several more lives to live

I like that!

2009-11-12T21:45:00.000-08:00

I was going to post another rant about things that people do that piss me off...then I thought, "That's annoying to always be doing that. Plus, you do most of those things yourself."

So, instead I'm going to make a list of things I really enjoy.

1. Stretching in the morning. There is no other time in the day that feels more restorative than when you twist your torso one way and your legs the other. I would lay that way all day if somehow my rent check could still be delivered on time. I'm sure that's why God has not allowed me to win the Lottery. I would forever be auto drafting my rent check so I could lay in the contorted stretching position for the rest of my life.

2. A clean apartment. I hate the process. But I love the end result. There's nothing like walking in and going, "Hey! My stuff's all hidden!"

3. Going home after shopping and IMMEDIATELY putting on all of the new clothes I just purchased. I agree, this could be kind of gross considering other people tried these clothes on before I purchased them. I don't care. It's like with new shoes you feel you can run fast. With new clothes I feel like I'm super fashionable all at once. I'll walk around in 70 degree weather with a jacket on just to get that new clothes feeling. Never mind that I'm sweating. Mind your own business.

4. Fruit. Brilliant! It's like God knew we would like convenient food. It's prepackaged and delicious.

5. Making lists. I normally lose or throw them away before everything (or anything) has been marked off, but I really just like making them. It's like making a plan. It's satisfying to think you're going to accomplish something.

6. Running into friends when you're not expecting it. There's nothing more genuine than that kind of "hello!" and hug.

7. Babies. Every time I meet a new one I am completely amazed at how small their features are. Little tiny hands and feet. And I almost always make the comment, "Wow! Everything's in proportion! It's like a little person!"

8. The sound of something plastic hitting a rubber surface. I can't really explain that one, I don't understand it.

9. The ";)" winking emoticon. I would rarely, if ever, in real life wink at a friend or acquaintance, however the ;) gives me the freedom to do this as much as I'd like via text message or internet.

I think that's all for now. I'll add more as I see fit.

Some things that have happened recently. In no particular order.

2009-10-26T21:15:00.001-07:00

My dog caught fleas.
My dad caught fleas from my dog.
I walked my sheets, blanket, pillow cases, bathroom rugs, towels and anything else my dog may have touched, looked at, or walked by in the last two weeks down to the community laundromat this evening.
I walked all of these items in one oversize pile between my hands and gripping my fingertips in loyalty to the 'one trip up and down the stairs' rule.
My hamper is at my mom's house.
I passed my neighbor (whom I've only seen and from whom I've never heard) and he asked the obvious question, "Did you just murder someone in there?"
To which I responded, "No, my dog has fleas on everything...so you better stay back."
I immediately regretted not just pretending I didn't see or hear him.

There's no better way to make friends with your neighbor than threatening the chance that they might have to invent creative ways to scratch at their crotch in public for the next two weeks.

Human Nature

2009-10-04T20:42:00.000-07:00

Skin color, language, culture, and geography. These are what distinguish and divide humanity.

I've had an idea rattling in my head like a pin ball for a few days....I'd like to challenge myself and try and type it out.

My argument is pretty simple: Humans are inherently the same by nature, it is situations and experiences that make us think and act differently from one another.

Let's look at two individuals:

First, a low socioeconomic, urban born 16 year old boy. Let's assume the stereotype: Father left at a young age; Single mother raising him and his siblings; Large community support system; Adverse conditions for accessibility to quality education and availability of basic human rights, i.e. health care, physical safety in one's community, etc. For the sake of the stereotype, let's say this young boy turns to violence to release his feelings.

Second, Bernard Madoff.

What if both of these individuals situation's had been completely flopped? Is it possible that given the right set of circumstances, and I mean exactly the same set of circumstances, the young boy from Chicago would have been running a ponzi scheme and Bernard Madoff would have lived the bleak existence of cyclical poverty?

Is it possible that you or I could do the same kinds of actions if we too were born into a certain situational experience that we and the media love to condemn and abhor?

I don't know that we can ever really answer that question. However, if we can even fathom it to be possible, I believe we can change our natural feelings of judgement and lack of connection to those whom we assume are so unlike ourselves.

And if we can get past the idea of inherent differences, that attitude of "that's just how they are," then perhaps real strides could be made toward social and economic accessibility for the disadvantaged. We could honestly asses the challenges facing the poor and disenfranchised, if we first accept the idea that it could just as easily be "me and my family" in the same situation. Not for the sake of fear, but for the churning of compassion into action for an equal society.

Equal access to available resources is not a current reality. There are clear gaps in standards of education, health care, and safety between the highest and the lowest socioeconomic status.

What might be possible if we jumped and cleared the hurdle of inherent differences?

Just thoughts.

I dare you...

2009-10-04T20:40:00.000-07:00

I have a dare for you.

Take a small mirror. Place it reflective side up under your nose. Look down into the mirror and walk around your house.

blah blah blah

2009-06-25T20:19:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-06-17T11:49:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-03-12T13:58:00.000-07:00

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'

2009-03-04T18:37:00.000-08:00

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...

2009-02-17T08:48:00.000-08:00

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

2009-01-09T10:59:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-07T20:36:00.000-08:00

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.

If you were never aware of what was around you...

2008-10-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

Fate hated my outfit today.

It started this morning: Confident from my successful interactions with both the grocer and the 7 hr. photo guy I stopped by my favorite coffee shop to make a 'normal' morning of it. Upon leaving I sashayed halfwittedly straight into the closed door. Clearly labeled "PULL" from the inside I instead chose to PUSH, sandwhiching my grande iced cafe mocha between myself and the single-way-swinging hard space. Donned with sweet sticky espresso, I didn't cry over my spilt condensed milk. Instead I collected any salvaged dignity I may have dropped on the floor and I walked home to change my shirt.
I've had bigger embarrassments in India...
Like a few hours later, iPod in hand, I dance/walked to Death Cab for Cutie's "Marching Bands of Manhattan" pretending to star in my very own personal music video back toward the photo store to collect my printed memories. Two blocks from my apartment suddenly a bucket of (I'm certain) well-used bath water rained from the apartment complex heavens to my left like a shower of body drool landing directly on my favorite BR jeans and trickling slowly toward my Tevas.
I should have noticed the pool that had been collecting outside the building where previous showers had been discarded. It was my own fault. But whatever, I'm beginning to enjoy the workout of bucket washing my clothes.

it's been a while

2008-10-12T05:09:00.000-07:00

I need to talk about something...and that something is DANCE.

