Friday, December 24, 2010

A Very Belated Birthday

I'd like to get into the habit of taking a birthday picture every year to watch myself age in a strange flip-book some day. I've been thinking about doing it for years, but when it's that time of year, I just...don't. I regret it every year. So my November birthday pretty much went by on here without a whisper, but as of over a month ago, I'm now the ripe old age of 26. Herein will be my first yearly birthday picture, and with any luck, there will be many many more to come.

In other life-news, I passed all three classes with A's. Yesss! Now I've only got...a kazillion more credits to get my degree. :/ Gotta keep on truckin'!

Monday, October 18, 2010

Southern Man, Better Keep Your Head

I've often found my self intrigued by quotes from Southerners. Somehow there is a backwoods saying to fit every occasion. I'm trying to store them in my broken tattered memory, but since writing things down is nearly the only way to keep anything in the leaky bastard for any length of time, here are a few that come to mind:

Fine as frog hair.
Low as a hogs belly.
Cold as a witches tit.

(My title is for Neal Young, who is a king among men.)

Yep, I really did just make a whole post for a few quotes. VERY worthwhile quotes.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Ever Evolution

I am shedding skin,
Behind me the scales stretch on for miles
White and papery
How long since I’ve looked down?
Looks like ages.
The fresh bits still sting
And tug on living organ

Surprising, my inobservance.
This paper world shifting under my belly
I always feel very myself
In my skin,
But to notice the evolution
I must have been tweaked here and there
Betrayed by my silent self

Patterns shift
As I search the imprint for clues
Paper scales crunch though my fingers
Ah! There’s something
A swirl instead of a triangle
And, my! I’ve never seen that before
Pushing me to a surprising path
Shifty eyes make sure no one watches
Crush the bad decisions,
Search for stretchiness on the good ones

I see dreams in there, too
With fuzzy edges
Of fear and sex and people long shelved
I can’t even make out that face awake,
The magic of dreams enlarge and examine
Forgetfulness

I observe my fresh self
Primer gray
Awaiting impression, color, life
Only to be left trailing behind
Ever evolution
Molds, nudges, pushes, squishes
Until my crisp papery person pervades
Then you’ll find me in a generation of dreams
Blowing away

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

The older I get, the less I believe in.

I'm sure someone has said that before, but it just came across my mind and it's astounding how much truth there is in it. My thought didn't specify anything in particular, so to appeal to my own curiosity, I typed "the older I get, the less I believe in" (with quotes) into Google. It's actually quite depressing how age can so often and easily trump hope.
These are some of the top search results Google brought me back:
"The older I get, the less I believe in the idea of the major artist as shaman plugged into the cosmos." (ooook, that one is a bit out there, but...)
"the older i get the less i believe in the meant to be thing. if you're not doing anything nothing's going to happen." (too true!)
"The older I get, the less I believe in real love, soul mates, and that Hollywood nonsense." (Agreed!)
"the older I get the less I believe in fairness" (unfortunate, but true)
"the older i get, the less i believe in the possibility of finding happiness." (Oooh, I have had that thought a time or two)
"The older I get, the less I believe in coincidence." (Thought provoking)
"the older I get, the less I believe in true love"
"The older I get, the less I believe in University degrees as a test of capacity"
"The older I get, the less I believe in dreams coming true."

I bet everyone can finish this sentence, and, if you're feelin' froggy, I'd love to hear what some of you might have to say.

Friday, September 17, 2010

You've GOTTA See This...

I was lucky enough to check out one of Blogger's suggested reads and found this little gem: http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/ I cry laughing every time I read one of these. If you're down, Charlie Brown, I suggest you take a peek at this glorious blog.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Polishing A Turd

