a tricky quest

How I make Salsa (sometimes)

2012-01-19T09:56:00.000-08:00

I need to preface this post by saying this is NOT a recipe. I'm not really great at following recipes, or remembering recipes, which isn't to say that I'm a bad cook (or maybe it is), but saying that I'm not the most consistent cook is fair. According to my sister, I cook like I drive. I have a general sense of where I want to go, and I figure that if I just keep moving, I'll get there eventually.

That being said, I had a request for my salsa recipe, and I would love to share it with whomever would like it, but like I said, I don't use recipes. Instead, I will share it with you in narrative form.

Last week, Alex and I had some friends over to watch the IU game, and I wanted to make some snacks. I was already planning to make artichoke dip, and I thought that salsa would be a great complement. Whenever I decide to make salsa, the process is dependent on what I have in the house. This time I happened to have a number of ingredients including: 6-7 roma tomatoes, 1 serano pepper, 2 poblano peppers, 1 dried ancho pepper, and 3 dried arbol peppers, garlic, green onions, cilantro, lime juice, salt, agave nectar.

This is what the dried chiles look like:

Basically I just dumped all of the ingredients in the blender, but I'll be a bit more specific.

First, I rinsed the tomatoes, cut the tops off, and put them in the blender (I started with four or five, but I ended up adding a couple more because it came out too spicy... more on this later). Then I cleaned the two poblanos and the serano by removing the stem and the seeds. From past experience I know that you must wash your hands thoroughly after doing this because the heat will transfer from your hands to anything you touch. For instance, if you touch your eyes they will burn like crazy, and if you go to the bathroom without washing your hands with soap first... well.. just don't do that. Okay?

Next, I ground up 1 ancho chile and 3 arbol chiles (remove the stems but keep the seeds) with a mortar and pestle, which looks like this:

If you don't have one, it doesn't matter that much, because this is all going in the blender or food processor anyway. I added 1 large clove of garlic (pressed), a handful of chopped green onions (probably 3 or 4 stems), and a small bunch of cilantro. I usually pull the leaves off the stems. I don't know if it makes any difference if you leave some of the stem on (it would certainly be faster), but this is just how I've always done it. I then added a few squirts of lime juice. I prefer Nellie & Joes Key West Lime Juice, but any lime juice will work. At this point I blended it and tasted it, and it was a bit too spicy. It also didn't taste very good because it needed salt. So, I added two more tomatoes, some salt (about 1 tsp), and a spoonful of agave nectar (sugar would be fine too). I blended and tasted again and added some more lime juice, and more salt. Basically, I just kept tasting and tweaking until I liked it.

I actually thought that this batch tasted too much like chile. I would have liked it to have more tomato flavor. Next time, I will probably use three jalapeños instead of all of the various peppers I used. However, if you prefer a more intense flavor, dried chiles are the way to go.

I've always wanted to make a quilt...

2011-09-24T12:48:00.001-07:00

And today I did :)

I'm calling it the Future Feminista Baby Blanket.

Inviting Your Demons to Tea

2011-08-21T16:40:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been feeling more anxious than usual. I've been frustrated with myself and others and perhaps a bit unrealistic about my expectations. I want everything done, and perfect, and now.

Of course, everything can't be done perfectly and instantaneously. And wishing for this only ends up ruining the now.

Part of the problem is that I tend to think of positive and negative emotions as mutually exclusive opposites. I assume that I am either 100% confident/happy/secure, or I am 100% afraid/unhappy/insecure. So, whenever one of those negative emotions sneaks in, I do my best to shove it out the door as quickly as possible and get back to my happy place.

And, it works.

For a little while.

But, then those negative emotions that I've been saving up, all come back at once, and that's no fun.

This has gotten worse since I stopped meditating.

Every Saturday night (when we are actually in Austin and not off on our travels), I tell Alex that I will need the car so that I can go to meditation in the morning. Every Saturday night I set my alarm for 9:30. But, for the past however-many months when that alarm goes off I can't quite talk myself into going. Until today that is.

Today, I couldn't wait to go. I needed it. And, as usual, the focus for the day seemed written just for me. It was mostly about how faith and doubt co-exist in the mind, and how even the Buddha encountered doubt, he just dealt with it differently then most of us do.

The part that struck me most is something that I've heard many times before, but never really understood until today. There is a story about how the Buddha reacted when he was visited by Mara, a demon or "tempter, distracting humans from practicing the spiritual life by making the mundane alluring or the negative seem positive". Instead of resisting Mara, the Buddha simply said, "Oh Mara, I see you" and invited him in for tea.

What this means for me is that trying to remove negative thoughts is not the answer. Instead, I need to recognize those thoughts and sit with them. I also need to remember that having negative thoughts doesn't mean "I am negative" because both positive and negative can coexist at the same time. I can have faith in myself, my work, my relationships, and if doubt comes to visit every once in awhile, that's just fine.

There's plenty of tea for everyone.

How Molly Ringwald, Sassy Magazine, and My Mom Made My Wedding Dress

2011-06-15T19:26:00.000-07:00

There are two types of people in this world: people who watch Pretty in Pink and "get" Andie's prom dress, and those who don't. I am firmly situated in the former category, and I'll tell y0u why...

For one thing, as a teenager, I definitely shared Andie's "grannie-chic" style. I loved pastel cardigans, all things crocheted, and a good vest. But, I rarely wore any of these without adding a little bit of flair. I'd shorten a hemline, add a lace-trim, or embroider a floral design. In other words, I was upcycling before upcycling was a thing. My

inspirations were twofold.

First, there was my mother, who may have been living a bit vicariously through me at the time. She used to make her own clothes in the late sixties/early seventies, and the fact that I tended toward a similar aesthetic probably made her more inclined to help me with my alterations. She also introduced me to thrift store and consignment shopping.

One time as we were looking through the racks of a small second-hand shop in Claremont, she came across a designer dress for $25.00. As we were paying for it, I was already thinking about how I would make it my own, saying something like, "I could cut the sleeves off and add..." But, before I could even finish the thought, the sales girl cut me off and said, "You most certainly will not! This is a Betsey Johnson!" So... I didn't alter that one, I did, however, pair it with burgundy Doc Martens.

Somewhere around the same time that I began to take an interest in fashion, I was introduced to Sassy magazine:

Unless you are just about exactly the same age as I am, you are either too young or too old to know what Sassy magazine was. It had a short lifespan, but let me tell you, it was pretty much perfect as far as teen-girl-magazines go. In addition to having really cool articles about really cool bands, each issue included an article on some feminist issue but from a personal perspective. It celebrated real girls. And, they had a DIY fashion section. What more could you ask for?

So, fast-forward 15+ years to when it came time for me to buy a wedding dress. I never experienced that frustrating search for The Dress. I knew that whatever dress I bought would need to be tweaked and added to, and I knew that my mom would help create a dress that was 100% me. And she did.

When I walked down the aisle, holding Alex's hand, I had my family with me. My mom had sewn buttons from my grandmother's wedding dress to the straps of my dress. The petticoat was a motley collection of meaningful materials, including the sleeve of mom's wedding dress and a piece of the shirt my father wore as he walked my sister down the aisle to my petticoat. My bouquet was wrapped in handkerchief that had belonged to my grandfather. All in all, it could not have been more perfect.

