Summer of Freedom, Summer of Love (Part 1)

I've always been drawn to memoir as a genre. Since I was a little girl, I've been writing down my memories and the events that are important to me. From time to time, I've shared some on here. Lately I've been revisiting past times in my life, probably because the new addition (Charlie) makes me even more reflective than I already am. Life really does fly by, and no matter how old I get, I never want to forget the events that made me who I am. I think someday I'd really love to write the story of my life, even though I'm not particularly interesting or profound. Anyway, I'm ready now to share a set of memories from one particular summer with you, as well as some pictures from around that time.



(Me and my friend Katie at our homecoming dance, circa 1995. Damn, I was skinny! And cute - even with red eyes! Why was I so hard on myself back then? Sorry about the bad photo - it's a picture of a picture.)

It's become almost a daily thing for me to take Charlie for a nice long drive in order to get him to take a nap. I have to admit that it's wonderful to have the freedom to be able to do that instead of constantly watching the clock and anticipating having to be back at work. Parenthood may be the job that never, ever ends, but it's loads more enjoyable than any "real" job I've ever had.

As I drive along the busy southern California freeways, Charlie asleep in his car seat in the back seat, my mind definitely tends to wander, and today it went back to the summer of 1995, back to the heat and humidity that characterize summers in south Texas. That was my last summer of freedom, probably my last time really being a kid, and I didn't know it at the time, and I probably wouldn't have cared if told so. I was entirely too anxious to grow up.

Summer for me always really began with my birthday on June 7, and that summer I turned 16. Around that time, I was (very reluctantly) confirmed into the Catholic Church. After two years of attending confirmation classes (taught by the most inane and boring nun in the history of the world) and a lifetime of doubting my belief in the Catholic faith, I was finally considered an adult in the eyes of the Church, free to make my own decisions regarding my "faith."

So I did what any closet agnostic teen would do: I chose not to go back to church or Sunday school.

And then shortly thereafter I went out one Saturday night with my friends Katie and Bonnie (who were sisters). We went to a popular hangout that featured live country music and lots of people in Wranglers and lots of line dancing. I was not a "kicker," as those who were into country music and Wranglers and line dancing and raising livestock were called, but our options were so limited. We hung out in the parking lot with friends and smoked cigarettes and drank Bud Light.

I felt really cool.

And then next thing you know we saw the telltale flashlights signaling that the cops were on their way, so we all scattered and dumped our beers and tried to look really innocent. I was sitting in this guy Donnie's truck, and I had no idea what to do with my beer, what with my lack of experience with the police and all, so I put in on the seat behind me. Katie was hanging out right near me.

To make a very long story short, Katie and I both got busted for underage possession for that stupid Bud Light that I was too stupid to dump on the stupid ground. (Stupid, stupid, stupid!) The cop who busted us made us walk all the way over to his car and then shined his flashlight in our eyes to scare us and try to make us turn against each other, but Katie and I were tight and stuck to our story: We don't know whose beer it was. We were just hanging around but weren't drinking. Honest, Officer!

And then he wrote out tickets for both of us for "Minor in Possession", each of which ended being over $300. We stayed up the whole night in a state of agitated exhilaration getting our stories just right, so that our moms wouldn't think we were lying. Our story was exactly what we told the cop, that the beer wasn't ours, that it just happened to be there and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time and please don't ground me, Mom.

I seriously doubt now that my mom believed me or my stupid story, but she never called me out as a liar, which I totally was. At that point in my life, I had no problems lying to my mom, because I was so sure that she wouldn't love me anymore if she knew how inwardly rotten I was. (Stupid Catholic guilt.) And let's face it, no matter how rebellious I was, I still desperately needed her love and approval. I hadn't yet learned how to completely thumb my nose at my mother's expectations. (That came later.)

Part 2 coming soon...

My Sordid Smoking Story

Warning: this is a long entry.

I quit smoking two years ago today. And we all know how I love to tell stories. So here's the story of my addiction to cigarettes.

It all started when I was in the womb. Seriously. My mom was a smoker long before I came into the picture and even smoked while she was pregnant with me. (This was generally accepted as something that was okay back in the day.) Anyway, I grew up with a mom who smoked. She did manage to quit for quite a few years but ended up starting again. She always made it clear to me that she didn't want me to start smoking, and I actually never thought I would.

Fast forward to my freshman year of high school. My BFF that year was named Shevvy, and she smoked. I often lectured her about it, but she just wouldn't stop, even though she was obviously ashamed of her behavior. I kept wondering what was so great about cigarettes. I finally took the opportunity to find out at a party near the end of the school year, when I took my first drag off a cigarette Shevvy was smoking. It was totally disgusting. And I stayed away from cigarettes for awhile.

But as the months passed, I kept going back to them. No one really pressured me to smoke, but all my friends smoked, and so I would join them every once in awhile. Soon, their habit had completely worn off on me, and I was buying my own packs of cigarettes instead of bumming off my friends. For a long while, I would buy a pack and have it for a month or so. Eventually, I began smoking more and more. By the time I was in college, I was smoking a pack of cigarettes a day.

I think I finally began entertaining the idea of quitting when I was 19 or so. I crafted out meticulous plans for cutting down. For awhile, they worked. And then I began cheating and eventually went back to my pack-a-day ways.

Moving to California really helped me cut down, as Californians are really hostile towards smokers. Smoking is not allowed in many places, and people are not afraid to tell you how nasty and disgusting you are for smoking. Eventually, I quit cold turkey and didn't smoke for four months or so. It was a major achievement on my part, until the night I was hanging out with some of my friends letting loose during finals. I had one cigarette, and that was all it took to get me started again.

There were many half-hearted attempts at quitting. I would usually cave at the first sign of needing a cigarette. And then I would feel awful for not being stronger. And then someone would say something to me about my disgusting habit, thus making the guilt even harder to deal with. I can honestly say that I was miserable as a smoker - the guilt was absolutely gut-wrenching, but the need to smoke was just as strong.

When I started dating Roy, I went to great lengths to hide my disgusting habit from him. I didn't want him or his family to think less of me. But he knew, and I'm sure his family knew, too. I was able to keep up the facade for awhile, but once we got engaged, I started getting more serious about quitting. I know that once we were married, kids would not be far off. (I love my mom to pieces, and I don't blame her for my smoking habit. It was my choice to start. However, I want to model different behavior for my own kids. I do not want them to smoke. And so I absolutely cannot smoke, ever.)

