My own worst enemy

There are two very different people that come together to make up Sam.
Notice I said "come together" not "combine"
This distinction is very very important.

One of those people is logical, practical, giving, low key and laid back.
That girl loves wearing jeans and size four skater shoes.
She will spend hours in a bookstore just running her hands up and down the shelves.
That girl enjoys cooking elaborate meals.
She loves decorating her living space, especially if there loud music playing.
That girl worries and frets about how her siblings are growing up
She buys them clothes for their bodies and books for their souls
That girl has a five year plan that involved getting a well paying job and finishing school in order to be able to apply for a job that will take her all over the world. That girl has completed year one of said plan. She has been diligent. She even managed to visit three states and Mexico (twice!) while undergoing a grueling year of training. She went to a combat school and learned to fight with some really tough ass people. She's happy in her relationship and loves her dog and her books. She loves naps and sleeping in. She's a little nervous about going to school but also can't wait. Her hair is blonde and growing out long, her body looks pretty good most of the time, her personality is bubbly and excited and she is happy. Content almost.


The other girl that makes up Sam is wild, spontaneous, irresponsible, selfish and fun.
This girl loves stomping around in boots and climbing trees... or rocks.
She believes that history and new places should be climbed on, even if the sign forbids it.
This girl wants to know everyone's darkest secret and what makes them tick.
She's fearless.
This girl will do/has done almost anything for an adrenaline rush.
She wants to travel not just to see the world, but to stay and live among different cultures.
This girl doesn't care about family. She made it out alive on her own, they will too.
She swims in the ocean at night and only goes repelling when the moon is shining.
This girl loves meeting strangers and leaving them before she tires of them.
This girl is reason I move constantly. She wants to dye her hair dark again and be mysterious. Why I can't ever feel complete and content. She's a wild ride and when I let her take control stories are made. She has her motorcycle license and drives her car like she's in a high speed chase at all times. This girl believes shots make everyone better friends and don't have calories. She can field strip a 1911 .45 in 24 seconds. This girl believes there is more to life then 40 work hour weeks and nights watching movies on the couch. She just needs the funding to back her dreams.

But the other half of me knows and understands that if I want to make it in the years to come with out repeating Hawaii then I need money, which means I need a job. Which means I need school, which is why I spent the last year training at this job so I can pay for school.

Almost a year ago the two halves of my personality made a pact. Follow the five year plan, let the logical side of me be in control. Really it was only fair, seeing as the wild side of me had been basically running the show since... well most of my life. The wild side was still mostly in control while I was working at the keg and going through eight bloody months of the hiring process for my current job. But in October of last year I started my new job and the wild side of me willingly walked into a cage and gave away the key. For the last year I've let logic and good sense rule me while the other part of me has been locked away. I suspect logic has been slipping the other part of me vicodin because it's been a really peaceful year. Mostly. There have been nights like tonight where the other half of me wakes up and rattles her cage, yelling and hollering with all she has. The Boy has learned to recognize those nights. Usually cause the house is completely moved around. Or because I've disappeared with a friend looking for an adventure that is close to home and come home muddy and bruised. There's been two occasions when she's escaped her cage and I've come home with a piercing or a tattoo.

I love both parts of me. They make me, well, me. I love being logical and laid back. I love being spontaneous and a trouble maker. Maybe one day I can get them to live in harmony together. In the meantime they are like two sisters too close in age. Pushing and shoving for control and attention but occasionally working together smoothly.





My friends always joked that I was born with nine lives. Thanks to my reckless and daring self it can be said I've gone through a few of those already. I want to live a life worth writing about. But I only have a few more lives left. So logic gets a to try her hand and see if can't be more successful then living spontaneously.



Now, off to see 127 hours. Hopefully watching a movie about a daredevil that ends up having to saw his arm off will shut the wild side of me up. Or at least temporarily scare her into silence.

To Be Understood

Don't you love when you stumble upon something that you connect with? This website constantly posts things like this that describes me or my feelings so... well perfectly. One day I will meet the fabulous person who posts these and we will run away together and have grand adventures.

One day...

The Gods Clearly Hate Me

In case I was confused, this morning is a perfect reminder as to why I'm soooo not having children.

Sunday night I got off work at 10pm. Got home, loaded up the dog and met Jess over at the dog park. Jess has a German Shepard (Raine) and a Papillon (London). The dog park is technically closed after 10pm, but it's completely fenced in and just happens to be the size of a running track. So we kind of ignore the rules. So we run and chat and walk and run again. Bodhi, Raine and London follow us, or run ahead of us or ignore us completely and just pee on everything. Which they should, it's a dog park. It's really adorable to watch London run with us on her little legs. She can keep up, but only if she doesn't lose focus.

I'm slightly scared that she will run too hard for her little body and have a heart attack. But she seemed to handle 3 miles just fine. Better then me actually. It's distressing to see a five pound dog at me with pity while I huff and puff.

So last night we run. We finish about midnight, Bodhi and I find our way home. I have a been having a hard sleeping lately, so I've been taking sleeping pills. Not a huge deal, except for the fact that while i'm sleeping I am out. Completely. The zombies could rise and I would just roll over and pull the blankets over my head.

The Boy gets home about 7am. He takes the dog out for another walk. Cursing the whole time about living in apartments and three flights of stairs. Or so I assume. As I said, I was out, like a light.

At 9am Bodhi started to cry. Have you heard a dog whimper and whine? It's really pathetic sounding. I was in such a deep sleep that I heard it in my dreams first. When I finally woke up I stumbled out of the room, peered around, saw that the dog had food and water, peered at the dog and stumbled back into the room.

"Matt! Did you walk the dog when you got home?!"
"mumble mumble"
"Matt!"
"mumble mumble yes"

I turned to the dog.

"He says he walked you. I have a fuzzy memory of running at a dog park with you.
So you are clearly well fed, exercised and have had plenty of time to poop. GO TO BED."

I fell into the bed.

Possibly moments later we hear a crash.
My first and only thought was oh no the book cases. We're in the middle of moving, so all my books have been packed away but the empty bookcases are still in the living room, looking forlorn. So I figured the crash was one of those falling over. I thought about getting up again, but really, if it had already fallen over what good would I be doing by putting it back up? It would just fall over again. And any mess it created could clearly wait.
Thank Hera the boy dragged himself out of bed to investigate. I heard a moment of yelling, a moment of whining and then the boy falling back into bed.

Two hours later my alarm went off. I stumbled out of bed. I opened my bedroom door.
AND WALKED INTO A WALL OF STENCH.

Bodhi had been crying because he was sick. Like, food poisoning sick. You know the kind that makes you so sick that all the poison comes out both ends. Bodhi finally gave up on making it out doors and proceeded to vomit and poop all over the living room.

As I was gagging I tried to look for Bodhi. There was so much shit (literally) that I was afraid I would find a dying dog who I would have to hold and cry because I didn't believe him and some how this was all my fault. Luckily I found him cowering under the table, sure that he was in trouble for making a mess.

I felt so awful. Oh my god I'm a terrible person. So I hugged him, petted him, made sure he wasn't still sick (he wasn't) and then realized that I had exactly five minutes to get ready if I was going to make it work on time. So I run in the bedroom, tell the boy the bad news and dash out the door.

The Boy wakes up seven hours later to go to work. Stumbles out of bed. Opens the bedroom door.
AND WALKS INTO A WALL OF STENCH.

He does a quick clean up then dashes out the door to work.

Cut to midnight last night. I walk in the door to find a pathetic looking dog. Although most of the poop and vomit were gone the smell and the stains remained. Lingered. Preeminent. Bodhi didn't like the smell anymore then we do. There was only one option. I donned my gas mask and took to scrubbing.

Oh My God.

The carpet is ruined. I'm still grossed out hours later. The stench is a living things, stalking me from room to room. I'm hiding in the bedroom and scared to go out and face the living room. Bodhi just cowers under the table.

And all this happened because The Boy and I decided to sleep through Bodhi's warning. Clearly we will be terrible parents.

Well Hello There December. When Did You Get Here?

Holy stressful month batman.

I am sooo grateful November is over.
Also a little confused at how it is already over.
I mean seriously, where did it go? I only remember living like two weeks of it.

Tyson got married.
Dinner/drink dates with fabulous friends. Multiple Nights
Thanksgiving was in there somewhere.
Work. Lots of work.
And the rest was filled with house hunting.

Yep that sums up November.

Oh and to clarify. We are hunting houses to RENT. Not own.
Don't be silly. Buying a house is waaayyy to much commitment for me.


