It’s all about the numbers.
121 days until we leave for Paris.
This is my 522nd post.
I just did the Amy Dixon “Give me 10” video and who knew 10 minutes could fly by so quickly outside of the bedroom and I’d be exhausted and sweaty?
In 6 minutes I have to leave for work where I will spend 7 hours with about 200 children. If I don’t get up in 1 minutes, I won’t have the 5 minutes I need to put together my dinner and get ready to leave.
Guess I’ve got 2 go.
:0)
If you ever lived in the Baltimore region, you would have heard the commercial that goes, “Hi – Ho – Pim-li-co!” for Pimlico Raceway. This is totally irrelevant to my post, but does kinda explain my silliness in the title.
Went to the doctor the other day and he told me to put the lime in the coconut and drink it all up. And be sure there isn’t any sugar in that. He also suggested I stay away from grains and dairy. Hmmm.. meat, veggies and fruit. >smirks< That’s where I’ve directed my diet now for a while, but it took the cautionary warning from my Dr. to convince me I should perhaps adhere to eating the stuff my bod seems to like.
But can you blame me?! Like any other person, I love warm bread with hot gooey melting butter.
Many moon ago, I lost weight on the Atkins plan, so in looking around for some guidance, I hit on the Paleo, or Neanderthin, or Caveman or whatever you want to call it, lifestyle. Since I’m lactose intolerant, giving up dairy wasn’t so difficult. (except butter… omg, do I love butter) Giving up grains has been a bit more trying, but easily do-able. Eliminating sugar hasn’t been too bad either. What is difficult is increasing my fruit consumption. I like mostly berries, but I don’t eat many of those even when they are available, so they sometimes become furry in the fridge. Ewww… And I’d rather gnaw on meat than a plate of veggies.
I guess it’s obvious that I am pretty easily a modern-day carnivore. I say modern-day because if *I* had to hunt it (aww poor thing) or skin it (barf) or slaughter it (barf and faint) or fish for it (omg NO) then I’d be a vegetarian.
So far, so good. I’ll keep you posted if anything significant comes from all this change, other than some gurgling guts, fatigue and ennui, which is all supposedly normal when you are eliminating most of the carbohydrates from your diet. At least I haven’t killed anyone. Or leaped over the counter to grab the soft, chewy bread slathered in butter from their hands, just before they take a bite, screaming, “I’ll save you!! Don’t you know this is bad for you?” and shoving the thing in my mouth. Or stolen candy from a baby.
I’m saving all of those for later… when I might need them.
I had a dream that’s stuck with me all morning.
I was on another planet. Maybe it wasn’t another planet, but I was elsewhere. I never got a clear view of any of the inhabitants, really. I do remember they were familiar, as if they were human, but undefined. It was as if everything was in soft focus.
Anyway, I was interacting with these whatevertheyare and it was pleasant. We were enjoying our time together when a young one of them began to hum a tune and I began to hum along. Everyone stopped when they realized I knew this song. Their reaction was as if I shouldn’t or couldn’t know the song because the distance between where they are and where I am would have been prohibitive for it to have been something in common between the two of us. It was after this registered to me that I woke up.
It was a tune I was very familiar with and heard many times when I was young. My father played it often and although it’s only a small part of a bigger song, I’ve only ever remembered this part. I can easily say I haven’t actually sung or heard it for 30 years or more. YOU TUBE to the rescue!! Since I remembered the first line in the lyric, I could find it and played it as soon as I woke up.
I found it oddly poignant and something else I can’t quite describe. These are the kinds of dreams where you feel like you are being told something. Either by an outside source, or by your own internal voice.
I figured I’d share…
Time it was, and what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence, a time of confidences
Long ago, it must be, I have a photograph
Preserve your memories, they’re all that’s left you
If you are keeping up, I posted that we went to the Papermoon Diner on Saturday for our February birthday celebrations. Last night we celebrated the birthday of our adopted (not really, but we feel this way) son. He turned 14, so what better place to go then a place where breasts abound. Or are they bound? If you look at the uniform for the waitresses, you’ll get my drift!
Trust me, all the comments and jokes you would imagine a 14-year-old male surrounded by boobs could make were made!
If baby doll heads and a fork mohawk bother you, then this isn’t the place for you.
