a.k.a Crash

Nicknames-you probably have at least one.

I enjoy giving people nicknames and I like calling them by something other than their formal birth name. I think it's personal and somewhat touching to have an "insider" name. It's the "secret friendshipness" that makes a nickname special.

I believe that most people will receive a nickname in their life whether they like it or not.
I had many. Some of the unmentioned nicknames, I am not too proud of. For all rest, I have actually taken a liking to.

While biking down a steep remote back-road, my past and its bruised nicknames became all too vivid.

As I gained speed, approaching 34-35 mph, I kept hearing voices in my head saying, "Hey, Crash!"
"Don't Crash, Crash!"
"Crash, don't get in the pool with all those scabs on your body."
"Crash, I can't believe you crashed again."

Yes, growing up, I crashed many times on my garage-sale bike and I have the scars to show.

In the summer, I road from my folks house to the swim club every day. I like to believe my bike and I were good friends (?) since it was my primary mode of transportation. My licensed family members were too busy to pick me up so I gave up relying on them for rides.

Unfortunately, after many consecutive summers of riding my bike to and fro, I became accident prone. I crashed. I crashed on busy streets. I crashed while my neighbors drove behind me after a late night swim meet. I crashed down my families gravel road a few different times. One special time, I crashed and tried to hide it while eating dinner with my family. I was quiet at the dinner table because I could barely bring the fork to my mouth. My body was covered in road rash and tiny rocks were embedded in my skin. Plus, my head was a little blurry. Ouch.

The following day, I headed back to the pool for swim practice. I tried to sneakily hop in the pool unnoticed until one simmer called me out. They called me that dreaded name, "Crash."

I tried so hard to put that darn name to rest but every summer it surfaced again.

Now, I guess I am an adult. At 29 years of age, I am still getting over my anxiety of crashing. I am so cautious it kills me. I burn through my brakes. I ride my breaks and take corners like a little old lady. Oh well, I think my courage will come back eventually.

I love my new bike. I love the bursts of oxygen in my face, the sunny days and the excitement of seeing new places; I don't plan on quitting anytime soon.

After all, my bike is my birthday treat and I love her. Her name is Black Beauty. And yes, we are friends. She doesn't have a voice and she doesn't call me Crash.

Wash those Worries Right out of my Hair

We've all had, "those weeks." You know, the kind of day/week/month that's a little more difficult than others. So, the question is, what do you do about it? Do you wallow in self pity or get up and do something? My philosophy--Always do something.

I don't care what it is. Spin in circles. Learn another language. Rock out to Gloria Estefan. Eat a gallon of ice cream, whatever. You do, what you gotz'-ta do (sorry, the gangster in me came out a little bit right there, I apologize).

Last week, was a little bit like this for me.

To counteract the day, I decided to get my hair done. I made an appointment. Arrived on time. Asked for blond highlights and walked out with black hair. Yes, black hair. My forehead, my favorite feature, was emphasized even more- super!

When I walked in the door at home, I laughed and cried as I tried to explain all that happened to Justin. I could not believe how ugly my hair was. It was awful. So awful, I can't post any pictures to this blog nor can I repeat this story--you know, digging up old wounds. I tell the story once and then never again.

Since dooms day, I had my hair redone. I also shower like there is no tomorrow, hoping and praying that the more I shower, the black will wash away. Tomorrow, I plan to get blond shampoo & conditioner. I don't think it will do anything but a girl can hope.

Moral of the story: Always do something. And, why your at it, sing this fantastic South Pacific song, Wash that Man Right out of my Hair--except substitute the word man with worries-- it's fun and will certainly make you smile.

A Pint a Day Keeps the Doctor Away

What do you do all day at work? Honestly, I am curious.

People spend all kinds of time, "at work."

At a dinner party the other day, I pondered this when the characteristic question arose, "What do you do?"

Immediately, my thoughts jumped to Justin's response. I looked at him and thought--cue answer, followed by the typical inquisition. As I mapped the conversation in my mind, I realized my keen abilities to foretell the future have sharpened.

For those who know Justin, know that he works at a hospital and wears blue scrubs. He is what the medical community calls a Perfusionist. One of his jobs is to operate a heart-lung machine for open heart surgery. Basically, Justin pretends to be the patients heart and lungs while they are under anesthesia so the surgeon can operate.

So, while Justin explains what he does (sometimes doodling hearts on paper dinner napkins), in my mind I make up my own reply to this question. My response would start with Justin loving blood and him being a vampire. Especially after seeing the movie, Twilight, qualities about Justin became more clear.

