silly sign

On my way home from work there was a license plate cover that said:

"My other car is

is Ricky Martin's Limo"




I doubt that's true.

A Near Haiku, For My Brother

The Lord gives, and the
Lord takes.Blessed be the name
of the Lord. But still,
I was really craving that
catfish, dear brother.

from myself

"The other day I was driving behind a mini van and on the back window, in the dust, was written "no scrubz." As I pulled past them, I think the woman in the back seat saw me laughing gaily. Thank you, mini-van of adult women, for spreading the joy!"
Livejournal, 10/09

A Picture is worth...

After this tulip was in the bottle and began to perk up, it reminded me of an excerpt from a book I'm reading At the Back of the North Wind. The little boy Diamond is out in the garden:

"It was a primrose--a dwarfish thing, but perfect in shape--a baby-wonder. As he stooped his face to see it close, a little wind began to blow, and two or three long leaves that stood up behind the flower shook and waved and quivered, but the primrose lay still in the green hollow, looking up at the sky and not seeming to know that the wind was blowing at all. It was just a one eye that the dull black wintry earth had opened to look at the sky with. All at once Diamond thought it was saying its prayers, and he ought not to be staring at it so."

I love that. I'm glad Diamond gets it.

In other news...

I told him "sit on it, Kitty!" and he thought "it" was flour on the counter...

Wild Thing

I saw Where the Wild Things Are last night.
I really liked it.

Sometimes I worry that I am still like a child in that I have a lot of raw emotions that I feel like I should be able to have under control. I don't go around biting people when I'm angry, but I still get angry. I don't run and howl with all my strength when I'm hurt, but I might go in my room and bawl into my pillow. I might skulk or act callous.

In my experience with adults, that I actually know well, I don't think being grown-up means you are immune from such kinds of emotions. I can't imagine having a kid and not really hurting for them. I don't think things get easier, and I don't think we stop having emotional "surges".
I think being a grown-up emotionally is being in control not so much of your emotions, but of how you handle yourself when you're emotional. Grown-ups may seem less emotional because they handle it better. With more grace. But it must still be there at times. I mean, can you really have less sadness in your life because you're an adult? Or be less hurt?
If you can, then I still have a long way to go before I'm grown up.

I knew I liked her

Those who believe they believe in God but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself. - Madeleine L'Engle

Worth Fighting For

My mom has been telling me that I need to change my blog's name for quite a while now. Not that I thought "Thoughts on Things" was the best possible name, but it was adequate and I had nothing else. I didn't want to change it to some quote from an indie song or classic poet without really thinking it through. A blog's name should be a key to the content, an indicator at least. My new name did not come from a song, psalm, prayer, or verse. Rather, I borrowed the idea from Samwise Gamgee.

I'm an Orthodox Christian. I am a lover of Truth and Beauty, and I'm a heart-clutcher. I work, I'm a student, I'm a volunteer. But there is no one thing that I think can sum up my life. Being an Orthodox Christian is my most definitive characteristic (I hope) but, lets face it, not every Orthodox Christian lives the same way.

There are blogs about crafting, about mothering, about Christianity, faith, art, music, business, technology, and so on, and on, and on. But how could I possibly choose just one thing to focus on? Impossible. So I'm just gonna sum up for you right here--life as I see it, and everything hereafter will fall into it somehow.

Our life here on earth was meant to be beautiful--a paradise shared with God. But, silly humans that we are, we've been influenced by Satan, and this world is no longer paradise. However, Christ is still in each and every person, and paradise is still in this world, underneath much sin and ruin. I try desperately to hold tight onto that beauty, love, and truth that is still evident in the people and world around us. This is why I love people, creation, and all arts. I'm sure this same idea can inspire others to love math and science, but I'll leave that to them and just appreciate that it's there. At times, though, the sorrow, pain, and ugliness that is present in this world can really bring us down. We are challenged spiritually, physically, and emotionally. Creation is fallen, and this life is a battle. But we mustn't give up or despair. As Samwise Gamgee tells Frodo when he wants to give up, "there is still some good in this world...and it's worth fighting for."

Though the world can seem a lost cause every once in a while, every good and perfect gift comes from above. And that's what I try to remember when I stop to smell the roses.