February is the month we celebrate #3’s birthday, as well as the birthday of #4’s steady. Now that #3 decided city life in the Nation’s Capital is where he wishes to be, he sold his car. The challenge was to find somewhere that we could go that wasn’t too far out of the realm of Penn Station in B’more so we could all essentially meet in the middle. I chose the Papermoon diner.
Eclectic is a polite word you could use to describe this place. Creepy might be another. Mannequins with ball-chain clothing and toilet, sink and bathtub flower pots adorn the exterior.
Oh yeah, I forgot the doll head “flowers” on the windows…
These were creepy and reminded me of when my brother would pull the heads off my dolls, or hang them from the rafters in the part of the basement we called, “the other side”. I didn’t know whether to be disturbed, or comforted by the sights of my childhood when I saw them.
The gentleman with the fork mohawk, astride the cow with long eye lashes and glittering udders was one I enjoyed.
Inside there were formica tables and mismatched chairs, and a menu that was stuffed with many options. Interestingly, sandwiches were ranging between 6-12 dollars, but for french fries you had to pay 2.50 extra, and if you preferred sweet potato fries or deadly onion rings, you were going to cough up another 3.00 instead. (I would cough up a lung, due to my allergy) That being said, the food was pretty good. The desserts were probably the best part of the meal. I had a flourless chocolate cake that my daughter likened to “wine” and hubby had a delightful salty caramel cake I could nibble on.
Wall decor consisted of more doll heads and mannequins with army men glued to their heads to simulate hair. I didn’t get to look around too much because they were busy and we were ushered quickly to our table, however within view I could see:
Didn’t do so much for my appetite to be stared at by so many.
STOP JUDGING ME! I CAN HAVE CAKE IF I WANT TO!
I don’t suppose it would be right to have a journal/blog and not write about what goes on around me, would it?
I was going to join the Nablopomo challenge to post once a day – every day – for the month of February. Their topic was love, relationships and sex. Phht… seemed like the perfect month to choose. It’s short and it’s a topic I don’t have problems writing or talking about. And we all know I’ve got plenty of opinions. But, I didn’t do it. My muse is there… but she’s just not been prolific, nor interested in much.
I have to say, if the sun doesn’t come out soon, I’m liable to curl up under my desk in a blanket fort and tell everyone to leave me the hell alone until it’s Spring! Bleh, bleh and some meh to boot.
The Baltimore Ravens, my default football team simply because I live and work in the city, won the Superbowl. Let me state for the record, I’m not a big football fan. In fact, I believe I’ve written in the past about my distaste for the whole “event” of football. But winning the Superbowl tends to make everyone else around me happier in some way so I have been analyzing and noticing how I feel about it all just a bit more.
First, the excitement, pride and camaraderie provided by having your local team do well in any National League was pretty good for the moral of Old Mobtown. Merchants sold more goods and money was dumped into the local economy. People felt like they were a part of a common thing. Purple Friday was allowed in many businesses and there was something pleasant to discuss casually. These things I can see from a logical standpoint.
Then came the parade on Tuesday. It was a peaceful, joyous and exciting event – or so I’m told – which I was invited to attend, but declined. Watching the coverage on TV,
(it was on in the nail salon where I was getting my toes done – don’t they look pretty?) 
was enough for me. The yelling, hooting, screaming and practically unintelligible shout-outs that were given made my insides recoil. I don’t blame others for their enthusiasm, please don’t get me wrong, but I don’t seem to enjoy that kind of display at all. My reaction is one of fleeing the scene and hiding from the discomfort it brings.
Looking at photos, though, and seeing how many people attended, gives me a whiff of involvement, without the dancing around the fire in loincloths and arm pumping madness with our spears. I’m betting I was the old woman who sat off to the side and observed in that scenario. Or, just like the Chinese sign I’m born under, maybe I’m afraid I’ll be the rabbit roasting on the spit, so I run away and hide instead.
This… this scares me… I wonder why. People enjoying themselves, crushed together and wearing purple wigs… what’s there to be frightened of?
What’s with the weekend? How is it that two days of normal work week seem to take forever to get through, but the minute you wake up on a Saturday – or on vacation – whoosh!!- time seems to evaporate. I mean literally it’s just gone!
How the hell does that happen.
Know what I got done today? A big fat nothing. I slept in, took a shower, laid in bed and then took another shower, made a salad and watched TV… whew, am I exhausted. Of course I understand that we all need some time to revive our spirits and our bodies, and I did promise that 2013 was going to be the year of my body. The year where I listen a bit more to its little nuances and messages. Sleep some, worry less, walk away from work now and then, avoid dairy and gluten and anything else my body doesn’t seem to want anymore.
