Friday, December 28, 2007

My Big Idea

It goes like this: when someone likes you, you're indifferent. When someone doesn't like you, you're crazy for them. And that just isn't fair, now is it? You know the cliché where you want what you can't have. I've found myself in situations like that, and when I get over the person I look back and think, "what was the big deal?"
I tell myself this person (or whatever) is awesome, and I refuse to believe anything different until that person makes it quite clear who they really are.

We pursue what's just out of our reach. We're doomed for dissatisfaction because we always want more--or at least what we assume is more. In hindsight, we realize we were just pursuing what we already had.

Every person on this earth should make a pact to seclude him or herself for six months and then at the same moment come back to each other. Maybe then we'd see every person in the same light. If you can't have anyone, maybe you'd appreciate everyone.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

PJs

You know what's a really odd word? Pajamas. It's such an everyday word, yet has anyone questioned its usage until I just did? Actually, my family has rejected the word and replaced it with "sleeping clothes." It makes perfect sense: clothes you sleep in. However, it provides great imagery of clothes that are actually sleeping themselves.

In order to provide answers as well as questions, I just did some research for you. Apparently, the word pajamas (also spelled pyjamas) comes from a group of pygmies in Africa that used to make tiny clothes out of leaves and bark to wear while they slept in order to protect them from the cold.

...Not really. It's actually derived from the Persian word Payjama meaning "leg garment."

The other answer made sense, though--you believed me, right?

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Fatspace

Some coworkers and I are planning on doing this website called Weight Loss Wars. It's where you compete with your friends, or even strangers to lose weight. The concept is great because you can shit-talk to each other, look at each other's progress that's displayed in line graphs, and leave comments on each other's profile. It's like myspace for fat people. Anyways, since we always obsess about our weight like just about every other woman in this country, we thought we'd give it a try. It seems like it will be great motivation as long as everyone really commits to it.

Another good idea for motivation is to watch TLC's show Obesity Clinic. Man oh man, I was sitting on my ass watching TV, and not five minutes of watching Obesity Clinic later I was doing sit-ups on my living room floor. It's a reality show documenting "super-obese" patients as they attempt to lose enough weight so that doctors will clear them for surgery.

It’s amazing how they let their bodies get to that point. I guess in general many people have problems in their life that they allow to fester and grow until it's no longer just a job where you don't get paid enough, or a relationship that has lasted months too long, or the last hole in your belt that's hanging on until you graduate to the next size up. It finally erupts into a pumpkin-sized tumor growing from your 200 lb. thigh. You now have no other alternative but to face you fears, overcome your battles, and remove the 400 lbs that have been weighing you down.

Yeah, so…I hope I win.

Thursday, November 08, 2007

I love puppies!!!

Although I'm a meat-eater, and don't seek out animal rights issues, my friend is a member of PETA and sent me this link: http://www.petatv.com/tvpopup/video.asp?video=iams&Player=qt

It's footage taken in an Iams animal testing lab so it's pretty gruesome--especially how jaded the workers are about the cruelty. If you have a dog, love dogs, are a dog, or eat Iams pet food on a regular basis, you should watch this video.

Peace.

Tuesday, November 06, 2007

Girl Phase

My life seems to be divided into phases. I have this boy phase and that boy phase and happy phases and sad phases, lonely phases, and busy phases. Now I'm in my girl phase. Most of my guys friends I've treasured so much have moved away or spend most of their time with their new girlfriends or both. And without realizing it, I seem to have replaced them all (temporarily) with female friends. I have an abundance at the moment. Before I continue, please be aware that I love them and they are a lot of fun. My only issue is the drama they seem to bring. There is open conflict and hidden conflict, jealousy and envy. It's odd.

The biggest theme of my phase has been girlfriends being jealous of my friendships with other girlfriends. To me, that's a waste of good drama. It's very elementary. But for some reason, in my 27th year, this has been an ongoing issue. I would much rather guys being jealous of my relationships with other guys. It's flattering; I like to boost my ego by thinking it means I'm a great friend--but it's also unneccessary. I have since learned to be very careful using the phrase "best friend." It has repeatedly gotten me into trouble. Maybe when you get older you no longer have "best friends," you have close friends. Or maybe you just have friends. Why is there a need to rank your friends? There are many people in my life, men and women, who I know I would do just about anything for. One isn't better than the other. And the older I get, the more I find out that a person's seniority as your friend doesn't necessarily mean that person knows you any better or even as much as someone you just met.

