Pattin' myself on the back.

Some days, I'm just proud of myself. Not because I've done anything particularly special, but because I went a whole day without wallowing-- and, friends, I'm a wallower. It's the small victories.

Today, I gave myself a manicure and watched this week's episode of The Biggest Loser. *this isn't necessarily deserving of a pat on the back, but it was a good start to my day either way*

Today, I ate very healthy. *pat*

Today, I made myself go to the gym, and it felt awesome. *pat*

Today, I got seven chapters into my latest read: Forrest Gump (oh yeah, it's a book, and a good one so far). *pat*

Tonight, I went to dinner with a friend and had a much-needed catch-up... and split a much-needed slice of cheesecake (since we split it, I don't feel like it totally wiped my healthy-eating day). *pat*

Tonight, I went to Target-- which is like my least favorite thing in the entire world. Mass markets. Ugh. *pat*

And now... hopefully... I'll end my day with another productive, non-wallowing activity of the homework persuasion. My laptop is out and on my lap where it belongs, so that's a step in the right direction.

And tomorrow, some friends are coming into town, and I'm thinking it's going to be a solid weekend... and hopefully, the sun will be out and warm.

I'm in an oddly good mood right now-- which, considering I just suffered through a truly awful "musical" episode of Grey's Anatomy, is kind of a miracle.

"When does a woman become an adult?... We grow up when we see our life and our role from God's perspective; when we thank God for the role He assigned us and begin to see our cup as a gift instead of a cross; when each morning we ask, 'God, how can I glorify you today in my given role?'"
- Linda Dillow, from Calm My Anxious Heart

Timeless Tuesday

On the surface, I'm as cool as a cucumber.

As I type, I'm sitting in class listening to my professor lecture. I have my textbook open next to me, dutifully glancing over from time to time as though I'm double-checking the prof's latest statement. Every now and then, I even make a point to look up, make eye contact, and give a solid nod or pause and frown just a smidge to give the impression that I'm really chewing on the matter at hand.

In reality, my mind might explode at any moment.

I've been in this building, on this floor, since 9 this morning. The only times I've gotten up are to run to the lou once or twice and to meet the Jimmy John's delivery guy out in the hallway-- we're very close, Jimmy John and I. My "sit bones" have made a dent in my not-so-ergonomic chair and the weird inside button on my trouser waist has made a less than adorable indentation on my stomach. All this stillness makes me want to kick off my heels and cartwheel down the hallway. Do something, anything, that would pick up the pace a little bit.

It appears that time is standing still on this Tuesday, pun intended.

I feel like I'm in a 90s teen sitcom watching the minute hand on the clock tick by slowly and audibly, like as soon as the bell rings we'll all run out into the hall and spontaneously bust into a musical number. Okay, I went from Saved by the Bell to Grease mid-example, but that's because my mind is in overdrive to compensate for my body's never-ending stillness.

Naked.

So lately I'm trying to be a bit more 'green' with my eating habits. Mentally, I know that it's the more nutritionally-sound choice, and I honestly feel different physically when I'm stuffing myself with fruits and veggies rather than chocolate chip cookies and, well, anything chocolate and baked.

In my own apartment where I handle the grocery shopping, I've done really well-- being at home is another story: Mom and Dad aren't subscribing to the green fad I'm in, and those Raisinets are awfully hard to resist-- and I've actually enjoyed making fresh salads in lieu of nuking a Lean Cuisine.

On Tuesdays, I'm on campus from 9-9 which makes this little experiment a bit more difficult. It's one thing to pack a sandwich for lunch; it's another to pack a day's worth of meals and snacks. So I'm trying out some pre-packaged routes: snack packs of baby carrots, string cheese, roasted almonds, and my latest find... Naked juice.

Naked juice is an all-natural, 100% juice smoothie with the motto, "Looks weird, tastes amazing." Pretty much the perfect summation of this new find. This 'blended juice smoothie' comes in a variety of flavors, but today my Naked juice is called 'green machine' and it is, in fact, green. Specifically, it's the color of green bean baby food. Sound delicious? Allow me to expand.

On the back, the ingredients are conveniently listed: 2 3/4 apples, 1/2 banana (sustainably grown and harvested), 1/3 kiwi, 1/3 mango, & a hint of pineapple. Oh, but that's not all! Other ingredients (called 'boosts') include broccoli, spinach, blue green algae, garlic (odorless, supposedly), barley grass, wheat grass, ginger, and parsley.

I don't know about you, but I feel healthier just reading that list. Maybe not exactly salivating over it, but healthier nonetheless. Truly, it's actually very good. Like, really good. I just wish I had finished it before I read the ingredients... now my palette is desperately trying to identify the parsley and blue green algae undertones (I learned that at the winery!). Yum.

Weather or Not

This little seasonal transition seems to be confusing people.

People watcher that I am, the one upside to my million-mile hike from the parking lot to my building on campus is the ample number of people I get to observe on my way to and fro. It keeps me current on the campus fashion trends and usually how un-trendy I am in comparison. (I'm always the last to hop on the Trend Train, and by then the engine is already disappearing into the horizon)

On most days, there's a pretty common theme based on weather. In the fall, you have skinny jeans, oversized cardigans, tediously-styled-casual scarves, flats or boots. In the winter, you'll see a combination of Uggs, leggings, Nike running shorts, long-sleeved t-shirts, and Patagonia pull-overs or there's the option of throwing an extra layer over your fall duds. Come spring, Chacos are pulled out across campus to be paired with the Nike shorts and t-shirts or there's the option of the cuffed skinny jean with a t-strap sandal.

The silver lining of the Nike short phenomenon is that any girl on campus is ready to run a marathon at a moment's notice. So there's that, I guess.

