Divine Calm

www.divinecalm.com

2006-02-28T01:03:00.000-05:00

I am happy to report that I have transferred this blog over to www.divinecalm.com.

Please click here to head on over and don't forget to update your links with my new information.

I look forward to seeing you over at my new digs.

Mondays: why bother?

2006-02-26T20:22:00.000-05:00

Some Divine Lovin'

2006-02-26T14:02:00.000-05:00

I'm totally lovin' the following sites, and I highly recommend you check'em out!

1.) Dima, this girl is, seriously, such a cutie! Plus her smarts equal her quirkiness. In my book, you can never have too much of either trait. (She's on the right.)

2.) The photoblog, Out in the World, is totally beautifying my world with his gorgeous and compelling photos of places like Brazil, Taiwan, and Myanmar. His portraits move me to no end (and no, I didn't take this photo, titled "Chubbiness." He did.):

3.) The blog, Poetic Justice, motivates me to learn more about the written word. I hope you find her captivating prose as inspiring and challenging as I do.

I had been a language freak for long before the words became out in writing. Inventing expressions, feeling the otherness, trying to find that me in that language. Then in other languages. And I do find. But it stings. Some of it. The otherness, when it's not entirely me there, but some polyphonic figure speaking through. The writing of others sometimes does. When it does not, bliss and blessing.

4.) Wave of Modulation is my kind of blog. Awe-inspiring photography coupled with equally captivating words fill me with peace and the need to grab my camera and EXPERIMENT. Check out her recent frame-worthy photo titled "morning light":

5.) And, last but not least, I'm totally digging my tenant, Taste the World. Her recent tribute to her grandfather moved me and made me smile. Also, her favorite links of the moment made me sign up for 3 classes at Barnes & Noble's Online Classes. As if I didn't already have enough to do right now. See, that's how good of a writer she is. She merely suggested. I complied. Good thing she hasn't suggested I give her money.

Isn't she a cutie? So please visit my powerfully persuasive tenant under the "About Me" section on the left.

my lil' angel

2006-02-25T23:49:00.000-05:00

my lil' angel, originally uploaded by Divine Calm.

Taste the World!!!

2006-02-23T23:45:00.000-05:00

I've been a very, very bad host/landlord. Pretty please--with sugar on top--visit my tenant "Taste the World."

I really like her blog design, and she's very funny. Check out this adorable pic she placed on her blog too. I'm such a sucker for dogs.

So please click on her blog located under the "About Me" section. You won't regret it!

Better than sex

2006-02-23T23:21:00.000-05:00

Old camera:

New Camera:

Old Camera:

New Camera:

Any questions?

Trusting your instincts

2006-02-22T11:29:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a more optimistic approach toward both solicited and unsolicited opinions. For instance, while my mom might not always agree with my decisions, I'm not necessarily blowing off her advice nor am I angry at her vocal opposition. Instead, I am learning to shut the heck up and see her advice for what it really is. It's about love seasoned with fear for my well-being due to her own experiences. A couple years later, I might regret my decisions and realize that she was right all along. Or, I might be better off for trusting my gut instincts.

When striving for a goal or even for a happier life, it's beneficial to have a little feedback from the world. Knowing how much harder you have to sweat for success can propel you in a more realistic direction. Or it can paralyze you from even trying. Improving from criticism while insulating yourself from misleading, albeit well-intended, advice is critical to our evolution as adults. Additionally, recognizing which advice is offered requires both strong self-esteem and experience to know the difference.

It's especially imperative to listen to your inner voice and balance criticism while creating. For example, I have been entranced by the clothing designers on Project Runway and how they have improved their creations while attempting to retain their unique point of view. It's no easy feat to be an original and have everyone love your creation. Sometimes I feel as if a designer has to be in cohorts with the cosmic gods to predict that little something the world needs but doesn't realize it's missing. Everyone can be an original, but, alas, not everyone wants to hear or see what you have to produce. Of course there are a myriad of factors that render creative success like talent, mutated genes, drive, hard work, and dumb luck, but for the sake of my argument I'm assuming everyone reading this post has these traits.

I will return to my beginning point, trust your instincts. If you are constantly judging your own work or life through others' points of view, you are betraying your innate creativity. With the risk of sounding lame, creativity is best nourished if you protect it like a hothouse plant in winter. Shelter it, allow some light from the outside through, but you are ultimately responsible for its survival. (Well, you, a watering can and the modern invention of greenhouse heating.)

So, Mom, what do you think about all of my pontificating on creativity? See, I totally outed myself as being unable to follow my own advice. But I am trying.

Speckle Spackle

2006-02-21T21:21:00.000-05:00

Decompress

2006-02-21T19:43:00.000-05:00

My diaphragm can't unhook itself, and my lungs are lodged in my throat. I can't breathe, let alone, sigh breaths of release. Every time I leave him, it's like this for the first few days of my return. Then tears spring forth and drain upon my cheeks, sapping my energy. Finally after a week, the missing dulls down to frustration, and I frantically brainstorm ways to end this separation. The solution is always the same. Patience. That damn word. I hate it.

For you shutterbug junkies...

2006-02-20T21:52:00.000-05:00

I seem to have outgrown my camera, a Kodak EasyShare Z730. Now I want to purchase a SLR digital camera and am researching what's out there. I'm sooooo overwhelmed! I want to be able to take better macro shots (close-up shots) and nighttime photos. Do you have any suggestions as to which camera I should buy, or how I should narrow down my choices? I would like to spend under $1,000. Any help would be greatly appreciated!!!

Cardinal Rule

2006-02-20T21:40:00.000-05:00

Escalating Obstacles

2006-02-17T10:09:00.000-05:00

A black retriever service dog in training quivered at the top step of an escalator. His right front paw timidly stepped on the grooved steel and then quickly lifted as if he touched hot Florida summer sand. After dancing his quick step three more times while receiving correction from his trainer, the hesitant pup finally landed his two front paws square on the middle of the step. A little surprised to find his front end heading down to the first floor with his back end staying on the marble second floor, the dog quickly glanced at his human companion as if pleaing for rescue. With another metal step pouring out of the floor and left with no other choice, the trainee allowed the rest of his body to scuttle onto the escalator.

The trainer's praise, "You are a goooood boy, goooooooood boy," echoed throughout the atrium.

I was next to step onto the modern contraption that had given the dog such fits. As I glanced down to ensure my skinny high-heeled boots didn't fall between the escalator steps, I better appreciated the dogs' jitters. Pictures of my falling head first, with my stripped away brown leather boot stuck in the escalator step, made my face flush with anxiety, and I really yearned for the black retriever to be at my side for comfort and balance. I then began to think how scary it must be for a person who has lost her sight to ride these moving steps.

As I stepped off the escalator, I looked over to see the black retriever's next obstacle: a revolving door. With newly gained confidence from his last accomplishment, the dog wagged his tail while waiting for further instruction.

"I really hope you pass with flying colors, little buddy," I silently cheered. "Soon, your presence will represent freedom for some very lucky owner."

True Blue

2006-02-16T20:22:00.000-05:00

Gentle

2006-02-15T23:54:00.000-05:00

Looking Beyond Your Nose

2006-02-15T10:16:00.000-05:00

Lately, I feel as if the world has opened up for my exploring, but not necessarily for my taking. Don't get me wrong, my naivete isn't leading me to think that "the world is my oyster," rather, I am allowing myself to view life in ways I haven't imagined it. And, gulp, I've begun to believe I might have an overall happy life (mixed with the occasional heartache of course).

Until recently, I have been recovering from a difficult childhood and my subsequent reactions to it. I have struggled to put myself through school only to find my chosen career after college renders frustration and disillusionment. Thankfully, I've realized this at the age of 27 and am willing to make a change instead of barging down a path guaranteed to end in regret.

For the last three years, my brain has been parched for an unknown drink. I have yearned for mental stimulation and surfed the web, read novels, and participated in book clubs hoping to find something satisfying. I have salsa danced, watched movies, drank fancy mojito cocktails, and listened to jazz bands. For hours, I have read information regarding the psychology of the criminal mind, potential graduate programs, and websites geared toward career placement help. I have even distracted my thirst while hanging out in large groups of friends until the wee hours of the morning. Unfortunately, the friendly chatter only reinforced my need to figure out what I was missing in life.

I was missing creativity, the act of creating.

For a long time, I've been belittling my talent by thinking I was better suited to be an audience member instead of a creator. So far, my career focus has been to make enough money to support myself while helping others and, in turn, living comfortably. With maturity, I realize I can still have a well-paying job while fostering creative growth on the side. Who knows? Perhaps I will be able to incorporate the two. I'm not trying to portray myself as the next Da Vinci or Faulkner, but how will I know my capabilities without stretching myself beyond my comfortable stasis?

I have been anxiety-ridden for almost all of my life, and I am beginning to realize this denial of my innate creativity has been fueling my palpitations. As the cliche goes, there's just something that's dying to get out. Ha! Nevermind the fact that I don't know the exact details for how to allow that something out.

So I don't have a crystallized plan, but I am delving into new ways to express myself. And, dammit, it's a relief. Some of my more frequent readers might be wondering if I made the decision to attend law school, and the answer is a resounding no. I'm not a detail person, but more importantly, it's just not for me. I could do it and be good at it, but my gut feeling is that I would not be as good at it as I would be doing something else. You might say that "being good" shouldn't be the main driver for my career choice, but my ego demands it and I'm no longer going to suppress it.

In the short term, I am reaffirming my love for the written word (otherwise known as "reading and writing like crazy") and am critically analyzing how writers write. I am also planning on taking a graduate communications/marketing/writing course and a photography class once I move to Chicago. Lastly, I have a few other things in the works, which I rather not discuss here. I'm in an exploring mode and want to travel and better understand how people different from myself live.

