This is my city

Have you seen those American Express commercials with Robert DeNiro talking about NYC as his city? He conveys such a sense of place, a true connection with his city. As I was walking my city yesterday, I felt a connection similar to DeNiro. Even though I technically live in Fairfax, I work, live and breathe Washington D.C. Walking the city energizes me and reveals hidden jewels. The character of the city lives on every corner and is driven in large part by its people. To truly embrace my city, you have to embrace all parts. Even if you don't love it, don't turn your nose up at it. Look at the homeless people as you navigate the gauntlet that are their parks. Stroll through the Capitol complex and act like you own the place, just like everyone else. Find a favorite watering hole and make it yours. Discover that perfect place to hear some tunes.

Despite all of this, I still feel like a DC virgin. A few of this (DC)virgin's favorite haunts (for the time being):

U Street - I *heart* all of it. I can shop for unique items at some of the funky boutiques like Pink November and Love Hurts; get awesome cupcakes at Cakelove; dance the night away and hear new bands at the Black Cat; grab a drink at Polly's Cafe or Saint-Ex; accidentally smell pot at some of the local record establishments; and many, many other things to titillate.

Fado - The Irish pub at gallery place. I like it's atmosphere. I just like it a little less crowded then it was on Friday night.

Tryst - Hoping the place doesn't become cliche, but it's great for coffee and blogging in the morning and hanging with boos at night.

More Gallery Place - Matchbox for mini burgers and Sushi Go Round for pretty tasty sushi.

Really I'm just a street walker who loves so many places. For the real scoop on hot new things to try in DC, sign up for the District's edition of Daily Candy and steal their suggestions. I do, and it just continues to make the city more mine.

The aftermath

Scarlet's birthday should never be described as a one-night stand, burning hot but fizzling quickly. It's more like that obsession you immediately feel for that one person once you lock eyes. It's fun and hot and for that first weekend you just can't leave each other's side. Scarlet's birthday was that kind of marathon.

The Cast of Characters:
Scarlet, Steven, Allie, Ravena, Vanessa, Vanessa, Jay, Julianne (+boy), Erin, Nicole, Carolyn

Scene 1:
After Cakelove and champagne at an undisclosed location, a smaller version of the group above crammed into Ravena's car and made haste for Sushi Go Round. A few flaming drinks and sushi rolls later, we were sufficiently fortified to make our way into the cold and wait the remaining band of revelers.

Highs - flaming volcanos, the dropped makeup brush, Steven's footprint on the car window
Lows - Jay (ask Steven), merry band of revelers picking a much calmer set of places to "crawl" to

Scene 2:
The Scarlet bar crawl began at Fado where we were everybody's Gap and Abercrombie was crushed against eachother. Luckily we're a bit more original than that, so after a round of jaeger bombs and the realization that Flogging Molly was not playing there we decided to jet.

Highs - Scarlet dancing with the drunk guy, jaeger bombs
Lows - the beginning of Scarlet getting continually congratulated on her engagement (damn that tiara)

Scene 3:
The next stop ended up being some world of beer place where (shock) I actually had a beer (Magic Hat). This was also the transition from sober Scarlet to drunk Scarlet. As the tiara started to tilt, the eyes glossed over and the flirting intensified, the beer continued to flow.

Highs - whipped cream shots, gossiping with Vanessa, Scarlet's flirting, texting across the table
Lows - being talked about by The Others for use of sidekick in the above texting

Scene 4:
A final move to Clyde's set the final wheels in motion. A lack of seating forced us to separate from The Others, but the drinks continued to flow. Tiara was at full tilt and hair was fully mussed. It was awesome. Damn that Grand Marnier shot.

Highs - Grand Marnier, Ravena getting hit on, tilted tiara, Steven being thankful for Ravena
Lows - the guy who hit on Ravena

After the smaller band of revelers snagged the princess and loaded her into the car, the fun continued as we made haste back to Fairfax. I need to be discreet here, but let's just say somebody got some action (cough...Steven) and that most in the car are apparently very studious.

To be continued...

The stories I weave

I make up stories for people I see on the metro. I don't know why I do it, but something in me feels the need to create lives for these people, explaining away their appearance or actions. This morning I got on the train with blonde girl and indie professional guy. Together, they are each forced to snag seats by eachother but not side by side. A few minutes into the ride I hear blonde girl exclaim and evidently realize she knew the curly brown-haired girl next to her. While I can't hear the conversation, I love that their body language tells its own story. Curly brown hair proceeds to talk more to indie professional guy, occasionally giving a glance to blonde girl. As the train barrels on Curly brown hair is full-on flirting with indie professional guy. Meanwhile, blonde girl begins to visibly withdraw. The smile slips from face and eyes. Her lips flatten into two thin lines as she attempts to hide her irritation. As I witness this interaction, my mind is inside the blonde girls head, imagining the form her anger takes inside her own mind. In my story, indie professional guy is tired of blonde girl and her unwillingness to create a life of her own outside of him. Curly brown girl is like the complicated Carrie, unwittingly proving that blondes don't always have more fun.

I wonder if people make up stories about me. I think I'd rather not know.

Merry band of revelers

Tomorrow night a merry band of revelers will depart for parts unknown (at least to them) to partake of a little orchestrated happenstance in honor of Scarlet's birthday. Though I'll never be as excited as she is (it is her birthday), knowing what will go down and the devious plotting that surrounds it has me smiling. I can assure you that the havoc we wreak this weekend will make it onto this space (and probably many others).

Since I know you'll read my blog just as quickly as any email, I thought I'd post your directives here for all to enjoy and ponder.

Bring with you the following items...

• a camera or two (duh)
• chapstick
• matches
• canned whipped cream
• your i.d.
• batteries (AAA)

What to wear...

• something hott

Where to go...

• be at Steven's apartment no by 5:45 on Friday. Park in visitor parking.

Everybody has the planning gene

Planning has often been a 4-letter word in my mind. Actually, clarifying thought...overplanning is the deal breaker. However, I've come to believe that everybody has the planning gene if there's something they want bad enough. In fact, stepping out of the planning haze I've been in, I have decided that planners fall into a few set categories.

Ain't-A Planner: This is a person who loathes to plan anything at all. Any attempts to drag this person into a planning session may result in scratching and eye gouging. Ain't-A Planner won't even plan their own wedding. Elopement is so much easier.

Reluctant Planner: The reluctant planner is really the person I described in my intro. This person dislikes planning anything too far in advance and refuses to get excited by the details. However, when confronted with an idea to fabulous to ignore, the non-planner morphs into planner and begins to get annoyed with others when they don't hop on the planning bandwagon.

Bunny-on-Steroids (BoS) Planner: This person is usually the worst nightmare to the other types of planners. The BoS maps out a plan of action months in advance. They carry a clipboard and create numerous lists. On the day of the scheduled event, BoS can be found with a whistle and a riding whip barking orders at the troops they've strong-armed into helping. This person can often be spotted by the vacant, slightly neurotic look in their eye and the headset for their cell phone.

Love the mix

Don't get any ideas from the title...it's just a crush. It's a crush that's slowly reducing my ability to think like a normal human being and managing to turn me into a mute fool when he's near. I reached a turning point last night, however, and decided to stop blathering on about it. This is like my almost last hurrah in blogging about him making me loopy, inspired entirely the songs that found their way onto my MailTunes* cd. I truly believe the right songs find us at the right times in our life, narrating our thoughts and emotions.

Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge - My version of the perfect crush song. It's like an obsessiveness that builds into like and wanting someone in every way you can want them. Wanting to be devoured by someone.

Hate by Cat Power - Illustrates that vulnerability I just can't shake...where you're not even good enough for you.

This Modern Love by Bloc Party - Sublime. I'm still working on all the ways I feel this song, but the last couple of lines (where he asks if she wants to hang) nags at the dusty corners of my brain.

*A fab club of fab girls exchanging music to a theme.

Life isn't all purple dinosaurs

I used to be one of those people who would declare how much they hated people. I had no tolerance for the difficiencies of the human race. When it came to thoughts and feelings, I thought I had some unique card that made me different. Surely no one thinks the way I do. I have to be the only one having these insane fucking thoughts. Then I discovered blogs and began to be struck by how similar will all really fucking are. I'm not alone, am even pretty far from unique. This Fish must be my soul sister when talking about having a crush/obsession. Marissa shares my staring problem. The Girl Who wants to avoid being the same married girl I want to someday avoid being. Amanda writes about the pain of hating something about yourself so much it changes the fabric of who you are. Scarlet shares my esp and tendency to try to read all the signs. Green Canary understands the perils of trying to be different. And I think Love & Haterade shares my spunk.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad I don't hate people anymore, and I'm kinda glad I'm not all that unique ; )

My life as a movie

As I stepped off of the frenzied train and closer to the reality of my day, I let my mind wander back to last night, dreaming a little of that photo. The escalator brought me steps closer to solid ground and a lone trumpet wove a melodious soundtrack that carried me along the city's streets. The background music of my morning set, it occured to me how much I get from DC's street musicians. They romanticize my life, give me hope for a better day or simply put a smile on my face. Thank you Mr. Gospel Guitarist at Courthouse, who puts a spring in my step. Thank you Mr. Beautiful Dread Saxophonist who plays away my pain. Mr. Asian Instrument Man, you transport me to another time and era. And, finally, thank you Mr. Romantic Trumpet, who made me feel like a movie star.

