Wanderlust

I can feel it in my veins. There is a time for staying home and taking comfort in the things that are familiar. Then, there is also a time for venturing out and having an adventure. 

I'm looking forward to two grand adventures that loom on the horizon. 

First, the husband turns the big 3-0 this September and in honor of that auspicious occasion we have decided to take a trip. We're going to go to California. We'll fly into LA, rent a car, drive up the coast stopping at various locales and fly back from San Francisco. We've got a few ideas in mind for things to do (Big Sur, San Francisco, Napa Valley). We booked our flight and car rental tonight. We've still got a lot of planning yet to do, but I'm looking forward to it!

Second, in August I earn my 5-year sabbatical at work. What would you do with a paid vacation anywhere in the world? 

I was thinking about taking it next summer, but after talking to my friend JR, I may be leaning towards next May. I haven't finalized a location yet, but right now I'm thinking possibly Prague. I want to go somewhere that has plenty of history so I know there will be plenty for me to do for 3 weeks. Then, all the other European countries are just a train ride away. 

I think I'm going to put in my request at work pretty soon. 

Half the fun of these things is working out the possibilities and planning what you are going to do. Things are looking up. 

How I was almost good, but then I wasn't

At Christmas, my work hands out holiday cards with crisp $100 bills inside of them. Usually I hand mine over to the husband. This year (with his approval) I kept it. I've been thinking about what I would spend the money on for the past 5 months.

Makeup? Clothes? Jewelry? A new purse? A new vanity for the bathroom?

The possibilities were more enticing than actually spending the money. 

Today, I finally spent my $100. 

I would love to tell you I bought something completely fabulous. 

Nope. Instead, I spent the money on some new bras. 

Sexy bras, at least?

Sure. You'll never know if I'm lying anyway.

It was long overdue. I needed some that actually fit. Too much information? Suck it up. 

I bought three new ones and I could have paid for it out of our joint account, but I had the cash and since I didn't technically need them it seemed fair to pay for it with my own money. 

So, I was a good little girl and did not put my purchases on our bank card. 

THEN. Then, I went to Sephora. Just to look. 

Um, would it help if I said that one of the things I bought was on sale?

No? Oh well. 

I tried. Kind of.

Storming

I like thunderstorms. 

I always have. 

When I was a kid growing up in Dallas, a substantially bigger city than where I currently reside, what I was afraid of more than anything was robbers. Not spiders or snakes or even winged monkeys. Robbers. 

The very idea of someone coming into my home, into the place where I should have been safe, was T-E-R-R-I-F-Y-I-N-G! Lil-C was afraid of them, too. I'm not sure if I did that or if she came to that conclusion on her own. 

She slept on the floor of my bedroom for years because of it. 

I would love to tell you that she did for the safety and security of being near her big sister. That is laughably untrue. If we were robbed, she hoped any ne'er-do-wells would step over her (thinking someone had accidentally left a blanket on the floor, perhaps?) and "get" me instead. I wasn't much better. I hoped that they would think I fell out of bed and "get" her and not notice me. Ah. Is that sisterly love or what?

Dallas sits right in the middle of a big, fat plain. There is nothing to break up a storm once it gets rolling. Often those thunderstorms would be accompanied by flash floods. What I'm saying is we had some big, bad-ass storms.

My childhood logic went something like this:

Thunderstorms are big, scary and dangerous. Why would someone want to commit a crime in such foul weather? Better to wait until the weather is good before breaking and entering.

Lame, but true. Thunderstorms equalled safety. 

We had a plantation style front porch that extended along the length of the house. I remember standing there with my dad during a thunderstorm. We were protected from the storm, but had a fantastic view. Lightning lit up the sky like fireworks. Thunder crashed and shook our bones. I remember feeling completely and totally at peace. 

Now, I'm all grown up. While I wouldn't enjoy being robbed and would probably freak the fuck out if a thief actually came into my home, I don't live in constant fear of them. Still, when the storms start, I breathe a little sigh of relief because even though it may not make sense anymore, I feel a little bit safer for the duration.

Nerd

The rule on Mother's Day is that the husband and I pick a Mother's Day brunch to go to and Mom gets to decide what we are going to do for the day.

The husband and I picked the New Glarus Hotel, which was lovely. 

She picked Star Trek.

It was fucking awesome.

It's not William Shatner's Star Trek. They were pretty much kicking ass and taking names. I'll admit I had a private little geek out moment to myself when they read the line. 

What line?

Either you like Star Trek and you already know or you don't and well, it would really matter if I explained it to you 'cause you wouldn't understand anyway.