This week we kind of stumbled on the most perfect house. It's love.
We met the owners, did a walk through and as of 30 minutes ago, submitted renters applications. Now we wait. I hate waiting. Hate. Loathe. But for this pretty house? Well I guess I work on my patience. Ah, the funny things we do for love.

God, I know you don't owe me favors. But if you could make this happen...

It's the little things sometimes

I had hoped that by writing about Robin I would magically feel better, that the situation would be better and that life could continue as it was before.

Not surprisingly to everyone but me.. it didn't work that way.

I'm not sleeping well. The night terrors are back in full force. I don't remember them much, just wisps of images and shadows on the edge of my memory. I can see The Boy is torn between letting me grieve and trying to make me happy. Which would be sweet if I wasn't so distracted. I've spent the last few days mostly in my own head.

Today I got home from work and just crawled into bed with The Boy. Unfortunately me crawling under the covers woke The Boy up. My heart was set on sleeping at least a little bit, so I promised him he could wake me up in 2 hours.

Those 2 hours went by way too quickly.

Now, you should know, I can be pretty shifty when I want to keep sleeping. I mean, I will flat out lie.
"Ugh, I'm not feeling very good"
"No Mckenna, I'm not going to wear a braid again. I'll get up in 5 min to do my hair"
"Just 15 more minutes.."
"Oh that's not my alarm, that's Lachelle's"
"The meeting was canceled"
"I'm up I'm up"
"It's a snow day..?"

So The Boy is being persestant about me being concious. The jerk. I mumble something about needing 5 more minutes. He doesn't get the hint (or ignores it) and keeps poking me.

Boy - Saaamm Wake up. I lonely.
Me - mumble mumble
Boy - Please? I want to play, I want to go out. Wake up!
Me - Go play with the dog. Bodhi likes you.
Boy - Bodhi isn't good company all he does is run up to me with his rope and
Says "throw the rope"
So I throw the rope. Then Bodhi runs up to me and says "Throw the rope"
I try to wrestle with him... he thinks I'm trying to steal his rope and
he runs away.
I mean it's fun for an hour, but now I'm over it.

Sadly, this is a very accurate description of the dog.
And my life.

Thank Hera for The Boy. He's going to get me through this.

Many lifetimes ago, I worked at a fortune 500 company. Within a few months I was promoted to the training staff. I was 22 and lost. In my job, in my romantic life, in all paths actually. I was 22 and I was already resigned to my life.

Enter Robin.

She was in my first training class. Blonde, sweet and excitable we instantly became friends. I'm still not sure how much older Robin is then me, somewhere in her thirties or forties. It's hard to put an age on her, she contains a mixture of gaiety, experience, and hope. Life had clearly knocked her down a few times, but Robin remains unfazed. She was eager to learn and in typically Robin fashion she attacked the job with gusto, rising to become a fellow team lead with me maybe six months after we first met. She was good at her job, she was good with her underlings and she was determined.

Robin is the ultimate free spirit, wild child and hippie. Our boss had joked that she hired her mostly because her resume was so random she had to get to know her better. Robin had done everything from working as a professional clown to working in a small town near the ski slopes making zilch just so she could spend all her time and money on fresh powdered snow. At one point she decided that she wanted to see all the states in America, so she got a job as a truck driver. She made it to every state except Hawaii, Alaska and South Dakota. Robin lived the life she wanted to live. And she lived that life where ever the wind happened to blow her. When she went to Vegas with her boyfriend and a few friends, someone drunkenly suggested that it wouldn't be Vegas without a wedding. Without missing a beat Robin was married a few hours later. But for all her free living ways, Robin has a practical streak a mile wide in her. Her life settled down drastically with the arrival of her son. Realizing that her marriage was falling apart, she left. Took her 1 year old son and lived successfully as a single mother for the next 9 years. She saw the job we shared as a way to make life easier for her and her son even if it wasn't her dream job. The first year she worked there she called out sick 3 times. THE WHOLE YEAR.

I can't sum up Robin. It's taken me 20 minutes to write the above paragraph. I keep trying to capture her essence in nice neat little sentences and I can't. I can't explain how she was so good at her job but so excitable that we use to joke about having to pull her claws out of the ceiling like a cat. Or within only a few months of knowing each other she brought in a postcard for me that had a signpost that said "lost" instead of a street name. Robin taught Cliff to juggle in an effort to distract him from how much he hated his job. She helped me with the office pranks. She was a tireless defender when she felt one of her friends was not treated right.

I went through my reservation road break up while I worked with her. I've never been a big crier, but there was one day when my heart was heavy and bleak. Robin was like me, hating to show weakness and would never dream of crying in public. Imagine my surprise when she told me in soft tones about her divorce and told me to expect days feeling nothing but relief that I was finally free of a bad situation. Then there would be days when I would feel so crushed, feel the impact of my failure and feel like the sun would never rise again. She told me it was ok to have days like that, that it was part of the healing process.

I worked every day with her for almost two years. When I told her I was leaving for Hawaii she squealed and jumped up and down with me. Even though she knew I would never go back to that job. For almost two years she was one of my closest confidants.

We never fully lost touch. When I started my job at the Keg she was there opening night. We did a few pool days, I'd stop by the office a couple times and a few girls nights out that left blurry, happy memories. We talked on the phone a couple times a month, then a once a month, then a couple times a year. We never stopped loving each other, life just kept getting in the way. We probably made plans to do dinner six different times this last summer. It always fell through. But it was ok, we both understood how life gets.

She called me on my birthday. I was excited and surprised. She laughed and told me "I'm good with dates. As long as you live I'll never forget your birthday. So don't change your number, cause I'm always going to call you".

Robin went in for a routine surgery on Friday. She was sent home and was healing slowly. Sunday she aspirated. We don't know how long she went without oxygen. She's been ICU since Sunday night.

She has a 1% chance of waking up. If she does she will have severe brain damage.

Robin, I'm sorry my words fail you. I'm sorry I can't explain to the world what it is losing.

I...

Just a taste

Halloween weekend was spent in Texas this year.

With The Boy's family. At a renaissance faire. Which meant that we got to wear costumes on TWO days instead of just one. Drink and eat all sorts of yummy foods while walking around staring at all the vendors and shows. So much fun.

I'm sure I'll write more about it in the next day or two. But for now, just know this:


I met Sampson this weekend and I think I love him. I've already asked The Boy if I can have him for christmas. The Boy said no, but I'm pretty sure he's just trying to trick me so I'll be surprised on Christmas day.




Clearly we are meant to be together.

The Science of Sleep And Me

I'm a big fan of sleep.
My deep love of naps is epic sonnet material.

But I don't actually sleep all that much. Maybe it's because I'm such a fan of naps. For the last three years in fact I've done most of my sleeping in four hour sets. Partly its because there is just too much to see and soo much to do. And read. And watch.

But just because I ignore you sleep, doesn't mean I don' t love you. I mean, don't I buy you nice things like expensive pillows, super soft foam pads. Remember the amazing blanket I bought for you in Mexico? I may ignore you but at least I buy you presents.

Also, Sleeping WITH people is interesting to me. Yes, I'm talking about actually sleeping.

When I was in junior high I met the Taylors. Mckenna and Mel... two sisters who shared all my secrets and jokes and love. When we would do sleepovers, which was at least once a week, we slept three to a bed because we couldn't bear to be seperated. Most of the time Jewels would join us too. So three girls side by side in a queen sized bed, and little Mel laying the opposite way on our feet. Even though I'm from a big family I had never slept in that close of quarters before. I loved it. I remember falling asleep whispering secrets mid sentance. Waking up and actually feeling someone else's physical warmth next to you. It was peaceful. I've always liked people. And I loved those girls.

Those summers were spent at beach houses. With the Garrards and my family. Austin and I would spend all day together and when night fell, we would talk until our voices gave out. I'd sleep on the couch and him on the floor next to me. Occasionally he'd pull me off the couch and we'd wrestle for the couch while trying to keep our giggles and shrieks quiet so we would wake any of the other mass of kids that were sleeping on the floor with us. But eventually we'd quiet down, and that's when I first learned that in the darkness and safety of the night people will share things that never see the light of day.


Then I was in high school. And there were boys. And boyfriends. Kissing and relationships were new and exciting. Then one day while watching a movie I fell asleep while curled up in a boys arms. For the first time in years there was no nightmares.

I was hooked.

That's probably when I fell in love with naps. Falling asleep while in someone's arm was like a drug. A few years later I learned sleeping next to someone wasn't all sunshine. Years later and miles down the road, I was in a Reservation Road Relationship. It was bad. I remember not being able to sleep and looking down at him. Realizing that I couldn't touch him while he slept. Not emotionally anyway. That while he slept and I was in the waking world we were apart. Nothing I could do would affect him. How lonely that was. Then realizing that even when we were both awake together.. that there was no way to touch him. That awake or asleep, we were in different worlds.

