game of things.

The holidays seem to present a huge down curve in the blog world, or at least for my blog. I'm not a big blog follower; I have my friends' and a few randos that I track, but I write only because I like to write. This past month has been absolute mayhem in my world, but I'm happy to report that I'm still afloat and even bobbing a bit . . . whatever that means. I was fortunate enough to spend my Christmas with my mom's family, something I know many people weren't able to do this year. My family is anything but dull. Where there's an open arm, a hug fits. Where there's quiet time, a fart falls in its place. This couldn't have been more evident than on Saturday night when my family was playing a game called Things. OK, I love to laugh, like LOVE to laugh, but I haven't laughed this hard in awhile.

Picture this: My mom, stepdad, brother A, brother B + 1 girlfriend and my grandparents all in the living room huddled around the coffee table. The family dog, Duke, who had found refuge in my company all weekend (bless his heart he misses Maddie dog), was sprawled out across my lap. The game goes like this: A reader poses a statement and each person provides an answer, then you go around the circle and try to guess who said what. It's. Completely. Ridiculous . . . at least when you involve the filthily incredulous minds of my family. Here's a sample of what we came up with:

Q: Name things you should not do on an airplane.
A: Fart
A: Fart and say "What a relief!"
A: Ask to borrow someone's chapstick
A: Make love overtly

Q: Name something that needs to be cleaned.
A: Brother A's underpants
A: Duke's bowels
A: The White House
A: Our minds

Q: Name things you call your significant other.
A: Bubbles
A: Numb nuts
A: Please
A: Sugarpants

Q: Name things you should not do when you're naked.
A: Eat a burrito then sprint
A: Case links of sausage
A: Jumping Jacks
A: Apologize

Q: Name what you'd do if you had super powers.
A: Rearrange city buildings
A: Travel to the 1970's
A: Fly
A: Fart sparkles

You get the point.

It's not everyday that I hear my grandpa say you shouldn't make love overtly on an airplane or that you shouldn't do jumping jacks while naked, says my grandma. Nor is it everyday that you picture a naked person eating a burrito then running a hundred meter dash. By the end of the night I was rolling on the ground laughing and had done about a week's worth of ab exercises.

As one can only imagine, getting on that plane to fly home yesterday was about the most difficult thing I've had to do in at least three months.

cheers for you.

First say to yourself what you would be; then do what you have to do.
-Epictetus

Keep this close to your heart. Wishing everyone a very Merry Christmas!

another wednesday in the books.

Yesterday was a pretty special one in the Land of Enchantment. I actually had been dreading it for a couple of weeks because I knew I'd be inundated with meetings, but thankfully it's over now and I'm ALIVE. During lunch my coworkers and I headed to the local steakhouse (ahh such an endearing little joint) for our Christmas party. I've been pretty red-meat-depleted lately so I ordered a bruschetta burger with asparagus. Delish. Anyway, we did a little gift exchange and here's what mine was! Mini cupcakes! Yahoooo!



When I got home from the gym (at 8:30 because I worked until 7:00--woof), this package was on my doorstep from my future parents-in-law. Can I just say that I am one really super lucky lady? Here was the note and what was inside! . . .

The cheese section really helped me to appreciate all that I have and all that I do, especially on Wednesdays like yesterday.

wednesday wonders.

This morning I awoke to a lovely headache (yet another reminder of the dryness of the desert--must drink agua!) so I took a little happy pill and chugged a Nalgene and now . . . I. FEEL. GREAT. Anyway, I have this "new" habit of waking up late, like 7:15 when I'm suppose to be at work at 8:00 late. Good thing my commute is a quick 9-minute jaunt across town. I was needing a little musical goodness to brighten my morning so I turned on the radio and fell on the country station (another "new" thing--country is nice in the mornings, people. Don't judge.). During the news brief they unveiled the results of the big TOWN VOTE last night in Portales. Are you ready for the results? Here you go!:

You can NOW order alcoholic beverages in restaurants on Sundays. Waaaaahooooooooo!!

I nearly wet my drawers laughing. I know I'm being a butthead, but really New Mexico? Wasn't Jesus's first miracle turning water into wine? Juuuuuuuuuuust sayin. I live in the real Southwest.

Next I came into work (only a couple minutes past the hour) and called my mom to tell her to be on the lookout for my brother's Christmas gift coming via Postal Serv. Funnily enough he called her last night to tell her the exact same thing. I guess great (and biologically similar) minds think alike. Ahhh life's wonders. I then proceeded to chat her ear off while she was making Christmas baklava (ohhhh maaaahhhh gawwwwd YES) and other delicious cookies which will no doubt hurt my waistline next week. Once I mentioned the headache + happy headache pill remedy she said, "Ohhhhhhhhhhh so THAT'S why you're so chatty today!" Ouch, Mom. I responded with a really mature, "Oh yeah? Well you made me so you clearly made me chatty." Good one. Point: Mom.

She ended the conversation by telling me that it was almost time for the Price is Right to come on and I nearly burst into tears. I do miss the days of hearing el capitan get out of bed and watching him put on his flight suit through my baby bird morning eyes, then trudging to the kitchen to make us a coffee and yogurt breakfast . . . followed by some serious couch and PiR time, gym, lunch with el cap', then more randomness until el cap' came home. All things considered, it's probably heathier for me to have a job. I could feel myself becoming a Hermit with each drop of the Plinko chip . . .

Today is a pretty wild day in the non-profit world. I'm busy advocating (one of our overused words, like "synergy" or "historically" or "get exciiiited!" in other lines of biz . . . ) for a couple of my clients today and will be here until a healthy 6:30 this evening. I've never been more ready for mountains. BOOM.

night at the coffee shop.

Sometimes life throws you curve balls. You either hit them out of the ballpark, catch them or they catch you straight in the schnoz. I think everyone experiences all three.

Tonight I worked at the local coffee shop and even though what I really wanted to do was sit at home and pretend to study, it was good to get out and serve some Joe. The kid who was working with me is a seventeen-year-old Evangelical Christian. He's found and been saved by Jesus and wants to share that. It's a pretty nice thing to see around here as oppose to the countless pregnant girls and crazy boys. We had a long conversation about his life and faith--amazing how open he was--and I added a few tidbits of "I'm 24 you're 17 so I'm older and wiser" knowledge to the talk, which I was sure to keep PG. It's hard to make a teenager understand the real ways of the world until they experience it themselves, but I appreciated his naivete nonetheless. It was refreshing actually. Consider that a good curve ball.

Well in the midst of my shift, I realized that I wasn't going to get out of there at 10:00 as expected. "Closing" means you stay at least an hour late. At least. I was trying to contrive ways to sneak out early, but then considering I was one of two employees there I knew that wouldn't happen too easily. Sooo around 11:30 we finally locked the front door and went our separate ways. Schnoz ball . . . I have a mega busy week ahead and could have used a little beauty sleep. Such is life.

Funny things were happening tonight that I couldn't help but laugh to myself about: Customers, weird random coffee shop jokes, meeting a girl from Michigan who's in love with Suh and was wearing his Lions jersey . . . we exchanged numbers naturally. Anyway, as I was washing my hands I saw this taped to the wall:

If you look closely you'll see that this was created by the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, my alma mater. Ahhh the little things. It was nice to end the evening with a great connection to a curve ball. And now? Snugglefest 2011 with Georgeman. Booyah.

sludgy day.

You know those days that happen every now and then and it feels like there's not much that goes right? Although I don't believe it's healthy to think that way, I do know it's OK to have down days. All things considered, I'm not sure my down days are really all that bad, but my immense fatigue paired with some ridonculous things that have happened today have nearly sent me over the edge. I kind of feel like my brain is trudging through molasses at the moment.

Despite all of the chaotic garbage that has piled up on today, I keep focusing on the light at the end of the tunnel which is: 5:00. Also, last night I read this prayer in Oprah's magazine and loved it. It's been helping a lot today. :) Enjoy:

May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones and allow your soul the freeom to since, dance, praise and love.

