tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85996984969464075382024-02-06T23:02:22.660-07:00Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade SpringsI write because when I speak, I digress: musings, observations, travel chronicles and compositionsLaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-87781738950716105862016-06-06T00:26:00.000-06:002017-05-23T00:06:13.672-06:00What your fat friend needs from you.<a href="http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fmedium.com%2F%40thefatshadow%2Fwhat-your-fat-friend-needs-from-you-90401ffa37b3%23.bckesutoy&t=Mjk0Yjc4N2Y3OTRjZDczNzA2MTQwMmI4YzZhYjQ4NTY4MTMzNGEwOCxvUTdHSGEweA%3D%3D&b=t%3A0v0-xTn0P3sUabjInTrr3Q&p=http%3A%2F%2Fzeereasons.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F145495697045%2Fwhat-your-fat-friend-needs-from-you&m=1" style="background-color: white; color: #0d9fb3; font-family: arquitecta, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4px;" target="_blank">https://medium.com/@thefatshadow/what-your-fat-friend-needs-from-you-90401ffa37b3#.bckesutoy</a><br />
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Learn to let go of the false meritocracy of bodies, the heartless ranking, and the belief that you will earn a loving partner, a fulfilling job, a good vacation, or a happy life if you can just drop that next fifteen pounds. There is a ruthlessness to that logic, a cruelty to that standard that you would never apply to anyone you love. You know that they deserve happiness, safety, security, dignity and love, just as they are today. And so do you.<br />
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<a href="http://zeereasons.tumblr.com/post/145495697045/what-your-fat-friend-needs-from-you" style="color: #0d9fb3; text-decoration: underline;">12:26 am • 6 June 2016</a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-27294607505386076942016-06-01T07:20:00.000-06:002017-05-23T00:08:09.765-06:00Passport Gratitude<div class="post" style="background-color: white; color: #0d9fb3; margin: 0px 0px 50px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">What does a first-world enlightened white lady do when her passport is lost and then found again? Well, she writes a gratitude journal, of course! (*whommmp whommmp*)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m in Calgary, Canada for a trade show and last night as we were getting into the airport shuttle, I checked my pocket and found that my passport was gone. Nash the shuttle driver (who was on his last shift before a 3-week holiday in Kenya to visit family) told us to go check lost and found and he would come back for us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">No such luck. It was 11:40 at night and the lost and found / info desk had closed 10 minutes ago. An airport (or Canadian TSA equivalent?) employee radioed her other colleagues on the clock and no luck. Nothing. At this point I figured that either someone picked it up and stole it to try and sell on the black market, or someone picked it up and turned it in. Really really was super hoping it was the latter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We finally caught the late shuttle and I spent a harrowing hour and a half furiously Googling my next steps… US embassy website, travelers help sites, etc. until I fell asleep sitting up in front of my computer at about 1:30 am. 5:30 am comes early when you want to make it to the airport ASAP after the lost and found kiosk opens at 6am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I walked to the lost and found, described the passport, and the lady behind the counter offers a small smirk and produces the passport from behind the counter. No security questions, no nothing (though it probably helps that my picture is on it.) I was so excited and relieved that I wrote a full-page note to the unknown police officer that picked up my passport on the ground last night. If my flight had been one hour earlier, lost and found would have been open and I could have probably rescued the damned little blue book right away, got home and slept like a baby.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But as is the case with the eternally optimistic peeps like me, I’m actually kinda glad it happened this way because it gave me 6 hours to panic and go through a small, if temporary grieving process that occurs when something very important is lost, even if it’s just a document.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">(I did not panic - I was in an English-speaking country full of friendly people and I now basically have the lost-passport-US-embassy-emergency-appointment process committed to memory because I almost had to go through it today, but it all it was going to be was a supreme hassle and inconvenience. I would have wasted MetaGeek travel money by spending my entire trip trying to figure out how to get across the border, and I would have necessitated an expedited passport replacement process upon returning to Boise in order to not mess with my Basque Country trip coming up, but I still would have been fine.