Rocky Mountain Haiku

Nine day vacation
How best to tell the story?
Each day in Haiku

Day 1
Got an early start
Left at a quarter till noon
Only broke down twice

Day 2
Drove up the mountains
Set up camp and pitched the tent
Just in time for rain

Day 3
Off-roading in Jeeps
Dramamine was a god-send
No vomit this year!

 

Day 4
Hot shower and hot sex
And more rain, rain, rain. rain, rain
followed by more rain

Day 5
Parents get to camp
The rain continues to fall
They rent a cabin

Day 6
Sun shine? What the fuck?
Air out tent and go on hike
"Oh look, more rain clouds."

Day 7
Dad is not impressed
"Why go? A lake is a lake,
a rock is a rock."

Day 8
Finally clear skies
Night perfect for star gazing
Hello Milky Way

Day 9
Sadly homeward bound
Watch the mountains dissapear
Smaller, smaller, gone.

7 Reasons to Hate Lists

Lists. You love them. You hate them. I HATE them more. That is actually a lie. I have loved lists for a long time. I've been known to make lists about the lists I need to make. Writing a list about all the chores I need to ignore complete is one of my favorite pastimes. And don't get me started on how it feels to cross off items on a list. One word: orgasmic.

But they've been ruined for me. Why, Internet, why? Why did you turn everything into a list? Why can't you write quality content and pertinent titles? Articles and headlines have jumped the shark and I know I'm not the only one longing for the day the Listicle (List + Article) DIES. I hope it dies in 66 Excruciating Steps.

Oh Lists, how I hate thee. Let me count the ways.

1. Is this *really* the only way you can intelligibly convey your idea to me?
You made me stoop to your level. 

2. Over. Used.
Can we please move on to the next thing so I can get sick of IT already?

3. They're all basically the same list.
Think about it. 13 Secrets of Happy People, 8 Best Burger Toppings, 32 Facts You Didn't Know About Antiques Roadshow. 

4. Pretty sure they just make shit up as they go along to make the list longer.
That's just lame. I would NEVER do that.

5. Sensationalism is THE WORST.
God, amiright? NOTHING is worse. Except maybe human trafficking, rigged financial systems, humanitarian crisis in Syria, starving children...

6. They're all a load of crap.
They never tell you something you didn't already know. 

7. And a complete, unfulfilled waste of time.
I'm looking at you HUFFINGTON POST.

Don't Eat at Applebee's... Con't.

You guys know I don't like Applebee's. The list starts here. But there's so many more. TOO many more. Each time I believe the slow/real food movement takes root (see what I did there?), there's another AppleHorn Factory popping up. Like a weed. Like a filty, resistant, same-mass-produced-food weed.

Do yourself a flavor favor and do NOT eat at Applebee's. ANY of them.

Cheddar's: Fancy Applebee's

LongHorn Steak House: Cowboy Applebee's

O'Charley's: Irish Applebee's. Oh wait, it's really Mexican?

TGIFridays: Office Space Applebee's

Cracker Barrel: Deliverance Applebee's

Cheesecake Factory: FanciER Applebee's

PF Changs: Asian Applebee's

Boston Market: Cafeteria Applebee's

Ruby Tuesday: I got nothing.

Bob Evans: Everything is Soft Applebee's

Buffalo Wild Wings: If you're going somewhere for the wings, have some respect and go to Hooters.

It should go without saying any establishment with a drive-thru or all-you-can-eat buffet should be avoided. Except Indian buffets. Mmmmmmmmmmindianbuffets.......

Words Are Hard

Words are hard. Sometimes it's not our fault because the word we're looking for doesn't exist. When that happens you're left feeling a sense that no one understands you and the message you're trying to convey gets lost in the abyss of white noise... never to be heard, never to be understood.

To combat that, here are some words I (with the help of friends) have created. At least I think we created. If they exist already I don't want to know. Ignorance is bliss. I made that up too. 