I decided at the beginning of 2007 that I would quit on Roy's and my two-year dating anniversary, March 14, 2007. I used those few months to prepare myself mentally for what was about to happen. I knew that it was going to be hard but that I really needed to do it - not just for me, but for Roy and for our future children. The only person I told about quitting was Roy. He was the only one I wanted to discuss it with, because I didn't want people bugging me day after day about how much I had or had not smoked.

So when Quitting Day actually arrived, I can honestly say that I was ready. I had prepared myself as much as I could, and I would be damned if I was going to stay a slave to the nicotine. And more than anything, I wanted to be done smoking. I think that's the key factor in taking on something that's terribly hard - you have to really want it.

So I quit cold turkey, and you know, I haven't had a cigarette since. Yes, I had days when it was tough. I still have those days when I crave a cigarette, but all I do is wait it out and the craving passes. I will probably be doing this for the rest of my life, but it's a small price to pay for having more time with those I love.

I don't think I will ever be in the clear, because once you're an addict, you're always an addict. Sometimes I will catch myself trying to justify smoking a cigarette, and it's funny to see what my brain is capable of. I will tell myself, "Oh, it's just one, you can handle one, it's not going to hurt anything." (Yes, I have even had these thoughts during my pregnancy - and if that's not a testament to the power of addiction, I don't know what is.) I have to remind myself that one cigarette can and will be my downfall. I will never be able to smoke socially or casually. I will never be able to have just one. I am - and always will be - a smoker. Only now I'm a smoker who used to smoke.

I am so glad I quit. Hands down, it was the best thing I have ever done for myself. Smoking really is my only regret in life. I am usually able to find some good in the mistakes I've made or in the bad things that have happened, but nothing good for me has come from smoking. I really, really, really wish that my mom and brother would quit - however, I know based on experience that this is a battle they will have to fight on their own. They will have to decide for themselves when or if they want to quit.

And this is why I will never (or hope I never) moralize to those who struggle with any kind of addiction. I will never tell a smoker that they stink or that they are going to die of lung cancer. They already know that smoking is bad for them. And there is so much guilt surrounding the act of smoking because every smoker knows exactly what they're doing to their body. It's just not easy (at all) to stop doing it. Plus, we all have addictions - it's just that some are more socially acceptable. It would kill me when someone holding a bag full of food from McDonald's would tell me how bad smoking was for me.

All that said, here's what I did to successfully quit smoking. This is what worked for me, and I bet it probably won't work for everyone.

1) I set the quitting date months in advance - I knew I would need a lot of time to mentally and emotionally prepare.

2) I changed my routine and the habits that I had built up around my smoking addiction. For example, Dr. Pepper and cigarettes always went hand-in-hand for me. So I cut down on my Dr. Pepper consumption. And I stopped drinking it in the morning because it would make me want a cigarette in the morning, which would then set the tone for the entire day.

3) I cut down on the amount of cigarettes I smoked each day before the actual quitting day.

4) I held myself accountable by telling Roy that I was going to quit, and every time I wanted a cigarette, I would tell him. Just the act of telling him was very helpful. He didn't moralize or tell me I shouldn't smoke; we would just acknowledge the desire and move on. It really helped that we didn't dwell on it; I just needed to say what I was feeling and get it out there.

5) I rewarded myself for milestones met. I can't really remember any specifics here, but I imagine I probably went out and bought myself some books or a smoothie or something as a reward for not smoking.

6) I didn't make a big deal out of quitting. I didn't make a big announcement that I was going to do it; I just made my preparations and did it when the time came. As I mentioned above, this really helped - because no one asked me how my quitting smoking was going.

And that's really all I did. I can't stress enough that quitting a bad habit really is a process of trial and error, and for me, it took a long time to figure out what exactly would work to get me to stop smoking. My advice to anyone out there who wants to make a change is to not give up if the first, second, or tenth attempt at quitting/changing doesn't work out - rather, you should examine what you did in that attempt and, when you are ready, try something new the next time. It is never too late to make a change - I really believe that.

Ultimately, the message behind my story is this: Don't give up. You can do it! I never thought I could, and here I am, happily smoke-free for two years now (after smoking habitually for about 10 years or so). And I am not ashamed at all to admit that I am extraordinarily proud of myself.

It's nice to know that we can change our self-destructive behaviors. It gives me hope for the rest of the world. Granted, I am still far from being perfect. But this is one thing about myself that I never liked, and I finally had the courage to do something about it.

Rite of Passage

I haven't been in the best place lately. Life is... complicated. Very overwhelming. And kind of lonely. Lots of happy moments, of course, but this sense of sadness that I can't shake. I was pretty busy at work today, which kept me from thinking much about things. And then I went and got a much-needed haircut afterwards. I won't say it made me feel like a million bucks, but it was a vast improvement.

I took my normal route home, listening to music as usual. I was driving down a semi-lit street that I'm pretty familiar with, when all of a sudden a black and white flash ran right out in front of me. It was a cat. I slammed on my brakes, but you guessed it....

It was too late. I heard two thumps under my car, and I immediately freaked out and burst into tears. I turned the car around and drove slowly back the way I came.

No cat in sight. Still sobbing, I parked the car and got out and walked around a bit. No cat.

This was horrific to me, not being able to find the cat. I so desperately wanted to find it and see if it had a collar on. I wanted to notify its owner and tell them how much I suck for running over their pet. All I could think of was how bad it would be for this cat's owner.

It reminded me of our family dog Ginger. She was the most awesome dog in the world, but she had one weakness: chasing cars. One day she decided to run out to the road as this gigantic diesel truck was coming, and she got hit. She was just lying there in the road afterwards, and we all ran out to her. I petted her gently, because it was obvious she was in so much pain. My mom took her to the vet, where she died during the middle of the night. It hit us all really hard, because we loved her so damn much.

I was twelve years old when that happened. But still, every time I think of Ginger, I tear up. Because she was an amazing dog who left us far too soon.

To think that I probably killed someone's beloved pet makes me feel like the biggest piece of shit on the planet. Although I did what I could to avoid that tragic end, I still hate that I am the cause of that pain. I am really not happy with myself tonight.

When I got home, I was greeted by three lovely kitties, all of whom were so happy to see me. Me, the cat murderer. I went into the bedroom and cried some more. Not just over the cat, but over all the other completely unfair things in this world. Over loss and sadness and tragedy. Over how easily things can be taken away. Over the death of the sweetest dreams. I cried because I feel so damn helpless sometimes. Because I want things to be right for the people I love. Because there's absolutely nothing I can do to make their pain go away. Because some things that happen just aren't right.