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So it wasn’t a life or death situation, and so to give my brain something to do, I fell back on my training (and by training I mean the teachings of my mom, and hippies, and Cheryl Strayed, and woo-woo people everywhere) and thought about how grateful I was to even have a passport in the first place, even if I had just lost it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How many immigrant residents in Canada alone had gone through a horrible, harrowing process to get a passport so they could leave their home country and seek a better life? I thought of our shuttle driver Nash, from Kenya, and <i>(to help fuel the gratitude train, I used my imagination to posit)</i> how he might have escaped political instability, a depressed economy, or other shitty living conditions to seek a better life in Canada with his wife and son, who is now 18. And Nash himself is lucky compared to the many humans in war zones, the refugees trying to escape Syria these days, even Miao Miao our translator for the Oinkari Shanghai trip of 2010 that lived what seemed to be a middle-class existence but couldn’t get a passport because the Chinese gov’t has a tight hold on anyone trying to leave the country.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought about how fortunate I was go have gotten to travel the world, stay in nice hotels sometimes, and waltz through live never having been a victim of travel-related crime. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I also feel that when you have near misses like this (which for me, is when you almost lose things of importance like humans that I love, or important possessions, etc.) I feel like it’s the universe giving me a sanity and humility check, to bring me back to earth and help me remember my luck at having been born into the life I have. I think gratitude and humility are so important, and I felt like I needed to honor that welling of thankfulness when she handed over the passport across the counter–to give the feeling some space, and acknowledge to the universe/God/Lady Luck/happenstance that yeah, I saw what you did there, and thank you.</span><br />
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<a href="http://zeereasons.tumblr.com/post/145255072270/passport-gratitude" style="color: #0d9fb3;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">7:20 am • 1 June 2016</span></a><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-63925199817868615082014-02-24T09:21:00.000-07:002017-05-23T00:03:57.799-06:00“Where do you see yourself in 10 years?” part 1<div class="post" style="background-color: white; color: #0d9fb3; font-family: Arquitecta, sans-serif; font-size: 14.4px; margin: 0px 0px 50px;">
I know that you think I should answer with a career-related response, but… nah. I read an article recently about how we shouldn’t feel bad about not wanting to work 40 hrs/week our whole lives, but society sees this is being lazy. It’s not being lazy - it’s spending your time wisely. I can always get back money that I’ve lost, but I can never get back time that I’ve lost. <br />
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So here is my dream for myself in the future (I just picked 10 years, but it might be more depending on how quickly I can become FI (financially independent.)<br />
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I’ll wake up in the morning, do a little yoga/stretching, and make a cup of espresso for me and Josh from our fancy expensive espresso machine that’s hooked up to the water line in the kitchen. (so you never have to refill it.) I’ll look through the latest Time magazine while eating some fresh fruit and drinking my espresso at the kitchen table, which is in a bumped-out section of the kitchen with really good morning lighting. Like, really good lighting.<br />
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Maybe before I start my breakfast, I’ll go out and grab eggs from the chicken coop. By the way, having chickens won’t be that much of a hassle because I won’t work 40 hrs/week, so I will have time to do chicken-keeping stuff like clean/build the coop, get feed, etc.<br />
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If I don’t have something else specific planned for the day, then the rest of the morning until noon will be computer/work time.<br />
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<a href="http://zeereasons.tumblr.com/post/77709086629/where-do-you-see-yourself-in-10-years-part-1" style="color: #0d9fb3;">9:21 am • 24 February 2014</a><br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-34346044946453268312013-03-11T11:54:00.000-06:002013-03-11T13:17:59.981-06:00Teach a man how to fishBe careful folks, or your refrain of "I'm sooo not techy, can you help?" will start to sound to me like "Though nearly all of human knowledge is on the internet for my perusal, I don't want to take the time to learn...so I'm going to claim ignorance so you will do it for me."<br />
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-8229415578691966902011-03-17T01:31:00.001-06:002011-03-17T01:31:36.783-06:00Gratitude<div><p>I'm trying to be grateful these days. It's a good practice. Gratitude  transcends political, religious, and cultural boundaries; pretty much everybody agrees that it's a good idea. And since I'm trying to live a good life, I'm going with it. </p>
<p>A feeling of true gratitude, aside from Thanksgiving Day prayers and award acceptance speeches, can hit you like a brick wall when you least expect it. It's powerful, I tell you.</p>
<p>This morning on my way to teach Spanish, I asked myself, why am I getting up early to go and blabber to kids in Spanish who probably don't care about Spanish that much anyway? Why do these kids need extracurriculars? Do they even care?</p>
