“I think you can tell a lot about people from the hors d’oeuvres, she said. I nodded & hid my Vienna sausage in a big plant in the hall & avoided her for the rest of the evening.” -my wonderful, witty friend Dana
“So.. are you going for a UVU or Euro- centric Jesus look?” -some guy in my Peace and Justice Studies class, on Jeff’s famous Jesus look. Really. He looks like Jesus- only happy. Except that he just chopped off his Jesus hair so he would appear less intimidating to conservatives he’s working with.
“You have done well, my minion.” -Ana, to Arielle, who’d just brought her a drink
“So you’re saying, the term “Eat Shit and Die” came from the ancient Peruvians in Nasca?” -my friend Ryan in my Bioarchaeology class, on the war- related practice of shrinking the heads of enemies and the discovery of fossilized ancient poo in the mouth of one of the shrunken heads
“I DO like it! It just felt weird at first!” -Bobbi, in my belly dance class, commenting on a choreography sequence- prompting my very first “That’s what she said.”
“Sorry for driving too close to your front bumper…” -homemade sign on the back of a truck at the post office
“Why do I get coffee? It only makes me jittery and AWESOME. But only awesome for about ten minutes, and then I’m back to being jittery. Does it help me write papers and articles? Not really. Does it help me update my status? Obviously. You guys are angels. Angels among men and other angels. You are also all beautiful. I can’t blink.” -my wonderfully creative friend Meg
MAKE COFFEE. Medium latte with a spoon of honey. Eat a waffle and an orange or something.
Get online. Check email and facebook crap, read the news. Close all but two tabs.
Go to dictionary.com on one tab, Pandora Radio with the other. Click on the Paris Combo list on Pandora.
Open reading in separate window, open Word in another for note- taking. Refer to dictionary.com whenever a word comes up that you haven’t heard in use since Gross Anatomy eight years ago, as Dictionary.com is counterintuitively better than www.medical-dictionary-online.com.
Click (control)+ a few times so you can lean back in a comfortable, if chiropractically ill- advised, position in your chair (usually in a half- fetal position wrapped in a blanket or four) and still read the font.
Ocassionaly get up to add ginger and orange peel or whatever to beef stir fry stuff in the crock pot, make small talk with wanderers stopping in to use the wi- fi or game with Matt, answer munchkin questions, usurp the bathroom.
Combination of caffiene, smooth jazz, and brain occupaion help create perfect intercranial atmosphere for the ignoring of vaccuuming, arguing, three- way discussions in the other room, people borrowing and replacing and tossing things onto my desk, company roaming in and out, people asking questions.
WARNING: COFFEE BEGINS TO WEAR OFF AFTER 2-3 HOURS. Mood gradually changes from floaty- comfortable concentration to hungry- and- need- and- creative- outlet distractability. People begin to flee perfect boring environment, causing changes in overall ambiance.
Solution: lukewarm Mango Ceylon tea. Too hot and your brain goes fuzzy, too cold and the effects are nullified.
Eat something. Chips and salsa. Tabbouleh. Squash. Pozole. SOMEthing.
Change Pandora playlist from Paris Combo to Solace.
Open Irfanview and edit photos in another window if brain wanders.
If it wanders too much, take a shower or a bath and do spa stuff and go over belly dance routine.
Caveat: IF IT IS SUNNY, YOU CANNOT STAY INSIDE. If you try, you’ll just end up staring longingly out the window. Take a walk somewhere and take pictures, or you will NOT be able to concentrate for shit. If it is not sunny out close the study off, clear the floor, and dance.
Late afternoon is too exhausting and distracting to study. Usually. Eat something and listen to Wait Wait… Don’t Tell Me! on NPR or watch the Flogging Molly “Float” video again. Once refreshed, study can begin anew.
As a general rule, sensing that you are relaxed brings everyone back into the sphere to ruin the mood. Return to reading. Go to Pandora, click on Trivium playlist.
People flee. Continue enjoying Trivium, Slayer, et al., or click Type O and Tool playlist depending on mood. Return to reading and note- taking. If attention is still wandering, switch to other reading assignments.
Practice Arabic. Go over phrases and words six or seven times, write each version of each character five times while repeating sound. Practice writing your name.
Eat a meal of some sort. Drink a giant glass of water or ice tea and take vitamins.
