A Conversation With Myself

Awake

2006-11-21T08:10:00.000-08:00

I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept waking up and staring at the ceiling hoping that it was time to get up. I am not a morning person but I was ready to be out of bed bright and early this morning. I don’t know if anyone slipped something in my food last night but I was not my usual self this morning.

I went to the post office to mail a box, got my oil changed in the car and even stopped at my favorite bakery to pick up a muffin and juice. All this before I had to be in the office for work today.

I need my old self back. NOW.

Boots

2006-11-08T14:37:00.000-08:00

I bought my first pair of cowboy boots.

Really they aren’t the first I guess. Just the first pair I’ve bought for myself. I can’t count the ones every elementary-aged boy has while playing in the dirt. My new boots are made of ostrich skin.

I don’t know what got into me but I decided one day I wanted some and so I bought a pair that afternoon. I walked into a few stores trying to find the best deal and did some bartering to bring the price down. I was successful and walked out with a shiny new pair a couple stores later.

I wore them for the first time last night. They are not stained dark and therefore make me look like I work on a ranch. No, in fact they make me look like a rock star. Except for one small thing….I’m not a rock star, but I feel like one. My friend who was tagging along when I bought them laughed at me the entire time. He couldn’t fathom why I would want a pair of boots but he shut up and let me walk out a few bucks poorer.

Last night my friend and I met a few other friends for sushi. I was excited to show the boots off and stir up a few laughs at my outrageous purchase. Walking into the sushi joint last night I asked the waitress if the Tatami Room table was available and it was. This is the table that sits low on the floor while you’re feet slide under into a crevice hidden under the table. It’s definitely not your typical restaurant table choice.

In order to sit at this particular table the hostess ask that all dinner patrons take off their shoes and leave them on the step so no dirt will be on the floor area where you sit. I begrudgingly took off my new boots and sat them there all alone. After settling into my seat my friend started laughing and said, “I think you chose this table on purpose because of your boots. You want this entire restaurant to see your stupid purchase and now they are out there on the step in full view for everyone to enjoy.”

It wasn’t my original plan but after thinking about it for a second I kind of liked it. It’s tough being a rock star.

Advice

2006-10-18T14:31:00.000-07:00

I called up to my parents the other night to let them know all the thoughts going thru my head. This is my odd way of letting them know I solicit their advice without directly asking for it. I could ask for it, but I don’t know if they’ll give it freely. They would rather stand behind me and offer their guidance while I try to find the answers on my own.

Lately nothing feels right. Each decision I’m making doesn’t feel to be the right one. I don’t know what the right answer is, but each thing I’m questioning and the reasoning I come up with just isn’t right. I’m currently in a weird funk.

Last night I was at a friend’s house going over recent life events and she started offering her crazy advice up freely. I stopped her mid-sentence and asked her if she ever followed her own advice. She said no and made a face as if that was the stupidest question I could ever ask. Somehow it didn’t stop her from continuing to offering more advice. Funny advice it was but it didn’t really sink in.

I’m a why person. I was explaining this to another friend the other day when mulling in my own thoughts. I’m a why and not a how person. I question everything. I don’t just get out and not think things thru expecting that whatever happens will happen and it will be good. To some this might seem like a good quality, but it’s not always easy. It wears me out. I over-analyze everything and don’t always come to a conclusion that I’m happy with. There are times I want an answer quickly and I turn to someone for an answer, but it seems they are too afraid to give an answer.

It’s been said that you have to leave home before you can ask difficult questions. They are hard to ask in familiar places. You need to stand back and see things in a new way. I’m beginning to wonder what stepping from my familiarity is like. I think it’s something I need to heavily consider doing around here.

High In The Sky

2006-10-13T08:53:00.000-07:00

I have a framed picture sitting on my office desk. It stands between two other framed pictures of various family members. In this middle frame is a picture of a young Japanese couple that I lived with for a month in Japan. They spoiled me rotten, something I’ll never forget. They live in a country steeped in traditions and opened their doors to show me their world amongst those traditions. It was one of the best times of my life.

A friend of mine who currently resides in Japan mentioned the Full Moon Harvest the other day. It’s a celebration in Japan of the full moon, which provides the rabbit in the moon. I had never heard of such a thing until I was in Japan one night seven years ago this month.

My host family took me to a neighboring town to enjoy a night out seeing some local places as I was preparing to leave their home and country later that week. We went to a local art museum, a pottery show, and upscale Tea Shoppe, and also did some gambling. They taught me to play Pachinko, a game that is a mix of slot machine and pin ball. I didn’t quite understand it all, but basically I put a quarter into a machine in hopes that it would land in the right spot so I could earn “credit.” My host parents played often and were quite good at this game. While there are your typical prizes you could exchange your credits for, there were also a few odd items. One particular item was laundry soap. This is what my host parents stocked up on that night. Seven bottles of it to be exact.

The night out was topped off with a great dinner of Japanese food from a hole-in-the-wall place we found in a back alley. It was some of the best food I had eaten the entire length of my stay there. After dinner as my host parents and I walked back to the town center my host father pointed out the rabbit in the moon. Having drunk quite a bit my host father was unable to walk straight but he enabled himself to stand still for a moment and teach me something small. Something I think of nearly every night if the moon is visible. Pointing to the sky that night I saw my first rabbit in the moon.

On a full moon night you can see this rabbit clearly. It's the same rabbit I've seen in five countries now. If you’re with me sometime I will show you. It’s not hard to find if you know what you’re looking for. It's kind of funny for me to think back on it. How one night seven years ago has stuck with me to this day. There hanging in the sky was this rabbit frozen in time. Much like my memories of Japan.

I'm ready to go back and see Japan again. I miss is daily.

Tie One On

2006-10-10T09:05:00.000-07:00

Fall is here. I felt it last night as my doors stayed open to let the rain filled air enter my living room. Though the place chilled down quickly I only put on more clothes to stay warm. I want to enjoy this moment before winter arrives any day now. Last year around here we went from summer to winter in just a few short days. I’m hoping fall can find time to stop around here for a few days this year.

During the fall and winter months I succumb to wearing a white robe around my house. If you come ring my doorbell you will be warmly greeted by me in a robe. You may eyeball me up and down and think I’m crazy and not acting my age but I don’t care. I like my robe. It’s heavy, mid-length and feels as soft as a towel.

I remember my grandpa, my dad and my brother all owning one. My dad’s was blue and extremely long. He would stand over the floor vents to warm up on chilly winter mornings before he got ready for work. My brother’s was flannel and raggedy…something he wasn’t ready to throw away yet though the years were showing around the hems. If you entered our house on any given day you may think you were at a party at the Playboy Mansion with our robes on. But that wasn’t the case. We were just enjoying the male equivalent to the muumuu. I won’t go down the family line of all the ladies that have worn, and still do, muumuus.

My robe may look uncool. But on a cold Saturday morning I’m not worried about looking cool. It’s about hanging out, staying warm and getting comfortable. My weekend breakfast of fruit, oatmeal and orange juice taste much better with a robe on, I swear.

If you don't believe me, stop by Saturday morning. You can try mine on.

Too Much

2006-10-04T12:52:00.000-07:00

My life is a bit scattered right now. There doesn’t seem to be enough hours in the day for me to live my life.

I haven’t made my bed in two weeks. There’s a laundry pile in my bedroom along with one in my closet. I have clothes laying on my drawing table and a few more by my bed. My ‘sort thru’ pile is only increasing every day as I ignore it and push it aside. I have dry cleaning need to be dropped off along with bills to be paid and filed.

I need a personal assistant.

I asked a friend if he’d like to be my personal assistant. He’s in-between jobs right now. He instantly turned me down by saying I couldn’t afford him. I asked him what it took to be able to afford him. It involved a new Mercedes and a nice hourly wage. In fact the hourly wage is more than I make if I break my salary down into an hourly wage. I offered to heavily consider it if and only if he became my personal driver as well. I’d much rather sit in the back of a new Mercedes to get work done or rest my eyes than sit in my old car managing traffic from the drivers seat.

I’m almost at wits end to get everything done in a timely manner. I wonder if I set my house on fire if it will make it all go away. No bills piled up, no messed up bed and no dirty laundry.

I wonder if a personal assistant comes with fire insurance. I’ll have to read the fine print on my insurance policy when I get home this evening.

Three Words

2006-09-29T08:41:00.000-07:00

He’s professed his love to every single girl he dated. He says there are no rules when it comes to love. No rules to saying the three famous words….I love you. You know when the timing is right according to him.

I can’t say them and I won’t say them…these three words. He says them just as easily as it is for me to sneeze in the morning after sleeping thru the dark night with my window open.

There are rules in my thick book but none in his. I could probably sit him down and graciously point out every rule there is in the book of love, but he doesn’t care to see the obvious. He is the example of love being blind.

I asked him what his rules are this evening and that’s when he stated there are no rules. “It’s never too early and it’s never too late to express your love. But once it’s over you should never go back. It’s all a beautiful frustration,” he said. “If I did have to create a rule book the first rule would be to love yourself.”

Rules are made to be broken in my book. I often break them. I’m not a fan of rules but they are a part of daily life. They determine the time I wake up, the way I earn a small paycheck, the way I drive down a narrow street, and the way I treat my neighbors.

Breaking rules is what makes us feel alive. Human beings need a lot of things to feel alive, including love, but ultimately it comes down to having a heartbeat. When our hearts are threatened we either run or attack.

Love is essentially an abstract concept, easier to experience than explain. I don’t think most women want to hear a guy explain that love is ultimately a feeling of having your soul sucked down into a vortex. Before we know it we have to give up our chance of watching the basketball game on TV because this love has caused an interference with the simple things in a guy’s life. So we stick to using the abstract concept….feel our love and don’t have me explain it.

I realized all this as I sat and listened to him banter back and forth on his rules of love. He sat there laughing at some good memories and shaking his head at the bad ones. I sat there laughing at him for having shared his love with so many girls. So much love was given yet none of it worked out in the end.

Lucky for me he’s staying around town for a bit longer. I’m going to teach him to be a runner next time his heart is threatened. I’ll teach him how to read time correctly so when the next girl walks into his life he’ll eat some Rolaids instead of thinking it was his heart that skipped a beat.

Instead he’ll now know that was his heart beating. It's whats needed to tell him he’s alive and to keep on walking.

Saddle Up!

2006-09-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

I’m back in the saddle again trotting along. I used to feel that I was on the edge of something big. And I was. I was on the edge of a big let down.

I just found out last week. Now I’m sulking. I’m allowed to right? I’ve noticed that when I sulk I let down my guard and let someone take care of me. Normally I don’t let this happen. I am an independent person. I don’t let you break me down. However this time I’m noticing that I’m looking for someone to do my laundry and to cook me some meals. I’m not hungry for anything but I’ve eaten food everyday of my life that it feels weird to skip a meal. It’s not natural.

I recently read a comment that said we come into this world alone and leave it alone. At first I agreed. But the more I think about it the more I don’t agree with it. I don’t know anyone who comes and leaves alone. We come into a family, and then we leave with a family of friends and more.

A recent acquaintance told me that no distance in miles is too long between friends. He found it odd that we drop whatever we’re doing and make time for a funeral, but always put off making time for our friends when their alive. I need to view life like this. I need to not be afraid of what lies ahead and instead attack it at full force. I need to be a risk taker.

This thought may sit with me for the next bit of time. It’s time for me to make some changes. I had a great summer full of life and friends. But now things have settled down and it’s feeling a bit lonely.

I’m back in the saddle again. Welcome back to A Conversation With Myself.

2006-09-23T16:32:00.000-07:00

My summer hiatus has come to an end.
A new blog will debut next week.
Be prepared.

Candy

2006-06-15T21:34:00.000-07:00

I work with a good number of attractive females.

I don’t believe in dating coworkers. They wouldn’t date me anyway as most of them are attracted to men younger than their own age. I don’t understand it, but as my mom would say, “whatever floats your boat.”

I have one particular coworker who loves to flirt with any guy that has two legs and walks into her office. This week her flirt is a guy doing some painting around the office. He’s five years younger than her. I called her out on it today, only to end up suffering thru her describe what it was about him. It was his jaw line. She likes it.

I got out of my chair and walked by the painter so I could see exactly what a great jaw line looks like. I quickly walked by him and then turned around and headed back to my office as if I forgot something. I got a good glance. I still didn’t understand it but I went back to her office door and stood there straining my neck while sticking out my chin trying to make a jaw line. She rolled her eyes at me as if she were a waitress at the local pizza joint and I just ordered a pizza with no cheese.

I went back into my office and sat in front of the large mirror for the following few minutes as I tried to make an attractive jaw line. The only thing I ended up doing was laughing at myself hysterically. The more I tried the more I looked like a worm. The shaved head will do that I guess. I shouted across the hallway to my flirtatious coworker telling her that I looked like a worm and this would never work for me. My coworker took this comment of mine as interest on my part and decided to carry on the conversation by telling me that the painter guy was eye candy. I told her that I personally heard that often, hoping to get a laugh out of her. It worked…along with another eye roll I’m sure.

About two minutes later I got to thinking about what type of candy I would be if I were such a thing. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I would be the sugarless candy that no kid ever wants. Just the candy that all moms want for their kids.

Evolution

2006-06-13T13:06:00.000-07:00

My life has evolved. I’ve learned from my mistakes, learned not to be in a relationship where you’re always the one trying to move it forward. I’ve learned not to push and to let it go.

I’ll keep learning that.

I was sitting there with my pizza slice in one hand and the magazine in the other. I came across an article about a writer that I’ve been following this past year who has a book coming out this summer. I’ve read so much about this person I feel as if I really know them, but in truth I don’t. In the interview the writer said the words above to the author of the article and it struck me.

This is what I’ve been working on lately. I’ve been sitting back and not taking the controls in every situation. I’m not a control freak, but I probably easily influence others decisions and plans that I’m around. My mind is spoken and my schedule is set and others will follow if they are interested. I don’t like to waste time if there is a plan set or a goal listed but with no definite steps laid out to be taken. I like to know what, when and where if at all possible.

