tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62034738870273291162024-03-13T15:20:38.986-05:00rooftop melodiesMy life, as seen from the window of my second story room--the good, the bad, the mundane--all woven masterfully (I use that term liberally) into a tapestry of interest. This is my life. So I'll poke fun at it, turn embarrassment into humor, make mountains of molehills, be moody, over-dramatic, pensive and analytical, and just plain try to make you laugh, cry, think. I love writing. I love language. And I'm warning you, I may slip into Spanish every now and then. Enjoy--my life.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-47974796559481057822013-01-27T22:58:00.003-06:002013-01-27T23:03:29.053-06:00i'm backI haven't written a post on this blog in almost two years. Maybe because I just didn't feel compelled to or maybe because there didn't seem to be anything compelling going on in my life. But that's not true. I promise you, my life has been a roller coaster since April 2011. I haven't written here because I didn't want to face the last two years. I didn't want to give it importance. I didn't want it to be real....<br />
<br />
But it is real.<br />
<br />
I feel like those hoarders you see on tv. Except that my house isn't a mess. As a matter of fact it's pristine (wait, don't look in my room! I never put the clean laundry away lol.) Anyway, my living room is pristine. I just cleaned and dusted and vacuumed and washed and made everything nice and pretty. So why do I feel like a hoarder? Because for so long I have been hiding behind every conceivable self medication. Name it. Name something that would numb pain. I've done it. I promise. There probably isn't a category of numbness I haven't tried. But all those numbing agents failed.<br />
<br />
So here I am again, feeling.<br />
<br />
For the past few years instead of making New Year's resolutions (that I will fail to keep) I set a few goals for the next year. Things like "see the ocean" and "run six 5k races." I don't always follow through on them (I only ran two 5k's last year) but I don't feel bad, because they were goals and if I didn't get to all of them, then there's always next year.<br />
<br />
This year I added to the goals model in the form of some do's and don'ts. Now I'm not trying to be all legalistic on myself, setting up commandments so I'll feel guilty when I break them; just some guidelines. Things like, "don't leave dishes in the sink for more than one night" and "do drink more water." Great, right? Well, I found the list of guidelines tonight whilst cleaning. I decided to post them on the fridge so they would be more easily viewed. That's when I saw it: "don't watch more than 45 min of tv per night." Good one. I've been following that pretty well. Watching hours of tv is nothing more than wasted time. I thought of that in advance and counteracted it with a corresponding do: "do listen to the radio." Good idea, right? But listening to the radio can, effectively, be the same as watching tv, wasted time. That's where I added another do to the list and also where I started to feel like an emotional hoarder.<br />
<br />
"Do read the Bible every day."<br />
<br />
I read it as I posted it to the refrigerator. Why was that so hard to do? I'm a Christian, I teach Sunday school every week, I constantly talk about my faith, but I still find it so hard to read my Bible. How can that be? Then it occurred to me, the Bible is a big book. Sometimes I don't know where to start. There's more than 1000 pages filled with words that will bring up feelings I have been working tirelessly to numb. But tonight I knew it couldn't wait any longer...<br />
<br />
...to be continued. (I'm all outta feelings for the moment. Words too.)gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-36128070277520490852011-04-22T19:00:00.000-05:002011-04-22T19:00:06.172-05:00moody mcmoodster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sweetsbeatsandrunningfeet.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/eeyore.jpg?w=283&h=385" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://sweetsbeatsandrunningfeet.files.wordpress.com/2011/02/eeyore.jpg?w=283&h=385" width="146" /></a></div>The jury's not out on this one--I'm moody today. I'm not really sure why either (unless it has something to do with those three letters P, M, and S). It could be the afore-mentioned or it could be the gloomy weather or it could just be the fact that I have to work until 7 when my mom's surprise birthday party starts at 7. Maybe it's all of the above. Anyway, I'm moody, I'm gloomy, I'm a regular ole' Eeyore today. Maybe I'm even an Oscar the Grouch... And to be more gloomy, I'm not sure anybody even reads this anyway. It's been so long since I was in the loop with my blog and my blogging buddies, I hardly create any traffic for them and hardly get any back. It also doesn't help that most of my blogging buddies have done the exact thing I did--burn out on blogging. For some reason or another, blogging just got to be too much. My creativity was drained and I was left without an interesting thing to say, besides me griping, which, as you can clearly see right now, is not all that interesting.<br />
<br />