Who tells you you've made it

I picked up the latest copy of DC magazine yesterday, and at the risk of making myself a social pariah in DC, I feel I must comment. The magazine looks to be attempting to fashion itself as an offspring of Town & Country for the beltway set. The magazine is attractive enough; it caught my attention to the extent I was moved to pick it up for its "hot list". My confusion began as my eyes scanned the "Scene in DC" section. Who are these people? To be honest, I'm generally just as confused when I see some of the NYC society pages, but at least those women have become famous enough for their socializing/partying that I recognize the names. I am so not on the DC social set, but I am aware. The only name I recognized in all the pictures was Ann Walker Marchant, and that's just because I did some business with her several years ago. Is everybody in the pictures PR flacks? Is it true...is DC hollywood for the less attractive? Pick up a copy of the magazine and you tell me.

Two sides of the same coin

Friendship is such an amazing, cool thing, and given how difficult it is to make real friends as you get older, I feel lucky to have the met the friends that I do have. I definitely feel Beauty and the Beltway's pain in trying to meet new people in DC. It's ironic, though, that no matter how close we get to people there are always so many different facets of their personality that we don't see or only see rarely. I had a really interesting conversation with a friend earlier today about how we get so used to seeing a certain side of someone that seeing them in a new light can throw you. I recently discovered the secret blog of a friend (because they wanted me to) and am still working through seeing the weaker side of someone I always viewed as this pillar of confidence. Even the very friend I was having this conversation with has managed his own shock and awe campaign when I saw pictures of him with a couple of different girlfriends. Even as open as I am on this blog, I have secrets and sides that only come out around certain people. Discovering different sides of people keeps life interesting. I guess it's the spy in me that yearns for this new information and the stuff that keep friendships fresh.

Waiting in the age of technology

Waiting for a guy to email is just as bad as waiting by the phone for him to call. No matter how many times you hit refresh you aren't going to make him write any faster. For someone with my lack of patience, particularly when it comes to communication, this is pure torture. I've somehow gotten myself into this dual relationship (relationship=friendship) with this guy. There is the anonymous email relationship (he gives great email when he writes) and the let's hang out/be friends relationship. He is unaware that this seemingly split personality is just me. I feel like general sending my troops to fight on two different fronts, and I want both my fronts to do good. At the moment, the face to face relationship is slowly progressing, while my online persona has been waiting 5 days for his next email. So, I pine away in front of my computer waiting for that next email to brighten my day. It's the new face of pathetic.

What is seldom is wonderful

The title of this post is an old Irish proverb whose depth really weighs on me. I read it and immediately know exactly where it comes from. Think of all of the things you really love or enjoy that you only experience infrequently. How much more wonderful are they when you do get to experience them? It's like waiting for an email from a friend who you don't correspond with all the time. Opening that email is a moment of bliss. Isn't chocolate better when you don't have it every day? I cherish my time more with people I don't see all the time thereby making even the most mundane seem wonderful. You can punch holes in this proverb (rarely get sick but that doesn't make getting sick wonderful), but it's so much sweeter to accept it simplistically. Since day 16 in This Book Will Change Your Life Again (sidebar) is all about testing a proverb, I'm going to spend today experiencing the wonderful by revisiting some of the things I love that I seldom get/see.

Black Rogue Bunnies: Too Smart for Their Own Good

The Black Rebel Bunnies (BRB, aka us) braved the elements this afternoon
to compete in the DC Spy Game. After rapidly solving the first clue to
determine the start location and time, we knew we had this competition
in the bag. Who better to win a competition than the world's biggest
Alias fans and stars of their very own spy movie. Little did we know
going in that we were too smart for this competition. So smart, in
fact, that we came in last place. So smart that the organizers kept
calling us practically begging us to give up with their voices, tired of
waiting for us to finish. Yes, the clues were hard (seriously), but the
real problem is that we thought too much about the clues. We didn't get
the clues until we dumbed ourselves down...see, too smart for the
competition. Regardless of the outcome, we had a blast almost getting
blown away at the Washington Monument (again seriously), willing the
rain not to come and cursing a detour to the National Gallery. Good
times that ended with good food and now a comfy bed. And Ravenchase,
prepare yourselves because BRB will be back and we will dominate.
Serena

The popular conundrum

According to the book of Benrik (sidebar), today is Mainstream Day. What better day than today to post on my aversion to most things popular*. When things (books, movies, music, clothes) enter into that phase where everyone just has to have it, I begin to get annoyed with the very existence of the object in question. The Da Vinci Code, for example, was an entertaining enough book, but the thought of millions of people signing up to join the cult of Dan Brown and worship at the altar of his stories makes me want to wretch. It most assuredly makes me want to avoid it like the plague. The Oprah effect is also part of the problem. I have no issue with Oprah, but I do find it a bit mind blowing. Take Oprah's latest book club pick, A Million Little Pieces. It was on my list of books to read when it first came out, but I just never got around to it. Because of Oprah every soccer mom, ritalin-popping wannabe is reading the book. Now, despite the fact I've heard he is a brilliant writer, I'm hesitant to pick up the book. In my mind, I recognize that insane popularity doesn't directly translate to complete and utter crap, but moving past that hurdle is difficult. This isn't a new phenominon with me. I was one of two girls during my freshman year of high school that truly hated New Kids on the Block. No shirts, buttons, dolls or cds for me. I guess the question I'm left asking myself is whether I can reconcile my intense dislike of mainstream popularity with a genuine interest in something that makes it big.

*Don't think of me as one of those people who thinks they're so cutting edge or too cool to like something everyone else likes. That's not where I'm going here. I just don't want to be a drone.

Beep-Beep...ahhh

I'm willing my way to a better week and a much more chipper mood. I'm actually getting a little excited for Saturday's Spy Game (now if we can all just get registered). Solving clues and going on a chase throughout DC, pretending to be someone I'm not...what could be more fun? One thing I have learned about myself over the years is that, while Monopoly or Go Fish may not be my games, I do love me some random, wacky fun. I like adventure or at least the semblance of adventure. There is a time and place for movies (big fan), but give me a choice between that and something random like making a movie or go to the DC High Heel Race and I'll choose the more random option almost every time. What's the most adventurous/random fun you've had? Send me your ideas!

e-therapy

I love the therapy aspect of a blog. Maybe I'm taking it a bit too far when I pour rants and raves, heart and soul online for whomever to read. I don't believe that, though. I take an odd comfort in reading about the emotional ups and downs of my fellow bloggers. It's not that I'm glad everyone's life is as dramatic, happy or often as boring as mine; it's just that knowing people are out there thinking the same things I think and fighting the same fight I fight really does make this world seem smaller. It's like giant group e-therapy, and I love it.

The food of Elvis

Do you ever go to a place and look around, wanting to automatically make it yours? The people you see there are the kind of people you automatically want to make friends with and have in your inner circle? Last night I joined a friend at Busboys and Poets and felt that vibe. It's one of those places where you want to belong. Walking in, the creative energy of the place rolls over you. I wanted to paint, to blog, to design. It was that life I wanted to live and those people I wanted to know. Hanging out in the city always makes me starry eyed. In the city, the creativity is a palpable , organic thing. In Fairfax, the fair suburban isle I call home, you have to stumble across creativity, peeling back layer upon layer of mass appeal. Thank God I've stumbled upon a few kindred spirits out in Virginia that make it ok to call it home for now.

Am I really that lame?

The short answer is yes. Why, you ask? My most recent Netflix arrived today and with it came Darrin's Dance Grooves. That's right. I basically order white people can't dance 101. I should be disturbed with myself, but it just looks too hilarious not to try. I've been obsessed with dancing for awhile now and dance movies are my absolute favorite (the only dvds I'll actually allow myself to purchase). Dirty Dancing was my all-time favorite movie as a kid and still ranks rather high. Back to Darrin's, I figure the dvd will serve a good warm up to the dance class I'm making some friends take with me next week (they don't know this yet..shhh). Plus, I'm all about a chance to laugh at myself.

The conundrum

Like everyone and their mother out in blogland, it seems I'm facing some kind of New Year's Eve (NYE) conundrum. Let's just say that I'm a New Year's virgin. Obviously, I've experienced the passage from old year to new (hell...30 of them), but I have never actually celebrated by going out and surrounding myself with others. Let me repeat myself just to make sure we're on the same page...n.e.v.e.r. During my formative years, I would watch the apple drop in New York on the TV from the comfort of the parental abode. My mom would flip back and forth between celebration shows, and I would fantisize about partying the night away at one of those clubs when I got older. I would wear a dress that shimmied when I shook my ass and have some tall, dark man to shimmy with. Well, I did get older and somehow just forgot to celebrate on NYE. I think all of the societal brouhaha about it needing to be some stupendous night caused me to go into hiding. I don't respond well to pressure like that. I fell into another tradition once I moved to Virginia. Watch Night service at church. This year I've decided no hiding at home, no hiding at church (not that I was hiding)! Societal pressure be damned. We're popping this NYE cherry because this girl is going out!

