Category Archives: Lists

Knock, Knock…

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©iStockphoto.com/Raycat

Who’s there?
©iStockphoto.com/Raycat

I just spent the last two hours researching sex on the internet.

Lou and I have been married for 2 1/2 years. I’m turning 32 in July. So I guess it’s time to get knocked up.

Now that we’ve started this discussion in earnest and set some dates for doctor appointments, I’ve been struggling with the urge to write about it.

As a side note, I wish I would just not write about it. But if I could keep myself from it, I probably wouldn’t be able to call myself a writer. As it is, I’ll write about it and deal with the stresses that come along with this exposure.

What if people from work read this and are disappointed? Why do I feel like pregnancy is a betrayal to my employer?

What if I can’t get pregnant? What if this blog turns into a depressing journal of my infertility-related mourning?

If I post this blog, do I have to keep blogging about every step of this pregnancy thing? Am I being tacky?

And, as usual, writing about myself means I’ll invite everyone to witness the less-than-pleasant sides of my personality. As an example, I’m already feeling bitter about the whole thing.

I assume a good future-mom would never feel bitterness. A good future-mom would softly mention her intentions to a few close friends. And when she spoke of it, she’d gently grin, brush her abdomen with her hand, and be magically bathed in morning light. Her soft-spoken announcement would be private, beautiful,  and (in my opinion) hideously vaginal.

Today, my announcement is made via the low-brow blogosphere. And as I blab about a decision that’s supposed to be private, I will express my disgusting fears of stretch marks, big nipples, constipation, weird underwear, the surefire compromise to my career, and the reality that my vag is going to literally rip open.

In all moments when I’m lacking grace, I rely on the advice of other women. Today, I must remember my mother’s words from a few years ago:

“It’s not fun. But at least you get to bring home a cute little baby afterward.”

Goal for this week: Start taking a multivitamin.

Update: Just to be clear, I’m not pregnant. We’re researching and arranging the preparations necessary to become pregnant. Just want to be 100% clear on that, thanks.

My Mom Had a Stroke. And How Are You?

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I'd rather not see this again anytime soon.

I’d rather not see this again anytime soon.

When my mom had a mild stroke almost five weeks ago, I turned Lou and said, “I think I need to blog through this. It will help me. And maybe it will help someone else.”

Jesus. I’m really glad I didn’t.

First of all, now that my mom is walking on her own, fixing meals, and completing chores, it seems like a real whiny thing to do. Writing about my “struggles” during this experience is insulting to anyone who has had to endure a normal or severe stroke. Heck, it’s insulting to describe MY struggles at all. I’m not the one who can’t use her left hand.

Five weeks ago, however, I didn’t know everything would be okay. I completely lost the ability to imagine improvement. I guess that’s why they call it a crisis.

But things have improved. Including my attitude. And to celebrate, I’m capturing some of this crazy business in a list.

Ten Things About My Mom’s Stroke (in no particular order)

1. “Don’t freak out.” That was the lede when Brother #1 called to tell me mom was in the ER. I didn’t freak out. Not until much later.

2. My freak out. On her first night in the hospital, she assured us all that we should go home to sleep in our own beds. Lou, after picking up takeout for me, scooped me up from the hospital to take me home. By the time I arrived home, I was sobbing hysterically. Lou simply gathered a few things for me then drove me all the way back to the hospital so I could spend the night with Mom.

3. I ate a sandwich. This, in itself, is not memorable. But when you eat a sandwich on the drive back to the hospital mid-freak-out, it’s quite a sight. Sobbing with tears and boogers streaming, I moaned, “Why the FUCK did this happen?!?!” over and over. Meanwhile, I was shoving a sandwich in my mouth as avocado and tomato slices slid out from between the bread. I picked up the avocado slices with my fingers and ate them. I didn’t have a napkin. (This item would also make my list of top five most unattractive moments of my entire life.)

4. I forgot. Lou tells me that in the days following the stroke, he managed to sneak me away one morning for a hike on North Mountain. I have absolutely no memory of this. None.

5. Hair is down. When I arrived with Lou and Brother #3 in the hospital, Mom’s hair was down. Gray, wavy, and thick, it covered most of the pillow. She always wears her hair in a french braid because she hates having it in her face. As soon as we walked in, she burst into tears. Then she asked me to braid her hair.

