Off to Neverland!

I have unofficially declared February as POSITIVE THINKING month.

Because, probably, a combination of organic food and optimism is the cure to life.

So Kashi bars and happy, little thoughts, here I come...

Seriously.

As in, there is a Kashi bar in my purse right now.

If you'd like to join in this unofficial POSITIVE THINKING month, please, grab a box of Kashi cookies and join right in.

If you'd like to join in this unofficial POSITIVE THINKING month, but are having trouble coming up with merry thoughts, here's a few that Peter Pan recommends--

You Can Fly!

You can't really fly.

But, you can think of sleigh bells and snow.

Which is also awesome.

Oh, and if you'd like to really feel part of a big, happy community, then post your positive thoughts in the comments section everyday.

And if 5,000 people join in on POSITIVE THINKING month, well, then I'll see what I can do about finding us some pixie dust.

Time to Deadline

One hour: no lede.

52 minutes: I don't think I have stopped biting my lip since I ate a saltine cracker at lunch. My nails have undergone similar abuse.

40 minutes: 26 words, and nowhere to go.

34 minutes: I have written the same amount of words for this blog entry, as for my paper.

19 minutes: I am setting a new deadline.

1 hour, 19 minutes: ... Sigh.

1 hour, 14 minutes: re-writing the third sentence for the 5th time.

1 hour, 10 minutes: sentence 3, DELETE.

3 hours from original one hour deadline: done.

I will keep working at this until I am not so pathetic.

In a Very Dangerous Position

I am on a bench in the memorial park listening to the classical music coming from my iPod.

The music is on for everyone to enjoy because:

1. No one else was around when I started playing it

2. I forgot my headphones

3. There is an entire swarm of obnoxious birds squawking in the trees around me. And when I say swarm, I mean Alfred Hitchcock style.

(This, of course, is the disadvantage of working outside. The advantage is that my brain is no longer melting in front of a computer screen, and I am no longer shivering in the bottom of the basement. Cease whining, now.)

Suddenly, I hear a car engine ignite, and the incessant squawking stops.

"That's nice," I think.

And it is-- until the silence is replaced by little plop, plops, hitting the cement around me.

And now, I am less concerned about the noise and more concerned about returning to my basement with bird poop in my hair.

Lucky for me, the birds seem to have missed all but the sidewalk below and now are back to their reassuring chatter.

I think I'll turn on some Beethoven.

Storms & Superstition

Sometime in elementary school my best friend informed me that if the first words I said when waking up in the morning were "rabbit, rabbit," I would have exceptionally the best day of my life.

Naturally, I spent the next several years trying to whisper rabbit, rabbit before saying else in the morning.

One fine morning, I did it. Groggy and half asleep, I whispered,"rabbit, rabbit," and then rolled back over and fell promptly to sleep.

Believe it or not, that day was unexceptional.

Do you know why?

Because rabbit, rabbit is a SCAM. That's why.

And so are black cats, broken mirrors, open umbrellas and, most importantly, chain mail promising either despair or magical powers contingent on whether I pass on the message.

So today, I have decided something:

There is no reason to continue my superstitious tendencies.

Henceforth I will feel free to break mirrors, spill salt, walk under suspicious looking ladders and, most importantly, fully realize that even if i do send forward that chain letter, my long, lost true love will not, I repeat, WILL NOT, spend every night building a bubblegum shrine and pining over me.

You want to know why?

Because chain letters and broken mirrors have nothing to do with good luck or bad luck, great days or terrible, no-good days.

Here's what actually has an effect:

The Sun. And all that vitamin D packed inside its beautiful, warm rays.

And that's why I live in Arizona.

It is also why I didn't cringe, even a little bit, when in the living room this morning, my mom opened and closed every umbrella we own.

Additionally, I am not blaming those umbrellas for the bad hair day that resulted in at least four different failed hairstyles and, ultimately, a flat ponytail OR for me dropping 50 percent of the four posters I was carrying back to the office OR for the instant when I decided to pick up my open computer bag, which proceeded to spin in a circle and drop everything I own, including my computer, on the wet cement driveway OR for the acme event, me slipping on my boots and falling down the stairs.

Instead, I am blaming the rain.

And the fact that Arizona has forgotten who she is and has replaced the sun with rain and a tornado watch.

Now, for those of you concerned about me falling down the stairs, don't be. It was one of my more graceful moments. In fact, I think I fell down those stairs more gracefully than I could have walked them. (Although, I don't know if the kid standing at the top of the stairs would agree.)

I am attributing this stroke of luck on such a rainy day to the years I spent whispering rabbit, rabbit in the morning.

Just so there's no confusion, rabbit, rabbit is still a scam.

