Stress in its purest form: 700 words and thick ice.

The pace of today has been on par with the slippery-ness of the ice packed down on the sidewalks and less-traveled roads (e.g. my route to work). It snowed yesterday, and while the news reported my area got 4 1/2 inches, I beg to differ; I set my coke can down on someone’s snowy hood, to see how deep it was, and it sank well below the snow level until I had to dig it out again. So, deep. I love it, except for the ice part; this is the first time this season that it’s snowed and then stayed below freezing for more than a day. Yesterday the high was something like 15. No worries, I worked from home in front of the fire, but today was almost worse, though the main roads have been cleared. At least my car thought so; it is dead again. The brand new battery I bought about six weeks ago is completely out of juice, for whatever reason. I’ve about had it. I might get the dealer to replace it and then go trade the whole car in for something new and shiny. Something with AWD, that won’t slip around as much on ice-packed snow. Something that smells pretty and makes my heart beat faster every morning when I slide inside and buckle up. Oh, the thrill of my 7-minute commute, in a new car. It is going to ROCK.

Anyway… I didn’t have time to deal with the dead car today as AAA was backed up, and I’m off tomorrow anyway, so I bummed a ride to work, as I will home, and will deal with it tomorrow. In the meantime, between now (4:00pm) and the morning, I have a 4-page brochure to write. Yes. Thus my comment about the pace. The prospect is making my stomach hurt, but I tend to work well under extreme pressure, so Pulitzer baby, HERE I COME!!! Haha! Ha. ha…

Jess has spent an unhealthy amount of time stretched out two inches from the fire, all four feet touching the hot metal grate, tail lazily flicking as his insides slowly bake to a crisp. Crispy kitty.

that is all.

post (and pre?) holiday blues

I'm trying to determine where my Sunday night went wrong. Although I guess given the circumstances, it was doomed -- last day of 4-day weekend and all. But my Sunday in general was good; very relaxing, semi-productive around the house, recharging after the holiday and such; but I've figured it out. What went wrong was Brokeback Mountain. Yeah, i finally caught it on HBO and man was it depressing. I don't even know that I liked it that much or understand why Heath Ledger got nominated for best actor (did he win?); it was simply haunting, tragic, and depressing. Bleah. Everything has been downhill from there.

Like what, you ask? Like my discovery of the unopened jar of roasted peanuts in the pantry, the one I bought for my dad and meant to take to my sister's. But forgot. That one. Also, too much Crystal Light? Is not a good thing. It is NOT the same as water, people. I'll leave it at that. TV has also sucked tonight. After the incredible Brokeback downer, an episode of the shockingly violent and raw series "The Wire" came on HBO. If you've never seen it? Make sure you're in a darn good mood when you do. But a good mood you're perhaps annoyed with, and ready to squelch. Then, knock yourself out.

All of this to say I am more bummed than usual on a Sunday night. It's the end of a 4-day weekend, the gorge-fest that was Thanksgiving, spending time with family, sleeping in for a few days, and now...back to normal. EXCEPT. Except for that pesky day coming up where you buy all the gifts? That one. Yes, that one. We're in the homestretch, the super-sonic-fast-crazy-stressful last month leading up to one single day that will surely be anticlimactic. It has been since I stopped believing in Santa. And did I mention that I don't get to go home this year?

However. I did put up a tiny tree today, decorating it with some ornaments I've collected over the past couple of years and forgot about since I've been Scrooge for, oh, three years now. So yeah, it's only 4-feet high and I give it maybe half a day of unsupervision before the cats eat it, but still.

fa-la-la-la-la
lala
la
la.

all about nothing

As I sit in my nest, halfway watching Intervention, taking more pictures of Jess I will not get around to downloading or uploading, my fireplace on and my window cracked, suddenly and unexpectedly the fragrance of fried chicken wafts seductively into the room. It takes me a few minutes to identify the sweetness, and then it starts: the foreign craving for fried chicken. I can honestly say I have not had fried chicken in years. I don't know how many years. But suddenly, I totally want it. Now.

