Libelletage

Auf Weidersehen

2011-07-21T10:01:00.000-07:00

You can find me here:

Bye bye blogger.

Polenta Pizza

2011-07-17T17:55:00.000-07:00

Now that I have been eating gluten free, refined sugar free and mostly processed food free, I eat completely differently. First of all, I eat all day long. Snacking and small meals. A salad for lunch means I am for sure going to be hungry in two hours. I think it has improved my blood sugar. I probably don't get highs and lows. I also don't get food comas or stuffed like I did with breads and pastas.

I also eat food I have never eaten before, or unfortunately, ate rarely. Like radishes. I love radishes. But I never used to by them because my kids like their salads with simple romaine lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, and dressing. But now, I want variety and flavor. Because I am not adding most store bought condiments. They usually have added sugar. So I make a simple vinaigrette with honey.

Today I bought dried figs. So good, I can't believe I never bought them before. In fact, now that I eat this way, I am always looking for the freshest produce so I can really enjoy the flavor. I can't wait until out tomatoes are ripe, so I don't have ones that travelled miles to get to me only to disappoint.

Tonight I made a recipe I've been meaning to try. I haven't quite mastered it but the flavors were great.

Here is the recipe:

Polenta Pizza

Ingredients:

I tube of Trader Joe's Polenta (you can make your own, but I like easy recipes)

1/4 cup of grated Parmesan cheese

1 tablespoon Olive Oil

3 tablespoons of Pesto (again, you can make your own, I bought it carefully checking out ingredients)

1/2 cup of cherry tomatoes

1/2 cup sliced mushrooms

3 oz grated mozzarella cheese

1/3 sliced red bell pepper

Pre-heat the oven to 400. Mix the polenta with Parmesan cheese and spread the mixture over a tart pan which has been sprayed with nonstick olive oil spray. Brush polenta with olive oil. Put in the oven for 10 minutes.

After removing it from the oven, spread the pesto on the polenta crust leaving a small border. Then add mushrooms, bell pepper, and tomatoes. The recipe I had called for adding the cheese and baking for 20 minutes at 400 or until the cheese is golden. I think next time I will add the cheese after 10 minutes to allow my crust to get cooked more with out overcooking the cheese. The flavors were yummy but I would like the polenta to get a little more done.

Friday Flip Offs!

2011-07-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

Since Mommakiss is doing it, I'll do it too.

How about giving the big middle finger to the dentist. Well not the dentist but the DENTIST, as in going to see her. Ugh. I hate that place. My left lower jaw was sore all week so I made myself an appointment. I laid there with my arms crossed over myself, with my nails practically digging into my arms. Why do I hate it? I just do. It's the only place I get myself medicated to deal with it. I like to think of myself as pretty reasonable. But in that chair, not so much.

It turned out the soreness is just my clench jaw, grinding business (sexy mouthguard?). And then she said, we need to replace that crown. I'm doing it next Friday. With drugs. (just say no kids, unless you have panic attacks at night thinking about dentistry work-sowhatifIhaveaflawhelloklonopin!)

At least I suddenly have awesome dental coverage with the new insurance from my work.

I don't know if I will be excited about that next Friday.

Let's go to Israel.

2011-07-06T07:52:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted about work in a while, because it's kind of become a job. I job I don't want to think about when I am not at work. I have a lot of paper work to do. And meetings. And teaching is only like 30% it seems. That doesn't seem right.

But people say the stupidest shit to me at work. Now that your the educator......(can you do this thing that has nothing to do with your job, like chart audits?).

So I spend my time at home enjoying my family. And trying to pretend that work doesn't exist.

I also daydream and research about my trip to Israel. I put a deposit down for the trip, so I am officially going. In January for almost 2 weeks! I am very nervous/excited because I am going all by myself. I have never flown out of the country, let alone by myself. But I have done a lot of things I was afraid to do. So I am sure I can get through this. I am thinking about the trip and what I need to bring. And cell phones. And easy travel clothes. And food? Where will I eat? And money? I need shekels, not dollars, right?

But most of all, it's religious trip, and it's exactly what I need right now. Or 6 months from now. Here's a picture of one of the places I am going.

New Diet?

2011-07-04T07:11:00.001-07:00

It's so secret that I am addicted to white foods. Bread. Sugar. Starbucks lattes.

But I have been feeling blah and have this annoying belly that appeared after I turned thirty. Most days I feel bloated. I get headaches if I don't have caffeine.

So randomly I decided to change my diet. Dramatically.

I am on day 6 of no refined sugars, no gluten, no Starbucks, no packaged and processed foods and very little dairy. Which means no condiments, very few packaged foods, and very little eating out. I am trying to eat things 50% raw.

I eat all day long it seems. I snack on fruits and veggies and nuts. My meals include huge salads or wild rice with veggies. And I don't mean some lettuce and tomato salads. They have a lot in them. Avocado, carrots, mushrooms, whatever I feel like dumping in.

And I feel pretty good. In fact I feel great. I don't feel hungry at all. Yet I lost like 4 pounds in the first few days.
So now I am venturing into recipes that are gluten free, refined sugar free. I have looked at Gluten Free Girl and Raw Epicurean and I even started making my own salad dressing. I always thought sugar free would taste bad, but it turns out, when you avoid fake foods and preservatives, you don't get bad tasting food.

My Fridays

2011-06-29T10:19:00.000-07:00

I've been spending every Friday here, at a water park. You know, those places where everyone has a swimsuit on? And I do too, with a cover up of course. Someone has to shield the world from my thigh chub.

While hanging out at a water park east of the 57 freeway, I have observed:

I am old.
Everyone between 16 and 40 has tattoos.
My 12 year old isn't little anymore.
But she isn't grown up yet, so there's that.
The food is crap but the ice cream was worth the $3.
Water parks don't have enough shaded lounge chairs for old moms who don't want to burn in the sun.
Having hours of uninterrupted reading is so worth the $50 for a season pass.

My kid took my camera, and of course this is what I got.

In Grocery Store Parking Lots

2011-06-16T20:35:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, I packed my trunk with some old clothes and things that my 12 year old packed up for the Goodwill. She did her crazy OCD cleaning and packed up all the stuff she didn't want anymore. Which included all of her old toys. It's pretty cool that she does that, and that I don't have too. I kept meaning to drop it off, I have just been so busy.

On Wednesday, I pulled up to the drop off truck for the Goodwill in front of Ralph's and unloaded my trunk. I have never been a big pack rat. I am all about throwing crap out, which is why I was all supportive of the hoarders edition of room cleaning. But as I reached for the bags in my trunk, I realized that this was it. The last of the toys. The last of the barbie car. The Polly pockets are gone. The Littlest Pet Shop is closed. All that's left up in that room are board games, books clothes and her laptop. OK there are other things. But the little kid stuff is ALL GONE.

Done.

Finis.

And I handed my filled, paper Trader Joe's bags over to the middle aged man, he asked me if I wanted a receipt. Should I have taken it? What would it have said? 5 pairs of jeans, 10 t-shirts, 1 Barbie car? Or the childhood of one little girl? I didn't take the receipt.

I am not a sap. I am not clingy about things. But I got back in my car and it took me a minute to drive away.

Dear Mom,

2011-05-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

So I alluded to this letter the other day.

I was at work and I found a note in my purse. Hand written on lined paper with a sharpie. A message in permanent marker from my teenager. At first I was thinking, aw she left me a note.

But the note started Dear Mom, I don't want a therapist. I need one.

And then my kid told me she was unhappy. She has a lot of anxiety about grades and college. She needs someone to talk to. She told me to spend money on a therapist on not the class trip to magic mountain.

And I was sad. More than sad. Sad is a short simple word. I was ohmigod my poor kid/I'm a bad mom/and oh crap how bad is this/what do I do? And I called the therapists office she saw when her father got divorced. That's what you do I guess. Step one: call someone for help when you don't know what to do.

And then I worried about 500 hundred things from alcohol/drugs to graduating high school to depression to ANY BAD PLACE A MIND CAN GO.

And then I told myself, hey wait, my kid knows step one. She asked for help. And then I tried to evaluate the situation. Step two: assess the problem.

I also had a conversation with her. Well more than one. What do you need to talk about? What is the main problem? Other problems? Because teenagers-people are complex. And there isn't just one thing making us overwhelmed. It's several, with one that pushes over the edge.

Next make a plan. Therapy. Quality time together. Evaluate the stress and come up with a way to deal with it. Maybe she won't go to a 4 year college right away. It's okay, I told her. And she was ok with the plan. For now. But I am still worried. Worried, worried worried. Because even though worry makes me people die earlier and worry doesn't solve things, I can't help but worry.

Again. I have no idea what I am doing in this parenting thing. I am just putting one foot in front of the other.

And now I am 33.

2011-05-27T08:06:00.000-07:00

I spent last weekend in my home away from home: San Francisco.

I have never lived there, but I say home away from home, because I love it. I am totally going to live there one day. In like 5 1/2 years.

Anyways, I ate food THE WHOLE TIME. And this month I gained like 3 pounds. So now I need to watch what I eat. Cuz 3 lbs is not a lot but it's a road to bigger jeans and more thigh chub.

So I am 33. And at the age of 33, I still haven't figured all my shit out. Sometimes I can see how much I have grown professionally and personally, but then a birthday comes around. I usually think a little about where I am now and where I am going (Hello, San Francisco!). And this year, I keep coming back to my relationship problems. I am still working on having close relationships. And life keep throwing me curve balls (aka notes in my purse that I find at work by my kid saying they are unhappy and need a therapist). But I keep getting up in the morning. I keep pushing forward.

So here I go. Another year.

Let's Go

2011-05-15T12:58:00.000-07:00

When I was in Boston, I saw this water taxi and I thought I would like to take it somewhere. To anywhere it happened to be going. I didn't have time, because I had somewhere else to be. But there is no kind of movement from one place to another that I am not willing to try.

On the land, on the water, in the air. Run, walk, drive, fly. Just the act of going from here to there is extremely satisfying. When I fly, I love to hear the flight attendants conversation about their own lives. I love to watch the people before the board their flight. I love to see the scenery fly by from the windows of the train. I look at the bags people carry, fresh produce from the farmer's market, desserts from a bakery, shoes from a hip department store. Driving on highways, I look at license plates to see how far people are from home. I contemplate the Uhaul truck that has Wyoming on the side, traveling through Arizona.

What distance are they willing to cross to get where they want to be?

What made them get out of bed to take this journey?

Where are they going? Why? Who is waiting for them when they get there?

How do they feel about this trip?

What are they hoping to find?

These questions are easier to answer about travel. It's not the same when you apply them to life.

Carbohydrates

2011-05-10T18:56:00.000-07:00

I remember you liked those
cookies shaped like an S.
They were good for dipping in coffee,
But you didn’t like coffee.
And you ate each letter,
Bite after hard bite.
Now I am like you,
Fat with letters and words
I never got to say.
Things that don’t taste sweet on my tongue.
Just like the things that you did.
The sugar gave me cavities,
But I think all those swallowed words just left me empty.

Strangers on the internet

2011-05-06T08:32:00.000-07:00

Apparently meeting strangers on the internet is something I do. And now that I have met like 4 I am getting less worried about the crazies. I think it turns out most people aren't crazy.

I have had a lot of fun meeting people from California, North Carolina, Colorado and now....Massachusetts.

Boston specifically.

I met this chick for drinks Saturday night while in Boston. I met her via twitter instead of her blog, and then I started reading her blog. We're both mommas and we both share the sentiment F*#@ Cancer.

Whenever I meet someone from the internet, I wonder if they will be just like they are online or totally different. Lucky for me Mommakiss is like she is on the internet. Hilarious. And so very genuine.

Hanging out in Boston was like hanging out with someone familiar even though I didn't know her. We met up at a sports bar. I told her I would be the tall one. She told me she would walk in backwards so I would recognize her pigtails. She greeted me with a hug. And then we laughed for like 2 hours. Did I mention she's hilarious? It may have been the alcohol. It may be cuz she's just awesome.

Later this month, I'll be meeting up with NorCal strangers. I'm pretty sure we should make our own internet strangers conference and meet up in some cool place.

Right now my mom is thinking up a lecture on serial killers on the internet. But I have a little more faith in people I guess. And so far I have been mostly right.

Bahstun

2011-05-02T21:35:00.001-07:00

I had an awesome time in Boston. I walked around and sometimes I had no idea where I was going. I took the subway and it was a maze down there, but I never got lost. I never get lost.

I ate a lot of food from drug companies. In fact, I bought dinner only once and breakfast twice. That was it. I toured Little Italy and fell in love with the Boston accent. Everyone was so friendly and whatever they said I just smiled at the way they said it. And cannolis from little Italy? To fucking die for. Yum. I would for sure go back.

Oh yeah. I did some nursing stuff too.

Satire VI

2011-04-24T15:04:00.000-07:00

The first is Juvenal, written in the late 1st or early 2nd century. Some days I feel like the second one......

What! Postumus, are you, you who once had your wits, taking to yourself a wife? Tell me what Tisiphone, what snakes are driving you mad? Can you submit to a she-tyrant when there is so much rope to be had, so many dizzy heights of windows standing open, and when the Aemilian bridge offers itself to your hand? Or if none of all these modes of exit hit your fancy, how much better to take some boy-bedfellow, who would never wrangle with you o' nights, never ask presents of you when in bed, and never complain that you took your ease and were indifferent to his solicitations!

What! Jane, are you, you who once had your wits, having a baby? Tell me what Tisiphone, what snakes are driving you mad? Can you submit to a child-tyrant when there is so much rope to be had, so many dizzy heights of windows standing open, and when the Colorado St bridge offers itself to your hand? Or if none of all these modes of exit hit your fancy, how much better to take some kitten or pet, who would never keep you up o' nights, never ask presents of you in a screaming tantrum, and never complain that you did everything wrong and never make you wish for another life!

Song of Summer

2011-04-22T15:14:00.000-07:00

Alice stood in the summer shade, picking berries from a bush. Alice did not know what kind of berries were growing beside the wood fence. She knew they were red, juicy and delicious. And she knew this fence around someone else’s backyard was far enough from her own home to feel like it was somewhere else entirely. She thought they might be raspberries but that wasn’t a fruit that her mother ever brought home from ABC Foods. Another thing Alice knew, was that they were not strawberries. Alice’s aunt grew strawberries in her backyard.

Alice didn’t mean to eat all of the berries, but as the summer sun was setting, she did eat them all. Her fingers were stained red while she looked around at the dilapidated buildings painted in a magic golden light. At dusk, the neighborhood that usually felt like an enormous thumb pushing down on her opened up into a world where anything was possible. A world where people could, and did eventually leave. When the berries were gone, she felt a twinge of guilt, but mostly she felt content.

Alice rarely felt satisfied without some delicious thing moving from her hand to her mouth. She loved food rolling around her tongue, mashing between her teeth and traveling down her throat. She could list every sweet thing she considered her favorite, a list she always had available on the tip of her tongue for the rare occasion someone asked her for an opinion. The rest of the time, Alice was ravenous.

Alice was going home as the sun set, she was waiting. Soon the neighborhood children would be coming out. They were finishing up their dinners, putting their dishes in the sink and being directed by parents to wash their hands. At least that was how it played out in Alice’s mind. Little families in drab little boxes, living a life Lice wanted to step into. They would come out to play, and even though they would make fun of Alice and call her giraffe-girl, she would wait for them. She would wait here by the empty, berry bush, with bare toes in the damp grass, waiting to be seen.

On this summer evening, the grass was glistening in golden rays from afternoon sprinklers turned on for children to play in. Alice was wearing a new swimsuit. Mud squeezed between her toes. She hadn’t been asked over when they ran through the cool wet grass and she could see the flattened patch left from where the slip n slide had been. She had spent the hottest part of the day in her bedroom listening to the hum of the box fan her mother had bought at Kmart. She combed a doll’s hair and made up complicated worlds for her stuffed animals. In these imaginary worlds, everyone that mattered was too small to be seen by others.

She avoided the puddles because although she had on a swimsuit and no shoes, she was wearing jeans. Both were hand me downs from her older cousin, which was another way of saying new. No one knew they were used and discarded. Alice waited for someone to see her in them. Her suit was red with purple trim and it was JORDACHE. It was almost too small for her, and summer was winding down, and Alice knew she might not get too many days to be seen in her JORDACHE swimsuit. She wanted someone to admire her swimsuit like she had done with others, to see the recognizable purple horse’s head resting just above her right breast, which had recently shown some promising development along with the left. Alice was not unaware of the importance of breasts.

As dusk settled around her and the mud between her toes began to feel cold, Jeremiah emerged from the back door of one grey painted box. He was 2 years older than Alice, lanky, awkward and lacking social skills. He was visiting his cousin Beth, who Alice was waiting for and considered her very best friend. In these kinds of situations, unknown to Alice, best friend meant someone who would play with Alice every summer day that didn’t involve a family function or church function. It did not mean someone to whom you told all of your secrets. Sundays were often very lonely for Alice.

Jeremiah saw Alice immediately and clumsily walked over to her. He quickly examined her new swimsuit and new jeans and new breasts, and forgot that she was, after all, only eleven. At five foot five, she didn’t look eleven. Alice tucked her hair behind her ear while not looking back at his looking. She drank in the feeling of being seen.