Sure, I could have had 22 dress fittings and chosen the style that made me appear to be thinner and richer and more David Tutera. But, instead of being wrapped in Faviana, I felt like I was wrapped in love.

If you think back to the movie, this is what Andie did too.

She took bits and pieces associated with people that mattered to her--her mother, her father, and Iona--and made something beautiful. She too, of course, could have made a dress that was more fitted and more trendy, but 1986's best dresses haven't exactly stood the test of time.

I think Andie's has.

Obviously, not everyone will agree, and I'm okay with that. Like I said... two types of people. I think people who understand Andie, and people who understand Sassy, understand my dress, but more importantly, they understand me.

Because, sometimes a dress is more than a dress. A dress, or a magazine, or a wedding can "link people together irrevocably." According to the book, How Sassy Changed My Life:

Sassy has become a kind of code. "I meet people now and occasionally ask them if they were Sassy readers," says fan Catherine Bowers. Upon meeting a fellow Sassy fan, we feel like we understand something essential about that person: their life philosophy, what their politics might be like, what their artistic preferences are, what they were like in high school, what kind of person they wanted to grow up to be. (By contrast, we find non-fans of a certain age slightly suspect.) We seem to recognize kindred spirits even now.

Likewise, I recognize in Andie a kindred spirit, and if you don't get her dress, I bet you never read Sassy. But that's okay. It wasn't meant for you anyway.

A Mother's Journals

2011-02-07T12:22:00.000-08:00

"You cannot not communicate." --Communication 101

"The medium is the message." --Marshal McCluhan

Students of communication will come across these phrases again and again, even in the most basic of Comm courses. Perhaps then, I should not be so intrigued and baffled by the story of Terry Tempest Williams' mother leaving her blank journals. But I am.

I am a person who thinks about death a lot. I can't say that I think about it more or less than the average person, because I don't know how much that is. I just know that I do think about it. I think about my own death, and the death of those whom I love. It's not in a morbid, or paranoid, or unhealthy way, more of a realistic acceptance of nature combined with a deep desire to live a life with no regrets.

But, because of this, coupled with my recent experiences of loss, I understand the desire to plan ways to communicate with loved ones after we are gone. Still, I don't quite understand Williams' mothers' journals. Then again, why should I? Her own daughter is left asking "Why?" Yet, she seems to be okay with the ambiguity. I think that part of mourning is learning to be okay with ambiguity.

Still, I have my theories...

In hearing Williams' story, the first thing that comes to mind is that perhaps her mother could not find her own voice as a writer and felt her daughter could better tell the story of her life. This interpretation seems very plausible, but not particularly satisfying. If that were the case, wouldn't one journal be enough to send such a message? Why keep buying journals?

So, I think about what would have happened if the journals had been written. Would she have still left them to her daughter? Had she done so, she would have had to imagine her daughter poring over them. Would that have brought her daughter comfort? Possibly. But, what if the daughter became too attached to these words, her only access to her mother's voice? If she became too obsessed with holding onto her mother's voice would she lose her own? Would she ever move on?

In the full interview on on Being, just before Williams talks about the journals, she mentions a quotation from Mardy Murie: "Don't worry about what you will do next if you take one step with all the knowledge you have. With all the knowledge you have there is usually just enough light shining to show you the next step." Williams is a writer. She writes. Her mother knew that. I'd like to think that the journals represent a mother trying to shine just enough light for her daughter to see that next step.

Catching My Breath

2010-12-17T08:57:00.000-08:00

Although we never anticipate a change in cabin pressure, should one occur, four oxygen masks will fall from the compartment above. Place the mask over your nose and mouth and breathe normally. If you are traveling with small children please secure your mask first and then you can assist others. Finally sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight!

One of my earliest memories is of standing in our hallway in a face-off with my mother. I was maybe three years old and screaming at the top of my lungs. If I had to guess, I would say that it was probably time for bed, and I'd probably had too much sugar, and I was about to throw myself on the floor in what was about to be a full-blown temper tantrum. Apparently I did this a lot when I'd had too much sugar. The inevitable result would be me hyperventalating, which I also did a lot. Basically, I would freak out until I literally could not breathe.

My mom was never any good at helping me to breathe again. It was always my dad who would sit beside my bed and rub my back, coaxing me to take deep breaths, saying "you will be okay," until I would pass out from exhaustion. For some reason, my mom just couldn't do it. I think she was so busy checking on everyone else and doing that selfless thing that Catholic women seem especially prone to do, that in a moment of complete crisis she just didn't know how to teach someone else to breathe again.

The problem with Catholicism (as it was taught to me) is that the importance of making sure that you, yourself, are okay before you can help anyone else is never stressed. But, then the problem with making sure that you are okay before you help others is that we all have very different definitions of what it means to be "okay". Still, I think that we can all agree that breathing is pretty essential.

But my mom, she forgets to breathe.

Luckily, she has this amazing knack for being able to accomplish a lot with very little need for air.

Over the years she has dealt with so many things and with so much grace. She watched her best friend and older brother die from cancer. She watched her own mother slip slowly away, little by little, losing her mind to Alzheimer's. She held my father's hand through the deaths of both his parents and then watched him destroy himself with alcohol.

This year, she said goodbye to both her father and mine. I think that saying goodbye to my grandfather, though very very hard, was still easier than my father. My grandpa lived life to the fullest. He was a kind, funny, generous, hard-working man up to the very end. My mom took him to Hawaii just two weeks before his stroke where they went white-water rafting. I can't imagine him living a better life than he did.

My grandfather died, on March 26th of this year, and by that time, my dad had become a hermit. He was subsisting on the occasional pizza delivery and vodka. As much as we had all been avoiding visiting "the terrible place" (the name we had given to my parents' home) we had to go to the house to explain to him what had happened. At a time where my mother needed comforting most, my dad was barely able to speak. He was the one breaking down, and I was the one rubbing his back and telling him everything would "be okay."

About four months later Dad's body finally began to shut down. Somehow, even after the years of hell he'd put her through, my mother still found the strength care for him as he died. But she still hasn't had her chance to breathe. None of us has. Mom now has four properties to manage and several families looking to her to be our rock now. But who will support her?

I want to. I want to, but I don't know how, and I don't know if I'm okay. In the past few weeks I had been finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. The only thing that kept me from breaking down completely (depending on how you define "completely") was knowing that if I could just make it a few more days, I would be in Indiana, I would be with Alex, and I could breathe easily again. Which is, of course, exactly what happened.

So, when it came time to get back on a plane and head to California, I was going to do it, but I wasn't sure it was the best idea. I felt like I would be taking my mask off and giving it to my mom. Of course, if there were only one mask left, that's what I would do... but she wouldn't take it. She'd be trying to give it back to me... and then we'd both be screwed.

Thank God I have a sister. Thank God she lives in California, and thank God she's got a beautiful support system of her own. I still feel selfish taking care of me first, but I think the best thing I can do for my family right now is to make sure that I'm okay. To continue to work on building up this new support system Alex and I have begun to create for each other. To breathe.

please secure your mask first, and then you can assist others...

We hate it when our friends become successful

2010-11-02T11:21:00.000-07:00

And if we can destroy them/ You bet your life we will/ Destroy them/ If we can hurt them/ Well, we may as well.../ It's really laughable/ Ha, ha, ha ...

