In Pakistan, in the village my father grew up in, apples were a delicacy, a special treat for special occasions such as a special guest gracing your family with their presence. Apples were not merely tossed into a basket set on the kitchen counter to casually grab and eat as one walked out to get the paper or check the mail. No- apples were gently washed, seeded and quartered and placed circular upon a plate as each person took a slice, enjoying its juicy, sweet, and sometimes tangy flavor. Savored much like a creme brulee or an equally fine dish to be handled with care, respect. So imagine the surprise, an ocean away, sitting in a subway as he looks at the passenger occupying the seat just across from his. She wears a dull green dress and a pill box hat. In one hand she holds a book, her eyes casually perusing, and in the other an apple, eaten nonchalantly in a dirty New York subway. An ordinary day, and an ordinary thing, eating an apple on the way to work, and yet it seemed a most unusual sight at the time, perhaps akin to my seeing a haggard man in the subway breathing a sigh, lifting a filet mignon with both hands and proceeding to stuff it in his mouth. Or perhaps a lady eating creme brulee by absently dipping her fingers into it, at the laundromat. It must have seemed so absurd, just like that. But in truth, allusions are as close as I can get to understanding for American Apples are the only type I know, I envy those with different flavors to color their memories, different shades of greens and red. (Photo source)
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
On apples
In Pakistan, in the village my father grew up in, apples were a delicacy, a special treat for special occasions such as a special guest gracing your family with their presence. Apples were not merely tossed into a basket set on the kitchen counter to casually grab and eat as one walked out to get the paper or check the mail. No- apples were gently washed, seeded and quartered and placed circular upon a plate as each person took a slice, enjoying its juicy, sweet, and sometimes tangy flavor. Savored much like a creme brulee or an equally fine dish to be handled with care, respect. So imagine the surprise, an ocean away, sitting in a subway as he looks at the passenger occupying the seat just across from his. She wears a dull green dress and a pill box hat. In one hand she holds a book, her eyes casually perusing, and in the other an apple, eaten nonchalantly in a dirty New York subway. An ordinary day, and an ordinary thing, eating an apple on the way to work, and yet it seemed a most unusual sight at the time, perhaps akin to my seeing a haggard man in the subway breathing a sigh, lifting a filet mignon with both hands and proceeding to stuff it in his mouth. Or perhaps a lady eating creme brulee by absently dipping her fingers into it, at the laundromat. It must have seemed so absurd, just like that. But in truth, allusions are as close as I can get to understanding for American Apples are the only type I know, I envy those with different flavors to color their memories, different shades of greens and red. (Photo source)
Monday, February 26, 2007
on justice, or the lack thereof.
I remember the first time I was pulled over. Tears streaming down my face, 18 years old, I apologized profusely explaining I was late for class after having worked with kindergartners all day and if he gave me a ticket my parents would be ever so mad. The officer sighed, leaned into the car and said "Promise me you wont speed like that again." I promised, and he let me go with a warning. I kept my word to him. Yet this past Thursday despite my most sincere efforts, it finally happened. I was in my neighborhood exhausted from a long day of classes, cavities, and groceries and about to turn right. I stopped at the stop sign and saw the blue and white flashing lights of a cop to my right just up the hill towards my home. I thought, better make sure to fully stop.. the cop's standing right there up the bend. I stopped. I turned right (turning my blinker on, and everything). I drove. As I drive up the slope he stops in front of my car, motions me to pull over and says I didn't stop. "But officer... I did stop" I began but he interrupted me "I saw you with my own eyes run that stop sign" I knew it was useless to argue. "You're giving me my very first ticket" I told him as he took my information, he smiled as he handed my license back to me, "I know" he replied.
I felt so hurt. I did nothing wrong. I know I stopped. I saw the cop. Ten years of a clean driving record I see a cop and his flashing lights directly to my right and decide, well this seems like a fine time to run that stop sign? It's illogical. Yet its a game of "my word against his" and there's nothing I can do.
