During my adventures to and from the optometrist earlier this weekend I had the opportunity to do quite a bit of thinking. I have no clue how or why these moments strike me, but it's as though my life had frozen and I realized where exactly I was in the "big picture." A little over a year ago when I not only quieted my internal struggle by deciding to move to Hawaii, but I actually followed through and did it, I had no understanding of the ramifications of that decision. I had no way of knowing. And, when making that decision, I knew this. I knew the only way to find myself here was to just do it...without overthinking it.
So I did. And the circumstances that I found myself in a year ago are monumentally different from where I find myself now. Life amazes me sometimes in that way. Usually I'm distracted by day-to-day life, but when I'm left communicating this to my counterparts 8,000 miles away, I realize the enormity of what I've done.
I miss everything about home, but rarely realize how much until I'm left pondering the details. Yet I'm content here. There's the financial aspect of it all, which has been the bottom line throughout this experience. Sad, but money is what dictates our lives. Then there's the emotional/mental realizations I've gone through. I've got something good here. Not sure whether it's of the permanent variety, but for now my life is solid. And that has been something I've been striving for since I couldn't even tell you when. And for now, I'm okay with that.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
return of panchita
I apologize for not updating. My irresponsible pothead hermit roommate didn't pay the internet bill for a week. But alas, we told her she had too and now I have returned.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
sick of being sick
It's been over a month now. At one point I thought I was getting over it. A few leftover sniffles, but I was on the brink of being healthy again. The sniffles lingered, a cough developed, and then I was back to being a full-fledged mess.
Now I think I'm back on the road to recovery, but I still have this damn cough. And it's bad. I think my roommates want to kill me. I know I wake them up with my hacking, but I can't help it. I have to breathe.
Tomorrow I'm hitting up Walmart after the optometrist. I'm going to stock up on every possible remedy in stock. Sudafed is no longer enough.
Now I think I'm back on the road to recovery, but I still have this damn cough. And it's bad. I think my roommates want to kill me. I know I wake them up with my hacking, but I can't help it. I have to breathe.
Tomorrow I'm hitting up Walmart after the optometrist. I'm going to stock up on every possible remedy in stock. Sudafed is no longer enough.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
living with asbestos
So how's this for fun? I have to be out of my apartment this morning at 7:45am and I can't come back until 5pm, except I work at 4pm so I have to be out all day. Why, you ask? They're bringing the building up to fire code and removing all the asbestos from the ceiling in the hallway on each floor. Awesome.
Good to know I was living with asbestos. Mesothelioma, here I come!
What am I going to do with myself for 8 hours??????
Good to know I was living with asbestos. Mesothelioma, here I come!
What am I going to do with myself for 8 hours??????
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
redrum
My irrationally paranoid (as if any paranoia is rational) mind was convinced that somebody was stabbed in the apartment elevator tonight, or at least it was for five seconds before reason set in. We've had a barrage of various construction workers in and out of our building lately, so the possibility for suspect behavior seemed to be high. At least in my world. Not that I'm implying those employed in the field of construction are more likely to commit a homicide. The more probable option would be an enraged and sleep deprived tenant (not unlike myself) was driven insane by their incessant early morning noise and stabbed one of those neon-clad slumber-hating mongrels. And this took place in the elevator, maybe for easy body disposal, resulting in the disturbingly bloodlike splatters on the floor of said elevator.
It was either that or candle wax. Maybe somebody was holding a midnight vigil for someone that tragically died in the elevator shaft years ago? In which case, I hope there's no ghosts in my apartment. Cause I could handle that even less than the lack of sleeping in lately.
I can't explain how my mind works, but in my defense, at least logic usually sets in. Usually.
It was either that or candle wax. Maybe somebody was holding a midnight vigil for someone that tragically died in the elevator shaft years ago? In which case, I hope there's no ghosts in my apartment. Cause I could handle that even less than the lack of sleeping in lately.
I can't explain how my mind works, but in my defense, at least logic usually sets in. Usually.
Friday, February 6, 2009
now paging mr. right or mr. right now
What is it about dating that makes one turn into an anxious, self-conscious, second-guessing adolescent each time? It doesn't matter who your date is, whether you've been pining over him for years or merely agreed to join him merely for a free night out (not that I would EVER condone such behavior). It doesn't matter how long you've known him, once you're in a dating situation you will cease from being your normal self for a few hours. Perhaps this likelihood would change if the setting were less stereotypically "datey," but tonight that was not the case and I have never felt less like a woman (or myself, for that matter) since...well, the last time I went to the movies on a date.
