It’s a sad fact of human nature that when we are in our most intimate moments we make faces that… well, that defy description.  We may also sweat, moan, sigh, grunt, scream, squeal, squeak, and there are other things too.  Things I won’t even get into.  The fact is sex would be gross and comical if we didn’t like it so much.

Actually, it gross and comical even when we like it so much.

And sex isn’t the only activity in which we engage that makes us look and sound ridiculous.  Watch the face of any athlete pushing herself to go further, faster, harder.  That’s not a pretty face.  The face made when someone sucks on an especially tart lemon?  Or takes a shot of cheap tequila? The yelp of pain a human voice can let out upon a tiny injury like a paper-cut or stubbed pinkie-toe. Or the wail of agony a man may let out when his favorite team loses some very important game.

All of these are downright pleasant, I fear, when compared with the face I make as I sing along half under my breath while playing Just Dance…  There’s a reason I don’t sing and dance in public.

A few weeks ago I made a somewhat severe dietary change.  There were reasons for it. Many many reasons.  Health.  Energy.  Vanity.  Age.  The fact that half my fucking clothes don’t fit.

I’ve been dragging for ages.  Not sleeping.  No energy.  Grumpy.  Yes, you heard me.  I’ve been grumpy.

So I needed a change, and to do that I needed a strict set of guidelines, otherwise… well let’s face it, even if we tell ourselves it’s an every once in a while treat, if you buy that bag of cheese puffs and that 12-pack of coke… they’re going to get consumed.  As is the bread.  Bagels.  Pizza.  Hash-browns.  Casserole.  Tacos…

I could have gone crazy and cut every bad thing in my diet out.  I could chew on twigs and berries morning, noon, and night and call it good  Except that wouldn’t be good, people.

That wouldn’t be good at all.

Food is this huge part of human condition.  We eat to stay alive.  We eat to be comforted.  We eat to be social.  We eat to indulge.  We eat food because it tastes awesome.  But sometimes the comforting, social, indulgent, awesome aspects of food get in the way of staying alive, or at least our health.  Both physical and mental.

And it was with all that in mind, and the hope that I could fit back into my favorite jeans, that I decided to change the way I eat.

Again.

And instead of eating only twigs and berries I thought I would go with something a little more sustainable, something my doctor had encouraged me to try years ago when  a blood sugar test that came back too high (it turned out to be a blip).  Cut out all those yummy, delicious, amazingly pointless processed carbs and sugars.

Try it for a few months. I told myself.  What can it hurt? I asked myself.  After a week something wonderful happened.  It kind of snuck up on me.  No I’m not talking about a mom pal asking me if I’d lost weight because she thought my ass looked great…

I’m talking about sleep.  Sleeping.  Snoozing.  Resting.  Dreaming.  And waking up refreshed with enough energy to make it through my crazy day without a nap.  Without yawning every few minutes.  Without being grumpy and hostile and so tired I just wanted to fall apart.

I never expected changing my diet to help me sleep.  So what, I told myself, it could be anything.  And then yesterday while hanging out with my brother I decided I needed ice cream.  Chocolate ice cream to be exact.  And there we were next the the Ben & Jerry’s and I found myself sucking down a glorious super duper chocolatey milk shake.  Oh. My. Fuck.  It was good.  For a few minutes.  While I was eating it.

And then I was hyper.  And then I was grumpy.  And then I wasn’t hungry for my delicious dinner.  And then I was tired, but I still had stuff to do.  And then when I finally got in bed to lay down I couldn’t fall asleep.  For the first time in weeks.  So I just lay there with my mind turning over and over again and again being awake for far too long.  And when I finally did fall asleep?  I woke up a couple of hours later.  And a couple of hours after that.  And after that it was just time to drag my groggy ass out of bed.

So… lesson learned?  Maybe.  I’m not entirely sure it was that milk shake… but given how much I’ve enjoyed my couple of weeks of blissful, productive, amazing sleep… I don’t think I’m willing to risk it at the moment.

So the diet change continues, just don’t mess with my booze…

Today was a should have day.  A would have day.  When I drifted off to sleep last night there were two sets of plans in my head.  My mind turned them each over and over reviewing and revising what needed to occur for both Plan A and Plan B until the possibilities for both had been exhausted.