The thing that upset me the most is the injustice. I did nothing wrong yet a cop set to meet his quota decided I would do since he was already out of his car writing someone else a ticket. It was strange to look him in the face as he lied saying he saw me run a sign I knowingly stopped at. Punishing me for something I did not do. Injustice ticks me off. Injustice bites. Injustice blows. And yet I couldn't help but think how injustice in this world is an inevitability and unyielding fact of life and it happens in far worse forms than my simple ticket. The police who evict the landless Mayans of Guatemala, their homes burnt to the ground for the sake of profit, innocent men on death row too poor to afford a decent lawyer, or the thousands of women who die each year by fire because their lives are not deemed to be worth as much as the dowry they were supposed to bring and the cops who take bribes in exchange for pretending these women didn't exist. Thinking of them, I can't help but acknowledge that my injustice is nothing but a microscopic speck of dust.
And even considering my personal fleck of injustice in this instance, I can't help but keep perspective. I'm fortunate to live in a country where I can contest my fine and explain my side of the story. In Brazil I wouldn't be livid at my unfair ticket, but relieved that worse hadnt happened. And I cant help but admit that this ticket happened while driving, a freedom many women such as my fellow sisters in Saudi Arabia who may never experience what its like to get an unfair ticket, but with whom I'd probably not trade with just the same.
I suppose even in the bad, there is space to pause, reflect, and be grateful.
I felt so hurt. I did nothing wrong. I know I stopped. I saw the cop. Ten years of a clean driving record I see a cop and his flashing lights directly to my right and decide, well this seems like a fine time to run that stop sign? It's illogical. Yet its a game of "my word against his" and there's nothing I can do.
The thing that upset me the most is the injustice. I did nothing wrong yet a cop set to meet his quota decided I would do since he was already out of his car writing someone else a ticket. It was strange to look him in the face as he lied saying he saw me run a sign I knowingly stopped at. Punishing me for something I did not do. Injustice ticks me off. Injustice bites. Injustice blows. And yet I couldn't help but think how injustice in this world is an inevitability and unyielding fact of life and it happens in far worse forms than my simple ticket. The police who evict the landless Mayans of Guatemala, their homes burnt to the ground for the sake of profit, innocent men on death row too poor to afford a decent lawyer, or the thousands of women who die each year by fire because their lives are not deemed to be worth as much as the dowry they were supposed to bring and the cops who take bribes in exchange for pretending these women didn't exist. Thinking of them, I can't help but acknowledge that my injustice is nothing but a microscopic speck of dust.
And even considering my personal fleck of injustice in this instance, I can't help but keep perspective. I'm fortunate to live in a country where I can contest my fine and explain my side of the story. In Brazil I wouldn't be livid at my unfair ticket, but relieved that worse hadnt happened. And I cant help but admit that this ticket happened while driving, a freedom many women such as my fellow sisters in Saudi Arabia who may never experience what its like to get an unfair ticket, but with whom I'd probably not trade with just the same.
I suppose even in the bad, there is space to pause, reflect, and be grateful.
Friday, February 23, 2007
What fun is it being cool if you can't wear a sombrero? -Calvin
Like Calvin, its been one of those big bubble sorta days. Ever had em? Those of the fairer gender can surely relate to such days every now and then, every so often. Its actually been a big bubble sort of week, the sort that could even make a teletubby want to punch somone! But since its the day of the 3bt, I'll put the wallowing on hold- for just a second, so here are my three, or six.. beautiful things Thursday.1. Winning two cases in a row because its nice to win and justice is cool and its nice to know this law degree is worth something after all.
2. Waking up to a clear blue day and open toed shoes after a solid week of cold gray grump- inspiring weather.
3. Delicious, savory books, you almost feel sorry reading because reading them means they will soon be over.
4. Advil for quelling the pain when the novacain from the cavity filling wears off. Is it supposed to hurt post-filling? Please make dua a root canal won't be needed. *gulp*
5. Staying up til' 4am laughing and talking with close friends and still having ten hundred more things left undiscussed.
6. Picturing one of those friends who shall remain nameless but knows exactly who she is wearing a sombrero, beads, and carrying a big yellow bag as she boards a yellow submarine in Hawaii. Because how can you be in a wallowy mood when the Beatles song 'we all live in a yellow submarine' is playing in your head?
feeling better already....