<p>I thought about all the people that have busted ass to try and educate me. Besides my family and all of my public school teachers, I had classroom volunteers, helpers, neighbors, family friends, and committees of people that really cared about my education and wanted me to have a good impact on this world. These people didn't even KNOW me and they were sacrificing their time and money so that I could live my live to the fullest.  I'm not sure if I really understood what they were doing for me because I was just a kid, but I sure as hell understand now.  To all those people, thank you. That's all.</p>
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-24379841183290250382011-03-01T22:41:00.000-07:002011-03-01T22:41:36.183-07:00Gratitude - Tuesday March 1stI feel like today is important and auspicious. So I'm going to write down some things I'm thankful for:<br />
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<ol><li>We have replacements for the two teachers that quit Boise Elementary Spanish - and they're both great with kids and speak Spanish perfectly.</li>
<li>My sense of self-determination that made me go to the gym today, in the morning.</li>
<li>I didn't exactly eat the healthiest food today, but I did put some cottage cheese with jam on Wasa crackers and it was delicious.</li>
<li>Annie and Teresa helped me ASKO in finishing my Euskara homework. I feel great about the paragraph we cranked out together. I'm learning Euskara, poliki-poliki.</li>
<li>Got to watch Jeopardy.</li>
<li>My black 3/4 length shirt worked its charm to be slimming, despite my best efforts to stuff my belly full of clam chowder.</li>
<li>I have people around me that love me, and enough food to eat and a place to live.</li>
<li>I have a great travel opportunity coming up in a few months.</li>
<li>I have a gym date to work out with Annie tomorrow.</li>
<li>I'm going out to dinner with my mom tomorrow, and part of our bill is going to help elementary spanish.</li>
</ol><div><br />
</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-71213259151534142172011-03-01T22:33:00.001-07:002013-03-13T12:46:16.477-06:00Nor da?<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EU">Nire pertsonaia sekretua artista oso famatua da. Bere obrak oso koloretsu dira eta Mexikoko jatorrizko kulturaren adibide onak dira. Jaio zinen Coyoacanan, Mexikon, 1907. 1928en Diego Rivera ezagutu zuen eta urte bat gero, ezkondu zuten. Kotxe-istripuan egon zen. Istripuan gero, tripan min asko eduki zuen eta umetik ezin zuen (she couldn’t have children). Horregatik (because of this?), asko min, irrits, eta hiltze bere artean dira (da?). Nor da?</span></div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-75255946482993449382010-10-15T12:07:00.000-06:002013-02-17T16:25:13.980-07:00What We Remember About Our China Trip<ol>
<li>JUMP ZAZZ!!!</li>
<li>cafe con leche with Rafael and Estephania</li>
<li>Executive floor breakfast in the hotel</li>
<li>Sichuan dinner, sticky gummy desserts</li>
<li>blueberry fried muffin desserts</li>
<li>McDonald's rat</li>
<li>wine with gold flakes sprinkled in it</li>
<li>"muuuuuuy guaaapo"</li>
<li>little boy on bus with long braid (signifies health)</li>
<li>"plea for help" hands sticking out of top of truck</li>
<li>Miguelin, the big damn confusing baby</li>
<li>Miao-miao part of program</li>
<li>getting mauled by photographers in the expo while we were in costume</li>
<li>congee was awesome (boiled rice porridge) with croutons, green onions, boiled egg, some weird kind of gelatin, and black fungus</li>
<li>Barfers on the trip: Caitlyn (during trip), Erik (his own fault), Jeremiah (3 times!), Miren, and Bryan</li>
<li>horrible makila disaster</li>
<li>Nick A. peeing next to security guard on street</li>
<li>WORST LUNCH BREAK EVER! Basque Gov't snafu, food was cold, I accidentally ordered chicken feet.... terrible</li>
<li>Indian food pavilion was awesome</li>
<li>"This had better come out of me within the next day"... Miren loking at her plate of paella, after not having gone kak in 4 days</li>
<li>little kid taking a kak on a newspaper, mom rubbing his head and telling him it's okay</li>
<li>Shanghai is like Christmas, with all its light shows!</li>
<li>the happy slap game</li>
<li>Walking from Africa to India - which is a longer trek at the World's Fair than in real life!</li>
<li>Walk to Saudi Arabia, and find out we can't eat at the restaurant</li>
<li>"Mendi-tiki-tiki-tiki-ko Jaialdia!"</li>
<li>Shangkari</li>
<li>Miao-Miao's obsession with "Little Nick"</li>
<li>"Damn you, Myron!"</li>
<li>Falling at the performances (Izar, others?) slipping on the wet pavement</li>
<li>breaking 2 glasses at Kuluska</li>
<li>taxi driver singing</li>
<li>John! our tour guide (Anna get back on that)</li>
<li>blind Chinese men rubbing our feet and singing to us</li>
<li>Angry Irishman at Irish pub in Expo</li>
<li>Belgian Waffles</li>
</ol>
<div>
FLIGHT: Boise -->SLC-->Tokyo-->Shanghai</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Jill was late</li>
<li>Nick was cranky</li>
<li>Caitlyn got sick</li>
<li>Andoni's first flight EVER</li>
<li>Twinners' first sushi was in Tokyo</li>
<li>beer on flight was free</li>
<li>energy supplements didn't work for Lael and Izar</li>
<li>Jackets helped unite us...."what team do you play for?" (PJ was assumed to be the coach)</li>
<li>Arrived Sunday night (Shanghai time) and 9pm ish</li>
<li>Fairy, our guide, greeted us</li>
<li>Crammed into tiny van (see pics)</li>
<li>Checked into the Golden Tulip hotel</li>
<li>Beds were shockingly small, and pretty hard</li>
<li>Room 2322 - Andoni, Bergs, Nickolas A. watched Chinese TV until 3 in the morning. Hilarious!</li>
