Dreaming of a Whiiiiiiite Christmas!

We had our first real snow yesterday. I have to say, it's odd to see the snow in the Southwest. I knew the weather tended towards snow and cold here, but the juxtoposition of ice and snow on cactus and adobe is just strange to my eyes.

Mistakes We Make

I'm beginning to wonder if that decision I made is going to affect me for the rest of my life.

I'm finishing a book now, The Memory Keepers Daughter. The basic premise is that a man makes a choice thinking he is doing the best for himself and his family, but it's an immoral choice, and he hides it from everyone but one person. The outcome of that decision haunts him for the rest of his life, destroys his family. You know, the typical "immoral secrets are a bitter poison" storyline.

But it got me thinking---what are the secrets in my life that could potentially haunt me? Have I made these decisions yet? Already, is a small secret, a choice, a decision, burrowing its way into my soul, making me bitter, unforgivable, angry? Has something I've already done begun to sour my future?

I can think of a few things.

Yuletide

This is our first Christmas Tree.

So. Cute.

So far the animal house has been good to the tree---only minimal knocking of ornaments and all the precious ones are to high for their little paws and noses to get to.

Roughly 49 to Go

I went to a sheep roast/camping trip at the family ranch of my dear friend BDH this past weekend with 20 or so of his closest friends/neighbors/work associates. I had an absolutely phenomenal time. Here's the scene:

Let me just say, fresh roasted sheep on an open spit is delish! Mouthwatering, really. So tender and rare. The only thing that fazed me for a BRIEF second were the hooves still attached to the legs in the pan. BUT that didn't stop me from eating the delicious thigh meat!!!!

So yes, the food rocked, not to mention the fun we had camping. BDH is in his thirties, so being slightly older than me means that many of his contemporaries have small children. So of course, there were lots of young children running around with dirty faces and bare feet, not wearing pants. Dogs (who normally probably look well groomed in their homes) fought over carcasses and growled at each other with a wild look in their eyes. At one point, after a few beers, we climbed a rickety old ladder into an old water tank and pounded out primal rhythms with our hands and chanted. The stars in the sky were amazing.

At one point in the night, someone brought out their guitar (and BDH pulled out his accordion) and we all stood around the fire and sang songs. And this old Tracy Chapman song got pulled out of my distant memory--"Talking About a Revolution."

And it hit me. This is what I am missing in my life. Revolution, social justice in a Real Way, not just the lip service I toss around in my politically correct world. My friends in Tucson are so...active and activists, working for change, full of idealism and ideas. I heard words and phrases tossed around that I had not heard since I left town---things like "sustainable development" and "straw-bale houses."

Where do I find that vibrancy here?

I have gotten complacent in my life, I think. I have become too self-righteous in my smug life, and I feel the tug of dissatisfaction. How is it that I no longer get my hands dirty in this world, but sit behind a desk and answer the telephone or on the couch watching TV?

Yes, I have a low income, I have financial responsibility, I have pets, I am busy. But these are not reasons for complacency. They are just excuses.

And I will not use them any longer.

This year has been hard. Living in a new, lonely city with a new husband who is gone more than he is home and a neurotic dog that eats everything is not ideal. But maybe what I am learning (every so slowly) is that life is never ideal, it just is. We all make compromises in our lives each and every day to do what we have to do to fill that void, whatever it is.

Like every year, I continue to be amazed at the generosity of my friends, who at this point are scattered across the United States. I rely on them for so much and so often, it feels like I am not able to adequately return the favor. You know who you all are and I love you so much.

So every year as my birthday nears, as I look back on my life, this year I am not satisfied. And so, I choose to look forward. I can no longer wait for my life to begin, but must begin to actually live it.

Today's Birthday Dec 1:
What a testament you are to your family. This year you take whatever legacy you were given and spiff it up until it shines. Accolades and applause follow! The winter smiles on your romantic realm. Your tenderness is appreciated. A February investment pays so well! Gemini and Aquarius people are contributors to your bottom line.

NaNoWriMo WINNER!

Life as I used to know it can resume!

I uploaded my final word count at 50,010.

I need a beer!

NaNoWriMo Day 29: The Final Hours

The final hours of National Novel Writing Month are dawning. It's almost over and I have just over 46K.

I can do it.

I might have to stay home from work tomorrow, but I can do it.

And let me tell you, being finished with this novel is going to be the best birthday present ever!

PS: Sorry for the insanely boring blogging as of late---this novel is sucking the life out of me and my writing.

NaNoWriMo Day 9: Fighting the Two-Week Slump

After Monday's emotional railroad, I feel a little sidelined in my writing. I didn't write on Monday and I've barely put any words on the screen since then. Word count currently hovers around 16K. It's nearing the end of week two and I need to be at 25K.

My novel is starting to NOT come together. I'm bored. My characters are annoying me, my dialogue feels stilted.

I did get new, ultra-adorable glasses yesterday though, which helped perk me up. The frames are a transparent blue/green plastic. At least I look cute writing.

A Day for Remembrances

Today is a significant day for me, reasons I won't go into.

But I wanted to say, I am ready to acknowledge this moment.

NaNoWriMo Day 3: The Word Count Rises.

I swore I wasn't going to update obnoxiously, but I'm so impressed with my word count that I had to boastingly post.

10,337. YES. Over 10K!! I'm officially 1/5 of the way finished on Day 3.

Off topic entirely. My lovely, long-lost high school friend Leslie recently posted on her blog a list of "Things to Do Before She Dies."

As many of you may know, I'm a secret fan of lists. Not lists like "To-Do" lists, but lists like, "My Top 10 Favorite Things to Do" and "Questions I Want to Ask God When I Die."

One of my lists is "Things to Do Before I Kick IT." Ironically, writing a novel has never appeared on my list (well, until now!). So far, I have accomplished exactly one thing on my list--SCUBA diving. (And yes, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.)

But the rest of my list?
--ride a hot air balloon
--SCUBA the Great Barrier Reef
--Drive the Pacific 1 Highway
--Climb Machu Picchu

Any other suggestions?

NaNoWriMo Day 1

I obviously won't update every day because that would be just TOO boring.

But I wanted to say, on my first day as a psuedo-novelist, I logged an impressive 2,648 words.

It was a boring day at work.

Bird Flu? The Doctor is IN!

Last night was a Halloween party....due to my creative inabilities when it comes to Halloween costumes (thanks, Mom & Dad for denying me the joy of trick-or-treating), we came up with....Bird Flu. Lame, I know. But the party was fun and the pumpkin lasagna turned out to be delicious (despite my cooking skills!).

NaNoWriMo

Because I am officially insane AND bored, I signed up for NaNoWriMo.

What is NaNoWriMo?
National Novel Writing Month is a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing. Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30.

Valuing enthusiasm and perseverance over painstaking craft, NaNoWriMo is a novel-writing program for everyone who has thought fleetingly about writing a novel but has been scared away by the time and effort involved.

Because of the limited writing window, the ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly.

Make no mistake: You will be writing a lot of crap. And that's a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.

As you spend November writing, you can draw comfort from the fact that, all around the world, other National Novel Writing Month participants are going through the same joys and sorrows of producing the Great Frantic Novel. Wrimos meet throughout the month to offer encouragement, commiseration, and -- when the thing is done -- the kind of raucous celebrations that tend to frighten animals and small children.

In 2005, we had over 59,000 participants. Nearly 10,000 of them crossed the 50k finish line by the midnight deadline, entering into the annals of NaNoWriMo superstardom forever. They started the month as auto mechanics, out-of-work actors, and middle school English teachers. They walked away novelists.

Can't wait! I'm really looking forward to starting---but if anyone has any plot suggestions---pass them along!!

Wedding Fever!

This past weekend, I journied up North to the frozen tundra of CT for my lovely friend Amanda's wedding. I've known Amanda since the start of Freshman Year at William & Mary, so it was truly an honor to stand up with her at her wedding.



It was a beautiful affair, with a gorgeous display of color--both inside the church and out. The flowers were stunning, the leaves burst with color; but of course, nothing eclipsed Amanda and her bridal glow.



So, one more down and three more to go. I do feel like my college GPB friends are marrying at an alarmingly quickly rate compared to others who graduate in our same GPB year.

Dropping Like Flies

Two weddings in less than a year! Three weddings in 1.5 years. Slowly but surely, my college girlfriends and I are dropping like flies to the swat of marriage.....

I'm headed to CT to stand up for my dear friend Amanda.....
Full Report upon my return!

She's Baaaaaaaaack!

Well, the Spare Cat has made a reappearance in our lives. Sadly the couple that adopted her couldn't keep her....

So she's home.

Anyone want a cat?

Goodbye to the WB

Last night was the Farewell Extravaganza for the WB. In case you missed it, for five hours, they showed the series premieres for Felicity, Angel, Buffy and Dawson's Creek.

