Stinky little happy campers

To be stinky is to open the doors to the realm of...

Oh, who am I kidding?  I am a stinky fool.  I haven't showered since Saturday evening--before Kristen's bachelorette party.  Here's what I've done so far since then:

--Hung out with mosquitoes outside

--Danced on a bar rooftop

--Had sex

--Went on a five mile mountain run

--Went on an hour long trek in some rocks

--Went on a three mile city run

And STILL, even as I'm writing this down now, no shower!  Rick says to me, "Unlike some people here, I actually DO take showers," and he jumped on in to clean his goddess body.

Sometimes, as of late at least, I'm lazy.  I don't want to take a shower.  I blame this partly on the fact that I'm not living in my own apartment anymore.  Our lease was up last Saturday, and we're living with my sister and her husband until our respective moves later this week.  I don't feel as comfortable getting naked, running around in a place that's not my own--you know, I just don't want to take a shower as much.  

 I also blame it partly on BCM: Big City Mountaineers--the seven day backpacking extravaganza I volunteered for last week.  If you think I'm stinky now Rick Mick, you should have smelled me after seven days of not showering, not even wiping my butt properly.  I could barely stand myself.  And at the end of the trip, my tent mate, Ainsley said, "Man, you feet sure stink!" 

I mentioned BCM in my last blog, but don't think I explained the trip or organization itself quite thoroughly enough.  Big City Mountaineers (get the BCM thing now?) are a nationwide non-profit organization, like "I Have a Dream" Foundation.  They're shtick, however, is that they provide week-long backpacking and camping adventures for disadvantaged youth.  That's where our organization comes into play.  We work with disadvantaged youth--from 3rd graders to high-schoolers--and we want them to go on these trips!  We find some that are willing, and beg the rest.  And in both mine and Rick's experiences thus far, the trips have proven a huge success.  

I won't get into a detailed day-to-day, minute-by-minute of everything we did, but I will tell you this: the best time camping I've ever had.  And I'll blame it on the women.  I mentioned these unique ladies and their personalities in my last blog, so I won't go into more details about them (see previous blog entry if curious).  But I will say that this unique experience--getting to bond with nine women and girls that I've never hung out with before--was amazing.  I really never complained--was often found singing, dancing, cooking, chatting, laughing, playing games--things I hardly ever do camping with Rick.  Not to say that camping with Rick isn't fun--it's just a different experience.  This was girl power time.  Time to fart, bond, sing Disney tunes, talk about relationships--imagine "Sex and the Mountains" a new television series on HBO.

During one of our daily Round-Table talks at night, I mentioned how I loved having this unique opportunity to backpack and camp with nine ladies.  It was empowering!  I have hung out with small groups of girlfriends, but recently, most of my female interactions have just been one-on-ones with select friends.  I would jump at the chance to go on a big all girl camping trip again, and would love to--even if not with BCM.  The trip reminds you of how important female friendships are to women.  And let me tell you, they are indeed, and I know that those relationships will be the ones that get me through my two-year MFA stint without Rick by my side.  

So my advice tonight: invest in female relationships.  Go camping with girls.  Push yourselves together.  And--yes, take a shower...eventually.

Big City Mountaineers: The Characters

Seven days.  Five women.  Four girls.  Wyoming.  Backpack.  Adventure.  

Sounds like the opening to some suspenseful movie, right?  In that same spirit, and without further introduction, that's jump right into it.

THE CHARACTERS

ALLIE: me.  Twenty-four years old.  Afraid of the dark, sleeping alone, and had never been on a hiking trip past three days.  Usually gets anxious, but in some miracle, in the company of women, embraces everything about her experience: the oatmeal for breakfast, the pooping the woods, the endless team-building games, the Disney sing-alongs.  Awarded "Most Positive/Fat Kid."  Loves that optimism, loves that food.

TSEHAI: Twenty-seven years old.  The girl's girl.  The glue for the group.  You wish you were as cool as her.  Even with her endless mosquito bites, she's a bad-ass.  Wears blue rimmed sunglasses, a red bandana around her head and an orange one around her mouth.  A real bandit.  Awarded "MVH: Most Valuable Hiker."

TRACY: Twenty-six years old.  The soft-spoken, laid back leader of the pack.  She knows what's up, but won't baby you about it.  Like the wise, Buddhist-like sage that she is, she'll let you figure it out.  Blonde hair, medium build, glasses, and from Queens (sans New York accent).  She knows her shit, but won't flaunt it.  A real woodswoman she is indeed.

AINSLEY: Twenty-three years old.  Former YMCA leader and cheerleader, she's a big bag of tricks.  Awarded "Most Entertaining" for a reason.  Never a dull moment, she's always got some hand-clapping, chanting, hide-and-seeking, dancing, dinosaur imitating game in her backpack.  No wonder why it's so heavy.  

MIRIAM: Forty-something years old.  A woman with quite the interesting past: former telegram-singing clown, former oboe musician, former Alaskan salmon canner--you'd never imagine the colors behind the self-effacing computer programmer.  Doesn't like people to sing the song "Marian Librarian" from The Music Man to her.  "It's Miriam, not Marian," she rightfully declares.  Knows every type of flower on the trail.  Loves the little blue ones.  The Nature Woman.

OMOLAYO: Eighteen-years old.  Success story.  College bound on Volleyball scholarship.  Strong young woman (literally, she's a big and beautiful muscular masterpiece).  The leader of the girls.  The role model.  The go-getter.  The enthusiast.  Nothing stops this girl.  Watch out, Barack Obama, we have a future president on our hands.