“Hey.” He said.
“Hey.” She answered.
“My cousin can’t come out. She has chores to do before the morning.” Jeremiah spoke with a noticeable lisp.
“Oh.” Alice felt a familiar disappointment. She stared at her red fingertips.

They stood in the wet grass while mosquitoes came out to feast on Alice’s shoulders. It soon became evident that Jeremiah wasn’t going back inside. He talked to her, but the hum of the insects and the porch light filled up her ears. The dark, summer night brought with it a sound that reverberated in Alice’s stomach that she didn’t fully understand. Jeremiah talked to her about things he thought made him seem impressive to a girl and Alice laughed when it seemed required. She didn’t think he was impressive and she didn’t care about the things he said. She listened to the sounds of his voice combining with the thrumming in her head as it traveled down her throat, across her chest, and settling in her lower abdomen. She watched the curly hair on his head glow with the light shining behind it and the buzzing in her seemed echoed by everything around them. The crickets sang along.

It seemed reasonable that the next day she would wake with red stained welts from the mosquitoes that danced across her skin to the music they made. It also was no surprise to Alice that she would spend the next week suffering and scratching until she bled, from one summer night of attention.

Regret

2011-04-15T09:15:00.001-07:00

I don't spend a lot of time regretting the things I've done. it's not to say I didn't learn from them, but I don't think it's good to dwell on what could have been. Because it isn't.

But occasionally something does come up that stays on my mind for a while. When i was working as a nurse on the floor, I had a patient. With Cancer. I know you knew that, but in case you didn't. He was a very kind man. He has a little OCD about him but I don't mind. I can manage that in a patient.

We transplanted him. He relapsed.

After that I was doing that job I didn't get, as a coordinator. I saw him more. He came by my office. We talked on the phone. He brought me cookies. Peanut butter. I printed him test results. He was always very thankful. I always told him it was no big deal. I would take all of his phone calls. I even let him call my cell phone. I read those test results. It was the least I could do.

A couple weeks ago, I was walking past patient rooms on the floor looking for someone to give something to...I was in my new job. As educator. My mind, these days, is filled with to do lists, projects and plans and meetings. Upcoming lectures, forms to make, policies to write. I have been very busy. I passed a room and out of the corner of my eye I saw him lying in a bed. I stopped and waved. He was facing me but didn't wave back. Then I thought, maybe that wasn't him. I was in a hurry so I continued on.

The other day I found out that he died last week.

I wish I had stopped to talk.

Back Stitch

2011-04-06T09:23:00.001-07:00

I remember my mother use to sit

On the green and pink sofa

And embroidered perfect landscapes

into table runners and pillow cases.

She lived on Pepsi and cigarettes

And perfected her stitch,

while everything else fell apart.

It was my Aunt who taught me

How to sew a simple back stitch.

I practiced at her kitchen table.

Short and repetitive stitches

To fix a seam or write your name.

A stitch to close the gaps

Where ugly things might be revealed.

Weekends in Ventura

2011-04-02T12:42:00.000-07:00

On the weekends, I drive up the 101 to pick up homework to grade for my part time teaching job. My part time job that I kinda like more than my regular job, except it's so far away. Sometimes the family goes, sometimes just my older kid, or sometimes just me. Last weekend it was finally nice weather and the teenager and I had lunch while we were there.

I got her to try an Italian soda. I can't believe I have to try and convince my kids to drink something with cherry syrup. I can never understand that about my kids, but maybe I have just forgotten what it's like to be a kid.

Even though the drive is a pain, it's nice having these outings.

We ate at:

Capriccio Italian restaurant

298 E Main St, Ventura, CA 93001

Treading Water

2011-03-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

Katy used to believe that anyone who touched her could read her mind. She developed this belief as a child, when fantasy and reality still intermingled happily. Because of this, Katy had not been one of those gregarious ten year old girls who hugged her friends emphatically at every meeting. Katy was reserved and thoughtful, but most often, lonely. She had limp blonde hair and light brown eyes. She could frequently be found with those eyes entranced in a Baby-sitter’s club book or intensely focused on some spiral-bound notebook containing all of her fantastic imaginings. She could not recall when the idea first cemented itself into a belief, but it was sometime after she stopped believing in Santa Claus, yet still believed in the boogey man.

Katy’s sister was terribly afraid of the dark. So afraid, that most nights she asked Katy to lie in her bed beside her for comfort, which Katy did begrudgingly. Katy found it difficult to lie next to her sister in a twin size bed, while she tried her best not to let even their toes touch. It was even harder to give in to her sister in the summer, when the stifling air of central California rose to temperatures above one hundred degrees. Those nights, the two girls lay in only underwear side by side, taking turns blowing air on each other’s bare backs. They lay awake for hours, unable to sleep until the temperatures that cool down after midnight came. The window in their shared bedroom was open, as well as the still curtains, but there was no breeze off of the Delta on those hot nights. There was only the sound of cars passing by and people arguing and breaking bottles out on the streets late at night. Katy and her sister heard the occasional pop of gunfire, or maybe it was the backfiring engine of a broken down heap of a car. The noises made Katy’s sister more afraid, but still Katy refused to reach out and touch her, without first trying to empty her head of thoughts.

On those dark and sweltering nights, Katy lie awake imagining the day she would leave that apartment and never return. And one day she would. But that day was still very far away.

Snowed In

2011-03-21T07:34:00.000-07:00

I just stole my kid's computer. She's in the shower. We're in a hotel.

11 years of driving there and back again and last night was the first time I have ever gotten stuck. Sure I've witnessed a gazillion car accidents, driven in shitty weather, and even had to take detours. But I have never not made it home.

For those of you who may not know this but Southern California is divided from the rest of California by mountains. And to get to SoCal, you need to take one of 4 different routes. there are miles between these routes that add up to a minimum of 2 1/2 hours of additional time. i usually take the 5 freeway. fastest way home. I have had to do the 101. Pretty but long and windy.

Last night the five was closed. We found out just before the mountains. going around means backtracking, which we did, only to find another freeway get closed just as we arrived. It was snowing.

I was not prepared for driving, getting gas or a hotel room in snow. Not just in snow, but as snow fell on me with my zip up sweatshirt that has a broken zipper. Ugh. We are some where between Bakersfield and the Mojave desert. And I had on my casual driving clothes with flip flops. Yeah walking through snow sucks. At least this awesome Holiday Inn has free breakfast and toothbrushes. Also they sold out of rooms shortly after we checked. And the people who came 5 minutes after us got charged $30 more than us. So yay for making it time.

One freeway is still closed. We"re leaving soon. We have to trudge back to the car in snow.

Happy Spring.

Where I Am

2011-03-12T20:16:00.001-08:00

I haven't exercised in weeks and I think it's making my back sore.

I have more professional attire than I have ever had before.

I created a CV the other day. Which is apparently different from a resume.

I wrote a great essay on Edgar Allan Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne.

I haven't read a book for fun in months.

I FINALLY signed paper work for my job. And, I feel ambivalent to it right now. I feel like I am treading water. It was definitely the most treading water move I have ever made. I mean, I negotiated the job and I decided to do this. But I knew I needed a job where I wouldn't be cancelled unexpectedly. And I needed vacation time and sick time. So I did it. And the people at work have been great to me. I should be grateful.

But I still feel like my real life purpose is around the corner somewhere. Does that sound too idealistic?

I guess I am most definitely an idealist.

I never imagined I would make choices that made me feel this way. But the the reality is, I have a mortgage and my kids need me to pay it. And I want them to have braces.

Also, after this next quarter, I probably have to take a break from my fabulous ridiculously long English degree journey.

I have five thousand things I want to do with my life. But one of them is doing a good job at raising my kids. So I am working on finishing that up.

The Black Things that Fill Up Space

2011-02-26T17:37:00.000-08:00

The week before last I got to go to Creative Writing Club, which I haven't done forever. Here's what I brought:

Equal Opportunity

He did not ask for their insurance card.
There was no employment history questionnaire,
No background check, no demographic data,
No income verification.
He never asked
if they were married, single or divorced.
There was no discussion about
their views on gay marriage,
He never called them Mr. or Mrs.

He just came.

Dividing, multiplying, bursting
through bone and overcrowding organs,
jamming his way into their brain,
Taking away the ability to
walk, talk,
breathe.
Cancer has no prejudice.

Benjamins and traveling the U.S.

2011-02-21T09:20:00.000-08:00

This year I am desperately trying to find a way to get my whole family to Boston. When I say desperately, it's all about the Benjamins. I know. I just said that. It's like it's 2000 again, right.

We still need our a/c fixed but I am going to Boston for a conference and I want my people to go. We'll spend a looong weekend there, eat clam chowder and see old Ben Franklin's statue. See, Ben is still relevant.

While I contemplate that, here are some shots from last year's trip to Seattle. Seattle is divided up into hills, if you didn't know. Like Paris' arrondissments, but not as fancy sounding. We had ice cream in Capitol hill, but one day we explored Queen Anne. Queen Anne was green, beautiful and probably not somewhere we could afford to live. We ate at this home-turned-restaurant that boasted of all local and organic ingredients. I think everyone else liked their food better than I did. Lesson learned, mac and cheese isn't always the best thing on the menu.

1825 Queen Anne Ave. N. Seattle, Wa 98109

But this coffee shop seemed like an excellent place to hang out.

El Diablo Coffee Co.
1811 Queen Anne Avenue North, #101
Seattle, WA 98109

The Suck Up

2011-02-16T08:50:00.000-08:00

So I have this student who is a total suck up. Like saves me a seat in the cafeteria kind of student. I notice it in the way he talks to me and tries to say nice things to me. I would say he totally thinks I am the bestest teacher ever, except for the fact that he strikes me as one of those guys who thinks he's the shit.

The other students think the same way about him. They look at him out the the corners of their eyes and laugh the way girls do at boys who are full of themselves.

Sometimes he tells me I am so SMART and I know SOOOOO much. And secretly I would love to her people tell me that shit all day, who wouldn't? But I wouldn't really be a good teacher if I was full of myself. It sure is tempting though when you hear yourself talk all day and people are looking to you for answers. I am wary of too much praise from students.

So the other day I told him, after several kiss ass comments, that what he said had about me no bearing on my grading. And it was true. I gave him back his care plan, which he had written on an entirely wrong pathophysiology. He did an excellent job, it just wasn't the wright patho for his patient. And I marked him down for it. And he came to me trying to make his case. But I had highlighted all of the places in his writing that basically proved why he was wrong.

I was glad I could be fair and not a sucker for a suck up. I am the bestest teacher. Oh, there goes the ego.

It's hard work being a teacher. I want to help them be great nurses. I try to stay impartial and don't make judgements but my fascination for behavior can't help itself. I love trying to figure them out.

Ode to Glee

2011-02-12T13:28:00.000-08:00

If you're not a fan, well, shut it.

I just want to say thanks to the makers of Glee for reminding me of all the white trash rock n roll from my younger years. Thanks for the songs by Journey and Kiss and Bon Jovi. Also, take note of a few more bands you could get songs from.

My mom wasn't a hippie. She was a little more That Seventies Show (with much more effed up baggage) and had albums by Queen and Kiss and Janis Joplin. She has this hair clip with feathers attached that I used to try on and sing along with Foreigner. I thought it made me pretty.

It makes me nostalgic for the lazy summer days I had growing up. Girls older than I was feathered their hair, put on eye liner and drank wine coolers. Some days they gave me their old clothes and I wished I was older.

My sister and I would run through sprinklers and then lay on the hot cement to dry off. I would get up and look at the wet image my body left and then lay somewhere else.

In junior high, we sang along to Def Leopard songs and taped cheesy songs off of the radio.

That's me. I was 13 I think. FYI-I hated softball.

I distinctly remember exactly what Axel Rose was wearing in the video for Paradise City and I am pretty sure I want to go there, where ever Paradise was.

Apathy

2011-02-09T08:26:00.001-08:00

Is it contagious? Can you catch it from your teenager?

I don't know, but my kid has it for sure and some days, so do I. She often tells me how she does not want to grow up, and some days I can totally see where she is coming from. She tells me how it seems like it's all work and taxes and mortgages. I just have to remember what is fun about being an adult so I can show her it's not so bad. But lately that's what my life has been.

Work. Work. Bills. Errands. Checklists.

I feel like being apathetic. I feel like quiting school to make things easier. I feel like I need to work hard because I have certain demands on my life and I am watching the clock.

But then again, when I sit in class I think to myself I am made for this. Tuesday night I am spending 4 hours talking about stories. And words. And it is exactly what is fun about being an adult.

I wonder what she will think of me when her sister leaves for college, and she has already gone, and I sell this 4 bedroom house and move into a condo. And travel. And goof off.

Today I slept in until 6:30. That's right. Six thirty is sleeping for me. And now....time to move on to the checklist.

Virtue Rewarded

2011-01-31T18:34:00.000-08:00

And it turns out, Miss Pamela, that I totally have that.

Today, I turned in a transfer application for a nurse educator job at my work. After 3 loooong months of being easy going and patient. Of working hard and waiting. Of finally getting tired and calling everyone out, I negotiated myself a job. 3 days a week. 30 hours a week. Finally sick time. Finally vacation. Finally education benefits of some kind. Maybe even a cell phone stipend.

After all of that waiting and work, I have found that I have heard nothing but compliments. It's really awesome to be appreciated at work. I don't mean annual pay raise, good job and see you next year. But when i said i couldn't do 40 hours, it was immediately countered with, what can you do? Because we don't want to lose you.

And I am still teaching on Fridays at the nursing school. Which is pretty hard. But I really like it.

First Dance

2011-01-23T19:42:00.000-08:00

My teenager was asked to to her first dance. The winter formal. And even though it's 74 degrees out, I guess it is still winter.

I met the boy, did i tell you that? He came over for dinner, and yes he was a boy. I thought that to myself. Their so young. 15 year old in real life do not look like 15 year old on television. Because those people on Glee are not 15. And then I think I can't believe what I was doing when I was 15 and that young. And then I worry.

Can I tell you that the above mentioned fact causes me extreme anxiety and excitement. I am happy and sad. I want to go dress shopping and keep her at home. I want to get her hair did and I think about sex, drugs, and rock n roll. Yikes.

We looked at dresses. She wants a long one. She's not your average can't wait to dress hootchie teenager. She wants to be covered up.

This is definitely one of those MOT club moments. Hello mothers of teenagers, what the hell do I do? I am gonna guess the answer is nothing. Let her go. Let her enjoy this moment. Worry like crazy. Be sad. Be happy. All of the above.

Right?

New Deodorant?

2011-01-16T09:50:00.000-08:00

Life update: Currently way the freakin busy.

I have a night class; I know, just one. I couldn't do two.

Also, I started a teaching job. Shut the hell up. I totally did.

I am shaping the future of nursing? Scary.

A lot of lovely people around me are very supportive and tell me I am great/probably will be great. It's all super nice for my ego, but it's kind of a big responsibility. Because I know what kind of a student I was. The kind who expects my teacher to be an example of professionalism and have a wealth of knowledge. So I feel some internal pressure to know all the answers. And I just remembered that I don't. Cuz I forgot things since nursing school. Like, things I don't use (hello labor and delivery, I am talking to you). So now maybe I should get myself organized. And get a better deodorant. Cuz mine did not cut it through 7 hours of teaching.

I also told my students to tell me if I am wrong. I told them the most important person is not me. It's not them. It's the patient. Our egos are not what we should be focused on.

The other job situation also involves deodorant. And a last minute invite to a meeting full of administrators in which I was unexpectedly asked to update them on the education plan for the new program we are starting. Thanks Mr. MD. I appreciate that one. I BSed my way through that, while trying not to stammer. And maybe got an educator job out of it.

And yes, I am still doing the stupid job I did not get. And no, I don't have benefits yet. But I am fixing that.

Runaway part 2

2011-01-09T09:32:00.000-08:00

Swain Road had very few street lights. The reason I knew that piece of information was because I had been down it once before with my friend Chanda. Chanda lived with her mother on a pleasant little circle named Blue Ridge. Lovely little duplexes lined both sides of the street, all painted blues and brown and green. Just like with my apartments, you couldn’t tell from the street what was really going on there. I know what you’re thinking, what kind of name is Chanda? I thought it was some Southeast Asian name, like the Laotian people in Tyrol Village apartments down the street from me. But it turned out, during roll call in Anthropology class, she was white with great teeth and pretty blonde hair. She lived with her mother and made friends with people so much easier than I did. And she wasn’t nice everyone, in fact she was kind of scary. I was afraid of her, and in awe of her because she wasn’t afraid of anyone. She didn’t seem to need anyone and I felt like I needed everyone who happened to say hello to me.

