Defining a relationship

Ah, so much truth here.

Going up

I'd never really thought about it before, but it seems that I intermittently have an overwhelming compulsion to entertain random strangers on elevators.

I know that it happens with frequency at work. I've been known to start performing turkey calls and dance routines while moving throughout the building. And singing, of course. But it seems to happen a lot in my apartment, too. Sometimes it's just idle chit chat, on occasion I've busted out a random joke, and often it's just a random observation.

Don't know for a fact, but pretty sure some of my neighbors think I'm a bit odd. Sometimes people just ignore you, kind of "If I pretend I didn't hear anything, perhaps she'll stop." Sometimes you get a polite laugh or "Oh, really?" But the best times are when you end up laughing in earnest on the ride up, even if it's just one floor.

You've gotta take the little pleasures wherever you can, I suppose.

Stunned

You know those times when you hear some news that leaves you speechless?

Yeah, had one of those moments today. I stared at my phone for what felt like an eternity in the ER and waited for everything to make sense again.

Still waiting.

Before the parade passes by

I spent part of the morning meandering about downtown Dallas in my quest to renew my passport. It was a beautiful day for it, really. A nice 70 degrees, bit of a breeze, albeit a bit humid from the rain that hit the area yesterday.

Vaguely, part of my brain had registered that today was Veteran's Day, and another part had noted somewhere that there was going to be a parade down on Main street on Veteran's Day. However, those 2 parts hadn't really communicated with each other. Such being the case, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself on the sidelines of a parade as I walked over to the courthouse.

I love parades. When I was little, my brothers were in the marching band and we'd go out to hear them play and cheer whenever the high school was called to action. I also remember one particular time when my oldest brother had to dress up in a mouse costume and throw candy out from a float. Why? That is lost to a shadowy recess somewhere.

Have to say, though, there weren't very many people out there. I chatted with some of the folks out there, most of who had stopped to watch the action, but who hadn't heard much about it prior. Yet, we all distinctly remembered the planned parade that was scheduled for the Mavs anticipated victory over Miami a couple of years ago. Seriously?

All that aside, it was fun. Marching bands, soldiers, veterans, fire trucks, horses, they were all there. There were many people out there applauding and waving flags. A few kids were out there taking it all in. A platoon of doberman pinschers and their handlers, a chihuahua with it's master on a scooter, and Sparky the fire dog all made appearances. I stood with a group of people who enthusiastically cheered on all the bands as they walked by, and I met an old FDR high school defensive end/full back (class of 1982! as he let us all know) who runs a moving business. He cheered the loudest.

I think the warranty is out

Last night, had a great time with friends, board games, and organic agave tequila. May I say, damn. That is some fine stuff. Amy, thanks for some excellent bartending skills and for keeping our glasses filled. End result? 750 ml of fine liquor consumed between 3 friends (because we had no intention of sharing it with any of the late comers, really). 3 friends, all vibrant, euphoric, and giddy, without the usual vertigo or loss of time that usually accompanies massive quantities of low quality agave brew. Apparently, OAT has an additional effect on myself: extreme cockiness at Monopoly. OAT's Monopoly effect on cohorts: creative accounting and use of majority voting to take me down.

The arrival of the boys led to a Cranium/Scene It throwdown, boys vs. girls. And the girls ruled the day. Surprising? Not to me last night. Remember, cocky. Plus, we're some smart cookies at baseline, what can I say.

This AM, did we feel pain? No! We awoke alert and with massive appetites. It truly is the nectar of the gods. As stated on the official website, and I quote, "Enjoy it's taste today, feel it's purity tomorrow morning." Yes sir, we will.

However, tequila can't fix everything. While talking in the kitchen, I managed to injure myself badly enough in my left quad that I had difficulty standing back up. Getting into my car to drive home was excruciating secondary to irregular spasms that required me to drag my leg in. When I got home, I promptly fell on the concrete as I got out of the car. I think that a week of physical activity (kickball, ice skating, etc.) decided to sneak up on me. However, spending the last 8 hours or so sprawled on my couch with ice on it seems to be doing the trick, and I'm able to very carefully walk around my apartment without pulling the Quasimodo/Igor gait.

Post concert update

Ok, the show was GREAT!! It was a nice mix of the Once soundtrack with other original pieces and some covers. First off, Glen Hansard is a funny man. He rambled on several times, and got a lot of crowd response throughout the concert. He gave the crowd a shout out for being one of the best sing-along groups so far, and gave a stirring rendition of an enthusiastic but tone deaf crowd they had somewhere else.

Best random tale? I enjoyed one about hangovers. The gist of it was that he hates hangovers, but that he often has a religious experience sometime during them, mostly when he hits the point where he realizes that he isn't going to die.

And let's not forget I&W. I enjoyed Sam, but was a little disappointed that he didn't play a couple of my favorite songs. Well, guess I'll have to keep an ear to the ground and catch him the next time he comes through Dallas.

For $10, you'll be able to download the show from playedlastnight.com. I'm looking forward to it!

Finding the key to life

This morning, I've been spending a good chunk of it listening to Celia Cruz songs. One of the ones I've been lingering on is called Sin Clave No Hay Son.

The clave, for some quick background, generally refers to one of 2 things when spoken of in reference to music. It can refer to the actual instrument (2 thick wooden sticks that are used to tap out a rhythm), or it refers to the actual rhythmic pattern that they beat out. The patterns vary on whether you're playing salsa, son, samba, rumba, etc.

Essentially, without the clave, latin music would be soulless and flat. The clave gives the music it's flavor, it's dance-inducing properties. It's the key to the music.

This song is an ode to the clave. Love it. There's a few particular lines in the song that led me to pick it out of my list today, as follows:

No hay esperanza sin ilusiones
Y no hay engaño sin decepción
Amor sincero sin corazón
Y sin clave no hay son

Translation? I suppose I could... but a direct translation doesn't really express what it means. Instead, enjoy Celia Cruz as she appeared back on a weird 70s era variety show! The song she's singing is, if I'm not mistaken, of Peruvian origin, which makes me warm to it even more.

Priorities? I've got your priorities right here

I've been thinking.

I'm kinda-sorta dating someone right now. Super nice guy, who actually stuck around after I went on a couple of dates with him, then gave him a hug and said, "Hey, let's be friends!" That was... 6 months ago? At the time, he stared at me for a second, and said, "Yeah, sure, that was totally what I was going to suggest myself." And he kept being my friend. So, he's been very patient with my skittish behavior, so I'm trying to let myself relax enough to just have fun.

But, you know, I hate giving him dibs on my time.

For example: He asks me if I want to go out Thursday. I evade it by telling him I have plans. The truth? NO PLANS. I just don't want to say yes.

Yet, one of my friends calls me, and even though I'm scheduled for a dentist appointment/ appendectomy/ disarming a nuclear warhead/ etc., I will say "Sure! See you then."

Maybe not all my friends, but you know who you are if you're reading this. I don't know what's wrong with me. Do I not like him? No, I do, actually. At the very least as a good friend, the rest I'm trying to sort out. So what's up?

The best I can figure at the moment is a combination of the following:

• Commitment phobia, plain and simple.
• Planning ahead just goes against my core nature of chaos.
• I don't like him enough.
• I'm afraid that the more time alone we spend together, the more he will realize that, yes, I'm kind of crazy.
• Very likely, when that time rolls around, all I'll want to do is lay on my couch with a good book. I really like my couch.

Hmm. What do you guys think?

Once

Have you seen the movie Once? No? Well, to be fair, I really haven't seen it all yet myself. However, this has not stopped me from listening to the soundtrack over and over again. Do yourself a favor, sit down with it, kick back on your couch (alone or with company, either seems to work pretty well), and just listen.

So, I've got some love for Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, now performing together as The Swell Season. You can imagine how crazy-happy I'm feeling that I have tickets to see the musicians perform at the end of this month. I am, to put it mildly, excited. Plus, it's at a venue that I like, the Palladium ballroom, which makes it even better.

In general, I am never particularly interested in the musicians that open for the main show. Not to say that I haven't been pleasantly surprised before by some good stuff, of course. However, I have been listening and watching videos of Iron and Wine, the act that is touring with them. And, you know, I'm getting even more excited! The 29th can't get here fast enough. In the meantime, enjoy some Sam Beam goodness.

Skeletal mass, damn it!

You know, you'd think that years of reading and higher education would help a person become more eloquent in their speech and enhance the ability to, I don't know, avoid humiliating oneself while at karaoke.

An innocent discussion about guessing weights, one unintentional statement, and I have a feeling that there will be snickering among all involved whenever certain subjects or trigger words are mentioned in the future. It's really unfair. As if anyone really needs extra ammunition to make me blush to begin with.

Raining

The security guard gave me a perplexed look.

This could have been because of the late hour. Perhaps because I was singing to myself. Or because I was taking a walk in the rain. It might have been related to the fact that there was an unintentionally very visible patterned bra (hearts) under my soaking, light pink shirt. It could have been because of the sound of soggy, squeaky sneakers on the hard floor as I entered. Possibly, it was a combination of the above.

The rain was unanticipated.

Drop off and pick up

Let me preface this with a statement: I don't dumpster dive with any kind of regularity. Occasionally, I have scoped out the stacks of random ikea furniture, office chairs, and even crapped out bicycles that are thrown away by people moving out of my apartment building. The bike was fun, although I learned the brakes didn't work. Painfully. And, yes, I have a few books that I picked up off the curb that someone had set out to be picked up by the garbage man. That's about the limit.

