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.