FLORA: Twenty-years old.  A tiny, black fairy-like creature.  Beautiful, soft, yet with a biting wit, and can eat her body weight in one day.  An almost mythical creature.  A more quiet leader, always smiling, always trucking along on the trail eating her trail mix, of course.  Poetically awarded, "The Blossoming Spirit."

BRANDI: Thirteen years-old.  A black girl who likes alternative fashion and music--like skull and cross bones.  The sassy Grandma, simple and yet wise beyond her years.  Her pinky toe is stuck in the middle of the rest of her toes.  She calls it a birth mark.  Has a loving and endearing lisp.  Wants to be a part of the group, wants to be loved.  A genuinely great girl.

JAZMIN: Fourteen years-old.  The hardest apple, but most fulfilling of the tree.  The pickiest eater ever: no milk, no chocolate, no cheese...The photographer of the group, the veteran backpacker, the lovable, if not cranky, Grandpa to Brandi's Grandma: "Don't you be givin' her anymore chocolate!"  Afraid of thunderstorms, wants people close by her side even when she seems to shun them away.  Without Jazmin, the trip is too easy.  The favorite challenge, the funny woman, the courageous kid. 

UNCLE HERMAN: Age unknown.  A black shovel, sharp as a stone, used to dig up deep holes for dirty dumps.  Without him, the forest would stink of floundering feces.  Where's Uncle Herman?  It's time for a poop. 

Strictly Platonic, of course

Having been on Craigslist for a number of hours this past week--looking for a house in Tucson--I've discovered that there's more than just cars and houses to buy.  Well, duh--everyone knows this, right?  But one thing I didn't know, was that Craigslist had personal ads!  I thought the point was just to sell, well...stuff!  Little did I know, (but quickly found out) that Craigslist allows people to advertise themselves.

What first caught my eye underneath this "Personals" heading was something I'd never seen before.  Did you know that you can find "strictly platonic" relationships on Craigslist?  I didn't, and was intensely curious about what this all involved.  It proved to be some easy research.  In just a couple clicks, I came up with a variety of voices in the ads.  Some voices were tame, some sexual, some even ultra-religious.  I'll throw in some red parenthetical phrases so you can see my first impressions.

hello there! My name is dave, I'm a compulsive runner and am looking for running buddies (sounds cool), I don't care what sex you are, your persuasion, etc.. just that you like to run (good!).. I also don't care if you run slow, just that you wont poop (What?  That I won't poop?) out before the 3 mile mark (oh, I see!). I'm in a relationship btw so this is definitely not a hookup/workout kinda thing(good to know)... I love to talk when I run and it's hard to keep motivated without a good group of semi-reliable running friends. I've done a bit of trail running and would like to do it more regularly, like once a week to break up my normal running routine. I live about 7 miles round trip from a-mountain and that's a fun run too :) 

a little about me- I'm a part owner of 'shot in the dark cafe', kinda a hippy, but I'm also in the army reserve, go figure (right, very ironic combination):P I'm very open minded and outgoing... I like barefoot running (really?  I think that's kinda weird) :) I personally believe the running shoe industry is a big conspiracy to injure runners (I don't agree with you) but I wont fault you if you don't agree with me (Oh! You're telepathic!) btw, did you know that that studies show that the more you spend on running shoes the more likely you are to sustain injuries... hmmmm.. food for thought... I play guitar and am a nerd... an in-shape nerd :) wanna train for a marathon, I'm down, woohoo lets go run 

dave 

Dave's a good guy--especially for Craigslist Personals standards.  Can you really blame him for wanting a running buddy?  I'm going to want a running buddy--scratch that--ANY buddy when I get into Tucson as well.  It takes a lot of vulnerability to advertise yourself in such a way on Craigslist.  But I don't think I'm ready for that availability, that nakedness--in the "strictly platonic" ways they mentioned.

Speaking of nakedness, here's an ad that falls under the same heading.  This is from a 60-year-old man looking for "Nude coed partying":

Is there any place in Tucson where guys and gals can party and swim nude? 

Go sixty-year-old man, you got more balls than me!  You don't discriminate either--you just want to go where the naked people are.  Some advertisers though prove to be a little more specific in what they want in a friend.  Take this lady, for example.  Oh, she has a picture too.

I am a Born Again Pentecostal Christian (Oh man, this is gonna be good). I have been divorced for 3 years. I do not smoke, do not use drugs and rarely drink. I am not interested in FWB, or a sexually based relationship and I will NOT under any circumstances date a married man (you tell them, sistah). I am unemployed so I am just looking for a friend, someone to chat with for now. When I find a job I will consider dating. If you want to know why, ask me. I am looking for a friend who is a Born again, Holy Spirit filled Christian (sweet, bajesus!). Must NOT smoke, rarely or never drink, does NOT use any kind of drugs, is NOT looking for a FWB (just realized this stands for Friends With Benefits) or a sexually based relationship and is NOT (she loves her CAPS) married (but not married men). I have a few extra pounds (honest, yes, appealing? no) but that is not what a TRUE Christian man should be concerned about (of course not!). A TRUE Christian man does NOT care about body type, but where a persons heart is, her commitment to God (right, right, right). I prefer a man who puts God first in every aspect of his life (even when he picks out cereal?), believes in tithing (tithing?  As in, good tithings we bring?) and prosperity and believes in a GODLY relationship (how so?). If you smoke, use drugs, are a person who drinks on a regular basis is looking for sex or is married please DO NOT (yikes!) respond. If you have read this far and want to know more about me (oh, yes indeed!), send me an e-mail with a photo. The photo that I have posted is a year old, my hair is actually longer now. (ha--that part was my favorite, she sounds a little more sympathetic, humane, and even cute for a moment).

