I'm Not Sayin' I'm a Gold-digger

From a young age, I've been conditioned to think about how I'll take care of myself in the future. I know that I have to figure out how to have a career that I enjoy but that will also support me. I know what I have to do to get there, and I'm working to get myself there.

When I think of my future, it's not that I believe I'll put my career first in life. I mean, the hope that I'll someday have a husband was enough for me to opt to not become a broadcast sports reporter. But I do know that I'll always want a career that is fulfilling and that provides me with enough finacially. I've seen too many women who were so reliant on their husband's income that they stayed in abusive relationships or marriages that lacked any love. I've also seen enough women who were completely staggered by the loss of their husband (through divorce or death) and were at a complete loss financially. I don't want that to be me. My future, if ever, husband will have to know that I don't need him because of what he can give me financially but need him because of what he gives me in other areas of life. And I will know this as well.

Taking all this in, that's not to say that finding a man who is financially well-off is a turn off. Men who are stable financially offer me the opportunity to have what I've planned for...and more. But men who are not, are scary. It's not that I have to have men to support me. But nowhere was I raised to plan for supporting a man. So when a guys' financial status is in limbo, it's hard to get past that. It's not in my vernacular. I can support myself, but I can't support a man, too. But after talking to many of my female friends lately, it's something I've come to realize guys don't understand about many of us. Some guys have even gone so far as to call my like-minded friends gold-diggers.

Guys, we're not gold-diggers. We just don't have the money to be a sugar momma.

A Very Sarah Jessica Parker Moment a la The Family Stone

She screams “Does nobody in this family love me?” before running out of the room.

Today I came to work hoping to avoid thinking about my personal life and the story for my class that I should be finishing. While settling in and reading the forum board for people in my industry, I was surprised to find a thread with my magazine’s title in it. There had been so many responses, that two pages of comments were now filled. Clicking on it, I saw that the original post was reaming a short FOB piece I wrote (which wasn’t bylined) that had an accompanying risqué photo. Others chimed in on their surprise at my magazine for running it, but eventually it led to a ream into the huge feature I’d written in that issue (yes, the one on Vietnamese techs that I’d been excited about and had spent much time researching).

OK, I knew the feature would not be received well by all in the industry (that was part of the motivation for writing it), but really now. There was no need for the thread to eventually become a tear-into the writer topic.

I don’t regret writing it. I’m glad I did it. But I am saddened that perceptions of race and nationality control so much of people’s thinking. “Xenophobia is rampant,” one tech told me (in thanking me over the phone last week for writing it). Yes. It is. But it sucks that other people’s fear of the unknown and unfamiliar makes me feel like poop.

It is days like today that I wish I would marry some stupid chump for his money, write quietly in a journal that nobody ever sees, sit around half the day watching CMT and take runs along the beach.

Instead though, I scream into the void of this blog, “Does nobody in this world love me?” before walking out to figure out my place in this world.

A Dating Hangover

I should've gone ahead and worn the shirt on Tuesday.

Last night, for the third time in my life I consumed an entire bottle of wine. The first bottle was drank because I was consumed by feelings of stress and guilt. The second bottle was to disappointment. Last night was to sadness, anger, fear and injured pride.

And as the alcohol set in, nobody...not I or those around me...knew just how much it was affecting me until I'd passed the point of tipsy. I guess it was the same with dating...I didn't know how much it was affecting me until I came to, with it all over.

This morning's hangover is painful and makes me never want to drink again, but I know the haze and headache will pass. I'll get past the dating hangover just the same.

Romancing the Rust

Monday night my roommates (well the ones not watching 24) watched The Bachelor in Paris. Seeing the clips of previous shows, I started getting really annoyed (and annoying, I’m sure). As proof that true love can be found on reality TV, the show was interviewing the past couples who are now married or engaged. Granted I was not there, but I find it hard to believe that real love blossomed in a time when the show’s bachelor (or a couple of times, the bachelorette) shared intimate moments (i.e. sex) with quite a few of the remaining contestants. Perhaps love did exist, but I became embittered watching the edited reels that made it look like “it was love at first sight.” Puke.

Then, the roommates and I began discussing Trista and Ryan’s love. (Yes, I realize for the cynic I am, I’ve watched way too many seasons of this horrid show) I was completely disgusted by Ryan in the last few episodes of that season. Near the end, he wrote Trista a poem and cried when he read it. Barf. I declared that I would not want a guy to do that. Roommate #1 wasn’t quite as turned off as I, but Roommate #2 said she would actually like this display. When my two-minute analysis of our view of love was complete, it was clear our views of romance were developed from our parents. I have not seen my dad cry in 25 years, so seeing any guy cry while reading a poem just doesn’t fit into my vision of what a guy should be. Roommate #2, however, said her father would do something like that. Thus, that’s why she would expect, or at least like something like said poem reading. But to me, that’s just not romance. At all.

Ironically, on Tuesday, I happened upon a how-romantic-are-you? quiz. My score out of 100 was 47. I was labeled a “borderline romantic.” My test results told me, “Though you aren’t entirely wooed by splendid shows of love, you can get into a little bit of romance.” For the most part, I have to agree. I mean, I do count Love, Actually as one of my favorite movies.

And as the intrepid February holiday was this week, I had to ponder just how borderline romantic to be. Although I did hang out with a certain guy that night, he and I opted for a very non-V-Day night. As I was getting dressed, I wondered how non-V-Day to be. To give a real middle finger to the day, I considered wearing my “Boyfriends are Replaceable” shirt (not that I’m labeling him or I in any way here), but I opted against it. Yes, said guy probably would have thought it was funny. But I figured wearing said shirt around him would be disrespectful. And I’m just that darn romantic that I don’t want to disrespect him. Next year, though, I’m definitely going to the burlesque show/Mexican wrestling/midget throwdown on February 14.

I Have Been Waiting for This Day

Quin Snyder resigned as MU Head Coach. Finally. I've been waiting for this for almost five years now. Perhaps MU basketball will not always suck. And perhaps they can actually sell seats to fill the new arena.

And you'll be on the top -- up on the top!

Would you rather...

A class that slowly but surely changed my outlook on life and love was “Religion and Human Sexuality.” It was a summer class taught by a Lutheran minister — but not nearly as ho-hum as that sounds. There are about three moments from that class that truly stick out in my mind, and one of them was when the professor set a hypothetical “would you rather…” situation in front of us. At first thought the answer seemed obvious. After a little deliberation, though, most of us changed our opinions.

Lately, I feel as though all of my life is a deliberation. My mind is constantly swimming with these “would you rather…” thoughts. My room is a mess. I haven’t cleaned my bathroom sink in weeks. And I just can’t think about anything — because I’m already thinking about everything.

Here’s the question my religion teacher set before us
Would you rather…
…walk in on the person you love having sex with someone else OR walk in on that person holding hands and cuddling with someone else?

and a few more to ponder as well
…work in a job that you like and get paid really well for OR work in one that you love but always feel strapped for money?
…never improve and have people always tell you you’re great OR make some improvements and hear what your faults are?
…be lazy and bored OR be busy and stressed?
…plan out your future and how to reach your goals OR let life take you where it does?
…like someone a lot and not know if he/she liked you OR have someone like you a lot more than you know if you like him/her?
…have one really good friend OR have lots of acquaintances?
…travel the whole world alone OR travel a few places with people you care about?
…build someone else’s self-esteem up OR have someone build yours up?
…be smart and not-so-attractive OR be attractive and not-so-smart?
…go to the depths of the ocean OR go to the heights of the sky?
…cook a great meal that others enjoy OR buy a meal just for yourself?
…invest in Chipotle’s stock OR invest in Burger King’s stock?
…follow someone you’re passionate about OR follow something you’re passionate about?
…visit someone in their place/city OR have someone visit you?
…buy clothes OR buy a trip?
…have someone not be your friend for who you are OR have someone be your friend for who you aren’t?
…die too young to have done everything in life OR die too old to be able to enjoy life’s last few years or even decades?
…save for retirement OR live better now?
…be happily ignorant of all the strife surrounding you OR be sadly knowing of all the problems you can’t fix?
…give someone a silly gift OR give a gift that’s meaningful?
…eat Ramen (pronounced Ray-men) noodles OR eat Ramen (pronounced Rah-men) noodles?
…write a blog OR stare at your blank computer screen because there’s nothing else to do?

Beauty Is in the Eye of the Photo

Yesterday was not spent watching the Super Bowl. Instead I watched gaggles of gals running around, loading themselves up on hair, makeup and nail products. I normally wouldn’t do this, but I attended my first industry trade show this weekend.

One thing that surprised me throughout the weekend was finding out what the people looked like. I’m not just talking about the stylists and techs walking around the showroom floor. I was blown away by everyone. Many look nothing like what I’d imagined. Some were younger, perkier and fresher-faced than I expected, but there were others I thought I knew what they looked like. But I didn’t. I’ve realized quickly that in the beauty industry, most people in the industry have publicity shots…that look nothing like them.

But this isn’t JUST in the beauty industry. When I attended a “meet the teachers” event through mediabistro.com, I was completely stunned when I saw many of the instructors. Their “instructor” photo face was nothing like their real-life face.

And friendster…myspace? They’re both a playground of photo-frenzy people, who put up their “best” photo…which was shot at some weird angle and really looks nothing like the person.

It seems to me that people know this when choosing photos that represent them. Is it that people are so self-conscious they think the real them won’t attract buyers or students or friends from the past? Or is it others telling them, “you would look great like this?” Or is it the fact that maybe they did look like that at one point…but age and gravity took hold, and said person is too ashamed to take a new photo?

Whatever the reason, this saddens me. I think many of these people are beautiful in their own way and how they are…and their confidence to show that would only make them more attractive.