Anshitipation
an-shit-i-pa-tion [an-shit-i-pey-shun]
noun
The feeling of a sudden, urgent, bowel movement one gets when anxious, excited, waiting for something important, or in line without someone to hold your place for you. Always in public, this feeling can strike without warning. Usually, but not always, accompanied by the sweats.

Natasha had a visceral reaction to the bargains at Maj-R thrift and was struck with anshitipations, leaving Sabrina in the dressing rooms.

Deprecious
de-pre-cious [dih-presh-uh s]
adjective
Being in a state of melancholy while simultaneously being adorable. Cute coinciding with gloom, dejection or sadness.

Sammy Davis Jr's meows for more food are deprecious.

Meganeese
me-gan-eese [meh-gun-ees]
noun
Talking nonsensical, juxtaposing letters or even whole words in sentences. Abusing and potentially misusing synonyms. Not a symptom of drinking, however, imbibing can compound the issue. Named for Megan and her mouth.

"Wahoo, I got a dancy frink from the hamburger!" "Go home Megan, you're drunk." "But home good are sleepy is tuch mime." 

Dorkestra
dork-es-tra [dawrk-es-strah]
noun
A group of musicians that routinely play and perform together and would rather practice, practice, practice than have a social life.

"Natasha, do you want to go out tonight?" "No, I have dorkestra practice."  

Annihiplate
an-ni-hil-plate [uh-nayh-uh-pleyt]
verb
To eat your food quickly, to utterly destroy your meal. To reek havoc on meal time. See: Hangry.

Hungry, Jon annihiplated the spaghetti in 3 seconds flat.

My, what a lovely smile you have

Apparently I needed a reminder in humility.

Again.

Friday, after a beautiful office lunch on the Plaza, I jetted off to a meeting. Confident in my preparation, I entered the conference room and took the last available seat. The seat happened to be at the head of the table next to the meeting leader and one of my work-place crushes.

The meeting went well, I spoke confidently and my ideas were well received. My work crush laughed at my jokes. I left feeling what Hilary Clinton must feel when she is a bad ass at her job.

As I was pulling out of the parking lot, I stole a glance in the rear view mirror and my entire world collapsed. It was all a facade. In the mirror looking back at me:

                                                                     PARSLEY!

 

::baffled:: No said anything?????

                                                                GODDAMMIT!!!!!!

Be careful out there you guys, those son-of-a-bitch garnishes are lurking around your plates just waiting, praying, to get stuck in your chompers.

Vacation Change

Finding change is one of my favorite things. You know this. Amplify this love by the how great it is to be on vacation and you've got my blog post. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I just got back from one vacation and I'm already going on another. That was either a dumb move or brilliant on my part, I'm not sure.

It was brilliant.

Anyhoozle, Dan and I went to the Pacific Northwest hitting British Columbia, Portland and Seattle. All told I found  between $0.20 and $0.22 depending on the exchange rate. Not too shabby!

The Dime
I didn't see it first, Dan did. I thought he was having a conniption of some sort. His eyes were bugged out and kept darting from me to the floor. So I followed his gaze and saw what I shall claim to be the shiniest dime of all time. A Canadian (eh) Dime. It was under the chair of the table next to me. Unoccupied, fortunately, I dove under the chair and grabbed my first foreign coin score.

The First Penny
A few days later we were in Portland heading off to breakfast when I caught sight of a rather unsightly penny on the sidewalk. I *almost* didn't want to put it in my pocket but Dan washed it in a puddle for me. True Love.  

The Second Penny AKA The Penny I Didn't Pick Up
Yes you read that right. I did NOT pick up this penny. It was clean, shiny even, but, I left it where it lay. I think it was heads down but even that isn't a deal breaker for me. The real reasons I didn't pick up Mr. Lincoln was that A) it was right by somebody's foot in a crowded Apple store and B) I saw it as a good luck sign, not a coin to pocket.

The day before my phone suffered minor water damage on a hike. It was functional, but, the flash was shorting out. The Apple store said it would continue to function for an untold amount of time and that replacing my phone would be $200. I saw the penny and knew I had luck on my side. 

