New Blog!!

Hey, ol' followers! I know it's been a long time, but guess what? I've started a new blog. This will chronicle my life in a brand new city and state: Houston, Texas.

Follow me!

http://adventuresinthelonestarstate-alk.blogspot.com/

How far have we come?

Let's talk about the elephant in the room, people.

Racism.

Yep, that's what this post will be about. I'm pretty sure some won't read this because they're "sick of it" or because it's a subject that's been "run into the ground" or maybe it's because it's one of those subjects that's avoided like abortion, same sex marriage, and Obama. It's much more fun to read about the new fall trends or which new celebrity decided to interrupt some other celebrity's glory moment. I'm with you. Because you know what? I happen to know the new fall trends (animal prints, showy shoulders, and knee high boots), and I am completely up-to-date on the Kanye/Taylor drama (good. Lord.)..

But some incidents have happened recently that have made me so frustrated that YES, I am blogging about it.

I'm from a small southern town (SST) that tends to ward off anyone/anything different from them like vampires. And not the glittery kind. The believable, scary kind. (Yes. That was a potshot at Twilight. Calm yourself.)

Anyway, since I've been living in the land of beautiful diversity for awhile now, it's sometimes easy for me to forget what it was like living in SST.. It has its charms, but there are some things that I don't miss.

I recently had a conversation with someone, who we will name Tard for the time being, about his new college experience that went a little something like this:

Me: So how're you liking college?

Tard: Good..

Me: Do you have a roommate?

Tard: He never showed up.

Me: Oh, cool. You live alone. That could be good..or bad..if the M.I.A. roommate would have turned out to be your best friend.

Tard: Yeah, that wouldn't have happened. He was black..

Me: (momentary pause) He wouldn't have been your friend because he was black?

Tard: (chuckling) Yeah, I know I'm a little racist, but..

..then joking with those around us began, which involved making up what they considered "black names" etc..

Me: You know, one day you're going to learn..

Tard: Learn what?

Learn that we were all created with the same amount of love and purpose.

Learn that your entitled attitude and limited beliefs show your ignorance.

Learn that one day you're going to mouth off in the wrong place at the wrong time and your ass is going to get beat for saying crap like that.

At that point, I walked away to go sit at another table. I had the strongest urge to shake him and scream how completely wrong he was, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears.

One day, he will learn, but I know he wouldn't accept that lesson from me.

THEN a few weeks later, I am back in SST at a wedding rehearsal. There happens to be one lone black man who is a groomsman. I can't tell you how many times I heard, "Who's the black guy?" or "He seems nice." (Like that would be a real SHOCKER, if someone who isn't white is actually a good person..)

I have to tell you, racism is a constant frustration for me. I would love to live in a world that wouldn't disrespect the President of the United States because of the color of his skin. Or if I would like to set up a friend with someone of a different race, they write him or her off because of something else besides the color of their skin.

I'll leave with a few of my favorite quotes that can sum up my point better than I ever could:

"At the heart of racism is the religious assertion that God made a creative mistake when He brought some people into being."
-Friedrich Otto Hertz

"Lukewarm acceptance is more bewildering that outright rejection."
-Martin Luther King, Jr.

Back in the Action

So sorry it's been so long, my dears. School completely wiped me out, and then my summer was complete crap. Ohhh well.. excuses, schmexcuses, huh?

I have not been nearly as diligent as my friend Beans: http://frankieavenger.blogspot.com/

Or Marmee: http://cynthias57.blogspot.com/

But, alas, I am back, and I will try to write a blog every week.

The aforementioned crappy summer started off very promising.

My birthday was spent at Six Flags because, as you know from my Sea World experience, I LOVE roller coasters. Three of my favorite people went with me: Beans, Twigs, and Forrest (a.k.a. my husband). It was full of screams, maniacal laughing, laughs, food, and FUN! Let me tell ya, you could NOT imagine how different the 4 of us are..it's an interesting mix. Conservative, liberal, in between, undecided, sassy, sarcastic, goofy, and hiiiilarious. Dear. LORD.

