"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.