I HAVE LAPSES IN JUDGEMENT

I had a date Friday night. I won't tell you the details of the actual date but I will tell you the befores and afters of the the whole thing. Remember how I used to be signed up for that free dating site? Well...this date was with one of those guys. He asked me to come to his place for dinner and I said yes. I said yes because he asked. This makes me sound easy (most Earth girls are) and maybe I am a little. But I thought that it had to put this guy in a really vulnerable position to ask a stranger out to begin with. The least I could do was be kind and supportive. Plus it got me out of the house. The thing is though...I really didn't want to go. I was forcing myself to go because it was out of my comfort zone to do this. Like reallllllyyyyyyy out my comfort zone. First of all, the guy lives an hour away and as I was navigating myself to his place, I made a mistake. I ended up driving for 40 minutes in the complete opposite direction. You would think that I would have taken that hint from my subconscious, but no. I turned around. I went. I listened. I ate. And then I skedaddled out of there. But the important part is that I did it and I'm still alive to tell the tale. See? I can meet new people and hold down a conversation that doesn't include the words "this one time, Chris and I...".

I can hear some of you screaming from here "Cindy!!!! What Where You Thinking?!?!?!". It's OK. I was safe. I had people who knew my whereabouts. Actually, my favorite text came the next day from my friend Jeff who said "are you alive? Text me the name of my kid, so I know it's you". Chad had a safe word I was to text him when I got home. I was being looked after. I never felt threatened or unsafe and I learned that I can handle myself in an uncomfortable situation. I learned a lot actually. First of all? NEVER meet a complete stranger on their turf. Choose neutral ground.

I know I've talked often here about authenticity and allowing people to see my vulnerability. I've come to realize that the world of online dating is all about vulnerability. Maybe not so much authenticity, but definitely vulnerability. Actually, I think that's why there's such a lack of authenticity. Being vulnerable is scary. It's easy for me to be vulnerable here because I know you guys love me and support me. But out there in a mess of strangers? There's just too many of us that have been brokenhearted enough to be suspicious of each other, handing out bits of information in snip-its and code. Suspicion and vulnerability do not dance well together. Add that to trying to figure out what it means when a guy virtually winks at you and suddenly you're back at that eighth grade dance you wish you'd skipped.

I'm learning to balance my vulnerability and authenticity without being suspicious. I think I'll be ready for clown college next.

ADDING TO THE MUSEUM LIST

I visited TWO museums while I was in Atlanta, adding to #61 on the Life List. The first one we visited was the Jimmy Carter Library and Museum. I totally geeked out over this one. Jimmy Carter is one of my all time favorites. He's my birth year President (meaning he was elected in 1976, the year I was born). He's just the loveliest man. His life and story fills me with hope and inspiration. He's the Mr Roger's of Presidents.

Chad and I had made it into the middle of the museum when one of the attendants came around the corner and said "hey! you guys want to meet the President?". We were not the only people in that museum, but that guy made a beeline right for us (again with the magnet). I think my heart may have stopped beating. The attendant told us that if we hurried, we could see President Carter in the cafeteria. So Chad and I took off towards the cafeteria. Chad was changing out lenses on his camera as we ran and I was trying to figure out how I was not going to ugly cry all over President Carter. But when we burst (and I mean burst) through the cafeteria doors all we found was a table of regular senior citizens and couple of secret service people. We'd just missed him. But....WE WERE IN THE SAME BUILDING AT THE SAME TIME!!!

The second museum was the Michael C. Carlos Museum which is full of wonderful Greek and Egyptian antiquities. What I really liked about this museum was it's size. It's tiny, but full of greatness. It contains just enough.

And this picture, because I am mature.

I feel like I should say more about the Michael C. Carlos, but all I can say is that it should be on everyones must see list. Except go on a day when they are not using lots of varnish some where in the building. Or do...it may enhance the experience.

I'M THE NEW PUNCH BUGGY GAME

After Chad picked me up from the airport Wednesday afternoon, we had a few errands to run to prepare for their big party on Saturday. We went to Home Depot to pick out some flowers to plant in the planters on their front porch. While we were debating what color mums to buy this woman walked over to us and just kind of inserted herself into our business. First of all she walked without swinging her arms. You want to freak Chad out? Walk up to him without swinging your arms. Any way, the woman wanted to know what we had planned for these mums so I told her they were for a party. Then she asked me what we planned to do with them after that. I looked a Chad and then back at the woman and said "keep them?". She then went on mumbling something about how we could eat the ornamental cabbage (I don't think that you should eat ornamental cabbage). Chad and I just nodded politely and then moved very far away. We made it inside and Chad was all "What was with that woman?!?!". I just laughed, waved it away and half jokingly said "Oh...that happens to me all the time. I won't be surprised if it doesn't happen lots while I'm here". An hour later we were in Richard's Variety Store. It has EVERY THING except food, but they have candy, so that counts. We were in the kids musical instrument section and Chad was telling me this story about a recorder (the flute kind) and this strange man comes from two aisles over to join in on the story. You know when you get the giggle fits in church to the point that tears leak out your eyes from trying to hold it in? Yeah...it was like that. I couldn't control myself so I just clamped my hand over my mouth and walked away leaving Chad standing there with the strange guy. A few minutes later, Chad rounded the corner and punched me in the arm. He said he'd just invented a new game called (I'm changing the name for political correctness) Crazy Punch.

