Plodding along in my slippers

I'm on the train headed for Manchester, NH and a work meeting. I always wonder why I choose the train right before I have to board at some ridiculous hour (because 3:15 am is indeed ridiculous). Nevertheless, once I claimed my seat this morning I was reminded of how pleasant the train can be.

Unlike an airplane, my seats (because, let's face it, you can usually score a pair) are like my own private oasis. I have a plug for all of my electronic gadgetry, a seat that can recline and also not be bothered when the person in front of me reclines, and there are observation and dining cars when you need a break from your seat. Yes, my trip today is something like 10 hours one-way, but I'm old hand at this. A few years ago I bought a North American Rail Pass and took the train to Halifax, Nova Scotia and Dallas, TX all in the same month. If you have the time, train travel can be relaxing and a way to meet interesting people. It also allows plenty of time for introspection, writing, music listening, you name it.

I was moved to write this post because I remembered I spent so much time on the train last time that it began to feel like home. I remember changing into my some comfy pajamas at night and sliding into my slippers. The next morning you'd want to wake early enough to plod to the bathroom to brush your teeth and put on new clothes. I don't think I'l be getting that comfortable this time, but I do cherish those memories.

**note: My mom is doing ok and was released from the hospital a few days later after they did more tests. More on that later. I just didn't want to leave that hanging.

The open window

As the people mover bounced across the tarmac on the way to the main terminal at Dulles, I ended the call on my Sidekick and blankly watched the toddlers near me hurtling themselves from bench to bench trying to expel the energy they were forced to contain on the flight from Dallas. I gazed at them and tried to remember a time when I was that innocent and carefree, a time when my primary concerns were access to room to run and whether or not I could have that new doll.

Embracing adulthood requires embracing many of life's harsh realities, one of those being the mortality of those we love. Granted, many people are forced to confront death at young age, but I am not one of those people. I consider myself blessed that those I love the most are still among the living. Unfortunately, the older I get the closer I get to being screwed out of time with my family.

After my flight landed at Dulles, I called my mom to let her know I had arrived home safely and find out how everybody was (with my grandmother in the nursing home and hell bent on giving us scares I always check on how everyone is). As her voice broke and she told me not to worry, I knew I was about to hear something that would upset me. When she told me she had been admitted to the hospital for trouble with her heart, I was suddenly hit with the desire to shit and throw up all at the same time (anxiety, baby). I'm pretty sure I called her a pain in the ass and lectured her about waiting until I was clear across the country before telling me she had gone to the hospital.

*to be continued*

Something old...

Ever since my last trip home to Texas, I have become obsessed with retro technology. Maybe I was infatuated before, but a couple of trips to the thrift store in San Angelo brought out the beast. It started with a Minolta Hi-Matic camera and was quickly followed by an old projection screen. Right before I left, I spotted an old Kodak Brownie 8mm movie camera. I obsessed about it until I was forced to call my grandfather in San Angelo and ask him to buy it for me. Haha.

I then met Ebay, and my obsession took on such accessibility. This past week two more purchases arrived in the mail...a Kodak Zeuss Ikon camera that I cannot wait to test out and a Buhl overhead projector in a shade of green that makes my heart flutter.

The downside of all of this is that I really need to figure how these things will work in my studio. Looks like I need to do a little rearranging this weekend.

My life in list

Because I'm in Texas this week, lists are much easier to manage.
1 - Despite the issue of race being largely ignored by the media, it is
going to play a huge part in Obama's electability. This shouldn't affect
the fact that he should get the nomination. I want him to...there...my
official endorsement. However, these few days in TX have already once
again reminded me of how much we still have left to work on in terms of
race relations.
2 - I like being commanded to shop.
3 - It costs $175 to ship a chair from San Angelo to Fairfax.
4 - I am once again addicted to ebay. This week I have "won" a zeuss
ikon camera, a slide projector, and an overhead projector. I'm still
waiting for the auction to end on an 8mm projector.
5 - Pray for us tomorrow.
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Things I packed at 2am

- 2 laptops
- 3 cameras
- 1 Blythe w/outfits
- Clothes that are probably inappropriately warm for Texas
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Rosy and Roby

I needed a creativity break on Sunday. I think passersby thought I was crazy, sitting in the grass and playing with robots.



Rosy and Roby
Originally uploaded by Serena McClain

Every breath you take

Do you know that moment when you first get what one of those common sayings actually means? I experienced such a moment earlier this year with "is your brain getting enough oxygen?" I knew the phrase denoted crazy or something to that effect. I guess I just never considered the science behind the phrase. Over the past year, however, I have gotten to experience it through a loved one. It seems like every couple of months my grandmother gets hit with something that keeps her brain from getting enough oxygen. They only way we sometimes know she's sick is that she starts talking crazy. I have so much more to say about this and my grandmother and what this last year has been like, but I just can't find the words to express everything that has happened and that I feel. Maybe some day soon.

Stranger than fiction

I saw a man on the metro today who's picture I wanted to take. He was wearing a homemade Obama shirt and a handpainted cap that said 'Vote 2008'. Neither the shirt or the cap were particularly beautiful (nor was the dude). Seeing him just evoked emotion in me. I could sense his hope and excitement in this election, and I was moved by this. I wanted to somehow capture it...capture him. Unfortunately, the most I did was have this conversation in my mind. I worried that other people on the metro would hear me ask and think me weird. I worried it was too early in the morning to be so forward. I worried my little camera made me look like a poser.

I'm envious of the project Hula Seventy is undertaking and how she is forcing herself outside of her comfort zone. I often pass people I would like to photograph but usually only resort to trying to sneak a photo in. How will I ever move any closer to visual anthropology if I can't even do this simple thing? This summer I'm challenging myself to photographing at least one stranger who catches my eye.

Curiously strong

This weekend I purchased a raspberry mint body wash by C.O. Bigelow. It came with the following warning:

"For more "sensitive" body parts we recommend a quick wash and rinse because of the invigorating sensation peppermint has on skin."

Like any good consumer, I studiously avoided my sensitive parts. However, body wash has a tendency to migrate in the shower, and before long I realized my sensitive parts were feeling a bit different...kind of like they had partaken of an altoid.

Note: Follow directions. Haha.

Whore

While I was at work on Friday, I realized I was a whore. Not just your standard issue whore, mind you. I'm a specialized whore.

You see, our resident internet guru at work sent around a survey on Friday that got at how "out there" we are on the internet. As I answered the questions and thought about my internet presence, it was then I realized I am an internet whore. Basically, if people from my past were to ever wonder where I am now or what kinds of things I am up to, all they have to do is Google my name.

Where, pray tell, am I?

here
Flickr
Twitter
Blipfoto
YouTube
Facebook (through no fault of my own...I resist this site constantly and only have one because a friend created the page for me.)
MySpace (ditto...never there.)
del.icio.us
American Rivers' blog
secret blog (yeah...right...like I'm linking to that.)

I'm sure there are people more out there than me, but I definitely feel like I do my part to contribute to the great interweb. Should I be worried? I know people worry about overexposure, being so public with their lives, etc. I guess that just isn't me. I like having an outlet for my thoughts and creativity. Some of these sites give me this. They have also given me the opportunity to meet some truly intriguing people. So, yeah, sue me. I'm an internet whore.

Are you a whore?

Around the way

I ran errands via foot this morning and found myself getting really annoyed at the suburban landscape. Don't get me wrong, this isn't the first time. I usually get annoyed at the beigeness of it all, but today I was annoyed at all of the crap in my way. I figure the walk from the bank to my house is about 2-3 miles, but with all of the buildings and construction in my way and searching out a sidewalk, it probably came to 4 miles. So...I got annoyed and forged my own path.

















There is new construction everywhere. In the past few years, all the forested areas have become apartment buildings and townhouses and stores.




































I decided to screw the "trail" and cut through the urban landscape. Did you know urban hiking includes cutting through parking garages and over grassy mounds. I got some weird looks, but screw them. This is my urban landscape, but I'll be damned if anyone is going to keep me from forging my own path ;-)























These are some of the urban landscapes I forged. Haha. If you feel bad for me, just think of the poor geese.

Cinema queen

It's over! We officially premiered tonight at the AFI Silver Theater in Silver Spring. It was awesome. I don't know about my fellow compatriots, but it felt so good to see the film on screen and know that, not only were we not the worst, we were one of the best in our group. So.Much.Fun.

