Operation: Tropical Turkey, day 1

Dateline: somewhere over the Pacific Ocean, 10 p.m. CST (roughly 6 p.m. local time … ish)

I love travel blogging. Seriously, folks, few things make me happier than sharing with you all my random observations while I’m traveling. This maxim holds generally only when I’m traveling without a specific travel companion; even though my parents and grandma are ostensibly on this trip with me, they’re family, not travel companions (no offense intended towards them, promise!), so if you’re a faithful LizBlog reader, well, you should brace yourself for photos and updates over the next seven days, ‘cause I am Hawaii bound, baby! ALOHA indeed!

My day has been sooooo long. Holy cow. I couldn’t fall asleep last night, so I went downstairs to watch some NCIS on demand (the siren song of cable has, in five short days, proven utterly un-ignorable, as I’ve suspected would be the case for the last year). I fell asleep on the couch around, oh, 11? 11:30 p.m.? And then I was woken up by an alarm going off at 5:45 a.m. No, that was not a typo. {/commentary}

Despite all my best intentions to go back to sleep at some point before beginning day-of-travel preparations, it didn’t quite pan out that way, so I reluctantly set about my morning chores … until I realized that today’s Sunday (when I wrote this, I swear, it WAS still Sunday!) and the morning talk shows were coming on soon. Well, color me happy! I was never so glad to take a shower and finish packing than I was once that realization hit me. I was downstairs and showered, ready to partake of This Week, at 9 a.m. sharp! (This, of course, made me think of going to Houston’s for Jennifer’s 19th birthday and spying George waiting for a table. And, since Robert Reich was participating in the roundtable today, this also made me think about my friend Mike, who so graciously nabbed me an autographed copy of “Supercapitalism” when Reich was speaking at Mike’s mom’s church in Dallas. Ahhh, memories! It also made me long for a trip to DC to see the Newseum, which I’ve yet to visit. For shame, Liz, for shame!)

At any rate, my lengthy day o’ travel has otherwise been unremarkable. American Airlines has seriously been on the ball today. We got to DFW (from Nashville) in excess of 30 minutes early, and my plane to Hawaii began boarding at least 15 minutes ahead of schedule. (This, sadly, turned out to be a net negative, as I’d hoped to download some data at the LAX airport for the purposes of working up a dataset en route to Honolulu, but the early boarding totally cut into my data-downloading time. Derik suspects this is evidence that American Airlines has formed an alliance with Pam. I’m not disagreeing.) Even with a short delay in Dallas while maintenance fixed something (perhaps the phalange? They wouldn’t say, so I’m definitely guessing it was the left phalange!), there have been very few hiccups. I strongly suspect this can be directly attributed to the fact that my three flights today have all had flight numbers ending in the number 7 … I know attributing luck to the number 7 is so clichéd, but considering I was born on the 7th day of June in 1977, I feel I have every right to imbue 7 with lucky juju. Screw you if you disagree! Ha!

I cannot tell you all how desperately I need this trip. With the exception of my fabulous Labor Day road trip with my BFF, I haven’t really had more than a single day off (consecutively, I mean) since June, and it has really taken a toll on me. Very few people think they know how difficult the last many months have been for me, and even fewer actually know. Maybe only one.

It’s fascinating to me the extent to which my life has shifted in the last, oh, seven or eight months. I’ve been reflecting on that a lot today, as I’ve been doing a lot of sitting and thinking and writing and staring out plane windows. The things I’ve always believed to be true about myself don’t seem to hold anymore; even the fundamental stuff has clearly changed, and I’m engaged in a daily effort to understand the contours of this new person, this new life, this new outlook on the world. I’ve always thought I knew exactly what I wanted, but I’m starting to think that predictions of that sort are, at best, a fool’s errand. Life is unpredictable and the winds of change invariably knock you in directions you never anticipated going. That’s happening to me right now, and the quiet reflection that pretty much always follows time spent at 38,000 feet has been very illuminating for me today. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t fly. I mean, where else can you look at your world, tiny and anonymous below, and realize how insignificant most of our daily worries are?

(Incidentally, while I do so adore my dose o’ perspective from 38,000 feet, it’s not the best thing one might do at 38,000 feet. {/vague reference intended for you-probably-don’t-know-who})

But enough of all that! Wanna know what I’m hoping to do over the next week? Here’s a list!