I never thought I'd be one to say something like this, but I need to dance! India's most interesting trait so far is the awkward gender roles. For instance, men walk around holding hands with men, with no sexual attraction they are merely friends looking for affection. You will rarely see a man and woman walking together hand in hand and will NEVER see a male/female couple kiss in public. This is a stark comparison to the U.S. where when I was in N.Y. just before I embarked on my journey overseas, I saw a couple in Central Park "doing the nasty" in broad daylight, next to the big carousel where children who go unfazed by this type of physical goings on due to an extreme distraction caused by the ice cream man.

Honestly, I don't care who is or isn't holding hands when they walk down the street. And to my extreme disappointment I've yet to snag myself and Indian boyfriend so I really don't care if PDA is socially inappropriate (honestly it makes me feel more comfortable being sans b.f.)
. My underwear starts to bunch when I get a hankering for some good music and a dance floor. Get dressed up, which pretty much means put on your nicest Indian wear (aka pajamas), find a club nearby and get ready to shake it!...or not. First of all, you can't get into a club without a date. Girls have to be with guys and vice verse. So, whatever, not that big of a deal and it kind of makes sense. Secondly, upon admission, there are without fail about 35 people standing around in small gender specific groups. Not one person is dancing (except that guy who's at every club I've ever been to: He's about 55 and no one's told him that WHAM hit their plateau in 1986). It's the most disappointing thing and it keeps happening to me. So disappointing that I've decided to boycot all dance clubs until I return to the United States where I will be greeted with all of the hip-hop-bump-and-grind-ridiculousness a girl can dream of.

For now, I'm content with the new Beyonce CD I bought which has been on loop since Wednesday.

f.y.i. (some highlights)

2008-09-13T10:36:00.000-07:00

india, so far, has been everything i'd imagined and simultaneously everything i couldn't have fathomed.

candice (my fellow classmate) and i have managed to find every rickshaw in mumbai that has vehicular difficulties. example: one got a flat tire as we pulled onto the five lane highway; one just stopped running while we were in the middle of the road; one was unfamiliar with his surroundings as well as the location we desired and what should have taken 4 minutes turned into a 45 minute scenic drive; one i was sure was taking us to be sold into sex slavery; several of them i could have out-walked.

two weeks ago we visited a slum. we met a young girl who has the spirit of an angel but life circumstances of which no one is deserving. i cannot adequately describe a slum. i feel like a young child who's been told of airplanes her whole life but for the first time has seen one up close. i could still not tell you why or how it operates, but at least now i have seen and it is not the type of thing words can capture.

there is poverty in the world like i could not imagine. and now i don't have to.

we met some Swedish boys who've helped in our transition a bit...mostly it's just nice to have people understand the words coming out of your mouth.

i've been instructed to wear the local garb to avoid being stared at...a ploy that has not worked, and has also backfired. you know those people that come to the U.S. with clothes right out of the early 1990s because they've seen on TV what 'cool' American wear? I'm the equivalent of that person in India. basically they have me in over sized pjs made from the brightest and thinnest of materials. i look like a walking skittles commercial.

this last saturday we went by the gateway of india to take a boat ride to elephanta island. i know what you're thinking: an island full of elephants! how marvelous!! no, as it turns out, there are no elephants. however, the island is over run by who've been far too long exposed to humans. they have no fear of people. none. i watched one monkey grab a piece of hot corn on the cob out of a man's hand and then another monkey grab the coke bottle out of the other hand. the monkey then twisted off the top and began to drink from the bottle. i immediately took all belongings resembling food or beverage and put them in my purse. and then avoided eye contact.

india is wild.

Soiled Check!

2008-09-02T03:49:00.000-07:00

Alright, some of you know and some of you don't, but I'm on my way to India for the semester (woot woot). I planned a week vaca. in London/Paris prior to my final destination in Mumbai. I'll write more on this later.

I left from New York City and spent four days there with my incredible and adventurous friend Morgan who's just moved to Manhattan to begin her masters in publishing at NYU. She is dually ambitious and humble and as a result one of the most admirable women I know. (Not to mention fun!)

Here are some thoughts from my first flights:

1. Heavy turbulence is a sufficient reason for a 'soiled pants' check...don't be embarassed, but do check.
2. Always lock the door in an airplane bathroom, "Peety-Pees-His-Pants" will not knock as a measure of courtesy.
3. If you can't figure it out, it's probably written in several languages in explicit detail on some sort of board three feet in front of you.
4. If you still can't figure it out, don't waste 15 minutes eavesdropping on nearby conversations hoping someone else will ask your question- just ask, people are friendly.
5. The Uni-Ball DELUXE Fine pens WILL EXPLODE on an airplane, leaving you in the window seat on a six hour flight with your hands covered in black ink as though you were the mastermind behind some mass roller-ball genocide. Heed my advice, if you own more than one Uni-Ball Deluxe Fine pen and have ignored my first warning (see above), do not open another Uni-Ball Deluxe Fine pen thinking that the first was simply fortuitous. Do not be an idiot. The second pen will also explode.
6. A great strategy for travel is to visit the toilet as often as possible at all opportunities. The universe works in a way that if you make the decision to pass up the bathroom, even if you're not sure you need it, you sign yourself up for definite long lines, a slow border patrol officer, and the one subway line you need will not be running that day.
If, however, you chose to work with the universe and utilize its facilities as often as they are presented, you will be rewarded...with an empty carousel turning with only a single bag (yours) because you chose to use the WC before going for your bag and in turn you are also getting to avoid the ridiculous, but necessary, awkward standing game that inevitably plays out every time you go to retrieve your bag after a flight. You know this game, everyone from the flight is congregated around the carousel but you get this sweet spot right in front, your knees almost touching the cold metal. If you were any closer you would be revolving on the dangerous looking sliding baggage track...then somehow someone sneaks in front of you, and in response you become righteous and enraged, "how dare they! I was here first! can't they see i'm looking for my bag?!" Then, though it seemed you had been as close as you could get, you edge your competitor out of the way and now are physically in a place of discomfort leaning forward nearly having to use the convayor system as a support for your upper body, the cold metal now digging into your shins and your elbows out wide in an effort to claim your space among the other challengers. Then once you see your bag you feel justified in your nearly violent efforts to make it to the front of the crowd, and upon grabbing your handle you bowl over any unaware and less skilled opponents while trying to lift your luggage from the merry-go-round from hell.
My advice: Go to the bathroom. You will avoid the entire spectacle.