Awww look, the meth head just agreed to go to treatment.

But back to the fried chicken. Holy CRAP did that smell good. I am really looking forward to Thanksgiving tomorrow at my sister’s house; my parents are in town and my sis and her husband are going to cook a delightful Thanksgiving spread for us. What this means to me, besides family bonding time, is REAL FOOD. Oh, how I miss real food. The only time I get it is at sistah's, and thank you very much sistah! I don’t cook, and I have yet to find anywhere really good to eat around here. So I survive on Lean Cuisines, soup, sandwiches, and other random odds and ends I pull from my cupboard. Yeah, and sometimes, um, pizza. And noodles. And.........never mind.
shut up.

So here we go again, deep into a blog post that started off with a point and has now degenerated into boring muck. Why does this keep happening lately??

Rather than prattle on, I'm going to end it. Why beat a dead horse? Not tonight, anyway. Happy Thanksgiving ---- wait-----------we're at the END of November????????

Whoa.

I find I’m flakier in Colorado

Now I know my Texas friends are all like, “HUH? Is that possible? You mean she bails on even more HHs and parties there than here???” Um, no. I mean literally flaky. As in, my skin falls off in delicate little flakes.

(Note: This is a beauty product post, so my thousands of male readers might want to stop here.)

My sister warned me this would happen. You see, I’ve never been a lotion-all-over-my-body person; I only put lotion on my feet, at night, before I go to sleep. I don’t know, shut up. Anyway, in Austin it was so humid all the time that I had no need to add more moisture to myself. But finally, halfway into November in CO, my arms itch. And my legs. And my back. And it’s freaking me out. Here’s the thing – I am far too lazy to lotion up my whole self. It’s just a lot of work, and then my hands are all wrinkly and over-moisturized. So I’m adjusting. There must be a better, more methodical way to get the job done than what I’m doing. It would probably also be more pleasant if I shaved my legs, but that’s neither here nor there.

So the good news is, I’m finally using up all the frilly lotions I’ve accumulated over the past two or so years of my beauty-product obsession. So that’s good. The bad news is, I’ve naturally become more high-maintenance just by moving here. BUT … the reduction in bad hair days ALMOST evens it out. ALMOST.

In other beauty news, I just discovered that Secret has a deodorant scent called “Sparkling Vanilla,” and no, it doesn’t affix glitter to your armpits. However, it smells much lovelier than your average floral/”fresh” scented deodorant.

That is all the girly-ness for today, I believe.

Chia-licious

Y'all, the chia is out of control. Check it:


It makes me sad that the chia instruction booklet says they only live about 4 weeks. Two more to go...

So it's Saturday and I'm sitting on my couch working. That's right, working. And thank God i'm on my couch, because yesterday I thought my laptop was broken and I so would have hated having to sit at my desk. Something about a desk screams "WORK" whereas if i'm lounging on the couch working, I can pretend I'm not. IS ANYONE FOOLED? I didn't think so.

It's cold today, and I like it. Jess is wheezing in front of the fire. A&E is muted on the TV. There's half a slice of cake in the fridge. And life is ... okay. Not GREAT, or I wouldn't be working on a Saturday, instead of with my friends in Austin. But still -- I see mountains out my window and it makes me feel a little better.

More to come... if anything interesting ever happens, that is... ;)

I miss my friends.

It's late, and I'm tired, and CO is going to have a Democrat Governor -- wooooo! But I can't stop feeling sad about this weekend. Because this weekend, you see, I have been scheduled to visit Austin and see all my peeps. And this weekend, instead I will be staying here, paying a penalty for changing a plane ticket,and most likely working. So, I am very sad. I am craving good Mexican food and margaritas and the smiles of the people I love. sniffle. sniffle.

In lieu of my trip to Austin, I am finally going to post some of the great pics from my going-away Happy Hour that I never got around to posting before. I present to you, my friends:

Anita and Babs


Hope and Tamara

There are more, but blogger crashes if I post more than a couple photos at a time, so they'll have to wait. I can't believe I've been here three months now. CRAZY.

