Category Archives: life

May 6

ahhhh…ouch

I’m in a state of painful bliss right now. Bliss because I’m still basking in the multicolor afterglow of Radiohead’s concert last night. Painful because of my dancing for two hours on concrete in shoes with no foot support. Yes, my ankles and back are not feeling so great and my throat is a little sore from screaming. Ahhh…but the bliss, the bliss. What a terrific experience. Thom Yorke’s spastic dance moves on the stage pleased me immensely. There were many songs I hoped they would play that they didn’t, but if they had played all the songs I hoped they would play, they would have been performing for five hours instead of two.

There was a t-shirt there that I wanted desperately. On it was written one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite songs: “You’ll go to hell for what your dirty mind is thinking.” Eeep! Look at that shirt, I said to Spence as we were leaving. That’s the line I love! The damn thing cost $40. I didn’t think twice about walking on by–there was no way I could afford such an expense. Had it been $30, I would have lingered a little longer, thinking about it (tho probably wouldn’t have bought it then either), but $40 was out of the question. However, seeing the t-shirt and what it looked like (the line from the song looked like it was stencilled on an old shirt) has inspired me to create my own Radiohead t-shirt, using the line from above and the stencils I have at the house. Yay for frugality and Radiohead.

Click here for a photo gallery of Radiohead pictures from the Palm Beach Post!

And the idea of getting a tattoo has crept back into my mind. The idea comes and goes. Sometimes it lingers longer than at other times. It’s typically inspired when I see a design I like a great deal…something that encompasses a personal belief in a very unique and graphic way. Of course, there is still the issue of finances, so the idea will stay just that until I find a job.

May 4

Misc.

I had a dream I lost my job. In the dream, my job involved some sort of medical duties…I think I was drawing blood, or something. I lost it the same day I got it. Someone I haven’t seen in real life for ten or eleven years was with me, and she invited me to lunch once we received the news. As if I could afford lunch with just having lost my job. As if there were no problems at all. I declined and said I was going to go visit my mom & step-dad. I think I was going to ask if I could move back in with them.

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I despise how expendable companion animals are in this society. I sympathize that people are struggling financially (as you can see from above, my own concern with finances is permeating my sleeping brain), but it seems once you’ve made a commitment to an animal, it should be absolute. I’d no sooner return the cats to the pound because of my finances than I would turn out a friend or family member from the guest room. We may all be eating beans and rice—the cats and the people—but we’re all in it together.

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And thank you, William Rhoden, for asking why we continually give horse racing a pass:

“The sport is at least as inhumane as greyhound racing and only a couple of steps removed from animal fighting.”

This, of course, is in response to the death of Eight Belles in yesterday’s Kentucky Derby.

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I’m working with a friend at the center in hopes of helping him with his English. He had asked me several times if I could teach him English; I told him I couldn’t “teach” him, but I could practice with him. In our sessions, we discuss the work he’s doing in his English class. During the most recent session, he was trying to understand when to use “we” and when to use “us.” Alternating between English and Spanish, I tried to explain objective case. He thought the difference was based on the people included in the pronoun (“we” included the speaker, but he was defining “us” like “them”). I corrected this and then asked if his teacher had explained objective case. He said no.  I asked if he had learned the basics of sentence formation (noun, verb, adjective, etc.) He said no. Granted, this may have been covered before he started attending classes because it seems like fundamental information to have for anyone wanting to understand how and why we select the words we choose. I don’t get the sense he is learning the 1st/2nd/3rd person breakdown either, which (I think) makes memorizing all of this information much easier. The only reason I remember the Spanish I remember is because we had to learn the various word endings based on the 1st/2nd/3rd person approach. I tried to diagram the pronouns for him, but I couldn’t explain what the diagram was meant to indicate. The language always fails me when things get too complicated.

May 1

I’m a loser, baby

I can’t take any more rejection. I’ve become weak over the past three years; my skin has thinned. I received word today that a job I really wanted was filled, and it wasn’t filled by me. I was contacted last week about a part-time job near my home that would have been really great, but I haven’t heard back from the guy since he said he would be in touch for an interview. I didn’t get selected to be in a music video that’s scheduled to be recorded in the area. Granted, I didn’t seriously expect to get selected, but because of all the other recent rejections, this isn’t helping matters. (And I only tried to get selected because of the band involved, not because I have any interest to be in music videos.) (And the band was looking for “average people,” so I thought I would give it a shot). I haven’t heard back from a non-profit organization regarding a job that I would be perfect for. Granted, I just sent in my application last night at 9pm, but they had all day today to look at it, and I was sure once they did, they would call me up and offer me the position. My husband calls me delusional, but he says it with love. I was at work in the office when I received the email about the job I applied for being filled, and it kicked me in the gut. I left a little early. I needed to come home, eat pizza, and lament my loser status to DS.

