the HOKIE-fication of OC girl

Every relationship requires reciprocity. Otherwise, it ends up feeling one-sided. When it comes to college football (or any college sport for that matter), Jesse and I have learned to appreciate each other’s schools. However, it wasn’t always that way.

When Jesse, a Virginia Tech alum, and I, a Trojan for life, started dating, the BCA Classic was a few weeks away. The BCA Classic (BCA= Black Coaches Association) was a sort of season-beginning game between two worthwhile opponents. Fresh from the Rose Bowl ass-kicking of Michigan and a share of the national title, USC was poised to win the national championship that year (and eventually did). Tech had just joined the ACC (a far superior football conference than the Big East) and was all set to make an impact. Even though we had just started dating, the trash talking was inevitable.

To be honest, I had never heard of the Hokies before moving here. Jesse definitely took it upon himself to school me on all things Hokie related. But first, the mascot. Seriously though, what is a Hokie? Apparently, the word Hokie originated in 1896, when the school held a competition for a new school cheer. O.M. Stull, the person who came up with the winning cheer, made up the word Hokie as an attention-getter in the cheer. Although VA Tech athletes were originally referred to as the Fighting Gobblers, the Hokie name stuck. Personally, I prefer Hokie over Gobbler. (By the way, I can just picture Jesse’s beaming face after reading this paragraph).

The big battle between East and West, ACC and Pac-10, USC and Virginia Tech was a good one. A tight game through out, the Hokies gave us a good fight before losing to USC 24-13.

With the exception of that game, Jesse and I have supported each other’s teams. Last year, while USC was pursuing a national title and Virginia Tech was still in the race, Jesse actually defended USC to his friends and praised both Matt Leinart and Reggie Bush as being some of the best players in the game. While sitting in a Blacksburg sports bar after a Virginia Tech game last year, I watched the USC/Oregon game. While I was cheering for my Trojans among all these Hokies who were hoping for our defeat, Jesse stood by me and cheered for USC.

This weekend, I return the favor. Jesse and I are going to Blacksburg for the first weekend of college football and for Virginia Tech’s first home game of the season against Northeastern (it’ll be a blowout, no doubt). I like going down there because it’s such a college town. Having gone to school in LA, the city was not all about USC (seeing as that there are several other alleged universities in the city and it’s surroundings). On the other hand, Blacksburg lives and breathes Virginia Tech football. The town would be nothing without the school and the community embraces the university. It’s a very interesting dynamic to see and appreciate.

This weekend, I can’t wait for the yummy gator bites and kick ass mojitos at Boudreaux’s. I’m looking forward to drinks at Sharkey’s and late nite breakfast at Hokie House.

And after the game, I can’t wait to watch the USC game at Big Al’s and piss off the Hokie fans that want to see us lose!

ok, ok. i get it

I've had an extraordinary number of visits today from google searches. And as much as I'd like to think that I'm popular and people are looking for me, they're actually searching for "matt leinart knocked up a girl" and "matt leinart got girl pregnant." Because I hate to disappoint anyone (even people I don't know), I thought you might want to know that yes, Matt Leinart did get a girl pregnant. Her name is Brynn Cameron and she's on the USC basketball team. I'm grateful for two things: (one) she's a Trojan and (two) she's not Paris Hilton. Lord knows she does not need to breed.

Here's a link for the story from People.

And if you're looking for actual Trojan news (not gossipy), please visit Fight On, Forever!

jogging along in the marriage race

If you’re my boyfriend and you’re reading this, you might want to proceed with caution (it’s readable, just potentially terrifying).

The other day, I received a wedding announcement in the mail. My friend Jackie was finally marrying her boyfriend, a boy she’s been with since her first day of college. She had already told me about the engagement, so receiving the announcement in the mail was no surprise. In fact, I knew it was gonna happen soon. They’ve been together for 7 years. Her boy just needed to buy the right ring.

What struck me at the time I opened the announcment was how it was actually going to happen. On a beach, in FL, next spring, my friend J is getting married. MY FRIEND Jackie is getting married. Wow. I’m finally going to a wedding for one of my friends, as opposed to Jesse’s.

When I first starting seeing Jesse over two years ago (I was 25 at the time), none of my friends from home were married, nor were they close to getting married as all were happily not married. A few short weeks after Jesse and I met, Jesse was to attend the wedding of a friend with his ex-girlfriend as his date (it’s a great story for another time). My reaction (beyond the whole, “I can’t believe you’re taking your ex-girlfriend when you’re dating me now”) was, “You’re going to a friend’s wedding? But you’re only 26! You have married friends?” Jesse said, “Yeah, I have a few married friends. I basically go to a handful of weddings every year now.” At 25 I had yet to witness one.

This year, I got to be Jesse’s date for the Wedding Tour of 2006. In March, one of my Cali friends had a shotgun wedding (she’s due in a couple of weeks). And now I find out I’m going to a wedding next spring. This is all so strange to me.

I tried to put the feelings into words the other night when I was talking to Aditi. She was telling me about our friend’s baby shower and how she found baby shower traditions to be odd (why you ask? Because she had never been to one and as an only child was never around babies). I told her, “I can’t believe Kim is having a baby in a few weeks. Doesn’t it feel like people all around us are becoming adults and we’re not?” Aditi replied, “Oh my god, I know what you mean. It’s like we’re behind.”

I certainly have no desire to have children at this time. In fact, I think my biological clock isn’t even on. But I feel as though, at the ripe old age of 27, I should be on track to get married (insert Jesse hyperventilating here). Ironically, I don’t want to get married anytime soon. So, I guess what I’m trying to say (so not eloquently) is, I have a desire to get married, yet I don’t actually want to get married in the near future (insert Jesse breathing sigh of relief).

I believe that people live their lives at their own pace. But, as I’m getting older, I catch myself comparing my pace to that of others. Jackie’s getting married and she’s younger than me. Kim is having a baby and she’s my age. I feel this pressure to keep up and not get left behind in the marriage race. But why? What’s the hurry? This pushing on my back—where’s it coming from? Do I just want to get married soon but I’m still too cynical to admit it?

Whenever I bring up the future of our relationship with Jesse (a topic I occasionally torture him with), Jesse always responds, “But aren’t you happy now? I like the way things are.” The answer is always, YES, of course I’m happy now. However, I want some assurance that we’ll be together and happy in the future.

So I could just be satisfied with Jesse’s love in the present. Or I could just obsess over whether or not he’ll still love me in the future.

my trainer is trying to kill me

As I sit here typing this, my fingers are the only non-sore part of my body. I’m totally serious. My thighs hurt and I’m sitting.

Last night I had a late appointment with my trainer. In fact, it was so late, that I managed to stay later at work to get some stuff done and I was still able to work out for a full hour before my appointment. I did 40 minutes of cardio and 20 minutes of the arm stuff my trainer taught me.

So, by the time, I met up with L I already had a full workout. At 7 pm (our appointment time), I walked up to L and said, “I’m ready to be tortured.” I kid really. His workouts haven’t really been so bad. Knowing that I was plenty warmed up, we walk over to the same arm machine I did just 10 minutes ago. He sits down on the machine and I tell him, “Does it count if I already did this machine?” L says, “Really? Which ones have you done today?” I reply, “All of the arm stuff you taught me.” He says, “Ok then, let’s do legs.” I respond, “Let’s try something different today. I want to be challenged.” L chuckles (nothing sinister…it was almost a mocking tone). He says, “Ok, but I don’t think you’re ready for this.” Feeling challenged, I instantly thought, “Dude, I’m gonna kick ass.”

Instead it was my ass that got kicked. We did 5 exercises in all. They all involved a large ball, a small ball that weighed a ton, and a mat. I was doing all sorts of things: pulling myself up off the mat, holding the small ball while squatting, moving my legs as far up as they can go. All the while, I either needed to tighten the abs or keep my legs off the ground or (WORSE) both. By the end of the session, I could barely walk and I felt like throwing up.

Seeing as that I won’t see him next Monday (thank God for Labor Day and my trip to Blacksburg), he says, “Make sure you make an appointment in two weeks. I’ll have more tricks up my sleeve by then.” I reply, “You mean you have even more ways of torturing me?” With a hearty laugh, L says, “Lots more.”

