Focus, Floyd!

During sweaty yoga yesterday, the teacher was talking us through a particulary hard pose. She was asking us to control our thoughts of giving up. Tune out everything except our thoughts on breathing and balance. Practice self control. As sweated/rained onto my mat, I decided that I'm not very good at self-control.

All I could think about while this teacher was telling me to focus was what sort of pasta I was going to reward myself with. I was also hoping that the guy next to me wouldn't shake sweat on me again. I was thinking about how I didn't get the caked on bird crap washed off my car. I was thinking about how much my hip was burning. I was wondering why ANYONE would go to a sweaty yoga class without deodorant. I was wishing I wasn't right by the heater.

All this to say, that I'm going to try really hard not to worry about the sweaty dude next to me. Or the stuff I didn't get done. I am going to be thankful that I could show up and work really hard. This might be called focus. This might be called self-control. This is more likely called just trying to do better.

putt-putt and princesses

Friday was my birthday. It was wonderful. I'd venture to say that it was my best (adult) birthday to date. The Flamingo party of 1990 is hard to beat.

It was wonderful because I have never felt so loved and understood, ever. I walked into work to find my cube decorated in pretty, pretty princess theme--complete with pink net canopy over my chair and pink silk flooring. I had cards and candy and Tinkerbell school supplies and a Hannah Montana poster in an antique frame. I knew who was responsible. My closest co-workers. My friends--my friends who took time out of their lives to make me feel, well, like a princess.

It was wonderful because I threw a party for myself and my closest, most reliable friends showed up because they knew it was important to me. They refused to let me down, even though putt-putt is not that fun and not everyone likes pie.

It was wonderful because my friends far, far away were thinking of me and calling me and wishing they were here to sweat their balls off playing putt-putt at night and eating pie.

It was wonderful because I knew that someone had my back. Someone was invested in me having a good time and made sure I was comfortable enough to let go and let it happen.

It was wonderful because friends drove 2+ hours to hang out for 4. It was wonderful because all my most faithful friends were in one place (spirit or otherwise) all getting along.

So what? I don't get it. Why is Alix all emotional because she has good friends? Because I haven't had good friends, I mean REALLY good friends. Friends who know what I really mean when I say "it's fine." Friends who know that I don't like beer and will only drink French 75's from a thermos. Friends who know that I worry about everyone else's good time before my own. Friends who know that I love princess stuff, even though I pretend like I don't.

Maybe this is what makes this birthday different. I feel a little different. I feel like a grown-up. I feel like I have a team. I didn't know it could feel this good. I didn't know this is how it could be.

Thank you to all my wonderful friends near and far. You are irreplaceable.

vomitorium

http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/sports/bb/7132223.html

Read the above linked article and then come back. Back? Good.

How horrifying is this article? On a scale of 1-10, 1 being mildly disconcerting and 10 being all consuming horrific, I give this a 7.4. A grown man intentionally vomited on a man and his 11 year old daughter. At a baseball game, America's pastime. He punched the dad after he vomited on him. I mean, seriously. That takes some guts (no pun intended).

I can't think of anything more humiliating that being vomited on, intentionally, and then beaten up. All visible on the jumbo tron. How do things like this happen? And who is this guy's parents? What if he has kids? Will he vomit on them to punish them? What color was the vomit? Was it mostly beer? Was it mostly hot dog? How much got on her? There are so many questions.

I don't understand how things like this happen. All I know, is if anyone puts a finger down their throat after an altercation with me--I'm running. I think I can outrun vomit.

just jump

There are these birds that walk on water. Well, not really. They walk on lily pads. Stepping carefully from pad to pad, hesitating, testing the next pad before putting on their weight on it. Sometimes it takes these birds a few test steps before they trust the lily pad to support their weight and get them to the next lily pad. Check out my friend in the picture. He is doing this.

I can not take credit for this knowledge. My dad said I was like these birds, African Jicanas. He would laugh and laugh at me as I tried to make decisions. I would test the waters over and over without making any real commitment to making a decision. I'd think about all the worst outcomes. And then I'd go, carefully. And sometimes, I'd get soaked. Most the time, I'd be fine and begin worrying about the next move. And that's how African Jicana's normally function. They make their way across lakes and ponds methodically moving from lilypad to lilypad, gently maneuvering their way to more food or better water or another African Jicana friend.

But sometimes, you wind up like the Jicana in the second picture. You run out of lily pads. You stand at the edge of all of other decisions and realize you've either backed yourself into a corner or that the next lily pad is there- it's just very far away.You can't test its strength. You don't know how it will feel. You don't know if it has roots. You aren't sure that you can make it without drowning. Now is the time for courage and creativity. So you jump. African Jicana's use their tiny, weak wings to fly very short distances. I guess, so do we, just until we make it to the next safe stop along with way. Those seconds in the air can feel like eternity.

In that eternity you aren't sure you made the right decision. You wonder if you will be safe again. You wonder about your African Jicana friend you left behind because you couldn't trust them for a lifetime . You hope that you can just make it to a landing spot. And if you can, you'll be ok.

Deciding to take a leap of faith onto a lily pad that is far away and very strange is hard. That strangeness overwhelms the reasons you knew you had to get to that new lily pad. At least, for a while. Then, when you are rested and fed and ready, you get ready to make another leap away from your old, another move closer to where you want to be. So you test, and you think, and you worry. Or you just jump. And trust, yourself.

marrwage

Weddings are so fun. They are full of emotion and love and friendship and hope for the future and endless possibilities. It is a joyous occasion.

My friend Lori and my friend Bobby got married this weekend. It was glorious in every way. I was reunited with people I hadn't seen in years. I got to be a part of the biggest day of Lori and Bobby's life. I made new friends and re-confirmed old friends. And, I realized that my life is very different than I thought it would be.