Anyway, I will be going to Austin soon, but not this weekend. So to all my friends back home, please have a margarita for me, ok?? EACH of you, ok? Have a good ole TX margarita buzz for me...

And know that I miss you terribly.

What a difference a day makes...

...in the life of a CHIA, that is!! Behold, 24 hours after the one I posted yesterday:

I'm SO going to win :)

how do you explain the concept of divorce to a 6-year-old?

Well, as it turns out, you don't.

Last night I had dinner at my nephews' house, and somewhere between the drinks and the main course my 6-year-old nephew asked me

Aunt Lisa, how come you're not married?

Everyone froze for a moment, then my sister began explaining that not everyone gets married, some people are happy to be alone, etc etc. Now being silly, he came back with

But Aunt Lisa, have you ever married a lion? Or a bat? Or a reptile?

and I answered him truthfully:

Well, I did marry a snake once...

He seemed satisfied with that.

Larva sprouts send team into fits of ecstasy

So I’m growing a pet chia dinosaur. But wait – it’s not just me; my whole row of cubes at work is having a chia contest! Yes! There are 6 of us participating, and amazingly, we all ended up with different chias. I have the Dino, but there is also a Scooby-Doo, a Mad Scientist head, a Donkey, a Hippo and a Cow. We spread our seeds (hehehe) last Tuesday and by last Friday they had started sprouting – we finally determined that’s what the white-rice/larva-looking things were sticking off the clay – and by today, after a weekend away, there was CHIA MAGIC. Today we came in to a sea of green leaves!! It’s all very exciting, considering I can’t grow a damn thing except ivy, historically. And chias are deceptively high maintenance, if you didn’t know. I didn’t. In any event, mine is doing well, as evidenced here:



Other people are doing fancy things like bringing in grow lights and “green housing” their chias overnight with plastic bags – but I’m proud to say I’m going natural and so far so good.

Did I mention we’re in the high-tech industry? Does that explain a lot?

Anyway, I know that was uber compelling, but I’ve really been struggling with my bog lately, so that’s all I can give you for now... sit tight for REAL-TIME chia updates.

possibilities...

I am not frazzled today, for the first time in over a week. This is a good thing. Last week, when I was trying to do ten hundred frillion different projects and run to 40 gajillion meetings and run 890 trilgazillion errands, I remember the thought briefly crossing my mind that damn, I could sure use a clone. Why are we so opposed to cloning, again? Besides the innate creepiness and the frightening possibilities of life-gone-wrong, I mean? Come on now. Couldn’t you use a clone of yourself?

If I had a clone, I’d totally give it all the shit work while I’d go travel the world. Just think – as quickly as the clone could earn money, I could spend it! I wouldn’t even have to wait till the weekends! Or work around vacation time! On other days, I’d leave the clone at home to clean. Really scrub. Hell, I’d have the clone wash the cats.

The possibilities are endless. I could take the clone shopping with me, because I love shopping, but I’d make it try on all the clothes, so I could be forever spared from the harsh, unforgiving lights of the dressing room and the demoralization that comes from stuffing your body into stretch jeans that are STILL too tight. I would always have a designated driver. In fact, I could make it drive me everywhere, all the time! And at night, while I slept, I’d make the clone get a second job on the night shift. Just for extra spending money, you know. For all the traveling.

I would sign the clone up for eHarmony so it could weed through all the weirdo losers, and then I’d step in when it found someone worthy. Just think of it – no more bad dates, ever again. Kick. Ass. And if I did settle down and have a baby someday, the clone could totally babysit and do all the night feedings, too!

Bring it on, mad scientists of the world, bring it on.

CO photo array

Tonight I finally FINALLY downloaded the pics of CO I've taken on my camera in the past few weeks. So in lieu of a deep and meaningful post, instead, I present you with my photo array.
First is the first snowstorm of the season. I say "first" because there have been THREE!!! This one was a couple of weeks ago, and it was my first real snow since I was 11. The photos are taken from my apartment balcony.




