"St. Genevive can hold back the water...

but saints don't bother with a tear-stained eye." ~ Son Volt, Tear-Stained Eye




About 6-7 weeks ago, I dragged myself kicking and screaming [on the inside...] to the optometrist to get contacts.

9 years ago, I let my boyfriend at the time fish my first pair of contacts out of my bloodshot eyes. That was the last time I even thought about contacts until this summer. Little seeds were planted here and there:

grocery store: Gee, I wish I could read that sign above the aisle... where the crap is the baking soda??
work: Um... who was that at the end of the corridor that waved at me?
ACL fest: Oh crap, now I have to wear glasses in front of Limey (whom I had just met days before and who still made me uber nervous)
work: Crap on a cracker! I can't see a thing on this Power Point presentation.

And since in a little less than a week, there's a Son Volt concert... I thought it might be fucking awesome to be able to discern Jay from Andrew. Yes, I know they look nothing alike! That's my point- I just couldn't see. Thank goodness Jeff Tweedy toured alone!

My eyes recoiled in horror realizing that they will be fondled on a daily basis. The blink reflex is a bitch to overcome. But one day it happened... the hour it took to insert them turned to 30 minutes, then 15, then 10, and now less than 5. Nevermind that it took losing my glasses for 2 weeks to push it to this point. Life is funny that way.

There is no more ghetto-rigging my sunglasses over my tortoiseshell catseye glasses... no more blind run-in's at work... and no more pouting and stomping and general pissed-offness at myself for being the last adult on earth to figure out contacts.

One tip, though: Wear glasses to a crawfish boil.

"Mice eat cheese...

and for the most part, they do as they please then" ~ Modest Mouse, Mice Eat Cheese



"You DO realize you are ordering the cheese. patties. Right?"

Friend and I grin mischievously and nod. The waitress had just recommended the chocolate mousse but we opted instead for the cheese patties. Rasmali, for we were dining at an Indian restaurant in the North Dallas area.

We burst into a fit of laughter as the waitress leaves the audible range.

"Chocolate mousse? At an Indian restaurant?"

"I think our waitress is very disappointed in our choice."

"But we actually made a decision WITHOUT her help- she really should applaud us."

"Cheese patties, dude!"



Cheese. Patties.


Maybe this is why I am not wait staff- I'd so totally recommend the cheese patties. Just for the opportunity to say "cheese patties!" in a pompously silly way.

It's not as bad as it sounds... basically, a marscapone type of cheese topped with rosewater and sprinkled with chopped pistachios. It was tasty and light and not your regular dessert fare- which was the point of picking frickin' cheese patties!

But the Lychee Martini- to die for. The only let down, we agreed, was that there was a lemon wedge garnish instead of a cute little lychee teetering dangerously on the edge of the glass. It's scary that the same restaurant within biking distance of my home...

“Oh, the wayward wind is a restless wind…

a restless wind, that yearns to wander” ~ Patsy Cline, The Wayward Wind




March has officially come and gone, but it has forgotten to pack the wind in its suitcase. We’re not talking a lovely cooling breeze, because those are… well, lovely! But this is crazy.

As you walk down the street, everyone’s hair is mussed as if their invisible older sibling has been issuing noogies all afternoon. Mine can’t even decide if it’s going to go curly or straight. This hybrid look is just not becoming. I believe the term is “rat’s nest.”

And it is unseasonably cool. The day before Easter yielded sleet! Wakeboarding in 76 degree air left my teeth a’chatterin’ and my goose bumps a’bumpin’.

So tell me, did I miss the memo? Is March truly 61 days this year?

This is all W’s fault for letting spring forward all too soon!

“When you wake up feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelin’ old!”

~Wilco, WYWFO


Making it through the day today will not be without a soundtrack of groans and whining. This body is sore past the point of comprehension. I am pressing my mind to find a time when I was any more sore and I can’t come up with one. Not even in the days of the 100m dash or when I had to swim in a sweatshirt and jeans back in the days of the swim team.

Its that kind of sore that puts you in that perpetual sleepy state. Monday is a daze. Merely shifting your weight in the chair, trading crossed legs, makes you wince. Soreness currently laughs in the face of 3 Advil. "Take that, you overdose of anti-inflammatories! You are no match for me!"

But it was well-earned. Yesterday, I learned to wakeboard on Lake Travis. It was a gorgeous day outside, but not nearly warm enough to be wakeboarding without a wetsuit, which is what our crazy selves were doing. It probably didn’t help the soreness, all the shivering and shaking; Goosebumps too.

In typical fashion, I was first out of the boat and into the crisp water. The difference in temperature inside and outside the water was maybe 10 degrees and that’s pushing it. And really, I did fine until the wind picked up. That’s when the teeth started chattering and the face-plants started.

But there were a few good times when I got up and stayed up long enough to realize that I was, in fact, wakeboarding and had gone over the wake, smiled, and then smacked the water hard enough to rattle the contacts in my eyes. Ouch!

I’ve also got a large inaugural bruise on my shin that is a bit of a mystery. But it was incredible fun and I’ll do it again despite the fact that I feel about 80 years old today.

I wonder how Limey is fairing…

"Reckless days of wonder...

breaking the fall with trampoline feet" ~Son Volt, Waking World




Working for “The Man” has its ups and downs. Lately, I am on this Yo-Yo ride. You know? The one at the amusement parks? The long swings that twirl you out, almost perpendicular to the ride and then you start moving up and down in tiny circles thanks to the awesomeness that is centrifugal gravity? As a child, there were few rides that offered that kind of thrill without the dangers.

But back to work… It’s one LONG yo-yo ride. Turn in some kick ass numbers or finish a big project, an extra long swing up; then there’s the swing down and sometimes if it doesn’t catch you right, your swing yanks on the chain, the seat tips a little too much, and you hurl all over the person in front of you. (Hey, it’s a puke theme today, AllBilly!)

Today is the down swing of the little circles. I’m so frustrated and that upsets the tummy further, yet I can’t help but yearn for the circle up and that lightweight, practically weightless feeling. It’s in the making- if there’s an interview.

I need a break. We all do but waiting for it, it’s brutal. Let’s all get raises and promotions and kickass-edness. Please?

And churros. Churros for us all!

TGIF

"Depend on no one else to give you what you want ...

All the women who are independent Throw your hands up at me." ~ Destiny's Child

Not my favorite song or group, but it works with the piece-so bear with me!

Most of you probably don't know that I work with college students because I rarely talk about work other than how it keeps me far and away from the blogging as of late. But yeah, I help push the education onto the general population. It's a noble cause, spreading the word, though sometimes I really wonder...

Like the Junior [from an alma madder of mine, no doubt] that asked for an interview to discuss several topics that affect students. One such subject broached the financial aid process and the difference in the types of students: "dependent and un-dependent."

Cripes, this person got through 3 years of college! Even Beyonce got it right!