What I Would Do Today If I Could

I would sleep in until about 10-ish. It is the best feeling to wake up next to someone warm and realize you don’t have to get up right away. You can just crawl right back into bed, throw the covers over your shoulders and squeeze yourself up against your bed partner. Then of course, whatever happens… happens. :)

After my lie in, I would get up, take a luxuriously long shower (my third favorite thing to do in the world) and wash my hair and let the warm air dry it rather than spend an hour straightening it. I’d put on my favorite pair of jeans, a t-shirt and head out to breakfast. Lately, my favorite breakfast places are Panera and Mimi’s. This day I’d go to Panera. Of course, to make this a perfect day, I need company. I think I’d have my mom join me for breakfast. We’d have soufflés while we chat about things, and make plans. I’d finish with an iced caramel coffee and she’d probably have a half shot caramel latte.

After breakfast, I’d head off to the downtown library on Park Ave. and since this day is perfect, all the parking would be free. I’d go to the library alone, because what is the point of having company when your at the library. First, I’d peruse the new books just behind the security guard’s desk. Then I’d go browse upstairs through the travel books then art books and finally science fiction before heading downstairs to read a couple copies of Rolling Stone. I’d go by the CD section and pick out a few before heading to the children’s section. I’d run my choices through the fun self-check out thing and be on my way.


My next stop would be the Zoo. Jason would meet me there and we’d get in free (Zoo pass holders as we are). First we’d marvel at the entrance and smile at all the excited children and clueless babies. The first stop would be the bird pond area near the front where we usually hang out on a bench and discuss nature and traveling. Then we’d go to the Great EscApe, my favorite and hang out with the gorillas for a while. I’d sit on the ledge right up against the several inches thick glass and have a silent conversation with a brooding silverback as he picked his toes. We’d make our way around the park and make a special stop at the Aquaticus, my second favorite place at the Zoo. Our conversation would turn to all the amazing alien like creatures that live in the sea and we’d dream of living near the ocean. As we leave, we’d visit the pachyderm house where I always get a sudden, overwhelming sense of my home country. It’d make me a little sad, and inspire me once again to save my money for a visit.

Since I like his company, I’d probably take him to lunch--BBQ, his favorite. We’d go to the place near the Bricktown movie theater so we could catch a movie after lunch. It’s fun to watch him guiltily order something evil, like hot links. He acts like a little kid, looking up slyly at me to see if I noticed the cholesterol content of his order. After lunch we’d stroll around the River Walk a bit as we discussed what movie we’d see. Finally we’d agree to a double feature, one of his, and one of mine. We’d get our favorite seats on the first row—the one with the hand railing we use as a footrest.

After both movies, we’d head over to my mom and dad’s and have a few friends join us by their pool. Someone will have brought their guitar and we’d swim and listen until everyone got tired. Finally, we’d go home and crawl back into bed with the realization, of course, that the next day could be spent doing whatever we wanted again.

I also have...

Many moons ago, a friend posted an entry in her blog telling her readers about what she has. I really liked that post, since I usually enjoy hearing things about people I like. Since, I don’t have much else to say today, I’ll follow in her footsteps and try to create something similar.

I have long wavy blonde hair
First of all, let me explain that I do not know the difference between the spelling blond, and blonde. With that said, I’ll continue. I was born with wisps of wavy blonde hair. As I grew up it turned to spiral curls and finally back to wavy. Although, my blonde has gotten darker as I’ve gotten older, I am still a true blonde (with a bit of help from my good friend Brooke). My hair has always been one of the few things I enjoy about the way I look—I’ll easily spend unspeakable amounts of money getting it carefully cut or purchasing high-end conditioner. It is my biggest splurge and why shouldn’t it be. Soon, it’ll turn gray and the texture will change—why not enjoy it now?

I have hazel green eyes
Inherited from my mom and she, from her dad (my grandfather). Green eyes of every shade run in my family. In fact, no one has ever been born into my family with brown eyes… ever.