Now, here's a pic of the giant snowstorm we had last Thursday - 18 inches or so - my sistah posted pics of their antics on the big day. I stayed indoors and took pics instead...

singletons unite

Today I was reading this fish, and I stumbled upon this excerpt, referring to how she wished she could respond when people ask her why she is in her 30s and still single:

Well, because! Because I have unrealistic expectations. Because I really, really like myself just exactly this way. Because when I’m single I’m funny and rambunctious and relaxed. Because love makes me anxious and worried about losing things and having been there just too many times, the idea of loving anyone or anything more than my idiot cat absolutely terrifies me. That’s how come!

OMG. She totally stole that out of my brain, only I’ve never verbalized it so clearly. I read that and just…stopped. She’s exactly right. That is how I feel.

At first I felt such an utter sense of relief that I am not the only one. Followed by a swift, crippling sadness. Then that faded right back to relief at my simple, selfish, carefree life. I am not sad, not really; I know I will let someone in when I’m "good damn and ready", as my friend Christine used to say…

Seasonal update

I know, I know, it probably seems like months since I updated. But I've been very busy, people; I mean, what with THE SNOW and all!!! :) :) :)

Yes, now that I'm in Colorado I'm one of those annoying Texans who flips out in giddy, childlike excitement at the first flutter of snow, who embraces the bone-chilling cold and in fact stubornly refuses to don a coat -- because I enjoy the cold over the heat of Texas JUST THAT MUCH.

It actually started snowing while I was at work Tuesday, very slowly in the morning, then picking up speed as the day progressed until it culminated in a snowy storm that gave us 4-5 inches. Yay! Anyway, you can clearly tell who has lived in CO their whole lives and who the TX transplants are. Us Texas exes were pressed up against the glass all day, staring out in rapt fascinationg at the pretty flakes! Look at them! See how they fall! From the sky! and the CO-natives were all hunched at their desks, grumbling about ice and traffic and plants and stupid things like that. And to that I say, embrace the magic, people! Snow ROCKS!!!

I have more pics on my other camera, which I will post in a timely manner (I promise), but for now I present to you my car about halfway through the storm. (Actually, it's a photo of my car after I'd driven home and parked in my apt parking garage. So that's why it's not COMPLETELY covered...):


I'm serious, y'all. If I could marry a snowman I totally would.

Welcome to my imaginary world.

I knew I wanted to be a writer soon after I discovered the wonder of reading. I read my first “thick” book, on my own, in 2nd grade. It was called Otis Spofford, by Beverly Cleary. Of course all her other books followed: the Beezus and Ramona series, the Mouse and the Motorcycle, Henry Huggins. Then I moved on to Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Roald Dahl, and eventually, Judy Blume. I giddily looked forward to those book clubs from which you could order books in elementary school (do they still do that, btw??). Reading opened up a whole new world for me, an exciting world where I could escape from the everyday monotony of being a kid in the 70s. On a military base. In Kansas. With a little brother who drove me up the wall and beyond.

I read so much that it was messing with my pronunciation. I knew what words meant, in context, but I’d never heard them spoken, so I’d pronounce them all wonky, much to my parents’ amusement. Example: I can’t tell you how utterly crushed I was to find out that a book I had read about a magical island (it was something about a dragon and an island and I’ve been searching Amazon but can’t find it) was just an “eye-land” and not an “izz-land”, which in my head was a magical, mystical place. I was devastated. The book was ruined for me. There was another time when I breezily referred to heredity at the dinner table and couldn’t understand why my mom was snorting – I had pronounced it “herra-ditty”.

I got my own bedroom for the first time when I was in 4th grade. My dad let me move into his office in the basement, the one he built when we moved into the tiny duplex on base. I slept on a fold-out couch with a “sump pump” in the corner, but I didn’t even care because I COULD READ ALL DAY LONG AND NO ONE WOULD INTERRUPT ME. Also, since I now slept in the basement with no windows, I could sleep late on the weekends without the light waking me up. Yes, my habits started early. Shut up.

