell ad really cracks me up. Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've been trying to figure out what goals I want to set for this year. Last year I chose to read 52 books in a year. I think it's actually the first resolution I've ever kept!

But this year I want to do something different. I'm pretty out of shape, but I don't want to just make a generic "lose weight" goal. I think I'm going to set a goal for myself to be able to skip for a full minute. Currently I can't skip more than a couple steps--the last time I tried, I practically sprained my ankle. Sad, I know. Hopefully it won't take me very long to meet that goal, but I'm going to give myself the entire year anyway. :-)

I also think I might FINALLY buckle down and learn how to do the splits. For as long as I can remember, I've never been able to do them (not intentionally anyway--there WAS the time I slipped on the deck after a rain and fell into them...and that was AWFUL!). I've gotten pretty close to being able to do them, but somehow never really followed through with it.

Heck, maybe I'll even throw in a backbend for good measure! So, skipping, splits, and a backbend! Does that sound good... or do I sound like a total wuss?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I've decided to modify my diet slightly. I quit eating loaf bread last week, and have been drinking almost exclusively water (save for the occasional hot cocoa). I wouldn't consider myself to be "low-carbing" by any means, but I definitely think those two actions alone are making a huge difference. I don't feel nearly as hungry as I did when eating sandwiches and toast and stuff. Go figure. I also lost about 5 lbs of water! Which is great! That's probably mostly due to the giving up soda. I used to love me some pop. Thankfully I haven't really felt any cravings for soda lately. Keep your fingers crossed that I can keep it up!

I've decided that come March 31st, a bunch of my clothes will be getting donated! If I don't seem to be losing weight, then all the size 5s I've been hanging onto for the last 8 years are going to Goodwill. ...BUT, if I manage to make a dent in my clothing size, then all the bigger sizes will go! Wahooo.

Crow's feet are happy feet!

2009-12-31T12:40:00.000-08:00

At 30, I don't think I look like other 30 year olds. I don't think I act much like others either. I consider myself to be immature in many ways. But I'm probably wrong...on both counts (probably at least half of the other 30 year olds out there are probably just as immature as I am.) I suppose we all believe that we are somehow different than our peers.

I feel I look much younger than other people in their thirties...And yet, at the same time, when I look closely at my skin in the mirror, I can tell that it has aged. There's a very fine difference between what my skin was like 10 years ago, and what it's like now, but I can tell the difference all the same. There are the itsy bitsy, barely visible creases (are these the "fine lines" or "micro lines" that cosmetics companies are hell bent on marketing against?) that seem to be appearing above my eyebrows, which I worry will eventually look like a permanent scowl in another twenty years (although I don't think I furrow my brow or scowl all that often). My skin looks slightly dryer in some patches than it did ten years ago, but it's not really noticeable unless you are within six inches of it and staring directly at it. I don't feel bothered by any of this at all, in fact, I find it rather fascinating and reassuring on some level (that I must be more normal than I imagine myself).

The other night I was laying in bed, on my side. I never used to sleep on my side before I had my son--I was a devout stomach sleeper; however, after having him, I find side sleeping to be the most comfortable for my back. As I was laying there, I couldn't help but notice my breasts--seemingly floppy sacks that they are--sloshed together down towards the mattress. Sometimes I like to place my hand between them and feel how big they seem to myself.

When I was a teenager, I had quite petite breasts. I used to pray they would grow to be voluptuous and full. If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have been so obsessed with it. I am rather pleased with them currently, even though I'm sure in another ten years (maybe not even that long) they will be full-blown saggy National Geographic boobs (which it turns out are NOT so exotic after all--bra manufacturers be damned).

I sometimes wonder if men feel about their testicles the way women feel about their breasts--since they are both fleshy dangling sorts of sacks filled with things needed for life. Can you just imagine young men wishing for large testicles in order to be more desirable to the opposite sex (...Are you there God, it's me Mark...)?

This makes me wonder: Why DON'T women search for men with large balls (surely they would be brimming with fertility!) It seems that no one cares about testicles as much as people care about breasts. Maybe it's the hair.

So anyway, back to me. Aging, to me, isn't frightening or bothersome. I find it beautiful and curious. I'm rather pleased when I find a shiny, silvery gray hair on my head. Don't get me wrong, I'm not pleased with growing nearer to death, merely entertained with finding NEW things happening with my body. Just when you think you know yourself, your body goes and does something completely different just to shake things up!

