state(s) of the union

In the past year, aside from my official residence of Illinois, I have been in nearly half of our great 50 states:

Washington (Seattle)
California (San Jose, Carmel/Monterey, Napa Valley, San Francisco, Los Angeles)
Nevada (Reno)
Utah (Salt Lake City)
Wyoming
Nebraska (Omaha)
Iowa
Indiana (Bloomington, Indianapolis, Charlestown, French Lick)
Ohio (Cincinnati, Cleveland, Dayton)
Kentucky (Louisville)
Missouri (St Louis, Kansas City)
Kansas (Kansas City)
Louisiana (New Orleans, Shreveport)
Oklahoma (Oklahoma City)
Texas (Houston, Dallas, Galveston, Austin, Temple)
Minnesota (Minneapolis)
Georgia (Atlanta)
Alabama (Huntsville)
North Carolina (Charlotte)
Florida (Jacksonville, Tampa, St. Petersburg, Ft. Lauderdale, Miami, Key West, Siesta Key)
New York (NYC, Buffalo)
Washington, D.C.
Wisconsin (somewhere in the middle of nowhere that had camping and whitewater rafting).

My feet have also touched foreign soil in the form of Montreal, London and Amsterdam.

Total whirlwind.

I wish I had the desire and/or time to calculate how many nights I've spent away from home, not sleeping in my glorious bed. I'd venture to say it would come out to 80-85% of my life spent elsewhere.

I'm not complaining, not one bit. I'm just now stepping back for one damn second to take inventory of what has happened in the past year. To what has happened to me.

It's relatively difficult to recognize this newer version of myself. The version that has become so accustomed to being alone that I don't function the same around people anymore. The version that worries and stresses about work more than I ever imagined I would. The version that cares about my job responsibilities and career more than I should. The version that has had to work even harder to not be overly negative and cynical. The version that lets a perfectly decent potential for a friendship or relationship (or, fuck, a television show) go by the wayside because, sometimes, it's just easier that way.

This new version is neither better nor worse than the previous model, it just is what it is. Hours and days spent alone (in cabs, airports, cars, restaurants, hotels...) to think, watch and analyze puts things (most importantly yourself) into perspective. I've always been an observant creature -- an analyst (if only I were a therapist as well), a people-watcher -- but having so much time to do just that has heightened my awareness exponentially. I take in so much on any given day it's amazing; my brain got so full of bizarre, unbelievable, humbling, fascinating things that I had to start a journal for the road to record all of my thoughts and observations just so I could make room for more. I have learned (and learned. and learned.) so many things and met a plethora of interesting people. Conversely, I've witnessed and dealt with plenty of rude, ignorant, annoying people to maintain my deep-seeded aggravation with the majority of the human population.

So, ladies and gentlemen, in summary: I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss the parts of my life that don't have anything to do with a job. I miss having the drive and/or time to be in a relationship. And although I'm grateful for the experiences (professionally and otherwise) that brought me here, frankly, I'm worn out. I believe in the industry in which I've established a career, I just hope to find a place in said industry that allows time for me to bring the focus back to the things that matter most.

best thing this week

From Que Sera Sera:

"Yesterday, after voting, I was walking down the streets of my neighborhood in the best mood, all smiling at strangers and saying hello like I was in the opening scene of a fucking musical. I swung around lampposts and little birds helped me put on my sweater and a baby deer carried my groceries home. Then we all lowered the lights and listened to Billie Holiday and I’ve said too much already but it was so lovely.

Anyway, good job, America. I want to kiss you all during a ticker tape parade while wearing a nurse’s uniform. Dip me."

and a grey Wolf howling into the night

Click here and peruse the comments.

Of note, "I am very partial to the bonus graphics on my arms," and "Gets you great reception for your cell phone as well."

guilty pleasure

According to iTunes, I have listened to the Kings of Leon song "Sex on Fire" 39 times in the last 20 days. First off, I’m shocked at how low this number is, I was certain it would be well over one thousand.

Of note, I listened to this song a good 20+ times before I actually paid much attention to the lyrics. This is relatively unheard of, as I am a lyrics freak by nature and tend to focus on such things when introduced to new music. But. This song is just so damn catchy. And the cracking in his voice makes me nervous in the loins. Combine that with the fact that he's practically yelling and dear lord. I’m sweating.

breaking news

People use sex to get what they want.

That's completely new information. Thanks, CNN.

a lack of oversight

Dialogue from a commercial for the local Oklahoma City cable company, Cox Communications:

Gray-Haired, Middle Aged Man: "With the high cost of things these days, it's more important than ever to find cheap phone service. That's why I switched to Cox."

this does not, however, make up for the lack of a social life

Sometimes (and only sometimes) traveling like a maniac for a living has its perks. For instance, visiting a site near a little beach town south of St. Petersburg, FL, on the Gulf of Mexico. And, by chance, ending up with a convertible rental and an oceanfront room with a balcony.