I do tend to be a magnet for the weirdos. I've never really kept track of how many times a day it happens. I just assumed that this happened to every one at least once a day. Thursday I got punched at least three times. Friday...I lost track. Saturday I thought I'd be safe because that was party day and why would crazy oddballs show up to Chad and Jess's party? Do you see the ridiculousness of that sentence? Why wouldn't a crazy oddball show up at Chad and Jess's party? By Sunday, I'm pretty sure Chad was ready to be rid of me and my weirdo magnet.

And this is how I ended up with a bruise the size of Chad's fist on my right arm. He's an abusive Mother F@#$r.

(Just kidding. I was not actually harmed while staying with Chad and Jess.)

STARTING IN THE MIDDLE

I packed a lot in a very short amount of time, but instead of starting this story at the beginning, I decided to start with something we did in the middle of the trip. When I bought my tickets to Atlanta, I texted Chad and told him to think of a good spot to leave some of Chris's ashes. He called me in a bit of a panic because he couldn't think of a good spot. I told him "no, no, no...this is not something to stress over". I said we'd find the right spot by accident. And then Jess posted a picture of a plaque for the Hoo-Hoo Trees on her Instagram feed. I said "that's the place". She had found it by accident. The Hoo-Hoo club was originally founded in the 1800s by men in the forests products industry and their official name is the Concatenated Order of the Hoo-Hoo. "The founders wanted the organization to be unconventional and unregimented. Its one aim would be to foster the health, happiness, and long life of its members." You can read more about them here. The Atlanta chapter of the Hoo-Hoo was founded in 1921. Chad read this. And we cried and laughed and it was perfect. I did not have a Lucille Ball moment this time.

I can't think of a more appropriate place in Atlanta to leave Chris.

THINGS WE CARRY

This morning I cleaned out my purse in preparation of my upcoming trip. It wasn't bad really, mostly just random bits of receipts and various business cards. The ribbon is from our last cookie tray at lab meeting. The cookies come from a local bakery and they always tie up the cellophane wrapping with a pretty ribbon. I pretty much always take the ribbon, unless it's a color I just don't like. The ribbon will eventually end up on a present. All the ribbons that tied little toys onto the birthday advent cards I sent Talaura are cookie ribbons. The colored strings are friendship bracelets Cati made for me and Chris. The orange one is Chris's. I had given her a friendship making kit for her birthday or Christmas (I can't remember) and those are the fruits of her labor. They've been in my purse all this time partly because I forgot and partly because I was planning to have someone help me tie one onto my wrist. I don't know why there's a clothespin in my bag.

In the front pocket, mixed with the five tubes of lip balm that never seem to make it onto my lips, I found a rock, a seashell and my badge from the Met. The day Talaura and I went to Fire Island, I did what I always do at a beach. I picked up shells and rocks. After we trekked all over the island, we stopped in to visit with her friends and I set all my sea treasures down and forgot about them. It wasn't until we were on the train back home that I realized I'd left them behind. I pouted for a minute and moved on. But apparently this one rock and seashell made it's way into my bag that day. I think it's because they were the first things I picked up and I still had my bag looped over my shoulder. Which means they are the first impression of that day.

The badge from the Met is actually my ticket into the museum. Every day is a different color. I wonder if colors repeat. If it was another green badge day, could I wear my badge and sneak into the museum for free? I think if I lived in NY, I'd have a bowl of Met badges. These are the things that collect in my bag while I'm traveling, and these are the things that take the longest to be cleaned out. I like to think of it as carrying around the good memories. I wonder what will collect in my bag during my travels to Atlanta. I'm sure it will be more good memories to carry around with me for a while.

