"we'll go dancing, set fires"

I was 18 and not nearly as sure of myself as I wanted to be. I had left home for academia and was seriously rethinking the wisdom of sprouting wings. Who were all these people? And how did I just know instinctively that they were all so much smarter than me? And not nearly as much fun.

It was my med school orientation and with the exception of my mother sitting next to me, I didn't know a soul.

We were assigned "docent" groups and I introduced myself to the 10 or so other newbies that would later be a big part of my freshman year of college. Orientation progressed in that mind numbing way that orientations tend to progress and a few somewhat confusing comments started to come my way. People kept looking at me doubtfully when I introduced myself as Amy. Amy? They'd ask in an annoyingly repetitive way. Yes, Amy. And questions like, Do you have a brother? Not siblings, but specifically a brother. No, I'd say a little awkwardly, do you? These very strange interactions did nothing to put me at ease in this new environment.

When we were encouraged to mingle a little later, the strangeness intensified. Oh! I was told. I just met your twin! What to say? It seemed kind of early to be calling people crazy, although they most certainly were. I knew without a doubt that my sister was back home in the 'Burg. Pretty sure I just starred blankly at the first several people who made this comment. Finally, one of these "crazies" gestured towards a group of people clustered nearby while making their observation. And it was here that I met for the very first time my long lost twin (or, I guess, triplet?) brother. It was here that I first met Tod Haller.

Tod and I would later go through our UMKC years receiving each others test results and various pieces of paperwork. Just like on that first day, I'd run into people who insisted that my name was "Tod" no matter how adamant I was that it was actually Amy. I'd get his mail in the dorm and I'm sure he got mine. We were alternately thought to be siblings or, in later years, spouses. On one very memorable day in the cafeteria I was accused of being untrue to my Orthodox Jewish heritage because I had lowered myself to asking for a couple pieces of bacon to accompany my morning eggs. My accuser could not be convinced, despite significant effort, of my belief in Jesus Christ.

Tod and I were to become great friends. We studied together. We bitched to each other about various injustices. And we may have even shared a drink or two . . . :) Our lives have gone separate ways over the last several years. Tod's back on the East coast, married and a father of 3. And I, of course, am happily single here in Texas. But this past weekend, those separate lives once again connected with a too brief visit. And it was as though we never parted ways. It's like we were once again back in KC: drinking, dancing, and having a helluva good time!

So today's blogging soundtrack (see below) is in honor of Tod - my long lost, but now found, brother - and our 12 years of friendship.

we cause scenes

a toast

I think I may be done with boys for a while. Seriously. I'm just so tired. Understanding continues to elude me and it simply does not seem worth it anymore.

I've spent the majority of my adult life being super content as a single woman. It's only been over the past year that the desire to be in a relationship keeps creeping up on me. And because of that desire I've opened myself up more to relationship potentials. In my youth . . . pause for a smile:) In my youth I was very, very picky. Probably too picky. I never really gave anybody a chance.

I've worked hard as of late to curb that initial impulse that I always get when meeting somebody new. That HE'S-NOT-THE-ONE impulse. It comes from deep, deep inside me. In a voice so strong and self-assured that I'm always a little surprised that it's mine. I've tried to ignore that voice. Asking myself, How could you possibly know that? And I've tried to reason with that voice. There's no harm in giving him a shot. But dammit if that cocky and stubborn voice just isn't always right!

It would be, I'm sure, an entirely different ballgame if I was having fun wading through all the Mr Wrongs in my search for Mr Right.

I'm not having fun.

Most likely, my new need over the past year for a relationship was a direct result of my very unhealthy work situation. It was almost as though I needed someone (anyone?) to make me happy. I had always previously been in charge of my own happiness but that control, that confidence, slipped last year.

God. I really hate writing that. I really hate admitting that.

But then something really freaking fantastic happened. I quit. It probably took all of January for me to really stop being unhappy. And then it took the majority of February for me to remember to be happy. We're now nearing the end of March and it is here that I'm finally hitting my stride.