The weather lately is throwing people off, though. I'm willing to cut some slack for those who, like me, have taken the majority of their winter clothes home to Mom and Dad to exchange them for a more spring-y wardrobe. However, just because you've now got your short-shorts and tank-tops in your closet doesn't mean you must take them out for their first spin in 2011. There's still time, friends.

As I walked onto campus this morning-- ninny that I am, I'm wearing closed-toe shoes and a turtleneck; it's 50 degrees and gloomy out, after all-- I saw the entire spectrum of seasonal dress splattered across campus. There were leggings and giant t-shirts, Patagonias and jeans paired with Chacos, cut-off jean shorts and flip-flops with-- wonder of wonders-- wife beater tank tops.  There is not a season of the year that is appropriate for both Ugg boots AND Chacos. One of you is miserable, but hey, fashion is sacrifice, right?

Listen, kids, I know you worked hard on your tan over spring break, and I'm thrilled to see that your New Year's resolution to eat no more than 400 calories a day is finally starting to pay off, but we've got a long road ahead of us in the spring and summer. No need to put all your cards on the table now. I pinky-promise there will be ample time to sport your Chacos and your teensy-tiny shorts in the coming months, but for now... I'm cold just looking at you. Check the weather, or just look out your window. It LOOKS cold, for crying out loud. We'll be lucky if we hit sixty degrees today, and our friend the sun isn't even going to bother getting out of bed.

But seriously, I'm very impressed by the intensity of your tan and your very shapely legs. My own pale legs would be envious except they're really busy today... you know, being all warm and whatnot inside of my weather-appropriate pants.

Music Monday

I could listen to this song a thousand times... and I think I'm actually getting close to that limit.

It also makes me want to dye my hair really, really red.

Been there. Done that. Not pretty. Must. Fight. Urge.

Weekend Update

All week long, we watched the weather. Almost daily, David, Annie, Morgan, and I touched base about the coming storms. Thursday and Friday we fretted and argued over who had to make the executive decision: to brave the storm and go to Six Flags or to postpone. Once you're excited about a trip like this, it's really, really hard to postpone. But, all the signs pointed toward massive storms. So, by mid-morning on Friday, we knew what we had to do.

Luckily, my Friday night plans were far from ruined: Chasley and I met up with my friend Ashlee for dinner at one of our favorite downtown bistros and gorged ourselves on a three-course meal. Needless to say, Chasley and I spent the rest of the night laying in my bed and watching E! News in an attempt to move as little as possible.

Come Saturday morning, I felt affirmed in my decision to call off our Six Flags trip. By lunch, though, the sun was shining and my phone was blowing up with complaints. We all knew it would happen this way; if we had gone, Atlanta would've had a full-on flood. Since we didn't though, it turns out that the 60+% chance of precipitation and isolated thunderstorms was a false alarm. Story of my life. I redeemed my Saturday by heading to Huntsville with Spence to meet Chasley for dinner and then meet up with her work buddies and a few other familiar faces for a little live music. Naturally, the live music was in a dive bar, but the band-- Ugly Stick-- was actually pretty good and covered some of my favorite 90s music. Meanwhile, though, the smoke haze in the air almost suffocated me... that was a worthy price to pay for the people-watching entertainment provided, though. This place was like an all-you-can-eat buffet for the avid people watcher. Women in their mid-forties gyrated with their cell phones firmly clipped to their belts-- fashion-forward AND convenient. Mohawked guys in their early twenties waited patiently for the occasional Rage Against the Machine cover. And young computer nerds fresh off their jobs at the Arsenal made plays for the numerous Cougars out for a night on the town. Priceless.

Today I have been worthless. I have kept my nose in book 3 of my latest fantasy novel series-- Percy Jackson & the Olympians. In between chapters, I have caught up on DVR'd episodes of my favorite guilty pleasure reality series: Real Housewives and Bethenny Ever After. Truly, it's like a train wreck; you just can't look away. Now I've traded in my chapter breaks for packing up my spring wardrobe to haul back to Thugaloosa Tuscaloosa. After an uneventful weekend at home, my feline companion and I will head back to the old grind tomorrow morning, spring clothes and litter box in tow.

it's not easy being green.

Aside from the outstanding beauty of South America, one thing stood out to me most: the food.

Duh. 

If you check those pesky little stickers on your produce before you flick them into the trash, you'll notice that a lot of them say Peru or Chile or any number of countries in South America. Instead of a crowded Wal-Mart produce section of imported fruits and veggies, Chile has blocks upon block of open-air farmers' markets piled high with a rainbow of nature's bounty (now, doesn't that sound like a commercial? next degree option: advertising). During our week there, we dined daily on fresh fruits and incredible salads-- can you imagine a world where fruit has no off-season? A summer tomato sandwich everyday, peaches that fall off the pit in the middle of winter...

So I decided to bring this little trend home with me. As soon as I arrived back in Tuscaloosa, I went to the market and stocked up on every fruit and vegetable that looked edible. It was so exciting at the time: a head of romaine lettuce instead of salad-in-a-bag, lemons and limes to create my own salad dressing, Greek yogurt for a morning parfait, a mango straight from Peru... I feel healthier just thinking about it!

I say it was exciting at first because right now, having had a salad and hummus for lunch, what I really want is a giant Twix bar. Or a scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Or a warm chocolate chip cookie. See, the sad thing is, as much as nature has to offer, I'm a chocolate addict. Even sadder, I can't remember the last time I went more than 24 hours without chocolate.

So this is going to be a struggle, the whole green thing. I mean, I enjoy it while I'm eating it; it's making the choice to eat it that's a killer. I've given up red meat, cut back on carbs (sandwiches are kind of a must on days when I'm on campus), limited myself to one diet soda a day (zero caffeine = serious headache), and am trying to replace desserts with natural desserts like fruits and nuts. This little diet of sorts is in no way permanent-- I'm more likely to give up showering forever than to give up chocolate or the occasional cheeseburger-- I just felt like a little detox was due. We'll see how this goes...