HANG ON LITTLE TOMATO

Boys didn't find me attractive in HS, or if they did, they were not very good at letting me know they were interested. This is how things went for me then. I either liked a guy who was not interested (most always) in me or a boy would like me, we'd "go out", he'd tell me that he loved me, and I would end things (twice...this happened twice). I'm sure that true love exists at a young age. I just wasn't sure that it existed for me. I always loved the idea of escaping to college more than having a boyfriend. Besides that, I just didn't understand the whole process. When you're in elementary school, you know a boy likes you when he hits you or pulls your hair. As we get older it moves from action to verbal, except you're never really sure if the guy is verbally being mean to you because he really likes you or if he's just a jerk. Most likely (particularly in my case) he's just a jerk. I found the whole process not worth bothering over and spent a lot of Friday evenings Liz Lemon style. The online dating world is just like high school. I deleted my profile from the free online dating place today because it was turning into a process not worth bothering over. I was tired of the constant barrage of one line messages of "hey insert one of the following: sweetie, sexy, gorgeous" and messages from grown men that use "lol!!!" in every other sentence. Can we all just please stop using "lol"? It grates on my every last nerve. I am the first to admit that my grammar skills could use some refining. Most of that is really because I hardly ever proof read anything. But that place made me look like a grammar professor. It also made me feel unclean.

Here's what I liked about that place though. It allowed me to use my real name. I feel like that place gives people a better opportunity to be their authentic self. What I realized is that some people, and I mean most, do not take the opportunity to do so. I get that using your real name puts you "out there" and can be a little scary. My name will lead you straight to this blog, which is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, this is the place to really get a sense of who I am. On the other hand....this is the place to get a sense of who I am. Slippery slope my friends. But I have to say that I am disappointed that most of the people on that site did not take advantage of the opportunity to be authentic. Many of the profiles mentioned that they'd been jilted by the lack of authenticity in the people they've met and yet they themselves are guilty of the same thing.

It all caused me to roll my eyes a lot. And really? I don't mind spending my Friday nights like Liz Lemon.

TURNING TABLES

Remember how I told you that Jen is a shopaholic? Well...I guess she still is. She's just a different type of shopaholic. Jen is originally from Toronto. She met her husband in San Diego (UCSD) and then followed him to OK. The transition of moving from places with real grocery stores like Trader Joe's to a land of not so great grocery stores has not been easy for her. I totally get it. After our first Trader Joe's trip, I was smitten. Then when I went vegetarian and food became more expensive I became that person who spent all her vacation money buying food. That's what Jen's trip was like this weekend. She bought food and then we had to figure out how to cram everything into her tiny little carry-on. I'm pretty smitten with KCMO and love showing visitors around, but I had a particularly good time taking Jen to some of my favorite haunts. I knew she'd love Bella Naploi's, the little Italian place in my neighborhood. She used to spend summers in Italy with her grandma and this place not only had a pasta dish that tasted like her Nona's, but groceries that she could only find in Italy. She got so excited when she came across the display of Nutella sold in commemorative juice glasses she had to buy one. Then we had to figure out how to fit it into her tiny carry-on. She said that next time she'd bring a suitcase.

We had such a great weekend and before we knew it, I was dropping her off at the airport and saying goodbye (which makes me cry now). About half an hour later I received this text from her.

I thought she was joking. She was not joking. Nutella is a security risk because it's a paste and she had more than three ounces. I really thought she was kidding, but am not surprised she ate all that Nutella. And yes...we really did eat popcorn for lunch. She couldn't fit that into the carry-on.

POST TRAUMATIC

Friday, I had an opportunity to hear a Nobel Laureate speak. I was super excited in my usual Lisa Simpson nerd girl kind of way, but I got held up and by the time I made it to the auditorium there was no room in the inn. They sent me over to the video conference room where I was able to snag a seat. This information will be important later, I swear. Any way...Nobel Laureate. We had to sit through three introductions before he got up to speak. One introduction was from the Governor of Kansas. I don't remember his words because by the third time he'd said the word "cancer", I'd started to hear this roaring sound in my ears. I must have physically looked not quite right because my friend Jeff looked at me and mouthed an "are you alright?" at me. I'm pretty sure I said that I was fine (that's what I say), but as the Nobel Laureate started speaking and it became obvious that this was not going to be a scientific presentation, but a "people with cancer, living with cancer, treating people with cancer, cancer, cancer, cancer" talk, I realized that I was not fine (longest sentence ever). As he was speaking I felt myself holding my breath. If you could have looked inside me, you would have seen a miniature of me trapped in one of those glass terrarium jars clawing desperately at the glass to get out. And so that's what I did. I calmly stood and discretely exited the room. If I had been in the auditorium, I would not have been able to do that and I would have had to sit there and suffocate. Being in the video conference room made it easier to slip out unnoticed so no one could see the tears welling up. As grief attacks go, this one started out to be not too bad. I had myself together by the time I made it up the four flights of stairs to my desk. But then someone asked about the speaker and I opened my mouth to reply and all that came out was a curse bubble. I turned on my heal and headed straight to my usual ladies room stall. Once I got to my safe zone, I allowed the racking sobs to take over, then I cleaned myself and went home. That's how a grief attack works.