I chose to sleep alone for a long time after that relationship.

Then there was a year of fun and sun. Working with my friends, partying with my friends. Sleeping with my friends. Ryan use to peek in every morning to see what girlfriend was sharing my bed that night. He teased me, saying that having sleepovers was my way of avoiding relationships. Maybe he was right. But I loved waking up next to a friend, laying in bed and giggling about the things that had happened the night before. On nights when I didn't go out I would creep into Ryan's room with two bottles of Mike's lemonade and an episode of Burn Notice and trick him into sharing his bed while we learned how to be spies from Mr.Michael Weston. I'd make a pillow wall down the middle of his bed, so that we'd get equal sides of the bed and that way Ryan couldn't try to steal more then his share. In the morning I'd wake up to a wall of pillows on top of me and Ryan diagonally across the bed.

The summer I lived with Lachelle we lived in the basement of a house with these teeny tiny little single beds. One week we were both sick and I remember crowding into her bed with her, drinking tea and comparing music. The two of us only fit in that bed if we were both on our sides, but we knew that we felt icky and that human touch can be as healing as nyquil sometimes.

Now there is The Boy. Our sleep schedules are not harmonious in the least. I'm on a mids shift, he's on graveyard. I adore and love our couch and could sleep on it every night. He hates the couch and loves the bed. Get this, he doesn't even like naps. What?! He has to sleep with a sheet tucked into all the corners of the bed, w/ two pillows, two more blankets on top of him and the air on freezing. I like to sleep with one soft blanket, wrapped between my legs with my feet sticking out over the bed and using only a third of my pillow. But I love falling asleep next to him.
Because of our schedules it doesn't get to happen that often.
When it does... it's a bit of a circus.
We have to sleep with two different blankets, so he can be tucked in and I can be free. Then one blanket over on top of our other blankets. We fall asleep sweetly. Then as the night progress, I wake up freezing cause he's stolen the top blanket. Or I wake up smashed into the wall because The Boy likes to.. spread.. out... A lot of the time I wake him up from yelling in my sleep and he has to wake me up and calm me down. So our sleep patterns are not exactly peaceful.
I still love it.

I've lived alone before. I've even lived with someone but felt alone.
But sleeping next to people is a joy and why I will probably always live with someone.

Because beds, and secrets, are meant to be shared.

I love you and you and you

Seven Things I Love About My Life Right Now:

My cozy little apartment. With my cozy little nest of a couch, the slew of movies and tv shows I need to catch up on, the dog that doubles as a throw rug and The Boy who stumbles around looking for caffine at the bright and early hour of 4pm.

The massive amount of music Tyr gave me. I mean massive. I get a little overwhelmed whenever I open my computer or look at my ipod. I've fallen in love multiple times in the last three weeks. I had almost given up on music... but I keep going back to it because I love it so much.

The Boy. Is it bad that he wasn't first? He'll deal. He's just a boy after all. A boy who makes me silly happy, who tickles me on the couch, plays with my hair absentmindedly while watching zombies eat brains and will argue with me about books but not much else. And, he fixed the kitchen lights without me saying a word. I mean, who does that?! And we play games of hide and seek with the oreos. Well at least I think it's a game. He hides them at my request so I don't eat the whole bag and then I tear apart the house looking for them. I eat three and then he hides them again for a few days. That's a game right?

My job. I feel so naive and young saying this... but I really love my job. When it's busy it gives me that daily dose of adrenaline that I crave. When it's slow I get to read a book, or be on the internet. WHICH IS AWESOME. And they pay me fantastic. There are days I'm stressed to the max but those days come with a shot of adrenaline so I still like it. I do work with mostly women, and so I'm terrified of the drama that floats to the surface of every week. I'm trying to keep my head down while still being friendly. It's a surprisingly hard line to walk. Lucky for me I took tightrope walking classes.

Books. Books. Books. I'm three books behind the boy still. And Liz let me go into Barnes and Noble without a proper chaperon. Which means I came home with six books and a lot less money. I figure they'll last at least two weeks.

Friends. All of you. Now that I've rejoined the social world my long lost friends are welcoming me back with open arms full of drinks. Or movies, or long conversations on the phone... You get the idea. The Boy and I are forced to rent a house come January specifically so that we can fit more friends under one roof. Between the nights out, the adventures and the chill conversations I haven't had time to do the basics, like grocery shopping. Although, let's be honest shall we? I'll do most anything to get out of grocery shopping.

Halloween!!!! Which doubles as my vacation. Not only am I going out of state, but I get to go on A PLANE. I love love flying. And Airports. I love them. You know how most girls feel about going shopping for expensive shoes or bags or whatever? That's how I feel about flying. and Airports. Oh Airports. Did I mention we're going out of state? Cause we're totally going out of state. It's kinda a family trip with his family but since we'll be in costume for halloween and drinking and eating all weekend it'll be great. Halloween and vacation all rolled into one?! Seriously be jealous.

One Day More

My 25th birthday has come and gone.

It wasn't as traumatic as I feared it would be. I mean, I still feel my breathe catch, my stomach drop and my inner child burst into tears. But the actual day itself.. not too bad.

The weekend before was spent in a glorious haze. I spent each night with friends, who all politely pretended that the gathering was happenstance and not because of my impending birthday.

The actual birthday was lovely too. About three months ago I had mentioned to the boy that the perfume I had found in Ireland had finally ran out and I wanted to buy something new. Well, the sneaky Boy found the website for the tiny little store in Ireland, ordered a bottle and had it wrapped all pretty waiting for me. If I was the crying type I would have sobbed. Instead I squealed and hugged the boy until Bodhi freaked out and instead on being middle dog. He's good at middle dog.

Also lovely? All the birthday love my friends sent me. Since I wasn't fully acknowledging that it was my birthday, whenever I read a message instead of seeing "happy birthday" I read "your so pretty and thin and I love you". Which rocked. Cause who doesn't want to hear that? Much better then Happy birthday you old hag.

As you get older, the presents get less, but they become more meaningful. Like the perfume. Or my brothers all teamed up and bought me a kickass jacket. Tyr gave me so much music that my computer tried to throw it all up. Twice. My mother sent money to pay for all of us to go to dinner. I got a voicemail from my little sister and almost cried when I heard how much her voice sounds like mine. Presents don't just come in gift wrapped form.

I'm still kind of in denial about the age thing. I'm not ready for it yet, which is a whole other post. But for a nonbirthday... it was pretty awesome. I might even consider having another one.

Back to Kickboxing or Why I'm not good at one night stands

Training is still kicking my ass, but the end is in sight. Almost a full year of training. If I make it out alive I plan on celebrating by eating a full cheesecake.
And maybe jumping out of a plane.

Because of training, I haven't been to kickboxing or bootcamp in two months.

So yesterday I went back. Somehow I picked a day when I was the only girl. If I was better at math I could probably tell you what the odds of that happening were. Out of the six girls that go regularly.. I showed up.
Which means on my first day back in two months I had to work out with a boy. One I didn't know at that. Oh, and we had an odd number of people. So I had to work out with TWO boys. A threesome if you will. Trying to spar with three people instead of two is always difficult to manage. Trying to spar when all three are strangers... is down right impossible.

All of the above made me nervous. Cause kickboxing is kinda like sex.
Don't laugh. I'm serious.
I'll explain

Everyone's got different levels of experience. Some people have been going for months but their technique still sucks. Or their stamina is lacking. Some people have a natural talent. The Boy is one of those. :) A lot of people are just naturally uncoordinated. When you start out, you start with shadowboxing. By yourself. Just you and your hands, mimicking the real thing. Then when you've proven your not going to hurt yourself or someone else, you're allowed to start partnering up. At first you'll workout with anyone, anyone, you're just so grateful to not have to workout by yourself. Time passes and you start to realize that you like working out with certain people. That you click better with some people over others, that you can move faster, more fluid and hit harder with them. You develop favorites and you keep going back to them.

Yep, still talking about kickboxing.

So back to yesterday. None of the girls that I'm used to sparring with are there. I get paired up with two guys that I've never worked with before. And that's when I realized that training with a new person is kinda like a one night stand. It's a little awkward. They do something out of sync, you laugh to ease the tension, instead they get self conscious and so they hit harder, only harder isn't necessary better. I mean, sometimes it's better, but you have to be in the mood to be hit. And there kinda needs be a trust factor that doesn't come with strangers. I'm ok with exchanging hard blows, but only if I know someones not going to end up in tears. Because one of the guys was new, I ended up spending most of my workout explaining and showing him what he should be doing. I didn't get a very satisfying workout.

