If there's one striking characteristic about me, it's the fact that I can be...well...a bit obsessive about things I like. I tend to operate in two modes: all or nothing. My parents and siblings know this all too well. When Amy Grant's "Lead Me On" album came out in 1988, I forced them to listen to the song "Saved by Love" over and over despite the fact that doing so meant I had to rewind the cassette tape each time. I think it was more than a year before I listened to any of the other songs on the album. Some things never change. I still find myself getting stuck on a single song and playing it over and over. (The creators of the iPod had no idea what the repeat feature would one day mean for me!) I mentioned the Spanish group Lori Meyers in my last post, and I cannot over emphasize how much I love their music. From the moment I heard the first chord of one of their songs, I knew I had found my soul's music. All week I've listened to their song,

I spent a few nights this week searching for flights to Europe. Pearl Jam is playing there this summer, and it seemed like a really great idea to fly over for a few days to be part of a music festival. I mean, that's right up there at the top of everyone's priority list, right? I'll actually be in Peru for the bulk of PJ's European tour, and the three dates that would work for me are in Bilboa (Spain), Venice (Italy), and Lison (Portugal). That trip isn't going to happen (even I won't pay the kind of money it will take), but in the process I discovered some new music groups: Lori Meyers and Amaral . Both are from Spain, and both are fantastic. (The Spaniard also introduced me to some great ear candy: Amy MacDonald .) Unfortunately, finding music that is popular in Europe isn't always easy here in the states. I did buy a Lori Meyers CD from an Amazon seller. iTunes doesn't carry anything. In the frustrating process, though, I did discover a gem of site:

Nadia and I were chatting on the phone this afternoon, and I shared with her one of the great realizations I had this week. I will never be able to hear the way English sounds to a non-speaker. Never. Nunca. Jamás. Like usual, Nadia laughed at both the thought of the idea and the fact that I'm a little sad about this. She tried to give me examples from other languages and even offered to have her mom tell me what it's like. Yet, not even that will fix this problem. The point is that I will never be able to hear with my own ears the sounds of English as a foreign language. Sigh. So I wonder how I would react to it. Would I laugh? Would I cringe? Would I tune out the sounds of morphemes and phonemes? Would I fall in love with it just because it was different from what I already know? Thinking about this now makes my brain feel the same as it does when I try to imagine the size of the universe or the infinity of time. I know it's there. I want to understand it. I hate that it&

I'm supposed to be writing now. When I told a friend of mine about my three business ideas, he asked, "What about the writing?" I shared this with someone else who asked what's holding me back from writing. He proceeded to tell me that if writing is my gift, I have an obligation to share it with the world. I mentioned to another friend the fear that holds me back from writing, and his response was, "That's bullshit. Your abilities are not up for debate." Today was a rainy day, and it was perfect for sitting in my pajamas with some coffee or wine and exploring the world of my characters and what I want to say about life. It was interrupted by some rollerskating and quick outlet shopping, but I did manage to get back into the pjs. I'm supposed to be writing now. I tried. I started putting together a short story called "Spanish Tortilla", but the words argued that they should be an essay instead of a short story, and I just couldn't handle

Ah, Peru! The countdown has started. There are 8 weeks left in the school year, and 11 days later, I will step on the ground in the southern hemisphere. My friends and family routinely remind me about how dangerous this trip is. I've heard more horror stories about Peru than I could have imagined. Apparently, everyone knows someone who has lived in Peru and has made it very clear to my friends and family that I am crazy for even considering a solo vacation there. It's like women who love to share with newly pregnant women their labor stories about how they almost died in the delivery room. Or the woman who, in 2006, adamantly insisted that the spider bite on my leg meant that I would surely lose my leg to flesh-eating bacteria. I suppose I should confess that my right is artificial because that's the only possible result of a spider bite, right? No es verdad. My major concern about traveling alone to Peru is language. I studied Spanish in college (and was even begged by my

Sigh. It's Friday night, and I'm freaking out just a bit. Do you remember when I mentioned the ridiculously itchy skin ? I'm afraid it might be an allergic reaction to hair dye. If you know me well, you know just how devastating this news might be. I like to color my hair. My friends often joke that no one knows for sure what my natural hair color is or if I really have gray hair or not. Yeah, I color it that often. This is bad. Before I launch into a completely neurotic frame of mind that will land me in my stylist's chair to strip the color out of my hair and buy a lifetime supply of PPD-free hair color, I will point out that I do tend to get side-tracked very easily by what ifs . What I'm feeling right now could just as easily be a sympathetic reaction to seeing my co-worker break out in hives today. It could also be chalked up to too much time on the Internet reading hair dye allergy stories and not enough time doing laundry tonight. Nonetheless, my mind is raci

Have I ever mentioned the dream I had a few years ago in which one of my dearest friends and I sat on a couch snuggled under a hand-crocheted afghan eating ravioli out of cans and watching cartoons on t.v.? That particular dream scene has been etched into my memory for nearly three years now. I find myself thinking about it from time to time. To me, it represents the ultimate in comfort. The life-long friendship. The hand-made blanket. The comfort food. There's a peace there that warms me, even in my memory. I'm thinking about it this morning. Obviously. I spent yesterday afternoon with a friend of mine who is from Spain. At one point we ended up talking about Saved by the Bell and how we used to watch it after school and tried to mimic the hair and clothing styles from the show. Who would have thought that separated by the Atlantic Ocean, we each shared an experience that would years later create a bond? Shall we all salute Zach Morris now? I pulled out some photographs from h

Yesterday I drove to Orlando so my dad could take care of my tax return for me. I also stopped by to see my friend, Sarah, at her new gym. Sarah has recently started taking pole dancing classes. I have been intrigued, especially after hearing her for weeks rave about these classes and how she feels while taking them. She's thrown out words like, "Alli, I've never felt sexier" and "I climbed a 16-foot pole tonight" (said with the same enthusiasm I will expect to hear after she climbs Mt. Kilimanjaro.) How could I not want to know more about this? I walked through the well-covered door of Vixen Fitness in Orlando and was greeted with deliciously feminine pink walls and a dimly lit room lined with two rows of shiny silver poles. Everything about this place screams, "GIRL!" and for the first time in my life, I think I felt completely comfortable with that. The class itself was enjoyable and challenging in ways I never dreamed imaginable. I wasn't

I had a personal epiphany this week. I'm desperately afraid of having nothing to do. This is why I keep myself ridiculously busy and why I procrastinate. Yep, in the back of my mind, knowing that there's a sink full of dishes to do just in case I can't get in to see a movie is a bit comforting. So I always like to have a sink full of dirty dishes waiting for me. The only reason I'm mentioning this is because I think it's affected my creativity. I was talking with a friend of mine earlier this week about the three historical people we would go back in time to meet. (In case you're wondering, my response was Mozart (to party with him), Jesus, and Thomas Jefferson...in no particular order.) His response (including Adam so he could find out what it was like to be created instead of born) blew me away. I felt completely inadequate. Party with Mozart?!? What was I thinking? There are so many deep, philosophical ideas to explore...and I chose PARTY WITH MOZART? As I th