Will we doing Richmond? Hells yes.

My fortune cookie

Last night I had dream in which my grandfather and I were ballroom dancing. He was really good, and I apologized for not being able to dance as we moved around the floor. He said all I needed was to find a man who knew how to lead. I remember feeling very warm and comforted.

Funny how a dream like that can sometimes seem like a visual fortune cookie.

Resting position

There is always so much I want to blog about when I come back to Texas. Texas is the state that makes me want to pen that first novel. My memories and thoughts never fail to flood me, sometimes overwhelm me.

Of course, as always I usually have an excuse. This week it's that I am tired. I am cheerleader extraordinaire at a nursing home in Texas, beginning my days at 7am and not leaving until after 8pm. I am rescuer of the stranded elderly in need of the extra push, physical therapy aide who says you can indeed do it, and comedic relief when there seems to be nothing to laugh at. I'm taking 32 years of being parented and thrusting it back at those who raised me. If I could "do anything you want as long as you believe," then so can you (and I'm going to tell you about it.

So maybe I'll post about Texas men and being on a puddle jumper with on men as the other passengers at a later date. For now, it's all nursing home all the time.

Check out the nursing home pics here (http://www.flickr.com/photos/notmiranda).

What I want will last a lifetime

I'm a happy single girl. That said, I eventually want someone in my life...the right someone. I watch the relationships around me spin and jerk like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the carnival and think about what I want in someone to share my life with...wonder why I'm generally single and rarely together.*

When I went home for Christmas it was in observing my grandparents that I got some answers. They are about to celebrate their 60th wedding anniversary this April, and while their relationship has had its share of ups and downs, their love just seems to grow. My grandmother's health has been deteriorating pretty steadily this past year, and I see how that pains him and how his devotion to her is unwavering. He still held her hand when they walked for the longest time, and now that she can't really walk very far he's one of the ones that helps her into her wheelchair. When she stopped being able to wipe herself, guess who was there. When he gets off work he spends is days at the nursing home sitting with her, and when hope seems to wane, he's man enough to cry. Throughout the years they've also shown me that love is something that requires work and that isn't perfect. He cheated once when I was really young. My grandmother loved him though and chose to stay...forgive...work through their problems. Love hurts, but when it's meant to be, working on it is worth it.

I want that love...the love that will be here for the long haul. I can't just love someone because I need someone in my life. I want that someone who still wants to hold my hand when I'm 70.


*In reality, I know the suitcase of issues I have contributes to my singleness ;-)

The apocalypse list

You may or may not know that I am obsessed with stories (literature/movies) with post-apocalyptic themes. I just finished a new anthology of post-apocalyptic fiction called Wastelands, and it once again got me thinking about my list. Basically my emergency preparedness list for things I need to do and have in order to be ready for the end of the world (any standard rapture scenario aside).

So, without further adieu, part* of my apocalypse list**...

1. Start a running regimen - All good survival stories involve running in one form or another. I need to be able to outrun the giant tidal wave or run faster than the other fleeing mass of people. Running seems like a basic skill that would improve chances of survival. I hate running.
2. Learn kickboxing - Along the same lines as running, this just seems like a good skill to have in terms of survival. You just never know when you're going to need to kick a little ass and defend your loved one.
3. Learn to garden - If the end of the world comes, the modern food chain (3 ears of corn for $1 at Wegmans) will likely no longer exist. Assuming there are still parts of the world whose environment will grow crops, a girl needs to learn how to reap and sow.
4. Learn to build a fire - It seems easy and basic enough, and I plan to stockpile matches. However, knowing what the average boy scout and caveman know should be essential.
5. Build basic supplies - While I realize that looting would probably be what would happen after a while, it would be nice to at least begin my end of the world scenario with a few basics. Gauze, duct tape, rope, flashlights and batteries, candles, water purifier (like you'd use camping), knife, etc.


*This is only the beginning of my list :-)
**Yes, I fully realize you may now think I'm a freak.

Over the shoulder

I am willing to admit that I read over people's shoulders on the metro. Rarely do I actually get into an article. It's really more glancing at the headlines. Given my schedule, there are many days where this is the only news that I get.

Anyway, earlier this week on my ride home, I found myself presented with more unique reading material. This woman sitting down in front of me (I was standing) was studying flash cards. Plumbing and water delivery flash cards. This was a middle aged woman wearing professional attire. Full suit, pantyhose, jewelry, etc. She did not look like someone looking to learn the intricacies of pressure valves.

What did I do? Continue to read over her shoulder and guess the correct answers with her. I won't lie. I would do a little hop in my mind every time I got an answer correct.

public art

At a nearby apartment complex, there exists a horrible sculpture of a horse. It is ginormous. It serves no purpose and looks like it was accidentally left by the Trojans. Its very existence bothered me. Basically, I thought the horse needed to lighten up.

So, in order to celebrate winter, brighten the life of said concrete horse, and give people in the neighborhood a reason to smile, I set about knitting a giant red scarf to outfit the giant concrete horse. After what seemed like months and a crapton of yarn, I declared the scarf done, and Allie (aka partner in crime) and I set out to scarf the horse.

At 22:00 hours on Saturday, January 5, the horse was bestowed its new scarf.























On a sadder note, the scarf didn't even make it 24 hours before it was removed. Some people just have no taste for art.

The white pants doctrine

When I got on the metro this afternoon to make my way home, I noticed a
sunflower seed (shelled) stuck to the seat. As I brushed it away, I
began to wonder how anyone could survive wearing white pants.

Every summer (well, winter, because we all know the fashion mags are
seasons ahead), the fashion mags flaunt chic, crisp white pants and
flirty white dresses. Given how messy life is I've always wondered how
certain woman (wide ass doctrine aside) pull them off. Are there lives
so together that dirt and grime are repelled?

It came to me once I saw today's sunflower seed that these people must
live a more peaceful life than I. People who wear white pants aren't
the people who use public transportation and navigate the dark grease of
a metro elevator or the darkened metrorail seat. These people don't get
up at 5:30 am dressing for two jobs and the 17 hours of treachery their
outfit will have to make it through. They don't have to worry about
potentially having to venture to the river during the day or getting
tossed in front of an espresso machine that night.

If they did, those white pants would be dingy and would bear the mark of
wrinkles rather than a hot iron.

The going home list

I write this as I try to convince myself to go to sleep. I have an early flight tomorrow that will take me from San Angelo, TX to Fairfax, VA. God, coming home makes me so contemplative. Thoughts tumbling in my head like a hamster chasing its shadow as it runs on it wheel. Tonight I’m trying to remember the little things about this place that I always forget. The little things that make me shake my head but also what make me love it just a little.

I always forget that

• Each bedroom in my house has a vanity for doing one’s hair and makeup and that it’s so much nicer to do this at a vanity than at a bathroom mirror.
• One town can feel like two towns and that each side of town has to have its own Wal-Mart, Sonic, and various other establishments.
• Texans keep Wrangler in business.
• “hon” is the proper way to greet someone.
• Everything is so flat and the buildings so low.
• Certain rooms in my house seem to have animal themes. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up to be some PETA nut or a veterinarian.
• I could own a house for $20,000 and a mansion for $300,000.
• Beige has to be written into the town bylaws somewhere.
• My milkshake does, indeed, bring all the boys to the yard.
• It’s good to have a place called home.

So last night I swear I could have gotten myself killed.

It's about 12:30, and I've been asleep for about 40 minutes. I wake up to hear someone trying to get inside my apartment. I blame my next thoughts/actions on being awoken. In my head I'm thinking this is Scarlet trying to get into my apartment. I think I think this because I know she is in the ffx area and plus I'm groggy. She has a key, but the deadlock is in place.

Anyway, I go to the door to let her in...looking out the peephole first. I see someone disappearing aound the corner. In my head I still think this is Scarlet, so I open the door and stick my head out. I then call out "I hope you're not a killer" and giggle.

Well, I'll be damned if some sketchy guy doesn't come back around the corner. I was shocked beyond shocked and think I still had the smile frozen on my face. Anyway, he's bumbling some kind of weird apology/excuse. I don't think I said anything at all. I just moved back into my house and locked both locks again. I slept with my sidekick under my pillow after that.

