Eloquence

My senior year of college I had, shall we say...quite a few...crushes within the male community.

[Smirk]

One night I was watching the movie "Hitch" (based on a real person, David Coleman, "The Dating Doctor," I've seen him speak, he's amazing) with my older brothers and company, and after mentioning my

"huge crush"

on both Will Smith and Kevin James, Patrick said, "Bailey, you need a boyfriend."

I responded along the lines of, "Finally you see what I've been thinking all these years!," but I was cut off by Patrick who apparently was not finished with his statement:

"No, no. You need a boyfriend. And then. You need to move to a desert island so there are no other men around to distract you."

dates <-- Up

Dream update: last night people were ransacking my new apartment, jumping on the bed and busting a spring in the mattress, spilling tomato sauce on the comforter. Then this cute boy came in and saved the day, telling everyone to clean up their messes and then quickly becoming my protective and sensitive boyfriend.

Stress update: brakes still scraping. The mechanics around town are quite booked, and Dad is negotiating good prices for me. Since I have a full schedule tomorrow, it was voted at our family meeting this evening that I get to drive the cool, SUV-ish car tomorrow. Holla.

Ballet update: yesterday we learned the move call 'echappe' and added on to our combination. We're looking pretty hott. Just sayin'.

Sleep update: still not getting enough. To bed too late. Exhausted each morning. Occasional giggle outbursts mid-afternoon as a result.

Zzz...[interruption]...zzz

So my dreams get pretty crazy when I'm super stressed out. This has been perhaps the craziest summer of my life, so last night's dream was appropriate to the occasion.

All I remember from my dream is that I was supposed to be in England, and I was in England, but I was arguing with my dad because apparently I wasn't in the correct portion of England. And I was freaking out that I was going to miss my flight (yes, flight, across the tiny country) and my dad was so lax about it. Then I found my plane ticket

to Rwanda!!

and somehow I knew that the Rwanda ticket would get me to England. So I was supposed to fly to Rwanda and then back to England? Who knows, ask my subconscious.

Well today (in real life) I had a trip to the vet with Dibbs (who has a sore tail, but will be fine), followed by a trip to ballet class, followed by a trip to work. Meaning I didn't sit down until about 7pm. And as I was pulling into work my brakes decided to begin scraping. Loudly. Apparently to bring me even closer to my breaking point. Awesome.

So seeing how today went, and already planning on waking up early (again) tomorrow to go to the mechanic, followed by work...I can only imagine what tonight's slumber will be like. Buckle up, B. This could be fun. Or, you know, one of those nights from which I'll wake up less rested than before I hit the sack in the first place. Sigh...is summer over yet?

On my mind

My cat is sick. When I came home from work on Thursday my heart just sunk for him. He looked tired and sad on the carpet. We took him to the doctor on Friday and he wasn't overly concerned; he gave Dibbs an anti-inflammatory injection and asked us to watch him. He seemed in brighter spirits the next day, but today he just sat, crying, which I've never seen him do. Then he started hissing. When I left the house he was resting in his favorite closet, and purred while I pet him. His mood just seems to be back and forth, and I am worried in a way I haven't been before; I feel like a mother with a sick child.

And then I went to this website: keepdancingamy.com. A young woman from my church who is only 24 and just newly married suffered a stroke last month, and has been in D.C. recovering. Just this last week she was flown to Chicago for rehab. I watched the video her husband made of her flight and cried. I read the journal entries about her struggle and brave and faithful recovery.

I am sincerely worried about my cat. He is the closest thing I have to a child, in the sense that I care for him deeply and he understands that care and so I feel helpless when his eyes are sad instead of bright, and he meows at me for a reason other than his normal reason, which is "feed me." But my spouse isn't recovering from a stroke. I'm not recovering from a stroke. Amy and her husband Johnny are astounding to me. I can't imagine I would have such strength and heart in a similar situation. Maybe I would. But regardless I think we should all look to people like them with humility, and take notes.

