mandy moves

In retirement

2010-08-29T20:35:00.003-05:00

Well, all, I think it's been kind of obvious the past few months, but I've lost interest in blogging. It's been fun, but I've decided to retire this blog. Maybe someday I will make a new one. I am still going to read others' blogs and make comments, since I like hearing about you all.

Thanks for reading and I wish you all the best!

Welcome Home

2010-08-04T22:01:00.002-05:00

There has been something so calm about this move to North Carolina. I truly feel like the dust has settled a bit, in my life, and things are falling into place. And thank goodness, I nearly went mad last spring. I cannot even describe how nice to was to arrive in Durham, pull into our own driveway and slide our keys into the locks. Being in my house provides this calm that I haven't felt since we left our apartment in Chile. There's something so satisfying knowing that a place is yours.

This has been, by far, one of the best visits that we've had with my step daughter. I feel like our family has finally formed into a cohesive unit, and that finally, we've blended more than before. There's also this calm between my stepdaughter and me, a silent understanding. I know I'm not her mother, and she knows she's not my daughter, but we love each other anyway. I feel like the most important step in making our relationship work is finally focusing my love on her, and her finally feeling that she has my focus and love, to realize that we're not competing with each other for her father, but rather, that both her father and I are working together in our love for her.

And strangely, we really bonded during this visit over something I never would have expected. We bonded over exercise! Either during the mornings or evenings we walked together through the Duke Forest, along with our dog, and even took advantage of the fitness path which includes about a mile of fitness stations. Together we did yoga, played soccer, and even started doing the Jillian Michael's 30 day shred. We'd come home, covered in sweat, and run through the sprinklers in the yard, fully clothed! We talked about healthy eating, I even got her to start eating brown rice instead of white! She helped encourage me with my vegan diet. While at the beach we took walks looking for shells and would watch the sun set with evening strolls.

I don't think I've been this active for years!

And then, I've had a really lovely time meeting the new students and their partners from O.'s business program. Around 40% of the students are international, and I've enjoyed so much meeting people from all over the globe. I was a bit weary at first, but I've discovered that their partners (mostly women) are some of the most intelligent and interesting women I've met. I guess smart business boys have good taste! It's funny because I've been a completely sweaty pig the last few days, my complexion is horrible form the humidity, and yet, I honestly have just been feeling so calm. I can't get over it. I feel like I'm just in that place I've been trying to find. And I love it.

I know that eventually life will toss me some ups and downs, but for now I'm just enjoying sitting on my front porch, listening to the crickets, and swatting at the mosquitoes. For once, life's serene and I'm staying in this moment.

Greetings from North Carolina

2010-07-20T14:00:00.003-05:00

Guess what? I'm in North Carolina! We left Austin on July 8th, and I have been so busy I haven't had time to blog. Right now I'm writing to you from North Topsail Island, off the coast of North Carolina just north of Wilmington. We moved into our house last week, unloaded our container, then packed our bags again to spend a week at the beach with my mother before O. starts his MBA program next week. My Dad arrived in Durham the same day we did to help us unpack, then my mom arrived, and now my brother is on his way to meet us at the beach. F. and Simon have been troopers. It took us three days to get from Texas to North Carolina. We spent a night in Little Rock and then two nights in Knoxville, TN, where we visited the Smoky Mountains with some family I have there. Then we stuffed them back into the car to head to the beach. At least Simon has been having fun running on the beach and F. has been learning to body surf in the waves.

Our days have been so full that I have been falling asleep each night utterly exhausted.

I love our new house -- I'm going to write more about how wonderful it is later. Right now I just wanted to post a quick update about what we've been up to and say that I love my new home state!

I was too hard on Chile

2010-07-01T23:50:00.004-05:00

Okay, I have a confession to make. I've been too hard on Chile. Too hard, because apparently, I hadn't really experienced the United States in its full glory.

I have lived the majority of my life in the North East. Pennsylvania is technically lumped with the "Mid-Atlantic" but I identify with its rhythm. I am, gasp, a north easterner.

And well, that's kind of a dirty word in the south. Texans say it with disdain, and a little long-time Raleigh resident birdie told me that North Carolina cannot stand northerners who come down into the triangle area and try to tell people how to do things.

But, living in the "south" for two years and just going through the process of buying a house in North Carolina, I can say that Chile, I was too hard on you. Way too hard on you. Why? Because after going through all of this, I cannot say that living in the southern U.S.A. is all that much more efficient, professional or better-performed than Chile.

The past three months have been terribly frustrating. I don't even want to get into it, but just to even sublet our apartment we had to practically beat down the doors of the administration office in our apartment complex to get them to do their jobs. Calling constantly, being really pushy. Few things they told us during the mortgage process in North Carolina ended up being actually true--I've come out of the process feeling utterly lied to and taken advantage of. Yesterday our bank sent us a letter saying our first payment was due August 1, then today, the DAY of July 1st, we get a letter saying it's due July 1. No one ever returns our phone calls or performs tasks when they say they will. My emails go unanswered. Today, the assistant in our leasing office promised me she'd put a paper I needed to sign on our front door. Tonight, we get home, nothing. Another morning I'll spend bugging them to do their jobs.

This crap reminds me soooo much of what day-to-day errands/dealing with people was like in Chile. Soooooooooo much.

What has this taught me? Aside from eventually wanting to return to my real patria, the north east, it makes me realize that problems we had living in Chile actually aren't unique to Chile. You'll find similar situations in many places,and I can imagine this sometimes happens north of the Mason-Dixon line, too.

I am going to try and love North Carolina with all my might. I am really going to give it a chance and I'm going to try and stop making comparisons, as I've been doing for years. But I just wanted to apologize to Chile, because I think I was kind of unfair. Sometimes, now, Santiago felt more progressive, sophisticated, edgy and urban than Texas and probably North Carolina.... :) Really.

Veganism

2010-06-03T22:45:00.002-05:00

Dabbling in Ayurveda really made me start to question my eating habits. However, the diet just wasn't realistic because we tend to eat out a lot. So I jumped ship, and continued eating about 3-4 bowls of granola everyday, craving milk all the time. For the past few months, probably since January, I have had this uncontrollable hunger that I simply could not ignore. Attempting to eat healthy for a couple of days would be canceled out by trips to Wendy's where I secretly snacked on french fries and frosties.

So I decided to take a step back. When I lived in Chile the weight dropped off of me effortlessly. Despite my lack of "planned" exercise. What was so different? I thought. I ate tons of (fresh) white bread, ate out and drank alcohol all the time, and baked like a crazy housewife. There were three main components, however: 1) No car and thus walking a lot more 2) Smaller portions 3) Not as much dairy, not as much preservatives in the food (not as much processed food)

Milk came out of a box, which never seemed to have the same appeal as our milk here in the US. Cheese in Chile, as well, was boring and didn't interest me all that much, although it was still a main part of my diet. I ate dairy, but not nearly as much as I do here in the US. Actually, I attributed my initial weight loss after switching off of a vegetarian diet abroad to my tendency to substitute cheese for meat.

Lately though, my interest in meat has totally dwindled. I eat generally three things only: P.Terry's cheeseburgers, salmon and white chicken breast with absolutely no fat. However, even then I tended to shovel my portions onto my husband's plate and grab a bowl of cereal instead.

Yet, when my weight and diets simply haven't changed, and I have still been gaining weight despite my half-assed efforts, I just decided I needed a drastic change.

So I decided to become vegan. Ordered a copy of Skinny Bitch, stocked up on all kinds of vegan staples in Whole Foods, and decided to do it until I lost some weight.

Well, it's only been a week and I have no idea if I've lost weight because I don't own a scale. However, I've been going through some changes that completely shocked me.

I'm going to save you all the details, because they are pretty gross, but if you're REALLY interested ask me. But, after being off all dairy products for a few days, the patches of eczema that I constantly have on my inner elbows disappeared, as well as my constant canker sores that mysteriously form on my tongue. I, even, for the first time this summer, felt a lift in my depression and have been able to wake up before 4pm.

Then, I bought an almond cheese product which I had thought was completely dairy free. An hour or so after eating it, the red patches on my inner elbows popped out again, I felt a canker sore on my tongue, my ears itched, my throat hurt, and I felt really really really bitchy. When I examined the ingredients, I realized that this cheese contained a milk protein called casein.

Now, I was diagnosed, as a newborn, as being lactose intolerant, but a casein allergy never crossed my parents', or my mind. But now, after almost a week of being casein free, I feel awesome! More so than Lactaid ever allowed me to feel. I've been doing research about food allergies and realized that people often end up craving the food they are allergic to, which might explain why I'd been downing a quart of milk every two days.

This is what I love about being vegan:
1. It's nice to the animals. I luv da animalz.
2. When you make vegan baked goods, you can taste the batter without worrying about salmonella poisoning. Score!
3. It keeps stuff moving. Catch my drift?
4. I don't get horrible stomach pains or digestive problems like I did before.
5. I don't smell as much. Even after a week. Not as much bad breath or body odor.
6. It's a built in way to avoid most unhealthy foods.
7. There are tons of vegan products available at stores like Whole Foods. I don't feel like I miss anything that much because vegan cheese is pretty good, it even melts!
8. I don't have to eat as much! I'm not hungry like I was before!

:)

2010-06-02T15:17:00.007-05:00

Closing on the house has been a mess. I'm not going into details because I'm trying to put it all behind me, but we're still trying to get all the paperwork up to par before we can close. Long story short, we're 7 days behind.

But, I keep telling myself that it's worth it!

I still cannot believe the kind of house we are getting. We completely lucked out. Having it be new construction, and in a neighborhood that's "up-and-coming"

Our kitchen strikingly resembles our kitchen in the Manuel Montt apartment in Santiago. Observe:
North Carolina

Santiago

Yoga Challenge, Ayurveda and my mansa guata.

2010-04-20T23:50:00.004-05:00

Update on my 40 day yoga challenge: I have completed 18 classes of yoga in the past 20 days. Wait? Didn't know that I'm doing a 40 day yoga challenge? I was afraid to write about it on here, afraid to jinx myself. I didn't want to get everyone's interest and then fail. So I decided not to post about it on my blog until half way through.

And I'm surprisingly happy with my progress!

I am two classes behind due to the extreme pain I was in post Mirena insertion. I was insane to think that I would be able to go to French class, in addition to do a yoga class after I had the procedure done, as it was definitely up there with the worst I've ever felt. All I could really do was sleep and writhe around in the fetal position from 10am to 11pm when I then slept for 12+ hours. Miraculously I made it to yoga the next day, a Vinyasa class, mind you, but was back to feeling pretty horrible the next day and had to miss again.

This means I need to take 2 classes per day for 2 of my remaining 20 days. Tomorrow, I'm going to attempt to do a Hatha Flow in the morning and then perhaps a Hatha at night, maybe a more vigorous Vinyasa if I can handle it.

I also decided that 20 days in I would start a gentle attempt at an Ayurvedic Diet. I purchased this book and decided to try it out for a bit, as much as I can, to see how it made me feel. The diet is mostly what I would call "Indian Food" which luckily is one of my most favorite cuisines in the world. But I'm a bit afraid that the same repetition of spices will get old. Although, they are the same spices that are in Chai, which I've been obsessed with, for years, so I decided that it might be a diet I can stick to. For a little bit.

In all honesty, this diet seemed to be to be less of a "diet" than anything else, since a lot of the recipes in it are things I'd eat, normally, anyway. I'll be rolling out my own Chapatis, blending my own Lasse, clarifying my own ghee... I'll definitely post and write how it's going, and be honest when I can't resist a pizza night here and there.

During Exam crunch time, I'll admit that we were eating mostly frozen pizzas and P.Terry's burger stand 5 nights a week. I need to remove Cheese and french fries from my five main food groups. My poor diet has really taken a toll on my body. I officially have the biggest "guata" (Chilean for "tummy," or as I'd describe it... "gut") I've ever had in my life and we'll just say that I'm too bald in patches to wear my hair down anymore. I hate feeling like I do. While the 20 days of yoga has been a great reset to my body, I need to take care of what I'm putting in, as well.

That's all, really, for now. I also am perhaps the most excited girl ever about our new house... and I'll have to say that it's not only hard to get mortgages in Chile... it's pretty darn hard here, too, and it took us nearly a month to get our application up to acceptability. So, take heart, Kyle, you're not alone in that.

My crazy life as of late.

2010-03-31T21:25:00.002-05:00

T minus 9 days until I take my MA exams. I've studied pretty hard this semester, sometimes up to 18 hours per weekend, but I've hit a wall. I simply want nothing more to do with these books. I want to be done.

But here's where the craziness starts. After a whirlwind trip to Durham, NC, our home to be, we decided to buy a house. Well, really, we've been looking for about a month, but we didn't find *the* house until we went there over this past weekend.

Durham, compared to Austin, is small. Durham has about 200,000 people, Austin has 750,000. Durham is green, has tons of trees. The whole little city felt like some kind of park. Durham is also a lot more dangerous. The murder rate is a lot higher than any other place I've lived. So is burglary, robbery and theft. This, I'm not looking forward to. Based on crime statistics, it looks pretty probable that we might taste this in the next five years. We're hoping that with dog, alarm system and automatic light timers we can avoid it. But who knows.

But granted that 6 apartments were burglarized in our building in Santiago, within one month of living there, we felt like it wasn't enough to stop us from moving into our dream home in biking distance of Duke.

We didn't pick the most "wholesome" neighborhood. I'll be honest about that. Durham is a mixed bag of so-called "good streets" and "bad streets" run-down rental properties and multimillion dollar homes. We're in walking distance to what the realtor called "The Hood." We're also in walking distance to two of the most expensive neighborhoods in the entire city. Take a left and you're in the ghetto, take a right and you're in Durham's 90210. And to be honest, we love this variety.

I know it's not for everyone, but I've hated the socioeconomic (and racial) stratification of Austin. I like the mix. We just didn't feel at home in the neighborhoods with perfectly manicured lawns, white people, and miles of suburbia. We liked the funky vibe of popular cafés, tortillerias, fire stations, and historic old bungalow homes.

I spent a good three weeks scouring the market for just about every home in our price range. Compared neighborhoods, schools, and resale value. I fell in love with an adorable yellow 1920s bungalow, a historic property with original hardwood floors. However, the house was under contract faster than you could say, "adorable" and we had to move on to other options. I found many other older homes with adorable details, however, everyone warned me about the problems that an old home would present. "You don't have the time or money to deal with a fixer-upper." My dad, cautioned. So when I made my list of listings, I tried to balance old gems with recent constructions.

But nothing grabbed me like Britney Wallace's projects.

Britney Wallace specializes in "jewel box homes," which refer to arts and crafts style homes that are under 2000 square feet. Although small, they focus on fine details and efficient use of space. Her designs drew from the classic bungalow home style that I so badly wanted, but would be brand new construction.

One look at her website made me feel like Britney and I had the same exact taste in homes. Simple, but unique, high attention to details. The last thing I wanted was a cookie-cutter home with 90 degree angles and brass drawer pulls. I know that sounds so bizarre, but there's something about growing up in the 1990s that makes you just want to barf. Her projects have 9 foot ceilings, signature arches, stainless appliances, efficient design, and so much more...

After narrowing our selection down to four homes, O. and I did the final comparison and realized that nothing compared to this home at this price range. Her internet deal allowed me to upgrade to granite countertops, and we negotiated wiring for outdoor ceiling fans on the rocking chair front porch. Today we went under contract.

I am so excited to have our own space. I'm so excited to have our own washer and dryer (something we've never had) and a deck, AND a front porch. I've lived for years without anything but white walls, and I just cannot wait to paint, hang shelves, and do all the things you cannot do in rentals.

A yard! Two floors! A garden!

I cannot even contain my excitement :)

Here she is:

It comes in waves

2010-03-04T14:28:00.004-06:00

It comes in waves. For about an hour I will be fine. Jubilant, even. In many ways, this week, has been incredible. I got accepted into one of the best Spanish programs in the country. We're talking like Top 3. I also met one of my most favorite authors, Ariel Dorfman. And I'm so thankful for all of these things.

But the morning after I met Professor Dorfman (he is going to be my professor, now) I woke up to chilling news of a terrible earthquake in Oscar's home country, Chile. At first the death toll seemed relatively under control. 100 people. Short phone calls to my husband confirmed that his family was okay. Then, as I departed my interview in North Carolina, and arrived for my layover in Memphis I got my first glimpse of CNN, showing horrifying photos of Concepción, talking of Tsunamis, and then showing footage from Barrio Brazil where parts of buildings collapsed onto the group.

I called my husband, "Holy shit."

"Yeah, I didn't think you realized how bad it really was."

I nearly dropped the phone in Memphis and started bawling. The people who gathered around me probably thought I was insane. When the pictures of Barrio Brazil--streets I could name--flashed on the screen, it was just too much.

I have been glued to the news since I arrived home in Austin. Monday and Tuesday I was in a daze. I couldn't help it, but I was literally offended with people who didn't seem to realize what was going on. If anyone talked to me about anything else
I just couldn't understand. Seeing people's Facebook updates about seemingly trivial things made me feel so hurt. I can't explain it. My world stopped, and everyone else's kept going.

Today and yesterday, I'm doing better, but it comes in waves. For an hour I'll be fine, but then for another hour I literally cannot get out of bed because I'm so sick over what's happening. I am sorry to sound like a drama queen, considering I'm not even there, but I honestly feel like my heart has been ripped apart. For as much as it's a love-hate relationship, I love Chile with all my heart and it's so hard to see my husband's country going through this.

So, the only thing we can do at this point is do our best to do our part. In addition to donations, we've helping organize a huge benefit this Saturday here in Austin. I'm making 50 empanadas, Oscar's playing in a band, and we're going to help set up and clean up. So far 160 people have RSVPed as confirmed on Facebook, and even if half of those show up I will be thrilled.

I realized I've been super hypersensitive about the topic, but some people's comments have really upset me. Especially when they say, "Oh, Chile isn't a third world country, at least it's not like Haiti." I'm also astounded by people who I thought were my good friends who didn't even as much as how Oscar was doing or if his family and our all friends were safe.

I know we live in an individualistic society, and that like usual my expectations are too high. But it's making me seriously question our life here in the States and whether or not it's really where we're going to be the most happy. How can people just forget about their neighbors?

In any case, I am so thankful that everyone I know in Chile is safe. I am so thankful that we are here, with a roof over our heads. And I'm thankful for all the people who have expressed their support. I send my love and support to all of you.

Most needed update to come...

2010-03-03T15:12:00.001-06:00

I haven't posted because the more time I let go by the more there is to say. I'm going to write a big entry, in parts, soon.

A complete loss of morals...

2010-02-25T11:25:00.002-06:00

So, I'm staring at a pair of black dress pants. They are one size too small. Well, they used to be my size, until I went through a bout of depression, coupled with stress, and found to much solace in food.

I can still get them on, zipped and buttoned, but they are just a hair snug. I've got a little muffin shape going on.

Unfortunately, yesterday, I was at the mall and couldn't bring myself to buy an exact same pair of pants in one size bigger. It just felt like a waste of money. And I needed shoes. So I didn't. I'll just have to make due I thought!

Well, I'm employing desperate measures. As a self-proclaimed anti-dieter, I can't believe what I'm doing. I just chugged four cups of water with one teaspoon of salt diluted into them. Hello, master cleanse. I'm doing it for one day just hoping it will get down whatever bloating I have going on.

The funny thing was that the instructions were like "It may take you an hour to drink all the salt water." And yeah, I finished it in 15 minutes. (Oh you underestimate the chugging abilities of people only a few years out of undergrad...) And the funny thing is that it's been 45 minutes... and nothing. Nothing! I'm wondering why it's taking so long to set in!

People do this for 10 days straight -- salt water laxatives and master cleanse concoction. I'm doing it for 24 hours, long enough to squeeze into those pants. Haha. Then I'm eating like normal tomorrow.

If all else fails I have a pair of Spanx that are supposed to suck in the belly. They are just hella uncomfortable and I can't imagine wearing them while on the plane.

Oh dear.

little update

2010-02-20T09:27:00.002-06:00

Guess what? I have been feeling GREAT! I'm so excited because I feel like the cloud of the past half year has finally lifted.

What has changed? Well, I got on a massively higher dose of the old SSRIs I was on last spring. We're talking double. At first I was really skeptical, but I cannot believe the difference that I feel.

I've also started running. Well, running and walking. I'm doing interval training, on a running schedule that is supposed to get me running 5K in 2 months.

In a little less than a week I'm headed to Duke for my visit and interview. Please cross your fingers for me, I really want to get in.

My huge MA comps are still looming over my head and I'm still struggling to get all the reading done, but I have to buckle down for the next few weeks and just get it done. My test day is April 9. I might not really update between now and then, but send me good vibes!!!

The continuous debate.

2010-02-04T10:28:00.003-06:00

My antidepressants are not working. Nope. Since I've been feeling "yuck" last summer, I've switched off of Cymbalta, which never really felt like it took full therapeutic effect, and went back to Celexa, which seemed to work better last year.

But It's been a month, and well, nothing. Same old thing.

What's wrong with me? I wonder. I know I'm under extreme stress right now. Masters comprehensive exams in April, Child custody case going on in Chile, and now a trip to North Carolina and a graduate program finalist interview at the end of February. I want so badly to pop a pill and be able to handle it all. We also owe about $1000 in taxes right now, which coincides horribly with needing to pay $3000 for Fran's school next year. That's almost all the money in our bank account right now... since we just paid a $3000 deposit on O's MBA.

Since my psych eval last month, too, I've been feeling more blah. I forked over nearly $500, hoping to discover something groundbreaking. But, aside from the PTSD and learning I have "dependent" tendencies, nothing was new. Old hat. I also discovered that my depression is "mild." I would say that more than anything it's just a general lack of energy... my body can't seem to follow my brain. I just want to have a "drive" again.

There's been a ton of literature coming out about how antidepressants may only work for people with moderate to severe depression. Really? It honestly makes me wonder--is this why I'm feeling the same way? Is this why I'm not feeling anything? Would I be better off with acupuncture, Bach Flowers and St. John's Wort?

I've gone off my antidepressants before, for four months, and I can't say I felt all that different. The major difference is that I cry more, am more hypersensitive off of the drugs.

But everytime I come out of my psychiatrist's office, I go back to thinking I shouldn't be off the meds.

But then again, she also has it in her mind I'm an alcoholic and binge drinker. Which is ridiculous.

So I don't know. I'm just at this stand-still point. And I'm tired. All I know is that yesterday I slept well, ate enough (didn't try and diet) and I felt energetic and alert, awake and ready for my day. Maybe that's just all it takes.

To Fall Back Again

2010-02-01T02:05:00.002-06:00

Tonight I did something that I have not done since September, 2008. I reached down to the floor to swirl a thin layer of hair off the hard wood. Swirled it together into a loose ball, scrunched it up into my fists, and then flushed it down the toilet.