What I find so interesting about this woman, is that she's older.  Her note is much more serious than most of the others I've read.  Hers make me pause for a second--looking at her picture especially--because she's taking this service seriously.  Her picture is genuine.  Her words are genuine (if not crazy Pentecostal).  But however crazy she is, however much I laugh at her NOTs and GODLYs and FWBs, it makes me sad.  The title for her ad is: "Lonely lady looking for friend first."  She's fifty-five.  It makes me think, "How long have you been lonely?"  How hard that must be to become that desperate that you need to post online for friendship.  Or is it desperate?  Is it really just...brave?  Brave in the sense that she's no longer sitting on her ass complaining that she's lonely; she's at least trying to do something about it.

I'll be moving to Tucson next year on my own--living truly on my own for the first time--and I think, "How long would it take until I was posted on here?  Until I was browsing around for friends?"  As much as I want to make fun of these people, I have to give them a round of applause.  They're exposing themselves in such a way to be ridiculed, to be manipulated, to be...liked?  Is the world really full of that many bad people?

I say this because I too have been a successful customer on Craigslist.  I recently rented a small guest house for the following year from a young couple.  It's always a little crazy, a little out-on-a-limb, little leap-of-faithish making big commitments with strangers: signing your life away for the next year on a lease, sending a security deposit worth most of your current checking account balance, and just trying to trust someone in so little time.  But the main feeling I had was this: beautiful.  If people can get to know each other (just enough) and trust each other (just enough) in this crazy world, makes you think: well, it's (we're) not so crazy after all.

A Kite Preview

For my first hand trick:  a bunny out of a hat!

Just kidding.

My first hand trick is more of a preview.  A show and tell, so to speak.  Tomorrow I'm in charge of teaching fifteen ten-year-olds how to make a kite.  (hold your laughter until I tell how you how it went tomorrow).

Rick's class did it a few months back, and he demonstrated to me in his striped blue and gray undies, (I was still lying in bed at 8:00 this morning).

Step One: "Fold the construction paper in half like this."

"Hamburger Style?"

"Like...this."

I watched semi-sweet chocolate intrigued.  This should be pretty easy.

Step Two: "Measure one inch on each end and then make a pencil mark."

I was already losing it at this point.

"You mean, wait...how do you make the pencil mark?"

"I just showed you!  Just make an inch mark on both sides!"

Step Three: "Fold from this pencil mark to that one.  Then open it up."

Got it, I thought.  It looks like Batman.

Step Four: "Cut strips of masking tape, and tape down vertically, holding the kite together."

The bat wings, I thought.  It's a Batman kite.

Step Five: "Cut a skewer..."

"Shiskabobs!"

"Yes, cut a skewer so that it fits perfectly across this horizontal top end to that end.  Tape it down.  See?

"Yes."

Step Six: "Punch a whole towards the back end, and place your string, tying a knot to secure it.

"Now by string, what do you mean?"

"You know...string."

"You mean thread, thin stuff, thick stuff, rope, yarn...I don't get it."

"I mean like that stuff that's wrapped all together from Hobby Lobby."

I had a vision of Oaxacan cheese.  Yum.  But I knew exactly what he was talking about.  Reminded me of the smelly ropy stuff I used to see at the Hardware store.  My Dad always had a bunch of it in the basement.

Step Seven: "Take a piece of ribbon and put it here in the right hand corner for decoration."

"You mean, punch a hole like with the other string?"

"No, just tape it down."

"What kind of ribbon"

"Anything.  We used like colored tape.  It flies around for decoration.  It's just decoration."

He goes over the instructions one more time, and asks me to demonstrate.  I miss three out of the seven steps along the way.  Well, I don't miss them, I mess them.  Can't wait to see how this goes tomorrow.

Introduction to the Hands Series

There's a certain empowerment you get when you can work *well* with your hands.

At least, that's what I think.

I've never been one who's "good-with-the-hands," at least, that's the running joke between my sisters' and I. If someone was to rattle off a list of good-hand-techiques, give me the list, and ask me to check the YES or NO box, most would have sharp marks for el negativo.

Can you braid hair? NO!

Can you change a tire? NO!

Can you wrap a present without it looking like a half eaten pillow? NO!

Can you paint a picture that's aesthetically pleasing? NO!

Can you make pottery? Yes.

Does it look better than what a third grader would make? NO!

Can you hem a pair of pants? NO!

Can you make a blanket? NO!

Can you decorate a cake? Hmm, kind of.

Does it look nice? Sort of.

Now wait a minute. You're starting to think I'm like really incompetent, right? Well, that's just not true. There are many things I can do with my hands. (Get your minds out of the gutter) Honestly, I'm not too great performing that either. But I am good at these things:

Can you make a poster? YES!

Can you organize just about anything well? YES!

Are you a thorough cleaner? YES!

Do you have pretty good attention to detail? About the important things, yes.

