happy new year, maybe.

Clearly I am behind on blogging. I feel funny saying this because only 4 people read this blog. I highly doubt that any of you are freaking out because I haven't posted 2 weeks.

Anyway, a London post will come soon, as soon as I have access to pictures (Claiiirrrreee???).

In the meantime I thought I'd talk about the New Year resolutions that I will not call resolutions. I will call them things I will try to do. They are below, in list form.

1.) Get back into yoga 2-3 times a week.
2.) Eradicate the word like (as a filler) from my vocabulary compeletely.
3.) Dress like a grown up everyday.
4.) Be more compassionately critical. I have, recently, received criticism that I am too harshly critical (isn't that ironic!?). However, I am a critical person and to stop being critical is not how things get done. So, I will be more compassionate, understanding, and open when providing criticism.


I think that is enough to keep me busy.

What will keep you busy in 2010?

Happy New Year!

merge not stop.

someone sould post a sign at the intersection of Southbound Mopac and 2222 that defines merging.

Merging does not mean stop on the highway, put on your blinker, and sit there until someone honks at you to move over.

thats all. im done.

roll of unsatisfaction

Sushi is good. I like it. I like the tiny ceramic cup of soy sauce, I like the spreading of the wasabi, I like fighting with the chopsticks. I like making my sushi-partner eat the ends of the rolls with the tiny fried legs and/or fried tail sticking out of it. It's foodtainment.

Saying "Let's go for sushi" makes me feel grown up and cool. But really, every time I leave a sushi place I feel unsatisfied. I'm hungry by the time I open the car door. I always secretly wish I had just said "Let's go for cooked food, a whole meal of it, in non roll form." A meal where I need a scoop and a daggar to get it in my mouth, not tiny sticks. A meal where I walk to the car thinking I may or may not pass out at any second because all the blood is in my stomach.

Here's the thing. I like fancy food, I like scallops with white wine and butter and lamb chops with garlic and roasted pears. I like getting dressed up and going to fancy restaurants.

But I love banana milkshakes, huge bowls of pasta, fried chicken, meatloaf, and cheeseburgers. I love eating in jeans that I can easily unbutton and a white t-shirt in my own house.

So, next time I'm tempted to say "Let's grab sushi", I'll just say "Let's grab an actual meal of food."

weather semantics

I'm just going to throw this out there. You can take it or leave it.

I don't believe in global warming. I just don't. I think its dumb, especially considering that Houston is getting snowed on and it's 37 degrees in Austin today. I feel sorry for those Greenpeace volunteers on Congress. Today is a hard sell for global warming.

Climate change is a different matter. I do believe in climate change. The climate changes every day. It has been changing for 6+ million years. If you think about it, hasn't every generation thought there was catastrophic climate change?

Dust Bowl, Floods, Hurricanes, harsh winters, mild winters, harsh summers, mild summers these are not new things. In fact, these are old things that reoccur in cyclical patterns, and have since the beginning of the planet. Just ask Littlefoot.

The term global warming has been largely replaced with climate change. Why? Because climate change is easier to sell. It really covers all the bases. Global warming was too restrictive to be correct.

I'm sure climate change is happening. I'm sure patterns are changing from 20 even 50 years ago. But I'm almost just as sure that they will change back.

So should we all buy hybrids? Should I start eating local? Should I shop with re-usable bags?

Sure. Go ahead. Just be sure you dress for the weather.

911

I'm going to recount the happenings of the last 35 minutes. I hope you find them as totally ridiculous as I do now.

So, as I approached my apartment building after being gone since 8 am, I heard a smoke alarm going off. I imagined someone had burned their tater tots and/or mozzerela stiks because they were distracted by a re-run of Scrubs. I actually thought that.

As I open my door I realize the ear-piercing, vomit inducing sound is coming from my smoke alarm. In my apartment. With all my stuff. And where I need to go to sleep.

I instantly assume everything in my apartment is on fire or about to spontaneously combust at any second. After I secure all flammables, I call the Gables Grandview answering service. Donna answers the phone. I have talked to Donna 3 different times about either A.) drunken "dj's spinnin" at the pool B.) about my smoke alarm.

She informs me she will call JT and he will call me back. I say "Thanks" but really I want to somehow find a way that this is Donna's fault, just so I can yell.

