nina turns 40

It's been way too long since I got out to shake my groove thang. Does anybody out there who lives in Seattle wanna go dancing with me? I'm serious. If you know how to salsa, perfect. If you'll teach me to swing, I'm there. If you just wanna go and shake it like there's no tomorrow at some club where I'm way too old to be showing my face, OK by me. Male or female, I don't care. I just wanna go, and all my old dancing buddies are mamas now, and trying to coordinate time when we're all kid free is virtually impossible. Drop me a line if you're interested.

For those of you who think there is no interesting architecture in Seattle, I can now prove you wrong. Well, I would have visual proof, but I didn't have my camera with me (I know, I know, so spank me) and it was too dark anyway. But as I was doing one of my favorite activities this evening--wandering about--in one of my favorite neighborhoods--Fremont--I came across the most awesome little house/garden/studio space. If you've ever seen the magazine Dwell (and if you like architecture and design, you should check it out), then this house I saw would fit very well in its pages. It was economical in design, tall and spare and boxy, but not boring or plain visually. What first caught my eye was that in each of several small square windows there was a small plant of some sort completely covered in bright xmas style lights of a different color, so that, from a distance, which is how I approached, each window glowed with its own bright ball of color, which was the only decoration of any kind on that side of the house. It was stunning, and as I got closer, I realized it was someone's house, and I walked around, snooped, and stared as much as I dared (I think someone was home), with a big shit-eating grin on my face. I love good design! I'll get a picture soon, I promise.

I love Margaret Cho, she is so fucking cool and funny and right on about everything. And she has a blog! I especially like what she has to say about Michael Jackson, and Thanksgiving. Hell, I love everything she says, and if you haven't seen her movies, you really should, they had me on the floor clutching my stomach with laughter. I've decided who I want to replace fucktard in the White House--if The Notorious C.H.O. were president, life would be definitely be sweet.

Had a playdate with one of the kidlet's friends from school yesterday. I like the parents of this one very much, they seem more low key and laid back than some of the other families I've met through school. They are both professors at UW and they live in one of my favorite neighborhoods in the city. Their kidlet ka-thwacked my kidlet upside the head with a Buzz Lightyear doll, leaving a nice little bruise on his cheek. I missed all the drama, but when I stopped by the park where they were later, they were running around happily like a bunch of crazy men together, as always. And though I'll never admit to it in public, this one qualifies as one of those sexy daddies I mentioned earlier.

I'm happy to report that boys DO read nina turns 40. At least a couple of them. The most surprising one to me? This one.

The kidlet and I had what we are referring to as an adventure yesterday. Pretty pedestrian as far as adventures go, but I'm glad that's how he put it. We took the bus downtown. Now I know that doesn't seem like much of an adventure, but due to the location of our new digs, the typically crappy Seattle November weather, and the fact that it was that nightmare day known as the day after Thanksgiving, it was more than just your typical bus ride to work. After walking the half mile to the nearest bus stop, and waiting in the rain, and then transferring to a new bus after waiting in the albeit dry shelter with some really fine specimens of humanity, we ended up at a spot that is about 4 minutes from our house by car, and it took almost an hour. From then on the trip to town was quick and efficient, and the first thing we did was stop for coffee--of course. We wandered around downtown some, ducked into some malls to get dry, and went to see Brother Bear, which, even though it was the bargain matinee and the kidlet gets a discount, was exorbitantly expensive. On the way home we took a slightly different route, but we still ended up walking about a half a mile, just a different one than before. I quite like the walking, but the kidlet was in his cowboy boots (which are pretty funny), and he was wiped out by the time we got home. Which is not an entirely bad thing at all.

Note to all you spammers out there: I couldn't care less about Paris frigging Hilton.

OK, it's up and running. At least it has an introductory post, nothing really juicy yet, but it's offically out in the blogoshpere, my very own sex blog. But no, I ain't tellin' ya what it's called or how to find it. Shouldn't be too hard to figure out if you're so inclined. If you really wanna know, and can't find it, drop me a line and if you say something nice I just might send you the URL.