Crazy, huh? I'd like to think he was lost or drunk and not really trying to get into my apartment. If he was really trying to get in, I bet he's never come across anyone like me before...calling out to him and saying I hope you're not a killer.

You cut me

I've been lost in thought a lot lately. I've been thinking about the little ways we cut the people who wander through our lives. Friends and loved ones whose lives so intertwine that sometimes it gets confusing as to where one begins and another ends. Connections that not only strengthen relationships and build closeness but that also sometimes wind up like twister. As bigger, more painful life experiences happen to us I wonder why these twists...these inadvertant cuts hurt like they do.

My goal for the holiday season is to embrace simplicity and attempt to cut those around me less (and take their cuts less personally).

Let me in

I was alone pretty much the entire day and spent like 90% of it inside my apartment. When I realized my evening plans were falling through around 2:30, it hit me that it has actually been ages since I've been by myself for this long.

If I'm going to be honest, it was a bit unsettling. The thing is, while I'm good at being alone and don't lack for things to entertain me, I'm sometimes afraid of being left alone with my thoughts. An entire afternoon and evening to ponder the mistakes I've made in my life, what's missing and who I miss? Call me crazy, but I was a little wary.

That said, I kind of made the decision early on to have it so. It's always good to make sure you can stand yourself because you never know if you'll wind up alone later in life. hahaha...that might sound so negative, but it really wasn't meant to be. The only moment that could be construed as melodramatic was listening to a Decembrist mix (the slow shite) and lying on my couch.

In addition to listening to music, I (1) watched an episode and a half of Ugly Betty; (2) bought two pairs of shoes and a pair of magenta tights; (3) had a photoshoot with James; (4) watched Marissa die on the OC; (5) did laundry and dishes; (6) ate someone else's leftover spaghetti; (7) commented on Flickr photos; and (8) did a lot of thinking.

Not a bad day at all. Just not something I want to do all day, every day.

Sometimes it's fun

Real story with male customer yesterday:

(while looking up books by a particular author)

him: Is that tattoo on your hand permanent?

me: It is.

him: I like your earrings.

me: Thanks. The robots match the one on my leg.

him: Really? Let me see. (leaning over customer service counter)

me: (pulling up my skirt to show tattoo)

him: wow.

me: Well, it looks like the only book by the author you gave me is How to Get a Woman in Bed. (and I start cracking up hard core)

Hakuna matata, bitch

Hakuna Matata. Shake It Off. Que Sera Sera. All of these songs are about* just letting go and letting live. This whole mentality has been one that I have been trying to embrace for the past few weeks.

Ask any of my friends and they will likely roll their eyes and explain how I haven't stopped singing Hakuna Matata at every opportunity. It goes beyond singing the words to a song, however. It's about managing expectations and learning to find that happy medium. The fact of the matter is that I expect a lot from the people around me, more than they should be required to give, and when they don't deliver, my disappointment is extreme and the aftermath brutal. I realized I was tired of constantly being unhappy with people because they didn't act in the way I expected them to or respond in the way I wanted.

Lowered expectations equals greater happiness, right? I'll let you know how it goes. ;-)

*to me

We brought Italy back

In the ongoing saga of my kitchen and learning to cook, Steven and I "made Italy*" last night in the form of lasagna.

Lest you think we took the easy route, Martha Stewart and her damn Blueprint magazine (<3) taunted me into making my own meat sauce. Steven was my hero in using his muscles to break up pieces of the tomato, so I wouldn't have to deal with a chunky sauce; however, our one mistake was chilling on the balcony and admiring the trees. When he popped his head back in to check on the sauce, we discovered it had started to burn. Oops! A little bit of water and spicing (and tasting) and we were back on proper footing. Layer upon layer upon layer, and it was done. I don't know about Steven, but I felt smidge of pride when we pulled it out of the oven, and it looked all golden and yummy. One thing I've figured out about cooking is that I enjoy it a lot more when I'm cooking for and with people. The social aspect of food bringing people together is nice ancillary benefit. *according to Allie

The San Francisco treat

Having spent the better part of this week in San Francisco at a work conference and jetting back on a red-eye last night, I am exhausted. I find myself wondering if I can blame at least some of my exhaustion on being able to hang out with colleague turned good friend and boo, Elizabeth. When given the mandate that we should drink together while I was out on the left coast, Elizabeth took it to heart. Tuesday evening rolled around and Scarlet and I found ourselves in Elizabeth's Berkeley backyard kicking back with a drink in our hands.

If I weren't so tired, I would tell you what a good hostess Elizabeth and her bf Mark were. We were fed and watered like you wouldn't believe. It was also nice to spend time in their little community where neighbors and housemates came out to the yard to imbibe and grab a bite. Is the barometer of a good evening being made to feel comfortable and at home? Is it not remembering how you made it back to the hotel the next morning? hahaha.

Give a girl a kitchen...

...and she just might start to cook. Not that any of my previous apartments were kitchenless, they just didn't have granite counter tops, stainless steel appliances and other features that mock me and my budding pot collection. It also happens to be the first kitchen that is all mine!

That said, my crew has been pitching in with cooking lessons. Poor Allie kicked off the lessons and was forced to suffer the most. I think she had been deluding herself into thinking I was hiding secret kitchen supplies. I had a big pot and a little pot. Evidently this is not enough to make spaghetti with Italian sausage. I had to give her lessons in how ghetto fab I can be and show her how to strain pasta without a strainer.

Ravena proved herself a formidable teacher the next week with a lesson in meatloaf and Parmesan mashed potatoes. She actually made me add spices, mash the potatoes myself and mold the meatloaf. She had incredible patience with me and all of my questions. Of course, who wouldn't question directions like "just a little" and "a pinch". Chez Ravena also introduced alcohol into the cooking lesson mix with some Scrumpy's organic hard cider. Yum!

My latest lesson packed a one-two punch of fajitas and mojitos by Scarlet. Her lesson was by far the easiest in that it involved a spice pack that answered all of my seasoning questions. Ice cream sundaes by Steven completed the evening.

Lest you think I'm not venturing out on my own, I even tried a little Texas fare last week in the form of steak fingers. Yes...Texans really will do just about anything with steak.

Living slowly

I've been fascinated for the past year with the slow life movement. Maybe it's because I spend so much time working and scheduling myself with an inch of exhaustion. I also like the way that it embraces living simply. I mean really...why does life have to be so complicated, so drama filled? Aren't we at fault for most of the drama and things in our lives? I know there are things that happen to us that are beyond our control, but when I think of the recent drama surrounding me (illnesses aside), I feel like all of it are things that I can in some way control. At the very least I could decide to extricate all of those complicating factors from my life.

If I have that much control over my own life, then why don't I? Because sometimes life is just too complicated and not all black and white. Sometimes the gray is important, too.

Staying alive

I'm alive. I still haven't read the new Harry Potter, but I have managed to move into a hott new apartment, make a movie for the 48 Hour Film Project, and attend its big screen debut earlier today. I'll be back in the swing of things tomorrow, but until then, check out what we came up with* for the film project when we drew super hero as our genre.



*Please note that quality has been sacrificed in order to condense this for the internet.

Such a Harry mess!

Do you remember those famous battle scenes in movies? The ones where you can feel the approaching army by the rumble that grows increasingly louder and the ground literally vibrates? This has been the scene at the bookstore as we edge closer to the release of the 7th Harry Potter book.

I'll admit that I'm geeked. I've developed my own theories as to what really happened with Snape and whether Dumbledore is truly dead. Hell, I even volunteered to work during the Harry Potter midnight madness and will be there until 3 am ensuring voracious Disciples of Rowling get their fix at the earliest possible second.

What I do find annoying is the corporate mumbo jumbo Barnes & Noble (the Barn) is pushing. Rather than try to play it cool, the Barn (NYC HDQ) is working themselves into such a frenzy and virtually creating the chaos they are trying to avoid. Will it be crazy? Yes. Is this probably one of the most anticipated books ever? Yes. Are we going to get robbed of all of our Harry Potter books by customers who are over informed of our order and when it is expected? Doubtful.

Do you think I'm crazy? Take a look at some of the rules for yourself.

1) Do not tell customers or members of the media how many Harry Potter books we are expecting.
2) Do not tell customers or members of the media how many Harry Potter books have been reserved.
3) Do not talk to members of the media about Harry Potter. Direct all inquiries to blahblahblah.
4) Do not tell anyone when the Harry Potter books will or have arrived.
5) Under no circumstances are cameras or cell phones with cameras allowed in the vicinity of the Harry Potter boxes.