the outline of a naked soul

2008-07-22T16:41:00.000-07:00

here's a list i've come up with:

my cell phone
my ipod
my laptop
my car
my clothes
my shoes
my jewelry
my attitude
my sense of humor
my make-up
my friends
my degree(s)
the way i wear my hair
the books i carry
the opinions i voice

it's short but it's a good start. it's a list of the shit i pile on top of who i really am. it's the list of barnacles i've allowed to attach to my person in order to feel wanted, sufficient, and cool. this is a list of my fig leaves. i've fallen, i've observed, and i've adopted the learned instinct of my fellow man to hide who he/she really is by purchasing, layering, and settling. the ironic piece is that these fig leaves, the things i've accumulated as a shield of protection from rejection, are the same items i unknowingly, and with little progress, have to fight against to 'find my true self.'

it's a set up. something, or someone, is telling me i'm not good enough, "my word! you're naked! you're going to need some leaves to cover up that vulnerability...lucky for you, i'm having a sale on fig trees this week."

it's really hard to be transparent with all these leaves covering all the real bits of me. i'm not saying none of the list has value (thank god for continued education or i would've had a real job by now). i don't really know what i'm trying to say, i've noticed a conflict of heart between who i am and who i'd like to be. i'm just throwing it out there.

walmart is not a good friend

2008-06-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

my friend called me this week, from Oklahoma, and asked me where she could find chewing gum at the super walmart in yukon. i closed my eyes, envisioned the floor plan, and directed her toward the four isles on the right side of the store (when facing inward) preceding cosmetics, across from the pharmacy, and just past the jewelry. immediately i felt an emotional pang of embarrassment.

the embarrassment is from the lack of contact i've had with my old friend walmart. it's the friend i promised to stay in contact with and occasionally think about but never quite make the effort to call and catch up.

this is probably concerning to anyone who knew me in undergrad...anyone who knows that for four years while living in Oklahoma City i might as well have been a greeter with my own roll of yellow smiley face stickers. before living in N.O. i was under the impression that there was no need to shop anywhere but walmart. everything you need is conveniently in one place: dale earnhardt t-shirt? walmart. belly fat reducing/dietary supplement/amphetamine? walmart. $5 movie bin (with a van damme 2 for 1 guarantee)? walmart. holiday specific socks/underwear/ties etc? walmart. ANY "As Seen on TV" product (including the magic bullet and various hair removal devices)? walmart. cheaply made, mass produced looney tunes apparel? you get the idea.

there was a time in my life where i viewed walmart as a place of provision; it was trustworthy and loyal. i knew the isles; i found comfort in the self-checkout machines; i knew that restocking hours were between 2 and 6 am. i have very good memories of my days spent in the OKC walmart....but just as with any nostalgic sentiment, i may have glamorized my experiences.

since i've moved to New Orleans i've visited walmart four times.

literally.

four.

this sunday i took my fourth (and final?) trip to the New Orleans walmart. i had to buy new tires.
my re-encounter with my beloved store of all stores was similar to that of seeing an old acquaintance after years of separation...i seemed to forget all of the things that irritated me about my old friend and remembered only the 'good' qualities. for instance, it slipped my mind that this old friend on occasion makes you wait four hours to change your tires, giving you ample time to make 15 trips around the store, stop off at the bathroom three times, 'people watch' from the $88.95 patio furniture display, go through the $5 video bin a couple of times (in case you might have missed something), revisit and fall asleep at the $88.95 patio furniture display, and purchase three diet cokes from three different vending machines.

what kind of friend lets you walk in needing a new set of tires and four hours later ushers you out with three sun dresses, a day planner (to add to the collection?) and a new sleeping bag?

the farm

2008-05-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

my family is a patchwork and this is just one square of its intricately crafted design.

one set of grandparents live in Walnut, Iowa. they are surrounded by beautiful land, amazing friends, and it is safe to say they are truly living 'the life.'

i've not experienced such overwhelming acceptance and love like that which pours out of these two relatives of mine. god is amazing in his plans and i love watching them unfold, especially when the road is littered with such affirming interactions like those i have with the Brehmers.

i wish you could meet them, your life would be enriched by the experience.

This really needs dusting...

2008-04-22T10:14:00.001-07:00

This week I've gotten a little creative with the distractions employed for procrastination. I was talking with a friend about how productive life would be if I just used other homework as my procrastination tool. My head nearly imploded when I tried to think about the consequences.

For instance, I have a 10 page Theory paper due Thursday. Should I,

a.) Take a nap (so as to be well rested and to ease in to the process. I don't want to stress myself out by just starting the paper)
b.) Call a friend and complain about how much work I have to do (which inevitably leads to a 'study break' of dinner and coffee and maybe if I've really been thinking about starting my homework I might reward myself with a little shopping. Because, again, I need to encourage myself for the work I've been thinking about starting)
c.) Dust out my fan...with a Q-tip (again)
d.) Update my Facebook status...I'm sure people are dying to know
e.) Start working on my Methods paper (also due Thursday)

Options a.-d. are my typical responses two to three days prior to the assignment due date. The idea of using homework as a distraction from homework is like a weird black hole. It's like I would start some homework and the moment I had the title page finished and the typical immediate thought of "There has to be something else I should be doing" popped into my head, I would just start on another piece of homework. The only complication I foresee here is that I would be so continuously engulfed in productivity that the really important things in life may go undone. I would neglect staying up on my e-mail in five minute increments; or I might never visit the CoinStar machine with my weeks of bounty; I might miss the Sunday movie special on AMC; I would surely never blog again; my socks would never get moved from the top drawer to the bottom drawer and inevitably back to the top drawer weeks later; I would probably never use all of my text messages for the month; I would have way fewer playlists on itunes; would the refrigerator organize itself?; YouTube would have one less viewer; and I can't even fathom not making time to read vogue or marie claire...my fashion life would go down the drain!

While it's a cute thought to use homework as a procrastination tool, I think I've presented a good argument as to why it would be ill-effective if not purely self-destructive.

p.s. this blog took a solid half an hour...I think a nap is in order.

watching Titanic for the first time...

2008-03-18T18:38:00.000-07:00

all right. here's the deal. i'm going to mention some thoughts/events and then i'm going to take a trip down memory lane with you. and then i'm going to go catch a brass band with my cousin.

no, goo goo dolls, it doesn't make me sad to know that life is more than who we are.
yes, vanity fair, women are funny too...and i would like to be best friends with tina fey. btw.
stride, your gum does last too long. sometimes i forget i've been chewing it for like 3 days.
mom, stop being so fabulous. or at least make me work for it.
it makes me sad that the only time all of your best friends are in the same room are at your wedding and your funeral. why don't we have "life" parties where all of my friends come from their respective states/countries and we just hang out. i really think you'd all like each other.
buttons make uber-trendy earrings.
and i think Thor or Bruce would make amazing names for chihuahuas*.