Well, boys and girls, inspired by the fact that I'm getting tons of traffic via Vanilla Sex Goddess (I'm sure everyone clicking on over here is disappointed to find out the title doesn't refer to nina turning 40 tricks) AND I've always wanted to do it anyway, I'm starting my very own...sex blog!! It's not quite ready to go (haven't posted anything yet), so I won't give the URL at this time, but it won't be too long. I decided to make it a separate blog for a couple of reasons, but first and foremost because there are plenty of folks who read this who probably don't want to know intimate details of my sex life, and I don't want them to stop reading nt40 because it's suddenly gotten too graphic. Plus, having a separate blog gives me a chance to create another blog persona which is, of course, half the fun. Another note: most if not all of the experiences I'm gonna talk about will be from the past. For reasons that are obvious if you've been paying attention here, I'm not going to share details about anything recent. Actually, now that I think about it, I may not give you the URL at all, I may make you find it on your own. At the very least, I'll let you know when my first post is up!

When I lived in Mexico, I wrote everyday. Usually, I'd wake up and go to the Cafe de Catedral, two rows of round tables sitting under the cool shade of stone arches that lined the sidewalk across from the Cathedral. I'd order an espresso, and sit, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone, for hours, writing. I forbade myself to bring anything to read other than books on writing. I wrote a lot of crap then. Even though I was living with the kidlet's dad most of that time, I'd developed a crush on someone else, and obsessed a lot about him. Writing it all down was a way to purge my brain of it, though, as I realized even then that obsessive crushes are just like a drug--keeping your mind from dwelling on some pain. But I also wrote a lot of good, interesting, vivid stuff. The daily practice of it was paying off. These days, the most regular writing I do is here. I'd like to expand on that, and now space has opened up in my life to make that happen.

I found one of my favorite writing books from that time in Mexico, Writing for Your Life by Deena Metzger, and went looking for one of those passages that I'd underlined heavily and starred. Here it is: "Those who fiercely pursue the writing of journals, life histories, or autobiographies [and I would add, blogs] do so because they sense that the words that have been used to rob them of individuality are the very means by which they can restore dignity and create identity."

Well, I won't be marinating turkey in a garbage bag for two days, or roasting and shelling chestnuts like I've done for Thanksgivings past, but I AM gonna oven roast some yams, carrots, and onions in olive oil with rosemary and maple syrup and hang out with other folks who share a love of speaking Spanish, dancing salsa, and traveling around Latin American countries.

Things I'm most grateful for right now? A happy and healthy kidlet, people who give good hugs, parents who are awesome grandparents, all the teachers at the kidlet's school, and Stephen Mitchell's translation of the Tao Te Ching from which I gleaned this:

"I have just three things to teach:
simplicity, patience, compassion.
These three are your greatest treasures.
Somple in actions and in thoughts,
you return to the source of being.
Patient with both friends and enemies,
you accord with the way things are.
Compassionate toward yourself,
you reconcile all beings in the world."

Just dropped off the kidlet at his daddy's. My first Thanksgiving without him, and yes, I'm bummed.

A wise friend said to me not that long ago, "don't react, create."

Let me just say once again that I secretly want to be a girl geek, that I admire and envy and love reading those whip-smart, kick ass, fighting the tough battle women over at misbehaving.net. Go visit them now, won't you?

Now I realize that I write what some might rather derogatorily call a "chick blog". I write about what's going on in my personal life, and my relationships and all that icky girl stuff, and many of my posts have no links at all (gasp). I always thought I managed to spout off opinions about politics and food and things that I've read to at least give it a little bit of balance, but I'm starting to wonder, do ANY guys read nina turns 40?? Do I have to post gratuitous pictures of my rack to get a dude over here? And, ultimately do I really care who reads it? I just--finally--got a site meter, so I can watch who's reading, and it's quite fascinating, actually. For months I blogged on faithfully knowing that nobody besides my mom, my sister and the creator of JCO were stopping by. Then I started to get some emails, and show up on blog rolls and I was thrilled. Self publishing rocks. But in the end, of course, you write, you blog, you take fotos, you do whatever it is you do because it fills you up and makes you happy.