It's not that I don't have anything to say; it's just that sometimes what's in my heart and mind isn't really all that interesting. Or worse, it isn't something I'm ready to spill... Maybe that doesn't sound like a bad thing, but it is for me. See, writing is my outlet. Without it, I get all bottled up inside. It's just that, I'm not ready to face my fears, insecurities, faults etc and slap 'em out in print. But you have to admit, that's a pretty bold thing for anybody to do. It's not easy to put yourself out there like that. Maybe that's why I don't have a man...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cinw_hTqnIc/TZ3pqCp_4II/AAAAAAAALsg/9Qs-xR4O_NU/s320/sesame_street_PBS_oscar_the_grouch_trash_antenna_ball_topper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Cinw_hTqnIc/TZ3pqCp_4II/AAAAAAAALsg/9Qs-xR4O_NU/s320/sesame_street_PBS_oscar_the_grouch_trash_antenna_ball_topper.jpg" /></a>Anyway... I just thought I'd drop a grouchy bomb on ya'lls (if you're even there) and I'll tack on a big "sorry-for-not-visiting-any-other-blogs" on to that as well. haha. I hope your day is better than mine.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-51161812361237367712011-04-13T18:45:00.000-05:002011-04-13T18:45:23.496-05:00something to think about--simpler timesSo I moved to a new apartment, which is good, because house sitting (for the last NINE months) was driving me crazy. I need my own space! Anyway, now I'm at a 6-plex in an actual neighborhood. No more suburbs for me! I'm back in the 'hood! ha ha. Well, you know how it is in apartment-type living. There are lots of families, aka lots of <i>kids!</i> I love kids, and I love to see them have good, old fashioned fun. You know, like riding bikes and playing tag...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e6Nr71ft1dw/TaY1Yb52gyI/AAAAAAAAAN8/ox4G6fkrPGg/s1600/girl_present%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e6Nr71ft1dw/TaY1Yb52gyI/AAAAAAAAAN8/ox4G6fkrPGg/s1600/girl_present%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a>That's why it made me smile to see an old-fashioned neighborhood birthday party the other day. I knew something was up when I pulled in the parking area to see that there was a barbecue happening. Mmmmmm... grilled chicken. Furthermore, I knew it was a special day when I walked in the building and smelled some greens frying. But it all made sense when I saw the birthday girl--she was decked out in her prettiest robin's egg blue tee shirt, and had 2 crisp bills pinned to her chest--$10! Of course turning 10 was great, but just imagine how awesome it will be when she turns 20, (or so she thinks now)!<br />
<br />
All the kids from the neighborhood were swarming. I didn't see any presents (besides $10) but I did see a lot of happy faces, long into the afternoon. Maybe a great birthday is more about having fun and making memories with your family and besties than it is about presents and Chuck E Cheese and outdoing the Joneses. Hmmmm... something to think about.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-42399818860965990432011-04-11T22:46:00.001-05:002011-04-13T18:53:05.306-05:00something to think about--efficiencyIt's trying to be spring here and you know what that means, right? Messes! So as the whole world (in Minnesota) is thawing, they try to clean up the messes that winter has left behind. As I was walking back to work after a quick coffee run last week, I saw a custodian-type worker at a hotel doing just that. He was taking down some wintery/Christmas type greens arrangements that were outside the hotel, but he did it in a way that just made every ounce of my body scream, "Hasn't there got to be a better way to do that?!"<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZD-SnOEm4A/TaPLC0pv-II/AAAAAAAAAN4/_s4t-OsDT-k/s1600/lazy-city-worker%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="160" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fZD-SnOEm4A/TaPLC0pv-II/AAAAAAAAAN4/_s4t-OsDT-k/s200/lazy-city-worker%255B1%255D.jpg" width="200" /></a>See, he was painstakingly slow. He would take the least amount of greens he could carry, then uproot it from the arrangement, carry it gingerly around the corner of the building and to the dumpster where he would slowly toss it in. Then he would plod back to the front of the building and repeat the process. It was ridiculous. In the 2 minutes I watched him, I thought of 5 different ways he could have finished that job in 1/4 the amount of time it would take him to do it the way he was doing it. For instance, why didn't he just get a large garbage bag, load it up with greens, then carry the whole bag to the dumpster??? How hard is that?<br />
<br />
This whole situation lead me to think, that's what makes the difference between him and me. Between them and us... Let me explain.<br />
<br />
There are people in this life who think about everything. They decide a good way to do the task at hand, then execute it. They plan ahead, looking for better ways to do it in the future. They accept and embrace change when it's better and more efficient. They get promoted, starting at the bottom and working their way up.<br />
<br />
Then there are people who do everything the "easiest" way. If one handful of greens is all they want to muster, then gosh darnit, that's all they're going to carry! Brainstorming is not something they participate in and they never think of a better way. That would require too much effort. They don't get promoted, but remain custodians until their middle aged and wonder why life hasn't given them more.<br />
<br />
Hmmmm... something to think about.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-35526967748115581902011-03-06T23:06:00.003-06:002011-03-06T23:29:23.987-06:00introduction<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UVCRHwSUYgw/TXRSt6ojgwI/AAAAAAAAANk/lFOfqi31SK8/s1600/40968_10150241704735371_777295370_14223753_7376736_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-UVCRHwSUYgw/TXRSt6ojgwI/AAAAAAAAANk/lFOfqi31SK8/s320/40968_10150241704735371_777295370_14223753_7376736_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here's my boy when he was 4 months old or so <br />
and his name was still Emerson. I think he was<br />