This place is a prison

I just picked the dj for my wedding. Confused? No need to worry. I didn't get engaged, meet Mr. Right, go on a date, or even manage to respond to a booty call. The sad fact is that in some things I am a typical girl (much to my consternation). I see white dresses and think that that's how I'd like my wedding dress to look. I drive by a beautiful spot near water and imagine a simple barefoot ceremony. And, today, I realized what awesome mix cds Scarlet makes and decided she would make the perfect dj for the event.

I would be curious to see if any scientific studies have been done to identify the gene that causes us to even think about things like weddings in this way. I refuse to believe that I am so easy to program that your average socialization has done this to me.

Laughter...the new way to healing?

Having more free time on my hands than I normally do this holiday weekend, I also took in my fair share of TV. In addition to realizing what complete crap most shows are (and the true brilliance of some), I found myself watching a bit of Comedy Central's Last Laugh on Christmas Day. I have to profess that this wasn't really of my own doing, since I'm not one of those girls who can just sit down and watch stand-up comedy. To be honest, I find many of them crass and my PC (aka political correctness) alarm clangs so loudly that my head follows suit. However, I was a guest on Christmas Day and decided I could sit through a little Comedy Central in exchange for being able to finish watching Elf. I found myself bothered at the insensitivity of the Katrina jokes and was working hard on not getting Serena when things shifted. Carlos Mencia took the stage, and I had one of those wacky moments of clarity when you begin to view the world just a little differently. Yes, comedians are a crass bunch that say things most of us would never say. I even think there are some shitty comics out there who are just mean, bitter people. However, what if some of those comedians are leading a new fight to make this a better place. Instead of hiding behind their principles or something far worse, they are out there shining a social spotlight on some of the problems in this country and trying to make it funny, so it's easier for us to swallow. Musicians have been doing it for years. Maybe now comedians are the new vehicle for rallying the people.

Knitta

How can I not blog about this?! It's like I found yet another creative mecca. Knitta is a small band (~2) of knitters who started turning all of their unfinished projects into graffiti. The Houston Press recently wrote an intriguing piece, Knitta, Please, on the weekend exploits of these two women, and I got absolutely giddy just reading it. To truly get my giddiness, you have to get my obsession with graffiti, my sporadic knitting and my penchant for random, wacky fun. These women (young mothers) do a little tagging, grab a beer and head home to the fam. Oh...and they document their work with photos!

They leave their mark with calling cards that say things like "knitta, please" and "whaddup knitta". The only message they seem to be driving home is fun and creativity, maybe the desire to encourage all of us to think outside-the-box when it comes to art. Who knew fellow Texans could be so cool?

Anyone up for a little random tagging up in NVA?

Holiday scuttlebutt

Rumor has it I had a good time last night. Let's examine the facts:
* Coffee @ Jamie's General Bean: good coffee, friendly people, talking with Scarlet about good first kisses
* Red Robin: honey mustard, water, stories
* Steven's apartment: mistletoe, boxers, Gilmore Girls, Elvis, calendars
Rumor status: True

Seasons change; should scene changes be more frequent

I definitely don't consider myself someone who is "of the scene". Hell,
I don't even know what a scenester is and, if I could even fathom a
definition, would probably get it wrong. I am decidedly uncool and am
alright with that most of the time. That said, I did come to the
realization that I need different bar scenes depending on how social I'm
feeling.

My all-time favorite bar scene is the cozy bar. This is the dark, yet
well-lit bar with comfortable couches and potentially a fireplace. The
comfortable bar is where you can easily kick back with friends for a
drink and talk the night away. One of my favorite comfortable bars in
DC used to be Ozio.

Then there's the music bar where you can go to hear the really good (or
passably good) live music. Maybe you'll meet someone, maybe you'll
socialize but you're really there for the music. I actually can't think
of any places like this in DC that I favor. There's a place in
Georgetown that isn't bad, and I supppose the Black Cat could be this
place (just haven't been there enough). 9:30 club I don't consider a
bar.

Lately, I've been trying to make a swank place called Blue Gin (a new DC
place we all love) into one of those bars where you go to meet people.
Last night I came to the conclusion last night that, for all its
coolness, it wasn't that kind of place and couldn't be made into one. I
love dancing on its tiny dance floor and like the atmosphere, but it is
a place for couples and cliques. Even if you wanted to go there in an
attempt to meet men, you'd find the men decidedly stuffy (it is
Georgetown). Budding young politicians looking for their first
stay-at-home.

I honestly don't believe you can really "meet someone" in a bar, but
sometimes it's just nice to talk to new people. Not that we're on a
quest, but I continue to keep my eyes open for a place to hang that
doesn't turn my stomach or make me feel like I'm in some covert episode
of America's Next Top Model.
Serena

Free the elves

Holidays usually bring about time for reflection, at least they usually
do for me. This year, however, I've just bopped merrily along with nary
a pause for that deep, introspective thought. Even now, I just tried to
get worked into a frenzy about some injustice but couldn't quite manage
it. My mind just bounced back to thoughts of peppermint and holiday
balls. Because of the bad weather we're having the homeless people's
place on the sidewalk has been decimated. I registered it. It saddened
me, but I didn't come close to shedding the tear I might have in the
nonholiday season. Does internal happiness sometimes work as a shot of
immunity against noticing the wrongs of the world? Am I *too* happy to
let in a little grey? Hope not.
Serena

Baby, it's fucking cold outside

As much as I love this cold weather, standing out in the cold waiting on
a bus destined to be late just about kills this Texan. You can't laugh
off the experience riding the bus gives. I've done local buses, county
buses, commuter buses and even Greyhound to Texas. No matter the bus,
day or time, you are most assuredly guaranteed to meet some interesting
characters. Today, for example, I am joined by a girl who insists on
carrying on a cell conversation at decibals even the dead can hear. To
make matters more interesting, she's spent the last 10 minutes trying to
convince, what I can only assume to be her boyfriend, to pierce his
balls. I've met convicts, loons, excons who watched over me...all these
people on the bus. On my last trip home, I befriended a group of thugs
in back. Hell, I figure if something goes down I figure I wanted those
guys on my side.

Moral of the story: I recommend that any writer looking for ideas just
hop on a bus.
Serena

The merriment continues

Someone seriously needs to slap the Christmas spirit out of me. If the
leapings on my inside were visible on the outside, I would get on more
than my fair share of nerves. Some things that have kept me joyful:

*chocolate mint candy canes
*decorating Steven's Christmas tree while listening to Christmas cds
*decorating stockings
*having the makings for "real" eggnog
*cold weather and snow on the ground
*finding Emmett Otter's Jug Band Christmas on dvd
*colorful holiday balls
*cookie swap
*craft projects
*knowing what to get most everyone
*Christmas lights
*kissing balls (screw mistletoe)
--radicalflower

Mistletoe, snow & hot cocoa

It's not the best picture I've taken, but it does sort of encapsulate the internal stirrings of Christmas merriment I've been feeling. I'm giddy with holiday cheer and will probably explode before it's over because I don't have time to EXPEND any of it. I've been creating a mental list of everything I need to get done before December 23rd. I need to make time to put it in writing because I know I'm going to forget things and am really worried about forgetting people. It doesn't help that I feel all this creative energy and want to make a lot of my Christmas gifts (time keeps on ticking). I'm not even going to 98% of the holiday parties/open houses that have come across my desk. Maybe if I promise to put together a December to-do (including a list of who I'm giving a gift to and what they get) list before my head hits the pillow, then I'll be more apt to do it. Until then, ponder my HOLIDAY PHOTO CONTEST. What, pray tell, do I want? I want gorgeous, tacky, understated, over-the-top photos of holiday lights! Email them to me by noon on Monday, December 19th.

Holiday stress is so much more fun than regular stress!

Something of my own

Closing by yourself in the music department (me:last night:Barn) tends to allow time for introspection or at least a more random thought life. As I was flipping through the cds, thinking of ones I wanted to buy, I began thinking back to the music that has been in my life. Almost every group I have listened to for the past 15-17 years has been at the influence of someone in my life. I listened to Garth Brooks in high school because David loved Garth and I liked David. In my early 20s I listened to a lot of jazz and broadway because that's what Michael listened to. My gospel and R&B taste came from the current roommate. Even now, the indie-punk-whatever bands are at the influence of Scarlet and Allie. While I like all of this music (past and present), even love some of it, I started questioning whether or not I truly had taste or an opinion of my own. I got to thinking about the movie, Runaway Bride, with Julia Roberts. In it, Richard Gere calls attention to the fact that Julia doesn't even know how she likes her eggs cooked. For most of her adult life she has eaten her eggs the way her current man had been eating his. I felt like that was me with music. In my adult/young adult life, had I ever come to a band on my own?