My summers in Kansas were spent reading novel after novel in the basement and then riding my bike to the library with my BFF Meredith once or twice a week to load up on new books. I probably read 4-5 books a week, seriously. I always gravitated to fiction, and that is where I remain to this day. I know lots of people who diligently read self-help books or how-to books or educational books – but I’ve never been able to get that into anything but fiction because reading anything else reminds me of required reading in college. Which I hated. It’s the rebellious streak in me, I suppose. I can’t get into most nonfiction, no matter how hard I try. I just don’t enjoy it and it takes me for. ev. ah. to finish. And if I’m going to tax my tired eyes at night with more reading (beyond the computer all day long) I’m going to read something fun, something that helps me escape. The one exception to the nonfiction rule is the memoir – for some reason I love reading about other people’s fucked up childhoods. Go figure.

I enjoy books way more than movies. I’ve never been one of those people who has seen every cool movie that comes out – I usually catch it later on TV or HBO and don’t feel I’ve missed that much. The book was probably better anyway. Movies are an escape, don’t get me wrong, but an escape that only lasts a couple of hours. A book can get you into your imagination for days, even weeks at a time. I’ve never understood people who don’t enjoy reading. I just don’t get it. You can go anywhere in the world and beyond! You can experience everything! How utterly freeing! I can’t tell you how many times I’ve finished a good book and felt such a sense of loss that the funk hangs on for a couple of days, as I’m depressed to no longer be a part of that world. Until I find the next one…and there is always another world to explore, another story to tell.

All of this to say, I have always known I wanted to write. I wrote my first “book” when I was in 5th grade, and it was a very detailed science fiction story that I can still picture very clearly in my head. I’m quite confident my mom has it somewhere in the attic… I went through the bad poetry phase in high school, and then got more serious in college. I used to think I wasn’t old enough to write a novel because I hadn’t done enough. Today I realize I’m 36 and damn, I probably have stuff to say, stories to tell. So what have I done about it? Well, almost two years ago I started this blog thingie...

...to be continued...

Exploring Colorado: Chapter 2

This past weekend was an interesting one. I got up early on Saturday to get a massage. Which – yay! On my way home afterwards, I was hungry and passed a Denny’s-type breakfast place – so I stopped and had breakfast. Alone. And didn’t even feel too self conscious. Then I went home and took a nap, which is fortunate because I didn’t yet know the plans that had been put into motion for that night… bwa ha ha ha ha!!!

But seriously. My friend K got us tickets to see a play downtown – downtown Denver, which I had not seen yet and had been dying to explore! An actor she worked with on a video recently was in the play. She also invited a long-ago friend of hers living in Denver, and he then invited us to the Grand Opening of the new wing of the Denver Art Museum – at midnight!!! (theme: exclamation points). The deal is, the tickets were free, but people had to stand in line to get them last week and they were for specific time slots – the museum was open for something like 35 hours straight. So ours was at midnight. He just happened to have two extras. We joked that we wouldn’t be home til 3, ha ha ha! Um…we weren’t.

So the play was really really good. And those of you who know me well know that I’m not usually a live production type of person – watching people perform, live, gives me a stomachache. I think it’s because I project how I would feel in that situation onto them – and I cringe if there is even the slightest mistake. I know – freak. But anyway, it was funny and interesting. After the play, we still had three hours to kill until midnight so we stayed for the (prepare yourselves) comedy improv group that performed after the play. Now – I typically hate live comedy. Same reason as above, except add to that the extreme discomfort if they’re not funny. But – it was really funny and entertaining and an all-around good time. We then had two hours left, so we went to a bar called Hamburger Mary’s and chatted until it was time for the museum.

The museum. It was awesome. It has received a lot of attention for its unusual and famously-designed architecture, which while somewhat impractical, was very stunning to look at. And it was also surreal being in a packed museum at midnight! There were soooo many people there, and some good people watching too. I definitely got a glimpse into the hip side of Denver. The first exhibit we saw was my favorite, but we spent about 2 ½ hours exploring before heading home for the night. Arriving at my doorstep at 3am.