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Coffee Politics
The legal clinic I intern at does good work for the children of the world. We put rooves over their heads, food in their bellies, and fight for justice for all. We are the model of all that is pure and good in the world, except that is, our coffee. I remember the thrill of anticipation as they placed the coffee pot in the corner of the break room, my heartstrings manipulated by the Brazilian coffee poured into the filter (Good Brazilian coffee is so good that I, the queen of creamers and ungodly amounts of sugar, drink it black, with pleasure). I remember pouring the steaming pot of coffee into my cup and taking in the aroma as I sipped my first sip and then- down came baby, cradle and all, for it was the most heinous beverage I may ever have consumed- ever.
I thought I was alone in my coffee drinking woes but soon noticed nobody touched the coffee. The coin jar gathering dust. The cups empty, unused. Murmurs of dissent in the ranks began surfacing until finally, a full out "coffee revolt" ensued. (What it entails is rather fuzzy, but it feels invigorating to be part of something, you know?)
After weeks of quiet murmur and grumblings and guarded discussions, I got this e-mail today, a proposition to realize our revolution. To stake our independence from the clinic coffee and mark our own coffee drinking territory.
I thought I was alone in my coffee drinking woes but soon noticed nobody touched the coffee. The coin jar gathering dust. The cups empty, unused. Murmurs of dissent in the ranks began surfacing until finally, a full out "coffee revolt" ensued. (What it entails is rather fuzzy, but it feels invigorating to be part of something, you know?)
After weeks of quiet murmur and grumblings and guarded discussions, I got this e-mail today, a proposition to realize our revolution. To stake our independence from the clinic coffee and mark our own coffee drinking territory.
Hey guys,Yes we apparently do take our coffee very very seriously. If only everything was so simply resolvable.
I've heard of the "coffee" revolt led by our very own Mr. XX and wanted to say that I would be more than happy to provide coffee for a discounted rate of $.10/cup. I include in my offer a donation of a bag of 1200 coffee filters. YY commits to pitching in a bag of coffee as well. We hope this will provide peace to the coffee boycott.
Yours in coffee,
XXX XXX
Monday, February 19, 2007
The Much Anticipated Coffee Post
Ok- so none of you anticipated it at all, much less, much but it felt like a nice title and since Im recovering from a heavy duty cold- fluish thing, can't I be a bit grandiose with my title? Recently I read a review about the best coffee franchises in the country. I'm more of a tea person, however, law school has helped me appreciate the finer points of coffee such as providing one with the ability to keep one's eyes open to study for longer than they previously thought humanly possible. After three years of diligent coffee consumption I thought I'd share my reviews on the famous franchises. Agree? Disagree? Do tell!Dunkin' Donuts: Safe and reliable. Not too bitter, not too bland. Nothing to do jumping jacks for, yet nothing to point out as flawed. However its one drawback proves fatal for me, in order to consume their coffee one must position themselves in the front line of donuts on a daily basis. Can anyone be so strong?
Seattle's Best Coffee:What a bold proposition to make about one's coffee all the way on the other end of the country. Honey you may be the best in Seattle, but you are certainly not the best here. Your bold hubris filled statement makes me want to travel to Seattle and simply prove you wrong. If however what you assert is true and you are truly Seattle's best, the people of Seattle are quite coffee deprived.
Starbucks: Starbucks should be your beverage of choice if and only if:
a) there is no other coffee shop within a forty mile radius
b) Walking around with the logoed cardboard cup makes you feel cool, young and chic.
c) You frankly adore the taste of stale, burnt coffee. I've never tasted the discard of cigarettes thrown together in a pot and cooked for an hour. But I imagine this coffee tastes justlike that.
I know I sound unreasonably bitter (ha) about Starbucks but in my defense, for many years I hated coffee because I thought, if Starbucks is the coffee darling of the world, and I hate their coffee, why, I must hate coffee. Oh Starbucks, you took the best coffee drinking years of my life!
Caribou Coffee: I had an interesting experience here best shared by example
Me: I'd like a small iced coffee please
Bob: We just got a great caramel flavor, how about I just throw that in? We're trying to see if people like it!
Me: Um, ok, thanks!
Bob: Tell ya what, Ill go ahead and mix in some vanilla *starts mixing*
Me: *not really wanting vanilla but seeing its too late take out $1.64 to pay*
Bob: Ok, this will be *ringing register* $5.24.