I've relapsed. Relapse: The act or situation of relapsing; To fall back again; To recur; to worsen, be aggravated.

One hair turned into two. A few days later, two turned into three. Suddenly, tonight, the makeshift bottom fell out again, and there they were, black strands floating to the ground, crisscrossing on the floor below me.

My hair is the longest it has been since 2005. The thickest it has been since 2003. I've spent seven years wishing and willing to get back to this point, and tonight I see that teetering right in front of me.

The secret to recovery isn't about not slipping up. It's about how you react when you slip up. I want to believe that and feel some inner resolve but I'm just too numb. I think that's my biggest enemy, the numbness. I'll go to sleep and let you know how I feel in the morning.

Touchy subjects

2010-01-25T22:46:00.003-06:00

I need to talk to people about my depression and anxiety. There, I said it. It's a really hard topic to breach. I don't really know how to let it out. And part of me feels like it's this dirty little secret that I have, and that if I share it I am somehow making people accomplices to misery. When people ask me, "How are you," I really sometimes want to reach out and just answer candidly.

At the beginning of yoga practice, there's a time when we go around the room and people mention their injuries and how they are feeling. Some people mention knee injuries, others have tendinitis, and some people convey an overall frazzled feeling. Sometimes I just want to say, "Today and everyday I have mild to moderate Major Depression and off the hook Generalized Anxiety disorder." I want to explain to them that my periodic absences aren't because I don't like yoga, or am not committed to my practice, just sometimes I can't get out of my pajamas and off the couch.

Then there's school. I've made passing jokes to my peers about needing medication since beginning graduate school. I also have one peer who knows about my hair pulling (is a hair puller, as well). But we don't discuss those things at school. And it just stops there. We have study groups, and people are friendly and socially supportive, but I feel like a freak unloading myself onto them. I don't want to be the rambling headcase.

Then there are my parents. My father doesn't understand mental illness. I mean, he grasps the concept, but he thinks that any amount of effort and determination can pull a person out of depression. He has encouraged me to flush my medications down the toilet and pull myself up by the bootstraps. If only it were that simple.

Then there's my mom. A huge wedge between us now (that I feel, which I don't believe she feels) is that my mom cannot possibly understand why or how I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety or even have struggled with Trichotillomania. My mom has had a particularly hard life, and she doesn't understand how I could be so depressed with all of the privilege I've had in my life: an childhood in an idyllic place, 16 years of dance lessons, an ivy league education, travels abroad. It's something she's never been able to accept. I was 13 the first time I approached my mom and said, "Mom, I think I'm depressed and I want to go to the psychologist." To which she replied, "Oh sweetie, you're not depressed, you just think too much."

And there's O. who is completely and totally unconditionally here for me. But it gets to a point where I can't be this needy, weepy blob all the time. O. isn't depressed. He doesn't pull out his hair. Sometimes he's obsessive, but in a totally determined "I won't quit" way, and while he will stay here by my side for eternity (I hope).

I have one absolutely best friend on whom I depend, with whom I can talk about this openly, but we unfortunately have not lived in the same state since 2003.

So I've determined two things:

I need to find a support group. What I need, really, right now, is some intense Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, but unfortunately I don't have time for that right now. Or money. There aren't any groups listed on Craiglist. I am a semester long veteran of an anxiety support group at UT, but in all honesty it wasn't helpful for me at all. I need something that is perhaps a bit more challenging. If I have to, I will start my own. I might have to wait until I go to Durham. But, so be it.

I also am going to start a separate blog about the topic. Basically, a recovery blog. A blog about recovering from hair pulling, a blog about trying to be healthier, and a blog about living with depression and anxiety. Because I need to talk about it. I'm not sure that this is the right forum. I mean, this blog has always had a sort of hybrid existence. Partially about moving to Texas, partially about being an ex-expatriate in Chile, partially about having an international marriage. Sometimes it's about my blended family. Sometimes it's about cooking. But sometimes, like with the people around me, I don't want to unload these feelings in a place where people might not feel like reading them. I mean, maybe you get here because you're googled, "Chilean men" (as many people do) or maybe you've arrived here from another Expat in Chile's blog and you just sort of blind-sided by all this content that maybe you didn't want to deal with in the first place. I guess the bottom line is that if you don't relate to this, you probably don't want to read it, and you probably have nothing more to say but, "Oh, feel better, soon." But there are others with whom I really feel I've connected, who might find some odd ounce of solace knowing there are other functioning people around facing the same problems. I don't know if it's fair or wise to mix the two.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

2010-01-19T22:51:00.003-06:00

More and more I feel like this is turning into a mental health blog. But that's okay. I think it's really important. I have found so much solace in Therese J. Borchard's blog called, "Beyond Blue." And the truth is that I'm interested in this stuff. I'm especially interested in helping people with Trichotillomania. So much, that I'm actually considering getting an MSW.

But that's an aside. The purpose of this entry is to talk about something that a lot of people might not think about.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Shell shock. When I first think about this disorder I remember the book "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien. A bloody good book (no pun intended) about the Vietnam War. Or I think about the Ernest Hemingway short story called "The Big Two-Hearted River" which is an absolutely brilliant story which also approaches the topic. But the most common thing we think about is war veterans. So I never even considered the thought that civilians could experience PTSD, or at least civilians who haven't had experiences with violent crime or disasters.

But the truth is that PTSD is a lot more general than you really could know. If you had asked me, before two days ago, if I've ever had it I would have said, "Absolutely not."

Although crazy at times, knowing I have anxiety issues, a past of pulling out my hair and an awful genetic predisposition to depression, I am a fully functional person. I actually consider myself to be quite normal. I have issues--who doesn't? Maybe I just talk about it a little more freely than I should. A functional person, with no horrible, truly traumatic experiences, or so I thought.

Yet, due to the almost 2 hour evaluation that I had in relation to my ADHD testing (which came up negative) I happened to be speaking to a psychologist who has special training in PTSD, who happened to have completed research at the National Center for PTSD.

And after relating my history and responding to his questions for nearly an hour, in addition to diagnoses that didn't surprise me (since I already knew I had them, i.e. Generalized Anxiety and accompanying depression) he informed me at the end that I appeared to have suffered from (and am still suffering from, in some regards) a classic case of PTSD.

I don't really want to describe the situation which caused this out of love and respect for the parties involved. But this quote from the book The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath (so cliché, I know) really sort of sums it up. (Note, it's kind of morbid so if you get easily disturbed, skip the italics):

"It was like the first time I saw a cadaver. For weeks afterward, the cadaver's head--or what was left of it--floated up behind my eggs and bacon at breakfast and behind the the face of Buddy Willard, who was responsible for my seeing it in the first place, and pretty soon I felt as though I were carrying that cadaver's head around with me on a string, like some black, noseless balloon stinking of vinegar."

For me, that's the best description I've come across to explain what that felt like after the initial shock and horror has worn off and the weeks go by and everyone else in your position seems to be moving forward. These intrusive thoughts and images follow you around in your day and it's like no matter what you're doing you just can't shake it. Weeks turn into months. Months into years. It's follows you into your dreams, sneaks into your reactions and your happiness. I woke up and went to bed every single day to the thoughts of the event. Once I even questioned, "Will I ever reach the day when I can finally forget?"

When I had PTSD I was 11. I finally moved on from it when I was 14 or 15. It caused me to go through a lot of thought processes that normal 11 year olds don't experience. Today, I'm 25 and it took me 14 years and 3 psych evals to figure out what it was.

PTSD doesn't just happen to soldiers or people who have experienced massive disasters. My event was something horrific, but within the confines of what you'd find in the daily news report (but of course on a much more personal level). One person might not experience the same reaction to the same event. We're not all wired the same way. And how an adult might process information is not the same as a child.

I had no idea that these things were still affecting me until the psychologist mentioned the content of frequent and reoccurring nightmares. I guess that if things don't get resolved, they still operate deep down in the subconscious.

That's why it's not silly, and you're not weak, if you suspect that you perhaps have, or had PTSD at one point. I just think that perhaps we don't automatically equate it with its true symptoms. And I really think it's important to work through these issues so you don't have to carry them around on a string, with you, for the rest of your life. Obviously, events shape us and form us, for better or for worse, but you don't have to support the weight or burden on your own. It's okay if you need help cutting that string.

And you might not even realize you have one, cause I sure didn't.

Don't come a knockin...

2010-01-18T23:37:00.003-06:00

Part 1: Rewind back to this past mid-December. One random Sunday morning we wake up to the sound of guitar-playing at 6 in the morning. It sounded like our next door neighbor was practicing guitar solos. For exactly an hour.

Next day, same deal. I start to get annoyed. "What planet is this guy from?" I post in my Facebook status. "Obviously Planet ROCK, Amanda," replied one of my friends.

On the third day of this behavior, I started getting really quite mad and indignant. I go so far as to knocking, quite loudly on the wall. No response, it doesn't stop. At this point I am convinced that my neighbor is on drugs.

Then, I have to stay up nearly all night three days in a row writing final papers. As I crawl into bed, completely exhausted at 4am each night, I am practically homicidal when I hear the same whiny guitar solos at 6am. And they last for an hour.

At this point I sit down, fuming, ready to write a really rude note when I take a deep breath, calm myself down, and write that I apologize for bothering him, but his guitar playing at 6am everyday is interrupting our sleep schedules. And that I can imagine we make noise, too, as we have a dog, and please let us know if we are ever disturbing him. I also congratulate him for being such a disciplined guitar player and suggest that maybe he turn down his amp or play out in the living room.

Well, the note stays taped to his door for two more days, and I think it's a little odd. Then, we go to San Antonio for the night, and when we come back on Sunday, we get a note on our door.

He apologizes profusely, saying how "embarased (sic)" he was and explains that he has been away for the entire week and forgot to turn off his guitar-alarm clock. He offers to buy us "beer or liquere (sic) as compensation for our troubles.

I laugh about it, as well, you know, leaving an alarm clock on is something I would totally do. I write him a cute little holiday card tell him not to worry and that we completely understand and thank him for being so nice about it.

Part 2: As of two weeks ago, Rockin-alarm-clock neighbor seems to have acquired a lady friend. I know this, because, as of two weeks ago, I could hear said lady friend shrieking at the top of her lungs one night around 3:30 in the morning and it woke me up from my sleep. My first instinct was that maybe some woman was being attacked next door, until I heard this accompanied by the bed slamming against the wall. For 15 minutes straight. I'm not even kidding.

Okay, I thought. People have their needs and since said-neighbor seems to be alone most of the time, I thought I'd just let it slide. One night stand? Some girl he picked up at a bar? Who knows, but considering that was the first time I've heard that since we moved in in July, I figured maybe he needed a lucky night or two.

Well, it seems like the lady-friend has become a more permanent fixture, as I was able to hear them talking one evening through the walls. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but while I was trying to read I could hear in their voices it was one of those awkward "we are just starting out in a relationship and getting to know each other" talks where you share your deep secrets and expose yourself to vulnerability. Yeah, so sweet, but uninvited intimacy weirds me out and I had to get my headphones on.

Now, lady-friend has fully earned the title of "Nocturnal Banshee Woman." For three nights straight I have been woken up around 3 or 4 in the morning to the sounds of their headboard slamming into our shared wall and her best renditions of a porno audio track. Seriously.

I don't know what to do. I already wear ear plugs. I'm a horrible sleeper and terribly sensitive to noise. It's been so loud that it has even woken my husband up one night, and another my dog decided to join in with her banshee screams by adding his own barks.

These have been some of the possible ways to deal with the situation that I've dreamt up:

1. Confront Rockin-Alarm-Clock Neighbor either in person (not likely I have the balls for that) or through written correspondence.

Possible notes:

Please tell your Screaming-Banshee lady friend to shut the F up.

P.S. She's faking it.

---------

Dear XXXX:
Hope the sex has been good. We prefer the alarm clock.

2. Pound on wall.

3. Complain to manager / file noise complaint.

4. Take our new Bose Sound System, place it next to our shared wall at 7:30am (a time when normal people, LIKE US, wake up) and blast music. I'm thinking "Holidae Inn" by Snoop Dog featuring Chingy.

5. Print this article and tape it, along with some condoms, to the neighbor's door.

Any advice? What would you do?

Right-brained or ADD?

2010-01-18T17:55:00.001-06:00

And the results:

Right-brained (with major perfectionist issues)

Right-brained or ADD?

2010-01-12T13:06:00.004-06:00

I've always declared, with utmost pride, that I am right-brained. I'm emotional, mercurial, I feel things deeply. While this is something that I love about me, I have sometimes felt somewhat cursed by my thin skin. But I'm really good at imagining myself in situations, stepping back and empathizing with people. While I don't have a wide circle of friends, I do know the people close to me deeply and would give or do anything for them.

I'm also spontaneous and creative. I don't like set schedules, I live by my heart. I have held office jobs and have wanted to poke my eyes out with pens. I do very well working in environments with flexible schedules that involve moving from place to place. I adored my work as a part-time English teacher in Chile, traveling from office to office, interacting with different small groups of people. I loved my students and I think they liked me too. I had a really great way of adapting different activities to different learning styles. And while I hated crowded public transportation, at the same time I adored the daily movement. My routines varied and I loved that freedom.

Because of my ability to come up with fresh perspectives and my flair for interesting writing styles, my professors have always sort of ignored my glaring grammatical errors and own renditions of English/Spanish grammar. However, there are some professors with whom I simply didn't mesh, especially in the English department at Cornell, where I felt snubbed about not knowing how to pronounce certain words or not having mastered different grammar nuances. However, in creative writing classes, I flourished. This is why I never imagined myself in academia.

I'm often late and I cannot bring myself to wear a watch. My nickname in my parent's house is "the hurricane." Everywhere I go I leave strewn objects in my path. I can't seem to remember to turn lights off when I leave a room. My only system of "organization" is piles.

But it does get worse. I suffer from extreme, paralyzing procrastination. No matter how much I know I need to start something, I simply cannot. I wait and wait and wait until the deadline looms and until I have no choice but to panic and then get into "the zone." Usually, I then work, completely focused for extended periods of time without interruption or even caffeine. When I finish, and usually have to bolt like a crazy person to make it to turn in my work, I usually emerge sleep-deprived by triumphant, totally wired and on a natural high.

I also have the very bad habit of starting projects, usually for pleasure, and then totally giving them up half finished. I have a box full of half-knitted objects that I can't seem to give up. I also held on to a half-finished quilt for years that I began in 2003, until my mom finally secretly gave it away to someone who actually knew how to make a quilt (I really had no idea how to sew). I bought tons of books and materials to do crewel work and never even started the first step. I sometimes buy organizational supplies and vow to organize my desk, which usually means taking disorganized piles and separating them into "organized piles" and then usually jump ship and abandon them half-sorted.

You might say, "But I've come to your house and it's impeccable. I don't believe you."

But I've actually mastered the art of the 1 hour power clean, which involves stuffing objects into drawers and deep-cleaning my dwelling like Mrs. Clean on crack. You might marvel at my attention to detail and things like napkins and candles but these are all things that I manage to produce at the last minute, usually after 3 trips to the store because I've forgotten things. (That's where my husband usually comes in handy.)

Well, now that I'm becoming a "real adult" with actually people who must cohabitate with me and suffer my wake, I'm realizing that what I always thought was simply my artistic temperament might actually be a problem. This spring I am facing my Masters comprehensive exams in which I have to prepare a list of over 150 works that span time periods between Latin America and Spain and be prepared to answer 6 essay questions in 6 hours.

Holy shit. Is all I have to say. Some of my peers have been preparing for this exam since last summer. I tried, with all my might, to join them, but I kept showing up to meeting after meeting frazzled and unprepared. After completely blowing off my own responsibilities for the group they kindly suggested that I start my own group with other students who haven't been working with them.

I guess I can't blame them. I don't know how to do things in advance, I don't know how to be organized, I don't know how to look at a list of over 150 works in prose, poetry, novels and short stories and even know how to start organizing their information, let alone comprehensively read them all.

After sobbing to my psychiatrist about how I feel like I just can't accomplish what I know I'm capable of, and explaining how my desk is just covered in crap and I can't bring myself to even begin, she suggested that I get evaluated for Attention Deficit Disorder.

Right-brained or ADD? I have the test on Monday. We'll see what they say.

Moseying on out of TX

2010-01-11T22:59:00.003-06:00

Have I made this announcement yet? ...

No, I don't think I have.

Maybe I made an "extra-official" announcement (my mother in law used that term today, and I thought I'd use it in English) but now it's time for the official, official announcement.

In July, 2010, O., Simon and I are moving to North Carolina!

O. got into the Fuqua School of Business at Duke University!

Now, let me be honest. Sometime around 2006, (say, Duke Lacrosse Scandal) I wanted to spit at the name. But they were found not guilty, right? Yes, it's still the south. Yes, I still feel like I've stepped through the looking glass here in the southern United States. (I'm sorry, Texans, really. It's not me it's you.) So how I am ending up at this place, could it be just as bad? Am I not going to go insane because of the humidity?

Well friends, it's all professional and academic: They have a kickin' MBA program. AND their Spanish program is absolutely amazing. In fact, I applied and am absolutely petrified that I won't be accepted because it's one of the best programs in the country and very competitive. They have THE Ariel Dorfman on their faculty.

O. visited their program last fall and loved it so much he applied Early Action. They have a great international focus, and there are 5 Chileans in this year's entering class. Things just came together and it worked out.

Durham seems to be an up and coming place, near to Chapel Hill and just outside of Raleigh. This whole area is just bustling with industry. I like that there's access to urban, but with a smaller-city feel. Smaller than Austin, Durham is less than half the size.

They also have 3 dog parks (very important) as well as tons of natural areas nearby.

As evidenced by my last post, I have enjoyed Austin and recognize it as a truly amazing city. But, I'm ready to leave. North Carolina is still the south, but it's different, so I've heard. And I'll be only 8 hours away from my family and my beloved Pennsylvania.

In the spirit of my impending farewell to this ~~godawful~~ (oops, did I say that?) state, I leave you a map of the USA, from the TX point of view:

Funny aside: When referring to Texas, I keep accidentally referring to it as "this country." Like I did in Chile. Sometimes, in Spanish, I'll say, "Odio este pais." And I don't think Texans would mind. A lot of them DO think of it as it's own country.

My Austin 10

2010-01-09T22:32:00.003-06:00

Come the end of July, I will have spent two years in what some argue is the Best City in the World... Austin, Texas. Living here has been very nice. After learning that fellow Chile blogger, Sara, will be visiting, I got excited and decided to make a list of my personal top-ten favorites of the Austin area. I'm bound to be leaving something out, and keep in mind I'm not really a fan of barbecue. P.S. Most of these things have to do with food because, that's right, I love to eat.

1. Mexic-Arte Museum

Love this place! Small, intimate. Helps that they let our department have occasional soirees here. Their exhibitions are always fresh, and their annual Dia de los muertos altars are amazing!

2. Zocalo Café

Probably not the "best" Tex-Mex restaurant in Austin, check out lists online for those ones, but this one is informal yet chic. Their homemade frozen sangrias, margaritas and their Horchata is amazing. The salsa is served warm and you can mix your own guacamole. And as an order-at-the-counter kinda place, it has a fabulous ambiance.

3. Quack's Bakery

This is sometimes the only place that gets us out of bed on Sundays. Their pastries are amazing and made from scratch!

4. The Spiderhouse
This place is chocked-full of people who want to look intellectual (is the term "hipster" still valid?) and I think the service really stinks and the food is overpriced, but I love it anyway! Their patio is sooooo kitsch, you can't miss it for that reason. I like to go there and pretend I'm cool.

5. The Trailer Park & Eatery

Food trucks are all over Austin and soooo much fun! This is a whole park of them, and home to Torchy's Tacos, my favorite tacos in Austin! Eating food made out of stationary trucks takes me back to both County Fairs in PA and the Hot Truck from Cornell.

6. South Congress Avenue
This place is soooo Austin. You've got tons of hip hotels, restaurants and shops. On nights out it's the place to be, unless you're an undergrad on east sixth street or a young professional on west sixth street. Or at the ...

7. The Warehouse District
This is my new favorite place to go out. When do I go out? I don't know. But if I were to go out for drinks I'd suggest this sector of Austin because it's really cool and urban. If you've got some money to burn, Tapas at Malaga are phenomenal. I also love the coffee-shop cocktail lounge fusion of Halcyon.

8. Stroll around Town Lake
The Hike and Bike Trails around townlake go through the heart of Austin and are a great way to see most of its mobile inhabitants because I swear to god that everyone walks there. You can start at the famous Congress Avenue Bat Bride, walk through Auditorium shores and then continue on to Zilker Park and ride the train, or cross the bridge and check out Cesar Chavez and the Lamar area. On a weekend, everyone who is anyone is walking/jogging the trails.

9. Dog-friendly: Red Bud Isle
This is a great-sized off-leash dog park (lots of "feces," but no "fences" though). The park is literally peninsula surrounded by water. The walking trail isn't particularly long, but the pups run around and enjoy themselves. The dogs that like the water (and owners alike) have plenty of places to swim and it's just generally a fantastic place to spend the afternoon with your pooch.

10. Movie at the South Lamar Alamo Drafthouse
Dinner and a movie anyone? Fried pickles? Ace Pear Cider?
Best idea ever! This is a movie theatre with tables in front of the seats. Your server walks down below the tables and you write your orders on pieces of paper while the movie is on. They've got all sorts of options and will even do special movie-themed feasts. They even did a Breakfast to Dinner Lord of the rings marathon that lasted 12 hours with a lord of the rings meal for every course. Swoon! (I couldn't go, tickets were like $135. I totally would have, though.) Anyway. If I become a ghost when I die, I will forever haunt this place because I frickin love it. Oh wait, ghosts can't eat, can they?

So, that's my list. Had to leave some definitely favorites off. Maybe others will mention them. So are you an Austinite? Have you been to Austin? Tell me your favs!

What I was missing

2010-01-07T00:19:00.004-06:00

I started taking dance when I was 3, almost turning 4. Dance was such a large part of my life for many years. I loved movement set to music, the creativity of putting together steps to convey emotions. Yet, my dance studio was not a school of performing arts. We put together numbers for the recital at the end of the year, and while I loved my dance teachers, we were limited as to how we could perform and what we could perform. That's to say, while our numbers dazzled and our songs were cutesy, as I got older I felt incredibly limited in the creativity and what I could express in this environment. I would have loved to have danced in a more "serious" forum, where dance could really express human emotion, not just be girls in sequins doing faute turns to Britney Spears songs. But I was already too tall, not skinny enough to really pursue dance seriously. And I'm grateful at this point because I probably would have had an eating disorder. I never could really accept my body until I stopped dancing.

Fast forward to college, it was mostly logical that I would naturally enjoy things like pilates and yoga, as they are closely related to dance. But I realized that, specifically, yoga was more about how I felt on the inside as opposed to how I looked on the outside. While people become physically fit in yoga, no one is ever turned away for being too tall, too short, too fat, etc.