Sunday was a complete loss, but so worth it. Finally, I have seen downtown! I have ventured out of my comfort zone of North Denver/Boulder! I have seen a museum in a new city!

So there you go.

frolicking salamanders

This pretty much sums up my Friday:



What you're looking at, folks, is two gummy* salamanders getting frisky by the glow of the iPod.

I'm so glad this week is almost...ovah.........


*gummy - yes, as in edible

Excuse me while I dust myself off after my fall from the face of the earth...

Um, yeah. So I haven't posted in a while. It's not that I have had nothing to say, I've just been ... preoccupied, and too busy to say it! Even now, I can't think of a quick way to sum up the past couple of weeks except through my favorite format, a LIST! I know, choke back your excitement. In the past two weeks, I have:

- entertained the lovely Hope, who visited me from Austin
- replaced the battery in my car
- bought a lovesac


(yeah, that's me on it -- doesn't Colorado look good on me?? riiiiiggghhhttt......)

- been swallowed by said lovesac
- hung pictures in my apartment - finally!
- babysat my nephews
- hosted my sistah for a girl's night
- discovered the wonders of HBO On Demand

So I've been somewhat busy. But still, I apologize for my absence. Sadly, I've got nothing else to share at the moment, except that YAY, Monday's over! More soon....don't worry, i'll think of something...

Exploring Colorado: Chapter 1

On Sunday, we had the most perfect. weather. evah. It was in the 40s in the morning and only reached maybe 60 all day long! Perfect for sunbathing? No. But for hiking? Oh yeah baby. So I got up early (yes! on a Sunday!) and me and my friend Kirby drove up to Boulder (about 15 minutes -- because WE LIVE HERE AND IT ROCKS) and went for a several-hour-long hike. I'm probably going to spell this wrong, but the park is called Chautauqua and has tons of trails; we picked one that was supposed to be easy.

Um. Maybe for someone who can actually breathe the CO air, perhaps; but for me? Still adjusting to the altitude and out-of-shape to boot? Let's just say it was a bit...challenging... But Kirby was very patient with me and took lots of pics every 2 minutes when I had to stop, gasping for breath. I will now post some of the pics. And please note the hella blue sky... that ain't no Texas sky, my friends :)


Before the hike: hopeful; naive


After 5 minutes of hiking at a slight incline







The rest of those are views of the Flatirons (which I can also see from my apartment) and then me and Kirby sitting in these stone chairs someone built up at the top. Also, I learned today, upon bragging to someone at work that I went to the "mountains" this weekend, that "those aren't the mountains; those are hills". Um. To this Texas girl? THEY'RE MOUNTAINS.

finding me again

When I was going through much self-revelation years ago (with the help of a talented therapist), I was encouraged to think about my childhood in a more analytical way. Interestingly, I had never spent a lot of time dwelling on any particular childhood memory. It was really hard at first; I couldn’t remember much of anything. But the more I thought about it, the more things would come back to me.

I’d remember roller skating in those barbaric metal skates that strapped to your sneakers, careening at a frightening speed down the bumpy sidewalk hill that skimmed the edge of the courtyards on Pick Avenue. I vividly remembered the exhilaration I’d felt, the excitement at the risk involved, and the trust I somehow had in myself not to fall. I can close my eyes and feel it even now. I can feel my knobby kid-knees absorbing the bumps, the cracks in the sidewalk, as I continue to gain speed. Would I do that again now? No way. What is the difference, I wonder? Well for one thing I haven’t skated in years. But more than that, I don’t trust my body anymore, I don’t trust my balance. Nor do I have the nerve to let the wind blow through my hair as I squint into the sunshine, bending my knees slightly as I fly down a hill. I am afraid. Hmm, I thought as an adult, interesting.