But I suppose enough elementary school belief in good fortune can save you a little bit of luck for a rainy day.

And if you ask me, there's nothing unexceptionable about a little bit of luck on a rainy day.

Get-Fit and Flood Plan. (Also, an unrelated bit about Burn Notice.)

I don't really like gyms.

Even in elementary school, I didn't like the P.E. gym/cafeteria/spontaneous blood drive center.

I've always preferred private lessons with professional trainers like Tony Horton and Richard Simmons.

See Tony and Richard don't surround me with mirrors and make me look at my stringy hair while I'm doing high kicks that are disappointingly low.

Also, they don't let other people into the class who are probably judging me and my bleach-stained pants.

Tony just tells me to do my best.

And, from what I remember from my 6th grade workouts with Mr. Simmons, he just let me know I can cry if I want to.

And really, as far as life lessons go, you can't get much better advice than that.

In conclusion, I might make a few trips to the gym to listen to Shakira and learn how to shake it like a salt shaker, but aside from that, I think I'll stick to the television for my get-fit program.

P.S. Speaking of television, there are only two reasons I like having cable again. 1. I don't have to watch an entire movie every time I sit down to eat dinner. And 2. Burn Notice starts tomorrow, and now I can watch it in real time, commercials and everything. So. Excited.

P.S.S. Speaking of tomorrow, supposedly there is going to be rain. Lots of rain.

Should said rain result in a flood, I will fulfill my childhood dream of riding the jetski down the street to school. Except I won't drive it to school. I will drive it through the flooded park. Which will probably be even cooler than riding my bike through dirty rain water in the park. Besides, the bike thing, been there, done that.

Some Stuff about Exploding Lotion

I'm driving down the street.

That car in my lane is going the wrong way down a one-way street.

I think this complacently, although technically, I am only a few minutes away from a head on collision.

Then I check my mirrors and get ready to move into the next lane, so the driver of that white SUV can continue it's path down the wrong way of the street.

Hmm... I guess the next car over is going the wrong way, too.

And then it starts to click.

There are four lanes of cars all headed at me. Which means...

Oh! I am driving the wrong way down this one-way street.

I swerve right where there is a welcome double yellow line.

And then I have time to think.

How did that happen? I am still absurdly complacent.

It must have had something to do with that sudden merge to the left instead of to the right.

Only when I think the white car behind me may be a police officer, do I start to worry about the fact that I almost ran into a whole street of cars going the opposite direction as me.

And by opposite direction, I mean, the right direction.

Call me apathetic if you must. But before you do, you should know I almost cried and, probably did, stamp my foot this morning when my face lotion exploded in my hair.

So I don't know if lacking in emotion, really, properly defines me.

There is probably a lesson to be learned from all this, although I'm having a hard time putting my finger on it.

I think it may be, don't spend an entire yesterday wishing for something to blog about.

Because something to blog about, well evidently, that can be arranged.

Vagueness Deleted

Have you ever gotten on facebook, scrolled through the status updates and then suddenly stopped because apparently your one time acquaintance who you haven't seen in 3 and a half years is "baby coming in 3 weeks" or is "29 days" or is "seriously thinking about just giving up, this just isn't worth it"?

If you're anything like me, next comes a flood of questions about this person who is either that one girl who sat behind you in language arts, you're little sister's friend who is trying to reach 1000 friends by February or some creeper from Austria that sits on facebook searching for random people to friend.

All the sudden, I'm like OMG(osh) is Nicole preggers? (That's right, I divert to Seriously, So Blessed lingo upon hearing such news about practically strangers.)

And then I think, well maybe her boyfriend or niece is just coming into town.

And I move on.

And then I STOP again. Because, Frank, what is happening in 29 days? Are you getting married? (Should I have been sent an invite?) Are you going on a cruise in the Caribbean? (Should I be jealous?) Did you randomly make a paper chain for 29 days? (Should I make one, too?)

And then I think, well I suppose something significant in Frank's life is happening in 29 days. Maybe someone will comment and hint as to what it is. Maybe tomorrow, on 28 days, this will be all cleared up.

And I keep reading.

But then I get all uncomfortable because Susie G. may be posting her suicide note on facebook, and suddenly I'm wishing I would have taken notes when the commercial about suicide awareness came on the radio.

But, then again, maybe Susie G. is just giving up on a particularly difficult math problem. After all, those 7th graders I'm friends with have tendencies to give up on math problems.

In the meantime, facebook has created this convenient little comment box that allows you to ask questions about vague status updates. Unfortunately, I can't use that for a few valid reasons:

a. I can't remember if this person is from Austria or my language arts class. Is it really appropriate for me to ask if she's about to pop out an offspring?

b. Maybe I should already know what's happening in 29 days--wouldn't want to come across insensitive or forgetful.

c. Everyone wants to know; I just don't want to be the one to ask.

