elevator.

All right. Why is it that every time you-I-me-anyone steps on an elevator it automatically instigates the need to pass gas? Don't tell me this doesn't happen to you. It does. I battle it on a daily basis, which is partly why I opt for the stairs (aside from the obvious health benefits of stairs over elevator). Oh God I'm such a Pavlovian dog. It really does baffle me how much this happens and sometimes I'm almost dumb enough to let one slip. If only I were joking. Like yesterday . . . a certain duo of gentlemen and I were cruising around in the 'fancy wagon' and the backseat passenger dropped a little garbage bomb on us. Well, in response (much like the contagion of yawning after seeing a yawn), I dropped my own teenytiny stink bomb, only to have it trump my friend's. Needless to say I could only keep a straight face for about 30 seconds until getting called out. Dammit. Point being: if you feel the Pavlovian urge, just hold it in. Seriously.

During my short 22-second elevator ride down to the third floor I contemplated the pros and cons of giving in and realized that had I actually done it, only then would the elevator stop a floor or two shy of my destination and someone of "importance" would step onboard and into the fog. Nowhere to run, no one to blame, not even a creak in the wood (marble... whatever) floor. As my friend Liz always says, "you create your own awkward situations," and I wasn't about to partake. Consider this dilemma averted for another day. Although . . . I can't make any promises for tomorrow.

veeball continued.

Tonight my 6's team is playing in the Championship tournament of our volleyball league.

I don't know if it's the Vuka talking or nerves talking, but . . .

I'm jazzed.

Our team captain sends out a weekly pep talk to pump us up and he's had some pretty bomb moments, comparing us to the likes of anything from an ice cream sundae to Mulan. Today it was puppies. I'm not sure how that ties in to anything, but I'm going with it.

Anyway, I thought I'd include an excerpt from one of my favorite pep talks. Enjoy . . .

Prior to yesterday, I knew nothing about our opponents; or should I say, enemies...



So I showed a little initiative and did some research. I must say, the results are disturbing. You may want to read this sitting down. (what? I always read standing)


I started out by using the best medium for this sort of information: the public library. After investing several grueling hours my time, my sweat and blood, I had to leave, with no results. So I took a bit of a risk and tried online sources like Facebook, linkedin, the wall street journal, and even wikipedia'd the bastards. After numerous dead ends, it was finally clear to me what needed to be done.


I went to my reliable street source (who wishes to remain anonymous). After a brief conversation involving more tears than when Shadow fell in the ditch in the all time classic, Homeward Bound, I returned home with a lump in my throat and an upset stomach.


I got home, vomited, and rocked back and forth for hours curled up in the corner of my room.


Luckily my mom found me later and helped comfort me while I tried to figure out if and how I should tell you guys what I learned.


I decided to tell you everything:


Here's a quick team bio:


• Their weakside hitter donates counterfeit money to Haitian children who lost their homes.


• Their middle hitter coats his grandparents' prescription bottles with a thin layer of crisco once a week and giggles inside at their misery.


• Their outside hitter is man so evil he drowns puppies and curses their ascending souls for pleasure.


• Their libero is an up and coming serial killer. I also heard that when she was younger she babysat the children next door and would eat all the marshmallows out of the lucky charms boxes while they slept. (gives me the chills)


• And worst of all, their setter watches American Idol. And laughs.


I don't have time to include the rest, but I think we've heard enough. Tonight is no longer about winning or losing. Tonight is about vengeance. Tonight is about making these monsters pay for their crimes against humanity!

Good stuff. We're gonna win tonight.

2nd bday.

My niece has a birthday in a few days, so I bought her a puzzle, barrettes and a glittery card (obviously). In that card I wrote . . .

Happy Birthday K--!

Keep in mind that puzzles stimulate your analytical capacity and help to ward off the potential onset of Alzheimer's when you become an old lady. Good thing you have a few years before that happens.

Lots of love,

Auntie M--

She's two this year. Just wanted to make sure she's on top of things.

GEESE!

Denver has a little issue with geese. It's gross. Poop all over the place . . . in the park, on the sidewalks, in the roads. If that were people poo, everyone would be all up in arms about toxins polluting our fair city, but since it's goose dump no one seems to be heading for the hills anytime soon. Can someone please explain that to me? When I want to spend an afternoon laying in the park reading a book, I don't want to have to sashay around the piles of waste in order to enjoy myself. I guess I'll just have to continue to double-up my blanket . . . then double-wash it when I get home.

This morning I almost got in a little fender bender thanks to our friendly little waddlers. Turning in an intersection, I had to slam on my breaks in response to the four cars in front of me allowing a happy little goose couple to cross the street. Those little jerks . . . just roaming free like they own the world. Obviously I'm jealous. Can you imagine waking up every morning as a goose? No? Well, try. {Rise and shine in some random pond, eat some catniss and maybe some tadpoles (geese are carnivorous . . . sort of), then waddle around for awhile in a park, take a nap, eat some apple cores, cruise around another pond . . . on and on.} But the whole geese-crossing-the-street deal is really starting to get old. Never would I say 'go ahead and hit them,' but I think something should be done . . . not like I have an idea of what that would/could even entail. Time will tell? It always does.

