Fatties

As part of my morning (?) routine, I've been watching Gilmore Girls reruns on ABC Family. I don't watch it religiously, but I do have a general idea of what's going on.

Anyways, I have a beef with the show--and actually, other shows featuring fat actresses (minus UPN shows that feature big black women). Why is the fat one always pathetic? For example, the fat one on GG is a cook or chef or something in food service, as if to apologize for her fatness--she'd be thin if she didn't love cooking so much....like she needs an excuse for being overweight.

And why can't the fat girls get the hot men? I mean, I verge on being a fat girl and I have had hot boyfriends as well as average ones. I'm just so tired of fat women on TV getting the shaft--especially since 60% of the American population is fat and probably normal!

Maybe I'm not watching enough TV or not watching the right shows...but if a show is going to feature a fat actress, for the love of god, make her just a normal fat girl! Don't patronize fat women around the world by giving the fat actresses fat professions. Fat people work normal jobs, outside of restaurant critics, chefs and caterers.

Let's unite and give fat people what they deserve!!

Moderation

As I sit here eating chocolate-covered strawberries for breakfast, I started reflecting on my inability to live life in moderation. My friends, both from VA and AZ, are always laughing and teasing me about how every meal was "the best meal ever--I'm never going to eat again" or "that was the WORST four hours of my life."

I've always sort of thought of it as a negative quality. Recently, I took an online test about "Which Mental Illness Do You Have" and the only two I scored positively on was "Histrionic" and "Narcissistic." Not surprisingly, histrionic is a disorder which involves a person being overly dramatic. Probably a good fit for me.

Then I woke up this morning. In my inbox was an email from Ex-Beloved. It just might have been the nicest thing I've ever received. The gist of the email consisted of applauding my ability to live life on the fringes because I really do experience life, with all it's glorious ups and downs. I never really thought about it like that. But as my ex-beloved pointed out, despite that this has been a doozy of a year (and every time I tell myself it can't get any worse, it does), I'm still really happy (most of the time).

I guess life is too short for moderation. Live hard? Eventually, just when you think it is lost, life comes back again.

Welcome to the OC, Bitch

So following Sorority Sister Cristin's advice, I have begun the rental of The OC, Season One. I've only gotten through the first four episodes, but the Med Student and I are officially hooked. I watched disc one in less than 24 hours. Now, it's just a matter of waiting for the rest of them to come via Netflix....

Sorry I haven't posted in a while. Things have gotten....difficult. But it's starting to look up (sort of) and I promise I'll make more of an effort to write.

Anyways, Starting Over House is on and I need to continue my journey of self-love....

Weighing In

I've been busy and there's a lot going on in my life right now that needs to be sorted out. Thus the lack of posting. Anyways, it's Easter Sunday (btw, thanks for the book, Stickles) and I'm watching the news.

And I'm absolutely annoyed by the public response to Terri Schiavo. People were picketting outside her hospice, blocking the driveway, trying to bring her last communion. These protesters don't know her, have never met her. They are merely using her for political gains. Yelling at the policeman, "Jesus hates you" isn't going to make the courts change its mind.

I'm not going to argue whether her feeding tube should be removed or not. Regardless, the feeding tube was removed. She's dying. Let the woman die with a little dignity. Let her family mourn her passing quietly and with dignity.

The decision has been made, whether you agree with it or not.
The time for politics have passed.

Ahh, the Wisdom

Direct Quotes from My Favorite Show: The Starting Over House

The Path of Self-Love is not an easy path.
It requires practice.
It is steep and winding.

Do you think you are complete with your mourning?

It's a brand new day with Valtrex.

Now it's time to talk about the most crucial part of the self-love journey: choice.

Self-love requires vulnerbility. Living fearlessly.

Do not have fear of one's goals.

Do not beat yourself on the path of self-hatred.

If you have a problem, you must wrap it up, tie it in a bow and give it as a gift and you'll get something out of it.

Wide-Load

Sorry it's been awhile (yes, Stickles, I am alive and breathing--thank you for your concern). Having houseguests means less time to spend idly surfing the internet for hours. Unfortunately, it also means less time for school work and job (which means a lot of catching up).

However, the Barbster and I had a blast. The weather was a little shaky at first, but by Wednesday, it was a balmy 83 degrees. Barb left with a nice pink tinge to her skin and I'm glowing a nice brown. We did some drinking as well, as no visit to Tucson is complete without a trip to the Bay Horse and it's giant chair.

The kitties loved her, of course, since they love anything that pet them. My friends loved her, of course, since they love me. It was nice having someone around, too. Sometimes, I can go a whole day without saying a word to another human being.

Barb also assisted me in getting measured for this summer wedding's bridemaids dress. Now, I wear a size 12. I'm in the middle of the size 12 range. Not too tight, not to loose. Just right. I haven't gained weight. According to Juliette's Bridal by Ivana, I wear a size 18W! 18fuckingW!!!

I know that bridal shit runs small, but that's an enormous difference, especially since I fit into the size 14 dress on the rack (yes, it zipped up all the way). And, since it's a fat girl size, I have to shell out $15 extra. I can just see that I pay the $15, I get the dress, it's a complete bag and they have to tailor it down to a size 14. I am going to be pissed.

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.

Birthing Process

Dating a med student provides an amazing insight into aspects of medicine that I now realize I have no desire to delve into.

Mainly childbirth.

MS claims that I am somewhat of a hippie, and I suppose that critique is valid. I qualify it by saying that I'm an East Coast hippie, which means I don't wear Birks and I bathe regularly but do have some tree-hugging, radically feminist ideas. One of my ideas involved childbirth. I've always viewed the process of giving birth as this empowering, awesome (as in the "enormous" sense, not "cool"), ultra female experience. The process of giving birth, creating life, bringing a new human on this planet is kind of amazing. Knowing that my body has the capacity and power to grow, change, create and house energy is unbelievable. I put my hands on my abdomen and am in awe at the mechanisms within me. I actually looked forward to the day when my belly would swell with the pulse of another human. I wanted to do natural childbirth, to feel my contractions as a life-force, to feel the baby push through my birth canal. I wanted to reach down between my legs and help guide its head out into the bright lights of life.

Not so much anymore. In fact, I've done a complete 180 and the thought of actually giving birth disgusts me more than a Cesearan.

For the past four weeks, I have been listening to stories of childbirth and getting text messages which go roughly like this: "Got to scrub in on hysterectomy this AM and use the Hibner Rod to remove uterus and scope bladder. Am also now proficient w bladder cath of female." The phrase: "And then I held her vagina open so she could deliver the placenta" actually passed his well-shaped lips. Vaginas should NEVER be big enough to "hold open." I mean, that doesn't even take two fingers!! And there's nothing like hearing about Grade 4 tearing (as in, from the back of the vagina, through the perinium all the way to the anus) and effacing cervixes to really make me NEVER want to give birth.

My mother is happy. She sees MS telling me all this as an excellent form of birth control. (Incidentally, she told me yesterday she always wished you could just vomit up children. Quick and painless.) MS, too, told me yesterday that he never wants to see another vagina again, which does not bode well for our relationship. However, if him not seeing my chach can prevent cervical dilation and tearing, I'm more than happy to oblige.

Charming

I ran out of toilet paper a few days ago. It's such an expensive purchase, yet oh -so-necessary. But it's always such a waste, I feel like. You spend all this money on tissue to wipe your ass. After that momentary three-second use, it's in the trash. Makes me upset. It's the same way I feel about tampons and "sanitary napkins" (seriously, who thought up that term??). Every woman needs them--they are a life necesity. Why are they so goddamn expensive???

Anyways, I decided to buy some extra-jumbo rolls of Charmin, since they were on sale. I don't know if I've ever used Charmin before, but I'm never buying it again. The cute little cartoon animals they use to advertise the paper are so misleading. I hate them.

