I'm flirting with the idea of moving to WordPress. Please go over and check out the place and let me know what you think. All 3 blogs are under construction, so bear with me if you're not in my blogroll yet.
Also, if you are already using WordPress, tell me why you love it. Why is it better. I've had a hard time navigating my way through, but I'm learning pretty quickly.
On Second Thought...
Fine Tuning
Unpacking Faith
I have less than one year before my 35th birthday. I have promised myself that when I turn 35 I will be in the best shape of my life. This week I've given the phrase "the best shape of my life" a second thought.
There was time when I thought being in shape meant being able to fit into any size 4 on the rack. I quickly learned that, for me, that was really called being anorexic. Then, I decided that being in shape meant maintaining a size 6, and throwing up my french fries and double cheeseburger and shake if I happened to slip up to an 8. That was really called being bulimic, despite the benefits of gaining amazing control of my gag reflex. Being in shape was about a number: my weight, my jeans size, how many miles I could run in a week, how many times I could run the stairs in the stadium, how many laps I swam. I was/am no athlete. I was what Debbie calls skinny fat. I was a petite woman who ate like my heart was my worst enemy and I was duty bound to kill it with fast food, sugary sweets and the absence of all things that grow from the ground, except for when I'd go through one of my health nut cycles.
Over the years I have had periods of extreme conscientiousness about what I eat. Like most things with me, my enthusiasm about eating better has ebbed and flowed. I'm about to turn 35. I'm out of wiggle room. The choices I make about what I do to my body now will make or break how I grow old. I prefer to do so gracefully without preventable diseases. I have to make changes now.
I started reading Toni Morrison's, The Bluest Eye, this week. I was only a few pages in when I came upon this sentence.
I learned much later to worship her, just as I learned to delight in cleanliness, knowing, even as I learned, that the change was adjustment without improvement.The context of that statement isn't as important as the italicized phrase. Those six words hit me like a ton of bricks. It struck me as antithetical to all I hope to be accomplishing along this journey of personal growth. I've made changes in my life. Many, many changes at many different times. I am smack in the middle of one of the most significant seasons of change I've ever experienced, even more significant than the time period that birthed this blog. I don't want to look back at this time as a period of adjustment without improvement. I want to be better. I want to be a better friend, a better daughter, a better sister, cousin, niece, aunt and granddaughter. I want to be a better employee, a better citizen, a better companion, student, coworker. I want to be a better stranger. I want to be a better me. Different is not good enough. I want to be better.
You guys are cool! Jali's latest post has me thinking about how many interesting folks I've met since I've been blogging. Some of you blog as yourselves, others as a persona, but either way, I feel like I've gotten to know you other bloggers a little more post by post. I talk about you all the time. If you've written something that I think is interesting, it may come up in conversation in my real life. I feel like this forum has stretched me and put me in contact with people I wouldn't normally associate with, for whatever reason. That is amazing and invaluable to me. It's been a fascinating voyage through the market place of ideas. I've discovered tremendous diversity among those of you on my blogroll and those of you who comment here. I'm glad I "know" each of you.
With all the mushy stuff said, who's down for a Blogger Meet-Up? I would love to meet some of you guys who don't mind blowing your anonymity and hanging out with some other people with way too much time on their hands. What do you say? If you're interested, I'll organize it. Just email me at lex dot blogger at gmail dot com. I'm in the DC area, but that doesn't mean the Meet-up has to be here. I'll travel. Maybe we can find some cool spot central to the responders. Let me tell you now, if you've never commented here before, I don't know you. I will ignore your email, so don't bother. This isn't an invitation for crazy stalker shit. Got it?
Let's hang out and have drinks or something.
Holla!
Here's my one and only birthday present. Parents ROCK!!
I'm so excited. It will take a whole year for me to learn all the features.
Hello there!! I am back and fully detoxed. Yeah. That was fun. You know, I never understood why folks chose to get wasted to the point of suffering the next day. I still don't, except that it's funny to read what you wrote the next day. My body is starting to love me again. I've been all organic and water and fresh produce to her for the last 2 days. I owe her. Big time.