*chihuahua turned out to be a super-difficult word for me...almost not worth it.

Ok, so I was talking on the phone today with my bff (Angela) and we were remembering some of life's funniest moments. She reminded me of this one time, at SNU my Sophomore year.

I was in a Reading the Bible as Literature class with Peggy Poteet at 12:00 on MWF, composed of about 20 people. For our final grade we had to meet at her house, and talk about our favorite Bible story from the semester and why it mattered to us. So on a Friday morning during finals week at something like 5am we gathered. It was awkward that we were meeting at the prof's house let alone for a breakfast and care-n'-share with our entire class. Of course no living room outside of maybe Oprah's can hold comfortably 21 students, so here we are with our little paper plates filled to the brim with finger foods (mostly consisting of lil' smokeys but a few baby carrots for good looks), sitting on random chairs from through out the house (dining room, lawn chairs, stools) and each with a plastic cup filled about halfway with some generic brand of orange juice that tastes more like watered down tang.
Seated in a circle, I'm half hoping that as I am seated two down from the professor I will be next to last rather than second out of the gate. I wanted to get a good feel for what everyone else was presenting. As luck would have it Dr. P. decided for counter-clockwise and I had only one individual between myself and what turned out to be complete ridiculousness on my part.
So the first guy takes his turn. Of course he's the most articulate and seemingly intelligent person in the class (maybe even the universe). He goes on and on about alliteration and analogies and dichotomies and Greek and literary technique. It half-sounded like he co-wrote the selection he chose. He ended and received a response just short of a standing ovation (if not for all those little smokeys sitting so sweetly on our laps).
So then, Jessy, would you like to present your favorite story from the semester?

Would I!

I started out strong. I had brought my New Oxford Annotated Bible with me and had marked two different passages I found to go quite well with one another. I flipped to the first, the story of Jacob and Esau reuniting in the Old Testament. I started with "Well, let me just read the passage to you, and then I'll explain..." And then something happened I know not one of those 20 students will ever forget. I got LITERALLY two words into the first sentence of the passage and began to weep. WEEP. Not cry; not sweet droplets of tears streaming down my face; not even a quick "sob-and-quickly-compose-yourself-so-your-passion-is-observed
-but-your-intellect-is-admired"; no, I was in a full on weep. Similar to a reaction after seeing children starve in Africa, or watching Titanic for the first time. My face was so contorted that maybe I had a large invisible man attempting to squeeze every ounce of my facial flesh into a small can used for pickling okra or something. The physical contortion was my bodie's attempt to keep my mouth from making a sound like that coming from the depths of a deep, dark cave in some B horror movie. This is what weeping is like for me: Either physical or vocal ludicrousness. The greatest part is that I could not get my mind off what was making me react so seriously. So it just kept on going.
Meanwhile as I am trying to compose myself, my fellow classmates and professor are all looking at each other in astonishment/confusion/and eventual irritation. I'm sure some of them were wishing I had at least said something compassionate, or sorrowful, or even remotely spiritual, so that they could also tear up and empathize. But I had literally said two words the entire time. So unfortunately, no one knew what was going on. The room was silent, save my occasional attempt to speak the words, "I'm fine..." Which would have probably been humorous had I been able to slip more than "I..i'm FFFFFFFFFffffffff....."
This went on for at least 5 solid minutes. I'm not exaggerating. Please never let someone sit for 5 minutes trying to compose themselves from a fit of weeping. Just shoot them or something...don't let them go on scrunching their face. I stared at a wooden sailboat in a glass bottle set on a table in front of me the entire time, wishing I had some sort of excuse to be so emotional. Like a gushing hole in the side of my head.
So eventually I composed myself. "I'm just going to move onto the next passage," said in a sheepish voice with a hint of laughter (which I'm sure just creeped everyone out more). So I moved to the passage of the prodigal son. One sentence. I got out one sentence before the large gaping hole re-opened in the side of my head. This time I only went on silently weeping for 3 minutes (I'm being literal with the timing).

We had a limit of 10 minutes. So my presentation was over without my having to say anything. I don't really remember the transition used by my prof. to move on to the next person but I'm sure it was something like, "my God...next."

I only had to sit through 19 more discussions, making eye contact with no one and wishing I had chosen something out of Deuteronomy.

i want that cup!

2008-02-05T20:49:00.000-08:00

this weekend was mardi gras weekend...in new orleans this means much more than the tuesday prior to ash wednesday where you get drunk and sin your heart out.

i informed my friends and roommates that i wanted to experience everything there is to experience about mardi gras (just in case). so my mardi gras weekend started last wednesday night.

i had anticipated many things for mardi gras. i anticipated the crowds; i anticipated the "beer flowing like wine"; i anticipated good times; and i even anticipated small children nearly suffocating in the beads covering half their torsos and the entirety of their necks.

the thing i did not anticipate was my reaction to parade floats. i shall explain these floats, for those of you less seasoned in the sport. basically there are large trailers hooked to and pulled by large tractors. these trailers have been decorated according to the parade's theme and are called 'floats.' upon these floats ride many a drunken and masked man and woman armed with cheap beads and other random crap. one week ago today, last tuesday, i didn't get it. i asked myself, 'why would people stand in the street pleading with the masked passengers for beads, cups, stuffed figurines holding stuffed beer glasses and stuffed plungers, for hours and hours until their voices are no longer audible?'

i will not attempt to explain the reasoning. i will only tell you, and quite vulnerably i might add, that on last wednesday night, at my first mardi gras parade, (with a great deal more dignity in tow than what i've in reserve today), a person could find me on the sidewalk of st. charles street relentlessly yelling these words toward a drunken passenger atop his intricately decorated trailer/float:

"I WANT THAT CUP! I WANT THAT CUP! I WANT THAT CUP!"

it went downhill from there, my friends. today, one week later, i look to the corner of my room and see a pile of cheap beads, stacks of small plastic cups in my kitchen cabinets, and a coconut with the words "ZULU 2008" hand-painted on it.

three nights after my first parade, (confident with a few parades under my belt) i found myself at 2a.m. downtown on frenchmen street in the bass parade. for three hours a group of about 50 people danced to the beat of several bass instruments up and down the streets and in and out of bars. it was one of the most fun things i have ever done.

new orleans continues to do great things to my soul.

traditions.

