WLC #1

Alright - 10 minutes of "thoughtfulness" starting now.

10 minutes is longer than you think when it comes to something like this. Good challenge, guys. Good challenge.

So what do I want out of this whole thing? I want that feeling I had for that fleeting week back in October. That "Oh, THIS is what all of the exercise and nutrition nuts talk about when they say they have more energy and feel better, etc. etc. If I can just hold the memory of that moment in my head when I want pizza or am too lazy to cook something, this will be easier.

Laying in bed this morning, thinking about the daunting task of getting up and figuring out what to eat for breakfast when we haven't gone shopping I found myself comparing it to a WOD. I just need to dig deep, because really, I can do this. It's just going to take a little more effort than I'm used to. But that's the point, right?

Same thing goes for doing this without a team to cheer me on. It's not about competing, it's not about keeping up with everyone else, or disappointing anyone - it's about me. Which is a hard thing for me to come to terms with, now that I think about it. And even more reason why I should do it. Look at that little gem of a lesson, and only 5 minutes into the 10!

Alright - so let's take a second to think about what I want to accomplish on this challenge:

• I'd like to lose more weight
• I'd like to improve my CrossFit game. Like, a lot. 
• I'd like to feel better
• I'd really like to become one of those people who gets up early, spends some time doing something like this, and then gets ready - and isn't late. 
• **This has been a goal for so long. Time to make it happen. 
• I'd like to learn more about how my body works. Starting to exercise and get in shape has taught me so much in terms of what I'm capable of, both mentally and physically. Let's do more of that. 

Ok - so now I have to go on a tangent about CrossFit. Because, really, who the frick ever knew I'd be someone with goals like getting a pull up, or a handstand, or anything regarding physicality? Sure as heck not me. I started going because it was working for Wife, and because I didn't know what the hell she was talking about half the time. And, let's face it, because I knew that I was going to be left out if I didn't - but then something awesome happened. My biceps started getting bigger, and I stopped breathing heavy walking up the hill at work, and thinking about taking the stairs. It's really that whole thing about not know what you're capable of until you try. 'Cause you don't. I never would have thought I'd be capable of 14.5 - but I did it. And I'll do it again, in less time, with some work. Which I'm totally excited about doing. 

SO if I'm thinking about the things I listed up there in terms of a WOD, I know that I can do them. I'll do them on my own time, with some scaling and some breaks - but I can do them. I just have to remember that. 

And now it's time to stir the first WLC breakfast. 10 minutes = done.

Relief!

December has been hell on my body, which is no different from anyone else in or around the Christmas celebrating world. After a slow start to the new year: a cold, some hold-over events, etc., today is finally the day that I'm well enough and have made the time to return to CrossFit and to eating like I know I should. There are so many emotions traditionally tied in with the first day of a new diet/new fitness routine/new something - excitement, fear, grief at the loss of your favorite snack. But today the most glaring is relief.

I am relieved to be done with guilt over eating something that I know will hurt my body. Not in the "I'll be fat and no one will love me" body-shaming way - but in the "I know that I am making a bad decision" way. (P.S. WHY!?) I'm relieved to have no longer given myself the leeway to make those bad decisions. We're done!

I am relieved to be back on the road to not feeling bloated and swollen. My fingers are still slightly sticky from last night's final "treat", my pants aren't as loose as they were a month ago, but that "blah" feeling is starting to fade. I can still recall the crazy days when I'd worked out enough, drank enough water, and eaten well - and I'm excited for another one of those days to happen soon! For as long as I can remember I've had these moments of envisioning "that magical time in the future where I'll finally get my shit together and get healthy". That "moment" was somewhere in the future for like 25 years. Now that I'm actually on the other side of one of those magical "moments", I'm relieved to be on my way again!

