George Michael Feels My Pain

No, not that George Michael (although United airlines did leave me hanging on like a yo-yo). I'm talking about the Bluth variety. Watch Arrested Development, people.

Oy. Where to begin. So at 10:00 last night, United cancelled my flight from Phoenix to Denver. My connecting flight out of Denver was expected to leave as scheduled, but with no way to get to the Mile-High City, I was out of luck. So I called United. The prerecorded message that greeted me cheerfully stated that "due to the snowstorm in Denver, our hold times are extremely long." Fanfreakingtastic. It took me seven attempts to even be patched through to the holding pattern. Finally, I was in.

As I sat there listening to the crackly, swinging-a-bag-of-cats-against-the-wall hold music, I became paranoid. I had unthinkingly called on my cell phone, a phone known for it's habit of dropping calls for no reason at all ("fewest dropped calls of any network" my ass). At this point, I had been on hold for about half an hour, so there was no way I was going to hang up and call back. So I double-fisted it. I dialed again on my house phone (three attempts that time) and sat there cross-legged in the middle of my living room floor with the craptastic hold music playing in both ears. The connection on my cell must have a bit of a lag to it, because the "music" didn't even play in sync - it was just enough off that the combination of the music playing on each phone became that kind of dissonance that almost makes you gag a little bit. I sat like this for over two hours. I am not exaggerating.

I finally got through to a real live (slightly harassed-sounding) person. He took my info, clicked a couple of keys and with the air of a person about to be shot execution-style, informed me that the soonest they could get me out of Phoenix--to anywhere--was December 26th. Uh, Merry Christmas to me. I'm sure he'd been yelled at all day, the poor guy, so I nicely said that wasn't going to work and they gave me a full refund on my ticket.
End of conversation with United. Time: 12:15 am.

Well crap. At this point I have two, maybe three, options.
1. I attempt to find a last-minute fare that would get me into somewhere--anywhere--in Nebraska by Christmas Eve.
2. I attempt to drive 1,250 miles (not to mention over a mountain pass in the aftermath of the gigantic storm that cancelled my original travel plans in the first place) in my falling-apart, 132,000-miles-and-counting car.
3. I attempt less-conventional modes of transportation (trains, buses, etc.).

I spent the next hour and a half on Travelocity typing in every airport I could think of within an 8-hour drive of my hometown. Not for love or money could I get into Nebraska today (although for $1,018 I could have flown into Kansas City...I actually considered it until my thoughts were drowned out by the hysterical laughter of my bank account.) I checked Amtrak between Flagstaff, AZ and Norton, Kansas. Booked solid for the next three days. I checked buses. For a very reasonable one-way price I could have hopped on a bus today and THIRTY-FIVE hours later be dropped off in my hometown. I thought about driving...but I could hear my car weeping from all the way across the parking deck.

Finally, around 1:30 am I found a ticket that was semi-acceptable. As it stands right now, and if everything goes according to plan, I will fly out of Phoenix tomorrow around 2:00 pm. Three and a half hours later, I will land in Minneapolis, MN (I will wave sadly to Nebraska as I fly OVER it). A mere 32 minutes later, my connecting flight leaves from Minneapolis to take me to Omaha where at 8:00 pm I will be picked up by my brother, sister-in-law and their lick-happy dog Sadie, and we will all make the 3 1/2 hour drive home. And it only cost me about TWICE what I originally shelled out for the ticket that was going to take me straight home. ~sigh~

If you feel like it, pray for these things for me:
1. That my flight leaves Phoenix on time tomorrow.
2. That I can somehow manage to fit my Christmas presents for people, plus my clothes, toiletries, and sanity into a carry-on bag, because there's no way a checked suitcase is going to make that connection in Minneapolis.
3. That I can channel a little Carl Lewis so that I can make that connection in Minneapolis.

For now, I'm going to go do a little creative packing. Then I'll probably start working my way through the box of Godiva truffles that came in my Christmas package from the lovely Keffy.

The end.

For The Holidays You Can't BE Home Sweet Home

Up until about age 14, I thought that's what this song said. Those singers need to enunciate. Or I need to listen.

Anyway, it's starting to really look like I can't be home for the holidays. My flight is supposed to leave Phoenix tomorrow at 2:15 to head to Denver, where I would make a connection and fly right on into the minuscule airport in my hometown. However, if you've been paying attention to the weather over the past couple days, you'd know that the Denver airport has been shut down due to snow. For two days. TWO DAYS! If you were me, at work this morning you would have received no less than nine calls in an hour and a half from your brother, sister, mom and dad informing you of that fact and/or updating you on the latest Denver rumors and wanting to know how you are going to get home. United airlines has cancelled over 2,000 flights. And since I am of course flying United, we'll see just how far away from home for the holidays I might end up.

On a happier note, I finished my Christmas shopping. The last gift I bought was for the annual gift exchange that my sister and I have with our cousin Cassie. My mom's side of the family is heavy on the boy cousins (us girls are outnumbered 2 to 1), so Haley, Cassie, and I have kind of created our own holiday traditions. Thanksgivings are dedicated to marathon games of Trivial Pursuit, while Christmas is reserved for Friends/Lost/movie marathons and, of course, our little gift exchange.

Because we all know each other so well, it's one of the few holiday gift situations where you can expect to get a great gift. Haley and I understand that Cassie does not like knick-knacks, stuffed animals, or cucumbers. My dislikes include (in addition to tacky knick-knacks) hot dogs, taco seasoning, and people who lie. Haley abhors meat products, the conservative party, and the Midwest*. However, we all rather enjoy books and cd's, tasteful silver jewelry, and sarcasm. It's an optimal gifting/getting situation.

On that note, friends, I will wish you all a very merry Christmas! I hope you get to spend it with the people you love.














**
* I cannot weigh in on Haley's affinity for knick-knacks, as many years ago she harbored a great affection for her porcelain unicorn collection. I would assume she no longer has these feelings, thus I would be reticent to purchase such items for her, but again, I can't be sure.
** My dad and I built that fireplace one winter. And if you could more clearly see the ceiling of the screened in porch through those windows, you would be able to see the aluminum soffit that I put in a few years back. Oh that's right.

