blah blah blah

here's what's going on:

it was 100 degrees today in Houston. 100 degrees and 61% humidity. i think that's called 'hot tubbing.' this is important information because it tells you something about the vast number of indoor activities held in Houston...i'm unsure of most of them due to my unwillingness to go outside for any reason other than necessity.

i have an orchid. it's beautiful and it was really cheap and i am truly in awe of having not yet murdered it. i'm conflicted, however. when i purchased this orchid, i intended on eventually unintentionally killing and then disposing of it. it has lived and thrived now for over three weeks. i really like it and it makes my bedroom look more put together however, my problem is the fruit flies it has somehow generated out of its soil. these flies have taken over my 600 sq. ft. apartment and it's not big enough for all 7,000,000 of us. it's just not. not only are they irritating because of their number, but when i see one in the corner of my eye and don't immediately realize what it is, i almost always think i'm about to pass out and it's just a flicker of light warning me to brace myself.

i'm contemplating throwing away the flower but am for the most part against the intentional murdering of plant life. (unless it's not pretty, then round-up to your heart's desire!)

i live in a perpetual state of preparedness concerning the complete destruction of my very nice living room couch. it's my first piece of real life adult furniture, and daily i am concerned that India, my puppy, will in a state of blind anger and neglect eat my couch from the inside out. i unlock my door every afternoon with the vision of what remains of my couch spread across the floor. a bit of cotton stuffing will remain trailing from India's mouth as a reminder of just who's in charge of this apartment and all of its contents. i hope it never happens but i like to be prepared.

three months later...

Well it's been a long time since I've updated this blog.

Here's where I'm at:

Living in Houston, TX in an adorable apartment with my puppy India.
Working for Save the Children US Programs doing disaster preparedness workshops with children and psychosocial groups with kids in the Fall.
Love having a new city to explore and as usual the Lord has provided new fabulous friends.
I've recently become addicted to venti black iced tea with 2 sweet n' low packets from Starbucks. It's just regular iced tea, but the allure comes from the to go cup and someone else making it for me. Debating the $2.27 price tag, however.
Learning some things about Houstonians: They can bear a heat that is similar to being inside of a freshly microwaved hot pocket; their cars do not come equipped with blinkers (or they have not yet discovered them); they have nail salons like some cities have Starbucks.

Two weekends ago I went back to OKC to see my Canadian friends who've deserted the United States for, as much as I can tell, frostbite and grizzly bears. It was so good to be back in Bethany for the weekend and to be with old friends. After small reunions like this one I always wish there were some way to have a giant party with everyone I know all in one place. I would serve hot dogs and slurpees.

Ordering a new passport...

I'm officially declaring myself the world's worst, "I'm going to place this important thing in this exact spot, so that later, when I'm looking for it I'll find it immediately."

I'm going through the process of unpacking boxes in our new house in Houston. We were blessed enough to have had all of our belongings packed for us in Tulsa, however this has led me to reliance on my memory for the finding of important things. Example: Would my wardrobe be in the box labeled, "Girl's Room" or "Office?" That one is pretty easy, which is why I used it as an example. I'd hate to confuse my readers and lose their interest within paragraph 2.

For smaller, or more random things like, say, my PASSPORT, I'm having a harder time locating. This is due to my habitual need to place things in tricky places, convincing myself that this chosen spot is not only more convenient but also clever and more efficient for my future use. Thanks to certain organized family members of mine, I have started placing smaller things into larger organizing mechanisms such as accordion folders. I then place the organizing units in tricky and mysterious places completely negating its function.

You're probably thinking, "Well, I do that too," however I am convinced that your placement choices cannot be as ridiculous as mine.

When I am searching for a missing item, the quickest way to end my search is by looking in the most random places first: Car keys? Check the blender. Cell phone? Probably in the fruit bowl on the kitchen table. Lap top? You're thinking, "Check the office." Nope, under the couch next to the remote...and other electronics. Where did I put the bag of puppy food? The attic. Gosh, where is my spare tire? That's obvious, when I break down on the highway, it will be conveniently placed next to the tools in my garage.