I’m like that.  I like to have a plan.  It gives me a road map for my day.  Isn’t it funny though that I can’t really read a map to save my life?

Anyway, the should have.  The would have.

It should have been a snow day.  In Portland the lightest dusting of snow tends to shut down the entire city.  You’d think we’d never seen the fluffy frozen wet stuff in our life the way the news channels and the social networks get all a buzz with talk of snowpocalypse and snowmageddon.  The city shuts down.  The buses and trains get fucked up.  School is cancelled.

So when my alarm went off this morning and I learned that school had, in fact, not been cancelled or even delayed, that the city was proceeding as normal (Keep Portland Weird!  It’s as normal as we get), and that the buses were running on normal routes I scratched my head.  I crawled out of bed and made breakfast and lunch while glancing out the window at the clear brightening sky.  And that, my gentle readers, is when the snow began to fall.  I felt grownup and slightly mid-western as I walked my kid to school in the gently falling snow.  My Favorite Things played over and over in my head and as I started back home I was quietly singing along when a snowflake landed on my lashes.  And I smiled.  Nothing was sticking on the ground but there on my lashes a snowflake stayed.  Snow should have meant Plan B.  It should have thrown my day into utter chaos, instead, the snow rested gently on my lashes and clung to my hat and coat while slush sloughed around my boots and I went about Plan A… just a little more slowly.

I had the day I should have had, not the day I would have.  And it was happy.  And, you know, stuff.

No, Cami, you’re not dying.  Nor do you have some strange illness.  You simply ate a lot of beets.  Stop freaking out every time you pee.

(this, my friends, is what passes for blog fodder around here)

When I was younger I thought I’d be living the life of the Jetson family by now.  I pictured living in my high (high high high) rise condo with flying cars and a robot maid to do my dishes, laundry and clean the floors.  Yeah, even then I knew I’d hate cleaning floors.  As a child growing up in a time when books, movies and even cartoons had a heavy sci-fi leaning I thought I was prepared for the future culture, but that wasn’t so.

My contemporaries and I were prepared for flying cars, teleportation, instant meals, robots, replicants, virtual reality and snazzy jumpsuits.  And while Star Trek may have touched on the moral gray area of the holodeck I don’t seem to recall my sci-fi upbringing touching on the etiquette and moral implications of instant mass communication.  There was no “How to behave on social networks” manual being passed around.  It seemed to sneak into our culture and then explode. Like any community, sites have laws, rules or codes of conduct.  But those are legal issues.  Technical issues.  There are trolls and hostile users and spammers.  But those are not the etiquette issues of which I’m writing.

I’m thinking of people finding out a loved one is dead because someone posted it on facebook.  Mothers learning they’ll become grandmothers because someone blogged about it.  Kids finding out their parent is in the hospital because a family member tweeted it in passing.  In this age of instant communication do we need a manners lesson?  How would I feel if I learned something life altering about my daughter, father, mother, sibling or loved one because of a status update?

Like shit.

Yet I see it over and over again.  My family is just as guilty as any other and I’ve seen hurt feelings running rampant.  And with good reason, people behave thoughtlessly and someone is bound to be wounded.

Is this an issue of navigating the future world we live in or just a matter of common decency?  While having a thick skin isn’t such a bad idea, I think it’s important that we find a way to navigate the world keeping others in mind and find a way to teach future generations to do the same.

Or we can all become part machine.   You know, whichever.

I have big plans for tonight.  Big plans.  Huge.  On the scale of plan greatness the plans I have could be considered epic.  That isn’t to say they can’t be improved.  As a matter of fact I have a few things in mind that would make my evening epic squared.  It could go from being a great evening to being the greatest evening of my life.

That’s right.  From great to greatest.  I said it.

So what am I doing?

Catching a late flight to Paris?

Being abducted by aliens?

Learning the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything?

No.  I’m going to lay curled up under a blanket cozy and warm with the sounds of evening all around me and watch a movie.  And then?  I’ll curl up and go to bed.

You’re jealous, I know.  Sigh.

I’ve spent the weekend at WordCamp Portland.  You know… with the wordy people.  But it seemed strange to be here and not be blogging about it so while others poured into sessions I opted to pull up a patch of floor in the hallway and hide to write this post.

