Modern Ruined My Pedicure

Two days, five dance classes, two hours of yoga, and one long shift in women's shoes.
My body is exhausted and doesn't get to rest. Tomorrow (more accurately tonight) at 3 am we have to leave for the airport. Apparently the only way to get to Lincoln, NE on Thursday was to leave at o-dark thirty and fly through Denver. Balls.

Anyways, my body is going to be sore. Right now I am fresh out of the bath and just a touch stiff, but oh tomorrow (tonight? 3am?) my joints will be feeling all this dancing. I have been working out for over a month and dancing for all of two days, and I feel a little more like my old self. Honestly, it's probably the outfit. I probably stand a little taller because of the leotard. And I look skinnier because I am sucking my stomach in, most likely because I'm in a ROOM OF MIRRORS.

Nevertheless I am the happiest girl west of the Mississippi. That is until I go a little closer to the Mississippi. Then, who knows.

The reason for my midnight travels lies in the little town of Grand Island, Nebraska. Where over 50 of my family members are meeting to celebrate my Grandma's 80th birthday. And to drink beer. It's a yearly tradition and we call it "Fish Bash." We haven't gone fishing since I was in 4th grade, but that's not important.

When my cousin Thomas was born with severe down syndrome the 6 O'Malley brothers all came together to take my uncle camping. The next year my Aunt joined them. They decided that family was too important to only get together for weddings or funerals so they made it a tradition. And we have been camping the third weekend of June ever since. I'm pretty lucky to be part of such a cool (huge) family. Even if they do drink a lot of beer :)

PS- While I am traveling to the land of corn, The Barista is on his way to Mexico. We had a good chat today, it was fun!

I'm taking dance tomorrow.

Tap! And maybe even Ballet.

I am so excited.

Perhaps it will be what I am looking for... you know, the piece of the puzzle that will make this summer feel whole.

Probably not though. Nobody ever finds those pieces, because it's the search that drives us.

Drive on sisters.

The Barista

For the record: I am not lonely. I don't enjoy how much I dream of a date, in fact, I hate that about myself. Meh, oh well. I am a product of my Disney-Princess-Happy-Ending upbringing.

In the lazy days of summer, miles away from my best friends in the world, and on opposite schedules of my two friends still in town, I have a lot of down time. This makes it so that the majority of people I have daily contact with are people from The Job, and my "friends" at Bucky's. I call them friends, but I only know a few names. And I would be lying to you if I told you I would go everyday regardless of the presence of The Barista.

Oh, The Barista. How I love him so. He speaks Spanish with his Spanish-speaking customers and I'm a sucker for foreign languages. I really want to be good at one (just one!) someday, therefore his fluency just adds to his hotness. He is adorably interesting and I think we made progress today. Let me describe to you the scene.

Imagine: your everyday mall Starbucks, cheesy music, green aprons, and an incredibly long line of frappuccino thirsting people. The Barista sees me, smiles hello (does he look happy to see me?), takes the drink orders of the people in front of me and finally says, "Coffee?"
"Just a tall today, thanks."
My spot is taken. Most of the seats at the counter are taken. I sit at an empty table and dive into my Arab-Israeli Reader while they take care of the rush. Finally my spot is open, I settle into the comfy cushions triumphantly and look up to find myself making direct eye contact with The Barista. I smile, he smiles back.
"I got my spot."
"I'm glad."
"How are you today?"
"Oh not bad. Busy"
(I know, what a deep and meaningful conversation)
Later he comes out with his little broom and dustpan and starts sweeping the rather clean floor. He comes over by my chair, sweeps once right under my feet and says:
"I got that one crumb"
I, like always, desperate for conversation, ask if I can put my stirrer in his little garbage thing. He says yes.
(This is the good stuff)
He stops and looks like he is about to say something but can't come up with anything.
I look up at him from my chair and just chuckle. He laughs back. Oh he has a precious smile.

The small pleasures of life. Maybe one day he will ask me what I am doing after work.

If not, my Tall Glass of Water might.

Just another day on the campaign trail in 1992.

I like to realize that my somewhat lazy summer days are not entirely wasted when I can write out what (little) good they have done me. So here goes:

• Shining shoes is actually really fun and a good way to waste (whoops, I mean WORK) for a good half of an hour between customers.
• The Death of Yugoslavia (thanks kottke!) is the most interesting film I have seen all summer. And I went to Sex and the City. On opening weekend.
• Starbucks espresso is not as good as the rest of their coffee.
• I look forward to seeing the Starbucks people more than I do most of my co-workers. Maybe I should work at Buckys?
• I have a shoe problem. It's genetic.
• A quick rosary in the morning starts my day off like a full-blown breakfast would, were I to ever eat breakfast.
• Seeing people you barely know is EVEN MORE AWKWARD at the gym.
• We have got ourselves a regular UN at The Job. My coworkers range from American to Mexican to Bosnian to German, to Brazilian to all sorts of unclassifiable Asian. And I live in the Pacific Northwest. Diversity for us is "I saw a black person today... on TV."