Another One for Daddy-Cakes

On Saturday, I was cleaning the small part of our garage. We have a 3-car garage (Hanson, anyone?) and one side of it, the third wheel, has all this storage space and drawers and so on. A lot of my Apartment Stuff has been in there. I have my comfy green couch in there, and quite a few drawers--a dresser, nightstand, file cabinets, etc. and also my cute little desk.  I decided with all my crafting and such lately that it would be a good place to keep supplies organized and to just have as a work/hang space. So, I righted the couch, replaced the drawers in their bodies, and went through and condensed boxes. 

One particularly messy box had a bunch of my Dad's old stuff. This was really touching to go through. For one thing, my Dad saved a lot of little stuff: ticket stubs, notes, receipts. And it's cute because it is something that he passed on to me and at least one other sibling. I often save ticket stubs and other little mementos, for which my mom teases me. What will that stuff ever be good for? A fire hazard? But this time it was good because I saw my Dad's saved tickets from our trip to Disney World the summer before his accident. It was a big deal for us to go, and seeing his 'clippings' of that time was like seeing our shared memories through his eyes. He has lots of fire, paramedic, swat, navy, marines, and cheesy Christian stuff. If he were here now, I would probably tease him about being a dork about things, even though he's my hero for it. 

Another reason going through these things is moving is because our life with Dad seems a world away. Childhood, already foreign enough to a 20something, is a place where Dad dwelt. That chapter of my life was bliss. Our family was whole, grown-ups were omniscient, and the things you could imagine could realize. All of us have to grow up, but not all of us have to leave quite so much behind.  

We have grown up and moved on. We moved houses, cities, states. This world of California, college, jobs, adulthood, even our pets--none of them are really connected to Dad, except through the grape-vine. Not to say that this is a "Wonderful Life" world where he never existed. Of course not. It's not that he is a stranger to me, some invisible figure. I knew my Dad as an 11 year-old knows her father. Probably better than a lot of 11 yr-olds these days. I only wish I had the chance to know him now, as his 23 yr-old daughter. To be honest, though, he feels distant. And that makes me really sad. 

So then  going through boxes of his personal things hit me with a wave of closeness that I haven't felt in quite a while. Sure, I can't ask him about who 'this lady' was, but I can know from her note, that says she's moving with her new address, that my dad was his wonderful self towards everyone, even people I've never heard of before. He touched a lot of peoples lives, no doubt about it.  Looking back at him then with what I know now, I feel I can know him just ever-so-slightly better. 

I went through his pins, jogging tapes (Marines chants!) Icons, and family pictures from his desk or locker. The thing that I came across really moved me was his planner which, of course, he had saved several years later. There were dates marked like "Dave's game" and, on my mom's birthday, "Kimmy's Birthday." All of a sudden I realized what he was to our family, and what we were to him. My Mom's husband. She is his 'Kimmy,' and that just struck me. I really lost it, though, when reading his notes in the back. I don't know if he was listening to a speaker, or just gleaning tips from several sources, but he had full pages on notes about parenting. "Make clear rules," and "don't let them learn about sex somewhere else!" 

The one that hit me: "You're not preparing your children for adulthood, but for ETERNITY." 

From what I do know, this is what my dad is to me as a parent. To see it in his own writing, and be reminded of what his life meant to him, and others, was beautiful. 

As I said before, the world I live in is distant from the world Dad existed in. That's life, and it's OK. It's such a part of my life that I don't think twice about it. Sometimes, however, something comes along and reminds me of what I'm really missing. Encountering Dad like this, suddenly you see what you're missing all around. Dad's putting their arms around their little girls just pierces me at times. Saturday night I went to Vespers and was fighting tears all night. There's no safe place in church when you're emotional. The words of the prayers are too beautiful and heartfelt. My Godfather praying over there with his family. The icon of the Resurrection, to my right. The deacon in his vestments, leading our prayers, only reminds me of what it was like to sit on my dad's lap when he wore his. The hope, the love, the mercy and absolute grace of it all is just overwhelming.   

Every once in a great while, it is necessary to mourn. Let me say, though, that my tears are not coming from hopelessness, despair, or depression. It's a recognition of the beauty of a life lived for God, the hope of the Resurrection, and God's amazing grace. 

I am so, so, so thankful for my Dad, his life, and his part in my life. God has given me so much grace in my life that, really, I can't complain, nor do I feel compelled to. In a way, mourning is just a way of celebrating what a good thing you had. And, boy, I really had the best. 