Oh joy.

another setback on my journey to adulthood

Saturday was the big day. The big day being Jesse's family reunion. After my post on Friday, I totally expected to blog about it today, telling you about how wrong I was and how accepting his family was and how everyone was nice to me. I wanted to tell you that I indeed wore the brown dress and that Jesse did ask me to cover my cleavage. I wanted to tell you that Jesse and I danced the night away.

But I can't. Because we didn't go.

On Saturday morning, I left early to go to the salon to get a pedicure and eyebrow wax. I wanted to look my best for the reunion. I ran a couple of errands and returned home. When I got home, Jesse was still in bed. As inviting as it was, I resisted Jesse's invitation to join him in his wanton laziness. A few minutes later, I made breakfast and brought it to bed, where Jesse continued to be. After breakfast, I determined that my nails were dry enough to get under the covers and I joined Jesse.

A couple of hours later, Jesse asked me, "Do you want to go to the reunion?" I said, "I want to go if you want to go." After all, Jesse did read my post on Friday. He already knew what my fears were all about. But I wanted to go to support him. If it was important to him, it was important to me. Surprisingly, Jesse said, "I don't want to go."

Part of me thinks that he came to this conclusion because he had a strong desire to just stay in on Saturday. At that point, we had been comfortably in bed, reading or watching TV, for hours. But a bigger part of me knows better. I didn't know what to expect of the reunion so I expected the worse. I think Jesse wanted to spare me any possible discomfort. And of course, I love him for it.

However, avoidance is not the answer to overcoming anything. I have a real fear of experiencing adversity because of my ethnicity. On Saturday, I let my fear win.

Next time, I'm gonna fight back.

signs i read too many celebrity gossip blogs

I had a dream. Remembering dreams is something kinda foreign to me, considering I have a sleep disorder. Lately, I have not been sleeping through the night and I feel that the sleep I get isn't even deep enough for me to dream. But I did dream and I feel its significant.

I wasn't physically in this dream. I guess I was some sort of omniscient presence. I dreamed about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise.

I was quite the Dawson's Creek fan when I was younger. I loved Joey, Katie's character on the show. She was the underdog--the smart, cute, yet tomboyish friend of Dawson who had a crush on him after being his friend since birth. Although Pacey was a bit of a jerk, I was happy that Katie had picked him in the end because Dawson was kinda getting on my nerves (it was all downhill after he dropped out of USC's School of Cinema-Television. Seriously, what aspiring director would do that?). She was in a couple of movies, only one of which I remember ("Go"). And she was in the new Batman movie which was awesome (good career move).

But then right before the Batman movie came out, it was revealed that she was seeing Tom Cruise (bad career move). Which was fine (sure, there is a huge age difference), except Tom Cruise started to behave oddly. Jumping on couches on Oprah. Refuting the science of psychology. Publicly feuding with Brooke Shields for her medical solution to her post partum depression. At the time, I figured that Katie was just living out some childhood fantasy. She probably had a crush on Tom Cruise when she was younger (for the record, I never did. He doesn't meet my height requirement). It would all blow over in a couple of months.

Then two months later, they got engaged while in Paris promoting their films. A few months later, Katie got preggers. On April 18, 2006, Suri Cruise was born. 131 days later, the public has yet to see the baby. The baby's seclusion is odd, but then again, what has been normal about Tom and Katie's relationship? Over time, she has been photographed looking less and less "herself." In fact, at times she looks trapped.

So, in my dream, Tom was verbally abusive to Katie. He was very controlling. He told her what to do, what to wear, and what to say (with her Scientology handler's approval). Katie didn't spend much time with the baby. However, they spent enough time together for me to see that Suri is actually a boy and slightly deformed.

Apparently I was the voice inside her head because I told Katie, "Leave. Just leave NOW." She responded to me in her head, "I can't. I'm trapped. There's no way I can get out of this unscathed." It was all so sad.

I figured this dream came from somewhere and I needed to pinpoint its source. I found it in a blog I read the night before.

image courtesy of The Gallery of the Absurd, via A Socialite's Life

who's gonna pull the race card?

Families really are interesting. They can be embarassing, while being a source of pride. They can be supportive, while bringing you down. They can say the most ridiculous things, but you’ll defend them because they’re family. Despite all this, our family is a very important part of who we are and who we aspire to be.

This weekend, I will be Jesse’s date for his family reunion. I’ve never been to a family reunion of any kind so I’m curious to see how this is going to go. I’ve had visions of family reunions as picnics in a big park somewhere and everyone wears the same t-shirt with a cute graphic and the words, “insert surname here family reunion” and people are playing frisbee while the boys grill the hot dogs. Well, that’s not happening on Saturday. Jesse’s family reunion is at a hotel. The dress is business casual and there will be a dance. And tickets are required for admittance.

I’m nervous. So nervous that I had to pick out my reunion outfit in my head this morning because I wanted one less thing to be freaked out about (brown, cross-over neck dress…there will be some cleavage exposure which could be covered with a wrap if Jesse thinks it’s too much boob…gold strappy heels, gold clutch, gold heart necklace, USC class ring). Jesse’s immediate family likes me (as far as I can tell) so I have no logical reason to be nervous.

My stress is coming from the fact that I may be the only non-Black person there. Sure, Jesse’s parents and sister have been more than accepting of me (his mom even made me a stocking for X-mas). But that’s no guarantee for his extended family.

This makes me sad. Ever since that kid on the NYC subway called me a “white bitch” for being with Jesse, I have had this insecurity. I never thought of Jesse and me as being an interracial couple until that day. When I look at Jesse, I see him for who he is—an ambitious, sexy man who loves me and makes me happy. He may be black, but I’ve never described him as such. I just don’t see how race is important.

Unfortunately, race is important to other people. And I normally don’t give a sh*t about what other people think. But this whole race thing is new territory for me. And the insecurity is hard to shake.

I write this post with a lump in my throat. I’m scared even though I shouldn’t be. I know that Jesse is all that matters and this shouldn’t be a big deal.

So, why am I worrying about this?

it's like they took the words right out of my mouth

I was going to write some more about Plan B today. Then I opened up my email today and found the electronic version of the Daily Trojan, one of the best collegiate newspapers out there. In the DT is an editorial from the editors about yesterday's FDA decision. It's short, sweet, and exactly what I wanted to say.

FDA birth pill decision doesn't go far enough

The Food and Drug Administration Thursday approved Plan B, an emergency contraceptive pill, for over-the-counter sale to adults.

Not to be confused with RU-486 - the so-called "abortion pill" that kills off embryos up to two months after conception - Plan B has proven effective in laboratory trials at preventing fertilization, provided it is taken within 72 hours of unprotected sex. And what's more, it's proven to be extremely safe.

So it's logical to assume that the decision-making process regarding its sale without a doctor's prescription was open-and-shut.

Wrong. Instead, Plan B's manufacturer, Barr Pharmaceuticals, unwittingly found itself at the epicenter of an intense, three-year ideological mud-slinging contest, with the Bush administration's conservative base arguing that the drug's free sale would encourage further the dreaded American promiscuity.

When these old-fashioned moral arguments didn't make much of an impact, conservative political action groups quickly produced "research" of their own illustrating the drug's alleged medical danger - though neither legitimate researchers nor the FDA's extensive review process could turn up similar results.

So while the eventual, common-sense decision to approve its free sale should be applauded, it's unacceptable that minors will still be required to get a doctor's prescription to buy the drug.

Indeed, the age restriction, an obvious peace offering to the Christian right, might seem harmless, but will in practice prevent many women under 18 - arguably the group most susceptible to the negative effects of unsafe intercourse, particularly given the state of sex education in America's public schools - from getting help when they need it most.

America long ago strayed from its Puritan roots. And while the morality of teenage sex is still up for debate, that it's occurring in massive numbers is no longer a question.

Forcing our teens - who might need Plan B the most - to jump through the same old hoops merely ensures that what could have permanently alleviated America's teenage-pregnancy problem, will instead sit on the shelf, waiting for another buyer.

my blog is not a substitute for me

My dearest peeps,

Back in March or April (I forget), my buddy Matt left the East Coast for the Best Coast. He then started a blog. He posts about all sorts of stuff—moving, meeting new people, checking out new places. It was a great way for me to keep in touch with him. I love reading his little stories.