</ul>
<div>
DAY 1 Monday:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>7am, met at the bus</li>
<li>bus took us to World's Fair - Expo park</li>
<li>Met Iber at the Spanish Pavilion</li>
<li>practiced on tiny stage - re-arranged dance list accordingly</li>
<li>at 9:30 Nick B. did Agurra for lehendakari and friends</li>
<li>we planned performance in the big windowed conference room upstairs</li>
<li>danced 3 performances that afternoon</li>
<li>reception with delish tapas - croquetas, paella, chocolates in Spanish pavilion</li>
<li>Had authentic Chinese dinner - sticky rice dessert, fried sweet potato, carp soup</li>
</ul>
<div>
DAY 2 Tuesday:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Basque delegation reception at a fancy hotel downtown Shanghai</li>
<li>Arzai, Berozategui, Zubijana (sp?), tapas and golden wine</li>
<li>food wasn't actually cooked by the Basque chefs, just "inspired" by them</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
DAY 3 Wednesday:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>stayed late at Expo - ate Indian food for dinner</li>
</ul>
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DAY 4 Thursday:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Bilbao pavilion "visit"/trick</li>
<li>met Pei-pei, Miao-miao's boyfriend</li>
<li>ate Yunan chinese cuisine with John, Anna Bender's friend that's living in Shanghai</li>
<li>taxis to the Bund waterfront</li>
</ul>
<div>
DAY 5 Friday:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Izar, Maite, Lael, Caitlyn, Jill, Anna and Miao-miao went to Yu Gardens and got blind massages</li>
<li>"Gua Chi Qua Le" Happy National China Day!</li>
</ul>
<div>
DAY 6 Saturday"</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Dressed up Miao-miao, until the costumes were too hot for her and she changed back</li>
<li>presented Iber with poster and shirt</li>
<li>played with Txalaparte (Ttukuna) sisters</li>
<li>talked with Jesus, director of protocol at Spanish Pavilion</li>
<li>Miren's wound is swelling!</li>
<li>Miao-Miao replied on email (?)</li>
</ul>
<div>
Events and are missing days to go with them:</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>one day we got rained out and only performed once, at 4pm</li>
<li>Lael left her badge at the changing room in the Spanish pavilion, group went to Italy and she couldn't get in</li>
<li>Olaia was shoe-less, money-less; one of the Spanish Pavilion staff let her borrow a pair of Crocs for her to walk around in</li>
</ul>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-3813224212803262922010-09-19T21:49:00.000-06:002010-09-19T21:49:34.864-06:00pelotasLo que pésame más en mi vivo es la conocimiento de no haber aprovechado de ciertas oportunidades. No estoy completamente segura como expresar esta palabra en castellano... si es <i>pesadumbre, </i>o <i>remordimiento</i>, ¿cual es? Pero es un sentimiento terrible. <br />
<br />
Recuerdo que empezó listando mis pesadumbres en el colegio, y mis primeros especificos eran: lamenté que no jugó fútbol hasta que era niña, y lamenté que no tomé clases de debate. Debate a mi no me importa mucho todavía, pero fútbol todavía habría sido excelente. <br />
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Después, mi lamento era mi viaje a Australia y como no trabajé tanto duro que debió. <br />
Entonces era no asistir bastante clases en la universidad, (porque ei, puedo dormir cuando me morir). Ahora es esta oportunidad para publicidad para los Oinkaris mientras en China. Supongo que es mi trabajo como PR persona que yo hago esto, pero soy nueva a esta posición y no creo que supe mis responsabilidades. uhhhh..... sigh.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-42750959087432148822010-06-30T10:45:00.001-06:002010-06-30T10:51:52.952-06:00on favorite colorsLael's response to James Mulder's post <i><a href="http://miltonesque.wordpress.com/2010/06/30/an-orange-and-an-allegory-walk-into-a-bar/">An Orange and an Allegory Walk into a Bar</a></i>:<br />
<br />
This is really nerdy, but I don’t have a favorite color, so much as I have “color combinations that are aesthetically pleasing.” When I see a dark red, deep gold yellow, and forest green schema, I feel happy. Or a bold magenta, teal and eggplant. I appreciate a complementary sampling of the rainbow in three or four colors. Don't give me the Fisher-Price-children's-toys combo of standard red, yellow, green and blue. This is not primary school, these are the visual buttresses of creativity and style. This is important, people.<br />
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I’ve always liked, not one particular color, but COLORS!! eee!!! (as a 10 year-old girl would scream when she found the 64-crayon Crayola behemoth box). Instead of stealing one marker and hoarding it from my classmates to practice writing my name, I used to take three or four, then carefully write out my full name in alternating colors. I’m greedy with them, my colors. I don’t want one special color for my very own—no, I want ALL of them, and I want all their shades and hues, and I want them now and I want them in rainbow order.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.wetcanvas.com/Articles2/19957/674/images/colorwheel.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://www.wetcanvas.com/Articles2/19957/674/images/colorwheel.gif" width="291" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-47650110392241792192010-06-25T18:46:00.002-06:002010-06-25T18:47:21.486-06:00yard work<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs326.ash1/28482_512066688528_143700020_30487690_4646582_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash1/hs326.ash1/28482_512066688528_143700020_30487690_4646582_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>On rationalizing putting money into my house, even though I'm renting it and will lose all the work when I move away, my mom noted that "it doesn't matter if you're just renting a house; it's good to leave a place nicer than you found it." So we made this garden today. Where before there was a hard-packed, semi gravel-filled patch of barren nothingness, now there's a nice green space. And green spaces are good for the soul.<br />
