Girl With Curious Hair

A Thousand Healing Hands

2011-12-30T14:05:00.000-08:00

A few months back, I wrote about my divorce and where I was emotionally. I was drained. And honestly, the divorce was the least of my problems. Mentally and emotionally, I had left the marriage months before we had separated. The damage had been done and I was already gone, even when I was physically in the same house with my ex.

The problem was, I was left with a lot of the damage. Words that are seared into one's memory and happen to echo similar words from the past. It is so easy to believe things that people tell you about yourself, when you have spent most of your life seeing yourself from other people's perspective. I may have hated almost every perspective, but it was all I thought of myself. There was years and years of damage, from multiple sources that needed addressing and no amount of plugging ahead was correcting it. I stumbled a few times, and ultimately I crashed over the summer.

The first stumble came early in the year, when I finally accepted that I had to face a medical problem that had haunted me for years. I don't think I have felt as alone as I did post-op, alone in a room and unable to even sit up. Friends had visited me the first day, the second day no one could come and nervousness turned into a pain that far outweighed anything physical that I was experiencing. And despite the many, many medications I had at my disposal, the physical pain was excruciating. That afternoon, I wondered if there would ever be a time when I wouldn't be alone. I had spent my childhood alone and with no one to protect me when I needed it the most, somewhat due to circumstances that were out of anyone's control but not made better by anyone involved. For one reason or another, things didn't change much throughout my adolescence or young adulthood, my marriage made that gnawing feeling even worse. But I survived the hospital and the surgery. As a matter of fact, it gave me resolve to start over. I would be pain-free for the first time in years. My condition was not as catastrophic as was originally feared and frankly, dragging would not be an option.

The Fall came in the summer, right before a trip I had been looking forward to for months. I knew what lie ahead of me as the first doubts started creeping into my mind a week before my scheduled take off. On the way to the airport, I just prayed that things would go well enough for me to still be able to enjoy the time I had with my friends. Of course it didn't. I took a black cloud with me. I got physically sick due to heat I wasn't expecting; the last push came from people reminding me just how unwelcome I was. Every single fear and doubt that I had had my whole life was smacking me in the face and I couldn't escape it. By the time I came back home, I was shattered and I didn't care to hide it anymore.

But then, things started to happen. People started to embrace me and tried to put this Humpty Dumpty back together again. Some of them were close, real life friends and others were people I have never met who sent me love and and well wishes with no obligation or expectation. I was blown away and humbled by it. And frankly, it confused the hell out of me. My own family literally couldn't get rid of me fast enough after I traveled to see them and strangers were reaching out to me with words and love that hit me almost every day as I checked my mailbox, finding something new from another unexpected source. It was like suddenly, there were a thousand invisible, healing hands reaching out to support me when I was weakest.

At the same time, I started listening to well meaning advice and realizing that frankly some of it had nothing to do with me. I suddenly started seeing me, not from anyone else's perspective but from my own. I realized for the first time that I don't need to BE strong, I AM strong. I am not thin-skinned for being offended by ass hole behavior. Nor am I unreasonable for wanting things that make me happy. For the first time in my life as shaken as I was, I started seeing myself for what I was and not what people told me I was. I kind of liked what I was seeing. It was right around that time that I realized of all the hands that were holding me together, my own were the strongest.

I started planning in earnest and making changes. I have taken to politely declining events that I know will cause me stress. I minimize my interactions with people who make me feel less about myself. I actually tell people when they're crossing boundaries. I make a point of treating myself the way I try to treat my friends. I am learning to value myself, even if no one else around me knows how to. It is still hard and there are still cracks. There is heartbreak. There are things that catch me off guard, hurt and challenge me. Underneath all of that is the knowledge that I can overcome things. I have taken care of myself my whole life and frankly, I'm much better at it than anyone else I know. It's good to know that for those times when exhaustion takes over, when I get overwhelmed or when I just need a reminder there are those thousand healing hands waiting for me. For that, I am grateful.

He Lived Beautifully

2011-09-23T23:41:00.000-07:00

A dear friend of mine passed away today and I just got the news. I keep telling myself I shouldn't cry because he is no longer suffering. I saw him early this month, and I knew he was suffering.

He kept up with his witty wife, quietly injecting responses with the sly look of a mischievous boy that always made him look years younger than he actually was. He had traveled the world and observed cultures, respectfully. He influenced and inspired people with a calmness that was a gift in itself. His spirit was generous in so many ways, I can't even think of specific examples. It was who he was. In Farsi, we have an expression that guests bring light to the house with them. It was never truer than when he entered my home.

I admit that I always did my best to make him laugh, and cherished the time I made him blush. I learned that a couple could be deeply and truly in love from the beginning to the very end. He loved my cooking with an enthusiasm that would inspire anyone to cook up a storm, just to see that smile on his face.

Every time we said good bye, he would say the same thing: "I love you so much and am SO proud of you." I never for a moment thought he said it lightly. The day he told me he would be proud if I were his daughter, I hung up and cried for longer than an expression of love would warrant. For all the negativity in the world, he was always a quiet force of what is possible. Because of him, I try to make sure that everyone knows exactly how I feel about them, just in case it's the last time we speak.

And now he's gone, his suffering is over and he will be missed. I'll miss all the things that I took for granted as a part of the person he was. Of course I mourn his loss but am so, very grateful that I had the chance to know him. I know I'm a better person for it.

That One Time When I Said 'Yes'

2011-09-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

Saying 'no' is very easy for me. It comes automatically most of the times because I typically need time to absorb things and let a concept settle in a little before I can accept it. Unfortunately, this means I'm not the world's most spontaneous person. I also know I'm missing out on a lot of fun. So much fun passing me by as I contemplate the possibilities. However, every once in a while I surprise myself. Last summer, was one of those rare occasions--thank God.

Last summer, everything started changing at once. My (ex)husband and I separated, we filed for divorce and everything that I had worked on for the last eight years was suddenly over for good. Some time in early August, a friend asked if I would consider a roommate as he was thinking of moving to my city and resettling here. My immediate response, literally without thinking, was, "I'm sorry. I can't." I didn't even have a reason for it, I just said 'no'. Despite being the person who tells my friends, 'My home is your home. Always.'. Then, I started thinking about it and justifying why I said 'no': I was scared, too many things were changing, living with a friend would doom the friendship...and really many other perfectly logical reasons that I won't list here. It was the right decision. Except that it wasn't. I called him back the next day and apologized, told him he was welcome to move in after I returned from my trip that my home was his home for as long as he wanted it. And I meant every word I said, despite my fear. The day he showed up on my doorstep may have been one of the better days of my life, even though I didn't know it at the time. I felt like throwing up for the first week and wondered what the hell I was thinking.

I don't know how I appeared, but I slowly started to breathe a little more freely. I occasionally forgot the chaos around me and felt a sense of calm. I started leaving the house socially, with mixed results. I even started trusting again, just a little bit and that felt good. That trust is what had me driving around looking for a bunch of paddle boarders on a Saturday morning. One of his friends had recommended a paddle boarding demo on the Bay that we could try for free. It made sense for them, they were both surfers. I was a professional couch potato, who typical of my kind would sink to the bottom of large bodies of water. But there was that one time I said 'yes', and it had worked out okay and I had started trusting with no significant calamity, which was why I was driving around nervously looking for something I had never seen before. Eventually we found the paddle boarders. People took off and I was left on the shore watching them. I looked down at my feet and realized my toes were curled into the sand, hanging on for dear life. One of the owners noticed me and said, 'You're next.' I protested. I resisted. I eventually said 'yes'. Ten minutes later, I was on a board, paddling out and praying that I wouldn't fall into the bay and drown. Not only did I not drown, but I realized I was breathing again and standing up on a board paddling to the opposite shore with the most overwhelming feeling of joy I had ever felt. I felt radiant. I looked over my left shoulder and saw my friend on a board of his own, grinning at me. When we were on solid ground again, I asked him as casually as I could, 'What if I was this happy all the time? Wouldn't that be insane?!'

As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember the last time I was that happy.

Not long after that, my friend moved away. I continued going to the demos and found myself looking over my shoulder to tell someone who wasn't there how happy I felt. This Spring, I got Lasik, so I wouldn't have to worry about my contacts if I did fall into the Bay. I practiced swimming, just in case I did fall. Once I had the go ahead from my doctor, I bought my own paddle board and started going out on the weekends, enjoying the quiet that came with my new hobby. After a while I was comfortable with my outings and wanted a little more so I tried to take my board into the ocean. The ocean threw the board back at my head. Repeatedly. This inspired me to take surf lessons, which led to my hanging out with a bunch of surfers and going to surfing events, which got me out of the house on a regular basis and brought me joy. An insane amount of joy.

Almost exactly a year ago, I wouldn't have been able to imagine being here and feeling this. I wouldn't have known this feeling at all.

I do now, because of that one time when I said 'yes'.

A Handy Guide To Surviving a Blackout

2011-09-11T10:53:00.000-07:00

As some of you may or may not know, I once lived in a land far, far away during a war. As a result, there was a shortage of EVERYTHING. Sugar, butter, meat, water and electricity. Things were rationed, and one learned (even as a child) that you be without any given thing for an undetermined amount of time at any given moment. Since I was a child and didn't have to worry about food things that my parents obtained, my biggest concerns were electricity and water outages, which happened every summer--all summer long (and other times as well, but summers were especially horrible). The upside of this is that I thought I was an expert at blackouts. Turns out, not so much in modern times. Which is why I thought I'd put together a nifty little guide of things to do and avoid during a blackout*.

Avoid sarcastic conversations with your nice, older neighbors. For some bizarre reason, sarcasm seems to be generational and people may get the impression that you're a nudist, trying to organize a block party. It is always a safe bet to nod and smile as you walk by.
Don't plan on entertaining yourself by watching movies online. Or listening to your favorite Pandora station on your ipod. Apparently, wireless routers also require electrical power to function.
Reading is an excellent option. Feel free to work on that giant pile of books and old magazines that are gathering dust.
Scratch the old magazine reading. For some ungodly reason, they catch on fire if you hold them too close to your light source.
Candlelight is very flattering. Enjoying looking at yourself in the mirror in candlelight. You'd be surprised at how soft and beautiful you will look with fifteen tea candles flickering. Please note, it's VERY IMPORTANT that you keep you hair away from the candles. An up-do is your friend.
Don't feel pressured into improving on the perfection that is your candlelit reflection. Your eyebrows? They can wait to be plucked/trimmed during the daytime. Maybe on your patio even, but evening time is for relaxation. NOTHING GOOD COMES FROM SHAPING YOUR EYEBROWS IN CANDLELIGHT.
Life has handed you a bag of hot lemons under the guise of a power outage when it's 95 degrees outside. Make yourself a tall pitcher of lemonade by planning out your day off. While the city fumes what to do with itself, you can plan to spend a delightful day at the beach, complete with water activity of your choice. Maybe even a picnic lunch. How exciting are you?!
You've made it to 8:27! Only three more hours till your bed time! Don't open the fridge door, because all the cold air will escape and all the groceries you bought yesterday in a fit of hunger will be doomed.
It's 8:42. Trust me, trying to eat all of the food in your fridge in a desperate attempt to save them from going bad will not end well. You live alone and you've shopped for an entire week. Accept the sad fate awaiting your food.
Massages are a great idea! They will help you relax. The room is already lit with candles. Your neighbor is accompanying his opera singing wife on piano. All you need is someone to actually give you a massage. Avoid mentioning this to previously mentioned neighbor, who still looks confused about your lifestyle.
Board/card games are also a great way to pass the time. As long as you have enough people to participate. Of course, you could announce yourself Scrabble champion if you play on your own but people may not believe you as there are no witnesses.
It's 9:31. Don't call anyone on your cell phone. Well, you couldn't if you wanted to--it's dead and it will take forever to recharge it in the car.
You've made it to 10:05. Just accept that going to sleep is the best thing you can do until you have power back. Make sure to blow out all the candles and leave one light on, so you will know if/when power returns.
Don't wake up cursing at 4:30 in the morning because power is back and your carefully laid plans are all for naught. Yes, you were smart and made yummy, yummy lemonade with the stupid lemons life gave you. But sometimes life punches you in the gut and steals your lemonade. Lying on the coach with a groggy puppy and cursing will not change this.

I hope this guide helps you in some way. I realize technically you won't be considered 'prepared', but with any luck you won't do too much damage once you're thrown into the darkness. For the record, I did extensive personal research on some of the points above. For you, the two people who may benefit from my suffering.

*None of the things listed will help you with actual survival in the traditional sense.

"It's Just a Piece of Paper."

2011-04-16T14:00:00.000-07:00

"It's just a piece of paper.", I said.

"I'm the one who said that. When we were getting married. I said it because that piece of paper wouldn't change how I felt about you. Do you remember?"

We were standing outside our lawyer's office, and I remembered exactly what he was talking about. I remembered hearing those words almost ten years ago and the pain they had caused. After all, that's not how you want your fiance to refer to your pending marriage. Nor do you want to hear that he actually doesn't believe in marriage, but prefers 'concubinage', despite the fact that he met you through an elaborate scheme between your parents, family members and assorted strangers. I wanted to ask him why he had been sending me wedding dress pictures and encouraging me to plan a wedding if he was going to tell me he didn't want a wedding, nor did he want to be married to me. I had a lot of questions in that moment, but I remember staring at him blankly and just asking, "What do you mean, 'It's just a piece of paper?'"

At the end of the day we got married, in front of a justice of the peace, with none of our family members present, and just two of my friends who had made it to the courthouse before the judge gave up and went home. Looking back, I remember the fear and loneliness as I repeated what I was told to repeat, said what I was instructed to say and worried that I would not be able to make this man realize that marrying me was not a bad idea.

Now, I was telling him--without malice--what he had told me. The papers we had signed were just papers. Nothing would change from the way they were right now. We had officially separated months ago, unofficially, we had drifted apart years and years back. Nothing would change because of those papers...

I stopped writing almost a year ago. Writing on this blog had become an exercise in self-censorship that was just another exhausting effort in my life. As it was, I was hiding the unhappiness and stress of my life from everyone in my real life. I had been for so long that I still don't know what it feels like to be open about anything. Of the nine years of my marriage, the last seven were officially in trouble. There were moments of happiness, I would be lying if I denied that. But those were all too short moments in the ocean I was drowning in. I stopped thinking of all of the things I wanted, hoping to bring happiness to my husband's life. I failed at every turn, and that failure began to define how I saw myself. It was not what I wanted for my life, it is not what I wanted to leave my husband with if I got hit by a car and died. Every time I asked him, "Are you happy in this relationship?", he would respond, "There is no other option." Knowing my husband, I knew I had to be the one to act. And finally, I did.

I try not to look back on the last 10 years of my life--almost a quarter of my time on earth. When I do, I try to quickly focus on what was good. My now ex-husband was and is a kind man, who always cared for me in his own way--even if he couldn't express it. I learned things about myself and had to face things that I would have preferred to look past. It taught me my limits and reminded me of my strengths. It taught me that I have to take responsibility and action for my happiness--something that I have failed to do for most of my life. These days, I do my best to look ahead and plan my future. In moments like this, as I write again, I have to admit that the future looks rocky and lonely. I worry about all the things that I won't be able to fix. Then, I go back to making lists and goals again--something I hadn't done for years. I try to only look back to reclaim things I liked about myself. Why else would I go back to the wreckage of the past decade?

And so, that is where I have been for the past year. I'm not sure what I will do with this space, and how honest I can be about the peaks and valleys. I want to come back and try to be funny and interesting, not quite sure if I will succeed. But this is where I am right now, on the side of a mountain trying to regain my footing.

How YOU doin'?

I Want to See My Name In Lights

2010-05-22T11:07:00.000-07:00

Back in April, my dad surprised me and came to the States to visit me--on the exact same week as my grandmother's planned trip. Since he didn't want to fly from Phoenix to San Diego (for a number of reasons), my brother accompanied him. You would think that with 5 people, there wouldn't be time for the usual inquiries and inquisitions. You'd think wrong. There is ALWAYS time and opportunity for an inquisition. Historically, my father has some basic concerns: 1) my weight 2) my marital/parenthood status 3) direction of my career (=income). The best way to make me provide details is to bring examples from people we know and let him know where I am in relation to those people. I have hated these 'examples' (comparisons) my entire life.

This is a close paraphrasing (and occasional exact quote of the conversation):

'Your brother and I were talking on the drive over. He was telling me about his job and how stressful it is. I'm really proud of how focused he is on his job.'

'He really is doing well. I think he works too hard, though. He needs to pace himself, otherwise he'll burn out and hate everything.'

'He showed me this blackboard they have in his office. They have it on his computer*, too. It's a list of everyone at the company and who's the best**. He's been tied for either first or second for at least 5 months now...'

'I know! My baby brother*** is so cool! And he makes it look so effortless. I love that he doesn't just go for the money, he educates people and cares. You have no idea how unethical people are willing to be, just for a little extra money or to brag.'

'So, how about you?'

Blank look of confusion.

'Are you at the top of your blackboard?'

So I spent a good half hour explaining my job, how project management is evaluated differently and how my group is isolated so there isn't anyone else to rank me against.

'Are you saying there's no one else in the company that has a similar position?'

'There are, but different.'

'So where is your name on the blackboard compared to them?'

'Dad, we don't have a blackboard. Our work isn't measured like that.'

'Are you telling me that your name isn't even on the blackboard?! BUT WHY?! Can't you try just a little harder?'

And this is why I say I'm a perpetual disappointment to my parents. This was also before we even got to the topic of my burgeoning obesity which will kill me before my time. My poor parents cry just about every time we talk about anything outside of the weather.

*My father is not very computer savvy.
** My brother is in sales, not project management which is why it's easier to compare his work against his co-workers.
***He hates it when I call him my baby brother, but it's true. He will always be my baby brother.

Understandable, Really

2010-05-21T22:13:00.000-07:00

It seems my blog doesn't recognize me anymore. I don't blame it. If I had been neglected for almost three months, I would shun wayward bloggers as well. I need to be on my best behavior and tell stories. Maybe even bring flowers and candy. That's what blogs like, right? Right.

Dodge-y Commercials

2010-02-14T00:30:00.000-08:00

Due to the fact that I don't know anything about football, I don't watch the Super Bowl--which means I may be one of the last people in America to hear about the annual controversies. The Janey Jackson thing? I heard about it three days later from an old co-worker who was just a little too excited that many days after the show. Calm down, Grandpa! It was just a woman.

That's why this year, I had no idea about the Dodge commercial that may have been offensive or just plain stupid, but still managed to inspire a video response. I had to watch it on YouTube when some friends had posted the women's response.

My first reaction was that of annoyance. I mean, really? Walking your dog and eating fruit for your own well being needs a reward? Is carrying lip balm in your pocket is that much of a burden? Or perhaps, holding down a job is so difficult that you need a car that goes vroom vroom to make you feel better about your life (and if so, will a car actually make you feel better)? The implication being that men suffer so because of the women in their lives. Which makes one wonder, why the hell do they stick around to live life as soulless zombies? Are they masochists or just passive-aggressive?

But the more I thought about it, the more I was offended. For my male friends. Most of the men I know are responsible, work hard and enjoy the company of their companions. Sure they have their toys and make fun of our love of jewelery or shoes, but they're not whiners. I come from a family of men who had plenty of faults, but whining about waking up at 6:30 was not one of them. (Actually, both my grandfathers always woke up before four every morning to go to work; did manual labor for more than fourteen hours a day; each raised five children and worked into their 60s. I'm pretty sure I never heard either of them complain about eating fruit with their breakfast.) So I'm left to wonder, what do men think about the commercial? Do you really resent your partners so much? Is your only refuge your attention getting car? Or do you find it insulting to be called entitled man-children whose only escape in life is expensive toys?

Now, in the interest of fairness, I'll link/post the response to the original commercial, which addresses the original as a bunch of annoying children. Quite appropriate:

Fashion Police On the Beat

2010-02-11T22:01:00.000-08:00

I have no idea what that title means, except it implies a judgmental person offering unsolicited fashion advice. And that is exactly what I'm about to do, because I'm helpful. I'd also like to add that it's not really me being judgmental as much as it is a predisposition of sorts; a genetic condition that is passed down the matrilinieal line in my family. A superpower that I'm trying to use for good.

Velour track suits, no matter how outrageously priced, are still comfort clothes. If it has been attacked by a bedazzler, it does not become any more formal. Adding high heels does not change the equation either.
'Juicy', 'Pink' or letters from the Greek alphabet across the bum in any material is not flattering, no matter how nice the bum. If you are over 60, it is wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Showing your underwear in public is kind of tacky. Especially in church.
High heels and mud are a bad combination.
Ed Hardy: No. You'll look back at that phase of your life and wonder what the hell you were thinking. You'll question the judgment of friends that didn't stop you. Or you won't wonder and you'll still be one of those people.
"Subtle" is not a dirty word.
Louis Vuitton purses don't 'classify' tube tops and cut off jeans. Also, 'classify' doesn't mean what you think it means.

Your friendly neighborhood fashion cop,

GWCH

Fake Generosity

2010-02-08T21:31:00.000-08:00

If I were to list my pet peeves, I'd have a little peeve zoo. The list is honestly endless--to some people (my brother) quite entertaining: poorly assembled sandwiches, water in plastic gloves, open closet doors, willful ignorance...I have a hard time keeping track of them myself. But high on that list is fake generosity. If you're not going to give it with meaning, just skip the gesture.

