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Christmas wishes shooting out of your eyes

So far on this fine Chistmas I have already knitted approximately 1/20th of an extremely wide grey lumpy scarf, I have watched 4 minutes and the 30 seconds of the pope's midnight Christmas mass before switching to 30 Rock, I have drunk approximately 3/4 a bottle of Martinelli's apple cider by myself and to top it all of I have already written 1/4 of this blog. All within 30 minutes after the stroke of Christmas midnight. Happy Merry Christmas to all!

I see Blue, he looks GLORIOUS

As fall rears its beautiful head, I find myself in the midst of another season of life. Somehow, I have put enough of life's pieces together in order to start graduate school, buy a tiny closet condo and somehow still be a nurse all at once. Oh shit...I bought a condo, I'm a nurse and wait, what I'm in graduate school full time? Guess this is the ultimate be careful what you wish for moment. As the year moves forward I feel small moments of panic bubble up into my consciousness, so I smack those moments away and pour my energy into the downward dog of my yoga class. But when I'm not in the yoga class and the fluffy white clouds of Namaste zen have clouded over into an angry dark storm, I feel a little overwhelmed.

In addition, I am the proud survivor of a flash flood and the grateful owner of a non-destroyed Scion who by the grace of god survived the flood, despite being tragically abandoned in the midst of the raging waters. Unfortunately, I have not figured out how to remove the smell of Louisiana swamp ass from the framework of my vehicle (suggestions welcome). The memory of the flood follows me around like a dark cloud as bits of fine mud dust still stream out of the hatchback whenever it is opened. Perspective wise, I am so grateful to A) Be alive B) Have a working vehicle. Another adult lesson learned, always have comprehensive insurance coverage for your vehicle because the moment you don't, a freak hailstorm will come from the heavens and release baby head sized ice balls onto your car effectively inflicting horrible damage.....or you will get caught in a flash flood.

As the year moves forward into the glorious time of seasonal festivity and I continually slather myself in seasonal lotions, I count my many blessings and cling onto them with a hopeful death grip. (Scion roars triumphantly through muddy waters as I fist pump out the window). Scene.

Rumspringa

I officially declare myself to be in a state of Rumspringa. This is my solution to dating mostly oddly immature boys. The other option is to get thee to a nunnery. I am hoping this works. I use the term loosely because A) I am not Amish B) I am applying it to a very specific facet of life.

The root and necessity of Rumspringa arises from my own nature which happens to be part crazy, part emotional basketcase. Unfortunately, it is not a nature that functions well within the world of modern casual dating. I am not good at casual surface level friendship. I hate small talk and yet here I am talking small on countless occassions to the opposite sex in the hope that it all just clicks and we ride away on white horses into the sunset of happily ever after. Yeah and then I found $10 dollars.....I wish. The oxymoron of the whole situation is that one must guard and protect their heart and reveal nothing of true importance but at the same time reveal enough of one's true nature in order to encourage the other person to reveal truths about themselves that can later be used to build a long lasting relationship. Seriously though, see how exhausting this is? I know I'm practically comatose just writing that.

Rumspringa is my way of hardening myself to a generation that largely thinks only for itself. Its like carrying around a 10 foot pole and prodding anyone unworthy who steps into your inner sanctum. On the surface nothing will change. I will be more than ever open to new experiences and people but I will have the wariness and the ability to prevent myself from getting sucked into emotional black holes. Rumspringa for me is going to be the art of living within a contradiction, of becoming a contradiction of one's self. This doesn't have to be a bad thing. It can be liberating even to live within a carefree space where you do not attach emotions to the unpredictable nature of human behavior. I know that it won't be easy to go against one's own nature. But I will try to recognize the warning signs and "shut it down" before I again find myself on the floor of the kitchen licking the remants from the inside of chip bag blubbering nonsense, entrenching myself in the belief of my own unworthiness.