It didn't take me long to realize that I had come about one of my favorite bands on my own. Smashing Pumpkins is all mine. I found them and loved them all on my own without anyone I knew even knowing who they were. I actually remember (seriously) shopping in Hastings Books & Music for a cd for my brother when I spied a cd by some group called the Smashing Pumpkins. Siamese Dream was the first of their cds I purchased that day. I had never heard of it nor them (San Angelo, TX...not well known for its music scene) but made the purchase like I do many of the things that I buy. They had an interesting name and an attention-grabbing cover, so it was mine. I considered giving it to my brother, but after that first listen, I knew I'd have to go out shopping again. I didn't stop at Siamese Dream and have owned many of their cds over the years. They were even my first rock concert. I watched Billy Corgan get pissed at a lame Texas crowd that kept throwing trash on the stage, lecturing the crowd and ending the show early. The point of this is that by the end of the night I felt ok about this. I do know how I like my eggs cooked, and I'll always have the Pumpkins.

An apple a day

Isn't it odd how forces sometimes coalesce around certain issues in your life, seeming to dare you to respond? Who am I to argue with fate?

I consider myself a plebian. I come from plebian stock and hope to remain in touch with my plebian roots throughout my entire life. I hope to raise children who carry a plebian mindset with them in all they do. I never want to be mistaken for an elitist or someone who isn't willing
to work for something. Why the rambling? I got sucked into a debate today on the merits of a private school education versus a public school education. For those of you who don't know me very well, let me state that education is one of my "hot button" issues (hot button issue=an
issue I care deeply about and will cause me pull out the nearest soapbox). The conversation itself was fairly innocuous because I was speaking with a like-minded individual. However, it did bring years of resentment toward the education system to the forefront of my mind.

I am continually amazed at the politicization of our education system and how it has turned into a battle of the haves versus the havenots. (I'm going to oversimplify here because I'm a lazy blogger.) Take public school versus private school for example. Generally (remember I'm generalizing here and realize there are exceptions to this), people who have the means are the only ones able to send their children to private school. Private schools have, in fact, been referred to as training grounds for the new elite and are becoming widespread enough to cause me to wonder whether our government and its people have given up on public school. If mainly those with means can send their kids to private school and the government is investing less in public school, then where does this leave public school children? Public schools, particularly in lower income school districts, get treated like second class citizens. I speak from experience on this issue, having gone to school on "the wrong side of town". My high school lacked in so many of the opportunities afforded the high school on the other side of town. I hadn't even heard of AP tests until I graduated college.

It's not just about public versus private education. It's also about the general dumbing down of our kids. Teaching to standardized tests is not teaching. Allowing any Suzy Sixpack to educate her kids at home is not teaching. Assuming your kid deserves a higher grade than they got or deserved is not helping their education. I'm not just pulling these things out of thin air. I have witnessed this myself or have seen friends who are teachers go through it.

I am so not done with post but should stop before it becomes a manifesto. Let's just say that if we can't effing teach our kids (ALL kids) then what are we coming to?

I *heart* art

I love art. Simplistic, complicated, beautiful, obtuse, paint, photography, illustration, graphic design, music, the written word...love it all. I spent the last few hours of my evening flipping
through one of my old issues of Look-Look magazine, a publication aimed at promoting the work of young artists in a variety of mediums. The emotion and creativity displayed by those with little formal training always blows my mind. It makes me want to drink wine, put on a good cd
and create something. Some people want to bring forth life in the form of children; I want to give life to art of some kind. I have a hard time choosing a favorite artistic medium, but the flexibility of photography amazes me. I guess the point of this post (other than the rambling it has afforded me) is urge you to check out one of my favorite photographers. Go to Scarlet's online photo montage, and let your jealousy build looking at her photos. Start with her 'favorites' folder...you won't regret it.

Just a dusting of emotion

I'm feeling euphoric right now. We're in the middle of the first
snowfall of the season, and even though it is just a series of flurries
I love it! It's ironic how there is a moment where something snaps
inside me, and I begin to get excited for the holiday season. I have
had Tuesday and Wednesday off this week, time that was truly mine and no
one elses. During the past two days I have become ok with Christmas
music, snapped fall pictures, baked cookies, spiked my own drink, and
knit a scarf. This afternoon, I watched my first holiday movie of the
season, and this evening sang my first Christmas carol and danced around
my living room. Since I'm never thankful enough, I thank God for my
family, friends, and the life he has given me to live.

I've got three words for the holiday season...bring it on!
--radicalflower

Fear of Dreaming

I am an inquisitive person. A friend of mine is attempting to set me up with her English professor. She piqued my curiousity by telling me we might hit it off and talking about how mysterious he was. A snapshot and a name later and I was officially intrigued. The man was hot in that geek chic way that I love. Evidently he was intelligent, well-read and had recently published his first novel. All very promising. I then did what every girl with a blog, a Google obsession and an addiction to Alias would do. I googled him. More than your average novice, I took it one step further and trolled Technorati just to ensure I didn't miss anything. Some might call it a bit obsessive, but I believe fully in being an informed citizen. While I didn't discover the secret blog I was hoping for, I did discover his "official" website and a couple of different interviews with him following the release of his book.

Did I learn anything? I learned that Matt Bondurant comes across as one cocky piece of work. Personally, I cannot stand the Dan Brown obsession and would never consider him a literary genius. However, it seems in poor taste for Bondurant to slam Brown's writing while talking about how he set out to write more of a literary novel. I, for one, am fed up with writers and their quest to produce a literary masterpiece. You either possess that kind of talent or you don't. If you have to remind us how talented you are, perhaps you value your work more than the rest of the world. Perhaps the literary novel you thought you wrote is more Clive Cussler than Alexander Dumas. Of course, Bondurant himself admits that writing is an arrogant endeavor in an interview on Slushpile.net.

I could continue on my rant, pointing out the numerous instances where Bondurant came across as arrogant. I am loathe to admit, however, that I find this cockiness somewhat appealing. Help me out here. Why do some women (myself included) have a soft spot for arrogant men?

Prime

I saw Prime earlier this week at the theater, and despite the fact I am no Meryl Streep fan, I enjoyed the movie. I am horrific at psychobabble and looking for the hidden meaning in movies (Freud's analysis of Kafka's the Metamorphosis completely threw me for a loop), but I do know that I was cheering on Uma Thurman's old ass as she hooked up with the uber-young David. It's not that I'm a cradle robber, but as I continue to get older, I do feel like everyone my age is permanently attached. The younger guys begin to look better and better...not to mention the fact that I have trouble even discerning age sometimes.

Really this just illustrates my penchant for inappropriate crushes. Not only has my eye strayed to younger men, I've eyed older bosses, married coworkers, coworkers in serious relationships, people I couldn't stand. Inappropriate crushes begin with the littlest of things. Did you ever have someone look at you in just that way? Look at you like they knew you and convince you they really did? I had what is likely my last encounter today with an inappropriate crush who did just that.

It's not just a look though. Sometimes it's just the way they laugh or the way they annoy me, the way they hug. It's that weird quirk that makes someone want worthy. Fortunately, sometimes you have to recognize an inappropriate crush for what it is, give a hug like you mean it and let them go.

Stigma of walking

Walking (propelling oneself with one's own two feet) in the suburbs is akin announcing you have leprosy or that you've always wanted a child with three arms to handle chores better. Ever since my car died, I have become familiar with buses, walking and the like. I am continually amazed at how weird people think walking is. People stare at walkers. A key piece to this is that you have to be wearing normal (i.e., nonworkout) attire. Slapping on your running shoes, sweatband, and a pair of shorts to get in a walking workout is ok, but walking to get from point A to point B is preposterous. "Don't you have a mini Hummer to use to go that one mile? Do you have so much free time on your hands you can afford to walk?" Their eyes burn these questions into my soul. Perhaps I would be less bitter about this if I weren't being forced to walk by a car that is now a very expensive piece of junk.

Weekend update

*Sigh* I feel like the last few days have passed in a blur. As the leaves finally turned and made their way to the ground, I spent much of the week in rural Virginia at a staff retreat. Forced bonding is a double-edged sword. I am thankful for the way in which the true personalities of certain people on our staff were revealed. I'm continually amazed at the audacity of people to hold on to the antics of high school and middle school and am thankful I've had the luck to outgrow some of that drama. Of course, that age manifested itself in the form of aching knees on Thursday after a night of hardcore staff dancing.

As the staff retreat came to an end on Friday, I stayed in the Virginia wilds (re: rural and a little far away) for a modern-day version of the slumber party. Think coed with a bartending book, board games and truth or dare. I discovered that:

*Scarlet can make a mean pizza and mixed drink.
*I don't like Tijuana Sunrises or Carusos.
*Steven is the cookie monster and wears cute pjs.
*I can't hum worth a darn.

I wrapped up the weekend with movies, a Godiva (the alcohol) ice cream float, and a rockin' free haircut.

