RAISE A PINT

Subtitle: I'm a FEMALE!






















This morning I was walking into work from the parking lot and I passed a big, looming red cross bus parked out front. We all know what that means. Blood donation time! I didn't sign up but knew they would not turn me away so into the bus I hopped.
Now, mind you, I don't wear a lot of makeup, and lately I've been letting my hair air dry so I lack that polished, put together, feminine essence. But I'm still a girl. I wear jewelry and heals and lip gloss. So I was surprised when the nurse asked me my gender...at three different times. I started to get a little paranoid that I looked man-ish. I had to shrug that off because having a needle jabbed into my vein is way too important to get distracted by questionable gender.
There was a time when needles and blood and finger pricks didn't bother me. And they still don't; if it's on TV I'm fine. But the moment a real live person starts toward me with a sharp object (needle, knife, pencil, temper) I get woozy. Similar to getting sick on amusement park rides, this is an aversion that started later in life.
Anyway, I gave my pint, in less than 6 minutes. I felt pretty accomplished while I ate my fig newton and chatted up a bleeding co-worker. But as other people where being prepped, I knew I had to make it out of that bus. I felt great most of the day. And I skipped lunch on accident.
Fast forward to my commute home from work; it's a 40 minute drive. Those 40 minutes were some of the most uncomfortable I've had in a while. I felt at once an anxiety attack coming on AND a fainting spell. Once I got home I pulled on my sweats and languished on the couch making the Rockstar serve me food and fetch me important things like water with ice.
I'm glad donating blood makes me feel this way. It helps me realize how important blood is, and how ridiculous it is that I don't donate more often. I'm disappointed that I don't jump into all the red cross vans I see idling at the curb. I mean, if I feel this depleted with one pint missing, how must someone feel that is actually in need?

WHERE I'D RATHER BE

At this point Nate is calling me a melodramatic crazy person, but let's get one thing completely straight...Some. One. Took. Our. Stuff. Without. Asking. Our. Permission. Maybe I'm taking it harder than him because I'm the one that discovered the robbery. I'm the one that suffered mild heart failure when I realized my work laptop was missing with all it's corporate secrets {it was recovered by a neighbor in a nearby alley}.
I've become a bit preoccupied with the idea of being left home alone {read: Tonia is a sitting duck}; in fact, I really don't like the idea of leaving the house. I feel completely vulnerable in both scenarios {should I stay or should I go?}. I suppose the only scenario I like quite a bit is the one that includes me wearing a ragged old flannel nightgown and sitting in a rocking chair on my front porch with a shotgun in my lap. It would be fitting to have a trusty hound at my feet and curlers in my hair but those are details I'm willing to sacrifice. The shotgun can even be one that shoots a red flag out of the barrel that says, "bang"; I'm only concerned with the intimidation factor and not in doing anyone harm.
I've spent the better part of the day mulling over different ways I could have prevented the burgle, things I would say to the perpetrator, and all the scary and terrible things that could have happened but didn't. When I forget about what happened this morning and then suddenly remember it, my heart skips a beat and I get scared. Can a highly anxious girl feel the repercussions of PTSD from a simple burglary?
Anyway, I'd rather be in bed. Neatly tucked into my butter yellow sheets dreaming of gumdrops and unicorns and monkeys that play harmonica.

DEAR BURGLAR

Yeah, you got me! Despite the fact that you broke into our garage and stole stuff out of our cars; stuff we found strewn throughout the neighborhood, I have just two things, well, three things to say to you today.
1. I forgive you
2. You better be glad we don't own a gun or a big hungry dog
3. I really don't like you. You have earned the title Rat Bastard which I only give to someone really, really horrible and deserving

Just a friendly message to anyone out there who wants to avoid the horrible invasion of having someone ransack your stuff and take what they want...be aware. Lock everything. Walk around the neighborhood with angry scowls, talk about how you know jujitsu and how you can't keep your big dog from chewing up your car tires. Watch your neighbors homes like they were yours. If you see a strange car parked in front of your house...follow your gut and get a better look. And, above all, leave mean notes on your blog so if the burglar happens to be a fan he {yup, we know it was a man burglar} will know he is the official Rat Bastard you are talking about.