Still talking about kickboxing.

When the day ended I decided two things. 1)I like kickboxing. I really like kickboxing and I don't want to let two months go without doing it. 2)I'm not a big fan of one night stands. I mean working out with brand new people. It's too awkward, you don't get a good enough workout, you don't really learn new things and you ended up leaving unfulfilled, knowing it could have been better.

I mean, I like the idea of sparring with a stranger. Of meeting in a dark smokey ring, making eye contact, touching gloves and then pounding the shit out of each other. Not caring if you actually hurt him, actually being glad when they hit you too hard because it means you can hit them harder. Pushing each others skill level, breathing hard and wiping the sweat out of your eyes. Walking away, knowing you beat the shit out of each other and not really caring. Maybe you'll meet in the ring again, maybe not. I mean, I like that idea. I've just never been able to follow through with that.

I guess I'm just not that type of girl. I like workouts with people I have a relationship of some type with. I don't like hurting strangers. I actually care about peoples feelings. I like knowing their personality and being able to navigate the tricky parts with finesse. Knowing it's ok to laugh occasionally, it's ok to try a new jab, it's ok to mess up, and it's ok to sometimes take out aggression on them and then buy them a beer to make up for the bruises.

Still talking about kickboxing.

And I'm ok with that, being that type of girl.

Beautiful

“I do not consider you beautiful
because of what I see.

I consider you beautiful
because of what you do not let me see,
because it awakens
the desire and passion I have
for all that I do not know
that I want to feel
a part of me.”
~Leo Barella

Hell on Earth

I've been putting it off.

Going to the MVD that is.

See, that fun little class I took that helped me accomplish my before thirty goal of getting my motorcycle license was almost all inclusive. It provided the classroom teaching, the classroom test, the motorcycle to ride, the training on how to ride said motorcycle and the actual riding test. What it did not include was actually putting the motorcycle endorsement on your license.

That requires actually going to the MVD.

As excited as I was about getting my motorcycle license... I still waited almost two months before going to the MVD. I hate that place that much.

But I decided that Monday I was going to screw my courage to the sticking place and go. I'm still on a night schedule thanks to work, so I took a nice little nap around eleven pm on Sunday night, woke up around two am on Monday and planned on staying up until after I finished with my errand. Around seven am I did my bi-monthly shopping trip, came home and cleaned. Took a shower. Took the dog for a walk.
And ran out of reasons to avoid the heinous and always evil MVD.

MVD opens at eight am. I decided to drive an extra thirty minutes and go to the one that I always went to in high school. I'm not sure why, it's not any newer or cleaner then the one in my city. But I knew that MVD and familiarity seemed like a much needed bonus.

Showing up at nine was a terrible idea. I should have been waiting in line at six am. I knew I was in for a wait, so I brought provisions. A 600 hundred page book (hopefully it would be long enough, a snack, water, ipod complete with games, music and two episodes of Rescue Me. What I forgot? A personal bubble with an electric perimeter.

Besides the hoards of people the first thing I noticed was the distinct lack of pretty people. If someone wasn't white trash they were obese. If they had clothes that matched then it was styled from the eighties. I saw green knee socks paired with blue shirts on 55 year old men with no teeth. I saw chest hair and gold chains. On Women. The one thing everyone had in common? A lack of shower or bath in years. years.

Now, something you should know about me. I have these weird little quirks about me. Like, I'm not much of a toucher. I'm very careful who I hug and don't believe that casual touch is normal. Human touch is a very intimate and personal thing for me. I don't like to share drinks, though food is fine. I can't bare to use public bathrooms for the most part. I'm convinced that milk goes bad three days before the expiration date.

And above all... Old people freak me the fuck out.

Guess what? Arizona is full of snowbirds. Who all have to go the MVD to get their Arizona license.
On a monday.
At nine am.
When I'm there.


So I filled out my forms, got my little ticket, filled out more forms, I take the eye test, fill out my forms again and find a seat on the edge of a row. Now this seat was chosen very strategically. Since I was on the edge there was only one side for people to sit next to me on. Lucky for me, the next person was three seats down, which meant that no one else would go sit there because it would force said person to sit next to either me or her. So I was safe.

Or so I thought.

I hadn't been sitting there for more then ten minutes before an old couple that had to lean on each other in order walk sat down next to me. RIGHT NEXT TO ME in the two empty seats.
And they smelled like old people.

Instantly I was conflicted. My instincts screamed to get up and move to a different seat. My upbringing told me that would be very very rude. And as much as my body was screaming that someone was in my personal space and that someone was an old lady who smelled of peppermint and white diamonds, I also, for reasons I can not decipher, did not want to hurt this old lady's feelings.

So I sat there. Shrinking into myself and trying not to breathe old people fumes.

Two hours passed.

About this time I realized the MVD employees were cruel,evil minions. All their stupid little tickets with the Supposed random letters and numbers were just their way of torturing us. And after two hours I had figured out their system. If you were under the age of 25 you got a ticket that made you wait an hour. If you had a baby that was sleeping you waited 15 minutes. A baby that was crying, or multiple babies? three hours. Old people waited two hours, fat people waited four. Now you may be asking, what about pretty people? Well I don't know how long pretty people would have had to wait, because there weren't any. I'm serious. Not a single pretty person.

I realized about hour three that there must be a pretty person MVD. Where only the pretty people go, where the employees serve donuts and smile and say yes sir. And somehow I misplaced my invite. Or worse.. maybe I had never gotten an invite to the pretty person MVD.
So now in addition to trying to not to breathe old people stink I'm suddenly faced with all the insecurities that being an american girl is blessed with.
Yee haw.

They finally call my number.
I fill out more forms. They make me pay them money that I'm pretty sure was bribe money. And then they direct me to another line. The employee didn't explain why I needed to go wait in that line when I had just spent three hours waiting to speak to her. Just a curt nod in the direction I was supposed to wait.

I was infuriated. I spent another half hour in another line... expect this time there wasn't anyone manning the station. I mean, there was a women there when I got in line, but once there was only two people in front of me... she just went poof!. No explanation to the long line. No "i'll be right back". The employee just walked away. For thirty minutes. By the time someone new walked up and started to help us I had a whole speech planned out. All the things I was going to say that would put these asshole employees in their place and make them reevaluate the way they treated people. and when it was my turn I marched up to the counter, slid my paperwork to her, opened my mouth...

And the employee nodded curtly at another line and told me I needed to go wait there.

I shut my mouth and demurely walked over to the other line.
Oh yeah, the rebellion is going to recruit me any day now.

The last line was the final line. They took my picture, reprinted my license with a cool little M on the back and allowed me to leave. It took a total of five minutes.

As I was finally set free I looked around the parking lot and realized.. all those people that I had sat with for the last three and a half hours, they were all getting approved TO DRIVE. Those "people" were going to be sharing the road with me.
At least, they would have been if I lived in that city. Suddenly I was grateful I had made that thirty minute drive.


I got the hell out of there.

Check, Check and Check

The weekend was a success.

I managed to check off multiple things on my honey do list.


The Boy took off Saturday, bought me dinner and then the two of us made a nest of blankets and limbs and watched eight episodes of Sons Of Anarchy season 2. Seriously. In a row.

I slept for five hours and woke up to gunfire, which turned out to be my alarm.

I got to hang out with the always lovely Miss Erin, and because she's so lovely, she asked that we go rock climbing, which allowed me to check off two things on my list.

Home, nap. Then back to world waking. I lit candles, pulled out my comfy blanket, curled up in my comfy chair and started MockingJay.
And finished MockingJay. Six hours later.

I loved it, think it's brilliant and am completely irreparably damaged after reading it.

Since Jocelyn recommended the series to me this is completely her fault. Thanks a lot Jocelyn.

The Boy came home and I ranted about the book, he ranted about the book because he read it first because he's FOUR BOOKS AHEAD OF ME.
Except now he's only THREE books ahead of me. Slow and steady wins the race

Then I curled up against The Boy and dreamt of post apocalyptic worlds and motorcycle gangs. I mean clubs.

Woke up four hours later. Went to The Boy's Parents house and sewed. For hours upon hours.

Finished two costumes for Halloween. Four more to go. I love love Halloween. And I love sewing. Bodhi played with the other dogs and I babbled for hours and incoherently about my plans and ideas for more costumes. The Boy's mom just took it in stride and probably privately planned to buy me my own sewing machine for christmas.