I missed blogging.

teenage crushes

I was looking through a box of old photos the other day in search of a picture of me as a toddler and came across several photos of an adolescent me hanging in my room. Like your average pre-teen (hell, teen) I had adorned my walls with all sorts of random memories. This includes a lion's share of ripped out pages from magazines like Tiger Beat featuring men I thought I couldn't live with out. Looking back I have come to realize that perhaps my taste in men was always skewed. My walls featured George Michael (gay); Michael J. Fox (Alex P. Keaton so played into my republican fantasies); and Elvis Presley (what other kid gets a crush on a overweight, dead rock star). There were more photos up, but these 3 were definitely my obsession. What celeb crushes did you have when you were a kid?

thirty, flirty & thriving

I woke up this morning and had to deal with the fact that I am now a 30 y.o. woman. Truthfully, I have been celebrating the fact all week and coming to terms with this day the moment the clock started ticking on 29. I have had a fabulous weekend celebrating thanks to be surrounded by good friends.

Friday night Scarlet, Steven and I (sboos) headed into Richmond for a little food, drink and FirstFridays. Scarlet showed us around some of her old haunts, starting with cheese and pepperoni at Bottoms Up Pizza. Lack of a proper meal during the day left us a bit tipsy after one drink, so I decided to bite the bullet and kick off Project 30 Kisses for 30 Years. Steven's eyes widened as I pushed him against the wall outside and laid one on him. Poor guy...thanks for being such a good sport and being my #1. Fully satiated (from the meal, not the kiss), we headed down to Broad Street and FirstFridaysArtwalk. Fat bellydancers, twirling fire, a 3-d hut that made me feel like Alice in Wonderland going through the little door, spinning outside of Scarlet's brother's store, and tons of those kind of guys. We closed out the evening with a round of brew at Penny Lane Pub and me going round and round on which guys in the bar to make 2+ in Project 30 (none...couldn't bring myself to do it). The evening technically wasn't over because Scarlet and Steven further plied their way into my heart with birthday cake from Cakelove (mmmm) and a supply of sugar-free Red Bull. Seriously, you know your friends know you when they know the way to your heart is through chocolate and caffeine. I even enjoyed the laughs on the drive back as we all fought to stay awake (with only Scarlet and I winning) and pondered a quick jaunt to Spirits while Steven snoozed.

Not to be outdone, Saturday night was all about dancing my way into my 30s. A group of us had dinner in Adams Morgan at El Tamarindo (Mexican-Salvadoran...my favorite) where Ravena regaled us with stories of her afternoon at some sort of bondage convention and other just tried to keep it together : ) Food was good...margaritas were even better. The original goal was to attempt to find parking in Adams Morgan and hit a club or two there...no luck. Searching for a parking space in Adams Morgan requires divine intervention that we didn't have. The best we got was a game of chicken with a screaming fire truck on those narrow residential streets. Perhaps it was divine intervention because we ended up at one of my new favorite places, Blue Gin. Some ass-shaking occured, and I did indeed dance my way into my 30s.

Thanks, guys. You rock!

Remarkable

It hit me this past Sunday that I was spending my last week as a 29 year old. I get these ideas in my head and decided I wanted to make each day memorable and celebrate by doing something I wouldn't normally do. It started with a bottle of wine I'd been saving before work on Sunday (hence the wine, bubbles, Smashing Pumpkins post) and culminates the weekend with what we're calling Project 30 Kisses for 30 Years. In addition to a good bottle of wine in a relaxing setting, I've tagged (graffiti) my first thing and placed a secret in a book that could have inspired the secret. Tuesday I determined I should kiss a random man and managed to snag Todd (a friend of a friend), quaintly placing lips to his soft cheek. I'm leaving out the part where I turn as red as a tomato and chicken out the first time. I'm most proud of myself for Wednesday because I was honest and straightforward with a long-time crush about my feelings for him. Even though it was a simple message on voicemail I risked getting hurt for the potential for something grand. What a way to celebrate those last days in my twenties!

The humpty dance

It's officially Hump Day on the east coast, and I'm beginning the
downhill slide to my 30th birthday. Don't get me wrong...I think 30
will be fabulous. However, it is a landmark birthday, and I plan on
celebrating and posting appropriately. Today kicks off my series of
'30' themed posts that includes the '30' photo contest and ends with
installing the new site design I've been waiting to put up. Today I
tried really hard to come up with my 30 favorite things (including
feelings, actions, etc.).

Serena's 30 Favorite Things:

1. Diet coke
2. The unconditional love of family
3. Second kisses
4. Dirty Dancing
5. Email (re: sidekick)
6. Clean sheets
7. Dancing around in my pajamas
8. The 'journey' part of a road trip
9. 74 degrees fahrenheit
10. Laughing 'til I cry
11. Digital cameras
12. Blogging
13. Words that begin with the letter 'f'
14. Alias & Friends on dvd
15. Water (rivers, oceans)
16. Chocolate & coconut
17. Smashing Pumpkins
18. Thunderstorms
19. Tulips
20. Handmaid's Tale
21. Vanilla
22. Mexican food
23. Travelling
24. Chartreuse
25. Cosmopolitans
26. Sephora
27. Johnny Depp
28. Hugs
29. Sandals
30. Paris
--radicalflower

A break in the clouds

Some of you know I've been struggling over the past 2-3 months with
finding a book that holds my attention. This wouldn't be such a problem
if I wasn't a voracious reader. Hell, I work at a bookstore part-time
to support my habit. A reader...who can't get into reading?! The sick
part is that I still want the books; I just can't bring myself to
actually read them. Anyway, I digress. Yesterday, I found myself
already 100 pages into a book, an advance copy of "A Total Waste of
Makeup". The problem I'm having is that it's CHICK LIT! I don't read
chick lit (well...once in a blue moon)! I couldn't make it through
"Oryx & Crake" by Margaret Atwood, but I'm flying through this?! I
*love* Margaret Atwood...Booker Prize judges orgasm at her feet when she
publishes a new book. I'm tempted to make all kinds of excuses about
how this particular book is intelligent (I swear it's not dumb) or how
it resonates that the main character is about to turn 30 or how I'm so
tired and stressed with work that books that don't hurt my brain soothe
me. I could make those excuses, but I'm not going to. I'm just going
to embrace the fact that yes, I treasure a smart, witty read like
everyone else, but sometimes you've got to feed the brain a little
candy.

*I should also re-evaluate my prejudices against chick lit. Damn
publishers for lumping all these books under such a stupid label and
automatically making us hate them.*
--radicalflower

Head bangers lite

9:30 Club, take two. I was back last night for my second concert of October, Death Cab for Cutie. All said and done, it was a good show. Unlike the Decembrists, you get the impression you don't have to attend a Death Cab concert to experience the true beauty of their music. It is nice, however, to able to experience the geeky beauty of the band a mere feet away. I developed a small crush on the bass player who pounds his bass like a pimp does his whore.

I always get more out of these concerts than just the music. I'm a big crowd watcher and like to develop theories based on my observations. These past two 9:30 Club concerts have not disappointed on material. Looking out over the crowd (I was on the balcony), it was a sea of head bopping. It was so across the board that I felt like I was at some weird cult gathering. I determined that head bopping is to indie what head banging was to metal. The other observation I've been kneading around in my head is about "indie" guys. The problem is that it becomes increasingly difficult to tell whether or not they are straight. I'm sure some of you are asking why this matters, but as a single girl, I don't have time to waste being attracted to a boy who likes men. The geeky/retro/scruffy/laidback thing is hot, but things do seem a bit more ambiguous with indie guys. Another thing that makes it all the more confusing (and I'm seriously channeling my inner Texan here without meaning to) is that they all bop their heads and sing along to the music just like the girls! I don't know...I know I'm stereotyping here, but I see groups like DCFC as a group girls like, and if guys like them, they wouldn't actually show it. These guys bopping and singing like girls confused me. It's not that I'm saying I want only manly, old school men, but sometimes I want a manly, old school man...who is sensitive but doesn't bop.

Apologies and all that crap

I've been such a bad blogger this week. Usually I try to post at least once a day during the week because I like to and because it's cathartic. Unfortunately, this week has been inordinately busy with work (the perfect storm is coming together right on my desk), a work trip to New Jersey and my mini internal crisis. You know I'm exhausted when I'm in bed by midnight every night and don't bother to turn on the tv...I haven't even watched last week's Alias or Gilmore Girls! Anyway...enough apologizing.

Driving to New Jersey was a first for me. I had been through the state on the way to NYC before but had never taken a trip to Jersey for the sake of going to Jersey. The point of my trip was to accept an award for a restoration project we had worked on; however, I was able to make some interesting observations along the way.

(1) As bad as they are for the environment, I really like driving SUVs. My rental was a Chevy Trailblazer, and I had the most fun.
(2) The Village must have been filmed at the Village of Batsto because I would swear I was on the set.
(3) When Atlantic City is only 20 miles away, you are obligated to go. What a weird town, too! I had lunch at Caesar's and wandered around a bit. The casino floor was actually kind of depressing. All these little old people gazing blankly into a slot machine, pulling a handle for happiness.
(4) Caffeine is still my bitch.

*In other news, I don't want to promise too much, but I'm going to try to redesign my site this weekend.*

Am I chicken little?