I'm lucky enough to have many people of both sexes in my life that I'm very close to. Every friendship is different. And I'm friends with different people for different reasons. But my biggest issue with my girl phase is that I've learned how much I really miss my boys.

Cashierophobia

I feel uncomfortable when I go to the grocery store and I know the cashier will know something about my life from the groceries I buy. If the contents of my cart are the exact items to purchase before a camping trip, I feel uncomfortable that the cashier knows I'll be camping that night. If I buy lasagna ingredients, wine, and fresh flowers, I feel uncomfortable that the cashier knows that I'm cooking for company that night. Make sense? I don't know why this makes me uncomfortable. In college, I bought a pregnancy test for a friend who kept putting off buying one herself (yes, it was really for a friend!), and in order to confuse the cashier I also bought powder and tampons. The powder was so I wasn't only buying feminine products, and the tampons were to show him I was still feeling optimistic about the results.

It's also apparent in other situations with strangers. For instance, as I was walking to the coffee shop I'm typing in right now, for a moment I worried that if I came to this coffee shop too much they may begin to recognize me and possibly know my order. So I decided I may have to find another one soon. Then it occurred to me: why am I so scared of becoming a regular?

You'd think I was a very timid person. In actuality, I'm very social and quite the opposite of shy. So why in the world do I hesitate before allowing a grocery store cashier know that I buy a lot of Lean Cuisines and yogurt? Is it because I know that if I was in his or her position, I would be paying attention to everything in a person's cart? I would try to access what kind of person they are, if they are single, if they cook, if they're attempting to impress a date that night. Actually, I do that anyway. That's right. When you are in front of me in line, I see your cat food, your Cheese Whiz, your 12 pack. I notice the Bagel Bites, the wine and flowers, or the frozen pizzas. I'll make a (dare I say) judgement about who you are by what you buy or your subtle body language. I'm in love with human behavior. Maybe my problem is that I'm afraid that others are too.

Monday, November 05, 2007

Yesterday I realized...

...that I don't know how far I can throw a tomato. I have to find out.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

Yesterday I experienced that last straw—you know, the one that broke that poor camel's back. Little moments that irked me collected on my shoulders without my realizing it. They hid under my hair and behind my ears and in my sleeves. They weighed down my shoulders. So, without knowing why, I felt as if I had to keep them tight—as if my arms would fall off otherwise. At one point during the day, I noticed this tension. I made a conscious effort to attempt to relax them and push them back down, but once I became distracted again they lifted right back to their taut position. This continued throughout the day until all my little moments had no choice but to show themselves when the last moment arrived. "Straw," I'll call him, was just too heavy to sit on my shoulders.


Right before Straw showed up, I had the best of intentions to meet some girlfriends at my biweekly Pilates class. As soon as I got home, I heated up a Lean Cuisine while listening to my sister divulge the latest about her new boyfriend. While feigning excitement, I punched 5-4-5 on the microwave and hit start. When five minutes and 45 seconds were up, my sister and I hung up the phone and I took my Roasted Garlic Chicken over to my dining room table, a.k.a. the couch.


As I plopped down on the couch—I really shouldn't have plopped—I unknowingly tipped the plastic tray. The (apparently) boiling sauces in my Lean Cuisine spilled backwards into my hand. The pain traveled from my fingers tips, up my arms and into my shoulders. Each little moment I harbored throughout the day was seared. In my rage I threw the Lean Cuisine onto my brick floor. Those moments then crawled out from under my hair, behind my ears, and inside my sleeves. They showed themselves one by one, shrugging their shoulders as they presented me with their bad news--as if I was watching the Ring Girls at a boxing match hold up each of their signs displaying all that I had ignored and stored under my hair that day. Once I reached this climax, all my angst came out of my eyes and flowed down my face. Moments later I cleaned the sauce off my floor and couch and called Aubrey. "I'm not going to Pilates," I simply stated.


Afterwards I ate a room temperature dinner and made a point to watch uplifting television. My sour mood soon faded. I'm not sure if it was guilt for not going to Pilates or because I'm still a child inside, but later I watched about 10 seconds of a woman on a mini trampoline and about ten minutes later I found myself at Wal-Mart purchasing one of my very own. I went home, assembled it, and enjoyed bouncing in my living room. It's amazing how much fun something as simple as jumping can be.


So, yes, long story short: I now have a trampoline and a burn on my hand. But the burn has since faded and the trampoline is surprisingly fun. So, folks, although it didn't start as such, this is a happy story.


[Child closes book]: But don't take my word for it!

