da blah blah blog

2007-12-13T19:00:00.000-08:00

A photograph captures the little girl. Her face round and soft, her eyes wide and deep, her hair brown, shoulder length, and flowing, lips rosy red. She is in her pajamas surrounded by her two sisters. They grin at their photographer, gripping mugs of hot chocolate. A single marshmallow awaits each taste. She smiles meekly. She is beautiful. The Christmas tree reaches proudly behind them. A fireplace glows with holiday spirit as it illuminates these children.

A Christmas Eve photo this is, no doubt, her eyes portray an inner sadness. Her eyes are so, so deep, they reflect her soul unknowingly. She will face many hurts, the poor child, and her eyes will stay the same. Every photo seizing her face, freezing her lovely lips, suspending her soul.

2007-12-13T18:26:00.000-08:00

Does no one take me seriously?

No one takes me seriously.

I see who you are. I see your pictures. I see your name and who you've been to me. And yet I find only disgust in my heart. Where is this darkness from? It is from you. You created it. You fostered it. You didn't care enough to make it go away. And now you live your life, perfectly. And I live my life broken. Yet you are the one that gives me this. Gives me this heartache. This pain! Does that make you perfect? Indeed not. Indeed not!

Will I carry this forever? Would you even acknowledge your awfulness if it smacked you in the face? Should I smack you in the face? Does that scare you? It scares me. Hidden hurt swirls within my crevices. Marinating. It leaves me be until disturbed. Then it stabs, swirls, stabs, swirls... encompasses.

You have crippled me. I walk just fine now even though you punched me. But when that rain comes, oh that humid, dreadful rain, I feel that wound again and again. I search for my ground, arms out waving, eyes bewildered, stomach curdled.

Will I carry this forever? Will I? Carry this forever?

Friends?

2007-10-19T13:07:00.001-07:00

Fall brings a new school year and something I always looked forward to. The first day of school. Always over so quickly, I would cherish my first entrance through the blue, metal doors and every second under the florescent bulbs that were illuminating students for the first time. But my love affair would soon die as my motivation for school work would flounder and my eye for attraction would rule.

And now I look outside

2007-10-19T12:50:00.000-07:00

Weather triggers secrets inside me. Every fall, the lighter air and crisp wind that cools the ground, pulls strings in my heart. I feel jovial and lovely, re-energized by vibrant colors. Yet, as the temperature drops further, so a string is pulled, and my mind releases memories that haunt and scar me over and over. It only takes one painful memory to spiral me through the lot.

Acknowledging one failure, for some reason, obligates me to visit them all. The other day, as I was walking from my car to my front door, a gust a wind nearly blew me over and several in succession as well. As I battled my balance, I was reminded of the strong gusts that escorted me to class in October of 2003. The month I failed at everything. And so I was deposited from my sidewalk, my purse over my shoulder, the cruel wind teasing and chilling me, to that day in October of 2003 where anxiety and stress scalped me...

2007-10-19T12:30:00.000-07:00

It's days like these that re-align my soul. An October Friday, dreary, humid, and puddled. It's today, the clouds and rain, the hidden sun, that makes my mind revisit moments in its likeness. When I was 8, a rainy day meant a ride to school rather the traditional walk with my older sister. When I was 15, the sky was painted similarly as I faced a vocabulary test and the pressure of high school with one lonely friend. Three years ago, this weather massaged the depressed muscles of my being, unable to rise from bed, unable to face my parents, unable to see myself. And so I stand today, realigned. My history behind me, yet filling me, squeezing me. My future before me, yet pressing me, pulling me on.

2007-10-11T19:03:00.001-07:00

The day began typically. I overslept, forgot to put on deodorant, scarfed down breakfast, and left my lunch in the fridge. I almost missed the subway and in my mad dash, nearly knocked over two tweens. It's like freezing out and I forgot my coat, so I can't move my fingers. Once I made it here, I got "the look" from my supervisor, Brenda, because I was a whopping 10 minutes late. Half the office isn't even here yet. How is that fair?

So, finally, I sit down at my desk and take a deep breath. It's nice to have my own cubicle. Four little half walls to claim as my own space. Ahhh. What am I supposed to be doing today? Wait. What day is it? Shoot. It's Wednesday. Staff meeting. Groaan.

I take off my purse and set it down. I'm cold. Coffee. I need coffee. I skipped that step this morning. You know, the whole wake up and greet the day over "Foldger's in your cup." I hum the jingle. Do they even make that stuff anymore? God- those commercials were on when I was a kid. Standing up slightly, I peer over the front wall of my cubicle. The break room is opposite me. Five cubicles separate us. That is where the coffee lives. I love coffee. Mmm. Coffee. The break room is my friend. I nod good morning to it. I begin to sing to it, swaying my head seductively.

"The best part of waking up..." I startle and hide. An obtrusive, yellow blob has interrupted my morning sonnet. Divided from my love, I shudder. It was Cynthia. Cynthia. 200 lb, "relaxed fitted jeans", sour faced, blue eye-liner, Cynthia.

"I saw you Seeny! Yes I did!" She shrilled. My name is Syna: pronounced "see-nah". It supposedly means beautiful in some language, but I think my parents just made it up. Stoners.

Anyway, I groan and reappear.

"Morning Cynthia." I drone. She frowns at me.

"You are a wierdo." She informs me, darting down. Wait, let me rephrase. Cynthia does not dart. She does not fall into the "darter" category. Cynthia wobbles and undulates. So we'll say she wobbled into her chair in a "fast manner". I roll my eyes. Ok, whatever Cynthia. I'll race you. At anything.

A dust ball from the ceiling falls on me. Well, it floated onto my shoulder, landing so gentle, wanting to be my friend. I smelled it first. Must. Yum. Lucky no one saw it.

"I saw that Seeny! Yes I did!" Cynthia guffawed across the room. I brush off the bunny, it leaving a trace of dust on my shirt. A kiss of dust. Awh, what a good friend. I feel like a Swiffer mop.

I swear, this office is out to get me. At least every other day some random occurrence nearly destroys me. Whether it's the coffee maker falling on me, the Xerox machine nearly decapitating me, or the front door slamming on me, something happens! And that was just this past week. I'm looking around right now trying to secure myself. Pencils, in the pencil holder. Computer monitor is steady, the bottom part potentially wobbly. Note to self: beware the PC.

"Ouch!" I yelped. Yes. I yelp. Not to be confused with "holler" or "scream" because yelping is completely different. Commonly associated with a kicked dog, yelping is a useful tool in expressing one's surprise and or pain in order to draw quick and undivided attention. Plus mine is cute and feminine. So there. It's an art.

Anyway, someone pinched me, on the butt. That's why I yelped.