Whew. It's awful quiet around here. What can I say? I've been doing well. I started school; I'm taking a computer class (CIS105), World Religions & Cultural Diversity and the Media. The latter two are actually fun.
Also, I went to Los Angeles this past weekend with Richard, my brother and his wife. All weekend we did what Richard has affectionately dubbed "polishing a turd." Trying to make something good that really isn't good. LA is not a beautiful city. The people are interesting to watch. The bathrooms at Venice beach either have shit in the toilet and cold sandy floors, or shitty underwear crammed into the corner of the stall. It was grubby and I have a new appreciation for the cleanliness of Phoenix (try to stifle your double takes about that one). I think no matter where one travels, it's good to get the opinions and suggestions of several locals and plan a couple fun things. Manhattan Beach was pretty nice though, so I can't complain about that. And no matter where one is, the ocean is immense and overpowering and awe-evoking. It was just a bit difficult to focus on that with all the hoards and hoards of rickety people and various forms of shit. We also got an opportunity to observe a street performer hammer a long nail up his nose and simultaneously swallow and un-swallow a billiard ball, which is always excellent. (I gave him a dollar I had fashioned into an origami bow tie.)
Sending good vibes that you're all doing well and riding a cool un-ending wave of happiness. A bumper sticker I saw today sums up the way I'd love to view life: "No Bad Days" with a shady palm tree over the top. A lovely little something to strive for.

Friday, August 20, 2010

She's Only Missing Neck Bolts

Often times when we have company over, Richard pulls me aside beforehand and requests that I don't talk about the dog, please. And I guess maybe I get a little carried away from time to time, but I feel like people coming over should be informed about why Dakota looks like a small hairy Frankenstein. She's a real wreck. I've never encountered a dog that has a funky odor less than a week after a bath. She's (still) suffering from some extreme allergies and guess what? I'm taking this moment to type about the dog. What? I'm not TALKING about the dog. TYPING isn't the same as TALKING. (Another loophole found and conquered!)
We've tried Prednisone, Benadryl, some other OTC allergy meds, the dreaded pink doggy cone, supplements, diet change, eye drops, ear drops, bag balm, mother apple cider vinegar, putting up a fence to keep her out of the vast grassy back yard, and STILL she is a scratching, hair-missing, eye gooing, toe bleeding, stinking, limping dog.
When did animals become so expensive and start having health problems? Until this whole episode with Dakota I was in the dark about such doggy dilemmas.
Having a dog with health problems is a really painful experience. I feel like I should be doing something; taking her to the vet, running tests, getting her on more meds, but DAMN that stuff is expensive! Or maybe she'd be better off in another environment, another state, another family.
Then there comes the guilt, tromping in uninvited. Then the realization that there are so few options and a little blip comes across my radar wondering if she is suffering and by keeping her around instead of considering putting her to sleep I'm being selfish. It's so hard for me to even allow the thought to cross my mind because even though she mopes around and scratches and licks her face until there are patches of hair missing, she's ALIVE and breathing, and isn't that worth it? Is that my decision to make? How can one assess if and when a creature is ready to be removed from their suffering?
Tomorrow I have an appointment with the vet. I consider this a last ditch effort to getting her healthy again. If she doesn't have any affordable options, I'll try and find her a new home in a part of the country that isn't so immersed in pollen and pollution and allergy-provoking problems, maybe she could stay with a family member since I don't see who would be willing to take my furry Frankenstein. I won't bother to venture into further speculation, because I can't face option 3. Not just yet.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Waiting is the Hardest Part

I have a problem and that problem is me. I am a procrastinator. The worst procrastinator in all of Procrastinator Land. I can manage to keep myself structured in a work environment, but in my personal life this problem reigns supreme. I don't know if it's the thrill or anxiety of an encroaching deadline or something else, but I hold off on things that would be simple for anyone else just because I know I can. Then at the last possible second I buckle down and slam myself into a whirlwind and somehow pull of the impossible. I'll always put off today what I can do tomorrow. I never bite off more than I can chew; I nibble the tiniest bites so there is no chance of biting off more than I can chew. I think this is my worst trait and holds me back more than anything. I rarely start anything that I can't finish because I set myself up to avoid committing to anything that may be too challenging. Maybe it's a fear of some sort. I want what I want immediately, but I will wait as long as possible when I'm the one responsible for making things happen. That way, if something goes wrong, I can't be held responsible and easily convince myself in the mean time that the problem may work itself out. Mostly? It doesn't.
I typically steer clear of self help type stuff because a lot of it seems hokey and fluffy and WORK! So much WORK! On myself! Something that isn't tangible but resides in the raging carnival that is my mind. I think I may have used up all the 'self help' space in my brain for movie quotes and song lyrics. With trembling hands I proclaim, I may soon be haunting my nearest bookstore's self help section, sulky, red-faced and resistant.

