Merry Christmas!!! Yea, I said it!

What dirty little words I just said.  And you thought I was a nice, proper girl.  YOU WERE WRONG.  So what were these offensive words I said??  MERRY.  CHRISTMAS.

Now, if you feel anything like I do, you're wondering what is so offensive about that?  However, if you're one of the OTHERS, you're already offended by this blog post.  I started thinking just the other day when I wished someone a Happy Hanukkah .  I happened to overhear someone say that Hanukkah was about to begin and I happen to know that this kid is Jewish so I wished him a happy start of Hanukkah.  He said, aw thanks and boom- the conversation was over.

But that got me thinking about others things I'd seen and overheard recently.  You know, people being offended by Christmas music or well wishers and I started wondering what the big deal is.  I guarantee you that no one is trying to be offensive when they're dashing out the door and shout out a Merry Christmas to you.  It's not like they're calling you an ugly, dirty little name or making inappropriate mom jokes.  No.  What's really going on is that people are in a great spirit and are wishing you that same great spirit.  OH MY GOODNESS- OFFENSIVE.  

Terrible, ugly, I know. Now you're thinking you don't celebrate Christmas and why don't they respect your beliefs???  I see several options here.  A) They don't know your beliefs.  B) They're just paying tribute to their own beliefs.  Now if someone wished me a Happy Hanukkah I'd be so angry I'd give them my best scrooge face and bahambug! and cold shoulder.  LIE.  I'd do no such thing.  Despite the fact that I'm not Jewish, I'd say thank you with a big smile and wish them the same.  Because what they just said to me was, in my opinion, thoughtful and not thoughtless and I appreciate that someone took time out of their day to send a kind gesture my way. I'm not even a practicing Catholic- heck- I haven't even had my first communion (GASP!!) and I've never actually read a bible (more gasp!!) and yet, I still wish people a Merry Christmas.  Not because I'm saying you must go out and celebrate the birth of Christ or ELSE but because I think there's something magical about wishing people a merry and joyous time.  Is that so wrong??

 On the list of holidays I find offensive, Christmas is towards the bottom of my list.  Can we all stop for a minute and discuss COLUMBUS DAY.  I find this holiday extremely offensive and antiquated.  Happy Columbus Day!  Um really?  Happy day that someone strange man 'discovered' an inhabited land and led the massacre and destruction of a previously peaceful people??  Should I add that it was in part MY PEOPLE.  And yet, you get a day off work, I can't go to the post office and I'm supposed to honor this man's memory.

I even see some controversy in Thanksgiving (what became of those Indians, after all?) but I think everyone needs to take a step back and breath next time they're offended by a "Merry Christmas."  I mean you no harm non-celebrator.  What I truly mean is "have a wonderful day and enjoy your free vacation time no matter what you do with it."  I'm hardly trying to be offensive or insensitive.  Really.  I promise.  So have a Merry Christmas, from the bottom of my well-intentioned heart. 

Some people feel their clock ticking, I feel this.

I have SUCH foster envy. My imaginary puppy bearing hips are yearning to have a bunch of little puppies and nurse them to health and prepare them for their forever home. Teaching them the wise ways of the world... no potty inside the house, no eating the furniture or forever owner's shoes. Train them to wag their tail and give their BEST I'm sorry puppy eyes if any of the above happen. Show them that the fastest way into someone's heart is with incessant licking and tail wagging. Especially the licking.

And every time I read this amazing blog, I get such foster envy. But my little apartment, perfect for the three of us, is a little small for 3 + 1 more. And so I stalk other fosters instead. And try so hard to avoid the pages of the Humane Society, where countless of little pit puppies are waiting for someone to love them. I swear, if I had a house, I'd bring them all home.

But those who can't do, teach? Or rather, volunteer at the Humane Society? I've been wanting to do this forever but my schedule just didn't allow for volunteer orientation. But I decided, enough is enough. I'm foregoing my HIP HOP class on Sunday to attend orientation so I can get in there already!! I can't wait to pick up poop and clean out kennels in hopes that soon, I can also go on walks and give lots of endless love to all those puppy pound dogs. I'm looking forward to the adventure and I'm sure I'll blog more about it when the adventure starts. (Also look for my insightful commentary on my mad hip hop skillz. With a z. SkillZ.

It must be on everyone's mind.

As if on cue- apparently it's bike to work week, culminating with bike to work day on Friday. Now, as mentioned, I already bike to work so yay for me (self pat on back).

But as though someone with magical powers knew I was blogging about this very issue (semi-related), they have posted an article filled with bike safety reminders. Thank you Washington Post. To read the article, click here.