Then the plan was to come home, nap again, wake up, work out and maybe get a started on my next book. Instead I came home, sat on the internet for three hours and THEN took a nap.

Stupid internet.

Now I'm up and not really motivated to work out. Because working out at home blows. And it's four am. And I am la lazy.

And besides, I've accomplished plenty this weekend.
And I'm anything but an overachiever.

Honey do list

I've worked 6 days out of the last 7.

I'm a little burnt out.

I have the next three days off.
Here's a list of all the things I want to cram into those days

Go to the Rock Gym.
I really miss climbing

Go see The American. And Winter's Bone.
(and maybe Machete.. but only after a sake bomber)
(don't judge me)

Hang out with Miss Erin
She's in town and I am demanding play time
Maybe we can cook together again. And by "we" I mean, her

Watch all of Sons Of Anarchy season two
With the boy, on the couch with chinese food.
It just came out this week and season three starts next week
Ahhhh

Have an adventure with Jess Berry and Little Liz
with less bug bites this time

Lose 5lbs
Cause I'm a girl and I turn 25 next month and I'm having a bit of crisis about it

And by 5lbs, I mean 10

READ!
The Boy is four books ahead of me. Four

Clean. My poor cluttered house.
Seriously, books and half finished experiments everywhere. It's like a wizards study

Sleep. I want to sleep 10-12 hours of every night.




I'm going to need a longer weekend

Do I pick door #1, 2 or 3?

I'm conflicted.

I've finished a long twelve hour day of work. I have the rest of the night and all of tomorrow off. Then I work forty hours in the next four days.
So I need to make the most of tonight.

But I'm being pulled in two very separate directions.

Part of me wants an alone night. I want to put on boy shorts and a wife beater, with socks to keep my feet warm. I want to pull out my comfy chair onto the patio, light a few candles, turn pandora onto Kings Of Leon radio, pour myself a glass of red wine and lose myself in the written word. I want to revel in my loneliness. And when I'm a little too tipsy to follow one paragraph to the next, I'll switch out my book for the laptop. And type. Type with the abandon that comes with two glasses of wine on a mostly empty stomach. Write my thoughts, my dreams, disappointments. Maybe reveal a few secrets. Then, when the words start to slur and the screen starts to blur I'll switch the pandora to the Black Snake Moan soundtrack and have a private dance party in my living room. And when I'm glistening with sweat and joy, I'll curl up in the nook of my couch with my favorite blanket, the pup and a gallon of water.

That sounds lovely.


But the other part of me is aching for company. I want Liz and Jess to come over. We'll drink Sangria and watch Buffy and laugh to we cry. We'll make a fort out of my couch. Drink more sangria and watch more Buffy. And when the tv becomes blurry and our attention span shortened, we'll talk about how much we love each other and are so glad that we're friends. Only, I won't use the word love because I don't believe in it and that will lead to a discussion about what love is and whether it exists. And if it does exist, what makes it so elusive. We'll pass out gradually and The Boy will come home in the early morning to find us still passed out in our blanket fort.

Or

Have Ryan come over... we'll do shots of Jack. We'll turn up the music and dance. Have another shot. Talk/argue about music and whether or not Jack White is brilliant or insane. Another shot and that will lead to tattoo ideas, which will lead to someone (probably me) grabbing a sharpie and using it to draw on each other. Once every spare inch of skin is covered with would be could be tattoos and another shot taken, we'll take another shot to keep us warm and take the dog out of for a walk. We'll walk the streets and stalk the night while plotting the best ways to survive the zombie apocalypse. And when the sun comes up.. another shot to put us to bed.


So many choices... guess I better decide.

cheers, to a lovely night no matter what

Never Satisfied

Now that I am a dog owner I have a new list of wants/needs

Things I wish someone would invent:
1)A door opener that I can push from my car that opens my apartment door, guide the dog down three flights of stairs and straight to my car.
God I hate leaving my car to walk up three flights of stairs, greet the dog, put leash on the dog, walk back down three stories and convince the car to start again.

2)A retractable leash the dog can't chew through.
Yes I know they have chains, but the retractable leashes are sooo handy. I want both in one handy dandy leash.

3)An air conditioned dog park.
I hate the summer in Arizona.

4)Doggy daycare at the gym.
Hey, they do a baby daycare, so why not? I'm sure teenagers would much rather play with my dog then your crying,pooping baby.

5) An extra room that is just for dog food.
Seriously, I need a whole room. I hate buying/carrying dog food home. I always buy the biggest bag so it will last longer. Problem is I live on the third floor. So I end up carrying a sixty pound bag that is half of my body weight up three floors (have I mentioned the three f*&king stories yet?) while an over eager dog pulls on the only short leash he hasn't chewed through yet.

6) A doggy car seat.
I would take the dog EVERYWHERE with me if I could. I do take him most places. Often those places end up with him being muddy. Which I can't blame him, since I'm usually muddy too. However, I don't roll around the backseat on the way home. (well.. sometimes, but only if The Boy came with us). I've tried laying down a towel, but he's too active and it just ends up on the floor. My poor poor backseat.

7) A whistle that lets the dog know when to attack and when not too.
The dog is such a good guard dog that he tries to eat The Boy when he smacks my boy short underwear clad ass in the morning. Which was funny the first time. But a big part of The Boy and I's relationship is built on roughhousing. We are constantly wrestling. And I'd really like it if The Boy didn't lose his hand. So a whistle that lets him know when we are playing and when to attack... That would be awesome


8) A magic pill that makes my hair grow faster.
Ok, this isn't really dog related but I'm tired of my short hair and am pissed it won't grow faster. Why can't I have hair like Joanna's?!


Ok smart people. Get inventing!

A Story of Burning Bridges.

I was looking through old journal entries. Stuff from ages and lives past. When I stumbled on this...Well It's still too close too personal. But I want to share it.

And yes, you still enter my dreams unbeckoned on occasion.

This is a story of burning bridges
and allowing time to pass
this is a story of forgiveness
and breaking things in my hands
this is a story of understanding
you can't choose who you love
and this is a story of soft skin
and rats in the walls

well you can't just pass along
the pain that comes around
you'll go dizzy until you fall
and I know you didn't mean to let me down
but you let me down so hard

this is a story of loaded glances
and leaning in too far
this is a story of vague advances
and confessions in smoky bars
so now I am walking down the sidewalk
and I am singing to myself
and I'm going to leave it all behind me now
'cause I don't need this,
I just don't need this

and you can't...

these memories are talking and talking
and I'll do anything to shut 'em up
I've got the pillow over my head
but they won't stop
no, no they won't stop

some fantasies are never meant to be realized at all
and some regrets could be prevented
if you read the writing on the wall
oh and sometimes you say "you know nothing can happen"
and then she leans over and lifts off your glasses
and the next thing you know you're just tangled and guilty
and you've got a head full of liquor and perfume
oh and when did you leave me
and when did you find her
and tell me is this just what you wanted...

Once you get a Harley, you don't even need a relationship

Last weekend I checked off something on my before I'm thirty list.
I got my motorcycle license.
Ta da!

I signed up for a class with Team Arizona Ride, despite it's cheesy name. I paid a ridicules amount of money for three days of classroom and actual riding training that resulted in my motorcycle endorsement. I've been trying to find time to do this class for a year. So when I realized my classroom training for work would leave me with a rare Friday, Saturday, Sunday off I realized this was my chance. However, I may have over booked myself.

The Saturday before I worked a 12 hour day. Sunday I worked a 14 hour day. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday I worked 11 hour days. Thursday was a bit of a break, meaning I worked 7 hours, then hightailed it over to the first section of my day. Which turned out to be more classroom. 4 hours to be exact.

We learned a lot about motorcycles. Which should have been interesting. Except the instructor was.. off. I'm not sure how to explain it exactly. He was in his sixties, kind of grandfatherly type. He obviously knew his stuff, and he made semi funny jokes throughout the class. It should have been bearable. It wasn't, it was painful. I spent about three hours trying to figure out why. Cause that's what I do. I finally decided he was lacking charisma. Which then lead to a very interesting thought process in my head about how someone becomes charsmatic. Which was was totally wasted because it was all in my head and not an actual conversation.

We had Friday off, then up bright and Fucking early Saturday for riding. See in Arizona it is freakin hot in the summer. So they figured making us wake up early we could maybe beat some of the heat. Luck for us it's monsoon season. Saturday morning was cloudy and cool. I rode a 250 Yamaha Star. It wasn't love, but she wasn't a bad choice for a weekend fling. Four hours of riding in that gorgeous weather... Even the awkward instructor couldn't ruin my day. What almost ruined my day? I had a bit of an accident. Just a teeny tiny one.