born with ears that size! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>I would like to introduce you to the newest member of my family. He has four legs, a wet nose, and shiny black fur. His name was Emerson (yuck!) but we changed that after much deliberation, to Bull's Eye (yes, like the horse from Toy Story). His middle name is Fletcher (just thought of that a few weeks ago) because flecha is the Spanish word for arrow and fletching is the feather part of an arrow. I chose the arrow theme, because what goes in the Bull's Eye? An arrow! ;)<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-xodPjCKiYiU/TXRhp4_toFI/AAAAAAAAANo/z1MONMf1i2Y/s1600/DSCN2272-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-xodPjCKiYiU/TXRhp4_toFI/AAAAAAAAANo/z1MONMf1i2Y/s320/DSCN2272-1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here he is, growing bigger.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Anyway, he's super cute and sweet. He's a mix between a coon hound and a black lab (I think). He was the runt of the litter and spent the first 4 or 5 months of his life in a shelter. When he was still a little pup, he came down with pneumonia. Now he has trouble breathing when he gets nervous or excited, but that doesn't stop him from playing. He just doesn't run as well as other puppies his age and he needs to take breaks to catch his breath. After his rocky beginnings in the shelter, there was a girl who adopted him, but she was young and going to school as well as working. She wasn't able to care for him. Her parents were fed up and made her find a new home for him. So when he was 7 months old, he came to live with me.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div>He's a good boy, most of the time. He's a little possessive when it comes to toys or treats. For example, if Kai, the dog I've been watching for a long time, has a bone, Bull's Eye will steal it from him. Even if there are two bones, my dog will sit on one and chew the other. Sometimes he can be a real stinker, but most of the time he's calm to the point of lazy. That's what I like the most about him!<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-iZVGVTdcYm8/TXRp2feLSpI/AAAAAAAAANs/IGy8uDholvM/s1600/0305111028a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-iZVGVTdcYm8/TXRp2feLSpI/AAAAAAAAANs/IGy8uDholvM/s320/0305111028a.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here he is today! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>He's 10 months now, and still growing, but hopefully not much more. He goes by several aliases, including, but not limited to, Clidesdale, Wheezy, and UnderFoot.He's 50 pounds now and causing me more trouble than I could imagine. I can't find an apartment because of him and his large size, but that's ok. He's worth it. There is one apartment complex that will take us (that's not in a totally bad part of town), so we'll probably be moving there soon. Well, that's all there is to know about my puppy for now. You'll be hearing more about him in the future though!gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-19994298536815843752011-01-25T20:25:00.001-06:002011-01-25T20:39:27.363-06:00well, if you're gonna call...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.crossroadsofiowa.com/images/stressedPhone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.crossroadsofiowa.com/images/stressedPhone.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>Now that I work at a call center, I have come up with a list of things that people should know whenever they dial those numbers.<br />
<br />
<b>1. Have your stuff straight.</b> So that means, if you need an account number, PIN, employee ID, username, password, claim number or whatever else you could possibly need so that the center can recognize you, then you should have it ready and even enter it into the phone line if requested!<br />
<b>2. Take off your crabby pants! </b>I'm sincerely trying to help you, so don't get fussy with me. I didn't make any of the policies, make your supervisor unreasonable, or send your documents to the wrong address.<br />
<b>3. Don't hang up the receiver in my ear. It hurts! </b>If you're not using a wireless device with an off button, don't drop the receiver down, push the button to hang it up.<br />
<b>4. Don't ever say, "As long as I have you on the phone." </b>That one kills me every time. Even if you are thinking it, just don't say it. It signifies an inarticulate question that has been simmering loosely in the back of mind for way too long, and something that's probably going to make my call 10 minutes longer.<br />
<b>5. Spare me the details</b>. You can say, "I was billed for the wrong procedure," instead of giving me a 10 minute run-down on the current status of your mole. There are other people on the line waiting to speak to a rep, and I don't even care to hear your personal business.<br />
<b>6. Do your research.</b> Don't call with a vague question. With few exceptions, don't call to get all the information you will need to make your decision. Do your research first. Most companies have websites, brochures, and a lot of information you can access in order to educate yourself before you make any commitments. There are not many reps to serve all the clients. At my company, for instance, there are 11 reps to 60,000 clients. Help us out.<br />
<b>7. And last, but not least, <i>listen</i>!</b> If I tell you we will call you in 2 days, don't call back 2 hours later wondering why nobody has called you. If I say your at the wrong place to check on your claim, don't continue to ask about the claim!<br />
<br />
So there you have it. An insider's voice on the call center. Do you have any things you would really just like to tell your clients? Go ahead, vent!gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-85887502552103604492011-01-22T20:46:00.000-06:002011-01-22T20:46:40.097-06:00i chose neitherSo between my head and my heart, I chose neither. And I think that was the best for me. For as much as I was/am ready for a relationship, I wasn't ready for this one. So I walked away.<br />
<br />
And I don't feel bad about it.<br />
<br />
Just because somebody seemed "perfect" doesn't mean I need to be with him if he is not perfect for me. So it was the shortest relationship of all time-3 weeks. Because if you're always wishing the one you're with were more like, oh say <i>anybody</i> else, then the one you're with is not the right one for you. And if he, after 3 weeks, already tells you you need to learn how to cook and "Why do you need a dog, if you have me?" Hmmm... I got the dog first, so I guess if I have to choose...<br />
<br />
