Home Sweet Home

When you are growing up you hate where you live. The city you live in is considered the source of all of your problems and angst. My mom was instrumental in choosing the city we eventually lived in. We had been living in Irving, TX but she wasn't happy with the school system they had there. Around the time I was about to enter kindergarten many things came together. My family was not very wealthy, and to live in Coppell, TX, an upper-middle class suburb of Dallas, would have been out of the question otherwise

In short, the economy fell through. My uncle Ed had been living in some condominiums in Coppell and a few units suddenly came available at a very reasonable price. My mom didn't go to my father at first. Instead, she went to my grandfather, and showed him the numbers and the rationale. With his blessing, she was able to convince my dad to go and see the available units. It was a cold winter day, and two things still stand out in my mind. I remember there being a shoe frozen in some ice next to the back porch, and I remember the person showing us the unit saying it would be "41."

I thought the new condominium would cost us forty-one dollars. I thought it was a bargain, and so did my parents, because we moved in just in time to register me for kindergarten at W.W.W. Pinkerton Elementary. Probably the best thing to ever happen to me beyond my control was my mother ensuring me an education through Coppell ISD.

I remember when I was in middle school and everyone was so excited to go to high school. I distinctly remember someone saying, "Your high school years are the best years of your life."

Well, I sure hope not. I don't know why society has structured the education system in such a way that they ramp up the pressure right when everyone's hormones are starting to go crazy. I'll save the details for a later post, but everyone growing up in Coppell called it "the Bubble". In fact, one of the teachers I had had gone to Coppell High School, lived in Coppell all his life, and will probably live there his whole life. I can't say I was dying to get out of there, but I was definitely happy to move on to college.

When I began to think of where I wanted to go to pharmacy school I had only three options at the time. Amarillo, Austin, and Houston. For reasons that I can't remember, Houston was my number one choice. Perhaps it was because I had family in Galveston and felt like I was more familiar with it. Boy, I was wrong. Galveston is worlds apart from Houston. It could have been the fact that they had a hockey team. That turned out terribly as well (another post for another day). Perhaps it was Ms. Paige Pitman, who came to UT Arlington and was one of the best school representatives that came and spoke to our Pre-Pharmacy club. Turned out, she was leaving the College of Pharmacy as soon as I was coming in. Most likely it was because Houston is home to the largest medical center in the world.

I returned my confirmation letter as soon as I was accepted, and canceled my interviews at Texas Tech and University of Texas. I was going to Houston.

But where would I live? By the time I got my acceptance letter, it was already very late in the housing application process. I really wanted my own apartment. My father really wanted me to live on campus. We clashed heads severely, as we often did growing up. I was financially held under his thumb.

I was not allowed to choose where I lived. I ended up at 2111 Holly Hall, a block from Reliant Stadium, in the Medical Center. At first, I was ecstatic that I had somehow gotten my way and had my own apartment. For a while I was blind to what became obvious as soon as a tropical storm rolled through the area during pharmacy school orientation.

It is a dump in the middle of a ghetto. 598 square feet of shitty, dirty beige carpet, 30 year old windows that don't close tightly, and a sliding glass door that leaks when it rains. Picture a bucket and a metal bowl that I have to keep next to the door to catch rainwater before it soaks the aforementioned shitty carpet. The hot water heater broke within a month of me living here. The A/C within two years. It is difficult to open and close the door when it is damp, and when I first moved in the electric bills for this tiny place were almost $200 dollars a month. The door jamb for the front door is rotting and starting to separate from the outside of the building. Sometimes when you open it and walk through small chunks of wood fall down on you. When we go away for more than a couple days, when we come back the apartment smells stale and musty.

One of my neighbors has COPD, and is evidently on disability. He can be found in his wheelchair in the walkway between buildings, coughing, hacking, and talking to himself. Nay, yelling to himself in a slightly demonic and very intimidating voice. Other times he can be found sitting in front of the Valero across the street. No matter where I see him, I am deeply unsettled.

Another neighbor is a douchebag in a piece of shit black Integra. When he has to add water to his beater's radiator, he tosses the water bottle he used on the ground. I am usually the one that picks it up.

Yet another neighbor, the one that shares a wall with us, smokes so much that sometimes the smell seeps into our bathroom. We can't open the front window to let in fresh air, because he also will sometimes sit out front and smoke. I have actually had someone ask me if I smoke when they came into our apartment.