Mountains And Molehills

More about the former than the latter.

I'm absolutely fascinated by mountain climbing. I don't know why. Not just any mountain climbing, either. The big stuff. The kind that involves ice axes and crampons and blistering cold and pulmonary edema. I've read all kinds of books about climbing (John Krakauer's are some of my favorites) and I've wanted to see the IMAX movie about Everest for years now.

Shockingly (sense the tone), I've done zero mountain climbing of any substance--the closest I've come is hiking up Table Rock a few Thanksgivings ago. Any true mountaineering would quite surely be an extremely short venture on my part, thanks to the fact that I've been basically sitting behind a computer/drawing board for the past three years, not to mention my ridiculous lack of upper body strength. And I grew up in Nebraska, home of the flattest stretch of highway you'll ever come across. Great for corn. Not great for daydreaming, Himalayan expedition wannabes.

The craziest part is, I know the dangers. I'm sure you've all heard about the climbers lost on Mt. Hood this past week--one confirmed dead and not a lot of hope for the other two. I've read Into Thin Air, the first-hand account of the disastrous storm on Everest where 11 people died. And it doesn't stop me from imagining myself up on a mountain somewhere, minus a couple toes from frostbite (no fingers missing, please - a girl's gotta make a living.), putting one foot in front of the other until I reach that spectacular summit.

What's my deal? Is it one of those crazy daydreams you have just because you know it's something you'll never end up doing? Maybe I just like that bit of adventure. ...Maybe I just get too caught up in the things I read. Ah, I think we have a winner!

I've always been a big reader...and a big daydreamer. I think the two qualities can exist independently, but when combined in the same person they feed off of each other, often with unpredictable results. In first and second grade, I was obsessed with the Laura Ingalls Wilder books. You know, Little House on the Prairie and all that. I wanted to own a horse and buggy. I wanted to wear poplin dresses with petticoats. I wanted to marry a man named Almanzo. Then I moved on to Anne of Green Gables. I wanted to have adventures. I wanted to drink cherry cordial. I wanted to marry a man named Gilbert. And on and on it went through elementary school, middle school, high school...you get the picture. I've always found it so easy to get invested in the lives of book characters. I'm sure that says something about me as a person, but let's not pull at that thread, hmmkay?... So, there you have it. Books + Daydreaming = aspirations to be a Himalayan mountain climber.

What about you, dear readers? What are your inexplicable aspirations?

Oh yeah. Molehills. I almost forgot. Um...this, I guess.

Oh Snap! Dr. Cox as Linus?

Thank you, YouTube.

I've drawn so many semicircular canals lately

they're coming out my ears.

ahahaha.
A little anatomy humor.
Never mind.

So you know how a few weeks back I told you about my new office? Right. I don't have that anymore. Last Friday, with a whopping five minutes notice, I was moved--nay, shoehorned--back into my old, shared office. I am a relatively neat person (you know, just in general, but like in the organized way, too). While I can handle messes for a period of time, eventually I'm compelled to go on an organizing frenzy until my world is back in pleasant, ocd-around-the-edges order. My boss (who I once again share an office with) is very, very not neat (in the organized way - he's a great person, though). It's like, you know how at the end of the day, you throw your jacket over a chair? Well, on his side of the office, instead of a jacket, it's a pile of garbage (or papers). And instead of a chair, it's a pile of garbage (or textbooks). And instead of the end of the day, it's the end of time, and garbage (or piles of random crap) is all that has survived.

Also, I did some illustrations for one of the nurse educators and she stopped by yesterday to take a look at what I'd come up with. She took one look at them and spouted "wow, those look fantastic! Where'd you get those?" She was serious. I replied, slightly bewildered, "w...wh...I drew them." She looked at me, looked back at the illustrations, and said all surprised-like "Well! I guess you're not just another pretty face." No, no, but I am. I wasn't hired on as an illustrator at one of the world's premiere neurological institutes because of my academic and artistic skills. Nooo. They got lost in my eyes and thought "ah, what the hell. Why not?"

Life Lessons

Useful tips for everyday living.

Lesson #429: Do not drop a 25 inch television on your bare foot.

Just in case you didn't know.

Ouch.

From Sopranos And Strings

to shopping for things.

I just got back from seeing the Phoenix Symphony perform the complete oratorio of Handel's Messiah at the Orpheum in downtown phx. Wow. They are good. I absolutely love a well-played orchestra. Throw in a fantastic tenor, uplifting music, and a member of the chorus who could pass for Billy Ray Cyrus' twin (ass. length. mullet. I am not kidding.) and you have one heckuva show. And French horns. I do love me some French horns.

I am having a hard time getting into my usual Christmas "mood" this year. I'm sure it's a combination of a lot of things, but it's annoying me a lot. I mean, I go see Handel's Messiah, walk around a city decorated for Christmas, drink peppermint mochas, listen to non-stop Christmas music, read and re-read and compare the Christmas stories as told in Matthew and Luke--and I got nothin'.

I don't know if it's the fact that it averages about 75 degrees these days. I don't know if it's because I don't really have any close friends or family nearby. I don't know if it's because I'm too focused on all the other crap that I let take over my thoughts and my life. I don't know if it's because I haven't yet completed the annual post-Thanksgiving family tradition of watching (and reciting word-for-word) National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. I don't know. All I know is that I need to get me some holiday cheer - stat.

I am going to attempt to do my Christmas shopping tomorrow. I am looking forward to the search for gifts - I love finding "that perfect thing" for someone. I am not looking forward to the crowds and the cheerless cashiers.

I want to tell those surly salespeople that I understand. I've been there. I too once worked retail. From fall of my Junior year of high school to spring of my Freshman year of college, I worked in the shoe department at J.C. Penney. That means that I worked three holiday seasons during my tenure as the Shoe Girl. They made me wear reindeer antlers one year. An elf hat with attached elf ears another. I watched grown men and women bicker and squabble over the last Tigger free-holiday-giveaway Christmas Tree ornament. I sold people shoes with a cheery smile and a "merry Christmas" and was given looks in return that clearly said "I can't decide what I want more for Christmas this year: for you to finish ringing up my purchase already or for you to die a slow and painful death choking on your Christmas cheer and reindeer antlers." ~sigh~ I think I need some sleep.

