The Time is Near!

If this happens a third time, I'll know it’s a full fledged conspiracy. For the second day in a row I left my deliciously healthy lunch at home. Yes, twice.

It was the same lunch.

Carrots, purple (seedless) grapes, and a (the greatest sandwich in all the world) peanut butter and honey on whole wheat. Doesn’t that just scream, “Healthy food, right here, delicious and nutritious!”? Oh, but it does.

Too bad I left the same lunch on the same counter two days in a row. How the hell am I supposed to be eating healthy when my carefully and deliberately made lunch refuses to join me at noontime? Heck yes I’m ticked! I’m trying to get ready for swimsuit season, to run multiple 5ks, a 10k, a 10 miler, a half-marathon, and hopefully a marathon in October. I can’t do that when I don’t have a flippin’ lunch!

It’s definitely a conspiracy! How else would you explain the absence of my lunch? I believe it to be the scouting party for the FVBEPM (funded in part by the CACFACU National Alliance-Chickens against the Chick-Fil-A Cattle Union*) -Fruits and Veggies Board to Explore the Possibility of a Mutiny. When you forget your lunch too, you’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. Sure you think, it’s only a small bag of carrots and a cupful of grapes, what’s the harm in them staying at home? Well my good people, you’re hearing it right now, these small uneaten doses of healthy nutritious goodness are operating on a small scale. Next it will be at potlucks, bbq’s, and holiday get-togethers. Then they’ll try to broaden their scope, refusing to be dished out at restaurants, encouraging the digestion of sweets, delicacies, and (gasp) “junk food.” (For the record I have nothing against junk food, but it took me 6 years to regain control over Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies, Sour Cream and Onion chips, and refrigerated cookie dough. I'm not about to lose this fight.)

Again, I’m getting a sense that you all are a bit incredulous. If we die because our arteries all clog up and kill us, you can all go down knowing I was right. What better way for veggies and fruits to survive if we are all gone!? Herbivores unite! Let us stock up on our ginko biloba, ginseng, and vitamins and remember our lunches!

On a more serious note though, while I won't say I have an eating problem (truly, I love, love, love, love, love food), for all of college I did struggle with my weight. Each time I groaned about the fit of pants or the number on the scale, my mom would urge me to, "Wait until you're out of college honey, it's just the stress." And she was right. My metabolism has levelled and I'm not packing on the pounds like before. However, I'm now an avid fan of running. As I've mentioned before, I'm definitely not athletically inclined (I do dabble a wee bit in casual flings with volleyball, softball, soccer, racquetball, and..um.. Frisbee), so now that I've really stepped up the pace (chuckle) with running, I'm super excited! I'm actually running. I can actually say that running 3 miles is an easy run! For once I have something to take pride in (plus I even give the appearance that I do for the most part) and when the nurse takes my heartbeat, I can respond to it's slow and steady thumpa-thump that, "Yeah, I run." AND NOW SOME BACKSTABBING VEGGIES ARE RUINING MY LIFE!

Over dramatic? Melodramatic? Bah. A little frustrated that I want to up the ante on my physical tone and endurance and stupid little murderous plants are foiling the product of my blood, sweat, and tears (oh yes, there has been blood and tears)? You'd better believe it.

Just for that I did remember my lunch today and I packed twice as many carrots and grapes as usual. Vengeance baby.



*Yes, I believe there is a direct correlation between the CACFACU and SNAFU/FUBAR)

Jim takes on Dwight. Woot!

Must love "The Office." On a serious note though (hmm, serious and The Office... that's an interesting thought) the acting here is just really great. It's amazing to me how well Jim impersonates Dwight. Now that is getting into character.

Dum-Dums

The mailman brought me a Dum-Dum(R) today, a cherry cola Dum-Dum(R). We have a great government-postal service and client relationship. Everyday around noontime he trots on in with the mail, delivering numerous surveys and misc mail paraphernalia and most days I'm sitting here at the desk, ready to recieve "The Bundle."