I thought someone was calling for help just now. It was a lady walking her dog down the alley and singing. At least, I think it was singing.

I guess my Maternal Clock isn't ticking, after all. It must be broken, considering I've been late to the past three baby showers I've attended. It's obvious I'm not fit to be a mother until I can at least make it to a shower on time. The thing is, the reason I've been late is because I've been stressing out about one thing or another. See, women folk are an intense set. They appear not to be, but when you go into a room full of them and the estrogen hits you, you are suddenly aware of where you rank in the world of women. It is so very apparent to a Singleton that she is such when she is among the Marrieds of a Shower. When we are to write cute proverbs in a journal or go 'round and give advice to She-Who's-about-to-Birth-or-Wed, all I can offer is a sort of "Keep up the good work!" (cause it's obviously gotten you this far). "Take heart, you'll do great." Encouragement, but not quite the Wisdom of the Marrieds. 

I desperately want to wow the attendees of baby and wedding showers with what a fine young woman I really am, so that I can be included in the ranks of Womanhood and not feel like a mere bystander non-participant. Theoretically this is achieved by bowling them over with my superior gift selection and wrapping, fine desserts, inspired creativity, and loving care. What I end up doing is spending too much time preparing said gift or foodstuff and arriving late so no one notices anyway, but instead is impressed upon by my tardiness. 

Now I'm involved in planning a wedding for my cousin, which I'm really thrilled about. I admit that I am excited to be the mature 'experienced' young lady of the group, basically due to the fact that I have the most married friends. But I'm going to step up and wow them nonetheless. I'm going to be helpful, organized, and encouraging. I'm also presiding over the Braun Household while the Mr. and Mrs. are cruisin'. I am happy to do it, it makes me feel special. 

What's the moral of the story? Nothing huge, I guess, except that I am proud of who I am as a woman. I get to share my love with the world, and be there to support my loved ones when they need it. I may not have the labels of 'wife' or 'mom,' but I am a sister, daughter, cousin, and friend. 

What the Smell?

I've heard in the past from several sources which I couldn't now site that one's sense of smell is the strongest memory cue. It doesn't really seem to be true, but I suppose it may be because there aren't a whole lot of smells that really stand out to us. However, if you smell a distinct smell at a circus, and then get a whiff of that same distinct smell later, you would be taken back a lot more fully than you would at looking at a picture of a circus. 

This sort of makes sense because smell is such a part of the atmosphere. You can close your eyes and breathe it in and smell where you are. You feel it, sense it, with the smell. We often don't notice it because our smells of home are so familiar that we don't register them. When you travel, though, I assure you you will be aware of new smells. 

Sometimes a smell will take me back to another part of the word. Usually it's the smell of something burning. A couple years ago, after I'd come back from Kenya I was working in Albertson's and all of a sudden got a whiff of burning chicken, and I nearly started crying. Not because I'm a chicken activist, but because it all of a sudden transported me back to Kenya where I'd sit on the roof of our Guest-House and drink in the ambiance. Needless to say, we ate a lot of chicken whilst in Kenya. 

Today's scent is another sort of smokey burning smell, and I think it's coming from the restaurant next door. It reminds me of India. India. Now that's a distinct smelling place. Smoke, pollution, dirt, food cooking, spices, incense, and smog. I remember driving down the streets with our windows down and being so thankful for each stand we passed that was cooking something aromatic, or incense being burnt (even if it was to a Hindu idol) because it gave my nose a break for few moments. As in it provided a rest from the pungent odors, not as in the smell was so strong it punched me in the nose and broke it. 

There is only one other smell that has ever taken me back that wasn't a smokey burning smell reminding me of an underdeveloped country. It is the smell of Cherry Chapstick, and it takes me back to childhood. I can't pinpoint where and when, or even why, really. I'm pretty sure I had a tube or two in my youth and thought it tasted good. 

Even though these smells don't transport me to a specific moment or memory, I do declare they take you somewhere. And for me it's somewhere warm, fuzzy, lovely, and smokey. 

Yesterday was Labor Day and that's fine with me

The unofficial end-of-summer has come, and on September 22nd it will be official! 

It has been a truly splendid summer. It was just the right amount of everything (almost). I went on a mission trip to Mexico for a week. I had several parties and many get-togethers with people I love. I went to Solvang for a day. I worked enough to make money but not so much that I had no summer. I enjoyed having time to be creative and have fun. I enjoyed the lack of some things and the presence of others. 