Chris started to not feel so great right around this time last year. I knew that as these "anniversaries" came around that I'd have some flash back issues. Of course now I'm thinking about what if we'd gotten his diagnosis as soon as he started to feel bad. When people ask me how Chris died, I hardly ever say "cancer", because he didn't have the cancer that we are all used to people getting. He didn't have that kind that you fight off and on for years, that kind that sucks, but still lets you live a half way decent life. He had the kind that kills you dead fast. He had the Raid of cancer. What if we'd known Chris had cancer this time last year? Would he still be dead by February? What if? What if? What if?

The whole process has caused a bit of trauma and even though I've healed up well for the most part, sometimes something will trigger an ache. Like the weather and arthritis. In this case the weather is someone droning on and on about cancer victims and survival rates.

TAKING A LEAP

You know it's kind of funny that so many of you think of me as fearless. I suppose in many ways I can be, but the world of online dating stops me dead in my tracks. Over the weekend, I discovered a free online dating site. I should have known by the name of the site what I was getting into, but I'm a bit clueless. OK...I'm a lot clueless. Before I could even upload a picture or a blurb about myself I had five messages and two "let's meet". The messages ranged from "hey sexy" to "baby, where you been all my life". And it just got worse after I uploaded a picture. The whole experience made feel like I was trapped on a surfboard surrounded by sharks. It also brought up a lot of feelings of guilt and shame. And did I mention fear? All the lessons on stranger danger have run in an endless loop in my brain since Saturday. Over and over and over. I am suspicious of all single men, like they have some sort of bad agenda. And this is the problem I have with online dating, though I'm sure it's a bit different for the not free sites. Still, I have some trust issues.

I've written this entry three times now because I don't know where it's going. But I'm always talking about being my authentic self and if I can't do that here, well then, I'm just a hypocrite. One of my biggest pet peeves of online dating is the lack of authenticity. So I just can't get away with that here. I've been leery of writing anything about my meager attempts to get myself out there "into the scene" because I feel a little bit ashamed of myself. I know this is silly. But I'm ashamed of how judgy I've become, not just to potential suitors, but to myself. I judge myself for feeling like it's weak to want a little companionship. Like I'm doing something wrong or against some law for wanting to go out and have dinner with a guy.

So I'm putting all of that shame, guilt and fear out there for the whole world to see. Because by admitting it and letting others know I have all of those things that I can let it go.

MY WEEKEND

I spent most of Saturday and a tiny bit of Sunday getting caught up with Fringe so that I could be ready for the new season. I'm not proud of myself, but I watched an entire season and the season premier for this season all in one weekend. I haven't done a season marathon like that since Chris and I started Weeds. It's never pretty. I ate a whole bag of TJ's corn chips for dinner Saturday night. But the weekend wasn't a complete couch fest. I did manage to scrub down the kitchen and bathroom and mopped floors. Laundry was done and clean sheets were put on the bed. I baked those cookies I'd dreamed about and I had a good Sunday evening meal of Tibetan Roast and collard greens. I even made it out to the Farmer's Market. Usually, at the market, I end up juggling my bag, my camera and a shopping bag full of veggies. That was the picture of me in my head as I parked the car Saturday morning. Instead, I decided to only grab my wallet and phone, choosing to take all my pictures with my new iPhone. And I'm pretty happy with the results.

Hope your weekend was as full of color.

THE GLAMOROUS AND EXCITING LIFE OF THE WIDOW MADDERA

No. Not really. It's been dull as tombs around here. Yesterday, I was glancing through the most recent spam comments and I found this gem "Hey, you used to write great, but the last several posts have been kinda boring�K I miss your super writings. Past several posts are just a bit out of track! come on!". See? Even the spammers are bored. Last Friday night I spent the evening cleaning out my food closet. I don't know if I ever explained the food closet thing. Chris and I never lived in a place that had an actual food pantry. So when we finally had one we forgot what to call it. I called it a food closet one day and that's what it's been called ever since. Any way....the food closet had finally gotten far enough under my skin that I thought Friday night was a good time to deal with it. I had a bag of tortilla chips in there that had been there since February and my mom put that potato in there when she stayed back in July. So, I hauled the trashcan over to the food closet and started tossing cereal boxes containing a tablespoon of cereal and unsalted Saltine crackers. Who buys unsalted Saltines? Apparently I do and I can also tell you that they are not tasty and that's why they've been sitting on the shelf in the food closet for I don't know how long. I tossed a lot of remnant stuff, bags of beans that only held a few beans, containers of rice holding four grains of rice. The funny thing is I put those remnants of stuff back into the food closet because I didn't want to be wasteful. I set it back in there with the intention of using it all up, but really I was just setting it in there to sit and sit and sit. Then I end up throwing it away in a Joan Crawford worthy pantry clean out. Wasteful.