My phone still hasn't died and, in fact, the light has turned off!

The Nickel
After a 8 mile hike through part of the Columbia River Gorge we headed to an overcrowded, tourist favorite: Maltnomoah Fall. The waterfall is stunning and so incredibly tall. I found the nickel on our way out.

The Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Penny
After buying the subway fair from the kiosk I notice a penny at my feet. And three of his friends off to the left. Cha-Ching!

I didn't come close to breaking even on what was spent on this vacation, but, I'm convinced I came out ahead(s up). 

Live Life Like You're Camping

For the second time now I have survived camping 10 days in the beautiful Rocky Mountains. You'd be right if you're thinking to yourself "Huh? Natasha doesn't strike me as an outdoorsy type." I'm NOT a shit-in-the-woods kind of gal, but, with some creative angling and a big enough boulder I CAN pee in the woods. I think we call that personal growth.

Live Life Like You're Camping

1. Take care of your house (tent).
Close (zip) the front door to not let the flies (and spiders!) in. Close your windows when you leave. It may be sunny when you leave in the morning but an afternoon rain may (will) blow through and soak your bedding and all worldly possessions. Author note: I learned this last year.

Be neat, separate your dirty and clean clothes. Make the bed. Also, take off, and keep, your shoes outside.

2. Rise with the sun
Ok, maybe not at the exact moment that the sun rises, however, it's a good idea to not let it to high in the sky before you get up. Plus, there's lots to do. Like haul water.

3. Conserve water
You have to haul that shit. Don't waste it. Can you thoroughly wash your hands with much less water? Yes. Dan showered once with only 2.5 gallons of water. Dan also only showered once. But that's a different story.

4. Eat for fuel
The water isn't going to haul itself, nor is the fire going to light itself. There's a lot to do even before you get to the fun things like hiking, biking or just sight seeing. Eat to keep you going. I didn't always heed this one. I found myself face first in a bag of chips more than once.

5. Make time for star gazing
Instead of looking up, lie on your back and look out! Your eyeballs really gets to soak it all in and your neck will thank you. Beauty, perspective, awe. We all need more of that in our lives.

6. Appreciate the task
Without fail, you spend considerable more time preparing any meal than you do eating it. Relish the task of preparing your meal. In "normal life" these are just straight up chores. Relish the chopping, stirring, grilling and feeding your friends, family and yourself!

7. Be kind, be happy
Camping is rough. There is constant work, the sleeping conditions are sub-par and your boyfriend has only showered once. And don't forget the 12 hour drive home. There is no room for you to be a Poopy Panther. In fact, be kind and happy. Camping, and Life, is a short, precious pocket of time you get to experience beauty and love in. Be thankful for both.

Ok, I thought I was done but I really have 1 more.

8. Let the other person go to the bathroom first.
3 words. Automatic Seat Warmer.

Damages

Last weekend was Girls in the Lou part Tres. A ritual of eating, shopping, eating and drinking for Shannan, Amy and myself. We did a lot of damage.

Cocktails at a fancy schmancy restaurant. The name of this beaut is Grounds for Divorce.

Breakfast the next day! And boy howdy do we know how to chow down. With cocktails.

Mmmmmmm brownie dessert.

And really, shopping doesn't mix too well with the copious amount of food we ate, but SOMEHOW we were still able to pull it off.

Not pictured:

* The other 3 dozen cocktails we had
* The other grossly large meals we ate
* Kris Koster (MO Attorney General I saw at our hotel)
* The Pepper Accident
* Fun Bobby

Can't wait to do it again! Maybe after I detox first, though. 

Yeast Infection

Just when you start to feel comfortable and confident in the kitchen --- BAM out of nowhere something comes along to knock you off your culinary horse. This most recent time the "something" was not reading the instructions carefully and not knowing the differences in types of yeast. Yeast is yeast is yeast, right???

Wrong.

::farts::

So wrong.

I gathered all the stuff to make this. YUM. For the dressing I grabbed "yeast" since that is all I had written on my grocery list. I picked up a three pack of the little envelopes and headed home to concoct a delicious and nutritious meal.