I may still post the rack, though.

Someone not that long ago asked me for advice about online dating. I've had women giving me advice about my situation--that whole strange way that the internet, and blogs in particular, connect us these days. I realized that if someone is smart and curious, she's likely to be looking around a bit, digging for clues so to speak, and she may find herself here. I hope she does spend some time here, to learn something from my story, and doesn't just take as gospel his version of everything. I hope she doesn't think I wish them ill, because I don't. But I hope she'll be smarter than I was, more protective of herself. I'm wondering how much of the pattern will repeat itself, or if he's learned something and has grown from his experience with me. Hope so. For both of them.

It's shaping up to be a weird holiday season. I'll be without the kidlet for both Thanksgiving AND Christmas (in fairness to his dad), and I have to work both the 24th and 26th of December. Reminds me of my retail days, long ago. My first job was at Sears, in the hardware department. It was so much fun to get those old fart tool guys in there, have them take one look at this seventeen year old girl, roll their eyes at me, and go look for a guy to ask questions of. When the guy employee inevitably came back to ask me the same question, and I knew the answer, it was quite satisfying indeed. I may not have known how to use all the tools in there, but I sure as hell knew what they were called and where we kept 'em, AND I could change the innards of busted a socket wrench like nobody's business.

Now I know the reason that you read something like Vanilla Sex Goddess is to have a little voyeuristic thrill at her delightfully robust sex life, but, lo and behold, she has some other good things to say as well. Like this little nugget: "for those who think communication and conversation are the same: They are not. Communication is revealing of one's self. It involves being honest and forthright. It does not need to entertaining. It needs to be real. It is important for all relationships.
Conversation, is just something that I know I need to be attracted to a man. Not all women require it. But conversation is the ability to chat, discuss, and argue. Conversation should be entertaining."

I never thought of it quite that way, but of course, she's right.

There's nothing quite as much fun as a cold n' rainy Sunday afternoon at the laundromat. I did bring some Anais Nin to read (1931-1934, the version before it was revealed she was having an affair with Henry Miller), which is sheer heaven. Every sentence that woman writes is so full of beauty and grace, there's such a flowing lyrical quality to her work that I am always filled with awe. She transforms reality, her outward and inward reality into something rich and colorful and vibrant, and her descriptions of the people she encounters seem to capture their very essence in a sentence or two in a way that few other writers manage over pages. I love her story, and especially the story of she and Henry and June (yes, it's one of my favorite movies). I have a collection of the letters that she and Henry wrote to each other that I always find way more impressive than any spate of emails could ever be. Of course, if she were alive today, she'd have the best blog ever.

Big article in the NYTimes this morning about online personals and dating. I'm still wading my way through it (I read the online version), but what's striking to me about it now is how other folks who have tried it, had relationships with people they've met that way, and then broken up, still go back to it, whereas I feel pretty averse to going that route again. Everything about it is, for me, so saturated with memories of that first experience. Going online looking for love again seems like trying to recapture something that is gone, and can't be repeated, as if I were to go back to the city where I met the kidlet's dad, and take an art class at the Casa de Cultura again in hopes of meeting someone new, because that's how I met and fell in love with him. I realize that the point of online personals is to meet people, unlike taking art classes, but I still can't shake the feeling that I'd just be trying to repeat something great, that another experience would only pale by comparison. And of course, the end result of my foray was lots of pain, so it's no wonder I'm wary. The social scientist in me is nonetheless pretty fascinated by the whole thing.

Please tell me that this is not becoming a hot new thang. Talk about tacky!

