Uniquely... Bound for Broadway

They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. They say there’s always magic in the air (Mann and Weil, 1963). So why not be a part of it, right? This weeks orientation class found me confessing one of my deepest and truest desires: I want to star in a Broadway musical. I want to hang out with the likes of Patti Lupone, Idena Menzel, Liza Manneli, and Betty Buckley. I would like to sip lemonade in the Park with Stephen Sondheim as we discuss his newest project. I want to belt out emotion at the top of my lungs as Tracy Turnblad or Elphaba. Is it too much to ask? What I need is an agent, someone who will get me discovered. Let’s start at the beginning though: voice lessons, then agent, then discovery, then lemonade. If this dream can't come true I will settle for daily life becoming a musical. You know, spontaneous dance and song in the middle of the afternoon. Better go put my dancing shoes on...

Juxtaposition. Or, why the world is so confused

The south end of Oklahoma City features one of my favorite streets in the connected 48. This particular area is called Capitol Hill. Apparently it used to be the state capitol back in the day when Roy Rogers was all the rage. Although I do love me some cowboy, this is not the reason for my afan. Capitol Hill holds a lot of memories for me that bring me back to my eager-beaver missionary days. Walking up and down the street accosting strangers to give them pass along cards, picking up pass along cards that people threw in the bushes, volunteering at the ginormous Christmas charity store, Chelino’s pan dulce and snack shelves, the excellent taco place on the corner, and Moses. Good ole Moses, the homeless Native American who chased my companion and me down the street with a ridiculously large stick… that’s right: Moses, big stick… you do the math. My favorite part about the street however was the hole in the wall bar. Day to night this smoke-infested love barn was filled with drinkers (read: alcoholics). What’s more? Right next door to the bar is the local chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous.

Really? We’re going to put the AA next to the bar? Isn’t that a bit like putting the child molester in juvie? Or making Martha Stewart relocate to Taiwan? Turns out this is the case all over OKC. Bar-AA-Bar-AA-Bar-AA. Are they in cahoots? Is this like the Lowe’s/Wal Mart partnership? The AA is either snagging them before they get to the bar, or upping their meeting numbers by dragging every drunken arse to the circle of trust after a few shots. Either way, we’re not exactly making life easy.

Yesterday I was at the gym and realized this kind of rationale is everywhere, not just the windy streets of Oklahoma. The Gold’s Gym in Sandy towers into the sky, a multi-leveled representation of blood, sweat, tears, and strength- all in the name of good health. However, once you step a tennis-shoed foot outside those shiny front doors it’s like you are in fast food Sodom and Gomorrah: Wendy’s, KFC, Taco Bell, and the real kicker… Blimpie’s. We all know that no one really eats at Blimpie’s, but just the sheer title of this chain makes us feel so gluttonous that we have to grace our local drive thru............................................................................

Dear city planners: WTF? A girl can’t lose the relief society arm when her bicep curls are chased by a frosty. Please help.

Uniquely... Terrified of Sharks

My first venture into my self psyche was to share my irrational, ridiculous, incapacitating fear of sharks. I think it's safe to say that this fear has surpassed the normal scared stage and settled nicely into being a full blown phobia. I don't just fear sharks while in the ocean, I panic while swimming in lakes, canoeing in rivers, or even while hanging out in the neighborhood pool (the shadows look like sharks... I swear). It's rather ridiculous.

During a few weeks in Boston a friend and I travelled to Walden Pond to swim, lounge on the Massachussetts beach, and enjoy a little history. This "pond", made famous by American writer Henry David Thoreau, is actually not a pond at all. It's an enormous lake... but it's still a lake. No ocean access, no way that sharks could actually be in there. As Adam and I swam out into the middle of the lake I noticed the deep, dark water and how cold it was out in the middle. I realized how far I was from the shoreline. And then I realized the one thing that always sends me over the edge: I couldn't see my toes below me. If I can't see my toes, how could I see my impending shark-doom?

I panicked. Right then and there I had a panic attack in the lake and nearly drown. Good thing Adam was there! He put me into a back float and took me back to shore. (It was basically vacation time-out... I was acting ridiculously!)

So there it is. My name is Okie, and I have a problem. It's true that Sharks may never kill me; but my fear of sharks definately could!

