Wednesday, July 31, 2013


The other night we were eating a salmon salad (with perfectly grilled salmon courtesy of Alan), when I looked at our meals and thought, "I really want Mexican food." Alan looked at me like I was crazy, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that right at that moment I wanted nothing more than a big, fat, oozing burrito. Then yesterday when I was doing a FaceTime call with Jenny, she was eating dinner - homemade enchiladas. I told Alan that we MUST have Juan's Place for dinner. It's not the best Mexican food out there, but it reminds me of my grandma's cooking growing up and the flavors are familiar and comforting. We also love the atmosphere so it's our go-to Mexican place when we want sit-down food (and not just a burrito to go).

So we go, and we get our super burrito with el pastor.  This burrito is NO JOKE. It's really two meals. I was SO DAMN FULL when we got home. When it was time for bed, I was still full to bursting. And damn, my dreams. They were insane. 

First I dreamed that I was pregnant. And huge. My friend Sarah had twins and I've never seen anyone pregnant as big as she was. I was bigger than that. Then I had a huge kid. And I went back to work the next day. Except, I had to leave at noon to take a half day because, I kid you not, "my vagina hurts." Even in my dream I was like, "this is weird as shit." Oh, I also named my kid Charlotte, like my beautiful little niece, because ... well, why not. Then I dreamed that my sister was messing with a bear. Like, poking it with a stick and taunting it. I have no idea why. Obviously the bear got pissed and started to mess with her. Then we had to call in some people to save her. They were trying to tranquilize the bear with darts so that they could get her out of danger, except she kept swooping in and pulling the darts out of the bear. In my dream state, looking at this happening, all I could think was, "this might be the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

Moral of the story? I love Mexican food, but clearly it does not love me. Those were some acid trip dreams right there. So guess what I'm eating for lunch. That's right, leftovers. Stay tuned for other weird dreams, I guess.

I've been having dry, itchy scalp lately so I'm following a blog (or was it Pinterest?) recommendation in that I have doused my scalp with coconut oil. We'll see if it does anything to help my actual problem. I'm hoping it has the added benefit of making my hair soft & shiny.

In junior high and high school I was on dance teams that were primarily jazz and hip hop. When I got to college I knew I didn't have enough left to do any competitive dance, but I wanted to do something so I signed up for a modern dance class that was offered for credit. At 8 a.m. I trudged up Cardiac Hill to the field house for the class. After doing some stretching and warming up, the instructor told us to move like we were a tree. I'd never experienced anything like this in my previous dance escapades and it felt weird to me. I needed an 8 count. I needed music to move to. Standing there watching people sway and flutter their fingers as if they were leaves made me really uncomfortable. I left the class and dropped it immediately. 

The story of "dance like a tree" has been told several times since then, always as kind of a joke of why I never did modern/contemporary. Imagine my extreme surprise, nearly 18 years later to be watching an episode of So You Think You Can Dance and hearing a contemporary choreographer telling one of the dancers that SHE WAS GOING TO BE A TREE.

I can't make this shit up.