Tuesday Things

Things I'm Thinking about Today

I want to learn another language. I'm not sure what language; I just know I want to learn one and use it. After a week of flexing my Spanish muscles, I'm frenzied to do it all over again. My friends refuse to humor me, in Spanish or Swedish or any other language I happen to know one or two words of, so I'm forced to dream of slipping fluidly between my native tongue and something far more exotic. I have to resist the urge to randomly say snippets of other languages and then, feigning embarrassment, apologize to my friends for unwittingly speaking a language that's just second nature to me.

I want to travel. Everywhere. I recently started collecting frequent flyer miles-- something that is long, long overdue-- and now I feel like a kid at an arcade desperate to earn tickets and eventually win the biggest stuffed panda behind the counter. I feverishly go through my mental rolodex of what friends are living abroad where, always planning my next adventure somewhere far from home. I want to fill up every single page in my passport-- although I wish there was a way to do that without ever showing anyone my actual passport picture. And where better to practice my newly acquired foreign language then in its native land? Alas, soon enough I'll be a certified school counselor, and that kind of traveling just isn't in the education budget. And so, the quest for a Sugar Daddy continues.

I want a house: a tiny little cottage that's old enough to be surrounded by moss-covered trees, the kind that has ancient hardwood floors and oddly shaped rooms. I want to paint every room a different color and hang abstract art and all of my favorite pictures and knick-knacks and furniture that my dad made by hand. I want a tiny little porch with a multi-colored rocking chair or a swing or both. I want a house full of vintage, unique items plucked from my grandparents' barns and attics and refurbished. And I want it all to have a story... "Oh, that? My great-aunt made that for my mom when she was in high school."

I want to write a book, or maybe memoir is the better word. I'm not much for creative writing, but I would love to publish something non-fiction... I don't know if that's because I truly think I've got the talent to do it or because while some girls want to be the next Lea Michele or Christina Aguilera, I'd rather be the next Lauren Weisberger or Beth Moore.

I wish I got paid for reading. Maybe instead of trying to get published, I should focus my ambition on doing the publishing. I could edit grammar and style all day long and check book after book off my always-growing To Read list. I should add 'library' to my afore-mentioned house dreams, come to think of it... a room where every wall is a bookshelf... ooooh la la.

Currently there is not a single job opening for a school counselor in the State of Alabama. Now, admittedly, I have until this time next year... except that by then, the newly certified counselors of 2011 will double the competition for those of us graduating in 2012. Not to mention the State trying to push through a new law that makes it legal for schools not have a guidance program... This foreign country thing is looking better and better.

Wake me up before you go-go.

After our hike, we were down to less than 24 hours in Chile. I couldn't believe our whirlwind trip-- from tsunami evacuation to learning to stand on a ball to using carcinogenic bug repellant to ward off South American bugs-- was coming to an end.

A post-hike shower was beyond necessary, and afterward I climbed onto my bed for one of the last times and stretched out. We were having a little going away party with some of Emily's friends that night, so I knew a little rest was a must on my agenda. As Chasley showered and Emily had a snack, I laid down on my bed and thought back on the week, jotting down things in my journal and whatnot. And that's when it happened: on my very last night in Chile, I finally got my bona-fide Chilean earthquake.

The building swayed, the apartment trembled, the furniture creaked. It was fabulous. Much to my mother's horror, I felt myself thinking, "Come on, Earth, do it again!" You know, like when a young dad throws his toddler up and down in the air-- terrifying, but the kid can't get enough.

Emily yelled out from the kitchen to make sure I was okay, I yelled back that I was fine, and Chasley... well, Chasley, being Chasley, was oblivious.

That night Em's host parents informed us that the region had endured a 5.3 earthquake. I suspected that my parents would hear about it on the news and suffer immediate heart attacks, so I pecked out a "Don't panic, we're fine" email before we left for the night.

The next morning I was in the middle of an outrageous dream when my dreamworld started shaking and swaying. I opened my eyes, rolled over and looked at Chasley, who was looking back, and both of us knew immediately that we had experienced not one but two earthquakes, which is about double what we had experienced before.

We found out later that while we had been out dancing with Emily's friends there had been several other rumbles in the night-- we just didn't notice them due to our own rumbling.

So that was a weirdly pleasant wake-up call... although, I can't say I wanted to stick around for anymore lest Earth decide she wanted to show off.

Up, up, and away!

Before we disembarked for our south of the equator adventure, Chas and I told Emily one thing: we wanted to be active. Whatever we did, we wanted to be movin' and groovin'. No laying around, no letting the jet lag get the best of us.

Truth be told, we took a nap everyday, so... so much for that. But it was for good reason: jet lag + highly active South American adventure = well-deserved nap.

So on our last full day in Chile, we struck out on our most active adventure yet: we went climbing. This time we took the train-- even Emily's first time on the train unchaperoned by a native Chileno-- and that in itself was an adventure. In Chile, soliciting is a very common occurrence. On buses, on the street, and, apparently, on trains. By our last day, I had grown used to the street peddlers hopping on the the Micro for a block or two to sell their goods-- Disney playing cards, ice cream, scissors, whatever-- or to simply ask for your money from behind a sad clown face. But I wasn't expecting this kind of thing on the train.

