I had to get some blood taken last week. This involved an early morning drive across town and two attempts to find a vein that worked. It left me with a tiny red mark on each arm. However, the clinic did not give my blood to the FedEx guy who came by later that morning, which meant another early morning drive across town. This time the nurse found a vein on the first try. And as a bonus, I do not have a tiny red mark on my arm. Nope. Not this time.
I look like a junkie. My arm is beat to hell for two vials of blood. What happened? I feel like my father is just going to laugh at this post, because his entire body pretty much looked like this after last summer. But I have a performance Friday night. I'm going to have to put makeup on my freaking arm. Lovely. I'm going to a party this weekend, where every eligible man I meet will assume I enjoy red wine, long walks on the beach and heroin. Brilliant.
So now you can imbed YouTube videos directly into Gmail chat? Cool new feature that I've heard nothing about.
Despite the fact that he works in an open office, I like sending my friend videos and links that he must visit. It makes him a bad employee but makes me a very good friend.
I asked Tom if anyone was going to sing the song from the Star Wars Holiday Special at Bea Arthur's funeral. He said it was thematically appropriate, but probably not. So instead I'll post the clip here for your enjoyment.
And no, the quality really doesn't get much better than this. Ah, Star Wars Holiday Special, how you haunt me!
I was not feeling the swimming mojo this morning, which is unfortunate for a few reasons.
- I am getting some henna done today for a performance this weekend. Chlorine kills the henna pretty quickly, so that makes today my last swim of the week.
- No one had said anything yet, but the pool is closing next week. I really wish UAF would give us notice about these things. I'm sure by Thursday someone will have scrawled a note and stuck it on the locker room doors, but that's about all the warning we ever get that our pool is going out of commission.
May is cursed. And it's snowing in April.
When I signed up for the triathlon, I stayed up until midnight so that I could get in. I got myself a volunteer spot in the pool, which means I can run early. The volunteer coordinator has told me that too many people signed up for the pool and I can get moved to parking. I understand too many people signed up. I saw that it went to -18 before they closed. But there were still pool spots available after my registration was completed, so why am I getting bumped?
Also, the tattoo plans are not coming along so well. I couldn't convince the artist to come in on her day off, so instead I decided to stay a few extra days in Anchorage. I asked her if she had any spots that day, and she said she was open. I replied precisely 6 minutes later to tell her that I wanted the spot and asking if she needed a deposit. Two days later she replied to tell me it had been booked and I really needed to come in to put down a deposit. Sorry, but I'm not going to spend 12 hours on the road to give you a deposit. I've asked about the first weekend in July, when I've got a four-day weekend. If she can't do it then, I'm not going with her. Yes, her work is beautiful, but I don't need to deal with any more flaky artists. I've got a backup plan that's actually located in Fairbanks.
My friend told me she found the perfect man for me. Except he lives in another country. How is that perfect, exactly??
I brought my new running shoes to work today. But I'd forgotten that I washed my running clothes at home before I went to Anchorage. I had my swimsuit, but didn't have my shower stuff.
As a result, I tried to do a brick after work. A mini brick. Very mini. About 5 miles of biking and a mile of running. And it kicked my ass. You just can't train for that in a gym. A stationary bike or treadmill or track are not the same. I've got less than a month to get ready for the triathlon. I'll do it, but right now it worries me.
I'm back from an extended trip south. The drive down Thursday was mostly uneventful except for a double trailer truck suddenly deciding to pass when I was already halfway up his side. I met up with Adam for Himalayan food. He's very familiar and comfortable, but I'm pretty certain we never actually hung out in Mystic together. John and Joanna were delighted to see me, even more so when I brought in a container of brownies.
The Adobe workshops were somewhat helpful. They didn't expand my knowledge for InDesign or Photoshop, but helped a bit with Illustrator and a lot with Fireworks and Flash. I bought new running shoes while in town, since my last pair date from 2006. I also forced Joanna to leave the baby, get dressed up and go have sushi with me. When packing the next morning, I liberated the most delightful polka dot dress from the confines of her closet.
The Palmer workshop was fun. Most of the people seemed pretty new to ATS dance, and we were called upon to demonstrate changing the lead at one point. The evening performance was a casual hafla at a restaurant. Anyone could hop up and dance, which led Liz and I to spontaneously revisit our bhangra. Joanna and Melissa showed up and joined us in a 5-person ATS formation. This proved the point that ATS dancers can share the same stage without practice, as we all managed to follow each other's lead.
My return trip home was boring. I hadn't tightened my gas cap properly, so my cruise control wasn't working, which annoyed me mildly. When I got to Hindi class, I found that Joyce and Liz had broken down outside of Nenana. They were in the process of being rescued by Michael and thus did not make class.