Once that summer, I spent the night at her house. Her mother went to sleep thanks to the prescription bottle on her night stand and we headed out. We left her a note taped to the television, which was turned to one of those channels that is just fuzzy dots and noise. We were going to meet her boyfriend at Denny’s on Pacific Avenue and decided to take Swain because it wasn’t as busy a street. We talked the whole way keeping our minds of the dangers lurking in cars or shadows. That was until we came around the curve near the footbridge, where no street light shown. Where the shadows look like deep caverns and you mind starts playing tricks on you. It was kind of like those horror movies but with no creepy music, only the sound of our steps. A car passed by, the headlights making it hard to see anyone behind the wheel. Another car came from the opposite direction, and we were pretty sure it was the same car that had passed just moments before. We heard the sound of another car, and Chanda directed us to someone’s side gate. We hid in backyard waiting for the car to pass. Finally it did. We turned back and walked to her house. We were done being brave, even though no one said anything about it. Chanda decided it was a long walk and she was tired.

So now I was on Swain again. I realized where I was going, to Chanda’s house. I just had to get through the dark street. I practiced my confident, victimless walk. I tried to ignore my heart beating loudly. I spotted a broken bottle in the gutter and picked up a large shard of glass. If someone came near me, I would cut them with it. I held the glass in my right hand running through scenarios of how I would fight off my would-be attacker. I’d get him across the neck, maybe in the eye, something debilitating enough for me to run. I looked at the dirty glass in my hand trying to convince myself I was capable of stabbing someone with it, while deep down knowing I was already a victim. Down to the core, I felt like a victim and I didn’t think I could undo that.

When I got to Chanda’s house a wave of relief passed over me followed immediately by dread. Now that I reached my destination, people were going to know where I was. I could feel the dread that comes along with getting ready for what parents like to call consequences. This moment of me just walking with myself was going to end. What I really wanted to do was just keep walking. Somewhere. Anywhere.

----------You can see right here, this was the beginning of my desire to vacation when life is kicking me in the ass. This moment created the random road tripper that I am who subscribes to National Geographic Traveler.

Did I Tell You About The Time I Ran Away?

2010-12-31T17:52:00.000-08:00

“I’m going with him.” I told her and ran out in sandals, shorts and a gray hooded sweatshirt. I didn’t grab keys or anything else because I had to hurry and catch him before he drove away.

I ran out slamming the door marked with the number seventy-four behind me. As I ran down the cement stairs from our apartment, my sandals hit the steps with a clapping sound and the metal railing vibrated in answer. The back of my feet were calloused from all the years of scraping my heels on the hard cement going up and down those stairs. As I hit the bottom of the stairs and sped out onto the cool grass, I saw Tony’s eight-five Oldsmobile pull out of the drive-way. I ran across the grass into the cool summer night, trying to be noticed so I wouldn’t have to turn around. I couldn’t turn around. But he kept going.

I stood on the grass staring out at the street and then looking back to the large second story window to my living room. My mom was meticulous about keeping people from the outside from seeing in. The curtains were drawn, as they always were, and yellowed from the light of her lamps or the smoke. I knew she was still sitting there on the couch smoking away. I could imagine the acrid smell of her breath, a mix of cigarettes and diet soda. Her blotchy red face and limp blonde hair hanging down on the sides of her face. It wasn’t just the smoke that was suffocating in that room and I turned back towards the street.

It was in that moment I did something I had never done before, I left. I inhaled the summer air, so fresh and alive that I felt it move me along. As far as my mom knew I was in the car with Tony. I started walking across the grass, towards the street, intent on just going. I wasn’t running away technically, because I didn’t even know where I was going and I wasn’t planning on being gone permanently. I wasn't planning anything at all.
Our apartments were not the types that were gated with high metal gates to keep out people unless you knew what code to punch in on a little key pad. Anyone could pull into the entrance, a wide driveway divided by a narrow island of grass and trees neatly bordered by a cement curb. A short chain-link fence ran across the front of the apartments but between that fence and the street were tall Oleander bushes. The bushes blocked the view into the apartments from the street, with the exception of the driveway. Teenage boys often practice skateboarding tricks in that driveway. The sound of skateboards rolling on asphalt were a part of the sound of these apartments as much as the sound of cars passing by on streets and the sound of the ice cream truck playing a distorted version of Pop Goes The Weasel.

I lived in a two bedroom unit across the street from dilapidated tennis courts that belonged to a rundown high school. It wasn’t my high school, because I lived on the other side of an imaginary line that separated me from that school district. I went to a high school almost two miles north, where families came complete with a mom, a dad, and even a golden retriever named Honey. I wasn’t upset about the long walk to and from school every day because I wanted to be in the other world with the other families. It just seemed like no matter how far I walked I always ended up back in that same apartment. I was pretty sure if all those families knew, they’d be on my side too. Someone might even let me move in and join their family… that part is a lie. I didn’t daydream those kinds of things then. I was pretty sure that would never happen, because from that moment on I would cease to be what they had seen in me. A happy go lucky girl who smiles a lot and gets good grades. The kind of girl that people like to have around.

It was dark, but bright out. I didn’t see any stars but the moon was hanging big and low in the sky. Very few cars drove by this late. The summer was nearing it’s end, but the evenings were still warm enough to be out in shorts, but not one of those hot and sticky nights that keep you awake in bed with damp hair and only underwear on. I headed out to towards the street not thinking about what I had just committed to, still angry enough to keep walking. When my sandals first hit the sidewalk and they sounded loud to me. There was no one else around, and the sound of my shoes reminded me of that. I pushed that idea out of my head and walked on. At the age of fifteen, I thought of myself as pretty sharp. I knew I had to walk like I was confident person who knew exactly where she was headed. If you look like a victim, you’ll end up a victim, my mom always said. But she meant walking home from the store in the bright sun with groceries on our arm. Not out here close to midnight.

My mom used to say when I ran up the stairs I sounded like a herd of elephants. A noise that could push her into one of her high-pitched tirades. In my mind thoughts stormed through my head just like me running up the stairs. They started like a far away roar that you can’t quite figure out, and it grows louder and louder until you realize what it is when they finally are right in front of you. My thoughts were slower than elephants. It had taken me several years to start to notice that I was even angry at all. I started thinking that I didn’t like my mother at all.And how my mom didn’t understand anything. Tony didn’t understand anything. And why was he even still around? I wished he would just leave, but then I would be stuck with just her again. They were idiots, if you asked me, but that was something that didn’t happen. People never asked me.

I walked and the streets disappeared past me, unnoticed with each step. I walked what usually took me 30 long minutes to walk on my way to school in what seemed like the blink of an eye. One moment I was on the corner near my apartments, the next I was crossing the footbridge that led to Swain Rd. I glanced down at the water below, murky and foul smelling. In the summer the water was stagnant and grew a green layer across the top of it. And it was rank and overpowering in the heat. But I had never really noticed it, because I didn’t walk this way during the summer.

Swain Road had very few street lights. The reason I knew that piece of information was because I had been down it at night once before with my friend Chanda. Chanda lived with her mother on a pleasant little circle named Blue Ridge. Lovely little duplexes lined both sides of the street, all painted blues and brown and green. Just like with my apartments, you couldn’t tell from the street what was really going on there. I know what you’re thinking, what kind of name is Chanda? I thought it was some Southeast Asian name, like the Laotian people in Tyrol Village apartments down the street from me. But it turned out, during roll call in Anthropology class, she was white with great teeth and pretty blonde hair. She lived with her mother and made friends with people so much easier than I did. And she wasn’t nice everyone, in fact she was kind of scary. I was afraid of her, and in awe of her because she wasn’t afraid of anyone. She didn’t seem to need anyone and I felt like I needed everyone who happened to say hello to me.

I. Am. Awesome.

2010-12-22T13:27:00.001-08:00

It's my blog so I get to say that. And even though I am sick, this post can read like I am totally peppy. Which I am not. In fact I am typing each letter extremely slow because I used all my energy to buy OJ, soup and tea at the store. In the rain. While sick. You can see why that took so much energy.

I realized that you don't see me mouth breathing, like those poor cashiers, and you don't have to cringe at all the nose blowing I do and then worry about what I have touched. You can just enjoy my awesomeness.

Because that's what I am.

Why? Why am I awesome? Well if you have to ask, I guess I can fill you in. Although I did not get the superfantablulous job, I have gotten a lot of really nice words. And potential other jobs. They offered me the girl who got the job's job and I turned it down. I know, who turns down jobs in this economy? Me.

But in the week since I turned it down I have had conversations with Doctors, managers, co-workers all saying awesome things like:

"I have been watching you do this job and you are really good at it."

"I wanted to make sure you didn't take that other job. I think it's not right for you. You would do better working with me."

"Dr. So and So thinks you should be an educator for the staff."

"How about being the manager, have you ever considered that?" (Yes I have. And the answer is No thanks.)

I spoke with (the nursing director of the hospital) about an education job and she should be calling you soon."

"How are you doing? Have you ever thought about management?"

"When (girl who got the job) worked with us, she never got things done. You always get back to me so quick. Why did they pick her?"

I know, that last one irks you. Me too. But what are you going to do. Unions and seniority and crap. She isn't even planning on staying. But whatever, I have been enjoying all the appreciation I have gotten. At my last hospital, appreciation wasn't plentiful. But complaints were.

I don't know if someone is going to call me soon. I don't know what will happen. But I did get called for an interview to teach Nursing at a community college. And I went. In the rain. Yesterday. We will see what happens. Either way. I am awesome.

Growing Pains

2010-12-11T14:03:00.000-08:00

I am telling you, this teenager thing is totally hard. Once a month, mine freaks out how difficult everything is. How responsibility is so hard. And I totally understand, because it is difficult to grow up. It's not a Peter Pan movie where you try to avoid It, and then finally you realize you're ready. At least for me it wasn't. Growing up just kind of yanked the rug out from me, more than once, until I got it. It still happens occasionally. Don't ignore responsibility or you will fall on your face.

My kid sees it and she is not excited. She is worried about getting into college, paying for college, having a car, paying for insurance, getting a job, paying for taxes, etc. I feel bad. She's got realistic considerations in her mind, but some where along the way, did I not show her fun in life? Do I need to lighten up? I don't really imagine myself to be uptight or demanding.

All the more reason this job situation sucks. Yeah, that stupid situation in which I did not get the job. They offered it to the other person and offered me that person's job. I was definitely disappointed. And while I was loving the job I was doing, I don't know if I want her job. I gave up a lot of myself for this change, I sacrificed my time with my family for it. I sacrificed a clean house. And maybe even an ability to finish my English degree. Not every class is actually available at night. But I was willing to do it for something I wanted so much. Now, I don't know. But, before I got cancelled a lot. I need to be able to pay bills.

This is a difficult decision. And here is where being grown up continues to be hard.

There Was This Time I Thought I Had Cancer

2010-12-02T21:47:00.000-08:00

I once bought my friend Bec this cardboard wheel thingy. You can move it to reveal your diagnosis based on your symptoms. Kind of like those pregnancy wheel thingies that tell you your due date based on the last missed period. It was a Hypochondriac diagnosis tool.

I should have bought it for myself. See my title, about that time I thought I had cancer. Oh, wait. That was every time something is wrong with me. But this time, this time a few weeks ago, I was really sure.

I have been complaining about Lower left quadrant abdominal pain, bloating and some other vague symptoms that you can totally blow off as diet, gas, or whatever. Except it was going on for like months. So I decided to tell my Nurse Practitioner. Who happen to call me Lori when she came in the room. Seriously. Lori. Have we not gone over this people? My name is not mother effin Lori.

Anyways I told her and she was all yeah, yeah. It's probably nothing. And I was like, okay but it's uncomfortable. You know. When me and my husband are hanging out. Alone. You know. And she was like, it's hard to be intimate after you have kids. Maybe you just need a vacay? And I was all, this is what I am saying, I totally need a vacation.....but really, I don't think a lack of vacation time makes my LOWER LEFT ABDOMEN HURT.

So she ordered an ultrasound. Which I did. Or Olga did. That was the tech's name. And I knew something was up because she was clicking away with her keyboard (measuring, I thought) on the left side a bunch. And then the doctors office called and said I had to come in for the results. With the doctor and NOT the N.P. And I was all cool cuz she didn't believe me anyways. Actually I wasn't all cool. I was kind of on the I have cancer train. Vague abdominal symptoms unrelieved by changes in diet, exercise, etc over a period of months. Oh, it's a tumor. I told my husband this was the last Thanksgiving we had before the cancer diagnosis. I started putting money in savings because soon I was going to have huge medical bills or have to move to France. I was planning my diary blog post and what I would say to people about my cancer. I was thinking about my life insurance was NOT enough to help out my husband. Yes, I am that morbid.

These are the things you think when you wait for test results. And then I went to the doctor and he told me my pain was real (Ha! Take that Nurse Practitioner!). That I had a hemorrhagic ovarian cyst. Not cancer. Just a painful bloody cyst. And I was totally cool with it. Not cancer. I might have to have it surgically removed. I have a repeat ultrasound to see if it is getting better. But? Not cancer.

Then yesterday I had two, TWO, co-workers tell me about rupturing cysts, emergency surgery, and a tear in arteries. Seriously? Maybe I should wear a hypochondriac badge or something so people will shut up when they see me instead of trying to freak me out.

Trip Wanted

2010-11-28T13:29:00.001-08:00

I think I said a while back that I need a trip every three months...to um, function. I need to get out of my house and sleep in a hotel or on some one's couch to get a little perspective. A little relaxed. Refreshed. Whatever. I gets antsy at home. Stressed. And since camping I haven't gone anywhere. Not even back to little ole Central California (which finally we will do for Christmas).

It's all been because of $$.

Which thank goodness is looking a little up. That's what I tell myself every week day while I drive to work in my sensible, black, Naturalizer shoes (no matter what I do, I am just not cool). My paychecks are better. Keep plugging away at the job you don't have/might have because you are working more hours and getting more mulah. Too bad it doesn't come with a little sick pay, vacation time, or even some short term disability insurance. Never mind that we are one bad car accident from being screwed-I am getting paid! Stop being so negative. I do have a basic disability plan that is up to 70% of my income. So there is that, I guess.

The other day I quizzed my husband on, if I was sick would you give up Direct TV? Your cell phone data plan? Netflix? Which he answered, of course, yes. Followed by my 12 year old saying, are you sick? Oops. I guess I forget my tendency to worry can stress other people out too.

Hey, did I tell you were going on a trip?

Yesterday Was No Fun

2010-11-18T08:34:00.000-08:00

I have no cute stories about my kids. No more, kids say the darnedest things. At 12 and 15, cute is not the word I use to describe them. Sometimes they are funny, sometimes I am proud, but there aren't any occasions in which they say things in that toddler dialect people find so cute.

Instead I have two girls who have PMS. Yep. And it is not awesome. It is OH MY GOD SHE IS CRYING ABOUT LOSING HER RUBBER BANDS EVEN THOUGH WE FOUND THEM ALREADY. It's try not to be insensitive and tread very carefully because when you say it's no big deal she will cry more. Like ugly cry. Every word you say is a mind field of potential fist clenching, foot stomping or random sobbing reactions.

And husbands? Do not get that. So all you people out there who are pregnant or trying to get pregnant, HAVE A BOY. If you don't? Start a freakin MOTS group now. I need one. At a bar preferably.

Also yesterday at work, someone told me to put my kid on the pill so I won't have to pay for an abortion. Cuz she is 15. WTF? Thanks for that.

Still Undecided

2010-11-14T09:21:00.001-08:00

So my job situation is still TBD. I interviewed with two medical directors, one who then notified people he was leaving at the end of the year. So that means a new medical director of the program is coming and people are saying he's bringing friends. Like his own hand picked staff. So is the job even gonna be available? I dunno. The manager did tell me she wanted me to work with her in any capacity she could have me. Nice to hear.

I am on my own doing the job. I have a pager and emails and voice mails and meetings and insurance companies and patients and doctors....I am just going to get through each day, step by step and see where things go. It's kinda all I can do. Meanwhile, every time I think about work I get a kind of punched in the gut anxiety and then I have to mentally go through my to do list to make sure I did everything I needed to do.

So this weekend I am trying to fake like work doesn't exist and hang with the fam. And doing homework, cuz yeah, I still have school.

My Favorite Store That I Can't Afford

2010-11-06T08:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I got an Anthropologie catalogue. But alas, those beautiful clothes cost too much for me. Maybe when my kids grow up and move away, I will buy all of my clothes there.

And Then The Weekend Comes

2010-11-05T08:16:00.000-07:00

I have been crazy busy with new job training, which includes chemo scribing quizzes, computer education on ethics of research and meeting 500 people. Also new job training has included the oops sorry conversation, in which I learned I maybe sorta might not get this job. Which I knew was kind of a possibility, but I thought it was a really small one. The deal was, the job couldn't be applied for until it was vacated. Rules. But they wanted me to train now, before the person left and then I could apply and take over. I did an interview with the manager. Turns out before me, they had asked someone else if they wanted the job and they said no. To three different people. Now, they want it. And we're both applying for it.

Plus for me:

I know some things she doesn't about transplant and have 5 1/2 years (4 1/2 in Allogeniec) actually doing it.

Minus for me:

She has her MSN and knows all the MDs already. She also did the job when the current person was on maternity leave.

Ack. Stressful.

Also I had a crap load of school work to do. Which resulted in the above to do list. It was the only way I could even attempt to remember crap. And it turns out I forgot some stuff. Somewhere between soccer practice for Katie and dinner, I forgot my kid's orthodontist appt. HOW THE HELL DO FULL TIME WORKING MOMS DO IT?