See we were learning quick stops. You know, in case a car turns in front of you suddenly. Well, I like going fast. The instructors had nicknamed me Speed Demon. Naturally I was practicing sudden my quick stops really really fast. After a few decent stops, I tried to stop even faster. And I did. All the instructer could say was wow. My ego swelled. So my next one... well I was going for the record. What I got was my front tire wobbling and me and the bike skidding on the asphalt.
Since I'm writing this, obviously I'm fine. I got a little road rash on my arm, a giant bruise on my inner thigh and knee. More seriously was the damage done to my favorite pair of jeans and boots.
Oh, and the bike was fine. Not even a scratch on her. Guess I broke her fall.

But then we went in for more classroom training. Believe it or not, it got worse. The instructor would explain something. Then we would read about it from our manuals. Then we would a video that would explain it again. At this point the euphemism wore off and angry "I've gotten up too early too many days in a row" Sam came out. I spent four hours trying to blow up the instructor with my mind. I swear if I had thirty more minutes I would have accomplished it.
Instead I took a written test, missed two questions and passed for the first part of my license.

Sunday, day three. Five hours of riding. Then a "celebration of our knowledge". Also known as a test.
I wasn't nervous about the test, aside from the quick stop failure, I had been riding really well yesterday. I climb onto the bike and suddenly my stomach drops. Everyone else is starting up their bikes and I'm frozen. It was a really bad time to realize that my fall the day before had scared me more then I thought.
There was about ten seconds where I honestly didn't know if I could finish out the day. Or start out the day.
Thank Hera I'm stubborn.
I started up my bike.
The first exercise was U Turns.
Do you know how freaking hard U Turns are?
They are freaking hard.
Especially if you had fallen the day before.

I nearly failed the class right there.
Thank Hera I'm stubborn.

I made it through the day. I got over my fear, passed the rest of the exercises perfectly.

Those of us who passed were herded into the classroom to fill out paperwork. The instructor handed out our endorsements one by one. He must have gotten the whole trying to blow him up with my mind vibe because he made me wait very last. Which didn't earn my love.
But I finally received my paperwork.

Now I just need a motorcycle.

Man's best friend? Sam's best friend

I'm one of those people now.
The boy and I have had Bodhi for about a month now.
I wouldn't say that my life revolves around him.. but I'm not too far away from it.

I take pictures of him. A lot.
The whole "no getting up on the couch" rule... lasted 2 hours. However it was The Boy who invited Bodhi onto the couch that first time. Not me.
Now we take naps together. The three of us.
There was a huge storm last week. I fell asleep on the couch while The Boy watched TV. I woke up to Bodhi sleeping between us, like the little kid who crawled into his parents bed cause he got scared.
Ahhh

I love taking him hiking. Or just taking him on walks. Especially with the summer monsoons. A friend of mine likes to enjoy the storms by sitting on his porch with a cigar and his book. Me? I love walking into the heart of it with Bodhi obliviously sniffs the ground.

And he is oblivious. Completely soo. My poor dog isn't very good at being a dog. He thought he was a bunny when he was a puppy, and it clearly shows now that he's 2 1/2 years old. Bodhi is an Australian Shepard. He's very good at herding. The first time I took him running with The Boy and I, he kept cutting off The Boy from getting ahead of me. But he is not a hunting dog. When we go on walks, he sniffs the ground, but I'm fairly positive that he doesn't know what he's smelling, or even where to smell. He just kind of walks around with his nose on the ground and then will suddenly stop so people will think he found something. But he doesn't smell obvious places, like trees or fire hydrants. In fact, he doesn't even pee on trees or fire hydrants.
It's ok, I love him anyways.

We also love going to the dog park. And I do mean We.
Bodhi runs around the dog park, kinda like the slow kid. He has a lot of fun, but is clearly socially slow. He just doesn't really know how to interact or play with other dogs. But he likes other dogs, so he'll run up to a dog he's interested in, and then freeze with just his tail wagging. They'll do the whole sniff each other greeting and then the other dog will try to play with him. And Bodhi just keeps standing there, frozen. Maybe if I keep bringing him to the dog park he'll eventually learn. Or maybe I'll have to put him into a special school or something.

He doesn't care too much for the size of the apartment. But then neither do I. He knows the difference between his ball and his rope. And no, that's not a euphemism. And when I'm getting ready for the day he'll take his rope in his mouth, then toss his head really hard, which sends the rope flying a few feet. Then he'll run to it and pounce on it. Basically he's playing fetch with himself. My smart dog. He chews the shit out his rope, which means there is string all over my apartment. But he doesn't chew on furniture or dig threw the couch, so I'm mostly ok with all the string.

So yeah, I'm one of those people now. My dog is my baby. I take pictures of him. We go get ice cream together (diet? what diet? Oh hello 2 extra pounds..), we cuddle on the couch while watching So You Think You Can Dance (don't judge me). We both give The Boy puppy dog eyes when we want to go outside and he wants to watch tv.

And within the next five years, he'll hike the Appalachian Trail with me.

To Sum up

-No, you don't understand love, Sweets.
-You have this bourgeois notion...
-...that in order for love to be real it has to be permanent. Nothing is permanent. That's just a fact. We move in and out of loving other people, but that doesn't make the love any less real.
-And it's not because I haven't met the love of my life.
-I have actually. Many times.

Every Man is an Island

It's been one of those days. I've been sleep deprived, over worked and the drama that is threatening to spill over into my apartment has caused me to hole up on my couch for the last day and a half. I came home from work yesterday, plopped down onto my couch/nest and officially declared it a drama free zone.

Prior to all the drama, I was on the verge of writing a sappy blog about how I love all my friends. I have spent the last two weeks going out every night or having intimate evenings with my favorites. And in the last few months the numbers of my favorites has exploded. The Boy and I have been positively Gatsby social.
But the drama of Wednesday y morning was too much. And so I've hermitted myself away.

My new friend Tyr gave me 58 days worth of new music. Which only added to my sudden, fierce need to be alone. I made a trip to my favorite used bookstore, the one that has floor to ceiling bookshelves and a secret passage if I only knew which book to pull. I stocked up on books, plugged in Jackson and all his new fabulous music and shut out the world.

It's been lovely.

Bodhi has been the only social interaction I've has today. Despite the heat, we've still gone on long walks, which I completely enjoy. I could walk for hours. So could Bodhi. We're a good match.

Music, books, dog and couch. That's how I've spent all of today.

As always, when I have days that I spend all day in the lovesac of my mind I start to self analyze. Today, I marveled at the walking contradiction that I am.

I am an introvert who is completely infatuated with people.
I'm extremely laid back with a stubborn streak.
I am an adrenaline junkie who does well with routine.
I hate chick flicks but love John Mayer and Ani Defranco.
I want to make a difference in this world but won't touch politics with a ten foot pole/
I loathe the gym but love being active.

And that's just to name a few.

Another self discovery?
I am not a fan of chick flicks. Seriously. It's one of the few genre as a whole that I dislike. I don't even like romantic comedy's. I've given up trying to go see chick flicks because it's been 5+ years since I've seen one that I half way liked. I just can't suspend my disbelief for the whole "love conquers all" swill. this probably isn't the actors or screenwriter faults. I just can't make myself believe that the bad boy who has never treated a woman decently will suddenly change because SHE walked into his life. Well, I could go on and on about all the things i find hard to swallow in chick flicks.

However.

I totally love action movies. Horror, action.. love them. I can suspend my disbelief completely while watching an action film. Guy gets shot through the heart and still manages to kill the bad guy while flying a plane? Of course he can! 100 pound heroine beats the shit out of six foot five bad guy? Absolutley.

Then I had a thought. I've been laughing at all those girls who watch chick flicks and are waiting for their true love to wake them with a kiss out of their lonely lives. All those girls chanting "edward' in their sleep. I've looked down from my high horse and smirked at their naivety. Prince Charming isn't going to come for them. Relationships take a lot of work. Silly girls who watch to many chick flicks.

And that's when I realized. I may not believe in chick flicks. But I believe in action movies with my whole heart. I fully believe and expect the zombie apocalypse to happen any freakin day now. This yearning, this wanderlust that I feel is directly tied to all the movies and books I read. When I travel I don't spend my time in museums. I'm climbing the ruins by the side of the road, I'm falling into waterfalls. I'm sleeping on beaches and narrowly catching trains back into town. I laugh at the girls who believe in love at first sight and yet I fully believe that one day I will get to live like Lara Craft or Indiana Jones.