My history with Star Trek isn't something I normally confess. I wouldn't call myself a "Trekkie", but I have more than a passing acquaintance with the Star Trek franchise. I'm pretty sure I've seen all the movies. I've seen most of the original series. I've also seen parts of The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and Voyager. The only one I haven't seen was that short lived Scott Bakula one, Enterprise. 

You can call me a nerd if you like. A bigger person would probably say Live Long and Prosper. 

I'm going to go with fuck you instead. 

I likes what I likes...

Sunburnt

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

The title of this exhibit is "I am an idiot."

Today, I had my weekly meeting with my semi-new team lead, the Queen of All (QoA). It was a gorgeous day, so we decided to have the meeting outside. I sort of remembered that I hadn't put any sunblock on my arms, but since the meeting was only supposed to be a half-hour I didn't really think anything of it. 

I am an idiot.

It was just the two of us since everyone else is out this week and we ended up chatting for a really long time. About an hour and a half really long time. 

At some point, I knew I was getting burnt, and I still didn't manage to get out of the sun. 

Why? Why would I be so fucking stupid and allow my arms to turn an attractive lobster red?

Because I am incapable of ending a conversation. I have no idea how to get out of a conversation that I want to be over. It's sort of a chronic problem. I have no concept of the graceful exit. 

It fucking sucks. And (I hope!) I've learned my lesson. I don't care if I'm forced to use my fall back plan (the awkward exit) it's not worth getting sunburned. I'm 28 years old and I need to figure out how to end a fucking conversation when I want to, awkward or otherwise. 

It should be noted, it wasn't so much that I wanted to be done talking to the QoA, so much as I wanted our conversation to be in the shade.

Sigh.

I am an idiot.

Ouch. Aloe anybody?

Churning Around

Growing up, we had a pool in our backyard.

It's not that uncommon in Texas, but since you asked, Yes, it totally kicked ass. 

My sister and I spent most of our summers soaked in chlorine. We were such water babies. We loved to swim and play around. We had tons of games we would play, underwater tea parties, gymnastics competitions (she cheated, just FYI) and ice cream parlor to name a few. 

Then, we moved up north and BLAMMO, no more water. Oh, I know. There's water here, but I don't really have access to it like we did in Texas. 

So, I was looking forward to trying this water aerobics class I signed up for at the Y. At worst, I figured it would be fun, nostalgic even, for me to spend an hour splashing around. At best, it would totally kick my ass and I'd be sore and barely able to finish, plus all that nostalgic, fun junk. 

As it turns out, water aerobics at the Y equals social hour for middle aged women. Sure, they splash around. Perhaps they aerobicize, I can't really tell what anyone else is doing in the water. But mostly, it's social hour. They all know each other. Apparently, there is also a water aerobics class on Mondays and Wednesdays that they take together. 

Maybe if I was a social butterfly, I would enjoy this and make a whole gaggle of friends. But, it's better to have a more than passing acquaintance with reality, so I think we can all admit, this just isn't going to happen. 

Plus, if they spend the whole time talking, do you think this class has been kicking my ass? Let me answer that for you. No. It isn't. At all. It's ridiculously easy. I've been still doing my regular Tuesday night workout after it because it just too damn easy. 

I may finish out the rest of this class, I did pay $10 whole dollars for it, so I may as well get my money's worth out of it. But, I don't think I'll be back. In addition to the downsides already mentioned, I've seen way too many completely nude middle-aged women today.

It's not pleasant.

It's disappointing because I was really hoping this might be something I could add to shake up the routine a little bit. As it turns out, if you go to the gym and do the same thing over and over (and over and over) again, eventually you get bored. Who knew?

I've been thinking about checking out a yoga studio near where I work for a little lunchtime yoga. And I'd like to drag the husband to visit the climbing gym on the east side. But, I'm not sure what else to do to keep it interesting. 

When I Grow Up...

My mom and I went to a tap dancing performance at the Capitol Theater last night. It was called the Soles of our Feet. A part of the performance was a tribute to Arthur Duncan.

This guy:

You'll understand why they call him the "King of Taps" around the 1:15 mark. 

It wasn't just a tribute to him, he was a part of the show. 

When he first came out, he tapped and sang. 

I leaned over to my mom and said, "I want to be him when I grow up."

He's about a billion years old (really I think he's about 76 according to IMDb), he still doing what he loves and singing and tap dancing. 

That pretty much kicks ass.

THEN! Then, there was the second part. The rest of the (much!) younger cast came out and they tapped together. And not some slow, piddly tap routine. It was insanely fast. And he was right in sync with the young kids. 

Did I mention he's about a billion years old?

He was doing things with his legs at 76 that I'm pretty sure I could not do at my tender age of 28. 

That's when I leaned over to my mom and said, "I think I overshot. I think I'm going to have to settle for being maybe about as half as cool as he is. Possibly one-third." 

It's something to shoot for, at least.