In short, I am sick and tired of living here and can't wait to move back to Dallas. All those years where I was sick and tired of living in the same city, the same bubble, and I would absolutely love to move back. I was reminded of this fact when I went back for Thanksgiving holiday. I was so deeply moved to be back home, that I made sure to take the time to enjoy all the little things.

Every time I go home, we pass by the skyline and I can't help but take pictures of it like a tourist. When we recently went up there to get Ben a new car I noticed that the lights of my favorite building weren't on. I always check what is going on at the American Airlines Center, just in case I might try to catch a hockey game. A real hockey game.

In Coppell, Ben never locked his door during the day whether they were home or not. When we get there it is always for us and we walk right in. I could never do that where I live right now. In fact, last night I was so paranoid that someone had stolen our brand new Camaro I grabbed the keys and hit the 'lock' button to hear it honk through the defective sliding glass door. I might be paranoid because one weekend morning I was woken up to knocking at my door. When I looked through the peephole I saw a sniveling girl. I opened the door and she proceeded to ask me if I had seen anyone break into her car and steal her laptop she had hidden on the back floorboard. I told her I hadn't-- I had been asleep. She moved on to the next door. And that's when I realized my doormat was missing. In its place was an empty Taco Cabana cup.

Someone has since offered the explanation that someone used my doormat to hide the laptop they were stealing as they walked away. The bottom line, is that I live in a ghetto after having lived in one of those All-American cities where everyone knows each other and looks out for each other.

Here, the only reason I pay attention is because I like matching up people I see to the cars they drive and the apartment they live in. Not because I want to watch out for them, but because I want to watch out for me.

Home sweet home. Yeah right. Not until I get out of here.

Rental Car Roulette

I wish I could make this a post about how intelligent Ben and I are about prospecting for cars. We are soon to be in the market to replace Ben's 2006 Ford Ranger that is valiantly holding on. Maybe a tiny piece of us likes to rent cars so we can test drive them and that was definitely the case when we rented a Dodge Ram and a Chevrolet Camaro. But the truth is when we go to Dallas we choose to rent a car because it lessens the miles we have to put on our cars. An added perk is that we get to drive a ton of different cars. However, our adventures can also be full of folly.

As many of you know, rental car agencies don't always let you choose what car you are going to get. You more likely sign up for the class of the car and then get to see what you get the day you pick it up.

When we went to Austin one time and wanted to take our bikes, we rented a small ("crossover") SUV. It turned out to be a Dodge Journey. It was red, and plenty big to fit our bikes. Ben drove it to Austin and was slightly perturbed when he applied the brakes. It wasn't much of a problem on the flat roads between Houston and Austin. However, when I got behind the wheel on the streets of Texas Hill Country, I discovered the whole SUV shuddered as the brakes were applied. This does not inspire confidence when you are going 55 down a hill and a light turns red.

Unfortunately we were there on a weekend. Sunday morning we called Enterprise and discovered what we should have known. All corporations are in it for themselves and the money, because they made the absurd suggestion that we should, while on our mini-vacay, take the SUV into a shop ourselves to get it checked out. Um... No. This isn't our car, and it's not like we carry around one of your Corporate Visas to pay for it. I have discovered after several years of renting cars, that one thing the rental car agencies *really* hate, is to have to take in a car from a different location. I don't know why, but they always try to convince you not to exchange a car that is defective if it's from another city.

Ben had to navigate the wonders of customer service to discover that we would be able to exchange our SUV that fit our bikes perfectly for a... Chevy Cobalt. It was supposedly the only car they had. On a Sunday. In Austin, TX. The travel capital of the world.

I got to disassemble two bikes completely in order to fit them into a Chevy Cobalt. Not my idea of fun.

How do I know that rental car companies don't like to take cars from a different area? Because my mom also rents a car to come down and visit me, usually from Alamo. This past time she came down and, after a great day of hanging out, her tire went flat. Again, this was a weekend. She called Alamo, and guess what they told her?

"You can drive on a dime tire at 55 miles per hour for 3,000 miles."