When I was in San Francisco for Nike, there was an Expo as there is at all big marathon/triathlon events. The sponsors have booths and give away free things. In 2008, Kaiser had free massages (bless them many, many times), JetBlue had manicure tables set up, BearNaked had free granola...It was really a wonderful treat. This year, due to the economy there were fewer sponsors and the gifts were more modest. Still, all of the participants loved the festivities and appreciated the goodies. One of the sponsors was new beauty product company that was handing out shampoo, conditioner, face masks etc. I asked to try the face mask, in case I was possessed with a sudden bout of girliness that required me to put things on my face. The girliness didn't hit me until yesterday while I was multi-tasking. After all, what could make a woman wielding cleaning agents more attractive than a carrot face mask? I was so excited! I opened the tub of goop and looked a petrified cylinder. There was no way it could be applied to skin without scrubbing layers off. I read the label, looking for instructions to soak it or otherwise revive it to its moisturizing nature when I saw the expiration date on the bottom: 9/09. It expired in SEPTEMBER! The Expo was in late October! They were handing out expired skin products. Is that not rude?! Why bother? I'm going to think you're a bunch of cheapskates trying to look good while dumping your crap on people.

Ahem. In conclusion, I do not like people who try to score generosity points while being exceptionally cheap. Sadly, my beauty regiment is so marred by this event that it could be YEARS before I think of exfoliating again.

Serious Commitments

2010-02-07T00:14:00.000-08:00

I am writing now, only because I have promised myself I would write every day of this month. And technically, it is already Sunday morning, but I'll pretend it's still Saturday. A Saturday when I woke up when I normally go to bed, suffered a bus ride through windy, icy mountains and went to a ski resort where I proceeded to not snowboard (or ski), but rather sat in the lodge as close to the fire place as possible.

Which brings me to something I realized about myself. I can talk to just about anyone. Not at networking events that are made for such things or at parties where I don't know people. But in random places like the grocery store, airplane or ski lodge. I spent about three hours talking to two families (grown-ups and children alike) and ended up exchanging numbers and email addresses. If they had brought the family dog, I probably would have conversed with him as well. As if that wasn't enough, on our way back, I noticed a fellow traveler with a Team In Training vest. We spoke over people for almost an hour, reliving the glory of distance training, mentoring and injuries. When we were done, M just looked at me and shook his head. I baffle him, poor man.

On a slightly random note, I thought I'd share a life lesson with everyone: Trying to emulate the dance moves from this video as you sing off key in the shower may lead to bruising and/or other unsightly injuries. You're welcome.

More after sunrise on Sunday.

Out of Respect

2010-02-05T20:51:00.000-08:00

I'm going snowboarding tomorrow. It is our annual trip, during which we get a lesson, fall down the barely sloping hill as 5 year old children point and laugh at me and gladly return to the comfort of home where we forget everything they told us until the next year.

But I'm writing something today 'out of respect'. Here's the story about that phrase:

I have a co-worker who is ridiculously funny. She enjoys food so much, it is entertaining to watch her talk about it. One day, we went to a Brazilian steak house--the kind where it's basically all you can eat as servers walk by with skewers of assorted steaks, sausages, chicken and pork. It was our first time, but Nadine had been there before and decided to act as our guide. On our way there, she taught us her strategy: what to eat first, what to skip, how to make sure you got your favorite cut of meat prepared to your liking...And then she mentioned the salad bar.

"It's actually a very nice salad bar with cooked vegetables and appetizers. I usually stop by and take a few things. You know, out of respect."

"Respect for what?"

"The vegetables! You don't want them to sit there, ignored by everyone because they're too distracted by the meat."

"You're going to the salad bar to eat vegetables so they don't feel neglected? You know they don't have feelings, right?"

Looking at us impatiently, "I just know, I wouldn't want to be ignored after getting dressed up for a big party. Just take a couple of things! They're really good!"

So out of respect, I'm not ignoring my daily blogging, even though there are bigger events looming.

It's Raining Babies (Wheee!)

2010-02-04T23:38:00.000-08:00

A brief note on the state of things around me now: I have 9 friends who are either pregnant (and due soon) or have given birth in the last year. I am possibly claiming a pair of twin boys amongst them as my own. I mean I'm happy for everyone, but the twins (and their parents) make me do the happy dance just about every time I think of them. Under the guise of 'niceness' and 'being a friend', I have been slowly bribing the parents with food and baked goods for access to cute, cuddly babies when they arrive. My plan is going quite well so far. I don't even mind occasionally sharing said babies with other friends and aunties.

Speaking of babies, everyone in my family is asking about them. My grandmother, aunt, uncle, cousins...the parents have been asking for years and I ignore them as best I can. Which brings me to an odd(er) exchange I had with my mother over the last few days.

We were talking about my new sister-in-law who had gone to apply for papers/visas to come to the US to visit their family. They're a very extensive, close-knit family. Apparently, their typical Friday lunches involve a good 80-100 family members. I find this impressive, if for no other reason than the fact that that many people can get along well enough to not want to gossip, back stab and out-rumor each other. I'm also amazed that we have married into such a family. I'm not saying we're the gossiping and rumor mongering type (we kind of are), I'm just saying I find it interesting that my almost hermit family has been joined by the bonds of marriage to such a people.

Back to my conversation with my mom: her advice to the in-laws was to skip the trip and the paperwork, just stay home and avoid the hassle. After all, it would be so expensive and even if everything worked out and they got their papers and came to the US, it would be so depressing. They'd be stuck in their relative's houses during a time of economic hardship, surrounded by bad news and reminded of how bad things are every time they went out and saw all the closed shops and businesses. My mother is nothing if not an optimistic ray of sunshine. "But, what can be done? They're the kind of people who just can't get enough socializing. I mean they LOVE spending time together. It makes them so happy..."

Which got me thinking, what makes my mother happy? She has had a very difficult life and endured great sorrow, but there should be something that brings her joy. So the next day, I emailed her and asked, "I don't think I've ever asked or known, what makes you happy."

She replied, in all caps, "BABYSITTING!!! I LOVE BABYSITTING!!!"

Nice try. So I responded as the optimistic and observant daughter that I am, "That's GREAT! Older Brother will be so glad to know that once he has kids, he can bring them to you. You'll be happy, they'll be in good hands and he can go about doing the things he does..."

To say that she freaked out a bit is an understatement. "I MEANT YOUR BABIES!!! I DON'T WANT TO TAKE CARE OF HIS BABIES! STOP PRETENDING YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. WHERE ARE MY GRANDBABIES?!"

And what is there to say to this kind of mania, really? "You should really be careful what you wish for mom. Of course, it's too late now, but for future reference you should think longer before you scream to the world that you want to 'babysit!!!'"

I'm such a good daughter.

October 2009: Month of Awesome

2010-02-03T22:29:00.000-08:00

It's been a few months now, and I realize I never got around to writing about the events of October 2009, which by any standard was an amazing month. I saw not one, but two bands I have wanted to see for more than 15 years; I ran (but mostly limped) through my second half marathon; I spent time with my college roommate and good friend, whose name I can't say here; and I made a fool of myself in front of Tall Lanky Guy, which really is just me reminding him of the good old days.

First with the concerts: I saw Pearl Jam, people. PEARL JAM! I realize I know nothing about music, but I know what I love. I fell in love with Pearl Jam when I came back to the States and have (im)patiently waited to see them for the better part of the last fifteen years. There was always an excuse to miss their concerts: schedule, finances, not having anyone to go with...but my day finally came. I went, I saw, may have made a fool of myself and I didn't care. I loved every note and word. The whole thing was surprisingly tame (we've all aged) and simple. The set wasn't fancy, there weren't flashing lights and video screens--just the band, the music and a mostly adoring audience (and perhaps a few slightly confused newbies like my husband who came along). Strangely, immediately after the event I couldn't remember the order of songs that were performed or the details--just the joy of having seen them perform live at last. And despite my very high expectations, they still managed to exceed it. Sheer bliss.

The second concert was completely unplanned and unexpected. When I met my former roommate at the San Francisco airport on my way home from the Nike Women's Marathon (woohoo!), she mentioned that she may end up with an extra ticket to the U2 concert that would be the following Saturday in Pasadena--did I want to go? Sure, why not? Because what kind of a crazy person would say no to a U2 concert with one of the funnest (and funniest) women around? And behold, the ticket became available. We went, we saw and picked up exactly where we left off from our college days. My least favorite part of the show? The Black-Eyed Peas opened for U2. Why? Everyone, including the opening band seemed a little confused. The best part? Sitting on the sidewalk, laughing hysterically as people walked by and wondered if we had both completely lost our minds (we hadn't).

In between these two concerts, I went to San Francisco and ran my second Nike Women's Marathon. Technically, I only ran the first five miles of a half marathon and limped the other eight in ridiculous pain. Technically, for the second time I did it for someone else. And technically, I felt happier then than I have doing just about any other thing in my life. Despite the joy, there was a sadness and tears. But despite the pain, tears and absence of people I cared for I wanted to bottle that day and take it out when I need a boost.

I'll write more about the details later, but for now, I needed a reminder that October was a wonderful island of time in a stormy and hectic time.

Sophomore Year: Year of the Awakening

2010-02-02T21:40:00.000-08:00

If I were to name my college years, my freshman year would no doubt be called 'The Year of the Hermit'. I rarely left my dorm room if not for my class schedule and spoke to few people who weren't brought into my dorm room by my roommate. Despite that, I managed to establish a reputation of sorts and also make a few friends that I am still close to. That is the magic of college life.

By the time my sophomore year rolled around however, I was determined to change things. I had not come to America to lock myself in a dorm room. I was going to make friends and experience Life! I was going to learn the ways of the world for myself, and that couldn't be done from the safety of my dormitory. As a result of my New (academic) Year resolution, I started signing up on just about any sheet that was posted in the lobby. Dorm treasurer? Yes! Resident Hall Representative? Absolutely. Application for Resident Assistant? Yes, sir! I eventually signed up for a bunch of other things that actually didn't have to do with the dormitory system, however, I knew myself well enough to take small steps. This is how I met and was befriended by a motley crew of fellow dorm dwellers. Some of them were much older than typical dorm residents. 'Grandpa' was thirty two, but lucky enough to look as young as the college seniors who had long moved off campus. 'Dad' was twenty seven and a Wildcat for life, in that he didn't seem to be in a rush to graduate and move on with his life as a non-student. The rest of this group was also somehow tied to or directly involved with campus life and its 'government'. The best thing about it was the loud mix and politics of the group. Everything was cause for passionate discussion--including the number of washing machines in the boys vs. girls dorms, visitation hours and vending machine offerings. I could easily attend every meeting, get to know everything about these people and never need to talk or be noticed. This was the Life! Ironically, it was very similar to the last Life I had left behind in search of more involvement and participation, but I was in no rush...

During one of the bi-weekly meetings, I was taking notes on the latest controversy and people watching when 'Dad' walked in--late as usual and looking solemn. After some whispers and tasteless teasing he yelled at everyone to shut up and this was no time for 'monkey business'! This was not the jovial 'Dad' we were used to. Over the next hour, he told us how his younger (19 year old) brother, Todd, had suddenly moved out of their parents' home and in with his girlfriend. His 47 year old girlfriend, who was actually his best friend's mother. The relationship had already ruined Todd's friendship and their parents had sworn to wash their hands of him for good. 'Dad' was just confused and angry at everyone. We couldn't sympathize, hug or soothe him, so we all finally gave up and canceled the meeting.

As I packed up my bag and got ready to leave, George asked me if I wanted to grab a bite to eat from the Student Union. I said yes immediately, because I had a soft spot for George. We had become quick friends in a quiet way. He was surprisingly protective of my innocence around the campus debauchery, I was in awe of his brilliance. I may have also been in love with his beautiful blue eyes and smile. When he looked at you, you had his full attention and felt special no matter how bad your hair looked or how deeply you blushed at your own ignorance. He was in a word, lovely.

We walked towards the SU discussing the evening's events and their consequences. I said something along the lines of how strange the relationship seemed to me, but it wasn't right for the parents to basically disown him. If anything, he needed family around him more now. Suddenly, he seemed to be contemplating something; like he was tasting something for the first time and couldn't decide what he thought of it.

"GWCH, can I tell you something? Something personal?"

I nodded eagerly. I loved being confided in and to have George's confidence was something special.

"I know how he feels in a way. Telling everyone he loves someone he's not supposed to, being afraid. Do you know what I mean?"

I nodded again.

"You see, I'm kind of like him." Pregnant pause. Deep breath. "GWCH, I don't like girls. I don't know if I can tell my parents. They'll probably disown me, although I think they kind of suspect..."

At this point I had stopped in my tracks, literally in the middle of the bike path. My eyes may have been coming out of my head as I searched for the right words. I didn't want to hurt his feelings after he had confided something so personal. I tried to find the words and tone that would be kind and supportive, and finally I blurted, "YOU LIKE OLDER WOMEN, TOO?!"

It was his turn to stop. He looked at me closely, with an expression I would only later understand: confusion, trying to determine if I was mocking him or actually meant what I had just said; combined with pity at my simplicity. I don't know how long we stood there and looked at each other. I remember distinctly thinking, "But he's too PERFECT to fall in love with old women!"

He was the first to blink. He laughed his beautiful laugh, shaking as he said, "You are so different from anyone I have ever known. So different."

Of course I blushed, not sure if this was a compliment, a simple statement of fact or just something to say at an awkward moment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I think if you find someone that is good to you and you love, that's all that really matters. And I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. I promise."

"Thank you," he said, chuckling.

We continued on to dinner, without a hint of awkwardness. We were friends again--in the same way we had been before the Great Revelation. His love life wasn't discussed and we went on for months in the same manner. It wasn't until summer session when he introduced me to his date--with dancing eyes and a mischievous smile--that the meaning of that conversation finally dawned on me. And it was only then that I understood the look on his face the night he bore his soul to me.

Hello? tap tap tap Anybody Out There?

2010-02-01T23:26:00.000-08:00

It seems I overestimate my popularity. Which makes me sad, because I don't feel especially popular. Nobody sent me questions to answer, which means that my resolution to write something every day/night of the month of February will consist entirely of my over sharing. In a way, you all asked for it--indirectly.

Since I waited so long to post today, I'll just tell you what a lovely, lovely day I had.

It was a Monday, which means it is by its nature cursed. I went to bed at 5 am, on Monday morning knowing I had to be up at 7 for a meeting with my director. By the time I was talking to her, I sounded as good as I felt. I decided to work from home soon after I burned my neck with the curling iron. This may sound familiar considering how I burned my general chestal area a few months ago--scars still there. And just as I remembered, it hurt like hell. This time, I had aloe readily available, so I didn't completely lose it, but I still have a scar on my neck and am in pain.

Somehow I got work done (and yes, took a nap) and thought I had rested enough to get some cooking/baking done since I didn't make anything this weekend. Things were going fine until I cut my finger with a potato peeler and in my panic jumped back and burned my shoulder on hot cookie sheet. It was around this time that I decided to step away from the kitchen and plant myself on the couch until Monday is officially over.

If there is a Hell, I seem to be preparing myself for it. Either that or punishing myself for my sins.

February Resolutions

2010-01-27T23:36:00.000-08:00

I have reached a point in my life that I don't feel the need to have New Year's resolutions any more. Why resolve to do things that I will abandon a week or so later? I have accepted the fact that floss and I are never going to be best friends and I will not wake up at 5:30 every morning, because frankly some days that's when I go to bed. I am trying to change some things though, and I may need your help. Lately, for a number of reasons I have stopped blogging as regularly as I'd like. Not for lack of things to say. I have PLENTY to say, but I have been actively censoring myself. Unfortunately, I miss writing and left to my own devices will write about things that are better left unwritten.

So I had the brilliant idea (borrowed from other bloggers and slightly modified) to ask you all for help. Ask me questions* and I'll try to respond in my own delightful way, brightening your day and satisfying your curiosity. Aren't I wonderful? I realize that there may only be six or seven people reading at this point, and that won't get me past the first week of February, but I'll try to add some original stories from my exciting life as needed. I'll try to post something every day, just to get back into the habit. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity (not really) to ask me anything you want and possibly get an answer of some kind. Ask now!

*Before you ask questions, please remember the prudiness that is me.

Spook-y Debriefing

2010-01-11T23:01:00.000-08:00

I have recently committed myself to a good amount of research which may or may not involve a lot of BBC programming. Contrary to what some people may call it, it is not an obsession. It's not like I'm watching anything that has a BBC label on it, I'm being selective, limiting my viewing to specific themes and educational programming. One of those themes is Spooks (known here in the US as MI-5)--ok, so that's not a theme so much as it is a series. So great is my dedication to learning and research that I have watched all eight seasons since the week after Christmas in between work, entertaining, cooking and occasionally sleeping. The good news is, tonight I watched the last episode of the last series* (season). I have learned a great deal:

According to Spooks, which is produced by the BBC, the BBC is indeed an arm of the British spies' propaganda machine which misinforms people at the whim of the government.
This confirms the Iranian's long held claim that the BBC News is unreliable and manipulative.
Iranians have a bizarre admiration/paranoia/love/hate relationship with the British. We think that they have a secret hand in every financial, domestic and international event in the world--which is truly admirable for such a tiny little island. I'm pretty sure no one gives more credit to Winston Churchill's intelligence than Iranians, including the Brits themselves. Spooks has taught me that there may be something to that admiration/paranoia.
Gas is a big problem in London. Apparently, the gas pipes are so leaky, that every other time that an MI-5 agent wants to come in and inspect your house, evacuate a building or plant a bug, they claim a 'gas leak' and no one every questions them.
While they may not directly require it, MI-5 seem to hire an inordinate number of good looking people with exceptionally good orthodontics. Especially for Brits. I'm not sure where they find these gorgeous people who are also very intelligent, strong, ethical and brave but there seems to be a disproportionate number of them in the service of the Queen. For that alone, I envy her. (I also envy her all the jewelery and funny hats, but that kind of goes with the Queen territory.) If you'd like an example of the fine, fine people who join the service, I refer you to Lucas North**.
There seem to be CCTVs everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. I'm very curious about the actual cameras. I would like to go to London and investigate. If there really are that many cameras covering the city, I may stand under one and hold up a sign that says, "HI! You all are doing great! I'd like to buy Lucas North a cup of tea."
MI-5 agents never tell you their real name. They also blend in with the general population. I fear that if I ever go to England, I won't really beleive anyone's name is what they tell me it is, even if they provide documents. They print that stuff up like it's a Google Map.
It seems the Brits are a bit unhappy about the 'special relationship' they have/had with the US. They don't trust us any further than they can throw us. This is a theme throughout the series. But stronger than their suspicions of the US, they seem to truly dislike and distrust the Russians. Not that I blame them, of course. I mean itty bitty England standing up to BIG, GIANT Russia. Plus, British spies get kidnapped and tortured by the Russians. Again, refer to Lucas North who had to have his body covered in tattoos while imprisoned and tortured in Russia. Frankly, seeing what Lucas suffered, I too dislike the Russians.
MI-5 loses a lot of good civil servants very tragically. This is heart breaking, except they're quickly replaced. It's truly amazing how there seems to be an endless supply of them.
Life as a MI-5 officer is very difficult. They don't seem to have much of a social life, everyone they want to date has to be vetted and they have to maintain a stiffer upper lip than the average Brit. That alone is impressive. I have trembly lips which will forever disqualify me from entering the service of the Queen (I'm also a suspicious American who trips over her own feet and burns herself while getting ready in the morning, but I'm sure it's the upper lip thing that will work against me).
Contrary to what you may have heard about London's constant bad weather and rain, it seems to be generally sunny and pleasant there. I feel compelled to go there and investigate.

In short, I have enjoyed Spooks very much and learned a great deal. So much so that I may be interested in going to England and further researching their spooky ways.

*I'm learning to speak British.

**Lucas North (Richard Armitage) may have been the reason I started watching BBC productions. In case you're wondering, I called dibs on him first. Please don't get any ideas.

Another New Beginning

2009-12-31T19:38:00.000-08:00

I have been away, and I miss writing. While some lovely things have happened since my last post, I continue to censor myself for fear of the many bad things overwhelming what I write. I still like to think I am too private a person to expose myself that much here. Still, I hope that in the new year, I find a way to balance my need for privacy with a need to write and say something. Writing has always made me happy and I need all the happiness I can get my grubby little hands on these days.

When I woke up this morning, I realized that 18 years ago today, I was lying in bed at my uncle's house, praying and hoping that I would be able to change my life. My parents would call to wish us a happy new year and confirm my return flight information. I hadn't made any plans to return, despite my promise to do so a week earlier. I had no intention of going home. My first 18 years had not been very happy ones, and I knew if I returned, they would continue to be as they had been. The trip to the US was unexpected and (typical of my father) unplanned. His sudden and early return home had been a God send. I had spent the week between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve thinking of what I could say to convince my parents to let me stay and go to school. I had never disobeyed my parents before, hadn't said no to any of their demands until I was 17. This would be on a scale that would undo all of my daughterly goodness. I was scared, alone, clueless and on a high that must come from doing something completely insane. And I did it. With that one call my life changed. Eighteen years later, I'm reviewing my life again. I have fallen short of many of the things I have wanted to accomplish by this time in my life. I have failed in so many things and occasionally succeeded. The victories have been sweet, the failures unforgiving.

I did not enjoy the year that I am about to put behind me. While some of my friends had great joys and beautiful additions to their lives which they have generously shared with me, I have spent the better part of the year torn and in pain. Sadly, I haven't been alone. I lost a dear friend who may never have known how much she meant to me. I still think of her daily, grateful for the little time I had to know her. I was abandoned by a friend who meant the world to me; and while I got him back, I cannot see myself as I was before everything happened. I doubt myself more today than I did before--and I was always full of self-doubt. I have had a number of friends near and far go through separations and divorces. Watching them suffer, I felt utterly useless and could do nothing but share their sorrow. Back home, there is unrest and chaos as the government that once pretended to follow the will of the people turned against them so cruelly that we have all passed the point of no return. I spent most of the year holding on to myself for fear of falling apart completely, and while I still stand in some form, I know I am not the woman I was last year. My sense of self has changed and the drained person I see before me is not what I want to be. I am trying to see it as a blessing in disguise--perhaps the person I was couldn't improve because she had to be rebuilt. Through this, I tried to find the strength to help others in small ways; in return I discovered new friends that helped carry me through some of my darkest days. For that, I am eternally grateful--even though I wish we had met under happier circumstances.

