Work Hard, Play Hard

Mercenary Creativist. I think that's my official title.

I had to do some freelancey work today. Last night, I called about 40 people to collect email addresses for my hairdresser's email mailing list (she's opening a new salon and I'm becoming her marketing/events diva). I only connected with about 10 of them, but I left a bunch of messages and then designed a marketing email for her. I had to finish it up and plug in all the email addresses this morning. I was working from the bedroom upstairs because one whole wall is a window and until about 5pm, it's the warmest room in the house. But Gotham was incredibly bored while I was working and alternated between napping, staring out the window, carrying various toys around the bedroom and crawling under the bed and whining for about 4 hours. I took him out a few times, all the while promising him a grand adventure as soon as I finished.

I didn't finish quickly enough though and even though I swore I wouldn't until he was older, I ended up pulling him up on the bed with me. It was the only way I could get some peace. He promptly went to sleep at my feet. Stinker.

Anyway, I finished around 1:15 and as soon as I could get my shoes on, we were out the door. It's a beautiful day here. Still kind cold (46ish) but the sun's out and there's not a cloud in the sky. We walked several blocks and wove through different neighborhoods before running into the gate of Frenchtown Dog Park, which is just 2 blocks from our house. Gotham is just barely old enough to be admitted (4 months), and annual dues are $40 (which we don't have to spend on him right now). So we're standing at the numberpadlocked gate, surveying the scene, and an older lady with three dogs asks if we want to come in and try it out! They were the only ones there and she was sweet enough to let us in to play with her terrier Chloe (who thought she was a person), her chow mix, Lucky and her Rott/Aussie Shepherd, Jack (who tried to force himself upon every male dog upon arrival, except Gotham. That's right. He must've sensed that I would've kicked him in his happy little nutsack if he tried to hump my baby.)

Anyway, we weren't there for 10 minutes before another guy showed up with his German Shepherd mix and his Pit mix (Eli and Peyton, respectively) and another older gent came in with his 10 month old Boxer boy, Moses, who was huge. I can't believe how big Gotham's going to get.

Anyway, he had a blast. Mostly with Eli & Moses, even though they were considerably bigger and stronger. By the time we left, he was panting and exhausted and happy and homeless-looking. I mean, COVERED in dirt and hay and LOVING it.

So I walked my little mongrel home and stuck him straight in the tub. He smells like chamomile and flowers now, and he's out cold behind me on the couch. It's been a good day. :)

Odd Jobs McGee

I feel like I have pet goat.
This dog will eat anything that isn't nailed down.

I also feel like I have an occupational identity crisis. Whenever I see people who seem to be enjoying their jobs? I want to do that. Today we had a huge group of elementary school students come into the Arch and I was like "Maybe I should try to be a teacher." But I wouldn't want to teach elementary school, I'd want to teach high school English... at least I'm pretty sure.

I think some part of me thought that after I got married, I'd discover what I'd been unable to pin down since I graduated from college-- that elusive Thing I Want To Do With My Life. But it hasn't happened. I don't mind telling people what I do for work now. I don't mind telling people what I've done for work in the past. I don't mind telling people what kind of degree I have... but please, oh please...

Don't ask me what I want to Do.

When people ask me that, you want to know what the first 4 things are that pop into my head?
1) Name crayons/nail polish colors/paint swatches.
2) Be the voice of an animated Disney princess.
3) Write and or be in a Broadway musical.
4) Speak Spanish.

I'm serious. I don't know what's wrong with me. Or how to figure it out. I feel like I don't know what my actual tangible dreams are anymore-- well, not the career/work-related ones. For the past few months, I've basically just jumped at whatever opportunities are placed in front of me.

But it's really frustrating, this not knowing what I want. And now that this Goat Dog has frightened all my once friendly muses into hiding, I don't quite know what to do with myself.

I guess I'll keep blogging.

I'm wearing glasses.

Well, I'm wearing frames with no lenses that used to belong to my college roommate. I put them on after I climbed into bed because I had to do a "training exercise" tonight for work. It involved me watching a seven-minute powerpoint and then sending an email.

I'm still wearing them.

I don't know. It just felt very Claire Huxtable to climb into bed and finish my professional business.