I'm happy. I really am. Because of a million small moments and some really great people. But mostly? Because of me. Because I am so back in control. Back exactly where I wanna be. And you know what? I like that stubborn, cocky voice in my head. I think she's cool. And I know I can trust her, trust her with something really precious. I can trust her with my renewed happiness.

So, a toast. Here's to having fun. Here's to letting the boys play their boy games without me. Here's to listening to my crazy-picky inner me. And, most importantly, here's to being happy:)

Earth Hour 2008

Tonight at 8 pm is Earth Hour 2008. Dallas isn't an official participant (sadly) but I'm going to host my own little hour. Even Google is getting into it:)

So, turn off your lights!

Stuff Portrait Friday: Numbers

Definitely decided to participate this week! Didn't think to look for the assignment before this morning however, so just used a picture I took this past weekend when I went home for Easter.

Today I bring you the number 2. I'm listening to the Ray Charles duets album Genius Loves Company, drinking my second cup of coffee, and offering up a recent pic of the 2 cutest nieces in the world . . . :)

hair nomad no more

I finally got tired of the pony tail and decided to bite the bullet and "chop" off all the hair. Got a superb recommendation from cousin Julie and let my new best friend Christian do his magic.

Sometimes I think the inability to see without glasses is a true and wonderful blessing. I'm never nervous during a hair cut - even those that might fit into the radical category - because it's just pointless. I can't see. I have no control. Might as well relax and enjoy the downtime! I have to admit, however, that this time was just a little different.

I throw out the term "chop" with some regularity when discussing the art of hair styling. But never have I really felt it to be an accurate description of what is occurring. But yesterday, Christian chopped my hair. I swear to God he did. The sound was very, very disturbing and slightly anxiety-inducing. Today, however, I am a contented member of "the end justifies the means"camp of hair cutting. Because I love, love my hair!

Below is a pic post-cut (and post-anxiety attack!) with friend Alicia who I dragged along for the experience. You can't see the back - which is my favorite - but you get the general idea:)

women at work

My baby sister lives several hours away from my home Dallas and recently made the trek for a short visit. As is her habit, she brought a few boxes of recyclables that she isn't able to take care of in her town of residence.

A short detour to say: Dallas makes it so incredibly easy to recycle! They accept nearly everything, including all plastics. And no sorting! So sad the number of people who don't bother to take advantage. But more on that later . . .

Before she made the trip back home we took all of our cumulative offerings out to the recycle bin in the alley. She got there first and noted that someone had left the lid open to the elements. Unfortunately, those same elements had been in rare form approximately 1 week prior and the bin was filled to the rim with water. Only a few floating plastic bottles disturbed the relative calm of the somewhat murky surface.

Little sister to the rescue! When I arrived by her side she was in the process of tipping down the over sized container to empty it of it's contents. Fortunately (sadly?), there was little else than water to be emptied. Once the water was gone we were left with a stack of soggy newspapers and a bag filled with various recyclable items.

What to do?

Obviously, the paper could no longer be recycled. We decided, somewhat reluctantly, to sift through the remainders. Plastic Gatorade bottle? Back into the blue bin. Mushy Crate and Barrel catalog? To the trash. Milk carton? Empty water and then recycle. And so it went.

Sometime after the milk carton I became aware that we were actually going through my recycling from the previous week.

At first there was relief that hey, at least we weren't "trash diggin'" through somebody else's trash! But then I realized what exactly that meant. With the exception of a stack of newspapers contributed by the same person who likely left the bin lid open, all the recycling in the container was from me. From over a week ago.

I live in a small apartment building with a total of 6 apartments. We have 3 large garbage containers and 1 blue recycling bin of the same size to share between us. The trash is collected weekly and the recycling every other week. At the time of my above discovery, 2 out of the 3 garbage cans were filled with the third partially full.

Cut back to my previous shout-out to the city of Dallas and how easy they make it for it's residents to recycle. So, so easy. And yet people just don't do it. I know my little slice of the world may not be representative. I hope not. But regardless, the world is certainly too big for me to be in total control of it's peoples.

Doesn't mean I'm not going to do my part to save it - one apartment building at a time.

