The Business of Being Born

If you know me personally you know that I am this weird hybrid of hippy ideals (going green, no more plastic bags, vegetarianism, no GMO foods) and modern living (iPhone, iPods, nintendo games, constant internet). I'm forward thinking -- and yet there is a side of me that dreams about growing all my own food and sewing all my own clothes. Of course, I would be a naked skeleton, but STILL, the idea exists within my thought process.

SO...

I just watched this documentary. Wow. I have investigated "natural" childbirth before and debated with the slim possibility that I would consider it for myself. Most of you know that I am a fan of a pre-scheduled c-section. I will pick the day, the way, and move all obstacles to the side. But the documentary poses an interesting idea that eliminating all the obstacles detracts from the experience of childbirth. And, even more so, that in America the hospital/medical system/insurance companies/OBGYN businesses take away a woman's options. They talk about the horrors of excessive drug use in the hospitals; the birthing plan out the window. I read a book about an OBGYN nurse who had a hospital birth for her first child. She told the doctor that her legs were up to high and that couldn't she please put her legs down and when she was not permitted to shift her position, she ripped. Her doctor wouldn't listen to her -- because what did she know? She was a hysterical pregnant woman in labor!

And this story. This is exactly what I want to avoid, hence the opted c-section route. Part of me figures, if everything that can go wrong, will go wrong, why not jump to the end point? Bypass hours and hours of pushing with no result and just enjoy the calm-inducing drugs followed by baby and perfect life.

Now...all of this is hypothetical. I'm not planning on being pregnant for sometime. But during this time before becoming pregnant, I want to be smart. I want to research everything and do what really is best. The cynical part of me cringes when women talk about "doing what's best for the baby" and all that hyper-mother stuff. But. I already talk about slowing down immunization schedules, 100% cotton clothing, making my own babyfood, breast milk, and on and on. So I'm trying to push away my cynic response and really dig in to the research.

Because, you see, I fear the c-section just as much as I fear a natural childbirth. It just seems LESS fearful to my rational brain. How could anything go wrong? You're in a hospital! You're surrounded by medical staff in a sterilized room! I don't want to give birth at home. I might ruin my favorite bedding...

That said.

Watching the homebirths in the documentary is magical. The woman is in her own house. She walks around through her contractions -- naked if she wants to be. Holding her husband, having her husband hold her. Sitting in the bathtub. Lying in the bed. That certainly seems nicer that being stuck in those icky hospital beds with an iv in my arm. Watching these scenes, I can see myself. I can actually picture myself moaning in pain -- but it's okay because my husband is beside me on the bed comforting me through a contraction -- and then reaching down and bringing my own love child into the world. Finding out what the sex is the old fashioned way; looking down. The women in the documentary talk about this internal struggle where you realize as a person that you are faced with two horrible options: 1) don't push because it hurts too much or 2) push because it hurts too much. But they say that afterwards, after it's all over, you can't believe that YOU, this teeny tiny regular woman, climbed the mountain of childbirth. And it's very easy to feel caught up in that kind of empowerment. This idea that you can listen to your body, surrender to your body, and come out a winner.

Obviously it's not for everyone. If you have high risk factors you won't be able to have a birth at home. But why would you? No one wants to DIE during childbirth; and yet the U.S. has a higher infant mortality rate than most of Europe and Japan. According to the documentary, Europe and Japan use midwives for 70-80% of births. We use midwives for less than 10%. Do the two go hand in hand? Not necessarily. Some experts say that our mortality rates are higher because we have more high-risk pregnancies: obese or overweight mothers, older mothers, more multiple births, fertility aided pregnancies.

Please watch the documentary and provide feedback. Obviously this is like, massively critical, so drop everything so you can respond thoughtfully to this post. If you have Netflix, you can watch it instantly online. I'm serious. Watch it now. I want to know what you think.

Survival

Tips on surviving Influenza A Virus Subtype H1N1 (aka "the hated Swine Flu"):

1. Drink excessive fluids
2. Watch documentaries on Netflix
3. Sleep
4. Don't leave the bed for 3 days
5. Take up virtual farming
6. Eat liquids only

Hairbrushing

This is how you know someone loves you.

You have the swine flu. You've been sick and fevery. He's been sitting on the floor of the bathroom with you while you wait to throw up in the toilet because you've already thrown up in the garbage can twice and you feel bad making him carry out your vomit. He gets you whatever you want, lets you sleep all day long, turns the air conditioning on and off and on again, reminds you to drink lots of water. He understands when you don't answer his question 'are you going to throw up?' because he knows you're about to and can't speak. When you finally do throw up, he rubs your back and keeps your hair out of the garbage can telling you 'it's okay' and telling you 'it's no problem' when you keep saying sorry between gasping gags.