6. I learned how to french braid. “Who did your braid?” I asked Mom the other day. I figured it was her friend, Sammie (the other frequent braider). “You did,” my mom answered. I felt proud. It was a fine braid.

7. Mom squeezed my hand. On day one, her left hand couldn’t do anything. One morning during week three (or so) I put my hands in hers. She looked me right in the eyes, scrunched her brow, and squeezed my hand. I squealed.

8. Spring training. Mom spent two weeks at Scottsdale Osborn Hospital. While I stared out her window, endless families flooded the streets to watch spring training baseball games. They were wearing ridiculous hats, drinking beer (or whatever), hopping in pedi-cabs, and having a blast. I was in hell. But I was happy for them.

9. I became a lady. Sorry to be gross, but this was total bullshit. The day of the stroke, I unexpectedly got my “lady-times” while we were all at the hospital. Whatever!

10. I got mad. I wish I could tell you that I handled this entire thing with grace, love, and patience. I didn’t. Not even close. But I’m not ready to write about that yet.

Things I’ve Learned

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Striking Photography by Bo Insogna

I’m scared.

Well, it’s another blog post about hiking.

Here’s a list of just a few things I’ve learned so far, in no particular order.

1. A rattlesnake bite does not equal instant death. I always assumed that if I got bit by a rattler out on the trail, I’d be dead within minutes. Not true. If you get to a hospital within a few hours, you won’t die.

2. I can tell the difference between three types of cholla: teddybear, buckhorn, and jumping. This is probably only exciting to me.

3. Baby Regal Horned Lizards are really cute. Then again, as my friend Lisa has pointed out, baby anything is really cute.

4. Saguaros were a food source for the ancient Hohokam people. I don’t know how it was prepared or any other details. Sorry.

5. You’re supposed to remain in the center of a hiking trail so the path remains as narrow as possible. This way, hikers aren’t constantly causing the trail to widen and, in the process, destroy surrounding plant life.

6. I have difficulty staying in a good mood after six miles. Right around mile six, I get angry for a little while. Fortunately, I get over it.

7. When encountering other hikers on a hot day, the right thing to do is to ask if they have enough water. We always try to bring extra just in case.

8. In a lightning storm, try to do as many of the following as possible: get to low ground, find a some bushes or small trees, crouch down in the bushes, stay 40 feet (or more) away from other people in your hiking party, wait it out.

9. Counting the seconds between a lightning flash and its thunder to estimate its proximity is B.S. All you need to know is, if you’re seeing lighting and hearing the thunder, it’s close and you’re in danger.

10. When sweating a lot, it’s just as important to replace your salts as it is to hydrate. Munching a handful of salty pretzels or nuts while on the trail can make a huge difference (hmmm…maybe this has something to do with #6).

Like Humans Do

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I can’t help but to wonder…

When I see a stranger on the street, my imagination is spurred. These are just a few of the things that happen as I’m silently contemplating other nameless human beings.

If it’s an adult, I assume the person has most likely had sex. Like, passionate love-making sex. And then I picture their facial expressions and I get embarrassed.

If the person is old, I imagine they’ve raised children, buried friends, buried their parents, seen a war, and now feel forgotten.

If it’s a cute girl, I try to assess how she has managed to look cute, then I make a mental notes to steal her style.

Unfortunately, due to my morbid curiosity, I often imagine what unattractive strangers look like when they are buck naked.

When the person is an old man, I automatically assume that he’s “seen some shit” so no one should fuck with him.

I imagine every person has broken down and sobbed at least once in their life.

If it’s a homeless person, I wonder if they have ever been in love.

If it’s a teenager, I assume that they’ve probably started having sex. And then I get grossed out as I realize that my friends and I were that young when we did it for the first time.

If they have a unique outfit on (good or bad), I imagine that person getting ready for the day, looking in the mirror, and saying, “Okay, yes, this works!”

If it’s a cute boy, I immediately feel guilty for even noticing that the guy is cute (and now I feel guilty for writing that — sorry Lou!).

If it’s a small child, I worry about their home life.

And if I recognize a “stranger” to be someone I know, I get really excited (I ran into my brother in a Target parking lot one time and I got giddy…even though I had just seen him the day before at family dinner).

Happy Friday, everyone!