Inspired by Matt, an OC girl living in a blah, blah, blah was born. I wanted my blog to be an easy way for my friends to get a Lizzie fix. Everything I post truly is me—honest and uncensored. Let’s get one thing straight though. My blog is not a substitute for the real thing.

Since the blog started, I hear from you guys with less and less frequency. I love that you read all about me and what crazy things I’m up to next. But the thing is, I wanna know about you. I’m curious to know how your lives are going. I have to know what your thoughts are. Please tell me about your love lives. I shouldn’t have to find out that you have a boyfriend because the relationship status on your MySpace page has changed (even so, I still love ya, Bruin).

I know that some of you think that Jesse and I are joined at the hip. Yes, that’s probably true. I'm not gonna front. We're a package deal. But I have not turned in to the girl who is all about her boyfriend. After all, you’re my friends, first and foremost. So here is my plan. Over the next couple of days, you will be hearing from me, either by email or phone (depending on the number of remaining cell phone minutes).

Why am I doing this? Because I miss you. And I want to say hi!

cliff notes version of "small victory for Plan B"

Hey peeps,

I apologize for the technical jargon from the previous post. I just got so excited about the news that I only posted the press release without comment from me. My bad. Also, I got the impression from Washington Cube's comment that perhaps a Cliff Notes version of my previous post is needed. So here goes.

Today, the FDA has granted over-the-counter status for Plan B (aka emergency contraception, aka "the morning-after pill") provided that you're 18 years old or over. For those of you living under a rock (if you're a boy, I guess you're forgiven but you should know this anyways), Plan B, if taken within 72 hours of unprotected sex, has an 85% chance of preventing pregnancy.

Now for my opinion (what's that you say? you didn't ask for it? oopsies). This is a big victory for college-aged women everywhere. Back in the day when I was in school, how great would it have been to just walk into a store and pick this stuff up whenever you needed it? On the other hand, it's not technically "over the counter" if you're not letting teens to get it. This means that it will probably be under lock and key at your local CVS, or you may need to ask a pharmacist for it. Who's to say that some 16-year-old who had unprotected sex with her loser boyfriend doesn't have a cool, 19-year-old sister to get it for her? Kinda defeats the true "behind the counter" status, doesn't it? Oh well...whatever you have to do to make your conservative base happy....

What's that you say? The FDA is supposed to be a nonpartisan government agency? Hmmm...how very interesting.

small victory for Plan B

The following is from the FDA:

FDA Approves Over-the-Counter Access for Plan B for Women 18 and Older
Prescription Remains Required for Those 17 and Under

The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) today announced approval of Plan B, a contraceptive drug, as an over-the-counter (OTC) option for women aged 18 and older. Plan B is often referred to as emergency contraception or the "morning after pill." It contains an ingredient used in prescription birth control pills--only in the case of Plan B, each pill contains a higher dose and the product has a different dosing regimen. Like other birth control pills, Plan B has been available to all women as a prescription drug. When used as directed, Plan B effectively and safely prevents pregnancy. Plan B will remain available as a prescription-only product for women age 17 and under.

Duramed, a subsidiary of Barr Pharmaceuticals, will make Plan B available with a rigorous labeling, packaging, education, distribution and monitoring program. In the CARE (Convenient Access, Responsible Education) program Duramed commits to:

· Provide consumers and healthcare professionals with labeling and education about the appropriate use of prescription and OTC Plan B, including an informational toll-free number for questions about Plan B;

· Ensure that distribution of Plan B will only be through licensed drug wholesalers, retail operations with pharmacy services, and clinics with licensed healthcare practitioners, and not through convenience stores or other retail outlets where it could be made available to younger women without a prescription;

· Packaging designed to hold both OTC and prescription Plan B. Plan B will be stocked by pharmacies behind the counter because it cannot be dispensed without a prescription or proof of age; and

· Monitor the effectiveness of the age restriction and the safe distribution of OTC Plan B to consumers 18 and above and prescription Plan B to women under 18.

Today's action concludes an extensive process that included obtaining expert advice from a joint meeting of two FDA advisory committees and providing an opportunity for public comment on issues regarding the scientific and policy questions associated with the application to switch Plan B to OTC use. Duramed's application raised novel issues regarding simultaneously marketing both prescription and non-prescription Plan B for emergency contraception, but for different populations, in a single package.

The agency remains committed to a careful and rigorous scientific process for resolving novel issues in order to fulfill its responsibility to protect the health of all Americans.

For more information on Plan B and today's action, please see: http://www.fda.gov/cder/drug/infopage/planB/default.htm.

I believe there will be a press conference at noon.

wake me up when college football starts

WARNING: this is an incredibly biased and opinionated post. Read at your own risk.

The other day, Jesse received in the mail the most recent issue of ESPN the magazine. On it, Brady Quinn, Notre Dame quarterback, is standing there, looking constipated (and very airbrushed…what happened, Brady…you weren’t feeling pretty that day?) and announcing ESPN’s college football isssue. In the past couple of years, I’ve looked forward to preseason college football polls for one reason only—to see USC at number one. This year, seeing as that we lost our 2005 Heisman Trophy winner Reggie Bush and our 2004 Heisman Trophy winner Matt Leinart to the NFL, I wasn’t expeting much. Sure, LenDale White also left us. And Frostee Rucker said good bye too. But we’ve had one of the top recruiting classes over the past few years and that’s gotta mean something. In my head, that means USC should be no lower than a preseason top 5.

So, I eagerly turned the page (I didn’t really want to see Brady’s face anyways) and saw that ESPN the magazine had several covers...and we just happened to be in the market with the Brady Quinn cover. Stay with me, I’ll get to the rankings in a sec. Apparently, the West Coast was lucky enough to get the USC cover. But I WANT THE USC COVER! Besides the wannabees, who else wants to see the Irish succeed outside of Indiana? Besides ND alumni? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Several pages later, I found the rankings.
Ohio State is #1. I could live with that.
Texas is #2. Hmmm…interesting. Who’s on their schedule this year besides Ohio State? North Texas? Sam Houston State? Are these even Division 1-A schools?
Moving on, Notre Dame is #3. Really? You mean the same team that BARELY beat Stanford last year? Ok, whatever.
At #4, we have Auburn. Ok, that’s fine.
Coming in at #5, is West Virginia. Hmmm. Honestly, I think this team should be lower. Why? Sure they’ll probably finished undefeated but that’s because they don’t play anyone!!!! On their schedule, you will find the likes of Cincy, UConn and Pitt.

Finally, at #6 you will find my beloved Trojans. Sure we have an unexperienced quarterback. Back in the day, after we lost Heisman Trophy winner Carson Palmer (now a star with the Cincinnati Bengals), we started this guy named Matt Leinart who had never thrown a pass in his collegiate career. So, anyone wanna take a guess what happened the first time he touched a ball that season? Yeah, that’s right. We scored! So bring on John David Booty! Let the “Booty” jokes begin! Bring it on!

I’ll leave the rest of the Trojan football analysis to my fellow Trojan, Aesop, at Fight on Forever!

So, peeps, if you wanna see me this fall, feel free to check out USC’s football schedule. I’m sorry but I will not be available on the days we play. However, if you wanna join me for a few drinks and great football, you know how to find me. I’ll be the girl in the USC gear cheering on the Trojans as we prove all the haters wrong!

UPDATE: WaPo ranked us at number 6 too. What does the Post know about college football? Haters...

desmond tutu glad that obama’s black

As if he is intentionally pursuing my vote, Sen. Barack Obama announced today that he will publicly take an HIV test while on his trip to Africa. I found out about his trip to Africa while attending the Microbicides briefing on the Hill (which was exciting enough), yet I was pleasantly surprised when I found out that he would also be taking an HIV test. This is huge news for Africa. The continent is under siege by this disease. At the end of 2005, an estimated 24.5 million people were HIV positive and approximately 2.7 million infections were new that year. In the past year, more than 2 million people have died and there are now over 12 million AIDS orphans in Africa.