But best of all. When the horrible day is over and you are finally starting to feel better, he offers to brush your hair.

The State Song

My husband is so silly.

Do you know the "State Song?" It's this song that you learn in elementary school that teaches all the names of the states in alphabetical order. In good keeping with the educational system, we practice it at our house. After all, we don't want to be deprived of Thanksgiving dinner like Ross because we can't remember the 50 states.

Anyway, we're driving home the other night and he keeps singing it over and over. Everytime he makes a mistake, he begins again. It took him almost the entire 15 minute drive home to get it perfect. The Ns in particular were giving him trouble.

I hate this song now.

Crispness

Left work last night

completely satisfied.
Glad to go home,

glad to leave behind completion.

I walked into a

quiet night,

low moon,

crisp air,

grass twinkling under foot.

A lovely spring is taking shape.

Happy Belated Easter

Last night as we were making a late dinner, Tom opened the cupboard and said, "Oh."

I turned to my beloved, waiting for the epiphany, thinking it must be some declaration regarding food in the cupboard. He continued, "I think there's a chocolate bunny under the passenger seat in the old car. I'm gonna go get it. It's probably still good, right?"

And away he went to retrieve it.

A Gem

Jewel is one of my most favorite musical artists. I've been going through all of my music on shuffle and every time one of her songs pops up my heart lifts a little. In particular, I love her album 'Pieces of You' because of all the acoustic tracks and maybe, just maybe, because I've been listening to it for 15 years. The songs are non-conventional (in a good way) and just a treat to hear. She is a true poet and her lyrics always move me with their honesty. If you haven't explored the wonder of Jewel, perhaps I can entice you with this -- one of my favorites:

"Morning Song"

Let the phone ring

Let's go back to sleep

Let the world spin outside out door,

You're the only one that I wanna see

Tell your boss you're sick, hurry, get back in I'm getting cold

Get over here and warm my hands up, boy, it's you they love to hold

And stop thinking about what your sister said

Stop worrying about it, the cat's already been fed

Come on darlin', let's go back to bed

Put the phone machine on hold

Leave the dishes in the sink

Do not answer the door

It's you that I adore

I'm gonna give you some more

We'll sit on the front porch, the sun can warm my feet

You can drink your coffee with sugar and cream

I'll drink my decaf herbal tea

Pretend we're perfect strangers and that we never met...

My how you remind me of a man I used to sleep with

That's a face I'd never forget

You can be Henry Miller and I'll be Anais Nin

Except this time it'll be even better,

We'll stay together in the end

Come on darlin', let's go back to bed

Put the phone machine on hold

Leave the dishes in the sink

Do not answer the door

For you, the poor man's wife

I'm gonna give you some more

Let the phone ring

Let's go back to sleep

Ahh. Perfection.

An Island to Vacation On

Sick.

Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lt-MivNezes&feature=related

And then listen to this interview: http://www.npr.org/templates/player/mediaPlayer.html?action=1&t=1&islist=false&id=15713260&m=15713244

What does this mean? Plastic is bad, garbage island is sad, humans should be mad. I'm reflecting on all the plastic bags I've tossed...and trying not to hate myself.

A New Threat to Our Youth

I'm at the grocery store buying ingredients for funeral potatoes which I am making for a friend's birthday. Tom is there and we are in a hurry, arms full of sour cream, milk (because there is none in the house), hash browns, and cheese. As we approach the check stand we set our things down and I happen to see this on the rack:Oh. My. God. Were you aware of this danger to our (and by 'our' I mean society's) children? Tom and I were immediately horrified (and by 'horrified' I mean thought-it-was-ridiculous) and began reminiscing on why we hate Reader's Digest, as well as why we hate rampant sex-scandal paranoia. Tom scoffs, and then, using his best indignant woman voice, cries out, "Oh no!" I start laughing and as we turn to begin our approach to the cashier, we notice a different cashier from the aisle adjacent to ours glaring at us. Openly, un-apologetically glaring.

I guess she doesn't find sexting a laughing matter. And she's right. Please change the nation's threat level to RED.

PS: I don't appreciate Reader's Digest using an iPhone for the cover. First of all, most people who read Reader's Digest don't understand the wonder of the iPhone. Second of all, most people who are concerned about sexting don't understand the wonder of the iPhone. It's practically slander.