But I'm all done now, and since I've got my first full day of "being in charge" tomorrow, I should probably remove my fake specs and get to bed.

There's a lot of hustle on my horizon. I'll tell you about it later. Peace & Buenas noches.

Eh?

Since I'm not facebooking, I just have to say really quick that tonight, while watching the Ice Dancing medal ceremony, I discovered that my husband knows the words to the Canadian national anthem.

You think you know somebody.

Donde, esta, la biblioteca...

Can you judge a city by its library? I'm sure you could learn something about it. Maybe just a list of the city's most forgetful people or a list of locals without home internet service. Perhaps you could discern a level of local literary learnedness or city history-- in which case, I would hope all big city libraries would be breathtakingly stocked in their own unique ways.

I love the library. My mom started taking me there probably before I could walk. We'd sit forever, my mom usually thumbing through a fat cookbook while I devoured the children's section. She'd read to me for awhile and then we'd check out a stack of books and push them home in the stroller. I remember being in elementary school and being SO excited when we got to 3rd grade and were finally allowed to check out books from the school library that weren't in the children's section. And even now, I love the multiple floors and maze-like aisles of large old libraries, stocked with more words and tales than you could read in a lifetime.

But sometimes, I get this feeling that libraries have gotten a lame reputation. Some people think libraries are these pasty, know-it-all, bespectacled teenagers with frizzy hair and severe asthma who forget to put on deodorant, and no one wants to be around them unless it becomes absolutely vital. For a lot of people, I'm afraid libraries have become a Dungeon of Dissertations and a Lonely Cavern of Research Paper Fodder; an Evil Lair of Late-Night Cramming Sessions, a Black Hole of Book Reports and a Sarlacc Pit of Science Fair Projects. What happened?

What happened to this brand of wonder?



That's definitely how I felt about libraries as a kid... and I still enjoy the chance to go in and browse, searching through the quietness for a story worth taking in, marveling at all the books that have been written and compiled over the years, wondering how you could ever even hope to read all the good ones, feeling a little sorry for the bad ones, and glancing at the kids in the children's area, wondering if anyone reads to them at night and hoping that they will always be able find comfort in a well-told tale.

I visited the library down the street from our house for the first time today. It's just a branch; its pleasant and warm and houses the necessary basics, but it's no Beast Library. Still, I got my first St. Louis Library Card and a tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, which I've not reads since I was 15. Maybe a project for the summer will be to seek out The City Library and see how it adds to what I know of St. Louis.

Where was this in the Superbowl?!

Hilarious.

"I'm feeling very Olympic today..."

I'm snuggling with Gotham and watching the Olympics... I gotta hand it to the winter Olympians. I could never be one. Because in most sports, even if you win? It's still cold. And if you lose/miss a landing/wipeout? Fail AND Cold. Ugh. No thank you.

But I'm really liking Shaun White, he's incredible to watch and his hair is fantastic. The halfpipe is really cool, and the moguls are too! Crazy! I've never seen some of these events before and even though sometimes I feel bad just sitting and watching TV, I keep telling myself that this is a Rare International Event... so I guess it's okay.

Before I settled down tonight, I had a cooking adventure. Todd got me this cool cookbook with short recipes that are healthier versions of menu items at major restaurants. I really like it. Anyway, I was just going to heat up some of the chili I made the other day, but this one recipe caught my eye and suddenly nothing else would satisfy. SO. I threw some vodka sauce (my fave red sauce) in a skillet, simmered it, cracked two eggs in it, swirled the whites and left the yolks whole and let it cook. That's what it said to do.

But. In all of my cooking adventures, I have never actually cooked a fried egg. So after I followed the recipe, I poked one egg too hard and destroyed it. Then I decided I didn't want runny eggs, so I stuck a spatula in there and flipped some of it over.

It looked atrocious.

But I went with it. I toasted some bread, then dumped the whole mess out on a plate and topped it with cracked pepper, a sprinkle of mozzarella cheese, a few bacon bits and some parsley.

And it was delicious :) cleaned my plate.

