We don't have cable because it is sinful. Ha ha! I'm kidding, I just wanted to freak you out.

We don't have cable because it costs $60 a month, and my husband feels (strongly) that the money would be better spent on other things. It's fine with me, because to make up for missing some of my favorite cable shows (Daily Show, Real World, Good Eats, E!True Hollywood Story, Inside the Actor's Studio, Evening at the Improv, Behind the Music, to name just a few...) he bought a roof-mounted rotating antenna. Due to its rotating capacity, we receive 16 channels.

Other than "Gilmore Girls", I don't have many (any) network shows I need to watch. (Yes, need!) None. Since we no longer have cable to love and waste valuable time with, I have had to find a new show to love, and I have. It's a little embarrassing to admit to, though. It's a reality show. See? I know. But, wait! Before you judge too harshly, let me say that you just wouldn't believe how absorbing it is until you've watched it for yourself. It's Wife Swap. In case you aren't familiar, or just aren't admitting to watching it yourself, I will explain the premise: Take two families, swap wives, watch the ensuing hilarity and strife. What a formula!

The first week, the wife lives by the house rules, but by the second week she makes her own rules to which everyone must adhere. It's high drama, let me tell you. The past shows have included a traditional southern family switching wives with a southern, yet environmentalist family. Oh yeah, talk about clash of the titans. Then there was rich Manhattan wife who switched with rural, two-job working wife; dairy farmer wife switched with southern belle, etc.

Yes, it's predictable; Yes, it's contrived; Yes, there are stereotypes galore; Yes, it's edited to within an inch of it's life to get the desired results! What do you want, it's reality tv? It's also GREAT.

Last night they aired a compact, ADD-viewer edition which summarized eight shows that had previously aired more than a year previous. There was a recap of the families, a quick summation of their experiences, and then an update on each family in the year since the swap.

What I love about the show is how these uncomfortable situations are created, and then people learn something new from it. That, and it's kind of fun to watch people squirm with irritation and for a complete lack of the ability to grasp another person's way of life.

Lessons learned are things like how to be less rigid, realizing the need to spend more time with their family, how to reduce the chaos, or whatever. Many times, the wives are thrilled just to be back with their family, and the families thrilled to have the wife back. Almost all the episodes induce some kind of trauma, and almost all are lifechanging experiences for those involve.

I just don't understand one thing: In one instance, a woman who was a cleaning fanatic was swapped into a family that had 22 pets roaming about the house at will. So there were several "accidents". But, they didn't show the accidents, they fuzzed them up. What for, I want to know? If you're talking about dog poop and then concentrate the camera on some fuzzy, dark pile on the floor, what are we supposed to do with that? We know it's dog poop. I don't think the showing of the dog poop will traumatize some poor dear thing watching the show. I mean really, it's not as if anybody's eating it. That's on that other reality show.

Happy President's Day

In the morning we:

- breakfasted
- removed the protective tarp covering the artichoke plants
- folded laundry
- watched "Monsters, Inc"

In the afternoon we:

- lunched
- pruned rosebushes
- rode a tricycle
- climbed a camellia
- brought in firewood
- made cookies
- folded laundry

There is a kind of peace in doing an activity like pruning roses. It's very zen; absorbing without being taxing; repetitive without being boring. It's a cold day, but not windy, and so being outside is pleasant as long as you are dressed warmly. The air smells of spring marching in from the distance and carrying the odor of mulch, a hint of the warmth to come, and an energetic buzzy feeling that the plant life is nearly ready to wake up from its long slumber and share all of their secrets with us.

Plus, it was a nice change of pace from the laundry.

Now, we are inside enjoying the warm fire, eating cookies, drinking tea, and enjoying the Olympics coverage. Despite all that laundry, it's been a good day. Not only because there are cookies, (although let me just say that for me, the mere presence of cookies can singlehandedly ensure a good day) but because there is calm. There is a conspicuous lack of stress, all while things are getting done. I don't feel overwhelmed, I don't feel tired. It feels great.

Meanwhile in the other room, more laundry waits to be folded.

I Used to Live in a Temperate Climate

It's a beautiful, sunny winter day. Let me tell you why I have a problem with that:

The sun + dryness + bitterly cold air + wind + static electricity + overheated office + wool sweater I wore to the overheated office = one cranky Occidental Girl.

The sun is boring its bright way deep into my brain, and is in collusion with my sinuses to produce a migraine of monstrous proportions. Meanwhile, my hair is enjoying gravity-defying states of weightlessness and spends more time floating in the air above my head and sticking to anything that comes within a half inch of it, including my scarf, gloves, and face; than sitting on my shoulders like obedient hair should.

The gorgeous, heinous sunlight coming through the window produces a greenhouse effect which necessitates shedding lovely winter sweaters indoors, during weather that would kill you to do so out of doors.

I want 45 degree, rainy days because they don't give me headaches, or make me alternately hot and then freezing. Those are the days when I only suffer the occasional flat tire.

The Unbearable Lateness of Being Me

Yesterday I was very late getting to work. I had overslept, and woke to my alarm which had been going off for nearly an hour. The alarm is tuned to an am newsstation, and even though it’s loud it’s easier to ignore than a buzzing sound. I think I even had dreams regarding what was on the news, which was weird.

When I got to work I asked my boss if I could talk to him for a minute. We went to a small conference room and shut the door.

I told him that I have been running behind lately, for several weeks now. The past two weeks when OC was sick was really hard. It drug us all down. I probably sent her to school too much. Although she didn’t have a fever or anything, I felt bad about it. I wanted to keep her home for a week, just to rest up and get all well, but my schedule doesn’t allow for that. I have been getting to work late, which means I have to stay late to make up for it. I hate that. I told him that I wasn't trying to be a bad employee, and when there are extra things to do it means I get behind, and it's hard to catch up.

He was very nice, listened politely, and then asked what he could do for me. I wasn't sure. I just needed to talk about everything, so he knew what was going on and that it wasn't that I was trying to be flaky. He sympathized, and said he was glad I acknowledged it but that it wasn't a problem workwise to be late. He also said he thought it likely didn't help me when I had to stay late. He offered something to think about: a reduced schedule. But, he said it was something to think about and do only if really necessary. I said I was interested in thinking about it.

I am really interested in doing that. It would mean reduced money and reduced benefits, but it also means a little more free time. I crave time like I crave chocolate: way down deep in my bones and in my gut; time that is not governed or managed or accounted for I feel a visceral need for, like I need air and water.

I crave to experience feelings of satisfaction, in small, not so obvious ways. It’s a craving to know that my child has had enough sleep, that she has a good lunch, that she feels loved and secure in her relationship with me; to know that my house is in order and I can find things when I need them; that my husband and I have our workspaces, and that we can have people over without being embarrassed at the state of disarray.

There is so much to do every day. Lunches to pack, dinners to create, grocery shopping for the week, cats to cater to, and all the rest. The laundry, it mocks me; multiplying itself in great numbers while we are at work. I wash and dry many loads, and as it sits in clean piles, unfolded of course, it watches me walk by and laughs. I think I even hear it saying, “hee hee hee, you’ll never catch up with me!” I could be imagining that, but I think if it could talk, that’s what it would say.

I know my experience is not unique, that I am not special in feeling this way. Everyone feels this way at some point, to some degree, no matter how many kids they have or don’t have, if they are married or single, if they live close to work or commute, if they work or stay at home.

Yesterday I was behind a Tri Met bus that had an advertisement for their transit system, touting all the great things you can go and do by bus and MAX. This sign said, “Find Time” and pictured a tea cup in a serene little setting. I remember thinking, “Where is this time of which you speak?” Lead me to it, and I will follow.

Instead, I went to work.

Solving the World's Problems, One at a Time

I've heard several reports covering the heated debates currently taking place in different parts of the country regarding what science class curriculums may include; the choices being intelligent design, creationism, and evolution. Lawsuits against school boards have been brought, school textbooks changed again and again, disclaimers added to texts to occlude one form of thought or another, and so on. All of this hubbub brought about by passionate people who feel strongly about the topic and their own personal beliefs.

It occurs to me that maybe this is an impressive amount of energy being spent for naught. After all, we don't have any definitive answers to offer in answer to this question, do we? Creationism requires faith, and while there is some physical evidence to support this theory, it isn't conclusive. Faith requires belief even when conclusive physical evidence does not exist. Neither does conclusive evidence exist, at least not in the quantities to have widespread definitive support from the science community, to support Evolution. Intelligent Design is a sort of hybrid of the two, allowing for possibilities, but is rather nebulous for practical purposes.

There are two things that each of these ideas have in common: 1) None have been proven to the point of being universally accepted, and 2) People have strong, visceral reactions to the one they don't espouse being taught to their children.

I offer a solution. This is a debate about what to teach in science class, right? It seems to me that in science class, what should be taught is all that we know about science. It does not mean that we teach that science has all the answers, nor does it mean that we exclude other possibilities. I think we should be very frank in saying this to children. The Big Bang theory is widely accepted, but it isn't a perfect theory. That doesn’t mean that it should be ignored, nor should it exclude Creationist belief. In fact, I boldly argue that the two can stand alongside one another.

Science by its very nature has always evolved. We know more today than we did yesterday, and so on. As technology advances, theories and ideas can be proven or disproven, while adding new to the list. More people enter the field professionally each year, thereby adding their own curiosity and research to the body of knowledge already obtained. It makes sense to revise what we know to remain current with what we know to be proven. In other words, we should teach children exactly what we have discovered up to now of our scientific body of knowledge.