Parking Wars

I have new neighbors, well, neighbors period. Our apartment complex is just beginning to fill up. We've had blissful quiet and free reign of the area for the last 4 months. Now we have neighbors. And on the one day we have the old car out for the day, they steal our parking space. It's not technically 'ours' but we park there all the time -- it's right outside our door. They live on the other side of us and the distance means that the space shouldn't be theirs. They park this huge, disgusting truck in a space meant for cars. Their little hooky towey thing sticks out into the road. I hate this. So for the last two days I've been stalking the slot in the hopes that I can slip the car back to its home.

Today: VICTORY!

Shortly after 10:30 this morning I just happened to peek out the window before hopping in the shower. I was actually looking to see if the truck was still there, but lo and behold, I saw two people walking past the apartment. These mystery people are said neighbors. I run downstairs and crack open the front door. Yes, they are in fact entering the monstrosity and then driving away. Ah ha. I quickly jump in the car and return it to its established parking spot, where it will sit for the next week, proving to the new neighbors that that parking spot is OURS. Eat our car, people we don't know.

Use Your Words

I would rate my ability to speak and understand the English language as 'moderately high' to 'high.' And even then, I'm sometimes stunted by my vocabulary. Words are the best way to describe something, a feeling, a moment, but my words don't seem to do justice.

I've just finished reading 'The Story of Edgar Sawtelle.' Edgar is a young boy born mute. He is obsessed with the dictionary. He loves words and their sounds and meanings. He revels in naming the puppies on the farm, trying to find the exact and perfect word. He succeeds where I fail. And he is fictional. Of course, the author of Edgar's story is magical. He weaves a story of beauty and fascination unlike anything I have read in a long while. In particular, the words. Words fill my head all day; which is the most true description of a person, place, or thing? But most often I feel like a mute. Unable to express myself the way I want, constantly searching for the perfect word.

The other day my niece asked me "aren't 'plan' and 'idea' the same thing?" What an interesting question. Merriam-Webster says: idea - a plan for action; something imagined or pictured in the mind; a central meaning or purpose. plan - a drawing or diagram showing the parts or details of something; a method for accomplishing an objective. So it would seem from the definitions that an idea could be a plan and vice versa, but the subtle nuance of difference in the meaning of the two words is fascinating to me. And that's why finding the perfect words is a neverending quest. And why I keep writing.

For Miles and Miles

To help me get back to the gym, because I need help in that area, I am doing this running thing with my friend at work. I invite all of you to play along.

What you need:

• A treadmill/elliptical that shows distance or a pedometer, if you prefer to run outside
• Running shoes
• Clothing (although I guess this could be optional)
• Time to run

What you do:

• Week 1 you run 10 miles -- you can break up the miles between elliptical or treadmill, and spread the 10 miles throughout the week; i.e. you don't have to do all miles in one sitting.
• Each additional week you add on one mile, working up to 32 miles per week, eventually
• For every mile you don't do, you pay $1.

I'm only up to 12 miles. Please don't let me die. I love to run, but I don't think I like death.

A Note

Dear Blogger:

I hate your formatting. Sometimes I have to re-post and re-post in order to get the spacing exactly the way I want it. Is this, or is it not, MY BLOG? If I say I want a break after each paragraph, I fucking mean it. Shape up or ship out. Let's not let our friendship fall apart because you're an occasional piece of shit.

Satisfied?

When I was in High School, I did NOT take psychology. I wasn't that interested...and I also figured best not to wade in uncharted waters. But once at University, I took a 1010 course in sociology and then an advanced course titled 'Sociology of Gender.' Fascinating stuff, sociology. Of course, it's a 'soft science' based on the general, not the specific, but it is nevertheless, fascinating. And, being a feminist, I love to ruminate on the sociological effects of being classified as "female" because I know how much of gender is reared -- not biological. I for one enjoy the constraints of girlhood; I love pink. I love getting dressed up. I love shopping. And so on. And if you were to ask my mother she would tell you that I loved those things as a small child, nay, an infant. She always tells people about how I loved dresses as a little girl. My mother is not a girly girl. Where did my ultra conformist feminine personality come from? Who knows. Perhaps I am simply more willing to go with the societal flow.

I am happy as a girl.

That is not to say that I am constrained by my gender, or by the gender of other people. I will stretch outside of my comfort zone to non-traditional territory. For example, many of you know that my husband did not work while he went to school and I was the bread winner. It did not bother me, but it did bother others. Maybe "bother" isn't the correct word; people thought the situation worth commenting on. And by commenting, I mean make snide remarks about how he wasn't employed even though he was not employed by choice, and a student, and we made plenty of money. These comments pissed off my gender sensibilities. WOMEN stay home all the time. WOMEN are unemployed often, or do intermittent work with no career path in mind. MEN do not comment on this situation.

