A Vicious Circle

The "New" Eye

2005-10-02T19:31:00.000-04:00

It's been close to three weeks since my PRK surgery and I'm pleased with the results. Initially there was a lot of pain. A. Lot. Of. Pain. See, in PRK they actually remove the top layer of cells over the cornea instead of creating a corneal flap. The top layer quickly grows back but hurts during the recovery time. Just over the weekend did it hurt. Plus they prescribed pain medication that took care of it.

OK, first things first. Went in and sat in abject anxiety. I thought I was cool with it all since I knew what I was in for but that really was more of a hinderence than help. This time I did NOT look at the eye on screen being sliced and diced. Thankfully they took me back immediately. I talked to the doctor in his office. We discussed the procedure and then he laid out my options if they couldn't get the LASIK to work.

"You can get up and walk away, or we can do the PRK. In fact, we could do it while you're on the table it's so easy to switch over," he said.

"I did some research on PRK and that's actually what my friend had performed," I told him. "So I'm ready to do it all today."

With those fateful words they took me in and I saddled up. Taped eyelids, clamp, and the red light. So here we go again - no suction. "We couldn't get the suction we needed," Dr. Wills explained. "I know your vision went dim but the suction was weak. We'll switch over to the PRK laser."

"Do you want a smaller speculum," an assistant asked. Ha HA! Did you hear that? SPECULUM. Exactly like the women's exam. Vindication is mine!! (I said this all in my head; I was not moving on the table.)

Smaller speculum went in and the doctor put lots of eye drops in my eye. He checked that I was still numb in the eye. I think that's when he made his cuts to the top layer. It was very surreal to see things touching my eye. Like I was pressed up against the sunroof of my car and someone was tapping on it. Felt nothing.

"OK," Dr. Wills began, placing his hand on my chin to keep it steady. "Focus on the red light and disregard the smell."

Wha-WHAT?!? What smell? What smell?!? Oooohhhh. That smell. That burning flesh-eye ball smell. Ew. The worst part was I stay calm by breathely deeply. Ew. Just disregard that smell.

I think it lasted less than 30 seconds. Then more eye drops and I was finally released from the Table of Tape and Burns. I sat up and was all set. Because there was no flap I could rub my eyes. However, I should have paid a little more attention to all the pain medications they prescribed and handed out. Percocet, sleeping pills, pain eye drops, and stronger pain eye drops.

Next up... The Recovery

Personal Improvement

2005-09-20T20:56:00.000-04:00

I bought a guitar and I'm teaching myself the basics. Still haven't developed those all-important finger calluses though.

I had the PRK laser procedure. 10 days for vision to stabilize. Waiting to write about that complete ordeal.

Heard from a few more friends from the old days. For some this may mean nothing but given my nomadic upbringing, propensity to phase out friends, and sporadic correspondence nature, I'm pleased. You may take it for granted that you have friends from grade school but I don't because those don't exist. Next best thing for me are friends from junior and early high school.

Bought a gorgeous, black, cocktail dress for my cousin's wedding next month. Actually spent real money on it but I'm calling it an investment.

2005 Wedding Total: 4.

Next up: swimming lessons

Aarrrggg! Pirate!

2005-09-10T00:41:00.000-04:00

My Lasik surgery was this morning. I don't have bad worst vision; my left eye is 20/25 and right a little worse. In keeping with my asymmetrical, lopsided body my right eye is dominant, near-sighted, and about 20/45. My left eye is farsighted, but I can see fairly well with it. The Lasik people decided that I wouldn't be able to tell that much of a difference before and after surgery and to try just getting the right one done. I told everyone I was going to ask for an eye patch and be a pirate for about a week.

I got out of work early and my mom drove me to their office in Old Town Alexandria. It's was a little disconcerting to walk into the lobby/waiting area and see an eye being worked on a high-mounted TV monitor. No shit, behind a four sided glass wall was the surgeon operating on a patient with the view of the eye on a TV. Some of us waiting couldn't watch. I was mesmerized. An eye filled the screen and it was touched, set, wiped, and lasered in front of everyone.

They gave me the post-operation procedures regarding drops and care and then I was the first to be called. I spoke with the surgeon, Dr. Wills, briefly. It was the first time I met him. During my initial examination in Tysons Corner I never saw him. He answered a few of my questions like "How long must I avoid smoky areas?" and "When can I take a shower" when really I wanted to ask "Will it be OK if I have sex in a few weeks?" Then after I had no more questions they numbed my eyes with drops and took me into the exposed room. I laid on the table and they showed me the red blinking light I would focus on during the 4 mintue procedure.

The nurse covered my left eye with a single patch and I joked, "I am a pirate." Then Dr. Wills taped my top eyelashes up and my bottom ones down. Then inserted the clamp which held my eye open. I felt like I was in "A Clockwork Orange." It was a strange and not unwholly uncomfortable feeling. A lot like the emotions a woman feels during a gynecological exam. They clamp you there too and when they say it'll pinch, it's pinches, and it hurts in the sense that you can't avoid the pain, have no control over when it'll end, and no sense of when it'll stop. Same type of thing.

Then Dr. Wills marked my eye; I know that because that's what he said. He lowered a ring down to my eye and warned me my sight would dim or go out completely and I would feel pressure. I lost my sight, then gained it, and felt that pressure. There was some murmuring about getting enough suction. He removed the ring and the pain stopped. He tried it again but still not enough suction. He told the assisting women that he wanted to use a microring but it wasn't in the room. So he removed the clamp and tape, had me get off the table, and sit on a chair with my eyes closed. They he returned a few mintues later when they had it set up. I went through the whole thing again with the taping, clamping, and marking. On the table he asked if I had gotten dim vision and I told him I did. So they lowered the ring again and my sight when dim with the suction but it quickly returned and I told him so. I heard talk about dry vs. wet and saw/felt a medical Q-tip swipe my lash line. He couldn't get the suction he needed and pulled it off, removed the clamp and tape, and asked me to wait in the waiting room for about half and hour before trying again.

I sat out in the chair with the sunglasses they provided because they wanted me to keep my eyes closed and I felt a little strange. I think I dozed off a little. They came and got me. While waiting in the office I tried to open my eyes but the right one hurt. A lot. I was also a little intimidated and hesitant to face the whole procedure again. When Dr. Wills came in we talked about what was going on. He said it had happened to him before but was rare. One woman had good suction on one eye but not the other. My options were to try again, wait and try later, if that didn't work explore PRK surgery, or nothing. I told him I wanted to do it but not then. He understood, and I rescheduled for a week from today.

