Pantsless in Seattle

I've moved!

2011-12-18T10:20:00.000-08:00

Find me at the new Pantsless in Seattle website. Everything has been moved over there, so come join me!

(Be sure to edit my blog address in your reader feed: http://PantslessInSeattle.wordpress.com or subscribe again over on Wordpress.)

Thanks for the memories, Blogger!

Meet the Parents

2011-09-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

(A cautionary tale about NOT mentioning the Holocaust when meeting your Jewish boyfriend's family.)

Once upon a time, I was dating a guy. And he came from a very large, very close, very Jewish family. I come from a smaller, super close, extremely weird and crazy family. So things that, to my family, would be perfectly normal and accepted conversation topics are, to other more normal families, incredibly offensive and strange.

I really thought I could do it, y'all. I thought I could go to his family's house for Passover, participate in their traditions, respect their beliefs, and be my fantastically charming self. I nearly made it, too. I was SO CLOSE.

Enter Manischewitz. Damn the Manischewitz and its fruity sweet deliciousness that lulls a girl into a false sense of security and familiarity.

I mean, it was never going to end well. You know you're headed for disaster when you look in the mirror before heading out to Passover dinner and giving yourself the following pep talk:

Alida to Alida: Alright, lady. You can do this. You can meet the family and you can be awesome and they will love you so much they will forget the fact you are a shiksa hobag who has distracted their only son from finding an actual Jewish girl to date. You are Southern. You are charming. You WILL NOT bring up the Holocaust! YOU CAN DO THIS.

Oh, y'all. If only that had been true.

It started off fine. Really. I turned on the Southern charm, made the accent come out a bit more, complimented the home decorating skillz of his aunt, asked for the recipe of the brisket, and pretended to like gefilte fish. (Sidebar: ew.) I made some charming jokes, essentially had the entire extended family eating out of the palm of my non-kosher hand.

Until.

Oh, God of Abraham, Issac, and Jacob, UNTIL.

Things crumbled, as they tend to do in my life, as the result of an innocent question. It was the kind of question one asks to get to know someone but, to me, is like a timebomb of my tendency to overshare. The kind of question that, as I am answering, I hear myself, I feel myself tumbling down the slippery slope of too much information but am powerless to stop myself until I finally STOP talking, blink, and look at the faces around me. It is then, when I see the abject horror reflected back at me that I realize, "Oh. Crap."

You know, it's probably easiest to just transcribe here what happened. You'll thank me for it. You'll judge me, probably, and maybe you'll even stop reading my blog. But it's best to be honest, right?

Auntie M: So, Alida, your family isn't Jewish, is that right?

Me: Yes, that's correct.

(So far, so not destructive.)

Auntie M: How does your family feel about you dating a Jewish boy? Are they supportive?

Me: Oh, totally supportive. See, we're really close and very supportive of one another. We're lapsed Catholics, although I used to be a crazy fundamentalist Christian. But then my stepdad left the family and had the marriage annulled so that he could marry his mistress, which made my mother angry because HOW could the Catholic church grant an annulment to a 20 year marriage, really, right? So she wrote the arch bishop a strongly-worded letter and kind of excommunicated herself from the church and now she doesn't go to Mass anymore, though I still take my Grandaddy to Mass every Christmas Eve because I love Christmas Eve service. It's just so beautiful, right? I mean, well, nevermind but still. YES, they are supportive. My mother even started reading the Big Book of All Things Jewish I brought home last Christmas because she wanted to learn more. In fact, we had a great conversation about it! She told me how she'd always been very interested in Judaism and I agreed with her, that it's a fascinating faith and culture. And she told me she used to love studying the Holocaust in school because she felt incredibly drawn to that part of history and I told her I'd always felt the same and THEN she said she felt she might have been Jewish in a past life and OMG what if I was Jewish too and MAYBE WE WERE SISTERS WHO BOTH DIED IN THE HOLOCAUST!

It was the final use of the word "holocaust" that snapped me out of my TMI-Tirade. It was like a bucket of cold water in my face, although in this case "bucket of cold water" = "genocide that was responsible for the deaths of over 6 million Jews."

Oops.

So I looked around the table and waited for someone to shake off the horror of what I'd just said and say something different, something more Passover-y and less Holocaust-y.

**crickets**

Inner Monologue of Alida: Crap.

Alida to Alida: I *loathe* you.

Alida back to Alida: Same/same, Self. Same/same.

I'd like to think this story has a happy ending. I'd like to imagine I paved the way for the next girl my ex brings home for Passover, hopefully a nice Jewish girl who already has a good recipe for brisket and loves gefilte fish and chopped liver. I'd like to hope I've become a funny family story, one they tell every Passover, about the crazy, oversharing Gentile with big hair. Maybe I'm even a cautionary tale for the younger cousins about the importance of only dating other Jews. Or, at the very least, dating people who are uncrazy.

I'm pretty.

Lately

2011-09-15T16:46:00.001-07:00

I want to tell you guys so many things.

I want to tell you about Burning Man. And about our new home. And I want to tell you about how I'm making steps to change my career and plan for my future.

I want to tell you guys about my life.

But to do that, I would have to tell you about the other stuff happening. The support group I started this week to help me sort through Kim's death. About how I'm not sleeping very well. About the bad dreams I have every night. About my friend Susie, who took her own life last weekend.

And I don't really have words about those things.

So I'm going to keep quiet, for now. If you follow me on Twitter or are a Facebook friend, you know I've been uncharacteristically quiet. It's just how things are right now. I'm going to work through the hard stuff and try to learn some lessons. I will try to find my words again. And when I do, y'all will be the first to know.

Walking

2011-08-07T19:20:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Betty Nebraska was helping me pack my bedroom at Kim's condo. We had a slick system -- I would go through one part of the room and sort things into garbage/recycling/Goodwill piles. Anything I wanted to keep, I would leave where it was. Betty followed behind me, packing the items I was keeping into boxes, labeling and taping. In just under 4 hours, my entire life was packed into boxes. Again.

While we packed, we talked about moving. Betty counted in her head and realized she'd moved 7 or 8 times in the last ten years. I counted in my head and realized I've moved 16 times in ten years. Sixteen times, y'all. No wonder I'm so good at moving.

Yale and I have been in our new home for nearly 3 weeks now. I love it, lollipops. I'm so happy here. We're nestled into our little basement home, keeping cool in the Seattle "summer," unpacking and organizing, reorganizing, and breathing. Sometimes we have to remind ourselves to breathe. In that spirit, I taped this to Yale's door last weekend:

She was very much excited about the prospect about our first Roommate Date since our big move. And on Monday, after we spent the morning working in the house, we packed a bag and hit the pavement, *walking* from our house to Hot House Spa, one of my favorite places in Seattle. We melted into the hot tub and slowly, quietly, relaxed into our breathing. It was magical.

Our tradition post-Naked Spa is sushi and Yogurtland. Y'all would be impressed with the amount of cheap, conveyer belt sushi she and I can put away. Like, we're not playing around. It's insane. A quick stop next door to grab our cups of delicious frozen yogurt and we were ready to walk back home in the sunshine, full and happy, relaxed and breathing.

Walking is maybe my favorite part of my new home. I really am only driving my car to work and back right now. For everything else, I walk. Brunches with dear friends, spontaneous walks for frozen yogurt, happy hour with the girls, or just a quick walk to grab the last bits of sunshine in the day. I throw on my sparkle shoes, my favorite sundress, grab my iPod, and dive into the streets of my new neighborhood.

I'm happy here, guys. The next weeks are going to be full of preparations for Burning Man, getting ready for a new work schedule, and figuring out what I want to do with school and career. And night walks. Many, many night walks.

Come along with me?

Conversations on a Vacation

2011-07-28T09:58:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all! I'm in Colorado this week, hiding in the mountains with my family. I don't have a lot of words right now so I thought I'd share some snippets from the week.

(Before heading out to whitewater raft):
Me: Okay, I'm going to go get dressed for RAFTING.
Me: I might die.
Me: So you should tell me your secrets.
Me: They'll go with me to the bottom of the Taylor river.
Me: Where their skulls will be crushed on rocks.
Me: And then probably trout will eat them.
Me: And I'm not sure if trout are good secret-keepers.
Me: So it's really up to you.
Him: Yikes. Be safe.

During the safety talk before rafting:

Guide: Some portions of the river have Class 3 rapids.

Me: Your MOM has Class 3 rapids.

Guide: You'll be in for a bit of a rough ride at points and an easy ride at others.

Ceci: Wasn't "Easy Ride" your nickname in high school?

Me: YOUR MOM'S FACE WAS IN HIGH SCHOOL.

At sushi with the family:

(Mom picks up a piece of a roll and the tobiko falls off into her soy sauce.)

Me: Ha. Mom lost her eggs.

Ceci: Hahahaha, she did!

Me: It's funny because of MENOPAUSE!

I'll be back with the usual posts next week. You know, if I don't fall of the mountain first.

The Narwhal on the Wall

2011-07-20T08:08:00.000-07:00

Did I ever show y'all the painting Jason Waskey, my dear friend who happens to be kind of an amazing artist, did for me? I commissioned the piece for Kim's 31st birthday, which was on April 30th. You remember the unicorn and the narwhal, right? Or brave, plastic cancer fighters with the battle horns? I showed them to Ole Jasers and he took the narwhal and made the most beautiful painting I've ever seen:

Kim loved it. She immediately hung it on the wall in our entry way, so we would see it every time we came home and every time before leaving. It was a constant reminder of her bravery, her humor, and the importance of believing in magic.

This past weekend was full of more transitions and hurdles. Saturday night was Kim's memorial service at Grand Central Bakery, the famous bakery in Pioneer Square where she worked for years creating delicious soups. To be honest, I was dreading it and I could not figure out why. So I mustered my bravery and focused on my love for Kim and put on my most colorful dress and bright green sweater and stuck a red flower in my hair. When we arrived, I realized why I didn't want to be there. The place was filling up with so many people who loved Kim and they were all sharing stories born in years of friendship. That's when it hit me: I'm jealous. My friendship with Kim existed solely in the realm of her cancer. I never really got to know her before words like Stage IV, terminal, chemo, radiation, embolism, and hospice entered the picture. I didn't even get a year with her. And I'm having moments where I feel sorry for myself, where I focus on how unfair this all seems.

But then I talked to her mother. And we were both saying how unfair it is that she died and jerks get to live and how we can't understand this disease and I told her how sad I was I only got barely a year to know Kim. And then I realized -- Kim's mom only got 31 years with her daughter and THAT isn't fair at all. She should never have had to see her daughter die. And I told her that and told her sorry I am. And then we cried.

I planned long ago to go out with my friends after the memorial. The Facebook event was called Many Drinks. My chosen family circled around me and we headed off to a bar in West Seattle where we toasted Kim with tequila shots and pineapple juice chasers. One shot. Then another. Then another. Then a fourth.

So here's the funny part. I've only had good experiences when I'm drinking. I'm a cheerful drunk, y'all. Happy. Hilarious. A little stumbly. That's why I planned the night of many many much drinking. I assumed it would cheer me up. So imagine my SHOCK when, over the remnants of tequila and pizza, I started SOBBING. It hit me so fast and I could. Not. Stop. Then my friends and I had this conversation:

Me: I (sob) don't (sob) understand why this (sob) is HAPPENING! (SOB)

Them: Um, we've all kind of been waiting for this to happen.

Me: What? (sob) Why?

Them: Because you've been through so much lately!

Me: I know that! But I'm usually (sob) such a happy drunk! I didn't expect (sob) to cry like this!

Them: Alida. Alcohol is a depressant and also intensifies whatever mood you're in.

Me: WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?? I DO NOT REMEMBER THIS FROM D.A.R.E.!

So Betty Nebraska walked me outside and we stood in the cool night air, me hunched over and sobbing, and her stroking my hair.

Me: Idonlikwthishappening.

Her: What?

Me: I don't like that this is happening!

Her: I know. I promise it'll feel more okay soon.

Me: Not that. All these strangers.

Her: It's okay to cry in front of strangers.

Me: Nu-uh. They think I'm crying over a BOY! (SOB!)

Because even in that moment, when I was feeling Kim's death in such a raw way, I was indignant that people would think I was the girl in the bar crying over a boy. I'm 30 and I have NEVER been the girl in the bar crying over a boy. Which, apparently, is very important to me.

We walked back to Betty and Bowie's house, ate ice cream and played inappropriate Jenga, which always makes everything better. I chugged some water, took some Advil, and went to bed feeling drained, thankful for my chosen family, and sad.

The next morning I woke up hangover-free and ready to move. Betty and KD and I picked up the U-Haul and people came over at 10am to help us move. I had 14 people helping us move, y'all. My friends are maybe the most incredibly generous people in the world. With so many helping hands, we had the truck loaded, driven to the new house, and unloaded in just over an hour and 15 minutes.

After brunch and a few more errands, my roommate and I returned to our new house, ready to begin the process of turning a house into our home. We agreed to start on our own rooms and deal with the common areas later. So of course we flopped onto the couch and didn't move for 10 minutes. Then Yale mentioned she had a painting that would look nice on the wall opposite us, so she found it and we hung it. Then we realized we had another piece of art that would look perfect on the wall behind us, so we hung that. And before we realized what was happening, we were hanging art all over the living room and kitchen.

And that's when I knew it was time. I started looking for a certain box, a small, carefully-packed box that held some items that have become very dear to me. I found it in my room and brought it out into the living room. Gingerly, we opened it and unwrapped the painting inside. Without a word, while tears filled our eyes, we hammered a nail into a wall and gently hung the painting of the Narwhal.

As Yale and I work to make our home a sanctuary, The Narwhal on the Wall will be a reminder of many things -- the fragility of life, the importance of fighting, of bravery, of friendship, and of love. It's going to take a long time to find my words about what it was like, watching her accept her diagnosis, fight, and then accept that her fight was ending. Until then, the Narwhal on the Wall will remind me that she was in my life, that I got to know her, that I got to experience this with her, and that life moves on more quickly than I ever realized. And, above everything else, the Narwhal on the Wall reminds me of Kim. As I process the sadness of the last few months, the good memories will begin to surface. And someday, with time, the good memories will outnumber the sad ones. The grief will turn into healing and the things I learned from Kim will stay with me forever.

As will the Narwhal on the Wall.

It gets...Beyonce?

2011-07-13T08:05:00.000-07:00

My phone is kind of awesome. It's a little ridiculous with the autocorrects. Like how it corrects 'y'all' to 'lollipops,' or how once I sent a text that said, "I'll be over soon. I'm going to go for a run first," and my friend received a text that said, "I'll be over soon. I'm going to go for a Run-D.M.C. first." Or there was that time I was trying to text KD while I was driving, so I was speaking into the phone, which was actually sitting in my lap, and it wasn't getting anything right, so finally I just yelled, "SHIT. I HATE THIS PHONE." The text KD received? "S***. I have this fin!" My phone censored me, y'all. Lollipops. Y'all.

About a week ago, roommate Yale was having a rough day. Most of our days lately have been rough. And you know what? Rough isn't really our style. (Heh.) We are more the laughter through tears type. So she was texting me, letting me know she'd had a little meltdown and that she was trying to cheer herself up. I felt awful for her, having had my own meltdown the day before, so I wanted to send her a text to let her know I understood, at least a little. So I sent, "I know it's so hard right now. It will get better soon, I promise. Much better." That is not the text she received. Nope, she got this: "I know it's so hard right now. It will get Beyonce soon, I promise. Much Beyonce."

My phone is rad.

But you know what? Things really are starting to get Beyonce. Last night she and I signed the lease on our new home, a cute little basement apartment in a triplex in a quiet neighborhood. We're a 10 minute walk from everything I love in Seattle. We have a yard for the dog and potential for a garden. The apartment is old, lived-in, a little janky and busted, but will be home. We walked through, signed the lease, and then the leasing agent joined us in doing our happy dance, which she and I do so often, anytime one of has a good first date, gets good news at work, or even at restaurants, when the food comes. We're packing like crazy and the U-Haul is reserved for Sunday morning.

And I'm so lucky in my friends. So many people have volunteered to help us move. And Betty Nebraska and Bowie have kindly invited me to live in their home until I move to my new place. They know how hard it is for me to be at Kim's house, how I wasn't sleeping, how I dream about her every night. So they've insisted the dog and I move in with them for a few days. It's lovely. Last night I got to their house after they'd already gone to bed. Instead of leaving chocolate on my pillow, Bowie left a shot of whisky on the nightstand. They understand me.

Things really are getting Beyonce, lollipops. And I'm so filled with joy and hope for what's to come.

Moving Forward

2011-07-11T09:29:00.000-07:00

Do you ever play the "A Year Ago" game? The one where you try to remember exactly what you were doing a year ago this moment? I play it all the time. I'm not sure what that says about me; maybe I like to make sure I'm growing, not stuck in a dead end routine or a boring rut, or worse, not maturing.

I played the A Year Ago game a lot this weekend. I couldn't help it. A year ago was a big weekend. A year ago two days ago, I went to Kim's house to drop off my deposit and first rent check. It was hilariously awkward. We were so brand new to each other. I was super excited to be moving in, to have found a new place to call home. She was, I think, a little bewildered by my exuberance and chattiness. But when I went to leave, I just grabbed her into a hug, totally catching her off guard. But then she smiled and told me how happy she was that I hugged her because people in Seattle just *don't* hug, she said. And she missed hugs. Human contact is so necessary for happiness, she told me. So I hugged her again and told her how happy I was to be moving in.

Now, exactly a year later, I'm moving again. Yale and I spent the weekend house hunting, trying to find a two bedroom in our favorite Seattle neighborhood. We're in a hurry. We need to get out of Kim's condo.

I knew, when they started making plans to take her home to California, I would never see her again. I figured it would be a little sad to live in her house while she was away. But I thought I would have time. I thought she had time. I never expected to be in her condo after she died. That wasn't my plan. But nothing about cancer allows you to make your own plan. Kim didn't even get to choose where she died. She didn't even make it home. They flew out on Saturday morning and she suffered an embolism on the flight, requiring an emergency landing in Sacramento. She died on Sunday, in a hospital. 3 weeks ago, she told me she never wanted to go back into a hospital. She told me she knew, if she went back into the hospital, she would die there. She was adamant about not dying in a hospital, almost angry. She was pleading with the cancer, I think, begging it to allow her this one final decision.

I hate cancer.

So. Kim died. And we are still living in her house. And it's awful. It feels so hollow. Empty. Raw. Neither Yale nor I can rest there. We've both lost our voices, as though something is choking our throats. And our space isn't our own. People keep coming in and out. Sorting through her belongings. Taking things. Leaving us feeling exposed and vulnerable, like we're living in a shrine. I've experienced death before. I know the grieving process well. But to continue to exist in the space belonging to the person who died? It's killing my good memories and delaying healing.

My only choice is to move forward. So we're house hunting. Packing. Making plans to move to a new space. Whatever we find, we will make it a haven. It will be our home, full of love and laughter and a purple couch and pink chair. Hopefully in our favorite neighborhood, close to good friends, great restaurants, and ideal for night walks. And in two weeks, I am escaping to Colorado to spend a week with my family. This vacation could not have come at a more perfect time.

I'm hopeful. I'm confident we'll find our home soon. And slowly, I will heal. I will figure out how to process the last 6 months, the enormity of watching someone die. Someday soon, the blog will return to lighter topics. Posts will have labels other than 'cancer'. For now, I want to thank you all for listening. For your support and love and compassion. Your kind comments and thoughtful emails. I am so lucky to have such amazing readers and I love you all.

And who knows? Someday soon I'll play A Year Ago again. And will look back at this post, this time. I have a good feeling about that day.

Thank you all.

Saying Goodbye

2011-07-04T16:31:00.000-07:00

Over the last six months, Kim and I developed a ritual. Whenever I would get home, whether from work or a night with friends or a date, I would run up the stairs to her room and tap on her door with my fingernails. If she was awake, she'd invite me in. I'd jump up onto her bed, on my stomach, and curl up next to her. We'd talk about our days, our dates, work, life, cancer, boys, whatever. Just the two of us, snuggled up on her bed, tired and happy. At the end of our conversation, I'd crawl up next to her, kiss her forehead three times, and then pad off to my own room, my own bed.

I came home today after a couple days away housesitting. I climbed the stairs slowly. Her door was closed, but this time I didn't knock. I stood there for a minute, my forehead against her door, gathering my emotions. I opened her door and climbed up onto her bed. I curled up on her pillows, my hand where hers used to be, and cried.

Kim died yesterday.

I don't really have a lot of words about this right now. I want to tell you how we got to say goodbye to each other. I want to tell you what was said but I just can't face it yet.

So I'll tell you how much I love her. I'll tell you that I'm relieved I got to say goodbye. How I know she's at peace. How glad I am her pain is over. How heartbroken I am. How much I miss her already.

I kissed her forehead three times. I said goodbye. Some people don't even get that much.

I am so lucky to have known her. No matter how much I hurt right now, I am better because of what she and I experienced together.

Reality

2011-06-14T09:59:00.001-07:00

I was going to tell you guys about the last week. I was going to tell you about getting my UW letter -- the rejection letter. I was going to tell you about my dog getting sick, requiring an overnight stay in the emergency clinic, and how scared I was I was going to lose her. I was going to talk about how the stress of the last month has kept me from sleeping, caused hives to pop up on my body, how I put myself in timeout on Saturday after getting dizzy because I'd forgotten to eat.

Then my roommate took the above picture. And my perspective shifted.

This is our reality today. And tomorrow. Just as the cancer invaded Kim's body, it's invading our lives. A length of tubing, a snake slithering around our house, a vine climbing the stairs and taking over everything. An oxygen tank, its presence an unwelcome and constant reminder of the fragility of the body. Of life. And, at the same time, a tangible reminder to breathe in/breathe out. One day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time, one breath at a time. Sometimes I focus on making the most of each breath. Other times I just wonder which breath is going to be the last.

In.

Out.

Fucking cancer.

(Photo credit EPGadin)

Quiet

2011-06-07T13:39:00.000-07:00

I know things have been quiet lately. I've been quiet lately. Quietly running. Quietly working. Quietly living. Quietly realizing sad, sad things.

The cancer is strong. I'm scared it's winning.

I can't really say more than that right now. I'm tired. Maybe numb. I'm working on finding my hope.

I just wanted you to know I'm here. And also, I want to ask for your good thoughts. Because we need them badly right now.

Fucking cancer, y'all.

PS: If you've emailed me (through whatever forum), know I received it, read it, appreciated it SO much, and will respond eventually. I just don't have any words right now, really.

(And confidential to my anonymous reader/emailer, I don't think you're a creeper at all. Your note made me smile. Thank you.)

Sprinting

2011-05-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

My shins hurt. My legs are sore, so sore I have to crawl up the stairs on my hands and knees. While whimpering. Dramatically. (Coincidentally, not so different from my behavior on dates.) (Kidding.) (Ish.)

I'm running again. Obvs. Or at least I hope it's obvs, lest y'all think I have scurvy.

I talked in my last post about my new views on movement, on my responsibility to push my body. The last time I remember truly pushing my body was when I was running (way back in 2007). So I run. I'm not fast, I don't go far, and it hurts every second. I am in love.

I never told y'all about my disastrous diet crash and burn a couple months ago. It's embarrassing, really. Betty Nebraska and I agreed to do a 30 day detox together. I chose a raw food approach. It involved not combining food groups, not having fruit after noon, and only cooking one meal in the evenings. I lasted TWO DAYS. Not even, y'all. A day and a half. Around lunchtime on Day 2, I was making Baby Girl her lunch and suddenly I *had* to have a turkey and cheese rollercoaster. Like, had to. But I wasn't allowed, as meat and cheese are two separate groups. I gave in, immediately felt guilty, and wanted to go throw up. Literally.

Thus, my old disordered eating reared its ugly head.

I haven't talked about my disordered eating much on the blog. It's a little humiliating and, honestly, a much, MUCH smaller part of my life than it was 10 years ago. It wasn't anything life-threatening; just a lot of secret eating, bingeing, fasting, etc. Over and over again. I worked hard to break the cycle and I feel I've mostly overcome my issues (aside from the occasional secret eating).

But in that moment, post-rollercoaster, I realized I am not immune to my issues. They can come back quickly and I have to be careful. I understood something about myself: I will never be a girl who diets. Ever. Putting rules on myself in regard to food is too slippery of a slope for me.

So I'm running. I'm moving. Because if I refuse to diet, I must exercise. It is not a choice anymore. It is required.

Yesterday, toward the end of my run, the Pink song "Just Like a Pill" began to play on my iPod. It's the perfect running song -- it has a slow build leading to a fast-paced and explosive chorus. As the song shouted the words, "So I run just as fast as I can," I took it as a challenge and SPRINTED. It was exhilarating. Exhausting. Painful. Freeing. As I sprinted, I closed my eyes for just a second, felt the wind on my cheeks, turned my face toward the sun, and smiled. For just a moment, I wasn't sprinting outside. I was with my sister, in a hotel, barefoot and racing down the hallway, as is our tradition whenever we stay in hotels. I was a kid running toward the Slip and Slide. I was a perfect combination of muscle and bone, lungs and heart, blood and breath. I sprinted. I cheered myself on.

I think the best part of pushing myself to see what I'm capable of will be the little discoveries, the moments of self-realization. I'm thrilled to put sprinting at the top of the list of Things I Can Do.

If you are reading this, step away from the computer today. Head outside, or to the nearest hotel hallway. Focus on the horizon, let your vision blur, and just GO.

Just as fast as you can.

ETA: Please excuse the emo-quality of the lyrics of this song. I am not angry. Or upset. I just like the sprinting.

Self-Perception: A Response

2011-04-26T11:35:00.000-07:00

I have been putting this post off for over a month. I'm a little ridiculous, guys. Like, a whole lot ridiculous. 5 weeks ago, I was all set to publish a post called, "30 Days of Wellness." In it, I detailed the detox plan I was going to be following for 30 days, the plans I had for exercise and movement, the mental mediation to which I would be committing.

Instead, I crashed and burned. So I avoided posting and avoided talking to y'all about this. Because honestly, it's a little embarrassing. Or at least it was, when I thought it was a lack of willpower. I'll talk more about the crash and burn later. Not today, though. Today is a response.

Yesterday, the beautiful and incomparable Sizzle wrote about something very personal, very honest, and very upsetting. I wanted to comment on it so many times but, each time I began typing, my comment would get longer and longer. So instead, I've decided to respond here, on my own blog.

First, you should read her words: Sizzle on Disjointed Self-Perception.