Perhaps all of my musings sound rather grandiose and ridiculous. But I don't care, because I am excited for the first time in a long time. Finally, I see possibilities instead of dead-ends.

Technorati:writing, creativity, reading, self-exploration, career, classes, law, school

Any Room Left for Me?

2006-02-14T23:15:00.001-05:00

It's not just a Hallmark holiday

2006-02-14T15:08:00.000-05:00

Even when single, I don't dread Valentine's Day. I can thank my mom for instilling in me that the day is a celebration of love for the special people in our lives. My childhood Valentine's Days consisted of playing with my new paper dolls near my mom as she sewed in her bedroom or my drinking milk out of a heart glass with homemade frosted heart-shaped sugar cookies for breakfast. On Valentine's Day, I would bathe in my mom's hugs, kisses and tiny gifts, which reminded me that she loved me in an all-consuming way that only mothers can love.

One Valentine's Day in my early twenties, I had just experienced a break-up with a boyfriend, and my mother and stepfather visited me with a new dining table and four chairs in tow. The table set was to replace the one that I had been borrowing from my boyfriend. I was a mess due to the break-up and other events at the time, and my mom knew that I needed some extra TLC from my family.

Looking back on my previous Valentine's Days, I am so grateful my mom tried so hard to show me that Valentine's Day isn't just about flowers, chocolates, and your significant other. It's about the little things like homemade cookies, and paper dolls. It's about the big things like being there for your loved one when they need you most. It's about celebrating that even if you are single, you aren't alone. And, it's especially about saying the most eagerly desired words "I love you."

Technorati:Valentine's, love, mothers, family

Happy Valentine's Day

2006-02-13T20:54:00.000-05:00

A lil' leg for my Valentine

East Fifth

2006-02-12T17:06:00.000-05:00

Teenage Suicide

2006-02-12T16:13:00.000-05:00

This weekend I watched a video about teenage suicide with my mother for her continuing education course. The video portrayed a rather simplistic overview of this issue and left me terribly unsatisfied with its message.

The video began with a discussion about how teenagers with bipolar disease, depression, and eating disorders are more likely to attempt suicide. Yes, this wasn't a surprise to me. Then the video portrayed how horrific suicide is to the remaining loved ones. To me, this seemed like an obvious point to make. Lastly, the movie pointed out that all teenagers are at risk and that often those comtemplating suicide hide their thoughts from those around them.

Since I have never attempted suicide and am not a parent, could somebody educate me and those reading this post on the subject of teenage suicide. Are there any visible signs depicting whether a teen is suicidal? Are parents living in denial that their children are at risk? Or are there really no warning signs? Also, what can we, as a society, do about this?

Technorati:suicide, teenagers, bipolar, depression, eating, disorders

Objects May Appear Closer...Part 1

2006-02-09T23:43:00.000-05:00

Divine Consumption

2006-02-09T18:59:00.000-05:00

WARNING! Please avert your eyes if you can't handle sickening sweetness

I'm craving spiced cupcakes, specifically, my mom's homemade confections. These moist delights are topped with fluffy cream cheese frosting set in delicate peaks, which dissolve into ooey gooeyness in my mouth.

Lucky for me, I am heading home to visit my parents tomorrow night, and my mom has a couple of her special spice cupcakes waiting for me.

Nothing like sugar spun with your mom's love to cleanse your troubles away.

Technorati:cupcakes, sugar, icing

2006-02-09T00:11:00.000-05:00

taking stock

The Taker

2006-02-08T13:22:00.000-05:00

Although we shared our souls, laughter, and tears, I now question your sincerity. Were you only there for me, so I would be there for you? It seems as if now that I am happy, you have difficulty in supporting me. Is it because you can't relate to me? Is my contentment not a worthy companion to your internal misery?

Or did I just outgrow you? Or to be more fair, did we just outgrow each other?

So many unanswered questions, but I am at peace with them. Instead, I have chosen to passively extradite myself from the relationship. No need for a blow-up to end what has already imploded.

Next time you need me, you know I will be as supportive as I can. That's why you still call. However, my heart is no longer connected to my advice, and if hurting, my heart will not lead me back to you.

P.S. This is not about any of my friends, rather it's about another person's situation.

Technorati: friendship, endings

2006-02-07T23:33:00.000-05:00

Winter driving

Crying isn't good enough

2006-02-07T11:57:00.000-05:00

I want to cry.

Today's tutoring session began well with my first kindergartener, Tiffany, finally "getting it" while reading to me. I continuously gave her high fives, because she hardly made any mistakes while writing and reading words like "reading" and "g-r-e-e-n."

Tiffany even exclaimed, "I'm getting smart!" and didn't want to leave at the end of the session. I'm so proud of the work she has accomplished.

After Tiffany, I tutored Kyra. Kyra began the session with reading a little book about dressing to me. Her favorite part of the book involved the white underpants covered in bright red stars. At this point, I was certain I would remember this day as being one of my best tutoring experiences. However, when I encouraged Kyra to write the sentence, "He is reading," she became morose and started writing "I mommy wuntoo see."

I couldn't decipher Kyra's writing, so I asked her to read her sentence to me.

"I want to see my mommy," Kyra sullenly replied.

After hearing Kyra's sentence, I remembered that Kyra had been recently placed in foster care.

The rest of the tutoring session sputtered on with the unfocused Kyra frantically scribbling letters backwards on the dry erase board. While it's normal for kindergarteners to write backwards, Kyra rarely does this.

Like Tiffany, Kyra didn't want to leave the tutoring session. But instead of the excitement of learning new things causing her to remain seated, Kyra's hesitancy to leave had more to do with yearning for one-on-one attention.

I want to cry.

Technorati: tutoring, kindergarten, foster, care

Please don't forget to visit the lovely tenant, Write Wing Blog. She rocks!!! Click on the link under the "About Me" section.

A Wonderful Night

2006-02-06T21:01:00.000-05:00

One of my dearest friends from my freshman year in college

Look Closely

2006-02-06T21:00:00.000-05:00

...the necklace she is wearing is made out of birth control pills. Tres chic with a touch of quirky, if you ask me.

Technorati: birth, control, pills

2006-02-06T20:56:00.000-05:00

Sophisticated Drinking

The reason why I have put on a few pounds

2006-02-05T22:11:00.000-05:00

I miss him the most while grocery shopping. I guess it's the couples in weekend sweats shopping for perfectly ripened tomatoes that does it to me. By the time I am pushing my cart by the ice cream freezers, I'm practically in tears. Good thing the tubs of strawberry ice cream are nearby for a bit of creamy comfort later in the evening. Pathetic, eh?

Techonorati: relationships, shopping, crying

Welcome Write Wing Blog

2006-02-05T21:02:00.000-05:00

Please click on my new tenant, Write Wing Blog, under the "About Me" section on the right.

She's a lovely blonde who not only ponders what it means to be a MILF or a FILF, but also how to forgive the woman who lures your husband into an affair. She posts celebrity news, current events, and funny stories regarding her family several times a day. I have really enjoyed reading her writing. No matter whether you lean left or right, you will be impressed by her candor and heart.

I have been renting her blog for the past week, and she has made my stay quite enjoyable. So please help me extend the same warmth to her, and click and read "Write Wing Blog."

the hall

2006-02-05T00:10:00.000-05:00

Someone Else's Face

2006-02-03T16:33:00.000-05:00

Sunday Times: My strange life with someone else's face

I read this story and am speechless. The ironies in this story are blowing me away.

Technorati: face, transplant, suicide, mauling,

I respect this man

2006-02-03T14:16:00.000-05:00

Chappelle Says Stress Caused Him to Leave

"The hardest thing to do is to be true to yourself, especially when everybody is watching."

So true.

Technorati:Chappelle, stress, breakdown

The Divine Weekly Recap

2006-02-03T09:31:00.000-05:00

My fears are evaporating this week. Although it is still winter outside, I'm stretching my legs and coming out of hibernation. The long-distance relationship with my boyfriend has been weighing heavily upon me, but the two of us have begun to logistically talk about our future. Thank goodness! My complete lack of patience was killing me!!!

Since I am now relieved about my relationship, I have been really outgoing this week and reconnecting with blogging and long-term friends. I've even been compassionate towards my enemies. Strange.

Sunday night, I rented the movie, The Lord of War. Although it was a little slow, I loved the movie for its unique videography. The writing was clever, and I found it fascinating how they used a pro-weapons character (portrayed by Nicholas Cage) to convey an anti-war message. I don't have a firm position on the movie's politics, so I enjoyed the intelligence behind the movie rather than fixating on whether it was right or wrong. I highly recommend seeing it.

Project Runway is phenomenal at boosting my morale midweek. (I have written about it before here and here.) I am completely addicted and am looking for fellow addicts to contact me to gossip about the designers and Tim Gunn. Also, here is a fabulous site to get more behind-the-scene info and updates on the designers.

This week I ran into new blog that has pictures of the cutest lil' boy. I highly recommend that you check out Days Like These! You won't be sorry, but I warn you that your insides will become gooey after seeing DJ in all of his adorable glory.

I hope you all have a groovy (and yes, I enjoy using antiquated slang) Friday.

P.S. DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT MY TENANT, MYSTICKAL INCENSE. SHE HAS THE COOLEST GAMES AND PRIZES.

Techonorati:relationships, tv, fashion, movies

velvety pink

2006-02-02T22:56:00.000-05:00

Guilty Comforts

2006-02-02T10:58:00.000-05:00

When I am longing for child-like simplicity or need to shelter myself from life's realities, I turn to two comforts guaranteed to make me feel better.

The first comfort is "Little House on the Prairie." If you are familiar with the show and frequently read my site, you probably aren't surprised that I am a huge fan of watching its reruns. Some of my views on life seem to come straight from the mouth of Michael Landon's character, Charles. I know it's cheesy, but I love it's positive message. When I am hating life, I will wrapped myself in a soft afghan and watch this show-with-a-conscience. I can forgive former friends like Elizabeth, because I hope that she has matured into a better person just like the character, Nellie, did in the show.