I carted a large box of odds and ends out to Goodwill today. I honestly wasn't sure whether there would be anyone available to take it, but the website assured me that they are available everyday. It's not far, at any rate.

Pulling up to the donation center, it seems that the website lied. There was no one to be seen to receive the goods. However, it soon became obvious that didn't stop people from leaving items behind. There's a small white picket fence around the steps leading to the donation center, and there were several items waiting for a new home: stereos, bags of clothes, forlorn appearing toys, and an old, beat up dress form.

I took some time to examine the last item after wrestling the box I was delivering out of the back seat. It was pushed behind stacks of donations, and had the look of having spent a substantial amount of time in an attic. There was, in fact, something slightly creepy about it. This was more likely my own paranoias speaking though - I find something about mannequins slightly disquieting, and there's something about an adjustable torso that just makes me feel uneasy. However, a unique find shouldn't be ignored. But what use for a dress form in my apartment? None.

Driving away, it sprang to mind that there was at least one person that could find a use for such a thing. A quick phone call, a quick U-turn, and back to Goodwill. Only to find that the center was no longer unmanned - in the 5 minutes away from the place, there was a man loading items into a truck for transport. Not to be dissuaded, I approached him and spoke. A blank stare. I tried Spanish. Bingo. I pointed to the large box I had just deposited and asked whether I could trade one for the other. He shifted from one stance to the other, hrmmed, shook his head, no. I would have to wait for it to be put on sale at the center. I must have looked disappointed. I have a tendency to get sad puppy eyes when that happens, and suddenly, he looked around and said (in Spanish), "Look, I really don't care. Let me get this other stuff loaded up, drive off, and then you're free to take it." I lended him a hand, waved him off, stuffed the thing into my back seat and drove away triumphant.

So, a cool find. I look forward to seeing it being put to good use living up to all it's creepy potential.

And on a quick note...

According to this test, this is what my feet say about me.

You are pretty average in your expressiveness. You can express yourself well, but you don't always want to. You are a very passionate person. You are highly charged and easily inspired. You are an assertive person at times. You'll pull out all the stops to get what you want, if it's worth it. You take a while to fall in love, but once you do, you stay pretty attached to your partner. You are not easily frightened, but you have a few strong phobias. You are very practical and down to earth. You're more concerned with action than thoughts. You are an amazingly hard worker. You aren't spoiled and you don't mind getting your hands dirty. You are easily influenced by other people. You're quite impressionable, so you should only be around people who are a good influence.

I have to say, I agree overall. What do your feet say about you?

Damn you mentioning these tests, biscuithead. I need to be studying!

The Beige Knight

I've discussed graffiti before. Actually, on several occasions. And while I have stated that I have some appreciation for the more whimsical styles that pop up, I dislike the ones that are the equivalent of a dog marking a wall to tell all the other dogs he was there.

In fact, this weekend I had mentioned to a friend that I wished there was a gang out there who's territory was notable for lack of tagging and litter. We even discussed that perhaps their initiation rites might involve (since they would, of course, still be thugs at heart with a need to instill terror) kidnapping homeless in their domain, followed by giving them a thorough cleansing and new clothes before releasing them again. "Stay away from those clean freaks, man!" We even considered what their gang getup would be. We decided they would probably go for a plain white t-shirt with a gold hoop earring, a la Mr. Clean.

Okay, it got to be a silly conversation.

Strangely enough, yesterday while flipping through the Quick (a free newspaper filled with short, interesting blurbs from the main paper), there it was.

Granted, no Mr. Clean getups. And probably no terrorizing of people with excessive BO. But a vigilante anti-graffiti task force. Sweet!

Again, interesting

While taking a break from studies, I found the following quiz:

What punctuation are you?

Somehow, I'm not surprised to find out that I am the comma. And, apparently, I get along well with the question mark. Very, very spiff.

Learning when you're wrong

"And how is the universe going to correct me?"

"The universe generally shows us that we are wrong when it takes away what is most important to us: our friends."

-Paulo Coelho

I'm going bananas

An interesting explanation to the song Hollaback Girl.

Wow, it makes so much more sense now!

Pictures of you

Earlier this week, I was talking to biscuit head about her recent travels and looked at pics from her trip. She had a lot of great shots, but one that I particularly liked was a shot of a shady chair on a deck with a cup of coffee and an open book beside it. This, my friends, is a picture that didn't need her in it to let you know who it was.

It got me to thinking, which is always hazardous.

Wouldn't it be kind of fun to come up with a series of pictures that represent someone without necessarily having them in a single one? I suspect this isn't a terribly original idea. Doesn't make it any less cool, though.

When the heart of the world speaks

Over the last 3 weeks or so, I have noticed something while driving about the DFW area. About every other day, I'll witness a hawk strike.

Birds of prey are nothing new around here. We have, of course, the red tails who tend to hang out on light fixtures along the highways. There's the occasional Swainson's doing the same. A bit more in the country, you'll run across the kestrels. And there's always a good chance of spotting a kite floating high up in the sky.

However, what I don't generally see with frequency is the swoop and dive of the hunter, followed by it's flight back to a perch bearing an unwilling passenger. I'd seen it once or twice over the last several years in real life, one of those times being an unsettling one in my parent's backyard where I was idly watering some ferns and had a red tail crash into the bush 2 feet beside me and start eating a mouse.

So the sheer numbers is kind of odd. Odd enough that I wonder if it's some kind of sign, and if it is, what does it mean? I tend to view it from the hawk's point of view, so perhaps I'm being told to seize an opportunity? Or maybe I should be taking it as a warning that caution is required if you want to avoid the sudden unexpected atrocities of the world. Perhaps both?

Or maybe there are just a lot more rats and birds out this year.

"It's safe in my pornographic memory."

An actual quote from a patient today.

Sometimes, it's better just to laugh and walk away.

Walking a fine line

Specialization is interesting, be it in creatures or creations. For instance, think of what cars started as: little more than a carriage with a motor replacing the horses. Now look around you: sport cars, SUVs, semis, micromobiles. More and more you see the crossover vehicles. Whether it's a super engined station wagon, a mini-SUV, or a midget car with 4 wheel drive, these are vehicles created to try to appease multiple cravings in the human consumer. Want massive size and yet not eat through a gallon of gas backing out of the driveway? There are hybrid SUVs out there to help you. Want a people mover that revs like a ferrari? They exist. The problem is, these mixtures never fully excel in all the roles they are asked to fill. But damn if they don't try, and some do a pretty good job.

I feel like a crossover car. An MFP (multi-faceted person), if you will.

I have, for example, the adult. The part of me that pays her bills on time, makes sure there's money in the bank, that tries to remember important dates, and knows how to drive like a rational person, among other things.

Then there's the kid. Obsess over games much? Yes. Cartoons? Yes. Highly distractable? Yes. It's the part of me that tends to have a blatant disregard for what other people might be thinking when they see me chasing a grasshopper across a parking lot.

Both roles are crucial in the course of my days. I have friends of all ages, and while a night of a good dinner, conversation, cocktails, and laughing is a blast, so is a day at the computer talking to my guild mates organizing a raid or playing badminton in the pool with highly mutable rules.

Of course, like the multi-use cars, sometimes you don't fit the individual roles as well as you'd like. There's the tendency to forget my audience, and occasionally I'll find myself trying really hard to get someone excited about the last Pixar movie when all they want to do is get their work done. Or the occasional slip with my younger friends when they ask me about my day and I tell them about a really interesting thing that happened at work and realize as soon as the story commences that I can't really finish that particular story. Or finding out that playing on the playground equipment hurts your knees really badly. Or struggling to be a good shopping buddy, and failing secondary to poor taste and being distracted by something cool over in Brookstone.

I screw up a lot.

That being said, I am mystifed as well as grateful that I have the friends that I do. All of them. I don't know how else to be, and that seems to be okay.

Boom de Yada

I love the whole world, too.

An old addiction

I have several addictions that drive my day to day living. Some are relatively new, such as WoW. The internet, another addiction, really only morphed into it's current state of daily need sometime around the time I turned 15 or 16.

One, however, has been around since the age of near 3.

Books. Reading. Oh, yes.

Be it reference book, work of fiction, biography, horror, children's, compilation or stand alone work. From the time that my mother first sat me down and started teaching me how to read in Spanish, I have been ensnared. Possibly even before then. There are tales of me as a very young child throwing tantrums because my brothers withheld a book with the taunt "You can't even read yet!" What did I want with them? Who knows, but it drove me to learn, apparently.

I do have my preferences, but most are somewhat mutable. It's more like one day I might crave one type more than another, much like having a craving for good spaghetti one day and fantastic hummus the next.

I am grateful to the many enablers that I am friends with when it comes to this particular addiction. Many, in fact, who hale from the same clan. Some have introduced me to authors such as Paulo Coelho, who's body of work I have been slowly accumulating and appreciating. Going to their homes offer countless opportunities to pick up a book from a neat stack to begin while curled up under a quilt, often accompanied by a good cup of coffee. Or perhaps an already great visit is made even nicer by being handed a work of vampire fiction that occupies an evening with delightfully disturbing imagery.

Addiction is nothing to be made lightly of, perhaps. But this is one that I wouldn't mind plaguing my loved ones. After all, there are so many books I'd like to share....