Alas. I realize my myspace photo is nearly two years old (but was put up less than two weeks ago)…my friendster photo is nearly 10 years old…and my professional writing Web site features photos that are really jokes. I tell myself I did that so others wouldn't see glam Jayna, expect that, then be disappointed. But maybe that whole train of thought is just as bad as putting up a glam Jayna picture.

A Cheer Me Up

So, I'm not in a really good mood right now. And I have absolutely nothing to do at work. At all. In honor of that, I thought I would post something that I think is funny. I don't know if you will, but you might. This was made by one of the guys I used to play softball with...he's in the "industry," if you will.

A rather funny music video

What Did I Say???

Today someone recognized my voice as one from Missouri. I never thought I sounded like a Missourian. Well, I thought I did a little, but I didn't think others notice. Guess I was wrong.

Can You See Me Now?

New photos have been added to my online kodak photos. There are the long-awaited ones from Naked Nina's visit, and I also finally added some from December/October that I was slow putting up.

See Nina here.
See random pics here.

Have Fun Will Travel

There is this whole world out there, and I'm dying. Dying for two things: to see it all and to change it. Which will win?

As I'm getting more and more settled into the job, I'm realizing how much I have to set goals for my professional life. I fear I will be in this same job for 10 years and unhappy after three. I know this job is not for the rest of my life, and I have to prepare myself now for what will come after I leave. That is why I created a freelance Web site (up for about two weeks now, woohoo!), and that is also why I'm taking another mediabistro course. I know I'm supposed to be watching my money and dropping close to $500 on a travel-writing course doesn't seem like the wisest decision, but I felt I had to do it.

Since college I've been doing things based on the assumption that I would one day be a travel writer -- that's why I did an independent study photo course on landscapes and how I convinced the HRM teacher to let me take Professional Beverage Management senior year. That's also why I'm working hard at my current job. All will put me into a position to know more about travel or be able to better land freelance writing gigs on places.

And then I had my STRS (state teachers retirement system) money that is sitting around...money that will fund my around-the-world trip if I decide to ever do it. As this travel-writing course approached, I rationalized that taking $500 of that money to do the course would be an investment of that cash. That money would help me earn loads of money on a trip.

Now enrolled, I wait for the first class. And question what I'm doing with my life. Do I want to just travel the globe for the next 50 years and write about it? No. I want to do journalism that makes a difference. While getting paid well to write about luxury spas, I want to be paid little to write about big problems. I want to change maybe not lives but at least thoughts. I want to inform people. I want the world to be a better place because I existed.

So, as I sat today in chuch and pondered my existence, I realized that travel writing will be my gateway. Well, actually, I remembered that...I remembered that the whole reason I wanted to return to journalism was to either launch my own publication and/or become a journalism professor who pushes her students to make their own changes.

I must remember why I'm doing what I'm doing. Money will come if I need it. Fulfillment...the earth will bring me that.

This Hurts

I can't move. I normally don't blog at work, but I hurt so bad, that I can't actually concentrate today. Tylenol does not help. Sleep made it worse. Sitting or standing, nothing feels better...I just want to wake up in two days and be normal.

Yesterday, Heather, Nina and Nina's Peace Corps friend and I went snowboarding. Well, Heather and Nina's friend went snowboarding. Nina and I learned.

It was a great time...I loved it! And Heather and Nina's friend were amazing teachers. They were so patient and positive (um, reminded me of why Heather was still teaching and I wasn't...). By the end of the day, I felt like I'd learned a lot.

However, my body is severly paying for it now. My knees are red and swollen. My butt feels like it's going to fall off. My neck must have been put through a wringer. Then there's the sore muscles, too. I honestly haven't felt like this since middle school: basketball season would start, and those 3 miles at the first practice (when I hadn't done anything truly athletic for the past nine months) killed all my muscles. And that's what I feel like today.

I need sleep!

But it hurts to lie down, too.

OK, I Am Already a Dinosaur

I have lots of gadgets, and I like playing with them; however, actually getting them is a huge pain for me. The iPod? I'd thought about it for years...but until the gifting, I never could break away from the good ol' CD and Walkman phase. My cellphone? Up until last June, my screen was monochromatic. My DVD player? I still bought the one that had the VCR too. It's hard for me to leave my old ways behind.

That is why this week's news on cameras breaks my heart...and will soon break my bank account. Earlier, Nikon announced they will no longer be making most of their film cameras. I just bought my Nikon SLR last March. So, now I've got to scramble to get all the accessories I can for it before they run out. And I'm lucky I didn't sell my lower-end Minolta, because today they announced they're not making cameras AT ALL anymore. My film cameras will be relics one day...and it kills me because they STILL take far better photos than digital cameras at this point.

Which has been why I've been reluctant to buy a digital SLR (I mean I plunked down nearly a grand on a Nikon film camera, when I could've bought a digital one last year). They're too easy...the lighting is bad...and they're much more sensitive to rough handling. But next time I find myself with $2000 to spend, looks like I'll be buying a digital Canon Rebel.

I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that kodak never stops producing film. Then I'll be really unhappy. And with two useless cameras. That I'll probably still keep.

College Cure

When I was missing college...an old friend comes along and reminds me that I can still have fun. This weekend, a fellow ex-teacher and TFA alum came to visit, and yesterday was spent at the Hermosa pier. Good times.

Silly pictures.

So THAT'S What I Wanted!

Super excited. I was cleaning my room and in the process, I had to clean out my planner/address book. In one pocket I found the DVD I'd been looking for since my hard drive was wiped clean. This DVD has all the photos and documents I'd created prior to May 2005. When my hard drive was abolished, I was most sad that I'd lost "My 50 Life Goals" list. Obviously, that was the first thing I opened. This is the third time I've updated it since I created the list in December 2003.

I actually only have 45 items on the list...I wanted to leave space to add more. Since Feb. 2005, I was able to cross off four more items. So, out of 45 goals, I've actually accomplished 15. That's a pretty good number for two years worth of goal-seeking...however, looking at this list, there are some...

Major Surprises (or ones I'd forgotten were ever a life goal for me):
19. Get married
28. Work in Australia
34. Pay off all my student debt by 2010
38. Go to Thailand

I no longer want to do:
8. Write a book of poetry
25. Finish NY scrapbook
32. Run a marathon
36. Learn how to oil paint

That I didn't even realize I'm working on doing at some point in the near future:
5. Be published in Los Angeles magazine (no, no assignments, just racking my brain for pitches after meeting an assigning editor)
17. Go to South Korea
23. Learn how to play the guitar

That I think are pretty feasible and won't take much:
18. Visit Florida
26. Drive up the coast of California
37. Learn how to make the perfect salsa
45. Go skydiving

So, I've got space for five more...well, nine if I take off the ones I no longer want to do. Hmmm...nine more goals...what to add, what to add?

Ready, Ready, Ready...Ready to Run

I was never a quitter. Growing up, I stayed with things until I could no longer. Although I was a clutz with no grace, I stayed with ballet until my teacher moved. Although I was 5'4" and wanted (to no avail) be a forward, I stuck with basketball until I graduated from high school. Although I was always the second-chair saxophone (but desperately wanted to be first), I never quit.

I was not a quitter, but somewhere, my too-tight anus gave out; I stopped being a perfectionist. It was gradual in college, but TFA just forced me into quitting things. I was forced into chasing non-profit pipe dreams that they told me were impossible. "Every child deserves a chance" I was told at every turn of my training...then as my first year of teaching unraveled, they discreetly told me, "there are some kids you can't change. You can't sacrifice other students' education for theirs." So, I gave up on "saving" some. And thus began my love affair with quitting. When a brilliant unit plan wasn't delivering, what was I advised? "Do what works..." quit what you're doing and make the best with what you have.

Now, quitting is far too commonplace for me. As soon as something loses my peak interest or presents too much of a challenge, I peace out. In the last year or so, things I've quit: teaching, softball team, reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X and many others. Things I started but have conveniently "not had enough time for": surfing, playing the guitar and writing my novel. Now I've got a whole new slew of things that I don't want to quit, but I've tempted to run from because I'm challenged: creating my freelance Web site, working on long stories at the job and trying to figure out dating.

Yes, I want to quit many things. When things get challenging, I prefer to ingore the challenge and quit. However, I look at the things that I did quit and the things that I have wanted to quit, and there is one striking difference. I haven't quit the latter. For some reason something keeps me going. My life would be simpler without those things, which aren't completely necessary, and I'm sure I'd be just as happy if I did quit. But the challenges I've faced haven't been enough to make me run...just enough to make me ready to.

I Miss U.

Although this weekend's movies were entertaining, the most entertaining 2 1/2 hours I've seen in the last three days was the video I just watched of my last 2 1/2 weeks of college. I was missing my college friends a bit, and I thought this would cure it. It was the perfect dose of something. That's for sure.

As I watched a three-night stint which included Harpo's, Senior Sendoff and a night after Big 12 campus, I realized just how crazy Jayna used to be (and just how easily she could've been mistaken for a hussy). And I noticed how freaking hilarious I was as well. I miss the old Jayna: the one who tells other people's secrets to a whole group of people, the one who forced random guys to break dance in the dining room, the one who told #24 from Oklahoma he was a loser because he didn't know what a Sooner was. ("I know what a Tiger is!" was my response.)

And I of course miss Harpo's. I know I talk about this place way too much, but really, it wasn't the place (I tried Harpo's once on a Saturday non-game night, and it wasn't pretty). It was the people who showed up there on a Thursday night that I miss. If the bar from the TV show Cheers were transplanted into my life, Harpo's would be it. That bar was a place where everybody(or at least the cool ones, hehehe) knew my name and were always glad I came. And it had everything a girl could ask for: quarter draws (or whiskey sours), photo hunt and a really cute bartender who gave me free shots (who I TOTALLY forgot about until about an hour ago -- dang, why was I so shy in college?).