"Hey sexy," a voice sings to me. It's male- so that's promising. I turn and see Bobby, the former geek turned horrifyingly confident seducer after he lost his virginity to... someone... cough... ok... me.

"Oh, hi Bobby." Chills.

"You up for dinner tonight, lovely lady?"

"Oh Bobby, how sweet of you to ask..."

"Friday's?"

"Bobby..."

"Chili's?"

"Bobby..."

"Chi-chi's? Oh wait, they closed. Isn't there a drug store there now?" He cocks his head and stares into space.

"Yeah- that was like two years ago."

"What's there now? Walgreens? Wawa?"

"Yeah, uh, I think it's a Walgreens slash bank."

"Nifty." He refocuses. "So, how about sharing some sustenance? You have to be feeling better by now. I've asked you everyday this week. You look fine. A little pale... but that could be a blood pressure thing. Seriously, what are your symptoms again? Need some more of this extra-yummy loving? I know you gotta be missing this." He waves his index fingers at his crotch and raises his eyebrows repeatedly.

"Wow."

"Impressive right?"

"I need some coffee."

"What?"

"Coffee. Must have coffee. Can't process this." I circulate my palm at him and squeeze pass him, my free hand pressed on my brow. The walls are my guide. I can't see straight. I have 10 maybe 20 minutes to get caffeine in me before system meltdown. And when I say system meltdown, I mean nuclear, evacuate the surrounding counties, federal disaster, meltdown. Almost there. Just around this corner. Avoid Cindy. Open door... oh I can smell it!

I push on the door. It doesn't move. What? I look at my feet, (for some reason), and then realize this is a "pull" door. Closing my eyes, I exhale, and like a fully functioning person, I open the door.

There it is. The coffee pot. No one cares for it like I do. My baby. Come here baby! Ahhh yes. I pour myself a cup, add a little splenda, a little creamer and lean against the counter.

"Mmmm. Oh yes." I slurp and spit into the sink. "God! Why is it cold?" I look around me. Why is it cold? Did anyone make coffee this morning? Obviously not. Now I'm pissed and march to the office. The door refuses me again and I coach myself... pull... I face the masses.

"Attention! Attention! Everyone! HEY!!" I receive maybe 5 blank stares. I know for a fact that there are at least 20 people here now- can they not have the common curteousy to listen? Whatever. I return to my soapbox. "Who didn't make coffee this morning!? Seriously people, have a little decency to at least help out your co-workers. Who do you think you... ouch!"

I am interrupted by another pinch.

"Bobby please..." I turn and am face to face with Cindy. "Oh hey... did you make coffee this morning?"

"Bobby? What's going on with you and Bobby?" She sneers at me.

"What? Nothing. What do you want? Why doesn't anyone listen to me? I am the only one who takes care of that machine and the one day that I don't make the coffee because I run a little on the late side

2007-10-11T17:45:00.000-07:00

We glide through the park. The wide pathway open and welcoming, rolls us along it's surface. I stroll and my son observes passing trees and squirrels. Oh, how precious these moments. Where nature captures us in it's glory. Winds soar through us. Trees dance their ancient rituals and glorify the atmosphere. My senses are teased. I feel the air, light and sweet on my cheeks. I hear the wind whispering a world of secrets to me. I breathe fall's aroma. Leaves exhale as their chlorophyll dissipates and rustle together like party goers after a slow song. Is that the last dance? Do you want to go home? No, I still have some energy left, let's stay.

2007-10-11T17:34:00.000-07:00

Long to see the day
When peace and war
Say o.k.
Enough
Let's try love
Not just from above
But between
And through and through
And through and through
Filled and true

2007-04-26T07:12:00.000-07:00

Her hair flows softly across her brow. The wind tosses it about, tickling her cheeks. She combs her fingers through her scalp, sculpting the mass of follicles behind her ear. They stay in place only a second before releasing before her eyes. She is blinded.

2007-03-30T13:34:00.000-07:00

2006-12-21T07:00:00.000-08:00

I saw her for the first time in a year yesterday.

My son and I were visitng with my mother and sister at a restaurant. They had called me while I was shopping at the mall for Christmas presents. Feeling beat, I thought it would be nice to sit and chat with them. I told them I would meet them in an hour.

I ventured to a store, trying to find something to buy for my mom. This year, our budget it tight, (what year isn't?) and I was looking for something inexpensive but nice. She means a lot to me, my mom, and I didn't want a cruddy gift to represent my feelings for her. My teenage years dwelled in the cruddy gift department. Unfortuntately for me this year, the year we have no money, she asked for iron floor lamps for the living room. She mentioned hand lotions are always nice too. So there I was, looking for hand lotion that she would love as much as iron floor lamps.

The store had lots of smelly stuff, candles, and make up. The products screamed at me. "I'm the BEST! Better than REGULAR hand lotion! Only 25 dollars!" The colors were vivid and bright, emphasized by the store's high-watt light bulbs. I pulled my sun glasses over my blinded eyes and swerved around another display table. There was a product for every skin condition possible. Dry skin, oily skin, cracked skin, blistered skin, white skin, black skin. Oils and lotion for tanning, make-up to conceal, candles to cover smells, candles to eliminate smells. Something for everyone. Except me.

I was overwhelmed, decided to leave, and headed for the elevator. Shopping with a stroller is great because I don't have to carry my son the whole time, but the down side is taking the elevator. There are always three or four other strollers waiting for the elevator. Strollers that never move side to side easily. We end up hauling the enormous things to a side as our kid's head sways uncontrolling, trying to fit everyone in the box on a rope.

I love watching the other mom's relate to their kids. Most of them were in a bad mood, stressed out and tired, trying to be nice to their innocent kids babbling away about nothing. There were two girls who, thankfully, no longer required a stroller, but absolutely had to hit the floor's button we were trying to get to. Both of them had to hit it. Twice. Kids are great because they have no inhibitions what-so ever. They'll talk to anybody they feel like, point at babies like they are the rarest, friendliest, aliens ever. I love it.

I smiled at them as they eyed Harper, who was passed out, his arms up around his head. Why they were up around his head, I don't know, must have been confortable for him or something, but it sure looked funny. His mouth was wide open too. I should have taken a picture of him. That would have been perfect to put a caption by his face, "I'm spent!".

Our wild ride in the box on a rope ended and we spilled out from the doors. It was like the scene in Titanic, (ok, ALL the scenes in Titanic), where water busts through a glass window and begins filling the boat with it's icy fury. The girls ran out, each headed in a different direction, the mom grabbing one by the sleeve and pulling her towards the other. Joining side by side, they trotted a few steps ahead of their mom who no longer hid her exhaustion. She ambled behind them, her head slightly back and her feet dragging. I would've thought she was drunk, but her balance was too strong to be inebriated.