Previously since I hadn't met Dr. Wills, I felt unsure about him since it seemed like a bit of a production but now I'm assured in his abilities. Not only did he do several other people while I was waiting, but the fact that he was so careful about every part eased my fears. As I left I told my mom that maybe this was a sign not to get surgery but I think I was slightly traumatised by the whole thing and my eye hurt. It's still a little red up under my lids and sore. Dr. Wills said he expected that since he had touched my eye several times with the ring. Yeah, suction and eyeball don't mix well.

I got home and napped for a couple of hours. I was on the phone with V. when Dr. Wills called to check in on me. I told him that my eyeball itself didn't hurt as much although the lids felt swollen but that I was mentally and emotionally better and looking forward to trying again next week. He did say that this had happened before but was rare enough that he remembered each occasion. I told him that I actually have no problem getting my left contact in, but that I always have problems getting my right one in which was one of the reasons I wanted to have Lasik surgery.

So it's weird because with a procedure like this you usually have it done but then it's over with and usually don't face it again. This time I know what to expect next Friday and that's helpful but also harmful. I'll have to wait and see (no pun intended) how I feel tomorrow morning.

Damn I wanted that new eye though!

You Need New Clothes, Go Shopping!

2005-09-04T20:31:00.000-04:00

I'm a girly-girl. I like make-up, shoes, talking about boys, and shopping. Now I also have a real male side because I don't do drama, I'm pretty laid-back, and I love most sports. But today V. and I spent at Tyson's Corner. I decided we would go early to avoid the Marauding Band of Tiny People going through and taking all the small sizes. Hate me if you must because I'm an XS-size 0, but it's just as difficult and frustrating for me to shop sometimes. I admit not as much as for other people but seriously, where is the girl who has my waist size but is five inches taller?

Anyway, I called V. as soon as I woke up and after a shower headed over. In fact, we ate first at this great Thai restaurant called Neisan Thai just outside across from Circuit City. Really cool decor and excellent food. There was a tiny bridge inside.

Shopping rule: Wear comfortable clothes, no layers, easy to remove tops and bottoms. We were really heading over to look at new bras for V's new boobs and sexy outfits for when I meet Z. in October for my cousin's wedding. But Victoria's Secret let us down. Not really. It's just that it hasn't been a week yet since V. got her new boobs so they were still swollen and hadn't settled, and I didn't want to pay $60 for something that I was only going to wear for a minute.

We headed to Banana Republic next. I don't usually shop there but as we passed by there was a cute knee-length sweater in the window that V. said, "That costs $168 I'll say." So we had to check it out. She hit it on the nose. Scary. While there I found a couple of tops on sale and a beautiful royal purple, Merino wool, knee-length sweater I had to buy. I have a problem with purple. Hi, I'm Jennifer and I'm a purple-holic. Anyway, at the register I gave the girl my credit card and a gift card I had from over a year ago. My ex had given it to me. I had only bought a top so far but really expected it to have $20 or so left on it. Imagine my surprise when it flashed that I had a $87.50 credit! It's like finding money in a pair of pants. No, it's better!

We passed by a new concept store from Abercrombie & Fitch called Reul (?). The store front looked like a Brooklyn brownstone and the inside like pretension. All they carried were jeans, purses, and tops I could buy cheaper at Gap and Old Navy. Boooring.

Next we hit H&M which already lacked most items in our sizes. We both found cute tops but as soon as we saw the check out line we ditched our choices and headed out. Sorry, but that long a line on a holiday weekend means poor management decisions. Who lets their line get that long? How many sales did they miss out on due to that?

Guess is a new store in my repertoire. Only recently have I even been able to allow myself to go in. I've re-evaluated my purchasing plans to include only pants that fit. So on one hand this eliminates unncessary purchases of pants that fit so-so but means I have to move up the money chain because that's where they fit best. Gap and Old Navy are fine as are Express and Limited but nothing fits like Banana and Guess. Go figure. Found really cute white pants with camel pinstripes that both V. and I bought.

By this time V. was sore from trying on so many tops. Not supposed to lift your arms over your head four days after boob surgery. But we agreed to make one last stop at the Apple store for our mini-iPods before leaving. Tyson's had also gotten pretty busy by now and we were almost spent out. I say almost because at the Apple-store-from-Hell we both bought the JBL doughnut-shaped speaker attachment. It was only $159 and that's a good deal since I don't own a stereo. The sound is good and it doubles as a charger. I love it!

V. and I both bought the same pink sweater from Banana, the same pants at Guess, and the same speaker from Apple. I guess we really could pass for a lesbian couple. Or twins. But we get the "lesbian couple" look a lot, especially when we have Chase with us.

So that was it. Headed home and took out all our purchases to play and try on again. A very good day.

The title is from a fortune I got once from a Chinese fortune cookie. I swear it said that!

On the Down-low

2005-08-29T22:46:00.000-04:00

V. and I decided to make a night of it last Friday before she gets her new boobs and is too sore to go out. Like the nerds we are we spent about an hour online researching dance clubs in the area. We got a pretty respectable list including Fur (the newest hotspot), H2O, Club Five, Panache (recommended by V's sis), Love (formerly Dream), and Eyebar. We decided on Love because V had been to Dream and it was the place to be at one point.

V drove and I was the iPod DJ. I think it was when I heard, "I'm a little scared and that's saying a lot for me" that I actually looked up and saw where we were. We were in SE surrounded by empty, gaping warehouses, booming Mercedes, and cops. There were cops outside the club. Not busting anything up but there. For protection, for security, for prevention, whatever. Their presence was known. And the crowd was 90% African-American. Which is difficult to say without sounding racist even by prefacing it by saying something ridiculous like, "Not that I care..." because there is always a "but" attached. This "but" was not rowdy or anything, just not our crowd. They did have a section for designated parking in front of the warehouses being watched by two parking guys. Charged us $20 to park there. But we were so not driving around looking for a free, empty space blocks away nor leaving V's car unattended. The walk was OK but there were two lines in front of the place. Guess which one we needed to be in. The one that stretched along the building, down the block, around the corner. With the other pissy looking patrons who had been waiting for hours.

"I'm several years out from just going up and talking my way in," V said. We looked at each other and hemmed and hawed. We looked at the crowd. We looked at the cops. "I'll be pissed if we just spent $20 to park for five minutes," she said. "Look, I'll pay for you," I began to argue. "I'll be more pissed if we paid $20 to stand outside for three hours." We headed back to the car, got the iPods back out and headed to NW. What a difference only a few blocks can make in this city. But sure enough we were in million dollar townhouse neighborhoods with fratty boys, gay boys, and students perched on Jimmy Choo stilettos not twenty blocks from Love.

