Convictions

There are things we have in life called Convictions. The thing about them, however, is that you feel them more than you can explain them. My Convictions tend to be beliefs that I don't know all the facts about and/or have a pretty significant someone in my life who disagrees with them 100%. Yet for whatever reason, I just know in my heart of hearts that I am Right so we do them anyway.

I have many Convictions. For instance, I have a Conviction that ground beef is gross. While I have my reasons, there are plenty of good arguments to counter them. But no matter what, I will always think about Fast Food Nation which helped me solidify my deep Conviction that ground beef is gross. My mind will not be changed.

Also, I have a Conviction that LOST is the greatest TV show ever. Yes, better than The Office or Arrested Development or even The Hills. Again, I'm not going to be able to explain this belief in such a way that you will be convinced...I just know in my heart of hearts that LOST really is the best show ever.

So, you get the idea about convictions, right? You just believe them and would feel like a soul-liar if you acted to the contrary.

Well, another one of my Convictions is recycling. Brandon doesn't buy that it is important and always brings up a few annoying facts that I don't really know how to dispute...and to be honest, since recycling is a Conviction and I know I'm right, I no longer argue the issue. We just recycle and that's how it goes. Plus Brandon knows I'll fish the cereal box out of the garbage and he takes pity on me.

Unfortunately, our apartment complex doesn't have city recycling so this means that I have to do it all by myself. And I promise, I'm not writing this so I sound all noble and like I am the Green Queen...I'm not. I have never seen An Inconvenient Truth and I pretty much hate Whole Foods.

I am writing about this because even though I have a really strong Recycling Conviction, I am really bad at it. Here is my case in point:

The reusable junk just piles up and I do NOTHING about it. I'm paralyzed, see. I let it accumulate in the little recycling niche I created and then don't want to do anything about it because it will take two trips to bring it all down to my car and who wants to take that sort of time out of their day when they could be selling their soul to Facebutt? And, I can't ask for help because that just begs for a debate on recycling which I'm not going to get into--Conviction, remember??

Even when I get all industrious and take it out to my car, I still have to find a place to drop it off. Usually I just sneak it into someone else's recycling bin in some alley way, but I get nervous about being caught. I hope that if I ever do get caught, I'll be praised for going through such great lengths to recyle, but people can be lame like that. Plus, let's be honest. I'm always in a hurry to be somewhere and forget about stuff that isn't pressing pretty much as soon as possible.

What actually ends up happening is that I let the pile grow until it essentially spreads across our whole existence and then I take it down to my car and drive around for about two weeks with a trunk of newspaper and salsa containers until I spot a place that will safely get my recyclables to the Magic Place that makes sour cream containers and diet coke twelve packs into something pretty, preferably ponies with pink bows.

Sometimes people comes over before I have a chance to take care of the recycling embarrassment and it turns into this frantic moment of "Quick, Company is coming and they CAN'T KNOW I'm a messy, terrible recycler! We have to hide it!!" So, if you ever come visit, (do not) check out the balcony or our bedroom to look for stashed piles plastics, glass, and paper. I'll pretend to not know what you are talking about.

Poor Brandon just puts up with it. He has never said anything except this one ever-so-gentle comment like "Maybe we should just always keep the recyling on the balcony?" And while that was a great idea and we might just do that in the future, the pile was too massive at the time to want to move it to the balcony. And so it sat, accumlating more and more jelly jars and bean cans. In fact, that is where we are at this very moment. Except that picture was taken a few weeks so that pile has grown substantially (I did take *one* load down to my car).

One day we'll move into a real house and I'll have that purple bin with the lovely arrows on it to put my objects that need to go to the Magic Place and I'll be able to live my Convictions with grace and cleanliness. You just wait. In the mean time, pat Brandon on the back and tell him that he does a great job putting up with his wife's Convictions. And then maybe give him something with ground beef in it for dinner.

Let's Pretend it's 1986

A few weekends ago we had the surprise opportunity to go to a Poison concert. Brandon was helping some people move out of an apartment when a random person offered him 20 tickets to a Poison concert. How could he refuse? He took seven of them and we tried to find other people to come but everyone was a big fat party pooper and so we went alone.

It was awesome.

Brandon was so excited that he wanted to wear his black pleather pants. I initially said no but then was like "Sure, go for it." Because really, when else is it totally appropriate to wear black pleather pants? Unless it is Halloween, the answer is never. He eventually decided against them, based on the grounds that he didn't have the right shoes. I give him credit for a least wanting to dress up. He would have made a fine groupie if I do say so myself. I'll get him the shoes for Christmas, I promise.

I'll admit that when we first showed up at the venue, I was a little freaked. There were sooo many people that looked like this

I had no idea that an entire outdoor amphitheater of people still liked to live the dream of an 80s hair butt-rock band. Apparently, I was just grossly out of touch.