But, my approach to yoga, sadly, felt a lot like how I had learned over many years to approach dance. I focused on flexibility, alignment, moving to the music, even feeling the music. In many ways it became mechanical. While the endorphins that yoga caused my body to release gave me an overall sense of well-being which elevated my mood, my transformation stopped there. It was something new, something exciting. It felt good to be in my body again.

Then, life got hectic, and it was easy to abandon my practice. I longed to get back on the mat, fearing I was losing my stamina, fearing that I had lost all my upper-body strength. But it was easy to abandon it for me, because I wasn't really "in" it.

I got back on the mat last Monday. I know that beginning again after the new year is a cliché, but if that gets me back on the mat, then so be it. But somehow, this time, things are different.

All of my explorations as of late, into empathy, into dreams, into abstract matters which I don't conscientiously explore on a day-to-day basis has gotten me doing a ton of reading. And suddenly things seem to be coming together in weird ways.

I found out that this has a term, it's called synchronicity. It's when sometimes life is just little puzzle pieces fitting into a big picture. It's the realization that everything, however random it might seem, happens for a reason. It's sounds so cheesy, but when you can step back from things and see how it's all flowing together, for me, at least, it gives me a sense of continuity, of security.

But back to the yoga. Since going back to yoga this week, it seems to have fit together in ways I never understood, with other aspects of my life. Since exploring empathy, since exploring psychic tendencies that everyday people experience, I have begun to realize that these are things that are all related.

Yoga, before the physical postures and the flexibility, has to do with something much deeper. While I understood the concept of "prana" I never realized that this is the same energy that we sense in other people. I knew about chakras, but I had no idea that so-called "auras" correspond to the chakras. For me, I couldn't associate the physical and the mental, the emotional and the spiritual. I simply couldn't wrap my mind around it.

Yes, when doing yoga, I felt sensations. My body felt good. But when people talked about being "centered" I automatically associated that with simply centering my "balance" but didn't let that balance reach into my interior of exterior surroundings.

I went to a fascinating yoga class called "Hatha and Meditation" where we did some postures, then completed meditation and relaxation exercises. We focused on the "root" chakra, and in the upcoming classes we'll explore the rest. Later, I started reading the book, "The Psychic Energy Codex: A Manual For Developing Your Subtle Senses" by Michelle Belanger, which really allowed me to put the two together. We are physical, but we are also energy.

My grasp on this, until recently was so western. I couldn't fit together the parts. Physical. Energy. Body. Spirit.

I don't know why it was so hard to grasp, it seems so simple.

These realizations have allowed me to have some really fascinating conversations with Oscar. He's such a wise person, with a real penchant for things like philosophy and physics, and I feel like these things have allowed me to connect with him on such a deeper level. Last night we went to the yoga class together, and he found it to be really interesting.

Yesterday, I left for yoga thinking, "I'm really in need of a teacher." Maybe I just felt so lost and so disconnected from everything. As an agnostic, I don't really have a spiritual grounding in my life. I knew it was lacking, but like my experience as a dancer, I just didn't have the place for it to fit.

I think I'm finally taking the steps I'm supposed to, and in a way I've found what I was missing.

My Favorite Splurges

2010-01-02T23:05:00.004-06:00

I try to live a simple life without too many unnecessary material possessions. Okay, I lie. I'm just as materialistic as your next American. But we tend to try and save our money. This is something new for me. It's just not a part of my nature. But my business-minded, Chilean husband is trying to make me less of an impulse buyer.

However, there are a few splurges in my life that have been worth every single penny.

1. My Macbook Pro

They don't make my model anymore. I got it in the Spring of 2007. It's a great computer. I've had Apple laptops since 2003 and I'll never go back to a PC. Dependable, good-looking and easy-to-use. What more can you ask for from a computer? Even though it's two-and-a-half-years-old, my only problem has been battery power. I've gone through two batteries and I'm definitely in need of a third.

2. Honda Fit Sport

Except for the clunky Suburban nightmare I had to drive to school when I was 16 (that sadly got hit by a school bus, the only vehicle other than am army tank that could possibly destroy it), I've always driven (courtesy of my parents) a Honda. So in 2008 when I was looking for a new car, I wanted to stay loyal to the brand since those cars have surely been loyal to me. Buying a Honda is like buying a friend for life. Two years ago my Dad was able to sell the 1996 Accord that I drove with over 160,000 miles on it. They are just great, great, cars. When we are eventually employed we want to get a hybrid, but we're keeping this car for Oscar's daughter. You can literally run these cars into the ground. They never stop!

3. Le Creuset Cookware

I love my circular Le Creuset cast-iron pot and display it proudly on my stove top. And it's not just for show. It's the single-most used piece of cookware in my kitchen. It's virtually indestructible and I plan on passing them down in my will. "Them" because I plan on investing in more and more, once my kitchen storage space and our budget expands.

4. Hugger Mugger Tapas Performance Mat

I got this mat as per a recommendation from my Ashtangi neighbor. It was formerly called "Mandara" -- now it's same mat, new name. I like brisk, spirited practices that generally come along with lots of sweat, so I was slipping and sliding around on my $20 Gaiam mat. This mat isn't just thicker and provides more cushion, but it also prevents slipping. Of course, for really athletic practices I still need to use a yogitoes for extra grip.

5. Camper Shoes

Considering the price of shoes these days, I don't know if these Spanish beauties qualify as splurges, but I keep going back and back to this brand of footwear for its original and whimsical designs. I got my first pair after stumbling into their store in Rome adjacent to the Spanish steps. Every single pair I own gets me tons of compliments. I especially loved them because when my favorite pair of sandals literally split in half, I was able to send them back with no receipt to the factory, from Chile, mind-you, and receive a $250 credit for any pair of shoes that I wanted in return. If that isn't great customer service I don't know what is!

6. Bose iPod Speakers SoundDock® Series II digital music system

I guess you could say that I had never really heard my favorite songs until I hear them from these speakers. There's an incredible depth of sound that I couldn't find in another models that ran for $100 and less. So we splurged. My Dad is obsessed with Bose Systems and now I can really see why. I never knew such a little speaker could produce so much sound! One reviewer of this product said, "This isn't my first purchase of iPod speakers, but it will be my last." I concur.

What are some of your favorite splurges?

Empathic tendencies

2009-12-28T23:49:00.002-06:00

I've been really shaken up about my ability last month to dream things that were actually happening. They were not precognitive dreams. I didn't dream about events that were going to happen in the future. Instead, I dreamed about people with whom I've had contact in the past and somehow intercepted actual information from them. My last dream happened on December 9th when I dreamed about a friend whom I saw the next day. In my dream he had on a yamaka. The next day I told him about my dream because it seemed so humorous. And he revealed that over the past weekend he actually had been wearing a yamaka. Keep in mind he's not Jewish. It was so strange that I didn't believe him, but he swore that he did have on a yamaka.

Shortly thereafter I changed my dosage of my medications and the dreams have since stopped completely.

The main reason I started undergoing therapy and taking medication was due to anxiety and hair-pulling, as I mentioned in the past. Part of me suspected that I actually had social anxiety as well, due to my aversion to groups of people, especially crowded, urban environments. But in the past few days I've been reading some stuff about "Empaths", or highly sensitive or intuitive people and I think I might be onto something.

I discovered this questionnaire at an Empath website.

Some of the side effects listed are uncanny. I experience all of them, but then there's this one: "Have physical symptoms that related to hearing (ringing, popping, itching in the ear canal)." I had never thought about this, but it brought back a memory from when I was younger:

When I was maybe 13 or 14, I was staying with my grandmother and aunts and we stopped to visit the house of a family friend. She was really happy to see us and invited us into her house. We entered from the backyard where she had a fence and her older German Shepherd was. He was paralyzed from the waist down and had to drag himself around. Seeing him, I automatically felt overwhelming nausea. She invited us inside the house and asked if we would go in and see her mother. She explained that she was very ill and frail, but that she loved to see children and that she would be delighted to see me and my brother. We entered the room where she was bedridden, right off the kitchen. We went in and she was lying in bed, covered in white bed clothes. She was weak and emaciated. She mustered a smile and drew my brother and me closer so she could see us.

At some point my aunt had asked me to hold her purse, and I had it over my shoulder. For some reason, after I had entered that room, I felt light-headed and dizzy. I couldn't think of an excuse to leave the room so I told my aunt that I wanted to put her purse in the car. My ears starting buzzing and then the ringing became louder and louder. She was confused and told me that she didn't want her purse in the car, but I kept insisting and stumbled back into the kitchen. At this point the ringing became deafening and all I could remember was my vision going brown. My aunt caught me as I passed out.

The energy from that poor old woman's room was too much for me. When I came to, the friend apologized to me and said, "I'm sorry, I think there's just too much death in this house." She gave me a creamsicle and my grandma and aunt drove me home. The old woman died shortly thereafter, but I'm not sure when.

It's just something to think about, I guess. It makes me wonder, though, how much of what I feel is me and how much is the people around me. It might explain the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I get around certain people, why I know automatically when I'm not wanted and the overwhelming, light-headed feeling I experience in crowded places. Why in certain hotels I couldn't sleep with overwhelming senses of dread and why all of my boyfriends/friends/husband have been exceptionally chill people. And why I can't stand to be around people with tense, nervous energy.

And yes, if you aren't already convinced I'm a little batty, I don't see how this doesn't seal the deal for you.

Getting ready, set...

2009-12-16T13:52:00.002-06:00

I'm a little bummed. Last Friday I ordered a Kipling Travel Tote, thinking it would make it here by Wednesday for my trip. The estimated date said today, so I was excited. But I just checked the FedEx shipping status and it's sitting in Dallas and the date was bumped to tomorrow--1 day late to make it on the plane with me. Now I have to find some kind of spacious tote since Simon is going to take the place of a regular carry-on. Might just have to backpack it.

I have problems, I admit it, throwing down a lot of moolah on my dog. I just got him a cute little coat for the cold in PA since it's going to be quite frigid and the poor little guy has never experienced winter. Then I got my parents a chew toy for their puppy, Jax, because he's a Labrador and those things are chew crazy. I also got samples of Orijen Large Puppy food since that's the brand we've been buying for Simon. We actually have been mixing his Innova Puppy Food with Orijen 6 Fish for Dog since he was getting a little bit pudgy on the rich puppy food and we needed to transition him to adult.

I've packed his Molly Mutt bed, his 3 kongs with treats, his chew toys and his skineez rabbit. I have his health certificate (just in case), his travel bowls, his gentle leader collar, his leash, his sedative pills, 14 days of food measured out into bags, his pee pads for the trip, as well as his Reindeer Antlers. All this... and now I have barely any room for my own stuff!

It's like having a baby. Seriously. I need that tote because it was going to be like my Doggie Diaper Bag!

I am a crazy puppy momma. I fear the day I have children.

Traveling with Pets

2009-12-15T01:47:00.005-06:00

I like to think of myself as an experienced traveler. I haven't traveled nearly as much as a lot of people have, like, for example my grandmother who has been literally everywhere, but I have put in a lot of flight time in my 25 years. Especially in the last 5. Things have calmed down quite a bit, but while in my last three years of college I was flying back and forth between Chile, the US, Europe, Arizona, and the East Coast too many times to count. I've also done a lot of "budget" travel -- that means tons of connections with odd layover times. I can't remember the last time I actually flew on a direct flight.

But this Thursday, I'm embarking on a whole new adventure. I've traveled alone, I've traveled with my spouse. I've even traveled with his daughter. But now, I'm going to be traveling with Simon.

Simon is my seven month old Beagle-Chihuahua (aka cheagle) mix. And thank god, he's just small enough to still ride in the cabin. (I hope.)

I hadn't planned on returning to Pennsylvania for the holidays since we're saving our pennies for Oscar's business school and we're planning on going out to Durham, NC in March (the place where we are moving in July) for the Duke MBA program Welcome Weekend and to check out where we'd like to live. But my fabulous aunts surprised us with tickets, and even said that they'd pay for Simon to fly, as well. It's still a surprise for my parents so don't tell... I was elated since I miss my family a lot and haven't seen them since last Christmas.

But then I was slightly panicking because I hadn't even considered all that goes into flying with a pet.

When I called to make the reservations for him on our flight, I spoke to this rude woman named Rosario from continental. I wanted to ask if perhaps she was Chilean because her attitude took me back, man. Although it wasn't written anywhere on the website, she insisted that dogs over 10 lbs. couldn't fly in the cabin. When I pressed and said that I hadn't seen that rule anywhere and that my dog only weighs 15 lbs. she then said that I can try but he has to be shipped if he doesn't fit under the seat.

A huge contrast was Delta, the only airline with which I have flights on my way there. They were great and explained that as long as my dog fits under the seats there is no problem with him flying in-cabin.

A lot of people are scared about flying their pets, and after some research I've learned that almost all the injuries or deaths that occur are usually in cargo. I haven't come across any problems in-cabin. And I know that in-cabin pets are touchy, so I went to Simon's vet to talk about possible ways to keep him calm and quiet on the flight. He had no problem giving Simon sedatives as long as he wasn't riding in cargo, and I'm hoping that Continental won't give me problems with his size.

I also bought and returned 3 different carriers. There are so many different kinds, but after trying to maximize the amount of space that Simon would have and still find something compliant with the sizes permitted in cabin, I decided to go with a SturdiBag Pet Carrier. Assembling it was much like putting up a tent, and I was really pleased when Simon just crawled in and laid down to take a nap. He really likes small spaces and there's tons of room on his sides for him to curl up in any which way.

Although my dog weighs roughly 15 lbs., he's a tall little guy. His body is only 16 inches, but his legs are 11! This was a big problem since dogs need to be able to stand up and turn around in their carriers. This one ended up being the best because it's 12 inches high, but then squishes to fit underneath the seat. I also love that there's an opening for him to poke his head out of.

That being said, my dog is a little escape artist. He's opened his Precision pet wire kennel before and gotten loose in the house, and it took him 5 minutes of a practice run in the car to figure out how to unzip the bag (despite there even being zipper locks) and get out. After seeing him in action I was 100% sure that we'd need the sedatives. What cracks me up, though is that as long as the bag is open he loves to hang out in it, it's just the closing that he does not like (much like his kennel).

This is a picture of Simon in one of the carriers that didn't make the cut. It wasn't strong enough, I felt that he was about to bust out of it. Thank goodness Petsmart took it back, because a lot of places won't due to flea issues.

As you can see, he has abnormally long arms.

So, I'll let you all know how to goes. I think I'll be taking photos. I hope it goes well because being able to fly with him in cabin is so helpful.

If you're interested in information about traveling with pets, check out DogJaunt. They have all the information you could ever need!

How Santiago Hardened me (Made me street smart?)

2009-12-09T05:06:00.003-06:00

Here at The University of Texas at Austin we have a little sector just outside of the university called "The Drag." If you're familiar with Austin I'm referring to the stretch of "Guadalupe" (which Texans pronounce as "Gwa-da-loop") that runs parallel to the university. It's where you find the student bookstore, lots of hip little restaurants, cafes and bars, an American Apparel and Urban Outfitters with hipster garb-galore, vintage shops, and so on. Also where lots of buses run and have stops, and I happen to walk through it nearly everyday on my way to school.

It's also where you find a lot of people pan-handling for money. Why they choose this sector? I don't know. I personally am offended when someone hits me up for money every single day. Usually the person is barely older than me, with some punk haircut and piercings with combat boots and cigarette stains on their fingernails. I want to say, Why me? We barely make ends meet enough as it is, and as selfish as this sounds any extra pennies, even, get saved to go toward my step-daughter's Chilean school, since it costs an arm and a leg. My husband and I do donate money, but we unfortunately can't donate as much as we'd like, and I'd certainly rather give it to established programs rather than to people on the street.

Occasionally, though, there will be someone who is even more bold than passively saying, "Do you have a little spare change," which really doesn't bother me that much. They will follow you, calling out, "Miss!!!" (like what happened to me yesterday).

Or even worse, a few days prior, a young, clean-cut looking guy standing on a corner next to an ATM, actually called out to me, saying, "Hey! You with the furry hood! You dropped something!"

I spun around, and glanced at the street behind me seeing nothing I had dropped and made eye contact with him. He then called out, "I just have a question, I promise I'm not a bum on the street!"

In a split second I realized that I hadn't dropped anything, that he was lying to get my attention, and the combination of a liar next to an ATM spelled out trouble. I couldn't even help it, as a gut reaction, I gave him a mean look and held up my hand in a stop signal, something I used often in Italy to mean, "Basta!" (Enough!) He immediately turned away and shut up and let me continue on my way.

Continuing my walk, though, I thought about why they target the student population, rather than people who actually have money in more affluent sectors. I speculated that students are probably a lot more naive and likely to give them money. And I realized that my freshman year, never having lived in a city and quite sweet, I probably would have given them money. Prior to living in Santiago, I was quite an idealist. I didn't have much experience living in cities-- in my hometown I can't say I've ever seen someone begging --and thus thought that people begging for money are in critically desperate situations and would have wanted to help.

In Santiago, I passed dozens of mothers breast feeding babies on the metro stairs on my way to work, blind people, people missing limbs... all asking for money, and all probably really needing it. Little old women, children, people playing instruments. Eventually I had to turn off my sympathy, because otherwise I would have given away all of my money. I felt conflicted about this for a while, until I read a quote from Pablo Neruda talking about how he despises beggars because they create the illusion that by giving them money you're actually committing a charitable act and thus making a difference in your society. Probably a bad excuse, but I just had to affix my gaze and push onward each and every time. Eventually it stops affecting you and sadly you reach a point where you hardly notice it anymore.

I do believe that these "beggars" along Guadalupe do need the money in some sense, but when you're a punk kid who stops me on my way to class, you either infuriate me or make me want to laugh in your face. I want to say, "What do you take me as? Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look here in comparison to the woman who used to sit on Manuel Montt with three kids on a tattered blanket... asking for money?" If you're even more "patudo" (probably a scam artist) and actually try and trick me into lending you cash from an ATM I'm sorry but I'm not that dumb! This heart has hardened, my friend.

But yes, I realized that my heart has hardened.

I don't really know what I think about that, but I turned 25 yesterday and I guess I'm a little older and seasoned. I think I have sort of a baby-sweet face which is probably why a lot of those people target me on the street. But dude, I'm old and jaded. Don't bother me, street punks! Let me walk in peace.

----------------------

Despite the fact that I don't give out spare change on the street, I do like to support organizations or individuals that at least strive to promote a more sustainable social change. I don't know why it has to be fancy, either. Don't forget about your local food banks! At this time of year they are often hard-pressed for nutritious, healthy options. Some even accept produce, so check and see what they most need at this time of year!

The thanksgiving report

2009-11-27T00:32:00.003-06:00

My mom flew down to Texas to spend Thanksgiving with us, leaving my dad and my brother back in Pennsylvania with the puppy. Upon leaving the airport, one of her first observations was, "Austin is so dry..."

But, mom! I said, it's green compared to last summer!

But it's true. Pennsylvania is so lush and green. I miss that.

I splurged on the turkey since we were having guests. I got a fresh, free-range organic turkey and brined it myself over night in a mixture of juniper berries, fennel seeds, coriander and riesling wine. It took nearly 4 hours to finally reach the right temperature, and we were all starving by the time we sat down at the table at 8:30pm to finally eat. But it was delicious and worth the wait.

My favorite dish, though, is the cranberry relish. We use frozen cranberries chopped with an entire orange and some sugar and water. So wonderful and refreshing! And the pumpkin pie was splendid, even though hardly anyone had room.

I feel like a real adult now that I'm hosting Thanksgiving and cooking for my mother. Christmas will be similar, we'll spend our first holiday completely alone with our own tree. It's exciting, though, to start traditions.

It's official

2009-11-22T23:40:00.003-06:00

As of this past Friday I found out we are moving to the East Coast!

Right now, it's between North Carolina and Pennsylvania.

I have my preferences (might surprise you, but it's all professional) but we'll see what happens.

I'll admit, I'm scared of the south. Texas was enough for me. But I've heard that North Carolina is a fabulous place to live. And O. was shocked at how kind people were when he visited.

We should know by mid-December, which is coming up quickly!

Bad things happening to good people.

2009-11-17T23:49:00.002-06:00

I can't really go into specifics about much of this, out of respect for the people it's about. The first issues isn't as touchy, just tragic. Someone with whom I graduated high school died this week. We were never really friends. We had mutual friends and I remember skiing with him in groups decades ago. In 2006 or so, he fell two stories after a balcony railing gave way, and he became paralyzed from the waist down. This week he died from complications due to paralysis. Since this happened I have been living in other states and countries and maintain little contact with people from high school other than a few people. So although I had heard about his accident, I had no idea he was in a wheelchair, or that he continued to have problems for years after that. I think his death came as a shock to everyone. Especially my best friend who saw him a few weeks ago, alive and well.

I think this hits home in a selfish way. He was my age, and I feel way too young to die. Is this my memento mori, leading into a carpe diem... seize the day because one day you will die?

Aside from that, I recently found out that one of my mentors from Cornell has suffered a serious of personal losses. In a way that I think very few people could withstand. Then, I found out other personal things about my other mentor that are also painful and difficult to get through. More than what has happened to these people, I just feel so terrible and cannot stop thinking about them. So much that I was up staring at the ceiling last night.

Here come the clichés: Why do bad things happen to good people? They say, "God only gives you as much as you can stand" but I just can't see meaning in all of it. It's not fair, plain and simple. "Life is not fair," is something I hear my father saying over and over again, and probably will continue hearing forever.

End clichés. What else can we say about these things other than just describe the dull pain one feels in their gut, when you're just sad for someone. Not pity, just sad.

Music in Almodovar...

2009-11-17T22:14:00.002-06:00

I am taking a queer theory class and we're studying Almodovar's films/music.

Enjoy.

I wish I had the clip of the movie that this song is in. It's awesome. It's a little girl in an 80s first holy communion dress being pulled across the stage while her transsexual guardian acts out on stage.

2009-11-13T21:33:00.002-06:00

Just an observation:

I think it's funny that Chileans think you need to put things like candy canes and chocolate chip cookies in the refrigerator, but then leave out meat and leftovers for days.

Oh, international marriages. :)

(My response to finding my husband's half-eaten candy cane in the fridge and the soup I made yesterday on the stove.)

Who I really am

2009-11-10T23:19:00.002-06:00

Re: Sara's Post

Where are you from, originally?

State College, PA! Probably don't know where that is, right? Think Penn State University. (No, not UPenn). Think Happy Valley, Nittany Lion Football. Appalachian Mountains, lots of cows, dairy farms, rolling mountains, green. Smell of manure in the air. I love it. Most people who have lived there do.

Why do you constantly talk about Chile?

I studied abroad there, interned then, worked there, got married there. My hubby is Chilean. I study Chilean Literature. My best friend from high school is Chilean (but born in the USA). As my friend from grad school said, "You're Chilean by proxy."