While I was in Anchorage, Joanna took me tattoo shopping, and I think I've found the artist for my next piece. The only sticking point here is that she is 350 miles away and doesn't work on any of the days that I'm going to be there. I plan to break her will and make her come in on her day off to tattoo me. My friends are confident that I will win this battle.
I'm off to Anchorage today. Because I'm a genius, I'm combining both a work trip (Adobe conference) and a pleasure trip (visiting with Jo, eating Indian food, a dance workshop).
I think I am starting to understand the Alaskan psyche. If you grew up in Fairbanks, you are from a small town masquerading as a city. It's 350 miles of emptiness to get to the next largest place. Anchorage isn't bad, but neither is it good. Somehow all Fairbanksans end up making a trip to Mecca (aka Portland) in their 20s and decide that it is the finest city to ever grace this earth and no other city shall do. I've got the opposite view. I grew up on the East Coast halfway between New York and Boston. I know of cities and civilization. Without being hampered by the perspective of an isolated childhood, I have chosen Fairbanks.
With that being said, I do still enjoy my occasional trips to Anchorage. And I'm really looking forward to Joyce's reaction, as it will be her first trip there. Specifically, I want to see how she handles the empty road. Imagine driving from Washington D.C. to New York. Only there is nothing on the road between the two. No towns. No rest areas. Not really any houses. I plan to crank up the iPod and try to avoid any bathroom breaks.
I do have a few errands to accomplish in Anchorage.
- Get new running shoes. I just discovered that mine are about 3 years old. Time to hit up Skinny Raven for a new pair.
- Check out the portfolios at Anchorage Tattoo. I need someone who can do good line work.
- Eat at Yak and Yeti, the new Himalayan restaurant. I'm going to meet a man there who I haven't seen in about 14 years, if that. We ran in the same crowd when I was a teenager in Mystic, and he apparently has been living in Anchorage for many years now.
- General shopping and/or eating that I can't get in Fairbanks.
I'm surprised that no one bitched me out over the use of kevadväsimus in a previous post. I know you all had to look it up. I only became familiar with the word because I follow an Estonian blogger.
Friday night was kick ass, to say the least. The Marlin was full of strangers (very rare) and rumor has it that we raised more than half of the money we need to put on Clucking Blossom. Saturday began strangely. I decided to make cookies and got frightened by the fact that it really only takes about 10 minutes to put together cookie batter. The recipe will need to withstand further experimentation, but it was still a quick batch. I later realized that there was a method to my madness when a good friend called with some good news. I can't share their news yet, but we met for dinner and I handed over a dozen blueberry chocolate chip cookies. Dinner (Thai, of course) was followed by drinks at a bar swanky enough to support both the desire for martinis and the desire for scotch.
Saturday night was spent in the most shameful manner possible. I am now a pseudo-master of the following: two-step, cha cha, waltz, polka and swing. And you can cross "doing the two-step to a country cover of Bon Jovi" off my life list. Deep, deep shame! But I love the dancing! My friends and dance partners call me a dancing savant.
As the possibility of building a house grows stronger and stronger, I'm moving into the dreaming stage. You know, the part where you plan a million different iterations of the same thing. I imagine it's what some girls do with their weddings. But since I don't know if I'll ever get married, I've funneled all my what-color-should-my-bridesmaids-wear, what-should-our-first-dance-be energies into creating the most perfect house for me possible.
Here's what I do know: It's going to be small and energy efficient. The entire reason behind building instead of buying is that I want it to be just right for me. I want one bedroom. One glorious bedroom with clothing and shoe storage beyond Imelda Marcos' wildest dreams. Why do I need two bedrooms? People tell me I need a guest bedroom. I've had guests approximately 3 times since I moved to Alaska. And almost always in the summer. I'll just build a guest yurt. People have also cited resale value. I'm not building a house with the plan to sell it in a few years. Or possibly ever. If I just wanted to own something with the intention of eventually leaving it, I would buy some hideous little 3-bedroom, 1.5-bathroom ranch house.
My priorities for house extras seem to go in the following order:
- sauna
- hot tub
- garage
So with a basic design in mind, I've started wondering recently about my kitchen needs. This is very important to me. I lovelovelove to cook. I need to have enough space and storage in my kitchen without going overboard. And lately I've been pondering the double oven. Out of everyone I know, I'm the most likely to ever actually make use of a double oven. But what is really the point? Sure, I can cut my baking time in half with two ovens, but isn't there sort of a zen to baking? My parents have double ovens and I can think of only a few occasions throughout the year when both are in use. Those are usually the big holiday family dinners. I'm single and will live alone. I will not be having those dinners. Perhaps it's better to forego spending the money for a double oven and instead get one really kick-ass stove/oven. I don't mean a professional-quality one with 27 burners. Again, how often is that necessary? I just mean brand new, fully functional. Maybe even with an oven that maintains a proper temperature without my constant monitoring. Oh, and I think I'm finally going to go to gas. I've never had a gas stove. They kind of scare me. It's my shameful cooking secret.