So enough with this introduction, let's get on with it. So what you know about now is that I have a history of not being "too-good-with-the-hands." It's endearing, I guess. But there comes a point where I just look a bit helpless. And that's not a good thing. There comes a point when, for example, my Aunt Vivian asks me a simple task:

"Could you wrap my Bridal Shower present for Mary?"

"Sure!" (Although I know in my head it's gonna look rough).

What ends up happening is this: there are about three huge wads of wasted wrapping paper in trash bag (electric blue, completely unnoticeable). I've been in there for about twenty-minutes, and people are starting to arrive for the shower. Finally, there's salvation. One of my cousins, Karen, comes in and sees that I'm having some major trouble.

"Let me help you with that," she says kindly, but I feel like a ten-year-old. I'm twenty-four and a half, by the way.

I just want to be rid of most of these situations. That's why I've made this a goal of mine (and simulatenous writing assignment) to get GOOD with my hands. Maybe even great! Come join me as I take a journey through the world of hand coordination, hand flexibility, hand dexterousity, hand magic! Let see if we surprise ourselves.

Here's what I have on the line-up so far for Projects:

--Change a bike tire

--Change my oil

--Learn how to braid hair Corn rows, possibly (a little ambitious) from Black Ladies' Beauty Salon.

--Learn how to sew (hem my pants)

--Learn how to knit (I could be in lots of clubs)

--Learn how to make a piece of pottery that looks good!

--Wrap a present really well.

--Learn how to fold an EZ fold map!

--Learn how to cook a really complex meal.

That's it for now. Jane had a cool suggestion that I go to a Nursing Home or someplace like that, and talk to old people who've entirely (or almost entirely) lost control of their hands due to arthritis, some other problem. I think that could add something more serious, more emotional to the big picture.

In Loving Memory...

In the crazy rush of running today's Saturday errands, something made me pause.

I was at a stoplight. It was a squinty-eyed sunny day, but I noticed a sticker on the back of a black truck. It read: In loving memory of Heather, our Wonder Woman.

This made me think of a few things:

1. Who was this Heather woman?

2. What made her a Wonder woman?

3. How did she die?

4. I don't want to die anytime soon.

5. Would people call me a wonder woman after I die?

Let me try to find some answers to these questions.

1. Who was this Heather woman?

Obviously I have no idea. But I imagined that she was a boss of some kind. She ran a Theater Box Office. She always remembered everyone's birthdays. She could multi-task like nobody's business. She volunteered her time a lot. Did the Susan G. Komen walk every year. She had lots of other women friends. Went out to lunch with them every Thursday--kind of like the Red Hat ladies, but not as old. They all had themed parties, scrapbooked. She was the leader of her pack. She was the leader of lots of packs.

2. What made her a Wonder Woman?

She went above and beyond in everything she did. She hosted many a birthday party, wedding shower, baby shower. She worked full time, volunteered, and always made time for her friends. (See Question 1: "Who was this Heather woman?" for more specific details)

3. How did she die?

She died of Breast Cancer, ironically, as it was the Charity she did the most work for. Never missed a "Race for the Cure" Event. She and her girlfriends dressed head-t0-toe like fat little piggies in Pink every year. She was overweight, kind of like Miss Piggy. Her friends will organiz and race in her honor for this summer's Race. They will all walk, not run.

4. I don't want to die soon.

So, this isn't a question. It's a statement. Who does want to die soon? Well, maybe cancer patients, people in horrible, unending pain. But really. I was driving, and couldn't help but think: "Geez, I really don't want to die anytime soon." I have so much coming up: Graduate School, my next Netflix movie, dinner at a Mexican restaurant. In all honesty though, it really made me want to be more cautious while driving my car. That would just be a stupid way to die--a car accident. I wonder how old I will be when I die? Hopefully, reaalllly old. I still have so much to do: get a great job, get married to Rick, have babies with him, live in an old house, get a dog, buy lots of groceries, go on fun vacations---too many memories lurking around the corner, ready to be made. Too many photos yet to be shot on Rick's camera and downloaded onto Picasa, for the Aunts, Uncles, Grandmas, and Grandpas to see. I need to eat healthier, need to keep running everyday. Go to the doctors. Is donating my eggs for money really a good idea?

5. Would people call me a Wonder Woman after I die?

Not yet. I'd aim to be called a "Wonderful Woman." But Wonder Woman conjures up lots of multi-tasking craziness. Granted, I do want to be a brilliant, busy woman. I want to accomplish many great things. I want to make money, make people happy, make myself happy. But a Wonder Woman, no--I probably won't be called that after I die. I think I'd get too tired and die early while trying to live up to that title. Maybe that's the real reason why Heather died?

Glutton!

Instead of recounting the specific details of my sisters' two Bridal Showers this weekend, I thought I'd write down every single thing I ate over the short, fat weekend. All of this, after all, was the most prominent part anyways; the only physical thing that traveled back from St. Louis to Denver with me:

apples, Clementines, trail mix, donut, Chex-Mix, coffee, soup, crackers, cheese, beer, chips, chicken salad, buns, lime tortilla chips, plain tortilla chips, salsa, guacamole, fruit, chocolate bark, candy, cake, spinach balls, bacon/pineapple wraps, crab dip, crackers, chicken, salad, red wine, bread, macaroni salad, broccoli/cauliflower salad, chocolate cake, cherry pie, cinnamon buns, cinnamon buns, sausage/egg casserole, orange juice, coffee, water, cereal, milk, spinach, mushrooms, baby read tomatoes, cucumbers, salad dressing, chicken wrapped in bacon and cheese, brown rice, vanilla pudding, left-over Shower cake, baked Doritoes, McDonald's cheeseburger, fries, chocolate milk shake, and...more trail mix.

