Gosh, so much has happened since my last post. Yes, indeed. I am happy to say that three weeks into Brandon’s arrival he landed a great job. He is now working as a Software Developer for a start-up company in John’s Creek, Georgia. It is what he has always wanted to do, and so we are both happy he has been blessed with this exciting opportunity.

As for me… my contract for Valued Services ended 6 months ago this week. I was very disappointed, as I was hoping to become a permanent employee. Unfortunately I was not the only one who lost their job, as everyone who works for Valued Services has been laid off. This made me sad, as many folks there had sacrificed much for this company who, it was apparent, had the intentions of selling out a long time ago. In any case, I am now back on the job market again. Wish me luck!

Another exciting event that has come and gone has been our move! After a couple of months last Summer scouring the area, we found the perfect place. It is a block from downtown Roswell, in the nicest and trendiest of Atlanta suburbs. Anyway, I thought it would be nice to post photos of the home’s exterior for all of you to see.
Back in September we began by moving the little bit we had at the studio apartment, all with the help of our good friend Jason, to whom we are indebted. By mid-October I flew back to Michigan (Bleh!) to meet with the movers and get it all shipped down to Georgia. I was really stressing about this, but I am so thankful that everything went without a hitch. I must say that I did a superb job at managing this project! U-Pack Movers, for one, made the move so easy for me. I will continue to use their services in the future. This is the second time I have contracted their interstate moving services and they have been the most cost effective, flexible and safest choice. I will also highly recommend Two Men and a Truck, both in Grand Rapids and in the Atlanta metro area. The movers were super efficient! I could not believe the speed in which they loaded and unloaded the truck. All Brandon and I had to do was direct them, and they did all of the hard work.

By mid-November we were unpacked and all settled in time for Brandon’s dad’s Thanksgiving visit. Bran & I have been so happy at this abode; the house is spacious, the yard is large and the neighbors are friendly and (best of all) quiet. We love it so far. We hope to only be here a couple of years, as we plan to buy our own house by 9/2013. All of that is contingent, of course, on whether or not I get a job soon. In the meantime, Spring’s just arrived and with it a new found hope that my dream job is just around the corner. Wish us luck!

I know it has been quite some time since I have posted any new entries, but since Brandon’s arrival almost a month ago, all my time has been devoted to him. We are still riding on the crest of that wave, but I know… this is a long, overdue blog.

As most of you know, Brandon finally moved from Grand Rapids to Atlanta on the weekend of May 20th. His arrival was one I had been anticipating for months. The last time we had seen each other was for Christmas, when we spent 2 weeks together. Being apart for so long was becoming increasingly difficult, but we are glad to say that we weathered the storms and the worst is over. And so he arrived via Greyhound, which was an uncomfortable and grueling day-long trip. He arrived a little after noon on Friday, May 20th, and I had asked to have the following Monday off from work. So I took off early from work, and drove to Marietta to pick him up. After dropping off his luggage at home, we celebrated our reunion by going back to our favorite sushi spot, RuSan’s in midtown, where we ate and drank too much. Afterward, we had a blast exploring downtown at night, and staying out late.

The weekend that followed we had made arrangements to attend our friends’ (Stephanie & Ron) wedding in Chattanooga, TN. It would also be a long weekend, and we had made reservations at my favorite Bed & Breakfast, The Major’s Mansion Inn. Brandon had never been to Tennessee; nor had he ever stayed at a Bed & Breakfast. So Saturday we headed out at 10 o’clock in the morning expecting to arrive at the wedding a half an hour early. The scenic ride was nice, and not long at all. We stopped at the B&B and dropped off our bags, and by that time, we were running a little late. After getting lost on our way to the wedding, we managed to arrive after the ceremony had ended. I was so upset to have missed my friends exchange of vows, which I had been looking forward to seeing. But we managed to see the bride and groom cut the cake, dance and throw the bouquet. Stephanie looked absolutely beautiful! They are such a great couple, and it was easy to see how happy and comfortable they are with one another; the perfect match!

Brandon and I stuck around for most of the day, and enjoyed their short reception, as well as their private, after-party. It was awesome, as they had chosen a secluded wooded area where two bungalows were nestled. We had a stupendous view of the Tennessee River, which was bustling with activity. We sat on the dock and dipped our feet in the water, enjoying the sunshine and our company. At a distance, we could see one of Tennessee’s nuclear power plants, an ominous monolith cutting through the landscape. I thought it a terrifying thing to see, so I made an effort not to look in their direction. But we truly had a blast meeting all the nice people. The food was succulent, and the weather was beautiful! Hardly any clouds in a powder blue sky, and the sun glinted and glistened off the Tennessee River. It was truly the perfect way for us to reconnect after so many months apart. We could not think of anything more romantic than to share the happy union of our friends.

