6 a.m.

6 a.m. and I are not friends. It's not that we're bitter enemies. There have been times when I can tolerate her, like in the summertime when she's bright and warm and welcoming. Even then I don't LOVE her, but I can stand the sight of her face. I hate her most in the early fall...like now. She's dark and dreary and forces me to stay in bed until the friendlier 7 a.m. comes around and she makes me late for work. I'm particularly mad at her this morning...mostly because I'm BFFs with 1 a.m. and those two just don't get along. I've tried to be a nice mediator between the two, but I always end up siding with 1 a.m. He's just so much more fun. He "gets" me and we jive so much better than me and 6 a.m. I know that 6 a.m. is probably going to be a better friend to me in the long run, and I'm definitely trying to limit the time I spend with 1 a.m. But, it's not easy to give up such a good friend. Maybe I'll just have to give it a few more weeks until 6 a.m. gets nicer again...she's so moody!!! What about you? What time do you hate? Love?

Not Quite a Doctor

My mom is always going on about how I'm a doctor, even though I have nothing resembling a PhD or MD or anything else that might warrant the title. I remind her over and over again that I'm a social worker with a masters degree. Well, now I'm officially not a doctor...but I do officially have a fancy new title! I passed my clinical exam today and you can now refer to me as Licensed Clinical Social Worker Renee. Pleased to meet you. Now I just need a shingle.

No Excuses

I have a terrible habit of procrastinating. It is genetic and was passed down from both of my parents. I can't really help it. This genetic defect first manifest itself when I was a young lass having so much fun playing in the sandbox that I procrastinated going to the bathroom...and then wet myself. While the consequences of procrastinating in my adult life don't usually result in ridicule and shame, they have a weight all their own. As I type this, I realize I'm in the process of procrastinating right now. I should be packing for my trip to Colorado, my flight leaves in 8 hours (most of which I should be sleeping) and I have yet to even get my suitcase from the basement.

Back to my point...I'm a procrastinator. This procrastinating impacts my blogging. I have a whole summer full of fun piling up in my head that I need...no WANT...to write about. I've started and saved at least 5 posts and haven't finished them. I procrastinate so much that the task becomes daunting and I put it off even more...because it's scary. I used to cope with this by calling Alice at 2:00 in the morning before a big paper was due and crying to her that "I don't know how to start." She always talked me through it and the paper turned out A-ok, and wasn't nearly as scary as I'd made it out to be in my head. But, now I'm a big girl, and it's just not fair to call Alice at 2:00 in the morning to cry about all of the posts that are piling up in my head and becoming so daunting that I don't want to write them. So, this is my attempt to start.

I was going to write this post (as the title suggests) that there are no excuses for my absence from the blogosphere. I kind of hate excuses. I used to be a pro at coming up with fantastical excuses for why I didn't do something or why I was late, or why I didn't show up at all. I learned a while back that I don't need to have an excuse. I do what I do and the reason doesn't really matter. And, there's no use lying about it. I would just be trying to justify bad behavior, which is inexcusable. So, I am not going to give any excuse...except that I just did, and it's that I'm a procrastinator. Blame my parents. And here's another one, just for fun. Since I don't have a camera, I'm waiting on photos from my friends so my posts become more aesthetically pleasing and I can stop playing with font size. Blame Peter. (aren't I good at diverting responsibility??)

Now that I've procrastinated even further and not given you a lick of my summer fun...I'm going to go pack. But, expect a deluge. Or don't...I wouldn't want you to get your hopes up.

Parking Karma

It happens to be a fact that I have amazing parking karma (and by the mere act of writing it, I am sure I am losing it. Pride sort of strips you of all things good...particularly karma, so consider yourself lucky...this is a huge sacrifice for me to keep you posted on the goings on of my life). While I've had many a good spot, NOTHING can top tonight's find. I went to see the Portland Timber play their final game tonight at PGE park. There were over 13,000 people at the game. And, since most games aren't so highly attended, everyone got there at about 10 to 7 expecting to mosey on in. Instead it was a mad house outside with block long lines to the ticket booths. I see the mayhem as I'm approaching the stadium. Just before getting to the intersection, I say a quiet little prayer that I'll find a good parking spot. I cross the intersection and a car that was parked RIGHT across the street from the entrance pulled out of its spot. I slipped right in without even having to parallel park. I sat in the car for a second, awaiting an LAX-like security guard to pop from behind the light post and ticket me, or at the very least tell me to "move it along." But no, it's a certified, bonifide spot. AND the signs indicating the time limits were covered up...so it was like a total freebee!! I couldn't believe my luck. What could I possibly have done in the pre-existence, or in this life, for that matter, to be blessed with such parking bliss? It's one of the great mysteries of God and will probably be like the 6th thing I ask Him when we meet some day.

picky-nick

I love eating outside. There is almost nothing better than feeling the sun beat down on my face while enjoying a good sandwich (I mean, a sandwich alone is hard to beat...but the sun certainly adds to the perfection). The weather out here has been beautiful these last few days, and, seeing as how I've been a vampire without a touch of sun this summer, I've been heading outdoors for lunch and some basking.

Eating outside always comes with a little adventure, usually in the form of critters*. Today was no exception. First I was accompanied by a little bee friend. He was nice enough, except for the fact that he kept landing on my sandwich exactly where I was about to bite. I don't think either of us would have wanted to be friends anymore if he ended up in my mouth. Sick. After trying to mate with some pork** that had fallen from my sandwich, my bee friend found himself satiated and went on for porkier pastures.

Then came the pigeons (in frankonology "rats with wings"). I'm not sure why they decided to come settle at my feet, as I wasn't nearly as appealing as the large man spreading breadcrumbs around the corner (I've really never understood people who seek out these infested creatures). I've got absolutely no time for birds of any kind that come begging for food...in fact, I've got absolutely no time for anything that begs for anything, except maybe the cute Tijuanan boy selling chilclett...I love me some chiclett. Well, soon enough the birds had their fill of the measly pickins in my area and, all at once, decided to head back to tubby with the breadcrumbs. They all began flapping and flying in my direction, narrowly missing my terrified face. This hubub caused me to shriek out and take cover, to the amusement of my lunching neighbors.

But, have no fear. This is only the second most embarrassing thing that happened to me today. I started the day off with a face plant as I boarded my bus this morning...a bus that had already left the station and kindly stopped to pick me up on the side of the street as I flagged it down (today I promise I wasn't late...there is a new driver and I swear her clock is fast). Needless to say, if all the passengers weren't already looking to see who was holding up their morning commute, they sure were after the loud crash and squeal that announced my arrival.

*Not the kind one might cover with doilies.
**Not chops, which I have also been known to eat outside.