Actually, he's a really jocular mailman. He seems to find something to pick on me about everyday. Typically it's something to do with my hair or my dress. Right, the mailman, picking on what I look like! Two things though:

1. My hair is of the curly/messy wave tress-type. This means that the time spent on my hair in the morning is less than the time I spend brushing my teeth. I frankly just don't care sometimes. Most times I just pop out of the shower, put some "product" (aka gel/mousse), run a comb through it and leave. Three options for "doing" my hair exist. The ponytail (low or high), the braid (French or single), or just letting it rest in whatever curly/wavy state it may be in.
2. We have a very low key office environment. When I first started here, I dressed business everyday. The problem was that no one else did. By dressing business everyday, (ok, biz casual) I created a division between myself and the others. In essence I gave off the vibe that I was "better" than them, more sophisticated, and much more serious. This lasted maybe a month. I gave in to my co-workers passive aggressive dressing tendencies and have now joined the ranks of the jeans and hoodie wearing mob. I would like to point out though that I do dress biz cas quite a bit... usually... like once a week.. or semi-monthly.

The mailman does not agree with me. Everyday it's the same thing (unless he catches me on my semi-monthly biz cas day), "Gosh, look at you, what is this?" Essentially he means I'm a mess. When I do manage to braid my hair or put it up, I get the following, "Well finally! It's about time you started looking like you're working! Now all you have to do is dress like it!"

When I manage to put on some dress pants or a button down top, I get this, "See, now you're talking, now it really looks like you're doing something... except you're goofing off on the Internet. Gosh, what do they pay you for?!" And then he has the audacity to question mail I'm sending out!

Today though, Mr. Postman brought me a Dum-Dum(R). I think it's really neat that in some precious way, he is trying to do his best to make sure I'm doing my best.

I think I'll wear my hoodie tomorrow. Rebel me.

My Road Less Taken, (the prequel)

Picture a puzzle, divided into three pieces. The jagged piece on the left is you and the middle piece is Christ who smoothes out those jagged edges to form a most spectacular picture. Those two pieces alone make out a perfect puzzle compilation. There’s the third piece though. Interestingly enough the right edge of the middle piece fits perfectly in with the left side of the third piece. Add the third piece in and the picture takes on a whole new dimension of beauty.

The Cricket Speaks.

Oh right. In case I need to prove my point about Cricket, I've compiled some anecdotes.

We're headed across town to BB's when we spot a horse and carriage at the curb on the opposite side of the street. Well, we amble (I do love a good amble or meander) on over to catch the next light. No sooner do we get to the other side when I hear Cricket gasp in fear and exclaim,"Oh dear Lord, it's a horse!" The lady-driver nearly lost it after Violet, I mean I, deadpanned, "Yeah, she doesn't get out much."

Earlier we visited the great Arch of St. Louis after a delicious lunch at Charlie Gitto's. When I say delicious, I mean mouthwatering, heavenly, out-of-this-world, and knock-you-off-your-socks delicious chocolate cake. Needless to say, I don't know how we walked out of that place, rolling would have been easier (and yes, my pants fit a bit more snug today). So we head on over to the Arch. The closer we get, the more Cricket and I begin to question whether or not now is the time to take off on this adventure.

Actually, the closer we approached to the Arch, the more my stomach began to question whether or not this was such a good idea. Waiting in line to get our tickets, I began to question whether or not I wanted to continue living. Never have I felt so sick in my life. Laying down and dying seemed so sweet. I even asked the ticket-taker if I might come back at another time (in-between breathing deeply) but she was neither in the mood for such a question nor willing to answer it. It seemed that it was now or never. I managed to methodically make my way down the stairs to the landing for the tram. Slowly I slumped to the ground and woefully leaned my head against the wall, grateful for the coolness of the marble. Finally Cricket and Brandine seemed to notice the pale, slightly perspiring, moaning being that made up the last third of their party. Having taken pity on me, Cricket forced, I mean urged, me to sit up and try her "Digestion Yoga Poses." Here I am, in the midst of 30 other tram travellers, sitting on the stairs and slowing breathing and turning. Breathe in, turn 25 degrees to the left and breathe out. Breathe in, turn 25 degrees to the left and breathe out. Back straight, feet facing forward, and continue this time to the right. I looked pathetic. The doors open to the tram to expose a most stomach-flipping sight indeed. The "tram-pod" held 5 seats and was created in the shape of an egg. Ergo, it shall now be referred to as the "egg-pod."