A seemingly simple question has been bothering me lately: Why is it so easy for us, as human beings, to be there for someone when they are down, but not as easy to be supportive when people are happy? I’m not the first to suggest that people have a hard time being truly happy for our friends (but somehow a much easier time comforting them). As Toxic Narcotic puts it “We’re Not Happy ‘til You’re Not Happy,” as Morrissey proclaims, “We hate it when our friends become successful,” and as my friend Holly Holladay admits, oftentimes she’s "95% happy, 5% hate you a little."

Now, I’m not so cynical to believe that there aren’t people out there who find it easy to be happy for others. But, I am suggesting that most of us like to think we are equally supportive of our friends both in the good times and bad—but we’re not. And, don’t worry, if you think I’m about to get preachy here … I probably am… but I’m equally implicated in this.

Here, I’ll give you an example:

The last few years have been filled with weddings. I love my friends and I love a party, so weddings should be great, right? Wrong. To varying degrees, I find (or at least I did in the past) weddings to be tortuous. Sometimes it’s just a feeling of, “yes, I’m so very happy that you are happy, but I’d really rather not buy you a toaster or wear this silly dress, thank you very much.” Other times it’s more like, “if I don’t get away from this table of all of my married friends and their children, I am going to stab myself in the eye… oh wait… there’s vodka. I’ll just go drink ALL of it instead.” And even worse than that are the times where I try to convince myself that I’m not happy because THEY aren’t ACTUALLY happy either. I try to convince myself that there’s something wrong with THEM that is keeping ME from rejoicing with them.

But, in all of those cases, I am pretty sure it is actually a “me” thing.

Because, if those same friends called me with a crisis, I can’t imagine thinking “Your aren’t ACTUALLY sad. You just THINK you are sad, so I’m just not going to be sad with you right now.” That seems pretty ridiculous, and yet…

This year has been an emotional roller coaster for me. If there was an emotion to be had, I’ve had it, X 1000. Most of these have been what you might call “bad.” In my most difficult, most heartbreaking moments, the outpouring of love I received was beautiful and more than I could have expected. Everyone close to me, and even many people not so close to me, showed support and compassion. It was humbling.

Unexpectedly and awesomely, I also had some of the happiest moments of my life this year, most notably, falling in love. For the most part, the show of support from my closest friends and family has again been amazing and humbling… for the most part. Unfortunately, I have to qualify this because there have been some for whom it has been impossible to be truly happy with me. And, you know what? I get it.

I get it because I’ve been in those moments where a good friend was experiencing love and happiness, and I just couldn’t go there with them. I get it, but it doesn’t hurt any less. In fact, it makes me feel even worse that I’ve done this to others, and I know I can never rewind to that moment where I should have rejoiced with them—should have, but didn’t.

So, what can I do about it? I suppose the only thing to do is decide that from here on out, I will do my best to continue to be there for my friends when they need comforting, but to be just as there for them when they need celebrating… and to rejoice first, and ask questions later.

[also, HUGE thanks and much love to Holly Holladay for becoming the epitome of the “rejoice now, ask questions later” philosophy!]

My Negative Plan for Being a Better Writing Instructor/Teacher/Human

2010-09-08T13:20:00.000-07:00

If you’ve ever watched the show Nip Tuck, then you are probably familiar with the phrase, “Tell me what you don’t like about yourself.” This is the standard phrase with which Drs. Troy and McNamara begin each cosmetic surgery consultation. Often what follows, both on the show and presumably in real life, is that the patient disrobes, and the doctor uses a sharpie to point out every imperfection that could be fixed. Now, Christian Troy is a special kind of asshole, and even though Kimber is not exactly a protagonist on the show, it is hard to feel anything but horror when watching him do this to her (um… you can just skip to 2:08 on that YouTube link). Yet, we do this to people in subtle ways all the time. People come to us for love and acceptance and we give them the sharpie.

The other day, I started thinking about how I could be a better writing consultant/teacher, and for the first time ever, I got past only thinking about my side of it and started thinking about it from the perspective of the student/other. It occurred to me that showing someone your writing is often a lot like standing naked in front of someone for the first time. Most people are self-conscious about it and, therefore, in a pretty vulnerable state. Still, my natural approach to teaching, unfortunately, tends to be a lot like the sharpie method: “Here, let me take this red pen and show you where you are not perfect.” This is not okay.

I can’t really understand why I have held back on praising students for the things they do well. Part of it might be that the writing center philosophy is to be “non-evaluative.” While I agree that I do not want to give the students false hope, or judge them, I think that the only ethical response to someone being brave enough to stand naked in front of you is to look them in the eyes and say, “You are beautiful and perfect exactly how you are,” and mean it.

Still, one of the most amazing things about life is that we have these incredible opportunities to grow and become better, and better, and better at things. So, this person who has come to you for help is also saying, “I want to be better at this.” My response to that from now on is still not going to be pointing out the things that are “wrong.” It’s hard to do, and harder to do consistently, but I’m going to try really hard to approach it like this: “If there are things that YOU want to improve, and if there are ways in which I might be able to help you with that, I am so on board. So, how can I help?” This is what the writing center is supposed to be about, but I’ve just figured out that it’s not possible if you skip the “You are beautiful and perfect part.”

So, today, for the first time, I had the opportunity to try this and it was AWESOME. By far the best and most productive consultation experience I’ve ever had, and I’m pretty sure the student felt the same way, because he smiled through the whole thing. We addressed the same issues I would have chosen to address the old way—and then some. Plus, he seemed genuinely excited about doing it. Proof? At the end of the session, in the most organic way possible, we high-fived. Then he just stood there for a minute with a goofy grin on his face. I would really love it if all my consultations could end that way. Forever.

Speech for Dad (given at his memorial mass on August 16th)

2010-08-18T02:07:00.001-07:00

Hello, for those of you who don’t know, I’m Danielle, Doug’s older daughter. And, I wanted to say a few things about my dad.

A famous songwriter (and I’ll give you one guess who I’m referring to) once said “If we couldn’t laugh we would all go insane.” I think this philosophy pretty much sums up Doug Pye, and if you knew my dad at all, that means you must have laughed with him (or at him) at least once. He was one of the funniest people I’ve ever known. So, I’m going to do my best to make you laugh at least a little, because I know that’s what he’d be doing if he could.

My dad was born to Shirley and Earl Pye on July 2^nd, 1956 in Chico, CA. He was their third child (of six) and their first son. They lived in Chico, then Davis, CA, and later they moved to Louisiana, before finally settling in Pomona, CA.

In 1974, he graduated from Damien High School, where he played football, baseball, basketball, and ran track. He then went to work for GTE climbing telephone poles and laying cable. Eventually he was promoted, and when GTE became Verizon he continued on as a Specialist. In 2005 he obtained an MBA from University of Phoenix. And in 2007 he retired from Verizon after more than 30 years with the company.

While working at GTE, he met my mom Vera, and they were married in 1978. They had two children, myself and my sister, Kristin. He also has one grandchild, Kristin’s son, Evan.

Throughout his life my dad was known for his exceptional athletic ability. Besides the sports he played at Damien, he was also an avid golfer. It’s hard for me to believe this, but he even won a golf tournament just last year. He also enjoyed hiking, fishing, and traveling. His longest and most memorable hike was in Mammoth lakes with his best friend and brother-in-law, Phil. His favorite vacation spots were Hawaii and, of course, San Felipe, which was his second home.