The toilet paper bunches and shreds. Nothing like shards of tissue hanging out in your nether-regions AFTER you've wiped to give you that fresh and clean feeling. And I seem to be going through the "jumbo rolls" faster than I go through my normal rolls of 2-ply.

I hate false advertising.

Rocking Like a Star

This weekend might have been the most crazy weekend of my life. Ever. Well, except for the week of Fallas, when I was in Valencia. But for real. I don't think I'm ever going to drink again. At least not for a few weeks. Well, at least not excessively for a few weeks.

Saturday night, after the flaming cookbook incident, Anneke and Tasha came over for a few bottles of wine. We dressed to the nines and headed out the door to Plush to meet John, Andrew and Jonah. Since I hadn't gotten home until 4 am the night before, I was thinking maybe I'd go easy on the alcohol and have a quiet night.

Right. I don't know what happened, but moderation was not in the cards for me (um, is it ever?). After a few drinks at Plush, we stumbled over to The Surly Wench where things got really crazy. I ended up with a bumper sticker on my ass, the lead singer's tongue down my throat (twice!) and several sexually explicit drunk dials on my phone. I believe there might have been a lap dance or two, including one given to Tasha by the sweat-drenched band member "dressed" as Jesus (as if Jesus ever wore SAGGY tighty-whiteys. *Shudder*) The band was terrible--quite possibly the WORST I've ever seen. However, the lead singer had very nice chisled cheekbones a la Johnny Depp. I hope he didn't have any communicable diseases.

The night was not a total drunken loss. Andrew and I shared a conversation and some good moments together later that night. I did get to eat some of Anneke's hash browns at Denny's at 3:30.

But I swear, I am going to buckle down this week. Really.

Fire in the Hole

Saturday afternoon, I had a sudden and overwhelming desire to make corn chowder. I've never made it before, but I figured that after the Domestic Goddess Confidence Boost given to me after the new vacuum, I could easily figure it out.

I looked up a corn chowder in my new cookbook, just to see if there was a recipe worth using. I didn't have a majority of the ingredients needed, so I put the cookbook on the stove, filled the kettle up with water, put it on the back burner and turned the knob to bring it to a boil.

I went out to the living room to call Tasha. Five minutes into the conversation, I realized I didn't hear the kettle boiling. I sniffed. Something smelled a little weird.

Suddenly, the fire alarm started its high-pitched whine; I dropped the phone, ran into the kitchen to find my new Good Housekeeping Cookbook in flames atop the front burner that I had turned on accidentally. When I say flames, I mean actual fire shooting up.

The whole moment was chaotic and I'm not really sure what happened. I remember picking up the flaming book and throwing it in the sink. I remember the cats frantically running around crying because of the noise.

The aftermath was disaster. My house smells like charcoal, there's soot on my floor. My cookbook, although still readable, has suffered some SERIOUS cosmetic damage. I have a minor burn on my hand.

I did end up making my corn chowder (totally off the top of my head) and it turned out delicious. I suppose in some arenas I could be considered a Goddess, but perhaps not in the kitchen yet.

It never pays to be too cocky.

Shocker!

Imagine my surprise when I came across a photography of Jenna Bimbo Drunk Bush , flanked by her parents and dressed in a formal gown that probably cost more than my entire out-of-state tuition for the semester at the U of A, throwing the shocker hand symbol.

How classy.

Apparently, though, throwing the metal sign runs in the Bush family and actually symbolizes the Texas Longhorns. Or something. Note the following from www.cnn.com:

Norwegians Confused by Bush Salute
OSLO, Norway (AP) - President Bush's ``Hook 'em, 'horns'' salute got lost in translation in Norway, where shocked people interpreted his hand gesture during his inauguration as a salute to Satan. That's what it means in the Nordics when you throw up the right hand with the index and pinky fingers raised, a gesture popular among heavy metal groups and their fans in the region.
"Shock greeting from Bush daughter,'' a headline in the Norwegian Internet newspaper Nettavisen said above a photograph of Bush's daughter Jenna, smiling and showing the sign. For Texans, the gesture is a sign of love for the University of Texas Longhorns, whose fans are known to shout out ``Hook 'em, 'horns!'' at sporting events.
Bush, a former Texas governor, and his family made the sign to greet the Longhorn marching band as it passed during the inaugural parade through Washington during Thursday's festivities, explained Verdens Gang, Norway's largest newspaper.

Fabulous. Just what America needs. Already, we are enraging countries across the world with our foreign policy faux paus. Now we make them think that despite what the Christian Right claims about Bush being ordained by god, he's actually a member of satan's clan.

Wait. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.

Goodbyes and New (Chach-Free) Beginnings

This morning was my last day working at 6am. It was last time I'll ever have to kneel in cat feces to bathe a strange man. The last time I'll ever have to have odors of rotten food and rancid sweat greet me before I've rubbed the sleep out of my eyes.

Strangely it was kind of sad. As I said goodbye, I shook his hand like I always do. As he gripped me, I felt a twinge of guilt. I wish I could change his situation, make his life a little more dignified. But as I seem to be continually learning, I can't save the world. I can only make it better for one person at a time.

A Miracle Has Happened Here

I was typing on my computer, frantically checking my email in between jobs and class. Turtle-Dog was lounging on the carpet next to my ergonomic computer chair (which ironically does nothing for my back) and Zola was sprawled in one of my purple chairs.

Suddenly, without provocation, Zola gracefully leapt from the chair down to the floor next to Turtle-Dog and began furiously licking her.

My kitties have become friends. Sort of. Immediately after swiping her tongue down Turtle-Dog's side a few times, Zola clamped her jaws around Turtle's neck. But that could be construed as "play" of sorts (even though Turtle began to mew).

Praise be to God.

How Do You Tell If Yorgurt's Gone Bad?

The semester has started and I don't even have time to pee. Working two jobs (total of 36 hours) and taking 16 credits is kicking my ass. I don't even have time to sleep, and we all know that's my second favorite thing to do. I've become grumpy and I whine alot...

However, things will be looking up since tomorrow is my last day to bathe people with developmental disabilities. HOORAY! And then I can breathe next week--maybe even have a chance to piss.

Meanwhile, I'm eating breakfast. I bought some plain yorgurt and was planning on eating it for breakfast. But it looks lumpy. And weird. It smells fine, but I don't know if it's good to eat. Unless something smells really rotten, I'm usually okay to eat it. But after watching Jeremy Plitt vomit up sour milk in Children's Church when I was 10, I've always been paranoid about dairy.

Will Power and iPods, Part Duex

Amazingly enough (and those of you that know me well, you'll know this IS amazing), I've been sticking to this diet. Granted, it's only been a few days and I've cheated a teeny bit (had salad dressing and a piece of cheese), but last night was monumental.

I went out last night to my favorite bar, The Shelter, with a bunch of friends. It was our last Hoorah! before classes start today. We all sat around looking at each other over the tops of our beers and moaned about how we were never going to see each other once school starts, apparently forgetting how we went out drinking every other night last semester.

But the best part of the evening is that I managed to get through it by not drinking!! I had not a sip of alcohol. I smelled it, imagined its taste on my tongue, but I refrained from actually drinking it. It was almost freeing, this new-found ability to say no.

Apparently, I am able to exhibit self-control when necessary. However, my lack of self-control has leaked to other parts of my life. Namely shopping. (Will I ever reach a life of moderation???)

I went shopping yesterday after suddenly coming into thousands of dollars by accident and...finally got my iPod!!!!!

Life is good and it only took $258 for me to attain sheer, glorious happiness.

Senorita Margarita

I've decided to embark on a new diet. I've been having some health issues and upon advice from both Ex-Beloved and my Dr., I'm going on a no yeast, no sugar, no alcohol, no taste diet.

Sigh. It hasn't been too bad. Mostly, I'm just trying to work on a bit of self-restraint which I desperately need.