Fast forward to the dressing. The recipe called for 1/4 cup and my three packets only amounted to 1/8 cup. A silver lining, if there IS one to this story. ::farts:: I put all my ingredients in the food processor and blended. Then tasted. "Hmmmmm, maybe add more lemon, garlic, salt and pepper?" I thought. So I did. "Hmmm, better. But the taste was still a little, well, doughy. Maybe once it's combined with the salad it will all come together."

The taste was slightly more mild once mixed with my beautiful vegetables, quinoa and lentils. And don't get my wrong, it didn't taste bad, there was just a very present flavor of raw yeast in my mouth. Plus I had just made a batch of this for my lunch for the week. I ate a few more bites and decided to look over the recipe one more time.

1/4 cup Nutritional Yeast

"What the hell? Where did that come from? I don't remember seeing "Nutritional" there before. And anyway - what IS nutritional yeast." I continue to eat my salad as I search the interwebs for this mystery ingredient and, also, the effects of eating raw yeast.

Nutritional Yeast is DEactivated yeast and  has a mild nutty/cheesy flavor and is so very much NOT the same as the type of yeast (active) I used. Both in taste and digestionally. The effects, I was discovering, of eating active yeast (while still alive) boils down to a chemical reaction in your intestines that produce A LOT of gas.

::farts::

And I mean a lot of gas. I basically farted for 2 days straight. Without stopping. So maybe it wasn't so much a yeast infection but rather a yeast reaction. I hated to throw away all that food, but there was no way I could eat it for a whole week and not be shunned from work. And Yoga. And Dan.

Lesson learned. You won this time Yeast but don't count me out just yet. I'm getting back on the horse and will try this recipe again once I find your Nutritional cousin and can control my flatulence.

::farts::

Big Money

I found a penny in the grocery store parking lot. I saw it as soon as I got out of the car, and just like that I was one cent richer! The Thursday before last I found 4 pennies, separately, on my walk home. Just the night before I found a quarter AND a penny in the yoga changing room.

Cha-Ching.

I haven't kept a running total, but it amounts to more than a few bucks. I netted $1.22 during a 10 day trip to the Rockies. I, very literally, found a penny on top of a mountain. There it was. Sunning itself on the top of Mt. Elbert. A whole dollar came at the laundromat the next day.

But back to the grocery store. I needed quarters for laundry and I failed to get cash back at check out. I rolled the dice and went to customer service, hoping they'd just let me use them like an ATM. I did find a penny in the parking lot, maybe it was my lucky day?

"No ma'am, you have to buy something, at least $1 worth."

"Oh."

"Like a Powerball or Scratchers ticket."

"OH?????? Yes please! I DID just find a penny in the parking lot. Who knows, maybe I will win big and can buy my own washer and dryer!" And some way to get the hookups into my 2nd floor apartment. "I'll take a scratchers and a roll of quarters, then."

"There you go! Good Luck!"

I head to my car and FIND ANOTHER PENNY on my way out. Do people just throw them away???? I get to my car and scratch the shit out of that ticket.

I matched the first two numbers, and then three and after a flurry of metallic shavings were cleared away, I realized I had matched all 5!

I WON $10!!!!!!!

That's a lot of pennies. Thanks Universe. I appreciate ALL the money you send my way. Even the ones stuck in the cement.

I got what I paid for

I bought a Groupon for a facial. Cause, dammit, it was my birthday: Happy birthday to me. And my face. The location was in my neighborhood, which was a bonus. I set the appointment on my Birthday and arrived 10 minutes early.

After about 5 minutes wandering around a very expansive, maze like and sterile office building hallway I seriously begin to fear that I had bought a Groupon for Dexter to kill me. Did this stop me from going into Suite 226? Nope.

The esthetician was ill-prepared for my arrival. In fact, I got there 5 minutes before she did. She came into the spa with a few bags and a pile of hastily folded linens.

"Just have a seat and I'll go get the room ready."

I sit. I wait. The overhead light, kept on by motion sensor, goes out. I stand up.