Where and what do you study?

I did my undergrad at Cornell. I am a Cornellian, through and through. I encourage just about anyone and everyone to apply there. I double-majored in English and Spanish. I minored in Latin American studies. I almost had a History major and a Feminist Gender and Sexuality studies minor under wraps, but I had to give up at some point. Did I mention I love Cornell?

I am currently in the M.A. Program for Hispanic Lit at UT Austin. I'm a little more ambivalent about Texas and graduate school in general, unfortunately.

I am thinking about graduate school at The University of Texas at Austin. Tell me about your experience.

Students are very friendly and buena onda. Austin is a great, fun city. The University is large, though. I'm not really used to that. I say shoot for smaller programs with fewer students and better funding. If you want more details shoot me a comment and we'll talk because I'm not entirely convinced.

Is it true you have a kid?

Kind of like the Chilean question. No children of my own, just mom (stepmom) by proxy. She's 10. Yes, that means I was only 14 years old when she was born. I do have a dog, though, who is kid of like my own child covered in fur.

What are your short term goals?

Make the pile of dishes in the kitchen disappear. Move back to the East Coast (subsequently leaving Texas). Pass my MA comp exam in the spring. Get my dog to stop peeing on the bathroom floor.

What are your long term goals?

Not move anywhere close to Texas ever again. Have a residence in Chile and in the United States and get the best of the seasons on both sides of the globe. Become fluent in Portuguese. Get a tenure-track job and publish a book on Chile women writers. Maybe pop out a kid or two. Get a nana because I HATE/DESPISE/ABHOR cleaning.

More weirdness

2009-11-04T00:44:00.002-06:00

I have a really bad habit. When people introduce themselves to me, I'm usually too distracted by other things upon meeting to pay attention to their names. I have to make a huge effort to remember them. However, if I see the name, such as, by a name tag, I'm more likely to remember it.

Tonight we had an prospective MBA dinner. I went as the wife. I wanted to get a feel for the program, and the people. I feel very protective of my husband, and still want to make sure that my country is good to him. I know that sounds strange, but I didn't want him to go alone and have people be snotty to them.

They weren't, though. We had a really lovely time. But that's not the point of this entry.

Weird things have been happening to me, lately. In fact, they just aren't surprising me anymore because they happen on almost a weekly basis right now.

We met a couple there. Now, I started speaking to them, alone, while my husband spoke with someone else. I sort of went to a little table to take a bite of food, and they approached me and introduced themselves. I was caught off guard, and like usual did not hear their names.

But that's not the weird part. My husband joined us and I shot a quick glance at the man's name tag in order to introduce him. But then, I realized I had no idea what the woman's name was and I couldn't see her name tag. I closed my eyes and tried to rack my brain for what I had heard.

Claudia popped into my head.

This is ... and his wife, Claudia, I said.

They both shot me a glance. I'm actually ... said, the woman. Dammit, I thought, how embarrassing.

But then the woman looked at me strangely. "That's really weird, though, that you called me that. That's actually his sister's name, though, that's really weird."

I apologized, but I couldn't help but think, "Goodness, these things are happening to me all the time, lately."

Everybody's had these little coincidences, right? I've had quite a few in my life. But the fact that they are happening to me on a semi-regular basis now is just plain weird.

Let's see what else happened, recently. My brother in law lives in Switzerland.
My husband and I speak to him once a week through Skype. Sometimes it's hard to find a time to talk because of the time difference.

Well, the other day, I woke up with the desire to hear a song by Eduardo Gatti. I'm not really sure why this song was stuck in my head. I haven't heard it in ages. So I looked it up in Youtube and listened to a few live versions of it, until I found a recent cover that Icalma and Gepe made of the song for the movie Turistas. I was totally excited because Turistas is by a chilean director named Alicia Scherson, who released her first movie, Play, while I was in Chile in 2005. I loved this movie, so I got really excited that she has a new one coming out. I told my husband and we listened to the song and watched the trailers. I liked it so much, I put it on my facebook.

The next day, I saw that my brother in law was online, so we called him and we were chatting. I sent him the link to the new "Los momentos" video while he and my husband talked about something else.

Then he stopped, and said, "Where did you see that?"

I explained that I was looking for Eduardo Gatti videos on YouTube and that I saw it come up.

That's so weird, he told me. Just yesterday I was telling a friend about Eduardo Gatti and we were listening to the same song, and found the same cover.

My husband misheard him, and said, "Oh, did you see it on Amanda's Facebook?"

And he responded, "No, nada que ver." Then we determined that this conversation that he was having, and the moment that he was listening to the songs was actually while we were sleeping (time difference, right). And that's when I woke up with a weird desire to listen to Eduardo Gatti.

I know that this might sound ridiculous, maybe these are just small things that have logical explanations. But when every week you have these weird little experiences where your brother in law send you mental sound bites, and when you have dreams about random people in high school getting married, when it actually happens, it's just too strange!

I'll admit, as a child I had really weird déjà vu happen a lot. A lot of times I would dream something and then have parts of it repeat in actual life. Sometimes that still happens to me, but I usually brush it off. Call me crazy if you want, but I just don't know what to make of this.

If nothing else, enjoy the music videos, and don't be surprised if someone sends them to you randomly tomorrow:

Santiago longing

2009-10-26T00:52:00.004-05:00

My belly is full of organic apples and almond butter with fresh coconut sprinkled on top. I can get whole spices in bulk and make my own curries, and today at the supermarket I saw 10 different kinds of pumpkin for sale for Halloween. If my life didn't revolve so much around food I could probably get by with a life in Santiago. That, and if I never had to leave my apartment.

No, but really, I miss Santiago.

I wouldn't call myself a city person, but I do enjoy cities. And I'm missing that city in particular.

We haven't been back since we left in April, 2008. And that's beginning to seem like a long time ago.

Santiago has a certain pulse, and as my best friend Magdalena says, it has a certain smell. (No, not the smog.) I miss Manuel Montt, I miss walking outside at 1am on a weekend and seeing people around. I miss the outdoor cafés, I miss people watching. I sometimes even miss people serenading me on the micro.

I miss our old apartment, weekend trips to Viña del Mar. I miss the wine... so much. I miss Bellavista's fancy restaurants and little hole in the wall picadas.

I miss people. Lots of people. Some are still there, some are not, some have moved on.

I miss the Chilean accent, seeing the virgen lit up at night from my apartment, I miss Casa&Ideas.

I even miss the Sunday afternoon stroll down Antonio Varas to my in laws house. The smell of my mother in law's laundry and the cold wooden floors of spring.

Santiago is the city where I fell in love. I became an adult in that city, in many ways when I went to Santiago I started a new life.

I miss it. Please pour yourself a vinito tinto and think of me. Cause I'm missing you, Chile, it took over a year and a half of absence to make this heart grow fonder.

You might think that hell has frozen over

2009-10-25T15:47:00.002-05:00

I miss Santiago.

Crazy dreams, continued.

2009-10-23T15:46:00.003-05:00

Last night I had a dream about a person that I literally have not seen or thought about in an eternity.

Someone who has never really even been that much of a friend. An acquaintance.

I dreamt that I was at a someone's wedding, in this crazy dress, and that his whole family was there.

In all honesty, it was too weird and I decided to google him today when I got home from school. I just couldn't figure out why I would dream about this particular person. It was too bizarre.

Well, first I looked him up on facebook to no avail, he didn't seen to have an account. Then, I googled his name, fearing that maybe he had died or something.

No, though, actually, it was something else. His twin brother just got married sometime this past month (couldn't find a specific date).

At first I thought that maybe I learned about the wedding somehow indirectly, but I really can't say I have. I literally have not thought about these people since I left high school.

How random is that?

Francés

2009-10-20T10:28:00.002-05:00

I woke up this morning feeling absolutely ill. I don't think it's the swine flu because it's all in my stomach, aside from the migraine like headache. I thought I'd go to school anyway, but within 15 minutes I realized that wasn't going to be possible.

But I'm not writing about being sick. Instead I'm writing to tell you all a strange little detail.

Next semester I'm learning French.

French! French. I've never really had any desire to learn French. In fact, the only reason I'm taking it is due to scheduling conflicts. I always thought that my fourth language would be Italian. (For a PhD you must know two languages in addition to English and Spanish.) But no, plain and simple it's going to be French.

But that's okay. My brother in law and his girlfriend live in the French part of Switzerland, and someday, once we're not so poor, we will go there. And I've always had dreams of the french countryside and fields of Lavender and such.

So, there it is. French.

The puppy

2009-10-19T23:45:00.001-05:00

I want to be a stay at home puppy mom.

But that would be crazy.

But I would love it.

Sigh, I love Simon so much, it's kind of ridiculous!

Mujer sonambula

2009-10-09T10:34:00.004-05:00

One of the less common side effects of Cymbalta is sleepiness.

I take my dose in the early afternoon as per the directions of my psychiatrist. See, it makes most people wired, so she was adamant that I take it on the earlier side of things. But, for me, it makes my eyelids droopy. I literally will be sitting in class falling asleep sitting up. Several classmates keep asking me if I am okay, since I'm not normally like this.

Yesterday I fell asleep in the library while trying to finish El beso de la mujer araña (which I highly recommend). I had on a dress, so it was kind of embarrassing when I woke up to find my butt sticking up in the air with my underwear showing. Luckily no one was sitting very close to me and so I don't think they noticed. I know a lot of people fall asleep in the library, but I'm one of those people who cannot fall asleep sitting up. I literally have to be on my stomach, completely horizontal, with my pillow. A few occasions when I have successfully fallen asleep sitting up included traveling for more than 36 hours without sleeping, and even in that case I fell asleep leaning on the poor woman beside me. (Luckily she didn't seem to mind after I had explained my horrible travel ordeal).

On Wednesdays I have 6 hours of class, straight through. This day is brutal.

My temporary relief has been espresso. I'm not normally a caffeine addict. Caffeine usually makes me jittery and restless. However, I've found that if I have my dose with a latte it usually cancels out the effects.

However, even if I have my espresso at 3pm I usually have trouble sleeping that night.

And that brings me to my second reason for writing this post. When I do sleep, I have been having the most realistic, crazy dreams. Sometimes, in my dreams, really strange things would happen and I would constantly be telling myself (in my dreams) oh it's okay, you're just dreaming. But in these dreams, I literally cannot differentiate them from reality. Of course, they are dreams and rather illogical when you wake up, but so many details are so close to real life that when awake I can't remember what has actually happened and what was a dream.

The other night, an acquaintance from my department had a cameo in my dreams. Nothing significant. I saw him yesterday and while making friendly conversation I almost alluded to something I had dreamed about until I stopped myself and questioned, "Wait, was that real or not?"

One of my more recent dreams:

I get sick so I go into the student health center to get tested for Swine Flu. The student health center of my dreams is exactly like the actual center I've been to dozens of times before. They take a swab from my nose. And I go home. The next day I get an email.

"We apologize for the inconvenience. Your H1N1 test was accidentally submitted to the wrong testing service. Instead they have conducted a DNA fingerprint test using the DNA collected from your nasal passages. Please review the results below:

- Match 1: 80% Hispanic descent
- Match 2: 20% North Carolina Caucasian"

In my dream, this is perfectly logical. I call O. and declare our shared heritage. I call my mom and we decide that this is a sign that I'm moving to North Carolina next.

Ok, so, good so far, this is a dream. Makes sense since O. was in North Carolina last weekend and I found my Aunt's DNA fingerprint profile while cleaning out my computer folders the other day.

But then, things get blurry. For some reason, while awake, I'm confused about whether or not I have, in fact, been tested for H1N1. I also, almost blurt out to someone that my family must have originated in North Carolina.

These dreams are long and sustained, unlike my normal dreams that are less realistic, choppy and blend into each other. I also remember these dreams. When I wake up and go back to sleep, they continue where they left off. This almost makes me really want to sleep in so that I can go back to them and see what happens.

Losing touch with reality? I hope not. Turning into the woman from Medium? I hope not. Although, one of my dreams had to do with a news article I read and I felt like writing into the tip hotline to tell them what my dream showed me. But, I think perhaps it was just based on that article... I hope, at least.

I'm going to try and get this medication thing worked out so that I stopped feeling like a sleepwalker. Until then, I guess I'll try and let my subconscious run wild.

The Appalachians and Matt Bauer

2009-10-05T13:39:00.003-05:00

I have been thinking a lot, lately, about the mountains where I grew up. The Appalachians start in Canada and stretch all the way down into the deep south. If you look at a map, you'll see that they encompass almost my entire state.

For most of my childhood the mountains were sources of endless stories, mythical creatures and Indian legends. A lot of these tales I heard from my father who has spent his entire life in the area, knows tons of people from the more rural areas and knows just about every local story from countless hours of chatting over coffee on his business trips. When I was younger he'd take me hiking in the mountains where we'd pass old abandoned houses of settlers, iron furnaces in the middle of the forest, and he'd tell me stories of Indian princesses and massacres.

It's no surprise, then, knowing this, that The Blair Witch Project was positively the scariest thing I had ever seen... granted that most of the local lore from that movie resembled the stories from my childhood. I literally could not go to the bathroom alone after seeing that movie.

But really, the mountains of my home region represent this transitive space, fusing beauty and darkness, well-known trails and unknown spaces, home and mystery all at once.

Sing-songwriter Matt Bauer, a performer I saw a week or so ago at the (awful) Jolie Holland concert, really twang a chord in my heart. His music has that Appalachian sound, and it made sense to find that he grew up in Kentucky. Obviously, Pennsylvania doesn't have the reputation of being so back-home country as Kentucky, but really, in some of the rural places close to where I grew up, you'd be surprised.

Bauer composed an entire album inspired by the unsolved murder of an unidentified girl close to where he grew up. The Island Moved in the Storm sounds so much like home it makes my heart ache with homesickness.

These haunting songs remind me, in particular, of a ghost story my father tells. About a spirit of a young woman he saw running through the woods, one very early morning while sitting under a tree hunting, before sunrise. She was a gray figure that he saw plain as day floating through the trees before him.

My father also has talked about abandoned dogs which formed packs in the woods. People took them to the mountains and leave them there so that they wouldn't be able to find their ways home. (Think pre-SPCA days, we're talking the 70s.) He said many nights camping he would hear them howling in the night, and he'd leave food out for them, but they'd never dare come into his campsite.

I think so much of the spirit of the mountains is like that. Pieces of history and time that have been left behind. They still loom around me, even though I'm thousands of miles away. It's like I'll always walk about with that landscape wrapped around me.

A lot like my husband and his Andes. For our mountains are just "cerros" (hills) he says.

But for me and Matt Bauer, they are so much more.

A matter of probability

2009-10-05T11:42:00.003-05:00

We might be moving... again. But this time it's not to just a different apartment. We're talking another state.

The chances are 5 in 6, let me put it that way!

There's a 3 in 6 chance we'll be moving to States I've already resided in.

2 in 6 we'll still live in the south.

2 in 6 chance we'll still be living in a major metropolitan area.

2 in 6 chance we'll be in my home state.

5 in 6 chance we'll be back on the East coast.

And 1 in 6 chance I'll be returning to my alma mater.

Any guesses as to the 6 places we might be moving?

The quiet

2009-09-29T18:50:00.002-05:00

There are so many ups and downs to depression. I've been making a point not to write when I'm feeling very down. I don't like to dump negative energy out into the world. We don't need anymore of that! But this really translates into not writing much of anything at all. Or writing entries and then deleting them before they get published.

I have been dealing with a really strong episode lately. I suppose that's what it is, clinically, an episode. I think the biggest red flag that went up is my need for 10+ hours of sleep. I wake up periodically during the night, sometimes early in the morning and can't get back to sleep. Then I go back to sleep eventually, wake up feeling groggy, then usually have to nap during the day. If you counted up the hours I'd probably average about 12 or so. I used to be able to get up and get moving around and wake up better that way, but this tiredness continues during the day. Today I had to go home and skip my afternoon class because I simply couldn't stay awake. I came home and slept for 2 hours despite getting 9 hours of sleep last night.

Inside, I feel quiet. It's not the calm quiet that you strive for in yoga. I just feel blank.

Things got so bad last month I had to go back to my doctor. That was really the only thing I could do. So I've been taking a new medication called Cymbalta. It's expensive, but I guess it's worth a try. Today is perhaps the worst day I've had in a month so maybe that's progress.

I was mixed about going back on it, but it got to the point where it became clear that it was necessary. My husband supported me and told me it was okay.

I don't know how I feel about being on medication for the rest of my life. I don't know what happens when I want to have children or need to breastfeed. I'm not sure if this means I'm never going to be able to function without it. Maybe things will balance out later in life. I'm not really sure.

But, anyway, that's where I am lately, in all honesty.

Jolie Holland Show... disappointing...

2009-09-29T07:46:00.003-05:00

Last night I went to the Jolie Holland concert at Stubbs BBQ in Austin.

Weird. You know, I generally love any show that I go to. I'm pretty excited about music in general. But this show was just... I don't know. Jolie Holland does not smile. Maybe she cracked one or two, but the whole stage energy was so...blasé.

I also now know why they have a "back stage." At the show, the artists didn't really have a place to go, so they were just in the room with us. Whenever I made eye contact with Jolie Holland, which was inevitable because I would turn around and she was standing right there, she'd make this awkward death stare.

Here's some footage of a show from Paste Magazine. Note the lack of smiling... She seems almost annoyed to be singing.

Which was really unfortunate because prior to this concert I really adored her music. But being there made me just like she didn't want me to adore her music.

But maybe it's my fault. In her defense, she does make melancholy, moody music. So I guess it makes sense she's a melancholy, moody person. And it came across that she must feel very uncomfortable in front of a crowd. But, still, kind of sucks to be in her audience. While I continue to love her songs, I doubt I'll ever go to one of her shows again.

On a positive note, Matt Bauer, her opener, was much more charismatic and enjoyable to watch. It was him and his banjo and a couple of quiet songs that made me smile and reminded me of the mountains of home.

Nothing's gonna stop me from floating

2009-09-19T23:23:00.004-05:00

My all-time favorite, life-changing, inspiring and earth-shattering album is Tori Amos's Boys for Pele.

I was 13 years old, in 7th grade. I dissected her lyrics like poetry. If I didn't understand something I looked it up on the internet. AOL, dial-up style. Guys, it was like 1998.

Can you imagine somebody playing this at middle school sleep overs? My friends thought I was on drugs. I wasn't. Needless to say they ditched me pretty quickly. Let's just say that I knew I was a poetry scholar for a long time.

Here are two versions of "Father Lucifer" one of my all time favorite songs. The first one is from 1996 and it's closer to the album version. The second has some back story and is a little more updated.

This is my all time favorite musical bridge:

nothing's gonna stop me from floating

everyday's my wedding day
though baby's still in his comatose state
I'll die my own Easter eggs
just don't go yet, just don’t go
and Beenie lost the sunset but that's OK | maybe she’s hiding in a hot dog
does Joe bring flowers to Marilyn's grave | got a pig hiding in a truffle
and girls that eat pizza and never gain weight | wearing those purple garters
never gain weight never gain weight | and girl I got a condo in Hoboken

This song is just hauntingly beautiful. It touches something inside me very deep down.

I just saw Tori in Austin last July. I had second row seats. I'm still speechless.

Obedience Class Day 1

2009-09-14T22:01:00.002-05:00

Obedience classes have been a long time coming.

We were originally signed up to start in July, however, one week before the beginning of classes, when we thought Simon was going to have his last set of shots, the vet announced that his teeth were not nearly where they where supposed to be for his age and declared him 3-4 weeks younger than what they originally had thought when someone brought him and his brother into the shelter as a little stray pup.

So, we had to cancel our registration and shift it to the next session when he'd be old enough and fully vaccinated.

I adore my dog, but I will admit that he's high energy, bossy and badly behaved at times. I know that these things are 100% in my hands, so I don't blame him. Obedience classes are more about guiding me than guiding him... Dogs are eager to please their parents, they just need to know what they need to do to please you. And in July I was desperate to get into a class and get some guidance.

However, a major problem at the time was also that he wasn't fully vaccinated so he couldn't go outside for walks. Once we got into our new apartment without carpeting, got him a bigger house and started him on a walk schedule he transformed.

That doesn't mean he doesn't sprout the devil horns every now and then.

Anyway, I was shocked at how amazing he did at his first day of obedience class. For some reason I thought we'd be with a bunch of other puppies and new puppy parents, but boy was I wrong. They were some dogs there that were as old as 5 years old! And terribly behaved, a LOT worse than Simon. I suppose that the bar has been set high by my family members and their exceptional dog training skills. My family has a thing for big dogs, as well as for rehabilitating strays, and I just assumed that all dogs were so happy, balanced and well-behaved as my extended families.

But no. Simon wasn't the best dog there, but he was pretty darn close. I would command him to sit and he'd listen, holding it for minutes at a time, looking up at me with his darling little eyes, as if to say, "Is this right, mamma?" while the other dogs barked, roamed and pulled on their leashes. I kept saying things like, "Yes! My perfect little baby you are so good!" and I think the other people thought I was insane. No one else talked up the baby talk quite as much as I did, but then again, there were few puppies there and maybe it's a puppy thing.

I am crazily obsessed with my dog. I have to admit. I just want to be with him 24/7, when I have to spend the day at school I miss him so much, I look at his photos and wish I could call him.... but yeah... puppies don't use the phone.

One Year Pull-Free

2009-09-14T16:52:00.004-05:00

Here I am. It has been one year since I embarked on this mission to become pull-free and regrow my thick head of hair.
Has it been a year? Yes. Is my hair completely grown in back to the way it used to be? Yes. Has it been easy? Yes and no. The more time that passes, though, the easier it becomes.
Have you sneaked a few? Yes. I think there have been maybe 3-5 hairs pulled in the past year. Does this negate being pull free? No. Sometimes they were accidents. Sometimes it was intentional. But I was able to move-on and pick up without slipping into a relapse of compulsive repetition.
Do I still feel the urge to pull? Yes. Do I still run my fingers through my hair? Yes.
Everyday I know that I'm walking a fine line, I know that any moment I can slip back into pulling. It's something that's always been there under the surface.

Recovering from Trichotillomania has taught me so much. I've learned discipline, self-acceptance, self-improvement. I've learned compassion. I feel this weird camaraderie with anyone who is trying to recover from any kind of compulsion or addiction, be it alcoholism, smoking, drugs, cutting, anorexia. I know how hard that path is, and I know how easy it is to fall off. First your left foot, then your right, I know the baby steps, I know what every day is worth when you're taking it one day at a time.

The best thing about recovery is that Trichotillomania no longer runs my life. I am no longer worried about people noticing or commenting on my thin hair. I vacuum up pet hair now, instead of my own. My arms don't hurt, my neck doesn't hurt, my teeth don't hurt. I had to relearn how to read, write and watch TV. The other day I couldn't believe how it amazing it felt to have both hands grasping my novel, attention focused completely on the text. I don't have to explain myself to my hair stylist, to family members. I can braid my hair again, I can swim.