I don't know why I titled this post what I did, but it just seemed right. I guess sadness is always a rite of passage, a trial which we are forced to bear. Sometimes there's a happy ending.

And sometimes, there's just an ending.

The Missing Link

This is my absolute favorite hat.



I came to acquire this hat in 10th grade. One of my classmates, who I had a slight crush on, was a skater and wore all kinds of different hats to school each day. We had English class together, and he sat right beside me. (Be still, my heart!) One day he left his hat (that said "Acme" on it - and nothing more) in his desk, and I rescued it. Later, I told him that I was going to hold his hat for ransom, and he generously offered me a different hat if he could have his Acme hat back.

I couldn't believe he wanted to trade his boring Acme hat for the awesome Missing Link hat, which had a human being, a monkey, and an alien on it. Blah - he was boring, obviously. It's a good thing nothing ever came of that.

So that's how I came to own my Missing Link hat. It's one of the only items of clothing/accessories that has lasted me waaaaaay after high school. I hardly ever wear it these days, but back when I worked at Chili's, I wore it each time I worked in the back gathering all the food together and sending it out. As a result, it's extremely dirty and worn.

I wore my Missing Link hat today for the first time in quite awhile. It seems appropriate to wear it while moving, as I usually need something to hold my hair back. Come to think of it, I usually wear it each time I move. Back before I became a responsible adult, I'd wear it on road trips. I'd drive for hours with the windows down, music blaring, my hat on backwards, sipping a big ol' Dr. Pepper and smoking a bazillion cigarettes.

My Missing Link hat seems to be the perfect thing to illustrate my youth, my crush on some poor, unsuspecting boy, and my theory that I haven't grown up too much despite all that's happened since high school.



I miss those days sometimes. Life was overwhelmingly simple, but I didn't realize it at the time.

I do not like Ike.

I just found out a few minutes ago from my brother's blog that Hurricane Ike is headed straight for the Texas coast - and thus, my parents. My mom has evacuated, and I haven't been able to track down my dad yet. It's times like this when I really wish we had actual TV channels at home, so I could easily keep tabs on this damn monster.



When I was a kid, I used to think that a hurricane was a big candy cane floating around the sky. Unfortunately, life is not like Candyland. Hurricanes are pretty awful to live through. Back in 2003, Hurricane Claudette wreaked havoc on my hometown. I had moved away by that point but came to visit the next month. I took a lot of pictures of the damage - which reminds me, where's that damn scanner I've been wanting for years now?

The point is, Hurricane Claudette was only a Category 1 storm, and it did a shitload of damage. Ike is already a Category 2 storm and is projected to become at least a Category 4. The very famous Hurricane Katrina was a Category 3.

Yeah, I'm freaking out.

Meme Time!

I haven't had a lot to say lately, hence my lack of blogging. Actually, I'm lying. I have had a lot to say, but nothing I feel like sharing with the rest of the world. So I figured I would let my blog remain silent for awhile.

Then I remembered that I was tagged for a meme awhile back by Lydia (thanks, Lydia!), so I thought I'd give this a whirl.

1. What was I doing ten years ago?
Ten years ago, I was 19. I was still living at home with my mom and attending community college. My brother moved out that summer and went to Austin to finish his BA. His company gave me his old job (at a music store), and I only lasted for about three weeks before the crazy manager accused me of stealing money (which I did not do). I ended up walking out after that bomb was dropped on me, and I went back to my old job, flipping burgers and collecting grease. My mom had an emergency hysterectomy that summer as well, very shortly after my brother moved away, and that was a truly scary experience. I was less than a year into a very deep depression that ended up lasting about four years total. It was a very strange and stressful time.

2. What are five things on my list to do today?
Working. Or in my case, pretending to work.

Meeting Val. We are trading our photo-editing software to save money.

Watching Sex and the City. I am obsessed with re-watching the series at the moment.

Cooking. We didn't eat dinner last night because neither one of us felt like cooking.

Importing music onto my iPod. I have a ton of CDs that never made their way into my iTunes library. I've been making a solid attempt at remedying that lately.

3. Snacks I enjoy?
I love anything bad for me. Seriously. But lately, I've been eating a lot of fruit instead.

4. Things I would do if I were a billionaire?
What a question. Well, I definitely wouldn't be working at my crappy job anymore. I'm sure I would have to be doing some kind of work to keep me busy though, because I'm just one of those industrious types. I'd definitely take Roy and travel the world, taking lots of photos, writing lots of poems, eating lots of good food, and reading lots of books. I'd buy a house on the California central coast (in Big Sur or Carmel), and I'd set up our family members with houses and no debt. I'd have my own photography business, my own bookstore, and my own personal library, not to mention two or three kiddos, our kitties, and a dog or two. Oh, and I would be writing a lot.

5. Three of my bad habits?
Obsessing/worrying/overthinking/overanalyzing. This is the worst habit I have. If you know me at all in real life or have read this blog for awhile, then you know this about me. I have tried to change my ways, and I've gotten better for sure. But I don't think I'll ever stop being this way. It's part of my charm.

Emotional eating. Since I don't smoke anymore, I tend to turn to comfort food when I'm upset or stressed. I'm working on that, though.

Second-guessing myself. This ties into my first bad habit, but I think it deserves a mention. I hate this about myself. I am consumed with self-doubt and entirely too much self-awareness. It gets annoying, and sometimes it is entirely too loud inside my head.

6. Five places I have lived?
Victoria, Texas
Kerrville, Texas
Angelus Oaks, California
Redlands, California
Yucaipa, California
Riverside, California

7. Five jobs I've had?
Cook/cashier (and eventually shift supervisor) at a little fast food hole-in-the-wall. You can read all about it here. I spent about three and a half years of my life there.

Team leader (or something like that) at a music store (mentioned above). This job should've been cool, but it really wasn't - hence the reason I was only there for three weeks.

Food server at a cute little restaurant. This was my very first serving job, and I loved it. The people were great, the food was great, and the money was great. The only thing that wasn't great was one of my bosses. She and her husband owned the restaurant. She was a nice enough person but a really shitty boss. In wanting to keep the peace at home, her husband would not address any issues the staff had with her. So I got fed up and left after working there for a year and a half.