We're praying for you, Amy. Keep it up. Keep dancing. I'll try to do an extra good job on the barre tomorrow in your honor.

Accept me for who I am

There is no sense in even listing all of the contents that were in my car prior to 7pm this evening, because I think the amount of wardrobe items alone is enough to shock the pants off of you (pun intended).

3 tank tops
1 pair of jeans
1 pair of shorts
3 pairs of sweatpants
1 jacket
1 cardigan
2 polos
4 hoodies
3 tees
1 long sleeve tee
2 skirts
1 collared shirt
1 bra
22 socks
5 pairs of undies
3 pairs of shoes (2 for ballet, 1 for work)

Well apparently I could dress myself for about a month. For a variety of occasions and weather scenarios, I might add. Without ever leaving the comfort of my crowded little car.

Also, as I was wrapping up the pull-all-the-crap-out-and-take-it-in-the-house project, I spent a good 5 minutes looking for my car key. It was in the ignition, powering the CD player I had been listening to while I worked. I do not dye my hair blonde, this is the real thing.

And then, my final step in Project Remove Crap was to take all the trash to the dumpster. I had brought out a smaller trash can to collect things like (cough, dry banana peel, apple core) and had filled it halfway; I was carrying it inside when I stopped, turned around, and placed it in the backseat. I figured it would get a lot of business if it remained in the car. Does this mean the disgusting, vicious cycle will eventually stop?

Doubtful.

Poll

I just asked Riley, "Do you think I'm a freak, or do you think I've just had a very special life?"

He laughed, then answered, "A because of B."

Nothing like sibling honesty.

A gift

I was not aware that one's toes could hurt to the degree that mine currently do. Yet another one of ballet's lessons/contributions to my life. Thanks again, classic French art form.

Paw in mouth

Tonight Riley and I were praying over our BBQ beef sandwiches before snarfing them and the prayer went like this:

Bailey: Thank you for Riley, who buys me dinner, and thank you for the cows*
Riley: And thank you for the cat
Bailey: Dibby!!
Riley: Amen

And Bailey: "Meow."

I said "meow" instead of "amen"!!!!!! SUBconsciously, mind you. For the record, I do not picture a big cat in the sky when I pray, nor do I pray to a cat.

Mega embarrassed, raise your hand...Oy.

*my SINCERE apologies to any who practice Hinduism or (veg)etari(an)ism

Up, up, up

Just a news alert: I am still growing up. Yep, not done yet.

Could someone come over and mark my height with a pencil on the wall?

Pappys' Day

Today during church we reached the point in the service where you greet the people around you. There were two young girls, probably six and nine, sitting behind us, and my dad gave each of them a fist pump, followed by a finger implosion, bypassing the handshake altogether. They giggled and loved it.

So proud and happy to have inherited half my genes from this man. Love you, Daddy.

Speak the truth in love

Over Chinese lunch today with the fam, Mom started telling a story about a guy who she used to date (a long time ago, high school time-ish). She explained to us that they were dating, then he invited her to some formal dance, she bought a dress, then realized she didn't really like him that much anymore. She said that she wrote the guy a note saying she didn't want to go to the dance together.

In the telling of this story, she then looked at me and said, "Doesn't that sound like something you would do?"

Dad was laughing so hard he had to get out of his seat at the restaurant.

(She was right, though, in her assessment.)

Servant Heart

Sunday during church I leaned over to my sister-in-law and told her that I had a wedgie. My brother was on the other side of her and leaned toward me and said, "Are you asking for help?"

Schedule Squeeze

So, remember when I was thinking I would have a whirlwind summer, working, balleting, signing a lease, packing, etc., then wrapping it all up and spending a nice peaceful week in my new place before starting classes, preferably with a good night of sleep before day one?

Well, sayonara, plans.

My brother and his fiance just finalized their wedding date today for August 8th.