I pace outside my apartment. I'm assuming no one will call me back and that my smoke alarm will go off for eternity. I'm planning alternate sleeping arrangements. I'm texting and calling like a maniac. I'm getting ready to go inside and grab blankets to camp in my car when JT calls. I figured it had at least been 30 minutes since I called. It had been 9.

On this particular call JT was either stoned off his ass, asleep, or super pissed that Donna had called him and, in turn, super pissed that I couldn't figure this out on my own.

He let me know I could either take it off the wall and take out the batteries or he could come do it for me, if I couldn't figure it out. Now, my first instinct was to rip it out of the wall--but I decided that I would be fined by the fire department and possibly jailed if I did that. So I had called Donna.

But, now that I had JT's permission, I was on it. I ripped those suckers out of the wall immediately. Silence. For 2 seconds. Then it started again. How can this be? Am I on candid camera? Am I being haunted? Is Dad trying to reach me from beyond? Is this happening to save me from a fire that will happen tonight? Am I crazy? (These are all the actual thoughts that I had.)

I run around my apartment with the torn smoke alarm in my hand, wires dangling. I'm looking at the ceiling, I'm putting my ear up to the sprinklers in case they too have noise making devices, I'm putting my head in closets, I'm freaking out. I call JT. I tell him I ripped both of them out of the ceiling and that the sound is still happening. This is what happens next:

JT: Did you take the batteries out?

Alix: I RIPPED THEM OUT OF THE WALL. HOW MANY ARE THEREEEE? I CAN'T TELL WHERE THE SOUND IS COMING FROM, IT'S GETTING LOUDER!

JT: Is the sound coming from your hand?

Alix: Yes. I have to go. Thanks.

In my totally irrational panic, I had neglected to take the batteries out of the actual smoke alarm. I was running around my apartment like a maniac trying to locate this continuing screech and that was coming from the smoke alarm in my hand.

It is funny what the unexpected can do to me. I knew the solution to the problem as soon as I walked in the door but I didn't trust myself enough to just do it. I knew, rationally, that the smoke alarm would go off and I would sleep in my own house. I knew the batteries were in the smoke alarm itself but panic clouded my logic.

It's the power of irrational behavior. It's what makes people act, do, and say things they don't even understand.

It's why I put my ear to a sprinkler.

bank robbers are dumb

I went to Wells Fargo today to take my dad's name off our joint account. I mean, it had to happen sometime.

Anywho, I chatted it up with the banker dude and I asked him about the robbery that happened at that location 2 weeks ago.

He told me all about the guy that came in with guns and made people lay down and was all dramatic about it, like in the movies. He told me this guy was super rude (I wouldn't expect a robber to be nice--but I guess most robbers just slip a note) and didn't even try to cover his face.

He told me the cops knew it was a robber who had hit 17 Houston banks in the last year. This robbery was his first in Austin.

And this is where I get confused. According to Snapped, Deadly Women, Lock Up Raw, Law & Order, NYPD, Tru Crime, The First 48, and Crime 360 there is no way you get away with crime. Your DNA will be somewhere and you're done. Game over.

I do not understand how a man with no mask robs 18 banks in Texas and is able to go spend that money on cheeseburgers and hookers. I don't understand. Shouldn't his picture be everywhere? Why aren't Mariska Hartigay and Ice Cube on the case? Where are the crime scene experts and fancy labs? I'm sure a hair fell off his head in there, why dont' they have his DNA?

This dude doesn't work. He robs people that do and, apparantly, gets away with it.

Crime pays.

my body is failing

So, last week I had the black death. I'm mostly serious. I had Strep and a respiratory infection. I had fever on and off for 3 days, and, at one point decided I was probably going to die on my couch. Dramatic? For sure.

Yesterday, just as I am back at 100%, I get a headache then the twinges of a sore throat begin again. Today, its worse. I have been monitoring my progress all day and I think it is fair to say that my immune system sucks. Big time.

I can't live this way.

It's all over for me.

*cough, cough* "It's the black lung pa."

meet you in the middle

I'm a Big Sister with Big Brothers Big Sisters. I meet with my 'little' once a week for an hour at her school. Today, I went for my weekly meeting and as I stood outside the classroom where I normally pick her up, her teacher walked up to me pretty aggressively.

She then launched into a rant about how my 'little' was stealing Sharpies from her and how my 'little' was a total disruption and a thief and a waste of my time.