You Are Special... Just Like Everyone Else

Every week I teach an orientation class for our new hires here at the funny farm. Every orientation begins with introductions. You know the kind: "Hi my name is (what?), my name is (who?), my name is (slicka slim shady)." Part of the drill is that everyone must say something unique about themselves. This is always a bit awkward for our new hires, the majority of whom are 16-18 years old and a bit too self-aware. I watch a new group every week as they struggle to find a unique thing that is A) cool enough to share, B) something that will get their peer's approval, and C) true. They do pretty well with it. For over a year and a half I've mentioned the same old things as the unique things: scars, broken bones, etc. My current challenge is that I'm bored in orientation. From now on I'm going to name a different unique thing every week, come hell or high water. ( I prefer high water). And guess what my blogging comrades? I shall post it right here! I figure it will add a fun side to the blog while also keeping out of comatose stages at work. Stay tuned for weekly snippets and tid-bits to the weird things that are the total sum of... ME.

Independence Day

I have always been a sucker for cheesy music.  I blame it on the fact that I grew up on Michael McClean, Afterglow, and The Righteous Brothers.  (The irony of this sentence is that the first two aforementioned names are religious bands; the brothers, however righteous, are secular.  Go figure.)  It is for this reason that every 4th of July I have to listen to the ridiculous ensembles of patriotic songs that one radio station or another piece together while I sit on my car hood and stare up at the fireworks.  If there isn't music, it's just no good.  You know the kind I'm talking about:  Lee Greenwood being "Proud to Be an American"; Martina McBride wailing her plea to "let freedom ring"; heck, even John Phillips Sousa's "Stars and Stripes" gets the goosebumps going for me.  (I think I'm going to change his name to J-Sous, I think this can increase his new-millennium popularity...)

This 4th of July the tradition started out much the same.  10:00pm found me parked in front of the Crown Burger facing Sandy City Hall.  My mom, my two sisters and myself rolled the windows down and turned up the radio and then climbed up on top of the hood of the Camry.  Side by side we stared into the sky as the fireworks erupted.   But, just as is so often the case, this particular evening was ruined by none other than Neil Diamond.  First, let me give you some background. 

I served an LDS mission between 2005-2007.  Although I served within the bounds of the US of A it felt more like a foreign mission.  I spent the majority of my time working and living with people of Latin decent; mostly Mexican.  In my short 18 months I made lifelong friends, second families, and connections that I will forever be grateful for and proud to have.  Truth be told, my heart bleeds Latin now, and hopefully always will.  For this reason I have returned to my mission stomping grounds on several occasions.  It's a chance to reconnect with people I love, and who in turn love me.  The most recent visit was this past May when I returned with two of my companions (read: very dear friends Shay and Moffy) to the land that gives me my screen name.  We had an amazing time.  We were treated to wonderful food, great music, and a lot of dancing lessons!  It was 4 days that passed altogether too quickly, but it was time very well spent.  Two weeks following our visit I received this call from Shay:

"Kath?"  She was calling me in the middle of the day; usually we chat via Internet since we work for the same company.

"Yeah, what's up? What's wrong?'

"Did you hear from Evelyn yet?"  It's always like Shay to need to know the background first.

"No, what's going on?"  Evelyn is a dear friend in OKC who keeps us posted on all of the happenings.

"Liliana and her mom were pulled over yesterday while driving in the city.  They are being detained over night in a jail and are being deported first thing in the morning."  

What shocked me most about this sentence was the mere fact that I had seen Liliana and her sweet mom, Hermana Lopez, only two weeks previous during our visit.  Liliana caught me up on how things were going at the University of Oklahoma.  She was accepted there on full scholarship; a natural occurrence for the valedictorian of her high school.  She had brought her friends to the church party and I laughed as I watched them all participate in the dance contests.  I had some long talks with Liliana that evening about what her plans were for the future and what she was enjoying and/or struggling with in the present. With Shay's call none of this mattered any more.

"What can we do?  How much will it cost for bail? Can we bail them out?  Who do we need to talk to?  Tell me what to do?!!!!"  I shot questions at Shay as if she would know the answers, but neither of us did.  I felt as if I had been kicked hard in the stomach: my air was gone, I was dizzy.  I pulled over while driving; I was overcome with anger and panic.  This couldn't be happening.  Later that afternoon I called OU: couldn't someone override this decision?  Liliana doesn't even speak with an accent, she's lived here almost her whole life!  How could this be happening?  Nothing.  Liliana and Hermana Lopez were put on a bus the next morning and driven across the border.  They were dropped off in Ciudad Juarez which is thousands of miles from their place of origin in Mexico. They were given chance to collect things from their home of several years, nor visit their loved ones.  Dropped off with the clothes on their backs.  No money, American or Mexican.  No food.  No address book to telephone once in Mexico.  Just kicked out.  Hermano Lopez and Juan (son) were left behind in OKC with no way to contact their family.  Split apart and separated like criminals.  What was their crime? Driving while Hispanic.  