And finally, the kicker of ALL KICKERS! SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS IS TRUE!

John McCain called his wife a cunt in 1992.

Oh, and check this out: (because I am a failure at life I can't get it to embed) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOl4iT46Eec Follow the link, it is well worth it.

The man doesn't say no! Maybe he is not dignifying it with a response because it is so preposterous. But if this has any grain of truth to it, if the man has ever called a woman that before in his life, he not only cannot be president because he obviously doesn't value or respect women, he deserves a SWIFT KICK IN THE PANTS. Someone better get to the bottom of this VERY soon, because this is one angry voter who wants answers.

Curious Gorge

On Saturday I had to take the ORELA in pdx. Instead of whining about how it will make me miss Super Saturday and my Alma Mater's graduation, I decided to make a weekend of it. So after three hours of "if you're not a complete idiot choose a" I headed east into the sunshine on I-84 to Hood River. If you haven't been to the Columbia River Gorge, it is spectacular:

(photo copyright Craig Wolf)

What is more spectacular is that I was blessed enough to spend a little time with one of my favorite friends:

That is Miss Fabulous and I in Meteora, Greece. I just met her this year, but the experiences we shared brought us so much closer to each other than either of us could have guessed. Around her I am 100% the person I want to be. I guess one of the hallmarks of true friendship is the ease in which you can be around each other. I don't have to hide any of my weird traits and I know I can always be completely honest. While I was in Hood River we spent a lot of time in the car, exploring the scenery and searching for waterfalls, which led to some very insightful conversations about friendship and relationships.

We decided that we are catches! We are smart, beautiful, kind, and exciting girls. Any guy would be lucky to have us! Then we thought, well then, why don't they? (Have us, that is.) Then we came to the conclusion that as much as we think we want to be in a relationship, we do have fairly high standards and value our independence too much to give it up to just anyone.

For example: Today at The Job I was manning the men's fragrance counter because the person who normally does went home for the evening.

Enter: Costumer Who Thinks He's Really Funny. CWTHRF wants a gift set of Polo Black. I look for said gift set and can't find it (my intelligence is constantly humbled at The Job. While I may rock at Jeopardy I don't know shit about shoe polish.) He really wants a gift set so he starts smelling other fragrances. Instead of spraying them on the blotters, like every other normal human being, he spray's them on the corner of the display gift sets. This is the conversation that follows:

Me: Would you like a blotter? I think I have a few back here...
CWTHRF: Haha no thanks, I just like making your boxes smell.
Me: (laughs)
CWRHRF: What does this Ed Hardy one smell like?
Me: Why don't you hand it to me and I can spray a little for you. It's better to let them settle a little while on the paper, you get a better idea of the true smell that way.

(While passing the bottle over the counter, CWTHRF unexpectedly playfully sprays the adorable sales associate in the face)

Me: Did you just spray that on me?
CWTHRF: Haha I'm sorry, I just had to.
Me (laughs it off, playing it cool): Haha yeah, I'm sure you did. (obviously not as offended as I should be) I can honestly say that I have never been spray on by a customer before.
CWTHRF: I'm honored to be your first.

Customer Who Thinks He's Really Funny continues to joke with me while I finish the transaction. Had he not f-ing SPRAYED ME WITH MEN'S COLOGNE I would have thought he was a pleasant young man. Wait until you hear the worst part: I don't even make commission on fragrances.

God's little reminder to keep your eyes open, because not all men are worth it.

Other than that I had a great day at The Job. An old man referred to my co-worker as a "tall glass of water." That Tall Glass of Water is also an adorable red head. Who smiled at me and made me think, maybe this one will appreciate my cologne story. I sure would like to see that smile more.

Monday

For an insight into my life (because I know how desperately you want one) I will list the most exciting parts of my day.

-Went to gym. Best part of my day hands down. Today my workout was kind of lame, but when it isn't, I feel great.
-Cute Barista smiled at me.

oh yeah and I bought candy.

Not that I am complaining. It's just your averge Monday for a working girl. I have been tring to be more positive and I think it's working. I no longer think of myself as the sad pathetic lonely lost cause. Because I'm talking more to God. Also, I am isolated because I made myself that way. So I look forward to Cute Barista's smiles, I mean.. why not?