I needed to go down one more floor. The brilliant mall architechs decided to put each elevator in a completely different spot to go to the next floor. I can't take just ONE elevator to go to the first floor. I have to walk through the food court, which is always packed with starving, grumpy people, or obnoxious teenagers who dart their eyes about, looking for acceptance, looking for the reactions of strangers to their loudness. I was on a mission. Harper and I formed a frieght train and began charging towards the next roped box. Harper was unconcious still, but I'll still give him credit. Even though we were a massive entity heading towards them, people made no effort to get out of our way. So my effort to make a bee-line was deterred. I decided to spare their lives. This time. Next time, forget it. I'll be so stressed out from shopping I won't even care. We'll just flatten them, Harper and I, with our SUV stroller.

We finally made it to the elevator. This particular one pings really loud, making Harper jump each time it did. I love watching his eyes open partly and then dissolve closed, resealing themselves in slumber. Also joining us, was a father and his son, who loved to talk REALLY LOUD. I think Harper just got used to the kid's voice, because after his first startle, he rejoined his dreams quickly and stayed there.

The doors parted and we were free. I pushed Harper around the corner, right by the kiddie corner, and stopped. I was lost in my mind. I had to refocus. I asked myself out loud, "where are we going?" I identified myself on the first floor. We were going to the car. Then to meet mom. But why were we on the first floor? We are parked on the THIRD floor. Why did I go to the first floor? AHHHRG!

I returned to the elevator, pushed it's button as fast as I could, expecting the doors to fly open in anticipation of my hurry. Nothing. I stood there as the doors parted and families spilled from it's guts. I swung our party aside and let them pass and you know what that elevator did as I pushed Harper towards it? It closed it's doors! It denied me entrance, which I thought particularly unfair considering my situation. I retaliated and hit it's button again. Since it had not parted to the ONLY other floor it visits, I was granted entry, but only because I was fast enough to play.

Two elevator rides later, we were at the car, Harper still out cold. I parked the stroller by his door, thankful he was still asleep. I tossed his bag in the back and took a second to stare at his peaceful face. So angelic, so perfect. I smiled and took a deep breath when suddenly, head lights flashed on me. Expecting a car to drive by, I began unhooking his lap belt. The car did not drive by, in fact, it stopped behind me and offered it's annoying, blinding light so courteously to me. I did not look up and stepped in front of my child to shield him from the rays. I picked up Harper and as his head flopped on to my shoulder, I sat in the car and strapped him in while my "friend" waited for me, still shining his light. Then, I put the presents I bought in the trunk and reached over to fold up the stroller. This stroller is so cool because all you have to do is twist the handle and the whole thing flops down. I packed that up as well, hopped in the front seat, and got the car going.

I reversed, and as I did, I noticed another car had pulled up at my friends adjacent side. I felt a little tension between them, but they lay their differences aside to back up and let me out. I felt like a celebrity, them letting me pass and all. I should've waved, but as my friend zipped into my spot, I remembered him blinding me and denied him.

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Not done, but that's not the point. I'm just trying to work on my detail writing. :o) Merry Christmas!

2006-12-18T07:40:00.000-08:00

I used to work at Starbucks. It was a spiritual experience. For an 18 year old girl, just begining her path to self-discovery, encountering hundreds of people with lives completely opposite her, it was an eye-opener.

I began working there in 2002, just before I began college at a state school. I was so excited to go to college. I wanted freedom. I wanted independence. I wanted resposiblilty. This was of course, before I actually ever had to pay bills of any sort.

I knew nothing of the coffee world. Not a clue what a latte was, not even sure how to brew a batch. I got the job easily and once I started my training, I thought, "Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?" I was handed workbooks and manuals to go through. My first attempt at completing them, I tried to ask a lot of questions to be sure I knew my stuff. Most of the answers I got were "oh, we don't do it that way here. So we'll just have to show you later." Since I get absolutely nothing out of workbooks anyway, I flew through them, copying down the answers I needed to, knowing that I just had to get on the floor and be shown what to do. I just needed to get my feet wet. I didn't know that I would literally, get my feet wet.

As soon as I stepped out behind the service counter, there was a huge puddle by the bar, that work mats were failing to cover. Why it didn't dawn on me that a pool of water might be somewhat unsanitary, I don't know, but I stood there and tried to secretly examine the work environment and still be cool at the same time. My self-esteem was very fragile. I was told I was beautiful all the time, but it only counted if it was a guy that said it, and it was a guy that I liked who said it to me.

There were two "partners" (Starbucks calls employees partners so everyone has a share in the company), behind the bar. They were young men who looked a little older than I. They seemed bitter and had attitudes. I didn't like them much, but wanted them to be nice to me because I was new. They said hi and Adam, the more lanky, scruffy one said, "welcome to hell". I laughed at him and a switch flicked on in my brain. A switch of self-preservation, of reasoning. I thought to myself, "no, it can't be that bad. He's not a Christian. Since I'm a Christian, it won't be that bad."

My life paused for a second. That moment is a polaroid in my mind. A snapshot of me swallowing my first gulp of real life. My eyes are open slightly larger than normal and I'm looking down, to my left at nothing on the floor. My arms are folded across my chest on top of my green apron. My hair is pulled back. I look pretty. Young. Full of life. One would think that I look like a normal "first day employee", a little shy, uncomfortable. But my eyes. The eyes. Staring at that picture long enough, I know that my eyes don't match the rest of my body. My soul changed that day. Stepping into that puddle and talking to Adam opened my eyes allowing my new self to shine through my pupils. I look back at that picture with pity and love, smiling at my naievity.

I splashed through the swamp and reached Liz, the heavy set, jovial woman who would be training me. She was a shift supervisor with huge breasts, stringy hair, typical East Baltimore "hown" accent, and missing teeth. Her clothes were too tight and she had a hard time manuvering behind the counter. Aside from her appearance, she was bubbly and friendly, although I knew immediately not to upset her because she seemed perturbed at the resposiblility of training me. I was frightened of her. She was annoyingly friendly to the customers that, at first, seemed wonderful because she was so kind to people. I wanted to greet people that way, it felt nice. I would never have guessed that she would eventually give me anxiety attacks.

I wondered if she was a Christian because she was so friendly. My Christian radar was in full-scan mode. I was trying to find anyone with that in common with me. I started to assume that friendly people were Christians and mean people weren't. Liz for a couple hours, seemed like a lovely Christian woman who served people. Then she swore, covered her mouth and giggled like a school girl. I remember looking at her, giggling with her, although apalled she has just spoken that, and immediatly X-ed her off the Christian list. So far on the list was... me. That's ok, I thought, there are others here.