Friday, July 23, 2010

Talking Heads Spoke to Me

Sometimes people, lots of people, draw themselves into little boxes. I am guilty of this. There was a time when I found myself wedged into a tiny nook from which escape or attempts at trying to be my real self was uncomfortable, like a new baby being birthed into the world and screaming to go backward. I was listening to a Talking Heads song today, Seen and Not Seen, that perfectly explains the process. One day we look in the mirror and it's not our face we see. Something along the way began to veer and, for me, I paid very little attention. When I finally glanced back up, it wasn't my face or clothing or eyes or anyone or thing I recognized. I peered at myself and felt like breaking out, arms and legs splaying wildly, pushing away from the safe cocoon which enveloped me. And people helped me to stay in my cocoon because it made them more comfortable too. My skiddish head dodged out of dark corners and one white spidery leg would try to poke out into the light, rapidly recede when others took notice, poke out again and make timid awkward first steps toward truth. I remember feeling like I couldn't be anyone else but the avatar I had created; grungy, pent up, angry, trying to keep people out and alone to the point of splitting in two. I was my own prisoner, diligently stacking brick and mortar up around myself. I'm not sure what changed, but I must have taken a shortcut back to freedom and let myself go.

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A Strange Stranger

i don't know you
Your words are a mix matched medley, a patchwork quilt, of borrowed dialogue
slang of the distasteful type, entrancing you to tee-heets, teh-hets and trouble
saying i'd be proud of you

i knew someone once
that was prideful, but her voice was plump and husky, the kind that makes you fall asleep
or feel seduced

the luster of past has blotted present
reality garbled up

i unfolded my mind around you
when you walked into the mush, with a new hillbilly botox voice, i shut you out
folded my wrinkly pink brain around what you usta-was
guarded by armor of resistance of reality

i don't see you now
you dream of me when I was Little
i share your dream, suckle the poison out of honesty and spit it out,
caressing your shell

but what's in there is empty

if I have a picture, i wear it thin, rubbing your face in memory of our past until it's hard to remember, any face but the picture
a mugshot, a still frame, real smile or fake, i can't tell

so i weave a story of your day, a golden shining sun
a floral print dress, smells of a home-cooked meal
i stitch out a reality, true or false, and circle one.

choice made.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Gnome Obsession Reveal


I love lawn gnomes. I've been searching for a plain classic garden gnome for several years. I know they exist, but despite my tireless search have not been able to find one that isn't holding a wheel barrow, slouched on a mushroom or doing something other than just standing in place grumpily with a pointy red hat. Some day the search will prove fruitful, I know it. Until then, my little buddy here was in a potted cactus when we moved into the house and he has served as a worthy lawn ornament. He's only about three inches tall and is in a perpetual state of slumber. His name is Henry.

Friday, May 21, 2010

TriLyte & Scope Update

Oh. My. Goodness.
Last night was one of the most terrible medical experiences I've ever had to go through. Despite my extreme TriLyte preparation and tips, I only got through about 2/3 of the jug...most of which ended up being vomited right back up. Thankfully it was enough and the colonscopy was still performed. I literally cried with relief when they let me know I could still do the scope. I couldn't fathom attempting to drink that stuff a second time. Don't think I would have made it through.
I was super dehydrated and woke up through the night with a splitting headache. They had a hard time finding a vein to put the needle for my vitals in because they had all decided to collapse from lack of water. Once I was down, all went smoothly. I still have inflammation but with the Sulfasalazine I'm doing much better and I'd really like to keep this up. Afterward, I went out for some killer delicious sushi and then followed that a couple hours later with some Mexican food at my favorite local place, La PiƱata. And a piece of Dove dark silky chocolate. I am so relieved to have that behind me.