I wonder how many other people are so completely unbothered by growing older? Granted, 30 is not very old at all--I know that, but still... Why are there so many anti-aging cosmetics marketed out there? Are there truly THAT many people scared of wrinkles? Or do they just hope to make people dislike the way their bodies look so they will spend $50 on anti-wrinkle cream? Wrinkle cream won't stop death, after all.

I tend to think cosmetics tend to make your skin addicted to more cosmetics. It seems silly that we use special soaps to wash the natural oils off our bodies and then use special moisturizers to add synthetic oils back so that our skin doesn't turn leathery. Surely a person can be clean and not have to go through that cyclical cosmetic addiction. Hrm.

I think this year I'm going to make a more conscious effort to eat better. I think food does many more wonders for the skin and body than any cream or make-up could do. Yes, I believe 2010 should be the year of working from the inside-out, rather than the outside-in.

To the Surface

2009-10-28T13:28:00.000-07:00

Dormancy. You'd think it'd happen in the winter, when it gets grey and cloudy and leaves fall from trees and all the little animals sleep longer. But no, not really. I find that some part of me, deep inside, begins to stir. Whatever it is has slept peacefully and quietly, basking in the warmth of summer; and now that the temperature is dropping, it is wriggling about, trying to pull the covers over it and stay warm and sleep in a nice cocoon...but there is no cocoon, and it is cold and aggravated.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was a kid, I had a dream that I was in a vast field, and I was standing next to a long chain link fence. On the other side was a man, talking to me. I don't remember anymore what he said, but it seemed important. I woke up feeling important, and sad. A short while later that day, I heard that Michael Landon had died, and in a flash--when I saw his picture--I realized that was the man from my dream. I was convinced that he had visited me in my dream after he died...although I don't know why he'd visit ME of all people--someone not even related to him. Sometimes I remember this dream, and I tell myself that I must have heard of him dying first, and THEN had the dream, and then was confused about it later.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

We used to visit my Uncle (Great Uncle, actually, but he was always just Uncle) regularly on Thanksgiving. The couple years leading up to my freshman year of high school, he began giving away his belongings to relatives who wanted them. He let me go through his book collection and select whatever I wanted. He was a priest and his book collection reflected that, and as I made my selection I felt as though I was gathering a sacred treasure. Sadly, I only have two books of that treasure left (both books titled, "The Life of Christ", but by different authors)...the others mysteriously disappeared during numerous changes of residence in my early twenties. I do have two more books from Uncle though, "The Home Book of Irish Humor" and "Ghosts in Irish Houses" (still a treasure, but of a different variety).

It happened my freshman year, in October. My mom had talked to Uncle on the phone and they discussed life and our upcoming trip the next month to visit him for Thanksgiving. It was going to be different that year because he had moved out of his house and into a group home with other retired priests. A couple days after she talked to him on the phone, he died. I'm told it was very fast. He had gone out to dinner with friends, and on the way back home--while riding in the passenger seat--he gasped, and that was it.

We drove out for the funeral. It was a rather strange affair. He was pretty old, and he had been a very popular, well-loved, small-town priest for a long time...so there was quite a turn-out at his funeral. People missed him, but really, it wasn't horribly sad. While I was sad that I wouldn't see him anymore, I felt happy for him in a way. He'd had a good life--few are so lucky to go through life and be as good-natured and well-liked as he was. When I saw him, I just *knew* he'd moved on to the next place, and that he would do well there.

At the church, he was dressed in special robes. One of my aunts took photographs of him. Afterwards we ate. We ate a lot during that trip.

One day after we'd returned home, after I had gone to school for the day and when I got back home, I checked the mail. I was simply stunned when I saw a letter in the box with Uncle's return address...in his handwriting. Actually, I was freaked out. I was convinced he had somehow written us a letter after he died. I called Mom at work, as I was unsure if I should open the letter right then and there or if I should wait for her to get home. I read it then and there. Turns out he had written it the day he died. He talked about the dinner he was going to, how good things were, how much he loved and missed us, and how he was looking forward to seeing us again. I cried and cried and cried.