Play some Loreena McKennit to relax while reviewing notes. Check the time. If it’s after 10 p.m. on a school night, close out of everything and begin tooth- brushing, face- cleansing, tracking- down- person(s)- responsible- for- disappearance- of- dental- floss ritual.
Get shit ready for morning. Load backpack. Find some kind of food that can travel and doesn’t mind being smashed. Make sure phone is charged. Double- check assignments due. DON’T FORGET THE YOGA MAT.
Grab Palaeoepidepiology book and headphones and get in bed. Doze off trying to make sense of tables.
This SHOULD get you ready for tomorrow’s discussions, notes, etc. Unless you forgot to do laundry, eat, stay hydrated, take your B vitamins and calcium, or shower. Then you’ll be too distracted to think straight and possibly make an ass of yourself. Best thing to do under these circumstances is keep your damn mouth shut.
This concludes today’s episode of Notes to Self. Stay tuned for How to Deal with Whiny Bitches Without Screaming. If you remember to write it.
I was relieved as I left the last day of class today. Relieved and very cold. If you stand on a black surface in the sun while wearing four layers of clothing and a shell of some sort made entirely of aluminum foil, you might be able to feel the temperature rise to 19 F.
I passed a table in the Student Center where some club or something was passing out fliers. “Free hot chocolate,” a girl told me.
“Yay,” I said dully, and got some.
“You’ve GOT to be more happy about it than that!” said some guy. “It’s FREE HOT CHOCOLATE! Be enthusiastic! It’s such a great thing!!”
I gave a weary sigh. “Why do people think everyone has to be so damn enthusiastic about everything? It’s free hot chocolate. Thank you. But I’m not a very enthusiastic person. Why do people think they have to shout everything from the rooftops?”
I walked away with my hot chocolate and enjoyed being warm for the next five minutes. And I thought about why people, at least where I am, seem to think everything must be spoken and felt and portrayed in the manner of a high school football cheer.
I think it has something to do with our pervasive cultural narcissism. HEY LOOK AT ME! I’M DOING SOMETHING! People are constantly trying to get attention, ridiculously cheerful because We the People are Optimists, and if you’re not, well- that’s just un- American. Or worse, Emo. It’s not just a national personality, it’s an expectation.
Well, I reserve the right to disappoint people by acting happy when I’m happy, sad when I’m sad, annoyed when I’m annoyed. If something’s wrong, I don’t smile and pretend everything’s all right. I tried that once. I got a really bad stomach ache.
I have two finals left and I’m done with the semester. It will save us a lot of trouble, since I won’t have to drive to school and back anymore except for two more days. Yay. It’s going to be a small Yule celebration this year due to a lack of funds- and I know that’s the story for most everyone this year- but that’s okay with us because my kids are older now and don’t feel like Santa hates them if there aren’t presents piled to the ceiling. I do plan on baking a lot, though. Holidays are about food. That’s always been my very favorite thing about holidays.
Time to study pathological conditions of the skeleton. Yay! Now that I can be enthusiastic about.
An old friend of mine has been going through a difficult divorce. From another old friend of mine. I guess it’s finalized now. Today he posted on a social site, “The storm is finally over, I can finally see the rainbow.”
So where the fuck is MY rainbow? Really, I’m glad he’s feeling better again. I just wish I was, too.
Joe’s death hit me harder than I expected it to, once it sank in. He was just one of those guys you’re always glad to see, because he’s just so real and so cool and actually really cared about people.
The day of his viewing, I woke up to even more bad news. Fiend, our beloved sugar glider, had died.That hit me harder than I would have guessed, too.
Joe’s viewing was… well, it was a viewing. Long faces everywhere, a couple of very strong souls (his brother and mother were amazingly cool and admirable in so many ways), the deceased’s crying daughter (heartbreaking as all hell), and an open casket wherin lay my good friend.
It helps a little, I guess, seeing the empty shell of the person and knowing that they have moved on. At the same time, it really makes it hit home that they are really gone.
But no matter how much it hurt, I wish I’d just gotten home afterward and stayed there.
It was monday night. I needed a drink. So I drank with some friends, and shit happened. First, I got in a wrestling match over a computer mouse with someone almost twice my size. We were goofing off and laughing- I guess we were hilarious, right up until he really started hurting my wrist and I asked him to stop. And he didn’t until I practically yelled at him.