Important Tip:
The desk girl at my GI's office said that most people that have less to eat on the day before their liquid diet tend to be able to handle the TriLyte with much more ease. Unfortunately for me, I decided to ignore that information and be a total and complete glutton. I even had to sneak in a bowl of Cheerio's with rice milk right before bed as my last hurrah. I am, indeed, a moron.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

TriLyte Colonoscopy Prep



I tried a few different recommendations for my TriLyte prep and if you want the short version of this somewhat lengthy vlog, here's what I concluded:
Use super cold water
Use a straw and drink from the back of your throat so you don't have to taste as much
Flavor packets: Pineapple was ok, cherry comes in second, then orange, and lemon lime is the loser
Crystal Light mix was so-so
Apple juice was so-so
Gatoraide is not a good idea
Definitely a good idea to have a chaser like 7UP or some kind of ginger ale

Wish me luck. I'll need it.

Monday, May 17, 2010

The Importance of Trust

How important is trust in a doctor patient relationship? I'm not talking about the kind of trust that the doctor will perform the job to the best of their ability, but rather the motivation behind their practices as a doctor and the ethical vs financial aspects of care. There are some doctors that clearly have a pull toward their career because they want to help people. Others are money motivated or status motivated. Maybe some have had doctors in the family and that was just what was expected of them. To me personally, it seems like something that matters.
I bring this up because my colonoscopy is scheduled for this Friday. I've been on Sulfasalazine for over a month and I've been doing great. I almost feel like a normal human being a good chunk of the time. Therefore I'm not sure I understand the reasons behind my upcoming procedure. My doctor said he'd like to do the scope because he wanted to find out if the UC had spread further. But to what end? Even if it has claimed new territory in the colon, I'm doing much better on the medication I'm currently taking and I really don't want to change anything. Some people would just let sleeping dogs lie and if/when the symptoms got worse, action would be taken.
Is it normal for doctors to just scope to their heart's content? It's not going to be cheap, despite my health insurance I'm paying a pretty sizable chunk out-of-pocket. My first and only colonoscopy was done in 2006 (ish?) and I stopped seeing a GI and tried to handle it on my own. How often should one have a colonscopy done? What usually triggers one in the first place, if a doctor already knows your disease? Should I get a second opinion? How important do you think it is to trust that your doctor is listening and trying to work with you on your journey? Anyone that has an opinion or past experience, I would love to hear your take on this.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

A Hopeful Ripe Leech

My brain feels like a leech that's been sucking for too long. It's ripe and ready to pop. There are only two options for a ripe leech: gorge and burst or drop off and wither. The semester is almost over. So many things are swirling around. Funeral, family coming to town, final exams, colonoscopy, photo projects with deadlines. It's hard to put all these things in their own little compartments. I like to have a nice, flat, ironed out life. Things are particularly wrinkly at the moment.
Today I learned that the Spanish word "esperar" simultaneously means "to hope" and "to wait." There is something poetic about that. You wait for that which you hope for to come true. If it does come true, you no longer need to wait or hope; if it doesn't, you resign to the fact that what you hope will never take place and therefore is not sensible to wait for.
This is another item that my leech has been gorging itself on. I'll have to risk popping. I've come too far to drop off and wither.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Baby Bayou

Shh. You didn't hear that, did you? It was a small sound, like a ripple in a pond. It was a universe dying. Today my grandpa took his last breath. I feel ill prepared to deal with death. It waxes and wanes and if you're not in it, it tends to keep its distance, lurks around corners and pops out without giving you a chance to reconcile the transition of warm hands and scruffy kisses on the cheek to cold hands that seem distantly familiar, or a mouth that turns to quick sand and falls into itself. I will never hear that deep Southern drawl again, singing songs, laughing his deep laugh that came from all the way down in the bottom of his belly. He'll never be able to tell me about that time he lassoed a whole herd of bees and drove them from one side of the country to the other. Never tell me how him and grandma were masters of the Jitterbug. Never sing the baby bayou song. I can hear his voice in my mind, but I'll never be able to hear it out loud again. His plants won't be watered, no one will write on his calendar and I'll never again pop one of his warm tomatoes in my mouth from right off the vine. No more ice cream cones or dill pickles.
The thing is, he was ready. But when he left today I maybe feel more sad for us. There were so many questions whose answers died with him. Promises of future visits, and excuses for putting off visits. He was so big; big voice, big hands, big deep belly laugh. He felt immortal. How does a great big being exist my whole life time and beyond, then just flicker out? A universe died today. It took with it questions and answers and comfort and worry and wondering. I wasn't ready yet. The sound was so quiet, you may not have felt it. But it's rumbling through me. And for the life of me, I can't figure out where to put all this.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Canon EOS Rebel XSi