So it wasn't a letter from the dead, but in retrospect, I like to think the overall message might well be the same if he were to write now...Things are good, love you miss you, looking forward to seeing you again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I was about 12, I had a strange "dream". I was suddenly aware of my room in the dark, and I was on my back looking on the ceiling, except I was on my stomach with my face snuggled into my warm pillow. I felt an odd tingling at the top of my head that grew in intensity. Then, I felt myself being poured out of my head--through the tingly spot. I was being poured...into a book of sorts. That's the only way I can explain it. I was someplace else, and I was having a discussion with someone about my role in life, and what my purpose was, because I had a specific one. (Although I'll be a monkey's uncle if I could remember what it was.)

I don't have any recollection of what happened after that. I didn't even remember my dream when I woke up, except I felt funny all day long. I had a hyper-awareness of my surroundings. The air breathed cold in my nostrils and the top of my head was slightly tingly, but not tingly.

We had company over for dinner that night, and while waiting for dinner I sat on the sofa with our guests, watching "Cops". In this particular episode, there was a woman laying face down in a gutter, dead. I remember wondering if she was really dead, or if she was just out drunk or something--one of our guests said he was pretty sure she was dead. When I saw that woman's hand--palm up to the sky, I thought, "dead". In a split second my dream rushed back to me, and I was suddenly able to pinpoint the odd feeling I'd had all day. It was because I had been dead for a short time the night before, during my dream.

As an adult, the skeptic inside tries to make it's voice the loudest, "It was just a dream, same as any. Some are odd."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The vision happened in the 6th or 7th grade. I was walking along fine and dandy, being me, and then in the blink of an eye there was this:

I was driving a light blue pick-up with rust spots on it. I was on a rural highway somewhere, could have been anywhere...The trees and grass were brown, but there didn't seem to be any hills. There were animals in cages in the back. Steve Miller's "Fly Like An Eagle" was on, and I was singing along with it. I pulled into a motel, got a room, and brought the caged animals into it. I went in the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My hair was dirty blond and curly (permed?) and shoulder length. My cheeks were round and pale-peach, and I looked maybe 20-something. I stared at myself for awhile, then realized the animals weren't making any sounds. I opened the bathroom door, and saw that the motel door was open and cool air was coming in. Suddenly two large men pushed me back into the bathroom. They had knives, and started stabbing me, but it didn't hurt so bad as you'd think. "You shouldn't have taken those animals," one of them said. I saw them dump me in the shower stall and turn the water on while my blood went down the drain.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This other time, I don't even remember when exactly--but within the last ten years, I dreamed I was under a street or building somewhere. It was dark, and there was lots of concrete--concrete above me, concrete walls and columns holding up the concrete above me. But there was gravel and dirt under my feet. I was a man with my hands tied behind my back.

Like I said, it was dark. Except for a flashlight beam. I was kicked in the back and fell to my knees. I felt the gun behind my head, even though it wasn't touching me. There was so much anticipation, waiting for it to happen.

I heard it the same time I felt it. It hurt, but not so bad as you'd think. It moved monumentally slow though. It crashed through the back of my skull with flashes of soft blue lightning sparking throughout. It traveled to the center of my brain, and as far as I would care, that may as well have been where it stopped--because that's when it went black.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

These and other things jump to the surface sometimes. Usually when it's October. Usually when I'm cold. I ponder the concept of passing through "cold spots". Except sometimes I wonder if there's just a cold cloud that engulfs people sometimes and later dissipates on its own. After an hour of writing this blog, I don't feel so cold anymore. Could be that the warm air from the vents has finally reached this drafty loft where I write, could be my third cup of decaf is finally hitting the spot, or it could be that the cold cloud that stirs up my insides has dissipated for awhile.

one moment in time

2009-10-05T10:26:00.000-07:00

I don't know what sets it off, but sometimes I have obsessive trains of thought. It can happen with anything...say... like having a sentence stuck in my head, "I open the refrigerator door. I open the refrigerator door. I open the refrigerator door." or "The milk! The milk! The milk!"

Or it can include horrendously vivid and imaginative "what-if" scenarios... Lately I find myself thinking of earthquakes. I often start by wondering how many people will be on a flight of stairs during an earthquake. Or eating with a fork. Or having a c-section. Or using a wood chipper. (And yes, I experience graphic images of all potential scenarios--right down to blood spatter patterns).