The first thing I learned was how to brew coffee. Why it was so hard for me to grasp the concept of brewing coffee, I don't know, but it was. Liz was getting impatient with me, muttering under her breath about not having enough people on the floor to take on a trainee. I wanted to cry. I wasn't trying to do anything wrong. I was trying. At my old job, I was one of the best workers, I could be like that here too. I knew it. I had to do it. I had to prove myself to them.

That day I stuck next to an older man named Ryan. I had no idea why he worked at Starbucks. He looked older and clung to the register like it was his baby blanket. I would ask him questions and he would look at me like, "why the hell are you asking ME questions?" Then I learned he was only a few days newer than me and I was dissapointed because he was the only one who I thought was nice enough to answer me.

The rest of my training was a blur. I learned how to make coffee and whipped creams. I learned how to wipe counters and how to work the register. I got used to these things. I felt safe and reliable doing them. I had no idea how to work the espresso bar and frankly I was in no hurry to try. It scared the shit out of me. The thing was loud and blew hot steam out of it. People that worked on it were always pissed off and stressed out. Busy. I thought they would kill me if I got in the way.

Learning to call drinks was an expirience in and of itself. I had no idea what I was doing. My manager Kate, who was so nice and friendly, I was so thankful to have her there, would try to coach me on it, but really, it didn't stick for like 6 weeks. For some reason, I always worked Saturday mornings when we were insanely busy. So busy, the line would be out the door, 20 people in line, 15 waiting for their drinks. Busy. It was nice because my shift would over really fast, but it was so stressful, I had no idea what I was doing, that I would cry in my car if I had a break.

Customers were mean. New partners were fresh meat. A chance for evil people to show how proficient they are at how they order their drinks. Oh God were they mean. I couldn't believe how rude people were. How snobby. There was an older gentleman I waited on who ordered two lattes. One decaf venti, sugar-free vanilla, skim, no foam latte and a half-calf, venti, regular vanilla, two percent, light foam latte. He ordered like this:

"I need two lattes. One skim. One two percent. Uhm, the skim one is decaf and no-foam. The other one is half-calf, light foam, two percent. Oh and vanilla. And I forgot on the the skim one, no foam."

I thought to myself: "how the hell am I going to do this." And since they were so considerate, I, the new person, was on the farthest register, about 20 feet away from the bar where I was supposed to "call" these drinks to.

So I cleared my throat and yelled, "Ordering!"

No one heard me at the bar. Another partner was a calling a drink.

So I shouted, "Ordering!"

Still no response, the other register was ordering. They spouted off what they wanted so fast, I didn't bother listening.

Once more, less confident, "Ordering!"

My manager perkily said, "Go ahead Shell-bell!" She was a bubbly person like Liz too. Except she was genuinely nice and silly. Kate was her name. I liked her a lot. I felt eased that she would help me.

I opened my mouth to speak and realized I had completely forgotten what the man had said to me. I looked at him and said "what did you order again? Sorry. I'm new."

Clearly, he didn't care and as soon as he realized he had been stuck with a newbie, he raised his voice a little and talked tensely to me. So we went back and forth.

He would said what he wanted and I would echo him.

"Two lattes."

"Two lattes!"

"One skim and decaf."

"One skim and decaf!"

"Sugar-free vanilla"

"Sugar-free vanilla!"

"And no foam."

"No foam!"

"The other is vanilla, two-percent."

"Vanilla!"

I looked at him, forgetting what else he said.

"TWO PERCENT."

"Two percent!"

"And half-calf."

My manager smiled at me, "ok Shell, what size?"

I looked at him and said, "what size?" He looked at me and then to Kate desperately wanting her to come over and finish the transaction, but she didn't move.

He had forgotten what size his wife wanted and finally said, what sizes are there again?

I had forgotten myself and looked over at Kate, "hey Kate, what are the sizes again?"

Holding up each cup for visual comparison she said, "tall, grande, and venti."

He pointed to the farthest one saying, "venti, yeah that's it, venti."

So I rang him up, didn't charge him for the syrups simply because I didn't know how and he asked if that was the right price. I said, "yup" and he shrugged his shoulders and handed me a 20. I gave him his change and he stormed off to wait 10 minutes for his drink.

Then a new customer, even more peeved than him, since they had to wait in line, would march up and get right to business.

Finally, after about 6 weeks, I started to get used to the line of work. Drink calling took forever to learn. I would practice at night as I was trying to fall asleep. Then I would drink call in my sleep. Starbucks consumed me. The work became a little fun and I stopped crying on my breaks.

2006-12-18T07:28:00.000-08:00

I feel like sharing my story. It's nothing profound like being rescued from an avalanch or pulled from the ocean after floating there for 10 days, but it may be beneficial for those looking for something more. Basically, I'll share all my shit and you'll read it an try to see if any of my lessons learned are applicable to you.

Just kidding.

I do have some thoughts to share though.

I'm 22 years old an before you close this book I want to say that things are not as they seem. For example, when I say I'm 22 years old you probably thought I'm single or maybe dating someone, just finished college and getting my feet wet in the career world Well, wrong, sorry. I'm 22 years old, college drop out, married with a 9 month old son. I've been through what many people take 10 years to process. So, In a way, this is my therapy. Thanks for listening.

As I mentioned before, I didn't finish college, I just wasn't the scholarly type then. Going back does hold my attention for those of you poo-pooing me, but mostly to feel like I'm 20 again and to escape this horror as they call it: the "real" world. And maybe to expand my knowledge on a few subjects in the process.

Truth is, I find life so much more interesting than formal schooling. I just don't learn from being told what to do. Just ask my mother that. We spent years butting heads, her trying to point out helpful tips on making life easier, and me putting my hand in her face saying "back-off: let me figure this out." Then, of course, I'd figure out some variation on what she was telling me- go figure. I'd think to myself, "wow, Shelley, your Mom knows what she's talking about." It took a long time for me to realize that's just how I function. Trial and error, intuition. Then I forgave myself.

2006-12-04T17:11:00.000-08:00

All day I have felt creative, like all I have wanted to do is sit and write. Here I am, with the whole evening free, and every creative bone in my body has broken. I am a pile of flesh and muscles on the floor. Forget my brain working, that left years ago. Atleast I still had my creative bones left. Great. Now what am I going to do?
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I met the man of my dreams today. Oh God, I can barely write I am so excited! I was in Starbucks this morning, getting my usual latte before work, and there he was, working there! I know, I thought to myself, what on earth is this beautiful man doing working in a coffee shop? Then I remembered my current self-improvement project is to stop being judgemental because that makes me a mean person, and anyway, there he was.