What if...

Natalie Dee knew my friends?*

I told you.

Click on the images to see a larger version, you guys.

















Sometimes I get bored.









Lovelove.

*Jerilyn tells me I need to clarify: I drew these so they would look like Natalie Dee cartoons. They're not, though. I made them. Me. Because Natalie Dee doesn't actually know my friends. But I do. And also I draw. It was a hypothetical kind of thing. We good? ok.

Tomorrow's Blog Will Make Your Brain Explode.

Seriously. Today's is alright, too, though.

I am going to tell you about my weekend. I realize I am a few days late on doing this, but see this --> eh. That was me not caring.

Friday night a bunch of friends from church and I drove up to Glendale (northwestern suburb of PHX) to go to Glendale Glitters. I know. Sounds like a strip club, right? It's not. I made sure before I headed up there during rush hour traffic. It's actually a big street fair sort of thing. The downtown historic district area is all decked out in Christmas lights (hence the "glitters"...ohhhhhh) and they have booths and things set up in the park, and carriage rides behind clydesdale horses, and they were showing White Christmas on the big outdoor movie screen and couples were dancing along with the music from the movie and it was just cold enough that you could see your breath. ~sigh~ Made me want to bust out a pair of Smittens, snag a passing fella, and watch that movie for awhile.

Instead, we all went to this great German restaurant, Haus Murphy. I did my ancestors proud and had Jagerschnitzel, wirsing, and of course, a hefeweizen draft--I ordered the small and it turned out to be a liter o' beer. Prost!

Saturday night was our office Christmas party. Funding for office events has been cut, so in order to feed the 100 or so people that were going to show up at his house, Phil, our vice president, asked everyone to bring some sort of finger food. I had requests for cinnamon puffs (which I had brought to the office 4th of July party), so I spent all Saturday afternoon rolling and pinching and dipping and baking and drizzling. Jaime came over around 5-ish and made a boat load of chicken potstickers and then her husband Ted picked us up at about 6:15. We swung by Dawn's place and grabbed her and her mini-pecan pies and off we headed to Phil's place.

Yeah. Turns out Saturday night was the big electric light parade, which just happens to run right downtown near where I live. Traffic was terrible. I figured that the plus side was, if we got caught in traffic for hours, at least we wouldn't go hungry. We ended up getting to Phil's a little late, but still had a great time. There was a chocolate fountain with strawberries that was pretty awesome. And I got to wear my very favorite shoes. They normally feel a lot like a rabid dog gnawing on my feet, but I trimmed some super-padded insoles to fit them, so I wasn't even limping (much) by the time I got home. Score.

To Borrow A Phrase From My Dear Friend Kyeathy:

"I think I'm going to yak."

Holy crap.

Medical Illustration:

Natalie Dee-style.

Disclaimer: this illustration is not anatomically correct, however detailed and excellently-rendered it may appear to be. Among other things, the large intestine actually wraps in a clockwise direction starting from the cecum, thus the sigmoid colon (just proximal to the part of your large intestine that has the smiley face on it. Obviously.) is on the anatomical left, which means it should be on your right as you view this anteriorly-oriented illustration.
Booyah.

Oh, and Aunnee...this one's for you. It's not Natalie Dee--nor is it web comic medical illustration--but it makes me think of you. Love. :-)

How To Work Yourself Into A Deep Blue Funk

In five easy steps.

1. Say goodbye to friends.
2. Board plane. (An evening flight is best.)
3. Sit in window seat. (If the plane is of the smaller variety with one seat on one side of the aisle and two on the other, choose the solitary window seat.)
4. Gaze moodily out window. (this is where the evening flight comes in handy - especially if you're flying west. You'll end up chasing the sunset for an extended period of time, whereby you can spend the lengthy twilight drawing metaphors between the setting of the sun/impending blackness of the night and your life.)
5. Brood.

Ok ok, I'm joking...ish.

I had a great Thanksgiving vacation! It was very relaxing and I got to spend time with two of my very favorite people - key ingredients for a good time, you guys. Pyeahtriuck and I Bordered it up, (28,391, 53,175, 49,532, 1), watched a large chunk of Scrubs Season 4, and were generally pretty much awesome. Keffy and I also did the Borders thing (she working on her storyboards, I on my portrait), shopped more than I normally care to, ate way too much tapas at Bee's Knees (I think our waitress was frightened...), and talked and watched movies a lot while Keffy worked on her project. I got to see a couple of my old professors on Wednesday and a lot of the VCC people on Sunday (great message, Oteros!). Yay friends. :-)

A highlight of the plane ride home was reading SkyMall magazine. My Christmas shopping is DONE, y'all. Among my favorites were the portable backyard ice rink, the pop up hot dog toaster, and the wristwatch that emits "a gentle electric current" to rouse you if the microphone in it hears you start to snore. They're all such practical items. The best one, though--the one I don't see how I have thus far lived without--is the iPod dock/speaker system that is also a toilet paper roll holder. I am not kidding.

And here is a mini cell phone photo collage.

The Day After Tomorrow

And no, I'm not talking about the mediocre movie with the craptastic CG wolves.

I'm talking about the point in time when I get to see Bea and Keffy and all my Georgia peoples. I'm so excited! It seems like for-flippin-ever since I moved from the hills and trees of Georgia to the Valley of the Sun. Five months is a long time for sure.

Here are some random photos for you. Just 'cause.

I took this from the roof of the parking deck at the hospital a couple days ago.

This is a pretty pretty road near Waubonsie State Park in Iowa a few weeks ago.

And this is Pops climbing trees at Waubonsie. I love my dad. :)

The Office

No, not that Office.

Ok, maybe a little of that Office.

Pam: I suggested we flip a coin, but Angela said she doesn't like to gamble. Of course by saying that, she was gambling that I wouldn't smack her.
----------
Pam: Jim cannot speak until he buys me a coke. Those are the rules of Jinx, and they are unflinchingly rigid.
----------
Michael: 'Hug it out, bitch.' That is what men say to each other after a fight. They hug it out. In doing so, they just let it go and walk away and they're done. Not a good idea to say that to a woman, however, I've found. Doesn't translate.