Americans throw out 165 billion dollars a year in food. This translates out to about 30 million tons of food waste heading into landfills, using up lots of fossil fuels in the process. Meanwhile an estimated 16 million kids in the U.S. go to school each day hungry. How many tons of food a year do you think one kid could eat? The average adult consumes about 1 ton of food a year. So basically we're throwing out enough food a year to end hunger in America. Way to go America.

For the last two weeks I've been trying really hard to plan my meals around the things I already have in my freezer and food closet. I haven't posted too much on our little Menu Club on facebook because my meals have been simple pasta dishes and grilled cheese sandwiches with tomato soup. At first it was because I was trying to be financially responsible. But with each item that I ended up tossing, I became more and more aware of my wastefulness. And I was ashamed. ASHAMED. Don't get me wrong. I have no plans on becoming a food hoarder that refuses to let go of expired unopened cartons of yogurt, but I do have great plans on being more mindful of the foods I purchase and consume. I also plan on implementing a weekly food closet clean out where canned goods that have been there for a couple of weeks gets put in a box to be donated to a local food pantry. If I'm not going to eat it, someone else might as well have it. We do this with clothes all the time. Why not canned goods?

Now just wait until hear all about my plans to scrub the house from top to bottom this weekend. Woot! I sure now how to live it up!

GENDER ROLES OR HOW I FIXED THE GOSHDARN LAWNMOWER

Last week, the self propel mechanism on my mower stopped working. Those of you who have been to my house know that mowing my yard with a mower without a self propeller would be an act of torture. This was something I was going to have to fix or have fixed before I could attempt to mow my yard again. So this seemed to be the thing that took up the most space in my brain this week, worrying about how to or how to have the mower fixed. I can't get the mower into my car by myself. Taking it someplace was out of the question, and that's how the seed to fix it myself got planted. From the many YoutTube videos I watched on mower repair, I figured the problem had something to do with a belt. Sure enough, when I flipped the mower over, I saw that the belt was not sitting properly in the wheel. I removed the blade and the clips meant to hold the belt in place, put the belt back where it belonged, tested to make sure it was still tight and snug and then put everything back together. I started the mower and engaged the self propel lever and felt complete satisfaction as the mower tugged me forward. I fixed the lawn mower.

I'm not sure how, when or why the sense of doubt at my ability to fix the lawn mower began to set in, but a definite needling in the back of my head started early on. It was telling me that I had no business taking apart the lawn mower and it did occur to me that this thought had something to do with my gender. In fact it was my first reaction to the doubting voice. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I can't take apart a freakin' lawnmower. I may not know the proper names for all the tools, but by golly I know how to use them. And the more I dwelled on this idea that I was feeling this doubt in my ability to fix the mower because of my girlness, the more determined I was to fix that mower.

When I was a kid, my dad wouldn't let us girls mow the yard. He felt that mowing the yard was not a job for a girl. That was man's work. Part of this I know is because dad was raised to believe that there are gender specific chores. Women washed clothes, cooked meals. Men did the yard work and took care of the automobiles. Women did not use hammers or screw drivers. Men did not use rolling pins or food processors. It didn't matter that during war times, women took on the tasks of taking care of all things, learned to use those hammers and screw drivers and proved themselves to be quite capable. Because when the men came home the women went back to their women chores and men went back to their manly man things.

This idea of gender roles today is so antiquated because we see how the lines between these roles have become blurred. Yet, I can't help but get the feeling that there's a large group of like minded people out there who believe those lines need to be less blurry and more back to the old days. I realized that it was these voices that I was allowing to question my abilities to fix a mower. But when I sat back and tuned those voices out, I was able to see that the doubt really just stemmed from inexperience. I was about to do something I'd never done before. Every one questions their abilities under these situations.

And that, my friends, is a very introspective entry on lawn mower repair.

GURGLE

It started Sunday. At one point I realized I was actually pushing my self propelled mower around my back yard. Actually, it looked more like one of those football tackle exercises with me shoving the full weight of my body against the handle bar of the mower as the wheels dug into the earth. But I didn't give up. I continued to mow more than half of my back yard in this manner. As I finished the last strip, I let the mower die and I wobbled over to take a seat and felt a million slugs slide down the back of my nasal passage and into my throat. So I was not surprised when I woke up Monday morning with a sore throat and an achy feverish body. I gave myself Monday. I spent most of the day curled up on the couch watching movies on Netflix or Amazon. Some where around two, I decided that I would probably feel better if I took a shower or at least brushed my teeth but as I wandered into the bathroom I realized that Mondays were "clean the bathroom" days. Of course, I know that sick days mean you are sick, therefor you must rest, but yeah...I cleaned the bathroom. I also took the dog on his walk (more like I let Hooper drag me along his walk) and set the garbage out on the curb. Because these are things I had to do. Just like I knew I had to go back to work on Tuesday because I had ordered cells from tissue culture and I knew they'd be ready for pick up and transfection and you can ignore about half of this sentence because it really doesn't matter. Let's just say I felt I had to be back to work. It didn't matter that I was still doing that hot/cold sweaty thing or that walking up a flight of stairs made me want to sit down hard on the top step.