I've come to realize I have an odd fixation on apocalyptic or end-of-the-world themes. I always make a point to watch those weather disaster movies, even if they're "made for TV." Twister, Dante's Peak, Volcano, Category 6: Day of Destruction, and now Day After Tomorrow...I've seen them all and more. It doesn't end with weather-related disaster, though. I've also see Armageddon, the Core, Independence Day, The Towering Inferno, Airport...those movies where people are supposed to overcome great odds to save themselves and the world. The thing I'm hesitant to admit is that a small part of my conscious mind is always pondering the possibility of something like this happening as I'm watching the movies. Rather than being afraid, it makes me want to be prepared. Usually this entails me wanting to develop a kick-butt exercise routine so I can run for my life or kick a little ass. Day After Tomorrow made me realize having realistic winter attire might be a good idea (hey...I'm from Texas). Yes, I've read the Left Behind series and tried to figure out what skills I could bring to the end times. I even harbor a quiet desire to learn how to farm in the event I need to live sustainably. If you know me at all, this post probably has you cracking up because (1) I have no food or water in my house...much less a supply for the end of the world; (2) I hate running; (3) dirt gets on my nerves; and (4) my wardrobe consists of clothes only truly suitable for 70 degree weather.

Am I destined to be a sidekick?

I went to see In Her Shoes yesterday and was surprised that enjoyed it
as much as I did. The movie, along with other recent events, got me
thinking about how, in life, someone seems always destined to be the
sidekick. In In Her Shoes, Toni Collette wasn't exactly your typical
sidekick, but in certain arenas, particularly with men, she clearly
spent a good portion of the movie playing sidekick to Cameron Diaz's
younger sister. Other, more classic, sidekick movies such as The Truth
About Cats and Dogs feature a more blatant sidekick component. In each
of these movies the sidekick eventually comes into her own. Toni
Collette does indeed marry the nice, hot guy and Janeane Garofalo really
is enough for the dog guy. Through most periods of my life I've made a
good sidekick. When does the part come, though, when I get to stop
playing the role of sidekick and become the main attraction?
--radicalflower

Decembrist photos

Sunday night I went to the 9:30 Club for the first time and had a
thoroughly enjoyable experience. Ha! I'd like to be able to say I
'rocked out', but I don't really feel like I can apply that term to the
Decembrists (too mellow for rock out). What I did find is that I like
their quirky style and definitely enjoy them better live than via cd. I
developed a small crush on the lead singer and discovered the
accordian player/pianist is really Terra.

I also got kind of attached to the opening act, Sons and Daughters. My
almost immediate attachment reaffirmed my love for rock (or at least
groups that meet my definition of rock).

Anyway, I had a swell time and wanted to chronicle the moment. No
budding rock journalist here. Once I'm on a real computer, I'll post
some pictures.
--radicalflower

Sebago Lake saved the day!

I'm back. Part of me would just like to leave it at that, but given the full weekend I had, I just can't do it. Seriously, though, how much complaining can I do when I had a view like this.














Yes, the weekend had its ups and downs, but it was truly a blessing to spend a relaxing weekend on Sebago Lake in Maine. Those of you who know me know that I am uber skeptical of the wealthy and their motivations, but I was hard pressed to complain this weekend. Migis Lodge is at the top of their game. It kind of felt like I got to play in majors after pitching for the rec league for all these years. Even a girl who works for an environmental group could get used to afternoon tea, sunset sails, a mandatory cocktail hour and 7-course dinners. The crisp fall weather sealed the deal.














There were definitely mishaps. I managed to combine a general tendency to fall with poor choice of footwear to create a record breaking number of falls (3). Fall #1 was the result of wet pine needles on an incline and treadless sandals. That only resulted in a minor scratch and minimal embarassment (only a couple of staffers were around). Fall #2 caused a huge blow to my ego. Who knew hiking would be involved in a Board meeting? Wearing the same treadless sandals I ventured down mother nature's obstacle course flanked by a 70-something Board memember giving advice about putting all the pressure on my toes and the newest Board member, the 30-something heir to the Cox Communications fortune. As I try to "put pressure on my toes" I end up sliding partially down hill and almost taking out the guy my cable checks ultimately go to. Fall #3 was bound to happen. I'm just happy I didn't actually land in the lake. I had successfully negotiated my way between various row boat-sail boat-row boat combinations and decided to take a pretty cute guy's offer of assistance out of row boat and onto the pier. Being the thoughtful person I am, I was worried about dragging this guy with me into the lake (trust me...I'm the kind of girl who falls in lakes). So, I must have done some kind of leap/dive and wound up with my shin pounding the end of the pier and me lying on the dock cracking up. Ask to see the wound : )















There was also the obligatory schmoozing and periodic realizations that I am sometimes so different from these people (staff as well as board). Again, though, how could I really complain when I got to spend time in such an amazing place.

A preview

I'm not complaining quite as fiercely...
--radicalflower

Fancy feast

I'm pretty sure not everyone appreciates my refreshing honesty (otherwise known as a unique ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time). Don't get me wrong...I have been known to be evasive and fib just like the next person, but I have acquired a certain bluntness over the years that I attribute largely to my current flatmate. Anyway, I think the Executive V.P. at my office is one of those nonappreciating souls. Most every day for lunch she has this concoction of some kind of multigrain crackers or bread and omega-3 wild salmon. It's the salmon that sparked this post. The pink slices are cut pretty small, practically ground, and shoved in a can. Much like the cranberry sauce at my house during Thanksgiving, this salmon goes directly from can to plate while retaining its original mold. Its shape, combined with the smell, led me to comment the other day that her lunch always reminds me of cat food. This is when I was informed of the content of the can (the wild salmon). Anyway, after today I'll be sequestered with many omega-3 toting folks, a minor celebrity and others at a series of cabins in Maine. Pray I have a wireless connection and the temerity to dance the dance.

****Breaking News Bulletin: Miracles never cease. Tom DeLay is indicted.****

Waiting

I wonder how much of our lives we spend waiting for things. Right now
I'm waiting for the bus (welcome to life without a working vehicle).

I'm waiting for enough time to finish all of my creative projects. When
will I allow my schedule enough time to open up to devote more of myself
to those things that make me happy?

I'm waiting for the right moment to look for that next job opportunity,
fill out that grad school application.

I'm waiting for the right man to come along. Don't play coy...many of
you are, too. Hell, some of you are waiting for the right man to make
the right decision.

I spent 45 minutes of my life waiting to get into a restaurant on Friday
night and an hour that day waiting for my car to be towed.

How much of days do we spend waiting? I have to wonder if all of that
waiting is necessary or if some of things we wait on are just an excuse
to avoid living life. For me, I would have to say yes on both
accounts. Some things are so worth waiting for, while others simply
stand as an excuse for fear.
--radicalflower

Antiquated dress codes

Antiquated dress codes irk me. At this moment in time I am specifically referring to pantyhose. I was participating in a conversation the earlier in the week at the Barn about dress codes, and one of the managers (female) mentioned that the store manager asked why she wasn't wearing pantyhose. Said manager had a reply ready since she had researched the employee handbook and had seen that they weren't required. She won. This, however, raised a much larger issue with me. Namely, why the hell do some places of employment still require their female employees to wear pantyhose? If a woman chooses to wear pantyhose, that is her perogative. I can, however, think of no reasons for requiring them that aren't sexist. Help me out here...why should pantyhose be required as part of a dress code?

Stigma of being poor

Sunday's Washington Post Outlook section featured an opinion piece by friend and local writer, K.E. Semmel. Hey, Chairman Dean, Don't Write Me Off is one man's plea to the Democratic Party to a take to the retro and return to its working class roots. It is one of the many sirens being sounded across this country calling for a focus on poverty. As many of you who have been reading this blog for awhile know, there is a piece of my soul that will always belong to the poor. Like Semmel, I come from a strictly working class family. Raised by my mom and both grandparents in rural Texas, I was educated on the poor side town at one of those schools that got "left behind" and was the first in my family to graduate from college. My father left us when we were young, and my mother struggled to support her family by working at the local publishing plant. Each year I appreciate my roots more and more, and as the months and years roll by, I continue to ask myself if I'm doing the right thing with my life. I believe I'm giving back to the community, but am I giving back in the most meaningful way? I want to help people, those in need. Semmel's article is one in a series of things that keep pushing this to the forefront of my thought life. I am reminded of what I'm not doing by the homeless I see (Stench of the city, Where do you find God?, The unsinkable human spirit?) daily in the streets. Groups like Sojourners keep testing my faith and calling me to fight for what is right. I sit in church on Sunday and listen to a sermon on the poor and the stigma surrounding them. I hear/read/see all of these things and ask myself whether I am doing enough. I ask myself if this is the sign I have been waiting for.

Nosy heifer or information junkie

I like to know things about people. This isn't because I'm a gossip
hound. I just like to have all available information in front of me.
Evaluating a piece of evidence with only half of the story isn't
necessarily going to paint an accurate picture. When it comes to
friends and family, I want to know because I want that closeness, that
bond. I want to know because I care.