It's like they're issuing a personal challenge to me when they repeat such stupid rules to me every single night. I'm considering selling the right to touch the boxes on Ebay since they didn't bother to forbid me from doing that.

P.S. If you're so worried about people knowing when your shipment of HP books arrive, don't suddenly cover the window in the door to receiving with paper. It's a bit obvious to everyone.

Unbreakable

Allie recently turned me on to Chuck Klosterman and one of his essays entitled Nemesis*, where Chuck illustrates with his prosaic words what women and comic book fans around the world have intuitively known for years. Most everyone in the world has both a nemesis and an archenemy. It is here he brilliantly defines the difference between nemesis and archenemy.

According to Klosterman, a nemesis is some one you kind of like even though you despise them. You would probably have drinks with your nemesis and go to their wedding**, if invited. Your archenemy, on the other hand, inspires such hatred that you won't even admit to hating them for fear of giving them the satisfaction. If your archenemy died, you would throw a party and dance on their grave.

The funny thing is that, while my archenemy came to mind almost immediately, I'm having a hard time identifying my nemesis. I'm sure I've had a nemesis over the years and probably could have named one immediately in high school or college. Is that I'm too old for a nemesis right now? Do I only harbor long-term grudges that speak more to the level of archenemy? Maybe I need to meet more people so I can develop a nemesis.



*Also known as The Importance of Being Hated.
**Of course, you would also be hoping it ends in a bitter divorce.

You better recognize

In the 4th grade I started a gang. I will readily admit the elementary school Serena was a hellion and probably merely a precursor to the pain-in-the-ass I am today.

Gathering a group of my female friends from all walks of life, I convinced everyone we should be a gang to defend ourselves in the elementary school social hierarchy. I named my gang the Let Me Call You Sweetheart Gang and set about developing our marketing campaign. Now, at the age of 11 I didn't know the phrase marketing campaign existed, but that's exactly what I was doing.

Our name came from this t-shirt I had with Minnie Mouse on it and a button that played Let Me Call You Sweetheart when pressed. Not exactly fear inspiring, huh? Looking back, I can't remember the exact purpose of our gang or if we even lasted past that first playground session. What I do remember is spinning on the merry-go-round as the tennis courts whizzed by. I remember the lone guy in our group talking about how his cousin could hook us up with gang shirts and those satin jackets with the embroidery on the back. Our jackets were going to be light pink satin and have a broken heart stitched on the back with the gang name. Our jackets would have our name embroidered on the front.

I don't recall much else, but I can still feel my excitement at the thought of those jackets and how cool we would look. I think I watched Grease too often as a child.

The one where a $1 beer equals happiness

I consider 7-11 to be a bit of a cultural mecca* that has only recently for me been replaced by Sheetz/Wawa. I like that it's filled with all walks of life and all sorts of items you never knew you needed. There are very few places that I walk into and automatically start craving a hot dog. I can also get a cheap bottle of Andres champagne or a mega slurpee if I so desire.

Every time I hear of a new, more obscure soda product I automatically assume 7-11 will be the one to bring it to the masses. When I was looking for the pink cigarettes put out by Camel where did I go first? 7-11. It shouldn't surprise you that when looking for the new Diet Pepsi Max** this Friday that I automatically assumed 7-11 would be place to go. As we strolled into 7-11, it soon became clear that they were Max-less. Never one to turn my nose up at a Diet Coke, I grabbed the nearest chilled bottle and made my way to the register, stopping only to search for that mystical cupcake. However, almost all routes to pay lead you past the hot dog roller. What proceeded was, upon reflection, a conversation that very much reminds me of Beavis and Butthead for some reason.

Scarlet: "I love their hot dogs."

Me: "Me, too. I'm going to get one."

Scarlet: "Me, too."

Seconds later my eyes alight on two of my favorite words: clearance and $1. There, in a bucket by the cash register was perhaps the best clearance sale ever. "Clearance. $1 beers. Any kind."

Me, nudging Scarlet: "Look. They have beers on clearance for $1."

Scarlet: "Really? We kind of have to get one."

Me: "Ummm...yeah. How can you not get clearance beer for $1."

Scarlet: "Yeungling. I'm getting the Yeungling."

Me: "Hmmm."

Scarlet: "Miller Lite blah blah blah is good."

Me: "I'm getting the Yeungling. I think I can drink a Yeungling."

Me: "We can drink these at my new secret place."

So it was with a Diet Coke, hot dog, and a Yeungling that I left 7-11.

7-11 is vintage.

*Cultural mecca a la Fast Food Nation-style infamy.
**with supposedly more caffeine

You know the Blair Witch Project...

Looking down the steep path littered in damp leaves I focused on trying to figure out the best flip flop placement so as not to go sliding down the path. I was determined to find the James River.

"If you think going down this trail is bad, just think what a bitch it's going to be to get back up."

I knew as soon as those words left my mouth that we were having fun and this was a good trip. Despite the vanishing daylight and my less than rugged team of bandits*, spirits were high as we made our way to what we thought was Texas Beach. Rounding a tight curve at the bottom of the steep section we came upon a narrow bridge made of metal and covered in forest growth. No whispers of water over rock, I found myself intrigued and creeped out simultaneously. We continued forward stopping only to take pictures of the bridge.

No water in sight and the sun in serious set mode, we decided to turn back. We figured, at the very least, we had stumbled across a cool bridge and path for our movie**.

As July continues on, stay tuned for more tales of the Richmond 48 Hour Film Project!

*the Queen of Allergies, She Who Wears Heels, and the Finder of Fred the Miniature Frog
**Did I mention the whole point of being in nature was part of our location scouting?

The Verdict

So much less hair now...whew! And, yes, I did take my stylist a picture of doll and told her I wouldn't mind my hair like that. ; )

Giving nature a bear hug

I am discovering I am one of those people who likes their nature condensed. Confused? Mountain ranges surrounding me, a natural fortress, with a ribbon of water cutting a path through a valley floor. I want trees that hug me close and loom over me like an older brother might. My rivers are narrow and glide over rocks, the playful whitewater waiting to make the unsuspecting their bitch. My river whispers say my name. The nature I'm most comfortable in offers shade and that perfect hiding place.

I appreciate my West Texas roots, but others can have the dry, desert climate. Where trees aren't trees but merely overgrown shrubs. The wind across the plains is a drug, but I would rather scale a mountain to catch the horizon and look west across my front yard and see for miles.

Wednesday morning I settled into a canoe named 'Scud' and set my sights across Thompson Creek. More estuary than riverine, the creek was merely a precursor to the Bay and, for many, simply a launching point for their mini yachts. Wide and flat, the only excitement came in the form of white caps that formed when the wind set in. Beautiful? Yes, but my arms burned as I fought the wind, propelled only by a well-crafted boat and the power of my paddle slicing through the Chesapeake. Give me my condensed, whitewater nature any day ; )

On faith and getting through life

Earlier this week I put on Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip when I got home from work and was reminded of how much I love the characters on this show. Maybe it's just me, but the show just has so much heart. I don't even mind if some of the story lines are a bit contrived (Tom's brother being captured as a prisoner of war). Witnessing Harriet kneel and begin praying brought my cheesy, weeps-at-commercials tears to my eyes.

This visual demonstration of faith reminded me of how faith serves as this cornerstone that helps me get through life and keeps me sane. My grandmother has been having a really rough go of it, constantly in so much pain that she could barely move and was only sleeping a couple of hours every night. My mother was the one to be there for her, listening to her cries and her questioning why God didn't love her any more. Her doctors weren't really providing many answers*, and a couple of weeks ago it finally got so bad that my mom took her to the hospital. She was admitted, and that is where she has been the past two weeks as the doctors and physical therapists poked and prodded her in an effort to figure out how best to treat her. Tomorrow, she is finally getting to go home and (from what I hear) is in much better shape and actually sleeping through the night and walking and everything.

Without faith in something greater than myself, I probably would have lost it. It is hard to function knowing that someone you love and that has helped raise you is in so much pain that she can't help but cry and question God. This is a tough woman** we're talking about here. Faith allows me stop myself when I go on a real bender about all of the "wrongs" in my life. It gives me the sense to realize how good I truly have it and how much worse things could be. I give faith the credit for the fact that I have yet to actually punch anyone and for helping me realize that sometimes my own problems are simply ones I've generated in that meager brain of mine.