Oddly enough, about a year ago you couldn’t pry my cold fingers off my coffee mug. I even bought a small espresso machine after my return from Spain. Now? phht… it smells better than it tastes anymore. I’ve turned the corner to jasmine green tea instead. Hey.. the body wanted it…so there it is.
I have piles everywhere on my desk and a recovery mission on my computer and that doesn’t even begin to discuss the actual WORK I need to get done.
FYI, if you ever get it into your head to “clean up your photo files” because you have multiples, just make sure you don’t have files inside files that show up as two files in your program, because you will ultimately delete the parent file without realizing that this is what you’ve done and have to pray that a Recovery program will save whatever it can from your deleted wastebasket.
Yup, sad to say. Time with my children… trips I’ve taken… friends I’ll never see again… all fragmented and partially recovered. It’s really pretty sad, actually, but I’ll just be thankful for what has been able to be recovered and go on with that.
When I traveled to Germany (photo above), and in fact many of the places I’ve been to while in Europe, I’m awed by the open spaces I see. Rolling land for miles and miles, sometimes with hedgerows and sometimes dotted by sheep, but just rolling along and fairly unobstructed.
It always makes my chest swell with the most joyous feeling.
Back home, I’d feel constricted by the buildings and cramped skyline of my surroundings and I’d become tense and tight.
In 2005 I traveled to Montana with the thought of moving there. The more time I spent in that state, the more comfortable I became and I was convinced that I needed to move out of the concrete canyons and live somewhere with a bit more open space.
It took 7 year after that trip to finally land in a new place, but almost one year ago we moved to an area that is more open and feels more like home to me.
Funny, because my mother swore I’d be the city girl.
Now, when I get a bit tight and scrambled in the head, I go for a short drive around on local roads and I see rolling hills and fields with horses or cows, or even sheep and alpacas and I’m happy. Truly, blissfully, break out into a huge smile happy. I’m not sure what it is about the land, the trees, and the view of an open sky that generates this high, but I’m not complaining one bit.
In fact, I just got back from another drive and my goodness!, do I feel good. :0)
Awhile back I stumbled across a piece about the Electric Daisy Carnival. At the time I thought it had been a one-off kind of event and didn’t pay it much mind. Then, this past summer, I happened to see a short documentary on cable and realized that this one-off event had become a multi-city, multi-day event. After watching the documentary, I commented to Hubby, “I think I’d go to that.”
Let’s just say he was pretty shocked, since I haven’t agreed to go to a live concert in more years than I care to admit. If it wasn’t a performance done by, or involving, the children’s chorus I don’t want to go. I’m not a huge fan of live events mostly because of the audience. The screaming and hooting and general disruptive behavior of a fan “enjoying” the concert is not something I usually can come to grips with. Sitting quietly and giving your full attention to the art the musician is performing is generally my preference. Live concerts (unless you are at a symphony, maybe) aren’t normally so tame.
I think I may have found my mid-ground. If I’m not confined to a specific seat and can find a place to observe from, noisy fans don’t seem to bother me so much. Now how odd is that?
This past weekend, I decided I’d take a page from my Electric Daisy Carnival interest and jump in to see if I really could put that on my “bucket list” by going to an Infected Mushroom concert/event at a local performance venue. Aside from Infected Mushroom, there were 3 other DJ’s that were there to whip the crowd into shape.
I’m pretty sure I was the oldest person in attendance, but honestly, does that matter? Well, maybe. If by wearing a sweater and a pair of jeans, you are WAY overdressed – even if it is only 35 degrees outside, it might be time to re-think my attire for the next time I go to one of these. Surely a t-shirt wouldn’t have been out of line. I’d like to say that many of the females attending this were conservative dressers. The thing they were conserving was the use of FABRIC!!
Still, I found myself reveling in how much fun these people were having and how they didn’t seem to care that some of them were walking around in banana suits, or Mario costumes, or had made a version of chain mail from glow sticks. They were just out to have fun and I found that infectious.