What the hell are these people thinking? I'm sorry, but my mom would be killed if she tried to drive up I-45 at 55 miles per hour. Not only that, but they are trying to say that my mom caused some pre-existing damage on the car that was already there when my mom picked it up. It was on the right front passanger side of the bumper. Alamo does not do walk-arounds with you like Enterprise. Supposedly you just go in, pick a car, and drive off. Supposedly there was no damage report, but because I have seen things like this:


It makes me think that it is possible that one of their workers caused the damage. I think I'll be paying a visit to that Alamo to see if I can find any more pictures like the one above to help my mom out. The Camaro above was parked in a space at the rental car agency, Avis, at Bush Intercontinental. Anyone reading this who gets shafted by the system, can use this picture for their defense.

It's not always a bad experience with these places. We really enjoyed being able to rent a Camaro and tool around town in it. We enjoyed the Dodge Ram. We really enjoy satellite radio!

But you know how it goes-- you remember the bad aspects more than the good. Today, we went to pick up a car for our drive to Dallas. I am always excited because going to pick up the car is like opening a Christmas present. You have no idea what you're about to get or whether you will like it or not.

This week we have a Chevy HHR. Or, as I like to call it, a Chevy PT Cruiser. I will be the first to admit that I am kind of snobby when it comes to cars and I am leery of being seen in a Chevy PT Cruiser. Ben called me as soon as he could to let me know what we got, knowing I would be extremely bemused.

"The only thing worse would have been an actual PT Cruiser..." said I.

Or maybe that Dodge Calibur that caused Ben and I to burst into spontaneous laughter when we turned a corner and seen what my parents had rented.

We'll just have to see how this adventure of Rental Car Roulette goes. I am just happy to get to see my family and am thankful to get a chance to head back to Dallas.

Being Crazy + Crazy Dream

Maybe it's a side effect of being an only child with no one around to talk to, but I have quite a few inner dialogues. I have played around with the idea that I might have a split personality, but I think I'm just okay with talking to myself whether it's out loud or just in my head.

This morning I had a prime example of an inner dialogue that made me chuckle. There was me, the person you see every day, that can be a little rushed, brash, even a little ditzy. I'll refer to her as Mary. And then there was the other me-- the calm, cool, collected, calculated me. I will refer to her as Helen.

===
MARY rushes toward the jeans drawer of her bureau and pulls out the first pair she put her hands on.

HELEN: You are not seriously thinking about wearing those jeans with holes between the legs.

It is a statement, not a question. HELEN'S arms are crossed, and her hip is cocked.

MARY: Huh? What do you mean? I only have one pair of jeans that don't have holes in them besides the ones I wore last night that reek of cigarello smoke, and those are dirty. That's it. I don't know what you want from me.
HELEN: I want a new pair of jeans, that's what.
===

On a completely unrelated note, I just read on CNN.com that Twilight author Stephenie Meyer got the inspiration for the series from a dream she had that she became nearly obsessed with afterward. That dream became the beginning of the series.

I actually have very vivid dreams. I don't know if it's part of my psychosis, but they are often very detailed and very involved. I have also had a dream that I have been slightly obsessed with, because it affected me very greatly.

To be honest, it scared the crap out of me. Much like Stephenie Meyer, I didn't want to forget it so I wrote it down. I must have had this dream 3 or 4 years ago, but I still remember it vividly. Here is a copy of what I scribbled down in my journal the day after I had it. Maybe one day I can write a novel about it. Who knows? It can't be worse than Twilight.

-----
The house is alone in the middle of a huge, unkempt property. I feel and know that I am somewhere on Galveston Island because the house is on stilts and the landscape is similar to the flat, salty grasslands of the barrier island. I am bored and I want to explore it. I have passed by it many times, but today I hop the wooden fence surrounding the property and make my way across the dry grass. I pass by fallen trees that are now gutted logs dried out by salty tides.

As I get closer the house grows larger. I didn’t think the house was that big from the road, but when I get there I can tell that it had two stories at one time. It still has two stories, and even most of its roof, but it isn’t whole any longer. As I approach I get the feeling that I am completely alone. There are no sounds around me except for the sounds I am making as I wade through the grass.

I walk under the house, through the stilts and the reason the house is abandoned becomes apparent right away. It has been completely gutted by fire. I can see the sky through a giant, blackened hole in the roof. All four walls are still standing, but it is as if the middle was cut out of the house. There is a staircase, some of the floor, and blackened debris all around.

