Tri-Coloured Condom Part Deux

Here it is in all its glory..... Note its resemblance to the Mexican Flag--but what else do we expect from AZ???

Point of Origin

I walked into Origins the other day and got seduced into purchasing over $100 of facial products. I bought the works---you know, cleanser (NOT soap), toner, moisturizer, anti-oxidant, etc.

And I realized, I have become extremely high maintenance. And snobby. When it comes to makeup, I no longer only shop at Target, but should buy out stock at Sephora. With my purchases alone, I think I'd probably make money instead of just spending it on lip gloss (latest purchase--$41 on lip gloss. LIP GLOSS!). I spent $179 on my dye job and $30 on the shampoo to maintain the rich caramels and dark chocolate streaks. I'm starting to feel guilty.

I don't feel like I NEED the makeup I'm buying. I just like it. I enjoy feeling pretty and sometimes, expensive things make me feel extra pretty.

I need to tone it down though. I don't want to end up being one of those extremely snobby girls that won't do anything because they might break a nail.

Kumquats and Tri-Coloured Condoms

I have discovered a new love and believe I may be rethinking my Top Ten Favorite Things.

Growing up in Northern VA, before the Central American immigration wave in the late 1990s, meant pretty standard fruits and veggies. Apples, oranges, potatoes, carrots, grapefruits...you get it. I remember the first time I had a kewi...that alien-green, mushy, slighty tart inside. It was a big deal. Now the grocery stores in my area are carrying more exotic produce because of the extensive Latino population.

Tuesday, after a very stimulating lecture on iodine deficiency and goiters in my International Nutrition class, Patricia and I got in the hospital elevator to leave. She was carrying a bag of very tiny oranges. I asked her what they were and she looked at my like I was crazy to have never seen the fruit before. "Kumquats" was the answer I got. She offered me one and I took it, unsure of how to eat it. At about two inches long, it seemed too small to peel. She assured me that I could eat the rind and encouraged me to pop it in my mouth whole.

Oh holy jesus. It was quite possibly the most miraculous experience ever (barring the Virgin Birth, of course). I put the kumquat in my mouth, and bit down. It exploded in my mouth, a fresh burst of tart citrus and sweet rind. The experience was almost shocking, but the most utterly amazing sensory experience. The scent of citrus lingered in the elevator after we breezed out. Delicious.

I finally went grocery shopping last night after realizing I had to stop eating out or at MS's house. I dashed to Trader Joe's after I got out of class at 8pm. I always buy the same things--eggs, meat, cheese, tortillas, red peppers and soy milk for my coffee. Lo and behold, as I walked in the store, a display of kumquats greeted me. I almost cried. I bought two boxes. Since buying them approximately 18 hours later, I've eaten one whole box and the citric acid is beginning to eat through my stomach lining, but I can't stop myself. Everytime I bite through the sweet, crunchy rind and the tart pulpy innards, I almost die of happiness.

This is love.

Out of the Loop

I've been reading Stickles' obessive blogging about The OC and I realized I have almost no idea what she is talking about. I know The OC is a TV show about a set of teenagers, but I have no clue what channel, day or time the show comes on.

Now, I realize that I've been home from Africa for well over a year now and at some point it's going to have to stop being my excuse. However, not yet.

I have missed the entertainment boat on several pop culture phenomenons. I missed the Survivor/reality TV craze that swept (is still sweeping?) the nation. Trishelle from the Real World Las Vegas was about as reality as I got. I was in Spain when American Idol first started and when I got back, I never caught on. And now The OC, which began while I was still pissing in a hole and cutting the heads off my dinner.

So please, oh Goddess Cristin. Fill me in with the info for the Blessed OC so I too may partake in at least one pop culture event of my time!

Attitude Adjustment (My Non-Alcoholic Version of AA)

Back When I Was Fun (Three Weeks Ago)

Do you ever wake up, groggily, and seriously wonder how your life got to be the way it was?