Things I discovered:
Infected Mushroom put on a good show, although it was only an hour long and I would have liked to have had more of them and less of the 1st official DJ, but still and all. The thumping, the jumping, the ability to watch – not participate – in a mosh pit, and watching body surfing was quite an experience. When I had entered the venue, I had seen signs posted forbidding body surfing, which I snickered at because really…. who does that kind of thing!? Well, silly me, of course that happens. Why else would they need a sign forbidding it? And I guess if the experience of traveling about 20-30 feet while 5-6 feet above ground with people’s hands all over you is worth your price of admission (’cause trust me, they haul you outta there FAST once they see you up there) then so be it. I mean, if people get a kick out of jumping from a bridge with a rubber band attached to their feet, then who am I to question body surfing??
I think the best part of my night was the clash of my two loves; The Chorus and Electronica.
When I first got there, I bumped into one of the chorus kids. He was dressed as I would have expected him to be. He said hello, gave me a big hug and told me his friend likes this “stuff” and that he’d come with him. I know he was surprised to see me there, especially since I tell him to button his tux shirt and straighten his tie for concerts, but he seemed comfy enough. It took him two DJ’s before he lightened up enough to do the simple flat handed arm wave that seems to be the preference of dance/electronica.
The other student I bumped into when we were going for our coats after the performance. She was wearing a fairly skimpy outfit in comparison with what I normally see her in and you could tell she’d been right down in the mix, jumping and pumping her arm and enjoying the show. She came up a bit short when she saw me and her eyes got about as big as saucers before she mumbled a hello and turned on the turbo charge to leave. Lol. Poor thing. I think I shocked the hell out of her. S’ok. She’s going to France with us, so maybe we can exchange a few mp3’s and talk about different bands.
Finally, when I went to rehearsal this past week, I was relating my weekend to some of the ladies who wait in the foyer. I hadn’t seen so many jaws hit the floor in years. Why is it so hard to think that just because my JOB is all about classical music and formality, that I wouldn’t enjoy something a bit rowdy like a rave? I mean.. c’mon!! lol (actually, I understand completely, but it kinda tickles me that I’ve not become pigeon-holed by what “people your age” are supposed to be into) I’m finding more and more I’m happy to follow this line of thinking!
This morning I was dreaming I was doing archery in my parent’s basement.
Odd, because it used to be that dreaming ANYTHING about the basement was a bad dream. This morning, there was a tournament or contest of some kind and I was supposed to hit a green area on a target that was divided up into many portions. Kind of like the posters you see that describe what kind of cut of meat you’ll get if you carve a cow up a certain way. Pleasant, eh?
As an interesting point of reference, my parent’s basement was divided into two parts. We called it “This Side” and “The Other Side”. In between the two sided there was a door. This is the door that the target was posted on. (My parent’s basement had an odd energy, but that’s a different story…)
Anyway, I was in the basement and I think Hubby had strung my bow, but when I went to pull it, the string fell off. There were others in the basement who were chuckling at the failure and I got kinda angry. I was determined to string my bow (I really do have one) and show them that I could hit their target. As I was getting ready to hook the string, some guy was looking at me in a scoffing manner, as if there was no way for me to complete my task. I did it easily and he raised his eyebrows. I notched an arrow and pulled back on my string. I noticed that I had arm braces on, which I WISH I owned, but I currently don’t as my old ones came apart from overuse and I haven’t gotten to a RenFest to buy some nice leather ones. In my dream, I remember noting that since I had those on, I knew something was amiss and as I pulled the string, I got disoriented and let my arrow fly in an awkward manner. The arrow skidded across the tile floor and ended up going under the door.
Adjusting my stance and pulling the string at the proper level, I took aim with my second arrow. I remember seeing the green area clearly, and that it wasn’t exactly where I thought it would have been on the target when looking at it with two eyes, so I adjusted my aim and let her fly.
Damnit if I didn’t wake up just as it was going to hit its green mark on the door between “this side” and “the other side”. Nah, no symbolism there, eh?
I do remember dreaming something before I was in the basement during an archery challenge, but it’s mostly overshadowed by the fact that Paul Rudd was in my dream. And that I knew him. And that we kept exchanging smouldering looks of the “I know you” kind….
I know I have interesting preference in men, but c’mon…I think he’s handsome, generally seems to have a sense of humor and a perpetual smirk. That seems to be what does it for me. Harrison Ford in his Indiana Jones days, Dennis Miller before he started looking rough, Robert Downey, Jr. since he’s cleaned up some, and now… Paul Rudd. At least I’m consistent.
I think Hubby should feel very secure, don’t you?
Snippets and Tidbits 