Speaking of self-restraint, I drove up to Phoenix to see Ex-Beloved on Sunday. He had some stuff for me and I thought maybe it was time to see him. It was a great visit. We went out for Indian and then went back to his apartment to hang out and talk.

He looks good. I forgot how much he makes me smile. I've spent so much energy on hating him for hurting me, that I forgot how much I actually like him. He makes me laugh so hard. It was nice to remember how we used to be.

After I left, I immediately drove to the Scottsdale Fashion Center (hoity-toity), walked straight to Sephora and spent $97 on beauty products I didn't need.

My favorite purchase is a Margarita-scented body wash and salt scrub. If I can't drink, I might as well smell like my favorite beverage as I wash off the sins of my past to turn over a new leaf.

Damn, Do I Have to Shave?

The Med Student is currently residing in Phoenix for the next six weeks, doing his OB-GYN rotation, delivering babies and examining ulcerated chaches at Maricopa County Hospital.

Now, this boy totally gets me, y'all. For my personal amusement (and his, as well), he's keeping a "tic" sheet of the number of vaginas he sees and another one recording the number of vaginas he actually works on. Isn't that awesome?

The downside to Med Student (should I start calling him Chach Boy?) being in Phoenix is I don't get to see him. Fortunately, this weekend, he's not on call and gets off fairly early in the afternoon on Friday--meaning I might get to see him.

However, my personal goal was to not shave my legs until the end of the six weeks. But now....should I shave?

Goodmorning, Auschwitz

I woke up groggy this morning because I took too much Nyquill last night. When I arrived at my client's house, there was an inexplicable bottle of dish detergent sitting on the bath chair in the shower.

His wife thought it'd be nice to start the morning with a cheery movie about the Holocaust starring Kirsten Dunst. The phrase, "It's just like Schindler's List!" passed her lips. Just what I want to watch at 6:15 am. What a way to start my day.

Now don't get me wrong. I love the Jewish people. Probably more than anyone even realizes. I've been fascinated with their history as a group, even as a small child. But waking up with scenes of a concentration camp is not how I like to roll out of bed.

As the movie progressed, a bit of irony struck me. The movie was about a shallow American teenager (Dunst) who doesn't care about her Jewishness until she magically is transported to Poland and lives and dies in a concentration camp saving her best friend/cousin (played by Brittney Murphy with a horrible accent) who actually turns out to be her aunt. Honestly, it was a terribly acted movie, partly because of the fake Polish accents and partly because the script was stilted and forced.

Anyways, the overarching theme of the movie was "never forget."

But how short our memories are.

The Jewish community is always saying, "Never forget. Never forget." And we shouldn't. But should "never forget" only apply to Jews? The world certainly forgot Rwanda. The world is forgetting Darfur.

I wish the American Jewish community would speak up full force, to extend "never forgetting" beyond the Jewish community and into other worlds and peoples that are suffering the same horrors they did 50 years ago.

Fantasy

My alarm woke me up this morning, pulling me out of a phenomenal dream world. Stretching awake to reality was tough; I wanted simply to curl up and luxuriate further. It was a dream of my wildest fantasies and, although I know it would never come true, the thought that it might sent chills running down my spine and goosebumps on my arms.

I dreamed that my client's bathroom had been cleaned and I no longer had to kneel in cat shit to bathe him.

Such a fantasy.

Speaking of cleaning, I bought a new vacuum yesterday (goodbye iPod dreams). When I first moved to Tucson, I bought a cheap vacuum, not realizing I'd be vacuuming up enough cat hair to weave a blanket and kitty litter to soak up the Valdez oil spill. My friend Jen (domestic goddess that she is) recently purchased a Dyson and has been raving about it. Since she went bagless, I figured I could too. Dysons were not in my budget, but the Hoover Em-Power was. At $128, I am in love.

I have vacuumed my floor twice, fascinated with the sucking power, watching the bagless container fill up with cat hair, dust and kitty litter. I could spend hours just pushing the Em-Power across my floor.

First baking brownies and now enjoying vacuuming? Just call me Wifey.

Tramp Stamp

MS's friend Justin came over to MS's house the other day. I answered the door as MS was dressing.

Apparently, Justin had noticed the Sag tattoo in my armpit and mentioned it to MS. MS (who has two himself) told him that I also have the monkey symbol on my ass. Justin asked if it was a "Tramp Stamp."

LOL. Is that not the most hysterical term ever? How appropriate. In case you can't figure it out, a tramp stamp is that tattoo that oh so many sorority girls get directly in the middle of the small of their back.

MS reassured Justin that, although my monkey was nearly a tramp stamp, I am (for now) tramp stamp free.

Hairless Adonis

I think I've finally met someone who is actually more (fill in blank with appropriate word such as obnoxious, loud, etc.) than I am. Really, I swear.

For New Year's Eve Tasha, MS and I went to Plush, a club on 4th Ave which featured a band called Sunday Afternoon. (Side note: the lead singer looked like an Islamic terrorist with a bald head and bushy beard but HOT DAMN the guy was beautiful and had this deep, throaty voice. Every time he opened his mouth, I closed my eyes and imagined him singing to me in bed as he stroked me with his voice.)

Tasha (a.k.a. the Felineator) is a tall, absolutely gorgeous redhead. She has a chisled bone structure and these gorgeous cat-shaped blue eyes. Absolutely stunning in that classic Hollywood sort of way.

She's also a riot and a half. The two of us together make for a pretty funny scene. Tasha is always willing to anything. Whenever we're drinking, I bet her money to do things (like grab a man's "stuff") and she's always been up to whatever challenges I regularly put forth.

The night waxed late and I was losing energy, prefering to fantasize at the lead singer while MS stood with his arm around me. Tasha meandered over to two men, one wearing a blue button-down and another wearing a white Tshirt. A few moments later, she hurried over to me, drink in hand, and started pulling me towards the two men. "You've GOT to feel their bodies! They're hard as rocks!"

She dragged me over to the men and immediately began unbuttoning the blue-shirted man's shirt. She grabbed my right hand with her left and forced my hand to stroke his gorgeous, muscular, bare chest; my hand rippled across his smooth body, over the planes of his torso as I blushed furiously.

Wow.

That was even a bit audacious, even for me, but thank god for friends who will do anything on a dare (and even more when they're just a tiny bit retarded). Without her, my night would have been just a little less glittery.

That's Trouble.

Must I Say More?

Ordering iPods

Karma strikes again. I accidentally ordered a $399 iPod and $45 worth of books from Amazon.com.

Why me?

I received a number of Target gift cards for Christmas and am planning on buying an iPod. But I wanted to check the price at Amzon to see if it was cheaper for me to buy it there. They had a sale where you had to put the item in your cart in order to see the price. So I did. I also had some books in my cart that I was saving, but ended up buying them at the airport.

I saw the Amazon price of the iPod and decided it was cheaper to go with Target and my giftcards and exited out of the site. I never once clicked "buy."

The next morning, I woke up and had two emails waiting in my inbox telling my that $459 had been charged to my Mastercard and my Amazon shipment was on its way. GAH!

Thankfully, I returned the iPod without problem. The shipment of books is already in the system, so I'll have to return them manually. But seriously? How does this happen?

On a sidenote, I took a personality test twice (gotta love the internet) and my results both times:

You are a SRCL--Sober Rational Constructive Leader. This makes you a Ayn Rand ideal. Taggart? Roark? Galt? You are all of these. You were born to lead. You may not be particularly exciting, but you have a strange charisma--born of intellect and personal drive--that people begin to notice when they have been around you a while. You don't like to compromise, but you recognize when you have to.You care absolutely nothing what other people think, and this somehow attracts people to you. Treat them well, use them wisely, and ascend to your rightful rank.

You are a SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a Hippie. You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste. You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even. Please don't get even with this web site.