The first time I attempted to comment, I was so excited to tell Sizz that I felt like I'd overcome my self-perception issues. I wanted to tell her how I'd really begun to embrace my shape and how all the running and workout classes I've been doing have been motivated by a desire to see what my body is capable of and not by disgust in myself or my body.

But it didn't seem helpful; it seemed braggy. So I stepped away from the computer and went about my day, feeling good about myself and considering the words I would share with Sizz.

Then, a few hours later, I was playing around online and got a notification from Facebook that I had been tagged in a photo. It was a group picture of all of us from Bunnarchy this weekend, the pub crawl plus bunny ears that made me think I could drink more whiskey than I really can.

Oh, you guys. How I wish I could tell you I saw myself and admired my curves. How I wish I could tell you I congratulated myself for my thinner face and the tone I am beginning to see in my legs. I wish I could say I focused on the loveful faces of the friends next to me, laughing about the fun we had and how much we drank and danced.

But I can't. If I want to be honest with all of us, I'll have to tell you how I immediately zoned in on my upper arms, face reddening as I felt my heart fill with shame over the way I looked in my black slip dress. I couldn't believe I'd gone outside like that, where people can see me. I couldn't believe I would leave my house, ever. I immediately wanted to cancel my plans for the week, the date I set up, the costume party on Saturday, everything, and hide in my room, starving myself until I felt presentable.

I didn't, of course. Instead, I went to the gym. Please don't congratulate me on this. Yes, it was better to drown my sorrow on the elliptical rather than in a tub of ice cream. But it was also awful.

You see, I've been going to the gym for the last month. And running outside. And taking Nia and Zumba classes. I've been moving, quietly, on my own, for nobody but myself. I've been moving every day simply because I can. I am able. My body is capable of amazing things but I've never pushed it, never really allowed myself to reach my full physical potential. I've spent the last 6 months watching cancer sap my roommate's energy, suck away her life force. She used to ride her bike everywhere; now she can barely get up the stairs without losing her breath. For me to be able-bodied but living inertly seemed the ultimate insult.

I am helpless against her cancer. I cannot stop it. I cannot make her tumors shrink. And it makes me angry. It makes me want to scream and punch strangers. I want to tell her cancer to fuck off. So I am, the only way I can think how. I am moving. I am using my body. I am pushing my own limits and stretching myself and daring myself to go further, run faster, fight.

But last night, on the elliptical, I wasn't thinking about that. I was picturing my arms. My stomach. I was calling myself fat. Lazy. I was berating myself for wasting the last 15 years. It was not a positive experience. It was hell.

So Sizzle, I don't know the answer. I don't know how we change our self-perception. Maybe it happens a little at a time. Maybe the bad moments grow to be fewer and farther between. All I know is that I have the best motivation I've ever had for moving my body and I'm still not immune.

I also know this: when you and I are in Zumba or Nia, sweating and pushing each other to keep moving, to do one more cha cha step, to avoid holding back, I am only thinking about the next motion, the next moment of movement. And, when I glimpse myself in the damn mirror surrounding us, I try to tell myself my body is strong.

And when I look at you, working so hard, I wish for an ounce of your determination, a bit of your strong will. I am inspired by you.

Scars

2011-04-06T21:10:00.000-07:00

I want to talk about scars. Not the deep, emotional kind that teach us valuable lessons though. No, I'd like to talk about the actual physical scars that we collect on our bodies over the years. See, I had dinner tonight with a new friend (whom I shall be calling Rainbow, as she is a former Christian who bears a rainbow Jesus fish tattoo on her foot and is often asked if the rainbow means she's gay and then she has to explain no, believers had the rainbow dibsed as a symbol WAAAAY before the damn gays stole it and, as she was telling me that story, I definitely was finishing her sentences for her and so we high-fived because SAME/SAME.)

(Anyway.)

I had dinner tonight with my new friend Rainbow. She's lovely and, as I mentioned before, a former member of the Christian faith. This gave us quite a bit to talk about, naturally. We discussed what it was like leaving the church, the experiences that led to our decisions, and the process of coming out as non-believers to our Jesus-y friends. We talked about emotional scars. But mostly we laughed. And then somehow the conversation turned to physical scars and before we knew it, we were rolling up sleeves and pant legs to show battle wounds of living life.

I showed her my three favorite scars and told her the stories that accompany them.

1) On my left hand, I have three little half-moon scars. One is at the base of my pointer finger. Then, about an inch below that one is another and a half inch below that, the last one. If you take my sister's hand and line up her pinky, ring finger, and middle finger, you'll see they are a perfect match for this little cluster of mutilation. It is important to note Ceci will deny this story. It is also important to note that Ceci's memory is not known for being awesome. See, what happened was this: we were home alone one day and Mom was at work and so we spent the entire day bugging each other. Things got heated and we both wanted to call Mom at work to tattle on the other. We raced to the phone and grabbed the receiver at the exact same time. As my hand closed around the handset, her VULTURE-LIKE TALONS closed over my hand, slicing the skin and drawing blood. I didn't even miss a beat, y'all. I took the phone and CLOCKED her in the FACE. That's when we took a moment to see the situation. My hand was bleeding. Her lip was starting to swell. And we had one of those moments shared by siblings all over the world: we knew we would both be in trouble, so we made a silent pact to keep our mouths shut about the entire debacle. We calmly stepped away from the phone and went to our rooms to read, Mom never knowing anything about anything.

2) The summer before 9th grade, my family had just finished a day out on the lake. We decided to go to The Gulch, our town's mini theme park. It had mini-golf, y'all. And sand volleyball courts. And a batting cage. Mom told me to hurry and take a shower, so I ran back to the bathroom. As I showered, I wondered if anyone from school was going to be at The Gulch that night. THEN I thought about all the boys I was crushin' on. THEN I looked at my legs and decided to shave them. Quickly. Like, super speedy quick. It was not my best decision. I lathered quickly and began to drag the razor up my left shin. I was also trying to multitask by washing my hair at the same time. (I don't even know.) I rinsed the razor and bent to shave my knee. That's when it registered: the water in the bottom of the tub had turned an alarming shade of bright red. And also, my shin was gushing blood. Like, GUSHING. Evidently the razor had twisted sideways as I'd dragged it up my leg. I kind of panicked but also needed to finish the job, so just went as quickly as I could and hoped for the best. As I dried off, I realized the bleeding wasn't stopping. At all.

At this point, Mom starts banging on the bathroom door, telling me to hurry up because we needed to go and also, what on earth was taking so long? So I told her I cut my leg shaving.

She slid a Band-Aid under the door.

(Ha.)

I timidly called out that I think I needed a bigger bandage. At this point, she opened the door and saw me frantically trying to stop the bleeding with soggy toilet paper. Her mad RN skillz took over and, as she bandaged my leg, she ranted at me for wasting time shaving my legs because why on EARTH does a girl my age need to shave her legs and WHO did I think was going to be at The Gulch anyway, and also COULD I be more ridiculous? She finished taping the huge, white bandage to my shin and told me to be in the car in 5 minutes.

So yes, now I have a 5 inch scar on my shin. But you know what? It was totally worth it because Schuyler Kuykendall was totally there AND he totally talked to me.

SK: What happened to your leg?

Me: Big cut.

SK: How'd you do that?

Me: Skiing.

SK: Yeah?

Me: Totally. Tried to do a flip. Cut my leg on the ski. Somehow. It happened.

SK: Bad ass.

Me: I know.

(About 5 minutes after that my mother and her friend Connie walked by and Connie saw my leg and was all, "WHAT HAPPENED??" and my mother was all, "SHE CUT IT SHAVING!" and Schuyler Kuykendall was all, "Peace out, liar," and I was all, "MY MOTHER HAS RUINED MY LIFE AGAIN.")

(It ended okay though. Schuyler Kuykendall's brother was Kyle Kuykendall and he was a year ahead of me in school and played football and was number 27 and we used to say "Oh thank heaven for 27," and we'd giggle and then he was in my math class junior year and totally stood up for me against our evil math teacher and I might be still a little in love with him for that. Plus he's totally cute.)

(My mother wants me to marry him but I tell her it will never happen because she tattled on me in front of Schuyler and now I'll always be *that girl* and blood is thicker than water and it's her fault Kyle Kuykendall will never be her son-in-law.)

3. On my right hand, I have a 2 inch scar below my thumb. This one happened about 3 months ago. I was at work and trying to get into the cabinet where I thought they kept the chocolate. I scraped my hand on the child safety device.

I'll say that again.

I SCRAPED MY MOTHER FUCKIN' HAND ON THE CHILD SAFETY DEVICE.

(Sorry Erica.)

It bled forever and now it's scarred and ugly and you know what? THERE WASN'T EVEN ANY DAMN CHOCOLATE IN THE CABINET ANYWAY.

So I was telling Rainbow about my scars and, to save time, I nicknamed them. Scar 1 was The Scar of Wrath. Scar 2 was The Scar of Pride. And Scar 3 was The Scar of Gluttony.

And that is when I had the GREATEST IDEA I'VE EVER HAD.

I'm going to collect scars based on the se7en deadly sins, y'all. I'm already almost halfway there! I'm only missing 4 scars and how hard is it to get 4 more scars?

Scars I'm missing:

4. The Scar of Envy: This one seems easy. I think all I have to do is get into a bar fight with some bitch who be eyeballing my man. I mean, yeah, first I have to get a man. And then some bitch has to eyeball him. But when it happens? I'm totally going to break a bottle and start a brawl and then I bet I get a scar from that and BAM. The Scar of Envy will be born.

5. The Scar of Greed: Again, easy. I just have to start taking things I want without asking/paying. Then there will be a kerfuffle. And a battle. And you know what comes after a battle? BATTLE SCARS, Y'ALL. Done. Easy.

6. The Scar of Lust: Hehehehehehee. My mother reads my blog, so that's all I'm going to say about that. But again, EASY.

7. The Scar of Sloth: This is the tricky one, guys. I'm not sure how one gets a scar from being slothful. I have two options. One, I can stay in bed for months and months and let my muscles waste away. THEN I can stand up, like to walk to the fridge or something, and hopefully I'll fall down and cut myself on something sharp. OR two, maybe I'll get a bedsore, as Rainbow helpfully pointed out.

As you can see, I'm kind of stuck with number 7. Your suggestions are appreciated.

I'm giving myself 10 years to collect all se7en. I figure if I don't have them by the time I'm 40, well, I don't deserve them because I've lived an obviously dull life.

But I'm not worried y'all. It's good to have a goal.

My only regret is that I already submitted my UW application and now I can't update them with my awesome goal-making skillz.

(It's okay though. Regret is an EMOTIONAL scar.)

Keep your fingers crossed for me y'all!

Water

2011-03-22T00:05:00.000-07:00

I'm bad at drinking water. Did you know that about me? I am. It's weird. I'm good at drinking coffee and tea. I'm kind of awesome at drinking soda. I'm have actual magical powers when it comes to vodka and tequila. But water? I just am SO bad at drinking it. I know I'm supposed to drink 8 glasses a day and sometimes I manage to do that. But mostly I drink 1 glass a day. It's terrible.

You know what else is terrible? Here I sit, in a comfy home with flowing water at my fingertips, and I take it for granted. Yet there are so many people who don't have such easy access to clean water, people who don't know where their next glass is coming from.

Today is World Water Day. In honor of this day, I've joined with over 125 other bloggers as part of the Adventure Project's Keep it Clean Campaign to raise money for the people of India. Our goal is to raise $10,000 in ONE day -- an epic goal. If we are successful, the Prem Rawat Foundation will match our efforts. If we are successful, we could provide clean water for a year for 3,600 people.

You see, one third of all handpumps installed in the last twenty years in developing countries are now broken. Worse than that, 4,000 children die every day because they lack clean drinking water. 4,000, guys. Can you even imagine? And all because of WATER.

The Adventure Project's envisioned solution is simple: train and employ handpump mechanics. The mechanics earn an income, which pulls them out of poverty, *and* they save lives by turning water on for thousands of people.

How can you help? It's simple. My goal upon signing up was the have 10 dedicated blog readers (that's you) donate $20 to this project. But I know my readers. I know we can do more. So my personal goal is to have 20 readers donate $20, raising $400 through this blog alone.

Y'all have been here throughout my silly self-indulgence in this blog. I know how kind you are, how generous you can be. I'm asking you now to join me for a worthwhile cause, to give a little bit to make a big impact for others. Let's just see, right?

Are y'all with me? If so, click HERE (or on the button on the sidebar) and donate now. $20. That's it. A simple click, a quick donation, and one more person will get clean water.

Imagine if we raise $10,000 in one day. Imagine if it is even easier than drinking 8 glasses of water a day. Imagine a world where no child goes without clean water.

Imagine.

(Want to know more about what we're doing? Click here and read about The Adventure Project.

22

2011-03-16T00:10:00.000-07:00

(Picture resizing makes me cry; if you want to see the whole picture, click on it!)

Once upon a time, my mother ruined my life. Except it wasn't that time she made us take pictures in bluebonnets. It was an even earlier, more different time. It happened 22 years ago today and my life has been forever changed by my mother's selfish, SELFISH actions.

You see, on March 16, 1989, my mother done went and had herself another kid. And just like that, my coveted, much-loved position as Baby of the Family was STOLEN by a screaming alien child:

Ew. And also, bleh.

I did not take kindly to the new, strange child thrust upon my life:

(It's possible I was considering if I could smother him with my hand and get away with it.)

For the first year of my brother's life, I did my best to pretend he didn't exist. I ignored his cries, rolled my eyes when he made a mess of strained peas (STUPID BABY. DON'T YOU KNOW HOW TO EAT PEAS?), and sized up the ladies exclaiming over him in the grocery store to see if they might be interested in purchasing him. (None were.) I acted out by cutting my hair short (if my parents wanted a boy so damn badly, I would show them how much I could look like a boy!). 1989 was a very rough year for me.

But then something happened. As the stupid, no good, can't eat sold foods, smelly unwanted alien got older, he got cuter. He started to say words and toddle around the house. And even more than all of that, he decided he worshiped me. I don't know if it was his evil plan all along but before I knew it, I'd fallen in love with my tiny brother. He was cool. He was FUN. I could dress him up in Cabbage Patch clothes! (Only the once, really. My stepdad wasn't happy to see his only son decked out in a tutu and a kicky beret. No pictures exist. Sadly.) I began to consider life as an older sister. And when, the summer Eric was two and I was visiting family in Montana, he slept with my picture in his crib? My fierce older sister protectiveness kicked in and I never looked back.

When Eric (or Eri, as I call him) was 3, he found an old Cabbage Patch preemie doll in the toy box. It was a tiny bald thing, belonging to either my sister or myself, long forgotten and abandoned. Eri decided that baby was HIS baby and oh how he loved her. He would carry her everywhere, gently putting her to bed and letting her sit next to him at the table. The best part was when some well-meaning stranger would ask him, "Oooh, what is your baby's name?" and Eri would smile and reply, "Douche-y."

(To this day, we have no idea where he came up with that name. But I loooove making fun of him for it. And now the Internet can make fun of him too! Happy birthday, kid!)

As my brother grew, he got cuter and cuter. I shall now prove my point with a ridiculous series of photos:

See? You try loathing that face. You can't do it. It doesn't happen. That kid had us all wrapped around his finger. To this day, if we are all home together, all he has to do is bat his super long (horribly unfair they are so long) eyelashes at me and the next thing I know I'm making him a damn cherry pie. He isn't just cute, you see. My brother is Ferris Bueller. He oozes charm, but it's genuine and mixed with kindness. If I didn't love him so damn much, he'd drive me crazy. Nobody should be that charming. It's dangerous, his charm, even when he's too stupid to realize he should be HUMILIATED by having his picture taken in bluebonnets:

My brother is also kind of brilliant. When faced with a problem, he's quick to engineer a smart solution. Take for example Oreos. You know how you want to dip the entire cookie in the milk but you DON'T want to get your fingers all wet and milky? Impossible, you say? NAY, I say back! Enter Eric's patented Oreo method:

Brilliant.

Of course, being a mad genius makes a person prone to bouts of narcolepsy. My brother is also quite skilled at falling asleep and sleeping through anything. Again I offer a series of photographic evidence:

You would be exhausted too, if you went on half the adventures Eri does. This kid is a mad soccer player. He also can wakeskate, waterski, surf, kayak, barefoot, kneeboard, mountain bike, winch, and something else involving jumping a cliff on a bike and landing in water. Please to observe:

(That last one kind of scares the hell out of me.)

I'm so proud of my brother, you guys. This kid has come through some serious shit in his life. He's worked hard and has turned into an awesome guy, easy going and kind. He can make me laugh until I'm crying and even has promised he'll come visit me in Seattle someday. SOMEDAY. He's kicking ass at A&M and works full time managing the Geek Squad. But most of all, this is a guy who knows how to love. He isn't ashamed to love his family, even when we are weirder than he is (which we are, often). He walked my sister down the aisle when she married the love of her life and he called me often to check on me when my heart was broken. And when he plays a joke on our mother that goes too far, he sends her apology gardenias, her favorite flower. And those are just a few of the reasons we love him so much.

So here's to you, Brotha Man. May 22 be an amazing year for you.

May you always have a pup to cuddle:

Weird sisters who love you:

A cherry pie with a birthday candle:

And a cold one:

As a special treat, I will now transcribe, verbatim, the conversation I plan to have with my brother after he reads this. AND as luck would have it, I have a picture of him having this conversation with me! (This is how I imagine his face looks whenever he talks to me on the phone.):

Me: Happy birthday Eri!! Did you see my blog post?

Him: I totally did! You are the greatest sister in the whole wide world! Way better than any of my other siblings and/or family members who did NOT write a blog post just for me. Also, you are pretty! AND you have a keen eye for design and sharp wit! I only can hope I'm as awesome as you are by the time I am 30.

Me: You are so sweet to say such things! I am sending your pressie soon, btw.

Him: Oh, don't! Just having you in my life is present enough. Really, I should be sending *you* a present! In fact, since it's highly likely I will be rich within the next 5 years, how about I just promise to put YOU through college? AND then I'll buy you a house as a graduation present! AND I'll even establish a fat trust fund for you! How does that sound?

Me: You are such a sweet, caring brother.

Him: I learned it from you, B. I learned it by watching you.

(Happy birthday Eri Bo! Your favorite middle sister loves you the most!)

The Time I Changed My Name

2011-03-08T13:08:00.000-08:00

When I was a kid, I kind of hated my name. (Sorry Mom.) It was weird, difficult for people to pronounce, and easy to turn into mean nicknames. Stupid Chris Keith used to call me A-dog-a. Dumb old Josh Ames turned Alida Michelotti into Alida Itch-my-body. Changing to Moore was a good decision, although the mean nicknames are a thing of the past.

In 4th grade, I thought I had the chance to turn things around for myself. It was only my second year in Texas and I was still adjusting to the double negatives and thick accents of my peers, as well as the weird lunches -- just who exactly thought Sausage-on-a-Stick was a good idea of healthy lunchtime fare?

Still, I had a moment (so I thought) of reprieve, a chance for a fresh start. It happened on the first day of school, 4th grade. My teacher (Mrs. Otte, possibly the worst teacher I've ever had) was calling roll. Before she got started, she said the words that changed my LIFE.

"I'm-onna call roll now. If y'all hear your name but you go by somethin' diff-rnt, just tell me and I'll write your name down here on this here list."

Once I allowed my brain the 5 second delay required to translate her thick Texan words into understandable, grammatically correct English, I realized what she was offering. I could CHOOSE a new name! I didn't have to be Alida (A-Dog-A) anymore! I could be anyone I wanted!

I had just a few seconds to choose my new name, the identity that would turn me into the most popular girl in the whole school. Naturally, I filtered through popular singers of the time. Debbie, Tiffany, Madonna. But those seemed too obvious, too silly. Time was running out and I was panicking. I was also too focused on choosing a new name to notice all the Christophers becoming Chris, the Matthews becoming Matt. Too focused to understand I was about to get it WRONG.

But then, in a moment of clarity, of magical transcendent knowledge, to the strains of Dexy's Midnight Runners, I had my answer. So when Mrs. Otte said, "Alida Michelotti," I knew just how to respond.

"Here. But I don't go by Alida. I go by Eileen."

She rolled with it well, only making a quick confused face as she jotted a note and my new life began! I was SO excited! For that entire day, every time I raised my hand I was rewarded with the beautiful sound of my new name. Eileen was cool. Eileen was smart. Eileen knew how to do math and was aces at crafts. Eileen was the girl everyone wanted to sit by at lunch. Eileen was kind of awesome.

I went home, raving about my amazing first day of school, keeping the story of my new identity a secret because I had an inkling my mother wouldn't understand and that my parents would not participate in calling me Eileen. I had to make it stick at school first and then I could make the change at home. Perhaps I would ask for a name change for Christmas! Eileen Michelotti would be so great, people wouldn't even care about the ridiculous last name.

My plan lasted a whopping 24 hours. By the time the second day of school came around, I kind of forgot about my new name. Quickly, Eileen went from being the awesome crafty popular girl to the weird one who didn't answer when you said her name. I would raise my hand to answer a question and Mrs. Otte would say, "Eileen. Eileen? EILEEN?" and I would look around with everyone else, trying to figure out why Eileen wasn't answering. THEN I would remember with a start that *I* was Eileen but by then I'd forgotten both the question *and* my answer and just ended up stuttering and asking to go to the bathroom.

I think Mrs. Otte thought I was slightly crazy with a urinary tract issue.

After 2 weeks, Mrs. Otte took pity on me and phased out Eileen, bringing Alida back slowly but surely. Of course, by then, the damage was SO done. Alida wasn't cool She wasn't good at crafts. She never recovered her math skills. And the downward slide was rapid. The nicknames started coming fast and furious and before you knew it, I was the girl everyone made fun of all the time, like every single day. Add the two subsequent eye surgeries and the eye patch and the short boy hair and 4th grade was pretty much the most abysmal year of my existence.

I'm writing to say I'm not sorry. I loved being Eileen. That day was possibly the most perfect day of my entire K-12 education. I was good at being Eileen. And to this day, whenever I hear Dexy's Midnight Runners croon to Eileen, trying to sweet talk her into a life of promiscuity, I feel warm in my heart and smile for what might have been.

Too Ra Loo Ra Too Ra Loo Ra-aaaaa, obvi.

Three Wishes

2011-02-28T22:29:00.000-08:00

Did you ever play the Wish game when you were a kid?

"If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?"

Did you play that game? If you did, what was your answer? Were you one of the cheater kids who wished for infinity wishes? Or did you play by the rules and think long and hard because, in the grand scheme of life and magic, three wishes just isn't that many?

My answer has changed considerably over the years. When I was a teenager, I wished for a boyfriend because I was convinced having a boyfriend would solve all of life's problems. (Ah, the foolishness of youth, before I knew the problems the heart can cause.) When I was 6, I wished for a motorhome, so I could ride around the country with my dalmatian and my grandmother. We would travel to all the states, playing Old Maid and drinking orange juice.

I'm 30 now, way past the point where I was supposed to stop believing in wishes and magic. I've lived enough life to know better. Except I don't, if we were being honest. If we were being honest, I'd tell how much time I spend daydreaming about my three wishes. Sometimes I wish for independent wealth but then I think about how bored I would get, so I take it back. Sometimes I think about wishing for a magical fluency in all the languages in the world but then I worry I won't appreciate new cultures. Sometimes I wish the people I love would never have to hurt again but then I remember my most important lessons came from the times that hurt me the most -- I remember how growth is born from pain.

Tonight I'm wishing for one more conversation with my grandmother. I think about all the years I had with her, all the games of Old Maid, all the afternoons drinking tea and baking in the kitchen, all the times I would cry about something silly in my life and she would hold me and listen and promise me everything would work itself out and I was not to worry anymore. And I get angry with my younger self for taking that time for granted, for not asking her the important questions while I had the chance. Our afternoon teas were filled with the inconsequential chatter of my flighty youth -- I would babble about my life while I sipped tea from a fancy china teacup and tried on her sparkly rings.

I was a fool.

If I had three wishes, I would use one of them for one more afternoon tea with Grandmama. And instead of talking about my life and filling the time with my words, I would ask her to tell me about her life. I would spend our time together listening to her stories, learning from her pain, experiencing her joy. I would ask did she know, when she married Granddaddy, that their love would grow to what it was, or did she just hope? They were together for nearly 55 years; did she know at the beginning what their love would turn into or did she just wish?

I would ask and then I would listen. And yes, I would probably listen while trying on her sparkly rings. But I would listen. Because those are the important questions. They are way more important than finding out if she's proud of me. Way more important than asking her if she thinks I'm making the right decisions in my life. Those questions don't matter anyway because I know her answer already. She'd tell me it doesn't matter; right or wrong, my choices are my own and everything will work itself out, so I'm not to worry.

I'm not a child anymore. I know this. But 30 or not, it doesn't stop me from making wishes, believing in magic, and hoping Grandmama will visit me in a dream sometime soon to tell me stories. I may be 30 now, but I'll never stop wishing.

Playing DJ

2011-02-20T00:20:00.000-08:00

These are the sounds I hear right now: soft beeps from the IV pump. Katie Herzig. The television of the room next to ours. Bob Dylan. Nurses chatting in the hallway outside our door. The occasional page over the PA. Simon and Garfunkel.

Somewhere in Seattle, my loveful Chosen Family is celebrating K's birthday, dancing the night away at the Electric Tea Garden, listening to the DJ play some awesome mashups.

Kim and I were going to be there. To dance. And celebrate.

But right now we are here. She's dozing. I'm playing DJ. My playlist is fewer mashups and more soft songs, a playlist known to me (and the kids I nanny) as "Mellow Dancing." Music to sway by. To snooze by. Music to mellow you out and help you rest.

I wish I had a playlist to help us forget about the cancer -- magic songs that could take away the pain that has grown immune to the usual mix of pills and IVs. I wish we were dancing. I wish she could ride her bike to work. I wish she could work. I wish she didn't have to watch the cancer control every aspect of her life. I wish the radiation didn't make her hurt so much.

I hope it's working.

We should be dancing right now. We should be watching K open her big present, the one from so many people who love her. We should be spinning and twirling, happy and healthy, a little tipsy and a lot loveful.

Tonight we are here, listening to beeps and buzzes and the drip drip drip of the endless IVs. She is snoozing, curled up on a gurney, taking an earned break from the pain.

I am curled up next to her, stiff and sore on an uncomfortable bed I formed out of two plastic folding chairs and a stool. Exactly where I want to be.

She'll sleep. I'll sit and play DJ, watching yesterday turn into today and hoping for an easier tomorrow.

I am exactly where I need to be.

I'm only happy when it rains, y'all.