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I was motivated my finishing this project, so I took a shovel to my back yard and laid waste to the dandelion population. After doing yard for for five hours, I had to finally stop, fan my face with some junk mail like a southern lady at church, and contemplate recipes for mint juleps.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-32980311803684948262010-06-17T12:17:00.002-06:002017-05-23T00:16:01.959-06:00Notes on the Stanley Characters, summer 2009<div class="MsoNormal">
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Just as Phil D said, everyone in Stanley has a story. “We’re all broken toys,” he mysteriously explains. Amidst the backdrop of a beautiful, touristy mountain town, there are only about 40-60 people that winter over or live year-round. It would absolutely suck to winter here, and so it only makes sense that the people that do are either a little bit crazy, or running from something.<br />
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Big Phil is so named because there's another, smaller Phil that works as a cook at MV as well. More than anything, I feel deep sadness for this man. Phil’s dark story begins with his profession as a town sheriff and ends with a semi-scandalous affair/relationship with a girl here in Stanley. I don’t know all the details, but according to the Stanley rumor mill, one right there was a scuffle involving his girlfriend and the girl’s husband (or ex-husband, I don’t know exactly).<br />
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Phil somehow showed up at the girl’s house in full sheriff uniform (off-duty) and pulled a gun on the guy. This may not have been as big a deal, but Phil was off-duty and dressed up in a uniform and went to a house with no probable cause, without the police being called. So, he was fired from that job, and apparently his demeanor is such that he has been kicked out of every other job besides MV.<br />
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Toward the end of my job contract (early August), Phil inexplicably somehow got a bit nicer. I'm not sure how much of it was me getting used to him and how much of it was the fact that a cute 20-year-old Mountain Village hostess from Turkey had a fatty crush on him. Not sure if he figured out or not, but I'm really hoping his sufferable demeanor wasn't because he was getting some. Ewww.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-16196175169163854352010-06-17T11:53:00.000-06:002010-06-17T11:53:16.482-06:00A Snapshot: Wintertime in Hi X"High Expectations", the high school varsity choir I sang in during my junior and senior year of high school, was a cornerstone of my teenage life (the others were probably Oinkari and the AP Nerds social group). Hi X could get particularly hectic in the wintertime, since much of the group's tour funds came from singing carols for office holiday parties or private gatherings (often paid for by Boise High parents who knew the group could use the money.) Ah, yes, my first foray into the entertainment business...<br />
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One particular vignette I remember with fondness was a cold morning in December, when a few of us Hi-Xers decorated for Kandor (a home and gift shop in downtown Boise) for Christmastime. Ashley Dunbar's mom worked there, and we did it as a fundraising opportunity for Hi X. We had to get there really early in the morning (5:30?) and downed several cups of coffee from Kandor's free carafe to help us wake up. I think Gregg was there, or some other boy I had a crush on because I remember being really excited to go down there, despite the ungodly hour. <br />
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A typical week in December would see us trying to balance a heavy homework load, sometimes sports, and Hi X gigs. I remember, several times, pulling on black tights as fast as I could while driving a stick shift car, brushing the lint off my Hi X dress, praying to the Gods of Professional Appearance that the dress would be relatively wrinkle-free as I stepped out of my car, and trying to stay on pitch in an a capella group when many of us were battling winter colds. We somehow always pulled it together, though, even though I would get death glares from the director when I showed up in the nick of time to mouth the opening words of "Fum, Fum, Fum." To her, early was on time, on time was late, and late was unacceptable.<br />