So, knowing this about myself, I'm sure that I have placed my passport in the most secure spot I could think of prior to the move to Houston. Of course, I can't remember where that spot is. So far, I've torn open every office, extra bedroom, craft room, bathroom, and garage box left unopened. Following that I started checking the kitchen drawers, the pantry, and the stereo cabinets. I've rummaged through every old purse and backpack in the house. I've checked my car several times. I honestly just went and looked amidst the pile of cookbooks...twice thinking I may have missed the brown zip-closed organizing unit in which I previously stored said passport.

From now on, I think I'm just going to make two large piles in my room: Stuff I will need later, and, Stuff I will never need until I've lost it.

Lent without my 'friends'

Turns out there's 24 hours in each day. I discovered this recently by way of my Lenten sacrifice.

I'm typically not a proponent of sharing this type of thing with tons of people, however, the impact it has already made on my basic existence has been so dramatic, that I had to share.

I've given up watching television.

Within the first 15 minutes of 'day one' I went to turn on the television out of sheer habit. Day two ended at 9:30 pm because I ran out of things to do and was bored. It's taken some adjusting and I'm not being a legalist about it: if the TV happens to be on in the waiting room while I'm getting my oil changed I don't plug my ears and recite Psalms.

I've taken up reading like a mad person, and now that my mom and I are officially moved to Houston, I've made more progress in two days on unpacking my room than what I would have in three months had I been watching television.

I've always been a little TV obsessed, but it had gotten out of hand recently as I was in job-limbo land and pretending to be a stay at home mom. My days consisted of my dog and me hanging out with our friends on The View, Ellen, and Oprah.

It hasn't been as difficult to give up TV as what I expected, either. I imagined that from the boredom I would be drawn to the big talking box on regular intervals (particularly when my "friends" were on), but I've found that I can be extremely productive without access to the television. It's truly been incredible how great I feel after a day of complete productivity.

It's the healthiest thing I've done in a while. I can catch the news on the internet, I can take time to do devotionals and read my enriching book, and I have acknowledged the length of the day for the first time in a long time...woot.

Some rules to live by...

Living with my mom has highlighted some of my most annoying character rules. Character rules are unspoken, yet extremely pervasive and consistent rules that have been formulated over the years and remain only in my head while being expressed exclusively by way of passive-aggression until I snap. My mom is really good at pointing these out and making me wish she hadn't. Here are two examples.

Cell phone etiquette:

-If you are seated in a car with only one other person and he/she is on their cellular telephone device it is only appropriate that you either (1.) ignore any incoming call from your cellular telephone device or (2.) be thrown from the car at a reasonably high speed.
It may be my inability to be left out of any conversation within ear shot, but I cannot focus on my own cell phone conversation if someone (say....my mother) in the passenger seat is on their cell phone as well. My mind sort of freezes and melds the two conversations together while my soul seethes with frustration at not being able to participate in either conversation fully. And so, as I've explained to my mother in great detail and on occasion with the use of diagrams, it is only appropriate to answer your cellular device if the other passenger(s) are not waiting for or currently engaged in their own cellular telephone conversation.

*Exceptions: emergencies.

Movie theater etiquette:

-Do. not. talk. through. a. movie.

If you are my friend/family member:

Do not ask me what's going to happen next, this is my first time watching as well so I don't know if the main character will get to the terrorists in time to save his ex-wife:
let's both be quiet and watch the events unfold together...in silence.

If you cannot hear well enough to watch a movie, let's not make movie-going one of our quality time activities:
I will not repeat to you the last 30 seconds of dialogue...pay attention or get settled and take a nap.

Keep your hands to yourself during the scary parts. Do not grab at, cling onto, or clasp any part of my shoulder/arm as I am also frightened and you may lose an appendage.

I do not want you to tell me what you think is going to happen next: no one has asked for your keen detective skills, and if you continue to talk to/at me through this feature film, you will owe me $7.50 + $3.50 + $10.00 (for the ticket, for my soda, and for my time).

If you are not my friend/family member:
You are not in your living room: Shut up, or there's going to be a brawl.

*Exceptions: none.

These rules are embarrassing, however I will defend them to the death.

*bing*

I'm not a smoker. Well, that's not completely true, I did in the summer following my college graduation take up smoking cigarettes for exactly one week. This was mostly because I was working at a coffee shop with a bunch of high school students who were enthralled by the newness of eighteen and it's many freedoms (and of course by 'freedoms' I mean ' availability of substances'). This meant, then, that my fellow employees would take "smoke breaks" about every 45 minutes while I (the only non-smoker) would work the counter for extended periods of time by myself. My solution? Take up smoking. Duh. However, this created a challenge for me as I have never been able to inhale much of anything other than plain old oxygen, and from time to time I mess that up with a little thing I like to call the "went-down-the-wrong-tube" syndrome where I frequently choke on my own spit (it's genetic).