That said, it doesn't rule out the occasional snoopy behavior toward
random individuals I don't even know. I love to listen to other
people's conversations on the train or the bus, for example. Right now,
I am on the metro checking out an email a girl is typing on her
blackberry. I can see the reflection in the window. As you all know, I
like to fancy myself a spy at times, but really I just like to watch
life. This you could call nosy.
--radicalflower

Shake that ass

Last night I had a dance floor epiphany (yeah...epiphany. I said it.
There's no word that sounds as good.) It became all too clear how
neatly most people fell into dance categories. First, you've got your
dance queens. These men and women can tear up the floor and love to
show off. Most of the time they have the moves to justify the space
they take up. Next you have the many perpetrators of the white girl
shuffle. I worry about falling into this category but know I sometimes
do (inner dance diva, please show yourself). Anyway, you know the white
girl shuffle...it's the minimum of movement with little to no rhythm,
all while trying to appear sexy. No abandon or joy...that stuff that is
what dance is all about to me. Finally, there is the male version of
the shuffle. I like to call it the "I can't believe she got me on the
dance floor but thank god I had that extra beer" dance. Very stiff.
Very funny.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I went dancing Friday night and
had a smashing good time. I don't care if I can't dance because I sure
love to do it. I also had one of the best cosmos I've ever had.
--radicalflower

Reader's Advantage...the invite

Actually, this is just a mere fraction of the badass invite I put together. Anyway, come on down and join us next Wednesday for our world premiere.

Fuck Bush!

Bush urged Americans to curb .... He also warned Gulf Coast residents, including those searching for water and food, not to break into businesses or commit other crimes during the crisis.

"There ought to be zero tolerance of people breaking the law during an emergency such as this," Bush said in an interview on ABC's "Good Morning America."

"If people need water and food, we're going to do everything we can to get them water and food," Bush added. "It's very important for the citizens in all affected areas to take personal responsibility and assume a kind of a civic sense of responsibility so that the situation doesn't get out of hand, so people don't exploit the vulnerable."

--"A City of Despair and Lawlessness", Washington Post

If my family or the family of someone I love doesn't have food or water and have been waiting days for assistance, you can bet your ass I'm going to do my best to get it for them. I wouldn't exploit the vulnerable, but I sure as hell would make my way to that abandoned corner store and grab some effing food for my family. If the federal government can't (or won't) react swiftly enough in times of crisis, it is my personal responsibility to do what I can to ensure their health and survival.

Where does compassion go?

Where does compassion go when it's obviously not present? I got really frustrated with someone last night because of the hardass view they were taking on the hurricane devastation along the Gulf Coast. She chose to buy into all the media hype and focus on the looters. What I want to know is why isn't anyone covering the people having to loot for food or more clothing (shoes because theirs are ruined)? Why is she and quite a few others choosing to focus her hatred for the human race on the few individuals who are going to do their best to fuck things up for themselves and those around them, even in the worst situations? I don't get it. Sure people piss me the eff off, but I just can't ditch the compassion and empathy I'm filled with. I can't let myself get that hard. When people are in need, you grieve for them then get up off your ass and do something about it.

The unsinkable human spirit?

I've walked by them for at least three weeks now. They have staked claim to a serious piece of sidewalk across the street from McPherson Square Park, directly under two looming trees. In the beginning, they would dismantle their "home" each morning, but as they acquired more odds and ends (and even people), the ability to pack it up and transport it became impossible. They are now a fixture on this plot of sidewalk. Each day I discover something new about them through the spying I do. I am intrigued, and each day they haunt my mind for longer periods of time. Last week I discovered the books among their possessions, a couple cracked open and resting on the sidewalk. There is no Janet Evanovich or Da Vinci Code among their collection, only weightier tombs and serious works. They also smell nice (the people, not the books). Homeless people don't usually come with a pleasant aroma, but these folks do (the woman at least). I've also noticed she takes care to change clothes periodically and keeps her hair and appearance neat. Also not common among the homeless. In the past few days, I've noticed the woman talking to passersby. The snippets I catch sound important, full of purpose. What I really want to do is talk to them...to hear their story. I feel like I'd probably be the one enriched. I'll keep on walking...keep on staring until one day it will be too late.

Dodging stray sprinklers

Tonight I had to dodge who knows how many random sprinklers on my walk
home. As luck would have it I got a little wet. Life is full of stray
sprinklers, and lately I've been dodging more than my fair share. At
times I've tried to think of ways of getting back at the sprinklers, but
it's really a no win situation. You just have to suck it up, get a
little wet, and hope someone makes a move to remedy the situation. The
sprinklers in my life are being reconfigured, so hopefully they bring
greenery without being wet blankets to passers by. I guess this means,
if I hold out hope, things will eventually get better.
--radicalflower

Social disfunction is not for me

I'm a shy person. I know it doesn't seem like it given I air my
business all over the Internet, but I hate meeting new people, am prone
to panic attacks in crowds, and sweat profusely when nervous. However,
I don't think I'm as bad as some of the people I have seen on the metro
and at the Barn. These are the people who shuffle when they walk, won't
meet anyone's eye, and look like their training to be the next big
serial kiler. Don't get me wrong, sometimes I feel like how they look
like they feel (I see these same people every day), but every now and
then I can fake it pretty well. I can act like comfortable. I just
don't want it to ever get so bad that society and I feel like we
coexist. These people help keep me in check.
--radicalflower

The re-education of Serena

...my music re-education that is. Evidently, sometime within the past 7-10 years, I've fallen out of touch with the music scene. Now the only songs I know the words to are the one that debuted in the '90s (or older). I'm becoming officially retro...ha! To be honest, I had a falling out with music sometime during the late '80s, early '90s. I remember getting my first "boom box" for my birthday in 4th grade and my first cd player (6-disk cd changer) for Christmas 9th grade. I remember a few years between 4-7th grades where I'd listen to the radio (KIXY-FM) every morning as I got ready for school and loved hearing Manic Monday by the Bangles on Monday mornings. For a span of like 2 months, I would win the morning radio contest 2-3 times a week, so much that they had to change the rules to where the same person could only win once a week. My fast fingers scored me numerous free tapes (yes, I'm old).

Anyway, somewhere along the way music got phased out of my life. We reached near total obliteration once I moved to the DC-area. My cds/cd player was stolen. I stopped listening to the radio. I was never home. I could come up with numerous excuses, but truthfully, I have no idea why I kicked it to the curb. All of that is moot now because is music is making a gradual reappearance in my life...thanks to numerous mixed cds made by friends (got tired of me asking 'who's that' all the time), a car with a cd player, the need to block out bloody conversation at work, and just a general interest in having a soundtrack to accompany my current life (besides...how am I ever going to have an "our song" again if I don't listen to music?). Anyway, big hug and thanks to all who are helping in my re-education.

Boundaries

Yesterday morning in sunday school (which I NOT want to go to) we talked
about boundaries. Specifically, the importance of setting boundaries in
many areas of our lives...work, family, relationships, etc. At the
outset of the lesson, Angelisa (the teacher) relayed a story to us about
a very frazzled woman with many commitments and very little time for
herself. The point of the story was that this woman needs to set
boundaries in her life.

The boundary discussion really hit home because I began to think about
whether I set reasonable boundaries and if I stuck to them. In general
(especially at work), I have a hard time setting boundaries. I
definitely try to set value-based boundaries, which I try to live by
(example of conflicting values between me and Barnes & Noble from
saturday...for another post). I do think it's hard to draw that line
and not let a boundary become a wall.
--radicalflower

Reader's Advantage...a promo

I had more fun tonight than I've had in a long time. Laughing and being
creative are two of my favorite things. Stir in Steven, Scarlet, and a
video camera and you get the latest film noir spy flick. Intrigue,
drama, and a plot to destroy the nation's capital feature prominently in
the latest from Hummingbird Productions. Wait'll you see these two
stars in action. I laughed until I snorted, almost peed when gelling
Steven's hair, and could not stop laughing in my only scene with
Scarlet. We even had a wrap party for the cast. I've decided that
making "movies" is much more fun than making documentaries. While
definitely a low budget production, we are proud enough to think you'll
enjoy. Reader's Advantage will premiere on this site and on limited
release dvd within the next two weeks.*

*Please forgive the dorkiness, but I had too much fun to tone it down.
--radicalflower

A little bit of psychotic

Why do we all have a little bit of crazy in us? I started thinking
about this last night and was hard-pressed to come up with anyone I knew
in which I hadn't seen moments of crazy flicker in their eyes. I am
probably not talking the medical definition of crazy, so don't start
thinking I live next door to a mental institution. I'm talking about
those moments where that mental toughness we've built up tears ever so
slightly. A desperate gleam may be seen in our eyes, a silent tear for
no reason at all. I'm referring to moments like I had last Friday when
I felt the world was against me and my grip on me slipping. It's those
near panic attacks, the bouts of depression that seemingly appear out of
nowhere, the desire to jump when crossing a bridge. I've seen all of
these and more in people I know. But why? Personally, I think it's all
normal. Even an organ as strong as the mind needs a break every now and
then. All I know is that I'm glad I don't live in an earlier time when
even complaining of headaches too often would get you tossed in the
loony bin.
--radicalflower

Gettin' wiggy with it

I think I mentioned earlier this week that my friend Scarlet and I
purchased wigs over the weekend and had a fabulous time parading about
in them. Since then I have carted my wig (longer, bedroom-messy black
hair with chunky bangs) a couple of different places and can't help but
write about the liberating effects of playing dress-up. When I put on
the wig, I felt a little bolder, a little saucier (at least with
strangers). It was interesting to see the skepticism and confusion
coming across people who know me. I could see a lack of comprehension
lingering behind their eyes and pasted on smiles of the few women I know
who spotted me. That is...until they slipped on the wig for
themselves. These skeptics suddenly found themselves posing and vamping
it up for the camera like any Betty Page wannabe.