• Get a pedicure. I think this is on the agenda for tomorrow morning. Grandma foolishly thought we’d sleep all day tomorrow. AS IF!
• Get my anklet fixed at Jungle Gems. It’s my favorite anklet and I hope they can repair it. The string snapped and some of the gems fell off, but I managed to keep them all. Fingers crossed!
• Garlic shrimp! Score!
• Visiting Marcus at Jamba Juice. Who else can embody three distinct stereotypes in one? I just hope we remembered his name correctly. Otherwise, I’m gonna feel dumb.
• Climb Diamond Head! But, I promise, never by jogging up the trail like the crazy Asian girls who make it look like a snap. Granted, I don’t want to kill myself en route, but I DO want to kill them. Or maybe just make them carry me up. Hmm. Are those two mutually exclusive? Hard to say.
• Lots and lots of work. I know, not exactly exciting, but it’s a necessity. If I can work up data for my Congress paper (the only of my three final papers that actually requires data analysis), then I’ll be in good shape. If I can get the stack of research I brought along read, so much the better. And if I could start writing my research design for my public opinion class? Well, hell! Life’d be swell. Seriously. I really don’t want the last two weeks of the semester to suck out loud, and I’m highly motivated to do what I can this week to make that happen. So we’ll see. Wish me luck.

So there you have it, folks. My first of (hopefully) many travelblog entries over the next week.

Time to try to sleep – they turned off the cabin lights, and I have about 3.5-4 hours left of the flight. A nap would be lovely. But then, aren’t they always?

Aloha, baby! Anyone got a map I can go into? ;-)

you probably shouldn't read this ...

... unless you can stomach a lot of sap without wanting to retch. Seriously.

Having now warned you, I have to assume you're reading forward of your own volition and shall assume any queasiness that ensues from your having read this is your own damned fault. Ha!

Alright. So. I just spent most of my weekend with my boyfriend ... this amazing, awe-inspiring man who has completely captured my heart. Even in those moments in my life where I was feeling most optimistic, I couldn't have imagined someone like him existed in the world. Never have I met someone who has a stronger spirit, a more beautiful soul, or a kinder heart. He gives of himself so freely and so happily. Nobody has ever loved me so unconditionally or as deeply ... never. Never!

I want to go somewhere high and tell the world what an incredible person he is. There were so many moments this weekend when we were together that I was completely overwhelmed by his awesomeness. I cannot believe -- cannot believe!! -- that I get to be with him. I cannot believe he picked me.

My Sebastian makes my life sparkle with happiness and love, and I am happier than I've been in forever.

gushgushgush

All things considered, this will seem implausible at best -- but has that ever stopped me?! Hell no!

I'm fairly well convinced I've found the most amazing person alive. He's smart, witty, oh-so-compassionate, handsome, and alive with energy. He has a beautiful soul. His eyes dance. His smile warms me to my toes.

I'm so smitten. So very, very smitten.

What are you dreaming of?

What are you dreaming of?
I want to live where the sunlight lights
Feather-light on my face
I want to leave all this neon and vice
Before the fire inside me dies or finally fades to gray
--The Floating Men, "Fade to Gray," from the album "Tall Shadows"

It's a big day here at Chez Liz -- moving day!! In less than 12 hours, I'll have pretty much all my stuff relocated to East Nashville, to the townhouse/duplex that I hope I'll be able to call home indefinitely. I love the part of town where I'm moving, love that this new place has a fenced-in yard where Rags can do his business, love that I'll have a yard (but without mowing duties), love that I'll be more centrally located and, hopefully, eventually, a table big enough to accommodate the dinner parties I haven't been able to have in more than four years.

I'm so happy. After I turned in my first big paper project, the insomnia finally started to recede, and I've now had a full night's sleep (GOOD sleep) every night for a couple of weeks without needing to take the Ambien. My stress level has come way down. It was a struggle, but I dealt with a complicated situation with my BFF in the only healthy way I could manage ... and in doing so, had one of those rare but critical moments where I could step outside myself and see that I'm so much stronger of a person than I realize most of the time. Edward once told me that you have to make the hard choice so you can make the right choice (or something like that), and working through all that was me doing just that.

Getting over the hump of this semester hideous start (FINALLY), getting regular sleep, and making the hard choice? They have all given me tremendous peace and the space to feel happy once again. But that's not all. Oh, no!