My point (besides to complain about vague status updates) is to recognize that my blog has been kind of like one big vague status update lately.

Alec is "sad to leave Tucson."

Alec is "packing everything into boxes."

Alec is "acknowledging politics."

I don't want to bore you, but for the sake of some people who might be thinking, what the heck is going on, and was this girl in my English class?, I'll try to help you out.

1. My letter of sadness to Tucson was not a suicide note.

2. I don't know if I was in your English class. Get a yearbook.

And 3. I'm finishing my last semester at U of A in Phoenix, doing an internship. For said internship I am reporting on the Arizona legislature. The FAQ, who's the internship with, is a little harder to explain. But basically it's with the U of A, but I work in a pressroom with awesome people like Arizona Republic, AP and Arizona Public Radio reporters.

So far I love it.

When I applied, I thought I hated politics. (Don't ask, I rarely understand why frequently my actions conflict with my feelings.)

It turns out, I am very interested in politics. (One point for the actions.)

And for honesty sake, I am also intimidated.

I've always depended on grades for validation, and now they're gone. (I think I'll apply for grad school.)

And that's about it.

Oh, except for my vague facebook status.

Which says, "it's never too late."

My cousin made me write that when I told him it was too late to turn me into a rebel.

Don't worry, I didn't have an epiphany or anything.

No, I just am holding out hope that I can still be a rebel someday.

Let's Talk Politics

If the bill passes making May 1st Cold War Victory Day, will it be a school holiday? Or will it just be one of those fairly useless holidays that sit on my calendar and do nothing for me, like Canadian Thanksgiving and Presidents' Day?

This pertinent political thought coming to you live from my desk a mere 50 steps from the capitol building.

(Henceforth I will cease posting my pertinent political thoughts, as it might discredit my position as a sort of real-life political reporter.)

Thanks for tuning in.

Alec, signing off.

A Post that Exceeds 100 Words

Once upon a time I realized my fashion foolishness.

I think it may have been after 3 years of sitting next to my fashion-conscious coworker who I only once saw wear the same skirt twice.

And there I was in the corner, dressed down in my jeans and hopefully-not-yesterday's T-shirt, when I thought, I don't give a pile of crap about what clothes I wear.

And while aforementioned thought was not entirely accurate, it came pretty close to defining my sentiments toward the whole fashiony shindig.

Which leads us to this morning when I had a 30 minute debate with myself about whether or not to tuck in my shirt.

After consulting with google images, I decided it was the only proper thing to do. And so, disregarding my better intuition, I tucked in my shirt and reflected on the last time I purposefully tucked a shirt into my pants: kindergarten.

I hated tucking then, too.

So after work today, I went to the mall in something like a state of panic--the panic coming from the simple fact that I have already expired my two dress shirts and from the question I kept asking myself in the middle of the tucking crisis this morning, i.e. what the heck am I supposed to wear tomorrow?

So I did what I saw as my unfortunate and only option--I put my heels back on and bought everything in the mall that had stayed on and had sleeves.

By 9:15, I was limping out of the mostly closed mall, wondering if my car got stolen, and thinking I should probably ditch my shoes on the side of the street and spend the rest of my life walking barefoot.

I put my shoes back on though, because I didn't want to ruin the pants that I stole from my sister's closet.

That's when I started talking to the parking lot.

"I'm like an injured antelope!" I said.

Because I was limping and for all I knew my car was stolen. And I'm not sure, exactly, how that makes me an antelope, but I feel as though that's really beside the point.

The point is, after 3 hours of shopping, now I own more clothes.

But I still don't know how to wear them.

Or whether or not they should be tucked.

And that, people, concludes this post that exceeds 100 words.

Stuck in Traffic

So, I'm going to cheat the system and drive in the carpool lane.

By:

- Purchasing a life size barbie doll.

"Oh, sorry officer. I thought she was real..."

- Feigning schizophrenia.

"What do you mean there's no one there?"

- Picking up hitch hikers and offering to take them wherever they need to go, and subsequently dropping them off in Phoenix.

"Hi, my name is Alec. What's yours?"

- Buying a car seat and a water baby.

"Hush little baby don't say a word."

- Meeting a friend who likes Phoenix and NPR.

No dialogue. Just awkward silence.

My Life is in Boxes

And moving sucks.

I would say more but I have to find a way to shove a pair of roller blades, a DVD player, and 37 necklaces into a cardboard square.

That is all.

Next Would You Like to Know About My Undies?