Back home

Finally, I'm home. Back to my computer, back to my couch.

The last several days served their purpose of covering massive amounts of testable medical knowledge, and I'm proud to say that I attended the vast majority of the lectures and actually stayed awake. Go, me.

Of course, I'm now feeling that nervousness that I always feel when I spend a large amount of time hearing about all the possible things that can go wrong with an apparently healthy human body. Particularly, I am trying to reassure myself that I don't, in fact, have a clot in my left leg. But it hurts! And I've been flying all day after spending hours sitting in lectures!

Damn the DVT lectures.

At any rate, I wish all fathers a happy day with their loved ones. I'm looking forward to spending time with mine and my oldest brother in a few hours. But for now, shower, couch, and sleep. I will share my tales later.

One shot kill

Monday, it seemed that my destiny was work, followed by food and blessed sleep. It was a call day, and while not extremely busy, it was the kind of day where all the work was dumped on your lap mere hours before the shift was going to end. "No karaoke tonight", thought I.

Sometime during the day, Karrie (a karaoke cohort, as well as friend in general), began to text me. "Tip tonight?" No, unlikely. "Karaoke tonight?" Probably not this week. "What time are you off?" Too late in the evening, probably, and I'm going to be tired, get the rest of the posse, but count me out.

Slightly earlier than anticipated, but still rather late in the evening, I was sleepily making my way back home. The phone rang.

"Gigi, we're singing this!" The line filled with the voice of Peter Cetera, crooning about being my hero and fighting for my honor. Damn. I like that song. It always makes me thing of The Karate Kid (although it was actually the theme of part II). Sigh. I guess sleep will have to wait.

I arrived to the Tipp and joined the gang. The decision had already been made in my mind that there was to be no alcohol for me. No food within the last hour = no drink. Simple, but effective rule to keep me out of trouble. Coke, water, and singing seemed like a recipe for some good times, and I was correct.

Enter James. Damn you, James. James is one of my partners, and he is always a fun addition to karaoke. Good voice, interesting conversation, and he knows how to cheer. It wasn't far from closing time, and he offered to get drinks, to which I pointed to my water glass and declined.

He returned to the table with 2 handfuls of shots. Shots. Now, the adult thing to do would have been to firmly say, No, thank you. Let someone else put that thing away. I started to do so. And yet, I drank it in the end. Oh, not a good idea.

Within a few minutes, my stomach let me know exactly how it felt about my choice of calories. It had a very low opinion about it. In fact, it wanted nothing to do with it and was going to exercise it's right to veto very, very soon. Thankfully, closing time was at hand, and I began to beat a hasty retreat. Apparently my face didn't do a very good job of concealing what was going on, because several of the party expressed concern. "Let's get some food." "Let's go to IHOP, you'll feel better after you eat." No, James, you bastard (love you anyway), that was a good idea before you brought me a shot. I got into the car, trying to control the hypersalivation that signals that was starting to take place. I arrived to my apartment, and my stomach proved that it does not threaten idly.

Life lesson (which, honestly, I've learned enough times that you'd think this would never, ever happen again): Don't drink on an empty stomach, no matter why, or who is handing you the drink. You will face consequences if you do.

Random link: An interesting article about the 5th taste, umami.

Cryin'

I walked into the house, and I called out for my mother. Her response was so slight that I didn't hear it until I had walked through the kitchen and set foot on the stairwell. Even then, it took me a moment to realize that she was in the den, downstairs.

The room was dark, and she was motionless on the loveseat recliner, the quiet even more unsettling given her usual exuberance when I come to visit. I gave her a kiss and a hug, settling into the other half of the seat. I had been afraid something like this might be waiting for me, as her voice on the phone had sounded wan.

Translated from the original Spanish:

G: What's the matter?
M: ... (begins to cry)
G: Did something happen?
M: (head shake) No.
G: Is it just sadness?
M: Yes, I'm full of sadness.
G: Me, too.

At this point, we curled up next to each other and settled into a good cry, neither of us needing to explain any further where from or why this sadness had struck, only silently understanding that we needed to shed the tears to help wash away the bitterness for a time, whatever the source.

After a bit, it came to my attention that there was no food readily available for dinner. No problem, let's order Chinese. The hold music was some kind of big band era swing, and so we held the phone up where we could both listen to it and danced, and laughed.

It's both thanks to my mother that it's never seemed too abnormal to swing so drastically from sadness to joy, and her fault that I've gone through life without really learning how to express the reasons for those changes from one way to another. Sometimes, you just need to cry your way back to being happy. At least, for a bit.

Making a clean sweep

I'm relishing the fact that I've got a few days off after my run of nights. And you know what makes it sweeter? The fact that I'm relishing it in an apartment that is minus about 6 trashbags (maybe more) of crap.

Rewind to Saturday.

Actually, rewind a bit further, to Thursday immediately after my 1st night of a 4 night streak. I was tired, and as I crept along 360 in the AM traffic I realized that I couldn't make it. No, sir. Not going to drive back to Dallas in the middle of this God-forsaken traffic. So I altered my route to the haven in Arlington known as "Mom and Dad's House". My mom and dad, oddly enough, live there.

So I pulled into the driveway, walked in, and announced my arrival as I always do. By screaming "Hola Mami! Hola Papi!" and slamming the door. If I don't, Mom freaks out that someone is breaking into the house when the alarm beeps. Thankfully they were up, and didn't mind the unannounced visit. I then let them know that I was about to pass out, at which my mom produced some pjs, gave me a towel, pulled out my toothbrush, and made me some breakfast while I took a shower. After that, I crawled into bed and passed out for a good 5-6 hours, when I woke up to a solid meal and hung out with my mom.

I'm a pampered kid. Mom washed my scrubs and white coat while I was asleep. One of the topics we wandered to was the state of my apartment. I am, unfortunately, a slob. I can pick up after myself when I'm a visitor, but in my own abode I let things accumulate to the point of dismay. At that time, we formulated a plan to help me tidy up in the near future. I love my mom.

So Saturday I drove myself back to Dallas, slept, and woke up at 2 PM to let my parents in, and we set to work. We emptied out bags of mail that have been in my apartment since 2005. We shredded patient lists that I had been hoarding for about the same amount of time. Ditto for old medical journals and magazines. The mountain of shoe boxes that I had in my closet has disappeared. The difference made after about of 4 hours of nonstop trash hauling is astonishing.

But the embarassing thing? It's still a mess. I need to finish up with all the clothes that are scattered on my bed, and I need to organize my books. I shudder to think what might be under my bed and dresser while I'm typing this. But I'm pleased, and with any luck it will be a task that will be completed tomorrow. I feel like a human being again, and less like a wild beast in it's den.

Stuck

Paralysis. That's one way to describe it. I am referring to something that seems to be happening to me recently and which I have had problems with throughout my life.

I am, at heart, something of a coward. If I think of a possible negative consequence of my actions or speech, it can be enough to render me incapable of completing a sentence coherently or even being able to think. It's a reason that, when I really should know, when it counts, I say "I don't know." It's why I can be in someone's company for hours, and be unable to have a meaningful conversation or provide any kind of outlet that a friend should be when you're having a crappy day. Instead, at the mere hint of trouble, I stutter out random facts or make pointless statements at such a rapid clip that it kills opportunities to be, you know, a friend. Not every time, maybe, but enough.

The thing is, there are a lot of good instincts and feelings there, too. Recently, though, it's felt like I hit the paralysis every time I'm about to just do what feels right. Because, unfortunately, even my best instincts and actions have been wrong, and I'm scared.

I envy dogs. A tail wag happens, and they don't consider the consequence. They lay their head on your lap because they love you and don't stop to worry about whether you really want them to. And you forgive a dog when it exasperates you, because you know that even when it does something wrong, it didn't set out to do it with bad intent. They are startled and saddened when they get a rebuke, but the fact that they forget it almost immediately isn't wrong, it's just their doggy mind. And it's completely ok.

Hmm. This is kind of a rambling post, and completely not what I set out to write. But I feel a little better, and that's the point for me.

Life as told by the silver screen

There are so many reasons I love movies. At home, you kick back on your couch with your favorite blanket and munch on pizza. In the theater, you sit in the dark with other enthralled viewers, splitting a popcorn with a friend and hoping for some good trailers to open with.

And then there are the movies themselves.

It has been a while since going to the movies was close to a weekly event. Not for lack of things to watch - in truth, there have been quite a few that I've been disappointed I missed getting to experience on the big screen. No, it's just been stumbling blocks more than anything, some big, some small.

This evening, it was Prince Caspian. A week or 2 ago it was Iron Man. And the new Indy movie is coming soon, you bet your teeth I'm going. While I often enjoy films that question your way of viewing the world, and could probably think of any number of quite depressing or unsettling flicks I have liked, at the moment the idea of a hero and the triumph of good over evil is what I want. I want nobility. I want friendship. I want love. I want the good guys/gals to conquer unbelievable odds. I want to see characters up there that represent the best parts of humanity. And I want popcorn and a soda.

The 1001 Faces of -G^2

Work is getting more manageable. In fact, it's mostly downright likeable. The people I work with are nice, a good amount of my patients and families are reasonable, and I have found that I didn't forget everything I'd learned in the last few years of training. This is a good thing.