I put some ice on my wrist and talked to folks about Joe and other stuff- I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it because, after all, we HAD been drinking, and he was (I thought) a good friend of mine. But then…
They started playing scrabble without me while I was preoccupied. I LOVE scrabble, and he who shall still remain nameless was having trouble. Being drunk and obnoxious and a word game nut, I started rearranging his letters. I thought we were just goofing off and having fun again like we’d been doing pretty much all night- until he started screaming in my face to stop helping him.
I went outside in tears, called my husband and told him I wanted to come home, and told a friend to tell the screamer that I wasn’t coming back. And I meant not ever. His brother and his roommate stood up for him- I still can’t guess why unless scrabble letters are somehow sacred and no one told me. At least I had ONE friend stand up for me, and I’m eternally grateful.
Once I got home, I noticed that my wrist was swollen. Later, when I’d sobered up a bit, I noticed bruises all over my arms (because they really started to hurt). Maybe he doesn’t know his own strength, maybe he was being too rough and I was too drunkenly numb to be aware of it. At any rate, my husband is NOT happy. But no one else who was there has even bothered to ask since then, “so how’s your wrist?” Well, it’s still kind of purple and it hurts, if anyone gives a shit. This is going to make yoga tomorrow rather interesting.
In short: Physically hurting someone, intentionally or unintentionally: Peachy. No problem. Messing with someone’s scrabble letters: Horribly offensive.
And getting this guy to ever admit he’s wrong about something is like trying to get a dozen giraffes to form a Rockettes kick like.
So, I’ve lost three friends this week: Joe, Fiend, and someone whom I’m left wondering if he was ever a real friend in the first place.
Mostly, I miss Joe.
His funeral was yesterday, the day after the party disaster. I hadn’t slept at all and I looked like hell, but we were all bawling and nobody cared how anyone looked. We just missed Joe.
A lot of people spoke. I wanted to, but I was too traumatized because of everything, and that more than anything else about the previous night made me angry. But I had to admire the strength of Joe’s family, especially his mother and brother, who were overwhelmingly kind and magnanimous to everyone. They paid for lunch at a local Mexican restaurant- including beer- and we were able to relax there and remember our beloved friend.
Well, a couple of good things happened today. We have a new sugar glider, and I got an A on my Human Skeletal Analysis test. I need to ask Dr. Klaus, though, if I shouldn’t lose points because I had a hard time with the calculations, so instead of following directions I just looked at the bones to estimate the ages. I got them all right except one morphology question and one where I actually DID the calculation. And there was one calculation that I had somehow managed to get right.
I want to go snuggle with Matt now. He’s been working so hard lately, he barely has time for himself.
It’s a debate I hear all the time in my polarized state.
Whenever someone says anything about saving Darfur or helping feed children in impoverished Latin American countries, five people or more inevitably pop up and say, “No! We have to take care of ourselves first! Our country is having enough crisis, we’re not responsible for taking care of the whole world!”
Methinks these people don’t quite understand how interdependent humans really are. Helping someone across the world doesn’t mean you can’t watch out for your neighbors, too.
Increasingly, however, what I see is people looking out for themselves. None of the people saying “we should take care of our own country first” ever mention- to me anyway- any local charities they give to, if they’re buying local, or indeed any personal responsibility they themselves are taking for our fellow countrymen/ women. They seem to expect the government to just make all the right decisions for them, and the money will just flow where it should. No matter HOW much the government has proven over the years that they don’t hold themselves to checks and balances without their people watching them.
I wrote an article back on ‘07 about how we could stand not to shop at Abercrombie and Fitch if it means providing safe drinking water for a whole village- and got hate mail from someone telling me how dare I tell them what to do with their money. “You’re probably just some stupid college girl whose parents pay for you car and education and you get all your information from MTV.” Actually I’d recently been to an impoverished Mexican village of Tarahumara Indians where volunteers were helping install simple water filtration systems that had, thus far, had the direct affect of decreasing the local infant mortality rate by 50%. I’m not sure what they show on MTV as I haven’t watched since high school (what was that, 18 years ago?), but I’m relatively certain they’ve never even said “Tarahumara” on MTV.
I have no idea how much it costs to “adopt a senior,” but I can bet if people just got together and bought one or two items for these people each, no one would be broke, local seniors would be happier, and it would still be conceivable to help people abroad to have access to clean water.