2008-01-08T14:53:00.000-08:00

oh christmas break. for me it's the same old traditions: setting up the tree with mom in tulsa (despite my efforts to remind her that we will not actually be in tulsa for christmas...just like the last 23 years of my life); visiting grandma marge and grandpa buzz in phoenix for my yearly reminder that i am still single (followed by lengthy flirting lessons given by marge with no lapse in fervor from the previous year's demonstration); and finally a random trip planned by my father to either his house, my sister's house, or (like this year) my uncle's house in midland, texas.

Marge and Buzz:
For most people, Christmas conjures up certain sensations. Smells, tastes, memories....something like sugar cookies personified. For me, at least for the last 6 years, Christmas reminds me of motion sickness, 5 a.m. shopping, horse races, and the elderly.
Marge and Buzz (my mom's parents) live half their lives in Sun City, Arizona along with what seems like seven million other grandparents. Sun City is a lovely place to live. Some of its finer features include: the much abused option to travel anywhere in city limits by golf cart; lights out at 7 p.m. (this is not a rule, however is strictly followed seeing as most of the residents struggle to keep awake through their 4:30p.m. dinner); and streets wide enough to land 747s.
Without fail for the last 6 years the gparents have refused to allow my mother and I to catch a cab from the airport. We've tried late flights and early flights (midnight and 6 a.m., respectively) but alas, they are persistent and to the notion of independent travel to and from the airport Marge always replies, "we wouldn't think of it." The reason my mother and I try so desperately to seek alternate travel means is three fold: 1). despite Buzz repeatedly asking the ticket teller on our departure path from the airport what the best way to return to Sun City would be, Buzz always decides within moments of driving away that the teller is a complete idiot. We inevitably take ANY other highway than the one suggested by the man/woman PAID to know his/her facts. 2). neither Buzz nor Marge has the best eye site...I think we all have grandparents and I need not explain this further. 3). Buzz likes to drive using both feet. This means that at any moment (and for no particular reason) we can be cruising at a leisurely 75 mph and suddenly be parked on the highway (usually this sort of reaction is related to the faulty eye site of the two sitting in the front seats). Year after year, in silence (Buzzy likes the sound of his own whistling over any sort of radio noise) we battle the traffic, we ignore the highway signs, disregard any plans God might have for keeping the four of us alive, and travel along numerous detours taken in an effort to find that elusive highway exit we've inevitably passed due to our position in the far left HOV lane (Buzz is a big fan). All the while Buzz is cursing at Marge because Marge is speaking just soft enough so that Buzz, too stubborn to get a hearing aid, can't hear her and my mom is implementing her best peacekeeping efforts and I'm pretending I'm asleep.

This 30 minute ride takes our little family about an hour and a half.
But I'll be honest, my grandpa is a really good whistler.

oh geeze, december.

2007-12-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

christmas break has officially been kicked off. at dad's company christmas party we won a fishing pole which dad graciously allowed me to keep. it's my first and favorite fishing pole...it's left handed (Perfect!) the best part was my getting to walk through the casino and lobby of the Beau Rivage Hotel and Casino in my black dress and heels carrying my brand new fishing pole. i totally felt like nicole kidman or britney spears: i've never received so much attention in my life as walking through a casino in a black dress, fancy accessories and heels and my fishing pole. while the non-verbal reactions were beyond humorous, the verbal comments were lacking.

here's a brief description:

jessy: walking, with pole in hand, at a brisk but confident pace, not making much eye contact (for obvious reasons).
random person i've never met in my life sitting by the nickel slots: "Hey! Catch anything?"
random person i've never met in my life walking from the craps table: "Hey! Any luck?"
random family i've never met in my life entering the elevator with me: "Is that what you always wear fishing?"
jessy: (to each and with equal enthusiasm) "Nope!"

being that i was tired and not really exhausted with laughter at any of the comments, i just thought to myself: this is worth remembering, and continued onto my destination.

p.s. i'm in oklahoma for the week. i got to see some of my best friends (some of whom i haven't seen since may) and it has been a blessing to my heart.

a people orphaned by their city

2007-11-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

My drive began from my Uptown apartment on the cross streets of Broadway and Claiborne. My visual senses were heightened as I drove away from my apartment, down Claiborne. I passed a Salvation Army warehouse with a line of African American New Orleanians wrapped around the building waiting for some sort of service. It was 11 o’clock in the morning and the wind reminded me that night had been cold. Further down Claiborne nearing I-10 there were groups of people bundled up in blankets and sleeping bags from the night before not ready to be shaken from their slumber, waking only to a dismal reminder of their surroundings and situation. I had barely left ‘my part of town’ and already was having my reality checked. I traveled beyond all of anything that was familiar to the New Orleans I know. The houses began to regressively look smaller and more weathered by time until I found myself in a large field next to a cement wall. The wall is a brand new levee; it protects what used to be a neighborhood filled with houses and what is now an obviously forgotten community orphaned by its city.
I have had plans to travel to the Lower 9th Ward; it has been an area of interest for me since I moved here three months ago. I had been told it was the hardest hit as well as the least provided for prior to and post Katrina. Today I realized that not only were there not provisions for those living in the Lower 9th Ward there is also an apparent current disinterest in the residents. The neighborhoods remind me of the time I spent in underdeveloped countries in Africa or the poorer areas of Bangkok, Thailand. It was surreal to be driving down streets only 15 minutes away from where I live and see a scene that is so destitute and barren. I saw only one community organizing building and it was attached to a church, and I cannot be sure if either is currently functioning. Because of the state of many of the houses and buildings it was unclear to me whether or not people were residing or working in them. Most of the houses I drove by were clearly abandoned. Occasionally I would drive by a house I thought to be vacant but would have a car in the driveway and drapes in the windows and residents sitting on the porch.
It was surreal and saddening to drive down vacant streets lined with slabs of concrete representing what was once someone's drive home from work; walk home from school; route to church on Sunday morning.
I chose to have lunch in the Lower 9th Ward today. I found a small grocery store to stop in and use the ATM and was greeted with a friendly conversation by a fellow customer. I then drove around looking for a place to eat. I wanted to find somewhere “local” rather than a chain restaurant like McDonald’s and while it was difficult to find a place open and operating it was easy to avoid the chain restaurants, because there were so few. The only open business that is of corporation size was a Church’s Chicken restaurant. While driving I found only two restaurants, both proclaiming great po-boys and red beans so I chose one and had a great shrimp po-boy. I mention this only to highlight the lack of normalcy restored to this neighborhood. There are so few places to get groceries, eat a meal, shop for cosmetic purposes (such as Walgreens or CVS). I wonder how this affects individuals living without means of transportation.
Overall my experience driving to and through the Lower 9th Ward was daunting. My emotions ranged from confusion to frustration to extreme irritation and anger. As a future social worker it impassions me to become more involved in understanding the process behind preparation for disasters as well as preventative measures taken at the state and federal levels. The poor in this city are no different than the poor in any other city in the United States: they are neglected, ignored, and oppressed. I believe that it is our responsibility to take care of one another, regardless of race or class. It's two years later and we've allowed a certain population to live in these conditions:

this is someone's home

abandoned

the front doors.