<ul></ul><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-53673122033226883122010-06-09T23:53:00.000-06:002010-06-09T23:53:44.631-06:00dappledI walked down the driveway of my new house today, and am beginning to think it's maybe what I like most about the house. We're at the back of the lot, so to get to our house from the street you have to drive down about 200 ft of driveway. I was barefoot, walking to get the mail. The trees overhanging the driveway made the sunlight show dappled onto the pavement. I am in the quiet, peaceful, sidewalk-less North end, with horses across the street and a hiking trail up the road. I'm going to start growing tomato plants tomorrow because the patio and yard outside of my bedroom gets direct, hot southern light all day long. It is beautiful.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-38354095510093282322010-06-03T11:22:00.001-06:002010-06-03T11:23:42.683-06:00shirt ideasStill very rough drafty, but fun! The shirts are kalimotxo-themed, with the nicknames of our koadrila written on each of the coke bottles (I found a sweet coca cola font online for free). Designed using Adobe Illustrator and the input of the Gavica sisters.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdXdkMPFT7EBNxq0gK1gS2FIJL4WCXzzflCz7nFQ_crK21Df314hKAuJ2cIYEtn6vINpVKxA2CVhqfseFRF1wGpT1ptZuUU4BWaDxwNlfl-pAhXtt3XdGG16XGrmhae3Hf0rxHjCPptxU/s1600/motx+4-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="627" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdXdkMPFT7EBNxq0gK1gS2FIJL4WCXzzflCz7nFQ_crK21Df314hKAuJ2cIYEtn6vINpVKxA2CVhqfseFRF1wGpT1ptZuUU4BWaDxwNlfl-pAhXtt3XdGG16XGrmhae3Hf0rxHjCPptxU/s640/motx+4-04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNq4yoGdJBB8Og79tLkNpHwLBkYklGBR1wP-ne88oKSAcnaX9F7PZlvHLqsMky8XmTEFehVahFJ76fcU0RAQwE0nCDn0xTcVsxfGutaTIeTyAJRoxfefQV569L_xWeHTNViTgeA7E6_qd/s1600/motx+2-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNq4yoGdJBB8Og79tLkNpHwLBkYklGBR1wP-ne88oKSAcnaX9F7PZlvHLqsMky8XmTEFehVahFJ76fcU0RAQwE0nCDn0xTcVsxfGutaTIeTyAJRoxfefQV569L_xWeHTNViTgeA7E6_qd/s640/motx+2-02.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3xMaOoaz_N0mDbW4aYJyHk2h1A898kp6gm-uMzLZzO6ABkv40OI2ExEMPGK-6SvzcdlXfoDD1kT7UiCfztrHXx9bnIZPPTNR1nGduggqvjjHFnX3-G4uU6MnWdJfVduqOX19SUNILMuE/s1600/motx+3-03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii3xMaOoaz_N0mDbW4aYJyHk2h1A898kp6gm-uMzLZzO6ABkv40OI2ExEMPGK-6SvzcdlXfoDD1kT7UiCfztrHXx9bnIZPPTNR1nGduggqvjjHFnX3-G4uU6MnWdJfVduqOX19SUNILMuE/s640/motx+3-03.jpg" width="636" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdXdkMPFT7EBNxq0gK1gS2FIJL4WCXzzflCz7nFQ_crK21Df314hKAuJ2cIYEtn6vINpVKxA2CVhqfseFRF1wGpT1ptZuUU4BWaDxwNlfl-pAhXtt3XdGG16XGrmhae3Hf0rxHjCPptxU/s1600/motx+4-04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXdXdkMPFT7EBNxq0gK1gS2FIJL4WCXzzflCz7nFQ_crK21Df314hKAuJ2cIYEtn6vINpVKxA2CVhqfseFRF1wGpT1ptZuUU4BWaDxwNlfl-pAhXtt3XdGG16XGrmhae3Hf0rxHjCPptxU/s640/motx+4-04.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-10728324858116095792010-06-02T19:05:00.002-06:002010-06-02T19:05:18.924-06:00onward and upward!I just finished my last NFRU household today for the Census. I didn't love the job, but it gave me some good people experience, like how to have doors slammed in your face, how to deal with reluctant respondents, and how to navigate weird neighborhoods. Plus I had to practice my Spanish, which was really great. Hopefully there will be more Spanish opportunities ahead. I'm searchin....<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-21549200384075873992010-06-01T15:52:00.000-06:002010-06-01T15:52:36.202-06:00ahhhh, employmentIn the last few weeks more than ever, I'm wishing that I had a standard 40-hr/week job ONLY because it is so hard to prove my earnings without one. Because I live hand-to-mouth, or at least that's how it appears on paper, I have to compile several different sources in order to justify my meager earnings. Questions like "attach a recent pay stub," or "take-home monthly earnings" make me sweat because the answers to those questions for me are so long and complicated!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-53641651397430809632010-05-25T01:47:00.000-06:002010-05-25T01:47:33.121-06:00the end of an eraLOST's finale reminds me of some papers I've written: I start out the paper bringing up creative ideas, intriguing back-stories and compelling mysteries for a few pages. Then I realize I'll have to double or triple the page count in order to satisfactorily answer the questions I've posed, and, being too lazy and probably on my 6th Starbucks doubleshot and 2nd hour of sleep, decide to just go ahead and wrap it up. I quickly funnel the loose ends into a shitty "well see, you should really think about that and be good humans, and what if it is all a dream, meaning of life blah blah" catch-all ending, and pass out with my head on the desk. So you see, ABC writers, we're not that different. My professors were probably just as let down as SEVERAL MILLION VIEWERS are right now. Not a big deal.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-75944158217188531842010-05-07T09:54:00.000-06:002010-05-07T09:54:51.773-06:00¡Deséame suerte!Today is officially the day where I start making use of my degree. I took a job with the U.S. Census, and under "languages spoken" in the application, I entered Spanish, because a) it would help me get the job, and b) I actually do, on some level, speak Spanish. It is very very <i>entorpecido,</i> rusty, but how am I going to brush up on it again if I don't practice? This will be the right combination of pressure to perform and not actually mattering too much in order to get me to do it, I think.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-20078950493283263672010-03-23T22:13:00.000-06:002010-03-23T22:13:51.328-06:00ahh, why yes, the real world. nice to see you againFast forward about 6 months. I'm back from Antarctica, jobless and purposeless and living at my mom's. It sounds really pathetic, but it actually rocks....for now. I know I should find a job, but my unemployment check just got processed and if the numbers are right, I'll be making almost as much per week NOT WORKING as I was when I worked 50+ hrs/week in Antarctica. Plus, I don't feel bad collecting unemployment because I already paid into unemployment insurance with my last two jobs. But, I've been home for three weeks and as much as sleeping in rocks, I feel guilty for having it so easy and while I don't necessarily <i>want </i>to get a job, I feel that I should. So, I probably will. <br />