In addition to taking the HIV test, Obama denounced South African president Thabo Mbeki and his AIDS policies. Mbeki, known for succeeding Nelson Mandela as president, has directly contributed to South Africa’s AIDS crisis. South Africa has the largest number of HIV positive people in the world (5.5 million). Additionally, 30% of pregnant women in that country are HIV positive. Mbeki has declared that HIV does not cause AIDS and has stated that AZT actually accelerates disease progression. As a result, the government has delayed the administration of AZT to pregnant positive woman to prevent the vertical transmission of HIV (transmission from mother to child). Obama, in his statement, said there was an “enormous” amount of denial about AIDS in S. Africa and the government was partly to blame. He also said that the government needs to do more to fight the disease.

Back to the HIV test, Obama will be visiting his late father’s home village in Kenya and will take the test there. According to Obama, he is taking the test to help dispel the stigma surrounding the virus that persists in many African countries. His attempt to call attention to this serious problem is admirable. In my opinion, his actions could only help the cause.

Obama met with AIDS activists and Bishop Desmond Tutu yesterday while in S. Africa. Tutu appeared to be impressed with Obama. Acknowledging his possible future candidacy for president, Tutu said, “You're born to be a very credible presidential candidate. I hope that I would be equally nice to a young white senator, but I'm glad you are black." I wish I knew the context of this statement. But I think it’s safe to assume that if George Allen were to visit Africa and get an HIV test in Kenya, it wouldn’t have quite the same impact (Allen seems to be the dems’ punching-bag-of-the-moment so I had to pick on him).

Obama’s timing really couldn’t be better. The International AIDS Conference just wrapped up in Toronto and AIDS is still fresh in everyone’s minds. Additionally, the test addresses Africa’s AIDS crisis, which was quite the focus at the conference (as well as women’s and children’s issues with prevention and treatment). In my opinion, his actions could only help HIS cause.

what’s worse than being sick to your stomach while your boyfriend is around? nothing.

Last night, Jesse and I made a pit stop at Dairy Queen before heading over to the grocery store. What can I say? Ice cream is my weakness. I started to consume my cookie dough blizzard while outdoors and finished it while in the grocery store. It wasn’t until I was in the grocery store that I realized something smelled funny. I attributed it to the cheese that we were passing by in the dairy aisle. It wasn’t until I had finished the blizzard that I realized, in the cereal aisle, that the funny smell was coming from my blizzard cup. Perhaps the cups were stored in a smelly room, I thought. I thought nothing of it until midnight, when I woke up with the worst stomach cramps. The cramps ended up preventing my beauty sleep (which I so desperately need) and I now find myself working from home today, a few feet from the bathroom.

The worse part is that Jesse is home today too. If I was alone, I wouldn’t even think twice about my necessary runs to the bathroom. But since Jesse is here to witness my every move, I am too embarassed to move. Certainly, being sick to my stomach and running to the bathroom is not cute and it definitely isn’t sexy. When Jesse woke up this morning, needing to use the facilities, I sweetly told him, “Boo boo, you might want to wait a while.” And by “might” I meant, “have to.” And by “a while” I meant, “use the neighbor’s bathroom in the mean time.”

I guess today will mark the day that Jesse stopped seeing me as “sexy” and started seeing me as “human.”

a sign from God that there are dems who live in the reddest part of cali

I just found out by catching up on the OC Metblog that OC has just started its Drinking Liberally chapter.

It's nice to see that my fellow OC dems are banding together in the name of solidarity and inebriation.

Because if you're a dem in OC, you're gonna need the liquor to survive.

you think i'm too old for the pony rides?

Jesse and I checked out the Arlington County Fair yesterday. I told Jesse that we should go for the following two reasons: (1) it's literally down the street from where we live and (2) we should support the county we live in. My REAL two reasons for going were: (1) there was a petting zoo and (2) there would be funnel cake.

So, we got there and checked out the indoor stuff first. I encouraged Jesse to mark his home on an Arlington County map.

We kept walking around and came upon the VA dems (YAY) and then the VA GOP (boo). All the people both behind the GOP booth and visiting it were OLD. Big surprise.

I then get the notion to support NoVA by purchasing honey from the NoVA beekeepers association (or something like that...I forgot the name). I'm proud that my honey came from Falls Church. How many other people can say that they know where their honey came from?

We went outside, grabbed some grub, and walked around. Lo and behold, it was an actual fair with your typical fair-y rides and games.

My favorite part was the petting zoo. Seeing as that I was the only one at the petting zoo without a kid, I decided to not stand in line to get in and embarass myself. The usual suspects were there: chickens, bunnies, goats, sheep.


And then there was a turtle. I know that I haven't been to a petting zoo in a while, but I don't remember turtles being regulars at these things. But there he was, in a pen all by himself. And I can assure you that no one pet him while we were there.



It was exactly the kind of stuff I expected from a county fair--all kinds of different people coming together to eat some cardiac-arrest-inducing food, pet some farm animals, ride the tilt-a-whirl and ferris wheel, win some cheap prizes for their dates, and spend some money.

Oh! Some of us just came for the funnel cake!

while the boyfriend was out...

Today is the day, peeps. Jesse gets back into town today, around 6 pm at Dulles and I can hardly wait. The time apart has been unbearable despite my attempts at distraction. The following is a list of things I was able to accomplish without the boo:

• Watched Season 3 of Sex and the City. I totally forgot that Season 3 moved beyond Charlotte’s wedding.
• Made dinner for myself 3 times. For that 4th dinner, I consumed a bowl of ice cream.
• Watered the plants. They’re Jesse’s, not mine so this is technically an accomplishment.
• I actually took out the garbage. There’s this unspoken agreement that I do not have to take out the trash unless I’m helping Jesse do it (and then he lets me take out the least disgusting trash bag).
• Killed some cockroaches (this is a big achievement because I don’t do bugs). Well…at least I think they’re dead. I tried to wash them down the drain. However, I think they have friends (like the one I didn’t kill yesterday who was apparently the search party for the “missing” roaches).
• Hung out with some really cool blogger gals. Thanks for the invite, ladies. Hope to drink with ya’ll again.
• Walked around the place naked. Oh, who am I kidding? I do that when Jesse’s around.

The following is a list of things I didn’t do without Jesse:
• The laundry, because Jesse has the key to the laundry room. Poor Jesse has only one pair of clean boxers left. I prefer that he walk around naked anyways.
• Pick up the mail, because Jesse has the mail key.
• Watch “Snakes on a Plane,” because we just have to go see that TOGETHER.
• Sleep. Cuddling with Manny helped, but not much. Besides, I was always cold.

I survived (well, I’ve got about 4 hours to go, but I think it’s still safe to say so). He won’t be going away to Denver ever again.

What? What’d you say? He’s got to go back to train more people? GOSH DARN IT!

if the past is so bad, why relive it?

I received a notice about my high school reunion. Actually, if I had never joined Myspace, I would never have found out about it. Surprisingly, I received my notice through Myspace.

Since the days following graduation, my particular class was intent on staying in touch. A website went up just for my high school’s class of 1996 (one of my classmates, a computer geek, set it up). I know of people who used that for a couple of years in college. And now, there’s a Myspace group just for my high school’s class of 1996. Since I only recently gave in to Myspace, I wanted to join some groups to feel like I “belonged” (some of us never grow out of those high school ideals…thank God I grew out of other things) and just happened upon my class group.

Before joining the group, I perused its members. Of the 425 people I graduated with, over a quarter of them are in the Myspace group. When reviewing the list, I didn’t look at any faces or names. I only looked at their locations. Where are my classmates? I wondered. Not surprisingly, they’re still in California. In fact, a large percentage of them are still in Southern California. Out of the over 150 names in the group, only 3 are outside of the state. To be honest, I’m not surprised.

My conservative, private, Catholic high school had felt like a bubble to me. While inside of it, I only knew of my own little world—wearing plaid skirts above the knee and pulling them down when the dean walked by, finding a date to the next dance, judging the girls who got pregnant, keeping hush about the kids who did drugs and dealt them. The message to “do what Jesus would do” was constantly shoved down our throats, but rarely genuinely lived by. People faked it all the time. This little bubble fostered ignorance and prejudice. The hypocrisy of it all still disturbs me.

There is one positive thing I can say. The academics were outstanding. Almost everyone struggled to be the smartest one in the class (I was content with top 5). Your peers praised you for setting curves (and cursed you behind your back). Academic achievement was praised every which way imaginable. I don’t regret attending that high school for successfully setting me up for college. It just didn’t set me up for life.