Today I have no big celebrations. I actually almost forgot. And I love that, because Trichotillomania is no longer on the forefront of my mind. Now I just focus on my breath, on being present, on letting go.

And while you're always a part of me, I watch you fade farther and farther away.

New layout. Same concept.

2009-09-06T00:09:00.001-05:00

More to come.

Sweaty, sticky and complaining

2009-08-23T14:05:00.002-05:00

It's a low blow to Texas to say that I'm dreaming of the north since it's been the hottest summer on record and maybe it's not its fault. But I have been having dreams about lush, green Pennsylvania...about the mountains...the flowers and the plush landscape. I'm sure that in the dead of winter I would also be fantasizing about Texas... but maybe the grass is always greener, literally.

I know that this is my second entry complaining about the heat, but it makes me useless. If you sleep in your day is shot... you can kiss any outdoors activities goodbye unless you're some superhuman with an extra efficient cooling system and skin that produces its own sun protectant. I am already 3 times more tan than I ever want to be (I take skin cancer and wrinkles seriously).

I suppose in every stage of life you go through you discover something about yourself and I can surely say now that I do better with long cold winters than I do with sweltering sizzling summers. Give me the Ugg boots, the salted sidewalks, the muddy slush anytime over this dry, cracked and unbearable sun.

It rained yesterday afternoon for a whole 15 minutes. It was enough to hatch some pesky mosquitoes but not enough to actually nourish the thirsty ground. Can we fast forward to October already?

My Little Dog

2009-08-17T12:30:00.003-05:00

We're sticking to a strict exercise schedule with this little guy. Here's Simon, post-walk and pooped out. He can barely hold his head up!

The Itch

2009-08-17T08:01:00.003-05:00

It's been too long and we haven't traveled. For my Chilean husband, who hasn't even been to Argentina, that's perfectly fine. He's living abroad, and Texas is practically another country entirely, so why am I not happy?

But man, I get the travel itch when I haven't been on planes and trains for a while. I would even be content taking a 3-day vacation to Mexico.

The truth is that I'm just dying to escape the Texas heat. It's disgusting. I thought that northeastern winters were enough to keep you in bed with your head under the covers for 5 months straight. But no, it's frickin hot out and I don't want to go anywhere.

We've had 57 some (I believe today will be 58) consistent days with temperatures reaching over 100 degrees F. I try and take my dog for a walk in the evenings, hoping it's calmed down, and we even stick to the shade... and I find him laying down on the sidewalk, panting, after only 20 minutes. If I can get up early enough (today was not one of those days) I'm lucky if I can sneak in a walk before 9 when the temperatures stay around 80 degrees.

I have a meeting this afternoon with a professor at 2pm. I'm dreading having to take public transportation, which involves standing at the bus stop during mid-day. It's just intolerable.

If anyone finds some cheap travel deals... to places like northern Russia, Siberia, or Tierra del fuego, please let me know.

Just here.

2009-08-14T22:01:00.004-05:00

I know that I haven't posted in a while. It's been a crappy summer and I haven't much felt like writing. When I did I tried to keep to the positive side of things. No one likes to read an entry by a big complainer.

I failed to mention this, but at the end of May I decided I wanted off of my antidepressants. I was feeling spectacular. The semester had ended on a good note, I had established a consistent yoga practice and although poor, I was excited about the prospect of having the summer off to begin working on my master's comps reading list. I was half-heartedly looking for a job out of economic necessity.

Then, I got one. A miserable one. Not all of it was bad... my co-workers (most of them) were generally pleasant and I didn't spend a lot of face to face time with patients. But I did spend a lot of time on the phone. The majority of people I spoke with were kind, but every day there were a handful with such negative attitudes and energy that it just seemed to seep over the phone line and into my ears. I think, perhaps, a stronger person can learn to block it out. Maybe I could have done that if I had still been on my SSRI's, but when left to my natural state, I'm a big wet, sensitive blob of goo. I just want to help people. And I realized that sometimes when you can't give people exactly what they want, when they want it, it's just impossible to make them happy. And then I learned that other people will just never be happy no matter what. And unfortunately it just still kept affecting me.

Have you seen the movie Julie and Julia? How she goes to her bleak cubicle and answers hysterical phone calls all day? That's not too far off from what I was doing.

After a few weeks I began to feel like all my energy was just sucked out of me. I was grumpy when I got home and every morning I would wake up filled with dread. I had to keep reminding myself that I just needed the money so badly. So I still arrived on time every single day, even if it took all of my strength just to get up and get dressed. To get through the day I took countless trips to the staff kitchen, scarfing down Cheezits, Ritz Crackers, chips and soda. I gained 10 lbs. And I didn't even realize it.

And then, a few weeks ago, I had a bit of an epiphany.

One of those patients, who was giving me a real bad time and just filling my head with all sorts of negative energy came into the office and had a bit of a fit. She didn't have an appointment, and it seemed she came into see the doctor and claimed to have one. When we explained that she'd just have to wait, she started crying, being very difficult, and basically causing me to want to crawl under my desk and hide. I noticed she was quite overweight. I also happened to see on her chart that she suffers from depression and anxiety.

So, out of boredom, and curiosity, I began to notice that most of my daily problem patients fit this profile: middle-aged, overweight and suffering from depression or anxiety. In fact, it got to the point that I could sense when someone on the phone fit this profile just by the way they spoke with me and reacted to things like not being able to talk to a nurse right away, or not being able to get an appointment as soon as they would have liked.

And then I realized that by absorbing all this negativity, and embodying it myself through my own weaknesses, that I, too, was on the road to being the same way.

I know that it's possible to recover from depression and anxiety, I know that it's possible to be more mindful of my thoughts and reactions. I'm beginning to see that it's a daily struggle to keep myself positive and on track.

I vowed to finish my entire period of work that I had agreed to. I've decided that I will walk every day with my dog and try to go to yoga at least 3 times a week.

My plan of attack is yoga. I have no idea if that will work but I'm determined not to go back on antidepressants. I know it's been done. I even tried acupuncture last week and got a prescription for Chinese herbs. I have these 10-15 lbs that I'm set on knocking off.

I just don't want to turn into a negative, happiness destroying, life sucking middle-aged woman who makes poor receptionists want to cry. I don't want to continue feeling so empty. And I really don't want to keep writing so many entries where my most-used word is "I"!

little update

2009-07-20T00:12:00.002-05:00

I'm counting the days until I'm finished working. I'm thankful to have a job. I'm so glad I didn't have to fret over today's $89 grocery bill and my impulse buy of an ice cream maker. I'm looking forward to the romantic 2 year anniversary trip that O. and I are planning in August to go check out some wineries in Fredericksburg, Texas.
But I must say that sitting at a desk from 8-5 every day is my own personal hell. I am not made for it. I am a Sagittarius. We move.

Speaking of just that, we've reserved a Uhaul and we're moving across town on Friday. I am sad to say goodbye to my neighbors and South Austin, but so excited for wood floors and a gas stove. The idea of not having to dab urine out of a carpet anymore is soo lovely. Simon got neutered last Friday and all house training attempts have gone out the window. He can't run around and can't go outside for a week, so we've resorted to pee pads in the bathroom. We also found out he's younger than the vet had originally expected, so the poor guy is still in puppy quarantine until he can finish his shots. It's horrible not to be able to take a dog to a park or out for a walk. I cannot wait until he's completely protected against Parvo and Rabies and all of those nasty things.

I am relishing being a puppy mama. I adore my dog. O. and F. get a little jealous. I can't help it. Simon and I have a little bond. It took lots of scratches, bites and holding him belly-up but I think I am his "pack leader," now, in the words of Cesar Millan.

Well, we're off to sleep.

A quiet house

2009-07-02T18:12:00.002-05:00

The house is almost quiet, except for the drone of our overworked AC unit and the quiet panting of the pup. It's me and Simon for a few days, by some amazing stroke of luck O. got to drive up to Aspen Colorado for the week. He left on Tuesday, spent the night in Santa Fe and made his way through the mountains up to Aspen. It's for work. He's flying back in a private jet. It's nice how sometimes, even if you have absolutely not a penny more to spend on a nice vacation, sometimes little opportunities fall into your lap.

I have the day before Independence Day off, and I'm picking up F., my stepdaughter at the airport around 10am. I'm beyond excited for her to come, but I have a long night ahead of me getting the house ready for her. I just simply cannot imagine welcoming her to a messy house, dishes unwashed, Simon's paper scraps strewn all over the floor. My mother has instilled in me that a real home is a clean one, and I want her to feel calm here.

O. won't be back until tomorrow night, so I'm planning to take her out to breakfast as long as she's not too tired, and maybe go get mani-pedi's together.

God knows I need a little bit of relaxing girl time. My first month of work has been hectic. After two weeks my job duties doubled, I got a raise and ended up temping for two people who are out instead of just one. I've been getting a little more stressed than I'd like to. But I'm trying to keep it all in perspective. I just am so thankful for this 3-day weekend a chance to get a little breather. I still can't sleep in because my puppy gets up at 6:30am to do his business, but I'm still looking forward to getting back in bed after that.

Simon is barking at my legs and biting the pillows around me, trying to get my attention. He hates it when I give my attention to the computer. He can be a demanding little guy. He's really quite funny. He makes me laugh so hard when he barks at our vacuum cleaner (to him, the vacuum and hairdryer are satan's spawn). I also think it's hilarious when he tries to hide his ice cubes that I give him behind the couch for later. I love how happily he wags his tail when I come home from work, and when he sits patiently outside the kitchen for me because I trained him to do that. He's learned to sit, lie down and crawl, in that order, and whenever he wants something he breaks out into a little crawl thinking that it's the golden ticket to get me to give him what he wants. He's my little baby dog with razor sharp teeth and quite an attitude, but it's been so fun. Everyday is something new. We still find little pee sports and poops around the house, but he's been managing to either go outside or in the bathroom, which is pretty cute.

While, I'm going to go give my dog some attention.

2009-06-14T21:38:00.007-05:00

I have been so busy I don't even know where to start! I am working full-time at an Orthopedics office, have been apartment shopping and got a new puppy! He's sleeping right now in his crate. I spend most of my day coaxing him to go to the bathroom in the correct place, cooing, "Pee, pee, poo poo, good boy!" When he delivers, we have a little potty party.

He was a shelter dog, they think he's part beagle part chihuahua but he might have a mix of other things, too. The beagle is the most prominent, though. He sniffs everything and everywhere. He's only three months so he's not house trained, which is something we are struggling with, but it's getting a lot better... I have to remind myself that he has only been here with us two days!

Without further ado, meet Simon, the newest member of our family:

And this might be the funniest thing I've ever seen:

Learning to weed your garden.

2009-06-09T21:53:00.005-05:00

As I've mentioned before, I have a terribly negative perspective on Chilean women. I felt rather guilty about this until I had my feelings echoed by my gringa friends and then later confirmed by my best friend who is half Chilean and spends a lot of time in Chile. Obviously, no stereotype is all encompassing and I ended up meeting some wonderful Chilean women while we were living there. However, I met these women on my own. They did not come from my husband or his family's social circles.

My husband's closest friend is the same friend he has had since kindergarten. For some reason, despite a few falling outs, not getting along with his (now estranged) wife some drifting and some things that seriously made me question his morals they are still friends. Luckily the fact that we wouldn't let them smoke in our apartment made them no longer want to hang out with us. But the fact that they are still "close" still sort of blows my mind. I can't even remember who my friends were in kindergarten. And sure, if I were to have a friend from kindergarten who I still really enjoyed, that would be wonderful, but I wouldn't exactly feel obligated to keep that person in my life. I have often asked O. why he still bothers with this person, and he replies, "He's like family, we have been friends since "kinder."

I am very picky about friends. I have many acquaintances, but I tend to be hard on people. I can't help it, but sometimes I'd rather be alone than be in bad company. I really think you can judge a person by the company he/she keeps.

Anyway, this was a long introduction into my story. My mother in law bought a few studio apartments in Bellas Artes a while ago and has been trying to rent them out. This long-time best friend of my husband has a sister who works as a Realtor. They decided that they would use her to rent the apartments since she is like family.

Well, how do I say this in English, this girl... totally screwed them over. Probably a lot worse than a stranger would. To be honest, what she did was completely "sin verguenza" and if I were in their case I'd be thinking about lawsuits. I've met pretty much all of the kids in this family and knew from the first visit they were a bunch of bad eggs. But for some reason my husband's family just continues and continues to associate with them.

I've noticed that my in laws get screwed over a lot in situations like these. I'm beginning to think that in Chile "knowing" someone is a lie. Your friends are just as likely to screw you over and cheat you as a stranger. There's just this false security you have by knowing someone.

Anyway, I started saying to my husband, "What is with these Chilean women?!?!?! Has no one taught them manners and morals!?!?" And I realized, it's perhaps not Chilean women, but instead the long time friends that his family has. I think that perhaps when things have happened in the past that would make me decide to "cut the cord" they just make excuses because they are "de confianza."

Well, this "de confianza" stuff is bull shit, in my book. I'm been doing major karma cleansing in my life and I've been so happy. Sometimes you've just got to weed out your garden so that the real flowers can blossom.

Ch-ch-changes

2009-06-09T07:13:00.001-05:00

A few pieces of exciting news.

1. I finally got a job at an Orthopedics office.

2. We may or may not be moving into a new apartment.

3. We may or may not be getting a small dog.

I haven't updated because I have been crazy busy!

Staying Put

2009-05-27T08:47:00.005-05:00

From 2005 to 2008 I was living pretty much out of suitcases. In May of 2005 I spent a month in Rome, Italy. Then, I got back to the States, packed some new items and two weeks later moved to Chile for 6 months. Not wanting to leave my husband (my boyfriend at the time) I returned to the states only three days before classes started, somehow packed up my stuff and went back to Ithaca, New York for four months. Then it was back to Chile for three. Then Ithaca for four. Then Chile. Then Ithaca. Then Chile.

Then Pennsylvania. Then Texas.

That's a lot of moving around, plane fares, and packing for a period of three years. Now that we've been in Texas for 9 months, it feels strange that we're staying put. It's like if I were to stay in the same place for more than 9 months I'd turn into a pumpkin. Intuitively I keep thinking, "Shouldn't we be selling all of our stuff, fitting everything we own into two suitcases and a carry-on and be heading off to another adventure?"

But we are moving, in July. Our lease is up and we're heading to affordable graduate housing. I don't know how we've accumulated so much stuff in such a short period of time. We left Santiago with just four suitcases, and had one more brought to us the summer after. Then, we headed down to Texas with just a car-full and some things shipped to us later. Now we have a full apartment filled with more possessions than I've ever had in my life. We're going to have to rent a U-Haul when we move!

Living out of suitcases streamlines you. I don't like carrying around too much. Part of me is thankful we're moving so that we have an excuse to purge. From this point on our possessions are just going to snowball. It still boggles my mind how much you accumulate in one year. (Cue music: "Seasons of Love")

I think I'm a nomad at heart. It must be the gypsy in me. Load it all into the caravan, onward, ho!

"Are you a Texan?"

2009-05-26T00:54:00.006-05:00

I had a phone interview today. I broke my resolution to admit defeat and not apply to anymore jobs because there's really nothing to lose. I feel like I've become so resigned to the fact that I won't be hired, doing the interviews just seems like I have absolutely nothing to lose. One has to figure that with each and every interview you gain more and more experience, and thus, improve.

However, the second question that the person asked me was, "Are you a Texan, or are you from New York?

Although my husband will disagree and call me paranoid, I can usually sense someone's true intentions by their facial expressions, or the sound of their voice. And in this case, I detected a latent undertone of disdain beneath her buttery southern drawl. I mean, the question itself was rather offensive, and I couldn't believe it was the start to my interview.

A simple, "Where are you from?" might have been different.

I replied, matter-of-factly, "Well, actually, I'm from Pennsylvania. I lived in a small town in New York State for four years, then Chile for a while and now here. I've lived in many places."

What I was saying in my head, though, was, "Why are you people all so afraid of New York?!?!?!?!"

O. suggested that a large part of my problem lately with finding employment is that I'm not a Texan. With fellow Texans, employers know what to expect. There's a rapport, a comfort that they might be afraid won't be there with a person from somewhere else.

And before you call me crazy, this observation came true today when one of my favorite people from my department, a native Texan, made a comment about how frustrated she was driving home from Dallas today because the slow cars on the two-lane country roads didn't drive onto the shoulder to let her pass. All non-Texans looked at each other and said, "But, that's illegal," and I added, "You might hit someone that way." Someone else talked about how in California you'd get a fine for that because the shoulder is emergency only. We laughed about it, and she made another comment about how much she hates it when there are "foreign" drivers who don't know the rules of the Texas country roads.

"Foreign drivers?" I laughed.

By foreign drivers she didn't mean people not from the states. She meant people not from Texas. (For the record, I like my friend very much. I appreciated her candor. And it so perfectly illustrated my point!)

Texas used to be its own country and Texans won't let you forget that.

My husband also told me about a comment that his boss made at his work. The air conditioning in their building is incredibly strong, and his boss mentioned that it was because of the people who occupy the office space directly above them. She said that they turn their AC up way high and it causes their offices to get colder as well.

"They're from the North. Those northerners can't handle the heat down here," she said. Then, made a little aside, "I hate yankees."

I asked O. if she had been kidding, and he thought that maybe she had, but he couldn't believe she made a comment like that in his place of employment. It didn't bother me too much. I make comments like that from time to time. I usually don't use the word, "hate," but I know I've said things like, "Oh, silly Chileans," and whatnot. It's usually lovingly, usually poking fun at my husband. But I would never say something like that in a professional atmosphere.

I had a sad moment, though, when I realized that my family will be facing discrimination no matter where we go. I don't mean to be melodramatic, but it's frustrating to question whether or not we'll ever find a place where one of us isn't "foreign." Here, we have our accents. O.'s is Chilean, mine is Northeastern. In Chile I'm a gringa. In the states he's latino. We're an international couple, a step family. We're not the run-of-the-mill people that one might always expect. Some find that interesting. Others feel threatened.

O. has been wanting to go back to the North East. He sees us settling down there. He can't see us spending the rest of our lives here. He says he wants to be closer to my family.

I'm hesitant to give up the low cost of living, the sun.

Yet, maybe he just wants one of us to fit in, since that might be the closest we'll ever get.

Waking Up

2009-05-22T11:37:00.003-05:00

When I woke up at 4:30am today, I realized that I had made a mistake when I set my alarm, and that it was purely chance that I did not sleep through the whole practice. I got ready, and my neighbor, who was supposed to go with me to the studio, seemed to be asleep. She wasn't answering her text messages and the lights in her apartment were completely off. I considered not going. I had never been to an Ashtanga practice at this studio before, let alone a Mysore practice. I had never met the teacher.

"Mysore," from what I understand, is the name of the town in India where Shri K. Pattabhi Jois lived, and here in the US it refers to a special kind of Ashtanga class where you practice in the room to your own pace, from your own memory, and a teacher is there with you, walking around, making sure everyone is doing things correctly. It's the only way that they practice in India. But here we have led classes in addition to mysore classes. My problem was that I have only ever been to led classes. Ashtanga is a very specific sequence, and I have not yet committed the entire 1.5 hour routine to memory.

That's why I was planning to go with my neighbor, who has been practicing Ashtanga for quite some time and does know the sequence. I was going to follow her.

But, when the plans changed, for once in my life I didn't freak out. I thought, well, I'm up and dressed, I might as well just go.

So I did.

I got to the studio and everyone there was at least mid-way into the sequence, in their own specific places. My plan to find someone else seemed to not be an option either. I would have to do it myself.

I took my place at the top of my mat and tried to let my memory guide me. Everyone there seemed so experienced, the room was so quiet, I just hit a blank. I panicked, feeling incredibly conspicuous, and ran to the bathroom, pretending that my failed attempts at starting the sequence were just a "warm up."

Then, I did something that took a lot of courage. That was really unlike me. I simply went up to the teacher, explained that I had never done Mysore, and asked him to help me. Doing this sounds perfectly reasonable. But not when you are usually plagued with anxiety thoughts that make you think everyone is watching you and judging you. That you have to know everything, that you must be perfect. I took a breath, got myself together, and told myself, "Everyone must start somewhere."

So I continued my practice. I know I missed about 30% of the sequence. The instructor was incredibly kind and gently reminded me of what came next. I did my own version of the primary series. And realized no one was watching or judging me.

The room was terribly hot. Ashtanga is supposed to be done in a room heated to at least 78 degrees. Now, put 20 bodies in there and it gets substantially warmer. It's not as hot as Bikram yoga, though. But I was literally dripping, my hair was soaked.

I made my way through my practice, did a chavasana (corpse pose), thanked the teacher, and went back to my car. I felt sick to my stomach, and almost like a migraine was coming on. But I kept breathing and felt this wonderful sense of accomplishment.

The way I feel with yoga, reminds me a lot of how I felt when I was learning to dance in elementary school. I saw people doing "wings" in tap dance and triple turns, and I knew that one day, if I worked hard enough, I too, could do them. And eventually I did. I love being a new learner. Seeing the challenges ahead of me, and knowing that every practice I get stronger and closer to my goal. This is why I love yoga. And this is why I'm so proud of myself for not running out of the room today when I realized I had no idea what I was doing. I will eventually get my "yoga wings" in form.

When I was learning to tap dance, wings seemed like the hardest thing to ever do, and of course I eventually mastered them:

Single, Double & Wing Change Steps in Advanced Tap Dancing -- powered by ExpertVillage.com

Shri K. Pattabhi Jois

2009-05-21T23:21:00.003-05:00

The yoga master who founded Ashtanga in the United States, Shri K. Pattabhi Jois, passed away on Monday. I am so thankful for the wonderful gift he brought to my country, even though it has only come into my life in the past several months.

I am going into the yoga studio for a community event at 5:30am tomorrow to practice in honor of him.

Please take a few moments to visit his website and learn a bit about the life of this remarkable man.

Paintings

2009-05-21T15:46:00.003-05:00

I'm working on a set of three paintings for my living room to match our IKEA lamp.

I have never painted in this style before and it's really fun.

Here are some photos:

Run Devil, Run and The Big Guns

2009-05-21T11:03:00.002-05:00

This is awesome, too. There are two songs, so be patient with the intro.

Acid Tongue - Jenny Lewis

2009-05-21T10:49:00.001-05:00

This is such a fabulous song. You can tell I've been living in Texas for almost a year because now almost all the music I listen to has elements of twang and reminds me of Johnny Cash.

(I apologize for the lyrics that deal with drugs and alcohol.)

Medical Testing, updates.

2009-05-18T23:56:00.004-05:00

I spent a good hour at the UT Health Clinic today, going over my plethora of symptoms, in addition to my inability to tolerate alcohol, with a very patient and thorough doctor. Now I'm having to do a series of tests to figure out what might be wrong with me... It seems to all go back to December 2006 when I made the fateful decision to drink unfiltered water while hiking the Quebrada San Ramon outside of Santiago.