This whole weekend with daddy thing is a mixed blessing. While I need my time alone not only to get things done, but to just be alone and think and write and other grown up stuff, it means that the kidlet and I are only together during the busy more stressful weekdays. I don't get as much goof off time with him as I'd like. We did make pancakes this morning, though, and that was a blast, even if we did get in trouble with dad for being late to his house.

When you get one out of the blue phone call, it's pretty easy to laugh it off as a bizarre incident. But when more people start to contact you with their stories, it becomes impossible not to pay attention, and to wonder just what is it that you're dealing with. That little seed of doubt that was planted almost against your will has not only broken through the surface of the soil, but it's heading for the sunlight and growing branches at an alarming speed, no matter how sad, angry, or confused it makes you.

They really should not give me internet access at work. Look what I found!

Upon seeing the two fotos below, my sister has declared that I should start dyeing my hair again. It's kind of like I'm being Queer Eye for the Straight Guy'd by her, but then she's always played that role with me. She's always trying to, rather hopelessly, make me over. And on occasion over the years I have taken her advice. But now that she lives in a world of fast boats, fake boobs and faker blonde hair, I'm not so sure I should be listening to her anymore.
[For the record: my sister's boobs are entirely her own]

Trippin'

Fotos taken on two different road trips, approximately one year apart:

I've been thinking a lot about sex lately (yeah, yeah, what else is new), particularly about the value and meaning of a sexual connection with someone and how important it is overall to a relationship. I am of the generation that was told that good girls don't. When my mother sat me down to talk to me about sex, the idea was that it was something that boys wanted (very very much), but that you were not, under any circumstances, to give to them. No talk of my own desires or wants or needs, and of course sex education in school was mostly about how to use feminine hygiene products. I've been fighting that good girl crap ever since, but in some ways it's hard to shake the feeling that if a sexual connection is the prime connection I have with someone that it is somehow lesser than if I am "in love" with that person. Some of the people I have felt most passionate about were not necessarily the loves of my life, but looking at it now, how can I not honor the strength and power of that sort of bond? Reading some of the many sex blogs out there has only warmed my heart in that the women who have come after me seem to have a much healthier view of their own sexuality, which they see as their birthright, one which has taken me years to gain.

I've certainly never been able to fuck anyone for very long that I didn't like, but how much of a role does sexual spark play in love? Are sex and love two completely separate things, or is it an impossibly complex brew? And why do we crave monogamy when it seems virtually impossible to maintain in reality (for the record, I have rarely--not never, but rarely--been completely faithful to anyone, even people I loved very much). And if we're trying to be Zen masters and live always in the present moment, and not become attached, then why should it matter at all to us what our lover does once they've left our bed?

My only conlcusion to all of this rumination? That I'd rather be gettin' me some that talkin' about it. Celibacy sucks.

The electricity was out for about an hour and a half this morning. Nothing like having it taken away to realize how dependent on it you are. The most noticable thing--well, besides the dark--was the cold. Dang. Then it occured to me: I live in a basement apartment. The entryway to my apartment is the garage door, which is, of course, controlled by a powered remote opener. In my not quite awake foggy brain this morning I had a few moments of panic thinking we'd be trapped down here, and in a few days they'd find our frozen corpses. Once I got some candles lit and woke up a bit more, I realized there's probably an emergency release lever somewhere. Mostly, though I was reminded that if there really were some horrible emergency around here, I'm terribly unprepared. How on earth would I make coffee?

I'm currently constructing an ark. I'm thinking carefully about who I'll invite to join me on it once the big flood happens, which at the rate it's been raining in Seattle (and remember I'm a native here, I know me some rain), will be by Friday.

Addendum: I wrote this before I looked out the window this morning. It actually snowed last night, which for Seattle in November is extremely rare. It's alredy melted, however, which is, indeed, the norm.