V has this problem with Dupont Circle. Not that I'm saying this in a disparaging manner because I haven't driven in DC since I've been back and surely I've been avoiding it although I swear if I can drive in downtown Atlanta I can drive anywhere. And I drove in DC before I left. Anyway, we must've hit that damn circle at least three times. Kept getting off on the wrong street, making our way back to try to get to 19th and Constitution, and ending up at the circle again! "There's CVS!" V cried our last time around. "I always called my sister from the CVS asking for help." But emerged we did and right where we were supposed to be: Panache.

Paid to park again but this time in a parking garage not a block away. Paid our cover and didn't have to wait in line. Got inside and it was busy, packed but not like cocktail onions. Immediately headed for the bar because really we needed a drink. For some reason bartenders have the hardest time hearing me and we almost ended up with Bud Light beers when I ordered a Cran & Vodka and a Gin & Tonic. But no mix up and we had our expensive $8 each drinks. Tasty!

Now here's the surreal part. We couldn't figure out if it was just one group of dedicated friends, a club, or an actual class but there were seven or eight guys there obviously together all breakdancing. All head-spinnin', hand-walkin', air-flippin', bust-a-movin' breakdancers doing that great thing of one-upmanship but with the commaderie of dance. One white gut with a mohawk who passed us before we saw him dance and V & I made eyes like, "Ooo, look at the Punk." But the Punk threw down! Another skinny white guy in a grey t-shirt who was initially just frenetically dancing but then got the rhythm. A tall black guy, a Middle Eastern guy, a skinny young Asian, a short Asian, and a white chick! Even the white chick got out in the middle and did some moves. I knew they were together when the Punk and the short Asian got together and did a few choreographed moves side by side. But it was so awesome. We loved how T-shirt would strut around the circle a few times getting his groove on establishing his boundaries like a dog circling before settling in for a nap. And Short Asian was on his hands, moving his feet in the air, hand-standing crooked, the whole shebang so well that at one point V confessed, "I'm oddly turned on by him" And she is not attracted to Asians.

Now the DJ sucked. After the first time we saw the breakdancing the DJ changed the music but to something that didn't maintain that flow so they stopped. He kept mixing music where the beats didn't match so there was actual moments of stopping to get the new song. And when he tried to play "Hey Ya!" oh man it was pathetic. The song skipped. Violently. On one annoying note. So he took it off and tried to pay it again. And it skipped violently on one annoying note for thirty more seconds before he changed songs. LAME.

It was about 1 am when the dance floor had died down enough that V and I discussed trying another place but decided to stay at Panache. The breakdancers stayed the whole night as well and Punk gave us a card for free entry to another Friday night. So were they there as a promotion because Panache is maybe new? Or the Friday night thing is new? Whatever, but they kept that place jumping and fun. We've agreed it's on our list.

Oh, one last thing. On our second and final round of drinks we headed over to the bar and got the guy bartending. Now all night we had said we would be approachable and not give off the "Don't even try to talk to me because not only will I reject you but I'll be a bitch about it" vibe. So I don't know if it was that, if he was just a good bartender, he was drunk himself, or my new top but after I made my request (which he got on the first try) and I was opening my purse he flipped the top down. So I tipped him a couple bucks. But he grabbed them and slyly slipped them into my top. While walking away V commented, "Cool, so he saved us three dollars." Rummaging around my top for them I said, "NO, he saved us eighteen dollars" and explained what happened. "Oh we are so coming back here," V said.

One Good Picture

2005-08-24T23:01:00.000-04:00

You know how you have one good picture on a rare day and when you get that picture you use it for all it's worth like it's the best new lipstick in that perfect, complimentary color which doesn't dry out your lips. Well I'm slicking this picture all over the 'net. I look tan. Sad that's the best qualifier and because of it I'm disregarding the fact that I'm being willingly molested by a moose and have a cartoon kitty on my shirt. Is it any wonder that I still get carded for about everything? I guess I would have to say this is my best side as I really have two different sides of my face. Sure everyone is asymmetrical but everyone eats cheese and that just gives me gas. I could crop it down to something a little less like Exhibit A in Cooley vs. Disney-character -from-Brother Bear but I actually like the moose. I really like his expression. It says, "I'll pose and then I'll maul you." I like that my expression says, "I have no idea I'm about to be on When Animals Attack..."

Is Nothing Logical in this World?

2005-08-23T21:39:00.000-04:00

2300 miles apart
11/10/05 5:40 pm Depart Washington, DC/Dulles (IAD)
8:25 pm Arrive Long Beach, CA (LGB)
11/15/05 10:55 am Depart Long Beach, CA (LGB)
6:40 pm Arrive Washington, DC/Dulles (IAD)
Total Price: $139.20

1640 MILES APART
11/10/05 7:00am Depart - Baltimore Wash, DC (BWI)
4:55pm Arrive - St Croix, Virgin Islands (STX)
11/15/05 9:30am Depart - St Croix, Virgin Islands (STX)
7:06pm Arrive - Baltimore Wash, DC (BWI)
Total Price: $462.70

3669 miles apart
11/10/05 6:05pm Depart - Washington DC-Dulles (IAD)
6:20am Arrive - London Heathrow, UK (LHR)
11/15/05 11:45am Depart - London Heathrow, UK (LHR)
3:10pm Arrive - Washington DC-Dulles (IAD)
Total Price: $502.05

The State I'm In

2005-08-22T18:12:00.000-04:00

So work is going well and I'm trying to get myself into another class for this Fall. If only it didn't cost $600!! Damn out of state residency! It's really great living at home. Sure I have my moments where I wish I had my own place but considering the rent and cost of buying around here it's better to be saving. (And spending if truth be told.) Initially I thought having a full house would prevent me from getting comfortable and staying forever but now that I'm actually here and not worrying about the upkeep of a home or feeding myself I really am being seduced by the Dark Side. Mike has already gone over. Perhaps I'll amend my plans and just stay until I have enough money to relocate to CA. That gives me a year or so.

It's also really cool having my girlfriends around too and one is moving to the area for a year. However, I'm so used to hanging out with them that I don't have any need to go out and meet new people which really just means not meeting any men. Not that I'm totally over my T. relationship or even over that thing Z. and I had going. In fact, I'm going out to Colorado in October for my cousin's wedding and Z. and I have discussed him joining me there. Is it really sad that I think, "Only 6 weeks until I get to have sex again!"? Is it more sad if it's true?

Rediscovering my sex drive has been both a blessing and a freakin' frustrating curse! I was really concerned that that part had died inside me so it's been healing to learn that wasn't true. On the other hand it really was like awakening a beast. A ravenous, insatiable, crazed beast that isn't satisfied by anything but cock! (OK, so that sounded like something out of Penthouse. Ew.) Anyway, my new feelings of desire combined with my need for an emotional connection and I'm stuck sleeping with my friends. And I have no other guy friends in the area. Which is good because look what happened with the last one. I went and developed feelings for him! Although I wonder if they are true feelings or because he was so convenient. I guess it really doesn't matter because either way, I'm not getting any of anything. SUCKS.