There we were, holding tightly to the poles and handles (we weren't so fortunate as to nab a seat), when the man next to me took his guitar out of his case. While he tuned his guitar, I carried on my conversation with Emily. Somewhere in the back of my mind I reasoned that he had a gig soon and didn't have the time to tune later: wrong. The man begins singing-- nay, belting-- out tunes so loudly that I had to tell Emily that we'd finish our conversation later. After a few songs, he made an announcement letting the riders in our compartment know that if they enjoyed his performance they could feel free to make donations. And they did.

On the way back, there was a similar situation, except this time the troubadour was a story-teller. In fact, he announced to the crowd that he would prefer that we stopped talking so that he wouldn't have to yell over us. And then, he asked us for money. Some people...

**Side note: There also happened to be a Robert Pattinson look-alike in our car on the way home, and I've never had to exert such force to hold myself back from throwing myself at a man. After much deliberation with Emily-- who was such a bad influence in her encouragement to approach the Latino Edward-- I decided that the kid was underage. And then I sulked for the rest of the day about having to worry whether or not a guy is too young for me. Ugh. Quarter-life crisis.

In between train rides, we arrived in La Compana (I think...) where we hopped on a tiny bus that took us as far up the mountain as it could go; from there, we hiked uphill for a kilometer or two. By the time we reached the national park office, I was glowing with perspiration and proud we'd made such great time to our destination, although I was a little disappointed with the view...

What's that? This isn't the destination? It's the entrance? You mean... after all that... I might literally die. Those were my thoughts as we struck off up the real mountain. I almost cried as I thought I might have to tell Chasley and Em to go on without me. I made it through the entire two and a half hour hike, but I felt the effects the next day. And the day after that... and the day after that.

We calculated that we had hiked about 5 miles or more by the end of our journey, and-- covered in dust that, mixed with our surplus of sweat, had practically caked onto us-- it was well worth the trip. How often do you get to drop your blood, sweat, and tears on a mountain in South America, after all? I mean sure, there were yellow jackets aplenty, and I'm pretty sure we just barely missed a wild animal attack of some nature-- my rule in every uncomfortable situation is "Don't Make Eye Contact," so who's to say what woodland creature was coming to greet us-- it was worth the view and the adrenaline rush.

And it definitely merited a nap afterward.

On the Ball

On Tuesday of our South American adventure, we took a bus ride-- a very long bus ride, I might add-- to a vineyard in Casablanca.

Now, if you know me, you know how I feel about Casablanca. Imagine my excitement when every other word I picked up while Emily was making reservations in Spanish was 'Casablanca.' I'm no whiz at geography, so I let my imagination take off... Casablanca?! Could it be?! Will Rick be there?! Louis, too?! Holy night, my first time in the Southern hemisphere and I'm unexpectedly going to Casablanca too?! This is too good to be true!, my pea-brain thought.

And, of course, it was indeed too good to be true. As it turns out, there's more than one Casablanca. It's one of those right place, wrong time kind of things... Right name, wrong continent. Story of my life.

Pity party aside, we headed to Casablanca for a tour of a winery and a wine tasting. I'm not one for wine really, but my friend and my cousin are fans so I took one for the team. I tried to be a good sport at first, although my comrades hardly thought my holding my nose and shooting expensive wine was the correct etiquette for such an event, but I soon fell off the wagon.

In Chile, they have an expression that roughly translates to 'on the ball.' That is, 'I've drank just enough to feel like I'm standing on a ball.' Having little previous interest in wine, it only took a glass or two before I realized I had stepped off solid ground and onto a big, bouncy ball.

To cleanse the palette between glasses, the winery offers a vase of hard bread sticks to munch on. The winos around me assured me that a bite or two would do it, but I felt sure that in order to get off the aforementioned ball, I needed to take charge of the bread sticks. And so I did, further impressing the rest of the group with my sophisticated nature.

After I shot-gunned my third glass and followed it quickly by cramming multiple cracker sticks into my mouth to suppress my gag reflex, a darling man from Boston kindly offered to take my extra wine off my hands. We were, after all, moving into the more expensive bottles and he hated to see them go to waste on me... So from then on, I took one wretched sip for the experience and then passed the glass on to Mr. Massachusetts.

While Chasley and Em posed with pictures of their wine glasses held just so, I swept cracker crumbs off the front of my shirt and accepted the grim reality that I will never be so chic as to appreciate the woodsy aromas of dark reds or the citrusy undertones of chilled whites... And that's okay, I guess. I'll just sip my Coke Zero out of a pretty glass and keep my feet on firmer ground, away from the ball.

Music Monday

Every now and then, a song just fits your day perfectly. In fact, more often times than not. And today, this is the song.

And sorry for the crappy video... I really just wanted you to hear the song, but indie rockers like Ben Kweller don't exactly pour their budgets into TRL-worthy music vids.

Happy trails to you.

After two days of blindly following Emily around Vina del Mar, it was time for Chasley and I to strike out on our own on Monday. Equipped with my elementary Spanish and a fair amount of experience on the public transit systems of foreign countries, we boarded a Micro and headed north to Con Con. When I felt sure that we had passed the landmarks Emily had described, I asked the bus driver to stop-- in the middle of nowhere, I assure you. The panic started to set in only when the Micro sped off in a cloud of dust and I looked around to see myself and Chasley-- who is delightful but very little help in Latin America-- stranded in Po-dunk, Chile.

I had been instructed to meet Maria, our guide for the day, at a gas station... a gas station that was nowhere to be seen. We began to bumble around, catching the attention of more than a few. I'd like to say that I was relaxed; I am, after all, a seasoned traveler. But no. My heart raced, and I grabbed Chasley's hand and told her to walk fast and like she had a purpose. I shot up a quick prayer of praise that it was broad daylight, and I plunged ahead.