Actually USC did that. My college, with its diversity and opportunities, truly made me the person that I am. I began to see what the real world truly was and I began to question everything I was taught in my high school religion classes. I took nothing at face value and began to think for myself. And the sports teams kick ass!

So, when I found out that my high school reunion falls on the same day as the USC/Notre Dame football game, I was ecstatic. The planning committee was asking me to choose between my high school and USC. Hmmm…let’s see…a clash between traditional football powerhouses…or reliving the miserable high school years? I’m glad you agree with my decision.

If I’m even in town that day, I’d much rather catch the football game at a sports bar with fellow Trojans, then go to a silly reunion.

i slept with manny last night. should i come clean with my boyfriend?

Before I moved here, my family went through this short period where they got all nostalgic about my role in the family—the Baby. “Oh, I can’t believe the Baby is the first one of us to go far away.” “Our Baby’s all grown up now.” “Remember when she was a baby and she would poo in her diaper and get all embarrassed.” Yes, some memories were worse than others.

For whatever reason, my family had this brilliant idea to do one last fun family thing together before I moved away for an unspecified period of time (you’d think I was dying as opposed to just moving). So they asked me where I wanted to go. Without hesitation, I said, “Let’s go to Sea World!” The four of us—my mom, my sister (who’s 10 years older than me), my brother (who’s 9 years older than me), and the Baby—drove down to San Diego for the day.

I actually find the whole “training wild animals to do tricks and help us profit” thing pretty repulsive. But Sea World is the only place in Cali where I can see my favorite animal in the whole, wide world—the manatee. Don’t ask me why but I love ‘em. In fact, I’m willing to move to FL and get a car there just to get the manatee license plate. My love for manatees has definitely been documented in this blog before, but it bears repeating. They are just such sweet, gentle creatures. I just wanna see one and hug it and squeeze it tight (and pray that he doesn’t think my head is a plant it can eat).

Following the manatee habitat is a gift shop. My brother pulled me aside while I was shopping and said, “Since you really love manatees, why don’t you pick whatever you want from here and I’ll get it for you as a going away present?” My heart leapt. I made a beeline for the largest stuffed animal manatee in the store. It was supersoft and gray and about half my size. Rich says, “Ummm…are you sure you want something so big? How are you gonna take it with you?” Hmmm…good point. I look again and then locked eyes with Manny. Manny is a medium sized stuffed animal manatee and we fell in love at first sight. Instantly, I knew that I wanted to take him home.

He came home with me. A couple of days later, we went to John Wayne airport together and he sat with me on the airplane. “Oh what a cute looking seal,” an elderly woman told me while boarding. Through my teeth, I corrected her, “It’s a manatee actually.” When I was looking for places to live, he was right at my side. Whenever I cried because I was homesick, he was there to offer me a hug. Through thick and thin, he’s been with me, offering his unconditional support. He was my right hand man (especially when so many other men couldn’t cut it). And then one day, Jesse came home with me.

I was already falling hard for Jesse but I fell a little bit more when I saw him pick up Manny and say, “You like manatees?” “YES! Jesse, this is Manny…Manny, Jesse.” Jesse says (we’re both drunk so it makes this conversation perfectly acceptable), “Nice to meet you, Manny. You’re so soft.” Jesse then hugs Manny (it’s hard not to since he’s so cuddly). I swooned (remember I was drunk so this is ok).

Now that we live together, Manny’s still around, but he spends most of his time on the couch, hanging out with Jesse while he plays XBOX. Manny and I haven’t shared a bed since I moved in. Until last night. I was lonely and I couldn’t help it. The bed just felt so empty without Jesse and I needed to cuddle. Once again, Manny was there for me. I was able to fall asleep eventually, but it just wasn’t the same.

I love him still but Manny’s just no Jesse.

i have hope that one day my mom will drop the guilt trip

Yesterday was my first night alone without the boo. I cancelled my appointment with the personal trainer since I wasn’t feeling well. Probably had something to do with the crying I did Sunday night (I’m sure the sleeplessness compounded by the Monday morning crying didn’t help matters). I came home and tried to clean up a bit. After cleaning, I started making dinner.

Before I moved in with Jesse, my dinners consisted of turkey sandwiches, always toasted with cheese and loads of mustard. My side item was usually a handful of baked Doritos. I rarely switched it up. It was my ol’ standby from college so I stuck with it. If I wanted a different kind of meal, I would just need to find me a man who could cook.

And boy can Jesse cook. Almost every meal he’s ever made for me has been mouth-watering delicious (well, there was that one time with the eggs that he’s still embarrassed about). Then one day, he told me that he had always wanted a girlfriend to cook for him. So, dinner became a group activity. Usually, he’d make a main dish and I’d prepare a side. But I learned so much from him. Not only do I know my way around a kitchen, but I can make some pretty good stuff too! At first my goal was “edible” but now I aim for “satisfying.” I cook for him quite frequently (whenever he doesn’t cook for me, that is).

So, I started to prepare some chicken (sautéed with a bit of olive oil and spices). I then moved on to some pasta to the lay the chicken on. During my preparations, I started to cry. I had never made a meal for myself that wasn’t a turkey sandwich. This was a meal fit for both me and Jesse. Except…Jesse’s not here. And he would’ve been so proud of my sautéing attempt.

Don’t ask me why (because I’m still wondering) but I decided to call my mom. I just needed someone to listen (still not sure why I turned to mom). I call the house in Cali. No one’s home. I call my sister’s cell to find out where my mom is. My mom answers and sounds happy to hear from me. “So, you’re probably wondering how our flight went.” I think to myself, What is she talking about? Knowing me all too well, mom continues, “Remember, Linda and I are in Sacramento for the education conference.” “Oh yeah,” I said. I suddenly recall that conversation.

“You know, with all that extra security I thought it would be worse, but it wasn’t too bad.”
“Great, mom. You know, Jesse flew today too.”
“Oh yeah, where is he?”
“He’s in Denver for work.”
“How long is he there?”
“Till Friday.”
“So you’re alone.”
“Yes, I’m alone. And I’m very sad. I miss him so much.”
“Oh baby. Now you know how it feels to be me. You know, I miss you every day that you’re not here. At least you’ll see Jesse in a couple of days. I get to see you a few times a year, when I’m lucky. And the next time you’re coming home, you’ll only be here for one day. ONE DAY.”
“Well, looks like dinner’s ready mom. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Ok, have a good night. Don’t forget to lock all the doors. I love you.”
“I love you too. Bye.”

Yeah, that conversation was about as successful as trying to get Nicole Richie to eat a double-double from In-N-Out.

we’ve got a long way to go

This weekend Jesse and I attended a Nats game. They lost, of course. I believe that it is in our destiny this year for the Nats to lose every game Jesse and I attend (we’re currently 0 and 5 so far). It wasn’t too bad. After all, we’re starting to expect those losses so it wasn’t a total disappointment. At least we got to see Soriano hit a home run. And I’m pretty happy about RFK’s recent improvements (next time I’m definitely getting those loaded nachos from the terrace food court thingy). Heck, even the giveaway, a Washington Nationals/Potomac Nationals sports “bag”, wasn’t so bad. Oh no. My letdown of the day didn’t happen until after the game.

Jesse and I kinda lingered around the stadium for awhile before we made our way to the Metro. Walking a few yards behind us were a group of kids, probably not that much younger than Jesse and me (24, 25). And since they were a few yards behind us, I found it really strange that they were talking loudly enough for us to hear what they were saying. Especially since ignorance was spewing from their mouths like water flowing from a faucet.

“Lesbians. There are different kinds, you know. There are the kind that dress well and that guys like to see together. And then there are the dykes. Dykes are the kinds of lesbians that don’t shower for days. They just don’t take care of themselves. They are hairy. They don’t groom themselves. They smell. They’re the worst…”

At this point, I notice that Jesse is trying really hard to get my attention again. He’s heard them too and knows me well enough to know that their blatant and loud display of ignorance really bothers me. He says, “I know, I know. I can hear them too. They’ve probably been drinking.” I reply, “That’s no excuse. I can hear them clear as day. It’s offensive.” Jesse says, “You know. This reminds me of last time we were on our way to the Metro from a Nats game.”

Ah yes. I different display of ignorance.