All of a sudden, for no particular reason I am incredibly tired. I lie down on my back, staring up at the sky, and close my eyes. I must fall asleep, but it feels like just a split second before I open my eyes again. When I do fire is all around me. It is surrounding me, rushing up through the hole in the roof. For a moment, all I can do is stare at the flames licking at the bright blue sky overhead. The sound of fire is all around me—cracking, popping, whooshing up through the gutted ceiling.

I get up awkwardly, avoiding the flames that are burning the already blackened shell of the home. The fire is strange, though. It isn’t hot and it doesn’t seem to be doing any more damage to the home. It is as if it is a superimposed image of fire laid over the abandoned house. I am not scared, only confused. All the same, I look all around me for a way out, but there is none.

Out of the corner of my eye I see what I think is a shadow, but it moves from between the stilts. I freeze and watch intently. It is a blackened form in the shape of a human. It walks slowly and deliberately toward me, fading in and out as it passes through flames.

I am very frightened, unable to comprehend what I am seeing. I want to scream, but I can’t. My voice is stuck in my throat.

I look around, desperate for an escape. As the shadow comes nearer, I finally spot a break in the flames and I run through it. I run across the grass, the scent of burning wood and ash still all around me.

I glance back. The house looks like it did before I hopped the fence. There is no fire. It is as if nothing happened.

But I can still smell it. I can smell the fire in my clothes and hair. I am too afraid to go back, and instead I head back home.


Later on in the dream, I get the feeling of terror I had when the shadow was approaching me. It is an all-encompassing dread. The hair is standing up on my arms and on the back of my neck. I am with someone, and they ask me what is wrong. Again, my voice is frozen in my throat and I cannot answer. I turn around, and I am horrified at what I see.

On the ground behind me, following me, are footprints appearing out of nowhere. The footprints are being burned into the ground by something I cannot see. Smoke rises up from them as they appear. I know it is the shadow from the house.

I also know that it cannot be stopped.

----
Creepy, huh? I still don't know what to make of it, but I avoid all isolated homes in the middle of large tracts of land in Galveston.

Self-Image

A gorgeous and rather svelte friend of mine recently updated her status on Facebook mentioning how a sales associate at a retail store made a snide comment to her regarding the sizes of the clothes she was looking at. This comment struck a particularly prominent female nerve. The status reminded me of my own encounter with an insensitive retail employee and the wonderful sales associate that helped me find my wedding dress.

At the beginning of this year, my fiance and I sat down and discussed our plans to get married. Previously, I had always assumed that we would wait until I was out of pharmacy school before we got married. I thought it would be better to wait until I had a job and was making an income. Ben had just gotten a great new job, however, and he was confident that he would be able to save up enough money by winter break. All of a sudden, wedding plans were in motion.

A couple of months later, in March, my mom came down. We were in full dress-finding mode and were so very excited. I had been looking at magazines and picking out design elements I liked and didn't like. I had an idea about the dress that I wanted and it involved lace. Other than that, I was completely open and completely excited to try on some beautiful dresses.

My mom knew that we were the ones in charge of paying for our wedding, but she had been saving up for a while with the intent to one day buy me my wedding dress. Despite how much she had saved, I didn't want to just go out with the purpose of buying an expensive dress. Having never gone to a wedding dress shop before, I naively wanted to try an inexpensive place first. Mind you, I also made an appointment at a Houston-area boutique for the next day just in case.

We showed up at the inexpensive store, and filled out a questionnaire. A sales associate soon came over to help us out. I told her my size, which was the size that I bought most of my clothes in. Then, it was a size 12-14. We walked through the aisles of dresses and I picked out a couple of dresses that we liked. She led me to a dressing room and we began the process of trying to get into one of them.

It soon became apparent that I was no where near a 12-14 dress at that store. Instead of addressing the delicate, and embarrassing, matter in a professional way she bluntly stated, "You're no 12. You're a 16."

Those two short sentences quite literally changed my life. I have never been so mortified in my life then I was standing in that rickity dressing room. I was sweaty from being under what felt like forty layers of unbreathable fabric. I was absolutely miserable and wanted to cry. It didn't help that the sales associate was 5'3" and weighed 100 pounds at the most. I put my clothes back on, and made the walk of shame back out to the racks to look at the larger sizes. I noticed that, while there were yards and yards of dresses lined up in smaller sizes, there was a section smaller than my closet for size 16. My closet is pretty small.

I decided to put a stop to it right there and then.