In an email to a friend last night, I responded to her questions about what I’m working on in life lately. This was in continuation of a rather lengthy conversation we’ve been having about life and priorities. I started the email off by saying no one likes to admit their faults. Most people in life probably don’t even know their faults or quirks but we all have them. However, I personally like to know mine.

I want my life to constantly evolve. To grow like a tree with deep roots and many branches. I’m aiming to not hold back and to keep my eyes open for new opportunities. Maybe this is my summer anthem now that the annual hot weather is here.

Well…..it’s either that or to not get lazy and fat by sitting during my lunch hour and read while eating pizza. I think I have piece of crust hanging off my chin now.

'Ole Blue Eyes

2006-06-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

My eyes changed color today. They went from green to blue. My new license can prove it.

My driver’s license expired over two months ago. I had no idea. I don’t memorize my license and therefore didn’t know I was driving illegally until I tried flying back home after a short trip to see friends. The airport security was not fond of me caring an expired license. I suddenly was treated as if I were on “the list” the government created around 9/11. I was padded down, asked questions and stood silently while witnessing my luggage being carefully searched down to the bag of dirty laundry I had stored at the bottom of the suitcase. Eventually I made it thru security with some message scribbled on my ticket with a pink highlighter. Next time I’m going to carry my own highlighter and help out the process.

After forgetting to update my license for the past few weeks I finally took an early lunch today to accomplish the task. Driving back to the office I looked at the license to admire my picture. Out of the four licenses’ I have owned, only one had a horrible picture. Today’s picture continued my streak of good luck. Sitting at an intersection I inspected the license closer before the light turned green and noticed I had ‘blue as the sky’ eyes. Shortly thereafter I arrived into the work parking lot and walked towards my office stopping into the bathroom to check out my eyes. The mirror confirmed that I now have two blue eyes. I checked with a coworker by asking her what color my eyes were. She confirmed they were blue. I asked another coworker and she squinted a bit and eventually mumbled out the color blue, followed by some possible gray streaks.

My high school science teacher told my junior class that some genetic variances have advantages or disadvantages in certain situations. He went on to say that a birth defect could be defined as any type of unwanted, useless, or disadvantageous variance. His example for the class centered on how in some sunny countries, fair skin, blue eyes and blond hair could be considered a birth defect. At that point in the lecture the entire class woke up since we only heard him call blonde hair blue eyed students birth defects.

Now that I have blue eyes for the day all I can think about is me having a birth defect.

Weather Report

2006-06-01T14:01:00.000-07:00

Today marks the first day of Hurricane Season.

Lately life has felt like a hurricane. You may have noticed with the lack of writing lately. Hurricanes have names, but I can’t even think of one to call my life right now. It all started four weeks ago and doesn’t seem to be settling down. About that time I ran into my old high school librarian that I hadn’t seen in some time. Over the course of our conversation I was happy to tell her that I finally, after all these years, started to read books. I was a big frustration in this women’s career. My high school English teacher required all students to read the first 10 minutes of class. If she allowed me to then I would spend most of that time in the library looking for a book that I had no intentions of really ever finding. I questioned why we couldn't just read magazines. I was always turned down and therefore would find large-print books in the library and use them to cover my daily readings of glossy print celebrity and world news. Since then I've been reading magazines for years. I didn’t realize how addicted I became until I sat down and counted my subscriptions one afternoon and quickly realized I had more magazines than fingers. I made some changes and decided to check out the book world. Soon thereafter Amazon.com became my friend and I found a whole new life of used books for cheap! It’s been almost two years now and I’ve been finding some great reads that I can’t put down at night. It has to be a real-life scenario type of book. None of this fantasy and sci-fi junk, it has to be real or I won’t give it a minute of my time.

On a flight recently I settled into seat 14B. Walking down the center isle in any aircraft I carefully calculate which seat is mine as I stand behind some non-frequent traveler who has no idea how to proceed down the center isle without hitting everyone already seated with their oversize luggage. I usually stand there and count the seats to see exactly where I am sitting while the helpless soul in front of me struggles to put their bag in the overhad bin.

As I settled into my seat I noticed a guy sitting in 15A, the row behind me. I was currently thankful for my new seatmate, an older woman, after exchanging glances with the grunge sitting behind us. After buckling myself in I cracked open my new book and turned to page 11 where I had left off the night before. So far my book was a complete disappointment, but I thought it was worth the effort to read another chapter or two before returning it. My seatmate looked over to see my book and started up a 15 minute conversation on my book and all the books she has ever read in her life. She had listened to the book I was currently holding in my lap on tape, and agreed with me that it wasn’t the easiest book to turn the pages in. She recommended I buy the book on tape as well which led us into another conversation about uploading books onto an ipod. She found no reason to ever own such tool until I informed her that books were for sale online that she could download and travel with easily all on her ipod. I won her over easily.

The conversation soon ceased and I couldn’t bring myself to read any more pages in my horrible book. I leaned back and closed my eyes only to start eavesdropping into the conversation happening behind me. The man in 15A started up a conversation with his seatmate and went on to explain that he was returning from London having visited his girlfriend for three weeks. She teaches literature in some grad program on the south side of London. He can’t talk her into moving to the states to be with him. Now he is setting new goals in life and will possibly move over to London to be with her. Seat 15B carried on the conversation encouraging him that it was good to set life goals and achieve them one at a time. Eventually 15B was was interrupted by 15A when he informed him that his wife was murdered one day six years ago and he’s nowhere he had planned to be in life now. Shocked at what I heard, I noticed others sitting around us leaning in a bit to hear this guy go off on how bad his life was. Basically his life was a hurricane. There wasn't any fancy magazine sharing his storm with rest of the world. Instead of the slick pictures we usually find on our nations hurricanes he was experiencing his all alone.

At that moment my seatmate leaned over and said, “Who needs to read fiction when you can hear it for yourself going on behind you.”

Flying High

2006-05-11T20:29:00.000-07:00

“If your lucky the baby a few rows up will cry the entire flight up to Portland today,” the flight attendant said with a tone of annoyance. “On an earlier flight this morning we had a baby cry the whole flight over and it was miserable for us. I don’t have any kids myself, but if I did I would bring cheerios on the flight,” he continued proclaiming to the passengers sitting near me.

I was already in a bad mood and this made me a bit more irritated. I don’t stick up for those who have babies in their laps on my flights. I don’t feel any sort of special connection with them. I don’t have any kids. It’s the fact that the flight attendant made an idiot out of himself and possibly embarrassed the young mother sitting ahead of me two rows. While my fellow passengers chuckled and offered their two cents on traveling with kids, I tuned them out while I dug in my bag for my ipod. I need music. I need noise. Anything to drown out the crying thing up front and to lift my mood.

I’m not sure I was supposed to fly today. Nevertheless I am on my final leg of today’s journey but it hasn’t been easy. This is the first time I have ever flown from point A to point B with two layovers in between. I really didn’t mind taking two layovers when I purchased the flight. I’m always up for an adventure. My first layover was in DFW this morning. Due to lightening storms and heavy rains from OKC to DFW my flight was delayed. Upon arrival into DFW I had to run to another terminal to catch my next flight. Arriving closer to my gate I heard my name being called out over the intercom, “MrT please proceed to gate ## for immediate boarding and departure.”

Side note about me. I HATE my full name being called out in public. I don’t like it. I can’t explain why. Just accept the fact and move on.

As I handed the gate agent my boarding pass she asked me about three other passengers who were supposed to be on my flight. She asked if I had seen them in the airport. I held back my annoyance with her and nicely told her that I knew no on in the airport and therefore didn’t know who else would be on my flight this morning. It took her a few seconds to grasp the concept but she handed back my pass and pointed the way for me to find the airplane door. While walking down to the plane I realized that my name was the only one broadcast to the entire airport though there were three other people needing to get on my flight. Why me? Upon finding my row I noticed several seats empty on the plane so I proceeded back to a row of 3 empty seats. Maybe my day would turn out better. I made myself comfortable stretching out on all three seats while I quickly glanced at my itinerary. It was then that I noticed I didn’t have another boarding pass for my next leg of the journey today. San Diego to Portland.

Arriving into San Diego I experienced the worst airport, besides Kansas City, in the years that I have traveled. There were no monitors to be seen so I could look up my flight information. I asked a gate agent and he couldn’t help me since I would be transferring to a different airline company for this last leg. I walked around and around and finally found four monitors that listed a severely small amount of departing flights. It was there that I begin to think I had to walk or ride to a different building to find my next flight. I slowly made my way out of the terminal and found myself at baggage claim. I stopped by to see if I needed to pick up my bag. I didn’t recognize any thing so I followed signs pointing the way to terminal one. There I found my next flight company and stood in line.

40 minutes passed and I didn’t move in line. I huffed and puffed and often changed which leg I put my weight on. My flight would be leaving in 20 minutes and I still had no idea what I was doing. I finally stepped out of line and cut in front of a few people to demand attention from a ticket agent. After telling her of the horrible service I encountered thus far she kindly helped me learn that OKC forgot to give me the third boarding pass and that now I have to go stand in line for security and head to gate 16. I run over to the security line and see that it’s going nowhere. I walk up front and ask the agent if I may cut due to my flight leaving in seven minutes and he won’t let me. I angrily walk to the end of the line and wait impatiently as the line sloooooooooooooooooooowly moves. Again I find myself huffing and puffing. I finally made it up to security and watched as two passengers were allowed to cut in order to make it to their flight. I think they were allowed to because of the low-lying shirts they were wearing along with their tacky colored hair. It looked like the two female passengers were taking a weekend jaunt from the retirement village to have a rendezvous in Palm Springs.

As I take off my belt and slide my shoes off again I hear over the loud speaker, “MrT please proceed to gate ## for immediate boarding and departure.” The older business woman in front of me takes her sweet time and fills up four boxes of things she doesn’t want to have in her bag as it passes thru the x-ray machine. She had two laptops. Who travels with two laptops? I’m so close to the gate, yet I’m moving nowhere when again I hear my name and announcement broadcast to the entire town of San Diego.

Eventually I make it thru security clearance and run to my gate only to find the door has been closed. The agent at the desk notices my frantic running and only says, “tell me you’re not on this flight!” I unfortunately have to break her heart and tell her I indeed am supposed to. She radios to someone who gives her permission to open the door and walk me out. I end up standing on the edge of the ramp (which has already been pulled back from the plane door) while it moves forward as the plane door swings open to let me in. I am greeted with a smile and welcomed aboard.

I settle in for the flight as I buckle my seatbelt and slide my bag under the chair in front me. As I sat back upright the head flight attendant came onto the loud speaker and said, “we all want to welcome MrT aboard today. Though you all have seen the emergency presentation, please sit back and watch again while I inform MrT”

I’m going to work on a fake name this week. From now on if my friends or anyone else needs my attention in public they can use my alias name. Any suggestions?

Odd Jobs.

2006-05-03T10:35:00.000-07:00

He was tall and made odd facial expressions. She was short and frumpy and couldn’t stop staring at herself in my mirror. They had to be younger than 25.

Neither of them could make eye contact, but they stunk up my 9x10 office. They were operating a door-to-door cologne sales business. They talked and talked their product up trying to quiz me on my preferences of scent. Just to harass them I vocally disagreed with everything they said and threw a few challenges back at them. I was uninterested though it didn't seem to bother them. They kept spraying, spraying and spraying more bottles for me to smell.

Walking thru the perfume isles in the mall bother me to a degree. This raised the bar since they wouldn't stop spraying in my 9x10 office.

His story changed a few times so I never quite understood what he was doing. He would stake claim to one thing then change it a few minutes later. She bossed him around followed by a checkup in the mirror every 30-seconds which led to her placing her hair behind her ears several times.

I couldn’t take it anymore and had to leave my office. I don’t know how they got into my office in the first place. I could smell them all the way back in my office though they were originally upfront harassing the assistant sitting by the phone. They snuck past her and ended up back here in my doorway.

They had names I couldn’t pronounce in their boxes, so I called them out on selling fakes. She was quick to step up and say they had promos but would be selling the real ones soon, followed by a quick glance in the mirror to play with her hair. She spoke too fast at times and I had no idea what she was saying. She didn't notice the frown upon my face becasue she was looking in the mirror playing with her hair.

I eventually told them I was uninterested and they needed to leave. I could no longer breathe and I needed coffee beans to clear my senses up. I showed them the door and went up front looking to blame someone for my new headache. Instead I found half my office crew standing in the doorway themselves trying to get some fresh air. It seems as if everyone developed an instant headache with these two salespeople in our office.

I need some Tylenol. I need it now.

In Memory Of...

2006-05-01T12:58:00.000-07:00

“On April 19, 1995, a great wrong was done in Oklahoma City, however, on this day in April the forces of fear and hate were beaten by love and compassion.”

Our team completed the marathon-relay yesterday. We finished 110 out of 427 teams.

We went out there for the challenege of working together in honor of the memory of those who lost their lives in the Oklahoma City bombing in 1995. We strove to continue the unity that formed the morning of April 19th as a city and a nation came together in support of new chapter in our nations history.

In my following post I have attached a journalistic observation paper I wrote in the fall of 2000 for a college class. I won a small award for this paper as I sat at the OKC bombing memorial one afteroon trying to come up with the idea for my paper. I post this in memory of those that lost their lives that morning. I post this in memory of those we ran for yesterday in the OKC National Memorial Marathon.

One minute

2006-05-01T12:12:00.000-07:00

I see him sitting down the way from me in a somber mood with his hands clasped tightly and his worn out ball cap shading his dark eyes from the late afternoon sun. He is sits there alone, yet he is here along with hundreds of other observers bracketed in one moment of time. He sits here between the east and west gates silent and still frozen in time.

Through the crowd I notice him with his head bowed low.
I wonder what he is replaying over in his mind. Possibly it’s a scene that was once reported many times throughout that particular day five years ago. A scene that occured at 9:02am.

He remains still for quite some time with his eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet. Eventually he slowly he rises to stand as he grabs the nearby railing balancing himself as he catches his breath. The sight of his breath billowing out of his dry mouth only makes this autumn day a bit chillier.