So with few hours left of 2009, I say good riddance. I will not miss the year that passed at all. There were historical moments, glimmers of hope and joy--but I was too busy trying to keep my head above water to appreciate them properly.

Welcome 2010. May you be gentler and more joyous than your older sister.

With a Flood of Pictures Come a Flood of Memories

2009-10-28T02:17:00.000-07:00

I've been taking a lot of pictures lately and been in a lot more than I have been for almost all my life put together. It's a weird feeling. Actually, it's unsettling. Every time I look at the recent pictures, I feel the same tension I had when the picture was being taken--an uneasiness that the pictures won't turn out right; that my face will look wrong; my eyes will be closed or that I have the wrong smile. For the most part, the concerns are grounded in reality. I look inexplicably intoxicated in many of the pictures I 'pose' for, even though I don't drink. My favorite pictures are those that I'm hiding behind dark sunglasses, preferably a hat or a tall person--proof of my presence should an alibi be required, but none of the ugliness.

As I was looking through pictures from my most recent trips, there is one of me laughing as I cover my mouth. It may be one of my favorite pictures, because every time I look at it, I remember the exact moment I acquired the habit.

Since about the time I was five years old, my mother has been trying to 'fix' my nose. Learning from the Chinese tradition of foot binding, she would scotch-tape my nose and have me sit still for hours to correct the offending feature. After seeing no results, she was sure the problem was with the tools not the method, so she upgraded to duct tape. Sadly, this was the one problem duct tape couldn't fix. By the time I was in second grade, promises of rhinoplasty* were made in exchange for good behavior and grades. Until then, every time I came home with a school picture there would The Talk. I had been warned not to smile the way I smile (how does one change their smile?) in pictures, but it was hard to obey my mother when school photographers adamantly insisted that I smile and show my teeth. Soon my pictures became glaring reminders of the necessity of rhinoplasty--and I hated it. Logically, I stopped smiling in my pictures--which made me look either scared or baleful. Neither look is flattering.

Just as I was getting the hang of not smiling at picture time, another problem presented itself: my habit of laughing and/or giggling and its subsequent effect on my face. Not good. The Talk was amended to include not laughing when I spoke, sticking to 'serious' topics, controlling my laugh and holding my head at certain angles if I had to laugh. Now, I'm sure models and other beautiful people go through training of how to stay beautiful at all times and that there are more flattering angles than others, but all of this was too much work and instruction. I broke out in giggles for no good reason, I was an unintentional joke waiting to happen and got a crick in my neck when I tried to maintain the 'flattering' angle. I really did try for a couple of years before I finally gave up. One day, when some neighbors were visiting, something or another was said and of course I started to laugh the uncontrollable laughter of a bored adolescent. As soon as I started laughing, I thought of the effect it would have on me. I immediately covered the lower half of my face and continued to laugh, even more at the sheer genius of my solution to the problem. Since that summer morning, I cover my face when I laugh--and love the picture that has captured the habit.

*To my mother's great sorrow (we literally discuss this every time she visits), I never had rhinoplasty. If God answers her prayers one day, I will get over my stubborn resistance and make her dream come true. I think God is on my side on this particular topic and will continue to cover my face to spare people the horrors of seeing my laughing face.

Shameless Flirt

2009-10-10T19:25:00.000-07:00

"Hi!"

I looked at him, hoping he wouldn't notice my impatience. I was in no mood to chat with strangers, but didn't want to be rude.

"Hello."

That was all he needed. He extended his hand and said, "My name is Aidan. What's your name?"

Of course, nothing good would come of this. He wasn't the type to notice or care about my wedding ring; I wasn't interested in encouraging him, no matter how cute he was with his jeans and devil may care hair style.

I introduced myself, smiling against my will. He took my hand and didn't let go as he chatted and looked at me with excitement and hope. People were looking and smiling--mostly at him, I rarely get that many unsolicited smiles. I asked a couple of questions and maybe encouraged him. I finally asked him point blank, "Don't you think you're a little too young to be flirting with me? Do you have any idea how old I am?"

This made him laugh loudly. More people looked. He was having fun, I was feeling awkward.

"Shush. Seriously, I'm much too old for you. There are plenty of nice girls your own age around here."

He ignored my comment completely. He was in his own world. "Do you like firefighters? I'm going to be a firefighter for Halloween. What are you going to be?"

"An old lady."

"Ok, buddy. It's time to go. Wanna say goodbye?"

He looked over his shoulder at his companion and nodded 'no'. I was getting late for dinner and knew he had to go. It had been a fun little distraction, but all good things have to come to an end.

"Well, bye. It was very nice meeting you. I hope you have fun on Halloween."

He gave me a dimpled smile knowing he couldn't postpone the inevitable any longer, "Ok. Bye!" As they walked away, he looked over his shoulder and waved.

"I'M THREE!"

Beware ladies: there's a shameless flirt at Vons and no one is immune to his charms. And yes, little boys who have never met me will literally throw themselves at me and I love it.

Not Myself

2009-10-01T11:25:00.000-07:00

I am the opposite of all you've ever known,
I'm everything that I've never been.
I'm the broken glass that can hold no more,
I am hiding in plain sight and hating every second of it.

Things I've Learned

2009-09-22T21:53:00.000-07:00

Since I had a couple of interesting things come up lately, I thought I'd share my new found wisdom with friends and strangers:

1. Don't change the water cooler jug right before a meeting, especially if you're wearing high heels: It's hard to look dignified in your meeting when you're wearing a white shirt that is too wet and slightly muddy. People will laugh at you. Or they'll pretend not to laugh at you as they stifle their laughter and ask how you got attacked by the water jug. Trust me nothing good will come of your well intentioned act. Just wait for someone else to come and change the damned thing.

2. American men overshare: Maybe I'm a prude. (actually, I am a prude, but that's besides the point), but I really have no interest in hearing how awkward it was when your 22 year old son walked in on your private moment. You will know I'm uncomfortable with your narration by the beet red color of my complexion and the look of horror on my face as I stare at the floor. Feel free to abruptly change the subject and talk about horticulture. Likewise, when I ask how your new girlfriend is doing, I don't mean in the Biblical sense. I'm either making small talk or referring to her overall health. Feel free to not pick up the pace as I run away from you.

3. Music can be used for medicinal purposes: I have been consuming music as if my life depended on it. I have been known not to pay attention to the lyrics of songs I listen/sing along to, but lately, I've been hearing lyrics and almost every song somehow connects to my life. My musical mood swings from the serene to angry to heartbroken in a span of hours--and every one is the perfect salve for that moment. My co-worker (bless him) sent me a package full of CDs yesterday, including two Chris Isaak CDs to replace those I may have accidentally given away. How could I have forgotten the lyrics to Forever Blue?

All Apologies

2009-09-09T23:05:00.000-07:00

Lately, I've been apologizing a lot. I feel I've lost my footing and am so unsure of every word I say, that even after the most casual conversation, I want to go back and apologize. Apologize for interfering, imposing, judging, correcting, opining, being. I want to erase everything and go back in time to a past that I can't remember any more. Despite this, I can't stop saying the things I know I will want to take back. I can't stop comments I will want to explain, and explanations that I will want to put in context.

Just last night, I had a conversation with a friend which in hindsight was so inappropriate and judgmental--what was I thinking? I barely got one friend back due to my judgmental comments and now this. I spent the better part of my day wondering, do I apologize? Do I pretend it never happened and hope he didn't notice? Do I count of the fact that no one listens to anything I say most of the times?

Despite always being self-conscience, I was like this only one other time years ago--doubting every word and thought. I didn't like it then, I do not like it now. The worst part is, I can't stop any part of it.

Where I Foment Scandals From Afar

2009-08-26T22:24:00.000-07:00

If you ever meet me, you'll notice a few things: I have a fondness for red shoes and red lipstick; I am vain and I love big earrings. My parents did their best to quash all of these characteristics when I was growing up. I remember my mom once asking, "Where do you get this from? I don't wear jewelery or make-up. But this?!"

I may have solved the mystery.

My grandmother was visiting me for a week. Knowing she is going back home to attend my cousin's wedding, shopping was on our itinerary. There was also a long list of family members who had asked for dresses/shoes/accessories for the same wedding, "if I came across anything". Honestly, we did our best. We visited just about every mall, outlet and store I could think of from Carlsbad to Downtown San Diego. We couldn't find anything that fit the styles, budget and tastes of the people involved. I incorporated shopping into our sight seeing, meal times and social calls. I had deep conversations with friends as I skimmed racks and racks of clothes that were entirely inappropriate for my purposes. I actually exhausted my grandmother on Saturday after whisking her from one mall to another.

The thing that bothered me most was that my grandmother had seen my various red shoes--and she commented on them. The shoe loving woman who wore high heels and corralled a gaggle of grandchildren on her long walks wearing a chador loved MY shoes. Every time I wore one, she'd start giggling with joy and say, "What pretty shoes!". I was determined to find her a pair she would wear.

Finally on Tuesday, on the way to the airport we stopped by Marshalls. I saw a pair of red sandals that she clearly liked. I grabbed them in her size and kept walking. Slightly behind me, she was trying to keep up, saying, "I can't get those. I can't take them home, it's not becoming. *giggle giggle giggle* Your mom will not approve. *giggle* Maybe if I wear them when I have company over." I was already at the register paying, if for no other reason than to hear her giggle like that all the way to the airport. And perhaps wait for the call from my mom, asking me what I was thinking buying my grandmother red shoes. We bonded over our love of red that has always been a mystery.

We stopped at the next store, where I moved on to phase two of my unintentional plan to upset the balance of proper dress amongst the women-folk in my family. My new sister-in-law will also be attending the wedding, and had hinted that she would like a dress. My parents are of the modest dress mentality. So much so that half the things I wear (shorts, sleeveless shirts, almost any formal wear) scandalizes them and results in a polite but firm request to 'see what else I have to wear'. My sister-in-law apparently is not so fond of these suggestions (and I don't blame her one bit). So imagine my glee when I saw a lovely green dress that may have lacked sleeves and may also have been low cut. The good news: 1. It will look great on her. 2. She loves green 3. She will practically be obligated to accept the dress because I got it for her. 4. It was almost 60% off! The bad news? I will be getting a number of scandalized calls, wondering "What I was thinking?! Had I forgotten who I was shopping for? WHAT WAS I THINKING!?!"

I blame it on the math. With two purchases, I made three people very happy--maybe more. I did some very good deeds. I may have thought of doing this on my own, but would never have gone through with it without encouragement from a slightly mischevious friend. Now excuse me as I adjust my halo. It may get knocked off soon.

Chest Crushing Goodness

2009-08-24T21:57:00.000-07:00

I had so much fun on my Torrey Pines run last Monday, that I decided to go back. So much is going on with me right now, that I need every drop of hope and relief I can get. I had a plan--run the trail, wet toes in ocean, clear head and go home. Of course, things didn't go according to my plan but they did get a little better. As I turned into the parking lot of the Torrey Pines golf course, I saw Anthony. I almost crashed my car into a tree.

Anthony is one of my teammates this season. While he's technically not my mentee, he had been running with me and listening to my stories on Saturdays. Two months ago, he casually mentioned that he would miss seeing me (yes, I was flattered, sue me) for a while. He was scheduled for chemo--4-6 weeks of it. It broke my heart that I had run with him for weeks, and he took his last run to tell me. I offered to help with whatever he needed during his treatments--food, reading materials, whatever. He asked me to email and keep him up to date on the team's progress. This was familiar. I had done this before, I could do it again.

So for the next few weeks, I would send him team updates and stories. Crazy, random stories. He'd respond days later with a charming comment and a promise to try to make it to the next week's session and visit. He never could because apparently chemo is a life draining form of liquid torture.

And that's why I almost crashed my car tonight as I drove up and saw him standing there with the group for a weekly run. It was his first time back and he wanted to see how far he could make it. I jumped out of my running car and wanted to welcome him to the group. He hugged me so hard I could barely breathe. I wasn't expecting the kiss either, but apparently I was missed. Once I found my feet and greeted everyone else, I became the butt of the car handling jokes which have followed me from last season. I wasn't bothered. I have gone too long this season without being openly mocked. Plus, my teammate is back and he looked great. He couldn't run at all tonight; his muscles weak from almost two months of chemo and his lungs out of practice. But he's back with the team. His mentor and I walked the trail with him; I never made it to the ocean and I didn't clear my very muddled head. But I saw a friend who is on his way back to health and that was lovely.

Meeting the Kings

2009-08-21T23:48:00.000-07:00

I got back from the Kings of Leon concert. Apparently good music played really loudly coursing through every fiber of your body can be theraputic. I screamed till I lost my voice, danced till my legs were sore and generally surrendered my body and mind to the music. I was so quiet after the concert, M asked me why we went if I was going to hate it so much. Amazingly, he missed most of the action mentioned above so he mistook the joyous trance for apathy.

The thing that caught me off guard? My reaction to one of their songs which I don't actually like much. This one made me cry.

I don't know the first thing about music, but I like this band and they were amazing live. If you have the chance to see them, go for it. If you need a spaztic partner to go with you, call me.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts: Bad Influence

2009-08-21T17:43:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought I had run out of places to ache, I have found a couple of new ones. Right before a concert I have been looking forward to for months. If only this were a body slamming kind of event, it would all balance out and possibly make me feel better.

Also, it seems that during our time together today, I have taught my grandmother a new word in English.

"What is that word you keep saying?"
"Which one?"
"F@#%F@#%F@#%"

It seems I'm a bad influence on the elderly.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts: Reality Bites

2009-08-19T18:15:00.000-07:00

Looking back at my previous posts, I've noticed two things: less and less frequent postings and a distance from my original plans for blogging. The frequency, I blame on a few things, mostly Facebook and keeping up with/harassing unsuspecting people that way. As stabby as FB makes me sometimes with its disconnections and finicky chats, I can't help but appreciate its role in my life recently.

The tone change in the blog is due to my lack of creativity and general mood. Turns out, I haven't got a creative or funny cell in my body when my mind is where it has been for the past nine months or so. I have been battle the need to say something--anything--to lighten this load that is on my chest and of self-censoring before I say too much. Being a private exhibitionist is not as easy as it seems.

I've been up for the past two hours (after 'sleeping' for less than two), staring in the dark and willing calmness upon my mind. Nothing is working. Yoga breathing might help if I didn't catch myself holding my breath for what seems an eternity sometimes. All of the baseless medical symptoms that have bothered me for the past month or so are still bothering me, now with the added bonus of feeling the acid in my stomach spill over and course through my body. The fire and knots from my stomach are taking over and officially robbing me of what few hours of restless sleep I was getting a few weeks ago.

I had a brief moment of reprieve on Monday: I went running at Torrey Pines and felt an almost out of body sense of joy, despite the physical pains. It reminded me why I loved running and what I love about living in San Diego. I was forced to breathe the ocean air, feel the evening chill crawling on my skin, battling the fire just beneath the surface. For a brief moment I felt so light I thought I would evaporate. During the run, I felt something that had been missing for so long I had almost forgotten it existed in me. And I want it back, even if it breaks me in the process.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts: My Confused Ego

2009-07-21T22:45:00.000-07:00

Two seemingly unrelated stories before Wednesday, during which I have promised not to whine. Or at least promised to try not to whine (this is so not going to work, Lainey).

Distractions

A few years ago, we went to a picnic for one of M's co-workers. The usual group was there and I enjoyed all of them, although honestly it is hard to not feel stupid when you're sitting with a bunch of scientists and have nothing to contribute to the conversation. So we unpack our contributions to the picnic, and I kept trying to keep the topics away from neurodegenerative diseases and contaminated cell cultures. At some point, we're all sitting on the blanket, looking out at the ocean and I was telling a story of how difficult it was for us while M was finishing his doctoral thesis. After all, we were two graduate students in a relatively new relationship, on two different continents, separated by time zones, low budgets, family obligations and demanding schedules. I get to the part where I would feel guilty calling him before I went to bed (morning his time), afraid that I'd be distracting him as he reviewed notes and transcripts.

This is when the only other non-scientists in the group (who really is a nice guy) jumps in and says, "YOU?! Distract HIM?! You couldn't distract him if you tried!"

To his credit, he was trying to compliment M's dedication and focus. To my credit, I just gasped for air and didn't punch him. It's one thing to know your shortcomings, it's another thing for a stranger to point at them and laugh.

I remember this story tonight because we were going to a concert at the beach with most of the same group of people. For the past couple of days I was in a twisty knot, reminding myself to ignore his poorly executed jokes and compliments--thinking that if it came down to it, I could distract someone, somehow.

AARP Hotness

I was trying to put the AARP membership card debacle behind me. I really was. Until I went to Costco, I was doing fine. There I was thinking of ways to use a two gallon jar of artichokes and putting my items on the belt, when I noticed the very old, feeble man behind me. He was almost falling into his cart reaching for a giant box of something or another. He was short, the box was big and heavy. I had an opportunity to get my good deed of the day out of the way. So I offered to help him place his items on the conveyor belt behind my own. He looked at me for a minute and accepted the offer. As I was moving his things out of the cart, he looked at me and said, "I'm not as young as I used to be."

I laughed at his understatement and said, "None of us are. I just got an invitation to join AARP."

He looked at me again and nodded, "You still look pretty decent. You have a good..."

I cannot repeat what he said. I was so shocked I turned beet red and dropped his tuna cans. When I saw the optimistic look on his face, I turned even redder. I'm amazed there was any blood left in my body that hadn't shot to my head.

I could not pay for my stuff and get out of there fast enough.

I think the moral of these two stories are, while I may not be able to get the attention of young, intelligent men; almost blind, dirty old men will still give me a look if I wave a membership card in their face. Burn the AARP card.

Card Carrying Member of AARP

2009-07-19T18:27:00.000-07:00

I was going through my mountain of mail this afternoon. I don't like doing this because nothing good is ever found in this mountain. Today, I got insult added to my weekly injury. I got an invitation to join AARP, also known as the American Association of Retired Persons which accepts member 50 and older. I am not 50 or older. As a matter of fact, I still have a few years before I can blame my bad attitude on a mid-life crisis. Yet, I have been invited to join. They must have heard of my sparkling personality and just couldn't wait to get me.

After fuming for a while--a long,long while--I forced myself to think positively about what this could mean. Think of the discounts. In this economy, I need all the help I can get. Avis, retail, legal services, pharacies...The possibilities are endless.

Also, with proof of membership, I can demand respect. FINALLY! I will shake my fist in the air and yell, "Respect your elders!" and "Don't speak until you're spoken to!" This will be especially handy in some of my meetings. I look forward to this particular perk. I especially look forward to my Tuesday meetings.

I did a little research and discovered there is a Ms. Senior America competition. I bet I could enter as an AARP member. It's not like they mail out membership cards to just anybody. No, sir. It's a very exclusive group. Armed with my membership, I can compete and say I have maintained my youthful glow without exaggerating one bit. Not to brag or anything, but I think I might have a chance at winning. That would be a nice change of pace for me.

Finally, for once I will be a part of a much larger, growing group. I will be able to bond with my peers over our mutual experiences and past adventures. Talk about the crazy kids and their loud music. Lobby our government for a better benefits. It could work.

So now I'm a little less depressed. Until I remember the fact that someone thinks I'm a senior citizen. Then I want to cry.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts: Opting Out

2009-07-14T20:36:00.000-07:00

As I drove home from work today, I changed the radio station just as Trent Reznor's 'Hurt' started. By the time I heard, "Everyone I know goes away in the end" I was crying. It was the wrong song to be listening to at the wrong time.

There has been a steady flow of people leaving my life lately and it is killing me. I have walked away from friendships in the past, and it was never easy. Even when I did the walking, it hurt and I hated it. What kind of a person walks away from a friendship? What kind of a person builds and nurtures something and finally gives up when maintaining it becomes too exhausting?

And yet, people are walking away from me slowly and surely. People who have known me best and longest are leaving me, without a word or goodbye. It seems I don't even deserve that. I don't know what that says about me.

It started in February with Tall Lanky Guy. One day he was here celebrating my brother's birthday with us and introducing us to his boyfriend, asking me what I thought--insisting I tell him. Next day he was gone, not responding to my emails or phone calls. At first I thought he was busy catching up after his trip or getting ready for Persian New Year. But then my birthday/New Year rolled around and for the first time 16 years, he didn't call to wish me a happy birthday or a Happy New Year. At the time, it was icing on my unhappy birthday cake. I figured I must have said something--been too direct with my opinion when we last saw each other--so I called. And called and called. I left funny messages, sad messages and apologetic messages--I finally realized he really didn't want to talk to me. I couldn't tell one of my oldest friends that one of my newest friends had passed away. I couldn't joke about New Year parties and visits. I couldn't listen to his stories or make stupid jokes that he'd laugh at.

I didn't have my friend.

Since then at least two more have left me. People I loved have walked away; more are on their way out. I can't stop them. The hole in my chest is growing to the point it's making me numb. Sometimes at work I'll daydream of a different life that I tried to build for so long--a life shared with friends who had become my adoptive family; those in my life by choice and not by accident of birth. Then I'd be faced with the unpleasant reality that the only people left standing will be those who can't change me (fast) enough. Either way, the only thing I am left to believe is that I am unacceptable as I am.