The Big Summer Oh-Nine wasn't all fun and pleasure. I was sad at parts, people were sick, people were sad, and my main man, Hunter, passed away into kitty heaven. But all in all, I'd say this summer was pretty much everything a summer should be. 

So here we are, at the beginning of yet another school year, and the freedom of summer is over. During the Season of Sun everything seems to work so much smoother. People are available when you want them, people are more flexible and able to do a lot of what they want to do. Then when fall hits, even the people who's jobs aren't seasonal fall into a sort of schedule or pattern in which everything is all of a sudden much more difficult. Perhaps it's just me, but the way our lives are in the summer kind of seem like the lives we're meant to have. It doesn't seem natural that we are bossed around by our schedules and the responsibilities we have at work or school. Of course, we all have responsibilities. Outside of summer, however, they seem to rule our lives. In summer people have time for people. It's nice. 

Having said all that, I don't really like summer. That is to say, I enjoy the summer in that it is a season of holiday and freedom. Other than that, I do not enjoy HEAT. Nor am I a big fan of water-things. Swimming, the beach, pools, etc. Now, I enjoy the atmosphere of the beach. It's a beautiful place and great for bonfires. You just won't see me dip any more than my feet in the foam of washed-up waves. The Sun and I have a polite friendship. I think he's nice enough. He burns me. In fact, I usually get a sort of heat-exhaustion from sun exposure. Headaches from the sun. That sort of thing. 

But what I LOVE is gloomy days, cool breezes, clouds, and FALL.  I like fog, being chilly, dead leaves, and the harvest! I get an inner sense of joy when apple-y things start to appear, like apple cider and caramel apples. There's something magical about it being cool enough to wear a sweater. I sorely miss my days back in Indiana where acres of trees would put on a leaf-show and change colors in blocky patches of yellow, orange, and red. Gorgeous. Maybe Fall is called the Indian Summer because the Native Americans could appreciate the majesty of Autumn just as Californians play up the grandeur of summer. 

For me, I start to get really excited when the first day of school hits, not because I enjoy school tremendously (believe me--not the case!), but because as soon as school hits, Fall jumps out from behind the corner. The season of joy for me arches like a rainbow starting with the beginning of Fall and reaching over Christmas and ending somewhere after New Years Day. It's my favorite time of year. Not just Christmastime, like some sing about, but more of a Fall-Thanksgiving-Christmas-Winter-time. Love it!

I hope things at school start to work out for me, and I am able to work enough. When things fall into place and settle down, I will happily settle myself into the season like a kid landing backwards into a pile of leaves, and just stay there, looking up at the clouds passing by through the remaining leaves above, and breathe in the warm, crisp smells and exhale my woes. 

Who Knows What We'll Do With Bows

Today was the first day of school.

Now, I don't even want to own to how many years of college I already have under the belt, but lets just say I'm a veteran. After spending the last school year at a fancy pants private university, I "decided" (aka had to admit) I couldn't afford to attend said university for another, oh, one anna half to two years' tuition. Alors, I am returning to my ol' Alma mater, Gee-Dub. 

I have been a bit concerned, knowing that I am going to be with a bunch of newly graduated nervous teenagers (teenagers! I feel old). I feel like I'm regressing, as if I were returning to High School. However, I am (trying to be) of mind that as long as I am learning and trying to apply myself, even at GDub, then I cannot possibly regress. 

Courage! 

(In french this little word has the meaning of 'take heart!')

So today I had Basic Floral Design. (Yes.)

Today started well because I had enough time in the morning to make coffee, and it's a Monday, so I was able to put dairy in my coffee. This is always a good influence on the morning's direction. Looking for my class in room 119, I was walking around the building and saw a sign posted in a window, "Basic Floral Design -->" and I got the feeling that this was going to be a teacher who cared. Knowing how students are nervous and lost on the first day, and that a sign of direction may be needed and highly encouraging was a key indicator that Gail would be a fine lady. And fine indeed! Arriving in class, I was happy to see bright colored "silk" daises strung along the walls, with bright paper backgrounds. Sappy posters with sayings and pictures of roses covered a third of the walls, and smooth jazz (eh) was flowing from hidden speakers. Our instructor, Gail, was very welcoming and lighthearted, cracking jokes here and there. It was a cheerful environment. 