As for Creationism and Intelligent Design? Talk about them, too. It doesn’t mean that faith will be undermined. In fact, I think it can foster even more desire in children to espouse their faith. Besides, you can have faith in G-d and also believe in science, because the science is not conclusive. Teach what is provable. Teach what is theory. Talk about aspects of each that make sense, and where we still have questions. It is science class, after all; why wouldn't we expose children to all the reasonable knowledge and theories available? It might inspire more than one or two of them to follow a path to become a scientist or theologian, which would only add to our body of knowledge and further us down the path toward The Answer. Let it be a question for them, with many possible answers, which is the way it exists for us as adults.

Knowledge and faith are two very different belief systems we have to explain our existence. The question we share as humans tend to promote interest and curiosity in us to keep exploring and expanding what we know. We all exist in the natural world, which we can touch, feel, smell, and experience in a physical way. Many espouse spiritual beliefs as well, which are just as real, not to mention an important and mystical aspect of the human experience. Science class can be an opportunity to stop fighting over this, and simply acknowledge our attempts at reconciling the two as being unfinished.

In other words, teaching can be inclusive rather than exclusive. I think it's okay to say that we just don't know yet.

She Wants Pink, What a Surprise!

I am working on an afghan to give to some friends who are getting married in June. (Note to self: June of THIS year.) I have mentioned this, but I thought I'd say it again just in case you had forgotten. Mainly I say it again to remind myself that I have precious few months to finish, and that if I KEEP SCREWING IT UP, I’m not going to have it ready in time.

I had completed 8 rows but it still didn't look right. It wasn't because of mistakes, although I did find a few upon closer inspection. The pattern didn't look quite right, not like it did in the picture, although I was sure I followed the instructions perfectly.

Yesterday at my lunch break, I read over the instructions again. I tried an experiment, whereupon I learned that I had completed 7 rows of garbage. I had been reading the instructions incorrectly, although it turns out that it's not exactly clear, until you do the work, that they mean to alternate between working the next long double crochet into the row below with the row you're doing. Argh! I ripped it out, all the way down to the first row, which was right because it was the first row past the beginning chain and a different stitch. The good news is that since then I've been able to complete 7 rows, so I'm right back where I was. This time, it's right.

I'm glad I ripped it out, but as I looked at the huge pile of unravelled yarn at my feet, I fought the urge to cry. It was all very melodramatic, I know. I have precious few moments to myself in which to indulge in hobbies that I love, and having to start over again didn't do much for my relaxation level. I cannot tell you how often I had thought to myself, 'This pattern is so easy - crocheting is fun - such pretty yarn - I will get this done in no time - Ooooh, I'm about to change colors - la la la la la ’, and after I figured out what I was doing wrong, I felt like I had wasted so much time.

There are many generations of women in my family who crocheted, knitted, and sewed. I could feel their spirits laughing and then crying with me, sympathizing with my plight which they had experiences themselves many times. I could imagine their grandmotherly talks amongst themselves:

"Naomi, she must've learned from you! Look at how many mistakes she's made!"

"Oh, can it Maud. She liked me more than you, and you couldn't crochet a straight line to save your life!"

Or something like that. I learned to crochet from my mom when I was a kid, and she learned it from my Great Grandma Squeezie, who also sewed A LOT. I remember the huge quilt frame that she used to set up in her living room, how I could crawl underneath of it and marvel at all that fabric. I don't know if my mom's mom did much in the way of fiber arts. I associate her with high heels and nail polish, not yarn and thread. My mom still makes blankets, many of them for Project Linus, and has recently learned to knit.

I love this tradition of craft, done by my ancestors out of need. Most of them were farm wives, who made nearly all of the family's clothing and bedlinens by hand. This necessity led to an outlet of creativity and hopefully, fun, and I love that I am somehow a part of that. I like making something with my hands, and having something to show for it that will last.

I hope OC wants to learn these things, too, and I'll try not to be disappointed if she's not. She has already placed her order for things she would like me to make for her: a pink scarf, pink sweater, and a pink blanket.

In Which Evoked are Musical Reprisals from Fiddler on the Roof

Over the weekend we decided to use a gift certificate we received as a wedding present to a local restaurant. (Well duh it was local: What were we going to do, hop on our private jet and go somewhere non-local for dinner, like we were Richard Gere and Julia Roberts?)

So yeah, the restaurant was local. Now that that's cleared up, let me also say it was fabulous. I had a scallop and shrimp peanut curry, with peppers and basil; OH had a mexican shrimp thing that was spicey and creamy. We had some good cocktails, good conversation, and it was fun because we were all dressed up. We were going to try and get tickets for the Opera (which is so Pretty Woman, except for important differences like the one where I am not a prostitute), figuring that we could get some cheap balcony seats, but there weren't any double seats available. We ended up going to the symphony.

Going to the symphony for Valentine's Day has become our tradition. For our first Valentine's Day, we took a little trip. OH made the arrangements secretly so when he picked me up from work Friday afternoon I didn't know where we were going or how we were going to get there.

It turned out to be Seattle! By train! In the Billiard Room! Whoops, I got carried away there. We got delayed in Portland so we passed the time in the Union Station bar driking wine while listening to a very soulful singer. It was quite a fun way to pass the time. I think I called a few of my friends after I got drunk, too. I'm sure they appreciated that.

When we got to Seattle, we checked into a suite where OH had made sure to have a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting. It was so romantic, I couldn't believe it.The next day we walked around downtown, and OH got to see Pike Place Market for the first time. We had lunch in a little deli, watched the fish throwing, browsed the shops including a bookstore where we planned our next vacation, and enjoyed the waterfront and views of Elliot Bay. We happened into a a jewelry store, where I received my first piece of jewelry: a blue-green opal pendant.

That night, we went out to dinner at an Italian restaurant. After dinner OH asked me to wait inside the doors while he went out to the curb around the corner. He motioned for me to join him, and waiting for us was a horse-drawn carriage to take us to the symphony. I was absolutely blown away! He had made all these arrangements ahead of time, I had no idea about any of it. It was one wonderful surprise after another.

We enjoyed a really great evening hearing an elaborate piano piece, and Brahm's 3rd symphony. The energy from all that planning really got to OH, as he dozed a bit...

All I have for photographic evidence are crappy disposable camera prints of us in the carriage. I'll have to dig them up and post them. I think I am way overdue to post pictures.

For the actual Valentine's Day that has landed on a weekday these past few years, we will be going out for pizza and beer. This is also a tradition.

Last year, we went to a restaurant without a reservation. Boy, was that dumb! We left because there was only going to be an hour and a half wait, and went to the Lucky Labrador for pizza and beer. It was a really good dinner. Now we have our traditional fancy dinner date on the weekend complete with a trip to the symphony, and our equally traditional pizza and beer date on the weekday.

Tradition! That which makes beer and pizza meaningful.

Retail Score

I purchased some very lovely goods last night at Nordstrom Rack, and I just have to tell you about it. (All four of you that read this blog!)


> One light brown washable suede jacket, regularly $128.

> One Columbia Sportswear jacket, which I plan to use as my ski jacket, regularly $50.


The total I paid for these two items: $22! I was giddy for hours afterward. Buying things at such low prices feels so good, like you've won, or something.

You may be wondering how I managed this amazing feat of consumer procurement? There were several pieces to it. First, I had two things to return: The DKNY capris that did not fit, and the sparkly blue top that I really liked, but decided that I did not love for a couple of reasons (I didn't have anything to wear under it, and it was too short; it didn't go to my waist), therefore it had to go back. That gave me a $24 credit.

The suede jacket was marked $60, but was on a rack where everything was another 25% off. The Columbia jacket was $20. I also had a coupon, so all totalled I only shelled out $22.

Which leaves money in the bank to fight again another day.

An Original Knock Knock Joke

OC's joke, which she made up herself:

Knock Knock.

Who's There?

Stinkypants.

Stinkypants Who?

Stinkypants riding on sixteen hundred stinky skateboards!


Ahahahahahaha!!!

My child is genius, yes? She thinks this joke is hilarious. It is her fallback, as well as premium, knock-knock joke.

I have to send you here to read this post about cats. Sooooo funny! And FYI, the shrimp to which she refers are her pet shrimp. They are alive, and have a lovely home in a fishbowl. They're kind of cool looking; see a previous entry on that blog for pictures.

Stacking the Odds in Favor of Herself

In the lobby of my building, we were waiting for an elevator. OC asked me, "Which one to you think will come fiwst, mama?"

There are three elevators. I pointed to the one in the middle.

"What about you, which do you think will come first?" I asked her. She thought for a minute, and then said, "All of them."

When the elevator showed up, it happened to be the middle one.

OC exclaimed, "We were both right!"

Rote Memorization

I know my library card number by memory; all 14 digits. I have memorized my credit card number. Does this mean I am online too much, buying things and placing holds on library books? Or does everyone know these thing by heart, too?

Last night, I went to see Sarah Vowell at Borders with Vendela, her friend J, and OC. I gathered that talking to crowds wasn't Sarah's favorite thing. She seemed pretty bored. She read from one of her her op-ed pieces, which are being published just for this month in her hometown newspaper, the New York Times.

I had prepared OC for this by talking about what an author is, and how all the books she has in her room were written by people who were called authors. She was like, "Oh." When we got to the event and were waiting for it to start, Vendela mentioned the movie The Incredibles, in which Sarah did the voice of Violet Incredible. I was all Duh! I could've talked about that, not just the author thing! Thank goodness there are people who think, or OC would be doomed to my boring mommyspeak her whole life. OC recognized Sarah's voice right away as Violet Incredible. She got excited about that for about 8 seconds, then went back to being bored.

Sarah said her readers are more often than not prone to say things like, "I heard what your book was about, and I was like blech, but then I read it, and I liked it". She said that her readers were not likely to have actually read a history book for fun. I'm not sure if this was a condemnation of her readers, her writing style, or the marketing of her books. Or even if it was a condemnation at all.