Anyway, after that fabulous weekend of turning 24, (Yes, I take the entire weekend..and actually, pretty much the whole week. Birthdays are like national holidays to me.), I got to experience something on the opposite end of the spectrum.

A car accident.

Don't worry. I'm okay. Nothing that a chiropractor couldn't fix over a span of several weeks, but it was a little jarring. One minute I'm stopped at a stop sign, and then a few seconds later I'm being rear-ended by a lady going at least 35 mph. And then SHE gets out of the car and starts screaming at ME. Her car was completely totaled.. I was a bit luckier on the car end of the spectrum because mine was driveable..buuut it still had some bumps and bruises. (Fun fact: it was my husband's nice car that I had borrowed for the day..) (Disturbing fact: crazy lady had a baby in the car...that was unharmed, thank God..)

So, at this time, Evan's car is completely repaired (at the expense of her insurance), and I am pretty much recovered (at the expense of her insurance). Although, I am still jumpy when in the car and prone to shrieking, which can really cause some tension when other people are driving.

We went to Eureka Springs to celebrate our one year. Very unique town. Claustrophobia and heights cannot be an issue for visitors here. For one, the streets are pretty darn narrow... sometimes you feel like you're in some messed up Alice in Wonderland with Victorian houses on either side of you threatening to squish you to death. Then at other times, you feel relatively charmed by the set up. At one point, Evan was walking behind me, pushing me up a hill to our dinner destination. Heights cannot be an issue because the town is pretty high up, trees and sharp drops everywhere. It's quite beautiful, but I always feel more at home in the mountains. As soon as possible, I will be moving somewhere with mountains.

Then, my friends, it all went to hell. (Other than a weekend jaunt to the lake with Forrest, Beans, Twigs, seester, and Nicolette--as well as a weekend in Galveston with the in-laws..) Money ran out, my death trap car died, and I was thrown back to the humbling summer job as a babysitter. Exhausting days with iiiiiitty bitty paydays. The reason I took the babysitter job was to have more time to polish off my novel, but alas, that didn't happen. Watching for one family didn't pay the bills so it turned into 2 families..then 3..then went all the way up to 5 different families. Fun.

BUT now the summer is over. We have moved out of the house and into an apartment. I'm loving the change.. I have a new (slightly used) car that is wonderful. And the semester has started which means: I get to see my people more. I get paid more. And I get to write more. Thank. GOD.

Stay tuned for more stories... Maybe the next tale will be about the week I had to eat meat (I've been a veggie for 3.5 years) because we were so broke. Ahhhh, Summer 2009, you can go straight to Hell.

I've missed you, blogging world. It's good to be back.

**Picture is of me and my pretty car.

Out of Wack

Just letting you know that I am still alive..I have just gone mostly inncomunicado to finish my novel manuscript by the Wednesday deadline. To put it mildly and not-so-eloquently, I am FREAKING out.

Looking forward to the day when I can remember I have friends and family, start blogging again, and reading for pleasure.

Until then, back to the grind..

*Thought you might enjoy this Easter picture...I think I was trying to appear as though I were laying eggs. But who knows..

Plasma plumping pockets...

Phew. I am feeling better.  The Z-Pack is completed, and the Kleenexes are less needed.  (Behold, I rhymed.)  Yesterday, I had the pleasure of a little hammering creature trying to escape my head for several hours, along with eye twitches.  That was rather interesting.  Moving on..

So today I had to have some blood drawn for health biz-nass going on with me.  (I'm really not as sickly as it seems..I just always let things build up and build up until they all have to be dealt with at once. Thank God for free insurance.)   Anyway, I'm sitting down in the giant black blood-drawing chair and expect to feel some sort of panic about a needle. I don't really. The lady seems so monotone/mellow that I have no doubt that she will stick it in the correct throbbing vein. And I'm right.  A finger prick hurts worse than that.  I watch the tube filling of ounce after ounce of blood, and I expect to feel faint.  But no. It just feels kind of cool that I'm watching blood that used to be rushing around in my body being trapped in a tube.  