An interesting fact, though. Be it the way I speak, or the way I look, but I am mistaken for just about any nationality you could think of. In the last week, people have thought I might be:

• Jordanian
• Indian
• Mexican
• Italian
• Spanish
• Egyptian
• Canadian (really?)
• Russian

Seriously. Not one of the random "Are you from blank?" questions I've gotten included Texas. Funny, considering I've lived my entire life in this state. I guess the bright side is that if I ever flee the country all I have to do is keep my mouth shut and I could blend into a crowd with ease.

A whuppin'

Considering the fact that I've had plenty of time to rest over the past many months, I think I need a vacation. Oh, my, God. I spent 14 hours at work today, and that's been my shortest day so far this week. Granted, I'm not the speediest person in the world. I spend too much time talking to people over the course of the day, true. But still! It's like the world is taking revenge on me for having too much free time. The world is a bastard.

Well, at least I can look forward to one more day and then a series of days off. I'll need them.

Small things

A few weeks ago, the art of knitting was taught to me by my mother. She's more of a crochet person herself, but my oldest niece expressed interest in learning some type of handicraft and somehow it ended up being knitting.

Mom has tried to teach me before, but somehow it just never took. Lack of interest? Most likely. I seem to recall that prior lessons always were attempted when I was trying to read something, and that's never a good time to attempt to communicate with me. This time, though, it was not only interesting of itself but also afforded quality bonding time with multiple generations of Peralta women that did not involve me playing Final Fantasy.

So the very basics were learned. Starting, doing some stuff for the middle, and binding off. However, it wasn't until last night that I made my first useful knit object. Well, I suppose my appendix shaped bookmark can kind of count, too, but this is the first thing that had some planning involved.

Behold, a dish towel. Or a wash rag. It could even be a napkin! Let your imagination run wild. The important thing being that it was fun to make, and it's nice to have a tangible reward for a few hours of quiet work with the radio playing (Coldplay, mostly).

For my next project? Not entirely sure yet. I might content myself with making a couple more of these, or perhaps making a blanket. There's babies out there with naked feet, so maybe some booties. The sky is the limit! If you have any requests, I will definitely listen, although I won't guarantee a result.

The Cancun Caper

There are scrapes and bruises in interesting places from being dragged over rocks by a big wave.
A chunk of sea shell that was buried in the sole of my left foot has just now been dug out.
I am sunburned over my chest and in an interesting stripe pattern on one leg.
My pedicure is ruined.

And you know what? I couldn't be happier about it!

Much like the ancient Vikings and other warrior cultures give value to the scars of battle that criss cross their bodies, I see the above as indelible marks that remind me that I got to spend the last several days in an oceanfront resort with a set of fun loving friends. There was sand, surf, and shots. I went parasailing for the second time in my life. I saw some new birds, including (now confirmed) frigatebirds. Their were some interesting conversations with Canadians (apparently the entirety of the Canadian population is in Cancun at the moment, or at least that's what it seemed like after meeting the 15th person from there). We even did absolutely nothing except for sitting on a lounge chair watching the ocean.

Beautiful.

Prepare for take off

Flip flops? Check.
Cute dresses/cover ups for beach? Check.
Swim suits? Check.
Toiletry items? Check.
First aid kit? Check.
Cell phone charger? Check.
Pedicure? Check.
A good night's sleep prior to day of travel?

Doh!

Save Tonight

A couple of nights ago I popped in to the DMA to enjoy one of the many fun events that are hosted there periodically. Currently there is an exhibit of art by a gentleman who was a native Texan and is known for his impressionist work, particularly his bluebonnet paintings. It was quite lovely. Of course, I'll freely admit that I primarily went because of the free Starbucks coffee in the atrium where a Texas country swing band was playing. I'm a sucker for fiddles, what can I say? Sadly, I arrived too late to hear the banjo band that played during happy hour.

There is a large staircase that runs alongside the atrium and gives an excellent vantage point to people watch. Normally I don't linger there excessively, but I got caught up by the music and the wonderful bowing technique that the fiddler was using. I was, to be honest, lost in my own little world where the only thing that existed was me watching a band.

That being said, in general the security guards try to keep people moving on the stairs to avoid traffic jams. One of them came up to me and very nicely asked me to either go all the way up or down the stairs, but not to loiter. I immediately trekked up the remaining steps and moved to the overhang where I could continue watching undisturbed. And yes, I did lean on the handrail so I could get a better look over the side of the guardrail.

Much to my chagrin, one of the... art chaperones? You know, the folks that make sure you don't try to touch everything in the galleries? Well, he came up to me in a state of fury and said that this was going to be the second reprimand and any further delinquent activity on my part would earn me an escort out of the museum.

Wow. I've been here before, and have engaged in these behaviours in the past without ever being told by off, much less being threatened by expulsion. Add to that the sudden shattering of my reverie, and I'm sure the expression I gave that gentleman was a classic bewildered and startled Gigi look, likely followed by the sad puppy dog eyes that I at one point used as a weapon of manipulation and defensive measure growing up. After all, no one had said anything about looking over, it was just traffic control that had been the issue, and I had responded immediately. I begged pardon, and moved promptly.

Gotta say, though, I was more than a little annoyed as well as mortified. It made me want to retreat back home, honestly. However, the band was playing a great song that I'm sure I've heard before, and the fiddle player was still going. So, I moved to another vantage point, kept as much distance between me and the glass rail as I could without blocking other people walking by, and proceeded to tap my toes and hum along.

Out of the corner of my eye, what should I see but the gallery guy coming right at me. "Well, crap!" thought I, "Are they seriously going to throw me out for standing here?!"

No, actually. He apologized. He talked to the first guy and realized that I wasn't trying to wilfully disobey instructions, I'm just stupid. It had been a long day, after all, with a lot more people running around than usual, a lot of them being folks who do wilfully disobey. While I don't think I'll ever call him up to go get coffee or anything, when I left he waved good bye and wished me well, and I did the same.

One thing is certain, I'm glad I didn't follow most of my initial instincts. What were they? Well, anyone who knows me knows that I'm very scattered in my thinking. This goes for reactions to threats. Initial instincts included the following:

• Leaving the museum angrily, as stated above
• Crying
• Beginning a protracted debate on what exactly the first guy had said
• Losing my temper and refusing to move
• Pretending I didn't understand English

Yes, all those options ran through my head in the span of a second. The music saved me, though. Because, seriously, when there's a fiddler around to listen to, you do what you have to do to make sure you don't blow that chance.

Speaking of work

He definitely seems to enjoy himself at work, but I'd like to think that it's possible to enjoy yourself without being indescribably evil in the process.




Oh, and congratulations to me on my 100th blog, yay!

Whistle while you work

It's been over 6 months since I've done a lick of the work I spent about 7 years of my life getting ready for, but that time is coming to an end. By next week, I'll be donning my white coat, putting my PDA and stethoscope in my pockets, and then spending a good percentage of my time back in the hospital. Not a bad thing, as 6 (really, almost 7 months) without income is kind of worrisome.

Has my time been well spent? Well, I think so. Ok, so I spent almost a full month of that time playing Warcraft. I enjoy the meditative quality of playing the game, interacting with others, the inevitable trash talking, and I have a jolly fun level 70 troll hunter to show for it.

I've traveled, too. Ireland, Spain, and one final international trip to Mexico before I start. Plus I got to spend some time traveling within my homeland to visit family and friends. So I went from having never been to Europe to going twice in 4 months, which makes me happy.

Books and movies occupied a good portion of my time, and Half Price Books is definitely one of my favorite haunts. I never feel too guilty for reading something from cover to cover there considering the amount of books I've sold in the past for a pittance that later moved for quite a bit more. That being said, I have bought several books from there, so don't go thinking I'm not supporting my favorite business. Plus, they sell coffee. You think I don't get some whenever I go? You would be wrong, my friend.

A good percentage of my time was spent in the company of my friends, be it during some of the above or while lounging on sofas watching TV. Lots of great times have been spent eating, singing, drinking, dancing, or even just doing absolutely nothing. Nothing is one of the easiest and hardest things to do, but I consider myself quite good at it. Well, sometimes, at least.

Karaoke? Of course, every Monday. Amy and I were the reliable standbys, with frequent appearances by Karrie and Alicia, as well as various other friendly faces who would come out periodically. We are undoubtedly one of the best karaoke audiences on Earth. I'm proud to say, even JuJuBe took part, although at a different venue from our norm.

So, will things change when work starts? Hell yeah. But I've got a handle on at least some of the things that make me happy, and I'm not going to let go. Because one of the things I've learned from watching others and my own experience is that life is a hell of a lot more than work. I like what I do, but that doesn't mean that I forgo the life outside of my job. After all, I want to be happy while I'm there, and even more so when I leave.

The Last Lecture

It's a long video, but well worth it. I might add more thoughts stemming from watching this later, but for now I'm still thinking about it.

The Bird Whistler

While spending the day outside yesterday, I also took the opportunity to do some bird watching in between opportunities to use THE CLAW.

I love this time of year. All our native songbirds are nesting, everyone's singing to either show off or tell off, and the trees aren't fully leafed out yet making spotting them slightly easier than later in the summer.

At one point, I heard a little guy way up in the canopy singing an unfamiliar tune. I have no idea what he was, but he was tiny, so I'm guessing... a warbler? A kinglet? His posture seemed wrong for a wren, but I am still in the dark. In a lame effort to induce him to come closer, I began attempts to imitate his song.