I was thrilled to meet her. Being a reader of actual history books, I enjoy her books for many reasons. For one thing, they are entertaining. They immerse the reader into history in a casual way. It's history for the layman. It's like sitting and listeneing to people who were there tell the story, with the details that do not accompany actual history books, and with commentary and a perspective from the 21st century. At least, that's what her last two books were about. Take the Cannoli was a book of essays which did not necessarily have to do with history, but which I enjoyed very much.

I can understand her trepidation about gatherings like the one last night. As soon as she opened the forum for questions, the first question was from a wing nut who asked what she thought the difference was between George W, Jim Jones, and Osama. The whole room was thinking, "Duh!" And also, "Shut up, we want to talk about the book, wing nut!" She kind of faltered a bit but the guy kept talking, most of which I couldn't hear. It was such a nutty question, but then she turned it around on the guy by telling him that it sounded like he had the answer already. Next!
Sarah talked about how she liked herself much better edited than live, because she liked taking the time to refine and craft what she really means to say. I feel that way about myself, too. I am much better when edited. I am not like the Irish, who are quick with wit and one-liners. You want a cutting invective? Sure, just give me an hour. Somehow, that just isn't as effective as off-the-cuff witticism.

I was afraid of something happening, and then it did happen. During the portion of the evening known as the book signing, when I got up to the front of the line I suddenly took on the persona of the Effusive Blonde Woman. This is someone who talks without looking you in the eye, and who throws her head back to get the hair out of her face in a manner that can only be described as showy.

I can assure you I didn't mean to be showy at all, I was nervous. It didn't stop there. I was way too smiley and goofy, and did not say at all what I meant to say. What I did say was, "We're planning to visit all the state capitol buildings." To which Sarah gave me a reference to look up and read about a woman who did that, and she thought I might like it. How nice of her. I could've just said, "How nice of you." But no.

I told Sarah we had already visited a few capitols, and that our thing was to take a picture of the entrance, then go inside and take a picture of the ceiling and a picture of the floor, then a picture of the view from the entrance. I wanted to say a lot more, and to even mention that I acknowledged that she was a writer whose books I enjoyed and whatnot. But no, I talked about state capitols, effusively, while showily shaking my hair. Ick. And then Sarah said, "It's an (interesting? I forget what adjective she used) way to frame your life."

I'm still thinking about that. Did she mean, yeah it is interesting to travel with a goal in mind. Or, did she mean that it was totally lame? Maybe she saves her praise for non-effusive non-blonde women. Or maybe I read it wrong, being concerned as I was about being too showy and effusive. I don't know. Either way, I think she is a funny and interesting writer and it was great to meet her. On the way home, I got to think of all the great things I could've said, had I had the chance to edit myself, and not turned into EBW. Those things included:

• Congratulations on your success! It's great you are able to make a living traveling and writing about things that interest you. What has always stuck with me was when you wrote about how your great-grandmother made her living by picking cotton until her fingers bled, and how you always remembered that as you sat at your computer inside your apartment with creature comforts. That is cool.



• I enjoy your work very much. And, I do read actual history books for fun.



• The food allergies you have? I have the same allergies. (intense bonding would ensue...)

See? I had some good stuff there, but it was lost in all the effusiveness.

And now if you'll excuse me, I have to go look through the photo gallery titled, 'Jessica & Nick: The single life' at people.com, because celebrity gossip does wonders to soothe my soul especially now, after I've acted like a jerk....again.

Welcome to Monday, Whereupon the Shit Starts All Over Again

We had a wonderful weekend at the beach. The weather was perfect, by my definition. Friday night a great storm rolled onshore. It didn't do much damage, but exhibited awesome energy and slanty rain. I love storms, especially storms while at the beach where I can sit inside cozily while watching the melee outside. The crashing waves were mesmerizing.

Saturday was still windy and rainy as we ventured out on a walk to Depoe Bay. We ate lunch, shopped for a sweatshirt for OC and jewelry for me, and were successful on both counts. Sunday was glorious: sunny, warm and windfree. February + Oregon Coast = AMAZING. We celebrated the occasion of finally seeing the sunshine with ice cream cones. We also visited a rare book shop where I found a 1902 copy of The Hounds of the Baskervilles, and then we went to the Oregon Parks-operated whale visitor's center.

Anticipating the hours of free time in which we were to behold and revel, I brought along a project: a crocheted blanket to give as a wedding gift to our friends. I spent hours counting and recounting the first chained row. I had to get the damn thing right from the beginning, and don't you know every time I counted the row I came up with a different number? It was annoying, as I had hoped to maximize my free weekend by crocheting the hell out of it and getting really far into it. But! I finally got it right, and made amazing progress Saturday and Sunday. It's a lovely, interesting interwoven ripple pattern, in shades of blue and a neutral offwhite. It is quite easy once you get the hang of it, so when I got the count right it went quickly which is good because the wedding is in June.

And now, it's Monday and I'm back in the salt mines. Tonight, however, will be fun. Sarah Vowell is going to be speaking at a bookstore, and I remembered to bring a copy of one of her books to have autographed. Which is to say, I am going out! To a literary event! Which I rarely do! I am meeting my friend (she's gorgeous and fit and supermodelish so we'll call her Vendela) and I'm bringing OC. It's time OC was introduced to an author. She's five, after all, and needs that kind of hero.

I know what I want to say to Sarah, and it's the usual claptrap about "OMG I love you! You're an excellent writer!" and the like. I also want to tell her how cool it is she gets to write about fun things, the same things that I like: historically-significant places, and national parks. I think the connection between historical events and people to our own lives is important to realize. She wrote about her Cherokee ancestors and the Trail of Tears, which makes the whole story much more interesting when your relatives are involved. If you know about the Civil War, you may only passingly acknowledge it or know vague dates or the more notable aspects but it may seem distant event. But if you know how your ancestors were involved or were affected, it's much more personal and real. It's a history that we all share, and that is why history is so cool. (You might now be thinking, "it sounds like this woman could be into geneaology..." whereby you would be right. Stick me in a library for hours at a time to do research into family backgrounds, or anything, and I am a happy girl!)

So yeah, I'm enjoying my life. I'm looking forward to tonight, as much for spending time with my good friend and my wonderful daughter, as meeting one of my favorite authors. It makes Mondays all the more bearable.

One Chicken, Two Chickens, Three Chickens...

I may be too soon in saying this (which explains the clever "counting chickens before they hatch" reference in the title; and you thought I was mental), but I think the three of us have reached the apex of illness and are on the mend. I feel better today, and so do OH and OC. The fact that I feel better could be due to getting a solid six hours worth of sleep, as opposed to the previous nights' three hours. There is no way to feel good after only three hours of sleep. I am just not that young anymore.

It's not that I went to bed late because I was knitting or something. No, I actually went to bed at a decent hour that would have allowed for a good night's sleep. It's that my dearest husband is still sick, and has this hacking cough the poor guy. The coughing woke me up, and after many many instances of this, I just couldn't fall asleep again. My body's adrenaline system is strong. But last night? I took a melatonin and the other prescription sleepytime pills which make everything better.

This weekend we will go to the Oregon Coast to stay in our oceanfront condo. It was my family's timeshare condo, where we spent two weeks every year, one in the winter and one in the summer. My mom sold the summer week, but I've bought the February week for us to keep. At first I didn't know if I would want it at all.

The place has a lot of memories, and I wasn't sure if it would be a good experience to be there or not. Last year was the first year I stayed there alone with OC, and I was most trepidatious at the thought of sleeping in the main bedroom, the room where my parents used to sleep. I wasn't sure I could do it. I was prepared to sleep on the couch, or if need be, drive another hour south to my aunt and uncle's house for the night.

Although I avoided the bedroom as long as possible before finally going in, the time we spent there was wonderful. The memories were comforting. I remember how my dad would be in the kitchen cooking, and I can see my mom sitting in the chair and crocheting or reading in front of the big window overlooking the ocean. The basketball hoop where my sister and I played was still there. I felt familiarity surround me, somethat that had been missing from the previous year and a half after my dad died and my mom sold the house and moved away. (She did what she needed to do, and I respect her for it, it's just that at the same time I missed the connection and comfort that a familiar place brings.)

It was particularly gladdening to share the experience with OC, to be in the space that my family had so much fun when I was growing up. OC, OH and I will spend time there together now, experiencing the memories while creating new ones. When OC gets older and asks me about what we used to do, I will happily tell her those stories. She will be able to visualize them happening and feel a kind of comfort from physical proximity to the place the stories occurred. Hopefully she will feel a connection and enjoy the tradition.

Ya'll, this condo is great! It sits on a cliff overlooking Depoe Bay and the ocean. You can see the Spouting Horn, watch the boats go in and out of the harbor, and it's all within walking distance to the town. You can also go out and walk around on the rocks and see tidepools. It's a truly lovely setting.

I'm looking forward to relaxing in the quietness, enjoying the hypnotic ocean waves and smelling the salty sea air. I plan to bring a knitting project, some crocheting, and a book or two. Should be just the thing: to rest, get well, and time to enjoy doing the things we never have time to do.

Holy Shit...I Can Knit!

The above is what went through my head last night at Stitch and Sip, a get together of coworkers where we knit and crocheted. It was fun, and weird, getting together with people whom you spend most of your waking hours with to see them out of context like that. My workplace has fewer than 50 employees, so we all know each other kind of, but we don't have many social functions.

Here is a complete and unabridged list of events for which my workplace organizes a social function:

1. When someone is leaving, we go out to a restaurant/bar one weekday evening. I have gone to exactly one of these, because I have a small child and the whole weekday thing is problematic for schedules and routines and babysitters.

2. When it's December, we have a holiday party. We all get together in a conference room for a few hours, eat, exchange white elephant gifts, then we go back to work.

3. Once per month the group of five of us who do graphics and such go out to lunch.

(I should say, this year's holiday party was quite fun. The food was excellent, and the gift exchange funny. Unlike in previous years, where it was just kind of lame.)