2011-02-17T12:22:00.001-08:00

I had an epiphany recently. It happened the way the best epiphanies happen: I was in bed, avoiding my UW essay, eating fun-sized Valentine's candy (fun-sized really is more fun), and watching Roseanne on Netflix. And I was pantsless. Obvi.

Alida Moore. Bringing the klassy since '81.

So I was watching Roseanne and the episode was all about how one of the kids was moping around the house, all angst-y and depressed-like. She was dragging herself from room to room, sighing and whining about her life. I was yelling at the screen (like you do), "HEY. You are a middle-class white girl with two parents and a roof over your head. What the hell is so awful about your life?"

And then my life began flashing before my eyes. Specifically the 9th grade part of my life. And then I was like, "Oh. OOOOOOOH." And then I was like, "Shit. Now I have to apologize to my mother."

Let me paint you a picture of 9th grade Alida. Life was awful. Nobody understood me. Nobody understood what I was going through. I wanted to sit in my room and write the poetry of the oppressed but my parents didn't get it. They wanted me to come out of my room and interact with the family. Like, they wanted to talk to me and they wanted me to say things back.

The horror.

I did what any dark and dreary teenager worth her salt would have done: I would pick a fight, stomp back to my room, SLAM the door, and then play Garbage as loud as I could (without getting into real trouble). Because y'all? I needed them to understand. I was ONLY happy when it rained.

I wanted to wear all black all the time but my mother wouldn't let me. Specifically, she refused to let me throw out all of my perfectly fine (and mostly brand-new) clothes, just like she refused to buy me a brand-new wardrobe of all black clothing. But I was angst-y, y'all. So I found a work-around. I just showed her by wearing one specific gray shirt every single day. And I painted my nails black. With a Sharpie. (But only for like a day because people kept asking me if I'd hit all my nails with a hammer. Nobody understood me, btw.)

I was lucky though. I had an escape. I had my POETRY. And honestly y'all, one of my biggest regrets is burning all my poems when I became a Jesus-lovin' Christian. Because my poetry was epic and I don't throw that word around a lot. It was psychedelic and dark, deep and meaningful. I wasn't afraid to release my inner demons, which I did by writing about all the drugs I took. By 'took' I mean 'looked up on (ready for this?) Microsoft Encarta furtively in the family computer room while everyone else watched TV in the living room.' I'd never even seen drugs, but I learned as much as I could about how it felt to take them because I wanted my poetry to be REAL. The truth is I've never tried a single drug because of the Sweet Valley High book where Elizabeth Wakefield's friend tries drugs and DIES. Like, she just DIES the first time she ever tries drugs. Scared the hell out of me.

So that was me, in 9th grade. Depressed, whining, bad poetry writing, loud angsty music listening to, wearing gray, angry my mother wouldn't let me dye my hair purple, me.

I got better though. I was saved by two things. First, I realized boys didn't dig the whole Sylvia Plath thing. Second, I discovered Bath and Body Works. It's impossible to be depressed when you are wearing the fruity fragrance of Sun-Ripened Raspberry body splash. Recognize.

My mother had no idea why her sweet sunshine-y girl turned into such a mess of angst. I remember her getting so frustrated, yelling at me, "WHAT is so wrong with your life??"

I understand now. She put up with a lot. And so, in honor of that, I think it's time, sixteen years later, to let her know what was up.

Dear Mama,

I was kind of a pill in 9th grade. What happened was I read The Catcher in the Rye. And The Bell Jar. And then everything Jim Carroll ever wrote. And then I was miserable for about a year.

That was fun. Right? Hahahahaha. Ha. Ha. Ha?

Sorry about that.

Love you! Mean it,

Miss Merry Sunshine

Let's Just See

2011-02-15T10:00:00.000-08:00

So I did something yesterday. Something kind of big. I decided maybe Valentine's Day would be a good day to do this thing. Because what better way to show myself love than by taking a huge step towards my biggest personal goal?

I should back up a little bit. Last year, I submitted my application to UW and to the school of social work. And then I waited. For months and months, I waited. I was convinced I would get in; I had to. All the plans I'd made to that point had fallen through. Of course I didn't realize the best part of my life was yet to come; I couldn't. I was too heartbroken. I submitted my application, then days later, my relationship ended. Acceptance to UW became my lifeline, the thing I told myself would make everything else okay.

I was not accepted. And instead of being devastated, like I expected, I just moved forward. By the time the letter of rejection came, I'd seen a glimpse of the life ahead of me, a new life of sparkles and dancing, fake eyelashes and intense joy. I was okay. I was actually more than okay. I just promised myself I would try again the next year.

Then something happened that changed everything. I had coffee with a Paul. Everyone should have a Paul. And as we caught up on each other's lives over spicy chai and smoky espresso, I shared my disappointment about not being accepted to UW and the school of social work. My Paul listened to me for awhile and then broke in, apologizing for interrupting but explaining that he was confused. Why, he wondered, was I going to school for social work? I explained that it seemed like the best option for me; it could lead to many career paths and I'd be helping people, which I enjoy. He nodded. And then he told me he remembered one of our first conversations in our friendship, during which we talked about career goals and our futures. He remembered asking me what I would do with my life if I could do anything. "I'd write," I answered, all those years ago.

Back at coffee, my Paul asked me if that had changed. Was social work my new passion? I explained it wasn't, but writing wasn't a sensible major. I had to be smart, I explained. I had to choose a responsible major that would offer me options after graduation.

And then he said the thing that changed everything.

"I just don't understand how the best option for you is one where you aren't pursuing your passion."

He was right and I knew it. For the next few months, as I prepared to submit a second application, I kept coming back to our conversation. Social work or writing? The safe path or the leap of faith?

Then I remembered my motto. Let's just see, I tell myself. So I decided. And now, I'd like to share the last paragraph from my personal statement with y'all:

I am applying to UW because I am ready to finish what I started. I will pursue an English degree with a creative writing focus. I don’t know what will happen after I get my diploma. I only know I owe it to myself to pursue my passion. I have not put my life on hold until I reach this goal; no matter what the admissions letter says, my life will spin forward. I will continue to create, continue to learn, and will apply again and again, until I have reached the part of my path that leads to my diploma. In the meantime, I will spin intentionally, happily, eyes big with looking, and loving, and learning.

So that's it. Submitted. Done. And now we wait. But this time feels different. I don't feel antsy and I don't feel like the letter from admissions will make *or* break me. I'm taking a risk, believing I could spend the rest of my life doing the thing that makes me happiest. Let's just see what happens next. Let's just see where this takes me.

Let's just see.

Hair Metal and The Canceling of Plans

2011-02-09T15:44:00.000-08:00

My gorgeous friend K im'd me on Saturday afternoon. This was our conversation:

K: Do you have plans on Tuesday?

Me: Yeah. I'm having dinner with Miss D, then I have a doctor's appointment, and then I'm having tea with Urmy.

K: Shit.

Me: Why?

K: Well, I have tickets to see Rock of Ages at the Paramount and I wanted to invite you.

Me: Wait. Is that the musical based on the songs of Poison, Whitesnake, and Warrant, just to name a few?

K: Yes.

Me: CANCELING EVERYTHING. DO NOT GIVE THAT TICKET AWAY. I WILL BE YOUR DATE. I HAVE NO OTHER FRIENDS. THEY ARE DROPPED.

(It might be poor manners to cancel on friends/doctors with whom you already have plans in order to make new plans with another friend but y'all. It was hair metal. Recognize. Plus, my dear friends know me well and the minute I said the words "hair" and "metal" they said the words "totally" and "understand." There also might have been stern admonitions that the actors in the musical were *not* actually from the aforementioned bands, thereby making any attempts to be a groupie misplaced and ill-advised.)

So on Tuesday night, K and I met up for a couple of beers and then set out for the Paramount. After we were given LED lighters we settled into our seats, totally unprepared for the freaking best musical I've ever seen in my entire life. K told me after that every time a new guitar riff would blast, I would start fanning my face and grinning because I totally knew what song was coming up. But honestly, can you tell me you wouldn't do the same if you got to hear "Heaven" AND "Cum on Feel the Noize" in the same hour?

(Since seeing Rock of Ages, the kids and I have been on a hair metal kick at work. Now, if you sing "Unskinny..." they both shout, "BOP BOP BOP BOP!" And just this morning Baby Girl was singing under her breath and so I crawled up behind her to listen, just in time to hear her trill, "She's my cherry pie! Want some water ten miles high! SWINGIN'!")

(My job was fun while it lasted.)

I had high expectations for 30, guys. And so far? My expectations have been surpassed. Between hair metal musicals and insane nights out with the girls, dancing to 80s music, musicals with drag queens and tap dancers (totally inspiring me to sign up for the tap dance lessons I've been wanting to take for years), and lovely 2nd (3rd) (4th) dates, 30 has been incredible. I'm good at 30. I'm kind of rocking it, if you want to know the truth.

I'm going to continue to float on my cloud of happy, especially into this weekend, which involves quality time with my favorite barista, brunch with Lirpa, dodgeball, and the words "bootie mash-up", which mean dancing with K, Boz, Betty, and Bowie. Lots of dancing. The kind of dancing where I need to make sure to bring my inhalator because last time I did that much dancing I totally gave myself an asthma attack.

Have a great weekend, y'all. Blast the hair metal, throw on some leather and lace, and cum on, feel the noize.

On Geography, Exorcisms, and Lady Gaga

2011-01-27T15:56:00.000-08:00

Aside from celebrating birthdays and basking in the love of delicious people, I've settled into a nice routine for 2011. It can be described in one word.

Busy.

I am so busy guys. Between work and chemo/radiation appointments, it seems I have something scheduled every single evening of every single week. (So busy that when trying to schedule date #2 with NYE stairwell guy, we only had one free day between the two of us for the next 2 weeks.) I'm loving it, of course. Being busy means I'm spending time with friends, and friends make me happy. But sadly, being busy means I'm not as free to tell y'all stories, which bums me out because I like you guys and I like telling you stories.

Did I tell you about my new year's resolution yet? No? Last year I decided I wanted to improve my life in enormous ways. I wanted to go the way of the great philosophers and philanthropists. I wanted to be better. So with that goal in mind, I resolved to always put a new roll of toilet paper on the holder and I'm proud to say I didn't forget even once. And now I'm in such a habit I get frustrated when other people leave the holder empty and stick a new roll on top. It's like, how lazy can you be? Except I know how lazy you can be because I was just that lazy a year ago.

This year I wanted to improve myself. So I resolved to break my love of online celebrity gossip. Cold turkey. And so far, I've been successful. See, I realized I would be out with my friends and someone would tell a story and I'd be all, "OMG! That totally happened to this friend of mine!" and then I'd realized by "friend" I meant "Taylor Swift" and then I'd have to backtrack and that just gets embarrassing. So I cut myself off cold turkey and you know what? It's like my brain has more room! My head feels clear! Full of space! Ready to learn new things!

So last week, I added Resolution Number Two. To fill up all the space I've cleared with Res1, I've decided to teach myself geography. See, I'm the product of the Texas Public School System which means I never took geography. Ever. Which isn't a big deal until you lose a Trivial Pursuit Grudge Match because nobody on your 3-person team knows where the Everglades are.

(True story. Shameful story. And now, whenever I play Trivial Pursuit, my team is Team Everglade.)

(Please still be my friends.)

So yes. Res2 is to learn geography. Simply put, I'm going to learn where shit is. And at the end of the year, I'm going to print out a blank map and color it in pretty with map colors. AND I'm going to label it. And then I will scan it and you guys will be so proud of me. You'll be all, "Wow Alida, you are so smart AND sexy and your knowledge of the countries of Central America make me want to make out with you."

And I'll be all, "Only if you can name the capital of Paraguay*, bitches."

The other night, we were driving home from Boz's 33 1/3 birthday celebration. I forget how we started talking about it, but I was telling Bowie and Betty Nebraska about the weird dreams I've been having.

(Dream 1: I buy a new purity ring, like I used to wear back in college. Within 12 hours, it's rusted off my finger. Does not take a genius to interpret this one, y'all.)

(Dream 2: All of my friends are turned into zombies. The only way to save them is if I make out with and/or sleep with them. I am terrified of zombies but I love my friends. It was like Sophie's choice. Sort of.)

So anyway, I'm explaining these dreams and we're discussing what they could mean and then Bowie and I have this conversation:

Bowie: Maybe you need another exorcism?

Me: Are you saying the first one didn't take?

Bowie: Well, maybe a reverse-exorcism. Maybe we need to exorcise the remaining Christian bits out of you.

Me: Are you offering to anoint me with vegetable oil?

Bowie: No, you are older and wiser now. We'll use fancy olive oil.

Me: Probably shouldn't use extra virgin then.

Bowie: No, that would probably burn a hole in your forehead.

Betty Nebraska: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

This happened at work the other day:

Baby Girl insisted I keep them on. She kept demanding I "be Lady Gaga, 'Leela!" So I did. And I was.

(Upon further reflection, I admit she might have been saying, "Leela goggles!" She's tiny and is hard to understand sometimes. And you should see her try to run. Heh.)

I heart you guys. And I'm glad I got to tell you some stories. Makes me feel better as I get ready to rush off for dinner with Mike D and his wife, as I head into a weekend of second dates and drag queen musicals, brunches and movies, extra work and the first week of radiation.

(And less tequila, I think.)

*Asunción

3035 Party

2011-01-25T15:26:00.000-08:00

We did a triple birthday this year. Betty Nebraska turned 30 on January 13th. Bowie turned 35 on December 22nd. And I turned 30 on January 23rd. So it made sense to combine our birthdays and have one huge celebration.

Thus was born the 3035 Party. We found a charming space in Belltown, invited 100 of our closest friends, and encouraged everyone to wear what they would wear in the year 3035. Betty Nebraska made my costume using just 3 pieces of fabric, safety pins, and a gorgeous crinoline skirt. We invented futuristic drinks (the Spacemanhattan, the Utopian, and Nutritional Supplement #30).

And we danced. Oh, how we danced.

Bowie was in charge of the playlist. He spent weeks putting together some of the greatest, most danceable mash-ups I've ever heard, including a couple Beastie Boys shout-outs for me.

I don't have the words to explain how amazing the party was, so this post will be picture-heavy. (You might need to click the photo to see the whole thing.)

Please to enjoy:

The Costume (Thank you Betty!):

The Birthday Trifecta:

My Girls:

My Gorgeous Roommate:

Betty Nebraska and Bowie:

KD and Boz:

KJ and JJ:

Our Birthday Striptease:

Happiness is Dancing:

With Hannah and Brady:

The Lovely Miss D:

Future Laughter:

The Carol Brunettes (minus a few):

It was a fabulous party with amazing people who make me feel warm and loveful. After we danced into the early morning, ending with a rousing group sing of Mika's Grace Kelly, we ventured onto the streets of Seattle for street dogs in the cold.

It was a perfect birthday celebration. The next day, as I tugged a bandana over my hairsprayed bedhead and picked strands of blue tinsel out of my clothes, I couldn't stop grinning. I'm lucky, y'all. I have the most magical friends in the world. Seriously. I mean, is it any surprise that my face looked like this the entire night?

Best birthday ever.

30

2011-01-23T20:47:00.000-08:00

Every day for the last year, I made sure to say out loud (at least once), "I'm 29."

It wasn't vanity. It wasn't about savoring every last minute of my twenties. It was more about reminding myself I only had to get through one more year. One more year and then my twenties would be over. I would be thirty.

That's today, guys. I'm thirty and I couldn't be happier. It's not that I didn't love my twenties. The past decade has been full of the incredible: incredible growth, incredible pain, and incredible joy. If you'll allow me a moment of self-indulgent sappiness, I'll tell you the biggest thing that happened to me during the previous decade. Are you ready for this ridiculously cheesy secret?

I met myself in my twenties, y'all.

When I started out this decade, I had absolutely no idea who I was. And yet somehow through all the distractions, between being an evangelical Christian and dropping out of college, going through my parents' divorce and the death of my grandmother, venturing out on my own for the first time, leaving Christianity, between significant relationships and important friendships, through mistakes made, and in moving to Seattle, it happened. I met myself.

Maybe that's what the twenties are for -- meeting yourself. If so, my twenties were successful. And I'm glad they are over. Because now I'm thirty. And my thirties are going to be an even bigger adventure. My thirties are going to test me and teach me more than I can possibly imagine right now. And they are going to be magical.

Tomorrow I'll tell you about the celebrations of the weekend. I'll talk about the lessons I've learned in my thirty years on this earth. But today? Right now? I'm just going to snuggle into my favorite flannel sheets, the dog at my feet, and fall asleep grinning and whispering to myself that I'm thirty and flirty and thriving.

I'm thirty now, guys. And I'm going to be good at it.

News

2011-01-17T17:51:00.000-08:00

I know the blog has been quiet, guys. And I miss you and wish I had more words to share right now. Unfortunately, my life isn't all funny vodka-induced shenanigans and hangover musings. Sometimes reality sets in.

You know what? Sometimes reality stabs you in the heart.

There was news this weekend. Cancer news. The unfunny kind. The kind of cancer news that, no matter how much I try, no matter how many times I go over and over it in my head, I cannot spin into something positive.

There was a PET scan last Thursday. And then there were results. And now we know what we're dealing with. In October, it was Stage IV breast cancer that had traveled to her lungs and bones. Today, it is Stage IV breast cancer that has increased in her lungs and bones and traveled to her spine and, worst of all, her liver.

This is where shit gets real. Chemo started today. Radiation will start this week or next. And in 3-4 months, we'll scan again and see if it's helping.

(I need it to help, y'all. I need it to work miracles.)

So later, I'll talk about chemo parties. I'll tell stories about futile attempts to seduce radiation oncologists and doctors. And they'll be funny. We'll get a wig and style it up right with tinsel and feathers. We'll make this look good.

But today? Today I'm sad. Today I'm not joking. Today my heart is a little broken. Because fucking cancer, guys. Fucking cancer.

And that's okay, to be sad, to be heartbroken, to be scared and worried and wondering about what will happen over the next 3-4 months. Right? You guys don't mind that it's not always vodka and rainbows around here, right?

Fucking cancer, y'all.

That Time My Hangover Had a Hangover

2011-01-11T20:07:00.000-08:00

Alternate title: New Year's Eve

Photo by Jason Savelsberg www.jasonphotos.com

See that picture? That is photographic evidence of me right around midnight, probably nearing the time when I was the MOST drunk I've ever been in my entire life. See, right before this picture was taken, we were all dance-y dance-y la la New Year's! And my darling friend in the kerchief was dancing with a glass of something in her hand. Her glass of something was half-full. So we had this conversation:

(Please to remember that DrunkAlida gets a little shout-y)

Me: WHAT IS THAT YOU ARE DRINKING?

Her: So and So poured me some tequila!

Me: BUT WHY AREN'T YOU DRINKING IT?

Her: Because it's too much tequila!

Me: THAT IS RIDICULOUS! THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH TEQUILA!

(Sidenote: At this point, somewhere in Arkansas my mother felt hungover for no apparent reason. And then her head exploded.)

Her: Help me drink it!

Me: OKAY! I WILL DO THIS FOR YOU! (drinks entire glass of tequila)

Her: NOOOOOOO!!

Me: I AM TEQUILA-DRINKIN'-TEXAN, YO!

(I'm told the same thing happened 5 minutes later when Miss D walked over with a glass of rum. Oops.)

We went to Prommunism, a huge party celebrating the end of 2010 with the weirdest concept I think I've ever heard. But it was held at the Inscape building, a beautiful building in the international district. Plus, I would be ringing in 2011 surrounded by my friends, which is just what I wanted. AND, we'd be dancing, which was icing on the cake.

There was also drinking, obviously.

The Next Day:

Susie Lightning still had flat tires, so Betty Nebraska came and picked me up to take me to the grocery store (for black-eyed peas) and post-festivity burritos. At this point, I still hadn't slept more than an hour and a half. While we were shopping, we had this conversation:

Me: I thought I would totally be more hungover than I am. I'm awesome!

Her: I'm really surprised! You drank a LOT.

Me: I know! Thank you for giving me that bottle of water when you did. I think it really helped.

Her: Well, I looked at Bowie and was all, "GET HER WATER NOW!"

Me: I appreciate it. Once he put that bottle of water in my hand, I cut myself off and quit drinking.

Her: (loooong silence) Um, yeah. That's not even a little bit true.

Me: What?? No, I know I didn't order anything else after that!

Her: That part is true. You just kind of drank everyone else's drinks.

Me: Shut up, I did no-- oh, WAIT.

After she dropped me off at home, I curled up in bed and finally fell asleep. And when I woke up at 5pm, I had the hangover to end all hangovers. My hangover had a hangover. And then on Sunday, I just had a regular hangover. And then on Monday, I only had a little tiny hangover.

I'd say it was a fairly amazing evening.

So for you, dear readers, who have been with me through one of the best and worst years of my life, I offer you the following. It's a feature I like to call: Texts from That Night. Please still be my friends.

Roommate: Happy New Year!

Me: Haappt nww year I lone ypu so so mich!!!!!!

Roommate: Wooooh! U havin fun or typin in the dark? Love you lots!

Me: You ate so wonderfu and I lovdupy a LOT!!!!!

Me: yeah yeah yeah

Me: I love you

Roommate: You are so adorable and I'm gonna show you these texts tomorrow Squirrely Wurrly.

To Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana:

Me: I want to givr you a new years kiss!

Me: Please comw gabi out wirh is o lovr ypy ans w

Them: Haha! On our way!

Me: Happy syradaa!!!!

Me: Owen

Me: Alida is the best day!

Lirpa: Happy new year!!!

Me: I loce tou thoigj so si so micj ypu ate amazong!!!!

Lirpa: That made no sense but I love you!

Linds: Happy New Year my bestie! Love you so much!

Me: Lobe ypu so.drubj abf hsppu mew year bestiw!!!!

Me: ;hgafijv

Me: Ilpcr yputhe most ladt! Jive toy?

And to the boy I met on the stairs about 20 minutes after midnight, who gave me his business card (and might have received a quick little NYE kiss from me in return):

Me: We met on tje staris!

Him: I will talk to you soon then!

Charming, I'm sure. (Spoiler alert: I totally was.)

Happy new year again, guys. Jive toy!

Juggling and Black-Eyed Peas

2011-01-02T11:33:00.000-08:00

I'm Southern; y'all know this. I come from strong Southern stock. And we have traditions, y'all. I'm a Compton, a thoroughbred, like my grandmother. We send thank-you notes. We root for Auburn. And we eat black-eyed peas on New Year's Day.

Last year, I went a little crazy with the black-eyed peas. Something in me was urging me to eat as many as I could. Maybe I had a hunch about what was coming; maybe I knew I'd need a little extra luck. Or maybe I was just being greedy. Regardless of my reasons, I was cheating. It doesn't matter how many black-eyed peas you eat. You just need a single, solitary pea to ensure your luck in the coming year.

Once, when I was younger, I was complaining about having to eat black-eyed peas. See, I really don't like them. They are awful and gross and they do not make my mouth happy. I told my grandmother that they didn't do anything for my luck, because I'd eaten some the previous year and my luck hadn't been all the great. She looked me right in the eye and said, "Imagine how difficult your year would have been then, if you hadn't eaten any."

That's what I told myself yesterday, when I was standing over the sink with a spoonful of black-eyed horribleness in my hand, phone to my ear as Linds counted me down. 2010 was easily one of my most difficult years ever. There were times when I didn't know how much more I could take, where I would get the strength to push through the next thing to happen, and the thing after that, and the next thing after that.

But somewhere, things shifted. Sometime after my heart was broken, by my partner and then by lost friendships, something changed. Call it life, call it the power of the Pea, but whatever it was, it was good. Because it's all a balancing act, guys. You've heard the riddle of the man on the bridge, right? He had three boxes, each weighing five pounds. He had the cross an old bridge that could only handle his weight if he carried an extra ten pounds. How did he get across the bridge with all of his boxes?

He juggled, of course. And so it is with life, and with us. Each box represents our feelings: our joy, our pain, our relationships, our struggles and our strengths. And we're all walking with more weight than we can carry. So we juggle. And as each box lands in our hands, we experience a bit more of that box than we do while it is in the air. And at the beginning of last year, I held onto the pain box. I experienced heartbreak and sadness more often than I held onto joy and hope. And I had no choice. Because you have to take your time when you are juggling so you don't drop everything; you can't get ahead of yourself. So I experienced the pain for as long as I had to; I settled into it and let it begin to transform me.

As the year went on, I started to let go of the pain. I was able to hold onto hope for longer periods of time. And then, as I nurtured my relationships with my friends, I held onto hope and joy. And as those friendships deepened and grew and new people, magical people came into my life, I caught the box with the love and I've been holding onto that.

I thought about this yesterday, while I stood at the sink, dramatically coughing and gagging down my spoonful of black-eyed peas. I realized that although my year began horribly and was more difficult than I could have imagined, it didn't stay that way. Things changed; I changed. I'm stronger than I was before. I am a better friend. My capacity for love has grown exponentially. And most importantly, I am a much better juggler.

I'm excited for 2011, y'all. I'm going to take more chances this year. I'm going to push myself in new ways. And I'm going to continue practicing my juggling. And it's going to be a great year. I bet it will be hard in some places because there's no avoiding that pain box, but it will be worth it in the end. It always is.

Still though. Before I dumped the remainder of the peas down the drain, I ate a second spoonful.

Just to be sure.

Happy New Year, y'all.

Conversations on the Lido Deck

2010-12-15T10:27:00.000-08:00

Or, why you DON'T want me with you if you have to live in the hospital

My roommate: You should know Jen has already started fixing you up with a few of the doctors.

Me: Really?

Roommate: Yup. She keeps telling them about my "hot nanny roommate." A couple of them are really cute too.

Me: Score!

Roommate: Well, kind of though. Because they are all third year residents who are super busy. So you know, they probably can't date seriously.

Me: Wait. You're telling me there are cute doctors who know about your hot nanny roommate BUT are too busy for serious dating?

Roommate: Yes.

Me: THAT'S THE DREAM!

Roommate: ??

Me: Well, you know. The emotionally-unavailable/unrealistic/I think Grey's Anatomy is real life dream.

Later on . . .

Cardiologist: So we'll need to monitor the schnectedy* every hour throughout the night.

Roommate: Okay. Will the nurse do that?

Cardi: No, we'll probably have Adam do it.

Roommate: Oooh, good!! To me: He's that doctor Jen wanted to set you up with today!

Cardi: You're in luck then!

Me: But I'll be sleeping when he's here guys.

Cardi: He's pretty good looking. You might want to stay awake.