My "room" is ready not long after then. I am escorted into a large, empty room with a massage table,  lots of face products and a facial steamer waiting in the far corner.

Holy shit. I am going to be sliced by this woman. 

But do Serial Killers really go so far as to set up a legit business only to then run a Groupon and kill people? Do they??? I continue to undress my upper body. At her CD player she takes no less than 4 full minutes to figure out how to work it.

Dying ON your birthday, that's kinda poetic. Right?

But alas, she was no serial killer. I am only going off the fact that she didn't kill me. The facial was OK, she was awkward and her spa had all the charm and comfort of an empty tin can. With bad fluorescent lighting. You're gonna need to put something a little heavier than a cotton ball on your clients eyes before turning on those lights after AN HOUR IN THE PITCH DARK.

Please use your Groupon money and invest in some mood lighting. Or at least some candles.

Chemical Warfare

I did not need another reason for Homeland Security to keep tabs on me. But after this past weekend I may have inadvertently done just that. An upgrade from Terrorist to Bio-Terrorist. While doing a deep clean of my bathroom I accidentally made a batch of mustard gas. 

It was easier that you might think.

I used bleach to clean my shower. I had done a pretty good spray down and the smell was pretty strong. It smelled, frankly, like I was trying to clean up a murder. I poured some bleach in my toilet bowl and then, for good measure and extra "cleanliness," I put toilet bowl cleaner around the upper ring. It turned a yellow-y orange color and started to fizz.

Not taking any clue from the smell or the obvious chemical reaction, I just closed the toilet bowl lid to let it sit and began to clean the mirrors. Breathing was a little difficult and my throat was beginning to get really scratchy. I'll just breath through a towel. 

Then I started coughing. A lot. And by then I was done with the mirrors and figured it was time to scrub the totally safe and non toxic toilet. The mere act of sticking the brush into the bowl created even MORE bubbles and fizzies. No red flags have gone up. After a thorough cleansing I flushed and then Dan (in the other room) put 2 and 2 together.

"We need to evacuate the premises. You mixed bleach and ammonia."

We opened all the windows. I grabbed Sammy and Dan grabbed the computer. Once outside in the "fresh air" he googled "mixing bleach and ammonia" and according to the interwebs doing that creates mustard gas. Straight-up-will-kill-you-no-joke mustard gas.

I felt terrible. But I also felt like a dumb ass. It took almost 2 fulls days for me to feel close to back to normal and Sammy had a little cough and that just made me feel like shit too.

So, that's how I accidentally waged chemical warfare on everyone in my apartment. I hope I can't accidentally make anything else lethal out of household cleaning products. Baking soda and kitty litter doesn't make anthrax, does it?

Any Guesses???

I saw this written on my kitchen dry erase board.

Any guesses on who wrote it? (hint:: it wasn't Sammy)

Any guesses on what the heck it means? 

Sammy Davis Jr VS The Boyfriend

I've been mum about it here, but to those that don't know I am happy to blognouce that I have a boyfriend. Honest to goodness a flesh and bone boyfriend. Depending on how you calculate it, we've been dating anywhere from 9 to 12 months. His name is Dan and he's the cutest thing since LOLZ cat.

And speaking of cats, Dan LOVES Sammy Davis Jr. Well, he loves all animals but he thinks SDJ is pretty special. Without fail Dan will give Sammy treats and LOTS of loving every time he's over to visit. It's unfortunate that Dan is allergic to cats and therefore will get red, puffy, oozy eyes after a certain amount of time. And sometimes he'll get this red, bumpy hive looking thing on his skin too.

But like I said, he loves the little guy.

Then I started to think about it. Dan and Sammy have a lot in common. Both of them came into my life at exactly the right moment, when I was ready for their love and ready to be a responsible pet-rent/girlfriend. Each have taught me a lot about what it means to care for another living thing and with that they both have shown me the reward of fearlessly opening my heart to a new adventure.