So of course, the store was packed, though I've never been to this store before, but they're all the same. Busy. Especially when I need them to fast. I strutted in, feeling especially sexy today. I actually woke up on time allowing myself ample space to get ready and even eat breakfast. Props to me. Yay!

Anyway, I pulled my sunglasses on top of my head and got into line, trying to remember exactly what I wanted, though they seem to know for me. Like they can read my mind. Or me. I wonder if they stero-type customers? Grande, sugar-free, skim, latte. Extra-hot.

AH! I digress. I order, pick up my drink, and went to the bar-thingy where I put in a splenda, just for a little sweetness. I gotta keep it sweet, yeah baby.

Then, suddenly, there he was, right next to me. At first, I thought he was just another customer, then he started wiping the countertop with a rag. I looked up to smile at him because my service had been especially lovely that morning. Simultaneously, his scent and dashing looks consumed me and I felt my cheeks burn with shyness. I am not a shy person by any means, but his looks stunned me. Just paralyzed me. Dark brown hair grown out to shape his face. Deep brown eyes that lock into mine and search my soul. Perfect smile. A dimple! (I love dimples!). Perfectly trim body. Arms that pop out of his shirt. Good Lord, I am getting so fluttery thinking about him! He was like a Starbucks model.

He said hello to me and smiled as he wiped the counter off. I managed a hello. I would look away as soon as he would make eye contact with me and the second he looked away, I would stare at him. Of course at this point, I had mustered the ability to use my legs and scrambled over to a table to gather myself.

Ok, here is the great part. Normally, upon encountering this situation, I would likely pretend I had something to do, and gather my belongings. I would proudly leave, parade out of the store totally in control of the situation. For the rest of the day I would day dream about that man and replay the situation to my favor if I were someone with any sort of confidence around men. Then, the next day or two days after, I would return to where ever I saw him and hope that I'd bump into him there. If not, he would become a beautiful memory I would hold onto, a man that raised the bar for me.

Not today! As I searched my purse to "check" my blackberry, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, he was staring at me. I thought, "surely, I don't know him do I?" So I carelessly looked up at him. Our eyes met and though I didn't know him, we were smiling. Totally off guard, my retreat plan foiled, he began to approach me! My heart started racing. I could've hyperventilated right there, in front of him, not to mention the 25 other people flowing in and out of the store.

Thankfully, I had returned my sunglasses to my head and I was able to "look out the window" to monitor his approach. The table I had melted to, happened to be handicap (he was paralyzing, I didn't feel guilty), and he athletically seated himself across from me.

Our conversation continued as follows:

"Hi."

"Hi."

"My name is Adam."

"Trisha."

"I think you are the most beautiful woman I have ever met."

(giggling) "Thank you."

Silence. SO many thoughts racing through my head. Did he just say that? Should I tell him how dangerously gorgeous he is? I should say something. I am NOT beautiful. What the hell is he thinking? I looked around me and picked out five women more beautiful than I. I WAS feeling sexy that day, but that just means I felt like leaving the house, not meeting the man of my dreams, let alone sitting down and having an all out conversation with him. Think of something clever. Say something clever. BE something clever!

"Really. I wanted to... needed to tell you that."

I stared at him. He's handsome, but must be crazy.

"I've seen you in here before and have wanted to tell you so much."

Uhhh.... Hello!? I've never been here before. I felt so awkward. Should I tell him?

"I'm sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else, I've never been here before."

He was embarassed and looked down at the table.

Silence. I smile that "I want to get out of here but don't want to be rude and hurt this man's feelings" smile.

"Sorry, uhh..."

I smiled and said, "I need to get to work. It was nice meeting you." I held out my hand to shake his.

He stared at it as if shaking it would defeat him, and reached out and grasped my hand. Tingles shot up my arm as I gazed into his eyes. He stood to meet me. The encounter felt very sexual.

"I hope to see you again."

I smiled, waiting for my mouth to say something, but all I could do was sigh. Then, I realized I had just sighed to finish off the totally odd moment we had already experienced. I felt so dumb. He laughed and smiled at me. I turned and retreated, pretending I had some important life that called me as I opened the cafe door.

I kept my composure, no smile, no hint of emotion, until I had made it into my car, buckled my seat belt, (which felt like the hardest accomplishment), and turned on my car. Then the thought occurred to me, "am I able to drive?" Reality smacked me across the face and my lips, puckered in their sexy-pose, turned up slightly. I knew I had to get out of there before I started laughing. I didn't want him to see me!

So I reversed the car out of the parking spot, turned toward the exit, and casually looked in my rear view mirror at the store, hoping I'd see him staring back at me. I couldn't see anything.

I made it safely to work, while my mind processed the encounter thoroughly. Once I had parked and was about to un-buckle, I allowed myself to decompress and giggle. I giggled for several minutes. Ok, more like squeal, hit the steering wheel, shake my body in a funny dance giggle.

So yeah. The rest of the day was normal, with the exception of Adam absorbing my every thought and moment.

I'm trying to decide if I'll return to store tomorrow or not...

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UGHH. Sorry. I know it's crap, but thanks for obliging. I had to write, just because I can! Baby went to sleep at 7 and husband is out with his buddies tonight. So, setting all house work aside, I have FREE TIME!

2006-11-21T11:03:00.000-08:00

Just a little draft... maybe more to come...
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I remember the day we first met. I entered the sanctuary for worship team practice and noticed him immediately. New members had been joining us for rehearsals, several of whom, had been very attractive men that, to a high school senior, was always something to look forward to. And there he was, a new face, a new boy to know.

I strolled down the aisle smiling at the sound of my named being shouted by Eileen, the band leader. Glancing his way, I saw him look at me and return to his conversation with her husband, Andy. Once, I made it to where everyone was gathered, I caught up with a few of the other team members and casually ignored him. I knew I had plenty of time to meet him and the idea of chasing after another boy, a recent pass time, was not something that seemed particularly fun at the time.

Band rehearsal was the one place for me, a 17 year old girl, was able to feel safe and confident. It was a second home to me, the church I had grown up in, learned to sing in. I felt honored and special to be on the worship team as I had been specifically asked, even though I was in high school, to join by Andy and Eileen. Little did I know that their action of reaching out to me in such a way would open wide a doorway to singing, a door that I thought was supposed to remained locked. Joyously, I would bounce into rehearsals, coming to life with an eagerness to sing. Each practice was like a blank canvas where we would paint and splatter our sounds. It was a creative outlet for me to close my eyes and sing, my voice soaring along with melodic lines, ringing in my head, echoing all around me. It was there that I learned to harmonize, taking my musical ablilty to a new level. It was there that I was truly happy.