You know, it wasn't the best thing ever, but it wasn't bad, either. I can do a pretty good cardinal, I was once able to fool my ornithology teacher with my screech owl, and I can hack my way through some of the more basic songs. Alicia started cracking up because it sounded like the bird and I were having a conversation at one point. Perhaps we were, but who knows what I was saying. The identity of that bird will likely continue to torment me for weeks.

Diggin' up bones

There is a blister on my right thumb. It makes me exceedingly happy, not because I like blisters generally, but because it serves as a badge of honor and a tangible reminder that I did something useful yesterday that was also great fun.

Alicia has a yard. She likes pretty trees and plants, and likes to do her own digging and cultivating. That being the case, we got to spend a whole afternoon shopping for plants at North Haven Gardens and carted them home in my little Mazda3. She even got a tree! Granted, a very young tree, although I think it would have been hilarious to get a bigger tree and have it stick out through the sun roof. The place was great, and I went into little kid run-around-touching-and-looking-at-everything mode. I even called my mom to inform her of this locale, as she is a full blown plantaholic who is always looking for a place to get a fix. Currently I have been trying to convince her that we need to plant an assortment of ground hugging plants between the flagstones in the backyard back home, and I think it's going to happen. Yay!

Alicia had been preparing for planting for a while now, and had some pretty new garden tools and even a set of new guest gardening gloves available for my use. In addition to the purchases of the day, she also had some flats of begonias and petunias awaiting their meeting with destiny. The weather was perfect for our endeavour, being cool and sunny and downright gorgeous. We worked on a couple of large concrete planters first off, loosening and composting the soil to prep it for the addition of some lovely mandevillas. For some reason, there were large chunks of flagstone buried in both, so it felt like a mini treasure hunt everytime we found one.

Now, there is a spiffy garden tool known as the Garden Claw, which will henceforth be known as THE CLAW. Because that's how I think of it, and that's how I say it. It is awesome! She's had it for a while, and it even has an infomercial. It is possibly one of the best outlets for excess energy of any kind that I have ever encountered. I mean, you essentially tear through the soil with almost manic glee, smashing through hardened clods and ripping out unwanted vegetation, but the end result produces beautifully composted earth that begs to be planted. You destroy and create, all at once!

During the course of using THE CLAW, I encountered a cable. I became subdued immediately, because I don't like mystery cables. Some are important, and some are just trash, but usually I can't tell the difference. In this case, it turned out to be... Christmas lights. That were for some reason buried 4 inches underground. Why? Who knows. We lacked the patience to dig up the whole thing, so we merely tore out what we could and proceeded with THE CLAW.

We did good. All plants were accounted for, and additional planning is already in the works by Alicia for her next planting day, which will take place in the front yard. The baby Japanese maple still awaits it's home in the ground, but in the meantime is still living in it's pot. It's time will come soon enough.

In broad daylight

The other day while driving past the grassy knoll with Alicia, she pointed at a beat up pickup driving across the field nearby. "What is that truck doing?" I turned and appraised it. It might have been white once, but was now a pale shade of dirt. There were no other identifiers painted on the doors, no insignia. But I pointed to the back, where some shovels were visible, and said, "It's just a groundskeeper or caretaker." "Yeah, that's probably right."

Driving a bit further, though, and the idea that it might have been something else was a fun topic. Because, seriously, if you were going to be ballsy about burying something that you didn't want found, be it a body (gasp!), money, or the lost Ark of the Covenant, wouldn't that be the way? Just get a crappy pickup, toss the stuff in the back, and drive into downtown Dallas. People might be curious for about 5 seconds, and then, "Eh, it's just a caretaker. Or maybe one of the electric cable guys."

It reminds me of being back at UNT, where I had a tendency to clamber up to assorted perches on trees and walls to read/people watch/blow bubbles/have in depth philosophical discussions. People don't look up. You could throw acorns at them, talk to them, or shower them with bubbles, and most people look frantically around and behind them. I believe the results of a casual study I undertook found that only about 61% look up, and only 3% look up first. It was hiding in plain sight, and quite fun.

Curse you, WoW

I was shocked to learn that I have spent nearly 20 entire days of my life playing a troll on World of Warcraft. That's 480 hours of my life spent running around with my loyal pig Dusty shooting ne'er do wells in the virtual realm. Crap, that's a lot of time. If I'd spent that time walking briskly, 134400 calories may have been burned, which is about 38 pounds of fat. Or I could have gotten through about 49000 pages of reading/studying.

Crazy.

That upsets me so much, I think I'm going to have to go hunt some yeti. Just for a bit.

BTE

Everyone has their blue songs. A blue song, you say? I like to define it as a song that you play when you're feeling down and out. Sometimes you want your blue songs to run parallel with your mood, and sometimes you blast Aqua because it's ridiculous and makes you laugh your way out of it.

I've got quite a bit of both. Most recently I've been in the first category phase. I'm seriously hoping it's just a brief lag until I start listening to Barbie Girl .

Backyards and spring

This time of year, I spend a lot of time staring at trees and craving a backyard. Everything has that almost neon sheen of new growth, and post-thunderstorms it really seems that the greenery is glowing. The Japanese maples are gloriously crimson, the flowers are running rampant, and the highways in Texas are turning blue and orange.

Good thing for friends with homes. Part of my afternoon I got to lounge pool side (albeit briefly) and indulge in tres leches cupcakes. Delicious. The evening found me lounging outside with a soda and soaking in the approaching dusk after getting to play dress up with baby Zoe and hearing her giggle for the first time. Shockingly, I spent no time in the hammock. A beautiful evening concluded with some homemade lasagna (also delicious) and some good conversation.

The Fool

There is a certain type of folk tale that involves an idiot. Stories like Lazy Jack and The Foolish Brother. Stories about people that are so stupid that they always say and do the wrong thing. Stories about people incapable of thinking before acting.

When I was younger I wondered if there really were people this dumb.

Oh.

I need a napkin

Not to be a copycat, but given my love of singing and my occasional tendency to burst into song at the drop of a hat, this post is essential.



These guys are great! You can find tons of their stuff online, and I suggest you take some time to laugh.

Oh, and their website has a script and music in case you want to stage Food Court Musical at a mall near you.

A Call to Arms

I'm not used to certain aspects of the modern dating scene. In fact, I am pretty stinking naive about a lot of the finer points of social interactions.

A couple of weeks ago, had a great time at a concert with some of my friends. At said concert, there was a plentiful supply of attractive single men of an appropriate age. Excellent for a girl's night out, feel free to inquire for more details or for planning an outing. During this particular night, tequila shots were involved. This, I would like to say, is very rarely a good idea for me. Oh, I have fun. I just don't remember all the details and require the vivid descriptions provided by my cohorts to patch together those nights and days. Remember those boys I mentioned? I got pretty friendly with one on the dance floor. He was cute, but that's about all I remember. His cuteness was agreed to by those in my company, so at least our beer goggles coincided.

Flash forward to tonight. Had an excellent time at the Belmont, where I got the opportunity to sing along with a wonderful acoustic twosome who did some great covers of familiar, cool songs. Seriously, with the mic and everything! Will plan on seeing them again April 10 (a Thursday) when they play again, and I invite all to attend. I also invited them to karaoke night. They're cool, so maybe they will come. Following this portion of the evening, was having a good chat with Alicia at her house, when suddenly! A text from an unknown number asking how I was. I replied "Good. But who are you?" None other than mystery cute guy, who turns out is named Adam. My company was solicited, but as it is nearly midnight, I have suspicions that this may not be a "Let's have coffee and get better acquainted" kind of a date he has in mind. As such, I let him know, no. But, I invited him to get in touch for later this week if he would, in fact, like to chat over coffee. He claims that he will. I have my doubts, but will, indeed, go out with him should he actually call. We will have to see. Stay tuned.

Splinter

Yesterday we took the girls to the Fort Worth Zoo. It's a great place! They ran around as expected, waved at the critters, and generally were well behaved. However, all was not bliss on that day. While running her hand along one of the fences, the youngest suddenly came to a halt, looked at her hand, and started to cry. She had picked up about 5 splinters in 3 fingers, and one of them was enormous. Great! My parents and I soothed her, and I took a better look since I was the only one of the 3 who could see without a magnifying glass. I succeeded in immediately extracting one small splinter, but the rest were buried in pretty well. The decision was made to leave well enough alone until we could get the necessary tools at home, and to hasten through the remainder of the zoo.

Just so you know, splinters in the hand of a 4 year old = inability to walk. She gave me the saddest little face, whimpered a little bit, sniffed back some little tears behind her bifocals, and said "Aunt Gigi, can you pick me up?" in the most grief stricken, quavery tones imaginable. God, why did you design them to be so gosh darn cute?!

As soon as we got in the car, she passed out pretty quick and slept until we arrived home. My parents decided that I was the most qualified person to remove the offending foreign bodies, so I prepared my instruments: an alcohol soaked cotton ball and one sterilized sewing needle. I'll say this, she was a trooper. For about 3 seconds. Then I was treated to soul rending sobs as I extracted the little bastards from her hand. The happy ending is that Snoopy bandaids make life a lot better, and she has forgotten the whole thing.

Kids

My nieces from El Paso are visiting for their spring break. They are cute. See included photographic evidence for verification.