The Stitch and Sip came about at the holiday party as a silent auction item. And now: I can knit! My patient and very knowledgable coworker taught me. Even though I kept forgetting what to do, made my stitches waaaaaay too tight, and ultimately tore out my work to begin over again, I loved it! I went home and did a little more knitting and am getting the hang of it. I tore out that work because I didn't like the yarn very well, and wouldn't use it for a knitting project. I need to go yarn shopping.

My husband is now scared, because I have a new, not altogether inexpensive hobby. And soon, my entire family and including the cats will sport lovely new sweaters. You know, after I learn how to make a straight line. And how to do other stitches. And how to read a complex pattern. And how to block. And how to attach the pieces.

So yeah, like, never; but in the meantime I'll get to go spend lots of money on yarn.

Life Lessons

Six years go I began working in my current position. I started out in a different office, and for the last four years I have been in the office I currently work.

I was lucky to get the job, as my lofty qualifications for the level two position included both a two-year degree and two internships. Wow!

I learned a lot my first year. I earned my position, and over time became quite qualified. I took initiative to learn software I didn't know on my own, followed through and did what I said I would do for people, and worked my butt off (although sadly, not literally). The money was (and is) good, as are the benefits. Also, I like my coworkers.

Four years ago my brother became sick. He went to the doctor and they said he had strep throat, and sent him home. He did not improve, and when he was sleeping to the point of near unconsciousness on the couch, his roommate took him to the emergency room. They found he had Acute Myeloid Leukemia, and a very aggressive type at that. He went into the ICU and spent 30 days hovering near death. His white blood cell count was well over 300,000. Normal white blood cell counts are nearer around 10,000. We had no idea if we'd ever be able to speak to him again.

After one month, his condition improved and he was transferred to a room in the cancer floor, where he continued his amazing improvement. At this time, he could begin to have visitors.

It was during this time I was working full time. I also had a small baby, and lived an hour and a half from work. I was on my own for much of the time, doing most everything by myself: taking care of the house, the baby, cats, bills, groceries, cooking, cleaning, and everything else. It was lonely. It was hard. It made me depressed and I questioned my sanity. I could no longer sleep at night, and my body felt like it was attached to an electrical outlet with all the nerve endings completely fried.

After my brother got sick, I began to stop at the hospital a few times per week. I was so tired. I felt guilty that I had to spend so much time working and driving rather than paying attention to my family. I wanted to spend more time with my baby, and more time with my brother, but I thought that I was being responsible by working and focusing on work.

I also thought my brother would live. I couldn't imagine him dying, especially after pulling through from near-death and the dangerously high 300,000 white blood cell count.

When he died 11 months later, I was shocked and angry. I was angry at the situation that caused me to not have enough time for important things like family, and angry at myself because I was the one responsible for making the situation thusly. I was angry at the lack of time I spent with him but also with the quality of the time. I was so stressed out and always thinking of the next thing I had to do, that I was not good company. I didn't have much to talk about except how stressed out I was. I was miserable. And then, I went and did exactly what I was doing before he died. It was as though nothing had happened, and I hadn't learned anything. This really bothered me, because I knew a lot had changed and I knew that I wanted to change, but I was scared. Of WHAT, I'm not sure, but I was too afraid of change that I preferred to stay stuck in my depressed, sleep-deprived, lonely, exhausting, just-plain-wrong station in life.

If I could do that over again, I would do many things differently. I know that now, but it took another death to really get my attention. When my dad died the following year, also of Acute Myeloid Leukemia, I eventually reached the end of my rope. Finally, I took action: I moved out of my house and closer to work; I got divorced; I worked very hard to take good care of my daughter and help her with her emotions during this time filled with ridiculous amounts of change. I remember lying on my bed at night, staring up at the ceiling and feeling like I was spinning. I wasn't drunk, but it felt like it does when you get the spins after drinking; disoriented, confused. I couldn't believe how much my life had changed, and how overwhelmingly scared and how I felt like I didn't know what I was doing or what would happen next.

I found a counselor who was very good, who got to the heart of my problems and helped me find ways to cope. She directed me to my psychiatric nurse practitioner who prescribed an anti-anxiety/depressant which helped level out my brain chemicals and allowed my fried-to-a-crisp nerve endings to heal. It is not an exaggeration to say I would be dead without that help. My co-worker jumped off a bridge to his death last year, and I don't mean this to sound flippant in the least, but I remember thinking that what a great relief that must have been, in a way. I could understand how much pain he felt, how he didn't see a way out, and that made me really sad because I was in the same situation. I saw what the result of his action did to his family, and I also thought it was a selfish act, but there was something else: I was jealous.

In my counseling sessions, I learned how to address some deeply painful hurts. Over time, I got more confident. I learned to identify what was holding me back, and how to safely let go and let life take me where it knew I needed to be. I learned to be assertive in ways I could handle, and it felt good to me to start participating in my relationships in a healthy way, a way that I'd NEVER DONE BEFORE. I learned to open up and be more giving, both with my daughter, my family, and my future husband. It was scary, and hard to get used to, but it felt so right and so much more real that I will never be the same again.

Life started to get better: I found a church where I was accepted completely and that taught me important things, where the sermons sounded like they were meant just for me but weren't like sermons at all but rather, interesting stories with handy instructions that made me feel better about myself and cared for and which totally saved me. The sermons are spoken by a pastor who is the smartest, coolest pastor I've ever met. I married a wonderful man last year at that kickass church, and it was the greatest, most beautiful experience outside of OC being born.

I know I am blessed. I have a home that I love and have had the opportunity to make our own. I have a daughter who is smart and resilient and sweet as candy, who forgives her flawed mother for her transgressions. I have a husband who loves me and challenges me in a way I've not experienced before. My daughter is happy to have a bigger room, not to mention a great (step-) dad, and a family. Hell, even the fluffy little kitties are happier, too! (You would think this would mean they would quit finding creative places to use instead of their litter box, but no; it is a big game to them. Fluffy little bastards, who I cannot help but love despite their bad manners.)

Now, I finally get it! I know not to take people for granted, and that work can take a backseat to your life when something drastic happens, and it's okay. People will either understand or they won't, but you don't get time back ever again, so you'd better make the most of it or you will miss out. I also know I can reach out to people who care about me, and that it will make me feel better to reach out, even if it's hard, than to stay closed up with all those depressed feelings.

I trust myself to make decisions that are beneficial to myself and my family, and I don't have to go along with something just because I am afraid of something. My opinion is valuable, and I give it more readily now, backed with the new confidence I have in myself. I have finally tapped in to my true self, and can express my feelings, including anger, healthfully instead of using them as an instrument which removes years from my life by bottling them up in the pit of my stomach. It's a heck of a weight loss plan, what with all the diarrhea which accompanies anxiety and unexpressed anger, but a terrible way to get through the day. Change is good. It is refreshing. And I am no longer afraid of it.

I am finally honestly ready for the unknown, and to trust life and G-d to take me where I am supposed to be. I know I am not in control here, but that I am a part of things and that the forces that are in control want the best for me. The best for me includes learning some hard lessons, but it goes along with the good stuff, too. I am grateful for my job, and for the experiences I have had because they got me where I am today and I'm very glad to be here.

That's why this post by Datinggod has really resonated with me:

I don't believe that people can change, but I've found that if you are willing to
change your environment, to surrender to the fine art of wildly listening to your
heart and firmly following the handholds the world offers you, different aspects
of yourself will come into the light of your daily living, and others will fade
away into shadows.

May this find you allowing wild, wonderful energies into your own bed of living .
. . :)

I so appreciate the poetry in this paragraph. I certainly have changed my environment, and as a result have seen different aspects of myself fade into blackness while other aspects come to bask in the light which I have never before allowed them to see, much less bask.

I feel so grateful to be out the other side of that experience that I want to hold a feast with enough food and wine for Dionysus, and declare to the world: I am here, fully present and accounted for, ready to live my life. And, thank you!

I just thought you would like to know.

Breathing Deeply

This woman always has something that makes me slow down, feel my connectedness with the world, and relax. I read this, and I feel better.

Tell Me I'm Not the Only One

This morning was terrible. OC woke up and seemed happy. When we got to school, I realized I forgot her lunchbox in the car. I went back to get it, and when I got back the look on her face was odd. I asked her what was wrong, and her face got redder and redder until she burst into tears. She buried her head in my jacket, and cried and cried and cried, that type of hard crying that makes you gasp for air. The only thing I could get her to say about why she was feeling this way was because she missed grandpa. I said, "I know, I know...it's okay..." but I really didn't know what else to say.

I brushed her hair, tried to get her to eat, but all she would do was cry. Twenty minutes later, I handed her off to her teacher because I really had to go to work. She was still crying when I walked out the door, although her teacher was walking her over to get her interested in something else. The other children were patting OC's back, telling her it was okay. When I left, a few of them were looking at me as if they were wondering why I was leaving my child when she was crying like that. Maybe I just imagined that part, but it sure looked like that's what they were thinking.

Oh, God. I feel awful.

Most days are okay. She is well, happy, and excited to go to school. Not today. Today it was really hard to walk away. I don't feel good about it at all.

Earlier this week, she stayed home with my mom who was visiting. They were both sick, so it was nice that they could stay home together. She was still pretty sick so OH stayed home with her most of Wednesday. I left work as early as I could to meet him because he had something he really needed to finish at his office. I could only leave an hour early, whoopdefreakingdo.

Yesterday, she had a doctor's appointment for a checkup but also to see about this cough. She got a shot for her checkup, and the cough is a virus which should go away in 7 days, although the cough may last longer.

I just called to check on her, she is doing fine. I talked to her teacher who said it took her a few minutes to recover after I left, but she's into school and is actually being really helpful.

So why do I feel so bad?