Like, I'm sitting here, racking my brain for something interesting I've done in the last two weeks and the only thing I can think of is when over the weekend I told a Maryknoll priest that I wasn't a priest (duh) and probably wasn't planning on becoming a nun and he replied, "I wasn't guessing you were."

My life has become repetetive and boring. I wake up late, panic about going into work, choose not to go, watch late-morning TV, think about going into work in the afternoon, choose not to go, study, panic about amount of work, go to evening class, get home late at night, panic about amount of studying I have to accomplish, realize I'm exhausted from the stress of thinking about work and school and choose to watch TV, clean, talk to MS or go to bed.

This is becoming a frightening pattern that occurs every weekday (on the weekend, I'm just obliterated much like senior year). I need to get get relaxed and adjust my attitude. I need to remember to have fun and chill out and just breathe.

Definitely Sleepless in Seattle Thanks to Beer

This weekend was the Global Health Conference in Seattle. Meigan, Jim, Brian and I were several of the many UofA delegates. Firstly, let me begin by saying the conference was very inspirational for many reasons, the most important being it was just nice to get some fresh blood and new opinions. Sometimes, I get tired of hearing the semesterly international lecture given by Dougie.

That said, it was definitely a bit of a rocking weekend. Two moments stand out.
1. At the end of the evening at an "Irish" pub (where there was no dance floor), Meigan, Jim, Eva, Flora and I huddled in a circle singing (*shouting*) off-key the words to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing."

2. As we're exiting the bar(at 2:00), a missionary man comes up to us. "Do you know Jesus?" Flora jokingly responds, "Yeah, dude, he's my lord and savior!" Jim looks at me, glances at the missionary and shouts, "We're gonna have unprotected SEX tonight!" The missionary grimaces and says, "That's a fire sin!" (If anyone knows what that means, let me know?) Jim responds with, "THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT SOOOOO GOOD!"

So yes, that is what makes it so good. God bless it.

There Is Such a Thing as Being a Little Bit Pregnant

I watch a lot of daytime TV. I usually get up, dick around my apartment for a few hours before I head off to work. I know the TV schedule by heart. Maury comes on at 9--I love finding out if Antwon is Moesha's baby daddy. Everyday, there's women on there for the 10th time paternity-testing another man. I'm honestly thinking about contacting the Maury Show after I "earn" my MPH and seeng if they need a sex-educator on staff to help these women out who obviously have no idea how their fertility cycle works. I bet I could make a shitload of money. I am definitely qualified through experience and academic work.

The View is on at 10, but I don't really watch that. I use that hour to do daily blog reading and catch up on homework (*emailing and JT's blocks*). Then at 11, it's The Starting Over House, which features a house of whiney women who are doing bizarre things in attempt to "continue on their personal journey." It's like a train-wreck and I can't look away.

Then, Roseanne comes on from 12-1, which is tons of fun since I wasn't allowed to watch it growing up. Simultaneously, Gilmore Girls is on ABC Family, so I sometimes flip back and forth, even though I find both the Gilmores really annoying and too verbose for their own good. Seriously, someone needs to shut them up. Full House (which I was allowed to watch as a kid) shows between 1 and 2 and even though I've actually seen most of the episodes, I still have fun. Then, it's back to the WB at 2 for Sabrina the Teenaged Witch.

But what I really love are the commercials between the hours of 9 and 2. They're all geared towards women--either the stay-at-home mothers (commercials for baby foods and pregnancy tests for those mothes with three screaming children under four) or older retirees (Poise pads, Medicaid and life insurance).

Anyways, time to nap. Am not feeling well, so did not go to work today. Going to cuddle with Zola Cream Cheese Kitty on my bed and take short nap before leaving for library and class. Plus, softball tonight. You know where my priorities lie (meaning large balls and heavy sticks?).

Happy VD, y'all. Be safe. If anyone needs a condom demo, you know where to find me and the wooden penis!

Brief Reflection

Although this might be more appropriate on my other blog, this email showed up in my inbox. I thought Ex-Beloved deserved a little more than ragging I usually give him on this space. I came home from Kenya about a year ago and this is in response to my question if he looked back in awe that he really was in Africa.