It was a week ago -- just a week ago! -- that I met someone new who has completely captured my imagination. In his company, I feel safe, understood, and adored; when we're not together, his e-mails move me in a way that very little else can. I know I tend to the hyperbolic when something or someone intrigues me, and I can well imagine the very few people I've talked to about all this are thinking something like, "Well, Liz is at it again." There's something different about this. Perhaps it's that I've spent a significant chunk of time this year flying solo and giving some real thought to what I want out of a relationship, the things I'd like to share with someone, and the way I want to feel. It's so early and the future is unknowable, obviously, but I have the very strong intuition that so much of what I've always wanted to find are there in this man. What a fantastic feeling!!

how can one person feel so much at once?

Can I make a confession? I'm giddy as all hell. It hardly seems possible that three days -- just three days!! -- could snap me out of what has felt like an awful long time worrying I've lost my ability to feel the gaga. It was the theme of so many conversations this summer, wondering why I wasn't feeling the gaga when, by all accounts, I ought to have been. But it just goes to prove something I've spent my life believing, which is that the lightning strikes at the oddest moments, often when you're least expecting it. And it's always, always worth it.

So much has changed in the last year, so many ups and downs, fits and starts, be-a-better-Liz projects. So much hard work. So much uncertainty. Yet so much optimism.

And now? I just feel so -- soooo! -- much gratitude. Excitement. Affection. Anticipation. And hope. So, so, so much hope.

for once, I don't wanna be vague ... but I need to be

There's some stuff going on within my family that is private. I can't give details here. But suffice it to say, it's rocked my world. And not in a good way.

It makes me feel helpful (and hence good) that people can talk to me and tell me what's going on with them. And I really hope that talking to me helps them to feel better, step outside the situation a bit, and get some clarity. I really, really hope that.

But I've had to come to grips over the last few weeks with the fact that my more persistent relationship neuroses, it turns out, aren't uniquely mine. And by "come to grips," I mean merely that I've been presented with undeniable evidence ... but I've hardly begun to deal with it. I'm not even sure how to begin that process.

And so ... I need to talk about some stuff, but I don't really even know what to say. There's nothing I can do about the situation, and as a result, there's not really anything that anyone can say to me, either. That makes talking about it feel futile, and I already feel pretty damned helpless.

I wish my brother lived closer. I could really do with some face time with Rrrrrrroberto! right about now.

the famed Rags O'Muffin letter

Speaking of being flypaper for freaks ... this is a letter I wrote on behalf of Rags, my basset hound, many years ago. It was in response to an e-mail I received from Erwin, a dog belonging to a guy named Allen. (It bears mentioning that Rags and I were living with Scott at the time this letter was written.) I honestly believe this is the funniest thing I've ever written.

Dear Erwin,

When my male two-legger provided me with your e-mail, which my foodslave and personal assistant Liz apparently forwarded to him earlier today, I was a bit taken aback. I have always made it clear to my two-leggers that they are to handle all administrative matters for me -- that is, after all, why I have assistants. However, they insisted I reply myself -- apparently, their attempts to stymie this situation have failed, and only my heavy-pawed correspondence will suffice. Very well then. I must keep this short as my paws are too delicate for typing.

I don't know who these people are that you call "mommy" and "daddy" -- my canine parents, while noble in descent, are hardly known to me. If you mean to imply that I, Rags O' Muffin, am in some way indebted to or owned by these imbecilic two-leggers, I suggest you consult the Daily Drool for affirmation that I, in fact, am in charge here. A hound of my stature demands a certain respect and humility from those surrounding him and would never refer to his staff in such a familial manner.

Frankly, I don't give a damn what your foodsla... er, "daddy" wants with my personal assistant. The only thing I care about is her uninterrupted, undistracted attention to my every wish. I'll admit she did slip up on her duties a week ago, which I was quick to punish with a certain "surprise" on the floor she's responsible for cleaning. I'm sure you understand her neglectful behavior had to be nipped in the bud forcefully and immediately.

As for your suggestion of a future rendezvous, I have always believed that a dog's home should be his castle, and my staff operates under strict guidelines to let no beast -- man, child, or dog -- into my castle without my prior approval. As I am a very cantankerous ruler, this approval is rarely given. I don't wish to sound inhospitable, but we have all accepted that I require much more sleep, playtime and attention than I get, and as a result I am rarely in a welcoming mood. Furthermore, a hound as noble as me hardly sees it necessary to make travel a habit, as my assistants cater to my every whim here in the comfort of my own home. When my entourage does travel, the two-leggers tend to get distracted, which you will understand is hardly acceptable behavior.

In the future, please direct correspondence through my assistants, as I do not believe in attending to these matters myself. Now you must excuse me, as it is time for my 4 p.m. nap.

Rags O'Muffin