Anyway, I finally got my own office last week. It's so nice to have my own space to work in. I actually have a surface to draw on that does not involve creative and precarious placement of my computer keyboard. Now when I draw on my Wacom tablet, my left and right arms are at the same level instead of the left one resting somewhere between elbow and shoulder height and the right one sitting near my waist. I have an actual shelf to put my books on. I have a file cabinet for my files. I have my own bathroom. A window. A nameplate, even.

Drawback: I only get to keep it for a month or so, until the department down the hall turns it into a sleep room. Gotta love working in a hospital.

Oh, and just in case that wasn't enough to keep my ego in check, here is my view:

"I can handle it. Handle's my middle name."

"Well, actually, it's the middle part of my first name..."
--Chandler Bing

I love Friends.

So, I went to Mexico on Saturday. Oh, I mean "fui a Mexico el sabado pasado" (I don't know how to add in the accents in blogger...) Some friends and I made the three hour drive on down to Nogales, Arizona--which, coincidentally, sits right across the border from Nogales, Mexico. We walked across the border and had a day o' shopping.

Now, shopping's not really my thing in the first place. I'm a "go in knowing what you want, maybe browse for 15 minutes" kind of girl. So hours and hours of shopping is a stretch for me. Also not my thing: big, bustling crowds of people. So, take those two things and add in a constant stream of "Hey, hey Barbie, come in my store! Almost free, only today! Just for you! It is free to look! Are you from Hollywood? What do you need? You need a Mexican boyfriend! Come back!" and you have what would be described in the world of Kristen as a very wearing day.

But! We did have a good time--it was fun watching Rachel (who is fluent in Spanish) haggle with the vendors. It was fun eating authentic Mexican food at this little restaurant we ran across--tacos con carne asada y avocado and pumpkin empanadas. Mmmmm. It was fun trying to spot new things in each of the amazingly similar shops and stands. It was nice to be in a whole different culture for a day--I love that about traveling. New experiences, new people, new places. Makes life richer.

Here's a photo I took from the road on the way back. Ignore the blurriness. I did the best I could at 75mph with no flash.


------------------------------------------
Oh and Will & Sarah, if either of you are reading this: Remember how I lost my keys that last night I was in Augusta and we thought that maybe Sophia had snagged them out of my purse and then we all spent like 15 minutes searching your house for them? Yeah. Found them today in a jacket pocket. Yep. Turned up nearly five months later in the pocket of a jacket I didn't even wear that day. Naturally.

The Nose Knows.

You know?

Upon opening a box of Cheerios this evening to pour myself a bowl of lazy-ass dinner, I caught a whiff of my past. The smell of that freshly opened box of breakfast (and dinner, mind you) cereal took me back to high school and winter Saturday mornings spent sitting at the kitchen table looking out the big picture window at the geese on the frozen lake and wondering if they were in fact frozen to the ice.

The sense of smell, I think, is pretty powerfully linked to memories. Maybe more for me than the average person. I don't know. But there are all kinds of scents that just bring it all back... Potpourri Scented Windex reminds me of the summer my family moved to Nebraska...we must have cleaned a lot of windows in our new house. The purple scented Febreze (I don't know which "scent" it actually is) reminds me of my apartment in Georgia...I sprayed it all the time trying to cover up that smoky fireplace smell. "Exclamation!" perfume (unfortunately) reminds me of senior prom. Wood smoke reminds me of camping as a kid. Pine needles remind me of living in Flagstaff. That waxy crayon smell reminds me of the old dish cupboard at my grandma's house. Chances are, if we are pretty good friends, then there is a scent that makes me think of you.
---------------------------------------
On an entirely unrelated note, my friends Keffy (Kathy)("Clean Cotton" Yankee Candles and that combination of new car smell and dogs that graces her Mitsubishi) and Sean got engaged this past weekend! Yay!

Black Tie Charity Dinner:

Would you like fries with that?

So tonight I went to a charity dinner benefiting the Ronald McDonald House of Phoenix. The theme of the event was "Dancing Through the Decades" and costumes were encouraged. I have no costumes nor money to buy one, so I went as "Girl in Nice Black Dress from Late Fall 2006." The other gals I went with, however, took the costume idea to heart and I believe our group represented all decades from 1950-1980's. It was fun and free - Diana's company bought a table and gave her the task of filling the seats. Done and done.

The dancing was a sight to see. I learned two things:

1. Rich white people just absolutely love to spell acronyms with their arms. There were more people on the dance floor for "YMCA" than any other three songs put together.

2. Apparently, they also embrace music by Usher, Ludacris, and Lil' John. The DJ put "Yeah" on and--I swear to you--I saw a 70 year old woman in pumps and pearls "getting down with her bad self" (you must say this very precisely and awkwardly).

It was a fun evening for a good cause - and nary a french fry in sight.

Here, Take This Cheap Crap With My Company's Name On It.

Why thank you.

They had an Employee Benefits Fair at work today. All the vendors who offer discounts through the employee network had tables set up, as well as the healthcare plan providers, etc. They lured us there with the promise of food and the chance to win a flatscreen tv. I muscled my way through crowds of other employees, carefully avoiding contact with any of the vendors. With just the slightest hint of interest, they were in irreversible schmoozing mode. The kind of intense, hunker-down-to-eye-level kind of sales pitching that I am hard-wired to avoid like the plague. If you want me to buy your stuff, let me look at it and ask you questions. Don't give me the uber-intense staredown, shove pamphlet after pamphlet into my arms, and talk a mile a minute about your epoxy flooring. I live in an apartment. Installing my own commercial-grade epoxy flooring is frowned upon.

Of course, the one thing I went there for--the list of this year's network-approved physicians--was at the very last table in the hallway. In spite of my attempts to look nowhere but the floor, I came away from the brouhaha with these items:

A heart-shaped rubber lid-gripper thingie.
A granola bar.
A giant magnetized plastic clip.
A cup of popcorn.
An eyeglass repair kit, complete with teeny tiny magnifying glass.
A bottle of water.
A blue sparkly toothbrush.
A chip clip.
A brownie.
A coupon for a lake riverboat cruise. (That doesn't make sense to me, either. A lady in a giant hat covered with fake flowers gave it to me. I think she was with the benefits fair.)