Oh, and finally, in case you haven't heard, I'm giving up facebook for Lent... so maybe I'll be able to find time to blog during the next 40 days.

p.s. just watched Shaun White's last (gold medal!) run... dude is beastly. U-S-A!!!

Hello Hurricane...

It's tax season. Season of intense frustration and desperate need for trust. From what I've seen so far, it's not going to be pretty. But after listening to my boys sing last night, I've got a strand of hope that I pray will carry me through April 15th.

"I've been watchin the skies...
They've been turnin blood red...
Not a doubt in my mind anymore...
There's a storm up ahead...

Hello hurricane-- you're not enough...
Hello hurricane-- you can't silence my love--
I've got doors and windows boarded up,
All your dead-end fury is not enough,
You can't silence my love."

God has taken care of us this far, I can't stop trusting now... and I feel like I've said that so many times in the past 4 months... but it's true. This hurricane of tax season and newly married finances will pass... in the meantime, I'm gonna try not to let it get me down.

Also, in contrast to my last post, I'd just like to say thank you to switchfoot. It's such a comfort to have musicians you can stand behind in lyric, performance and lifestyle. Those guys have never disappointed me on stage, and their music consistently speaks to me, encouraging me through difficult moments and reminding me of my own dreams-- as well as my need to be forgiven and loved by a Savior.

Jon. Tim. Chad. Jerome. Drew. Thank you for playing quality music. Thank you for staying true to your SoCal roots. Thank you for not saying stupid things on stage, for not saying stupid things in magazines, and for not acting a fool on television. Thank you for not being a "Christian Band". Thank you for being excellent, honest, poetic, passionate musicians who understand that they are broken and in need of God's grace.

Also Jon, thank you for creating Fiction Family and going on tour so I could meet my husband. :)

Go listen to Hello Hurricane, it sounds like the ocean.

Nashvisit.

So I took a little mid-week mini-vacay to Nashville.

I wasn't going to do it, but Kish had already bought us John Mayer tickets, my parents paid for my gas as a birthday gift and my manager at work rearranged my days off, releasing me for Wednesday and Thursday. So off I went, for a whirlwind visit.

It was really cool to go back. Lots of new beginnings happening for lots of dear, dear friends. It was an encouraging, exciting, surreal visit.

Of course this also happened. Which was SO awkward. The whole time he was talking, I was like "WTH, why don't you just say you're sorry?! What's with all the words?" But after reading the sordid interview in its entirety, I realized that I've been wrong about John Mayer. He is not just a super-cocky, incredibly talented musician... John Mayer is-- off. He is a very awkward horse of a very unusual color. The content of the song "My Stupid Mouth"? Probably a daily occurance for him. And not like, "Ooo, I accidentally assumed that girl was pregnant and asked her when she was due." or "Oops I accidentally called you sir and you're a ma'am." When John Mayer opens his mouth, it's like Cyclops taking off his glasses with his eyes open. He just says things and it's like he can't stop AND like he really has no idea what has come out of his mouth until its out. It's crazy. I've never seen anything like it. Mouth diarrhea. When I watched the youtube clip, I realized that the way he apologized is the only way he could apologize. Sad... but I guess at least he addressed it.

I could go on for awhile, but I have to work in the morning. And before I go to work, I have to navigate the Mardi Gras madness. So I'm going to bed. Night!

I think this is becoming a habit...

Today I did a promo at Whole Foods. I wish I made the dough to shop there regularly, what a great store. Everything is beautiful and well-labeled and all the employees wear their own unique hats, caps and headscarves instead of silly hairnets. Also, the dairy department supervisor who helped me today? Was wearing a leather kilt. To work. And it wasn't on a dare, that thing looked very broken in and he wore it like a trusty pair of Levi's. Fun crowd, there at Whole Foods.

Anyway, I stood between a display of dark chocolate and the wine section and sampled Wisconsin and Swiss gruyere cheeses for four hours (thinking of you all along, Ms. Annie P.) It was good times.

I can barely move my right arm because Gotham is sleeping on it. He snores like he has asthma. Or a throat full of angry pygmy wild boars.

