The Ramblings of a Mental Meanderthal

I wouldn't name either of these films in my top five, but I love watching Julie and Julia and Ratatouille so much.  Problem is, I've often watched them -- or more appropriately, started to watch them -- and then paused the DVD so I could get up and make something to eat.  Chips and salsa won't do, no; I have to make it.  To create something, even if it's oil and popcorn kernels in a pot on the stove and shaking the heck out of it. (Maybe the impulse is really a deep-seated desire to dirty some dishes.  I feel out of place in an entirely clean environment, because I'm afraid of messing it up.  Might as well mess it up deliberately and be comfortable again.  The minute I put the last clean and rinsed item in the dish drainer, I pour myself a bowl of cereal or make chocolate milk.  Yes, I'm weird.) And there's the impulse to consume something, too.  I have a complicated relationship with food, as I've been overweight for thirty years and obese for twen

I read about a study some researchers in Sweden made this year about singing.  It makes sense that people singing together would breathe together.  Breath is a big part of the physicality of singing, after all.  But the study showed that the singers' heartbeats synchronized, too.  It sounds like something out of a romance novel -- their hearts beat as one, or some such sentimental rubbish -- which is probably why I smiled like an idiot when I read the article. I have always found singing soothing.  I was never fond of solo work; I get crippling stage fright, but I did it because I wanted to show off.  I really, really don't like it.  Making music as part of a group, on the other hand, is a delight.  It still satisfies my need to show off if the group is good, because if it's good, and I'm in it, then I'm good, right?  Right.  And the showing-off aspect isn't even what I like best about the whole thing.  Every rehearsal feels like an accomplishmen

I've always been a picky eater.  Something smelled yucky, and I would swear up and down that I didn't like it for twenty years after, even if I never tasted it.  The only thing about this that has changed is my tastes ... I can still "dislike" something if I've never let it pass my lips. The concept of a burrito grossed me out for years.  I didn't like beans until I started to frequent Super Mex on a sort-of regular basis when I was at my previous job, and the idea of everything getting stuffed into a tortilla like that just seemed weird.  But now that I want to try making one, I can't seem to find any basic instructions on the Internet.  Fancy recipes, yes, but I guess everyone assumes you either buy frozen burritos (yuck) or else you already know how to make them. So I shall experiment tonight.  If all else fails, I have other stuff in my fridge and can make steak tacos instead. Jeans shopping this afternoon.  I almost bought some online today.  Th

Sometimes, the only thing keeping the darkness from winning is remembering what I am grateful for: Helping to reunite a lost dog with her owner on Thursday. My favorite song coming up on my iPod.  (It's the Barr Brothers' "Beggar in the Morning."  Make it shine so pretty, make it shine so bright.) Mom's coming home in the morning. Shopping for new clothes. Practicing a piece for the chorus and getting it right on the first try. Bubba the Hutt, who wiggles with happiness when I brush him.  This makes it more difficult for me to brush him, but it's still fun. Confiding in someone and knowing he gets it. Shoe lust, even if I don't buy them. Coming home on a Friday night, putting on an audio book, washing yesterday's and this morning's dishes, and feeling the stress from another work week drop from my shoulders like a cloak.  I'll happily don it again on Monday, but I'll feel better for the break. Happy weekend, y'all.

Trina update, because it's been a while since I've blogged here. I developed plantar fasciitis last October while volunteering at my favorite community theater.  They put on The Rocky Horror Show every year, and I help with sales.  As a result, I ran around a lot, four nights a week for a month.  Sometimes they had two shows in a night, too.  So I've spent the last ten months wearing flats, boots, and athletic shoes.  No long walks, either, which is a bummer, but I kept myself from gaining weight by doing yoga.  I finally returned to Curves last month and have regained some of the ground I had lost.  (Or lost some of the pounds I had regained ... same difference.) Work continues as it has these last nine years.  I'm very grateful for my job, flexible hours, and amiable coworkers.  I don't mind not being able to advance anywhere else.  I help out with extra duties, including Library birthdays.  This month is my responsibility, so I coordinate the September birth