I think both the article and I stress that the most important thing is for everyone to just be aware. Stay safe guys.

The Things People Do When No One Is Looking

I have been a witness to a crime!! Several crimes! Unbelievable! Call the police!! Ring the alarm!!

Alright, now that the dramatics are over, we'll get straight to the true story of how an innocent girl from California witnessed what some might call a negligible crime but I will argue reveals the true nature of people and somehow, what is wrong with the world today.

The crime: u-turns on RED lights.

Why I care: The culprits nearly hit me!!

But I'm not convinced that this little fact (of being almost hit) is truly relevant to my larger point here so I will- in one short paragraph- remind all of you to always be aware of the obstacles you might encounter while driving. Whenever I ride my bike around town, I remember this video game simulation that we played in drivers ed (over 10 years ago now). The driver of the vehicle had to maneuver around lights, stop signs, bicyclist, kids running out to get the ball. I truly feel as though I am the person in the that simulation trying to stay alive every time I ride my bike. So- drivers, BE AWARE.

Now that my PSA is over (and my paragraph failed to be as short as I intended), I move on to the real subject of this particular blog.

I have seen all sorts of red-light runners. People in the far right lane, who make a u-turn, across the left hand lane; people that just don't even bother stopping for the red and assume the roads are empty. People u-turning across double yellow lines and past a red light...

Why do they do this? Well, I've put a lot of thought into this. First, I should start by mentioning that I ride my bike home between the hours of 11pm and 1am. Two am last Friday when I had a hellacious night (hellacioius bad not hellacious drunk fun). Once again, I digress. Point: there is hardly anyone on the road at this time of the night and so people think oh heck, no one is around- there is no need to stop at this light. They also think no one is around to catch them. And so they can get away with running a red light at midnight.

Now, there are several problems with this. First, let's assume the worst- what if that car HAD hit me running that red light? Such an innocent running-of-the-light-when-no-one-is-looking would have turned into the-worst-mistake-of-their-lives. Not to mention what it would do to my short, semi-meaningless life.

But then I got to thinking. What else do these people do when they think no one is looking? Innocent yet disgusting things like picking their nose and then wiping it on the couch? Yuck. But not life-altering. Do they beat their pets? Their children? Swig and extra swig or two before work? Before hitting the road? Sure, you can argue that I'm being overly dramatic but I don't think so. The bottom line is that the type of people that are willing to run red lights because they think no one is going to catch them are probably the same people cheating on their taxes, eating your clearly labeled lunch from the office fridge, or skipping out on their share of the work load because no one will notice. I'm just saying. These people can't be trusted. Mark my words. And be extra careful when YOU'RE driving at night, because someone else isn't.

It all started with a pit bull named Leche.

People who don't eat meat are called vegetarians; those that don't bother with any animal products are vegans; and of course, now we have pescatarians, which I've always thought was silly but these are the people that only eat fish. I always wondered why they can't say I only eat fish and why we're so obsessed with labeling everything. But that's neither here nor there (Didn't I already blog about that?). What do you call someone who doesn't want to eat abused animal meat because they love their pit bull? Well, that's me. I love my pit and now I don't want to eat meat. Whattttt?

Let me back up. Leche walked into my life approximately a year and a half ago. Or rather, I walked into her life as she was the one sitting at the shelter waiting for a forever home. It wasn't love at first sight, she was a terribly cute pup but she seemed a little crazy (in that hyper, puppy sense) and I worried that she would be really hard to handle. But fate brought us together and out of the three shelters we visited, they were the only shelter to call us back and give us the amazing news aspiring parents want to hear: she's all yours.

And then there was no turning back. I fell in love with this ball of white fur in a way I had never fallen in love before. I know some of you must think I'm crazy but it's true- she is the love of my life and I'm not afraid to sound like one of those crazy dog people. I mean, I don't dress her in frilly sweaters (hearts for Valentine's Day, ornaments for Christmas, etc) or give her funky hair cuts so I feel that I'm still within the normal confines of mom-pup love.

But I am digressing. Pit bulls face an uphill battle. It's hard to imagine that a breed once so loved and cherished by Americans everywhere is now so poorly regarded by many people- mainly because of the bad press given to the breed by a few (not worth mentioning) individuals that used this loyal breed to dog fight for entertainment. And having newly fallen in love with the pit bull breed, I became very involved in the cause for justice for these wonderful dogs. I started reading about the abuse these poor pups faced (statistically, they are one of the most abused breeds) and the challenges owners, pit bull lovers, and animal activists face in trying to get justice for pits.