I think both are a fair assessment.

Instant Karma's Gonna Get Me

So, I think it's been officially decided that I have the WORST luck with paperwork. I have good luck when it comes to important things (friends, travel, car accidents, etc.), but anything involving paperwork ultimately ends up as a major ordeal in my life. Nothing is simple.

For example, registering for classes is never just a simple point and click. Something in the computer system will inevitably not allow my password to work and I'll have to call to register. Or getting my student loans to go through always takes extra legwork because someone always loses my applications. Work is constantly losing my time sheets and reports. Computers crash. Banks lose checks. Bills come late to me.

At least all the paperwork eventually gets sorted out. It just seems like nothing is easy the first time for me.

Case in point: Elisabeth's Luggage. When I arrived in Tucson, I stand idly for 30 minutes at the baggage claim to discover that the suitcase filled with my Christmas gifts went missing somewhere between Dulles and Tucson. I wasn't worried--I knew it'd come back to me. I filled out a missing luggage report and went home after being told the bag would turn up later that night and be returned to me between 8-10 the next morning after a phone call.

That next morning, I wake up at 11:17 to discover my bag still not here nor a phone call. I look on the printed handout the customer service man provided me and realize my phone number is wrong. I call AA to tell them they've been calling the wrong number. They fix the problem, telling me the courrier and my bag should arrive in the hour.

I finally got my suitcase at 5:30 pm, after it had traveled all the way to Sierra Vista (that's in Cochise County, Southeast AZ) to another Williams' residence.

I don't know what I did in my last life to deserve such minor annoyance. At least whatever I did that my soul is now paying for wasn't too serious, since it seems that the bad karma only involves minor stuff and I don't have to worry that I was too horrible and cruel of a person. Perhaps part of my vocational calling is an unconscious desire now to pay for sins of my last life. Hopefully, I'm atoning for it enough so that next time around, life will be a little easier on me.

Righting my Christian World

This Christmas Eve, I went to chuch with my parents. Partly to please them (family togetherness and all that) and partly because I like to catch up on the gossip of the Christian circle I left behind about 6 years ago when I went Catholic. I'm intensely fascinated with the Christian Right. I even listen to Christian Talk Radio sometimes.

Let me state, firstly, that I am happy with my life. I believe I'm living a good life. I have a sense of social justice, I want to do good in this world and see good done. I like peace. I bathe retarded people in order to pay my bills, for goodness sake.

But everytime I go to my parents' church, I always feel somewhat judged because I'm not living my life the way the majority of self-centered American Christians are. I don't think that God is about me, but rather God is about doing good for other people in whatever capacity I am able. I think that American Christians put too much emphasis on their "personal relationship" with God and not as much emphasis on taking God outside of themselves into the world. A personal relationship with God is nothing compared to my personal relationships with other people. Am I being kind? Just? Loving? Compassionate? Of course, one could argue that personal relationships are a manifestation of what's inside someone (and I agree), but rather than focus on a selfish view of God (what can he do for me?), I think the point should be "What can I do for others?"

It also annoys me that people in the Christian Right worry if they're making the "right decision" and ask God to help them. Does God really care? Really? Really?? I'd venture to say in this unstable world that God has alot bigger things than whether or not you should attend College X or Y--poverty, natural distasters, war are a bit higher on the totem pole than if I should switch jobs.

And of course, the fact that I'm living in sin on so many levels adds to my feeling of judgement. Ironically, for the most part, all my friends who are married or engaged are good Christians who are saving themselves for marriage. Myself and my heathen friends who already are getting laid see no reason to speed up the marriage process. I'm all for waiting for marriage if that's what you desire. No skin off my back. I don't really care what you do in your personal life. But don't expect applause for it.

Anyways, I'm actually starting to sound bitter. I'm definitely not. I just get tired of being judged because I vote Democratic, believe in world peace and enjoy sex.

What I'd really like to see is a turn-around in the American Christian Church. A focus on compassion for others--real compassion, not lip-service. Perhaps then, I'd have a little more respect for the Christian Right.

That's Where I'm a Viking

I've been communicating with the Med Student over break and, through our phone conversations and text messaging, have realized a few things about my family vs other families.

The Med Student has been out doing fun and interesting things with his family since he's been back in L.A. Things like going to aquariums, beaches, the movies, tapings of the Tonight Show, etc. Fun Things. Things which require a little bit of thought and energy from members of his family.

My family likes to sleep.

I realized that both my brother (the little shit) and I routinely take long naps throughout the day whenever we both come home. This has really been going on for years. It seems that every time either of us come home from a break, we end up spending over half our time in Manassas curled up in bed.

I'm not sure why. We live outside of DC which has plenty of exciting cutural activities, many of which are even free. There are dozens of musuems a short skip away. There are plays and concerts a mere jaunt down Highway 66. Yet, repeatedly, I choose to stay home and nap.

I partially blame it on my mother. She keeps the average indoor temperature of my house hovering around a nippy 65 degrees. I get cold easily (sluggish blood) and am in perpetual state of freezing. I always bring nice clothes home, adorable tops adorned with ribbon and lace, only to cover them up with sweatshirts to keep my nipples from freezing off. I think much of my urge to nap revolves around the desire to hunker down inside my faux-down comforter merely to stay warm.

But I think my desire to nap must be genetic. It seems that every day between 2 and 5, my brother and I both drop whatever we're reading, writing, watching and climb the stairs to our respective bedrooms and crawl into bed. Often, my dad and my mother can be found doing the same thing around the same time.

I've decided that the sole reason for my inability to go out and engage in fun VA activities is that I am completely unwilling to give up my nap time. Choosing to nap over going out is an unconscious decision, I'm sure (well, until now). But nonetheless, I'm unwilling compromise my sleep to put myself in a place or position that come 3pm, I am unable to engage in my 2nd favorite activity.

Procrastination

I just realized, as I sit here watching Simpsons reruns on DVD, that my procrastination extends beyond schoolwork into the everydayness of my life. In a major way.

It's almost midnight, I am leaving on a jet plane tomorrow at 6:30 for the wintery frigidness of Northern VA, and I still have to pack and wash my kitchen floor.

What is wrong with me? Why when I have nothing to do I am unable to complete even the most minor of tasks? When I am overwhelmed and overloaded, I become an efficient machine, cranking out 2o page papers and biostats homework with the greatest of ease. However, I've had since LAST TUESDAY to wash my kitchen floor (that's seven days!) and during that time, I've had absolutely no obligations to anyone or anything (except alcohol), yet I've still managed to put off the distasteful task of cleaning until six hours before I have to leave for the airport.

God forbid I ever become a full-duty housewife. I'd neglect my children and the house still wouldn't be clean since I'd be watching reruns of trashy sitcoms and glugging vodka straight from the bottle with an ashy ciggie hanging between my idle fingers.

Southwest Santa?

I drove my friend Jim to the airport this afternoon so he could catch his direct flight to Chicago. As we're flying down Kino Parkway, we pass an enormous statue of some historical figure, who I'm sure figured prominantly in Tucsonian history.

The man honored through the statue is seated upon his monstrous bronze horse, rearing for battle, a swarthy, angry look upon his face.

However, the austereness of the statue was markedly ruined by the two matching Santa Hats someone had placed upon the horse's ears.

Christmas Tucson-Style

The neighborhood next to mine is (ironically) named Winterhaven. I never noticed this until a few months ago, but it seems odd that anywhere in AZ there is a place with the word "Winter" in its name, considering this state is about as far away from winter at 70-degrees as one can get. There's even a "Christmas Ave" that runs through the development.

Anyways, it's a nice, quiet neighborhood that turns into a giant spectacle of lights and animatron during the Christmas season. My friend Jim and I walked through the neighborhood (open 6-10pm every night) enjoying the sight of Jesus in the manger, flanked by the three Wiseman, cafe con leche coloured Virgin Marias, Saguro (sa -WAH-row) catcus and prickly pears.