Shit.
Guess I'll tenderly climb down from my high horse.

Long Winded Explainations

I've found that in the early morning hours, normally after the 3am mark, conversation becomes more.. personal, fearless and open. During one of these conversations at work one of my co-workers blindsided me with this statement -

"Just because you have an anchor tattooed on your foot doesn't mean you've changed your nature"

And I thought "he's right"
Shit


He also asked why I'm here.
Meaning: Why am I in Arizona?
Why Tempe?
Why this job?

Valid questions.
One I get asked a lot actually.

1) I've lived poor before. I've lived poor often. There was the year I was saving for school in Ireland. I worked doubles at a restaurant and lived off the bread dipped in salad dressing from there. Or the year I got back from Ireland and came home completely broke. Or the summer I spent in Utah. Or the year I got back from Hawaii, once again completely broke. (see a pattern?) Living paycheck to paycheck sucks. Traveling is expensive. Staying in one place is expensive. And I don't have the cushion of rich parents. There's no safety net if shit goes bad.Mommy and Daddy don't have a way to fly me home. I learned that the hard way when living in Hawaii turned south.

2) 2 years ago I met this fabulous wandering soul. Let's call her Carol. Carol worked under me at a entry level job that payed 12 dollars an hour. Which worked for me because I was twenty one. Carol was mid forty's. Carol and I instantly bonded. She had lived a fascinating life. At one point she was a truck driver just so she could reach her goal of seeing all fifty states. But she was also a huge neon warning sign for me. Because as enviable her early life was, now she was a forty year old women with a kid, a husband she didn't like and a job working under a cocky twenty year old. She was miserable. More miserable then me. Which was a lot. I told myself never to forget Carol, or the lesson she taught me. I'm not going to be her.

3) This one pains me to admit. I like to think of myself as a strong, fearless female. Which I mostly am. Unless it involves spiders or meeting the boyfriends parents. But there is the reality that a female alone in a foreign country is...well... dangerous. While a male can run into the same problems as a lonely female, they aren't as likely to be seen as a target. Women are cast into the victim role a lot easier. And after two bad experiences while traveling by myself... I decided not to tempt fate anymore. So when I travel again it will be with someone, or through school, or through a job. Something with a friend or a network of people.

4) And why Arizona? Why this job? I've seen a lot of the U.S. It's beautiful. But nothing I've seen so far had any pull on me to live there the way living abroad does. So why not here? I've got friends here, and I love my job. It's a rare combination of enjoying what I do and getting paid really well. So why not?

There, all my reasoning and excuses tied up in one nice neat bundle.

Bottom line though?
If I win the lottery - gone
If someone wants to join me - gone baby gone

Total Girl Moment

I don't care how girly I sound.
I want these.
Lusting for these.
Need these.

NOW You Can Call It Home

You remember Bodhi don't you?

He's made a few guest appearances on this blog, showing up in pictures from hiking fossil springs, and mentioned while talking about camelback or south mountain. Up until a week ago he was my mom's dog that she rented out to me.

A week ago my mom who has been planning a move to Cali for the last few months, calls me up at 2am.

"help, I just realized I don't have anywhere for Bodhi to go. Can you take him?"
"........."


So now the Boy and I have a dog.
To be precise, we have an Australian Shepherd. In a one bedroom apartment.
Oh yeah, this can't go wrong.

Turns out, we're both bleeding hearts. So the dog stays.

So far... it's working out. We both grew up with dogs, so having one in the apartment feels like home. Bodhi has some identity issues, meaning he thinks he's a lapdog, or sometimes he thinks he's a bunny. Either way, TV watching is 10 times better with a fur blanket in your lap. And while the daytime is soooo freakin hot, I've found that walks after dark are delicious. The two of us traverse the apartment complex while the rest of the world sleeps.

A few weeks ago the 13 year old sister tried to give Bodhi a fur cut. That worked about as well as you'd imagine. So when we inherited him, The Boy insisted that Bodhi get a real fur cut. So off to the trusty Petsmart we go. The groomers quote me 2 hours. 4 hours later they call me to pick him up. Apparently Bodhi did not like getting groomed and tried to eat them. Which made me laugh. The groomers glowered at me like a principal trying to explain to a parent that their kid's practical joke was something to be punished, not laughed at.

Oh yeah, I'll make a great parent.

Random Post, Yes Please

Somehow I've never written about this before.

Years ago.

I was living with a boy.
All of my stuff was his stuff and all of his stuff was my stuff.
We shared a couch, a table, towels...but not books, never books.
Or computers, seeing as we each had brought our own into the relationship.

Then one night, after many nights of our relationship dancing in a burning room, he came home from work.
And I knew it was over.

"And you left him, just like that?
It's the only way to leave. "I don't love you anymore. Goodbye."
Supposing you do still love them?
You don't leave.
You've never left someone you still love?
Nope. "

I don't love you anymore. Goodbye

And I left. I packed one bag of clothes, my books and left.
I crashed at The Best Friend's house. Which morphed from crashing to living with.
Life was swell. I lived with The Best Friend, I had a well paying if boring job, and a new fabulous artsy unique bird-like friend named Mareena. Who also happens to be a lesbian.
Pay attention, this turns out to be important later.

I didn't end up going back for my stuff.
About six months later The Ex tracked me down and gave me the stuff that was more my stuff then his.

One of those things being my computer.
Which I didn't bother to every plug in or turn on, since I had been using the communial one the best friend provided.


Fast forward four months.
I'm moving to Hawaii.
I propose a swap with my mother, my barely used desk top for my mothers crappy laptop.
We make the trade without me ever turning on the computer.

Two days later

Me - Mom! Hi, I can't talk long, what's up?
Well intentioned Mother - Hi dear, I was just calling...to see how the packing is going.
Me - It's going it's going.
....strange silence
Mom - So, Sam, how's your little friend.. what's her name?
Confused Me - Mareena? She's great. Why?
Mom - Oh, no reason....
Hmmm
Mom - Sooo is there anything you want to tell me about Mareena? Cause you know I love you no matter what.
Me - ?
Mom - Well, cause I turned on your computer today and there's a whole bunch of umm viruses.
Me - Really? That's weird. It was clean when I last used it. What kind of virus?
Mom - Well, Umm. It's a bunch of pop ups.
Mom - Of girl on girl porn
Me - ....................

Turns out The Ex decided that porn viruses would be a great way to make me miss him and want him back.
Turns out he was wrong.

It's funny now.
But
I'm pretty sure my mother thought I was a lesbian for a year until I brought a new boy home.

The Three Words That Made My Day

Tonight The Boy used three words to describe me.

Confident

Courageous

Reckless


With a boy like him, no wonder I'm such a happimess all the time.

My Current Motivation

UFC GYM part 3

So a few months have gone by since I started at the UFC Gym. Looking good. Feeling good. Not high school good, but that's because I love pasta.
And ice cream.
and pizza.
and oreo's.
Ok, my eating habits are shit.

But back to the subject at hand.

There's still only a few of us girls who like to play rough with the boys in kickboxing.
One of the instructors got smart and realized that with bikini season coming on, girls will shell out more money for more classes. So he started a girls only bootcamp. Just one hour, girls only, before the kickboxing classes start. Since my schedule has been bi-polar thanks to being in training, I decided to pass. But all the other girls decided to sign up.
Two things happened within the first month.
The girls all bonded.
And lost 15lbs.

I kept telling myself its not a big. I'm comfortable with how I look. The Boy is certainly happy with how I look. I don't have time. Besides, I wear the "lone wolf" look well. While the other girls laughed and bonded before class I was mysterious and aloof.
And lonely.
With less ab muscles.

The girls were friendly with me. But they were starting to look like super models. And there was a tightness between them that only comes when you've been tortured in boot camp together.

But even that wasn't motivation enough.

Then one day while I'm stretching Miss Hawaii whispers to me,
"Is that your boy in the corner?"
"What? the fat guy? hell no"
" no, other corner. Him"
"Oh, yeah, he belongs to me"
"He looks good. Fights good too. "
Miss Hawaii says this last line while licking her lips. I look at The Boy who is doing perfect one handed push ups, then back at Miss Hawaii and her newly svelte frame.

I decided I dislike her.
I also decided to join the damn bootcamp.

It Don't Matter To The Sun...

An actor smiled your smile today.

Ambushed me.

I've been watching the show for a while now, and yeah, sure I noticed the resemblance.

But today, the angle of the camera shot and the way he flashed that smile...

My heart forgot to beat.

It was you.

I felt your loss for the first time in.... months? years maybe?
I can't pin point when I stopped thinking about you daily.