Paying no attention to those around him, the gentleman faces westward, placing the memorial pool at his back and the sun directly on his wrinkled face. As he stares at the street that lay before him I wonder if he sees any semblance to the way he is standing. Looking west, the way the street is directed, he is conveniently turned away from the pain and sorrow which he and I are both standing on. The street easily carry's those feelings away towards the setting of the sun.

With ease the older gentleman turns around and slowly starts walking my way. Heading towards the monumental 9:01 east gate, which I am closer to than he, each step is slow and small.

With two different minutes in the nine o'clock hour on them, the gates stand tall imposing shadows over the green grass and dark shallow water. The one minute between each gate can easily make the longest minute of this gentlemen’s life as he continues my direction step by step.

A large crowd catches up behind the man as they frantically try to keep pace with what looks to be an official tour guide directing them. The older man soon falls hidden into the crowd unable to keep their pace as he keeps steady and unobtrusive. Pace though, is the last thing on his mind today.

The group of onlookers stops just short of where I am sitting to listen intently as the guide tells them different facts about the entire memorial. Emerging from the crowd though is my subject, the older man.

As he walks right by me I appear distracted and not fixed upon his movements. But for him, anyone standing within five feet of him is non-existent today. Instead his mind is filled with pictures and thoughts. Images flash through his mind about as swift as his pace to the east gate.

Parallel to this man lays a quarter-inch deep pool of chilly waters. This pool is measured to be the exact width of the streets that lay outside each towering gate. The streets that carry individuals to this place are also the paths to which the painful memories can be carried out.

Shortly after the older man walks past me, a child runs towards him and nearly misses him as she stops abruptly at the edge of the water. She reaches deep into her coat pockets pulling out small change to throw towards the middle of the reflecting pool. With her parents walking behind her they reveal a smile after her gesture of innocence, a smile that possibly means a thousand different things.

A smile though is not evident on this older gentleman. I see him shoot a quick glance over his shoulder inquiring what just happened behind his back.

Interrupting the silence of the afternoon sun, neighboring churches bells begin to ring eight times. I wonder if each one of those ringing of the bells represents 21 different individuals who died on this spot five years ago. I wonder if one of the 168 people who died here knew this older gentleman somehow.

As the older man moved toward the end of the reflecting pool he stops to look up at the imposing tower that stands before him. He could be staring that the cloudless sky but somehow I think he is looking at the time imprinted on the gate- 9:01

Leaning his back against the east gate, the older man looks westward now. I can’t help but notice him catch a glimpse of the empty chairs to his left, then the symbolic survivor tree on his right.
I sense that this gentleman has been here many times before.

Pretending to be unaware of this man I move in closer to the scene, but keep my eyes in the pool to my right. How can such a shallow pool look so deep yet so calming?

As I close in on the presence of this man a frightening scene appears before me. A sight I have never seen before at the memorial. Embalmed on the gate are an innumerable amount of handprints. Across the width of the gate and reaching up nearly seven feet tall these handprints reach out. Eerily, I look over at the gentleman wondering if he knows what is on the wall he is now leaning against. I can’t help but imagine that each of these handprints belongs to one of the 168 people. How strange to see those reaching out to this gentleman asking for help. If not for help, those hands reach for support in holding this gentleman up who has prayed non-stop for these individuals.

Here at the gate he closes his eyes turning his face up to the sky. The sun has lowered some, but still shines brightly upon his face. It is here that I see a teardrop fall from his closed eyelids.

I slowly turn around and walk the length of the reflecting pool again, and pass through the west gate. I turn around and try to catch one more glimpse of this man, only to realize he has disappeared as quickly as I have left. Not as quickly though as the memory of one day five years ago.

3am

2006-04-30T00:59:00.001-07:00

My alarm will violently ring in two hours. It will be time to get up.

I am supposed to be downtown in three hours dressed and ready for the race. They say you're supposed to get a good nights rest before a big race. If I fall asleep right this minute this will give me two hours of a good night sleep.

I stepped in my front door 30-minutes ago. My roundtrip to DFW today was delayed coming back home. While the world lays silently this morning my back leans against the bed pillows as my mind wanders down my imaginary 'to do' list for in the morning.

Bagels. Check. Bandaids. Check. Sweatshirt. Check. iPod. Check.

The percentage of me having a great finishing race time tomorrow has now lowered. Check.

Less on Top

2006-04-26T09:50:00.000-07:00

I shaved my head this morning. I did not shave it bald.

Well I didn’t personally do it. My rather gorgeous hair cutting lady did it. I hate my hair. Always have. It’s thin. It blows in whatever direction the wind is blowing and will often stay in some obnoxious shape after the wind dies down.

If I had thick hair I would purposefully put it into obnoxious shapes because that would be fun. But with thin hair it’s not fun or manageable.

I decided to go ahead and shave it because of a big race I have this weekend. You can imagine what my hair looks like after I’ve run seven miles.

With no personal grooming needed in the mornings I will have more time to sleep. Five or 10 extra minutes in my bed can feel like an hour on some mornings. Unless there is orange juice in my fridge….then I can get up easier without those extra few minutes lingering over me.

I had a friend in town recently. He stayed a few nights at my house. He is obsessed with an iron. You wouldn’t think this about the guy, but he gets it from his mom. Everything in her life is perfect. She is the ‘Bree Vandecamp’ of my life (Desperate Housewives). I’ve known this guy since 6th grade. I was the new kid in school. He was not. I was the skinny blonde bucktooth kid who sat at the desk with my name on it. This guy comes in on the first day of school and yells at me to get out of his seat. I pointed out that my name was perfectly written on the nametag to which he notices we have the same first name. He mumbled something and walked to find his own desk further back in the classroom. We became friends a few years later.

This guy irons his clothes everyday before work. I once pointed out that he should try ironing the night before he goes to work. You would have thought I was a stupid idiot for suggesting such easy ideas. You would have thought I cussed him out. I don’t remember his exact excuse but he was no longer interested in hearing my advice at that moment.

Each morning before we left my house my friend would iron his shirt until it looked perfect. I caught him once ironing his undershirt. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut when I saw that. I have never seen such a thing. I have never heard of such a thing. I began to wonder if he irons his socks and underwear. I refrained from asking. After all since he was so handy with the iron I threw a few things at him to iron for me. I didn’t want to upset him with my sarcastic questions if he was willing to iron for me. I learned that if your undershirt is pressed then it won’t show thru your freshly ironed dress shirt. Otherwise you can tell if someone hasn’t ironed their undershirt. I understood the point, but still looked down on my friend and laughed at him.

He left in the middle of last week to go back home. I found myself one evening preparing to go out with some friends after he left town. I picked out a rather wrinkled shirt and turned on the iron and waited a few minutes. Before I laid my dress shirt on the ironing board I thought of my friend and quickly took off my undershirt and ironed it out. I felt stupid but was curious. After getting dressed and preparing to head out I realized how great my undershirt felt.

I have ironed my undershirts four different times since my friend left. I think I might be addicted. Maybe now with no hair to mess with in the morning I’ll have a few more minutes to iron my socks and underwear.

Thru the Lens

2006-04-23T19:58:00.000-07:00

The Washington Monument in all it's glory. Our host took this photo.

This gold star-filled wall (right) was incredible. The reflection and calmness was eerie considering hundreds of people were standing nearby checking out the World War II monument. Turning my camera away from the crowds I was able to capture the stillness of the moment.

I took a few shots of these flowers but this one came out the best. The sunlight hits them at the most perfect points.

There was something about this door that struck me. I can't put it into words. I was at a crowded market and came across this empty corner outside a historic building. I tried holding my breath in this tunnel but ended up laughing outloud. My passenger almost made it thru, but gave up before the sunlight at the end of the tunnel hit our faces. I had enough time to snap this photo since I was able to breath.

I love this photo of vegetables. The raw carrots laying before a bed of fresh green broccli. The stillness and colors drew me to take this photo.

I like the misconstrued view outside the the passenger window, yet looking into the side view mirror what we left behind was clear. We didn't know what laid ahead in our travels, but what we were leaving was a clear memory of time well spent together.

Quiet Happiness

2006-04-23T14:57:00.000-07:00

My vacation came to an end earlier this week, Tuesday in fact. Real life started back on Wednesday, but it was more like Friday when things began to fall in place.

Quietness is what I missed the most. Don’t we usually take vacations to get away from everything? To relax and experience quietness. Maybe it’s more of a solitude feeling that I missed. Traveling with a friend, to go see another friend meant there was someone by my side all the time.

I did good being with that much company for that long of a time. I like to be surrounded by people. I also like to surround myself with emptiness at times too. To not set a schedule. To do what I want to do. Those are the feelings that make me happiest at times.

This weekend was my first in awhile to be home alone. I tried living it up for what it was worth but one thing or another kept showing up at my door or calling me to talk. I wasn’t in the mood for it. I wanted to go and do things on my own.

Today with nothing on my schedule I made happiness out of cleaning and chopping some fruits and vegetables. I bought over a weeks worth of fruits and veggies yesterday at the Farmers Market.

Eating fruit is my type of vacation. It’s a break from the regular processed foods that surround me daily. It’s a natural sweetness in my mouth that wasn’t an added ingredient on some conveyor belt in some factory miles away. Instead it’s a natural quiet happiness for me.

Neverending Road

2006-04-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

With the change in weather comes a change in office dynamics. No matter how much work I accomplish each day, there seems to be more and more work to do. Once one phonecall is returned, another message is left on my voicemail. As one stack of notes gets organized and put into deadline order another one has started piling up in another chair.

I felt the need to escape.

With the car packed, maps studied and another friend in tow we're on the road for a vacation.

We've got nothing but asphalt miles as far as the eye can see in front of us. With the ipod full and magazines stacked on the floor this will be a successful break from work.

When I go back next week all the piles of work will hopefully find a way to disappear back to where they came from. I dread seeing it already.

State of Ugliness

2006-04-01T19:28:00.000-08:00

On the train this morning two ladies came up to the second floor hoping to find seats next to each other on the four hour ride down to Ft. Worth, Texas. With the seats already full of families and various tourists they ended up sitting apart. The shorter blond haired woman with too much makeup sat in front of me while her tall, stringy hair 80s-wearing jean friend who was missing a few front teeth sat behind me across the isle. That didn’t stop them from having conversations for everyone sitting near them to hear.

I learned about their night out partying on the town, their roommate’s names and jobs, and the deal on shirts they bought at Wal-Mart this week. I also learned about a missing dog.

The lady in front of me listed an ad in the paper earlier this week searching for her missing pit bull. A man who found it called her on her cell phone while in motion on the train. I learned the caller’s entire name, address and phone number as did everyone sitting in the same section. We also learned that the lady lied on the ad so whoever found her dog would return it. She listed that the dog needed expensive medication throughout the day and would be in danger if not with her owner. While creative in advertising the lady lied in order to increase the chances of her dog being returned by just any random dog finder.

She told her friend, sitting a row behind me and across the isle, about her craftiness in story telling after she hung up the phone. The friend asked if the gentleman caller asked for a reward to which she replied with a “NO” followed by her story of a lie.

I was tempted to write down the caller’s phone number and ring him once I got off the train this afternoon. I would have encouraged him to drop the ugly dog off at the pound and walk away. Or, I would have told him to ask her for a reimbursement for a drug he gave the dog after he called a vet and described the current state of her dog since the ad stated it needed meds. It didn't bother me that she lied. It bothered me that she talked so loud that my otherwise pleansant ride was rather annoying with her in my presence. And yes...it was before I had any caffeine this morning so I was being rude in my head.

Instead of my evil wishes coming true the train company fulfilled my silent wishes.

As the train arrived into a certain station the conductor announced that anyone who needed to smoke could get off the train and give into their addictions for two minutes. Leaving their belongings in their seats the annoying ladies quickly stepped foot onto the platform to light up and gab. I silently watched all this from my seat as I scanned the crowd of 15 to 20 passengers all huddled below my window together puffing away. It was a humorous site to see. Over the next two minutes I saw people rushed trying to get in a few good puffs before they stepped back on the train. I also saw two annoying ladies disappear thru some doors into the train station.

After two minutes we started rolling again as the train blew its whistle. At that moment I saw the two ladies run out of the station only to miss our train completely.

There is only one train per day on this route. I guess the short blonde lady with too much makeup won’t be picking up her dog as soon as she had expected. Too bad.

Lost & Found

2006-03-28T22:22:00.000-08:00

This evening after work I stopped over at a friend’s house to help her a bit with a bike. She recently acquired a bike but couldn’t figure out how to raise the seat and the handle bars to fit her more comfortably. I looked at the piece of rusted metal a week or so ago when she first brought it to my attention. It needed a special tool that I could picture in my head but not name. This one tool is all she needed to work with before she could pull her bike out in this warm weather.

Wearing a black blazer with my jeans I was stooping over the bike to take a good look at the size of the nut and bolt looking item that needed this special tool. Again, I knew what the tool looked like I just couldn’t name it.

Arriving at the super-store we walked around a few isles unable to find the tool section. We eventually stumbled into the ‘sports and outdoors’ section which meant we were not going the right direction but instead were standing near the fish tanks full of fish. I have a fear of fish tanks. I cannot walk down that particular isle in any store. I have a fear that at the exact moment I walk by the tanks the glass will shatter and all the water and fish will come my direction. I can’t stand to be near all that sparkling water in the event that all that glass will shatter. I am not afraid of water. I am afraid of fish.

After asking a nearby employee for the specific tool section my friend led the way until we stood among the Black and Decker filled shelves. As we scanned the various items I started realizing that I had no idea what I was looking for. I knew what this desired tool looked like; I had no idea where to begin looking for it. Frustrated I looked over to my friend and said, “I feel like I am losing my manhood in this isle. I should know more about all these tools and what we’re looking for.” Trying to hide her giggling she mumbled something back about my lack of manhood at that exact moment and how she could possibly forgive me.

As we handled several items and opened a few more we finally caved in and went to look at the bike section to find a similar looking piece to show an employee. We were obviously going nowhere in our current isle as I tried to teach myself something new while my friend only picked up tools that she liked the name of. She could care less about what each tool was for, she only liked the quirky names and which ones were the biggest. With her size mattered.