Warning!

Let the following be a warning to all you would-be medical students.

Last night, my Partner-In-Crime, Meigan, hosted a kegger to celebrate the end of the semester, the Christmas season and just because we can. My friend Tasha was designated as the dry driver since she's been sick (Valley Fever?).

The kegger rocked. I had a blast--ran around kissing boys and sneaking cigarettes behind closed doors with a perpetually full beer in my hand.

We left about 2am, all six of us piled into Tasha's tiny Volkswagon. We were about half-way to Jim's house, when I looked over at the Med Student, crushed between me and Jonah. His face had turned an sickly, ashen gray. I yelled for Tasha to pull over and she swerved off Campbell and on 2nd St. The Med Student stumbled out of the car and lost his last few beers on the curb. He slithered to the ground and sort of moaned; I realized Tasha had pulled over right behind the campus police station and the MS was losing his marbles in their back driveway.

After he moaned for a while and recouped a little, we loaded him back in the car, pulled out onto Campbell, and immediate pulled off on the other side of 2nd for the Med Student to lean his head out the window and lose another beer or two down the side of Tasha's car.

So let that be a lesson to you, oh future medical students. Do not neglect your alcohol consumption and "going out" experiences because you will lose tolerance and at the age of 26 consume alcohol like you're still in high school.

Street Food Is the Best

I was driving through Tucson tonight running errands at Target and Pet Smart. As I cruised through the crowded city streets, I realized that the one thing I love most about Tucson, more than the weather, more than the nice people, more than the cactus and the cheap beer, is the ubiquitous taco shop.

Taco shacks are everywhere in Tucson. On street corners, busy intersections, down dirty alleys. Some are chains and others are independent. There are stands that operate only at lunchtime and some that are more like restaurants, with plastic booths and shiny tables.

I've only eaten at a few, but so far, the food has been so good. Crunchy and salty, with just the right amount of grease. Most of them are open 24-hours, so they make an excellent drunken stop on the way home from a party or 4th Ave. Most of them are staffed by people who speak no English, so ordering always proves to be an adventure. But even when my order's been wrong, the food is still delicious.

I think my new goal is to eat at as many taco shops as possible before I leave Tucson (which more and more, I'm hoping is along the lines of never). I know it's impossible to eat at all the taco shacks in Tucson, but I think that frequenting as many as I can is a goal worthy of the best.

Bluster

I woke up last night to an unusual sound outside. Naturally, I thought it was rain because when you live in the desert, you assume any odd sound to be possible rain. I laid very still and quiet, trying not to breathe, hoping to figure out what it was. Turns out, it was wind.

It seems that Tucson has turned into the Windy City for a day and a night. When I say "windy," I mean insanity. I've never been in such an environment, for several reasons. One, there are no trees to break the wind. Sounds dumb, I know, but I never realized how integral trees are to catching the brunt of the wind. Two, since it's so dry here and there is no grass holding the dirt to the ground, there have been dust storms across the city in parking lots, streets, sidewalks and everywhere else.

The blinds of my windows have been slapping violently against the glass panes. The palm trees outside my apartment are rustling against each other, making a hollow, rushing noise. My car blows in the wind while I drive and I'm not even attempting the bike. My hair becomes a giant brown rat's nest of knots the second I walk outside.

I feel like Winnie the Poo on a very blustery day.

FINAL-ly

It's been a few days, but things have been really...crazy. Or something like that. I didn't really do very much studying, but it felt like I did. Mostly because I was thinking about all the studying I should be doing that it almost felt like I was studying.

So, I finished my first semester as a grad student yesterday at 5:57 pm. I'm 1/4 of the way finished with my degree. It's sort of shocking to me that in less than two years, I'll be considered a "Masters" in something. And most of the time, I feel like I have no idea what's going on.

Now, it's on to cleaning. My apartment is a disaster--cat hair on the couch, litter in the carpet, soap scum in the bathtub. I've been neglecting the housekeeping in favor of "studying."

Finally, and perhaps most horribly, my friend (one of my two best girlfriends here in Tucson) got sexually assaulted in her own apartment a few nights ago. A man just busted in and tried to rape her. I won't go into any details because we're all a little traumatized, but it's just another reminder about how vulnerable we women can be....

Will Power?

I'm horrible at will power. Usually, if I want something, I get it. Impulsively, I buy unnecessary things, eat crappy food, kiss bad boys, go on expensive (but fun) trips. It's a horrible way to be because I'm always getting myself in trouble in some way, shape or form (gaining debt, gaining weight, gaining bad boyfriends, missing school).

But tonight, I've showed some restraint (sort of). On the way home from Phoenix (v. nice time--Med Student has v. nice friends), we stopped by the mall so I could buy a few more gifts. I ended up buying myself some new underwear (it's one of my SERIOUS weaknesses), but they were on sale at Victoria's Secret, so I don't feel too bad.

But what I really want is an iPod. Bad. Like, I'm seriously lusting after those slim, white, credit card sized music holders.

I ran out of shampoo this evening when I was showering. I needed to go to Walmart, which just *happens* to be next to a Best Buy...which sells iPods...on sale....

I wandered into the Best Buy "just to look around." I held the 20 GB iPod in my hand, stroking its smooth white plastic cover, the metallic back, the round buttons just the size of my fingertips. I almost bought it. Almost. I called the Med Student, asking his opinion. His first response was, "Do you want me to talk you out of it or into it?" (Good man.) I asked for just his opinion, which was to wait, it'd still be there in a few days, a few weeks, a few months.

So I listened to his advice and am waiting. I put the iPod back down in its holder, letting my fingers linger just a moment longer. I promised I'd be back and made my way to Walmart where I bought only the things I needed (shampoo and a new bathroom rug since Zola's pissed on the blue one) and a Diet Sprite, which I didn't need but can justify since I was thirsty.

I hope this battle of will power gets better as I age. Even now, I'm sitting in my bedroom CRAVING sweets. I have nothing in my house except old mini-Snickers (and I'm saving those for Anneke), and I am refusing to go to the nearby Circle K on the principle that my waistline does not need sweets and I have an exam to finish. However, I wonder how long I can hold up. If I can't battle against my desire to eat, what will I ever win against?

Furs and Wiskers

I love watching my cats clean themselves. I know it sounds silly, but it's so much fun to watch them furiously lick away at themselves, bending their little bodies and extending their legs, flexing their toes.

I wonder what it would be like to be covered in fur. Soft downy fur. I'd probably cuddle with myself all day. No wonder cats like to nap--they probably love the way they feel all curled up warm against themselves.

Decisions We Make

I've been thinking alot about the decisions we make, mainly because of a conversation with my ex-Beloved. It seems that every time we talk, whether it's online or in person, he needs to justify his decision to end our relationship. He keeps saying, "I know I made the right decision" and "things are for the better now." Which has made me think about right and wrong decisions.

I don't believe the decisions we make are always wrong vs right. They just are. We make them and it's not necessarily always better, just different. It is what it is. And you pull yourself up and keep on going. Decisions don't always put life into perspective or improve our lives , they just frame life a bit differently than before; as always, though, life keeps moving and we do our best to keep up.

My all-time favorite quote (so MS, this deepness cannot be attributed to me!):

--"People have this idea that what they do changes who they are. A married man has an affair and he thinks, 'Now I'm a bad person.' As if something had changed."
--"Meaning he already was a bad person?"
--"Meaning bad isn't the issue. Meaning you do what you do. Not without consequences for other people of course, sometimes very grave ones. But it's not very helpful to regard your decisions as a series of right or wrong moves. They don't define you as much as you define them."