Why don't they comment? Perhaps because they think it benefits them, or the family, or the wife herself. I for one do not think the cost is worth it. For those of you who know me personally, you know that I enjoy being busy, and yes, my opinion is slightly jaded towards being a "working woman." Part of this is because I know myself and I know that if I stayed at home I would be insane. Said insanity would then drive me to an asylum of some sort -- just to get me out of the fucking house. That is what I call self preservation.

I suppose this rant is coming from a head full to the brim of thoughts about wifedom and domesticity. Because, like I said, I don't mind my gender assignments, but maybe that's because I'm not trapped by them. Tom allows me to do and BE what I choose, and I in turn allow him the same. I'm reading 'The Feminine Mystique' and let me tell you; the mind reels. In the late 50s, after emancipation, during civil rights, even extending out to the hippy era, women all across the country were falling for the happy housewife. This myth that women are better in the home than in the work place. And women all across the country were tricked into thinking that college, even high school, were only as good as the husband it would catch them. Education was a means to an end; that end being a husband and family. Birth rates skyrocketed as women believed that their sole and best purpose was to procreate. Women were "happiest" at home cleaning and raising kids and taking care of their husbands and reading drivel and selling away their own dreams. (Does this sound familiar to anyone? Hello, Utah? Are you listening? Utah is still, to this day, a place where women stay home to raise a family and even though they are some of the most educated women in the country, they aren't doing anything with it. Perhaps this cultural phenomenon is tied with Utah's high methamphetamine abuse...) Sometimes I wish I wanted kids, simply because it would be an easy out. Throw my passions into my children, into motherhood, and worry about their well being rather than my own future. But that's not fair to me or to my hypothetical kidlings. That is not what would make me happy.

I think Carrie Bradshaw said it best: "Perhaps as women we've been given too many options...now we're unable to make a decision." The women's movement empowered women to think that they could do and be anything they wanted because they had been given the right to vote. But sometimes I think -- men always had the right to vote and they don't feel as though they can do or become anything. So maybe we got the wrong idea; our dreams got so big we couldn't possibly attain them and to make the failure less painful, we stay home, stay small, stay safe. I'm not meaning to bash stay-at-homes by saying this. In fact, Charlotte, in the same episode, said, "The women's movement is supposed to be about choice" which I believe. I believe in doing what makes one happy and obviously this is something I wrestle with in my own brain quite often. And I still have a difficult time putting the thoughts down in a comprehensive manner...

I guess what I'm really trying to say is: what will satisfy me?

Turns Out...

...I'm alive after all.

After taking a break,

which came from nowhere,

I am back to here,

wherever here is.

Why the absence?

No idea.

Had love, had friends,

had happy.

Perhaps just preparing

for something new.

Stick around

for the plunge.

Hair Everywhere

If you have seen me in the recent present -- you may have realized that my hair is long now. It is approximately 7 inches from the top of my butt crack. I'm enjoying the length; lots of fun things to do with my hair these days AND I have a fantastic blow dryer that makes drying a breeze (ha ha).

But I must admit -- sometimes I hate the hairs themselves. Individual hairs are beginning to invade everything. Once the hair has left the mother ship it is free to roam about the house, the bed, or Tom's undershirts, or socks, or the sink, or the shower wall, or the washing machine, and on and on. I am not going bald. In fact, if all the hairs I find everyday were still on my head, I would not be able to lift it. When we lay in bed Tom has to pat my head in order to keep hairs out of his mouth/eyes/nose. And now all these free hairs are starting to gross me out. It's as if we two are microscopic beings living on a hair brush.

However. I must press forward. 7 inches to the butt crack (which is my end goal (ha ha)); that will probably take me until the end of the summer, or longer. We'll see which comes first: the butt crack or a hair cut.

Midwinter Slump

This is absolutely the most god awful time of year. The excitement of the holidays has come and gone. The excitement of snow has also fled. Now, the days are tedious. The weather sucks ass. The drag of winter extends out into what feels like (and may as well be) eternity. It's no surprise that when people retire and become closer to death they move to some place sunny and pleasant, like Florida or California or Arizona. Who wants to waste the remaining years of their life shoveling snow? Or scraping off the windshield? Or just feeling fucking freezing down to the bone?

Not me. Not you either. Don't lie.