Story morsel

The door to the tomb was easier to move this time, the height of a couple of years giving her the leverage to open it on her own. She pressed the cold stone as far as it would go and the stairway was presented to her. That familiar smell of air gone bad drifted past her into the rest of the church, and for a moment she was jealous of its ability to escape. Taking each stair carefully, she began to descend into the darkness, silently promising the flashlight fresh batteries and weekly polishes from this day forward if it would only keep shining for her. She didn’t remember it being this dark. By the time it occurred to her to count the stairs she had no idea how far she’d gone and she started to panic that she might reach the end and trip on a phantom stair – and moments later she was on the floor.

The flashlight betrayed her and rolled across the floor, its light going out as if to signify the object’s refusal of her promised care. Once the light had gone out, the smell in the tomb rushed in to take the lights place. It attacked her nose and made her gasp for more air, coughing and sputtering. She put her hands on the floor to regain her balance - at least gravity was still on her side. Moving her hands along the cold stone, she started to inch her way in what she thought was the right direction. She coughed in an effort to expel just a bit more of that horrible stench, and listened to the sound of her own breath bounce around the tiny room.

“Flashlight?” She called to the callous thing hoping in vain that it would answer. The sound of metal scraping across stone was her only answer.

"Justice"

I am trying to calm down, I'm trying not to respond in anger - but I am disgusted. This video was sent to me a couple of days ago. It's a bunch of teenagers asking that we vote "to uphold the constitution". To do it for them because they don't have a voice (sounds awesome, yeah?). Separation of church and state? Great! Protection of freedom and liberty? Great! Maintaining history? Great!!

Sounds awesome, yeah? Not like you don't know something bad is coming:

Please take note at about the 1:50 mark, where a TEENAGER implores us to vote for politicians who will protect his right to own a gun. I'm sorry, but how is it possibly good and just and okay to film a video wherein a CHILD speaks for gun rights!? Rarely do I have such visceral reactions to things like this. If it hadn't been for Columbine, or Virginia Tech, or any of the other multitude of school shootings, I probably wouldn't have had such a reaction. But those things happened, and they happened because a CHILD got their hands on a GUN.

Yeah, I get it - the kid in this video can't legally buy a gun at his age. Didn't stop those other kids, did it? I'm not even saying that I disagree with the 2nd Amendment (okay, I do). Point is, no child should be a part of selling gun rights. Not a 5-year old, not an 18-year old. NO.

(And I'm not going to into the way in which he said it, as if he were picturing the military flag of his army flying high even as he spoke. Or later as he expressed the need for "a strong military.")

So that's the initial reaction. Then I found their website, im2moro and the fun really began (intentionally un-capitalized; apparently the "one US language" they speak of in the video doesn't include proper grammar). Anyway, take a look: http://im2moro.org/ (Go ahead, look. I'll wait)

And you're back! Confused!? Seemed pretty clear from the video that they had a distinct political lean, yeah? Yet strangely, nowhere on im2moro.org does it self-identify as Right-leaning, or conservative, or even Tea Party. Nothing. In fact, it specifically claims to be none of the above. Just a bunch of harmless ol' independent thinkers... nothing to see... unless you're an impressionable teen! In that case come here little girl I've got some racist, elitist candy just for you.

Visitors are presented with this jumbled mix of "Liberty and Freedom for all - yeah!" and "Let's talk about how politicians are misbehaving and not getting along". During my first reading, I found myself questioning my initial reaction; after all, they were talking about freedom and liberty and shady politicians - that's stuff I can get behind. But then, I found this supposedly unbiased coverage of the ruling in Pennsylvania regarding voter ID laws or this refreshingly "unbiased" blog post about the first presidential debate.

Pretty clearly a conservative machine; an organization targeting teens and young people in not-quite truthful ways, using confusing messages of freedom and justice to pass off conservative beliefs as moderate, as independent. Not okay, even if it was started by a teen. Because the bottom line is this: If you can't tell your perspective members that you have a clear slant, you are lying. Plain and simple.

"We don't think of ourselves as "Republicans," "Democrats" or "Libertarians." We're Americans, independent thinkers who believe in the framework of ideals that have formed and guided this great nation for over 200 years."

(http://im2moro.org/what-is-im2moro, emphasis mine)

Independent thinkers... as long as that thinking is pro-life, pro-religion, pro-gun. They're playing on our base fears, exploiting children to persuade other children to support their cause and lying about the whole thing by calling themselves "independent thinkers".