I have freckles
Thank you Grandma, with your red hair and freckly skin, for your contribution to my skin tone. Every descendant of my mom’s family is littered with little freckles. As a kid, I remember hating them—they were on my face, arms, and worst of all, my knees! When I was a cheerleader, I used to try and pull my skirt down whenever I sat, so the people next to me wouldn’t have too much opportunity to see the constellation Leo mapped out on my boney knees. Now, I let them fade by faithfully wearing sun block and blending them in with makeup. I don’t hate them the way I used to, but I don’t think I’ll ever learn to love them either. I remember reading on a stupid placard somewhere that “a face without freckles is like a night without stars.” I remember thinking, “good luck finding a guy who feels that way.” Eventually, I did. He is more freckled than I’ve ever been. Our poor children.

I also have boobs
My friend covered this subject, so since I have a pair, I will too. She was right when she said breasts are part blessing, part curse. They are a blessing because they are fun—why deny it. They make your clothes look better, and they have a way of attracting attention. They are a curse because after they reach a certain size, they can hurt your back and because they can attract unwanted attention. A woman’s journey with her boobs is mostly embarrassing and amusing.

I have two tattoos
I got the first when I was 17 (underage, I know). My sister lied about my age for me at a Ft. Lauderdale tattoo place. We have matching flower tattoos—hers on her back, mine on my right ankle. I got the second at the same time and place as the friend who inspired this post—Austin, Texas, around the end of May, 1997. It is a 3.5 inch Celtic cross on my left ankle based on a necklace I was wearing at the time. I love them both.

I have four visible scars
All of them had stitches at one point and two are related. The first is probably the most visible—it is on my face between my nose and upper lip. I was born with a lateral cleft lip and palette, so the scar actually extends from the base of my nose to the back of my throat. That was a lot of stitches. Yuck. The second is from a gall bladder surgery I didn’t really need, back when I was in college. The third is related to the first and is placed perfectly on the ridge of my left hip. It was created by a talented surgeon who made me both a bone marrow donor and recipient in the same surgery. The last, I received by kneeling down on a piece of broken glass while I was playing when I was about 5. It is on my right shin (tibial area).

That’s all.

Thoughts on Aloneness

Today I get off work early, at around 1:00. I usually do on Fridays. What’s funny is how Fridays often turn into the longest feeling day of the week. This particular Friday, however, I’m not especially looking forward to the weekend. Usually I’m aching to get out of here and go get a pedicure or eat lunch with my mom. Today, I want out of work, but I have no particular place to go and no one to do anything with—for the entire weekend. I’m one of those people who don’t have a lot of very close friends with whom I feel comfortable enough to just call up an and invite them to do something. It’s kind of silly really because if some random acquaintance of mine called me up today to go see a movie tonight, that random person would just have totally made my day. So why can’t I do that? Eh.
Normally, I do have company. I’m not a total loner or anything; I just tend to hang out with the same people most of the time. I’m very family oriented, so spending an entire Saturday with my mom sounds like a perfect way to spend a day. That being the case, my mom… and dad are out of town for another week. While I have a fun significant other, Jason, with whom one would assume I could spend all my empty time, he is and has been unavailable on the weekends because of a class. Then there is my best friend, who is always lots of fun no matter what the plans are, but she is most likely getting tired of me. :) She was kind enough to “baby-sit” me the other night, when my roomie/husband was out of town. So I’ve opted not to hit her up to entertain me this weekend. I have a few other close friends, but as the victims of Oklahoma’s mismanaged economy and poor job outlook they all moved away to seek out better fortunes for themselves and their families.
There have been several times in my life where I find myself, not friendless, but lonely. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how many times those periods of time were 99% self-inflicted. I’m contemplative by nature, so not having plans or anyone to answer to often generates a sense of freedom in me. In other words, this alone-ness isn’t totally without its perks, however self-indulgent they might seem.
So, here I am trying to prepare myself for a weekend of relative loneliness. I don’t mean that in a “poor me” sort of way, but in more of a “this is who I am, so this is how it is” sort of way. It’s just kind of an interesting study into what different people will live with based on their personalities. I have no problem hanging out by myself; it just gets old after a few weeks. :(

Residue of Pleasure

She lovingly tugs on the tab that peels the soft plastic strip away from the carton. The rest of the wrapper comes away easily. She crumples it up and sets it aside for disposal. She pops the white box top backwards and excitedly rips the silver foil-like paper to reveal 20 glistening, white, cylindrical cigarette tips. The first selection means everything—front and center and she may make too obvious of a choice while front and far left could mean good luck will come her way today.