I'm also making pulled pork for the first time this week. I got a recipe from a girl who was one of my besties in 2nd grade. Seriously. She found me on facebook and we only ever talk when we're trading comments about LOST. Anyway, she's posted twice about this killer BBQ she made, so I messaged her and asked for her recipe. Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ saus is on the counter in the kitchen and the meat is thawing in the fridge as we speak. Ain't technology grand?

Know what else is in the fridge? Evidence of birthday. First, Shauna (my friend at work) surprised me the day before with a little chocolate cake with buttercream icing. Then, on birthday morning, Whitworth made me a tub of delicious brownies. Birthday afternoon, one of the grandfatherly park rangers presented me with his famous homemade strawberry cheesecake. And birthday evening, after our fabulous steak dinner, my sweet husband gave me an awesome chocolate peanut butter gourmet cupcake with a candle in it and sang to me. There's more sugar in this house right now than an entire summer's worth of red Kool-Aid. I'm okay with it. :)

Twenty-Six!

-First of all, I'm turned 26 today. :) I'm now closer to 30 than 20. Crazy!!!

-Sitting on the couch this morning, I'm realizing for the first time how thin our walls are. Our neighbor, Dave, travels for work and he's never home. But when he is? I can hear him coughing, and watching movies and talking on the phone, etc. Probably a good thing that he stays outta town.

-We're probably moving out of our place. Relatively soon. Our apartment is lovely, but kinda old and problematic and expensive for all its quirks... we think it's time to go. We found a cute 2 bed/1 bath apartment in Benton Park for $225 cheaper than we're paying. But it has brand new wood floors, which makes the owners nervous about Gotham... pray they might find it in their hearts to give him a chance. :)

-There's a ranger who works at the Arch who has worn a surgical face mask every single day since I have started working there. I don't know what he's trying not to catch or release-- but that mask is straight up creepy. I mean, he's a perfectly nice man, and yesterday he told me he really liked my haircut... but the mask needs to go.

-Todd made me breakfast in bed this morning. He replicated my favorite breakfast from my favorite cafe in St. Louis. The meal there is called "McGrittl This!" and it's basically a giant pancake, topped with scrambled eggs and sausage, and then another giant pancake. And he made it! All by himself!!! But he used ham instead of sausage, which I like even better. THEN? He brought it to me on a "tray" (read: red cutting board) with orange juice and syrup. In bed. And sang Happy Birthday to me and then turned on The Cosby Show.

I LOVE my husband.

Snippets.

-Met a Park Ranger with the last name Cluck today. (my very first bf's last name) But he wasn't from Texas and says he doesn't have any family there.

-Got a new story idea. It's slow starting, but I think I like it.

- My dog's new favorite things: frozen carrots and sitting on the couch like a person with his feet in the air.

-I hate paying to park almost every time I go to work. So ridiculous.

-I hate being in debt. So ridiculous. We actually have to contemplate whether or not Gotham gets to be in the Mardi Gras pet parade because it costs $10 to enter. We is po'. At least we are right now.

-Does anyone have a bomb recipe for making pulled pork? Holler at me.

-SO glad LOST is back. So glad LOST is ending.

Down to Business.

A few day ago, I had a little breakdown.

The same feelings I was feeling exactly a year ago returned.

I don't feel like a writer.

I don't feel as though I have a single creative thing to offer right now.

Even things I've loved writing about in the past have been dead to me lately.

I can't shake it-- and it's terrifying.

Not only do I realize my need to redefine myself (by Who I belong to, not what I do) but I need to go back to the Orchid station, so to speak. I need to go back to where I was, or rather, what I was doing, when things were hopeful. When the creative juices were on tap, intoxicating and flowing freely.

I need to open up my iTunes. I need to listen and write what happens.

So, I don't know what I'll be blogging this month. If anything. I've got to start something new-- maybe even finish something for once.

My first attempt is to take an old idea that's always and only been an idea and turn it into-- something. I'm not going to tell you what it is because it might not work and I might change my mind. But if I don't change my mind, maybe I'll let you in on a few pieces as they develop.

Also, can I just say that it makes absolutely no sense to me that I want to write a musical SO badly and I haven't even really tried to do it. That's ridiculous.

It's time for me to stop dreaming and describing and running my mouth and produce something. Or at least attempt to.

So... here goes.