But more than Harpo's I miss the people who came to Harpo's and the people in general that were from that time. This video served as a great reminder of the wonderful people I was surrounded by in college. I had my roommates, rLife crew, the freshman-year kids, the NY crowd, the magazine peeps, SAB folk, the res. life people...the list goes on and on. And I miss you all. I miss the times we spent teasing each other, the times we joked about Ranly (who I totally forgot fell asleep during the graduation speeches), the times you teased me about how innocent I was freshman year, the times staying late in Hearnes just to bask in the atmosphere, the times we ate and drank at the Berg, the times we wrote messages on my notes back and forth about a guy in class and idiot me let him borrow the notes, the times spent harassing baseball players from around the Big 12, the times spending Sundays eating burgers at Boone's, the times I told you way more personal information than you needed to know, the times I convinced you that you had told your personal information to someone else and that's how they knew, the times just chillin' in the house. In short, I miss you. I miss the carefree life we had in college. I miss me, too.

Performance Space

I'm still in shock. I have seen two of the best performances in years over the last two days. First off, who would've known that a Housewife could be such a convincing transexual? Felicity Huffman was amazing, and the story was just as intriguing. Transamerica made me question my own beliefs about gender identity, and I like a good challenge.

Today's movie was Brokeback Mountain. I fell in love with Heath Ledger when I saw 10 Things I Hate About You during high school. I love him even more after this movie. I couldn't take my eyes off him the whole time. There was something in his expressions that made me believe him and made me hurt. It was a beautifully written love story...and I have to admit that it captured the pain and insecurities that almost all relationships have -- which is something most movies can't do these days.

Ah, good job, Hollywood. Now. I need to sleep and dream about Heath.

iDecision

A surprise Christmas gift this year was an iPod Nano. I'm having oodles of fun playing with it. However, as I uploaded music to it yesterday, I was faced with a dilemma. What would be the first song I would purchase from iTunes for the new gadget?

This was an important decision. Why? I remember listening to records when I was a wee child, so I remember what my first cassette was: Michael Jackson's Bad. Years later I moved into the techno-advanced world and bought my first CD: PM Dawn (didn't they only have one album?). So, I know years from now I would remember the day and the song. I could possibly smile at the classicness of choice (like I do with Michael Jackson) or cringe at the thought of how pop-ified I was (like I do with PM Dawn). Alas, I gave into my pop-wannabe side. My first iTunes purchase was Pussycat Dolls' Stickwitu. Well, it could be a classic some day. Maybe.

"My" Team

Rooting for the home team was a suggestion one service journalism piece gave for people who move cities and are trying to make new friends. That suggestion sickened me when I read it in college, and it sickens me now. Just because you live near a team is no reason to like it. And I hate those people who do.

The last week has been a pain in my arse because I had weave my way in and out of USC "fans." These people don Trojan clothing and act as though they've been fans for life. These are the people I want to tell to get a life. So, in an effort to vent, I've compiled a list of unacceptable reasons that pseudo-fans use for claiming fan status.

1. I like the uniform colors.
2. I like the mascot.
3. I like cheering for a winning team.
4. It's the only team I've ever seen play.
5. I don't know who to cheer for.
6. I married into it/my boyfriend/girlfriend is a fan.
Actually 7. My ________ is a fan.
8. _________ is hot.
9. _________ seems really nice.
10. Pretty much anything that has nothing to do with the game...

This could be one of the only times I want Texas to win anything. At least I won't have to hear about USC and Matt Leinert for the next year.

RE: solutions

My life and personality have some problems. One of the things I have most recently begun to dislike about myself is how I communicate with others. I normally (in fact probably never) have made New Year's Resolutions, but last night I decided I would make a couple relating to communications:
1. I will listen when people talk. This means I won't just be thinking about another story that I can tell. I will ask them questions. I will not just say, "fun!" or "sounds like fun!" in response to a comment that I was either barely listening to or when I can't figure out a way to relate said comment/story to my own life.
2. I will be nicer to strangers. I will make eye contact and smile when others initiate conversations. I will talk to others as if I were in Missouri or New York...or somewhere that isn't LA because I'm much friendlier outside of LA; I will strike up conversations with others on a regular basis.

My only problem is that these are not measurable goals. Ah, well...guess that means I'll have to count on friends to hold me accountable.

Do You Still Think I'm Crazy?

Those of you who questioned why I give my parents a Christmas Wish List:















This is one of the gifts I got this year that wasn't on my list. A floral tool set.

My Best Friend's Wedding

The movie came out when I was a junior in high school, and for some reason, it resonated with me. I'm not exactly sure why. I think it was the fact that Jules (Julia Roberts) didn't want the perfect guy until she couldn't have him anymore -- something I could see happening to myself.

The movie also prompted me and one of my closest guy friends to jokingly say we would get married if neither of us was by age 27...and at that time 27 seemed ancient.

That friend recently called my parents' house for my new address. He's getting married next month. Actually, the wedding is in a week and a half. The news isn't quite as disturbing as Jules' news (I knew he was engaged), but it still doesn't settle well. Unlike the My Best Friend's Wedding relationship, I never had a relationship with this guy...and I don't feel romantic urges toward him with the news. But it has caused me to contemplate where I am and what kind of person I am.

Am I like Jules? Am I commitment phobic? Could I ever chase someone else who is commitment phobic? Will I ever say what's on my mind before it's too late? Does unavailability make a guy more attractive to me? Is the chase the best part?

Or can I do vicarious learning via Julia Roberts, Dermot Mulroney and Cameron Diaz?

Redheads Can't Be More Fun

I saw two more today...1/2-Asian kids that are the product of an Asian and a redhead.

The first time I saw one of these kids, I was at Columbia University in NYC. The walking toddler had fire-engine-red hair but Asian eyes. Looking at this kid, I saw a lifetime of taunting for how he looked, and I vowed to never, EVER, marry a redhead. And since dating/sex is typically what leads to marriage/kids, I have vowed to never even date guys with red hair.

There were a few close calls, but unless An tries setting me up with another redhead, I and my possibly future offspring are safe.

I mean, imagine Carrottop with slanted eyes. Not pretty, huh?

A Surprise

I got the bestest early Christmas present ever today. I got a surprise in my mailbox after Christmas shopping today, and I haven't been this happy, relieved or positive about my life in a long time. And tomorrow I'm paying off my credit card bill. In full.

Maybe there is such a thing as Santa. Because this is probably what I would have put on a real wish list for Christmas. And it's not from anyone I know. So, Joy to My World.

Sincerely, Jayna

After I made two separate comments in the past month, I was told, "That didn't sound very sincere."

That means that either:
a) I'm not sincere, and I'm just saying things that I think will sound nice
b) I am sincere, but my voice is just not conveying my true feelings
c) I'm masking my attempt at sincerity through a sarcastic voice

After much deliberation, I'm pretty sure it's C.

Allergic to My Sub-concious

My health insurance will officially begin with the new year. As I get older, I find it interesting as to what is actually covered under insurance. For instance, one of the other people at my company recently went to a hypnotist, so she could quit smoking. And this was covered!

My colleagues and I thus discussed the possibility of hypnotism actually working. The pamphlet said that it could cure everything from smoking, weight problems to allergies. Now at first, allergies seem to be an odd thing to throw in there. But once I started thinking about what allergies actually are (our sub-concsious brain telling our body to react to something that actually isn't harmful), I started to believe this could work.

Then, I started thinking about all the other things I could be hypnotized for. Could my sub-concious be hypnotized to make me work out, could it be hypnotized to make me sing on key, or could it be hypnotized to make me nicer?

Last night was my friend Mark's annual Sophis Chris. Apparently at last year's (when I probably had a little too much wine), I told one girl her boyfriend was the ugliest guy I'd ever seen. We're friends, and she was laughing as she reminded me of it. Unfortunately, I don't remember saying it. Fortunately, they're broken up now. I don't know why I would be that cruel, though. And he's not even truly ugly. Geez, I'm evil. Bring on the hypnotist. Soon, please.

Naked Nina News

Nina has landed! According to reports from her parents, Nina was scheduled to land TODAY in Minnesota. She will be back in Iowa at the end of this week.

For those who don't know Nina, she's quite possibly the most amazing person in the world. She has just finished her two-year stint in the Peace Corps in the land of Togo. She worked two-and-a-half years with MU Res life and was one of the only roommates I ever had who I could share any and all belongings with. She is also one of those people that had the uncanny ability to make me smile no matter how rotten my day...just by being her. Not silly. Not overly optimistic. Just Nina.

She's one of the most inspirational people I know. When I made a list of things that inspired me, Nina was written down. She was one of two people who were "things" on that list. She makes me want to be a better person.

In honor of Nina's return, I'll list my favorite thoughts on Nina:
1. just like every other girl I know from Iowa, she drove a Grand Prix in college
2. her license plate said JPII...in honor of the then Pope
3. she loved Shakey's (Shake's) almost as much as I did
4. she loved Harpo's almost as much as I did (OK, that's probably a lie...I don't think anyone loved Harpo's as much as I did)
5. she ran a marathon
6. she was brilliant but didn't stress about grades
7. she was on RLife with me
8. she worked at the Missourian with me
9. Fayette became like a second home to her when she covered it
10. she was a strict C.A.
11. she broke the rules
12. W.T. Hoover
13. convincing her that she told Richard a story that she hadn't
14. introducing me to Drew
15. baseball games
16. introducing me to Heather
17. introducing me to my junior/senior college roommates -- who became some of my closest college friends
18. calling her dad for help with our magazine
19. playing cards with her sisters and An at her Stephen's apartment
20. getting a great going-away present as I embarked on teaching
21. telling Nina to watch out for the ice by Fieldhouse...then falling on my butt
22. eating at Booche's with her fam
23. lots of Sunday evening's at Boone Tavern
24. stories I heard about her from Freshman year
25. It's Nina. There are so many things to love!