Anyway, I spent all this time wondering how I could ever love being single, and without even knowing it, my mind was changed. I guess I'll just have fun and enjoy life until the right one comes along!gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-88761917935766912492011-01-09T20:52:00.000-06:002011-01-09T20:52:48.673-06:00hmmm...When it's between your head and your heart, what do you choose? I once heard a quote that was something like this, "Don't follow your heart, lead your heart." Sounds like a good idea to me. But what if your heart doesn't want to be led? What if your heart is a quivering baby off in a corner somewhere who just wants to stay there and be safe? What if your heart had all these expectations that were so not part of reality, so now it's just disillusioned? So maybe I should just follow my head and forget about my heart completely. I'm pretty sure I know a good thing when I see it. Why do we have to have feelings anyway? They are a pain! I am <b>not</b> impressed with emotions. There, I said it. Unfortunately, I have spent so much time trying to convince myself that I don't have any emotions, cuz they got all messed up with all of my lovely exes.<br />
<br />
Hmmmm... do you think I could have both?gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-78626391049793725152010-11-20T21:24:00.004-06:002010-11-21T00:11:07.484-06:00off my chest/off my shouldersI <i>know</i> we all have times when you just want to shed a weight off your chest (like something that's stressing you out)or throw a load off your shoulders (something making you sad). That's why, periodically, I'm just going to write about something that's ticking me off or weighing me down and hopefully release myself from it.<br />
<br />
So here goes a load off my shoulders: I hate that my ex married a girl with the exact same first and middle name! For the longest time it felt like such a slap, even though it was totally illogical.<br />
<br />
Whew! That felt good! Unloaded!<br />
<br />
Do you have a burden to hurl off? Comment!gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-37923415105779288162010-11-09T22:39:00.002-06:002010-11-09T23:09:13.445-06:00i wish...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>...I had a sister.<br />
<br />
I really do. I wish we had grown up playing together, fighting, commiserating with, competing against, sharing clothes with a sister. I wish we'd drawn a line down the middle of our room and threatened each other if one item was out of place in our <i>side.</i> I wish we'd sneaked out the window at midnight together and spent the whole day at the pool together and hated each other <b>so much</b> but then thought better of it and made up the next day. I wish we'd braided and pulled and curled and cut each other's hair. I wish we'd stayed up all night telling stories and talking about boys. I wish we'd gone shopping and sat all day in the book store reading magazines and buying none. I wish we would have cried when one or the other went to college and promised to call and text and email all the time, then only done it <i>half of the time </i>cuz we just didn't anticipate how having our own lives would have changed us. But then we'd get together for a weekend or over the summer and pick right up where we left off. That's what sisters do. I wish that when our hearts had broken we'd cry on the other's shoulder, then pick up the pieces and put them back together over ice cream and chic flicks. I wish that when we met <i>the one</i> we'd be equally thrilled for the other, and jump up and down screaming like we were 13 year olds winning tickets to see Justin Beiber. I wish we'd be each other's maids of honor and give wonderful speeches, full of inside jokes, at the reception. I wish we'd have our babies and be so proud of each other. We'd love those little chunky monkeys like they were our own. And even if we moved across the state or country or world from each other, we'd always be inseparable. We'd always be sisters, knit together in our hearts.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thundafunda.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/portrait-painting-gallery-249.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://thundafunda.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/portrait-painting-gallery-249.jpg" width="145" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Sisters and Book</i>, Painting by Iman Maleki<br />
<a href="http://imanmaleki.com/en/Galery/sistersandbook.htm">http://imanmaleki.com/en/Galery/sistersandbook.htm</a></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I wish I hadn't wished so much. I wish I never expected my brother's wives to even be half of what I hoped I could have had in a sister. I wish Baby Brother finds the perfect woman, one who has room for another sister. And last but not least, I wish I marry a man with sisters who understand me, or no sisters at all.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-10948165714807026272010-10-10T03:40:00.000-05:002010-10-10T03:40:29.854-05:00to strangersHow is it that I want to share everything with you, people who do not know me? How is it that I can let down my guard and expose my heart to you, ones who have never met me? How is it that I cannot/will not let the ones who love me most in, but I will open my door to strangers? How is it that I can express myself to you almost uninhibitedly while simultaneously locking myself behind bars of my own creation?<br />
<br />
Is it possible that you won't care enough to hurt me? Or perhaps I have kept you far enough out to let you in... As in, I have hidden my identity enough to be anonymous while at the same time completely <i>nonymous. </i>Could it be that I really just want to share this life, to feel that I am not unobserved--that my life will not go unnoticed--to make my unvoiced thoughts and opinions valid?! But this is my own doing! I refuse to let anyone in the real world <i>know</i> me. I hide myself enough to be acceptable, funny, charming, mysterious... But really I am complex, potentially psychotic, possibly unacceptable. There is so much in my mind--things I wish to share, to validate. Do I have no equal? Is there no one worthy of my trust?<br />
<br />
