From Skittles to the Habsburgs...

Everyone has their own process to forgiveness, to love, to life. Not to mention their own thought process. I have a mess of a mind. Useless knowledge like knowing that squid are cephalopods is filed somewhere with how to check the oil in my car. Retrieving this knowledge is a quite interesting process. Sometime a random occurrence like walking past a great shoe store reminds me that I bought these cool blue shoes that look like they have fortune cookies on them at a shop in Holland with a name that reminds me of the song DVNO by Justice and did you hear that the UK has imposed direct rule on the Turks and Caicos Islands today? Oh! Those may be shaky linkages to you my friend, but it is a logical string in my mind. Even more fun then following my ramblings whilst reading (and possible re-reading, then hitting up Google), Dear Reader, is following along with one of my loose conversations.

When needed I can be succinct and to the point, but if I want to give a more zealous rendering of the affairs at hand or a personal account of an event then I have the tendency to be... well verbose doesn't even begin to describe it. Some people love this as we bounce from topic to topic everyone tossing in something. Others, who don't think that way, seem to hate it and lose interest in our chatter.

I have learned that in order to have a true conversation with me- not just hear the words I say and throw in a non-comment or two, but actually converse, add something to the dialogue, be an active participant - you need to be able to do two things: 1)Not be afraid to interrupt or be really good at finding the pauses I build in. (I know some of you don't think they exist, but they are there you just have to really listen for them. If you miss them I'll just assume you had nothing to add) and 2) have a brain that works like Wikipedia.

The best conversations I have link all over the place. You know how you can start by looking up something on trimming Crape Myrtles and end up reading about the Dutch East India Company after taking a left some where while pondering a vacation in the Maldives? Well it is something like that. This is how my brain works and often this leaks in to my casual conversation. Everything is linked. Someone can be talking about vegetarians and I will think, "really want some skittles." This is because once a friend of mine was out with someone who was one of those holier than though vegetarians that still eat dairy but not eggs or products from dead animals but was eating a bag of skittles and my friend so astutely pointed out that skittles in the US contain gelatin and even overseas they often have "natural flavors" which often means a flavor derived from something you don't want to know about.

Basically, every point I wish to make is linked to a certain group of details and I cannot get to it without explaining the details. It is sort of a crazy combination lock in my memory. If I don't describe something in a certain pattern I can't seem to get what I want across. This drives my Dad nuts. Then again my sister and I often compare notes on who has the record for longest conversation with Dad on the phone before he says, here let me find your Mother. I think my Personal best was around 10 minutes.

I guess the point of this passage is that I promise to try and keep my blogs a little shorter. ;-)

Don't let me borrow your fave shirt...

So it seems I have a penchant for stealing men's shirts. I've never had a favorite shirt of my own that I bought. I mean, I have shirts I love and that I think are great and fun to wear, but they never are shirts I could wear all day, every day, even if they began to smell. Ok, I don't think I could wear any shirt when it began to smell. I am extremely sensitive to smells. That could be another blog topic altogether.

Anyway, back to the topic at hand, stealing shirts. Actually I never *steal* them. They are usually lent to me. For different reasons of course. The following are just a few of those reasons: the room is cold; I didn't bring anything to paint in; I was thrown in the pool and don't have a change of clothes; I didn't bring a long sleeve shirt because I wanted to sunbathe while fishing and don't see why I need to be covered from head to toe; I need something to sleep in; I don't want to ride the train wearing what I had on last night; the list could go on forever. I can even think of one occasion where I was given a guys shirt just because I liked it so much (It was a really cool texture-- I have a thing for textures, I won't eat certain food due to textures-- let's not get into that either, it is along the lines of my issues with smells. Come to think of it the guy's cologne also was very nice...) . I still have it and another one of his shirts, both of which I am very fond of. In fact, for fear of the airlines losing one I left them in North Carolina when I moved to Holland.

I think the first shirt I tired to claim as my own was either Frank's or BJ's. That was back in the day when all the guys I liked wore flannel shirts. I'd borrow those two's often in class because the theatre in high school was freezing. Actually all theaters in almost all my High Schools were freezing. At that time I was really good at returning them since it was Florida and once out of the ice auditorium I didn't need the extra layers.