The only things I actually wanted were the bottle of water and the brownie. Yum. Brownies.

I Am Procrastinator:

hear me roar...in a little while

I'm supposed to be cleaning my bathroom and putting away the non-perishable food items that have been sitting on my counter since I went to the grocery store after work. So far I've managed to shuffle aimlessly through my apartment (it's small, so there were many turns involved), read a chapter all about the Precambrian/Cambrian period and the wonder of trilobites in my book o' the week, and pull the Windex--correction: Great Value streak-free Glass Cleaner--out of the closet. And blog a bit, obviously.

I'm worried that my hearing is going to deteriorate unevenly. I rolled over one of the earbuds (the left one) for my Little Green iPod with my desk chair the other day. Now I can only hear Sufjan singing in my right ear. For some reason I still wear both earbuds.

Don't Cover Up The Bean Plate;

I want to watch it burn.

This phrase traipsed past my vocal cords this weekend, merrily sashayed over my tongue, across my lips and out into the world, from whence it could ne'er be unsaid. It was followed by one of those comic silent beats and subsequent explosions of laughter and derision (good-natured, of course--at least I don't think my mom was openly mocking me...). If you want the story, you will have to call me.

So it's been one helluva week. I am going to thieve Bea's Wednesday Words idea (avlsYffkwOi)and cleverly disguise it as my own: Monday Words. I'm so original.

1.Thanks: I want to thank you all for your kind calls, thoughts, and prayers. My grandma was one awesome lady (read Proverbs 31:10-31 and you will pretty much know her) and losing her was hard, but having such a great network of supportive friends and family helps more than you know.

2.Bree: a shout-out to my new bloggerfriend, who is braver than I. I've been reading your blog through Pat's for awhile now, too, and never had the guts to comment - you're one funny lawyer-to-be. Thanks for your kind words and for introducing me to O_o. :)

3.Hoopty: if ever I doubted that my car is a piece o' shite, my travels last Sunday and Monday put the kibosh on that question. My trip to Kansas for my grandma's funeral involved me flying crazy-early into Denver Sunday morning, getting picked up at the airport by my cousin from Ft. Collins, riding 6 1/2 hours with him to KS, going to the funeral Monday morning, and then doing it all again in reverse. The highlights of this ridiculously fast-paced travel schedule include getting to know my cousin Justin (he's six years older than I am, so we didn't really hang out growing up), careening down the backroads of hilly rural Kansas while drinking Red Bull (yecch) and perfecting our farmer waves, and getting to drive Justin's Audi. Holy Leather Seats is that a nice car.

4.The Fam: after the whirlwind trip to KS and back, I found out I could have taken five days off of work. I was feeling pretty depressed and very alone and just...weird...so I decided to take Thursday and Friday off to go back to Nebraska and spend some actual time with my family.

5.Baritone: I went to my sister's college choir concert on Thursday night. They sang Carmina Burana (you'd know it if you heard it) and had this amazing baritone soloist. Holy crap, he was good. The tenor, however, sounded (in the words of my PhD/college professor dad) "like his underwear was four sizes too small." It was a little forced and...um...painful.

6.Waubonsie: my sister, mom and dad and I camped at Waubonsie state park (just over the border in Iowa) on Friday and Saturday nights. Beautiful fall trees (something I don't get to see here in PHX) and perfect fall weather. We hiked and ate and talked and played board games and made trips into Nebraska City (20 miles away), where my Dad's students were presenting in a competition.

7.Apples: we went to the Apple Orchards in Nebraska City. My family used to do that when my brother and sister and I were little and we all lived in Peru. (...that's Peru, NE, by the way. It's always fun telling people I grew up in Peru.) Cider and Pie and Caramel Apples: oh my!

8.Brother: he thinks I'm funny! Ben's not much of a talker - a man of few words. So, even though we get along great, we don't talk a lot. Anyway, I was showing him my razr phone last weekend and played him the ringtone I have set for my sister (the theme from Sanford and Son as sung by Turk and JD on Scrubs) and he cracked up. No big deal. Well, I hung out with him and my sister-in-law in Omaha on Sunday and he was showing me his new cell phone. And he looks at me with his one-dimpled smirky-smile and goes "wanna hear my ringtone?" You guessed it. Sanford and Son from Scrubs. Aww. :)

9.Loquacious: I need to shut up now.

Me And My Bea.

For real.


(Except you'd have to replace "Donnie Darko" with some other movie. I've never seen Donnie Darko.)

Hooray, Natalie Dee.

So in the past week I've been to six states, three different airports a grand total of ten times, worked one and a half days, cried a lot, laughed a lot, drove a lot, flew a lot, saw people, missed people, said goodbye for good, said goodbye for awhile, reminisced, hugged, hiked, and healed.

Long blog soon. I promise.
G'night, friends.

Conversations. Family. Crossword puzzles. Gardening. That funky, godawful Christmas lampshade.

She loved those things.

My grandma died this morning. It's the strangest thing. I haven't had to deal with a close family member dying since I was 10 years old. I guess that makes me lucky, but it sure doesn't make this easier.

Please pray for comfort for my grandpa who just lost his wife of over 60 years and for my mom and aunt and uncle who just lost their mom.

Love to my grandma who is, I'm sure, talking God's ear off up there in Heaven right now.

Illustrator Schmillustrator.

Got that?

My first journal cover. :)
























You have no idea how weird it was to see my artwork in print. Here's to that pesky Master's degree paying off. (you can't see me, but I'm raising my can of Diet Dr. Pepper in a carbonated, caffeinated, aspartame- and phenylalanine-laden toast)

My Cactus Be Illin'

and not in a good way.

I blogged awhile ago about the odd affliction that had befallen my poor little Ikea cactus. Apparently, after a valiant struggle, it has succumbed to it's ailments. I looked at it today and discovered that the container that once held my proud little cacti has been reduced to a veritable minefield littered with severed cactus parts and shattered dreams. The thing just fell apart.

You will note that the yet-to-be-identified sprouts have grown considerably over the last 2 1/2 months - evidence to the fact that I did water it occasionally.



