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Jaialdi is coming up this summer, as is Josh's weeklong family reunion, so finding a flexible job is probably pretty key. I don't care if I don't get paid vacation, I just need to be able to take time off when I want. Time is MUCH more important to me than money (says the girl who has never paid more than $200/mo rent in her life....)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-23508426702965870402010-02-19T22:13:00.001-07:002010-06-17T11:36:02.558-06:00a snapshot of our new zealand trip“thank you for pulling over!!” Josh waved to a campervan as we streaked through the Alpine Pacific Triangle section of Highway 1. We’re headed to Kaikoura, a beach town two hours North of Christchurch on the coast. We’re driving through what looks suspiciously like the Snake River plain, with arid farmland, foothills, and fields of sheep butts (the sheep’s heads are down to their task of grazing). We just left an area where there were wineries on either side of the highway for miles, and I imagined what it would be like if came back here someday, and could afford any of the attractions of the region-- namely, wine. The last couple of days Josh and I have been staying at the South Brighton Motor Camp, sandwiched between the beach at New Brighton and the estuary of the Avon River, on a wildlife preserve. Motorcamps are pretty interesting institutions. The closest comparison in the States is an RV park; indeed, there are several motorhomes and hookups and trailers. But there are also tent sites for rent, in which Josh and I gladly partook. When you rent a tent site, you also have use of the amenities block, which includes showers, a kitchen and sometimes a pricy internet connection or wireless tokens. <br />
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Kaikoura, in Maori, means "dinner of crayfish," and I'm hoping to feast on some fresh crayfish when we roll into the little beach town this afternoon.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-49131954816585575142009-08-16T15:35:00.000-06:002009-09-29T15:36:35.419-06:00Hung out in Dogtown too longMy Stanley summer is finally coming to an end. Stanley really is a magical place, but if you’re stuck with a shitty job, it takes away your lust for life. I know i’m being really melodramatic about it, and part of it is that I’ve always only had freelance or part-time summer jobs, never a real 9-to-5er (or in this case, a 6:30-2:30er). A huge part of Stanley is socializing in the bars at night, meeting new people, planning adventures, listening to country music, and occasionally drinking (resort towns are far too expensive to get drunk at the bar every night.) I missed out on that part of it, partly because I felt bad that Josh couldn’t go, but mostly because my body and mind were so tired from waiting on 200 people that day that I just wanted to go home and sleep. I might come back here again, because it’s a great place, but I definitely wouldn’t hire on to the Swillage again. It’s far too hectic for what it was, and if I’m in Stanley, I’m gonna enjoy it, goddamn it.<br /><br />I’m now entering a brief liminal period filled with gear shopping, trying on boots, buying long underwear, reviewing itineraries, and entering the long wave-train of paperwork, Raytheon orientations, and flight-layover-flight-layover-flight-layover-ICE-type schedules. Then it will be a new chapter of my life, filled with hard labor, endless days (literally, the sun doesn’t set), and bitter, bitter cold. I’m pumped!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-12493652442441728362009-07-19T17:23:00.004-06:002009-09-27T23:26:52.676-06:00Mountain MamasThis past weekend was the Mountain Mamas Arts and Crafts Fair, which, before I attended, I thought ws an actual craft fair, with fun craft booths for the kids, maybe a merry-go-round, etc. However, the locals here speak of it not as a family fun event, but as another goddamn roadblock in Stanley. Which is sort of what it was-- not only is the 3rd weekend in July Stanley's biggest weekend b/c of Mountain Mamas, but it is probably statistically the best weekend to go camping as well. These powers combined (much like Captain Planet) led to what has been possibly the worst weekend of the summer for me as a server at the Swillage. Goddamn that place and all the non-English speaking people they hire. I LOVE people from other countries, but I blame the restaurant for hiring people in positions where you have to be fluent, and they're not.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-83046358154386998642009-07-12T17:19:00.003-06:002009-09-27T18:35:34.585-06:00You Just Got Rick-Rolled!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBSiYfi8C9JShh1eyc0DePo2Pq8ETGSoXqSija83rv-fDzJZIB_e2eVcquNSx-LoTjMyzbTTJIyLMl3J_IZYE9lV7jPHwWrImRSaJk63kgBfoHXtt08wKlOZ5vEA91eeVy-h28Hy6LG9g/s1600-h/valley+creek.