Honestly. If you're hiking and they tell you it's safe to drink unfiltered water, don't do it. They told me this had just come from a spring and it was clean, but if it's open to air that doesn't stop animals from popping in it. I didn't think much of it because I had done that before while hiking in other mountain areas, but perhaps that time I was just oh-so-unlucky.

And don't think that parasites are just a "developing country thing." You can get them here in the US, too! Sometimes they come up in our drinking water!

So, now I'm getting tested for the possible reoccurrence of parasites and also for Celiac Disease.

I am praying it's a parasite and not Celiac. A parasite, while gross, is treatable. It doesn't require any long term diet changes. Celiac, however, would mean no pasta, bread, pizza... the list goes on and on. That would be like my own personal hell.

A few years ago I was volunteering at a food cooperative in my home town which happened to sell some gluten-free products in addition to local produce and other natural and organic goodies. It was the first time I had ever heard of Celiac Disease and I remember thinking to myself, "That sounds horrendous, thank god I don't have it."

Now I think it's kind of ironic that I just got a Celiac Panel done today. I should have knocked on wood.

However, if it is Celiac disease, it would explain a lot of things: anxiety, constant hunger, why my hands and feet tingle, rashes I get on my inner arms and even the canker sores I sometimes get on my tongue. If not, I'm just a weirdo and a hypochondriac...

But one thing I learned, when I finally went to a doctor in March 2007, after having stomach problems for a year and a half, is that sometimes it's not in your head. So who knows what will happen.

Cleaning Bathrooms

2009-05-16T22:50:00.003-05:00

The first time I cleaned a bathroom, I was 15 years old and working at my first job in a café in the colonial-era village where I grew up called Boalsburg. I tell people I'm from State College, but technically I lived the first 16 years of my life outside of it in Boalsburg. But it's all so small it's practically the same thing. The building where I worked dated back to colonial times, and I was convinced it was haunted, at night when I would close alone I would hear footsteps over head and had some other crazy things happen, but that's all for another post.

Anyway, I remember the day my manager gave me some paper towels and disinfectant and told me to clean the bathrooms, and I remember being completely shocked. The bathrooms? But... people do their 'business' in there. Aren't there like... germs? No wanting to be fired I grabbed the rubber gloves and dove into it. But the truth is, I ended up kind of liking it. Bathroom fixtures shine like nothing else, and since then I've always appreciated a spotless, disinfected bathroom.

When I left for the university, my first year we had someone come to clean our bathrooms for us. But my second year, I moved into a cooperative house and we all had bathroom chores. There, I cleaned large bathrooms, made for a house with 19 people living in them. With so much use they would get pretty nasty, but it taught me how to clean efficiently and thoroughly. My senior year, I got the reputation for being quite the master bathroom cleaner on our floor. When I graduated, I sighed a sigh of relief and thought that I'd never have to clean a bathroom that wasn't mine again.

Since then, I've only had to clean my own bathrooms. Somehow, I managed to marry the hairiest man on earth, though. With all respect to my husband, I don't know where it all comes from! But we take turns, and I often clean the sinks and tub and stick him with cleaning the toilet and floors. But it's not that bad. Somehow when you love someone their hair and toenails that you find behind the john aren't so disgusting. You wipe them up lovingly, week after week. Maybe that's how a mother feels about changing diapers. Or something.

Well, somehow this all changed a few weeks ago when I signed up for a yoga work-trade agreement. Being unemployed this summer, money is going to be quite tight. Because I'm not enrolled at UT for summer classes, my gym pass isn't free and so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to begin to practice at an actual studio. And when I found out that I could work for class credit it seemed like the perfect option.

And what's my job? The bathrooms. But that's okay. I have a lot of experience in that area. And man, do they shine when they are done.

Medical Mystery series #14876

2009-05-14T14:39:00.004-05:00

I have never been a big drinker. I like to sit down with friends in the evenings and enjoy a cocktail, or a glass of wine and relax. I was never a huge fan of beer, and didn't live to drink on the weekends like some people do in college. This was actually a huge problem which led to my break up with my ex-boyfriend of six years.

But I do drink. I'm 24 years old, young, and love wine. At home on the weekends it's not uncommon to have a couple drinks and relax outside with our neighbors.

I usually have a pretty average tolerance for a woman. I can usually have two drinks with food over a two hours and barely feel the effects. Yet, when I have more than one drink I don't even dare to attempt to drive, and luckily for me, my husband barely ever drinks alcohol so I usually have a designated driver. But I can have 3 or 4 glasses of wine, slowly, and feel buzzed, but by no means does it mean I'm slurring my words.

Well, last night I finished the second of two final papers that were due yesterday and the day before, and I felt completely elated. My neighbors had all congregated on our communal balcony and I went outside to announce that I had finished and to have some drinks with them. I decided to make some frozen margaritas because it's been hot here and they are my favorite drinks. So I threw the ingredients into the blender with my favorite recipe from the Barefoot Contessa, salted the rim of my glass and joined the little party.

Mind you, I knew a had a lot of stuff to do the next day. Writing papers all weekend meant that my apartment was a mess and I had every intention of waking up early to clean it from top to bottom. So, I consciously halved the amount of alcohol called for in the recipe and added a ton of ice... they were pretty weak margaritas.

(This next paragraph is pretty graphic... so don't read it if you can't handle gross things)

I don't know what happened, but it was not pretty. I had two glasses over the course of two hours, until I started getting really sloppy and O. had to lead me back home. When I got into our apartment the room was spinning and before I knew it I was vomiting violently all over our bathroom. I threw up so much that my nose started bleeding. I have never had a nosebleed in my life. Finally, at 3am, after sipping water and tea and curling up in a ball on the floor, I was able to crawl into bed and fall asleep.

I honestly wouldn't think much of this, except for the fact that the same thing happened to me two weeks ago. But that time it was wine, and I actually felt even worse the following day. That time I actually had had more wine, because we had a picnic that lasted 6 hours. And what happened took me completely by surprised because I had never been sick like that for that amount of wine. It was so bad that I literally had to lay in bed until 5pm and it took me a good two days to fully recover.

You might just think that I'm having bad hangovers, but prior to this, I never really got hungover too bad, because I always made sure to drink plenty of fluids before sleeping. But that's hard to do when you can't keep anything in your stomach. But even so, the next day I feel like I have been poisoned.

I really don't know what's up. Other people have written about a sudden onset of completely alcohol intolerance, but I don't have the symptoms of an ALDH deficiency.

When I've talked about it today, people look at me with a concerned face and say, "Well, you could be pregnant." But I'm fairly certain that's not it, unless I'm that unlucky 0.01 percent that gets pregnant on oral contraceptives.

What a year: Trichotillomania. Anxiety. PMDD. Fragmenting the Os Peroneum. And now crazy onset of alcohol intolerance. I feel like I would be a great case study for eager medical students.

He was just too young.

2009-05-13T11:50:00.005-05:00

I have been going to a local Vaccine clinic to get my boosters of the HPV Vaccine. Although Texas can be completely backward in some political senses, I give them a big gold Mandy star because they offer the HPV vaccine to women between the ages of 13-26 who are either uninsured or under insured for only $10 an office visit. So, I'll be getting the complete vaccine series for only $30. My insurance doesn't cover the vaccine, so I'm seriously grateful to be able to get it.

That being said, I feel virtually no pain when I get them. So many people have complained about it being the most painful vaccine they have ever had but I just want to get my experience out there: It didn't hurt me at all going in either time and now I am having minimal muscle pain. The flu shot was much worse!

However, that's not the reason I'm writing. Today, anticipating awful traffic, I left for my 9:35am appointment 45 minutes early and ended up arriving at the clinic at 9am. That gave me plenty of time to sit in the waiting area and people watch. The clinic is located in South Austin, and the people who come in for the clinic are primarily young Hispanic families with adorable little kids who run around and look at me and smile. Today, the waiting room was virtually empty except for a young mother and her three kids, to whom she kept saying things like, "Nati, no pegues a tu hermana."

However, once the family walked into the vaccine room, two correctional officers opened the door with a young hispanic man, virtually a child, wearing an orange jumpsuit and shackles at his wrists and at his ankles. I couldn't help but do a double take. This boy was so young. He still had a child face and a soft voice.

I heard the nurse ask which grade he was in, in order to find which vaccine he'd need, and he replied, "8th grade."

8th grade! 8th grade in an orange jumpsuit and shackles! I couldn't imagine what this boy could have done to need to be carted around like that! Shoplifted? Stolen a car? (He's not even old enough to drive!) Been in a gang? Killed someone? I wanted to walk over and ask him, "What is this all about?" I wanted to tell him, "You're so young, you don't need this! You still have chances in life, turn it around!"

Our eyes met, briefly, until the correctional officers realized that he actually did not need any vaccines and led him out the door as quickly and he had come in.

Minutes later, they called my name, I got my shot and the clinic doctor asked me if I wanted a normal or Bugs Bunny band aid.

I opted for Bugs and drove home. What I saw today is still leaving me with an unsettled feeling. That boy was barely years older than F!!! I guess I'm just naive, sheltered, ignorant, whatever you call it. He was just so young.

For Lydia

2009-05-07T13:03:00.001-05:00

Blogger & troll

So far behind.

2009-05-06T18:08:00.004-05:00

I know I need to update.

It's the end of the semester and I have too many things to do.

You can see my twitter, though, here.

Pointing fingers

2009-04-29T12:38:00.006-05:00

I was so sad when I woke up and saw that a two year old had died from the flu nearby in Houston. I think it makes us all here in Texas a little bit more anxious.

I've been noticing some responses in the Texas newspapers about the epidemic. Although CNN made no mention of this, The Austin American-Statesman was quick to mention that the victim was from Mexico City. Look at this article: Officials: Boy who died in Texas is from Mexico City

I think it's really interesting that CNN chose not to disclose personal information out of respect for the family, whereas Texas seems to be shouting it from the rooftops. I'm sure this is some sort of attempt to mentally distance the people in Texas from the danger.

In other news, it's creeping up to Austin, slowly. New Braunfels and Comal school districts have suspended classes. They are just south of us here in Austin.

I was really laughing today when I saw a video on CNN that contained interviews of Mexicans explaining where the disease started. Everyone's just trying to point across the border.

United States: It's the immigrants!

Mexico: It's the tourists!

the flu everyone's talking about

2009-04-28T23:49:00.002-05:00

I was really sick at the end of March, as I mentioned. Today I read about two kids in California who caught the virus and recovered on their own. The cases in the US have been "mild." Is it possible that this flu has already circulated around the States? I wouldn't even be surprised if I had it. At the time I figured I had a bad cold or something, one of the worse in a long time.

People are buzzing about why people in Mexico are dying and not in other places. I have two theories:
The first is... how many of the people dying in Mexico are smokers? Just a thought. They say that people who have stronger immune systems are the ones who are dying. Maybe smoking comes into play.

Also, O. always tells me that I because we disinfect everything here we have weak immune systems. That's why I get sick the second I step foot into Chile. But perhaps, in this case, it's to someone's advantage. Maybe not as many people are dying in the U.S. because our immune systems are not as developed/resistant and thus not causing such a lethal reaction.

Thus far there have been no cases in Austin. I'm a little nervous, I'll admit. I'm trying to keep it in perspective, but I've been washing my hands like nuts lately. And I'm tempted to take a break from public transportation for a while and make Oscar drop me off on his way to work every morning.

If anything, this is really showing us how global and connected we all are. Within days this sort of thing dissipates around the world!

I hope everyone's healthy and stays that way.

(Summer) Jobless

2009-04-25T07:47:00.002-05:00

I can't get a frickin summer job.

I have filled out application upon application. I've gone to a handful of interviews, done phone interviews. Applied for jobs way under my hourly pay requirements. Offered to work into the following school year. (I really didn't mind.) I just wanted something. And no one will hire me.

I just needed to complain and gripe a little bit.

I feel like I am a very employable girl. I have lots of experience doing different things. I'm bilingual. I'm professional. I'm creative. I offer to work any hours they need. But for some reason nothing's taking!

My biggest gripe has been that employers tell me they are going to contact me by a certain date, and then fail to do so. This has happened now 5 times with different people who seemed showed interest in hiring me. I don't mind if people don't want to hire me, but honestly, I feel like you should not interview people if you don't have the balls to call someone or at least email them to tell them they haven't gotten the job.

Yesterday afternoon, after not receiving a phone call that I was expecting about a recent interview, I was contemplating applying for a physically demanding baking job that would require going in to work at 4am every morning. Then it dawned on me. I really don't need to work.

I am a graduate student. I get paid to do that. It's not a lot, but it gets us by. Extra money for luxuries is always something positive, but even if I don't work this summer after cutting back, we will get food on the table, pay our rent, and get by.

So, I've thrown in the towel. If a job happens to walk up and tap me on the shoulder, I'll take it, sure. But I'm thinking that's pretty unlikely at this point.

This summer I'm spending a month with my step-daughter. I'm reading for my masters comprehensive exams. And I'm doing yoga 5 days a week. I will be poor. I will be bored sometimes I'm sure. But it's only three months and it's not the end of the world.

Ashtanga

2009-04-19T11:39:00.003-05:00

This is the kind of yoga I'm focusing on learning. I can't do all of that stuff... by the way, maybe I won't ever, but I'm getting there!

Six months, pull-free!

2009-04-14T08:15:00.003-05:00

Although I'm a little foggy on the date, I remember celebrating my stepdaughter's birthday last September and thinking that I would stop pulling on that date. And six months later, I've kept my goal.

I went out and celebrated with a haircut! I told my stylist, Camille, that I didn't care what she did, I just wanted it to be big! I have been loving big, messy, textured hair. As it's grown in it's just been amazing to feel it thickening, darkening and having a life of its own again. I spent so many years slicking down the fly away wisps that now I just want it to consume my head.

O. whined a little bit when I came home and called me his niñito. He says I look like a boy. I explained that boys don't have boobs. But at this point I'm going to let it grow. Everyone wants to see what I look like with long hair, so after this cut I'm letting it grow out. That will probably produce a few months of awkwardness, but I think if I cut a little bit each time and do it the right way it won't be such a mess. Until then, I'm enjoying this crisp, new cut and taking today as a victory.

Things I adore/have noticed about living in the south/Texas.

2009-04-09T19:53:00.006-05:00

I'm constantly thinking about cultural differences in my head since my husband is Chilean and I go to school with a lot of people from different countries. (Right now I'm looking over at my hubby and smiling because his feet are as bare as the day he was born and none of us are keeling over, dead.) But many of the cultural differences that I'm experiencing in my new home (The State of Texas) have been quite welcome changes, and I'm going to take a little moment to analyze some of the major things I've noticed.

1. People say hi to you. Yes, sometimes complete strangers will say hello on the sidewalk. That's true, but not often. But one thing I absolutely adore about this new place is that no matter how short of a conversation you've had with someone -- even if they simply recognize you from class -- they will say hello. This DID NOT happen at Cornell, and not even in Pennsylvania. Often I'd pass someone who I recognized, at times someone with whom I've had multiple conversations, a "facebook friend", even, and they would turn their head and pretend that they did not see me. This literally drove me insane. I'm not sure why people do that, culturally, but I think everyone's insecure and worried that maybe you don't remember them. Sometimes in my home town I'd bump into someone from high school and I'd get a huge grin on my face, ready to run up and ask them how they are, and BAM! ignored. Why? I don't know. I guess people from the north east are simply cold, living up to their stereotypes.

2. The dress is casual. Yes, people wear dresses and yes, they dress up and look nice. But the majority of people here, around the university and the capitol, wear jeans. Sometimes even cowboy boots. I seldom go out and feel under dressed. In the north east everyone seems to dress up a lot more. Maybe it's cause it's hot here and maybe it's cause we're all a bunch of cowboys, but I love it. Adore it, even.

3. I don't get as much flack for being a "yankee" as I expected. Maybe people are just afraid to say things to my face, and maybe no one pays attention to my license plate, but no one has really given me that hard of a time. You'd be surprised how many people in Austin aren't actually from Texas.

4. People don't speak to my husband in Spanish. I thought that perhaps O. would be mistaken for a Mexican more often than he actually is. This is neither good, not bad, but it surprised me. I thought he'd be rattling off his native tongue all the time at every chance (as I did in Chile whenever I was with people who spoke English). But no one hears his accent and goes straight into the Spanish.

5. Things really are bigger in Texas. Big trucks, big hamburgers, big beers.

6. Austin is simply a colorful, vibrant place. Every business seems to have a whimsical sign with colors, crazy fonts, and puns in their slogans. There are huge alligators on restaurants, bat colonies under the bridges and tacky taco trucks on every corner. One of the most popular eateries is called the Trailer park. It's just a fun, creative place. I've never been anywhere else like it.

I am in love with Austin. This is honestly the nicest city I've ever lived in. I don't ever want to leave. Unfortunately, I doubt we will be able to stay here forever, but for now I'm adoring my temporary home city and falling a little more in love everyday.

Am I in the honeymoon phase? I don't know. But from what I've heard people move here and stay for the rest of their lives. I'm definitely not the only one who has been swept of their feet.

I'm just becoming a human pretzel, that's all.

2009-04-06T18:23:00.003-05:00

I have been a little obsessed with yoga, lately. I know that I've mentioned this before. However, I've been going 5 days a week (other than when I was sick) and I think that perhaps it's a kind of addicting activity. People can get addicted to running. So why not yoga? The past few weeks it seems I can't go anywhere without my yoga mat. I finally invested in a mat strap so I no longer have to carry it hooked into my elbow, but instead, now it hangs off my back.

I don't do a certain kind of yoga, but instead a smattering of different classes with different instructors: I have been taking vinyasa classes, hatha flow, and my favorite, Ashtanga.

Anyway, I've had the same mat since I was in high school, and I've decided that it is time for an upgrade. Since getting more ambitious, I've been slipping and sliding around my mat in several classes. Actually, since I started doing the poses correctly I've been sweating a lot more. I'm a naturally flexible person, and also double-jointed, so instead of engaging my muscles in the poses, a lot of time I was just sort of hanging out in my joints. This was especially problematic in downward facing dog. When I went to bed one night with shooting pains going up and down my elbow, I realized I might be doing something wrong. My neighbor is a massage therapist and a general fitness goddess, and she's the one who figured out what was wrong with my form.

Since engaging my muscles and keeping my limbs in line, instead of sitting into my double joints, the pain has disappeared. But I've come to realize that my mat is not cutting it. After reading some reviews and consulting with my neighbor (who also practices Ashtanga) I've learned that the Hugger Mugger Mandara Yoga Mat is pretty much an all-around great premium mat for more demanding styles. I would have loved to have found it in pretty colors or designs, but I think perhaps the black is a reminder that no-one needs to be flashy in the shala. And every more exciting was that I found the mat on sale on amazon.com for $13 less than the retail price! It's going to arrive tomorrow and I'm so excited to start breaking it in.

Unfortunately my cheap university-funded yoga classes are going to end in May, so I'll be forced elsewhere to practice over the summer. I was going to try and practice at home, but I realized that it would be impossible to push myself like I have been doing in a group setting. I've seen such big improvements in my endurance and core-strength that I just can't bear to take 3 whole months off. So, I've decided to get an unlimited summer pass at an Austin yoga studio. It's pricey, but I guess that will motivate me to keep going.

I've mentioned the benefits of yoga like helping me fall asleep and my digestion, but I really think there's something psychological, spiritual, even, going on when you practice. Meditation is supposed to improve quality of life and even help people with illnesses like depression. So I really feel like this is an activity that I can keep with me for the rest of my life. It might not make pounds melt off my body and it might not be as impressive as other sports, but people can practice it into old age.

I still swim, occasionally, to improve my cardiovascular fitness. But lately I think yoga is actually rather aerobic. Really, the trick is to actually do a style of yoga that isn't just about relaxation. I've done too many that are just gentle and I feel like I'm not getting any work out whatsoever. Once you start flowing, connecting your breath and your movement, and once you hold a chair pose for a few minutes, you'll never believe how much sweat you'll produce.

Long Lost Art

2009-04-02T13:08:00.003-05:00

I used to be a painter.

Reaching my peak of artistic expression at the age of 16, my mom let me take classes with a local muralist when I was in the 10th grade. They were figure drawing classes. It was spring, the flowers were budding, the birds were chirping. There were four of us and we'd set up our easels in a garage-converted-into studio and everyone chained smoked (except me) while we sketched a nude model listening to Bob Dylan records. I learned to draw from real life, how to manage "foreshortening" and bought a book with anatomical drawings so that I could learn about muscle and bone structure. I loved those classes. My skills became so fine-tuned and my instructor was so encouraging. I remember when he'd come over and take my brush with his tobacco stained fingers and explain how using red in the foreground and blue in the background created a three-dimensional effect. That, he had learned while working as an animator at Disney.

I was thinking about art school, at least majoring in art, until I got to my senior year of high school and reached the level of "Advanced Placement Art" with Mr. Pinkey (I've changed his name). Mr. Pinkey was a sleaze-ball. He spent more time flirting with the ditzy blonde girls in my classes than actually helping us learn. I had suffered through three semesters with him, never hearing a single word of encouragement. This was so difficult for me because prior to that my teachers had told me I was "gifted" when it came to drawing. He didn't like my style and I didn't like his assignments. He wanted me to draw chairs and shoes and dryer-lint. I wanted to paint people. We were a bad match and I dropped art.

Feeling discouraged I focused on English, my other favorite subject. My senior year English Teacher, Ms. Brummett (haven't changed her name) was a dream. She made me so excited about literature and poetry and it became my new love. The summer before college she made a book club for a few of her students and we spent lazy afternoons sipping tea and discussing, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, which is still one of my all-time favorite books.

It's been nearing a decade, literally years and years have passed without me ever picking up a paintbrush. Sometimes I'll have to complete a creative activity, such as making party favor's for F's birthday, and I'll stay up all night making cardboard packages with bursts of tissue paper and color. O. will look at me like I'm insane but the truth is that I just love the creative outlet. I've channeled a lot of this into cooking. There's color, fusion, taste involved.

But I miss painting. I miss having my fingernails perpetually stained with color. I miss losing myself for hours to form and color, a good CD repeating in the background.

My paints have dried up, I've lost my brushes.

I've wondered if perhaps I should buy a few canvasses, a few tubes of paint and try again. I've wondered if the spring, with the afternoon light being just right and the songs of the birds is making me a little bit nostalgic. I've always felt creative in the spring. Maybe it's time to unearth that long lost art.

More Nico Vega

2009-04-01T09:46:00.002-05:00

I'm still listening to those bands from SXSW. Nico Vega, if you're out there somewhere: I think you should make an acoustic album. How awesome is this song, really? I want to buy their CD but I really prefer the acoustic versions of their songs.