If I hadn’t a complete lack of organizational skills, I’d try to get folks together. But in my experience, every time I bring it up people either get angry, or they turn their heads. Mostly with the head- turning.
So if I can, I’ll see if I can buy a couple of things for the seniors after I’ve made sure we have a roof over our heads for another month. That much of taking care of ourselves first, I can agree with. But buying a $50 sweatshirt with a popular logo on it first, I just don’t get.
I’d like to help a family with Sub for Santa someday, as they helped us when we were in need and the need has only grown for families with small children.
Okay, soap box put away now.
Another tragedy besides the death of my friend Joe has really gotten to me lately. And I don’t even know this guy:
Maybe it’s because I’m claustrophobic and I have trouble with the thought. Maybe it’s because it’s just a horrible way to die and seems so preventable. Maybe it’s because he leaves behind a pregnant wife and tiny daughter. Maybe it’s because my own husband LOVES caving and has explored Nutty Putty more than once. At any rate, it makes me want to cry. I can only imagine what his wife is going through, and I hope she has the support she needs to make it through this.
And just to make things that much more insane, Ana’s sugar glider had a crisis this morning. His toe got caught in a lace curtain, and as he struggled to get free, it just became tighter. I ended up having to cut the curtain around his tiny toe in order to free him. Then there was the matter of getting the rest of the cloth off his strangled toe.
Matt managed to shear it close enough to get it off without harming the animal, but it wasn’t easy. He was scared and shaking and would make his “angry fiend” noise and crawl back into his sock. Matt and Ana eventually coaxed him out with pecans and tomatoes, and Matt finally got him loose. But his toe is still broken. We managed to get some antibiotics on where there was a tiny spot of blood, then he took off again:
I do hike in the afternoons sometimes. Of course I still enjoy it, but I like mornings better. Mornings really do feel fresh and new. Depending on where I am, afternoons can seem stark and rather stripped away. The same trees are wide awake and looking intently toward the sun, rather than softly embracing the morning light. Morning is a comforting atmosphere to me, where afternoons are raw and expectant and I find myself hurrying even when there’s really no need. In the morning, there’s no rush in the forest. That’s all downhill in the city.
Sadly, the trees are getting to be bare now, and the sheltered forest isn’t so sheltered anymore. I’m no longer hidden on the trail from the joggers and teams of moms with strollers on the road. I like my solitude. It helps me think.
I haven’t had much gas in the car to get me to the canyons lately, so I’ve been walking over to see my familiar friends:
I find myself waiting for the snow. As much as I don’t like the cold, I love the new world it creates with its huge white blankets and tiny perfect crystals. The trees aren’t so bare anymore when they’re covered with snow, and no one else really likes braving the snow and ice. So, it’s all mine, purple fingers and all.
I am moved to tears by music more easily than anyone I know. I don’t know why- some kind of emotional twinge, I guess. But music has always had a huge effect on my state of mind. All I ever really wanted to be was a musician, but because of my learning disabilities (especially the ones that have to do with the recognition of patterns), I could only get so far in music lessons and such.
I’m extremely selective with my music. I can pull from pretty much any genre, but in some genres there will be two songs I like where others will have hundreds. Anything from jazz to death metal to North African popular music.
I’ve always loved choirs. They’re big in Utah, thanks to the LDS Church, and when I first came out here I almost joined one regardless of the fact that I’ll never be Mormon. The only reason I didn’t was because I was absolutely dirt poor and couldn’t afford the required attire.
Matt doesn’t care for choirs. I guess people who grew up in a church with serious choirs that are no longer interested in their childhood faith don’t care for them. The church I grew up in was run by a contemporary Christian band, and to this day I can’t stand what they call “adult contemporary” music. But I LOVE choirs- particularly when they’re as immensely talented as the ones I heard on the classical station this morning. That said, I have a new favorite song, and I was so happy no one else was around to see my tears as I watched this:
I listen to music alone a lot just because I’m afraid of how I’ll react to it and how people will react to me. If a room is full of people though, and a song comes on that I HAVE to hear, you might find me somewhere with a speaker by one ear and my hand over the other.
I hope the Nova Chamber Choir has a CD out. I need it for the holidays, so I can get the ambiance in my living room just right. Just right for me, anyway.
Yesterday, I spotted a bird that I think is a hawk, but I’m not sure. What do you think?