Voila! The gas station appeared just around a curve. Chilean gas stations aren't like American gas stations: there is no convenient store as part of the package, just a few pumping stations. I decided I didn't want to loiter around the pumping station since I clearly didn't have a car to pump gas into, so Chasley and I sat on the opposite side of the road in front of an empanada shop. Just two blonde sitting ducks.

Maria showed up sooner than later, and we started the second leg of our adventure. We headed to Maria's ranch and were saddled up with horses along with the crew of AirFrance-- polite but not interested in speaking English-- and hit the ol' dusty trail. We ambled through multiple terrains-- the coast of the Pacific, sand dunes like you might see in Aladdin (I sang "Arabian Nights" more than once, but it was a tough crowd), and pine tree forests. Just when I would take out my camera, the leader would yell, "Gallope!" and my horse, Dina, would take off at a breakneck pace. Now, I love riding horses and have a fair amount of experience... but Chilean saddles are very different than American saddles and running full-speed-ahead on the coast is a little different than a gentle lope through a pasture.

Unable to converse in Spanish with our guides or in French with our comrades, I was limited to making small talk with my horse, Dina. Most of our chats consisted of my encouraging Dina to only do what she was comfortable with, and if that meant walking then I could just suck it up and amble along. Apparently she felt pretty good about the speed we were going, though, so away we went. With no saddle horn and rope reins in lieu of leather, I had to put a lot of faith in Dina and more than a little faith in my inner thighs. Neither failed me, but I suspect both were equally tired. I don't know how Dina felt the next day, but my thighs, back, and butt were brutalized.

The ride was beautiful and, when I wasn't begging God to let me live, the adrenaline rush was amazing. And I mean, how often do you gallop along the coast of the Pacific Ocean?

We were able to catch a bus back to Vina afterward, and then the third and final leg of our solo adventure began. In broken Spanish, I conveyed to the driver where I needed to go, but he really thought I should take a short cut. Practically thrown off the bus, Chasley and I started home. I managed to get in touch with Emily who assured me I was on the right street and that I should be heading in the direction of the coast. Well, Chasley, always one to have a "feeling," just "felt" like the coast was in the opposite direction. So away we went... in the opposite direction... in the wrong direction.

We did make it home eventually... where I immediately put myself in a hot shower. I just wish I had known how to say "Ben-Gay" in Spanish.

La Playa

On our second full day in the southern hemisphere, we decided to take it easy. After a breakfast of fresh fruit-- mango, nectarines, oranges, pineapple, bananas, etc-- sprinkled with dry oatmeal and yogurt (this will be added into my daily diet ASAP), we donned our swimsuits, cover-ups, and some serious sunscreen (apparently there's a hole in the o-zone layer over Chile... who knew??) and headed out.

We boarded the Micro (mee-crow) and headed up the coast to the most beautiful look-out spot ever. And if you know Chasley, you know that this means one thing: photo shoot. Now, when I say we donned our cover-ups, I mean that Emily and I pulled on knit cover-ups and threw our hair into sloppy ponytails. Chasley, on the other hand, is a completely different story. This best friend of mine lives in a photo shoot. Even after we warned her that the beaches of Chile were not the fine white sandy beaches we're accustomed to and that we'd be doing a little hiking here and there, Chasley wiggled into white denim cropped pants, a white oversized crocheted top, and a black straw hat-- a hat that she carried in her hand on each and every plane we boarded... just for this one day, just for this one outfit. Just another day in Chasleyland, folks.

After our photo shoot, we took a detour to the ice cream shop en route to the beach. The ice cream in Chile is more akin to the gelato of Italy. All I can say is... I'm glad I'm back on American soil with zero access to gelato/helado/ice cream. That stuff is delicious and dangerous.

Ice cream finished off, we hit the beach. I settled in with a book, and Chasley and Emily had a photo shoot (duh). Long talks and lots of giggles followed as we stretched out under the Chilean sun... Now this is a lifestyle I could get used to.

As the sun began to go down, we walked about a mile down the beach to perch ourselves on huge rocks to watch the sunset. I can tell you this: it's impossible to watch an enormous sun dip into the Pacific and question the One who set it there. In a foreign land, in a hemisphere that literally tips your life upside down, some things... some One... is ever consistent.

Life as a Giraffe

Stateside, I'm average at best. At 5'3, my stature and build are commonplace; blonde-headed, blue-eyed, and fair-skinned, I'm the usual sort. I've never been approached by a modeling scout, and I can't say I've felt like a head-turner often. I have often admired Jennifer Aniston's olive complexion, Sophia Vergara's delicious accent, and Gisele Bundchen's otherworldly build. Here in the States, I'm far from exotic.

My mediocrity doesn't stop with my looks but extends to the talent department. I can't honestly say that I'm a natural at anything. Admittedly, there are things I'm not necessarily bad at-- I'm not completely musically incompetent and I have a decent golf swing-- and I have a few unique quirks, but touching my nose with my tongue and perfectly mimicking the Roadrunner's beep beep sound have never won me any contests.

It sounds like I have low self-esteem, but that's only partly true. What I'm getting at is this: in Alabama, I'm the All-American Girl. But so are all my girlfriends.

I've spent the last week in South America, though, and I can tell you this: I may be the All-North-American Girl, but I am certainly not the All-South-American Girl. Oh no-- at the risk of bragging-- I am, in fact, an exotic beauty. For the first time in my life, I may have caused whip lash. Little ol', tow-headed, freckle-faced, J. Crew-clad me.

On our first full day in Chile-- post traumatic mandatory tsunami evacuation-- my cousin took Chasley and me to Valparaiso, a neighboring town and the oldest port city in Chile. The port was full of military vessels drifting in the Pacific, monitoring wave conditions, against a back drop of Chilean mountains. It is truly breath-taking-- most of us are either "mountain people" or "beach people," but here the two worlds collide. Inland, the streets curve steeply uphill, and a rainbow of colorful shops and apartment buildings decorated with brilliant graffiti line the steep incline. Allowing my mouth to gape open at the overwhelming new sites-- not to mention the smells of empanada shops and a bakery on every corner-- screams tourist! almost louder than my pale skin and platinum hair, so I resisted the urge to drool but it was a true challenge.