"I don't really see anything I like right now," I said quietly, trying not to make it obvious I was distraught. She assured me that the stock changed often and that I could check back soon, since my wedding was so far in the future. I nodded and hightailed it out of the store.

My mom, of course, could tell something was wrong. I told her what happened and she was quiet as we walked across the parking lot to the Jack in the Box to get something to eat for lunch. The last thing I wanted at that particular moment was to eat.

"She shouldn't have said it like that," my mom eventually said. It didn't matter, though. The damage was done. I picked at my food and told her I didn't want to do any more shopping that day. I didn't. I felt ugly, unattractive, and completely undeserving of a beautiful gown.

Conversation was very sparse for the rest of the day. My mind was racing. I could not let that happen to me again, I decided. I had always wanted to buy beautiful outfits made by designers, but they never went up above an 8 or a 10. I was sick of it, and to think that I wasn't even a 12 like I had previously thought, but a 16.

I thought about Ben's mother, who had recently joined Weight Watchers and been incredibly successful. She looked amazing and the system made sense to me. Watch and track what you eat, be more active, and the weight will come off. I went online and read over the website.

"I'm joining Weight Watchers," I stated. After all, I had close to a year to get the weight off. I felt better already because I was taking charge. I got out my credit card and signed up. I read all the articles I could that night. While I was still smarting, I felt better. My mom and I decided that since my appointment at the boutique was so late in the afternoon, we would go to the Galleria and see what we could find. I had convinced myself that maybe a simple white or ivory dress would do, since it was going to be outdoors.

The next day, something serendipitous happened. Our plan was to park at the Nordstrom parking garage and go to Nordstrom and Macy's before my appointment. We exited on Westheimer and, as we had always done before, made the u-turn and traveled down the frontage road to that right turn. This time, however, they had put up some new lane barriers that kept us from being able to get over and reach the parking garage we were trying to get to. We were forced to take a left. We had to loop back around and eventually parked in an entirely different parking garage.

The entrance we entered the mall at was on the opposite end of the mall, and very near Saks Fifth Avenue. I knew Saks had some wonderful clothes, and even though I was doubtful I would find anything in my size, I decided to stop by and check. I was also aware that they had a bridal boutique there as well. When I was younger, visiting the Dallas Galleria, I had always looked in at it and admired the beautiful women on the pedestal. We glanced at the dresses in the dress sections and I snuck over to where the bridal boutique had been.

To my surprise they had rows and rows of wedding dresses set out on temporary racks all the way down the aisle in front of the boutique. A passing sales associate told me they were selling their samples because the Bridal suite was being closed.

"We've had some girls in here who aren't even engaged buy dresses because the deals are so good," she told me.

My heart soared, but I tried to quell my excitement. The dresses were all gorgeous, but in case you weren't aware, samples of wedding dresses are often in sizes 8 or 10. I was doubtful, but I began to search through the hundred or so dresses they had stuffed on those racks. I saw the sales associate from the Bridal boutique come out from the dressing room to answer the ringing phone. She saw me and waved. I smiled and continued to look through the racks.

When she finished with her call, she came up to me and asked if there was anything she could help me with.

"Oh, I don't think I could fit into any of these," I said, attempting to make it jokingly. "I am just admiring how beautiful they all are."

She seemed a little perplexed and nodded. "Just let me know if I can help with anything."

"I will!" She popped off and I continued to look, truly enjoying some of the amazing details on the luxurious designer gowns. I couldn't even begin to think that I would be able to have any of them, but I thought it couldn't hurt to look and see things I did and didn't like in real life instead of on the pages of a magazine.

My mom was nearby looking at a few of the dresses I had pointed out that I liked, when the lady returned.

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can help you with? We have a few dresses I think you would fit in, just by looking at you. What size do you wear?"

I told her I wore a 12, but that recently I had tried on dresses and was told I was a 16. She nodded and said that wedding dresses often ran very small, but she was confident that she had a dress I could at least try on for fun. She pulled it out and let me look at it. It was not a dress I would have ever worn-- it had a sleek satin top, but a massive amount of ruffled tulle at the bottom. She must have seen the trepidation and disappointment in my face.

"What were you thinking of for your wedding?" she asked. I told her that it was in Hawaii and the fluffy poof at the bottom really wasn't what I had envisioned. I also told her I had really had my heart set on lace. I could tell she was thinking hard for a moment before she 'ah-hahed'.