And I couldn't censor myself for another day because of a song I was listening to during rush hour.

Only Stupid People Are Breeding

2009-06-30T19:36:00.000-07:00

Below is an excerpt from a recent conversation:

'Hi GWCH! Look what I brought you!'

'Oh, what a pretty wedding invitation. Who is it for?'

'A Pakistanian guy. Do you know him?'

'I don't know. I have a few Pakistani friends, but don't think I know this groom.'

'Can you read the invitation?'

'No, I can't read Urdu. I know Farsi and a little bit of Arabic.'

'That's too bad that your parents didn't teach you Pakistanian.'

(Confused look on my face.)

'It's just that I thought you'd be proud of your Pakistanian heritage and all. You know, because you were talking about stuff that is going on over there for the last couple of weeks.'

(Trying to bite my tongue and not call her an idiot): 'Oh, no. I'm from Iran. I'm Iranian--some people say Persian. It's the same thing. We speak Farsi (also known as Persian). Pakistanis speak Urdu which has a similar alphabet and some shared words, but they're actually different languages.'

'Oh. So, you're not Pakistanian?'

(Me calmly nodding no, trying not to scream that there is no such thing as Pakistanian.)

'Huh. Maybe that's why I was confused and thought you were Indian. Do you know Indian?'

And that is the story of why I have welts in my mouth. And why I'm considering quitting my job and becoming a History and Geography teacher. God knows I can't make the kids any dumber.

Oh--and this lady has four kids, the first two of which she home schooled for a few years.

Zombie Warrior In Training

2009-06-22T23:06:00.000-07:00

I have been avoiding writing this post for almost 12 weeks.

That was when I agreed to join Team In Training again to raise money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Most of you remember the story of how I joined TNT last year, going from a well-rounded couch potato to a half marathon runner. The moment I walked into my hotel room before the Nike Women's Marathon, I called her and promised I would do it again next year, if she promised to come to San Francisco. She promised she would and we had a date. Her promise carried me up the hills and through the streets that day. Crossing the finish line was one of the happiest moments in my life--blown out knee, aching ankle, blisters and all. The only thing that clouded the euphoria was knowing that Manda didn't make it to San Francisco because her treatments weren't working. When I posted pictures of the event, she saw what I had written on my arm (Zombie Warrior) and wrote two words that brought tears, "My Hero!" She was gracious like that.

I haven't written about her since she passed, even though I think of her almost daily. I thought of her as I agreed to join as a mentor, knowing that my original motivation for running was gone; and I think of her every Saturday morning as I try to motivate my team members with a heavy heart.

This year, I know my fund raising can't help her any more, nor can my misadventures make her laugh (or wonder who the heck I am). I'm getting ready for a date that I know will break my heart. That's why everything I am doing (my running, my fund raising, my planning) is behind. Somewhere around the sixth or seventh attempt to write this in April, I had to stop.

A friend and I were talking about this and he made me think of why I'm running again. Amanda inspired me, but now I've met so many others who went through what she did. This week, I learned that one of my mentees will miss the next few weeks of training because he is scheduled for chemo. I have friends who were recently diagnosed with various blood cancers (two in the last year) and those who fight chronic forms of it; I have learned of friends who have overcome their battles and are living healthy lives. When I think about it, I realize my participation and fund raising were inspired by Amanda, but now includes many more friends who I'd like to think are benefiting from my feeble efforts.

And with this, my fund raising officially begins. I know a lot has changed since last year and donations might be smaller. I'll shamelessly accept donations big and small with gratitude. I am looking for sponsors, so if you know of any businesses that want their name raced through the streets of San Francisco, I can provide you with more details. I would also appreciate it if you could each pass on my fund raising site to at least 5 of your most generous friends.

Where is the link for you to donate? Right here!

I'll continue to post stories, updates and possibly pictures. Once my training jersey is personalized I'll start modeling it. Until then, I appreciate your support in any form and amount.

My Country In Flames

2009-06-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I'm watching HBO's Letters to the President. We have been glued to our computers and the TV for the past couple of days, following the aftermath of the elections in Iran. Chances are, if you have been watching the news or cable channels, you don't know what's going on. CNN had an interview with motorcycle repairmen yesterday. MSNBC had something about Ted Kazinski.

The Revolution is not being broadcast.

Chances are you don't know much about my country. I don't blame you. You don't know about my people's generosity or their frustrations, you don't know of their dashed hopes and dreams. You don't know what is like to have lost your family to war; to have gathered in a house with your extended family praying that you survive the nightly bombings. You don't know what it is like to bury your sons who fought for the survival of a government they didn't believe in. You don't know what it is like to be seen as ignorant and repressed; international pariahs.

What you probably know is the caricature of a president that is made even more ridiculous in translations. You don't know that he was elected last time because the majority of the electorate boycotted the elections to make a point to the Reformers. You don't know that the he was elected by people who can barely see past their own day to day survival and are willing to vote for anyone who promises to build a road to their villiage, or give them a loan to buy a home. That is not to say those who voted for him were ignorant or stupid. It is to say they are just like us, responding to their basic needs as a people.

Two days ago, elections were held and something did not go according to plans. I tried to block out thoughts of the elections, I did not vote. I no longer live there and don't feel I am entitled a voice in a system that doesn't impact me directly. I was wrong. That system impacts my family who mostly live there, my friends and their families, my people and my culture. I was wrong to not vote, even if my vote would be lost and the loser would be hailed as the president. I was wrong not to vote, even if I didn't have much faith in any of the candidates because there was a lesser evil and even a window of hope. I was wrong to think that the rallies of people in green were just an excuse to get out and mingle. I was wrong to be so cynical about something that hurts my people.

If you look, you can see what is happening in the aftermath of those elections. There are cries of protest, there is violence and there is bloodshed. Those are my people. The pictures you see are of my sisters and brothers, my cousins and friends using the songs and calls of the last revolution against the government. Those cries of Allah-o-Akbar coming from the rooftop are the same cries that brought down the Shah 30 years ago. The cries of 'Azadi, Azadi' (Freedom, Freedom) are being used by a younger generation and thrown back in the faces of the people who are repeating the mistakes of the past. If Khamenei and his ilk have any memory of the past, they should be more than a little worried.

I am sad that they are suffering, I worry about the people I love. But I am proud that they did not accept this in silence. I am proud that they are braver than I ever could be. I am proud and hopeful.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts: Feel the Burn

2009-04-25T23:45:00.000-07:00

Wednesday night, I had my hair trimmed and colored. I was generally displeased, because my usual stylist had shown me her new 'enhancements', wondered why she looked so 'exposed' and handed me off to her assistant before she went to dance class. Now, as you may know from my blog title, I have a thing about my hair. And I like how this particular lady does my hair, which is why I have followed her through three different salons and drive much further to get to her than my own logic dictates. So I did not like being handed off to her assistant--at all. Nor did I like an update on Brittney's concert, someone someone's wardrobe malfunction, celebrities dumped and others picked up. I don't really care. Yet, I got an earful as I was being worked on and my request for my hair to be styled was translated to the top layer of my hair being straightened with a flat iron and the layers beneath being neglected to a puffy semi-curl. Considering how many times she left to save her new puppy and come back to me, I thought it wise to pay and be on my way--with my curiously styled hair. To add insult to injury, she charged me as much as my regular stylist.

Thursday morning, I started styling my hair and trying to spritz, blow dry and curl it into order. I was feeling particularly clumsy as I burned the back of my fingers with the curling iron. I decided to prevent further disaster by taking of my robe so the wire wouldn't get entangled with the robe. I finally finished half my head and realized I'm running late for work. Really late. On a day that I'm scheduled to interview candidates for our Atlanta team. Then, as I tried to avoid burning my neck I dropped the stupid curling iron all together and burned myself again as it fell. On my general chestal area. As I digested what had just happened to me, I started yelling profanities in pain and sheer anger. I don't typically use bad language, which means I am not well versed and tongue tied when I legitimately need to be expressive in that way. I immediately got under cold water to prevent blistering, causing the finished side of my hair to unfinish again, but in a different way from the previously unfinished side. As I got out of the shower, still sputtering what few profanities I could string together, I started looking for my bottle of aloe. The giant, Costco bottle of aloe that I look at every single day, that was not in its regular spot, because I had removed everything for the plumbers while they tore my bathrooms apart. I stopped looking in drawers and cabinets long enough to try and remember where I had last seen it. As I walked towards M's closet where I stuffed a bunch of things, I slipped on the now wet bathroom tile and banged my already bruised knee. Normally, such a thing wouldn't happen because I have a carpet lying on the bathroom floor, but that too, had been folded and stuffed some place safe while the plumbers were doing their work earlier in the week.

I finally sat down with my half-flat, half frizzy hair; sore knee and burned flesh on the cusp of tears because I couldn't find my stupid bottle of aloe. For some reason I thought it would cheer me up to quote Richard III. "ALOE! Aloe! My nation of some f!@#! aloe!" As soon as the words were out, I realized I had misquoted Shakespeare. It wasn't a nation, it was a kingdom. I couldn't even quote Shakespeare. What was happening to me? As the tears started running down my face, I tried to think of calling someone who would understand. Someone accident prone and knowledgeable. But there was something just so ridiculous about my situation that I couldn't call anyone. Questions would be asked, laughter would have to be stifled and I couldn't handle mockery for at least an hour or two.

I finally got up, pulled my hair into submission, covered my burned flesh with a high collared shirt and left for work.

I sucked at the interview and wanted to apologize to the poor candidate for my tone. I wanted to explain why I sounded so distracted and in pain, but was pretty sure that would be considered TMI and possibly sexual harassment.

Somehow, I made it to the end of the day. M couldn't make sense of what had happened or how I had managed to hurt myself as much as I did in such a short time.

I need to learn to some new words. I'm sure it would have been much better if I had a stronger vocabulary. I also need to buy some more f@#! #$@aloe.

Death By A Thousand Paper Cuts

2009-04-25T21:08:00.001-07:00

I have been wanting to write lately, but frankly have found it difficult with the many things that have been going on in my life and around me. Many of them are just daily annoyances; insignificant, absurd and tedious--perfectly forgettable, were it not for the larger things that have been looming. For a while, I was self-censoring, not able to talk about everything that was going on. Then, I was too emotional to write about what was happening coherently. Now, as somethings are resolving themselves and falling into place, I am beginning to see what the problem was: death by paper cuts (and occasionally cardboard). The reason that it freaked me out as much as it has (in addition to the frequency), is that Spring is the beginning for me. Things are supposed to recalibrate and renew. The only things that have been renewing this Spring are things that don't bode well for the future or set a good tone for the rest of the year. That has overwhelmed me and dragged me down more than the events themselves.

And so a new theme is born. Each time I want to write about my misadventures or whine about things that I know are insignificant--even by my melodramatic standards--I'll post them under the title above. At least you'll know what's coming.

Am I Evil? Perhaps

2009-04-17T22:02:00.000-07:00

My parents have been visiting us over two trips; a few days at a time. The first trip provided some interesting moments and revelations, including the very real possibility that I'm a slightly wicked child after all.

M started running around the same time that I would trot over to the park by our house. By the time I joined TNT last year, he had joined the Tri(athlon) Club and was occasionally participating in local runs and bike rides. He has often said that he started running because I started, which flatters me to no end. Today, he runs and bikes much more regularly than I have since last October.

When he came home a couple of weeks ago (the first time my parents were here) he was still in his running clothes, sweaty and flushed from his 6 mile run. My parents started oohing and ahhing over how much more fit he looked and how impressive that it was that he was becoming so active. My dad couldn't stop admiring his will power and committment. My mom kept whispering to me how much better he looked. I kept smiling, because I know my parents and knew exactly what would be coming after all this admiration. I almost had a little countdown going.

To their credit, they both held out much longer than I thought they would. On the afternoon of their second day here (less than 24 hours), they asked if I ever went running with M. "No, he's asked me, but I don't like being left behind so I don't go at all." Now, this may have been a good time to say, "No, I ran with my Team In Training group until October, when I went to semi-retirement because of my injuries." But that would have opened a whole new can of worms, explaining the fact that I hid a half marathon and one of my proudest accomplishments for so long. So I let it be. Later than night, my dad started another conversation with M, asking if he would go to Phoenix and train my brother to run. (My brother who played rugby for a few years until he injured his knee, etc. who still managed to train until he could barely stand).

"You should also take GWCH with you."

Looking at me, "Of course, running may be too much for you right now" (slowly evaluating my figure with a little sadness) "Maybe you can walk around the block a little bit, then work your way up to walking to the park..." (the park is about 3/4 of a mile from our place) "You just need to get started and maybe one day you can run, too. With a better diet, you can probably lose some weight while you're at it!" He said this with the optimism of a man who hasn't given up on his child yet, a man who is still waiting for a miracle that will provide him with stories to take home of his daughter getting up and finding her legs.

M slowly said, "I started running because of GWCH. I didn't used to run, even when my co-workers kept encouraging me to. She inspired me." (Again, big brownie points to a man who can defend and compliment me at the same time).

"Well, that was back when she was in college. I don't know if she actually ran then, probably just walked to the library and said she was running."

M opened his mouth to say he was referring to my training and the half marathon that I ran last year. I stopped him with a calm look and a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat. My running was officially my secret. You see, in the past, this conversation would reduce me to tears. I would be angry that my parents didn't think I was acceptable in some way; or the fact that they would talk about my fixing/improving myself as if I wasn't even there. I would probably even be a little angry at M for accidentally providing an opportunity for them to criticize me. But this time things were different. I am officially too old to care that I don't fit into the image of how great I could be. I have come a tiny step closer to accepting myself, flaws, pounds and all. I also have a secret that I kind of enjoy keeping. There is no need to defend myself, now that I know what I can do. I can just sit back and nod in agreement when they say it would be good if I could be motivated enough to wake up early and walk around the block. I may be a little evil to get such (perverse) joy withholding information like this from my parents, but I can't help it.

R.I.P. Alabama Pink

2009-03-25T22:32:00.000-07:00

Forgive me if I make no sense, but I've spent the past couple of hours crying for the passing of a woman I never met.

My blogger friend and running inspiration, Amanda, passed away tonight, almost a year after being diagnosed with leukemia. I keep trying to remind myself that she is no longer suffering the indignities of a body that didn't appreciate her spirit, but it isn't stopping my tears. I am thinking of her husband, who humored me and my rambling inquiries; her little boy who brought her so much joy.

Right now, my brain is flooded with our conversations while she was sick; her faith and her laughter despite the pain. I recognized something almost immediately in her that is completely lacking in myself--courage. She always seemed positive and upbeat, no matter how bad things got.

I joined TNT in her honor last May, soon after she was diagnosed and was hoping so much to meet her in San Francisco. She was a runner in training and I wanted to entertain her with stories of doing something she enjoyed. I had heard of the masses of people participating in the Nike Marathon, raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, and wanted her to see it. I wanted her to watch 20,000 people running to give her hope. She couldn't make it to San Francisco because of her treatments, so I called her the minute I walked into my room. I honestly felt her with me from the time I woke up to go to SF, and wanted to share every moment with her. She answered the phone and told me she was being injected with what looked like toilet bowl cleaner.

And so I described the view, the masses, the excitement and my plans to get her there next year. "I am NOT running next year unless you either run with me or wear an ugly green wig and cheer me on! Lil' A will love this place! He can dance on the streets along the way." She promised to be there and I accepted. During our calls we talked about religion, faith, baking, pets, her adorable son, shooting, my attempts at running and just about anything else I could think of. I left her more voice mail messages than I can remember, because I had a horrible sense of timing and rarely called when she was actually available.

I wanted to see her when I was visiting Washington DC, but didn't want to push in case she wasn't up to it. I never got to see her.

In all this time, I only heard her cry once. This, despite knowing what she did. She had courage.

She had the courage to fight with grace and humor, to dress up for Halloween for her son, to talk to well meaning (but clueless) strangers; to laugh at the absurdities.

So tonight, I mourn the loss of a stranger who inspired me and taught me more than I can ever thank her for. I want to be glad that she didn't suffer in her final moments and will no longer have to deal with the indignities of cancer. But for now, I'll cry for the loss of a friend.

Keloids

2009-02-14T12:58:00.000-08:00

ke·loid (kē′lo̵id′) noun: an excessive growth of scar tissue on the skin

I'm invited to a wedding next month, and as usual, I have had a bit of a melt down. It happens every time I am looking forward to something fun and exciting: weddings, celebrations, gatherings, etc. It happens just about each time I have to think about how I look. And every time, I hate myself for acting so ridiculous.

The more I think about it, what angers me today is not what I grew up with. My parents may have had less tact than some parents and thought they were helping us improve ourselves. That is not how it turned out. I was always thin skinned and sensitive. Being compared to others made me seethe with rage and jealousy that my parents thought other children were better than me. Their comparisons never motivated me to eat less or study more, I just hated myself more. I was sure there was something hopelessly, incurably broken about me. My poor parents had to love me because I was their disappointing child and they were stuck with me. Their methods didn't work out too well on my brothers either, even though neither are as sensitive as I am.

I should have grown out of my sensitivities. I've lived away from them for almost two decades. Their cutting words have become less frequent, a combination of distance, less contact and their having given up on fixing my faults. And yet, the scars remain. Much like keloids that stay behind as ugly reminders of past wounds, I see the effects of their words and ways each time I prepare for something I look forward to. Each and every one of their words flood my mind as I stand naked in front of a mirror trying to prepare. I'm reminded that I won't look good in anything, that it's a waste to buy anything decent before I lose weight and 'fix' my problem spots and on and on. And every time, not matter how hard I try, I break down. I ruin things for myself and everyone around me--which makes me hate myself even more.

Today was basically the last full day I had to try to look for a dress to wear to the wedding. I wanted to find something within my 'budget'--a number so low that even I know I couldn't find anything decent with that price. I had already gotten into an argument with M over this, but today was more than I could take. I was asking a friend to come and help me find something, but I refused to go to the mall where she suggested we start our search at Nordstrom--almost always her first stop. "Nordstrom?!", I said to M, "I can't go to Nordstrom! I can't shop there." And that was the beginning of my breakdown. With each word, I was beating myself up more--I was thinking and saying everything I have ever heard and hated. The worst part is, no one needs to do anything to me any more, I've been trained well and am on autopilot. I would never treat anyone else like this; why would I be more cruel to myself than I am to strangers?

Despite the angst ridden morning and my still burning eyes, I have found some dresses--almost all of them from Nordstrom. I'll only keep one and will go to the wedding to celebrate my friends. But I need to stop this. I'm too old and too exhausted to keep beating myself up in this way. I try so hard not to repeat their ways when I deal with my brothers and husband--something that took me a while to realize and let go of. I have to have at least as much respect for myself as I want others to have for me.

This may have to be my next project.

The Original Miss Jane Marie

2009-02-07T21:46:00.000-08:00

For reasons that I still haven't figured out, I attended kindergarten at Rock Hill Presbyterian. My mother was a recently observant Muslim who had just adopted hijjab and become friendly acquaintances with the Kosher butcher in downtown St. Louis. Frankly, if I had understood any more about religious identity, my childhood would have been even more confusing that it already was. As it were I spent my days trying to avoid Jesus' gentle gaze in the chapel, hoping he wouldn't notice that I didn't believe in Him as much as I believed in his Father. Still, I took great comfort in the stories promising that He loved me.

When I wasn't avoiding Jesus, my days were filled by Miss P, Miss J and Miss Jane Marie. Each had a specific role in my life: Miss P, the principal, was all love and patience. I remember the day she taught me to count in tens. Miss J was all business and order in a way that made me feel safe. Nothing bad could happen around her because bad things were not part of her daily plan for the kids. And finally, Miss Jane Marie was the thorn in my side. She was tall and very heavy in a way that only Midwesterners seem to be; an accident waiting to happen and the opposite of Miss J in every possible way. When I realized that they lived across the street from each other and sent their children to the same school, I was fascinated for days. I imagined a street bi-sected, pitting neighbor against neighbor. These thoughts made prayer time much more interesting.

After a few months, my mom started working at the church. My hijjabi, Muslim mother joined the pre-school staff and would sit next to me on the pew during prayer. She would peek into my classroom to see if I was behaving and soon became friends with the three grown-ups in my life. Frankly, in a time when my lonely mother needed support the most, these three women were by her side. During the days that my mother had to take my brother to the hospital, they would offer to babysit me. The Miss J days were wonderful: Snacks on actual plates; kids playing games and doing homework; dinner being prepped and a cat watching all of us lazily from the top of the stairwell. Miss J made being a single mom to seven children seem effortless.

Staying with Miss Jane Marie was like a smelly, whirlwind. As the proud owner of four cats, two dogs and four puppies, she had a given up on cleaning after them. Moving around her house was much like navigating my way through a field of landmines, "Oh! Don't sit there sweetie, that's where Mr. Whiskers likes to pee." or "Smell the pillow before you use it for naptime! I haven't washed them after Lady gave birth to the puppies." She was not a great believer in showers, handwashing or house cleaning. Meal time at her house was filled with anxiety for me, because she liked to reuse paper plates (the thin white ones) that no one had bothered to throw away from whenever. What time I didn't spend locked in the bathroom, cautiously washing my hands and air drying them, I would spend staring wistfully out the window at Miss J's house, planning my escape.

One day after church lessons, I asked, "Miss Jane Marie, is cleanliness really close to Godliness?"

"Yes, of course."

"And do you love Jesus?"

"Yes!"

"Then why..."

To her credit, Miss J wasn't just orderly, she was incredibly fast, too. She had scooped me up and relocated me to a pile of books that needed organizing by size. Sadly, I never got to finish my question. Nor could I offer her any five year old wisdom on the necessity of bathing regularly and not discussing one's bowel movements.