In the past few days family and friends have all been reminiscing about whatever they remember most about my dad and every single person has mentioned his sense of humor.

When I think about my dad, what I remember most is how much he taught me. Education was very important to him, and everyday when he would drop us off at school he would say “Have Fun! Learn something!” When I was about six years-old he started teaching me about science. We would take oranges and place them all over the house… on a shelf, in my closet, or in a Tupperware container. He would ask me which one I thought would grow mold first and why. We would check on them each day to see if there were any changes and to make sure mom hadn’t thrown any away, and… we’d take notes. Of course, I didn’t realize it at the time, but he was teaching me the scientific method. I just thought we were having fun and driving my mom crazy :)

And he didn’t just teach science, he taught me and Kristin all kinds of things. Like how to throw a baseball, how to drive, why a flamingo stands on one leg, how to install a sprinkler system, that laughter is truly the best medicine, and that you can fix anything if you just have enough duct tape.

He was definitely a very smart and funny guy. He seemed to know everything, and if he didn’t he’d just make it up. If any of us were having trouble fixing something or opening a package, he would often say, “Well, you just have to be smarter than the box.” He could also be very clever when it came to getting others to do what he wanted. For instance, at my sister’s wedding in San Felipe, we were told that the front desk did not have a reservation for Nick’s dad, Steve. So, my dad went to the front desk to take care of things. Dad asked the hotel manager, “Would you be able to find a room for Vicente Fox, the President of Mexico?” The manager responded, “Yes, of course,” and Dad said, “Well, he’s not coming, so just give us his room.” The manager laughed and gave us the room.

I don’t want to give the impression that my dad was perfect, because he wasn’t. He knew that better than anyone, but I know that he really tried very hard to be a good person. As far as fathers go, he did all the things that dads are supposed to do. He tucked me in each night, and he’d always say the same thing “Goodnight, God Bless you, I love you.” He helped me with my homework, embarrassed me in front of my friends, took me to buy my first new car, and hated all my boyfriends. What more could I ask for?

I only wish that he hadn’t been so hard on himself. Everybody makes mistakes, and sometimes being good enough is the best we can hope for. When my dad died, he was surrounded by people he loved and who loved him. I don’t think that anyone in that room thought he was perfect, but we all thought he was good enough. I’m hopeful that he finally thought so too. He may not have had a fairytale life, but every now and then he had fairytale moments: his childhood in Louisiana, playing football with the Spartans, hiking in Mammoth, our trips to Hawaii, and San Felipe. And, to paraphrase the great sage Jimmy Buffet "Some of its magic, some of its tragic, but he had a good life all the way."

My mom, my sister, and I are so thankful to everyone who came to see him in the last few weeks. I know it meant so much to him, and even though we now know how much pain he must have been in, being surrounded by love and laughter must have helped. Even in his final days he was still cracking jokes and talking about where he would travel to next. Of course, I don’t know exactly where he’s gone off to, but I’d like to think that he’s with my Grandpa Joe and Uncle Phil hiking, fishing, and doing three stooges impressions. I picture them all in paradise.

In closing, I want to share part of one of his favorite songs called “Back to the Island” with you:

Well, I hope you understand
I just had to go back to the island

Sit and watch the sun go down
Listen to the sea roll in

But I'll be thinking of you
And how it might have been

Hear the night birds cry
Watch the sunset die
Well, I hope you understand
I just had to go back to the island

Dad I hope you finally found your “one particular harbor.” Thank you for being part of our lives and making us all laugh. We are all going to miss you.

Goodnight, God Bless You, I love you.

Everyone is here except you.

2010-08-10T00:12:00.000-07:00

For the second time this year I find myself on an airplane wondering if someone I love, who was alive when I took off, will still be alive when I land. The first time, I knew the answer. I felt it. This time, I’m not sure. I’m not sure it would matter anyway. I don’t know if he’d know I was there. I do know that he knew I wasn’t there sooner. One of the last things he said to me was, “everyone is here except you.”

I probably should have been there.

I probably should leave out the probably, but it seems more complicated than that.

What about all the other times I was there? The times when nobody else was. The times when you wished I would just leave you alone. The times where you didn’t know what you wanted, and I didn’t know what to do, but I was there anyway.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. I’m sorry I might be too late. I didn’t mean to be.

I worry that my not being there means that nobody will be there for me when it’s my turn. That can’t be fair though. You who pushed everyone away for so long, you are still surrounded by love.

I’ve never really pushed anyone away. Not really. Not even you. Quite the opposite.

But, still. I’m going to have to be there from now on, if I can help it. I don’t ever want to be the exception again. This is something I need to work on, it seems.

I told you I was coming Thursday. For some reason on Saturday you thought it was Wednesday. You thought I would be there “tomorrow.” You were disappointed when I told you it was only four more days. You said, “Everyone is here except you.” I’m terrified that those words will haunt me forever.

But, then again, it’s not my fault you got the days wrong.

This is harder than I thought it was going to be.

[I wrote this before I knew. Before I knew you waited for me. I still can't believe you did that. "An amazing display of willpower" it was. I'm so sorry I made you wait, even if only for one day.]

my two dads

2010-07-23T11:42:00.001-07:00

three songs

2010-07-23T00:56:00.000-07:00

three songs swirled together in my head and heart for very different and very similar reasons.

1. A Pirate Looks at 40

(I imagine this is how my dad feels on a good day)

2. Hurt

(I wonder if this is what the bad days are like)

3. Three Libras

(and this is how I feel about my relationship with pretty much every man I have ever known, with few notable exceptions)

file under: "that explains a lot"

2010-07-02T03:49:00.000-07:00

i'm sitting in my grandparents' living room waiting to leave for san felipe. i'm trying not to fall asleep so that i will, hopefully, sleep the whole way there and wake up in mexico. sooo.... i'm flipping through the channels and i see that woodstock is on (it's on for the next four hours), and this reminds me of two events that shaped my teenage years to some degree. one related to woodstock. one not.

the first was during my freshman world civilizations class. we were told to write a report on a "world event" of our choosing. it could be any event, so long as it changed world history. most of my classmates chose things like wars, or scientific discoveries, or space stuff. i, always one for stretching the rules, chose woodstock. my teacher at the time, mr. pryor, said he'd allow it only because he'd always wished he could have been there in person.

now, if you've seen woodstock, you might think it's not the sort of thing you'd want your 14 year old daughter watching. my parents, on the other hand, not only encouraged it, they rented it for me. i took over the living room for several days, watching the extended version and watching certain portions over and over for transcibing purposes. i believe that this, combined with watching the movie flashback at a young age, are two of the main reasons i felt i was destined to go to berkeley. i totally heart my parents for encouraging my hippyness.

i also heart them for what they let me do to my room. even though my mom was a nazi about the rest of the house, she always allowed me a little more freedom in terms of my room. that freedom increased as i got older. at some point, i don't remember quite when, i decided to draw on my walls. it started off small, i think i wrote down an oscar wilde quote or lyrics to a smiths song. then i added phone numbers. eventually it became a ritual for my friends to write or draw something when they visited. by the time i was eighteen, the entire room was covered. i had one wall covered in a mural painted in black light paint. it was a sight to behold. it was completely unique, completely "me," and completely awesome. i still don't understand how they never freaked out and never told me to stop, but again, i love them for letting me do it.

if i am ever lucky enough to have a teenage daughter i will definitely rent woodstock for her and buy her some blacklight paint... if she wants it, of course.