the sanctuary

the kitchen

the levee

it rains in new orleans...and you get to swim a little

2007-10-06T14:17:00.000-07:00

more than seattle. it rains in new orleans more than in seattle.

today i had proof. out from the third floor window my fellow students and i watched vats of water pour from the clouds for hours. there was a pond outside of the social work building by noon. literally the size and depth of a pond...i am not exaggerating. and unfortunately because new orleans is the city in a bowl, the drainage issues are innumerable. i've been lucky enough to never be outside during one of these seemingly daily downpours and every time i get out of class to ride my bike home the rain has subsided and the weather is perfect for my eight minute ride.

the rain is good for new orleans...it's a dirty city.

my dad drove over yesterday for a much needed visit. he let me chose our dinning experience and he paid deeming our new system of choosing as "you do the decidin' and i'll do the buyin'." i love talking to my dad and here's why: he's got a perspective on life that challenges, encourages, and inspires me. he effortlessly (or so it seems) expresses advice that consistently pushes my form of thought past it's normal boundaries. there's an imaginary spectrum on which our topics of conversation range. yesterday we talked about socialized health care, re-democratizing of the United States, nobel peace prize winner Jody Williams, buying new shoes, road-tripping the country by car, and the peaks and valleys of life in general.
he randomly says things like,
"life's not just about floating down the river and getting knocked around by all the boulders...you get to swim a little too."

my dad is my sounding board. i respect and love the man he has become. i am blessed.

p.s. thanks to whole foods i've discovered couscous and it's the most exciting thing my mouth has encountered in quite a while.

Beautifully Historic

2007-09-25T22:55:00.000-07:00

i finally made it to a local cemetery. i've been obsessed with the style of architecture of these above ground graves since i was a kid.

p.s. i'm feeling so blessed to be here. school is going so well, i'm making friends, and finding out a lot about who i am and the person i want to be. the Lord has really provided so much for me, i can't help but feel adored by him.

a few of my favorite things...

2007-09-17T18:38:00.000-07:00

riding my bike to school: although the other day i nearly ran over a woman...a pedestrian. it was extra awkward because in response to her extreme state of shock all i could think to say was, "i'm so sorry...i'm an idiot." and slowly ride away, because as we know the initial 'kick off' from the ground and getting the pedals under your feet in the correct position takes a few seconds and then it's slow until you get some momentum going. so basically while i was attempting to get the pedals under my feet, kick off from the ground, and avoid all of the other pedestrians piling out of the shuttle bus (all of whom had witnessed my near homicide) i was still three inches from this startled woman's face. it was just the right amount of awkward to keep my life balanced and in near reach of normality.

my roommates: who've been gracious enough to lend me their friends in my search for social interaction. fortunately they are all amazing and inclusive.

my readings for class: what?! i'm learning and liking it?! yes. it's true...for now.

WHOLE FOODS: everything is fresh and about $3 over-priced.

the oak trees at school: there's one exceptional tree outside of the social work building that i ate lunch under today. it was pleasant and about 2 degrees less hot (i say 'less hot' because there is no 'cooler') than usual.

muppets take manhattan: people came over and we watched it in our living room...it was amazing and made my heart rejoice.

hollar.

stupid like the wright brothers.

2007-09-04T21:00:00.000-07:00

i have so much to say, i've seen so much, and yet as usual the words of my mouth are failing the thoughts of my heart.

this week i drove through some 'projects' (lower income housing) and broke my heart; at a Catholic mass on sunday night the Lord and I had a discussion about it, and he reminded me that he has set his Kingdom and his people here to be providers for those of his children who have been mistreated, orphaned, widowed, and impoverished. and that i need to quit crying and start acting.

i rode my bike to school again today, with a little more knowledge about where i was headed i made it in less than 20 minutes this time and thank goodness they have air conditioning figured out down here. literally just riding in front of the library doors sends a gust of cold air out so refreshing that you could probably take another lap if you had to.

my first class was Tools. my first professor: Parquet. a slightly larger and slower version of Bill Cosby. brilliant and articulate and has worked in the 'system' for, as far as his intelligence indicates, hundreds of years. his walk is indicative of his inner confidence: he sluggishly lifts his feet to just the hight necessary to take the next step. no more and no less. he is precise and accurate and confident and opens his eyes just enough for the observer to see a bit of white and no more.

His first lesson included these 2 guidelines:

1)cursing is permitted in class discussion but must only be used poetically or to emphasize a point (his example: Richard Pryor*)
2)students are encouraged to be stupid, like the Wright brothers...(cover your eyes if profanities offend you)...his explanation for this statement: "You know those Wright brothers, they wanted to build this machine and send it up in the sky and everybody around them bein' like, 'They stupid mother fuckers.'"

i'm going to love this class.

*http://www.richardpryor.com/0/4107/0/1239/

first day of school

2007-08-31T19:53:00.000-07:00

The night before it hadn’t occurred to me to begin worrying about my outfit until I had nearly fallen into a sweet state of slumber...the notion took hostage of my mind, “what are you supposed to wear to your first day of grad. school?” At SNU I had gotten so used to the routine of cut off sweat pants and a clean t-shirt that my mental picture of standard professionalism has been significantly lowered. To me, anymore, a nice pair of jeans and a blank t-shirt would suffice for a job interview. Thank goodness for women like my mother who remind me with sincere hearts and well-thought out sentences that while they may be my favorite, moccasins aren’t necessarily appropriate for every setting.