Then you get to wake up to this:



And sit around at a little bar on the beach to enjoy a beverage whilst the sun sets:


And feel the inexplicably irresistible urge to photograph your feet with the ocean:




Not too shabby, I must say.

I'm still trying desperately to narrow down my London and Amsterdam photos to the 10 best to post here, but it's proving relatively impossible.

Oh, and I spent last weekend at my 5-year college reunion. Good christ, I knew there was a reason I hadn't been back since graduation. I'm currently looking into therapy to deal with my debilitating inability to cope with missing that place and those people. Ouch.

put it on your shoulder, raise it above your head

Found. Thursday, 6:04 pm. On a dumpster in the alley behind my apartment.

from london, with love

If there's one thing that I brought back from Europe (aside from seven bags of sweet chilli-flavored Nobby's Nuts), it's a deep, abiding, irrational fascination with the insanity that is Eurovision (particularly with the hilarious dead-pan narration of Terry Wogan).

The following entry from Bosnia & Herzegovina blows the mind and assaults the senses. In a word: glorious.

across the pond.

I think that good ol' Dubya would be pleased as punch to know that my economic stimulus tax rebate is being put to good use over in London and Amsterdam.

God bless America.

Cheerio!

on buffalo

It's not like I was all that thrilled to be in Buffalo, NY, in the first place. Every person that I told of this particular work trip immediately turned their nose up at the very mention of this town. My expectations were low.

The airport had no glaring signs of a horrid city, but a quick trip over to the car rental place began to put Buffalo into perspective. The only rental left was an old, gray Grand Prix that smelled like stale cigarettes. Ten thousand of them.

The 10 minute drive to my hotel included seven cop cars.

Once at the hotel it was clear that there was a serious parking problem and that the place was under major renovation. The beds only had sheets on them. With the box spring exposed. And no art on the walls. And it was a Hyatt.

Surely a trip to the Anchor Bar, the birthplace of Buffalo hot wings, would bring some redeeming value to this glorious place. The wings were most certainly tasty, especially when washed down with a New York-brewed lager.

However, whilst at the Anchor Bar, every television was tuned to a local news channel showing a live feed from a hostage stand-off in the middle of the main expressway in town. Not to be out-done, the parking lot of the Anchor Bar provided me with the pleasure of seeing a rather large rat scurry out from underneath my car.

While I am certain there are wonderful, charming people in this town, I have seen very few of them. Most have been trashy, shady and unfriendly.

I'm trying desperately to find something redeeming about this city (vicinity to Niagara Falls, perhaps?) but that seems relatively impossible at this point.

Although, I will say that the salad bar in the cafeteria at Buffalo General Hospital is quite nice. Maybe that's a start?

Poor Buffalo, how thee sucketh.

I get so lost, sometimes

On average, I am in an airport four times per week. At any given moment whilst in the confines of said establishment, I have absolutely no (zero. zilch.) patience for the following five things:

1. people.
2. people with children.
3. people who stand in lines.
4. people who talk any louder than a whisper.
5. lines that contain people and/or children.

Just when I think I can't take anymore, I get a ride home from Midway in a minivan cab driven by a large Jamaican woman singing along to Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" and all is right with the world.

brace yourself

There are currently four posts in the works by yours truly. It was a busy week in the world of my karma.

No cause for alarm, but I will tell you that it involves a severely burned man, a stroke, a massive heart attack, breast cancer, a child born out of wedlock, a dying woman's last wish, a dog shot in the leg, illegal drugs, boot camp, and a hernia healed not by surgery, but by jesus himself.

the things you do to me

My week? Made.

to whom it may concern

Dear Amanda:

As you are painfully aware, your life as you knew it prior to August 2007 is no longer. You now travel for business nearly every week and you have developed ulcers from stress and anxiety. You've become a workaholic against your will and it is eating away at your soul. Your sense of humor, wit and creativity has been squelched to essentially nothing. Satisfactory maintenance of relationships with family and friends is a distant memory.

We realize that you aren't sure if all of your hard work is appreciated or noticed and we prefer it that way.


Sincerely,

Your New Job

somebody stop me

Who needs crack when you have etsy?