My main fear is that Rumspringa will not come to an appropriate end, that I will run around in my mid 30’s oblivious to the pitiful looks 20 somethings dart my way as I try to “put myself out there.” That I will build up such a thick shell of protection that I will fail to recognize the humanity in others. But If I have learned anything thus far, it is that calculated risks are worth their wait in gold. So its either Rumspringa or pushing Emily Dickinson....the cat around for her evening stroll in her custom baby carriage while I mumble things under my breath to bystanders.

I am a Vampire

It has been most conclusively decided by myself that I am a vampire. I haven't necessarily developed a taste for blood or carnage but I'm not completely ruling it out, don't knock it till you try it? Right? The facts are that I love the night. Night is generous and full of possibilities while the day exposes all of my shame and shortcomings. Sure sunlight is beautiful and lends to great days at the beach but it also betrays you by slowly turning your skin cells cancerous. Nighttime would never do that.

At night I am more optimistic...about everything. As a self proclaimed pessimist, this is the ultimate confession. At night I know that the day is done and that there is nothing more within my power to change its outcome. There is only the promise of tomorrow, of getting a second chance to try to do it all over again. And lets not forget to pay homage to one of the finest things in all of existence, sleep. Those last few seconds of consciousness as my head is being cradled by my one true love, aka my pillow, are some of the best seconds of my existence.

Morning on the other hand is life's cruel joke. In my life, morning can only go one of two ways. The first scenario involves my alarm going off at 615am. When the jagged sound crashes through my REM waves my first reaction is confusion. My heart beat pounds in my head and waves of nausea greet my first few seconds of wakefulness. Once the fear of life's consequences sufficiently convinces me that yes I must get up, I stumble around in a zombie like state where I am unable to form intelligible English words to my roommate who seems to enjoy these strange unnatural hours of wakefulness.

The second scenario involves my alarm going off at 830am. Remember, my optimistic vampirish night self set the alarm. The reality is that........its not happening. After swiftly silencing the offending alarm I spend approximately 30 seconds tossing around disgust and guilt in a last ditch attempt to try to motivate myself to get up and do something productive...like the 9am yoga class. Before I can sufficiently conjure up enough self disgust to be effective, I fall asleep, where I blissfully remain until about 10am. When I finally do awake the daylight streams into my room highlighting all of the dust and specks of dirt on my furniture and rug. In this moment, I know that I have already sold myself short. I know the day will be an uphill battle to try to overcome the waste of those hours I spent in my bed. And yes, I look forward to the night where I will have the opportunity to hope for a better tomorrow.

Worst Thanksgiving Guest

Yet to be Determined

The day is beautiful and blue with a hint of fall crispness and yet I sit waiting. Waiting for something to jolt me out of my paralyzed state of fear. Today I am scared of things lurking under the surface of my subconcious and since I cannot tangibly see them, they taunt me, skirting just outside of my locus of control. So I sit and wait hoping that something will change. Hoping that at any moment I will lace up my running shoes and begin the rest of my day.

SEASONAL NONSENSE

I am a rational girl. I believe in hard work, science, good decisions (whatever those are) and feminism. I am have the makings of a terrible housewife. I don't cook and hate supermarkets. I hate buying food in general and wish that I didn't have to waste my time with preparing food or "heating something up." But I love to eat and admire and treasure good food. My version of doing laundry is putting everything into one washer and putting some soap in there....usually everything comes out fine...usually. I am often so impatient that I leave the laundrymat with a majority of damp clothing which I then hang up to dry at home. I read way too much and I stay up way too late 99.9% of the time. My car has approximately 5 empty ceramic coffee cups rolling around on the ground at any given time because I find it impossible to remember to take them out.

All of the above I confess to be true and yet I admit that I make the largest exception in the history of the world for holidays. I love holidays. They fill my heart with joy and glee and fill me with strange desires to craft things. I love them so much I believe that I would attempt in the right circumstance to save any Christmas or Thanksgiving by cooking a large decadent meal. I love decorations, I love pumpkins, I love lamp.