Although I'm no huge fan of the institution of marriage, I'm damn happy that we're starting to wake up and make it legal for gays to suffer equally through it. And I'm particularly overjoyed that it pisses off old fucktard the president.

Well, well, well, if it wasn't one year ago today that I made my first post to this here blog thang. I know it's terribly uncool to be excited about your blogiversary, but I don't care, I am anyway! It's typical of me to start projects and then not finish them (I'm feeling rather guilty about NaNoWriMo right now, for example), so the fact that I've kept this baby going for a year makes me feel quite special. Thanks to all who've written me, I LOVE getting mail, and I love knowing that someone other than my mom bothers to read this. More adventures to come...

I do not get pissed easily, but when I do, watch out. It can get nasty. But then it blows over quickly, and I'm done and ready to forgive and forget. Don't hold a grudge, don't feel the need. I take things said in the heat of the moment with a grain of salt. I watched my ex-husband lose many friendships with people he loved over some slight transgression that he couldn't let go of. Seemed like such a waste. You still have your pride and your righteous indignation, but you've lost something far more precious. I always thought that the Jewish holiday (their holiest of days, in fact) of Yom Kippur, or the Day of Atonement was an especially beautiful concept.

So, while I might not mean everything that I say in anger, I will stick by anything I've said in the name of love. And this, my friends, is a sign of strength, not weakness.

I keep thinking about that song by PiL that has the line that repeats, "anger is an energy, anger is an energy". I'm feeling mighty energized right about now.

Sometimes, even though you've conceded defeat, you keep trying to fight the battle; sometimes the cause matters too much to you to abandon, even though you've been pretty thoroughly beaten. At what point should you just walk away? At what point are you just being foolish? Stop me before I make a complete idiot of myself, won't you?

Trying to get back some of that peace that I felt at Breitenbush. Of course, it's easy to feel at peace in the woods with lots of hot water to soak in at all times, and nothing to do but read and walk and be taken care of. It's this reality stuff that bites. I knew when I left the kidlet's dad that I was picking a tough path for myself. But of course, you never realize how tough it's gonna be until you start walkin' it. No regrets, though. Just a wish to clone myself, maybe. Which reminds me of a girlfriend of mine who paid me a high compliment when I asked her what she was looking for in a partner, she said she wanted someone just like me. But a guy of course. oh yes, of course.

A huge dark cloud just descended over Seattle and it is storming like a mofo out there. Maybe that's why I'm feeling so agitated today, just taking cues from the weather.

There are some days when I think I'm truly out of my friggin' mind. Today is one of those days.

I've had an all over there wacky sort of emotional day today. Didn't see it coming. I did get some divorce paperwork finished and sent off to the lawyer, and I did a draft of my resume and a cover letter as well, so all was not lost in the storm. Thanks to all who put up with distraught emails and/or have offered their support and love. I have to figure out the best way to take care of myself now, and I'm not really sure I know what that is. Oh, I'll figure it out, but it may take me awhile. I have to keep trusting that all of this that I've been going through is not in vain, that it's part of my soul's learning process, and that it had some say in choosing this incarnation in the first place--the way the kidlet says to me, "mommy, you're silly, and that's why I picked you."

Jerry is wrong that the show sucked last night. Certain elements of it kinda sucked, but overall the music was great. Maybe I'm just live music deprived, or perhaps biased towards latin jazz, but here are some things about the show that were awesome: a trombone player who knocked my socks off, who made the trombone go places I never thought it could. In fact the whole front line up of band leader David Murray, the aforementioned trombone player, another sax player, and a trompetista (he was cuban, I get to say it in spanish), were very fine indeed. I also really enjoyed watching how they worked together, managing each other so to speak, flowing from the improv solos to the choral riffs. I was pretty fascinated by the whole thing. But then again, I've been deprived of live jazz lately. As always, it's bittersweet to spend time with Jerry. I enjoy his company thoroughly and it was great to see his boys after so much time, but it felt very wrong to be driving home to sleep at my house alone after the show; felt odd to be part of his life again, and yet so much an outsider now.