The Family is Going on Holiday

We're going to Ireland! We have plane tickets! I can't wait!!! It's three months away, so I'll have to calm down at some point or risk being exhausted and unenthusiastic by the time we actually leave.

We fly in to Dublin where we have two days to check out the city. I want to visit Trinity College and see the Book of Kells, go to the pedestrian triangle and shop for tweed and sweaters, and have beer. Lots of beer. Guinness brewery is in Dublin, and offers tours so we will definitely do that.

Next, we take a train to Belfast. We stay one night in Belfast, then rent a car and drive up the coast of Antrim where we stay in a cottage for one week. There's the Giant's Causeway, the Nine Glens of Antrim, Bushmill's Distillery, Dunluce Castle, and many other things to see. After that, we'll drive down to the Sperrins and Fermanagh lakelands and stay another few days. There you can check out more historical sites and see Celtic crosses, castles, tour agricultural areas, take a lake ferry, a boat tour of the caves; and there is also bicycling and walking.

We intend to see all of Northern Ireland, which should be pretty easy since it's roughly the size of Oregon, maybe smaller, but it's old; really, really old. And that is so cool.

I am very excited to see the Book of Kells. I studied the art in this book when I was in school for graphic design. I can't believe I'm going to see the real thing. It was written by monks around 800 AD, and gorgeously decorated. It is called an illuminated manuscript because it is lit up by the beautiful illustrations that intertwine with the text.

The Irish seaside will be amazing. The Irish people will be cool to talk to in pubs and such. We are staying long enough, I think, to get a feel for the place. I'm looking forward to checking out a place with so much history.

After a decade of not going anywhere or doing anything, I am expanding my horizons and traveling to another part of the world. I am, finally, living up to the blog name The Occidental Tourist, which is why I chose it in the first place, because I've always wanted to travel.

P.S. It also helps to marry the right man, which I totally did!

Second Ski Trip

I'm back at work after a great weekend. I had better have liked it, too, because there will be no more days off from now until we go to Ireland at the end of April. I have to save up my vacation time, and even then I'll need to take time off without pay. That's three months without a day off, people. Aye-yiye-yiye.....that's a long time! So, let me revel in the past weekend's fun and hope it can sustain me.

Friday, I left work halfway through the day to go meet OH and drive to Central Oregon. His company pays for all of the employees to go to Sunriver for the weekend. That means free housing, food, and drink, with time to go do whatever you want to while you're there. And not only do they have beer, but bottle after bottle of hard liquor, and the boss makes the drinks.

Saturday, we decided to go skiing. There is a shuttle from Sunriver to Bachelor, so off we went. This was my second time skiing ever, and in the second country I've ever skiied. Oh la la, so international! Yeah, right: the first time I skiied was in Canada, 400 miles away.

Mt. Bachelor is big, and intimidating. I stayed on the same run the entire day, and was scared to death the first time down. It looked steep! I snowplowed nearly the entire way. Sooo cool looking. The second trip down was better, but I needed to keep going slowly. By the 5th or 6th time, I was getting the hang of it and doing more turning instead of snowplowing. I skiied all day, and by the last two times down the hill, I was turning and not snowplowing at all. Most of all, I had a chance to practice what I learned the first time, and it was fun! Except for the people.

The bane of my skiing experiences so far have been the other people. I don't mind crashing and falling because of my own mistake, but I HATE it when other skiiers/snowboarders make me crash because of their proximity and then I go out of control. They are all around, swishing up from behind or slowing down and turning unexpectedly in front of me. It makes me nervous, and when I get nervous I lose my concentration and am more likely to crash. And, can I also say, what the hell is up with snowboarders who stop and sit in large groups in the middle of the run??? This is a phenomenon which MUST END NOW.

Here is my open letter to snowboarders everywhere:

Please be advised to move off to the side and out of the way of others when you want to sit down on a ski run. I am a new skiier, and not totally in control at all times. Because of that, I require space in which to exert whatever control I may have managed to maintain while flying down the hill at G-d-knows-what speeds, with only my tenuous new skiing skills between me and your soon-to-be-flattened selves. I can see it coming, that if you continue to sit down in the middle of the run, one of these times you are going to get your asses ran the fuck over. And if that happens, I will not be sorry because you are stupid to sit there in the way of people who are flying down the hill on all sides of you and screaming "ahhhhhh!" Do you see the ski instructors??? They are there because people are taking lessons. If people are just learning to ski, they may not be so good at it; and maybe if they're not good at skiing, they're also not good at stopping.

You deserve to get ran over if you sit there, MF, so don't go crying about it when it happens. Because it's going to happen.

Are we clear? Good.

-Me

I didn't run into anyone, nor anyone into me, but there were a few close call. It was a huge pain in the ass to try and avoid all the people, dozens of them, who would sit down in the middle of the run. Crazy!

I love skiing, and OH tells me that when I get better and go on the other runs, there will be fewer people to contend with. I love the sound of that. Also, there are fewer people if we go skiing during the week or go night skiing. I'm all for that!

In the meantime, I'm making copies of that letter and passing it around in a vain attempt to change the world. It so won't make a difference, but I just had to say it.

A Very Complicated Issue

I have held a job since I was fifteen years old. I enjoy earning money and being able to pay my own way. Now that I have a child and also work full time, I think every day that my job takes up too much time. I am not able to put my full effort into everything, therefore everything that I do is not done well:

I am not a good mother.

I am not a good employee.

I am not a good wife.

I am not a good sister/daughter/friend.

I do okay at most things, I get by, but I haven't the time to do things well. I spend my time getting ready for work, working, and coming home from work. I spend a few hours at night with my daughter and husband, most of which is taken up by making dinner, laundry, cleaning, readying things for the next day. I am not giving them my full attention. I am usually thinking about what needs to be done next.

Sampling of things I've said to my daughter, in order of most to least:

1. Hurry up!
2. Come on, we've got to go.
3. Quickly.
4. No!
5. I love you.
6. Good night.
7. I can't right now, I've got to do (something else)
1,282,611. Let's make cookies!

See what I mean?

I also have the kind of mind that wants to get everything done before I sit down and relax or do something enjoyable. With so much to do and with that type of thinking, guess how often I get to sit down and relax or do something enjoyable?

Want to guess how this makes me feel? Did you say inadequate? That's right: In. Ade. Quate.

Call me Mrs. Wrong Priorities, Lady Regretful, and She Who Works Too Much.

My husband once told me during a previous experience when I was feeling inadequate, that I was a good mother because look how great my daughter is. I wanted to say (but didn't) that she is a wonderful girl because she goes to a good daycare, and that it is in spite of me and not because of me that she is so wonderful, smart and sweet. How can you really influence someone who you only see for a few hours a day, and only really focus on for a few minutes? My daughter inherited my genetics, but she spends her time with energetic young women who do art projects, play games, teach her things, and take her to the park. These people have more influence on my child than I, and they make less than half of what I do per hour.

What does all of this mean??? Maybe nothing for the collective, but for me it means something has got to change.

I feel overwhelmed and frustrated because I don't have a sense of satisfaction that comes from doing something well. I don't have security in knowing that all of this effort expended adds up to something worthy. I am incredibly busy, I wear myself out every day, but I don't feel like I've accomplished anything with all of this activity. None of it is noteworthy or makes a difference where it really matters. I get through the day, and that's about it.

I want to be a good mother, full of energy and ideas and time to focus on my child and do things with her. I want to be a good wife, full of joy and enthusiasm for life and our relationship. I want to be a good employee, arriving to work on time and full of innovative, creative ideas. I want to treat myself well, not full of negative thoughts about myself.

I wonder if the truth is, you can't work full time and have kids and a marriage and do all kinds of interesting things and do all of it well....can you? Are we kidding ourselves about this? I haven't found the right balance. I don't know that there is one. There are only so many hours in the day, but then again maybe I'm using those hours in the wrong way.

I'm not saying daycare is bad, I don't think it is. I think it's wonderful that we have so many choices for quality childcare when we need it. Many people need to work, some people choose to. I understand both of those reasons. It's great that kids are getting such good care, no matter why they are there. I know my daughter has benefitted from the experience. I think where it has been a negative is that she spends too much time there: Eight and a half hours a day, five days a week since she was four months old. This makes me feel incredibly guilty because I don't think it was the right thing to do. I have friends who have set up their lives in a myriad of ways: some work full time, stay home full time, or work part time. I have other friends who've adjusted their work schedules so their kids are in daycare four hours or less per day, and with a parent or grandparent the rest of the time. I don't know that any one of these people would say they have the ideal situation, but they might say they have done what works for them and that they are happy.

I feel that life is nudging me to make different choices. It's going to be hard to do. When I think about my job I know I really like the work (most of the time), and I enjoy my coworkers. My boss is great, the office environment is healthy, unlike many places I've worked before. I like feeling like I contribute something through my work. Also, going somewhere and being an adult is fun and fulfilling. And the satisfaction of earning that paycheck is a great as well. Maybe the answer is, I spend too much time at it.

I've missed my daughter. I've missed her A LOT. While I don't know for sure that I would've been very good at staying home full time with her, I want that opportunity before she goes to Kindergarten. I want to give her my full attention for many hours each day. I want to plan fun things to do with her, to take things slowly with her and not rush her along all the time. She's got the independence thing down, it's time to rebuild some closeness into our relationship before she turns into an insolent teenager who hates me. I want her to have something to like about me, some good experiences to remember for those times she'll get mad at me. Right now, there are so little of those.

The Next Big Thing

By way of explanation: The ticker at the top of this page is there because we are planning to take our next family vacation in Ireland. (Note the clever Celtic knot and shamrock motif!)

I mention this because the ticker links to a website that is mostly about infertility and pregnancy. I have the ticker up not because I'm infertile or pregnant, it's just a vacation.

