Sunday.
I had made plans with the cousins in the 'Mound for a lounge around afternoon. And because of the beautiful Texas spring weather that will too soon turn into more of the nasty/sticky summer variety, the lounging was to commence out of doors. And commence it did. All the essentials were accounted for: tasty thirst quencher, high calorie snacks, mindless fluff of a novel, padded chair positioned poolside, and oh-so-excellent company. Perfect. Except the pesky detail of forgetting the SPF 50.
That evening found me out to a movie (don't bother to see Married Life, by the way) with an old friend followed by her weekly trivia night at a pub nearby. I thought hey, I know some random stuff! Should be fun. Can I say? These people are way out of my league. No amount of cold beer could counteract either the immense heat radiating off my sun burnt body or my feeling of total intellectual inadequacy.
My skin was so fried as a result of my negligence that I had to sleep completely naked. Is that too much information?
Monday.
The day was spent in painful quiet. By the time the evening rolled around I was so tired of my own company that I medicated myself with an obscene amount of ibuprofen and begged a ride to Karaoke. I somehow let myself be convinced that just because I could sorta halfway sing a song along with the radio that it was ready for a debut at the Tipp. It was not.
And again with the naked sleeping.
Tuesday.
I don't wanna talk about Tuesday.
Wednesday.
By the time I got to "hump" day I had concluded that this particular week in the life of Amy was crap. Complete and utter crap. I am usually a really good sleeper. It's actually one of my best skills. But my normal sleep habits had been so disrupted because of my traitorous skin that I was exhausted. Spent all day laying on my couch. That in itself would normally be an acceptable way to pass the day. If not for the fact that my cable is out. Way out. Have now watched all my John Cusack movies one time too many.
Was again driven to leave my apartment for an evening out with friends. And again found myself at a location dedicated to Karaoke. I swear that I'm not a junkie. Really. This particular place was new to me but visited as a favor to our Monday night Karaoke guy. Yes, the same one that hates me. And no, I have no idea why I was in the mood to grant such a favor. What was it you called this place Julie? Something about a buffet in Beirut? Perhaps at some point I'll find the energy and the necessary humor to describe this evening in detail, but for now I'll just say that it wasn't exactly my scene and I don't see myself returning. Ever.
Another night where I was unable to tolerate anything touching my skin while I slept. Wondering how many times I'm going to feel the need to point that out in this blog? Me too.
Thursday.
Woke in a semi-panic when I realized what day it was. It took me a bit, however, to remember why the day of the week was important. It just hadn't mattered in such a long time. But, you see, Thursday comes right before Friday. And Friday, I remembered, was to be my initial tentative return to the real world. Because Friday - tomorrow - I have a job interview. Yep. I finally decided to do something constructive about rejoining the work force. The reason for the panic? I have no idea what I'm going to wear. Seriously. I have spent the last 3 months in jeans. And the year before that? All scrubs, all the time. I suppose I could have hit the stores, shopping usually makes me smile. But not really my idea of a good time right now seeing as how it takes me about 20 minutes to put a t-shirt on over my skin each morning.
So here I sit. In a kind of reverie. Except not as pleasant. Hoping for a good night's sleep that may put an end to a week that has been less than fun. A sleep that will leave me energized and ready to tackle the world outside my apartment tomorrow.
And really hoping to take on both - sleep and tomorrow - fully and appropriately clothed.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Sunday, April 6, 2008
flowers in our hair
It was a beautiful Spring afternoon three years ago and I was in one of my favorite cities, San Francisco. Only my second trip to the city, I was actually there under the guise of continuing medical education. Somehow managed to find ample time, however, to explore what I had missed the first time around:)
On the afternoon of exploration hinted at above, I found myself in Haight-Ashbury. I was accompanied by two friends and we were on a mission. A shopping mission. Not for drugs or its associated paraphernalia as our chosen shopping district might lead you to suspect. We were shopping for clothes, cute-one-of-a-kind-only-in-San-Fran kind of clothes. As this trip was 3 - and not 30 - years ago, we were very successful in our endeavors.
We decided to reward ourselves with a small celebratory drink. This week in San Francisco had been filled with similar celebrations:) We found a bar easily enough and were charmed into entering by its name - The Punch House.
I believe at the time that we were expecting some very traditional decor with perhaps a house drink special. A "punch." I remember "E" inquiring about the possibility of a punch drink and I very distinctly remember the blank stares we received as a result of her inquiry. I know that we did each have a drink - limit set by "T" at 1 - but don't recall the specifics. We drank quickly and exited just as quickly. This, we concluded with unspoken agreement, was not a place to linger.
There was nothing specifically sketchy about the place. It was just a feeling we all had. A definite lack of welcome for three, obviously non local, happy women on a shopping high.
We left the area and completed the interrupted celebration, characteristically, at another locale. A little clueless, but satisfyingly so.