I get to go see some live music tonight, and I'm very psyched about it. There will even be Cuban musicians, which is always a good sign, since your average Cuban musician is ten times better than your really good gringo musician, IMHO. However, the venue for this event does NOT have a dance floor. Just WHAT were they thinking? You're gonna be making me stand on top of my theater style folding seat to shake my thang? It reminds me of when I went to see Buena Vista Social Club, and, this being Seattle, everyone just SAT THERE. This is why I moved out of this country in the first damn place. This music is not for sitting and being polite. This music is for dancing. Every party in Mexico (and virtually everywhere else in Latin America, for that matter) involves dancing, and everybody dances, from the most wee kidlets to the oldest, paunchiest grampa. And the dancing makes everyone look and feel beautiful and young and full of life. It's not that white folks got no rhythm, it's just they've been told they got no rhythm, and they believe it. Sigh.

Jerry thinks he's very clever:

I'd just like to say fuck you to Wal-Mart. Between their lack of respect for their employees (not to mention crappy wages and hard ball anti-union tactics) and their lack of respect for just about everything else except making the world a tackier place (and of course raking in the bucks), I just can't stomach them. People, don't shop there. It's just not worth it. Yeah, you might save a few bucks, or it might be convenient in some ways, but think about what your money is supporting. It's disgusting. And that whole thing about camping in their parking lots? Please. Want some examples of what I'm talking about? Look here and here and here for starters.

I had some coffee today! No big surprise, and my goal was never to stop completely, just to cut back. It wasn't even that delicious (I didn't make it), but it did give my nervous system the desired boost. It's been a weird day here at eVil corp. Someone I really like got the boot. The politics in this place make the West Wing look tame. The good news is it's Friday already, and opportunity may be knocking...

The kidlet is back! As always when he's at G&G's for a few days, I'm impressed by how articulate and that much more grown up he seems when I see him again. I also got the dreaded 2:30 am question: mommy, can I sleep with you? Why? I asked him, hoping to throw him off course. Becaues I love you, he answered. And so of course, he won that round. Then mommy can't get back to sleep, and can't sleep and can't sleep until the alarm goes off and she realizes she was just getting some good REM. This is how one becomes addicted to caffeine. Which, by the way, I have yet to ingest except for a few pieces of chocolate yesterday afternoon. But still no coffee or even tea that isn't herbal. Anyone want to place bets on how long I can last?

In fun eVil corp. news: somehow the big big boss found out that the boss was stumpfing her most recent hire (who was brought on as a temp), and therefore it looks as if he won't be able to be hired as a permanent employee afterall. This brings more joy to my heart than I can possibly express. As always, office politics are endlessly amusing, and are yet another contributing factor to the substance abuse issues of the employees.

Fun Facts About Woo Woo Hot Springs



The water in the pools at Breitenbush has been underground for 60,000 years right before you plop your heinie into it.

It's a bit disconcerting to be sitting in the dining room with your barbecued tofu and winter squash soup and looking across the room at someone and realizing you've seen that person naked.

Being in rooms heated by a radiator is so much more pleasant than forced air.

Someone else's words for a change

I've been crying a lot lately. Sure, part of it has been over matters of the heart, but I always felt like there was a lot more going on, that I was grieving something bigger than just my current circumstances. This weekend I came across this paragraph in a marvelous book by Caroline Knapp (RIP) called Appetites, and I think it sums it up beautifully. This is Knapp paraphrasing Germaine Greer on why women cry:

"Women weep, Greer believes, because they feel powerless, and because they are exhausted and overworked and lonely. Women weep because their own needs are unsatisfied, continually swept into the background as they tend to the needs of others. They weep becaue the men in their lives so often seem incapable of speaking the language of intimacy, and because their children grow up and become distant, and becaue they are expected to acquiesce to this distance, and because they live lives of chronically lowered expectations and chronic adjustment to the world of men, the power and strength of a woman's emotions considered pathological or hysterical or sloppy, her interest in connection considered trivial, her core being never quite seen or known or fully appreciated, her true self out of alignment with so much that is valued and recognized and worshipped in the world around her, her love, in a word, unrequited."