A few weeks ago, after some other game that the Nats lost, Jesse and I were walking behind a woman on a cell phone on our way to the Metro. She was older, well-dressed, and alone. Loudly, she appeared to be talking about a coworker. Jesse and I had been talking and we weren’t paying attention to what she was saying. During a break in our conversation, we overheard the woman say, “…well, you know, she’s black so it’s not like she’ll ever get fired. She’ll cry discrimination before that happens.”

Jesse and I were in shock. Did she really just say that? In the year 2006? With dozens of people within earshot, some of them black?

At what point did ignorant, racist verbal diarrhea become acceptable in public? Do they feel any guilt for not only thinking this way but also saying it out loud? I try not to let this kind of stuff get to me, but it does. I have yet to become desensitized to prejudice. Why does this stuff still surprise me? Why is it so shocking to hear?

Maybe I still have faith in people. Undeservedly so.

an ode to joe lieberman*--a fun way to explain his political demise

Although we're sad to see him go,
The man from Stamford, nicknamed Joe,
His politics no longer fit
The great state of Connecticut.

His lonely voice once made us proud
when criticizing Maureen Dowd,
He's one-note now, just like a hack,
Stuck, with Bush, upon Iraq.

Before you go we must request
(Until your office does divest)
That when you finally say adieu
You'll have taught Lamont a thing or two.

*This poem was sent to me by a brilliantly witty person named anonymous. Suggestions for musical accompaniment are welcome.

i swear i'm not the one who farted

So, I was on the Metro on Thursday morning (yes, this story is a little late but I've been out of commission for the last couple of days). It was the usual rush hour crowd, trains packed in like sardines. When I finally got on a train, we were all sqeezed in together. It was the kind of train ride when you hoped with all of your heart that everyone showered and put on deodorant.

At VA square, I detected the most foul odor. I made the mistake of inhaling deeply in order to sigh loudly because the train ride from Ballston to VA square had been a lot less than smooth. But after inhaling, I lost my desire to sigh. Instead, I gained a desire to lose my breakfast. The girl standing directly in front of me had shifted slightly right before I detected the foul odor and I'm thinking that this horrible smell came from her.

At Courthouse, it was deja vu. The short girl directly in front of me shifted. And then, there it was. The fart to end all farts. Oh. My. God. I think my fellow riders were willing to forget about the first fart. But the second was too much to bear. People started to look around. And for whatever reason, they started to look at me. I scrunched up my nose to let them know that it wasn't me. Obviously, if I too was disgusted by the smell, then I couldn't have been the one who farted.

Stopped in the tunnel between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom, Short Shifty Girl did it again. Three times in 15 minutes! What in the world did this girl have for breakfast? A big bowl of broccoli? Instead of looking at Short Shifty Girl as the true culprit, they looked at me again. Come on, now. It wasn't me. Granted, I didn't expect Short Shifty Girl to apologize or even own up to the fact that she was making us miserable. But I swear the smell didn't come from me.

Just because I was the only Mexican girl on that side of the train, doesn't mean that I had rice and beans for breakfast!

i will forever be known as the girl who killed the rally

Jesse and I played kickball again last night (“the couple who plays together stays together”…or something like that). We were very proud of our win last week and felt pretty good about playing a team that had previous lost by a lot of runs. I wouldn’t say that we were over-confident…just confident enough to win.

So, it felt odd to us when we were being shut out up until the last inning. How is it that shut outs happen? It’s kickball, after all. The game is based on offensive production. It’s really about who can score the most points by the end of the game…not about who’s defense is good enough to keep the other team from scoring. That’s just crazy.

But then a miracle happened. In the bottom of the 5th, we rallied. After being down 3-0, we quickly (although getting to this point felt like an eternity) came back and pulled within one. At this point, there were runners on second base and first. And then the words I was hoping not to hear with two outs in the bottom of the 5th—“Liz, you’re up.”

It was all so surreal. This feeling of dread came over me as I made my way to home plate. Walking past my teammates, I could hear them say, “Go Liz!” “You can do it.” Eye of the Tiger starts playing in my head. Full of an impending sense of doom, I came up to the plate and saw the ball come towards me. It was way off to the left of the plate. Ball 1. One of my teammates yells, “Good eye, Liz!” The ball comes at me again. With the hopes and dreams of all my teammates, I give it a good kick. Foul Ball. The ball comes at me a third time. With my own hope and dream of becoming the game’s hero, I kick it with power. Foul Ball again. “Come on, Liz.” That’s right. Come on, Liz. You CAN do this. You CAN win the game for your team. For the fourth time, the ball comes. It took a strange bounce but I kicked it anyways…with all of my might.

Oh I kicked it alright. Straight into the pitcher’s hands. He then proceeds to tag me out as I race to first base. The rally ends, but even worse, the game ends too.

Damn it. I let the team down. I let myself down too.

how I decided not to live with a crazy girl

Yesterday, I realized that I never delivered on my promise from my first post ever. You’re probably wondering, what the heck is she talking about? Frankly, I’d like to forget my first post too (actually, the whole month of April is probably not my best blogging material). However, I made the promise to tell you the story of how it is that Jesse and I came to live together. So, here it is.

I lived, quite happily, in a rowhouse on the NE side of the Hill, just a few blocks from Union Station. It took me forever to find that house. In fact, when I first moved here, I stayed in a hotel while I found a place and I ended up staying at that hotel for a month because it took me THAT long to find something I felt comfortable with that was Metro accessible (I’m not even counting the months I spent looking for a place to live while in Cali). I truly loved this house and proudly made it my home. I subleased (or is it sublet?) the master bedroom with my own bath month-to-month. It was the perfect arrangement. I even had the pleasure of living with some really special people (Shell and Drew) and some not so special people (like the dumb girl who worked on the Hill who slept with every guy she met). Ahhh…the joys of living in a group house.

After living there for a couple of years, the subletter told us that in a couple of months he would not be renewing the lease and the owner would sell. I panicked. Who knows how long it would take for me to find another suitable home, especially since it took me so long last time? So, I started my search.

I had two requirements. I didn’t want to sign a lease and I didn’t want to commit to a particular amount of time. I hoped that one day, Jesse would ask me to live with him and I wanted to be available to accept that offer, whenever it would come. With those two criteria in mind, I looked. I got lucky. I found something right away. It was a room in a 2BR apartment in Arlington. It was 5 minutes from Jesse’s new condo. When I contacted the girl, she was fine with my requirements and invited me to take a look. That weekend, Jesse and I checked the place out. I would be replacing her current roommate. I needed to make the deposit check out to the leaving roommate and could move in at the start of the following month.

It was perfect…until future potential roomie, Not So Smart Girl, decided to tell the management company that she was getting a new roommate ONE WEEK BEFORE I WAS TO MOVE IN. The management company said that I needed to submit an application and that my name would have to be on the lease. I had two lease options—a year lease and a 6 month lease that would add another $200/month to the rent. I was pissed. After being told my prerequisites were fine, I was being asked to do exactly what I didn’t want to do. If I didn’t, I would be homeless by the first of the month.

So, I applied. I was contacted by the management company and was told that I needed to provide them with a deposit. Hmmm..that’s funny because I thought I had already paid a deposit. Management didn’t care that I had already paid a deposit to the outgoing roommate. I needed to give them a deposit before I moved in. And the deposit would stay with NSS Girl if I moved out before her (which was very likely).

I told NSS Girl about this and I expected to get my previous non-valid deposit back. For whatever reason, she didn’t feel that reimbursing me would be a reasonable solution. Apparently, she thought it was completely fair for me to pay two deposits because the first one was with her and the second one was with the management company. Ok then. I’ve never heard of that. I consulted the management company and the manager herself told me that she thought that NSS Girl (or her roommate) should reimburse me because that deposit had nothing to do with them and my deposit to management was the only thing needed for me to move in. The manager also went on to tell me that NSS Girl has proven to be less than an ideal tenant and has been frustrating their office also. At least I wasn’t the only victim.

So, the day before move-in day, I told NSS Girl that I wanted to be given back my deposit so I could give the management company the money. She then asked, “Well, if I give you the money, when would you pay me back?” My jaw dropped. This chick was still not getting it. I no longer had the patience for her, nor did I even want to live with someone this dense. Jesse, sensing my frustration, offered me a place to stay until I could find something else. This wasn’t quite the romantic proposal that I had in mind, but it would have to do. I didn’t want to be homeless. I called NSS Girl and told her that I didn’t think this would work out and that I wanted my deposit back. I got a check the following week.

