My neighbors are rude and stalk me

The condo has two 24-hour guest spots, and then a parking lot full of parking for restaurants and 2-hour guest parking. This is a ridiculous setup considering the hundreds of people that live in the complex most definitely have more than two guests with cars at a time who might want to stay more than two hours.

Lampshade pays for a spot in the garage, which I get to use when he travels. Otherwise I alternate between using one of the 24-hour spots which are ALWAYS open and the street a block away. I only park in the condo spot when I am carrying groceries, it's super cold or it's going to snow and the street is off limits. Granted, this has been the majority of days lately but last week Lampshade left, and Sarah gained a warm garage spot.

Last night, we get a letter from the association including the following:

"It has been viewed and reported in more than one occasion that the above-listed vehicles have bene parking in the Guest Condo parking spot on a consistent/daily basis. It has been reported that the Mazda was parked the guest parking spot last evening. It has been reported that both the Mazda and the Camry listed above will be parked in the guest parking or the assigned garage stall of #99."

We're in the wrong because we are abusing the system of the guest spot, however I am extremely disturbed that someone is documenting where our cars are located. Correction, IT TOTALLY FREAKS ME OUT. Who cares enough to not only document this consistently but then report it to the association repeatedly?

Don't worry, stalker friend, I am parked on the street. Put away your binoculars and get a life.

Diets are bogus

I am not on a diet, more like a "I have to wear a swimsuit in three months" exercise plan. I was running an hour about five days a week and then Lampshade (as the boy would now like to be referred to, even though he never reads this blog) broke his foot while trying to scare me as I came out of the bathroom. Motivation shot.

I have lost about five pounds since October just with running but trying ever so slightly to eat more things that are red, orange and green. Last night, though, I had two pieces of lasagna, red wine, several pieces of bread and salad. And, I haven't run in about three weeks.

This morning I weighed what I weighed my freshman year in college - the lowest in seven years.

Clearly, lack of exercise and eating enough for three people is the best route.

My parents met at Northern Illinois University in DeKalb, Illinois. It's halfway between each of their hometowns. My dad was the front desk worker at my mom's dorm. My dad worked in a lab at the Geography Building. My mom took classes in the Education Building.

When we travel to Illinois as a family, we drive through DeKalb each time - my mom and dad recounting the stories from college, their engagement life and scraping by on such little cash. They point to buildings where they attended classes, the library where they studied and the bus stop where they waited, huddled against each other in the cold.

This morning, NIU is a much different place. Instead of dreams of graduation, excitement of the weekend's basketball game or stupid decisions at frat parties, it's filled with horror and fear.

My mom said on the phone last night, "I don't understand. This kind of thing never happened when we were in college."

I don't understand either.


"What broke in a man when he could bring himself to kill another?" ~Alan Paton

Real love

Much to Hallmark's dismay, love doesn't come in pre-printed red and pink cards, expensive chocolates in expensive foil boxes or carefully selected yet overpriced roses.

When I was 5, I thought love was when my dad left for a business trip and he gave my mom a "TV kiss" as I called it. I'd beg for them to kiss that way and then hide my face in disgust as they kissed passionately.

When I was 10, I thought love was born in the cheap metal hearts you could have engraved at the school carnival with things like Joe + Jane = *heart* This would no doubt start a fight with Mike who really was fourth-grade love with Jane and who in return would throw Joe in the school jail until someone used three tickets to bail him out.

When I was 15, love was confusing. Was it in the couples who were already having sex or the big dramatic displays of "Love, Tommy" written in the trivial notes on lined paper folded into impressive shapes so as to be easily slipped in the receiver's backpack?

When I was 20, I thought I knew what love was. I thought love was ignoring crazy habits or picking out the perfect presents.

When I was 25, I found out what real love was. It's not just accepting idiosyncrasies, but loving them. It's not about presents but the small things, done daily. It's about wanting to be a better person even though you're loved exactly the way you are.

Why I Voted for Obama

I participated in a caucus primary for the first time last night. It was an overwhelming turnout, almost 200,000 in Minnesota they say.

I cast my ballot for Obama because after listening to him speak at a rally here Saturday, more than once I was choked up with tears. In my lifetime, no politician has brought me to tears, at least ones of joy and hope. After eight years of lies about the war, the stripping of individual rights, wiretapping, the acceptance of torture and the degradation of what it means to be American, I am ready for something new. It was during the Bush presidency that I stopped saying the pledge of allegiance because I can't imagine dedicating myself to a country in such a state of despair and misdirection.

Yet, Obama makes me want to believe again. And though it's his mass appeal, his inspirational message of hope, his uniting vision and his powerful public speaking that first attracted me to his camp, it's his policies that kept me in.

His health care plan bridges the gap between the current system and the eventual universal health care system. He is committed to a reduction in troops in Iraq. His charm and uniting attitude will bridge the gaps between the aisles in Congress. Though he might not have experience as part of a Clinton-like political machine, his idealism and direction are what we need.

I'd rather elect a president with a idealistic hope for the future than one who has proven to be a divisive figure who is so beat down she fails to dream big.