Giving Up

Happy new year everyone! Is anyone out there making resolutions this year? Or as I like to call it, grand dreams that are crushed by the weight of your own lazy ass? This is the first year that I'm doing absolutely no reflecting, no goal setting. In previous years I've gone to bed around ten thinking of all the ways that I suck and how, by tomorrow, I'm going to change into the person I think I want to be. The list is as follows: Go to the dentist, write every day, find a spiritual life, stop eating sugar, read more, find a real job, watch fewer movies and become a better belly dancer. So far I've become a better dancer and now, when I do eat sugar my throat hurts, but I still eat it. I've come to realize that I always just do exactly what I want whenever I'm good and ready to do it. I still have all of my teeth, my eyes aren't pixelated from the amount of movies I watch and I seem to be doing fine with out 'God' or anything. It feels so good to let go and just give up. And once you drop the things that aren't serving you, you make more room for good things. When I dropped out of film school six years ago I woke up every morning feeling so free and weightless. The following year I traveled alone for my first time and it was the best decision I had ever made.

Forgive me for what I'm about to say: In 2010 I urge you all to quit something. Think long and hard about what you want, your likes and dislikes and then storm into wherever and sing your resignation from the belly of your soul, send a cowardly e-mail, eat some cake or just stop showing up. Just remember, there's no shame in being a quitter. Good luck.

Update

My Darlings,

I hope that you have all come up with some great tools to cope with my absence. I know it's been tough but you'll thank me later. I just wanted to tell you that nothing has happened since we last communicated. Just the same old shit only now it's Winter. I've been thinking about getting a sweater for my dog. What do you think?

My Summer Vacation

Did you miss me friends? I missed you too. Over the last 3 months I've spent my time forcing tourists into diabetic comas, therefore I hadn't the time to cater to the literary needs of my fans. I'm sorry, but some of us actually work for a living. During my work I learned a few things: The most annoying customers are either women, asians or senior citizens. It's a terrible thing to say, I know. And it's wrong to lump people into categories and judge them, but they should have thought of that before they decided to be jerks to me. Before they came in 15 minutes before closing saying "you don't have anything left." To which I should have replied "Well, you must be a glass half empty person." Or "Do you have anything without calories?" Or "Could you cut this in half because I'm not going to teach my children to share." And then they don't leave a tip. My favorite customers are young men. They love everything that's edible and show wonderful enthusiasm and always put whole dollars in the tip jar. It's nice.

So some stuff happened and then I got a dog. She's a retired service dog I got from a shelter. She has had 3 litters of puppies and can't be spayed because she'll die. But that's okay. She's so special. She sometimes howls for no reason and she loves to play soccer. When you talk to her she looks you in the eye and tilts her head from side to side. I'm pretty sure that means she understands so I talk to her a lot. Last night I asked her if she wanted to sleep in the bedroom with me or the living room and she got up and went to the bedroom. She's so smart. I love her very much.

Well, that's about all. Really, nothing else happened. But I'll let you know if something does.

The Nervous Chuckles That Never Come

     I haven't really bothered to ponder social niceties until just now. Last year I was walking to work and someone I knew stopped and offered me a ride. 

     "Do you want a ride or do you want to work off some of that extra chub?" He shouted out the window of his truck. I paused, mostly from shock and to allow him a moment to chuckle as if he had  just made a joke that I didn't get. 

     "I'd love a ride. Thanks." I said. Even in the car, nothing. No 'I was just kidding about that, you look great.' Nothing. I imagined that he realized what he had said when he went home and felt really bad. Because quite frankly, I know the feeling.

     So last night I was at a bar with a couple of friends and a guy I didn't know. There was a lull in the conversation and I began fiddling with the sugar packets, trying to make them fit in the container perfectly. 

     "They're too fat." My friend said, noticing my new found obsession. 

     "Kind of like your thighs." Said the other guy. There was silence.

     "Were you talking to him or me?" I asked. 

     "You." He says. Again, I wait for the nervous chuckle, but it never came. I tried to think quickly of some bullshit eating disorder story to see if maybe he might regret it a little, but I was just too shocked. 

     The thing that confuses me is that I'm not chunky enough to be considered a fatty, but I'm not skinny enough to where it might be used as obvious sarcasm. I'm really confused. Do some people not know that it's rude to insinuate that someone is fat in this country? Later my friend suggested that this person was just a little off and didn't pick up on social cues. But this is two people in the span of a year, both times on my dinky Island home. Is it the Island that does this to people? And why me? There is a plethora of other things to be picked at. Why fat? All I know is that confusion comes in all shapes and sizes. But seriously, What the hell was that about?