Another guilty or semi-embarrassing comfort of mine is the Midwestern cuisine at Bob Evans. The restaurant's menu reminds me of the food my mother would fix for me when I was ill and my grandmother's yummy mashed potatoes and homemade noodles. When my dogs can no longer console me, a cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast at Bob Evans does the trick.

Now that you have another lil' secret of mine to tease me about later, I wanna know what are your guilty comforts. Don't be shy, we're all friends here.

P.S. DON'T FORGET TO CLICK ON MY TENANT, STEPHANIE! SHOW HER SOME LOVE! (HER BLOG IS ON MY SIDEBAR.)

Technorati: food,, comfort,, television

Stately

2006-02-01T23:05:00.000-05:00

Flickin' French Fries

2006-01-31T23:39:00.000-05:00

Inertia

2006-01-31T13:24:00.000-05:00

in·er·tia (n.)

1. Physics. The tendency of a body to resist acceleration; the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest or of a body in straight line motion to stay in motion in a straight line unless acted on by an outside force.
2. Resistance or disinclination to motion, action, or change: the inertia of an entrenched bureaucracy.

Once upon a time, I was a "go-getter." Basically, I would drive myself insane while comparing my own accomplishments to those of my peers. When we would receive our high school yearbooks, I would count how many activities my rivals were in compared to my own affiliations. I acted like I didn't care who graduated Valedictorian of my senior class, but I secretly paid very close attention to my classmates' talk of grades and guessing who would have the highest grade point average.

I justified my fixation on high school achievement due to needing scholarships for college. Without child support from my father, and although my mother taught high school and supplemented her income with tutoring, I knew I would need a lot of financial assistance if I wanted to go away to college. This drive for money propelled my unsuccessful auditioning for morning announcement speaker to successfully running for Honor Society President. My mother encouraged these endeavors in very direct ways such as editing scholarship entries with me late into the evening or indirect ways like fighting with me every morning, noon, and night. As a high school senior, I was convinced that my mom and I could not live with each other for another year or we would annihilate each other to smithereens.

As a teenager, fear of the unknown only furthered my trying new things and putting myself "out there" for potential failure. Also, my mom's presence was a safety net that bounced me back up onto the tightrope when I would wobble and fall due to annoying traits like procrastination and crying hysterically when faced with a new and seemingly impossible task such as completing financial aid applications.

With Mom's support reduced to phone calls and visits, I bounced around on a less direct route through college. Lack of money was more of a compass for my decision-making than Mom's wise guidance. I was able to graduate early from college, but I missed invaluable opportunities like writing a thesis and studying abroad. I started working right out of college, because I was sick of having to quell my financial wants. Dammit! I wanted a new purse. I wanted to eat out and have more than $50 in my bank account.

So instead of going to law or graduate school, I began my current career in state government and politics. Immediately, I was hooked on the supercharged pace and strategy of the legislative and political processes. The competitiveness and kooky cast of characters enthralled me and encouraged my inner drive to succeed as well. Every event was a competition that required both the mental juggling of minute details and buttery-smooth banter. Often I felt as if I was treading in waters full of slimy jellyfish, which had no backbones but could sting you in a second, but I was high from the adrenaline of constant battling sans stinger. This high allowed me to overlook many of the political world's negative aspects that were incompatible to my happiness.

After a couple years, I was given the opportunity for advancement and I took it while hoping it would feed my drive for success. Unfortunately, it was a lackluster opportunity full more of office politics instead of the pure politics I loved. Stagnant, I was miserable, but the job coupled with finding out that my father was homeless knocked me off a course that only would have, in hindsight, furthered my self-doubt while leaving me bereft of meaning.

Three years after being ripped from my "entrenched" state, I no longer march into the already heavily trodden path of my peers. Instead of following inertia and the approval of others, I fuel my own self-worth and remind myself that career advancement does not necessarily mean I am a worthy person. While I have lost a direct path to my future and tears of frustration sometimes blur my next step, I know I have not lost my way.

Technorati:work, inertia, school, ambition, self-acceptance

Spoiled Pups

2006-01-30T22:26:00.000-05:00

My boyfriend visited this weekend and decided to bring gifts for my two pups, Winston and Murphy.My oh my, doesn't Winston look proud of himself in his new finery? (Please note that I have NEVER dressed my dogs in clothes before this. I mean, come on, how could I resist dressing Winston in a jersey with "Woof" on the back? Plus, would you be able to resist such a cute boyfriend who brings gifts for your dogs?)

Murphy also received a chew toy that was suppose to be good for a dog's teeth (it's hidden under Winston in the pic):Alas, Winston strikes again:Don't worry, Murphy received lots of lovin' instead:

P.S. Don't forget to visit my tenant's link on the right side underneath the "About Me" section.

Technorati:dogs, boyfriend, puppies

One of the best weekend moments

2006-01-30T10:26:00.000-05:00

Saturday night's sleep came slowly for me due to my sleeping arrangements. I was sandwiched between my boyfriend and Winston the beagle mix, and we looked like this:

) ) )

While my boyfriend's arm was draped over me, my arm was draped over Winston. This coziness would normally induce an easy coma-like state for me. However, my boyfriend and Winston were competing for who was the "Loudest Snorer" contest. As I was trying to determine the winner, I drifted off to dreamland.

Technorati: dogs, snuggling, sleep, snoring

Under the bridge

2006-01-29T13:05:00.000-05:00

Somehow I don't think this is what the Red Hot Chili Peppers had in mind...

Check out my first tenant!

2006-01-29T12:15:00.000-05:00

I would like to welcome my first tenant, Mystickal Incense Blog, to Divine Calm. In addition to Stephanie's awesome website design, her willingness to lay her uncensored thoughts out there in the blog sphere is truly admirable. Additionally, I was completely blown away from reading her bio and "100 Random Facts." This girl has been through so much, but she's a fighter.

So please make me proud and click on the Mystical Incense Blog link located under the Divine Calm "About Me" section and make Stephanie feel welcome.

Elizabeth

2006-01-26T11:36:00.000-05:00

I was intimidated by Elizabeth before I met her. She was the quintessential tough girl in my junior high school, but she could also meld into the popular and honor roll crowds. When first glancing at Elizabeth, you might think she was one of the druggies or smokers who missed ten minutes of first period for that last drag of "borrowed" cigarettes from home. Her crinkled bleached hair conveyed rust instead of blonde, and the caked layers of the peachy brown make-up stolen from the local drug store did little to hide her acne. But Elizabeth's doe eyes rimmed in smudged kohl eyeliner and petite size zero frame betrayed her fragility underneath the veneer of "I don't give a damn".

Elizabeth and I began our friendship as newbies in seventh grade choir. We had never encountered "choir geeks" before and were at a loss for how to fit in. (Little did we know that the love for singing was the only prerequisite. Like band, choir was a haven for misfits minus the financial resources for band instruments.) During choir practice, we would share music and I would uncomfortably giggle at her imitations of the dorkier choir members. I knew my mom would have never approved of my laughing at others' expense, but I was enamored by Elizabeth's musical ability and wit. While my soprano voice was strained and immature in seventh grade, Elizabeth's was a richly smooth alto. I wanted to fit into her world and, therefore, handled her delicately.

In ninth grade choir, Elizabeth and I were vocal equals (thanks to my voice maturing) and had participated in multiple vocal ensemble competitions together. Additionally, our duet of "Love Me Tender" was a success at the talent show, despite the song's old-fashioned vibe. Of course, Elizabeth's coolness brought legitimacy to any song. Before our performance, I remember being shocked by Elizabeth's mom while practicing for the talent show at her house. Her mom's sweetness combined with an extreme religious reverence was a far departure from Elizabeth's "f*** you" attitude.

Besides choir, Elizabeth and I had another thing in common. Tina. Tina and I had been best friends since kindergarten, and our mothers were best friends too. While I could fill several pages to describe the dynamics of my friendship with Tina, Elizabeth and Tina were in the honeymoon stage of their friendship in ninth grade. They were inseparable and soon were morphing into each other's brains. Finishing each other's sentences became common for them. (By the way, if it seems as if I am describing some sort of love affair, I'm not. Aren't all friendships between girls extreme in their highs and lows?)

To be completely honest, in ninth grade I wasn't threatened by Elizabeth's friendship with Tina at all. I had the naive belief all three of us would join forces like the heroines in some teen novel and be a powerful clique in which everyone would admire. I liked Elizabeth. Tina was my best friend. Why wouldn't this dynamic work out?

Instead of my friendship fantasy, three lines of friendship developed between the three of us. Elizabeth and Tina. Elizabeth and me. Me and Tina. No interwoven communication. No three amigos. However, when the three of us were elected to Student Council in tenth grade, I had hoped we would become closer over fumes of paint and markers while making homecoming ticket signs.

Instead, a void had developed between Tina's and my friendship over the summer before tenth grade. While I could ignore this fact while working during the summer, I was uncomfortable with what we had allowed to lapse after seeing Tina during our first student council meeting held in the fall. Elizabeth and Tina had become interchangeable in their appearance. They had always been very tiny and almost anorexic looking, but now Tina's eyes were rimmed with the same smudged kohl liner and her face held the same impassive stare as Elizabeth's.

When I decided to say hello to Elizabeth and Tina, they had separated themselves from the rest of the student council and sat on an old heater propped against a wall while smirking together. My nervousness must have been apparent, because the two girls went in for the attack. As we were talking, Elizabeth would continually mock me while Tina would "hee hee." I was horrified and began to blunder my words, and after a while I walked away.