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

This is what I want you to know:

I'm waiting for a time when happiness will be mine. Until then I will wait and wish and regret and hope. Until then I will sit alone in the dark, waiting to feel your happiness. To see what it's like. A moment in your world going fast, as I wait silently in mine. Until then I will write and collect and laugh and dream and sigh and nod and cry and wonder and try to forget. The buzz of my alarm reminds me that I'm awake. It's time to do it all over again.

Monday, July 30, 2007

July 29


Yesterday was my birthday.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Better Days

I heard a saying the other day that was something like, "Make today better than yesterday, for tomorrow will be better than today." Actually the words were far from that, but you get the picture. I'm actually somewhat impressed with myself for that "quote" I just wrote. I should write fortune cookies. If I wrote fortune cookies they would say something like, "you have just gotten food poisoning." (....IN BED!)


So I was wondering if that would actually work. If you actively attempted to make each day better than the next, would you see results? This concept seems like it only belongs on a fortune cookie and not in an incredibly intelligent blog like the one you find yourself reading today. But what if we attempted it on a smaller scale at first. Yesterday I fell asleep with my contacts on. Tonight I won't. Yesterday I experienced road rage. Today I won't. Yesterday I drank too many Mexican Martinis. Tonight I'll just drink wine.

Recently I found myself in a bout of depression for several months at least. One day I decided I was tired of being depressed and from that day forward I was going to push negative thoughts out of my head. As the good becomes overshadowed by the bad, we begin to forget everything wonderful in our lives. So I made active attempts to concentrate on the good in my life and ignore the bad. Well I'm happy to say that, for the most part, it worked! It was my first step towards feeling better. So now that I've worked on my world internally, I'm ready to overcome bad days externally. If yesterday I got soaked in the rain, today I won't leave my house without an umbrella. If yesterday I felt lonely, today I'll call an old friend. Eventually this could become a worldwide movement with everyone taking small steps and then big steps to creating better days. I can't wait until tomorrow!

Friday, April 27, 2007

heart

I want to place my heart in your hands and walk away.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Love in an Elevator

Recently I was coming back to work after my daily Lean Cuisine lunch that I drive home for most days. Upon entering my office building with a belly full of Chicken with Basil Cream Sauce, I see a portly man walking into the "up" elevator that I was about to step on. This "gent" was about 5'7" and probably in his fifties. He looked as if he lived in a land where grease was an accessory and Denny's was Valentine's Day with the Missus. Let's just say I was pretty confident he didn't work in the law office across the hall.

Anyways, he held the door ajar as I stepped on. Our elevator doors in my building have a brass sheen that allows me to check my hair, makeup, and outfit when I'm alone in the elevator. When I am sharing the elevator ride, that awkward social hot box is an excellent place to study strangers and their social behavior. I use the reflection to occasionally glance at the other person in the elevator. I question whether the other person is doing the same, which they most likely are. I wonder where they're going and where they've been. Why did she wear that hideous Angela Bower blouse? Is he getting off on this floor? I wonder how old he is? Is he picturing me naked? If not, should I put my clothes back on?

When the doors closed I studied his brass reflection. He was leaning against the rail that was clearly installed along the back of the elevator to offer some degree of support to passengers. However, I think he was taking the rail's support for granted. Elevator Man was treating the rail as his best friend that he only calls when he needs money, but Rail is such a nice guy he just can't say no and ends up giving it to him even though Rail's water will be shut off and he hasn't bathed in weeks. As he was leaning on the rail he had his feet spread about two feet apart. You'd think we were going to be a while with how he relaxed in a matter of seconds.

I continued to watch him as he began to open a soda that I didn't realize he had. He cracks it open, takes a juicy swig, produces a loud swallow, and then quietly says, "You smell good."

His words cracked through the two-way mirror my subconscious had formed during my social study. I turned to him, gave an overcompensating smile, and said, "Thanks!" much too loudly. A man of few words I'm sure, or maybe because he could have fallen asleep at any moment, he had no words to follow his awkward comment. He only raised his right hand about chin-high as to say, "Don't worry about it. I'm not going to kill, rape, or touch you. I just wanted you to know that I very much enjoyed spending this short time on the elevator with you and your scent." Yes, it was a hand gesture of many words. Right as he lowered his hand, I heard a beautiful ding that only Zack Morris could identify with. I was saved, the doors parted, and I walked off the elevator.