The arduous process begins with making the decision of what to do. Considering 90% of first dates occur at the movies I have no idea why I feel such apprehension when participating in this decision making. Why even bother when both parties know they're going to fall back on the safe option? Let's just make it an unwritten rule that all first dates must involve a movie theater at some point in order to eliminate all the trauma. Although, on the off chance a male of the species shows any sort of originality whatsoever, perhaps the option should be left open. (Seriously, ask me if I want to drink cheap champagne down on the beach late at night, hike up Diamondhead to watch the sunrise, or drive aimlessly around the island stopping for everything and nothing at the same time...and I will marry you within a heartbeat.)
Once the activity is agreed on both parties have to negotiate specifics. Which day? Which theater? What time? And, most importantly, which movie? This is not as easy as most people (or perhaps just me) think. The real difficulty is not in the actual decisions that need to be made, just in the fact that neither party wants to make them. She wants to make sure he's actually interested in the movie they see rather than just appeasing her by nominating a chick flick. He, on the other hand, wants to make her happy. Little does he know, if he were to be a man and call the damn shots (while not being a dominating jerk about it) she would be thrilled. As a female, I hate planning the date you asked me out on. You asked me, you're paying, show me you know how to treat a lady.
On arriving to the theater (here's to hoping there were no awkward silences in the car!) there's the question of payment. Menfolk, despite being the ones to pay (at least you better be), you do have it easy here. Women are caught in the treacherous "do-i-make-a-reach-for-it" dilemma. We assume you're going to pay, but we don't want to look like we assume you're going to pay. We also know reaching into our wallets for money seems asinine and somewhat trite. We have to be ridiculous and do it anyways lest we seem rude, but you know it's just for show. It's the catch-22 of dating. If you're a real man and it's a true date, make it easy for us and tell us once you start to see the reach in action to put our money away for the night. (Although, I do personally like to contribute something to the night in the form of buying snacks or paying for parking, etc. Call me a modern woman.)
Alright, despite a possible minor reenactment of "the reach" scenario at the concession counter, we're assuming you're sitting in the theater now. Choosing a seat isn't generally a big deal, especially if it's packed. In fact, the beginning of the movie shouldn't pose many problems. It's only once you get a third of the way in that the real issues take precedent. In the official handbook of dating guidelines it states that hand holding is expected at one point during cinematic viewings (and demanded if the movie is scary or intense) and if there is an absence of any hand holding by the end of the date that abnormality is afoot. Guys, if you can't find the nerve to grab her hand at some point then I have no clue how you ended up on the date in the first place. You're telling me it's easier to ask a girl out and chance rejection than go for the hand hold after you've discovered she isn't going to turn you down? Grow a pair! It's not the girls job to make the moves here! Rest easy, the girl should make her hand available to you when she's ready. This isn't baby-making we're talking about here, it's hand holding. You paid a minimum of $20-$30 to spend this time with her. She accepted your invitation, so she's obviously somewhat into you. This gives you permission and rights to hold her hand. Trust me.
After the movie, you're both forced to have the obligatory "so-what-did-you-think?" conversation. Of course, unless the movie sucked donkey balls, you're both gonna provide a good but noncommittal answer, maybe discuss a few specifics, and then move on. Unless you've bravely managed to discuss it previously, you're now left in the car deciding where the evening will go next. Food usually comes up eventually, but whether you're starving or just using the excuse of eating as another easy out, neither of you can commit on what kind of nourishment you want. Nevermind that this is a great opportunity to find out about the other person's likes or dislikes, each person is too focused on pleasing their date without revealing anything embarrassing or appalling about themselves. ("Hmm, I really want a cheeseburger but then I might sound like a fat girl! And what if I suggest going somewhere with a happy hour, will he think I'm a lush? Is he a lush? If I suggest Italian it'll probably be expensive and he'll think I'm high maintenance. I'll just wait and see what he suggests. Oh, if he says Italian this will definitely not be the last date.")
The food portion of the night is typically uneventful. Orders are made, but little food is eaten. It may be just me, but I rarely order what I would under normal circumstances. Whether this is because of temporary insanity or my ability to be easily persuaded I don't know. The check is delivered, presenting another financial stand-off, but hopefully by that point you've mastered that situation. The night draws to a close. The car pulls up to your apartment. Any conversations are neatly tied up. The seatbelt is undone. And then there you are...