But wait! There's still more!! Let's discuss, just for a minute, their section on "Justice," in which they link to King's Letter from Birmingham Jail. (They've read that document, right!? They actually know what he stood for, right? Religious or not, the man fought for equality, the man fought against poverty - he did not fight for GUN RIGHTS).

The thing is, having a slant is fine - great even. Conservative youth organization? Great! You go kids! Fight the fight! But be honest about what you are. Don't create some professionally produced website with "hip" graphics and a text message name and quote Martin Luther King without being honest about what you really stand for.

What they're doing isn't fighting the good fight, it isn't bringing awareness to important issues of today - it's building an army through deceit and lies, and playing on the fears of CHILDREN. The only consolation is that they only have 614 Facebook likes - which for a youth based organization isn't great. However, the video is being emailed around, they're reaching people. And making some of them, like me, cry in the process.

Embryo OR Homo!

Let's play a new game! It's called Embryo or Homo! I'll post a quote and you guess if it refers to the rights of an embryo or a homo! Here goes:

"Yet, identifying who “qualifies” as a human being has historically proved to be more difficult than the above examples suggest. Twice in the past the U.S. Supreme Court—charged with being the guardian of rights—has failed so drastically in making this crucial determination that it “disqualified” a whole category of human beings, with profoundly tragic results." 

(He goes on to say that Roe v. Wade was an "identical mistake" to Dred Scott v. Sandford, which ruled that the constitution didn't apply to African Americans). 

Or this one:

"All conservatives should find it easy to agree that government must uphold every person’s right to make choices regarding their lives and that every person’s right to live must be secured before he or she can exercise that right of choice."

Or how about this one:
"Conservatives can bridge the gap on issues of life and choice by building on the solid rock of natural rights, which belong, not just to some, but to all human beings."

All quotes from:
The Cause of Life Can’t be Severed from the Cause of Freedom

40 WORDS FOR SNOW
THE PANOPTICON
THE TEXTURE OF VERBS
DIGGING DITCHES ON MARS
FISTICUFFS AND PARASOLS

The best you can hope for is to be chased backstage by your audience.

Bolero (classical music riots)

Last Night the Moon Came (poem and song)

Do something with: Unpredictable behavior of electrons

This is something I want to remember: Calutron Girls in Happy Valley

The Stranger doesn't like theater

I'm sick of The Stranger and their 'negativity makes you cool' attitude. I'm sick of dreading a Stranger review while simultaneously lusting after one. I'm sick of anxiously refreshing the page on Wednesdays, eyes squinted as if that could keep out the venom I'm sure is about to spew forth. I've been sick of it for a long time. Why do we continue to give them power? What would happen if we just stopped inviting The Stranger to see our work? Would the world end? Would lost theatergoers wander the post-Stranger streets aimlessly searching for something to see, hopeless without the snark-infested map they were once provided?

We all know that a Stranger review makes a difference. An actual, money-in-the-bank difference. Yet I'm willing to bet my favorite pair of skinny jeans that not one director or theater administrator has had this conversation: "I love having The Stranger review us! They write such thoughtful, thorough and topical reviews - I always know that when they write about my work it's going to be well deserved and honest, even if it's bad."

[Note: some of the preceding actually taken from a conversation I had with a director about another reviewer.]

Instead, what we've all said many times is something more akin to: "Why do they even bother reviewing theater? They don't write reviews - they write reviews of their experience seeing the show or how much they hate the topic the play was focused on or they write about themselves. Even if they DO bother to actually review the show, you have to wonder if they get paid by the bitchy remark."

We continue to empower The Stranger to criticize us for the sake of snark. We're the nerdy kid on the playground running up to the bully who's beaten us every day for the past week to show them our new comic - hoping he'll tell everyone how cool we are and getting beaten yet again. You know what, I don't need The Stranger to tell me how cool we are - and what's more, what do they know from cool, anyway?