Since my early high school years I have had an interest in photography. I finally took the plunge and, after many years of drooling over nice digital cameras, I splurged and bought a Canon EOS Rebel XSi. My first 35mm camera was a Canon Rebel, so I kind of have a soft spot for them. Despite my guilt in spending so much on a camera, I am super happy with it. And honestly, I can only pine for so long until I have to break down. With my 35mm (on which the auto focus feature never worked) I was able to take photos for four different weddings and various other projects so I figure I've paid my dues.
I get a bit of a magical feeling when I go out to take photos; you really have to look at things. In day to day life, I rarely take the time to actually stop and look around. One can really find lovely images in the oddest places. I took this shot on her maiden voyage around my neighborhood:
I love the man vs. nature juxtaposition and have taken LOTS of photos that play on that. Something about that theme can hold my attention. I also like this particular shot because it has a lot of color.

Monday, April 19, 2010

Blind Melon

When things are going shitty I find myself singing this little tune by Blind Melon:



They have a few songs I really dig. If you like that little jingle, you should check out their song Soup or the song Change. They are lovely :)

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Flowers (and Other Escape Routes)

How does one leave ones vessel?
He said I have no vessels
And this is what irregular looks like
Ah, I’m down.

Sometimes leaving requires
A vacating of spirit
With a bright red exit sign
And dripping finger stems.

Some folk take a mind vacation
And come back down
Reminded of their perch on the ceiling
As they looked below at themselves

(This makes things seem smaller than they feel)

Sunnyside up
They cook me before I can break my shell
And see what this is all about
And grow meaty legs or drumsticks

But all that’s real is here, bricks and mortar
So I just have to get taller
Break the ground as I squirm upward
Bloom.

Though I’d sometimes rather stay weak and green,

I have to feel this.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Assholes

I had my followup doctors appointment today. Bleh. I'm feeling like a piece of old meat. I don't know if it's my sense of paranoia of the system or just good sense, but when I see my doctor I see little dollar sign mirages in his eyes. Like a rat sniffing out a piece of cheese.
He had three student interns in the office today, which means you can add the regular discomfort of a usual doctor visit and multiply that by three. And these interns were my age, so as he's going through my history and spouting about the amount of bloody stool I pass per day and gazing at the computer screen displaying images of my last colonoscopy, he informs them that now they've seen an irregular colon. Well thanks a heap, man. He could at least put a P.C. spin on it and say a "special needs" colon. Just irregular. Well, pardon me, but I'm feeling rather regular lately, not that you asked, Doctor Man.
His oval spectacles settled on the end of his nose as he was asking me why, oh why, did he put me on Sulfasalazine rather than Asacol? Or blahblahblahazine. I interpret this as "why didn't I put you on something that a pharmaceutical salesperson would give me a spiff for?" I had to fight tooth and nail to get on that dadgum generic, and I won't be put on Asacol and upped to 12 friggin' pills a day, thank you very much. So I fought him on it again, in front of three medical students, one of whom was text messaging in the midst of the situation. Pardon me, medical student, but could you spare a moments attention and act a little professional so as not to add to the mounting discomfort of your presence? Might as well have picked his wedgie while he was at it, and talk about how nice that chicks tits looked who was sitting in the lobby. Then popped a zit.
Grumpy? Yes. Yes I am. And here's the great reveal: I have to get another colonoscopy. He says he's afraid my UC may have possibly went further than on the first scope in 2006. I don't know why he thinks this has taken place. Then as I was checking out with the desk girl, I had to sign a slip that says they disclosed that he has "personal interest" in the surgery center. What does that mean? Personal interest? I'd like him to show a little personal interest in my health. I feel yucky and a little pissed.