I have never actually watched an episode of Angel and Buffy (guess vampires weren't my thing?) but I feel like in many ways (as pathetic as this is to admit), I grew up on Felicity and Dawson's Creek. Age-wise, I was right in between Dawson and Felicity.

Watching those first episodes, those kids taking their first tentative steps towards adulthood, reminded me of that time in my life, between adulthood and childhood (and yes, I know this sounds corny). It kind of makes me miss teetering on that edge, so unsure of who I'll be or where I'll go.

So anyways. Goodbye WB.

(Unfortunately, 7th Heaven is still on the air.)

The Only Living Girl in ABQ

Do we ever find our place in life?

I often feel like I'm merely waiting for the next stage in my life to begin. I suppose it is a symptom of the past 24 years of my life, a product of being an almost professional student. As I progressed through degrees, it really became more about finishing up education to begin "real life" or "What I Wanted to Do when I Grew Up" and less about simply living.

Except I'm finally here. I'm grown up for all intents and purposes. Yet I feel like I'm still waiting but I'm not sure exactly what I'm waiting for. I've achieved all the major milestones that psychologists require for adulthood. Completed schooling, income, marriage. On paper I look damn good. You'd hire me.

So why do I feel like I'm still searching? What am I looking towards? What am I passing by on my search? Will I know it when I find it?

At what point do we sit back in our lives and say, "Yes, I've made it. I'm here." Or is it simply part of being human and cerebral that we always have one thumb out, hitching a ride to the next milestone of life, chasing time, until the road runs out?

Catch Up

Sorry it's been a while. Things have been busy in ABQ. Let me fill you in.

A). Friend Sasaki came to visit for a few days on her way to California. We had an amazing adventure involving some natural hot springs, a gorgeous hippy man and some parking lot nudity. Here's a shot from the hotsprings:

Neat, huh?

B). Work sent us to Phoenix to get trained in a special database so I got to go back to my sunny state of Arizona. It was so wonderful to walk off the plane into that blinding sun and heat. I got to see several of my friends who had migrated to Phoenix from Tucson after graduation. It was so nice to see them again, to feel like a normal person with friends, someone to call after work. I cried a little when the plane's wheels left the ground, heading towards ABQ. I don't know when I'll be back again.

C). Currently the New Mexico State Fair is consuming my life. Work has a vendor booth where we sit and hand out fliers about our programs for hours at a time. I don't know that I've been to a state fair back East, but this one is very....cowboy. Like, real cowboy. EVERYWHERE. With tall thin men in tight jeans, wearing hats wider than they walking with women in tapered-leg jeans and hair almost as large as the cowboy hat. It's so....Western?

So this is currently my life. I miss home so accutely, like punch in my stomach.
I just want to go home.

Cruelty

I hate this goddamn state.

In less than one week, there have been two evening news reports about animal cruelty.

The first one: Someone left a dog at a shelter. The dog's ears had been cut off with scissors. Clean off. Gone.

The second? A woman's dog went missing and returned to her, on her driveway, stabbed through the heart.

People in this fucking state are uneducated, cruel and sick.

I want to move. I hate this goddamn state.

Clearly Clairvoyant

This past week was my very first business trip. It was actually less business and more middle-school, since the purpose was to get to know the other offices in the Southwest Region--lots of "Get-to-know-you" games and fun activities. We did get to take the "Oldest Cog Railway" up to the top of Pike's Peak; I was hoping for some snow at the top, but it was just cold. We stayed in Manitou Springs, a tiny town outside of Colorado Springs ("Home to 73 (!!) Evangelical Christian Non-Profits") which was very quaint and rather hippyish. Lots of youths in dredlocks who smelled like they hadn't bathed in a few weeks.

The highlight had to be visiting my first Clairvoyant and having my palm read. Having grown up in a ultra-religious household, palm reading was on par with believing in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and celebrating Halloween---delving into the occult was not appropriate afternoon behavior.

But when we walked by the "Mystical Gardens" (a blue tarp next to a few scraggly flowers and some incense), I had this overwhelming urge to get my palm read. So I coughed up my "$20 for 10 minutes" and ducked inside the tarp. She was tall, thin, reddish-blond hair, tight jeans and long nails painted red and yellow, French manicure style. She had me picture an orb of color behind my eyelids until I could see it (which I was completely unable to do!) and then she began to study my palms. Here's the gist:
1. Apparently, I am clairvoyant as well. Despite my tramatic childhood, the angels have allowed me to "see" things in dreams that have later come to pass. About five years ago, I closed that door but the angels want me to reopen that door because things will come to pass that will affect my family.
2. Speaking of family, I will have three children and two great loves. The man I am with now I will "breed" with (her words, not mine) but will leave him when I meet my "True Love" around age 40.
3. I have hot, red hands which indicate "healer hands" and should be in a healing field of work.

Obviously, she was full of Clairvoyant Shit (although, did I suspect anything other than fake simply from her nails?). I find the idea that I myself am psychic laughable. If her ramblings were true, why would I need to have a List of Questions to Ask God When I Die--a list that is only getting lengthier as I age?

And, no, I still think her parents did it.

One Song for It All

It always strikes me as odd how powerful music is.

I'm not a music-fiend by any means. I can go weeks, months even, without listening to my iPod. I like music, but I listen to NPR more often than music radio. I'm just not on the cutting edge.

But every so often, I will hear a song and memories just come rushing back to me.

Exhibit 1: "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey
Sorority Sister Cristin brought this song to my attention with a Journey's Greatest Hits CD after I blushingly confessed I didn't know the band or their music. Of course I fell in love with the song, but I have one poignant memory that sweeps over me every so often when I hear that song---a memory of me dancing in a bar in Seattle, my friends Jim, Brian and Meigan next to me, all of us shouting, "Don't Stop Believing!" That moment was one of the moments in my life where I paused, looked around and realized how happy I was with my life right then, at that moment. I hear that song now and I ache for my friends and life in Arizona.

Exhibit 2: "Heaven" by DJ Sammy
This song brings me back to my EuroTrash days of studying in Valencia. I remember the first time Amanda, Jessica and I (following some strange boy's instruction) took the bus to a club on the outskirts of town; we paid our 10 Euro entrance fee and went inside to a giant warehouse with the techno pounding, lights spinning, my chesting pumping with the beat of the bass. And the drugs! Everywhere----strangers trying to hand me ecstasy tablets (and the girls vomiting in the bathrooms). I have this gorgeous memory of Amanda dancing, across from me, the lights hazy around her head.

Exhibit 3: "Be Mine" by David Grey
Now this one seems obvious, since it was our wedding song. But when I hear Be Mine on the radio, all of those dance lessons come rushing back. Laughing, sweating, stepping on each other's toes, our dance teacher standing behind us clapping out the beat with her hands and feet. The smell of the studio. Practicing it over and over and over and over until we knew it by heart (but still not quite with the beat).

Exhibit 4: "Sweet Thing" by Van Morrison
My college roommate Barbara sent me two CDs while I was in Kenya. And the first time the song played, it hit my chest like a ton of bricks. I have this memory of laying in bed together during our senior year, the windows open, the cars driving by outside, a breeze gently blowing the half-lowered shade, the smell of those verdant pines that penetrates William and Mary. The comfort of laying with someone who knows you inside and out, who knows you and loves you regardless of your shortcomings. The peace that comes when you don't know where you are going, only where you are that moment.

I Miss the Rains Down in Africa

My friend Jim left for the Congo today. He's working for the Catholic Relief Services and will be Kinshasa for a year. He never ceases to amaze me with his energy and dedication. I love Jim with the kind of unfailing love that means I would do anything----literally anything----for him if he needed it. I'd fly across the world to be with him at a moment's notice if he needed it. I love all my friends, but in terms of understanding me like no one else, Jim takes the cake. He is the most compassionate and kind person I know.

He also served in the Peace Corps in Madegascar. So consequently, whenever I speak with him, I start to reflect on my own short-lived months as a volunteer. Which led me to google several of my PC friends and neighbors today...and I found some great updates on people. Everyone is leading interesting and brilliant lives.

Consequently, sometimes, I feel like a fraud. I know I was there for longer than some, but I was also there only a short time. I start to wonder if by leaving early, did I cheat myself of some unique opportunities that otherwise I will never have? (Probably.) Did I blow my brief negative experience out of the proportion? (Perhaps.) Did I make the right choice to come home early? Or is it such that the grass is always greener? (I will never know.)

Can I even call myself an RPCV? Do I have that right?

I wish I had gone to Kenya the person that I am now---more compassionate, more aware, more open, more willing, less arrogant, less brash. I think I would have stuck out my whole two-years. But that's the mother of all catch-22's, right? My experiences in Africa help shape me into who I am today and without them, I'd still be the same asshole right-out-of-college twit. But I do wish I had experienced some of the sadness of life before my African heartbreak nearly ripped me in two.

I worry sometimes that life will never right itself and this passion that glows in my heart for Africa will burn out before I can set foot on African soil again. I have made some heartbreaking decisions based on this elusive desire to return and work there. Were those decisions in vain?