*I need an entirely separate post to rail against HMOs, medicare and medicine in general these days. How does someone not figure out that my grandmother had broken a disc in her back during a fall?!
**I was raised to be a strong woman by tough women.

Evil people need to be crushed

Every now and then the universe tosses a truly horrific person into my life to remind me of just how terrible people can be. I seriously hope the universe doesn't expect me to respond in some kind of peaceful manner because some people deserve retribution for their actions.

Case in point. Early on in my Sunday shift at the book store, I was helping a customer in the children's department locate several books when a woman walks up to us and asks if I could help her locate books by a specific author. I explained to the woman that I was with another customer but would be happy to help her as soon as I was finished.

This woman suddenly turns into the evil bitch from hell as she actually has the nerve to get attitutude and say that my current customer has been monopolizing my time for 10 minutes and that I'm the only one back in that department. I explain to the bitch that she is more than welcome to go to customer service and someone would help her sooner. She then asks for my name so she can tell management how unhelpful I have been.

My customer is truly appalled that this woman had the nerve to insinuate her time was more important and apologizes to me. I explain that I am more than happy to continue helping her becuase what the woman with the ugly personality did was rude and bad manners. On hearing this, evil customer starts going off, and I basically tune her out. She manages to pull a real doozie out of that meager brain of hers in the hopes of doing me lasting harm. She ends by wishing me luck in my position there and telling me what a lowly position it is.

I turned back to my current customer not bothering to justify her comment or inform her that I actually had a pretty damn good job and only worked at the bookstore to support my expensive hobbies. She didn't need to know that. I only hope she comes to interview where I work, so I can assure she is never hired.

That said, I am a person who refuses to let people talk to me like that. Once done with my customer, I searched the aisles of the book store, so I could let her know she was never to speak to me like that again and how inappropriate she was as a person. Lucky for her*, she had already left.

Of course, on explaining what a horrific experience I had had to management, I start crying from all of the anger I had been holding in. I really hate that I cry when I get mad.

*And probably for me because I would have seriously had to restrain myself from punching her.

Dream a little fucked up dream

One thing being sick has given me is more sleep time. You know I rarely sleep more than 4 hours, so generally I don't have dreams that I remember. Since Sunday, I have had at least 3 nights where I slept at least 8 hours. In addition to being increasingly well rested, this also means I have had increasingly convoluted dreams. So I don't completely scare you off, let's just look at highlights from the dream I had yesterday during one of my bouts of unconsciousness.

The dream starts out at some house party in Los Angeles. The only two people I recognize in this dream are Allie and Scarlet. In the beginning there is a lot of discussion about what alcohol to bring to said party and where to get food. I distinctly remember a minivan and us carting said goods into the house. As the party heats up, Allie gets upset about something and promptly disappears from the dream. My emotion is something akin to nervousness as Scarlet and these two cute rocker boys talk about going out for food before we begin the next leg of our trip. Knowing I only have $5 to get me (us) to Seattle, I say I need to stay and finish up some things and will meet them on the plane tomorrow.

Flash forward to the next day and being on board this massive airplane. As is common in (I think) a lot of dreams, certain things are just assumed. For example, I don't actually meet up with Scarlet and the rocker boys but just assume they are on the plane. At one point, I decide to go look for Scarlet and enter into another section of the plane. This section is full of sleeping people and laid out like no plane I have ever seen. All of the seats are arranged in a huge square along the perimeter of the plane with huge open space in the center. At the same time I spot Scarlet, who is fast asleep, I also spot one of those airplane cards that give you information about airline safety, etc.

The card talks about how this is an experimental plane and that everyone should always remain seated and make as little movement as possible so the plane doesn't crash. Upon reading this, I immediately drop to the floor and begin to slide on my stomach back to my seat. I am now thoroughly freaked out.

Minutes later the pilot gets on the speaker and tells everyone there are issues with the plane and that our flying over Portland will get interesting. The plane dips down and begins flying at a very low altitude, directly above the water and clear roads. I, personally, heave a sign of relief as I tell my seatmates that at least we don't have far to fall if we crash.

In this dream, the area in and around Portland is very hilly and plane is swooping up and down over the mountains as if a hover car out for a Sunday drive. After making a particularly steep climb, the plane again begins to malfunction, and everyone is told to brace themselves for a crash on the way down.

After the plane has crashed, I am one of quite a few people wandering around the site trying to figure out what to do next. I remember telling people that we surely can't be that far from civilization and that we should walk. I guess I remember Scarlet because I walk around to another part of the site to look for her and suddenly see this warehouse where they are already loading people into coffins. I spot Scarlet through the warehouse doors, definitely alive and now with Ali. Hugging ensues at being alive.

The whole thing gets very Lost as all the remaining people are told to get off the plane because it could explode. There is scavenging, etc for clothes to keep warm. At some point in this part of the dream, my sidekick comes back to life and I have a weak signal.

There is no resolution to this dream, only this odd sequence of events. Aren't you glad you don't have to be in my head when I sleep?

I love The Faint

I knew we were going to be in trouble when I noticed the blonde and the brunette slamming up against Scarlet's back. There were two opening bands for The Faint show, and midway through the second act, Services, a large mass of what had to be toddlers in back of us decided slam dancing or moshing was called for. I'm no stick-in-the-mud, but the writhing they were doing all up in our space was not called for at the time. My Texas ghetto upbringing came out as I switched places with Ali and prepared to do battle. I hadn't been standing there since 7:30 smelling the foul human stench that would permeate the air periodically and holding strong through the first opening act to lose my place to high school kids with rhythm problems. After I got slammed into for the hundredth time, I did what any Texas girl would do. I pulled my arm forward and slammed my elbow into the blonde behind me. Oops...you don't like my dancing (*blink, blink*)? She moved. Unfortunately, the crowd literally pulsed as we waited for The Faint to go on. I knew we were doomed. Once they took the stage no dam in the world was going to be able to hold back these bodies.

I was right. The Faint bled music on the stage and the floor directly behind us went crazy. I tried moving with the crowd (hell, the music is danceable), but it so didn't help. I was doing everything I could just to stay on my feet and not get crushed. I know at one point I was laughing (because what else was I supposed to do) and holding on to Scarlet just to stay upright. About 3 minutes later I got the signal from the Al(l)i(e)s that we needed out of the pit. I have to admit I was a bit relieved because the fact that I was too fucking old for that had been scrolling through my brain.

Once we escaped the writhing mass of bodies, I inhaled the energy fed to us by The Faint. As hot and tired as I was, this group was bloody awesome. I wish I were some famous music writer who could put words on paper worthy of describing the way their music made me feel.

Instead, all I can say is that maybe you should go buy their cds.

Chronicle of a death foretold

I know I have no right to talk about it like it's a real person, but the void in my heart is similar. At night, its place by my head is now simply another unoccupied place in bed. When I wake up in the morning, I have been like a ship adrift at sea with no recognizable port in sight. My phone, Leonard II (2Molly to some of you), is dead.

Imagine barreling down I-66 at 3 am discussing with your mates what your next move should. Suddenly, nature is mentioned and you have the brilliant idea of a hike at a trail hidden nearby. Your trusting mates follow you blindly into the night, sliding one foot in front of the other down the rocky path. The old Civil War ford at Bull Run stretches before you whispering your name as it slides over the mossy rocks. Allie sits on a nearby rock asking for reason, begging me to keep my arse on dry land; however, my mate, Brendan, knows my adventurous spirit and is probably just as tipsy as I am. He follows as I begin my trip across the river and watches in slow motion as the slippery rocks claim flip flop #1.

Amazed that my shoe could disappear so quickly into the night, I fall to my knees and begin groping around the jagged rocks below. One shoe down, I attempt standing only to windmill my arms and flail about like a chicken. At some point flip flop #2 decides it misses its brother and takes off. Nothing between the river bottom and my feet, I sudden feel it important that I rescue my flip flops from their downstream death. To my knees again, only this time my fate is far worse.