Now for the moment to which all this has lead. She fingers the perfect white cigarette and places its tip tenderly between her lips. Its paper clings to the delicate, barely moistened skin like an autumn leaf about to descend from its limb. She flicks the lighter, once then twice until it ignites and brings the perfect flame towards the end of the cigarette. It’s an intricate process as she allows only the outer wall of the flame to make contact with the protrusion. It turns from organic brown to orange ember and black as she makes her first drag. The embers travel toward her slowly and she inhales the smoke and releases her hold on the lighter. Eyes close and a moment passes before she opens her eyes again to exhale a used light gray cloud.

This is it. This is why people smoke. Have you ever wanted to know? I am an ex-smoker and this moment is right up there with cracking open a can of Coke or popping bubble wrap—it’s a simple pleasure that cannot be overly examined. To do so would cheapen the experience.

I realize that smoking is a very political subject these days and a loving description of my first drag isn’t exactly tolerable, but a tribute must be made to an ancient and pleasurable practice. I won’t be launching into an essay about subliminal messages in cigarette ads or its presence in film and culture because it’s already been done everywhere else on the web (try finding the web address for Camel cigarettes from Google for example). This is a trip down memory lane, a way to curb my own craving today, or dare I say, just a celebration of the ritual and practice of smoking.

This morning, I watched several cigarette commercials from the 1950s and 1960s, available here http://www.roadode.com/smoke_2.shtml. Watch them. You will soon realize that smoking is not only a simple way to make any moment more peaceful, it is also truly nostalgic. Perhaps, more than the nicotine and tar, that is what makes smoking so addictive—the pureness of it. I never struggled with a real physical addiction, so I am able to see the lighter side of smoking. I miss it and still partake about four times and year. Smoking is a culture. Smokers know when to take breaks, they have no problem witnessing an entire sunset without getting up and they also know when to get back to real life—the cigarette is a kind of living alarm because when it’s finished, so is your moment of peace.

I will probably smoke one cigarette today before marginalizing the other twenty cigarettes to a back drawer and throwing them away next year when they’ve dried up and begun to smell like raisins. I will enjoy my one or two smokes and I won’t feel the least bit bad about it either.

Big Fat Isnob

T.V. sucks

I’m a little behind the times. I don’t watch T.V., mainly movies. About a year ago I discovered television shows on DVD. This is, in my humble opinion, one of mankind’s greater achievements. It’s TV for the movie lover! I’m sure you may be wondering, why I don’t watch regular TV.
There are, in fact, three reasons:
1. I don’t make appointments with my blender, why would I with my television?
2. I dislike waiting 6 months for some lame conclusion to a lame cliffhanger. Waiting for the following DVD to arrive in the mail is suspense enough for me.
3. I tend to rent things I wouldn’t normally think to watch on TV or am normally unable to watch because they are on a premium cable channel I don’t have.
As much as I try, I just can’t seem to make it on time to watch a show I would ordinarily love. I blame the networks and their time slots. You’ll notice that they never give a fresh, innovative show a premium time slot, like Monday or Thursday nights. Those times are reserved for tired sitcoms, more God forsaken CSI spin offs or pathetic remakes of British comedic brilliance. They set some of the best new shows up in times that set those shows up for failure. Arrested Development airs on Sunday evenings and I’ve never caught an entire show, yet I am currently drooling for the second season to be released on DVD—I love it. Freaks and Geeks, one of the best shows I’ve ever seen was cancelled after one season and when was it on? Oh, could it have been on Saturday evenings when most people were at the movies or at a friend’s house? That show as well as its casting was fresh, funny, poignant, intriguing and uniquely American, but alas, it got the bleeding axe.
Then there are the inspired programs on cable channels that somehow endure. A little advice to all you atypical television show creators… get your show on cable, so it has a snow cone’s chance of lasting more than one season. Plus, you have more creative license with the FCC focusing its fiery eye on the major networks.
So I’ve decided that all good TV shows get cancelled early on. It’s always the so-so ones or ones that milk only one story line that live on forever and go out in a blaze of well-advertised glory. We are all so dumb that we don’t even notice that these networks are making a major fuss over the end of a lame show. Take Everybody Loves Raymond, Friends, or Frasier for example. All had their glory days, but all went on far too long, and stopped being interesting about four seasons before the end. This is what a handy little website called Jumptheshark.com calls, “jumping the shark.” It means a show can end at different time for different people, but in the case of most NBC shows (for example), they end in our minds long before they even consider wrapping things up.
I know I know there are exceptions to the rule. Lost is a brilliant show that seems to be sticking around (note it’s time slot on Wednesdays), but just because twists and intrigue are so en vogue right now with every “Britney” declaring a Forensic Science major doesn’t mean that should dictate what creative work has a medium and what doesn’t.
Thank God for public television.