I can't believe it the end of summer. I feel like I haven't accomplished anything which is ironic since it's probably been my most jammed-packed in years. Breaking up, moving out, getting a new job, two weddings, hooking up...getting older. Man, I feel old sometimes. Someone slap me please because I know I'll look back in five years and want to slap myself. I think it all started when I stopped defining my years by school sessions. The years have sped up with hardly a break or pause.

Ooo! It's dinner time!

The Best One Mile of My Life

2005-08-20T18:51:00.000-04:00

Vic and I made it a low-key Friday night ordering pick-up from the closest Chinese restaurant and getting a movie. Waiting to pull out of her subdivision to pick up our food we saw two guys drive past us on scooters. Not the ATV kind, nor the Vespa type, but old-school mini-motorcycle scooters. The bikes were old but the guys were older. Old like "parts held on by duct tape," and old like "my dad on a kid's bike." How that second guy perched himself on the scooter is a physical miracle. He was larger than he friend and actually had to lean forward as if to keep his momentum going through sheer will power like he was thinking, "Come on... keep going... faster, faster." Yet he still was losing ground to his friend. The sound of the scooters as they buzzed by cracked me up.

We were unable to pull out right behind them and got caught at the red light. After laughing at the second guy, we suddenly realized that we were looking at the tail end of the black Pontiac which had Playboy bunny stickers on it and a license plate which read "MSJULY."

"Miss July for Playboy?" I asked. "I think so," Vic replied. "Really, a Pontiac?" I said. "Not even Playmate of the year," Vic commented. The light turned green and even though we were taking the immediate right turn Vic sped up to see what we would see. Oh, what we saw was blonde hair and fake boobies. We both laughed harder.
As we pulled into the strip mall I saw two scooters were propped against a column and caught a glimpse of two guys walking into one of the other stores. "Scooter boys!" I shouted. Vic exploded with fresh laughter. After we picked up our food we were getting into the car when they pulled their scooters into the empty parking spots next to us to start off. One of them revved the engine. It sounded like a kitten growling. We barely contained ourselves and couldn't even look at each other as they drove off into the parking lot heading for destinations unknown. Hopefully they were heading somewhere close.

"That was the best mile ever," I said to Vic as we pulled out of the parking lot.

Welcome to My Lameness

2005-08-10T19:06:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I'm going to color-coordinate my outfit to match my new pink iPod.

Welcome to the 21st Century

2005-08-10T19:05:00.000-04:00

I got a pink iPod! I got a pink iPod!

A Conversation Piece

2005-07-13T21:42:00.000-04:00

"Stupid, fucking, piece-of-shit, cellphone reception," Vickie said as soon as I answered her second call to me.

Underdressed for the Double Tree

2005-07-13T21:15:00.000-04:00

Well they're going down like Dominoes. First one of my friends from high school married on the beach in Key West (O, the roosters!). Then one of my friends from Atlanta got married on the banks of a muddy river in Charleston (O, the chiggers!). And finally one of my friends from Scripps married her college boyfriend in our special Secret Garden on campus (O, the reunion! and reminiscing!).

B and B were set up Fall semester through a joint school function called SYR: Set-up Your Roommate or Screw Your Roommate. We were screwed because our partner in this foray into college hooking-up was Harvey Mudd. Mudd is the tech school in the 5-college consortium and attracted students who didn't want to shiver through MIT winters (those labs are cold!) and weren't accepted into CalTech. Think of the those nerdy, D&D-playing, computer-programming, social misfits from high school and put them all together on one campus with a 70:30 Male-Female ratio next to our all women's school. It was scheduled early enough in the school year that most of the unsuspecting Scripps girls had no clue what was coming their way. I mean, they had unicyclists up there for fuck's sake! It was one of those rare and random not-too-geeky Mudd men who was set up with my friend. My friend B is super-intelligent and gorgeous. Her date was the starting pitcher for our combined AAA baseball team. They hit it off. Much drama ensued and the usual amount of breaking up and getting back together, yet 11 years later I was priviledged to watch them finally get married.

The ceremony was just beautiful and I read a poem at it. The reception was a lot of fun and at one point I looked at the women dancing around me to our familiar, favorite 80's songs and felt like I was back in college. But not the I-don't-know-my-alcohol-tolerance-so-I'm-puking-all-night kind of feeling but the sense of community a close group of friends forges. Reconnected with old friends, strengthened faltering friendships and even made a new friend while I avoided the wedding guest who figured it was really smooth to hit on my persistently and without let up THROUGH A PROXY. Yeah, guys I don't know about other women but I for one do not date men who don't even have the balls to come up and hit on me in person. Sorry. Just a rule I have and one I've actually had to evoke several times in my life. Sad.

Anyway, after the reception we decided to meet back at the hotel bar. Except it was closed. At 11:30 pm on a Friday night. Anyway, we were directed across the street to the nightclub in the DoubleTree. Most of us had changed out of painful shoes and tight clothes. So a few of us were in jeans and shorts but it's Southern California. And we were turned away from the DoubleTree nightclub for not being appropriately dressed. Hello? Aren't you the Double-Fucking-Tree hotel? I must've missed that press release where you spontaneously raised your own reputation. Whatever.

So guess where we were directed next? Oh you'll never guess. We went to Denny's. The Denny's SportsBar. You think I'm crazy right? That's the proof up there. That's right folks, you read that correctly. Denny's in SoCal have bars. Bars with videos games and mood lighting no less. It was even sectioned off in its own little room from other Denny's regulars of screaming kids and eating parties of no less than 8. That's where you can kick back and have a beer at midnight on Friday in Ontario.

Her Royal Highness, Princess Cooley

2005-07-05T22:13:00.000-04:00

One downside to being a military brat for me was the constant moving. I hated that even before I comprehended other families didn't move every two to three years. As soon as I felt comfortable in a place with my new friends in the new house uprooted and relocated. The first time I felt an inkling of what permanence meant was in Portsmouth, Rhode Island. Now I don't know why that windy, WASP-y island of Narangansett felt like home but something resonated. Maybe it was my age, I was eight when I arrived and eleven when I left, maybe it was culture shock from moving halfway across the globe to Okinawa, maybe it was knowing the friends I had made were truly mine and that they would never keep in touch. But it was really the glimpse of an alternate, civilian world that set me off. A world where all the stories are shared and familiar; a world where siblings all went to one school and teachers remembered your last name.