Roommate: Or you can just see him tomorrow.

Cardi: Good plan.

Me: OR I WILL SLEEP PANTSLESS!!

And finally:

Roommate: I'm glad you're here.

Me: I'm glad YOU'RE here!

Roommate: ???

Me: Cute doctors! Grey's becoming real life! Potential making out!

Roommate: Wow.

Me: Perspective, lady. You know how some guys will borrow the child of friends to pick up women?

Roommate: Yeah?

Me: You are like my borrowed baby. YOU ARE MY CONVENIENT CANCER PATIENT!

Roommate: Hahahahahahahahaha!!

Me: Please still be my friend.

Her surgeries are happening today; send good thoughts that everything will go well and she'll start to feel much better!

*Schnectedy: The word I use when I can't remember the real word.

From the Lido Deck

2010-12-14T10:39:00.000-08:00

My roommate and I had a slumber party last night. We snuggled up, ate some chocolate, and watched a silly movie. It was just me, her, Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde, and the soft, not at all intrusive and grating beeps of a thousand machines. I drank a bottle of water. She enjoyed an IV of various fluids. You know, like you do.

It was a girls' night all the way. We giggled and talked about boys/girls, potential romantic interests, and strategized ways for me to seduce the various doctors/male nurses/orderlies walking in and out of her room every 10 minutes. (Spoiler alert: I took off my pants.)

Yup, just a typical slumber party. Except for the small matter of locale, of course. It was my first slumber party in a hospital which, as it turns out, is the exact WORST place in the world to be when you need rest.

Obviously, things have taken a turn over here. My roommate's cancer, which had been fairly under control for the last couple of months, decided to give her an early holiday gift. The cancer decided to be a horsefaced cuntdragon bitch. During a routine appointment yesterday, her dream team of doctors did an echo and discovered a lot of fluid was building up around her heart. That fluid, combined with the fluid that's been steadily building in her lungs, earned her a one way ticket to the UW Med Center.

Dear Kim,

Happy holidays! Oh and also, fuck you!

Love always,

Cancer

Are we sad? Yes. Are we scared? Clearly. Are we going to back down from our fight? When hell freezes over.

Today she meets her new cardio team. They will go over all the data from our sleepless night of being woken up every 45 minutes to do another EKG or chest xray or special blood pressure test etc etc and they will come up with The Plan.

In the meantime, we have our own Plan. During her stay in the hospital, we will do the following:

-We have vowed to win over every doctor, nurse, orderly, and hospital staff member. By the end of her stay, they WILL love us the most and always want to hang out in our room.

-We will pretend she's on the world's lamest cruise ship. We've named her room The Lido Deck and whenever a new person enters the room to take vital signs or stick her with another needle, we put on snooty voices and shout, "Welcome to the Liiiiiiiido Deck! Have you brought us a mai tai?"

-We will scope out and/or hook up with any cute doctor/nurse/orderly/hospital staff member/stray visitor wandering the hall. Because what's sexier than a gal with tubes coming out of her body or her roommate sprawled pantsless on a hospital cot? NOTHING. That's what.

-We will be honest about how we are feeling when we are feeling whatever our feelings may be. If we are sad, we will say, "I am sad." If we are scared, we will say, "I am scared." And sometimes, just for the hell of it, one of us will shout, "FUCK CANCER!" and then we'll fist bump and cheer.

Was this visit to the Lido Deck of Cancer Hell on our agenda? Nope. Are we going to rock it anyway? OBVI.

My roommate is strong, beautiful, confident, kind, and as hot as she is awesome. She's going to rock the hell out of this hospital stay and look good doing it. And hopefully, with your good thoughts and prayers and the work of the amazing staff of the UW Medical Center, she'll be released in time to go home for Christmas next Wednesday.

Brace yourselves, y'all. We're pulling out the Unicorn and Narwhal and we're preparing for battle.

We're totally making this cancer our bitch.

You know, while we sip mai tais on the Liiiiido Deck. Because that's how we roll.

Funky Friday

2010-12-10T10:19:00.000-08:00

Y'all. Christmas. It's almost here. SO excited.

Things have been crazy busy; I've had something going on every single night for the last three weeks nearly. Wednesday night was my first "I don't have anywhere to go; I will go to bed early" night. I got home and stormed into our house in song.

Me: in song I'm HOOOOME! And it's BEFORE 8pm! Now I get to take a shoooooooower! Before 9pm SHOOOOOWER! LA LA LA!

My roommate: You are ridiculous.

Me: SHOOOOOOWER BEFORE NINE O'CLOCK! CHECK MY SHIIIIIIIIT OUT! LA LA LA!

And I did, y'all! I took a shower and dried my hair, all before 9pm! My hair clean and shining, I took a sleeping pill and snuggled into bed.

But then. I got a text. From Betty Nebraska. And we had the following conversation:

Betty Nebraska: I wish you were here; just added brandy to my eggnog and turned on Christmas music.

Me: SO FUN! Me too!

BN: Heehee; I am a dork! Obviously I would love it if you came over right this minute! I just didn't ask b/c I know it's close to bedtime. Maybe I am buzzed.

BN: Though.

Me: Be there in ten! EGGNOG!

Me: Though.

BN: Shit! I am so excited!!!!!!!

BN: Though.

So off I went, sleeping pill be damned. When I arrived, she had my glass of (brandyless) eggnog ready for me. We decided while hypothetically it would be funny to say, "Remember that time Alida got pulled over for accidentally driving under the influence of a generic sleep aid and brandy," the reality would probably make for a less merry holiday.

And even though I didn't get home until 11, and even though I couldn't fall asleep because I was all excited about how much fun I'd had with one of my best friends, it was totally worth it. Eggnog, Betty Nebraska, a REAL Christmas tree, and holiday music: perfect.

Now it's time to get ready for tomorrow night's holiday party with my favorite people. There will be delicious food. There will be presents. There will be mistletoe and vodka. It's going to be awesome.

So to keep the spirit of Christmas and that good old holiday feel going, I offer you today's Friday Video, in the hope you are all preparing to have your funkiest Christmas yet.

New Kids on the Block: Funky Funky Christmas:

Cheers, Though!

2010-12-07T10:10:00.000-08:00

Someday something great might happen. You and I might decide to hang out. And if you and I are ever hanging out, one of us (you) might decide to give the other of us (me) a cupful of vodka. Ever wonder how that would go? What we'd say? If we'd eat pretzels? Today, for you, because I like you way much, I'm imagining a completely hypothetical, did not at all happen on Saturday evening last, totally made up on the spot, 31-Step scenario.

It might go something like this, hypothetically:

Step 1: We'll be standing in the kitchen.

Step 2: Someone will bring in a LOT of vodka.

Step 3: You'll say, "Hey. You want some of this?"

Step 4: "Obvi."

Step 5: You'll say, "Okay, you say 'how much'."

Step 6: Looooong pause. "How much!"

Step 7: Drink.

Step 8-12: Repeat Step 7.

Step 13: "PRETZELS!! YES."

Step 14: You'll say, "Let's drink a glass of water!"

Step 15: "VODKA LOOKS LIKE WATER THOUGH!"

Step 16: You'll say, "That is good math!"

Step 17: "I AM KIND OF A MATH WIZARD THOUGH!"

Step 18: You'll say again, "Say how much!"

Step 19: "HAHAHAHAHAHA! I FORGOT TO SAY HOW MUCH THOUGH!"

Step 20: You'll say, "Me too! Oh well! We'll just drink this one slowly!

Step 21: "WE TOTALLY WON'T FORGET TO GO SLOWLY THOUGH!"

Step 22: You'll say, "Hey! You keep ending your sentences with the word 'though'. Weird!"

Step 23: "THAT IS WEIRD THOUGH!"

Step 24: "I DID IT AGAIN THOUGH!'

Step 25: "I CANNOT STOP MYSELF THOUGH!

Step 26: You'll say, "Everyone has to take a drink when Alida says 'though!'

Step 27: Everyone else will say, "Ha! Deal! Cheers!"

Step 28: "CHEERS THOUGH!!!"

Step 29: *Clink*

Step 30: Repeat Steps 7-12.

Step 31: The word 'though' replaces 'perspicacity' as my new drunk word.

Won't that be fun? Aren't you so excited for this day in the future when we will hang out? I'm thinking we'll have a lot of fun though.

(Drink.)

Floating

2010-12-06T14:05:00.000-08:00

I got this hug recently, guys. It wasn't just a normal hug. It was a Hug. It happened Friday night. After the Carol Brunettes performed, we all gathered at Pike Pub and Brewery for drinks and celebration. It was lovely to soak in the laughter and just be with my friends. When it came time for me to leave, the Hug happened. The Hug-Giver was Moses (who apparently has forgiven me for the awkward hugging phase). It was the kind of Hug that doesn't end when you think it's going to end. He just held on and I held on and when it was over, I floated away in a cloud of friend-y happiness.

More hugs should be like that. Because see, when that happens, you can't help but pass along the love. For the rest of the weekend, I made it a point to hold on a few seconds longer than I normally would, to show my friends how much I care about them. And in return, I felt more loved and more loveful. Brilliant.

Saturday morning I woke up smiling and had a whole day to myself. After running around all week, celebrating birthdays and cramming in extra CB rehearsals, I was ready for a day of Lazy or, as I like to call it, A Day Without Pants. Because days without pants? Those are the BEST days. I snuggled in bed with a cup of tea and a bagel and Hulu and caught up on my stories. I ventured out midday to take the dog on a long walk and soak up some of the surprise sunshine that peeked out in the afternoon. I also made some brownies for a party on Saturday evening.

See, a few months ago, I was helping my friends get ready for Burning Man and as we decorated bikes and got the RV, I realized that I wanted so badly to be going with them. And so I told Keridwyn and Betty Nebraska that if they decided to go again in 2011, I'd go too. (I think they decided in that exact moment that they would OF COURSE go again 2011.) They graciously invited me to be a part of their camp (Baggage Check).

Baggage Check was having a December get together and it was the perfect opportunity for me to meet more members of the camp. Y'all, they could not have been more lovely. They were welcoming and warm, affectionate and hilarious. I can't remember the last time I laughed so much in an evening. They went beyond making me feel welcomed; they made me feel *loved*.

Here's something I realized this weekend, as I was snuggled on the sofa with Keridwyn and Boz, old friends mixed with new: I used to be afraid of new situations, fearful of being in a room with too many strangers. I dealt with that fear by cocooning, hiding away and avoiding. Doing so allowed the fear to snowball, to seem larger than it was, to become more powerful than my ability to deal with it. It was awful.

This weekend I was in many situations with many strangers. And I got a bit self-congratulatory, all kinds of "Hey, check me out being with all these strangers and not hiding away." But then I realized something amazing. I still cocoon, y'all. I've just expanded my cocoon to include these magical people who love me so much, the ones who make me brave and cheer me on and don't let go too soon when they hug me.

Last night I had a babysitting gig. As I drove home, Christmas music playing on the radio, twinkle lights on houses all around me, I felt complete -- full of love and joy and gratitude for everything in my life.

I am floating on joy, y'all. And I very much plan to float into 2011 on the same cloud of love. I will hug longer and love more.

And I vow to expand my cocoon.

The Carol Brunettes

2010-12-04T18:10:00.000-08:00

In a word? Rocked.

The Great Figgy Pudding Street Caroling Competition was last night. I am so proud of my group, y'all. We had a ton of fun and surpassed our fundraising goal. Our web donations alone raised $2,300 for the Pike Market Senior Center and Downtown Food Bank. I don't know yet how much we raised during our performance but we drew a large crowd and a lot of people came forward to donate.

The Carol Brunettes take karaoke classics and turn them into holiday songs. Our set list included:

-Reindeer Rhapsody (Bohemian Rhapsody)

-Don't Stop Believin' (In Santa)

-I Love Mistletoe (I Love Rock and Roll)

-Scroogeria (Santeria)

-Oh December (Oh Darlin')

-Snow (Vogue)

-Gift Me Santa, One More Time (Hit Me Baby, One More Time)

There were many familiar faces in the crowd, including the face of the gorgeous Sizzle, who made my night by running up between songs and planting a kiss on my cheek. We had friends and family out to support us and we had a great time entertaining the crowd.

After our set, we were asked to come to the main stage because we were a finalist in the Most Creative category. We performed I Love Mistletoe and you guys. YOU GUYS. I got to cross another item off of my bucket list: I got to play air guitar in front of a huge audience. (Technically it was a Guitar Hero guitar but that makes it even more awesome.) And even more awesome? We totally won!

Being a Carol Brunette has been one of my favorite things I've done since moving to Seattle. I already can't wait for next year. It was a magical night -- freezing cold but full of talented carolers, smiling faces and twinkling lights. And the best part is that each group raised quite a bit of money for the cause. I don't have the final tally but as soon as I get it, I'll let you guys know. If you came out or donated, thank you so much! I might Love Mistletoe, but I love y'all even more!

And to my fellow Carol Brunettes, you ladies are amazing and wonderful and I can't wait to sing with you again. Thanks for everything!

This was me last night, ghostified, zombified, vampired, and happy:

Happy Hanukkah

2010-12-01T11:27:00.000-08:00

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah and the kids and I have been talking about lighting the first candle all day long. (Baby Girl's grandparents gave her a cute Hanukea that looks like individual crayons. She's a little mad that today is the red crayon day, since her favorite color is orange.)

חג שמח

Which translates (if the Internet can be believed) as Chag Sameach or Joyous Festival!

In celebration, I offer this video to my Jewish (and all other Hanukkah loving) readers:

Happy Hanukkah!

On My Mind

2010-11-30T10:02:00.000-08:00

I had my first red cup drink yesterday. I love red cup season, y'all. And my peppermint mocha was delicious. As was the one I had this morning. The secret to the perfect peppermint mocha (at least the Starbucks red cup version) is to specify HALF the amount of peppermint. Otherwise it tastes a little too much like toothpaste. But with half the peppermint, it's a perfectly delicious red cupful of holiday cheer.

I'm not sleeping well lately. With all the good happening in my life, there's also a fair amount of stress and uncertainty which, as always, brings mad amounts of insomnia. I lie awake worrying myself in circles about things that are mostly out of my control. And then when I do fall asleep, I'm dreaming about things I don't want, the worst-case scenarios, and mistakes I've made in the past.

So again, I'm working on letting go. Reminding myself to focus on the positive, the things I do well, and how I've come through adversity in the past. I'm trying to draw on the strength I've collected during my lifetime. I'm looking at my invisible battle scars and seeing them as reminders that I am a survivor, not a victim. I will nurture myself and I will nurture the people in my life. In doing so, I will increase my joy and the love swirling around me.

And I'll enjoy the quiet moments, sipping from my red cup and trusting that all the things going badly in my life will sort themselves out eventually. Soon I'll be home again, snuggled on the sofa with my mother and Papa Leo, gazing at the sparkly twinkle lights on the Christmas tree, with dogs at my feet and a glass of wine in my hand. And in the meantime, I'm surrounded by love, by people who care about me, people who back me up unequivocally, people who are always on my side.

Not too shabby for Alida, y'all.

(PS: Happy birthday to my mother, who is, as always, the best person I know, the one I love most, and my favorite partner in wine. Lvoe to you, Mama!)

Holiday Happy

2010-11-29T22:38:00.000-08:00

It's that time of year again, y'all. The Space Needle has become extra festive: the Christmas tree lights have been strung on the top!

I love the holidays in Seattle. I'm fully in the spirit now, listening to the Christmas stations on the radio, gearing up for holiday parties, shopping for gifts, and pulling my Christmas cookie recipes. The kids and I are going to do MUCH baking. And I'm excited.

This is a busy week. We have our final two rehearsals before the Carol Brunettes perform at Figgy Pudding on Friday. And I get to celebrate two wonderful friends on their birthdays. Then this weekend is even more packed with one event after another.

Writing a post every day has been extremely challenging, mostly because I don't have that many interesting things to say on a daily basis. (Obvi, when you look at some of the entries from this past month.) But it's been good for me to have a goal, something to which I'm holding myself accountable. And although I don't think I'll keep up with daily posting (especially because December is about to explode onto the scene with event after event, party after party, and traveling galore), I think this will help me relax into a very nice blogging rhythm.

For now though, I'm going to head to bed where, I'm sure, visions of sugar plums** will dance in my head.

Fa la la la la la la la la!

*It's not too late to donate to the Carol Brunettes! We are raising money for the Pike Market Senior Center and Downtown Food Bank. Click here to donate!

**Sugar plums = Johnny Depp***, Jump Street era

***Naked.

Susie Lightning vs. The Spider

2010-11-28T16:57:00.000-08:00

(Spoiler alert: I have no idea who won.)

A couple weeks ago, I was heading out to work. I got into Susie Lightning, the vehicular love of my life, and began to back out of my parking spot in our garage. That's when I saw it. The Spider. The Spider that was the size of my FIST. The Spider the size of my FIST on my driver's side mirror. Just hanging out and looking at me all, "Hey yo. I'm a Spider. And I live right here. Whatevs."

I kept my cool, y'all. You know, right after I screamed a little and scrambled to make sure my window was rolled up and locked tightly. I know he wasn't really the size of my FIST but his mouth was closed. He probably had fangs. And tools. Tools that would have helped him bust into my car and eat my face while I was driving to work.

I calmed myself down by telling myself he would blow away while I drove. Sure enough, the next time I checked the mirror, he was gone. I'd survived and lived to take care of children another day.

Until three days later. When I saw him again. Same place, same time. Same ridiculous overreaction. So I had a conversation with him:

Me: Oh, hey The Spider. You are terrifying. And I'd like you to blow away.

The Spider: I know, right? I'm as big as your FIST. And I'm just chilling on your mirror, plotting your murder with my crazy spidery intelligence and secret window-breaking tools.

Me: Can we compromise on this?

The Spider: How so?

Me: Well, maybe you don't blow away. Maybe you just chill in my mirror and we coexist peacefully.

The Spider: That could work. Except, you know, I'm a big ass spider. Can you really trust me?

Me: Considering my options are to either trust you or brush you off with my BARE HANDS, I can't see that I have a choice.

The Spider: That's true because the minute you put your hand out here, I'm going to be all, "DEATH BY SPIDER MASSACRE!!"

Me: Yup, that's what I thought. Besties?

The Spider: Besties.

So that's where the story should end. And it very nearly did end there, until the next week, when again I saw The Spider. I didn't even freak out very much, guys. Just a little. Because we had a truce, right? So my life wasn't in danger.

Or so I thought:

Me: Hey yo.

The Spider: 'Sup?

Me: Not much. Heading to work. You?

The Spider: Nada mucho. Just hanging out in the mirror. I like to go live behind the mirror while you are driving.

Me: Oh, okay. So that's why you aren't blowing off when I drive.

The Spider: Yeah! AND! It's the perfect place for me to lay thousands of spider baby eggs.

Me: MOTHER FUCKER.

That's where shit got real, y'all. When I realized The Spider's end game was more dangerous than I'd dared to imagine. He was going to lay a trillion spider eggs. And those tiny spider babies were going to grow to be the size of my FIST and then they were going to use their teeth and secret tools to break into the car and KILL ME DEAD.

I had to do something. And I'll tell you right now that I realize my next move was a bit over-dramatic. I get that. But I panicked. And really, would you have done differently when your life was hanging in the balance?

My parking spot in the garage is right next to a concrete pylon. And as I was backing out of my spot, shaking because I knew my days were numbered, an idea formed. I put Susie Lightning in drive and ever so carefully SMACKED the mirror against the pylon.

The Spider held on.

So I threw SL into reverse and again, ever so carefully SMACKED the mirror against the pylon.

Still, The Spider held on.

(It was out for blood, y'all.)

(My blood.)

At this point, I was beyond scared. I was mad. I was tired. I hadn't had my coffee yet. And I was late for work. I had to get serious with this Spider, show it who was boss.

I threw SL into drive one more time and put my foot on the gas. The goal was to SMACK the pylon with slightly more force than the previous attempts.

The good news is that I surpassed my goal. The Spider was no more.

The bad news is the huge cluster of scratches all along the side of Susie Lightning.

Oops.

And also, my bad.

I'm writing today to say I'm not sorry. I love my car and I'm sorry she had to sacrifice some paint and vanity to save my life. I had no choice then and I would do it again now if I had to.

Because Spiders are a vindictive bunch of bitches who will EAT YOUR FACE.

(Alida Moore: Good at not overreacting. At all.)

Let's Play a Game

2010-11-27T15:13:00.000-08:00

Weird? Or AWESOME. You decide, based on the following conversations:

While talking to my sister about my stomach bug:

Ceci: Ugh, so you were throwing up all night?

Me: Yeah, it sucked. And now I burst CAPILLARIES in my FACE.

Ceci: Again? I think you do that every time you throw up!

Me: I know! AND I have a bruise on my face because I can't throw up without smacking my face on the toilet.

Ceci: You are extremely bad at throwing up.

Me: I KNOW! And I don't know how to get better because that's not the kind of thing you want to practice, you know? But every time I was running to the bathroom, I'd think to myself, "Now is my chance to figure out how to throw up gracefully!" But then I never could.

Ceci: That is a very weird and sad story.

Me: I live a very weird and sad life, I think.

Ceci: Maybe you'll get another stomach bug soon and you'll figure out how to throw up gracefully!

Me: Aw, thank you!

While scrounging around the kitchen for a snack last night:

My Roommate: What are you doing?

Me: Looking for a snack. Are these cinnamon rolls up for grabs?

My Roommate: Yes but you might want to add some butter when you reheat them. They are a little dry.

Me: Wait, they have no frosting! How can cinnamon rolls have no frosting??

My Roommate: I know! But they are famous at the bakery where I work! Even without frosting!

Me: Later for that. I'm going to make a glaze. Oooh, with maple! A maple glaze!

My Roommate: Sounds good!

Me: Wait, where's the maple syrup?

My Roommate: Oh, are you out of maple syrup?

Me: I must be. OH WAIT. I KNOW! It's in my bedroom by my bed!

My Roommate: Um, I may regret asking this but I have to know. WHY is the maple syrup in your bedroom by your bed?

Me: Because I had leftover pancakes and reheated them for dinner the other night. But I wanted to eat them in bed while I watched 21 Jump Street because pancakes in bed while watching 80s era Johnny Depp is THE DREAM but then when I went to put syrup on them, I panicked because I didn't know how much syrup I would want. I didn't want to put too much on them but I ALSO didn't want to put not enough so I decided to bring the whole bottle with me and just add the syrup as I ate!

My Roommate: Oh, okay. See, I thought maybe you had a guest over or something and you guys were . . . you know, using syrup for . . . something.

Me: What does it say about me that, if given the choice between what actually happened and the scenario you just laid out, I cannot decide which I would choose?

My Roommate: *silence*

Me: I was afraid of that.

Well? What's the verdict?

Turkey Recap

2010-11-26T16:04:00.000-08:00

Except there was no turkey. I had Thanksgiving with vegetarians. (Spoiler alert: morals are not as delicious as turkey.) But even without turkey, I still found myself supine on the floor, groaning. My Twitter update, post-meal:

BooyahGirl: I'm too full to take off my pants. This is the dark side of Thanksgiving.

It was a good day. A delicious day. The food was plentiful and tasty, the company was sparkly and gorgeous, the conversation was lively and the best part?

These guys won:

And when those guys win, this happens:

Varsity's horns were sawed off. SHORT.

Whoop.

My food coma/Aggie euphoria warred with each other and I could not sleep. THEN I realized 21 Jump Street is on Netflix instant watch and somewhere off in the distance, Productivity began to weep.

This morning I dragged myself out of bed to meet the lovely Erin Dean for brunch. We had waffles. Waffles of all kinds. Waffles with brie and basil. Waffles with bacon and maple syrup. Waffles with turkey and cranberry. And then I came home and collapsed again. I'm getting to know the floor very very well.

And then these guys won:

And the Eagle? It was Warred.

So I'm going to curl up on the sofa. I'm going to drink some cocoa and watch a babyfaced Johnny Depp rock some mad 80s fashion.

I hope you all have a wonderful post Turkey day. And that you're stopping whatever you were doing and cuing up 21 Jump Street RIGHT NOW.

Thankful

2010-11-25T10:26:00.000-08:00

My phone woke me up this morning. Specifically, J calling woke me up. I was snapped from a deep sleep by Warrant's "Cherry Pie" blaring in my ear. J was calling to check on me. He knows I've been feeling crummy. He has also been sick for the last week and sounded terrible. I can't remember much of our conversation because I was so groggy but after I hung up, I realized there are worse ways to be awakened and a friend calling to check on you? Probably one of the best ways.

After we hung up, I stretched and rolled over to my laptop, turned on my morning playlist and crawled out of bed. As Neko Case's Hold On, Hold On began to play throughout the house, I padded to the kitchen, filled the French press, and let the dogs out. That's when I saw it. Snow. Everywhere. Falling from the sky and all over the ground. Everything was white, everything was beautiful, and the world was peaceful. At least, the world I could see in the backyard.

I am thankful, y'all. This has been a rough year but in many ways, it's been my best year. And as I sipped my coffee (with real cream and sugar), I realized how much for which I have to be thankful.

I'm thankful for my family. We are lucky. We love each other openly and honestly, knowing we share the same crazy. We've been through some shit but in the end, it made us close. So incredibly close. And even though we are all too far away from each other, I know they would be here by my side in a second if I needed them. They've done it before.

I'm also incredibly thankful for my Chosen Family, the friends who have shown me true grace and love. They inspire me daily. They challenge me to do more, be better, and LIVE life. They sparkle and shine and call me just to check on me when I'm sick. And, most amazingly, they LOVE me. My favorite minutes are the ones spent with them. I will never know how I got so lucky.

I have so many wonderful things in my life: a job I love, a city I'm crazy about, and everything I could possibly need for comfort and happiness.

And I have y'all. You guys who read my little words and offer strength when I need it, make me laugh with your comments, and encourage me to keep demanding magic from life. Thank you. For everything.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Exhausted

2010-11-24T16:27:00.000-08:00

I have no energy, guys. This stomach bug has kicked my ass like WHOA. I find myself staring off into space at least 47 times a day. I ventured to the grocery store to buy food for Thanksgiving and was halfway there when I realized I was wearing pajama pants with my sweatshirt. And no bra.

AND I JUST KEPT DRIVING ANYWAY.

This is my shame this week. I'm working up the energy to make my grandmother's molded Jello salad, which is a favorite holiday treat in my family. I'm spending Thanksgiving with 3 lovely ladies and they deserve my best.

So I'm going to make the salad and then I'm going to go curl up in bed, for a long time. And hopefully tomorrow I will wake up rested, energized, and ready to peel potatoes and make the stuffing. Because I really do love Thanksgiving.