I've written this post before in my head several times - always getting distracted before getting around to posting it. The review today of Hardball brought it all back again. (No, this isn't a petty response to a negative review that hurt my feelings. I can take it. Besides, the Hardball review wasn't even all that bad - I've absolutely read (and had) worse.) My behavior leading up to it and reaction now that it's out are a reminder of a silent understanding that we all just seem to put up with. The Stranger doesn't like theater - yet everyone listens to The Stranger's opinion about theater. How much sense does that make? It's like turning to Ann Coulter for advice on how to be a good feminist.

Please note, I'm not advocating the extinction of reviewers, we NEED them. For gods sake, call us on our bullshit. If we get overindulgent or analyze all meaning out of a story, if we waste two hours of your time masturbating on stage - call us on it!!! A "bad" review that's relevant to the work, that's well thought out and based on fact is a wonder to behold. We need more of those! We need reviewers who can react to what they're seeing intelligently and help us sort through what's out there. I just don't understand why we continue to lend credibility to an organization that mocks us because that's the popular thing to do.

So friends, seriously - let's stop empowering them. Don't invite them to your shows. Don't give them comps, or press packets. Don't ask Brendan to host your talk-back. Don't refresh the page every Wednesday, anxiously waiting for their opinion. Just stop. Their power comes from us, so let's take it back. I'd rather have a conversation with a well-informed, intelligent contemporary than a curmudgeonly Stranger any day.

Unfinished Story

She had not meant to break the world. Of course that's what anyone would say after finding out that they'd been responsible for such a thing - but she really hadn't. She hadn't even realized it was her fault until much, much later - when the pieces were floating happenstance about the universe, making that lovely little tinkling sound when they bounced together. At least that's how she imagined they sounded - everyone knows you can't hear anything in space.

At any rate - the world broke. It broke because as she was arguing, about what she couldn't even remember any longer, she made a gesture. Yes, a simple gesture broke the world. A gesture toward nothing specific, except maybe her girlfriend's stupid habit of rolling her eyes all the time. She gestured out of frustration and her ring, her shiny little inexpensive silver plated ring flew off of her finger. She didn't even notice. Neither of them did they were so busy spitting and gnashing and being just generally angry.

There they stood, arguing and pulling each others' emotional hair out as her sparkly little ring caught a tail wind and flew right up to the moon. Past a lost red balloon destined for Skenectady, a couple of birds destined for a new nest in warmer climates, past a couple of wishes floating their way to the stars and past the stars themselves to the moon.

FarmBlog

The cool wind rustled through the branches of the avacado trees as she walked the squares of her farm, stopping now and then to caress the soft angora fur of her bunnies. She knew she shouldn't just let them walk about freely, but she couldn't deny the furry creatures their freedom.

As she perused her farm, taking in the sweeping mansion, the windmills, the circus tent and elephants, she wondered what would become of those poor penguins she'd haphazardly adopted. They really had no place on a farm - but she'd taken them in anyway. Maybe they could live with those strange green and pink cows?

She sighed.

Even surrounded by such beauty and the love of so many animals, she was lonely. She'd tried relationships with other farmers before, but they'd all had left her trapped in a square of metaphorical hay bales, unable to tend to her crops the way she knew she should. So many times she'd tried to visit others' farms only to find no one home. She walked the lines of her farm day in and day out. Her only purpose in life to buy larger houses, more vehicles, some hedges. She was isolated, alone. So much worse because she could see the farms and villas of other farmers on the horizon - forever out of reach.

All-Female Phish Cover Band, w/ Keg, Crazy Neighbor Not Included

Starting Saturday I'll be house sitting for the Smatano family, one of the coolest families out there, while they take a lovely little trek to Japan. This evening I stopped by for a quick this-is-what-that-button-does-and-where-the-tools-live tour, which happened simultaneously to the "These Are The Noises Our House Makes" tour. I found both to be very informative.

Upon arriving the very first thing I learned is that under no circumstances am I to park my cute little orange car on the crazy neighbor's side of the street. She has claimed it and under penalty of snarky note or possible severe finger wagging should anyone park there. So I will not.