KIPU FALLS: A STORY OF GIVE AND TAKE

Our third day in Kaua'i Nate and I took the rental car out for a drive. The air was, well, perfect; with the windows down I got the occasional wiff of an exotic flower as we sped along highway 51. A few miles before Lihue we pulled off on Kipu road where a lovely treat lay hidden among the trees of privately owned land. Kipu Falls {thank you for recommending it friends}!!
Kipu Falls is this pretty little waterfall that also boasts a keen rope swing. Getting to the rope swing requires you cross the upper falls which basically goes something like this. Test the current of the water. Yup, it's pretty fast and could drag you down and take you over the falls effortlessly. Rocks? Slippery! But somehow, using teamwork, we crossed and both took a turn on the swing. It's a pleasant 20ft drop to a nice sized lagoon that feeds the river. In the lagoon you swim back to the rocks, climb up the ladder and go again. That was the plan until I decided that we needed to document this moment on film. Waterproof film.
While Nate was taking a second turn I decided to go back across the upper falls and retrieve my water proof disposable camera. A local directed me to a point in the river that was a little more narrow. He then just looked at me from his safe side and said, "just jump toward this side". Without thinking I jumped, reached for the rocks on the bank, missed, and felt the current take me. Down toward the waterfall and impending doom. At the last moment I grabbed a rock and clung to it like it was something soft and warm. It was neither.
Well, this near death experience kind of freaked me out and I became pretty scared to go back across to the rope swing and Nate. But, I swallowed my paranoia and tried to cross. Each time the current would grab my leg or arm and pull me toward the edge.
Now here's where you need to pay attention because it explains the title of this post. I wedged my right foot between two slippery rocks buried deep under the cold current and brazenly took a step with my left. The current grabbed me, flipped me around and for a brief moment I thought I was a goner. In a mad scramble I reached for anything and finally caught another rock - with the big toe of my left foot. Like pulling off a band aid my toenail came off painful and quick. I howled.
Finally, Nate noticed my struggle and came to help me safely across where we each had another swing all documented on film {currently being developed}.
So, to summarize, Kipu Falls gave me one of my favorite memories in Kaua'i with Nate. And I gave Kipu Falls my toe nail.
*It's important to know that just before we went to Kipu we heard that someone had jumped off the waterfall the week before, and died. So I was extra scared of the waterfall part.

The upper falls of Kipu Falls.














The swing at Kipu Falls. Unauthentically, this photo is not us.

PAPER OR PLASTIC?

Image from papernorplastic.com

I have been struggling with this question for the last year. Do I choose plastic and contaminate the earth with one more bag that takes over 1,000 years to decompose? Or do I choose paper and kill tree after tree after tree?
I tivo'd Oprah's show last week that talked all about going green. Simran Sethi, who hosts The Green on The Sundance Channel gave me the answer I've been looking for. Not an easy answer; I'm going to have to be very intentional when I decide to go to the market. The answer...NEITHER.
Nate and I live near a new Harmon's and we love it because it feels like a specialty market like Whole Foods or Wild Oats. And they've provided totes like this {for $1 each} to replace your paper/plastic dilemma. Case closed.
But then what about your produce bags? Those are plastic and still take the overwhelming 1,000 years to become nothing. What about them? Simran suggested getting a few of these bags. When shopping for produce, toss everything into a bag like this. At the register the checker can separate and ring up your produce and then return it to your earth-conscious, hippie woven tote.
I'm ordering two. One for the trunk of Nate's car and one for the trunk of mine. This will help with my guilty conscience. I mean, I really want my kids to know what a polar bear is because they've seen one and not because they learned about them in a class called "extinct animals you missed out on because your mom wouldn't stop using paper and plastic at the grocery store".