2010.

Bailey's graduate school journey begins on August 9th (seven hours away from the marital location).

I am truly excited, and it's their wedding so I am willing to compromise, but just let this be an illustration to any of you who do not have a large family. Things just get crazier with time, FYI. People spread out and you just have to squeeze things in where they fit. Worth it, but a little exhausting. And all this time you were judging me for my caffeine addiction...

Port de Bras

My mom is currently tacking the straps of my ballet slippers in place and mending my ballet skirt. I went to a big dance clothing store on Monday and wanted to buy all of the zebra striped and neon green stretch shorts I could see, and be "that" ballerina, but I limited myself to a leotard and shoes.

I love this new challenge. I feel graceful one moment, totally clunky and stiff the next. There are moments my flexibility feeds me and others during which I see my classmates' legs stretching just a little more perfectly than mine. My classmates share my sense of humor about the situation as well as my genuine interest in learning our new French hobby, so it is fun. Our teacher has one of those smiles that is perfectly beautiful and encouraging, so that when she says "Good!" to me or the class and catches my eye, I feel capable. Like the smile of a kindergarten teacher. Which is appropriate, because usually it is kindergarteners who take ballet, not twenty-somethings.

At the end of each class I feel energized and exhilirated. This light thrill runs through me, briefly but impossible to ignore. I feel proud of my effort, proud for just enrolling in the class. And I feel proud for being there. I used to get frustrated with missed opportunities; I always knew as my family was moving around while I was growing up that I was making such a diverse network of friends, experiencing multiple cities and cultures. But that didn't stop me from feeling a pang of annoyance, jealousy, and above all sadness when I watched my fellow high school seniors snap pictures at graduation with their best friend since third grade, or when I had to get myself to the Friday night football game because the fact was I was just too new for anyone to even know to invite me to go with them. I knew all along it was making me a strong, unique character, but I also knew for sure this came with its costs, that it was a for better or worse situation.

As I'm navigating (if the term "navigating" indicates the possession of a map, then scratch that) through my twenties, I am learning (slowly, slowly, slowly) that if I feed my jealousy, that is really my own choice and responsibility. I know that from my past I learned to make the best of things, I just get tired of it sometimes. But as I get older I am trying to remind myself during those tired moments that I am an adult, and so I need to make the better choice. For me, taking ballet at my age is saying "Screw you!" to all the conventions of our society that make only certain things possible to certain people with certain privileges and lucky timing. Sure, it's a little awkward to take ballet now, but I'm old enough that I'll remember it for the rest of my life. And I can take home my lessons and analyze them here in my blog; couldn't do that when I was in kindergarten. So I say "So, there" to pieces of my past, in the best ways I know how; enrolling in ballet when I am angry and smiling over the times that made me smile before. It is a bittersweet mix, that is inevitable. So I am trying to make my forward motion, as much as I can, a dance.

Role Defiance

I was swimming with Mike and Chris at their apartment tonight and as we were heading out to the pool I asked Mike if I could borrow one of his towels. He reappeared a moment later, asking,

"Pink or purple?"

My answer was, with a smile, "I'm just glad you have both."

Sprinkle Sprinkle

Wow. Failing at my blogging career currently. Let's see, it is June 14th and this is my fifth post for the month.

So much for the "Daily" part.

Sorry friends, been (more than) a little busy lately, particularly today during which I was meeting my NIECE!!!! What a champ, what a sweet pea. Pretty sure she thinks I'm awesome as well. I could tell from the way she conked out in my arms that the love feelings are mutual. Today little Annabelle was baptized by her grampy. Welcome to the Daily family and Jesus' family, Annabelle. We love you too much already.

Whose side are you on?

Fruit. Versus veggies. That is what I want to discuss now, at 3:31am. Well honestly I'd like to be sleeping, but since my body is saying "no thank you" to that suggestion, my second choice would be to discuss fruits vs. vegetables. Of course it would be more lively if I had someone else who is currently conscious to have my discourse with!

