It’s official. I’m ready for some weather that is… slightly less extreme.  Oh, don’t get me wrong. I am still digging the wild and wooly rain craziness and love being out in it but today when I was walking home from the train I had a moment of “okay I’m done” about my rain boots. And my “snow” boots (aka cold weather weigh many pounds boots). And I really missed just wearing my sneakers. I put my sketchers on when I got home just because I missed them and I’m not going to lie to you Internet. I may have hopped around for a little bit. Just because my feet felt so light.

What? These things can’t all be deep and insightful. That would just get boring.

Every year at about this time the weather goes a little bit haywire. It snows. We get torrential downpours. Everybody is afraid to go outside because there is just no telling what will happen–it’s entirely possible that on a two minute walk from the front door to the car you’ll be rained on, snowed on, hailed on and then dried off completely by a sudden burst of sunshine. This is the weather that makes the wetlands next to my apartment complex flood so much that the basketball court we have gets completely submerged and the trickle of a creek that runs behind my part of the property becomes something more akin to a moat–flinging ducks every which way until they give up and fly off.

This is also the weather that made me really miss Oregon when I was living away from it.

I had forgotten how much I love this weather and then last Thursday…well, I remembered.

For most of my life I’ve been the one to run outside when it rains instead of ducking for cover. I don’t care if I get soaked. I don’t care if I ruin my shoes. I love the feel of this weather–the wind and the rain and sometimes even the hail–all at once threatening to knock me over while also somehow keeping me upright. Somehow, though, over the last few years I had turned into one of those “pretty weather–glad I don’t have to be in it” people. Somehow (and I’m not blaming any one thing–a bunch of things probably contributed to this) I’d become someone who actively avoids this kind of weather.  I’d make my  (now ex) husband go to the store and run errands all in the name of my staying dry. I know! I’m annoyed by that version of me too! What a baby!

Last Thursday I woke up to the sound of rain pounding against my bedroom window. It was so loud that it had scared Poppy and sent her diving under the bed for cover. I sat there, all bundled up in my covers and thought “Pretty…good thing I don’t have…AW CRAP.”

Because I DID have to go out in it. My apartment was soda-less and blog readers, I simply cannot have a soda-less apartment. It is as unnatural as….something really really unnatural. But more.

So I took a deep breath, bundled up as best I could, told my iPhone to create one of those Genius Playlist things off of Wheatus’s Teenage Dirtbag and set off for Fred Meyer.

I was doused by the time I had taken one complete step out of the entry way to my apartment’s stairwell. But…it was weird. I wasn’t annoyed.

I trudged through the complex, stopped to check the mail and thought “hang on a minute…why am I not irritated? This weather is irritating! I should be really bothered right now!”  I paused and waited for the familiar “yuck, I want to go inside” feeling to come but… even after a little more waiting…it still didn’t.

A strange feeling started to take over as I walked down my street toward the store. I couldn’t quite place it. It was kind of familiar, but in that “I…..think? I know you? Maybe?” way. All I knew for sure was that I was not annoyed with the weather at all. Something was definitely happening though. The wind and the rain and the wet and the cold and the music were all kind of conglomerating together to form….something. Familiar. But not.

I was practically skipping by the time I got my soda home and for the first time in I don’t remember how long, coming in out of the rain felt….weird. All I wanted in the world at that moment was to go back outside.

So I did.

I shoved the soda in the fridge, wrung out my gloves and hat in the sink, put them back on and, while thinking “once more into the breach dear friends!” dashed back outside. I was so desperate to get back out there that I almost forgot to lock my front door behind me.

As I wandered around my neighborhood I kept my face tilted up to the rain. I listened to the music blasting its way through my earbuds and suddenly it hit me.

I was happy.

Like really really really happy.

That alien but almost familiar feeling I’d been trying to puzzle out while running to the store and back? That was joy. Pure joy. And that’s when I remembered. Like a flash I remembered and welcomed home yet another part of myself that had somehow gotten shoved aside over the last few years: I like the rain. I like being out in the rain. Wild and random and strong weather like this–it is part of my joy.

I was outside for, oh, an hour and a half or so and I realized “this is what furiously happy” feels like.

I’ve gone back outside for at least a few minutes every day and each time I do I remember: this. This is me.

It’s kind of nice.

You know how you have those days where you wake up, blink a couple of times and suddenly the day is over and you REALLY don’t know where it all went?

That.

Hey, I’m doing a question Thursday thing on my vlog next week–let’s make it a cross platform thing! Ask me your questions and I will answer them on my vlog and then post the link here! Yay!

Tonight I went down to the Backspace Cafe.  I spent the night literally surrounded by friends (yes, literally). There was fun conversation, good food and then I watched as my friends Angela and Aubrey blew the roof off the place as the headlining act of that night’s musical lineup (this was the first time they were the headlining act). I am SO PROUD of them.

So much good, you guys. Just…. so much good.

Every time it snows I have to go outside, even if it is just for a few minutes. I tilt my head up, close my eyes, let the fluffy slushy fall onto my face and as it melts I think about Abbott and smile.