It's just that right now I'm most thankful for sleep. And sleep. And more sleep.

Maybe there's something in the air this week.

Maybe that something is tryptophan.

SnOMG 2010

2010-11-23T12:42:00.000-08:00

It's beautiful here today. There is snow everywhere, the sun is shining, and it's crazy cold.

Also, I have a stomach bug. Or food poisoning. Whatever it is, it's nothing good.

I'm spending my snow day in bed with ginger ale, amusing myself watching videos of what happens when the people of Seattle try to drive during Snowmageddon. Stay warm and enjoy your snow day, wherever you are!

Sharing My Shame

2010-11-22T10:04:00.000-08:00

Because I woke up to snow all over the ground.

Because my snow is going to melt sooner than it will take me to finish this post.

Because I have my favorite cereal in the cabinet and milk in the fridge.

Because I like you guys a lot.

Because I realized, once you share your shame, there's not much to be ashamed about anymore.

Because I'm not the same person I used to be.

Because my screenname used to be GodsSunshineGirl.

Because I only ever wore shirt with Bible verses on them.

Because I thought I knew the answers to everything.

Because I can look back at that girl with bemused affection.

But mostly because I just really really like you guys.

I'm sharing my shame today. For y'all. Because it's awesome.

Happy Snow Day!

Princess of Power

2010-11-21T15:18:00.000-08:00

I have amazing news, y'all. Like, super wonderful extremely awesome amazing news.

I can breathe through my nose.

I know. Compose yourselves. It's pretty awesome.

Also? There were freaking SNOW flurries outside today. Like, we left brunch (bacon!) and walked outside into a veritable winter wonderland! I counted 13 snowflakes, y'all. In the span of FOUR MINUTES. It's practically a blizzard.

Yesterday I was lame. In bed with a box of Kleenex, wearing a scarf and fingerless mittens. And maybe some Vapo-Rub. Which sounds vaguely dirty but it isn't. My friends were off doing amazingly fun things: driving home for Thanksgiving, drinking pomegranate martinis in a hot tub, and consuming their weights in wine at the Twenty-Something Wine Event. 80s dancing at Noc Noc. Tasty hors d'oeuvres. And me? The most exciting moment of *my* night was when I realized the entire first season of She-Ra was on Netflix Instant Watch.

(I know. I totally won the contest of "Whose Night Is MOST Awesome." My friends are a bunch of suckers.)

This morning I woke up and rolled out of bed to meet April for brunch. I am again convinced of the healing powers of bacon and blueberry pancakes. And now there is snow. Snow and my comfy bed and breathing through my nose and more orange juice.

And you know. 13 more episodes of She-Ra.

SHE IS THE PRINCESS OF POWER, YOU GUYS.

Hope you all had a wonderful weekend! I have a special treat planned for you tomorrow. Spoiler alert: it may have something to do with Salon of Shame. MAYBE.

My Saturday

2010-11-20T12:57:00.000-08:00

Tradesies?

Electric Youth

2010-11-19T11:07:00.000-08:00

Want to know a secret? I hope jean purses come back into style someday. Those things were awesome.

Know what else I miss? Synth pop. Keytars. Guys with mullets playing piano.

What put me in this mood? My neighbor. On Monday. See, I came home Monday morning and stepped off the elevator and into the 80s. Our elevator leads to a courtyard and all the condos in our complex face the courtyard. It's cozy and very Melrose Place, minus the pool and the drama and awesome crazy Kimberly ripping her wig off in the greatest television moment of all time.

Anyway, I stepped off the elevator and into a veritable 80s wonderland as I heard the loud strains of Debbie Gibson's Electric Youth album BLARING from the condo next to ours. I came inside, made lunch, brought it up to my room and it was even louder because my open window is right next to the open window through which DG was wailing her heart out.

I had two choices, y'all. I could get frustrated, as this severely hindered my marathoning of Prison Break on Netflix. Or, I could set my lunch aside, throw on my gigantic hot pink star earrings, and dance it out.

(Spoiler alert: I danced it out. Like WHOA.)

As I danced, my youth came flooding back. My Electric Youth. I had the perfume, y'all. I used to listen to that album on my bright red My First Sony walkman. While roller skating in the driveway. With crimped hair.

So for you, dear ones, on this gorgeously cold Friday, I offer the following videos. Enjoy your weekend, dance it out, and find YOUR electric youth.

And my favorite Debbie Gibson song of all time: (bonus! This video has it all. Guy with mullet playing piano, backup dancers in tutus, and acid washed baggy jeans.)

Bonus video: Kimberly "wigging" out:

I Remember

2010-11-18T07:47:00.001-08:00

I remember. 2:42 a.m. I remember the phone ringing. I remember sirens and lights and the fear. I remember how quickly Aggieland fell silent. We were all stunned. Shocked. Heartbroken. The Aggie family was forever changed that night.

11 years ago. Today I remember. Today I honor my fellow Aggies lost in that tragic accident. I honor their memory, their families, and their spirit.

November 18, 1999. I was there and I remember.

Miranda Adams '02

Chris Breen '96

Michael Ebanks '03

Jeremy Frampton '99

Jamie Hand '03

Chris Heard '03

Tim Kerlee '03

Lucas Kimmel '03

Brian McClain '02

Chad Powell '03

Jerry Self '01

Nathan West '02

"Some may boast of prowess bold; of a school they think so grand. But there's a spirit can ne'er be told. It's the spirit of Aggieland. We are the Aggies. The Aggies are we. True to each other as Aggies can be. We've got to fight boys; we've got to fight. We've got to fight for maroon and white. After they've boosted all the rest then they will come and join the best. We are the Aggies, the Aggies so true. We are from Texas AMU."

Salon of Shame

2010-11-17T11:52:00.000-08:00

I survived, y'all. It was terrifying and exhilarating and so, so shameful. And I survived.

Yesterday was nerve-wracking. The kids are sick and contagious, so I didn't get the distraction of coloring and reading and singing and dancing. And my friends who are visiting from Texas have their own children and didn't want to risk me carrying germs over to their babies, so I wasn't spending time with them. So instead, I spent my day stewing in nerves and OMGCANNOTBELIEVEI'MDOINGTHIS.

One fear was that people would think I was mocking Christianity by reading from my old prayer journals. I wanted to be careful to make it clear I was only making fun of the girl I used to be, and the things I used to worry about, not any specific belief system. Another fear was that my friends, my dear, lovely friends who were going to be in the audience, would be so embarrassed by my former display of Jesus-y exuberance that they'd decide not to be my friends anymore.

This fear may have been irrational.

We got there early and grabbed a couple of tables and some vodka. Stat. Then my friend Sage showed up with boxes of Nerds to help calm my nerves. Brady brought two candy bracelets. My friends know me so well. When I'm nervous, I need sugar. And vodka, apparently. But it worked because by the time the show started, I was feeling mellow, groovy, and ready to humiliate myself in front of 150 strangers.

Awesome.

I was the last reader of the first act AND the only first time reader of the evening. Luckily, I had Jesus on my side. The minute I told the audience I would be reading from my prayer journals, which were essentially letters to God, they were with me. And then when I told them I would be reading entries from a time when I was certain God had shown me whom I was going to marry, they were excited. They knew the pages of my sparkly journal were sure to hold juicy, Jesus-y bits of mortification.

I'm not going to type out what I read here, because OMG, but I will give you a sampling of some of the better bits:

"My husband will NOT be attracted to my body; he will be attracted to my obedience to Your will."

"I want to know the love designed for a man and a woman."

And my favorites:

"I will wait for your will, even if it means I will remain unmarried until I'm TWENTY SIX."

"I will not participate in anything debaucherous (NOT a word) or unholy."

Amazingly, lightning didn't strike, the audience laughed a LOT, and my friends were all still sitting at the tables where I left them. Glory be to God.

Obvi.

(If you ever have the chance to attend a Salon of Shame, I highly recommend it. Reading was a liberating experience, one I probably won't repeat too soon, but something I'm SO glad I did.)

Shameful

2010-11-16T12:54:00.000-08:00

I've always been a girl who can laugh through my embarrassments. I mean, I usually laugh about them and then come tell y'all about that one time I sprained my dignity, and that other time I misplaced my pride, and also don't forget that day I left the house and forgot my purse but remembered my mortification. It's really just how I roll.

But tonight? Tonight I'm willingly subjecting myself to ultimate humiliation. I'll be a reader at Salon of Shame. Many people are going to read from old angsty diaries and journals, for 5 minutes at a time. I am one of them. I will be reading from my old evangelical prayer journals. Specifically, I will be reading selections from a time right after I was certain God had told me who I was going to marry. And it's awesome. And humiliating. And will be so fun for everyone who knows me now.

Still though. I cannot believe I'm doing this. Wish a girl luck!

On Friendship

2010-11-15T20:21:00.000-08:00

This is the photo K posted to our FBs tonight, with a very loveful message. I met up with K and Betty Nebraska for happy hour/lovefest and it was equal parts happy and loveful. Over wine and appetizers, we talked about life and love, work and play. We planned upcoming events and giggled over shared secrets.

Here's something I don't talk about much: big crowds of strangers scare me. For about a year before Slim and I broke up, I avoided large groups of strangers as much as possible, to the point of avoiding seeing my friends. I disappeared. Fell into what J calls Boyfriend Land, although it was much deeper than that, something beyond a girl who gets too wrapped up in her relationship and forgets her friends. Although that happened. And I'm ashamed and wish I could go back and do things differently. I can't though. All I can do is learn and move forward and avoid falling into the same patterns.

These ladies, though. These ladies are so very dear to my heart. When The Universe told me to value the Yeehaw quality of my friends above all else, it meant these women. When my heart was broken, they set aside their hurt over my disappearance, accepted my apologies, and generously offered me grace and love and held my hands as I healed. And I was honest. For the first time in a very long time, I was honest about my fears and my disappearance and why crowds are scary. I opened myself up to the possibility that K and Betty were capable of understanding my fears and, more than that, could help bring me to the other side.

They did, y'all. They so totally did. They encouraged me as I made a plan to deal with my fears. They invited me every time they went out, while making it clear they would understand completely if I couldn't make it, if I got to the point of leaving the house and changed my mind at the last minute. They accepted and loved me where I was, for who I was. And that, I'm certain, made all the difference.

I became brave. I forced myself to face scary situations because I had strong hands to hold, kind friends upon whom I could lean. And they cheered for me and celebrated with me and continued to pour their love out into my life.

I owe these ladies so much. Just three weeks ago, I was driving K home from another evening out with just the three of us. As we pulled up to her apartment, I mentioned thinking it would be fun to get a group together for dancing one evening. And she stared at me and, grinning, squeezed my hand and told me how amazed she was at how far I'd come. I've gone from being the person who was afraid of groups to the person who wants to surround herself with a huge group of loveful friends.

My girls made me realize how brave I could be. Their forgiveness, as well as their unwavering belief in my bravery, pushed me forward and I will love them forever for that. I look forward to many more happy hours, many more girls' nights, many more years spent with these women. I admire them for their intelligence and strength, their passion and their convictions. But mostly, I just love them. Where they are, as they are.

Just as they've loved me.

Dr. Pepper Lip Smackdown

2010-11-14T16:13:00.000-08:00

Last night I went with J to see a Simon and Garfunkel tribute group at the Triple Door, my favorite venue for live music in Seattle. It's intimate, comfortable, and the atmosphere is nothing short of groovy. We burrowed into our booth, just a few rows back from the stage, and sipped our tea as we enjoyed a retrospective of Simon and Garfunkel's greatest hits and best songs.

It was very nearly perfect, except for the horribly rude sorostitute who insisted upon talking loudly for the entire show. Like, for real the entire show. And who could blame her? The soft, twinkling, acoustic sound was forcing her to raise her voice so her date could hear her fascinating stories about Uggs and the Jersey Shore.

I came thisclose to throwing my Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers at her face. And it would have hurt too because it's the size of a freaking glue stick. But I also love my extra big Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers and would have missed it.

But still. She's lucky I was feeling so chilled out because that's the only thing that kept me from doling out some mad justice -- Bonne Bell style.

About a third of the way into the evening, Pretend Simon and Garfunkel played my favorite Real Simon and Garfunkel of all time: Flowers Never Bend (With the Rainfall). I listened to this song over and over again about 7 years ago, when I was starting to question my beliefs and the Christian faith. It kind of became a musical mantra for me and is still very special to me to this day. It was fitting especially to hear it this weekend because of my plans for Tuesday night, which I will share tomorrow.

I have kindly embedded the song right here, for your listening pleasure. You are welcome.

Hope y'all had a great weekend!

I Wish

2010-11-13T09:55:00.000-08:00

For a pot of tea with milk and sugar.

And some eggs.

And toast.

And bacon.

And I want someone to go to the bank for me.

And do my laundry.

And clean my room.

While all that stuff is happening, I'll be over here in bed. Sleeping. And being lazy.

Happy Saturday, y'all.

Inappropriate Videos Day

2010-11-12T07:30:00.000-08:00

Happy IVD, everybody! If you are my mom, you've probably heard me play most of these songs on the road trip to Texas. Except for the first one. So maybe don't watch that one. Or if you do, maybe don't talk to me about it. If you are Erica, you should maybe skip these videos (or at least don't play them in front of the kids. Although skipping makes sense because remember how that one song got stuck in your head that time?)

Today's IVD is dedicated to Garfunkel and Oates. Mostly because they are awesome but also because I'm seeing a Simon and Garfunkel tribute band tomorrow night at the Triple Door, which is my favorite venue in Seattle. Awesome music and Wild Ginger food? BRING IT, WEEKEND.

So without further ado, I give you three of my favorite G&O videos:

I Don't Understand Job:

One Night Stand:

Me, You, and Steve:

*Once I dated a male nurse. And every single time we went out, this dude would bring his friend Shayne with us. Even the night we had the date at his apartment; Shayne came over to watch a movie with us. It drove me nuts because I was trying to make out with this guy! So on our next date, I brought Toommate, thinking she could be my wingman and distract Shayne. Instead, it ended up being good I brought her because Shayne and the male nurse ignored us the ENTIRE night. If she hadn't been there, I wouldn't have had anyone with whom to chat. That was my last date with Kyten, the male nurse.*

Happy weekend, everybody!

Once Upon a Time

2010-11-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time...

...I had just started going on dates with a boy. Like, seriously, we'd been on two or three dates so far. And then one day, I was at work and needed to talk to my friend Erin Dean over gchat. So I sent her a quick message. This is what that message said:

Me: Hi love of my life! VERY IMPORTANT INFORMATION: I'm considering bangs. Who gave you your super cute haircut that time? Also, I love you LOTS!

Imagine my HUMILIATION when I received a response to my message and that response was NOT from Erin Dean. Nay, that response was from the boy with whom I'd been on 2-3 *casual* dates. This is what his message said:

Him: !?!

Then I said this:

Me: Holy shit.

(This happened nearly 3 years ago. But I remembered it this morning and giggled.)

Once upon a time...

...I had a new friend named Keridwyn and we were planning our first friend date.

Me: I'm thrilled for our first date!

K: Me too!

K: Episode 1: Grilled Cheese.

Me: Hee. Pilot Episode!

K: It may be different from the rest of the series but it will establish character and be full of laughs.

Me: Exactly. And just wait until we are nine episodes in!

K: What then?

Me: CLIP SHOW!

K: Hahahahaha. The lazy show.

Me: Love it.

(We are now three seasons into our friendship and will not be cancelled any time soon.)

Once upon a time...

...I lived with a boy named Paul. And he was a lovely roommate. And I was the messy one. And one day this happened:

Paul: (going through the cupboards) ALIDA!

Me: What??

Paul: (shakes a box at me) This box of cornflakes is EMPTY!

Me: I know!

Paul: THEN WHY ISN'T IT IN THE RECYCLING?

Me: Because I will forget to add it to the list! And I need milk!

Paul: That makes no sense. There is absolutely zero logic in what you just said. And you have milk in the fridge.

Me: No I don't.

Paul: Yes you do! I'm looking at it right now. It's right he--(breaking off as he picks up the empty carton out of the fridge) Oh you have GOT to be kidding me.

Me: (smiling charmingly and slightly sheepishly)

Paul: THIS IS EMPTY TOO!

Me: I know! Isn't that ridiculous??

Paul: YOU ARE LIKE A 13 YEAR OLD BOY.

I think he misses living with me.

This has been a glimpse of what it's like to know me in real life. You're welcome.

Texas, Forever

2010-11-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

I'm noticing a trend. November seems to be a month of thankfulness, if my Facebook news feed and my Google reader feed are to be believed. Even conversations with friends recently have revolved around things for which we are thankful. So, inspired by all the rampant thankfulness, as well as a week wherein I have spoken to many people from my high school, I thought for today's entry I'd play the thankful game as well.

I grew up in a tiny Texas town. Maybe y'all know this, maybe you don't. But it's true. I grew up in a tiny Texas town. And I hated it, guys. While I was there, doing my growing up, I hated it. I dreamed of big city life, life outside of Texas, specifically life in Seattle. I eschewed cowboys and scoffed at my friends when they'd raise their cans of Lonestar and toast to "Texas, forever." (They really did, too. It's not just a Friday Night Lights thing.)

I've been out of that small town for over ten years now. And, as always, with time and distance comes perspective, even thankfulness. I'm starting to realize how lucky I was to grow up in that tiny Texas town called Granbury.

You see, my small town Texas upbringing taught me some valuable life lessons. I learned that joy isn't exclusively found in the big city life. It can just as easily be found in the following scenarios:

-Friday nights spent in my old Tercel with my bff Jill, driving through Taco Bell to get our large Mountain Dews, blaring Blink-182's Cheshire Cat album on the stereo, and doing furtive drive-bys of our crushes' houses to see if their cars were outside.

-Saturday nights spent at the little one-screen movie theater, watching a movie we'd seen 10 times before, then heading up to Eckerd's drug store to talk to Matt Saunders while he worked the late shift in the photo lab.

-The adrenaline rush of acting as lookout while a group of friends tp'd house after house, only to get caught by the cops and have the shit-loving tar scared out of us for life. (Okay, maybe this only happened once.)

-Sitting in the front seat of a friend's truck, smashed between Blake S. and Kurt Ranslobber while Blake turned doughnuts in a muddy field and Hank Williams, Jr. wailed about country boys being survivors on the radio, cheering when the truck would skid and mud would fly over the hood, roof, and bed, then giggling when inevitably the truck would get stuck and another truck-drivin' friend would come with a tow rope to pull it out of the mud.

-Heading out to someone's parents' land in the country, building a bonfire, and gazing at the stars, Lonestar in hand while we talked about our dreams for the future: who wanted to marry whom, how many kids we wanted, how we couldn't imagine being as old as 30, how we'd always be friends and college wouldn't change that at all.

I'm thankful for my time in Texas, y'all. I may complain about the heat, the politics, and the landscape. I may cringe when I accidentally tell my roommate, "I'm fixin'a go to the store, y'all need anything?" It might not have been glamorous but it had a huge part in making me who I am today. So to you Texas, I say thank you. Thank you for teaching me the value of friendly small talk. Thank you for teaching me to love football and how to shoot whiskey without flinching. And most of all, thank you for teaching me to find my happiness in people, in my friends and family.

Texas forever, y'all.

Mystery Solved

2010-11-09T09:58:00.000-08:00

I figured it out, y'all. Why I suddenly turned into an awkward-hugging Nana, that is. Because it kept happening, you see. I'd go to hug someone and my right hand would lovingly cradle the back/side of the person's head.

It's the damn babies.

They are tiny people, you see. Tiny, wee children. And when I pick them up and they snuggle in, I hug them back WHILE LOVINGLY CRADLING THE BACKS OF THEIR HEADS.

Silly effin' damn tiny babies. They turned me into a freak-show hugger. But I can't be too mad at them. You know, because they are all tiny and stuff. And they are cute and they have these larger than life personalities.

So yes. Mystery solved.

In other news, I was driving the other day and singing along with my radio. Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" came on and I started rapping along. Halfway through, I realized I was correcting all his grammar. And just like that, my rap career was over before it began.

Sometimes, as K has pointed out on her blog, when you are writing an entry a day, they can't all be winners.

Post Halloween SITREP

2010-11-08T15:41:00.000-08:00

Or, why I'm taking a break from the vodka.

Text exchange with Nancy Sinatra:

Me (7:35 a.m.): Let's have brunch when you wake up!

Nancy (11:40 a.m.): Sorry! I just now got your text!

Me (1:29 p.m.): Weird. I have zero memory of sending that.

Nancy: Seriously?

Me: WAIT, NO.

Nancy: You remember now?

Me: Not exactly. I don't remember texting you but I do remember waking up and thinking about bacon.

Text exchange with Hannah Montana:

Hannah Montana: We were counting and we think you kissed the most people last night.

Me: You were one of them, right?

HM: Yes.

Me: Then everybody wins!

Me: Also, you are WELCOME.

Over gchat with Keith Richards:

Keith Richards: I liked your Madonna costume. Although you could have doubled as a kissing booth.

Me: Apparently.

KR: Did you ever get the name of that Roman senator?

Me: He was dressed as a Roman senator?

KR: Yes.

Me: THANK GOD.

KR: Why, what did you think he was dressed as?

Me: All I could remember was robes and I was afraid I made out with Jesus. I've spent the morning trying to figure out how I feel about that.

KR: I want my crucifixes back.

Happy Halloween*, everybody.

PS: Normally this type of entry would go in my grown-up blog, Pantsless After Dark. But I don't have one of those. So I'll just trust my mother closed her eyes while she read this.

*(I realize Halloween is long over. It just took about this long to be unhungover.)

I Hate Cheesecake

2010-11-07T15:14:00.000-08:00

And Other Stories

I made a cheesecake for Miss D, as mentioned in the previous three thousand entries. I also HATE cheesecake, so I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out. As I always do when baking, I tasted the batter throughout the process and each time I tasted it, I made a horrible face. So I figured it had to be on the right track.

At the party, when it came time to serve the cake, I made Betty Nebraska carry it for me because I was shaking too much. I was just so nervous it was going to be awful and ruin the cake portion of the birthday party. We put the candles on and sang our girl a rousing version of Happy Birthday. As I cut the cake, people crowded around the bar for their slice. So there I was, cutting the cheesecake and placing slices on plates, when I accidentally got a bit on my finger. Out of habit, I licked the cake off my finger and then made a HORRIBLE face. Unfortunately, two people across the bar saw this and, when asked a few seconds later if they wanted cake, both hurriedly declined.

In the end, it turned out to be their loss. Everyone LOVED the cake and I was told it was the best cheesecake in the world. So let this be a notice to you all. If you want me to make you a cheesecake, I will make you one hell of a cheesecake. And I will not eat a single bite of it because cheesecake is the worst dessert in the whole world.

You're welcome.

The party was fantastic. So many people showed up to love on Miss D and send her happily into the next year of her life. I saw people I hadn't seen in months and I met some wonderful new people, which was lovely. And at least 4 people told me they'd seen something in the past few months that had reminded them of me. On that list?

-Bacon

-Sonic

-Lonestar beer

-Pork rinds

Alida Moore: Bringing the klassy since 1981.

This morning I had brunch with some friends from high school who happened to be in Seattle for the weekend. I hadn't seen a couple of these boys since before graduation, so it was great to share some bacon and catch up. Two of these boys especially are dear to my heart. You see, they were both responsible for making my senior prom awesome.

Matt Saunders was my best friend in high school. We'd been friends since 5th grade and he was my first tiny kiss, in the back of a van on the way to a drama competition in the 7th grade. (He claimed the van went over a bump and he fell over into my lips. It was awesome. And terrifying. Because you know, I was young.) He was a super punk rock skater boy, so cute, and played in a band (Fatt Saunders and the Fabulous Cellulite Boys. Or at least they were until his mom heard the name and got mad, saying it was degrading to people with glandular issues and made him change it.)

Anyway, Matt Saunders and I did everything together so when it came time to go shopping for my prom dress and my bff Jill was busy, I begged Matt Saunders to go with me. He balked. Dress shopping interfered with his punk rock skater image, apparently. I finally convinced him by promising to have a dress, shoes, and jewelry purchased within one hour. He bet me I wouldn't be able to do it. Loser had to buy lunch at Bennigan's. I won, with 13 minutes to spare, purchasing the 3rd dress I tried on, a dress that was as lovely as it was purple. Spaghetti strap, empire waist, ball gown style skirt and tiny diamond belt under the bustline. Beautiful. (I had the chicken tenders, FYI.)

Unfortunately for me, the dress ended up being the bane of my senior prom existence. It was already a rough night because I was going dateless. Stupid Matt Saunders swore he wouldn't go to prom, so when Erica Bonner asked him, it was no big deal since he wasn't going. HE WASN'T GOING. But then in our senior English class, our teacher thought it was awful he was going to miss his senior prom, so she offered the entire class 10 extra credit points in our research papers if Matt Saunders agreed to go to prom. He had no choice but to go or face the wrath of 23 angry teenagers with senioritis. And since dumb old Erica Bonner had already asked him, he had to say yes to her. So there went my safety date. Stupid Matt Saunders. Stupid Erica Bonner. (Who is actually a Facebook friend and quite a lovely person. I've since forgiven her for stealing my safety date. Nearly. Besides, Matt Saunders and I have a marriage pact and she can't swoop in there and steal him for that. It doesn't even matter that she married the love of her life years ago. When we turn 40, Matt Saunders is mine, Erica Bonner. MINE.)

So there I was, on my way to prom with a bunch of my friends, all who were coupled up. The waiter at the fancy restaurant couldn't believe I was going to prom dateless and was a douche about it the whole night. "Oh, honey! Where's your date? YOU'RE ALONE?? OOOH, HONEY, HOW AWFUL FOR YOU!! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DON'T HAVE A DATE!" and then throughout the evening, kept PATTING MY SHOULDER and winking at me to reassure the poor dateless loser that it would be okay. Douche. Bag.

You're probably thinking it couldn't get much worse than this. You are also wrong. It was way worse. My dress, y'all. My beautiful purple dress in the shimmery fabric? It was apparently some weird hybrid, part dress, part SWEAT WICKING ATHLETIC MATERIAL. Within the first 20 minutes of wearing it, the stupid dress had sucked the sweat from my armpits and I had HUGE dark purple circles under my arms. It was so bad I spent the entire evening with my arms pressed against my sides, shoulders slightly elevated.

I looked like I was frozen in an eternal shrug.

Enter Joe Ferrell. Sweet, saving grace Joe Ferrell, who saw me hunched over with my arms wrapped around my body and assumed I must have been freezing.