There are many reasons why Justin could be a vampire. For starters, his grandfather, Ken Sleasman was a long-time logger in Forks, WA. Interesting. For two years, Justin pretended to enjoy the Arizona sun, where he says he earned his masters degree. I think he chose this location due to the high density of geriatric patients that seem to accumulate in the greater Phoenix area. Slow moving, easy targets.

Justin also works odd evening hours, sometimes crawling into bed, quiet as a ninja. When our alarms (yes- plural) go off in the a.m., I look over at him and he is exhausted--his pale features sparkling with lack of sleep.

It was at this dinner party that realized, I too could be a vampire. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed my rather long canine teeth.

To verify our findings, we took this test and aced: http://www.dumbspot.com/vampire-test?gatherer_id=100332&gclid=CLmWz5fr7JgCFQ6jagod_mbL0g.

How did you do?

Picture of Justin in front of the: heart-lung machine with his boss Paul and co-worker Jenn.

"Lady in Red"

I rarely drive Justin's Nissan Ultima. The situation seldom presents itself but when it does, I have to be prepared. You see, my loyalties are tied to automatics not stick shifts. Justin's car is a stick shift.

Awhile ago, I found myself day dreaming one day after work. The sun was shining, my sun glasses were on and I was driving down a beautiful road in Palo Alto. Nice setting, huh? Right. It's all fun and games until you your dreaming gets the better of you.

My thoughts took me to another world. Like magic, Justin's car turned into one of those fancy cars people drive around here. My itchy work clothes disappeared! I look at myself in the rear view mirror to find I am dressed in shiny red leather. My sunglasses turn into those hip fashion glasses that people wear in Hollywood. Even my hair--my thin hair becomes luscious locks of blond curls. I couldn't believe it. I think I looked a little bit like B. Spears in, "Oops, I did it again."

When the transformation occurred, I wondered if it was going to hang around for awhile. So, I decided to seize the moment. I drove. I took a left, then a right. I put the clutch in and moved from first, to second, third with a few easy strokes. I was the queen of my domain and looking good too.

Then it happened... the moment everyone hates to talk about if they enjoy dream world.

While waiting at a stoplight my car stalls, then I panic. I look around hoping that no one is looking. Ack! I can't get the car in gear. Ack! I move a little and then the car stops again. People are looking now. Crap.

Immediately, my leather outfit disappears. Unfortunately, the full head of hair says bye-bye too and my ol' work rags return--itchy and uncomfortable. Then, randomly, the car decides to kick-into gear and I make my way home.

Although brief, I had a short glimpse of what it may be like to be a real sexy race car driver. It was fun. In fact, I will probably go back there in some form or another.

--Flash forward a few days later--

Justin and I are laying on the couch at home enjoying a lazy Sunday. He looks at me and points out that once again, I am wearing my mis-match red sweat suit. He's right. Absent-mindedly, I again paired my ugly college sweatshirt with my oldly moldy red sweat pants. Together they are 3 sizes too big for me but I can't help it, I love my weekend clothes.

It occurred to me, there is one thing that my dream world and I have in common. We both like red outfits. And, if worn correctly, they receive all kinds of rave reviews.

To summarize, I found the perfect quote for this blog, pulled from a vanity license plate--it said, "It's red, it's hot and it's mine."

Jingles Save Lives

At some point in your life, you will suffer from SSS--Silly Song Syndrome.

This terrible brain disease can be defined as any oddball song that gets lodged in your head and plays over and over again. Never set the expectation that you will complete the entire song. The maddening part about the disease is that you repeat only one or two verses and then start over again. The vicious cycle has begun. Only the wise can pull themselves out of this musical Groundhogs Day.

My elementary music teacher, Mr. Press, taught me a cute song called Apple Maggot. The words follow:

"Apple maggot quarantine area, do not transport homegrown fruit."

This wacky song is my savior. Thanks to Apple Maggot, I have herb pots and little bushes that made the long trek from Edmonds, WA to Menlo Park, CA. Let me elaborate...

Mom and Laura, driving in a large Penske truck, stop at the California border to abide by state law that all trucks must be checked upon entry.

Mr. Plant Man (PM) walks up to the truck door and asks me if I have any plants. I can't lie so I say yes.

Of course, he wants to seem them. Nervously, I hop out of the truck while stealing glances at the plant incinerator in front of me--what a mean looking torture device.

I pull open the back of the truck. Mr. PM hops in. He proceeds to ask pointed questions about the species of my plants--quickly I list of all the plant names. Then, I did something really awkward.

I asked Mr. PM if he had ever heard a song called Apple Maggot. He said no. I then asked if I could sing it for him because it reminded me of what was happening. He hesitantly said okay.

In hopes that the song would save my plants lives, I began to sing. I sang with all my heart and mind--really socking it to him. I like to think I gave him my best.