My only first-class-sinking-feeling came when our teach gave a small schpiel about how this class was really needed before taking any of the other classes. She highly suggests waiting on completing this class before taking any others. Unfortunately, I am already concurrently registered for the Event Design class on Thursdays. Uh oh. :/

After going over the regular class stuff, she taught us how to make bows. Since it's the first day we weren't working with flowers yet. Bows are a basic skill that are good for starting off with on a shorter day. Gail demonstrated a couple bows, showing how to move which fingers and so on, and then it was our turn to attempt the Dread Bow. Who woulda thunk that twisting a bunch of ribbon could make you feel so weak in the thumb! I'm definitely gonna need to build up those bow muscles. So with hands shaking and ribbon tails flying, the majority of us women-folk (oddly, only women signed up for this class) produced a bow. I thought mine turned out a bit flimsy, but the nice woman next to me said "Wow! Look at your bow!" I was fidgeting with it, trying to round out the loops, and she was trying to re-loop her own, still not satisfied enough to tie it off with wire. "Oh, you think?Heh heh. Thanks." 

After class I went up to talk with Teach and see if I should keep the Thursday class, which she also teaches. "Well, I'll leave that up to you." Oh. Well that's not too helpful. "I'll have to say, some people who take these classes without the Basics course feel overwhelmed. Do you want to just sit in on Thursday and see how it goes?"

"Yeah, I suppose that's best." It didn't sound too promising.

"Lemme ask, are you very artsy or creative?"

"Well, I try to be!" I said, imagining myself crocheting rag rugs in my office at work.

"Let me see your bow. Oh! That's a nice bow!"

"Oh, well, it's ok."

"No. That's a nice bow," she said, implying that for one's first bow, I had done better than many others on their first tries. "It lets me know you have good hand-eye coordination."

"Ha, it's like a gateway to the floral world," I joked. 

So, she encouraged me to come to class and give it a try, and seemed to imply that I just might be ok. And that is very exciting for me. She seems nice and I know I can learn a lot in these classes and do something creative that I can enjoy and share with others! After every week's project we get to take home our finished design. So, for vases and displays, I can take them to church--but I'm guessing I'll leave the corsages at home. I know creating flower art isn't really going to help me save the world, but I do truly appreciate reminding others of the glory of God in even the smallest things. Sometimes I am wowed at the beauty of a sliced avocado or ripe banana. Filling the world with beauty through love and through art, I think, is a worthy endeavor. 

Satin bows aren't even 'in' right now, in most cases. And if flowers don't save the world, tacky bows most certainly will not. Still, producing a decent bow on my first day of school, and with cream in my morning coffee, makes me very hopeful and optimistic for this school year, as well as excited for beautiful things in the world. 

Love.

From Work on Wednesday

Today I tried to eat a tomato.

No, I don't mean I attempted to eat a whole raw tomato, and no, it wasn't cooked. I mean, I, Christine, attempted to eat raw tomato!

Here's the thing with tomatoes. I don't like them. At least, I don't like raw tomatoes. I really don't mind them when they're cooked or mashed up into sauces. But raw? I am simply unable to abide them. I've tried in the past, and it would really be convenient to like them because, lemme tell ya, people LOVE their tomatoes. They put them everywhere! In salsa, on sandwiches, on burgers, in salads. Why do you think ketchup was invented, people? So we wouldn't have to have huge whopping slices of tomatoes on our burgers! 

Now, today I got a vegetarian sandwich which of course comes with some pretty hefty tomato slices. I knew they were coming too, but I decided not to order the sandwich without because I already asked for no cheese and I didn't want to sound too picky. Though I'm in Beverly Hills, so I'm sure no one would have recognized my polite request as being such.  I got the sandwich back to my dining hall at work, which is my office, which is a glorified closet with a desk. I picked the slices of tomato off using the decorated toothpicks used to hold it all together. 