It was the wig! Playing dress-up, whether it's slipping on a wig or
that ball gown you only get to wear on occassion, allows us the
creativity to express ourselves in a different way. Maybe it's the
feeling that we can hide from that insecure part of ourselves that may
keep us from taking that leap.

So my advice? Get wiggy with it every once in awhile. Slip on that
thing or hang out with that friend that allows you to comfortably
explore other aspects of your personality.
--radicalflower

It's all about me

I started this last night but fell asleep before I could finish it. I'm not big on surveys, but that's about all I feel up to right now. I stole this from Amanda over at Orchestrated Happenstance.

10 years ago today (19): First year in college and spending all of my time with Jason. By now I was feeling all of the ramifications of being in love and skipping class. Shortly after this, we will break up, leaving me heartbroken and vowing never to give my heart away again. Ten years later, and I'm all grown up. I'm healed enough to let someone else take a go at it but haven't found the right person to do it.

5 years ago today (24): I had already been in DC for a couple of years and well on my way to a career in PR. Unfortunately, this is also around the time I began to get burned out with the for-profit world and feeling like I had to sell my soul and values for $$. I had already secured a leave of absence andwas probably getting ready to leave for Nashville and the Gore campaign.

1 year ago today (28): I was probably reveling in the purchase of my new car and working my tail off at two jobs to pay for it. Daydreaming of summer and an upcoming work trip to Taiwan.

Yesterday: American Rivers in the morning and a closing shift at the Barn. I used the evening to play around with my new digital camcorder and get some tips from HOW magazine.

Tomorrow: A full day at AR and something relaxing at night. I had originally planned to go to bible study, but I would really like to shoot some video.

5 snacks I enjoy:
1) fries with honey mustard from friday's
2) chocolate twizzlers
3) any chocolate
4) chips and salsa
5) baby carrots

5 bands that I know the lyrics to most of their songs: This is so not a fair question. Let's just say these are bands whose lyrics I know better than any other bands out there.
1) Smashing Pumpkins
2) Dave Matthews Band (old stuff)
3) Bon Jovi (don't laugh)
4) Red Hot Chili Peppers
5) Beastie Boys

5 things I would do with $100,000,000:
1) $50,000,000 to start a foundation
2) $10,000,000 to my family
3) $15,000,000 specifically to my brother
4) buy a house
5) pay off my bills

5 locations I would like to run away to:
1) South Africa
2) Paris
3) Missoula
4) San Francisco
5) Mexico

5 bad habits I have: Not sharing...some are obvious : )

Ok...I have to stop this survey because it is way too long.

L is for the way you look at me

Thought I'd post some pictures from our lovely trip to DC.



















Steven was inspired to do a little tagging...



















He got better as the evening progressed (not).



















Steven's a little worn out from all of his creative work...



















...and is trying to figure out how to read Scarlet's mind.



















Evidently he was successful!



















(just because I like it)

30 things you should know or have by 30

I love lists. Last night I was thumbing through the latest issue of
Glamour, when I came across a list of "30 Things You Should Have or Know
by 30".* An scintillating prospect for a list-lover just shy of her
30th birthday. Anyway, one of the "should knows" on the list was
whether or not I want to have kids...something I don't actually know,
know the answer to. The majority of the time I actually feel like kids
aren't something I'm meant to have. I am not wired with that chip that
makes me yearn for children that I birthed. I also know that I'm such a
worry wart that I don't want something else to add to my list of
lifelong worries (a younger brother is enough...he can attest to the
fact that I've mothered him for all of his life). That said, there are
small moments where I entertain the possibility...I get a little inner
tug at the sight of a baby or the thought of raising a child. So...I
suppose the long and short of it is that this is something I'm still not
sure of the answer to, but I do know that kids aren't in my future I
will be just fine.

*Ok...I didn't actually just 'come across' the list. A friend mentioned
the list, so I went out and purchased it specifically for that reason.
--radicalflower

Where do you find God?

I was thumbing through a copy of Freesurf Magazine and came across an article entitled 'Closer to God'. A thoughtful article on the spirituality of surfing and the large number of surfers who believe in God, be it Christian or some other religion. Like the author, I found it intriguing that a counter culture that typically exists well outside the constructs of traditional society embraces religion so readily. I kept reading and of course reached that big 'duh' moment. Surfers witness God's power every time they paddle out. Surfer Bobby Schultz phrased it well when he said, "God's an amazing and creative artist. When you see perfect waves, sunsets, and super-sic scenery, it makes you wonder if God is out there. He is." Reading the article reminded me that I have met God in some pretty non-traditional places. I've found him both on a whitewater paddling trip and in the bathroom stall at work when I just needed a break from a rough day. And on a 4th of July hike when that turquoise bug flitted along the path in front of me and when a pregnant homeless girl looked me in the eye and thanked me by name. I've found him when that cop didn't pull me over for having expired tags and in the right kind of kiss with the right kind of person.
--radicalflower

All's fair, or is it?

I am emotionally tired. One friend, in particular, has been occupying a
lot of my emotional thought life, and I'm nearly at the end of my rope.
Yes, I have seen this coming and have been fighting it like a pack of
rabid dogs but really felt the negative effects tonight when I found myself start to get exasperated at even the thought of another friend in a bad
mood. That's really uncalled for on my part. I can't let my concern
for one friend corner the market on my ability to be there for other
friends or even myself. My friend tonight happened to be okay, but what
if she wasn't?

Having said all of this, I do realize that this could be the wacked out
desire to 'fix' people (previous post) rearing its head in the form of
(1) becoming too emotionally vested in other people's problems and (2)
thinking that would want my help or concern even if something was
wrong. You have to cut me some slack though, since I only recently
discovered my "problem" through Internet self-diagnosis. Either
way...something is going to eventually give and right now I'm just
trying to hold it all together.
--radicalflower

I wanna dance with somebody...

This post is less about wanting the 'somebody' and more about wanting to
dance! I want to twirl and groove and bump...take the rhythm and
release it. I know, for those of you who know me, that this creates a
ridiculous image. But, it seems to me that if you want something bad
enough and feel it living inside you, then there's bound to be some
rhythm there somewhere. (We're not talking professional dancing
here...just a little fun.) Anyway, the moral of this post (or at least
the point) is that I'm going to sign up for some of the dance classes at
Joy of Motion. Gotta live...gotta seize life and all that crap.
--radicalflower

5 things you (probably) didn't know about me

Thinking about PostSecret and having no better ideas put me in the mood for a list...

1. I took ballet for 5 years and quit right before I was to move to toe shoes.
2. I cry at commercials, especially during the holidays.
3. I always manage to check out a guy's package. I can't help it...my eyes just naturally drift there.
4. My mom has cirrhosis but never drank. I drink to make up for her getting it just because.
5. I fear being left behind.

Snuppy freaks me out

Just when I was all excited to write about happy subjects like dancing, I turn to the Washington Post on my lunch break only to be visually affronted by a picture of the first ever cloned dog, Snuppy. Evidently, researchers at the Seoul National University in South Korea accomplished this feat. According to the Post, one of the first groups to congratulate the team was a company in California known as Genetic Savings & Clone. I'm not making this shit up...read it yourself.

This bothers me on so many different levels.

1) Cloned mammals (and potentially babies, if we continue on this path) are not the same. They don't have the same personalities or disposition as the thing being cloned.
2) If people are allowed to replace a beloved pet (and, again, potentially a child), won't this forever disturb the grieving process?
3) What are the implications for procreation? Can cloned animals give birth? Will they be able to in the future?
4) How advanced is this if they still have to use living dogs to extract DNA from, harvest eggs, and eventually carry these freakazoids to term?
5) I think this takes the term "playing God" to a whole new level. I know people have argued about the advancements this can lead to in treating certain diseases and the potential to be able to grow organs, but these organs are going to be attached to human beings. All you have to do is turn on the TV or go see the latest movie to see Hollywood framing the debate for us. Let's face it, what we once called sci-fi is now our reality, so who is to say what we shriek at now onscreen won't happen?
6) Any group of people who name animals things like 'Snuppy' or businesses 'Genetic Savings & Clone' shouldn't be allowed to operate heavy machinery.