Pleasant Vices and Annoying Virtues

Since I'm working for the man government, I had to fill out this very, very long survey making a list of everyone I've ever met who could verify that I'm not a terrorist and answering a bunch of questions about whether I've been involved in any criminal activity, sold any drugs, took afternoon tea with any foreign spies, or chained myself to any trees chanting "We Shall Overcome."  As I was checking "No" to every single one of these questions, what I should have been thinking was, gee whiz, am I a brilliantly upstanding American!, but what I was actually thinking was, wow, is my life boring.

I know I'm supposed to "cherish virtue" and all, and I'm glad that I don't live a life riddled with scandal, but what will my kids think when I have no stories about my forays into sex, drugs, and rock and roll?  Just to prove that I'm not the straight-laced, buttoned-up, uptight square that I appear to be, I'm going to talk about my vices!

• I took up secondhand smoking for two weeks one time.  I was staying with this woman who smoked and riding to work with an in-car smoker.  At the end of the two weeks, I was kind of used to it, but it was definitely easy to quit.
• I'm a caffeine drinker.  No espressos or Red Bull or anything, but I do enjoy the sting of a cold Diet Coke traveling down my esophagus.
• Ooh--gluttony!  I know, I know, but Alex, you're so tiny and trim, you're thinking, but if there are brownies, I will eat them at a disproportionately quick rate.
• Hmm...what else?  I kissed a boy and I liked it?
• Sometimes I wear shirts twice before I wash them (but I guess that's water conservation, so...)?

Okay...my list of "vices" is pretty short.  This was the worst attempt to prove anything ever.  I eat my vegetables; I go to bed early; I listen to music at a reasonable volume; I'm probably going to die a virgin; I floss.  I guess I'm not that kind of girl, after all.  

My Debutante Slouch

When I was still living under the rule of my mother (and let's be honest, I kind of still am), she would always look at me standing or walking and command in her very German way, "Posture!"  I try to stand up straight, to do my very best "Top Model" walk in high heels, but sometimes it's just too much of a chore.  I used to worry about this:  was my slouching unattractive in some way?  Fortunately, not long later, I read the Betsy-Tacy books and learned about a thing called the Debutante Slouch.

This is from a 1920's fashion magazine, or so says Google Image Search.

The Debutante Slouch is the languid pose of one who is just too exhausted from being beautiful and sophisticated all the time.  It's usually accompanied by blasé expressions, sighs, anemia, or complaints about prohibition and/or women's suffrage.

I went to a work party this afternoon, and while standing in a group, I thought*, oh no! I should stand up straight, but sometimes "straight" means rigid and awkward and uncomfortable, and let's face it, it's a social gathering so I'm already contributing enough rigid, awkward, and uncomfortable to the situation, so I debutante-slouched.  Hand on the hip, pigeon toes, and all.  I wish I had a picture of myself in this position, but I didn't think of it until just now, the time when I'm already in my pajamas and therefore not feeling very sophisticated at all.  

Perhaps when Laura Taylor (the Tacy to my Betsy) visits me in the spring, we shall have a Debutante Slouch photo shoot, and then eat onion sandwiches and sing Annie Laurie.  

*Because I had plenty of time to think as I wasn't really very active in the conversation.  I'm not great at jumping into conversations in any case, but they were all talking about movies I hadn't seen.

"I Know Your Eyes Are Just for Me, But..."*

One of the downsides to living in a place that's hot all the time is that I sweat a lot.  And when I sweat a lot, my feet start to smell really bad.  It's awful.  I mean, when I was living in temperate climates, I had the occasional pair of shoes that, when worn barefoot, didn't have the best reputation for making my feet smell awesome, but it's starting to become more prevalent and it's a problem.

I was always a stinky-footed toddler.  I think it's because my parents always put me in the little footy pajamas with the nonslip rubber soles that didn't breathe.  But toddlers with stinky feet are expected--even endearing!  When one is in one's late twenties, one's feet are expected to smell better.  Not like flowers; I mean, they're still feet, but just better.

At least I have nobody to whom my feet need to be in close proximity.  Nevertheless, maybe I'd best invest in some Odor Eaters.


*Extra credit to anyone who knows the connection between the post title and the topic.

A Strange Statistic

I wrote more posts for this blog in the month of July than I wrote in January through April of this year!  One might think that I've been doing many more interesting things than I actually have been.  More realistically, I think it's just my internet self trying to say, "hey, I'm still here!"

I've Been Scooped!

I thought I was unique in bringing my quest for a fantastic burger to Oahu, but then I found this blog!  At least now I have a source.  I went to the Cheeseburger Factory in the Ala Moana Center food court tonight, and I have to say that my opinion was slightly different than theirs.  They gave it a pretty bad review, but I liked it okay.  It was definitely a "lunch burger" though.

My viewpoint may have been skewed as it was the only "real" food I'd eaten that day.  (Story segue time!)  I finally got to take my competency exam for work.  It was fairly simple and straightforward:  seven practical stations about essential aspects of forensic anthropology.  It took forever, though!  It was taking so long that I skipped lunch, so the only food I ate at work today was a cupcake from the General's wife.  After taking the test for almost six hours, I felt like this:

Oh my gosh, I freaking love Snape so much.

Of course, I wasn't going to eat the plain pasta that I'd brought with me because it was the kind of day that's so intense that in order to make things right, an animal has to die.  Burger time!  (Can you believe I was ever a vegetarian?)  So I went with my friend Sarah and her boyfriend to Ala Moana Center and we hit up the food court like the classy folks we are.  

Then we meandered around the mall and went to the Pacific Place Tea Room (which isn't a room at all, but a little kiosk in the mall) and got macaroons:  mine was Mango-Lime, Sarah's was Red Velvet.  I quite liked it--it was very fresh-tasting and not too overwhelming in any flavor direction to keep it interesting.

Basically, it was a pretty not bad day!  (Except for the fact that my office-mate and I now know the answer to the question, how many forensic anthropologists does it take to evict a giant cockroach from the building?)

Two and One

Here are two things that people said to me today:

Temple worker outside of the women's dressing room:  "You look so bright-eyed...does anything escape your gaze?"  Er...probably?  


Girl from church I ran into at the Temple Visitor's Center:  "You could date [name of guy]; you guys are both Caucasian!"  Hey, I just met you, this is crazy, but we're both white...call me maybe?

One thing that nobody is going to say:

Man:  "Of all the women in Hawaii, I'm really hoping to land the nearsighted brunette with the modest bosom."  One of the many hitches in my plan to go on dates here.

Actually, this guy might say something like that.
He is white, so we're good to go.

Flightless Birds

The birds here are strange.

My roommate and I were driving yesterday, and this bird runs out into the road, sees us coming, and then turns around and runs back.  I thought (ironically) oh bird, if only there were some evolutionary adaptation that could allow you to avoid cars a different way.

Is flying difficult, I wonder?  I knew someone who studied birds, but I never thought to ask her about it.  Birds fly.  It's just what they do.  Is Hawaii so hot or so relaxed that the birds just forgot how?

Then, because I'm very "deep" these days, I went into metaphor mode.

[Now, so I don't further aggravate all the people who hate me for complaining about Hawaii, feel free to replace "Hawaii" with "new place" and "Boston" with "old place."]

In Boston I grew a lot.  One might even say that I "evolved."  Maybe I didn't become more awesome, because I was already pretty awesome, but it was the first time that I felt comfortable enough with my awesomeness to show my awesomeness off to the world.

I'm afraid that moving here will cause me to regress, to become the awkward, closed-off person that it took me three years to outgrow.

I'm afraid of forgetting how to fly.