Wait a minute; I do own a favorite shirt... well I think I do. I recall my mother trying to throw it out and Nathan (my ex-fiance who is about to get married) trying to throw it out as well. I can't remember if they succeeded at the moment, hrm. It is a Navy Blue flannel shirt and it is why I didn't steal any shirts when lived in RI. I almost never went to school with out that shirt. I've worn that thing till the inner lining of the cuffs frayed and it had holes in it. I love that shirt. it also has a huge hole over the chest pokect. that was from tying it around my waist in Italy and it getting caught on the rail of a bus. I still would wear it though. It wasn't mine to begin with either--- It was Dad's and it shrank in the wash, so I got it since I was in that flannel wearing stage still. Ah hitting highschool in the hight of the Seattle scene definetly left its mark.

So I have a habit of obtain other men's shirt regardless. Other than the one I inherited from Dad most of the others I always have to give back. I actually remember once trying to see how long I could keep one for Frank's flannels. I don't remember now, but it couldn't have been past a week or two. Then I went nearly two years without borrowing anyone's shirts. Quiet a feat I think. I was tempted to borrow Ryan's that night we all went down to the beach behind the teen center on Ft. Adam's, but I was being stubborn and decided that it really wasn't *that* cold and I could tough it out. Besides ,I didn't want the rest of the group to think I was flirting with him, though I was, but everyone liked the twins and it became a matter of principle, I didn't want to be like all the giggly girls and borrowing a shirt when it isn't *that* cold is such a giggly girl thing to do. I wonder whatever happened to the twins... where was I? oh yes the next shirt I borrowed.
I remember borrowing Corey's shirts on the activity bus on several occasions. Oh the activity bus! The times we had back then! What fond memories... I also recall borrowing one of Bill's on the Vicenza trip that was before he started dating Amber and we all gave them such a heard time for her being so young, even though we all liked her. Funny how we all seemed to get along on those long bus trips on the activity bus to Lago. But again these shirt borrowing moments never lasted more than the bus trip and maybe the stay in the place the bus was going. Most of the girls in Naples borrowed the guys letterman jackets. Honestly I didn't like Letterman jackets, they just aren't that comfy. It wasn't until college that I was able to hold on to a new fave shirt for more than a week.

There was one prize shirt of many of the girls in College. It was gray and been washed to the point that the print that was once on it was all but gone. I had borrowed it once before while the guys I was friends with were playing video games and I was freezing since it had gotten a lot colder than I expected that night. I gave it back as soon as I got home and never thought anything about it 'til about a year later when I was dating Jimmy, to which the shirt belonged, and borrowed it again. I loved that shirt! It was *so* soft and warm and just perfect for sitting around the house, after a long day of rock climbing, tossing it on if I had to run to the office and didn't want to go in my PJs, or while studying. I was able to keep that one until laundry days... then Jimmy usually took it back.

I also gained a new shirt from Ben during one spring break in college. I borrowed one of his long sleeve shirts to fish in because I didn't know I needed to have a long sleeve shirt to fish in. I gave that one back, good memory but fishing shirts need to be dedicated to fishing and it is always there when I go fishing again. I also got my only Brandon High School shirt from Ben. That is because I borrowed one of his, but he wouldn't part with it not even for his bestest girl friend. To make up for it he bought me one of my own and sent it to me.

My next favorite shirt became my thinking shirt. My Assignment Editors knew never to bother Alexis between 6 and 8pm if she has the thinking shirt on (well unless it is breaking news, then they better tell me). It started with DeAnna borrowing Eric's shirt as it was colder in the part of the Newsroom where they banished the Edge crew. Then I borrowed it once when I produced the Edge and I was hooked. I stopped bringing in my sweater from home and would borrow Eric's shirt all the time. I'd even wear it when it wasn't cold and I wasn't in a crunch on the show. It made me happy. One time I came in to work on a Sunday early and Tiffany was wearing it. It almost felt like my new shirt was cheating! Even Tiffany gave me this I'm sorry but it is freezing in here look of shame. Ok, that is really odd I know, but I was very attached to that shirt and was sad I couldn't keep it. It kinda belonged to the newsroom. I did get a replacement from Eric, it was my favorite shirt that he wore. It has a really cool weave that gives it this neat texture, not to mention I love his cologne and the shirt smelt like him. A few years after leaving the news buisness I discovered that I some how had managed to smuggle the newsroom shirt home too. Not sure how or when I did that, but after returning to the States and reordering my life after two years in another country and a failed engagement I discovered my favorite newsroom shirt in my closet.

