Black is back

Guess what? Black nail polish is fashionable. I know! Weird!

I put some on, and I have to admit it feels strange. I haven't worn black nail polish since I was, oh, 11. And it wasn't because it was cool, no sirree.

But apparently now it's OK to wear black - it doesn't mean you're goth anymore! But there are rules. This isn't Nam. You have to keep your nails short. And it doesn't have to be just black - dark brown or maroon are OK, too.

Black (polish) power!

Ho ho hum

This year's Christmas season was sort of mixed for me. I was looking forward to Christmas like I always do, but I never really got the butterflies in my stomach or felt the magic -- even on Christmas Eve. Is that an adult thing? The weight of the world becomes so heavy that you focus more on how much it's going to cost, or worrying that you didn't get enough presents for your nephew to open? When I was little I used to get so excited on Christmas Eve I would eat way too much and throw up. I threw up three years in a row! Now I'm a little better at controlling my portions (although I think I'm still working off that "baby" fat), so I haven't vomited in a while. I also used to be the first one up, rousing everyone out of bed so we could get the party started. One year I woke up at 1 a.m. and tried to wake up my brother, Dallace. I played out in my mind how my mom would tell our neighbors that crazy ol Lindsay woke us all up in the middle of the night and we had Christmas PRETTY early. Well, that plan didn't really work. No one wanted to get up -- Dallace just rolled over again. And I eventually went back to sleep.

These days I cover my face with a pillow and pray for a few more minutes, then I get grumpy with everyone for not starting Christmas fast enough so I could go to work. Where did my Christmas spirit go? Do I need to go work at a soup kitchen or something to remember what it's like to feel peace and joy? Do I need to make all my presents by hand to make them more meaningful? What's the secret, Santa?

A bicycle built for one

Yesterday I saw a middle-aged couple/possibly retired riding their bikes together in Tempe. And I began to wonder why so many people - myself included - get joy out of riding a bike. I decided it's a number of things: 1) since so many people learn to ride in their childhood, it reminds them of being a kid. 2) the open air whooshing by is so much more enjoyable than the one you feel walking or driving, and 3) you get to see so many things up close that you normally miss if you usually drive.

I have a bike, but I don't go out as often as I'd like. It's red, with an automatic transmission, which means it changes gears for me. Yeah, it's pretty sweet. I am part of a Tempe bike gang called BONES. Maybe you've heard of it? Bikers of the Night East Side? No? OK. Anyway, we go on rides to freak out the establishment. It's pretty rad. My code name is Lady Death, and when I go on BONES rides I bring along a little skeleton lady I got at Target.

As far as the helmet issue goes, here's my thoughts: I probably should wear a helmet, and maybe one of these days I'll break down and buy one. But the problem is that the only helmets available for purchase are very unattractive, and though they are good for safety, not good for coolness. Someone should design a bike helmet with some style! I'll accept designs and choose a winner.

Ice cream romance

My mom recently asked me to go spend some time with my grandma, the voracious Nana Butler. I hadn't seen her in a while, so I went though I really didn't have time to go. She lives in a nice house in Mesa where they take good care of her and her Alzheimer's symptoms.

One thing about Nana: she likes ice cream. And we all know that when you go to visit her, you involve ice cream in some fashion or suffer some fierce consequences. So we drove around for good half hour to find a McDonald's (for some reason there were none to be found -- is this America?) so I could show up at her doorstep with a fudge sundae in hand.

After the nurse answered the door, she showed me to where Nana was asleep on the couch. Nana looked confused and a little suspicious when I woke her up, but she overcame that when she saw the ice cream. What followed was a virtual inhalation of the fudge sundae, which had filled a cup possibly 8 oz. She didn't look up and she didn't break for air, drink or conversation.

When she finished the ice cream, she downed a glass of milk and got up to leave. "I'm going to bed," she said very matter-of-factly. A bit surprised, I asked her to stay, that I wanted to talk to her. "About what?" she asked. "About anything," I said. Well, that went over like a lead balloon. She promptly got up to go to her room. Her nurse tried to persuade her to stay and talk to me, but she wasn't having it. She went to her room and slammed the door.

Feeling a bit incredulous and embarrassed (the nurse had said "I've never seen her here before, she's your granddaughter, you should talk to her!"), I followed Nane to her room. I wasn't going to go without some quality time.

By the time I got to her room, she had decided maybe she didn't want to go to bed. She wanted to go for a ride. She, understandably, likes to leave the house every once in a while. So we went for a ride around the block. Along the way, I tried to ask her things, but the car was dark and she couldn't hear/understand anything I said. But she did ask if we were going to stop to get something to eat -- she wanted a milkshake. "But Nana, we just had ice cream," I said. "Remember?" After that she was quiet. Maybe because she didn't remember. Or maybe because she knew I caught on to her game.

When we got back to the house, I tried to talk about her old pony, Penny. But she couldn't understand me, and when I tried to pull out a coin to get her to say "Penny," I realized I had pulled out a nickel. She was so confused! And I was spent. So I walked her back to the house and to her room. By that time she was calling me the right name, and said good night. I hugged her and smiled. She smiled back.