Not long after this incident, I received a six-page letter from Tina detailing all of the wrongs I had committed throughout our friendship of ten years. Shocked by her memory for detail, I felt betrayed. Why hadn't she told me this earlier, and then we could have talked it out? I couldn't deny my faults, but I knew they were unintentional and I cared enough about our friendship to work on them. Now looking back, I find Tina's inability to let hurts go a bit disconcerting. However, I think she was afraid I would out-talk her had she verbally confronted me. I don't agree with how Tina handled the situation between us, but I do admit that we were both to blame for our problems. We were kids during most of our friendship, after all.

However, Elizabeth's role in the dissolution of Tina's and my friendship soon became apparent during lunch one day. As I was eating, a popular girl came up to me and started to berate me for talking about her behind her back. My face reddened and my bite of sandwich became lodged in my throat. I barely knew the girl and had no reason to talk badly about her. When I was finally able to speak, I sputtered out how I had never said anything about her. She didn't seem completely satisfied with my response, but as she walked away she said it better be the case or I would later regret it. Embarrassed by the scene this popular girl had created, I crouched a little lower in my seat and looked over to where the girl had sat back down. Elizabeth was staring defiantly at me and her baby browns were sparkling with smug amusement.

I no longer spoke to Elizabeth and Tina for the rest of high school, and while I made many new friends, the two Siamese twins did not mix with the rest of the student population. They even dated two guys who happened to be best friends and had dropped out of high school and worked at the local factory. My only means for learning about their lives was through my mom, since she remained in touch with Tina's mother.

Several years after high school, I heard a crazy story about the girls. Supposedly, after a lot of drinking at a strip bar, Elizabeth had become very jealous of her boyfriend's attentive conversation and glances at a nearby "server." Not to be outdone by this "server," Elizabeth hoisted herself onto the bar and began stripping. Eventually, Elizabeth's boyfriend dumped her due to her antics. Tina, in the meantime, had dumped the friend of Elizabeth's boyfriend, and comforted the heartbroken ex-boyfriend of Elizabeth. (I know, it's a confusing web of relationships.) Today, Tina and Elizabeth's ex-boyfriend are married. I don't believe that Tina and Elizabeth have remained friends.

I am somewhat heartened by the ending of Elizabeth and Tina's friendship. Elizabeth might have been a friend thief, but Tina nabbed her boyfriend. Occasionally, I still miss Tina, but I smile when I remember the power Elizabeth held over me when I first met her. Elizabeth's power and nonchalance toward life were illusory, but her own misery was real. Looking back, the only time I observed Elizabeth stripped of her jealousy was when she sang in choir. I can still hear her comforting alto lifting and dropping in perfect pitch with the music.

Techonorati: friendships, high school, girls, backstabbing, choir

2006-01-26T00:34:00.000-05:00

barren

To Those Who Fail to See the Big Picture

2006-01-24T18:57:00.000-05:00

I'm frequently amazed when grown adults throw a tantrum in order to get something they want. Today, I have encountered many of these babies. To these babies: getting snippy with me is not going to make me, or anyone for that matter, want to help you. You may temporarily get what you want, but at what cost? You have lost my respect for you.

Think about the math. If you throw a fit every time you "really need" something, you are going to lose the respect of many.

Think about that the next time you need volunteer campaign workers or, especially, a vote.

Technorati:babies, crying, politicians, campaigning

The Hopeless Search for Equilibrium

2006-01-24T11:45:00.000-05:00

How to Assuage the Horrid Effects of a Cold:

Example 1:

I have a cold. Check.

I take cold medicine. Check.

However, my nose still runs, but my eyes, lips, and face are drying out.

Example 2:

Tissues help stop runny nose from disgusting nearby co-workers. Check.

However, tissues further dry out sensitive facial skin.

Example 3:

Lotion replenishes dry skin. Check.

However, replenished skin suddenly rebels against extra emollients and creates pimples.

Example 4:

Eyedrops refresh dry eyes. Check.

However, refreshed eyes then become blurry from excess water.

Example 5:

Lips are cracking and peeling from said cold. Check.

Lipbaum cools lips. Check.

However, lipbaum smells like medicinal cabinet and causes stomach's queasiness.

Example 6:

My throat is scratchy and dry from cold medicine. Check.

I drink large amounts of water and my throat is temporarily calmed. Check.

However, I am running constantly to the bathroom all day.

I feel as if a cold is a metaphor for life. It's all about the trade-offs, baby.

Technorati: cold, illness, sick

Bizarre Find of the Week

2006-01-23T21:18:00.000-05:00

I am completely entranced by "Dog the Bounty Hunter." Craziest show, ever. Dog and his entire family are one part trailer trash, one part "the Terminator," one part preacher, and one part freak show.

Now I ask you, if you saw this family trailing you, wouldn't you become slightly nervous?

Have any of you seen this show?

Technorati:dog, bounty hunter, television, reality,

Get Well Flowers

2006-01-22T22:25:00.000-05:00

Sorry for the lack of posts, but I’ve been slammed with a chest cold this week. After hours of snoozing and watching strange shows depicting various 500-pound people and even a woman who had been pregnant for forty-six years, I am relieved that I am starting to have a little more energy. Nothing like American television to make you feel better about your own situation. Cold? Congested chest? That’s nothing. I could have a mini watermelon-like tumor in my abdominal cavity. I could have skin stretched to its limit due to being over 1,000-pounds in weight and having bodily fluids pouring out of my skin. Nice images, eh?

Here's a better image for you:

2006-01-19T22:53:00.000-05:00

martini graffiti

Snow Falling on Maples

2006-01-18T21:26:00.000-05:00

Dima: The One Woman Chicago Welcoming Committee

2006-01-17T17:42:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's official. I love Chicago. Many have told me that I would become hooked on what this art deco city has to offer. Of course, the fact that my boyfriend lives in Chicago makes it a little easier to drive the six-hour trek or endure the five-gazillion-hour airport delays it takes for me to go to Chicago. (I swear that gazillion is a real number!) However, a certain blogger has shown me that Chicago is not only the windiest city, but one of the friendliest cities I have encountered.

Dima's blog is a good read, and I always look forward to her insightful comments on my site. (You must visit her site!) Last time I wrote about visiting Chicago, Dima e-mailed to tell me that the next time I visit, I should e-mail her and we could meet. After having been a Dima reader for a couple months, I was excited with the prospect of hanging out with such an articulate and sweet person.

You can read Dima's account of what we did here, but I must add my two cents to her entry. Contrary to what Dima might say, Dima is far from boring. She's genuine. She's someone you want to be friends with immediately after meeting her, because you know that "what you see is what you get." Also, Dima is the kind of friend who would stick up for you when a group of catty girls talk about you behind your back. You ask me how I know this after a four-hour outing? I just know. And to borrow from a "When Harry Met Sally" quote, "you know like you know a good melon." (Dima, I promise I am not implying anything by comparing you to a melon. hehe)

Dima is also very gracious after you commit a faux-pas. I have a knack for making odd statements intending to be compliments but instead are received like a tire blow out or an IRS tax bill. In other words, I feel like an ass, and the receiver looks pained. (You know, I was thinking that perhaps the above melon comment could fit into this category. Oh well, I try.)

I demonstrated my talent for placing my foot in my mouth while Dima and I were sitting in a coffee house sipping sugary coffee lattes topped with whipped cream. Dima and I were oohing and ahhing at a nearby baby bundled up in the finest of stroller accroutement. After Dima asked the baby's age to the accompanying woman, I blurted out that the women looked great for having a baby only three months ago. The woman looked as if she was grasping at a response but instead chose to ignore my comment. Thankfully, Dima smoothed over the awkward moment by telling the women how cute the baby was.

Immediately, I cringed with my disregard of how this woman could have adopted the baby or perhaps was a nanny or aunt to the baby. What the heck was I thinking? While kicking myself a gazillion times (as I said before, gazillion is a number), I confessed to Dima my stupidity and how horrified I was. Dima laughed and said she had wondered why I said the comment but told me not to worry about it. Dima definitely has class.

Also, Dima and I discussed political topics like, gasp, Israel and the Middle East. I felt at ease during our discussion and was challenged by Dima's insights. I think we even discussed religion. I'm relieved Dima doesn't subscribe to the "avoid politics and religion at all costs during your first meeting with someone" theory. Four hours flew while chatting with Dima.

I'm so happy to have made my first Chicago friend. Also, the Chicago Visitors' Bureau should think about hiring Dima to represent their fine city. If Chicago is anything like Dima, it is classy, exciting, friendly, intellectual, and genuinely fun. I can't wait for my next visit. Dima, this time, the sushi's on me!

Technorati:Chicago, blogging, friendship, sushi, blogs

New Orleans Mayor Says God Mad at U.S.

2006-01-17T14:16:00.000-05:00

New Orleans Mayor Says God Mad at U.S.

Ummmm...okay.

I believe that the New Orleans mayor needs a little education on what causes hurricanes. Perhaps the mayor's outdated thinking is one of the reasons New Orleans was so ill-prepared for a hurricane in the first place.

Whoa...I better be careful of what I write or else God might smite me or even order swarms of locusts my way.

Technorati: New, Orleans, Mayor, hurricane, flooding, God, US

My Boyfriend is Jealous of this Guy

2006-01-17T13:38:00.000-05:00

'Dog Whisperer' calms pets of US rich and famous

I have to admit I have a huge crush on Cesar Millan. His techniques have really worked for my dogs. Honestly, what is more sexy than a man who understands dogs while training crazy celebrities?

By the way, he also has a blog. Check it out.

Technorati: dog, whisperer, training, television

In Honor...

2006-01-16T21:46:00.000-05:00

I will never really know how it feels to be an African American. I will never know how it feels to be treated like a criminal while shopping. I receive smiles on the street instead of women's purses being clutched tightly as I walk past.

There is so much more to be done in order to improve the lives of our fellow citizens, the African Americans.

Today, so few of us are willing to stand up for those too burdened to speak. It's easier to stay silent.