Then I remembered my giving plasma for moolah days... and a few of the incidents that happened there.  

Nothing prompts a desperate trip to the infamous plasma-taker place than a $500 phone bill.  Yes, that's right.  Little Miss Stuuuupid Aubrey liked to act like she had unlimited text messages/minutes  when she first started dating Evan.  (He lived a kajillion miles away, so...the phone was our relationship for awhile.) So, I quickly picked up 11 shifts at the restaurant where I worked at the time.  I knew that would be interesting, since I was a full-time student and I just picked up 11 out of 14 possible shifts for one week.  Then I drove to where I had heard that you can prostitute your plasma for fast cash.  

I went through the whole rigmarole where a few different people figured out 101 different ways of asking if I do or do not have an STD.  I passed with flying colors.  I gave my plasma while watching Van Helsing on their monitors (Ironic, I know..), got $40, and walked out.   If you are not familiar with the process, you can go twice a week (with at least 2 days in between) and the money you are given depends on how much plasma you are able to give.  I would get $20 the first time in the week, and $30 the second time.  The first week you go, however, you get 80 bucks.  The first week went fine.  I got my $80 and promptly paid a little on my phone bill.  

The second week was a different story.  You see, you're supposed to drink plenty of water before you go and eat a good meal.  Well, I was in a hurry and completely forgot to drink any water.  I figured I would be juuuust fine.  So I'm reclining in the chair reading a book, arm out and hand squeezing, with my jacket strewn across my legs.  

I hear the machine beeping, but pay no attention.  An attendant that was not in charge of me came over, looked at the machine, and then started to fiddle with the needle.  It's a long needle.  She started pulling up on it where it was stretching my skin.  I immediately started to feel light-headed.  That would probably be an understatement, actually, because I kept blacking out.  She kept yanking it around.  I tried to scream at her, but I was so dizzy I couldn't even think.  I tried to form the f*bomb and several other expletives, but they just kept being screamed in my head.  Presumably noticing the look of pure hatred coming from my direction (when my eyes weren't rolling in the back of my head), the death attendant finally walked away.  A few minutes later, my attendant walked to me--noticing my pale face and the beeping of the machine.  She wasn't too happy about the death attendant messing with her patient.  I wasn't either.  She explained to me that my blood was clotting, while she moved around the needle herself.  It wasn't as bad, but my head was still swirling.  She informed me that I can either switch arms or leave.  If I were to leave, however, I would not get my money.  Hellls no, I thought.  I did NOT just go through that for nothing.  So she took out the needle, put a cotton ball and tape on the area, and walked around to my other arm.  

Well, then my blood decided not to clot any more.  After she put the needle in my other arm, she looked over at the old plasma-drawing arm with wide eyes.  I slowly looked other with dread, and see blood splattering EVERYWHERE.  All over my jacket, all over the floor.  I couldn't move because I was hooked to the machine.  When she walked over to the other side, the blood splattered all over her lab coat.  I start to feel light-headed again (Surprised? I think not..), she stopped the bleeding, changed lab coats, and I finished my plasma giving.  She also gave me a parting gift: a bag of some kind of liquid that got the blood out of my coat.  I walked out of there, grabbed my money, and tried to convince myself that I'd be back again.  But I didn't go back...for a year.

The reason I decided to go back (dragging my fiance with me) is because we were engaged with wedding and honeymoon expenses looming over us.  I had constantly reassured Evan that he would be fine.  I can't even tell you how long it took me to convince him to come.  Bubbles in your vein are very rare, I told him.  Blood splatter and blood clots are avoidable, I told him.  My experience was mostly my own fault, I told him.  We drank plenty of water and ate.. I kept assuring him that he's bigger than me so he would get more money, and we'd make a lot of easy money in the next several months before the big shebang. We both went through the rigmarole again with the 101 different questions that want the same answer: No, neither of us have an STD. Still. 