Caribou, your coffee's okay (though a bit too watery for my taste). But are you that hurting for business that you dupe your customers into buying more than they wanted? And for the record, iced coffee with a shot of caramel and vanilla is not my cup of tea!
You might be thinking well Negative Nancy what do you recommend? Ladies and gents I'm sorry to say that as of the date of this post I have yet to find a coffee franchise I can stand behind (though recent reviews indicate McDonald's is fab- but again, its the whole being in the line of fire of thousands of McMuffins that proves fatal for me). I do enjoy frequenting a few local "mom-pop" type of cafe's that I absolutely adore. My suggestion? Find your local mom-pop coffee shop where they grind the beans fresh, and keep it fresh all day, where they know your name and make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Try, and try again and soon you'lll find your favorite little nook. Here's a jump start!
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Life without love is like a tree without blossoms or fruit- Khalil Gibran
Have you ever chopped carrots while your teary-eyed husband dices the onions and just as you present your most convincing counter argument about why its not your turn to load the dishwasher you suddenly look at the scene as though from outside yourself and find this exceptionally ordinary moment suddenly immeasurably beautiful? Or saw Boy Meets World or a box of Bimbo in the bread aisle or sat down alone for a cup of tea and suddenly realize a day's drive is too far to be from those who are part of what makes life worth living? Lil' bro, you must be rolling your eyes as I get sentimental on what's admittedly a terribly over marketed holiday but with all there is to stress and lose sleep over, I can't help but be thoughtful, and thankful, for the loves of my life.
Monday, February 12, 2007
On Starfish
The famous cliche says time heals all wounds. I don't know if time heals much of anything necessarily, but perhaps it helps us forget. Recently a friend e-mailed her frustrations of working in public schools and it was as though every wound I thought I stitched up and replaced with fresh memories of smiling children and coloring books were knocked away, the wounds yanked open, salt spilling into their very crevices.
I don't care that Lizzie can't write her name- her mom threatened to sue so write in the C's and check off her promotion.
Yes he has cigarette burns running down his arm and I understand he said his dad beats him with a switch but the marks are old.
I know he's clearly autistic and sits in the corner rocking back and forth, but there is no way we can test him until next year.
I know he attacked you with scissors and split your jeans but we cannot afford an aide.
Friend, I understand your frustration. I'm haunted by those I couldn't help. I'm haunted by the children incorrectly placed. Its heartbreaking to watch a child burning with hope at five, at nine completely devoid of any such light despite your efforts. I know its draining to fight and plead and argue simply to get a child tested or to convince a mom to give her child some time when she's working two jobs or simply doesn't care. Sometimes it feels like all the forces are there simply to crush your heart and burn you out. As a burn out, I feel unqualified to advise you how to go on. But what kept me going in the day to day, was reminding myself to stop fixating on the mountains and looking at the pebbles. To stop looking at the ocean and instead at the starfish lying helpless by my feet. You can't save them all, you won't save them all. But for the ones you will touch you will move mountains. You as their advocate, their role model, and the biggest cheerleader they may ever have, are already moving mountains. They're your starfish and through your love you're letting them back into the sea to be who they were meant to be. Don't give up.
A man walking on the beach saw a young man picking up small objects and throwing them into the ocean. The man came closer and asked the young man what he was doing. The young man replied he was throwing starfish into the ocean."But why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the startled man. The young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die." Upon hearing this, the man commented, "But, don't you realize there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!" At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one"
I don't care that Lizzie can't write her name- her mom threatened to sue so write in the C's and check off her promotion.
Yes he has cigarette burns running down his arm and I understand he said his dad beats him with a switch but the marks are old.
I know he's clearly autistic and sits in the corner rocking back and forth, but there is no way we can test him until next year.
I know he attacked you with scissors and split your jeans but we cannot afford an aide.