¿Qué podría haber sido? / What could it have been?

2009-03-29T22:04:00.007-05:00

“By creating an artificial environment, we're not stimulating our immune system enough. Germs are immune-stimulants. They challenge you to be prepared.” - DEEPAK CHOPRA

I've been battling a nasty cold for the past few days. It's one of those colds that's strong enough to border on "influenza"-type classification, but I refuse to be that melodramatic. I haven't had any gastrointestinal interruptions and since I braved a needle for a flu shot, I refuse to say that I have the flu. (I kid, I kid, I am by no means afraid of shots. I don't get those people at all.)

As a part of my husband's nightly Skype sessions with the folks in Santiago, they've been keenly attune to my sickly progressions. My husband broadcasts my current symptoms like my own family's tendency to talk about the weather. (I have decades worth of postcards from my grandmother describing the weather conditions in the varied places she has traveled.) Chileans love a good illness. I remember reading a guidebook somewhere that advised, "When you ask a Chilean how they are doing, do not be surprised if you get an explicit description of their ailments in return."

I've written about, and I know others have too, the Chilean tendency to think that you get a cold from walking around barefoot, not covering your mouth when in chilly air, and from lacking the proper attire to be abrigado (bundled-up). I've spent entire onces arguing with Chileans about this to watch in horror while they use the forks they had just put into their mouths to help themselves to the ensalada and put their hands all over the communal pan. But I digress.

But one thing that dawned on me tonight was the temptation that a Chilean has to attribute a current ailment to something you did or did not do, eat or drink.

"¿Qué podría haber sido?" ("What could it have been?") asked my step-daughter tonight when they found out I was still coughing up a lung and staging Niagara falls out my nose.
"Debería haber sido la piscina" ("It ought to have been the pool") my mother-in-law stated, in the background.
"Ita piensa que fue la piscina," ("Grandma thinks it was the pool") my step-daughter repeated.

Piscina?!? I thought. POOL?!? I haven't been to the pool in months! What are they talking about?

Every time that someone has a stomach ache (or worse), Chileans go through a catalog of all the items they have consumed in the prior hours in order to pinpoint, somewhat arbitrarily, what could have possibly caused their illness. One night, my step-daughter vomited all over her bathroom (hello, projectile) and the very obvious (to me) flu virus was instead blamed on my banana nut muffins, since they were the only out of the ordinary concoction that she had eaten all day. I've heard my father in law blame his irregular bowel movements on the dinners at his Free Mason Lodge (for no apparent reason I can see) and it seems like anytime anyone is sick, the first phrase they utter is "Algo me hizo mal." (Something made me sick.)

Unless someone's suffering from obvious food poisoning, I'm hesitant to blame illness on food. Unless I have mononucleosis or meningitis, I also think it's somewhat pointless to try and determine how I got sick. I'm not the bubble-girl! You just get sick sometimes. There's only so much you can do!

And this is the moment where I'm going to get all self righteous and psychoanalyze everyone (with my complete lack of credentials). I think the tendency of all people to try and pinpoint the exact food, action or behavior that makes you sick is the desire to be able to control what happens to you. In essence, control your fate. I realize this desire has its moments: I would love to cure AIDS, cancer, what have you. But I honestly think that Chileans love to blame illness on things like walking around barefoot, going to sleep with wet hair or getting the evil eye (just kidding) because those are things they can control and it helps them sleep at night knowing that as long as no patch of virgin-bare-foot-skin came in contact with floor they won't wake up with the sniffles.

My own mother is equally obsessed, but in her own gringa way. Her house boasts an arsenal of antibacterial cleaning supplies, hand sanitizers and quick-wipes. You could probably perform open heart surgery on her kitchen counter. I was never scolded for running around barefoot (except for the time I stepped on a nail and my dad had to pull it out--don't worry, my tetanus boosters were up to date) and I went to sleep many nights with wet hair. And despite our chemical warfare against germs, I still got sick an average amount.

I remember being petrified of sleeping on hotel beds because of the 20/20 exposé on how dirty those things were, and I actually went through a phase in high school where I was terrified of holding coins in my hand because of all the germs they carried around on them. I still, out of habit, open doors with my sleeve in order to avoid direct contact with my hands.

Maybe it's the same defense mechanism.

Now some experts are saying that a few germs never hurt anyone and that our love affair with sterile environments and antibiotics are creating allergic and hyper-sensitive generations. Some people are even blaming obesity of lack of a certain kind of stomach flora.

As such, I've recently been trying to "chill out" about germs. I invested in natural cleaning products and started using white vinegar instead of bleach. But the day I got sick I ate lunch without washing my hands--something I rarely do. I thought, "Oh, heck, I'm sure my stomach acid will kill what ever's on here." That day, I also went out into a windy thunderstorm wearing a t-shirt and flip-flops and got soaked watching the river in front of my apartment churn. Really playing with fire, huh? I guess no matter what culture you're from you'd think I was reckless.

Was it my dirty hands? Was it the chill? What could it have been?!?!?!?!?!

Chill out, Chileans, Mom, Mandy (me)... Sometimes you just get sick. There's nothing you can do. My own mother is proof of that. She, someone who has eaten healthy, exercised and had low cholesterol her entire life, got blindsided with a heart attack at the age of 50. There was nothing to prevent it, nothing that anyone could have possibly done to stop it. Her doctors reiterated, time and time again that it was simply a fluke, a stroke of bad luck. All that mattered was that the response was quick and she was in great shape for her recovery.

So, Deepak Chopra, you wise, wise man. You're right. Germs are tests and the only thing we can do is just be prepared. But I'm still going back to my routine of washing my hands, even if it's just a silly habit that makes me able to sleep at night.

Lights Out for Earth Hour, 2009.

2009-03-29T21:46:00.004-05:00

I ought to do candlelight more often.

P.S. TWO boxes of tissues due to the nasty cold I'm going to blog about, later.

P.P.S. Like my finger/knee (?) in the lower right corner?

SXSW: Ok, I went.

2009-03-28T21:01:00.000-05:00

This entry was written on March 20, 2009. It took me a while to finish it.

I took the bus downtown today to take advantage of the American Apparel Factory Sale that I heard they had going on down there, and I literally got sucked into the South by South West events. Can you believe I just happened to WANDER into an Indigo Girls show and was in the second row?

I got to see the following bands, mostly by pure luck (also got invited to a free party thrown by a friend of my neighbors) and I adored them all. Please check out the videos below!

Rumblefish Party @ The Tiniest Bar in Texas
Nico Vega:

I LOVED this band. The lead singer really reminded me of Karen O. from the Yeah Yeah Yeahs but they have their own thing going on. They have some great stuff on youtube. They are playing again at midnight and I would consider going to their second show.

Paste Magazine Party @ The Belmont
The Bridges:
Check out single "Pieces."
This band got us into the door of the Belmont. We were walking down 6th street and Lavaca toward our car and we heard this band from the street and followed it to the source. What a sweet, fresh group of women + one male drummer. I love their style and as Magdalena remarked, "They are so glamorous."

Rachel Ray Feedback Party @ Maggie Maes
On March 21, I was lucky enough to get into the Rachel Ray Feedback Music Party.
Check out the line for the food:

We missed The Thermals, who we had come to see, because we were waiting in line to get into the party. I had overslept that morning and I owe it to my neighbors who got up early and got in line and let me cut in front of them. Here I saw Bob Scheider and The Cringe perform (that's Rachel Ray's husband's band).

The Thermals @ Waterloo Park
I saw quite a few performances before this band, but I can't remember their names.

The Thermals are from Portland Oregon and have a fun, quirky lyrics with a pretty catchy sound. I particularly like this song, called "Returning to the Fold."

Perez Hilton's One Night in Austin

My SXSW experience ended with getting tickets to go to the Perez Hilton One Night in Austin Party. That evening I was sitting on our balcony when some of our neighbors mentioned that they had tickets to get into the party. My mouth dropped open, and when they saw how excited I was they offered me one of their extras. However, there was a group of us out on the balcony and we decided we all wanted to go together. We had 6 tickets and 8 people, so we made a pact that either everyone would get in or we'd all go somewhere else. Well, our friend Courtney worked some magic, and we all got in to the party. We didn't see all of it (I missed Margaret Cho and Kanye West, sadly) but I did see Solange and Natalie Portman's Shaved Head, as well as Perez himself.
Solange:

Perez:

I had great SXSW luck considering I hadn't even planned on going at all. But this is honestly just the tip of the iceberg...there were so many bands here, most playing free shows at some point. I didn't even have a wristband!

I would highly recommend making it to Austin for SXSW at some point of your lives!

Group Post: Why I Left Chile

2009-03-27T08:13:00.001-05:00

The moment I stepped foot in Miami after moving to Santiago for a year, failing miserably at setting up a career for myself there, and bringing home my new Chilean husband, I was exhausted. Crabby even. Emotionally drained.

I'll be honest. I freaked out at a Colombian for cutting me in the customs line.

There really was no reason to freak out. We had left Santiago at 4am on a one-way flight. We had sat through a 6 hour layover in Bogotá and had another 6 hour layover overnight in Miami before taking two more flights at 6:50am. There was no hurry.

But when I saw him shamelessly cut in front of me, as we were just approaching the counter I snapped, "We don't do THAT here. THIS IS THE U.S.A.! How can you be so uncivilized?"

It honestly wasn't my voice coming out of me. I must have been momentarily possessed by a bitter American tourist demon from hell. I'm surprised I didn't end my little rant with a growl and start spewing Latin backwards.

He looked at me like I was insane. The truth was that I wasn't mad at him particularly. It wasn't him. It was the months and months of what I had once loved and then grown to hate. Despise even. That was months of frustration in general of people ripping me off, little tomato on toothpicks women pushing me out of the way in department stores, the person who pushed me out of the moving metro car when the doors popped open, the horrible pokemone tween who spit on my leg with a big black lougie... tons of bad experiences and frustrations just bottled up and spilled out of me.

He blinked a few times and motioned for me to move ahead of him. I snatched up our suitcases and barked, "C'mon O.!" I'm sure he probably mouthed, "Disculpa" to the guy as we passed.

I needed some recovery time when we definitively left Santiago for the States.

I would say that our first and foremost reason for returning to the U.S. is financial. We were pretty well-off for Chileans. Our first apartment was in Providencia, we had health care at the Clinica Alemana and we made enough money to save a bit each month. For my husband, growing up in Macul, this was really impressive. I had even been offered a job at a private Colegio that was one of those things where I'd make a decent sueldo eventually and have benefits like maternity leave. My husband had a decent job at a good company. However, we both knew that that couldn't be it.

Maybe because I graduated from a university that told us we could change the world or because my childhood dreams imagined more, to me that wasn't enough of a "career." Saying that I failed miserably was perhaps an unfair statement, but I really couldn't see myself teaching English to high schoolers for the rest of my life. The thought of taking the metro each morning at 6am just filled me with a sense of redundancy and dread that was too much to handle.

So, principally, my husband and I wanted more. We wanted to further our education and I knew that I only wanted to do that in the U.S.A. because it would be free, with scholarships. I'm already saturated with student loans and I didn't want to take on even more. Frankly, a Ph.D. from the U.S. is worth more and it would be free. My husband also wanted to get his MBA, something he had wanted to do long before he had met me.

Furthermore, while I cannot deny how helpful my husband's family was at times, there's that Chilean closeness that I found suffocating. Asphyxiating. I could not define and maintain boundaries. I felt people were constantly crossing them. Honestly, they didn't exist. And it did not help that my stepdaughter's mother proximity opened a door for constant drama. I simply decided, "I cannot be in the same country as this woman."

No matter how I spin it there are a few things I've just had to admit to myself:
I am a middle class white girl. I am used to a certain level of comfort that I could not have in Chile. I like my adorable Honda Fit car. I like that my Nintendo Wii doesn't cost twice as much as it should (as it does in Chile).
I derive a great deal of satisfaction from letting my guard down. I like being able to leave my purse on my desk at school to go to the bathroom and know that my classmates will not steal it. I like giving people the benefit of the doubt. I like being able to ring up my own items at the store because we just trust each other so much.
I like reusable grocery bags, Whole Foods and recycling.

While my husband admits that he misses his family, especially his daughter, he does not miss his country. He likes our standard of life here. We're not saying we'll never return to his country, but we admit it's not likely. Once we have established our careers and can bring his daughter here, our lives will be complete.

Last week at South by South West, I marveled at how a large, open field of drunk people were able to make a single file line for portapotties. "Does the line start here?" people would ask. "No, you go ahead. No, no, it's your turn." I smiled to myself and thought, Yes!

Ola a meus amigos do Brasil

2009-03-25T22:01:00.003-05:00

Vou escrever um pouco em Português porque vi que tenho vários visitantes que são do Brasil. Antes, não sabia, mas agora que tenho um "Statcounter" e sei que todos os dias chega gente brasileira pra aqui.

Leio e escrevo melhor do que falo. Ainda não tenho muitas oportunidades para falar con gente. Faz poucos meses que ando estudando a lingua.

Bom, si você chega pra aqui e quer deixar um recado nos comentários, não seja tímido.

Translation:

I am going to write a bit in Portuguese because I saw that I have various visitors that are from Brazil. Before, I did not know this, but now I have a "Statcounter" and I know that every day people from Brazil come here.

I read and write better than I speak. I still don't have many opportunities to speak with people. It's only been a few months that I have been learning the language.

Well, if you come here and want to leave a message (in Portuguese) in the comments, don't be shy!

Note: También hablo español. Especialmente español chileno. Nada de "chevere" aquí, por favor.

Group Post: The Reason I Went to Chile in the First Place

2009-03-19T21:31:00.007-05:00

Check out the others.

If you wanted to get to the bottom of the trajectory of events that eventually got me to go to Chile, you'd have to trace back a few decades. I could probably take you back centuries, but it's really not necessary. I guess it all began when two stunning young people, the son of communist Yugoslavian diplomats, and a beautiful young Chilean socialite fell in love. Or perhaps when George W. Bush was elected for the second time and cut off all study abroad trips and educational travel to Cuba. Or you could really blame it on a young woman from the depressed outskirts of Pittsburgh who decided to open her eyes and study abroad in post-Franco Spain.

But I guess Bush cutting off educational ties with Cuba in the end of 2004 was the most concrete place to start. I was a sophomore in college. A Spanish major at Cornell University.

I never really was interested in Chile. I wanted to study abroad in Cuba. That semester I had studied with a professor who had authored a book of photography depicting living spaces in communist Cuba. I was fascinated with the crumbling buildings, the mid-Century cars, the scarcity of goods. I had decided that if I really wanted to learn Spanish and at the same time really learn about politics, living in a communist country would be a complete education in the ways of the world. I had satisfied the study abroad requirements at Cornell, turned in the paperwork, and was preparing my application to study abroad in La Havana when Bush suspended all educational travel.

I was furious. Even if I had decided to be a renegade and fly in from Toronto, there would be no study abroad programs. They were all getting shut down and there was no possible way to make it work. Defeated, I worked with my study abroad counselors to find another option.

Then I looked to Spain. I had already been to Spain twice and traveled most of the country. My mom, a high school Spanish teacher had taken me on two trips when I was 13 and later when I was 16. She had been a study abroad student there right after Franco died. I had liked it very much and was interested in studying in either Madrid or Barcelona. However, it wasn't entirely working out due to my school year... I wanted to study abroad in the fall, not the spring, and wanted to be free the following may in order to participate in a summer internship in between my junior and senior years of school. The way that the Spanish semester system worked, I wouldn't be able to go in the fall without missing part of my spring semester at Cornell, and in the spring the semester wouldn't end until the following July. I began to consider Buenos Aires, because it was located in Latin America and I was mostly interested in Latin American literature.

That's when I voiced my frustrations and concerns with my best friend from high school, Magdalena. Magdalena had grown up in my hometown, but her mother was from Santiago, her dad was originally from Yugoslavia but went to high school in Chile, and her older brother had been born in Concepción. She urged me to consider Chile, her second home.

Chile, I thought. Interesting. I had read Pablo Neruda's memoirs in my Latin American history class and learned about the dictatorship. Neruda had made it sound colorful, exotic---vibrant. Suddenly it dawned on me that it might be the best option.

And talking with her that evening, I made my decision.

And that's how I ended up flying to Chile in July 2005, after spending a month living in Italy and breaking up with my long term boyfriend of six years. I remember that the night I had broken up with him on the phone I thought to myself, I will probably fall in love abroad and I was right.

I met O. in early September, 2005 and fell hard---head over heels.

So that's how it happened. It all seemed like destiny, really. I still credit Magdalena for being the reason I met O. Who knows, if she hadn't suggested Chile, if her parents hadn't met or if my mom hadn't originally studied abroad maybe my story would have been different. But that's the way history has transpired, and I wouldn't change a thing.

South by (I could care less) South West

2009-03-19T16:29:00.002-05:00

This week is South by South West, or more commonly known as SXSW here in Austin. The city is packed to the brim. I have been waiting for days to be able to sneak into the recycling center that is just in the heart of all the traffic downtown to drop off our months accumulation of cans, lids and wine bottles but I just can't manage to wake up early enough to beat the rush.

Before I moved here I had no idea what SXSW was. I knew it involved music and film but other than that I really didn't know much else. And now that I live in Austin my knowledge hasn't really increased, either. All I know is that traffic is horrendous, everyone is in a great mood, and I'm too poor to get into any of the events and way too lazy to brave the crowds to get into the free ones.

But I don't care. It's spring, spring break and all week it's been sunny with a high of 85. The whole city is smiling, laid back, and cracking open six packs. Our neighbors all have friends in from out of town or are throwing together impromptu get togethers in the fresh air. Last night we all decided we were in the mood for Mexican food but didn't want to bother with the crowds so we all chipped in and did a little fajita cook out. After two hours we had a delicious southwestern feast and I went to bed feeling like I was going to explode.

The only thing that makes me sad is that Tori Amos is performing in La Zona Rosa and to get in you need a badge which costs about $600. I could have blown about $125 on a wrist band, but there's no guarantee to get in and I would have had to stand in line for hours. I've been a fan of Tori Amos since the 7th grade and I've only been able to see her perform once, on her Plugged '98 tour. But so is life. I still have hopes that I will bump into Tori somewhere around town this weekend, tell her how much I love her and she'll give me a little wink. I could go into the story about how I tried to meet her after the show I went to and I got pushed back behind everyone else but my Dad knew one of the bouncers and got to meet her (we were separated). He even took photos for other people. That night I cried. (I was only 14, give me a break!)

I, also, being lame, applied to get into the Perez Hilton party, but I doubt that that will happen! Haha.

But it's ok. I'm relaxed, content and loving this sun. If anybody wants to come visit me next year I think this just might be the best week for it!

Estrogenerific

2009-03-18T09:23:00.005-05:00

These blogs really DO serve a purpose. On March 12, desperate, I sobbed into my blog about how my hormones were out of whack and my occasional migraines prevented me from taking my beloved estrogen birth control pills that have helped me so much and my great, great aunt Margaret Sanger fought so tirelessly to legalize. (I swear to god, if I get any fanatical comments about eugenics, or her being racist, on here I will delete you so fast...) Isabel, my apparent long-lost-twin, suggested that I get a second opinion. The thought had never dawned on me.

This is simple medical information, right? I had thought.

But, I decided that since my insurance covers most of an office visit to a local OB-GYN in private practice, it really didn't hurt to see another doctor.

So I called every OB-GYN office in the city covered under my insurance and got the earliest available appointment possible. With a male doctor, mind you.

And he basically told me that the whole migraine-estrogen-and stroke business is pretty much out of date and that new studies have come out recently (in the past year or two) and that the risks are not as nearly significant as they had thought.

So I left the office happy, samples of Yaz in hand!

I try not to be a medical snob and insist that going to a free university clinic is fine, that I'm young and that it shouldn't matter. But I guess there is a difference.

I always questioned whether or not it was really necessary to go to the Clinica Alemana when I lived in Chile. If it was worth the bus ride, paying more for everything. O. seemed to think it was. I sort of resented it. But maybe this is what happens. Maybe you simply do get more knowledgeable doctors in private practice. Maybe sometimes, at least for medical care, it does pay off to pay a little more.

On my way into the building, where I went for my foot, I saw my former psychiatrist getting into the elevator. I miss her a lot, because I thought she was particularly good and I don't like the new one I've been assigned to.

I thought maybe seeing her was a sign. I'm digging up her card.

Friends

2009-03-16T16:08:00.002-05:00

Last night we had a casual get together in the form of a barbecue. We learned the art of the "asado" in Chile and realized that something about the smell of cooking meat and the warmth of the grill, partnered with a good stock of beer, makes for one of the best ways to kick back with friends.

Friends: I think that one of the biggest triumphs you can have after moving to a new place, other than being able to drive around without maps, is having a successful party with a good group of friends.

And I really feel like we have that now. We have been blessed with wonderful neighbors who have made us feel at home here since day 1, but it also makes me so happy to feel a part of my program, as well. And there's nothing better than when two groups of people you love very dearly also can get along amazingly.

I have something else to mention: I have some fabulous friends from all over the globe now: Costa Rica, Peru, Mexico, Spain, Ecuador... the list goes on and on. And these are FEMALE friends. While in Chile I seriously questioned my ability to have friendships with females who were not from my own culture and country. And it's so lovely to know that it is possible.

In any case, being at home, in my own culture, in Texas, I have tried to do a lot of things differently than I felt that they were done in Santiago while I was there. I feel like I have a fresh perspective on what it is to be away from home and making friends there. I feel like I'm learning to consciously put myself out more, knowing that sometimes it just takes that extra mile.

I loved the fact that today one of my good friends felt comfortable enough to ask me to take her to the supermarket...she has no car and needed a lot of food since we're on break. I remember so clearly what that was like just a year ago!

The best, part, too, was that last night O. laughed and smiled so much. He had such a good time. It was so lovely to see. Today we are really content.

Alternative Education

2009-03-13T23:03:00.005-05:00

I am a firm believer in public schools. Good public schools. In fact, I went to one. A school with more than 2,500 students. We had indoor and outdoor pools, two theaters, several art classrooms, countless computer labs, it was just a really great school. In fact, it's been voted one of the best in the state of Pennsylvania. So I really am not giving up on them. One of my biggest complaints about Chile is the lack of good public schools. For me, that's a crime.

This week, however, I visited the Waldorf school here in Austin because I'm applying for a position with their summer programs. (Still waiting to hear back from them, please keep your fingers crossed because it seems like an excellent opportunity!).

I had never visited a school like this before and to be honest, I was floored.

The school is located about 15-20 minutes to the south of Austin, past the Sunset Valley Farmer's Market and where one of the major high ways turns into a country road. As I pulled into the complex I immediately got confused because it was comprised of several small buildings and I had been expecting one large building.