Clemency

n. a: disposition to be merciful and esp. to moderate the severity of punishment due b: an act of instance of leniency
Merriam Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth Edition 2001

I honestly don't know exactly how I feel about the death penalty. I'm probably 95% against it, but my personal fears wins about 5% of a favor for it.

However, 100% of me is against the execution that will be carried out in a little over two hours. Stanley "Tookie" Williams allegedly commited the crimes for which he will die before I was even born. I have no idea what South Central LA was like back then. I know what it's like now, though, and the fact that he was a founder of a gang does not make me think less of him as a person.

I do think better of him for what he has done during my lifetime. Nobody has disputed his sincerity in ending his gang life and keeping kids from joining gangs. His life has become an iconic one, and his change is one that should be celebrated. The fact that a punishment that was dealt out nearly 25 years ago is carried out tonight seems to be unjust. Things change. People change. (How much have you changed since 1981?) But the death penalty doesn't allow for it.

And as the execution draws near, the fact that clemency was not granted in this case has truly made me consider my views on the death penalty. Until the last few years I was pretty much indifferent. But as I become more cold and less caring in my personal life, I find myself becoming more compassionate and merciful in my political views.

No matter how I feel, though, the execution will be carried out, and sometime late tomorrow morning, one Californian will try to go to sleep as he remembers he just killed a man.

$5 Million

As my debt and bills continue to pile up, I thought about how much money it would take to make me financially happy. On my way to an event for the non-profit for which I volunteer, I started adding up how much money I would need in order to have what I wanted for myself and give what I wanted to others. $5 million was the approximation I came up with. "Whoa! That's a lot!" I thought.

Then I came home, and my roommates suggested they would need more. One said $15 million. When we walked by a Santa Monica condo last night that was for sale for $1.28 million, I realized she may be even more realistic...

So, what exactly would I do with my $5 million?
For myself:
-pay off student loans and car loan
-buy a three-bedroom or two-bedroom with a home office house in South Redondo
-do that stinking around the world trip

For family:
-build my parents a three-bedroom one-level home that is easily accessible for my mother and near the woods or a lake
-pay off my parents' car loans
-buy my sister a two-bedroom home in St. Louis
-put money aside for Trina to go to med school if she wanted
-put money aside for Gabe to go to college

For others:
-give four-year scholarships to any of my past students who attend college
-donate money to WriteGirl
-donate money to Harlem RBI

For career:
-finance Tim's latest venture (not because he's my friend, but because I think he has a great idea)
-launch my own consumer magazine
-launch RLife

Three Days Too Late

I realize the big 2-5 was Monday, but I had to post something about my birthday. It's been a great week because of it.

The night before was a great small group of friends from MU and one from my internship in NYC. The next morning started off pretty terrible, though...waking up in some strange guy's bed (don't be alarmed...I'm just joking a bit; I was staying at my friend's, and her roomie let me sleep in his bed while he was gone). Then, I fell (for my second time in four days) at the Broadway Junction stop in Brooklyn while I was attempting to change trains.

But once I got home, it was near perfect. I landed in LA to 70-degree weather. After dropping off my things, I went for a jog along the beach. As I ran past a lifeguard tower, I recalled that at that time the previous day I'd been ice skating in NYC's Bryant Park. "Ah, I've got a good life goin' here," I thought to myself.

Then, I came home and watched a bit of late-afternoon TV. After that, I went to dinner with nine others. It was an eclectic group, and I had fretted for days over whether or not they would get along or find anything to talk about. It seemed to go well, though. Nobody stormed away from the table. It was just plain good company...and that's not even counting the couple of phone calls, e-mail cards and real cards I was greeted with that day. All served to remind me of all the wonderful people in my life.

Falling asleep Monday night, I thought to myself again, "Ah, I've got a good life goin' here."

One Angry Villager Trying to Get the Others to Wake Up

At the end of my TFA Institute teaching position, the school's librarian gave me a pin that said "It takes a village to raise a child." It was a proverb I'd heard before, but that time it meant something different. It was the first time I realized that I was part of that village, and I was raising "my kids."

I heard the same phrase this weekend in New York. While my hostess slept, I watched HBO Family channel's Middle School Confessions, a documentary with middle school students talking about the issues facing them today. It's a show that I think any middle school teacher or parent (past, present and future) will learn from. It's also a show that I think everyone should watch. (And if it was enough to rouse Emily from her sleep to come and watch it, it has to be good!) [For those who care, it's on 12/18 at 4:35 a.m. and 12/20 at 11:00 p.m. on HBO Family-East.]

After watching the documentary, I kept thinking about villages all weekend long. On Friday I'd had coffee/hot chocolate with the director from Harlem RBI's REAL Kids program. After catching up on our own lives, the first kid I asked about was the one who, after a week of RBI, I said would be out of my regular classroom already. "He's ruining it for all the other kids," had been the jest of my conversation. I think he could've contributed a lot, but unfortunately, his temper toward both adults and kids was too much. However, although he was not able to stay in my classroom, he was still the one I wanted to know about. After hearing a not-so-good update, I asked about a girl who struggled with reading. Then about another boy with a temper problem. And then two girls who got into a fight the last week of the program.

One of those two girls has made a complete turnaround in the last six months. When I heard that, I was happy. She was a difficult child to work with, but for some reason, respect has come about in the past few months. A large part of this change I credit to Harlem RBI. In a village that is strewn with violence and other bad habits, RBI helps raise the kids.

That's what I miss now that I'm not teaching. I do believe that it takes a village to raise a child; and villages raise children to become murderers, racists, lawyers, Christians, artists, drug dealers, avid readers or something else. As teachers, it's much easier to make an impact on a kid's life.

But everyone is responsible for how a child turns out. My parents are only a small portion of the people who raised me. My life was shaped (for good or bad) by everyone else around me: Aunt Opal (who was neither my aunt nor named Opal), the McHenrys, the Parkers, Barb, church camp, my basketball coaches, my tennis coach...and that was just before I graduated from high school.

Unfortunately, not all kids have villagers around them willing to help raise them. Some children are berated by those nearby. Other kids are abused by those they should trust. And still others are simply left to fend for themselves.

But everyone is responsible for everyone else's kids. The world is a village, and all of us are responsible for how every single child lives or dies. When we ignore a child's need for love or friendship, we have no right to condemn that child as an adult when he or she commits acts of violence or sleeps around in a search for love.

On the flip side, I don't know that I'll ever stop wondering what would have happened to the Harlem RBI kid if I'd asked the director to let him stay in my class. I have to remember, though, that I am not a village myself. I am not solely responsible for his failure or success in life. We all are.

It takes a village to raise a child.

My New York Times

People say New York is a fast city. I've decided it is. And that's great.

Yesterday I woke up to have lunch with a friend. Lunch time: 12:30. I woke up at 11:40. I freaked out. I barely got ready. My eyeliner was not in a straight line. I walked the block to the train station. By the time I got to his office building, it was 12:10. So, I walked around taking Christmas pictures.

With three appointments/meetings that day, I wasn't late for one of them. New York Public Transportation and my time works great.

"I Should Tell You"

I just got home from seeing the film version of Rent. It was an OK movie. Well, actually, I thought it was a terrible movie, but I still had a great time and loved all 2.5 hours of it. No, it's not because I love stories that depict New York (I'm going there on Thursday). It's not because I'm in love with Jesse Martin (I can watch him on Law & Order any day). It's not because I thought Rosario Dawson was hot, either (I don't want to be a stripper.). It was because the music sent shivers down my spine. Just like in the musical.

Movie critics, who aren't musical critics, have said the music is hokey and cheesey. I don't agree. Perhaps I'm still a little naive and innocent, but I don't think the music is an unrealistic view of life. Just like many of the rest of us in our early 20s, the characters are trying to find out who they are. They are trying to figure out how to express themselves. Mark tries through his film, but in reality that's where he hides. Roger, a singer and songwriter, has been unable to compose any words or music.

And how many of us lack the words when we so desperately want them? There are times when I plan out the perfect monologue or preface to a conversation, then fail at finding the courage to say what I should. Then, there are the times when I am caught completely off guard and have no chance to say what is in my head or heart.

I still find the idea of discussing feelings or questioning if I actually like someone to be extremely exhausting and painstaking. Words with others don't come easy. And asking questions that may never be answered is even more difficult. Expressing myself makes me want to puke.

However, like every other time I listen to the music of Rent, I remind myself that I must remember the words of Mimi. "No Day but Today." We must let go, to know what's right...

*what can't be said...I even edited this again after posting

Post #100

I updated my myspace profile last night, and this is my new picture. Why did I STILL get a dude requesting me as a friend today? Will nothing keep people from soliciting my online friendship. Geez.

Photos for Fun

For those who've never been to the Grand Canyon or wonder how idiotic Meghan and I can be in just three short days, you're in luck. I've now put up pictures of our short trip for you all to enjoy. Enjoy them here.

Quality Time at the Canyon

My first time at the Grand Canyon. I heard parents telling their kids great things:
"If your mom told you to jump into the Grand Canyon, would you?"

"Be careful! If you trip and fall into the Canyon, that wouldn't be good."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be mean and yell at you. I was just scared something would happen to you...but we're never talking about this again. Ever."
"Ever?"
"EVER!!!"

What I noticed about license plates:
I like that Iowa puts the county of registration on the plates.
Most state's have boring designs.
Many states have more than one design.
The colors of Nevada's plate look OK depending on the color of the vehicle to which it is affixed.