And.....it is starting. I feel it in the air and above all things I want to carve a pumpkin and watch Hocus Pocus. Godwilling.

Dirty Laundry

This point in my life seems to resemble a washing machine set at the spin cycle. I honestly tried to slow it down by throwing a few wrenches in the gear shaft but that only made the barrel spin off-center. So in the end, I decided to pry my own iron grip from the metal edges and allow my body be taken into the spinning chaos. Surprisingly enough, I have found a deep sense of peace in accepting that I cannot control many things about my own life. And well to be perfectly honest I most often experience this deep sense of peace after yoga and when eating Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream but who is really keeping track?

My greatest fear about letting the tides of life changes wash over me was the fear of encountering a deep sense of powerlessness. Strangely enough, powerlessness is in a way a certain kind of freedom. It is ever so tempting to latch on to the idea that I am actually in control of my life because there are moments where I feel that life is managable and maybe just maybe if I put in just the right amount of effort I can find true love, find the perfect career crafted for the oversensitve me while becoming a fine tuned yoga goddess dancer extraordinaire who never if rarely becomes downtrodden or somber..........but then ever present reality patiently waits for the moment when I am so tired that I take a two hour nap and spend the rest of the day in a nauseous sense of self-loathing. In this muddled, disheveled state I usually have the wherewithal to realize that it is just me myself and I fighting the fact that I have fallen desperately short of my ideals.

So here I am just me spinning in my life dryer (because obviously I am done with the wash cycle).

The Rise of the Man-child

URGENT ANNOUNCEMENT.......MAN-CHILDREN ARE TAKING OVER MOST OF OUR MAJOR CITIES. They bag our groceries at the supermarket checkout, they are our coworkers, friends, peers and fellow human beings. They look like regular human beings but they are not as they seem. They are sneaky byproducts of the millennial generation sent to prolong adolescence indefinitely.

Here is the inconclusive breakdown of the species...

1) The Bro Man-child: This group of man-children is by far the most obvious to the outside observer. Their typical attire may range from colorful board shorts to gym shorts with some other shorts worn for specific occasions except for short shorts. Baseball caps are mandatory as are collared shirts and t-shirts. Typical interests of the bro-children include; sports, beer pong, their fellow bros, video games, drinking games, womanizing, going to vegas, watching sports and living with other bros. Their moms frequently do their laundry well into their early 30's. The primary goal of the bro lifestyle is to have fun. Bros see relationships as a threat to their brotherhood and seek to primarily use women in order to obtain a means to that end. Their primary fear is homosexuality.

2) The White Trash Man-child: This group is largely rurally based. They marry young, typically to their high school sweet-hearts and have many children. Their primary interests include; drinking bear, taking pride in manual labor, loving America, watching sports, doing minimal housework and avoiding the responsibilities of child rearing. Patriarchy is a core belief. Their primary fear is terrorism.

3) The Peter-Pan Man-child: These impish individuals cavort around as though their whole world is their endless Neverland. Girls are either viewed as a nonentity that interferes with careless fun or as careless fun. They typically clothe themselves in V-neck American Apparel t-shirts, colorful sunglasses and cut off corduroys or jeans outside of their work hours. Their primary interests include; pranks, dangerous pranks, dressing up in costumes, carefree travel abroad, growing mustaches, pointless competitions and living in unsanitary conditions. Their primary fear is growing up.

4) Child that wants to be a Man: Not a man-child group per se but can easily be confused as one. In their early 20's, these boys want to be men despite having no realistic concept of adulthood. Typically serial monogamists, these young men pursue serious relationships with gusto and the end goal of marriage. They take on a lot of responsibility prematurely and depend heavily on female instruction for success. Although chronically unprepared for life's follies and unexpected catastrophes, these men typically learn from their experiences and grow up to be valuable members of society.