The thing is, while I think "what-if" and envision a million grisly scenes to any number of situations, I can't say that I'm particularly stressed or worried. I say this because usually if I tell someone--like Husband--about these thoughts, I receive a blank (or worse, concerned) stare. The listener then says that I worry an awful lot about things that will probably never happen. And have I ever considered therapy?

But surely I am NOT that abnormal. I mean, there is a very lucrative business in the horror/sci-fi genre of books and film. Perhaps I just need to learn to channel my imagination in a more constructive manner.

I guess a part of me is fascinated by how fragile human life really is. How quickly it could all be taken away... By a slip coming out of the bathtub, by the cat tripping you up on a staircase, a stray peanut to an allergic person.

This morning around 6 am, I was in the loft on Mom's laptop. It was still quite dark outside. I closed the laptop up and all the light in the loft was effectively gone. With decaf coffee in hand, I turned to walk around the half wall to head down the stairs.

But I tripped! Coffee splattered everywhere as I hurtled forward towards the half wall--a structure about 2 and a half feet high, designed as a barrier between the safety of the loft and a fall down the staircase. My head went slightly over the half-wall, and I could actually FEEL myself zooming towards a head-long tumble down the steps. But I stopped. I don't exactly know how I stopped, but I did. It might sound dramatic if I say I was stopped by invisible hands, but I kinda feel that's what happened.

I was still holding my coffee mug, although it was empty. I cursed myself for being stupid for not having turned on a light to traverse a dark loft and staircase. And I was struck by how fast it all happened...How I didn't even really know what was happening until it was over.

strange goings-on

2009-10-02T12:52:00.000-07:00

Today I heard it. It was high-pitched and awful. I always think that maybe it won't happen on my watch, that maybe the next time, I won't have to deal with it. But somehow I always do.... The smoke detector began chirping to have its batteries changed.

I can't say exactly why it bothers me so much. Maybe it's because I have hearing problems, and the frequencies I CAN hear are a great deal harsher on my senses because of that. Anyhow, I managed to change the batteries and live through the "test" without incident. Our dog, however, was seriously freaked.

He followed me around for a solid fifteen minutes, pressing himself up against my legs and shuddering with fear. This would have been all fine and dandy were he a chihuahua, but he's a 60ish lb. shepherd mix. So it seems silly when I sit down and Dog tries to wedge himself under my short chair. And it's rather disheartening to know that if push came to shove, I would be used as a human shield.

It also kind of irked me, because yesterday, when I heard an utterly eerie "OooooOOoooh" sound out of nowhere, Dog didn't seem to hear it at all! I told myself it was just a fire truck that sounded weird, but Dog usually tries to imitate fire trucks and he didn't yesterday. It would be nice if Dog and I were at least on the same spookedness page.

Cat, on the other hand, who is a de-clawed, frail, geriatric feline of 18 years, seems oblivious to loud noises and odd happenings--such as the random, unexplainable thump (also occurred yesterday). I'm unsure if Cat is brave, more hard of hearing than myself, or just indifferent.

This house IS a hundred years old, but my mother has lived in it for about 5 years, and we've been staying here for about two...And in that whole time, there really haven't been any creepy occurrences (aside from finding a pair of eyeglasses buried in the backyard, and some random short bones in the side yard).

In fact, one of the main reasons my mom bought this house was because of the overwhelming sense of serenity each of us (her, myself, and my brother) felt when we walked through the front door. There was a total LACK of creepiness! I made sure to ask the realtor if anyone had died in the house, and she said she didn't know for sure, but that they were required by law to notify potential buyers if a murder had occurred. So I always felt like if someone HAD died in the house, they were probably happy--or at least at peace.

It still feels pretty safe and peaceful, at least to me...I can't speak for Dog. But it does seem that there have been some weird happenings this autumn so far.

Just the other week, we were eating dinner and talking, and out of nowhere there was a HUGE crashing sound above us. We all screamed--it seriously sounded like something had smacked into the house. Everybody ran upstairs to see if something heavy had fallen over, and then Husband and Mom went outside to see if something had indeed hit the house. There were no holes in the house, and we never did truly figure out what happened, but Husband experimented with knocking over a pile of futon parts (which I had set up in the loft), and it did make a very similar sound. Everyone seemed intent on blaming Cat for knocking the parts down, and I doubt Cat minds at all taking the blame, but I'm pretty sure she was sleeping on a chair in the kitchen.