Making our way East my family had stopped in Alaska to visit with family. I remember observing my cousins and their inside jokes they shared with their friends. They joked with my aunts and uncles with a familiarity I couldn't quite affect. Never before had I felt like an outsider. Never as the first girl and Korean in their Norwegian-boy whiteness. Never as an occasional visitor was I made to feel unwelcomed. Unintentionally they showed me I did not belong and the casual quality cut me to the quick. They probably envied my travels and experiences but I wanted nothing more than to fit in with friends I had grown up with and could depend on seeing the next year at school. I finally identified what pained me. The pain of separation - a pain only felt so keenly by a pre-adolescent girl. All those early hormones.

This over-wrought emotion and burgeoning puberty combined with enduring the Military relocation shuffle drained me. The familiar feelings of insecurity and loneliness with new feelings of finding my identity and this enormous epiphany of desire was an unhealthy mix for an eleven-year old of my temperament. I never considered myself as prone to depression but it hit as swiftly and fiercely as any of the whirling typhoons which whipped across the tiny island located in the sub-tropics.

In some ways I was very precocious and in others I am a late-bloomer. Just another of those contradictions which rule me. I had an identity-crisis at the tender age of eleven. And I was depressed. I felt it bone-deep: the sadness, the uselessness of my desires, the helplessness, the overwhelming bleakness. I couldn't think and could barely operate. I had glimpsed the alternate reality of Everyone Else's Life and it gleamed golden with images of never enduring anymore readjustment, realigning, and reincorporation. That first year on Okinawa floats grey and dingy in my memory, even now.

But I remember my parents finally acceding to my wishes to get a kitten. Disregarding we already had a family cat only a few years old, I wanted a KITTEN. Later my parents told me that they were so worried about me that they relented. Well, my mother told me because I don't have those kinds of conversations with my father, the Colonel. But at the time all I knew was I was getting a KITTY. I think I had the name picked out first. "Princess." And isn't it a typical, 11-year-old choice? We went to a shelter and the first kitten I saw was tiny. Barely three weeks old and requiring a nursing bottle to feed. My mother took one look at its blind eyes and heard the caution it might not live and vetoed it immediately. The second one had a calico back and white throat and belly. She had the prettiest face. But she turned slightly and exposed her weird tail. It was a stub but curved like a square hook. When it wagged it looked like someone crooking their forefinger. The other kitten had a normal tail but really large ears. I thought and thought and I don't remember my process exactly but decided on the little calico kitty with the unusual tail. I wonder now if perhaps no one else would've taken her thinking her tail deformed.

So maybe I really did save her. I think she saved me. At eleven I didn't have the strongest maternal feelings and certainly my mother took care of her but I loved her so much. She grew sleek and beautiful. She had a gentle yet aloof nature befitting her name. My younger brother Mike loved to hold her, even if she didn't want to be held. He would wrap her in a blanket making a kitty burrito. He tortured her with his love and attentions. I wrote a poem about it and the revenge I would take. She had many adventures in her seventeen years. She traveled from Okinawa with us back to the States with detours in Korea and Alaska. She endured sliding down the metal baggage ramp in her crate. And when we finally settled in Burke she took to the storm drain and went missing for a week before turning up in another part of the neighborhood. She was adventurous and sweet-faced. She was a lap cat who loved to sit on the newspaper you were reading, sit with my mom at night, and sit at my father's feet at the computer.

She was a really good kitty and I miss her.

MOVIE REVIEW: "Mr. and Mrs. Smith"

2005-06-15T12:46:00.000-04:00

I really wanted to hate this movie. Not only for the overexposure of the Pitt and Jolie and their Are-they/Aren't-they relationship (For goodness sake just admit it, OK?) but because it wasn't really my first choice for a movie that evening. My friend and I went to the theater to see Madagascar. That's right, I preferred to watch animated animals with celebrity voices get into cute, hilarious situations rather than a couple of sexed up, too-tanned, too-chisled, too-perfect "actors" film the breakdown of one's marriage. Knowing the outcome, not the end of the movie which was predictable by Scene 1, but the outcome of the celebrities' lives is going to see it with a voyeuristic bent. It's like watching a train wreck - a really sexy, gravity-defying, slo-mo train wreck.

When we approached the room for Madagasgar there was a group of five people standing outside and no one in the theater itself. I've never been in a completely empty theater and the sight of it caused me to just laugh out loud. I'm easily amused which is why I wanted to see Madagasgar. But there was something funny with the sound; it sounded like a blown speaker, all fuzzy and muted. After a few minutes it became unendurable and while I joked that the group outside couldn't handle it either, we decided to wait outside too. It was not a joke. One of them had already notified the management but when a manager arrived the sound was fine. So we all headed back in. The group split into two guys and a girl who sat in front of us and a guy and a girl who sat several rows ahead. Turned out they weren't together. Several more lame, trivia slides, a couple of commercials, and then some previews. The sound went back and forth between normal and blown-speaker mode aside from one moment when the volume shot to 11 at warp-speed scaring the crap out of everyone. Seriously, we all jumped in our seats. Finally as the movie started they seemed to get the sound right and we settled back to enjoy this cute take on zoo animals and their hijinks. A manager stood in the aisle watching with us.

Good thing because 10 mintues in the Curse of the Megaphone Speaker returned and the manager announced they were shutting it off. He offered us Re-Admit tickets and the opportunity to movie-hop into another showing. At least that's how we interpretted it. We took the Re-Admit tickets and headed into Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Saw our old friends the two guys and a girl there (minus Pizza Shop) who asked if we weren't supposed to be there. What the hell we agreed. Our ears had suffered, our dignity had suffered, and our plans for the evening were thwarted. Seeing two movies for the price of one was our little rebellion against the Man. Take that Man!

Review of the movie I did see: it was better than I expected, the celebrities were as hot as I thought they would be but it still kinda sucked. Their chemistry was the only plausible thing going on in the script. First, are there really assasin-for-hire agencies out there? The government I know won't allow toilet paper to be bought out of the system let alone allowing vigilante-whores running amouk in the streets. Plus I take umbrage at the fact that these agencies cater only to the super-rich. That's so elitist! What about the regular husbands and wives who want someone whacked? No wonder they wind up on the prison-end of a recording asking for their spouse to be "taken care of."

One drawback to the popularity of The Matrix is Hollywood's generous embrace of gravity-defying stunts. In The Matrix it made sense given the plot. In the "real world" it's just ridiculous that Angelina Jolie can jump down the side of a building and land perfectly coiffed without breaking a heel let alone a bone with nothing but her Batman/James Bond purse-cum-bungee.

As I've gotten older it irks me to no end that cops are degraded to such weenie roles. Hollywood has two categories for cops: Corrupt Rogue or Main Character fodder. This movie didn't use either but employed another well-honed old plot device: not acknowledging them. Let me get this straight Hollywood, not only is there a government sanctioned assasin group but the cops now don't care about murdered rich folk? Come on! At least they would respond to gun fire, car wrecks, exploding houses, exploding mailboxes, and exploding elevators. Money can only buy you so much silence before the Public notices a rash of explosions and panic engulfs the streets. People don't need a lot of encouragement to want the day off from work.