Conclusions (take your pick):
1. This particular species of desert flora requires something other than water, special cactus potting soil, air, and sunlight.
2. My fascination with and subsequent refusal to remove the clearly aberrant growths contributed to it's untimely death.
3. I didn't love it enough.

A green thumb I have not.

HTD indeed.

I love surprises.

So my sister flew in on Saturday - just straight out of the blue. Due to me actually kinda sorta almost having a life this weekend, she had to nix the "show up at the door unannounced" kind of surprise. But the "hi,myplaneistakingoffIhavetohangupbutI'mcomingtoPhoenixtoday
Iflyinaroundthreeokbye" phone call is just as much fun. I was a tad giddy.

Things we did:

Talked.
Watched Scrubs, Friends, Lost, and The Office.
Wittily bantered.
Went to see The Illusionist.
Played Friends Trivia.
Said sarcastic things.
Walked around Copper Square.
Listened to Dane Cook. (wtb, htd?)
Pondered the future.
Had margaritas and mexican food at Chevy's.
Talked more.
Drove around Scottsdale.
Drank iced chai at Border's.
Quoted a lot of Friends and Scrubs.

Poor Haley walked over to my office on Monday afternoon and hung out for the last hour I was there. This was the fateful location of the 497th incident of someone asking us if we are twins. I don't understand.



Mad love to my htd.

Ode To My Little Green iPod

How do I love thee? A lot. *snap snap* (bongo rhythm fades into poetic silence)

To keep myself from being driven (more) insane by the incessant humming of 15 computers within 15 feet of my desk at work, I listen to my outdated but still treasured little green iPod mini. I put it on shuffle and it plays random songs all the livelong day.

I've noticed, however, that instead of playing a purely random sampling of the approximately 800 songs in the music library, my little green iPod has moods. It might even be schizophrenic, you guys. I just don't know. Each day it will pick a couple artists or albums and play a disproportionate sampling of those songs, mixed in with the expectedly random selections from the rest of the music library. And it's always incongruous pairings. One day it played a lot of Eisley and Cake. The next day it favored Muse and Jack Johnson with a little Chevelle love on the side. Today's featured bands were Radiohead and Nickel Creek.

I wonder if my moods affect the little green iPod or if the little green iPod influences me. Hmmm.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

That is the sound of me banging my head against the wall.
Many times.

Please note that it is 9:46pm.
On a Friday.
And I have just arrived home from work.

Dear Channel 10 News,

I hate you.
Also, your aneurysm animation is finished.

Un-love,
Kristen

Get Your Mad Correspondence On

Fo sho.

Hello

you have reached the winter of my discontent.

Wouldn't life be easier if we just had a big book that told us the reason for things? So if there is anything in your life you're questioning, you just pull out your own personal volume of The Reason Why by God, go to the index, find the decision/person/situation you're questioning, turn to page 782, and find out "oh, ok, I'm going to need this particular experience to prepare me for something that will happen two years from now" or "ok, this current shittiness is going to teach me this valuable life lesson."

Yeah. That'd be nice.

Nobody Cares About The Dakotas

Do you?

So you should go play this game. You have to put all the state names in their correct places on the map within a time limit. Now, that's a lot harder than it sounds. You always forget at least one, or in some cases...fourteen. (looks at Monica)

If you get tired of doing the state thing, you can always just list the types of celery. So far I have one: regular celery.

Have at it, Magellan.

*EDIT: Natalie Dee clearly reads my blog and I can no longer claim to have the lead in vegetables. Crafty minx.

Just Your Average Tuesday

I spent most of my morning in the Spinal Biomechanics lab digitally measuring and photographing a cadaver head.

You know. Same old same old.

Also, I finished my first cover illustration today - the journal should go to press tomorrow. Man. I'm actually an illustrator. Huh.

As a side note, the neurosurgeon whose article my illustration is based on saw the mockup today and her e-mailed reply was "Ooooohh. I love the pretty colors."

I'm not really sure what to do with that.

God and Grammar

Awesome. Just...awesome.












...you can't hear me, but I'm still giggling about the first one and it's been, like, a week since I first read it. You've all seen the Footprints poem before, right?

Shave and a Haircut:

Two bits.

I need a haircut. The shave I could probably do without (I'm growing out my beard for winter).

My hair has reached massive proportions. It's the longest it's been since I chopped off my 4th grade "butt-length hair with enormous frizzy, frizzy bangs all up in the front" coif 15 years ago. I remember when I finally did chop off all that hair, my head felt all light and loopy and I kept shaking and shaking it - it was the strangest sensation.

Unfortunately, this new "freeing" haircut could have been best described as a permed bowl cut...because, indeed, it was a permed bowl cut. Not my best look. And the growing out process was horrible. I grew it out late in my 6th grade year, and by that point I had giant gold-framed glasses and the acne had kicked in and I was still taller than all the boys and I was missing a couple teeth on the sides that had fallen out late and my typical outfit consisted of stretch pants and an oversized t-shirt. Dang. From that point my hair was mostly chin- to shoulder-lengthish. And then during undergrad it was all short and flippy and kicky and spunky. And then I moved to Georgia and I didn't know which places were the good salons and which were the ones where they put a bowl on your head and just start trimming. Plus I had no money. So it got long. A year later I found a great hair stylist in Atlanta, but I could only afford to have him cut my hair once a year. So it got longer. And then I moved to Phoenix where, once again, I have that good place/bowl on the head dilemma. Which brings me back to the fact that...

I need a haircut.

ps - J, H, and PslashB, there are replies to your comments on the last post. Just so's ya know. So's all y'alls faces. The end.

Late Night Rant

Because some things absolutely cannot wait until morning.

So I mentioned awhile back that I just bought my own car insurance. I finally got the paperwork in the mail and I was reading over it today. Turns out I was totally RIPPED OFF. Buried in the middle of pages of legal mumbo jumbo is a list of things that my insurance company absolutely refuses pay for. The most appalling non-coverage items read as follows:

We will not pay for:
3. Loss of vehicle due to or as a consequence of:
a. Radioactive contamination;
b. Discharge of any nuclear weapon (even if accidental);
c. War (declared or undeclared);
d. Civil war;
e. Insurrection; or
f. Rebellion or revolution.