But the similarities to do not there! Here are some quantifiable ways in which my two guys are alike:

1. They both love to cuddle. 
Sammy is special because he ALWAYS wants your attention and if you're sitting or laying down somewhere then he wants a piece of the action and will come lay down by you. Dan is the same way. He feels the world would be a much better place if there was a mandatory cuddle hour every day. And I agree.

2. Both are biters. 
If I'm petting Sammy and he isn't into HOW I'm petting him or if I stop all together, he'll bite me. Now, since he's 19 and missing a few teeth, it doesn't hurt all that bad but he still gets his point across, which is "Pet me MOAR." Dan, on the other hand, bites me because he's a little kinky. ::eyebrow wiggle::

3. Sammy is blind in his left eye and Dan is deaf in his right ear. 
Not the same thing, but still...

4. Both got hit by huge moving vehicles and lived to tell the tale. 
When Sammy was living with my grandma, many years ago, he got hit by a car. Poor guy needed a plate in his left hip and had to have his mouth wired shut because his jaw broke. A few of his whiskers are also missing and his right eye (the one that isn't sightless) is a little wonky.

Dan has a similar story. 11 years ago,  he was struck by a tram. I don't want to glaze over this harrowing and terrifying event, but it is truly a miracle that he's alive, let alone functioning at a normal level. This is how he lost hearing in his right ear.

So those are my guys. My Cuddly, Biting, Miraculous guys.

One thing they don't share is that Dan DOESN'T have a problem keeping his tongue in his mouth.

Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter is a Dweeb

I, like most suburban pre-teen girls, had a few baby sitting gigs when I was younger. There was one in particular that was prime because they had a stocked fridge. But THOSE stories are only told at my Over-Eaters Anonymous meetings.

My charges were 2 girls and a boy. None were in diapers and all were expected to listen to and obey authority. It was easy money. One night, while watching The Ten Commandments for the only-Moses-knows-how-many-eth time,  I left them arguing why the Tornado Warning on screen wasn't anything to worry about.
"It was there when mom recorded it."

"But why would it be there now if there isn't a tornado now?"

"Because it was there when we recorded it on tv"

"But why is it on the tv now?????"
Almost done with "making" (slicing apples) their snack - the argument died down and there was quiet. Then Ashley comes running up the stairs, "Tasha, two police officers are here."

What the shit?

I go downstairs and see two uniformed police officers standing at the door. One looked kinda like Tom Cruise and the other like Porky Pig. Tom Cruise Cop tell me they received a call about an intruder in the house and they came to investigate.

"I'm pretty sure it's just me and the kids here."
"Ma'am we received a call that a neighbor saw someone upstairs."

"That was me - in the kitchen."

"Who are you?"

"The babysitter."

"Can we come inside to investigate?" He moves toward to door, I block him.

I ask: "Do you have a search warrant?"

Earlier in the week my Civics class (8th grade Civics class, mind you) had gone over the limits of the police and how they could not enter a private residence without a search warrant. I have an uneasiness around police or any sort of authority figure and I was NOT comfortable letting 2 "police men" into the house. 

Porky Pig Cop laughs.

"No, we don't. But we want to make sure you guys are safe."

"Well, it's my job to keep these kids safe and I don't feel comfortable letting you in the house and since you don't have a warrant I don't have to let you in." I called the mom on the cordless phone and had the officers talk to her (outside) just to appease them.

It turns out it was the crazy neighbor who saw me in the kitchen and called the police.

My Aunt Sally

My Aunt Sally died one year ago. Her physical body was very sick and in a lot of pain, it couldn't go on and she passed away last May. She was my most favorite aunt and hard to believe she was never family by blood. Sally and her "roommate" Connie moved into the neighborhood when I was in the 5th grade. They had a pair of miniature collies and I had a pair of younger brothers who loved dogs. It didn't take long for our families to adopt one another.

In my naive little bubble, the "roommate" story was believed at face value. My parents never talked about it. My dad's ultra conservative culture doesn't allow for homosexuality. If you're found to be doing anything sexual with someone of the same sex they will straight up kill you. I am not kidding. So my dad never, in my presence, questioned their relationship. He had to believe it.