It's a known fact that kids say and do the darndest things, and these are no exceptions. For example, the two youngest squabble a bit, particularly when it pertains to sharing. During one of my attempts to pacify an escalating battle, I asked the youngest why she disliked sharing with her sister. Her answer? "But that's my whole personality!" What? It was pretty funny, but I'm still unsure where she came up with that.

Today after church, the oldest was telling us about a "perverted pigeon" that sits outside the little ones' bedroom window when they get dressed in the morning. Everyone laughed, and suddenly the middle one turned to me and asked, "What is a pervert?" Erm... I started to answer, hesitated, started, hesitated, cursed my brother for not explaining this one before me, and finally settled on "It's something that likes to look at naked stuff. Or, by another definition, it means to sully." Whew. Thankfully, they latched on to the word "sully".

Blame it on the rain

There is one definite advantage to eating by yourself. You can go wherever the mood takes you without having to take the preferences of others into account. Today, for instance, lamb in a green cilantro curry sauce with basmati rice and naan sounded great. I had initially thought I was going somewhere for soup, but I realized how hungry I was while sitting in traffic, and I felt I needed something more substantial. Upon arriving to my locale, I sat in the parking lot staring out the windshield into the hazy grayness of cold driving rain until I convinced myself that the food was worth getting wet and cold. The owner of the restaurant must have witnessed this, as his first words to me on entering were "You made it!"

Sadly, my stomach is apparently still in half-size sick mode, as I was unable to complete the Texas-sized (yes, it is called that on the menu of an Indian restaurant) portion, and left a shocking amount of rice, naan, and curry. The place was fairly empty, although I did enjoy randomly picking up tidbits of the conversation being held in the booth immediately behind me. From what I gather, they were in some kind of graphic design field that involved 3D CG graphics, masking, gradients, etc. I only understood about 10% of what they were talking about, but computer nerds always make me feel nostalgic. Plus, they were kind of cute for computer nerds. Seriously, I was the only girl in that place. Right before I left, what could very well have been another team of computer nerds walked in and began to place orders. Who knew that the Roti Grill was such a mecca for apparently single, dorky, not-unattractive males? I need to go there more often.

Trudging back to my car through inches of puddled water, I was very grateful for investing in a pair of waterproof shoes prior to going to Ireland. They work very well. It was one bad thing about my old pair of amphibious Tevas; as good as they were for kayaking and river running (2 things that I didn't do with any kind of regularity, meaning never), they were not very good wet weather shoes if you wanted water to stay out. My current sneaks keep my feet dry and warm.

On a completely different note, while having lunch I recalled an old fairy tale that puzzled me as a kid. The Princess and the Pea. Not to say it's a bad story or anything, but am I the only one who felt this was a bizarre way to judge whether someone was worth marrying? "Oh, honey, she has such delicate skin! You should totally marry her!" Can you imagine how irritating it would be if your spouse was so sensitive this kind of crap could keep them awake? That Prince deserved the special kind of hell he probably went through for being such a putz.

Staying power

Over the past weekend, a fair amount of time was devoted to sitting with a glass of beer surrounded by people wearing green. After all, not even being sick was going to stand in my way of celebrating St. Paddy's Day for the first time since I added alcohol to my life.

On Saturday, Amy, Alicia and myself took up residence at the Old Monk on their covered patio area around 1 pm and didn't leave until 11 pm. During that time, people came and went, payed their respects, and some brought some cigars. To be fair, I had a brief exit while I drove one of our number home so he could get some sleep, but I returned shortly. Their was much tipping back of pints. There was eating of cheese fries. I should have known I was sick when I could barely finish half my burger after only getting through half my breakfast (in the company of little artist and JuJuBe at Norma's, a fine way to start the day). Or to be honest, I should have known I was sick when Amy said the day before, "Gigi, you're sick."

Sunday morning was spent in a haze of illness, followed by a scrumptious brunch at Hattie's and planning for an upcoming trip to Cancun. Well, originally the plan was Puerto Vallarta. And before that, Cozumel. We finally agreed on anywhere with a good beach and drinks included. Drinking is very important on a beach.

Monday rolled around, and again we found ourselves at the Monk. This was less of a marathon sit-in than Saturday, as we only stayed from 4-11, but we did get to enjoy a couple of live bands and even more people wearing green.

Huh, interesting

While perusing some of my back issue postings, I've noticed something. I am addicted to commas.

To be fair, this has been pointed out to me at least once before by my readers. In fact, I am almost certain that this has been going on for a long time. Long, long before I began blogging. Likely from the moment that I picked up my first pencil, the fat chubby kind (mine had Garfield, yes, I still remember), and began to scribble out my first letters. If you go back and look, I'm certain that you would find a comma.

Why, you say? Perhaps this stems back to my speech therapy days, where I was encouraged to envision pauses in my flow of words and to breathe in attempts to slow my lingual velocity. After all, is not a comma a visual cue to pause, hesitate, etc?

Whether this succeeded in slowing me down, well, have a conversation with me and decide for yourself. But I do like commas, so help me. I feel that editors unfairly single them out, plucking them out of phrases in attempts to streamline a passage. Well, I don't want to be streamlined! I want you, reader, to slow down and smell the roses, so to speak.

Granted, if you breathe in with each comma that's in this particular post, you might end up hyperventilating and passing out at your keyboard.

But where?

Somewhere, there's a guy who thinks a complete inability to speak coherently when excited is endearing. He banters, and laughs a lot, and is quick to forgive hurts caused by blundering. This guy, I tell you, he is great to hang out with. He is nice to your friends because, you know what? They're really cool, and he completely agrees.

He appreciates books, and thinks it's hilarious that a visit to Half Price Books can last hours, and sometimes are entirely spent sitting on the floor in the children's books section reading fairy tales with a cup of coffee, interrupted occasionally by helping other shoppers find something.

Eating at home? He loves it, and likes cooking or just helping slice up veggies. He always offers to fry things because he knows that the spattering oil is scary and some people have a horrible fear of it. But a lot of times, it's nice to go sit somewhere and let someone else do the cooking while we enjoy a glass of wine, or often sip a milkshake. Because let's face it, this guy digs ice cream, and is always up for splitting dessert.

His family is awesome. They're pretty close, and he keeps in touch with them and has plenty of pictures at his home. He remembers your family, too, and there have been plenty of embarassing and hilarious stories traded between you. In fact, he probably remembers the important dates better than you do.

You could totally spend a lazy day just loafing on the couch with him, and he knows how to kiss. He can make you feel giddy just by flashing a grin at you or with that look. Curling up under a blanket and a movie? Sounds like a perfect way to spend the night, even if you end up ignoring parts of the film.

He's got a taste for travel, and is happy to have someone who will come with him. He's also kind of fit, damn him, and he enjoys gently goading you to come out and ride bikes with him and taking walks around the neighborhood. He can start a fire, and likes the idea of going out on a camping expedition and making sure you stay out of the poison ivy while you wander around looking at everything.

Maybe he isn't the best karaoke singer in the world, but he's not afraid to go up every now and then and have fun on the stage. And he always cheers for people, because he understands the importance of being a good sport.

God, he's so damn cute. Where the hell is he?

Random Link: Interesting piece of news, but my favorite part is the caption on the picture.

Living it up

I never knew that being unemployed could be so much fun.

I haven't held gainful employment since October. This is the longest vacation I have had since... 1995. Every other period of time between class terms has been filled with summer jobs, summer courses (because I just couldn't get enough of school, eh?), or it was just a 3 week pause between grueling course work where I spent a lot of time asleep. While the lack of income kind of stinks, think about the following:

• I have been to Europe, twice.
• I have traveled through beautiful portions of the continental US, primarily the South, Southwest, and Midwest.
• I have been reading and watching movies whenever I feel like it.
• I hang out with my friends and family whenever I feel like it, and am able to accomodate even the weirdest schedules because, hey, I don't have anywhere I really need to be!
• If I feel like taking a walk through Dallas at 11 AM, I can. Or at 11 PM. Or even at 2 AM! (Usually not, though.)
• I party like a rock star whenever the urge strikes.

Last night, for instance, I got to go to a Mavs game (thanks, Ray!), followed by a visit to the Tipp. And it was crazy fun, I tell you. A lot of new folks were there who danced, on stage and off. Crowd participation was through the roof! For the first time ever, I didn't do a single solo performance, but Amy and I rocked some Dixie Chicks, and then we added Autumn to the group to do some killer renditions of Madonna and Shania Twain hits. And make no mistake, there were plenty of other folks who did some great work on the stage. As usual, we were the best audience ever, and gave out plenty of love to everyone who plucked up the courage to sing. We made some new friends, and will be checking out some new locales. And on Wednesday, we're planning a trip to Mexico, arriba!

So yeah, unemployment? Not as bad as I ever thought it would be.

Checking off the To Do list

I rode a mechanical bull 2 nights ago. Sweet.

Cliff Notes? Bah.

I love reading. Mom taught me when I was very small, and I still remember the book I learned from, Mi Libro Magico. In fact, we still have a copy. Mom says that soon after her first lesson, I carried it over to her and ask for another one. And another. And another. Apparently, I was pretty obsessed with being able to read. My brothers and parents had lots of books all over the place, and I distinctly remember someone saying "No, you can't look at it. You can't even read yet." So I had incentive. According to my parents, I took to reading in Spanish very quickly and was immediately able to carry it over to English. And so a book junky was born at the ripe age of 3.