Today is a holiday. I am celebrating by watching The West Wing, season one. I didn't begin watching this show until season four, I think. I enjoy the smart dialogue especially when the President's character begins to wax on about one thing or another, and interwoven plotlines. Earlier, he was going on about national parks. I end up learning things. I am naturally drawn toward obscure facts, which unfortunately does not pay well. Imagine that, learning things from the teevee!

Happy Martin Luther King Junior Day. He was not a perfect man, and in fact made mistakes, and I honestly don't know much about him or if what I have heard is true (adultery, and other things). But the idea for which he worked for, and for which he was killed, brought about important change for our country. That principle is what we should remember today.

Pointless, Puerile, Slapdashery

Today's trivia at the coffee shop: What famous painter won one million francs in the French lottery in 1861? (Answer is at the end of this post.)

My back hurt this morning, so I turned on the heated seats in the car to the highest setting and it felt gooooooooood. Does this mean I am old? Wait, don't answer that. When I first got my car I thought that heated seats were a nice feature but really quite frivolous. Now I do not think them frivolous at all, what with its amazing back-soothing powers. Next thing you know I will have a heating pad adapted to plug into the cigarette lighter and will have one on my belly one week per month. I swear, I wanted to recline the seat and roll over, the heat felt that fabulous.

Yesterday I had a headache that gradually worked itself up to a migraine. My personal policy is to stay at work until I notice that the headache is headed toward the nausea stage, then it's time to leave.

The migraine did not occur until right at the end of the day, and so I left at the usual time. I felt weird. I couldn't turn my head too quickly or I would get dizzy. My thinking was really stilted and strange. I managed to hold it together and I picked up OC and we got on the road. Then, we became part of the snarled mess of traffic, whereupon it took 30 minutes to go five blocks. I had no idea that part of the road would be that bad, and once I was there, there was no way out.

OC needed a new pair of shoes and so I planned to go shoe shopping with her that night as well. It couldn't wait, as she'd been complaining about her shoes being tight for awhile, and now she said they hurt. We stopped at a store in our town. The shoes that I liked were velcro, and were $40. But, I am money-conscious (sort of), and I couldn't see paying that much for shoes that she would grow out of in short order. There was an in-store coupon for $10 off, and so the shoes were a more reasonable $30.

I felt okay about this until I started to really think about it. OC is five years old. The old shoes, the pair that were so tight they began to hurt? She's had those since last April. That was only nine months ago. So, hoping she doesn't have a huge growth spurt, ha, this pair should last the same amount of time. $30 is a lot to spend on shoes that will only last nine months. There were other styles and brands that featured velcro closures, and were less expensive; The main problem was selection. One style that was plentifully available in her size came in a red/white/black color combination a la Air Jordans of 20 years ago. That won't fly with my pink-&-purple-loving daughter. Another two styles that we liked, and were less expensive, didn't have her size available.

And there was another thing: when we went up to pay, the cashier was going to charge me $40 but I was all, isn't there a coupon? She really didn't want to look for a coupon. She had to go to another register where she found the coupon. (The ordeal, the struggle, the complete hassle to satisfy unreasonable, pushy customers for a measly $10 off!)

Today OC is in her new shoes, which are velcro and she can get on and off very easily. They are very cute, Skechers bike shoes. Now for some unsolicited advice: velcro is the only way to go, people. I know some people think you should get laces so kids can learn how to tie them. I agree with that idea but only after kids are of a certain age, e.g. old enough to actually learn to tie them and strong enough to do so on their own. I have been buying laces on and off since she was very little and am sick of them, because for some reason manufacturers think it's cute to put laces on 2-, 3-, and 4- year-old's shoes and not offer a velcro version.

She will have a pair with laces next. You know, in nine months, when she grows out of this pair.

Answer to above trivia question: Claude Monet. Congratulations if you got that right! Your prize is nothing, but good for you.

It's National De-Lurking Week

My skin is breaking out. I forgot to wear any jewelry today. I am tired from the past two nights' lateness due to car and tire trouble. I am $325 poorer due to last night's car and tire trouble.

It would really be great to hear from you.



P.S. The Donna Karan capris did not fit. Boo hoo. The boots did, however, and looked great with my khakis yesterday. They have a 2-inch plus heel, and I'm not used to walking in a heel that high all day long. Will need to practice, since I didn't really enjoy looking like a dork who didn't know how to walk in that high of a heel.

Why Last Night Sucked: A Timeline

5:00 pm: Leave work. Walk to Nordstrom Rack. Have $40 coupon plus $50 birthday cash to spend. So happy! Is raining; don't mind, have umbrella.

5:18 pm: Arrive at Nordstrom Rack. Begin looking through clearance racks in women's section. Realize that most shirts are ultra-sequiny, way too many beads and sparklies. Like sequins, beads, and sparklies, but this is ridiculous. Find pair of Donna Karan capris. Very cute. Hope they fit; no time to try on. Price= $15.

5:23 pm: Move on to Junior's section. Find navy blue/silver just-the-right-amount-of-sparkly top. In Medium. Price= $8. Love!

5:27 pm: Look through outerwear section. Enjoy perusing Kenneth Cole jackets that are less than $100 when normally $200; see great brown leather jacket for $125, normally $199; see cute Columbia fleece jackets for $25, normally $45. Debate; Think; Ponder; Feel fleece; Try to choose color; like pink, like light blue, maybe black? Ultimately move on to shoes.

5:31 pm: Ride escalator to shoe section. Look...look...look. Need dark brown pair of shoes. Am picky: want something not too pointy-toed, not too dressy, not too boring, not too light in color. Must be able to wear with khakis and jeans alike. Look in boot section. Find dark brown boots with cute detail in non-pointy toe that will totally go with jeans or khakis. Price= $60. Love!

5:35 pm: Look at athletic shoes just for kicks. Find navy blue/orange Avias for $25. Must have, as they will match new navy blue and orange Denver Broncos sweatshirt, and since am now a new fan of Broncos find this to be: Awe. Some. Bonus: If ever became fan of Syracuse, am totally set.

5:41 pm: Purchase items. Feel that old enchanted feeling that comes with finding what you need/want.

5:43 pm: Walk back at car. Is raining. Hard. No problem! Have umbrella.

6:22 pm: Driving along, happily thinking of outfits at home that can now be worn since I have the dark brown boots.

6:22:11 pm: Hit bigass fucking pothole with a BAM!!! and feel tire deflate immediately. Didn't see bigass pothole AT ALL.

6:22:23 pm: Pull into NY NY Pizza parking lot so out of busy roadway. Wonder what to do. Is raining. HARD.

6:22:27 pm: Realize can change a tire. Hooray! Realize only have wool jacket, not something useful like a rainjacket. Shit. Call OH and tell him what's going on. He can't leave because OC is coming home at 7 pm. OH worries and tells me so because doesn't like that I am in dark alongside busy road in rain. Tell OH it is no problem, because I? Am a badass; Can change tire.

6:25 pm: Realize haven't changed tire on this car before. Is newer car. Need instructions. Find owner's manual. Easy!

6:27 pm: Remove spare tire, tools, and jack from trunk. Remove wheel bolt covers. Loosen wheel bolts. Think: Am badass. Also, changing tire in rain sucks.

6:30 pm: Jack up the car. Think: Am total badass!

6:31 pm: Break decorative plastic piece on side of car because placed jack in the wrong area. Move jack to correct area. Think: Am total jackass.

6:33 pm: Can't loosen one wheel bolt. Is round on outside. Consult instructions.

6:35 pm: Instructions say this is a wheel lock bolt, need special adapter, should be in tool kit.

6:36 pm: Search tool kit, trunk, glove compartment, and console; there is no wheel bolt lock adapter. Pour water out of tool kit because it is still raining hard.

6:42 pm: Call Roadside Assistance; Feel like total jackass ninny for calling because of stupid flat tire.

6:42 pm: "Roadside Assistance, can I help you?" Me: Blah blah flat tire blah blah can't find wheel lock adapter anywhere blah blah. Them: Blah blah should be in tool kit. Me: It's not. Blah. Them: Okay, will call for tow truck. Me: WHAT? Them: Is standard. Can't change tire without wheel lock adapter, tow truck drivers don't have wheel adapter either, suckah. But, this is covered by your warranty so shut up. Now, tell me, where are you located? Me: (gives address) Them: And the zip code? Me: I have no flying fuck of a clue what the zip code is, don't you have Mapquest? You don't need a zip code, jackass. Them: Nearest dealer is (mispronounce name of town that is 45 miles away!). Me: No, nearest dealer is Herzog Meier in Beaverton. Is more like 8 miles. Them: I show that Herz...what you said as being 44 miles away. Me: Argue argue blah blah argue. Them: Okay, let me put you on hold while I check.

6:45 pm: Head inside NY NY Pizza to ask for zip code. Notice wool jacket is soaked. Can squeeze water out of hair and clothes. Look like wet dog, however, do not smell like wet dog.

6:46 pm: Them: Okay, thanks for holding. It looks like.... Me: The zip code is 97219! Them: Oh, here it is. The zip code really helps. Yes, it looks like Her...z...um... Me: Yes, Herzog Meier. In Beaverton. I know, it's just like I said. Them: Okay, tow truck company will be there within the hour. Me: Okay, and fuck you very much.

(Not really. I said thank you. But I was THINKING the other thing, because what, I am screwing with him and would rather take 44 mile tow truck ride way out of way, and am lying about that Herzog-Meier-in-Beaverton-being-the-closest-dealer thing? Jerk.)

6:48 pm: NY NY Pizza waitress comes outside to ask if I need anything. She's wearing this, weird, waterproof jacket. Note to self: Must look into owning jacket with miraculous water-repellant capabilities. Tell her am okay. Stupid flat tire blah no wheel bolt lock adapter blah. Thank her. Think: how nice!