"e-kitty,
Yes, I remember most clearly my first ride on a matatu. You were sitting down and I was hanging on for my life with my butt out the door as the driver weaved in and out of pot holes. Then we came to a police check when I entertained the police man and all the riders on the matatu. I can still remember their laughing at me and thinking "stupid white american". In that case, bribing and corruption of the police force probably actually saved my sorry ass. And then there was the taxi ride when you argued with the driver so we wouldn't get ripped off when I thought we were going to be shot on the side of the road.
Oh the memories. Sometimes it amazes me that I was really there and I can remember the people's faces, the pineapple and maize selling women on the street corner, David, the safari, the beautiful children...
love ya, jdawg"

Sometimes, these memories hurt.

Kitchen Tools

Yesterday, I was rooting around in my cabinets looking for my cornstarch and I realized how adult my cupboards are. They smell like my mother's kitchen cabinets--this aroma of spicy chili powder, the green smell of oregano and the distinctive odor of cumin. I have cupcake papers next to red pepper flakes. Cans of cat food sit near cans of tomato soup. Bags of flour and sugar, bottles of oil, vinegar and unopened salad-dressing. Bread crumbs. I even own chicken broth and beef cubes.

I think it's officially home here. I bought a coffee-maker yesterday and it sits proudly on my counter. I have a mixer, a microwaver and a George Foreman (thanks, Rosehill28!). My food cabinets are always full. I have the staples of life lined up along shelves.

It's strange. I am assuming adulthood without even realizing it. My kitchen is the proof.

Gadabouts

So many asked about the new haircolor, I attempted a photo of myself. Pathetic I know, but can you see the black and red?

And a Sigh of Relief

I was genuinely concerned about my ass. It seemed that none of my panties were fitting. I honestly thought that somehow, overnight, my ass had expanded to fit the curve of my desk chair (seeing as that is the place I spend the most time pretending to do work).

But no. Thank god. I realized (well, desperately hoping) that the shrinkage was actually because I washed my underwear in hot water. I've always been nervous about doing clothes in hot water and usually just do warm. But when I was measuring out detergent last time, I thought perhaps I ought to try hot on my whites/panties/towel load.

At least the mystery is (probably) solved. And I will never do hot washes again. I will however, continue to monitor my ass growth to ensure that the studying (*drinking*) the last few weekends (*all week*) didn't do permanent damage to my ass width.

Sporty Spice

After class last night, as Tasha and I are walking back to her house (get this, because it's too far to walk to school from my apartment, I drive to Tasha's house, park and walk to school, just so I can get some exercise. Pathetic.), we got a phone call with Andrew and John shouting something about softball and the Fevers.

Yes, my friends, it's intramural time again and softball season has begun. Time to get my game on. I ran home, changed into shorts (I shaved my legs again) and a long-sleeved WM soccer shirt I stole from the Rec Center's L&F and drove out to the softball field where the College of Public Health Fevers were gathering on the field. Our opponents were the "Big Ballas," a team we had defeated last week; they were thirsty for blood and revenge.

But defeat was not in the cards for the Fevers and we kicked Big Ballas collective asses. I hit the ball hard and far every time. Nothing like the feel of the bat vibrating in my palms as it connects with the softball....

Unfortunately, last night I realized my ass has outgrown my underwear. I'm jogging to the outfield to my new position at 2nd and realized my panties kept creeping up my ass. Now, I'm drinking less beer, eating less cake for breakfast and running more and doing 20 minutes of Pilates every morning. If I am going to seduce Tasha or other unsuspecting female while on my cruise to Mexico (thanks to the new book "The Straight Girl's Guide to Sleeping with Chicks"), I must be in tip-top shape.

A New Leaf

I know the New Year has passed, but after much harrassing from Ex-Beloved, I feel like it is time to make some changes in my chaotic life.

Ex-Beloved is always laughing at me because I'm perpetually cleaning. Always. I'm always washing the floor, hanging up clothes, vaccuuming, doing laundry, washing dishes. He said once that he doesn't understand how I can managed to clean so much, because based on the amount of cleaning I do, there should be no mess to clean up.