Strangely, in second grade I met a girl at my new school who looked like she had been plucked out of a Peanuts cartoon, complete with her own dusty aura. Her name was Jane Marie. I went home that day and declared, "I think I don't like the Jane Maries. They're all the same! EWWWW!"

I would like to say that I stand corrected. I don't like the St. Louis Jane Maries.

Poem of the Day

2008-12-21T13:12:00.000-08:00

Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.

Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he's dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.

Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.

--Stevie Smith

Her Healing Hands

2008-12-02T22:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, you past life comes back to haunt you.

My middle brother was born with a birth defect. My mother was 22, functionally single (my father was in Iran) and a stranger in this country. Overnight, she went from frustrated young mother, to a ferocious nurse. She learned the language of medicine before she learned English. She fought for my brother's life daily and had little room for tenderness or sentiment left in her.

As a result of his illness my brother was prone to pneumonia. Since prevention was almost impossible, treatment became my mother's area of expertise. After one harrowing episode, she came home with my bundled up brother tucked under one arm and a suction machine under the other. From that day forward, there was a ritual every morning and evening. She would lay my brother on his stomach, cup her hands and pat on his back. Firm, loud pats making sure nothing stayed lodged in his lungs. For half an hour at a time, she would cover the surface of his back with her pat-pat-pats, turn him over and suction out whatever she could. At first, I hated the sound of her hands beating on his bony back and the racket of the suction machine. Gradually, the sound became relaxing--the most enduring ritual of our family. She could cover his back with strong pats in her sleep, and occasionally did. I would doze off to what had become our lullaby, knowing my mother's hands were beating illness away.

Tonight, M's cough got pretty bad. After dinner, I tried everything I could think of to make his coughing stop. Suddenly, I remembered the pat-pat-pat of my mother's healing hands. It worked.

A Few Thoughts on Accountability and Democracy

2008-12-01T20:55:00.000-08:00

In the US, where the government is elected by the people and accountable to them, we have an outgoing president* basically shrugging his shoulders and saying "Oops" about the war and the economy. We are a civilized people, so we will watch in disbelief as he says things like, "I was unprepared for war" (the same war he started against most of the world's protests and mocked his opponents as weak-kneed and unpatriotic); about the economy, "I'm sorry it's happening, of course" (of course); about the elections, "It was a repudiation of Republicans" and "I'm sure some people voted for Barack Obama because of me." without the slightest hint of remorse or self awareness. It's almost impressive.

Stranger still is comparing our democracy with other so-called democracies.

When we were attacked in 2001, everyone had wondered if there were any warning signs that were missed. Any memos that said things like, "Bin Laden determined to attack inside the United States", that had been missed or ignored. Apparently there had been. Along, with unconnected dots and chatter. We confronted these warnings and failures appropriately. We kicked out people like Richard Clark and rewarded people like George Tenent with medals and honors.

Now in India, an 'emerging' democracy, they have government officials who supposedly got warnings of impending attacks; semi-connected dots if you will. Their incompetence in handling these warnings has outraged the public, still in shock from being attacked as they were. As a result national, state and local officials have resigned in shame--and more resignations are expected**. Apparently they missed the class where rewarding incompetence was being discussed. I mean, they may call it accountability, I call them a bunch of quitters. They could have toughed it out in their jobs, gotten recognition, written a few books about their ordeals dealing with an ungrateful and unpatriotic populace and moved on to lucrative contract jobs. But they don't know these things yet. Their budding democracy seems to foster quitters and shame. Good luck emerging with that attitude!

*There are only about 50 more days until he retires into the sunset and contemplates how great a president he was. (Also, is there an exit interview? Is there some equivalent of an HR guy with a list of questions for Bush and Cheney about their job satisfaction and feedback?)

**Seriously, why didn't we think of outsourcing the Bush administration to India? It totally could have worked.

If I Ruled the World

2008-11-30T22:04:00.000-08:00

I was recently chatting with a friend and realized that despite my joy during the last elections and commitment to democracy, I could be persuaded by an enthusiastic population to be a benevolent dictator. The world could do worse--actually, it has done much worse. I mean most people hate dictators because we equate them with evil and lack of accountability. But I'm a relatively nice person on many, many levels. Sure I have temper issues, but I limit myself to yelling and an occasional use of profanity. On the upside, I believe in feeding people. If I make crazy declarations like, "Let them eat cake" (which Marie Antoinette never did by the way), it will be because I have baked lots and lots of cake. Also, I would never make such declarations until everyone has had lunch or dinner. Unless it is their birthday, in which case they can eat cake whenever they want.

I'd also put a lot of emphasis on universal literacy and health care. I'm pretty sure if there weren't such ridiculously high levels of illiteracy and ignorance in the world, we wouldn't be dealing with half the things that are going on around the world. I know ignorance is in the eye of the beholder, and literacy cannot erase it, but it can be reduced and isolated. I'll take that as a positive first step. All that knowledge can be channeled to doing a few positive things--curing diseases, building things and what not. Plus, once everyone is literate, they can read about all of my amazing contributions to the world.

I think that's a good start to a new society. I realize that I would technically be a dictator, I'd emphasize the benevolent part. I'm not sure how I'd go about achieving such things--I'm assuming there will be a petition or a revolution involved. Just please, keep it civilized. This should be a happy event.

Gimpy Cupid Strikes Again!

2008-11-26T17:18:00.000-08:00

Out of curiosity, is it wrong to flirt with one's doctor? What if your intentions are pure?

I had a first time appointment with my Sports Medicine physician today, who I had researched extensively based on first availability. I finally broke down and made the appointment after realizing my knee problems weren't going away on their own and crossing my legs is one of the most painful things I do these days.

After a visit to Radiology, I finally met my new doctor. I liked him immediately. He asked some questions, I answered, showing him where my assorted aches and pains resided--under my black jeans obviously. I told him about my training, what mileage brought the pain, what my future training goals were. He took some notes, asked some follow-ups and asked me to stand up and take off my shoes. I looked at him in confusion and ask if he really wanted me barefoot (he did).

Up to this point, I had been relatively successful maintaining some level of dignity and not acting beneath my age. As I took off my shoes, I apologized and told him that my pen had exploded last night and I hadn't noticed all the blue spots I had given myself. Although, I had showered and tried to get rid of the spots. "So, for the record, I'm clean but spotty." As I said those last words, I knew I was no longer the dignified potential athlete, but my usual less than impressive self. He chuckled and commented on the dangers of ink attacks.

Eventually, I got on the bed and he felt my legs, checked my x-rays and said I have beautiful ankles. My knees however, are trying to run away from me. He showed me what normal knees look like, and where my knees and surrounding muscles were doing their best to escape. This causes a lot of stress on them when you're running in one direction and they are trying to run in another. They pull on IT bands that make crossing one's legs almost impossible.

Then he dropped the real bomb: "If you look here", as he looked evenly my legs, "you'll notice that your right leg is a little more than an eighth of an inch longer than your left leg--which will make your body adjust and put more..."

By now I was laughing so hard, my whole body was shaking. "How can you tell me I'm lop-sided with a straight face?"

"Oh, in this line of work you realize every body is truly unique."

I started flirting with him because he struck the right tone. And he laughed at my comments, actually said I was funny complimented my x-ray ankles again. Compliments AND appreciating my sense of humor? All that was missing was a British accent.

Did I mention he was gay? You didn't think I was actually flirting with him for me, did you? And you know that by flirting, I meant I was just more charming than I usually am to doctors who I don't trust any further than I can throw them, right? (As a side note, I would like to gather some of my past physicians and see how far I could throw them--as a scientific experiment of sorts.) It just occurred to me that a nice doctor would be the perfect potential boyfriend for my best friend who eventually owes me a wedding.

By the time I left his office, I had learned where Dr. Peter was from, what his Thanksgiving weekend plans were and that he was a competitive swimmer for many years and couldn't dream of running long distances. He never implied anything about a spouse/partner, nor was he wearing a ring. Now I'm slated for some physical therapy and have been instructed to put off another half marathon for at least 6-8 months and fill my time with 5-10ks. Of course, if my injuries don't get any better, I'll have to go back and see the nice doctor. With my best friend.

Hey Jealousy

2008-11-22T10:27:00.000-08:00

I'm back! Well, kind of--more in the process of coming back. I have been away on a few adventures and trips, been duly punished for my time away from the office by one of my (least) favorite co-workers and have been writing friends fun emails that none of them have received on account of all of the emails ending up in my Drafts folders. I apologize to everyone who has been emailing me and hasn't gotten a response in a while. I'd like to think I'm not rude, just forgetful. This should not surprise any of you.

On a happier note, I have been crocheting quite a bit lately. My new hobby started in August when I had rare foresight to start a project before the time had passed. I started a scarf for a friend while I was visiting my grandmother. My grandmother kept commenting on how cute it was, how quickly it was coming along and how lucky my friend was to have me thinking of her. Now, I may not have seen my grandmother in five years, but I have not forgotten how unsubtle she can be. Despite my firm belief that a project intended for one person, should only be completed for that person--I broke my rule and gave my first scarf to my grandmother. She was gleeful. She went back to Iran and showed it to everyone, bragging about her talented granddaughter who loved her so much that she made instant scarves for people. Normally, I would be happy to hear about people singing my praises--however this time around the praise has caused a ruckus. My father started asking my mom why I had never made him anything (except for the assorted baked goods, foods and knit scarf and cap). Did I not love him enough? Why was I ignoring him? Did I not remember how much he hated the cold? Now you may think this sounds a little bit like a jealous child throwing a tantrum*--you'd be right. That is why my poor mother started a scarf for him which was quickly going no where. She sounds miserable every time I call her. I told her to drop the crochet hook and yarn, and wait for me to send them a package.

Since then, I have finished a few scarves--which are a great project to work on while on cross country flights--and have a growing stack of patterns and yarn. I'm really enjoying the quiet that comes with focusing on a pattern and trying to create something pretty and useful. It is almost as satisfying as cooking--just more enduring and fewer calories.

Unfortunately, it is not a hobby that allows multi-tasking. Sure, I can watch TV and attend early morning meetings, but I can't type and crochet at the same time. Soon, I will have to find a balance between yarn related activities and posting stories that are swirling around in my head.

*As a side note, if you ever wonder where some of my more charming personality traits come from, please remember these family moments. Especially the subtlety, impatience and jealousy parts. While I would like to think that this Pomegranate has rolled far from the tree, it initially dropped pretty close to it.

Living in the Now

2008-11-04T20:52:00.000-08:00

I'm alive to see a moment that has left me speechless. I'm a crying puddle of pride, emotion and hope. There will be plenty of other people more eloquent than me with much more at stake and stronger claims to this moment. But as an American and a citizen of the world, a world broken by years of gleeful ignorance, arrogance and cruelty--this is a moment I feel is burnished into my heart and soul.

This could not happen in any other country in the world. This could not happen at a more crucial moment in our history and identities.

I am grateful, joyous and full of love for my country and fellow countrymen.

Wish You Were There

2008-10-28T20:27:00.000-07:00

Sadly, I am not photogenic--mostly because cameras have a tendency to capture me as I am. Over the years, this has caused me to avoid taking pictures and losing opportunities to document some incredibly happy moments and experiences. Left to my own devices, I don't even take a camera with me to typically camera-worthy events. Lucky for me, during my race weekend I had my husband, my brother and best friend (Tall Lanky Guy) with me--and all three are pretty good photographers. M was sweet enough to compile some of the pictures and video clips to make a slide show-video of our weekend.

The bad news is, I am still not photogenic. The good news is, I was so ridiculously happy that I was not too bothered by that minor fact.

I wish you were there to see and hear everything I did. The best I can do is share M's perspective with you.

So Wrong, So Funny

2008-10-26T14:11:00.000-07:00

(h/t Wonkette)

3: 14: 04

2008-10-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

I was looking forward to last weekend for almost six months. I dreamed of who I would meet, how we'd get along and my performance overall. I was a little concerned that after all that dreaming the weekend wouldn't be what I had imagined. Except it was so much more.

I called Amanda in April and asked if I could run with TNT in her honor. With her blessing, I signed up and joined Team In Training, where they promised to make an endurance runner out of a heavy little couch potato. For six months, I did things I never thought I would to prepare for the Nike Women's Marathon on October 19th. And finally the big weekend arrived.

Last Friday, I was up at 4 am and at the airport not long after. I sat nervously waiting for our flight, listening to everyone's excitement. There was a large group of people in green and purple jackets, waiting to catch various flights to San Francisco. I knew many of them, I was one of them. I don't remember the flight or the ride from Oakland to the Grand Hyatt in Union Square (the hotel was lovely), I just remember the excitement. There were people--mostly women--everywhere. Nike Town was conveniently across the street from us, with all of the participant's names posted on a pink wall. The Wall and Expo, where we were to pick up our runner's numbers were already packed. Some of the activities were ridiculously 'girlie' and I gladly participated. Who am I to pass up free manicures and massages? But beyond the girlie-ness, while waiting in the lines you met other runners--many of them TNT members--who were there exchanging stories, encouraging and cheering each other days before the race. Among the more humbling moments was listening to Sarah Reinertsen--an amputee who competes in triathlons, marathons and other endurance events--speak about how she prepares for events. The whole time she was speaking, I kept thinking to myself that I have no excuse for being inactive. I have two whole legs!

Saturday was spent hanging out with my best friend from college, my husband and my brother who had both flown in to support me. I was touched to have my three favorite guys in one place looking out for me. M was commissioned with taking pictures and video of all the excitement. We eventually went to the big Pasta Dinner at Mascone Center, to be greeted by all of the TNT coaches, capitains and mentors, dressed in costumes and cheering us from the entrance all the way down the stairs and into the huge center that was setup to host thousands of giddy people. It was incredibly emotional being greeted by the people who have spent months training you, listening to survivor's stories and seeing slide shows of the people we are running for and with. My nervousness pretty much went away at that point when I remembered what and who I was there for. I was ready for the race.

Sunday morning, I was awake at 4am--again--and this time without my alarm clock. Our wake-up call wasn't for another hour, so I lay in bed thinking of Amanda and her family, planning next year's trip and thinking of things that a three-four year old boy would enjoy. I didn't really come up with many details, other than things that involved Ghirardelli Square and Mitchell's Ice Cream (sorry, Manda--kids love me for the treats). We got up at five, got ready and met what seemed like half the hotel's guests downstairs. By 6 am, the early starters had already left and everyone else was checking in their coat bags and finding their corrals. There was just so much excitement and anticipation it was hard to stand still. There were people EVERYWHERE. Almost 20,000 of them. And I was but a drop in this sea. The last thing I remember before I started running was our coach's advice to smile while we ran. I thought that was odd advice at the time. Once we started running, I was smiling almost non-stop.

The run was amazing. The temperature was perfect for running--cooler than the previous two days. The streets and views were gorgeous. Unfortunately, shortly after Mile 2, my right ankle started hurting and by Mile 4, my left knee was kicking in. Both are injuries I have had on my longer distances all season, but was hoping to avoid during the race. Neither injury stopped me. I ran up the first hills, and about half way up the Giant Hill. I walked the rest of that hill going up, took a few pictures with my cell phone and continued to run again. Every step of the way was literally amazing to me. The views, the cheering volunteers, our coaches and the sign holding survivors all made the 13.1 miles go by so quickly. The last three miles were the easiest both because the path had evened out and because the energy just moved us forward. As I approached the finish line, I saw my Three Men again (they had greeted me at Mile 7) cheering and taking pictures. I was greeted at the finish line by a group of very well dressed firemen handing out Tiffany's boxes. I could not believe I had finished my race. I felt nothing but joy as I watched others follow me across the finish, claiming their necklaces and sneaking in hugs from the firefighters (yes, they were all exceptionally handsome and polite). I actually bumped into Sarah again, shook hands with her and thanked her for her talk. She graciously congratulated me and encouraged me to keep up the good work.

After I checked in, got my post race massage and got my Finisher's shirt, we went back to the hotel, where my college roommate was waiting for us. I hadn't seen her in almost 3 years and seeing her then was just like icing on a giant piece of cake. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, eating and resting. My cheer team had been up at the same time I was and had watched hundreds of runners go by in an attempt to yell out my name as I slowly passed. We were all exhausted.

All in all, this was one of the most amazing things I have participated it. My intentions were completely altruistic when I joined--in then end I derived so much joy from it myself. I am proud of the $18 million dollars that was raised for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society through this event alone--and proud of my tiny contribution to it. I am grateful for the support of my friends and family (real and virtual) who helped get me to San Francisco. I am humbled by the strength of the men and women I met last weekend, some of them survivors running/walking/cheering at an event that was meant to honor them. I'm already planning on raising funds and going back next year. Times like these, it's good to be one of the crowd.

The End Is the Beginning

2008-10-12T12:11:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning, my training with TNT ended exactly where it started: in the parking lot of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society offices. Twenty two weeks ago, I showed up full of joyous optimism, ready to train for a half marathon. The end of that training day put my physical abilities into perspective for me. I could barely run more than a mile, even at 5-2 intervals. Since then, I have had horrible runs and I have had some amazing runs as well. Exactly one week from today, I will be at the starting line of the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco, ready to run my first long distance event.

I ended the training season, much as I had started it: with a little bit of lost dignity and attempted humor. During my first weekly run, in what seems an eternity ago, I drove to Torrey Pines Lodge and met with my team. Considering how early in the morning it was, I double checked that I had turned off the car lights, locked the door and put my purse in the trunk of my car. After returning from the three mile run through Torrey Pines park, I found most of my team standing around my car (how sweet!). As I walked up to them, I realized they were staring at the wide open door. Doh! Fortunately for me, there are so many fancy cars at the lodge that my car would be an insult to potential car thieves. Unfortunately, most of them remember me as the "Open Car Door Girl" and not by my name which is clearly written on my jersey in neon green.

Yesterday, I finished my run and wanted to grab a couple of things out of the trunk and join everyone for instructions about race day. Paper, pen and cell phone in hand, I slammed the trunk shut--just as I saw my keys in the trunk. I tried to casually ask Coach if he knew of anyone on the team that could break into my car. To his credit, he kept a straight face and suggested AAA. By the time I called and someone came, everyone was quietly gathered and listening to the coaches. And the someone who came was a rumbling tow truck driver with a flatbed truck that could easily fit two cars on it. To open my car door. In a tiny parking lot with a rapt audience. No subtlety there. With his arrival, what tiny shred of dignity I had maintained was gone. Everyone had a smile, chuckle or comment for me. As one runner who witnessed both of my adventures commented, "It's like you had bookends to the season. Symmetrical and well placed." Thank you very much.

I'd like to thank everyone who has supported me with your kind words, suggestions and very generous support. I am very well aware of the economic realities these days and know that every dollar donated matters. While I have met my minimum fund raising goals, I ask that you continue to support the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society with any donation you can afford either through my site or that of others trying to raise funds. I know many of you have expressed the desire to donate and may have to donate less than you originally intended. The important thing is to continue to support the thousands of patients and their family members who benefit from your support of LLS.

Thank you again for sharing this experience with me.

Good News, Everyone!

2008-10-10T00:06:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin shows them who's boss and clears herself of wrongdoing! She's the most fair and balanced judge and jury ever!

An Open Letter

2008-10-05T22:54:00.001-07:00

Dear Governor Palin,

~~May~~ Can I call you Sarah? I have been following your unexpected rise to the national scene and I have to say it has left me ~~in a rage~~ breathless. I'm not sure how you sustain the energy to tour the country with your family and the First Dude, read everything that crosses your desk (although, admittedly, Starbucks cups don't take too long to read) and speak to your hundreds of adoring fans. And while I am not personally your biggest fan, I realized that facing the possibility of eternal damnation or supporting you, I could offer some humble advice and thoughts.

Geography matters: While I too, hated geography most of my life, I had a pretty decent idea of the countries that shared borders with the countries I lived in. In your case, geography will come in extra handy should you ~~God forbid~~ become ~~Vice~~ President. It will help you bomb countries more effectively and locate the 'heart' land where Joe Six Pack hangs out. For example, Afghanistan is not one of our neighbors. It is far, far away from us. We share borders with only two countries: Canada and Mexico. Russia is not one of those two countries. If Putin rears his head, he will probably see Afghanistan before he sees Alaska. I'm sorry to say you may be taking geography tips from Caitlin. Don't. As much as we ~~hate~~ support you, it is painful for all of us to watch you make a fool of yourself and your audience.

Stop Winking: I must admit that I am neither a fan of beauty pageants nor Hooters waitresses. But that is not why I am asking you to stop winking at the camera during Vice Presidential appearances. I say this for America. One day you may find yourself across the table from a head of state--God forbid. Maybe even with Dmitry Medvedev (the actual president of Russia). He will laugh at you. They'll all laugh at you--and us for somehow being stupid enough to elect a person who cannot conduct herself in a professional manner. Plus, I don't think it's appropriate for a Christian, married lady such as yourself to flirt with the camera. People may get the wrong idea and mistake you for a cheap hussy. Or worse yet, they will think you're leading them on and demand you flash more skin. Again, we will all be embarrassed. Learn from Margaret Thatcher. I did not agree with her politics, but that woman exuded strength and nary a wink at the camera.

Pretend to care: If you want to be the kind of Vice President you claim to admire, grabbing for more and more executive powers than your predecessor, learn the laws before you break them. If someone asks you about Supreme Court decisions that you agree or disagree with, you should know of a couple of them, even if you don't know them by name. I know a few myself and I haven't even been asked to be Vice President of anything. The Lilly Ledbetter case will help you appeal to all those hockey moms that are getting screwed at work and get paid less that Joe Six Pack. Or when the Supreme Court struck down the DC gun ban. You'd LOVE that decision. Other decisions you can throw out there are Hustler v. Falwell (watch the movie) or Marshall v. Marshall (otherwise known as the Anna Nicole Smith goes to DC case, reported in People magazine).