My Sister's Keeper

Jodi Picoult broke my heart, and I think she meant too. My Sister's Keeper is the torturous story of a family torn apart by Kate's vicious cancer. Her younger sister, Anna, was conceived to be a perfect donor for Kate, a role which defines her for the rest of her life. The oldest sibling, Jesse, is lost in the background of Kate's more pressing medical needs, and their parents do whatever they can, all they know how to do. They love their children, but sometimes it isn't enough.

I wonder if this book is this powerful for other people too. I would assume it is.

Kate's mom could really easily be my own mother. Kathleen my own doner. Although my recovery was much faster and easier than Kate's, the passages about her chemo and her mother's heartbreak hit a little too close to home.

Sometimes I forget that my cancer is a part of my identity. I don't ever think about it, I have no tangible memory of it. But my family remembers. I forget that. I asked my mom about it today, "On that day for about ten years it was really hard. But its not so much now."

I can't imagine my eternally strong mother knocked powerless by the last news she ever expected to hear at my 8 month well-baby exam. I can't picture Kathleen, just 6, wishing she could take care of her baby sister. (Which, for the record, she has done an incredible job of in my ensuing years. Making sure I stay sane in middle school, coming home from college to see my plays in high school, nagging me about cigarettes when I thought I was cool and European, etc.) I can't picture my Dad, who has done everything possible in the world for me, idle in a hospital waiting room.

This part of my life is not something we talk about very often in my family. I was raised as normal as is normal. Nevertheless I am obviously affected on some deep level of my subconscious that I don't really feel necessary to understand.

Sometime I wonder if being "One-Kidney-Cate" will affect my chances of having a baby. I asked my doctor this once, at age 13. I didn't fully understand the consequences of the question until it came out of my mouth and it suddenly scared the breath right out of my lungs. But Dr. Mason to the rescue again! Nothing to worry about there.

But I still worry. All I want in the world is to be a mother.

Today it took reading about a cancer patient to finally fully realize that that's what I was. My Nephrectomy and Chemo scars are more than just party quirks. They are a part of me, physically, spiritually, and philosophically.

Dearest Lord (and Kathleen) I promise never to even look at a cigarette again, to always pile on sunscreen, and do everything in my power to keep my body healthy. Because, Jesus Cate! At any moment you may not be!

Purpose

"It's that little flame that lights a fire under your ass." -Princeton, Avenue Q.

Hello blog world, my name is Cate and I have an interesting perspective to share with you. I am young and I seek knowledge like it's alcohol on a Friday night. I am a failure in many things, successful in few. I constantly struggle against my ever shifting paradigm. I am always learning.

And I like to document. I like to muse.

Let's not get started too quickly, basics are essential here.

I am the daughter of Mike and Sharon of Nebraska and Tennessee, respectively. I was born in Olympia, Washington until a little thing called college swept me away to a far away land called Portland, Oregon. Before then I never left Olympia for longer than 2 weeks, but I dreamed of seeing "the world" (back when I thought seeing was all that was necessary). In lieu of applying to American University of Paris I was promised the chance to study abroad in college. And that's just what I did. Last year I spent 8 wonderful months in Salzburg, Austria with incredible people, taking home priceless experiences and umpteen stolen coasters. So now I'm back home, repaying my debt to humanity by endless hours of tedious folding and bs-ing my way through The Job. I'm trying to be positive about it.

I am addicted to many things. Let's start with: Diet Coke, mom blogs, Big Love, being happy, dance, having a religious crisis, the German language, inappropriate racial jokes, hippies, and reading. I am proud to say that cigarettes is not on the list! Personal Victory #1!

I never score decisively in personality tests. Somehow I always end up abstract/concrete random. Well, they got the random part right.

Until last week I was an Ed major, and friends will tell you that explains a lot about me. Now my main focus is History and German, with a minor in Education.

Every time I hear a foreign language all forces within me want to immediately understand and speak it. Except, I had no desire to learn Hungarian. Just too weird. Someday I will learn German, French, Spanish, Latin, and Greek, but I would be ok if only got three of those, as long as I threw in 'learn how to drive a stick shift' for good measure.

I converted to Catholicism at 16 and search for God everywhere. He is usually in the same spot and I have just ended up running in circles. Not unlike at The Job, holding that one shirt for hours, running around the department not having a clue where to hang it, setting it down and seeing the rack directly in from of my face. If God were a snake, he would have bit me. [insert current religious crisis here, if we knew each other better]

I hope to amuse you with my little thoughts and remarks and also to learn from you, the wider blogging world. Because you have a few years on me, and obviously an abundance of time.

Oh yes, the title?

sh-lahg-ober-s

Just a cool sounding German (or more accurately, Austrian) word.