I always had excuses. My apartment is small. I only have one closet. The kitties are messy. Etc. And I truly believed my excuses. Until the other day.

About three days ago, I realized the truth. I'm just lazy. My nose was running constantly (damn cats and expensive Walmart-brand Claritin). I was just throwing my tissues on the floor. The trash can was just around the corner in my kitchen. I could have easily gotten up, placed the trash can next to my desk and deposited the tissues straight into the can. However, I chose to leave them on the floor. For two days. (MS is disgusted with me for this nasty habit, sorry, Buddy.)

I do laziness all the time. It is an art and I have perfected it. I'll throw my old toothpaste tube towards the bathroom trash, but miss. The tube falls on the floor. What do I do? Leave it there. For days. Why??? It's not like I can't bend down (and now that I've been doing Pilates, I can bend even better) and pick it up. I'm just that lazy. When I try on outfits, I leave the discarded clothes on the floor, only to be picked up later. When I undress before crawling between unmade sheets, I throw my clothes on the floor instead of putting them in my laundry bag.

So I am taking charge of my life. No more unnecessary clutter. Obviously, one cannot change overnight, but I am trying. I have organized underneath all my cabinets and when I have to take something out, when I put it back, I put it back the right way. I've been doing my dishes immediately instead of leaving them until they start to smell funny. I'm taking my trash out every night. I went shopping this weekend, took my new clothes out of their bags, hung them up and placed the bags under my sink. And when I did laundry, I folded immediately instead of letting the clothes sit for days and get all wrinkly.

Who knows how long this will last, but I am making an effort. I will never be neurotic (requires too much energy), but Self-Control is the name of 2005. Am well on my way to becoming Domestic Goddess, fully worthy of a Master's in Something.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Yelp?

I woke up this morning (afternoon?) after a night of being obliterated and probably making an ass of myself at a Mardi Gras party where I was wearing a shirt I had no business wearing. (The logic behind the shirt: Mardi Gras = Flashing = Boobies = Cleavage = My shirt. And by cleavage, I mean even the girls couldn't stop staring.)

We drank hurricanes last night and I don't know what alcohol is in that vile drink, but I swear, I'm never drinking them again. I had one--ONE--and managed to get drunk and wake up with the worst hangover I've ever had.

I stumbled to the bathroom (ooh, just heard a car accident out my window) and downed three asprin (two hours later and my head aches just the same). I flushed my toilet and went to clean up the empty wine bottles and glasses littering my floor.

Thirty minutes later, I noticed my toilet was still running. My friend Megan had some plumbing troubles about a week ago and managed to fix it all by herself. So, similarly, I thought I could do the same, despite being dizzy and hung over. Right.

Feeling empowered, I slid the lid off the back of toilet and investigated the inner workings of my toilet. I stuck my hand in and sort fiddled with something. Unfortunately, I knocked the cap off some pump and it caused a jet of water to shoot up from the back of the toilet to the ceiling, much like some sort of plumbing Old Faithful. Water is spraying all over my bathroom, I'm screaming, everything is soaking wet and I'm drenched in cold toilet water from head to naked toe.

I don't feel empowered anymore and sometimes, I really miss pit latrines....

Plastic Children

I got a postcard in the mail from my oldest friend Megan.

The caption on the photo says, "Barbie's Tips for Happy Homemakers." There's a classic 1950's blond, blue-eyed Barbie sitting in a chair. On the floor next to her, a small baby lies in a lace covered basket, smiling emptily up at Barbie.

Out of Barbie's mouth, inside the word bubble, "I recommend no-fuss, machine washable plastic children."

Ahhh. Too good to be true....

Completely Disgusting

I know I haven't updated in awhile and I apologize, but I've been very busy and feel like I got hit by the lethargy train.

However, I just ate two cheeseburgers from McDonald's and now I feel completely disgusting and hate myself.

And I have class until 8pm. Ugh.