I feel like I need a reminder, every now and then, of the person I was, the person I am and the person I hope to someday be.

Foster Cat Finds New Home

After taking Briar Patch into our home at a moment's notice, we decided it was time to find her a permanent home. We realized that we couldn't hide a cat from our landlord for three years and it would be best to adopt her out.

I agonized over this decision. I literally held Briar in my arms and cried. I love this little calico cat, but I also know that adopting her to a new home is in her (and our) best interest.

So we posted on Craig's List and a couple responded. We asked to meet them and, even though I was certain they wanted her for her fur (a la Cruela Devile), they turned out to be wonderfully nice cat lovers.

So it's decided. On Saturday, Briar will move into her new home. They are so excited about having her join their family and I can tell she will have a wonderful home.

However, I can't help but feel a little sad each night as I cuddle her soft little body into me and kiss her pink nose. Only a few more days left and she will be out of my life forever....

Getting Here from There

I made the catastrophic mistake of rereading my blog entries--all of them. It blows my mind that I've been keeping this public journal for almost two years. In the past three years, I've seen and done so much and it breaks my heart a little to see the person I am on the other side of that tunnel. Between Here and There and Africa and Boyfriends and and Heartbreak and the Unexpected and Unplanned, my life took a different course than what I had originally charted.

Reading those early entries, when I first moved to Tucson, the ending of my relationship with Ex-Beloved, made me start thinking, "How the hell did I end up here, so far off my expected destination?"

Had you asked me two years ago to predict the course of my life, I never would have predicted the path my life has taken. Yet somehow, as I look back, I can see exactly how each decision that I made has led me right to this point in my life. I couldn't have known it then, of course, but I realized that every decision I made is not a discrete thing, isolated in its own time and place; rather every choice is inexorably linked to the one before and the one after, even without me knowing so.

Moving On

Moving is so hard. Sometimes, when I'm driving through the streets of Albuquerque, I feel the waves of loneliness wash over me. I look around at the buildings lining the roads and I can taste the saddness in my throat.

I miss my home. I miss my home with a desperation that is palpable. I want to go back to my land of Saguaros, Sonoran hotdogs. I want my little apartment with the big bathroom. I want my friends.

I want my life back.

Sometimes, I take a step back and wonder, how did I end up here? I drive through this city and feel like a stranger. Even though I've been here two months, I still don't know which way is North most of the time. I feel disoriented.

And when I'm at the top of the city, near the Sandias, I look out to the wide, empty land that stretches far beyond I can see and all I can think: "That. That is the way home."

The New Addition

Meet Briar Patch.

The Pugglett

The Resident and I went on a walk the other night, as usual, with The Roo in tow. It was getting dark, shadows draping over the streets.

Out of a shadowed driveway, a small pug appeared. He was adorable--little smashed face and black collar with a tiny bow with no tags. After some deliberating, we christened him The Pugglett and brought him home to spend the night with us.

We made him a bed next to ours out of soft blankets, but as soon as the lights went off, he jumped into our bed and snuggled up, squirming his way through the night.

Sadly we found his owners and had to give him back. They were glad to have him safely home, but he left a little hole in my heart.

My Devil Wears Talbots

I've been looking forward to the opening of The Devil Wears Prada, so naturally, I dragged the Resident to a Saturday matinee. The movie did not disappoint. Meryl Streep was amazing as a demanding, cold-hearted, inscrutable fashion maven and head-hauncho. Loved her. Anne Hathway was decent as the wide-eyed turned vicious assistant. Particularly, I loved Miranda's fashion speech which pointed out the true industry that fashion is (i.e. NOT just anorexic models and gay men)---made me rethink the sweater set I just purchased in a unusually hideous shade of Olive Green.

The In-Law Grandmother gave me a gift card for Talbots--as store I had not stepped foot into until this weekend. Unfortunately, Talbts is more a store for the older generation and women's whose vocabulary contain the words "Knit Sportswear." But I couldn't let the gift card go to waste.

I spent hours browsing in Talbots, pawing through the racks of tapered-legged dress pants and brightly colored tops. Finally, I settled on a sweater set. I know that sounds awfully sorority sister of me, but I felt like it was really the only option.

After watching Prada, I think I might be returning it.

HipHipHooray, or, The Day I Became Gainfully Employed

After three months of job hunting and 35 resumes, cover letters and applications later, I am officially entering the "Professionally Employed" phase of my life.

That's right, people: I GOT A JOB!! And it's even in my field of study!

I am the Health Education Program Coordinator for the American Lung Association of New Mexico.

I think it will be a really interesting job and I'm looking forward to leaving the house on a daily basis AND having a purpose!

So, virtual beers for everyone!!

Muddified

In a desperate attempt to make friends in this godforsaken state, the Resident signed us up for a Mudd Volleyball Tournament to benefit the Carrie Tingley Hospital . It sounded vaguely fun, until we received instructions to bring duct tape, which would be used to tape our shoes to our feet.

We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. This is apparently the event of the year in ABQ (mostly because there is nothing else to do except roll in mud) . You could see the enormous parking lots filled with cars, glittering in the sun, from the highway.

Although I am loathe to admit this, the experience was pretty fun. The mudd was up to my knees and I sloshed around, trying to chase after the ball (not often successful, since my feet stuck to the bottom of the mudd). The mudd was cold, though, and squished between my toes, even with my shoes on (and yes, everyone duct-taped their shoes to their feet---play does not stop to look for shoes!). The beer (and illegally smuggled liquor--how college was I?) flowed freely, which helped with the whole "What filthy diseases am I picking up from this foulness" feeling.

But the best part was really just getting out of our house and talking to another live person besides the Resident. We met some really neat people, one of whom is in his Intern Class, so we will be seeing more of her and her fiance, I'm sure.

The only downside (besides the raging hangover)? I now have mudd buried deep within crevices and nooks and crannies of my body. I showered, of course, but being covered in mud repeatedly over a several hour period makes it tough to get our. Even the natural lines in my skin feel dusty. And don't get me started on my hair, which not only feels dirty, but has the texture of filth.

Definitely an experience of a lifetime.

Aqua is the New Blue

The Resident and I decided to use some of our wedding money to buy ourselves a new bed and mattress since the double bed was getting a little small for our family of 5.

We ordered it from the store in Tucson before we moved, but arranged for it to be delivered from the ABQ store (mainly so we didn't have to move across the Desert).

Today, after weeks of waiting, the bed finally arrived. It was fantastic to put all of our new sheets and quilts on the bed. Getting the bed also meant that we could unpack the few remaining boxes scattered through the house. And we hung all our pictures on the wall, which gives it a "home" feel.

So everything is nice, neat and in its place.

Domesticated Goddess

Since we're almost 100% unpacked and I have no job, I've become a veritable 1950s housewife. I fill my day with laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing and cooking. I'm not alone in this domestic spree--The Resident pitches in and does chores right along side me.

But it's funny, this feeling that I am becoming my mother. I find myself saying the exact phrases she always says, "Will you please put the dishes away," "Don't go too far, dinner is almost ready," and "Want to go for a walk?"

It's not bad...it just makes me wonder how I turned into this domesticated goddess overnight. I mean, what happen to spooning peanut butter out of a jar for lunch and letting my laundry pile up until I had no clean underwear (no small feat, considering I have over 100 pairs of panties).

Too much time is a bitch, people.

And now, I have to go get my cherry pie out of the oven.

MySpace

I reluctantly signed up for an account on MySpace a few months ago. Truthfully, I didn't really see the point and it seemed like a complete waste of time....

Until yesterday.

I finally figured out how to effectively search for people on MySpace---And I realized you can search for old classmate---even as far back as high school! Or even middle school, I suppose.

So, I ran a search on all students that graduated from Stonewall Jackson High (yes, the South) in 1999. MySpace came back with 76 hits. Amazing. I haven't thought of most of the people that came up in YEARS, if ever.

It's been hysterical reading people's profiles. Some people have really neat lives now, cool jobs and still seem like fab people. Others are still in Manassas, working as waitresses, living exactly the kind of life I thought they would have at age 25.


Like my friend Lindsay says, MySpace is like a high school reunion you can go to in your pjs.

"I didn't claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables."

One of the intimidating things about moving to a new city where you don't know a single soul is trying to figure out where to eat. The second night we were in ABQ, we still didn't have any food in the house, so making dinner was out of the question. We were driving home from Walmart with a car full of essential odds and ends and realized it was 9:30 pm and we still hadn't eaten (this daylight savings thing really throws off my internal clock and sense of time in relationship to daylight. Dammnit.). The Resident looked up and saw a sign for "Rudy's BBQ," which is one of my favorite things.

We parked and went inside. The interior of the restuarant was a counter and lines of picnic tables covered in red&white table cloths. At first we were a bit confused because there was no apparent "real" menu, except listings of various meats by the pound. After some asking, we determined that you actually ordered your chosen meat by the poundage, were given some slices of bread and at the table, you make your own sandwich with the meat and the "sause" (your choice of "BBQ" or "Sissy") provided on the table.