I still remember (hazily) reading to myself out loud. Kind of wish there was video of it, I'm sure it sounded funny. Understand, I didn't exactly have a speech impediment, but I have always been a fast talker, and when I was a kid I spoke at the speed of light, so fast that half the time I would trip up on my own words and would lapse into a frustrated string of stutters. Add to that an accent that was some kind of amalgamation of Spanish/British/Unknown, and it's no wonder I was put in speech therapy when I entered school. I've watched videos of me as a kid, and half the time I have no clue what I'm saying. At any rate, I know it annoyed my brother Mel. One day he turned to me in the living room while we were sitting on the Lazy Boy and said, "Either read to yourself or stop reading." I think I was 4, and the concept of reading quietly to myself blew me away. It was like getting to skip the middle man, and it allowed me to read so much faster. I'm grateful that my bro introduced such a key concept.

Out of touch with the world

I had a good day today. I sat on a couch, read, watched movies, and got to make some chili and eat it with friends. Perfect, really.

So it wasn't until night had fallen that I heard of some of the news of the day. Damn it, what is with people? A brief discussion ensued, and I termed the guy who did this a kook after the part of the 10 page political manifesto was mentioned.

Kook. Is he? Apparently this guy is against America being in Iraq according to hazy reports from sources who had some contact with the documents that were mailed out to several Capitol Hill offices.

You know what? There are a lot of people over there without a clear idea of when they will be able to come home. Or people who have done their service but then get pulled back in for more. There are a lot of people here who just want their friends and family to be out of harm's way, and feel even more frustrated when there isn't a clear end in sight. So if you want this war to be over, I'm with you.

But this guy... I'd like to know what exactly that document said. Because if he's upset about the loss of life that has been happening, setting off a bomb that could have killed or maimed someone on your home soil seems like a pretty stupid way to protest. What do you gain from such an action? Notoriety? Recruiting to your cause other people who think terror is a decent way of making a statement to your own government and countrymen? Despicable.

Conversations in the AM

There are a lot of superstitions that abound in my family. Some are pretty common, some are unique as far as I know. This morning my mother called me to tell me about a nightmare she had. Why? Because if you keep them to yourself, they gain strength to do harm, and for best evil dispelling effect it should be done before noon of the day you wake up. This is especially true when the nightmare has to do with people you know and events that could actually occur. Mom's nightmares are not to be taken lightly, I've found. One, where she dreamt I choked to death on a hot dog, resulted in the removal of the culprit from the household for over a year. Last night's dream was about me, too, but no hot dogs in sight this time.

After that, we just talked for a good while. About family. About food. But we spent a lot of time talking about her friends.

Mom is a gregarious lady by nature. She talks a lot, and is hard to stop once she starts on a topic. She has a wonderful laugh. And yet, she has very few friends here in the USA. Part of it is due to a sad history of friends my parents have had here. As it is, she has friendly conversations and relationships with some of our neighbors, and with some restaurant and shop owners. But the friends she has have been such for most of her life.

LiLi and Dina are sisters who have known Mom since she was a girl. They were her chaperones on dates, her confidantes, her allies in mischief. Dina lives in Peru, and is the eldest. LiLi lives in the states with her husband. Mom... she remembers so much. Details of their lives, gifts they gave, their families, their frustrations. They call her for advice, and vice versa. They laugh on the phone together, and they cry sometimes too. Mostly, they laugh.

Their are other friends she has, mostly in Peru. She hasn't seen a lot of them in years, but I know if she ever goes to visit, she will sit in their homes and laugh with them over the way life turns out. They will remember together, and bask in those memories, and revel in the friendship of today. I think about that, and it makes me smile.

Lowered standards and short cuts

Ambling through different areas of Dallas, you are bound to see some graffiti. I've talked about it before, in fact. However, I've noticed something more and more frequently. Rather than the traditional defacing of yore, where you used a nice thick permanent marker or spray paint if you're going to leave your mark, these guys have been putting the design on plain white stickers which they then slap onto random objects. Presto, instant tagging!

I have one word for this. LAME!

I mean, come on. Has there been a decline in artistic recruiting in gangs, or what? Are today's youth so freaking lazy that they can't perfect a design that they can produce in a minute or less? I can almost hear the leader of one of these gangs. "Man, you guys suck! I guess I need to print some stuff on Photoshop for you morons."

Bah.

Khaki Man

A couple of times now I have seen something in downtown Dallas over the course of my travels. Something that has intrigued me, and made me wonder. Something that is not, for once, a bird.

It is Khaki Man.

That may or may not be an actual title that he uses. Who can be sure. But khaki he most certainly is. He wears a khaki colored shirt surmounted by a khaki colored jacket. His pants? Khaki. His socks? Visible because of the fact that his pants are also highwaters, khaki. His shoes, alas, are brown, but light brown.

I would have discounted my initial sighting as a fluke, but I have seen him in this ensemble since then. It doesn't appear to be a uniform, just his color preference. Perhaps he dreams of safaris? Perhaps he finds that getting dressed is easier if all articles of clothing are neutral? Who can say. All I know is that he walks with purpose, carrying his khaki messenger bag. And I salute him internally, for no other reason than appreciation for a rebel who revels in monotony of attire.

Random Link: Hmm... I sense a possible business opportunity...

In Honor of Classic Cinema

If all reviewers were this entertaining, the world would be a better place.

What dreams may come

It is once again early in the AM, and I am again awake. I suppose I should congratulate myself on finally achieving a more rational sleep schedule, but instead there is mild annoyance that there is nothing for me to do except crave coffee. But that is not the purpose of this post, this is a post about a dream that is still lingering in my mind. A dream that featured none other than Jesse Bond.

This dream was very entertaining, as it was like watching a show with elements of That 70's Show, The Wonder Years, Dawson's Creek, and Gilmore Girls. However, the narrator's voice and style were Mr. JB. It was blog like in the telling, only about a life and people I'm pretty sure don't exist. Unless you know a tallish, sandy haired girl with a buzzcut decorated with a skunklike stripe named Chute. It occurs to me that there does exist a young man named Bird, but whether he was the same as the one in the dream, who knows.

The setting was an unknown college where JB was living in a dorm. It was told in first person. There were many other supporting characters whose names were too long and odd for me to recall. Where I recall it beginning was with a group of 4 girls who enter the story as they are ministering to all in the dorm on the importance of wearing shower footwear to avoid spreading or catching dreaded athlete's foot, which sparked a friendship. There were references to lovely young ladies. There was some kind of costume party where someone dressed as a tree in full fall color. There was dancing. There was copious swearing. There were firepits and beer. There was background music. Oddly, there were no bicycles.

Perhaps this is divine inspiration for an Emmy winning show? Perhaps not, but it was quality entertainment.

Random Link: This sounds like something I've done in the past.

Of Hobbits and Orangutans, part 2

Tomorrow night we're in for a treat, with the last full lunar eclipse for the next couple of years. So step outside between 7:30-9:30 CST or so, bring some friends, bring some beer, and enjoy the show.

This does make me recall that I never completed the tale started many months ago, of another stargazing event. Well, my friends, sit back and enjoy this second installment.

After dining at the Cosmic Cafe, we made our way to the northern realms of the DFW metroplex. There, I came across a fellow named Nick who I hadn't seen in... almost 10 years? Good lord... anyhow, Nick has been doing pretty well for himself, and hasn't changed much from what I could tell. Still into computers, games, and movies. A bit heavier than he was as a teen, but most of us are. There we shot the breeze in his living room (or is it a computer lab? Not sure) while we waited for the ridiculously late show to start. Alex participated by snoring quietly in a corner. As the time approached for us to head out further north to escape the light pollution and hopefully the clouds that were threatening to deprive our fun, the 3 of us (Kevin and Alex) packed some sleeping bags and took off to Lake Ray Roberts.

Why don't I do this more often? It was beautiful, and even better shared in the company of friends. It might have been nicer if I had taken some Zyrtec before we arrived, because shortly after I felt like I had an unlimited supply of snot and tears. I blame the ragweed. Undaunted, we lay on the grass, talked, snoozed a bit, and watched for shooting stars. We were rewarded.

As the sun rose and diminished our view of the sky, we hopped back into the car and drove to Denton, where we dined on bagels and coffee. And it was good.

Seasons of Love

So after about 50 years, Fidel Castro is out? Wow. Not what I expected to hear when I got up this morning.

Also not what I meant to blog about this AM, either. Lately have been pondering the nature of love quite a bit, and the myriad ways it can express itself, and why. Lately have wondered whether what I considered unconditional love is anything but.

There are a lot of people that I love, family and friends. Have I ever fallen in love? Pretty certain the answer to that is no. Or maybe I have, and I've been to dense to recognize it. Certainly not outside the realm of possibilities with me, but that annoys me even more.

So the questions I pose, how do you express love? How do you know when it's there?

Walking into the Irish sky

Go for a walk with me sometime, preferably out in the woods or country, or at least a nice park or neighborhood. You will notice something. Anytime a bird flies overhead, or something starts twittering in a tree, my gaze will shoot into the sky. I may or may not stop walking, and my conversation may or may not waver.

I'm not a hard core birdwatcher, but damn, I do enjoy it when I do. To be fair, I can get pretty easily distracted by other flora and fauna, but birds fascinate me. It might be the fact that they can fly, who knows for sure. At any rate, the prospect of seeing or hearing something unfamiliar makes me kind of giddy, and Ireland didn't disappoint.