Then there was Patrick. I saw this article and took one look at his almost lifeless body- nothing but skin and bones- and I started crying. Really. Like a baby. How could anyone be so inhumane? So callous?

And this is where I made the leap. I started processing my thoughts. Thinking about how I can't stand for this sort of treatment of pits. Or any dog. Or any animal. It was both a slow process of realization and a sudden fire of thoughts and ideas- it was like the little light went off in my head and I thought back to the movie my bf made me watch (Food Inc.)- the images of all the poor chickens crammed into tiny little cages, living in their own waste and not even able to to flap their little wings (I realize they won't actually fly). And also the pigs and cattle living in similar situations all so I could get my beloved bucket of fried chicken or buffalo wings or juicy burger. How can I stand up against the mistreatment of pit bulls but condone the inhumane treatment of farm animals? If one animal is worth the fight, isn't the other? Don't get me wrong- I'm not getting all righteous and preachy and I do realize that there have been people saying this all along.

But this was something that hit me like a bus- realizing I was letting the abuse continue. That somehow I was saying it was different when in reality, I just don't see how cramming 100 chickens in a coup for 10 is any better than starving Patrick to the brink of death. And so I started rethinking my lifestyle. I don't have any problem with eating meat- I love a good piece of bacon and can't imagine giving up carnitas or even a good steak. So I can't be a vegetarian. Then what can I do?

I ask again- what do you call someone that only eats humanely raised meat? My answer: a dog lover. Because that's how this started for me. We already get our meat and milk delivered (most of the time) from a local farm but I discussed it with my boyfriend, told him about the struggle I've been having reconciling my thoughts and he was just happy I finally saw what he saw (because of course, he's always been enlightened :)). And so starting next week, our household will only consume meat or animal products (eggs, milk, etc) that come from farms with commitment to the ethical treatment of animals. That I can control. Eating out, however, is much harder. But this is phase one. Phase two will be me giving up some of my favorite foods (yes, that does include Popeyes) and opting to only eat meat from restaurants that subscribe to this same philosophy. It's a slow transformation but one I am firmly committed to and it all started with a pit bull named Leche.

Going Stag

Urgh I can't believe it has been so long since I last wrote. I feel like I haven't had much to say- or rather I haven't had a whole lot of inspiration. And I'm fairly certain that my blog has a following of one (that one being myself) so it's not like I've been leaving my fans hanging.

But today, I arrived at my cozy little apartment in such a great mood after a slightly sweaty bike ride home and I felt inspired to write about a small, somewhat irrelevant conversation I had with a friend today. We were at the park with the two pups- the love of my life Leche and his roommate's dog. We do this often, perhaps 2 to 3 times a week. Only now the weather is turning so pleasant that I revel in my time with Leche at the park. I asked him the time- I try to take her for at least an hour- and he asked me why I can't just look at my phone. Well, I never bring my phone on walks. Just my pup, her leash, a toy or two, and of course, her waste receptacles (more often known as poo bags). He harped on me that I should bring my phone and I was quick to respond that I actually always intentionally left my phone at home.

And as I peddled my way home from work today, marveling at the perfectly chilled spring air, I recalled this conversation and started thinking about why I never take my phone during me and pup time.

You read about it over and over- today's society is obsessed with being connected. And it is so true. And we have severe ADD about it. I read an article once that we spend a ridiculously small amount of time on each web page and during each session, we click on an incredibly large amount of sites. So if you're anything like me, you browse one page after the other until something actually catches our eyes. And of course, now it's even worse because we all have a smartphone or an iPad or- SOMETIMES EVEN BOTH.

I became obsessed with being connected- always knowing what's going on in DC or on FB. My phone only made it worse. Only now my phone is half functioning so I've started to be slightly less attached. My home button doesn't work and I'm holding out for the iPhone 5- you have no idea how important your home button is until it's gone. Really.

Regardless, I digress. So walk time became me time. An opportunity to completely lose myself in one of my favorite things- playing with my puppy. I love watching her play because of that pure innocence she has, similar to how some people love watching babies sleep. I love watching her puppy pounce and her waggy tail and the way her jowls shake in the wind when she's taking off after another pup. She's the happiest creature in the world and I love being a part of it and making that crazy tail wag. Now, I could dedicate an entire blog site to how much I love my pup and pits in general, but this particular post is more about how I love being disconnected.

It turns out, I never miss much. When I get back from my hour long walk, I go back online and absolutely nothing has changed. I'm not sure why I expect things to be different in an hours time, but somehow, I always do. We always feel that time flies by but when we stop and think about it, it actually goes by slowly. Change is a gradual process.

