Fat Bottomed Grrl

I have been running for about a month now...

(I actually started in September, but have only had a semi-regular workout routine for the past month at my new gym with the AWESOME treadmills with BUILT-IN TVS!)

...and although the magazine that was my inspiration for running said "many women enjoy running's leg-slimming effects" or some such nonsense, my legs are BIGGER! I don't know if my thighs have ever been larger, and they've always been the bane of my physical-self-image.

On the bright side, I've noticed that my legs are MUCH tighter (no more jiggle!), but some of my pants are getting tight. The only changes are 1) I run 1.5 - 3 miles 3 times a week, and 2) I don't do as much weight-training as I have in the past. I have the same eating habits (admittedly bad). I have also started wean myself off of my anti-depressants, as it was brought to my attention that I've been packing on some pounds since I started taking them.

GUH! It's frustrating.

But I really do like running - the endorphin rush, and the feeling that I'm repairing my lungs from the damage I did to them in my capricious youth.

always rough

the first birthday after. it's rough, i can't tell ya. he would've been 23 today. i don't even remember me at 23. i can't go visit cause i have a midterm, but i'm sure he understands.

"goddam, what a bummer." --- Dr. Gonzo

strange dream (i want to figure out/remember)

these are parts of a dream that kept going last night, most likely not in order. i think i woke up once or twice among them.

- i was trying to get in touch with Riley. i either had to tell him something, or needed information from him. at one part, i was at the house i grew up in, in the bathroom, and saw his face emerge from the closed door. i figured out that i could only see him in that bathroom, and only sometimes. i don't remember what we talked about.

- sometimes the person who had passed that i wanted to talk to was Daren instead of Riley. it got all muddled like dreams do. in the dream i told my mom something to the effect of "i told Daren i thought he was going to die" (don't like that part - gives me chills)

- i kept trying to get ahold of Mike on my mobile, because he had the phone number/some kind of connection to someone that could help me. that someone was a country singer who wore black. one his names began with r (i keep thinking Rascal Flatts or Ray Wiley Hubbard but those don't seem like it. Ray Flatts or Ray Hubbard maybe?)

- there was someone else that i thought could help me too, a girl who looked kind of like one of Jessica's friends in Memphis (Shalice I think). the girl had dark straight hair, freckles, and bright green eyes. she was always with her younger brother. i think he father was famous, possibly a sports broadcaster, because she & her brother seemed to be in a broadcast booth. it was hard to get her attention, because whenever i tried to talk to her, there would be cheers from outside the booth, and she would get distracted.

- the dream went between the house where i grew up and some kind of arena, like the savvis center or whatever it's called now.

the last time i woke up, i felt very disoriented, like the world had changed somehow. that's all i can remember now.

i'll probably add to it as i things come to me. all of this came to me when i looked at Riley's photo on my desk. if anyone has any expertise in the area of dream interpretation, be sure to drop a comment. i tend to think that dream interpretation depends on the dreamer, but i could use some ideas.

Diane Rehm = badass!

***NOTE: Not a political post, so much as an opinion on class, or lack thereof.

I've been listening to Diane Rehm's morning show on NPR occasionally for about 2 years. I forget who was on that first show I listened to, but when I heard this 70-ish-year-old woman with her grandmotherly voice go off on a pompous male 40-something author, with whom she happened to disagree, I was hooked.

Today, Diane addressed Rush Limbaugh's reprehensible accusations that Michael J Fox (ahem, known Parkinson's sufferer) was "off his medication or acting" in his campaign ads supporting Senate candidate Claire McCaskill (oh yeah, and stem-cell research).

He claims Fox was exploiting his disease for political gain. Last time I checked, Marty McFly isn't running for office, but could stand to gain scientifically from stem-cell research that could lead to a cure or better treatments for his debilitating condition.

Though Limbaugh "apologized" (I picture his signature sneer while he does so), Diane Rehm told him, via the airwaves "You are to get down on your KNEES, and BEG for his forgiveness." In that voice, man, I would totally hang out with her.

these mean streets

in the spirit of the bad luck exhibited by my last posting, i'm adding a part deux to a "crazy things that happened to me this week" series. i hope this will be the last installment - i don't know how much i can handle!

on my way home from the gym monday, i remembered i had a prescription to pick up at walgreen's, which meant i would make a right onto southwest instead of a left. when the light turned green (no rights on red, I AM LAW ABIDING!), i made my right and felt a large THUNK! against my car.

"what was that?" i wondered, squinting into my rearview mirror. it was raining and hard to see what looked like a yellow piece of plastic flapping in the breeze.