However, I am thankful Martin Luther King, Jr. and others like him so visibly risked everything to ease the burden of their fellow citizens.

2006-01-16T21:43:00.000-05:00

Name this picture...

Dear Anonymous,

2006-01-15T13:16:00.001-05:00

My response to the following comment:

Anonymous said...
Hi there,I stumbled on your blog for the first time and I am a bit puzzled. Maybe I am missing a chunk of the story....but please tell me how come you are aware of your father being homeless and in need of health assistance and he is is not by your side? Why aren't you able to help?We have a homeless problem because families are too wrapped up in their own lives and are too inconvenieced to take care of their flesh and blood.I'll hold further comment until I learn more. This is one of the dearest causes to my heart. It is largely a fixable problem , especially for us in the most powerful prosporous nation on the face of earth, if only we'd take responsibilty at a personal level little by little.I recently opened a retail shop on a corner where a couple of homeless people 'live' hang around. One of them is a 70-80 year-old bearded old man. He tells me he was a handy man, fisherman, carpenter and roofer etc with about 8 children or more (don't remember) but most of them KNOW about his condition and whereabouts. Yet he is on the street. I just can't comprehend it. That's why I asked when I encoutered your 'plight.'One thing was mentioned here earlier that they refuse help and would rather have their independence and freedom. That is BS and a cop out. There is no such thing. They usually have a lot of pride and will always refuse help. It is only human nature. How we approach offering it is what makes a diff, ie discreet and affable hand out. There isn't a person on earth who would rather be out in the elements with bitter cold and rain and sleet instead of being in the warmth of family and room temperature with a meal and roof over a mattress.The guy I see near me refused initially to take money, saying he doesn't need any, he wouldn't open his hand out to take the money but I still got it to his hand and he took it while still finsishing the sentence: "I don't need ..blah blah!" He does it everytime and I still manage to give him a $10 or $20 bill for coffee and food. I made sure he is not a drunk and wouldn't waste it on booze. Never smelled any alcohol from him. I would love to be able to let him stay inside the store overnight but I haven't known him long enough and fear for my female employees. ( I never give to beggars: They're often cunning professional con-artists)I don't know his history and whether that explains why his family ignores him. I blame him for not raising them corretly and warmly enough. Maybe he abused them. Maybe he ignored them. Or even Heaven forbid , he may have molested someone then, probably among them. I don't know. But still, if he is out, not in jail, not in a shelter he fears for his safety in, I still think he needs a roof and minimal attention.We don't discard human beings. Especially if they are relatives. What is even more perplexing is the fact that one of his daughters was a bartender just a couple of blocks up and still shut him out of her mind. The way I was raised, you take care of your own. They brought you into this world, you owe them care and compassion and basic sustainance.We tend to not imagine if WE grow old and get rebuffed by our own children. Imagine YOU end up in your 60's and 70's in dire need on the street and your children want no part of you. How would YOU feel?401ks are far from a solution. They evaporated too quickly for too many people and too many don't even save enough.There are no easy answers and solutions. There are sad realties and limited ability to do much beyond our daily burdens. But you know what, welcome to our brute realites. Blood doesn't thin into water.Sincerely, N.

Dear N,

Thank you for visiting my website. You definitely have a good point about families taking care of the mentally ill. I can see how without any knowledge of my personal story you would have questions. My story with my father is very sad, but please do not believe that I don't consider taking care of family as my responsibility. My mother, who has sacrificed everything for her daughters, now has Parkinson's disease. I can assure you that I would NEVER abandon her and plan on taking care of her in the future when she is no longer able. Because of my lack of a relationship with my father, I know how important family is and how it should not be taken for granted.

Alas, my father emotionally abused my mother and was about to physically abuse her when she left him when I was ten. The last time I have spoken to him was when I was 13-years old, but my mother had nothing to do with this event. Basically, my father dropped out of my life on his own terms. He still has not contacted me.

In other words, my father abandoned his daughters. Four years ago, I found out that my father was homeless after some internet sleuthing and a phone call. The woman I spoke to knew who he was and told me that he is frequently kicked out of shelters because he disturbs others with the talk that he can raise the dead. However, the homeless community in which he lives is very small, and he receives a dinner everyday at the local Catholic church.

After several years to digest this information, I view my father's life as a tragedy. Ten to twenty years ago, knowledge was scarce regarding mental illness. I don't believe my father was properly diagnosed when he tried to receive treatment for his anxiety. Eventually, frustrated with his mental health care, he turned away from any help offered for him to get better. My father was a talented man, a Vietnam vet, and a pilot, but I could never describe him as a good dad. Now that I am better educated about mental illness, I view my father's difficulties in parenting stem from his mental illness.

So after giving more background about my father, I hope you can see that too much water has passed under the bridge. My father's defining achievement in making me who I am today is that he abandoned me. Although I love and worry about him, I don't feel responsible for him.

He is a lost soul, and this fact breaks my heart. However, if his homeless community cannot handle him other than give him food, how can I handle him? While you may not be able to respect my decision, I feel like I have drawn a line that enables my own well-being. I think by already forgiving my father for abandoning me is the best gift I can give to him and myself.

Truly yours,

Divine Calm

Technorati: homelessness, childhood, fathers, abandonment,

Homelessness Links to Ponder

2006-01-13T10:29:00.000-05:00

As some of you may already know, my father is homeless and mentally ill, so I have a personal interest in the subject of homelessness. However, I am finding my views on the topic to be evolving and am, by no means, an expert on how to improve the plight of the homeless.

Please visit the following links and feel free to tell me what you think about the issue.

Groups survey 20 ‘meanest’ cities for homeless - U.S. Life

“People for the first time are talking about ending homelessness and developing 10-year plans to do so," he said. "There’s no one city getting it right. There's no city sheltering all of its homeless, but there are cities that are making progress. Key West, for example, made our ranking a few years in a row but they’ve done some positive things in the last two years.”
But cities aren't getting any help from the federal government, Stoops said, citing legislation passed in December by the House and Senate that is meant to slash Medicaid funding by $4.8 billion and trim Supplemental Security Income assistance by more than $700 million over the next five years.

Virginia Gal's Blog said this today:

Saw on the news that some punks in Ft. Lauderdale beat up (with bats) three homeless people. I started to cry. How could anyone do that? Homeless people are the bottom of society, the most defenseless, many suffering severe mental health problems. Beating on them (one died) is like kicking a puppy, reprehensible. Where is our morality? What kind of society are we creating that these, looked like affluent white kids, would feel a need to do this, to physically harm another human being, for what gain? What do these poor people have in their lives already anyway? Why would you hurt them further? oh great, I'm starting to tear up again.

And, if you want to read an intelligent and insightful blog by someone who has been homeless, please read The Homeless Guy:

This entry:

"It's amazing how a reputation of being homeless taints people's perspective of you."

Or this entry:

As the song goes, "Nobody's right if everybody's wrong." So, as far as I see it, there's plenty of blame to go around where homelessness is concerned. The homeless, Churches, government, regular citizens, are all guilty of this blight on society.

What I believe should be the focus of all our attention in this matter is the current lack of Prevention and proper Response to homelessness. The "cause" of homelessness, which nobody seems to be able to get their minds around, would becomes a moot point if adequate prevention was in place. With the existence of Prevention, Response to those already homeless is all that's required. (I do believe that prevention can be created without a full understanding of the causes, though I'm sure it would help.)

By the way, I'm not satisfied with simply being thankful I have a comfy bed to sleep on at night. I want others to join me in becoming more educated on this issue. With education, awareness, and preventative outreach, we can better help those who are already or about to become homeless in our communities.

Technorati: homelessness

Puppies!

2006-01-12T12:13:00.000-05:00

My kindergartner, Kyra, had to read the book, Dogs, to me today. I haven't seen her since before Christmas, and my heart melted a little when she sat close to me and watched my lips move as I talked in my singsong voice. (As a side note, according to my co-worker who also tutors her, Kyra claimed she didn't receive any Christmas gifts.)

As soon as Kyra saw the book, she yelled "PUPPIES!"while jumping up and down in her seat. I smiled at her and soooo could relate to her excitement. After all, I act the same way when I see dogs. But for some reason, Kyra couldn't say the world "dog," although we sounded out the word and repeated it several times. Instead, Kyra would yell out "Puppies!" until we turned the page to the black retriever.

"I HAB A PUPPY WHO WOOKS JUS LIKE THAT!!!!"

"You do? Well, that's really cool. But let's sit back in your chair, so you don't fall," I cautioned while secretly laughing inside due to her exuberance.

Later in the session, Kyra had to repeat word sequences after me.

"Ap-ple, ba-na-na."

"Apple, bana...ny."

"Let's try it again, apple, banana."

"Apple, ba ba banana."

"Very good, you are doing soooo well. Now, daisy, rose."

"Daisy...hey, THAT'S MY PUPPY'S NAME!!! DAISY ROSE!!!!!!!"

I could barely contain my laughter, because I thought that Kyra was going to fall off her chair again. This girl seriously loves dogs, I mean, puppies. I'm seriously falling in love with her.

By the way, one of my co-workers tutors a student who told him her mommy's birthday was this past weekend. The kindergartner had to bring the cake to jail where her mommy is staying.

2006-01-11T20:14:00.000-05:00

Fluff

Seriousness

2006-01-10T21:12:00.000-05:00

Silliness*

2006-01-10T21:11:00.000-05:00

Aren't these cuties adorable? The curly-haired diva is my sister, and the little boys are part of my new extended family (through my stepfather's side).

Now they are doing the YMCA:
And now, what you have all been waiting for...my sister wearing the infamous bass hat:

*Sorry, but exhaustion has numbed my creativity, so pictures will have to do.

Sushi Dreams

2006-01-09T09:17:00.000-05:00

I have had some really bizarre dreams this weekend. I don't know if they were triggered by sushi or watching the movie, Proof, this past Saturday. However, I still can't shake the uneasiness they created.

