Staying Put

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?"

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

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

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

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

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

Acid Tongue - Jenny Lewis

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.

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

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

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.

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

Blogger & troll

So far behind.

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.