I'm really not going to give a basic plotline because a) you've already read it in other reviews, b) it detracts from the main action which is Pitt and Jolie getting it on and breaking vows, and c) there is not plotline.

Final Rating: 2.5 out of 5. It's good for renting and summer delight but only life-altering for its stars. See it if you can't see something else.

Random Trivia: Vince Vaughan shines in his cameo-sized role and filmed a movie with ex-Mrs. Pitt, Jennifer Aniston.

Breakfast w/ a twist

2005-06-15T11:43:00.000-04:00

Three pieces of bacon. Two eggs over easy. One slice of French boule, toasted and buttered. Four sweet grape tomatoes slightly sauteed. Delicious!

Doritos to the rescue!

2005-06-10T13:21:00.000-04:00

There are many things lost to one who enters a Long-Term Relationship. Things like first dibs on the bathroom, ability to leave a kitchen sink full of dishes, the remote control. Some of them I mourned and some I gladly gave up in exchange for regular sex and a snuggling partner. (I mourned the remote control.) However, there are many things you can not predict to lose and those sneaky, partnered-up bitches you thought were your friends failed to warn you about them. Things like food choices, movie decisions, and what to do with one's free time. With my ex, I lost food items like potatoes, chocolate, beans, and Doritos. DORITOS and POTATOES? Who on this Earth doesn't like Doritos and potatoes? My ex-boyfiend, that's who. (I know how to spell "friend," I like that Freudian slip.)

Anyway, the ex just didn't like the taste of potatoes. Not mashed, fried, hashed, scalloped, baked, or frenched. He would eat Tator-Tots is they were really crispy but that's it. To his credit it would keep trying mine but nothing changed his mind. Do you know how difficult it is to plan a meal that doesn't include potatoes? We ate a lot of rice. Not healthy steamed rice but the nasty, boxed, salted-until-I'm-pickled kind. I used to think I could make his kind of rice and then prepare whatever starch I liked but seriously dinner was enough of chore and I wasn't going to add to it.

The list didn't end there. It also included: beans, peas, onions (unless cooked), spinach, and squash. I'm sure there's more but I've blocked it out. He also didn't think of fish as an entree. "I don't get filled up with fish as a meat," he told me. Do you know how many meals I had that was baked chicken/pork chops/steak, broccoli (or corn or asparagus), and Rice-A-Fucking-Roni? More than I want to think of. Do you know how BORING that is every night? And dinner time got really ugly once I realized I'm lactose-intolerant.

To say it's been a pleasure rediscovering something as simple as the Produce section at the grocery store is kinda pathetic. But not just the Produce section, other types of food too. Like the Doritos thing. He didn't like the taste of Doritos. What human male born in the last thirty years doesn't like Doritos? But if he didn't like something than I didn't like it. I suppose I gave up and gave in too easily but hey I was young, in love and a bit of a push-over. Yet I'm still living under his rules. It occurred to me today that I'm living like I have to answer to him. I was at Giant last night, wanted some snack food and bought pretzels. Pretzels! I like pretzels but the thing is it didn't even occur to me that I could buy Doritos. I had sort of forgotten that they existed as a viable snack option. But no more! I am going out today and buying myself the biggest, cheesiest bag of Doritos I can find.

Damn the ex and my lactose-intolerance!

Mommie and Vas's Wedding

2005-06-06T10:39:00.000-04:00

Flew out really early and for no other reason than due to what I call the Nurture Effect. My dad, the Colonel, always flew us out early so that's how I arrange flights. Not how I LIKE to fly, but how I instinctually schedule my flights. It wasn't so bad and it does give me lots of time in the day at the new destination but it was certainly a bitch flying back early early Sunday morning after partying at the wedding the night before. That's when I was really damning that Nurture Effect. Plane touched down and I was wandering the small Charleston airport at noon. I made blind reservations through Travelocity for the cheapest motel near the airport depending upon strangers' ratings. My mistake. Hint#1: When the woman at the airport Info desk doesn't recognize the name; Hint#2: When the taxi kiosk worker doesn't recognize the name; Hint#3: When the TAXI DRIVER doesn't recognize the name and asks the kiosk worker how to get there.

Finally get there after learning it was "the old Travel Lodge" (it was only 7 minutes away) but when the taxi pulls into the parking lot I'm shocked to realize the building I assumed was condemned for demolition is my place for sleeping the next two nights. You don't really want to lay your body down in a building that looks deserted for the better part of the year. But had my reservation they did. Motel clerk issued me a card for Room 254 and directed me up the stairs with the un-ironic comment, "It's pool side." will insert picture of pool later My friends were driving up from Atlanta and would pick me up four hours later. In the meantime I read, wrote a little in my journal (Journal entry began: "Oh. My. God."), and decided against paying $20 in taxi fees to eat so I crossed my fingers and ordered Chinese food from a menu at the front desk. The Chinese food was a pleasant surprise although you can't go wrong with Sweet & Sour Chicken and Vegetable lo mein. Napped a bit, fielded a potential job offer, and finally Rafa and Chelsea arrived. They changed and we hopped back into the car to head out to the Pre-Wedding BBQ.

Charleston is a different place from metro-DC. I immediately knew I was back in the South when my taxi driver polished off his lunch of shrimp fried rice while weaving through airport traffic and merging onto the Interstate. And the humidity. OH SHIT THE HUMIDITY. Very green with trees lining the streets and dripping with kudzu and moss. Folly Beach was beautiful and I loved the little beach houses on stilts near a shore choked by surfers. Mmmmm surfers. After some wrong turns and back tracking we finally located the beach house. I haven't seen my Mommie in at least 2 years so I ran up the steps into her tight embrace. I haven't seen Vasilis in close to 3 years so he got a big hug too. A few friends I knew through Mommie were there and her family is really great. Close-knit, fun-loving, and Greek-serenading. Yes, later in the evening the sisters and brother sang with in harmony innate to a practicing choir or a musical family. (Vasilis is Greek.) Partied not too hard and not too long but with great relish. Rafa and Chelsea are about to relocate later this year to Costa Rica on a coffee bean plantation and have also just bought a beach house there near a well-known surfing town. I've directed Rafa to learn immediately so he can teach me. We discussed that I could join them and be a eco-tourism package option: The Walk & Rock. I walk on backs and I was mesmerizing Rafa as he sat in a rocking chair. So I am the "Walk & Rock" girl now. Also I discovered that I am THAT FRIEND. If you know any great single guys then throw them at me and see who sticks. Mommie started with her brother's best man, D, who lives in DC. I said that it's only been two months, that I'm not ready to date again and that's my story I'm sticking to it. It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that D. has interned for Newt Gingrich. Not at all, that would be shallow.