And then Katie got an ear infection and I purposefully forgot to read some assigned reading. Oh well. That's life.

I did however get 100% on one midterm and 90% on another. So even if I don't get the job, I am totally cool if someone need me to teach them about 18th century literature.

Hallelujah weekend.

One Foot Out Of The Door

2010-11-02T20:12:00.001-07:00

Let me introduce you to the Six Year Plan. Because this is a phrase we have just seriously started throwing around in our house. Like a slogan. Like Change You Can Believe In or something. Except no one's voting for or against us.

Except maybe the Universe some days.

The Six Year Plan is all about the husband and I picking up and heading north. The goal: In six years, to sell our house and move to the bay area.

The problem? You know it, you've heard that crap on the news for two years now. Culminating in this year's elections smeared with campaign promises to fix it.

The Economy. Currently our house is worth less than what we paid for it. $ We have an outdated kitchen and bathroom. $ And we have two teenagers and a middle school student. Braces, proms, $$$$. But somehow, some way, we are going to make this 6 year plan and, no offense to any fellow SoCal residents, get the eff out of here.

Wow. Hostile much?

Happy Almost Halloween.

2010-10-30T16:10:00.000-07:00

I am supposed to write an essay. Like now. But I am procrastinating, as usual. In fact, what would my life be without procrastination? Less stressed. And less fun, I think.

Plus I can't work on school work. I just got back from helping set up a neighborhood Halloween party and my arms and legs are all jiggly feeling. I carried heavy stuff and crap like that.

I am starting to freak out about the new job a little less, but I am sure it will come back once training is officially over and I AM ON MY OWN. What I am already doing is day dreaming about my weekend life. The day trips, overnight trips, and eating out I can do because I will no longer work those days. For instance, I was supposed to work the entire weekend of the husbands birthday. The whole weekend. Not anymore. Now we can go to the San Diego Beer Week if we want, and really celebrate his old age. Also? Last weekend we carved pumpkins with all of our friends. For the last few years we've done it on week days or on afternoons when I woke up (from working at night). This year, we had the whole day free. I know that all jobs have down sides. But right now, I am looking at the ups.

And New Work It Is....

2010-10-22T11:45:00.000-07:00

I wrote that the other day, before things were settled, and now they are a little more settled. A job opportunity was thrown my way last week and I have been working on making it happen. It kind of changes everything but I am hoping it works out. It's a great chance for me professionally, and I get to wear something other than pajamas to work. Also, I get to stop the 12 hr shift business.

Weekends off.

Paid holidays.

Paid sick time.

I had a meeting yesterday with the person who is leaving the position and got a little heads up on what I am in for. And although my husband tells me constantly, I am awesome and I can do this, I feel kind of overwhelmed. Oh crap, you mean I will be responsible for all of that?

Well. Come Monday, we'll see how it goes.

And school is all up in the air too. I am finishing out the quarter and I can do night classes but we'll see what happens.

You Know, Jobs and sucky economy things

2010-10-21T09:24:00.000-07:00

So lately me and working have not been so tight. It's not because I don't like him, I mean I like him. I just don't love him. I don't want to marry him and be a work-a-holic. I am not that kind of person. But I thought work and I had an OK relationship. A few days a week is plenty of time to hang out. But now all of the sudden work keeps canceling plans with me and seems like he doesn't need me anymore. Which is kind of awful. Not in the I am telling you I don't need you anymore kind of way. But in the avoiding making plans and cancelling at the last minute kind of way.

So I am looking for new work. And it sux. Because I like my work the way it is. Ugh. I like to change my hair color. my clothes. My blog. But not big things like HOW I GET MY MONEY. Fingers crossed.

Not even mentioning all of the GD bills I have.

Still here

2010-10-20T08:40:00.000-07:00

Don't get me wrong, I love my kids.

Seriously.

But some days I feel smothered by responsibility. You know how people grow up and get married and decide to raise a kid. And they love every second of it....well almost. They cry when their kids go to pre-school, kindergarten, and milestones. The other day my sister called me to tell me her daughter read her first sentence the other day. She was so proud.

And I love my kids. But for me, my daughter going to preschool was more about me having to GO TO WORK and pay the rent. Getting on that bus at 5:30 am was muther effin hard. I know, I know, I've said this all before. And? Kindergarten? When my oldest started kindergarten my ex and I were in the middle of a custody battle. And all of this time, my family lived out of state. I spent each day plugging along on my own. I often say I was lucky that my kids went to my ex's mom's daycare. At least I didn't have to worry about strangers. Yet.

My point is that all of those moments that other moms celebrate with their friends and family happened to my kids. But a lot of the time I was alone. And busy. And tired. I was going to school, work or living miles from everyone I knew.

I remember celebrating Katie's first birthday. I had a cake with ghosts on it because it was October. And my mom visited. She complained that the cake was creepy. And I was dating Will, so he came over. And I think BFF came over. And that was it. Our joyous occasions were small moments of celebrations known only to a few other people.

And today my kids are big. And going to have a volunteer jobs. They need braces. And are thinking about college. They have had to deal with mean girls and the difficulties of our crazy mixed family. We still spend most Holidays alone. And they still have moments that are silently witnessed by me. Their good grades and test scores. Their soccer goals. Their first time holding hands with a boy. Soon it will be learning to drive. Going to prom. All celebrated by me. I still don't have family in the state to show up at soccer games or birthday parties.

And some days parenting is very difficult for me. Some days I wonder how much more I can do on my own. I have my husband and for that I am very grateful. But I see all of my friends and their families celebrate life's great moments with them. And I wonder who will be coming to my kid's high school graduation with me.

"To What End Are All These Words?"

2010-10-11T11:56:00.001-07:00

This season marks the end of the third year I have had this blog. I started it to practice writing on a regular basis and to improve the quality of my writing. I also began a degree in English and wrote 10,000 words about being a wicked stepmother. In writing about my life, I met people, learned things, and indulged in a part of myself that I hadn't made time for previously.

I took a lot of pictures, ate a lot of food, and told some stories about cancer, poverty and marriage. I saw my oldest daughter start high school and my youngest start middle school. I saw my marriage grow as well as some friendships. I sometimes used it as a soap box and a place to vent.

And now I find that writing here has not only become a chore but a hindrance to some 10,000 more words I'd like to write. I've debated it for months, and because I did not want to lose everything I had gained here in this spot, I was unable to stop my blogging. But today, I decided, in order to focus on other things of importance, I am going to stop writing here. I will continue to occasionally put pictures on my photography blog when I can (because I can't give up everything at once!). Thanks for all the time you have spent here commenting on what crosses my mind.

Most of the people that still actually comment will continue to be around in my life in other ways. If you want to email me to keep in contact, feel free: drgnflys78@yahoo.com

Beside A Mountain

2010-10-04T12:05:00.000-07:00

Lucky enough for me, I live next to the mountains. It's not what most people think of when they think Southern California, but that's where I live. In fact, MissMerry was very surprised when she visited, to stand in my backyard and look at a mountain. She made me take a picture of it for her.

Today, without my camera, I hiked uphill to Canyon Park in the rain. It's about 5 miles round trip. I wish I could have had my camera, but then I would have taken pictures to show you. And I might have missed the smell of wet earth and fallen leaves mixed with the smell of fires from nearby homes. The fragrance of damp bark and pine needles. I would have seen the chaparral landscape in coloring the mountains yellow, orange, brown, and green but I might not have inhaled it's scent.

I did, however bring my iPod and I listened to Bloc Party the whole way. And it was invigorating. Living beside a mountain is one way I can stand to live here in so much busy-ness. I don't think I could survive SoCal without some way to escape people, BECAUSE THEY ARE EVERYWHERE.

Relief

2010-09-28T18:31:00.000-07:00

In SoCal, the land is full. What I mean is, it's all built on. There's rarely an empty lot. No big open fields like where I grew up. It's busy, full of people, cars and buildings. When I leave to NorCal, I relax in wide open-ness of it all. Here, to relax, all I can do is let my eyes drift up and hope the sky is clear and yellowed and hazy with smog. A clear sky can substitute for those empty fields.

I went into this past weekend still trying to recover from a cold. I had snot pouring out of my nose, so much that I took to driving around with a box of Kleenex. A box of 3 ply lotion infused Kleenex. That's some big spending for me, I usually make do with toilet paper, or whatever napkins we happen to have. But a week of blowing one's nose on paper towels leads to some very uncomfortable skin. Friday, I headed to the store.

And then came the heat. Saturday. Sunday. And Monday. 113 degrees on Monday. 113 degrees with one small window air conditioning unit, which is basically having a small fan that blows cool air in only one tiny spot. Meaning I couldn't leave my couch.

But I had to leave my couch. I had to study and read from 4 of the 19 books I had this quarter. One being the Iliad, the others being A Midsummer's Night's Dream, Moll Flanders and a companion book to Shakespeare. Yeah, I know, you probably didn't care about the titles. But hear me out on the NINETEEN books in 10 weeks. Ugh.

I also had to leave my couch to take my husband's car to the shop. He took my car to work. And the Honda guy said I need it all day to figure out what's the weird noise we've been hearing. Which meant I had no car at 10 am. And it was already 100 degrees out.

I got a ride home from a friend who convinced me to knock it off already and stop trying to take 3 classes at a time. Ok. Dropped the Iliad off of my reading list until next quarter. And then I reclaimed my position on the couch and waited.

Waited for the heat to go away (it didn't until midnight I think). Waited to hear about the noise (drive shaft, axle boots-whatever they are, new brakes, and new tires needed $$$$). Waited for my kids to call so I could see if they could get a ride with some friends instead of walking in 10000 degrees (they did). And waited to talk to my husband about our money woes, which currently remain unresolved. I didn't sleep well last night.

Today I went to one less class. And laughed at my teachers jokes about capital punishment and 18th century morals. And marveled at how 99 degrees could feel so much better than 113. And how I could feel so much better looking up at the sky in all it's clear blues and whites.

Yay! Fall Food

2010-09-21T18:47:00.001-07:00

I made this chicken recipe I found here for my family tonight. They all said they liked it with the unusual flavors of cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg and ground cloves.

I changed it slightly from the original:

2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon white sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 1/2lb split breast of chicken
4 cloves garlic, crushed

1.In a bowl, mix the garlic, salt, sugar, cloves, allspice, nutmeg, and cinnamon. Rub the chicken with the mixture. Cover chicken, and place in the refrigerator for 24 hours.
2.Preheat oven to 500 degrees F (260 degrees C).
3.Place the chicken, breast side down, on a rack in a roasting pan.
4.Roast 5 minutes in the preheated oven. Reduce heat to 450 degrees F (230 degrees C), and continue roasting 5 minutes. Baste chicken with pan drippings (or butter), reduce heat to 425 degrees F (220 degrees C), and continue roasting 30 minutes, to an internal temperature of 180 degrees F (85 degrees C).

I served it with these carrots and home made stuffing.

Who? What?

2010-09-15T10:17:00.000-07:00

Summary of the last 2 weeks:

We have no money.

Teenager gets braces, $956 deposit paid.

We have no money.

We have no air conditioner.

Friend gives us window unit a/c. (Yay!)

Teenager needs 4 teeth pulled for braces and achoring devices put in bone. Cost $1250.

Financed $1250 (with no interest).

Kid's teeth pulled under Nitrous Oxide, kid's mouth bleeds for 4 hours, kid complains about bleeding and gauze.

Kid misses two days of school. I miss one day of work.

Husband buys us dinner at a pub with friends. (same friends mentioned above, had fun!)

We have no money.

Hip hurts. Have no idea why. Thinking the universe should probably give me a break on that one.

Seven Signs You're Getting Dumber

2010-09-05T19:03:00.000-07:00

Recently I have become pretty tired of Yahoo. In fact, I need a new home page for when I hop on to the internets. I am not a fan of Bing and those MSN related places to start and I actually never use Google. I have always used Yahoo. Why? I dunno. Habit.

But lately Yahoo feels like some kind of internet version of People meets Glamour magazine. Every time I open it and think to myself, Hey, I wonder what's happening out in the world, I see Yahoo's idea of news. Or ways to make you click on their stupid news. Like "10 Best Places to Raise Your Kids" and "7 Signs He Is Really Into You". You think I am kidding but today it was "Top 10 Summer Sky Objects to See Before Fall," which I could not have lived without knowing.What is with all of the counting of things I need to know? Since when did all the information I need belong in a tidy short list. I think their lists should be more realistic, like Ten Reasons We Can't Find Good Writers or 6 Quick Ways To Suck Up Your Life On The Internet With Useless Crap. How about 8 News Stories You Don't Care To Know About?

And don't get me started on the stupid recaps of reality performance competitions. I actually am not interested in who won the latest dance TV show. Sorry. Next they're going to have a section on celebrities being just like me searching the internet for ? What? What do celebrities search for on the internet? Because Yahoo can find what they eat, drink and shop for, so I may as well know what they are perusing the internet for too.

What is your home page?

Summer? Or Fall?

2010-08-30T12:45:00.000-07:00

Today was back to school day for the kids. I dropped them off with all the other five hundred parents who don't drive their kids to school normally but do on this day. Why? I dunno. It's a rule. Be nice to your kids and drive on the first day. Make them walk tomorrow. I also heard that Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back in Starbucks.

And I drove MissMerry to the airport after having her visit LA for the first time. I played tour guide all weekend, and I think I did OK except, and I am totally disappointed about this, I never took her to In N Out!

In other news, our air conditioner really broke this weekend. For reals. And since I just laid down a $956 deposit on my teenager's braces (yeah, start saving now parents of toddlers) I am cringing about that. I am thinking we should go all 1965 and not get it fixed UNTIL WE HAVE THE MONEY. You know, back when people didn't finance everything. I don't think my husband is sold on that one. But it is September (tomorrow) and that means we only have like 2 months of summer left in LA, right? I mean, we'll just buy Kool-aid and make Popsicles for the kids outta them like it's 1985. Or if he likes we can use organic berries and get a recipe from David Lebovitz's blog for fancy Popsicles. I am not picky.

Here are some photos of the LA I rarely visit.

Chicken Shit

2010-08-21T19:28:00.000-07:00

I just finished <------ that book by David Sedaris, and if you didn't already know, he is pretty funny. He's really funny to listen to on The American Life. I had previously read another book by him before (Me Talk Pretty One Day), but it wasn't as funny as listening to him. You get used to his tone, his dry sarcasm and dramatic pauses. After that, the book isn't the same. It's all stories you already heard him read and cracked up at, and now you're reading them. Yeah, yeah David, tell me something I didn't already know about your family. My friend Bec suggested that hearing him read has kind of ruined reading him. I agreed.

But with this book, I laughed out loud. There were a lot of stories I hadn't heard him read and a lot of funny in unexpected places. And, apparently, you can write about anything. Quiting smoking. Learning Japanese. Buying pot. Catching flies and feeding them to spiders. All of it is entertaining. Provided you are as funny as David Sedaris.

And then I finished and thought I could write a book. I think that on more than one occasion. I think about the stuff I would write. Like the ten thousands words I have already written about being a stepmother. But I come back to the fact that I am chicken. Really. Write a book about how you feel about a very difficult and complex relationship with your stepson and his mother. Good Idea. And how about going to work naked? It's totally going to work out well. And it goes without saying, it won't be a good book unless it's honest. That's what is so great about David Sedaris. It feels so honest. So here I am, with my almost English degree, ten thousands words, and a blog no one reads.

Sigh.

Cancer Poem

2010-08-19T16:32:00.000-07:00

I live in walking distance of more than four churches. One is a Catholic church at the end of my street. Some days I see weddings. Quinceañeras. And funerals. The other day I was running at the gym around the corner from my house. It was hot and humid out, but the sky was a picturesque blue with perfect clouds. Unusual for SoCal summers, let me assure you. And the window I looked out of (from my treadmill) was across from a baptist church. I wish I had my camera for that blue and grey steeple with perfect blue skies behind it. Afterward, I drove home with a poem in my head and I saw a hearse parked in front of the Catholic Church. Seemed fitting.

There is no mistaking the look of death
In that dull stare and grey flesh.
I close your mouth,
But not before I notice
The black and blue coloring
On the roof of your mouth.
As if that last ragged breath
Had to fight it's way out.
Cheyne Stokes.
Death Rattle.

I probably should be sad,
And maybe I am a little,
For your family waiting to come in,
But I heard your confused sobs
These last two days.
I saw you looking at the faces of your children
Foreign and unfamiliar.
And I read the test results about the tumor
Invading your mind.
I use this warm washcloth to wipe away
Dried up tears from yesterday.
I pull the tubes out of your arms.
Relieved.
And Peaceful.

My Brain Is Mush

2010-08-10T15:54:00.000-07:00

I haven"t read a book in weeks. I bought one the other day while in line at Marshall's (I know, not even a book store, but a discount crap store). I was thinking, hey, I like this author and I need to read something. I need to open up my brain and fill it with some words. Sentences. IDEAS, people. I need something other than Starbucks, laundry, and my eleven year old's club penguin chatter.

When I got home with my book I got straight to work. Put my crap purchases away and sat down to read. Wait, I decided to read the jacket first. Hmmm, that sounds familiar. Read the first paragraph and, yup, I had read it already.

