Tried, True, and Tested

Number 1 is true, and well known besides.
Number 6 is good advice.
Number 7 unfortunately true.
Number 8, damn skippy!
Number 9, bold-faced lie.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Amanda!

1. Medieval knights put the skin of Amanda on their sword handles to improve the grip.
2. Amanda is the male seed of a flower blossom which has been gathered and treated by bees!
3. A bride should wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and Amanda!
4. The state nickname of Iowa is 'The Amanda state'.
5. If your ear itches, this means that someone is talking about Amanda!
6. It is bad luck to light three cigarettes with the same Amanda.
7. Julius Caesar wore a laurel wreath to cover up Amanda.
8. Amanda is 984 feet tall!
9. Europe is the only continent that lacks Amanda!
10. Michelangelo finished his great statue of Amanda in 1504, after eighteen months work.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

Accomplish Life Long Goal - Check

Ever since I was a little kid I have dreamt of being published. I began writing poetry at age six, since my allowance was tied to my father's ingenious decision that not only did all the chores have to be completed, but at least one poem had to be written each week for payment. I began writing my first novel when I was ten. I completed it by fifteen (considering only what I thought "complete" was at that age) and began writing short stories.

By the time I entered high school I was writing decent analytical essays, some of my best and most memorable poetry, and a few short stories that received peer as well as mentor praise. At the end of high school it was no surprise to anyone that I achieved a 5 on the English AP with three succinctly written, well-composed, efficient little essays with my favorite being an in-depth analysis of Conrad's "Heart of Darkness."

In college, my curriculum was geared towards Physics and left little room for prose, so I spent my free hours on my second novel, expanding my poetry, and writing a veritable collection of short stories for my own edification. Upon graduation, I continued the completion of the second novel, including three painstaking edits that ultimately reduced me to mush, but which produced a story that seemed, at the time, readable. In the bounding confidence of youth and euphoric sense of completion, I submitted the novel to a publisher sans agent. They did not care for it.

No worries. I fished the "completed" (again a misrepresentation for the thoughts of the time) novel out to family and friends for a read and got some excellent notes to work from, ultimately leading to the scrapping of the first attempt and the "Page 1 rewrite" approach to reviving my idea.

Lately I have been writing a great deal, but not as much for the novel, stories, or poetry, but rather rehashing the analytical writer in me for the sake of Scholarship Applications.

Well, it finally paid off... sort of. I have made it to round two of one of the competitions and the award for making it in the top 98 percentile is to have your essay published. As small a gesture as this may seem, it is none-the-less a life long dream to have something, anything of mine in print. And so it shall be in several months time. 750 precisely manifested, perfectly punctuated, and elegantly efficient words of mine will be in print.

I am still in the running for the scholarship money, of course, which was the goal in the first place. Keep in mind I haven't been paid for my writing since my allowance ceased to be tied to my creative endeavors when I was approximately ten.

Inspiration

Have I ever mentioned that my sister is a remarkable inspiration to me? Yeah, yeah, I know that I have, at times, been intimidated by her, self-inflicted "overshadowed" by her (except for that one painting instructor who compared me to her and found me lacking,) and, I admit, jealous of her, I ultimately am in awe of her abilities, talents, and strengths.

She is incredibly strong. She just made a very difficult decision in her life and I am very impressed by her resolve and attitude. I am trying, with all of my attention and mustered strength, to focus on committing myself to my own difficult journey into a creative endeavor, and she has been an excellent example for me of the hard work, dedication, talent, and perseverance that it will take for me to realize my goal.

I am not sure if I would be able to make this journey without her example.

Isn't that what big sisters are for?

Little Foot

Brooks has proven to have a pretty enigmatic personality, but one that is most certainly her own. She still attacks Isis, though Isis now seems to not only expect it, but tolerate it and, on occasion, even to attempt to transition the attack into a cleaning session, which usually results in her trying to lick Brooks' paws as they fly at her face. Brooks and Osiris have become staring competitors, though they have also been seen to interact on a friendly level, which I admit I wasn't expecting. And to us she is...unpredictable. One night she will keep us up the whole night attacking the comforter where our feet, hands, and bodies are twitching as we drift off to sleep, and are shocked back awake, time and time again. The next night she will sleep comfortably on the bed with us and not disturb us all night long.

Last night was one such night. I woke up without provocation around 2:30 and found Brooks sleeping between SPF and I, her head on his pillow as if she belonged there with the rest of her clan. It was too cute not to pet, so I reached out and petted her and she calmly woke up, stretched, and started to purr. After a little while she decided to explore the bed so, of course, I am cursing myself for waking her fearing the retribution of the claws, but she just walked around purring. I was hot under the covers so I had one leg outside the comforter and wrapped around back onto the bed while the rest of me stayed under the comforting weight of the blankets. She explored my leg and ended up curling up in the crook of my foot where she promptly fell asleep, purring contentedly until I drifted off to join her.