Inventory person at a gas compressor company. This ties with my current job as the most boring job ever. Its only saving grace was that I got to travel around different Texas shithole towns. I didn't do a whole lot of work. My co-workers were all men, and they thought I was a dainty little thing who didn't want to get hot or dirty. Guess what? They were right. I played into the traditional female stereotype a lot of the time, and that worked just fine for me. I stayed inside, read magazines, and wrote poetry. All in all, I spent about two months at this job, and I quit without any notice at all.

Food server/bartender/trainer at Chili's. Sadly (very sadly), Chili's was the best job I've ever had. Sure, my income was unstable (and sometimes downright sucked), the people could be assholes, and I smelled like fajitas and left grease stains on the carpet of my apartment, but almost every day was fun. Most of the people I worked with were on the same page as me (college students), and we were able to really bond and have a great time together. The best part? We didn't take ourselves too seriously. We laughed when we spilled drinks or food. We talked shit about the crappy customers we got (and even pulled a few innocent pranks on them). We yelled at each other and then made up at the end of the shift. We worked our butts off and walked out with a pocketful of cash at the end of the day. The general manager at the first Chili's I worked at told us once that we shouldn't get too frustrated with our jobs, because after all, "it's just burgers and beer." And he was right. After two years in beige office hell, I still long for the simple days of burgers and beer.

8. How did you name your blog?
People have told me for years how random I am. And to me, life is an adventure in randomness. There you have it.

Okay, I'm done! I'm not tagging anyone, because I tend not to do that. Play along if you want, though - leave me a comment and let me know if you do!

Firebird

There's this painting that I've had for what feels like forever. Like all pieces of art, this one has a good story behind it.

Back in the summer of 2005, my friend Genevee and I went to the Riverside Art Museum to check it out. Neither one of us had ever been there before. I immediately fell in love with a painting by Gegam Kacherian that was in the front lobby. It was so gorgeous! See for yourself:



I loved it so much I considered throwing down my credit card to buy it. But I didn't. (And I won't lie - sometimes I wish I would have.)

After checking out the downstairs part of the museum, Genevee and I made the trek upstairs, and it was there I noticed a very interesting exhibit called Childish Things. Here are a few of the pictures we saw:




I was totally intrigued by this collection. Some of the pictures made us laugh; some made us cringe and feel uncomfortable. I was pretty impressed with the whole exhibit. (And yes, those are toys. So wonderfully strange, indeed.)

We went back downstairs and made our way even further downward into this single room filled with all kinds of pieces of original art sitting up against the walls. I found out that these were for a silent auction to be taking place the next weekend. I found one piece called "Firebird" that I thought was beautiful, and I told myself I would come back.

Interestingly enough, I also found out that the creators of "Childish Things" were going to be at the museum the same night as the silent auction, as there was some kind of gala planned. I found a copy of the book version of Childish Things in the museum gift store and snatched up a copy. I already knew that I would be back for the silent auction and gala.

Fast forward to the weekend, and Roy and I showed up at the museum. There was lots of schmoozing going on, which was totally gag-worthy. I think we caught a glimpse of Davis & Davis, the creators of "Childish Things," but they were surrounded. So we didn't get a chance to talk to them.

I did, however, go bid on "Firebird" once the auction started. I was soon outbid by a small amount, and I felt defeated. Roy and I decided to leave, and in typical Leslie fashion, as soon as we were out the door I began second-guessing my decision to not bid on the painting again. We had walked all the way down the street and gotten in my car when I decided to go back and bid again. We hauled ass back to the museum - Roy dropped me off and I ran back inside and bid on "Firebird" again with about two minutes to go.

And I won! (I think I won it for $150.) I came back to the museum later on that week and picked up my painting. Roy and I immediately took it to Aaron Brothers and quickly found out that it was going to cost more to frame it than I actually paid for it. Discouraged and not wanting to throw down the money, we stashed it in the closet to be framed in the future.

Warning! Here comes a long tangent.

Soon after this whole experience, I started graduate school. I took a class called The Western Rhetorical Tradition my first quarter. Our entire grade was based on our final paper on something rhetoric-related. One day I had a rare stroke of genius and ended up writing my best paper ever (still, to this day) on the "Childish Things" book and exhibit. My class loved it. Hell, even I loved it! Later on that year I submitted an abstract on my "Childish Things" paper to a local graduate conference, and it was accepted. I began putting together a power point presentation of some of the images, and then I felt like I should email the artists (who are a husband and wife team) to make sure they were okay with my using their images.

So I emailed them, and they responded back, giving me their blessing. They asked if they could read my paper, and once they read it, they responded back with high praise for the work I'd put into it. We exchanged a few more words, and a few weeks later, I went to the conference and presented my paper.

I was really shocked when I was approached by one of the artists of "Childish Things" after presenting. It was so awesome that he took the time to drive out here. He even signed my copy of their book, and we went out to lunch. It was so cool.

End tangent.

Anyway, we finally got "Firebird" framed - almost three years later. We picked it up last weekend, and it looks so beautiful. Already it contains so much history. Here's a detail shot of it:



So that's the end of my long, drawn-out story. Man, I'm really long-winded. I try to be economical with my words, but for some reason, I'm all about back story. So there you go: here's more than you ever wanted to know about my love for art. I have managed to avoid doing homework in favor of writing this post though, so I consider this post an absolute necessity.

For the Love of a Dog

Dear Sasha,

Today you departed this world and left behind a big hole in my heart.

I found you at the Humane Society when I was 13 years old. You were 6 months old and the perfect present for a brand new teenager. You were just the kind of ugly mutt that I had always loved and that the rest of the world neglected. You were covered in fleas and ticks, but you cleaned up really well when it came time for us to take you home. On the drive to your new home, you were so scared you were drooling everywhere. I felt so sorry for you.

You quickly adapted to your new home though. Soon you had earned the affections of everyone around you. We gave you so many nicknames, like "Firf" and "Firfacles" and "Maggot." (Okay, so I never once called you "Maggot.") Your life was a simple one, filled with days of sun, food, green grass, and lots of rubs. You were always so sweet. And damn, you ate a whole hell of a lot! But you won our hearts and remained there. Even after I left home, you stayed behind, but you were always so happy to see me when I came back. Truly, it was like no time had passed.

I had known for awhile that you were not going to be around much longer. You gave us quite a scare less than a year ago when you got really sick. I thought for sure you were going to leave us that day, but you got better and hung in there. It was only right that you stayed around long enough for me to get married - after all, we grew up together.