And to be frank, I find it annoying when my friend is on his phone during our park hour. I wonder what can't possibly wait til he gets back, what text message is so important or what phone call so dramatic that he has to stop talking to me mid-sentence and answer his phone.

My bottom line is that leaving my phone behind for that one hour a day makes me realize how un-important it is to be so attached at all times- especially when it distracts me from the things that do matter- like my pup and my bf.

I guess my actual real point is to tell you that it's ok- put your phone in your purse during dinner. Sleep with your phone in the other room. Play with your pup or your child. Maybe even read a book undisturbed for one hour. You might find that you like it. In the meantime, I'm going to go play with my pup some more (I lie- I'm going to go surf the web and call an old friend. Shhhhhh!)

Hot, sexy fireman fantasy

We all have a preconceived notion that firefighters are naturally very fit and incredibly sexy. And while this may be true in some cases (ask me about my FDNY encounter of 2005), I've noticed more and more that the fire fighters I see tend to be larger, overweight men. Now, I'm not here to take up the battle on fitness and obesity- I'll leave that to the experts. But my boyfriend and I would had the observation that our local firefighters were a little less hot sexy fireman and a little more... unhealthy. We just thought it was a little ironic at first but then we began to increasingly wonder if there are existing physical requirements for fire fighters and wondered what type of danger their lack of physical fitness posed not only to themselves, but to the general public.

It reminded me of something a visiting army officer said to my class one day during graduate school. He was talking about the role of the military (which is a whole other blog) but said that his only concern was whether or not a 130 pound woman would be able to lift his wounded body of 200 pounds out of danger, should he become injured. Now again, I could go on and on about this but won't. But this type of similar thought crosses my mind every time I see an unhealthy looking firefighter (or cop for that matter).

I decided in my infinite boredom to look do some internet searching and see if there are physical requirements. I mean, I would imagine so, right? While I didn't get very far and now have to run off to work, I did see this gem of a quote in an article published in Fire Engineering.

Despite the fact that firefighters’ jobs require vigorous physical activity under extreme conditions and present the stress of urgent life-threatening situations, studies indicate a high prevalence of sedentary lifestyles, obesity, hypertension, dyslipidemia, certain malignancies, and chronic musculoskeletal complaints. Firefighters generally have lower physical fitness than workers in other hazardous occupations, including police officers and construction workers.

Thoughts? Concerns?

High School Reunions

Ok so anyone that's known me for... well the past ten years, knows that I've always been uber excited about my impending ten year high school reunion. Yes, I was actually one of those girls that wanted to get dressed up and actually see people I was friends with (or not) ten years ago.

But now that the clock has struck 2010 and my ten year is upon me/the other 600 now adults I graduated with, I kinda find myself caring a little less. Ok, a lot less.

It suddenly dawned on me that I wasn't entirely sure why I was itching to go to my ten year reunion so much. Did I miss my best friends? Uh, didn't I just talk to them last week? I mean, sure I still have a few good friends from hs but my best friends are mostly the girls I lived with for four years in college or met in the dorms (Griffiths!!). Do I want to hear how everyone succeeded (or failed) in life? Do I actually care? I mean, I don't even know what half of my good friends do (it's the Chandler Bing problem)... why does it matter what people I used to know ten years ago do now? Do I want to see their families and kids? ABSOLUTELY not. Haha sorry but I just don't love kids. I don't make people hang out with my lovable and insanely cute puppy- don't make me hang out with your kids. I'm sure they're great and all. But no, this definitely isn't it.

Also, did I actually love high school? It's been ten years so my memory is a little skewed/gone at this point and I can't be certain.

Let's see... I managed to graduate with decent grades and go on to love school so much that I indebted myself $554654354 to be in school for SIX more years so... check. I must have enjoy classes.

I had awesome friends? Hmm come to think of it there were a few gems in the mix (including my PartnerInCrime that still gets me into trouble) but I also had some really crappy friends. That's the problem with being 14-18- most of us don't quite yet know how to be a good friend (let alone a decent person) so we'll give this one mixed reviews.

Did I win some cheerleading competition or was I a soccer star? That's a definite "X" (w/ sound effects ERRRRRRR). My mom wouldn't let me do sports and while I did win some ASB type of award, who remembers that?? But yes, I did have a blast on retreats and stomping my little heart out (sometimes on horse poo) but I always had this unrequited dream of being head cheerleader and dating the captain of the football team with blond hair and a name like Brad (you can thank Sweet Valley High books for this obsession). I think this is why I'm still obsessed with the sport of cheerleading despite the fact that I never became a pep filled, spanks wearing adolescent girl. How obsessed? I've seen all FOUR Bring It On movies. Multiple times. (head now hanging in shame). We'll give this category a half check (can I do that?).