6:49 pm: Jack down the car, put everything away, lock car.

6:52 pm: Go inside NY NY Pizza because there is a beer sign. They have beer! Need beer.

6:53 pm: Enjoy free beer from nice employees, who take pity on me. I think they are lovely. Leave big tip. They tell me that there were two people in here before me who hit the same pothole. Customer in NY NY Pizza asks me questions, tries to help. But alas, the wheel bolt lock will not be undone without that piece of shit adapter. Nice guy, tells me 'good luck' as he leaves.

7:59 pm: Tow truck arrives. Takes many minutes to load car onto truck. Wait. Wait. Notice that there is now a police car blocking the bigass pothole that I hit. Where were you two hours ago? Fighting crime? Oh. Whatever. Also notice there is man changing a flat tire right in front of NY NY Pizza. That guy's car doesn't need a wheel lock adapter. Envy.

8:45 pm: Arrive at dealer. Leave key in drop box. Weep. Am cold, because wool jacket is completely soaked through. Am screwed for transportation tomorrow, and have daughter to drag around with me, poor thing. Weep more. Get game face on when OH and OC arrive. Want OH to think am still badass. Show him injury on finger when I scraped it on the ground when I was jacking up the car. He tells me am badass. Feel loved.

9:38 pm: Arrive home. Get OC ready for bed. Make tea. Tell OH how cool the German-engineered car jack is, that the handle rotates so you can easily move it around and around, even when you are first starting and are close to the ground. Older jacks are not so good like that. Enjoy this fact even though I injured myself because I? Am clumsy when changing a tire in the dark in the pouring rain when I've never done it on that particular car before. Wish I had gotten to finish changing the tire. Was on my way to proving unarguable badass status. Stupid, non-existent wheel bolt lock adapter!

10:15 pm: Take hot shower. Think: would be total badass if had wheel lock adapter, whaaaaaa. Am not badass. Am baby.

A Litany: Not So Much With the Long And More About The Tedious

Trivia question this morning at the coffee shop:

What perfume had its unveiling on May 5, 1921? (Answer Below.)

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Bumper sticker seen on Toyota Prius:

Question Internal Combustion

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Another funny bumper sticker:

Heck is where people go who don't believe in gosh.

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There's a woman at work who wears a man's geometric-print sweater that is colored with navy, black, and rosy-pinky-reddish-mauve triangles. Just awful. It's so 1985, it's not even funny. And she wears it, like, twice a week. It really bugs me.

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Dear Coworker,

Could you please stop changing the title of your charts? When you do, this necessitates that I change the name of the file to reflect what the chart is saying, so I know what I'm working on and what the file contains, so I can easily locate it to make multitude of changes you need done to the chart itself. This is a huge pain in the ass for me when you whimsically change the name. Over. And. Over. Again. Please stop it.

Thanks,
Me

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Trivia Answer: Chanel No. 5

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Yesterday's Trivia Question: What word did Alfred Hitchcock coin that roughly translates to mean "red herring"?


Answer: Macguffin

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That is all.

Weekend Update

We had a good weekend. Which included a big, flaming misunderstanding.

Saturday night was rife with confusion between OH and I. He got really mad at me because I was being evasive and vague about something that was bothering me, and he could tell something was wrong but wanted to know what it was already. I didn't want to tell him because this painful Thing might be criticised or ridiculed and I knew I wouldn't live through that.

Then we talked and talked, and finally, in a very dramatic moment of letting out the Thing I had such great fear of revealing by literally walking backwards and crying like the big baby I am, it was out there and lo, I did not die. OH totally understood the thing and did not reject me, criticize, or ridicule; We talked about how not only did he find me not crazy for feeling this way, but how it was also totally rational and full of reason to feel this way. He went on to tell me that he believed if I felt strongly about something, it must be because I've got good reasons behind it, and that he is interested in how I feel so please won't I tell him serious things that bother me. Not only that, but he felt the same way about the Thing, and so could even understand in a personal way. Well, knock me over with a freaking feather.

We have this new, deeper understanding of one another and the irony is, it wouldn't have happened unless he hadn't gotten so pissed off so that I finally revealed it. I was willing to go on living with it in the pit of my stomach, protecting it because I was full of fear fear fear of being deemed "weak" or "too sensitive" or "off your fucking rocker" or something. I really did not want to reveal it.

Irony...don't you love it? I totally do. What I hate is how thick-headed I am because I keep doing this over and over: I keep avoiding, and life keeps coming at me and showing me that it's much better to be myself, and asks me to meet it halfway at least. When I do meet life halfway or more, I continually find that it's safe and I won't die, and I even live a little better after doing so.

I felt so relieved by the airing of the Thing and being cared for, that I felt even more mad love for OH than before. So we did the only thing you can do at a moment like that: We played our trumpets. It was around 1 am by the time all the drama was over and after all the talky-talk. There was this vibe in the air that didn't want to let us go quite yet. Things were still emotional and all sparkly new, so I suggested we play our trumpets. Obviously. Which made the cats run away in terror, but was the completely right thing to do just then.

I played the Cornet in middle school band, and he had played the trumpet in high school and college. I hadn't played in 17 years. He played in community band, like, last year, so I was feeling rather shy about playing in front of him. But, I didn't sound bad! Okay, I did! But then it got better and he is a totally great teacher. It was damn fun. And, about the only thing that could follow such an emotion-filled evening.

I love my husband so, so much, and I know this makes you all want to puke, but he seriously rocks and it needs to be said. It also needs to be said that I don't want to talk about the Thing. It's private, and what it is isn't really the point. It's the principle of the story that matters, you see. That, and all the personal growth and shit.

It is so much better to live life by being yourself and not letting fear stand in your way. You will not die if people don't agree with you, but you may very well die if you don't live honestly. Be yourself, no matter what. It's the only way to live. And, playing a trumpet is sometimes just the way to cap an intensely emotional evening.

Ski Bunny, Baby

Hi. I went skiing! And didn't break a bone, or my neck, or run into a tree ala that one Kennedy and also Sonny Bono. Which is sad and I'm so not making fun of people who run into trees and die. Because it's not funny. It's a stupid way to die, but it's very, very sad.

Anyway. Vancouver B.C. is the greatestest city! Not better than Portland, but great in its own way. There are sooo many food places, oh my gosh. And the people you see and hear talking in all kinds of languages and accents is so cool. We had great food at places like Rodney's and Joe Forte's. I shopped at Chapters Books, which I was disappointed in because I might as well have been in Barnes & Noble. What I really wanted was a local, independent bookstore, but traveling with a five-year-old necessitates making plans and making them damn fast, already. Oh, and you can't exactly trudge all over the city looking for your precious independent bookstore, because like I said, the five-year-old little legs and such.

She did great in the fancy restaurants, and the hotel, and really everywhere. Love that girl!

One day we went to Granville Island, which is like this big marketplace with all kinds of shops, a farmer's market, and a brewery. Hooray for the beer sampler, which is 4 smallish-but-not-super-small glasses of beer for $7.50 Canadian dollars! Which is like, practically free in American money. That's how I calculated the exchange rate for practically everything, e.g. "This pretty sweater is $79 Canadian. What does that make it in American dollars? Hhmmmm.... It's on the 30% off table, and that price is in Canadian dollars, divided by .01% minus 2, carry the one equals... the sweater is ridiculously affordable and practically free! I'm on vacation, it's okay! And plus I should really do my part to help the Canadian economy! And so I will purchase this sweater because my G-d, how could I not?" Repeat. Seriously.

I will not tell you the story of how I bought a sweatshirt in XL instead of Medium and now cannot go exchange it because it's like, a 6 hour drive. I am just going to have to live with my mistake. Damn, because it is a nice sweatshirt and would look all cute if it actually fit me properly. Shit! I am used to life as a big idiot, though, so it's fine. Plus, I have a cute t-shirt in the right size. [If you think I am too much in love with my size Medium self, let me just tell you, I am. I spent a lot of time being overweight, and so being a Medium is a good thing to me. I'm proud of my weight loss, and happy with myself, and realize it's not important in the grand scheme of things it's just a nice thing. The end.]

We also went to Stanley Park and the Vancouver Aquarium. They have a tropical display with cool, yet creepily large, Amazon fish. These fish possess jawbones in order to crush nuts and things to eat. Note to self: never, ever go swimming in the Amazon river. Check!

Also, there was a northwest waters display including cute fuzzy sea otters, and beluga whales. Beluga whales are so beautiful, and smart. We learned all kinds of like, science and stuff. It was cool.

We all went skiing on Monday at a very nearby ski area. It took less than an hour to drive up there. OC and I both had two-hour ski lessons. OC was so cute on her little kid skis! I wish I had remembered my camera at the mountain, but alas, I did not. The kids area was a tiny slope roped off from everything, with a conveyor belt to take the little darlings back up the 15 feet it was to the top again. OC took her time, but eventually was getting the hang of it. They taught the snowplow as making pizza because of the triangle shape you make with your skis, and then to go you make french fries which is when you point your skis straight. There is all this yelling, "Make pizza! Pizza! Pizza! Good! Okay, now french fries! French fries! Good! Pizza! Pizza! Now make pizza! Pizza! Ohh...Good!"

My ski instructor was a 24-year old Rafaella from Germany or Switzerland, who said "Eh" in a German or Swiss accent. She was adorable and a good instructor, but mind you, I wanted to smack her when she said, "I've been skiing for 20 years, since I was four." I didn't really want to smack her because she was quite sweet and adorable with her accented eh's and because she said at the end of my lesson that I was a good skiier. The lesson was a drop-in, because we are not ski snobs, but there was only me and one other person taking the lesson so it was close to a private lesson so I felt all important. Heh. The other woman taking the lesson was about my age, and she had these skinny, skinny, long skis which Rafaella said were not good for beginners because they were harder to learn on. Still, I learned faster than the other lady and felt all cool about it.