No one told me The Reader had that much sex. I knew that there was sex in it, but not quite so graphic. And yet there I was. Sitting in the dark. Next to my ex-boyfriend. Oy vey.
Lost is getting absurd. I couldn't even begin to sum it up with one of my breathless monologues. And yet it's still some of the best television out there today. What other show can make me scream "No!!!" and Yes!!!" within 20 seconds???
I am officially signed up for the Gold Nugget Triathlon. I got back in the pool mere hours after signing up. It turns out I'm still kind of good at swimming. Shit, I did not use "and yet" in this paragraph.
Maja brought some sort of raspberry, cream cheese, cake concoction to the Clucking Blossom meeting today. It was delicious and put me in a mind to experiment. How do you think chocolate whoopie pies with lemon and raspberry filling would taste?
Up late. The registration opened for the Gold Nugget Triathlon at 12:01 a.m. I stayed up to register both myself and my coworker Oralee. Across town, Hailey should be registering herself and Liz. The race is on. And I'm going to dig out my swimsuit and go to sleep. It's time to start training.
I think the end times are near. Examples:
- a volcano keeps erupting in the south, which seems to be affecting my lifestyle 350 miles away
- my sister got a cell phone
This weekend was .... interesting. Friday night was a slapfest. I could explain more but won't. Saturday was the final meeting of the Battlestar Galactica group. The finale had a bit of the Return of the King effect. I liked the ending, all 27 of them. At some point, you've just got to stop filming.
Have I ever mentioned that I am a strange draw for people in Tennessee? I don't know how, but they keep finding me. I'm starting to wonder if they have my picture up on billboards or something.
And finally: It is almost spring (no, really!) which means it's time to kick it into gear for Clucking Blossom. May 30 at Birch Hill. But more importantly, the fundraisers are starting up. First up: This Friday at the Marlin. Open mic hosted by Carrot Puddin', featuring Worst Band in Fairbanks.
Spring is on its way. I know it is. The sky is staying lit until past 9:30 at night. I hear more birds. It even got above freezing a few days ago. I have a stockpile of new, impractical shoes that I can't wait to wear on non-icy ground. So why is it that I still feel a touch of kevadväsimus?
This morning I looked out the window and thought that the sky looked like a gray, dreary, snowy sort of sky. But at least it wasn't snowing. When I got out of the shower, I noticed my car was white instead of blue. And now there is a downpour of white fluffy flakes.
I'm starting to understand why so many people commit suicide in the spring. They just get tired of hoping that winter is over. Me? I just want to wear a dress without my winter coat.
Where to begin? On Thursday I was notified of a superheroes and villains costume party, which coincided with Dara’s birthday. Last minute, but that’s just more of a challenge for me. I skipped yoga Friday night in favor of shopping for supplies. On Saturday I baked 2 dozen Irish Car Bomb cupcakes and made a costume. I was just pining up the hem when Dara called to report that our plans had fallen through for the evening, as the only person we would know at the party wasn’t feeling well and would be skipping.
I’ve got the cojones to show up in costume anyway, but it was her birthday, and she wasn’t feeling it. So I put on normal clothes instead and went to Dara’s house. We started at the Marlin, where we found few people and no band. I texted a guy I met on Wednesday, but he said he couldn’t make it that night. The decision was made that we should do things as out-of-the-ordinary as possible, so our next stop was Kodiak Jack’s. After convincing a guy there to buy us drinks, we had almost decided to go all the way to North Pole to go to the Refinery when we instead hit upon the idea of the Silver Spur. Yes, that’s two country bars in one night.
Our arrival at the Spur prompted the immediate departure of one of Dara’s exes and his new wife. Score one for the birthday girl. Now I’ll be damned if I know how to line dance, nor do I really want to try unless I’m going for the kitsch factor, but I met a man named Jeff. Jeff is not datable, but he is danceable. He taught me the two-step, cha cha cha and some basic swing. I am going to go back to that bar in the near future to see if I can find Jeff for some dancing again. Did I ever mention that I love to dance?