Early that evening, before the sun set, we headed back to the Bed & Breakfast to wrap the day up, and relax. The room was gorgeous! I felt like I had been transported back to a French provincial castle. Oh, and the bed… THE BED! It was so billowy, and comfortable! Brandon called room service to bring up our chilled champagne, as I prepared a lovely bubble bath and lit some candles. The rest, well… I will leave to your imagination. Suffice to say that we had a magical time, and slept soundly throughout the night.

The following morning, after sleeping in a bit, we made our way down to the breakfast room. We threw on shorts and a t-shirt, and walked into the dining room bare-footed. Well, this drew the attention of the snobbish, rich folks there, who scanned us from head-to-toe before turning back to their conversations. One of them smiled in pleased amusement; the rest turned their noses up in indignation. I really got off on that While we waited for our breakfast, which was specially prepared to our specifications, the snotty woman on the table next to us called the waiter over to complain that she could not tear open the tea bag; her delicate hands needed a pair of scissors. We wanted to laugh so badly that we had to step outside to let out a burst of laughter, mocking comments, and a cheap imitation: “Garçon, a pair of scissors please. My delicate fingers cannot handle the strain of tearing through this tea bag.” What a ridiculous woman!

After our lovely breakfast, and a few laughs with the waiter who had fetched the scissors, we got dressed and headed out to the Scenic Highway. It was a scorching hot day, so it was nice to drive through the lush and shady Scenic Highway. Scenic highway winds all around Lookout Mountain, and takes you right to the very top. The homes in this area are beautiful, and the views are breathtaking. We ended up taking another detour, once at the top, which set us off towards Georgia. There were many small towns nestled along the way, and we got to see some of the tornadoes’ devastation, which had happened last month. We were in shock, as we had figured that tornadoes did not generally hit mountains. But I guess they do, and many houses were destroyed; one could see the tornadoes’ pathways. It was very sad and humbling to see people cleaning up after the disaster. We lingered a while at the top of the Incline Railway admiring the panorama and continued to explore this area, for most of the day, before going back to Bluff View, the art district in downtown Chattanooga. We walked across the bridge, and checked out some of the local art stores. Finally, we stopped for some frozen yogurt before heading back up to Lookout Mountain, where we visited Rock City.

Rock City was so much more than we had expected. We were thankful to have waited until the day had cooled off, by five o’clock in the afternoon. It was a lot of fun going through the windy tunnels and rocky pathways. The waterfall at the topmost point of the mountain was absolutely gorgeous! We wondered if it was man-made, which seemed logical due to its placement. From the waterfall plaza one could see all across to adjacent states, as far as the eye could see. It was majestic!

That evening I was hellbent on having some Tennessee BBQ Ribs. I never imagined we would be hard pressed to find baby back ribs here. We had been told to visit Sugar’s, which we did, downtown… But they were all out of ribs! So we drove across town to their other locale, where we were able to order ribs. I was disappointed to find that they did not sell Baby Back Ribs, and so we settled for the Spare Ribs, which were okay, and nothing to write home about, really. After dinner we went back to the B&B, where we sat on the rocking chairs our on the porch. We drank too much wine and finally watched a movie, The Insider, with Russell Crowe. Well, I say watched, but despite the fact that it was a good movie I kept falling asleep on account of the wine, so I did not really get to finish it.

The following morning the B&B staff brought breakfast up to our room, and I lingered for a long time in a wonderfully relaxing bubble bath. I sure love bubble baths! We checked out of the hotel at 1230pm, and headed out to Ruby Falls, halfway up Lookout Mountain. There were significantly a lot less people than the day before, which was awesome. The previous day the queue wrapped along the road with at least a hundred people. It can get very claustrophobic in the caves as it is, and we were glad we postponed our visit for this day. The tour was okay. This had been my third time to Ruby Falls, and Brandon’s first time. The moderate influx of tourists made this the most hurried Ruby Falls tour I’d ever been to, which was upsetting, considering the pricey admission and the fact that Brandon likes to investigate things a thoroughly. Still, he was impressed with the waterfall, which is nestled in a huge cavern at the end of the tour trail. During our tour visit, we managed to piss off a couple of the guides, as we had decided to break away from the group, and explore the caves on our own. Ducking and dodging through the tunnels, we were scolded on several occasions. Finally we rejoined our group and finished the tour. Ever the trouble-makers!

Outside Ruby Falls, cicadas were chirping so loudly, they set my teeth on edge. When we walked over to the fountain, we saw thousands of dead cicadas that drowned in the fountain and had been scooped out. While there, we noticed a couple of them fly right into the water and struggle to escape their deaths. Brandon, being the soft-hearted person that he is, came to their rescue. Soon enough, a couple more fell in, and then a couple more. We figured, since we had to leave, we could feel good about saving at least a couple of them Once on our way to the highway, we could still hear cicadas screeching in our ears. Well, one of them had managed to get in our car, so we had to stop to set it free. Those things are loud!!

