Halloween, hoooooray

Ooh, it’s Halloween weekend. I guess being a good God fearin' lady and all, I shouldn’t say this…but…Halloween is my favorite holiday. Hooray for evil. Actually I’m in love with fall. Halloween is the pinnacle for all my favorite fall events. I’ll make pumpkin pie (already did!), overdose on sugary apple cider, pop a few mini-Twix’s, kick up a leaf pile, kick up some pumpkins, gorge on seeds, and wrap my face up in scarf suffocation. It’s fantastic, really. But I hate dressing up. My only notably cool costume was dressing as Medusa, when I had my dreads (you know, snakes for hair?). Other than that, I don’t think “girl that wears black clothes and heavy eyeliner” actually counts as anything, even though I tried to pass it off with various titles; “uh, I’m a fallen angel?” Word to everyone else that tries this year after year—it isn’t cool. Just stop, and get a real costume. (p.s.--here's a little internet quote I found --"Not sure what to be for Halloween? How about going as H-O-T?"--um, how about N-O-T?)

Though today I remembered I enjoy watching cute little kids dress up and smack each other in the face with swords and magic scepters. Today as I was leaving my tailors (note on this in a minute), I had to pass through trick or treat time at the mall—which normally would have been a horrendous crowd experience (I HATE crowds--parades, fairs, women’s basketball games….), except those kids were so damn cute. Of course all the girls were princesses (laaaammmme), but all the boys were some sort of hero—which was awesome because they all required a face mask—like Spiderman, uh, killer guy, monster dude, and the like. I really enjoyed taking a moment to just stop and watch as all the little boys ran around trying to scare people. Because their face masks made them pretty much legally blind, all they really did was run full force all over the mall crashing head on into other blind kids in masks, toppling over backwards, and taking out little old Asian couples strolling about. It was really fantastic.

And tailor, you say? Ya, everyone should have one. You know, ladies, how you spend hours trying to find perfect fitting pant, but just end up settling on ones that are somewhat affordable and will fit with a good belt and some safety pins instead? (Well, maybe that’s just me—it’s hard to find a pair of pants that fit when you have a ghetto booty and a pixie waist—Jlo, where are you when I need you?) Well how bout you skip all that torment, go buy a cute, cheap pair that doesn’t fit (like most), and then go get it perfectly fitted to your body for a mere
10$! I’m such a genius. This had made me a changed woman, let me tell you. And I recommend ever one try it. I’ll even give you a reference to my tiny Asian tailor, Miss JuHee—though beware; she likes to lecture Amazon white women about their figures while shaking her head in disapproval.

“Too tight here, too tight. Waist too big here—why you buy!? Too tight here, you eat less food, fit better! Less rice, easier to fit here!”

Keep it up, and I’ll make your face fit better.

(Maybe this has something to do with all my favorite fall activities that somehow seem candy oriented, yikes. Damn hormones. Where is post menopausal life when you need it?)

Dear Tom Skerritt, celebrity, quit stalking me.

So I had to go to Jimmy Mac’s the other day (please don’t ask why; it was for work, I swear). As I’m waiting in the bar, making my purchase, I glance up at the wall to see a Jimmy Mac’s T-shirt, signed by some celebrity. Something familiar seems to stand out to me. My name! And most of you know, Heartichoke (that’s me), is certainly not a common name—but there it was!

“Thanks [Heartichoke]! This is a great place!”

And, sit down, hold your breath, it’s signed by none other than Tom Skerritt!

Now, if you don’t recall from my earlier celebrity posts (please see Celebrity Sighting), this is not my first run-in with Commander Viper (you know, Top Gun?). We are more than familiar, and in fact I’ve been trying to avoid him ever since. But here he is again in my life, signing t-shirts to me. Really Tom, this is too much. You need to stop looking for me, stop stalking me. I’ve had enough. The saga must end here.

Go get a life, a new obsession, and for goodness sake, quit going to Jimmy Mac’s.

what?

crazy google, making all these sites crazy...erasing my photos and shuffling them around...

Too busy to post, sigh

Been sooooo busy lately, with the job and all.  No time to post.  We are finally in our new building at church, which has taken a tremendous amount of work.  And, there is still much more to do.  I am fairly overwhelmed by it all, really.  I am feeling rather exhausted, but still excited enough by my love for what I’m doing.  Well, since I’m really too tired to write, and should go to bed early, as it’s the first day of some of our new programs—namely, mentoring/tutoring program.  I’ll leave a few pictures instead.