More recently I tried to steal one I was given to wear home. It was another super-soft-worn-all-the-time shirt that is fresh and clean and still smelled of laundry detergent. I threatened to keep it, but I knew it was my friend's favorite and I just coulodn't be that mean. I wore it for a day and a half while running to the market and other such errends around town. I think I secertly wanted some one to notice I had it, though I'm not sure anyone would have known who's shrit it was. I washed that next day and promotly returned it the next time I saw my friend who conviently worked in the town I lived in. If I wasn't such a nice person and I didn't want to stay friends with the shirts owner, I think I would have stolen it. I even saw someone a few weeks after said friend moved away with a similar shirt and thought how I wish I could have stolen it... At one moment I may have said I'd miss that shirt more than I'd miss him. But that is the irrational shirt thief in me talking.

I guess the best shirts are always someone else's for two reasons. Frist, it is because the best shirts are the those that get worn a lot and end up all soft and comfy. They are usually worn so much b/c they are someone else's favorite shirt as well. Second, they have to be someone's shirt you like, because it reminds you of them in some sort of way. Not necessarily a boyfriend or a crush, but just a friend who you have had a good time being around. That shirt can make you think of the time you caught the same fish over and over and over and OVER again and no one had the heart to tell you so until after you got home. Or it reminds you of late nights playing Axis and Allies- writing up treaties and then starting proxy wars before the game board is thrown across the room. The discussions over a glass of beer with a bunch of people from all over the world who you know you want to keep in touch with, but will only see maybe once more in your life time. Of flirting between MOS's and batting your eyes when you know you've turned your scripts in late. I guess it is a lot like hearing certain songs on the radio. Memories become attached to things and if you are like me and attached to memories then you may just get attached to a few favorite shirts.

The moral of this story is don't let me borrow your favorite shirt unless you know I'll give it back or can steal it out of my laundry ;-).

Covered in Gliter

Just a typical Saturday I suppose, being all covered in glitter and rushing over to my next appointment. Yes, I understand that sentence is a bit misleading to those of you with filthy little minds (oh how the filthy little minds of the world keep me entertained!). What I was really getting at is that my weekends have a tendency to be all or nothing. Weekend Scenario One: me at home throwing a little pink hippo across the room a zillion times until Bean decides she'd rather squeak the hell out of monkey-bear or whine because I refuse to dislodge her mini soccer ball from beneath the lid of a kimchi pot. Weekend Scenario Two: race around town to events that I want to attend but are also sort of work related and then hurry over to a friend's house for the last few minutes of a celebration.

Last weekend I volunteered at the Caribbean Festival. The local leaders of the cultural groups in town have found out that I have a really heard time turning people down when I know how much help they need. Every organization in town it seems knows that they can ask me to stage manage, edit press releases, track down missing contest judges, set up tables, take photos, design posters, or to do one of a million other things that others have said they will do but at the last minute never got around to doing. I can't say no. I want them to have successful events, I want people in town to see that we really have a diverse population from all over the world here. Oh and I am on a personal mission to never hear the people I associate with say, "There is nothing to do in this town." Even if you've exhausted the bar and club scene, seen all the museums, attended all the plays and concerts, there is still... well that is a separate blog/rant.

Anyhow last weekend I drove around Elizabeth looking for a place to park, rushed to Independence Park to find the volunteer gazebo, then got my assignment. I was to be working the kids craft table. Oh let the fun begin! I am not being sarcastic. I love kids. I love crafts. Above all else, the craft table was in the shade! Score!

So after shooing multiple adults away and pointing out that the picnic tables in this area were reserved for children and setting up the tables with art supplies I was ready to spend a couple of hours watching budding artists express themselves by coloring Flags from Caribbean Nations and making masks to celebrate this little mid-summer carnival. I was really happy not to be in charge of the bounce house or the games. Even when the tables got crowded and I was rushing form one to another to make sure everything was running smoothly. What made me most happy was to see that some parents still care how their kids are being raised. In fact a large chunk of my faith in parenting was restored. I've often seeing children running a muck in stores screaming, throwing tantrums and parents not giving a hoot about their child's ill behavior. But last weekend, I saw some of the most well behaved children. Kids where waiting their turn, asking if they could please have the blue glitter pin and would sweetly ask if they could have the other blue glitter pen too. The called me Miss or Ma'am and would say excuse me when trying to get my attention from another child. It was marvelous. They were genuinely interested in what was going on asking questions, wanting to know how to make the glitter in the shaker stick to the mask, can they have feathers for their mask, is it okay to leave it at the table until it dries? It was wonderful to hear all those please and thank yous.