I can get all growly and grouchy about snow getting in the way of plans that I have made. I can joke that snow is the best when I do not have to go out in it.  Mostly though–I look at snow and feel comforted. You might think it’s just weather being weather but for me it is Abbott. It’s Abbott pulling my hair and telling me that everything is going to be okay.

Today I went and stood in the parking lot. I looked up, closed my eyes took a deep breath and thought “you’re a little late there, buddy.”

And even though it’s been years, and I’m sure the skeptical out there will say it’s my imagination making it up because I need to, I could still feel him chuckle and then say “if I was predictable, I’d just be boring.”

Indeed.

Over the course of my content writing career (going on five years this May, how weird is that?!?) I have had to write dozens of pages about sleep–sleep cycles, lucid dreaming, sleep disorders, how to get a better night’s sleep, etc.  You would be amazed at how many people want pages upon pages of tips on how to have an easier time falling asleep, how to have better sleep once they do manage to fall asleep, and so on and on and on.

You would think that with all of the research and writing I’ve done about the subject that I’d be prepared for those times when my own sleeping turned erratic–that I’d know exactly what to do. And, okay so I did know exactly what to do but that doesn’t mean that I DID it. That? Would just be too easy.

About the middle of last week the weather got cold enough that the pipes got cold enough that trying to take a shower with water that stayed hot long enough to get everything done (at least, everything you need to get done when you’re a girl which is significantly more than when you’re a boy) started to become pretty difficult–especially as my roommate is also a fan of the lengthy shower. So, kind of arbitrarily, last Sunday night I decided to take an evening shower–and do all of those…let’s just call them “maintenance” tasks that need to get done, so that on Monday morning I wouldn’t have to worry about the water turning icy before I’d gotten around to washing my hair.

I had an easier time falling asleep on Sunday night than I’ve had in months. The hot water had relaxed my muscles which helped to relax my brain and with all of that relaxing going on, I barely made it to 11 PM before I was starting to drift off.

On Monday I night I decided to try the evening shower routine again… and again–super relaxed. No troubles falling asleep. Tuesday, same. Wednesday, same. Last night, same.

I have to say that I’m starting to enjoy this evening shower thing–not just because it helps me get better sleep at night but because it’s a nice way to put the other bookend on my day. The first night I did it it was about finding a way to get all the way clean and…uh, “maintenanced” (ladies, you know what I’m talking about). In just the almost week that I’ve been doing this, though, the evening shower has become not at all about getting clean (although that is nice) and entirely about telling  my body and my brain “Okay, no more work now. Just chill out.”

This? Is something that I have really needed to figure out how to do….oh, the whole time I’ve been working for myself.

Or, okay–my whole life.

I really should listen to my own knowledge more often.

*Big Bang Theory

I went to a tiny college. A really tiny college. It was great. I got all of the personal attention that I wanted or needed. I had personal connections with almost every professor I had. The campus was insulated and everybody knew everything about each other. It was tight knit. It was exactly where I needed to be when I was there (obviously while I was there I wanted to be anywhere else. I’m special like that).

It was not, however, a cake walk in an academic sense. A lot of people hear about the tiny-ness of my school and think that it must have been easy to get through the work. My programs, though–they were intense. I was a double major in Theater and English and it was not uncommon to be required to read entire plays (not usually a quick one-act or scene study but Lysistrata and Dr Faustus–stuff like that) and massive literary tomes in just a day or two.  We’d save time in a lot of our classes by having each person read a different work and then we’d talk about those works with each other (my typical class size was eight people. No joke). It is because of this structure and intensity that I can now walk into any literature section of any store or library and go “read it, read it, learned it, learned it, read it, read it, learned it, read it, read it…” you get the idea. There is so much knowledge from that stuff packed up into my brain that I usually don’t remember that I know it until I’m in the middle of a conversation and bust out some sort of “Oh that’s just like in Richard III where blah blah blahditty blah” without realizing what I’m saying until I’ve said it.

This probably makes me sound super snotty but stick with me.

Today I was talking with someone about reading habits and I made the joke that these days I chose my books based on the pastel color of the cover.  I could see him wince so I followed it up with “I have Theater and English major PTSD.”

This sounds like a lame excuse no matter how old you are when you say it, but when you’re in your 30s and college was over a decade ago… it makes you sound super lame. I know this, but I say it anyway because it usually gets a laugh.

I was thinking about this later when I was on my way home–the need I often feel to apologize for my current reading choices (mostly humor and chick lit) when I talk to people who don’t know me well. It’s like I have this need to say “no, really, I’m smart! I swear” without actually coming out and saying it (because just saying it like that is totally douchey).

I know that I can’t be the only one who does this. And I don’t know why my first instinct is to excuse away my choices as “I know it’s lame but it’s fun” instead of just owning it with more of a “hey, at least I still read!” approach.

The trend is the same for television–not so much in that I feel the need to defend my own viewing habits but for people who are fans of shows like the Real Housewives or any of the other reality stuff that’s out there. Personally, I prefer my television more blatantly scripted and with better production values, but people who do enjoy a daily dose of reality TV often say “I know it’s dumb but…” or “yeah I know I could do better but…”

Why do we do this? And why do people feel the need to qualify the stuff they like as “guilty” pleasures? Why can’t it just be a pleasure to read or watch or listen?