I've said too much.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-3020433222084156142010-10-09T17:06:00.000-05:002010-10-09T17:06:16.283-05:00it'd be nice to let down my guard<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">There are days when I am acutely aware of the thoughts/feelings behind my actions. Until recently, there has been a black band guarding my left ring finger--as if to scare away the bad ones and thereby deter the good ones. But I wish I could change everything about the way I protect myself sometimes, but I'm not ready to drop my guard or my walls. I can't. I won't be hurt again. And despite all the walls I put up to keep people out--to keep them from hurting me--I know there is no way to make that a reality. People will slip through the cracks and into my heart, thereby holding some sort of power over me. Little, unintentional things will hurt me. I can't avoid it. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And that makes me wonder... are the things I <i>do</i> avoid things I am really missing out on? By limiting my exposure to the world, am I missing opportunities to love and be loved, to enjoy life, to experience a depth of connection that I am currently lacking? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And you know, I still feel good with that ring on my left hand. It feels safe... and boring. I'd like to forget about being safe, though, and take a risk. But every time I move the ring, I remember what it's like to cry myself to sleep, to be betrayed, to know that I am not valuable in the eyes of the one I love, and I never want to experience that again. So the ring goes back to the left, my heart goes back behind bars, and I am safe again. But the question always lingers, "Is it really worth it?"</span></span></div>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-79069132774533375082010-10-07T23:21:00.000-05:002010-10-07T23:21:24.224-05:00uninspired dreamerMy new room does not inspire creativity. This new house does not have a creative spot in it anywhere. This neighborhood does not contain a creative area within 3 blocks! I'm feeling rather blah lately. So yeah, I'm really missing my second story apartment. I may just have to take my computron to work with me, so I can stare out the window at the beautiful architecture all around to be inspired to write something. Heck, I can hardly write a facebook status update anymore. What am I going to do?gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-33717392861351885722010-09-21T23:04:00.000-05:002010-09-21T23:04:57.470-05:00i've been thinkin'I know, it's pretty dangerous when I start thinking! But I've been doing a lot of that lately. haha... That kind of implies that I didn't spend much time thinking before... which isn't true. I guess the subject of my thoughts is what's changed. I have a lot of thoughts that I want to share, and some thoughts that should just stay in my head. But one of those thoughts that runs through my mind often is this blog. I've wanted to write several times and even thought about subject matter, but somehow it fades by the time I get home from work.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, I haven't really written anything of late for that exact reason. Starting a new job is stressful regardless of whether or not there is a smooth transition. Especially in this position. I'm in my 6th week of training and I still have 6 weeks to go before I'm "all trained in." I'm glad I've already had a background in HR to prep me for all this subject matter. But even taking that into consideration, this is still stressful! And come to think of it, I've only lived in this new location for 3 months. Moving is stressful, too. I haven't made many friends yet, even though I lived here most of my childhood and teenage years. Everything has changed and most of my old friends are gone by now. Making friends can be hard when you're starting over for the first time in a long time...<br />
<br />
Now I'm not saying these things are bad. They are actually very good! It's great to be out of my dead-end job, commuting 103 miles a day (or 76 miles at my old apartment). It's good to be out of the old atmosphere, thinking about my dead-end ex every day. It's good to be starting over.<br />
<br />
So I guess I need your help/input. Have you ever started over? How did you make friends? Did you meet a man and fall in love :D? Does he have a brother/son ;D? I need some advice here ladies! Help me get back in my groove. Oh, and thanks for sticking around and waiting for me to get my act together and come back to the bloggy world.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-49800873072500798272010-08-19T23:25:00.000-05:002010-08-19T23:25:22.065-05:00whirlwindsSo everything has pretty much changed since the last time I wrote on here. It all happened so fast, I've just been caught up in the twister. Really, I should have been blogging you all right through it, but then, my life is more interesting to me than it is to you, I'm sure! Plus also, (as Junie B. Jones would say :) it's summer and I'd rather be in my pool than tooling around on blogger. Sorry!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I'm sure you're all <i>dying</i> to know about all of these changes, right?! Well, it started with me applying for some jobs. Then a few weeks later (if that) there was a phone call to set up a phone interview. Gulp! I waited... They said they would e-nail me by the end of the week either way. They called 3 hours later. After that there was a personal interview (in front of a panel, no less!). Then there was the wait! They called my boss for a reference check, and she, of course, said wonderful, amazing things about me and probably got me the job. I hope I can live up to her stellar reference... I love her! :D And I miss her too :'(. Most bosses wouldn't do that. But she knew I was not up for driving 2 hours a day any longer than I had to.<br />
<br />