It is there for each and every one of us.

procrastinator pants.

All night I've been actively avoiding finishing my third and final project for the semester. I think it's because my mind has tricked itself into believing that because it's due at midnight Saturday, I have all the time in the world. Wrong. Tonight is pretty much the only night I have, yet here I am at 10:00 looking at treasures on Backcountry.com. Mostly I think I'm sick of staring at a computer screen reading (skimming) journal after journal of Cognitive Behavioral studies. Essentially, I'm needing to write ten pages to elaborate on this statement: Cognitive Behavioral therapy focuses on reconstructing thoughts and maladaptive behaviors in order to create a healthier person . . . and it works.

Blah blah bloo blee blee.

Backing up a few hours . . . I enjoyed a mightily productive day at work, checking box upon box of work off my listomania. Tomorrow I'm looking forward to a "down day" in preparation for the onslaught of meetings next week. I told my dad tonight, after a dual venting sesh which made me laugh, that I'm going to be a rag doll by Friday afternoon. Good thing I'll be in Breck by Friday night and if I don't have a beer in hand it could get ugly.

Then I knocked out a fantastical workout at the gym and am proud to say that I now can do full, official, real-deal push-ups. Cartwheels are still another story, but push-ups? Piece of cake.

I came home to dinner already made . . . and really can't explain how wonderful that is. I spent the next hour trying to figure out how to make that happen on a regular basis . . . crockpot is my only answer . . . and I just came up with that now.

After that, I played a little round of fetch with my cat. Don't believe me? Check this out (and disregard the background conversations . . . I'm a novice YouTuber): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ewvpUaLmuqM

All right. Back to mi papel.

holiday biz.

Who doesn't love the deliciously divine smell of chestnuts roasting on an open fire? . . . Who has no idea what that actually smells like? Listening to a few holiday tunes on the telly reminded me that I'm among the latter, but I do know what pine smells like. OH and I also know what pine looks like, especially after putting up this bad boy in the Nancy Lo casa:

That's over seven feet of Christmas love in our living room! Is is sad that I want to keep it around all year? Ask anyone that question and I'll bet they tell you the same thing.

Anyway, today we Eastern New Mexicans got our first big "snowstorm." OK people, I grew up in Nebraska and know a blizzard when I see one . . . but that doesn't mean I'll still cross my fingers for a snow day after seeing only a flurry in the air. Good news for me, here their perception of a snowstorm is much different. Flurry = blizzard = we might as well build storm shelters in New-Antarctica. I have a feeling this mindset largely is due to the lack of snow removal operations in the area, but also because there is overall lack of precipitation in the area, so anything we get is a HUGE deal. I'm not saying I mind. I was let out of work early and here's what my drive home looked like. Mind you, this is comparable to a mild Nebraskan winter day, but hey, I'll take it (besides, the roads literally were nothing less than a giant sheet of ice so naturally I busted out my granny driving skillz for the occasion):

 

When I got home, I made sure George and Stella had a proper introduction to snow. After strongly considering tossing them into the lawn, I opted to let them discover it themselves. George forged into the openness with me, but Stella was a huge pansy about it . . . oh well. Mostly they just did this:

Losers. We'll try again tomorrow.

As for me, it only felt right to be wearing my flannel-lined Carhardt's while frolicking through the snow:

Mmmm warm pants. Now, and for the past few hours (gross, I know), I've been planted on the couch working on a research paper. Nothing like finishing up a semester at the last minute! Seriously, how else would I do it? At least I have my lovely little friend to keep me company:

Love the life you live. And be thankful for little moments like this one. I'm lucky; George does this every day. :) Aaaaaaaaaaand back to my paper.

a merry little song.

Little Big Town performed this a capella on the CMA Christmas music special the other night as I was decorating the house. They sang it as a tribute to our military servicemen and women. You better believe it brought me to tears.

http://www.myspace.com/music/player?sid=85190363&ac=now

I just bought it and plan on listening to it on repeat until "real" Christmas comes, which I was informed won't actually occur until the beginning of January. I can't wait.

christmas list.

Tonight I finished decorating the living room for Christmas. I was watching a country music special while wrapping the lights around the tree and hanging all of my childhood ornaments from the branches. I even went a little overboard and lit a pine-scented candle. Sometimes what is most simple in life is what's best. There's beauty in it all. The key is learning how to appreciate it.

This year I only have one thing to ask of Santa:
Bring my soldier home to me safe and sound.

 It's by your side I make my home. 

take a second.

This week I had my "official" admissions interview with my graduate program. Even though I've already technically been accepted, I've had to jump through a couple of hoops to make it the real real deal. I can understand why they do this, particularly with a Counseling program. They need to make sure they're not sending a bunch of quacks through a program that is designed to assist people with their mental and behavioral stability. Seems reasonable.

So today I was thinking to myself, SELF: You are who you are because of what you allow yourself to be. I think this was formulated in part after reading an uplifting letter of recommendation written by a former supervisor and long-time friend, but also just through some self-reflection. I can be peaceful, content and excited about my life because that's what I allow. I can be miserable, dodgy and regretful because that's what I allow. Why in the WORLD would I want to be the latter? For every action or thought, there is motivation and reason driving it: Why do I go to the gym? Because it makes me feel better and, according to the gym owner, "It's all about the LGN, baby!" Looking Good Naked. Duh. What kind of attitude should I bring to work today? Positive, light, low-stress, determined. My business is fast-paced, relatively high-stress and can be very negative; basically, I have no interest in allowing those things to infiltrate ME so deciding how to counter it is another thing I allow.

I digress . . . Every now and then it's a good idea to look in the mirror. Don't just glance; LOOK. Look at what your eyes tell you. Do they dance or are they sad? Look at the lines and the freckles. Are they there from laughing in the sun after a long hike or did they come from staring at a computer all day, stressing out about which spreadsheet should be sent to whom first. (Yuck.) And finally, allow yourself a smile. It's both to you and from you and will be more rewarding than you think. Aaaaaaand GO.

P.S. Today is my Grams' 75th birthday! Since I can't be there, I'm sending her lots and lots of love energies. She's amazing.

bum knees.

My weekend ended up being pretty disastrous. Almost to the point of being comical. Almost. As I had mentioned yesterday, my ski plans got botched thanks to a little screw in the road. So I came home and caught up on a little sleep (while still wearing my ski pants . . . ), then headed out to get the tire repaired. An hour later I came back home with the same screw in the same tire because the places were too busy. My roommate is taking the car in today to get the tire fixed. Bless him.

Well, next I chatted my fiance's face off for a bit, then decided to get out of the house and go for a run. I had every intention of making it a 10-miler and felt amazing when I started out. You know that feeling when your gait is perfect, your lungs feel like you're breathing air sent from Heaven, and you think your legs can last a millenium? That was me yesterday. Soooo off I went, into the country and feeling great. Around mile five, I got deep into a thought about Stuffed vs. Double Stuffed Oreos (not kidding) and . . . next thing I know, I'd tripped on a rock and was skidding across a dirt/gravel track on my hands and knees. For the record, this is about the fourth time I've done this and was by far the worst. I got up and tried to catch my breath among the ensuing sobs. When I fall, I don't allow myself any pity so sitting on the ground and crying is definitely not an option. Looking down, my left knee was completely open (gross) and my right was completely skinned, not to mention my right palm having a significant amount of damage. My left hand was saved thanks to the water bottle I was holding. Super. 

I walked a mile home, shivering from the setting sun and holding back tears as best I could. The thing that bothered me most out of all this was that no one, not one single person, stopped to ask if I was OK. I mean, I wasn't exactly approachable: twenty-something woman wearing neon clothes, blood running down my legs and sweaty, mascara-y tears running down my cheeks, lip pouting almost to the ground . . . but COME ON PEOPLE! It's the holidays! Season of perpetual hope? (Home Alone, anyone?) Anyway, here's what my poor knees look like today. I mostly wanted to include this picture because of my super sexy stockings. Maybe I need a new hobby. I'm sure knitting or painting are nice.