In any event, if ever any of you wish to visit the Chattanooga area, and you have to pick and choose what to do, we highly recommend Rock City over Ruby Falls. Also, a drive along the Scenic Highway is a must. There are many quaint hotels along this route, which look like lovely places to stay the night.

Our drive back to Atlanta seemed a little shorter than our drive into Chattanooga. On our way home we stopped at our friends’ house, Jen and Phil, who were having a Memorial Day BBQ celebration. We got there at around 3pm, and ended up staying until 10pm! Jen prepared a wonderfully delicious smorgasbord of food, consisting of grilled skirt steak, corn and peppers, and a lovely pie. Jason, my ex-roommate made a duck salad, and I must say (being that I hate duck) that it was delicious! It was a great way to cap our weekend, sharing with our friends. We also got to see Payton again! Jayson’s dog, whom I almost adopted a few months back. Sweetest pooch ever! Anyway, it all passed by too quickly, and I had to be at work at 730am the following morning. By the time we made it home, we were both dead tired, and without much fanfare, plopped ourselves into bed! A vacation from our vacation would’ve been nice, but we had such a wonderful time, it was all worth it. Brandon and I had been apart for so long, and this turned out to be the loveliest way to resume our relationship and to reconnect. It’s nice to feel home again, now that Brandon is here!

Being the sushi snob that I am, I was very critical of the service and the food. The service was okay; my waiter forgot a few things. Also, I had a special request, which they managed to disappoint me with. I had asked for Caviar and Tobiko to be piled on top of my eel rolls. Instead I got a smidgen, so I sent the rolls back and asked for them to be generous, as we were willing to pay for it. The rolls were good. The variety was average; though they did have some original combinations I had not seen before. I stuck with what I could eat, which excludes shellfish. So the choices for me were very narrow. Not good. Frank went for the works, ordering rolls with crab, shrimp and lobster. His rolls looked delicious and beautiful. Mine were good too, but in comparison with RuSan’s, very chintzy. True, the food was very fresh, but so was the food at RuSan’s. On top of that, the prices were quite steep. Frank’s tab would’ve averaged $30 less at RuSan’s. Still, I enjoyed it mostly because it was sushi, and because I didn’t have to pay.

One dish was particularly enjoyable for me, their Thai Coconut Soup. It is one of my favorites, and I’d have to say that it was quite good. The portion could have been better for the price, though. So by the time we were almost finished I left two of my Keith Bridge Rolls untouched. Frank pointed out that they looked like a pair of eyes. So we played with the food and came up with our own creation, which I’ve posted here. We laughed, and we made the waiter laugh.

After dinner, we dropped off my things at the apartment and grabbed Frank’s movies, which he had let me borrow a few weeks ago. I made a quick stop at the ATM and deposited my check before dropping Frank off at the hotel room. We hugged and I wished him a good trip tomorrow. At 8:30 am he takes a train to Louisiana, where he is moving. He invited me to visit in March for Mardi Gras. I told Brandon about it, and we are actually considering it. Brandon may fly out here, and then we can take a train out to Louisiana for 3 days. That would be nice. Provided I can take time off from work. We’ll see. I’d love to see Brandon again, and share in something as exciting as Mardi Gras and the French Quarter. We’ll see what happens.

Last night I had some strange dreams. I woke up feeling pretty crappy, on account of the struggles I had just been a part of in this very real and palpable alternate reality. It was immediately clear to me that I had been wrestling monsters all night. While it is true that I had conquered these foes many times over in my waking life, and in dream state, they are the kind that keep coming back for more. Chop their heads off, they grow a new one; crush them, and they will come back again and again. But if our spirit and mind are strong, these monsters come back a little weaker than before. In these small victories, we can slowly stamp out these monsters from our lives. If we give in to them while awake, we feed them, and in our dreams they can become strong and insurmountable. These monsters are our own creations, and as such we have the power within ourselves to destroy them or render them impotent.