Tonight, when my mom called, I knew by her voice that something was terribly wrong. She didn't want to tell me right then because I was just getting out of class, but because I pressed her, she told me that she had to put you to sleep earlier in the day. You were in so much pain and were so old. You were incontinent and couldn't even hold yourself up anymore. I kept it all in pretty well until she told me that she was having you cremated and wanted me to have your ashes. I pretty much lost it then, right in the middle of the campus parking lot.

I really don't want your ashes. I just want you to be alive and healthy. But I know you were in so much pain, and I never wanted you to suffer. So I have decided that I am happy to take your ashes if it means that you are running around crazily in some amazing doggy heaven.

And so, my Firf, I guess this is goodbye. We watched each other grow up, and frankly, I don't know how I will ever get over losing you. I love you so very much and will miss you always. Even though I was very much expecting this, I still wasn't prepared to lose my favorite canine forever.

Safe travels, fuzzy one.

Always,

the girl who loves you


PS - If you happen to see Melinda and Chris's dog Roxy in the great beyond, please befriend her. She too passed on today and will need a good friend. Here is her picture, so you know who to look for.



PPS - Kim reminded me that both you and Roxy will have a guide in the great beyond. Her name is Molly, and she needs some good friends too.



RIP, Sasha, Roxy, and Molly

Words for the Departed

Today is a special day. It's my old friend Paula's deathday. It's been nine years since she died, and every year on or around March 8, I try to honor her with some words.

I met Paula when we were both 11 years old and in sixth grade. We were both in the same GT (Gifted & Talented) classes, and we both took Theatre Arts as an elective all throughout junior high. We got to know each other quite well as we made our way through those awkward junior high years. Because we had so many classes together, we ended up hanging out together a lot.

Paula was a beautiful young girl. She had this silky, thick, dark brown hair, big brown eyes, and olive skin. She had a cute figure too. She was intelligent and quite a good actress.

Despite her good qualities, my feelings towards Paula were very conflicted. I felt like she tried too hard, so she got on my nerves quite a bit. She didn't have many friends because other people thought she was annoying as well. She also had a lisp, which I'm sure was hell to deal with, and people constantly made fun of her for it. I felt really sorry for her, and part of me truly liked her. My evil adolescent self often won over, and I would talk behind her back or be mean to her. And the evil adolescent Paula could be very mean and spiteful as well. We were just two young girls who didn't know how to really treat each other with respect.

We still had some great times though. I remember this one weekend afternoon when we went to the movies to see Aspen Extreme. In the middle of the movie, Paula laid down on the seat and rested her legs up against the back of her chair so they were in the air (think of a pin-up girl's pose). I was so mortified that she was sitting the wrong way in her chair. Later on she told everyone who would listen that I was the one who sat the wrong way in my chair. Oh, the humiliation!

Being the Theatre Arts geeks that we were, we would often attend and perform in local competitions. In 8th grade, Paula and I (along with several others) performed a record mime to Monster Mash and had an absolute blast (and even advanced to semi-finals!). We also competed in the group interpretation category and performed a Shel Silverstein poem.

Later that year, the little group that both Paula and I were part of decided overnight (in true girl fashion) that they didn't like me anymore. They stopped speaking to me, and our silence lasted all throughout high school. (I'm sure that this was mostly due to the fact that I went to a different high school and didn't see any of them for all those years.) I don't think I saw Paula once during our high school years. I heard about her though. She developed a certain reputation, and to this day, I don't know how true it was. (Honestly, it doesn't really matter anyway. None of us are saints, not even the dead.)

During the spring semester of my second year of junior college, I began to see Paula around. She had a class across the hall from my political science class, so I would always see her before and/or after class. One time I ran into her outside of the building. She bummed a cigarette off me, and we exchanged a few superficial words. That day it became clear to me, without saying a word about it, that everything that happened in junior high (whatever it was) was over with. We were adults.

Paula had a boyfriend named Geoff who she'd been with for a couple of years. Apparently, he was the jealous type, and eventually she got tired of it. She broke up with him on a Sunday evening, and the next day she went to work as usual at the local monogram shop called Initially Yours. Geoff showed up to see Paula and was allowed into the back where she was working.

But Geoff wasn't there to talk. Instead, he pulled out the gun he had concealed and shot Paula point-blank in the head. Right afterwards, he shot himself. It is my understanding that both died instantly. Paula was 20 years old.

It is surreal when someone you know dies. But murder? I just couldn't wrap my 19-year-old brain around it. Even now, at 28, I can't really comprehend what happened to Paula. On one hand, it's very simple. An obviously unstable and troubled person took her life in a very violent way. But on the other hand, she was there one minute - and gone the next. The fact that we are all so fragile is probably the most scary thing in the world to me.

When I heard about Paula's violent death, I was in a state of denial and shock for awhile. I couldn't cry. I went to her funeral, and there were so many people there. The church was completely filled. I saw people I hadn't seen in years. It was like a big reunion under the worst of circumstances. Our little town was horribly shaken up by the murder-suicide.

I will never forget seeing her parents walking down the aisle to the front of the church that day. They were literally leaning on each other; it was so obvious that they were completely filled with despair and totally emotionally broken.

And yet, I still couldn't cry.

At school, I kept expecting to see her before or after my political science class. And every time, I had to remind myself that she was gone, that I would never see her walking briskly down the hall again, that I would never see that half-smile of uncertainty again.

A couple of years later, a gun store opened up next to Initially Yours, the place where Paula worked and was killed (by a gun, no less). I hated that so much. I often imagined her parents driving by and the terrible shock they would experience at seeing a gun store so close to where their only child was killed. I couldn't believe the insensitivity of opening that gun store. Frankly, I still can't.

Nine years have passed, and this is the first year that I've had a few lonely tears fall over Paula's death (while writing this, incidentally - I think this is the deepest I've gone into telling the story of the Paula I knew). Her passing still shakes me to the very core of my being. I just can't believe that the girl with all that beautiful hair and that endearing lisp, who loved to dance and act and be silly, is gone. I just can't believe it. She will never finish her college education, get married, perform in any more plays, have children, travel, or die peacefully. Her life was cut way too short by someone who might've actually gotten over it had he not acted on impulse less than 24 hours after being broken up with. Who knows what might have happened if Geoff had just given it time?