Now I know y'all will want to hear the dreams' details, but they are too crazy to share. (Aren't I a dream-tease?) However, I'm all about group therapy, so here's your chance to share your haunting nightmares/dreams with the blog world and release them from controlling your mind. So I ask you, what's the dream you just can't shake?

Robertson suggests God smote Sharon - Jan 5, 2006

2006-01-06T16:00:00.000-05:00

CNN.com - Robertson suggests God smote Sharon - Jan 5, 2006

I have already suggested Robertson is the Devil Incarnate. However, now I know he is f*ing crazy.

Why does this man have such a following? I'm sorry, but he reminds me of Hitler. For everyone who lives outside of the U.S., please know that he does NOT speak for us. Most of us believe he should take a long walk off a short pier.

Technorati:Robertson, Israel, God, Hitler

Microsoft Shuts Down Chinese Blog

2006-01-06T14:25:00.000-05:00

Microsoft Shuts Down Chinese Blog

This case, which involves freedom of speech, global enterprise, and the internet, is fascinating to me. I'm not sure what my position is regarding shutting down this blog. However, feel free to tell me what you think Microsoft should have done and try to sway my opinion.

Technorati: Microsoft, China, global, blog, freedom, speech

Brain Protein May Be Linked to Depression - Yahoo! News

2006-01-06T14:15:00.000-05:00

Brain Protein May Be Linked to Depression

I'm so glad scientists are better understanding this dehabilitating and costly disease.

Technorati: depression, protein, scientists

A Big Shout Out to Ninja Poodles

2006-01-06T12:18:00.000-05:00

I want to thank the awesome landlady to my blog, Ninja Poodles, for writing such a wonderful blurb about my site. I have rented her site for the week via BlogExplosion and have received mega web traffic because of it. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

If you are a visitor from her site, I hope you enjoy your stay and come back again. Also, feel free to drop me a comment, so I can visit your little labor of love.

If you haven't checked out Ninja Poodles' website, please do. She's insightful and loves dogs and her cute family. Who could ask for more from a blog writer?

2006-01-05T21:06:00.000-05:00

Moon over Chicago

Have Patience? Oh, I didn't hear you the first time.

2006-01-04T23:27:00.000-05:00

My sister frequently reminds me on my down days that I have many redeeming qualities. (This is just one reason why she is the best sister in the world.) However, she would never ever accuse me of having patience. She still squirms in remembrance of the day I helped scan my shopping cart items through the Target check-out line when the idiot cashier didn't know how to scan. (I'm sorry, but I was a cashier throughout high school. Once a cashier, always a cashier.)

As a side note, some people might mistake my talent for tuning sounds out as patience. For instance, I don't tolerate my dogs' incessant barking or rowdy OSU campus parties, instead I never register their existence.

Well, my lack of patience is really hitting me hard in dealing with my long-distance relationship with my boyfriend. Not being one to sit and allow life happen to me, I want so badly to hurry up our relationship so we could be together...all of the time.

Oh well. In the meantime, I'll head over to Target and see if shopping therapy will help ease my frustration over my lack of control. Maybe I'll scan a few items too. Sorry Sis, but I'm tuning your "tsk tsks" out.

Technorati: patience, relationship, distance, frustration

2006-01-04T18:21:00.000-05:00

Beyond the wires

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

2006-01-04T15:08:00.000-05:00

Today is my boss's birthday, so my co-worker and I decided to decorate his personal bathroom with streamers, balloons, and shaving cream. Hilarious, right? And totally not fire worthy, right?

My boss has a great sense of humor, so I still have my job. Nevertheless, the shaving cream's odor is giving me a major headache and asthma attack (my desk is near his office). I guess this serves me right for being a stinker. Excuse me as I go and take my inhaler.

Welcome to World in which I Work

2006-01-04T11:38:00.000-05:00

Dec 20th 2005
From The Economist print edition

Ohio contains plenty of bad news for Republicans—but perhaps more worrying portents for Democrats

WILLIAM BLAKE talked of being able to see “a world in a grain of sand”. Students of American politics don't have as convenient a microcosm to help them understand a country of nearly 300m people. But they do have Ohio.

Ohio has always had two things going for it, psephology-wise. It is a classic bellwether state—“wrong” in only two presidential elections in the past 104 years. And this slice of the mid-west contains a bit of everything American—part north-eastern and part southern, part urban and part rural, part hardscrabble poverty and part booming suburb. But for political wonks, it now has an irresistible addition: a state Republican Party that mirrors first the success then the problems of the national one.

Republicans have done a remarkable job in Ohio of taking an evenly divided electorate—the state voted for George Bush by a mere 2% in 2004—and parlaying it into Republican hegemony. They run every branch of government from the governorship (which they have held since 1991) through both houses of the legislature to the state Supreme Court. They control both Senate seats. The Democrats can't boast a single statewide office-holder.

Yet as in Washington, the Republican machine is sputtering. The governor, Bob Taft, boasts one of the grandest names in politics. His great-grandfather, William, was the 27th president; his grandfather, Robert, was such a powerhouse that people used to joke that there were three branches of government—the executive, the legislature and Senator Taft. But his grandson's approval-rating is currently 15%—one of the lowest ever recorded.

Long a byword for lacklustre leadership, Mr Taft is now embroiled in a succession of corruption scandals. He pleaded no contest to failing to declare golfing trips with lobbyists and campaign contributors. But “Golfgate” was nothing compared with “Coingate”. The Republican leadership decided to invest some of the state's $15 billion workers'-compensation fund in rare coins. Alas, the plan's mastermind was not only tainted by self-interest (he is a rare-coin dealer who has made big donations to the party), but also contrived to lose some of the coins.

The combination of dismal leadership and dumb-as-it-comes sleaze has strained party unity. Activists are furious with the state party's betrayal of conservative principles—spending like drunken sailors during the good times in the 1990s and then jacking up the sales tax in 2003 to pay for their extravagance. Conservatives are cross that one of their senators, “weeping” George Voinovich, tried to scupper John Bolton's nomination to be ambassador to the UN, and that the other, Mike DeWine, joined the gang of 14 that stopped the Republicans using the “nuclear option” against Democratic filibustering. Internecine squabbling almost lost the party a safe seat in the Cincinnati suburbs earlier this year. The Republicans are now involved in a bitter primary race for the governor's job: Ken Blackwell is leading the true believers, Jim Petro is championing business conservatives and Betty Montgomery is rallying the moderates.

This is hardly the end of the party's problems. Ohio continues to bleed manufacturing jobs (only last week Ford shut a factory). Earlier in 2005, 17 local soldiers were killed on a single day in Iraq. And the Democrats have finally come up with a first-rate candidate for governor. Ted Strickland, a Methodist minister with a top rating from the National Rifle Association, has already won two culturally conservative congressional districts.

Yet if Ohio is a bellwether, it is hardly a comforting one for Democrats. Sure, Mr Strickland may be able to pull-off an upset, but none of the locals expects a return to the glory days of the 1980s when the state's government was firmly Democratic.

Talk to young Republicans and they still exude self-confidence. They regard their party as a well-oiled machine: brilliant at developing “farm teams” of volunteers, a master of the art of getting out the vote in suburbia and exurbia (“We deliver”). They put their success down to a single all-important fact: they know what they believe in. Talk to young Democrats and it is all doom and gloom. The party is an old-boys' club that is better at covering its backside than thinking ahead. Young activists are joining single-issue pressure groups such as Campaign for a New Ohio rather than the Democratic dinosaur. They worry that the Democrats are too fissile—divided between blue-collar workers and middle-class professionals and fractured along all sorts of line of racial and sexual politics—to produce a clear message.

Why Karl Rove may still be right

The Republicans have shown themselves better than the Democrats at erecting a big tent. A party that was once dominated by white men (like Mr Taft) has embraced “white ethnics” (Mr Voinovich), blacks (Mr Blackwell) and moderate women (Ms Montgomery). The Democrats, by contrast, seem prisoners of an industrial economy that is visibly dying. Things do not seem to have changed since John Kerry won Ohio's cities by 57% to 43% but still lost the state. The Democrats are still not reaching out to the suburbs.

The Republicans know how to use culture to trump economics. Mr Bush triumphed in poverty-ridden Appalachia by sounding the clarion calls of “God, gays and guns”. A proposition banning gay marriage won with 62% of the vote. And the religious right is continuing to gain strength: groups such as the Ohio Restoration Project boast of registering 300,000 people.

Ohio has a particular place in Karl Rove's affections, not just because it tipped the 2004 election but also because it was home to his hero, Mark Hanna, another political mechanic who guided a Republican to the White House. William McKinley's presidency (1897-1901) laid the foundations for a period of Republican dominance. Today Mr Rove's dream of repeating Hannah's success may well be battered. But to judge from the mood in the Buckeye State, it is far from buried.

Yes, this is what we did all weekend

2006-01-03T20:29:00.000-05:00

Divinely Different

2006-01-02T12:12:00.000-05:00

As I was cuddling with my boyfriend on New Year's Eve and watching this of all things:
I started comparing last year's New Year's Eve celebration with this year's. Instead of lounging in my P.J.'s and snuggling with my puppies and boyfriend, I was dancing with a group of girlfriends, including my sister, last year. After an incredibly difficult Christmas in 2004 due to my mother's illness (pre-Parkinson's diagnosis), I so badly wanted to have a bit of release from all my worries.

The 2004 celebration started with a taxi ride into downtown with my girlfriend making the taxi driver cringe as she recounted in great detail her infatuation with her gay guy friend. The girls and I giggled as we each decided which topic we each weren't allowed to discuss for the evening or else we would have to buy the other's shots of alcohol. I remember I wasn't allowed to say any curse words, while my one girlfriend wasn't allowed to discuss her gay friend. My sister teased me with threats of getting me to break my promise. I knew it wouldn't be difficult although our pact was soon forgotten.