Cricket nearly lost her nerve with that one. No sooner do we get in then she starts hyperventilating and breathing heavily and praying to "Baby Jesus." There is nothing like watching your boss, ahem, co-worker, and other co-worker stuffed inside an egg-pod, hurtling 630 feet in the air to calm your stomach. Seriously. I nearly lost it when Cricket started crossing herself and praying "Oh sweet 6lb 5 oz Baby Jesus, please hear me."

The rest of the trip was sweet and stomach-flipping free. More to come as the events happen!

BB's Jazz and Blues Bar

Last night Cricket, Brandine (formerly known as Sunflower), and I (Violet) headed out to St. Louis's finest jazz and blues bar. By finest I mean dyed-in-the-blue, authentic, BB King probably played here (we forgot to ask), been-here-since-the-dawn-of-time, finest jazz and blues bar. No kidding. It started out in the mid-1800's as a warehouse in old "Frenchtown," then a general store, we think a dentist's office, and neither least nor last, a House of Ill-Repute. Hopefully it's last occupation is as a jazz and blues bar, for as such it is the epitome of a low-light, dusky, brick-walled, artistically vibrant, and smokey jazz and blues bar.

From 7pm until we left, a lone man played his guitar and sang the blues. "Playing" is a harsh, crude, and unfulfilling word. This man (whom we referred to as "Catfish") owned that guitar and owned his blues. The twang and "thunkety-thunk" beat that emanated from his strumming filled my soul. While his voice was no operatic wonder, his bluesy crooning (no matter that I recognized a mere two words- "cocaine" and "catfish") had me enraptured. There was an old knowledge that enveloped this man. He knew his voice, he knew his guitar, and he knew his blues forwards, backwards, up and down, inside and out, and sideways. Singing and strumming were to him as breathing in and out. The aura about him gave the impression that he played because life couldn't exist otherwise. I imagine that he must sit on his porch and speak in blues.

Not to burst that ol' Mississippi blues picturesque moment, but my tale does go on. Cricket and I decided we must have a drink with our cajun dinner. I can handle one glass of wine, Cricket can handle one glass of wine, so two glasses of white zinfandel ended up on our table. As our stomachs were full though, Violet (I) was enticed to imbibe just one more glass (so as to equal the level of intoxication of Cricket). Just for the record, Brandine did her share of encouraging as well. The result: two giggly and fiercely protective ladies on one side of the table (also pretending to have mild southern accents. For the record: Cricket sounded just like Britney Spears, while Violet on the other hand would have been mistaken for a southern belle), one sober and composed lady (Brandine) on the other.

Cricket and I had to use the ladies room and so headed downstairs to said location. The conversation heading into the room and whilst there went as follows.

Cricket: You know Violet, I am just sharp as a tack after I've had a drink."

Violet: Right. Sure you are, that's why you came up with K-Bread as a nickname?

Cricket: Oh hush, you know that's a great name. And I am so going to call him that. Anyway, like I said, I'm sharp as a tack right now. Before I've had one though, I'm dumber than a box of...

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'M DUMBER THAN A BOX OF ROCKS!

Exit older lady from stall with terrified/horrified/mildly amused expression upon her face.

We tried explaining ourselves, but considering that we were both rocking the southern accent and stumbling just a tad, I doubt anything we would have said could have changed whatever that lady was thinking. I can only imagine.

Nevertheless, we still greatly enjoyed the blues and jazz for some time after. If anyone is ever in the greater St. Louis area, please head to BB's Jazz and Blues Bar, it's right close to the St. Louis Cardinals stadium.

Oh beautiful for spacious Arch!

"Meet me in St. Louis," is a dangerous song. It starts out delicately enough, liltingly and lightly flowing out of your mouth, the chorus repeating over and over. After running through it first all the words are remembered and, if you are lucky enough to have companionship, the camaraderie of knowing the same song encourages an increase in decibel strength. It also encourages swaying. Next thing you know, it's five minutes later and the song is forever embedded within your mind. It cannot be forced out.