I didn’t want to show the male employee standing nearby that I didn’t know what tool I needed, and instead told my friend what she needed to say as I pulled out one bike to use as our example. I turned around just as the employee asked me directly what we were looking for and I realized I was stuck. Trying not to sound stupid I managed to get my question out as he turned around and grabbed the tool from the shelf behind him. While it wasn’t the exact tool I was looking for a few isles over it was one that would work perfectly. Eventually I learned it was a socket-wrench that we needed, or so I thought.

Shortly after arriving home we worked on her bike together trying to unscrew the handlebars first so that they could be raised. My friend tried but was unsuccessful even after she remembered lefty loosey, righty tighty. I gave it all my strength but was unable to loosen it at first but eventually noticed the screw starting to move slightly to the left the more I tried. I didn't want to mess up my good clothes and stood at an awkward position to not get any grease and rust on me. As I kept unscrewing the bike, old grease leaked out of the sockets forming a puddle on the garage floor. At this point my main concern became my clothes. Finally after quite some time had passed and the further we got along in trying to fix up her bike my friend stood up and said, “You got your manhood back.”

I believe that was my thanks for helping her get half the project complete. We eventually raised her seat, but we never figured out how to raise the handlebars, only loosen them. After we gave up I took it for a ride down her driveway and back up it only to get a rip in my jeans down around my ankle. My jean leg got caught on the water bottle holder. I think I was more upset about the damage done to my jeans than my lack of knowledge in the tool isle.

The Art of Life

2006-03-23T16:08:00.000-08:00

I spent the night with my grandma last night as I hadn't seen her in a few months. She will achieve the grand age of 86 this year to which she asked me if I thought she would live long past that? I didn't know exactly what to say but I let my answer roll of my tongue as if I wasn't thinking too much about her question.

I eventually turned my attention to a stack of magazines she had read that were catered to an audience of 'old timers.' Thinking I would skim thru a few I crawled down off the couch and sat myself next to the pile of magazines. I was hoping to find a few 'old timer' things I could ask my grandma about since she loves to talk and has a good memory of things gone by.

We chatted back and forth a bit talking about her days as a young mother in Arkansas to the days she used to get out about town a bit more. These days she sits at home in silence until a telemarketer calls to break the silence.

After turning the pages of the slick magazines I found a small book advertising some odd number of household secrets using anything you have laying around your house. I'm a sucker for some gimmicks and this is one of them.

I quickly turned the pages and learned that a banana peel can shine your shoes, while a paste of water and baking soda can eliminate the rust stains in your stainless steel sink. Before I closed the book for the night I found a section on decorating secrets. I came across one so called secret that had me laughing in disgust.

"A decorator's tip that would cost a fortune," it stated. "It's very chic to accent walls, furniture and other areas with carpet. A decorator would charge thousands of dollars for this idea. If you've got leftover carpeting, cut it into strips and glue it onto the wall like wallpaper. Or, cut out matching seat mats, or face a desk with leftover carpet."

I can't wait to get home and try this idea out. In fact from now on anytime someone spills something on my carpet I'll just cut that stain out of my carpet and hang it up on my wall. And that my friend is art!

Windshield Words

2006-03-21T18:14:00.000-08:00

Before I shut my car door this morning on my way to work I glanced up and noticed that a piece of paper sat purposely placed between my wiper and windshield. Throwing my computer bag over to the passenger seat I pulled myself back out of the car to reach over and grab the piece of torn paper. I opened it to read, "Have a great day at work. I'm sure you always do!"

Thinking this was from my neighbor is who is extremely kind and bubbly I thought nothing more and continued on to work this morning and carried about my usual self.

This evening as I left work late, once again I noticed a second piece of paper conveniently placed on my windshield. Thinking for a quick second I mistakenly received a parking ticket I soon realized that it was a personal note written on college-rule paper. Once I shut my door and turned on my car to get the heater going I tore open the note to read, "Have you actually still not figured it out? I've been waiting all day for the phone to ring. I guess you're just busy at work today."

I didn't know I was supposed to figure anything out! I thought I knew who wrote the simple note this morning. I've either got the first member of my fan club coming out in full force, or I've officially got a stalker. I'd prefer to think the fan club route. Who in the world drove down to my house sometime in the night to put a note on my car? And how did they choose my car out of the hundred or so parked in my parking lot at work? Plus there are two other cars in the lot that are exactly like mine, all except for the license plate.

Now I'm really confused...and slightly scared.

Color Matters

2006-03-20T11:18:00.000-08:00

Now that it’s Monday and I’m off to having a particularly successful work day I am realizing that I spent this weekend in a sea of grey. With the rain pounding my bedroom windows all weekend I mostly stayed in and tried to reevaluate my living conditions. I picked up two cans of paint on Saturday which will sit on my kitchen floor collecting a thin layer of dust before I ever open them. It’s the principle that I actually bought some paint that made me feel better, like I’m slowly moving in.

Secondly, I actually unpacked three boxes last night. I moved into this place last July but over the months I have let ten or so boxes just sit on my floor hiding the contents which lay in the dark taped up. I did think about throwing them out completely without opening them up, but that was me just flirting. My theory is that if I haven’t needed what’s in the boxes the last eight months then why would I need it now? If I would have fallen thru with my temptations I would have lost a ton of pictures and nothing else really. I couldn’t believe half the junk I had saved in those boxes.

But now it’s Monday and I’m back into the black and white. I’m back on my daily ‘to do’ lists as I watch the emails pile up in my inbox. My weekend of grey was covered in rain and meditation as I tried to make better the surroundings about me.

Thoughts...

2006-03-16T11:51:00.000-08:00

As I stood waiting for the elevator to take me to my room a few floors up an older couple joined me on the marble laid floor in the hotel lobby. The woman stood closer to me than her husband as we both hoped an elevator near us to would open soon. As her husband inched closer to us the elevator closest to him, and farthest from us, opened as he hobbled in. With his back hunched over he grasped his cain even tighter as he slowly made his way to the back of the mirrored elevator. “Are you trying to leave me down here alone?” his wife said as she entered the elevator shortly behind him. I stepped in and gently pressed my floor number and asked them what floor they needed as the woman stared ahead into the mirror and recited, “Floor five young man." The old woman started messing with her hair in the mirror before saying, “of course you were trying to leave me down there, looking like this I would do the same thing too!”

It’s situations like these that make me laugh and appreciate my job of being on the road. The simple interaction between this husband and wife gave me something to smile about on what was a rather bad day. However, earlier that afternoon I witnessed this situation.

I sat in the corner booth picking at my food while I worked on a few Sudoku puzzles. My body aches were only worsening that afternoon and I couldn’t bring myself to eat much more than a few nibbles of my over-priced lunch. Ignoring my surroundings I completed a few puzzles until I eventually looked up to see a father and son sitting diagonal from me at a small table enjoying their lunch. Within a matter of minutes I began to notice that they were enjoying their lunch, but not the present company of each other. I was intrigued and couldn’t help but stare. With the fathers back to me I could only see the face of the son who had to be no older than 16. With each bite the son looked up at his father though the glance was not returned as the father kept his eyes on his plate before him. I continued moving my food around the plate with my fork as I kept my attention on the relationship across from me. Conveniently I held my Sudoku book up in case I needed to immediately return my eyes to my book. Minutes were passing briskly as the two of them continued eating but not talking. Emotions in me were telling me to stand up and go tell the father how messed up his son would be if he didn’t take the time to visit with him over a simple meal, though my muscles didn’t move from my booth. I couldn’t believe what was happening a few feet from me though I couldn’t do anything about it. It was none of my business but I was aghast that a father couldn’t take the time to talk with his child. It was obvious the kid would enjoy socializing with his father, but instead he took each bite in solemn silence until the father was finished with his meal and they could head out the door and back home.

I realize that we all communicate in various ways. Some are rather successful at saying their true feelings, while others hide behind their feelings never letting the other know what’s going on inside their head. The last week and a half was a busy trip for me and it got rather lonely towards the end. I’m happy to have my computer back up and running. I’m happy to be back in the blogging world. I’ve missed communication.

Down and Out

2006-03-08T09:30:00.000-08:00

My laptop has crashed and I am lost without it. I am currently in Dallas for a work trip and I'm supposed to be here until the middle of next week. I don't know what to do with myself without my little keyboard buddy next to me. Life is frustrating right now. No more postings until further notice.

Thank you, Thank you

2006-03-06T19:44:00.000-08:00

I know I have an opinion. I know I share it often. I just didn't know anyone listened.

I enjoyed the emails and phone calls I received today asking for my take on the Oscars last night. I would like to take the opportunity and remind you all that the day the Oscar nominations came out I proclaimed that "Crash" would take home the top award. And I was right. So, with that said I would like to offer up my acceptance speech on winning my own personal Oscar ballot contest.

"I would like to thank the Academy for making good movies. But more importantly I would like to thank my job for paying me once a month. Without that handly little income I would not have been able to afford the $1 it cost me to see that movie this past year at the local cheap theatre. Also to my parents for taking me to see the Gremlins when I was little. And to the theatre arcade room for providing entertainment for me when the Gremlin scenes got too intense so my mom would take me out to play Pac Man. It was too tense for her to watch.....not me."

Another Title

2006-02-28T14:46:00.000-08:00

I was standing in a friend’s kitchen the other day when she told me that I was a Renaissance Man. I was intrigued and asked for an explanation hoping I could learn where she was coming from. A few words were expressed and nothing else was mentioned after that conversation. That was three days ago and it’s still on the top of my mind. What makes a man in today’s society a Renaissance Man? After searching off and on the last few days I came across a few good articles this morning as I sat buried in the noisy crowd of Starbucks....or fourbucks.

A Renaissance Man is created by exposing himself to a variety of activities rather than just one activity. Though one activity ought to enrich a man’s life it is not to impoverish it by requiring such a commitment to it that other activities go unnoticed or unchallenged in life. It is valuable to cultivate great talent and bring it as close as possible to its full potential. Thomas Jefferson is one of America’s most notable men who can easily be called a Renaissance Man due to his wide range of interests such as education, economics, inventing, public service and writing.

After reading up on some great examples of such men I began to ponder my ability or lack thereof in balancing my life. I do have a wide spectrum of interets but each day I seem overwhelmed with daily ‘to do’ lists I try to complete. These various tasks I try to accomplish with my perfectionism. Some could say my perfectionism gets in the way and maybe this morning I’m possibly agreeing with these so called finger pointers. I agree with them after reading about such men and how they balance their interests making them a better person as a whole. However, this recent educational research has also helped me decide that yes it is time for me to look for a new job. I’m in a great place right now but I don’t want to settle on one thing…I’ve been here long enough. It’s time for me to move on and find a new challenge. I need to step out of my warmth and into something cold to wake me up.

Now, if only I could decide on what I want to do in my next career. I have a whole list of things I want to do or become. Where do I begin? It’s time for me to keep expand my knowledge and continue being a Renaissance Man.

Full Circle

2006-02-23T07:33:00.000-08:00

I pulled up to my local nieghborhood gas station the other night needing to top off my tank with some overpriced unleaded fuel. With my heavy coat and Japanese scarf keeping me warm I started the pump before deciding to run in and get some cash out of the ATM. I needed cash for something going on the next day, plus the temperature was below freezing and I needed the warmth of the mini-mart that sat across the lot.

As I approached the front of the mini-mart he was there in all his glory begging for 85 to 90-cents. With barely a coat hanging on him and a gas can in his left hand I thought it was an odd amount to be asking for. I cut him short with the same story I have given him before, many times before in fact. “I don’t carry cash sir, only plastic,” I responded and continued on inside the brightly lit store.

I slid down the candy isle then past the chips and pretzel stand before I stood at the ATM. I was a bit apprehensive to get some cash out considering I just denied the stranger outside the dirty windows his request for less than a dollar. However, I proceeded to carry on with my transaction when the chime of the front door rang. I glanced over to see a cleaned up gentleman walk in and I was slightly relieved it wasn’t the stranger outside. I didn’t want him to see me there in all my glory feeling guilty for denying him something so simple. I stood there staring out the front windows trying to see if the man was outside as I reached down to grab my twenties out of the machine. It was freezing outside with the fog laying low on the street and I was shivering with my layered clothes on. I decided right there that I could break my habit and for once give this stranger a dollar or two. He simply asked for less than that and maybe for once I could hand over more than that. With the cash in my hand I began to think of the scripture that states, “I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” Jesus says this in one of his parables when he talks about needing to be fed, clothed, invited in, etc.

I stepped up to the front counter asking the pale teenage-looking cashier to break one of my twenties and to be sure to give me five ones among that. Reaching up he handed me my change as I put three ones in my coat pocket and secured the rest in my wallet that I placed inside my coat. Though the empty gas container was in the stranger’s left hand I assumed he wanted cash for some drugs or alcohol. At this point in the freezing night I didn’t care what he wanted it for. If it meant a drink that would keep him warm then I wanted him to partake. If it meant he could step inside somewhere warm to get something inside a store then I wanted him to. I don’t ever give to anyone who begs me, but there are times I’ve wanted to hand over my change to those beggars whose signs show honesty. The ‘Will Work For Food’ sign doesn’t make me believer, but the “Need Money For Alcohol” does and sometimes I want to give them 50-cents because they are being honest for what they are begging for. However, I usually keep my hands in my pocket, nose in the air and continue walking past those that beg in my city.

I proceeded out the front door feeling the freezing air hit my face as I looked over to where the beggar had been standing earlier. The sidewalk was empty. I scanned the entire parking lot and caught a glimpse of one older lady filling up her Ford one pump over from my car. My right hand held onto the three bucks in my pocket but I felt it ease up once I realized he was gone. I felt empty for a second and slightly disappointed in myself for not acting sooner as I walked back to my car. After topping off my tank I slid into my front seat and started my car as I turned the heat up to high. I continued scanning the parking lot hoping to see this man walk back into the well-lit area as I put my car in drive. I exited the parking lot wondering what happened to this man thinking maybe someone else helped him out.