I'm told it's likely there'll be internet access there (possibly thanks to "Jen to the right" if the Smatano password stays hidden). I therefore intend to fill up my little blog with stories, all of which will be completely true, about the people in the neighborhood (in the neighborhood, in the neigh-bor-hoo-ood). Our cast of characters will include:

- The evil Crazy Lady across the street, her henchman husband and her evil notepad of architect paper

- Jen the mysterious yet well informed right side neighbor

- The Jens: who work hard every day to fulfill every Lesbian stereotype out there (Do they drive a Suburu?!)

- The All-Female Phish cover band and the tale of the blown fuse

- And much, much more...

Really. I swear.

Even though they do have cable. So maybe not.

I hate not having internet. I hate not having internet. I hate not having internet.

I can't decide how I feel about making my blog known to people. A: that's the entire reason I moved it. I was lonely. I can't be unlonely if I don't tell people about it. B: I can't bitch about certain things if certain people read this certain blog. C: I like mangoes but I haven't had any in a while.

I also would like to point out the happy irony of watching Julie & Julia tonight - on the very night when I started my new blog. It's a sign. Or a happy coincidence. Or it means that I'm woefully behind the times and past my prime and destined to be a lonely blogger without readers. Which sort of sounds like a non-profit I'll start years from now - for those of us late to the game but still craving our audience or something. Yup - savin' that one for later.

Have I mentioned that I hate not having Internet at home?

Today I:

- Tried a new mascara with a non-brush and liked it. AND it's paraben free!

- Did the work of three people (one of which was me)

- Had a new and fun experience with James which I will duplicate (Cinebarre, check it out)

- Had cramps, pretty much all day, but still prefer being a girl

- Decided to look into getting a part-time job

- Blogged

- Felt like the most ridiculous little white girl after the look the guy in the falafel place gave me

- Read a short story, just because I could - it wasn't even very good or rewarding and didn't impact the world in any way other than to entertain me for a while

- Was praised in an email to my boss from a co-worker for being awesome.

- Couldn't decide if my boss was being snarky in reply to said email when she said that she agreed almost as much as she would if she'd actually SEEN me walking on water

- Ate watery Cream of Wheat

- Decided I've finally mastered parallel parking my tiny car

I'm sure that I did more than that today - but that's good enough for now. If I fall asleep in the next 13 minutes I'll get somewhere around 4 hours of sleep. Ahh, just right, but in a very wrong way.

This is how a blog begins

Well, except this is Blog2 under this name. Vox, the home of the original Dancing... blog is awesome but lonely. Seriously, I have no friends there. It's the blog equivalent of 20 days camping with no soap and not even a strange little root to pretend-brush your teeth - no one wants to be near it. So I'm carelessly abandoning it.

That's not to say that I don't feel bad - I do. I'll still write occasionally and check in now and then - but between me and you I'm tossing it aside for greener pastures.

BUT, narcissistic as it may be (is it? Perhaps it's just anal?) I'm planning to bring all of my old posts over. So not only am I tossing it aside, I'm taking everything that we created together. I'm a heartless bitch. Seriously.

So there is it. First blog. Ta do! Whooptidoo! I hope I have more friends here.

Seriously folks, this blog showers. A LOT.

Dancing, dancing, la la la,

M

PS The door to this Tully's says that it closes at 9:00. I don't think anyone bothered to tell the staff...

Kissing girls is better than kissing boys

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

So I was bound and determined NOT to like the song that's currently my default (I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry). Quite simply I agreed with all of the blogs I'd been reading; it perpetuates the stereotype that girls kiss other girls to make their boyfriends' happy. I hadn't listened to it, mostly for that very reason, until today. I can't help it, I fucking love it - so now it's my profile song.

Besides, I think we all know that when most of us kiss girls, it's got nothing to do with any boy at all. Girls are just infinitely better to kiss. And I can admit a time when I kissed girls for that reason, or at least that was the excuse I used.

She's got other questionable songs along the homo lines, so she warrants further investigation, but for now I like it and I will listen to it.

