Intermission

I think I've reached the intermission stage of moving. You know, that stage where you don't quite belong anywhere.

As of March 1, I will have lived in the great craphole of ABQ for nine months. Is it starting to feel like home? No. But Tucson is no longer home, either.

I am homeless.

Or, at least I feel like it. There is some deep desire in my being to have roots somewhere, to belong (obviously, my modern human heritage is not from the nomadic peoples), and I feel rootless right now.

Or perhaps, the problem is not that I lack roots. Perhaps my roots are spread out so far, I can hardly comprehend it. I have friends scattered across the Continental US, not to mention a certain individual who I love deeply who is battling the monkey pox and malnutrition in the DRC. And by friends, I don't mean someone who I know of---I mean friends, people who I speak to on a weekly basis (sometimes daily).

My net has been cast far and wide; to some degree, I believe I can call Phoenix, Seattle, L.A., St. Louis, Providence, DC, Naugatuck, Williamsburg, New York, Fairfax, Manassas and Tucson home because people who I love deeply reside there.

So at this intermission of my life, this lull between leaving my old home and making my new, when I am looking around me, digging frantically in the dirt of ABQ, nuturing my tree, begging it to take root, I need to pause and thank all the homes I have out there, the friends and family with their arms and homes open wide, loving me and supporting me.

You know who you are.

Thank you.

Praying to my Porcelain God

Somehow it is only fitting that the first time I drink to the point of illness since college is with my college roommate and instigator Barbara.

Barbara and I have had long torrid affair with alcohol, including run-ins with friends' fists, 1 am trips to the delis for pitchers of Bud Ice (yes, it does look like urine, but even worse, it tastes like urine) and even getting a friend of ours arrested once (totally by accident, I swear).

We started out in a nice little bar and grill where, overtaken by the spirit of Bond in the recently rented Casino Royale, I had the best dirty martini---just the perfect amount of olive juice and a very smooth vodka. Well, I've never been one to say that martinis should be sipped and savored, but I also usually don't pound them like water on a hot day.

By the time we got to the actual bar, I could hardly carry on a cohesive conversation. Barbara, who was drinking Jack n' Ginger like it was going out of style, quickly caught up with my level of drunkenness. Neither of us have any memory of paying, leaving the bar, flagging down the taxi or getting to my hotel room. But we did--in one piece. And the night had just begun. I almost wish I had a third person video of that night, with Barbara and I laying on either side of the toilet on the cold tile floor, alternating turns on our knees. I have not been that intoxicated since my senior formal where I locked myself into the student union bathroom and my poor ex-Beloved had to drag me out of the girl's bathroom to his room, where I puked red wine for hours in the sink.

Officially, I'm getting old. I can no longer rebound from my alcohol. In fact, I swear, when I woke up this morning (36 hours later), I was STILL hung over. I honestly think I peed straight vodka for the first ten hours the next day.

I was a true champion in college, but I think if this weekend is any indication, my glory days are over.

Fictioning

Remember a few months ago when I did that crazy write a novel in a month thing?

Well, my friends. That novel has been dusted off. I printed all 198 pages of it (using the laser printer at work, of course)

The editing process has begun. And it is a BITCH.

I've never edited such a large thing (I hestitate to call it a "novel" yet) in my life.

How do I do this? How do I keep the bigger picture of this thing while being nitpicky? I'm only four chapters into it and already, feeling overwhelmed.

Neptune High

When it comes to TV shows and books, Sorority Sister Cristin has never steered me wrong.

The People's Exhibit A: The O.C.
Now, I'll give you that The O.C. has veered off in an alarming direction and may not be of the same quality during it's early years. But you have to admit, the show rocked it for awhile. And how could we not just love, "Welcome to the O.C., Bitch!"

So when SSC started mentioning Veronica Mars, my interest piqued. But for some reason, I just couldn't bring myself to watch a show on UPN. It just hurt. I mean, my love for The WB was bad enough to admit to people.

But now that the CW & UPN have merged into The CW (rest in peace, WB), I caught an episode a few months ago. And I loved it. Veronica was not some bobble-headed teenage blond thing, but this rocking, snarky PI with killer hair. So I netflixed the past seasons on DVD.

I am officially in L-O-V-E with Veronica Mars and this show has resurrected a part of my past I believed long dead: full-fledged crushing on a TV character.

I am not ashamed to admit it. I have the hots for Logan Echolls. (Yes, it's a little less disturbing now that they are out of high school.) I rewind the DVD during his makeout scenes so I can see his half-naked body in slow-mo. I have officially reverted back to my middle-school days when I plastered posters of Christian Bale on the walls of my bedroom and took photos of the television screen when I watched Newsies over and over.

And I love every minute of it.

Multiples

I think ABQ has multiple personalities.....
Exhibit A: June - Sept: Rained so much I thought I'd moved to Seattle.
Exhibit B: Dec - Jan: Snowed 20+ inches and thought I'd moved to Denver
Exhibit C: Jan: So windy I think I'm in Chicago

Obviously this city has no identity of its own.

Today, when I signed into blogger to update, I had 18 (that's right, count 18) comments waiting for "moderation." EIGHTEEN!!! All of these insanely wonderful, kind, sympathetic and hilarious messages left by my nearest and dearest scattered across this earth. I did not even realize the moderation was on. So I apologize for missing those comments, and yes, Faeline, that will be my next novel topic! You know, after you read this one....

Life in ABQ is going okay. I feel like I have a lot to write about, but I don't. Life is moving slowly. Life plods along through the sludgey snow piled on the side of the road.

We Wish You a Married Christmas

Well, the Doctor and I officially had a first Christmas together and it was quite marvelous. In the prior years, I've always flown back to the VA to be with my family for the week and he's gone back to L.A. to see his parents, so this year was our first together.

Before going to midnight mass, we lit luminarias down our porch, the candles flickering in the cold night. I haven't been to mass in years (yes, I know, we cafeteria Catholics do pick and choose) and this was my first time in ABQ. The priest has recently been promoted to monsignor, probably because he loves to hear himself talk. Oh my. The homily dragged on slower than a sloth. We didn't get home until 2 a.m., which is not an unusual time for us to go to bed on a weekend, but the fact we had been in chuch simply enhanced our sleepiness.

I got up at 10:30 and waited for the Doctor to roll out of bed. We peeked in our stockings (and gave the Roo her knuckle bone from Santa) before making mimosas and toasting Baby God Jesus a happy birthday.

I got resoundly drunk on champange while roasting the turkey, mashing the potatoes and fluffing the stuffing and actually remember very little of the meal, but the Doctor insists the food was delicious (the leftovers were top notch, if I do say so myself).

So yes, the first Married Christmas was wonderful, filled with light, love and a wee bit of shag-drunk-lovin'.

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!