"must be some kind of construction thing," i thought, until i saw A MAN wearing a poncho in the STREET PICKING UP HIS BICYCLE. holy shit!!!!

he seemed OK, but i turned around anyway, yelling out the window "are you ok?" shit shit shit i can't believe i just hit this guy on a bike! this guy who had apparently materialized out of thin air! this is going to be a huge and expensive hassle....

he gave me a thumbs-up. "i'm ok. thanks for stopping. that was my fault." and away he pedaled.

sometimes...me too

"Sometimes I ask myself if we're living in the United States or a State of Denial."
- Jeanne Phillips (Dear Abby)

This was an response to those angry at her for suggesting that a wife who found out her husband had an affair with a man years ago get checked for STDs. They said Abby was only saying that because it was a homosexual affair.

Abby said, no, it's because STDs suck! (my words, but you get the point).

festive bandage art

festive bandage art
Originally uploaded by aries rising.

i cut my finger BAD yesterday morning. i won't say the real way it happened, which is hella lame. the story i've been telling is slightly less lame, which is that i was carrying glasses from the living room to the kitchen. i was holding them tightly together and one busted.

the rest is true: in the nanosecond between the glass breaking and my seeing the damage, i looked back at my finger and it was covered in blood!!! the bright red gushing kind. i screamed, then daren came to my rescue, gathering supplies while i held my finger under the tap. he got me all sorted out. it still hurts a little.

i made it a ghosty face to be festive for halloween. that way, no one can bug me when i don't dress up again this year.

ode to lunadoll

i sang this song after i hung up the phone with my seester. it might be a little different because it took FOREVER for my computer to boot up.
ahem.

"i love my sisterrrr, she is so greaaaat.
i love my sisterrrrr, she is so chill.
except for sometimes, and then it's funny."

ps. i wish i had a copy of "the heat is on" to listen to, cause i'm about to watch the cardinals kick some pond scum ass. see ya!

no more summer in the city i.e. Tha Lou

it's happened. it's officially fall/autumn (i always write fall, because it takes me about ten tries to spell autumn right).

at lunch today i was running some errands, and the trees around the 270/44 area are POPPIN'! and the weather today was gorgeous, so i took the long way back to work, along the backroads and through the woods.

the wedding is coming along well, and i just found out that two of the most wonderfullest friendzies in the world are getting marriedzies! all because of imitation crab meat, or something. seriously, though, it's the greatest thing ever. i called earlier to ask jessica if she would be in my wedding, then later craig called and gave me the news. then he let me talk to jessica and now i have this bridesmaid thing sussed out AND lacey and i found dresses for them yesterday so THIS EVENING WAS A HAPPY ONE!

plus, the cardinals won! 2-0, bay-beeeeeeee!!

a spot of luck (just a spot)

Yesterday before class while I was sitting in the lounge, I heard a voice say, "Ashley!" then "Ashley!" again, a little more insistently. "Excuse me." I looked up. "Ashley?"

"No..."

"I'm sorry, you look exactly like a lady I had a class with."

"No, I'm not Ashley."

"Well, sorry. You look exactly like her, though"

The punchline is that she did have a class with me once, the class that made me switch my major. She was possibly the most vile woman I've ever had the misfortune to have a class with. I was even in her group that term!

A friend in that class had warned me about her when she saw I had been placed in vile's group. She had tried to rip my friend off on some photos my friend had taken for her, then complained about her to the dean the next time they had a class together. After spending time with the woman, I could totally see that happening.

Lucky for me, I'm not Ashley.

A Town of Support

II. (As continued from The Bottom Drops Out: I)

The weekend passed rife with sadness, but with a sense of returning to normality. While camping, my sister Lacey said the plane carrying our cousin would arrive on Wednesday, and that we "should" be there to meet it. Monday, as I returned to work and passed the Southwest Exit, John Ulett, of the k-hits "Showgram" mentioned Riley during the news, and I remembered that things wouldn't be normal for awhile.

Wednesday rolled around, and my mom said that only immediate family would go to the tarmac, but that my sister and I should meet her and my dad in Eureka that evening (Mom & Dad are Riley's godparents). My sister and I decided to meet at the Galleria after work, facing the daunting task of "funeral-wear," and wait for the word to head to Eureka, where we figured we would grab some dinner.

We found lovely black dresses, and were trying on shoes when my mom called, and calmly informed us that the procession was on its way down Hwy 109 to a funeral home in Eureka, and my sister and I would need to get there before them, as no one would be admitted after they arrived. Miles away down Hwy 40 (that I-64 outside of Missouri), we fled the shoe store, ran to the opposite end of the mall to Lacey's car (and her in heels, God love 'er). Lacey is much better at "driving under pressure" than I. The journey began.