I'm beyond the age where there's a taboo on first date kissing. I'm twenty-seven. If I want to kiss a man, I'll kiss him. The whole problem is reading him. No man should ever assume he's getting a kiss. They know this already. And we all know they're hoping it's a possibility. However, even if both sides want to, even if the girl is aware the guy wants to, even if the guy is aware the girl is willing, there are those inevitable seconds of romantic psychological limbo that determine how the night will end.
Also inevitable is the sense of relief once you're walking up the steps of your building. The pressure is off. You have time to call your girlfriends and rehash the awkward events of the evening. You can change into your comfortable clothes and put your hair back in a ponytail. And then you're left wondering what will happen from here.
I know my dating observances are negative and opinionated, but this only strengthens my hopes that one day there will be a date that breaks all my expectations. I will be eased and impressed. My faith will be reinstated. And I'm convinced that man will end up being my man.
Here's to hope!
The arduous process begins with making the decision of what to do. Considering 90% of first dates occur at the movies I have no idea why I feel such apprehension when participating in this decision making. Why even bother when both parties know they're going to fall back on the safe option? Let's just make it an unwritten rule that all first dates must involve a movie theater at some point in order to eliminate all the trauma. Although, on the off chance a male of the species shows any sort of originality whatsoever, perhaps the option should be left open. (Seriously, ask me if I want to drink cheap champagne down on the beach late at night, hike up Diamondhead to watch the sunrise, or drive aimlessly around the island stopping for everything and nothing at the same time...and I will marry you within a heartbeat.)
Once the activity is agreed on both parties have to negotiate specifics. Which day? Which theater? What time? And, most importantly, which movie? This is not as easy as most people (or perhaps just me) think. The real difficulty is not in the actual decisions that need to be made, just in the fact that neither party wants to make them. She wants to make sure he's actually interested in the movie they see rather than just appeasing her by nominating a chick flick. He, on the other hand, wants to make her happy. Little does he know, if he were to be a man and call the damn shots (while not being a dominating jerk about it) she would be thrilled. As a female, I hate planning the date you asked me out on. You asked me, you're paying, show me you know how to treat a lady.
On arriving to the theater (here's to hoping there were no awkward silences in the car!) there's the question of payment. Menfolk, despite being the ones to pay (at least you better be), you do have it easy here. Women are caught in the treacherous "do-i-make-a-reach-for-it" dilemma. We assume you're going to pay, but we don't want to look like we assume you're going to pay. We also know reaching into our wallets for money seems asinine and somewhat trite. We have to be ridiculous and do it anyways lest we seem rude, but you know it's just for show. It's the catch-22 of dating. If you're a real man and it's a true date, make it easy for us and tell us once you start to see the reach in action to put our money away for the night. (Although, I do personally like to contribute something to the night in the form of buying snacks or paying for parking, etc. Call me a modern woman.)
Alright, despite a possible minor reenactment of "the reach" scenario at the concession counter, we're assuming you're sitting in the theater now. Choosing a seat isn't generally a big deal, especially if it's packed. In fact, the beginning of the movie shouldn't pose many problems. It's only once you get a third of the way in that the real issues take precedent. In the official handbook of dating guidelines it states that hand holding is expected at one point during cinematic viewings (and demanded if the movie is scary or intense) and if there is an absence of any hand holding by the end of the date that abnormality is afoot. Guys, if you can't find the nerve to grab her hand at some point then I have no clue how you ended up on the date in the first place. You're telling me it's easier to ask a girl out and chance rejection than go for the hand hold after you've discovered she isn't going to turn you down? Grow a pair! It's not the girls job to make the moves here! Rest easy, the girl should make her hand available to you when she's ready. This isn't baby-making we're talking about here, it's hand holding. You paid a minimum of $20-$30 to spend this time with her. She accepted your invitation, so she's obviously somewhat into you. This gives you permission and rights to hold her hand. Trust me.
After the movie, you're both forced to have the obligatory "so-what-did-you-think?" conversation. Of course, unless the movie sucked donkey balls, you're both gonna provide a good but noncommittal answer, maybe discuss a few specifics, and then move on. Unless you've bravely managed to discuss it previously, you're now left in the car deciding where the evening will go next. Food usually comes up eventually, but whether you're starving or just using the excuse of eating as another easy out, neither of you can commit on what kind of nourishment you want. Nevermind that this is a great opportunity to find out about the other person's likes or dislikes, each person is too focused on pleasing their date without revealing anything embarrassing or appalling about themselves. ("Hmm, I really want a cheeseburger but then I might sound like a fat girl! And what if I suggest going somewhere with a happy hour, will he think I'm a lush? Is he a lush? If I suggest Italian it'll probably be expensive and he'll think I'm high maintenance. I'll just wait and see what he suggests. Oh, if he says Italian this will definitely not be the last date.")