I hate my job

I hate my job. I always hate my job. I just can't figure out if I hate my job(s) because I don't like working, or because I never have a job I like.
When I worked for a law firm, my days were bearable. I had lots of friends to work or take a break with. The best part was the fact that almost all my time was organized and overseen by me. I could just stop and think if I needed to.
Currently, I have what could be the worst possible job in the universe for me. It is saved from that title for the feeble reason that my job doesn't involve working with a lot of numbers. If it did, it would be curtains for me. My boss is technologically inoperable, yet he insists on using this technology all the time. I should say, he insists on me using the technology and printing him 14 copies before he gives it his stamp of approval, but oh wait... he still wants to make corrections regardless of the fact that a job now has to be redone 300 times, by someone who isn't him. That could easily lead me to my well-practiced (and, I'm told, insensitive) rant about older workers who are total unwilling to adapt to change/new fangled computers, but I'll save that for another post.
About a year ago, I took a really detailed aptitude test at this research based institution in Dallas. I spent a day and a half taking skills tests and having a discussion session with one of the proctors. After testing for everything from hand dexterity to memory for rhythm, I was given my results in another session. They had asked me to describe my current job. It was with a local hospital system and the only job I could get as a member of the first wave of post-9/11 college graduates. It involved numbers and a gossipy, passive-aggresive boss, so it was pure evil. The first thing the consultant told me was that I was not only in the wrong job, I was in the entirely wrong profession and I needed to get out ASAP. Duh. Like I chose clerical work as a profession anyway. That was reason enough to "get out ASAP."
In short, I was told that I was a part of a grouping called objective/musical personalities. My highest scoring apptituides were, Tonal Memory (the ability to quickly memorize tunes), Ideaphoria (the ability to "brainstorm" and write very quickly), Memory for Design (just like it sounds). They suggested careers in editing, writing, teaching and even sales. What I realize now is that my new job was tantamount to a major regression in my career satisfaction. I suppose I need to do something about then, huh?

A long time gone

So it’s been a really long time since I last posted. I haven’t been that busy or anything, I just forgot my EBlogger password. You thought there would be an interesting story upon my return didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint.
Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of a pessimist. I hate that about myself. :insert irony here: Anyway, lately I’ve become kind of a hypochondriac with fun panic attacks. It’s not as fun as it sounds, trust me. Actually, I saw the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy last week and every time I read something I write I can hear Alan Rickman’s voice reading it in a very Marvin the Paranoid Android kind of tone. God help me.
To sum up, the past two years of my life have been the most difficult years I’ve ever known. Up until then, I thought of myself as a kind of lucky freak who, with the exception of one nasty breakup, never lost anyone close to me. During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you. I’ve started becoming very aware of the effects of desire or dreams and how they are dangerous as they can lead directly to almost all negative emotions—forcing you to just live in them day after day. Does anyone else hear the theme to Star Wars?
Why am I telling you all this? If I’m going to host a blog and talk about anything in my life, it is utterly pointless if I don’t paint the background first. I’m a funny person who loves to wear wigs to the doughnut shop at 3 a.m., but that part of me is involved in a daily battle to win my sanity from the sadness that threatens to overtake me. Okay, well that’s a lot of information you probably didn’t need.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I change. More importantly, I’m counting on changing again, back into the person I enjoy being—the one who doesn’t take life too seriously. Don’t be surprised if suddenly you can’t hear Marvin the Android’s voice anymore when you read my posts. I’m anticipating hearing my own again soon.