I had dinner with a good friend last night at a local neighborhood establishment. After an hour or so of conversing and filling up our stomachs we said our goodbyes and parted our ways. As I walked down the steps into the parking lot where my car sat I was approached by this same beggar from a few nights earlier. Looking just as frail and torn up as he was a few nights ago he asked if I was interested in buying some weed from him. Shaking my head in disbelief that I ran into him again I walked past him and said, “I don’t carry cash sir, only plastic.”

Are you serious?

2006-02-19T18:15:00.000-08:00

I've been in the car for four straight days.
I have driven over 34 hours the last four days.
I've been in the car with four girls this entire time

I have been asked about my first kiss, most embarassing moment, former crushes and other girlie things they like talk about in a car.
I have listened to many love songs.

I have driven over ice, in snow, under heavy rain and thru constant traffic.

I'm stuck in a hole-in-the wall motel room due to weather.
I'm at my wit's end and and can't wait to be home.
It can't come soon enough.

I need to get home just to do something man-like.
I need to grill my dinner.
I need to turn on ESPN.
I need to burp outloud.

I'm supposed to be back on the road for work in four more days.

Memoirs, cont'd

2006-02-13T14:39:00.000-08:00

If you're just now joining this story, please skip this post and read the previous one to catch up.
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Some time had passed that afternoon as things began to settle down and it was easy to see, at this point, that not too much happened in our house. Maybe the intruder was after something specific and he/she couldn’t find it at this time. No matter what, we were safe and unharmed in this event. If anything I was happy to have my mom home to entertain me or cook a snack for me while I played Lego’s up in my room.

Within an hour or two it was time to pick up my brother and sister from their respective schools as neither one of them rode the big yellow bus. Instead they rode in the big yellow van my parents drove around town. When first bought, this van was charcoal gray. But in the brilliant minds of my parents they had it painted banana yellow for some reason I will never understand. Anyone who knew the Thomas family knew when we were driving down their block. Our bright banana-yellow van always made a statement whether we wanted it to or not.

To this day I don’t necessarily recall picking up my brother, but when it came time to pick up my sister over at the high school campus he and I sat in the front of the van while my mom hurriedly walked into the main hallway. Wanting to tell my brother everything that truly happened in the robbery I decided to keep my mouth shut and silently sat staring out the front windshield. We sat there waiting for my mother and sister to reappear and join us in the yellow van as we would head home for the evening. Over dinner we would possibly discuss the details of the robbery that had happened only hours earlier all the while I would sit pretending I knew nothing. I would work hard at making the perfect shock-face, and offer to double check my room making sure no one had taken any of my belongings. I mean what could they possibly want of mine? My oversized Batman statue I won at the local video-rental store? No, maybe they wanted my large quartz crystal rock that I envisioned was going to make me rich someday. I believed it was worth a lot, so much so that it sat on top of my rabbit skin that I bought somewhere in those years as a child. Expensive things are surrounded by such lush materials such as rabbit fur.

Eventually my sister walked out to the van where my brother and I waited and we wondered why she walked out solo. Something seemed awry if that meant having my mom stay in the hallway. My sister climbed into the yellow van joining me on the front bench seat. Curious to know where our mother was I asked point blank, “Where’s mom?” My sister went on to tell my brother and I that mom was inside talking with the principal. Not waiting any longer I shouted out to my siblings that I in fact was the person who robbed the house. “I wanted mom to come home and so I faked the robbery” I exclaimed. My sister dramatically responded with an “Oh Great!” while I quickly regretted opening my mouth so quickly. My sister proceeded to tell us that she skipped school that afternoon when her boyfriend (whom the parents didn’t like) came to the edge of campus to pick her up. Unfortunately the principal saw my sister in action leaving campus and waited for her to come back when he confronted her that afternoon, that is when she returned for the last hour class.

Inside the locker-filled hallway my mom patiently stood talking with the principal learning that my sister was indeed rebelling against their knowledge and skipping school. Thoughts began to fly in her head as she realized that it must have been my sister and her boyfriend who came home that afternoon and robbed the house. For the security of ‘comfort and love’ my sister let her boyfriend take cherished items from the house, she possibly thought.

Meanwhile inside the yellow van my sister explained her day of skipping school and now that she knows I staged a robbery in the house my mother will instantly put two and two together. My sister began to lose sight at the end of the tunnel. Nothing was going as planned when she woke up that morning. Being the skinny blonde-hair, buck-toothed freckled face boy that I was, I saw the two points match up and began to worry about the huge problem I possibly caused. I would never want to hurt my sister. She was someone I loved and looked up to. When she feathered her hair back in the mirror I would quickly follow suit. When she posted the sign on her bedroom door that read, “Cool Calm and Collected People Only Allowed” I craved to learn what it meant so I could be in her room. Years earlier when she planned to runaway from home and go live with the Puerto Rican boy band ‘Menudo’ I too was going, just to be with her. It was there in the car, on the cold champagne-colored pleather bench seat that I started getting worried for my own sake. I was about to get in trouble and face severe punishment.

The ride home was uneventful as my mother was let down by my sisters actions, my sister was scared for her life, my brother was clueless and I was debating how I would slowly return the stolen items. I began to make a plan to return each item to their proper place without anyone knowing they were misplaced for a few hours. Somehow over the course of that evening my sister ended up talking with my parents for what seemed like forever as she experienced the usual parental discipline for her actions. I never heard another word regarding the robbery and kept it to myself for years. I don’t know what guardian angels were watching over me that night, but they definitely earned their wings…in fact their wings were dipped in gold and outlined with diamonds from Tiffany’s I’m sure.

Several years later on a cold and sunny December afternoon my family gathered at a local favorite restaurant here in Oklahoma City to celebrate my graduation from college the next afternoon. My sister had driven two hours to join us, while my parents and brother had flown in for the festivities. It was over that lunch that I decided to bring up the whole story and find out why I truly never got in trouble for it. To everyone’s amazement my parents never did know it was me that robbed the house that lonely afternoon. It was 10-years later and we sat around this table as I learned that after all these years my sister stood up for me and took the blame. It took some time to settle into their minds, but my parents laughed about it as I went into detail everything I could remember and why I did it.

Over the course of the past 10-years a secret remained among a brother and sister buried deep within our lives. Over the course of the past 10-years my parents would pray that I have a child that is just like me. Over the course of the past 10-years I have prayed I don’t…..and this is my reason why.

Memoirs of a Theif

2006-02-09T20:14:00.000-08:00

I was able to come home last night. I haven’t been in my own bed, taken a real shower, or eaten my own food for the last 13 days. It’s such a relief to walk into my own place and throw everything on the floor as I land on my bed ready to crash. It’s the relief that I don’t have to pick up after anyone but myself, nor do I have a deadline to do it by. Instead I can keep my suitcase on the floor opened with clothes spilling out of it, while my shoes lay hopelessly on the floor rug next to it waiting to be organized and placed on their shelves. A few days ago you could walk into my home and feel it empty and cold, but now you would see it looking like it’s been robbed as things are thrown everywhere.

The image of things thrown everywhere is something I associate being robbed with. The home I lived in till age nine had been robbed several times growing up and I have never forgotten how much of a mess the thieves left the place in each time. Drawers hung loose from the dresser with clothes hanging out of them, bedspreads had been disheveled as things were thrown on the bed and large piles formed of anything that possibly got in the way of the intruders before they exited my childhood home. I don’t recall what they made away with, but whether their hands were full or not, our hearts were empty and destroyed feeling a part of us were stolen and invaded each time.

A few years later and 2000 miles away my family lived in a different home….a much larger home in a much smaller town. My world was changed as I had to make new friends and experience public school for the first time in my life. Life was simple back then as each day I exited the large yellow bus that dropped neighborhood students off in front of my house. Usually my mom was there to greet me as I walked into the house ready to play for the remainder of the afternoon until dinner was ready for the family. There were times, however, that my mom would substitute at the local junior high school and I would come home to a large empty house. It was those days I didn’t particularly enjoy. If she had to work that day I was asked to call down to her school and notify the secretary that I made it home safely as she would pass the word on to my mother.

One lonely afternoon I came home knowing that it was a day to call my mom down at her school. However, I didn’t really want to stay home and be alone that afternoon. I wanted her to come home and entertain me like all mothers should do with their 10-year old sons. It was then that things started spinning in my head. How exactly could I get my mom to come home and play with me? I proceeded up the stairs to survey the bedrooms and see what I could do to stage a robbery in our house. I mean come on; I vividly remember what robberies look like from our years living in the other house. Walking around from room to room I debated what I should pick up and hide in my room pretending it had been stolen. As any 10-year old can say, go after your older brothers soccer trophies. After all they’re real gold on top right? Those solitary men in action are forever solidified in gold. So off the shelf they went and under my bed they calmly laid until I could carry out the full plan. Next I shuffled thru my father’s closet and took a few of his Hawaiian shirts. They seemed valuable to me as I believed they actually came from his Hawaii trip that was taken years earlier. My father seemed to like those shirts so I figured he would be devastated if he saw they were missing. Lastly came some of my mom’s jewelry. Not knowing what was significant or not I just grabbed some and hid them in my closet. Before I could place the hurried call to my mom that we had been robbed I messed up my parent’s bed and tore open a few dresser drawers leaving plenty of clothes hanging out. Just like the thieves did in the former home.

Letting a few minutes pass I placed the call and told the calm lady who answered the phone that I needed to speak to my mom who was substituting that day. It was an emergency. I honestly don’t recall if someone went to get my mom or if she had to call me back but nonetheless she quickly packed up and came to my rescue. With heavy footsteps she surveyed the entire house top to bottom seeing what had been stolen. She asked many questions to which I frantically answered pretending I didn’t know a thing. We walked thru my bedroom and my sister’s bedroom noticing that nothing had been touched. We walked into my brother’s room and I pointed out, “I think his trophies are missing!” We paced into my parent’s room to see the mess the robber had made of their room and took note of any valuables.

Now for those not used to being robbed it is often that you have no idea what has been taken until you think of that specific item one day and go find it only to come up empty handed. I knew I was safe for the time being that we couldn't pinpoint too many things missing at the current moment.

After surveying the house for some time my mom had decided that the intruder had possibly gone away empty handed himself. I mean....themselves. At this point we didn’t know if it was one person or two, much less a male or female. Only two bedrooms had been touched, and not a single thing downstairs was missing like the television, VCR or even the microwave. Of course back in those years everything was much larger in size compared to today's electronics. Who in the world, back then, would be able to carry out a microwave or television when in a hurry is what I've always wondered.

To be continued.....

The Doctor Is In

2006-02-06T11:13:00.001-08:00

To make the several hours of sitting in my grandpa's hospital room go by I decided to be creative. It took me two days of begging the nurse to get me some doctors tools to play with, but she finally caved in. So for the seven hours I sat in his room yesterday I looked inside ears, and noses and got addicted to SUDUKO. I did six 'easy' level games and thought I could master the next level up, but I failed. So I went back to the easy level and did a few more. I never feel smart, but yesterday I was proud of myself for actually having the patience to figure out the strategy and win a few games. Anyone else have ideas to make the long days of sitting in a hospital room go by?

The Great Hunt

2006-01-31T12:08:00.000-08:00

It seems that I am the only one in this café not on the typical lunch hour. Their stiff suits, pleated skirts, hair-sprayed hair and Franklin Covey calendars give them away as business professionals. I however, hide out here in the corner behind my laptop wearing my faded jeans, sand suede shoes and worn out polo under my track-jacket. Its situations like this reminding me I am a road warrior. I am not your vacation road warrior, but your business road warrior. The warrior, who lives out of a car, works odd hours, sits in daily traffic scanning for a decent radio station, changes clothes in a public restroom and eavesdrops on random conversations in places like these….a quaint café on the side road offering free wireless.

No matter how out of place I am I sit here curious to know what these people do with their lives. Each conversation I hear is drastically different. Some are louder than others while some are just plain pointless, at least to me. However I am the stranger in the room craving to join them in conversation just to feel at home and possibly blend in.

A few nights ago I was a guest at a dinner party in a friend’s family member’s home. I have met some of her family members before, but this particular evening I met a few new ones over a hot meal of brisket and fresh vegetables. Over the course of dinner the conversation jumped from topic to topic including one about hunting. Having never hunted anything in my life (except for a good find on a sale rack) I remained quite unless asked a specific question about hunting. At one point I jokingly said that in Oregon we care more about recycling, wearing flannel and hugging our trees than killing animals which was received with good laughter at the sarcasm I threw out. Various animals were mentioned and stories were told as I listened intently to a life style I was not familiar with. Eventually I was asked if I had ever been snipe hunting before in which I replied, “No, but I went fishing once!” I’m sure I shocked the family that I had only been fishing once, but the conversation stayed on snipe hunting as one family member went into detail about the event involving a duck, pillow case, flashlight, patience and the fun that is had by all in attendance. Another family member spoke up mentioning that we could go snipe hunting down the street as I wrinkled my brow and questioned aloud, “you can literally walk down the street, kill the animal before coming home and cooking it for the dinner table?” “This is Texas!” my friend sitting to my right said, which honestly made sense of it all. Only in Texas would you find such an event.

Later on the drive back to my friend’s house she openly admitted that snipe hunting was in fact not a real thing. With my shoulders drooping I was slightly disappointed that I had fallen for a gimmick. She went on to explain that snipe hunting is a common joke for the foolish in which they take someone (me) to a field and eventually leave them out there stranded and laughing at their own misfortune. I couldn’t help but laugh as I sat there in the backseat thinking back to my reactions and facial expressions earlier at the dinner table. They knew they had me at the beginning of the conversation and held me there until my friend caved in and told me the truth, nearly three hours later. She quickly followed up that she would have stopped the event if such a thing was carried out, but since no one in her family was taking the initiative she sat there egging on the conversation. What I believed was the truth, was in deed far from it.