In other news: Holy cow, Levi- Strauss actually DIED!
No, not the jeans guys,THIS guy. Their cousin in some way or other. Among us Anthropology students, his insanely verbose but somehow brilliant and quite offensive at times (some think him a sexist bastard) essays have, and will continue, to baffle and educate our struggling brains. We were relatively certain he might live forever.
I’d better get ready for class. So much for a mid- morning nap.
Today after I dropped Matt off at work, I went straight up the canyon. I didn’t want to miss the fall colors there like I did last year.
They did not disappoint! I spent two or three hours skipping and hopping through the forest going :click: :click: :click: and had a blast. Here are the fruits of my, er, “labors:”
I was registering Ana at the Jr. High last week. She wanted to change a couple of her classes, so we sat in the office to wait to speak to a counselor. After a few minutes, one of the office ladies walked up and asked us, “Are you two new students?”
Yesterday, I was at the mall with Arielle. We stopped at the food court for a bite. “Mom, can I get one of these drinks?” she asked. The man behind the counter started shaking his head. “I only got one thing to say,” he said. “I did NOT think you were her mom. Sisters, maybe, but…” and he continued to shake his head.
So I use a little Oil of Olay with SPF 15 in the morning. I do belly dance and yoga- sporadically. Definitely not as often as I should. I’m generally laid back and calm. I meditate on occasion- again, probably not as often as I should. I try to eat right. I sometimes fail, as I’m a sucker for good food even if (or especially if) it’s covered in cheese or chocolate or anything else delicious… as long as it contains no corn syrup or hydrogenated oils. Unless it’s a holiday and the dish was made by a relative, then and only then will I be polite and eat it anyway.
In short, I don’t go out of my way to try to look younger.
Maybe it’s just that I still feel sixteen, and frankly, I hope I still do when I’m 80. But if it ever happens that I’m an octogenarian and someone mistakes me for a grandchild or something, I’m going to start wondering if I’m a guinea pig in some kind of government experiment or something.
Maybe Aphrodite just loves me.
But one thing is for sure- when I look in the mirror, I don’t see a teenager. I definitely see a woman in her mid- 30’s. So why doesn’t everyone else? Not that I’m complaining. I’m just curious…
Here are some pictures from the Farmer’s Market:
Arielle holding a baby bunny
I actually bought one of these gorgeous skirt/ dress things, and entered to win another one. There’s 12 different ways to wear them. If I’m going to spend thirty bucks on an item of clothing, I’m going to make it count. (Note: I do 90% of my shopping at thrift stores. Spending ten bucks on a skirt is a stretch for me. This is a SPLURGE.)
As Ana and I were driving back from her school the other day, I suddenly pulled over, grabbed my camera and got out of the car. Ana was confused. “What are you doing?”
“Look up.”
“What? Whoa! How did you SEE that?!”
And yesterday, I was calmly trimming my toenails and trying to keep the flying shrapnel and resulting furniture damage to a minimum when Ana burst through the door.
Apparently Spanish Fork canyon was on fire, and it was a much bigger fire than the previous ones. The news said nothing about it at all. I finally heard from someone that it was probably a controlled burn, but it was a word- of- mouth source.
Anyway, I’m off to get some school clothes for the girls (again). Why doesn’t anything fit right the first time?
Today is Arielle’s birthday. She had her party yesterday. We asked her what kind of cake she wanted, and she said “I don’t care:”
Matt took the opportunity to get creative. Why does the shark say “Ha?” Because that’s what Arielle has been saying instead of “Hi.” Probably to help us discern between when she’s saying hello and yes, as she does in Japanese; “Hai!” At any rate, we started calling it the ShaHArk” cake.
As has been family tradition since the girls were all in grade school, we had the party at our family friend’s, the McQuivey’s. The rope swing is still there, and everyone had a lot of fun on it:
…except for me, because I’d worn a skirt, and Arielle, who was busy with her friends and her boyfriend, J.D., who dresses a lot like my dad:
There were still a few kitties around, though Mr. McQuivey is no longer known as the “cat herder:”
Arielle got some nice presents and had a lot of fun.
Yes, she still draws on herself. -sigh- At least it’s artistic.
I wandered around the yard taking pictures:
(she’s not as angry as she looks, she just hates it when I take pictures of her. Too bad.)
We all had fun, we’re glad we can relax now. Ha. Hahahahaha.