5) The Unsuspecting Man-child: Out of all of the man-children, these boys cause the most destruction to themselves and others. They are usually well-spoken and extremely intelligent. Their primary goals are existential and numerous usually involving the achievement of some kind of world peace with their creative and numerous talents. They dress well with a nod to European fashion. Their interests surround the appreciation of the finer things in life including; food, world travel, film, humanitarianism, literature, theology, wine and art. Do not let appearances fool you though, for these are children in the truest sense of the word. These individuals often fall into relationships with those who grow to truly love them but they are unable to handle the reality of something outside themselves. Marriage and children are only viewed as possibilities of the distant future and serious relationships disrupt that world view. The carnage and destruction of the heartbroken lies in their wake. Their greatest fear is being tied down.

As mentioned earlier, this is an inconclusive breakdown with room for expansion and discovery of more Man-children. Also this breakdown does not dismiss the existence of good men. I know they exist for I have met some.

(White Girl Problems) WPGs

1) Ugh! my yoga pants are still damp but I need to wear them for this class

2) Oh no! My extra copy of the Alchemist I ordered got lost in the mail!

3) I really want a coffee from the shop around the corner but if I walk in my heals I will get blisters (Thanks Kaity Michael ;)

4) Should I travel the world for the year, go on a medical mission or go immediately to grad school??????

5) Who am I?

6) I hate it when catipillars eat the plants in my organic garden!!

7) I really want to get married but I really want to be single

8) My girl arms are too weak to lift and fasten the kayak to the racks of my car

9) No, but really who am I supposed to be?

10) I really want a baby but I really actually most definitely do not want and/or have time for a baby

11) Hey! that girl is wearing the same shirt as me from anthropologie

12) I really like _____ but he is just not thoughtful, tall, artistic, accomplished, intelligent, foreign, funny or well traveled enough for me

Things I will Definitely Not Do in July

(All credit for the ideas behind this blog rightfully belong to the great Aravis Moore)

1) Take any more two hour naps

2) Spend a disproportionate amount of time indoors

3) Waste time feeling heartbroken

4) Pine for the time when my three best friends all lived in San Diego which is most certainly the best city on the planet

5) Depend upon carbohydrates as my main and only source of fuel

6) Become an obese cat lady

7) Obsessively read books in the fashion where I do not eat, sleep, bathe or have contact with the human race until I finish the book

8) Obsess

9) Forget jackets, clothes, shoes, sunglasses, my cherished travel journal in random unrecoverable places on this earth just because I was born with the predisposition for severe absentminded forgetfulness

10) Feel guilty for list items 1-9

What a Wonderful World

Saturday was a glorious day sandwiched betwixt the two most holy days of the year and yet to me it felt entirely unholy. Sure the weather was beautiful and the scent of barbeque wafted up to my second story apartment but to me those were not signs of the holy spirit. Maybe in my younger years I would have been eating pancakes at the dining room table anticipating the grand craft of egg painting in the afternoon but my 23 year old Saturday self was far less endeering, sneering as I ate my meager portion of applesauce in the saturday morning sun.

Maybe I was in a bad mood because I had to work Good Friday and Easter Sunday or maybe it was because my parents negleted to tell me they were out of town antiquing along the northern California coast Easter weekend but something definitely was souring my mood to the degree where watching hours of the Real World Las Vegas seemed like the most conducive way to pass hours of my precious time. After watching a disgraceful four episodes, the sun waned in the afternoon sky warning me that my day was nearly wasted. At this point, I knew that there was only one thing I could do to redeem myself from condemning slothdom, a run.

I knew this run had to be difficult but not so difficult that it would make me loathe the decision to leave the glorious comfort of the couch. I decided running to Balboa Park would be the best of my possible choices as it would allow me to reward my exertion with a stroll in the park after running up a massive hill.