At any rate, I shot out of bed and with fervor (near panic) began trying on clothes…this brings me to a bunny trail: I, only two days ago, ventured to Old Navy in search for a pair of shorts (due to the ‘heat’ here in New Orleans, clothes are hardly bearable but to my chagrin there are laws about indecent exposure). Disappointed at their lack of summer options, I chose to purchase fall clothes. Pants, light sweaters, sweatshirts, cute long sleeved tops, turtle necks, etc. And my sentiment for new clothes resembles that of many toward a new pair of running shoes: I wanted to try on and wear everything immediately…my new outfits might make me run faster and jump higher. So, on went the pants, the tops, the sweaters over the tops and the leg warmers for my ankle to mid-shin region…I will now remind you that the ‘coldest’ it has been recently was 89 degrees, and that’s only when it’s pouring rain in the afternoon (which it does, without fail, every afternoon). In conclusion: by the end of the night my roommates and I were laughing at my complaints of our apartment being too warm: I, fully clad in new tweed pants complimented well by a new sweatshirt fashionably made to look circa 1980s…I cannot wait for fall!

So, because it was the first day of graduate school, orientation no less, I figured I should feel as professional (and attractive) as possible. I immediately texted misty jaggers, the most professional younger-ish person I know from whom I wasn’t too embarrassed to ask advice. She suggested that I wear something comfortable but professional and I chose my new slacks and a cute, low cut, but modest blouse.

Wanting to fit the part of a local student as much as possible, I rode my bike. What should have taken me 7 minutes (had I researched only for a minute an accurate route), ended up taking me close to 20 minutes in which I actually passed the school and then rounded back onto my original route what seemed like 3 or 4 times.

The ride consisted of my right pant leg caressing consistently and with passion my greased up bike chain; my low cut shirt introducing me to the neighbors; my backpack actually generating its own heat and without caution baking it into my already smouldering back; and my flip flops proving less than ideal for a bike ride longer than 30 seconds…

The ride home was even more entertaining as it had become nearly 100 degrees hotter than my morning ride.

108 degrees, slight wind from the East

2007-08-27T08:31:00.000-07:00

just got back from the st.john/zeis wedding and a couple of things linger on my mind...and since it is barely and rarely being used these days it is often found in familiar states of analyzing and reflecting.
-only moments after choosing my seat on the flight from new orleans to phoenix (southwest allows you to pick your own seat and because i had printed off my boarding pass 24 hours before i was in the line among other ambitious passengers whom in their possession held the coveted 'A' boarding pass and my seat was one to be coveted) the pilot makes his first of two speeches to the enraptured listeners aboard the flying metal tube. "Ladies and gentlemen, it's our pleasure to be flying with you this evening. Our flight will be a short 2 hours and 55 minutes to the Phoenix area. The weather is a cool 108 degrees with a slight wind coming from the East. My co-pilot and I hope you enjoy...blablity blah blah"
there were several poorly masked descriptors in his diction but i wasn't fooled. 108 degrees at four in the afternoon...i could hardly wait to get there. when i did arrive, at 9:00pm, i found that somehow the arizonians have found a way to make the night time air feel exactly like noon in west texas.

anyway the heat was a short lived distraction from the resplendent* festivities of a wedding i had been counting down the days toward. i have a hard time articulating my sentiment for weddings, but i will attempt despite my lacking:

i attend weddings for one or more reasons on a list i subconsciously have created and stuck to without fail or purpose:
1. i have nothing else to do and all of my friends are going
2. i am interested in seeing the bride's dress/decorative style/free food assortment/etc.
3. the person is a relative and i am in town...for which there would be no good excuse to be absent
4. the union is one that is surely blessed, thought through, prayed about, and it is not only a pleasure but an honor to be in attendance

the st.john/zeis wedding was the last-mentioned motive. not to mention it was beautiful and elegant. the bride was calm and relaxed, realizing that her friends and family where there and was just loving that enough to have a good time. the brides maids as well as the groomsmen were the best company i've had in a while and super fun people to be around. both families are worth mentioning (or writing a book about). tera's family is sweet and nurturing. her two brothers are supportive and humorous. her parents are a delight and the definition of hospitable. kyle's family is one of a kind, overflowing with puns and jokes and love. kyle's sister is personable and makes you feel like old friends. his parents are the reason kyle is so fantastic, you can see the relation in their personalities.

it was a memorable, relaxing, entertaining, and totally enjoyable weekend.

and now i wait for school to start. one week! i can hardly wait. AND i just remembered Preservation Hall (dingy room, no AC, no bar, just music)...i think i'll go this week. i'll let you know how it is.

(*a word i learned my junior year in high school and for the first time used in my written vocabulary...may explain why it sticks out so much, i've not quite got the hang of its best use)

the family vacation

2007-08-22T16:19:00.000-07:00

dad. sister. brother in law. nieces. cousins (x3). aunt. uncle.
key west.

it was awesome.

the two sweetest girls.

we did a LOT of fishing.

savannah. she's going to be famous, i'm sure of it.

dad.

this is the face parents hope for when they give their children birthday gifts. she's way genuine.

i had never seen a person throw a softball right in front of me.
i thought she was for sure going to be writhing in pain from her shoulder having dislodged itself from its appropriate socket...but apparently it's supposed to look painful.
seriously though, she's really good at it.

our dock and some love chairs.

key west is a fishing town.

and it's old.

men plan and god laughs.

2007-07-31T22:20:00.000-07:00

today my dad and i had an adventure. and as we evaluated at some point in this adventure: most things are funny in hindsight and terrible in real time, but july 31st 2007 was hilarious right in the moment of every minute.

we took a short 1 1/2 hour drive to new orleans today to finalize tulane stuff and also to do a little apartment shopping. (by 'shopping', i mean i had called one person in advance and asked if i could come look at their apartment...in the world of shopping this would have been more of a convenience store perusal than a full fledged outlet mall expedition). anyway, the apartment was cute, i hope they let me live with them...however, this is not the meat of the story.

following our stop at the quick-e-mart apartment extravaganza, we headed over to tulane where i needed to pay them lots of money and ask for a large loan as well as make sure i need no more shots (without which i can not enter onto the premises in the likely case of a measles epidemic). we made it to the school of social work building just fine, but there was a musk to the air that seemed even more stifling than the usual suffocating effect it has on me...i was sweating like it was a steam room before we were ten feet from the car. rain was coming and i think we both did that hopeful thing in our minds where you can see the clouds forming above your head, and heck, it might even be thundering in the distance, but you just ignore it and walk further from your car anyway. there's a sort of arrogance in this response to rain, as if to say 'it's not going to rain, i have things to do today.'

ten minutes later we were finished with our second destination and eagerly about to enter back into the fog of humidity when we realized someone was pouring buckets of water over every square inch of new orleans. this time hope lead us to 'wait it out'... we lasted about seven minutes. i had heard once that you can actually get less rained on if you walk through it than if you were to run...i shared this with my dad as we were exiting the building and as his walk turned to a brisk jog he noted, "yeah, but then you're in the rain that much longer." so we ran.