Although it is hard for me to reconstruct the situations in my dream last night, I do have very clear mental pictures of its parts. I am able to see the whole within these parts, therefore arriving at viable conclusions. The central theme of my dreams last night were haughtiness, fear, shame and insecurity. In the first part of my dream, I recall there being a small mouse. It is not the first time I have dreamed about this adorable, helpless little creature. It is also not the first time that I, in my dreams, have terrorized and caused its demise. As before, this little mouse was terrified of me. Brandon was there protecting it from me, who had become brutish and abusive. In spite of my baffling behavior, I wanted to comfort the little mouse; to hold him in my arms and feel its warmth and drink from its fount of simple innocence. But I could not. So in trying to approach it, while in the safety of Brandon’s hands, it leaped unto the floor and fled from me. In its desperation, it scurried into a cranny under the toilet. Somehow I knew it could not get out, and that its fate had been sealed. I could see a little wheel spinning, as he tried climbing up from inside the toilet. Although I could not physically see the little mouse, I knew what it was doing. And the wheel spun and spun, and spun, but the little mouse could not climb out of its predicament. In the toilet, probably covered in waste, I could smell its fear, frustration and desperation. Then the tables turned, and I was helpless too, along with the mouse, as there was nothing I could do to save it from the predicament I had caused it to get into. The only solutions I could see were to sit and watch him get tired, eventually plunging down the toilet to its death; or flush the toilet and put the mouse out of its misery. The dream ends there. As I write this, the feelings borne out of that dream come back to me. I feel disgusted with myself. My dream tells me that I am seriously hurting others with my attitude. It is obvious that I see myself bigger than this mouse, who could represent people in my life, or parts of myself. I am ashamed that I think myself better than others. I promise this little mouse inside me to change my bad behavior.

During the second part of my dream, I recall feelings of rejection, embarrassment and shame. I remember sitting with a group of people, who were Brandon’s friends. One of the central characters was a good looking man I have never met. He was Brandon’s good friend. He was organizing a party, to which I was not invited. I was clearly an unwelcome outsider. And in my dream I looked for ways to find and attend this party that Brandon had been invited to. Suddenly I am there, in the midst of this party, but again I am not welcome. I realize that I am walking around topless, and that a huge crowd of people is laughing at me. I scramble for a place to hide; somewhere I can find clothes to cover my body. I find a narrow tunnel for the house’s servants, and follow it. The tunnel shrinks until I can go no further, and so I have to return the way that I came; back to the outside, where people are waiting to ridicule me. I never enjoyed the party, as I spent the rest of my time there hiding in the shadows, feeling vulnerable, and covered only in shame

Pretty disturbing, huh? For me it was. But now I am awake, living my other life. I see what haunts me, clear as day. I will heed these warnings, and find the courage to surmount the monsters within me. Maybe next time we meet, I will be stronger, better, more compassionate and free of fear and shame. Taking measures to correct myself will render the monsters inside weak and powerless.

To learn about dream symbology, read Carl Jung’s “Man and His Symbols,” and to learn to harness the power of Lucid Dreaming, read Steven LaBarge’s “Lucid Dreaming.” I can guarantee, from personal experience, that in doing the exercises therein, you will experience at least one Lucid Dream. It is worth it. Nothing in waking life can compare to the empowerment that reconstructing your dreams, while conscious, can bring.

I know this recipe calls for canned salmon, which seems like a crime to many. But trust me… if you buy good, quality canned salmon, like Royal Red, you’ll be amazed that you never considered trying it. Canned salmon is especially useful for people who love fish, but live in a country like Mexico, for example, where you’d have to be suicidal to even consider buying fresh fish at the market. Even so, always make sure you check the expiration date on ALL of your products, no matter where you are shopping. Ok, so should we get cooking?

Estimated time to prepare this meal:
15 minutes

You will need:
1 can Royal Red Alaska Sockeye Salmon
1 large egg
8-10 saltine crackers (crumbled)
1/8 cup green onion
1/2 tablespoon minced garlic
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon basil
1 teaspoon oregano
salt & pepper to taste

Cooking directions:
In a frying pan, set to medium-low, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil. While the oil is heating, you will need to mix the rest of the ingredients in a large mixing bowl. Some people like to drain the salmon completely before mixing it in with the rest of the ingredients. Personally, I like to leave a teaspoon or two of the juice to use in the mix. If you do this, keep in mind that the salmon juice will be very oily. Make sure you have washed your hands, and with all your ingredients in the bowl, mix it all in until it starts to form a sticky consistency. If too moist, add a couple of more crackers, but not too much, as the patties will not hold well with too much breading.

Form 3 palm shaped patties, just as if you were making burgers. Check that the oil is hot enough to sizzle before dropping the patties in. If a drop of water does not make the oil sizzle, turn up the heat to medium high. Drop all three patties in the frying pan. Cook each side until golden brown. The patties should be soft and moist inside, with a golden, crunchy outer layer.

These are delicious served on a bed of rice, or salad. They are awesome with a side of cranberry sauce. It’s a quick and easy healthier alternative to ground beef. Bon Appétit!