I really shouldn't drink water before bedtime.

2009-09-24T09:39:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a number of nightmares, although I only remember one of them fairly well.

I was doing much frequent flying to various countries; there was a purpose for this, but I don't recall what it was. I had just returned from someplace in Europe (Paris, I think) and was rejoined by my husband at home.

Then we flew with another couple--in a smaller plane--although I don't know what our destination was. It seemed that we were in some program where we were simply sent places for some reason. Yes, it really was this vague in my dream too. It was like we had an objective, but we didn't know what it was or if we ever achieved it.

Anyway, this smaller plane began experiencing problems, and the pilot ended up landing on a tree-lined residential street somewhere. It was evening. The plane was coasting along the street very slowly, and I remember worrying about clipping the wings on the trees. Eventually it did roll slowly into a big evergreen tree, but luckily the tree didn't tumble down on us. Husband and I got off the plane and decided to get dinner before our next flight.

On the way to the airport, Husband told me that this time They (have no clue who They are, but They are important) gave the other couple a bunch of credit cards with really high limits, and they gave us $18 each, in cash. We were headed to an Asian country--I think Japan. I don't remember whether the other couple was going to the same place we were or not. I felt some trepidation about flying over the Pacific Ocean.

We boarded the new plane in the middle of the night and I fell asleep during take-off. When I awoke, It was very sunny. Actually, it was a gorgeous day--blue skies with tiny tufts of clouds scattered about. The water glistened in the sunlight. It was beautiful...Except the ocean seemed too close.

In fact, we were skimming the top of the water. I remember thinking, "This is it." Then the smiling flight attendant came to sit down in the row across from us--in the center of the plane (all seats faced the center of the plane--we were in the very middle of the plane, so we had a small aisle, and then a row of seats directly facing us...which is where the flight attendant sat).

She instructed us to fasten our seatbelts to prepare for a water landing. Her uniform was navy blue and she had a little gold name tag, but I don't remember her name. She was all smiles though and had perfectly white teeth. The seats were a deep maroon color. Our seat belts were really more like harnesses--they came over our shoulders like childrens' car seat belts. There were two tiny tabs on the seat belt that she instructed us to twist in a certain manner, as that would inflate the built-in life preservers. As she was talking, there was a hard bump and I realized we had hit the water.

Husband twisted his tabs and his life preserver inflated. I was getting ready to twist my tabs, but I felt like something was wrong (other than our "landing" in the ocean). I looked out the windows and suddenly the plane started to roll to the side; I could see the water swirling past the windows. Nearly everybody was screaming, except for Husband and me and the flight attendant (who was still smiling). A little boy, who wasn't buckled in, bounced across several rows of seats and landed in an empty seat next to the flight attendant--directly across from me.

He looked sooo much like my son. He looked at me with fear in his eyes. I felt water splashing on my ankles. I thought to myself "We're all going to drown inside this plane because of these stupid life preservers!" Everyone who had inflated their life preservers seemed to be stuck to their seats. I unbuckled my seat belt and wished for an open door on the plane so we could escape.

Suddenly I saw that a door was open, and even though the water was beginning to rise, I could see bright daylight outside. I don't remember talking to Husband after this, but that doesn't mean I didn't. With everybody screaming and the water rushing in, it was hard to keep track of everything. The little boy was crying, and I made a split decision to grab him and try to escape the airplane. I remember not having time to grab my purse (with my phone and passport), but I had the $18 in my pocket.

Somehow I was able to swim out of the plane while carrying the toddler. When I got out, I saw that there were a number of raised "sidewalks" made of concrete and some sort of metal and they had railings, and people were waiting on them as if they were bus stops. It seemed to be some sort of depot in the middle of the ocean where people changed transportation. I started thinking that the pilot must have been trying to "land" here specifically.

I swam toward the sidewalk and pulled myself and the boy up. None of the people seemed particularly concerned or interested in us, they were just standing there, looking at the plane. "We made it!" I told the little boy. He had stopped crying and was staring at me; he looked like he was in shock. I was once more struck by how similar he looked to my own son--not exact, but very close. His hair was a little gingery, and his face slightly more square. "You look like my little boy, you know. He's about your age. I bet he'd like to meet you some time." I held him tightly.