I am currently in the hibernation stage of my midwinter blues. I just want to stay in my house in my bed in blankets and sweaters. And within my house, I don't want to do anything but sleep and eat and watch tv -- with intermittent periods of reading. Some people might call this SAD. Literally. "Seasonal Affective Disorder" is a mood disorder which also has a catchy acronym. Do I think I have it? Who doesn't. (Maybe not snowboarders/skiiers -- they are freaks.) SAD affects most normal people to some degree or another; people who are otherwise mentally picture-perfect during the good time of the year. "Good" being summer or spring or even fall. Basically any time of the year that IS NOT January/February. At least in November and December you have the loveliness of the holidays to cheer you up and surround you with presents and friends and family. In January nothing is going on except MLK Jr Day. Not that this isn't a great holiday representation wise. It's just not a super-fantastic-wish-time kind of celebration.

I think I will maybe buy one of those UV lamps and see if that shakes me out of my hated slump. Go towards the light...

'Finished' List

You know what I should do?

I should start a list of all the books that I read each year -- because I can't tell you how many times I would like to brag about what a wide and diverse selection of books I have completed and am unable to pull from the dregs of my memory the titles of said books. And that way I can keep track of books I loved or hated or didn't finish. Yes, I will even keep track of the ones I don't finish. I think I'll buy one of those "book journals" in which you write the title, author, and a little blurby blurb about 'your feelings.' What a good idea.

So, go list go.

Rebellion

That is it.

I am officially done (for this week, at least) with going to the gym. I feel like being lazy and lazing about the bedroom. We're leaving for Las Vegas on Thursday and I just don't feel like working out. When we get home, I'll do better. I'll go every morning and eat right and shape up. But for the rest of this week, exercise is persona non grata. Don't worry -- I'm not giving up -- but weeks and weeks of working out as well as weeks and weeks of a stagnant scale piss me off. So before I hate myself completely, it's time for some r and r.

In Bed

All day in bed today.

Skipped the gym.

Opted for sleep.

Breakfast in bed.

A little television.

A little kissing hugging snuggling.

A little laughing tickling loving.

A little sleeping.

More sleeping.

Sunlight in the window.

Sunlight in the bed.

Up just in time for work.

I loathe my laziness.

But I love our bed.

Driving Therapy

I have a family history of driving. If we went on vacation as a family, we drove. Sometimes, on weekends, we would all jump in the car and start driving around -- not really sure where we were going. We'd end up at a lake or in the mountains or at a lake in the mountains. One time Mom and I took a windy road up a mountain, only to become slightly stuck. I was super scared at the time, but we made it back down safe and sound and with a pocketful of hilarious memories. After my senior year the two of us went on a road trip to the west coast. We drove A LOT and it gave us a chance to talk and think and just be. My mom started to teach me to drive when I was about 13. I didn't just jump on the road; I began with backing the car out of the driveway and back in. Then, I progressed to driving on back roads on the way to and from Granny's house. I have been driving for longer than most people, which is what makes me a great driver (no tickets, no accidents -- minor parking lot incidents aside) and what makes me love to drive.Driving is therapeutic, especially at night. The quiet, dark landscape. A good song on the radio. Headlights beaming the way. Little traffic, little stopping. Just speed and constant movement -- that's the key. Whatever may be wrong -- something at work, something at home, something personal -- try going for a drive alone and in darkness. The rolling car allows for thoughts to become still. The mind stops pacing and becomes settled. It settles into, not necessarily "clarity," but peace.

Eeriness

We were talking tonight at work about scary movies or scary stories we had heard. It was harmless -- simple exchanges between us to fill the time. And I thought nothing of it; telling them about frightening books or dreams of my own.

But by the time I arrived home, all the things I had heard were lurking in the back of my mind. I wasn't thinking about them directly. The thoughts would slip past my consciousness and then back into the shadows. Tom was not yet home and the apartment was quiet. Still. I tidied up the bedroom. I walked into the closet to hang up shirts. As I reached up my arms I began to feel creepy and exposed. I turned around and looked out at the empty room. Nothing there, nothing to worry about. I held my breath and steadied myself to walk back out to the room and keep my back to the closet. I bent down to throw out the water bottles by the bed and stared at the dark space known as 'under the bed.' I looked over my shoulder to see the closet. Nothing. I threw away the water bottles and then went into the bathroom to organize the clutter on the counter. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, transfixed. Didn't Bloody Mary come out of mirrors? I thought I heard the front door open and close and ran to the stairs. As I peeked over the railing, waiting to see Tom walking up, I peeked over my shoulder again -- just to make sure nothing was behind me. And no one came up the stairs.

Eventually I turned on the TV in order to drown out my own fears and scary thoughts. I'm an adult, am I not? Shouldn't I be brave and think nothing of trivial things like ghosts or zombies? I've always hated being home alone because I get freaked out by the teeniest thing. And the worst thing is that even now, as a full grown human, I feel like a child, afraid of my own thoughts and imagination.