When the novelty of being in a country bar wore off, we headed out again. We were on our way to the Loon when we realized we’d have to pay a cover charge, so we went back to the Marlin. Still dead, but I found out that the guy who had said he couldn’t make it had shown up after all. But was gone already. Any sadness about this was soon alleviated by my introduction to another young man. He tried to debate me about the geography of Vietnam and the location of Hanoi therein. I was right, he was wrong.
On Sunday, as if I hadn’t had enough of the bar scene, I went to the Boatel Sleazy Waterfront Bar (the official name) for Alec and Amanda’s going-away party. They are heading to Nepal this week, where Alec is going to climb Everest. I normally don’t go to bars on Sunday afternoons. I know now why. Watching desiccated women down shots at 4 p.m. in the sunshine is about the saddest way to spend a lovely day that I can imagine. I vow to do healthy things this weekend that don’t involve bars. Like watch the end of Battlestar Galactica with my friends.
It's not yet 9 a.m., and someone is already singing the Gilligan's Island theme. Ah, Fridays.
I am going to run the Gold Nugget Triathlon again this year.
There...I said it. Now I have to do it. Crap. Now I have to do it.
I think my friend Liz and my coworker Oralee are both going to do it as well. They will both beat me, but that only means a bigger group to cheer me on at the finish line, right?
I have been going out of my mind with dance for the past few weeks. The troupe agreed to perform a show that, for various reasons, could not include any of our choreography. So we worked our butts off up to 5 days a week to a) learn a new choreography, and b) learn to perform group improvisation. The performance was yesterday, so I think now I'll get a chance to relax.
Enough blogging. I need to get some sleep so I can go run 5K before work tomorrow. Training and all... What am I thinking?
The internet was down at work today. Our tube was broken. Seriously - a DREN fiber optic cable got cut. I spent almost 10 hours without access to e-mail or web. I nearly died. The Borg never had this problem. In the end, I amused myself with iChat, forcing various coworkers to answer trivia questions. My favorite? Who was the 1971 Nobel Poet Laureate? This plan backfired, as people then tried to quiz me back. Mary doesn't like that game. She much prefers the third person and being the only one who knows the answer.
Jenny Schlo has gotten me hooked on Mad Men. It's a great show, if only because the clothing fits my personal aesthetic so well. I wonder - if the show actually aired in the 50s or 60s, would I be supposed to feel sorry for Joan Holloway? I also have to say that they spend just a bit too much time emphasizing the differences between now and then. Yes, smoking everywhere and drinking at work. But the emphasis on drinking while pregnant? The polio vaccine? That's trying a bit too hard. I've got to say, though, that I love the fact that there are almost realistic ideals for women on that show. Christina Hendricks' curves? Stunning. The stripper in episode 1 or 2? Chunky by today's emaciated standards, but still utterly human. I plan on returning the favor by gifting J Schlo with the current seasons of Lost and Big Love next time I see her.
Pardon my French, but it snowed a fucking ton last week. Almost a foot of the fluffy white stuff fell on Thursday alone. Don't get me wrong - I'm glad. These last few winters have been less than snowy, and I didn't move to Alaska for the warm weather. Still, I've got impractical new shoes, and I look forward to the arrival of spring, which should happen sometime in May.
And to complete my post of non sequiturs, I have had several friends trying to set me up lately. Some of them seem to be more of the "well, he's single and you're single, so it's perfect!" variety. I do not approve. Please only set me up with people whom you think are my intellectual match. I get bored otherwise.
At open mic on Wednesday, two men got onstage calling themselves Mr. White and Mr. Right. I couldn't tell you who was who, but I can tell you that they covered a song by The Ink Spots. I can also tell you that I have a great love for the music of the 30s and 40s. By the time they were done, I had developed massive crushes on both of them. I talked to them later, and they both high-fived me and told me I earned major points just for knowing who The Ink Spots were.
It snowed on Friday. I know, news flash! I live in Alaska. But when I left the Marlin, big fat flakes were pouring down from the sky. Big enough and fat enough that I turned my face upward and cried, "It's snowing!" And sure enough, by Saturday morning, several fresh inches of snow coated my world.
The only downside to this was that I had planned to go skiing with Amanda and Marmian on Saturday. Fresh snow is not the greatest thing in the world for cross country skiing. Marmian checked the trails and pronounced them rolled but not set, so we decided to go anyway.
On the trails with Marmian.On the bright side it was warm. I mean warm. Like don't wear long johns warm. Take off your gloves warm.
On the trails with Amanda.
The ski group.Many skiers before us had broken down the trail. Their tracks always look like maybe - just maybe - they are part of a set trail. Not so much.
But still we persevered, taking in a long loop on the UAF trails.
Forcing other people to take our picture.
Taking our own picture.
In the end, just enjoying a day on the trails together.