Now enjoy this song about humans…

Very Arizona

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I can’t resist you.

I’m feeling very Arizona.

I’m also feeling inspired by my grandmother’s writing.

Right now, I’m stuck in my office and staring at a screen. But my mind keeps wandering back to these sights, sounds, and moments on the trail…

I love you.

Powdery plumes of iron-rich, red dirt exploding with each step.

Green mountain slopes covered in a far-reaching thicket of prickly pear.

Mismatched socks of a 10-year-old hiker, eager to ditch her brothers to join me in the shade.

The grating sensation of my first blister…right between the toes.

I want to be inside you.

Slippery, moss-covered rocks bombarded with the rushing creek.

My white toes peeking out from frigid water as I floated on my back.

A scream followed by our cackles when my friend poked a “dead” spider with a stick.

You’re lovely.

Distant masses of clouds threatening to pound the dirt with fat, violent raindrops.

A lone coyote trotting across a dry wash.

Sheets of torrential rain marring my visibility.

Flushed cheeks and matted hair of my overheated hiking companions.

Yes!

A lovely mess of overlapping ancient petroglyphs carved into rock.

The constant buzz of whirring insects’ wings echoing off canyon walls.

Total solitude in a craggy, shaded canyon.

A swarm of insects hovering over the stagnant water trapped in a tinaja.

Toads the size of my thumbnail hopping out of the way.

I will return to you.

…all this in just two days of hiking.

Hot, Hot, Hot

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By SashaW on flickr Creative Commons.

It doesn’t have to be like this.

On Tuesday, I hiked 2.6 miles with my mother. We started at 5 p.m. and the entire hike was in full sun. The high for the day was 112 degrees.

We survived. And we did it without complaining.

In fact, I rarely complain about the heat anymore. I’m more likely to get hostile about the “freezing” air conditioner.

Truth is, living in the heat isn’t that difficult…as long as you adopt these guidelines:

Tip #5: Give up on Being Clean Cute

It’s pretty much impossible to achieve the powdery, fresh-from-the shower look  in this kind of heat. I find that the only time I’m really bothered by the AZ summer temperatures is when I am trying to look cute in that sterile, clean way. So, instead, I channel the sexy power of a lady athlete, musician on stage, or dancer. I usually wear my hair up, adopt a cotton wardrobe, and scale back on the makeup. This way, if I get sweaty or flushed, I’m going more for a dewy, badass, just-got-done-with-a-roll-in-the-hay kind of look.

Tip #4: Embrace the Sweat

In my younger years, I was horrified if my perspiration created any kind of sweat stain on my clothing. Today, I’m not so freaked out. I try to avoid it by living in tank tops but if I do get a sweaty patch, screw it. It happens. When it’s 115 degrees out, there’s no shame in it. And, chances are, the dry air will soon suck moisture out of your fabric.

Tip #3: Adopt Ignorance

As soon as June hits, ignore all thermometers. Don’t watch the weather report or check your smartphone for the forecast. If you don’t look at the numbers, every single day will feel exactly the same: hot (with a shrug). If you see the numbers, however, you’ll only adopt a very tangible, nagging way to measure your misery.

Tip #2: Don’t Mention It

Really? It’s hot outside you say? I’m surprised to hear that.

Tip #1: Get Out

Get out of the house. My #1 defense against the heat is to get out in it and do stuff. Go on a walk, do yard work, hike, whatever. Just go out into the heat and gain some experience dealing with it. Before you know it, your body will acclimate, your misery will subside, and you’ll save money on your electricity bill because you won’t be cranking down your AC like a madman.

There. I release you from your Phoenix summer misery. To celebrate, listen to this.

Funny Body

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By Abode of Chaos, flickr, Creative Commons

Look! There’s a body!

Here’s a list of goofy facts about my body (nothing gross or sexual so don’t get too excited).

I’ve never had a bloody nose. Not once.

I’ve never been stung by a bee or wasp.

When I get the hiccups, I make the same hiccuping sound as a cartoon character.

I have a very loud, un-ladylike sneeze.

I have a mole on the bottom of my foot.

I can’t touch my tongue to my nose.

I can, however, roll my tongue.

I am not double-jointed or flexible in any way.

My joints consistently crack even with the slightest movements (e.g. my shoulder cracks when I switch lanes while driving).

I’ve only had two partial cavities in my whole life.

