I'm averting my eyes oh Lord!

If you are not a fan of sap, this post is not for you. Today is the birthday of the greatest man on earth. Keith is 27 years old today. If I could write a sonnet to Keith, I would. But everyone knows that I am not a sonnet kind of girl.

I will just say that when Keith appeared that glorious day in the wine aisle at Trader Joe's, I recognized him from my future.



Not really. The director of Pride and Prejudice (the one with Pouty Knightly) said this in the commentary and it made Jess and me giggle and vomit respectively).

I guess I mean to say that my life today would be less satisfying today if Keith were not in it. It's kind of hard to even imagine how my life would be different had we not met, and I am so glad that we have embarked on this path to my ex-communication together. Keith is the only man that is worth marrying despite the wrath of my mother and the church.


Happy Birthday Mister, we have a lifetime of birthdays ahead of us to celebrate.

Where have you been young lady?

I've been around, just reeling from the Post-Pascha catch-up. Ketchup?
Reeling so much in fact, that I completely spaced the fact that I had a seminar class this weekend. Look who is about to receive her very first F! I hope I can get out of it, but whatever.

Kitri, Jess and I went shoe shopping today and all of us lucked out on some deeply hip and sexy shoes for the wedding. I want to wear these every day for the rest of my life. These are the kind of shoes that change your life. They make you get up earlier to go running just so your calves pop when you wear them. They are the kind of shoes you wear to an event that a certain ex-boyfriend might attend in order to say, "I'm hot, I have the sexiest shoes in the room, and I married someone else. In. Your. Face."



I also spent the weekend blissed out, mixing everything I could think of with my new best friend. Meet Clementine.

She is the newest addition to my kitchen family, and I am oh so proud of her tangerine glow. Can anyone guess why I named her Clementine? First one to get it right gets a muffin mixed to perfection. Or some mashed potatoes.

And lastly, our friend Steve fell out of a window, as you may have read. He does not have insurance to cover the massive medical bills. Some of his friends designed a t-shirt to raise money for his medical bills. Check it out.

Pascha in pictures

Some images that sum up my Pascha (Easter) experience. It was bittersweet because I knew that this was my last year here. I won't be here to watch these beautiful people change and grow.








And the best moment of all, my first taste of beautiful, fresh, raw milk. Oh baby. I couldn't think of a more delicious product to consume on 4/20.

Our girls

eatin-from-my-hand
Originally uploaded by keeef.

Look at them! I'm so proud!

Holy Thursday!

On this Holy Thursday, a day of reverence and contemplation of the sufferings of our Lord, I have a song stuck in my head. It keeps repeating, no matter how hard I try to push it away

Mmm bop, ba du ba dop
Ba du ba dop, Du be du ba du be dop
Du be dop, ah, doo. Yeah,
Mmm bop, ba du ba dop
Ba du ba dop, Du be du ba du be dop
Du be dop, ah, doo. Yeah,

Ahh, Hanson. Why do you come back to haunt me on this, the Holiest of Thursdays? I haven't thought about them since I finally got rid of their well worn album, Three Car Garage, my Sophomore year in high school.

My love affair with the handsome and supremely talented (Mmm Bop! Genius!) Hanson was brief, but oh so intense. I think I was about 11 years old, and I was mostly in love with Taylor, the dreamy middle brother. I just tolerated Isaac, the unfortunate looking OLD brother with braces, and Zac, the tag-a-long little brother. I thought if I had to be nice to them to get closer to Taylor, I would.

I was certain that we would cross paths at some point, it was only a matter of time. Taylor was homeschooled, as was I. We would meet at some homeschooling conference or other and I would be cool and aloof.
"You're not like other girls" Taylor would say. "You can see past the fame to the real me".
"You're just a regular person, just like me" I would reply, tossing my hair back. Then we would kiss.

A serious Case of Senioritis and CottonBallitis

I am supposed to be writing a feely goody "journal" for one of my sappy classes, but here I am instead. Why do professors try to soften the language in the syllabus to make it seem like there is no huge load of work or scary exams by calling papers "journals" or "reflections" and exams "quizzes"? We all really know what is going on here. Nothing ever changes. I think I am ready to graduate.

This week is what we crazy Orthodox Christians like to call Holy Week. It is kind of like the Tour du France of religious experiences, except with more fainting spells and less road rash.

We Orthodox love us some fasting and some long prayer services. Mmm yeah! This week is all about spending several evening hours at church, every day til Saturday. Saturday will be spent in church, all of about 4 of the 24 hours. If I were a good Orthodox Christian, (which I am not, just ask my mother) I would not eat until sundown every day this week, and go to all the 4:30 AM services offered. But you all know what happens when this girl hops on her bike without eating first!

Tomorrow night's service is called the Unction service, it's all about healing. I love it, and it is very powerful. There is only one problem. The healing oil is administered to your forehead via a cotton ball. I can't even type the words without sticking my tongue out and convulsing slightly. I have this thing about cotton balls. The things is, I hate them so, so much. I can't even watch someone else touch a cotton ball. I know it seems silly, but it's a serious problem for me. I don't know what to do about it. Hypnotherapy? Shock treatment? Cognitive Behavioral Therapy? Prayer? Perhaps I can ask for healing from my cotton ball induced affliction at the Unction servies tomorrow.

Sigh

First of all, one does not write a blog, one writes a blog entry. One maintains a blog. Okay everyone? I am sick to DEATH of bloggers saying how they need to write a blog about something that happened to them that day. TO DEATH, I SAY!