"Is sex how we put ourselves back together again? Or can two people actually become one...again?"

2010-06-24T00:33:00.001-07:00

The Origins of Love (aka the best song ever)
from Hedwig and the Angry Inch

When the earth was still flat,
And the clouds made of fire,
And mountains stretched up to the sky,
Sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs.
They had two sets of arms.
They had two sets of legs.
They had two faces peering
Out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them
As they talked; while they read.
And they never knew nothing of love.
It was before the origin of love.

The origin of love

And there were three sexes then,
One that looked like two men
Glued up back to back,
Called the children of the sun.
And similar in shape and girth
Were the children of the earth.
They looked like two girls
Rolled up in one.
And the children of the moon
Were like a fork shoved on a spoon.
They were part sun, part earth
Part daughter, part son.

The origin of love

Now the gods grew quite scared
Of our strength and defiance
And Thor said,
"I'm gonna kill them all
With my hammer,
Like I killed the giants."
And Zeus said, "No,
You better let me
Use my lightening, like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales
And dinosaurs into lizards."
Then he grabbed up some bolts
And he let out a laugh,
Said, "I'll split them right down the middle.
Gonna cut them right up in half."
And then storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire

And then fire shot down
From the sky in bolts
Like shining blades
Of a knife.
And it ripped
Right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun
And the moon
And the earth.
And some Indian god
Sewed the wound up into a hole,
Pulled it round to our belly
To remind us of the price we pay.
And Osiris and the gods of the Nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane,
To scatter us away,
In a flood of wind and rain,
And a sea of tidal waves,
To wash us all away,
And if we don't behave
They'll cut us down again
And we'll be hopping round on one foot
And looking through one eye.

Last time I saw you
We had just split in two.
You were looking at me.
I was looking at you.
You had a way so familiar,
But I could not recognize,
Cause you had blood on your face;
I had blood in my eyes.
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain,
Cuts a straight line
Down through the heart;
We called it love.
So we wrapped our arms around each other,
Trying to shove ourselves back together.
We were making love,
Making love.
It was a cold dark evening,
Such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove,
It was the sad story
How we became
Lonely two-legged creatures,
It's the story of
The origin of love.
That's the origin of love.

Pick Up The Heavy Shit.

2010-06-09T12:41:00.000-07:00

This is my admittedly passive aggressive (but also tongue-in-cheek) way of scolding some of the men in my life who, although well-intentioned, are sometimes clueless [taken directly from a facebook convo with one man "in my life" who undoubtedly knows better].

hey dude,

you are stronger than me, it's a given....soooo if you see me struggling to pick up something heavy, like oh i dunno the keg we are all drinking from, fucking PICK IT UP FOR ME!

and, like, okay i get it.. we're all modern men and women, so maybe we don't subscribe to gender norms

oh but wait, you have no problem also with letting me and other women do all the fucking cooking and cleaning?

then pick up the heavy shit.

that's all i ask.

cheers,

danee

The Princess Bride Theory of Basketball

2010-06-09T12:13:00.000-07:00

So, I have this theory about the Lakers. The simple way to put it is that they are a strong second half team. I, however, prefer complicated (and perhaps misguided) comparisons. So here’s my poorly supported and largely made up analogy, or homology, if you will.

Remember that scene in The Princess Bride where Westley and Inigo are dueling and Inigo appears to be losing, but the all of a sudden he confesses that he is not left-handed. When he switches to his right hand he begins to overpower Westley with ease… of course until Westley confesses, “I am not left-handed either!”

In case you don’t remember or haven’t seen it, this is what I’m talking about.

Anyway, according to my theory (TPB), the Lakers are like Inigo. They play the first two quarters (and sometimes the third) left-handed. Now I’m not saying they literally make shots with the opposite hand (although Kobe did just that at least once in the last game). I’m just saying they don’t go all out. Usually sometime during the third quarter they switch to their right hand, and that’s where the real game begins.

So, the only way to beat them is for the other team to maintain a fairly even score while also playing “left-handed.” Otherwise, whenever they do decided to go all out you’ll be fucked because you’ll have wasted your good stuff in the first half.

There are clearly many problems with TPB theory… Game 1 against the Celtics for example doesn’t fit… but in my many years of watching the Lakers in the playoffs this is the pattern I see… and might I remind you…I’m a rhetorician not a statistician, so that’s good ‘nuff for me.

What are you most afraid of?

2010-05-18T02:49:00.001-07:00

esteban: "what are you afraid of?"
nancy: "calm."
esteban: "calm before the storm?"
nancy: "the storm i can weather."

Flying

2010-05-01T19:08:00.000-07:00

I’m writing this from an airplane. Out the window I can see the clouds below me and the sun setting into them. Airplanes and airports are in-between-spaces. I think this is why people think about death when they fly. It’s not the fear of crashing, but the experience of flying that makes you confront your own mortality. I always feel like dying would be like getting onto a plane… but one where you can never get off. Maybe that’s just me. Maybe that’s why I like flying so much. It makes me think about these things.

I realized how much I fly today when I picked up the Southwest Spirit Magazine and I’d already read it. That means I’ve flown at least once this month on Southwest. I also know that the last flight I took was not on Southwest. That makes at least six flights in one month…

There’s something peaceful about being up here. When I look down things don’t really seem to be moving too fast down there. They seem still. The grid becomes obvious. There is order. Thought and planning has gone into the ways we move about in our world down there. Realizing that while I’m down there generally comes as a result of reading post-structuralist theory. From that perspective the confines of structured space becomes disturbing, but up here… not so much.

From this height, you can also see the curve of the Earth. I’m not on the planet right now. That’s weird to think about. In-between-space. Being-up-here. Flying. Floating. Sitting still while moving at a rapid speed, but not feeling like I’m moving at all.
The waitress in the sky is coming to take my drink order. Usually I sleep right through that part, but not today. The pilot tells me that we are now 36,000 feet above sea level and 722 miles from Phoenix, Arizona. Speaking of in-between-spaces, fuck Arizona. Fuck you Jan Brewer and the good people of Arizona who supported SB1070. In a way, it is a good thing. We cannot continue to ignore the issue any longer. It’s gotten to THAT point. I think. I wonder what the U.S./Mexico border would look like from up here. Could you even tell where one begins and the other ends…? I know there is a river and a fence, but can you see them from 36,000 feet above sea level?

This is what I think about when I’m flying. And you?

touch of grey

2010-03-20T22:49:00.000-07:00

i spent the last half of my spring break in kentucky. it's been one of the most relaxing trips, but also one of the most emotionally stressful trips ever (for very different reasons). i got two bits of very bad news while i was here, one of which will pull me back to california shortly. i'm trying to look on the bright side of things. i'm alive, healthy, employed, and i have a very loving and supportive family/friend group, but without feeling too sorry for myself, i have to say.... 2010 is not looking good. i think i jinxed myself in thinking this was going to be a better year.

it's like i've been so sad, that i don't have any sad left, if that makes any sense at all. so, i have to focus on the happy. except, when i think about the next two months all i can think about is the papers and research and conferences... which doesn't leave a lot of time for happy. so, i guess this brings me back to the only silver lining i've got, which is... at least i had a relaxing spring break and spent time with my friends.

it's like taking a deeeeeep breath when you know you won't be able to come for air any time soon.

palabras de mi abuelita y suenos de mexico

2010-03-11T23:08:00.001-08:00

i was sick again today. probably just a fleeting cold. this is, at least what i am telling myself. in the meantime my throat hurts and my body aches and i'm thinking of something my grandma used to say when i was hurting...