I just.can't.stop.

weight debate

I've always had a relatively healthy relationship with my weight. Up until a couple of years ago I was fine with my body. "Fine" meaning that nothing about how I looked or what I weighed bothered me to a point that it consumed my life. I was fully aware that I was comfortably between a slammin' bod and obese (during my college years and the 2 years after I stayed between 130-135 lbs at 5'4"). I ate relatively healthy, exercised sort of regularly; just enough to keep me around the same weight so I didn't have to go buy new clothes that I couldn't afford. I've never had a desire to have, by most societal standards, an amazing body. I love food, booze and lying around on my couch too much to care.

Over the past couple of years I've gained 20 pounds. For the first time I look at myself and think, "Ok, we could stand to lose some weight. Things aren't zipping. And that cute little t-shirt you love? On you, it's no longer fit for public display." And, although I can see that my size 10 self would benefit from some regular trips to the gym, I'm not unhappy. All of the weight that I've put on is comfortable, happy weight. It's all dinners out and drinks with friends instead of staying in eating grilled chicken, asparagus and going to the gym. It's nights of wine and euchre and laughing in my pajamas. It's cold evenings sitting belly-up in a warm, dark bar drinking equally dark beer. It's gorgeous afternoons enjoying brunch and bloody marys alfresco.

My point? At 150 pounds (give or take a couple, I don't own a scale) I'm starting to feel uncomfortable in my clothes and it's clear that something needs to be done. And not just for the weight, but for my health in general. I know that I'm carrying around a few extra pounds (more to love, right?) but I certainly don't think of myself as staggeringly overweight.

So, that's why I was so annoyed when I came across this post I found via dooce (please go read the post so I don't have to summarize it here). Now. I love me some dooce. I've been an avid reader for years and I appreciate her stance and opinion on most things. Until today.

Under the link to the post in question dooce says that it's "one of the bravest things" she's ever read. So, I'm thinking that clicking this link will take me to a story of a heroic battle against an illness or overcoming a seemingly insurmountable task.

Imagine my surprise when I find that it's a post about a woman's battle with weight. A battle that consists of her weighing 157 lbs (she's 5'6") at her heaviest (save for during a pregnancy).

Let me start out by saying that I do agree that putting your weight out there for the entire world to see can be nerve-wracking (especially in this day and age). And it's certainly inspiring for people to read her post and see that she's dealt with fluctuations with weight and that she's now at a point where she's ready to do something to lose weight again. I applaud that and see the value in that aspect of the post. But. "One of the bravest things I've ever read?" Not hardly.

Why the drama over this? She needs to lose a few pounds and her weight has been like a yo-yo over the past few years. Who hasn't dealt with that? And, most notably, she uses the word "booming" to refer to her 157 pound self. Booming? Really?

Obviously this is her opinion and her perspective and she is entitled to that. My problem lies in the bigger picture: the fact that she felt that 157 lbs is "booming." I just can't stop saying it. Booming. Booming. BOOMING.

I mean, come on. Isn't that quite insulting to the people out there who have more serious weight issues? People who are 100, 200, plus over their healthy weight? And, seriously, is 157 lbs at 5'6" BOOMING? Someone, please, level with me here. Maybe I'm more sensitive to this because she's calling a weight close to mine BOOMING when I don't feel BOOMING. I'm pleasantly plump but hardly the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

The more I write about this the angrier I become. Angry that she felt BOOMING at a size 10 (I'm guessing at the exact size), angry that her talking about those HUGE numbers of hers was just so brave.

We all deal with our weight. Whether we're young, old, male, female, too heavy or too thin, we all have our battles. It frightens me that a woman talking about her issues with pounds that fall within a healthy range for most adult women is so inspiring and brave. Why are we all so consumed and embarrassed with those numbers? Why is it brave to admit to the number of pounds gained by eating burritos and drinking beer? Why are we so ashamed?

Whew. I need to lie down. And drink a beer.

observation of the cold, hard truth

Monday, 8:30 p.m. (Chicago)

The roommate and I are seated in silence on our respective sofas, laptops on laps. She looks over at me inquisitively then scans the room as if searching for a sound in the distance that she can't quite place. She looks back at me. "Please take note that we are currently tracking football on our computers while our superhero show is recording on the Tivo."

ahoy, mateys!

The cruise? I can't talk about it. It was that perfect and relaxing and gorgeous. Here are some pictures (that I can barely look at without tearing up and throwing up in my mouth a little).

the ship, her majesty of the sea, docked in key west

complimentary champagne

some island somewhere in the caribbean

sunset from the ship

in our grand suite (the garnet suite, if you will)

whooooo lives in a pineapple under the sea...

(the roommate goes into more detail here if you're interested)

gone fishin'

For the next week you can find me somewhere in the Caribbean. Actually, scratch that. You won't be able to find me because I will have little to no phone or email access... what a dream.