Don't get annoyed when the press asks you questions: In these United States of America, there is a thing called the Bill of Rights. The First Amendment guarantees the freedom of the press, to hold our government accountable. Lucky for you, they hardly ever exercise that right. But when they do, you shouldn't be 'annoyed'. It is actually not a 'privilege' that they are abusing, but their job. Again, you're lucky you got Katie Couric--known as the cute and cuddly news reader. You could have gotten someone like Andrew Sullivan, who like you, has a funny accent. Unlike you, he's an elitist and holds government accountable.

Learn English: It is technically not a foreign language to you. Sentences are you friend. 'Maverck', 'America', 'our United States of America', 'American' and 'our great nation' need a few verbs and concepts to connect them and not sound like fillers for words that you have forgotten or can't pronounce. I realize you're a Maverick, but if you don't learn to speak, you will be called George Bush with boobs and an eye twitch. That's not change we can believe in.

Get over high school: Your mean girl routine is getting tired. Seriously. I realize that the only times that people cheer you is when you do your pit bull schtick, but they're the lowest common denominator of this country and are calling you a bitch. They're the one's who never got over high school and are mentally and emotionally stunted. Surely, you've moved passed your shortcomings and can offer more intelligent criticism of your opponent that mocking his service to his community.

Knowledge is desirable: Just as you don't want a high school student with a scalpel and experience dissecting frogs to deliver your children (or grandchildren), we don't want someone who doesn't know the first thing about the office of vice presidency, the Bush doctrine, her running mate's policy goals or world events. This is no time to take pictures with Henry Kissenger and pretend like you know the first thing about anything. Those elitists you're mocking will know how to save this country while you wrinkle your nose and and ask if you can be dismissed from class. You don't have to be their best friends, just shut ~~the fuck~~ up and stop acting as if ignorance is a virtue.

Ok, so I realize that I am beginning to sound harsh, but as I am writing this letter to you, I realize that out of love and respect for this country, I cannot support you in any way. I also realize that no matter who you misquote (and really, did you admit to getting your folksy wisdom off of a Starbucks cup?) I'd rather spend eternity in hell than support someone who will endanger the future of this country and the world with her willful ignorance. As a dull man once said, "There's an old saying in ~~Alaska~~ Tennessee—I know it's in Texas, probably in ~~Alaska~~ Tennessee—that says, fool me once, shame on—shame on you. Fool me—you can't get fooled again."

Sincerely not yours,

GWCH

Auburn Ambition Tour (Or Just Crazy)

2008-09-28T11:15:00.000-07:00

It is approximately 11:16 am. This is my current list of things to do:

Cook: Chicken noodle soup, Orzo Vegetable Salad, Fesenjan with Rice. Also, some guy with an awesome accent is making the best looking eggplant lasagna ever on Food Network. I may have to add it to my list.
Bake: Banana Bread, Miracle Bars, Apple Cake
Clean House: I HATE DOING THIS!!! I'm really hoping the dust bunnies stop pro-creating and the mountain of laundry self-cleanses. It could happen, right?
Catch up on 3 different work projects: I have almost 40 emails that I need to respond to--and that's the easiest of the three projects.
Write Thank You cards: I'm grotesquely behind. If I owe you sign of gratitude, please know that I have some manners and a written notice is pending.
Write: I have two stories burning holes in my brains. They're both ridiculous, but I must get them out.
Choose wedding and baby shower gifts: Suddenly everyone is having an event and giant registries. So many choices, so little time.

Oh, and M is weak and lethargic. I'm seriously hoping it's not a ploy to get out of helping me. (Actually, I know it's not). Either way, I think it's only polite that I take care of him as well.

Meet Your Future President

2008-09-25T20:44:00.000-07:00

Hello. Do you remember the young lady who came into the living rooms of America and confused the hell out of us with her knowledge of geography? I'm referring to this one:

Frankly, I worried about her. I wondered who would ever hire her if she happened to graduate. How could she survive? Then I remembered that we already had a cheerleader in the White House--and he wasn't exactly the brightest bulb in the box.

Now, we have this genius:

And she may be dumber than a doorstop, but she's always cheerful:

So, the good news is, I'm not worried about Miss South Carolina surviving. The bad news is that I'm scared for the future of this country and embarrassed for women everywhere.

David Foster Wallace--R.I.P.

2008-09-13T19:26:00.000-07:00

David Foster Wallace, Writer, is dead at 46.

As many of you know, his short story "Girl With Curious Hair" inspired my blog name. His wit and style entertained many.

Many years ago, I learned about DFW for the first time in this interview:

May he rest in peace.

Train Run

2008-09-13T18:13:00.000-07:00

I boarded a train from Solana Beach to Oceanside at 6:30am. I ran 12 miles down the coast in less than 2.5 hours (8-2 intervals). I must say, I have kind of impressed myself. Plus, while exhausted and limp-noodly at the moment, I feel great.

Shop For a Better Future

2008-08-22T22:49:00.000-07:00

Have you been wanting to use your powers of shopping for good? Are you looking for lovely jewelry? Are you thinking of getting an early start on your Holiday gift list? It just so happens I can help you.

One of my co-workers is helping me with my fund raising and will donate all the proceeds of her jewelry sales to the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. You can find something in almost any price range. The event will be at my place on Tuesday night (August 26th), but if you are too far to drive, check out Dana's site. If you see something you like or have questions, send her an email at dmp816@live.com. Any purchases made before Sept. 1, 2008 will count towards my fund raiser. Just please make sure to tell her that it is for my event (she doesn't know about this blog, so please reference my name).

Happy Shopping and as always thank you for your support!

Arugula: Food of Elitists

2008-08-22T21:47:00.000-07:00

I used to think that I came from a humble background. I am the kind of person who knows how many homes I have, my credit limit and my cash assets within a $50 error of margin. I never thought I would be considered an 'elitist'. Come to find out, my familiarity with the fruits and vegetables in the grocery store make me an elitist dilettante of some sort. Who knew?

It seems the down to earth, humble folk like my co-worker and her presidential candidate (who has lost count of his homes) have a special elitist test--a litmus test of sorts. Apparently, if you wave a few arugula leaves in front of someone and they don't run and hide, they are a bona fide elitist. See, humble folk like John McCain and George Bush may seem like millionaires many times over, because of their expensive shoes and million dollar 'cabins', but they don't touch the arugula. They stock their refridgerators with non-fancy foods like iceberg lettuce, Pabst Blue Ribbon (no foreign beers like Budwieser) and real American cheese. Only out of touch elitsts would know about arugula and how to use it.

On a serious note, can someone please explain the following to me:
1) Why do Republicans hate arugula so much? I mean as far as leafy greens go, it's fairly innocent. Why not hate on Swiss chard--at least it sounds much more elitist.

2) How can a guy with more houses than he can keep track of, a monthly credit card bill higher than five years of my pre-tax income and an heiress wife call someone raised on food stamps an elitist with a straight face?

3) Why do politians think we're stupid? Seriously? If you have nothing better to talk about than Paris Hilton and salad greens, you're not ready to lead anyone, anywhere.

The Tragic End of My Olympic Dreams (or How Nadia Comaneci Betrayed Me)

2008-08-20T20:46:00.000-07:00

In 1976, I fell in love with gymnastics. At the tender age of three, I would watch the Olympics and try to do whatever Nadia Comaneci did. As I recall, I was a great imitator of hers, jumping and trying to do splits. I would crawl on top of the coffee table and try to balance on the edge. I was then, as I am now, single minded in reaching my little goals. I became so obsessed, that I would sit still as my mom tried to pull my non-existent hair into little pigtails. I'd tumble across the floor and stand up, triumphant with my arms in the air. It seems I was quite entertaining.

My obsession did not wane. I continued to tumble, balance and wear pigtails for years. When my campaign to be renamed Nadia failed, I named my stuffed rabbit and my favorite doll Nadia. In the absence of gymnastics classes, I taught myself how to do cartwheels and handstands. I never fell off the thin strip of cabinet in front of the kitchen sink that doubled as my balance beam (except when my brother grabbed my ankle and pulled me down). I was on my way to becoming a homemade, world accomplished writer-gymnast.

So you can imagine my joy in third grade then, when during winter gym class, we had a gymnasium full of real equipment. For the first time, I was in the same room with a balance beam and uneven bars. UNEVEN BARS! I could never improvise those at home. I was in heaven. All winter we practiced our 'routines' and were going to be graded just before Spring Break. I couldn't sit still for weeks, dreaming of my victorious ~~10's~~ A's.

The day finally came. I wasn't allowed to wear a leotard like all the other girls, but for the first time, I. Did. Not. Care. Nothing could ruin my joy and excitement. I was finally going to be the little Midwestern Nadia. I was going to be discovered and train for the Olympics, where they would make an exception for my attire not being the same as the rest of the team's.

It was my turn. I got on the uneven bars, and started my routine with great pomp and enthusiasm. I don't know what I actually looked like, but I'm pretty sure I wasn't a threat to Nadia Comaneci's record. When I dismounted, I raised my arms, stuck out my chest and dazzled them with a huge smile. Time stopped as I waited for the applause.

Everyone laughed. Coach Z and Mrs. B tried to stifle their laughter, with no success. Finally, Mrs. B composed herself and said, "Thank you for a very interesting performance. Please sit down."

As I walked to the opposite wall of the gymnasium. I felt like my brains would boil and my head would explode. I didn't know what had happened, I just knew I was being mocked by the entire third grade. I had done everything, just as Nadia had and I was mocked. She caused me to be mocked. AGAIN.

And that's how Nadia Comaneci's record was saved and my life as a world famous gymnast came to an end.

The Loneliness

2008-08-19T20:45:00.000-07:00

I haven't seen my friends in a while, mostly because none of them are returning my emails or messages. I'm not sure why, but each August for the last few years, I have health problems. I go through tests and scans I find offensive, fall into a funk wondering why I face this particular problem and wonder when my friends are going to respond. Or even ask themselves why I'm silent.

George Carlin Missed

2008-08-16T06:24:00.000-07:00

I got up at my regular Saturday time and watched M go to his bike ride. We don't run today, because we're running AFC tomorrow (woohoo!). So I'm making my daily list and had the TV on, watching Dogma. I love this movie. Among other things, Carlin's Cardinal is pretty funny. Also, Alan Rickman is in it. Good stuff.

Add to my little morning treat, stumbling on this Carlin quote:

"Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part to us, do they?"

Now go enjoy a bowl of cereal with your Saturday morning cartoons.

Happy Saturday.

Olympics!

2008-08-08T21:34:00.000-07:00

I love the Olympics opening ceremonies with goose-bumpy, hair standing affection. I don't care who is hosting, I love the marching of the nations. As I watch, I want to hug the host country whose citizens' lives are turned upside-down to embrace strangers, knowing they have been preparing for years to throw this world party. When I see athletes from smaller, less recognized countries, proudly bearing their flags and marching before the world, I feel pride for them. I share the joy of athletes from countries too poor to even have facilities to train them; wars too debilitating to acknowledge them; governments too broken to support them properly.

Giddily, I dream for a few moments of a world where borders no longer exist and we all cheer humanity.

The Florida Mystique

2008-08-07T23:00:00.000-07:00

You know, for years I have been wondering, why do so many strange news stories come from Florida and Germany? Is it because people in newsrooms hate Floridians with a burning passion, fueled by jealousy? Or is Florida somehow a beacon for the truly odd/retarded/insane?

The latest 'news' that makes me wonder about the water in Florida? A grandmother driving around with her three year old grandchild ON THE ROOF OF THE CAR. Maybe in a few years, Florida will become a synonym for 'crazy'. "That guy was SO florida, you have no idea." It sounds right already.

Sometimes the craziness turns to cruelty. My friend Paul had a lovely Siamese, Amy, that was beaten to death. I don't understand what kind of person can do something like that. I know they are still looking for the monster who did this; Paul and a some generous donors are offering a $4500 reward to anyone who can provide information leading to the arrest of the ~~crazy~~ person responsible. If you have any friends in the St. Petersburg area, please pass on the message and a link to his site: www.whokilledamy.com.

What Women Want

2008-08-03T23:21:00.000-07:00

I realize that my standards are pretty much my own and mine alone. I am for the most part an alien even among my friends as far as my beliefs and interests. However, every once in a while I see things targeting women that make my head hurt. Words like 'empowerment', 'feminism' and 'independent' are tossed around as if they are supposed to mean something to me--but they seem so ridiculous.

I was at the grocery store tonight and saw the cover of this month's Oprah magazine. On the cover? "You Are An Excellent Woman!" Granted, I didn't actually pick up a copy and see what was inside, but judging this magazine by its cover, I have to wonder--do women need Oprah to tell them they are Excellent? And really, are we all excellent? Sure, I think I am--but most of the time that's my ego speaking. If I were as excellent as I think I am, I don't think I'd need Oprah to tell me so from the cover of her magazine.

Of course, if Oprah isn't your cup of tea, there is the crap load of magazines like Cosmo and Glamour, promising you little known insights into his sexual desires, your sexual desires and ways to fit into your jeans without a diet or working out in less than a week. How can you resist these manuals to a better you?

Have you made it home empty handed? No worries. There is a cable channel, just for you! WE--Women's Entertainment! Lately, the only thing I see on this station are Danielle Steele movies and wedding themed shows. Platinum Weddings, Bridzilla!, Wedding Central, Puppy Weddings and a few dozen others that I have successfully missed. Now, I personally love weddings and often wonder what my own wedding would have been like had I had one. But I have other interests. I know other women have other interests. I would like a couple of programs about managing my finances, maybe something that speaks intellingently about women in other cultures, policy issues that impact women in this country. ANYTHING but women acting like they are tulle covered lunatics all night. I'll even admit that curiosity has gotten the better of me on a few sleepless nights and watching these shows. They cover the spectrum from Platinum Weddings, where rich people 'saw it, liked it and just bought it' to what seems to be Jerry Springer rejects on Bridezillas getting into fist fights with their uncooperative family members.

Yes, this is truly women's entertainment. This is the best people can come up with?

8 Mile

2008-08-02T22:08:00.000-07:00

Truth be told, my strict regimen of waking up at 5 am has been slipping. All it took was a few nights of insomnia and the Monday morning runs being canceled. Even in my sleep I know I don't have to be up at 5am to be anywhere, and now that I have reverted to my later bedtime, 5am-ish has become 6am-ish. So my weekday mornings have been starting later and Saturdays are a little bit of a struggle. But I was still going to my weekly training sessions until two weeks ago, when my knee was bothering me so much I had a nice little ice pack collection everywhere I went.

Add to that the knee injury that finally caught up with me and the wretched cold that has made me a little loopy for lack of oxygen. I haven't run for almost two weeks and haven't even been able to crosstrain for a week. Yet, I got up this morning, grabbed my training gear and met my team. On the way, I realized that I am actually enjoying this whole experience aches, challenges and all. I forgot my general promise to share my story during the Mission Moment--which I was called on to do. Most people write something and share it so they be coherent at 7 am and express their committment to our goal. I was shocked to get up in front of the Central and North County teams and tell the story of how this couch potato decided to run a half marathon. I honestly can't say I remember anything that I said--I just know that everyone was saying I did a good job when it was over (please keep in mind that these are some lovely people who won't tell a sleepy woman she was incoherant).

We got into our groups and started running up the Coast. One thing that I love about San Diego is the opportunity to see so many active people outdoors. Before 7:30 this morning, we saw the Breast Cancer team walking south on the 101, a very large group of bicyclists riding north on the 101, a running club, a walking club, ourselves and assorted others out there moving for the heck of it.

The half-marathoners ran 8 miles today. It was wonderful! Not only did I run and survive, I discovered the beauty of Red Vines, had a dip in the ocean with my running partner and ordered a pizza* for lunch from Pizza Port. Brilliant!

All told, I'm pretty sure I'm enjoying running much more than I anticipated. I look forward to running with my team, panic when I can't run and measure each mile as we get closer to the 13.1 goal for the half marathon. I'm not sure yet, but I may be doing this on a regular basis.

*Pizza is my new favorite food. I cannot get enough of it, which in a way is not necessarily a bad thing--Dean Karnazes loves pizza, too.

A Simple Plan

2008-07-30T17:58:00.000-07:00

I'm sick, which is my excuse and justification for this latest bit of insanity.

I ran out of the house this morning to meet my carpooling co-worker. I agreed to go with him if he promised to get me home soon after 5, since I knew I'd need a nap. Simple. I don't know how I made it through the day, since by my own generous standards I was fairly 'loopy'. But I did, and I was mostly silent on the way home. About a mile away from home, I had a moment of panic because I couldn't remember picking up my keys on the way out of the house this morning. Silly me.

Except by the time I got to the house, I realized I didn't have my keys with me and I was locked out. So I am currently writing this little post of frustration sitting on my patio, unable to get a hold of my husband, out of kleenex for my runny nose and alternately sweating/trembling. I would look pathetic if I weren't growling and listening to The Clash. Now I just look crazy.

Necrophilia

2008-07-29T16:38:00.000-07:00

Lying in bed hacking this afternoon, I had a weird thought: was necrophilia acceptable at some point in European society? Snow White and Sleeping Beauty are both technically dead (or in an eternal sleep) until they are rescued by love's true kiss. How many guys were wandering around willing to kiss a dead woman? And no matter how pretty you were back then, lying dead in the forest/remote tower for a while could not have been pretty.

Obviously, illness does not suit me and I need rest.

Which reminds me of another necrophilia moment:

We have dinner parties every once in a while and when our Iranian friends come over, we occasionally start playing board games. A couple of us are decent, most of us suck at all board games and American pop culture references and we're all VERY competitive. So imagine when we were playing Cranium and a member from each team had to play out the word on the card (basically Charades). My team member was kneeling, hands-clasped and praying. I peeked at what the other team was doing and there was our friend on the floor, writhing and gyrating her hips.

"Exorcism!!", I screamed triumphantly. The other team stopped in shock and looked at me, while my teammate continued with her praying gestures, stifling a grin. I realized, the other girl wasn't possessed at all, she was supposedly in the throws of passion.

"NECROPHILIA!?!"

At which point everyone looked at me, SHOCKED! that those were my two contributions.

The word was 'Missionary'.

My Favorite Scientist

2008-07-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

The results of the last few years of my husband's work has just been accepted by a scientific journal. After MANY months of writing, editing, submitting (re-submitting), waiting and hand-wringing, the paper has been approved.

I don't write about him often--he's much more private and shy than I am--but every once in a while I want to run around and tell the world he's brilliant. I have had the opportunity to work with and meet many, many scientists in my past career and now through his work. One of things I love so much about him is his attention to detail, precision and sense of ethics. He will not cut corners or accept shortcuts in his work--something that has pitted less diligent co-workers against him and made his work more difficult.

Today though, is a victory for him. He is first author on a published project that he designed and mostly executed.

I wish my favorite scientist all the success and recognition in the world.

People are Giving ME Credit

2008-07-13T11:01:00.000-07:00

It is a well known fact among those who know me well that:

a. I like being the center of attention. Sooner or later it's all about me. I have tried to change, but it's ~~impossible~~ hard.
b. I like being credited for all great things. I don't like taking credit for them as much as being given credit for them. It is always nicer to receive than to take.

This morning we ran the San Diego Blood Bank's Naked Juice 5K. It was fun, despite my bumming knee. Actually, the knee didn't slow me down too much, for which I was grateful. I finished the 5k (3.1 miles) in 40 minutes--which is a slower pace than I used to run a few weeks ago, but I feel better overall.

I had a couple of teary moments, which made me realize that the bright young age of 35, that I'm little bit like a teary geyser. If I haven't been able to change yet, it's probably not going to happen anymore.

First, I got all teary when one of the regular blood recipients came to the stage and thanked us for saving her life and listing the things she can now do that she couldn't before. Half an hour later, I teared up during the National Anthem--which happens just about every time I hear it.

Towards the end of the run, I saw the same homeless man I have seen each time we train/run Downtown by the Bay. He is always there, toothless and missing fingers, cheering on any group of runners at just about any event. He sits close to the end of the finish line in the park and calls out the runners numbers as they pass by. Almost everyone I know likes seeing him. As I got close, he started reading my bib number, stopped and instead yelled, "GO TEAM! GO TEAM! IT'S ALL ABOUT THE TEAM!" (Go Team! is the Team In Training motto and I was wearing my TNT shirt). I got a little misty smiling and running past him. He stopped his counting to give me a toothless grin and a fingerless waive. After I crossed the finish line, I grabbed some free goodies and food. Since M also grabbed a couple of sandwiches, I thought it would be a good idea to give the extras to our cheerleader. Plus, M wanted to take his picture for our friend who couldn't join us for the run. As we headed toward him, one of the runners started coming towards me and said, "You guys saved my life! Thank you so very much!"

Now, it's one thing to have people say that LLS is helping them (which I have heard from a number of survivors and their families) or that TNT has helped them improve their lives in some way. But for a complete stranger to run up to you and say you're saving their life because you're running? I can honestly say I have never done less to get credit for so much. And I have never been so moved by someone's sense of gratitude toward a cause that I am blessed to be a part of.

So once again, a perfectly well intentioned, seemingly selfless thing has become all about me. I can only say I'm humbled by it all I try to fight back the tears a few hours later. I pass on that sense of gratitude to all of you, my very generous donors and supportive friends who have helped get me to this point. Your generosity is truly changing lives.

Night at the Movies

2008-07-04T13:37:00.000-07:00

Last night, we watched Once. We loved it. I was a little worried M wouldn't like it, because he occasionally teases me about the movies I like (and my strong preference for anything with British accents). But I'm pretty sure he loved it immediately. He has been trying to sing along with it all day, has been listening to the songs online and keeps watching his favorite parts of the movie.