I mean seriously, what's a girl to do when the revolution comes?


(Dear Department of Homeland Security, I am merely being sarcastic, as it is my nature to be. Please do not imprison me. Love, Kristen)

Go Snakes!

That was for you, Bea.

Dang. So I had plans to go to a Diamondbacks baseball game last night with some of the gals from church. We were planning on sitting in the ballpark restaurant and sharing desserts while we watched the game. To say the evening was upgraded would be quite the understatement.

Turns out, one of the girls I went with works for a company that buys lots of tickets from the Diamondbacks. She had been to the stadium earlier that day to pick up all the stuff her company had purchased and the guy says to her "I hear you're going to the game tonight - how about I upgrade you and your friends' tickets?" "...uh, ok?" says Dana. TALK about an upgrade.

This is my ticket stub.


This was my view.


This is part of the group.


And THIS is me on tv.


I was on tv behind the batters all night. I had to be careful not to, you know, fish stray popcorn kernels out of my shirt or something in front of the camera.

We also had VIP parking thanks to Cheryl, who works at the stadium. And she gave us a behind the scenes tour afterwards - press box, executive conference rooms - the works. We even met the guy who plays the organ. We all had a great time and I think I'm starting to get to know the church gals a little better.

And THAT was my first Diamondbacks game in Arizona. Iiii KNOW!

Truth be told...I'd trade it for the last Diamondbacks game I went to, though. Nosebleed seats at Turner Field with Pat and Kathy & Sean and Demis & Alissa. Sigh...

Commandment #11:

Thou shalt grill thy own meat.

I went to this place called The Monastery on Saturday with a group of girls from church. Sounds pretty freaking holy, right? Fooled you! (said in Dark Helmet voice) No, The Monastery is actually a bar/restaurant in Mesa. The bartenders wear monk's frocks, you can play a rousing game of horseshoes while listening to a live band, and yes, you grill your own meat. If you order a burger, they give you this packet that contains a bun, a slice of cheese, and a hunk of raw cow. You take your bag o' burger stuff over to these giant outdoor grills and grill to your heart's content. They have all the seasonings and condiments you could ask for, but the burger flipping is up to you. Weird...but fun.

I watched lots of movies in the past few days, ranging from mediocre to great. These are all movies I have owned for varying amounts of time, but for one reason or another, have never seen.
Here's the list in order of the length of time I owned the movie before watching it, from longest (FOUR. YEARS.) to least (1 week):
1. The Royal Tenenbaums
2. Braveheart
3. Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World
4. Shopgirl
5. First Knight (*cough*mediocre*cough*)
6. Love Actually

And to those of you who were freaked out by the angora rabbit...pansies. And by "pansies" I mean, "I totally agree."

Preposterous Pets

From fluorescent fish to hilariously hairy hares.

This is easily one of the creepiest, most unethical things I've ever seen.

This, however, is effing awesome. Ever wonder where angora sweaters come from? HOh yeah.

Overheard in the elevator

Location: One of the world's premiere neurological institutes

Scene: Group of neurosurgeons loudly and enthusiastically discussing a surgical case. White lab coats, blue scrubs, and big egos crowd the elevator. They are talking over one another, each trying to make his own point.

Suddenly, one doc's voice rings out over all the rest:

"I mean, come on! It's not like this is rocket science!"

...

Kristen's Inner Monologue: No, no, you're totally right. I mean, come on. This? This is just brain surgery.

This made me laugh

...and then cry a little, on the inside.

Saturday's forecast from the National Weather Service website:

Saturday: Partly sunny. Slight chance of showers and thunderstorms. Cooler. Highs 98 to 103.

C-288

This was my number at the MVD today.
MVD: Morons Validating Drivers
Or, you know, the stupid southwestern version of the DMV.

I am now a legal vehicle owner/operator in the state of Arizona. Here is the list of the things I had to take the morning off to do:

1. Level II inspection on my car.
(Kristen kicks wall due to residual frustration. See previous post if you are scared and/or confused.)
2. Title.
(My car is finally in my name. I paid for it seven years ago, but at that time it was just easier to put it in my parents' names. No more! I'm now the proud owner of a lovely 1995 Ford Taur...oh, who am I kidding. My name is on the title of a hoopty with an actual list of things you have to know before you drive it. Pat, I will give you one dollar (and by one dollar, I mean a two-person-closed-fist-tap-turned-into-a-thumbs-up-from-2000-miles-away) if you can remember how many miles fast or slow my speedometer is.)
3. Registration.
(I had to pay them $80 in sales tax. This low number eased my hoopty laments.)
4. License plate.
From this:







To this:







5. Proof of insurance.
(I am fully and completely self-supporting now. Scary.)
6. Driver license.
(is it always called a driver license? I could swear it should be driver's license, plus or minus the apostrophe, but Arizona calls it a driver license. Singular. Huh.)

Basically, what all this boils down to is the fact that I had to spend nearly four hours going to two different buildings on opposite sides of the city, all so they could give me a lot of paperwork, a rectangular piece of metal to slap on the back of my car, and a driver license which, due to their creative printing process, makes me look like a crack whore. Neat.

From Bluetooth to Red Ross

See what I did there? With the colors?

Bluetooth:

"I love it when she calls my phone
She even got her very own ringtone
If that ain't love then I don't know what love is (ba ba da da)"

From:
Cupid's Chokehold
by Gym Class Heroes

Right, so I bought a Bluetooth USB adapter the other day so I could synch up my cool new Razr phone with this free song-editing software and make my own ringtones from songs on my computer. Every time my phone rings now, it makes me laugh, smile, and/or feel nostalgic, depending upon the person/song. Awesome.

Downside: So for my friend Kathy, I picked this clip from a Beck song that, if you know Kathy/Kyeathy/Keffy, you know it fits her to a T. However, when one day you forget to turn off your cell phone ringer at work and this ringtone comes blaring out as you're discussing neurosurgical illustration-type things with your boss, it can lead to some mild embarrassment. Fact.

Red Ross:

Ross: Okay, I know what I have to do. I've got to go Red Ross...Y'know, Red Ross!
Joey: I totally don't know what you're talking about.
Ross: Come on! The time we were all waiting in line for Dances With Wolves and that one guy cut in line in front of us and I just lost it?! Screamed at him! Turned all red! Red Ross!!