Over the last year, I've realized the truth of this. Was leaving Kenya the "right thing?" No. But neither was staying. It just was. I made my decision. Am I happier now? Perhaps. But life would have moved on had I stayed. Am I happier now that ex-Beloved and I broke up? I'm happy that a decision was finally made (he did what he felt he had to do), but I don't think if we had worked things out I'd be miserable right now. It'd just be different.

That said, I'm going over to MS's to enjoy my newly framed life.

Cafeteria Food

Lately, because I've been too busy to pack lunches but been spending hours in the AHSL, I've been eating at the hospital cafeteria almost daily. For those of you not at the U, the College of Public Health is located in the Arizona Health Sciences Center, which is connected to the University Medical Hospital (along with the Med School, Nursing School and Pharmacy School). Incidentally, I thought I had escaped eating Aramark food after graduating from WM, but guess who the food service is at UMC?? That's right.

It's strange being an academic attached to a hospital. I've never spent so much time in a hospital before. Some of my classes are right next to patient wards--Sociobehavioral is right next to the obstetrics ward and I'm forever seeing pregnant women lumbering down the halls.

Anyways, as odd as it is having classes so up close and real to actual hospital patients, the proximity has been wonderful for people watching. And no place is better than the hospital cafeteria.

Today, as I ate my salad, I watched the people go by. The doctors with their white coats swirling around them, preoccupied expressions, rushing to gulp their food as quickly as possible. The med students, their white coats stuffed with books and notes, wearing dazed looks, dashing through the coffee line, not stopping to eat. The nurses and other scrubs-wearing staff taking their time with food, laughing together and enjoying being off their feet. The patients, wearing hospital gowns pinned behind them, dragging mobile IVs along with them. Expectant fathers, down for a cup of coffee, as their women on the eighth floor are preparing for the world's most powerful experience of birth. Family members who have relatives upstairs dying, but who push on with life because there is nothing left to do.

It's an amazing mix of energy and sadness that pulsates through this hospital. And every day, as I breeze through the hallways on my way to class, the library or the cafeteria, I am thankful for my health.

Starry Nights

Last night, I left the Med Student's house around midnight. As I walked to my car in the biting cold (really need to stop wearing flip flops!), I happened to look up at the dark sky. Unbelievable. It was so dark, the sky was crisp and clear and the stars were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

One thing about Tucson that has always annoyed me is the lack of street lights throughout the city, even on most main roads. Side streets are never lit and the lights on the few main roads are so dim that it's almost not worth spending the money on the electricity (in my humble opinion). Someone told me once that there is a light pollution ordinance within the city of Tucson because of the nearby space observatory in the desert. I suppose this makes sense, but since I'm not on the up and up in the astronomy world, I can't validate this observatory claim.

Regardless of why there are no streetlights in the city limits, it sure makes the night sky beautiful. I'd been away from Kenya long enough that the stark contrast between the glittering stars and the midnight blue sky took my breath away for a short minute.

It's moments alone like last night that make me feel so humble and insignificant. Those innumerable stars extending for infinity, the emptiness above me curving away from Earth, the utter depths of blackness. At times like last midnight, I remember that my life is just another life to be lived, one life of billions that have been lived, are living and will be lived. It's pretty astounding to me that for centuries, for millennia, other people have looked at that same sky and pondered.

What an awesome and breath-taking privilege it is to be human.

Political Correctness

My Partner in Crime (Meigan) and I had a presentation for our Public Health Nutrition class this afternoon. We took a short cut and revamped a presentation we had done earlier in the semester for another class on obesity and the school lunch program in Cochise County.

We worked on the presentation this Saturday after being hung-over from the night before. Thus, neither of us were feeling particularly...reverent...about childhood obesity in Cochise Co. She left earlier than I did to watch a basketball game with her boy and I stayed in the library to put our outline into PowerPoint format. Just joking around, I threw some off-colored "fat-kid" jokes in the presentation, to give her a laugh later.

This afternoon, I loaded the presentation up for the class and the opening slide proclaimed: "Meigan and Elisabeth's School Lunch Program for Fat Kids in Cochise County." I almost died! She hadn't taken out the fat kid jokes! Further into the presentation, as I'm explaining the difficulties of schools initiating extra PE time while trying to still meet the No Child Left Behind Act goals, I see another line she'd left in: "But at least the dumb kids will be skinny." The entire class started laughing.

Let's hope that Doug didn't notice my politically incorrect slips and this should teach me to never be irreverent or crass when doing class presentations.

(Though I sincerely doubt I'll truly ever learn that lesson. Ever.)

Home and Hearth

I've been thinking alot about my move out here and my motivation for attending the U of A. And when I'm honest with myself, I've come to the conclusion that it really was all about the ex-beloved.

I never thought I'd be the kind of girl to make decisions based on a guy. But damn, I was.

Now that I'm here in the shifting sands of Tucson, I find my heart shifting, too. After ex-Beloved and I broke it off, I was kind of bitter about coming out West. The breakup was a long time in coming--the second day I was here, he told me he wasn't sure he wanted a girlfriend through med school. And I couldn't believe I moved out here to watch my relationship disolve so far away from those I love best.

But now that I'm here alone, now that I have a life of my own, I'm realizing how truly amazing this city is. There are so many caring people in this city. Getting away from the self-centered world of Northern VA, where people only look out for themselves, is wonderful. I forget that there are people who want to make a change in this world, who want to see the bigger picture. They inspire me.

I think Tucson has the potential to be the very best thing to ever happen to me. Every day when I wake up with the sun shining through my blinds, I smile. I feel lit up inside living here. Like my smoldering passion that's normally under the surface can't help but bubble out a bit as I meet so many RPCVs, VISTAS and other people that want to do good in this world. People who are doing good in this world. I want to tap into their energy, feed myself on their altruism.

As much as I love ex-Beloved, I think I repressed a side of myself and allowed his passions to overtake mine. He wanted so badly for me to share them that he was selfish and ignored my interests; sometimes I wonder if he ever truly "got me" or just what he wanted me to be. And the saddest thing is, I let him. But now that side I hid for his benefit is coming out. For the first time in a long time I feel so happy; I can't remember ever feeling this excited about being alive. Even when the traffic is slow and the sun beats through the window making my car a mini-sauna, I drive through the streets of this little city with a smile on my heart and laughter on my lips.

Medium-Rare

Last night, I went to my first office holiday party. Ironically, it wasn't even my office. Oh, but the craziness of office parties is so true.

It was held at this steakhouse on the outskirts (i.e. desert) of Tucson where they flame-grill the meat outside, rain or shine. And damn, it was rainy last night. The parking lot isn't paved and the muddy waters ran in rivlets across my pink ballet flats. The outside is rustic and the interior decor consisted of boar heads hanging on the walls (with poinsetta flowers in their mouths for the Christmas touch).

We had our choice of dinners and I chose medium-rare filet mignon. I've never had filet mignon before (and judging by the expense of it, probably won't again for a very long time) but it was so tender, like proverbial butter melting in my mouth. I've never eaten anything so delicious so slowly. I honestly wanted to cry as the last forkful went into my mouth. I'm not a meat person normally, but I could eat meat like that every day. God, just thinking about it now is making me salivate....right. I'm getting carried away.

Anyways, there was dancing and a little drunkeness, although not on my part (still recovering from the tiara experience the night before). It was fun to watch all these older office folks loosen up and let go. The mayor of Tucson's wife was there and she was getting down with the electric slide at one point. She also stroked my back. Weird.

So my first office party was a success. I'm starting to look forward to adulthood and office parties if I can break it down like some women did last night!

The Archer

So my birthday went excellently. The whole week as a whole sucked, but the hour or so that was actual birthday celebration went well. We went to Martin's, a small restaurant on 4th Ave (more like a glorified taco shack--god bless Tucson!!), for dinner. Then, my friends brought out an ice-cream cake for me! With 24 candles on top! Hooray! And I've eaten the leftovers for breakfast the last few days too, which is excellent. My friends really are wonderful--I am blessed.