By the way, Tony (my boyfriend) was there the whole time, but tried to stay out of sight because he thinks she is scared of him. He might be right, so we don't push it.

Oh Nana B. So many good stories!

Scottsdale by the Numbers

Today I sat and ate a delicious cheese bagel at Scottsdale Fashion Square and noted the following:

5 People wearing sunglasses indoors
1 Man wearing a "grumpy #7" jersey
1 Woman wearing a fanny pack on her fanny
1 Woman dressed head to toe in turquoise
12 Women wearing obviously uncomfortable shoes (myself included)
1 Little girl wearing a princess dress and carrying a purse full of princesses
1 Full-grown man wearing overalls

Fugitive from Justice No More

It is full of regret that I announce I am no longer on the run from the law. I walked out to my car this morning to find that the police had caught up to me despite my numerous and hilarious aliases ("Tootsie Two-Toes" "Donny the Shark" and "Lucy Bean the Dancin Machine" being just a few.)

This is my second, no my third, brush with crime. But all of them have one thing in common: They are all stupid parking tickets that were distributed in front of a loved one's home, which strikes me as extra unfair.

The good news: I want to turn over a new leaf. I want to park with the flow of traffic. I want to park within 18 inches of the curb. And God help me I even want to have in-state registered plates!

I hope you will help me with my new lease on legality. I don't want a life of crime.

Confession

Today "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" came on the radio and I didn't change the station

Gooo Team!

I have a confession to make. I have no school spirit.

Although I DID enjoy my tenure at Arizona State, I only went to two games while I was there, and then only because the tickets were free. I think I left early from one of them.

It's not that I didn't like my school...I just don't feel any real loyalty there. I could've gone to any old school -- this one just happened to be 5 miles from my house and offered me a scholarship.

Last summer, I met some people with some actual school spirit. And boy were they spirited. They were so in love with Penn State, and would drop a name of some famous faculty or alumni with no provocation. It drove me nuts! For a long time, I couldn't figure it out! But it finally dawned on me: the 30,000 annual tuition. When you are paying that kind of money for a bachelor's degree, you better love your school. You better hold it and squeeze it and garner some sort of meaningful relationship, because if you don't, you may realize that you just got the same education as the girl who paid nothing to get her journalism degree from ASU. And she's even in the same summer program as you. Gooo Penn State!

So while I may not really care where I went to school, I will root for the home team and try to keep up on what's going on. Not because it's important to me, but it just feels so good to not go to owe thousands of dollars to Penn State. And that's a reason to cheer.

Condo Craziness: An F Word Kind of Day

Today started out all right. I was going to meet my friend for breakfast, then head on over to my condo to paint the living room. Breakfast went well, and I was on my way to Home Depot for some light shopping.

Problem #1: Home Depot does not = light shopping. They don't even have regular paper towels. They only have the kind made from steel wool for auto mechanics or something. OK, scratch that. I'm going to ACE Hardware, where they sell both regular paper towels, popcorn and cheese graters!

I find everything I need at ACE, including some advice from an employee who told me I might need a primer. Duly noted and promptly ignored.

Problem #2: Finally I get to my place where I discover the roof leaked from the rain and there's a big bubble on the wall in my bedroom. Oh, and the washer and dryer that "came with the place" has not arrived yet. I call some dude and alert him to the problems. He says he'll take care of it.

Problem #3: After nearly an hour of preparing the living room for paint, I'm ready to apply "Plum Creek" to my walls. Unfortunately, I discover that the paint is not sticking to the walls very well, and I need a primer. Back to ACE, where their computers are down and I accidently grab exterior paint instead of interior.

At day's end, I did prime my living room. But I was in a wicked mood, and getting stuck on the freeway behind a slow girl with a Dopey sticker on her windshield did not help. And this is only my first day of condo construction. Stay tuned.

Areas of My Expertise

I've recently been trudging through a book called "The Know it All." It's about a man's quest to read the entire Encyclopaedia Britannica and become the smartest man in the world. It's funny, but it's pretty long and gets a little tiresome. I've made it to the V's.

Reading the encyclopedia is one way to become knowledgable about the world. You'd think that working at a newspaper would be another way. But you'd be wrong, my friend. Dead wrong.

I can't tell you what's going on in Lebanon today. I assume someone's getting blown up. I also couldn't tell you what Congress is up to. Accepting bribes? I'd believe it.

What I CAN tell you is about the condo craze in Scottsdale. Or the effort to ban lap dances at the local strip clubs. When it comes to local news, I'm your gal. Well, if it falls under my beat.

But if you want to know what's going on in the WORLD, don't ask me. Go read a newspaper or something.

Leaving Home

I am proud to say that I am well on my way to becoming a home owner. An OWNER! Granted, it's a condo, so it's considered "shared" ownership, but that's fine as long as my neighbors don't steal my bath towels.

The idea of owning and living alone in my own little house is totally foreign. Growing up with four older sisters and a younger brother, sharing was a virtue. An enforced virtue. My brother and I shared a bed until I was 6, then a room until I was 9. And my sisters and I still share clothes.