In other news . . . running this morning I decided that this is one of my latest and greatest obsessions:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cuZo7pLnL7c

veeball.

Is the world coming to an end? Yesterday while driving to my grass league volleyball game, 3 of my 4 go-to radio stations were playing Enrique, Enrique and Britney. And the other station was airing ads. Gross. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I turned off the radio and called my friend Heidi. After that my poor team got crushed a little on the grass courts (3-W : 3-L . . . no bueno)

Then. Last night I dreamt some wild dreams. I was in bread & cup, my old stomping grounds, for Lord-only-knows-why (A sandwich maybe? Come to think of it, I did go to sleep hungry . . . ), Kevin--boss-man--was there, and a bunch of my people. Then I opened my tax return and saw that it was written for over $10,000.00. Then I met up with my guy and my dream turned into this whirlwind of happy things. Then I woke up and realized I have yet to receive my tax return. Damn.

I think all of this volleyball is starting to tucker me out. Three leagues = 5 games of newbie v. veteran action per week. The vets to the league really are hilarious to me. All-knowing, all-powerful, all . . . mighty? Boo to that. Being a newb in the adult league vball world is not unlike being the new kid at summer camp. People don't really want to let you in, but they'll be nice to a certain extent . . . until they decide there's something you can do well (i.e. make a killer birdcage out of popsicle sticks, glue some mad glitter shapes to a piece of construction paper, or bedazzle the shit out of your camp hat). Granted, I never actually went to a summer camp like that, but considering my favorite movie is still The Parent Trap (the original . . . stop judging), I feel like I know a thing or two about camps. And for the record, some summer camps really just shouldn't exist. But that's another story for another day.

It's really amazing to see what some of these vet teams can do. You look at any given group and might see this: 1 pot-bellied guy, two older once-athletic (maybe, sort of) women, and one guy who probably runs twice a week (mayyyybe 3x) to maintain the definition in his calves. So obviously as an active twentysomething you overlook the fact that they know the game, know how to cheat, and could probably eat you alive. And would if it meant winning. They pull crap shots, kill it when you least expect it, and can throw a wicked spin on a serve that may or may not be aimed directly at your face. With all of this information digesting, I've taken on the personal challenge to throw all of that right back in their faces. Playing the game "well" just isn't cutting it, but then again I don't want to become a lazy muffin-topper whose underhand serve is the demise of the other team. Ohhhhhhhhh heavens, what a conundrum.

And that is what I'll be thinking about all day. Awesome.

serious talk.

All right. Time for me to get serious about something serious (just ignore my subtitle for the duration of this post). Today I'm considering my opinion of human nature. I don't know that there is such thing as peace among groups, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. It's a case of opposites. Without trauma there can be no compassion. Without fear there is no protection. Without struggle there can be no resolve. Without destruction there is no creation. I certainly don't condone the former in any of those dichotomies, but instead choose to see that out of ashes rises the phoenix.

It is idealistic to assume humans a peaceful creature and quite honestly, it's entirely unrealistic. While individuals may strive to achieve self-realization, we as a group are not in cahoots. Dada Bhagwan said, "Freedom will be yours when you see the world and others innocent." Perhaps I can understand the foundation of that statement and can create a situational metaphor to explain my take, but that's all it is: a foundational statement over which reality supercedes. The world and a human being in their most pure form are pristine, free of mental and emotional corruption, free of toxins: like a clear sky. But material collects, corrupting the pure openness of the sky. They never actually leave. How is it that we as a group could actually, realistically, reach peace and self-actualization? It would take every single person to overcome every single type of corruption and agree upon the idea that we are in fact innocent and peacefully interconnected. Not gonna happen.

Instead, humans are innately bound by the confines of their own mortality. Out of threat and fear comes action and generally those are unjust to anyone but that individual. People react based on threats made to their own lives and worldviews. Is that so hard to believe? I don't think so. Or how about the reality of 'an eye for an eye'? In Bin Laden's case, it's not even an eye for an eye; it's one eye for thousands of eyes. So don't feed me this bullshit about knowing for whom the bell tolls. To me that's someone's blatant inability to see the forest through the trees.

So when I come across articles that scold celebrators of a Bin Laden's destruction, I'm nothing short of annoyed. We do not celebrate for the end of a life; we celebrate the cause which has leveraged our power as Americans. The point of this raid clearly was not to end a life for the sake of ending a life. Come on. And there was nothing innocent about his particular life, for that matter. I'm not ignorant enough to try to explain what military intelligence actually had or has in mind, but I know enough to be a realist about how this world actually works.

The world is not a Disney movie; however, in spite of terror there will always be the opportunity for hope. Thank God.