So now it's Christmastime in my little oasis apartment. My grandparents sent me a tree which i decorated with lights and little ornaments. I have an advent wreath and calendar. I've been playing some Christmas music when the mood strikes. I do love this time of year.

Impulsively, I decided to get a tattoo as a birthday gift to myself yesterday. I got a small symbol of the Sagittarius bow and arrow in my upper left armpit. It's small and not too visible unless I raise my arm up while wearing short sleeves. Speaking of Sagittarius, according to the Washington Post horoscopes:

IF DECEMBER 1 IS YOUR BIRTHDAY: Old problems are now a thing of the past and you can look forward to an exciting year ahead. Any responsibility you have not dealt with fully or honestly may need your attention next summer, so be careful to dot your i's and cross your t's now. In April and August shifting circumstances will put a new light on important matters in your life. But emerging opportunities in May and June will point you towards a fruitful new direction that will enhance both your self-esteem and popularity as well as enrich your pocketbook. The power of love can heal all rifts or conflicts and put things back on track.

Duly noted. Life can only get better from here. So bring it on.

Pink Matchbox Cars

Even though I was an hour late to work this morning, had problems with computers and FedEx, I'm not going to bitch. Today is my goddmamn birthday--the start of Advent and Christmas.

I spoke with my ex-beloved for an hour today. Things are right between us again--as right as they can be for two people struggling through a breakup to find a balance between loving and hating. We both cried and I know he cares. And of course I still care. Although I can no longer speak for us both in absolute certainity, the conversation was theraputic, I think. It made our breakup more real to me. It made moving on more real to me. And most importantly, the conversation made me realize that despite my hurt and anger at him, he did the right thing. We are both happier now as separate entities than as one.

And my birthday. I've gotten emails, IMs and phone calls all day from friends across the country wishing me a wonderful day, telling me they're thinking of me, that they love me.

When I left my house today, I found someone had taped the words, "Happy Birthday Elisabeth" across the windshield and rear window of my car. I couldn't stop smiling. How wonderful to have people love you that much.

When I got to my client's house this afternoon, his mother told me that he'd been excited for a week about my birthday and together they had made brownies for me. And bought me little presents--including a hot pink matchbox car (pink being my favorite color). I was so amazed that they both cared enough to want to make my birthday special since I'm so far from home.

The last few days have been rough. Computer problems, lack of sleep, my ex-beloved, end of semester stress have all compounded to make my life seem rather unmanageable. But today I've been on the verge of tears the entire day--not because I'm stressed but because I'm touched so deeply by the people in my life here in Tucson and from home.

After the hardest year of my life, the year I thought I may never pull out of, the year I almost crashed and burned, I've realized I may have terrible karma with paperwork and minor stresses, but I have luck with friends. I am truly blessed by the gods for the people in my life. And I have to ask the question, how did the most unlucky girl get so lucky?

Thank you all. I love you more than you will ever know.

Worser

So this day just got more worser. Here I was, smiling, big grin on my face all day long for all sorts of reasons. I'd been working in the library all day on my MCH Needs Assessment. I'd taken a break on the advice of MS and gone home to feed the cats and make a delicious grilled cheese sandwich.

I came back, pulled out my CD with the Needs Assessment, popped in the drive and...it wasn't there. Both the Excel and the Word documents did not exist on the CD. No old version, no saved version. It was like they never existed. Like I didn't work for 8 hours on them earlier today.

Now I'm back to square 1 on an assignment that's due on Thursday. An assignment I've been (sort of) working on for the entire semester. An assignment that is a group project on which other people's grades depends.

Even making a deal with god about going to church didn't help me recover it. It's been 1.5 hours. I've given up.

Right when it seemed my life was looking up, right as things weren't so bad and sad.

Seriously, for the love of god, can this month get any worser?

Backlights

Thanksgiving break started on Tuesday for me. After I turned in my 20 page paper on my Diabetes Prevention Program (thank holy fuck that's done!), I went out on my first date with a 3rd-year med student (perhaps more on that another time). The week off had begun, even though I had to catch up on my biostats and put together a group project and powerpoint assessing the maternal and child health needs of La Paz County (population 20,715) over the break.

Thanksgiving Day was nice. Dinner at Tasha's with Long-Island Cliff and I. We had the works--stuffing, potatoes, turkey, mac and cheese, pumpkin pie--and tons of leftovers.

Saturday, I turned on my laptop to begin the Needs Assessment. The laptop hummed as it warmed up. And then the screen went black. Sort of. I could vaguely make out the shapes of desktop icons if I help my desklamp up at a certain angle. The hard drive is still working (thank god), but not much good since I can't see clearly enough to do work. I called Compaq (thank god for warranties) and found out that I have to FedEx it to them on Wednesday so they can fix the backlight and I can have my life back. Of course, it won't be done until after finals. Of course.

So I did what every stressed out girl does--I went shopping. I bought three sweaters and a scarf (it's gotten cold here, though I'm still wearing flip-flops). And a Xmas and birthday present for my mom. And went on a date with Med Student again.

But I still haven't done any work yet. I'm sitting in the Health Sciences Library checking my email every three minutes, hoping that inspiration will come, that I can finish (start) my assignments, that time will just pass so this semester will be over. Motivation is hard when I just don't care that much. I am so ready for this semester to end, so ready to just kick back and relax for a few weeks.

I'm Dreaming of a White Thanksgiving???

Life in Tucson is surreal and I am beginning to love it.

Yesterday it snowed. That's right. Snowed. The craggy, desert mountains behind my apartment are now snowcapped.

We just got rain in the city, since we're at a lower elevation, but I'm thinking it's pretty safe to say that I'm the first out of most of my family and friends to get snow within eyesight.

Where else in America can you have snow and desert sand? Amen for the Southwest!

Bantu Thanksgiving

Little did I know that Tucson has one of the largest refugee resettlement areas in the country; there are literally half a dozen resettlement agencies that help out people from all over the world. Yesterday, I was exposed to this subculture within Tucson when Jim, John and I volunteered with the International Refugee Committee and helped out with their annual Thanksgiving dinner. The dinner is held a local church and is a chance for the refugees to get out of their apartments, mingle with each other and experience American cuisine for the first time.

Our job was shuttling people back and forth from their apartments to the church. The IRC rents blocks of apartments so many of the families can live close together at first--makes the transition a lot less scary. When our three car caravan drove up, there were throngs of Somalian Bantus waiting outside, mostly women and excited, skinny children with snotty, dirty faces and ragged clothing.

I felt like I was in Kenya again. These little kids looked up at me with their expectant eyes, slipped their grimy little hands in mine and trusted me. Suddenly, I was right where I was suppose to be.

I also felt like an American matatu. The women had so many children and we didn't have enough car seats and they didn't want to leave their kids behind for the next load, so mamas tucked their small children in the corners of the car. One woman loaded her four children up and then when I turned around as I was backing out, she had pulled another small baby from underneath her voluminous robes and was nursing.

My heart goes out to these families. What they must have seen and dealt with before they escaped to this country. Yet, they aren't bitter, they aren't wallowing in self-pity. They have so little to be thankful for and yet here they are, eating turkey, laughing, dancing, chatting and embracing life. They are truly thankful.

The closer I get to thinking I have answers, the more I realize I have a lot to learn.

Exploding Glass

My old PCV neighbor, Erick, emailed me yesterday. It was just a short line: "Hey Lizzy, I was driving down the road with my mind wandering and I remembered the time when you and I almost lost our eyes burning your trash :)."

I thought the incident he reminded me of could only happen via Peace Corps experience. The first week I moved to my site, Erick came up to stay with me and teach me how to live like a PCV, which involved learning how to burn my trash. There was a fire pit in my side yard where you burn burnable trash...things that are not burnable include glass and metal and things that are wet. Those you dump down the toilet.