Flash back to Friday night, July 4th.  On the roof top of my mom's car Neil sings:

Far/We've been travelling far/ Without a home/ But not without star

Free/ Only want to be free/ We huddle close/ Hang on to a dream

On the boats and on the planes/ They're coming to America

Never looking back again/ They're coming to America

Home, don't it seem so far away?/ Oh we're traveling light today/ In the eye of the storm

Home, to a new and shiny place/ Make our bed and we'll say our grace/Freedom's light burning warm

Everywhere around the world/Every time that flag's unfurled/Got a dream to take them there/Got a dream they've come to share

They're coming to America

This used to rank high up there as one of my favorite cheesy songs.  I think it's because I believed it.  I believed that people came here and were given an opportunity.  My thoughts have changed since someone I love has been kicked out of this country only to be left stranded in a foreign place.  I'm convinced that songs like this exist to keep the wool over our eyes.  It's easy to sit on the hood of a car in the soft summer breeze and feel grateful to have been born in this country.  When songs like this are played it seems as though everyone is given the same opportunity to enjoy what we have.  Are we fooling ourselves?  How much of the American Dream are we willing to share when we kick out the English speaking, Valedictorian, Freshman Pre-Med and tell them they aren't worthy to be here?

This is the first time I have spoken about this in any way.  When emotions get tied around your heartstrings it becomes difficult to unweave them without causing further injury.  It's time I shared it though.  

I must make it known that I AM grateful to be in America.  I am grateful for this land and the liberties it has offered me personally.  I am grateful for the freedoms that I enjoy and for the safety that I too often take for granted.  I love this country and much of what it stands for.  I can't, however, support the idea that man made divisions that we call "borders" can stand as an excuse for prejudice, discrimination, or the idea that only certain people have the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.   I know there are many of you who feel differently, or perhaps simply have never bothered to think about this before.  I certainly have never really pondered it until this year.  

What will each of us see when we take off our rose colored glasses? Would we be willing to start changing the rules? Until then I'm sure there is a bus leaving early in the morning and to the families that are about to lose their loved ones: I'm sorry.  Welcome to America- it's not as new and shiny as Neil makes it out to be...  yet.

Thank You

THANK YOU to each of you who donated to the MS150 Ride this year. With your help and support we were able to raise $542.00. My original goal was $250.00, and we blew it right out of the water. This money has been given to the MS Society of Utah to help teach classes, offer support through programs, and hopefully find a cure for Multiple Sclerosis. As for the ride itself, it was huge motivation to know that I was being "sponsored" by each of you. You were kind enough to give that money, so there was no WAY I could give up on the race! We did it together, so gracias!Thank you again for "joining the movement", you are wonderful.

MS150: Check.

Take a moment and picture the following with me: bad farmer's tans, Velcro shoes, "fruit punch", Idaho, Peanut Butter sandwiches, RV campers, spandex, and cut off shirts... Tell me honestly- what did you picture? Perhaps you formulated an image of a your family reunion? Maybe you came up with a joke that ends with "you know you're a Redneck". Or maybe- just maybe!- you thought, "Hey, that sounds like a bike tour to me!" Welcome my friends to my weekend; the best weekend ever!

The tan is from my biking gloves. The Velcro shoes are actually racing shoes- the fancy clip in type. (Read: the kind that kill you if you can't clip out of them.) "Fruit punch" is what they called the Powerade provided at each stop- red and blue and oh so necessary. Idaho fits in the equation because we biked from Logan to Preston and back. (About the time I saw the "Welcome to Idaho" sign my knees buckled- what the #$#% was I doing?!) Lunch was a Peanut Butter sandwich- the perfect blend of protein and carbs to get me through the final 35 miles. RV campers and tents cluttered the Logan Fairgrounds as 3,000+ bikers prepared to mount their bikes for the event. Spandex- aka Lycra- a biking MUST if you want to have a butt after the ride. Even with saddle padding my bum felt like... well, we won't go there. And the cut off shirts? Well that's just to look sexy, of course.