Everything happens for a reason, they say. I’m still living with Jesse and it’s been great. I have not been looking for a place to live. And I’m happier now than I’ve ever been. So take THAT, NSS Girl!

confidential to birthday boy in SF

Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Matty!
Happy birthday to you!

I'll be having a drink in your honor tonight!

MY BOYFRIEND IS LEAVING ME

separation anxiety
Function: noun
: a form of anxiety usually experienced by a young child and caused by separation from a significant nurturing figure and typically a parent or from familiar surroundings

Yesterday, I found out my boyfriend is leaving me…for a week. He’s going to Denver for work and it will be the first time that he leaves me all by myself (and alone and lonely) in the Ballston condo for an extended period of time. Since moving in together, we’ve been apart only once—my extended weekend trip to Cali back in May. Needless to say, I’m not looking forward to experiencing distance between us.

Jesse called me yesterday as I was swamped at work and dropped the bomb. “Guess what?” he whispers (he didn’t want his cubicle neighbors to overhear the conversation). “What?” I whisper back (because he’s whispering). “I’m going to Denver next week.” My heart drops. “No, please don’t go” is my immediate verbal response. In a soothing tone, Jesse says, “It’s ok. I’ll be back.” Yes, I’d hope so. Still, I continue to feel…panicky.

I’ve never done well with separation. Being the youngest in the family, I was constantly at my mom’s side when I was little. When I went off to kindergarten, I just couldn’t bear to see my mom leave me. I didn’t want to be in school all by myself (I’m a wuss, what can I say?). I didn’t understand why my mom couldn’t stay. I cried for most of the first day, especially because the teacher, a nun from hell, kept antagonizing me. Sister Maria mocked me for crying in front of the whole class. Needless to say, that upset me even more.

The next day, my mom volunteered to become a teacher’s aide. I stopped crying (unless I fell and hurt myself which was often). That probably wasn’t the best way to help me deal with the separation but the results weren’t too bad. Thanks to me, my mom discovered a new vocational calling. She continues to work as a teacher’s aide for an elementary school back home (not mine, thank God, with it’s evil nuns).

Back to present day, my heart sinks a little every day when Jesse leaves me to go to work. But now I’m just super anxious with his leaving for a few days. Jesse always has problems with his ears when he flies (the ears don’t like the changes in elevation). What if the mile high city gives him problems? What if he’s bored and can’t find anything to do? What if we keep missing each other’s calls and can’t talk to each other while he’s away? How in the world am I going to sleep without him by my side? Who's gonna cuddle with me at night (I guess Manny the stuffed animal manatee could sub for Jesse but it won't be the same)?

The condo is going to feel so empty without him. I'm gonna miss his hugs and kisses. Who am I going to make dinner for? What am I going to do without him asking me what he should wear to work? Who’s going to be patient enough to listen to my whining? Ugh…I don’t want to be without the boo. I don’t think I can make it.

Maybe I can go with him.

i really do hate being a girl sometimes

Occasionally (once a month usually), I envy boys. Guys really do have it easy. First off, the world is their urinal. Sometimes I wish, that if it were truly necessary, I can pee just about anywhere. I suppose that’s technically possible now, but it’s impossible to do so and not get stuff on you.

Secondly, we have boobs (actually, some boys have boobs too, but that’s a whole other post). If you’re like me, you have D’s that are always in the way. I hate that I can’t wear a button down shirt without a camisole underneath. Why? Because I can’t button the buttons at the boobs. It seriously cuts down on my work outfit possibilities. Additionally, it forces me to shell out even more money for clothes because I need to buy a camisole whenever I buy a shirt. I guess I could wear a minimizer bra, but I’ve never seen one that was fashionable and visually appealing (after all, I have a boyfriend to please).

Another thing about boobs—I hate that they bounce when I move. This morning, as I was walking towards the office, I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass door and thought, Wow, they’re especially jiggly today. The bounciness is definitely a problem at the gym. First of all, they need to be positioned correctly in the sports bra in order to keep movement to a minimum. Secondly, that is still no guarantee of non-movement, especially on the elliptical. Fortunately for them, boys don’t have to worry about this.

No dressy woman’s outfit is complete without heels. Why is it that the sexiest shoe known to man (the stiletto) is also the most painful (clearly a man must’ve designed them)? Sure we could wear flats to work. But wouldn’t you agree that a heeled shoe looks best with skirts and trousers? Meanwhile, men get to walk around in flats every single day of the year. So not fair.

Sometimes I wish I could look good bald. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about styling my hair on days like this. All guys have to do is wash their hair and maybe run some product through it. Styling time: approximately 15 seconds (unless you’re Jesse and beautifully hairless so that your styling time would be zero). Girls have to wash their hair, apply volumizer, blow dry, style, and apply product to hold. Styling time: 20-30 minutes (depending on whether or not a flat iron is used).

Sure, being a boy can suck too (especially if you’re a boy with manboobs), but this is my pity party and boys aren’t allowed. Only girls can understand what I’m feeling right now. Besides, a girl wouldn’t accuse me of being hormonal (or PMS-ing) right now like a boy would.

On second thought, I don’t want to be a boy.

the trojan family knows no boundaries

Happy tax holiday, fellow shop-a-holics! There's just something about the absence of taxes that makes me want to shop til I drop. So, I decided to celebrate VA's first tax holiday by hitting the outlets.

They say Disneyland is the happiest place on earth, but I beg to differ. Outlet malls are my happiest places on earth. What's not to like? Designer stuff and non-designer stuff at super low prices...ooooh...it makes me smile just thinking about it. Having never been to the outlets in Leesburg, I persuaded Jesse to drive us out there.

My shopping buzz was about to be killed when we got there. There was a traffic jam just to get into the parking lot. Undaunted by the large number of people who didn't know how to merge, Jesse and I sought out a parking space. We eventually found one and started making the trek to the Ann Taylor Factory Store.

On our way there, I spotted an SUV with VA plates totally decked out in USC stuff. There was a University of Southern California sticker across the top of the rear window. Along the middle of the rear window was a USC Mom sticker. And adorning the license plate was a USC frame. I got excited about a fellow Trojan being out in the stix with us and pointed it out to Jesse. Proudly wearing the USC visor that I bought him, Jesse said, "You Trojans love Virginia. There are a ton of you out here." I said, "Yeah, but it still makes me happy to see stuff like that."

After hitting a couple of stores and exercising the credit cards, we had to stop by the Starbucks in the food court for a cold, refreshing beverage. Upon exiting, a woman with a toddler in her arms stops Jesse and says, "I love your hat." (I swear, Jesse gets more compliments on that hat than I've ever gotten on any of my USC shirts.) He smiles and replies, "Oh, thank you." The woman than turns to her toddler and says, "See the hat? That's where you'll be going to school one day." Oh my God, that's so cute!

Although I ended up finding tons of good deals and adding to my extensive wardrobe, that moment was by far the highlight of my day.

THE LOOT: When it was all said and done, this was the damage.

confidential to the mexican diva in MD

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday, dear Rene!
Happy Birthday to you!

i've unleashed another blogger into the world

Yesterday, a sexologist-turned-minister came to the office to discuss the relationship between sexuality and religion. I could write a whole post on that but I just had to tell you about what she said towards the end of her presentation.

She informed us that she now has a blog and that she thinks blogging is fascinating (I’d add a link, but you’ll see why I didn’t in a second). I turned a little red at this point because the two people in the office who know that I blog looked at me when she said this. The Reverend went on to say that she writes about the topic of sexuality and how it relates to religion almost daily. “It’s fun and easy,” she said, “especially when I’m angry. I just blow off some steam on the blog and let it go.” Then she said, “The challenge is to get people to read your blog” (yeah, tell me about it). According to her, the key to getting people to read your blog is to read other blogs and make comments. However, the Reverend does not have the time to read other people’s blogs, let alone comment. So in order to get her name/blog out there, she has hired a summer intern who gets paid $2 per comment. The intern is already a blog reader, so she reads other people’s blogs and then places comments under the Reverend’s name.