soaked and empty from laughter and jogging we sought safety from the rain in another building. we had just crossed a patch of grass which had been putting-green-esque only 20 minutes before and had somehow turned into a riverbed/swampland. so dad, my hero, ran to the car brought it back and escorted me with umbrella in hand to the passenger side where i entered merely damp as apposed to his drenched. we laughed and considered it a memory. our next stop was the health clinic. men plan and god laughs.

dad dropped me off with the umbrella (at this point we had verbally agreed that it was the most important physical possession either of us had ever or would ever own and we would never be leaving the house lacking again). i was in and out of the health clinic in minutes. as i opened the car door, it was still pouring outside, and i was thankful for that umbrella. i sat for a minute and my dad just looked at me and said, 'guess what?' what? i replied. and without losing his grin, 'while you went inside, i drove around to find a parking spot, and blew out the front right tire.' ear to ear, with teeth, 'i'm going to have to put on the spare, so prepare yourself for some nascar pit crew action here...' and on that note, he exited the car out into the pouring rain. so, for memories' sake, i timed him.

my dad changed a tire on my car in the heaping rain in 11:33:44. eleven minutes. thirty three seconds. and forty four whatever that last number means.

my dad is my hero, and he is right: men make plans and god just laughs.

come together: shrimp boil.

2007-07-27T17:46:00.001-07:00

Today I experienced my first shrimp boil...and it was spicy, and it was hot, and it was amazing.
Oh, Mississippi, how I love your traditions.
Here are a few pics. from the day:

Cold shrimp...before the boil.

Onions and Garlic. (I was told that these are the 'decoys'...if you're lucky everyone fills up on these before they eat all the shrimp/crab!)

a little seasoning.

spicy mushrooms...light your mouth and surrounding skin on fire.

Louisiana spice.

sack of potatoes.

Gary, our chef.

a little DP and Diet Coke

crabs: were a beautiful color.

God's so creative...they're bright orange inside.

the insides...ewww.

You learn something new everyday: today the lesson was crab shelling.

shrimp: post boil

the greatest part: you just get a platter and fill it with a ton of food...DELICIOUS!

my dad's on the right...he's way popular.

i need your grace to remind me to find my own

2007-07-22T21:02:00.000-07:00

forty minutes into my drive to pick up my mom from the airport in new orleans, i remembered that i had forgotten my camera at home. boo.
so, for this trip, i will give a synopsis in word rather than picture.
new orleans is, in general, an interesting place. there are all kinds of people: from local street performers just trying to make a buck to tourists who enjoy the bars and a feeling of anonymity. (most of them are accountants, i'm sure of it). depending on where in new orleans you are you can experience a hundred different vacations. there's the cute part of town, a quick drive down magazine st. where you can find local restaurants, antique stores, and of course the comfort of a starbucks. in the french quarter you can find voodoo shops and tourist traps along side some of the most historic and famous buildings (and bars) in our country. it's a beautiful, strange, enchanting, and foul place. it's bourbon street and beignets, it's coffee and bloody marries.

the most general of descriptions would be 'diverse' in terms of culture. there's creole, and italian, and there are blacks and whites and people who've spray painted themselves silver.

to me, new orleans is like one of those small snow globes your aunt brings you as a present from her vacation in montana. you can see our whole world in new orleans.

it's a mixture of tourists and locals; dives and five stars.

walking the streets of new orleans reminds me just how small i am, and just how infinitely big the Lord is. on his heart and mind is not just the issues that concern my heart but also the concerns and passions and desires of everyone around me. every person on the street has an issue. my God knows that issue, and resonates with that issue, regardless of who the person is.
and he loves them, because they belong to him, they are his children. i am humbled that the Lord knows my heart, but i am amazed that mine is just one of billions.
new orleans reminds me of grace. i have a hard time grasping the concept, but my heart loves the feeling. and my heart loves new orleans.

ocean springs=color!

2007-07-16T19:06:00.000-07:00

sea of shells.

growing from the wood.

this reminds me of spencer green. don't let anyone tell you where you can grow.

under the board walk...yeah, that's brown water.

after the storm.

blue. orange.

green. red. blue.

yellow.

pots.

roof meets wall.

magnolia.

rest a while.

MUTANT GRASSHOPPER.

daddy and grasshopper.

friends. food.

2007-07-07T21:41:00.001-07:00

katie and clint and the hookah hoze.

my amazing tuna salad.

i have hope for the flowers.

quiche.

strawberry tart.

table level.

the hookah...blueberry mint.

'nawlins

2007-06-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

my friend, clint, and i took a trip to new orleans today.
he tried his first beignet from cafe du monde.
i had my first (and hopefully last) ticket and towing from the streets of new orleans.
that's right: i parked right by a sign which read "no parking 8am-noon, tuesdays." above a large picture of a tow truck. what time did we arrive in new orleans? 10:30 am. what day is it today? oh, TUESDAY. so, when we were ready to leave (at 3:45) we walked around for about 30 minutes until i found the sign we parked by and it clicked in my head...$120 and an hour later, we were finally on our way home.

here's pictorial documentation of our trip.

i bought 2 pairs.

to the courtyard for coffee.

beautiful location for a sweet little coffee shop.

i love the colors of new orleans.

LUNCH! open air cafe.

used book shop.

cafe du monde.

first time!

oh, just tunning.

it's beautiful here.

the shop (aka Dough Joe's Coffee)

2007-06-23T18:34:00.001-07:00

so, here's the shop. pascagoula, mississippi's only coffee shop: dough joe's coffe house.
week two and i'm still messing up hourly. ha. but it's a dream job, for now.

it's a lovely swing.

chose a flavor.

lemon poppy seed is the best.

house, dark, decaf, flavor of the day.

well, hello honey.

they roast their own beans.

it's really quaint.

closing time...

espresso cups...my best friends.

table top.

new york gets hot in may...

2007-06-22T20:39:00.001-07:00

Oh, hey Central Park.

Beautiful. Other than the honking 25 feet away, it seems like an enchanted forest.

Moms first shot at Bubble Tea in China Town

Light a candle, say a prayer.

There are a lot of bleeding hearts.

There's room for everyone.

New York, could you be cooler?

Infatuated with the structure.

Blocks the sun.

Wow. Just wow.

tulsa's got roses

2007-06-22T11:25:00.000-07:00