Because it was important that I be at work! Important! I mean how else was I going to show everyone my new bra as I attempted to pull my long sleeved T over my head, accidentally dragging the bottom short sleeved T with it? They can't see me pull off that stunt at home now can they? Actually, you know what? I don't think any one really saw anything. At least this is what I'm going to tell myself.

Public Service Announcement: Sick people shouldn't go to work.

REASON # 287 OF WHY I'M PROBABLY NOT GOING TO DO WELL WITH DATING

I had a great visit with Randy and Katrina this weekend, even though it was short. They were tired and ready to be home to recuperate before heading back to work on Monday. We had Friday night where we missed the food trucks (I know where they are now guys) and ended up at the Art of Pizza. This actually turned out to be a good thing because the wind had picked up and it was chilly. I took them to the World War I memorial so they could see the best view of downtown Kansas City. I also took the best picture I've ever taken of my brother. Look! His eyes are open!

Saturday morning we got up early and had breakfast at You Say Tomato. Then we went to the Farmer's Market and made a final pit stop at the World Market. I was checking out at World Market while Katrina was still looking at the impulse buy racks. She pointed out these elephant garland things. I said that I already had two because they used to hang on my old window. I also said that I needed two more because now I have two windows. The guy working the register looked at me and said "you're very interesting". I thought he was being sarcastic, so I sarcastically replied "Oh yeah...so interesting. You have no idea". And I walked away. Later, I was telling this story to Talaura and she asked me what I was buying. I replied "a thing for my Keurig and wax vampire lips". Talaura's reply was "coffee, wax lips, elephants. The guy was not being sarcastic". But it wasn't until I typed the words up that I realized that this was funny and it was quite possible that guy was not being sarcastic.

Hey, wait a minute! You guys don't think this guy could have been flirting with me do you? Flirt-ing? I don't even know how to tell when someone's flirting. I'm in trouble.

BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW

I have the biggest zit on the side of my nose. It's HUGE! and just under the skin. It throbs and makes that side of my nose look swollen. Look! I'm 16 again! Only I'm wiser and skinnier then 16 year old Cindy and you couldn't pay me enough money to go back. I'm naming the pimple Birtha. She has a shaved head, multiple face piercings and wears flannel and you DO NOT mess with her. I don't make the bed on Sundays. Some times I don't make the bed on Saturdays either. It depends if I know someone might stop by. But Sundays I will not make the bed. Also, I may not brush my teeth until two in the afternoon.

I wish I had some crackers to go with my lunch I'm eating right now.

I just spilled spaghetti on my keyboard.

Last week, my I.D. badge popped off my pant's pocket when I went to sit down to pee and my I.D. landed in the toilet. Then I spent the next 20 minutes washing it.

In the past two weeks I've purchased one new dress, two pairs of jeans and one new pair of shoes. I also bought a plane ticket to Atlanta for a trip in October. When ever I say "Atlanta" in my head I say it in a really bad southern accent which is bound to get me into trouble the first time I open my mouth to say anything when I actually get there.

I am allergic to eucalyptus which I just now realized happens to be in my shampoo. Even though my body is starting to break out from it, I have not stopped using the shampoo because the bottle is mostly full. As in, it's practically a brand new bottle. Yes..I know this is ridiculously stupid. It's not expensive, salon shampoo. I bought it at Trader Joe's.

Other things I'm allergic to: penicillin, poison ivy, tree pollen, grass, straw, hay, sometimes I have a reaction when I eat too many avocados but I love them so much I don't care, and maybe gluten (mildly)

I am this close (you can't see me, but I'm holding my index finger and thumb up with barely a centimeter of space between them) to crossing something off my Life List. Some of you know what it is, but I'm not telling yet. I'll give you a hint. It's not the see 100 new museums one.