Oh, dear friends. The cockiness of my last post was splashed back in my face Friday night as my phone slid out of my bra and into the stream below. Brendan made a valiant attempt as phone rescue, but it was too late. Submersion kills a phone faster than anything. For the second time in a year, I have violently laid a $300 phone to rest, and now I'm determined to spend some time reflecting on how much I need online-internet-email-aim phone that brings me joy.

Sigh.

Follow me

Cutting edge trendsetter...that's me. Laugh if you want, but soon every girl you know will be sporting her cell phone in much the same fashion.

For months now, possibly years, I end up carrying my cell phone tucked neatly into my bra. What's a girl to do when she needs her cell phone with her 24-7 and has no pockets? Simply slide the phone into that place where the strap attaches to the actual bra part and you're done. Think I'm joking? It works. Even phones such as my virtually disappear, and it works with even some of the skimpiest bras.

Perhaps I'm too comfortable with the idea and have been doing it for too long. I have been known to get some interesting looks when people see my cell phone appear. Slowly, though, I am acclimating the world to this cell carrying phenomenon. My heart warmed this past week when, looking down from the stands at graduation, I see Allie reach for her cell phone...stored in that special place. : )

What not to wear

During my bookstore shift last night, a man walks up to me and asks where I go to church. Already my guard is up. "Not around here. Somewhere in Alexandria*," I responded. "Oh," he said. "Are you apostolic?" At this point I'm perplexed and will readily admit I didn't know what "apostolic" was. I answered with "I'm baptist**." He then proceeds to drop the bomb. "Well, you dress the part, and it's so refreshing to see these days. Not many women do."

Fuck. In other words, I look plain and conservative. Looks like it's time to slut it up at work again. No more hair pulled back, skirt below the knee looks for me. Sigh.


*Leaving aside the fact that I technically haven't been to my church in a year.
**Though, technically, I have a real issue with the labels within Protestant religion.

Never combine alcohol and spray paint.

Friday evening was the culmination of a long week and meant to be low key. A few friends dropping in on a birthday party and then headed to a local bar for a drink or two. Party...check. Local bar...check. Drink or two...turned into several more. Really, I blame the need to consume more than two drinks on the cover band we were forced to listen to for $8. In fact, perhaps this is best racket going. Charge an $8 cover fee to hear a cover band that consisted of an Avril wannabe and an elven white guy with a gerry curl, thus forcing people to drink even more to tolerate the music and run up an even greater bar tab. An entire post could be written on how much fun we were and the "friends" we made. This, however, is not my point (see first sentence).

Still lit when I got dropped off at my apartment, I decided it would be the perfect time to make my debut as a graffiti artist. *shaking head* Grabbing the supplies that I've had ready for a couple months now, I loaded them in my tote and stumbled out the front door. Pumped with a drunken energy, I began texting and or calling my drunken mates to let them know of my foolishness. Not surprisingly, despite their (also) impaired state, they expressed concern at my stumbling alone to my pre-selected target at roughly 3 am. Brendan couldn't take it, I guess, and came back as my get away car and later accomplice.

Parking near my planned target (a target I had staked out for months, btw), we exited the car and proceeded to walk along the darkened sidewalk. I expressed concern that my shirt was white and not the best color for nefarious activity. It was decided I should take my white shirt off to better blend in. I was cognizant enough to realize that my pale skin probably glowed just as brightly in the dark. Still, we plodded along until I dropped to my knees in what I thought was the perfect area. Sliding my latex, hypoallergenic white* gloves over each arm, I pressed the stencil on the sidewalk had at it. It appeared the dark sidewalk, while perfect for camouflaging our activities, was not the best canvas for displaying my work. I knew of a better spot but was worried because it was well lit and potentially had a camera. Despite my moments of clarity, we convinced drunken selves this didn't matter and ended up there anyway.

To end what is now becoming my ode to bumbling criminality, I'll say that (1) smart decisions are not always made while drunk, (2) taking off one's shirt does not make one hide better in the dark, and (3) I need to get better at making stencils because mine failed tragically. All of that comedic effort and all I got were spray painted blobs.

*Really. What kind of nefarious artist do I imagine myself? Sigh.

Why I'm sometimes a bad environmentalist

I bust my ass all day trying to restore the rivers of the world; however, every now and then it hits me how bad of an environmentalist I can be sometimes.

1. I fell asleep during An Inconvenient Truth, even moaning a little.
2. The whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow" thing grosses me out, if it's not my toilet. I'm worried about the whole issue of accidental splash.
3. I listened to a whole powerpoint presentation on why recycling is bad without bothering to refute it (even though I disagreed).
4. I drink a lot of Diet Coke out of plastic bottles.
5. I like bubble baths and sometimes leave the water running when I brush my teeth.
6. I could probably start my own landfill with the amount of post-it notes I use.
7. In addition to post-it notes, I have a proclivity for all sorts of specialty paper products, sometimes wanting to own them "just because."

To do lists

I like lists. I like lists enough that I sometimes include making a list of the lists I need to make on my to do list. Why I like lists is beyond me, since the majority of my lists either go unfinished or never give me the satisfaction of "checking" completed things off.

Today's Personal To-Do List:

-buy groceries (spawning a separate list)
-paint the pool on my train set (*cough* art project)
-buy new comforter
-begin compiling stuff for all of the care packages I need to send
-blog
-take self portrait

Today's Work To-Do List:

-enter the remaining applicant information into the database
-set up site visits for Thursday
-sort and box all of the research and bibliographic data for Berkeley
-financial reporting
-slam my head in a door (see financial reporting)

Toy Story

Despite all of the stress I've been feeling as of late, I've also been feeling particularly inspired. I have all sorts of creative ideas for both arts and crafts projects. Two art projects I'm most excited about involve these toys I've been adopting from the bookstore before they are about to be thrown out.

A couple of months ago I snagged an aging Thomas the Train set that was on its way to that big green garbage can in the sky. Having no children and really not wishing to acquire any, I still couldn't let such a kitschy item die. Recycle-reuse, right? Currently my Thomas set is undergoing its makeover into fabulous, over-the-top pink and jeweled train concoction. Why? To photograph, as an art installation....hell, to sell on ebay.

Last night further entrenched my weirdness (err...creativeness) when I spotted a huge set of Lincoln Logs destined for the trash. I could just picture these fabulously tacky log cabins glued together and destined to be left in odd places. I'm still working on my overall messaging for that project, but pictures will definitely be up once I get going.

I can only dream of one day being as cool as the couple featured in this month's ReadyMade Magazine. Two artist rockers from Seattle and Austin were looking for a place to relocate to together and ended up settling on a small town in Kansas. Why? Abandoned schools. Urban flight has led to the closing of so many schools that evidently they are really cheap. She sold her house and with the money bought four abandoned schools near each other in Kansas. They live in part of one and are in the process of turning the whole thing into an artist colony. How cool is that?

I'm the grumpy carebear

Grumpy might be the wrong word, but I just don't remember a weary Carebear. Perhaps I should create a line of adult-themed Carebears. Could get ugly though.

I digress. I'm weary and so over being stressed out by work and life. Work has me so stressed out right now that I have a mini-panic attack every time I start to think of everything on my to-do list. I can't blog in the mornings because I feel guilty and like I should be using that time to work. I can't keep up with my favorite blogs (see previous sentence). And, now, I finally post, and it is to complain.

I can't even begin to think about how to blog about the family health issues tearing my heart apart chunk by chunk. The short of it is that my grandmother may have to have a leg amputated and is in a lot of pain. Knowing she has to go through this ordeal and that my mom has to be the strong one, the one carrying the emotional burden for everyone, fills me with a depressive tiredness, as if I've spent hours fighting my way through a taffy maze.

Mr. Roboto

Thursday took me to Fredericksburg for a work meeting on fisheries in the Chesapeake Bay. Rather than rent a car or take the train, I grabbed my traveling cohort, and we hit the road. On the way, we decided that, since we were already so close, there was no way we could not head on down to Richmond after my meeting and go to Sticky Rice. Once there, though, we determined we weren't yet hungry enough for the sushi and tots of Sticky Rice and should do some exploring of Carytown. Next thing I know, we're both sucked into the charms of Cary Street and the independent stores that line its path.

World of Mirth stopped us in our tracks. Our inner children shrieked and whizzed through the store with glazed eyes, periodically stopping to shout, "look at this" or "OMG, Allie, you've got to see this." Wind up sushi, Paul Frank wallets and shirts, skulls, skulls, skulls. I was almost ready to consider having a kid just to be able to buy the skull bib. Instead, I decided Allie needed to get knocked up. I walked out of World of Mirth with a robot and a promise to myself to go back soon.