It is all so senseless and tragic. And every year on the anniversary of Paula's death, I write a few words for her and try to make sense of what's left behind. I write to atone for the shitty way I treated her when we were young. I write to help myself understand the reality of death and the horror of violence. I write because she cannot speak: her voice is forever silenced.

Somewhere in my mind, I still remember that voice, especially as she read that Shel Silverstein poem that we performed for competition:

“Listen to the mustn'ts, child.
Listen to the don'ts.
Listen to the shouldn'ts,
the impossibles, the won'ts.
Listen to the never haves,
then listen close to me...
Anything can happen, child.
Anything can be.”

RIP, Paula Christine Green
October 1978 - March 1999

Behold! The Ultimate Warp Zone!

So, I bet you've all been wondering where I've been.

Well, I've been busy. Ever seen the cartoon Captain N: The Game Master? Well, I wish I could say that I've been just watching that, but unfortunately, I've had to do more adult things, like show up at work, pretend to work, hate my job, go to school, be burned out, suffer from insomnia, and so on and so forth. Incredibly boring, if you ask me.

Which is why I love Captain N so dang much! It's got just the right amount of 1989 cheese to keep me highly entertained. Plus, Kevin, the main character, gets to do what we all secretly desire. He gets to escape from reality by getting sucked into his TV to Videoland where he impresses the scantily clad Princess Lana with his really impressive feats, like his ability to push the pause button. What a stud.

If anyone cares, here's part of the pilot episode. It's Emmy material, for sure.



Anyway, when I was a kid, my friend Lynn and I used to climb in the shower in the upstairs bathroom in my house (it was a really big shower) and warp to another dimension. If we got bored with our current surroundings, we hopped in the shower, and in an instant, we were in a totally new place.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I really wish that warp zones existed. Sometimes being an adult is no fun.

Cryin' in the Girl's Room

So tonight I was getting my hair did and reading I Know This Much Is True, and the most random of memories popped into my head. Actually, it wasn't all that random since it jived perfectly with what was going on in the book: one of the main characters got locked in the bathroom and was teased incessantly for it by his fellow sixth grade classmates. It took me right back to my own sixth grade bathroom experience...

Picture a scrawny, blonde-headed girl with long hair (with sideburns - YES! You heard me right), a ginormous overbite, and big plastic red, white, and blue glasses (YES! You heard me right on this one too), and that was me as a sixth grader. I had a huge crush on one of my classmates. (I would love to share his full name with you, because it's really one of those kinds of unbelievable names, but for purposes of privacy, just in case after all these years he's decided that he's in love with me and stalks me on my blog, just waiting for me to get divorced, let's just call him Trey.)

Trey was so dang cute! He was tall with olive skin and this curly black hair. He just radiated coolness, strutting around in his Bugle Boys. I would like to say that he didn't even know that I was alive, but he did. Unfortunately. We had several classes together.

One day, on the break between Reading and English (taught by the same teacher, Mrs. Sexton, in the same room), several of us were goofing off in the hallway. I'm pretty sure that my friend Laci let it slip that I had a crush on Trey - right in front of Trey! I can't remember what went down after that or exactly what Trey said, but let's just say that he made it perfectly clear that he wasn't interested. Right there. In front of everyone.

I was mortified, so much so that I ran to the girl's bathroom downstairs. I began sobbing on the way. I felt truly heartbroken at Trey's refusal, but to have to hear it publicly, in front of everyone, was just more than I could bear. I locked myself in one of the stalls and cried my pathetic little heart out. I didn't know what to do. There was no way I could ever face anyone ever again! I could never show myself in any of our mutual classes! My life was officially over!

Before long, Mrs. Sexton came into the bathroom looking for me. I ran out of the stall when she called my name, and she gave me a gigantic hug and held me tight for a few minutes. I can't remember if she said anything or not, to be honest. But I do remember that in those moments, I felt protected. I was able to suck it up, go back to class, and overcome my extreme embarassment. (Eventually, I lost the glasses, the sideburns, and most of the overbite, and I'm completely positive that Trey has regretted not going out with me ever since.)

Ahhh, the kindness of teachers. I've had some really good ones in my life, and I am grateful for each and every one of them.

Boys like Trey, though? Not so much.

(Image from here.)

Everybody Else's Girl: My Love Affair with the Music of Tori Amos

When I was 15, I discovered the wonder that is Tori Amos. I hung around with my friends (who were sisters) Katie and Bonnie much of the time that year. One afternoon I came over to their house, walked into Katie's room, and heard this mysterious, magical, and very sad melody playing on her tape player. I was intrigued and discovered that it was the "God" single. Eventually I ended up buying the "God" single on CD, but to my dismay, the song I heard in Katie's room wasn't on it. It ended up being on another single (but I can't remember which one at the moment). Finally, I learned the name of the haunting song that served as my introduction to Tori Amos: "Sister Janet". I was 15 years old, and I fell head over heels with the music of Tori Amos.

I bought Little Earthquakes, her first album after the failure of her first artistic venture, Y Kant Tori Read. I listened to Little Earthquakes over and over. I was completely taken by her voice and the music, but I didn't really pay much attention to the meaning of the lyrics. Eventually I knew them all by heart, although I don't think I really understood what they meant to me until after I graduated from high school.

When I was 19, I went to my first Tori Amos concert (and my first concert ever, actually). It was in Austin, Texas, at The Backyard, and Tori was promoting her From the Choirgirl Hotel album (which is one of my all-time favorite albums). It was a completely amazing experience and a turning point in how I began to process her music. From that point on, I became a genuine Toriphile (or Ears with Feet, as Tori calls her fans).

Tori's music saw me through many dark days during my very angsty late teens/early 20s. She was able to put in words what I could not express. I felt she had written her songs with me in mind, and I felt so very close to her. (I know that sounds creepy, but rest assured, I wasn't a stalker or anything. I was just a really troubled woman-child who needed a hero.) I went to see her live 6 more times, sometimes with just her and her piano, sometimes with the band, sometimes with part of the band. Each time I saw her live was a magical experience. She was (and I'm sure she still is) an amazing performer.

I'm not sure what happened after that. Right around the years of 2001-2003, Tori's music began to go in a different direction. In my opinion, it became much more underdeveloped, so listening to it didn't really do anything for me anymore. I was sort of disappointed in her for not creating the complex music that she had once produced. I stopped buying/downloading her albums after Scarlet's Walk failed to really hold my attention. I haven't seen her live since 2002 or 2003.