Oh.My.God. I love meat. We had 1/2 a chicken and 1/2lb of pulled pork. The meat was delicious---tender, juicy, falling off the bones. We ate every single piece of meat that was on that tray. Plus a side of beans, creamed corn and greenbean salad.

Since Tucson had a dearth of good BBQ places, I'm very excited to find that ABQ has at least one good meat-eatin' place.

The Great Desert Move

Despite the 11 hour drive, two cats and a dog, a thunderstorm and hail, from one desert to another, we've arrived in Albuquerque in one piece. The new house (OUR house) is as adorable as I remembered. The adobe is yellow, the yard is huge, the rooms are tiny. We've been busy unpacking, hanging curtains, filling our kitchen with the unused appliances we receieved as wedding gifts. Unpacking is far and away more wonderful than packing. Even though I packed a mere few days ago, I have forgotten half of what we have. Opening the boxes are infinitely exciting, disovering pots and pans I've never used, books I still haven't read.

Adjusting to the city is hard, but I forgot just how hard it is. I feel lost, even with a map. I feel so alone and isolated. Nothing is familiar, everything is new. The newness is exciting, to be sure, but also overwhelming. We drove around for 20 minutes trying to find a Denny's (Spanish for next to La Quinta Inn) for breakfast because we don't even have a phone book.

I know it's only been a few days, but I keep catching myself thinking, "When I get home..." and it's with a pang of sadness that I realize this is my home. I am living here for the next three years. And the reality is, I may never live in Tucson again, a reality that makes my heart wrench a little.

I watch my husband build bookcases and install curtain rods, smiling at his man-ness. And I am relieved to know that, at least this time, I don't have to make a new city home all by myself. I have a friend by my side.

The Big Move: Stage One--Preparation

The Big Move to Albuquerque is beginning. Take Off Date is June 1st---a mere few days away and we are in the throes of packing and cleaning and putting away memories.

Today, the IRC came to pick up our unneeded furniture (my couch, his chair, my bed). My apartment is now empty of all large furniture, but filled with boxes of wedding presents and books. I haven't even started on my clothes (right now, I'm envisioning trashbags).

It's sad, though, this packing away of my life. I know how corny this sounds, but it really is saying goodbye to a stage in my life. My single life is over, for real this time. Even though we're married now, not sharing space makes the marriage feel a little fake. We still have "mine" and "his." But in a few short days, we'll just have "ours." Our house. Our yard. Our dishes. Our couch. Our bed (beautiful and new!). And Our Bathroom (the biggest adjustment, I'm sure).

I'm scared about moving. Will I find a job? Will I make friends? Will Albuquerque someday feel like home? Will I find good stores to shop at? I know the true answer to these questions is yes, but how long will it take?

Tucson has been my home for the last 1.5 years, and some of them have been good months. But there have also been very sad months. Even though I am brokenhearted to be leaving the city that I call home, in some ways, I feel like I am finally saying goodbye to one of the saddest and hardest times of my life. I truly am closing a chapter in my life and moving forward to the new, the exciting and the completely unknown.

Wedded Bliss, Again

So I thought I'd post some wedding photos taken by a some of the guests. However, if you would prefer to see the professional ones, feel free to check out my photographer's website:
www.paulvanhelden.com

Go to "online proofs," find the Williams-Gross wedding and the password is 050706

Tropic of Capricorn

Not to, you know, make anyone too jealous, but this was the view from our hotel room in Jamaica. And yes those colors are real.

The vacation was very relaxing---plenty of sun, sand, swimming, SCUBA and sex (you know, the essential "S's"). We had a great time just being alone together, especially after the prior week of family and graduation.

The weather was gorgeous and sunny most of the time; it rained twice, but since we live where it's sunny 300 days a year, it was nice to snuggle inside and listen to the rain patter on the porch.

I also learned to SCUBA dive and actually got certified while we were there. I know this will sound corny, but I fulfilled a life dream by SCUBAing and I am SO proud of myself. Kneeling on the bottom of the ocean was absolutely amazing and was not nearly as terrifying as I initially thought. I had a few moments of panic on the surface when my feet just hung down, not touching anything, but after we descended to the bottom, the fear completely disappeared.

I have to be honest though. Driving to the resort from the airport was a bit strange. Since most Jamaicans are of African descent, I felt very much like I was back in Kenya. The school children in matching uniforms, driving on the left, the verdant rolling hills. The houses even had the same jerry-cans on the roofs to collect water; I could even tell which out-buildings were the toilets and showers. I almost felt like I was betraying my roots or something---I lived like that and now I was one of those rich white people who got chauffered around to spend their thousands of dollars that I despised. And the disparity between rich and poor is so evident, and like most places, racially divided. The hotel is staffed by Jamaicans, again most of whom are black, and even though I applaud the hiring of locals, it smacks so much of neocolonialism---whites being served by blacks. I'm having a difficult time explaining in words what I felt, but it was definitely an uncomfortable feeling.

White guilt, perhaps?

Wedded Bliss

Yep, yep. The knot has been tied. It was lovely- simple, short and beautiful. Even the hot Arizona weather cooperated with sunny skies and temps in the low 90s.

This week has been crazy between the wedding and graduation (the Med Student is now The Doctor and I am now a "Master"-- a concept I find laughable!). Honeymoon starts on Monday.

I will update with more wedding pictures and details before the Big Move to NM.

The Art of Using Gift Cards

The Med Student often mocks me because he claims I "hoard" gift cards. People often give me gift cards for birthdays/Christmases/(soon to be Hannukah!) because I live far away and it's cheaper to order a gift card online than it is to mail a bulky present.

Gift cards are like two-in-one gifts, mainly because not only do I get "free money" I gte the excuse to go buy things! But I also like to save my gift cards and not reckless spend them on the first new perfume at Sephora. Consequently, I have hundreds of dollars in gift cards. Some (like my Banana Republic ones) are being saved for something big (like a suit for job interviewing and the like). Others (like my Sephora) I was saving for when I found something I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted (and I haven't yet).

But yesterday, I spent two cards.

After the stress of Match Day and the reality of "Oh my god, we're moving and I have to pack and UHaul and how are we going to get a dog now?" set in, I realized I needed a massage ASAP. The Med Student had given me a gift card to a favorite spa/salon for Valentine's Day (last year), so I called to cash for an appointment.

I also decided to go naked for this massage and honestly, it was 100 times better with panties to get in the way. Getting my ass rubbed was as close to heaven as I can imagine.

Then, after the massage, I realized I need new panties. I get made fun of from a number of my girlfriends on this....but, I love cotton panties. I just do. They're always comfortable, they breathe and they're good for both workout days AND the menstrual cycle. I own a wide variety of panties, from your basic boyshort to the tiniest of thongs, I have mesh, lyrca, no-show, etc. I think I the last time I counted I had over 100 pairs. But the last time I had purchased new cotton panties was sometime after I got back from Kenya (it's been over two years).

Megan had sweetly given me a gift card to Victoria's Secret for my birthday, so I decided to use it for some new cotton panties! I got five cute pairs in multiple prints (all of which looks vaguely Sixties-ish).

So now, my ass is covered in comfortable printed cotton and my back is loose and limber! Yesterday was a good day.

The Land of Enchantment

Well, the verdict is in.

Match Day has come and gone.

We are moving......


.....to Albuquerque, New Mexico!

A little suprising at first, but after the shock wore off, we're both looking foward to another adventure and another new place.

Good things about Albuquerque

• surrounded by mountains
• inexpensive living
• as white people, we'll be in the minority
• still in the Southwest
• on Route 66

Bad things about Albuquerque

• gets cold in the winter (it IS almost a mile high)
• actually SNOWS (will have to buy a winter coat)
• job market is a little iffy

So that's my list so far. But I don't know enough about the city to make any other judgments, yet. It's going to be a crazy few months. Here's the rundown:

April: 7th--thesis presentation, 10-13--Mother visiting, 17--thesis paper due, later April---fly out to NM to find place to live

May: 7th--WEDDING, 13-14--Graduation, 15-21--Honeymoon, 31---my lease is up (must be packed and moved out!)

June: Early June--move to NM, 25 June---the Med Student starts work! (I guess I'll start calling him The Resident? The Intern?)

Truthfully, I'm not sure how we're going to get all this accomplished....but I'm sure we'll get through it, one thing at a time!

Women, Infants and Children

I've been spending lots of my mornings in the WIC office lately. As part of my internship duties with the IRC, I drive refugee clients to the office (out in the middle of nowhere) and register them with the WIC program.

The WIC program is a "nutritional supplementation" program that gives pregnant women, infants and children (up to six) food packages every month. The food varies depending on whether the woman is nursing or pregnant or the age of the child. Don't get me started on the evils of the food that WIC includes---it's all politics and makes me mad! But it's a good and needed service for many women.