I made it to the main office and went through an interview. Afterward the coordinator took me on a tour of the grounds, and that's when I realized what a special place the school is. Each classroom is in its own little cabin, with paths, trees and green spaces abound. The playground had no artificial jungle gym equipment, everything was natural and made out of wood and she told me that the children are encouraged to use their imagination utilizing the natural elements to play. The library was its own cute little cabin as well. Each building has a lofty ceiling and many windows to fill the classrooms with tons of natural light.

Then, I got to see the art room, filled with easels and paints. It honestly looked like a professional artist's studio. The "handicrafts" room was a gorgeous space, the shelves brimming with beautiful skeins of natural yarn and dyes. The children learn to finger-knit in kindergarten, then move onto regular knitting, crewelwork, embroidery, and eventually learn to sew and use sewing machines by the time they finish elementary school. One of the weeks at the summer program we will visit the sheep barns they have on site and learn how to sheer the sheep, then go through the process of dyeing and spinning our own yarn!

We walked over to much more modern looking buildings, which were a full-sized, brand new gymnasium and a beautiful theater and orchestra practice rooms. The walls were all painted with the colors of the sky and sunsets, and the floors were spring board wood, which gives you such a feeling of tranquility. As we entered the theater, we listened to some of the students rehearsing a play, and she explained to me that every grade puts on its own play every year and that every student is involved. In addition to that, each student is required to learn an instrument.

As we made our way back to the main office, I saw a very large, circular tent, and heard students doing something inside. I asked what they were doing and we peered in the small plastic windows and saw a handful of people, barefoot, making sculptures in a huge pile of sand. She explained that the sophomores compete in the National Sand sculpture contest every year in Galveston, Texas and to prepare for it they haul in large quantities of real beach sand from Galveston. The students are so good at it that they aren't even allowed to compete at the amateur level anymore! After working with sand the students also learn to make sculptures with wood and marble.

I was so amazed at what a unique school this is. While I took part in many activities in high school, I never got to do so many things: art AND theater AND music, etc. I had to pick a few. It's just so nice that these things are included in the curriculum.

I know that this kind of school isn't for everyone, but I know that I would have been so happy there and it's really making me consider sending F. to a Waldorf school if she moves here because I think she would really flourish in that kind of environment, she's a very imaginative, creative, and curious little girl.

The other reason that I am literally praying that I get this job is that I would get 50% off the summer program and we would be able to enroll F while she visits us for a month in July. They told me that the summer program attracts children from all over the world and they have many students from Mexico and even some from Europe who don't always speak English so she'd be comfortable there since she's still learning. What an amazing opportunity it would be!

I know that Emma went to a Waldorf school and taught English in one in Chile. Tell me about your experience! To be honest, I felt so inspired just touring that school that if I get this job and feel compelled, I might even do a Waldorf teaching certificate program after I finish my M.A.

Crying in the Consultation Room

2009-03-12T00:56:00.004-05:00

During one of my last visits to the pediatrician when I was 14 years old, while describing the debilitating menstrual cramps I had been experiencing, the sense of despair I felt, and the bloating and water weight that seemed to inflate me like a balloon, I broke down into a tearful mess and cried in the consultation room. When the doctor explained what was going on to my mother, they both came to the conclusion that I needed to be put on birth control pills, and ASAP.

That started my decade-long-partnership with the O.C. (oral contraceptives), which, like a wonder-superhero-pill, kept my periods light and regular, and kept all of the normal side effects of the menstrual cycle to a minimum.

However, last September, after suffering migraines sporadically for a number of years, they took me off my estrogen best friend. The "mini-pill" worked out great for 6 months. It suppressed ovulation and my period entirely. Until last December when suddenly it all started again.

I got my period in December, and then routinely every 28 days later. However, with each cycle that passed, the side effects have become more severe. The first thing I noticed was that my SSRI's were no longer working. My stable, bright mood turned into anxiety, sarcasm and even paranoia. I started crying again, for the smallest reasons. And then I would cry for no reason. I missed several days of class due to sheer inability to get out of bed.

This week has been, by far, the worst. Like clockwork, on Sunday as I went to bed I noticed that my face had broken out with gigantic, swollen acne. As I laid in bed and picked up a book, I noticed that there were several spots in my vision there in front of the page. When O. came to bed as well, I blinked several times because it appeared that part of his face was covered in shadow and that he had 4 eyes! Then, I realized that I was getting a migraine. The pain was so severe that I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned and then watched Law and Order reruns until 3am.

When I woke up Tuesday morning, after sleeping through my classes because of the continuously persistent pain, I thought that perhaps this wasn't normal. When I could barely make it through my class because of how bloated and uncomfortable I was, I decided to call the OB-GYN. And last night I vowed to get a prescription for Yaz (the estrogen-combination pill that seemed to stop all of these problems in the first place) even if it meant I have a risk of stroke. I emotionally said to my husband, "I'd rather die of a stroke than lose a week of my life every single month to this crap!"

And that's how I wound up crying in the consultation room, a hormonal heap of tears this morning. They could tell something was wrong because when they took my pulse I was at 150. Even my blood pressure seemed high. (Hello, raging anxiety!)

I've been a total mess this week. I never meant for this blog to turn into a place where I gripe about my health problems, by the way, but each of these new experiences makes me want to talk about it in case others have the same problems.

It turns out, I'm just one of those annoying small percentages of people who get the seriously severe form of PMS. (I seriously must have some truly "unique" genes.) We're not just talking some snippy comments or chocolate cravings. It's so intense it has it's own name, called PMDD. Supposedly it's not diagnosed until after puberty (hence why I didn't know that I had it before) and combination-birth control pills prevent it. And so that's why after getting off the estrogen now in my mid-20s it's so intense.

People who have PMDD experience normal PMS times 100. People become downright suicidal. In fact, one of my best friends in high school felt such despair in the week before her period she swallowed a bottle of pills following a fight with her mother. Miraculously her mom happened to be a nurse and took her to the ER when she started vomiting uncontrollably. The bottom line is that the emotional and psychological effects of this are real.

Luckily, I haven't been having any urges to take any dramatic exits, but I do feel this general feeling of hopelessness about these symptoms ever going away without getting back on estrogen birth control. Which, right now, my doctors won't let me do! One of the first treatment options is SSRI's, so luckily I think that's kept me somewhat stable. But the SSRI's do nothing for the headaches, bloating and acne.

The acne. For me, this is the worst part. It's not just a few zits on my forehead acne. I've always had generally clear skin, with the occasional small break out. But this is completely foreign to me: deep, sore and inflamed acne that pops up on my cheeks and neck - places I've never broken out before!

Why does this happen? Like many things, they don't really know. Every woman experiences surges or certain hormones, namely testosterone, after ovulation and before menstruation. Professionals suspect that perhaps people with PMDD are more sensitive to testosterone than the average woman. O.C. with estrogen in them limit the amount of testosterone that your body produces, which is why they are the most common treatment option. But if you're me and can't take them, treatment gets a little more complicated. PMDD is also something they have noted is passed down from mother to daughter. People with PMDD are also more likely to experience mood disorders and post-postpartum depression. My own mother even opted for a hysterectomy in order to stop her symptoms of PMDD.

I assume the majority of my readers are probably on some form of estrogen birth control. I urge you to stay on it so as to prevent ever experiencing what I'm experiencing. However, if you aren't and you feel like your PMS is just unbearable, I recommend you talk to your doctor. There are options, still. For example, our plan of attack is to get me on some migraine meds, and try the Mirena IUD because it's very successful at stopping ovulation. I'm terribly nervous about an IUD, but I'm going to post to let you all know how it goes. I've also started taking a multivitamin with 80 mgs of vitamin B6 in it. Vitamin B6 is supposed to help with the symptoms of PMDD and PMS in general. And then, I'm also instructed to work out 5-6 times a week for at least 30 minutes to release some natural endorphins every day. I have noticed I feel much better following my yoga class. So much that I'm considering waking up early to do yoga in the morning in addition to the afternoon.

So, this is my latest public health announcement. And yes, I'm talking about women's issues with no disclaimer or shame. :)

More famous people...

2009-03-09T23:18:00.002-05:00

Everyone watch "Kings" this Sunday. Michelle Benjamin (played by Allison Miller) went to my high school, too! Wow! What a small world. Good for her! Apparently we have something in our water that makes me people famous and talented :)

Just kidding.

No more excuses.

2009-03-09T16:10:00.000-05:00

Now that my foot has healed, I got a yoga pass to take unlimited yoga classes through May. I am going 5-6 days a week and I cannot believe how much of a difference it has made for my body and mind.

I sleep so easily and soundly. I can't even describe how amazing it feels to be exhausted every night before bed and wake up in the morning, refreshed, with so much energy. Since beginning Celexa and now adding yoga I no longer have problems with insomnia. I fall asleep 10-15 minutes after my head hits the pillow and I don't wake up until my alarm goes off in the morning.

My digestion has also improved incredibly since I've started yoga. I won't get into specifics.

A few days ago, Kyle posted some old photos called "When I was fat(ter)." I was looking at them, and I, like many people, have tons of "fat(ter" photos, too. My weight has been as high as 188 lbs. and as low as 1ow as 140 lbs. Right now I'm smack dab in the middle at 160 lbs. Even at 5'7" that's still an "unhealthy" BMI. I'm happy being able to fit into size 10 jeans. But I know I could look and feel better.

Even when I danced 5 days a week I have never been a skinny-minny. But I do remember having a flat stomach and being much stronger.

Last semester, I stopped making excuses and stopped pulling out my hair. Nearly 6 months later I am seeing that change happens if you're patient and diligent. For the first time in my life, I'm tired of making excuses about my weight and my lack of exercise.

I am making it a priority. I'm plunging in, head first, and I'm not looking back.

I went to Zumba dance last night. I prefer yoga but I know I need to get my heart rate up. Yes, I was the oldest and fattest in the room. Yes, I looked ridiculous and sweated like a pig. A really bitchy undergrad eyed my legs and said to her friend, "Do I have thick ankles?" I know she was talking about mine and worried that one day she might look the same.

A few months ago (without medication) I probably would have gone to the bathroom and cried.

But instead, I laughed to myself, lifted up my chin and smiled at her sweetly. And under my breath, I said to myself, "That's why I'm here, bitch. So pipe down before I shove my "cankles" up your..."

"No vuelvo más" - Ximena Sariñana

2009-03-08T23:41:00.002-05:00

No Vuelvo Mas

I totally love this video.

I have a part!

2009-02-26T23:35:00.009-06:00

On Saturday, March 14, I am going to be 6 months "pull free." (See my posts labeled Trichotillomania.) Don't congratulate me yet -- I still have to get there. But tonight (while doing my Dr. Hauschka facial mask) I noticed something that perhaps someone without trichotillomania would take for granted: I have a clearly defined, uninterrupted part! Yes, a part. It probably seems so mundane, but I haven't had a normal part without tons of tiny hairs sticking out for years.

And, in addition to that, my hair is big. It has life. Every day it has a little mind of its own and I love it. There's body. Thickness. Bobby pins don't fall out in 10 seconds. I run my hands through it and get a fistful of hair. My scalp is no longer prickly. It doesn't even feel as oily anymore because there's more there to absorb!

The day that I can make a full, even ponytail is going to be such a feat. Right now it's still too short, but I think maybe in another year I'll be at that point.

I'm so excited I'm going to post photos. This is a big step because my first instinct is to delete these from existence. But I'm using it as reminder to myself, of how far I've come. A lot of people didn't realize anything wrong with my hair before, and I admit it wasn't "that" bad. But below I'm posting a "before" photo and an "after" photo. The "before" photos, I admit, are some of the worst photos ever taken of my head. I also had dyed my hair black in one of them (thinking my thinning hair wouldn't be as noticeable) and it really wasn't a good idea. I will also admit I've drop a few pound since those days, as well. By the way - the guy striking the pose in the background is NOT my brother. Everyone thinks we're related. He's one of my best friends from Cornell.

BEFORE:

TONIGHT:

Gypsy

2009-02-24T19:51:00.002-06:00

Update from previous post: "Romani" means gypsy. I'm a gitana. I'm sorry but to me that's soooooo cool!

I just realized that doesn't correspond to the part that I pasted (I just did the analysis part in terms of countries) but the "Romani" came up as #2 in the ranking of DNA types for my aunt, so that's a very strong association. I didn't get down to the nitty gritty in that part because a lot of it is confusing. But anyway, yeah, so I wasn't inventing the whole romani thing. :)

I was reading that many romani people in Ukaine adopted the local language and religion, so that may explain why no one knew they were gypsies.

Genetics

2009-02-24T16:54:00.004-06:00

The results are in! And man, were we surprised!

Guess what? I'm a lot more "latina" than I knew!

I don't know much about my grandparents on my mom's side. I just know that my grandma was a mixture of Italian and Ukranian descent and my grandfather is from a Sicilian family. I always figured that my Italian-ness (mostly talking with my hands) came from that side of the family. I am tall, thick and pretty pale, and I definitely don't come across as Italian. But my mom is this little olive-skinned spitfire. And while I don't resemble her physically, we talk and gesture the exact same way. We're also impatient and quick-tempered.

My father and I, on the other hand, look a lot alike. We have similar facial expressions, we're pale and turn into lobsters in the sun. We have some freckles and the same hair color. We're not really tall, but we're not short. We're sturdy people. I am naturally strong and balanced.

My father, in turn, is the spitting image of my grandfather. Coming from an isolated farm in upstate New York where his parents only spoke Ukranian, we thought we'd mostly likely find Eastern European ancestry with perhaps a mix of Austrian since our last name is supposed to be derived from an Austrian name.

My paternal grandma, happens to come from a family with particularly thorough genealogical information. We have a nice little leather bound book that traces the bloodlines back to England and France and has the family Crest. I also know that my grandma's maiden name suggests we're descendants of Bernardo O'Higgins, and if you've been in Chile you're familiar with that name.

So, I was completely shocked when I saw the results. I'm going to post them below, but I'm removing the DNA numbers since that's private. I'm going to start with my grandma's:

Profile frequencies suggest the subject’s principal ancestries are Italian, Spanish/Portuguese, Swiss, Slovenian, Polish, Berber or North African and Austrian. There may also be Arab and Greek. The subject matched Sephardic Jews (green diamond in Israel).

And my aunt's:
Profile frequencies suggest the subject’s principal ancestries are Spanish/Portuguese, Belgian, northern French, German, Highlands Scottish, Irish, Dutch, Italian and Swiss with American Indian admixture. There may also be Swedish, Slovenian and Greek. The subject matched Sephardic Jews.

It's hard to figure this out because we don't have my grandfather's DNA to compare, but it seems that the Spanish/Italian/Portuguese comes from my grandma's side, which was quite a surprise as we thought they were primarily English. However, an interesting website about people whose families are traced back to Appalachian settlements explains this occurrence. Basically, a group of Portuguese colonizers set up camp and stayed. For a long time this pocket of people was considered to be "colored" and to escape discrimination sometimes changed their last names. So it's very possible that somewhere along the way the last name was lost or perhaps just married out. Since we can directly trace our family back to Ireland, I assume the Irish and Scottish Highlands results also come from her (the Higgins side).

My aunt's DNA showed a lot more European/Caucasian ancestry which probably has to do with my grandfather. That would explain the northern French, Dutch, German, Belgian and Macedonian results. I'm just shocked that there's not more eastern European. It's crazy how we know so little about my grandfather's parents, how they ended up here and what the heck they were doing speaking Ukranian.

Anyway, I think it's so interesting that I have some Portuguese/Spanish/Italian in me. I can imagine that it makes up both sides. It makes me wonder if my attraction to Spanish and romance languages is more than coincidence and perhaps if I fell in love with my husband due to some instinctual reflection of myself that I saw in him.

In any case, maybe now I can speak Portuguese and Spanish now and own it a little more, I'm not all that gringa when you realize it!

The other Jonas

2009-02-22T18:15:00.007-06:00

I am not a huge fan of The Jonas Brothers. I'm 24 years old and don't have the Disney channel. However, I would be more than happy to take my stepdaughter to one of their concerts, see their movie, or buy her their CD. I would probably sing along. They're wholesome. I wouldn't have any explaining to do about their lyrics. It's just good, old-fashioned music.

However, now, whenever I see them on television, I hush everyone in the room and turn up the volume. I crouch in front of the screen and squint my eyes.

For example, during the Grammy's, I called in all my neighbors, "THE JONAS BROTHERS!! YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!"

What is it about the Jonas Brothers? Well, actually. It's nothing at all. To me, they're kind of hokey, their little purity rings kind of freak me out. They are cute for little boys, but it's actually not them I care about.

It's their guitarist.

John Taylor, the Jonas Brothers's guitarist, and I grew up a few streets away from each other. His little sister was one of my childhood friends. I used to swim in their pool during the summers and we all rode the bus together. The Taylors are one of those kind of families that everyone knows and loves. You look up to them.

John Taylor's band always won our high school talent shows and I remember that when I was a senior in high school his sister told me he was studying at Berklee taking lessons from John Mayer's guitar teacher. I kept all of the demos that he made at the time because I knew that someday he'd be famous.

And here he is, strumming along right behind the Jonas Brothers. There's something that's so lovely about seeing when good things happen to good people. People who work hard and don't give up. Maybe he's not as famous as the Jonas Brothers himself, but I think that now a whole world has opened to him. So now, when you see the Jonas Brothers on TV, do a little cheer for John. He's right there in the background, and I'm pretty darn proud.

Projects for a Northeastern Hippy.

2009-02-21T15:57:00.005-06:00

I dream about the future a lot. I think sometimes this bothers my husband because he likes to focus on the now.

I've been forever influenced by the "green" living community that I encountered in Ithaca, New York while I spent 4 years there in undergrad. This is shaping a lot of my concepts of what I want my adult life to encompass and future projects I'd like to create. Some of these projects are green, some have to do with nature, others just with my appetite. But I think about these projects all the time, and I hope that I do actually get to do them all at some point...

PROJECTS THAT WILL HAVE TO WAIT (due to lack of money or space).

Grow my own garden. I want to grow my own herbs and vegetables in my basement during the winter, from seeds, and then plant them in the spring. My mom, aunts, and grandma all had growing lights and seedings in their basements and the smell of the wet potting soil is just something I've always associated with the end of winter. I absolutely must have a patch of lavender, fresh peppermint and zucchinis the size of baseball bats.

Tap my own maple syrup. I adore real maple syrup and it's really quite expensive. I've always seen people who stick old milk gallon jugs on a few trees and make their own. I've never done this, but I would love to harvest it every spring and have the sweet syrup stored for the rest of the year. There's nothing like the real thing and it's so good for you.

French custard-style ice cream. I want to get one of those rotating ice cream makers that can make a decent batch of french style ice cream with real vanilla. It's supposed to be out of this world. I'd never have to settle of a mediocre spoonful again.

Wood-fired brick oven. I want a toasty and smoky pizza oven like the one Mario Batali built in his back yard. Plain and simple. I'll make my own loaves and pizzas and I think when I take that first bite life will be good.

Solar-powered Bungalow House. No matter how much money we have (a lot or a little) I want to build my own arts and crafts style bungalow house. I want it to have wooden floors, nooks, crannies, sloping ceilings, window seats and built in bookcases. Complete with a booth in the kitchen. And I want it to be completely off the energy grid. It's not impossible, either. In college I had a friend whose parents are living in a house they built that's completely run on solar power with a generator for emergencies. And they live in cloudy, dismal, upstate New York. It's possible!

PROJECTS FOR NOW.

Diva cup. I have been meaning to get a Diva cup. Maybe a Diva Cup isn't a project, but it's a sort of life-style change. One of my best friends from college, Katy, has claimed that it changes your life.

Urban composting. I composted all during college. I always lived in houses (one which was a cooperative house) and we had compost bins in our backyard. However, now that I've been living in cities in smaller apartments, I've abandoned composting. Everytime I toss food scraps into the garbage can my heart sinks a little. I was thinking about this exactly two days ago, remembering an indoor-compost tub that I had seen, when I saw this article on the NY Times. I decided it was a sign. When I explained what composting was to O. he thought I was insane. We're still working out the specifics.

PROJECTS THAT MIGHT NOT EVER HAPPEN.

Apiary. I want to keep bees. I think I first saw videos of beekeeping on PBS as a kid and I've been enthralled ever since. Part of this is due to my addiction to honey... seriously, I could eat it by the spoonful. But the whole idea fascinates me. I know there are many people who keep bees in Pennsylvania, I'd like to get to do this, some day, too.

What are your dreams and projects? I've begun to realize that mine have been so shaped by where I grew up and my concepts of "the good life." What are yours? How are they different?

The latest jewel from Portuguese Class.

2009-02-19T21:19:00.003-06:00

"Águas de março" (The Waters of March) (Las aguas de marzo)

Here's the English translation if you're curious (I didn't translate this, I found it on a website)

Waters of March
By Tom Jobim, Performed by Elis Regina

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road,
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass,
It is life, it's the sun,
It is night, it is death,
It's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms,
A fox in the brush,
A knot in the wood,
The song of a thrush

The wood of the wind,
A cliff, a fall,
A scratch, a lump,
It is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free,
It's the end of the slope,
It's a beam, it's a void,
It's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of the strain,
The joy in your heart

The foot, the ground,
The flesh and the bone,
The beat of the road,
A slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash,
A silvery glow,
A fight, a bet,
The range of a bow

The bed of the well,
The end of the line,
The dismay in the face,
It's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike,
A point, a nail,
A drip, a drop,
The end of the tale

A truckload of bricks
in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun
in the dead of the night

A mile, a must,
A thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme,
It's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house,
The body in bed,
And the car that got stuck,
It's the mud, it's the mud

Afloat, adrift,
A flight, a wing,
A hawk, a quail,
The promise of spring

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
It's the joy in your heart

A stick, a stone,
It's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump,
It's a little alone

A snake, a stick,
It is John, it is Joe,
It's a thorn in your hand
and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain,
A bee, a bite,
A blink, a buzzard,
A sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle,
A sting, a pain,
A snail, a riddle,
A wasp, a stain

A pass in the mountains,
A horse and a mule,
In the distance the shelves
rode three shadows of blue

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the promise of life
in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone,
The end of the road,
The rest of a stump,
A lonesome road

A sliver of glass,
A life, the sun,
A knife, a death,
The end of the run

And the riverbank talks
of the waters of March,
It's the end of all strain,
It's the joy in your heart.

Summer Plans

2009-02-17T17:58:00.002-06:00

I want to come spend my summer vacation in Chile. Believe it or not, I'm having a dickens of a time trying to convince my Chilean husband.

My main idea is that we could put our stuff in storage, sublet our apartment and save hundreds of dollars in rent per month. I could get a job teaching TEFL classes and maybe get some private students. The problem is I'm not really sure what O. could do. He's much better off to stay here, granted it's nearly impossible to get a short-term job for such a short period of time.

My main reasons are that I miss F. like crazy. It's also very probable that the heat is going to be insoportable here in Austin.

Sadly, though, I can't seem to convince O. Who would have ever thought?