Puerto Rico was great!! There was perpetual salsa in the air. There was so much sabor in everything: the way people walked, the cadence of their speech, the music (of course) and the food. I am completely enamored of Borinquen. There were brown people everywhere. Beautiful brown people. Thick brown people. I felt so at home not to be among folks who are afraid to eat. There was lots of enjoying of life going on on that little island paradise and I am so going back. I don't know why I'm so drawn to Latin America, but it's in my soul somehow. I felt so at home. Many of the sentiments were similar to my feelings in Argentina (though, not too many brown people there -- story soon to follow). I loved every moment I was there, even when I was working like a slave on my birthday and sh*tting my brains out 2 days later. (TMI? Meh, too late.)
The food was awesome. My first stab at mofongo was horrid, but I quickly learned that it was because I chose the first restaurant poorly. The rice and peas were off the CHAIN!! Yum, yum all the way around. I don't think I ever had room for dessert. I can't think of one sweet thing I ate...except for my birthday cake, which was delectable. And the fruit, dear God. I'll show pics later. (I'm sorry. I'm just lazy right now.)
The best part was the inter-generational social circle: the dance floor. I was so amazed to see 18 year olds and 65 year olds dancing salsa side by side. Each night there was a different salsa band at the hotel. The locals come to the hotels to dance, especially towards the end of the week and the weekend. Salsa crosses generational lines like nothing I've ever seen. Sure there was a viejo verde or two, but for the most part, it was just a love for the music. Everyone felt it. Everyone dances it. Everyone. I was in heaven.
I'm back to the real world now and longing to go back. I have a call in to a travel agent to schedule a group trip back there for the end of November. It would be so much fun with the folks I love. I hope we get a good group to go. Email me if you're interested. I think there's an email addy for me in the profile. If not make it all public in the comments.
I'm making lentils and sausage (chicken sausage) for dinner and I'm starving. I hope it's done, because I am certainly ready to eat.
Have a good night all and, if you haven't eaten yet, buen provecho!
Chau.
June 6th was the floor. No. June 6th was my birthday. It sucked monkey butt. I worked until 12:40 am, so it wasn't even my birthday anymore. But no matter. Bacardi 151 is the Shit. I'm sorry. disclaimer. don't let your kids read this. I might say bad things. Bacardi 151 has that effect.
I'm in Puerto Rico. My cousin came with me. She keeps buying me drinks for my 2 day old birthday that I can't resist. She keeps saying "Pito Mojado" as her demonstration of her Spanish. She means "Piso Mojado" which means wet floor. But she keeps saying wet dick. I am laughing my ass off every time the men try to correct her and you know what that means. yes. I've peed on myself. twice. I'ts ok though. the laundry is across the hall.
Did I mention Bacardi 151? I didn't know what the number meant. It means....the BOMB!!!
I am sofaKing drunk and so is my cousin. she's taking pictures of herself with her camera on an ipod. no. a tripod. She knows how to say dios mio and hace calor. She wants to know how to say I want to give you a ...wet dick. She's so drunk.
OMG. you should have seen these folks descend upon the food we served at this conference today. I have never seen anything like it in my life. folks took 2 bags of M&M's and Skittles and Hagen Daaz like it was contraband. They smuggled that shit like they were starving. I've never seen anything like it in my life ... and never laughed so hard in a professional setting. It was hilarious.
I lvoe Puerto Rico. I am sooooo coming back. I danced my ass off tonight, and I have pics, but my camera, UPS cable...no USB cable and camera are too far away from each other for me to show you.
Everybody who wished me a happy birthday yesterday...thank you!!!! I love you. If you don't read my blog, you don't know I thanked you. Too bad. So sad. Read my itshay!!
My mom called me today. June 7th. She pushed vagina and still missed it!!! She'd be morified that I told you that. She wants to be the perfect mom. Cuz lost a toenail dancing tonight.
I was surprised how many people called me. It was great. I'm loved. Yay!! And I got emails too. You know who you are. Thank you and SMOOCHES!!!!
She just said, "Food and TV are my sex". That's a real serious problem. I might need to leave the hotel room for a night or two. That's sad.
OK. I soo can't do this anymore.
I'll post pics when I'm less...um....f****D up!! It's my birthday and I'll be drunk if I want to. I have to work in the am at 6. Puerto Ricans can make the HELL out of a drink. Do you hear me??? They know how to do it down here. I'm having so much fun.