The roller-skating memory led me to a memory of a parade the neighborhood kids tried to put on, in the same neighborhood during the same time period. The details in my mind are sketchy, but it involved a wagon and the same bumpy sidewalk. Maybe a tape recorder playing tinny Olivia Newton John tunes. Costumes. But mostly, the excitement of planning it. Gathering the kids together, figuring out who would do what, alerting the adults to watch…but oddly, I don’t remember the outcome. The actual parade is not part of my memory. It seems it didn’t turn out as cool as we had anticipated, but what ever does? As an adult, I am curious about that excitement I felt in planning to entertain. Being part of a group, even being a leader. Wanting to impress the adults. Wanting to perform. Nowadays, I hyperventilate at the thought of giving a presentation – what happened to that exhibitionist child prancing about in Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas?

When I was a girl I climbed trees. I didn’t mind getting bumped and scraped, I wasn’t afraid of heights; in fact, I thrived on the dizziness the higher I got. I can remember being high, high up in the air, clinging to a scratchy branch, heart pounding, grinning down at my sister triumphantly. I gave no thought to the scary bugs that live in trees (although I may have been mildly on the lookout for spiders [shudder]); there was no worry of falling, not really. But now, I get woozy at any height. I can’t look over my own balcony without feeling an alarming sense of vertigo. Where did my fearlessness go?

It goes on and on like this. It baffles me that these images and feelings are still so clear in my head, but I can’t fathom being comfortable again with the risk, the exhilaration, the giddy fear, the butterflies in my stomach.

What I’ve been thinking about is, when and why do we lose that childhood sense of self? If I really think about it, I can say that it was 7th grade when I started thinking of myself as inferior to other “cooler” people. Not that I didn’t have angst in 6th grade, but we moved from Kansas to Texas between 6th and 7th, and there was quite a difference between 12-year-olds in the two states. I remember how shocked I was that girls my age in Texas carried purses and wore makeup. I was sort of thrown into the shark-infested waters of middle school with no transitional period — I didn’t have the slightest idea of the adolescent brutality I was in for. I had never heard of designer jeans until it was too late and I didn’t have any. I still had goober glasses. Etc. I don’t think I climbed trees anymore after we moved to Texas. I became more concerned with my feathered bangs and the (wrong) emblem on my shirt. I started comparing myself to others and coming up short.

I really miss the carefree days I had as a child. I miss trusting myself, knowing my body won’t fail me, feeling confident enough to actually seek out attention. I miss climbing high into the green branches and peering down at everyone else, as if I have a secret that no one else shares. I miss feeling that not only am I good enough, but in fact I’m pretty darn great.

thinking inside the box...

I had a good weekend – very productive in the settling-in department. Sunday my sis and the boyz (including my BIL) came over and helped me do some things –- my BIL, who’s a SUPAHSTAH, hung my dresser mirror and reassembled my desk – so yay! I have a working desk now! And I can see myself in the mirror! Yes. He also helped us dispose of more empty boxes – remember how I said a few weeks ago, Nic and I experimented with dropping boxes from my 4th-floor balcony? Rather than carrying them down the 8 flights of stairs? And the loud gunshot noise? Well, we tried this again, only this time…my BIL insisted on catching them. As in, he stood on the ground below my balcony and Nic and I threw box after giant box overboard and watched as he caught them and threw them away. It went pretty well until the last box, but it was a doozy. Nonetheless, everyone (even my BIL) agreed it was MUCH better than carrying them down one by one. (for those of you wondering why I don’t just break down the boxes, I do when I can – but we’re talking about pounds and pounds of wrapping paper stuffed into each box, and it’s not worth the effort to try and get all the reams of wasted paper in a bag separately… trust me on this. Sunday I unpacked the next-to-last kitchen box, which was about as tall as my waist; inside this heavy, jam-packed-w-paper box? Six drinking glasses, a vase, and salt and pepper shakers. I AM NOT JOKING – it’s ridiculous, the paper waste…)

Anyway. After the fun-at-Lisa’s-apartment time, we loaded everyone up and went to Boulder for a few hours. It was great – highs in the high 60s, breezy, and while it threatened rain while we were there, we didn’t actually get (that) wet. My oldest nephew was called upon by a street performer to squish himself, and another little boy from the audience, into a small clear box. Behold:




All in all, I’m just a tiny bit closer to feeling like I’m not just on an extended vacation in Colorado…