Anyways, the office is a great place for watching people. The waiting room is always filled with mothers and babies, most of whom are very cute. It's always chaotic and busy, and usually, we have to wait an hour before getting seen, even though we have an appointment.

Last week, there were teenagers from a group home signing up for the services. Some of these girls could be no older than 12. One girl must have been newly pregnant because she didn't have a baby with her, but she looked terrified. These poor girls looked so young. My heart broke for them for two reasons. Firstly, they are so young to have a baby. In my opinion, unplanned pregnancy is a tough situation no matter how old you are, but a 12 year-old just has it so much harder than even an 18 year-old. Secondly, these poor girls had no family support. They had no mother to show them love, despite her disappointment. I know that we all make mistakes and some are worst than others, but these girls need love and support more than anything right now---not being kicked out and living in a group home.

Calling All Irish!

Okay, Lasses. I need an instrumental version of "Danny Boy" for my wedding!

Help?

(My grandfather, who is of Irish descent, will not be able to attend my wedding and I wanted to play the song as part of the preludes to honor him).

Le Baron, Cont.

Le Baron has been recovered! I got this email last night from John:

"Coppers found Jim's car this morning and she's back at the pimp palace. Robber even cleaned the outside. But no gas was added. yippee!! Found at 707 W Miracle Mile at Wayward Winds Lodge next to TD's West. Shady area and no workable prints. End of story"

Let us note that Miracle Mile Road (real name) lives up to it's name; hordes of prostitutes (real women AND transvestites) roam the area at night (if my memory serves me correctly, the No-Tel Motel is nearby). TD's West is a notoriously trashy strip club where Weds is Chicken Parm night (Entree for $3.50). This is not a high class area, people.

Ah, the adventures of Le Baron.

Le Baron

Jim is one of my closest friends here in Tucson. Like me, he is a returned Peace Corps volunteer and together we share a love for Africa. This semester, he has abandoned me to do his thesis project in Niger; a public health project involving a nutritional assessment and the British Red Cross. While he's gone, Jim kept his apartment and car here in Tucson, entrusted to our friend John, also a RPCV and recently returned from a whirlwind trip to Ghana with Engineers Without Borders (we're an Africa-loving bunch); he's currently living in Jim's apartment (nicknamed Pimp Palace because of the hot pink flashing flamingo sign proclaiming "Realto Palace") and driving Jim's car, a 1992 Le Baron (nicknamed "Le BarON").

Le Baron is a piece of shit, though it has served Jim well over the years. It's gears are shot and the battery regularly dies, needing a jump every few. However, it's a (mostly) working vehicle, so John's thankful for the loan.

Or was.

I got a phone call last night. "Elisabeth, it's Johnny. Qick question: Do you know Jim's birthday?" After we determined that Jim's birthday was either at the end of June or July and he was either 28 or 29, John told me his reason for call.

Le Baron was THIEVED!

John parked the car next to the dumpster, which is right behind Jim's apartment window. He went out later that day to throw some trash in the dumpster and.....Le Baron was GONE! At some point, someone had come by and stolen the Le Baron right behind Jim's apartment window.

The irony of the entire story: The thieves stole a complete lemon. Le Baron's gears had shifted out of place and were held only in place with some duct tape. John had made an apointment with a mechanic to tow Le Baron in for some work for the next day.

Tucson is the Capital of Car Theft and apparently the thieves are as dumb as shit.

Strictly Ballroom

As a generous gesture, the Med Student gave me an introductory course to ballroom dancing for Valentine's day. The total package included four half-hour lessons and one group class for BOTH of us. The idea was to pick up some ballroom basics so we didn't just do the MiddleSchool Shuffle Sway around the dance floor for four hours at our wedding reception.

And amazingly, it's actually turning out to be loads of fun. The instruction occurs on the ballroom floor with several other students getting lessons at the same time--you never feel lonely! Our teacher, Christina, is a little petite riot and is continually making me laugh AND feel less self-conscious, which is no small feat.

Thus far, we've learned the basics of the waltz, foxtrot, rumba, chacha, tango and the nightclub two-step. We're not great, but we're not usually horrible. But most importantly, we're having a blast laughing and getting ourselves out of our rut and around people that we can make friends with!

It's Blah Life

So...to follow on the footsteps of my Favorite Barbara Ever, I am living a blah life right now. I kind of feel like I'm simply existing. I'm not depressed, necessarily....just bored. Alot. I'm not taking classes this semester in lieu of my internship/thesis (which has been exceedingly slow to be started). Work is boring--same old, same old. Several of my friends have moved and/or gone for the semester, so my world has narrowed down to a few people, all of whom are exceedingly busy people. I sit at home and talk to my cats (who are starting to talk back to me).

So, I've fixated on a dog to solve my problems. Now, I know that a dog is more than an upper---it requires patience and love and attention, blah blah. I know the committment that is required with a dog (I've had one before), but that is exactly WHY I want a dog. I want something that is time consuming, something I HAVE to get up for in the morning to take on walks. I want to go to dog parks to let my pup run free and meet other people with dogs.

I know that timing may not be right at the moment on the surface, seeing as how we're moving in a few months, etc. etc. But the upside to my small apartment is that I have time right (oodles of time) to spend with a dog, showing it affection, love and acclimating it to the cats.

So I want a dog. A nice, warm dog to love and be loved by. I've beaten down the Med Student by constantly talking about a dog and practicing my leash walk. He's agreed to get one as soon as next week....And now I have cold feet! What if it doesn't work out, what do I do? What if the cats don't get along with New Pup??

Stay tuned......

Crossing the Continental Divide

Driving trips are somehow infinitely more satisfying than flying--something about being physically connected to the land you are traveling across. Bird's eye views are thrilling but nothing compares to the feel of the road bumping beneath you.

The Med Student and I drove to Albuquerque this week for a second look at his residency program. I tagged along for the drive and to scope out potential job leads. The drive was awe-inspiring. Out West, the highways are so empty and you can see the rise and fall of the road, stretching out before you for miles like a black asphalt ribbon going no where. The scrubby desert plants, the yellow grass. The wide-open space, bringing to mind a past time.

On the way back, we took more deserted roads and drove through the Apache Reservation. The landscape changed from high desert to mountains. The road scaled up a mountain and then down again, weaving through the tall pines, the smell of smoke permeating the air.

There are no lights lining the highways or side roads (and no towns on the horizon), so when night fell and the sky darkened, the only lights were our headlights piercing the darkness. Just for fun, we turned our lights off and immediately were catapaulted into erie pitch dark with only the stars to light our way.

We crossed both the Rio Grande and the Continental Divide, at which point the Med Student asked, "If I stood on the Divide and urinated, which way would my stream go?" So much for the majesty of the Old West.

None of Your BIZ-ness

With the Med Student gone on another residency interview, I get lonely in the evening. I love the cats, but when Turtle and Zola start talking back to me, I know it's time to get out and actively seek human company.

So last night, my partner-in-crime Meigan and I decided to go out. We had a lovely dinner at a healthy Japanese restaurant (Mushroom Soba soup for your's truly) and then hunted down our friend Lise. After a drink and a mini-ghost hunt at Historic Hotel Congress (try corner room #24), Lise went home. After aimlessly driving about, Meigan suggested the local lesbian bar.

Surprisingly, despite my history of bar hopping and drunken debauchery, I've never actually been in a "gay" bar before. I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting (think: older, established lesbian crowd, maybe a bit down-home, honkey-tonk, cowboy boot dyke?), but what we found was NOT it (in fact, the only cowboy boot wearers were the two of us). The bar was actually a pulsating, vibrating, thumping dance scene--almost like a frat party, minus straight men. I think the bar/club actually caters to the Latina lesbian scene. It was fantastic. Ironically, both of us kept talking about our boyfriends the entire time. Not intentionally, just out of...habit?

Meigan and I danced for an hour, used the unisex bathroom and headed home, a little bit wiser about a different crowd of Tucson.

Brokeback Mountain, or, What Could Have Been

Well, I went to see Brokeback Mountain a few nights ago and I can't shake that movie out of my head, no matter how hard I try. It was truly a stunning, visually appealing, tormented love story. It was phenomenal. I loved it in a depressing, heart-sinking, crushing way.

The story is beautiful. Watching the love between these two men grow, take over and destroy their lives slowly is so heart-rendering. The ending is perfect. It isn't devastatingly sad, nor is it wrapped-up-Hollywood neat. The ending was left in limbo, like the love they shared, making you think on what could have been instead of what was. It just about broke my heart in two.

Update

Wow. It has been a while and I apologize for my apparently inability to consistently blog.

Sadly, and truthfully, nothing new to report. Wedding plans are moving along nicely and the Tucson Event of 2006 will be well underway soon.

I'm not taking classes this semester---thank god. I am starting my internship project, which is slow starting because the Human Subjects Review Board is taking their sweet time reading my proposal. But, I'm enjoying the break.