I managed to finagle "London Bridge," by Fergie as a precursor to "MMSL," in my mental playlist but, "How come every time you come around/My London, London bridge wanna go down like/London, London, London, wanna go down like/ London, London, London, we goin’ down like…" cannot maintain the #1 spot no matter how many times I can get Cricket to sing along with me. Heck, we even throw in the eyebrow raises, a bit of shoulder shrugging, and some hip bopping. Alas, it's all in vain, Fergie's Fergaliciousness cannot cut the ties that bind.

As a last ditch effort Cricket and I replaced every noun (and most adjectives, adverbs, and conjunctions) in "America the Beautiful," for "arch." As in we now sing it as "O' Beautiful for spacious arch, for archy archy arch. (etc)" Lest you all think this is a great idea that works well both in theory and in reality, our roomie for the week is about to murder us in our sleep. I doubt Sunflower would derive any greater pleasure than shutting the two of us up. I'm sure she's plotting as we speak. There are gargantuan pillows in our room that would serve as smothering devices, no doubt the thought has crossed her mind.

I've even tried giggling every time we sing "Hootchie-Kootchie" or "tootsie-wootsie" but it's to no avail. Cricket just keeps belting in out with nary a blush nor a skipped lyric. Silence comes with sleep, but with the morning the whistling begins subconsciously. For me, rising in the morning with the great Arch greeting me starts the wheels a'turning. It's the stream of water that flows through the watershoot down onto the wheel, filling up the pockets, and slowly setting into motion the subconscious wheels of musical life. As I brush my teeth the tunes begin to make their way through the fog of early morning mind. By the time I've buttoned the last button on my shirt, I have whistled at least 4 lines of the chorus without realizing it and Sunflower is screaming "Stop!" from the shower.

Cricket is such a bad influence.

Isaiah 41:8-20

8"But you, O Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, you descendants of Abraham my friend. 9I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, 'You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. 10So do not fear, for I am (surely) with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. 11All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced; those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish. 12Though you search for your enemies, you will not find them. Those who wage war against you will be as nothing at all. 13For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not Fear; I will help you. 14Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for I myself will help you," declares the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. 15See I will make you into a threshing sledge, new and sharp, with many teeth. You will thresh the mountains and crush them, and reduce the hills to chaff. 16 You will winnow them, the wind will pick them up, and a gale will blow them away. But you will rejoice in the LORD, and glory in the Holy One of Israel. 17The poor and the needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst. But I the LORD will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them. 18I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs. 19I will put in the desert the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. I will set pines in the wasteland, the fir and the cypress together, 20so that people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the LORD has done this, that the Holy One of Israel has created it."

I love this passage. It starts out with Him gathering His people and bringing them under His protection. Then it moves on to say that not only will He protect us, but He will not treat us as babies; He will develop us, prepare us, He will turn us into something to be reckoned with! We will be made into a bold people, a people that God himself would want (yes, he wants us as we are, broken, weary, and sinful, but this is a fallen world, He will soon make us into all that we were supposed to be). Then we are placed into an oasis. Out of nothing, absolute awful puniness (word?) and desolation, He creates strength, beauty, and life.

What's more is this: He desires Israel as she is before the transformation. He doesn't ask that she be desirable beforehand, He doesn't ask that she be able to care for herself and manage her life properly, He wants her stripped bare, naked, of everything that she is not. He doesn't tell her, "Hey, once you figure out what your gifts and talents are, once you can play an instrument with grace, sing a song like a lark, excel athletically, and get a sweet toned body, then I want you and I will give you life abundant." He doesn't stipulate, "Well, once you quit being so prideful and assuming, once you're attractive and get those blemishes under control, and get your spiritual life in gear, then I will transform you." This is what He tells us, "I took you from the ends of the earth... I have chosen you (and not rejected you!), I will strengthen you and help you! I will help you MYSELF, I will make you into a force to be reckoned with (the threshing sledge), then I will transform the desert into a vast oasis, filled with rivers, flora and fauna, and place you smack dab in the middle of it. Did I mention I will help you? I want to help you! Let me help you!"

Now I like the sound of that.