We maintained mobile contact with Mom, and knew that it would be close. On our side was the procession's speed of 40mph (ours averaged about 80) and, we like to think, Riley. "He won't let us miss this," we told each other, as I popped Xanax and Lacey gave the finger to ladies in minivans, one in the left-hand lane cruising at about 50 mph (speed limit 55), and one in the next lane over, boxing us in. We made it to the Hwy 109 exit ahead of the procession. A cliff right at the exit displayed a HUGE American flag, while the QuikTrip across the road had "We Honor Cpl. Riley Baker" on its sign usually reserved for advertising special prices on Bud Light. We managed to find a parking place on the southern end of Central Ave in Eureka, MO.

The funeral home was on the northern end of Central, up the hill and across the railroad tracks. As we hiked, I kept my arm around Lacey, who had begun sniffling. I don't remember exactly how long our trek was, only that the entire road was lined with hundreds of people, some with America flags, some bearing signs that read "God Bless Riley & Family," one man even had a live bald eagle perched on his shoulder. That is when the tears sprung to my eyes. Riley's entire hometown had turned up to await and honor his arrival home.

The procession arrived, led by fire trucks and police cars. The crowd, which had been buzzing as crowds do, fell silent. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. The veterans and police officers across the street from us were saluting. I just watched, held Lacey, and cried.

The rest kind of blurs. Riley was brought into the funeral home by fellow Marines. There was a short prayer, then the Marines led us outside where the flag would be removed and kept to presented to Aunt Kate at the funeral. One soldier raised a new flag, then lowered it to half mast. All the while the crowd of townspeople stood, watched, and were silent.

Back inside, more prayers and hugs. I hadn't seen Riley's father, Uncle Grier, for probably about 15 years. He and my Aunt Kate divorced long ago, but he's still Uncle Grier, especially now. He is my cousin's father. We then learned that he and Riley had a plan, in case something like this were to befall him. Riley wanted Grier to bring him to his house before he was laid to rest. We were invited to Grier's, but decided instead to grab dinner, as my Uncle Bert's daughter Casey, age 8, had been such a good girl all day, but was exhausted and hungry. I realized then that Casey is not only Uncle Bert's daughter, but my cousin. So ironic through this ordeal, that I lost a cousin, and, in effect, gained a cousin.

Cool Things I Heard On NPR & Last Night Activities

"Those in the leftist blogosphere..." -- Neal Conan.

Love it. I love linguistic evolution.

"This should be the last day of 100+ temperatures..." --Dave Murray

They better not get rid of NPR. I'll miss it so.

Last night, Daren and I were NOT going out. We have low cash flow lately, and would be better suited to watch cable and drink water. Sex & The City was on TBS - the best episode ever, in fact, "13 going on 30". Where Miranda gets braces and Carrie's boyfriend frames her for smoking pot at his parents house:

Wade: "It was Carrie."
Mrs. Adams: "Is that true, Carrie? Did you bring marijuana into this house?"
Carrie: "Yes, Mrs. Adams. I brought the marijuana into the house." Sly look at Wade. "And I'm taking it with me when I go."

Wade had told Carrie that the "Canadian Supergrass" cost $400/ounce. Ouch.

Anyway, Carrie and Wade were drinking longnecks, which made Daren and I want to do the same. We went to Anthonino's to watch the ballgame. They pretty much turned the lights out on us at 11, so I thought we'd stop at Modesto for a mojito. A random looking guy in the parking lot said they were closed, which made me defensive, because I was dressed like a total hooge (short for hoosier?). I called them snooty and defiantly told them I would be taking my business across the Interstate to Pop's Blue Moon, where I can dress how I want AND they are OPEN!

As much as I love living on the Hill, everything closes hella early and hardly anywhere is open on Sundays.

Sarah was working at Pop's, which meant I had 2 shots of tequila and about 6 beers. We left around 1, and stumbled home, where I ate xanax and drunk dialed everyone in my phone. I even went on myspace at home, which I never do. Then I started thinking about Riley, which got me really down. So down I left Daren passed out on the couch, instead of insisting he come to bed with me.

Today....I'm tired.

The Bottom Drops Out

So much has happened in the past month +. After this coming weekend, my life might just go back to normal - the calm life, where I don't miss my tv shows and go out late on some weekend nights.

Before I get back to the purpose of this blog, though, which was bitching about things and talking about how great I am, I have to deal with this one important and awful recent event. I won't feel justified in returning to old me until I get this out. There's a lot to it, and it tears me up to think/write about it, so it's going to be in installments, starting with the day that the world changed.