On the afternoon of exploration hinted at above, I found myself in Haight-Ashbury. I was accompanied by two friends and we were on a mission. A shopping mission. Not for drugs or its associated paraphernalia as our chosen shopping district might lead you to suspect. We were shopping for clothes, cute-one-of-a-kind-only-in-San-Fran kind of clothes. As this trip was 3 - and not 30 - years ago, we were very successful in our endeavors.
We decided to reward ourselves with a small celebratory drink. This week in San Francisco had been filled with similar celebrations:) We found a bar easily enough and were charmed into entering by its name - The Punch House.
I believe at the time that we were expecting some very traditional decor with perhaps a house drink special. A "punch." I remember "E" inquiring about the possibility of a punch drink and I very distinctly remember the blank stares we received as a result of her inquiry. I know that we did each have a drink - limit set by "T" at 1 - but don't recall the specifics. We drank quickly and exited just as quickly. This, we concluded with unspoken agreement, was not a place to linger.
There was nothing specifically sketchy about the place. It was just a feeling we all had. A definite lack of welcome for three, obviously non local, happy women on a shopping high.
We left the area and completed the interrupted celebration, characteristically, at another locale. A little clueless, but satisfyingly so.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
"Go and love some more . . . "
Back in high school there was a guy. He was "hottie-hot-hot drama guy." I'm sure a version of my drama guy was present in every high school across America. My best friend used to swoon every time someone said his name:) I, of course, was entirely too mature to swoon for anybody.
I just couldn't speak in his presence. Seriously.
He was that hot. That moody. That talented. Just that everything.
I could have, perhaps, gone throughout my high school years in this same nonverbal state. After all, me and HHHDG didn't exactly run in the same circles. He was a year older and very much into the creative/artistic scene. I was much too busy dividing time between being the president of everything and mission: get into med school. And never the trains shall meet.
Except they did. Meet, I mean.
Because I was more than the left-brained type A personality that everyone superficially saw me as. More than the stereotype. And so, it turns out, was he.
HHHDG and I met up in Speech 2. I, naturally, was there for some advanced public speaking and introductory debate. He was there to perfect his dramatic and comedic interpretations for competition. And, I think, because it was 1 less hour of "real" work each school day:)
If you are now thinking, "Oh, how sweet - they fell in love while rehearsing a scene from Romeo and Juliet," then you would be the very definition of wrong.
He was horribly, horribly mean to me!
He belittled my every attempt at creative expression. Even my successes - at our more academic assignments - were somehow shown to be just another example of my inadequacy. His contempt for me was palpable and a great antidote to my earlier small brush with hero worship.
I eventually found my voice and gave him back as good as I got. Our classmates, and even our teacher, found the tension endlessly amusing. I, on the other hand, was exhausted by the effort. But somehow, we survived the semester. And while I had definitely lost that pleasant "drama guy" crush, I had gained a love and appreciation for theater. I discovered in myself a little actress and a desire to entertain.
DG -he had lost the HHH designation! - and I met up again the next year when I surprised everyone by taking not only debate but also an hour of theater. We found ourselves paired up frequently for various scenes and almost always got placed in the same groups. We were eventually able to work together in peace and without insult. But he was always a constant challenge for me to be better, to do better. We performed a mean Harold and Maude where I, it must be said, died like a champ:) And we rocked a Children's Theater project where we stole the show with a live-action (no puppets!) version of Punch and Judy!
Although we ended up with a friendship of sorts, I have no idea where DG - Ricky - is now. And I haven't thought about him in years. But last night I had a dream - a really, really hilarious and surreal dream - that my drama guy had a guest appearance in. A little more background is required before the sharing of said dream. But we'll get around to it. Eventually:)
I just couldn't speak in his presence. Seriously.
He was that hot. That moody. That talented. Just that everything.
I could have, perhaps, gone throughout my high school years in this same nonverbal state. After all, me and HHHDG didn't exactly run in the same circles. He was a year older and very much into the creative/artistic scene. I was much too busy dividing time between being the president of everything and mission: get into med school. And never the trains shall meet.
Except they did. Meet, I mean.
Because I was more than the left-brained type A personality that everyone superficially saw me as. More than the stereotype. And so, it turns out, was he.
HHHDG and I met up in Speech 2. I, naturally, was there for some advanced public speaking and introductory debate. He was there to perfect his dramatic and comedic interpretations for competition. And, I think, because it was 1 less hour of "real" work each school day:)
If you are now thinking, "Oh, how sweet - they fell in love while rehearsing a scene from Romeo and Juliet," then you would be the very definition of wrong.
He was horribly, horribly mean to me!
He belittled my every attempt at creative expression. Even my successes - at our more academic assignments - were somehow shown to be just another example of my inadequacy. His contempt for me was palpable and a great antidote to my earlier small brush with hero worship.
I eventually found my voice and gave him back as good as I got. Our classmates, and even our teacher, found the tension endlessly amusing. I, on the other hand, was exhausted by the effort. But somehow, we survived the semester. And while I had definitely lost that pleasant "drama guy" crush, I had gained a love and appreciation for theater. I discovered in myself a little actress and a desire to entertain.