As we pulled up to the Downtown New Year's Eve celebration, we hopped out of the cab and after standing for two hours by outside heaters and trying to stay warm sipping beer, we ran to the nearby dance club. Twenty dollars later, we were dancing onstage near the DJ while creating an impenetrable circle where men dared not enter (unless they were really emboldened by shots).

I quickly lost myself to the pulsating music and was surprised when the DJ started counting down to midnight. "6-5-4-3-2-1...Happy New Year!" The girls gave hugs and kisses all around, but my sister's hug felt the most comforting. When special celebratory music started pounding from a speaker near my head, I felt the sudden need to leave the dance floor. I didn't feel like celebrating any longer and headed to the bathroom to call my mom and wish her a happy New Year. I was relieved when she answered the phone. We had a brief conversation since my mom could barely hear me over the club's music, but my anxiety calmed a little.

For the rest of the night, I was on autopilot as I danced and interacted with my girlfriends. Life instead of alcohol numbed my emotions. Even the ride home didn't stop the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. We rode on a short bus "taxi" where a girl flashed the driver her meager chest for a free ride. Although the driver offered us bottles of beer clanking in a cardboard box behind his seat, he denied the unsteady blonde the free ride after she lifted up her shirt before he could answer. Stupid drunk girl, you can't give it away for free (not that I have any experience in this form of bartering)! My protective sister got into a verbal argument with the exhibitionist when she started smoking in the bus. To prove my sister's case that smoking in such cramped quarters was rude, I dramatically pulled my asthma inhaler out of my purse and took a drag. As my lungs released the misty vapor, I sent a silent prayer for the bus to deliver us safely home.

This New Year's Eve sharply contrasted from last year's night with the girls. This time I had a very relaxing night with the boys: my boyfriend and two dogs, Winston and Murphy. While I had woken up in a snitty mood, it dissipated after a flavorable meal at the local Turkish restaurant. The steaming Turkish tea calmed me more than the martinis and beer had accomplished the prior year. However, my boyfriend and I did slurp down mimosas later in the evening to celebrate the incoming new year.

Instead of giving my sister a hug, I gave my boyfriend a kiss and hugged my pups at midnight. I wasn't numb to my surroundings, and I mentally documented the night that created calm within my soul. Later when I called my mom, I was relieved to hear the cheerfulness in her voice.

This New Year's Eve wasn't wild and crazy. I didn't go out and party with drunken abandonment. I lazed around in purple pajamas with yellow moons and stars and allowed Winston to curl up and sleep between my legs. My mom is doing better, and I have a man who loves me for my "good heart." Reclining on the couch with my boyfriends' arms tightly wrapped around me, I whispered prayers of thankfulness after midnight instead of prayers for deliverance. Moments like these make me realize that growing up and having new priorities can be divine.

Sharing is beyond them

2005-12-31T22:22:00.000-05:00

Call me the New Year Scrooge

2005-12-31T13:42:00.000-05:00

New Year's Eve is disquietude's day. Perhaps my peeling chapped lips from my biting and lip-wringing indicate my own impatience for the upcoming year. I woke up grumpy without reason and have been attempting to rally my mood. Coffee has lost its transforming qualities, and my boyfriend sleeping upstairs while my pup sleeping at my feet have not calmed my anxiety.

With the risk of sounding like I am wishing my life away, I am looking forward to the time when a Saturday is just a Saturday instead of a day of seeming importance and reflection.

For my readers

2005-12-31T12:54:00.000-05:00

I'm really bothered by those who are irritated by bloggers who revel in Mr. Wonderful or the great things in life (like children). Life is such a struggle. If someone is happy, be happy for them and don't feel the need to burst their bubble. They'll learn what they need to learn in their own time.

I personally write about the wonderful things in life, because I frequently cannot see past the negative. Forcing myself to memoralize the good via a blog is an exercise to create a better sense of well-being.

I cringe when other bloggers judge a person by what he/she places on a blog. The blog is not the person and vice versa. I censor my words, because I don't want to jeopardize my work, hurt my family, or reveal certain aspects of myself to complete strangers. "Divine Calm" is merely a form of self-expression. (Duh!)

Reading my blog is not knowing me in my entirety...it's just a glimpse.

2005-12-31T11:16:00.000-05:00

The Best Sister in the World and Tiki the Adorable

2005-12-29T14:30:00.000-05:00

Amen!

2005-12-29T14:18:00.000-05:00

Waiter Rant is a funny and soulfully written blog that I recently started reading. Earlier today, I was surfing his archives and came upon this entry. Here's my favorite portion:

“Did I ever tell you about the time my godfather spoke at an anti abortion rally?” I ask.

“He was a priest wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“What did he say?” Beth asks.

“Well, it was an ecumenical rally and people were really whipped into a fire and brimstone frenzy,” I say, remembering. “You know, these loose women are sinners, they’re going to hell, etcetera.”

“Man,” Beth breathes.

“So it’s my godfather’s turn to speak…………..”

…..and shuffling into the pulpit, resplendent in his Byzantine vestments, my godfather looks over the top of his glasses upon the congregation.

“I have heard many of you talking today about God’s punishment, His wrath. How you’re good Christians because you hate abortion. But, after listening to the people gathered here, I can’t help but notice that some of you harbor a vituperative attitude towards the very women you want to help.”

People start shifting in their seats uncomfortably.

“I know many of you, like me, are here because you want to defend the unborn. Some of you are motivated by the deepest conviction.”

Another pause.

“But some of you are here because you love to hate.”

Shocked silence.

“Are you here because you really want to help the unborn?” my godfather asks. “Have you taken an unwed mother into your home? Fed her? Cared for her baby? Or are you here because this is where your friends are? Are you here to indulge in a comforting sense of moral superiority? Smug in your certitude you’re not going to hell?”

Everyone is listening now.

“Let me tell you something about Hell,” my godfather says, “We know there’s a hell because Jesus said there’s one. But we don’t know if anyone’s actually in it.”

My godfather lets that thought sink in.

“What’s more,” he says, “Jesus never liked hypocrites. He once said, ‘They do not practice what they preach. They tie up heavy burdens and lay them on people’s shoulders, but will they lift a finger to move them? No! Every thing they do is done to attract attention!’”

Now some of the congregants look angry.

“Let me ask you something. Are you relieving these women of their burdens? Or are you adding to them with your self righteousness? Are you helping or hurting? Because if all of your fervor is directed towards feeling good about yourself, if it’s about getting attention, if its about how you’re better than someone else - YOU ARE WASTING GOD’S TIME!”

A couple of people get up to leave. Undaunted my godfather continues.

“The Lord has never been welcome in the house of the righteous and the certain. Instead He walks amidst the damaged and the confused. To Him, the one that is lost is a treasure beyond price. Who are we to judge these women? They are precious treasure. Love, not hatred, is what they need.”

His words reverberate through the church. People are staring at the floor. Some shake their heads in disagreement. Others look thoughtful.

“Remember, the mercy of God is radical and boundless,” my godfather says, “And I thank God everyday that He is more merciful than you or I will ever be.”

My Godfather steps down from the pulpit. I don’t think he was invited back the next year. …..

Impressive Christmas gifts to add to your list for next year

2005-12-28T21:27:00.000-05:00

The Santa Cover...be very envious you didn't receive this for Christmas

2005-12-28T21:16:00.000-05:00

The Bass Hat...the tail even moves.

The Perfect Ending to Christmas Vacation

2005-12-28T08:55:00.000-05:00

As you can probably tell, I have been out of town for Christmas. I hope that all of you had a splendid time opening up useful and useless gifts, enjoying (or perhaps wanting to string up) your families, and watching lots of T.V.! I'm sure you were on Santa's good list (well, except for perhaps Squid and Happy) and received lots of presents.

I plan on recapping more of my Christmas with you later (complete with a Santa toilet cover), however, please allow me to vent for only a moment.

My 2003 car died last night as I was trying to get home. I was driving onto a state highway ramp when my car turned off and started coasting. Fortunately, I was able to start it again and drive it off the ramp and onto the side of the highway before it died again. Unfortunately, it had to be towed to a dealership an hour away from my home. Why, or why, do I have such crappy luck with getting home and my car?

Thank goodness, my parents allowed me to drive their car into work today. Their Jeep Liberty has an awesome sound system, and I was jamming to music this morning.

2005-12-23T22:37:00.000-05:00

In a blink of an eye

2005-12-23T09:05:00.000-05:00

"Everything I do, Whoooaaa, I do it for..." *SMACK*

Bryan Adams' music wasn't going to get me out of bed this morning. I had already hit the snooze button four times, but I was so tired from staying up too late reading Where the Red Fern Grows for my seventh grade reading class. It was getting late and if I didn't get out of my cozy pink-striped covers soon, my mom would come in and start lecturing me about waking up on time. Groan.

After getting up, I turned on my curling iron so it would be the perfect temperature to curl my bangs. I silently groaned again in anticipation for another fight with my mom over the height of my bangs. Despite my desperate attempts in explaining to my mom how tall bangs determined your status in middle school society, she frequently told me to go back to my bedroom and lower my gravity-defying hair sprayed masterpiece. Tears would not sway her, and the resulting compromise made me look like a "wannabe" cool 13-year old instead of a member of the "in crowd".

I took my shower and noted my puffy eyes. I had been crying the night before over the ending of my book. Hopefully, the swelling would go away soon, but on second thought, maybe the puffiness made my eyes look like those of Elaine Irwin. I did my best model pose in front of the mirror. Hmmm. Not bad.