Yesterday I returned it. I hate returning things. It's a wait in line that results in nothing exciting. No purchase of new and exciting crap. No froyo, no nonfat latte with caramel, no veggie burrito. Lines should always culminate in something being handed to me. And I don't mean a receipt.

I filled my desire to purchase things by grocery shopping and heading to Target for some back to busy calendar days shopping. Target, I hate you. Why must you remodel all the Targets in a 5 mile radius in order to prepare for groceries? And why did you put women's clothing racks in the children's clothing racks? And where are the socks and underwears?

And. These. Are. What. My. Days. Have. Become.

My brain is full of shaded parking spots to pick up tomatoes for dinner. To Do lists involving orthodontist consultations and dropping of used clothes to the Goodwill. Picking up comet to scrub the toilet. Back to School registration days. I think my summer fun has ended. I kind of wish I had one more hurrah before we jump into Fall Madness (forget March-school, soccer, my school, work....). Something to keep my brain from becoming unable to form thoughts that aren't centered around calendars and endless boringness.

And then I remembered Miss Merry is coming for one more Hollywood Bowl show. I wonder if she knows how much fun and excitement is riding on her shoulders.

Here Are 685, Instead of 1000

2010-08-05T17:18:00.000-07:00

This is where I was raised, not where I was born (which was actually some hospital in Cleveland). That is the two bedroom apartment that I once poured lemonade into my cereal because we had no milk. It’s the apartment I had the chicken pox in, the one I came home to when I had my tonsils out and it’s also the apartment where I learned to do most things on my own. It started with an internal dialogue. I made my own decisions and reasoned things out in my thoughts, because I learned pretty quickly thoughts were best kept to yourself.

That is the living room window that we always kept curtained off because my mother thought people from the street were watching us. My sister likes to point out that I do the same thing now, but I do it only when the sun is reflecting off of my television. Or when the hottest part of the day is heating up my house through those south and west facing windows. Not because I think people are watching, sis. It was the living room that I watched The Walton’s, The Smurfs and The X-Files in. Mostly sitting on the floor, near the spot I caught fire once playing with my mom’s lighter and some Kleenex. Actually, we didn’t buy Kleenex, it was probably facial tissue. I never told her I did that.

That balcony is the balcony I used to climb down to sneak out of the house. I never would have done that when my mom was home, she would have heard with her crazy, animal like hearing. Instead we did it when she wasn’t home; locking the front door and leaving the back door open so we could get back in. I was twelve and my sister was 13. We could swing our long legs over the balcony and lower ourselves onto the fence below. We’d walk to the mall, to seven eleven, or anywhere we wanted. We didn’t have money, but we had what all kids like to have, unsupervised freedom. You know, until something scares the crap out of them. Except I had more scary things happen at home, than on the streets, which is probably a bad precedent for a young person.

Once, for Christmas, I ended up with a strand of Christmas lights somehow. I decided I wanted to string them around my window, that middle window, that was my window. I oakie-rigged some way to string the lights up and I felt so happy. I was filled with whatever, joy, the holiday spirit, whatever you want to call it. And then my mom came in and made me take it down. People could see it from the street.

That window once had a bullet hole in it. It also was blown in by wind during a storm one winter, shortly after the bullet hole. It landed on my bed at 4 in the morning. I wasn’t in it, because moments before it fell, I got up and ran out of the room as fast as I could. My sister and I are still a little afraid a strong winds and the sound of windows rattling.

The tree outside is green with small leaves. The leaves are the size of children's finger tips. In the Fall, the leaves turn orange and yellow and fall to the ground. They curl slightly and crunch perfectly under the wannabe KEDS on any seven year olds’ feet.

That’s not the same color paint from when I lived there. Actually, the apartments were painted several times when I was growing up. Blue-gray, Dark Brown, and now this. And right now, they look better than I remember. They have one of those automatic gates now. Does that mean its safer now? I wonder if the walls are still stained yellow from the years of smoke. I wonder if that burn is still in the carpet. I wonder if they still get roaches from time to time and have to fumigate. I wonder if they still take section eight.

I have a lot of memories of that apartment. Some of them are good.

Road Trip

2010-08-02T07:13:00.000-07:00

Hello Armpit of California!

I am driving up to Northern California today, to visit the teenager for her birthday. I'm looking forward to seeing her, but I have realized that 10 years have gone by since I lived there. Ten years since I left the place I grew up. At first I had a really difficult time being away. Which was odd, because I hated living there. And every year I would go back and visit at least twice a year. At least once in the summer (Elisabeth's birthday) and once in January (BFF's birthday). But these last few times I have visited, I realized I don't miss it anymore. I still have all of my memories, but I don't get that that same sweeping since of nostalgia. I have driven my kids down the streets I grew up on, I showed them the school I went to, and I have told them as many stories as I could think of...But now, we have ten years of history in a whole other place.

I remember getting off of the plane when we got back from Seattle. I inhaled the air (In Burbank, you deplane outside and walk into the airport) and said to my husband "It smells like home." He told me, you're officially a southern Californian now. I guess I am.

It's weird how much things can change.

Summer weather has come and gone?

2010-07-29T08:24:00.000-07:00

Last weekend we went camping near Oxnard with our friends and had a great time. No one yelled at me for making HOT DOGS WRONG or buying the wrong tent stakes (no camping nazis here!). In fact, the food was the best part. Not the weather. It was windy and overcast and c-c-c-cold! But we ate fantastic food like grilled peaches with honey and blue cheese. Veggie wraps with homemade pesto. Yummy salads. Our camping food pretty much kicked other peoples camping food's ass.

I also learned that I am old. And being old, I should not sleep on the hard ground, like some Dixie Chicks song. Instead I should buy a air mattress.

We did beach work outs with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. Awesome. That's not what I call them. My stepson called them that. Yeah, my stepson who comes over once a month now, because he is soooo busy, called them awesome. I was a little jealous. But I am a grown up now, since I have a therapist and all. And I know it's not they're fault that I apparently suck and am not awesome. Whateves.

Speaking of therapist, I am planning on breaking up with mine. I feel like I have worked out some stuff and now we just talk about weather and travel and crap. And then I walk out thinking about how I just paid for that.

And now we have reached the end of July, and the weather is weirdly at record low temperatures. I'm not sure what this means for Fall, but I am hoping it means cool weather the rest of the year. I could really use a break from horrible SoCal fire season.

Here are some photos from camping:

Dear God, Thanks For My Teenagers

2010-07-27T07:35:00.001-07:00

This year, my kid is starting her sophomore year of high school. She's turning fifteen in August and conversations with her and the stepson have turned to driving, college, dating at fifteen (did I make that rule???) and OH CRAP, DRIVING.

That word sounds terrifying.

Today my stepson has an interview for a volunteer job and yesterday we shopped for clothes and gave him advice. Speak clearly with confidence, look them in the eye....

These kids are so old. But sitting here, I remember what my life was like the summer before my sophomore year. I was out riding in cars with boys. Or actually, riding cars with a boy that was much older than I was. My best friend had perfected her ghetto accent and had a tendency to wanna start fights. People were scared of her. I was scared of her. We sat around rapping to E-40 and talking about older boys and annoying mothers. Once, we snuck out of her house and walked from W. Benjamin Holt to the Denny's on Pacific Ave. That was in Stockton, in case you have no idea what I am talking about. And that, was a long way at midnight for two 15 year old girls.

I didn't drink. I didn't take drugs. But I was a lost, lonely girl. And although driving and dating sound horrifying, I am so grateful that my teenagers are not like I was. I feel like Jack, tip toeing around the giants house. Any second I could jinx it all and have kids on drugs or something equally difficult. This last year has been hard, funny, and wonderful. Maybe God knew I couldn't handle misbehaving kids. Maybe I am actually doing this parenting thing right. All I know is, I'm keeping fingers crossed, saying prayers, and keeping lines of communication between me and my teenagers open. And hopefully, this introduction to adolescence is setting the tone for the next three years.

I mean the next seven years. Crap. I have another one.

Who's going to Israel? ME!

2010-07-22T20:48:00.000-07:00

So, we just spent the week with no AC when magically (or because my husband called someone to come check it out before we slap down $4000) it was fixed. Just like that. And all week I have been all kinds of panicky and making budgets that included canceling netflix, the gym, my data plan on my BB, the newspaper (I know, you're not feeling sorry for me)....I was trying to pick up extra shifts. I was going to give up STARBUCKS, which is just huge for me. I don't buy expensive make up or splurge on shoes. I am not a clothes whore but I NEED MY STARBUCKS. I also started mourning the loss of my scheduled trip to Israel in Jan 2012.

I can't even tell you how happy I am. I wanted to run around and high five my family for having a working air conditioning for the $95 plus $24 in parts (over priced parts but I don't care!). Instead I sat down on my couch and thought about how I can work out in my bedroom again whenever I want. And then we went straight to Starbucks for an afternoon coffee.

I feel like a $4000 weight has been lifted off of me. Except for now I have to pay for my trip to Israel. For me and my husband. Maybe I should be canceling all of those things anyways.

Um, it's getting hot in here. Send help.

2010-07-19T10:52:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday our air conditioning went out. Yep. Stopped working. According to The Weather Channel, it was 94 degrees here on Friday. It pretty much felt like 1000 degrees in our house. Especially since I had to bake some cupcakes for a birthday.

A friend of ours came out and tried to fix it but no such luck. Now we're looking at hot daze ahead and a purchase of $4200-10000 (according to Sears). Yeah. Great. I have no idea where that is going to come from.

In SoCal, summer weather lasts into October at times.

Last Friday I bought some Popsicles for the kids. Then I went to Carlsbad/Escondido for the weekend and slept in a hotel. That photo is of my pedicured feet relaxing in an air conditioned room, while my poor family had to tough it out. We put fans around the house. Katie isn't sleeping upstairs in her bed. Last night the kids slept outside in a tent because it was cooler. Luckily we have the weekend to look forward to, camping near the beach (cool weather!).

This is one of those moments in life where I think we are going to have seriously pinch and be frugal. Good thing I spent the first 22 years of my life broke. Mostly I am bummed because I think this might ruin my plan to go to Israel in 2012 for pilgrimage. :(

Miss Merry, I hope we have it fixed before you get here!!!

I'm old and I need to cash in on this SoCal life.

2010-07-10T10:56:00.000-07:00

I have probably mentioned that in SoCal, exercise is kind of way of life. I am not saying everyone is doing it, but, well, everyone is doing it. You know, California health nuts adjacent to Hollywood and stuff. So any occasion you might be at, you can be sure to get a good recipe for some uber high fiber, low sugar healthy food and hear an exercise story.

Every chick who turns thirty around me gets an idea to run 1/2 or full marathons. They join running clubs or put their kids in a jogging stroller and get at it. They get personal trainers, chiropractors, and massage therapists (or the other kind of therapists who run with them-I need one of those).They have done P90x, Tae Bo, Zumba, Yoga, or whatever is the newest thing to keep them looking LA worthy or Granola-healthy. Which is why, when I leave SoCal I feel thinner. I'm not hating on those girls, it's just a different lifestyle here.

Me, I sorta work out. Every 3 months I go, ok, ok, Lisa you don't want cardiovascular disease. Move something. And, Lisa, your ass is really looking big. And I also observed, I am not that committed to thin. I can't work out or avoid sugar like them.

But now I am 32 and I am totally thinking they had some good ideas, those crazy workout women. I really like the fact that my body works. As in I want it to still work well when I am 65. But now my knee gets sore if I run longer than 3 miles or 25 minutes (depending on how outta shape I am in). And my left shoulder seems to pop when I use my weights to work out my deltoids. The other day I jumped rope for 10 minutes and it KILLED my sad calf muscles.

Aw crap! I am getting old.

And now? I want a physical therapist to tell me how to strengthen and support the muscles around my jacked up joints when I work out. I also want a massage therapist when I am sore. I also want some $$$ to pay for all that stuff. However, my new friend and health nut, Stephanie IS a massage therapist. And I am not afraid to work out some kind of massage situation with her. Maybe I can trade babysitting for a calf rub.

And I too, find myself cutting back on sugar. I don't want so many sweets as I used too. What a follower.

Recommended By Chris- The Starbucks Barista

2010-07-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

While we were in Seattle, we stopped into Top Pot Doughnuts for breakfast after being recommended there by our fav barista and native Seattlian-Seattlite-what are people from Seattle called?

Any who... Chris said we should go, and I heard doughnuts. So I said SURE THING. You might have had a Top Pot glazed doughnut at Sbux when they started carrying them a while ago. And you might have thought they were yummy (you were right). But the flavors at the shop? Were totally yummier. Chocolate cake doughnut with maple icing. Blueberry glazed. All yummy. The lemon filled doughnut is the one I got and it was huge. And good. But not great. Great was that blueberry one.

We got there at just the right time, because shortly after we arrived the line was LONG. Apparently everyone in Seattle likes blueberry glazed doughnuts.

And then we ran around Discovery Park to use up all of the sugar we consumed in the morning.

2124 5th Ave
Seattle, WA 98121
206-728-1966

What I Know For Sure

2010-07-06T11:19:00.000-07:00

Yeah, I am totally like Oprah and I can handle this part of her magazine column. Um, well, whatever. I don't know if this a blog that people even want to read, but I wanted to acknowledge this time in my life.

I am 32 years old and I have acquired some knowledge (contrary to what teenagers may believe) about things in life. Some things I've learned feel like permanent lessons, fixed truths about life, but as sure as I type that it's possible they will become untrue. One thing I have learned is that life is transitional. Things change. Life isn't static. I learned that in my twenties when I emerged from my poverty stricken, lonely life. Despite what people say, I've learned that people DO change. You just can't control how or when they change. It may be long after you've given up on them. It may be the opposite of what you were hoping for.

I also learned that I could teach myself a few things. Like how to be a good friend and how to value myself more. If you don't get that growing up, it turns out there is hope for you yet. I've learned how to be a better wife. But I am not sure if I've made strides in the parenting department. Parenting feels like exploring new territories. As soon as you've mapped one you move onto another unfamiliar place. I do know, I am better at communication with my children and I hope that means they will be better at it than I was as a young adult.

I have also discovered that right here at age 32, I am extremely content all of the sudden. I mean, just now, in the month of May, June and the beginnings of July. It's a feeling that has been creeping up as I have been trying to work out a ton of issues. This kind of contentedness is specifically related to people. I feel like in a matter of weeks I realized that THE PEOPLE WHO LOVE ME ARE HERE EVERY DAY.

Crazy. Seems obvious. But I have spent a majority of my life searching for the people who will love me just the way that I am. Accept me how I am. It turns out they were hanging out right here. The people who really care for me find time for me. I don't have prove to them I am worthy of their love for them to call me. They just do. I don't have do X, Y or Z so they will know I am their friend and therefore they will be my friend in return. They just are. I am not sugar coating these relationships, because they are hard. But I have spent a lot of time picking people that don't have my best interests in mind and friendships that aren't exactly good for me. I have also spent the last 6 years taking care of families with cancer. Watching relationships struggle in the face of serious difficulties. And I would wonder who would be there for me, if a tragedy fell on my family. And these last few months I have realized I don't need a tragedy to see who cares about me. And for this I am so grateful.

So I am enjoying my summer. The time I have to spend with my friends and my family. I will go our third annual girl's trip, and despite our crazy differences in opinions on everything, I will be glad to spend time with people who love me. And I will lay down each night next to my husband so happy to have a partner. I will enjoy every moment I can with my kids.

As Usual, We Went Looking For Beer

2010-06-29T11:22:00.000-07:00

I probably shouldn't even bring up these outings to you. Because I am no kind of beer connoisseur or sommelier or whatever you call them (like my husband). But I'll briefly mention the beer we went in search of in Seattle....

First off, Pike's Brewing Co. It was not the bring your kids and eat place. It wasn't inappropriate or anything, but it felt more like a young adult crowd. There also wasn't the usual helpful small brew chatty guy behind a counter that my husband could talk up about beer. In fact, I think there was a sign that basically said, order your beer and sit down. I.e. We're too busy for your chattiness. Luckily it was just the two of us. The husband tried beer and I looked at the walls in the Museum Bar, which were covered in beer history. But the lighting was low and the walls were covered in small print and very busy. It was more like Applebees decor centered on beer. Too busy to look at. The food looked uninteresting and I opted to wait for something else to eat. The husband was starting to feel 'underwhelmed' by the Seattle brews.

Next up, was Harmon Brewing Co. Located in Tacoma on Pacific Ave, we walked to it from The Museum of Glass. We sat outside and enjoyed a lunch with the kids (while checking the TV inside for World Cup soccer scores). Excellent onion rings. The clam chowder was so/so. The husband had a Flagship sampler and drank all of them except the one on the right. See it's milky color? It was basically the bottom of the keg. The waitress informed us that is just as good and no big deal. It's seems the husband did not entirely agree. I don't want to misquote the expert but I think he said something about it having a more chemical flavor in that last little bit with the yeast...or something.