Oh, lawrd! Time for a run...

yoga prose poem

In the spirit of experimentation--and because I better get used to it if I'm going to go to grad school--here's a quick story about my first real yoga experience today.

mary asked me last night
I said yes
I thought about saying no
I knew I'd be late
I was late
She was a little pissed
We got over it
The instructor was nice
Said she loved everyone
Missed everyone
The room was steamin'
Like 120 degrees
I sweat like a St. Louis summer
I am stretched beyond my wonder
Made to really think about my body
My positions
Reminds me of ballet class
I like the challenge
She gets me in some interesting positions--
One of them I touch my toes
Then put my head inbetween my legs
Next bring my hands through
And reach for my back
I tell her I feel like a spider
Some people are old
Most middle-aged
I make some jokes
They think I'm weird
Whatever
I'm more flexible anyways
We go home
Eat some cereal
Mary asks,
"Want to do it again tomorrow?"
Yes

This is how I feel...period

The other day, I was talking with one of my student's Moms. Her name's Lucy and she speaks Spanish. I asked her if she was coming to the kids' swimming field trip next Tuesday.
"Vas a ir al paseo de nadar proximo Martes?"
"No, es que...yo no puedo...."
She started mumbling something that I didn't quite get. I kept prompting her in different ways, trying to get a clearer answer. Finally, it came out as this:
"Es el tiempo del mes." Translation: It's that time of the month.

Needless to say, I was intrigued. A Mom has just told me she was on her period. Simultaneously though, I wasn't shocked. It takes a lot to shock me nowadays. I just took it in stride as if she told me she loved strawberries.

Then I did something I always do--and maybe I should step back from, I'm not sure--I probed further.
"Hmm, usas tampones?" No translation necessary, right?
"No, no me gusta." So, we're getting pretty close. She's on her period. She doesn't use tampons. Sweet! And I am not being sarcastic.

I went on to relay this story with my co-workers. We're pretty close and all, after all. Their reaction was normal: "Too much information!!!!" Lots of laughing and eeewwwwing and I-can't-believes- and covering of eyes, shaking of heads. I get it. It's crossing a fine boundary. It's usually a topic that's broached only by the most intimate of girlfriends...while drunk and eating McDonalds.

So, I get it. People don't like to cross boundaries. It's way too intimate. Way too personal. But in my mind, it's beautiful. I loved that she felt comfortable enough to share that with me. Hell, I told her I was on my period too. I am. It's nasty. But it's a part of being a woman. It's common. It's shared. Like a language. I think it's one small step in creating a shared language for women--whether it's in English or Spanish. Oh, here's how you say period in Spanish. In case you were wondering, like I was:

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080812155125AAVh9Hx

Grocery shopping

It's funny going to the grocery store.

Rick and I have been going to Sunflower Market for about two, three months now. After reading Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food, we thought it'd be cleaner, healthier to shop for produce there.

As it turns out, for the most part, it has been. It's actually been cheaper, too.

Simultaneously, I have mixed feelings about going there. Here they are, mixed and matched, in no real order, but I'll make it look orderly:

1) I feel physically cleaner, more comfortable there. The food is just packaged and showcased so beautifully, so naturally. I love being surrounded by more fresh than frozen aisles. No real temptations besides nuts--you just feel good.

2) I like being around other people trying to be healthy. You feel close and connected, like they're saying, "Good for you! You're young, but learning how to eat good early." It's a good community of happy, healthy people.

3) I like looking into other people's grocery carts--full of wild rice, ground Ethiopian free trade coffee, rhubarb, serrano peppers. Sometimes, I can imagine the food just sitting on their counters, never being eaten, just as a decoration like daisies in a vase. "My, what a beautiful assortment of vegetables," a neighbor would remark.

3) But here's a con--the snooty, rich people trying to be healthy. Sometimes I make eye-contact with these people, and instead of feeling camaraderie, I feel competition. The funny thing about Colorado is that people are one-upping each other on how healthy and resourceful they can be constantly. I'm not saying this is bad, it's progressive and wonderful. But, taken to an extreme, it's just pure annoying.

Don't give me glances that say, "Oh, you bought that milk. Huh. So, you're that type of healthy person. I make my own milk on my cow farm. That's how healthy I am."
And if I'm hiking on a trail, and you're running 50 miles with fifty-thousand mini-waterbottles strapped across your waist, don't call me an amateur under your breath. Get a life, people. But I digress, we are still talking about grocery stores, right?

4) One thing I don't like about the healthier markets, is how expensive everything else is besides produce. A block of cheese for eight bucks. A tiny box of cereal for $6. A loaf of bread for $5. No thank you. But hey--that's why there's the big chain supermarket. It's an extra stop, but it saves money to shop at King Soopers for the rest.

5) At King Soopers, I feel like I'm more in my element. I'm surrounded by a wide spectrum of people--not just the overly health conscious upper middle class. King Soopers houses the homeless, the food stamped, the lower class, the middle class, the upper class, the black, the white, the Asian--everybody's invited. You don't feel so judged using your food stamps. And, might I add, they go through every time, unlike Sunflower Market. It's as if the cashier there is indirectly saying, "Poor people don't deserve free healthy food. Government cheese for you, baby. Next!"