Years went by and with every birthday, holiday and family vacation I began to wonder.

Maybe Sally and Connie are gay? For each other!

This was a pretty big leap for me. I grew up in a community that was both Jesus zealous and old world Iranian (an interesting dichotomy in and of itself). Each one told me that being a lesbian would earn you the eternal damnation of a fiery hell.

They can't go to a fiery hell! I love them! They love me! 

This realization also coincided with Ellen's coming out on in 1997.

Ellen is so funny! I'm not so sure about this "gay people are sinners" thing. 

It would be many more years later for me to ask Sally about her sexuality. She and I were in her classroom (she was a professor) and I worked up the courage to ask. We talked for quite some time about LOTS of things. Our relationship was all of a sudden adult.

When the president signed the Defense of Marriage Act (DOMA), I was enraged. I wrote a letter telling the story of my beautiful aunts and their committed relationship. The loved they shared was no different then the loved that pulsed through other committed hearts. I could not and would NOT support DOMA.

Suffice it to say, Obama's words this week have bitter-sweetly marked this anniversary for me.

Sally - in both the physical and spiritual world, you have taught me much and more about love. I know that you feel no pain now and for that I am happy and find peace. So why does it hurt?

I miss you.

I love you more.

I stiiiiiiilllll got it

There's a good reason why I haven't been boring all of you with my bad, awkward and terrible date stories.

I gots me a man, y'all.

Honest! I don't see any dating stories in the near future and that is a very good thing. And since I like to think of myself as conscious to my reader's needs (Hi Megan), I shall transition to stories of my awkward, bad and terrible interactions in non-date situations.

That Time with Doug Frost
KC locals will know Doug Frost as the host of Check Please, KC! One random Wednesday night I was at a bar for a show and I noticed him and with liquid courage coursing through my liver, I walked over and chatted him up! I could tell he recognized that he should know me, but the he was clueless as to who the fuck I was. And I'm pretty sure it was just the hair he recognized. By the time the exchange was over, I never did give him my name but he did hear the time I accidentally spilt beer on his boss.

The Time with Randy Mason
Randy Mason is Doug Frost's boss, an executive director for KCPT. Russell's awesome and amazing Black House was performing and he was there... y'know, doing his job on being hip to Kansas City. He was literally 10 feet from me and the exchange went something like this:

Me: OH MY GOD! I'm a huge fan! ::extend hand to shake but in doing so I slop a good portion of the beer I am holding onto him.

Me: OH MY GOD! I'm so sorry.

The Time with My New NeighborI had gotten my bike out of storage and was doing quarter mile sprints around the neighborhood. I saw her car pull up when I was a couple houses away. I was SO excited to meet her AND I had just done 2 sprints. I don't need any help coming off slightly TOO excited about life and being out of breath did me no favors. "HI! ::inhale:: mynameisNatashaandI'msooooooooooooooooooo ::inhale:: excited to meet ::inhale:: YOU!"

"Bless your heart."

That was her actual to goodness response.

If I'm not...

...already on some FBI/CIA/PTA watch list, I am now. I picked up 3 separate Farsi CD courses from the library last week and today my Iranian birth certificate arrived via FedEx! Woot! one step closer to my securing my Iranian passport. I'll be heading there next year, if all goes well.

And by "all goes well" I mean hopefully they don't try to blow up Israel.

Awareness FALE

Clover Noir has a show this Saturday. I put this flier in the break room at work.

A developer approached me later and said "I didn't know you played the violin! I thought you played the cello"

So I said "No Jon, I play the violin. I don't know how to play the cello."

Now. I've worked with this dude for over 2 years. For 6 months of those two years, we worked in the same friggin ROOM. A glorified conference room crammed full of computers, developers and me. There was also a singing bass on the wall, but that is irrelevant to this story.
 
Each week I bring my violin to work. Most times I go straight to rehearsals after work, I have it with me. And now with multiple projects, I sometimes bring it multiple times per week. The "tommy gun" jokes have gotten a little old. Thankfully people have stopped commenting.