The wedding was at Mommie's parents house and they live in pretty house by a river known for its gator sightings. A fellow guest and I decided that if a gator interrupted the ceremony we would sacrifice the preacher since he was closer to the river bank and closer to God thus more at peace with meeting his maker. Mommie looked radiant in a buff-colored gown. The ceremony was simple and lovely with a touch of the traditional Greek in the crowning. Then off to the tent on the side yard for delicious food, one glass of white wine, and mingling. I snuck into the house a couple of times to play with The Best Dog in the World, Muggins. I threatened to kidnap Muggins and said, "If you don't love Muggins enough to take him to London then I'll take him." I think her heart broke a little when I said that because she's been trying desperately to work it out but things are not going well. He truly is the sweetest dog in the world and I know she hurts to be away from him.

Her father toasted in Greek, her aunt performed her "The Illiad and Odyssey Part Two," and her brother couldn't even finish the first sentence of his toast while looking at her. Vas seemed distant during the toasts, wouldn't look her in the eye, but when she finally got his attention he immediately started tearing up. Mommie danced with Vas to Chet Baker's Time After Time and with her father to Janis Joplin's Summertime. The party winded down and after seeing them off to their bed-and-breakfast Rafa, Chelsea and I headed back to the motel. Left early the next morning and arrived home without incidence.

I wish them all the luck and happiness in the world because they deserve the latter but won't need the former since they have each other and that's truly all they need.

bad, bad girl

2005-06-02T15:53:00.000-04:00

Not being very good about posting regularly and so much has actually been happening. So it goes I guess. Complained about lack of a life and once I started to obtain one was too busy living it to write about it. This is similar to the conundrum of a writer. Writers can't write unless they're unhappy but then do they stay happy and unproductive or stay miserable and write until their fingers bleed? (Why can't I hit the "return" button and get a new line?!? WTF blogger.com? Where do you go to cursor?)

I've had two interviews and both have gone extremely well. One is getting things started to make me an offer and the other just took me on a mini-tour of their office. Always a good sign when they take you on the tour. What can I say? I always interview well.

Have had one puking episode since being back in the area. Thank goodness it wasn't in front of my family but only in front of my friend Zack's family! Nothing like being carried out of the National Press Club in a drunken stupor by a veritable stranger. Woo Hoo! Back in action!

Seriously, I'm not back in action. In fact, I'm not getting any action at all. But this is my choice so I'm not complaining. Although I'm curious to see what happens this weekend when I go to my friend's wedding in Charleston. Gin & tonics + Champagne + single status = bad decision making.

I know I'm old when...

2005-05-31T20:12:00.000-04:00

...I get out of class early and all I can think is, "Hey! I paid good money for this class. Keep me the whole time!"

So the Universe is Conspiring

2005-05-25T01:10:00.000-04:00

The strangest thing is happening. A major reason I decided to move back to Burke was the fact that I have several friends in the area. Two best friends from high school, another friend from high school I kept in touch with sporadically which became more constant after the 10-year reunion, and the one friend I've made outside of school. Since being back I've also attempted to get in touch with other long-lost friends I know to be in the area. One attempt was successful (Yea, the Blue Team!) and others not so much (GW sucks).

But apparently that's just not enough love so the Universe has decided to send me more. First, one week away from my move I heard from one of my college friends who I hadn't heard from in years. He was headed to Arlington after living in South Africa for two years. Second, my oldest friend of all (17 years baby!) is coming Bethesda in August for a year for a fellowship. I haven't seen her since 1992 and she's coming out here from Seattle. Third, I just got an e-mail from another college friend and fellow Nappie that she's considering taking a job in Alexandria and moving here from California. Finally, another college friend who's been in Austin since graduation pursuing his doctorate is coming out this weekend for a visit.

What hell is going on here? Seattle, LA, Austin, South Africa? Plus, I also have a cousin who I haven't seen in 11 years living in DC with his family. This must be friendship karma. After Atlanta I'm being compensated.

Feel the love and I can't wait for my birthday party this year baby!

MOVIE REVIEW: "Sin City"

2005-04-18T17:34:00.000-04:00

Each generation of movie-goers have their own Citizen Kane, a movie that so revolutionizes how the audience thinks of and experiences movies that all concurrent movies are held to different standards of expectation in terms of acting, storytelling, and even camera angles by the audience. In the '60's one was Easy Rider. For my generation, arguably it's The Matrix and Pulp Fiction.

Sin City had three main stories whose supporting characters overlapped to lock them together. They live and work in the seedy parts of Basin City where most cops are bought, hookers are goddesses, and redemption is only a tortured beheading away. Sin City rests firmly on a foundation of well-crafted stories, the genius vision of the writer/directors, and universal morality plays within each story. The ultra-violent realism is a character itself and works well because Sin City is based on a series of adult comic books. Only comic books and Japanese animae can employ a well-placed flesh-slice without making it extraneous. Sin City has excellent stories, visceral visuals, and the allure of a world where even though the Good Guy is not good he is still able to serve a skwered type of justice.

The main characters are played by Bruce Willis, reprising his hard-boiled but ultimately ethical character from Pulp Fiction (see, see?), Mickey Rourke, putting his horrific new face to good use, and Clive Owen, who benefits greatly from his relative unfamiliarity to American audiences. The supporting cast was also excellent and boy! will I have a hard time thinking of Elijah Wood as Frodo now. One complaint I do have is that the supporting characters were all too often just that, there to serve the story. What little backstories that were given hinted at a more intricate world and left me wanting to hear them all. As it goes, not a particularly bad complaint when compared to the complaints I had with a movie like The Last Samurai where I couldn't give a rat's ass about any of the major characters.

A measure of a good movie for me, one I would recommend and want to see again, is how I feel immediately after watching it and how often in the following days I find myself contemplating the movie. I'll recommend it especially if the images linger and haunt. Sin City left me feeling breathless and stunned in my theater seat at the end and I haven't been able to get the bold strokes of the movie out of my mind yet. Also, if the movie is based on a book and makes me want to read it, then I know I'm hooked.

Final Rating: 4 out of 5 stars (Must see if you enjoy Tarantino & Mickey Spillane)

Random Trivia: Quentin Tarantino actually directed a small portion of the movie.