We never did make it to Sticky Rice proper*. We wandered from shop to shop investing some loot in For the Love of Chocolate, finally snagging a Nancy Pearl action figure from Plan 9, and drooling over yarn in the local yarn store. I thought about feeling guilty for the toys I snagged but quickly pushed that thought aside. I work hard and think hard. Life is full of serious moments, both personally, professionally and globally. Toys give our lives color and creativity and a break from all of that seriousness.

My inner child had a blast.

*We did snag some tots from their carry out place, ToGoGo. I also should have snagged the number for the hot tattooed guy behind the counter.

Return of my lover

I fall in and out of love with reading. Actually, it's more like the lover whom you know so well that you take for granted, often seeking a little something different in its stead. Our romance has been renewed recently with a few new additions to my collection. Jim Crace has always been an author I've had my eye on for a while but just never got around to reading. When an advance copy of his latest novel, The Pesthouse, arrived at the bookstore a week ago, I snatched it up and set about immediately devouring it. A sweet love story set in a post-apocalyptic* world.

Feeling rejuvinated by a good read, I decided the timing was right to slide right into the next read. I have dozens of unread books, but two recent purchases begged to be read, Love is a Mix Tape and How Sassy Changed My Life. Love is a Mix Tape won out. I've only just begun but adored the idea of the book before I ever picked it up. Blowing through the first chapter was like a romp down my pop culture memory lane. Two chapters in and he not only had my heart aching just a little for him but also had me reminiscing about the songs that made up the mix tape of my own life.

I've posted in the past about how different men (loves, crushes, obsessions, etc.) have each been assigned their own song. Thinking of these songs fighting each other for favorite song status on a mix tape cracks me up. I've** listed a few of the songs below. Judge for yourself, but I think they'd make a pretty crappy mix tape.

Serena's Hypothetical Man Mix Tape:

Thunder Rolls by Garth Brooks
Unforgettable by Natalie Cole/Nat King Cole
Paper Bag by Fiona Apple
Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers (I think)
Million Ways to be Cruel by OkGo
Memories by Elvis Presley
I've Got Friends in Low Places by Garth Brooks
Soul Meets Body by Death Cab for Cutie

Seriously, seeing that combination typed out makes me shudder.


*I'm big on post-apocalyptic novels, movies, tv shows, everything.
**I'm rushing this post because Allie is waiting on me and keeps singing/scatting The Final Countdown and is driving me batty with it.

Blow me away

I watched The Holiday this weekend, and while many of you film snobs may not consider it worthy of any mention, I enjoyed the smarm and the way everyone got what they needed in the end. I really only mention the movie because there are scenes where this insane wind blows and Jack Black's character talks about how it's the Santa Ana winds and crazy things can happen when they blow. Well, the Santa Ana* winds blew into DC yesterday and are still wreaking havoc. It's the wind of scary stories that blows the bad guy into town. If it weren't so freaking cold, I'd be completely enamored.

Crazy weather brings about crazy things, or in my case, the discovery of hidden talents. Guitar riffs, manic drums, and the keyboard. I rock at air instruments. Jimmy Hendrix would envy my air guitar, and Ben Gibbard only wishes his air keyboard was as fine. Maybe it's my weak wrists, but my air drums still need a lot of work. I'd be amenable to a real drummer boyfriend who would help me perfect my technique.


*I fully realize we can't have Santa Ana winds here, but you know what I mean.

Where is spring

Rain has the power to amplify whatever mood I'm in. If I'm a little down or melancholy, rain further drains my energy, the world weighing heavy like a sodden coat. If I'm upbeat, happy, the rain energizes me, even making me a little hyper. Today's rain, oddly enough, isn't really doing anything. I can almost feel it wanting to bring me down, but I keep fighting it. Waiting for the bus with only a black umbrella over my head, I began to sing (yes...in the rain) to keep my spirits lifted. Before I ventured outside, I let the drumbeat of the falling rain be my music as I brightened up my surroundings with color. When the day is gray, there's nothing like color and a little red stain on your lips to keep things bright.

Was it all about the outfits?

Do you know how hard it is to take a picture of yourself every day and make it interesting? Since the second week of January, I’ve been participating in a 365 self portrait challenge* where you take a picture of yourself everyday, and this past week I finally broke down and took a break. I’ve been having fun doing it and think it’s an awesome endeavor. Because of the self portrait challenge, I have (1) learned which side is my good side, (2) no longer cringe at having my picture taken, and (3) have perfected “the serena”. However, I end up taking practically the same picture every day and am so bored with that. Remedy? I need to use this to work on a specific skill. Each week will have a theme, and my self portraits will need to reflect that theme. For example, I’m kicking this off again (after my one week hiatus) with a black and white theme. All self portraits this week will be done in black and white. Hopefully this will stave off any potential boredom.

Speaking of boredom, I’m almost embarrassed to admit one of the things I spent yesterday afternoon doing. Ha. Ah well, that’s what blogs are for, right? Remember the Blythe doll I purchased? Well, I was hanging out at Allie's house yesterday afternoon just eating, stealing wireless, and gabbing when we get a brilliant idea. Allie's mom has kept all of her Barbie's in tubs in the basement, so we decide to raid the contents for potential James (the Blythe) outfits. Suddenly I was 10 years old again and memory lane was the path spread out before me. There we are, two virtually grown women, sitting at the table surrounded by Barbies. There was the Jem collective and Brenda from 90210, too. The '80s were in full force with these outfits, most so horrific that they hurt to look at and be reminded that we once thought this was fashionable. Neon pink tulle skirt, printed leggins, shoulder pads, gold, glitter, the shirtdress, pleats. And, let's not forget the Barbie outfit Allie had made as a child, complete with puff paint. Ah...looking back is fun, but I'm glad to be moving forward.

*My “daily me” photos are on Flickr account, but you probably can’t see them unless you’re a Flickr “friend”.

dueling banjos

I know we all have many different aspects to our personalities, but sometimes I feel like there are two very distinct individuals that live inside of me. Don't freak out; I'm not talking about any kind of split personality. It's just that the two sides of my coin are night and day.

There is the kind, compassionate side that is prohibitively shy. She hates big groups and parties and meeting new people. New situations make her nervous and cause her to break out in a cold sweat.

The other side of me is this very forward, bold woman who goes after what she wants. She takes charge and is just as likely to back you into a corner and have her way with you as she is apt to give you a verbal tongue lashing for the wrongs you've done to her.

Scarlet and I have talked about this 49%-51% split we all all have. Well..let's just say that last night the bold side took more than its fair percentage.

Writhing bodies for sale

As the only tall indie guys in the entire world found their way in front of me and bodies began closing in on all sides, I began to wonder what I was doing there. I could feel my hair physically frizzing as sweat trickled down the small of my back. A sea of heads bopped up and down before me in an almost zombie-like unison. The band playing, Land of Talk, was fun...good beats. Still, I couldn't help but ask myself why we subjected ourselves to concerts and shows when we could listen to the music in the comfort of our own homes, our cars, where ever.

Seconds later, as the driving beat was palpable and I fought my body's urge to follow it, I knew why we come to the live shows. Listening to a cd doesn't give you that visceral experience. You don't feel the beats in the same way, don't get that euphoric high when they hit that note just right, and miss all of the extras when they just decide to jam. The same crowd that makes you sweat also feeds your energy. The outfits, the shenanigans...

...this is why I love live music.

I think that maybe today I have the time and energy for an actual post. The combination of a hectic work week with deadlines and meetings piling on and our semi-annual trek to Smith & Wollensky (S&W) for Wine Week left me brain dead.

Work has been getting increasingly crazy as we enter into what we refer to as "restoration season". Somehow, I've also found myself (over the past couple of years) managing a big government grant and dealing with federal contracting issues. This is not my forte...looking at millions of dollars on paper makes my brain hurt and my eyes cross. Thursday and Friday found me wading through government paperwork and forms, and by noon on Friday, I was ready for that wine reservation. Getting off the phone with my boss after a harrowing thirty minutes of federal contract talk, I told her I was going to send this email and then go get drunk and pretend the conversation we had just had didn't happen.*

As usual, the wine flowed at S&W...the three glasses in front of me rarely empty. Merlot, Syrah, Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, Reisling, and a great sparkling later...work was forgotten. In fact, any good sense I had was apparently forgotten as well. I'm too embarrassed here to repeat some of the text messages and emails I sent, but let's just say that I was a very friendly and blunt girl.