Needless to say, I didn't get much done last night, save a few hours of sleep in the couch (literally, in the couch because that thing just gobbles you up). When my roommate and his brother got home he said, "Wow, you look pale." Nothing like boosting the old self-esteem! Oh well, that's life and as long as I live to see another day, I'm one happy camper.

"We can't all be heroes because someone has to sit on the curb and clap as they go by." - Will Rogers

hmmm.

Some things are a blessing in disguise, but I've yet to decide what the blessing is . . . in hitting a screw on the highway and having to cancel my impromptu ski trip today. Who knows? Maybe the snow would have been terrible and I would have busted up my new planks. I bet that's what would have happened . . . and God was just looking out for me and stuff.

But I was all set up in my purple pants and Dave tee! Bummer.

I think I'll keep them on for awhile, at least to nap in them or something really super productive like that. Life is like that sometimes. :) But you know what? I'll have MONTHS and YEARS to ski and what's best is that I only have a month to wait until I can ski with my best friend. Until then, I'll have Loving Wings to listen to and the always delightful but not always tasteful Mr. George to keep me company . . .

 

 'Cause love can feel like it saves your life, you know. More than food; like water.

-Dave Matthews

a little token of appreciation.

One of my clients--and I should probably admit that he's one of my favorites--brought this in for me today!

Yesterday he called and said, "I have something for you! I will bring it tomorrow." I told him to be sure to ask for me so that I could come out front and talk to him, but sadly I was in a meeting when he came by. I was SO excited to get this! It helps to know that my work doesn't always go unnoticed, especially by the people I'm serving. I haven't been able to get ahold of him yet but CAN'T WAIT to tell him thank you!

turkey plans.

This is the first Thanksgiving I'll be spending away from family and you know what? I'm OK with it. It's amazing how things shift in only a short amount of time.

The past two years I'd been living in Denver and went home to Nebraska to spend Thanksgiving with family.

Prior to that, college . . . high school . . . grade school . . . you get my point.

This year I'll be home in New Mexico with friends. I have so much for which to be thankful, namely my favorite person in the world who's spending his Thanksgiving overseas. I feel fortunate because of the network of support among military families. Tomorrow we're going to my friend's house to have dinner with her family--her husband also happens to be in charge of my roommate's flight--then, since one dinner isn't enough, we're going over to some other friends' house for a multi-family potluck complete with two turkeys, a ham and so many side dishes we're all going to pop. I'm pretty sure the message from the host last night was: It's probably a good thing we'll have two turkeys because the first one might get botched depending on how much I have to drink . . . or something like that. So, wish us luck?

“We can choose to enjoy the magic of this time of year. We may not always get to choose the people and circumstances around us, but we always have a choice about how we relate to them.” - Mike Robbins

I have a feeling this year will be just fine.

weekend recap.

These past couple of days have been a little tricky in the ol' emo department. I think it's the holidays. Although it's supposed to be "the most wonderful time of the year," I've just been a little funky. Usually the best way for me to get out of any sort of rut is to exercise. I let that treadmill have it. Yesterday I totally did--I put in a hot little playlist my brother made me and ran like it was nobody's biz. Then I hit the weights, having no real agenda but legs. Well somewhere in between a workout high and watching the sweat hit the floor, I forgot to drink water. I've done smarter things. So after a quick sip of aguas and parking it on a bench for a few minutes, I was feeling much better.

Another mind over matter . . . or matter over mind, in this case . . . thing is to keep myself really busy. And truly, this is helpful for any type of thing. Over the weekend I did just that and gosh darnit! I'm proud of myself. :)

First, I spent some time on wedding things. Details details details. I love it. Mostly I perused flowers . . . one of my most favorite things. Miss Stella Bug was there to provide her valuable insight:



Next, I did some, um, mending? to the disastrous fence. In theory my idea was nothing short of golden, but in practice I think it could use a little help. I did, however, get kudos from my roommate. He was checking it out yesterday and said that even though it looks pretty dumb, it actually works. Of course it works, silly. But like I said, it looks kiiiiiiiinda dumb (there are also stakes on the back side to balance the weight):

And finally, I committed to some room improvements. A little over two months ago, we bought some paint for the bathroom and bedroom and while we painted the bathroom that very night, the bedroom went untouched . . . until Sunday. I finally busted out the Fire on the Mountain paint and let the wall have it. While it's pretty loud, it's actually quite lovely. This picture doesn't really do it justice:

And look at that, I'm already feeling better. (And I just realized I put the pillows on the bed upside down . . . did anyone else notice this!? I've never noticed the difference! Oops.) There's a lot to be thankful for in this world and my ability to complete projects like this definitely is one of them. (Insert sorority voice) Snaps for a busy weekend!

holy wind.

Oh my heavens. I just got back from one of the most ridiculous runs of my life. Maybe I'm being dramatic, but running into a 30 mph headwind isn't exactly my idea of a fun run. Amidst the wind, I was dodging tumble weeds and trying to run with my mouth closed so the dust wouldn't coat my teeth. Yummy. What I set out to be an 8+-miler ended up being barely 6. Booooo. Regardless, I'm still sitting here watching Neb play the Wolverines (currently losing . . . wake UP Huskers!!) and drinking my delicious banana chocolate protein smoothie to help my muscles recover. Mmm.

It's amazing the funny looks people give runners. It's this "ohhh myyy gaaaad!" and "what the devil does she think she's doing over there?" and "I secretly hope she falls on her face because it will make me feel better about sitting on my porch and watching her run by" kind of look. Lots and lots of rubber necks. I think anyone who runs understands what I mean. Either that, or it's the fact that I live in near-West Texas and the concept of exercise is hard-pressed for the majority of the inhabitants.

This is basically what I see when I'm out in New West Texico. This, tumble weeds and pickups. For the record, I'm not complaining. I love living in new places and figuring out all the quirks.

Confession: I have this undying urge to high five any other runner, walker or biker that I see when I'm out doing my thing. I just get really excited when I come across other outdoor/exercise enthusiasts and want to be both encouraging and, naturally, the best of friends (because friendships start with high fives?). Plus, how awesome are high fives from a really happy stranger? Not sure what anyone else thinks, but I love them! The only deterrant is that a lot of people won't look you in the eye or even, much to my disdain, will cross the street if they see someone coming their direction in order to avoid any social contact. That's just awkward, people. And unnecessary. I think I'll make it a new goal to give out high fives during my next run. Just because I can.

a good day becomes incredible.

Today I woke up to a major George snuggle-face and all I could think of is how much I didn't want to get out of bed and head into the office. Not only is my bed like sleeping in a giant, warm marshmallow (sans gooey-ness), but you throw in a Mr. George snug and I'm history. But one look at the clock was enough to get my buns rolling--no pun intended . . .

I had a lot on my plate this morning with one of my clients whose health has become one of my top priorities, so when I went to pick her up for our workout date and she told me she wasn't going, I was really disappointed. In my heart. Further, she had wanted to cancel another appointment I'd made with a nursing evaluation team who were, at that moment, making a three-hour drive to meet with us. Balls. Up until that very moment, I was convinced I'd been succeeding in my job and suddenly the walls were caving in. Within an hour, she miraculously had changed her mind and we were off on our next adventure which ended up going really well. (Insert sorority voice) Snaps for that!

On my drive home for lunch I had a call from a foreign number and it was none other than my Cap!! I know this is cheesy, but imma say it: Nothing has ever sounded so good.

So we chatted until I got home and found a special surprise on my front porch! What was it!? . . . a MIXER! I was so excited when I saw this sitting outside. And it was from none other than my main squeeze! He knows me well. I've been wanting one of these since about grade school and finally, finally I have one. Tonight I'm using it to make something for a benefit bake sale we're having at work tomorrow, so this couldn't have arrived at a more perfect time.