So there. Never let it be said that I stick to my convictions! (Lyrics below, if you're interested).

And also, completely off topic, I was called "a hot little gay" the other day. Just thought I'd put that out there.


Lyrics for "I Kissed A Girl"
"I KISSED A GIRL"
Katy Perry; Dr. Luke; Max Martin; Cathy Dennis

(V1)
This was never the way I planned
Not my intention
I got so brave, drink in hand
Lost my discretion

It's not what
I'm used to
Just wanna try u on
I'm curious for you
Caught my attention

(CHORUS)
I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

(V2)
No I don't even know your name
It doesn't matter
You're my expiramental game
Just human nature

It's not what
Good girls do
Not how they should behave
My head gets
So confused
Hard to obey

(CHORUS)
I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

(BRIDGE)
Us girls we are so magical
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable
Hard to resist so touchable
Too good to deny it
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent

(CHORUS)
I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

I was tagged a LONG time ago...

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

But hey, I remembered - that's what's important, right?

List ten different things about yourself that are not known by the general population....or your friends and family for that matter.

1. I got teased in 6th grade for this one particular day when I wore pig tails on either side of my head and a baby blue sweatshirt dress with glittery kittens on it. My Mom totally dressed me that day (and I loved it!)

2. I was a cheerleader in middle school, except we were called "yell leaders" and weren't cool. Or mean.

3. I really, really wish that I knew how to paint or draw - but I'm terrible

4. My first kiss was on a dare in middle school, and we totally bumped noses the first time, so they made us try it again. My first "grown up" kiss wasn't until my Junior year of high school.

5. My step-mom was my 5th grade and favorite teacher (she married my Father after that though)

6. I talk to myself in my car all the time, especially when I don't have a stereo

7. I'm mildly agoraphobic (big, open spaces. It's because of tornados.)

8. I picked my Hello Kitty obsession up from a guy I knew - who was just as obsessed as I was (seriously, he had a wallet)

9. In college I played live action role playing games where we walked around and pretended to be vampires. I did it because I got to dress up in fun clothes and flirt a lot.

10. For as long as I can remember I've wanted to be able to sit in a chair with my knees pulled up against my chest, but was never able to because I was too fat. Recently I've started to be able to do it.

Does this count as self-medicating?

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

I have not been able to stop singing all day.

I've been fairly gloomy all week, ranging in intensity from mildly sad to crying on my way home from work last night (yeah, you feel sorry for me, I know). There are a few different reasons - none of them really the point of this little post.

For the past week I've been listening to nothing but the soundtrack to Across the Universe (seriously, if you haven't already, go see this movie. Take me with you - I'll go again). It's so very very good - I finally understand why people like the Beatles so much. All it took was a female voice or two to sing their songs.

Anyway, there's no music playing here at work. I answer phones, so we can't have any. That doesn't stop me from sining. I've sung Beatles songs, commercials, Kelly Clarkson songs... you name it. It's gotten so bad today that every time I start to sing (or even whistle) my coworker starts singing Blame It On The Rain to combat me.

But I'm more cheerful today than I've been all week. So I think it worked, not that it was my intent. I think I used singing to self-medicate and make myself cheeful. I'm very excited to get to my car, where I can sing as loudly as I want. Ten more minutes!

Oh yeah, I'll tell you something,
I think you'll understand.
When I'll say that something
I want to hold your hand,
I want to hold your hand,
I want to hold your hand.

A big, gay blog post.

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

I've spent a lot of time lately reading the Stranger's Homo History feature, from this past year's pride issue, because it's been slow at work and is something I've been meaning to read. (Being in that kind of mood, apparently, I would prefer to read the lesbian history book that's in my car, but can't really do that while I'm supposed to be working, so I'm settling.)

Anyway, I got as far as 1989 before something made me pause. That something was the following quote from someone who was married on the first day that gay marriage was legal in Denmark:
"Be open. Come out. Keep fighting. This is the only way to move anything. If everyone comes out of the closet then this will happen everywhere."