As I sit here in the cafe corner eavesdropping on the various conversations surrounding me I wonder what the truth is. Is it me sitting here trying to blend in, or the locals trying to catch up over a plate of sandwiches and chips. It’s something about the stiffness of the corporate lunch hour….the deals settled, the cordial handshake, the signatures signed on the last page. It’s all invaded this café. It’s the snipe hunt these business men and women are after. They’re looking to earn the paycheck, move up the corporate ladder and retire in abundance. Quite possibly we’re all after the snipe hunt. We’ve all been fooled thinking if we can just earn a bit more money, get a better title, the corner office, etc. then life will be better.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll put on the suit, shine up my shoes and join the rest of the corporate lunch hour world hoping to make few more bucks. That is after I spend a few bucks on the lunch meal. If I fail, then I’ll ask some fool at the table next to me if they want to go snipe hunting. If nothing else it will provide a good laugh as I sit lonely in a strange town making more money for the big boss back in the office.

The Alien Among Us

2006-01-24T19:50:00.000-08:00

From the backseat where I sat I watched the rain fall outside the car window. It was the first rain I had seen since mid October. The night before I was lying in my hotel bed when the rain first started. It was a welcome sound as it hit my window that shook with the accompanying thunder. I was so pleased with the rain that I got up and watched it for a few minutes before climbing back under the thin covers leaving the floral window curtains open for optimum viewing. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest where rain is as plentiful as brick is here in Oklahoma.

It hit me on the car ride road home how addicted I am to the sun. I slept in a bit that morning, had my usual caffeine and even a full breakfast. Yet there I was at ten-something in the morning still feeling like I woke up two minutes ago. I started feeling scared that I have distanced myself from the rain….something I thought I would never do.

To brighten the mood I popped in season one of ALF into my DVD player and invited my fellow passengers to join me in reliving old childhood memories. The memories of watching a little alien living with a family of four as if every family on the neighborhood street had a hairy long-nosed alien living with them. It didn’t seem odd to me growing up, but if that type of show was on TV today I would never give it two minutes. ALF was one of my favorite shows growing up. My fellow passengers laughed at my invitation and told me how odd it was that I Netflixed both season one and two. Asking what I liked about the show I replied that it was ALF’s sarcasm. It was there in that moment that I realized where my sarcasm came from. I am blessed with two incredible parents but they lack the sarcasm that overflows from my being. I’ve wondered before where I picked up this trait while my parents have prayed that I quickly lose it. So I’m here today to proclaim that ALF was a bad influence on me growing up. Mom and Dad, blame it on the oversized static-filled black box that sat on the table across the living room. It was the hairy long-nosed alien we allowed into our house once a week that taught me to be quick on my toes and make everyone around me laugh. It was ALF who taught me sarcasm.

On the drive home the rain stopped shortly after crossing the Oklahoma border. I was blessed with a short rain experience in Dallas this past weekend but came home to the bright sun. My mood perked up with the sun but here I am tonight hoping for a rainy day to come soon. I’m ready to start season two of ALF.

2006-01-23T08:36:00.000-08:00

A can of coke for caffeine intake........75-cents

A root canal today at 11am..................................$168

Skipping work the rest of the day............PRICELESS

A request.

2006-01-19T10:55:00.000-08:00

Please pray for my 'cousin' Wendy. The doctors noticed a few complications in her pregnancy and induced her labor this week....6-weeks earlier than planned. A few days later while in surgery, the doctors noticed an aggressive cancer on her ovaries and intestines. This news came out to the family this morning, which is devastating. The baby will remain in the hospital for a few more weeks while Wendy stays put for another week or so. She is only 28....too young to experience this pain. Chemo will be starting soon, once word comes back on the specific type of cancer the doctors found. Thanks for your prayers.

something new...

2006-01-17T20:51:00.000-08:00

I was bored with the former template. I like change and I like it often.

Everything Changes

2006-01-16T19:36:00.000-08:00

With her elbows resting on the table and chin propped up in her hands she admitted she was scared out of her mind. She hasn’t admitted that to anyone yet but somehow it slipped out the other night as we waited for our pizza to carry home. With her half eaten salad sitting in front of her I thought I’d dig for some info before she packs up and starts a new life out east.

Having grown up only two hours from here she hasn’t left her comfort zone and experienced something new. Though she can’t pinpoint it exactly there’s something out there saying she needs to make a change in her life. She has no job lined up, yet she's taking a large leap to move far from home and see what happens from there. From this viewpoint the grass is greener on the other side to her. I’ll ask her again in a few months, once she’s settled in, if the grass is still green or not.

It hit me that night how everything changes. With those few extra minutes on our hands while waiting for the pizza, we were able to dwell on the fact that life is changing quicker than expected and yet it’s all okay and a bit crazy.

Lately I’ve been wishing for an “Ah Ha” moment….the moment described by some as realizing something for the first time. Perhaps solving a personal problem or finding the answer to something troubling all the sudden…I need that moment pretty soon. Maybe it’s the rut I feel like I’m in, but I curious to know if the “Ah Ha” moment is a real thing, a real experience. For my friend sitting across the table she said it was real. Though it was scary to accept the idea of moving at first, it hit her like an “Ah Ha” moment and suddenly she was at peace.

Yesterday afternoon while reading the Sunday paper I took a quick glance at my horoscope. I don’t religiously follow horoscopes but it’s a habit of mine to look at it every Sunday just to see what kind of good laugh it can give me. However, there I sat yesterday in shock as I read, “Fight off moods of laziness and inertia. Take an active approach to organizing the affairs of your life and mapping out your path to success.”

So maybe it’s not an “Ah Ha” moment I need. Maybe I’m in the right spot at the right time. Maybe it’s just me thinking the grass is greener on the other side. However, I guess I’ll stay put and work at keeping the grass on my side green.

Quick, I need a two cans of green spray paint!

Old-Fashion Traditions

2006-01-11T10:41:00.000-08:00

I sit here in the solitude of my office satisfying my craving for a lunch break. I’m not a sandwich fan, but my options were small today as this was the only thing hanging around my kitchen this morning. Somehow I forgot the best part of my lunch, which solemnly sits on the top shelf in my refrigerator at home. An oversized slice of chocolate cake with a sweet white sauce drizzled over sits there untouched. I spoiled myself and took home a dessert after dinner out with a friend two nights ago. How could I have forgotten that this morning? If I had brought that in and left my sandwich at home I would have cared less about the bread and meat sitting solemnly on the counter. I guess its okay though. It gives me something to look forward to when I step into my back door this evening after work. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with eating dessert before dinner.

Last night I enjoyed a dinner invitation from a neighbor across the street. She and her husband cooked dinner for me and my other neighbor next door. I quickly accepted the dinner invitation not for the free home cooked meal, but for the satisfaction of sitting around a dinner table conversing over great food and drinks. I slightly think I’m a bit old fashioned in this manner.

Gypsy runs in the family blood, but somewhere in there I believe there’s a bit of Italian. Great memories for me involve the dinner table encircled with friends and family from all walks of life. It seems this tradition has been let go by so many people in today’s society. Little leagues sports, PTA meetings, hard copy news on the flat screen…it’s all out there distracting us from the sturdy wood table that sits empty in our dining rooms collecting last weeks mail. What does it take to bring us back to the table? The dining room is my favorite room in any house. The table brings us together to share stories, heartaches, laughter and tears. I encourage you to set out the dishes, fill up the glasses and invite someone over to share it with. Forgo the nearest diner that’s filled with strangers and interruptions. Instead share your home and open your heart. Lastly, don’t forget to invite me.

My lousy no good day

2006-01-08T21:26:00.000-08:00

I lay here under four blankets hiding from today ready for a new tomorrow.

I barely slept last night due to some excruciating pain in my upper jaw that I’d been experiencing for three days. I finally crashed around 8am this morning only to wake up at noon and realize I missed church. My house sat silent all day while I sat still wondering what the day had in store for me.

Though the world seemed perfect outside with temperatures hanging in the seventies I felt my world was missing something. My life puzzle felt like it was missing a vital piece to complete the over all picture. I thought at first it was due to a lack of caffeine so I drove to my nearest convenience store and bought my usual Sunday papers and a large Coke. I scoured both newspapers today looking for something to spark my interest…any story or public notice that could take my mind off the silence I was experiencing. I read four different classified sections (two online) looking for a new job hoping that one would pop right out and give me a dream to think about for at least the next hour. I watched half of one movie and cleaned my whole house hoping something would give me motivation. Yet nothing made me feel like the one piece was put into place. As I felt realized nothing was going to fill my void today I stepped outside and walked a few miles basking in the warm sun only to come home and feel empty again. This day was turning into a no good day.

My pain never subsided until around dinner when I ventured out to get some Chinese take-out…..a staple in any single man’s diet. On my way to grab some sweet and sour chicken I was lost in thought when I realized that I had turned down the wrong intersection and would need to cut thru the neighborhood to order at my usual spot. Without a second thought I cut thru a side street before coming to a stop sign and turning right. After turning onto the main street a bright spot light came thru my back window followed by flashing red and blue lights causing me to signal and pull over on another side street on my right. Frustrated and curious, I rolled down my window, lowered my music level and located my license in my wallet as the cop approached. “License and insurance please,” the officer said. “Yes, sir. Here you go,” I replied. “If you’re going to fail to stop at a stop sign don’t do it in front of a police car next time,” the officer said with a look of disapproval on his face. “I’m sorry sir, but I thought I did stop correctly,” I stated before he cut me off and said, “Oh now you’re lying to me!” He shook his head and walked back to his car mumbling “idiot” under his breath as I sat in silence staring at the constant blur of red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. This day was only getting worse.

Minutes passed in slow motion as I soon realized that I was definitely getting a ticket. No officer would take this much time if I were only getting a warning. After coming to this realization my heart started beating faster than normal and my jaw started hurting again as anger formed inside of me. “Sign here” the officer said as he lowered his ticket pad thru my window and into my hands. Signing my signature in the sloppiest form possible he continued in a hateful voice, “Next time don’t lie to an officer because he might just let you off with a warning.” This was followed by him ripping the carbon copy ticket from his pad and tossing it into my lap. The officer started walking back to his car as I leaned out and said, “Sir I apologize.” In that moment I wanted to share a few of my thoughts with him and how I realized he was having a bad day but he shouldn’t take it out on me. After all it’s my tax dollars paying his salary, but I came to my senses after picturing myself in a jail cell with some freaks overnight. Waiting for response I realized that he had kept walking and was ignoring me when I apologized. So again, I leaned out farther and yelled “SIR…..I SAID I WAS SORRY!” This time he stopped, shrugged his shoulders and walked on…all without looking at me in the eyes. After looking over the handy little brochure that my ticket came with I realized he didn’t want to look at me in the eyes because he was charging me $172 for his idea of a lousy stop.

I’m not quite sure why in that moment I felt like apologizing, but I was mad that he accused me of lying. I handled the situation in a polite manner and felt the need to discuss the situation but realized I was not going to be afforded that luxury. I eventually picked up my Chinese and headed home to collapse on my couch. It didn’t take long for me to realize that today wasn’t meant for me. Today was my lousy no good day.

New Year. New Sizes.

2006-01-03T13:14:00.000-08:00

I was standing there in the poorly lit dressing room analyzing why they couldn’t fit. For once I wasn’t concentrating on my fear of stepping painfully on straight pins that some person haphazardly threw on the carpet when trying an item on. Instead I was standing there wondering what’s happened to my body this past year. One leg after another I slipped the trendy jeans on seeing if I needed to fork over too much money for something I would possibly wear too much. One can never go wrong with a good pair of jeans no matter how much they are used. They can be dressed up or down, picked up from the dirty clothes pile without anyone knowing, or even thrown in my luggage. And they still somehow never wrinkle by the time I unpack them. Yet there I stood with good posture, sucking my stomach in, over-analyzing my current state of being.

This time last year I succeeded in losing 10-pounds. For some I’m sure it’s hard to imagine me needing to lose that much, but it was a personal goal and I won. For years I couldn’t gain a pound no matter how much I ate. I had high a metabolism rate to which I would give anything to be back at right now. After college I finally began to gain a pound or two. It was in October of ‘03 when I had outgrown my dairy allergies and really began to gain some weight (or really gain one pound). My weight gain is nothing significant…just that it hangs around 25-pounds more than I weighed when I graduated high school eight years ago. I’m still skinny to most people’s opinions, but it’s my waist size that has me disappointed.

To my dismay shortly after the holiday season last year I put those 10-pounds back on. My goal to lose that weight before Christmas was achieved. However, I naively thought I could maintain my weight.

Here I am one year later and I’ve done nothing to keep the weight off. Nor have I put any extra on. Only when standing there in the dressing room did I realize that with the New Year starting shortly did I need to set another weight goal. I was standing there with my usual-size jeans wrapped around my legs and they just didn’t feel right. I started getting nervous in the dressing room as I accepted the disappointment yet I couldn’t bring myself to try on another size. Maybe it was a fluke this time, the one pair I tried on was a faulty pair I thought. However, I didn’t want to chance it and prove myself wrong. So without a second thought I proudly returned the jeans to the shelf and walked out of the store.

The next time I find myself in a poorly lit dressing room…..well nevermind. It’s a new year and this means it’s a new year for new sizes. Meaning, new sizes of the meals I eat and the amount of water I drink. I hope you all can follow your New Year resolutions as I start mine this week.

2006-01-01T09:35:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

My Family Christmas

2005-12-28T15:13:00.000-08:00

It’s been 16 years since they sat around the same table together. One coming out of a troubled marriage, one lost among her own stress of life, one other with a missing granddaughter and the last one hiding behind his built up walls afraid of them falling brick by brick. Bridges had been burned but lessons were learned. Sitting there among them was the woman who raised them with all her love and adoration. She silently sat there with her own troubles, but thankful for every page turned. As they sat there encircled amongst each other there was an undeniable warmth permeating the room as the five of them sat sipping their drinks….a tangible intimacy in which they all were reveling in. It was something they had been missing for sometime now. As their grandson, nephew and son I sat there taking it all in.

Over the last 16 years people had come and gone. Some marriages dissolved, children grew, homes had expanded and wrinkles formed upon the surface of their family. Around that table hung the epicenter of their former life together.

With the presents already opened Christmas had nearly come and gone. With a few hours of daylight left I sat in the stuffed recliner pondering the meaning of family and the tradition of coming together to share memories, laughter, heartache and tears….plenty of which surfaced this holiday season.

