Too green? No, I don’t think I am.
I still eat meat and fish, milk and eggs.
I do try to eat responsibly.
If I can buy from local, I do.
If I can buy organically grown. I do.
If I can get sustainable seafood, I do.
But I live a lifestyle that doesn’t always allow me to be responsible. Yes, it is partly due to my laziness.
I think I can do much better.

I use biodegradable and phosphate-free detergent, hand and dish soup, doggie shampoo.
But I can’t say the same for the rest of the many products that I use. Make up, shampoo, hair and skin products.
I think I can do much better.

Maybe it is because I’m getting older.
Maybe it is because I finally understood that what I wear doesn’t reflect who I really am.
Maybe it is because I realized true comforts come from how it feels, not how it looks, on me.
My wardrobe is getting simpler by the day.
But I can pay closer attention to the clothing tags, closer attention to the manufacturing facts.
I think I can do much better.

Am I too green for others? Maybe.
I currently help out at a relative’s bakery. Many times a day (actually, probably more than 75% of the time) I am asked to place a cake box in a plastic bag. Now, I understand if it is raining, I will also understand if you are with a child, and a plastic bag will make things much easier. But what significant difference does it make when you have two free hands? And so then 50+ plastic bags go wasted each day, from a single bakery. Customers can be rude, or leave an embarrassing tip, but nothing angers me nearly as much as being wasteful.

I had a little disagreement with someone today regarding me going out of my way to be green. He thinks the line needs to be drawn. And I think I haven’t even reached the line yet. I realized I cannot impose my beliefs on others, I can only hope they will one day understand. Until then, I will just have to swallow my frustrations.

Yes, this is a rant.

Think about the polar bears.

While Derek is deeply asleep next to me, I’m here, typing, wondering why I’m still awake. We did both take a dose of that Nyquil, didn’t we?

Maybe it’s my stress. Oh, things that keep me up at night.

Work Nyquil! Work!

……

4 hours till I must get up for work.

Two weeks later, as I was leaving the dog park, there she was again, asking for money. “Please give me some money, no one would give me money, I need money for food.” There were tears in her eyes.

I walked towards a convenient store, but then thought to myself, what if she’s a user? I walked home full of guilt. It was cold and windy. I was shivering even though I was fully clothed and with food still digesting in my stomach. I can’t imagine how it is to not have a warm meal or a home to return to.

I shared my story with D few hours later and learned that shelters provide warm soup to homeless but deny habitual drug users. It made me feel less guilty knowing that there is help out there for those who are free of drugs. Then again, what if she was clean, and had no idea what’s available out there?

I avoid giving money most of the time, because there is no way to find out if the money actually gets spent on food or other necessities. I give food, unless they are Real Change vendors. I had purchased more than one of the same issue in the past. People that try should get the support that they deserve. Vendors pay $0.35 for each paper and sell them for $1, and I generally give $5. Someone had made fun of me saying I should just give the money and not take the paper. My belief is that if I was homeless and made the effort to sell something for a profit instead of just begging for money, I would want others to respect my dignity and take what I have to offer.

Do you give? Do you pass by without a word? How do you judge who deserves the help?

My mother’s birthday is tomorrow.
I’ve been making Tiramisù every night for the past four nights, in hopes of making a tasty dessert for the birthday girl. I’ve also been eating all of them in order to taste.

And now I’m sick of Tiramisù, great.

In other news, I got a puppy, a miniature rat terrier. Meet Boo.

I too jumped on the iPhone band wagon (with D’s assistance).
No, I didn’t stand in line. Not even for a second.
No, I didn’t pay anyone to stand in line.
No, I didn’t pay 1200 on ebay.

Thanks D.

So the sun is out,
and so are all the bikers,
and so are all the foolish bikers,
and so are all their silly little girlfriends.

Three out of five couples I see on a bike lack the common sense of ummm…what do people call that? right, survival. The driver (often the guy) generally is fully/somewhat geared up - helmet and jacket and such. Then there’s a girl on the back, in short-shorts and flipflops, sans any type of armor. If you are the type of guy that I just described, you are what I called a worthless selfish douche. If you are the girl, show the guy your best backhand and tell him to F off. Then go reflect on your idiotic act of going on a bike so vulnerably.

If he tried to pull such thing on me, he will see my backhand twice and never see me again.

In other news, the organization I volunteer at, BABES Network, will be performing a show “Positive Dreams” from June 6th-10th at Central Cinema, Seattle. These women living with HIV put a lot of time and creativity into the project. It may not be a grand Broadway show, but I’m looking forward to what they have to teach me. Two thirds of the proceeds go to BABES Network. Central Cinema is a movie-dinner-theatre, so come on down for a night out from your usual drinking events, or WoW raids. For more information, click here.

Random: When I take tests, I skip pages, and do problems randomly. Or start multiple choice questions backwards. Is that test-taking-dyslexia?

You know you can’t stand that grease mark on your black MacBook, or that filthy trackpad…

So…

I got a pair of Dansko clogs and have been wearing them for work.
I was told that it takes a few days to get used to. So I keep wearing them, expecting it to be better each use.
It’s been two weeks now.
The pain from the shoes kills me.
Everyone tells me how great these shoes are. They’re supposedly the most comfortable shoes made ever.

I’m starting to think the problem is my feet. Maybe I have weird feet or something.

Happy Birthday D.