I scurried to my office, sat at my computer, opened Internet Explorer and typed w-w-w-.-c-r-a-i-g-s-l-i-s-t-.-c-o-m. I then clicked Missed Connections and posted this message:


Subject:
Round, Greasy, Loved My Smell Man--w4m(26)


Message:

Sorry I didn't stay and chat on the elevator. I hope you read these. Message me. On our next ride we can go down! (giggle) (j/k) (ha) ;) ;) ;)

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

You’re So Funny! (giggle, hair flip)

Have you noticed that when a woman says she wants a guy with a great sense of humor, she means she wants a guy that will make her laugh? And when a man says he wants a woman with a great sense of humor, he usually means that he wants a woman that will laugh at his jokes. The truth is a lot of guys just aren't that funny.


But not YOU! You're hilarious! (giggle, hair flip)

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Oddity

...the door to the women's bathroom at my office says my name when it closes.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Stoplight

During the torrential ice storm that rocked Austin's world, I was driving around town just as I wasn't supposed to. While stopped at a light, I noticed a crate resting quietly on the median where I'm sure a homeless person once stood. The crate housed four or five fast food drink cups encased in ice that overflowed from the liquid inside the cups onto the crate and then onto the pavement. As I noticed and then, in turn, stared at the frozen crate on the street, my mind began to wander. First of all, why would a homeless person have so many drinks? Maybe it was a group of homeless people. Or maybe they weren't even homeless. Maybe it was a group of those firefighters that pick an intersection and then split up asking for money to be tossed into his golash? (ha. Is that the singular for golashes? This is the first time I've ever found the need to not speak of golashes in a pair.) I have to admit that I've seen many scraggly people begging for money on the streets and instead of handing them money, more often than not, I ignored them; I checked my face in the visor mirror; I made a phone call; I looked at the car to my right as to not make eye contact to the person in need to my left. I'm that girl. Yet when the hot firefighters are asking for money, I somehow find it in my heart or wallet to give them some money. However, the dollar bills do happen to have my phone number written on them, but that never works out. I have had to change my phone number several times because I keep getting these veterans and orphans calling me and asking me out. The veterans aren't so bad, but the orphans have a mommy complex.

..That reminds me of a time when I was putting my groceries in my car in the HEB parking lot at Congress and Oltorf. As I was loading my groceries, a man who was not employed by HEB walked up to my cart and began grabbing my groceries and handing them to me and putting some in my car. In a different world, that would have been a chivalrous thing to do. But in this world, when I'm a young woman and he's a homeless man, it's not so chivalrous. I luckily only had a few left when he arrived, so I said my polite 'thank you' and was ready to jump in my car, loudly lock my doors, and get the hell out of there. Instead he began his speech, "Hi ma'am. I was just, uh, I was just wondering if you might have a dollar or sumpin' to give me." I honestly didn't have any cash, but I did have change in the ashtray in my car.
I told him, "Unless you take debit or mastercard, this is all I have." Okay I didn't say that. I just said, "I'm sorry, I don't have any cash, just change." He welcomed it and I handed him a handful of assorted change.
As I was about to shut the door, he began another speech, "Uh, hey, uh, do you think I could get your number?" Although so far he showed promise to be a fantastic boyfriend after all his chivalry, I weighed the options and decided that his lack of looks, job, home, and hygiene far outweighed his chivalry and money-begging skills.
Because I have an innate reflex to quickly be sarcastic back to someone (I have to work on that.), my first reaction was,"(smirk) uh, yeah." I could actually see his eyes widen and chest fill as he was astonished by my positive reaction.
He replied, "Really?" For some self-absorbed, evil reason, I actually thought he would have gotten that I was joking.
I quickly broke the news to him and said, "Uh, no." He deflated, thanked me and left. Let's hope he wasn't the one.

...Anyways, the crate. So then I began to ponder about who was going to pick up that crate that has since frozen to the ground. Thieves certainly aren't going to take it. It isn't of any value. If all people were geniunely good inside, then we could leave whatever we wanted on the ground and just pick it up later. "Where did I leave my guitar? Oh it's on 6th and West...I'll get it tomorrow."

"Oh look at that stereotypically-cartoon moneybag on the sidewalk...Someone may trip over it!"

"I hide my diaphragm on the onramp of North 183 coming from I-35. It's a little inconvenient when I'm in the moment, but it sure beats having anyone I don't want to finding it."

Instead of having that luxury, we must hoard and hide all of our belongings. The common criminal is like the bottom feeder of the human world. Without their assistance in "cleaning up," everyone's junk would clutter the streets! Instead of imprisoning thieves, maybe we should take this moment to thank them. I thank you, dear thief, for inspiring me to keep my valuables close, to hide what must be hidden, and to keep my money in a bank instead of on a sidewalk in front of your house.



...and then the light turned green.