While I will miss the company that comes with family at my parent's house, there is also a peace that I feel I have been seeking for quite some time. The peace to leave the house without being asked where I am going, or to buy Go-Gurt with my own money.

I'll probably miss the comaraderie, and the free food. But I think I'm ready to bond-o with my condo.

Worst June 27 EVER

Yesterday started like any other day. Except I was wearing some cu-ute new pants that went great with some black heels. I made it to work at usual time when my co-worker Amanda called. Her car overheated and she was on the side of the road. Have no fear! I thought... Lindsay to the rescue! I jumped back in my car to bring her some water and was zooming down the road to her.

About a mile away, my radio went out for no reason. I just figured it was my usual bad car stereo luck. I stopped at a light and was talking to Tony on my cell. When the light turned green, my car turned on me. I was slamming my foot on the gas and the car was jerking and barely moving. I started screaming into the phone and instinctively threw it down. I barely made it through the intersection and pulled into a bus pullout.

After a prayer of thanks, I tried to restart my car. It didn't even try to start. It just gave up! I called my boss and I called Amanda to tell them that they should start believing in irony. Anyway, Tony called into work and came to help us both. He rescued Amanda then rescued me. We met at a McDonald's and bought some sodas.

In the end, the same tow truck carried our cars at the same time to the same car place. She got her car back (busted hose) the same day. I'm getting mine (alternator) tomorrow.

And the worst part? Cute pants wasted on the bus driver who honked at me for being in his lane.

Blow out the candles

In a couple of weeks, I will turn 23. Like many people, I sometimes like to reflect on how much I've achieved in 23 years. Let's see: I've graduated from college, lived on my own in Florida and secured the job I wanted at a daily newspaper. Not too shabby, but it could use some work.

There are lots of things I wish I had done, like study abroad in Europe somewhere so I could travel. Also, I wish I had minored in Spanish instead of Political Science. My inability to form a coherent sentence about Spanish or The Constitution proves that I should've taken a different route. I wish I hadn't spent so much on my credit card (granted, most of the purchases went to expensive repairs on my car), because now I'm paying the price, so to speak.

But there's still some time. There are still some things I can do, even in my old age. Before I turn 30, I plan to attend graduate school -- where I will make a point to study Spanish for real, along with my main studies in journalism. During that time, when I have long breaks again, I plan to travel -- and hopefully not just to Europe. I'd also like to run a marathon before I turn 30. I'm training for a half marathon right now...maybe that will spur me on to greater distances. I'd also like to own a condo or a house -- I hate the idea of renting; it seems like a waste of money.

I'll keep you posted on my progress of these lofty goals. In the meantime, I've got a party to plan.

Hummer a little tune

I've now been working in Scottsdale five days a week for five months. There are some things I like - it's pretty, it's clean, it's relatively safe. But there are more than a few things I don't like.

One is how easy it is to pick out a Scottsdale woman: blonde fried hair, leathery tan skin, ugly $1,000 purse, chunky unoriginal Tiffany jewelry and usually some sort of lime green tank top or shirt (why lime green? no idea). It is amazing how similar they all are. They are living examples that upper class doesn't mean class.

Another thing I don't like? The drivers. Now, I don't automatically hate someone who drives an Escalade or a Hummer (well, I do have problems with the impact on the environment but that's a different gripe). But, it seems like drivers in Scottsdale are much MUCH quicker to hit the horn when the car ahead of them doesn't see the green light. And this isn't just a "feeling." My office is on the corner of a busy intersection, and I hear honks all day long from impatient drivers. And yes, I myself have been a victim of Hummer Honking.

How can we fix this scourge of spite? A new law: With every superfluous honk, the driver has to pay $5,000 to Humane Borders, the group that provides water to immigrants crossing the desert. After one day, you'll hear crickets.

Self made man

I recently read "Self-Made Man," a book written by a female LA Times columnist who took time off to spend a year dressed as a man. She received makeup tips from a pro, voice tips from a Julliard coach and worked out her upper body to give her broader shoulders. The book really wasn't what I expected. In the company of these men, the woman found a vulnerability that men very seldom show in front of women. In her experience, men want to show emotion, they want to connect, but they can't. All of the social norms that tell them to be strong are also making them weak.

I didn't love the book the whole time. But I was fascinated by her guts to try the experiment. Talk about first-hand reporting.

Summer blues? I've got the answer!

Summer is coming up, and it's going to be my first as a real adult. That means no time off. Previous summers included snorkeling in Key West, tooling around Payson in my Volvo and serving steaks - "No Rules" style. But this summer will be different. As a full-time employee, I only have a few days of vacation every year. No three-week chunks of free time. (*aside - why did I think I was so busy in college? Every three months I had at least a month of vacation)

So what can I do to make the summer more beachy-keen? Here's some ideas:

* set up a beach umbrella over my desk - to help protect me from the harmful rays of a 1990s Mac

* Bring in my steel drum for a lunchtime luau

* construct a hammock out of paper clips

* put a little paper umbrella in my vending machine Coke Zero

* hang up post cards of all the exotic places I've been - el paso, tucson, birmingham, etc

Ahh. Already feels more like summer.

New Territory

This is my first foray into blogging...thus it might be a total bust!