Eventually every suitcase had been repacked and hugs were freely given with each family member heading back to their homes ready to start the New Year. The future suddenly became magnificently uncertain as it seemed to be the last time for another few years before everyone would step back into this warm home again. It was a great Christmas….one full of truth, warmth and love.

100,000 miles. A novel.

2005-12-21T21:02:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I hoped for the best. I wasn’t betting on world peace, winning the lottery or the war to end. Instead I hoped for something a bit simpler in life. A great flight home after a pleasant trip to Portland was all I needed.

Yesterday was supposed to be great because it was the day that I accumulated 100,000 frequent-flier airline miles. Though I have netted over 130,000 miles in my account over the last four years I have never at once had 100,000 sitting there together. I was blessed with a great trip to Cabo San Lucas two years ago thanks to some of those miles but today was the day….100,000 miles sitting together tightly woven from numerous trips, layovers and experiences. However, there I sat on the faded blue carpet waiting by gate C-11 in the DFW airport. On my right stood a young thug dressed in baby blue sweats calling all his suppliers using every expletive in the book while on my left, wreaking of alcohol, sat a drunk guy muttering his every desire to each female that walked by us…..when he wasn’t burping out loud. Earlier he had asked an airport employee walking by if he could have another beer thinking she could hook him up. Instead he sat there denied of such privileges trying to strike up a conversation with me while I purposefully tried ignoring him. There I sat in the middle hoping 100,000 miles would get me somewhere else other than the faded blue carpet that lied beneath the alcohol fumes mingling in the air.

My flight from PDX to DFW was nothing near gold treatment. Honestly I was hoping for a free upgrade to first class thanks to my loyal four years of traveling with this particular airline. However, due to the flight being overbooked my reserved seat was moved from the middle of the plane to the second row from the back. While those in front of me had great views of the passing mountains and sunset in air I peered out to a jet engine. It was my now my job to carefully making sure no screws popped loose as we increased elevation.

As our plane backed from the gate an older disheveled lady asked the flight attendant, “Will the jets on the outside of the plane from our exact seats create a magnetic field?” The stewardess calmly searched for the right answer obviously not knowing it. Before having a chance to speak the old lady started demanding an answer saying that she had a pacemaker in her body and would face serious problems if she encountered this magnetic field. As our plane continued taxing down the runway the old lady finally got up and quickly stumbled into another seat a few rows up. Technically her move was illegal but desired by those around me. Many chuckles could be heard above the roar of the engine outside my window. With the absence of old lady I soon settled into my seat diving into my GQ magazine hoping to pass the time.

Landing in DFW with a few minutes to kill on layover I had hoped to grab a bite to eat and make a few phone calls. Because my engine-view seat sat right behind the flight attendants kitchenette I had no place to stow my orange carry-on bag but above in the storage compartment. As we taxied into the airport gates the captain informed us that we would be sitting for 15 minutes while a plane backed out of the gate we were approaching. I sat starting at the blank wall in front of me for 15 minutes. 20 minutes. At 35 minutes my eyes became heavy but perked back up when a frantic flight attendant came down the isle asking us to empty the storage compartment above my head.

My orange bag landed in my lap sooner than I anticipated, but I was thankful to have my cell phone in reaching distance now. As I turned it on to see the local time more bags began to fall out of the compartment above me. A second flight attendant ran back to us describing a certain backpack she was looking for, “the one with blue and silver!” While the bag was not easy to find buried under layers of coats and other bags an argument ensued between the two flight attendants. The argument was over the amount of time it was taking to find the particular blue and silver bag as it contained the medicine that old lady needed immediately due to our delay in getting off the plane. This helped pass a few moments of irritating time, but before all was said it done it had been one and a half hours that we sat on the tarmac waiting for an open gate.

As I exited the plane I ran to the nearest flight information screen in terminal-D to find my connection flight. It had been delayed to 9:08pm. Yet looking at my clock it was currently 9:10pm. Armed with both carry-on bags in hand I ran down terminal-D, up a flight of stairs, across three moving sidewalks, down another flight of stairs pass 17 gates in C-terminal only to find that my connection gate was headed to Denver and not OKC. With sweat dripping from my forehead I quickly approached the nearest flight information screen to see that my flight now was not on the screen anymore. It no longer existed. The next flight out was not for another hour and a half. I quickly scanned the terminal looking for any airline employee who could direct me to the right person or place so I could get home. She was there at gate C-14.

I approached C-14, still trying to catch my breath, and caught the first place in line. As I stepped up to the front counter an older business man quickly jumped in front of me and asked a question about his connection flight. This day was not getting any better. The employee asked if he had missed flight 792, which happened to be my flight. I spoke up only to find out that I had fully missed my flight. I was booked on standby for the next flight out. Unfortunately I was number 15 on the standby list.

Starving and tired I walked over to a fast food counter ordering something to resemble a dinner. I placed two phone calls as I carried my bagged food and two carry-on bags down to my new gate. I sat down for barely five minutes before the loudspeaker came on and announced that my fight had a gate change. I lost my appetite and threw my untouched food away before waking down to gate C-11.

The next hour did not pass quickly as I stressed over the situation sitting in my lap. Again, there I was sitting on the faded blue carpet hoping my miles could get me anywhere but there. Maybe 100,000 miles could bump me to the front of the standby list and place me in a first class seat.

Group by group passengers loaded the plane as I sat there in a blank stare hoping to hear my name called. Every name in the book was called it seemed except mine. Seat by seat the waiting area cleared making room for me and my two bags. It was going to be a long night. As I sat down I noticed to my left a US soldier dressed in uniform standing against a wall. He seemed to be waiting for the same flight I was. This made him standby passenger 14 or 16 as the entire area eventually cleared except for he and I. My name was eventually shouted out as I quickly looked up to make eye contact with the gate agent. A rush of relief came over me knowing that I could make it home tonight. I grabbed my bags and ran up to the counter looking back to see the soldier standing there alone. It hit me then. Though I wanted something simple to happen today I wasn’t asking for anything huge like the war to end. However, I could give up my chair and let this soldier head home. If anything maybe the war could end for his parents whom he was possibly heading to see. I spoke in a hushed tone with the gate agent telling her I wanted to give up my seat for this uniformed soldier. She ripped up my ticket and called this young man telling him a seat opened up for him. I walked to the nearest chair ready to collapse and settle in until I could be hooked up with a hotel voucher. After all maybe that’s what 100,000 miles could get me…a free hotel in a strange town. Plus, when am I ever afforded the luxury of having some alone time outside of my home? It was all beginning to sound nice to me.

Before I became too comfortable I heard my name once again. The gate agent asked me to follow her as she walked down the ramp to the jet. Thinking there was one more seat available I followed her directions. She stepped into the jet as I remained outside until she reappeared. Mumbling a seat number she told me to step on in and grab a seat. Relief, once again, came over me. I walked down the isle feeling hundreds of eyes on me. I glanced at first class before stepping back in coach and noticed the soldier sitting there in 3B. There it was….the first class seat I was hoping for all day. Instead I was welcomed to a window seat at the back of the plane. I settled in and looked out the window only to see darkness. Once again the jet engine sat outside my window accompanying me for the final flight home.

100,000 miles got me home last night, safe and sound.

Bring on the cheer...

2005-12-16T08:39:00.000-08:00

After telling my family tradition story of putting up the Christmas tree I continue the saga starting with this past Thursday evening.

The eastern wind continued blowing this week coming out of the gorge carrying itself over the city. With temperatures dropping quickly my brother, E, and I headed out to find the best Christmas tree there was. Or rather, the one closest to home for under $20 that could lay on top of his Ford Taurus. We drove down to our usual spot to find the place was not up and running this year so we continued down the road. We saw a sign that read, "Boy Scout Troop, All Douglas Firs $15." E and I debated over the course of seven seconds deciding if we should stop or continue on before I shouted, "Dad will be proud of us for supporting the scouts!" After all both E and I are Eagle Scouts. With this said and an illegal turn around across four lanes of empty road we pulled into the dust blown parking lot.

E pulled the car up by the leaning trees not sensing the need to follow any sort of formal parking position. Placed in front of us were two small rugged trailors large enough to hold maybe one adult. Tarps lay over each of them hiding their flaws of age and deteriation. One could easily guess the number of bodies laying lifeless out back behind this makeshift community. We sat motionless in the car with the cold wind howling as we surveyed the trees from our warm seats. "Does anyone work here? Where are they?", E whispered. At that exact moment a door swung open from one of the trailors with a rugged gentleman stepping out. We quickly followed suit and soon stood amongst the trees picking some upright while debating which one had a more full look. E and the gentleman conversed for a moment until I settled on the perfect tree. An eight foot tall Douglas Fir.

We watched our tree being placed on a table for trimming and roping, as a second gentleman appeared from the other trailer. He appeared to be older in age and could act as Santa Claus with the size of his belly. He seemed cordial as he joked about the wind and helped his cohort do the final preparations of the tree. E walked over to the car planning to warm it up and roll down the back two windows so rope could be pulled thru them to help tie down the tree. I finished up the business of paying and thanking the men as they carried the tree over to the car and placed it on top. The back windows still were not down as I proceeded to the front seat asking E again to roll the windows down.

"The cars not starting," E said with panic in his tone. "My brake is locked...nothing is working." I stood frozen for a second thinking what could possibly be done to help us get back home and out of the wind. "Have you jiggled the steering wheel or jolted the gear shift some as you try turning the key?," I asked. E proceeded trying every move to get his car started as the two gentleman continued securing the tree down. Without them knowing was was happening the reached in and threw some rope across E's lap as he handed it over to me. I held it in place till one of the gentleman came and took over. I laughed to myself that these two guys basically just created a clothesline with twine across the front two seats...not exaclty safe especially with E driving. When he drives it means he flies and you better hang on for dear life if you're along for the ride. This clothesline would easily scalp us if we ended up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree on the way home.

I eventually walked around to the driver’s side and tried to get the car up and running myself while E stood in the open door way. No luck landed in my lap. E and I traded places while he tried again. This time he shut his door, called our dad and just sat there. I stood there frozen not knowing what to say to these guys. It was the feeling of walking into a large room naked. I stood there silent. These two guys stood there staring at me in silence. We we’re going nowhere. A minute or so passed and I thanked the gentleman and ran to the passenger side of the car getting inside to warm up, or get out of the wind and the dust blowing into my eyes.

As we waited for my dad to come check out the situation the two gentlemen got in their shared truck and sat there waiting in the warmth. They sat in their car staring coldly at us. We sat in our car frozen and frustrated, staring back with silence.

Ten minutes slowly passed feeling more like 30-minutes. We anxiously sat waiting for dad to arrive and rescue us when E reached into his coat pocket and found another key. It was then that he realized that thru this entire ordeal he had been using the trunk key to start the car. With a rush of relief coming over both of us I quickly layed my seat down and ducked as E started the car. I had no intentions of being looked at again by the lot owners. They heard the car start and looked over with surprise in their eyes as they walked towards our car. E rolled his window down to say, "I've been using the trunk key all this time.' As the gentleman chuckled at E's expense I was laying as low as possible hoping to not make eye contact. The first gentleman said,"we won't say a word about it!" adding to the humor of the situation. "We won't be seeing you again!" I shouted as E put the car in reverse.

We finally walked into the warm house with tree in hand only to get a lecture about true Eagle Scouts and how they would know how to get a car started without a key. That lecture was followed by how to start a fire without any matches.

My four walls

2005-12-13T22:41:00.000-08:00

I sit here this evening in my cold empty apartment, stillness envelopes me. My walls remain empty of all personal mementos that recall the years where life seemed simple and grand. Though I moved to this place five months ago you would think walking in this evening I moved in two weeks ago.

I stepped into a neighbors home a few nights ago just to check in on her. Somehow over the weekend Christmas threw up in her apartment. An oversized fake tree sat in the corner brightly light and impeccably decorated with silver and gold balls. Greenery gently hung across her fireplace mantel putting off the scent of pine. Thru the French-doors the world stood still outside. Empty trees. Crisp leaves blowing. Footprints of snow from a few days earlier.

There inside her four walls I could barely find a place to sit. Years of Christmas memories spilled out of a green Rubbermaid container placed on the wood floor. Her next decision was finding a shelf or end-table to place knick-knacks on. It seemed there was a place for everything. It would only be a few more hours before the container sat empty ready to be stored on a top shelf in a closet next to some frumpy old sweaters.

Christmas was huge growing up and I loved everything about it. I recall the years of celebrating the family tradition of putting up the biggest live tree we could find that year. Never once did we succumb to being Wal-Mart consumers picking out a tree in a box. Some things were never meant for a box....like wine. The family tradition centered on decorating the tree with our personal ornaments, drinking eggnog and concluding the night with a few Christmas carols as a family. Thinking back I don't know how I managed to get thru that one night without laughing hysterically and upsetting my parents. All my ornaments to this day are still at home packed amongst the family Christmas decorations. Tradition in the family says that once I get married I will inherit all my ornaments for my own tree. In the meantime here I sit with no evidence of the holiday that looms over us.

I'll be home in a few days to start the annual festivities of putting up the tree. As a young adult now I'd rather sit on the couch with cider in hand, and point out all flaws of the tree and the placement of everyone's ornaments. I'll also be griping to my brother that he isn't putting up the lights correctly. Last year I tried hiding my ornaments hoping I didn't have to put them on the needled branches. However, I gave in and hung up half my ornaments for one week before bubble wrapping and packaging them for the next 359 days.

Maybe this year I can announce a fake engagement in order to bring the ornaments back to Oklahoma. I could store them here on a top shelf next to some unpacked boxes and pull them out next year in time for the holidays. But then again, I’ll have nothing to hang the ornaments on except these empty walls. Plus I’d have to find something else to do to in order to shake up my mother a bit causing her some grief over my love/hate relationship with my ornaments

24 hours or 1,440 minutes in a day

2005-12-12T20:36:00.000-08:00

It just hit me today that I don't have much time left before I get back in my regular routine of life. I've had a nice break the last few weeks enjoying my four walls I call home. Over the past four years I have travelled anywhere from 172 to 220 days per year. Most of it for work. These are actual counted days where I did not sleep at my house. After looking at my calendar today this is what I am looking at for the next few weeks.