But I still count myself a loyal fan, as I still love her older music and consider her as one of my favorite musical artists. I still think she is amazing, brave, beautiful, and heroic, even though I may not agree with some of her creative choices. As a matter of fact, I respect her that much more for always trying new things instead of continuing to produce the same thing over and over. Her music will always hold a very special place in my heart, because to forget her is to deny a huge part of my past. Watching her music evolve has been as rewarding as watching myself grow and change.

She's been everybody else's girl
Maybe one day she'll be her own
-Tori Amos, "Girl"

I'd say she's already there. And so am I. Thanks, Tori, for seeing me through.

*****

Here's the video for one of my favorite Tori Amos songs, "Hey Jupiter":

Memory Month: 2007 - The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly

I can't believe that 2007 is almost over! I say that at the end of every year, but this year is particularly close to my heart - I'm almost afraid to see it go. It has been truly amazing and full of so many ups and downs. Here is my year in review:


The Good

1) I got married! It's true what they say - it was the most amazing day of my life. But it's also true that it doesn't all go downhill from there. In fact, my love for Roy has grown so much since our wedding day. Our relationship has matured in a way that amazes me (not that our relationship was immature before or anything). I truly can't wait to see what the future has in store for us.

2) I found out who my friends are. I have built some incredible friendships this year. Having Mandy as my woman of honor in my wedding really strengthened our bond. Having Melinda and Kim to talk to about wedding/marriage/life ups and downs (not to mention the antics of really stupid people that we all so love making fun of) really drove home the point that people you meet online can turn into awesome friends. Working with Myra on a daily basis showed me that you really can meet the coolest people in the most unlikely places. Of course, along with these newer friendships, there are still my old friends, who I see less often or never at all: Candice, Genevee, Lynn, Laci, and Amanda. And who could forget all the girls that I hang out with online on a regular basis? (Exceptions abound in the online department, because let's face it - some of those bitches on the Nest/the Knot are crazy. Or stupid. Or both.)



3) I caught the dreaded baby fever. Worse things could happen, I'm sure. Acknowledging this desire of mine as something that I'm finally ready for has been confusing. Having children has always been something that I felt was better reserved for the future. It is so weird knowing that the future is finally here. Well, sort of.

4) I became a part of the blogosphere. Although I kept a blog on MySpace prior to my blog here, that doesn't really count. I can't believe the sheer volume of interesting blogs out there - I'm so glad I switched and was able to join the network.

5) I wrote a decent poem and many good blog posts. Writing is still one of the main things that centers me and defines who I am.

6) I read a whole lot of books, most of which were good. Reading is so important to me, and despite how busy and chaotic this year was, I'm glad I was able to take the time to read some books.

7) We got a new car. And it's awesome. Neither one of us will be needing a new car anytime soon.

8) I became part of a new family. I am so lucky to have 2 California mommies that I adore, a sister-in-law who I consider my friend, a brother-in-law who tolerates me, and my adorable nephews and niece.

9) I quit smoking. After 10+ years of smoking, I finally quit - and this time I feel it's for good. It was truly one of the best things I've ever done for myself, especially because it was not easy. I managed to quit cold turkey in March, in the middle of planning a wedding and finishing up finals week. I'm very proud of myself.

10) I realized, like never before, that it's the people in your life who make it what it is. I really used to keep myself at a distance from others. I had major trust issues. I still have them, but I'm learning not to let them get in the way of forming important relationships. I would be lost without the people I love. I didn't really realize this until I got married. Something in me changed that day (and in the days and months leading up to it). I realized that we are all connected and that it was meant to be that way - because human beings need each other.


The Bad

1) Roy got into a car accident. I am so relieved that he didn't get hurt. That would have been so awful.

2) I didn't get the job I wanted (which still really bugs me). I'm still trying to find another job. So far, no luck. There's a possiblity within my own department, but that's a whole other story.

3) My current job has made me apathetic and lazy. This is something that needs to change. I'm not sure if it's my attitude that needs adjusting or if I need an actual job change.

4) I'm suffering from burnout in regards to school. I really want to finish, but I can't make myself care as much as I used to. I used to be a big-time overachiever and highly motivated. I am still a good student, but not as good as I used to be.

5) I cried. A lot. I have cried while watching Scrubs, Gilmore Girls, My Name is Earl, and trailers for upcoming movies. I have sobbed over videography, photography, and flowers. I have wept over the loss of a friendship and the deaths of those I've never even met. This penchant for tears, while embarassing, is something I'm grateful for, because it's how I express my sorrow, frustration, and happiness.


The Ugly

1) I found out who my friends are. Turns out that my friend of 20+ years and I aren't really connecting anymore (which I knew way before this year). In a moment of extreme sadness, when I realized that she wasn't coming to my wedding and didn't think anything of it, I told her how disappointed I was. She called it a guilt trip. I called it honesty. We haven't spoken since - and maybe it's for the best. I still think of her often, but we have really grown apart. It sucks, but it happens.

2) People died. So many good people left this life in 2007, as people do every year. Some of them were brave enough to share their battles with the world through their blogs, and I think they are incredible. As depressing as it may be, I'm going to be adding a section onto my sidebar for those who have passed on and left their wisdom behind. It's really the least I can do to honor them and to raise awareness of the diseases that killed them.

*****

As you can see, it was one hell of a year. So sorry to see you go, 2007. Bring it on, 2008!

Memory Month: How We Met Our Woogas

Who: me and Roy/Roy and I
What: looking for fish to fill the fishtank that we got for Christmas
When: New Years Eve 2005, approximately 6 PM
Where: Petsmart

You know how it goes. Once a girl goes into the puppy or kitten section of any store, you'd have to pry her away. Such was the case with me when I met Roy at Petsmart on New Year's Eve 2005 to buy some fish for our new fishtank. I beat him there (I had been working) and went to go look at the kittens to kill time. It was truly a good thing.

After Roy showed up, I brought him back to the room full of kittens in cages, because he's a fan of all things cute too. The Humane Society woman was struggling with a tiny grey tabby kitten who had just escaped from its cage - and that's how we met Ashe, who we adopted that night. (I admit it, I totally begged. Thankfully, I didn't have to beg much, because Roy loved her just as much.) She was sooooo cute. What's funny is that at the time we thought Ashe was a boy, because the Humane Society lady told us she was. (We figured out the truth when we took "him" in to get neutered a couple of months later.)