"So you mean to tell me that the time I came to your concert to watch you, you weren't playing the cello?"

::blink:: "No."

"You mean I watched the wrong person that whole time?"

Seriously? I mean, I know it's slighty vain to think that he is THAT in tune with what size the instrument I'm lugging around is, but... c'mon. Our cello section is all guys and one old lady. Plus - yeah, I can't get over the size difference. Violin is to cello what fun size reeces cup is to regular size cups. Clearly noticable. AND THE HAIR! I KNOW for a fact that the size of this poof has made me discernable in a huge crowd, don't tell me you couldn't pick me out.

Was your inner monologue something lilke Hmmmm this sure is pretty music. But why does Natasha have gray hair and a bald spot? HEY! Look, there is someone else in the Orchestra that looks JUST like her - but - she's not playing some other... so... SQUIRREL!

ps - come to my show on Saturday!

"Planter who's a fuck it?"

My left foot is doing A LOT better but it was touch and go there for a few weeks. At the worst moment - some time mid January - as I was crawling around my apartment, refusing to cry, I had to remind myself that no one ever died from plantar fasciitis.

"Planter who's a fuck it?" you ask?

It's ok - I had no idea what it was either. I explained to someone why I was limping, she said it sounded like plantar fasciitis and when I responded "Planter who's a fuck it?" she said to google "my foot hurts."

At this point there had been a mild to moderate pain and stiffness in my foot that had not gotten better after two weeks of "walking out" the pain. Actually it had gotten worse. Go figure. I had an ace bandage that provided some relief but mostly the thing that made it feel better was not being the fuck on it.

So, I web-diagnosed myself and the verdict did, indeed, come back with the dreaded PF. After extensive research (I think I went to like 8 or 9 websites) I decided that I could recover without seeing a doctor. I just needed to wear supportive shoes, stretch the muscles and buy shoe inserts! I was as good as healed.

So I stretched. I stretched it EVERY way there was to stretch. Sitting stretches, standing stretches, walking stretches. There was relief. At first. Maybe I was over-zealous (who??  ME???) and I went bat-stretch crazy. When I heard (and felt) a loud "POP!" one afternoon, I didn't think too much of it. Then my foot started to hurt a little bit extra. And no amount of stretching was making it feel better. In fact, the stretching was now making it feel worse.

"Could it be broken?" Asked a co-worker. I assured him that I had gone to WebMD and was certain that it was Plantar Fasciitis. "You're lucky,' he said "every time the internet diagnoses me I have terminal cancer."

It was the next evening that I abandoned using my feet. Crawling was my mode of transport. My foot was so swollen and couldn't stand any... ANY sort of weight to be on it. I cried myself to sleep. It was pathetic. The next day, after confessing to Megan that my food looked a little pregnant, I went to see a doctor.

She confirmed the Planter who's a fuck it diagnosis but said that I also had a pretty bad sprain of my inside deltoids as well. I relived the POP I had heard a few days ago. I hadn't even sprained my ankle in a cool way. I sprained it STRETCHING. Least sexy injury ever. Maybe second to getting whiplash from a mega sneeze. The sprain had to fully heal first before I could get the PF any better. She gave me an air-cast and I borrowed a cane from a friend and I had a new lease on walking! I was still way slow and gimpy, but I could move!

My sprain is good and healed and my foot as a whole it doing a lot better. I still have to wear sneakers with support insoles. One of the most important things to heal properly is to stretch the foot (maybe a bit more gently this time). The Doc prescribed stretching every day and showed me a few stretches to do. "Also, write out the whole alphabet with your foot. That will be a great exercise."

You guys... and this is the whole point of my story... every time I start in on my foot-alphabet, I get to the  "K" and I start spelling my last name. And don't even notice for another 4 or 5 letters. EVERY. TIME. Somewhere around the "H I J K" I fall into auto-mode and start spelling "Derka Derka Muhammad Jihad Allah"

Surprised? Amused? Concerned? I haven't decided.