1938 Pacific Avenue Tacoma, WA 98402

The Last place we visited was a McMenamins pub in Capitol Hill. My husband decided he loved McMenamins when he visited a friend in Portland and went to the Kennedy school to watch movies and drink beer. We met my sister and her fam at the pub for dinner and walked to ice cream nearby. My veggie sandwich was great and so was the black bean and corn salsa we shared. The food here was definitely better than Harmon. And the husband enjoyed his beer. The dinners were around $9-12 each. All in all, vacations are great for trying food and for husbands trying new beers. And for taking pictures.

Half Way Through Summer Reading and Deep Thoughts

2010-06-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

I've read three books so far this summer. Well, three and a half. I don't lounge about reading for a period of time each day. Instead, on three separate days I have read for four or five hours straight and finished the books. It's great. The whole world just erases as I spend time in another. I finally finished the unbearable lightness of Being, but it seems like I ought to go back and read it again because I took too much time off of it and forgot a lot of it. I highly recommend it if you like philosophy. My favorite parts are when he plays with philosophy, theology and language. Like the meaning of kitsch. Or shit. Or God and shit.

"I...grasped the incompatibility of God and shit and thus came to question the basic thesis of Christian anthropology, namely, that man was created in God's image. Either/or: either man was created in God's image-and God has intestines!-or God lacks intestines and man is not like him."

Maybe no one else would find this interesting, but it's philosophical ideas like these that reinforce the idea that the bible is not to be read in it's entirety as literal document. Some things are metaphorical or have broader meanings that we can't get...

I also like the whole section on Words Misunderstood. That section of the book talks about how even a word like parades has very different meanings for different people. There have been moments in my life where people have made off hand comments that meant one thing to them, having no idea that they meant something very different to me. One time, a co-worker's husband was talking about his work as a correctional officer. He said he used laugh at the children who visited the inmates in prison and called them "job security." He made that comment so causually. Maybe he thought we would share his opinions and reflections. Maybe he thought our lives were similar enough to relate on those points. Criminals breed criminals. He had no idea how upset I was at what he said. Those words meant something different to me. I didn't say much at the time. How could you explain to someone why you were upset? Without explaining all of your reasons, a history, and a personal story, my anger would seem crazy to him. And explaining yourself (and your history) is just as risky sometimes.

The last book I read, I read today. A Long Way Gone by Ishmael Beah. I picked it up at a thrift store for a dollar. A story about a child soldier from Sierra Leone. Now I wish I had paid full price for it. Someone who goes through that much, and reaches out to the world with his story deserves some royalties. Maybe he is someone who could appreciate Words Misunderstood.

My high school friends have begun to suspect I haven't told them the full story of my life.
"Why did you leave Sierra Leone?"
"Because there is a war."
"Did you witness some of the fighting?"
"Everyone in the country did."
"You mean you saw people running around with guns and shooting each other?"
"Yes, all of the time."
"Cool."

-A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier

Sharing Is Caring

2010-06-21T11:22:00.000-07:00

Every year I talk about the Hollywood Bowl and how much fun it is to go. And it seriously is one of the best investments we make each year (to quote my husband). A night out with food, music and no kids each June, July and August. Totally priceless. Every year we hear kick ass music from all over the world through the KCRW World Music Series. We eat fabulous food and wonder why all of our friends aren't here. Every year we pack our food in a back pack saying we are going to get a picnic basket thingy next year. And every year we say next year we are going to get box seats (but the $$!).

This year is no different. Last night we headed off for our first show (Baaba Maal rocks with Playing For Change), yummy food in hand, ready for fun. But we also remembered that last year we took friends with us to see Death Cab and it made the night even better. And this year we are taking MissMerry when she visits from North Carolina! On her virgin trip to Cali! We are totally looking forward to sharing the food, the SoCal-ness, and great music with her. And the wine. So our new claim is that every year we should invite people to go with us. The more the merrier.

Happy Father's Day to A Wonderful Man

2010-06-20T16:15:00.000-07:00

Okay let me start off with
A. I wrote this before and I am using again today. And
B. I married the coolest guy ever.

The reasons why my husband rocks are too many to list but here are a few. When he met me I was working as a housekeeper at the county hospital. I was a single mom who's kid's had medi-Cal (WIC was my friend) and I had no car. He was a nurse in the ER. He saw all of my baggage and said, why not?

He met my family eventually, as well as my ex (you know, like when the police were called on Christmas day. yeah that was nice), and yet decided to stick it out. This is huge. He decided to stick it out through custody hearings. I don't know if I could have stuck it out. I don't know if he realized what he was getting into, but when he commits, he doesn't change his mind.

He supported me through nursing school and supports the fact that I am going back to school to GET A DEGREE IN ENGLISH BECAUSE I WANT TO. He does dishes. He never complains about hard work. And he RESPECTS me and loves me.

I never had a Dad growing up, I think I have said that before. I grew up in a shadow of a family. Me, my sister, and my mom struggling through poverty. It was almost like even though there were three of us in that apartment, really we were each all alone. I met my father when I was 16 and he hasn't really tried to be around since then. I don't know his favorite color, or favorite food, or even what he thinks of his children (there are four of us). But I know all of those things about my husband. And I know that Katie, my Stepson, and even Elisabeth, know these things and more. And it makes me so happy to have him here with us. It's no small thing, being a father. It's not something that should be taken for granted.

Sometimes I get sad when people talk about moments they've shared with their Dad. Like the Father/daughter dance at their wedding. My Dad did come to my wedding, but it didn't mean anything, because he hasn't come to anything else. But I know my girls won't have to ever feel the way I do thanks to Will. He is the greatest man I have ever known and because of him this house is filled with love.

Addition: After almost 7 (!!) years of marriage, it's almost ridiculous how much more I love him then I did before. We have had ups and downs, and even monotony. But having a partner through everything life has sent my way has made me incredibly grateful. And it has made a better person.

Thanks for being so awesome as father and a husband.

The Best Thing I Ate In Seattle

2010-06-16T20:48:00.000-07:00

Before we went to Seattle we did a few things. We booked flights. We booked a hotel. We talked to family about plans. We planned things to do AND WHERE WE WOULD EAT. We talked to therapists about talking to family about plans (ok that was me). We booked a rental car (even though we originally had planned not to). We talked again to family about plans. We packed. Most importantly, we planned where we would eat.

I ate the salted caramel ice cream. I ate the famous clam chowder (even with clams), and it was not as good as some that I have had in SF. I ate the yummy doughnuts. I even tasted a beer (blech) with the husband.

But the best thing I ate in Seattle was at the recommendation of Gastronomyblog. Liege waffles -is that laaayj or leeej? My daughter and I argued about it. I used the German pronunciation, she used the french. They are both right next to Belgium so either is feasible right?- anyways, liege waffles at Sweet Iron were SO RIDICULOUSLY YUMMY. Brioche dough with pearls of sugar put into a waffle iron and topped with fabulous things like banana brulee....heaven. I wanted to try a savory one too with basil and brie. But one waffle was enough. My husband got a bacon one. The kids were so surprised that they could enjoy a waffle without syrup. The freshly squeezed and perfect OJ was delicious too. The place was small without any line. It was the perfect breakfast before we headed to Tacoma for family time (*ahem* therapy discussion).

Waffles $3-5 each. Juice $2.50

SWEET IRON WAFFLES
1200 3rd Ave, Suite 110
Seattle, WA 98101

Who's Hungry?

2010-06-07T14:46:00.000-07:00

Thanks for all the advice the other day. Sometimes people just have to say things out loud or on paper to try and work it out.

But now, it's summer. I know, not technically but who cares right? Summer is one of those times in life that feels like anything is a possibility. Like when we were kids and our whole lives were a possibility. A blank slate. And now we're grown up and even if you didn't want to admit it, there is a picture forming on that slate. Maybe you are a mom or a wife, but it's there. It's not a pessimistic kind of view, but a realist view. Some options in your life are no longer options. You can't undue motherhood. It is what it is. Sure, we still have lots of potential, but some choices are just off of the table.

But summer? Anything is possible right?

Which is why every year I get excited about summer and every year it flies by waaaayy toooooo fast. Hey, summer, could you SLOW DOWN ALREADY. And don't give me this time flies when you're having fun bullshit, because from the moment our kids are born, it seems time flies. Fun or not. I like summer because my kids are no longer tied into M-F schedules. It's no longer about the weekend (which I usually work), it's anything any time. Drive to the beach, why not? Go camping, sure? Random road trip to ARIZONA, love too, thanks!

And I had better hit the gym like now, because I am pretty sure I know what we'll be doing on any given day this summer. Eating. Eating my husband's homemade potato salad (store bought is for chumps). Eating his chipotle corn on the cob (a stick of butter and a half of a can of HERDEZ chipotle in the food processor makes the chipotle butter). And our new fav dessert, Nutella brownies as seen in Sunset magazine. Eating mac & cheese made in a cast iron skillet (on the grill) with a couch surfer from North Carolina (yay!). We will definitely be grilling most days of the week and eating out where ever we travel (Seattle, San Diego, etc). So, here's to a full belly and an iPod to listen to while working out.

Yeah, maybe I should get a copy of that book Women, Food, and God while I am at it....

Wednesdays With Kathy: The Therapy Post

2010-06-02T11:58:00.001-07:00

So I have been seeing this therapist every Wednesday for like 2 months now. It turns out I am not all better yet. I still don't like sharing my feelings, I still feel sad with every tiny holiday I spend with no one other than my husband and kids (because we have no kind of functional family). I still feel like secretly people don't really care about me. I told ya, I got issues. I am wondering how much this therapy jazz is actually helping.

I show up and sit on her couch in the office next to the dry cleaners and try to awkwardly discuss my issues. I mostly try to sound sane, because I am a people pleaser. 50 minutes of chatting has lead to these helpful gems from the therapist:

I should hug people.

I should cry when I feel sad.

I should learn to live in the moment.

I am starting to think that the therapist read some Mitch Albom or Nicholas Sparks books and then repeats that shit back to me. Or maybe I am in a Nicholas Sparks book and I don't know it. Which isn't a very nice thing to keep from me, because I should be told before my husband or I get cancer and die in each others arms. Like I said the other day, maybe my therapist is one of the five people you meet in heaven.

I am not saying these things are not true. But truisms are not what I need here. I actually am studying literature and I am well aware of the plethora of quality literature that can tell me I should appreciate what I have. And that I should connect with my emotions. That's why I am going to therapy. TO LEARN HOW TO DO THAT SHIT.

So, therapist, I would appreciate some actual advice or therapeutic techniques or something that helps me out. Kay?

Summer Reading List

2010-05-27T10:03:00.000-07:00

I just read a great book that I picked up discounted at Borders. The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty. Adolescent girl. Poor with a single mother. Teen Pregnancy. What's not to love? I am totally looking forward to reading books that aren't assigned and listed on a syllabus. I already picked out books I have been waiting to read when i have time (i.e. on a plane to Seattle!). I made a list of books to read (subject to change). What's on your summer reading list?

Most of them were given to me by other people:

The Memory keeper's Daughter

National Geographic traveler Arizona (planning for next year!)

Being There

The Education of Little Tree

And I seriously have to finish The Unbearable Lightness Of Being

Melancholy

2010-05-25T13:48:00.000-07:00

My new favorite album Hospice (thanks to the Universe). It totally goes with my mood as of late. But don't worry I'll be okay. There's something beautiful about sorrow that is totally okay to wallow in once in a while. I can't tell you how much I love the falsetto and the words at 3:42: screaming, and cursing, and angry, and hating me, and then smiling, and crying, apologizing...

Do We Have To Hang With The Parents?

2010-05-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

Our daughter has made a new friend this year. A new friend who seems really nice and invites her over to hang out. The new friend does not have seizures, ADHD, or any other diagnosis requiring meds. I don't care about those things, except for the run of parents who seem to forget about telling us about those things. They send unlabeled pills to our house without mentioning it, or cough medicine for a 11 yr old to dose themselves without telling us, or a kid with seizures without a word.

And, the kid is polite. Which is always a plus. Her parents are never late picking her up, or hard to get a hold of on the phone. The don't pull up, let her out, and drive off without talking to us.

These things really happen, I am not making it up.

What a relief to have a break from all the weird parents, right? And the parents are super nice and always ask if we want to come over for a glass of wine or a BBQ. They always seem to be available for company.

And we found out why. THEY ARE THE MOST BORING PEOPLE ON EARTH.

I came over their house after work one day, and my husband was already there. They had grilled some dinner and saved some for me. Super polite, liked talking, and BORED ME DEATH.

And then we had to explain the internet to them. They had no idea what WiFi was or how the internet could get to their computer with it.

I wish I could explain the boringness. I wish there was funny story, but there isn't. Because they aren't funny. They're boring. But the husband is so excited every time he sees us, I think maybe he's just so excited that someone actually came over. Maybe he thinks we'll be friends. But then he starts talking about NOTHING and I drift off.

And I feel bad because they are so nice to our kid and the girls get along. I feel kind of obligated to accept some kind of offer once in a while. And then I have to grit my teeth through it and smile without looking fake. I don't do that so well. My husband is great at it. Me, not so much.

I am so not cut out for this suburbia stuff.

So ready for summer....

2010-05-20T14:56:00.000-07:00

This summer, I am going to the San Diego Wild Animal park, and not with any kids.

This summer, I am going to Seattle to watch my sister graduate from college. And to eat liege waffles.

This summer I am going to the Hollywood Bowl with a chick from North Carolina!!! And my husband.

This summer my oldest is going to get braces and it is going to cost me an arm and a leg.

This summer my youngest is going to *GATE* summer school.

This summer, I am NOT going to school. YAY!

This summer, I am going camping with our new couple friends.

This summer, I am going to relax and enjoy it, because I know it will go by fast.

What are you going to do?

Is This What Birthdays Are For?

2010-05-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

I just had a weepy case of nostalgia. We recently got a new P.C. which means not much except I was looking through a bunch old photos. And my people used to be so small. And? I think I used to be more fun. I think I need some kind of New Year's resolution to be more fun.

Or therapy. Wait I am already doing that shit.

Hey isn't it supposed to be working now?

Fun me smiled a lot more. Fun me also had excitement about new things and the future. Present day me is so blah. And avoids cameras.

Present day me hates having a mortgage. And the fact that in 3-5 years her kids will be grown up. It kind of sucks.

So present day me is looking for inspiration from fun me. Here is fun me taking a photo after I convinced the husband to roll down a hill with the kids in Carlsbad. It makes me smile just to see that.

Maybe I Shoulda Been a Forensic Anthropologist?

2010-05-09T15:16:00.001-07:00

I'd like to write you another post about how terribly busy I am, but it would a big fat lie. I'm totally not. Unless you count watching television as being busy.

It all started when we got a Wii. Well not exactly, but the grandparents bought our kids one. I thought it was totally lame and an expensive waste of time. Video games are huge waste of money. Kids play with them for like a month and then forget about it. But the kids were excited. Plus, they got Rock Band or Guitar Hero or whatever it is. They played it for a while and then not so much.

But a couple months ago we got our CD thingy from netflix. And now we can watch netflix from the Wii on our t.v. And I have forgotten about anything I was doing before that moment. Except Lost, which is almost over and seriously making me question the quality of the END, but that's a side note. I used to TiVo Lost, The Daily Show, Oprah, Supernatural, and Smallville. And that was pretty much all I watched on TV. Don't make fun of me.

I haven't seen any of that in weeks now except Supernatural, but even that whole waiting for the next episode is losing my interest. Because now I have instant gratification. Now I have movies and television instantly. No recording. No mail. Just a few buttons.

And now I have David Boreanaz. *sigh*

I never saw Bones before we got Netflix on our Wii. And I am up to season 3. Yeah. I know, I know, you probably were already on that train. But I am a little slow with the television stuff. Us nurses don't watch prime time TV like 9-5ers do. And I am so over commercials. Whatever I do watch is sort of by accident. I happened to watch an episode per recommendation of my kid who saw it with her grandma...and now I am hooked. Murder, science, humor, and Boreanaz? What's not too love?

Baby

2010-05-07T16:09:00.000-07:00

On Sunday mornings, my mother would send my sister and I to the store, so that we could buy a newspaper, but not because she wanted to read about what was happening in the world, but instead, it was because she needed the coupons to stretch her money further at Food-4-Less, and sometimes on these Sundays, she would send us to the store with money to buy donuts for breakfast, but today was not one of those days, so we walked along the road that had no sidewalk, and we walked past chain link fences, while stepping on smashed Big Gulp cups littering the ground, while pretending not to notice the other ten year old girls, who seemed so different from us, because they were coming back from Vietnamese markets, dressed in long, traditional skirts with t-shirts that had cartoon characters on them, and I wished I could have a skirt like theirs or long black hair like theirs, and occasionally I would try to smile at them, but they did not smile back, and that was probably because they saw my sister first, and even I knew better than to let her see me trying to make friends, because she would have yelled hurry up in the same voice she used to say go away, when I followed her friends around, and even today, this Sunday without donuts, she is looking back at me and telling me to walk faster, because she knows I can’t help but to stop at this rosebush, and her voice startles me so much that I prick myself on a thorn, so that the rest of the way, I suck on my injured finger and she calls me a baby.

I had an assignment to write a one sentence story. So there it is.