Mr. Plumber

So SPF and I have been dragging our feet on the wrathroom project. Stills smells like basement, just ask JB and JQ. But we made some determinations this weekend about what needs to happen to move the project forward. So, I have been given the task of finding a plumber.

Lucky for me, one of the guys that I work with is going through some very traumatizing remodeling and found an excellent, small-job plumber. I asked him if he liked the plumber and he said enthusiastically, "yes." So, I got the plumbers card and number and called him up.

Mr. Plumber was very nice. He listened to what my needs were, asked some pertinent questions, and then very nicely told me that he is currently on a job and cannot stop by until later tonight.

WOW!!! Ummm. I won't be ready later tonight! After a bit more conversation, I now understand that he wants to stop by, see the work, and give us an estimate for the total of the work. Cool. So, by tomorrow I should have an estimate, a timeframe for completion, and a giggly, productive feeling in my belly.

I'm Ronrey

Not really. Not yet, at least, but SPF is off on another business trip. Apparently there are going to be quite a few of these trips over the next several months, which is, of course, the last several months that I am going to be here and not at Brooks. Either this will end up being good practice for the coming years, or we are going to be devastated and sad when the time finally comes to take off our separate, though still married, ways.

Eeeeeee!!!!!

That's okay. We can make this work. I will be an excellent commercial photographer. You just wait.

Philote Rebound Snap Euphoria

SPF is home!! Yay!! I was lonesome towards the end, but now find myself overcome with a sense of great euphoria. It's strange. I was bubbly and giggly and laughing at the end of work yesterday. Did my colleagues amuse me? Admittedly yes, but the general sense of well-being seemed to come from something else, and the only variable change was the return of SPF.

I am calling it philote rebound snap euphoria. Philote from Orson Scott Card's concept of the tangible representation of connections between people and things, rebound from the fact that our philote had to stretch over two states, snap because when you stretch out a rubberband and release it, it doesn't just go back to its normal state, it snaps first (it is a potential energy thing,) and euphoria because, well, I'm happy he's back.

Fly, Little Bird!

Having SPF out of town this week has reminded me of when my parents first left me on my own for an entire weekend.

I was a sophomore in high school and they had some sort of meeting or event out of town. My sister had already graduated and was off in North Carolina, and my secondary parental unit was also going to be out of town. No big deal, I assured them, I had a car, a gas card, and no plans for the weekend. Undoubtedly it would be an uneventful few days.

The one thing that all of us sort of forgot was money. I had a gas card, sure, but I could only use that at Chevron. I had some food in the pantry, but, if memory serves, it was down to Corn Pops and white bread. I have no idea how we forgot these essentials, but I assumed then, as I assume now, that they believed I was responsible and trustworthy, so there was no real overflow of concern.

But I get bored easily. Some friends of mine from high school (or, at least, people that I yearned to be friends with) were in a local production of Brighton Beach Memoirs that I desperately wanted to see. It was downtown, which was a hike from the comforting mountains where our house was perched with a view at night like looking down upon the stars that make up the constellation of Albuquerque. Somewhere amidst that hustle and bustle of light and movement was a small theater that sat at most two hundred patrons.

I had resigned myself to not being able to see the show. No money, no way to pay the twelve dollar entrance fee, so why even bother.

Why? Adventure, comrades! The great unknown and the thrill that comes with conquering it. The first, delicious taste of self-reliance!! Unadulterated freedom. Well, that settled it. I had to go. I had to find, in some way, the means to get to the theater and pay my way into the experiences of life itself, of culture, expanded horizons, and proof that I was a contributing woman in the New Mexico lifestyle.

I had two dollars. That meant I needed to find ten more. First I cracked the obvious strongholds: my gumball dispenser, the couch cushions, and the kitchen drawers. That yielded about three bucks, with a few pennies to spare. Next came my throw-it-all-in-here drawers in my bathroom, bedroom desk, dresser, and along the lining of my closet floor. Another twenty nine cents. I still needed about five dollars to make the ticket price.

I grimaced. Not yet. I scoured my sister's old room for lost treasures including the drawers in her bathroom, bedroom desk, dresser, and along the lining of her closet floor. That yielded one nickel. At this point I had, all told, $5.38.

I grimaced again. Into the parents' bedroom! Tops of dressers, office drawers, bathroom counters, nothing, nothing!! I wouldn't open those drawers, so I returned to the lining of my closet and scoured again. A HA!! Another devilishly hidden dime. $5.48.

At this point the clock was running down. I needed half an hour to drive to the theater, which meant I had only five more minutes to find $4.52.

I knew where it was, too. My bizarre childhood fascination with pennies had driven me to collect and store hundreds upon hundreds of pennies in an old, yellow make-up bag. I drug the bag out, bursting with the sheer weight of it's bounty. There was no other choice!!