From:
The One With All the Rugby
by Friends

So I've spent the past four days in a mild panic trying to get my license plates and registration and car insurance and all that figured out before one of two things happens: a) my Nebraska plates expire, or 2) the Phoenix police give me a $300 ticket for failure to register my car in a timely manner. So I trek allllll the way to the scary ghetto West Phoenix MVD today (the only one open on a Saturday) to get my crap figured out. It was hot. It was insanely crowded. I was not pleased. So I sit in the inspection line to have them verify the VIN number on my car. Finally it's my turn. She checks the number on my dash. Then she wants to compare it to the number on the inside of my car door. Except there IS no number on the inside of my car door because the original door was smashed to heck when I wrecked it like six years ago and, apparently, the replacement door was VIN number-less. And, APPARENTLY, this all means that I have to take time off of work to go BACK to the MVD between the hours of 8am and 4pm, Monday through Friday, and have them do some kind of special inspection that I have to PAY for. No amount of explanation and syrupy sweetness would change the VIN-nazi's mind. I was thisclose to going all Red Ross on her. But I didn't. I said "thank you for your help" and managed to sound only slightly passive-aggressive slash sarcastic. I am a rock.

For the T-shirt Lover in You

Threadless.com = Funny shirts






And my personal favorite:

Chinese gum and YAAAAMS!

So my parents just got back from two weeks in China, where they mixed and mingled in a new culture and worked towards setting up a student exchange between the University of Nebraska at Kearney and a Chinese university. Their sojourn to this foreign nation afforded me some lovely little birthday presents, Chinese-style. No throwing stars or anything, but along with a fanfreakingtastic purse and wallet, they sent some Chinese candy. Alongside the peanut M&Ms with Chinese letters on the wrapper, there was this one mysterious gum-shaped package with pictures of coffee cups on it. Sure enough, it was coffee-flavored gum. I was intrigued.

I mean come on, coffee-flavored gum. Not exactly an intuitive combination. Usually you chew gum to get rid of the coffee breath. I remember my art teacher in high school, Mrs. Babbitt, she had the worst coffee breath you can imagine. She'd come over to critique a project and the students would automatically lean six inches in the opposite direction. We liked her anyway. Anyway.

After settling down comfortably on my couch, I unwrapped a stick and began chewing the tan-with-dark-brown-flecks stick of gum. Chew chew chew...chew........chew... Huh.

First thought: What the mother of crap is up with this stuff?? Oh God. Is it gum, is it food? What's the deal?

Then, as the initial burst of coffee flavor began to fade: Oh, it's nice. I think I'll have another one.

It kind of reminded me of this Dutch candy, Hopjes. (actually pronounced "(insert spit-rattling, phlegmmy-H noise here)uup-yas", but my Americano friend Kyeathy and I call them "Hop-jeez"). Hopjes are actually hard candies, but they taste the same.

As for the YAAAAMS! ("Oh Will. But you-you've worked so hard.") For the past few days, I've been smelling something a little...off...every time I'd walk towards my kitchen. I thought it might be the garbage can so I scrubbed it out and sprayed it with lysol and all...but still the smell persisted. Well, as I was searching through my ridiculously deep cupboards for a box of brown rice today, my hand encountered something...soft. Yeah. I had come across a six-week-old, liquefied sweet potato, still in it's little produce baggie. Um. Gross.

Five Things

I lied. Six.

1. As of today, I have officially lived in Phoenix for 8 weeks.
2. There are 12 books on my bookshelf that I have purchased but not yet read.
3. There are 17 dvds on my dvd shelf that I have purchased but not yet watched.
4. Pat saw Snakes on a Plane. Not fair. (although, clearly, if I don't get to see it in the theater then I can just buy it when it comes out on dvd...and not watch it.)
5. I want these shoes.













6. These shoes cost $2,200.00. It's ok. I had a heart attack, too. We can be myocardial infarction buddies.

The Circus Is Falling Down On It's Knees.

Blue. Birthday.
Adam Duritz knows. He knows.

I need:
a phone call
a rain coat
a big love
a plane ride
a sunburn

a phone call
a rain coat

So this is the first really lonely birthday I've spent. Don't get me wrong, you guys were so great and I appreciate the calls more than I can say. And everyone at work was so nice - they had cake and little gifts and flowers and things. We even went out for mexican food and margaritas after work. But you know how sometimes having a nice time with people who like you - as opposed to people who love you - just makes you think about how much you've left behind and what you don't have? ~sigh~ I miss you guys.

Love.

Phoenix Days and Talladega Nights

I think I actually have an AZ friend or two, you guys.

After seven weeks of doing things pretty much all on my own (i.e. movies, eating, shopping, reading, living, breathing, etc.), I finally went out on a Saturday and did stuff...WITH PEOPLE. Take that, SpendingSoMuchTimeByYourselfThatYouPhotoshoppedYourFriends
IntoAnOldBostonPhoto-Kristen!

So I'd heard good things about Talladega Nights and wanted to go see it. But how depressing is it to go see a stupid-funny movie by yourself? (I mean, something funny happens and what do I do? I look to my left. I look to my right. No one to laugh with. Sadness. Movie ruined. Nine dollars wasted.) So I decided to invite a couple friends from my office (and their respective spouses) to go see Talladega Nights on Saturday afternoon.

We saw the movie (funny stuff) and then grabbed some ice cream. The theater closest to my apartment is the downtown fancy cinema located in Arizona Center. It's a nice outdoor shopping area with pretty deserty-palm-tree type landscaping. So we ate our ice cream outside in this little park area and then splashed around in the walk-through fountain thingy they have and talked. Other than the fact that playing fifth wheel to two couples on a beautiful summer evening is pretty much emotional torment, I have to say - human contact: good for the soul.

I have a new cell phone - a mass e-mail with contact information is in the offing.

Love you guys.

What if...

my readers were members of the band Boston circa 1976?




PS - Heath, you in this picture? Yeah, totally what your dad must've looked like in the 70s.

Because Sometimes We All Need A Little Motivation

Read and be refreshed.












And my personal favorite...



Awesome.