"Sana sana, colita de rana.

¡Si no sanas hoy, sanarás mañana!"

my translation of this is:

"Sooth sooth, Little frog's tail.

If you do not heal today, you will heal by tomorrow!"

this saying always seemed to make me feel better. so, i'm thinking about that, and i'm planning out the next year of my life, because i think it is going to be the most important year ever for me (if i do it right).

athe same time, i am dreaming of mexico. anyone up for the drive???

Against the Wind...

2010-03-10T07:16:00.000-08:00

Running against the wind. This is what grad school feels like, especially today, with spring break in sight yet just out of reach...

to extend the previous metaphor...

2010-03-09T21:43:00.000-08:00

I didn't say this, someone else did, but I couldn't relate more to these words (although I have perhaps recently shown much more patience for those who waver than I should have):

"for all of my faults in life, and there are many, love has never really been one of them. Certainly I have done it inelegantly, but I have rarely done it halfway. And I have no patience for those who waver on their feelings.

Life is too short to be with someone who is more consumed by their own self – their own desire to be perfect, to make the right choice – than they are consumed by the desire to be with me."

big crazy dreams (that just might come true if i don't listen to that nagging voice that says "that's too big and crazy and dreamy")

2010-03-09T15:54:00.000-08:00

figuring out what you want to do with the rest of your life is kind of like falling in love...

"when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

(Harry from When Harry Met Sally).

the 909

2010-03-07T23:15:00.000-08:00

i am missing this place a lot today.

(thanks to kristin for sharing these with me from this morning)

3 more letters

2010-03-07T18:53:00.000-08:00

I was more ambitious tonight and wrote three letters.

Actually these were just much easier to write--lighthearted, just to say hello. Nothing heavy. I really love the whole process and am looking forward to coming up with new designs for next weeks round. Now, to get some actual work done...

name change

2010-03-07T17:38:00.000-08:00

I thought the old name was too pretentious, so I changed it to something that might be even more pretentious. Oh well. Perhaps I'll come up with something better, but until then... dangerous metaphors it is.

wonderland

2010-03-07T00:18:00.000-08:00

i have been in wonderland since thursday. on a mental vacation. i also saw Alice, and it was great. well, mostly great. it would have been great if not for the dancing. if you haven't seen it, i am not giving anything away and you'll know exactly what i mean. anyway, i choose to block that part out and just say it was great.

except for the highly problematic ending.

eventually i will post my psychoanlytic reading of this film, and then it will be clear why i do not think it sends a positive message to young women, old women, hell, people, period. for now, however, i don't want to give anything away so i'll talk about another movie i just saw, Shutter Island.

Don't go see it. The whole point is given away in the first thirty minutes, although I guessed it about thirty minutes before my companion. Still, he described the plot as "a series of tropes," and he couldn't be more right. I think it would have been okay as a rental, but not quite the movie-going-experience i was after. Still, my Pecan Porter, was absolutely delicious, and free for some odd reason. All's well that ends well.

life as a "halfing" in the Borderlands

2010-03-05T11:30:00.000-08:00

"I'm a 'halfling' myself. Not half-elf, half-human of course—in my case it's half-Chinese, half-white. But when I read the stories of 'halflings' in Bordertown I just want to cry. God, they're telling it the way it is—the way you don't fit in anywhere, always looking for someplace to belong . . . . In Bordertown there's a place where even I can belong. I wish it was real. As long as you keep writing these books, it is. See you on the Border."
— from Borderland fan mail

So, you'd think a class on Borderlands would be the only place a "halfing" like me could feel at home. Yet, my seminar on this topic makes me incredibly uncomfortable... more on this later... break is over.

traces of a past

2010-03-04T09:45:00.000-08:00

I know that I erased my old blog for good reasons (at the time), but these days I really wish I hadn't done that. I wish I had saved those words somewhere. But I didn't.

Today I tried to find some digital remnants of that life, and at first I thought that even the wayback machine let me down because I couldn't access it in the archive. What I did find, however, is my college roommate/gay bff's blog from that time period. So, I thought I'd share some of the "tamer," yet potentially incriminating, posts because they makes me laugh so hard and warm my heart. I would never do now the things I did then, but God, what fun we had!

(To give you a brief background here, Angelo and I shared bunkbeds in Berkeley from August 2002 through apprx. May 2004 and got each other into/out of much fun/trouble)

From his blog:

wednesday, March 05, 2003

After crashing into a parked car in the parking lot of Dennys, Danee, Ani, and I decided to splurge for the two dollar Bay Bridge toll booth in order to find an after-hours club in the city, only to find out, to our dismay, that there are NO after-hours clubs on Tuesdays.

Which leaves me back at the apartment at almost five in the morning, realizing that in five hours I will have to sit through lectures dealing with automaticity and hypnotism and, after sitting through an hour or so of traffic, have to teach underpriveleged children in Oakland poetry.

Sometimes I find that my identities clash. During the day I can be found teaching the art and simplicity of Haikus to children perpetually mouthing the lyrics to the latest B2k song, whereas at night I can be found atop a bar stool somewhere in Berkeley singing, "Hey shorty, it's yo birthday!"

Either way,

I'm tired.

There's a gash the size of Mt. Saint Helens on my Rav 4.

And, frankly, I want to die...

Angelo became overly dramatic at 4:45 AM

thursday, june 12, 2003

Like the Sun and the Moon (Idiot)

When you're right smack in the middle of what's been called June Gloom, wherein the sun will occasionally make its appearance for a scant few minutes, all the while knowing God damn well that a few hundred miles south of here other free-spirited college students are plastered underneath the sun doing things like sipping on Pina Coladas and worrying about such things as tan lines and skin cancer, you've got to do something to keep yourself from swallowing cyanide.

With that said, Danee and I are obsessed with this.

We've developed a nightly ritual of getting into our bunk beds, turning the volume up, and snickering like schoolgirls underneath our covers.

Obviously, we're oozing with class.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 13, 2002

karma is a bitch.

angelo owes me three drinks. he said he'd pay for two rounds and then his card wouldn't go through, so i, of course, had to pay for everything! then the dumbass left his account logged on, so i can write in his blog. this is danee, by the way.

Coffee and reading and reading and coffee

2010-03-03T17:56:00.000-08:00

Today, while sitting at Dolce Vita, reading and drinking coffee, I realized that a good portion of my life involves reading and drinking coffee (please note the similarity between my view today and the main image on this site). This realization made me smile and, at least momentarily, I fell in love with ATX again.

Now off to dinner with another lovely. I'm a lucky girl.

Tired, but wiser for the time.

2010-03-03T11:32:00.000-08:00

When I was in high school and on a quest for happiness, I would get in my VW fastback and head to the beach.