Joe Ferrell: Oh, you look like you're cold! Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?

Me: No, I'm not co-- YES. GIVE ME YOUR JACKET IMMEDIATELY.

And with that simple move, he saved my prom. I got to dance and mingle and smile and lift my arms and not worry about pit stains. And then he asked me to slow dance with him and I was in LOVE. I still have a polaroid picture someone took of the two of us, me grinning like a maniac in a humongous tuxedo jacket.

God bless Joe Ferrell. I tried to give him my bacon this morning; that's how grateful I was. And when the other boys at brunch started to make fun of him, I might have waved my knife in the air and shouted, "YOU LEAVE SWEET JOE FERRELL ALONE. HE SAVED MY SENIOR PROM."

And it was at that moment I realized he had no idea what I was talking about. Sweet, beautiful Joe Ferrell.

Right now I am making my second birthday cake of the weekend. It's my friend Dreamweaver's birthday dinner tonight and I'm making a triple layer chocolate raspberry cake with a dark chocolate ganache glaze. And it smells amazing.

Last night, as I walked into our house after the party, I glanced at the clock over the stove. It was 12:55am and my first thought was, "Oh, yay! Early night tonight" And then I giggled because in what world is 1am an early night? But the answer is: in my world. And I love my world. I love my world and all the crazy people swirling around in my life. People who eat cheesecake and go prom dress shopping and offer girls their tuxedo jackets.

And I love them all.

Lazy Saturday

2010-11-06T14:08:00.000-07:00

So Hump! was pretty much awesome, save one or two films that may have scarred me for life. I didn't think anything could top last year's ACK film (two words: anal hook) but that's what I love about Seattle. People always surprise you. Because let me tell you: DOUBLE ACK.

I got home very late (or very early, depending on your view of it) and was ready to collapse into bed. Sadly, the first thing I saw upon entering my bedroom was my bedspread. The dog apparently got sick while I was out. So instead of going to sleep, I did 2:30am laundry, amazingly without waking up any of my roommates.

Even though I didn't go to bed until 4, I was wide awake by 8:30. Somehow I've turned into such a nana; I never sleep in anymore. I've spent the day doing the rest of my laundry, making a raspberry coulis to go with Miss D's birthday cheesecake, and catching up on my Netflix queue. Soon I'll meet a new friend for coffee and then get dolled up once more for Miss D's party.

I hope you guys are all having a wonderful weekend.

Also! I've already had one extremely generous blog reader donate to the Carol Brunettes and the Pike Market Senior Center and Downtown Food Bank. If any of you are feeling charitable and generously inclined, click here and donate today! I'd love you forever (even though I probably already do.)

Birthdays and Amateur Porn

2010-11-05T06:05:00.000-07:00

It's Friday and it's early and I was up way too late last night. I should still be asleep but I'm too excited about the weekend. Because of the plans, y'all. There are lots of plans.

Last night I went over to K's house and we put our creative minds together to work on rewrites for a project we're doing. We're doing some charity work, y'all. Last month, I was invited to be part of the world-famous caroling group "The Carol Brunettes" as we participate in the 24th annual Figgy Pudding on December 3rd. We're raising money for Pike Market Senior Center and Downtown Food Bank. It's an excellent cause during a time of year that more people than ever need food and a bit of holiday cheer.

The Carol Brunettes are known for lovely voices and creative holiday rewrites of pop songs. Examples include "I Love Mistletoe" (to the tune of I Love Rock and Roll) and "Reindeer Rhapsody" (Bohemian Rhapsody). This year will also include some awesome dancing and choreography.

(If you feel like donating to this important cause, click right here. I'd be ever so grateful.)

After we finalized lyrics to our set list, K and I headed over to Hula Hula for some girls' night karaoke. I'm sorry to say I performed "Me and Bobby McGee" which, turns out, sounds WAY better in my shower. I needed redemption so K and I brought down the house with our performance of "Shoop". She does the Salt n Pepa part and I do the dude's rap at the end. It's fairly awesome.

This weekend also promises to be fairly awesome. Today the kids and I are going to do a baking project. We're celebrating Miss D's birthday tomorrow night and she's requested a cheesecake. Baby Girl is especially interested in cooking right now, so we'll pull the highchairs into the kitchen and let her pour and mix.

Tonight is one of my favorite nights of the year. After a disco nap, I'll meet up with my favorite people for prefunk drinks before we head over to Hump! Hump! is the annual amateur porn film festival and is always SO MUCH fun. We have tickets to the midnight show and I seriously can't wait.

The rest of the weekend is going to be full of celebrating birthdays and loving on the amazing friends I have out here in Seattle. (It's weekends like these that make me happy I don't work on Mondays. With all the full weekends I've been having, I've really needed that third day to recover and relax and get normal, grown-up stuff accomplished.)

It's fall in Seattle and I couldn't be happier. I hope you guys all have wonderful weekends planned!

(And again, if you feel like donating to a VERY worthy cause, click here!!)

L-I-V-I-N' and Lovin'

2010-11-04T13:10:00.000-07:00

Back when I managed the day spa, my boss was a lovely lady by the name of Donna. She recruited me to her spa when she became the director and I scurried over to work with her because she was amazing and hilarious and kind. To this day, she is one the best bosses I've ever had.

Working in a spa is fairly insane. Take vanity, ego, rich white ladies, and mix in trillion eccentricities and you can start to understand what we dealt with daily. Donna rolled with everything -- the backstabbing, the gossip, and the craziness of the spa's owner. She'd just smile, throw her hands in the air, and say in her gentle Southern way, "Hey man. We're all just L-I-V-I-N'."

After we both left the spa, Donna had plans to open her own space and wrote me into her business plan. Sadly, our lives took different paths and mine brought be to Seattle. But I've never forgotten Donna or her motto of L-I-V-I-N'.

It's a good motto. Move forward, let shit roll off your back, and keep on L-I-V-I-N'. It's what I've been striving to do since I moved out here. And I realized something recently. I've become a lot more self-nurturing since striking out on my own. Somewhere in the last three years I stopped calling myself 'stupid' and started calling myself 'honey.' It's a much more loveful existence, I'll tell you that.

There's a song I love that sort of encapsulates the feeling I get when I'm driving to work. My drive takes me on the viaduct and I have the perfect view of the sound and Elliott Bay on my left and the downtown skyline and Space Needle on my right. I feel proud and I feel lucky and I feel loveful and I feel sweet, encompassing joy. This is my city. This is my home. And I get to be here, L-I-V-I-N' and lovin'.

How lucky am I?

My Biological Clock

2010-11-03T11:15:00.001-07:00

Whenever people find out I'm a nanny, they always say the same thing. "You probably can't wait to have kids of your own!" And I smile graciously and tell them I'm very lucky to have the job I have and talk about how much I love the kids I watch.

Because I am lucky and I do love my babies. But one of the nicest parts of being a nanny is that I go home to a kid-free house every day. I sleep through the night. I can eat scrambled eggs for dinner four nights in a row and not worry about the nutrition of the small life for which I am responsible.

It's possible I'm missing the mother-gene. Maybe I'm more the fun aunt than the mother. My track record certainly suggests the former.

When my friends and I used to play the Game of Life, I would win by selling my children to my other, more mommy-inclined friends. My friend Erica especially would buy each of my little blue and pink kid pegs. Once I got $100,000 for each peg (but only because I threatened to throw them in the blue part of the game board -- the one that represents water).

The only time in recent history I even felt sad about not having kids was when I realized having kids means you get to steal their Halloween candy after they are asleep. And that sounds awesome.

It's just so interesting to me because the Alida from 10 years ago wasn't at all like this. That girl wanted 4 kids, all boys. She wanted to be a Little League mom and a soccer mom and wanted her life covered in Mommy. And now I can't imagine being anywhere other than where I am right at this moment.

So for now I'll just be the fun nanny, the cool "aunt." And I will enjoy my full nights of sleep and poor nutritional habits.

But maybe I'll keep one or two little pegs the next time I play Life. You know, just to try motherhood out.

(Besides, I'm guessing kids don't actually sell for $100,000 in real life. )

Hangover Musings

2010-11-02T11:13:00.000-07:00

-When one has a raging hangover headache, the worst chore in the world is throwing the glass bottles from the previous night into the recycling bin. There is no quiet way to do this task. It angers the hangover. One ought to avoid this task at all costs.

-When one's friends call out a 5 minute warning before changing party venues, one probably oughtn't knock back one's sweet tea vodka as quickly as possible so to allow oneself to have one more before one must leave.

-One should have these words tattooed on one's drinking hand: It does not behoove one to drink much drinks. Because it doesn't. Behoove one, that is.

-One should remember a hangover causes one to crave weird foods all day long. And just because one's mind is trying to convince oneself that chips and onion dip will make one feel much better, they won't. One should instead drink many waters and eat sensible, greasy foods.

-One ought to be grateful for the working relationship one has with one's boss, thus allowing one to have the following text exchange with one of the Yummy Mummies:

One: Would you fire your nanny if she was too hungover to come see the kids in their costumes?

One's boss: Not a chance. We are feeling your pain, sister. Drink water. We expect to see pictures of Like a Prayer Madonna on Tuesday.

-As one's hangover fades away, one ought to commit to memory the feeling of the hangover, so as not to overindulge in imbibing ever again.

-(One won't, though. Obvi.)

-And as always, one should ask oneself if the previous night's shenanigans and antics were worth the pain the next day. And as always, the answer should be a resounding YES.

This post brought to you by sweet tea vodka, vodka cranberry, and Alida Moore, the Emily Post of the Hangover.

Words for a Month

2010-11-01T19:47:00.000-07:00

My lovely friend K issued a challenge today, albeit an indirect one: blog every day for an entire month. And as I read her post and her excitement about the challenge, I realized I wanted to play too. Maybe this is just the thing I need to move me past my writer's block, the writer's block that has kept me from posting a damn thing in over 2 weeks.

So here we are. Challenge accepted. I will write words. I will write words every day. Probably they won't be my best words but hopefully they will shake things up just enough to rattle loose better words.

My absence hasn't been intended. I've been crazy busy. Fall always seems to bring with it numerous events, gatherings, and parties and I could not be happier. This weekend was especially wonderful. I love Halloween. I always have. But Halloween with my friends? My motley crew of costume-loving, adventure-having, loveful all the time friends?

Heaven.

A few weeks ago, K and Boz came up with a brilliant theme for our group: Rock Stars. And because my friends are probably the most creative people I know, I spent my Halloween with Ziggy Stardust, Freddie Mercury, Devo, Cher (from the Turn Back Time video), Nancy Sinatra, Bjork, Justin Bieber, Miley Cyrus, and Hannah Montana. I went as Madonna: Like a Prayer. We prefunked at my house (and collected a zombie bride, groom, and bridesmaid) and then headed out the Hive-Mind, an event raising money for a neighborhood cultural center and a reading organization. We karaoked, danced, snuggled, and partied our way into the next morning.

It was one of the greatest nights of my life.

The next day, as I nursed a hangover, I just basked in the afterglow of good friends. No matter what happens in my life, I am lucky. I am loved by some of the biggest and best hearts in the world.

I love fall. And I love November. This month I'll celebrate friends' birthdays. I'll participate in a lovely singing group to raise money for Pike Market Senior Center and Downtown Food Bank. My gorgeous friends and I will enjoy the annual amateur porn film festival and we'll welcome back the lovely Erin for a visit.

And I will be thankful.

The C Word

2010-10-12T20:21:00.000-07:00

Cancer.

Cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer.

It's been nearly two months since my roommate's diagnosis and the only thing I have really learned is this: people? Totally afraid to say the C word. I cannot figure out why, although I'm guilty of it myself. When her diagnosis first came down, I avoided the word. Then I felt silly, so I stopped avoiding and started saying it. But even then, I'd whisper it.

Now though? I've decided that's dumb. We have a unicorn. We have a narwhal. They are fighting the cancer. Fighting it as hard as they can. They are putting on their magical battle horns and fighting.

So I'll do the same. I'll say the word cancer. Hell, I'll shout the word cancer when I can shout it in the following sentence: "Hey Roommate, remember that time you beat your cancer AGAIN? That was awesome."

Without further ado, here is a summary of what's been happening lately, cancerwise.

Here is a list of bandaids we've collected so far:

-Rainbow unicorns

-Bacon

-Tattoos

-Devil duckies

-Spiderman

-Breast Cancer Awareness Ribbons

-Hello Kitty

On Monday, we went on a date to our favorite vegan restaurant (Chaco Canyon OMG SO DELICIOUS) and then to Cancer Care Alliance for a second opinion follow-up appointment. Cancer dates? SO fun! Who knew? We had the following conversations.

Before leaving the restaurant:

Roommate: We should probably head out soon if we want to find parking.

Me: Isn't there a garage?

Roommate: Yeah but you have to pay. Street parking is free.

Me: Wait a second. You have to pay for parking?

Roommate: Yeah?

Me: At CANCER CARE ALLIANCE?

Roommate: Yes?

Me: Wow. They really are a bunch of sum'bitches. You already have cancer and NOW you have to pay to park in their garage? Stay classy, CCA.

In the waiting room:

Me: This is cuuuushy.

Roommate's BFF: Right?

Me: HOLY CRAP. Those chairs over there recline!

RBFF: Seriously? Where?

Me: Over there! AND they have a view of Lake Union! And the SAILBOATS!

RBFF: We should sit in them!

Me: Do you think we have to have cancer to get a recline-y chair?

RBFF: No, I think they are for everyone.

Me: Alright, but if anyone eyeballs us, try to look sickly and stoic.

Roommate: (looking shocked)

Me: I didn't say YOU have to look sickly and stoic. You can just look pretty.

Roommate: Oh good.

Sitting in the recline-y chairs:

Me: This is LIVING.

RBFF: Agreed.

Roommate: (again with the shocked)

Me: PERSPECTIVE, LADY.

(A patient walks by and looks at us in the recline-y chairs.)

Me: (pretending to sneeze 43 times)

Roommate: And what was that?

Me: I pretended to sneeze. You know, because we are in the recline-y chairs.

Roommate: So you have cancer of the what?

Me: Sneezenodes?

Roommate: Nice.

In the exam room, talking with the Cancer Dream Team (CDT):

Roommate: I'm seriously considering asking you guys to take over my care plan.

CDT: It's a big decision. We do think we can help you and we encourage you to think about it.

Roommate: I'm getting such a good feel from you guys. You've been straight and honest with me and I like that.

RBFF: Yeah, I agree. Plus, you specialize in her specific type of cancer.

Me: I like the paintings in the waiting room. Oh, also! RECLINE-Y CHAIRS. I mean, sold, you know?

CDT: It's good to have a support system with priorities.

On the way out:

Me: Hey, Roommate? RBFF and I need you to do us a favor.

Roommate: Sure!

Me/RBFF: See, we really like two of the paintings in the waiting room. Will you steal them for us on the way out?

Roommate: Why me?

Me: Well, you know. You have The Cancer. So if they stop you, all you have to do is say you're going to use them in your imaging exercises or something. But if *we* try to take them, we're just the bitches who steal from a cancer waiting room

RBFF: Yeah. And we don't want to be THOSE bitches.

Me: Exactly.

I'm sure she was super thrilled she brought us along.

We got some very encouraging news from her appointment. Right now her body is responding to the medications she's been taking and we are still able to avoid chemo, which is exactly what we wanted to hear. Stage IV, yes, but the CDT is very encouraged by her progress so far.

It's a long road and she has a tough fight ahead of her. Regardless of the bumps we may face, I know one thing is for sure:

It's bunk that we would have to pay for parking.

I am a Nana

2010-10-11T23:15:00.000-07:00

Alternate title: It's Only Awkward if We Let it be Awkward

When I was in high school, I randomly developed this weird tic. Tick? Tic. It doesn't matter. The bottom line is I started laughing like a very very very old man. It was a strange phase, came on suddenly, lasted about a week, and left as quickly as it came. Out of nowhere, my laugh went from being cute and twinkly to hoarse and asthmatic and in the very back of my throat.

16 Year Old Alida: hahahahoarseweirdylaughhahaha

My BFF Jill: WHY THE HELL ARE YOU LAUGHING LIKE A GRANDPA?

It was actually kind of awesome. We still talk about it. My old BFF Jill and I talk twice a year; on her birthday (October 23rd) and on my birthday (January 23rd). She still mentions it.

My Old BFF Jill: Remember the time in high school where you started laughing like a grandpa for like a week?

Present Alida: YES. That was WEIRD.

I can't explain where it came from or why it happened but it was fast, it was odd, and it was fairly awesome.

This weekend I met my friend Sage for brunch. I missed his birthday and then had to cancel our raincheck plans and so, like any good friend would do, I forced the recent birthday boy out of bed at the ungodly hour of 10am to have brunch so I could celebrate his birthday right nice. I can't decide if the best part of brunch was our text exchange before he got to the restaurant:

Sage: (10:01a.m.) I am leaving the house on foot!

Me: (10:01a.m.) You are LATE.

Sage: You are a MORNING PERSON.

OR the fact that I invited my dear friend to brunch so we could celebrate his birthday and then had to say these words when the bill came: "Hey, um, happy birthday and everything but I'm going to have to treat you NEXT time. Ha. Hahahaha. Ha. Um. I'm classy with a K. Sorry. Budgetary issues. You know how it is. Um. Yeah. But I do. So HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

Luckily my friend is a class act and rolled with both the early rising and the klassy backtrack. I made up for it by driving him home and running upstairs to chat with his sister and hang for a bit. Our friend Super Cute Stephen (I might be the only one who calls him that) stopped by before I left and I enjoyed spending a bit of my morning with three delicious people.

Soon though, it was time for me to go. See, I moved again on Saturday. Not to a new house but into a new room in my current house. I went to dole out goodbye hugs to everyone and that's where things got tricky. Things were fine when I hugged Sage. My goodbye to his sister was nice but similarly uneventful. When I got to Super Cute Stephen? This is where things got interesting.

After I hugged SCS, I walked to my car and as I put my key in the ignition, I stopped for a moment and had a conversation with myself:

Alida to Alida: Huh. That was new.

At first I thought it was just because SCS is actually very S and very C AND very from Texas. Maybe I had a little crush, I decided, which would probably explain what had happened. I had bigger fish to fry/rooms into which I needed to move, so I couldn't waste time dwelling on a potentially awkward development. I put the incident out of my mind and went about my day.

The move went smoothly and I'm very happy in my new room. We could play badminton in my closet, y'all. Like, for real. Come over, bring your racket and your shuttlecock (heh) and we'll get a good volley going. Also, I moved the bed all by myself (two beds, if you're counting and WHY WOULDN'T YOU BE COUNTING?). I'm a badass.

After I finished the move and got my pictures hung and the floor swept and mopped (my new "hardwood" floors, that is), I had just enough time to get ready for Betty and Barc's Night of 1000 Tapas. I cannot even begin to describe to y'all how delicious each of those 1000 Tapas were. I love my friends. I love sitting in a warm house, delicious glass of moscato wine in hand, plate of FREAKING BACON DATES in front of me, surrounded by my Chosen Family. But you guys. Those BACON DATES. Barc put them out and I looked at him and asked, "Shout out?" and he winked. That guy. Oh that guy.

I'm choosing to believe it was my affection for that guy (Betty's guy) that caused the repeat of the Incident from earlier in the day. After many delicious tapas and a glass of wine, I was happy and full and ready to say my goodbyes. I thanked Barc for spending his day cooking and for the BACON DATES and then I hugged him and It happened again.

Weird.

Then I hugged my friend JoJo goodbye and it happened AGAIN AGAIN.

Weirder.

I shook my head, blamed the moscato wine, and headed out to my car. My car I had parked on a downhill slope. The same care that wouldn't start because it wouldn't register it had gas. Whoops.

So I went back inside and Ginger offered me a ride home when she decided to leave. I thanked her and poured myself a healthy glass of sweet tea vodka and lemonade, obviously, since I wasn't driving anymore.

After another hour of delicious fun, Ginger corralled her posse and off we went. The Incident didn't happen again for the rest of the night.

The next morning, I woke up at 8:30 and got dressed for brunch with Betty. She was picking me up so we could have pancakes and then deal with my car. As we drove to the restaurant, I was vaguely aware of being hungover. I also began to have vague recall of the previous day and the 3 Incidents that had occurred, which resulted in THIS happening at breakfast:

Betty: Talking about something I cannot remember right now.

Me: OMIGOD.

Betty: ???

Me: I have developed a potentially-awkward tic! Tick? Tic. IT DOESN'T MATTER.

Betty: ??

Me: I think I'm an Awkward Hugger!

Betty: How do you mean?

Me: Here, stand up. Let me demonstrate how I hugged three people yesterday.

Betty: Okay.

We both stood up and I showed her exactly how I had been behaving during hugs.

Betty: AAAUGH! THAT IS WEIRD!

Me: Shit.

Betty: And you hugged three people like that yesterday?

Me: YES. But at first I thought it was just because I have a small crush on SCS. But then I hugged Jen like that. AND YOUR BOYFRIEND!

Betty: OMIGOD! I saw you do that! I thought you guys were just having a sweet moment!

Me: WHY AM I LIKE THIS?

We couldn't decide if my new hugging style is super-endearing or super-strange. So I thought I would ask you, my dear and faithful readers.

Here's how it's going down. Picture a normal, sweet hug. Two people. I am one of them. My left arm goes around the other person's back, as per usual in a standard ordinary hug, with my left hand resting on the person's shoulder blade/back. But the right? That's where things are going awry. Instead of meeting the left arm and completing the hug, my right arm stretches up to the person's face and my right hand then CRADLES the person's cheek in an affectionate, grandmotherly way. And, while cradling the person's face, I am also pressing his or her face against my own. A little bit.

So I ask you all. Is it really awkward or is it endearingly affectionate? Am I being sweet and precious? Or am I kind of a nana? Or a great aunt. The crazy kind. With cats.

What say you?

(I can't leave off on this weird note, so here's a picture from tapas. You can see my new hair. Kind of.)

(Please still be my friend. Even though I might hug you in a way that makes you very uncomfortable.)

Survival Guide for the Brokenhearted

2010-10-07T14:45:00.000-07:00

This is the first in a multi-part series I've been working on for the last couple of months. Because there really should be a step by step guide to getting over a broken heart.

Dear Weepy Girl (or Guy),

A little while ago, you were in a relationship. You were in love. Maybe you and your guy/gal had been together for a long while. And maybe you were planning a future. Or maybe you'd only been together for a little while and you only hoped to plan a future. A little while ago, you were happy. And now you feel numb/heartbroken/alone/scared/cold.

I'm so sorry honey. It sucks. Please accept this virtual hug from a virtual stranger.

I know a little bit about being heartbroken. Eight months ago, my heart was broken. At the time, I didn't even know pain like that existed. One minute I was extremely happy, planning a future and nurturing a partnership. And then it was gone. There would be no more plans. No more partnership. Just me and my broken heart, curled up on the cold garage floor, surrounded by boxes. Having never experienced such pain, I had no idea how to navigate my way to the other side of heartbreak. Often, as I hid in my blankets, sobbing into my pillow, I wished for a guide to tell me how to make everything stop hurting so much.

Sadly, no such guide really exists. Even in this blog series, you won't find all the answers you need. I can't take away the hurt, honey. But I can offer you pieces of what helped me heal my heart. Some of these steps might not work for you. Maybe this whole post will be useless to you. But maybe that's not even the point. Maybe you just need to know that you aren't alone right now and that you will come out on the other end of this better, stronger, and capable of great love.

So to you, heartbroken one, I offer this, my Survival Guide for the Brokenhearted series. I will curl up with you on the bathroom floor, or the cold garage floor, or huddled on the sofa. You won't be alone. Together, we will get you through your breakup.

And you really, honestly, for suredly will be okay.

Believe me. Not too long ago I was exactly where you are. Sad, heartbroken, and completely unsure of what I was supposed to do next. And now? Now I am most assuredly happier today than I was on even the best day in my relationship.

We'll get you there too.

Love you. Mean it.

~Booyah

Phase One: The Breakup Fallout

This is the hardest part. This is the part where it just happened and you can't even believe how much your world has changed in the span of a few short moments. The only thing that worked for me during this time was crying. A lot, lot, LOT of crying. Crying into my pillows and on the phone with my sister/mom/best friend. Invest in Kleenex and don't worry if you can't eat a thing or even if you are eating everything in sight. This is the time for you to just nurture yourself. No calling yourself dumb or silly for being so upset. No telling yourself you should be stronger than this.

You shouldn't be. It sucks. Cry it out, sugar.

There will be lulls in the crying though. You need something for those lulls. For me, I filled those lulls with laughter. This is where Glee comes in. I watched every single Glee episode, over and over and over again. If Glee isn't your cup of tea (although, how could it not be?), then old episodes of Friends work just as well. How I Met Your Mother is also good. Essentially you need something cheery, mindless, and colorful. You need to see people laughing. You need to be reminded of a different emotion, something other than all-consuming sorrow and/or rage.

Whenever you feel a lull coming, set up your DVD player. Pull up an old episode of something awesome online. And then, right before you watch it, go outside for 10 minutes. I don't care if it's freezing, raining, dark, sunny, whatever. Go outside. Breathe in and out for as long as you can and keep repeating nurturing words to yourself. My words were, "I will wait for magic." Over and over and over again. "I. Will. Wait. For. Magic."

Do this, watch whatever show you want, and cry whenever you need to cry.

I'll meet you back here for Phase Two.

Oh, also? Here are two songs that helped me during the Breakup Fallout phase. Each song perfectly captures the feeling of the breakup fallout, while also promising hope and magic to come. Listen. Believe.

Mountain Goats: Woke Up New

Garfunkel and Oates: Silver Lining

A Conversation, A Story, and A List

2010-10-05T10:02:00.000-07:00

"Emotionally Unavailable"

FBL: Heeey! I want to set you up with a friend of mine.

Me: Yeah?

FBL: Yeah. I think you guys would get along really well. Are you interested?

Me: I don't know. I'm in a weird place right now with dating.

FBL: What do you mean?

Me: Well, it's like I have no energy for dating. This is going to make me sound awful but I really have no interest in getting to know a new boy.

FBL: Are you emotionally unavailable?

Me: I don't know. Does "emotionally unavailable" mean I don't care what you do for a living, I don't want to know how many siblings you have or if you are close to your parents, I don't give a crap about your hopes and dreams, I just want your tongue in my mouth?

FBL: Yes.

Me: Then that is what I am.