First, I created myself as a sim, extra pounds and everything else. Then I created a Brandon sim, in all his gorgeousness along with his character quirks. Sims 3 goes a little further in several areas. In the character creation portion one can choose specific character traits such as “Perfectionist,” Couch Potato,” “Slob,” “Klepto,” and “Ambitious” to name a few. For my sim I chose the following traits: “Computer Whiz,” “Friendly,” “Artistic,” “Ambitious” and “Charismatic.” For Brandon I chose: “Computer Whiz,” “Genius,” “Absent-Minded,” “Perfectionist” and “Friendly.” I fashioned their appearance to look like us as much as the software would allow. Personally I think that Sims 2 was better in that aspect. The Sims in the new version look a bit cartoonish. My version of Brandon in Sims 2 was the spitting image of my schmoopie. On Sims 3, not so much. Funny thing is, I don’t tell the sim what to do, and he ends up doing pretty much the same things that Brandon usually likes to do: read, play with his laptop, solve difficult puzzles, work out, and watch movies. The sim also forgets to eat, just like Brandon, so if I don’t want him to get cranky, then I’ve got to make him eat. It’s just like in real life. Hilarious!

So the next step was to create houses for each of them, as I wanted them to meet and fall in love. You know, go through the motions. So I made them neighbors, of course. I also made them filthy rich. Yeah, I know, not fair using cheat codes, right? Wrong! LOL! I wanted to build the most amazing houses. For my sim I created a modern home. I raised the terrain and built stairs leading up to the house, which overlooks a gorgeous waterfall. For Brandon, I wanted to create a house with classic lines. I have to admit that I had a really hard time. I found myself going for modern again. So I gave his house an oriental flavor, since he loves martial arts so much. His house was on the plot with the waterfall. I built the house at ground level so it would not block the beautiful view from my sim’s house. I also built his house half on the water. So I finally finished his house and took videos of the interior and exterior, which I am sharing here. I hope you like them. I will post videos and photos of the house I built for my sim version of me soon. I apologize that the video has no sound, but the Sims 3 videos are not importing well into Premiere. I really wanted to create a music video with these, but was unable to

Last Tuesday my uncle Raul was flying from Puerto Rico to Mexico to visit my parents. Lucky for me he had a 6 hour lay over at the Hatfield airport in Atlanta. I had known about this for some time, and made arrangements at work to get out early. I did work from home several times this week to make up for the missed time, and so all was good. Did I mention that I love my job? In any event, after a Creative meeting at work, I skipped out at 12:30 p.m. I was already running a little behind schedule when I finally got to the Marta train station in Northfield. The bags containing my parent’s items was heavy to lug around, and to top it off, I had it out with one of Marta’s automated ticketing machines that would not accept my debit card.

Because I had brought along my copy of Exupery’s “Le Petit Prince,” and my Sansaview, the train ride was enjoyable. I read my book for a little while, (yes, it is in French, as I am quite devoted to learning this beautiful language on my own), and listened to Paul VanDyk spin his lively tunes. Before I knew it, the train had arrived at the airport station. Once there, it was a challenge to lug the bags around to the rotunda where my uncle and his friend Paco were waiting. Finally, after some confusion, Paco intercepted me and walked me over to the “Atlanta Bread Company” where my beloved and most special uncle, Raul, was waiting.

Seeing my uncle after nearly fifteen years cannot be described. Words would not do! Suffice to say that my heart leaped with joy as I embraced and kissed him. The memories I have of this man are very important to me. When I was very young, he was an inspiration to me. Uncle Raul has always treated me as if I were her very own daughter, which is funny thing to say since today he looks so much like my dad. In any event, one of the things I remember about him was that he loved to make all his nieces and nephews laugh. He has a very distinct mole on his forehead, smack between the eyebrows. As a child, he would pick me up in his arms and I would press his mole so I could hear him say “beep! beep,” like the road-runner. I loved it! So after our long and tight embrace, I looked at him and pressed his mole. “Beep-beep!” he replied with a smile. We both laughed.

When I was still in Puerto Rico, and I was about twelve or thirteen years of age, my grandmother took me on a two month long trip to Italy and Spain. We stayed at my uncle’s for a month and a half; he was now living in beautiful Florence. Uncle Raul took me sight-seeing all over Florence. To name a few of the places I’ve been to: the Medici tomb, Duomo di Florencia, Uffizi, and L’Academia di Arte where I saw Michelangelo’s famous sculpture of David. Uncle Raul knew the history of the city, and incredible details regarding much of the art there. I stood before Rafael, Michelangelo, and DaVinci’s work while listening intently to him as he told me such intimate details about them. I was in awe of how much he knew! And it was clear to me that his heart belonged in Italy. I knew my uncle would never leave this country that he loved so much. It makes me happy to see him so content.