Life Support

2010-05-04T10:27:00.000-07:00

I haven't talked about work much because of the busy-ness...but hey, it's Tuesday. Cancer it is.

The last few weeks have been challenging at work. The kinds of challenges I have been thinking about are the monotony of doing the same thing every day, and how sick all of my patients have been. It seems like every day I do pretty repetitive stuff. Blood transfusions, antibiotics, chemo, go home, come back and do it all over again. But last week I got a patient I had taken care of in January. A family man with a wife, grown kids and grandchildren. He was a total OC republican, fox news watching, Sarah Palin lovin guy. And I respectfully disagreed with him. We got along great despite our differences and h was a fan of me. He even tried to tell me I should be a doctor, because I am so smart. I explained to him smart nurses are pretty important. Some people don't get that nursing is it's own unique science. You can get a doctorate in Nursing. We joked, we talked, and I lectured (kindly) on how he should take good care of himself at home.

I didn't see him again until two weeks ago.

I am no good with names. I'll be honest. The number of patients I have seen over 6 years, I don't recall all of their names. I am better with faces and unique personality features. Tell me they're the one who only took pills with chocolate milk. Or that he was the kid who wanted to be a magician. Those are the things that stick in my head. When I got report, I didn't remember him. There was that vague, this name is kind of familiar feeling. But it wasn't a very unique name, so I didn't think much of it.

I walked into the room and started talking about my plan for the day. Hi, I am Lisa, I am your nurse, and so on....This patient was pretty sick. I knew my day was going to be busy from report. And right away I had to turn the patient with assistance because he was too weak to turn himself. I was thinking to my self this guy is so sick. He probably won't do well. I know that's a vague description, but to be specific would take up space. Let's just say he had tube placed every place you can have it; he was weak, fragile and edematous. Lab tests were getting worse. And he wasn't young and healthy to start with.

Just as I left the room, it dawned on me. This was the same guy I had before. I knew him. I knew him walking and talking. I knew him with no edema and more muscle. He was drastically different. It's weird how I can take care of someone very ill with empathy and compassion but not think too hard about who they were when they were healthy. As soon as I remembered him and that healthier version came into my mind, I was sad.

I went right back in and asked if he remembered me. He did. He couldn't talk very loud and had a tube in his nose for nutrition and medication. We talked a minute but then he had to go for a test and procedure.

While he was gone, I asked the doctors what happened to him. Why did he get so ill? And then I heard an overhead page. Code Blue. In the location of his test. It was him.

Last Thursday, when I got off work I went to the ICU. I sat with his wife and his kids as they tried to say goodbye and to end life support. They cried and made jokes and hugged. They procrastinated in doing what they had come to do, trying to have a few more moments with him. I came, because I had heard that was what they were doing. And I knew they would be doing with strangers. Nurses, who are kind and competent, but strangers nonetheless. Not the ones who had known him before. I thought his family ought to know that this moment, this very difficult moment was felt by the people who had cared for him. When I was leaving, I though about the way this family communicated and the way they supported each other in that difficult moment. They hugged, held hands and gave eachother space to say goodbye. I was so grateful to have been in a room filled with so much love and support.

New Friend

2010-04-22T20:42:00.001-07:00

Remember that group o' girls I hang out with once a week? A, B, and C? Well, a while ago we were upgraded. We are now a group of 5 girls: A, B, C, and S. Plus me, of course. Yeah, imagine us at a restaurant with 4 little people. It's not quiet. (I hadn't mentioned that all this time, because I have no freakin time. Well had no freakin time, but hey look at me, dropping classes and makin time to blog!)

Any who...new girl. She showed up like last summer in like September. And at first, I was kinda iffy. I'll be honest. I don't make new friends easily. I make acquaintances. I chat. But friend is a different word all together. It takes a while for me to call people a friend (and mean it). She was moving from one of those northern midwest states that touch Canada to California and knew the other girls. She had a toddler. Another one. I distinctly remember putting in a request for PARENTS OF TEENAGERS, but turns out I got toddler mom. And she is a republican. Who has strong opinions. This is not going to go well, right?

Our very first breakfast, she was all kinds of chatty and telling stories that were FUNNY-HA HA and stuff. And I was kind of bitter because that is totally my job, right?

But now it's almost a year and guess what? I totally like her. Turns out we both have the same exact Aerosmith shirt that has the year 1978 on the back. And she hates the eighties like me. And we can be smart asses together. I'm a fan, even if we don't have the same political opinions. Plus our husbands got together and built this:

Our husbands have totally hung out. They have gone to a Lakers game, grilled pizza, and even texted each other. P.S. my husband doesn't text people. I may be exaggerating their relationship, but I am pretty sure things are going good. It may be a very rare moment when I find a couple friend. Finding couple friends are VERY difficult. I think there should be a couple dating website, because compatibility is a very delicate matter.

So there you are S, I wrote about you on my blog. You're official. Looking forward to girl's weekend.

Food Truck Fever

2010-04-20T11:01:00.000-07:00

For the last few weeks, I have made it my mission to eat at a certain cheese loving food truck in L.A. If you don't know what I referring to, it's the grilled cheese truck. Please excuse the photos, taken from..I know....my cell phone. I wish I had my camera with me.

The first attempt was at the Street Feast in Glendale at the Americana. That was also the first time I went to that outdoor mall. My biggest concern was hype. Now that these gourmet food trucks have been popping up all over L.A. and other major metropolitan areas, was I going to have a huge wait? Because I HATE lines. And they make food taste less yummy.

When we got to the Street Feast, lines were already formed even though we were early. Being a line hater, and because the Grilled Cheese Truck had not yet arrived, I got in line for Vietnamese food. The Mandolin truck had the shortest line which made it my choice. An hour later (after eating cupcakes from Crumbs in line), we had our Banh Mi sandwiches. And OHMYGOSH they were so good. $6 for such a big sandwich. There was a veggie one as well (lemongrass and tofu). I also especially liked the juice of mango or papaya juices instead of soda. I highly recommend it.

The grill cheese truck arrived while we were in line, and the line soon snaked around the side of a building. We decided to pass. A friend of ours waited and got her grilled cheese after 3 hours.

Our next opportunity came on a random date nite when my husband and I were going to go to a movie at Laemmle in Pasadena. We realized the Grilled Cheese Truck was going to be behind Vromans and decided to test it out in a regular waiting line. Turns out, it still a wait. We got in line 40 minutes before the truck came BECAUSE THERE WAS ALREADY A LINE. We ordered practically one of everything because we realized we would never want to stand in line again.

Side note: to all the 40 year old women who stood in line with us, please take your blue tooth out when you leave your car. And? It's not the eighties anymore, so you can get a different hairstyle. Yeah, that's who was in our line. Those chicks, their teenage kids and all the girls (+ boyfriends) who can fit the clothes at Forever 21.

$32 later, we had a grilled cheese n mac with ribs for my husband and my kid, a Brie melt on cranberry walnut bread w/o turkey, and a brie with grilled onions and tomatoes. Plus two sodas and tater tots. The sandwiches we definitely tasty, but not worth the hour wait. The heaviness of the food was a bit much for me (yeah, tasting grilled cheese in as many ways as you can find=butter/cheese overload). I liked the Brie melt best. I recommend that even though I hate walnuts in my bread. It was that good. My husband liked the mac n cheese and ribs.

I still say the Banh Mi was better. So fresh and the mix of flavors were perfect.

And... I Give Up

2010-04-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

I decided to drop my Monday night class. I had so much work this weekend that I had meltdown this morning when the printer wouldn't work. The new one. The one we bought last night at Best Buy while waiting to pick up my kids from the airport. Because our previous printer decided eating paper was what the cool kids do, so that was all it was going to do now. And with all my class work needing to be typed, double spaced, blah blah...I freaked. I also had not enough sleep this weekend. And I may not have been fully done with my list.

So I dropped it.

I emailed the instructor and cringed. Because I hated quiting. Plus I have to take it again anyways.

Here's my list from before and how much I got done:

Work a 12 hour shift Friday and Sunday-done (although I got sent home early Sun! yay!)
Write a 4-5 page short story-done but 150 words too long, had to cut parts
Read Ben Franklin's autobiography-half done
Read two short stories for Creative Fiction-done
Write a rough draft of an essay due Thurs.-not done
Write about 2 pages on a question about Huck Finn-done
Read another thing I can't remember right this minute-not done
Go to a poetry reading and read 1-2 poems for CWC-done
......And practice EKG strips for an EKG test on Tues.-not done

All the things not done, were for the class I dropped. Well, that and the Ben Franklin stuff. So yay for getting some sanity and I hope I pass that EKG test tomorrow.

Three Weeks In

2010-04-15T16:18:00.000-07:00

I have currently hit three weeks into the new quarter, which is precisely the moment I think to myself: 3 CLASSES ARE 1 TOO MANY. And WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING? This year, I started doing three classes at a time in order to get my ass graduated in a timely manner, but it's proven to be quite the time sucker.

For example, this weekend I need to:

Work a 12 hour shift Friday and Sunday
Write a 4-5 page short story
Read Ben Franklin's autobiography
Read two short stories for Creative Fiction
Write a rough draft of an essay due Thurs.
Write about 2 pages on a question about Huck Finn
Read another thing I can't remember right this minute
Go to a poetry reading and read 1-2 poems for CWC
......And practice EKG strips for an EKG test on Tues.

Sometime I will eat, sleep and pee. Maybe.

That Tim Roth Guy

2010-04-13T11:41:00.000-07:00

I recently started a new quarter at school. And I recently got through 2 weeks of it (8 more to go and then summer!) This quarter it's all American Lit and one creative fiction class. Finally a place to be creative!

But I have to tell you about this guy who happens to be in ALL of my classes. See the title, yeah, he's that Tim Roth guy. Not the Tim Roth, but a shorter and non-British version. And he's really annoying.

Example #1- First day in Creative Fiction we all introduce ourselves. His introduction includes the sentence "I was planning on being the funniest person in the class..."

Example #2- First day in American lit and, again, introductions. This time he tells us name, he's an English major and joining the Peace Corp after school. Hate him.

Example #3- His first short story for Creative fiction was based on the prompt: Write a story about some you would never do. Something you would never do. He chose to write a story titled :I would never be afraid of the man in the cafe. He then writes a story about a woman who is afraid on a man watching her in a cafe. She has pepper spray and is afraid to walk to the train. I thought it was annoying that he could only write about himself being afraid by regendering himself as a girl. Asshole.

In every class, he raises his hand to EVERY question, knows every answer, and is fairly certain that he has the best grasp on the text. He argues with all other opinions and is a know it all.

Which is my job, duh. Plus I am so much nicer about it (in class that is). So I am planning on rolling my eyes every time he talks until he gets the idea. Or throwing a book at him.

UPDATE: That Tim Roth Guy dropped my creative writing class. Score!

Right vs Right

2010-04-03T08:09:00.000-07:00

The last two days at work, I have been taking care of a patient who is a Jehovah's Witness. I don't know if you know a lot about the JWs, but one thing about their beliefs that specifically relates to medical care is the refusal of blood products. It relates back to a line scripture and it's a very big deal for them. And it's a big deal at our hospital. We have a whole policy for "bloodless" patients. We have a checklist for them to mark what they will or will not take. No blood can include things like albumin, Epogen, and other products made from human blood. We work hard to identify and keep all staff aware of their needs. Because who wants to be the person who accidentally gives them a treatment that damns them to hell. Not me.

But I work in oncology/hematology. Blood transfusions are pretty standard for my patients.

My patient had a platelet count of 8000. A normal platelet count is 150,000-400,00ish. With less than 10,000, a person can have spontaneous bleeds that won't clot. They could blow their nose too hard and get a nose bleed that doesn't stop. They could get a bleed in their brain and die. We transfuse platelets for less than 15. But not this patient.

And I heard a few people say at work things like "cult" and "frustrating." Someone said they wanted to "convince the patient to get a blood transfusion." They said, if they could just get them away from the people around them who are pressuring them, they would get them to make the right decision.

And I lectured them about patient rights. I also pointed out that if remove their family support and religious support to pressure them, they are no different than those they criticize for pressuring the patient.

Because even if I don't agree with refusing blood transfusions that could save a life, I have a lot of respect for peoples beliefs. I cannot care for my patients and disregard their autonomy and belief systems. These are the elements of who we are. Patient care is about care. And sometimes care isn't about doing whatever science and medicine deems as best. Sometimes it's about the first part of that phrase: the patient.

So I Joined LA and Got A Therapist

2010-03-24T11:32:00.000-07:00

Last week before the trip, I decided to do something I had been thinking about for a while. Get some therapy.

I'll leave out all the details of the why and just talk about the how. But I am pretty sure it can all be blamed on my parents, right?

I went for my appointment, which was conveniently located in my neighborhood, and sat in the waiting room. When I say waiting room, I mean an L shaped hall way with folding chairs and magazines. I sat down and commenced my overly scrutinized self judgment. Aw, Lisa, you should have dressed better. Flip flops? Ugh, and you should have put lotion on your feet. Dry feet are gross. Hmm, I hope I don't have food in my teeth from just eating...wait...lemme check.

And then I realized there was a camera at the end of the hall pointed right at me. Great. Video taped picking teeth.

And then I sat trying to plan what I would say. I have never been to a therapist before. What does one say?

Help me?

Hi, my name is Lisa and I have baggage.

How do you tell a stranger the things you never tell your friends?

Just then the door to her office opened and out came her appointment prior to mine. And, I knew that person. And that person said HI! WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? in their usual exuberant voice and then hugged me in their usual touchy feely way. Hi, I am not touchy feely. 9 years of sorta seeing each other from time to time, and this person still doesn't notice how I shrink from touchy feely interaction. That person is a close talker. Who is seeing my therapist and asking me what I am doing here.

I am paying a stranger to help me deal with you people.

And then that person said WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME ABOUT HER? in reference to the therapist. And I was uncomfortable and shrugging. This is my first time here. And then I went in.

I hope that person doesn't bring it up when I see them on Sunday. Who am I kidding? Of course they will.

If You're Stuck in Denver....

2010-03-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

This weekend my husband and I were in Denver for the weekend. While we were there, I ate whatever I could find and he drank whatever beer he could find. He started calling it his beer-cation.

Although we hadn't planned on being in Denver the whole weekend, we decided to make the most of our weather-altered plans. Which was difficult for me, if you know me, I am a HUGE planner. Because we hadn't planned on being around a lot, I hadn't done my research so I had to rely entirely on our impromptu tour guides and my husband's natural desire to 'go explore' neighborhoods. And I had to practice being 'easy going'. Maybe I have turned over a new leaf.

We went to breakfast both mornings at the same place because it was so fantastic. And because it was so cold in the morning, I couldn't handle exploring while it was somewhere between 16-28 degrees out. Especially before coffee. We ate at Snooze and I decided that it was the BEST pancakes ever. Pineapple upside down pancakes (voted favorite pancake on their website survey). With a scoop of brown sugar butter on top. It was made with some creamy sweetness that meant you didn't even need syrup. Everything on the menu looked so good, I wanted to try it all. But luckily, my husband lets me eat off of his plate. He tried the breakfast pot pie with some yummy hash browns. Most hash browns are the same and ok, but these were perfect. breakfast for two plus 1 OJ= $30 after tip.

But that's not all Snooze is good for. They like to be good to the community, the environment and the world. We had a little conscience with our eggs in the form of a message of sustainability , and a waiter wearing a whistle.

We got there early and beat the rush, but both mornings the waiting area was packed as we were leaving. I guess it's no secret to Denver where to get breakfast. If your stuck in Denver, be sure to stop by Snooze.

Snooze

2262 Larimer St., Denver, CO 80205

How I can Write About Issues of Slavery Mapped Onto Gender and Sexuality.

2010-03-17T12:20:00.001-07:00

I just spent the morning reading articles on "The Erotics of Mourning" and ideas of race and sexuality in Jean Toomer's Cane.

Um. Yeah.

And now that I am brain dead, I'll take a break with you before I finish my essay. Essay number 6 for the quarter. After this essay, I get a week and a half off before the next one. And, phew! I have this mix of literary brain death and pride in myself for getting this stuff done. At the end of each quarter I feel like patting myself on the back. Hey! Way to Go! You finished another 10 weeks of readin, writin, and literary analysis, along with all that other crap called life that you do. Good Job!

This morning I went to Starbucks and saw the mother of one of my daughter's friends. We talked about parenting and junior high (aka hell). And then she told me about her SCREENPLAY that she is writing. I know, isn't that so LA? But whatever, because I was excited to talk to someone about writing. I know I go to Creative Writing Club, but it's kind of a boy's club sometimes (being that there are only two girls there, including me). It was fun to talk about women in literature and film with this other mom. And in the middle of this grueling English Degree, I was motivated by the conversation. Keep your eye on the ball, Lisa. There is a reason why I am torturing myself with literature. And it's totally because I like it.

Literature, that is.

Another State To Check Off The List

2010-03-12T09:15:00.000-08:00

I am very excited to inform you that I am going to COLORADO! While there, I will be visiting some people who used to blog and now have a life or something. Remember the Dirty Pirate Hooker. Yeah her. It's a baby shower. And a few other ex-bloggers will be there.

And so will my husband.