You would think that would be enough, but no. We had plans to meet up with some people for happy hour at The Russia House and couldn't disappoint. One long, stumbling walk up Dupont and two (maybe three) mango martinis later, and I was done for. Completely tanked by 6 pm. Enough alcohol in my system that hours later, while at home, I was still drunk.

Despite the debauchery, I would never recommend giving up wine week and suggest everyone give it a whirl once in a while.


*Seriously, how can I not love working for a nonprofit like this?

Rocketship to the moon

As I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, the face staring back at me was different. My pupils were mere pinpricks of their former selves, dilated, reflecting the far away look in my eyes. My skin was more flush than normal, contrasting sharply with my red locks. No, I didn't do drugs today. Arousal. I could go into more, since I am currently affected (or should it be afflicted); however, too many people from the office know about and potentially read this blog. None of them are the cause for said physical reaction, but I'm not sure I want them knowing more than what I've already said.

Reasons I should be aroused are this phat new Mac Powerbook I'm blogging on. Yep...that's right. This girl got herself a new computer today at a steal. Thanks to Ravena, I've practically got the computer of my dreams. I'd say my current look of elation has a much different origin than my dilated pupils of early afternoon.

Manic Monday

I had what feels like one of the most hectic weekends I've had in a while. Maybe it had something to do with creating a to-do list so long that I knew I'd never make it through everything. Did I work on any of the work projects I wanted to this weekend? No. Did I clean and reorganize my apartment? No. Did I ever put that first coat of gesso on that art project? No.

I did...

• work two insanely long shifts at the part-time;
• try out a new martini bar out in the sticks and didn't hate it;
• purchase my first lomo camera and shoot that first role of film;
• pick up the first piece of artwork I've actually purchased;
• continued my consumer binge by snagging two hott skirts and some apricot baby oil;
• visited the sick and shut-in;
• four hour online liaison that was more than satisfactory; and
• even managed to do some laundry.

Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds

I've always been one of those weird people who find that Benadryl actually helps my allergies and doesn't make me tired. Yesterday, I became a statistic.

Spring is a bitch for those who suffer from allergies, and on the recommendation of a friend, I bought some of the new Benadryl strips that dissolve right on your tongue. Knowing these contained medicine didn't quell the thought that I was dropping acid. A few hours later and I was indeed wondering if I'd obtained a "special" batch of the strips.

Kneeling down in Children's department at the part-time I felt my heart speed up and suddenly the world grew hazy. I was tripping the light fantastic with Hello Kitty swirling in front of me. Several minutes later, I still felt like I was going to pass out and had trouble focusing on the world around me. A coworker mentioned how small my pupils were.

Benadryl Strips...you may have helped the sneezing, but you weren't exactly the high I was looking for.

Washington D.C.*

We went to the opening reception for the DCist Exposed Photography Show. My overall impressions of the show are very positive. The vast majority of the photos were amazing with only a few that left me thinking of the contrived, the average. The Warehouse Theater, which was home to the show, wasn't disappointing. The minimum amount of square footage, though crowded, was also cozy, and I fell in love with the room that appeared unfinished. Things I would have liked: someplace to drop my heavy coat, free drinks, and for it to be a bit more clear how to buy a photograph**.

I left inspired, which is always the idea. Good job, DCist!

*I finished Mailtunes and was not the last. This one of the few songs in my mix.
**Maybe this is my fault since I don't play on the DC art scene much. Maybe I'm just not familiar with the rules.

Ginger Snaps (And Sugar Winks)

I hate feeling constipated emotionally. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I find myself getting angry at situations and events with no real outlet for my anger. About 50% of my anger is simply impatience and a quick temper and is best not finding an outlet. The rest of my anger and frustration is most definitely valid and should be expressed in some productive way, preferably a way that results in a solution.

Humor me, and let me give an example. I get an email from my mom this morning telling me my grandparents got bad news yesterday. Evidently, my grandfather's company is changing its retiree policy such that they will no longer have life insurance and the premiums for their health insurance are increasing exponentially. How in the bloody hell can a company tell you they're providing you with life insurance (telling you this for decades) and then suddenly decide not to? Shouldn't they at least provide life insurance that was "banked" up until the point they decided to end it? It's like he's been screwed out of years of getting his own insurance policy. Don't even get me started on the health care crap.

It is situations like this where I feel like I have no real outlet for my anger, no way to affect change. Sure, you can tell me to vote or something similar, but I want change NOW. I want a way to make these companies, our system pay.

Cheryl Tweedy

I've been feeling like being crafty lately but have balked at knitting due to a serious lack of cute yarn. Seriously, the closest places selling yarn to me are Michael's and Wal-Mart who both have such uninspiring selections. Maybe I'm just being picky. My other problem is that I'm ready to learn some new knitting skills but am not feeling patient enough to actually invest the time in acquiring them.

My solution? Try a new craft. Considering it was my first go, I'm pretty pleased with the results. They're supposed to be earring; however, because I made a silly mistake they're really nothing. I didn't put a big enough hole, and it shrunk to virtually nothing. Ah well, lessons learned. The next version will rock!

Getting my 'Thriller' mack on

Well, my need for all things 80s is officially over. Last night I survived the 80s porn-themed birthday party we through for Ravena's big day, and I rocked my outfit like Mary Lou Retton did the parallel bars. I'm officially washing my hands of 80s costumes though because seeing pictures this evening reminded me that (even 20 years later) that decade is not for me. Never again will these red locks be twisted into a side ponytail or will I wear fishnet leggings under a short skirt. I might bring back the bright blue shadow though because it makes my eyes pop.

We pre-gamed it by pulling on a pair of rollerskates and rocking the rink in Manassas. Yes. Rollerskates. The birthday girl requested, and who were we to argue. Walking into the brightly lit rink was a slightly mortifying given that I was wearing something similar to what I might have worn when I first started skating and that we were clearly the oldest people there without children. Once I got my skating legs back, I had a blast. Whipping around the rink and trying to remember how to crossover was sweet. Realizing I still didn't know how to stop was not so sweet. Some of those little kids were also death on wheels. I swear their parents sent them into my path to take me out. Last skate before we left was to Thriller. I almost passed out.

Back at Ravena's place, the more timid souls who wouldn't brave the rink joined us for a bit of revelry. The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, but I want to remember Allie's cupcakes, Ravena's penis shot glass, food fight, pink cigarettes (not), Tice in bunny ears, and the 80s dance party in the living room.

We Only Come Out At Night

Continuing on this '80s track, I've had legwarmers on the brain a lot lately. Until recently (when I went in search of a pair for my project), I saw them everywhere. Sadly, I remember when they were originally* the thing to wear. I legitimized my owning several pair by the fact that I was in ballet at the time. Of course, I did wear them over jeans in addition to over my tights.

Anyway, back to the present day. I determined I needed legwarmers for my project but have been having trouble finding a pair. Yes, I did wait until the last minute but still thought I had enough knitting talent and speed in me to whip up a pair of turquoise legwarmers in a couple of days. What I kept forgetting is that (1) I knit slowly and (2) the available free hours I have on any given day are few and usually after midnight. Add on top of that the fact that I get frustrated when I don't find a pattern I like and was proceeding to design my own pair, and you can pretty much guess the status of my legwarmers.



*At least as far as I know.

What a Feeling

I was looking for a little wardrobe inspiration last night and figured it couldn't hurt to look through old pictures. Flipping through the latest issue of Nylon and other magazines, it's clear that the '80s are back. I lived through the '80s and have an established relationship with the decade. If I had a fashion resume, this ten years of experience would surely get me hired to style the remake of Mannequin, right? We'll let you be the judge.

This is me going away to some kind of camp. Yes, that is a George Michael t-shirt and Umbra shorts.

Note the sky high bangs, blue eyeshadow and rolled jeans.

I'm not sure if I thought I was Tom Cruise. The feathered hair is fierce though.

This has to be my favorite. I look like it's my 50th birthday with that leather skirt, wide belt and shoulder pads of death.

And what would the '80s be without a poufy, gold party dress.