Curious Indeed

I have now seen 'The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.' And I can sum up the movie in a few words: (don't worry, I won't give anything away) Brad Pitt is good. Cate Blanchett is better. The beginning feels long. The end is beautiful.

I think it's worth it to go see, despite the length. The message (or theme or lesson or whatever you want to call it) of the film seems to be that love is an experience worth having, regardless of the end, regardless of pain, regardless of circumstance, regardless of selfishness. In order to have a full and happy life, we need to open up to new experiences and new people so that we can learn more about ourselves and die, if not necessarily "happy," at least content that we lived life and loved many.

Changes

Well, Tom's job is changing and he will have different days off than me for a little while (hopefully) if not permanently (hopefully not). So, I've got to think of some fun hobbies for me to start up on my days off whilst he's away at work so that I don't a) eat the house; b) sleep away the day; or c) spend all our money. Because, you see, I get incredibly bored without anything to do or anyone to do things with. Here are some of the things I'm thinking about taking up in hopes of continually bettering myself and learning a new skill.

• a painting class
• cello lessons
• piano lessons - again
• a ballet class
• pottery

Here are some of the downsides to any of these options.

• I don't know how to paint and am a horrible artist
• I do not own a cello and I can't really see how this skill set would produce anything worthwhile for quite some time
• I already know how to play the piano and I don't think my teeny tiny hands are going to grow in the next litte while
• I am way out of 'dance' shape -- like WAY
• I can't think of any negatives, per se, of pottery, just that it was last on the list because it was the last thing I thought of, which must mean something...

Despite the potential shortcomings of any of these choices, I must choose one. Because I must prevent overeating, overspending, and oversleeping, as aforementioned. Of course, maybe it would be best to just lose myself somewhere and write all day. Hmm, I hate it when things change and the inevitability of choice enters the equation once again. Routine can be so comforting - but I guess I should just kick my own ass into gear.

Chores

I hate undone projects around the house. Whether it's ongoing chores or a one-time thing, I can't stand seeing them lying around, mocking me. I have bursts of ambition (usually the day before I actually need to get the thing done) and when the day comes, I will look for any sort of distraction to keep me from doing it. And I really WANT to do them because I want the house to be nice, but I also want to have fun or take a nap or watch tv or go see a movie or go out to dinner...pretty much anything else. Oh well. Here are some things I'm trying to get done this weekend:

• Unpack books and put on bookshelves
• Take down Christmas tree and decorations
• Put up shelves in the garage and fill them with various crap
• Organize the mail
• Build the table we bought at Ikea a month ago
• Do the dishes
• Clean the bathroom
• Get a car wash

Hopefully nothing interesting (or uninteresting) will keep me from completion.

Ring Ring

Remember the game "Telephone?" You know, where you say something to the person next to you and then it gets whispered around the room and at the end everyone laughs at how much the sentence "I went to the store" turns into "I think you're a whore." Hardy har har.

Yeah, not so much funny as an adult.

I know that gossip is an inevitability. Everyone does it, even those who are the carriers of best intentions. But the problem with gossip is that the only way to stop it, is to STOP IT. Being someone in the chain of misinformation doesn't help the situation -- so the only thing one can do is just hang up the telephone. No chances to right wrongs, no chances to correct any missaid or misconstrued sentences. You just have to be upright and honest and stop.

As a young teenage girl, I totally had a problem with gossip. I loved it; loved to spread it around, loved to hear it, I had to 'know' everything about everybody. But as I matured through my school years, I put it aside. I preferred honest interactions that were uncluttered by unobserved nuances of who or what a person did or didn't do. This isn't to say that I became perfect, I enjoyed (and sometimes still enjoy) a juicy tidbit of information. I'm just saying that when it came to my dear friends, people I truly cared about, I dropped garbagy gossip at the door.

And the thing I hate the most is people who haven't done the same. It isn't 'fun' anymore to play Telephone. The differences get bigger and bigger as the chain gets longer and longer, but it isn't about who wore what wrong color on that particular day, but rather, people's lives and feelings. Entire friendships can be lost on a split-second misheard or misunderstood phrase. Maybe for some people the excitement is worth it, but not for me. So here is my apology to everyone in the world that was ever hurt by gossip; said by anyone, anywhere.

I'm sorry.

I Want It

I want this now.

But I will have to wait.

Don't worry --

My love will not diminish.

Dooney & Bourke

Medium Chiara Bag in Plum

How plumilicious.