Each little kid had their own way of doing thing. some wanted to do everything on their own and would have a scattering of media all over their project, glitter, marker, feathers, one child even glued a small prize from the game section to her creation. Others want their mothers to help and then some wanted me to help, but would get made if mom or an older sibling meddled with their art. Pink, Purple and blue feathers were the most requested, though just about every child tried to put the giant red feathers on the mask first, but when they wouldn't stay the smaller ones would only do if they were pink, purple or blue. One little girl who had to be about 6, wanted pink, purple and orange to match her dress. She was very precise on her design it had to have swirls like the print in her outfit. As demanding as she was, each request was started with a may I and followed with a sincere thanks once she had perfectly coordinated her mask to her attire.

The little boys were hilarious. We had three brothers sit down to color at once. By this time we had sacrificed a prize to become part of the craft table, a roll of pictures to tear apart and color. All three of them wanted an under the sea scene to color, but I could only find one after unrolling about 8 frames of pictures. So I was able to talk the youngest into a picture with a rhino. Then the oldest say it and wanted that one too. I didn't recall any other rhino's but we decided that the one of a zoo with lots of different animals would be just fine. About 5 minutes later the middle boy came over with a half colored-in-the-lines crab and a whale scribbled through with purple on his underwater scene, "My brother ruined it, is there a giraffe I can have instead?" five more frames and we found one. Some of the really little boys really made my day. They wanted to make masks and butterflies and use the sparkles and feathers. Oh! They were just soooo happy to be making something pretty. One little guy just squeezed all the glitter out of two pens and then dumped an entire shaker of glitter on top of that in the center of his mask. Once he was done he thought it was so cool that he needed to make one for his dad too. But this one needed feathers and massive amounts of glitter, because that way it will look like a super hero's mask.

I started the craft table about about noon. A little after two I exclaimed at this one little girl who was glittering and gluing sequence with the utmost care "Goodness you are just covered in glitter!" She replied with the sweetest little giggle, "Just like you!" I didn't think I could be as sparkly as she was, I mean I was mainly just passing glitter to the kids and maybe drawing hearts, flowers, stars, fish, or whatever was requested (one girl asked me to draw her a rose. Now I do paint and sketch and have even sculpted before, but glitter pens don't really offer the same control as most mediums... I had to ask her if she would be okay with a tulip. Once I told here that a tulip is a really pretty flower from Holland and that they can be red, pink, yellow, well just about any color, she decided a tulip would be okay if I drew it's leaves too). I had done my best to steer clear of the loose glitter, so I figured I should come out of this maybe not glitter free, but with limited added sparkle. I didn't really think much of it other than to exclaim that I was glad we were not finger painting then!

Around 4:15 I was done with my craft table duties so I decided to wander around the festival(me wander? I know that never happens now does it dear reader?). I was ravenous since I hadn't eaten since around 10am so I found the shortest line and ordered some curried goat. I had never had curried goat before, well at least not that I know of. I was alright, tasty, but a little fattier than I like. I also walked about to get a few photos for our office newsletter, since we try to cover as many festivals as we can each quarter. I wish the international events could get more coverage, but the news crews just don't care until people get sick, faint from the heat or some other calamity otherwise befalls the event (we won't pull out my news soap box here). It really was a beautiful day with so many different people out representing all walks of life with our gorgeous skyline as the back drop.

When I finally got back to my car several blocks away I had just enough time to drive home, walk Bean, and then head back into town for a friend's birthday party. When I got home I tried to shake as much glitter out of my clothes and hair and wiped down with a washcloth. I just didn't have time to take a full shower. When I arrived at my friend's Birthday party I was still coated in glitter. So much show that at one point one person greeted another friend by saying "I see that you've already said hi to Alexis," while noting the glitter that had rubbed off on him. I wash just so happy that this party was mellow. I was pooped. I was still starving. All I wanted was cake and a martini (made with proper gin not a stupid vodkatini people!). I wasn't supposed to have either since I am watching what I eat, but I had a half of someone else's cake. Oh how divine chocolate cake is when you are not supposed to eat cake! I actually don't like chocolate cake. I like red velvet best, which is technically a kind of chocolate cake... but better. Great now I want cake... Anyhow. It was a great party. We mingled and ate and talked and looked at catalogues. The birthday boy opened gifts and cards and then a bunch of us ended up on the front porch. A few choice remarks elicited some pretty biting comments about what I *really* meant by my thinly veiled snide interjection about what two people left drinking in the kitchen were up to. Oh it is great when friends can feed off what the others are saying! All in all it was a good Saturday.

Yet I still like it when I can spend a whole day watching Bean freak out about a squirrel on our back deck. That also beats three showers of scrubbing glitter out of my hair and off of my skin.