Once we made it to the donor floor, I kicked back, relaxed, and began reading from the many bridal magazines I had stocked up on.  My blood was flowing smoothly, and no attendants tried to kill me.  Evan, looking rather green, was across the room from me.  I watched the attendant (he was mine too) stick him, and noticed Evan glaring at me and shaking his head.  He wasn't too happy.  I also noticed the attendant walking away, getting someone else, and then coming back to Evan.  They finally went away, and I carried on with my reading.  I finished before Evan, so I got my money and waited for him in the lobby.  When he finally got out, he was pale and still glaring at me.  I looked at his arm and it was bruised pretty badly.  Apparently, Evans veins were harder to find than mine.  The attendant stuck him like a freaking voodoo doll until he got someone else to do his job.  Apparently, before the other attendant came for help, Evan was able to experience the rare vein bubble.  His arm was bruised for weeks, and any time I suggested we try to go again, I was shut down quite resolutely.  He still gets mad at me when I mention it.  :)   We haven't been back in almost 2 years.  

But...I think I might give it another try....It'd be nice to have some easy cushion in my wallet...

(The picture has no meaning with this blog whatsoever, but it's me zip lining in Puerto Vallarta last summer.)

Ailments and Injuries

Here I am. I have been in a circle of Kleenexes, groin strains, mucus, and deadlines for about a week now, so I have been a little absent from the blogging world. It took everything in me to turn in all of my deadlines on time, and everyone else is left with the somewhat dilapidated Aubrey.

I know that reads rather pitiful, but I have to tell you—I’m pretty sure I look and sound pitiful too. I am constantly getting sympathetic looks with the question of, “Feeling better?”
I’m not bitter about the looks or the questions. At all. In fact, it’s all I can do to not whimper and crawl into the said sympathetic person’s lap, asking for a brief cuddle. I don’t live off of sympathy or anything, but when I’m sick, I don’t mind sympathy one bit. What I do mind when I am sick are all of the cons that go with it.

Take stopped-up noses, for instance. My poor husband is only getting pecks on the lips because when we try for a real “we’re in love and let’s be passionate” kiss, I start snorting for air. I almost suffocate to death from kissing him. It's infuriating. I hate stopped-up noses.

I hate not being able to taste. It is absolutely earth-shattering. I tried to eat some Easy Mac last night because it’s soft and warm and gooey and comforting for my throat, but I couldn’t taste it. I bought some Ghirardelli chocolates for my occasional treat, but I cannot eat them because what’s the point of eating those delicious calories if you can’t taste them?! [Quick side-story: A few weeks ago, my mother-in-law sent me some Dove chocolates in Evan’s birthday package because…well, she’s always supplying me with Dove because they’re some of my favorites. I let them last for quite a while..just getting one or two a day…okay, sometimes five…Well, then a few days ago, I went to get one and there weren’t any left. I quickly shot a look at Evan who had just eaten several. “You ate all of them?!” He shrugged and told me he gave me the last one. I then proceeded to look around our house for any form of chocolate. I returned to the living room, somewhat dazed. “We don’t have any chocolate,” I said, panic thick in my voice. “We don’t…there’s none left. It’s all gone. I need chocolate.” Evan’s eyebrows quickly reached to the ceiling. I wanted to laugh because I could see him trying to figure out a way to comfort his irrational wife who was having a panic attack about not having chocolate in the house, but I couldn’t laugh because I could not fathom not having any chocolate in the house at that moment. “It’s okay,” he said slowly in a not-too patronizing tone. “We need to go to the store anyway. We’ll get you some later.” I resisted the urge to stomp my foot and whine, “But I want it nowwww.” Instead, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of semi-sweet Ghirardelli chocolate chips that I had for baking purposes, and popped some in my mouth. Grrrrross. Not as good as when they are in cookies. My craving for chocolate soon left, and my sanity returned. BUT the real Ghirardelli chocolates that were mentioned in the beginning paragraph were the calming purchase I made later in the day…So, you can imagine how I felt when I realized I wouldn’t even be able to taste them..]