After procrastinating another 45 minutes "trying" to locate my running shoes, I finally shoved myself out into the streaming afternoon sun. After running for what seemed like forever on my lead legs, I finally found myself in Balboa Park. As soon set my New Balance on the park's crossover bridge I knew that I had made the next best choice to Paxil to elevate my brain chemistry. Maybe it was the excercise induced endorphins or maybe I was just desperate for a piece of happiness but it seemed as though I had just stepped into the real life version of Louis Armstrong's What a Wonderful World. I slowed my pace to my lollygagging stroll while walking behind glassy eyed tourists snapping pictures of the San Diego skyline. I dodged rogue toddlers in easter outfits who are too short to see until you nearly trip over them. Couples in some blissful phase of passionate love walked hand in hand lost in eachother's eyes while one pair married in the afternoon sun. Groups of attractive foreigners spoke in their prospective languages wearing different versions of the same man capri and I soaked it all in, one glorious moment to the next.

In the end, I only needed about 20 minutes of Balboa park utopia in order to regain some of my faith in humanity. I found my Easter in that afternoon sun.

WIntertime on Palomar

The Winds of Change

There is nothing like wide spread mayhem and violence to remind oneself of how lucky they are to be sitting under San Diego sunshine watching the light bounce of the water of the distant harbor.

Even in this peaceful paradise it feels like an extraordinary time. I am consumed with the images of protesters in Egypt willing to sacrifice almost everything for a taste of freedom and democracy. I commend their bravery and I pray their sacrifice does not fall on deaf ears. If I have learned anything in these past few years is that change can happen. Even when you feel like you are alone in a crowded country full of opinions and fear there is still hope that an open mind and understanding heart can have more impact than the status quo.

I urge all who have the privilege of living in a country where free speech is protected and encouraged to not be silent. Look fear and corruption dead on and question why it is accepted because maybe if enough people ask questions, change can be the new reality of living in the free world.

Rocky Road

Yesterday I did not have a good day.

I did not enjoy yesterday but I did enjoy ending my day with frozen yogurt strewn with chocolate cookie chunks. Note that I ate a tub of frozen yogurt not a tub of ice cream because I was determined to preserve a small shred of dignity and additionally, frozen yogurt makes me feel good in the same way using Splenda makes me feel good.

Yesterday it seems to me as though I had a young adult mid-life crisis. If you think about it, it makes sense to snap and truly freak out in your early twenties just like it makes sense to freak out in your early 50's and yet I question, is it necessary to have mental crisis situations at any point in life? Is this supposed to make me grow up? As a reward for my struggles will I develop a thick mutant skin that repels the consequences of emotional turmoil?

According to wise people everywhere, self help books, therapists and Jesus one must go through struggle and difficulty to discover in part what life actually means. I am just scared to death that all I will ever learn is to ask more questions. And if all I ever do is question, will I just end up at the end of this life bitter with no answers?

Sounds like it is time to go eat more frozen yogurt.

Christmas However it Comes

This year Christmas lightly tapped me on the shoulder and then suddenly attacked me from behind. As I get up and brush the mudd of my knees I regard the aftermath of this holiday season....

This is what I have learned

1) There is no Christmas vacation for working adults, no pat on the back and no 2 weeks to "catch up on things"

2) Christmas traffic in Mission Valley makes me consider suicide and gave me one panic attack straight up. NEVER GO THERE IT IS A VORTEX OF DOOM EVEN WHEN IT IS NOT CHRISTMAS

3) Christmas traffic on the 5 freeway makes me very sad especially when I missed Santaland Diaries the play based on the writing of David Sedaris for no reason other than people needed to drive to "see their families" at Christmastime.

4) San Diego should develop a subway system ASAP because I hate driving for no other purpose than to be stuck in traffic and to be late to everything

5) Rain makes things very wet....including me and the traffic

6) I would sell my soul for a working umbrella (still waiting for this offer if anyone's interested)

7) Not going to a church service on Christmas eve makes Christmas seem a little inconsequential

8) Santa from the Santaland at Macy's in New York looks like a large creepy live plastic doll

9) Approximately 1200 people will gather around the skating rink at Rockefellar Center for the sole purpose of watching a zamboni drive around in circles on the ice...for an hour

10) Christmas will be better next year....I hope

Tis the Season

You know that the Christmas season has arrived when you enter into the craft haven and store known to the common people as Michaels. All of the obvious clues are out on display. Singing robot Santas greet you at every corner and the line to the checkout extends way back into the unusual button collectors section. On the surface it is a very "merry atmosphere" but spend 4 minutes waiting for the obese cat lady to make her yarn selection so she can unblock the aisle and you will sense that something is very amiss.