Just then, my 'little' walked toward the classroom. The teacher then went inside the classroom, made a 'shoo' hand motion toward my 'little', and slammed the door.

Sigh.

I went to the library with my 'little' and she told me her half of the story, which, was a far cry from the teacher's story. In fact, it was the total opposite. Shocking.

The truth, I'm sure, is somewhere in the middle. I'm sure my little wasn't trying to steal Sharpies. I'm sure the teacher thought she was because of her past behavior. I'm sure that in one year no one will care about those Sharpies.

I'm also sure that pretty much everything I've heard in the past week -at work, at home, volunteering, even in my own head-is only one version of the truth. The real truth always seems to be buried under pride, miscommunications, fear, and struggle. The real truth is only available to those who want to listen and understand.

I wonder just how many conflicts and hurt feelings, how many misunderstandings and nights of anxiety could be allayed if everyone put others first, themselves second, and took just one minute to understand and trust.

ill smother you

I've always secretly prided myself on not needing praise, attention, cuddles, constant affirmation, or even a lot of time in relationships. I've always been the half of relationships that was cautious and easily smotherable (that's a word, I just decided.) My favorite phrases have been "I'm just really busy" and "Let's take a break", to name a few.

This week I realized I just never really cared about having any of those things before not necessarily because of me, but because of the people that were providing that attention. I just didn't need those affectionate (and time-consuming) relationships with people I knew, deep down, didn't have a place in my future.

Now that I find myself needing those things, I realize that it is because I need those things to make a future. I need those things because I can see a future. And that's scary and unbelievably wonderful all at the same time.

how old am i?

In 3rd grade I spent every recess digging a hole under an awning on the side of the school building. I dug that hole so deep that I could see under the foundation of the school, better yet, my little digging spot was secluded from everyone else. I wouldn't get picked last to play soccer, I wouldn't have my friends push me into boys, and no one would tease me about my clothes. I really liked my spot under that awning.

In May of 2008 I went back to that school and took a picture of my digging spot. It looks pretty much the same minus the huge hole. I feel pretty much the same as I did when I was in 3rd grade. I still think my clothes are awkward and I still sweat everytime I think I might get picked last. Although, the boy issue seems to have been resolved. Not having a mandated recess time eliminated that fear.

I thought, I guess, that when you grew up you knew how to do stuff and were automatically cool. I thought when I was an adult life would be easier--I wouldn't have to hide under an awning anymore. The surprise is really that I'm the same as I was when I was 7 only with responsibilites. The surprise was that at age 24, making a presentation to 200 lawyers, feeling sweaty and awkward, I would think about my digging spot and want it back.

giblets

For as long as I can remember, Thanksgiving has been my least favorite holiday. When we'd go to my grandparents house, the thought of my grandmother's wet, giblet filled, yellow food coloring altered stuffing literally made me gag. The thought of my dad sopping up that stuffing juice with a tiny piece of roll still makes me sick.

Claire and I would carefully arrange English peas, some carrots, a spoonful of some sort of casserole with no discernable parts, and as many rolls as was socially acceptable on our plates.We'd pray no one asked us why we didn't eat more. When Thanksgiving dinner was finally over, Claire and I would pile in the car and make gagging noises as soon as we were out of the sight of my grandparents. Dad would hysterically laugh and mom would roll her eyes at the total grossness of dinner but also at our total dramatics. We'd beg Dad to pull over at ANY open fast food establishment. We'd cram happy meals in our faces and fall asleep in a heap in the backseat.

In the last few years or so, my mom and dad have had Thanksgiving at our house the grossness factor decreased significantly. But, I still don't really like Thanksgiving food. It's just not that good.

This year I'm not going home for Thanksgiving. I always had visions of grandeur for my first grown-up Thanksgiving without my family. I was going to do it right-in my own house, with my own apron, my own menu of homeade lasagna, garlic bread, asparagus, and chocolate pudding.

But the closer my first grown up Thanksgiving gets, the less I want lasagna, and the more I want yellow giblet stuffing to gag over.

So, this year, I'll make turkey (and probably fail), stuffing, and 4 kinds of potatoes, and a casserole that has no discernable parts. Heck, I might even use yellow food coloring just to keep the tradition alive. It just seems right.