"Romance at the DMV"

I got my new driver's license yesterday. Finally. See, I hate parking downtown so I kept avoiding doing it. There's a licensing place near my house but I can only go to them on Saturdays and then I'd wake up Saturday morning and go to brunch with Betty or toast with J instead. But yesterday! Yesterday I finally decided to hop a bus and head downtown and get my new license with my new name.

It was an adventure, y'all. In the 45 minutes I was at the licensing office, I overheard two 20somethings talking about cooking meth, a lady offered me pot and a swig from her flask, and a very old, very drunk, most likely crazy man sat next to me and told me I smelled lovely and that he wanted to marry me. And also he loved me. In Jesus' name.

Amen.

(I am now drunk, baked, engaged, converted, and considering a new career in chemistry.)

And my new license picture? Eeshk. The guy took my picture and it came up on his screen and he said, "Hm. It's a little scrunchy. Do you want to take it again?" and I was all, "Nah, I'm sure it's fine." WHY DID I SAY THAT? If the DMV guy offers you a retake, you TAKE THE RETAKE.

So now I have a picture that looks like I'm both confused about what I'm doing but willing to smile fakely anyway. It goes well with my passport photo, in which I'm curling my lip, Elvis-style.

"Five Latelies"

5) Baby Girl and I went to the aquarium last week and took a bus home. She charmed everyone by pulling down my shirt and shouting, "BOOBS!!" And then she charmed me when we got home because I asked her what song we should listen to and she shouted, "RENEGADE!!!" Baby Girl loooves Styx. And shouting.

4) I'm taking a break from coffee and am drinking jasmine green tea in the morning instead, prompting the guys at Neptune to worry and ask me 3 times this morning if I am sure I'm okay.

3) I wore one of my favorite dresses on Friday night. It has pockets. I had a dream last night it shrunk and now would only fit my sister (who is T-I-N-Y). I was heartbroken about this until just right this minute when I realized it had honestly only been a dream and I can still wear my favorite dress with pockets whenever I want.

2) Halloween plans are in full effect. The question is do I go as Like a Virgin Madonna or Like a Prayer Madonna?

1) I need a new karaoke jam. I'm torn between "Pour Some Sugar On Me" and "Cherry Pie." Thoughts?

I Will Love

2010-10-04T17:19:00.000-07:00

Fall is here, y'all. Do you know how much I love fall? The weather starts to cool down, the leaves change color, and kabocha squash and pumpkins take over my dreams.

Saturday night I went to a dinner party. Some of my favorite people gathered around a feast of butternut squash risotto and candied sweet potatoes. I made a kabocha squash coffee cake with a maple glaze. We talked and laughed and, raising our mugs of warm mulled wine, toasted the changing seasons and welcomed fall. I was warm and toasty, surrounded by chosen family, wrapped in a cocoon of love. And I realized something amazing.

My wish came true, y'all. My life is overflowing with magic. In a few months I will be 30 and I am the happiest I've been in over 2 years. I moved to Seattle because I had a feeling I belonged here. I was right. In the time I've been here, I've been amazingly fortunate to gather an incredible chosen family, people who make me happy and challenge me to be better, be different, try new things.

The season isn't the only thing changing. I felt a shift on Saturday night, while I was snuggled on the sofa with Jasers and K, Boz and Barc, comparing socks and discussing whether my dress was a first date dress or a third date dress. My adjustment period is over. When I moved to Seattle, I was scared and excited, tentative and unsure. I did the best I could, experienced some sadness and some miracles, made mistakes and learned how to cope with the fallout. But I've gotten my bearings now. I have a healthy sense of realism. I know shit happens. And I know I'll deal with it, even if I don't know how, at first. But shit is temporary and contentment, happiness, magic? Those are the things I choose. Those are the things I hold with me at all times.

So it's time for a shift. It's time for more. It's time for challenges and exploration. As I move forward to my 30th birthday, my goal is to end my 29th year, easily my most difficult year so far, better than I was when it started. I will be better. I will be stronger. And I will give back the love that has been given to me. I will send my magic out into the Universe and into the lives of my chosen family.

And most importantly, I will LOVE.

I'm ready for this shift. I'm ready for scarves and orange leaves, hot tea and caramel rolls, pumpkins and halloween costumes.

Because fall magic? It's really just the very best kind of all.

On Cowboys, Burritos, Heartbreak, and Texas Forever

2010-10-04T08:57:00.001-07:00

Hey y'all! I'm guest posting today at The Nerd's blog. Head on over to read my post!

Germany Part Four

2010-09-28T18:47:00.000-07:00

So we left off in the train station, where I was waiting for UULL while I took pictures of myself trying to look chagrined and further endeared myself to the German people.

UULL found me and we enjoyed a delicious dinner of doner, a shaved, roasted meat in a delicious pita with tzatziki. Then we headed up to rent a car for our road trip (ROAD TRIP!!) to Austria. We had discovered it was way less expensive to rent a standard, so I took on the responsibility of driving. Which means I got to drive on the Autobahn. I was a bad. Ass.

Did I mention it was raining? Like, crazy raining? And we were on the Autobahn? Where people drive 400 kph?

Yeah. Again. BAD ASS.

The drive was dark, rainy, terrifying, but eventually we made it to our hotel in Mayrhofen. We checked in and then settled in to watch a movie and get some rest.

The next morning, UULL woke up early and took some beautiful pictures of our view:

We got dressed, ate a delicious breakfast of fresh bread, butter, jam, and muesli, and then headed off to do a morning hike around Mayrhofen. Unfortunately, I forgot my inhalator in Munich and my assmar couldn't handle the thin air of the Austrian Alps. Still, I was with UULL, who made the most of our "hike" and took these pictures:

And then we found a group of rafters getting ready to launch their raft in the river. I got SO EXCITED because I looooove white water rafting. I kept shoving UULL and shouting in her ear, "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH FUN THEY ARE ABOUT TO HAVE? THEY ARE ABOUT TO HAVE SO MUCH FUN! BECAUSE THEY ARE GOING WHITE WATER RAFTING! LOOK AT THEM GO! DO YOU THINK THEY KNOW HOW MUCH FUN THEY ARE ABOUT TO HAVE??"

We wandered through the village, trying to decide what to do with our day since the hike was off. We decided to do some famous drive, the name of which I of course CANNOT REMEMBER, but who cares because it meant I got to drive the tiny little standard again! And you guys. The drive? It was beautiful:

We drove and drove and stopped for pictures and then drove some more.

And then we stopped for weinerschnitzel. Ooooh so tasty.

After our lunch, we continued up, up, up into the Alps. And then it got rainier. And darker. And foggier. And scarier. And the road got curvier. Check this shit out:

We eventually had to admit defeat and turn around and drive back to Mayrhofen. I was terrified I was going to drive us off the mountain and into craggy rocks below.

When we got back to our little village, we relaxed and got dressed for dinner. Please to notice the decor in the restaurant:

I cannot remember what I had for dinner (I remember it was not delicious) but I definitely remember the apfel strudel I had for dessert:

Oooooh, y'all. So so so tasty.

After we'd eaten more strudel than anyone has any business eating, we lugged ourselves back to the hotel and discussed our plans for the next day. It was here where we decided to take a random and totally spontaneous day trip to...

A place I will tell you about next time.

This was my favorite part of the entire Europe trip, y'all. The time in the car with UULL was priceless to me. Roadtrips can make or break a friendship and UULL and I will be friends for our whole lives after the roadtrip we shared.

New Roommates and Boogie Nights

2010-09-27T22:00:00.001-07:00

We've had some new tenants move into our house. Please meet the newest additions of our home:

They have special battle horns, y'all. Normally they battle each other but not here. Not in our house. No, here at our house they are battling this sucker:

See that guy? That's the Cancer. And the Unicorn and the Narwhal have joined forces and combined their mad skillz to battle the Cancer. Did you know that Unicorns and Narwhals have magical battle horns? And that those horns have special magical powers? Like, the Unicorn can shoot rainbows. And temporarily blind enemies. The Narwhal can conjure sea creatures. SEA CREATURES, Y'ALL.

This is what's been happening lately. We've been busy doing battle. Fighting like hell and doing lots of battle. We've seen miracles, see. Unicorns and Narwhals are natural enemies. But now? Now they have united against the Cancerous Devil Ducky. And they are battling together.

That Cancerous Devil Ducky doesn't stand a damn chance in hell.

Spirits are good here, guys. Spirits are high and we've been given some hope. Small pieces of hope that, we pray, will add up to an even more miraculous whole. We're going one day at a time, one dr's appt at a time, and in between, we watch the Unicorn and the Narwhal do battle.

Other things that have been going on:

-Preparing for a trip to Texas. Toommate (beloved, dear Toommate, she of the crackles and sage dating wisdom) is getting married. And I will be there as she walks down the aisle and also to support her the best way I know how. Which is by eating wedding cake. A LOT of wedding cake. You are welcome, Toommate.

-Celebrating. There has been a lot of celebrating. There was Jaser's birthday and a beautiful wedding reception for beautiful friends. There was celebrating last night when a dear, wonderful, super important to me friend shared some dear, wonderful, super exciting news. There is a lot of lovefulness floating around right now.

-Hair changes. My hair is dark now, with streaks of lighter brown and a few sections of bright, neon red. Just for fun. I have zero good pictures. This is more sad for you than it is for me. You know, because I have a mirror and all. But it looks awesome. And eventually I'll get a good picture. For you.

-I went to a UW game, my first college game that took place outside the state of Texas. And y'all. Y'AAAAAALLLLL. Can I just tell you that other colleges are doing college football WRONG. They are messing it up! People were sitting during GAME PLAY. SITTING. Like, on their asses while their team had possession of the ball, sitting. And I turned into a huge football snob, elbowing J every 10 minutes to whisper, "If we were in Texas right now..." and "Well, in Texas, this would be like..."

Amazingly he is still my friend.

So much so that he went with me to see Boogie Nights at Central Cinema. I'd never seen it, you see. I was scarred by it at a younger age, back in college. My parents decided to watch it one night when I had a babysitting gig, but I got home in the middle of the movie. My stepdad sent me to my room and told me not to come out until they said it was okay. Apparently the movie wasn't appropriate for children. Even 20-year-old college student children. WHO WOULD NOT EVEN WANT TO WATCH IT WITH HER PARENTS ANYWAY.

So. Off I went to Central Cinema with J, to see Boogie Nights for the first time. Afterwards, we had this conversation:

Me: Wow.

J: It was a prosthetic, you know.

Me: No way. He's Marky Mark.

J: Still a prosthetic.

Me: You're wrong, sir.

J: Yeah? How do you know?

Me: HOW DO YOU THINK HE COLLECTED HIS FUNKY BUNCH??

Logic, y'all. I haz it.

I've missed you guys. I always miss you when I'm away. But I've been reading your blogs (and sucking in the comments department) and loving you from afar. Have no fear though! I'm aclose again!

You know, just better armed this time. With Unicorn. And Narwhal. And their battle horns.

And also the sight of Marky Mark's junk which is now BURNED INTO MY BRAIN.

What's new with y'all?

Quiet

2010-09-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

I've been quiet this week. There are posts to be finished; the Germany saga, a series on surviving a broken heart, posts about losing weight and finding motivation. Those posts require a lot of words and yet, I find myself quiet.

I feel like my words have dried up. Because of other words that have recently come up in our household. Words that my roommate has had to say to me. Words like cancer. Stage IV. Lungs. Hip bones. Spine. Non-operable. Radiation. Chemo. Crummy words.

So forgive me, please, for being a little quiet right now. I have no words yet to express what has been happening. And instead of trying to force words, I've been watching movies with my roommate. Making fun of Ethan Hawke for being the biggest tool in "Before Sunrise," while agreeing that we'd have been in love with his douchey-self 15 years ago. Making plans for more fun and adventures. And doing my crying at the gym, on the treadmill, hoping it just looks like sweat dripping down my cheeks.

Right now it is time to be quiet. Maybe tomorrow I will find some words.

Because

2010-09-10T10:23:00.001-07:00

Because it's Friday.

Because yesterday a lot of sad things happened to a lot of good people.

Because we spent last night drinking red wine with our neighbors.

Because it's rainy in Seattle.

Because sometimes we all need a little cheering up.

Because I love the baristas at Neptune Coffee.

Because I love you guys.

Because I love the gays.

Because DADT was declared unconstitutional.

Because we all need a bit of magic right now.

Because this video makes me so freaking happy.

But mostly because I love you guys.

Happy Friday, happy weekend, happy thoughts.

(Caution Erica: bad words in this song; do not play in front of kiddos!)

The Girl who was Bad at Picture Taking

2010-09-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

If you've been reading my Germany recaps, you'll no doubt have noticed the lack of pictures. That's because I suck at remembering to pull out the camera. By day 5, I realized I'd taken 5 pictures. YOU GUYS. That averages to one picture per day. (Aren't you glad you have me here to do the maths for you?)

Upon realizing this (while standing in a Munich train station, waiting for UULL), I felt extremely ashamed. Sheepish. CHAGRINED, even.

The result of those feelings? This. Here. For you.

Please to enjoy while you wait for the rest of the Germany recaps. (Warning: there's some music in this, so if you're at work, you might want to turn the volume all the way up so you can watch my slide show AND start a dance party in the office. You? Are WELCOME.)

(Also, if you are viewing this in your reader, you can't see my awesome slideshow. Come on over to the actual blog to view. C'mon. You know you want to. It'll be FUN.)

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Germany Part Three

2010-09-07T09:53:00.000-07:00

Day 5:

This was the day I'd been nervously anticipating. Munich is only a 30 minute train ride away from Dachau and, even though I knew it would be very emotional experience, I was more certain I would regret not going. So I woke up Thursday morning, put on my brave pants (actually, my brave black leggings) and headed off to Dachau. And, unlike my previous entries, I actually have a lot to share with you about the history and details of what I saw there.

Dachau was the first concentration camp opened in Germany. It was located at an abandoned munitions factory and opened in 1933. Officially, Dachau was an internment camp for political prisoners. Later, it would be known as a work camp, distinguishing it from the extermination camps set up later during the war (Auschwitz, Treblinka, etc.). It is estimated between 200,000 and 500,000 prisoners died at Dachau, although you'll hear different numbers from different sources. The camp was established as a memorial site in the 60s and was reworked in 2003.

The Holocaust has always been a tricky subject for me. I first learned about the Holocaust when I was 7. I was reading a Judy Blume book called "Starring Sally J. Freedman, as Herself," a book about a little Jewish girl in America. The book was set at the end of WWII and opened with a parade celebrating the end of the war. Still, the little girls in the book couldn't forget the stories they had heard and played games like "Concentration Camp", where one of them would be given fake soap and sent to the showers, which they knew were actually gas chambers. That book scared the hell out of me. I want to say I was too young to understand or process that kind of information, but I'm nearly 30 now and I still don't know how to process the things I've learned about the Holocaust.

When you arrive at Dachau, you follow the same path the prisoners took into the camp. I chose to skip the guided tour and purchased an audio guide so I could go at my own pace. For a long time, I just walked the camp grounds, trying to imagine the people who had walked where I was walking, who died where I was standing. I visited the rebuilt barracks and tried to imagine daily life in such close quarters. I spent hours in the museum, reading and re-reading the panels of information, the history and the stories about individual prisoners. I walked to the crematorium but could not force myself to go inside. I wasn't brave enough and I regret being such a wimp.

I spent hours at Dachau and then I sat by the entrance and tried to process what I'd seen. I couldn't. I still can't.

When Slim and I were together and I was studying Judaism, he eventually had to ask me to skip the parts in the books that covered the Holocaust, because I would get so sad, have horrible dreams, and the books would end up in the freezer. I didn't listen to him though. I can't pretend I don't know what happened, or that it never happened. And that's ultimately why I visited Dachau. I didn't want to avoid it because it is so extremely horrifying; I felt obligated to honor those who died by seeing it with my own eyes, by being able to say the words, "I walked where you walked. I opened my eyes and looked."

After my visit, I turned on my iPod and listened to Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea." It's my favorite album by any band of all time, the one album I would choose to have on a deserted island. It also was inspired by a dream about Anne Frank and has many references to WWII and the Holocaust. It is both a supreme comfort and heartbreaking and I always told myself I would listen to it after visiting a concentration camp, something that had been on my bucket list for many years.

I wish I had better words to explain how it felt and what I saw. I wish I could honor those who died. I can't. All I can do is say that I saw it. I was there and it was real and I saw it.

---

I think that's enough for now; next time I'll continue with Day 5. I just want to let these words stand on their own for now.

(If you'd like to see pictures or learn more, here's the Wiki entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dachau_concentration_camp)

Alida Bit Moore Loveful

2010-09-06T20:44:00.000-07:00

I have news, y'all. My name change? Officially official.

The week I left for Germany, I received a letter from my grandaddy. Mom had told him about my name change and he wanted to let me know how delighted he was that I was leaving behind the bad memories and moving forward with our centuries-old, honorable family name. I woke up in the middle of the night, holding his letter in my hand. And then, two weeks ago, I clutched his letter tightly in my left hand as I raised my right hand, stood before a judge, and categorically and unequivocally separated myself from the father who chose to miss out on knowing me.

Twenty minutes later, Alida Moore walked out of the King County Courthouse and into the sunshine.

(And then, you know, updated my Facebook.)

I just wanted to share my lovefulness with y'all. Changing my name has been more than symbolic. I feel lighter. Shedding extremely heavy emotional baggage will do that to you. It feels amazing. I get a thrill every time I see my new name in print; I've been practicing my new signature on every scrap piece of paper I can find. And I'm carrying my new name with the confidence and kindness required of a Moore.

We're thoroughbreds, you see.

(Finishing the Germany series this week; stay tuned!)

Germany Part Two

2010-08-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

Day 2, 3, and 4

When I woke up Monday morning, UULL had left me a very long list of suggestions for my day, including walking directions and train directions to a bunch of attractions, proving again that UULL is probably one of the greatest hosts a person could have.

After a quick cup of tea, I got dressed and hit the pavement for my first day alone in Munich. I wandered back to the main square, Marienplatz (Mary's Square). I went to the tourist center and bought a map and then headed to the English Garden, the largest urban park in the world. On my way, I found a very pretty little park with fountains and gravel pathways.

I did not take any pictures of this park.

When I reached the English Garden, I walked all the way to the end of the river, where a wave machine-thing was going and people were actually surfing. It was fairly awesome. I took off my shoes and found a soft spot in the grass and sat in the park for nearly the entire afternoon, people-watching, which is my favorite thing to do in a strange city.

I did not take any pictures. I had the camera in my bag and totally forgot I had the camera in my bag and thusly totally forgot to take pictures.

Here's the big lesson I learned on day 2: I do not really enjoy traveling by myself. This was a HUGE surprise, as I am a girl who values being by myself. I enjoy my own company. But put me in a strange city, in a foreign culture, and I get very shy. I was so afraid of being the dumb American tourist that I didn't eat until 3:00 that day, just because I didn't want to go into a cafe and make myself look like a fool. Also, when traveling, I like sharing the experience with someone. As I wandered Munich, I kept wishing my sister was there because she and I have never really visited a foreign country together, just the two of us, and it would have been so fun to see the sights with her.

Finally, my hunger got the best of me and I found a grocery store near UULL's flat. A grocery store seemed WAY less intimidating (and way less expensive) than a cafe. Plus, BUENO BARS. (Bueno bars are my favorite candy bar in the entire world. Chocolate covered wafer pockets filled with creamy hazelnut goodness. Um, YES PLEASE.) After I grabbed lunch, I hiked the FIVE FREAKING FLIGHTS OF STAIRS to UULL's flat and took a little nap.

UULL came home and made us a tasty dinner of burgundy mushrooms and toast with ricotta. Then we took a walk back to the English Garden and had a beer in the beer garden. Because UULL was there, photographic evidence of this excursion actually exists:

When we got home (after stopping for more ice cream at Balla Beni), UULL and I decided I would take a train to Salzburg the next day to see all the Sound of Music sights. Sadly, that plan was derailed when I woke up at 4am with a terrible headache. Instead of seeing if the hills really are alive with the sound of music, I spent the day in and out of bed, dozing and reading. I did manage a walk in the late afternoon Munich sunshine, which was nice. UULL came home and made us a tasty bean salad for dinner. And we managed to take a walk back to Balla Beni for more delicious ice cream. Headache or no, I will never turn down Balla Beni's bitter chocolate ice cream. SO delicious.

After a good night of sleep, I woke up the next morning feeling much better and excited for a trip to Salzburg. I jumped on the train and enjoyed a beautiful 2 hour train ride to Salzburg. The official Sound of Music tour was 37 Euro, which is about $50, which is about RIDICULOUS and waaaay out of my budget, so UULL circled all the main sights on a map so I could do a sort of self-guided Sound of Music tour. My first stop was the fountain where Maria and the kids sang Do Ra Mi.

AND I took a picture! Check me out, for crying out loud:

I spent the rest of the day wandering around Salzburg, browsing shops, enjoying the booths at the farmers market, and hiking up to some sort of famous fortress. I cannot remember the name of this fortress. I also didn't take any pictures of this fortress. But it was very cool.

I DID take a picture of the river in Salzburg:

See up at the top righthand corner of that picture? That's that fortress I visited. It was neat. Maybe someday UULL will tell us all what that fortress is called!

I also definitely spent the entire day listening to the soundtrack of the Sound of Music on my iPod. Cliche? Yes. Awesome? OBVI.

After a looooong train ride back to Munich, I hiked the FIVE FREAKING FLIGHTS OF STAIRS back up to UULL's flat, just in time to meet her for dinner. We had delicious curried sausage and a tasty salad, followed of course by Balla Beni. We were both tired after our days, so we snuggled up in her living room and watched a movie before bed.

The next day, we would leave for Austria. First though, I would spend the morning/afternoon at Dachau.

Germany Part One

2010-08-29T20:51:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the delay in the Germany series; I've been working a LOT lately and between the babies and the sleeping and the spending as much time with my friends as possible, my little lovely blog has been neglected.

I left for Germany early in the morning on Saturday, August 8th. I packed a backpack full of sundresses and my hiking boots and a book on German culture Betty Nebraska loaned me. I apparently also packed my sex drive because I could not stop wanting to touch all the cute boys I saw in the airport and on the various airplanes. Seriously y'all. On the first flight (Seattle to Pittsburgh), I sat next to a very sleepy, very cute boy. We will call him Sleepy Cute Boy. SCB spent nearly the whole flight asleep, save the few moments he was alert enough to be snarky with me about OCD Flight Attendant (who yelled at me for putting my empty water bottle in the seat pocket. And who also yelled at another passenger for requesting a Coke during the water/oj service). SCB and I made fun of OCDFA and bonded and then SCB went back to sleep. He kept putting his head down on his tray table and I kept having to stop myself from scratching his back/playing with his hair.

I have no idea why.

I contained myself and we landed in Pittsburgh without incident (and by incident, I obviously mean inappropriate touching). I rushed to the international terminal and prayed for an aisle seat next to someone to whom I was NOT super attracted.

I got an aisle seat.

Across the aisle from me was a very cute, very muscular-arm-y boy. We will call him Cute Arm Boy. CAB kept stretching his extremely sexy arms back toward me. And I had to pinch myself (honestly) to keep from touching his muscles. Then he stood up and I saw he had a chin dimple and I very nearly made out with him right there in the aisle. Instead, I decided to spend the entire 8 hour (overnight) flight watching movies on the screen in front of me. There were two Nicholas Sparks movies to choose from (among all the other movies offered), so I went with the Miley Cyrus Nicholas Sparks movie. It was, as expected, terrible. That girl sounds like she's been smoking her entire life. AND she can't sing. OR act. And then Greg Kinnear was on the screen and I was all, "Greg Kinnear! What are you DOING? You were in Grandaddy's movie. You played Bruce Crandall, for Christ sake. HAVE SOME SELF-RESPECT, MAN." But then stupid Nicholas Sparks worked his stupid, predictable, formulaic magic and I found myself sobbing. And wanting to go sit on CAB's lap. You know, for comfort.

Eleventeen movies (and zero inappropriate touching) later, we landed in Munich and I found Urmy outside of baggage claim. We had a happy reunion and grabbed a train to her apartment. After a quick walking tour of her neighborhood and a stop at the bakery for some fresh bread, Urmy Urmy La La surprised me with the not-so-happy-news that her apartment was on the 5th floor of a building with zero elevator. And then she bounded up all five flights of stairs while I huffed and puffed and glared and cursed my out-of-shape-lungs/body.

At this point, it was 11am in Germany and God only knew what time in Seattle. I was a sleepy girl (since I had slept zero amounts on any of the airplanes since I just really CANNOT sleep on airplanes. The flight attendant who gave me coffee at 5am scolded me and then gave me some chocolate to help my sugar rush). Urmy Urmy La La (UULL) handed me a towel and told me to shower while she made us some delicious frittata for brunch. Some hot water and a cup of coffee later, I felt more human and we began to plan the week. First on the agenda was a nap but I made UULL promise to wake me up in two hours so we could go explore.

Three hours (and a couple wake up attempts by UULL) later, I finally rolled out of bed, bleary and clumsy and not so ready to take Munich by storm. UULL made me some tea and we planned our trip to Austria while I blinked my way into awake. Once I felt more alert, we changed into real clothes and set out on a tour of her city.

Things we saw: I cannot remember what anything was called, nor did I remember to take any pictures. (Please to note: this is going to be a recurring theme in the Germany recaps, at least until I get to the part where UULL and I went to Austria. UULL is a great photographer and took a bunch of lovely photos. Until then, you're stuck with lame semi-memories from me. Hahahahaha...ha..ha...ha.)

We walked by some really great buildings. And we saw some sculptures. And we saw Nazi monuments that had been allowed to be covered with overgrowth of leaves and vines. And we saw a balcony where Hitler gave speeches. And we saw the memorial to everyone killed by the Nazis (a torch that is always burning). I am certain all of these things have names. I cannot remember a damn one.

Dear UULL: If you are reading this, please to leave a comment with specifics. Thanks so much. ;)

We walked to one of the main squares and went into a beautiful Catholic church, where we sat in a pew and marveled at the intricate sculptures surrounding the pulpit. I also lit a candle and said a prayer for Grandaddy, as I do whenever I go into a Catholic church in a city I am visiting. We walked through an outdoor mall with vines hanging from the ceiling and did some window shopping. And then we grabbed some beer at a table outdoors before running indoors when we realized it was probably going to rain. We enjoyed our beer and had a delicious dinner of sausage and sauerkraut and potatoes and dumplings with a delicious gravy. Then we walked back to UULL's neighborhood and had ice cream at Balla Beni, which we would do every single night in Munich. And OH MY GOD. It was the best ice cream I've ever had in my entire life ever. So good. They give you a reasonably-sized scoop in a conecup AND give you a much smaller taste-scoop of another flavor of your choosing, so you can try something new but not commit to it. Brilliant marketing strategy.