Now to catch you up with my other ailments. I pulled my groin. And as much as I would love to tell you I pulled it in a very exciting way, I didn’t. I pulled it at the gym, and I don’t even know when. I just know that on Friday, as we were walking to the car, I had some real pain at the top of my left leg..in the groin region. God, I hate that word. I never realized it until this week when I’ve said it about 20 million times. We went to the public library, and I was still limping—even crying out in pain when I had to get up from sitting. We went to rent some movies, and it still hurt. We went home, and it still hurt. I thought it would go away in a few hours, but on Saturday it still hurt. I was still walking like Quasi-freakin-moto. Add to that my throat was beginning to get really sore, I was not a very happy camper. But I was DETERMINED to go to the Medieval Fair. It is one of my favorite things that happens here. I love to watch all of the weird people, and all of the dogs, and all of the weird people, and I love the lemonade….and watching all of the weird people. Well, we go. And we bring along my fellow Hot Librarian. And we meet up with our other friends and their dog who I love dearly. And then it comes to my realization that I probably should have taken Claritin. Why? Because the wind is INSANE in this state right now. And at the Medieval Fair, there are all sorts of things being swirled around my nose and eyes. And then I start to feel it. “It” being the allergy attacks I experience at random points in my life. My eyes start to pour (thank God I had sunglasses), my throat begins to close in more, and I start to sneeze. I sneeze every. five. seconds. No lie. I was miserable. I wandered around, looking at the booths, trying to see all of the weird people. But I couldn’t. Because Mother Nature decided to blind me with allergy tears. I had to ask the Greyhound Rescue people if I could have a few Kleenexes. I ran out quickly, and had to ask the food people for several paper towels. That was nice--walking around with paper towels sticking out of my skirt pockets. I even bought a lemonade, but I couldn't taste it. I wanted to shake my fists in the air, but instead I wandered around dazedly trying to make sense in conversation.. I don't think I succeeded. Whether or not I meant to or not, I would usually say something completely ridiculous that would result in all 3 of us laughing hysterically. And then I would sneeze. And blow my nose. And sneeze again. At least I wasn't alone. Well, I was alone in the sneezing..but not alone in speaking incoherently Archimedes/Hot Librarian was having a little trouble making sense of things too (but for different reasons).. Finally she convinced me that she would understand if I wanted to leave. So we did, and I stocked up on allergy stuff. We returned our kidnapped friend to her home, and I ended up covering the bed with Kleenexes that night.

I went to the doctor yesterday and was able to get medicine...but I still feel like crap. Still look pitiful, sound pitiful, etc. And my ability to taste goes in and out.

Oh. Groin update: Better on Sunday, worse on Monday, better today.... and I'm still not allowed to go to the gym. Hopefully my lack of appetite will counteract the no-gym timey.

Another random story: I was finally hanging up my clothes that have been in a huge pile on the bedroom floor for at least a month now, and I was somewhat appalled. I have an insane amount of adorable clothes. The appalling part, a lot of them (mostly the things from last summer) do not fit at the moment. Or, if they do, there is a danger of popping buttons and obscene exposure. Another appalling fact? I stopped counting at 24 pairs of jeans. 24. pairs. of jeans. What makes this even more appalling is that I don't even wear jeans. I wear 1 pair of the 24. To give myself some credit, I have probably 6 pairs of jeans in about 4 different sizes. Ugh. That just makes me feel worse. That's what makes me want to go to the gym, but I can't because I'm a 23-year-old with a strained groin!!! Don't worry. I will be getting rid of many of them, but not until I'm down to the size I want.

