It's that time of year

Now that it's gotten warmer, stays lighter later, and my bike has been tuned-up, it's time to ride as much as possible. This morning I woke up with stiff calves and burning quads. It's awesome! My sister once told me that my bike was too old and heavy. 'Real' cyclists use clip-in pedals and would have a newer, lighter bike. Well, maybe I'm not a 'real' cyclist, but I do have a good time. And that, Nopo Girl, is really all that matters.

Rest and Relaxation

After weeks of going and going and going and going and . . . well, you get the idea, I decided that it was time for some sleep and unaplogetic television watching and reading and running as long as I want to. Because Seattle has too many distractions and noisy neighbors, I came to the serenity of my parents' house. I slept for four hours yesterday afternoon, woke up and watched a movie, then slept for twelve more hours. As I was stretching in bed and thinking about how wonderful it is to actually rest and, for once, not worry about what I could be doing, my Mom knocked on the door. "Ailey," she said with obvious concern, "are you depressed?"

"No," I replied. "I'm just well-rested."

The small, still voice

Last week, I received my invitation for the JET program (to learn more about JET, check-out the website at http://www.jetprogramme.org/). If I want to go, I need to send in my letter of acceptance by April 24th. I've been hanging on to my letter for over seven days now. I know what I need to do, but I feel like I'm waiting for that small, still voice to turn into a bolt of lightening and strike me down with the correct answer. A year in Japan would definitely be, as my friend Nick says, sadical (sad/radical). Sad because I'd miss my friends and family and, of course, the city, but it would be an awesome experience and completely radical. Sadical - get it? Well, stay posted to find out if I'm wise enough to trust the small, still voice. I could be posting from Japan in four months.

Do you like to do Awesome Stuff?

Because I like to do Awesome Stuff. For some reason, it's hard for me to find people that also like to do Awesome Stuff. I live in one of the most active cities in the United States, but it seems that most of my friends have differing interests. In case you're wondering, Awesome Stuff includes skiing/snowboarding, camping, hiking, rock climbing, surfing, cycling, and running. Most people like to do one, or even some, of the above, but few (a staggering few) like to do them all. Don't get me wrong, I'm not expert or even particularly good at most Awesome Stuff, but I still like to do it. I especially like to do Awesome Stuff with my sister, Nopo Girl, my brother-in-law, Corporate Media Whore, and Noah the Dog. This blog entry was inspired by the fact that it's spring again and the time has arrived to do Awesome Stuff. In fact, Nopo Girl, Corporate Media Whore, Noah the Dog and I are going to do Awesome Stuff in two weeks. So, if you like to do Awesome Stuff and want someone new to do Awesome Stuff with, just let me know. There's lot's of Awesome Stuff to do around Seattle, but it's definitely more fun to have someone to do it with.

Retrospect (introspect?)

I just realized that it has been almost exactly a year since I was medically discharged from the Peace Corps. This week, I've been celebrating my year anniversary by reading old posts and reminiscing about the good and bad times. It's hard to believe that a little over twelve months ago I was walking through ankle-deep mud (buttcock - seriously, that's the Kyrgyz word for 'mud') to get to school, bathing once a week, and using a hole in the ground. It's hard to believe that Kyrgyz was my main language of communication. It's hard to believe that I witnessed a revolution.

Sometimes I have dreams that I'm back in Kyrgyzstan. In my dreams, I'm given another chance to make it work. I reunite with my students and my host-family and, always, my friend Umut and our reunions are exciting and hope-filled. Sadly, though, even in my dreams I know that I'm dreaming and that I can't stay. In my dreams, I always wish that I could stay.

Sometimes I'm filled with regret that I couldn't stay. I miss my host-family that I never had the chance to say goodbye to since I was whisked away in the Peace Corps all-terrain vehicle to the capital city without any notice. I miss my students. I miss the other volunteers and our nights of pseudo-pizza and involved discussions on bowel-movements (VERY important to a Peace Corps volunteer). I wish that things could have been very, very different.

This has been a really good year for me and I am so happy right now. It doesn't mean, however, that I don't think about what could have been.

Training again

I gave up skiing this weekend to purchase new running shoes. It's a sad, sad realization that I can't afford to do both. I can run, or I can ski. My sadness about missing out on this weekend was compounded by the fact that 'the snow was totally-gnarly, man!' Buying the shoes wasn't really an option, since it's time to start training again. Ah, yes, the race season is starting-up and the Olympia half-marathon is only a few short months away. My knees and shins were screaming daily from running on my old, broken shoes and I knew that this wasn't a splurge, but a necessity. I love to run, but I love to ski. If only I didn't love to eat, as well, I might be able to do both.

My desk is producing flowers

It's inexplicable . . . When I left the office last night at 5 PM, there were no flowers on my desk. But when I came in this morning, there were two bunches of red, white, and purple flowers! I looked for a card, but there was none. I looked around at my co-workers - could the flowers have been placed on my desk by mistake? But none of my co-workers jumped up with an accusing finger pointed at me shouting 'THIEF'. They all continued to stare glassy-eyed at their computer screens and I finally concluded that the mysterious flowers must be meant for me.

After doing some research, I discovered that one of my clients had dropped them by the office last night. When I talked to him this morning, he said, "You've worked so hard for me. I figured there's no harm in say 'thank you.'" What he didn't realize is that I have been in a terrible mood all week - antisocial and grumpy - and I've been hating my job. Getting flowers on my desk has made my day and my week. Who knows, maybe even my month. So thank you, Bob, if you read this. They are the most beautiful flowers I've seen in a long time.