Then the plane began to make a loud eerie humming sound, and I looked to see it fly out of the water. It got about 100 feet into the air and the nose started jerking up and down erratically. I felt nauseous as I thought about Husband still being buckled into his seat and I could feel my face get hot with tears. I knew the plane was going to recrash into the water and that there might be shrapnel. I hugged the little boy so that his face was buried in my chest; then I knelt down like you're taught to do in school for tornado drills, and covered the back of my neck with my free hand. None of the other people standing on the sidewalk moved...they just stood there staring at the plane.

The plane smacked nose first into the water, but no parts ended up flying our direction. I remember feeling devastated that Husband was on the plane. I wished he might make it out... I felt incredibly terrible and guilty for having left him behind.

Suddenly I saw a vision of all the passengers leaving the plane, not a hair on their heads displaced! Husband was wearing a black suit and derby, and was carrying a briefcase. I was so relieved he was ok! His boss greeted him at the runway and asked where I was. I felt ridiculously stupid that I had bailed out of the plane when everyone was clearly okay. But then when I blinked, the vision was gone. We were really on a sidewalk in the ocean, and the plane had really crashed again and everyone was lost.

And that's the point at which I woke up with my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest.

Who do you want to be today?

2009-08-18T16:32:00.000-07:00

I forgot to mention that I found a wedding dress! I was kinda planning on getting a non-white dress because I didn't want to look all wedding-ed out at the courthouse, but when I was at Macy's, this particular dress just called out to me. It very much resembles the dress Marilyn Monroe wore in "The Seven Year Itch" (which I've never actually seen, but might just rent now). It is a wonderfully twirly dress! It's the kind of dress that really makes one remember how fun it is to wear dresses! In fact, I spent about twenty minutes just prancing and twirling about in it after I got home from shopping (before I stepped in some stray Moon Sand and decided to put the whole outfit in the closet where it would be safe for the next few weeks).

The best part was that even though it was marked at like, $90something, at the register it ended up on sale! WOOHOO! So after taxes, it was only about $85. And I found some super cute shoes at....(...where do you think??) (If you guessed Famous Footwear, you'd be wrong!) (And if you guessed Macy's, you'd be wrong again!) (and if you guessed Penney's...oh ok, I'll just tell you...) PAYLESS! WAHOO!! So after taxes and all it was only about $110 for the dress and shoes! (Special thanks to Mom in the accounts payable department.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So I've decided to try to shed about 40 lbs by the end of January. I've had several false starts in the last couple years, so I'm hesitant to blog about it as I'm not keen on public failure.

Last fall, I purchased Tom Venuto's ebook "Burn the Fat, Feed the Muscle" (BFFM). It was a VERY good buy--chock full of formulas for figuring out how much fat poundage you carry vs. muscle, and for determining goals and such. He also has great motivational ideas. I had started off pretty well, but became totally derailed from progress shortly after Thanksgiving. :-( But THIS year will be different! (I hope.)

I've also begun utilizing fitday.com's calorie counter and weight tracker. The thing I like about it is that I can enter in the nutritional information for food in my kitchen, and then it will keep track of not just calories, but also fat, protein, and carbs. I can also set nutritional goals (for specific vitamins and stuff) and check to see if I am getting the appropriate amount of vitamins. I've only been tracking for the last two and half days, and it's already been very useful in determining where I start to stray. Also, I've already realized that I don't think I'm getting as much protein as I really need to be.

Something else I'm starting up with again is: walking. So far, I've managed to walk 3.6 miles every day over the past weekend. I skipped yesterday, and walked 1.6 miles today. I gotta tell ya, I feel more energetic already! Apparently my body likes physical activity more than I think it does.

It's kind of funny to me now, how I used to loathe gym class in high school... but I guess in the long run, I'm really glad they had it. I also didn't realize how big of a wuss I was. Or maybe I did and I didn't think it was important. But now I watch movies like "300" and I think, "I WANT TO BE ABLE TO CARRY A 30 LB SHIELD!! GRAAAAAA!" (Even though I don't know what circumstance would ever require me to.)

a birthday do

2009-08-14T07:28:00.000-07:00

I've officially made it to THIRTY!! WOOHOOOOO!!!!!