These are my photos of the week, by me for me. (this is Spain)

Jelly fish at the aquarium

Grandpa Tequila Mocking Bird

My cuz-in, Chantel

Nish

I love wild Canadian mountain men

Pick and Anti-pick of the week

Pick of the Week:

Spray painted across the smoking booth at school: GWAR!!

(if you don't know what this refers to, you'd better look it up!)

Anti-Pick:

1. People that brag about how they never watch t.v., and how much better they are than everyone else because of it. And then those same people go and spend twice as much time on the internet. Stupids.

2. Jerk high school prep kids in my neighborhood that thought they'd be hardcore and try to rebel against the world by attempting to steal my stereo from my truck while it was in my driveway. Except the idiots just ripped the face off (a non-detachable face!) and left the actual stereo there. I hope your friends make fun of you. Now you face the ridicule of all your peers because you're stupid, and I can't even listen to my radio--the only pleasure once enjoyed in an 86 Mazda with no power steering and broken clutch held together with tape.

P.S.--the CD player was broken anyway. How about you try the Accord next door if you're so smart.

When I was young and Stupid

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F I R E

So I've been battling this flu thing all week, and I am pretty sure that it's winning. And just when I think it's passing away, it bites me in the throat for another round. The thought of work, sigh. The thought of going out, sigh. The thought of doing anything except laying in my bed crying out for respite--big sigh. Mostly, of course, because I am a responsible adult now, and no longer do stupid things to jeopardize my health and ability to work and accomplish life--like running to the border with a car full of friends for a long journey to sit in an ice rink full of smoke and 14 year olds for a concert. But there was this one time, though, where I think I let youth get the better of me.

Friday, amidst my viral battle week, I remembered our friends Aaron and Kayla had bought us tickets to see The Arcade Fire, in Canada. We fretted back and forth last minute about whether we should go, as Kayla had just gotten the same flu. To go, and feel terrible, without sleep all night, to get sicker, more miserable, and ultimately to face more time amongst the clammy sheets, tangled blankets, and dull walls grayed by the even duller clouds outside my bedroom seemed a heavy consequence for a short night of all-ages revelry. ( A once warm room, longed for after weary days, becomes a prison when you are unable to escape because your body is too weak.)

But, we decided to do it. We piled in the car, and headed out in a great rush of Seattle to Everett traffic to reach Vancouver. Immediately, pressure got the better of my head (and my sanity), sealing up my ears, and my head, with glorious flu virus. I regretted fully my decision not to stay home and feel sorry for myself. Besides, what good is a concert if you can't hear anything?! But, within and hour or so, my ears cleared a little, and I actually realized there were other people in the car, and I could even hear them! From then on, when I remembered my friends surrounding me, instead of my own pain, I had a wonderful time. They even let me keep the windows rolled down.

With a lot of crazy driving, we finally managed to get there, and snag a cheap parking spot in a tiny, shuffling Asian woman's driveway. And thus marked the first trip to Vancouver in which I have not had the car broken into to steal loose change. Hooray for cute Asian ladies, and down with Canuck Heroin junkies.

We piled into the old ice rink in time to push up against the back of the growing crowd of underage and over-priveleged youth. Belle Orcheste played first, which is the instrumental version of Arcade Fire, with one extra guy or something. Nice, I hear, but I didn't notice. I was too irritated by the preteen couple making out in front of me the whole time. Then Wolf Parade played, which was great, I think. It was hard to tell, with the mid-teen couple pushing in front of me, then yelling on their cell phones to all their friends in the Universe. I couldn't hear the band because I was yelling back at them too loud to to shut up while indian burning the one kid's arm. But I think the band sorta sounded like David Bowie with a funny keyboard thing.

Matt and I tried to contemplate about why it is that I can be so preoccupied with people around me all the time, especially at a concert. Why can't I just enjoy the music? Why does it bring out my rage so? I contemplated deeper meanings, and mused about issues of anger and rage and a detest for population en masse that I should probably deal with. But instead, I decided on a better explanation. Well, first of all, did I mention I was sick? oh ya, cuz I was. But I was feeling a bit better, so we decided instead that it's because I'm a girl. I'm too short to see a thing in an ice rink! I can hear the music, but only amidst kissy noises and "hey mother-f-er, pass the blunt back this way!" But I can't really see the band. Matt, being 6'4" and all, has a great time seeing the whole fabulous show. "Hey, look at that guy up there on the couch! That's hilarious! Oh, look, they're drumming on bike helmets!" Ya, no, actually, can't see a thing. But hey, look at how that kid is pinching that other kid's butt down here. That's hilarious, yep.