Friend, I understand your frustration. I'm haunted by those I couldn't help. I'm haunted by the children incorrectly placed. Its heartbreaking to watch a child burning with hope at five, at nine completely devoid of any such light despite your efforts. I know its draining to fight and plead and argue simply to get a child tested or to convince a mom to give her child some time when she's working two jobs or simply doesn't care. Sometimes it feels like all the forces are there simply to crush your heart and burn you out. As a burn out, I feel unqualified to advise you how to go on. But what kept me going in the day to day, was reminding myself to stop fixating on the mountains and looking at the pebbles. To stop looking at the ocean and instead at the starfish lying helpless by my feet. You can't save them all, you won't save them all. But for the ones you will touch you will move mountains. You as their advocate, their role model, and the biggest cheerleader they may ever have, are already moving mountains. They're your starfish and through your love you're letting them back into the sea to be who they were meant to be. Don't give up.
A man walking on the beach saw a young man picking up small objects and throwing them into the ocean. The man came closer and asked the young man what he was doing. The young man replied he was throwing starfish into the ocean."But why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the startled man. The young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die." Upon hearing this, the man commented, "But, don't you realize there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!" At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, "It made a difference for that one"
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Bride Burning- in the name of dowry
Every hour and forty minutes an Indian woman is lit on fire. Every day a woman lives in fear of the day it will be her. This post is based on a paper I wrote. I reference India because most literature focuses on India, not because its the only place it occurs. Dowry violence hurts me for surely I've had a relative or ancestor who felt the pain of dowry abuse. As I'm a reflection of my ancestors who provided me with the building blocks I'm made of I can't help but grieve for the pain they endured. Its my obligation to talk about it and give a voice to those whose voices along with their helpless bodies are all too often swept under the rug.
Dowry (jahez): the practice of the bride's family providing the groom's family money or goods in exchange for their daughter's marriage. Dowry consists of both money and valuable goods such a jewelry, refrigerators, TVs, cars and even homes. The typical dowry is seven times the yearly salary of the breadwinner. It originated as voluntary gift giving but now is considered obligatory if a family wants their daughter to marry.
Dowry's indirect effects: The pressure of dowry makes a daughter's birth a disappointing event. Parents afraid of the dowries try preventing her from existing. In the 80's one could see billboards of Sonogram clinics preying on dowry fears with ads like "better 500 rupees now than 500,000 later" Between 1981- 1991 over 1 million female fetuses were aborted. In Punjab there are 793 girls per 1000 boys.
Dowry's direct effect: The quest for cash coupled with the devaluation of women creates the ideal backdrop for dowry murders: The in-laws, unhappy with the dowry demand more. When the parents don't pay up the anger is taken out on the bride. Eventually they think it'll be better to be rid of her so their son can remarry for more dowry and try driving her to suicide. Her parents don't help fearing damaging the family honor so seeing no other choice she sometimes takes her own life
Bride Burning is the most popular murder method. The woman is restrained in the kitchen and doused by cooking kerosene and lit by a match. Burning is popular because Kerosene is cheap and readily available. The saris most Indian women wear are combustible so the murder is hard to trace and in the privacy of the home. The survival rate of such deaths is also low ensuring the woman will never prosecute them. Even if she survives she typically succumbs to infection in the hospital. Even escape doesn't ensure safety. Divorce is still taboo in much of the subcontinent, seen as a shame upon the family honor. Three years ago an 18 y/o bride fled from the clutches of her brother in law as her mother in law poured kerosene and husband lit the match to her parents who asked the court to force her to return to her in-laws. The Court made her return making them promise not to harm her.
Fixing the flaw: (1) There must be a greaterNGO's (5) The media must increase awareness and
What can you do: Read about it. Care about it. Tell someone about it. The ripple effect of passing on knowledge and empathy cannot be understated.
Dowry (jahez): the practice of the bride's family providing the groom's family money or goods in exchange for their daughter's marriage. Dowry consists of both money and valuable goods such a jewelry, refrigerators, TVs, cars and even homes. The typical dowry is seven times the yearly salary of the breadwinner. It originated as voluntary gift giving but now is considered obligatory if a family wants their daughter to marry.
Dowry's indirect effects: The pressure of dowry makes a daughter's birth a disappointing event. Parents afraid of the dowries try preventing her from existing. In the 80's one could see billboards of Sonogram clinics preying on dowry fears with ads like "better 500 rupees now than 500,000 later" Between 1981- 1991 over 1 million female fetuses were aborted. In Punjab there are 793 girls per 1000 boys.