I'll also admit that when the first band got on stage, I had this moment of: "There's no way I'm going to make it all night. This is quite possibly the worst music I've ever heard, and this includes my brother's 7th grade band concerts." The band's name was Dokken and this is what they looked like:

When they started to play, I visibly winced and then realized I could get beat up for being such a hater and then discreetly plugged my ears by making it seem like I was just cold. It only helped a little bit because in case you don't remember, music at concerts is real real loud. In between songs, Dokken described themselves of as being a little more heavy metal than Poison and kept screaming into the microphone, "LET'S PRETEND IT'S 1986!!" They then screamed several strings of expletives and burst into the most spine-numbing guitar riffs you've ever heard. I was like, "Um, I'm not going to pretend that it is 1986 because that was 22 years ago and I was six years old. And can you just stop that thing you're doing with the guitar because that's just plain terrible."

Eventually Dokken finished their set and Poison took the stage. Of course there was a good thirty minutes between bands where I did plenty of people-watching. This was another thing I had to do discreetly. I also said a little prayer that the people in front of us wouldn't get into an all-out brawl and break beer bottles over each other's heads while knocking me over. Luckily the prayer was heard and one of the guys stomped his way out of the crowd so that everyone could go back to smoking their cigarettes and groping their partners.

I have to admit another thing. I only know two Poison songs--Every Rose Has its Thorns and Talk Dirty to Me. And unfortunately, I was only recently introduced to the second song by a Scrubs episode. But luckily my lack of knowledge didn't get in the way of me having a great time. They were fun and definitely had way more appeal than Dokken, largely because of the killer dance moves and pyrotechnics. I did a little head banging, shook some tooshie, and even wished I had some authentic memories of the good ol' days back in 1986.

In case you are ignorant like I once was, I present to you Poison, Talk Dirty to Me (the song sounds way more inappropriate than it really is, I promise. No bad or dirty words). Please enjoy the purple leather jackets, green guitars, crazy hair, and wish you were there with us.

1998

A few weekends ago Brandon and I went to Arizona for my...drum roll.... ten year high school reunion. Wow. I feel really old and don't like admitting that I have been out of high school for that long but was glad I made the effort to go. Brandon was the champ of the century and went to all the reunion events, without ever complaining or giving me the vibe that he wanted to leave. I think he later said that it was more boring than he expected; I don't doubt that it was a tad miserable for him but it was nice to have him there with me. I enjoyed showing him off and introducing him to people that I have known for so long.

The official reunion events were rather dull, I don't want to say too much because I know someone put a lot of effort into them. Needless to say, I was grateful I made an effort to see all the people I really cared about in more intimate settings where we could really catch up and enjoy one another.

While I didn't take too many pictures, here are a few: These are most of my good friends at a pre-party. Look what a fabulous looking crew we are!

All the girls! I got to know many of them through JV softball. We were such misfits and I think we had way more fun than most other high school athletes because of it. Our poor coach cried on several occasions because we were too busy doing cartwheels in the outfield or complaining about running too much to actually get very good. Some of my best memories of high school come from that team.

It is amazing because even though I haven't spoken to many those people in years, being with them was refreshing and way funner than I expected. It made me wish I lived nearer to them. There are several other people I got to reconnect with that I didn't manage to photograph and I think those people know who they are. I was in awe at all the amazing things my friends have accomplished and was certainly inspired by the people they have become. Hopefully now that relationships have been reestablished we'll remain in better contact as the years continue to fly by...

Here's a pic of Beth and I...we go way back. Hi sweetie! ;) There were several years where we were joined at the hip. It all started in Mr. Sensibar's history class where our incessant giggles permitted us to get away with way too much. Then there was an infamous geometry notebook that we passed back and forth all year and filled with our juicy gossip. I wonder where that thing is. At the end of our sophomore year, we threw a "Bethonal" end of the year pool party (Get it, Beth and Al (everyone in Tucson calls me Al), but it a sophomore chemistry class format? We thought we were so clever.). From then on, people referred to us as Bethonal, like we were one person. We loved it. From then on, times just got better...we went on a joint date to the Junior Prom, worked as hostesses at the Outback Steakhouse together, and even studied abroad in Mexico together for a short spell. Now we talk on the phone about once a month and the love is still there. It was great to see her; it had been way too long.

Luckily high school was a good experience for me. I obviously met great people, formed lasting relationships, and managed to squeeze in quite a few good times. All of that makes it a bit easier to admit that I am old and growing more and more un-hip each day. Of course, truly enjoying where I am in my own life probably makes the biggest difference, but that's quite a different story. xoxo!!