(Now there's a topic for discussion: those silly toothpicks! Just imagine the first person who donned plastic frills on toothpicks to stick into sandwiches? Who'd have known it would catch on and spread so widely, so much so that one gives absolutely no consideration to the fact that something as silly as a sandwich toothpick is dressed up in plastic frills to impress our sandwiches. )

I noted to myself what a pretty tomato my sandwich had. It was quite thick and meaty, the kind I would imagine a tomato-lover would drool over.  I knew if one were to like any tomato, this would be the one. So I took a smaller yet still meaty slice of tomato, dipped it in the yummy dressing that comes on the salad (come on, I'm not gonna be so bold to eat it naked!) and guess what? STILL gross. People, tomato, to me, tastes like a plant. And don't be a smart alec and tell me it is a plant. I get it. Apples, carrots, kiwi, bananas, and broccoli (broccoli even looks like a plant!) still don't taste planty. Tomatoes taste like if dirty water grew on vines in a dirty plant skin. 

So, World, I apologize, 'cause I know you love tomatoes and are probably offended by my dislike for them. As I said, I wish I could like them, but I can't, cause they're gross. Please don't think I'm picky, World, when I ask for everything I ever order to my particular tastes. It's not really that I'm super picky. It's just that your darn tomatoes are in, on, stuffed into, and spread upon everything there is to order. 

I was looking at a note to self I made at work about what to remember to write about. It said:

fire alarm

chicken arms

waiting like charlie and willie wonka

I wrote about my fire alarm experience. I have no idea what I wanted to say about chicken arms. Did I want to discuss how funny it is that birds, like chickens, have no arms? It is kind of silly when you think about it. I think I was probably thinking my own arms looked chickenly and was going to say something clever about it. It's also possible that an old lady had chicken arms. Maybe all of the above.

I can't quite put my finger on what I was going for with Willy Wonka, but I feel like I'll remember eventually, so I'll just save that for later. Silly Willy.

Speaking of writing. My friend, Jamie, is in fancy art school for photography. Last weekend she was working on her latest project, to shoot and design a cd cover, insert, and back cover. She asked me to be her model, and she set up shop in my backyard. The cd covers came out quite nicely. The cool part is that she used phrases from all of our inside jokes as the song titles! 

Here's the lineup:

1. Turning over a New Leaf (which isn't actually an inside joke, it's named after the cd A New Leaf, which is basically named after the dress I was wearing)

2. I don't Want to Burn My Rubber

3. A Jugala A Jugala

4. Flames on the side of my face

5. Teenskabie

6. Almost Fearless

7. ELEVEN!!!1

8. Feeling Like a Windmill

9. Ffffft

10. The Human Touch

11. I love you because you're you

12. Best Friends

Sounds good, don'nit? You can see the cd on facebook. 

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=144872&id=582911420

I've decided that it looks and sounds so good, it ought to have some actual songs to go with the cd. I am not much of a songwriter, at all. I usually write poetry that doesn't rhyme, which doesn't exactly translate into song. However, I've already started experimenting (singing in the shower?) and have almost a full "A Jugala A Jugala" and about half of "Best Friends." Now I just need to learn how to play the guitar or piano or something. Maybe a Mac, like Imogen Heap. 

Lastly, I just want to share with you that I have a squeezy bottle of sweetened condensed milk--La Lechera--with which I creamed my french-pressed coffee today and, lemme tell ya, it is more delicious than I expected. Y'all should try it.

Tootles for now, kids. I love you. 

Yesterday, at work

Thursday the 13th.

So if today, which is Thursday, is my 'Friday' because it's my last day of work for the week, then it would make sense that my Thursday the 13th would be as unlucky as another's Friday the 13th. 

However, I am not unlucky because it is Thursday the 13th. I am unlucky because I am ALWAYS unlucky in the morning. Any date or day.

I try really hard to avoid unlucky things happening by being prepared and cautious. For some reason, though, it doesn't work.

Over a week ago, there was a new lock on the door at my work. I didn't have the new key to said new lock, so I called around to my bosses, they said to wait around for the owner to come with his key and they'd make a copy for me in the future. In the meantime, just sitting there I thought, "maybe I can just unlock the door to the stairs and there'll be a way in from there!" 

No. The moment I opened the door a deafening fire alarm began to blare. And it went on for about 20 minutes. So, there was no access through the stairs and I had set off the alarm. I called a boss again and let him know about the alarm, he said ok and that the fire dept. shouldn't show up but if they do, just let them know what happened and it'll be fine. Oi.  The neighbors across the alley were taking out their trash or something unalarming like that, and looked at me a little curiously. I gave them the ol' apologetic shrug and smiled. I'm sure the whole neighborhood was wondering what kind of drama was going down at the Beverly Hills Self Storage. Little did they know they would only find me, sitting anxiously on the ledge with my frappuccino and overpacked* book bag with the alarm blaring behind me. Or should I say all around me. Thankfully, the alarm fell silent all on it's own, and I began to relax. 