Brain sleep waves? Melatonin? REM sleep factory? Nope? Nothin'? Okay fine, I'll continue with the post, aka the one-sided discussion.

So I was eating my dinner on my lunch break tonight at work, and spent just about the entire time that I was eating thinking about that which I was eating. I had gone to the salad bar at the grocery store and purchased watermelon, honeydew, canteloupe, pineapple, and grapes (red). This is rare. In fact I can't remember the last time I have done something similar. Perhaps never. Hmm. But here's the kicker. When I started my shift today, I premeditated the purchasing of this fruit.

And this is weird because I don't particularly like fruit.

I love vegetables. I don't bother to prepare or purchase them very often, but if you put tomatoes (I know, I know, technically a fruit), corn, lima beans, peas in front of me, I will eat them with little hesitation and great satisfaction. Not only because they taste good but because they're not a burden. I had a colleague once who I did not usually see eye to eye with, but one day she said she didn't like eating fruit because it's sticky, and I thought, "Now maybe we do have something in common." And this is the type of person that I am: I actually felt closer to her and gained some respect for her at that moment. Nevermind that she was a successful businesswoman, devoted parent. No no, for Bailey, if you find eating an apple to be irritating, then you have gained some points in my book.

This conversation happened a few years ago, so I had already thoroughly thought this point through when I sat down for tonight's fruit meeting. But it was at tonight's particular meeting that I discovered another point against fruit. Pro corn. I want to say Pro Legume, because that sounds French and also like a great name for a band, but I think legumes are beans/nuts? Moving on.

Fruit is sensitive. It goes from underripe to overripe in moments; it seems to slip from one state to the next so quickly that the beautiful state of ripeness is unavailable and thus, aggravating. Kind of like an oh-so-handsome Hollywood star. Forever untouchable, we know this, yet we keep forking over $10 to watch him or her make out with some other untouchable in his or her new film. Stupid. So why do we keep chasing these people and these coy items with seeds?

I am not kidding you when I say that I have made a vow not to eat or purchase an apple until I genuinely crave one again. Because I really don't like apples. I chased them for years, always buying them because I felt that's what I should do. And then I would place them in the fruit basket, wait for them to rot, and then throw them away on my way to the grocery store.

Within my collage of fruit this evening, I would say the pineapple was perfect, the watermelon was almost there (though deceiving, because it definitely appeared to be a darker red but tasted more like a medium red), the canteloupe was "meh," the honeydew obviously not ripe because when is it ever?, and the grapes...the grapes. Grapes are one of the most aggravating fruits for me (bananas, for the record, are the most tolerable). They are either so sour, or mushy. Both of these states are so miserable for the mouth in which they enter, why oh WHY do we keep torturing ourselves? And they sell so many!!!! Why are there 200 grapes in a bag? Seriously we only need 15, max. Ugh, I could go on until dawn about all this. Tonight's grapes were sour.

So point one: fruit is sticky. Vegetables, while maybe requiring a spoon, do not ooze juice all over the consumer.

And two: Vegetables don't mess around in letting you know that they're ripe. "Holla," they say. "We're in pretty good shape today, and we'll still be this way on Thursday, so no rush." Fruit, on the other hand, says, "Betcha can't guess if I'm ripe! I've got this thick skin/rind that doesn't let you know for sure. Go ahead, purchase me. Then you'll slice into me and be disappointed, because it's either too early or too late and there's no turning back."

I have officially joined the Pro Legume Party. Now if the fruits want to come around and start behaving more like adults, then I will consider negotiations. But until then I'm planning on serving my children veggies. Not because my children will behave badly and need to learn to eat their veggies, but because the fruit has behaved, and continues to behave badly, setting an inappropriate example for my offspring.

What I'm doing this summer

I am realizing a childhood dream.

I have

FINALLY

enrolled in Beginning Ballet.