I just remember one day seeing a red car and only after it had passed did I realize that I had forgotten to peer intently at the driver. Who knows how many red cars had passed me with maybe you driving them.

I had stopped looking.

The actor stole your smile today.

Seeing it brought to life just how much time has passed.
How many things have changed.
I feel this unexplainable urge to find your number
tell you all the things that have happened since you last smiled at me.
My hair was short. I mean really short.
It's longer now, though not as long as it was when you last smiled at me.
Tyson and Travis both came home from South America.
My parents finally divorced.
I've moved. Again. Still no dog though.
I have tattoos, piercings, since you last smiled at me.
New jobs, new friends, new boyfriends.
My books have doubled in numbers, I found I like getting pedicures.
I've been camping, swimming, dancing and adventuring
And living.
I've been living.
Since you last smiled at me.

You were my first love. There's been others. It's been years. But you were my very first.

I saw your smile on the TV today.
I hope you're smiling where ever you are today.
I am.

A Mother's Prayer: Dear Lord, Please Teach My Daughter a Lesson

When I've taken this big of a break from writing it's hard to decide what to write about.
Do I write about My uber fabulous vacation?
Do I write about work and the never ending training?
Do I write about stumbling upon a picture of the three of us from eons ago?Ba


Nope.
I'm going to write about my ear. Or rather, "how fate will punish you for betraying your parents beliefs".

Back in February I had my conch pierced. Which is a part of my ear, so stop visualizing something else you dirty bastard.
(picture stolen from the internet, but you get the idea)


Now, my mother is not the vengeful type. Far from it. However. I wouldn't put it past my mother to sweetly pray for me to "learn" learn from my bad decisions. Bad decisions like getting an extra piercing. Even if it is just my ear.

Getting the piercing almost didn't happen. Despite my tattoos, I'm not exactly big on needles. With tattoos they use a gun and you can't see the needles. With this piercing they use a really big freaking needle. So even though I've wanted one for a few years, I could never bring myself to do it. Then for Christmas I told my dearest Erica that I would pay for her monroe. We thought it would be fun to do our piercings together. Like getting pedicures, but with blood and pain.

So I make the mistake of letting Erica go first. I watch as the piercer slowly pushes a needle through her upper lip area, leaves it there, and then finally puts a dainty little sparkler in the hole that he just stuck a needle through.

I use the bold font to better express the horror I felt.

When it was my turn, I balked. I tried to run screaming from the room, but Erica, who is normally a petite 5 foot 1, suddenly grew 9 inches, her hand sprouted into a hammer, slammed the door shut, locked it and sat on me until I meekly promised to stay put. Which I did. He put the needle through my ear, I heard the cartilage break, and felt an eon of pain.

Later Erica told me the whole process was over in 30 seconds, but pain seconds are like dog years.

But now I have a pretty little piercing.

My mom saw it the next day. She handled it well.

That night I did my first salt water cleanse on my ear. It was too tender to clean any other way. And because of the location, the only way to fully immerse my ear was by filling a cereal bowl full of warm salt water and laying on my side. The downside to this method (besides looking silly with half my head in a cereal bowl) was that my hair would get wet too. So that first time, I lifted my head and felt all the water drip from my head. Eh. I rushed to the bathroom to find a towel and come face to face with a mirror image of me, with blood streaking the side of my head.

I thought for sure I was dying for the sin of putting a hole in my body.
Thirty minutes and 1 panicked phone call to The Boy later, I stopped bleeding and my heart started beating again.

I suspect this was somehow my mom's doing.

I stopped bleeding relatively quickly. But I wasn't able to sleep on my left side for a month. And at least once a week in kickboxing someone would manage to hit it.

Again, I'm sure my mom had some hand in all of this. Some kind of lesson about not putting metal in one's temple of a body.

It's been four months. My conch is healed, I can sleep on my side, I don't cringe when I go to kickboxing, I catch a glimpse of shiny when I turn my head... it sounds silly but I really love the piercing.

So I did the logical thing. I wanted to get a new earring to put in it. Previously I had a shiny stud, but I was ready to find something new to replace it. I was thinking a tiny celtic knot or maybe a silver four leaf clover.

The Boy and I ran out of gas on the way to the store. We walked miles to the Circle K. Only to discover it was a Circle K that didn't have gas. So we turned around and walked miles in the other direction. Still no gas station. I finally made an executive decision and called my mom to play rescue hero. She picked us up and nicely refrained from saying anything like "This is fate punishing you for going against your mom's wishes".

But I could tell she was thinking it.

Let the Blogging Begin! Again.

I'm back. With a new laptop.

Sorry for the absence.

But I'm leaving again. This well be a short vacation but it will involve a beach and some of my favorite people. I promise pictures.

Forever Young

Good news: I am officially keeping my job. Hooray!
Bad news: Now that I no longer have to worry about my financial situation I have time to worry about, well, time.

I turn 25 this year.

In a little more then six months actually.


One could possibly accuse me of suffering from a mid life crisis.
And one would be absolutely correct.

I realize that a mid life crisis does not normally occur this early in life, but you have to understand that I don't really plan on getting Old. Old is not for me. When I was in elementary school I read a biography about a women who lived to be 103 years old. She lived a very full and interesting life. However, I noticed that her adventures stopped being interesting around age 50. After that point she slowed down. A LOT. By age 70 she mostly talked about the past. And then she spent another three decades sitting in a chair watching everyone around her have interesting lives while she continued to talk about her interesting past.

And that's when I realized I don't need to spend three or four decades sitting around thinking about the past. I already spend a lot of time doing that.

This idea was reinforced when I was 19 years old. That year I spent a very happy and very busy period of time in Ireland. There was one weekend that myself and three fabulous friends spent down in the southern area of Ireland. I think we were in Killarney this particular day. The four of us went to see a pretty waterfall and being the not so bright but enthusiastic youngsters we were, we decided to jump rocks in the river until we were right under it so we could get a better picture. As we recklessly endangered our lives for picture I remember looking back and seeing a tour bus of Old People unload and gather at the appointed waterfall picture taking spot. And as Jo fell into the cold river and Chris fell in trying to help her and Van and I laughed until we slipped too, I remember looking at those Old People and thinking, why travel when you are old and can't do more then take pictures and complain that the local food tastes nothing like olive garden. What's the point of traveling if I can't climb old buildings or get caught in rainstorms while walking to whats sure to be another adventure and catching a three week cold because of it?

And with that I renewed my plan to never be Old.

So here I am, quickly approaching 25. Suffering a mid life crisis.

It's to the point that it is affecting my daily activities. I needed new jeans for work (that's right, I wear jeans to work. AND I like my job. Go ahead and hate me) and I decided I'd get some new shirts too. I'm not a big shopper, so I usually plan ahead what stores I'm going to go to so that I can get in and out quickly. Suddenly I realized that the stores I was planning on going to were pretty much the same stores I went to since high school. And suddenly I was panicking, wondering if I was that girl, the one who keeps trying to dress like she's 19 even though she's 30. I frantically texted Mckenna, because I trust her fashion sense above anyone else I know. I'm pretty sure she laughed at me, but at least she set aside my fashion fears.

This midlife crisis doesn't affect most of my daily activities. Mostly I feel this pressure, like I'm running out of time. Like my youth is running out. I sometimes look at my life and feel like I should have done more than I have. Shouldn't I own a house by this point? Or have a degree? Maybe a kid or two? Then I remind myself that those things are not super important to me. I have no desire to own a house, or have kids. Not for many years, if ever. What has been important to me? The time I spent exploring new places, my personal library, the many irresponsible times I've gone repelling at night or any number of things that wouldn't have happened if I had stayed on a traditional path.

But I still feel this pressure.
So I made a list.
It's my "TO DO LIST BEFORE THIRTY"
Which is in five years. Eekk!


Hike the Appalachian Trail.
Visit: Costa Rica, Chile, Argentina, Brazil, Turkey,Germany, Greece, Italy, Spain, Wales, Russia,Egypt, Russia and Australia. At the very least.
Become fluent in another language.
Own a dog who travels everywhere with me. And I don't mean one that fits in my purse.
Own a private library that is wall to ceiling books on all four walls filled with only books that I've actually read.
Own a motorcycle.

And that's it. That's my whole list. I've thought about this list for two weeks before putting all this to paper, eerr, keyboard. But I honestly can't think of another thing that I desperately want to do. Owning a nice car isn't on my list, or making a six figured salary. Finding love isn't on my list, nor is getting my degree, although I wouldn't mind if those things happened too. But those six things are the ones that matter.

So
Five years.
I can do all that in five years.
No sweat.