May 21

Dearest Bridgett

I'm really happy you were born because if you weren't I would have half as many friends in Eugene and that would be lonely. Happy Birthday sweet friend. I love you!

May 14

     Happy Birthday Grandpa!

     Wishing you many more great years. I love you.

My Beef With Nature

     A good friend of mine once described spring as natures awkward phase. I thought that to be very fitting. It's like a thirteen year old trying on new identities in hopes of eventually settling on one that fits. But unlike a thirteen year old, spring has the world in the palm of its confused little hand. I could have patience with her if she changed by the day. But lately she goes through several identities in the span of fifteen minutes. 

"I'm going for a gothic-depressive meats teachers-pet-dressed-in-her-sunday-best-getting- ready-to-read-to-old-people-before-going-home-to-listen-to-death-metal-and-slice-crosses-into-her-arm-with a-stolen-exacto-knife sort of look." She says.

      To which I reply. "Young lady you are not leaving this house!" Or rather I'm not leaving this house. I know. Of all the reasons one could be a shut-in I choose weather. I can explain: I don't have a raincoat and I don't drive a car. I have a sturdy water-resistant down jacket, but in sixty degrees it's overkill. I would get soaked from the inside by my own sweat. The alternative, which I experienced yesterday while going on a hunt for a raincoat is a sweatshirt. I didn't find what I was looking for and remained a comfortable temperature yet when I got home I was completely soaked. 

     You're probably wondering why someone who was born in the Northwest and has lived in Eugene for over two years (which I refer to as the fluid filled lung of Oregon) doesn't already just have one. I don't know what to tell you. I guess it just never occurred  to me that it might be a worthy investment.

     For what nature lacks in commitment it makes up for in startling beauty. Have you ever seen the black part inside of a tulip? Or the iridescent feathers on a pigeon? Or those monkeys with the colorful faces? For that I can't hold a grudge. I'm going outside.

False Alarm

     Today for the first time since living here the smoke alarm went off. It happened after I took a shower. And having never been properly trained in how to turn off a smoke alarm I fanned at it wildly with a pillow. Although this was the first time I've heard it, it was not the first time the apartment was filled with smoke. Recently my boyfriend Michael was preparing to cook something so he had some oil heating up in a pan. The oil was forgotten about until there was a huge flame leaping up to the ceiling. The smoke alarm was silent. It was a good thing we didn't suddenly decide to go for a walk or take a nap because the entire building would have been reduced to ash. 

     I wonder why one might place a smoke alarm directly outside of the bathroom? Also known as the 'water closet,' water a substance that is said to extinguish fires? Could it be that it's because it's also near the bedroom? Which commonly contains a mattress which is more flammable than a can of gasoline. I guess it comes down to this: Would I rather experience the very unlikely horror of being burned to a crisp in my bed? Or would I rather prevent a fire in a place it's most likely to start (kitchen) and risk the possibility of burning in my bed in the event that I decide to light a giant candelabra and place it on my mattress and nod off? It's hard to say. I do so love falling asleep in candle light. 

The Ring

About five years agoI found a gold ring on the ground. I didn't think it was very pretty but I kept it anyway simply because it was a treasure. Today, on my lunch break I took it to a strictly coins and jewelry pawn shop near the office. The door was locked and the man inside buzzed me in. I showed him the ring and he got out a rough-grey slab, a few droppers of mystery liquid and some old crumpled up paper towels. He scratched the ring on the slab and it left a mark. "yep, fourteen karrot gold." he said. He picked up a magnifying glass and said "it looks like its got four little diamonds. I'd buy it for $100." Cha-ching! Sold. He asked for my I.D, gave me something to sign that says I didn't steal it and then handed me the cash. It was so easy. It takes me a day and a half of work to make that much money. This took me about six minutes.
I was grinning untill I started to feel guilty about it. Some poor woman loses her wedding ring and then I get money. At the time I found it I was tempted to put an add up somewhere, but the problem was that I found it in seattle and I didn't want to sort through tons of people trying to claim it whether it belonged to them or not. I'm hoping that perhaps she threw it out of her car window as she was driving by, maybe after walking in on her husband with another woman. Maybe it was stolen and it fell out of the thiefs pocket. I just worry that by gaining from someone elses loss that god or someone might put a hex on me. I'm scared. But at least i'm $100 richer than I was before my lunch break.