I am SUCH a woo woo hippie chick

I had quite the (long) weekend.

On Friday night Jerry and I had my much belated birthday dinner at the exquisite Monsoon. Afterwards, we danced the night away. We concluded that we still love each other very much, and we wondered if there's any way we could try and make it work. Sadly, the answer seems to be, only as friends. As always, I am more open and flexible to the possibilities of a partnership, where he sees mostly obstacles. Makes me so very sad, but I'm coming to terms with it. I will miss dancing with him, though--we always dance so very well together.

Woo Woo Hotsprings was pretty much everything I'd hoped for. It's very strange to be all alone, completely cut off from everyone you know and love (i missed the kidlet!), and to simultaneously be cut off from your usual forms of distraction--no radio, TV, computer, cell phone, nuthin'. You're just there with yourself, and you can't hide from it. Fortunately, you're also there with the gorgeous big trees that smell warm and spicy, and the stone lined pools of hot water, and the river rushing ever onward, and this beautiful fresh delicious food, and these wonderful people who want to help you heal and grow. Pretty profound stuff. I'm coming to realize that I am just a woo woo hippie chick chakra aligning zen buddhist at heart, and all y'all just gonna hafta deal with it.

And yes I got nekkid all over the place. At first, I was very shy about the whole deal, but the hot hot water beckoned until I could no longer resist, and I delicately disrobed and eased my way into pools where one or two women might be soaking. By late yesterday afternoon, I stripped and hopped into my favorite pool, even though it was occupied soley by two very non-woo woo hunter type day users who were both--gasp--men! I think I freaked them out a little bit, and felt especially macho since one of them commented later that I had spent more time in the hot end of the pool than even HE had. And I'm just a gurl! Oh, and you'll never believe it, but I've ingested absolutely NO cafeinne in ANY form whatsoever since a wee bit o' black tea on Sunday morning. wow.

And remember kids: too much candy makes ya sick!

dear lord, i'm jazzed. and on top of all the other things i'm jazzed
about (my trip, yummy dinner out tonight), i took one of my mother's world famous sinus pills, which have that lovely ephedrine in them and wooo, i'm flying (and, i can breathe, which is always nice). that stuff must not be good for you. i like me some stimulants, yes i do. give me caffeine, give me sugar, give me sinus medication. if i'm not careful, i'm gonna be starting my own meth lab before it's all over.

I'm gonna be out of touch for awhile. Quite literally. No cell phone, no computer, no nuthin'! I leave tomorrow and won't be back to civilization until Tuesday evening. G & G get my endless gratitude for once again taking the kidlet (who just declared that he won't miss me at all), and giving him so much love and many good times, not to mention sneaky trips to fast food restaurants where mom would never tread. Haven't had a solo roadtrip, much less a woo woo retreat in too many years. I'll bring the camera, and the journal of course. Expect all the gory details when I return...

Have you discovered Carrie Akre yet? The website isn't great, but her music rocks, and she's yet another awesome Seattle chick who's been making music for a long time, and it shows. If you're at all cool, you listened to Hammerbox back in the grunge days, and recognized a gem of a band among the dross. Her latest solo release, "Invitation", has been playing constantly on my CD player both home and at work for the past couple of weeks. The harmonies on "hope" alone are worth the price. And the kidlet likes it.