I was never able to picture myself making it this far. Somehow, after high school graduation, I wasn't able to envision ANYTHING. So, mostly, everything between 18 and 30 has been....kinda me stumbling around in the dark. I'm so lucky for the few wonderful things that managed to happen in my twenties, and thankful for the bumbling experience I gained. But I am looking forward to my "new" life.

Suddenly I can picture all sorts of things! I will study math, possibly take up running, maybe get into ballet, wear cute knit hats, get a pair of hiking boots, look like a mountain climber/outdoor person... My imagination is ALL OVER the place. I can picture myself at my 50th birthday, my 70th birthday, and even all the way up to my 120th birthday. I suppose I'll die after 120 though. Unless I go to set the "oldest person" record!

So, anyway, on to my birthday! It was a pretty laid-back day; I snuggled with DS (who is fighting a nasty cold) on the couch and watched Animal Planet for a little while. Then, DBD came home from work with a present for me! Also, I didn't have to cook dinner--we got pizza! And Trader Joe's Chocolate Dilemma Cheesecake (it comes with 2 plain slices, 2 tuxedo slices, 2 chocolate chip, and 2 triple chocolate, whew)!

I can't believe I got so many presents! I don't really think of thirty as a big gifty age, so I kinda got really lucky with having a family that likes to give me treats! DBD got me a new purse, some Rooibos tea (which I am drinking whilst I type, and it is lovely), a small bit of candy, and some unmentionables. Brother gave me a 4x6 index card coupon "Good for one fun brother/sister excursion". Mother got me some perfume (SJP's "Covet"), and the Waterpik I've been wanting (The one with the tongue scrapers and oodles of different attachments)!!

Today DBD is home from work, and I originally had a whole birthday outing planned (a game of bowling and lunch at the Greek restaurant), but DS is still sick--and I'm getting there. So we'll probably chill out a bit here instead of going out and infecting the rest of the world. Although I'd like to get a nice walk in and get some fresh air (I ate a piece of leftover pizza and a slice of cheesecake for breakfast this morning, so I need one!). But right now, I'm gonna finish my tea and then go use my new Waterpik!!

who wouldn't want to have their brain scanned?

2009-08-07T14:41:00.000-07:00

I saw Dr. Daniel Amen on PBS today talking about a "Magnificent Mind at Any Age". It was quite fascinating to listen to his stories of scanning brains and finding patterns associated with various emotional & cognitive problems. He's apparently authored several books on the subject of identifying and treating various forms of ADD, anxiety, and depression...although, I'd never heard of him before today. He also runs workshops on how to treat your brain, and steps you can take to improve your own brain chemistry in order to help alleviate, or even reverse, symptoms associated with an imbalance.

Anyway, watching him made me want to get a brain scan. Oh, wouldn't it be something if I could just get a scan and find out what is wrong with me? DBD thinks that we should all get full-body diagnostic scans, once a year or so, like they do with cars. I try to tell him that would be too expensive, but I also think he's right. A lot of times, it seems to be easier to figure out what's wrong with a car than it is to figure out what's wrong with a person.

I have resolved to treat my brain better. I'm actually considering going back to school; one of the things I'm nervous about is my brain being smart enough to keep up. I'm a little intimidated by the thought of classes again, because I don't feel I did very well the last time around. I guess I'm afraid that it has less to do with willpower and more to do with ability--which I may be lacking. Of course, my priorities are completely different at this point in my life, plus my brain has settled somewhat. Maybe ability is subjective, and alterable. Dr. Amen appeared to think so, anyway.

kilter, and lack thereof

2009-08-05T13:27:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed some days just feel off, but you can't quite put your finger on why?

When I woke up this morning, I felt dizzy, but not dizzy--not exactly. At first I wondered if I had a stroke of some sort and checked the mirror to see if I looked lopsided. Then I checked my clothes (you always hear that people wear their underwear on the outside after a stroke), but I was still in my pajamas from last night, so that wasn't a very good indicator.

After telling DBD that I felt weird, and not getting an alarmed response from him, I decided I was probably ok.

But today still feels weird. Part of me is somehow solidly convinced that it is Friday. When I spat my gum out I forgot that DBD moved the garbage can to the other side of the desk, and I nearly dropped the gum onto the video camera equipment. When I first glanced at the weather forecaster in the hallway, I could have sworn it was predicting snowflakes; a double-take showed a slight chance of rain.