Further, why do we equate complicated with smart? Sometimes it isn’t smart, it’s just complicated…right?

Just questions.  Got thoughts?

Dear Blog Post Ideas,

Why do you have to be Big Ideas that must be Fleshed Out and why do you only start to show up when it’s 11:30 at night and I do not have time to give you the attention you deserve?

Could you please show up earlier in the day so that I can actually give you the time and attention you require to be turned into fully fledged and worthy of reading blog posts?

I know that at heart I’m a procrastinatrix but seriously, this is getting to be a problem.

Thanks!

–Me

P.S.  If you do happen to show up earlier in the day and I am in the middle of something and/or away from my computer could you please force me to write you down so I won’t keep getting mired in this same problem? Thanks!

First, my dear Internet, a question:  Is it passively aggressively funny or douchey to make a cross stitch that reads “A flushed toilet is a happy toilet!” and hang it in the bathroom as a gentle reminder to help my roommate remember to flush the toilet after he uses it?

To be fair: roommate is a super nice guy and if I were to simply ask him to please remember to flush the toilet he would absolutely do it but I think he’d be far more embarrassed about needing to be asked face to face than if a cute decorative hanging were to suddenly appear on the wall as a reminder.  And no,  I doubt that he would care that I’m talking about it on the Internet as most people who read this blog do not actually know him in real life so he’s still able to maintain some dignity and anonymity here.

Second, so I filled out an online dating profile a couple of weeks ago. One of the things it asks is “what do you do on a Friday night?”  I answered that if I hadn’t made any out of the house plans, I would more than likely be curled up on my couch in my pajamas, watching a movie or some television and making stuff with yarn.

So far most of the people who have responded to my profile do not believe that I would admit to such a “lame” Friday night activity and have decided that I’m kidding. This works kind of in my favor because hey, who doesn’t like to be thought of as funny?  At the same time… guess what I’m doing right this very Friday night?

PJs? Check

Couch? Check

Yarn? Check

Redbox movie? In the player and waiting to be played.

For a little while I really did try to come up with something else to go and do. There’s a documentary about Warren Ellis being shown at a local comics shop tonight. There are a bunch of coffee shops and bookstores close by that I could spend some time in. Downtown with all of its goings on is just a short train ride away. I couldn’t help but think of what others would want me to be doing or whether or not I should see if any friendly type people had any plans or wanted to hang out–you know how people do on a Friday night.

But when I got right down to it, what I really wanted to do was curl up on my couch in my pajamas, with some yarn, some sticks and a movie (and my cat, if we’re being honest). It’s been a weird week sleep wise, I’m tired and could use a quiet break. So I gave myself kind of a harsh but peppy talk about how “you get to do whatever you want to do now, you don’t have to worry about what anybody else would want, so put on your goddamn pajamas and get comfortable!”

I’m kind of proud that I listened to myself.

So I was sitting around and trying to think up something to blog about and seriously, you guys, I was coming up completely dry. I have some maintenancy stuff I want to talk about here but I want to do some more exploring and detail settling before I do that. Everything else I thought up seemed…bleccch.

And then I ate dinner. And Zee Oh Em Gee. OMNOMNOMNOM.

Apparently I have a gift for shredded pork.  Here’s how I made it.

Preheat oven t0 350-375 (my oven cooks low so my dial is usually closer to 375, but it depends on your oven.

In a glass baking pan (or whatever you have handy, I bet any baking dish would do, put some thickish pork loin chops–as many as you think you’ll need to feed your family or can fit into the pan. I used four so that I would have some left over for lunch tomorrow.

Pour in some beef broth–you don’t need the chops to be completely submerged but you want there to be a solid pool in the bottom of the pan. Aim for about half an inch to an inch of juice to keep things from drying out.

Toss some butter in there too–a couple of “healthy” tablespoons should be enough. I used a little more because I like using butter but if you aren’t a butter person, you can use less. It’s mostly to help flavor, since you’ve already got the beef broth to keep things moist.

Cover the pan with foil (or if you have an oven safe lid, that would work too, obviously).

Bake for 45 minutes or so.

Take the pan out of the oven and use two forks to shred each pork chop (make sure they are fully cooked first). Put the shreds right back into the broth/now-melted butter mixture after you finish shredding each chop.

Spice to taste. I used a healthy shaking of salt, pepper and garlic but you might want to try others.

Stir everything around in the pan so that the spices can get evenly distributed and mixed in.

Put the pan back in the oven, UNcovered this time.  Lower the baking temperature to 250-300 degrees.

Bake for fifteen minutes or so–this helps the butter/broth/spices cook into the meat while drying things out just enough that the meat is still fairly juicy won’t feel like a soup or be all drippy when you take it out of the oven.

Take the dish out of the oven.  Serve the shredded pork however you like–I put mine on some slightly toasted sesame seed hamburger buns.

Eat.

Faint from happiness.