So many birds, everywhere. Some I recognized from stories, some I had seen on nature documentaries in the past, and some were new to me, if not exactly a rarity in their home country. Driving along, one could open a window and hear them singing. I bought a book to help me name them. I even had a conversation with a rook who either found me personally intriguing or thought I had food, who knows.

I will probably never be the kind of person who travels somewhere just to see a new kind of bird, but you can guarantee that part of me will always be paying close attention whenever something darts across a patch of sky.

The Roundabout

This deserves to be mentioned on its own. Stoplights are not popular in rural Ireland from what I can tell. Instead, welcome to the roundabout.

...

I have too many mixed feelings about this, I don't think I can talk about it.

Driving the Irish Countryside

I enjoy driving. When I was little, I used to be the shotgun rider at night when we did cross country marathon drives, and it was easy to pretend I was the one maneuvering through the dark. Fast forward a bit to current time, and now I usually don't even give anyone the option of being driver when there is any sort of carpool going on. So it's not unexpected that on the roads of Ireland, I was the one behind the wheel.

There are great things about driving in Ireland. The views are outstanding pretty much everywhere and other drivers are pretty friendly and courteous. However...

Ok, picture a typical road in America. A nice two laner, broad shoulders, clear road markings, usually pretty straight with good visibility, usually safe enough that even if you choose to go over the posted speed limit, even by a good 20 mph, you're not going to hurt anyone.

Let me paint you a picture. Take that road's width and halve it. Now paint a line down the center that may or may not always be visible. That shoulder? Downsize it to about 5 inches on both sides and add a 2-3 foot thick jagged stone wall on one side and a 7 foot tall hedge with branches reaching toward you. Add sharp turns every 500 meters or so, and make the speed limit 60 mph. For fun, let's have intermittent openings in the barriers that allow the occasional sheep or cow to stroll down the road. Stir in a couple of pedestrians and bike riders. Oh, and let's not forget random unmarked forks in the road every km or so. And you're driving completely opposite to what you've done for the last 11 years. Holy shit.

The good thing about this time of year is that there aren't that many tourists getting lost with you, but there is plenty enough traffic that you never know when someone might come barreling around a blind curve. I haven't prayed so much in years. Thank God for Amy being in the passenger seat, as she called out warnings on the multiple occasions that I nearly snapped a mirror off on a wall or ran a wheel into a ditch. Mostly helpful as well was our GPS device, although on occasion I'm pretty sure the people at Garmin were completely screwing with our minds by directing us through mile upon mile of picturesque but suicidally narrow gravel roads, only to find out upon looking at a physical map that there was a perfectly good highway a mile away. And that damn Garmin lady would harangue me every fucking time I took them, too, insisting I was actually driving through an unpaved cow pasture. Lady, you're wrong! Admit it!

The Short Story

Firstly, let me provide you with a map that you may choose to open in another window or tab to track the places I may mention. Any times mentioned will be in local times, so for your benefit Ireland is 6 hours ahead of CST. This is my organization post, and I intend to discuss many of these locales in more depth later. Don't think this is all the highlights, because how wrong you would be.

• Feb 6th: Departure from Dallas sometime after 5 pm. Tried to sleep, but chocolate covered espresso beans proved detrimental to this plan. Instead, played with fancy tv screens on plane, did sudoku, played Speed, etc.
• Feb 7th: Arrived in Dublin 12 noonish, got rental car, GPS, and basic map. Hit the road to Galway. Avoided death on roadways, very hard what with the flipped driving positions, lack of visible signage, missing road markings, and two way roads wide enough for one and a half vehicles. This would prove to be a recurring issue.
• Feb 8th: Happy birthday to me, drove to the Cliffs of Moher. Found out that the roadways from the day before were actually quite safe compared to other regions of Ireland, and now with occasional sheep strolling in the road. Drove to Adare. Had fun in a pub, and found out Harp isn't found everywhere but Bud Light is.
• Feb 9th: Awoke in Adare, minus cell phone apparently. Crap. Visited Limerick, discovered the O'Brien's chain of coffee/sandwich shops. Drove toward Kenmare, with a breather hike taken in Killarney National Park. Arrived in Kenmare, enjoyed our first afternoon tea. Found cell phone, yay!
• Feb 10th: Had first full Irish breakfast. Drove toward Cork, visited Blarney. Found a pay internet station in a tiny little restaurant, got a much needed Google fix. Proceeded to Cashel.
• Feb 11th: Had 2nd full Irish breakfast, without the black pudding. Drove into Waterford, and got to see the Waterford Crystal areas of production, and now understand why it's so freaking expensive. Drove to County Wicklow and our final B&B in the village of Laragh.
• Feb 12th: Ate delicious scrambled eggs courtesy of the B&B's resident hens, took quick detour through Kildare and then proceeded to Dublin, our final Irish destination. Saw a movie.
• Feb 13th: Came home.

I'm already home

Well, I'm home. Spent time making some important calls, and then fell into blissful slumber around 9 PM, which may explain why I'm up before the crack of dawn and feel so awake and craving a nice breakfast.

Ireland... it is beautiful. Whether we were on the coastline, climbing up a hiking path, or just driving from point A to point B, we could pretty much stop, take a picture, and it would look like a postcard. The small towns all look like they could be the set for a movie. Open up the window, and it sounds like one of those ambient CDs that are supposed to help you relax, with the sound of birds, running water, the wind, the waves. But you know what's incredible? It's real. I was there, I wasn't separated by a television screen or a stereo, I walked and drove through that land and I breathed its air. I will need to go back, and in fact I've been looking up information on study abroad programs. Ideally, I would love to attend a course on the natural history of Ireland, or perhaps an ornithology course, anything that would involve me mainly getting to study and learn in the field with minimal time in the classroom. I know it exists, because I can't be the only person who wants to be there and learn. It may not be this year, but this is now a real goal for me that I would like to complete within the next 5 years.

Completely reasonable expectations

I think I've got pretty much everything I need packed up or otherwise ready to go, and now I just have pre-travel giddiness to deal with. Blogging and some chill music I hadn't listened to in a long time are helping me along quite nicely, and hopefully sleep will follow soon.

In anticipation of this trip, I have been reflecting on the various depictions of Ireland and it's people that I have come across over the years. Leprechauns, specifically Lucky of Lucky Charms fame, may have been the first tainted view of Irish culture I could pinpoint. There could possibly be some old fairy tales (or "faerie", if you prefer) of predominantly Irish origins that came before, but which I certainly became familiar with during my folk tale obsession phase that occurred around the ages of 15-16, overlapping with my survival obsession. Any association? Probably, somewhere in my twisted mind.

According to what Hollywood and ad executives would have me believe, the following is what I can expect:

• Bountiful quantities of red-headed, green clothes wearing chaps who will desperately protect their colorful marshmallows.
• Tricksters who will attempt to switch my baby (if I had one) with a centuries old, foul tempered, swearing elf and expect me not to notice.
• Beautiful singing men with sensitive souls who have sweet spots for quirky American girls.
• Boisterous singing men who will teach me raunchy pub songs.
• Potatoes everywhere.
• Nuns with rulers at the ready to rap the palms of any miscreants.
• Young boys running wild from the authorities on semi-wild horses.
• Red headed girls that I really don't want to piss off at the risk of being given a serious beat down.

We will have to see whether my sources are correct.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Tomorrow there will be a plane flying to London in the late afternoon, and guess who's going to be hitching a ride? That's right, I'm making my second trans-Atlantic voyage less than 5 months after my last one. This time Ireland is the destination, and Amy is going to be there too. A week of driving through the country, drinking Harp and Guinness as they were intended to be enjoyed, and meeting some interesting people. If you would like a postcard, speak now and send me an address. You can try sending a text message on my cell if all else fails.

Groundhog's Day

Oh yeah, Happy Groundhog's Day! Seems like we scored 6 more weeks of winter.

What am I to you?

The last week was incredibly draining, mixed with some great times and hopefully strengthening some friendships. Be that as it may, yesterday I went on a date with a nice guy, this weekend I'm taking a road trip to Aggie town, and Wednesday I'm flying to Ireland with Amy (happy birthday to both of us!). Drama free fun, I'm all for that.

So, the date. Nothing steamy to talk about, so don't ask. However, he is funny, he's a younger man (23, am I robbing the cradle or what?), he has a nice beard, and he's really tall (6'3"). He's got some interesting friends, one of whom I met last night at an art show that was being held in a small vintage clothing store here in Dallas. Interesting pieces, and the shop itself is pretty cool, will need to go back and look around.

During the course of chatting after dinner, he mentioned that one of the reasons he approached me at karaoke a couple of weeks ago is that he felt there was a resemblance to Norah Jones, his one celebrity crush, and that he was impressed by my singing. I also learned that he came to the Tipp last Monday just to see if I was there. Ok, that's very sweet. I'm glad that I decided to give this guy a chance, even though my first reaction to him that first day was annoyance that someone would take our karaoke song book.

Besides having dark hair and eyes, I don't think NJ and I could be twins. However, the comparison has been made at least one other time by one of the pulmonary doctors I used to work with, and he even showed my parents a dvd of one of her concerts to illustrate his point. He's hilarious.

So who are your celebrity twins? I'm sure we all have one.