What I decided about family vacations (if I ever have a "family"...):
My kids are never playing video games during the vacation.
My kids will, however, have film and/or digital cameras to record their own memories of the vacation.
Families who travel with other families with kids the same age are much happier.
My kids will be able to bring headphones to listen to their choice of music from the car's backseat.
My husband will drive while I sleep.
I will not force my kids to go on vacations that I want to go on or that I think will be educational.
I will, however, force my kids to go on vacations that I think they'll enjoy.
Although I swore to never say the things my parents did, I still have a feeling, I'll say things like, "If Trina told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that?" during family vacations.

Pictures of the Grand Canyon Thanksgiving Weekend Adventure to come.

Thanks Giving

I started making Turkey Day food today. I'm supposed to be making a small Thanksgiving-type dinner tomorrow evening, but today I was making a pie to take with me on Thursday to dinner at my friend's house. As excited as I am to spend the day with my friend and her super-nice family, I'm also super sad.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. It was the one day out of the year when our family would get together and share in meaningless chatter without the stress of gifts or giving. Thanksgiving meant my mom's delicious dressing (stuffing); it meant helping my dad put up the Christmas tree with all our gawdy elementary hand-made ornaments; it meant the start of basketball season with our local Thanksgiving Tournament. How could I NOT love this holiday?

This is my second year to not spend Thanksgiving with my family. And although I'm sad I won't be there, I'm even sadder by the thought that the rest of my family will not either. This year one of my aunts passed away. My sister is away for work, and my brother is visiting her in Minnesota. So, it's basically just my parents. And the thought of them spending the holiday alone is even more sad than me spending the holiday alone.

That's why I cried Sunday night during Grey's Anatomy's Thanksgiving dinner. Thanksgiving is not a time to be alone. I wish I could wake up and smell my parents' cooking, stretch my tired limbs and lumber down the stairs to hug my relatives. But I won't. And my parents won't have anyone to hug them, either.

Honest Answers, Please

Last night I went to happy hour with a few girls from work. We went to a sit-down bar/restaurant and had one-two drinks and appetizers. One of the girls, who I knew pretty well, explained to us why she could only have one drink. "[My husband] thinks I'm working late, so I can't come home smelling like alcohol."

This immediately surprised me. The idea of purposely lying to my future [if ever] husband makes me sad. I've never been one to create fabrications to avoid conflict (which is probably why my mother and I fought often during high school and the night before my 21st birthday). So, in one of the possibly most important relationships in our lives, why is that people lie? I know she's not the only one. I've seen it in other marriages/long-term relationships. Yes. The truth hurts sometimes. But I think it's a worse feeling finding out the hidden truth later.

Because I'm often an idealist, last night I started to question whether or not I'm naive in believing life-long commitments exist without white lies. Not that I foresee one of the commitments for another 50 years or so, but I'm curious as to what others think. Especially you marrieds (both past and present).

A Personal Disclaimer

Upon investigating my blog recently, I realized that if the Lunch Club reads this at all, those folks are probably pretty disappointed by my recent batch of posts. They really only liked the ones where I tried to explain my inexplicable behaviors and unearthed personal feelings. Most of my recent posts have been more surface. Not really sure why...it's just what's on my mind. But I guess another part of it is the realization that this is easily findable. And, so sometimes I wonder who's reading it?

But, I didn't want to disappoint my dear Lunch Club, so I'll try to remember and throw in a personal diatribe every once in a while. That's what I was trying to do in the previous post.

And because I haven't posted an album in a while, either, here's this.

Geek to Chic

Jayna in 1999. Note the long hair, odd choice of clothes for a hair appointment and ill-fitting bra. (I was quite twiggy back then as well...)


My roommate likes Oprah. We often argue about this, and I tell her Oprah's stupid; I've never liked her. In our Oprah discussion a couple of days ago I conceded, "But I didn't grow up with her. I didn't even watch talk shows. Except I liked Ricki Lake. I always loved the ones that were like 'I was a Geek, but Now I'm Chic!' or 'Now I'm Hot, and You're Not!' I guess I always thought about what it would be like for me to do something like that." Insert my silly laugh here.

Roommate's response: "Isn't that basically what you did?"

"Uh, thanks. I didn't think I was that geeky [yes, I'm still in denial]. I pretty much look exactly the same." Puzzled roommate look -- trying to avoid hurting my feelings. I mean, was a geek? [definitely not claiming to be chic] But then, those flannel shirts kept flashing through my mind. And that butt-brushing long hair. I realized, I had changed quite a bit.

So, for the last few days, I've been thinking how I've changed and just how purposeful it was. I mean, I've talked about how different I look, but why did I do it? In high school I always wanted to be someone else...and I never felt strong enough to be that person. Freshman year of college finally started bringing about that change. I stopped hiding in my hair, and chopped that puppy off. I started wearing makeup -- which I credit to Chayce Bingler* and Van Sane*...our Donnelly flirtations sans hair and with Clinique additions were enough to make me realize makeup wasn't the devil. Studying abroad in Australia gave me the confidence to wear skirts. Hollister employment gave me the confidence to wear really short skirts. And the changes just kept coming.

The closest thing to a Geek-to-Chic moment came this spring. On my month-long road trip, I made a pit stop to stay with my college roommate in St. Louie. Before arriving, I called up a guy friend from high school. I hadn't seen him in about five years, but I asked him to gather up some of our other St. Louis livin' high school pals and watch the NCAA championship with me. We sat around having beers (which they'd never seen me do before) and chatting. It was great because although I hadn't seen these five guys in five years or more, it was as though we hadn't lost time. But later that night, I talked to one of the guys on the phone. Before we hung up, he said, "And by the way, we all decided you're hot." Uncomfortable silence. I thanked him. Later that night, though, I realized that comment was really what I had wanted all growing up. Those guys were four of the most popular guys in my grade...but when I so desperately wanted to hear that, I didn't. And me being the proud biznatch I am, refused to change for them/others. Thus, a change ensued only upon leaving my hometown. Granted, soon after, the boys from high school weren't what kept me changing. What kept me changing was the idea that I didn't have to be embarassed of who I am, and I liked the way people treated me differently with my new look (big change was the Chinese foreign-exchange students stopped trying to talk to me in Mandarin...).

And, I'd like to say I am totally confident in my sense of self-worth through beauty, but I'm not. Those same insecurities I felt when I was 17 are still there. I don't know if it's something I will ever fully outgrow. I created a test once...if you were to be set up on a blind date, how would you want to be described? What is the first thing you would want your mutual friend to say about you? My theory is that what you want to be the first thing is the personal quality you're least confident in. And, no matter what, I'd still want my friend to say, "Well, she's the cute girl who..." I mean, after winning the spelling bee in first grade I was pretty confident in my intelligence, and I know I'm funny [Did you hear about the constipated mathematician? He worked it out with a pencil.]. But I know that others' perception of my beauty will always be where I falter in confidence.

Because no matter how chic I try to become, I'll never forget that I was a geek.

Me and the high school boys in April 2005.

*Yes, still changing names. See, I knew it was funny the first time, and I can't let it go yet.

Help Wanted

University of Missouri Head Basketball Coach
Columbia, MO

Searching for a competent D-I men's coach who can beat schools named after the first president of the Republic of Texas and fill an arena that was once named for a Southern California briber who no longer has a college degree. Job will be effective at the close of this season.

Perks:
-you will be loved by many a Tiger faithful
-you have a brand new arena at your disposal
-many of the players you will inherit were in their class' top 100
-some of the others are set to inherit about $100 million (i.e. there's lots of money to be donated if you play your cards right)
-you will likely be overpayed for your work (even with no head coaching experience and little improvements, you could earn one of the top five salaries of NCAA men's basketball head coaches)

Requirements:
-you must be able to work for one season with a program on probation and with fewer scholarships than the norm (the predecessor wasn't quite knowledgable of NCAA regulations -- despite having recruited previously and receiving a JD from Duke)
-you will read the NCAA regulations and follow them
-you will take the team to the NCAA tournament every year -- whether with the team you inherit or the ones you will recruit
-if, despite hard work and team play, you do not make it to the NCAA tournament, you will not lose in the first round of the NIT
-you will not recruit players who a) rape 13-year-old girls b) smoke weed in their dorm rooms with the university's MSA vice president present c) choke their girlfriends when said girlfriends refuse to watch Roots
-you will avoid rumors that you use cocaine and invite players over for cocktail parties
-you will not pretend to not know what is going on with your program (i.e. know how recruits are being recruited, know how players obtain "pass codes" for athletic program phones)
-you must care more about the appearance of the basketball program than your hair (we must never have to have a conversation with you regarding the length of your hair and professional appearance)
-you will wear black and gold as your basic colors -- keep your previous school's colors off your back while you are on the court

If this position does not quite meet your employment needs, please keep checking back. We hope to be looking for a new Athletic Director in the next few years.

I Thought I Was a Feminist

Although part of me hates to admit it, I'm probably a feminist. Today, though, I was not.

We had a minor altercation with our stove, and the starter/ignitor spontaneously started and wouldn't turn off. Fearing that the house was filling with gas fumes, I panicked and tried to replace and turn off the knob. I told Amie to call someone. I sought out Meghan to help me find a main gas valve.

As Amie talked to the fire department, I gave up my faith in solving the problem. After Meghan jokingly suggested we get our surfer/stoner neighbors to help, I immediately thought "we need a guy." As I looked over the walls in the house, I sent Meghan to fetch our neighbors that are in the armed forces. Dan knew how to solve a car problem, so I figured this was easy peasy for him.

As Dan came out and offered his help, Amie met us all and said to the fire department instructed us to stay outside and wait for them.

The problem was solved with the fire department...it actually wasn't a severe issue, just a problem with the starter, but I realized how much I like having handy guys around. I'm sure glad Dan's next door, and I'm glad my dad's only a phone call away. Yep...no matter how independent I am, I will always be thankful to have calming, problem-solving guys nearby.