"I have the perfect dress, and I think we can get you into it." She walked to the rack, reached into a section of dresses I was sure I had already rifled through, and pulled out the most beautiful and perfect dress I had ever seen. A dress I hadn't seen while flicking through them. How had I missed it?

"I'll never fit in it," I said instantly, my eyes wide and my heart beating. It was too beautiful, sleek, and a gorgeous ivory color with a white lace overlay. The effect was stunning.

"You'd be surprised," she said with a smile. "The netting stretches, and the fabric beneath is incredible. C'mon, you're not that big. Let's try it on."

I was almost too afraid to agree. I didn't want to feel like I had the day before when the zipper wouldn't go up. The dress was too perfect, though. I had to at least try. My mom was excited as well, and took a seat in one of the chairs inside the suite.

I undressed, still self-conscious as she helped me into the dress. I was still adoring it, wanting so much for it to fit. I knew it was going to be close. I took a deep breath, blew it out, and held it as she started to attach the hooks and pull up the zipper.

I did my best not to breathe. She pulled and tugged, and inch by inch the zipper climbed higher.

"It's really not as bad as it seems," she assured me. "I just have arthritis."

And then it was up. The zipper had reached its zenith and I was, albeit very snuggly, inside the very perfect dress.

"It's perfect," I breathed. I was beaming. We walked out of the dressing room to where my mom was sitting and she lit up. I was smiling so hard my face was starting to hurt and my eyes were beginning to moisten. I got up on the pedestal and turned, admiring the dress from every angle I could. I felt so beautiful. Such a stark contrast from the day before.

"I think this is the one," my mom said.

"I think so," I replied. I called and canceled my appointment at the boutique as my mom completed the purchase.

It's amazing the difference between the two women. I know the sales associate at the inexpensive store probably did not mean to offend me like she did. There was no way she could have had the sales experience that the lovely lady at Saks did. The lady at Saks must have known every single dress in her boutique to have pulled out the dress she did. She didn't just help me find the perfect dress, but she made me feel beautiful again.

Honestly though, I have to thank that girl at the inexpensive store, because she honestly helped me. Weight Watchers really has changed my life. I have lost weight, found out the correct amount of food to eat, and, on the way, worked toward living a healthy lifestyle. Ben and I love jogging together, and have reached the point where we can jog and hold great conversations. I feel better about myself than I ever have. I know that I am going to have the most beautiful wedding photos in the most beautiful wedding dress.

I suppose what I was trying to do with this post was to share one of my favorite stories and express how the little things that happen to us can change us forever. Not that my friend needs to change. That was just a shitty sales associate.

We all struggle with our self image. As many people argue, we are surrounded by media that puts an incredible amount of pressure on both men and women. On the other hand, our society is moving ever farther away from healthy habits. I have recently found a great blog-spot that shares great, uplifting, and inspiring stories about leading a healthy lifestyle. I found it on CNN after reading about a story about eating disorders, but I enjoy it from my point of view as well. Give it a read, if you are looking for inspiration to change your self-image and/or lifestyle:

http://www.neversaydiet.com/

In The Moment

Today, with the brief exception of a CV/Resume workshop I attended in the morning, was all about living in the moment. Ben and my mom left to pick up our fun of the day-- a new Chevy Camaro that we rented from Avis. However, because they had to drive out to Bush Intercontinental, they weren't around when I got out of the aforementioned CV/Resume workshop.

In case you were wondering, yes. I did go back up to school on a Saturday morning. Yes, I even had to wear business casual dress. On a Saturday morning. Back at school. Was I happy about it Friday night and even Saturday morning? No. But it was helpful and I enjoyed the speakers. The workshop allayed my fears that I was doing 'something wrong' with my CV. You supposedly can't do too much wrong when it comes to formatting-- only grammar and innappropriate e-mail addresses.

Anyway, neither Ben nor my mom were in the vicinity when I got out. One thing you should probably know about me is this: I hate waiting. So, when faced with the option of waiting out front of the TMC building or walking two miles in shoes that are two sizes too small, you might guess that I chose the latter.