I am loving it/floundering within it. I feel like a robotic dog; my arms feel stiff and boxy, my body seems to lumber, not glide. But 1, I have wanted to do this my entire life and am now, at the ripe age of 25, finally able to do so. Not to mention, this class is the perfect stress relief for these final two months before school starts. While I am so excited and anxious for graduate school, finding a place to live and tying up loose ends in the meantime, all the while swallowing the huge change that is about to begin, becomes a bit of a burden.

Which brings me to point 2, and that would be that I love the adventure of trying something completely brand new. When I am using all my adult concentration on mastering the arabesque, I truly cannot concentrate on the fact that I haven't found an apartment yet. That is the power of learning something new. It is so attention-hogging that you have no choice but to put all your energy into learning just that one new thing. And during this class, oh people, I screw up right and left (literally, as well as left and right). The phrase "fake it 'til you make it" has never meant so much to me prior to this week. But every once in a while we move very slowly on the barre, and all my insanity-induced time spent running in the hot sun and my flexibility repay me in offering their grace, and I think, "Hmm, I think I'm actually getting this move right."

I learned in my intro Psychology class way back in high school that if you set goals that are too high or too low you will never feel very accomplished. If your goals are too low, you will always reach them but you won't feel like you really climbed a mountain. On the contrary, if you aim too high, you'll rarely reach what you're after--because you haven't spent enough time training properly--and you'll end up constantly frustrated, with paralyzed self-esteem. Aim for the middle (my specialty, as a middle child), and you're set. You won't always succeed, but each time you do you'll know you achieved something that before you had no idea you could. Graduate school will bring its challenges, I'm sure, and hopefully, successes. But currently? I've got my eye (and hands, fingers resting gently) on the barre.

The Luddite's Struggle

First my internet crashed.

All of the other computers in the house received their internet connection just fine. Riley unplugged and replugged the router just for good measure, and even though my PC is the closest to the router, my wireless connection has yet to revive itself.

So I borrowed Riley's laptop to check my email.

Problem 2. "username or password incorrect." On the contrary, this statement was definitely incorrect. I retyped my password multiple times, double checked that the Caps Lock was not on, to no avail.

All week the email has been occasionally responsive, but not always.

Then I started housesitting. Different computer, different connection speed, different everything. Also commuting between different homes when I realize I've forgotten my outfit for work, my debit card, etc. So a little stressed out, busy, and spending more time on the road than usual and settling in unfamiliar territory, both in physical and cyber surroundings. Maybe not a true excuse to all, but to me, definitely a valid excuse.

And then, the final straw. I believe it was Saturday night that my email account decided to load in something that was not Chinese or Japanese but looked a lot like both.

So you see. Technology is not usually on my side, because I so vehemently oppose it and it likes to seek its revenge on me. But this week has been an exception. I have been inviting its presence into my life, and technology has shoved me away with a rude, strong, virtual thrust. And I just have to say I am offended. I mean, all I ever did was refuse the ownership rights to a cell phone. And a GPS, and an mp3 player...

So normally I would have faithfully provided you with daily posts. But between the router, my email account, my schedule, and technology as a whole (yeah, I said it), such has just not been possible as of late.

My sincere apologies. I hope that you will accept this post as a token of my devotion, present and future, in cyber-sickness and functioning-router health. 'Til technological difficulties once again do us part (as they always will, because technology is flawed...).

Fingers Crossed

Beware when cooking in another's kitchen. You might find yourself working with appliances you've never before touched (i.e., electric standing mixer, circa the Civil War), ingredients you're not quite familiar with (double strength vanilla extract, margarine made with olive oil), and you will open every cabinet and drawer multiple times each to find what you are looking for.

Let's just say Riley and I said a little prayer over the trays of cookies before I put them in the oven. He licked a beater clean and sampled a cookie and stated, "Not bad," so I'm gonna guess we're in the clear.