That is why this won't be a couch surfing kinda trip, because a. the hooker has like 500 cats (i.e. husband's horrible allergies) and b. we married people need some privacy sometimes.

I can combine my favorite thing with my husband's favorite thing. Travel + Beer. Colorado has a LOT of breweries and we happen to know some one who knows some one who works at one. I have never been to Colorado but I am guessing it's kinda dry (elevation?) and I should plan for the bloody noses I get. Also, I am planning on it being colder. But universe, if you are listening, please don't let it snow. I just can't handle it.

I just got to get through this weekend of essays and studying for finals. Can't wait.

Bon Iver

2010-03-12T09:01:00.000-08:00

I've been listening to this for some time and thought you should too.

Awkward Social Media Moments

2010-03-09T08:55:00.000-08:00

Facebook posting can sometimes be a place of sharing over long distances. A place where loved ones can catch up despite their busy schedules. It can also be a place of awkward moments. Being 'friends' with so many people can lead to a conversation happening in an anonymous feeling internet that is actually quite public. Commenting from my home feels anonymous and complexly interconnected at the same time. I can reach friends miles away at once, but I also can comment and turn of the computer to ignore the outcome. Lately I almost don't want to comment or even 'like' other people's posts on Facebook, because it inevitably means I will be messaged with all 20 other comments that follow. And that sometimes makes me the eavesdropper in someone else's conversation.

For example:

The other night a co-worker/friend posted a humorous quote about parenting and kids not listening to parents from 339 b.c. I thought it was funny. I commented.

Cut to hours later when I am immediately emailed and notified via my Blackberry re: her daughter's response. Which was not a happy one. Which also involved a dead schoolmate. Clearly they're having an issue in their lives that I do not know about. I have a lot of empathy for this friend and her daughter, and I am not repeating this story in a gossipy kind of way. Merely as an example.

As a parent to a teenager, and a friend to that teenager on Facebook (for spying purposes, duh), I realized that this could easily happen to me. My kid can potentially call me out on the internet in a way that will be emailed to anyone within notification distance. Meaning everyone.

And now I find myself wondering, do I really want to be so connected?

Update: I am alive and the teenager has not killed me yet.

2010-03-08T08:38:00.000-08:00

Lately, my teenage daughter and I have been bumping heads, bickering, driving each other crazy...whatever you want to call it. I swear, just when you think you have got this parenting crap down, it comes back to bite you in the ass. I totally like my kid. I do. This weekend, she dressed up like a zombie with her friends for fun. She's getting A's and B's in school. She is funny.

BUT.

Except for.

Recently.

Lately, she has this other personality called cranky teenager, who shows up like an uninvited guest. That girl, that cranky teenager, CANNOT eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch anymore. 9 years of it was enough. That girl can only eat turkey sandwiches. And chips. Forget about apples. or bananas. Healthy food is so last year.

Also, that cranky teenager, is annoyed by every thing I do. Or my husband does. My allergies? Irritating. Waking her up for school, so rude. Letting her be late? Ridiculous. I am no longer smart and wonderful. Nope. Not a role model. But something to be despised, like the gum that gets stuck on the bottom of your shoe.

Ugh.

This morning, she told me she needed a break from me. She means to say, she needs to see her Dad. HEY, DID YOU HEAR THAT? And I know it's true. But there's only so much I can do. I cannot make other people in the world do things. And I can't lecture her on the facts of co-parenting with someone you thought you loved in high school. That would only make her feel bad. So I bear the brunt of her frustration, while reminding her that I love her and care for her. That I, despite what she may feel like, deserve respect. And that she has a responsibility for her actions.

I am starting to think she might not be able to hear me with that cranky teenager whispering in her ear all of the time. Does anyone know when that cranky teenager goes away?

London Gastropub (please excuse the use of a small point-click camera)

2010-03-01T17:32:00.000-08:00

Beer.

It's what my husband's hobby is (I know, I know, you're not supposed to end a sentence like that but it's MY blog). I hate it, but what can I do. When I say I hate it, I mean it tastes gross and all is the same to me. Yeah, yeah..hops and all that. Beer taste like beer to me. But I like to support my husband's interests, and places to get good beer is definitely an interest. Or necessity.

My husband had been waiting for this place to open for weeks. He would walk by and peek in the windows, like a kid looking in a candy store. He give me updates based on his espionage: They have a bar! They have booths! Beer taps in! (except he never speaks with exclamations points, only I do) Finally, he spotted some guys and asked them when was the grand opening. He also got himself on the mailing list and invited to pre-opening drink night.

And last Tuesday, they finally opened. And had a 45 minute wait.

So instead, we went back Thursday to try it out. The husband had 2 beers (one was a Stone something or other Belgian-hybrid thingy) and I had water. Everything looked nice, in fact it was a little fancier than Lucky Baldwin. The wait staff was all pretty girls and guys in crisp white shirts, and the not-yet expanded menu was pricier than that other pub. And if you are wondering what a Scotch egg is...I asked. It's a hard boiled egg, stuffed with sausage, wrapped in bacon and fried. Let me just say this place ain't vegetarian friendly (yet?). My husband had fish and chips (he loved it and that coleslaw was yummy!) and I had a flat bread kind of pizza (a tad too greasy). My husband also had indigestion later. Ahem, greasy. Total bill (without tip): $40.44

But it was a great date night. And I am sure we will go again.

London Gastropub

419 S. Myrtle
Monrovia, CA 91016
p: 626.357.2200
f: 626.239.3185

Um, Hi

2010-02-25T05:48:00.000-08:00

I think I have probably mentioned my of love school before, but I really want to add to it. Specifically I want to add my love of teachers. Not like Oprah-teacher-love, which entails a high five when learning one is a teacher (don't get me wrong, teachers matter and stuff). It's more of the I HEART MY TEACHERS and I desperately want them to like me please. It goes back to my people pleasing roots, and because the first place I figured out I could win love was in the classroom being a smarty pants.

Fast forward to current time, in which I am taking classes at CSULA to get a degree in English. I know, you knew that. I just felt like saying it again. And every quarter is a new fun CRUSH on a teacher. I'm not talking romantic, older man, weird professor crush, like they put on television shows on the CW. I mean the I raise my hand all of the time so you'll know how smart I am crush. And I like to chat in the hallway or after class about many other clever things so you"ll like me infatuation. I have won over a few teachers so far ( I hope) and received an email requesting permission to use my essay as an example for other classes (score!). But I am not satisfied with the love and attention of one or two.

Currently I am infatuated with my new to Los Angeles, uber-knowledgeable, PhD sportin, east coast educated professor. He dresses in polos and black pants with the brown, hipster pseudo-athletic shoe. He pronounces q and l words kinda funny and has a goofy laugh. He wears glasses, has a non-athletic frame and writes on the dry erase board (left-handed) sloppily. He also says words like fucking at the same time he discusses Modernist literature. He uses words I have to look up, like interpolation or Imagism. And I happen to have a crappy vocabulary. My entire adult life has been spent as a parent (not that parents are dumb) and a lot of hours went to talking to kids. I read a lot, but I only use my big words when I am at work. So impressing super teacher is hard work.

The other day, I was talking to him about my essay (sitting in a chair on his side of the desk, a favorite strategy, like we're equals), trying to be clever, when I mentioned I was a nurse. You know, we're both professionals and can relate and stuff. Then he was all, you're a nurse? I have this cough....And I was all, whatever. That's not the attention I wanted. I wanted clever conversation analyzing books and pop culture together. I wanted inside jokes about the musicality of The Beggar's Opera and Moulin Rouge. And I want an A.

I only have a few weeks left. I hope I win him over.

Location, Location, Location

2010-02-24T08:28:00.000-08:00

One of the supposed good things about living in SoCal is the proximity to all things: snow, mountains, beaches, desert, urban, etc. With that in mind, Will and I took the kids to the snow on Sunday. And I guess, somehow, I had forgotten that I don't actually like snow. It's cold and wet. I think I was just glad that I didn't have to work, that Will wasn't working, and that there was no soccer game we had to attend. We drove to Wrightwood, which is about an hour from where we live. We have gone there a few times to go to the tubing park with the kids or to play in random snow. We aren't skiing people, in case you are wondering, because I was raised poor and far from frozen water and had no experience with it until I grew up. My husband used to snowboard but it's hard to do with a whiny wife.
We hung around Wrightwood and then drove up to Mountain High and played in the snow. Or should I say my husband, Katie and stepson played in the snow. I took photos while losing all feeling in my fingers and Elisabeth stayed in the car. She was tired from a sleep over that kept her up till 4 am on Friday.

What a waste of perfectly good snow, huh? On me, at least. In my defense, my raynaud's causes my hands and feet to ache way before other people are complaining. And snow is cold. And wet. But I am always up for the eating part, which takes place at the same pizza place every time. Yodeler: 6046 Park Dr, Wrightwood, CA 92397

They have wood picnic tables and a jukebox. It's the perfect place to eat. Plus, if you haven't noticed, pizza has been our food of choice lately. Feeding five people gets pretty expensive.

Dear Forwarding Friend,

2010-02-18T18:24:00.000-08:00

I wanted to tell you, I really appreciate how you seem to think of me lately. The way in which you remember to send me an email every now and then is so thoughtful. When I was growing up, getting a card or a note in the mail was always a happy moment. And I guess email can work in a similar way.

It's nice to know when you're sitting at you computer, you took the time to think of me and send me that super cute photo of the cat sleeping in an odd place (like a mail box). Or how you thought that I would enjoy that useful quiz to get to know you better. Or that clever poem type thing reminding me of what friendship really is (which is at the same time colorful in pinks and purples). I am sure if you were drunk and in jail, I would be there with you. Oh, and thanks for the info about Barrack Obama being a Muslim all those months ago. It helped me make a key decision.

I know, friend that you are terribly busy with life and don't have an opportunity to write a message or place a call to me. I know we haven't spoken in months, or maybe years. But when you take the time to click forward and then click all of your email contacts, I know I really matter. Cheers!

Lisa

Well Hello Stranger

2010-02-15T12:57:00.000-08:00

Oh wait that's me. Wow, one post in February so far. I'm guessing no one else is left reading so I guess that means I can talk about whatever I want, right?

How about that super bowl, eh?

Oh, didn't watch it. I was working.

Um....I read a good book. The Age Of Innocence. Ok, it was required for school but I really enjoyed it.

So...what else is new?

How about the difficult two weeks I just wrapped up? There was some serious drama around our house and, uh, actually I'm pretty sure a lot of it was in my camp. There might have been some yelling and cursing. And there could have been some inappropriate language used on a cell phone (in line at a Starbucks) while I made my point before I ordered a latte. I am not being generous to the other parties involved, but I know myself. And Aunt Flow & I seriously played it up.

Cryptic, eh? Maybe, but the details don't need to be given out to all of the internets. But what really matters in the end is that I think my husband and I made some progress in our marriage. Well, I think I made some progress especially, and my husband being there along the way really helped.

And yesterday I worked on Valentine's Day. But I couldn't have been more happy. Because when I came home there was someone there who really cares for me.

Sometimes I am truly surprised at what random moments create an opportunity for growth.

Call Me A Hypocrite

2010-02-08T21:31:00.000-08:00

I take care of cancer patients. You know that already, but this weekend I had to work "the floor" and not in my bone marrow unit. I am not above working the floor, although I know it's full of surgical patients and I am not a fan of taking them. Just like in any job, we know our likes and dislike as nurses. We often decide in Nursing school what we loved (cancer) or hated (labor and delivery). I know that I am not a fan of the ICU and the OR. I want patients who talk. There are nurses who are much better suited for that than I am. I also know I don't like oncology surgery post op patients.

It makes me feel kind of guilty saying this, because it's not the patients or the cancer that I don't want to deal with. Well, sort of. It's the surgery that disturbs me. Surgeries for oncology usually involve tumor de-bulking, reconstruction, flaps, and very long operations. Like 8 hours. Surgeries with words like radical in them. It is a serious business. And post operative patients come with various drains, tubes, dressing, ostomies, and frequent flap checks (for circulation). It feels so complex. Maybe it's because I don't do post op often, and I do the hematology side of things, so that it feels very uncomfortable. Even when I was in pediatrics and we had the post op hemipelvectomies, I worried about what I was going to miss. Skin care? Signs of pneumonia? Bleeding? And those post op patients have to be pushed to get things done. They don't like to get out of bed or to do much.

This weekend I took care of a few urology cases. And I'll be honest with you. Surgical patients are hard because they are exactly where cancer is plainly visible to the rest of us (aside from the bald heads). And sometimes it's hard to face. Most often the patient just tells you how they feel and I do my best to help with their symptoms. Fatigue, nausea, etc. But those symptoms remain slightly out of reach and not quite real. Taking care of my patients, this weekend, I thought about that. And how hard it would be to face those visible marks of cancer if I were them. I didn't run away. I did my job and did it with care.

At the end of the day and after the super bowl, I said goodbye to my patients. While saying good bye, one of my patient's family members reflected on their relief about her brother's recovery (who despite the tubes was progressing well), I felt a little emotional. I was grateful for their happiness and that I took part in preserving what means so much to them. A person's life.

The Carnivore Lobby

2010-01-30T21:28:00.000-08:00

You know how on television or in a movie, they like to have some hippie vegetarian person whose all about saving the earth and it's creatures. You know, the PETA people. The ones who make everyone feel bad about eating the meat. No one likes that guilt trip around, right?

I am not that kind of vegetarian. My husband eats meat. My kids eat meat. Mostly. My friends eat meat. And although I think the meat industry is REALLY wasteful and bad for the environment, or the fact that I just don't like meat that much, I don't bring it up. In fact, I have been known to eat meat occasionally, well up until 6 months-ish ago. I don't know when exactly it was but I just stopped all meat together. And? I don't miss it. But I don't harp on it.

So why am I bringing it up here? Because I really am baffled by the people who get kind of worked up about me not eating meat. I told you about Elisabeth's Grandma a while back. She still doesn't understand what I could possibly eat. Actually Elisabeth's father's whole family seems confused by it. But I also know some people who seem to make an issue out it frequently. They feel the need to point out that I don't eat meat, as if I forgot. Kind of like they are lobbying for carnivores or something. If I just mention food, they have to bring my meatless diet. Like for instance, did you know the only food that can be cooked on the BBQ is meat? I was unaware. It's like those people who were suing Oprah about beef, and the guys who made the Pork. The other white meat. campaign decided they needed to focus on me.

Most of the people who seem to care are people who don't live in southern California. And I wonder if they know anyone who is Buddhist or Hindu. It's like they have no idea that huge groups of people live this way. And have for thousands of years.

It's like they take it personal.

Who Doesn't Want To Go To Coachella?

2010-01-28T08:45:00.000-08:00

Anyone can probably find an artist they want to see at Coachella. The lineup is huge. But better than that is whole enormity of three days in the desert. The whole music all day and into the night of it. I have wanted to go to Coachella for years. My husband went one year, but due to children I haven't ever been able to go. I am not as brave as my husband and wouldn't want to go alone. Every year I drool over the line up and look at photos. Every year it gets bigger and I think opportunity is passing me by ( a deep fear of mine r/t knocked up teenager syndrome). I never went to Lilith Fair, Lollapolooza, etc but I wanted to.

So once again I looked over the line up. Jay Z. Tokyo Police Club. MGMT. Mike Snow. De La Soul (for the husband).

I cruised the FAQs. Found out that you can't bring a camel back or your own water. And you can't bring a camera with a detachable lens (the kind I would want to bring). I also found this:

Will there be payphones inside the venue?
Sorry, No. This is 2010. Get a cell phone.

He he.

Anyways, I am looking for a date. Anyone going to go and want to hang out in the California desert (preferable on Sat) with me? Email me.

An Excuse To Eat Out

2010-01-25T18:45:00.000-08:00

Like we need one.

A friend of mine recently bought a house in Claremont, California and they are remodeling it before they move in. I know, we're all wondering how they can do that in this crappy economy, right? Oh just me? Ignore me, I am jealous. I want to redo my bathroom, paint the house but, ahh...it takes $$$. And Claremont? Nice.

So this weekend we took the fam and hung out in Claremont. I figure if I am going to be driving east on the freeway to visit her, I'd better try out the restaurants right? Claremont is off of the 210 and a cute college town. There are 8 colleges in Claremont alone. We walked around in the sunny weather, which has been so great after the RAIN that lasted forever ( trust me, a week of rain is forever in SoCal). We found the farmers market and cute little shops on Yale Ave. We visited the record store (because we old people miss those) We almost ate at a diner that was cute but the food on eveyone's plates didn't look so fabulous so we left. After all the watching of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives with my husband, I find myself wanting a little more from a diner than the usual Denny's-type fare.

We were with kids, so we settled on Pizza N Such, which was on the corner in an old Bank Building. My husband thought it was the perfect location for a brewery. The kids ordered individual lunches. Subs and lasagna. Their vote was meh. They have had better. Will & I ordered a Mediterranean pizza with goat cheese. We voted yummy. Will liked the beer selection too. Total bill for five (teenagers are breaking my bank account, I miss kids meals seriously) $51.00 . And that was with waters all around and one beer.

Look, he's bearded!

When we were leaving I saw a Thai food place I think we should try next time.