I also remember going to Venice, Pisa and The Vatican City. Unfortunately I did not get to see much in Rome, but we did drive by the Forum and The Coliseum. It was amazing to watch Madame Butterfly while uncle Raul explained the plot as the opera went along. To this day, it is still my favorite opera. Those were some wonderful times with my family — my grandma, uncle Raul, his wife Rita and my sweet little cousin, Lucia. Lucia was just a little girl of six or seven at the time. Now she is a beautiful and strong young woman; the spitting image of her mother Rita. Ah, but her eyes are undeniably Oliver. In any case, this is just a short background of my memories of uncle Raul. My uncle Raul, who was an amazing sketch artist, and had a commanding singing voice. I would often hear him singing operatic arias in his room, and I still have one of his sketch books. How it ended up in my possession? I have no clue. But I treasure it as one of my most important mementos. Now that I think about it, I am upset with myself for not remembering to bring it to the airport, as I wanted to return it to him. Oh well, I know I will get another chance. I hope to visit Italy soon. There are many, many, many more beautiful memories of this amazing man, who is so important and precious to me. Most significant, however, is the fact that my uncle Raul was the main inspiration for my becoming a graphic artist. I am so, so lucky to have been a part of uncle Raul’s life. Luckier still is that he was a part of mine, and influenced me in positive ways.

Anyway, back to the airport… Once at the Atlanta Bread Company, uncle Raul asked me about my job. Unfortunately his friend, Paco, hijacked the whole conversation, for the entire span of the three hours we spent together, and so I didn’t get to share with uncle Raul at all. As a person who tries to be respectful of my elders, I bit my tongue and went along with whatever happened. But I got to kiss him lots, got to cuddle for a bit, and got to hold his hand. I wish we could have had more time. Three hours was not enough. I wanted to ask him so many things. I wanted to share so much! But instead we were swept into meaningless conversations about religion, technology and politics. I doubt his friend Paco could ever understand how deeply his selfishness hurt me. In thinking about it, my eyes well up with tears.

By the time four o’clock rolled around, it was time for my uncle to go. So we walked him to security, where he received assistance from the staff there. I was relieved that he would not have to carry his own bags to the airplane, as my mother’s curtains weighed a lot! Even I had a hard time lugging them around. I helped my uncle get settled in for the ride through security and to the terminal. I hugged and kissed him again; told him how much I love him. I noticed that the lady pushing his wheelchair had a sour-puss, and so I made light conversation with her to try and cajole a smile. But nothing I said would soften her dour countenance. So when it was time for them to go, I turned to her and said: “If you need to clear traffic on your way to the terminal, simply press this…” then I pressed my uncle’s mole and he obliged with the customary “beep-beep!” She could not resist, and finally she gave in to a chuckle, as I held back my tears. It was hard to see uncle Raul go. I can only hope that we will spend more time again soon!

2009, the year I turn the big four-oh yes! 4-0. I’ve lived 10 years 4 times over. It boggles the mind. But, well… first thing’s first, I suppose. So Happy New Year all! There! Ok, now that’s out of the way. Good!

What? Me tense? I don’t mean to come off as edgy over this lovely (and yet to unfold) year that awaits us all to write our own small piece of history… Excuse me, while I catch my breath. It’s just that I didn’t prepare for this, psychologically I mean. Is there some rite of passage I must undergo to mark the momentous occasion of my birth 40 years ago? Certainly feels as if I should do something significant. And since I am past that phase when I was driven by a strong belief that I could single-handedly change the world, I sit and wonder if there is something I need to be doing to ready myself. Apparently I don’t really have much time.

To reach 40, I mean… What are you thinking?

Anyway, in pondering this I also entertain the thought that… perhaps the tone I set for this rite of passage may stamp itself on the year to come. So I sifted through google and read over some aboriginal cultures to find out what the tribes do to passage the rites ;P Seems sensible, no?

Or, perhaps not…

For starters there seem to be no rite of passage I could find for embracing mid-life (crisis). Such initiations are reserved for the young and pre-pubescent. So now I feel like a wash-out. Thanks. Us middle-agers have a lot to offer, you know! And contrary to popular belief, we are not stuck in the middle-ages. Some of us do keep up with the times. It’s just that we may lag behind a little.

Ok, so back to the subject… Even if I was pre-pubescent, these rites of passages are not for the wimpy. All require sacrifice, some even seclusion and a lot of pain! And if you are a boy! Oh boy! Snip, snap, yikes! Not the tone I want to set for the year, so scratch that idea. Yeah, boys do get the short end of the stick, if you know what I mean. Hehe, no pun intended. Of course I also realized that this is not necessarily all that bad…

…that there are no middle-age rites of passage, I mean… What did you think I meant?

Who says I can’t begin a new tradition? Passage through my rite of choice and encourage others to do the same! And the occasion should be perfect. Oh yes! Something that will send a profound message to the world about who I am, whom I’ve become, what I have gone through, and where I hope to go. It should also carry the stamp of my spiritual, intellectual and emotional maturity level. Something that proves I have learned control, balance and acceptance of my physical nature; a show of power and humility.

Anyway, I never tried to actually light a fart before. I have to admit, I’ve always been curious. But all kidding aside… Oh heck, who am I fooling? I never kid about that sort of thing.