Good (no, really) Friday

Today is a good day.

I'll skip over the details I usually provide re: morning coffee, choice of pajamas, deliciousness of breakfast, etc. I'm sure y'all will bemoan the non inclusion all day:) I will tell you, however, that my blogging soundtrack this fine a.m. is The Essential Billy Joel. Interesting.

Back to the goodness of today.

It is really, really beautiful out there. It's not quite 60 degrees. The sky is a perfect unrelieved blue and the sun is just beggin' me to come outside. Spring has arrived.

Days like this make me want to dig my hands into good "growing" soil and plant a few seeds. One of the more disappointing drawbacks to apartment living is that I can't just step outside and fulfill that want. Maybe I should look into the possibility that the Cliff has a community garden somewhere?

Little sister Sarah will be in the big D in a few hours, just in time to join me in a flight home to MO for the Easter weekend. My nieces just called to inform me that they were going "to the city" to pick us up at the airport. I am continually amazed by this mastery of technology by a soon-to-be 5 year old and her soon-to-be 2 year old sidekick. I may be a little biased, but pretty sure they are geniuses . . . :)

Did my morning blog rounds and was intrigued by this. Definitely wanting to participate and likely will. But how to choose just one?

Time to get back to the day . . . But, first: a shout-out to KU, K-State, and T A&M. I just LOVE March Madness!

pedicure parade

Today's the big St Paddy's parade here in Dallas. I'm kind of a purest myself. So, although I may use today as a good party excuse, I'm saving up most of my Irish for the real deal on Monday. Did, however, get a jump start on all things green with a holiday-themed pedicure yesterday with cousin Samantha and friend Gigi. Hoping Sam might be up for a guest-blogger account of our experience:)

Happy birthday Momma!

This picture is from the party my neice and I threw back in January on a visit home to Missouri. I chose it for this birthday message because it really accurately represents my favorite thing about my mom: the woman is up for anything. Seriously. You and Jace are having a rain party? Ok. Want me to wear my Chiefs poncho? She's always the first person to say "we can do that." She's a great cheerleader and a fantastic sounding board. She makes killer pancakes and the best fried chicken. Ever. She has vision and a really generous heart. And lucky me, she's mine:)

so long sabbatical

I could NOT sleep last night!

I was so tired yesterday evening that I swear I almost fell asleep on my couch with dinner guests still chatting away in my apartment. Dinner was just a casual, last-minute get together and blessedly was sans party atmosphere allowing for an early night. In fact, I was alone and ready for bed by about 8:15.

But sleep would just not come!

I read for a few hours and then finally succumbed to sleep only to waken several times throughout the night. At 4 am I simply could not fall back into slumber.

And so, my day began.

I've already finished the book I started last night. I had a very satisfying breakfast from my childhood: cheerios with milk and a perfectly ripened banana. The coffee is flowing. The promise of uninterrupted blog time is almost guaranteed.

But something just isn't right.

I never have trouble sleeping. It's like a gift, my ability to sleep whenever and where ever. To be completely honest, I feel cheated.

I feel cheated because I think I know what this sleepless night meant.

I think the vacation is over.

After 2 and a half months out of the grind, I think life is making itself known again.

Well, crap.

A shout-out to Gigi . . .

There I was last night at the Mavs game. Had a cold over priced beer in one hand and a warm over condiment-ed hot dog in the other. Pretty perfect.

So anyway, there I was chatting with the family seated to my right and nibbling on the dog during pauses in conversation. Perhaps nibbling is not the best description? Ok. Scarfing? That might be more accurate and most likely gives you a hint as to where I'm headed here.

I was attempting to quickly swallow a particularly large bite in order to respond to a question just posed to me. Took me a second to realize it just wasn't happening. Huh. Well, I thought, that's not good. I glanced to my left in order to make eye contact with Gigi. My hands were full so I wasn't able to grasp my neck in that dramatic, but universal, sign used to signal those around you that a little help was needed. Geege just looked at me in confusion, no comprehension of a problem. She kept saying "What? You need something? More napkins?" To be fair, I probably did have ketchup all over my face:)

I was starting to feel a little dizzy and trying to decide which I should abandon - beer or hotdog - in order to self-Heimlich when a fist slammed into my back between my shoulder blades. And out popped the offending processed meat. Aaaahhh. Air. I then asked Gigi for that previously offered napkin. Unfortunately she was still too busy pounding the hell out of my back.

me: It's ok now Gigi. You can stop.