(*See paragraph, well, bellow)

Not long thereafter, I began to hear sirens and then to panic, imagining a fully loaded fire truck or three racing down the streets of L.A. and then squeezing through our little one way alley, maybe even going the opposite direction just for dramatic emergency effect. Then they would pull up, ready to go, and see me just sitting there with a book or something and ask, "Where's the fire?" 

"Whoops! Sorry guys, that was just me! False alarm!"

The sirens got louder and closer, louder and closer, until to my great relief, they passed somewhere on the street behind me and began to get softer and further. 

I couldn't fully relax about the whole brigade-of-emergency-personnel-coming-to-nobody's-rescue-thing until  my uncle/boss called me and said the alarm people had called him before alerting the fire department, so there were no worries. Fewf.

That may have been the worst of my morning events, but I just want you to see that I was there and trying, and just happened to unluckily alert the whole city that I had blundered. 

Last Wednesday morning I was working at the office in Carson, which thankfully is a bit closer than B.H.  I woke up with an extra hour of sleep under my belt and packed my lunch with a pb&j with extra jelly, and some supplies to make some instant coffee there, because ONE of my sisters, I won't name names, coincidentally broke both our coffee pot and french press on the same day! I don't know how she manages. I had some leftovers in there too, and who knows what else because I knew I'd have to scarf it all by one because I was going to Liturgy that night for the Transfiguration. (Yay!) This lunch-bag was to supply my breakfast, lunch, and, most importantly, coffee for the day. As I was pulling in I was just thinking how badly I needed coffee to make it, no matter how bad the coffee. After doing all the struggling required to get in to the office, I made it in, and went back out to the car to get my breakfast-lunch-and-coffee bag where I supposed I'd left it. no.. I rushed back in to see if it had in fact made it in already in the bustle. No. nononnono NOoo! Oh my, I was upset. 

You see, there is a lot of pressure on me in the mornings to gather anything I may need for the whole day. Thus the overpacked backpack. Imagine if you will going on a 12 hour flight where they don't feed you or offer any in-flight entertainment. You would probably pack 4 books, a bible, your laptop (even though you know you won't have access to the internet), several magazines, a journal, a sketchbook, a DVD set of the Gummi Bears, and craft supplies, too, wouldn't you? Oh, and don't forget food and drink. So. You can see how I may get panicky in the mornings. 

Needless to say, I was quite frustrated because after having gone through all the trouble to pack the lunch and drive a half hour away, I was without. Boo. I called my mom and cried a little bit. "I tried so hard!"  "Maybe your sister could bring it out there." "Yeah. Right." But secretly, deep down, I thought "maybe, just maybe." Not long thereafter I got a call from my beloved sister. She called me! Good sign. I told her my story, and guess what! She came! And not only did she bring my bag with the goods, but she brought me a cup of real coffee from the 'Bucks! What a gal! Then she stayed for a bit and we giggled and loved and chatted, and it was glorious. I was giddy, and so relieved. Thanks, Em! So, I got to drink my coffee and eat my food, all before one. Life: saved. 

On monday I brought my second half of sunday's Subway, Veggie Delight. (And there was nothing too delightful about it because they were out of avocados after I'd already ordered it. I had to go to the store and buy my own and put them on because lets face it, without avocado it's just a footlong Veggie Bore on wheat). I added the six-inch to the bag of my other goodies, including instant coffee fixins, and was so proud to put that bag in the mini fridge at Carson. I received a text message from my ever-vigilant sister saying "I think you got the wrong sandwich!"   I went to the mini-fridge and checked. Wrong sandwich? Affirmative. Most unfortunate. I also knew that eating said sandwich would be totally out of the question. Not only was it not mine, and had contents on it that I did not wish to eat (though I was approaching Hungry), it was EMILY's sandwhich. This girl is serious about sandwiches. Here are the following text messages I received from her, in their original format: "Please bring my sandwich home! what time do you ge home?" I replied something. "Aw! im sorry! you should pick me up from work and bring me my sandwich!" I said something else, probably asking when she was off. "im getting off atw 3 so can u make sure that u or mom can pick me up at that time with my sub in hand?" Luckily I get off early when I work at Carson, so I was ok to not eat her sandwich. Got home, ate my own, and then took hers with to pick her up from work, and she proceeded to eat it in the car on the way home. Cute, Em. :)