Monday, April 12, 2010

Swiftest of Lizards

I've always had a fondness for lizards. I remember trying to catch them as a kid, sometimes accidentally pulling their tails off in the process (don't worry, they grow back), and acting as their protector when the younger kids wanted to do mean things to my scaly friends. Since we got my cat, Jari, we found that he loves to hunt lizards and bring them in as gifts if he's in trouble. I appreciate the gesture, but I spent my youth as a protector of lizards and I feel a bit torn when Jari presents us with these little gifts.
My dog Dakota recently came down with a terrible bout of allergies; she's itching, green gooey-eyed, having trouble breathing and rubbing her nose feverishly in the grass. We took her to the vet and they prescribed prednisone. (Who would have thought my dog would be prescribed preds when I haven't?) They worked for the first week, then we had to start tapering them down and now she's getting one every other day and back to being miserable. All we can do is wait out the season of extreme pollen in the air.
The other day, Richard walked by the dog who was laying listlessly at the end of the hall and saw that there was a (dead) lizard laying in front of her. Apparently my cat went out on a hunt and decided to present Dakota with a little gift because he's noticed her recent downheartedness. I've never realized how capable animals are of showing compassion and kindness to their fellows. And just for that moment, I was pretty alright with letting go of that small death and opening up to his way of understanding.

Saturday, March 27, 2010

Friday, March 19, 2010

Some Things You Can't Fix

When there’s a problem, I fix it and it’s fixed. Sometimes you have to compromise. Sometimes people dislike what the solution is, but there IS a solution. The solution can’t be “no solution.” When there’s a real problem, there’s a real solution. A fix. A repair. A light at the end of the tunnel, even if it’s a little dimmer than people would like. But this isn’t like that. It’s a coming and going and mistrial after mistrial and I keep giving things up and trying this and that but it feels like it doesn’t matter. I am a bystander strapped behind a glass wall watching things happen to my body that I have no control over. I get tired. I don’t want to take meds that aren’t natural and introduce a chemical to my body for it to function right.
I sometimes wonder why I was the sperm that made it. People are out there living normal lives with no idea what might be lurking. I always felt an undeserved sense of pride when I thought of my health before, like people who are sick could have done something to prevent it. Now I want to look back on that and kick my own ass, and tell myself to eat more ice cream and cottage cheese because I’ll never have that again. Save some money and travel and experience life while you’re still normal and not fucked up and looking for the bathroom the moment you step into any building, hoping no one else is in there so you can be alone with your misery. People take it for granted. I take it for granted when I’m just “pretty well, considering.” But when I start to sink I remember; there was a time when I welcomed death every morning. Not that I would seek it, but I had the thought that if it found me, it’d be a reprieve and a blessing.
I heard someone say that they thought their body was trying to give them a break at those moments they felt good. I was surprised by that. I’ve always felt angry with my body, like it’s turned against me and it could fix this thing, turn it around and make me normal again. I don’t know which is true. I guess it’s just a bunch of parts that, for some mysterious reason, don’t work right together. I guess it doesn’t matter. I won’t come up with a solution. But the moment I start that sinking feeling, the fear creeps in and I wish I wasn’t the one that made it. And I wonder who all you would be without me. Was the creation of my life worth the humiliation and pain?

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Dollop Lust

So my guts have been off kilter for a couple weeks and I decided randomly that I should fast for 24 hours to give the ole meatbag a chance to catch its breath and hopefully get back to normal. I am a food lover. A lover of food. If I could, I'd just sit around all day eating things because they're so delicious. (Can you tell I'm hungry?) Since I'm horrible at not thinking about eating when I'm hungry, I was having a mind-gasm over different things I could be eating. Big juicy burger with lettuce, tomato, extra pickle, mustard, a side of thick cut fries swimming in ketchup. Fluffy baked potato slathered in butter, melted cheese, sour cream and bacon bits. A steaming bowl of vegetable stew.
In the midst of my food fantasies I realized that I have a favorite word. That word is "dollop." Anything with a dollop on it is automatically outstanding. A dollop of butter. A dollop of sour cream. A dollop of hot fudge on ice cream. Unfortunately, dollop is often associated with dairy products. Dairy products were one of my greatest losses when I found the more I ate, the worse things seemed to get in the tummy. So now I shall have to cling to my dollop fantasy. And it's back to the trenches with plain white rice and chicken breast for a micro dinner. Ho hum.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Razor Burn & Sadness