Gigi: Are you sure? (still pounding)

me: Yeah. Pretty sure. Thanks.

Seriously, Gigi? Thanks. I owe you one:)

livin' in the OC

I have lived in the same place since moving to Dallas four plus years ago. It's way too small and I'm probably overdue for an upgrade. But, me and my apartment? We've got a good thing going here.

After I got over my initial mover's remorse when realization struck that I had indeed chosen (unknowingly) to reside in a "dry" area, I slowly began to explore my new home.

Discovery: the Cliff is cool.

Discoverer: me.

Yes. There was the whole Impala shoot-up of 2004. Not our best moment.

But we've also got great historic neighborhoods. We have tree lined streets. We have Norma's. The Bishop Arts District and the Nodding Dog. That little guy on the bike who sells ice cream in the afternoons. I mean, come on! He has a bell and everything! We've got the Belmont Hotel. And the original Gloria's. We even have a goat. I'm serious. Thinking about pushing for him to become our official mascot:) We also have a very pretty golf course. Not that I play golf. But it is pretty.

So what if I can't buy beer and milk at the same place? There's always Industrial Avenue just a bit to the north. Added bonus: I'm probably the only person in my circle of friends that has a bail bondsman pre-picked out in case of emergency. Decided to keep it loyal and go to the one with the blue neon sign (not to be confused with the green or hot pink) next door to "my" liquor store.

I love Oak Cliff.

It's strange, but last Saturday I walked my little 'hood for the very first time.

First time?

Yep.

I try to "power" walk at least a couple times a week for the all important exercise. And I choose to do it here in my neighborhood. Pretty trees and all that. A little nature fix, ya know? But Saturday was different. For reasons that aren't really that interesting, I was sans transportation that morning. Unfortunately I was also in desperate need of a side of biscuits and gravy. And I do mean desperate. So I decided to walk to Norma's.

This was no "power" walk. This was a stroll. A true stroll.

I soaked up the chilly, but bright, morning with the same concentration I later applied to my breakfast. I exchanged friendly greetings with everyone I met. I payed attention to the details: a blue door on a King's Highway home, the many different colors of brick that are uniquely showcased. And I experienced my beloved neighborhood in an entirely new way.

It was pretty freakin' fantastic.

I may have to leave town.

Why is it that I never seem to run into people I might actually be interested in seeing? I mean, I've never even had a single celebrity sighting. Never gotten a lunch recommendation from Phoebe Cates, never glimpsed a reality TV "star." And I never randomly meet up with long lost friends while waiting in line to use the bathroom. Other people do. But not me.

What do I get?

The return of Mr Carwash.

Goody.

nightswimming

So. I'm 30 years old. By any imaginable definition, an adult. Oh how I wish to be a kid again so somebody, anybody, would tell me what to do with my life.

green, green grass

I remember having conversations with girlfriends in the past about how great the beginning of a relationship was. Everything is new, everyone is on their best behavior. We'd reminisce about the giddiness of first kisses and smile about the time spent choosing an outfit for a second or third date. And then we'd complain about how things just get too comfortable too fast.

We were so stupid.

Now all I want is to be comfortable. I'm tired of being on my best behavior. I wanna wear jeans and my most comfy t-shirt. And I don't want to shave. There. I said it. I really, really don't want to shave.

Read this book.

I have never, for some inexplicable reason, recommended a book on my blog before. I read all the time and have recently read a plethora of really diverse and well-written books. Not sure why I don't share any of my finds.

But.