I knew that walking in those shoes was probably a bad idea. They were, in fact, two sizes too small. Why would someone buy shoes two sizes too small? Because they were cute, royal purple flats. And because they were $7.50 at Kohl's. When I tried them on, they didn't really seem like the size would be an issure if I just wore them when I didn't need to stand for too long, or walk two miles. However, today was a beautiful day and I was happy to be away from that building and out in it. I walked briskly down Holcombe, and discovered something more about my shoes. They are terrific at crushing acorns. I love crushing acorns and dry leaves. I go out of my way to do it.

Unfortunately, the acorns ran out as I turned down Cambridge. And so did my feet. So I took off the shoes and plodded along barefoot, avoiding the small pieces of gravel that seemed to appear out of nowhere. Despite all this, I was truly enjoying the peace and quiet of an unseasonably warm, sunny, November afternoon.

I crossed Old Spanish Trail, and not long after the gravel became too prevalent to go barefoot any longer, my mom pulled up in her rental car to save the backs of my heels. Almost.

When we got back to my apartment, and after I switched into some sandals, we took time to admire the Camaro. We are (now strongly) considering it as Ben's new car.

Ben has driven the same 1996 Ford Ranger he has had since high school. In the four years that I've known him we have replaced a fuel pump, an alternator, a filler hose, a solenoid, and the damn piece of crap's 'Check Engine' light is always on and thus can't pass inspection (supposedly because of some mythical sensor malfunction). This is in addition to the fuel pump and alternator he replaced before we were dating. Recently, the air conditioner also took its last dying gasps. This hot, humid Houston summer the love of my life had to drive to and from work, oftentimes in stop and go traffic, in an oven.

A new car is most definitely in order. Due diligence is also in order, however, and therefore a test drive. And what better way to check out this beautiful car, then to drive it all the way down I-10 to Katy Mills. And heck, since we were in the vicinity, drive up Highway 6 to the factory outlet shops on 290. Then, after dropping my mom back off at my apartment, we went and picked up dinner and brought it back to the apartment. Ben, cunning opportunist that he is, wondered allowed what we would have for breakfast the next day, and offered to drive to HEB. I offered to go with him. It just so happens that you can get to the HEB via 610 to 59 which is much less crowded at 11pm at night than during the day.

Whoops! Wouldn't you know it, but we took the wrong exit on the way home. Instead of 610 South we took 610 north to I10. We detoured down sidestreets and watched a train with 111 cars pass by. He pointed out a bar he hangs out with his friends at work at sometimes that has a huge patio with a good view of Houston's skyline. Then I45 to 288 to OST to Almeda to Holly Hall to home. It was fun-- especially with satellite radio.

See! This blog is already helping me be more spontaneous and appreciate the moment more! Nah, we had already planned to rent the car and tool around in it.

And now, I plan on snuggling with the love of my life that I just had one of the best days ever with.

I Have Thoughts

I have been reading a friend's blog lately, and I have decided that I, too, have thoughts. Deep, meaningful thoughts that are begging for an audience other than myself! Thoughts that are scaling the walls of my inner dialogue, yearning to be free!

Well, maybe not. However, I do keep journals although I don't write in them often. I do enjoy going back and rereading what I've written and remembering where I was in my life when I wrote the particular entry. Perhaps that's what I want to get out of this new blog-- a record of some of those crazy thoughts.

I decided to name my blog, 'Present Tense'. This actually has its origins in a book I read many years ago, but one that impacted me greatly. The book is 'The Prophet's Way: Touching the Power of Life' by Thom Hartmann. It is a kind of Christian mystic book about getting closer to God (always deferred as G-d, because it is irreverent of us to actually type it out completely) and living the best and most meaningful life you can. As cheesy as it sounds, I took away some great lessons from it. Not that I've mastered the lessons, but I do every once in a while attempt them.

One of the lessons was living in the present-- always being conscious of the "now", because you can't truly live your life in the past or in the future and appreciate God's gifts all around us in the present. I have always struggled with this. I am terrible at being still. I can't forget about things that I need to do, and worse still, I can't stop planning every single detail of my life. In other words, despite how laid back I may appear, I am a control freak to the highest degree, which makes it difficult to appreciate the present.

When you can slow down and appreciate the "now" you really do find it powerful and gratifying. I think perhaps this blog is my attempt to live in the "now" and appreciate it by recording it. I know I have heard many times that the present is all we have, but I find it difficult to live my life that way.

What am I appreciating right now?

How about-- the oscillating fan I have in my living room is so dirty I don't think I can stand it one second longer.

Stay tuned.