Anyway, Woogas was about 3 months old at the time we adopted her, and she was on Death Row at the pound when the Humane Society rescued her. She had a leaky eye, which is due to a virus and still flares up from time to time even now. But still, we fell in love with our little bundle of joy and took her home with us to stay forever.



Woogas and I have grown to be very close over the 2 years that we've been part of each other's lives. She absolutely loves for me to hold her (when she's in the mood, of course - as sweet as she is, she's still a total biatch), but only when I'm standing up and walking around. She will follow me from room to room around the house. She literally gripes at me when she's hungry or wants attention. She will lick my face and rub her face on mine. I love her to pieces and am so glad that we found her and took her home that night.



Happy 2 year anniversary, Woogas! (Don't ask me how I came up with the name "Woogas." I really can't remember. But it somehow suits her better than "Ashe.")

Memory Month: The Best Books of 2007

At the start of 2007, I told myself that I would read 10 books each month. Believe it or not, this used to be an easy accomplishment for me, as I read extremely fast. However, 2007 was an entirely different animal than years past, so reading took a back seat to everything else. I have managed, though, to read 75 books as of this posting and am hoping to finish off a couple more before the end of the year, as I have quite a few in progress right now. One thing I did this year was reread quite a few books, so I won't be including the books that I reread on my list of best books of the year.

Without further ado, here is the list of books that I enjoyed most this year (in the order I read them), along with the reasons why. I didn't force myself to pick 10 books; it just happened that way.

1) What No One Tells the Bride by Marg Stark
One thing every bride needs is a good book that helps her understand her many conflicting feelings that she encounters as she plans her wedding. This is one of those books that I'm so glad I read before getting married. I was one of those moody brides who had very happy highs and really depressing lows. I felt a lot of confusion about all my different emotions, and reading this book (as well as The Conscious Bride) really helped make sense of it all. I ended up embracing all these feelings (even the negative ones), and even though they were hard to handle sometimes, I count myself a better person for having gone through planning a wedding. Books like What No One Tells the Bride really helped me keep a firm grip on my sanity in dealing with family, friends, vendors, Roy, and even myself and my own expectations.

2) No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy
Cormac McCarthy is an amazing writer, and this is an amazing book. The story is compelling (and violent), the writing is top-notch, and I couldn't put this one down. It was suspenseful and interesting. I would love to see the movie, but I'm afraid it just won't live up to the book. However, I could just see the book unfolding in my mind as I read it, so maybe it'll make a good movie after all.


3) The Mermaid Chair by Sue Monk Kidd
Sue Monk Kidd is a delicious writer, particularly in this book. Her writing style makes me want to engage in all things sensual. Her descriptions are incredibly vivid, so much so that her writing sometimes contains echoes of the Latino/a tradition. The story is one that every person can relate to, where the protagonist goes searching for something she can't quite put her finger on and ends up with a better understanding of herself and her life. The myths and legends within the story really gave it its punch and depth. The ending was surprising, which is always welcomed.

4) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling
This was probably the most anticipated book of the year, and I am so happy that it lived up to the hype. It answered all my questions and tied up all the loose ends. It also brought up some relevant issues, giving this fantasy story a strong basis in reality. It was a definite page-turner. I laughed, I cried, I got angry. Despite the epilogue (which I thought was unnecessary) and very weak concluding sentence, I was completely satisfied with this book - and also happy to see how the series matured and found its real theme and subject.

5) Was by Geoff Ryman
This was an excellent book. It's The Hours meets The Wizard of Oz, with an obvious twist of Wicked. The story was powerful, complicated, and challenging. The writing was great. All in all, Was is a very brave book that seeks to reexamine stories and characters we've all grown to know and love.



6) One Hundred Demons by Lynda Barry
I highly enjoyed this graphic novel. I could relate to it very much. Each of the stories/chapters contained within struck a nerve with me, because they showcased the demons that latch onto us and follow us around all our lives. In a sense, this book reminded me very much of PostSecret, in that its very personal revelations felt like they were about me personally, not about some woman (the author) I've never met. The writing was good, and so were the accompanying graphics/pictures/illustrations. I highly recommend this book for everyone. Remember - graphic novels aren't just for nerds!

7) Skinny Bitch by Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin
I thought this book was pretty amazing, and I've actually already talked about it in another blog entry. It actually forced me to reexamine my eating habits by telling it how it is. This book explores the horrific happenings in slaughterhouses, how different foods affects our body, and what we can do to make ourselves healthy. Essentially, the book is all about diet and exercise, but there's no feel-good spin to it. It's very matter-of-fact. Some would even call it bitchy. But I liked the attitude - it helped drive home the main points the authors were trying to make.

8) Taking Charge of Your Fertility by Toni Weschler
Every woman should read this book. It taught me so much about my body and really made me realize how lacking my health/sex ed classes really were. It is amazing how ignorant most women are about the processes of their bodies - well, this book demystifies it all. It also explains a natural method of birth control, which sounded far-fetched to me at first. But it really works if you know how to do it correctly. I would recommend this book to any and every woman out there. Even though it was first published 10+ years ago, it is still groundbreaking.

9) The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini
This book was an easy, fast, and gripping read. For the most part, it lives up to its critical acclaim. It is a great book. But it's not the best book I've ever read, and it won't be going on my "best books of all time" list. It's pretty easy to guess the ending, and I wouldn't say the writing is absolutely phenomenal. What I would say, though, is that this book is extremely relevant. It offers a look into Afghanistan through the eyes of its natives and reveals a timeless story of love, friendship, and family.

10) The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick
This is a hefty young adult book. At 500+ pages, it's quite daunting. However, I read this book in the space of a day or 2, mainly because much of the story is told through pictures. These pictures are pretty amazing works, and they are composed entirely of pencil. The story would be nothing without the drawings. It's not just a book with illustrations added in for fluff - the drawings simply make the book. Although there's a strong story behind the drawings, both story and drawings would be incomplete without each other. This is a really fascinating read.

*****

As much as I enjoyed these books, I doubt any of them are going to make my Favorite Books of All Time list. If I had to choose any, though, I would probably choose No Country for Old Men and/or Was.

I am not really going to make any reading goals for 2008. I would really like to make a dent in my unread books though, but the only way I'm going to be able to do that is if I stop buying books (yeah, right) or get rid of the ones that have been on my to-be-read pile for years (which I do quite often, actually). So, who knows what 2008 will bring?