And you don't feel so judged if you haven't bought cloth bags for your groceries yet. And I haven't. I've been meaning too. But I do need free plastic trash bags.

Ye Ol' Food Stamps Place

Oh, goodness. Wasn't I a drama queen today?

I'm pretty calm now. It's pretty much worn off. But I was mad at the world today. I felt like I used to in high school. A loner, binging on food after-school, waiting to do something new, but feeling like the only place I really belonged was in bed. And that happened today, too. It's funny how those little up and down cycles of your life never leave you. I'm sure I'll have more of them in the years ahead.

But anyways, back to the drama. So, my Food Stamps were up March 1st. With plenty of leeway time, I went to the Denver Department of Health Services on January 23rd. The lady who helped me there was listening to Spanish music.

"Who is this?" I asked with genuine interest, thinking that she liked Latin music, like me. Trying to make some connection.

"Oh, I don't know. It's the radio." Drones. The poor people who work there helping the poor. I really do feel sorry for them. It's probably hard to keep your head up or even appreciate the beautiful music playing in the background of your boring, sad day.

So, this lady told me I'd be all set. That it's good I came in early. It takes about a month for the re-certification process to go through. I'm all good, I thought.

Then, March 1st rolls in. With avengence. Okay, it's not that bad. But, I had no money in my food stamps account?
"Where was it?" I worried. "It's March!"

So, I proceeded to march on in to the Food Stamps place, a second time, but the line was too long, and I'd certainly be late for work.

So, I proceeded to march on in a third time. The lady there told me to fill out a request form, and that I'll get a call in 48-hours by my case worker, Flora Garcia. I'll have my food-stamps by 6pm.

The time goes by, no food stamps.

So, I proceeded to go in a third time. The lady tells me to do the same thing. Fill out a form. 48-hours. 6pm. Yeah, I hope so, I think.

Nada.

So, I let a few days go by, cool off. Luckily, the Rick's saintly parents, Carol and Vince, come to visit and shower us with extra groceries and gifts for our apartment. We are truly blessed to have them in our life. Carol, Rick's Mom, even leaves a surprise $100 dollar bill hidden in an envelope behind a painting. We are indeed spoiled.

But this is a matter of principal. I am qualified for these food stamps. I need them to be comfortable.

So, I walk in today. This time, I'm ready to give it my all. I wait for two hours. Get tossed around like a bag of groceries, and I begin to feel broken and manipulated...like someone's taking advantage of me. Not raping me, but taking advantage of me. And I start of think of all the people in my life who take advantage of me. I start to feel all whiny, "Why me? Why me?" And like my Grandma Lurkin's used to say, "I don't owe those people nothin'!" I begin to lose passion for my work, for what I do.

Let me fast forward a bit. So, I do eventually get to talk to someone after two hours.
She asks, "How are you?" And for the first time, I don't act all cheery. I am honest.
"I'm pretty good." How can anyone be happy at this place?

Before this happened, I watched something melancholy. A Mexican woman's turn is skipped. Number 6 and Number 7 are called.
"Excuse me, I'm number 5," she says in broken English.
"Are you Spanish?" the blonde, middle-class, hickish worker asks as if she's asking for her shoe size. "Because you gotta wait for the Spanish case worker."

The women sits dejected, trying to get her toddler daughter to sit still.
"Parate. Parate. Parate!!!!" She keeps telling her daughter to stop it. To stop falling on the floor. Another Mexican woman sits down with her baby. The woman who just came in offers the other lady's daughter a Starburst. They exchange some banter about having to wait in line, about not working, and needing money. I want to reach out to them and say, "I want you to be happy. Go back to Mexico and be with your family." Working with Hispanic families, I see too many who are taken advantage of, can't understand what's going on, made to feel like pieces of shit. Most of the mothers tell me they're happier in Mexico. Then go back there, I think. But they really want better opportunities for their kids. It's beautiful. It's sad. It's self-less.

I did get my food-stamps. I cried. The food-stamps lady told me I was missing some documents. She was all by the books. I hate those kinds of people.
"You have one pay check here, not two."
"Okay. Well, what's the difference?"
"We need two!"

"Do you get paid bi-monthly or twice a month?"
"Isn't it the same thing?"
"No, it's not!"
"I think I get paid around the 15th and 30th of each month."
"Says here you got paid of the 13th!"
"Okaaaay."

"Did you get extra leap year pay?"
"What?"
"If you don't know what it is, then no!"

"I can't process this without your current checking account balance."
"I thought I already did that when I came in January!"
"No, it didn't go through."
"Well, I don't have it."
"Then, I can't process your food stamps?"
"Can I use your computer and print it off?"
"No! You are not authorized to use this computer!"

Then, when all else failed, I cried.
"I've been here five times!!! I don't want to come here anymore!"

She didn't make eye-contact. Looked at her computer all confused. Didn't respond when I asked questions. Bitch.

But she did work some magic.

You won't get as much money as you're used to. I had to make some changes with your current status. But you should get money by this afternoon.

"Sorry I got so emotional. I've just been here too many times."
"Well, we all work really hard here."

Huh.

So, I left. Was in a mood all day. Felt put out. But at least I have food stamps.

Adoption Ceremony Song

So, here's part two to this year's Song Repertoire. This particular one, is for the Adoption Ceremony for my 3rd grade Dreamers at Valdez. It's the big kick-off to their ten-year commitment to the Colorado "I Have a Dream" Foundation. There will be family, friends, board members, staff, and some other big-wigs, I guess.