So my last day at the old job was last Wednesday. I have now completed 2 days of orientation at my new job and 2 days of training. Well, I'm ready now for anything, right? Wrong. This position requires <b>twelve weeks</b> of training. That's right, count 'em. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 12!! Yikes! But I'm sure I'll be <b><i>uber</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> prepared by then. I'd rather be over trained than make a lot of mistakes. </span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br />
</span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">And speaking of making mistakes, I can't make the one of staying up too late before work. I'll try to be more active in the bloggy world again and get back to reading your blogs, too! </span></b>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-41946633870154237382010-07-17T22:15:00.001-05:002010-07-18T00:42:00.784-05:00flashing before my eyesDo you ever suddenly feel pretty darn old? Every time I roll my eyes at a teenager or see a couple who's younger than I am with a minivan and two children, I feel old. Of course, the fact is, I'm not really that old. Heck, I'm still in my mid-twenties! Maybe just the fact that I am no longer on the bottom of the totem poll is making me realize that I'm no <i>kid</i> anymore.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://blogs.ubc.ca/missionfitpossible/files/2009/12/time-flies-clock-10-11-2006.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="time-flies-clock-10-11-2006" border="0" height="160" src="http://blogs.ubc.ca/missionfitpossible/files/2009/12/time-flies-clock-10-11-2006.gif" width="200" /></a>For example, last night my friend and I were out on the town. As we walked down the street, we saw a group of teens walking around with big name badges and matching tee-shirts. They were giggling and flirting and bee-bopping down the sidewalk in one giant swarm of <i>youth conferencyishness. </i>For a second, my friend and I were annoyed by their OMGing and generally loud demeanor. But then we remembered that, 10 years ago, we were the same way. And in that moment, I felt a little old. It's hard to believe that I'm already 10 years from matching tee-shirt youth conferences.<br />
<br />
I think the reason behind this is that I have reached very few of the "normal" milestones for adulthood. Let's see, 1. I have a full-time job. 2. I have graduated from college. 3. I own a car (and I have since I was a teenager. Maybe that one doesn't count.) 4. ...Well, that's all she wrote, folks. I can't think of a fourth one. Maybe I'd start feeling like I belong in my 26 years if I had my own place or if I were married or had kids or something. Or maybe time just really does pass that fast. I guess pretty soon I'll be dead. x-(gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-50883691363819811862010-07-11T23:22:00.001-05:002010-07-11T23:22:38.648-05:00tired<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">i'm so tired of trying</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">i put this black ring on my finger</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">cuz i'm tired of lying</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">around, sitting here waiting</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">for someone to fly in</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">and sweep me off my feet</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">this life is not a fairy tale</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">and it's not fair as far as I can tell</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">cuz it's the ones who gave me hell</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">who are living the life I wanted, well</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">the life i think i wanted</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">or thought, because this life is not</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">what i thought it would be</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">now is time to wake up and see</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">that there's no such things as</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">happily ever after endings</span>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-19175572174565269762010-07-08T00:07:00.001-05:002010-07-08T00:12:11.604-05:00changes, changes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://adlads.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/moving6pf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://adlads.files.wordpress.com/2008/03/moving6pf.jpg" width="178" /></a>So I moved. I'm now living with Army Wife and Husband. Soon Army Husband will be shipping out (just to the next state) and it will be just us chicas (plus Little Brother who is living in the basement somewhere. He occasionally peeks his head out.) She'll be shipping out sooner or later also, but that's well in the future. For now, I'll just enjoy my Adventure in Suburbia.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lifeatthebar.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/moving-boxes.jpg?w=450" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://lifeatthebar.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/moving-boxes.jpg?w=450" width="166" /></a>Anyway, if I seem scarce lately, it's because I just moved and I drive 103 miles to and from work a day. I'm tired when I get home and I guess I don't really have anything to give by then, not even to my blog. Besides, I'm <b><i>still</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> unpacking boxes and totes.</span></b> But hopefully I can find a job in the area soon and things will become more settled. Until then I'll just be gathering the bloggy ideas in my head, maybe writing them down on paper so I can spit 'em out again here. See you cats later!gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-23855561097293476262010-06-29T23:09:00.000-05:002010-06-29T23:09:43.635-05:00hate crimes--punishment based on motives?I've been thinking about it lately... is it fair to punish so-called "hate crimes" more harshly than "regular" crimes? Who decides when it becomes a hateful crime? Is it less wrong to commit a crime with non-hateful intentions? Are "hate crimes" mere political jargon? If so, then why and to what end?<br />
