pina colada

I had a job interview today at a local marketing firm. It lasted five minutes and by the end of it I knew I couldn't possibly enjoy the position they were offering. I wasn't created to do sales for a credit card processing company. My talents weren't molded by the hand of God to do that. And perhaps I come across arrogant for being so bold in those statements, but I'd rather believe that I'm becoming more aware of what it is I should be doing or in turn what I shouldn't be doing. I'll chalk this one up as a learning experience and a foot in the door of the job world. I mean, I landed an interview right? That can be an accomplishment in itself.

EDIT: I received a call from the bossman who interviewed me. He thought I gave a "great impression" and "would like to meet with me again." I said thanks but no thanks. And the search continues...

one of those moments

Sea World in San Antonio
Nautilus Amphitheater
6:30 pm show
waiting for Revive, Needtobreathe, Third Day
crowds of people looking for seats
honey-lemon cough drop
end of never-ending phone tag with Elizabeth
update on life
"God has so many doors open for you, we just don't know where they are yet"
difference between her joy and my sadness
"I choose to be happy"
new mantra starting now
Coldplay's song "Fix You" playing overhead
teary eyes and smile
words of wisdom from an angel on earth
perfect preparation for night of worship
prayers of thanksgiving and forgiveness
hands eager to raise in praise
lights dim
musicians on stage
Spirit envelops

naptime

I subbed today in a Montessori class of 2.5 to 5 year olds. They have a two hour naptime after lunch in the afternoon. I can't quite express what a strange and wonderful feeling it was to be in a room full of napping youngsters. I spent most of the time observing how funny and adorable they all looked while they slept. Some children couldn't fall asleep as easily as others and that's when they look at me with hope-filled eyes. I patted the backs of two little girls (oddly both named Isabella) for about twenty minutes waiting until both their eyelids drooped with heaviness. About an hour into naptime a little boy named Jackson was still squirming on his cot trying to find a way to sleep. I asked him if he wanted me to stay by his side and he nodded at me looking on with his big bright blue eyes. So he stayed on his back and I gently brushed my hand on his head in a calm, soothing motion. In five minutes he was asleep. It was neat to watch his hand grip the corner of his blanket tightly and then as time progressed in that five minute span watch his fingers relax and fall to the will of gravity. I absolutely loved and adored those two hours. I thought of a lot of things during that time and one thing in particular being when I have children of my own. I know I'll still be able to treasure and adore those moments when my son or daughter asks me to rub his or her back for them to drift to dreamland. I can watch their eyelids flutter with movement as their eyes dart back and forth in their dreams. Watch the rise and fall of their breath as it balances out for the night's journey. Hum a low lullaby as the soundtrack to their slumber. One day my naptime dream will come true.

Taco Communion

I grew up going to the same church for most of my entire life and my parents still attend there regularly. The church happens to be a couple blocks away from the original location of Taco Cabana and we've fully taken advantage of the close proximity. (For those who haven't been so lucky in enjoying Taco Cabana, it is essentially the best fast-food Mexican food in the world. Forget Taco Bell, Taco Bueno, Rosa's, etc. : Taco Cabana or bust.) The 8:30 am church service has always been the service of choice for my family so we're out the church doors and into the car to head home by 10 or 10:30 am. Perfect time for some Taco Communion. That's what we call it. It is the time period right after church where we partake in the consumption of tortillas, tacos, beans and rice while never losing sight of the blessing of the food before us. In our own non-traditional way, we continue to break tortillas and share in the Lord's Supper. Because let's face it: Jesus loves Mexican food.

"Do this in remembrance of me."

Eat Pray Love p. 176

There's a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging, "Dear saint - please, please, please ... give me the grace to win the lottery." This lament goes on for months. Finally the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at the begging man and says in weary disgust, "My son - please, please, please ... buy a ticket.

bitch

Yesterday afternoon I found solace at a wooden table in Barnes & Noble. With the intention of drowning out my woes with instead the woes of celebrities I proceeded to indulge in the trashy magazines made available on the stacks. One by one I flipped through the glossy colored pages hoping to feel some vindication that my disappointment of a morning wasn't as terrible as the paparazzi following my every move. An hour into the attempt I felt shallow and wasteful of my brain cells, so picked up one of my guilty pleasure magazines, Bitch. This mag isn't every one's cup of tea and sometimes I feel the need to turn my shoulder from the coffee shop public due to some of the articles in it, but overall, I'm obsessed with the intelligence, perspective, and brutally honest opinions this magazine encourages and examines. It offers me a chance to escape from the idea that being skinny is what matters most and being submissive and quiet in regards to our male counterpart is our purpose in the workplace. This is one of the rare magazines I will devote to reading every single page.