I can remember laying in my bed at night in high school thinking about which colors would be better for bridesmaid's dresses. Butter cream yellow or sage green. I used to think about flowers and rings and cake. I used to think about father-daughter dance music and walking down the aisle on my dad's arm. I was sure that I'd be married around age 25 and would have a little house in the suburbs. I'd have a job where I got to wear a suit. And then, I'd quit, get pregnant, and live happily ever after.

Now, I'm almost 25. I don't even like sage green anymore. I don't have a father anymore. I don't like the suburbs. And, I don't wear a suit to work. I'm not even sure I'll have a wedding. I haven't browsed Bride's magazine since 2002.

I used to think you just married someone you met in high school or college. I didn't know that that wasn't how it always happened. I didn't realize the complexities of building a life with someone. I didn't know that people could stop loving each other. I didn't know that you could date lots of people and never find the right person. I didn't realize that parents can die before you get married. I didn't know that you can get your heart broken a thousand times. I didn't know I could get to a place where I would doubt if I would ever get married. I never thought I would think that maybe I shouldn't get married.

Weddings are not about the wedding. They are about a partnership, a commitment, and a agreement to go through life's total bullshit and total wonderfulness together. I guess that's why I don't think about my wedding anymore. Weddings stopped being a little girl fantasy and started meaning something very real and something that I don't have. No need to put the cart before the horse.

Congrats to Lori and Bobby on their partnership. On their real, wonderful, and beautiful partnership. I can't think of better people to build a life together. Oh, and on that nice wedding too.

peanut butter to the face

This morning I was walking/running up the stairs at work with my tote bag, a napkin with a peanut butter and honey topped waffle, and a cup of coffee.

Then I tripped up the stairs and somehow my peanut butter honey waffle wound up on my face. Literally stuck to the side of my cheek. My coffee wound up on the stairs. And I wound up with a scraped knee.

Now my face is sticky and smells like peanuts. My knee is bleeding.

I'm just not one of those girls who gracefully walks up stairs and leaves the office just as pretty as when she came in. It just isn't me. I wind up with a peanut butter honey face.

7th circle of hell

As you may or may not know, I got stupid drunk on Saturday night with my baby sister and lost my drivers license. I had to fly the next morning without an ID, which is not as bad as you would think, and have been sans license since.

I made the trek to the DMV downtown today. It is a small DMV that has nice people that work there and non-florescent lighting. I walked in the doors and a huge yellow sign said "This DMV location permanently closed." I looked in the window and saw Texas finest DPS officers hitting on middle-aged, government employed women wearing capri pants and Crocs.

I got back in my car and drove 20 minutes in the rain to the North Lamar DMV. I pull up, walk in with all my little papers in order and I am immediately hit by the smell of dollar store cologne, enchiladas, feet, and old cooking grease. I humbly take my place at the back of a line about 30 people deep. This is just the check in line. I'm in hell, I'm sure of it.

There is one woman working at this check-in counter. She is turning away folks in this country illegally, she is dealing with people's stupid questions that should have looked at online or on the clearly marked signage around them. She is accomplishing these tasks as slow as humanly possible. She takes a 3 minute and 45 second break to get a cup of water. She is an athlete. She has to refuel.

10 people ahead of me now and said woman declares loudly "It's time fo' my break, I got to get up outta this chair." So she does. And leaves a line now snaking outside of the office and into the tiny, rain soaked parking lot standing there. I feel abandoned.

Two other ladies (one wearing a large Tweety bird t-shirt) take over for her and the line moves. I get my number. I sit in the plastic chairs. I'm sure they are covered in fecal material, HIV, and maybe lice. Everyone around me is speaking Spanish. They are all trying to get a liscense so they can drive to work so they can feed their family so they can do better than they've done before. One white guy looks like he's from Florida. He has a gold marlin medalion around his neck. He looks like he's made lots of bad decisions. I was right. I overhear his conversation about a suspended liscense, his attorney not turning in the right paperwork, and him not having $11 to cover his renewal. These are sad people, at least, they are to me.

One business man is in the corner talking about supply-chain orders and shipping costs. I wonder if he got drunk and lost his license too. A man sits in the corner with his daughter going over the driver's manual. She is nervous. He is proud. This is a big day for them.

There are 2 posters on the main wall. Both say "TEXAS HOLD EM" in fiery looking letters. One of the posters has flaming poker chips in the background. They are public service announcements. They say "Smuggle aliens, smuggle drugs, lose your CPL". I don't know what a CPL is. I think the word aliens is highly offensive. And, I don't understand the TEXAS HOLD EM connection. My career path is solidified once again.

As I think about other slogans for not smuggling human beings, my number gets called. I go up to the counter. A cash only sign makes my heart stop. I don't have $11 to cover my replacement. At least, not in paper form. The lady rolls her eyes at me and tells me she will hold my spot for 10 minutes. In 10 minutes she has to go on her break. I run to the Shell station 2 blocks down. The tiny ATM machine is tucked between a shelf of Slim Jims and a display of Mountain Dew. I chew on my bobby pin as I get my cash. The tiny, sweet Indian store owner comes over and lectures me on the dangers of chewing on things. I could choke. I could die. It could all be over because of this bobby pin and this Shell station and this stupid ATM.

I say that I should be more careful and run out the door, through the rain, and into the DMV. I by-pass the line and I'm back at the counter. She's still there, filing her nails. I have to take another picture. I'm soaking wet from the rain. This day will be with me until 2015. I'll be 30. Vomit.

So, I get my temporary license. I walk out the door and step in a huge oily puddle. I get in my car. I'm thirsty. I need some water. I am an athlete.