On Saturday nights (mornings), the Chilean nightlife picks up just at 2 am (when American bars are closing, the Chileans smirk) and Chilenos of all ages pile into discos for a mix of bossa nova music and Top 40 American rap. The DJ spins records, and the Latin Americans dance in a completely non-vulgar, non-American way: this isn't bump and grind, it's actual dancing... it's like being in a room full of Gloria Estefan's and Enrique Iglesias's. Once again, don't stare and try not to gawk.

But the funny part is, I was able to resist the urge to openly ogle the Latin American lifestyle. Meanwhile, the Latin Americans did not return the favor. You see, while I'm the Girl Next Door here in the States, in Chile I'm a Blonde Goddess. A trophy. An extraterrestrial being. I might as well have been a giraffe walking down the sidewalks of Valpo the way people turned and openly stared. Men running on the beach for their Naval Academy PT stopped and took their picture with me; Emily's Chilean friends called me Cameron, as in Cameron Diaz-- a comparison that is absolutely laughable in this half of the Americas; old Latino men whispered, "Beau-tee-full layy-dee" in my ear as they passed-- something that would've been flattering had it not been incredibly creepy, and that's only when I knew what they were saying; cars and buses honked and leered. It was delightful. And terrifying.

Our day of site seeing in Valpo on Saturday was fabulous-- the city is beautiful and the perfect Latin American experience, and the nightlife is upbeat and exciting-- and for a week, I was a giraffe: an exotic head-turner, an American Gisele Bundchen... and that was kind of fabulous too.

Hola!

My plan is to blog about every South American experience when I get home on Friday-- or, more likely, on Saturday after I've had ample sleep and recovery-- but we're going at a whirlwind speed and the details are beginning to blur... so here are a few highlights:

- Friday night: tsunami evacuation-- yikes.
- Saturday: toured the neighboring city, Valparaiso; authentic empanadas for dinner (ohmigosh, YUM); tried out the Chilean nightlife... which is actually more appropriately dubbed morning life as they don't even START until 2 am.
- Sunday: went to a neighboring town, Renaca, for an incredible view of the Pacific; had helado (ice cream, but more like Italian gelato, YUM); laid out on the beach and finally put my feet in the Pacific ocean; watched the sun set; went out for sushi
- Monday: Chasley and I braved the bus system alone for the first time to go to the neighboring city, Con Con, to ride horses. Three hours of riding a horse at a full-blown run along the coast of the Pacific. Wow. And last night, unable to move, we stayed in and relaxed.

And now, we're about to head to Casablanca-- not THE Casablanca, much to my disappointment-- for a wine tasting. Wine's not really my thing, but I'm excited about the experience and... well, really, I'm excited about everything because, hello, I'm in South America.

Now, with this outline and maybe another in the days to come, hopefully I'll be able to sort out the stories to tell, even when I'm jet lagged.

Ciao! (Adios means "farewell forever," so they say ciao instead)

all shook up.

first of all, i haven't figured out how to capitalize letters on chilean computers... so please excuse me. grammar nazi that i am, this is driving me nuts.

second, in case you didn't know... i'm in chile, with my friend chasley, visiting my cousin emily.

and third, the earthquake heard 'round the world is affecting us here in south america. in fact, we have been evacuated. emily lives with a host family on the coast of chile, and we're expecting to see the effects of the earthquake in a few hours. tsunami warnings, loud sirens, and a forced evacuation have made for an exciting first day in the southern hemisphere. especially since i was sleeping peacefully when emily woke me up and told me to grab only my purse-- she seemed amused that i wanted to pull my luggage with me as we headed for the hills-- and leave. so you can imagine that i'm looking quite cute as i make my chilean debut-- sweatshirt, nike shorts, unwashed hair, nap-smeared make-up.

so we have moved to emily's boyfriend's home, an apartment high in the hills. i'm intimately aware of just how high in the hills because we walked a great part of it, the dampening of perspiration making me all the more attractive.

the chileans are unconcerned, although the authorities are out in full force to be sure that the evacuation is complete. earthquakes are par for the course around here, and no one seems to take the evacuation seriously. i mean, feels kind of serious to me... but on a continent where i don't know the language, i do what i'm told and feel what i'm told to feel. and if that means not getting upset about the approaching tsunami, that's a-okay with me. although we just reviewed youtube videos of the tsunami in japan and the 2004 tsunami in indonesia... not my best idea.

anyway, here i am... in chile... all evacuated and whatnot.

death & taxes.

Every time I log onto Facebook, another friend is newly engaged or posting their latest sonogram... and if you knew how often I log onto Facebook, you'd know that that's a lot of engagements and babies.

My dad says that life goes in stages, that for the next couple of years I'll be in the engagement/wedding phase then the baby phase (although life seems to be moving faster in my generation than his; maybe we're just more "efficient" as a lot of us are skipping the 'then' part) and eventually you get to funerals, when everyone you know has a dead or dying parent and soon enough it's your classmates and spouses.

I guess it's true that the only things certain in life are death and taxes; while I've not found myself in the engagement/wedding/baby phase just yet personally, my life and times have just-- at this very moment-- come to a screeching arrival in a parallel, less joyful phase of life. Ladies and gentlemen, I am officially a tax payer.