I could not help but notice that people at Michaels are angry. The regular crafty people are far by the most disgruntled of all since their store has been overtaken by seasonal hooligans who slowly suck up all the customer service with their large purchases of decorations and seasonal candles. The commonplace Michaels employee is no longer available to spend 45 minutes discussing the merits of different types of felt or to calmly explain that the yarn they want will have to be ordered. The crafters wait impatiently by the checkout yelling complaints to anyone who will listen straining their at risk sedentary lifestyle hearts. The Michaels employees themselves pull by far the shortest end of the stick. While simultaneously trying to heard and check out endless holiday shoppers, they calmly try to placate the yarn lady who sprays spit on their checkout counter while ranting. The holiday shoppers who are lulled to the craft center by discounts and holiday spirit quickly sense the stressful atmosphere and become frantic shoving ornaments and wrapping paper into their carts while knocking over gingerbread house displays in their rush to purchase their items and leave the store.

I personally made my selections quickly and left dodging the evil eye of the homeless man on a bike whom I previously recognized harassing a Michaels manager about the lack of "baggers" at the checkout line.

So to all you San Diegans who are just a string of lights short of reaching the peak of your Christmas tree, be forewarned and think twice before donning your light sweatshirt to brave the temperate environment and holiday shopping season at Michaels.

Emotional Nougat

I try to make coma corner a light happy place full of clouds and amusement with occasional irony riding on unicorns but I think on this grand holiday I will crack open the candy coated shell of amusement to reveal my emotional nougat.

I just want to take a sentimental moment to not complain about anything which is something I should probably do more often than only on major national holidays. Sooooo here it goes, today I am thankful. I am thankful for the friends who I consider to be as close to me as family. The friends who have taken an ice pick to my thick shell and have handled the consequences of opening my damn of my sometimes irrational emotionality. I am grateful for their love, I am grateful for them.

I am thankful for the blue house perched atop the mountain that whistles during winter storms and for my small family who resides within that home. I am grateful that I didn't repeat history by crashing into a stone wall and flipping my car over when driving home after work for Thanksgiving. Thank goodness for the freezing night time air and annoying hip hop songs that allowed me to complete my journey without significant incident. I am thankful for the all of the delicious thanksgiving food in my tummy that is currently chaining me to the couch like an anchor and making think thoughts about obesity.

Lastly, well since I am trying to be completely honest with my emotional nougat I should probably mention a certain boy I that continually step back from to feel grateful for. I have done nothing to deserve his complete and unconditional love that surrounds and supports every aspect of my life.

Although this blog is repetitive and occasionally so incredibly sappy that I want to vomit, I just want to find a honest way to express appreciation to each and every one of you in my life.

Thankyou

Ajhfghhuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhbeeeeeeeeeeep.............

The title above nearly encompasses all nueronal activity taking place in my brain at this exact moment in time. So warning to all 5 readers, DO NOT EXPECT TO BE THRILLED TANTALIZED FIGHTENED INSPIRED by this special Halloween edition coma corner. The scariest part of my day thus far has been dreading giving a suppository to a 30 year old man. I have no problem giving a suppository to the population of 50 years and above but upon entering the dreaded 40 years and below demographic I do not want to touch IT with a 10 foot pole...literally. I constantly have the image of asking one of my classmates to gently role over and UGGHHH NOOOOOO MAKE IT END...............commence rocking back and forth while holding head in hands...............................................................................rock.......rock........sway..................................