I recommend it for it's lovely simplicity, quiet and music. And thinking back, I think I love Jon Stewart even more for giving Marketa Irglova her moment at the Oscars.

Holiday!

2008-07-02T21:47:00.000-07:00

I have been a little tired and impatient lately. I think dealing with crazy co-workers and retarded customer service personnel is exhausting. Especially if it goes on for weeks at a time. Just last night, I was thinking that I need to take a couple of days off. Unfortunately, with our vacation policies and work and the projects I'm working on, I couldn't imagine asking for this time off until at least late next week.

So you can imagine my glee when I checked my email early this morning and had an email from Sherry (my manager), telling me I deserved a day off and to start my weekend on Thursday. I tried to think of what I have could have done to impress her so much in the past few weeks. I couldn't think of anything before paranoia (experience) kicked in.

You see, my previous employer insisted I go to Iran to attend my brother's wedding five years ago. He kept saying how I HAD to go, despite the fact that we were beyond broke and I couldn't afford the ticket home, much less the gifts, clothes, etc. that would be necessary as part of the trip. The worst part was, about 10 days into my two week trip, my generous employer called during the day and left a message on the answering machine saying my services were no longer needed. I have reason to be paranoid.

I called Sherry later in the day and after some small talk, asked her if there was anything she wanted to discuss with me. "No. Do you know how you're going to spend your day off?" I thought a moment and said, "Not yet. Are you sure you don't want to tell me anything? Because the last time something like this happened I was unemployed after my relaxation." She laughed and told me to enjoy the weekend, not check my email, voicemail or project updates.

I really like my manager.

What will I do with myself tomorrow? Run, donate blood, pay bills, have lunch on the beach with M and hopefully cook.

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Everybody Knows, the World Is Full of Stupid People

2008-07-01T22:45:00.000-07:00

The last two days have been trying my patience. Yes, you're right, patience has never been one of my virtues--so you can imagine how delightful I am when I people go out of their way to test my patience. The worst part is, they weren't confined to one place. EVERY call I made yesterday and today spiraled into new circles of hell. I won't bore you with the story of the travel agent that yelled at me for telling her the numbers on our receipt didn't add up before she hung up on me. Nor will I bore you with the story of the lady at the bank who told me there was no way to prove an electronic payment had been processed. I will start with the crazy woman who started all of this.

I called our HOA to ask them why they keep sending me statements with past due fees and multiple monthly charges when I make my payments each month. After getting passed around to everyone in their building, I was eventually 'helped' by Cathy. Below is a sample of our conversation:

"Hi Cathy. My bank statement indicates that I have made my monthly payments on time, but every month, my statement has late fees."

"Ok. Do you have the canceled check to prove you made the payment?"

"Well, no. I make pre-scheduled electronic payments each month."

"So you don't have a check number or canceled check?"

"No, it's an electronic payment that get's deposited to the HOA's account each month. I've been doing the same thing for the past four years."

"Well ma'am, if you haven't sent a check on time you will be charged late fees. Do you need the address to send us the check?"

"No, Cathy. I have already sent my payment electronically. There seems to be a misunderstanding. What kind of documentation do you need me to provide you to remove these charges."

"Ma'am, if you haven't paid, we can't remove the charges. If you had sent us a check--which you say you haven't--you would have to provide a copy of the front and back of the canceled check."

"Well, how do you handle electronic payments?"

"MA'AM, you need to send us a copy of the the front and back of the canceled check. Otherwise, you have to pay your monthly fees, plus any extra late fees."

(As a side note, I was quite irritated early in the discussion, especially since one of my co-workers kept laughing at my explanations.)

"But Cathy, there is no canceled check. I'll have to ask the bank for some kind of document. Could you please tell me what I can provide to resolve this problem?"

"I have already told you, you need to send a copy of the front and back of the check you say you have sent us."

Breathe.

"I see. So once I get that document, should I mail it, fax it or email it to you?"

"Yes."

"Which one?"

"The front and back of the canceled check."

"So a copy of the canceled check emailed to you?"

"Front and back to us immediately."

"Thanks, Cathy."

It was around this time that I missed having the old fashioned phones that you could bang on the holder. This woman literally made me wonder how she has made it alive to her workplace. I mean, don't you think she would have died trying to figure out the toaster?

The worst part? Of all of the people I have spoken to since talking with her yesterday, she wasn't the dumbest or the rudest. Do you feel my pain?

I am hoping my week gets better, but I'm not very optimistic.

It's A Beautiful Day

2008-06-28T23:14:00.000-07:00

I have three blisters, two weak ankles, a shaky knee and a heel that shoots pain up my leg every time I put my foot down. And it was a beautiful day in San Diego.

I haven't trained or gone to the gym since last Tuesday. Every morning since June 19th , I wake up with a slow smile thinking my right heel no longer hurts. The smile would be quickly replaced with a frustrated groan as soon as I moved my leg, because frankly, it wasn't just my heel that hurt. Everything in my right foot and ankle ached, and as soon as I put my foot down, a sharp pain would shoot up my leg. I'm tired of thinking of insignificant aches that interfere with my ability to run but don't seem especially serious. After wearing flats and barely walking all week, I broke down and made an appointment with the Team recommended chiropractor, despite the fact that I have no faith in chiropractors. All of the TNT alumni say he is a miracle worker--so I'm going to see him on Monday. That was not going to help me on my Saturday run--which at this point is giving me performance anxiety.

I woke up this morning with the same optimistic smile. I winced as soon as I put my foot down. In case you're wondering, a formula for a bad day for me is: going to bed late+waking up very early+pain shooting up my leg every time I move+social requirement to be cheerful at Honor Team Mate picnic.

Yet, I got dressed, packed up a tub of pasta and found my team all before 7 am. I warmed up and stretched with everyone and started running. The good news is that as of today, I have found a group of people who run at approximately my pace. They have the same strong commitment to running 5-2 intervals. They love early mornings as much as I do. I think I have just found a new group of friends. And I ran. For 5 miles. Despite my painful heel, the developing blisters and the knee (which just may be my next injury in the making) I ran five miles (with mostly 5-2 intervals the whole way). I just about did the happy dance when I was done. Today, I was cheering my fellow teammates on as the got close to the finishing point. I helped one of the mentors make a bridge and cheered people as they wrapped up their runs. I wobbled my way around and tried to meet people. I felt wonderful.

The weather helped. Unlike last Saturday's sweltering heat, it was cool and a little overcast. It stayed that way until everyone was back from their run. Then the clouds politely dispersed just in time for our picnic.

All in all, it was a beautiful day. The picnic was fun and provided a chance to meet some of our honor team mates as well as the chance to talk to our mentors and coaches--most of whom have more than just a training commitment to what we're doing.

And if all of that wasn't fun enough, Manda has some good news. Hurray!

Guess Who's Coming?

2008-06-25T21:44:00.000-07:00

My grandmother has an interview at the US Embassy next month. I'm excited for a number of reasons, the first of which, I haven't seen her in about six years. More than anything, I'm excited for her. She spent 10 years splitting nursing duties with my mom, caring for my grandfather after he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. After my grandfather passed, my family tried to arrange for her to come to the US to see my youngest cousin for the first time. She was rejected by the embassy, because it seems 70-something year old women with a penchant for high heeled shoes and shopping posed a threat to the American way of life. She had to travel to Dubai to see her son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter. Repeatedly. She kept promising my cousin that one day, she would cook for her and do all the things she had done with all of the other granddaughters.

It took a while (almost three years) but she is getting a little closer to coming.

And when she comes, there will be a role reversal--I will be cooking for her, telling her stories and taking her shopping. This makes me smile, considering how my early childhood days were spent basking in her love and attention.

There is something else that makes me smile in anticipation--knowing there will be stories. She's an amazing, smart, strong, funny, flawed and slightly crazy woman. I get a few shades of my crazy from her. I don't have to look too far to see where I got my curious hair, ridiculous vanity, insane need for perfection and occasional sense of jealousy. And while this may sound like a parade of flaws, I assure you, it makes for a delightful person. Or at least an entertaining grandmother/infuriating mother. My poor mom can't spend a day with her and not call me in desperation. I'll actually share one of the more recent favorites:

My mom went back to Iran about a year ago. Among the gifts she got my grandmother as is our tradition, were a pair of practical walking shoes. Appropriate for a fragile older lady, something my mom actually liked (even though she's in her early 50s). When she gave my grandmother the shoes, fully expecting a joyous reaction (she bought her mom shoes after all, right?), she saw tears gathering in my grandmother's eyes.

"Do you like them? Don't they fit?"

"They fit.", Mamman mumbled.

"Then what's wrong?"

"I don't understand! Why do you keep buying me old lady shoes?! I'm not old! Why do you want to dress me up like I'm too old to wear nice clothes?!"

I had warned my mom that Mamman wouldn't like them, and I couldn't stop laughing at the mental image of my Mamman crying at the insult of getting orthopedic shoes from my mom who thought she was doing something thoughtful and age appropriate.

Yes, so this is who will be hopefully visiting me in a few months. And I have every intention of writing some more stories about her soon, when I'm less sleepy.

Passive Regressive

2008-06-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

Some time around 9:30 Saturday morning, I leaned against the public bathroom wall at Mission Bay and cried. I was so angry I ignored my disgusting environment. I was making a scene, which made me even angrier.

I had prepared to join a higher running group that morning. I was a little sleepy, but excited. Mission Bay was the least hilly run we had had yet, and if I could run the 4 mile UCSD perimeter, I could run the 5 mile path. Or so I thought. What I had envisioned as a steady paced jog, turned into an exercise in futility. My body would.not.move. I could barely run, much less keep up with the B Group that had gracefully run past me. Nor could I keep up with the A Group to which I belonged. After the first 2 1/2 miles, I could barely walk. It did not help to see a partially paralyzed, elderly man speed walk past me. Three times.

I thought after a month I would be making progress and adding miles. I thought I'd be able to run at least a couple of miles at a time and embracing the idea of a thirteen mile run. I was not ready to walk two and a half miles to join a cheerful team as they laughed and celebrated their progress. I was frustrated with my regression and inability to move; ashamed of the fact that I couldn't keep a promise I had made; and afraid I would fail. While I really don't want to be the last person to cross the finish line, I don't want to collapse and not cross the finish line altogether.

I know this is not about me, but that is why I cannot sit back and joke about being left in the dust of an octogenarian. THREE TIMES. I am running with men and women who have beaten death and laugh at pain. And I have no excuse to walk behind; even less excuse to cry about it. But I do.

I was insufferable all weekend. Poor M tried to cheer and encourage me, mostly to no avail. He bought me a Stick (which helped the soreness in my calves), made me breakfast and offered to go running with my on Sunday. I did not want to run--especially with someone who can run 8 miles through canyon trails. I wanted to hide from every single person who knew I was training. I spent Sunday sorting through papers and hanging out with my friend.

Monday morning, I woke up a little past 5:30. I made coffee, read the news, answered emails and didn't get ready to run. M woke up a little after 7 and asked if I was going to go running.

"No. I don't want to run ever again. I don't want to talk about running."

"That's ok. Maybe you need to take a few days off..."

Before he could finish, I was getting dressed to go. I ran 3 miles in about 35 minutes, stopping for three walking intervals.

I haven't given up yet.

Grace in Motion

2008-06-01T23:15:00.000-07:00

I have officially had my first and second sports related injuries while training:

As I was buying my running shoes last weekend, I was so excited that I jammed my finger between my heel and the shoe. I bent my weak nail so far back, my finger started bleeding. In shoes I hadn't tried on yet. The look of horror on my face just made the lady next to me laugh, especially because I tried to casually brush it off as a broken nail. It really wasn't that funny. Although, on the way home, I did think it was the kind of thing that would happen to TK--which made it a little less painful.

I tried to swim today. It would have gone better if I hadn't been so enthusiastic. So enthusiastic, that I pushed myself away from the wall with all my force and scraped my chest area along the bottom of the pool. The good news is, my chest area helped me bounce a little and saved my head from hitting the bottom of the pool. The bad news is, I am sore in a place I totally didn't anticipate hurting while swimming.

This may be why I was never the athletic type.

A Runner's Life for Me

2008-05-28T20:38:00.000-07:00

I am a new woman.

I am pretty sure I can never tell my mom about my attempts at running a half marathon. If I did, I'd have to confess that Amanda has inspired me to do two things that she could not achieve in 34 years: she couldn't get me to wake up early or exercise with any regularity. And now, thanks to Amanda, I do both. For the past two weeks, I have been waking up between 5-5:15 everyday. Most days, without my alarm going off. Twice a week, I get up, get dressed and go running with my mid-week teams. Other days, I go into work earlier than I ever have so I can leave early and meet the evening running teams. This is my schedule every day, but Sundays, where I sleep in until 7. It is another one of my life's little ironies that I cannot share with my mom this little tidbit that would bring her so much joy.

I have learned however that getting up and driving to a beach trail does not imply a state of awareness. Take this past Monday for example. I got up and drove to the Torrey Pines Lodge, parked my car and greeted my team. We stretched, warmed up and proceeded to run approximately 4 miles in 3-1 intervals (I was able to run 7-2 intervals for most of the way). As we made our way back to the cars, all I could think of was the Cliff Bar in my bag. However, as I approached the car, I realized something didn't look quite right. Perhaps it was the driver's side door that was left wide open, making it easy for any potential car thieves to easily enter and make themselves comfortable. The funny thing is that the doors were locked, just left ajar. I consider it my contribution to the joy of my morning running mates...

On a serious note: I am so overwhelmed and honored by everyone's help and contributions. I appreciate your faith in my abilities and your generosity. I am meeting survivors whose enthusiasm is contagious, volunteers who come to support us and family members who are thanking us for our efforts. It makes early mornings and shin splints trite, and almost anything possible.

With the exception of today's painful run, I am able to run 1.5 miles at a time, but almost 4.5 with intervals. This is a much more realistic goal than my initial plan of running miles at a time. My intervals are increasing (longer runs, same length walks) as is the distance that I'm running. I need to address the shin splints that are the biggest limiting factor right now, but they are getting a little better.

If you have any suggestions to actually be awake in the morning or run/jog more effectively, please share. If you can't believe that I abandoned my open-doored car for an hour on a holiday morning, I have a bunch of witnesses who are probably still laughing at me. And seriously, why would I make this up?

News From Around the World

2008-05-18T23:02:00.000-07:00

Bush Lectures Arab World on Political Reform, Women's Rights

He then proceeded to teach a few lessons about sacrifice , the importance of good oratory skills and political etiquette.

Ok, so he stopped with political reform and women's rights. But that's probably because most of his audience already practiced good torture techniques and unfair treatment of women.

Me and the News of the Day

2008-05-15T22:04:00.000-07:00

About seven years ago, I lay curled up in the corner of my closet crying softly and whispering into the phone. I loved the man I was talking to so fiercely at that moment, I was probably the closest person in the world to him. I wanted to reach in and hold him, protect him from what was to come. This man had stood by my side during some of the happiest and saddest moments of my life. Over the years, I had watched him with so much love, gratitude and confusion.

I cried as he told me what I had suspected for years. As he whispered his journey, I thought of how afraid he must have been to tell me his secret. Me. Loving, admiring, me. Prudish, uptight, cautious, me. Why else would his voice tremble as the words tumbled out, finally making real what he had fought for so long...

"Are you crying?"

"Yes.", I whispered.

"Where are you?"

"In the closet." And the moment I said it we both burst into hysterical laughter.

"I just came out and you went in? Must you always do the opposite of what I think you will?! Now why are you crying? It's not like you just figured out what's been out of place for most of your life. "

"I'm crying because you woke me up early on a Saturday morning and I love you.", which was partially true. I did love him, and he did wake me up. So much, that I was crying for judgments that would be passed on him, the attacks he would hear, the cruelty that people would inflict on him, and strangely enough--I cried because unlike me, he would never have a wedding. I was sad, confused and angry.

Many years have passed. I took him to his first gay bar; I woke him up one August morning to tell him I'm getting married later that day; I introduced him to my husband; I tried to set him up with cute guys and listened to his misadventures in dating. I can't say I haven't worried or occasionally judged, but I have always loved him protectively. This year I asked what he wanted for his birthday, he said a husband would be nice.

And today, I kept checking the news for him and learned that he can have one in California.

Congratulations, my friend. I'll start working on your birthday gift. Please give me more advance notice for your big day than I gave you on mine.

Run Run Run

2008-05-12T21:37:00.000-07:00

For about two weeks, I have been writing and re-writing this post and not posting it. This is a post about something much more important than my curious little blog.

Last month, my blogger friend Manda was diagnosed with leukemia. While I have never had the pleasure of meeting Amanda, I felt the same way I do whenever one of my friends is taken ill. I planned a menu. I had every intention of cooking a bunch of food and sending it across the country to people whose tastes I did not know. But as I made my grocery list, I realized it wasn't a very realistic way to cheer anyone up (plus, I didn't want to tempt fate by sending perishables). Nor was my idea to coordinate a bunch of fellow Pajiba fans to create a podcast of her favorite books.

As I went through my mail after work one day, a way to help found me. I had received an invitation Team In Training, a non-profit group that raises funds to support The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I originally learned about The Leukemia and Lymphoma Society a few years ago when my friend Karen was diagnosed with lymphoma. They provided her and her family with support and information as she prepared for her battle. Now, I saw this as an opportunity to do something practical and supportive. Knowing that Amanda had been training to run in a 5k before she got sick, I thought it would be the perfect thing to do. I called Amanda and asked if I could raise funds in her honor, and she generously said yes.

Now, I have a plan.

This year, for the second time, I will be participating in the San Diego Blood Bank's Naked Juice 5k. As a fairly regular blood donor, I have supported blood banks in every city I have lived in since I was in college. This year, especially in light of reading Amanda's updates, I have decided to make an annual tradition of this event. Last year, I walked the 5k with M, my mother and friends. This year I hope to run. If you live in San Diego or SoCal and would like to join my team, please let me know and I'll provide you with details.

More importantly, this week, I begin my training and fund raising efforts with Team In Training. Of the various races that we could participate in, I have selected to run a half marathon in October. If you have ever seen me, you know that this is a bit of a stretch, considering how I could probably roll down a hill more gracefully than run the streets of San Francisco. I am not an athlete, nor am I fit. But I am determined. Very, very determined.

I am asking for your support and donations (which are 100% tax deductible) for an organization that does great work for those who have a difficult and frustrating battle ahead of them. My goals this year are to meet the minimum fund raising goal of $3,300 ($875 or so of which I must raise by June 26, 2008) and to cross the finish line. They may not seem too ambitious, but I want to meet my goals. I know that with your help, I will easily exceed both of my goals. The sooner I meet my fund raising goals, the sooner I can devote my attention to training. Lots and lots of training. I will provide regular updates about my progress ~~for your entertainment~~.

I ask that you donate whatever amount you feel comfortable. You can donate a little bit every month from now till the race and I would greatly appreciate it. Please pass this link on to your friends and family and encourage them to donate as well. If you have trained for distance runs or have any tips, please share (I don't want to make my team look bad). And if you think you'll be in San Francisco on the day of the race, please come and cheer us on. I'd love to see you as I cross the finish line.

Random Thoughts

2008-05-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

I finished my PM Certificate program tonight. I'm pretty sure I never want to take another class again. At least for another couple of months. Does anyone need a delightful project manager?
I had every intention of running after my class, but after eating dinner and changing, I lost steam. Which means I will be up at 6, ready to run.
I may soon lose my secret identity--which freaks me out just a little. I thoroughly enjoy hiding behind this curtain of anonymity. But if I reveal my identity, it will be for a great cause.
During the past week I have spoken to a co-worker who makes me laugh so loud, that I have to scuttle to one of the empty offices with my cell phone to save face. Thank goodness for brilliant people.
An old friend who I had semi-lost touch with just got married. I never thought I would see him look that happy. Which means, I am very, very happy for him (and his new wife).
I had forgotten how much I enjoyed crocheting--something I will have much more time to do now that I don't have my class project hanging over my head.

Did I mention that my class is over? Weeeeeee.

"That Is My Patriotism"

2008-05-03T11:49:00.000-07:00

How can people say Obama isn't patriotic? He recognizes the great potential we have as a nation, he knows this isn't a popularity contest and he says he wants to continue a tradition of standing up for the little guy that helped get him where he is. Plus, he knows how to speak. Well.

To paraphrase him, this campaign is about you--and your values. Do you want a military man who does not support the troops getting the benefits they have been been promised, but boasts his military credibility; a candidate who stoops to the lowest form of pandering regardless of its consequences or do you want a man who will admit he is not perfect, but that he will try his best to live up to what we can be as a nation? What are your values?

Coffee v. Orange Juice: The Mature Choice

2008-05-03T09:51:00.001-07:00

I like to think of myself as relatively intelligent. Actually, that thought depresses me a little, because I know a lot of people around me who are much more intelligent on every level: emotional, intellect and practical. I may be the one who brings the average down. So you would think that I would be happy to know there are people out there that make me seem like a genius. People like Ben Stein for example, who make my grasp of science seem mind-bogglingly complex. Or people like this idiot who judge a person's maturity by the beverage that person consumes in the morning.

I know there are different standards for measuring maturity. I will even admit to being a bit of a judgmental snob. But if we apply the standards of the article that coffee drinkers are more mature than orange juice drinkers (I know, just suspend any intelligent thought and just go with it), wouldn't that mean that alcohol would be a more mature beverage than both? And using that standard, wouldn't we have to elect an alcoholic to prove that someone is no longer childish?

Oh, wait. We DID that already. Twice. And everything worked out just fine.