This is also the day when I made the world's ghettoest mocha. You know how adding hot chocolate to your coffee is a Ghetto Mocha? Well. This is how the World's Ghettoest Mocha is made: Instant coffee in a paper cup with hot water from the water cooler that has a Hot spout. Add instant hot chocolate and non-dairy creamer. Drink some, put down, realize later that a gnat has landed in your drink (this is at the peak of it's ghetto-ness), dump, get new cup, and repeat (minus the gnat). Enjoy. 

It was actually decent, esp. with the creamer, and extra hot chocolate. And I was very pleased to have it because it curbed any hunger the lack of sandwich left. 

On a lucky note, this is also the day that I made my first rental! Yay! I rented out a unit in Carson all by myself. I have also noticed that Alamo Self Storage, which is what this location is called, could be, but probably isn't, abbreviated A.S.S. I'm just sayin. 

Tuesday I forgot my keys to Beverly Hills. It's not like you can drive out an hour and a half and turn around for keys. Had to wait for the owner again. No bueno.

Yesterday I brought my laptop as usual. I had even packed it up the night before because I am uber prepared. Got it out, went to plug it in and realized that I had not brought the power cord. Ok, not so uber-prepared. Luckily, It had a couple hours of battery left. Unluckily, that's not a lot during a 9 hour day. No music that whole time. Also, carrying around a dead computer in an overpacked bookbag just adds a lot of dead weight. 

That brings us to today. I slept in. I've been very tired, doing all this waking up early for work business, and plus I think I'm getting sick. Additionally, because I went to church last night, I turned my phone on silent and never remembered to turn it back on. My phone is my alarm. So chances of me waking up on my own at 6:30am are about zero. Luckily, due to the odd wonders of commuting in LA traffic, I slept in an hour, but only arrived 12 minutes late. Sheesh. Unluckily, there was absolutely no time for making a sandwich or grabbing anything, let alone coffee, let alone time to buy any on the way. However, luckily enough, the owner's business behind us has a little kitchenette and, get this, instant coffee. Not the best, but luckily yesterday at seven eleven I grabbed a couple extra mini creamers. 

So, that is a few of my many unlucky adventures. So, I don't think it's just todays spooky date. I think it's my life. Despite my efforts to be otherwise, I'm clumsy, forgetful, uncoordinated, and just plain unlucky. Still, I am blessed and I am given a LOT of grace. And luckily, when this craziness is going down at least I can say in my mind "Lord have mercy!"

Why, Hello!

I am selling out, giving in. Trying to be hip: I'm 'blogging' on Blogger. sheesh.

I have been thinking about the art of blogging recently, admittedly due to my recent viewing of the movie Julie & Julia, based off of Julie's Book, based off of Julie's Blog.  I have often wondered how blogs have turned into this thing. I hear about Bloggers, at times, espescially when celebrity or fashion bloggers, or political commentators are referenced or consulted by other medias. After watching a rerun of Sex and the City one evening many months ago, I thought about the funny role of a columnist, writing about their daily lives and opinions, and came to the realization that these columns are like published blogs! I wonder if the prominence of blogging has had any diminishing effect on the columnists? Probably not too much. In parallel, I have also been enjoying several memoirs this summer, which also remind me of blogs, or blogs of memoirs. Marley and Me began as a column, published as a memoir. Julie and Julia, blog turned memoir, which I have not read, but comes highly recommended. I do not tend to read blogs other than those of people I actually know, though I have followed a few links suggested by friends and bookmarked them under my 'Blogs' bookmark folder. There is also a difference in the journal sort of blogs and the professional sort of blogs. My friend Grace, if I may be so informal with my mom-aged acquaintance, is an excellent blogger. Profesh, in my opinion. 

So, I have decided to keep a blog here, a little more thoughtful, I hope, and a little less vent-y and whiny than might be found elsewhere. Not that I would ever write anything like that, eh?

This age we live in is just different, interesting, over-accessible, multi-faceted, and individualistic, as well as interconnected. 

Where does this leave me and my thoughts?