These are cranberries

These are also cranberries

Cranberries are good for more than just bladder infections

I'll bet you didn't realize how good for you cranberries actually are! Aside from curing and preventing bladder infections, they are full of vitamins and nutrients, including vitamin C. Cranberries are packed with fiber, too, so if you're concerned about your inner-workings, you can rest peacefully knowing that they will help keep you regular. Dried cranberries are especially delicious - they taste good in salads and on top of my cereal in the morning. Frozen cranberries can be blended into smooth and fruity shakes. Cranberries are not so tasty without sugar added.

Cranberries also make very good music! I know, you are just as surprised as I was to discover this! They're a little before my time, more from my older sister's era, but they are great. They rock out with their Irish accents. I don't know what makes them Cranberries, but they are excellent bus-ride music, bored-at-work music, and long-hot-bath music. Check it out.

Cranberries should be included in your every day life.

ANTIGUA!!!

Did I mention that I went to Antigua for New Year's? Oh, I forgot to tell you? Yeah, I went there. Antigua. Have you heard of it? It's in the Caribbean. In case you want to look it up or something, it's spelled A-N-T-I-G-U-A. I laid on the beach and swam in the Caribbean Sea and snorkeled and danced and ate and explored and drove a moped as a moped has never been driven before. It was amazing! Don't get me wrong, there were bad parts, too. For example, the mosquitos that descended like a plague every night that we actually moored the boat. Or having to administer first aid to Kelli after she ate gravel on her moped. Or what about Liat Airlines (Leave island any time) delaying our flight in Anguilla for an hour so that we missed our connection to Chicago? So, as you can see, Antigua wasn't all glitz and glamour. At times it was quite rough. If you need proof, just look at the pictures. Antigua.
A-N-T-I-G-U-A. Don't you just love the way it rolls off your tongue?

Sailing (kind of)

The lack of effort was a lifestyle for me.

New Years at Nelson's Dockyard

Note the painful sunburn on Ailey. Mom, I swear I wore sunscreen that day.

Ailey and Kelli enjoy pina coladas in Antigua.

This rare sunshower hit between torrential rainstorms.

Vote for Pedro

This picture has made my life better in so many ways.

The Return of the Cat General

This is the type of cat that I am:

If you were to buy a car from me, and the car turned out not work, I would say fu** you . . . in the a**.

A study in buses around the world

It still amazes me how striking cultural disparities between places can be. For example, this morning I was at the bus stop, prepping myself for the fight to get on the bus. When the 7:20 slowed in front of those waiting and opened its doors, everyone stood back to let someone else, anyone else, go ahead of them. No one there was elderly, or disabled, or carrying six shopping bags, but no one wanted to be the one to charge ahead – me first – and run up the steps, taking two at a time. Usually I find that I’ve somehow edged me way to the front of the line. Months of fighting for a space on buses in other countries has created an anxiety in me, much like a sprinter feels before the gun goes off at the start of a race. In Kyrgyzstan, getting on the bus was like fighting your way through a crowd of citizens in the bread line. There was no mercy and nothing spared for those not willing to lay it all down. In Spain, my roommate used to joke: “No one in this country is in a hurry until it’s time to get on the bus.” Elbows were thrown, people were shoved aside, and heated words exchanged. It’s almost a let-down when here, in the United States, where life moves at a rapid pace and the mentality is to achieve, achieve, ACHIEVE, there is absolutely no rush to get on the bus. Have we become a culture of bus-wusses? Maybe Americans (or perhaps softy Seattlites?) have lost their basic need for minor confrontations. We have espresso and Hollywood to keep us sharp. In the end, though, riding the bus here is MUCH less stressful. And you walk away with fewer bruises.

Practicing to be a Pirate

In order to prepare for my New Years sailing trip around Antigua, I will start honing my pirate-ness for several hours every day. This will include saying a gravely 'YAAaargh' over and over again, as well as running people through with a wooden dagger.

I'll also be wearing an eyepatch.

Me duele mi espalda

Well, my bad back and I have finally moved out of our parents' house! That's right, for the last two nights I've been packing, heaving, lifting, and sorting, much to the chagrin of my aching espalda (that's Spanish for lower-back, in case you're a complete idiot, or a French speaker. Wait, is that redundant?). It's been a long time since I've been out on my own. After graduation, I moved in with a family as a live-in nanny for several months. When I arrived in Kyrgyzstan for my Peace Corps service, I was placed with a HUGE family (they all lived in one room while I had two to myself - does that seem a little unbalanced to anyone else?) for training and then a different family when I arrived at my permanent site. After I returned, I stayed with my parents. It's been . . . cough . . . five months now and I've finally found a job, bought a car, and moved out. Oh sweet freedom! Oh sweet back-pain! Who needs a back when you have the freedom to do whatever you want - as long as your roommates approve, of course.

Why Ryan Adams sucks

Yes, that's right, I said that Ryan Adams sucks. Our love affair is over. Ever since he cancelled BOTH concerts in Seattle I see him for what he really is - a hope stealing, cigarette smoking (heroine shooting?)musician that produces too many CDs and not enough love for me. I was so ready for the concert last night. I had my outfit ready so that he would be overwhelmed by my effortless beauty and hence invite me backstage. Once there, he would realize our overwhelming compatability - how can one deny destiny - and ask me to be his bride, or at least to bear his love child. But now all of that is ruined and I don't even care. You know what, Ryan Adams? I didn't even buy your last album! What do you think about that?! Sucker.