2 days left here in OKC
6 days in Portland
2 days in OKC
2 days in Tulsa
3 days in Branson
2 days in OKC
3 days in DFW
1 night in OKC
5 days in Nashville
...And a Partridge in a Pear Tree...

One of these days I'll post "Mr T's advice for travelling" for you to read. I can already picture how thrilled you are to hear that. However, with this much travel under my belt I've encountered many situations and learned hundreds of tricks/secrets about the travel industry. Some are rather fascinating and help make life a lot easier on the road. In the mean time I need to start some laundry and clean out the fridge before I hit the road. Somehow Christmas shopping ended up at the very end of my to-do list this year.

A Fortunate Day

2005-12-08T10:47:00.000-08:00

Everyone loves a fortune cookie right? Thru the years you may have added two certain words to the end of each fortune, or asked everyone at the table to crack open the cookie at the same time for good luck. Nonetheless it’s the highlight of every meal at any Asian eatery. Typically these fortunes center on love, riches and/or power. The wisdom and prophecy causes you to think internally for the following 60 seconds seeing if this one sentence certainly applies to your life or not. I personally am a sucker for these bits of truth, or lack thereof. My fortune today over lunch read, "You believe in the goodness of mankind."

Recently I enjoyed dinner with a friend at a local Chinese restaurant. As history would prove most fortunes from those simple cookies apply to my life dead on. I rarely receive an unfortunate cookie. I tore into my cookie after dinner to receive “You will bring sunshine into someone’s life.” Yes, this is a pretty general statement applying to most everyone. My friend opens hers, frowned and quickly threw it down on her nearly empty plate. “Now hold on, you can’t do that,” I say. “Where’s the fun in that?” I retrieved her fortune and read, “Good things come to those who wait. Be patient.” How ironic is that? Her fortune centered on patience yet she acted like a six year old that has no idea what patience is. She was uninterested in her fortune, come to find out, because she has no patience for anything.

Every time I retrieve a fortune from a cookie I end up keeping it. There are times you could open my wallet and find three or four placed in there. I do nothing with them, except pile them up in a cup at work. Soon I’ll do something creative with them. I had two friends in college once make a homemade card for me using several fortunes glued onto the card. It read, “We hope you have a fortunate day.” Do you have any ideas on what to do with my fortune collection?

Seasons of Love

2005-12-06T07:43:00.000-08:00

I’ve conversed thru a few conversations lately regarding the perfect gift this holiday season for the one you love. My thoughts are if you love he/she that much you would already know what to get that special person….so stop asking me what the perfect gift is. If you don’t know the answer already then you need to reevaluate your relationship.

For those of you who have recently spent time and energy looking for romance—this holiday season will be a downer for you. You will misguidedly spend too much money trying to buy it (love). All this money spent will be in the form of expensive dinners, impressive gifts and good tickets to pricey events….all meant to kick-start the blossoming of LOVE from an otherwise unwilling prospective girlfriend or boyfriend.

This confirms that truly, “You can’t buy love”.....unless you’re a millionaire of course. Then you probably can, just not quality love.

You have to be a billionaire to buy that.

The calm before the storm

2005-12-05T11:29:00.000-08:00

A couple friends walked into the dining room last night in the midst of a conversation centered on the question of, “Am I approachable?” Laying down my Sunday paper and making eye contact with these two friends I immediately had the question lying on my lap. Trying to sound breezy and not at all nervous I let the question sink in. Since these two friends were females I soon became scared for my life. The intent of my sitting at their table reading a Sunday paper was to kill time till my free dinner was cooked and served. Would I be kicked out if I answered that honestly? Was there a good way to let one friend down and say “No!” while I stroked the other friends ego by saying, “Yes?” As these two girls sat on a weight scale in my mind I kept trying to find a way to make them sit evenly on the scale of approachableness. With all this going on in my head, images of a cold night ordering fast food in the drive thru lane were popping up if I were to answer this honestly.

I battled a few scenarios in my head (if only I had a dime each time I end up doing this act) till I eventually caved in and shared my honest answer. I’ve been told I’m a bit too honest with people so why stop hiding it tonight at this table? Plus I could easily hold up the Sunday paper classifieds if any objects were thrown my way. I stumbled my way thru a perfectly planned course of words letting them know that one friend was very approachable, while the other was less approachable due to her unassuming blank-thought stares and reputation for being a transplant and not a true Okie.

At this moment another guy stepped into the house only to be thrown the same question, by me this time. In blunt action he quickly elevated the two girls ego’s before instantaneously shooting me down with a direct, “not at all.” It was half expected from him to be honest, so no hurt feelings. Following this guy, two more females walked into the kitchen and were caught up to date on the story before they had even loosened their scarves and coats. They were asked the same question. This time I got a “well…um…ya…but you didn’t ever talk to me the first few times I met you.” Still, my cold heart wasn't broken (whew!).

It was a pathetic act...me trying to come up with a rebound but my mind was blank. I wasn't offended at all but still I couldn't place my finger on any one thing or situation that could have caused such ill feelings. I mean come on, I'm a lifetime member, card-carrying geek.

Somethings gone wrong

2005-12-04T21:42:00.000-08:00

Spending some time at my friend K's house this evening I analyzed her homemade Xmas tree topper, "3 angels." Each angel (looking more like nuns to me) represents a roommate in the house complete with matching hair colors. I asked to be included in the tree, which K replied with no restraint, "you can be satan!" So I promptly made sure to include myself on their tree as the picture shows. My cousin's wife started a holiday nativity scene years ago using her troll dolls. She's posted a picture on her blog. She sets out this nativity scene every year during the holiday season complete with a satan troll (though all trolls like a bit evil to me). Since when do we start including satan in our holiday festivities? I don't recall seeing a collection of hallmark cards that say, "Seasons Greetings" with Satan sketched on the front side.

2005-12-02T13:54:00.000-08:00

Thanks to Charlotte's comment in my last posting I must talk about "The OC" from last night. It has been brought to my attention today that others thought of me during the show last night. If you missed it, Marissa felt that she wouldn't be accepted into any college based on her previous records regarding Ryan's brother earlier this season. My favorite comment of the day comes from my good friend Krista. She literally shouted to her television set, "You can attend college at OC. They'll take you and I'm sure Matt would love to recruit you." Thanks K-dawg.

Place in this world...

2005-12-01T18:25:00.000-08:00

This week I’ve been pondering the road and various paths I have taken to get here. I can’t quite detail what “here” means exactly but it’s what surrounds me everyday spiritually, intellectually, emotionally, and physically.
It was late winter my senior year of high school that I changed my mind and decided to attend OC for college. I have always dreamed of being a residential architect. I remember sitting in a church pew or sitting at home drawing houses as a little child. It’s something that stuck with me all the way thru my senior year of high school. While I can’t pinpoint what it was, somehow I decided to forgo my life-long dreams and major in business…until I took an accounting class. I eventually changed my major freshmen year of college to interior design, only to deal with a fire ruining our department and puting an immeasurable amount of stress on us. Interior design was the closest I could get to have my foot and life in the world of design. Ideally I planned to graduate in a decent amount of time (four years), but this fire proved to not permit that. So I moved on. I felt emptiness in me, but continued to attend school not knowing what I wanted to major in.
I was blessed to study abroad one semester and start new friendships that opened my eyes to a world of new things. I eventually changed my major to public relations in advertising and graduated with….grades (what? You thought I was going to say honors?) I’ve never regretted not pursuing a degree in architecture only because I don’t have the smarts to complete such a program; however I still crave for my hands to work in the world of design.
These past few months I have put that dream in the back of my mind and thought more about the careers in the health field. It could be the television shows I watch that center around this particular environment, but this past week I spent an incredible amount of time in some hospitals. I was enjoying it. I observed many nurses, doctors, and those university students who were examining my grandpa. I stared far too long and took too many mental notes enjoying the environment that was surrounding me as I sat there in support of a family member. It's the gift these doctors and nurses have to help someone choose life over death. To help them make a change in their life and continue on with their dreams and goals that attracts me.
Though the last thing I want to do is start school over again…and have to pay for it…It's odd to think that we’re never where we expect to be, yet its okay. I'm ready for a change in my life and lately a few doors have opened, however I'm scared to take that next step...so I currently stay "here" and will continue to live on.

Hello Nurse

2005-12-01T09:22:00.000-08:00

This post is dedicated to Nurse Maggie at the Univ. of Missouri Medical Center. It’s you that I set my eyes upon as you walked into the room to check on my grandpa. It is you that I took photos of while you helped my grandpa with his IV…though you thought I was taking pictures of him for his hospital journal. It is you that I said “hello gorgeous” to when I walked back into the room…though I made it look like I was speaking to my grandpa so you wouldn’t see me drooling. Maybe I should sign up for a surgery so I can stay around a bit longer to see you.

2005-11-30T08:22:00.000-08:00

Lang Lee (alias) called to let me know that you can choose male or female on the face recognition program I mentioned below. So I did the test again using the same picture of myself. Who do I look like now? DIEGO MARADONA....I'm gonna have to look up who this guy is. I still don't see the resemblance.

The Man in the Middle

2005-11-29T20:34:00.000-08:00

My friend Charlotte sent me a link this afternoon after reading my blog (and laughing at me for creating one). This link asks that you submit one face picture of yourself and they will simply scan it and show you a celebrity that you most represent. Who do I look like.....what, not Brad Pitt? How about none other than Annika Sorenstam, a professional female golfer. Now typically one would expect me to be a bit upset maybe even embarassed. But look at the pictures of us two. We both have large foreheads, the same crease-lines above our cheeks and even a smile that curves up on one side. Hmm...wonder if she's my long lost twin?

This thought brings to mind another celebrity I have been often compared to over the past four years. You may recognize actor Paul Bettany (pic above) from the movies A Knights Tale or Wimbledon. I am told that I look like him. What famous person are you often compared with?

A north pole escapee found in Ohio celebrating Materialism-mas

2005-11-29T19:08:00.000-08:00

While I'm sitting here working on my blog I'll entertain you with a random link I received in two different emails today. An Ohio man used 88 Light-O-Ramas to control his 16,0000 Christmas Lights. He runs his light show everyday from 6pm - 1opm. You can listen to the music that goes along with the show from the comfort of your own car on a local FM radio station.

http://members.cox.net/transam57/lights.wmv

Speaking of Christmas. It's that time of year again where we start hearing more about taking Christ out of Christmas. So I got to thinking about a possible name change for the upcoming holiday season. I have decided to call it Materialism-mas. Just imagine sitting around that tall tree, egg nog in hand, singing, Oh Materialism-mas tree, oh Materialism-mas tree, how lovely are your branches.

Not for the faint of heart....

2005-11-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Just thought I'd share a picture of my grandpa's leg taken last night. He is headed into surgery first thing tomorrow morning to check for any dead muslce and/or tissue. What you are currently looking at is an image of his skin cut apart and sealed with a special plastic wrap. The dark colored shape is fresh muscle. Who needs to watch Grey's Anatomy every Sunday night when you can see a picture like this?

Thanksgiving

2005-11-28T20:49:00.000-08:00

What exactly happened in the course of that famous meal? I don’t imagine it happening exactly like we celebrate in this current day in age. Though it’s my favorite holiday of the year sometimes our journey takes a different road and teaches us to celebrate in different ways. This particular year I have become more thankful for my family. Can’t live with them....can’t live without them. Here are a few things I encountered this past holiday break.

My five year old cousin said to me when I showed up to my grandma’s house. “ I haven’t seen you in awhile. How old are you now?” So I responded, “how old do you think I am?” He replied, “66!”. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud….it’s only been four weeks since I last saw him.

My nine year old cousin informed me over a riveting card game of War, “I play this game with my friend, Noley. I always let her win because that’s what a gentleman does.” This same cousin also said over lunch one afternoon, “We are all related in Gods eyes, even the Mexicans are related to us.”

The sliding doors at Walmart not only slide open, but can swing open when the weight of a nine year old is pushed into them. Many eyes turn towards your family to see what has happened, but of course I only keep walking and laugh extremely hard.

When the XM radio station needs to be changed it can be done from the comfort of your seat. Just attach several straws together until the buttons can be reached with your new tool. However, don’t raise this new contraction above your head because there is always the possibility of a ceiling fan in use.

Though you can’t pay your RENT and you’re dying of a disease, you can still have some pretty good dance moves and a few good songs to go along with those moves.

Some relatives (aunts) are always good for a self-esteem boost….though sometimes there’s a bit too much touch and feel going on. In this case, my chest was being rubbed and squeezed and complimented.

It is possible for a child to watch a television screen for most of the day standing only a few inches away….and not have noticeable damage.

Just because you ask a nurse for morphine while she’s treating your grandfather doesn’t mean she’ll share it with you. However, when she accidentally drops it in the trashcan instead of the special needle receptacle you can access it. Next time just bring up Chicago in a conversation and you’ll instantly be on her side.

A cheap pedicure is highly recommended the day after Thanksgiving.

Some relatives don’t understand slang. Don’t bring the conversation up over a free steak. In fact don’t bring things up you have to explain in detail.

When you’re babysitting your cousins and first cousins removed, load them up with candy and don’t make them take a nap. When you hand them back over you’ll never be asked to baby-sit again.

Lastly, no matter how much is going on in your life, or how hard things seem….there is ALWAYS time for fun with your cousins, especially doing each thing listed above.

Welcome to the party

2005-11-28T20:35:00.000-08:00

I promised myself sometime ago to never start a blog. I have nothing against them. In fact I enjoy reading a great number of them weekly from various friends and strangers around the country. I just didn’t think I personally needed to join the craze. Fast forward a year or so and here I am starting my blog. Yes, it’s true. Lately many things have been happening in my life that causes me to think, “if only I had a blog I would post that.” So here it goes. Welcome to The Thomas Commentary where I hope to give you a bit of info going on in my world. No matter what I encounter every minute of every day there is a commentary going on in my head. Yes, sometimes the commentary exits my mouth (more often than not), but hopefully this will entertain you and give you a bit of insight into my world.