IT'S OH SO QUIET

This last week was not easy. There. I've admitted it. There's a song out there somewhere that I can't remember off the top of my head right now, but there are lyrics in it about feeling everything. This last week I felt everything. Every negative, hateful word even if not directed to me, I felt it. We hear all the time to let go, to not hang onto things we can not change. We pay money to have our bodies massaged to release tension. We sit in meditation, attend yoga class all in practice of letting go. Holding onto negativity and stress is bad for the health. It weakens the immune system. I'm usually pretty good at letting go. Years of practice have taught me to discern the important things to hang onto and the things to throw away. I wouldn't say I have thick skin, more like reflective. But sometimes refraction happens and those words pass through at a different angle and wrap themselves around the inside of my body and I feel them. It happens.

So, I stepped away from the blog for a bit. I stepped back from a lot of things for a bit and I allowed myself to feel all of it. And I realized that at the end of the day, even when I feel weighed down with the yuck of this world, I can and will tell you that I am fine. I can honestly say that I will probably never tell you that I am not OK or that my glass is half empty. My glass is always half full and here's why. Weeks like this one remind me to dig deep for the good because the good is still out there, it's just hiding. It's playing hide and seek and it's my turn to seek.

And now, I can begin to let go.

DOCTOR, DOCTOR

These are some thoughts that have been swirling in my brain lately. In the last couple of days, two of my friends have said something about needing to go to the doctor, but not wanting too or actually going to the doctor. It's not because they can't afford to go; both have health insurance. One of them told me she didn't like to go because her doctor was mean to her. Mean. All of this got me thinking about the times I probably should go to the doctor but don't or how long it's been since these teeth of mine have seen a dentist. And let's not even talk about the eyeballs. I have really good health insurance and no excuses. One of the things I remember most about being a little kid, was being sick and going to the doctor. I had two: Dr. Stabb (yup) and Dr. Dunaway. I loved Dr. Stabb's nurse, but I hated going to his office. He was a firm believer in shots. Every time I went, I got a shot. Dr. Dunaway was OK. He wasn't too big on shots, but there were too many times I remember being held down while hot hydrogen peroxide was being poured into my ear. The only time I ever enjoyed a doctors visit was the time mom took me to see an allergy specialist. I remember nothing of the exam, but the waiting area had a big spaceship in it that you could climb around in. It is quite possible that I associate doctor visits with torture. But I also think that I have a 50/50 success rate when choosing a doctor that is actually going to do something to heal me. Actually, I think it's less then 50/50.

One time I had a sinus infection that I let go on for too long. It finally moved over into my eye and my eye swelled up with a really awesome case of pink eye. When I went to the doctor at a local clinic I told him that I thought I had pink eye and a sinus infection. He stuck his gloved finger in my eye and said "Yup...you have pink eye. Want me to give you some antibiotics for that?". I remember blankly nodding my head yes but at the same time wondering what my other options where. I'd been willing the sinus infection away for the last three weeks and had only managed to will it into my eye. I didn't expect this infection to heal up all on it's own. So yes, of course, give me the antibiotics. But also really what I was thinking was I had diagnosed myself and the only reason I was paying this doctor my $30 (that's what it was at the time) copay for was to confirm my diagnosis and give me a prescription. Because really, all that doctor did was look at my eye with his own eyes (no special instruments) and diagnose me. No blood tests. No nothing. I know I am not the only person to experience the apathy of a doctor. Chris is the worst case scenario. He went to a doctor that told him he had food born Hep A and to go home and wait it out. That was a whole month wasted on a correct diagnosis and that he didn't even have traces of Hep A in his body.

No. We do not go to the doctor because we can't really afford it. We don't go because going to the doctor these days has become the equivalent to taking your car to the unreliable mechanic. Actually, worse then that. At least the mechanic tries to do something to get the car started. Changes the oil. Something. We don't go to the doctor for fear of not being taken seriously, fear of misdiagnosis and just plain irritation at being treated like an idiot for getting sick. So when people talk about health care reform it could be that they are not just disgruntled with the insurance side of things. They are fed up with dealing with people who make it so blatantly obvious that they don't care about doing their job.

And this is a really long entry to say that I have poison ivy on my elbow and I'm not going to the doctor until if and when it spreads over my entire arm.

REMEMBERING TO BE A TOURIST

The mean reds settled in sometime around Wednesday and hung around for the rest of the week. I was having a hard time shaking it. In fact, I was on the verge of just surrendering to it, wrapping myself up in it like a cozy blanket. But Saturday morning, still feeling the lingering effects, I peeled myself out of bed and headed to the Farmers' Market. Our Farmers' Market is also a tourist destination and in our first few visits Chris and I did indeed play tourist. But then it became a grocery shopping experience. Now my goal is to get there early, before the tourist crowd starts to form. I get in, get what I need, sometimes (most the time) get a few things I don't need, and get out. This particular morning I was moving slower then usual. I arrived at the market early enough to easily find a good parking space but late enough to run into the beginnings of the tourist crowd. My first instinct was to be annoyed, but then I found myself waiting in line for roasted chilies, one arm loaded down with tomatoes, sweet potatoes, an eggplant and a zucchini while fishing my camera out of my bag with the other hand. And that's how I ended up as a tourist.