I am a kept woman, and I'm diggin' it!

I am unemployed… and I’m thrilled about it. No, it wasn’t voluntary, and no, I wasn’t fired. I was the product, nay… the victim of corporate downsizing; of first quarter budget cuts; of litigation lock; of a post-9/11 America. I feel so American right now—like maybe I should go down to the local pub… I mean bar and have a few pints… I mean beers to drown out the reality of my lost dignity. Nah. Instead I’ll just …WOOHOO, I got laid off! I finally get some time off! What shall I do with my stolen time? The possibilities are endless and so is my bank balance! Okay, I’m just wishing with that last comment. Either way, I’m a free woman to do as I please; go where I want to go for as long as I want to be there! Granted, I share living expenses with this guy in exchange for being a devoted, adoring wife… blahbity bloo, so I’m not overly concerned with my new status.
Of course, in my two days of unemployment, I have slept-in a grand total of one hour, worn my pajamas for an extra 4 hours, cleaned my house compulsively, produced one print ad and attended one job interview. I’m thinking I should take my unemployment a little more seriously. I’m not going to get any relaxed lazing about in while I’m rushing to job interviews and tidying the house! My word, the total lack of lethargy is shocking! I think… ahhhhh… I think I’m actually doing more work that I was before the big lay off!

Resolution: Will sleep until at least 9:00am everyday until returning to working life; will decrease overall amount of scrubbing and/or organizing in house by 50%; lastly, will say “no” to job offers that do not meet my need for satisfaction and purpose.

The Laugh

Shifty thoughts from a shifty person

I received an email from my Godmother today. Yes, I have a Godmother! Anyway, it was one of those encouraging, slide show emails. All the pictures were scenes from Pixar movies or short films and next to each one was a "thoughtful phrase." Insert rolled eyes here. Well, one phrase kind of stuck with me—partly because I wrote it down on a post-it and stuck it to my monitor in front of me.
Dream what you want to dream;
Go where you want to go;
Be what you want to be;
Because you have only one life
And one chance to do all the things
You want to do.
Besides the pseudo-stanza format and simple idea, I quickly realized that this "thoughtful phrase" kind of summed up what I'd been trying to explain to my friends and family about how I feel right now. It has recently occurred to me that dreams can be very silly things on which to spend your energy, due to the fact that they can be so easily crushed. Maybe I'm immature. Maybe I've suffered one too many losses in the past two years. Either way, I suddenly feel the intense need to live in the Now. I don't mean this in a "life is short, stop and smell the roses kind of way," but in more of a defeatist, give up and just get drunk sort of way. Hey, I don't want to be anyone's role model. If you're looking for wisdom in the face of painful circumstances, you've come to the wrong place.


* I hereby reserve the right to edit or disown any of my statements about life, as I find I have almost no knowledge on the subject and plan on simply wading through the process until I eventually kick it.

Things confused people say a.k.a. I am a pedantic ass

Hi to all. I can't understand why anyone would read these, but thanks anyway Mom.
Well, I'm a very uninteresting person with a prolific flow of tired thoughts, many of which have already been addressed more articulately by better writers throughout the ages. As a preface, allow me to state for the record, that I don't claim (nor would I want) to be a writing or grammar expert. I find people who flaunt their mountainous knowledge of grammar were really ugly in High School, and have no other way to assert themselves in this miserable world. So, keep on studying those grammar guides guys--they'll get you far in life.
While I'm setting the tone here, let me say that I don't intend to be entertaining or necessarily thought provoking. If I am, it is merely by coincidence and don't assume too much about me. I'm actually a very shallow person and most of my deeper thoughts are brought on by an especially effecting piece of music or some type of hallucinogenic. Okay, I'm lying--I'm overly contemplative and it makes me sick. Damn.
Enough self deprecation let the frivolous ramblings begin!