What’s more, my laugh lines are visible even when I’m not laughing. I don’t know if I’m more perplexed by their existence, or by my concern with their existence. I never thought such things would bother me, and I don’t know that I’m really “bothered” by them, but I do find myself sucking my lips inwards–pulling the skin around my mouth taut–in hopes of somehow ironing out a life time of smiling. Recently, I read a profile on Michelle Obama in the New Yorker. The reporter observed Michelle Obama did not smile easily…she did not “smile as a way to break the ice.” That’s what I do! I thought to myself. I smile to break ice. I smile for just about any reason under the sun, and I’m sure I come across like a smiling fool to a lot of people (I can’t help but think of the Pink Floyd line “fearlessly the idiot faced the crowd, smiling.”).  And now my skin shows the signs of too much smiling.  Ah, well.

On an up note: I’m really (really) digging the Anthony Burgess book. And I don’t have to commute to Boca for a while, which should have me singing from the rafters. I guess I’ll keep plugging away at the job applications. Something is bound to turn up sooner or later, right?

Soy un perdedor

Apr 24

Science project

I go in for “genetic counseling” next week. Now, I don’t really think I need counseling, but because I’m thinking of being tested for inherited cancer genes, counseling must come first. I have nothing against counseling, but at this point in my life, I assume I carry the gene (there are various types…the one I’m referring to makes one more susceptible to breast and ovarian cancer). I mean, my maternal aunt tested positive for this gene (she’s in remission from breast cancer). My mother has not been tested, but she’s in remission from breast and ovarian cancer, so whether she has the gene or not makes little difference since she’s dealt with the disease. Counseling is meant to help people come to grips with the news if they test positive for the gene; however, this is the news I’m expecting, so I won’t be surprised if it’s confirmed. On the other hand, if I test negative for it (which is possible), I will be completely shocked and elated. And it’s this possibility that has inspired me to think about testing.

Edit: Okay. So after doing some research on the BRCA 1 and 2 genes–the genes the test will look for–I may need some counseling after all. That’s some scary shit in a very there’s-nothing-you-can-do-about-it kind of way. I had limited my thinking to specific types of cancer, but have now discovered that at least one of the genes can increase the odds of pancreatic cancer (not to rate the danger levels of cancers, but that one is pretty damn scary). So, if the test comes back positive, the plan is to remove all my internal organs and replace them with robot parts.

Apr 24

Ends and Odds

David Gilmour has a guitar solo in Shine On You Crazy Diamond (parts VI-IX) that curls my toes with its fabulousness. Listening to the cd on the way home from school had me pondering my love for the studio album (as opposed to the live album), and how I’d rather listen to that recorded piece of perfection over and over than listen to any live album variation of it. If you want to listen, the solo starts at approx. 2:30. The toe curling begins at around 3:58.

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I’ll be in Texas and Mexico from June 7th to June 17th. Some of you may notice that this time frame encompasses the ever important Bloomsday. Last year I made some pie-in-the-sky plans to return to Dublin for Bloomsday (I’ll go back every year! I thought to myself—yeah, I wish). Those plans didn’t work out, and I should be thankful I was able to go last year. The revised, back-to-reality Bloomsday plan included attending celebrations with friends in the Miami area, but that won’t happen either since I’ll be out of town. I did a quick search for Bloomsday celebrations in Mexico. There aren’t any (that I could find). A friend suggested I wear a Bloomsday t-shirt and make my own little celebration in Mexico. Perhaps an impromptu reading from Ulysses on a street in Juarez.

And speaking of Juarez, the workers at the center have me thinking I must be pronouncing the name incorrectly. The guys from Mexico, when they learn my mother is Mexican, usually want to know which city she’s from. I say Juarez (war-ez? hor-ez? hwor-ez?) and they give me a blank look. I write the name on a piece of paper and they’re like “ohhh! Juarez!” Yes, that’s what I said. I feel like Inspector Clouseau:
Clouseau: Do you have a REUM?
Inn Keeper: I do not know what a REUM iz!
Clouseau: Zimma
Inn Keeper: Ahhh.. a Room!
Clouseau: That is what I have been saying you idiot! REUM!
(you can listen to the clip if you follow the link)