THANKSGIVING IN TEXAS

A few weeks ago I was reading the November issue of Martha Stewart Living and told Nate I'd maybe consider moving to Texas if I could have a Thanksgiving as pretty and quaint as the one in the magazine. Little did I know what I was saying.
Last week Nate interviewed for a different position at work and is being offered the job. Good news, right? Except that in accepting the job, we'll be expected to move to Houston. I love my house and don't really want to move away from our cute neighborhood. If it's one thing I hate, it's big decisions.

HOLY SHARK!

Subtitle: Ruth, I can't stop thinking about the shark behind the scuba divers.

I've been afraid of sharks since I can remember {see here and here}. What I felt watching Jaws for the first time is unexplainable. Even with my mom noting, "it's not real blood, it's ketchup." I absolutely didn't care if it was ketchup or not, it was scary and haunting and inescapable.
So, now, I'm 36. And I'm just as scared of sharks as I was circa 1977 all curled up on the couch, feeling every bite, hearing every scream, watching all the ketchup spill into the ocean. Did it help when the family went to Disney Land and my sister Kathy almost fell in the water {and into the looming open jaws of a mechanical great white shark} during the shark ride? No. It did not. Did it help when I watched Jaws 2 and Jaws 3? Nope. What about when I saw Open Water or the years and years of shark weeks I've watched on the Discovery Channel? Uh uh.
And then came the internet and all the hoax photos that come as a result of photoshop and anonymity.
So, without further adieu, I've decided to share a few of the most horrific shark photos floating around the internet. If you are afraid of shark, this will scar you for life. I promise.

This photo is real, but the surfer "claims" it's a dolphin and not a shark.













This one is totally fake but it may prevent me from EVER putting my scuba license to good use.













This one is totally fake. Thank goodness.















While you might find yourself wishing this one was also a fake, it's not. It's a real photo from a south african magazine.













If you have any unbelievable, super scary shark photos...please share. I'd love/hate to see them.

LAST NIGHT: SCARY. LIKE HALLOWEEN SCARY

Nate missed his flight yesterday. Something about the toll roads being really busy at rush hour. Anyway, I talked to him around 7pm and he told me he had scheduled a flight home early this morning and was retiring at the airport Marriott.
I turned in around 11pm, tired and alone. I have this blanket that smells like dryer sheets and as long as I have that to snuggle with while Nate's gone, I'm okay.



















I pictured him asleep in his hotel bed, with the alarm set extra early so he wouldn't miss his flight again.











Fast forward to 2am. I'm in the middle of a dream, probably about the nightmare I've created by committing to wear flat shoes to work, when I feel someone lift the blankets and climb in bed with me.



















The first few seconds of this precise situation felt normal. I'm used to Nate being there, rolling over, making a noise. And then logic and conscious thought take over and I remember that Nate isn't home and NO ONE should be creeping into bed with me.
Expletives shot through my brain. But all I could mutter was, "wait, who, what the?" Then I heard Nate's familiar giggle and knew it was him. I realize there was a critical moment in the Houston airport where he could have called me to tell me he was coming home...but he decided against it. Instead, his plan was to get home, sneak into the room and freak me out. Plan executed!

IMAGINE MEKONG

Imagine you're in Thailand on vacation. Imagine you decide to do some fresh water fishing on the Mekong River. Everybody does it. Now, imagine pulling this whopper out of the water? Well, don't imagine it cause it would never happen. Rather then pulling, you'd be heaving and hefting for HOURS.
Nate and I fished quite a bit this summer. We caught trout, blue gill, bass, and catfish. After seeing this doozy of a fish, and because of my fear of "what lies beneath", {coupled with my unwise viewing of the movie Open Water}, I may never be able to swim in fresh water {or any other kind of water} without having a major case of anxiety.
Nate and I watched a program on the discovery channel Sunday night all about catching "the whopper" and how thrilling it can be. This remains a thrill I pray I NEVER have.