I'm getting really excited for my weekend away. I'm going to bring so much reading material that I may have to rent a U-Haul. Though if I were a good girl (and we all know that's not really the case) I'd bring only paper and pens and write my novel, which has gone severely neglected in the face of everyday life and unexpected occurences like the kidlet throwing up this morning just as we were about to walk out the door. I'm really looking forward to not cooking any meals (starting with dinner tomorrow)--although I love to cook, the drudgery of the everyday chore wears thin at times. Now the question becomes, am I really brave enough to be gettin' naked in front of a bunch of strangers? If I'm lucky it'll be a quiet weekend there, and I can sneak in some soaking solo before facing the prospect of all that exposed flesh. Not, of course, that I have anything against exposed flesh, quite the opposite in fact, but usually when I'm stripping in front of someone, it's 'cause I got something nasty in mind. And I think they frown on that kind of thing there...

Dear lord, the neighbors upstairs have either bought a new rocking chair, or they moved the one they had to a new super squeaky spot on the floor. And they rock for hours. I'm going to go certifiably insane very soon.

Talking about relationships with a friend today. His conclusion: it's all about power. I countered that that sounds like a particularly male perspective. He replied, "maybe, but that's still the way it is." Yeah, but in a power struggle, nobody wins. Just ask any mother of a three year old. Especially if the whole point is to be coming together. Isn't that what it's really all about? Or am I just confused here?

Lotsa folks been bloggin about the article in the NYTimes about professional women opting out. I've been all over the place on the net today, so I don't remember everywhere, but there's some over here, and I especially like what she has to say. I have many thoughts on the subject, but am feeling a bit wiped out now to discuss anything in any sort of articulate way. It's been a different day than what I expected, in more ways than one.

Misbehavin'

I'm old enough that I feel I came to computers relatively late in life. There were maybe two computers in our entire high school for example, and my graduating class had some 400 students. So I'm always a bit wistful when I read about women in technology. I'm sure If I'd been born in the 70's instead of the 60's I'd be one of these women. I'm just geeky enough to identify with the issues they raise and discuss, but my skills are way behind. Regardless of where you fall on the nerd scale, issues about women and technology are important for all women people, so do go and check them out, and if nothing else, ya gotta love their tag line :"Well behaved women seldom make history".

The kidlet is still sick, so I'm staying home with him. Normally, I'd be thrilled about the chance to blow off eVil corp., but I'm still in good employee mode, and I have a bunch of stuff I wanted to get done today. Plus, I pulled a less than intelligent stunt yesterday by showing up at the office without my key to get in. Nobody else was around to let me in (there often is on Sunday, believe it or not), so instead I went over to Top Pot, the latest coffee house offering from the Zeitgeist folks. My full report will come later, after I've had more coffee there. Cuz, I don't care about yer donuts, yer gorgoues architectural spaces, or yer cute baristas if the coffee ain't good, and yesterday, I wasn't impressed.

NaNoWriMo Madness

Because I'm totally crazy, and don't have enough to do already, I just signed up for NaNoWriMo. What the hell is NaNoWriMo you ask? It's National Novel Writing Month, of course, silly. The goal is to simply write a novel in 30 days (and I'm a day short already, why didn't I hear about this sooner??), and the best part is, the only thing anyone cares about is word count! That's right--I just need to put out 50,000 words (about 175 pages) by the end of the month, and I win! The point is just to get people writing, to give them structure and support and the freedom to write crap. Some people have this kind of discipline on their own. The rest of us use goofy internet games. Whatever it takes, it what I say. I don't know if I can really put out that much, but I don't care, anything to get me writing, and if I don't finish this year, there's always the next. Feel free to check in with me every so often kick my butt, asking me if I'm writing or not. God, I love the internet!

Perhaps in the future I'll discover a fantastic new blog to recommend to y'all through nothing but my own hard work and ingenuity, but until that fine day, I'm just going to send you where smarter bloggers have gone before: Dooce. Not only is she hysterically funny, but she's incrediby open and honest, and her long posts are always well thought out and entertaining--small essays, really, rather than just tossed out posts. And if you've ever been pregnant, or wanted to know what it's really like, her all too accurate descriptions will make you laugh all the way to the drugstore to purchase the birth control method of your choice.