Although… I did begin my plans for a more complex ritual, and it goes like this: First, pay the local department store a visit and buy a girdle. Yes, you heard me right… a girdle. And I don’t mean a pretty, lingerie type of thing. I mean an ugly, stretchy, shiny, skin-colored, the-type-grandma-wore girdle. Now, while in the department store I must face and wrestle my innermost demons; the sad and painful reality of it all. Then courageously walk to the check out counter, lay the thing down for everyone to see and pay for it while repeating out loud: “Yes, I am buying a girdle! Gotta problem with dat?” Well, after that psychological roller-coaster ride I would then go home and try it on in front of the full-length mirror; meditate on it for about an hour with the shower running hot while standing under the heat lamp (to simulate a sweat lodge atmosphere). And now we come to the crucial part… this is the part when I get in touch with and tame the beast inside me that wants to rewind the clock 20 years (I only hope the hot water doesn’t run out first). Anyway, the final victory is marked with a Scooby dance (while still in front of the mirror, sweating and wearing the girdle). Or… the Scooby dance may be too silly so I could switch it up to a booty-grind dance. Oh, the very thought chills the bone. Brrr! I get that creepy-crawly feeling on my scalp at the mere thought.

Ok, so back to my plan… When that is over (the dance, I mean) I would wash away the bad energy (dirt and sweat) in the cool shower; light the girdle on fire, tie it to a rocket launcher and send flying over a couple of rooftops and into some unsuspecting neighbor’s back yard (I score extra points if it lands in a pool). Then cap the rite with a feast of libations to my heart’s content. And it’s a good thing this year my birthday lands on a Saturday, otherwise I’d have to cram this rite of passage, be done and in bed, by 9:00 p.m. Because that’s when us, older folks, get sleepy and cranky.

But really, unless any of you readers can shed some light on this subject, “Rites of Passage for Middle-Agers,” I am thinking mine will be one along these lines: Nice, quiet night in front of the fireplace, a big can of black beans and a fine bottle of Merlot. Just me and my Bic.

So the purpose of my trip to the IKEA store was to get these specific drapes she needed. Mum had gone to their website and picked out the Merete curtains which she wanted in beige. I called the store first, to find out if they were available. Unfortunately it was all automated, and so I couldn’t find out if that particular color was available, but they did have a good number of that item in stock, so I ventured on a quest to find the Merete curtains.

The IKEA store was hard to miss, as it stands a huge, blue monolith carved into the skyline. I had no idea it was so big! After a few wrong turns, I finally made it into the underground parking, which is also enormous. I took note of my parking spot and trekked through the lot to find the entrance. The store had a very peculiar smell, like that of fresh baked bread. It was strange to smell bread at a furniture store, but pleasant and comforting. There were so many people there, and so getting around was a challenge. It was cool to see that they also had a cafe, where they served, what looked like, very good food at surprisingly low prices. Also, they offered kid-sitting in a large play area where parents lined up to drop off their little beasts; uh, I mean, children. I rode the escalators up to the Showroom. Most of the furniture here is in the style I like most: Modern, sleek and trendy. The stuff minimalists can appreciate. Well, uhm, and people like me… non-minimalists, *ahem* yes. A wide path was carved out between the rooms, which were fully decorated and interactive. Anyone could step in and browse, or sit down; open and close drawers and doors, and closely inspect the furniture. I wasn’t only taken by the designs, but the prices were more than reasonable. One thing I noticed, however, was that while most of the furniture seemed to be of good quality, there were some that were cheaply made. It was clear to me that it is important to have a discerning eye and discriminate taste when shopping at IKEA.

I walked the entire span of the Showroom, from Living Rooms, to Kitchens, then Dining Rooms, Bathrooms and Bedrooms. It was a lot to take in, and the store was jam-packed. Not being too fond of crowds, I was a bit uncomfortable. But my discomfort was made bearable by the fact that I was distracted by all the cool furniture.  I managed to snap a few photos, which was difficult to do without getting people in the shots. After 45 minutes in the Showroom, I came to the end of the line. I had yet to see curtains anywhere, so I asked one of the employees who directed me to the downstairs level, called the Marketplace.

The Marketplace was just as large as the Showroom area. Here one could pick out those essential accents and accessories to spruce up any room. I loved the lighting section, the bedding and, of course, the window treatments. And so I finally made it! I looked around and found the line my mum had requested, Merete. They had all kinds of colors, except… Can you guess? Yes! Except beige. So I called mum, who did not answer the phone. I left a message and browsed for one more hour before giving up the wait and leaving. I stood in line and paid for a few items I had picked up along the way: A lamp shade, cutlery, a bathtub caddy, a toilet brush, and an office caddy. I grabbed some Danish ginger snaps on my way out and drove out of the parking lot.