After lunch, I mosied reluctantly back to the office and may or may not have stopped to get a Red Bull and Twizzlers on the way. Think about it . . . odds are?

When I returned, there was another little surprise waiting for me in the form of some lovely fall foliage. And I LOVE fall foliage!

Holy SNAZZ he sent me flowers too!

And this, my friends, is how a good day becomes incredible.

wednesday goodness.

I woke up this morning to the thought of, "OK, lady, how are you going to make this day great?" Love waking up like that. I knew I had to face a bulldog of a person today, so I chose the big girl pants in my closet and guess what? Today has been awesome so far.

I found this through one of my friends and just got done watching it. I cried. It's amazing to me how good people really are. http://www.flixxy.com/welcome-back-heathrow-airport-t-mobile.htm

That, and I constantly think about how great it's going to be when the Cap' comes home to me. I'm not sure I'll have the whole ensemble set up and ready to perform in Lubbock International, but a running hug and smooch combo should suffice.

You know life is worth the struggle when you look back on what you lost, and realize what you have now is way better than before. -Unknown

plant!z

I have a new thing (I think I always have a new thing--keeps life interesting) . . . and it's not really that new. It's kind of an old passion. Plants. I love them. My mom had (has?) this magical little aloe vera plant in the window above her kitchen sink and I would spend hours . . . OK, minutes . . . seconds . . . inspecting it and making the leaves ooze their fantastic healing goo.

Last spring I helped mi capitan and his parents plant a bunch of new life in our yard. Unfortunately the relentless New Mexican sun chose to spoil the fun and soaked up the goodness from the soil, leaving a good handful of our plants tired and thirsty. Sad. But I love yard work and planting/gardening/growing. I love the earth, the smell of freshly cut grass, the life in a new blossom. It's fantastic.

Soooo to keep this all going, I've started my own little garden inside. Check it outttt!

I think I need to re-pot my orchid, but isn't my little yellow rose so cute? I pretend it's my Yellow Rose of Texas since I'm basically a West Texan y'all . . .  I have Trader Joe's of Santa Fe to thank for both of these! This weekend I'm going to Lowe's to pick up supplies to make a ski rack (woohoo) soooo I'll probably buy a new pot and get to work on my mini garden.

OH and I'm going to a Shaman workshop on Saturday and you better BELIZE I'll be writing about it!

life in color photo.

I have a lot to be thankful for. One of those things is being a homeowner in Eastern New Mexico. Well, OK, let's be honest . . . I don't actually own the home, but the man I'm going to marry does . . . technique only.

I'm maintaining it to the best of my abilities and have been working on keeping it as clean as a two-cat household can be. With that said, I did recently take down the display of empty booze bottles that lined the kitchen cupboards, save a few that are "decorative" now AND the growlers, of which my fiance is very proud (and has every right to be). I may also have taken a slight lady liberty and replaced the bikini-girl pin-up with a calendar of my nieces. I meannnn, it's November so the other calendar was coming down soon anyway, right?

The following pictures sum up a lot about my past month as a solo bird in New Mexiland. While awaiting the return of my favorite capitan, I've managed to fill the time with an ample amount of weirdness. Enjoy.

First, I made an almost inapprpriate amount of salsa using the peppers I pulled from our garden.

Stella watched. Note the football game on the TV in the background. This has become my life. No complaints.

While driving to Denver for Halloween, my roommates and I tried to make lightning bolts to attach to my "lightning bug" costume . . . and this is what happened. Our three college educations apparently mean nothing in the world of lightning bolts.

I had an all-expense-paid trip to fabulous Roswell, NM.

. . . which was sufficiently weird.

I drove to Santa Fe and back twice to get these bad boys set up. Rawr. Also? I cleaned out the garage.

Aaaand today I asked my neighbor if he'd help me fix the fence. This is all thanks to the wonderful 50 mph gusts we get on a daily basis. The good news is George and Stella were out in full force to scope the scene. They were a huge help. Like I said . . . I'm maintaing it to the best of my abilities. I guess what Mother Nature had in mind was a little different.

I love the life of a busy bee.

training pants.

The only work training I can think of that I'd truly enjoy is one that involved baking cupcakes. Unfortunately the training I attended today involved nothing of the like. In fact, I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into when I was voluntold to go. No, instead of whipping up deliciousness, I was learning how to prevent crises from occurring in the workplace. By crises, I'm talking about people throwing things, choking people, biting, etc. And my job? Deflect. Deflect. Deflect. Granted, I'm sure it would have been much more engaging had I not been sitting there thinking about all of the awesome time I could have been spending with my mom, buuuttttt instead I was doing all I could not to allow my disdain to seep into my facial expressions or body language. Easier said than done.

Luckily we were provided workbooks, the perfect attention-grabber. Mine's now filled full with unimpressive doodles and semi-legible notes. There was ONE thing, however, that nabbed my undivided attention. It was this hot mess of a picture:

HOT pants! Considering how much I love a great pair of high pants, this picture really did the trick to fully engage me in the class. If not for this picture, I probably wouldn't know how to defend myself against an attacker now. Lucky me.

fridge.

I went home for lunch today and added something special to the grocery list Bax started . . .

Our fridge is rad.

MOM visit!

“When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be. When I let go of what I have, I receive what I need.” - Tao Te Ching

Good stuff.

My mom is traveling the brutal 9 hours down to Clovis tomorrow soooo naturally I'm as excited as an elephant in a peanut shop! I have a mini itinerary of what we'll be doing:

1. Thursday dining in: Bax, J and I are making dinner . . . and considering our successfully delicious meal last night of mashed potatoes, beans (mmmm beanzzzzzz) and chicken wings, I think we'll be just fine. Ooo maybe I'll try out my mom's recipe for meatloaf . . . MOM! MEATLOAF!! Just a thought.

2. Friday I have to work--gross--so she's on her own for a few hours to explore the wonderfulness of Clovis. There are definitely places I'll slap her hand for going to (hellooo Southwest-side of town), but she's creative so I'm sure she'll be just fine. I feel like the rest of the night more than likely will entail plenty of wine and plenty of girl talk. And I do mean: Girl. Talk. Dance. Fest. 2011. These moves didn't just appear one day! They came straight from the lady herself: mi madre.

3. Saturday will be Huskermania around the Nancy Lo' household. I might even make some guacamolesss. Watch out; things could get CrAzY! . . . then Saturday night I'll cruise the streets of Portales (Note: If anyone has a real classy purple low-rider with tinted windows, I could really use one) and show her campus, then treat her to a fancy Italian dinner at Vines. Repeat: CrAzY.

4. Sunday will be an early-morning sad goodbye sesh as she heads down the road to Nebraskerville and I trek the opposite direction to Santa Fe to pick up MY SKIIIIIIS! I've been getting overly- and probably awkwardly-excited for ski season sooo if I don't get some powder splashed in my face fast SOON I might lose it.

Kidding. But really.

Looks like it's going to be a great weekend.

finding inspiration.

I joined the O Club today. One of my professors is big into Oprah and although I'm pretty late in the game for hopping on the O bandwagon, it's better late than never, right? Call it a typical "woman" move, but there's nothing wrong with a little inspiration every now and then . . .

In fact, last night I came home to the delightful smell of tacos. (Not being sarcastic here.) I love having roommates who A. cook for each other, and B. care about each other. One of my roommates asked me where I'd been and said he thought I typically got home from class around 6:30 instead of 8:00. Seriously, touched my heart a little. I love George and Stella, but they can't exactly show the same kind of concern. They just want to make sure I'm feeding them their wet food every morning, BUT last night we had a little revelation. I signed off on a skype date with my loverface and next thing I know, I have a George-hat and Stella-necklace. A STELLA necklace. This was huge for us--and now I KNOW she loves me and I'd even stretch it to say she cares. Yes, I'm blogging about my cats again . . . look, there really are no limits to love and I'll take it where I get it.

And so I digress . . .