Here's a list of other things I think girls should post on the internet to increase awareness:

* Cost of favorite pair of shoes (overspending & debt)

* What you had for lunch (obesity)

* Preferred brand of tampon (frightening 5th grade puberty lessons)

* Date of last haircut (baldness)

* Descriptive adjective (self awareness)

* Game plan should a pack of wild dogs attack (self defense)

* Your favorite book (illiteracy)

* Favorite dessert (diabetes)

* Favorite desert (dehydration & heat stroke)

*An acronym made from the first letters of the names of every boy you have kissed (abstinence)

* And finally, the color of your panties (completing something you've started)

These are the Best Days

I'm going to miss grocery shopping.

Especially the part where I look through all the bananas to find the partially green ones that are bite-size. I love buying bananas and lettuce and yogurt and apple juice.

I'm going to miss my room.

My room that happens to be large enough to house every single article of dirty clothing I own, while at the same time containing years worth of unsold school books, a pile of blankets, me and my dog.

I'm going to miss my grape plants.

Two of them have survived my poor gardening skills. They've stayed alive all the way since freshman year when I released my anger, frustration and sadness by shoveling holes in the ground in the backyard.

I'm going to miss my desk.

The same desk that I stared at while I lay on my bed typing thousands of words about pirates, Winne Dixie, water quality and Elizabeth Bennet.

I'm going to miss the pothole in the middle of Silverbell road.

But only because that pothole reminds me that I actually hate Tucson.

And mostly I'm going to miss the people who somehow made me miss Tucson.

Three and a half years ago, I couldn't wait to get out of this smelly city where sometimes the entire freeway closes down for extended periods of time. I didn't care if it had pretty mountains, fun hiking trails and great Mexican food. Nothing would tie me to this hole of a town in the Southwest.

But I was wrong.

Because Tucson has some of the greatest people I have ever met.

So I guess you can't judge a population based on the plot of land it sits on.

Because in this stinky place, I've met some really nice smelling people.

And I'm going to miss them.

Or I would miss them... If I wasn't coming back to eat Mexican food every weekend.

Successfully Losing Sanity

Sometimes I write blogs in my head that never make it to the computer.

And because I have successfully lost my sanity, I occasionally feel like I owe it to my head to put those thoughts on paper.

This in turn, leads to days of stewing over how to include Christmas miracles, sand art sagas, snowboard how-not-tos, and New Years revelations all in one giant, jumbled, and yet well transitioned, super post.

I have come to an important conclusion.

I am not that good.

And so here I am, all out of order, ignoring beautiful stories about Christmas cookies, bath towels, and world travels.

And instead skipping ahead to the more boring topic that is riding on my brain today: running.

A few years ago, when my mom finished a marathon, and my dad nearly killed himself finishing his 500th marathon, I realized something--

I was going to have to run a marathon.

Like it or not. And despite the voice in my head that kept saying, "But Alec, you hate to run."

I told my family over and over in the months leading to the marathon that I would never, ever run one.

But I knew even then, deep in my heart, that my slipping sanity and over competitiveness would never allow both my parents to finish marathons without forcing me on that 26.2 mile path to stupidity.

Now, don't get excited. I may have successfully lost my sanity, but that does not mean I have yet gained some super will power that will wake me up every morning early enough to go outside and run for more than 5 minutes.

What was the point of that ten minute ramble then?

All I'm saying is I think when I'm feeling particularly lazy, I'm going to put in my i-pod and run down the street.

I think I'm going to need something steady this year. Something constant. Something like running.

Last year, as I stood on a beach in Mexico, dancing salsa to bring in the New Year, I knew it was going to be a great year. I didn't need the bag of grapes they gave me to tell me which months were going to be good, I knew they all would.

And I was right.

Just not in the way I expected.

I didn't think that ringing in the new year dressed in a white skirt and flip flops on a warm beach would be some sort of premonition of a year where I would spend my summer shivering in Argentina's winter, where I would start to love history on the cold streets of Boston, and where I would end the year shivering again under a fleece blanket in Colorado.

If the start of this year told me anything, it's that I should be excited because expectations are going out the window.

I have no idea what to expect from 2010.

I'm moving back home to finish up my last semester of school where I am taking 18 credits of writing classes.

Ha. That's all I have to say about that.

Sometime in May I should graduate. And then...

Ha. That's all I have to say about that.

Then I imagine I'll spend a couple of awkward months trying to figure out what I want to do with my life.

And then I'll probably start to figure it out.

Or maybe not.

Remember, this post is about now. Not about tomorrow or yesterday or sometime in May.

And now, I am putting on a running shirt. And trying something steady.

After all, as long as I'm successfully losing my sanity, I might as well run a marathon out of it.