In trying to follow the mapquest directions to Rusan’s Sushi bar, I lost my way… again! I came to a traffic light were the police were asking to see everyone’s drivers’ licenses. There was a brief moment of panic; I had not transferred my tags from Michigan yet. I gave the cop my license and smiled; he looked at my tag, looked at me, and then at my license only to return it and say goodbye. Phew! That was weird. They must have been looking for someone in specific. In any event, from there I found my way to Piedmont Avenue, where I passed the beautiful Piedmont Park, and before I knew it I was pulling into Rusan’s parking lot. I could hardly wait to eat their awesome sushi. I wasn’t in a particularly adventurous mood, so I ordered the same as before: Punk Rock & Rolls, two Unagi sashimi pieces, and the Junji Special rolls. The Punk Rock & Rolls were so delicious! I wished I had ordered two of those, instead of the Junji Special. I remember liking those more the last time I had them. Junji not so special this time around. Hehe. While there, two single ladies were seated at my table. I struck a conversation with one of them, and she shared some juicy tidbits about Rusan’s history. Apparently she had worked there before. She told me that all the art in the restaurant had been painted by the owner. Wow! The Japanese ink drawings were even more beautiful now that I knew they were originals. The topic then shifted to my blog, and she asked where she could find it on the web, so I gave her my calling card, and asked her to keep in touch with me. Looks like I may have made a new friend. That would certainly be nice.

While at Rusan’s mum finally called. I gave her the bad news, but told her I’d be glad to go back to **sigh** IKEA, and get her a different color. I polished my plate, paid the bill and headed back to the Atlantic Station area. At one point I made a left turn into a one-way street. As soon as I turned I looked at the road and thought to myself: “Why, that’s weird! There are no yellow lines on the road. Hmmmm.” Then I looked ahead and noticed cars heading straight in my direction. I cut a quick right into a parking lot, where I sat for a little while listening to my heart beat like a drum, and feeling my legs turn into wet noodles. After harshly scolding myself for my stupidity, I went back into the road; this time traveling in the same direction as the rest of traffic.

Once that ordeal was over, I was back at the IKEA store within 20 minutes. By now it was somewhere around 5 o’clock in the afternoon. The store was not as crowded the second time, but I was tired and simply went straight for the window treatment department. Mum wanted the blue curtains, instead. When I got there, the once-full bin of blue Merete curtains only held one pair. Ah, but she needed two pairs. “Oh dear Lord, no!”I thought to myself. So I searched around in the other bins, and was very lucky to find another one. I nabbed it and rushed back to the registers.

Getting to the highway from IKEA was a cinch. While on the road, I called mum to give her the news. The blue curtains were now safely in my possession. But dad answered the phone and so we got into a nice, long conversation. I was enjoying this chat with dad so much that, without noticing, I missed the interchange to SR400. I didn’t realize my mistake until I was way out east on I-85. Great! Lost again. This always happens to me when I leave Atlanta. I always miss the interchange for some reason. I decided to get off the highway and look at my large and convoluted Atlas map. It took some effort to pin point my exact location, and I was cursing myself for not having brought my reading glasses. Turns out I was way out in Gwynnet county! Even so, I noticed that I was just a few blocks away from the Jimmy Carter Freeway, which takes me straight into my neighborhood. So I left the gas station and started out again. After 15 minutes I became quite agitated; was I going in the opposite direction where I should be going? But of course! “What in the world is the matter with me?” I thought. Luckily I spotted a Wal-Mart (and for the record, let it be noted that I absolutely, and without compunction, HATE Wal-Mart). I needed to make a quick stop there and find the books mum wanted.

While at Wal-Mart, I had a difficult time in the book section, as there was absolutely no rhyme or reason to the order in which they arranged their books. Apparently it’s never occurred to Wal-Mart’s management that alphabetizing their books might make shopping more pleasurable for their customers. I am willing to bet my sweet ass that they’re intentionally jumbled up as a calculated marketing tactic aimed to increasing sales. Y’know, take advantage of impulse buys as much as possible. Did I mention that I really HATE Wal-Mart? Oh yes I did, didn’t I? Sorry. Well, never mind that. It took me a while to find one of the books. I gave up on the second one, which turns out, wasn’t in stock anyway. After leaving Stall-Mart, er… I mean, Wal-Mart, I drove back the way I came and got on the Jimmy Carter Freeway. I knew I’d be home in just a short while. But not before stopping at the supermarket for milk. Ugh! I was knackered and ready to be home. But thinking about how happy my parents would be when they receive all that they asked for, makes going through the trouble all worthwhile. Tomorrow I shall find the other book my mum wants, and the video games dad requested.

And so here I am, finally home. I didn’t arrive until almost 9pm. Geez o’peetz! I left a trail of shoes, socks and clothes from the door to the closet, where I quickly got into my **ahhhhhh** P.Js. I was upset to find out, shortly after arriving home, that the bathroom caddy I purchased did not fit my tub. Ugh! Looks like I will be making another trip to IKEA. I think I have 30 days to return it. I’ll wait 29 days before venturing back.