I.

On my drive to work at 8:30 AM June 23, my mother called. She asked where I was.

"On my way to work. Late, as usual, heh."

"Can you get to where you can slow down for a minute?" The tears in her voice were unmistakable. I immediately knew that something was wrong. "Grandma?" I thought. "Grandpa?" I exited I-44 at Southwest Ave.

No. Not someone two generations ahead of me, 3 times my age. Mom had called to inform me that my cousin Cpl Riley E Baker was killed while on patrol in Iraq on June 22. He was 22 years old, and the best damn person on the planet. The BEST.

I felt like the bottom had dropped out, that I was falling. Through the bottom of the car, through the exit ramp, through pavement and earth. Riley was gone.

"Oh God, Oh God, Oh God." I searched for a place to park my car on this unfamilar road. I parked, and exploded into wailing. My heart was breaking. It wanted justice in a last good-bye, a last hug. It wanted justice in REVENGE.

After 30 minutes on the phone with mom, I called Daren. Then collected myself enough to drive the 20 minutes left to work. What was I going to do? My office is in the back. I could sneak in the back door and no one would be sure I was there. I wanted to hide. But then, I wanted to run away too. Best to go in the front door, and let them know. My boss was awesome. I sucked it up and wrapped up about an hour's worth of work I had to finish, then left to meet Mom and my sister Lacey at the park.

The initial impact of FINDING OUT left me reeling. I've never had anyone else close to me die before. I always said "War? Whatever. They're going to do what they're going to do, and unless it affects me personally in this one way possible, I can live in my little war-less dream world of network reality tv and pizza delivery." No more. I am angry at everyone involved: Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, Osama bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, Tony Blair for not reasoning with Bush, Cindy Sheehan and all the protesters who didn't do a good enough job of bringing my cousin home, myself for not caring until it was too late.

130,000+ troops. I knew one of them.

Lacey and I went forward with our camping plans for that weekend, as Riley, lover of outdoors, would have wanted. On our drive home, we separately saw the same rainbow, the brightest we'd ever seen, and a complete arc. We thought the same thing.

You Just Haven't Earned It Yet Baby

I realized of late that I have lived in this city for almost 26 years, and have maybe 8 real friends to speak of. What's up with that? I also noticed that 1) most of my 8 friends are people who many people really want to be friends with, and 2) that I'm closer to each of the 8 than most other people. Is there a word for that, for a girl who isn't very popular herself, but maintains close friendships with really popular people?

Now.

I'm tired of my desk/computer job in the windowless box. I'm tired of seeing the same 4 people every day. They're lovely people, but a girl needs some variety.The time has come to strike out, to make a path for myself. Trouble is I have this annoying habit of being responsible and doing the right thing. The money is good, the job is dull. Suze Ormann (Ormand? whatever) says that money is not worth unhappines, especially in one's twenties. I'm over half done, and need to find fulfillment before the chips fall and I REALLY have to start being responsible.

It seems like older adults I know have resigned themselves to work they don't really enjoy, for the sake of mortgages and college funds.

The time to start is now.

I just wish I knew what the heck I want to do!

I've gotta get over this low self-esteem and build some confidence righ away. I'm 8 years out of high school (yikes!) but am gripped with teen angst on a semi-weekly basis. Why o why did I never learn to schmooze?

Good Eats to Come!

My sister is getting married in July, and I spent my lunch hour with her, her fiance, and our parents, sampling some of the great eats that will be served at the Lemp Grand Hall reception. We tried roast beef, pasta con broccoli, chicken, cheddar mashed potatoes and some of the best freakin' salad dressing ever! Although they will only offer one brand of beer, they will have a fully stocked bar, which means my plan of drinking only Long Island Iced Teas will be fulfilled. Her wedding is going to be such a blast!

Not a blast is riding in a car when either of my parents are driving, unless one enjoys hearing sharp intakes of breath, cursing, and namecalling for the duration of the trip. Every day, I see more and more where some of my not-so-wonderful traits come from, and it's kind of depressing. I want to have patience and be relaxed, but it is certainly not in my gene pool.

When we were finished tasting, sheets of rain met us at the door, and I had left my umbrella in the car. Is it ironic if the rain is on your tasting-food-for-the-wedding day?

here goes!

I've been meaning to get this started for awhile, because i know too many people on myspace to be honest in my blog there. they let you make a list of who can look at it, but not a list of who can't. Some things need to be kept on the down low.

Basically, I just need a place to talk to my future self (& future others, maybe, hopefully)

Gotta run! More later!