My eye color is grey but looks blue or green, depending on what I’m wearing.

I’ve never broken a bone.

I never blow dry my hair. Its crazy-straightness is completely natural.

I have a red birth mark on the back of my neck…my “stork bite”.

I can suck my stomach in to such a dramatic degree that I look like an extra in Schindler’s List. It’s disgusting.

Four Years Ago Today

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If our relationship was a human, it would look like this. Our relationship would be able to count to ten, begin to distinguish fantasy from reality, and accurately identify at least four colors.

Four years ago today, I walked into a bar all by myself and met my husband.

Yes, yes, I know I’ve told this story about a million times. If you haven’t read about the magical, whimsical, gives-me-goose-bumps way that I met my Lou, read it here.

We’ve been talking about our four years together quite a bit recently. I don’t think I need to blog about how happy we are (if you want proof, read this, this, this or this).

I realize that four years isn’t an eternity. But, it’s the longest time either of us have been consistently thrilled to be in the same relationship.

I keep saying, “Four years…we’ve been together as long as high school lasts!”

Here are some other things we can expect in a four-year time-span:

The Olympics

Human ability to count to ten

FIFA World Cup

Bamboo canes reach maturity

United States Presidential Term

Leap Year

Total solar eclipse

Quidditch World Cup

A hair strand’s maximum life expectancy

And, in another four years, (unless one of us tragically dies in a car accident or plane crash [please, please, universe, please don't let this happen!!!!]) you can expect Lou and I to be happy, in love, and closer than ever.

Lou, I love ya, babe! Thanks for giving me the happiest four years of my entire life!

Hiking Consequences

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For the sake of public safety, photographs of subject should only be taken from a distance.

I did the math today. So far, I’ve hiked 51.3 miles for my hiking book…and that accounts for only 1/4 of the hikes on my list.

So, to celebrate the first 50+ miles, here’s a nice little list of all the consequences involved:

Consequence #1: Hooves for Feet

Pedicures are on hold for the rest of 2012. It’s a battle already lost. After week #1, my soft, girly, summer feet were quickly replaced by scaly, harsh hooves. I accept this.

Consequence #2: Breakin’ Out

I’m constantly slathering my face with sunblock. On the trail, I sweat, dribble water all over my face, and my skin is infiltrated with this desert city’s filthy air. This all makes for some seriously clogged pores. It’s bad, people.

Consequence #3: Ouch

I’m sore all the time. Sure, I stretch. But with five hikes per week, there’s no escape from the general stiffness that comes with the accrued mileage.

Consequence #4: I’m Hungry

The good news is, I’m burning calories so I get to eat, eat, eat. The bad news is, if I haven’t gone to the grocery store and there’s no proper food in the house, I get to starve, starve, starve. Very inconvenient.

Consequence #5: General Lack of Cuteness

In the past three weeks, I have attended a scant four occasions for which I styled my hair and makeup. I’m not talking about nice occasions like weddings or dinners at fancy restaurants. I’m strictly referring to occasions in which I find it necessary to employ the minimal preparations to increase my physical attractiveness (e.g. I blow dry my bangs, cover my pimples with makeup, put on mascara, and find an outfit that doesn’t include elastic waist-banded pants).

Some News

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By jared, Flickr Creative Commons.

I saw one of these rascals last night.

I don’t have any news that can fill an entire post so here’s a list of things that have happened in the last few days.

1. The Broke-Ass Bride blog posted one of my pieces! Remember the blog about my mom sewing my wedding dress? Read it again here (and see a really great photo of my mother as a kid).

2. I saw a rattlesnake on the trail last night. It was sitting about 4 feet from the trail. It rattled at some other hikers and they warned us about it. We walked around it. The end.

3. I slipped and fell on the trail last night. Thankfully, this was far away from the rattlesnake. But I scraped my shin and knee. Then I accepted my fate: I’m going to look like a rowdy tomboy for the rest of the summer.

4. I took Bruce (our cat) to the veterinarian. He was so terrified, he latched on to me and cuddled. I couldn’t help it, I relished in his affection.

5. I cried. I watched 12 Monkeys over the weekend and I cried at the end when (spoiler) Bruce Willis dies. Because, of course, I couldn’t stop thinking about how devastated I would be if Lou got shot to death in an airport.