So anyway, here's the song I've been practicing with them for forevvvvverrrr. It'll be great.

Oh, I should probably also mention that the lyrics are to the tune of "I Just Can't Wait to Be King" from Disney's "The Lion King."

First Verse:

We're gonna be a might class,
With energy and flair.

Porque somos los sonadores,
Con suenos, con poder.

We're gonna be in this program,
From now until ten years.

Nos unimos tanto que,
No nos querremos ir.

We'll help each other as a team,
Thanks to Colorado "I Have a Dream."

Second Verse:

We go on lots of field trips,
To places near and far.

Como paseos al museos,
Tambien a patinar.

We do lots of activities,
From science to yoga.

Trabajaremos para ganar,
Birretes y togas.

We learn together as a team,
Thanks to Records and Rainaldi.

Bridge:

We're gonna have to study.
Tenemos que estudiar.

We're gonna have to work hard.
Tenemos que trabajar (fuerte!)

A good mix of work and play,
Keeps us happy every day!

(Dance interlude)

We're gonna have to study.
Tenemos que estudiar.

We're gonna have to work hard.
Tenemos que trabajar (fuerte!)

A good mix of work and play.
Keeps us happy every day.

Third Verse:

We want to thank our Moms and Dads,
For whom we do adore.

Ellos nos dan ayuda, apoyo, y amor.

We want to thank our teachers,
Ms. Ornelas, Ms. Solis.

Nos ensenan tan mucho y
Siempre soy feliz.

They work together as a team.
Thanks to you all we have a dream.

You together as a team.
Thanks to you all we have a dream.

Thanks to you all we have a dream.

Cute, huh? I think so.

The mystery fighters/lovers

I saw the strangest thing on Friday: Walking up the concrete stairs into my apartment building, I saw two men that appeared to be arguing about car damage. It seemed like there was a car accident, involving both their cars, and the man arguing more fervently was standing next to a silver, blue Volvo with two damaged headlights.

One of the men was Hispanic, maybe Mexican. He was short, had a shaved head, and a leather jacket. The other man, Mediterranean looking, a foot and a half taller, short spiky black hair, and also wearing a leather jacket. The latter was arguing with his hands violently splashing the hair, striking hard and forcefully with every point he made. Or so I assumed. I couldn't hear a word.

Then, (and this was the breaking point for me--the point where I felt that as a good citizen of the United States, it was my duty to mediate--or at least observe them from a close, awkward level so that they'd stop). Then, the taller Mediterranean looking one, grabbed a white froo-froo dog out of the other man's Hunter Green Ford Explorer. Wait a minute, I thought. Something ain't right here. From my perspective, it seemed like the taller guy was using the shorter guy's dog as some type of threat. I imagined him saying,
"If you don't pay for this fucking damage, I'm going to take your dog...fucking Mexican." And I love them dogs. And I love them Mexicans." Time to act, I thought.

So, I walked, like no big deal, over to the scene. But then something strange suddenly happened. As soon as I approached the fighting duo, they hugged. I heard a smidge of what the taller man said right before the hug, he said something like, "Sorry, I just wanted you to come down here. I was waiting by your car." Hmmm. Maybe the taller guy caused the car accident. But why then was he so mad? Did the shorter guy say he'd sue or something? Or was that the taller guy's dog already taken for ransom in the Ford Explorer.

Here's another thought: maybe they were just friends? Just two very dramatic, hand-gesturing friends. Maybe they weren't mad that whole time, but extremely extroverted and happy.

I walked slowly up the stairs to my 3rd floor apartment, trying to think it all out before telling Rick my story. I told him. His response:
"Maybe they were two gay lovers. They got in a big, flamboyant fight. And then made up as soon as you approached."

Hmmm. That could be true, too. Regardless, something that adds to this mystery, is that the taller man got into the car with the shorter man, and they drove off. Gone. Mexican music was singing as the car door opened. Everything seemed much more calm than before. Were they strangers on their way to the mechanic? Were they friends who were happy the whole time and I just didn't catch it because Americans don't gesture as passionately unless they're upset? Or were they two lovers making up after a heated argument? Who knows.

But it makes for a really good story.

a thought

So the title of this blog is "Alliecatadventures" and yet, I don't think I've recanted one adventure on here thus far. Maybe I need to do a better job writing. Or maybe I need to do a better job finding some adventures. I'm going with the latter.

Passions

What's your passion? What are your passions? What are you passionate about? I feel like I get these questions constantly as of late. And I have to stop and think: well, what are my passions.

As of now, here are some:
--watching movies
--reading articles in magazines
--scoping out Facebook
--going out to dinner
--making dinner
--going outside for a run
--drinking orange juice with my breakfast
--checking my gmail
--wearing pajamas

Hmm, these don't really sound much like passions, now do they?

Rick and I got into a pretty big argument tonight about the "pace" of our lifestyles. He's much more intense than I am. Take tonight for example, I got home after a long, energetic 9-hour day working with 39 third graders, and thought, "You know, it'd be fun to use that Olive Garden gift card we have." He, more or less immediately shut it down.
"We went out for drinks Friday with Leeann, spent a whole day skiing yesterday, and went out for dinner last night, too. Don't you want to wait awhile before going out again?"

I should say yes. I mean, I do get his point. He said I reminded him of the worst of his students, always needing to be constantly entertained. And he's right. I do need to be constantly entertained. And after working for nine hours straight, I need someone else to do the entertaining--like my Netflix. I need to relax. Listen to Pandora radio. Slow the fuck down.