Imagine first your average road rage, especially at those 16 years olds who are smokin' and blasting blink 182 and being generally awesome because they're swerving all over and throwing half eaten PB&J's that their mommies packed them at your car and then flipping you off while they cut you off. Then imagine being stuck at the bottom of a mosh pit with those same kids who are smokin' and makin' out, but this time they are molesting you while shoving you out of their way. Or more like punching you out of their way.

That is when Aaron invented the "shorty stoop"--bring this little stool to all your favorite shows and put your shorty right up on there so she can enjoy the concert too! Brilliant, I say.

Or...maybe I just have an anger problem--who knows.

But all that aside, The Arcade Fire was fantastic. Their energy is amazing. They are completely passionate about their music, and especially about performing. They put all of their energy into it, and do so many creative and amazing things. Like...drumming on bike helmets. Sparkly ones. It is very inspiring, in all artistic senses. It makes you want to create, and to be a part of something. Not to mention, they have cute outfits (what? I'm a girl.) They did several encores, and then did one with wolf parade as well. After they were all out on stage, they parade down off the stage and into the crowd with their instruments. Everyone crowds around them and vies for a better position to touch them. They did a Violent Femmes song. Though, we didn't get quite close enough to lick them. But, it was still cool.

And hey, I figured out that if I tilted my head to the left, my ears stayed open the entire car ride home. And so I stayed in bed all day Saturday, and got Matt sick. But beyond all my preoccupation and obsession with the state of my body, I had a great time. It was well worth it, and I'd do it again. And, as Jensen says, I'm and old lady now and should get out more. So I'm willing to admit it wasn't stupid. It was a great idea to get out of myself and go do something I love, (even if you can't tell I love it).

One of these days I'm going to win the fight against my body and mind. Or maybe i'll let it go.

Jensen

Congratulations to my lovely and talented friend Jenson on your new, most coveted job at Wella. Buy me something in Puerto Rico!

Sick and Tired

Somewhere, somehow, some doorknob, or school cafeteria table, I got it. The dreaded flu. Should have stood in line with all those old ladies this year for a shot. I never believed in those until last year. In preparation for my trip to India, my health care professional at the health depo, who looked far to much like Uncle Rico (Napoleon?), somehow convinced me it was a good idea to get a flu shot.

"Why not? You already have to get 3 shots. What's one more? Think of all that recycled plane air for your 36 hours of flying..." Stop, you had me at 4 needles in the arm.

Of course, 4 shots in one day right before you work IS a TERRIBLE idea. Especially if you know me. Just writing about shots is making me queasy right this very moment (I'm not kidding!). So, true to form, I did the verge of passing out routine, where I hold on for dear life to not pass out, preferably holding on in particular to a stainless steel sink in which my head is lying, ready for the rush of blood to the ears, going pale, waves of cold sweat drenching my body, ears ringing, eyes blurring, and other icky things that come with extreme bouts of nausea. And this lasted for about an hour, while Uncle Rico stroked my back and urged me to "hold on, don't pass out", as I'm to weak to fight him off, and Matt tells me a story ("please Matt, tell me a story so I can get my mind on other things!") about his cat getting dizzy and running into a wall and falling over, or puking, or passing out or something. I'd rather die, really.

But alas, I have not been sick this entire year, since January or something. Thank you flu shot, I enjoyed watching crowds of people suffering all year. Damn you, flu shot, for getting me dependent upon you.

Anyhow, last night, I walked in my door and exploded into the flu. I sneezed non-stop until 4 am. I couldn't fall asleep because I couldn't stop sneezing. I slept until 3 today, which wasn't enough.

But part of the struggle is my mind. I don't know why, but for some reason, over the last month, I have been suffering anxiety or panic attacks related to physical stresses. Especially over breathing. Any mention of trouble breathing sends me into an attack. My throat closes up and I am unable to breath. Sometimes for hours at a time. I thought it was my usual chronic asthma for a while, but realized it was just in my head. The more I think about how ridiculous it is, the more I have it in my mind, and the more my body responds. Last night I couldn't breathe well because of sickness, and I panicked about it, causing my throat to feel tight and a wave of anxiety rushed over me as my heart rate shot up. I couldn't sleep, I just panicked for hours. I know it sounds stupid. Or like I'm letting it happen. But the more I think about it, the worse it gets. I don't know how to get over it. I've tried all the usual relaxation things. Nothing works, it just gets worse. I get these attacks almost daily now.

Anyway, writing about it was just an attempt to abolish it in catharsis. We'll see. That is why I am writing instead of sleeping, because I am afraid to try to sleep.