I've been accompanying the Med Student along on his residency interviews. We got back from Portland last week after a great trip. Portland is a stunning city and the hospital complex is set on the side of a hill. Don't ask me how emergency vehicles get up winding, narrow road during ice storms or snow, but what a breath-taking view. The only downside of Portland is the constant dripping rain, which could be a downer if I actually had to live there. Talk about Seasonal Affective Disorder!

I'm off to St. Louis this weekend to visit with my great friend (and old college roommate) while Cliff goes through another two interviews. I had a blast the last time I was there and fully expect a fantastic weekend (although I'm sure my cats are not pleased to be left alone again!).

So, it's been a quiet life. Lots of television of dubious quality. You know, the usual.

Quarter of a Century

Today is my 25th Birthday. It's quite a shock, honestly. When people ask my age, I immediate think "23" and have to remind myself that I'm actually 24. I mean, 25.

But on my birthday, I like to take stock of my life, look back on my year, where I've been and where I'm heading.

Ironically, last year, I thought life couldn't get any worse. But it did. It got really bad for awhile; I descended to a place lower than I ever thought possible. Funny how life has a way of coming back again, no matter how badly you think it's gone for good. I'm recovering, I'm writing, I'm smiling, I'm even laughing. I can look at life head-on again, even though I'm not sure where it's taking me.

And once again, I find myself profoundly amazed at the people in my life. My friends and my lover pulled me up and out, bolstered me on their shoulders and carried me through the most isolating grief I've will ever experience. And they still love me. Even more amazing, they still listen. I can never thank them enough. Words do not do my emotions justice---they never had. You know who you are. I love you.

So life has come back, indeed. I'm five months away from wedded bliss. I'm with a man who loves me, despite my flaws. I'm learning an intimacy so deep, I never imagined the possibilities. And so, once again, I find myself learning.

On this note, my yearly horoscope from the Washington Post:
TODAY'S BIRTHDAY (December 1). This year, you'll experience a brightening and lightening phenomenon that perks up every corner of your life. You are learning how to communicate with clarity. Business arrangements are far more creative and interesting than they were last year -- finances reflect the improved situation. There are many happy times ahead with Taurus and Pisces.

Duly noted. Life can only get better from here. Bring it on!

Holidaze

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, mostly because the whole purpose of the holiday is to eat and be thankful. And this year was no exception.

The Med Student and I drove out to Los Angeles for Thanksgiving so I could see the lovely Pacific Coast and meet the rest of his family. And what a meeting it was! Honestly, I'm not sure if I was *prepared* for the whole experience of getting a WHOLE family. I was just starting to adjust to the ideas of another mother and father---totally NOT ready for new aunts, uncles, grandmothers, cousins, dogs....

Overwhelming, yes. But it was also welcoming.

LA was a blast. Got to go to Venice Beach and see all the weird people and the hippy culture. Rode the giant Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica pier at night, looking out over the inky black ocean. Ate the most delicious clam chowder outside of Boston in Malibu. Walked along the "Kodak Theater" and the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Stepped into Johnny Depp's gorgeous footprints. Even went into Sephora and exhibited a little bit of self-control by not actually buying anything!

Fat-Free

Uh, yeah. I am not fat-free, but I am on a diet. I'm going public with it, so when you all see me, feel free to pinch my fat and ask me how "heifer" is doing. It's a sick, sick motivational technique! I'm not entirely sure if it will work, but feel free to try! Of course, thanks to the stress of daily living has not helped my diet since I'm most likely found munching grilled cheese in the hospital cafeteria (catered by effing Aramark!). But, the good news is, I found the most delicious ice-cream: Dryer's Slow Churned Rich and Creamy Light Peppermint.

OMG.

Seriously tastes like NORMAL ice-cream. And peppermint ice-cream is my second favorite flavor of all time. And it tastes like NORMAL ice-cream. And I can't stop eating it. I fear this ice cream is going to become like the senario in senior year at WM when Barbara and I gorged ourselves on WOW chips, the chedder cheese flavoring turning the outsides of our mouths orange as we laid on the floor watching the Real World with Trishelle.

If I don't answer the phone tomorrow, please come looking for my bloated body, lying on the couch, watching Nip/Tuck reruns, empty cartons of ice cream strewn around my floor, my cats milling about my feet.

Sunday Blahs

I am a significantly more boring person when I'm happy. Funny things don't happen to me. I have nothing to write about. I smile alot, looking goofy. I know being happy is a good thing, but let's be honest--happiness makes for a boring, inactive blog....

I've been thinking about being adult, as my impending nuptials impend closer. With Jen a married woman, me almost a bride, Amanda a homeowner, Kailen and Cristin working a professional jobs, Megan almost a lawyer and Barbara teaching high schoolers. I think we've reached that point where we're not just waiting for life to begin, but we're actually living it. We've reached official adulthood, and I for one am slightly terrified. But in a good way.

Plug and Socket, or, My First Trick-or-Treat Experience

My friend Meigan, who throws the best parties I've EVER been to, threw a rocking Halloween bash. Because I grew up in a super-Christian household where Halloween stands for Satan's Holiday, I never got into the spirit of the day. But this year, dressing-up was a requirement for Meigan's party. So, she and I headed out to the costume shop.

I thought briefly about doing a flapper costume. Cute, but typical. Plus, I looked like Rambo with that feather band around my forehead. Then, I spotted IT. Two foam costumes of a Plug and Socket. The socket (or the female half) resembled a pillow-case with sockets on the front. The plug (male) was a foam box worn around the hips with gold prongs and a long white cord. AND the best part? The plug actually "plugged" into the socket right at the genitalia region!

So, I had to buy it for Med Student and I. And of course, he had to keep plugging into me all night long as I drained a bottle of white wine and generally made an ass in front of an 18-yr-old who was in my freshman bio lab. What fun.

But the best part of the holiday was my first time trick-or-treating. Jim and I decided to celebrate the Somalis' first Halloween by taking the 9 and 3 year old trick-or-treating. Jim bought them Power Ranger costumes and little pumpkin baskets. Holy Hell, that experience ranks up there as one of the funnest (most fun?) nights of my life. The 3-year old, Mohammed, was incredibly adorable, tripping over his costume which was a mite too big. He'd run up to the door and we'd prompt him to say, "Trwick or Tweat" and "Thank you."

My uterus and ovaries twitched all night long.

Spring is in the Air!

No, I'm not crazy and, no, my seasons aren't mixed up. But the beginning of fall here in Arizona always feels like spring to me. A breath of cooler air blows in, washing the hottness way, making everything in its path just feel more alive. I've always felt a sense of ending to fall, but here, October feels like a new, fresh beginning. Lovely, really.

Today, I got to sleep in for the first time in over a week. I didn't wake up until 10:30; it felt so luxurious laying there, stretched out under the blanket with the sunlight streaming in through open window shades. There's a brisk warm breeze outside, making the trees sway and few white clouds high in the sky.

God, I love it here. Sorry, East Coast, you will never have me back!

Poor POOR Bride

The latest email from Tasha, friend extraordinaire, always looking out for me:

EB,
First, I'd like to say, I had not heard the excitement about your wedding before you told me about the gift registry. That said, I've gotta tell ya....YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR SOME BIG STUFF!!!!!
I took a look at your registries, and I can potentially see one person getting you several things at once. (ok, I would get you several of those things--- not expensive!) None of your gifts are big ticket items that you and Cliff wont want to buy for yourselves. In fact, I didn't see anything over $280! Andmost things were under $60! (thhhwummp....the sound of future brides fainting everywhere!)
I know...you want to make the giving easier on the givees. But for MY sake, you could have asked for some HUGE luxury item just to see if someone would buy it. This is your chance to get some really awesome shit.
Of course, I'll still be getting you something inexpensive, but think of the others! haha
And you could have put in some weird crap too, just to see if someone would buy it. (can you see the look on Grams face when she sees you registered for a lifetime supply of condoms?!? or maybe men's underwear and a tire pump?)
Live it up girlie! This is your last chance at big-time gifts until...until...you die???????
Loving you glam bride,
T

This said, I'm now thinking of registering for that cool Crate&Barrel bed. Or maybe starting a "personal" registry on Victoria's Secret or Sephora.....don't worry, Tasha. I'll get right on that!

Titty Hard-On, or, What Other Words Can TA Stand For?

Yes, I know that I'm about six years older than the average freshman and no, I don't know why I'm taking freshman biology, but I do really like it. It's *fun* taking hard science classes after all the social science bullshit.

Anyways, my lab TA is really cool. She's probably just a year or two older than me, so I feel....more in touch with her than with my lab partners. Her arms and back are covered in tattoos, her face is pierced and is getting married in October. I am pretty sure I have the biggest Girl Crush of my life on her.

Yesterday, I walked into lab. TA was wearing this light blue, tight cami-top. It was totally see-through. As in, I could see both the outline of her aerolas and nipples through the sheer blue. And, on her right nipple, I could see the outline of a tiny barbell piercing.