I just finished My War: Killing Time in Iraq by Colby Buzzell and I think you should read it. It's a quick read, written in a laid-back and conversational style. It began as a blog with the same name here on blogspot. I found mention of it randomly on-line the other day and then successfully sought it out at Half-Price Books. Maybe not life-changing literature, but it's most definitely interesting. So, read this book.

Love, Amy:)

Texas Two-Step

When I was in the 6th grade I was voted President of my class. I named a cabinet and worked towards change. I'm pretty sure I instituted new policy regarding assigning someone to turn off the lights each time our class left the room. Energy conservation was a major platform of mine:)

I also wrote an elegant letter to one of our Kansas City area meteorologists inviting him to speak to our school. There was apparently a big school-wide push towards deeper understanding of the weather that year. The meteorologist in question (Bryan Busby) still works for the station. He prides himself on showing the fun side of meteorology and has multiple outreach programs to schools in the area. Perfect choice, no?

He never responded to my letter. I was devastated - my first taste of political disappointment. The rest of the year had sort of a lame duck feel to it . . .

This first foray into politics gave me a desire for more despite my failures. I decided that being the President of Mrs. Angle's 6th grade class at Warrensburg Middle School just didn't carry the weight I needed to really make a difference. I aimed higher. I would be the first woman president of the United States.

I held onto this ambition through several more years of education. I loved politics! Or, I thought I did. What I really had a passion for was government. It's just so tidy when learning about it in a 9th grade Civics class! All the while I prepared for a career in medicine, I also comforted myself with the mantra "When I'm president I can . . ."

My junior year of high school I was invited to attend Missouri Girl's State. It was a week long attempt at mock state government held on an all-girl college campus a few hours from my hometown. I actually was at the same campus the week before for Student Council camp. And I was pumped to keep my leadership high.

I hated it. Seriously, seriously hated it.

I felt like I had to sell myself to people. I naively had presumed that the other delegates would care about issues and ideas. I did realize that this was a mock government but earlier in the year I'd had great experiences with mock Congress in Speech/Debate competitions. I expected a similar concept. Nope. It was all about campaign posters and "city" cheers. Further political disillusionment.

Again, I understand that this was all mock. But to my 17 year old brain it reeked of reality. I completed my StuCo reign senior year and never again ventured into the political or governing realm.

Here we are now in 2008, watching a democratic nomination race that may result in a legitimate female candidate for President of the United States. Great, right? The thing is, it all feels a little "Girl's State" to me.

I won't pretend I know all the answers. Hell, I don't even know the right questions. But this is what I do know:

There's a guy named Paul who I've met a few times at my local watering hole. He's on some kind of extended leave from the Army but set to go back in early May. This past weekend he found out that he wouldn't be going back to a base here in the States as he previously thought. He's going to Iraq. With the Infantry. To the "front lines." And he's scared.

Me too Paul.

Sir Launfal and his search for the Holy Grail. Good stuff.

When I lived in Kansas City, I lived in an area of the Plaza called Poet's Corner. It was a grouping of 5 or 6 1920's apartment buildings that were each named after a different American poet. My building was "The Lowell" in honor of James Russell Lowell.

I'd never heard of him.

At the time, of course, I wasn't exactly a huge fan of poetry:)

During an American Lit class late in my college career, I was introduced to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I immediately recognized his name as the inspiration for the apartment building next door to my own. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that I actually liked some of Longfellow's poems. I won't claim they spoke to me but they, at the very least, made sense to me.

This discovery started a cautious and limited friendship with poetry. I even went as far as to buy a volume of Longfellow's work. Out of a kind of loyalty, I halfheartedly searched for a similar volume by James Russell Lowell. I was unsuccessful on my initial attempt and haven't put forth any additional effort since.

5 plus years later while choosing a birthday card for a friend, I recently came across the following Lowell quote:

. . . Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten . . .

I wasn't looking. Or listening. But I saw it, then I heard it. And ya know what? I kinda liked it.

Je ne parle pas francais . . .

It's official! I'm going to Paris in April - yes, the springtime - and I couldn't be more pumped! So, tell me what to do. What's a not-to-be-missed? What should I avoid? Any tips on charming the French?:) Seriously, guys. Guide me!