I danced my bootie off tonight. Did I tell you that already?
Hey, you know who, I lost count on my rum and Coke's tonight too. But I took a cab. Learn from the master. 151 Baby!!!
I'm going to bed. I have to work and act like a grown up tomorrow.
Let's not mention the fact that the man who signs my checks was sitting right next to me as I declared how fu**ed up I am. I love this job.
Bye now. Mañana.
Paz.
¡Chévere! Bienvenidos a la primera edición de On Second Thought... de Puerto Rico.
OK. So that says welcome to the first edition of On Second Thought... from Puerto Rico. But I'm sure you figured that out. If you didn't, catch up. Or you'll be out of a job before too long.
I'm working way too hard in Borinquen, mis queridos. Have a look around the place:
Here's what I see right outside my patio door:
And here is evidence that I work WAY too hard:
My dad sent me a text message today asking if I get paid to vacation. Hey! This is no vacation. This is hard labor, I tell you. I'm sweating over here.
Hey! They were teaching a salsa lesson in the lobby. On 2!!! Sooo mambo and Soooo hot! I hope I don't keel over from all the work I'm doing.
Gotta run. Time to check out the nightlife! (um, then back to the grind?)
Debbie posted a couple of days ago about proper cleansing of the nether regions. It made me think about one of my first experiences of culture shock when I lived in Argentina. I think I've mentioned here that I lived on exchange in Mendoza, Argentina during my senior year of high school, but I haven't talked about it much. I have lots of stories from that time that I'd love to share. Many things in the last couple of weeks have made me think about her (and long to go back for a visit.) Not the least of which was my friend Kwesi's birthday lunch at this place. A gaucho is a gaucho--Brazil, Argentina or Uruguay. And this food was the same as every asado I ever ate. I so miss that place.
But first, the nether regions. I thought everyone used washcloths. Everyone I knew growing up used them. They were in every house I ever spent the night. They were in every hotel room I ever visited. I thought it was universal thing. I'm not one of those travelers who carries everything but the kitchen sink when I'm away. I don't take my own towels and washcloths (or other things I think are ridiculous to pack, like Lysol). Anyway, in January 1991 I packed for a year in Argentina. I was 90lbs. over the Aerolinas Argentina's weight limit, but I still packed no washcloths.
It was long trip. I left around 4pm I think and I got to Mendoza the next afternoon. My first host family was strange (more stories to come) but I chalked most of the quirks up to cultural differences. We had dinner the first night. My host mom showed me my room. I started to put my things away and I was ready to shower. I went into the bathroom, took my clothes off, sat on the toilet and stared at the "other" toilet next to me, trying to figure out why it had a shower shooting up. I turned the knobs and sprayed water all over the bathroom and myself. I couldn't turn the water off so I jumped from the normal toilet and sat on the other one. Water shot up my butt. It was a bidet. Neat.
I was ready to take the rest of my shower and I noticed that my host mom had given me a towel and a huge monster sponge--like the ones you used at school to wash the chalkboards on the days you'd stay after school to volunteer to help out because the girls in the regular class were waiting to jump you outside because they didn't like you because you were in the gifted and talented class. Yeah, that sponge. I thought it was weird that everyone had their very own sponge to clean out the tub when they were done, but hey, some people have different standards of cleanliness. To each his own. It's not bad. It's not wrong. It's just DIIIIFERENT. Yaddah, yaddah. I still needed a washcloth.
I wrapped myself up in the towel and poked my head out of the door to ask for a washcloth. How the hell do you say washcloth in Spanish? I did the best I could to explain it and she looked at me like I was speaking Tigrinya. Then she came in the bathroom and picked up the chalkboard sponge and nodded. Did she expect me to wash my nether regions with that? Apparently she did. I learned to wash with my hands that night. And the first words I said to mom on my first $5 per minute phone call were: Send me washcloths!!!
So tell me people? Do you wash with a cloth, sponge, loofa, hands, the soap bar, exfoliating gloves, oven mitts or something more exotic? Was it always that way? What did your mom use when she bathed you? Are washcloths an American thing? An east coast thing? A black vs. white thing? What do you think?