700 mph

Anniversaries aren't really my thing. And although a thousand things will always be on my mind on October 14 and 15 of every year for the rest of my life, none of those things can be expressed in words or on a stupid blog. Those things are too deep, too complicated, and too unreal to fully comprehend.

What I can understand is that as we all fly around the universe on this hunk of dirt at 700+ mph tragedy engulfs us. It is all around us, everyday. And amidst that tragedy you will find the very worst and the very best part of human existence-that life goes on regardless of your tragedy.

So while my heart is heavy and my mind is screaming at me to do something to fix this hurt, I absolutely can not. My life goes on with this hurt intact.

LCF

9/12/46-10/15/08

Hambone

“If you saw two guys named Hambone and Flippy, which one would you think liked dolphins most? I'd say Flippy, wouldn't you? You'd be wrong though. It's Hambone.”

the office.

I never wanted to be one of those people who lived for the weekend. One of those people that just tolerated the other days of the week, slogged through hours of unimportant, unchallenging work to be able to pay for the weekends they cherish.

Now that I am one of those people, I'm just like everyone else. Just like everyone sitting on Mopac with a Bluetooth in their ear, a large espresso in their hand, and with a secret hope to turn in their letter of resignation and move to the Caribbean.

It is oddly comforting to know that I am just like everyone else. That almost no one is happy with their job all the time. Comforting to know that it is unrealistic to love your job everyday.

What isn't unrealistic is the hope to like your job at least most of the time. It is not unrealistic to want better than the status quo and to surround yourself with those that want the same, everyday.

That is why career change is hard- because it would be easy to be like everyone else around you. It would be easy to coast through 43 years until retirement, bitching in the break room under your breath, squeezing your real life into 48 hours a week, like everyone else.

Big risks yield big rewards. Here we go.

romper fun!

After spending 15 minutes in line at Whole Foods behind ACL hipster doofi buying liters of Electrolyte Infused Water, I drove past the shuttle boarding station for Austin City Limits.

Those standing in line to board these shuttles were from all walks of life. Not really, they were all white with some sort of disposable income. In this line, I counted 8 romper clad women.

What is a romper, pray tell? A romper is a old trend made new again. A romper is a one piece jumper like contraption to be worn my females. 2 years ago no one would have been caught DEAD in a romper. I spent my early elementary school years trying to avoid rompers and jumpers. And now, in order to be cool I need one.

Everything old is new again.

have you any wool?

Sometimes I wonder how much more advanced our civilization would be if humans didn't have to eat or sleep. But, usually I stop wondering about that pretty quickly because I'm either hungry or sleepy.

This weekend we tried a new burger place. The Black Sheep Lodge. I read some good reviews but was fully prepared to be disappointed. I usually am.

Then, the stars aligned, pigs flew, and hell froze over. I was not disappointed!! I had the garlicky sliders, or "Little Stinkers". I hate that name. But--the tiny burgers were super good. Strong roasted garlic flavor, but not enough to scare away vampires, fresh baby greens, mustard, and perfectly cooked, flavorful patties. PLUS, I got them with overly salty tater tots. Anywhere that serves tater tots is right with me. Needless to say, I'm pretty pumped about The Black Sheep Lodge. Finally, I am not able to criticize. At least not about the food.

Post Black Sheep Lodge we went to the best sno-cone stand in town. I got a Medium Tiger's Blood with cream. Which was excellent. Cream? On a sno-cone? That's right folks, this IS heaven.

Then I feel asleep on the couch and woke up 3 hours later with a bad-for-you-food hangover headache.

So, yes. If we didn't have to eat or sleep we might all be in tiny flying pods and have a cure for cancer and heart disease (or would we not have either b/c we don't eat?) But we also wouldn't have the satisfaction of falling asleep on the couch on a sunny Saturday, baseball in the background, stomach full, knowing that an alarm clock would not wake us up.

commence blogging

20 years and 4 score (or whatever) ago there were no blogs, Tweets, or status updates. I think I liked it better that way. Which, may seem terribly ironic since I'm writing and you're reading a BLOG. I'll explain.

I'm planning to go back to school. And, since in the past two years I have only written text like "Thanks for your generous support" and/or "Hope you'll consider increasing your financial commitment to our community's health", I feel pretty out of clever and academic writing practice. I'm using this blog to get my skills back.

Feel free to criticize at will. Also, feel free to ask me to research and report on topics you'd like to hear about. But don't do too much of either or I'll erase you.

Cheers