Malaise-ing about Burke

2005-04-15T23:59:00.000-04:00

I'm in a strange frame of mind these days. In Atlanta, contemplating this change, break-up, and move I was brimming with ideas, new interests, and excitement. Oh, the potential! Oh, the possibilities! I was going to learn to play the guitar and take belly-dancing lessons. I pictured myself listening to jazz and smokey blues on an old-time record player while sipping an aged wine. I'd be running around campus, attending pretentious foreign film screenings, and engaging in intellectually stimulating yet respectful arguments. I was writing biological and anthropological documentaries for The Discovery Channel or The National Geographic Channel. I'd even find myself thinking about meeting someone new - or at least thinking about going out to meet someone new.

Then I got here. Then I broke up a four-year relationship, uprooted myself from a place I'd lived in and grown comfortable with for the past five years, took that first step to make some of my dreams become reality. Now I'm paralyzed, inert, and in danger of atrophy. Less than a week away from work and I've slipped seamlessly into sleeping late, relying on my mother to make dinner, and taking mid-afternoon naps. I don't want to do anything. I'm not interested in anything. I feel passionless.

I'm the appendix. Biological evolution long ago relegated my function to another or eliminated it altogether and I am all that lingers: a superfluous remnant. At best I can be ignored and forgotten, at worst I have to be removed because I am inflammed and detrimental to survival. I am the appendix; I am the tonsils.

I want to make plans but the future unfurls limitless in front of me. It is not a comfort but frightening in its interminable uneventfulness. Where did those dreams go? What happened to that bold image of myself that I saw doing and feeling all those things? I have no motivation to research classes or update my resume. I can't imagine myself even flirting with a man let alone kissing someone and starting a relationship.

What the hell is going on here? Is this normal after a break up? Is it age? Will this pass and Life will attain a vibrant sheen again? It's so close to depression but not quite: a shade off, a slight degree up from it. I can get up, greet the day, visit with friends but I'm not really stimulated by anything and feel that I have nothing to discuss. Not that being with my friends is boring. They are my lifelines at the moment, my touchstones. I'm living quite vicariously through them. But friendships are a two-way street so I can't take without being able to give. I need a kick in the ass that makes me want to live my own Life.

So I ask again: What the hell is going on with me?

Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

2005-04-12T20:53:00.000-04:00

No, I'm not getting married. In fact, my boyfriend and I just broke up. We were together for close to four years. That's my longest relationship, not including the cats. I've moved back to Burke and am contemplating a career change which is good since I also quit my job.

You thought I was joking about the Life Reboot, huh?

So, I'm back in my parent's house (Something Old), one week out of a four-year relationship (Something New), avoiding rent (Something Borrowed), and readjusting to the single life while contemplating such fun things like figuring out my true career path and the Meaning of Life and my place in this world (Something Blue).

While I've never been one for projecting where I wanted to be & where I could see myself in 5, 10, 15 years I can say that living with my parents and going back to school wasn't really on the radar for 28. But to be totally honest, I admit that when I did look into the future it was at 30 and I'm not on the path I expected to be on. I thought at 30 I'd be married with at least one child. Don't know why because anyone who knows me knows I've long been declaring myself free from desiring domesticity and a family.

However, at 30 I was married with a kid. Which is not out of the realm of possibility but here's the catch: I saw myself married with a baby at 30 but married for several years prior to the first child, had a year-long engagement, and was daing for at least a year prior to that. By that equation I should've been dating my husband and father of my children at 25. Yeah, I know that's creepy but I feel three years behind.

To make it worse, it's only self-imposed pressure. Luckily my parents don't have such plans for me. I'm just stressing out because I'm not conforming to some ridiculous ideal. And I usually have such low-standards for myself.

I remind myself that it is not a race. Still, I feel like others are so much closer to the finish line than I. And what is this so-called "finish line" anyway? Where do I delineate it? Marriage? Motherhood? Retirement? DEATH?

It's the path that is meaningful; the questions that grant joy; the journey is gratification. The answer is not so essential as the questions that are asked and the unceasing curiosity which fuel those questions. But if I'm not to expect to find fulfillment in an answer, if contentment is not attainable, if desire and seeking is the answer...then Life is suffering. If I'm supposed to derive joy from the questioning and seeking even knowing I'll never find my answer then there is no finish line. So what am I racing so hard for?

Life is hard.

Vicious Circle

2005-04-04T15:16:00.000-04:00

Vicious Circle
PetiteJ is on temporary vacation for a Life ReBoot.

Long time listener, first time caller

2005-03-13T09:01:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure if I want to keep this as a journal or as a blog. And if that confuses you well we have problems. A journal is exactly that. A blog is a little more polished. Whether that fits your connotations or not, too bad because they fit mine and that's all that matters here.

Sometimes I'm reading other blogs and journals and feel inspired. They're funny, full of clever stories & tales of exploration. Sometimes I feel unmotivated by reading other blogs. They're too funny and clever and I think that I couldn't measure up to that skill and talent and should just keep my snotty opinions to myself. Here's the really funny thing though: I'm assuming there are people out there who would be interested in reading my Life Observations. That could be a big misconception.

Some days it's an uphill battle with myself. Today it's beautiful outside. Sunny and fresh with clear blue skies and the smell of summer warming the air. I almost wanted to go running to enjoy it. Fortunately, that mood quickly shook off and I came inside to play on the computer. But the cat loves it! My other little kitty is sitting here with me in this chair. She likes to SNIFF the outdoors but doesn't want to venture past the boundary of inside-kitchen to outside-back deck. But the big guy, he's all about the outdoors. Even if it's scary-cold he has to go out & in 3 or 4 times at least before settling in. But those few times he had to patrol his property, survey his mini-kingdom, and ensure all was right in his land. But this morning as soon as he heard me approaching the kitchen I could hear him jump down off his bed, race downstairs, and sure enough there he was at the back, sliding door. And so far he's only come in and gone back out again once.

I'm going to wash that dirrty car.
I'm watching the race.
I have a new book to start.
Countdown to new Harry Potter book: 124 days
Countdown to Star Wars: Episode 3: 73 days

ps... forgive me if this sounds repetitive

Fishing for the perp

2005-03-09T14:28:00.000-05:00

The one thing that's worse than the office break room smelling like someone's fish lunch: being the owner of the fish lunch.

Oh, and spilling tartar sauce on my pants - my chocolate brown, velvet pants that are actually comfortable, actually fit me, and make me look like I have an actual figure.

Insert witty title here

2005-03-05T10:43:00.000-05:00

So, this is my first. You are my first. Don't you feel special? I want you to feel special.

It's really pretty outside, reminding me why I live in the South. Not the best reason to live here but as good as any.

It's weird to write in a journalistic style at the beginning of the day because nothing as happened yet. Well, not quite. The roofers are here to fix the leak off the master bedroom's balcony which sits right over the garage. Every time we get torrential rains, I have to wade through the largest puddle-lake known to man just to reach my car. And I have to reach that dirty, dirty car. She needs washing!

later...