My Big Debut

As some of you may know I've been taking bellydancing for a while now. Recently, I crossed over from the student world to the student-performer world.
Last weekend my teacher took a group of fifteen or so lovely ladies to an assisted living home to put on an epic show. To open the show we pranced around the room in a circle doing simple moves showcasing our startling beauty and brilliant costumes. Then there were four solos (i'll do a solo next time I promise) and finally my momemnt in the sun with the group doing our expertly choreographed drum solo. After knocking the socks off of every last resident with our wave of awesomeness we closed the show with a (I forget the name of it but we stood in a horse shoe while each dancer got to travel to the other end of the horse shoe doing any move of there choice.) I made my way across the floor doing the camel and ended with a spin. I imagine it must have been stunning.
You're probably wondering what I wore. Well I'll tell you. I had a long flowing yellow skirt, a black lace top and a black lace hip scarf. I even got all tarted up with painted toe nails and bright red whorish lipstick. It was pretty amazing. I've decided that it would probably best to live a life of glamour and excess but for now I've hung up my costume and rubbed off my lipstick. I imagine I will unearth it again someday.

Kiss my recession!!!!!!!

Recently my hours have been severely cut at work. I work for a big corporation that prepares taxes and they might do some other stuff too. They say the 'entire district is low' and they can't afford to keep their lowest paid employees which are the receptionists unless it gets freakishly busy. The receptionist, the smiling face at the front of the office that answers phones, makes appointments and manages the unruly waiting room monkies. At this point, the tax preparer has to stop what they're doing when the phone rings which irritates the clients they are currently servicing because they are not paying unreasonable amounts of money to have their tax preparer be a receptionist. Thus, they decide to take their taxes elsewhere the following year.
I thought that I was skillfully avoiding the shit storm that is our economy because I don't own anything of value, like a home. I was wrong. The shit storm has finally found a way to shit on me.

fruit for thought

Just yesterday i was staring intently at my fruit basket wondering about the origins of our language. I was looking at an orange and a banana wondering, what came first, the name of the color orange or the name of the fruit? I wondered, why don't they call babanas yellows? or why isn't the color yellow simply called banana? Orange is the only fruit with the same name as its color. Is this odd? Can anybody answer this for me? If so, leave your answer in the comment section. Thank you for your time.

In the kitchen...

As of right now I'm introducing a new segment to Great Achievements. A how-to of basic everyday things. Today i'm going to give away a secret recipe for soup. It has been passed down to me from myself through many generations. It's an instant classic, a family favorite and good for poor people. I call it Nicole soup.

Begin by sauteeing carrots, celery and onion in a large pot. While this is happening chop up any other vegetables you might have cluttering your fridge. Once the carrots, celery and onions are softish (oh yeah, sautee in olive oil if you must but butter is better) then put in other veggies. Let those cook, then add a can of tomatoes or fresh tomatoes, stir it around and then add stock. Whatever stock you have. Let it cook a little and then season with whatever you want as long as what you want is a shit load of cumin. Bon Apetit

P.s i would like to dedicate this posting to my mom, Liz and my boyfriend, Michael. Both are glorious cooks and today is their birthday. Happy Birthday you Piscean kitchen wizards!

men make people think that women wear funny pants

let me begin by saying that I have no problem with transvestites as people. But what I do have a problem with is their lack of fashion sence. I was just on my lunch break at the fancy market across the street from where I work. I was just taking a bite of cold meat loaf when I saw a man with long curly hair and a sparkly fitted tourquios top. Fabulous right? Wrong. He had paired it with parachute pants that appeared to be decorated with the galaxy. I was in such shock I could barely swallow my cold meat loaf! With all the glorious fashions and thrift store gems available to women (and men) one might think that if one would bother to dress as a different sex that one might want to do it justice. But if you don't want to that's okay too. I'm sure parachute pants are very comfortable. And by the way i'm a very tolerant person, fully accepting of all kinds of beauty and the glowing light within us all.

follow your bliss

I would like to take a moment for you all to congratulate me on my entry into the world of professional bloggery. That's right friends, i get paid for this now. I understand that it is the goal of many to make a living doing what they love. My advice to you is simply follow your bliss, even if that means following it home on a dark night while staying a safe distance behind it so as not to frighten it. Chase it like it owes you money, slept with your lover and made off with your junk. Even if it tries to file a restraining order, you tell your bliss that you won't take no for an answer and the law doesn't scare you. I forgot what i was talking about....oh! you're probably wondering how I pulled this off, right? Well, here it is: I work in an office and when the phone isn't ringing I don't have to do shit thus it frees up my time to follow my bliss at a humble rate of $9 an hour. Jealous?