DG -he had lost the HHH designation! - and I met up again the next year when I surprised everyone by taking not only debate but also an hour of theater. We found ourselves paired up frequently for various scenes and almost always got placed in the same groups. We were eventually able to work together in peace and without insult. But he was always a constant challenge for me to be better, to do better. We performed a mean Harold and Maude where I, it must be said, died like a champ:) And we rocked a Children's Theater project where we stole the show with a live-action (no puppets!) version of Punch and Judy!
Although we ended up with a friendship of sorts, I have no idea where DG - Ricky - is now. And I haven't thought about him in years. But last night I had a dream - a really, really hilarious and surreal dream - that my drama guy had a guest appearance in. A little more background is required before the sharing of said dream. But we'll get around to it. Eventually:)
Friday, April 4, 2008
SPF: TRIANGLE
My grandmother is a quilter, an artist. When I think of triangles, I think of her and a unique kind of geometry. Whether alone in a row of "flying geese" or as only a small part of a larger pattern, triangles play a major role in her designs. This particular quilt set was a Christmas gift several years ago and has since covered my bed. And yes. I had to make my bed especially for this picture. I'm not that anal:)Thursday, April 3, 2008
and, I'm back
In the time it took me to write and post that last blog, the gray and overcast view outside of my window has been replaced with a beautiful sky. Blue, with discrete Simpson's-esque puffy white clouds. At the same time I noticed the change, a random lyric from my morning music choice caught my ear: evil's not my cup of tea. Why that should seem perfect and, somehow, meant is beyond me. But now, even as I contemplate it, I can see the "blurring" of the clouds. They are already losing that cartoon-like white purity to return to their previous gray. The wind is picking up. I think I might be in for a storm. I knew today was going to be a good day. I just love a good storm.
great scott!
This week the AFI international film festival is in town and I'm attempting to take advantage. Haven't made it to see all that interested me, but the week's not over yet.
As part of the festivities, Victory Park/Plaza by American Airlines Arena (where the Mavs play!) has been hosting showings of old movies. The plaza is surrounded on one side by the arena and on two other sides by buildings that house various restaurants. The last side, across from the arena, is open to the street but faces the W Hotel. There are always (very) large screen TVs hung on the buildings. In fact, there are four on each side that can be rearranged as needed. For the movie showings they are placed in a 2X2 square to form 1 super large movie "screen."
Tuesday night they had advertised a showing of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? and I thought, sounds like fun!
Along with a couple of friends, I packed up my lawn chair and headed down. I had some vague sense of unease related to getting there too late and not finding a good spot. I shouldn't have worried. When we arrived, just a few minutes before the 7 pm start time, only about 10 other people had beat us to the punch. Others did eventually trickle in, but overall the attendance level was surprisingly low.
Perhaps it was because of the weather? It was cold. I forget what the sun really does for your comfort level in the springtime. Once the sun set over our little outdoor movie theater, the temperature plummeted. Earlier in the evening I had thought that maybe my sweater coat was a bit of an overkill. It is now my favorite article of clothing:)
The next hit? No Roger Rabbit. Apparently we were the only people not apprised of the change. Our entertainment for the evening ended up being Back to the Future. Although I've seen the movie many, many times I am young enough that I missed its theatrical debut. Something special about seeing a time-traveling DeLorian in all its glory on the big screen!
So, to summarize the evening: It was cold. And really freaking cool. And under appreciated by the masses. I loved it!
As part of the festivities, Victory Park/Plaza by American Airlines Arena (where the Mavs play!) has been hosting showings of old movies. The plaza is surrounded on one side by the arena and on two other sides by buildings that house various restaurants. The last side, across from the arena, is open to the street but faces the W Hotel. There are always (very) large screen TVs hung on the buildings. In fact, there are four on each side that can be rearranged as needed. For the movie showings they are placed in a 2X2 square to form 1 super large movie "screen."
Tuesday night they had advertised a showing of Who Framed Roger Rabbit? and I thought, sounds like fun!
Along with a couple of friends, I packed up my lawn chair and headed down. I had some vague sense of unease related to getting there too late and not finding a good spot. I shouldn't have worried. When we arrived, just a few minutes before the 7 pm start time, only about 10 other people had beat us to the punch. Others did eventually trickle in, but overall the attendance level was surprisingly low.
Perhaps it was because of the weather? It was cold. I forget what the sun really does for your comfort level in the springtime. Once the sun set over our little outdoor movie theater, the temperature plummeted. Earlier in the evening I had thought that maybe my sweater coat was a bit of an overkill. It is now my favorite article of clothing:)
The next hit? No Roger Rabbit. Apparently we were the only people not apprised of the change. Our entertainment for the evening ended up being Back to the Future. Although I've seen the movie many, many times I am young enough that I missed its theatrical debut. Something special about seeing a time-traveling DeLorian in all its glory on the big screen!
So, to summarize the evening: It was cold. And really freaking cool. And under appreciated by the masses. I loved it!
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