So this afternoon I won't be updating a page on theknot.com with all the fun details of my coming nuptials-- I've added that to my own personal list of signs of the apocalypse-- or posting my baby bump progress on my Facebook page (okay, but really, I wouldn't do that anyway. Gross.) Nope, my little slice of adulthood comes instead in the form of a maiden voyage on TurboTax.com. Eat your hearts out, blushing brides.

*This bitter rant brought to you by a gloomy sky and interrupted Sunday afternoon nap.

Who's the Boss?

Having never been an older sibling, I can't say for sure, but I'd be willing to bet that most are rather bossy. At least that was the case with my older sibling.

When I made my triumphant entry into this world, Adam was three years old. That's three years of experience, three years of wisdom, three years of hard time earned on this third rock from the sun. And with that head start, I reckon Adam thought he had quite a bit of knowledge on me.

Even while Mom was pregnant, Adam let her know that, as he was hers, I would obviously be his. And this was a charge he was ready and willing to take responsibility for. He held true to this conviction even after I was born and he witnessed the trials and tribulations my parents faced while trying to raise a baby with a touch of colic-- and I say 'a touch' with a wink. Adam must have perceived my constant wails as a crack in the parenting system, motivation for him to valiantly step up to the plate and take over. Several years later, still unconvinced that Mom and Dad were truly able to raise two children at once, Adam came up with a solution. He approached my mother with a proposition that went something like, "I swear, Mother, if you'll just let me be in charge of her for one month, I'll whip her into shape." My mother, thankfully, turned down his generous offer, although at times I can imagine that sharing the workload with someone-- anyone-- would be a welcome reprieve.

I'm sure Adam had my best interest in mind; in fact, I'm sure he thought I would benefit greatly from being in his charge. It probably seemed win-win: Mom gets a break, I got a more proper upbringing, and Adam got to wield control over the life of his unruly little sister. But it seems Mom and Dad didn't think his teensy-tiny three-year advantage on me really gave him the needed preparation for that kind of control and responsibility.

Lately, I've been in a bit of a tangle with God. I would love for every blog I write to be about how glorious and joyful my time with the Lord is, but, while I would love for everyone who graces this website to think that I've got it altogether, that just wouldn't be the truth. It wouldn't be true at all, in fact, because lately 'joyful' and 'altogether' haven't been found in my vocabulary often without a negative preceding it.

It occurred to me this morning in church-- allowing my mind to wander during the sermon is part of my boycotting God, it seems-- that perhaps I'm more like my brother than I really realized. In lieu of a younger sibling and going over the heads of my parents, I've gone straight to God and told him that "if You would just give me x amount of time, I could whip this life into shape." I often feel like my 23 years here on Earth have given me quite a bit of wisdom, surely enough to guide myself along.

I've said it before, and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll hear myself say it a few more times, but I seem to think sometimes that at some point, "I can take it from here." This latest revelation has hardly made it all better, but I'm beginning to wonder if taking my life into my own hands isn't just as advisable as letting a ten-year-old raise a seven-year-old... I have a feeling that the success rate of the two experiments would be comparable.

Things That Remind Me I'm in Grad School

(and more specifically in a counseling concentration)

- Tonight, my dinner consists of Reese's Cups and Wheat Thins via the vending machines in the basement of my building. Feeling like a champ. (For what it's worth, my Wheat Thins are of the 'Veggie' variety)

- Pandora is threatening to cut me off.

- I may or may not have a 'usual' and a favorite delivery guy at Jimmy John's.

- I say things like, "It sounds like..." and "What I'm hearing you say is..." in everyday conversation.

- I'm determined to eliminate close-ended questions from my repertoire. This is an unrealistic and ridiculous goal; normal people use yes-or-no questions. All the time.

- People oftentimes start our conversations off with an opener like, "I better talk to you about this now before you start charging for your services." Seeing it typed out like that makes me wonder what people think I'm getting a Master's in... Perhaps I should be insulted...

- My book shelf is full of unnecessary, disturbing books like "A Child Called It" and my movie list weighed down with documentaries and movies the likes of "Precious."

- When I ask my friends-- all full-fledged adults-- what they're doing for Spring Break, I get looks that could kill. Is it possible that the Real World doesn't offer a Spring Break? Say it ain't so.

- I've been reading the same tiny novel for over two months now because reading for giggles after several hours with my nose in a textbook makes me want to hurl.

- I don't want to laugh at Charlie Sheen; I want to fix him.

- I long for the days of teensy-weensy 8-page paper. I want to go back in time and slap Undergrad Lindsey in the face for complaining about that blissful little research paper. You don't know how good you have it, Linds!

- I want to have a child just to test out various parenting and family therapy strategies. That can't be ethical... It's imperative that I not be allowed to reproduce.

- I daydream about lesson plans and decorating my elementary school office with Kelly Jackson artwork (if you're not from Guntersville, that won't make sense... but you should check her out).

And that, friends, wraps up this week's episode of Tuesday Things.

#np

Now Playing

1. Til the Sun Turns Black- Ray Lamontagne

I'm really into lyrics, often listening to a song simply for the meaning in the words, and this song is a bit political for my liking... but the melody is haunting, and as nothing more than background noise, it blew me away.

2. Tell the Truth- Otis Redding

Otis Redding always, always makes me want to dance around in my living room in my pajamas. By myself, with the flavor of the week, or with my girlfriends... It just makes me want to move.

3. Every Little Thing She Does is Magic- The Police

Mia Michaels choreographed a group dance on So You Think You Can Dance to this song. Lauren, one of my all time favorite contestants, was an Alice in Wonderland type while the others were the Wonderlandians. I can remember my mom saying it looked like my dream world... It so does.

4. She's Got a Way- Billy Joel

This is one of those songs you dream about someone writing for you. I think maybe my one goal in life is to be someone's muse.