I may not be the best activist ever. In fact, I'm not much of an activist at all since I'm always at rehearsal and never have time to actually do any activisting (no matter how much I may want to). But this is something I can do:

I like girls - a whole bunch. I'm told I'll get the hang of the gay thing soon, but for now I'm happy just saying it somewhere marginally public.

So there! I may be a lazy activist, but I'm a big, gay, lazy activist, dangit!

The first astounding act of stupidity in my 30s

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

Monday was my 30th birthday. It was the worst birthday I've had in the past few years. This was NOT because I turned 30. It was my first birthday without my grandmothers, I have family issues that make holidays hard, I'm very stressed about finding an apartment in the next two weeks - AND my car died. I cried. It sucked.

This is how my birthday week has gone: Car refuses to start on my birthday. Collin comes to the rescue. We jump start my car. Collin and Cassie give my flowers and drawing and cheesecake with candles in it. I love them. I drive home. Car doesn't start the next morning, I take the bus and am 1/2 an hour late to work. I drive the car to Sears after work, get a new battery and am on my merry way... until Wednesday morning, when the car again doesn't start. I ask my neighbor to help me jump it, I drive to work, then to the mechanic after work. They rent me a crappy Ford for $13.50 - I love them, they are going to fix my car and restore the happiness that I once had in life, you know, in my 20s.

Just for some background, to establish a possible pattern, I'd like to cut to a couple of years ago. I had driven our boss's mammoth Suburban to the mall, don't remember why. My car at the time was a manual, had almost always been a manual - the Mammoth Suburban was not. When I arrived at the mall and tried to get out of the car I found that I couldn't get the keys out of the ignition. I looked everywhere for a little release button, I started the car and turned it off again. I did a little dance outside the car, hoping that the Key gods would smile down on me. I almost cried. I broke down, called the boyfriend and made him come rescue me from my Mammoth Suburban Mall Hell...Apparently a automatic car must be ALL THE WAY in park before you can take the key out. Who knew?

Now back to today. I'm speaking with the nice, grandfatherly man at the mechanic. He's really nice, we chat a bit, he tells me there's nothing wrong with my car, I laugh, obviously he's kidding. Obviously after I've cried and stressed, paid $88 for a new battery and worried that I would end up LIVING in this broken car in two weeks when my lease is up - OBVIOUSLY there is something very wrong with my car.

It CAN'T just be that the carpet is bunched up underneath the clutch, so I think I'm pushing it all the way down but I'm not. And that's why it won't start and why it hiccups when I'm shifting. It can't be - I won't let it...

I want to apologize to my people. Women of the world, I didn't mean to do it. I promise I'm not this dumb. I promise I know what an alternator does and how to change my own tire. I promise that I can't possibly be this stupid at 30. Really.

An obligatory blog post, shockingly a poem.

**Back posted from Myspace, which is no-more.

Someday the moon will be obstructed.
No one will understand exactly why,
no scientist will have an answer.
Politicians will blame other countries,
Priests will blame the non-believers,
children will blame no one.

Later, another someday,
the moon will be forgotten.
No one will recall the majesty
of the sun's reflection on the quiet planet.
A time when lights weren't needed at night
will be unfathomable.

On that day the tides will cease to change,
stillness will overcome the earth.
It will be the stillness of a forgotten thing,
hidden in the back of the closet
coated with dust.

Gradually, unnoticed by those
consumed with the hum of daily life,
those who had once been touched by the moon,
who long ago would commune with her on a brisk night,
who would have stopped to play in the shadow of a tree
cast by her brilliance,
will become still as well.

Those left behind will feel the loss
but won't recognize it's roots.
They will lose direction,
the will to try.
Many will go mad
trying to remember
what it was they've forgotten.
Some will try to make up for the loss
with more mechanical light
and movement.

Gradually, unnoticed by many,
they too will become still;
the mad, the lost, the frenzied.

Someday, unnoticed by the one remaining,
the world will grind to a halt.
The cars will die, the factories will quiet.
On that day the moon will be missed.
On the day he remembers,
the remaining lights
will go out
and the one remaining
will find stillness.