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBSiYfi8C9JShh1eyc0DePo2Pq8ETGSoXqSija83rv-fDzJZIB_e2eVcquNSx-LoTjMyzbTTJIyLMl3J_IZYE9lV7jPHwWrImRSaJk63kgBfoHXtt08wKlOZ5vEA91eeVy-h28Hy6LG9g/s320/valley+creek.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386310435271780082" border="0" /></a><br />For the first time today, I actually felt a twinge of happiness at living in Stanley. I know that in previous posts I mentioned that it was a wonderful place to live, blah blah blah, I should be greatful, and it's true, but my job's diet consisted exclusively of my soul and Mountain Village was slowly munching away at it, 40 hours at a time. Katie Pond said that this place would draw you back, but most of the time I hate my job so much that I didn't really believe her until now. There's no goddamn way I would come back and work for the Swillage (as its former employees so lovingly refer to it), but if I could somehow score a job at Riverwear or something cool, I would. Problem is, I don't think <i>good</i> jobs are easy to get here, since a good job in Stanley is such an ideal situation and peeps hang onto something once they get it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8599698496946407538.post-16528122132520735142009-06-15T17:12:00.005-06:002009-09-29T12:51:58.633-06:00daaaaay tripper<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3_bOVv031Gze_RdWs5ryDP8RwCSANJ5gnqwUluCV1-S3TY_Gq1QNNMdnhqJreSzVUnuUwk8PA7YhT6XHjlOL333hSiHE8QC_f-vx4y3gz_tpPBS7vuiQBJlX-Z1Mgw9H5uHyI165WZd3/s1600-h/DSC05553.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3_bOVv031Gze_RdWs5ryDP8RwCSANJ5gnqwUluCV1-S3TY_Gq1QNNMdnhqJreSzVUnuUwk8PA7YhT6XHjlOL333hSiHE8QC_f-vx4y3gz_tpPBS7vuiQBJlX-Z1Mgw9H5uHyI165WZd3/s320/DSC05553.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386963983328203026" /></a><br />I think it’s safe to say I’m “tripping” on hydrocodone right now.<span style=""> </span>I took two instead of one tonight, partly in frustration of my tooth-hole pain (extraction of wisdom teeth, hence the availability of hydrocodone), partly from wanting to be able to go to sleep earlier, and party from wanting to see what it would feel like to actually be stoned on it.<span style=""> </span>It feels pretty good.<span style=""> </span>Relaxing, drowsy-ing, a tiny bit dizzying.<span style=""> </span>I do feel euphoric though, a bit, which is nice.<span style=""> </span>I had kind of a bummer session this afternoon when it hit me that Josh would be gone for 4 days.<span style=""> </span>Still trying to figure out if I should go down there to Boise on Thursday after work since I have Friday off. <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I’ve only been working for a few days at MV and I’ve already experienced incredible frustration that accompanies a 40 hr/wk job.<span style=""> </span>I think it may actually be worse since I don’t necessarily have weekends off, and those are the times when I would want to come to Boise.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_drJeLg1NujI/SsA96bFvCaI/AAAAAAAAAfA/mXN5l25HZX8/s800/DSC05594.JPG"><br /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><u>I think summer will be a time of character-building for me</u> in many, many ways.<span style=""> </span>“Having” to be outside all the time will be a big change for me, and a good one.<span style=""> </span>My exercise habits and eating habits will change, and hopefully become more stable.<span style=""> </span>(For example, hiking to the top of the butte each day is a great goal.)<span style=""> </span>I’m going to reduce my screen/internet time vastly, I can already tell, and learn some songs on the guitar for Open Mic nights at the K Club.<span style=""> </span>And I’m going to write in my journal.<span style=""> </span>I ‘ve noticed a trend with journaling…when I do it, my life is consistently better.<span style=""> </span>Not sure if it’s a correlation or actually cause/effect, but there’s some sort of relationship, so I will do it.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>I was reading Dove Rainbow’s travel blog earlier tonight and her entry was about getting stuck on a section of highway on her way to a hut while hitchhiking in New Zealand.<span style=""> </span>She was frustrated about not getting picked up, but changed her attitude and made her day so much better instantaneously.<span style=""> </span>It’s incredibly applicable to my Stanley situation; I’m frustrated at I don’t know what.. (not having a busy social calendar?) but I need to realize that life is actually really good right now.<span style=""> </span>I’m with a really awesome guy who treats me well.<span style=""> </span>We live together in a cozy apartment with pretty cheap rent within walking distance to work (up a gorgeous little trail).<span style=""> </span>We’re in a mountain playground where people pay really good money to experience for a weekend what we get to experience every day.<span style=""> </span>That air outside is clean and breathable, and there’s grass and wildlife and mountains.<span style=""> </span>Anyone should be appy in this situation, and I’ve decided that I’m going to be.<span style=""> </span>Starting NOW.<span style=""> </span>(might also be the hydrocodone)</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><a href="http://www.laelski.blogspot.com"> from the journal, "Where the Bluebird Sings to the Lemonade Springs"</a></div>Laelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05852305674229100706noreply@blogger.com1