The food portion of the night is typically uneventful. Orders are made, but little food is eaten. It may be just me, but I rarely order what I would under normal circumstances. Whether this is because of temporary insanity or my ability to be easily persuaded I don't know. The check is delivered, presenting another financial stand-off, but hopefully by that point you've mastered that situation. The night draws to a close. The car pulls up to your apartment. Any conversations are neatly tied up. The seatbelt is undone. And then there you are...
I'm beyond the age where there's a taboo on first date kissing. I'm twenty-seven. If I want to kiss a man, I'll kiss him. The whole problem is reading him. No man should ever assume he's getting a kiss. They know this already. And we all know they're hoping it's a possibility. However, even if both sides want to, even if the girl is aware the guy wants to, even if the guy is aware the girl is willing, there are those inevitable seconds of romantic psychological limbo that determine how the night will end.
Also inevitable is the sense of relief once you're walking up the steps of your building. The pressure is off. You have time to call your girlfriends and rehash the awkward events of the evening. You can change into your comfortable clothes and put your hair back in a ponytail. And then you're left wondering what will happen from here.
I know my dating observances are negative and opinionated, but this only strengthens my hopes that one day there will be a date that breaks all my expectations. I will be eased and impressed. My faith will be reinstated. And I'm convinced that man will end up being my man.
Here's to hope!
Thursday, February 5, 2009
dates make me feel barfy
Wow, have not been on a date in forever. Did I always get this nervous? Yes, I know the answer is yes. I know I can't leave hungry because I'll be miserable throughout the movie, but I can't eat much because then instead of just feeling like I'm gonna throw up, I might actually throw up.
On a side note, I'm watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I'm debating the realism portrayed here. For two trained badass assassins, they're lousy shots. However, the scene where they're trying to kill each other in the house is damn hot. There's nothing like two sexy people in formal wear trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Ah, Hollywood...
On a side note, I'm watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith and I'm debating the realism portrayed here. For two trained badass assassins, they're lousy shots. However, the scene where they're trying to kill each other in the house is damn hot. There's nothing like two sexy people in formal wear trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Ah, Hollywood...
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
the unbearable lightness of cake
Just when I thought my days of dorkiness were surely coming to a close, I find myself stumbling back into my severe bookworm tendencies. I've been devouring books left and right lately. However, in my defense, only one of these has been purchased so at least I'm not blowing money on my literary addiction like usual. (No, the rest weren't stolen, they were borrowed.) I also have a Borders frequent members card. The minute discounts, although essentially pointless, assuage my guilt just enough to keep me coming back. Currently I am reading I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley. Ah, humorous memoirs! My new favorite genre. The quirky and slightly morbid first paragraph grabbed me and I couldn't resist sparing the $14 to take it with me. It consists of short stories, which is a perfect light read for the bus or down time at work.
There's nothing like the smell of a new book. It's subtle and clean, but unmistakable. When I smelled this one, as I do every time I buy one, I realized that no one else on this earth would understand unless he or she was a book junkie too.
The other book I'm reading at the moment is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. (Oh yes, folks. I'm reading two at the same time. And I have no idea why I do this or how I do this, but it works.) This one's been on my to-read list for a few years. I even may have rented it from the library with good intentions of reading it, but I just never got to it. However, a few weeks ago Marya was recommending reads to me from her own bookshelf and brought this one to my attention. Usually I take recommendations lightly, but Marya has similar tastes and doesn't waste her time with obnoxious chick lit so I figured I was safe. She also mentioned that it may be necessary, even with my decent vocabulary, to keep a dictionary at hand while reading. I enjoy a challenge and I always look to expand my vocabulary. Needless to say, I was intrigued.
Obviously it's not a light read. It's quite intense and, ironically enough, heavy. Or rather, I doubt that's truly ironic because I'm sure that the author was fully aware of the irony when providing that title. My attention span is usually shot by late night, so in all fairness to Milan Kundera and his creative energies, I usually read this one while relaxing down at Starbucks with a notebook in hand in order to write down any words that are foreign to me. Perhaps one day I'll reveal my vocabulary revelations to you in a conclusive blog.
There's nothing like the smell of a new book. It's subtle and clean, but unmistakable. When I smelled this one, as I do every time I buy one, I realized that no one else on this earth would understand unless he or she was a book junkie too.