Fifteen minutes later, I sat on my purple stripe velvet chair that had turned gray from hairspray build-up and began blow-drying my hair. As I dried my hair, I continued to pose and envision myself as a model who is able to get any boy she wanted. Next, I quickly touched the curling iron to check that it was hot enough and began curling my bangs. I don't know if I was too into Paula Abdul's song, "Rush rush," playing on the radio or if my puffy eyes were a factor, but suddenly I lost my grip on my curling iron and after dropping it, I began screaming and racing around the house.

My eye was stinging so badly that I curled up in the fetal position on the kitchen floor. By this time, my mom frantically rushed to see what was wrong with me.

"My eye, oh my God, Mom, it hurrrrts," I screamed.

My mom tried to get me to open up my eye, but I wouldn't let her touch me. While my mom hurriedly dressed in order to get me to a doctor, I continued to lay on the floor writhing in pain and my only thought was that I would have to miss school (not that I could lose my eyeball). I had been trying so hard to not miss any days in order to get the perfect attendance award. While shielding my eyes from the kitchen's light, I was heartbroken that I wouldn't get the chance to walk up on the stage and receive the award this year.

Twenty minutes later, a doctor pried open my eyelid and examined it with a special light.

"Mom, you should come see this," my doctor urged. My mom gasped at what she saw.

"What? What does it look like? Come on, tell me," as I began to really freak out.

"Well, you have a gray spot on your eye near the brown iris that is the size of a split pea."

"Oh my God", I thought while feeling nauseous.

"Don't worry. Eyes are one of the fastest healing organs in your body, and since there appears to be no damage to your sight, your eye should heal in a couple of days," the doctor replied.

For the rest of the day and the subsequent day, I laid on the couch and watched T.V. with my uninjured eye while keeping ointment and a cold compress on my burned eye. By the time the evening news came on the second day, I felt something move in my burned eye. When I rubbed my eye, a small gray patch the size of a split pea came out of my eye.

Relieved, I went back to the couch and turned the T.V. channel from the news to an old rerun of The Brady Bunch. Coincidentally, the episode when Peter gets a black eye while defending his little sister was playing.

2005-12-22T19:32:00.000-05:00

I miss the fall

Christmas Chaos (Complete with Cars)

2005-12-22T11:49:00.000-05:00

Somebody hit the side of my car today when I was turning right into my work's parking garage. She was behind me and too busy smoking her cigarette to notice my obvious slowing and turning. Wouldn't you know it, her car didn't receive a scratch and my right passenger back door was dented and badly scratched.

The worst part was that the woman went into the nearby state building and asked the highway patrolman to look at the accident. This patrolman had great difficulty understanding what had happened and who was to blame. The woman became irate at my so-called poor driving skills. Screw the woman, but I got pretty frustrated by the patrolman's stupidity and began to have an asthma attack partly due to the situation and mostly due to the unbearable cold air.

I had to wait for an hour before the city police came (the accident occurred on city property), but a co-worker came to sit in my car and cheer me up. I greatly appreciated her chipper companionship. After 20 minutes, my co-worker left to go back to work, and I was still waiting and talking on the phone with my insurance company when the police officer finally arrived. As I got out of my injured car, the police officer asked where the other car's owner was. The woman had left her car to go inside and buy some coffee. I hope she now realizes what an idiot she was to leave the scene of the incident, because I had a full 10-15 minutes alone with the police officer to tell him what happened. To be honest, it wasn't difficult because my car's damage was self-explanatory.

When she finally came out, we both sat in the police car and completed our contact information cards for each other. Then the best moment of the entire crappy morning occurred when the police officer cited the woman for not allowing enough driving distance without asking for her version of events. The woman was shocked to hear this and couldn't speak. Thrilled, because after dealing with the idiot highway patrolman, I was finally vindicated. As I left the police car (first time I had been in one, by the way), I wished the woman a blessed Christmas. Her grimace was priceless.

What the...?????

2005-12-21T23:31:00.000-05:00

Dreidel Boy

2005-12-21T23:30:00.000-05:00

Santa lost some weight

2005-12-21T23:29:00.000-05:00

Santas on Bikes, Attack!

From Santa to Sandy the Blogger

2005-12-21T09:11:00.000-05:00

Dear Sandy,

Click here to read the rest.

Love,
Santa

2005-12-20T19:46:00.000-05:00

Santa, I've been a really good girl this year.

Is it wrong...

2005-12-20T13:08:00.000-05:00

Is it wrong to ignore a person on the street who is asking whether you care about the environment?

Is it wrong to tromp past three geeks with glasses asking for signatures for an environment ballot initiative and head into Wendy's to get a cup of chili for lunch?

Is it wrong to secretly wish for global warming as you pass by these geeks who are standing outside for hours on a 4-degree winter's day?

How do you say Karma in Spanish?

2005-12-19T20:52:00.000-05:00

After this past weekend's trip to Chicago, United Airlines is dead to me. Some might say that karma bit me in the arse, and I should have remained silent about the injustices United Airlines has created for my friend. Screw karma. I don't want to fly United Airlines again, because I had to endure a 3-hour delay into Chicago on Friday night, a nasty United Airlines baggage claim worker after waiting an hour for my luggage, and a cancelled Sunday flight due to mechanical failure that made me miss work on Monday. I could complain some more, but I will refrain since I am lucky to be alive and not a victim of this crash. (Well, I still say that policymakers of United Airlines are bastards!)

Despite flying mishaps, I had a wonderful weekend in Chicago. My face may resemble a molting lizard due to wind burn, but I fell in love with Chicago's chilly charm and fell even more in love with my boyfriend. On Friday night, my boyfriend and I exchanged Christmas gifts, and now I am a lucky recipient of Mastering Spanish CD set. I have a lot of Spanish to master, because my boyfriend and I are going to Panama in the next couple of months in order to meet his family. *Gulp* (Curses to my high school decision of studying French instead of Spanish.) If you have any hints or encouragement for me in this endeavor, please let me know.

While I had many "awwwwww" inducing moments in Chicago, I'll share my favorite with you. (Cynical readers, please hold your gag reflexes.)

After my boyfriend and I had been walking like frozen popsicles from store to store on Michigan Avenue, we decided to relax and warm up on a bench inside the "Saks on Fifth Avenue" department store. We were cuddling and people watching, when a homeless person sat down right next to us on our cramped bench. At first, I was a little shocked that the man with ragged long nails and chapped hands interrupted our cozy little moment. After all, several empty benches were nearby. (In general, I am a little uncomfortable around the homeless, because they remind me of my own father.) While the homeless man sat nearly touching my boyfriend's leg, my boyfriend didn't move or act uncomfortable. He continued to hug me and chit chat about Chicago, and my heart swelled with adoration for him and relaxed. I truly hope that the homeless man was comforted a little by my boyfriend's warmth as well.

Christmas in Chicago

2005-12-19T20:05:00.000-05:00

The Divine Weekly Recap

2005-12-16T11:02:00.000-05:00

First, I am very excited for this weekend, because I am going to Chicago to see my boyfriend. WHOO-HOO. However, I am starting to fear karma, because I am flying on United Airlines. United, I really think you are just swell. Please allow me to board your plane. I promise I will be a good girl and not lead any anti-discrimination riots once on the plane. I have to see my boyfriend, puhlease?

Also, I am very concerned that something strange is going on with me this Christmas. My lovely knack for procrastination has somewhat abated this Christmas season. Folks, I have not only bought all of my gifts for friends and family, but I have also wrapped them. I even sent out my Christmas cards last week. I know, crazy. However, don't worry. I waited until this morning to pack for Chicago and therefore was late for work.

On Wednesday and Thursday nights, I watched Project Runway. I love it when Bravo plays repeats of my fave shows every night of the week. This week's challenge involved creating an outfit for "My Scene" Barbie. I know, I know. Yuck. It wasn't my favorite Runway episode, but check out the dress that won and let me know what you think:

This past Tuesday was the last day had to tutor my lil' kindergarteners until January. They rivaled my doggies in cuteness and gave me Christmas tree ornaments complete with their names and pictures. Funnily enough, I think that the ornaments are suppose to resemble Christmas wreaths made out of lace and green pipe cleaners, but obviously the teacher missed the fact that they look like Irish garters. Hmmmm...racy.

Murphy and Winston are driving me crazy with their boisterous running around my home. The pups love to chase each other up and down and back up again the stairs. Also, Winston loves his loud obnoxious squeaky toy, especially when I am watching Project Runway. Speaking of Winston, why is it that whenever I tell him to do anything, he acts like he doesn't understand me until I repeat my command so loudly that he looks up at me with defiance and waits until I pick up my trusty spray bottle to squirt him into action? Also, why does this same dog, who acts like he doesn't understand English, jump up and snuggle against me for bed before I can finish my command, "up?" Lastly, why does Murphy act like my foot under the covers is a monster coming after him and therefore requires a loud growl and bark in the middle of the night? Please explain all of this doggie behavior to me.

Now who am I kidding? As soon as I am away from my pups for my trip to Chicago, I will be pining for their furry hugs and kisses.

Well, that's all I have for now. I hope you stay warm and toasty this weekend. Also, good luck braving the crowds for your gift shopping. Guess what, my boyfriend just called to tell me that he hasn't had time to by my gift yet. So, I will be braving the crowds too and distracting myself while my boyfriend buys my gift. Ahhhh, the holidays.

The Winter Blues

2005-12-15T22:08:00.000-05:00

Murphy sick of winter

2005-12-15T22:06:00.000-05:00

Winston

The Most Politically Correct Card, Ever!

2005-12-15T14:35:00.000-05:00

My boss received this "Holiday" card in the mail today:

"All faiths, All hearts, All visions, All dreams, All hopes" (open the card)

"All joy to you--at this season and always."

Normal, right? Not so fast. Six different religious symbols and their origins are explained on the inside of the card.

Yes, this politically correct card carries the Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, Confucianism, and Buddhism symbols.

Wow. All that are missing are the Wiccan and Shinto symbols.

I sometimes feel that being politically correct is a vicious cycle/Catch-22.