At this point I should note that I attempted to write this post 2 hours ago, but because this is WordCamp, and because this is Portland hiding and blogging doesn’t work that well.  I forget sometimes what a social community this group of of bloggers, designers and developers is.

As another session is letting out I think I should just go ahead and stop here rather than trying to write through the crowd, but…

Hi.

Hello.

Nice to see you.

See you next year WordCamp PDX.

I bought a mop.  I needed a mop.  I went to the store for a mop and I bought one.  And some hair dye, it was on the list too.  A mop and hair dye because a girl has to have her priorities.

I’ve been hiding in a little box for over a year, tucked away from the outside world focusing on doing very few things, but doing them well.  Getting my head together.  Deciding what to do.  Figuring shit out.

Do you know what I learned during all that quiet box dwelling figuring time?  I mean aside from that I needed a mop and some hair dye (and peanut butter, duh).  That I need to climb out of my quiet little hidey-hole and get with the program.  I need to do some doing while I’m figuring out what to do.  Big life changes, even when you are the one who instigated them, touch your entire life.

No shit, Sherlock.  I know.

So what do I do?  What am I doing?  What the hell is going on with me?  How am I going to pull this shit off?  When is it all getting underway?  Why am I asking these questions so loudly?

…did you read those loudly?  because they are so loud in my head.  echoing…

Because I’m trying to figure out who I want to be when I grow up.  I’m looking for work after 10 years of being a stay at home parent and I don’t know what it is that I do.  I know what I used to do.  I know who I was then.

10 years ago.  Then it was black and white. But then it was just me.

I’d like to make it as simple as that list I made for the store yesterday.

mop
hair dye
peanut butter
cottage cheese
bagels
tomato juice

To be able to walk out into the world knowing what I need and how to get it.  It isn’t.  It won’t be.  I’m doing it anyway.

Any advice?

Over the weekend we headed to the beach for one last fling before the school year begins.  A chance to celebrate and say goodbye to summer.  Just another day at the beach.  Until.  I found myself buried in the sand.  First to my chest.  Then over my arms.  Over my shoulders.  Sand packed around my neck.  Into my ears.  Around my entire head.

I’d never been buried in the sand.

There are always firsts.  For each day that we wake and draw breath we have a chance to do something new.  With kids it’s an easy thing to accomplish.  There are so many things children haven’t done we can easily fill their days with new things to learn and experience.  And while there are so many things that I’ve never experienced and so much in this world that I’ve yet to learn, I’m 34 years old.  I live in my box.  I follow a routine.  Even the exciting things I do are often tried and true.

It might be time to let that go and learn again.

Born and raised in California and then Texas you’d think I’d be used to a little heat and a dash of humidity…  Well no.  I’m not.  I’m a spoiled Oregonian.  I listen year round as other Oregonians (natives and transplants alike) whine and complain about the rain, the clouds and the cool air, and then the first day the thermometer hits 80 I hear complaints about the heat.  It seems people just can’t be pleased.

Right now?  I’m so one of those people who can’t be pleased, but it isn’t my beloved Portland letting me down.

I don’t understand how people survive the Midwest.  With its heat.  Floods.  Humidity.  Giant bugs.  Weather warning alarms going off at all hours of the day.  And the heat, did I mention that part?

That’s just a summer list… I don’t know how y’all do it.  How you survive year after year.

Though I do totally understand the church’s more dominant place in Midwestern culture because this weather? This environment?  It’s biblical in proportion.  The heat could bake you alive if you stayed out in it.  The humidity seems just right for roasting flesh from bone.  The storms (which are my favorite part of life here, I love a good storm) shake houses, flood streets and scare the hell out of animals and people alike.  It would make sense to turn to a higher power and a sense of strong community here.

So what is it that has me in this seemingly god-forsaken place?  Family.  I do so love my family but every time I come here I think they’re crazier than on my last visit.  Why?  Because they’ve lived here for years and after less than a week I’m already losing my mind.  Good company, fun things to do, amazing meals and drinks all aside this place has me curled up into a puddle of over-heated, bloated, dehydrated, whiny goo.

So Portland, in case I haven’t said it often enough, I <3 you to bits and pieces.