I usually didn't have a specific beach in mind. I would just pick a freeway and head west until I hit the ocean. Then I would buy a sandwich somewhere, sit on the beach for awhile, and I would always be sure to touch the ocean before saying my goodbyes.

For some reason the ocean always does it for me.

The ocean is a bit harder to find in Texas, at least where I'm at. It takes a lot more planning to get there from Austin, but it's still possible to drive there, and I have done so one one particularly stressful occasion. I do love a good road trip and a good road song, but unfortunately, I haven't had any free time lately.

But... spring break is just around the corner. I don't think I will be jumping in my tercel and driving to Corpus (although I'm not ruling it out either), but the last weekend of the break I will be boarding a plane and heading to Bowling Green, KY, by way of Nashville, to see my lovely "third witch."

I absolutely cannot wait to see her, and even though it's not a "road trip," I think it will do the trick. The only thing that could be better would be if Bowling Green had a beach.

Still, I can't complain because how can you top an itinerary like this??

-breakfast in nashville
-seafood dinner, prepared by witch #3 and her hubby

-a night of take-out sushi/ "respective japanese dishes"-mani/pedis and wine and felicity (the show) in our pajamas.-me and the hubby becoming bffs

-me and cornchip (the dog) also becoming bffs-hot yoga -donuts-meeting her boss and hoping she says "something really rich" (e.g., "points at a car that was made in the late 80s and says, 'that's a '57 chevy. i didn't know they still made those.')-watching mr. witch "try to buddy up with various members of the asian family who runs our donut shop and watch as they brutally rebuff his attempts at friendship"
etc., etc., :)

"we're such crazy babies, little monkey"

2010-03-02T22:12:00.000-08:00

Also, as I drove home from Red House tonight, this song was playing. I don't pretend to know what Duritz is actually singing about, but in that moment I understood the words perfectly.

maintaining relationships with friends and cities

2010-03-02T21:24:00.000-08:00

Tonight I had a lovely evening, with a lovely person, in a lovely city. It made me a little bit sad though, because there was a certain something that was missing. It used to be that I would look up at the Austin sky and think "I live here!" It's like when you are in love with someone. You look at them and think how lucky you are to have them in your life. Then, weeks, months, years later sometimes you stop seeing them. That's where I'm at with Austin. Maybe I'm taking Austin for granted. Maybe I'm taking friends for granted.

I know I have a beautiful life. I think that often, but right now something is missing. I'm not unhappy, but I'm not happy either. I need to change that. I'm going to let it be what it is for tonight, but tomorrow I begin my quest for happiness...

controlling what you can

2010-03-01T21:08:00.001-08:00

Growing up, I always resented my mother's insistence on domestic perfection. She's the type of woman who makes sure that everything matches. Matching pillows, matching rugs, matching towels, matching valences and curtains and dustruffles and duvets. Matching everything. There were also certain things that were just for show and not for use... the living and dining rooms for instance, or the "good china," or the guest towels in the bathroom. I used to think that she had children in large part so that she had free housekeeping. Not that my mother wasn't great all other respects (she was), but the cleanliness was over the top.

Every Saturday morning she'd wake my sister and me up and dole out the chore list. I usually got bathrooms, because I was good at that. "Good" meaning that I knew how to clean the mirrors without leaving streaks, and I always double rinsed the counters and the floors so that they wouldn't get sticky. She had trained me well. My sister, on the other hand, was a duster and a vaccuumer. She was better at getting the lines in the carpet all going the same way. And, eventually Mom even trained my cousins. She'd trick them into coming over for a pizza night or a pool party, only to wake them early the next morning to have them cleaning windows and polishing furniture.

For a long time I just thought that's how all mom's were. It took several years before I figured out that, when it came to the house, she had what would now be called OCD. As soon as I moved out and was free of her rules, I vowed never to care about such things. I embraced my freedom and became messy. Not dirty, but very very messy.

I could never quite shake her influence when it came to maintaining appearances for guests though. If I had guests, cleanliness and order suddenly became profoundly important. Similarly, I always have a set of decorative towels that is for guest use only (this drives my roommate nuts). But, still, I never understood why she was such a cleaning nazi on a day-to-day basis... until now.

At the beginning of this past semester, I had one of the lowest points of my life (not the lowest, but close). It's a long story to explain how I got there, one that I may tell some other time, but for now, let's just say that multiple little things came crashing down in a way that added up like an avalanche--and then I got sick. Really sick.

So, I let myself sulk and be sick for three days, and then I decided to do something that I'd never done before. I decided to take control of my life, or at least everything that was within my control. I made my bed each morning, I paid bills, I filled out my calendar, I cleaned my closet, my room, my house, my car, everything. I did laundry and washed dishes constantly... not just mine, but my roommate's too. I became agitated if there were shoes in the living room, or coats hanging over a chair in the dining room. In short, I became my mom.

The entire time, I would repeat the mantra "control what you can," without much thought as to how it got into my head. Cleaning and organizing began to have a calming effect on me, and I then one day, I finally realized why my mom was such a crazy woman all those years. It finally made sense to me. When your life seems to be spiraling out of control you either give in, or you control what you can.

I wish I could have understood it back then, but I don't think she even knew why she cared so much about such things. I don't know if she realized back then how out of control she must have felt. And even though I swore that I would never ever be like her when it came to cleaning, I've come to the conclusion that there are much worse ways for a person to deal with stress. So, if I am going to pick up a habit, this one is not so bad. Now... there's a dish in the sink that's calling my name...

the giving tree.

2010-03-01T08:59:00.000-08:00

I am thinking that my next tattoo will make an appearance this weekend and will look something like this.

the lost art of letter writing

2010-02-28T23:51:00.001-08:00

I have decided to take up letter writing. There's something about a letter that just doesn't translate via the internet.

True to my virgo nature, if I am going to do this, I am going to do it right. So, I bought stuff. I purchased stationary, calligraphy pens, and wax to seal the envelope. My letters will be little works of art, carefully crafted for each recipient. They'll also be limited in number, because I barely have time to do laundry these days. Although, having given up facebook for Lent, I do find slightly more time for things like this, and for blogging (apparently).

So, I have set aside Sunday nights as my designated letter writing time. So far so good. One letter crafted, sealed, and awaiting delivery...

how to get a job....

2009-10-07T09:47:00.000-07:00

this is just so i don't lose the link to this info:

http://aidan.mcglynn.googlepages.com/adviceforwannabephilosophers

Numbers make me cry.

2009-08-12T23:47:00.000-07:00

I haven't cried in awhile now, probably not since my surgery. However, today I most definitely cried...over numbers. It was an all-around bad day. Got some less than stellar personal news in the morning. This framed by the fact that I am SUPER poor. August is grad student hell in terms of finances, unless you are one of those responsible grad students who budgets, which clearly I am not. These things lay the groundwork for crying over things that one would not normally cry over.

Additionally, a number of stupid little things happened that built up to my emotional outburst:

Minor annoyance #1: I had nothing to wear because I am living out of a suitcase and haven't done laundry. I ended up wearing a dress that shows waaaaaaaaay too much cleavage. Normally I don't care about this, but when I have meetings with faculty and undergrads I try to avoid this.