After all that INSIGHTFUL and DEEP analysis, I'm still not sure if I loved high school or not. I mean, I did move first 500 miles away to the lush green campus of Cal and then clear across the country to get as away as possible from Temecula so I want to lean towards no but yet, my heart still wants to scream out YES I LOVED HIGH SCHOOL AND I'M NOT ASHAMED TO ADMIT IT.

But yet... I didn't? I don't know. I'm going to debate this for the next few months while I prep to join my class at our reunion (if it ever happens *ahem*). Part of it seems so pretentious to get dressed up and pack ourselves into a room with people we may or may not remember, pretending we care what we're all doing now and reminiscing about our high school years (which I swear is when I peaked) but it's done over and over every year by people eager to relive those four years if only for a short night... so there must be something to it right?

Today I Get to...

I have always considered myself to be an optimist. I generally always think things will work out in the end (they do) and the grass is always greener on my side (unless it's winter, and then no one's grass is green). But yesterday I read an article in my Runners World (of all places) that really struck a chord with me. The author talked about how their whole life is spent speaking in "I have to" language. I have to pick up the kids from school, I have to go to work, I have to make dinner. And somehow, somewhere (details escape me) she decided to try speaking out in another language, that of "I Get To."

I followed her train of thought and really got to thinking about how I also live my life in "I Have To." Yesterday I had to go to my day job and then my evening job (which if you know me, you know I don't like) and then had to squeeze in a work out to keep up with our 90 day plan. I kept dreading every minute of it until I thought of my RW magazine. And then I read this interview with the author of book called "A Thousand Sisters." The woman was so moved by an Oprah episode on the Congo, that she quit her job, left her life (including her fiance), raised $50,000 and went to go help women there. She told the story of a woman who had her leg cut off by a militia group just for not having enough money to please them.

Then I GOT it. I sat in my reclining chair in front of my huge flat screen monitor realizing that I GOT to go to work- I am so lucky to have two jobs when most people don't even have one (granted they're both temp jobs but that's not the point). And I GOT to go home and work out after my 14+ hour work day because I have two healthy legs to get me through life. I immediately got home and put in my plyometrics workout tape and got straight to it. By the time I was done, I didn't feel tired but energized and absurdly lucky.

When I woke up this morning- extra early to take my dog on her first pre-work day walk- my first thought was simple: I got to wake up today. And now I get to walk my puppy and start my day with her.

I can't tell you that I'm having a better or worse day because of this, but you know what, I'm convinced that over time, I Get To language will do so much more for me than I Have To. This may all sound terribly cheesy, I realize, but I wanted to share the thought with anyone that would listen. It's actually harder than I thought to think of everything in terms of I Get To, but I'm certain that over time, it will be such a natural thought and my glass will be more than just half full.

So many useless things

On July 31st, 2007, I packed up everything I owned and lived out of suitcases for a month while I stayed with Angel before starting grad school. Once I moved to DC, I stayed with a coworker for weeks, then moved to a sublet for another week, and finally, into my very own place (with three roommates) and unpacked all my boxes, bought a brand new bed (that I have a love affair with) and set up shop. Come May of 2008, I put my things back in storage and lived out of three suitcases for the next 8 months. First with my boyfriend in the bay, then in Buenos Aires to study abroad. I got back to DC in January and stayed with a friend for nearly a month until I found a place. Soon after, I found a house, and unpacked all my things. I didn't unpack all my boxes because I knew I'd be moving sometime in the fall. I took a backpack to Colombia for a month and now, due to no fault of my own, I had to immediately move out again and put my things in storage once again. Now I'm going to CA with the same three suitcases to live out of those until I return to DC come the fall and take my things out of storage again.

The point of this historical recap? I was reflecting in the shower about how little time I've had with my personal belongings. How little I needed anything but the clothes off my back (and a few pairs of shoes) but yet, how I refuse to get rid of any of my things. Even though most of it has layed in boxes for a large part of the past year, I still find my untouched game of Taboo critical to my happiness. My empty photo albums I intend to fill with pictures one day are absolutely necessary. My precious stuffed animals that never made it out of their boxes.... the list goes on and on and on. I really don't need much. I spent the past month with only a backpack wishing that I had LESS stuff and only hoping I had the same clothes but washed. I don't quite understand the attachment I have to my things that have gone untouched and boxed up for so long. I think I hope that when I return to DC with my bf, I'll be able to finally unpack, play a game of Taboo, and settle in. But until then, as much as i complain, I'm perfectly fine with my three suitcases. And even then, I'm certain that I have too many things with me that I'll never use.