To thoroughly understand the world, to explain it, to despise it, may be the thing great thinkers do. But I'm only interested in being able to love the world, not to despise it, not to hate it and me, to be able to look upon it and me and all things with love and admiration and great respect. - Herman Hesse

gestalt-isms.

You know when you're sitting in church and about five minutes into the sermon you realize it was written for you? Whatever was burdening your heart or bludgeoning your brain suddenly flows eloquently through the preacher's words, as if intended solely for you.

I experienced that tonight in my Counseling Theories class.

Sometime during the first hour of class my brain caught hold of a few menacing thoughts and, despite unicorn-filled efforts, just wouldn't loosen its grip. Instead of wallowing, I busted out my trusty journal and started an entry (stop judging . . . I love me a good journal sesh) more to dissociate than to ruminate, if you will. A few sentences later, realized that not only was my professor trying to say something poignant, but he was looking directly at me. Sheeeoooooooottttaaaahhhhh. You know that feeling? When you know that they know that you're not paying attention but they require your undivided attention . . . I digress. At that moment I put down the pen and turned my listening ears back on.

We were discussing a chapter on Gestalt Theory which, in my novice opinion, is highly relevant in the new-aged Western school of thought. "Unfinished business," Dr. C explained, "defines things from the past--thoughts, actions, decisions--that affect your here and now." Well hot-damn he was onto something with this. He had us envision our most embarrassing moment and wait for the physiological reaction that accompanies the memory. The only thing I could think of was during my sophomore year of high school when I ripped my pants (no less acting like a fool) in choir and had to get my brother out of shop class to take me home to change. The hot look Mr. Williams gave me was enough to fry an egg on an iceblock. I felt a little twinge in my belly thinking back on that. Interesting concept. Try it.

Long story short, I generally don't enjoy this particular professor's lectures, but this one hit home for some reason or another and I have this new-found appreciation for the guy. And truth be told, it's a much better way to look at things. Yay for grad school. :)

more new mexiventures.

Tonight I returned from a little city in the middle of nowhere, famous for two things (one public, one personal): 1. A 1947 alien UFO siting and 2. Just a few short years later, the birth of a one-day well-known engineer, also known as my future father-in-law (that's a lot of hyphens for one sentence).

Roswell, NM

Last night I didn't do much sight-seeing (unless you count the inside of Target . . . priorities people!), but today I walked around downtown to see what kind of things I could find. As it would turn out, the most interesting thing I found was some alien-printed toilet paper that I thought about bringing back for my roommates, but decided against it. "Oh hey guys, I found you a sweet roll of TP with aliens on it! Yay! . . . " They already think I'm weird enough, so I thought I probably shouldn't push it too much.

Anyway, I was in Roswell for a work training. I walked in with some pretty low expectations, but was pleasantly surprised to find myself enjoying the sessions. It didn't hurt that I was one of three in the class, instead of sitting in the back of a freezing cold classroom in a hard plastic chair taking notes (i.e. doodling) on a clipboard. One of my classmates was cracking me up (on the inside of course . . . I do have some tact) with her comments . . . she was a very Evangelical Christian and would say things like "Lord, guard my heart!" and "The Lord blesses you another month" and, my personal favorite, "Dern." While I'm not a huge fan of imposing one's beliefs on anyone else, I grew to appreciate her Southwestern Christian charm so when she told me, "Many blessings to you and your fiance as you plan your wedding and life together . . . God bless you and your family," I believed her. How many times do you get a sincere blessing like that? Once a week? Year? Lifetime? Chances are, it's not often enough. I'm holding onto this one.

Another thing that made me happy during the class was a little textie I got from one of my best girlies with THIS picture in it:

THIS IS THE DRESS I WORE TO PERFORM IN WITH THE SCARLET AND CREAM SINGERS! AND GUESS WHAT!? IT'S MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE! She found it in the S&C archive room where she works. My friends are the BEST.

sleepytime inspiration.

Ahhh hello Tuesday. Last night I raked in a solid 3 hours of sleep, so although the coffee is flowing like the salmon of Capistrano right now, I'm bound to be napping under my desk later today. I'm not above these things.

As I was spilling toothpaste all over God's creation this morning, I was thinking to myself, SELF: how do you choose to live this day with a mere three hours of beauty rest in your handbag? And here's what popped into my head:

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” -Howard Thurman

Funny, because I've been reading about a lot of existential psychology that centers on, more or less, this basic belief: live to be alive. I can't explain how happy I was that my brain turned to this. Today I will be alive. And tonight I will sleep like it's nobody's business. George best be giving up my pillow, the little sleepytime thief.

monday monday.

Well it's Monday and that means two things . . . everyone drags their bums into the office groaning about the week ahead and wishing it were still the weekend behind AND we have 5 days until the next weekend.

This past weekend I headed out on an adventure north with my roommates to the magical Mile High City. While we were planning to be on the road no later than 3:30 Friday afternoon, I looked at the clock at 5:04 and we were barely out of Clovis. Ha. Naturally, being the solo girl on the roadtrip I received the brunt of the blame, but truth be told it actually was not my fault this time. Small victories, people. Small. Victories.

We made it to the great city around midnight and rolled into the sloppiness of a well-begun Halloween party. The only normal conversations I had were with my other-sober roommate and a couple of my old gal-pals from my stint as a city-dweller. I was given THE LAST CUP (as if this were sacred) of Jungle Juice only to find that it was filled to the brim with floaties and, what I later equated to boogers, old mushy fruit. Nothing felt more like college than that moment. As I was leaving the kitchen with my cup-o-goods, I was barricaded by a weird hotdog-smelling person who asked to have a sip of my tonic. Ummmmmmmmmmm . . . is all I could think to say in reply with a stern "you're not serious" look. Thankfully they got the point and bowed out. I wasn't born yesterday.
The night ended with several slices of pizza and me curling up in a sleeping back on my friend's overstuffed chair. And I was the sober one.

The following day, we mosied over to a neighborhood bar for football and mimosas. Not only do mimosas make me verrrrrrrrrrrry happy, but my Huskers beat the Spartans on our home turf. I wish I could describe the euphoria. Then one of my dearest Denver friends and her boyfriend showed up, making me even happier. At this point, the level of happiness in my heart was almost unbearable. Call it a good day.

Other notable events included:
-Taking a well-deserved post-game (shoeless) nerd nap on my friend's couch. I don't normally nap, but this was nothing short of Heaven on Earth.
-Befriending a cat. (Come on, you don't think I could've gone without a cat reference, do you?)
-Having my roommate's little brother ask me if he could call me Mel Mel. Yes. Yes, you can, young grasshopper.
-Stopping for an Oreo/cookie dough blizzard and getting $35 worth of Dairy Queen goodness with my roommates on the drive home . . . our diets start today?

All in all, a fantastic and much-too-quick weekend; however, I'm ready for my favorite pilot to get home so that he's along on these little adventures. The countdown continues.

miss stella bug.

Everyone who meets George and Stella instantly fall in love with George. I'm serious. Even complete non-cat people find love in their hearts for Mr. George. I can't say I blame them either. He's wonderful and will love unconditionally, snuggle at the drop of a hat, and play ruefully with his sister (sometimes it gets a little too extreme and I have to intervene and give them a stern talking to). The perfect male cat, some may say. Not to mention he's got beautiful markings--so said the pizza lady.

But Stella is a little different. She's more complex, a thinker . . . or maybe just stubborn. She'll decide to love you when she's darn well ready to love you. Her affection is . . . awkward, to say the least, making petting her almost a chore. But there's something just fantastic about her personality that I adore.

Yes I realize I'm talking about my cats right now. Like a big nerd <--like that's ever stopped me from doing anything before.