Lacking Ambition

I often worry that I'm not doing enough with my person. Like, I should be getting ready to do something uber fantastic, and sometimes the fear that I am not doing -- or not even close to doing that something -- grabs me and renders me useless. I am a classic overachiever; I always take on too many projects, finish few, but do well on the ones I do finish. I worked a full-time job (40+ hours per week) while taking 17 credit hours each semester which made it possible for me to graduate with a BA in English after 2 years. As a teenager I did 2 hours of ballet 3 times a week, as well as play rehearsal, and choir - all while maintaining honor roll status. When my mom was sick my senior year of High School, I added the role of 'mother' to my repertoire to care for my brother. This included transferring him from one babysitter to another on my lunch, picking him up after school, dropping him off at 5am before I had drill team practice, and still keeping up my extracurricular activities like drill team, dance company, theatre, choir, and so on. I can take on a lot of responsibility. And it doesn't kill me -- it only makes me stronger.

I feel like I'm running to live up to the potential that was instilled in me at a young age. And it's not that I resent that feeling, rather, it pushes me. That feeling is what makes me ME. It makes me get out of bed after only 5 or 6 hours of sleep. It makes me work harder than other people. It makes me think faster. It makes me more creative. Most importantly, it makes me reach further and further for that invisible goal line. But I hate the feeling that I'm falling behind. I'm 25. Shouldn't greatness be coming my way already?

I guess all this blah blah blah is coming from a vague mid-twenties crisis. I like my job; it pays well and I love the people I work with. But it does not fulfill my need for "it" (whatever that may be) and I find myself longing for fame and fortune. This year I am supposed to write a novel. I have already started it, but I am scared to keep writing because completion will mean that potential (more like, inevitable) failure is just around the corner. Everyone says, "I want to write a book" but that doesn't mean they have anything interesting to say or that they can write worth a damn. Besides, writing a book seems so cliche, right? The chances of being the next "great" are so slim, models are envious.

BUT. The beginning of the year is the time to cast aside all doubt and plunge headfirst into bettering one's self. I intend to better my writing by writing writing writing and reading reading reading. If I want to be the next "great," I believe that I can will myself to become it. I can do anything, except open my own jars...

Fluff

Here is something I hate:

I'm at the gym and I'm in trekking class. I'm in front of the fan because I get so overheated that I will get sick and pass out if I don't have circulating air on my face. I am running, no, sprinting. And I am sort of gasping for air. Slowly, my breathing catches a hint of stink. The hint eventually turns into a decisive point -- and where is it pointing? To the guy next to me who has apparently passed gas while running full speed.

This is disgusting on several levels. First of all; I am running. I am breathing deeply and each breath feels like it might be my last. Do I want my last breath to reek of ass? Second of all; his farts were super stinky ... like a dead animal. I'm thinking, what is this man eating? He smells like he's about to rot. Thirdly; where is the common courtesy? The treadmills at my gym are upstairs and fans are kind of scarce and the air is hot and muggy. Can he not just a) hold them in or b) at least jog away to expel his disgusting puff?

I admit, I was pretty rude after the first fart was followed by many and I realized that apparently his jogging was compressing his bowels and that he would be releasing gas the entire HOUR LONG class. I started putting my hand up to my face under my nose. I would take my towel and whip the air in front of my face. I would roll my eyes and make a slightly (but really more than slightly) disgusted noise. I would turn my head away in a most determined fashion. I hope he got the hint. The hint being: if you are farting, it's time we were parting. And hopefully he was appropriately embarrassed and will think twice about his treadmill etiquette.

Out and About

Lots of goings on at our house today:

• Lunch with college roommate
• Niece's birthday get-together
• Dinner with out-of-town childhood friend
• Late-night flick with work buddies

Hopefully I will have time for a quick cat nap...Tom asked me why I booked so much stuff on one day -- but honestly, everything just sort of fell into place this way. It will be a day of catching up with loved ones, gossip, reminiscing, and fun. What better way to spend the day?

Hilarity in Random Places

What follows is a totally benign conversation between me, my husband, and my sister-in-law on MSN messenger. I was on the laptop and he was at the desktop but we were in the same room. Tasha was at her own house.