<br />
Now you be the judge. Which crime is worse?<br />
<br />
Burning a church because the pastor offended you <b>or</b> burning a church because they are Christians?<br />
Assaulting a man because he did not return the money you loaned him <b>or </b>assaulting a man because he is gay?<br />
Slashing someone's tires because she is dating your ex <b>or</b> slashing someone's tires because she is black?<br />
Shooting a child because she was in the way of your drive-by <b>or </b>shooting a child because she is Muslim?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And who determines what is hateful? Is it hateful to believe that homosexuality is wrong? When does hating become a crime in itself? Where do you draw the lines? Is putting a Koran in a toilet a hate crime? It has been charged as one. Is putting a Bible or the Book of Mormon or the Talmud in a toilet a hate crime? Is a crucifix in a jar of urine a hate crime? No, <i><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/d/de/Piss_Christ_by_Serrano_Andres_(1987).jpg">Piss Christ</a></i> is a "work of art." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So who determines what is a hate crime? What do you think?</div>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-24115530193202505572010-06-29T01:19:00.000-05:002010-06-29T01:19:23.712-05:00terrible beauty<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><a href="http://www.peacocks.co.uk/graphics/product_images/pPEAC1-6606935v400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.peacocks.co.uk/graphics/product_images/pPEAC1-6606935v400.jpg" width="138" /></a>Today I was shopping at one of my favorite stores, Target, when I was drawn to the pajama area. I love jammies. They are my weakness... Well, <i>one </i>of them. I grabbed a pair of yellow flowered boxers and a ribbed blue tank. "Perfect summer pj's," I thought. As I put them in my basked, I saw a skimpy, white, little thing. It was so pretty and sexy. I wished, "I hope I will need that some day." </div><br />
<br />
Then I realized. I'm stuck somewhere between being the girl who, in her desperation, buys the lingerie even though she has no need for it and the girl who buys whatever she pleases, just because she likes it not caring what anybody thinks. I am neither of those girls. Desperation looks terrible on me, and I'm still not ready to give up and get 7 cats.<br />
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So here's to hoping that maybe someday I'll just need that pretty little thing.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-83194637499397591242010-06-26T10:29:00.000-05:002010-06-26T10:29:32.583-05:00six word saturday<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><i>I'm 26 now, so let's party! </i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span><br />
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</i></div></span></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.showmyface.com/search/label/6WS"><img src="http://i395.photobucket.com/albums/pp35/showmyface/guts/6wsButton.jpg" /></a>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-65867885863509518432010-06-04T13:12:00.006-05:002010-06-07T20:00:09.613-05:00every smile liesEvery smile lies in the shadow of many tears. There is no hope. All is in vain.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-3193960034431305022010-06-01T23:45:00.002-05:002010-06-02T00:04:57.690-05:00odd one out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://rebeccaknowles.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/368423510_71639f981d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://rebeccaknowles.files.wordpress.com/2008/10/368423510_71639f981d.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Have you ever felt like you don't belong? Do you ever feel guilty when you know you didn't do anything wrong? I was feeling both of those things today.<br />
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For some reason I constantly feel like I'm so "young" compared to other people my age... and not in a good way. It's more like a late-bloomer type of feeling. I'm going to be 26 this month and I really haven't reached any of the societal "norms" for people my age. I'm not married or even dating. I don't have any kids. I don't own a house. I don't even have my own place. I don't really have a career. Heck, I don't even have a pet! Where do I belong, then? I'm not a college student anymore. I'm certainly not in high school. But I'm also not a parent, or even a part of a young married couple. I'm single, but I'm not a career girl. So what am I? Who am I?<br />
<br />
So that being said, I really have no responsibilities. Yeah, it's kinda nice, but at the same time, it makes me feel guilty. I see other people my own age struggling to care for families and children. They are investing time and energy into their marriage relationships. They are paying mortgages on houses. I do none of those things and it makes me feel like I'm irresponsible or something. I realize that it's ridiculous to feel this way, but that doesn't change how I feel. It's like feeling bad for eating food knowing that there are starving people in the world. Not eating won't make it any better for them, but it seems like you have to make up for the loss in some way.<br />
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People always ask me, "So what do you want to do with your life? What career are you interested in?" That's one of those questions that you should make up an answer to. Telling people, "Well, all I ever really wanted to be is a wife and mother," is not exactly a popular response. It may be the truth, but it sure does sound desperate.<br />