Anyway, last night as I was finishing up a paper, Miss Stella, who always sits next to the keyboard as I'm typing, kept squinting her left eye like something was in it. I noticed there was a little goo ball floating around (sorry, gross), but thought nothing of it as I figured she'd blink it out eventually. Once I finished the paper, I looked back up at the little lady and her entire eye was clouded over. Instantly I panicked. My little bug was going bliiiiiiiiind! I flew into action. While my roommate googled "cloudy cat eye," I hopped on the online yellow pages and called the nearest vet to see if this was normal. And here's what I got in return:

"Hello? So-and-so's Veterinary Hospital." -bored man with Southern drawl

"Hi, I'm calling to see if there's a vet available--my cat recently has developed what looks like an infection in her left eye and I'm concerned about her, blah blah blah," -trying to pretend I'm calm

"Ohhh . . . ? Well, here's what yer gonna wanna do: Call back here around 9 o'clock tomorra mornin' and see about schedulin' an appointment with Dr. Murphy. Now, he's been kinda sick lately, but he should be around. So just set up an appointment, then you won't have to be waitin."

Huh. OK.

"Um, all right, thanks . . . ?"

"You have a nice night." -click.

Well, instead of waiting for Dr. Murphy to return to a healthy enough state to assess my cat's quickly diminishing vision, my roommate and I took action. First, we held her next to the sink and splashed water in her face. Um, strike one. Next, we sprayed her in the eye with a water bottle. Strike two. I was starting to feel like a pretty big jerk at this point. Finally, we took some advice from an online cat forum (yep, they exist) and made a saline solution (also known as salt water . . . ), soaked it in a cotton swab, then smeared it over her eye. Freaking. Strike. Three. I really can't believe she even sitting next to me right now after what I put her through last night.

Today I took her to Dr. Cramer, a young vet who wears Ropers (total flashback to third grade for me) and knows his stuff. I walked out of there with 2 kinds of eye drops to cure Stella's fancy-named diagnosis that I couldn't remember for a slice of cake. Regardless, at least this whole mess was actually legit and not like one of my previous sordid adventures.

Case closed. Crisis averted. The little lady will live to see another day.

sunday fun-day.

Yesterday was so fun.

I went to breakfast with my roommate, Bax, and his friends who were traveling across the country from Boston to Santa Maria, CA (HOLY CATS that's a long drive) and just fell in lurv with them. When we got back to the house, I started making granola to send to one of my friends who's deployed (one day he told me that if he could have homemade granola, Greek yogurt and my mom's canned peaches every day, that would be about the best thing ever). Seeing what I was doing, one of Bax's friends said, "What are you making?" "Granola," I replied, "I'm sending it to my friend who's bummin' his mish right now." OK, I didn't really say bummin' his mish, but that's basically what I said and what he's doing. I digress . . . "WOW, you're like the nicest girlfriend ever, huh?" he said. I just thought I'd send a little love is all.

It's one of my favorite things to do. Don't for one second think that I didn't send a 30-lb box of love to Kyle-face when he peaced for his little adventure . . . because there's nothing like spreading love.

Cheesy? Yes. But someone's gotta say and do it.

I spent the rest of the day making salsa, putting in some leg work at the gym, cutting the grass, finishing up the garden with Bax (we were trying, unsuccessfully, to come up with old spirituals to sing, pretending like we were on the chain gang . . . ) and getting into a couple of quality heart-to-hearts, chatting up one of my best friends, THEN finishing a second batch of salsa. We now have 21 (count 'em!) jars of deliciously spicy salsa. Yesssss.

My hands still smell like peppers and onions. Gross. AND I still have 5 huge bowls of peppers to get creative with . . . crap.

home day.

Today I woke up with a headache. That's not normal for me. The only way I get a headache is if I drink the night before or wear my hair in a ponytail in bed. Well low and behold . . . I did both last night.

What a nerd.

So I stayed in bed, trying to muster the strength to roll out and pop an Ibuprofin. After getting snuggle-bombed by George for a good 20 minutes, I had finally resolved to get my butt out of bed, and just as I was starting to rustle around I heard my Skype boop-boop-boop-ing from the living room. I instantly perked up and ran to the living room, thinking it was my love from across the pond.

It wasn't him, but it was just as good: it was my MOM! Nothing brings me more joy than a computer illiterate (this isn't mean of me--she's the first to admit this) person hopping on Skype for a face-time convo. And thus started my great day.

A little while later I headed out to tackle the garden. I forget how soothing yard work is. It's like a little soul-time, just for me. There I was, sitting in the dirt, wiping sweat off my forehead while pulling beautiful peppers from the vine, watching the aircrafts cruising overhead (it was "Spouse Flight" day today--oh you better believe I'm excited for next year! BOOYAH!) which was a comforting reminder of the man I love; it was so peaceful. Every now and then George and Stella would come up to me to check on my progress, cat-chat about what they'd been up to, and rub on my legs to get a little love. It makes my heart feel full just thinking about it. (As I'm writing this, Stella is curled up on my legs snoozing like it's nobody's business. And it's great.)

As I was working my way through winterizing the garden, my background noise was my former-football-player roommate yelling at the AF/Boise State game. "Arrrrgggghhhh get in there!" (TWSS?--sorry, had to. I giggled to myself about that at the time.) and "What!? What are you doing!? Oh mah gawd . . . " and "Yeeeeaaaahhhhh!! Touchdown! (through the screen door to me) We scored! It's tied 7-7!" All I could think was I wonder what our neighbors are thinking right now and couldn't stop laughing. He cracks me up. In fact, even now, I'm sitting in my room and he's entertaining guests, telling them stories about George and Stella and explaining all of my things hanging in the living room. "She's into, like, spiritual kinds of things," he said. He's pretty dead-on with that.

Best of all? I snuck in a little Skype date with my future Mister. You better believe that's the best part of my day.

Now all I have to do to wrap up this day is figure out how to move off the bed without waking up Stella. I don't have the heart to move her. Not a bad day, if you ask me.

my new job.

These past few days have been riddled with little miracles, for a lack of better terms. (I'm not going to try to pretend that I don't secretly like cliches.) Let me explain . . .

Three weeks ago I took a job with a non-profit organization that serves intellectually and developmentally disabled people. I received a lot of push back from people with things like: "Wow. That's, uh, an 'interesting' place . . ." and "Really? Are you sure that's what you want to be doing?" and "Well, if anything you'll get a good 'experience' from it." So naturally, I started to dread what was to come, asking myself what the hell I was getting into.

The first three days I came home from work and cried. I hated it. It was chaotic and overwhelming, not to mention I was preparing to send my fiance off to Africa for the next three months. So I was maybe a little edgy on top of it all . . . I meannnnn, can't blame a sister for that.

 The fourth day and following week improved tenfold. The turning point? Making contact with my consumers (or as I call them, "my clients").

I walked into the office one day wearing 4-inch pumps (they were tasteful, mind you) which made me about 6'2". One of my clients was sitting at a table with our Money Manager and as I walked by and said hello, she gave me the look of death. Now, even though I'd only met her twice before, I knew what that look actually meant. Her wheels were turning. "How tall you?" she exclaimed. "How tall do you think I am?" I responded. She sized me up, "5'10"." Pretty good. "Well I'm about 6-feet-tall with these shoes on. What do you think of that?" No response.

Next thing I know, she's marching into my office ordering me to "Stand up!" So I did . . . and towered over her 5-foot-high, 5-foot-around frame. "Ohhhh you tall. I short. I 5-1," she said, still sizing me up. "You're right, I am tall, but there's nothing wrong with being short, you know." So we compared shoes and joked around for a few minutes. Before she left, I invited her to walk in a charity 5K with me. Her face lit up, but she held steady (she's not one to give in easily). She told me she'd think about it and left with a, "Ooooo-K. I call you later." I knew what was coming.

A couple hours later I came back to my desk to a voicemail . . . "Don't forget call me back and put your voice in the machine pleeeeaaaase. OK? That thing you ask me? I wanna go with you. Yes. OK? OK. I will. OK. Bye. I like you better. You nice. Bye!" Having someone tell you they like you is one thing, but having someone for whom you're working to improve their life tell you they like you . . . is probably one of the best feelings in the world.