By the end of the two hours, I was skiing by myself down the hill and totally kicking ass. You know, slooooowly. I was scared to go very fast, plus there were all those other people. A guy ran into me, and didn't say anything, just looked at me like 'why are you in my ski space, ye new skiier?'. Fucker.

A lot of snowboarders liked to stop and sit on their butts in the middle of the run. Is this normal? How hard is it to move your ass out of the middle of the run? There was not a lot of snow, so there were only two runs open, meaning it was more crowded than it otherwise might've been. Still, I didn't break anything and so I feel victorious. I take back my "I'm sorry" I said to that fucker who ran into me. Because I'm totally not sorry, now that you didn't say anything back.

I forgot to bring my camera with me today, so pictures will be posted next week.

I am looking forward to skiing again several times this year. Now that I know I like it, I'm all jonesing to go again, all my anxiety about Oh-my-gosh-how-does-this-ski-thing-work?-I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-and-will-look-stupid-and-also-be-unprepared-which-is-a-bad-thing-and-I-can't-possibly-go-anywhere-without-knowing-exactly-what-to-expect-beforehand-or-I-will-meeeeeeeeelt.

Welcome to Generalized Anxiety Disorder!

It turns out it was all fine, and I'm happy to have the experience behind me so I know what to expect the next time. Because I am a freak like that.

Too Much Excitement

I don't know who I think I am, but I am a big, fat liar. The scarf I wore yesterday was not made of Angora, as I alluded when I copied, pasted, and properly credited the original entry about someone's Angora sweater. I don't know what my scarf is made of, but it is not fur nor is it real. Maybe it's real. It is fuzzy, though. And furthermore, I have scarves made out of fuzzy yarn that shed more on my black wool jacket than the fuzzy, white, I-don't-know-what-it's-made-of-but-it-sure-is-fuzzy scarf.

I just wanted to clear that up.

It's hard to get back into the swing of regular life after a vacation. Yesterday was fairly ordinary, spending time catching up on emails, voicemail, and some actual work. I'll have the vacation details with pictures soon.

Last night I went to pick up OC from school. When we got to the parking garage, the doors were down. This was not unusual as the garage closes at 5:30 pm, after which you need a code to open the door. OC punched in the code but nothing happened. I thought she didn't push the buttons hard enough, so I punched in the code - several times - and it still didn't work. A car was idling on the other side of the doors. A woman got out and came over to talk to us. She was loud. She said she had been there for 15 minutes, and that the garage doors wouldn't open. She used her cell phone to call the parking company and got their answering service, where she left a message and was expecting a call back anytime. I told her she should call the fire department. She asked, loudly, "What's the number to the fire department?" I told her, "911." but I was thinking, "Um, seriously?! What a moron!"

(Disclaimer, which is in no way a placation: This woman annoyed me because she talked obnoxiously loudly, acted kind of drunk, and when she didn't know the number to the fire department, that was the last straw and I felt obligated to call her a moron.)

I went next door to the business that was still open and asked to use their phone, where I called the fire department (9-1-1!) and asked for non-emergency dispatch. I talked to a very nice lady and told her the problem, who said a crew would be by shortly, and could I please wait on the curb to flag them down? Yes, absolutely! The Obnoxiously Loud Moron then walked by us on the sidewalk (how did she get out?) and said the owner would be by in 20 minutes to open the doors. She walked off before I could tell her the fire department was on its way. I did not feel bad about this.

The fire department got there soon after, and set to work. If you've never seen firemen in action, it is kind of cool. There was no fire, and yet they were moving about quickly, all over the place, looking for alternate entrances or for a place to get in from the roof or a side door. It turned out that the garage could be opened manually. The Obnoxiously Loud Moron had told me she tried the automatic door openers, which didn't work, but she didn't try the chains that open the door. They pulled on the chains and got the door open, but had to open the second door because OLM had left her car parked in the front, blocking the first door and was still nowhere to be found. (I still don't know how she got out!)

We got our car and were on our way. Yay, firefighters!

P.S. OC said she was scared, and wanted to go home but she did a great job holding her shit together. I told her this too - only without using the word "shit". As we left the garage I rolled down her window so she could thank the firefighters. She was very relieved to be out of there. As was I.

We're parked there again today. I hope the doors will work this time. I forgot to bring my cell phone again.

The Same Thing Happened To Me

You know how you read a post and identify with it so much because the same thing happened to you? I give you Exhibit A, which is an excerpt from Amalah.com on December 3, 2004:

Hello, this is [your sweater]. I am so pretty and soft! But guess what! I am 10% angora which means I like to fuzz! Fuzzfuzzfuzz! All over your black pants! You look very stupid now.

This totally happened today, except it was a pretty and soft white scarf, which fuzzed all over my black sweater. I look very stupid now.

Defining Me

A short while ago I spent some time cleaning my Favorites folder and deleting links to blogs I hadn't been visiting. I probably deleted a half dozen. Today, I spent some time adding links to my Favorites folder of maybe a dozen blogs that I found from other blogs and sites like this one. Now I can throw away my link to the Globe of Blogs because I've got such an extensive list. Reading one blog leads to reading 10 or more, because of all the linking. That is what I love so much about the whole blog-reading experience: the interconnectedness.

I read 10 or 12 blogs on a daily basis. This takes less time than you might think. Some bloggers don't update every day, and many posts are quite short. When I find a blog I like, I usually venture into the archives. This gives some background on the author which throws some perspective on current happenings. Now, doing this takes some dedication as some bloggers have been at this for a couple of years. The reward is getting to enjoy some good writing, funny stories and pictures of people who live in other places but have things happen to them, just like they happen to you, only funnier. And different.

What it comes down to is this: Blogs = Love.

Now I find myself in a kind of quandary. What kind of blog do I have? What am I doing with this here blog? It is not really a mommy blog, even though I am a mom; It is not a cross-stitch blog, even though I cross-stitch; It is not a book blog, etc. You get the idea. It is me. In what category is that? I am anonymous. Who am I? Why would someone read what I have to say, Anonymous Girl in Internetland? My family and my friends know who I am and I've given them this URL. They nearly make up my entire audience of 7 visits per day [half of which are me, updating this blog]. I write about my life pretty honestly, except the details of names and specific places are blurred to protect the innocent. I thought this would be a good way to write on a regular basis; to update people with stories of my life, or about OC; and there would be pictures.

The thing is, I want to develop my voice a bit more. No, a LOT more. There is a sea of great blogs out there, with hundreds of readers because they are funny. And insightful. I don't want to copy these people, I want to be myself. I don't care if I have hundreds of readers, but I would like to be readable; [A million-dollar book deal would not be so bad.] To stand up to my own scrutiny.

I know that this blog will not be a "Dear Diary" blog with entries like "Sorry I haven't written in so long" because I can't stand reading that kind of schlock. It will not be a political blog, although I certainly have some political opinions, and am interested in politics and government. I will also not write a strong opinion and then follow it up with platitudes to all persons everywhere. I hate that trite crap.

I guess that means that what it will be is a hodge podge, a potpourri; nay, a veritable amalgamation of thought across an array of subject matter, distilled and served up here for your perusal.

In case you're wondering what the hell my problem is, I'll tell you: This is the exact same problem I struggle with in life. I am 32 years old, and only very recently became confident enough to express myself, to be a whole person and stand up for myself. It all feels so tenuous. I often feel myself sliding back to my old "Oh my G-d is this good enough for other people? What do they think of me? Please like me!" Up until 8 months ago or so, my biggest fear in life was the possibility of offending someone. Ick! I know! Immediately I want to throw up when I think that way. It is, however, true what they say about old habits dying hard.

Sure, I worried about getting anthrax in the mail like everyone else. Or something terrible happening to my child. But in day-to-day life, I feared disagreeing with someone so that they might not like what I had to say and therefore not like me. Yes! I did! Isn't it pathetic? Oui. C'est tres pathetique, mon amis.

I debated whether or not to start a blog for months before I actually did it. I wondered what I would have to say or if I would have enough to write once a (week) day, and mostly, if I would dare to write what I really thought or turn tail and run the other way like the scared chicken that I am.

It turns out I've got a lot of things in my head to talk about, which I already knew. It further turns out that I am not afraid of offending the multitudes, even if I get scared when I write things with which I know people are not going to agree.

Luckily, I don't have a multitudinous number of readers. Heh.

What I am more afraid of now is not writing my thoughts well. Quite the change, right? I want to reread this blog's earlier entries and see crappy writing, and then see the writing get better. Also? I don't want to take myself too seriously.

[Oops...too late for that last one...]

Or, maybe it's not too late. Maybe I will find my original voice. Maybe I will not be boring. These are my goals. No, wait. Those are not my goals. The first one is good, about being my own original voice, but I don't care if I'm boring or not. Who is the ultimate judge of that, anyway? My second goal will be to clearly communicate what I mean to say. I don't want to read a post later and think, "Oh, but I didn't really explain what I meant when I wrote that...." I should be able to communicate what I am thinking in a way that I can stand by later on, that doesn't require clarification. Yes, those are my goals.

I feel much better now. Goals are defined; Thoughts are clarified. Yes, I am a Type A personality. Why do you ask?

And now, for one time only, please enjoy the following because you will not read anything like this again at this URL:

Dear Diary,

OMG! Matt Damon is soooo cute! I heart him. Sorry I haven't written in so long. I have been busy scouring the internet for Matt Damon pictures and writing him fanmail. I will marry him someday, right after he divorces that Luciana chick. You know they will get divorced, because she is SO not the right woman for him. I am! [Giggle giggle!!!]

Love,
Occidental Girl

P.S. Me again. My husband is WAY cuter than Matt Damon. Waaaaaaaaaaay C.U.T.E.R.