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I <i>know</i> my position in life shouldn't define me. I <i>know</i> I bear no guilt because I can watch tv at night while others have to lull babies to sleep. I <i>know</i> I'm not a bad person because I wake up later since I'm the only one I have to get ready in the morning. But <i>knowing</i> doesn't make me <i>feel</i> any more worthy or belonging.gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-42050428241029639952010-05-18T22:54:00.002-05:002010-05-18T23:03:55.091-05:00<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="http://centerforfinancialinclusionblog.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/first_birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://centerforfinancialinclusionblog.files.wordpress.com/2009/09/first_birthday.jpg" width="200" /></a>Well, time flies and the years flash right before my eyes. Sounds like a good beginning to a poem. Maybe it will make an appearance on <i><a href="http://www.rooftopharmonies.blogspot.com/">rooftop harmonies</a>. </i>Anyway, <i>rooftop melodies</i> is turning <b>one year old</b> tomorrow. I can't believe it's been so long. Then at the same time, it doesn't feel that long at all. At the same time as so much has changed, it seems like not much has changed at all.</div><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">Part of me feels like I should have done a massive giveaway and invited all my bloggy friends to a party and had fireworks and fanfare. But the other part of me remembers why I started this blog--I love to write. Also, I need an outlet for all the craziness that goes on inside my head on a daily basis. So I decided against the giant party, cool giveaway (sorry), and party favors.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/multimedia/archive/00018/itch_18445t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://www.independent.co.uk/multimedia/archive/00018/itch_18445t.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>Instead I decided to celebrate <i>rooftop melodies' </i>birthday with a little allergic reaction. That's right. I ate some super nasty food (note to self, <b><i><u>"AVOID THE 'BEAR'S DEN AT ALL COST!'"</u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">) at some middle-of-nowheresville restaurant on Sunday night and ever since my whole body has been itching continuously. It feels like a fiery, burning itch that comes from the inside. I have had to go to the bathroom at work and pretty much strip so I could scratch away. It's a good thing we have a one-person bathroom! It could be a little disturbing if there were other people there. And really, this isn't what I wanted to or was planning on writing about for the completion of my first blogging year, but I'm so consumed by this itch, that I can't really think about anything else. </span></i></b><br />
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">Well, I'm going to throw on my jammies and hop into bed and hopefully by the time our actual birthday rolls around tomorrow, I'll be itch free. Good night friends, and pass the hydrocortisone! </span></i></b>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6203473887027329116.post-82925954679156508502010-05-11T23:16:00.002-05:002010-05-11T23:20:42.183-05:00esta es una novelaThe sound of slamming doors resonates in my ears. Not real slamming doors, though, just the literal sound that the proverbial door would make as it slams shut in my face. I did this to myself, you know.<br />
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But that's how life is, right? You walk toward the door to see if it's the way you should go. If it stays open to let you pass through, then you know that was not a misstep. However, when the door closes, you look for another option. Unfortunately, if you throw a little deception into the mix, add a few people--new and old--then shake it up really well, you will undoubtedly get a disastrous combination, which, when left to simmer, will always result in <b><i>slamming </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">doors<i>.</i></span></b><br />
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I hate drama. Or so I like to say. I'm not sure if I believe myself, seeing as I always seem to end up with a double helping of it. I think I secretly crave the stuff...<br />
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Oh, and in other news, my mother was right. I really <i>cannot </i>be expected to expound on this topic, as it is just too harsh of a reality. Honestly, it needs some time to sink in. Even then, my pride may not be able to handle conversing about the subject. You know, he has a very volatile countenance, and can be agitated easily. If allowed, he will suffer unmitigatedly over the smallest things. He will lash out in his own defense as if it were the last and only thing he owned. Yes, my pride is an unruly little bugger. I think we should just leave him alone right now. Maybe we'll revisit this subject after he's had his Prozac.<br />
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">Speaking of medication, I really should take my allergy meds. If I don't, my ears will snap, crackle, and pop as if they were enjoying a hearty helping of Rice Crispies. It makes wallowing in my misery all the more difficult while I'm attempting to sleep. I simply cannot be distracted by allergy ears when I have such important things going on!</span></i></b><br />
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<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">I have a Bible study to lead tomorrow night. I was planning on studying it last night along with tonight. Unfortunately I changed my life from the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Devotion<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> channel to the all-night </span>Super Novela <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">channel, where we say and mean, "</span>Mas drama que nunca!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">" But something inside of me insists that Bible study can only be good for me, especially right now. I'm going to give it a try. I had better prepare my pride first though, as he's sure to have his toes stepped upon. </span></span></i></b>gorriónhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14174454896659475987noreply@blogger.com1