The pass year's events had dealt me the death of a close friend and the birth of a longstanding battle with depression. It was the hardest year of my life. While friends spent their senior year partying and looking forward to college, I spent my time trying to know myself. I had been hiding behind a mask my entire life, pretending it were different, pretending I was someone else. This behavior began my non-existant identity, formed from the perfections of friends and their successes, hoping that if I copied their paths, then I, an invisible being, would surface and find happiness. Those I fed off of were members of a Christian group called Young Life.

My Young Life leaders were people I wanted to be so badly. Their lives were so organized and pretty, their homes beige and cream colored, accented by huge couches and scripture. They were so friendly and outgoing. They were perfect. Perfect Christians, perfect parents, perfect friends. The model of human behavior. I gravitated to them, accepting their flier invitations to "Club", feeling wanted and cared for. I would drive by myself to school mate's houses who were, by far, way more popular than I was. I would fight off feelings of unworthiness as I entered their homes, desperately seeking out a familiar face. Many times, the only people I knew were the leaders and there was an awkwardness between myself and my peers seated around me. I felt like I should be nice to them, I expected them to be nice to me, but hardly any words were spoken.

Eventually, I got to know more people and once they found out I was already a Christian, I was invited to attend the pre-club bible study called Campaigners. Becoming an active Young Lifer, was where I thought I belonged, where I thought I would be happy. My parents even opened up their home to host Club several times to give me this. At the time I didn't realize it, but I thought hosting Young Life was what good Christians do.

2006-11-17T13:05:00.000-08:00

He stood in this very house, I realized. Right here, in front of me. He greeted my family with his goofy "Hiya". His spirit filled this house.

How can someone be here one instant and then vanish forever from our presence? All we have left of them is our memories. Smells fade, we bury their bodies, forget the sound of their laughter. Or do they remain among us, living in our minds, passing through our thoughts to remind us of happy times, to remind us of them? Do they breathe on us the sound of their voice? Or tap our shoulder to catch a glimspe of a memory? We search and search and search to collect some sort of solace. Are we finding it? Or can it only be given to us?

There is such fear in death. Being left behind creates a gap torn from the heart. That pain is dark. Loneliness absorbs the energy that flows through our veins and we try to medicate ourselves by sleeping. Shutting down our minds and bodies, hoping that when we wake, the pain from grief's beatings will have passed. But grief does not rest like us. It tears and pulverizes our cores, our brains, our souls. We grow numb from crying. We grow numb from being alone. Grief consumes us and smashes us to the floor.

Eventually, in it's own timing, the pain begins to subside and the tear in our hearts begin to heal. And in a way, we miss the humbleness agony brings us. It feels so safe, as if we have been pressed to God's chest, held there as a prisoner to be released in his timing. Then we are free, but alone, having to fend for ourselves. We grow stronger with time, therapy, life; but on our hearts remains a scar. A mark for remembrance, a mark of love. Sensitive tissue that we guard and protect, even fight for. Tissue so sensitive that tears flow if agitated. We run our fingers across the skin of our lives and feel the different sensations each scar brings. Uncomfortable as it is, we are thankful for our marks that are evidence of someone precious, someone loved, someone who loved us.

2006-11-17T10:06:00.000-08:00

Hi folks, I haven't written in a while, but the baby is crawling, so forgive me, time is flying by. But I do want to keep the brain flowing so here's a shot at a little something....
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Hi there. My name is Marissa and I work here in this coffee shop. Uhm. Ok. My manager said that these camera crews were going to be here today and that I was supposed to show you guys around, which is kind of weird considering she's the manager and I'm just a shift, but whatever. I don't care. Just as long as I don't have to be on the floor and wait on customers. Where do you want to start? With me? Heheh. Uhmm ok. We can do that. What do you mean though? Like where I stand to wait on people? Ohhh you mean like about me personally.

So, I started working here two years ago as a barista. That's the part-time help around here. I got the job by just coming in and filling out an application. I was looking for a job at several places at the time because I had just started college. I applied at like American Eagle, uhm, Zales, I thought it would be cool to sell diamonds, plus my friend worked there and stuff. Uhm...where else did I apply? Three places, I know...Oh right. Here. So yeah, I interviewed at Zales and they really liked me but they wanted me to work on Sundays and I just didn't do that then. Yeah, I was big on going to church and stuff. American Eagle ended up calling me after I got the job here so that sucks for them, but I hear they don't get paid much over there. Anyhoo- I handed in my application to Sheila, who is right over there, hi Sheila! I'm waving at her, you can't see her because she just went in the backroom, but yeah. Ok.

Uhm, where was I? Oh, yeah, I had my first interview with Sheila and then the manager at the time, Katie, offered me the job on my second interview. So, here I am! What do you want to do now? How about I take you on a tour of our shop? Awesome.

Ok, you already saw the front door. That's our company sign. I don't know who designed it or anything, but it's pretty trendy. So once you walk in, you're in our cafe here. We have lots of tables and chairs, a few comfy chairs they just put in, probably because they heard we were going to be in a movie or something. It's not a movie? Oh, a documentary. Ok. Uhm. That's not a movie? Is this going to be in like L.A. or something? That would be so cool! Hahaha. Right.

So, yeah. This is our retail wall. We sell mugs and chocolate and stuff. It's a biotch to dust though, I'll tell you that much. I'm always afraid I'll break something, and you have to move so much junk to just get one shelf done. Luckily, we only do that like once a month, so I don't have to do it that much.

So this huge counter over here is for our coffee. It's pretty disorganized. We sell a lot of whole bean here so that's why it's all over here.

Uhm... ok if you come here with me we'll go to the registers where Meghan is. Hi Meghan! Uhm... do you guys sell coffee here... haha haha! Hehe.

Can we take a break? I'm kind of thirsty and need to go to the bathroom. What? You're going to keep the camera's rolling? You aren't going to watch me pee or something are you? Because I'm not ok with that. Oh. Right. Ok. I thought this was going to be like Big Brother or something where you're always on camera and they end up editing it so the people sound like idiots. Hah. I never want to do that. Anyway, I'm going to get a drink. Probably just a latte. Do you guys want anything? We're not really busy right now, it shouldn't be a problem for us all to order. You sure? Tommy's at the bar and he makes really good cappuccinos. Right Tommy?

2006-08-28T07:35:00.000-07:00

(I wrote this over a year ago...thought I would share....it's silly. I never even finished it)

I am invisible. I have been invisible since my senior year of high school. I don't remember exactly when i realized I became invisible, but I know that I am now and that I'm pretty used to it. Since I am invisible, other people can not see me. I can see myself, and know what I look like, but if other's could see me, I would not look like I do to them. If I am sitting in a room full of people, and other's look my way, they see right through me and I snicker to myself because they do not know that I can see them and that I'm watching them. They think they are blending in with everyone around them but I watch them as they shift in their seat and hide how tired they are, or how much they wish they weren't on the outside. I see their loneliness. I see them. I see what they think other's can't. I know they have secrets. I know they have fears. I know they are not truly what their body is presenting to others. I know what they would look like if they were invisible. Though, if they really were invisible, I wouldn't be able to see them anymore. But if they were invisible, I know what they would look like. They would look like me.