You see, that's the hard thing about being in relationships. Getting on the same rhythm as your partner. After a little more than three years, I'm still working on it. A constant push-and-pull of needs and wants and compromises and let's do this now then do this later.

Part of the problem is--yes, I do need some stronger passions.

I'm going to watch an Improv Group perform all on my own on Wednesday. Huh. Sounds funny, doesn't it? All. On. My. Own. It kind of freaked me out at first. The idea of going someplace by...myself! I used to do that all the time. Nowadays, most outings are usually duets. But yes--it's a passion of mine--improv theater, guerilla theater, and it's about time I do something about it.

Having a passion--something you can claim, cling to--is indeed important. For when I think of Rick--when just about anyone who really knows him thinks about him--a string of images pops through their minds: books, magazines, writing, pictures, running, trains, cooking--the list goes on, but is known.

When people think of me, I think they think this: tap dancing, writing songs, guerilla theater, food--and then I kind of stop. What is linked to me? How do people define me. But even more important than that: how do I define myself. That's what I'll be working on.

Damn--you spend a whole day at work to help others, only to come home and have to work on yourself for the rest of the night.

Good Days

So I'm back here again.

I've been reading other people's blogs recently, getting a feel of how other people approach writing them, and I think I get it.

This thing isn't supposed to be me detailing to my so called audience, exactly what I did today, or scrambling down my to-do list, or whining about how tired I am--no! Boring!

This is supposed to be a vehicle for stuff much finer than that. Like, talking about a book I just read. Or reflecting on something I saw today. Or describing a radio show. Or understanding why Rick is so obsessed with my toes. THAT's what dreams are made of.

Speaking of dreams, I had a dream last night that I was going to be a play of "Beauty and the Beast" with Rick. We were rehearsing that song, "Bonjour," (I think that's what it's called anyways), and I sounded just like the girl from the movie. Rick, however, sounded like Rick and I remember our director was looking at him funny.

I'm not sure what this means...maybe that I have an overly-inflated view of my artistic and creative abilities. Maybe that I'm a competitive little minx. Or maybe that I just think I sound just like the real Belle while singing in the shower. Anyways, it's a sign that I'm going to be a celebrity...I'm pretty sure of it.

Back to school...

I don't know if anyone reads this yet, so I'll just write a little for my own sake.

Tomorrow school starts again...tutoring, that is. Well...tutoring, planning, running an After-School program. This year will be off to a busy start, what with the MLK Day and our Adoption Ceremonies.

But it always falls into place...and it will be fine.

Today I wrote a song for some of our third graders to sing at the MLK Day Lunch. I'm pretty proud of it, and it didn't take too long to write. Now all that has to happen, is that the kids like it too--and memorize it and don't f-up for the real thing. Here's the song:

MLK Day Song

(To the tune of: “Black or White” by Michael Jackson)

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King (Junior!)

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King (Junior!)

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King

He was in January 1929.

His Mom and Dad both though that he was divine.

His Dad was a minister;

His Mama was a school teacher (Teacher!)

He liked to read books, sing, ride his bicycle, and play football! (Football!)

He went to Morehouse College at 15.

Became a minister and a Dr. King.

He believed in equality and civil-rights for everyone! (One!)

People liked him so much the Nobel Peace Prize he has won! (Won!)

So tell me you agree with me,

That MLK Jr. was the best! (Best!)

We hoped you learned a lot

Because afterwards there will be a test. (Test!)

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King (Junior!)

Martin Luther, Martin Luther King……..

So, that's it! I hope it all works out, and that people love it.

Now it's time to re-group and make sure I have all my bases covered for the first day back--after 19 days of vacation!--tomorrow. Let's see what else I should do before tomorrow...

--Permission slip for kids going to MLK Day Lunch
--Pick which kids are coming
--Get song from Itunes (Black or White) and find a way to edit it
--Run tomorrow morning (or tonight)
--Pack lunch
--Straighten hair tomorrow
--Find out what's going on for After-School Program--be ready for that


Okay, so this blog just turned into a personal to-do list for me, and hey--why not? No one reads this yet anyways--I haven't made the blog website known to any public--so who cares, right?!

Anywho, I'm about to sign off. I want go read for a bit--Michael Pollan's "In Defense of Food," and then watch the movie I got tonight from NetFlix, "Return to Oz." Can't wait! Just wish I had one more day left of vacation so I could go...shopping. Anyways, what will be will be. Make the most of it. Make the days count...and everything else under the sun.

Thanks for hearing me out and now I'm hereing out! That's such a cheesy tag-line. I should probably change that.

Allie

My first entry...

So, I'm posting this more or less just to see how it looks. Then I'll write some more.

Today I cleaned my entire apartment while listening to Pandora.com. I love Pandora! I listened to Mexican music and Bluegrass too!

But now I'm procrastinating by creating a blog. I've been looking at a couple friend's blogs recently, and thought, "Why the fuck don't I have one of those???!!!" I should be writing anyways, so why not on something fun where I can show off; oh, the exhibitionist in me! It's like being published, but for the few friends who will read it.

So, anyways, I really should be off to do something. Something like...take my trash out that's sitting outside in the hallway. Whoops! Or something like scratch some things off my over-zealous to-do list. I think I have about...10 activities listed on that...ha!

Well, off to try...

allie