Lazing about yesterday night it occurred to me that men are now beginning to shave things other than their faces. The word shave makes me unhappy. Shaving is such a lame waste of time for so little benefit. I did some research and found that this horrible craze for shaving began for American women in 1915 as a result of some ad campaign that convinced women that if you don't shave you're unhygienic. Society embraced it and now women are all screwed because society would freak out if we didn't shave. If I saw a woman with truly hairy pits, I would feel the need to point it out to everyone I knew and gawk. Damn me for playing into this ad generated ploy.
True, men have been shaving their faces since forever, but men, I implore you, hold your ground with the rest of your hair! Don't make society flip a magical switch and convince you that shaving your chest, arms, armpits, legs and nether regions is the way to go! Too many men are shaving their chests for that slick, tanned poolside look. Football players shave their legs so they can tape them up, but when the season is over some keep shaving! I've seen men clip down their armpit hair! As someone that is forced to shave because of society's standards for femininity, please, stop this madness! At the rate men are going, this thing will snowball and leave them with nothing to show for shaving but razor burn and sadness.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Little Debbie & The Roach

Ooooh, my friends this night, it is a glorious night! Perhaps to you it seems like a plain, regular old night, nothing special, maybe even a sub-par night, but for me?! For me it is GLORIOUS!!! With exclaimation points! And capital letters! Why? Because I just got the title to my car in the mail. They received my final payment and now, after five painful excruciating years of sacrifice for a piece of metal that I am not at all fond of, I own La Cucaracha. Begrudgingly refered to as "The Roach."

To celebrate? Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pies. This round is on me.


Monday, February 15, 2010

Texts From Last Night

This website is hilarious. If you can pull yourself away, you'll thank me later.

If the link doesn't work, try http://www.textsfromlastnight.com/

...you're welcome.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Between The Mustard & Disco Fever

Yesterday Rich and I were at the grocery store shopping for some BBQ goodies when a disco song came on as background music. The typical grocery shopper tends to ignore the tunes being played and go about their domestic duties with little attention toward the music selection. We were strolling down the Snack City isle when I lost Richard to some enticing packaging and went about my way with the cart, my ears perking up at the funky disco selection playing over the store speakers. Before I knew what was taking place, I was somehow overpowered by Disco Fever and found myself twitching my hips, flicking my neck and doing a disco strut right down the isles of Snack City. I was so lost in The Fever, that I didn't hear Richard's attempts to call me as I disappeared down another isle, twitching in my disco funk. He caught up to me a good three isles after I'd lost him and informed me that he witnessed several clusters of children take note of my dancing and get lost in their own disco infernos, prompting confusion and surprised looks from their parents. He said all he had to do to find me was follow the children bobbing around. We shared a thunderous laugh in the condiment isle.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Spring 2010

I started my Spring 2010 semester tonight. I'm taking math and Spanish. Both my teachers seem nice; math teacher more than the Spanish teacher but we shall see. This is the last math class needed for my degree! ::joyful jig::
On a related topic, I refuse to pay over $200 for a blasted text book that should cost no more than $50, so I buy online (Amazon, Craigslist, half.com, etc). The only problem there is that there may or may not be a certain disc included in my Amazon purchase that is absolutely necessary for my Spanish class for test taking and the like. Book-writing swine! Taking advantage of students as though they have money to throw around on a ridiculously overpriced text book. Bah! Shame on them!
On my walk from the parking lot to class this evening, I discovered, due to the unexpected downpour of Arizona rain, that my shoes are, in fact, not water tight. I may have been clued in about this since my shoes have gaping holes in the bottom, but those holes haven't affected the performance of my shoes so I paid them little heed until this evening of puddle-avoiding and soggy socks.
Moral: Double check online purchases and always wear water tight shoes on a potentially rainy day. Solid words to live by.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Squaw Peak (aka Piestewa Peak)

My brother Josh and I went on a hike yesterday and I selected two of my favorite quotes to share with the world:

"Let's keep going bro. If we stop now I might just wobble right of this damned mountain."

"Hi, Griffin." (said by Josh as a greeting in passing to someone that we observed tagging his name on a rock at the top of the mountain.)