But I still want a woman president in 2008.

Why Little Girls Hate Themselves

Yesterday, I was looking through older issues of our magazines and our competitors (yes, there is more than one magazine about my industry...). I decided I kind of like the ones that have feet on the cover...as I looked for those, one of our competitors' covers stuck out to me. It was a gorgeous white backdrop, and the feet and pedicure looked beautiful. The model's milky legs nearly glowed against the background and vibrant props. So, I turned to the page where it shows the "behind-the-scene" of the cover photo shoot. Imagine my utter disbelief when I noticed the girl was not white or Asian, or even a light-skinned Latino. But she was partly African-American (but possibly Latino as well). Her skin in these photos was more like Lionel Richie (on a darker day) or Wesley Stokes. They credited someone on that page as the photographer, and someone else as the "digital imager" (or something of the like). Apparently, they went a little overboard on photoshopping, but the bothersome part is that they obviously tried to make her limbs look like those of a white person. Now, I'm not saying the competitors are racist or that they purposely did this, but it happened nonetheless.

This, of course, raises questions about ethical treatment of photographs, but more importantly to me, I anger when I think that beauty magazines for women pander to the "white is better" idea. Celebrity-driven covers sometimes have women of color, but it's because they're "in the spotlight" for some upcoming movie. But covers with "regular women," i.e. uber-gorgeous models that aren't famous, rarely feature women with non-white skin. I subscribed to Fitness for a year -- it was free, and I put it in my classroom -- and I don't recall seeing one cover that didn't have a white face as the cover model. And if we look at the statistics in America, sorry, Fitness, but America is not 100% white...not even those who work out is 100% white.

And all this makes me think of my students. One of the few things that p***ed me off while teaching was my students' need to look like the girls in magazines (and yes, I realized I was fueling this by giving them these magazines, but I also wanted them to read). They would cut out pictures of Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan and paste them on their folders. The girls would straighten their hair, bleach it blond, and stay out of the sun...all in an atempt to be as white as Paris (yuck, I know). They made fun of those that didn't look light-skinned, and those with "light eyes" were idolized. I noticed the same self-loathing I went through at that age; a self-loathing that I believe most girls go through until they feel that their features (whether it be skin color, eye shape or body size) are beautiful to others.

But I've realized beauty is not concrete. It is a notion we create and to which our personal views contribute. We as a society determine what is beautiful. Media is not just a reflection of that, but media, created by humans, can also change that.

Perhaps if that had been the case 15 years ago, Beyonce wouldn't have become a white girl with a really good tan and straight blond hair, and she would actually accept that she is black.

Pardon me to stretch my own legs. I've been standing on this soapbox for a while now.

I Think It Was Worth It

I got a $40 parking ticket last night. I had to meet some women from the non-profit for which I volunteer. I was already late, and I noticed the valet signs for the restaurant. I followed the signs, and turned the corner for the stand.

The car in front of me slammed to a halt. The valet jumped out and ran over to another car. He started yelling in the window at some guy. Two other guys got out of the back of the car. The valet took off his valet jacket ready to fight. I drove around. Didn't really feel like putting my car in the hands of these guys. I parked on the side of the road although it said not to park there during those hours.

I knew I'd likely get a parking ticket...but hmmm...the $35 difference between the valet and the ticket was OK. I'd rather have that than trust Devante to those guys.

Five Days of War

In five days I did what I hadn't done in months. I finished an adult novel (and by adult, I don't mean porn, but not young adult, aka one that I would teach). Last Wednesday, I bought Jarhead and finished it last night. Now, I realize this may not seem like a typical book for me, but I had good reasons to read it:
1. I wanted to see the movie, and if it's a based-on-a-book movie, I like to read the book first.
2. I could procrastinate writing my own book.
3. I thought it would be good to analyze another memoir before starting my own.
4. War books and movies are intriguing to me. I think maybe it's because in some way I hope they help me understand what my father went through in Vietnam.

As I read the book, I decided I would not be friends with author Anthony Swofford if I were to meet him; he's arrogant, and in all honesty, I find it hard to find commonalities with those who've chosen to join the full-fledged armed forces. But I wouldn't mind sitting in on a lecture given by him. He's a well-trained writer (went to the Iowa Writer's Workshop), and it baffles me that he thought he could never go to college (he spent much of his free time in the desert reading The Iliad). He uses great literary elements throughout, and most of all, he makes the characters human (well, at least the male characters; all the females -- excpet his mom -- are basically whores or prostitutes).

And because now that the movie is out, I doubt many of you will actually read the book, but you should. It will make you think. And think. And ponder. Because you haven't read it (or you'll probably stop reading this blog about now), here's some of the quotes that stuck out to me...for whatever reason:
p. 6-7 "Vietnam war films are all pro-war, no matter what the supposed message...because the magic brutality of the films celebrates the terrible and despicable beauty of their fighting skills. Fight, rape, war, pillage, burn. Filmic images of death and carnage are pornography for the military man."
p. 49 "'Yes, he [my father] lived. He spoke once about Vietnam.' [Swofford]
'If he only spoke once, he wasn't lying.' [Staff Sergeant]"
p. 172 "Already, I recognized the incompatibility of religion and the military. The opposite of this assertion seems true when one considers the high number of fiercely religious military people, but they are missing something. They're forgetting the mission of the military: to extinguish the lives and livelihood of other humans.
What do they think all of those bombs are for?"
p. 207 "'I'm not stronger than you, but I know some things about the military that they don't show you in the brochures.' [Swofford's father]"
p. 213 "But I think his hug idea is sound, and eventually everyone in the platoon has hugged Welty. We are about to die in combat, so why not get one last hug, one last bit of physical contact. And through the hugs, Welty has helped make us human again."
p. 222 "If colonialism weren't out of style, I'm sure we'd take over the entire Middle East."

Can't wait to see the movie. Just hope these dreams of being in a war zone are over.

Election Day

In the four years I lived in Missouri past voting age, I never voted. This is the third time (that I recall) that I've voted in CA. What got me to the polls this time?
1. It's less than a block from my apartment.
2. I found out docraygen, a professor from LMU that I actually liked, was running for local office.
3. There were important issues on this ballot.

A Picture from the Weekend

"Taking a Rest"

Just because...

Sibling Revelry

At my great-aunt's funeral in September, I was in awe as I watched the reaction of two people. Now, in all honesty, the death wasn't a surprise; Aunt Ethel was 96 years old. But, as her son grieved, everyone avoided him. He had his space. Even his wife had to let him have his own personal grief time. Our Aunt Betty, Ethel's sister, used the time to catch up with friends and family. She broke down slightly in the funeral when asked to speak. The reason? She's the last of her siblings -- a group of seven kids. Before, she'd always had someone to grieve with, now, she was grieving on the shoulders of her nieces and sister-in-law.

I bring this up, because lately I've been thinking a lot about siblings. I think there are some certain social situations that are seen completely differently depending on if you had or had not siblings while growing up. Neither is right or wrong, but probably because I grew up with siblings, I prefer how we with siblings look at those situations.

And last night I spent a few hours with an LA friend and her brother, who's only two years younger than us. I found so much fun in watching the two of them interact. Though they look quite opposite (one petite with curly blond hair, the other stocky with straight brown hair), they shared the same mannerisms. She told him when he was acting like a brat. He had a slightly worried look on his face when a creepy guy with a black eye hit on her. They talked about their mom and joked about what silly/weird things she does. They talked about how great their mom was. And these are things that can only happen between siblings.

Siblings can call you out on your behaviors, and you know they're doing it out of love (although it can still be annoying, you don't go through the same psychological analysis of your relationship as when a friend says, "you're being a brat!"). They can protect you. They understand that while your parents are annoying and weird, they are some of the greatest people in the world; and when you're making fun of parents, you're actually recalling happy memories.

With siblings, our lives and personalities often become defined by rigid descriptions. One is the "smart" one; one the "loving one. Or one is the "funny" one and the other the "popular" one. And there will almost always be sibling rivalry -- but in all honesty, aren't we always placed in descriptions and in a struggle to break free from them? Our friends may give us tags like the "charming" one or the "always-up-for-a-party" one that define us. Our houses were just early breeding grounds for that.

And maybe that's how I feel about siblings. They are a breeding ground for how we're supposed to or will interact with the rest of the world as we get older.

But they don't just train us for life later; they also share memories and know your thoughts. And when life comes to an end for a loved one, siblings are the only ones who can understand. Yes, I enjoy lots of alone time. (LOTS, in fact) However, even though I may have not been pigeon-holed in personality and had a swimming pool growing up, I wouldn't have two people now that I hate and love so much. Or that understand me.

Gifts and Giving It to Ya

November is officially here. Yesterday's conversation with my mom ended with, "So how's the weather been? Could you use any light-weight sweaters? Well then, what could we get you for Christmas?" What followed was the reason Christmas is not my favorite holiday. If it were all about family and food, it'd be great...but the actual act of giving and getting gifts has lost most of its fun for me.

When I was younger, I liked opening Christmas gifts simply because I liked surprises, but by about age 13, I stopped liking presents. I began to realize that my parents always got me a pink sweater (while my sister got a matching blue one), and my grandma always gave me long johns. When I could handle that no longer, my sister began shopping for me and putting Santa/mom/dad on it. At least then it was something usable and (generally) wearable. Now, with my sister not living in the house, presents have gone to the wayside. And this wouldn't be so bad except that my parents really expect me to LOVE what they bought, but try as I might, a Cabbage Patch Doll at age 23 is not what I want...or need...and then, they get their feelings hurt when I can't come up with a gushing praise right away. And they refuse to buy gift cards. They insist on gifts that they like (yes, these are the same people who refuse to look at wedding gift registries and buy towels that match nothing else in the house) and not that the receivee may adore.