Dowry's direct effect: The quest for cash coupled with the devaluation of women creates the ideal backdrop for dowry murders: The in-laws, unhappy with the dowry demand more. When the parents don't pay up the anger is taken out on the bride. Eventually they think it'll be better to be rid of her so their son can remarry for more dowry and try driving her to suicide. Her parents don't help fearing damaging the family honor so seeing no other choice she sometimes takes her own life
Bride Burning is the most popular murder method. The woman is restrained in the kitchen and doused by cooking kerosene and lit by a match. Burning is popular because Kerosene is cheap and readily available. The saris most Indian women wear are combustible so the murder is hard to trace and in the privacy of the home. The survival rate of such deaths is also low ensuring the woman will never prosecute them. Even if she survives she typically succumbs to infection in the hospital. Even escape doesn't ensure safety. Divorce is still taboo in much of the subcontinent, seen as a shame upon the family honor. Three years ago an 18 y/o bride fled from the clutches of her brother in law as her mother in law poured kerosene and husband lit the match to her parents who asked the court to force her to return to her in-laws. The Court made her return making them promise not to harm her.
Fixing the flaw: (1) There must be a greater
What can you do: Read about it. Care about it. Tell someone about it. The ripple effect of passing on knowledge and empathy cannot be understated.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Stressed squirrels
Pest control put a live trap on the roof to capture the squirrels. They shouldn't die since the cage can provide for the squirrel until its released into the wild, but the squirrel is such a high stress creature that he starts bashing his head into the cage trying to get out and ultimately dies from the trauma. If only he could chill and be patient for a minute despite how scary it may seem. I guess a squirrel can't understand such a complex thing as hope and patience. But people can. I will think of him the next time I find myself in just such a cage myself.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Random Assortment of.... Stuff**
1. Seinfeld references. I never thought the day would arrive when I would refer to Seinfeld and the reaction would be blank looks. But it happened approximately seven days ago and I am quite unsure if I have fully recovered. I was 11 when Seinfeld came out and I only started watching it when I was about 20 so it was pretty much in syndication but it is a good show and its timeless and wonderful and funny. And it speaks to everything that happens in life. Everything. You gotta see the baby? Serenity now? Soup Nazi? Come on, everyone has been through situations and circumstances that Seinfeld can relate to. After much thought and serious reflection I have grudgingly decided to remain friends with my non-Seinfelder friends but I have to admit the decision was difficult. Mandatory disclaimer: I kid. I kid. No show can come between true friends no matter how deprived they are of Seinfeld related humor.
2. School? So over it. I am so ready to graduate its not even funny. I'm over studying. Over classes. Over all of it. I feel like a runner at the last stretch. The ribbon of the endzone is in sight and I'm ready to cross over but fatigue is beginning to hit- and I want to take a nap.
3. Speaking of running, I'm picking it up again. My foot broke a while back so I stopped. But I have the green light and I'm starting again. I wish I could say I love running, that's it my me time and I love feet on pavement running my stress away. But it would be a lie because I do not like running. I'd much rather eat bon-bons and watch Scubs and the only reason I ever ran regularly was because I finally created a routine. But three months off the foot broke the habit. and the motivation just isn't there but Tee captured the matter of motivation well: sometimes you say you don't have the motivation to start, but sometimes you need to just do it. Just start, even if the motivation isn't there - and motivation will follow. So grudgingly the running shoes are back on.
4. Hanging out with girls. Today a few friends went to Target to get a few things. It was the first time in maybe five years I went shopping with girls. We laughed at silly cards, tried on gloves, and sat down for a cup of coffee and talked about... girl stuff. I forgot what it was like to shop with girls and the fact that I got so excited to be at Target shows how deprived I am of "shopping female contact"
5. Babies all around. Is it just my end of the galaxy or is everyone having babies? Nine people I know had babies in the past four weeks. I kid you not (hee) each and every baby is a ball of cuteness. But I'm not sure I've ever held so many babies. I'm not sure what the point of this is, but the quote did imply this post would be rife with random-ness. And it is.
**6. I stopped biting my nails. If you know me you know I bite my nails. I've bit them since I had teeth. But no more thanks to Bite It. It works, it really does! I went to get my first manicure and felt like a shy kid starting kindergarten, it was all so new. I think I was the most excited person there. (It chipped in two days though, is that normal?). Its strange that there was such an intense internal struggle to quit and the result is just... nails. So if you see me staring down at my fingers with a smile please know I'm not being ditzy, I'm just so pleased to see a sight I've never really seen. Its such a great feeling to get rid of a bad habit. Now if only I could kick sweets.