Here is the mission of Bitch:

We seek to be a fresh, revitalizing voice for feminism, one that welcomes complex arguments, showcases witty and whip-smart critiques of popular culture, and refuses to ignore the contradictory and sometimes uncomfortable details that constitute the realities of life in an unequivocally gendered world.

We seek to formulate replies to the sexist and narrow-minded media diet that we all--intentionally or not--consume. It's about critically examining the images of things like femininity, feminism, class, race, and sexuality that are thrown at us by the media. And by media, we mean TV, movies, books, magazines, the music world, advertising, fashion, the web--and also the messages that are sent through the news media, in schools, and on the streets.

We seek to forge connections between the sociocultural messages we get and the commercial agendas of who's behind them. It's about creating a dialogue--making people aware that the dissenting views they hold are, in fact, shared by many. It's about asking ourselves and each other questions: Where are the places in the mass media that don't insult our intelligence? How can we get more of them?

We're about saying, We can make them.

And what's with the name??

The B Word

For as long as we've been publishing Bitch, there's one question that gets asked over and over. And over. "Why did you choose that word as the name of your magazine?" While we're aware that our title is off-putting to some people, we think it's worth it. And here's why.

The writer Rebecca West, back in the day, said, "People call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat." We'd argue that the word "bitch" is usually deployed for the same purpose. When it's being used as an insult, "bitch" is an epithet hurled at women who speak their minds, who have opinions and don't shy away from expressing them, and who don't sit by and smile uncomfortably if they're bothered or offended. If being an outspoken woman means being a bitch, we'll take that as a compliment, thanks.

We know that not everyone's down with the term. Believe us, we've heard all about it. But we stand firm in our belief that if we choose to take the word as a compliment, it loses its power to hurt us. And if we can get people thinking about what they're saying and why when they use the word, that's even better.

And last, but certainly not least, "bitch" describes all at once who we are when we speak up, what it is we're too worked up over to be quiet about, and the act of making ourselves heard.

Pretty rad, right?

book and tear

I'm currently reading the book Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. My friend Lauren passed the book along to me saying she thought I would like it. I'm absolutely moved by this book and I feel as if it was given to me at the right moment in time. It is uncanny how well I identify and find myself aligned with her stories, observations, concerns, doubts, interests, and thoughts. I'm receiving advice, guidance, and support from a piece of literature more so than my own friends. What an oddity. What an indirect blessing.

I aspire to write a book one day. I've guessed it to be a fictional love story based on my real life experience, or an ethnography covering my time spent with an unknown indigenous people, or perhaps it will be a travelogue of all that I've encountered in my x number of years of traveling. I would love to be published one day for a great piece of work in which I've let my heart guide the pen.

There's nothing quite like the taste of salt on your lips after you've cried out your despair and disappointment. Or to see the water stains of your tear droplets form on the pages of your latest journal entry or hand-written letter. Or the solo tear that traces the sadness from the corner of your eye down the curves of your cheek and then lingers lightly on your chin deciding if it wants to fall into the unknown or remain in the moment.

rainy day thoughts

The past couple of days have been rainy and cold, and I've loved every minute spent outside in this weather. There is something about cold, wet days that make me want to walk in the wind and feel the drops of rain cover my face. A mini-baptism for my daily sins. Washed away and found clean again.

In my dresser drawers you can find t-shirts upon t-shirts from all sorts of events and organizations I've been involved with for the past few years. But there is one t-shirt I will always choose to wear before any others, especially when it comes to wearing the shirt to bed. It is the most comfortable, light-weight, soft shirt I possess. A navy blue short sleeved tee with the outline of a sailboat and the word "Southerly" written in white on the front left. And as much as I choose it for physical comfort sake, I also choose this shirt for sentimental comfort. It was my old love's shirt until he offered it to me one evening we came back to his apartment. I'm sure I was done up in a dress or skirt and that wasn't going to cut it for lounging around with him for the rest of the evening. So I changed into the blue tee one evening and have kept it ever since. It used to smell like him but now it smells like my mom's fabric softener. Nonetheless, I love this shirt. And I hope he never asks for it back.

funny quote that makes me think of my Miss: "why you eye-in' my lemon drink?"

he's just not that into you

I've seen the movie twice.
I've read the book twice.

I refuse to believe EVERYTHING it promotes.
But, I still can't help but think, it's true... he's just not that into me.

just dance

I thought I had lost some of my dancing skills because I wasn't utilizing them often, but apparently, I've still got 'em. When more than five people come up to me (strangers or not) and say, "dang girl, where did you get those moves?!" I know I'm doing something right. And I just love surprising people.

Cute little pre-K tidbit:
Teacher: "One, two, three, eyes on me."
Students: "One, two, eyes on you."

I'm so proud of the TCU Soul Steppers for providing an amazing, krunk show this weekend. My little baby is growing up so quickly...

Zumba, Cardio Dance Fusion, and Cardio Groove are saving my sorry bum this month.