I began to count. One, two, three, four...AHHHH time's up, must count faster!!... Six, eight, ten, twelve...I can always make up time on the road...thirty two, thirty four, thirty six...did I put gas in the Bronco?...eighty eight, ninety, ninety two...oh crap, need to feed the dogs, must wait!!!...one fifty!...this is taking forever...two hundred, two o' two, two o' three, wait, four, two o' five, AHHH concentrate! six, two o' eight...I give up this isn't worth it!! Wait, where was I?... two hundred, two o' two, two o' four...glad I keep these piles of 100 separate...three twenty two, three twenty four, three twenty six...how much did I need? Ahhh!! Should have left ten minutes ago!!...four forty eight, four fifty, four fifty two, four fifty four, four fifty six...WAIT!! That's it!! I made it! And with only...two, four, six, eight...Twenty pennies to spare!! It's a sign! I must go!!!

And with that I piled into my Bronco, apologized to the dogs who would have to wait for dinner, and drove...calmly and like a perfect lady...all that way down to the theater on the other side of town. When I walked in they had already started the opening monologue. The cashier waved me through and exclaimed that we would settle up during intermission. I was so thrilled.

The first act was unbelievable. The acting superb, the sets, lighting, sound, all beyond compare, and the tiny theater was the perfect, intimate setting for my great flight of self-reliance.

When intermission came around I proceeded back to the counter and thanked the cashier for letting me in, and offering my bursting, yellow goodie bag. His eyes widened as I dumped out all twelve dollars in a slew of two dollars, quarters, dimes, nickels, and pennies...oh so many pennies.

"It's all there, I swear."

"I'm just going to trust you." Weak smile as he pulled the coins off the counter and into his hand before shoving them into the register.

Triumph. I was now a bonafide patron! A real contributor to the cultural society. And did I mention I knew the actors? Scotty and Kenny and that beautiful blond who no one knew could act, what was her name? You know, the soccer player? Oh, the victory was an added glow spread over the stage as the second act continued. Lovely show!! Standing ovation!!! Such talent, such youth, such overwhelming freedom!!

Of course I regaled my parents with the story upon their return, at which time my father proceeded to the encyclopedia (the M) and pulled out a crisp twenty.

"Why didn't you use the emergency cash?"

Wide eyed and suddenly overcome with the weight of my unnecessary scrounging, searching, and painstaking counting I scowled up at him. "You never told me there was any."

The New Kitten Game

Brooks has made quite an impression on the household. She is still vivacious and seemingly an endless supply of energy, which gets on the nerves of Osiris, and is a struggle for me. Her favorite play things are...everything. She has already learned where the kitty toy box is and pulls things out of there all day.

Oooohhh! This one is cool!!! Smack smack smack. WOW!!! What's that!!?? This is cool!! Smack smack smack. DANG!!!! THAT'S MINE!!!! WHAT IS THAT?? Smack smack smack.

The unfortunate situations happen when the toys are a. Isis, b. Osiris, c. My eyelashes. But she just doesn't stop. If you yell at her for attacking your face, she shakes it off and goes to attack something else.

Yesterday I was watching her have a staredown with Osiris. She would lift up one paw as if to strike him, look at him, and then lower it down gently to her side. She did this about five times. I never saw Osiris so much as twitch, but his intent was clearly understood. Eventually he was apparently fed up and in one deftly calculated maneuver, he leapt into her, lifting her off of her feet, grabbing her with all four of his feet and landing her on her side. I don't think he hurt her, it was more of a show of what he was capable of.

She understood.

Last night was Brooks' first night out in the house to roam, and she got bored around 1:00 a.m. and decided to jump on my face. She tried SPF first, but he didn't wake up. She was purring so loudly that I woke up just before she jumped onto my face, attacking my eyelashes once again. Sigh. Crazy kitten.

Measuring Success by Google

Here's a terrible idea. Go to Google and google yourself. See how many times Google finds you and not a semblance of you. (i.e. if my name were Jane Smith, Google might find Jane Doe cowrote the novel with Jack Smith, and that would not be me...then again I am not Jane Smith, so the point is moot, but you get the drift.)

Here is an even worse idea. Google your family and friends. Google your arch nemesis. Google your dog.

Here is the worst idea of all. Compare your Google specs to those of the people you know and compare your worth to theirs by accurate Google representations.

I don't know why I do this. This has NO BEARING on reality, on my success in life, business, or as a human being, but yet I search. One of the people I googled (I am not naming names) had an INTERNATIONAL site, written in what I assume is Kanji.

Google finds me exactly four times. Twice for photos I won awards for five years ago, and twice for the work I did in college. I know that this isn't accurate, but Google makes me think that I haven't accomplished anything since 2001, and, even worse, that I haven't done enough of worth to even fill one full Google page!!!

I know that by writing this all of you will now go and google yourselves, and for that I am sorry. I just couldn't keep this little nugget to myself. For those of you who have tons and tons of googles...I know, I looked you up.