Minor annoyance #2: As I said, I am poor. The only upside to this is that it has forced me back onto my diet because I can't afford groceries and I have lots of Medifast food left. So, I had this plan to go to the library QUICKLY, get a book I needed for an upcoming class, and go to the cafe there to get a drink. I didn't actually need the drink, I just needed a cup to mix my diet shakes in, but when I got to the Library I found that the cafe was closed.

Minor annoyance #3: I went to the Wendy's across the street and purchased a drink. On my way out, I stepped on what was the most uneven pavement I have ever seen in my life and twisted my ankle. I actually rolled onto my foot, MUCH in the same way that I did when I fractured my foot last year! Fortunately, I avoided actual breakage and I just hurt myself a little this time.

MAJOR annoyance #4: I got back to the computer lab to run analysis on my data set assuming there would be an improvement from the semi-decent reliability I had last time, only to find that most of the reliability went down. For those that don't understand statistics (I usually include myself in this group) this is BAD news for a study...especially a study that you've been working on for two months and has money riding on it. Yeah....this is about the time the panic set in.

So, long story slightly less long, I yelled some obscenities in the Hopper Lab. Someone tried to help/console me but she was equally clueless in terms of analyzing data and what to do next. Tears came, and I literally said, "I cannot believe I am crying over my data!"

Then an angel (my project advisor) came and saved me and bought pizza and I began breathing again.

It seems like a silly thing to cry over, but sometimes you look at all that data, all that "information," and you think, "this doesn't mean shit." So, it wasn't really the numbers that made me cry, it was the hopelessness.

I don't like being hopeless.

So, tonight I will forget about it and go to sleep and dream of pleasant things, so that tomorrow I will wake up full of hope in numbers and in more important things...

EXit interview no. 2

2009-08-12T00:01:00.000-07:00

This was a more recent relationship. It was a very significant one and I still care about this person deeply, but I never really gave it a real chance. I knew it was going to be temporary for a number of reasons. The breakup was a little rocky, but we got past that quickly and, thankfully, we remain close friends.

1. Do you remember your first impression of me?
i remember meeting you at the mark briefly when you were with [someone else] i thought you were very attractive. mainly your eyes struck me at first. it took me a while to move past them. i would have totally hit on you had you not been with her. so instead, i decided to pretty much ignore your side of the table. this impression is purely on looks. the first night i randomly hung out with you, you were still complete with attachments. however, i found you funny and interesting and your ability to drink martinis was impressive. i also loved that while playing a modified version of jenga you called my ex and told her she was a slut. very nice.

2. Describe our relationship in three words.
interesting, entertaining, unpredictable

3. Did we have a "song"? What was it?
i don't think we really had a song per se. i did make you listen to a lot of songs and we bonded over our love of old school music.

4. Why do you think our relationship ended?
because we were moving far apart and you were over it.

5. What was the best thing about our relationship?
i think we had a lot of fun together. i may have mellowed you out a bit and you got me to look at things from another point of view.

6. What was the most annoying thing I did within the context of our relationship?
i don't think that you ever really thought that i was on the same level as you.

7. Did I hurt you?
of course. if you didn't, then my heart wasn't in it.

9. Did you ever entertain the idea of marrying me?
no.

10. What did you learn from our relationship? How did the things
you took with you influence your dating philosophy, if at all?
i'm definitely more about having fun and not being too serious, especially in the beginning of a relationship. heck, i haven't even got to the relationship part i'm taking it so slow.

EX-it interviews

2009-08-11T19:22:00.000-07:00

So, awhile ago my friend Holly posted a link to her friend Elizabeth's EXit interviews. Much like the exit interviews conducted by employers, except these were interviews she conducted with her ex-boyfriends. I liked the idea so much that I decided to borrow it and conduct my own.

So far, I have only done one. This may actually be the only one I ever do, unless some of my other exes want to volunteer. This is because this is the only ex with whom I am still friendly and enough time has passed where it isn't awkward for us to reminisce. Perhaps that is because this was my very first "real" relationship and it ended like 13ish years ago. Even if I don't do anymore, this was a fun little experiment. Not sure how revelatory it was, but fun, nevertheless.

So here it goes...

Ex No. 1

My first ex and I met in highschool. I first noticed him in gym class, but was (of course) too shy to speak to him. I also thought that I would have time to get to know him because he was, after all, in my gym class. Unfortunately, as I would soon find out, he had better things to do than go to gym class (probably smoke pot, play video games, and surf?). If he had actually bothered to show up we would have met a year earlier as our gym numbers (the places we stood on the blacktop) were right next to each other. Our lastnames are quite close, alphabetically speaking. Anyhow, eventually we did meet when a mutual friend introduced us in the hall one day...and the rest is... a big fucking mess of love, music, disneyland, books, beaches, yelling, and tears. Lots of fun and equal amounts of tears. No dull moments. I don't remember why it finally ended. There were many reasons why it should have ended, but we kept coming back to each other for several years. We didn't speak for a long while, and recently we've been in touch again (via email).

Here's what he had to say:

1. Do you remember your first impression of me?
I remember seeing you walking around the courtyard or maybe in line somewhere, either in passing or during lunch. I remember thinking you were beautiful and wanting to get to know you better, but of course not having the nerve to just go up to you without a reason, so I just mentally filed you away under the 'wouldn't it be nice' category. I don't remember the specifics of seeing you though, I just remember thinking about that when I did finally meet you.

So when I finally met you down the hall (science section, with one of the Mansour girls?) my first impression was something along the line of

what a beautiful mass of thick, loopy hair
beautiful feline eyes, pale green, sea watery color
smooth olive skin
mona lisa smile (and you hardly smiled big before I got to know you well)
and the skin on your hand was smooth and you smelled good

I also thought how lucky I was to have had a common acquaintance with you.

2. Describe our relationship in three words.
Barefoot, loopy-haired, laughy-eyed.

3. Did we have a "song"? What was it?
She gave good sunflower

4. Why do you think our relationship ended?
I don't remember

5. What was the best thing about our relatio
The crazy, which was probably the worst thing too.

6. What was the most annoying thing I did within the context of our relationship?
*Nothing comes to mind.

7. Did I hurt you?
**No.

9. Did you ever entertain the idea of marrying me?
Yes

10. What did you learn from our relationship? How did the things you took with you influence your dating philosophy, if at all?
It's been awhile, so the events aren't clear enough for me to remember exactly what i took away :(

*This is probably a lie.
**This is definitely a lie.
***Something funny he added post-interview:"most of my memories of you are tinged with a fresh coffee aroma," which is a reference to my former job.

Button Your Eyes

2009-02-06T09:53:00.000-08:00

I saw Coraline last night, and I thought it was fantastic (or phantastic even). It's a new take on the whole Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, or Labyrinth theme. Bored girl enters fantasy world and mayhem ensues, but this is much darker. Also, the psychoanalytic connotations are both obvious and complicated. Some of it is spelled out (e.g., Wyborn="Why were you born?"), but there's a lot that I haven't made sense of. Maybe it doesn't make sense, but I suspect it does. There are also a lot of occult references and they seem to be tied to female characters. I'll have to see it again, but the role of the woman/mother/daughter is a focal point.

Also, I am creepily obsessed with the Button Your Eyes feature on the website. Matt brought up the Lacanian notion of le point de capiton in reference to the buttons, but I can't decide if it works or not. I thought maybe the actual eyes served this purpose. Perhaps after we watch it this weekend we can make more sense of this....