I attribute my lack of addiction to my inability to inhale; I would puff the smoke into my cheeks and immediately poof it out. I imagine it looked a lot like when a child fills his mouth with water in a swimming pool and spits it at the closest adult. Only, more childish in the company of my fellow employees who were actually enjoying their nicotine high. My week stint of smoking cigarettes was only extended to that length because I felt guilty not finishing the pack. Yes, it took me an entire week to finish one pack of cigarettes. Another incentive to quitting the not-quite-habit was the continual poking fun at my inhaling technique. There I would sit, 22 years old, absorbing the raining laughter and ridicule from all of the more experienced, cooler looking 16-18 year olds on our smoke breaks and I would think about how much longer it was going to take me to finish the damn cigarette so I could go back inside. This attitude increased the hilarity of my smoking technique as I would speed up the puffing and poofing and I'm sure you can create your own visual.

But I digress.

I bring up smoking for an entirely random reason. I've been flying on airplanes quite a lot lately which has been a terror due to my newly developed phobia of flying. So when I'm on a flight I try to distract myself from frightening things like turbulance, directional change of the plane, or any shifting my row partners might do in their seats.
On my most recent flight I began to become disgruntled about the 'no smoking' sign above every row on both isles of the plane. My major issue with it is the redundancy of the reminder as well as the torture it undoubtedly causes for a certain population of passengers. Of course I'm talking about the smokers, with whom I can easily sympathize as I've mentioned I am a seasoned smoker myself.
Here's how it goes: We are, as passengers, first given a verbal reminder that there is no smoking allowed on the plane. Secondly, don't mess with the smoke detectors on board the aircraft or you'll be serving 25 to life in a federal prison with a cellmate who committed first degree murder (You don't want to end up someone's bitch over a smoke detector). Finally, they light up a visual reminder that your ass is grass if you sneak off to the shoe-box-sized bathroom to flick your bic and relieve your withdrawls.
The no smoking sign screams cruelty. I can't imagine being a smoker, mentally readying yourself for a three hour flight from Newark, NJ to somewhere in Tennessee during which you will not have any kind of practical access to the biggest physical addiction you struggle with personally and as the plane is just about to take off you must feel like a celebate man with coupons to a brothel as they light up a little sign right in front of your face with a picture of A CIGARETTE BILLOWING SMOKE. And this is what you get to stare at for the duration of your flight.
I'm not saying smoking on airplanes should be legal, however I do believe the airlines could be a bit more understanding and sympathetic. Perhaps pass out little nicottine patches during the beverage parade? No one really likes the peanuts anyway.

My dad is my Guru

It’s 1:22 am in India on Nov. 8th 2008. I just called my dad to tell him I love him, and in the midst of our conversation he reminded me why I like him so much too:
The last year and a half (the time it’s taken me to almost complete my masters) has been like a mountain. In the beginning, looking up from the base, it seemed huge, like I would have no time for anything but the climb; no time for life or living. It looked hard, and intimidating and it made me question my climbing abilities. It forced me to challenge my previous (mis)conceptions of the world before I even began packing for the journey.
It turns out, based on the last year and a half, that mountains can have so much beauty and the climb can be so rewarding that you (at times) might barely notice you’re still ascending. I’ve learned so much, experienced beyond what I deserve (grace, friendship, fun, laughter, memories), and lived an incredible amount.
My dad reminded me what a journey this has been, this climb, and that it hardly felt strenuous at all.
Somehow, as I near the end, as I assess my strengths before and after, it turns out I’ve developed some muscle and gained some climbing skills. Despite the ‘experience’ with which this journey often afforded me it seems I’ve grown, bettered myself, and mostly had an amazing time.
And to think, the last year and a half I could have just been standing at the base, questioning my readiness. The peak is in site and I thank God for the people in my life who said, “Fuck fear. Put your shoes on and just start walking.”
And who knows, what seems like the top could turn out to be the hill in front of the mountain…But I suppose that’s the best part: once you’re climbing, you can no longer see anything but what’s right in front of you.
And all I see are blessings.