This moment brought to you by a Pandora advertisement for Taco Bell, "Here's the truth: Taco Bell's beef is made of 88% choice ground beef and 12% secret recipe." Okay, whoa, I prefer my beef to be 100% beef, thankyouverymuch. And that little spin, Taco Bell, is 100% bull crap.

5. Ain't No Mountain High Enough- Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell

Something about this song always makes me think of my mom, and oddly enough we both set this as the other's ringtone without ever having discussed it. Kind of perfect.

March Madness

Good morning, March!

I am about to have a whirlwind romance with the month of March, a spring fling of epic proportions. Allow me to expand.

I kicked off the month with a beautiful walk to work. The sun is shining, and the air is crisp.

Perfect weather: check.

Tonight, Laura is spending the night, and we're going to watch Easy A. In my humble opinion, a slumber party is always a good start.

Later this week, I'm heading home for the first time since January. I've been more than a bit homesick lately, so I'm really, really looking forward to my weekend stay with dear old Mom and Dad. First things first, I have a much needed hair appointment on Thursday. As David likes to tell me, my hair "is turning black." I look forward to hair cuts like most people look forward to birthdays and Christmas, so this appointment has been underlined and highlighted in my planner for weeks. I have a father-daughter date with Dad to see Mini Me debut as the lead in the high school's production of Little Women. Mom and I are going to go shopping Saturday, catch up on our favorite reality shows (all of the highest quality, obviously), and sit around the kitchen table chatting about the same old things.

I return to school on Monday, March 7, just for a few days. By Thursday, March 10, I'll officially be on holiday. Although, this year my spring break won't exactly be a break. On Thursday afternoon, Chasley and I will jet-set our way to South America to spend a week with my cousin Emily in Chile, where she is spending the semester abroad. Chas informed me last night that she's been running, tanning, and push-upping in preparation for our Chilean debut, but please believe me when I say that I'm the same color I was the day I was born-- as in before the sun had ever touched me; I'm not actually a startling shade of purple like I was on the day I was born... you know what, poor illustration-- and I haven't seen a gym in weeks. But hey, I'll just make Chasley look that much better. And that's the kind of friend I am.

We return from Chile on Friday, March 18, when I'll finish off SB2011 recovering from jet lag at home-- hopefully on a warm, sunny deck with Mom and the pets. After one last weekend of break, I'll head back to school for another week. Not even a week, actually. I'll return to Tuscaloosa on March 20, and turn around on Friday and head to (cue angel voices) Auburn for a weekend with the Sisters. We're going to see The Civil Wars play on Friday night and spending Saturday at Six Flags. I mean, really, I can't express how excited I am about Six Flags. I'm a complete ninny when it comes to roller coasters, and I spend the first minute on each ride begging God to let me see the end of the day, but I do it to myself nonetheless.

After girls' weekend, I'll have a few days left with March. Our relationship will have peaked by the end of the weekend retreat, and I'll spend the last few days tapering off our contact. I suspect our brief affair will be nothing short of legendary, but come March 31, I'll have to end things. I'm sorry, March, it's not you-- it's me. You're wonderful, perfect even. But it's only fair to you that I move onto April. I probably should've mentioned on that Tuesday, March 1, that I'm not really the commitment type.

But I'll get to the break up later. For now, I'm going to woo March and make the most of our time together.

Weekend Update

I love a good weekend, the kind where I can stay up all night with my favorite friends and sleep all day with my favorite feline companion.

Friday night I was all dolled up for a friend's birthday dinner, but I needed to run a few errands before I met up with the Birthday Girl and her friends. I ran into Blockbuster for a quick switcheroo of Mad Men discs, got distracted perusing the old movies, and before I knew it I had run into a long lost friend. We caught up for an hour in front of the Dora the Explorer aisle-- a shockingly busy place to be, as it turns out-- before lingering in the parking lot for another hour. It was unexpected and nice. Really, really nice. By the time I left the Blockbuster parking lot, I had more than missed the birthday dinner, so I finished my errands and headed home with my Mad Men.

Saturday-- shock!-- I slept in. I piddled around the apartment for most of the day, rotating chores with reading or a show OnDemand. After lunch, I headed to Birmingham for a little shopping with Mo. We met up with the usual suspects for dinner at the Fish Market before heading to J. Clyde for the rest of the evening. The only dark spot on my night was realizing somewhere along the way home that I was not just driving through a smelly part of town... oh no, there was, in fact, dog poop on my shoe. I had to stop in Scary Town for gas anyway, so I pulled over post-haste. Of course there was no window washing station equipped with paper towels at the gas station I chose and the gas pump didn't have the mechanism that allows you to set the pump to pump itself, but a lady in distress rarely has many options. And at a little after midnight in downtown Birmingham, the only thing I wanted was to set the pump, clean my shoe, and lock my door while I waited for the tank to fill up. But alas, I had to dig through the glove box for napkins (thanks Mom for instilling in me the need to keep such things handy), cleaned my shoe and carpet the best I could, and then stood and pumped my gas without making eye contact with anyone. As you can see, I made it... but it was touch-and-go there for a bit.

By the time I got home, I just wanted to crawl in bed with Macy. Wouldn't you know, though, "Tammy" upstairs was having her own special weekend. So add "living below a nymphomaniac" to my list of dark spots on Saturday night. My lack of sleep through the normal hours of the night caused me to sleep through church and take a nap around 5, but in the between hours I managed to have lunch and tool around with Baby Jane for a few hours-- much needed catch up time. Sunday night, my friend Kat and I, and a few of her friends, watched the Oscars and gorged on taco salad and key lime pie. My man Colin Firth won and gave an adorable acceptance speech, and that pretty much made my night complete. That, and, Tammy took Sunday night off. Who knew she was the kind of girl that observes the Sabbath...