Shocked by my weirdness, Mr. PM starts laughing. Then I start laughing. I asked him if he had ever heard that song before in his life. He said, definitely not.

The rest is history. Mom and I passed our inspection and continued on our journey, plants and all.

The one downfall of this whole situation, Apple Maggot did not leave my head for days.

P.S. If you think I lying about this song, you can click here and tune in yourself

http://www.geocities.com/lilandr/seatlo/midioj/AppleMaggot2.mid

Pieces of Me

There are definite certainties in life. For example, when fall arrives, puzzles come out of our dusty closets. At least, this is how it works for me.

I love puzzles. Most of the time, I don’t really know why. Puzzles do weird things to me. To name a few oddities: I sing when I puzzle. I also enjoy talking to the pieces, asking them to reveal to to me where they are hiding amongst the other pieces.

On the flip side, puzzles make me upset when I can’t find the piece I am looking for. If I stare at the pieces for too long, I get double vision. And, on top of all this, I realize that even though puzzles do not come with directions, I have made up my own.

My puzzle rules seem simple but they are deeply rooted in family tradition with a few creative twists of my own.

Here are the rules if you ever want to “puzzle” with me:

1. Look at the box in the beginning. Never look at the box once you have dumped the pieces out on the table because that’s cheating and your desperate if you look.

2. Flip all the pieces over before you start puzzling. Cheaters usually like to start puzzling before everyone else begins, so they can look cool. Watch out for these people, they are only out for themselves.

3. Start with the edges because these are the easiest to put together. For new puzzlers, let them enjoy doing the edge because it will make them feel good about themselves.

4.Rearrange the pieces by color scheme as this helps to find them better. Again, always watch your back because an idiot puzzler may make the awful mistake of bumping some of the pieces onto the floor. Puzzle bumpers are never good. Scowl at these folk.

5. If you have to hover over another puzzler be sure to breath deeply into their ear as this is never annoying.

6. If your success ratio is down, meaning you have not put a piece together for over 15 minutes..step away from the puzzle and proceed to walk around the puzzle table and survey the scene. See what others are up to.

7. When you are successful and put two pieces together, make it known. Loudly tap on the properly placed puzzle piece so others can note how wonderful you are. Smile at your fellow puzzlers and laugh if you want to.

8. Never hide puzzle pieces. If you even think of doing this, never, ever, ever, puzzle with me. You are evil.

9. Stay up late at night until you have reached your puzzle goal, what ever that may be. Never leave the puzzle until you have reached your personal best for the day.

10. Never leave your fellow puzzler, to puzzle by themselves. This is rude and puzzling is all about sharing the moment with your friends. Bonding is key.

11. When you hit the final stretch, go all out. Get really crazy. Sing really loud. Make jokes and just finish the puzzle. Once you are done, celebrate! Give your friends high-fives. Hugs are good too. Tell your friend/s that you made it. You have arrived. You are the coolest puzzlers in the world.

12. Leave the puzzle out for a couple days so you can admire your hard work.
If you eventually spill food on the puzzle (because it is usually on the coffee table) this means its time to put break it up and put it away.

13. Get out another puzzle...this time go for a Christmas theme to celebrate the upcoming season and repeat steps 1-13.

So, there you have it. Are these rules simple or have I just fallen to pieces?

Catch some Zzzzz....

On Movies.

Truth--I am a terrible movie watcher.

I seldom watch movies. 98.8% of the time I execute one of the following options:

Fall asleep during the first quarter of the movie

--OR--

Allow my Attention Deficit Disorder get the better of me to the point that I get up and do something, e.g. fold laundry. While tinkering near the boob-tube (as my mother calls a t.v.), I try to make my movie watching cohort happy with me by pretending that I am watching the movie when in reality, I am not.

Obviously, that leaves us with the residual 1. 2% that is dedicated to watching a movie from beginning to end--the outcome occurs once in a blue moon.

I never know when the 1.2% chance will take effect. Usually, I am caught off guard and absolutely surprised when it happens, as I was this morning.

My husband and I are spending the weekend in beautiful Tahoe, Nevada. I wake up, open the curtains in our hotel room to the most lovely view of the lake. I said, “have a nice day at work” to my handsome husband and then tell myself that I am going to have a productive day until... I turn on the darn television.

What is playing but one of my personal favorite movies, Sleepless in Seattle. I have watched the movie a gazillion times. I attempt to limit myself to only watching one small clip. One and a half hours later, the movie is over and I am still laying in bed. Ahh!

At this time, I have 1 hour before my husband comes back to the hotel room and we journey off to tour the lake via boat. I better do something with myself quick.
Maybe I should look busy and fold laundry? No way. I have to get outside.