I completed the 75 mile bike ride and it was no easy feat. There were so many times that I was inside of my own head telling myself to stop and just SAG back. I just kept telling myself: this is what you've been training for: THIS. You can't back out now. It is easily the best thing I have done in this year. First, it's an amazing cause. I talked with several woman along the way who have MS. How could I give up just because I was "tired" when these woman were riding with a disease that could eventually stop them from moving? Keep going, Okie, keep going.

Second, it's beautiful country up there. There are lakes and streams and beautiful bridges that dot the country side. I spend all day everyday couped up in an office cubicle. Why give it up early? Keep going, Okie, keep going.

Finally, there is something amazing that happens when we accomplish the task we set out to do. I have been training for this race for nearly 4 months now. Training has included running, strength training, cycling, and working on flexibility. I was amazed at how fit I felt throughout the ride. As the girl that grew up with the "great personality" (as opposed to the hot bod) I knew that I had to finish that race. I can become an athlete again. Keep going, Okie, keep going.

And so I did. Crossing the finish line after 7.5 hours of riding in 100 degree weather was an amazing feeling. Even better was having Christina there cheering me on! I may have ridden by myself, but I definitely didn't feel alone. Christina was there and my family and other friends were cheering me on via text. I felt like I had been hit by a semi-truck. Sunburned and tired I vegged at Christina's where we allowed Papa John's to make us dinner (wheat pizza, of course- delish!) Hit the sack at 10pm and let 12 hours of sleep heal my muscles. I will be doing this ride again, as well as other rides.

Things I learned:

• I never could have completed that ride on a mountain bike. Dolce is the best friend I had out there and she helped me cruise through 75 miles without a scratch.
• I need to apply sunscreen every 2 hours or so... got a mean sunburn on my thighs and parts of my neck and arms.
  
• Training is ESSENTIAL- it made all of the difference in the world to know that I had been practicing for that exact moment
• Old biking gloves from 8th grade aren't sufficient, even if they look like they have padding. My hands were killing me by mile 50, which is not a good place to be on a 3/4 century ride.
• Although it's handy to have a hydro pack, I found it hurting my back. Note for future rides: ditch the hydro and use water bottles and shirt pockets. Especially on a fully supported ride.
  
• My body is stronger than I give it credit for.
  

Things I am grateful for:

• Dolce. She is such a sweet ride and I am absolutely in love with her. (My bike, people. My bike!)
• Mother Earth. How beautiful are our surroundings!
• My health. I am grateful that I can even attempt to do things like this, let along complete it.
  
• Everyone who donated to my ride. We raised $542.00. That's pretty awesome!!!
• Christina, Ashley, Mom, Krys, Nate, and Tay: all of these people kept me going via text or phone over 7.5 hours
• Seeing Tara after the finish line. She is the Event Director for the MS Society of Utah; translation: she was in charge of the entire thing. She is one of my closest amigas and I was proud to be a part of something she designed and executed so well.
  
• Finding a sport that I love again.
  
• The woman from Bad Ass Coffee who was also riding alone (her group rides at 20 rpm, which is killer fast). We rode from Fairview to Amalga together- it was 14 miles in the dead of the afternoon and we kept each other going. Thank you to my new friend. Good luck on training for your upcoming marathon.

Here are some pictures from the ride:

"I gotta go lube my chain." This is what I said to Christina when we were carb loading the night before at the O.G. She definitely gave me a look. Again: the bike people, the bike!


Pumping up the tires. Each tire must be to 100lb pressure. That's alot. The Ghetto (pictured above) and I took turns because our arms would get tired. The start line just outside of the fairgrounds in Logan, UT. Mass chaos in an organized fashion. I held back a half hour because I'm not super comfy riding in lines and big groups yet. One day...

Dolce and I gearing up for the ride. This is my debut of Spandex in public.
The ride map. I did the 75 mile course. Next year I will do the entire century.
The ride is fully supported and is a GREAT first big touring ride for those who are thinking of getting into it. This is a picture of the lunch stop. Bikes, bikes everywhere.
Just past the finish line at the fairgrounds. Ghetto- I LOVE YOU! Thanks for being there to support me. I'm glad you didn't see me crash.

I am basically a big dork and crashed AFTER the ride. Dismounted on a hill... on the wrong side! Here are a couple of pics (above) that show off my bleeding knee. The road rash was pretty sweet too. I'm a total boy, so I love the scars; they are like trophies. I don't, however, love cleaning gravel out of my leg with alcohol swabs. OUCH!!!! Check out the sunburn line in the picture above, too. Nice, eh?

Christina driving me home in my own car. I was beat!!