Well, unbeknowest to me, there was a glass honey jar in my pit, dumped there by the volunteer prior to me. About halfway through the trash-burning lesson, the honey jar violently exploded sending white-hot glass shards flying through my lawn and hitting both Erick and I in the face. Erick got hit worse than I did and apparently still has a scar under his right eye.

Well, this afternoon, I was burning a candle in a glass jar. Well, sort of burning. The wick had burnt out, but the candle still had lots of scented wax in it, so I was dropping matches in the bottom of the jar and letting them melt the wax so the scent would still permeate the air (covering the cat poo smell). Well...apparently, that's not always a good idea because about 20 minutes into my venture, the glass candle jar got to hot from the concentrated flames and shattered across my desk sending tiny glass shards flying. I cut my hands a little, but definitely learned my lesson. Once more, glass and fire don't mix.

Can I Just Tell You

I am the happiest I have been in a while. Thank god for friends.

Regression

So last night was the ultimate soccer game against Hillel. As in they were bitter from losing the game last time and we were looking foward to beating them again.

Until they brought out the big guns, in the name of a player called "Big Mac" (that is what was written on his Hillel jersey). I swear he looked like a Jewish Mr. Clean, but on steroids. Big. Muscular. Bald. Apparently, Hillel was a little too bitter....

And who knows what happened to the term "Beginner's League?" Because the game I played against Big Mac and his cronies was NOT beginner. I am beginner. Hillel was not.

So we got our asses whupped hard-core. As in like 6-0. NOT in our favor.

Oh well. It was still fun even though both my thighs and my ego are a little bruised. Lots of cursing. I "accidently" slammed some girl name Naomi in the face with the ball of my hand (whoops). I even got to head the ball a few times. It was a good game, if a little vicious.

Back to my diabetes prevention program paper that's due on Thursday. The fun never ends.

Halfway to Criminal

I'm sitting in the library attempting to write a 20 page paper about a Diabetes Prevention Program that is due on Thursday (I've only just begun). My laptop is on, my headphones are plugged in and I'm hard at work (somewhat).

I'm sitting next to my friend Brian, affectionately known as "Hottie" among some of us in Family and Child Health. My friend Meigan sidles up to me and wants to know how the last week at the APHA conference was. I start bitching about my 48-hour trip home and the evils of TSA and Frontier Airlines.

Suddenly, this frizzy-hair, bottle-redheaded woman with bad fashion sense pops out of nowhere and hands me a slip of paper torn off one of those yellow legal pads.

On it is written: "Would you please chat somewhere else some other time? I'm having a difficult time concentrating on neuroscience."

Right.

Damn, I just got told off in the library.

Election Matters

Firstly, let me say, I apologize for the misleading title of my blog. I'm not sure what the name of it should be, but as far as my recent posts go, "Sunshine" anywhere in the title is not appropriate (although, perhaps "Sunshit" is, eh?).

So enough weeping and gnashing of teeth about my personal life. I'm going to weep and gnash my teeth about the election results.

One word, over and over: How? How? How?

How is it possible that my values and viewpoints are shared by less than half of the American population? I don't believe that I am on the extreme left. I believe that everyone should be given equal opportunity in life, despite birth. I do not believe that just because you happened to be lucky enough to be born wealthy, you are entitled to something. A person born poor had just as much influence on their birth circumstances than another does being born into money.

Thus, I believe we have an obligation to help those unlucky enough to be born to less than good fortune. I believe in social justice. Why not help our fellow neighbors? Isn't that the second commandent: Love your neighbor as yourself?

I believe that it doesn't matter who you want to love--I know who I love and I don't really care who you love. Why should it matter if it's the opposite sex or not? It's not really my business.

I believe that a woman has rights to her own reproductive health and that if she wants an abortion, then why not? It doesn't hurt me. The decision to bring a life into this world should never been taken lightly and if a woman decides not to continue a pregnancy, even if for selfish reasons (especially for selfish reasons), that should be respected and upheld.

I believe that all people within this nation deserve quality health and healthcare, despite socioeconomic status. Why should a child suffer from asthema simply because his mother cannot afford to live anywhere else but in poor low-income housing? What has he done to deserve a chronic illness and no healthcare? And why shouldn't we all be entitled to physicians who take the time to explain our treatment to us, to explore options and alternatives and are willing to listen to us?

I believe that the environment is precious and that we as humans should be living with the environment, respecting it rather than living against it. Controlling the environment solves some problems, but also creates more complicated ones. Look at the levels of toxicity in our lives--we may not have famine anymore because of the strength of the pesticides, but we sure do have cancer, don't we? We may have our plastics and fattened cows, but the average age of menarche is now 10.5 years of age, making little girls into women much too early.

Are my beliefs so unbelievable? Am I so out of touch with humanity? I'd like to think not. I've traveled the world, lived in many places, seen many things, things so amazing they made me want to leap with joy simply because and things so sad that I've actually wondered about the existence of a god so cruel. I've seen the strength of the human spirit prevail in situations so desperate that merely thinking about them now makes me weep. I've held hands with children whose bellies were distended because of malnourishment. I've laughed with women who are dying of AIDS. I've both danced and dueled with cultures not my own. I've learned a respect for life. I believe that life is worth upholding, even if it's different than my own.

I passionately believe in life.
And I have so much more to learn, so much more to believe in. I believe in learning and exploring and intellectual curiosity, because without understanding we are lost.

How is it possible that the majority of my country doesn't believe with me?
Life is calling. How far would you go?

Cleats and Toes

My worst nightmare has come true. It is finally too cold to wear flip-flops in the sunny state of AZ. Last night, there was a freeze warning as people frantically covered up their citrus trees and pomegranate bushes to protect them from impending frost.

Last night was our second intramural soccer game and again, we won. The other team had a few good players, but we had distracting cheerleaders. I actually quit the cheerleading squad and played defense this week on my broken toe, but definitely wished I hadn't. Funny how you don't notice the excrutiating pain until later (I really should go to the doctor). It was so cold last night that it actually hurt to breath; my nose ached from the cold and my sinuses felt hollowed out from breathing in the frigid air.

I had a few good moments taking out my agression...at one point, I accidentally lept on an opponent's back screaming in a defensive move gone horrible wrong, but I got nailed in the shin later, so turn about is fair play. It's a pretty purple now and shoving my toe into real shoes is a little painful.

It seems this week has left me with a few war wounds.

Going From Here

I saw my beloved for the last time yesterday. It was hard to see him again, but I'm glad I got to say goodbye in a civilized way. Plus, after two years I deserved more than the phone call I got.

So now it's on to pick up the pieces of my life. This has been one hell of a year, and the shitty aspect of this whole breakup is he was the one constant thing in my life. And now, he's gone too.

Where do I go from here? How do I even begin fixing this mess that is my life? I don't even know where to start or where I am headed. I've spent the last years truly believing that one day we would get married, we would eventually have a family.

It's not just loss of the relationship and a best friend, but a loss of what I thought my life was going to be. This is going to take some getting used to. Not the singleness, so much as the fact that I so desperately still want to be with HIM. I know that another man (men) will come my way eventually, but I don't want them. I want him. I love him so deeply--for the first time in my life, I feel like I truly opened up my heart to a man. And when you love someone so deeply, it can't be wrong. And I wish he could see that.

I wish that he didn't believe he was so certain and didn't make it so final. I wish that we could have left it open a little, that maybe in a few months, revisited it. Or perhaps, dropped it down a notch. At times yesterday, I was having such a good time with him that it didn't feel like we were breaking up. Several times, I wanted to ask him, "Are you sure you want to give this up? Look at us, Beloved, we are so wonderfully suited."

We are so good together, for each other. I wish he didn't feel the need to cut it off so fast. He never gave us a chance out here. He didn't give me enough credit.