I feel slightly antsy, but super tired at the same time...as though I could either go for a hard run, or sleep for three days.

The weather feels oddly right, though. It is cool and breezy and overcast. There is a fresh earthy and green scent wafting through the windows that only comes from summer grass, tomato vines, and impending rain.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You know what I was just thinking? How come people say things are "off-kilter" or "out of kilter" but you don't hear them say things are "perfectly kilter". At least, I don't hear people say that. Maybe the negative kilter was so much more fun to say, it had more sticking power throughout the ages.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have a poll up in the left column of this blog! What kind of behavior is too young for a thirty-year-old? Check it out and vote!

going to the courthouse of love

2009-08-01T08:01:00.000-07:00

So at some point, I really need to get a wedding dress. Well, not really a wedding dress, so much as a dress to get married in. I just have a hard time picturing myself wearing a fancy white dress to go to the juvenile room in the courthouse.

My Dear Baby Daddy (referred to henceforth as DBD throughout this blog until further upgrade) won't really mind whatever I pick, so long as I look nice. Our two witnesses will be the only people in attendance. The only person I really need to satisfy is myself. When I look back on my special day, will how I dressed affect my memories?

When I was in high school, I was told I would regret not going to prom. I skipped going junior year. I fully intended not to go my senior year. But my locker neighbor and childhood friend asked me one day, and I heard myself say, "ok". I still sometimes wonder if my mom or his mom cajoled him into asking me in order to get me to go--I have a difficult time believing that he was secretly pining for me for years and then decided to ask me to prom at the last minute.

It was a good prom, but I can't say I would have regretted not going. I don't remember much about it, except that I should have spent more time with my date instead of my girly friends. I should have let myself have a real date, instead of pretending it didn't matter to me. So I guess I do have regrets... but more about going and not doing it right.

Crap. So does this mean that what I wear WILL affect my memories of my wedding day ten years from now? Or will I be more focused on how we kissed? Do you even kiss in front of a judge?

I'd like to think that someday we'll have a vow renewal or a more formal ceremony somewhere, when we can afford to do something more romantic. We took a trip through the Redwoods last year, and we both thought that would be a great place to get married. It's so serene and awe-inspiring. With trees that are older than Jesus, it seems like the perfect place to form a union that will last just as long. Sigh.

but I still have the chocolate frosting in the fridge

2009-07-30T08:45:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I've wasted so much time doing nothing except getting fat and letting my brain turn to jelly. We've been having a record-breaking heatwave the last few days, and somehow, the heat seems to exacerbate my feelings of frustration.

But other times, I feel like there is an invisible mini Tony Robbins on my shoulder, saying, "Every day you can make a conscious decision to do better. Every hour. Every minute. Every second that passes by is an opportunity. All those past seconds and hours and days...they aren't as important as the second in which you do something better." (note: these are not Tony Robbins' actual words, so far as I know... only something I imagine his mini-self to whisper into my brain)

And I say, "mini Tony Robbins, that is deep. That is really profound. You are right."

I think of those old Evian commercials: "Another day, another chance to be healthy." (Or something like that anyway.)

And I say, "Yes! Yes! Sign me up!"

And I start to feel good. And I start to feel better.

I tell myself that I will be a new person... A person who chews spearmint gum instead of binging on chocolate frosting. A person who eats home-cooked vegetable-heavy meals instead of mayonnaise-laden hamburgers and curly fries. A person who walks instead of drives. A person who can run around and play tag or kick-the-ball with my son without getting winded. A person who smiles and jokes and is nearly always lighthearted.

I hold onto this picture of the person I want to be. I try to tell myself that the person I am isn't really so far off from that. ...Just a hop, skip, and a jump.

Baby, you're on the brink!

2009-07-22T15:42:00.000-07:00

I am on the cusp; there are only 22 days until I am 30 years old.

Somehow, I feel more excited about my thirties than I did about my twenties. I know a lot happened in my twenties, but I don't really feel like I accomplished much.

Maybe it's unrealistic to think that I will somehow develop hobbies, become financially independent, get my own home, find religion, learn to shear a sheep, and become more physically fit just because I join the club of thirty-somethings. Maybe.

This blog is dedicated to the pursuit of betterment, adventures, and growing up after I've grown.