I felt like a man. I could not stop staring at her breasts. They were amazing. Perfectly small, perfectly shaped, perfectly pert. Gorgeous. I felt jealous, but mostly I still felt like TA is the coolest TA a girl could ever ask for.

Looking Professional, or, Another Reason to Spend $

My loans have come through for the semester and I am again the proud owner of thousands of dollars. My loans are not as important for my survival this year, as I am working a good job and actually make money. However, the loans are important for maintaining my wardrobe.

Tucson has corrupted me. I looked in the mirror and realized that I ONLY wear flip-flops, despite having an entire shoe department in my closet. I can't remember the last time I actually looked *good* (Jennifer & Matthew 8.13.05 excepted). And I am almost 25-years old. It is high time I sucked it up and started dressing professionally, at least some of the time.

So, I today I did what every girl should do. I went shopping for hours, six hours to be exact. I bought an entire wardrobe of nice, but not too nice, clothing. Most purchases were from The Gap or other like-minded stores, so none of the purchases were too adventureous. I am excited about looking a little more put-together and a little less schlub.

However, we shall see just how long this *professionalism* lasts, considering I have an 8 am freshman bio MWF.

Wish me luck.

Jennifer & Matthew 8.13.05

Ah. Summer is drawing to a close, back-to-school commercials are all over the TV ("I like backpacks, I cannot lie!); the streets and Targets of Tucson are clogged with the new freshmen and their panicking parents. Traffic has increased three-fold. For reasons partially unbeknownest to me, I am taking freshman biology. I had to leave my hospital and medical campus to push my way through the hordes of children on main campus, fighting for the last copy of the Bio181 textbook.

Even though there is no fall here and it's still 100 degrees, something in the air has shifted--an energy of anticipation, of clean notebooks, unused textbooks and new faces around campus.

It's good to be home.

However, it was good to be at Jennifer & Matthew. The weekend was crazy busy, but fun. Jen managed to avoid Bridezilla, never once stamping her feet and demanding, "Make me a princess, but more sophisticated!" In fact, I think Jen might have actually been the calmest one on the wedding day. The highlight of the day was when the Wedding Planner Janelle asked us bridesmaids if we were wearing panties. Apparently, she's had many a bridesmaid pass out from "emotion and heat." And not wearing panties is a no-no when passing out. No one needs to see that---talk about stealing the thunder.

Jen looked beautiful and bridal. I cried when her dad handed her off to Matt. I cried when Michael Canestroni gave his toast. I tried my damnedest to get drunk, but it was tough as the night wore on since I was sweating the drinks out as soon as I drank them. I didn't pee for eight hours, despite the amount of liquid poured down my throat.

All in all, the wedding was a successful party, despite the heat and humidity. It was fabulous to see old friends--just wished the night could have gone on and on and on and on......

The Long Grow Out

I stupidly got my hair cut and I hate it. It's about shoulder-length (it was down my back before) with charming red highlights.

I look like I'm 12.

I thought shorter hair was suppose to make people look older, not younger, until I realized the hair cut is an exactly replica of the one I had in 6th grade.

Talk about perpetuating the insecurities that went with big glasses and braces.

I'm starting the Grow Out immediately

A Long July

So. It got pointed out to me (again) that I suck.

My "International Health: Community and Clinical Practice" is finally over. THAT was an experience from hell, yet I somehow managed to learn tons (probably because of the ... *gasp* ... five hours of studying a night!). I can put IVs into anyone who wants one (without bruising). I can perform a symphisiotomy (spelling??) on a woman whose pelvis is too small to pass the fetus. And I can even pull teeth.

Trust me?

Apologies

Dear Sorority Sister Cristin,
This one's for you!

I apologize for my serious lack of blogging in the last few weeks. I really have no excuse except that Dawson's Creek presented a much more pleasant alternative than rehashing my rather mellow life. And I would just like to say, once and for all (now that I'm halfway through Season 4), that Dawson is a complete tool, entirely self-absorbed, and it is so obvious from the get-go that he wanted Joey to be someone that she was not and that is why she chose Pacy, as she should have. And isn't it a little weird that two of the girls have boys' names?

I digress. Actually a lot has happened these past few weeks. We had another SMN with The Exorcist and Identity. The Exorcist scared the living poo out of me and SMN were put on hold for a few weeks until I could sleep alone without crying about Capt. Howdy. They're resuming tonight, but we've decided to do one scary movie with a comedy. I'm renting tonight, so it's going to be Monty Python's The Meaning of Life and probably some B-movie. Anything so I don't cry anymore.

We also ventured out to the movie theater and saw Madagascar, in honor of my friend Jim who revisted his Peace Corps site for a month and has returned home a wee bit thinner. The movie was decent ("If you have any poo, now is the time to fling it!") and I have become fascinated with Fossa (FOO-sa).

Unfortunately, I have been sleeping alone alot because the Med Student got a horribly infected bug-bite on his wrist and rather than be responsible about it, he put it off until it got disgusting (there is a more medical term for it--cellulitis, I think) and we spent Sunday afternoon in the emergency room at St. Mary's. The antibiotics made him even more ill, so we've been sleeping separately for a few days. Capt. Howdy's having a field day in my bedroom.

Gotta get back to work, but next installment...domestic violence and Somalia.

Easy Summer Livin', or, Late 1990s Television

Classes have been over for almost a month now and I have sunk into the useless existance that is summer break. My life is ruled by the television, much like how my zodiac sign is ruled by Jupiter. I like to wake up by 9 so I can fit in Maury (*I slept with two cousins--which one's my baby daddy?!*) and then continue through until early afternoon television when I put in a DVD. Right now, I am plodding my way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy and it is just so....long. I know the movies are supposed to be cinematic masterpieces, blah blah blah. But god. Did you HAVE to make all of the characters' names so difficult to understand. Sometimes when they speak, I have absolutely no idea what the characters are saying. And I even read the books.

I've discovered I like watching television shows on DVD better than I do movies. I can pay partial attention while I either work or surf the internet. I've already gotten through all the available DVDs of Scrubs, Felicity, the OC and my new quest is to get through all the Dawson's Creek DVDs by the end of July. I'm halfway done with Season 2 and only begun in earnest. Any other suggestions would be higly appreciated. ( I tried Twin Peaks, but couldn't get into it. Toook too much concentration to know what was going on.)

Let the summer continue!

The Teeth

The Teeth

The Boy

The Boy

The Bling

The Bling

A Harelip, A 'Tard and a Blindy, or, The Slowest Movie Known to Man

I would like to make a note about SMN#2. Apparently, I was so drunk, I remember nothing about the actual plot of the movie Saw. Tasha went back to watch the movie again and said it was much more interesting and easy to follow without the six glasses of wine and the amaretto/peach schapps/coke combo which made me gag, but I drank nonetheless.


Scary Movie Night #3 : The Village.
A movie where the three main characters all present some sort of physical deformity is never a good or particularly interesting. And I'd just like to say that I have some pyschic abilities when it comes to predicting scary movie plots (or maybe just M. Night Shylamalan films). I had heard nothing about the movie ending, yet totally managed to call it.

And it sucked. The movie sucked. There is no way that I will supsend my reality enough to believe that a blind girl is able to find her way out of "Covington Forest." Oh yes. And climb a fence into year 2000 Pennsylvania.

Just thinking about the plot is making me physically ill. I think I'm going to go tan out by the pool and futher my resolve to never again watch an M. Night Shylamalan film ever again since they forever disappoint me.

"The Most Fun I've Had Without Lubricant"

Last night was our second Scary Movie Night of the summer. (We watched the original Amnityville Horror during SMN#1; favorite quote was "I'm not a pink-cheeked seminarian who doesn't know the difference between the supernatural and a bad clam.") Tasha, Alanna and I ordered in Chinese and attempted to find the "scariest movie known to man." We tried for the Exorcist, but alas, three video stores later and no Exorcist. So we settled on Boogyman, starring Barry Watson (unfortunately for him, better known as Matt from 7th Heaven) and Saw.

Something movie producers need to learn: Just because you SAY it's the "scariest movie of all time" does not make it so. And Barry Watson cannot act himself out of a paper bag. And he needs to wash his hair. And remove his testicles from his anus. Actually, growing a pair of testicles in the first place might be beneficial. Halfway through, we decided we needed to be drunker, faster. Hence the following drinking game to be played during SMNs.

Drink when:
1. The car won't start
2. The characters run upstairs instead of out the door
3. Normal people ask "What's wrong?"
4. A bizarre child/creepy pet appearance
5. Sex immediately prior to attack by killer or supernatural
6. Creepy music ends in door slamming or other loud, abrupt noise
7. Omens of death appear (dead bird, T-storms, blowing curtains, etc.)

This made Boogyman MUCH more bearable. However, even five drinks into the night, Barry Watson still can't act and we just started drinking every time he said something dumb, exhibited poor acting skills or spoke. And last night, instead of nightmares about the evil lurking in my closet, I had nightmares about 7th Heaven. That says something about the quality of that movie.