Today she called to tell me, with pride evident in her tone, that she had walked 2 blocks to the convenience store. That, is what I call a miracle in progress. And that's why I have a great job.

upgrade?

I think it's time for a new go at the blog. Yes, I'm still a cynic who laughs at her own jokes, but there's ohhh so much more to talk about! So why not reface, rejuvenate and upgraaaade?

Here's my little life recipe for some inspiration:

1 amazing fiance who is the love of my life (deployed until January)
7 months until my wedding!
1 home in Eastern New Mexico
2 guy roommates who wrestle in the kitchen, debate about workout plans, debate about who can kick who's ass, debate about diets, debate about . . .
2 cats who are the miniature loves of my life and provide fantastic cat-hats and snuggle sessions
1 non-profit job serving the coolest people ever
1 in-progress Master's degree in Counseling
1 passion for all-things-Health & Wellness
1 palate for wine and beer . . . the good stuff
1 dysfunctional Jeep named Jennifer
50,000+ miles of adventure on said Jeep
1 huge family (who are the best around)
1 group of the best friends a girl could ask for

Not a bad combination, huh? I'm excited. I realize I'm not entirely unique in every facet of life, but I love my life, I love to write, and there's nothing more I'd like to write about than what I see and do every day. And Belizeyoume, I see and do a lot.

Ladies and gentlemen, get ready to snazz.

bball diaries.

Watching George and Stella pounce around the kitchen, eating flies and beetles, and attacking one another reminded me that it's time I update the ol' B-L to the O-G. We've had a lot of adventures since my last post including two trips to the great Centennial State (ohhh CO how I love you) and a wild little weekend of snazzing here at home. Although I haven't mentioned our trip to the Gorge (WASHINGTONNN) for the Dave Matthews Caravan, it's a lovely little story that deserves a pst all to itself . . . soooo I'll stick to more current events. <-- Yuckerzzz, how's that sentence for bad grammar?

I recently accepted a job as one of the high school girls' basketball coaches at the wild and crazy Clovis High. I've been going to off-season practices only to find out that my girls are a little less than uncoordinated, to put it lightly. I guess my job is to get them out on the court in some sort of organized fashion, then hope they can sink at least 4 points in the 32 minutes of play action. I know I'm amused now, but I have a feeling I'll be humming a different tune mid-season. The good news is, the coaching staff is rad and the girls are all cool. High school kids are hilarious to me--their only concerns are what they wear, how good they look in what they wear, and what people think of what they wear. More or less. Needless to say, I'm jazzed to be living vicariously through the Lady Wildcats for the next 4-6 months. Plus, I rrrreally want to get asked to prom . . . meaning, I want to be one of the prom chaperones. OMGZZZZZ.

Apparently my last name has been a huge issue with the little ladies because it's the same name as their biggest rival. Well shit. So for the past week the ladies have been trying to come up with a nickname for me. So far we've got: Coach Mel and Coach Meezy. Come ON, let's be a little more creative here! Although . . . I do secretly like Coach Meezy. It has a nice ring to it. Makes me sound all gangsta and stuff. And anyone who knows me knows how gangsta I am . . . speaking of, I'd better get back to my reaction paper on Freudian Psychology. I can't help telling my professor (in so many words) that Freud was a lunatic and we shouldn't be studying his crazy ass. But alas, back to work I go. More adventures to come . . . get it riiiiight.

baaaaaack in action.

Hello, blog. It's been awhile. Since I've last written, I've been on a little whirlwind of adventures including an interesting little evening jog in a nearby park/wildlife refuge. When I say "wildlife refuge" I'm referring to bugs and snakes. I'm convinced that one of these days I'll see an armadillo (because aren't they big in the southwest?) but no luck thus far.

We set out to do a loop around the park (6 mi) with a little less than an hour left of sunlight. It was the perfect night. Things started out great. Great weather. Great pace. Great company. Great conversation. After about 10 minutes I realized I had a flat in the shoestring department which ended up being the beginning of a string of problems (no pun intended). After stopping to squat down and tie my shoe, getting back into my stride felt a little awkward, but I worked on getting back into my groove as quickly as possible. And then it hit. That terrible, awful, no-good stomach cramp that all runners know. It's the "you better pick up your pace or turn around and sprint home OR ELSE" feeling . . . ya read? Well . . . I wasn't too successful in picking up my pace. In fact, I did the opposite. I had to start walking, then run-walking-ish, then just keeling over in pain. I was spiraling downward, and fast. And it was only mile 4. And the sun was rrrreally starting to set. And we didn't have headlamps.

I knew what I had to do.

And it wasn't pretty.

The good news was that then we finally were able to pick up our pace, until about a mile later when a funny looking swirly rock thing in the path ahead of me started to shake its rattle . . . now, this was no ordinary rattle-shaker. In my folds of memory, I recall hearing that a rattlesnake can feel your vibrations from far away and will start to shake its tail at you well in advance. This one must have had a serious case of Sensory Perceptive Disorder because he didn't send off his warning signal until it was too late. I was moving too fast (OK, like 2 mph, but still . . .) and there was no slowing down to move around this guy. By the time I figured out what was going on, I was on top of the snake, leaping over it like Gail Devers (pre-'92 Olympics), then feeling the flight part of fight-or-flight, bolted ahead about 100 yards at a dead sprint. For some reason, I had it in my head that the snake could and would catch me and eat me alive, starting at my feet. I had to remind myself that I was not a rat, but more of a honey badger in this scenario. I was in charge here . . . despite the fact that I was running full-bore in the opposite direction.

Thankfully we finished the run just as the sun sunk below the horizon. I don't think two people have ever hopped in a Suby faster than we did that night.

new digs.

It's my first week in the wild and thrilling metropolis of Clovis, New Mexico. Mind you, Eastern New Mexico doesn't quite display the visual grandeur of Western or North Central New Mexico and I'm pretty sure the people are a bit more wind-blown and eroded (if you will?), but I find it kind of nice.

This morning I was out for an easy yog and am pretty sure I found the world headquarters for the speed walking brigade. Visors with spiky pony tails, oversized T-shirts, stark white sneakers and ankle socks. Yes please. I felt a little out of place in my tank top, running shorts and aviators . . . should I have gone for the visor instead? I'm thinking yes. Tomorrow could be my day. Although . . . it might be advisable for the sake of my social rapport to ease into such things. First, I'll start off with a few cheery "Good Morning!"-s (which I've already started), then I might move into the question stage: "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get back onto Fairway Terrace?" (knowing full-well where Fairway is), then a very polite "Thank you, I really appreciate it . . . my name is . . . I just moved here from Denver . . ." and let the magic begin.

More to come.

morning trauma.

What's the most gut-wrenching thing you've ever experienced? Think about it. Thiiiink abooouuut iiiiittttt . . . got it? Good. With that in mind, try this on for size: For the past several months, I've faced mine every single day.

No I'm not talking about an indellible sadness cascading like a dark waterfall over my head . . . or a traumatic, nearly life-ending event . . . or bearing witness to a horrific criminal act that deals with two people and only one walks away. No. Mine is more along the lines of an emotional plea for sanctuary and a desperate need for affection.

(Omigosh, what is she talking about?) -you ask

George, the cat. Every morning George and Stella-girl follow me around like little puppies (kitties, rather), mimicking my every move, darting underfoot just in time for me to nearly step on them and nearly break my neck trying to avoid stepping on them (it's a vicious cycle, really), meowing at the top of their tiny lungs and poking me in the face for their morning meal. It's not a glamorous routine by any stretch of even the most mundane of imaginations, but it's mine and I secretly love it. But what has gotten me so emotionally distraught over this routine? Well, I'll tell you.