The other book I'm reading at the moment is The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. (Oh yes, folks. I'm reading two at the same time. And I have no idea why I do this or how I do this, but it works.) This one's been on my to-read list for a few years. I even may have rented it from the library with good intentions of reading it, but I just never got to it. However, a few weeks ago Marya was recommending reads to me from her own bookshelf and brought this one to my attention. Usually I take recommendations lightly, but Marya has similar tastes and doesn't waste her time with obnoxious chick lit so I figured I was safe. She also mentioned that it may be necessary, even with my decent vocabulary, to keep a dictionary at hand while reading. I enjoy a challenge and I always look to expand my vocabulary. Needless to say, I was intrigued.
Obviously it's not a light read. It's quite intense and, ironically enough, heavy. Or rather, I doubt that's truly ironic because I'm sure that the author was fully aware of the irony when providing that title. My attention span is usually shot by late night, so in all fairness to Milan Kundera and his creative energies, I usually read this one while relaxing down at Starbucks with a notebook in hand in order to write down any words that are foreign to me. Perhaps one day I'll reveal my vocabulary revelations to you in a conclusive blog.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
freezing in paradise
Back in June I had the pleasure of visiting Maui. I am an informed traveler and therefore knew to not miss the sunrise on Haleakala.
After waking up at 3am, Wheeler and I started the trek up the mountain. By 5am we reached the Haleakala National Park visitor center. We pulled over to use the lavatory and braced ourselves for the inevitable drop in temperature. We dressed as accordingly as we could with what we had. The brisk 52 degree morning air instantly catapulted me back to a chilly springtime afternoon in Michigan. I was comfortable and refreshed. Wheeler, who was born and raised in Hawaii, thought she was dying. As she was going to move to Chi-town in 2 weeks, I had a good time teasing her and warning her that she might as well get used to the temperature. By the time we reached the top it had plummeted another 10 degrees or so. I was still fine with this. Yet looking back at photos, Wheeler is miserable and incapable of smiling. I decided to do a little climbing in order to get a better view and took my hoodie off at one point from the exertion. The cold air hit my lungs and stung a bit as I jogged up to the summit, but the sensation simply transported me back to the way I felt after a round of conditioning during a softball practice early in the season.
Looking back at this experience I laugh at myself. It was obvious I was new to the islands still (and in most ways I still am). Today it probably didn't hit 70 degrees during the day. It was overcast with an occasional sprinkle, although no real rain. And windy as hell. It was freezing. Yes, I now react to any drop in temperature like the rest of those that live here. If it's below 75, it's fucking freezing, especially without sun. You can spot the Hawaiian residents. We're bundled up in pants, sweatshirts and jackets on days like this. The tourists stick out in their vacation garb, tank tops, and sandals. For them, the weather here is still warmer than it is back in Iowa or wherever it is they're from.
It's just sad because I desperately wanted to go to the beach today. My barely perceptible tan lines are one shade of melanin away from being completely imperceptible. And that's just not acceptable.
After waking up at 3am, Wheeler and I started the trek up the mountain. By 5am we reached the Haleakala National Park visitor center. We pulled over to use the lavatory and braced ourselves for the inevitable drop in temperature. We dressed as accordingly as we could with what we had. The brisk 52 degree morning air instantly catapulted me back to a chilly springtime afternoon in Michigan. I was comfortable and refreshed. Wheeler, who was born and raised in Hawaii, thought she was dying. As she was going to move to Chi-town in 2 weeks, I had a good time teasing her and warning her that she might as well get used to the temperature. By the time we reached the top it had plummeted another 10 degrees or so. I was still fine with this. Yet looking back at photos, Wheeler is miserable and incapable of smiling. I decided to do a little climbing in order to get a better view and took my hoodie off at one point from the exertion. The cold air hit my lungs and stung a bit as I jogged up to the summit, but the sensation simply transported me back to the way I felt after a round of conditioning during a softball practice early in the season.
Looking back at this experience I laugh at myself. It was obvious I was new to the islands still (and in most ways I still am). Today it probably didn't hit 70 degrees during the day. It was overcast with an occasional sprinkle, although no real rain. And windy as hell. It was freezing. Yes, I now react to any drop in temperature like the rest of those that live here. If it's below 75, it's fucking freezing, especially without sun. You can spot the Hawaiian residents. We're bundled up in pants, sweatshirts and jackets on days like this. The tourists stick out in their vacation garb, tank tops, and sandals. For them, the weather here is still warmer than it is back in Iowa or wherever it is they're from.
It's just sad because I desperately wanted to go to the beach today. My barely perceptible tan lines are one shade of melanin away from being completely imperceptible. And that's just not acceptable.
Monday, February 2, 2009
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