Saw was next. And truthfully, I'm not really sure what happened. I think I felt the plot was a little shaky and the ending was sort of abrupt. But the movie redeemed itself with the quote used as the title of this post. How great is that? I think it's going to be my new overused phrase. "Studying for this exam is the most fun I've had without lubricant!" Or, "Gosh, I love the zoo! It's the most fun I've had in years without lubricant!"

Elisabeth 'N' Med Student, Sittin' in a Tree....

We're getting hitched!

It's been a week since the proposal and it's still a shock. The ring is still foreign and heavy on my finger (but in a really good, really obnoxious, really sparkly kind of way). I worry I'm going to lose it and that would be a tragedy, considering it's the most expensive thing I own besides my car (but I still don't actually OWN that much of my car yet, damn loan company!).

So yes. I'm excited. I mean, he's hot and I have the hots for him (like, his ass is so hot), but I'm really excited because I've found someone I can see myself living with forever and ever until I'm old and wrinkly and my teeth fall out. And that's what life is all about, right? :)

Waxing

I don't know what came over me last night (it seems to be a week of insanity). In a fit of craziness, I called my friends Tasha and Alana to see if they wanted to go see House of Wax on opening night.

I hate scary movies, yet routinely watch them. There's something so thrilling about feeling my blood run cold. Honestly, I view most of the movies through my fingers. There's always a lot of yelling and gasping, too, and I've been known to scream out loud in a movie theater before, so if you don't like the attention, suggest a romantic comedy. After watching The Grudge, it took me a week before I felt comfortable showering alone.

Anyways, I hadn't been out to the movies since Ocean's 12 and, after watching The View interview Paris Hilton, I got it into my head that I HAD to see the movie. I'm strangely fascinated with Paris--I think because I had no idea who she was prior to leaving for Kenya and then when I came back, she was everywhere! And the porn videos. Twice!

And her movie debut wasn't that bad. Well, she can't act worth a crap, but the movie itself wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. It's a much more traditional teen slasher flick. When Paris finally bit the big one, I expected someone in the audience to yell out, "That's Hot!" but to my disappointment, no one did. When I got home from the film, I called the Med Student, woke him up and made him come over to sleep with me. And unfortunately for me, he's in Phoenix tonight, so I'm home alone with no one but my cats (who, if faced with evil twins conjoined at the face, would most likely happily greet them at the door, expecting a treat).

So, now it's 1:09 am West Coast time and I'm anxiously awake and alone, to nervous to sleep...

The Famed Paris Poof

Just in case you were unsure about the Famed Paris Poof...here it is in all its glory. Actually, the more I look at her, the more I think maybe undergrads here at the UofA are really trying to emulate Paris in her entirety.

Paris Poof

Against my better judgement I went out on Weds evening. The next day (Thursday) was "Dead Day"--meaning no classes for the university. I got to the bar at 8, after picking Jim up on the way over. Parking downtown was a bitch, as usual, but we found a metered spot a few blocks from the bar where we were meeting people. I was wearing my usual flip-flops, a pink t-shirt that said Antiqua Funk (and sported a black woman with a huge 'fro) and my fat jeans. Oh yeah, and my library lady glasses.

The night started innocently enough, with a few of us grad students nursing a pitcher of beer, but quickly degenerated into a frantic, pulsating sea of under-dressed bodies and popped collars with Nelly and 50 Cent pounding in the background. Now, maybe it's the East Coast snob rearing it's ugly head in me, but, dude--fashion in the West needs a makeover. I mean, popped collars were in style when I was still in undergrad. Two years ago. Don't times change?

And holy shit. HOLY SHIT. I thought clubbing in Tucson was bad during the winter months. I forgot that summer in the city apparently means going as naked as possible. And I mean that literally. (I've passed girls going to class in their bikinis. Not a joke.) I've never seen such a combination of nude tits, ass, thighs and shoulders. AND, it was like the girls were having an anorexia competition. I swear, this one girl turned to the side and she all but disappeared, leaving the clear plastic beer cup floating in mid-air. Thin doesn't describe it. Neither does emaciated. Half of the girls weren't drinking--presumably too many calories--and had probably snorted their dinner shortly before leaving their apartments in their halter tops and eye shadow.

It's almost like these girls are trying way too hard. Or maybe I've just forgotten what it's like in undergrad. They all looked as if they came from the exact same cookie-cutter--all sporting the extra-black eyeliner and the blond Paris Hilton Poof (you know it). People are fashionable out East, no doubt. I mean, let's just look at New York. But it seems so effortless. When you go out there, it feels like people just look fab without trying. Here, "trying" is an understatement.

Perhaps I'm just bitter, since I was wearing my fat jeans. Or maybe my age is just kicking in. I know that I'm only a few years removed from that mindset, but after the stuff that's happened recently in my life, I feel like I am a world away from that scene.

It's a tough pill to swallow, but I'm not getting any younger.

Or blonder.

Acquired Catholic Guilt

So now I feel bad about my Pope Posting. I woke this morning and on all the morning news shows, the US pundits were weighing in on the new pope.... negatively.

Poor guy. He hasn't really even started his reign (?) and people are certain he'll be bad pope.

I should be nicer.

Pope, Round 1

Okay, it's time to saddle up my high horse and go for a quick canter around the block.

Pope Benedict XVI has been officially elected as the new head of the Catholic Church. A man who used to be a member of the Hitler Youth. One of the most fundamental Catholic Cardinals.

I'm really disappointed in the Church's choice. I would argue that the Catholic Church is the most influential entity in the world and the Cardinals had the chance to move the Church into the 21st Century...And they elected a man who says, homosexuals suffer from "an objective disorder"?? And a man who has alienated even Protestants by signing a document that declares the Catholic Church the only way to salvation?

I understand why the Catholic Church will be against homosexuality, seeing as the issue is directly mentioned in the Bible. I understand their stance on premarital sex--it's mentioned. I even can understand their stance against abortion. However, I cannot understand wallowing in those issues when the Church has the opportunity to enact some social change.

Take contraception. There is nothing explicit in the Bible about using condoms, which are scientifically proven to prevent the spread of sexually transmitted diseases like HIV/AIDS--an epidemic which is ravaging the continent of Africa. Many women in Africa who are contracting HIV are not prostitutes, not having premartial sex, but are contracting the disease from their husbands. Within the sanctity of marriage. Where condoms could prevent them (and their children, because despite their serostatus, they will have children) from contracting a disease which will cause them to die. And why not use contraception as family planning? The close spacing of children is one of the major causes of malnutrion (both of mother and infants) and maternal death. That seems to be more unethical than collecting sperm in a latex baggie....

I'm not asking the Catholic Church to transform its theology--that would be untrue. But maybe instead of focusing on moral issues like homosexuality, the Church could make more of an effort to enact some social change, alleviate poverty, stop HIV/AIDS.

But the election of the one of the most fundamental cardinals to the Papacy? Diplomacy is a necessary component of being the leader of the Catholic Church. I hope "God's Rotweiler" is able to embrace the world.

It's April and 90 Degrees

So it's gotten rather warm here in Tucson. Hot, even. As in 9-0 degrees. And while I love the heat and love Tucson, I do like my car to not be a sauna. The heat's not so bad when I'm inside my apartment--and I don't run my air conditioner. But god, the car is like it's own sauna with the heat just radiating off the dashboard.

Playing Behind the Shed

So, I thought it would be kind of fun to date a third-year med student, mainly to fill my third-grade fantasies of playing doctor behind the shed. Little did I know....

It all started when I threw my shoulder out on Valentines Day at a softball game. It really hurt and I was a little worried that I had ripped a tendon or something. A few days later, when the pain hadn't gone away (actually, it still hasn't gone away), MS and I were chatting on the phone about it. Sort of sexily, I asked him if he wanted to come over and play doctor....

However, he showed up at my door expecting to rotate my shoulder and test flexibility or something....So much for an examination.

Then today, we're chatting online about differential diagnosis and VINDICATES...again, rather sexily (well, as sexy as you can get over AIM), I ask him if he wants to play doctor and diagnose me. He replies, "Sure. What is your problem?"

Oh baby.

Shout Out

I think I recently (in the last month) bitched about the Pepsi "Win a Free Song from iTunes" (where "1 in 3 wins a free song!") promotion and how I buy Diet Pepsi ALL the time in hopes of winning. And how I've bought upwards of like 15 Diet Pepsis and still haven't won a free song. Basically because I am unlucky and suck as a human being. My karma is so bad, I can't even win something worth .99 cents.

Well, MS calls me from the hospital (and can I just say how hot he is in a tie, his glasses and white doctor's coat? DAMN.) to tell me that, yet again, because he is Jewish and he is not me, he won a free song from iTunes from a Pepsi. At first, I was filled with hatred for him--rubbing in my loserness. But then, he gave me the code to redeem it and told me he loved me.

What a man. That my friends, is true love.

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....