I'm off now.

Hope you all are in good health, and let's hope I will be the next time I post! :)

roller coaster

It's been awhile since I've posted.  A few weeks ago was pure insanity with all the deadlines before spring break; the first 100 pages of my novel, three books I had to read with accompanying papers, etc etc.  Then I went to San Antonio with my husband and a few friends.  It was a BLAST.  But now I'm back and dealing with reality.  I'm not really a big fan of it this week.  (As you can see by the pictures..  I elaborate below.)

Anyway, don't worry.  As easy as it would be to write about the metaphors of roller coasters and life, I shall refrain.  I'm not going to be a Debbie Downer today.  

I will, however, let you know that I rode a few roller coasters on my spring break. Literally. I'm not being deep. 

I LOVE roller coasters...and I love riding in the very front (even if it's the longest line) and I absolutely love the ones where you flip upside down. I love how I feel when I'm on one--it's a combination of elation and....well, terror?  No, not terror because I hate being afraid.  It's that adrenaline rush that's priceless.  As my husband and friends found out, I sound somewhat like a crazy person. On the slow ride up to the top, I have that anxious jittery joy...then at that plunge to the bottom, I scream...and laugh.  I laugh maniacally.  I laugh until tears are streaming down my face.  I laugh so maniacally that it makes it impossible for my fellow riders to not laugh at/with me.  It was a shame that Sea World only has two roller coasters, but I highly recommend The Steel Eel and The Great White.  

During our San Antonio stay, we also went to Ripley's Believe it or Not.  There we saw a bunch of random stuff from a John Wayne portrait made out of cow dung, a headless chicken that stayed alive for awhile, Titanic artifacts, one of Houdini's keys, and Lee Harvey Oswald's toe tag.  At the Guinness World Records Museum, my husband and my friend's husband easily beat the drum beats per minute record, I learned that there is a flower that smells like rotten flesh (and can be smelled from 1/2 a mile away), and I was horrified that the world's largest family reunion had 2,369 members (I mean, really..HOLY HELL).  At Louis Tussaud's Wax Museum, I got to hang out with Oprah, Shirley Temple, and many other famous people.  

At the Alamo, I became a tad claustrophobic and had to get the heck out of there...but I really liked the big tree in the garden area.  

At Sea World, Evan and I swam with Beluga whales, went to every animal show they had (my favorite was the Believe show with Shamu and his killer whale friends), and had the absolute time of my life.  

The River Walk was beautiful but slightly boring..until we branched off and found a little art district tucked away from it all.  

We went on the Tomb Rider 3-D Adventure Ride and killed some zombies...I felt like Lara Croft.  And I ate ice cream while the rest of the posse went to a haunted house.  

Oh..and we had a Star Wars Episode 4, 5, and 6 marathon.  Woohoo!

Yesterday was Evan's birthday, and I ended up beating him with one of his birthday presents.  (Don't worry..It was to protect him.)  We were riding back from the post office and opening the birthday package from his family...  I look over at him (he was driving) and all of a sudden, a ginormous brown spider ran across his arm.  I hate spiders.  So, of course, I FLIPPED out.  I let out a huge scream that he says was worse than any scream queen in a horror movie.  On one of his "you almost killed me" rants, he said, "People have been murdered without making that much noise.."  While screaming, I took what I currently had in my hand (which happened to be the box holding his Wii tennis paddles) and tried to kill it.  It didn't work.  I only accomplished in nearly giving Evan heart failure.  It took him awhile to recover.  And when the nasty demon reappeared (the spider, not Evan) and I managed to kill it very calmly with the car's instruction manual, Evan was inside getting food.  So no one witnessed the no-shrieking spider-killing Aubrey.  Oh, well.  Maybe next time.  I mean, NOT next time.  Please, oh Please, God. Don't let that happen again.  

So there's an update.  Hope you enjoy all the pictures...