So, my mother put in a request early for a Christmas wish list. The following is what I'll send my sister to deliver to my parents/grandma/brother:
-guitar strap that will match a baby-blue guitar
-Sex and the City Season 3 (the only one I'm now missing)
-bed tent for a 2004 Ford Ranger Edge, which can be purchased through Ford
-x-large underwear from abercrombie kids [don't ask why I still shop at kids' stores...especially for underwear]
-small underwear, boystyle, from American Eagle [my parents and grandparents will always insist on buying me underwear, and it's much easier requesting these than thongs from VS]
-size 6 Nike shox (my current ones are about two years old)
-spaghetti-strap camisole/tank tops with built-in shelf bras
-medium mesh shorts for running
-air fresheners that Gabe bought for me last year

And that's about it. Bet I'll still get a light-weight sweater.

All I Want for Halloween Is You

Although I've ranted about Halloween, I have to say that it does elicit fond memories of my freshman-year roommate. Although the two of us never got into an argument or fight (which happened with her next three roommates), freshman year was rarely pleasant in our abode. The one good memory I have is Halloween:

Roommate and I both stayed in for the holiday and were working on things in the room. Deciding to be anti-Halloween, we started listening to Mariah Carey's Christmas CD. We opened the door and blared it throughout Donnelly Hall. Everyone else thought we were crazy. (We probably were) But to this day, it doesn't feel like Halloween unless I hear "All I Want for Christmas Is You."

Today, Mariah's Christmas album was my CD of choice at work. To really kick off Halloween, though, I watched Love Actually (it has the song in it) last night. Nothin' says Halloween like Christmas a la British humor.

daylight-saving time

I really don't understand the purpose of this. I think I remember reading once that it started as a way for school kids to get to school in the mornings, and daylight-saving time provided ample time for them to walk to school in the light.

But, really, now. I don't know any kids who walk five miles to school anymore. It's useless, and I think people want to keep it just to remember when to check the batteries in their smoke alarms. And the AP and the rest of the world can't agree on punctuation, grammar, and capitalization of it. So, maybe I should be like parts of Indiana and refuse to observe it.

No Backe Up

I'm happy for the Chi-Town win tonight. If for nothing else, it made my friend, Drew, happy. Way back in July he wrote this column, er, blog declaring his love of White Sox for all to read.

But I do feel bad for Backe. He was one of the few Astros I liked. Seven innings...and we all have to wonder what Lidge is going to be like next season.

Whatever, though. It looks like Roger's mom knew something the day she died. What a woman. Talking about Shoeless Joe's team from her death bed. And that's when you know you've led a good life. When you're dying and the only thing you're worried about is baseball.

Hallowhoreen

Halloween may actually be my least favorite holiday. At least with Memorial Day, you get a day off work. President's Day? It's actually like three holidays rolled up into one. Halloween, though, brings me absolutely no joy as adult. Because as an adult, females use it as an excuse to whore themselves out. It is the sluttiest day of the year, and I have to witness it.

The sluttiest I ever was for Halloween was the year I went as a punk rocker. I wore my black leotard, spray glittered my hair, yanked my strands into a side ponytail, and then placed my leg-warmered legs into hightops. Granted I had a good time that year. But I was in third grade, and most of my trick-or-treating happened at the Baptist Home (a retirement complex), where I got one piece of candy for every formaldehyde-smelling door I knocked on.

But as adults, guys dress up in whatever they want for the holiday, but the majority of girls try to pick out a costume that is cleavalicious and show as much leg as possible. Now, I'm not saying that showing skin is necessarily a bad thing (those who knew me in college witnessed quite a few Hollister tiny skirts), but I hate how these wanna-be hoochies turn a holiday into a time of whoring. If girls want to draw attention to their bodies, there are 364 more days of the year to do this, but Halloween is supposed to be a time to honor the dead and the spirits -- you're supposed to dress up like ghouls and goblins, or at least something funny like Canteen Boy.

Writing Is My Weakness

I still have not begun my novel. I told myself that I would start it this week. Luckily, I've been tied up at work and not feeling much like writing my memoirs. See, as much as I love this blog, I know that writing about my personal life, especially for a national audience, leaves me vulnerable (remember, that feeling that I absolutely loathe?).

Nobody that I know has actually read my first published personal essay (recently came out in an October magazine issue), and I'd kind of like to keep it that way. The guy has asked a couple of times to see things I've written. I kind of blow it off and pretend I don't have anything around the house for him to read. (And he definitely doesn't know about the blog) My roommates have asked a few times to read articles as well. "I'll get my clips out for you later," I usually tell them. When people actually do read what I've written, I'm surprised, and then I question whether I actually should have written it.

Because, well, writing I can't take back. And it shows a lot of who I am. And others can probably figure out when you mention them, despite clever name changes. Such as I'm sure "cute IT boy" figured out his moniker when he found the blog today. (I knew google would mean the end of my anonymity)

Note to self: IT people spend all their time on computers. Writing about them on your blog=them finding it.

"Open for Dating"

Preface: On a trip to NYC, Fiscus and I discussed our friends' dating habits (but not in the normal girly way -- come on, it was me and Fiscus). She made the comment that one of our common friends would be married shortly after he decided he wanted to, "Guys like him flip on a switch that says 'Open for Marriage' and have 30 girls to choose from."

Today I arrived at work to a pleasant surprise. Cute IT boy had sent me an email. At first I thought it was a mass message. Then, I assumed it was by accident. Up until today the most we'd said to each other was "Hello." However, upon reading, I realized he'd asked how my Saturday night at Beaches went. Hmmm...I didn't know I was going there until Saturday morning, and I definitely didn't tell anyone from work. I decided he was stalking me. Turns out he wasn't, but had seen me as I crossed the street to go home. We ended up telling the abbreviated tales of our lives, and during the conversation he casually mentioned his girlfriend.

Previously, anytime a cute guy mentioned his gal pal, I cringed with sadness. This time, however, I wasn't disappointed. Yes, it partly could be because I've been recently entertained by my own male diversion, but by age 24, I've come to expect this. I can think of maybe two or three guys I know who should be taken and aren't. I mean, nearly every semi-attractive male with a decent personality has a girlfriend. I don't think the same can be said for girls. I know many gals who are cute and great catches but have been chasing boyfriends for years. How many guys do we know that actually want a girlfriend but don't have one? (And is it sexist of me to think girls often settle but guys rarely do?)

See, guys have this little light above them that they flip on, "Open for Dating" it states for all elgible (and some taken) girls to see. Girls are like moths to their neon-light sign, and soon the guy flips the switch back off (although some sleazy ones play with their lights, flipping them on and off again when they feel like it).

And when the guys' "Open for Marriage" sign flips on, girls are afraid others will see it and jump into the relationship and may get married before they had wanted. However, when girls flip on their "Open for Marriage" sign, guys generally run the other way. There is no line of elgible bachelors saying, "Wow! She'll make a great wife!"

As for my sign: although I haven't been taken since I've been in SoCal, until late spring my "Open for Dating" light was off because my mind was on other things. Now, the last few weeks I don't know what kind of sign it should be. Some days I think it should be off, others it's on. Today, though, I guess my flashing sign said, "Open for Friendship."

Interesting Job Information

As those in the magazine business know, magazines come and go, and folding is quite commonplace. Yesterday, I found out about one recent closure at my new company: Death Row. Yes, a magazine for people on death row. It kept mugshots of all those (a spread, if you will, of these images) and told their stories.

I don't know exactly what happened to it, but I have my theories. Yes, it was a captive audience, but getting advertisers probably wasn't the easiest. (These folk probably didn't have a large disposable income) And, well, keeping loyal subcribers for many years didn't happen. Especially in Texas.

At Least This Midwestern Grandma's Enjoying the Game

Found a very interesting article today. Thanks, BusinessWeek, for the random facts I can use to impress my gaming friends in the future.

The article

My grandma definitely isn't in that 19%.

Oktober

Why do I love Oktober? The playoffs, of course. And because I once had good memories from an Oktoberfest way back when. Well, by good, I mean made a fool of myself.

But in honor of our German heritage, C by the Sea celebrated Oktober with a few buddies. And if I look like I'm enjoying myself in a did-we-graduate? shindig...you should have seen me tonight. I had my own little 9th-inning Oktoberfest. And by Oktoberfest I mean wanting to be in St. Louis this week.

You've Got Male

Imagine a new huge Pecker full of energy. Just huge. Smash the ladies like crazy!
If your a lady, take a "monster!"

This is an email I've been continually getting at my work address (and yes, I left capitalization and grammar intact but deleted the web address). This message pops up at least once per day. Usually, I also get one about the Jack Rabbit Vibrator of Sex and the City fame (although the email calls it "Sex In the City").

I wonder if the IT guys can't figure out how to filter them, or if they're just letting them slip in for kicks. I'm sure it's not the latter...and I would ask, except one of them is a hot 20-something-year old. I don't want to go up to him, and say, "I keep getting these messages about huge peckers..."

So, instead, I keep getting these messages. Blushing. Deleting. Hoping that nobody walked up behind me while it temporarily popped up (no pun intended) in my Outlook window.

"Meet Me in St. Louis"

Although I've been fervently watching the NLCS this week, this post is not about St. Louis, really. It's about my adoration for music and musicals.

Ever since I was a tot and discovered Rodgers and Hammerstein, I've believed that life should be a musical. I've wanted to break out in song and have perfect strangers express my same feelings through vocal accompaniments and dance. As a child, I would make up songs to sing to God because that carried my pains and desires better than any prayer could.