Being invisible is fun. Nobody else can see me! I can do whatever I want! Well, maybe not everything. I can't just walk into 7-11 and pour myself a slurpee and walk out. How would one explain the slurpee pouring from the slurpee machine into a cup, a lid being placed on top, a straw being inserted into it, and the slurpee being sucked through the free standing straw and disappearing as it exited? It freaks out people. It's not like after trying to steal a slurpee and freaking people out you can easily explain the situation. Plus, I don't want to be arrested or anything. So, I don't get slurpees often. I get a craving at like 2 in the morning sometimes, but I think I'll pull through, plus i really should save the dollar. Well, it's just a dollar...but anyway...

I can make myself visible if I want. I just don't want to most of the time really. I don't like what other people see me as when I'm visible. It's as if I'm a different person or something. I don't really know what I look like to other people and that makes me uncomfortable since I don't know what I'm presenting as who I am. So, a lot of the time, I become invisible. It's not painful or anything. All I have to do is close my eyes and relax. I let my thoughts flow through my brain and I sometimes write them down in my journal. But most of the time, my thoughts flow through my brain, into my bloodstream, through my heart, into my lungs, and out of my body as i exhale. I become my thoughts. Then I open my eyes and look around. Bingo! I am invisible. I still see my hands and feet and the way my nose is like a blurry blob below my eye line, but I am not visible to other people. If I want to let other's see me, it's simple really, I just look at them, and let them see me. This only happens on a need-to-see-me basis though. Those who I think can handle seeing me, I let them see.

Sometimes I don't have a choice on who sees me or not. For example, I have to let my doctor see me so he knows how to treat me. There is also the circumstance that someone who has seen me, tells someone else about what I shared with them and then the one who has been let in is able to see me. I can't hide from that. Then I am visible to that person whether I like them or not. That is when being invisible sucks. When others know that I'm invisible, they are on the look out for me and it's embarrassing. When I am around them and I am visible, they stare at me, expecting me to become transparent and put on a show of my secret... jerks...all of them. Being invisible isn't something to be taken lightly! It has it's advantages, but it's an extremely serious situation that can become dangerous.

The ability to be invisible is not all it's cracked up to be sometimes. It is lonely at times. Well... it's lonely most of the time. When I'm invisible, the only person that can see me is me. It's like my body is my sanctuary and I spend time with myself to get to know me. When I am invisible, my thoughts ARE me and thoughts aren't always a good thing to exist as. I can't always control my thoughts. They take me scary places like death and hate. Being invisible means that suicide is often appealing because I'm so exclusive to who I show myself to that it doesn't seem worth it sometimes. Those people who see me, most of them love me dearly and help me fight scary thoughts, but usually, when I'm feeling thoughts like death and hate, I feel so vulnerable and insecure, I show myself to no one. Then I hate myself.

Wondering what I look like? Well, when I am solid and visible, I stand at 5 feet, 6 inches, I weigh approximately 170 lbs, some is muscle (like my heart and tounge and other vital stuff like leg muscle and biceps. Glutes. I definitely have them, plus some.), the rest is too many cookies and beer around my thighs and upper arms, belly and my glorious booty. I say approximately 170 pounds because my weight changes throughout the month. When I am invisible, I put on weight because I'm the only one who can see me and I am comfortable with looking at myself no matter what. So I eat whatever I want. It's not like I change bodies, or am a shape-shifter, although that would be cool to try. When I am visible though, I try to lose weight and eat less because I know that people can see me and wonder what happened to make me so heavy. Basically, I worry and care what others think about me. Anyway, I have shoulder-length deep brown hair. Today I made it kind of wavy, and since I've been visible almost all day, it's been fun. In my hair, I also have blonde highlights and some pinkish-red ones in the back that my hairdresser thought to put in. My eyes match the richness of my hair, brown also with tints of green in them. When i cry though, they really look green.

I used to cry a lot. I was invisible almost all the time then. I didn't show myself to anyone. Though usually when I cried, I was in a visible state because the circumstance I was in usually made me sad or irritable. I would cry with who ever i was visible with and then as soon as i composed myself i would retreat into my seclusion.

2006-08-09T07:25:00.000-07:00

I peer over the top of my cubicle and survey the office. Heads bob as they pass through aisles and turn corners. Returning to my swivel chair, I pivot on my foot a few times and prop my elbow on my desk, tapping my fingers on the surface. My hands are clammy and my ears are tingling. I'm nervous. More like anxious really.

"He is supposed to be here!" I say to myself. "What's his deal?"

I am anticipating the arrival of my best friend Tommy. He apparently holds great news regarding the date I went on with his roommate last night.

I am reminiscing about the prior evening's events when suddenly, I hear my boss two cubicles down and I realize I don't have any work to show him. I assault my computer mouse to wake up the screen. It jumps to life as it's static sound welcomes my desktop. I stare ahead searching the depts of my brain, trying to remember what the heck I was supposed to be working on. Crap, crap, crap. The voice nears next door.

I drop my pen and bend down to retrieve it, desperate to remember what he wanted me to work on. I pause and realize that the familiar sounds of the office had returned: keyboards clicking, phones ringing, people chatting, and no boss. Did he leave?

"How's it going Lele?" A shadow casts over me. Oh crap.

"Oh! Hi there Mr. Blondell. Uhmm..Great! Thanks!"

"Finished the stuff I gave you to work on?

"Uhh...Well. To be honest...I forgot what I was supposed to be doing. See, I think I had a bad omelet this morning or something because I've been in the bathroom a lot today, not feeling well and all, and I just got back now and dropped my pencil and yeah...I can't remember." To be perfectly honest? Oh come on Lele! Liar.

Mr. Blondell stares at me blankly, then raises his eyebrow. He's quite handsome really. Just a tightass sometimes. Needs a good woman to loosen him up if you know what I mean. Unless he's gay...Then I guess he needs a good guy to....uhh...

He clears his throat as if hearing my thoughts. I cough and smile up at him.

"A bad omelet huh?"

"Well...uh yeah."

I am such an idiot.

"Finish typing up the final reports on the Campfur file. Then you need to call them and discuss what they want the next course of action to be."

I smile, feeling as dumb as the dumbest child of the dumbest creature on the dumbest planet. Or maybe I am the dumbest child of the dumbest creature on the dumb....Oh whatever.