Tasha says:
Kellie is going to come down around noon tomorrow so we can go sledding if anyone wants to come
Johanna says:
like, at your dad's?
Tasha says:
or at a real place, cause it was warm and Dad said his hill is deteriorating quickly
Tom says:
penis
Johanna says:
lol
Tasha says:
I commented about my dad's bday a while back and said at least if you are going to lie about your birthday, Go Younger!
Tom says:
penis
Johanna says:
that's funny
Johanna says:
stop that
Tasha says:
What are your plans today and tomorrow
Johanna says:
i went to tai pan with my mom today and i got this great mirror for the living room for $35
Tasha says:
I love tai pan!
Johanna says:
and then we're going to see a movie later
Johanna says:
and tomorrow i've got lunch with my college roommate
Johanna says:
and then dinner with jonah wright
Tasha says:
Hayley?
Johanna says:
and then a movie with my work friends
Johanna says:
yeah, haley
Tasha says:
Aren't you coming to Ken's party?
Johanna says:
what time is it at?
Tasha says:
4
Johanna says:
oh, we can still go
Johanna says:
lunch is early and the dinner is at like 7
Tasha says:
and the movie is a midnighter... I guess...our days end at 7, lol
Johanna says:
lol - the movie's at 10:30
Johanna says:
hehe
Tasha says:
Kenley helped me clean the house last night til amost 930 and it is still a huge mess!
Tasha says:
so when you guys come over, just look past the disgusting mess
Johanna says:
how dirty can your house be?
Tasha says:
I have been in pain all week with the endo, and Aaron worked 6 days in a row...
Johanna says:
bleh
Tasha says:
It's probably the worst it has ever been since we moved in
Tasha says:
I am going to take some ibuprofen and lay down, talk to ya later... take care
Johanna says:
okay- see you tomorrow
Tasha says:
k
Tom says:
penis
Tasha says:
vagina

Tasha has left the conversation.

Oh god. I laughed until I cried. Tom told me that he was just going to keep saying "penis" until she responded - but Tasha, being his sister and having grown up with his obssessive antics, just ignored him until the very end. And promptly logged off. I love my family.

Sinking In

Our new apartment has a crazy hot water heater. I can fill up the entire bathtub with boiling hot relaxation. I love to dip my feet in, then slowly lower the rest of my person into the steaming water. My toes turn red and then eventually the rest of me is red as well; a lovely shade of pink, like I'm blossoming. I will lean my head back. I will read. I will put one foot out to regulate temperature. I will close my eyes and drift away. I will listen to the rustling echo of turned pages. I will watch myself become gooey like melted chocolate and lose my mind in written words.

Personal Grooming

Do you remember in 'Clueless' when Josh asks Cher "Do you know how many hours a day you spend grooming yourself?" This is an interesting question I am asking myself. A brief list of some things I do on some days:

1. apply makeup
2. shower
3. blow dry hair
4. brush hair
5. do hair (i.e. ponytail, curling, waving, you know 'doing')
6. paint nails
7. file nails
8. trim nails
9. get a pedicure
10. whiten teeth
11. brush teeth
12. wash face
13. moisturize using anti-aging cream
14. get dressed
15. put on lotion
16. shave various areas
17. pluck eyebrows
18. wear perfume
19. wear jewelry
20. sleep
21. pop zits
22. use nose strips
23. dye hair
24. trim hair
25. use hairthings like headbands/scarves
26. curl eyelashes
27. pumice heels

Doesn't that sound ridiculous? I mean, I don't do all that shit every day, but goddamn; that seems like an awful lot. I'll have to think of something I can cut out...maybe the sleep. Sometimes I hate being a high-maintenance low-maintenance-appearing female.

Bangle Me

Okay, you can ignore this post on shopping.

I have a difficult time finding jewelry that I like because my taste is very particular and tends to be very expensive. Unfortunately, I have been plagued with this since I was a small child -- I always liked the most expensive thing, despite not knowing how much it was before I desperately fell in love with it.

And here are some expensive things that are absolutely fabulous and that I must have despite bank breaking or excess of bracelets...neither of which are true. Okay, that's a lie. But please.

Look at these beautiful things.

That last one is my personal fave. Looking at it makes me want to cry I want it so bad. You don't happen to have $120 lying around, do you?

Quick - To the Movies!

This is a great time of year because lots and lots of fantastic movies enter the scene in hopes of winning an Oscar. I totally love the Oscars and I love to see as many of the nominated movies as possible. Of course, at this point, we don't know exactly who/which will make the cut - but we can get a pretty good idea. Here's what's on my list:

• Revolutionary Road
• The Reader
• Milk
• Gran Turino
• The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
• Rachel Getting Married
• Slumdog Millionaire
• Doubt

And just for fun, I also want to see these:

• Yes Man
• Madagascar Escape 2 Africa
• He's Just Not That Into You

So, yes, I'll be a bit busy over the next couple of months with film-going and then Oscar-watching. Eee! I can't wait.

Resolved

Resolutions for 2009 -- in no particular order.

1. weigh 105 pounds
2. finish writing a novel of fiction
3. start writing a novel of non-fiction
4. write a book of poems
5. write every day
6. read every day
7. run a marathon
8. work on my correspondence
9. travel
10. finish projects from 2008
11. organize the mail
12. take ballet classes

Wish me luck.