Josh had also just purchased new work boots, so he decided a good way to break them in was to wear them on our hike. Well, he made it all the way up with the boots on, but found that he was rubbing a terrible blister on his left heel. Rather than suffer the whole hike down, he decided it would be best to remove the boots all together and hike down in his socks. Best hike ever

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Putting On The Squeeze

I guess I've been listening to too much NPR lately, because I'm actually starting to have political opinions. It's a very strange thing, this transition. Sometimes when I have an idea in my head, I just have to write it, no matter if it's 3AM and I woke up from a dead sleep with something clanging around in my brain. I can't rest, I can't focus on the task at hand, I just have to get the idea out because I'm afraid it will vanish and I won't know that part of myself. I've never had that feeling about anything political, but earlier today it happened, so I jotted down a bit of a rant. Goes a little somethin' like this...
I don't think we should take money from the wealthy and give it to the poor; I think the wealthy should be practitioners of morality, offering excellent benefits and wages for excellent employees. Pay people what they're worth. The wealthier someone is, the more powerful they are. The power shifts from the middle class and lower class to the upper class. The more powerful they get, the less they are in touch with and concerned with the standard of living of the average middle and lower class employees that work for their firms and companies. They cut wages. They cut benefits. They expect the same amount of work for less and less. They get richer, they realize they can get away with it, and they keep taking more away. Then other corporations observe them and realize they can do the same, and they take away too.
And the middle and lower class claw with bleeding fingers for a way of life and an American dream on two incomes that was once attainable and sustainable on only one. They live paycheck to paycheck with mounting credit card debt and one medical emergency or layoff away from living under a bridge and leeching off the system, getting on welfare and being forced into taking when they are willing and able to work a job. And forget about saving up for retirement. We'll all be working well beyond a reasonable age.
We take taxes from the wealthy and redistribute the monies to help in government programs and pay for things like welfare and medical insurance for those that can't make ends meet. These people would be fewer if the beginning of the chain held fast to a sense of respect and duty to those that carry their load. Those that want to work should be able to work and live at least a simple life on the money they earn. Now the wealthy put on the big squeeze, give the middle class the bird, and end up paying the lower class to stay unemployed because it's easier than trying to squelch out an existence on BS salaries.
I don't want to take anything from anyone. But I do want the wealthy to be moral and if they're not willing to do that, everyone, including themselves, is paying the price.

Friday, January 1, 2010

Ringing In 2010 With A Good Burning

Happy New Year 2010!!!
For New Years Eve Rich and I traveled to the depths of the desert (sort of) to my aunt and uncle's place in Buckeye. The fact that I spent the evening with family rather than getting shitfaced at a bar or party was refreshing and simultaneously yet another nail in the coffin of my adulthood. I can't help it; I'd rather be hanging out with family than just about anything else. Plus they tantalized us by grilling steaks, cooking up some black eyed peas and making a cilantro cucumber salad. I wasn't sure exactly who would be there, but brought along the game I bought myself for Xmas, Taboo.
Taboo was outstanding and hilarious, despite that we got scolded repeatedly for making my cousins baby shriek in his crib due to our boisterous game antics. I also met and fell in love with an insanely fluffy white puppy and then poked much fun at my uncle, snoring like madness on the living room floor. I guess New Years Eve just isn't a holiday cut out for the elderly (bah hahaha! he would be so mad if he read that).
But my friends, I have saved the best part for last: The Christmas Tree Fiasco. After our unruly game of Taboo, we all headed outside for the traditional burning of the tree. They have moved their fire pit into the gated pool area, and directly under the branches of a sprawling Palo Verde. The tree was dragged to this location, supported by logs at it's base, and stood directly upright for maximum burning effectiveness. Directly upright under the Palo Verde tree. Within inches of actually touching the branches. Both Richard and I inquired as to the intelligence of this idea but were promptly shut down with the reasoning that the tree was, in fact, alive and would therefore not catch fire. My cousin got a butane torch and set it ablaze and we watched a spectacular show.
You could see each and every pine needle as it burned; it was like the tree switched to some sort of luminescent organism as it released its energy and turned into ash. There were flecks of flame flurrying through the night air like some sinister backward rainstorm. The branches above the fire pit caught flame a little, but went out with no incident, then we roasted marshmallows over the bare, charred tree trunk. And that is how I rung in the new year.