Thanks/Blame to Andrew Sullivan for bringing such insanity to light.

Mad Science

2008-05-01T23:10:00.000-07:00

I want to be outraged, but I'm pretty sure this has just left me speechless: Ben Stein rejecting science. Not personally (although I'm assuming he did that soon after he lost his mind), but as a concept. Why? Because science is evil. It seems Mr. Stein holds science responsible for the death of his family members during the Holocaust. He's not saying people abused their powers and used science for evil purposes, just has they had done with religion and politics for centuries. No. He's holding science responsible.

Yep. I got nothing. Maybe Alex can help. Anyone? Anyone?

*I would mention where he was interviewed for this brilliant bit, but that would make a celebrity of Crazy Pat on my blog.

How Many Crazies Can Fit on a Couch?

2008-04-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

I just changed the channel to watch The Daily Show (Colin Firth is tonight's guest-weeee!), and what am I greeted with? Al Sharpton and Pat Robertson hanging out on the beach, sitting on a couch and AGREEING about the need to address global warming. I admit, I am having a hard time focusing on the message, because Al Sharpton and Pat Robertson are sitting on a couch on the beach, making jokes about their political philosophies and what they have in common (the title 'reverend' and lunatic ramblings?). WHAT?

It seems this ad is part of the We Can Solve It campaign, launched by The Alliance for Climate Protection and Al Gore. I'm sure their message is important, I'm just stuck on the fact that they have selected Al Sharpton, Pat Robertson, Nancy Pelosi and Newt Gingrich to deliver their message. Who are these commercials appealing to? I'm so confused.

On a completely unrelated note, I think I would like Colin Firth to read me something. I'm not picky, he can choose.

Bonne Annee!

2008-04-21T22:59:00.000-07:00

How time flies--it's been a year and I feel like I'm just getting started. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

It's Madness I Tell You! MADNESS!

2008-04-20T08:36:00.000-07:00

I'm watching whatever the ABC Sunday morning 'political' show is and I am amazed (I don't know why at this point) at the stupidity of the people who are on this show. George Stephanopolis, Sam Donaldson, Cokie Roberts and George Will are not only defending the atrocity of what they are referring to as a 'debate' in Pennsylvania but are repeating the non-sense that people a) understand the Constitution (really?) and b) they vote with their guts (WHY?!?!) . Of course, all of these issues are hugely convenient for them. Not just them specifically, but for all political 'journalists'.

The incredibly sad (pathetic, infuriating...) reality is that Americans do not understand the Constitution. If they did, we would not be tearing down the wall that exists between Church and State; we would not be forking over more and more unchecked powers to the executive branch and relegate the legislative and judicial branches to being cheerleaders of whatever the executive wants to do; they would not be sitting around blithely as their government tortures prisoners and uses propaganda to rename it 'enhanced interrogation techniques'; and they would understand the concept of the Women's Suffrage Movement before they signed petitions to end it.

Secondly, if Americans do vote with their guts, why are you glorifying and encouraging it? Sure, people voted for Bush because they thought he would be fun to have a pint of beer with--but I'm also pretty sure they ignored the fact that he is a recovering alcoholic whose judgment would be impaired if they did spend that kind of quality time together. And while I think the person who represents us collectively on the world stage should be representative of us, I would prefer he spoke the language and had rudimentary understand of world issues before he set foot on that stage. A man who graduated from some of the finest universities in this country and still managed to resist learning anything, is not that person. Nor is he 'regular' folk if his daddy, granddaddy and every generation before him has been part of the power elite of this country for at least 100 years back, if not further. Even if one of us wanted to share a pint of beer with him, he probably wouldn't waste his time with us lowly folk. On a related note, the concept of a democracy is to pick the best person to do the job; someone who has good judgment, wisdom and hopefully some ethics. 'Democracy' isn't a fancy word for popularity contest, and our government is not high school. We should not be voting for the cheerleader and the jock, we should be at least paying attention to the nerds and the debate teams who will be able to get our sorry asses out of a mess if we start drowning in it.

And now, back to the Idiots at the Round Table:

George S., you can't comment on the fairness of the 'debate' when you were the major screw up who took lessons from Sean Hannity. I don't say things like this often, but please, just shut the fuck up.

George W., I can appreciate your distaste for Obama, even if it is solely on party principle. But if not him, are you endorsing the forgetful geriatric who wants to suspend gas taxes that fund our roads, bridges and infrastructures? I'm sure you stay awake at night wondering about bridges collapsing during your commute to work or your city being washed away for lack of federal funding to maintain dams. I don't understand much about economics, but I think I won't vote for the guy who says economics isn't his thing.

Sam, please focus on your hair since you have a hard time understanding anything else. People aren't 'shooting the messenger' because they didn't like the questions that were asked at the 'debate'. They are shooting the messenger because the messenger was on crack and not delivering the message while the city is burning. Pick on Obama, but not on his name, neighbors' independent activities, his estranged father's religion or lapel accessories. And while you're at it, also pick on Clinton's political opportunism, lies and fantasies. And ask McCain a few questions about his favorite pastors who insist on killing my people in the name of their religion, his inability to distinguish Sunni vs Shia (which probably contributes to his inability to grasp the difference between Al-Qaida and the Sadr militia and Iran's government) and his insane idea that we can occupy a country for 100 years without consequences. No hurry, you can ask him your questions after the BBQ.

Cokie, if you're riding around in the President's limo on his way to see the Pope, you will not have anything objective to say about anything related to this President. Keep talking about the blabbering idiot's 'excitement' about seeing the Pope, and not the fact that the Pope actually condemned this country's aggression repeatedly during his visit. The reason your car pool companion was so sanguine is because he is too stupid to understand that his guest is calling him an ass hole.

Newseum Building, I'm sorry to say I'm praying for your spontaneous combustion because you represent all that is absurd, lazy and stupid about what we collectively refer to as 'The Press'. We have no use for you or what you represent, until 'The News' is more than a bunch of obnoxious noise delivered by monitor readers and overpaid pundits who are too lazy to do anything but pat each other on the back and regurgitate what is fed to them. Until then, there is no 'News', just bull shit. And we already have a place for that, thankyouverymuch.

And now that I got that out of my system, I need to flip over to CNN and see what Wolf Blitzer and the self-anointed "Best Political Team on Television" (TM) have to say for themselves this weekend.

Lesson Learned

2008-04-17T21:46:00.000-07:00

It seems being the peace-maker (when I'm not the one fighting the war) isn't always a great idea. Sometimes people need to fight it out, tear each other down and sweat it out just so they can prop themselves around a conference table and actually compromise. That is the lesson I learned this week.

We have been in meetings all day, every day this week. Two of those were scheduled and conducted by yours truly. I was an angel of self restraint, focus and professionalism. (Ok, maybe I gave the look of death to Someone repeatedly, but only because Someone was acting twelve shades of crazy by arguing against herself). Anyway, the meetings have been ridiculously exhausting and predictably unproductive for three days. I literally had to jump in yesterday and take control of the situation (note to self: herding cats is only possible for short periods of time). But today, everyone was so tired they all dragged themselves to the table sat down and started working. They made decisions. There were even hugs. Hell, I was waiting for someone to start singing Kumbaya.

Maybe next time I'll instigate a fight just so they can get it over with.

Complimentary

2008-04-13T23:09:00.000-07:00

One of my co-workers has this crazy theory (which for the record couldn't be more absurd): my curly hair days are days when I'm 'scary' and people shouldn't mess with me and that the days that I straighten my hair people can get away with pretty much anything because I will be 'nice'. I have already disproven his theory, most recently on Thursday when he kept stalling when we were picking up some items for our office lunch. It was a curly hair day, and he is still alive. The theory is bunk.

But I must say sometimes my niceness is tempted.

On Friday, I stopped by Costco after work to pick up some things and in the shampoo/lotion/razor aisle, I saw a woman inspecting a giant container of shampoo. I couldn't help myself and said, "I use that--it's actually pretty good.", at which point I realized she's staring at my head, with her mouth wide open. It seems seeing my hair in its naturally curly glory couldn't scare a woman more. She slowly put the shampoo down and started backing away from me.

Sadly, I think I will never be a good hair model.

Give Me Bullet Points

2008-04-10T22:48:00.000-07:00

Since my promotion and subsequent greater interaction with my manager, I have realized there are a few 'work' issues that have bled into my non-work projects:

My manager (lets call her Sherry) likes to get to the point. She is a no nonsense kind of woman with a wicked sense of humor. Hence, her email rule to all of us, "Give me bullet points". Considering how much I like words and enjoy using them to describe things, it has been a challenge. Rather, it was a challenge. I recently caught myself sending emails to my friends in bullet points.
While it was quite obvious at the beginning that Sherry wasn't impressed by me (I think she ~~implied~~ said I was 'whiny'). I insisted that she had caught me at a bad time in my career where I had been misled and micromanaged to an inch of my sanity. A year later, I think we get along quite well. She actually complimented my performance in our staff meeting and to her superiors. She has given me confidence to speak my mind and express my opinions, even if the audience isn't exactly receptive. Which is great! I recently spoke up and said something in a non-work environment that caught ME off guard. Woo hoo for Sherry's mentoring skills.
I am sorry to say, patience is not (and has tragically never been) one of my many virtues. It really makes me sad. Especially when I have to work with people who are not outwardly bothered by things. My last manager was the kind who would speak more calmly and slowly, which ended up sounding condescending and pissing people off more. Not Sherry. While she has a great sense of humor and admirable self-restraint, she also has a temper. She may tell me to calm down after an especially stressful conference call, but I know she understands and isn't holding my impatience against me. Of course, I've never seen her act unprofessionally--and I would like to think I haven't either (except when I have)--but we of short tempers recognize each other fairly easily and it is nice to be in the company of some who can generally handle her impatience well.
And finally, after a week of dealing with unprofessional people, it is nice to hear your managers speaking well of your coping skills and general abilities.

See, bullet points can be fun. Or to the point.

A Friend in Need

2008-04-09T01:11:00.000-07:00

My blogging friend whose words, humor and baby pictures I enjoy so much is sick. I will write more, but right now, I'm trying to think of something productive and non-stalkerish to help her.

Please pray for her and her family. And if you have any ideas of ways a fellow blogger can be helpful, please share.

An Ode to Unrequited Love

2008-04-06T23:19:00.000-07:00

For B, who gets paid too much to just read my blog...

How I hate you and this pain you cause me.
I was living my life, content enough and you just had to come along.
Tantalizing me with the possibilities of what could be.
And with you, anything could be. You are perfect in every way, untainted by reality.

You will never fight or ignore me, I will always be perfection in your eyes (once you see me).
You will always remember those special days, and I'll always have time for you.
I will bask in your adoration, knowing that I will never falter.
To you I am perfect, and you are all I have ever wanted and never knew.
If only you could see me.
If only you were real.
If only you weren't potential.
If only I could ignore you and this pain you cause me.

But I can't.
And I won't.

I'll embrace every heart wrenching, stomach-churning, head-splitting thought of you,
And what we could be.
I'll close my eyes every night to dream you into reality,
and wake up mourning your departure.
I'll cry that I never had you; bemoan that you're not mine.
Your best is what I hate most, your weaknesses what I crave.
How could you not see what you conjured into being, without thinking of what would come next?

For you, my Unrequited Love, are what I had missed all along.
I will not cure this pain you have given me, for it is all I have
of the potential that will never be.
This, my dear, is perfection.

Senioritis

2008-04-01T23:02:00.000-07:00

Remember your senior year in high school or your senior year in college? How you were just aching to be done with school and move on to bigger and better things? Completely oblivious to the fact that those were probably the most carefree days of your life? Or how you were just DONE with the school routine?

Yeah. That's where I am.

I finished college and said, I'd never go back to school again. I started researching graduate programs about four months after I graduated.

I was stuck in the middle of my graduate program that had ~~mutated~~ evolved into a long distance program and decided what I needed was a project management certificate. Why? Because I'm crazy like that and go through education withdrawals. So I started the Certificate program with my manager/company's blessing (also, with the promise that starting the classes would result in a promotion). The promotion took two years, three and a half different managers and a fit of disapproval by moi to accomplish. The classes in turn were occasionally canceled, not approved/paid for by my company and skipped because of other commitments.

As of last night, I have started my very last class. It will last five more weeks, and then I'm done. Until then, I will be slightly cranky every Tuesday night as I sit in class trying to bite my tongue and not tell a particular classmate that he is slightly insane.

And then, I'll be done and will never register for another class. Ever.

(Or until I hear of something else really, really tempting.)

Tales from the Blog

2008-03-25T23:41:00.000-07:00

Since we have an idea how my Birthday Twin celebrated Boo Rooz, I thought I'd share stories from my exciting day.

Um, now that I think about it, it wasn't really exciting. Unless you consider working on client contracts and preparing reports until midnight exciting. No? Me neither. But I have a plan that I'm ten shades of excited about. While I failed to implement my brilliant plan on my birthday, my project did get started the weekend of my birthday (and that's close enough).

I have started a new blog, called Blog Me A Tale. There will be a monthly theme (this is Open Mic March) and you can write a story on that theme--however you interpret it. There is a larger project going on in the background, but for now I'm hoping people will participate and tell their stories. Let me know if you're interested in participating, and I'll send an invite and add you to the contributors. If you know of a blogger you'd like to see contribute, recommend them and I'll send an invite (and/or harass them until they write something to shut me up). The more the merrier. And if you don't want to write, comment. The comments will be an important part of the next steps of my plan.

Think of it as an extended, wordy birthday celebration.

The Nurooz Cometh

2008-03-23T21:15:00.001-07:00

(Our Haft Seen Table, moments after Nurooz on March 19, 2008)

Above is my very hurried Haft Seen (Seven 'S's) Table. It is my favorite part of Nurooz. It is also usually well planned, considering one needs to allow beans/grains to sprout at least 10 days before the New Year. This requires one to keep track of time, monitor sprouts and have a couple of backups. I did none of these things this year, mostly because I realized Nurooz was approaching about three days before it arrived.

Allow me to rewind a little: I worked from home half of Wednesday, got my hair colored during my 'lunch' hour ran to the Persian store and purchased most of the necessary items for my Haft Seen Table. This is akin to trying to buy a Christmas tree and ornaments around 4pm on Christmas Eve. Which is why my sprouts and hyacinths are the Persian cousins of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree. And why I am missing three of my seven items. And why the apple is too big for the tiny bowls I usually use to decorate my table. My only joy in all of this? My perfect little gold fish. Especially since this is the first time M has allowed me to have gold fish in the last four years.

(Sidenote: He hates it when the fish die as soon as they get home--which is really sad--and as such wouldn't let me buy fish that would symbolize the brevity of life instead of longevity/fertility).

This year, partially due to work and partially due to M's work(I'm his little helper sometimes), I have been distracted. On the Wednesday of Nurooz, I came home after my frantic beauty/shopping excursion--with its many, many stops--and tried to do my Spring Cleaning (which in real Iranian homes is a month-long process almost regardless of the size or the average cleanliness of the house) in less than three hours. During that time, I also wanted to cook the traditional Nurooz dinner of herbed rice and fish, set the Nurooz table and respond to co-workers who suddenly remembered a laundry list of questions they needed answers to immediately. Needless to say, I barely finished a very superficial cleaning, spent almost two hours solving co-worker problems and was frantically assembling my table when the year changed.

Per our beliefs, the rest of the year follows the tone of what you were doing at the time of the year changing over. Which means, my year will be frantic. Hmm.

Finally, things started settling down--by which I mean so much time passed that I stopped feeling guilty for not sending Nurooz cards and making the traditional dinner three nights too late--and we decided to take a break from our working weekend to go to the beach. Just before we left, I changed the fish's water and fed them.

Now they're swimming in the big bowl in the sky. And my Haft Seen table is even sadder than it was this morning.

Culturally Alien

2008-03-11T22:15:00.000-07:00

I am a girl.

Well, actually, I'm a woman sadly inching towards middle age. I would like to think that I'm culturally aware and know a few things about pop culture, even if I don't appreciate them. However, there are a few things I distinctly dislike. Ok, so I hate them. Sex and the City is one of those 'cultural' phenomena. It goes beyond not understanding it, because I do understand it. The problem is I hate how condescending, superficial and one-dimensional it is in its portrayal of women. Considering how I passionately I feel about the topic, I figured I couldn't be alone. I was pretty sure at least some of my friends agreed with me completely. I could not have been more wrong.

First of all, I pretty much missed the whole SatC boat when it first sailed by. I would hear all the women at work go on about it every week, talking about one character or another, insisting they are exactly alike and how their last date was exactly like blah blah blah...I figured, I couldn't understand what I didn't watch. Plus, I was a little turned off by a show whose feminism was expressed through sex, shoes and shopping. How is that feminism?

So a couple of weeks ago, when our friends were over, M was teasing me about always having the TV on, and watching everything--including SatC. I corrected him loudly--to which my friends expressed shock--SHOCK--that I was saying I didn't like it. How could I not love SatC? What transpired over the next 30-40 minutes was a discussion of how all of the women in our circle of friends loved the show, who was closest to which character and who had experienced the same thing as...

As I sat there wondering about what I was missing, I knew there was at least one friend who would chuckle and agree with me completely. She is a grounded, funny and intelligent woman whom I have always admired. I'm pretty sure she nods and smiles at my taste in music/art/movies/shows because I can be a little fluffy for her taste. So I sent her an email, beseeching her to save me from this loneliness in a SatC loving world. She (I swear laughed) responded that she actually kind of likes the show.

Here's my problem: The women on this show were so detached from reality, they made women look bad. I mean really, really bad. If a man had written that show, he would be (rightfully) branded a chauvinist pig. Most of the women in my group of friends (regardless of cultural background) have family obligations, real jobs and finite incomes. Our friendships extend beyond watching each other jump from one guy to another, our intellect generally reaches beyond random observations and our gay friends are not bitchier than we are. And I can say without a shadow of a doubt, we're all deeper than your typical cereal bowl. So why does everyone love this show so much? What am I missing?

Oh, and apparently there is a movie related to the show coming out soon. I'll continue to be a social outcast. Great.

Nu Rooz Is Coming

2008-03-11T00:17:00.000-07:00

I can see how those of you who have read my reaction to Christmas and Valentine's Day may think I hate holidays. Nothing could be further from the truth. I love holidays. I just don't like the crazy commercial/Hallmark aspect of the holidays.

But now, there is a holiday looming that I love, despite myself: Nu Rooz, or the Persian New Year. It coincides with the first day of Spring and we celebrate for 13 days. We specifically celebrate the outgoing year (the last Wednesday of the old year), the first day of the New Year and the thirteenth day of the New Year with a picnic. In Iran, it is the most beautiful time of the year. Everything is coming back to life, the city smells young and fresh and every home is sparkling from the monthly spring cleaning efforts of every woman in the country (with much help from the small armies they call up just for the season). People of every economic and religious background celebrate by visiting each other, traveling and of course cooking and eating. We prepare traditional dishes, wear new clothes and spend days gleefully celebrating family, friends and life. And there are occasional gift exchanges, usually crisp new bills from grandparents that most kids would hide in their rooms.

In my family growing up, this time has unfortunately been spent stressing about everything being picture perfect. So much so that the 'celebration' kind of falls to the wayside. Despite this, I remain optimistic and still love the concept.

This year, I have not started my spring cleaning. I have not prepared my traditional sprouts, nor have I purchased my hyacinths yet. I'm running a bit behind. But I'm still excited.

Yay, Spring!

Last Night, I Met the Girl From My Dreams

2008-03-04T20:58:00.000-08:00

Last night, we went to the long awaited Foo Fighters concert. God Bless M for humoring me and going to a concert he had no interest in and getting there a full two hours early (we feared bad traffic). For me, he sat through two different bands he had no interest whatsoever in and was gradually won over by the FF--possibly because he was too amused by my antics to be indifferent.

And his presence by my side is why I didn't run toward a tall, leggy young woman in cut-off denim shorts and strike up a random conversation--despite the fact that I had (sort of) dreamed of her less than two weeks ago.

A little while ago, I dreamed I had met two very colorful young ladies as I sat in a tattoo parlor. So distracted was I by the fact that I was meeting them that I ended up with a tattoo up the length of my left leg. It was a beautifully elaborate design with birds intertwined throughout. My first panicked thought in my dream was that it would be impossible to hide a tattoo that started on the top of my foot and ran up to my thigh. My second and third thoughts were that it was stunning and that Boo and Alex were nodding in approval. So vivid was my dream that I woke up inspecting my leg in the early morning light for the faintest sign of ink. I have to admit that I was slightly disappointed at the plain, white skin covering my limbs, despite the fact that I know I'm not the kind of person to get tattoos.

A few nights later, I had a similarly related dream--where I had apparently embraced the tattoo and was trying to 'frame' it in the perfect outfit. The whole thought process seemed so logical and real, perhaps because I settled on a long, black skirt with a long slit on the left side(I actually own one of these)--because according to Dream Me, a mini-skirt would be obvious...

Which brings me back to the young lady I saw outside Cox Arena last night. Her left leg had a gorgeous, elaborate tattoo that started on the top of her foot and expanded all the way to where her shorts were cut off. The tattoo was a colorful and intricate floral pattern that must have taken painful hours to complete, with birds perched and flying from various branches and blossoms. Had I been by myself, I may very well have walked up to her and stared at our shared tattoo and maybe even tried to make my stare less embarrassing by explaining what I was doing (because that wouldn't be weird at all, right?). But I didn't. I curled up by M, trying to contain my excitement before the concert by telling M about Serj Tankian, System of a Down, Nirvana, the Foo Fighters and Dave Grohl.

Thank goodness for patient husbands and the drop of self-restraint that saves me from doing crazy, crazy things.