"Thanks Mr. Blondell. I'll get right on it"

"Sure thing."

He turns and I sink in my chair. I rub my eyes and remember I actually put make up on this morning. When I commit to it, I dress up quite nicely and after such a great night last night, I felt it was appropriate to show the world what I've got. I pull my hands away and look at the black and purple makeup smudges on my fingers. Dang it. I look in my mirror and purse my lips as I discovered my destroyed face.

"Hope you feel better," he says returning to my cubicle. I jump and swivel to face him.

"Thanks," and smile at him. I watch as his head cocks to the side and his expression announces that there is something wrong with me. I remember my rubbed makeup eyes. I start to offer an explanation and he shakes his head and walks away. A strange feeling rolls in my stomach. Maybe I am sick after all.

My screen saver swirls at me broadcasting that I still haven't accomplished anything today. I assault the mouse again. Deciding I have to pee, I pivot to stand up and discover Tommy leaning against the entry way to my office.

"Hey there you sweet.....Holy crap whatappened to you?"

"Shh!!! Nothing!" He looks at me surprised by my snappiness. "Sorry. Hi. How are you. Good. Great....TELL ME EVERYTHING HE SAID!" I lunge out of my seat and grab Tommy's shirt.

"Holy crap. Like, Holy crap girl. Settle down. I'm fine. Thanks for asking. You're so considerate." He rolls his eyes. "Now fix yourself will you. You look like crap. Absolute crap." I giggle as I wipe away the rest of my makeup.

Forgive the lack of editing, I'm just trying to remember how to write.

2006-08-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

From the first second we stepped into the mansion, we were engulfed by it's magnitude. Dominating an entire city block, the residence towered, it's cream marble, maroon trim, and light blue shutters welcoming yet discriminating as if to say, "are you worthy?".

"No. I am not worthy", I thought to myself as I stared two stories above me to a muraled dome. Naked angels and infants danced among clouds that seemed unrealistically high and I immediately wondered who created the work of art.

I looked over at Campbell, who I had just met on the ride over, and shared the same jaw dropped expression. We were the two lucky contest winners that got the opportunity to meet Ladia Sees, the famous artist and designer. Both hoping to break into the design field ourselves, this was a tremendous chance to get our big break. My portfolio suddenly felt like I was carrying several gallons of milk, heavy and perspirating. My hands always sweat when I'm nervous.

As we took in our surroundings, the marble foyer, the massive sitting room to our right, another sitting room to our left, a grandiose staircase floored with the same stone as the foyer, and gigantic windows everywhere, a tiny dog, (I can't tell the differences between them), ran up and started yipping at us. I stared at the creature wondering if he was welcoming me or telling me to back off. I decided he wasn't sure himself.

Our heads raised and followed the dog as he turned and trotted away. He reached the bottom of the immense staircase, barked twice, and sat down. No sooner than he was down, he jumped up with a yip and stared to the second floor. Our eyes followed and meeting us at the top of stairs was a person dressed in black with dark eyes and bright, red lips. Her pale skin glowed from it's surroundings. It was a like a full-figured Snow White, just with out the silly dress. She stretched out her hands as if beckoning us to absorb her world and see her as its cherry on top. I think she smiled at us.

I heard Campbell take a deep breath in. I was trying to not pass out myself. I had heard so much about Ladia and had spent so much time researching her, worshipping her, that to be facing her, meeting her, let alone be in the same building as her was making me nauseous. Campbell looked really pale, I think she was trying not to vomit. My hands were sweating and shaking so fiercely, I couldn't believe I had so little control over my bodily functions. I prayed I would be able to keep a grip on my bladder.

Ladia Sees had revolutionized the design industry and was a goddess in that realm. There was not a single designer, design student, design hobbyist, or design firm that didn't know of her, of her work, or want to be her. She soared down her stairs and as she approached us, her smile grew. Facing us, she reached out and grabbed hold of our hands.

"Welcome to my home ladies."

2006-08-05T06:27:00.000-07:00

I've stopped watching the news.

It's too violent.

I can't believe much of what they say.

Here's the dilemma. I find interest in world events and local news. But really, I don't need to fill my day with news of a triple homicide or CNN news that makes every breaking story a matter of critical importance. I am sensitive to the fact that these things need to be told...But surely we've accomplished something in Iraq and surely Baltimore city's government has done something besides point fingers at each other.

Also, I don't want to live a sheltered, secluded life that ignores evil in the world. I want my son to grow up with a healthy balance of awareness. Now if only I could find that healthy balance.

We got rid of the TV actually. No, don't think that I'm some disciplined person trying to improve my life. The antenna doesn't work in our apartment and we only got three channels anyway, so spending money on cable, let alone a new antenna, isn't in the budget. So bye bye TV! It's a shame. I really got into Days of our Lives for a while there. I'm such a TV boob.

I think TV induced boobness does exist. I found out for myself after having my son. Nursing him all the time, it was so easy to turn on the TV to the Today show at 7am and watch all the way through the day until Law and Order SVU showed. I'm not kidding. I would watch TV all day. Naturally, my house was a mess and I would do nothing all day. I would justify watching by saying, "well at the next commercial" or "at the end of this show" I'll turn off the TV or get something done. But it would almost never work because I would become interested in the next show or see a commercial for a new cleaning product that I would never spend $12 on but think it was cool anyway. Therefore, based on the data presented, I conclude that the boob tube literally turns you into a boob. Thankfully I've recovered due to deprivation but who knows if we ever get a TV again. At least my apartment is clean and smells good. Boy is my husband thankful. (So am I).

Ok I have stuff to do. Please forgive the lack of editing.

2006-08-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

So I went back and forth several times on whether to pursue this blog...

But here I am. Blogging. A blogger. Bloggage. Nice.

Plus, I love writing so why turn down any chance I get?

It's amazing to me how a 5 month old can find a paper pamphlet so fascinating. I mean, earlier today, he just went at this paper, chewing, tearing, mashing, and saturating this thing for like half an hour. What is it? Does the fact that it's not a plastic toy or stuffed animal that we BOUGHT for him have special appeal? This stack of paper stapled together, that we got for free, has held his attention longer than any other toy we have. Uh oh... the ink is running. Maybe I should intervene...

Ok BLANK paper is just as entertaining.

He is darn cute though.

Here's a thought. GUY MOVIES. I watched Stripes last night (Bill Murray from 1981) with my husband and thought it was the dumbest thing I ever saw.

"A lot of people like that movie, just so you know", my husband comments as I type, "you don't want to hurt anybody's feelings on your first blog."

Sorry to any one who loves Stripes. But really- it was dumb.

Ok, now onto subjects of importance.

Aaaand I have nothing. My brain is mush.

2006-03-30T14:36:00.000-08:00