After our ice cream deliciousness, we wandered back to UULL's flat and braved those damn FIVE FLIGHTS OF STAIRS again. I then collapsed into bed and slept for nearly 10 hours, awaking the next morning well-rested and ready for my first full day in Munich.

Which I will tell you about in the next post.

UPDATE: UULL left specifics! Thanks, lady!

Re: specifics...
a torch that is always burning = Platz der Opfer des Nationalsozialismus --> http://www.muenchen.de/Tourismus/Sehenswuerdigkeiten/Plaetze/353274/platzderopferdesnationalsozialismus.html

one of the main squares = Odeonsplatz --> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odeonsplatz

a beautiful Catholic church = Theatinerkirche --> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theatine_Church,_Munich

outdoor mall with vines hanging from the ceiling = Fünf Höfe --> http://www.toytowngermany.com/wiki/F%C3%BCnf_H%C3%B6fe

beer at a table outdoors before running indoors = Augustiner am Dom --> http://www.augustineramdom.de/de/Ueber_uns.htm

Love Cocoon

2010-08-19T09:28:00.000-07:00

I'm back! I got back to Seattle late Sunday night and as I walked out of the airport to wait for my lovely friend Lirpa to drive up in Blueberry, the little Mazda that could, I was hit with a blast of hot air the likes of which Seattle rarely feels.

Weather foul, Seattle. Also? I left you cool. I expect to return from a long trip and have you be exactly how I left you. Thankfully, the hot weather only lasted another two days and now we're back to 70s and cloudy. My favorite. (Well, favorite summer weather. I'm a 50s and cloudy girl all the way in the winter.)

Germany was WONDERFUL. I have so much to tell y'all and so many pictures to share. (Pictures I didn't take. Because I'm ridiculous. More on that later.)

I'll get to the Europe posts soon enough but for now I just wanted to pop in and say a quick hello. I'm working on recovering from my trip, trying to adjust back to Seattle time (as my body still thinks it's on Munich time) and settle back into my routine with the babies. PS: Somehow Baby Girl turned into a little valley girl while I was gone. Now, when I tell her we're going to change activities, the conversation goes like this:

Me: Hey Baby Girl, it's time to go eat lunch!

Baby Girl: (puts her hand on her hip and tilts her head) Lunch! Come on! OOOO-KAY! Like yeah!

Me: ???

BG: Come on, Leela, okay? Like, YEAH! FIST BUMP!

And then she bumps her tiny little fist against mine and blows it up and my heart melts and we go on about our day.

I had such a wonderful trip but I'm also so glad to be back. I've spent the week reconnecting with my friends and spending my evenings with the people who make me happiest. Summer is so different as an adult. When I was a kid, summer was the time that I saw my friends nearly every single day. Now, as adults, we're all traveling and running around in different directions during the summer, so we don't see each other as much. Summer is beginning to wind down and we're all coming back together again, which is so lovely.

Last night, after dinner-coffee with Betty Nebraska, I went over to Brady's house. I love living in the same neighborhood as my friends. Spur of the moment visits didn't happen when I was living so far north. So it was extra sweet last night to randomly decide to go spend time with one of my favorite girls. We pulled a blanket onto the front lawn and bundled up in warm socks and leggings and snuggled with Moo while we giggled about everything in the world. Then Jasers and JoJo came home and snuggled onto the blanket with us and the four of us expanded our little circle of love. As I sat there with some of the people I love most in the world, part of my ChosenFamily, I just felt so incredibly lucky.

And it continues tonight, as I prepare to have a low key evening in with K. I can't wait to curl up on her big purple sofa, nestle into the oversized pillows with a glass of wine, and catch up on everything going on in our lives while we nibble on pasta and salad and bread.

The more time I spend with the people who make me happiest, the more renewed I feel. My happiness is being multiplied daily and even the other, more crummier stuff that has happened in the last couple of days hasn't been able to harsh my love-buzz. I'll deal with it and move forward. It's growth, y'all. I used to cocoon myself in blankets when crummy things happened. Now I cocoon myself in love.

And believe me. A love-cocoon is a hundred times warmer and a bazillion times safer.

Germany stories to come soon! Love you all!

Auf Wiedersehen

2010-08-06T21:29:00.000-07:00

It's time for a new adventure, Deutsch-style! My flight leaves early tomorrow morning. I'll travel to Philly and then from there, hop an overnight flight to Munich, where I'll kick it in a dirndl and drink lots of beers. I'm going to swim and play and hike and eat sausage and maybe even make out with foreign stranger. (A girl can dream.) I'm even going to jaunt off to the Austrian Alps for a couple days. The hiking boots are packed, along with my favorite sundresses and a very old, very cranky digital camera. I'm SO ready for this adventure and can't wait to spend the week with the gorgeous Urmy Urmy La La.

I'll see y'all back here in a little over a week, hopefully full of stories about the dirndls and the sausage and the making out.

Tschuss!

Magic

2010-08-05T21:24:00.000-07:00

I made a wish tonight.

The sun was just starting to go down, the air was cool, and so I laced up my sneakers and Moo and I headed out to the trails near my house. As we followed the path, winding around trees, along a bridge over a stream, I practiced my deep breathing. Deep inhales and long exhales. And as we walked, the woods grew thicker and the houses disappeared as we went deeper and deeper into the forest. Then suddenly, we were in a small grove of tall trees, a little open pocket in the dense woods.

I moved to Seattle three summers ago. Throughout that first summer, I felt so many things: exhilarated by my boldness in moving across the country, thrilled with the possibilities of my new city, and overwhelmingly homesick for what I left behind. So every night, I would leash up the Moo and we'd hit the sidewalk, walking from Wallingford to Fremont to Queen Anne and back again. On these walks, I sorted out my emotions and found my words. Sometimes there were tears. Sometimes I couldn't stop grinning. And always, I would breathe deeply and take in the fresh, clean, green scent and memorize the sights, sounds, and smell of my new world.

Tonight, when I found that small grove in the forest, that green scent invaded my senses and I was hit with an intense feeling of deja vu. Everything I felt three years ago came rushing back and, overwhelmed, I sat and marveled at all that has happened since. I felt overwhelmingly proud of my past self for taking this risk, being this bold, and pushing forward even when things were difficult. I felt no sadness; on the contrary, I experienced a sweet moment of love for myself for being brave.

As I sat in the shade of the trees around me, watching Moo explore our surroundings, I offered the Universe a small prayer of gratitude for the lessons I've learned and the growth I've experienced. Deep breath in . . . thank you . . . long exhale out. Over and over again.

The sky had begun to get dark, so I gathered myself and, whispering one final word of thanks, I stood up and called Moo back to my side. We turned and started home. As we followed the path, I noticed a cluster of dandelions and grabbed one, because when you see a cluster of dandelions, you must grab one and make a wish and blow. I closed my eyes super tight and concentrated and whispered, "I wish for Magic." And that's when I felt them, you guys. The Crackles. In that moment that was already perfect, I felt the promise of something to come. Something big. Something wonderful. My heart filled with joy and I actually giggled. Here's the thing: I know my wish is going to come true. Because you know why?

So many other wishes already have.

Deep breath in . . . thank you . . . long exhale out.

Loveful, Peaceful, Breatheful

2010-08-03T06:23:00.000-07:00

This is my new necklace; I bought it to celebrate my upcoming trip to Germany. I heart Etsy. And birdzNbeez. Go there. Shop. My photog friends might like something like this.

It's Tuesday, which is technically my Monday, and I've been up for nearly an hour, trying to ease myself away from sleepiness and into awake-y-ness. I've been house/petsitting for the last two weeks and today is my last day. I wanted to make sure to have time this morning to wash sheets and towels, because there's nothing like coming home for a long trip and climbing into a freshly made bed. The plants are watered, the dogs are fed, the dishwasher emptied, and the floors and counters freshly washed.

And I've been spoiled rotten by all this solitude.

I forgot how much I loved living by myself. No matter how great my roommates are, no matter how much I love sharing space with someone else, nothing beats being able to come home, close the door behind you, and know nobody else is coming through that door. You know, unless you invited them. I've been able to really relax, and breathe, and think, and rest. Apparently I've been holding my breath for a long time.

My Nannyversary is coming up soon. It will happen while I'm in Germany so my bosses took me out to breakfast on Friday. They gave me two tickets to see Cyndi Lauper at the zoo and a gift certificate to a neighborhood store. I love my job. I love my babies. And I love their parents. We all just kind of sat there, marveling at how these once-4 month old babies were now over a year old, doing a bit of walking, a bit of talking, and definitely a lot of growing up. When the parents all went to work, the babies and I played extra, read a few more books than usual, because I know that I'll blink and they'll be in preschool, and that someday I won't be their nanny, and I'm not ready for that to happen yet.

Baby Boy's mom came home at 1pm on Friday and handed me an iced latte and told me to hurry up and go because I had a massage appointment waiting for me and a paid afternoon off to enjoy. There was an Alida-shaped hole in the wall before she even finished her sentence. I freaking love massages. And I miss managing the day spa because I no longer get regular massages. I love being snuggled in the warm sheets while someone with soothing tones and a lilting voice massages out the stress and bad energy. And yes, maybe my massage therapist was a little too chatty, and maybe he burned me with a couple of hot stones, and maybe he said he wasn't going to do energy work because he thinks it's a little silly (which maaaybe broke my heart a little because I do not think energy work is at all silly). But none of that mattered because I was snuggled in warm sheets getting a massage.

Afterwards, he sat me down and told me I don't breathe enough. I know this. It's not a surprise. My favorite massage therapist at the old spa used to put post-its up for me around my desk, all reminding me to BREATHE. To this day, I get random text messages from her that say, "BREATHE." I hold my breath when I'm stressed or sad, worried or concerned. And this year has been a little stressful and a lot sad. And I've been holding my breath a lot.

So this weekend I worked on my breathing. I spent time with people I love, people who make me feel happiness all the way to my toes. Birthday toast with J, reunion lunch with a preacher man, homemade brunch with Lirpa. And between those times, it was just me and the dogs, walking all over the neighborhood, curled up on the couch watching movies, relaxing and breathing. Deep breath in . . . and out. And again.

On Saturday night, just as the sun finally began to set in Seattle, I leashed up the dogs and headed out for our evening walk. And as we walked, I focused on my breathing and worked on a list of things that make me feel peaceful. Because stress is guaranteed, and sadness is inevitable, but I want to be ready with an arsenal of supplies that remind me to breathe.

Things I Love:

-Coaxing myself into awake with fresh, hot, delicious coffee. Preferably in a beautiful mug. Add cream and sugar in emergency situations.

-Rituals with friends. When I meet J for toast, I know that I'll get the raisin pecan toast with butter and raspberry jam and a pot of Darjeeling. I know he'll get a pot of jasmine green tea. I know we'll sit at the table in the corner, the one that wobbles, and we'll forget that it's wobbly until I rest my elbows on the table, causing it to rock, causing our tea to slosh everywhere, sending him running for napkins and me to dissolve into giggles.

-The first 5 minutes of being awake. It is very nearly the only time of day that Moo is snuggly and sweet. She's never been a dog who wants you to pet her; she tolerates it, sure, but mostly she prefers to be left alone. But those first few minutes of our day? She forgets. She forgets and I wake up and she wakes up and scoots up on the bed until she's snuggled into my side. And then I roll over to scratch her ears and she rolls over onto her back and stretches her head backwards to look at me and lick my face good morning. And we snuggle for a minute, and I gather strength for the day, and then we stumble downstairs for breakfast and a walk.

-Having friends with whom I am totally and completely myself. I may or may not have watched a very sad movie on Friday night, knowing full well it would make me cry. And, upon dissolving into a puddle of tears, I emailed Linds to let her know that I was sobbing, that I hate Nicholas Sparks because he's a douchebag who writes predictable plots and always kills off a character I never really even liked anyway, but damn if he isn't effective in making me cry every. Single. Time. And she wrote back and understood and agreed that he's a sonofabitch. And she didn't judge me, even though the same thing happened 3 weeks ago after I watched PS I Love You, which of course gets me every single time. She's my person, who will sit on the phone with me, waiting until my tears have stopped. She's the one who will laugh with me so much that we have to hang up and call each other back when we've settled down, only to realize that we've called too soon and fall into giggles again.

-Good music in the morning. Weekend mornings require reggae with my coffee. Tuesdays call for Perfume Genius, Neutral Milk Hotel, and YACHT. Thursdays need A Whisper in the Noise. Fridays absolutely must have ABBA, Motley Crue, and Gaga. Fact.

These things give me peace. These things remind me to breathe. These things I love and so will add to my life in larger quantities.

Breathe in. And out. Repeat. Re-peace.

The First Time I Tried Yoga

2010-07-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

I'm doing something I've never done before on the blog: I'm reposting, in its entirety, an old entry. The reasons are threefold:

1) I want to lighten up the mood around here a bit, yet don't quite feel light myself.

2) I'm getting ready for my trip to Germany in a week and am preoccupied with figuring out what to take to Germany and still have room to bring home many of millions of chocolate items.

3) I'm going to start yoga again soon and want you guys to know what I'm up against.

So, to prepare us all for the return of YogAlida, please to enjoy this blast from my short-lived relationship with the practice of yoga.

(Originally posted 3/1/05)

My New Friend Kathy Smith
Or: My new friend who makes me want to eat my face.

Ah yes. Kathy Smith. She's my new friend, you know. See, she made a yoga tape for me. Well, probably she made it for many people, but I'd like to think she had me in mind. Even though the tape actually belongs to my mom. And I had no idea who Kathy Smith was before this tape. But anyway.

So I was home this weekend because I was sick sick sickity sick. And I decided that it is much better to be sick in bed if said bed has two big Labsbians in it. Love the Labsbians. Anyway, while I was home I did what I always do: I scavenged for cool stuff to bring back to my apartment. I left home on Sunday afternoon with a new book, some hot rollers, a new Auburn tshirt, and Kathy Smith. Good times.

See, yoga is supposed to be good for flexibility and conditioning, right? And I'm running now, right? (Yes, still running. So although the Someone is apparently no longer in the picture, and hasn't been for sometime, running stuck. Go figure.) So anyway, flexibility and conditioning. And I'm running my first 5K in April so I figured Kathy Smith might be able to help me become a better runner. And I could have been correct, you know, if Kathy Smith hadn't turned out to be such a sadistic bitch. From here on out, I shall refer to her as such. You see, being sick knocked me out of running all weekend, and I missed my Sunday run. Not good. So yesterday afternoon my run was. . .iffy. I decided that emergency circumstances called for a yoga tape.

So last night after my Biology class, I came home introduced myself to Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch (although in fairness, I didn't realize that she was a sadistic bitch.)

YogAlida: Hi Kathy Smith! My name is Alida and I'd like your help with my flexibility and conditioning so that I can improve my running! I'm looking forward to doing yoga with you, as you seem so nice and calm, judging by your picture on the box of this VHS tape.
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: *said nothing, as she was a picture on a box*

Before I could begin, I had to set a calm scene. I changed into soft, loose pants and a soft tshirt. I removed all jewelry which I decided symbolized removing the trappings of this world. I brushed my teeth. . .well, because I knew there was a lot of deep breathing involved in yoga. And then I went into my living room and moved my Big Comfy Chair, my Big Comfy Chair's Ottoman, and my Broken Down Coffee Table out of the way. I spread a blue and white gingham blanket on the carpet, opened the sliding glass door to get some fresh air in my living room, and popped Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch into my VCR.

Now, most sadists don't start off being horrible. They have to lure you in with soothing tones and the assurance that they are going to help you attain your goals. Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch was no different. She spoke in a hushed whisper, dressed in a black yoga suit, and apparently always does her yoga on a fake deck in front of a fake ocean with two people behind her who may or may not be fake.

First, Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch taught me how to breathe. Did you know that when you breathe correctly, your abdomen should touch your spine on an exhale? For some reason, that image really creeped me out. And then Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch told me that on an inhale, my stomach should touch the ceiling. This really bothered me as well.

YogAlida: Um, Kathy Smith Who I'm Unsure About? I don't really care for the image of my abdomen touching my spine. It kind of makes me think that I'm going to lose all of my insides if I exhale too much. And now I'm a little scared to breathe. Plus, the idea that my stomach will touch the ceiling on an inhale makes me think you are calling my fat. I know I have a plethora of stomach, but seriously. My apartment has a vaulted ceiling, Kathy Smith Who I Think is Calling Me Fat. Vaulted. Thoughts?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Blah Blah serenity samadhi serenitycakes.
YogAlida: Um. Thanks. That was. . .helpful.

Then Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch told me that we were going to start our poses. Immediately I called her a poser, but Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch didn't laugh. That was my second clue that maybe she wasn't all she was cracked up to be. ANYWAY. Poses. The first pose we did was to lie on the floor on our backs and bring our knees up to our chest. Then we moved our knees down to our left side on an inhale and moved them back up and over to the right on an exhale. Got that? Yeah, it's tricky. Here, I'll give you some room to give it a try:

Yeah, did you remember to keep your breathing deep? And did you see how Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch says to go to the left but she really went to the right? No worries, friends. I asked her about this.

YogAlida: Hey, Kathy Smith Who Doesn't Know Left From Right? Oh. Um. Well, that was my question. Do you not know left from right?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: blah blah inhale deeeeeep exhale blah blah
YogAlida: Okay, now I think you are just avoiding the question.
Coffee Table: *Crash*
YogAlida's Knees: Ow! Damn! Ow!
YogAlida: Oh mother--Damn you, Kathy Smith! You sadistic bitch!
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: blah blah deeeeeep exhale bwa ha ha ha blah blah
YogAlida: *blinks stupidly* Did you just do the evil supervillian laugh at me?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: blah blah I'm an evil bitch blah blah

Well. I'd love to tell you it got easier from there, but did you notice how I started thinking that Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch was laughing at me? And how I started to believe she was talking to me? It got worse.

(In Downward Dog)
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Remember to hold your breathing. Remember to relax and elongate your neck. Remember that you are fat and you can't stretch this way.
YogAlida: I *know* you didn't just call me fat. Inhale. And how can you relax *and* elongate your neck, Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch? You can't. It's impossible. I defy you to do it. Exhale.

(In Some Weird Pose Involving the Splits while Standing with One Arm in the Air and the Other Resting on My Knee)
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Are you breathing? Do you feel the tension seeping out of your lower back?
YogAlida: Um, I can't even feel my lower back. And could you please quit reminding me to breathe?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Alright, now let's turn our right foot all the way on its side, okay?
YogAlida: OW OW OW!!!! Omigosh. Are you figgin' KIDDING me with this?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Remember, if the pose hurts, you need to pull out a little bit. Pull back on the pose.
YogAlida: If I pull back on the pose, I will be just standing here, not doing yoga. Is that what you want, Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch? Do you want me to quit???
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Hey, did I shove that ice cream down your throat freshman year? Did I keep you from the awesome rec center at A&M? It's not my fault you are a fatty fatty fat fat with no sense of balance.
YogAlida: I ain't even scared of you, Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch. I'll find you. I'll find you someday and show you how flexible I can be. Or something less kinky.
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: Girl, I'd like to see you try. I'm a yoga goddess. And I'll cut you.
YogAlida: Ooooh, pretty talk. Where's your serenity now, bitch? Huh?
Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch: I got yo' serenity right here. And I'm not the one hallucinating and talking to a video tape. You forgot about your breathing, didn't you?
YogAlida: Maaaaybe. Maybe I'm actually passed out on the floor. Maybe I forgot to exhale 64 inhales ago. I don't even care though. I hate you and I hate your ass face.

So yeah. Yoga with Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch. Good for inner peace and tranquility. And for a hyperventilating-induced nap.

I'm not quitting though. Kathy Smith the Sadistic Bitch and I will meet up again. And I will emerge triumphant.

You know, as soon as I get this breathing thing down.

Samadhi.

Family Values

2010-07-26T21:25:00.000-07:00

I've edited this post because a family member on my father's side has expressed feeling pain from reading my words. While everything I wrote was absolutely true and absolutely how I feel, I love this person and hope to maintain a relationship in the future. So out of respect for this person's wishes, I've removed the original post.

There's a lesson to be learned in blogging, one that I'm still trying to figure out. There must be a balance between sharing my words, speaking up for myself and maintaining thoughtful consideration for the people in my life. It's a difficult lesson to learn.

What I posted was important to me, important for me to be able to express, and I don't want to lose it. So I will say this, regarding the subject of my relationship with my father. It has been difficult, my whole life it has been difficult. And after 30 years of painful conversations, realizations, and attempts to mend the relationship, I've made the decision to move forward, on my own. I'm legally changing my name, separating myself from my father's name and taking on my mother's maiden name. I am becoming a Moore and taking a very significant step into a new future. That was the meat of the original post, the most important part of what I wrote. So it remains.

My relationship with my father has shaped me. But it no longer hurts me. I stand by my words in the original post but choose not to allow them to cause harm and detriment to someone else. Because allowing them to remain would be to say to this person, "My blog is more important to me than you are." Which could not be further from the truth.

Thank you all for your support and your understanding.

Mish Mash Smish Smash

2010-07-23T09:48:00.000-07:00

Recently:

-My face started randomly peeling.

-Including my eyelids, y'all. What's that about?

-Still doing the gym, although I've taken the last two days off to rest the foot, as it was getting a little twinge-y.

-I'm housesitting/petsitting for a couple weeks, which is making me long for the days I lived alone. I forgot how lovely it is to have my own space, even though that space technically belongs to a family (and their dog. The dog I am watching. The dog who is the cutest Golden ever and who constantly demands belly scratches.)

-Homemade guacamole.

-Emotional, EMOTIONAL week of big decisions and finding my words.

-Skype date with my bestie.

-Sunshine and coffee with cream every morning. Bagels. Fruit.

-The reading of many books.

-Seriously about my face though. What's up?

All capped off with a little stomach virus. Bleh.

I know I've been quieter lately; there are a few things I'm processing and I find that I don't really have any words when I'm this deep into processing. It's been an emotional week and I'm just glad the weekend is here and I can take some time to myself to find my words about everything. I'll expand on this more next week but for now, I'm just glad to have this space to explore how I feel about everything going on in my life.

Happy Friday, dear readers. As always, I leave you with the best video in the world (which, oddly, changes from week to week. Weird!).

The Girl Who Went to the Gym. Again.

2010-07-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

Now that my broken foot is no longer broken and the SparkleBoot has been put away in the closet, I have zero excuse to skip going to the gym. Urmy was in town this week and promised she would go with me one day, to show me exactly how to use all that Scary Gym Equipment. So on Friday, I agreed to meet up with her for my Fitness Tutorial 101. And I was even looking forward to my lesson, a little bit. At least I would finally know what all those machines are for, even if I never used them.

So at 2pm I showed up at my gym, Om. I always used to make fun of the punctuation on Om. As though the vibration of the universe has an end. Ha. Except the joke is actually on me because apparently Om. has a very real end. At least the gym-version does. Because at some point during my brokenfoothiatus, my gym went out of business.

Crap.

There I was, standing outside my now closed-down gym, wearing my ratty workout clothes and holding a Trader Joe's bag full of my after-gym clothes. I looked sad, I'm sure, gazing into the locked glass doors, trying to figure out where my favorite elliptical machine had gone. I decided the closing of my gym was a sign and walked to the coffee shop across the street and promptly bought two mini-doughnuts. (Don't judge. I had to use their bathroom to change and I had to buy *something*. And a fruit cup would have been ridiculous. I mean really.)

When I met up with Urmy, she was disappointed but not defeated. She suggested changing back into gym clothes and heading to the park for a workout. I very nearly laughed in her face. I didn't want to work out, I told her. I just wanted to learn how to use the machines! So we got pedicures instead. And then had ice cream. Because that's how I roll.

As I drove home later that day, I realized I was also bummed about not having a gym anymore. Before my broken foot, I liked going (a little bit). Whenever I did work out, no matter how rarely it happened, I felt like I'd accomplished something important.

I realized something important: if I am going to change the way I look, the way my body works, and the way I feel, I am going to have to either stop eating my favorite things OR I will have to exercise. I am a comfort eater, through and through, and come from a long line of food lovers. I am Italian and Southern; let's face it. I never had a chance. I will never be able to stop eating sweets. I will always love delicious food and, thanks to my heritage, my most favorite dishes contain real butter and sugar and cream, pasta and rich meats and sauces. I don't want to have to stop eating the things I love. I don't want to have to think twice about putting cream in my coffee or butter on my toast. Let's be real, y'all. That's no way to live.

I am left with two choices: ballooning up until I am one of those ladies who has to be moved from her house with a crane or exercise. Would you judge me if you knew how long I actually deliberated before I decided on exercise?

I thought about all of this stuff on the drive home that afternoon and found myself pulling into the parking lot of the gym a mile away from my house. I was just looking, I told myself. Not buying. I just wanted to take a tour.

One tour and 20 minutes later, I left the gym with a signed contract and a new lanyard for my keys. Bitches. They sucked me in with their big pool and women only equipment room and the cute boy at the juice counter and their exercise classes galore. I knew it was a risk, that I might have committed myself to a year of expensive avoidance, but honestly, it's my best shot at success. (Plus, I made Burly Andre, the tour guide, pinky swear they wouldn't go belly-up. And God bless him, he pinky swore, even as I shouted at him that if he was lying his pinky would fall off and HOW WILL YOU LIFT WEIGHTS WITH NO PINKIES THERE, ANDRE, HUH??)

And wouldn't you know it? I've been a gym member for 4 days now and have gone to the gym FOR FOUR FREAKING DAYS. I do 30 minutes on the elliptical, followed by 30 minutes of weight machines, finished up with another 30 minutes on the bike or treadmill. And sure, I still have NO idea what I'm doing. In fact, I might have spent 7 minutes at one machine, only to move on and realize (as I watched another girl) that I'd been using it backwards. But you know what? I've gotten more exercise in the last four days than I have in the last 10 years. (That's not true, guys. I made that up. It's actually 20 years.)

I feel good. I have that wonderful soreness in my muscles, the soreness that whispers, "Psst, hey. You. Good job. Keep it up, girl," every time I move. And even better, this morning as I added cream and a little sugar to my coffee, I felt no guilt. No shame. No self-loathing. Just a lot of love for the girl who went to the gym, the same girl who ate farm-fresh tomatoes for dinner last night, with a little fresh mozzarella and asparagus. She earned the chocolate chip cookie she had for dessert, you see.

And it was delicious.