First of all, you really shouldn’t blog and expect people to read your blog unless you have the time to read other people’s blogs. It’s the Golden Rule of Blogging. How can you expect to be read if you don’t read blogs? It just doesn’t make sense to me. Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the reason why the DC Blogging community is awesome is because we all read each other. For the most part, we’re all connected through dcblogs.com, which is fabulous. This is not my attempt to be on DC Blogs noted. The site is truly freakin’ fabulous and I’ve been exposed to so many other blogs that I would’ve never thought to read (or it would’ve taken me a long time to find) had it not been for that site.

The Reverend then begins to field questions from the staff on how to start a blog and whether it’s free and if you could be anonymous (she recommended Blogger which is free and allows for anonymity). Again, I get looks from my coworkers who know I blog. I really just want to laugh. Blogging has been around for awhile now. It’s odd to me that some of my coworkers are just catching on.

One of my coworkers (who knows) came up to me afterwards and asked me how it is that I keep up with reading other blogs (apparently the Reverend made it sound like it was SO difficult to fit in to her busy schedule). Jeff chimed in, “Who has time to read blogs? People are just too busy.” Offended, I respond, “Well, some I’ve bookmarked and others I’ve added to Google Reader.” I gave my coworker a quick demo (Google Reader is your friend) and then she concluded, “I’m gonna start a blog. If Liz can do it, then so can I.”

Holy crap. Did I just inspire someone else to blog? Who knew I had any such influence?

i heart kickball

Yesterday was the first day of kickball. To be honest, I was a little upset that they hadn’t postponed it. I’m sure you peeps have all heard about the heat warnings and how you should limit any outdoor activities. I thought, certainly WAKA (world adult kickball association) doesn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. Perhaps they’ll cancel. But noooooooo. Kickball was still on.

With my one liter bottle of water in hand, I headed over to the Mall. I was introduced to the rest of the team and started our game shortly thereafter. It had been a long time since I had played kickball (not since grade school) and I really thought I would suck. I dreaded coming up to kick.

The reality was that no one really cared if you were any good. Everyone was there to have a good time. There was a healthy dose of competition (expected). There was lots of team spirit, whether you sucked or not (expected). And there was drinking…lots of it (not expected considering the weather). Frankly, next time we play (provided that it’s not over 100 degrees heat index), I might be tempted to imbibe. But drinking while it’s super hot while performing some amount of physical activity just doesn’t sound like a good idea. Didn’t anyone read about Sharkbait’s bout with dehydration? Dehydration is a real, plausible threat in this kind of weather and it’s important for my peeps to drink plenty of water and stay cool.

Now that my public health concern has been voiced, back to kickball. I actually didn’t suck. I had a good kick during my at-bat (ummm…at-kick?). I even got a compliment on my kick from one of the teammates (that whole team spirit thing). And I had a couple of good almost catches (meaning I kept the ball close and in play). Good times were had by all.

Next time, Jesse and I will have to participate in the post game drinking. Apparently, I won’t know kickball until drinking is involved. Great. Like I need another reason to drink.

who needs a boyfriend or girlfriend? please let me help you!

I’m sure regular readers of this blog are sick of reading the lovey-dovey stuff I write about my boo, Jesse. I can’t help it, though. He inspires me to wax poetic on all stuff that falls under the sappy category. I swear that I was not always this way. In fact, I used to be quite the hard core cynic about love and relationships. Boy did I love that role. On many occasions, my friends described me as the Samantha of our group (actually, I really wanted to be the Miranda, because she was smart and loved sports). For a while, it was fun to encourage my friends to be sexually liberated and not tied down to one man or woman (who am I kidding? I still encourage it). Then I met Jesse and the concept of being with just one boy kinda grew on me.

My “relationships are for suckers” attitude has slowly disappeared and I’ve noticed that more and more of my friends want to be in a relationship (and for those of you who don’t, keep on truckin’). It breaks my heart to hear them speak of their strong desires to be with someone and their futile attempts to find that someone. On Friday, my friend K was telling us about how hard it is to meet someone in this city. Honestly, I never really thought about it because I was never really looking. Since moving here, she had been on a lot of dates (probably around the 30-40 mark, if I recall correctly) and none of them had turned into a lasting relationship. K turned to Jesse and me and said, “You guys have no idea how lucky you are to have found each other. It’s brutal out there.” This is not the first time that K has expressed this sentiment…while sober.

Here’s the thing. K is super cute and fabulous (like all of my single friends). She’s so much fun to be around. I turned to Jesse and said, “You’ve got friends. Who do you think?” Jesse says, “Jeff.” “Nah. I’m thinking Sid.” Jesse and I have decided to try Sid first. On paper, Sid’s great. He’s nice, quite the partier (as most of Jesse’s friends are), has his own business, and is pursuing an MBA. He also fits K's description of the kinds of guys she's attracted to. I think he and K would be a good match. Jesse and I are thinking we’ll probably invite him to a kickball game, see if Sid and K get along, and then maybe do a group hang to help move things along. The group hang sounds fairly pressure-free, I think.

Playing cupid always sounds good in theory. I only have the best intentions for K and I’d like for this to work. Worst case scenario—she goes on yet another fruitless date. Best case scenario (obviously what any cupid truly strives for)—they get along really well, date, start talking marriage after a year, cupid gets to be a bridesmaid at the wedding and wear a fabulously fashionable gown.

In practice, these things tend not to go as well as planned. For whatever reason, they don’t mesh. Your friend gets mad at you for thinking that he/she could ever get along with the inferior species that is the person you set them up with. Cupid tries to wash her hands of all blame, claiming that the best intentions were at heart. Cupid then rues the day that she ever agreed to help her friend find a man.

Well, it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I took a risk with Jesse and we ALL know how that turned out. It just goes to show you that you just never know.

i've been a bad, bad girl

Last night was probably one of the top two Monday nights in my life (the other one being that Monday night in SF with all the drinking). Totally sober, Jesse and I went to see Fiona Apple at Wolf Trap. First of all, you peeps know my general reluctance to praise anything in NoVA. But wow. Wolf Trap was cool (Jesse, I told you I'd do the shout out in the blog). I had never been before Monday and I thought the venue was great. Sure it was super hot and muggy. And I had to drench myself in bug repellent before we got there. But it was all woodsy and pretty and not that big. One complaint--You can't use cameras there. So, unfortunately, I can't provide images with my report. I can, however, provide a YouTube video which will give you an indication of what the concert was like.

Fiona Apple

Yeah, that's pretty much a good indication of what Fiona did last night. Lots of random dancing and frantic movements. There were times that she was just yelling stuff away from the microphone and her band made it impossible to understand what she was saying. But she's an artist, so she's allowed to be weird. The best part of the night was when she addressed the crowd towards the end. She apologized for making us come out in the heat. Somehow this statement was related to her dress which she said she was wearing for the first time. Her dress was a cobalt blue rayon or matte jersey long strapless dress that was very flowy. She said, "I look like an inkblot." (She should know, she's a little insane.) The crowd laughs and then she says matter-of-factly, "I don't wanna know what I mean." A little psychology humor for ya.

She sang a good mix of old and new, with a slight majority of her songs coming from the "When the Pawn..." album. The third song she sang was Shadowboxer. The emotion and power with which she sang it just gave me goosebumps. I nearly cried, it was so beautiful. She performed some crowd favorites--Limp, Paper Bag, Fast as You Can. She wrapped up the show's encore with Criminal, which brought the entire crowd to its feet. Even Jesse was subtly head-bopping with the music.

In two years, this was our first concert together. It was a very cathartic experience for me. In the past, I used Fiona's music as the soundtrack to my love life. Every time a boy hurt me or pissed me off, Fiona would get played loudly and on repeat ('Sing it sista! I hear ya!'). As she sang last night, I thought often of the heartbreak I've felt in the past, of all the boys who've caused it. I'd hear a song (like Sleep to Dream) and remember how I used to relate to it, how it'd console me when I was down or soothe me when I was angry. And then I'd look to my left. I'd hold Jesse's hand and think, I'm sharing this with a boy who makes me very happy every day and every night. I realized then that I am no longer in that place. It's in the past and I've moved on.

It's as if the ghosts of past heartbreak went away. They won't be able to haunt me anymore. I'm happier now than I've ever been.