When I go to leave . . . every morning, mind you . . . George the cat is at the door, waiting to go with me. I've gotten my timing down to an art so that when he marches a certain point past the door, I can sneak out as stealthily as possible without him skirting out with me. But then. THEN. As I'm turning my key in the locks, I see it: his little paws jut out from under the door, reaching toward me in romantic desperation. MOOOOMMMMMM! I hear him say, as if he's begging to come with me. All jokes aside, it's about the worst feeling imaginable (ohhh I can't wait until I have "actual kids"). So I give his paw a little squeeze and tell him to "be good" as if he has a damn clue what that means, then as I turn to walk up the stairs, I square my shoulders and a single tear runs down my cheek.

Did I mention this happens every morning? Horrible. Awful. Miserable. Agonizing. Pain.

OK . . . I might be exaggerating a little bit, but goodbyes never really were my thing.

target run.

I'm moving soon and have noticed that I tend to justify ridiculousness a lot more prior to a major change in my life. When I left bread & cup and moved to Denver, I ate as many scones and muffins and tomato pesto-y things as humanly possible (because apparently I never was going to get b&c ever again . . .?). I also drank a lot of whiskey. And beer. Bad beer. Needless to say I put on a little extra cushion that summer yet somehow I would have argued a justification to the grave. Gross.

Now I'm off on my next life-changing adventure. Snazz. I'm excited. Sooo in doing so, I'm selling some of my things (anyone want a couch?) and am buying "moving things" -- whatever that means. Well last night I headed out for a quick baby trip to Target to pick up 1. wood glue and 2. plastic tubs or boxes. Ha. I rolled out of there with a new book and movie for my soon-to-be nephews (they're still baking), a gift for a friend, paper towels (?), cat food (the wet kind--woof), and some jelly beans . . . along with my wood glue and plastic tubs. REALLY? Oh well. They're all necessities. Why? Because I have to be Super Aunt, Super Friend, Super Mover, Super Cleaner and Super Cat Lady. That's why.

As I was standing in the check-out line, which was abnormally long for 9:30 on a Wednesday night, I was enjoying some strong people-watching opportunities . . . until . . . the people behind me decided to ignore social norms. OK people, I love my personal space. I told my 6th grade boyfriend to get away from me because he was invading my bubble. Little did I know (or care) he was trying to snuggle and smooch me, but I wasn't having it. Well, as I was putting my loot in my cart to haul outside, the very, um, large gentleman in line behind me positioned himself right next to the little card-scanner/pin-number-inputter and had a look like "I'll be damned if I'm budging." Well shit. So I snuggled up (ew) next to him to run my card and as I awkwardly entered my pin (he was watching me and breathing on me the whole time), all I could think about was socking him in the jiggly belly and making a run for it. So instead, for kicks I gave the cashier an eye and I think he nearly peed himself trying not to laugh. Holy awkwardness. I at least felt good that the cashier and I had a small humor-related victory over the situation, but if I ever come across a bubble-invader again I might just lose it.

Or most likely I won't . . . but a girl can dream, can't she?

hula hoop dance circle.

Today I just need to write. About what I'm not sure, but hey it's a lovely little outlet. I've been working my little buns like mad this week so a hiatus, a rest, a deep breath (although I'm not fully capable of those at this moment) seems necessary for this moment. You know, reflection and stuff.

My brain immediately goes to last weekend. I drove with some friends down to NewMexiworld (I prefer to compare it to the likes of Disneyworld) for a little R&R that mostly included drinking champagne, sleeping and dancing. We danced so hard (or correction: I danced so hard) that I woke up with burning calves and an achy back the next morning . . . with a little hint of embarrassment looming like a dark cloud over my head. Granted, I don't often get embarrassed-embarrassed, but recalling some of my MONDO white girl dance moves last night made me feel a little . . . stupid. That, and all I could remember doing was throwing my arms all over the place and bouncing up and down. A LOT. But naturally that feeling faded fast as I reflected more. What began as two of us wiggling around the living room quickly became three ladies trying to synchronize moves and act as foolishly as possible in an effort to lure in other dancers. After an hour of this we still had no takers. Maybe it was because I was dripping in sweat? Well, yeah, maybe.

THEN after a little break in action, I went back inside to find three of our guy friends having a raging dance party. People, this isn't something you/I/anyone sees everyday, so I took full advantage. Within 10 minutes we had a full-blown dance party in the middle of the living room (we moved the furniture out of the way to make a sweet dance floor) complete with dance circles, awesome/awful moves, and attempts at break-dancing (or at least that's what it looked like to me).

But best of all? There was a hula hoop. Watching a grown man hula hoop is about as good as it gets.

And so ends my train of thought.

write free.

I have an old work friend who would spend hours free-writing. It was awesome.

This is what happens when I free write:

Melissa has brown hair and the sun shines like the stars in the night over a mountain while the octopus plays in the water with a harp and a fisherman's net.

Don't judge--I could go on for hours. It's fun. Try it.

weekend extravaganza.

Ahhh my weekend. Began with the fantasticness of my birthday, ended with the fantasticness of my patriotic boyfriend wishing a couple of Brits "Happy Fourth!" Oh irony, how I love thee.

Saturday morning our wild little adventures began with a breakfast sandwich on our way to Mt. Bierstadt. The poor woman working kept telling us that she was new so was still learning the ropes and was all sorts of flustered trying to make people's egg sandwiches, but nothing could detract my attention from her black and perfectly penciled-on eyebrows. I guess she either pulled a Whoopie or a Britney one day and decided there was too much hair on her head (face) so gone went the brows. Regardless, the sandwich was OK.

We took Bierstadt by storm, passing dogs in kitten mittens and dads packed high with babies. After a ceremonial beer at the 14,000-ft summit, we quickly realized our mistake . . . climbing down jagged rocks at a high elevation and steepness is a little trickier with some booze coursing through your body. I'm gonna go ahead and blame my graceful fall into the river on the delicious beer I drank. Either that, or the fact that I'm insanely foolish (and proud). Que sera . . .

The next events came in more of a whirlwind: lunch with parents, mad dash to the Holiday Inn, drive so sweet on western I-70 that it was actually maddening, using google to find a spot to set up camp, McDonaldsing in Aspen (who does that? oh yeah, we do) and watching people throw pine cones to their toy pups on a rugby pitch (remember . . . Aspen). These dogs had names like Leopold, Jiacamo, Lily and Lord only knows what else. At one point we heard a woman yell to her beagle, "Leopold, I'd like you to come over here right now." Lady. Don't name your dog Leopold if you want him to come to you. AND, let's be real here: the standard "come" will suffice, thank you.

Next we stumbled upon the Cathedral Lake hike and I can't explain how happy I am that we did. It was probably the best part of the trip, closely followed by . . . what happened next. Once we descended from the Cathedral Lake hike, it was most evident that we needed a shower. So we booked it to Glenwood Springs for lunch and while there we tried to come up with a shower plan. OK people, why is finding a place to shower so hard to do? We went to Hotel Colorado to see if one of my sorority sisters who works there could hook us up. No luck. We creeped around a couple hotels to see if they had locker rooms (I'm not exactly proud of having done this . . . ). No luck. We tried to get into an "exclusive" gym. No luck. So we gave up on Glenwood and decided to book it to Leadville in hopes of finding at least a bucket of fresh water to sponge off in. Well, thank heavens for google and for the Leadville Hostel where we bought the most magical $3 showers in the history of the world.

After that, we made friends with some local bar-goers by picking a rad juke box mix (we had drunks dancing all over the place--just fantastic), set up camp and sunk into our sweet new camping chairs with a box of pizza and some delicious beers. Nothing better. Then to wrap up the weekend, we attended the most crazed Fourth of July parade I never thought was possible. Seriously, it was mayhem. There were men walking around in boxes, children darting all sorts of directions on scooters and grannies throwing candy at small children. There were a few moments when I feared for our lives. Thankfully the parade ended after the 5-minutes of uncivilized fanfare and we were able to head up to Mt Massive.

A few hours later we were back on I-70 heading east and what do you know . . . a fruit truck overturns sending apples flying across the interstate and backing up holiday traffic for miiiiiiiles. And so ended our wild adventure through Central CO, with a three-hour crawl back to the great mile high citay.