2. School? So over it. I am so ready to graduate its not even funny. I'm over studying. Over classes. Over all of it. I feel like a runner at the last stretch. The ribbon of the endzone is in sight and I'm ready to cross over but fatigue is beginning to hit- and I want to take a nap.
3. Speaking of running, I'm picking it up again. My foot broke a while back so I stopped. But I have the green light and I'm starting again. I wish I could say I love running, that's it my me time and I love feet on pavement running my stress away. But it would be a lie because I do not like running. I'd much rather eat bon-bons and watch Scubs and the only reason I ever ran regularly was because I finally created a routine. But three months off the foot broke the habit. and the motivation just isn't there but Tee captured the matter of motivation well: sometimes you say you don't have the motivation to start, but sometimes you need to just do it. Just start, even if the motivation isn't there - and motivation will follow. So grudgingly the running shoes are back on.
4. Hanging out with girls. Today a few friends went to Target to get a few things. It was the first time in maybe five years I went shopping with girls. We laughed at silly cards, tried on gloves, and sat down for a cup of coffee and talked about... girl stuff. I forgot what it was like to shop with girls and the fact that I got so excited to be at Target shows how deprived I am of "shopping female contact"
5. Babies all around. Is it just my end of the galaxy or is everyone having babies? Nine people I know had babies in the past four weeks. I kid you not (hee) each and every baby is a ball of cuteness. But I'm not sure I've ever held so many babies. I'm not sure what the point of this is, but the quote did imply this post would be rife with random-ness. And it is.
**6. I stopped biting my nails. If you know me you know I bite my nails. I've bit them since I had teeth. But no more thanks to Bite It. It works, it really does! I went to get my first manicure and felt like a shy kid starting kindergarten, it was all so new. I think I was the most excited person there. (It chipped in two days though, is that normal?). Its strange that there was such an intense internal struggle to quit and the result is just... nails. So if you see me staring down at my fingers with a smile please know I'm not being ditzy, I'm just so pleased to see a sight I've never really seen. Its such a great feeling to get rid of a bad habit. Now if only I could kick sweets.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
On the pitter patter of little feet
Isn't it strange that as soon as I type about the pitter patter of the squirrels in my attic, they stop the pitter patter? Seriously, its silent static-less soundless-ness. You could hear the proverbial pin drop.You might think they left but they didn't. I know it. Why? Because the past two days we have had a combination of 20 degree weather and/or freezing rain. There ain't no way those squirrels have suddenly decided they'd rather live outdoors.
My conclusion? Well, what other conclusion can their be? They must read my blog. I can just imagine the little squirrel family up in my attic. The mom and dad squirrel pacing the floor absolutely livid at the three baby squirrels huddled together with guilty expressions.
Mom: Pitter Patter! Those were her exact words! How many times have I told you about the pitter patter?!
Dad: Do you know how hard your mother and I work to put a roof over your heads?
Mom: You are all grounded! Go sit by the bingo games and do not move!
Dad: If I so much as hear a pitter, God help me.....!!!
Incidentally its a very bad thing that I now have a visual image of these squirrels akin to Stuart Little or Alvin and the Chipmunks. Because do you know who those people are in those types of shows that try to kick out the rodents? They're the bad guys and I am not a bad guy!
Squirrels, since it is established that you read this I'd like to say that I don't mind that you are in my attic. But running through the walls? Seriously? Is that really necessary? And it's not my fault your parents never toilet trained you or taught you to clean up after yourselves! And who is telling you to chew the heck out of my insulation? Read my lips: Y'all are a fire hazard! You chew wires! I mean, who does that? Furthermore from a legal standpoint you lose: You are squatters, trespassers and vandalizers! Besides the castle doctrine allows me freedom to do as I wish if someone breaks into my home, and if it applies to humans it most certainly applies to squirrels. So really, this stern rebuke (which btw is caused by tiredness which resulted in crankiness) is not my fault and you really only have yourselves to blame!
And I refuse to let you make me feel guilty!
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