Instead of my usual rush, I took some time to linger. I decided I needed a nice loaf of bread from the bread shop and while I was at it a cinnamon roll and a cup of coffee. I sat outside enjoying the cool morning and my cinnamon roll and watched as a young man was just setting up to play his cello. He gave me the impression that this was his first attempt at street performing. His notes came out tentatively and quietly. But they were clear and true. I dropped some money in his tip jar and took his picture. I think it gave him some encouragement, because he began to play a little more assertively.

And just like that the mean reds lifted up and away.

THE CASE OF THE MISSING MOJO

I had a really weak moment and ended up signing up for one of those online dating places. I did it to just see what was out there, but in order to see anyone, you have to sign up for at least the free service. So I half-hazardly filled out their questionnaire thingy, not taking it seriously at all. Almost immediately I got a "wink" followed by an email. Of course you can't read the emails unless you pay for the dating service. I am not about to do this because A. I'm not ready and B. the guy's name was Robinhood. Now I get about two emails a day from the dating service with new possible "matches" for me. You know that feeling you get while watching the awkward funny of the Office? This is how I find myself looking at these possible "matches". One guy's username ended in 1972, but his age was listed at 34. Either he just really liked that year and how it sounded tagged to his name or the dude is looking for a girl that can't do math. I don't think I'm the girl he's looking for. My favorite by far has got to be Tiberious_Spock. Tiberious_Spock. Yeah...I can't even....

I am not cruising for a relationship; I was just curious. And..well... I miss sex. This topic came up while we were having drinks with Amber at her favorite bar in Brooklyn. Amber said that this was an easy fix and that I'm perfectly adorable and could easily have any guy at the bar. No....you see? I don't think I can. And herein lies the problem. I've lost a bit of confidence. I've lost my mojo. I don't feel perfectly adorable at all. I look at those pictures of me in New York and I think I look puffy. And this hair? After all those years of short hair, I finally know what I look like with long hair. Bad. As in not good. There are too many mornings I get up and play the "What's the least amount I have to do to make myself presentable for work?" game. This means I am clean and wearing clean clothes. That's it. Hair is put in a bun wet and clothes don't necessarily match. But hey! I've put on pants!

And I realize by typing that last sentence out loud, I may sound depressed, which I am not. Well, I mean not any more so then what's required of this situation. The truth is, I'm just lazy. That, and I have never been the type of girl that spent much time on looking cute. I've never been much of a shopper and the real reason (not really) I became a yoga teacher was so I'd have a reasonable excuse for wearing yoga pants everyday. But I'm working on that. Recently I've started making clothing purchases that sit outside my comfort level. I even bought my first pair of skinny jeans a couple of weeks ago (size 8! I don't even know how that's possible). Last Friday, I wore my new red summer dress with heels to work. It was an attempt at making an effort. And it might have worked. Just a little. Because I caught a reflection of my legs in the elevator doors and people? I have smokin' hot legs. Huh. Who knew?

Any way, I'm working on gaining some confidence. I'm working on gaining some confidence for me. Not Tiberious_Spock.

A POST TO GET ME IN TROUBLE

In 1960 four black college students staged the first sit-in at a Woolworth's lunch counter in Greensboro North Carolina. This was not the first stand in civil rights nor will it, unfortunately, ever be the last. We as a nation are still fighting racial bigotry. It may not be as bad, but discrimination still exists. It's just now, we don't limit it to race. This election year it seems there is a war, a war on women, a war on homosexuality, a war on religion. And it's all happening on facebook. This is not just about Chick-fil-a. I think it's a very poor practice to alienate customers in this way. It begins with this one thing, but doesn't end there. Will there be a day when Chick-fil-a announces they only support marriage between a white man and a white woman? White Baptist man and a white baptist woman? Homosexuals are not welcome there now, but what about people of other religions? When do we say they've crossed a line?

Every day I am bombarded with reposts spewing the most hateful vitriolic ugly things. There's no logic or critical thinking behind the words. They are just words of hate and when I see one of my facebook "friends" reposting such things, I think less of them. I lose respect for them. I know there is something to be said for Freedom of Speech, but it saddens me to see this used as an excuse for bigotry.

Because this issue is not a homosexual issue. This is a civil rights issue. You are saying to those citizens that even though they pay taxes, support their communities, and contribute to society they don't deserve the same rights as you. Let's flip the tables. What if this was you? How would you want to be treated? How would want people to speak to you or about you?

Maybe these are questions you should ask yourself before you hit that "repost" button.