Now that that's out of the way, I will talk about Mollie. She had to get four teeth removed yesterday on account a how she never done brushed her teeth in her life. Now she is a hick dog and has taken to chewing tobaccy and saying "ya'll". I believe she has also started up a small meth lab behind our apartment.

She was not herself when I picked her up, incredibly woozy and lethargic. Woozy and lethargic for Mollie means that she jumped a pitiful two feet in the air when she saw me, rather than her typical 4-5 feet. The "technician" that brought her out said he'd never seen a dog wake up so quickly after surgery. I think it's the meth.

Mollie is exhausted today, she still follows me from room to room as if I am going to disappear on her, but as soon as she catches up to me, she nose-dives into the carpet and takes a power nap before dragging herself up to follow me again.

I forgot that I had to house-sit this weekend for the neighbors who have the dopiest, most obnoxious Golden Retriever ever. He is huge, and likes to lick your pants and bring you your slobbery socks. Mollie and I had to sleep over at his house last night and we didn't get much sleep. I was awakened every hour by a new discovery, each more thrilling than the last. 11PM: Yuba ripping up a small rug by the bed. 12:30 AM: Mollie puking all over me and the duvet cover. 1AM: finally getting back to bed after cleaning up the mess to discover Yuba shredding garbage. 6AM: Yuba barking at the carpet. 7AM: Yuba body slamming the front door.

In other news, our friend Steve almost died. He fell out of a third story window. Wish him well if you like, he is now being forced to drink hospital coffee, which in Steve's world might be equivalent to the horrers of falling to your near-death.

Flickr pic, baby fever style

IMG_0817
Originally uploaded by dritoshala.

Excuse me. I have to go clean up my ovaries which have exploded all over the red couch.

After spending today at school, I have reached the following conclusions:

1) I have GOT to get me some fake jewels to glue on the surface of my cell phone. I am practically the only person on campus without phone bling

2) If my yoga class had an award ceremony at the end of the term, I would win in the categories of "least flexible" and "most giggly"

3) I am an immature racist pig Neanderthal for wanting so badly to make fun of my Cross Cultural (!) Psych prof for his name (Mo Wang). Mo Wang for me! Mo Wang for you!

BTW, thanks to everyone who voted on the wedding shoes. You all know me SO well. I am excited to announce that I will be clomping down the aisle in pair numero uno.
(If you thought I was serious about any of those shoes, you are officially un-invited to the wedding)

Help!

I went to try on my wedding dress for the first time this afternoon and I loved it. Unfortunately the shoes I had planned to wear with it won't work with the dress. I now have to find a new pair for the wedding. I need your help, dear readers. I can't decide between these four pairs. Which one is more "me"?

Tolkein and Indigo

This week I feel as though I am one step behind the rest of the world. I can't seem to fully wake up all day. I am off to soak in some hot springs with my mother. Let's hope we don't kill each other.

I have been enjoying the last season (the agony!) of Six Feet Under on dvd. Highlights so far:
1) Billy Chenowith off his meds exclaiming, "I am tired of living every moment as if I am inside a giant Xeroxed fucking cotton ball!"
2) Claire's song about the panty hose.

Yesterday I ducked in the campus bookstore to escape the sudden rainstorm and I witnessed a typical scene of exhausted mother screaming at her children, except that the children were named Tolkein and Indigo. Twin boys. "Tolkein! Indigo! Get your asses over here now!

hitting the ground wobbling

Mollie and I arrived safely last night after an exhausting 12 hour road trip. She is such a bad driver, it didn't help my nerves to take shifts.



I haven't even unpacked yet, because I started school again today. Remember how I fainted last week? I guess it was low blood sugar. You would think I had learned my lesson, but I like to push the envelope, always the daredevil. I wanted to see what would happen if I got on my bike and rode the 45 minutes to school after not having eaten in 24 hours. Oh man! That was fun! After locking my bike up and wobbling into school, I had another good idea! I would walk up the four flights of stairs to class. Arriving in class, I noticed students bringing in desks from another room, as the class was crowded. I followed suit and carried my own desk in the room. Great idea! I sat down, shaking and sweating, fumbling for my water. My tunnel vision was so bad that it took my a while to notice that, a) people were staring at me with concern, and b) the class consisted of mostly Japanese students, beeping and clicking away at their identical translator mini computer dealies. In fact, I counted 4 other white people in the room besides me. One was a man, no younger than 80 years old, and another was an Eminem wannabe, wearing a wife beater, giant gold pinky ring, and several gold chains, one of which was straining under the weight of a large gothic letter: perhaps the letter s, I couldn't be sure. He was speaking fluent Japanese with the guy next to him. Turns out, the title of this class (Globalization and Identity) is all about the relationship between Japan and the United States. Maybe it was my low blood sugar talking, but I thought that the title of the class was slightly misleading. Should be interesting, though.

As soon as I got settled I promptly knocked my water off of my desk in such a way that it hit the floor and rolled as far away from me as possible. A kind young man retrieved it for me, and I took it gratefully. I remember thinking, as I drizzled water into my mouth, "Wow, that must be embarrassing for that shaky girl with the helmet". It was like I was watching the scene unfold from high above me. In class number one, my main objective was to remember to blink and get water mostly inside my mouth. Class number two was all about trying not to throw up, and willing myself not to face plant it while obtaining a syllabus from the front of the room. Can I say? Mission accomplished.

Once you bike to school, you have no choice but to bike back. I did that, somehow. Then I even took my dog for a walk. I shall now be confined to a wheelchair, however. Like Clara from Heidi. I will have a little brown blanket draped over my withered legs.