But because I'm realistic I no longer hope for my life to become one big musical; instead I plan the soundtrack for the movie that will be made about my life. Sometimes, I think the songs will be descriptive of my life ("Small Town" by John Cougar Mellencamp); other times I think they will just be background music for moments that actually happened ("Wide Open Spaces"...which my friends and I danced to all through senior year of high school).

Currently, music has taken over my workspace. But I don't know what song would best fit in with my new job. What CDs I've listened to so far at work: N'Sync, Jessica Andrews, Sheryl Crow, Britney Spears, Trisha Yearwood, Triple X New Stuff (Aussie rock station CD), Michael Jackson, Roxette, Justin Timberlake, Westlife, Dixie Chicks, Ryan Adams and lately all I've been listening to are Melissa Etheridge and Paperdoll.

Unfortunately, though, I don't think Melissa nor the unsigned Paperdoll are that popular at work. Part of me still wants to try ripping off my headphones and belting out, "but I'm the only one who'd drown in my desires for you" while playing air guitar and see if my coworkers join in and jump up on their desks. If they did, that song would definitely make the soundtrack of Hiccups and High Heels.

No Day is Bad

When you wake up the day happy and eager to get up, few days can be bad. Today I woke up before my alarm and was happy I did.

When I finally pulled my behind into work, I was greeted by mucho worko. I've been kind of bored lately because I was waiting for things to do. Now I've got lots to do! (Is it good to feel "behind"???) I left work to pick up two packages at the post office. Both pairs of new shoes arrived today. Ah, eBay, you gave me a pair of black Coach strappy heels and a pair of Steve Madden red suede pumps . . . all for under $30. What could be better? Oh, a Cardinals win. And a bartender who puts on the MIZZOU volleyball game after the baseball ones are over.

This is the life...

Seeing the Cardinals Sweep

As I deboarded the trolley in downtown San Diego last night, "The Place Where Pets Go" Park came into view. Getting closer to it, I began to rethink my disdain for new stadiums. I never saw the old stadium, but the pale-stone park was gorgeous and fit in with the surrounding buildings. Settling into my seat in section 327, I really began to like the philosophy of the new-park builders. For not-great seats, ours had a close and unobstructed view of the field that was at that time peppered with men and women of the armed forces preparing to cover the field with a gi-normous American flag for the national anthem (which always seems to make me misty-eyed).

So, as Roommate #1 and I squeezed our way to seats #9 and 10, we passed four exuberant Cardinals fans. They quickly became our friends, so that every time I had to pee, drink or get food, I wasn't able to pass by them without giving a hearty high-five or hug. Of course some of the runs included a beer and a grilled stadium hot dog -- with mustard and onions; as soon as I opened the papered aluminum bag the salty smell of the grill greeted my nose before I could even sink my teeth into the scrumptious meat (I know; for a pseudo-vegetarian, a hot dog is an odd exception, but no stadium experience is complete without a grilled dog).

During non-beer/food breaks in the game, I enjoyed observing the Padres fans. The two college-aged boys next to us had a sign that said "Cardinals heart Pooh Holes." Funny. The guy to my left was a well-to-do Latino who kept cursing at the Padres in Spanish. For nearly the entire first five innings, they were referred to only as a**holes and mother f***ers. But early in the game, my eye wandered to a young man two rows in front of us with a ball cap on. From the back, he appeared to be a teenage girl, but a few innings later his raucous cheering and deep voice proved said fan was a man. He yelled with such fervency, I decided that I kind of liked the passion of the Padres fans.

Sometime around the 6th inning he and his friend left and came back. As I watched them retake their seats, it was clear the capped fan was blind. I hadn't thought anything of his earphones before that, but now it was clear he didn't just enjoy hearing the play-by-play as he watched his home team. As the Padres started to build up their number of hits, I couldn't take my eyes off this fan. He had a bit of a delayed reaction to any good or bad play, but there was so much enthusiasm in his cheering. For a split second, I thought about why he would waste (I think all of us in our section had bought our tickets from the same eBay guy) his money on a game he couldn't even see.

So, for a few plays I closed my eyes to imagine what it would be like to love baseball but not be able to see it. Without vision, I still knew when the Padres pitcher threw a strike. I knew when the ball was hit. I could still hear the hum of the crowd, and I could feel that the stadium was packed. And I didn't even have a radio announcer in my ear.

I opened my eyes and thought of my clearest memories of sports--inevitably at MIZZOU. I was taken back to one of my favorites -- the time SAB installed seatbacks in 100+ heat; after we were finished we ran and played on the field. I sat on the 50-yard line as the sprinklers cooled me off, and I gazed up in awe at the new press box and thousands of seats. I thought about my first football game, which is my favorite MU memory; it was the first time I heard the student/alumni cheer of MIZ-ZOU, and I got chills for the whole two minutes that the crowd yelled back and forth. Hearing the echoes of 60,000 fans chanting in unison for their college captured the football experience for me and immediately made me love the Tigers for life. I recalled the feeling I had as an alumni when I stood in the football stands as students pushed past me to rush the field after the Nebraska win. I remembered the celebrations in the SAB block anytime any good MU thing happened at Hearnes; many times I was jumping up and down on the stands before falling onto anther MU fan who picked me up only to give me an enthusiastic high-five. I thought of the smell of Simmons Field as dew settled on the field for Friday-night games as Mel and I were greeted by hugs from the "Bingler" family. I recalled the many hours of seat dancing that Mel and I did to the players' music; it's the only reason I've even heard any Ozzy Osbourne songs.

With my mind finally wandering back to the game in front of me, I continued to watch the fan without sight. I decided that even if I hadn't been able to see the Cardinals win last night, I still would have wanted to be there.

(But, because I did see the game last night, I took pictures.)

It's a Difficult Job . . .

Yesterday, a person from our graphics department and I started talking about her husband (she had recommended a Chinese restaurant for lunch that they had used for their wedding reception). It turns out he's a B-track teacher in LAUSD -- South Central. She didn't know my work history, so I told her that I had been a teacher in East LA before this job.

Of course she wanted to know why I left. I gave her the TFA spiel, and then I said I just wanted to get back into journalism. "So you think writing is easier than teaching?" What!?!? I couldn't believe anyone would ever ask that question. I immediately started telling her about the early mornings, late nights of grading, home visits when kids missed detention, etc.

"Really? Now I feel kind of bad!" she says. "I always complain to my husband about how hard my job is. I tell him, 'I have to stare at a computer screen all day! You're up doing things with kids, you get off at three every day AND you get four months off a year!'" Yes, that's true. The teacher vacations are great. But mean nothing when the job isn't for you.

I guess today was a little hard, though. I mean, I had lunch on the company at the Elephant Bar (they pair us up with a veteran worker in another department -- for a "family" feel), I got a free pedicure from a guy who is a licensed massage therapist and they signed me up to go to a Red Cross benefit in Beverly Hills next week that will be hosted by one of the women of Desperate Housewives. Even better than all that though -- I got a brand new three-hole punch when I requested it. That's a sure sign that a job is better.

The Dream Sequence

I had another memorable dream last night. I went some place (shopping I think), and I parked my truck in a parking garage. As I drove past the attendant, he looked at me a little odd. I felt a bit paranoid about parking so close to him, but I like to not have to walk far. When I came back out, I saw a tow truck quickly drive into the garage and then drive away with a gray Ford Ranger (my type of vehicle). The driver hadn't had to go far to get the automobile, and the attendant waved and laughed as the driver sped off with the truck in tow.

I raced back to my parking spot. It was gone. My truck had been stolen. Somehow, in my dream I knew the tow-truck driver wasn't really a tow-truck driver; she was faking it. And she and the attendant had plotted and were making off with my truck.

So, what does this one mean? Well, apparently theft when the thieves don't NEED it (i.e. not stealing food from me to survive) means that I'm either being taken advantage of, or that I have a fear of that happening. The act of thievery may symbolize a loss or invasion.

. . . or it can mean that someone (or I fear that someone) is "capitalizing on vulnerability." What? Are my dreams really that telling of what's going on in my head? Nah . . . I mean, all I remember was the feeling of utter despair and repeatedly yelling, "I was too close. I was too close. I knew I was too close!" interspersed with "I'm so stupid. I knew better!"

What was Mychy thinking when she told me I had intimacy issues? How wrong was she!

Down by the Bay

Although not every post from now on will be about baseball, this one is semi-related. I finally got tickets to Game 3 of the NLDS--Saturday, Cards at the Padres. Woohoo! My roomie and I will be making the trek. After scouring Craiglist and bidding to no avail on eBay, I finally had the auction gods look down on me. Actually, I just bid in the middle of Game 1 of the series . . . most of the hard-core fans were too enraptured by the Padres late comeback to care about their eBay bids.

So, I bought those yesterday. Unfortunately, though, I've become a bit addicted to eBay. There's SO much stuff on there! And I want it NOOOOOOOOOW!

Since buying those tickets, I've also purchased/won two more things from eBay. This could get very dangerous.

Bloodsuckers

Normally, I like scalpers. I think they serve a purpose in our supply/demand society, and often they help people go to games that normally wouldn't be able to go to the games or get those seats. Having limits on scalping (such as NY) is a great way for ticket-savvy folks to cash in on others' desires without keeping tickets only in the hands of the connected or very rich.

But these scalpers in SoCal stink. They go online and call the ticket offices and buy massive amounts -- keeping the honest Joes and Janes from getting them. Then they sell them for massive amounts on Craigslist. Or bleed us dry on eBay. Man, I'm poor. But I really want to go to the game in SD on Saturday.

Scalpers suck.

Cardinals in SoCal

Hmmm . . . wonder what the odds are for an Angels/Cards World Series. I've been meaning to make it out to Anaheim for a game since I've been here. What better excuse for a trip to the OC than a St. Louis baseball game???